The clench on his hips, the press against his shoulder, and the thrusts, mostly at the start -- they're far from gentle every time, but Hiruma takes it because he can, because it is what it is. With him, Agon never really holds back and never has to, and at the very least, Hiruma can return the roughest kisses and bites if he feels like it.

It's all nothing, anyway; after they're over, Hiruma drags a finger along the jagged streak down Agon's back, and Agon nudges his lips against the blue-black mark down the side of Hiruma's neck. Every scratch and bruise and cut they make fades before it can mean anything. It's nothing ever too deep, nothing significantly painful.

But every time Agon pushes inside him the way he pushes when he's wired, unappeasable, Hiruma knows Agon could break him, could pull him apart if he wanted to, but Agon never does, and Hiruma spends most of his day in thought poking at his sore wrist.

He plans to tell Agon about Shinryuuji.

+

Agon feels it somewhere near the center of his chest, sharp, and heavy, probably like a blow from a sudden fist, and he hates it because he never feels anything like this, and he's never had to. He hurts people; no one gets to hurt him. But he sees Hiruma with those two and it --

Agon turns around, walks away.

+

The girl says to Hiruma, "Baaaka," and then laughs, a shrill, deriding laugh. This bothers him no more than the fact she knows what's going on, that Agon could just tell any random girl clung to his arm about Kurita, about everything.

"I don't need trashes like you."

And when he senses Agon behind him stand up to leave, Hiruma figures he probably should get mad, get caustic, or get a gun, or cackle the way he always does, like this comes as a sort of challenge to him, even. After all, he's got a ready counter for everything. But it's a hard, burning pressure in his chest and in his head, and he hates that he doesn't know what the fuck to do with it.

Hiruma gets up, doesn't look back.

+

The girl talks too much; it makes her less pretty by the minute, when already Agon's grown sick of her bubblegum pink lips. He slides out of his seat and heads for the exit.

"Where're you going?"

"Away."

"But why? You haven't even touched your food! Sit down, Agon dear, don't be silly. I know you're in a bad mood and all, but honestly, why let that blondie pal of yours get to you? You oughtta forget him!"

Agon sighs loudly. He stalks his way back to the girl and then hammers her face down to the table top, between the two plates. "That trash isn't my pal. And you're a noisy little jackass." He pounds her face hard enough that her skin splits open across her cheek, and as she touches the wound he can hear the sobs in her chest, too bound by fear to come loose. Agon snorts and calmly leaves the joint.

He slinks into an alley and beats up the first couple of scumbags to cross his path. As they hit the ground, Agon thinks for a moment Hiruma will then step out, a camera in hand, laughing like a maniac.

And then it's there again, that sharp, heavy twinge. Something about this makes him sick. The way he deals with it -- he thinks of Hiruma back at the bench, the quiet hunch of his shoulders and the lack of cheer on his face. Agon savors it before he can forget it, because only then he's assured -- from now on, he and Hiruma are even.

END