eyeshield 21 | click and bang
Eyeshield 21 | Hiruma/Sena | 750 words | unbeta'd.
Written in an indefinite but frenzied span of time for blizzardseason. Check tags for warnings. I honestly have no idea. Canon, uh, whut.
Click and Bang
"YA-HA-!"
Obviously it started there, because where else could you start, in the story of his life? So the opening scene was fluorescent-bright, smelling of grass and sweat and unwashed padding, with shadows flying like bats across corners and the sharp curves of Hiruma's cheekbones. Or maybe they were bats. You could never really tell, with that one.
So it started at the end, right after practice, when Hiruma picked him up by the shoulders and slammed him against a wall-not maliciously, just a sort of great white shark trying to give you a peck on the cheek-with one hand pushing back his hair and fingers pushing back his heartbeat. He kissed him as if the last thing Sena would think to do was protest, which was true, not least because he couldn't get a word in edgewise-though Hiruma already managed to slip a knee between his thighs, which was a bit unfair, considering.
He'd done well that practice, outrunning everything except the sun on the horizon and Hiruma's smile, which followed his every step. Conceivably, it could have been about compensation, about a job well done-but even through the helmet he could still see clearly, enough to know that if Hiruma was rewarding anyone here, it was himself.
"Fucking Secretary," he hissed, and it was a title and an expletive and a command. Sena knew the rulebook back to front, knew sexual harassment and statutory rape and and and-he didn't have to take it, this wasn't right, he hadn't consented-he was painfully hard when Hiruma pushed him to his knees and they both knew it and Hiruma looked down at him razor-sharp and smiled.
So fuck everything else, really.
He whimpered when Hiruma grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head back, mouth already open; wordless, inviting. The room was empty but for them and the presence of Hiruma's ambition, hovering like a second shadow, singing his eyelashes and cracking his lips. His eyes fluttered shut from the heat. Licked his lips once, quickly, but when he opened his mouth again the thing snorting fire at the entrance wasn't a cock but an altogether different breed of dragon.
"Suck it," Hiruma's voice came from above him, sharp and greedy and metallic like the gun pushing his lips open. And Sena was a firm believer in the proper time and place, but there was no time, no circumstance for questions-"Is it loaded?" or "Are you insane?" or "How far?"-he just opened wider and took it in.
Cold: cold and ridged and furrowed, his tongue swirling inside the nozzle. He sucked it back just as Hiruma pushed further, forcing spittle to the corners of his lips, the gun filling up his mouth like a train rattling down a subway, down down down until the back of his throat rebelled and he gagged, dragging up a moan, throat working and one hand pressed between his legs.
Hiruma kicked it away sharply. "If I can manage, so can you," he growled, and Sena knew without looking that Hiruma had one hand down his trousers, working to the soundtrack of Sena's little choking noises, but he was so far from complaining there was really no point to the thought except it made him about twice as aroused and he arched up, swallowing desperately, hands curling around the hammer and just barely brushing Hiruma's palm.
"Fuck," he heard, "fucking, fuck-fuck," the metal was slick and shiny with his spit, gleaming like Hiruma's eyes a second before he pulled out an ace, like when he rubbed up against Sena and bit his lips and whispered "Scooore," in his ear, low and laughing until Sena squirmed and he leant in and his tongue, tracing over Sena's forehead and cheekbone and the valleys around his eye, like he was a cartographer and Sena was the new U.S. of A. which was so apt a metaphor that it wasn't even funny-
There was a thumb now, stroking right over the curved-down end of his eyebrow, and Sena's eyes snapped open; he saw Hiruma didn't have a hand down his pants at all: he had one hand bracing Sena's head and the other holding a gun, finger on the trigger, and he stared Sena straight in the eye-click-and when he said "Bang," Sena made a noise like dying and came right in his pants.
All characters © their respective owners; I claim no right nor profit.
Written in an indefinite but frenzied span of time for blizzardseason. Check tags for warnings. I honestly have no idea. Canon, uh, whut.
Click and Bang
"YA-HA-!"
Obviously it started there, because where else could you start, in the story of his life? So the opening scene was fluorescent-bright, smelling of grass and sweat and unwashed padding, with shadows flying like bats across corners and the sharp curves of Hiruma's cheekbones. Or maybe they were bats. You could never really tell, with that one.
So it started at the end, right after practice, when Hiruma picked him up by the shoulders and slammed him against a wall-not maliciously, just a sort of great white shark trying to give you a peck on the cheek-with one hand pushing back his hair and fingers pushing back his heartbeat. He kissed him as if the last thing Sena would think to do was protest, which was true, not least because he couldn't get a word in edgewise-though Hiruma already managed to slip a knee between his thighs, which was a bit unfair, considering.
He'd done well that practice, outrunning everything except the sun on the horizon and Hiruma's smile, which followed his every step. Conceivably, it could have been about compensation, about a job well done-but even through the helmet he could still see clearly, enough to know that if Hiruma was rewarding anyone here, it was himself.
"Fucking Secretary," he hissed, and it was a title and an expletive and a command. Sena knew the rulebook back to front, knew sexual harassment and statutory rape and and and-he didn't have to take it, this wasn't right, he hadn't consented-he was painfully hard when Hiruma pushed him to his knees and they both knew it and Hiruma looked down at him razor-sharp and smiled.
So fuck everything else, really.
He whimpered when Hiruma grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head back, mouth already open; wordless, inviting. The room was empty but for them and the presence of Hiruma's ambition, hovering like a second shadow, singing his eyelashes and cracking his lips. His eyes fluttered shut from the heat. Licked his lips once, quickly, but when he opened his mouth again the thing snorting fire at the entrance wasn't a cock but an altogether different breed of dragon.
"Suck it," Hiruma's voice came from above him, sharp and greedy and metallic like the gun pushing his lips open. And Sena was a firm believer in the proper time and place, but there was no time, no circumstance for questions-"Is it loaded?" or "Are you insane?" or "How far?"-he just opened wider and took it in.
Cold: cold and ridged and furrowed, his tongue swirling inside the nozzle. He sucked it back just as Hiruma pushed further, forcing spittle to the corners of his lips, the gun filling up his mouth like a train rattling down a subway, down down down until the back of his throat rebelled and he gagged, dragging up a moan, throat working and one hand pressed between his legs.
Hiruma kicked it away sharply. "If I can manage, so can you," he growled, and Sena knew without looking that Hiruma had one hand down his trousers, working to the soundtrack of Sena's little choking noises, but he was so far from complaining there was really no point to the thought except it made him about twice as aroused and he arched up, swallowing desperately, hands curling around the hammer and just barely brushing Hiruma's palm.
"Fuck," he heard, "fucking, fuck-fuck," the metal was slick and shiny with his spit, gleaming like Hiruma's eyes a second before he pulled out an ace, like when he rubbed up against Sena and bit his lips and whispered "Scooore," in his ear, low and laughing until Sena squirmed and he leant in and his tongue, tracing over Sena's forehead and cheekbone and the valleys around his eye, like he was a cartographer and Sena was the new U.S. of A. which was so apt a metaphor that it wasn't even funny-
There was a thumb now, stroking right over the curved-down end of his eyebrow, and Sena's eyes snapped open; he saw Hiruma didn't have a hand down his pants at all: he had one hand bracing Sena's head and the other holding a gun, finger on the trigger, and he stared Sena straight in the eye-click-and when he said "Bang," Sena made a noise like dying and came right in his pants.
All characters © their respective owners; I claim no right nor profit.