Hark what boredom produces! Lo, a fic.
“I’m fucking serious, if this gets out-“
“-then your team doesn’t respect you and everything’s fucked. Don’t worry, baby,” Feather light kisses ran down a toned, skinny chest, “Same here.”
“Fuck…fucking blondie…”
“Look who’s talking? Least mine’s natural.”
He likes his ears touched, his sweet spot is that little piece of skin just between his ear and his hairline, where the dark roots are beginning to show. He’s a goddamn wildcat in the sack, but so is she. They’re a perfect match; too bad that they both are married to their teams.
Still didn’t stop them from fooling around.
When did it start? He’d come to Zokugaku for another favor from Habashira. Something about making little dolls? She’d been lounging in the sun, reading, of all things. Maybe that’s what prompted him to look at her in the first place; someone reading in Zokugaku? Impossible.
Maybe it was that…or the sun making her hair light up like Christmas. Whatever. All she knew was that their eyes met and she quietly fell hard for a grinning, bluffing demon who had an arsenal the size of that Agon fucker’s ego.
A week later they crossed paths when she was taking a midnight ride. She happened to look up, and saw a familiar blonde head watching from a rooftop. Five minutes later she’d hitched up her skirt and climbed up to said rooftop.
“You spying on me, Deimon?”
He had a network of sorts set up on the roof, and was typing on a computer, ignoring her.
Bad move.
Her heel came down with a crunch on the laptop. “I said, ‘you spying on me, Deimon’?” She roared.
A magnum was stuck in her face, a maniac glint in his eyes, the passing lights from cars below flickering on his face and making him look even more insane. After a moment he spoke, a slow drawl: “I’m spying on everyone.” He looked down at the fizzling laptop. “That was more money then you’ll ever see in your life, fucking blondie.”
She’d been held at gunpoint a few times in her life; came with the territory. It was scary as hell, but somehow this felt a bit like foreplay.
So, she tossed her head, sneered, and grabbed the gun, running her tongue up the side of it until she got to his hands. Quarterbacks, she’d heard, had hand fetishes. Perhaps it was time to test the theory.
Her lips closed over a skinny knuckle; she sucked gently, nibbling just a little, inciting the tiniest groan.
Pay dirt.
Another five minutes and they were destroying more of his equipment in their animalistic version of lovemaking. He liked it fast and hard, and she could take what he dished out.
He had her on the broken laptop, over the edge of the roof, and later on her bike when she’d offered him a ride back, choosing to take the offer literally.
Since then, she couldn’t get enough of him.
It didn’t take an idiot to know that the Christmas Bowl would be a distant memory for the both of them if the Deimon quarterback was discovered with the Zokugaku coach.
Back to the present.
“Want a drink?” They usually stayed at her place; no one was ever home and she treated him like a King. He had nothing to complain about.
Shrug. Meant yes.
She slipped on her hot pants-he really liked those-and sauntered off to get him one of the coffee drinks he coveted. As an afterthought, she fixed some snacks and brought those, too. He was always hungry-boys would be boys. Too skinny, anyway, that quarterback.
Plopping down beside him on the futon, she presented him the treats on a tray. He set upon them with vigour, and she had to grin, tracing circles on his bare back with a finger, occasionally hand feeding that gaping maw in a hideous parody of girlfriend/boyfriend relations.
He finished in five minutes and she set the tray aside. He snagged her waist and pulled her back down against him in thanks; she expected none, but it was nice all the same, and then he was biting her neck and oh god that felt good…
*****
They’d lost. Habashira was clinging to her pseudo-boyfriend and begging him to tell him why, why…
Because, Habashira. You don’t have what he has, and I don’t even know what the fuck that is. Total dedication? Iron will?
She wiped a tear away; her team had lost. Hadn’t been her fault, the fuckers had just given up, and she had certainly never taught them that, but it was heartbreaking all the same, especially for Habashira.
Still, she was glad it was over, in some selfish part of her. No more worries about sharing team secrets, she could impart wisdom to him and he would tell her to shut the fuck up because what did she know, but he’d listen and absorb all the same, and it would make them even closer…
Fuck. It had only taken five minutes for her to realize she was in fucking love.
After Habashira staggered off, and she stepped from her hiding place to go to him, he snagged her and kissed her and whispered comfort in her ear for the first fucking time.
“They fucking gave up, Youichi. That wasn’t my fucking fault, and they deserve a goddamn loss…it’s just, Habashira…”
“He’ll get over it. Incentive for the fucker to get better.”
“If someone said that to you after a loss you’d sulk for days.”
“Like we’d lose.”
“I know you won’t.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m looking forward to watching you guys play.”
He bit her hand gently. Meant thanks. And other things she didn’t want to relate to anyone else.
“-then your team doesn’t respect you and everything’s fucked. Don’t worry, baby,” Feather light kisses ran down a toned, skinny chest, “Same here.”
“Fuck…fucking blondie…”
“Look who’s talking? Least mine’s natural.”
He likes his ears touched, his sweet spot is that little piece of skin just between his ear and his hairline, where the dark roots are beginning to show. He’s a goddamn wildcat in the sack, but so is she. They’re a perfect match; too bad that they both are married to their teams.
Still didn’t stop them from fooling around.
When did it start? He’d come to Zokugaku for another favor from Habashira. Something about making little dolls? She’d been lounging in the sun, reading, of all things. Maybe that’s what prompted him to look at her in the first place; someone reading in Zokugaku? Impossible.
Maybe it was that…or the sun making her hair light up like Christmas. Whatever. All she knew was that their eyes met and she quietly fell hard for a grinning, bluffing demon who had an arsenal the size of that Agon fucker’s ego.
A week later they crossed paths when she was taking a midnight ride. She happened to look up, and saw a familiar blonde head watching from a rooftop. Five minutes later she’d hitched up her skirt and climbed up to said rooftop.
“You spying on me, Deimon?”
He had a network of sorts set up on the roof, and was typing on a computer, ignoring her.
Bad move.
Her heel came down with a crunch on the laptop. “I said, ‘you spying on me, Deimon’?” She roared.
A magnum was stuck in her face, a maniac glint in his eyes, the passing lights from cars below flickering on his face and making him look even more insane. After a moment he spoke, a slow drawl: “I’m spying on everyone.” He looked down at the fizzling laptop. “That was more money then you’ll ever see in your life, fucking blondie.”
She’d been held at gunpoint a few times in her life; came with the territory. It was scary as hell, but somehow this felt a bit like foreplay.
So, she tossed her head, sneered, and grabbed the gun, running her tongue up the side of it until she got to his hands. Quarterbacks, she’d heard, had hand fetishes. Perhaps it was time to test the theory.
Her lips closed over a skinny knuckle; she sucked gently, nibbling just a little, inciting the tiniest groan.
Pay dirt.
Another five minutes and they were destroying more of his equipment in their animalistic version of lovemaking. He liked it fast and hard, and she could take what he dished out.
He had her on the broken laptop, over the edge of the roof, and later on her bike when she’d offered him a ride back, choosing to take the offer literally.
Since then, she couldn’t get enough of him.
It didn’t take an idiot to know that the Christmas Bowl would be a distant memory for the both of them if the Deimon quarterback was discovered with the Zokugaku coach.
Back to the present.
“Want a drink?” They usually stayed at her place; no one was ever home and she treated him like a King. He had nothing to complain about.
Shrug. Meant yes.
She slipped on her hot pants-he really liked those-and sauntered off to get him one of the coffee drinks he coveted. As an afterthought, she fixed some snacks and brought those, too. He was always hungry-boys would be boys. Too skinny, anyway, that quarterback.
Plopping down beside him on the futon, she presented him the treats on a tray. He set upon them with vigour, and she had to grin, tracing circles on his bare back with a finger, occasionally hand feeding that gaping maw in a hideous parody of girlfriend/boyfriend relations.
He finished in five minutes and she set the tray aside. He snagged her waist and pulled her back down against him in thanks; she expected none, but it was nice all the same, and then he was biting her neck and oh god that felt good…
*****
They’d lost. Habashira was clinging to her pseudo-boyfriend and begging him to tell him why, why…
Because, Habashira. You don’t have what he has, and I don’t even know what the fuck that is. Total dedication? Iron will?
She wiped a tear away; her team had lost. Hadn’t been her fault, the fuckers had just given up, and she had certainly never taught them that, but it was heartbreaking all the same, especially for Habashira.
Still, she was glad it was over, in some selfish part of her. No more worries about sharing team secrets, she could impart wisdom to him and he would tell her to shut the fuck up because what did she know, but he’d listen and absorb all the same, and it would make them even closer…
Fuck. It had only taken five minutes for her to realize she was in fucking love.
After Habashira staggered off, and she stepped from her hiding place to go to him, he snagged her and kissed her and whispered comfort in her ear for the first fucking time.
“They fucking gave up, Youichi. That wasn’t my fucking fault, and they deserve a goddamn loss…it’s just, Habashira…”
“He’ll get over it. Incentive for the fucker to get better.”
“If someone said that to you after a loss you’d sulk for days.”
“Like we’d lose.”
“I know you won’t.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m looking forward to watching you guys play.”
He bit her hand gently. Meant thanks. And other things she didn’t want to relate to anyone else.