[ES21] The Incident of Flighty Behaviors
Title: The Incident of Flighty Behaviors
Series: Eyeshield 21
Summary: In which Hiruma's persuasive skill won the day. [Hiruma x Mamori]
Note: For tokyofish because I promised a fic.
A/N: After their USA training, on their way back to Japan. So that would be... I don't know which chapter. Sorry. ^^;;
The flight bound for Tokyo’s Narita International Airport had just entered the seventh hour of the nine scheduled. Time seemed to be punishing some of its occupants, moving slowly in a manner that belied the plane’s jet propulsion. Some stretched and let out creaking noises between joints, and some groaned. A couple of seats were constantly flashing the attendant call buttons, waiting for help to arrive with a sleeping pill or a dozen.
It was almost claustrophobic. The seats were designed to keep the passengers entrapped, yet at the same time give an illusion of comfort. The smell of synthetic fabric and many layers of strangers’ odor didn’t help much either. For some with the unfortunate sensitivity to cabin pressure, this was the equivalent of hell on earth.
And time teased. The airline had provided small TV screens that showed the flight’s progress. The last time anyone checked, they were still rooted at the same lovely spot. Above the ocean of nowhere, where everything was wispy white and blue, some hundred people quietly suffered in a civilized manner.
Anezaki Mamori was among them. She had excused herself earlier to Sena-who, by the way, sitting to her right, looked as if he was ready to jump into the Pacific-and raced to the restroom. Inside the private quarter, she heaved out all of her lunch. That wasn’t such a big loss, considering that the pink gooey stuff the airline served was no longer inhabiting her stomach. After washing her face thoroughly, Mamori wondered the existence of divine and supernatural beings. It certainly felt like one of them had died in her mouth, and not the good kind either.
Mamori decided that she needed a new perspective. Two hours to go. She was a big girl, she could handle this. A hot cup of tea would calm her nerves. Or maybe a pill. That’s right. It would knock her out in an instant and she would wake up on land, refreshed. So the first thing she’d do when she got back into her (oh, god) seat was to hit that attendant call button as if her life depended on it. In a way, it was.
The thought cheered her up a bit.
With a light confidence of one with a plan, Mamori walked down the aisle to return to her place beside Sena, who, from several meters away, looked a bit green. She inwardly sighed and blamed his weak constitution on the pallid coloring. 'He really needs to go out more,' Mamori thought.
But something stopped her dead on her tracks.
Someone else was occupying her seat. Or, rather, molesting it.
"What in the-?"
On closer inspection, she recognized Monta doing the suicidal dance in the latter stage of Extreme Case of Planephobia. He wriggled and writhed, a dying moan escaped his lips. Obviously something was going on, because a second later Sena was following Monta’s exact movement. In his case, however, it involved a large paper bag and many unpleasant noises.
"Sena!" she exclaimed, but made no move to help. Inside, she was torn between his and her own nausea. Gulping, Mamori made a visible effort to tear her sight away from the pitiful duo and looked for an empty seat. She could not handle that kind of problem right now, not while she was ready to vomit again herself.
What was Monta doing on her seat, anyway?
The only available seat in the full flight was, of course and logically, Monta's. To her surprise, she found that it was not necessarily the case. A frowning flight attendant was bending near it with a washcloth. The seat reeked. She had wiped almost all of it off, but Mamori knew what the stain had been.
Oh, my god.
Her hands immediately flew to cover her mouth. She didn’t think that her stomach was capable of omitting anything out anymore, but she was proven wrong. A wave of nausea hit her and she wobbled a bit.
The weary flight attendant looked at her and said, "You're not going to throw up on me, are you?"
Mamori weakly shook her head.
"Good. Now, Miss, there's an open seat next to the gentleman with the laptop." The flight attendant gestured and Mamori followed with her gaze. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you ask him to put his stuffed dog down. I mean, after all, it's just a toy."
Mamori knew better.
Because the attendant was looking at her as if she was a simpleton, Mamori had no choice but to stop hesitating and make her way to the prospective seat. She just wished that she'd come out alive and in one piece after this flight.
"Watcha doin' here, fucking manager?"
She felt a pulse throbbing at the back of her eyelids. Him. Gentleman, hah! "It seems that Monta is taking over my seat, and this is the only remaining one," Mamori explained.
Hiruma tsked loudly. "But Keroberos is sitting on it, you see."
She knew that she had to bargain if she didn't want to stay standing for the rest of the flight. "I'll let him sit on my lap," she said.
"Phwah! He'll crap on you," Hiruma guffawed.
"Hiruma-kun!" Mamori paled.
He waved an impatient hand. "Nah, the dog's stayin'."
He was cruel, oh, he was cruel. She couldn't believe her ears. He wasn't even willing to let her sit!
"You-"
Before she could even start her berating, he interjected. "There is one seat available."
Mamori stopped and looked around her. "Where?"
He closed his laptop and slid it into the case. "Here," he said.
Mamori was touched. He was giving up her seat for her. Maybe he wasn't such a bad person after all. Indeed, maybe she had misjudged many of his actions-
-but...
To her confusion, Hiruma was still sitting leisurely, tapping his thighs and grinning like mad.
"Here," he repeated.
Mamori's eyes widened in shock. Was Hiruma suggesting that she sit on his lap?
No way.
"Hiruma-kun, it's not funny." She put on her best frown.
He leaned back. "I'm not joking."
"There are two hours to go. You can't expect me to... to sit like that!"
"Oh yes, you can. Nobody's watching." Or even if they were, he'd make sure they would forget what they'd seen.
"It's not that. I mean, it's not appropriate." Too late Mamori realized that he didn't give a shit about propriety.
He snorted. "Fucking manager, do you want to sit or not?"
That was the hardest decision Mamori had to make in her sixteen years of living, aside from the one time when she had to decide which part of a boy was the most painful to hit if he was getting fresh with her. It would be good to know the answer right now.
Still, she supposed Hiruma wouldn't respond too kindly if she hit him anywhere.
Necessity overruled and she surrendered. "Fine. I'll sit." Taking a deep breath she eased onto his lap, but carefully because she didn't want to sit too close to his body. Let him do what he wants. In about fifteen minutes, he'll get leg cramps anyway, Mamori thought.
"Hey, who would've thought? You're fucking heavy," Hiruma said off-handedly.
That’s it!
Mamori struggled to stand up but he held her arm down. “Don’t.”
His breath tickled her nape and she shuddered. What had she gotten herself into? As if knowing her discomfort, he sneaked an arm over her waist and pulled her back. The pressure made her fell onto his chest. She imagined he was smirking evilly at the moment. She vowed that she would not give him the satisfaction of playing with her. If she could help it, their position would not change, lest it got a little bit more comfortable. She kept her neck straight, refusing to relax.
But he was the more determined one.
Without warning, he planted a kiss on her neck, warm and wet from what Mamori’s hazy mind could tell, and continued playing with the bit of skin using his tongue. She was too startled to react and he took advantage of it by pulling her closer. Finally he got her where he wanted her to be. Her head was resting on his shoulder now, her breathing quickened.
“Hiruma-kun,” she protested, a terse underlying reproach in her tone. She tried to wriggle free from him, but he persisted.
“Shut up, fucking manager.”
She wanted to hit him. But, not really. It was too fast, too sudden, and she didn’t know what to think.
“I’m getting up,” she finally said.
He tightened the arms he locked around her. “Just fucking try,” he said and blow softly at her ear.
Oh, that felt good. It sent shivers down her spine and she crumbled. All right, if that was what he wanted. She patted his hands with her own, as if coddling a child. He rested his chin on the crook of her shoulder, his eyes looking downward.
“Damn, fucking manager. Nice rack,” he said in a low voice.
She stiffened.
“I’m just admiring,” he chided.
“Just… just don’t do anything funny, okay?” she stammered. “And you’re not supposed to look!”
“Fuck that,” he said. “I’ll take a snapshot of it if I want to.”
“Hiruma-kun!” Mamori was incensed. Now she really didn’t know what to do. Was he joking? What if he wasn’t? He had to be kidding. She imagined a snapshot of her bust circulating around the school and gave a horrified squeak.
Hiruma, guessing her train of thought, purposely did not tell the girl on his lap that if such snapshot existed, it would only have one admirer. Besides, why should he bother with a measly photo anyway? He had her with him right now, didn’t he?
“God, I don’t know what to do with you,” she said.
Hiruma smirked. That was how he liked it. “All’s fucking well, then.”
She huffed indignantly and inclined back to rest on his body. It had not been five minutes since she’d sat on his lap. But it was Hiruma. No wonder she felt so tired.
“Sleepy?” he asked, which Mamori found quite uncharacteristic of him to care.
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
Something in his tone told her that he was smirking. He moved his body a bit to adjust their position.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Again, that tone. She just had to ask. “Why are you so happy?”
Inwardly congratulating himself on a job well done and brilliant planning despite a slight miscalculation (it wasn’t his fault that Monta ate the whole bunch of poisoned bananas), Hiruma said, “One reason, fucking manager.”
“What’s that?” She eyed him suspiciously.
He grinned.
“We get to sleep together.”
Series: Eyeshield 21
Summary: In which Hiruma's persuasive skill won the day. [Hiruma x Mamori]
Note: For tokyofish because I promised a fic.
A/N: After their USA training, on their way back to Japan. So that would be... I don't know which chapter. Sorry. ^^;;
The flight bound for Tokyo’s Narita International Airport had just entered the seventh hour of the nine scheduled. Time seemed to be punishing some of its occupants, moving slowly in a manner that belied the plane’s jet propulsion. Some stretched and let out creaking noises between joints, and some groaned. A couple of seats were constantly flashing the attendant call buttons, waiting for help to arrive with a sleeping pill or a dozen.
It was almost claustrophobic. The seats were designed to keep the passengers entrapped, yet at the same time give an illusion of comfort. The smell of synthetic fabric and many layers of strangers’ odor didn’t help much either. For some with the unfortunate sensitivity to cabin pressure, this was the equivalent of hell on earth.
And time teased. The airline had provided small TV screens that showed the flight’s progress. The last time anyone checked, they were still rooted at the same lovely spot. Above the ocean of nowhere, where everything was wispy white and blue, some hundred people quietly suffered in a civilized manner.
Anezaki Mamori was among them. She had excused herself earlier to Sena-who, by the way, sitting to her right, looked as if he was ready to jump into the Pacific-and raced to the restroom. Inside the private quarter, she heaved out all of her lunch. That wasn’t such a big loss, considering that the pink gooey stuff the airline served was no longer inhabiting her stomach. After washing her face thoroughly, Mamori wondered the existence of divine and supernatural beings. It certainly felt like one of them had died in her mouth, and not the good kind either.
Mamori decided that she needed a new perspective. Two hours to go. She was a big girl, she could handle this. A hot cup of tea would calm her nerves. Or maybe a pill. That’s right. It would knock her out in an instant and she would wake up on land, refreshed. So the first thing she’d do when she got back into her (oh, god) seat was to hit that attendant call button as if her life depended on it. In a way, it was.
The thought cheered her up a bit.
With a light confidence of one with a plan, Mamori walked down the aisle to return to her place beside Sena, who, from several meters away, looked a bit green. She inwardly sighed and blamed his weak constitution on the pallid coloring. 'He really needs to go out more,' Mamori thought.
But something stopped her dead on her tracks.
Someone else was occupying her seat. Or, rather, molesting it.
"What in the-?"
On closer inspection, she recognized Monta doing the suicidal dance in the latter stage of Extreme Case of Planephobia. He wriggled and writhed, a dying moan escaped his lips. Obviously something was going on, because a second later Sena was following Monta’s exact movement. In his case, however, it involved a large paper bag and many unpleasant noises.
"Sena!" she exclaimed, but made no move to help. Inside, she was torn between his and her own nausea. Gulping, Mamori made a visible effort to tear her sight away from the pitiful duo and looked for an empty seat. She could not handle that kind of problem right now, not while she was ready to vomit again herself.
What was Monta doing on her seat, anyway?
The only available seat in the full flight was, of course and logically, Monta's. To her surprise, she found that it was not necessarily the case. A frowning flight attendant was bending near it with a washcloth. The seat reeked. She had wiped almost all of it off, but Mamori knew what the stain had been.
Oh, my god.
Her hands immediately flew to cover her mouth. She didn’t think that her stomach was capable of omitting anything out anymore, but she was proven wrong. A wave of nausea hit her and she wobbled a bit.
The weary flight attendant looked at her and said, "You're not going to throw up on me, are you?"
Mamori weakly shook her head.
"Good. Now, Miss, there's an open seat next to the gentleman with the laptop." The flight attendant gestured and Mamori followed with her gaze. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you ask him to put his stuffed dog down. I mean, after all, it's just a toy."
Mamori knew better.
Because the attendant was looking at her as if she was a simpleton, Mamori had no choice but to stop hesitating and make her way to the prospective seat. She just wished that she'd come out alive and in one piece after this flight.
"Watcha doin' here, fucking manager?"
She felt a pulse throbbing at the back of her eyelids. Him. Gentleman, hah! "It seems that Monta is taking over my seat, and this is the only remaining one," Mamori explained.
Hiruma tsked loudly. "But Keroberos is sitting on it, you see."
She knew that she had to bargain if she didn't want to stay standing for the rest of the flight. "I'll let him sit on my lap," she said.
"Phwah! He'll crap on you," Hiruma guffawed.
"Hiruma-kun!" Mamori paled.
He waved an impatient hand. "Nah, the dog's stayin'."
He was cruel, oh, he was cruel. She couldn't believe her ears. He wasn't even willing to let her sit!
"You-"
Before she could even start her berating, he interjected. "There is one seat available."
Mamori stopped and looked around her. "Where?"
He closed his laptop and slid it into the case. "Here," he said.
Mamori was touched. He was giving up her seat for her. Maybe he wasn't such a bad person after all. Indeed, maybe she had misjudged many of his actions-
-but...
To her confusion, Hiruma was still sitting leisurely, tapping his thighs and grinning like mad.
"Here," he repeated.
Mamori's eyes widened in shock. Was Hiruma suggesting that she sit on his lap?
No way.
"Hiruma-kun, it's not funny." She put on her best frown.
He leaned back. "I'm not joking."
"There are two hours to go. You can't expect me to... to sit like that!"
"Oh yes, you can. Nobody's watching." Or even if they were, he'd make sure they would forget what they'd seen.
"It's not that. I mean, it's not appropriate." Too late Mamori realized that he didn't give a shit about propriety.
He snorted. "Fucking manager, do you want to sit or not?"
That was the hardest decision Mamori had to make in her sixteen years of living, aside from the one time when she had to decide which part of a boy was the most painful to hit if he was getting fresh with her. It would be good to know the answer right now.
Still, she supposed Hiruma wouldn't respond too kindly if she hit him anywhere.
Necessity overruled and she surrendered. "Fine. I'll sit." Taking a deep breath she eased onto his lap, but carefully because she didn't want to sit too close to his body. Let him do what he wants. In about fifteen minutes, he'll get leg cramps anyway, Mamori thought.
"Hey, who would've thought? You're fucking heavy," Hiruma said off-handedly.
That’s it!
Mamori struggled to stand up but he held her arm down. “Don’t.”
His breath tickled her nape and she shuddered. What had she gotten herself into? As if knowing her discomfort, he sneaked an arm over her waist and pulled her back. The pressure made her fell onto his chest. She imagined he was smirking evilly at the moment. She vowed that she would not give him the satisfaction of playing with her. If she could help it, their position would not change, lest it got a little bit more comfortable. She kept her neck straight, refusing to relax.
But he was the more determined one.
Without warning, he planted a kiss on her neck, warm and wet from what Mamori’s hazy mind could tell, and continued playing with the bit of skin using his tongue. She was too startled to react and he took advantage of it by pulling her closer. Finally he got her where he wanted her to be. Her head was resting on his shoulder now, her breathing quickened.
“Hiruma-kun,” she protested, a terse underlying reproach in her tone. She tried to wriggle free from him, but he persisted.
“Shut up, fucking manager.”
She wanted to hit him. But, not really. It was too fast, too sudden, and she didn’t know what to think.
“I’m getting up,” she finally said.
He tightened the arms he locked around her. “Just fucking try,” he said and blow softly at her ear.
Oh, that felt good. It sent shivers down her spine and she crumbled. All right, if that was what he wanted. She patted his hands with her own, as if coddling a child. He rested his chin on the crook of her shoulder, his eyes looking downward.
“Damn, fucking manager. Nice rack,” he said in a low voice.
She stiffened.
“I’m just admiring,” he chided.
“Just… just don’t do anything funny, okay?” she stammered. “And you’re not supposed to look!”
“Fuck that,” he said. “I’ll take a snapshot of it if I want to.”
“Hiruma-kun!” Mamori was incensed. Now she really didn’t know what to do. Was he joking? What if he wasn’t? He had to be kidding. She imagined a snapshot of her bust circulating around the school and gave a horrified squeak.
Hiruma, guessing her train of thought, purposely did not tell the girl on his lap that if such snapshot existed, it would only have one admirer. Besides, why should he bother with a measly photo anyway? He had her with him right now, didn’t he?
“God, I don’t know what to do with you,” she said.
Hiruma smirked. That was how he liked it. “All’s fucking well, then.”
She huffed indignantly and inclined back to rest on his body. It had not been five minutes since she’d sat on his lap. But it was Hiruma. No wonder she felt so tired.
“Sleepy?” he asked, which Mamori found quite uncharacteristic of him to care.
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
Something in his tone told her that he was smirking. He moved his body a bit to adjust their position.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Again, that tone. She just had to ask. “Why are you so happy?”
Inwardly congratulating himself on a job well done and brilliant planning despite a slight miscalculation (it wasn’t his fault that Monta ate the whole bunch of poisoned bananas), Hiruma said, “One reason, fucking manager.”
“What’s that?” She eyed him suspiciously.
He grinned.
“We get to sleep together.”