Oh, Brother: Is This What You Want?
Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.
Summary: He's annoyed, bored, and hungry. He wants to touch, to be touched, and to be satisfied. He rants for it, goes nuts because of it, and suffers a great deal just to have it. One night is all he needs; one night is all it will take to cure him. MitHana. A drabble about, well, so many stuff.
Dedication: For Wowie. I don't like this pairing but for your sake I'm gonna try to make this wholesome.
A/N: PG 15 for some for-adults-only content, and for swearing.
Chapter I: Can't Help It
I've been a little loose lately, like a bottle whose cap isn't properly screwed and whose content just keeps on evaporating into gas molecules to leave dry, sticky slumps on the bottom's surface. Hollow, volatile, and inert with head still above the biosphere. That's what I've been feeling; an anomaly in physical laws, curiously defiant to gravity. Couldn't think straight, couldn't move right, couldn't get logical wheels turning. Dumb as a hen in fodders, limp as an onion leek in a steam pan et cetera, et cetera. Something's not making ends meet and leaves blanks empty; and it's all inside me. Darn. I'm bailing out from the ordinary no-retards-allowed world to join the pseudo-society of 'inarticulates'; and I'm the first member, ever. Or let me rephrase that; Hisashi Mitsui is founding a new elite clique of special-non-interactive geniuses. That just fills it up. The first school organization that requires minimum amount of effort in audition by acting like a numb oaf with a hey-look-I'm-an-idiot smile. Never mind; as if I'd be labeled as a moron or even a common weed for once. It's me; sexy, naughty, pretty me, for fuck's sake! The virtuoso of perfect looks, the peerlessly handsome Hisashi Mitsui, undisputed owner of the world's sexiest smile! I can launch a million submarines, wage a universal war, summon hell's dominion's army, and even make the Olympians envy with these vaunted, incomparable good looks. And I'm feeling so drained down when I have more than what Rukawa and Sendoh could ask for. I'm irrevocably incomplete; a portion of my perfection has been chipped away and there's no use trying to find a less laughable quid pro quo. It has to be THAT thing. I'm seesawing out of my fulcrum, swinging out of my nuts, sending my nails up in the air just because...
Just because I'm attracted. Just because I'm attracted I'm playing a role I've never played before. I'm a thoroughgoing cretin. Or is it how to put it correctly? Maybe the pat words are, physically attracted. More like. Or should I say sensual? That'd fit just fine too. But there's this word I'm digging; it would suit it absolutely right...Sexual Hunger. Vulgar? What the hell, I'm trying to sound honest here; forget about decency, I wanna rock. And when I say rock, I mean Supernova baby. I want that and I want it now. If I ain't getting it now, I ain't gonna last through the night; I've been trammeling these merciless impulses for ages now and one more night would just dice the last straw. To put it in more feasible terms other than those lame similes, I want to make a pass. Yeah, that's the story; to put a bit on the side with a six-foot, buff bodied, red head someone; yes, Hanamichi Sakuragi, the blithering moron, of all fucking imps! Why, this is preposterous; me, in bed with that self-styled Rebound King, that camper? That's infra dig! And yet, the way it gives me a hard-on when he's within my optical view, the way his unconscious leering makes me come all the time he swords it at me, how I get wet in the underwear until it feels so heavy...Why do I feel like banging away when our skin brushes against each other? Why do I think of him every time I go about my daily habit of jerking off? It's not even mating season for Pete's sake! I'm feeling so hor---Wham!
Fucking ball. Screw the asshole. Who the fuck jammed the goddamn thing on my face!
'It's daytime, Mitsui. Quit dreaming like it's lights out. Cover 20 laps for me.'
Akagi. The raging Gorilla wants to have a piece of...oh well, it's authority speaking.
'Sure, Master Sar-I mean-sergeant Akagi.' Master Saru! What the devil was I thinking? That's a narrow miss for an additional 50 rounds. Phew.
Sprinting full 20. Still not in harmony with this rebellious mind. I need to get me commanding over my functions; the hell am I to be in the mercy of my systems? I have brains of my own, for crying out loud. Must run this clean through without interruption from Sakuragi's aura, must keep my hands on the reins, grrrr. There he is; making a pun out of his traditional pomposity speech. His red hair glittering like sanguine blood on a tin bar, his eyes like a pair of caliburs stabbing my heart, his smile like a crescent hanging upon the drowsy skies; his whole body bolting out of the blue...why the sudden poetic air? Why can't I resist it/him? He's so plain-looking; stave away that hilarious hair dress and he'd sure be ordinary. He has peculiar constants though; those killer eyes, long legs, and strong biceps; other than that he's not worth a second look. I'm afraid a no-knockout somebody who's giving me an instant arousal every time he's--well—every time he's there. Kuso. I'm giving my damnedest not to have salacious thoughts but man, ain't he the limit? Talk about years of lenient self-discipline; I never once trained myself to be less aggressive when it comes to stuff of this sort. Sad.
'Hey Mitchy, how many more laps?'
It's him. Does he sound sexy or is it just me?
'Uhmmm, 6 more. What with?'
Here we go again; I can't stare straight at those two little orbs. They seem to look through me or rather through my clothing. Or maybe it's just me again.
'Later. I'll just join you.'
He's zooming off to my direction. The hell does he want to run 6 laps with me? He's hitting on me.
That's a little shaky. I need a bit more of tuning before things blow out of congruity. Must not be obvious.
'I'm itching to hit the showers: Can we go together after you're done?'
Gulp. What the fuck? He and I in the baths? Is he off the rails?
'Are you nuts, Sakuragi!'
This is fucking weak. Why did it have to come out?
'No. Why yell at me?'
Now he's confused; I can see a quizzical oscillation on his brows.
'Uhmm, nothing. Sure.'
Gracious hell. Stripped. Wet. And panting. Me and him. In the same cubicle. Is this a chance of a lifetime or a just-like-all first time experience? Oh, well.