Down, Down, Turn Around


Pairing: AgonHiru



Item: Glowsticks

Rating/Warnings: Hard R to be safe, and DO NOT READ IF SQUEAMISH. Especially about toys and usage of said toys up places where the sun dont shine. also UNBETAED. Meaning, you will see mistakes, and you will see some weird. XD;


"To the right, next to the girl with the tits hanging out of her orange tube top," Hiruma instructed lazily into a mobile phone (fire-red and barely scratched. Some people just wasted technology.), knowing his 'partner' would spot the girl first. Agon's rapacious appetite for sex was almost as disgusting as the various lowlifes he'd been collecting scandals on. But Agon was useful, and Hiruma didn't care if he was a goddamn motherfucker so long as he did what Hiruma wanted him to.

Right now, Hiruma was seated in one of the sleek silver booths on the loft of a snazzy new club, dressed in a black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, black slacks, and boots. Anything to make him look a little older. Not that it had been a problem to get in. Hiruma had lucked out. The bouncer's embarrassing naked photos, complete with the shameful, girly momma tattoo on his ass, was already in Hiruma's files. He'd gotten through without a hitch. Agon, on the other hand, had intimidated his way through, an hour after Hiruma had gotten to the rendezvous point. Fucking bastard was always late.

"Who cares about her tits? Is she pretty?" Even through the blare of the disco music, Agon still managed to sound irascibly arrogant. Even more so now that he'd treated himself to a few drinks swiped from some meek businessmen. It was probably another of the his many in-born talents.

The prick.

Hiruma cast an indifferent glance at the girl. Someone had set up some dry ice, the smoke hazing everything around the neon bar where the girl and the middle-aged old man leering at her were talking . He could barely make out their shapes.

"Right up your fucking alley," he promised.

The other line went dead, a sure sign that Agon had taken the bait.

Smiling as the plot unfolded, Hiruma leaned an elbow on the silver railing and looked down, watching the shadowy figure of Kongou Agon make its way towards the target. The thick throng of dancers, only barely discernible by the translucent glowsticks that swung about them, parted before him.

It was like watching a bulldozer- delightfully destructive and utterly unstoppable.

Takaki Sachihiro, big name businessman for one of the largest software companies in Japan. One of Hiruma's little (unwilling) birds had told him something tasty. The idiot had a whole list of petty offenses, including multiple affairs and drug-dealing. That he was also smuggling illegal firearms was a bonus. Guns were sleek, violent, and frightening- it'd be the perfect touch to Hiruma's image.

He'd seen him slip a package into the girl's tube top just fifteen minutes ago, fondling her trembling breasts in the process. Her eyes had been feverbright with the desperation of someone hooked and sinking. Stupid chit. Hiruma closed his laptop, the picture already uploaded, backed up, and password encrypted.

"H-HEY!" Sachihiro shouted. The next sound was the thud of a body hitting the floor. The bouncer hadn't even twitched. He already had instructions.

Agon's job was simple.

Scare the guy. He might get a confession out of the girl too. But the guy came first.

Cackling, Hiruma stepped out of the booth and down the stairs. He stopped walking just a couple of inches from the Sachihiro's nose, then he leant down and grinned at him, showing all of his sharp teeth. The guy was frightened- good. They were always more pliable after Agon scared them shitless. They listened so much better that way.

"Hello, Sachi-chan. Guess what- you're going to do a few little somethings for me." Still grinning, he flipped his hand and produced a few printed out cards. "You might fucking remember some of these."

A litany of figures and data, some interesting predictions, and a not-too-subtle threat later and Sachihiro would have groveled at his feet for a month. As it was, Hiruma expected a nice shipment of rifles next week.

"You call that thing pretty?"

Looked like the fog had cleared enough for Agon to get a good look. His glasses were halfway down his sharp nose, one brow lifted in disbelieving irritation. The girl was nowhere in sight. Probably got frightened off like Sachihiro.

"Quit yappin'. You got drinks outta it, didn't you?" Hiruma jabbed a few numbers into the phone. Sachihiro's personal contact details were already burned into his memory- but it didn't hurt to have it on speed dial.

"You told me she was pretty!"

"The hell I know what you'd think of her." Agon's fist closed around his wrist, jerking it forward. The cell phone was unceremoniously yanked from his hand and thrown against the far wall, shattering into pieces of technological shrapnel.

"You don't have any fucking taste, trash," the other teen sneered. One of his dreadlocks had fallen over his brow.

"Don't care what the fuck they look like, s'long as they're useful," the blonde deadpanned, with the sly little twist of tone that he knew the other would pick up on.

The next moment, Hiruma was hauled up by his shirt in the air. He laughed, a mad, barking laugh that seemed to throw Agon off for a moment. Just a moment.

"Scumbag," Agon said conversationally, "you have three seconds to explain your death wish."

To hell with it. Hiruma was fucking high on the latest catch. "Need to have it spelled out for you, fucking Dreads?"

"You want to get fucked up?" Dropping the blonde Maou Middle School student, Agon dragged him into a darkened corner, grabbing something from the bar counter as he went. A mad, eerie smile sat on Agon's face, highlighted by the strobe lights on his too-wide eyes.

Using one hand, he pinned both of Hiruma's wrists above him. The other limb ripped his pants down, cloth catching on skin and touch bruising. The club air was clammy on the blonde's naked skin.

"You bitch so goddamn much, I wonder if you've been wanting me to do this all along."

"I'm not responsible for your fucking fantasies," Hiruma retorted, face to the wall and still too high to care. He hadn't resisted. A simple twist of wrist would mean no football for at least two weeks.

And then something cold and sleek and sticky with beer pressed up hard and fast into him, so quickly he hadn't even had time to gasp before it tore into him, lodging deep. His body protested the invasion immediately- it was too fast, too soon and too goddamn big. It had to be at least two fingers thick- one of the bigger concert sticks the clubbers sometimes brought. The sickly blue glow cast a pallid light on his thighs, even on the tiny trickle of blood that was starting to make its way past.

"Do you like that, bitch?" Agon breathed, the focused, mad little smile still in place. "I'm going to fuck you with a goddamn glowstick until you scream like the trash you are." He wasn't quite drunk, but he wasn't quite sane. Then again, geniuses never were. His eyes were intent, focused on the slightest twitch of muscle, every fleeting spasm on Hiruma's face. It shouldn't excite him, but it does. It's a fucking thrill to be in the game and in control.

Agon sneered and pulled the stick out rapidly shoving it back in again, increasing the pace in a frenzy of sickly wet sounds. Each push had enough force to press him back against the wall. Choking back the pain, Hiruma laughed.

"You're using a fucking glowstick. Trying to compensate with all those sluts?" Twist. Thrust. Pain. His body bent, reflexively shying away from the pain and finding only the hard wall against him. "Your dick must be tiny. Or don't you have one?"

The movement stopped almost immediately. Then the glowstick was slowly twisted out, allowing Hiruma's body a brief rest.

"Haa, playing your little games, again?" Agon's low voice was a bit too calm, always smug. "Rejoice, scum, you're so desperate, I think I might actually fuck you." The low sound of a zipper being pulled.

Slamming Hiruma's shoulders to the wall, Agon pressed into him in the same graceless movement, hips grinding together. It was hot and hard and fuck, too full. Entirely different and the same. Slender fingers scraped against the wall, tearing off tiny pieces of wallpaper with sharp fingernails.

"Tch, the fucking glowstick fucks better than you."

He knew what would happen. It was Hiruma's habit to know. Agon's hands clenched on is shoulders- the bruises would show tomorrow, like print, hidden beneath wide shoulder pads- and his angle was that much sharper, his thrusts deliciously harder. Teeth-edged mutters whispered in his ear just as he hit that tiny spot that made it all feel good.

It was Hiruma's business to know and plot and win.

Agon's neck strained, his mouth twisted to repress a guttural growl and Hiruma knew that everything, after all, had fallen just as he'd planned.