A Separate Place
by Nilladriel

Sex! Oh, and there are references to a few random matches, so I suppose this is set some time vaguely after the Christmas Bowl, floating happily in the sea of "Timeline? What timeline?" Also, apologies for the roughness.

Feedback of any sort is appreciated. :]


Sena wasn't quite sure what he was doing here.

"Sena! Are you alright?"

Sena winced. His grip on the phone tightened. "I am," he assured Mamori. "It's just--"

"Where are you?" she demanded. "We looked all over for you."

Sena winced again. Mamori had said "we", which meant she'd forced everyone else to help. A wrathful Mamori could be as terrifying as Hiruma.

Then Sena remembered where he was, and how he'd got here, and he thought: No. Almost as terrifying.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. It wasn't really a lie. "It's just--I'm--we're on an island," he blurted.

There was a pause. "What?"

"Did you know he bought it when he was fifteen?" Sena said. There was no need to explain who "he" was.

The pause this time was even longer. "That's very impressive," Mamori said, voice faint.

Sena tried to relax his hold on the phone. Through the window at the end of the hallway, he could see the sand comprising the island's small beach. Beyond that was ocean, beautiful and endless. He'd never seen anything like it. That didn't mean he wanted to be here, though. Somewhere in the back of his mind he kept thinking, be careful, and a strange feeling that wasn't quite anticipation was curling in his gut. It made him twitchy, like he was running down the field and he just knew he was about to get tackled and it would hurt.

He didn't know where Hiruma was. The blond had disappeared as soon as they'd stepped through the front door, and Sena didn't really want to look for him.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, Mamori-neechan," Sena said, because the silence on the phone was getting too loud, drowning out the waves.

"It's okay. It's fine. It's...." She trailed off. She sounded even more stunned than Sena felt. "Sena, be careful, okay? No, wait, get Hiruma-kun on the phone."

"Okay," he said, but not in compliance to her demand. He hung up.

I'm stranded on an island, he thought, dazed. I'm stranded on an island with Hiruma-san, and we're alone.

It took him three tries to fit the phone back into its cradle. He curled his shaking fingers into fists, and then fit them into the pockets of his jeans when the trembling didn't stop. He pressed his forehead against the wall, wondering, Why did Hiruma-san bring me here?

It was like--

Like the night before that first game against the Amino Cyborgs. That strange certainty, two thousand kilometers of effort all rushing towards that first inevitable victory.

Except this wasn't a match, or a battle. This was Hiruma, whom he'd known--or at least been terrorized by--since the beginning of tenth grade. He should be used to these kinds of situations by now, right? They'd even flown to America! What was so different about a sudden trip to an isolated island?

A lot, Sena thought gloomily, and trudged towards the kitchen.

"Finally done calling the fucking manager, shrimp?" Hiruma said, and Sena jumped.

Hiruma was toweling his hair dry with one hand, and the shoulders of his shirt were slightly damp. He was going through the kitchen systematically, opening and closing cupboard doors and looking through the refrigerator. Sena stood at the doorway and watched him, wondering what would happen if he took that last step into the kitchen, if he'd be caught forever in this strange alternate universe where Hiruma looked strangely serene, even with no guns in sight.

"You like curry, shrimp?" Hiruma said, seeming to come to a decision. He was holding a box in his free hand like a potential weapon. Sena jumped again.

"Yes?" he said, and hoped that was the right answer. Hiruma turned and glared.

Sena took his hands out of his pockets. "Um, the bathroom's free, right?" he asked. He took a step, but backwards, and fled as soon as Hiruma nodded an idle yes.

He had to pass by the phone again. His fingertips brushed against the smooth plastic, and he thought of Mamori. Be careful, she had said, except this was Hiruma.

The bathroom upstairs was as big as his parents', and decorated in creamy, rich colors. Sena put spare clothes on the counter and set the bath going, reaching for his red toothbrush while he waited for the tub to fill.

Thoughts were gathering in his head again, faster than the flow of water. He wasn't even properly thinking about anything but he still felt confused, and when he looked at his expression he saw wide eyes and a dazed countenance.

His hands were shaking again. Sena spit, rinsed out his mouth, reached for the zipper of his jeans--

--and stopped.

This is too weird, he thought. And then: The bath water's going to overflow.

He could feel the steamy heat from where he stood, warm and clinging against his skin, or maybe it wasn't the heat at all. He was being stupid, but that was fine, the whole situation was stupid, he'd been kidnapped, Hiruma had shown up and said pack your bags and he'd had to and then there'd been a plane, and a boat, maybe, and--

The water sloshed over the sides of the tub. Sena dove for the tap and resignedly pulled off his clothes.


The curry was good. Hiruma seemed to like onions, which was nice, because Sena did too. They ate it with rice on flat plates the color of the water outside, glittering purple-blue under the setting sun. Between his second and third helping, Sena asked, "Hiruma-san, how long are we staying here?"

Hiruma let him have the last carrot. "How long do you want to stay?" he asked, and Sena dropped a potato back into the pot.

"Hiruma-san?" he asked, but Hiruma only grinned, leaning back and returning Sena's stare with hard eyes. It was a familiar expression, except no one else was around, which made it more dangerous. Focused.

Sena fished the potato back out. Hiruma was a bastard. Sena didn't have the courage to demand they leave. He'd left it somewhere on the field, maybe.

He thought: Wait. Why am I still thinking like that?

"You know, I... didn't pack a swimsuit," he mumbled instead, thinking of tomorrow.

"So swim in your shorts," Hiruma said, easily rolling with the abrupt subject change.

"Maybe," Sena said. Hiruma raised his eyebrows, and then smiled, slowly, and under the table Sena's free hand tugged nervously at the material of his shorts.

After dinner, Hiruma made Sena volunteer to do the dishes and then disappeared. Resigned, Sena pushed back his sleeves and determinedly took his time. He had to guess where all the dishes went, patiently hunting through all the shelves. He left the pot for last, letting it soak in soap and hot water like his mother had taught him, and then attacking it vigorously with the scrub pad.

Even though it was night, Sena could see the water, glittering more brilliantly than the stars. He pictured the island in his mind. It wasn't big, especially when Sena imagined the water surrounding it, cutting it off from the rest of the world. He thought maybe he knew already why Hiruma had kidnapped him, that maybe it was time to stop asking questions.

He came to a decision.

Sena idled for a few long moments, drying his hands and carefully folding the towel and hanging it on the grill. Through the bars, the water glittered at him accusingly. Right, he thought, sighing. He went upstairs.

There were two bedrooms; Sena ducked into the first, which was smaller and therefore his, and grabbed his backpack. It had accompanied him on countless class trips and across America, and he took it with him now, down the hallway and past the stars and towards the other bedroom, where Hiruma sat in bed with a laptop.

Hiruma didn't look up, which helped. Sena put the backpack down next to Hiruma's luggage, which was heavier because of the firearms. He pulled off his shorts and dropped them onto the floor. He almost took off his shirt, too, but the thought of sleeping next to Hiruma in only boxers made something in him shy away.

Hiruma tugged the covers down, and Sena froze, but Hiruma's eyes were still fixed on the screen and his expression hadn't changed.

Heart pounding, Sena took the invitation, crawling into bed. He lay curled on his side, back to Hiruma, and it was only when the typing started up again that he realized it had stopped at all--when he'd entered the room.

He put his hands against his chest and closed his eyes, listening to Hiruma's typing. He imagined he could feel the heat from Hiruma's body, like the bathwater, but that was a lie. They were on opposite ends of the bed. The heat was probably his own, generated by a pounding heart and gathering slowly beneath the covers.

Expectation danced across his skin like static electricity, but Hiruma didn't do anything. That was better, somehow, and Sena smiled, lulled slowly to sleep by the arrhythmic tapping of the keyboard.


When he opened his eyes again, the typing had stopped, and there was an arm on his chest. It's morning, Sena realized, and tried to tug his t-shirt down so that it covered his stomach. He wanted to run, because if nothing else, Sena was good at running. He tried to roll out of bed, but Hiruma's arm was too heavy.

Or, Sena realized when he looked up and saw Hiruma looking back, maybe Hiruma just wasn't letting him escape.

Sena's lips parted. He suspected his breath stank, which was embarrassing, and then found himself wondering if Hiruma got morning breath, too, or if maybe he terrified bacteria away, or something.

They were close. They were too close. Sena shouldn't be able to count Hiruma's eyelashes. And Hiruma's arm wasn't on him anymore, so Sena jerked away, because his breath stank and he'd just woken up and his cheeks were warm.

But Hiruma moved fast, faster than Sena. It lasted for a second, and then a second more, and then Sena said, "Um, that was my first kiss."

Hiruma sat up. His hair was messy, maybe messier than Sena's. It fell into his eyes and stray strands brushed across his lips. Before Sena could think about it his hands moved on their own, and he was drawing Hiruma back down, because he was bewitching like his given name.

Afterwards Hiruma said, "And that was your second, huh."

He looked pleased. Sena licked his lips and said, "Yeah, it was," slowly and carefully. Hiruma was comfortably settled against him, heavy and warm, and Sena thought maybe if he arched his body up--

"I'm making breakfast," Hiruma said, smirking as if he knew exactly what Sena was thinking.

Sena showed him just to make sure, rolling his hips. But Hiruma just moved away, even if he did adjust his pants a little, and Sena watched him walk off with an open mouth.

Because Sena was only sixteen, he reached down and curled warm fingers around himself. But he made sure to listen for Hiruma's footsteps on the stairs to fade before he started moving.


"I'm fine, really, Mamori-neechan," Sena said for the third time. His back was against the wall, and he was listening to Hiruma in the kitchen. A drawer opened; cutlery clanged against each other. Something, a bottle maybe, squeaked.

"Just let me talk to him for a while," Mamori said. "Just one minute, Sena. I swear I'll get him to stop bullying you!"

"You don't need to do that. I'm not being bullied," Sena said weakly. He was blushing. "I'm fine, really. He's, um, busy cooking breakfast, anyway," he added.

Maybe this was more surprising than the island, because Mamori didn't answer. Sena thought he heard a strangled gasp, warm breath against the receiver that translated into static nonsense.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he promised.

"Let me talk to him, Sena," Mamori said, and this time, her voice was steel.

Sena hesitated, but it was Mamori asking, and really, he was only able to say no to her when it was about playing football. He walked the few steps to the kitchen and said, "Hiruma-san, Mamori-neechan wants to, um, talk to you."

Without a word, Hiruma took the phone from Sena, looking completely unsurprised.

"You're underestimating him again," Hiruma said into the phone. Sena faintly heard Mamori's response, indignant and sharp. He moved into the kitchen before he could hear the rest. Hiruma and Mamori's conversations were confusing. They always seemed to be having several at once, all layered delicately on top of one another.

Sena wasn't smart, not like Hiruma and Mamori were. He liked things simple.

So he was going to eat breakfast, and then he was going to swim.

He could hear Hiruma's voice, cackling with glee. Mamori was going to be mad again.


Sena stood before the sea, dressed in only his shorts and the wind that wrapped itself around him. The wet sand swallowed his toes. It had been a short run from the house to the shore, and he turned his face upwards. The heat on his cheeks was warm and familiar. He felt like he'd always been looking towards the sun.

A glance behind told him Hiruma was coming.

It was just them, here. Them, and no one else. He liked things simple, and Hiruma was very perceptive.

Sena walked into the water, which was cold, but not cold enough to chase away the thrum of excitement stirring in his gut. When he was deep enough, he dove. Underwater, the sand beneath his feet was fickle, so he swam instead.

When he surfaced, he saw Hiruma just meters away, assault rifle in one hand and a bundle of something in the other.

"You're a pretty shitty swimmer, shrimp," he said.

Sena flushed, falling backwards instead of answering. He described a lazy circle with his body, and when he returned to the starting point he met solid muscle and hands pulling him up, up. He was light, but the buoyant water made him lighter. He emerged smoothly from the water, his eyes blinking at the sunlight and at the sharpness of Hiruma's gaze.

Hiruma's arms were around him, and Sena clung on to keep himself above the water. He turned his head, searching; his lips found Hiruma's neck. He pressed salty, open-mouthed kisses against the dry skin there.

Hiruma shifted, and Sena was distantly aware of the water level going down--no, they were moving unsteadily backwards. Suddenly there was vertigo, a sudden rush of down, and then Hiruma was sitting in shallow water, muttering curses; Sena barely saved himself from tumbling off. The line of the water curled around Hiruma's waist and Sena's thighs. His knees were slipping in the sand, trapping Hiruma's hips between them.

Sena leaned forward, wanting the taste of Hiruma's neck again, but Hiruma had other goals in mind. They kissed, and Sena felt long fingers traveling on his skin, trailing down to his shorts. He gasped, reaching forward, and found Hiruma's shoulders. His skin was hot. Sena wondered if it was from the sunlight.

His knees slipped in the sand. The sudden movement made their teeth clash, which hurt. But it also made Hiruma's hand brush against his--

Sena stilled. So did Hiruma. They watched each other, Hiruma waiting. Hiruma was always waiting for Sena, it seemed, waiting for him to beat Shin, Agon, Yamato, Kakei. Waiting for the impossible.

He pressed his lips against Hiruma's. "It's okay, Hiruma-san," he murmured. "It's okay."

Hiruma grinned, then, moving lightning-fast and unzipping the fly of Sena's shorts. Sena's inhaled sharply and, yes, Hiruma's hand was on his cock. He threw his head back, and Hiruma kissed the exposed line of skin there.

Hiruma wasn't gentle. He'd never been gentle with Sena. His grip was hard and fast, and exactly what Sena needed. "Yes," Sena breathed. He was slipping again, so Hiruma shifted up, ignoring Sena's wide-eyed look as he stood up, dragging Sena up with him.

Sena followed obediently, walking awkwardly. He saw the blanket on the beach, then, spread neatly. Hiruma had been planning ahead again.

Hiruma sat him down, put his hands on Sena's knees and spread them apart. Sena's hands clenched as he leaned back, wondering at Hiruma's concentrated expression, and then the older boy was grinning, kneeling down--

"Hiruma-san," Sena said, meaning to protest, and then wet heat enveloped him and he thought, Yes.

He said Hiruma's name again, or maybe he didn't, he wasn't sure. Heat pooled, lava in his cock and belly, the same burning want he'd been feeling since they came here. It was sharper, now, electricity spread through his entire body, to his fingertips. His muscles grew taut; his lips moved soundlessly, trying to mouth Hiruma's name in warning, but it was too late. He came with a shudder, collapsing as his elbows slipped out from under him, looking breathlessly at the clouds as the aftershocks swept through him.

Hiruma moved over him, looking pleased. Sena was suddenly acutely aware of the sand underneath him, jarring against the softness of the blanket. He was beginning to dry, too, and his skin felt strangely tight because of the salt.

He felt boneless, not tired but unwilling to move. He looked at Hiruma, aware of the blush staining his cheeks. "Um, thank you, Hiruma-san," he said.

Hiruma raised an eyebrow.

"Not for...!" Sena said before Hiruma could say anything. "I mean...." He looked past Hiruma, towards the sky, but really it was the same as looking into Hiruma's eyes. "Thank you for everything," he said firmly.

Hiruma was still hard--Sena could feel it against his hip--but he seemed willing to let Sena have this moment, at least for a while. The kiss he pressed against Sena's lips was chaste at first, and then more: long and needy and maybe slightly desperate.

"We're going inside," he said suddenly.

"But you're still...." Sena bit his lip.

Hiruma was already standing. "I'm not fucking you with sand everywhere," he said, irritated.

Mutely, Sena took the offered hand. They left the rifle and blanket behind.


In the bathroom, Hiruma used the shower head to wash off the sand. Their wet clothes stuck to their skin, so Hiruma peeled them off while Sena looked away, blushing. Which was ridiculous, because he and Hiruma had already--or at least Hiruma had--but he couldn't not.

Hiruma was leading him to the bedroom even though they were both dripping wet. He pushed Sena down on to the bed, pinning him with weight and presence.

They kissed. Sena's hands swept down, from the sure line of Hiruma's shoulders to his back.

He was scared. His skin felt sticky, water and sweat mingling. He left trails of heat in Hiruma's mouth with his tongue, rubbing against lips and teeth and then inside. He was getting hard again, and Hiruma's hands, pausing at his nipples and then his belly-button, were moving steadily down. Sena wasn't entirely naive. He knew what was coming next.

He was scared. Under his breastbone, his heart fluttered. He thought he might be shaking. He said, "Hiruma-san, I've never--"

And stopped.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was scared, because maybe he was, but he didn't want to stop.

"Turn around," Hiruma said.

"I don't want to," Sena said. "I want to... I mean, like this is fine."

Hiruma paused, and Sena thought he saw his chest hitch, just a bit. I did that, he thought, and smiled.

A moment later Sena felt it, the rough burn of an intrusion. Hiruma's fingers were slick, but it still hurt. He clung desperately to other sensations: The sheets rough cotton against his skin; the minute shifts of the mattress.

It didn't feel good. It didn't feel good, but Sena had already come once and it wasn't fair to Hiruma if he, well, didn't. And doing this was fine, because Sena couldn't imagine returning the favor with his mouth or--or his hands or--

Except that he could, and the images made him squirm pleasantly, even as Hiruma added a second finger, and then a third. Is he rushing? Sena wondered, and looked down, trying to see Hiruma's expression. He saw the line of Hiruma's brow, his eyebrows--darker than his hair--and the shock of his bangs. He imagined the rest of it: That same, concentrated expression from before.

Abruptly, Hiruma's fingers withdrew. Sena felt hands on his ass, lifting and positioning him, and then Hiruma pushed in.

It hurt, a sudden stretch that made Sena's eyes widen. His breath hitched. His fingers curled, straightened. Hiruma hissed something. It might have been an apology.

"My name," he gasped, driven by impulse. "My name, Hiruma-san, please."

Sena thought he heard Hiruma choke back a laugh at some private thought. But then Hiruma leaned forward, hands pressed on either side of Sena's head, and confessed: "You feel good, Sena."

"Oh," Sena said, and his lips twitched into a smile. Nice. Hiruma was being nice, so Sena closed his eyes against the pain. It wasn't fading, exactly, but the note of it was different, lower, more an ache. Enough for Sena to feel--other things. The fullness, the slick pressure as Hiruma slid slowly out, and then in, inch by inch. That tingling white rush every time he pushed in.

Hiruma's eyes were closed. Sena reached up with a slightly trembling hand, knuckles brushing against Hiruma's eyelid, his cheekbone. He pressed his fingers into Hiruma's hair. The bleached strands were still wet, droplets sliding off and onto the bed and Sena's face. He looked good, Sena realized. Hiruma looked really good like this.

As if sensing the timbre of his thoughts, Hiruma's eyes slid open. Sena looked back.

He held his unattended cock in his free hand, rolled his balls. Hiruma's breathing deepened at the sight, becoming more urgent, and he reached down as well, curling long fingers around Sena's smaller hand.

They moved together, Hiruma's movements becoming more erratic and desperate. Sena shut his eyes again, wanting to feel everything. The seconds grew short, and the world narrowed: Hiruma's slight grunts, the warmth of his skin, the beat of Sena's heart in his ears.

Hiruma's grip on him suddenly slackened. He gave one last thrust, and then another; Sena felt him come, and Hiruma's ragged whisper of his name made him jerk, all of him.

His own hand moved faster, harder, and then Sena was following along, ropey white liquid splattering against his stomach.

"Fuck," Hiruma breathed, collapsing and barely missing Sena by a centimeter. Sena turned his head, but Hiruma didn't sound angry, just pleased.

"I'm hungry," he admitted.

"Shower first," Hiruma said.

"Okay," Sena said. He studied Hiruma's profile, the sharp line of his nose, the mess of his hair. Thoughts gathered lazily, drawn in by the afterglow. Questions, mostly, except he could answer them himself if he tried. Except for one, maybe.

When he opened his mouth, though, the words didn't come. It wasn't right to ask. Not yet.

Hiruma caught the aborted movement out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Nothing," Sena said. He smiled. "I just hope Mamori-neechan doesn't get too mad when I tell her we're staying for a few more days."