Disclaimer: I do not own Eyeshield 21.
Musashi would never look at the Deimon football team locker room the same way again.
He'd never look at yard sticks the same way again.
He'd never look at after-practice-showers the same way again either.
Hiruma, the fucking pervert.
In Musashi's opinion, the Deimon Devil Bats were still a fresh team, like bananas that had yet to ripen or eggs that had yet to be cracked, or in consequence, become spoiled. He prided himself on his gift to normally predict the outcome of things, and unfortunately, he knew that it would be a while until the Devil Bats would be admired as people and as a football time.
But he had time.
He was in no hurry.
The Deimon Devil Bats were the only people who understand exactly who he was in the whole population of Japan. Musashi felt far from at home under Kurita's deadly belly-flop and the cocked guns Hiruma always had propped up on his shoulder, but he was all right with that. In Musashi's opinion, he had no need to feel at home. The point of living was to scare yourself, not to be comfortable and go outside your limits, and with the Devil Bats, Musashi could do that.
He didn't remember the last time he got such a high off of anything else other than kicking a tempting football straight in its sweet spot.
And the harder he worked, the more adrenaline pumped through his flesh, and the more adrenaline he worked off of, the more satisfaction he felt, and satisfaction led to sweat. Which required showers. Short, cold showers.
There were five showers in the Deimon Devil Bats locker room. It was an unreasonable amount, considering they were never in use. The makeshift temporary players never worked enough to really produce any concrete sweat. Kurita only toweled off after practice and hydrated himself again, but always insisted that he didn't need showers. Musashi always had a sneaking suspicion that Kurita simply couldn't fit into the rather miniature shower stalls. And then Hiruma seemed to have his own way of cleaning, but he was never anywhere near the showers or even the towels when Musashi would trot in to refresh his own hygiene.
So with only one person really benefiting from the plumbing installed, Musashi didn't understand why there were five running and working showers at the ready.
"You fucking old man," Hiruma would say, "you think it'll only be the three of us forever?"
"Who's crazy enough to voluntarily hang around you?"
Hiruma would elegantly raise one of his eyebrows and smile, "You, apparently."
It was exactly one week ago after a particularly rough practice in the rain that the incident that forever would seem to plague Musashi's mind occurred.
There had been sleet. Hiruma had told them to push through the majority of the training, but it was when the innocuous rain turned into merciless snow that Hiruma finally gave way and let the numb players all dry off and warm their chilled bodies. The sky itself seemed to be a loud, blatant omen that the day was going to be dark; the whole horizon gray and stormy, making a normally bright three o'clock sun hide behind what seemed like an eight o'clock dark sky.
The locker room that afternoon was like a skating rink. Everyone had slinked in like frozen mannequins, their movements stiff and lips blue as they dropped their muddy shoes by the door and reached for the bucket of towels. The dirt and snow meshed into dirty and cold puddles littered all around the floor, and for a while the snow was still icy and took quite a few minutes to finally melt.
Still, despite the fact that the showers were working, they did have restrictions and failed to operate hot water. Normally no one on the team wanted to have a warming shower after sweating at practice, but when it was a day as nasty as it was that afternoon, people preferred the cozy and steaming bathtubs at home in comparison to the chilling ones at the locker room. So one by one, the team filed out in morose moods until it was only the three truly dedicated members of the Devil Bats that stayed behind.
"Won't you go home to use a hot shower, Musashi?" Kurita exclaimed in warning as he saw Musashi take off his uniform, "It's cold in our showers."
"I don't mind." Musashi grunted, shrugging.
"But you were complaining about your back today!" Kurita insisted, "The cold won't help it!"
"It's just a few knots, Kurita," Musashi assured, dismissing the topic with a reassuring smile, "I'll be fine by morning."
Kurita nodded, his eyebrows still knitted together in mild worry, but he too wanted to thaw his body out and decided to leave for the day to curl under his own sheets at home.
It didn't surprise Musashi when Hiruma lagged behind, not wanting to go out and face the rain and face nonexistent friends and family. Despite the harsh weather, Hiruma hadn't displayed an ounce of discomfort or even a tremble of his muscles because of the chill in the air.
Musashi turned around to grab a towel and get into a shower stall when he noticed that Hiruma was rummaging through the towel can, preventing Musashi from plucking a clean towel from the lot. Musashi bit his lip.
It wasn't like he'd never undressed in front of someone else; he had had boy's gym when he was younger before, as everyone else did, and naturally his clothing had been stolen one month and left folded over the back of the principal's chair as a good-hearted prank just like in the movies, and Musashi had been left standing naked in front of his classmates for nearly half an hour. But Hiruma, goddamn Hiruma, was standing right there. And Musashi knew very well that the Hiruma he knew was far from innocent, had no personal boundaries whatsoever, and had a wandering eye.
Grunting uncomfortably, he prayed for Hiruma to get the hint and turn around. But even if Hiruma did understand Musashi's obvious unease in the situation, he seemed to be too amused to bother moving, as random acts of kindness were never really his thing.
Musashi took a deep breath and hastily stripped himself of his clothing, flinging his shirt and his padding into his locker, tossing his soggy shoes into the bin and finally, slipping out of his boxers at lightning speed and hoping to leap straight off into the shower without Hiruma noticing.
He knew perfectly well that friends or not, Hiruma was a conniving bastard with a wicked sense of humor. And he knew how to manipulate people's will and poke at their weak spots with blackmail. And Musashi knew that by exposing what's-under-the-boxers to the quarterback he was just waiting to be blackmailed. It was like he was baiting a famished fish with a fat and delicious worm.
But Musashi was a kicker for a reason, and not a running back, and he certainly could never sprint to the shower fast enough.
"Jesus Christ, fucking old man," Hiruma muttered, a smile playing on his face, "no wonder we call you the sixty-yard magnum."
Musashi's eyes widened to the size of tree trunks at the comment, following Hiruma's gaze down to his hips.
"Hiruma," he warned, not meeting eyes with the other boy, "stop staring."
"I think that was some unexpected brilliance on my part," Hiruma cocked his head to the side and chuckled amusingly, "when I named you that."
"Hiruma, this is totally inappropriate."
"When am I anything but?" Hiruma let out a burst of laughter and took a step forward, grinning, "I knew you were talented, old man, but I had no idea."
Musashi's set jaw twitched and he took a step back, his hand groping blindly for a towel.
"Sixty-yard magnum would sort of be pushing it."
"I think I'm right on with that estimation," Hiruma exposed his sharp teeth with another deadly smile, "or should we test that…?" the suggestive hiss to his voice only meant danger, and the fright was enough to force Musashi to scuttle off to the showers at his fastest speed.
It was foolish, really, to think that a provoked and thoroughly intrigued Hiruma wouldn't be able to follow him there. The curtains he had closed were pulled open with a single sharp nail and Musashi gulped down a lump in his throat as his eyes traveled over Hiruma's own naked body.
"I think I want to test that out, fucking old man." Hiruma cackled at Musashi's horrified expression, but as Hiruma cornered Musashi into the shower stall while the spray of cold water ran over their bodies, he couldn't help but feel the beginnings of an arousal growing. It didn't take long for Hiruma to notice either, and without any warning, he grabbed Musashi's erection in his palm and stroked it in a painfully slowly manner.
"Nn, god, Hiruma–"
Hiruma grunted as he heard Musashi's whimpering, pressing his own body closer to the kicker and letting his cat-like tongue shoot out to lick at the junction of his neck to his shoulder. His free hand snaked around Musashi's waist as he pulled him closer still and sucked on his jugular ruthlessly.
"You do know what the football fans are you calling you these days, don't you?" Hiruma husked in Musashi's ear, gently nipping it, "they call you a kicking legend. And you certainly are a legend, aren't you?"
Musashi growled, his own hand furling over Hiruma's hipbone and teasingly stroking his wet skin, "Hiruma," he warned, "shut up already." He flipped their positions, pinning Hiruma's elbows to the wall as he attacked his mouth in a heated kiss, the cold water doing nothing to cool down their exchange of tongues. It was just like Hiruma to get Musashi to forget where he was and what he was doing and completely lose control of his body like this.
One of Hiruma's hands wormed free of Musashi's grip attaching his wrist to the stall tile and returned back to its task of pumping his fist into Musashi's erection and hearing the addictive sound of the kicker moan uncontrollably. He grinned in satisfaction when he got the reaction he desired.
Hiruma hitched one of his legs over Musashi's waist, bringing their bare erections together and grinding their hips. Musashi's grip on the wall and Hiruma's torso tightened considerably at the extra contact and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out and alerting any stray students lingering outside of the locker room. Hiruma's nails dug into Musashi's back as he rocked his hips back, biting his lip and drawing blood to stifle his moans.
It took much to make both boys lose control; Hiruma was distant about his true emotions and always hid them behind a well-constructed armor while Musashi was defensive about his feelings just as much. If the two of them pondered it, it did make sense that the two of them complimented each other so flawlessly.
"Kurita – Kurita will still call me the sixty-yard magnum–" Musashi pointed out in amusement.
"And he'll be oblivious to what I know," Hiruma hissed back, "and I'll laugh at him, fucking old man."
"I'd l-like that," Musashi replied through another thrust from Hiruma's part, and through the heat and the cold water splashing down their backs, Musashi felt his release and Hiruma's a second later, both of them clutching at each other's flesh with astonishing amounts of desperate need and affection.
The sound of Kurita cheering jubilantly in the background as Musashi expertly punted the football forty-five yards through the goalposts was enough to ring in his ears for days. He smiled at his feat as Kurita patted him on the back.
"We don't call you the sixty-yard magnum for nothing, Musashi!" Kurita exclaimed with a broad grin. Hiruma grinned from the sidelines as he polished the neck of gun absent-mindedly.
"Sixty-yard magnum…" he repeated, and Musashi paled, "I'd like to see how that works."
Their gazes locked, Hiruma's eyes wicked and grinning while Musashi's were flushed and amuesd. He swore under his breath.
"You perverted bastard, Hiruma."
"If you keep this up, Musashi," Hiruma taunted from the bench, "we'll have to change your name to the seventy-yard magnum."
The only sound filling the football field was Hiruma's insane and uncontrollable laughter as Musashi buried his crimson cheeks in his palm and shot a hidden smile in the quarterback's direction.