Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own.
Warnings: Rating for language, sexual concepts, and acts. This is yaoi.
A/N: Hardcore. Explicit. I was embarrassed just typing this.
Additionally: There was a divorce. I'd rather not talk about it.
I'm giving priority to this fic, because I've pretty much been thinking about how to end it all year. After this, I'm feeling Yarichin.
I have no time to edit right now. To be corrected later. This is also the longest goddamn chapter I've ever written in my life.
Someone please write some serious Musashi/Sena.
For a while after that, Sena would not stop touching Agon.
It was fucking great. Where before Sena had been about as aggressive as the Virgin Mary, now all Agon had to do was show up and Sena was ready to go. That was more the fuck like it. Agon was beginning to think that maybe there was something to all that virgin bride shit after all. It had never occurred to him how the preceding months of resistance could make the inevitable surrender that much sweeter, as resistance had never been something that featured too highly in any of his encounters. Anticipation had never been something he'd had to worry about for longer than a few hours, maybe a whole twenty-four if the bitch was playing hard to get, and even three months and a day ago, he would have laughed at the idea that he would wait three months for anyone. Granted, he'd only been celibate for one of those months, but what the fuck, like he was St. Agon?
And goddamn, but the fucking ex-virgin had taken his fucking time. Those wide-eyed looks, the trembling proximity, the whining about how his parents were right down stairs. Either ignoring or laughing nervously at Agon's suggestions of bite the pillow or we'll be quiet, they won't hear or I know this motel. Whimpering and struggling frantically any time Agon tried to exert a little friendly pressure. The fact that, in the end, it had taken something not too short of force to get the fucking brat to take it hadn't exactly been a surprise, even if the results had been completely unexpected.
Agon had also become a fixture at the Kobayakawa house. Sena's mother seemed to have warmed up to him a little, and had started referring to him as Agon-kun. Sena's father had actually taken notice of Agon's existence though apparently not his name, as he still referred to Agon as that boy who thinks he's black. Both seemed to have accepted that Agon was, in fact, despite appearance and attitude and the laws of nature, a good friend of Sena's and were no longer quite as alarmed by his frequent visits. Sena-Mom had even given him cookies to take home with him once.
It gave Agon a special kind of pleasure to smile innocently and politely greet the Kobayakawas as he came into their home, on his way upstairs to nail their son.
The fucking trash didn't seem to mind. In fact, he would barely wait for the door to close behind Agon before he was all over the Kongo goods. Sliding his hands up under Agon's shirt, yanking him down by a fistful of jacket, Sena's mouth on his neck, his ear, his face, his own. Pulling Agon insistently into the room, practically climbing him like he was a fucking jungle gym or something. Making little noises under his breath as Agon grabbed back at him, not a whisper of protest as Agon stripped him.
Sena seemed to really like touching Agon. Really, really like it. It was as if his virginity had taken all his inhibitions with it—the way he explored Agon with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. Pulling determinedly at Agon's shirt, until Agon either took it off or let Sena take it off, which amused him and seemed to turn Sena on to no end. Once, Sena had even taken a handful of Agon's dreads as they were getting started and fucking yanked it, which had had Agon groaning with the effort not to jizz his pants right there.
That Sena couldn't get enough of him was no shock to Agon. After all, this was some godly stuff right here. Superior genetics at work, if anyone wanted to know. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the world that someone, especially a fag like Sena, would want to worship at the temple of Kongo Agon. So he let Sena push him about a little, let him touch him here and there and kiss him and rub up against him and even undress him, sometimes, because of course the fucking trash couldn't help himself. And it was always Agon who took care of business anyway, who eventually rolled Sena over and delivered, so a little playacting beforehand could be forgiven. Besides, it could get pretty hot, especially when Sena used his teeth or tried to shove him onto his back or even tried to climb on top like he was going to—
Agon considered it extremely generous of himself, to let Sena hang on to his delusions of grandeur.
And the fucking ex-virgin was relentless. Insatiable. Agon could scarcely believe how fucking rad everything had turned out, that the shy, scared little Sena would turn out to be such a nympho. It was always the quiet one, wasn't it? Goddamn, but the pointy-eared fucker had missed out, which was something else that always left Agon in a good mood for hours whenever he thought about it. As if no one could see the pathetic little longing glances the bastard was always throwing at his pet project, as if anyone with eyes couldn't tell what a boner the demented trash had for his most valuable player. If he ever found out—
Eh. It was probably better if he didn't. Not that Agon cared, but the fucking ex-virgin, for whatever reason, seemed to think that Hiruma's opinion actually meant something, and there was always the chance he'd revert if there was enough peer pressure. And Agon didn't feel like disturbing the current very gratifying setup, even for what would be a very satisfying own on the knife-eared bastard, almost as good as the time the fatass hadn't gotten into Shinryuji.
That could always come later.
So for a month after the night he'd gotten drunk and broken into the ex-virgin's house, Agon spent most of his time fucking Sena. He hadn't expected it to last a week before he'd get bored, but then that week went by and he was still taking the train to the Deimon neighborhood almost every afternoon. Which meant nothing, because how was he supposed to have guessed that Sena would turn out to be such a cock addict? This required at least another week of tapping.
The second week went by. Then a third.
By the fourth, Agon began to question himself. Twenty days in, and he actually caught himself waiting to be tired of it. To have Sena throw himself at Agon's washboard abs and feel nothing but bored. To have the trash try to kiss him and for the taste of Sena's mouth to be old news. To look at Sena below him, naked and moaning for Agon to keep going, and feel only contempt.
Somehow, Sena stayed hot.
Really hot. So hot that when a stacked foreign bitch in what had to be a record-breakingly tiny mini tried to catch his eye on the street, Agon ignored her and walked right on by, because he was about to miss the five o'clock train to Sena's neighborhood. So hot that when Agon woke in the morning with his own Tokyo Tower happening under the sheet, he briefly considered calling the stupid fag and ordering him to skip class that day and come over. So hot that when, on the rare occasion that he was forced to attend class or practice, he stared off into space, it wasn't supermodels or the latest Porsche or the NFL career he'd have someday that he daydreamed about, but the strangled sound Sena made into his hand at that first real thrust.
The fourth week went by, and somehow Agon still wasn't bored.
Then something even stranger happened.
Agon started staying longer.
There was nothing intentional about it. His policy was get in, get out. He had shit to do, and sticking around the fucking trash's house wasn't one of them. An hour or two of fucking, and then he either went to the gym or headed home or attended some enforced meeting with the football club. Agon was a man with a schedule. He had things to do. None of them were categorized under Pillow Talk.
But one late afternoon, he opened his eyes and realized that despite the fact that it had been nearly twenty minutes since anyone had come, he was still there, Sena sticky and quiet under him.
He immediately got up, dressed, and left, ignoring the way Sena didn't watch him go.
The next day, he made a point of leaving almost before the come had dried. Again, Sena said nothing and didn't watch him go, busy cleaning himself up as much as he could with a small towel that he probably hid from his mother. Agon told Sena-Mom and Sena-Dad good night very curtly on his way out, and then kicked at stray dogs and cats (and some not so stray, judging by the wailing children) the entire way to the station, where he proceeded to attempt to get into a fight with a bunch of Zokugaku losers who ran as soon as they figured out who had just knocked their juice cans out of their hands.
The day after that, he got caught up in the fucking and didn't realize that he'd forgotten to leave right away until nearly thirty minutes after they'd finished.
He laid there, staring up at the ceiling, Sena dozing next to him.
Agon had this strange feeling of waiting for something. For what? He'd already come, twice. Maybe for a third? Except he was feeling relaxed and lazy and like he didn't want to move for a while, though he was saving the option. For it to be later? He had no plans for the night, unless he meant to go to the gym...
Sena didn't speak. In fact, Agon could have sworn the fucking trash was asleep.
Which pissed Agon off, though he couldn't quite explain why. On impulse, he stuck his elbow in Sena's side.
Who woke up with a strangled yelp. And then looked at Agon, blinking. "What?"
Agon opened his mouth, but nothing occurred to him. The fucking ex-virgin was staring at him, but not as if he was waiting with stifled breath to hear what pearls dropped from Agon's lips.
No. Sena looked kind of impatient. And annoyed.
Agon almost choked with fury. Then he thought about choking Sena.
Then he pulled on his clothes and left.
What the fuck?
Since when had the fucking brat been giving him lip? He remembered those first few days—"Agon! How—how was school? Did you go?" and "How was practice? Did you go?" and "How are things at home? Have you been there lately?"—and shit, hadn't Sena been a chatty bitch? Always wanting to talk, always wanting to ask questions, always wanting Agon to be interested in things he had to say. What had happened to that? Where had that Sena gone, the one who had thrown his arms around Agon's neck and told him, You came back.
Agon thought back, and realized he couldn't remember the last time Sena had tried to initiate a conversation. Now that he really paid some attention to the events of the past several weeks, it became obvious to him that there was actually very little talking. Unless it was related to fucking, such as harder, Agon, harder or more, yes, yes, yes, more or ah, that hurts, ah. Other than that, Sena had become almost mute.
Which was awesome, except that Agon was, for some reason, angry as fuck.
Agon felt himself to be a very self-aware person, so it wasn't surprising to him that he would perversely be pissed off that he was getting exactly what he wanted. He just decided it was Sena's fault.
So the next day, Agon referred back to his Dealing With Bitches Handbook and didn't go over to Sena's house. He went to a salon instead, because his dreads needed some maintenance, and spent the entire time making lewd suggestions to the blonde 26C doing the touch-up work. She slipped him her number as he was leaving, which he tossed into the trashcan on the way out. That hag was thirty if she was a day.
At that point, it was nearly eight o'clock, and Agon was feeling mellow when he checked his phone.
To find zero missed calls, no texts, and one e-mail from Unko-chan swearing eternal nagging if Agon didn't come by the house that night to let their parents know he was still alive.
The rage that descended on him then was all-consuming. He wasn't too certain as to its point of origin or its purpose; all he knew was that he was torqued and someone needed to pay for it. Because how. Fucking. Dare. That stupid fag.
This wasn't how it worked.
Who the shit did Sena think he was?
Close by the salon, in front of a conveni, there were a bunch of bald fuckers still in their high school uniforms hanging around. Agon made short work of them—who the fuck was Housen?—which did almost nothing to make him feel any calmer. Surrounded by groaning bodies, Agon had his phone out and was holding it to his ear before the adrenaline had stopped pulsing in his temples.
The fucking trash answered at the sixth ring. "Hello?"
"What the fuck?" demanded Agon.
"Agon?" Sena's voice was almost a whisper.
"Who the fuck else would it be?"
There was a pause. It occurred to Agon that maybe Sena did in fact have other people he routinely expected calls from, and his teeth were grinding together with such violence that he was almost sure Sena could hear it.
He was opening his mouth to say—something—when in the background, Agon heard a distinctly male voice say, What's up, Sena?
"WHAT THE FUCK," shouted Agon. He kicked the nearest prostrate baldy for good measure, though the strangled whimper didn't make him feel anything but angrier. "Who the fuck is that?"
"Um, no one," said Sena quickly. "I can't talk right now, though, I'll call you back—"
"Don't you fucking hang up—"
"Yes, Mom," said Sena loudly, "I'll be home soon."
And then the phone went fucking dead.
It was as if every dimension of space and time came to a single, simultaneous stop as Agon tried to decide whether to throw the phone at the wall or murder someone.
One of the baldies, the largest one who was back on his feet despite the swollen lip and black eye, snorted. "Sounds like your girl's playing you, bro. You think maybe it's your homo hair?"
The only thing that saved the mouthy bastard a broken skull and Agon his first murder charge was the cop car that came screeching into the parking lot, prompting everyone, bald and dreaded alike, to scatter. Agon committed the uniform style to memory and swore that he would never again see another Housen badge without killing whoever was wearing it.
Then he went to Sena's house.
Sena-Mom answered the door. "Oh! Agon-kun! Sena isn't home. He went to a club meeting. Do you want to wait?"
"Please, Kobayakawa-san," smiled Agon.
Up in Sena's room, he wasted no time in going through Sena's desk. Which turned out to be boring as hell, because the fucking trash didn't keep anything interesting there. Some pictures, particularly from the Christmas Bowl and the World Cup (he tore up the one of Sena and that big-teethed Yamato asshole in what seemed to be some sort of fagtastic hug in their World Cup uniforms), and mostly graded homework, all of it extremely poorly done. Agon was examining the results of a math exam from earlier in the year and wondering if stupidity could be sexually transmitted when the door opened behind him.
Agon put down the exam sheet and turned.
"Agon?" Sena was still in uniform himself, both his schoolbag and his sports duffel over his shoulder. "I thought you were busy."
He didn't look at all frightened. The light played on Sena's hair, and his eyes were huge and dark and soft.
Agon made the decision to stay angry. "Che."
Sena set down his bags in front of the door, and then, with a long glance at Agon, he pushed in the lock.
And then he came over and touched Agon's arm.
"Ne, Agon," he whispered. His dark, dark eyes, the scent of his skin—
Agon shrugged Sena's hand off.
Sena blinked, and hesitated. "...Agon?"
Agon folded his arms, leaning back against the desk.
Now Sena looked totally confused. "Um, Agon?"
"Oh, good," said Agon, glaring through his shades. "You know my fucking name."
The fucking trash's eyes widened. "What?"
Agon scowled. That had sounded much better in his head, where the sarcasm had been sharp and condescending. Out loud, it was somehow less biting and more bitchy. "Where the fuck were you?"
"Team meeting," said Sena, without hesitating. "I'm sorry I hung up on you. Kuroki was there and, uh..." He seemed flustered.
There was a silence that was somehow awkward. Agon was glaring at Sena and Sena was looking more unnerved by the second, and as if he wasn't sure whether he should be calling the police or not.
"Okay," said the fucking trash, voice slightly higher than it had been. "I—uh—I understand that you're angry, Agon, but—but I...I'm not sure what I did..."
Of course this fucking idiot didn't! "Of course you don't, you fucking idiot!"
Sena actually had the balls to look offended. "You don't have to be like that! You could just—just tell me what it is—"
For some reason, Agon was thinking about that first night, when he'd been drunk enough to pass on easy pussy and climb through second-story windows. When he'd collapsed next to Sena, his blood alcohol level high enough to have outright killed someone as small as this stupid trash, and then there'd been a long, lazy hour of drunk and sleepy kisses. When Sena had put his arms around Agon's neck and Agon had been too wasted to be very grossed out, and there'd been such kisses—long, wet kisses, with Sena complaining in murmurs of how much he hated alcohol; short, fleeting kisses, where Sena left the briefest memories of his lips on the corners of Agon's mouth; hot, burning kisses, Sena biting tentatively at Agon's chin and lips like a nervous kitten and Agon loaded enough to let him; and the kisses that had come at the edge of sleep, as Agon dozed off and Sena head grew heavy on his shoulder, the last things Agon remembered before there was light coming through the window and dogs were barking outside and Sena's cat was meowing plaintively at his door and Agon had to get his hungover ass up and out the window because he could hear Sena-Mom coming up the stairs.
And this, for some reason, made Agon angrier than he'd ever been before in his life.
"It's all you," said Agon—and his voice came out flat and cold, sharp and gleaming, like a knife. "You—you fucking trash, it's all your fault—"
The fucking ex-virgin's face changed—now, for the first time in a long while, he actually looked sort of frightened. "I—I don't—"
"Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything! You're a stupid piece of shit who can't do anything but run! I can't believe I wasted so much goddamn time on a faggot like you! Fucking slut, that's all you're good for—an easy lay! You whoring it up at school, too? You spreading it for Hiruma? Or maybe that blonde shit, the one you were sooo worried about—"
Sena was standing very still. His face had paled, and his eyes were like bruises in all that white skin.
"That it? You bringing them by when I'm not here? Taking it up the ass from anyone now? I bet you suck them off in the locker room, no wonder your shitty football club's so fucking popular this year! Figures you can't get enough of it, not a jumpoff like you, you fucking cunt—"
Agon unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the desk, moving toward Sena, who'd begun to tremble. He was so angry, he wanted to hurt someone—he wanted to hurt Sena, wanted to see this fucking trash on his goddamn knees, he wanted this ex-cocksucking-virgin to beg for Agon to forgive him, he wanted to walk the fuck out and forget any of this had ever happened, he wanted Sena to cry and cling to him and promise never to do it again—
He stopped, standing just in front of Sena, towering over him, and he was so filled with a need to hit something that he could almost see the way Sena's lip would split under his knuckles.
"But what did I do?" whispered Sena. Even his voice, his small, girly-faggot voice, was shaking. "I don't understand, what did I—"
Agon's mouth opened to tell Sena that he was a dumb bitch and what came out was "All you ever want to do anymore is fuck!"
Sena's eyes widened, and his mouth opened.
They stood there, the two of them with their mouths open, Agon caught somewhere between speechless rage and the sudden possibility that he had gone batshit fucking crazy and Sena staring at him as if he'd never seen him before in his life.
"...what?" said Sena weakly.
Agon closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again. The fucking trash was staring at him, and Agon couldn't have called him a name if his life depended on it because he was caught in a series of flashbacks, reliving at least twenty-three different conversations with various angry bitches, except someone had reversed the script.
"You—" Agon's teeth were bared, and he was struggling to talk around the part of his brain that was screaming at him to shut the FUCK up. "You! Always—always fucking all over me, you—you can't even fucking take a fucking call—all you want is cock—"
No, no, no, this was all wrong, that wasn't what he wanted to say, what the fuck was wrong with him—
If Sena had looked scared before, now he looked terrified. "A-Agon, what—I don't—what—you—what—"
There was a strangled noise coming out of Agon's throat, like a rabid dog with indigestion. He opened his mouth to tell Sena that he was done with this bullshit and Sena could go and suck all the blonde cocks he wanted, nearly choked on the Why don't you ever talk to me anymore? that tried to come out instead, and then he shoved Sena to the side, shouted "Fuck you, you fucking trash!" and left.
By the front door, completely ignoring Sena-Mom's "Agon-kun?" and Sena-Dad's "Now, dear, let him be, homey's obviously upset."
On his way to the station, Agon kicked everything. Dogs, cats, children, and even one old man's walking stick.
He was almost unhinged with anger. What the fuck had come over him? He'd been out of his mind—it was the only explanation for the—the lies that had come out of his mouth, the gibberish he'd spewed in place of everything he'd wanted to say, like how if there'd been a tournament for taking cum shots to the face, Sena would've been MVP.
What the fuck!
This was it. Agon was done. He'd been out of his fucking mind for the last four months, and enough was enough. It was time to put an end to this shit. Anyway, the fall tournament was about to start again, and he didn't have the time anyway. It was over. He didn't need to think about it anymore.
He was finished with Kobayakawa Sena.
For the next week, Agon went nowhere near Deimon. He shocked his classmates by showing up to class and staying for the whole thing and had to suffer through a bro moment when he failed to skip practice for three days in a row and Unsui told him how proud of Agon he was. Like he cared! The underclassmen didn't seem to share Unsui's feelings, as more than a few of them whimpered with fear when they saw Agon taking the field for mock plays. Ikkyu seemed very moved to see Agon so diligent, and for a few days, Agon made an unusual effort and delivered such hard core thrashings on the gridiron that he felt somewhat like his old self and Unsui actually mentioned that maybe Agon could skip the next practice, if just to keep the newbs from quitting in a group, which only made the following day's beatings even better.
This was how it fucking should be! No more of this fucking around with big-eyed faggot trash—he had a Kanto tournament to take back, a leering perv to crush under his foot at the Christmas Bowl, and who knew, maybe another World Cup to dominate. He had shit to do! And as soon as he was back in the mood—any day now—he had a new list of Bitches to compile on his phone, because even with the month of near constant fucking he'd just had, a man had needs.
Just as soon as he was back in the mood. When he wasn't busy.
It was on the first day of the second week that Ikkyu mentioned Agon's new cell phone habit.
"I'm just oni saying," said Ikkyu, "maybe you could leave it on the bench. It's distracting on the field."
"You got a fucking problem with my phone?"
"No, just, maybe you shouldn't have it in your hand when you're on the line? I can't oni tell if you're looking for the ball or checking your texts."
"He's right," said Unsui. "Your passes have been off as well. Wouldn't it be easier to just leave it on the bench? No one is going to touch it."
Why the fuck was it their business anyway? Agon only needed one hand to carry the ball, and he had yet to run into someone on their team that he actually needed an arm to take down. So what if he wanted to carry his phone? He could just imagine leaving it on the bench, only to have some stupid freshman pick it up or drop it or sit on it or something else retarded. He didn't want anyone touching his phone! It was just the way he liked it, and he didn't feel like getting a new one. Anyway, none of his teachers seemed to have a problem with him looking at his phone, and neither did Sendoda, that senile bag of bones.
Later, as they were leaving the locker room, Unsui brought it up again. "You've been looking at that thing all week. Is everything all right?"
"Blow yourself," said Agon, and walked away, glancing at his phone.
But by end of practice the next day, it seemed to Agon that everyone was obsessed with his fucking phone. He could hear the first years whispering about it from halfway across the field, wondering what exactly Agon was looking at so often. Theories ranged from porn to Farmville. Unsui and Ikkyu didn't bring it up again, but they didn't need to, because their looks said it all.
Agon ignored them all. It was his fucking phone and he didn't have to explain himself or his favorite cellular device to anybody.
One week and four days later, he ran into one of his ex-bitches on the train.
He was with his team. They were on their way to some meditation seminar shit-thing somewhere, one that Sendoda had insisted both Kongos attend. Unsui had made it happen by stressing the facts that they would get to be excused from two days of classes and that the place involved hot springs. Agon, who had briefly deliberated on the effects of humidity on his phone, had agreed to come just to stop the nagging.
Seeing Reiko on the train made Agon swear he would never do anything Unsui asked of him ever again.
"Oh, Agon-chan," the bitch purred. She was dressed in her public school uniform, conspicuous with her blonde hair and Prada bag. Agon hadn't seen her since before the Christmas Bowl last year, when he'd tossed her for an actual blonde yoga instructor. "How nice to see you!"
The first years' mouths were hanging open. Unsui could have given their mother a run for her money with his I Disapprove Of This face, and Ikkyu looked as if he couldn't decide if he was oni impressed or hopelessly jealous. The other people on the train, who were mostly made up of high school students and a few older people, seemed to not know what to make of it.
"Not now, bitch," said Agon.
Three freshmen and an office lady gasped.
"Still the same Agon-chan," said Reiko, not bothered at all. "And here I was, just politely saying hello."
Agon glared at her. "I'm busy." Then he glanced at his phone.
Reiko saw it. "Are you waiting for a call? What's wrong, did some girl finally put you on the other end of things for once, Agon-chan?"
She said it in a tone that was teasing, if a bit malicious. That was Reiko's way, to be a bitch even when she was trying to hit on someone. Agon hadn't dumped her for that—he'd just gotten bored. Reiko had taken it pretty well (ha!) all things considered, and she'd told him at the time that she'd known his reputation getting into it. He remembered liking her just the slightest bit more for her practical attitude, though not quite enough to take back the dumping. "Are you retarded?"
"I'll bet that's exactly what it is," said Reiko, and she was obviously giving him shit just to pass the time. "I'll bet you're waiting for her to call, except she hasn't, because you've run into the one girl in Japan who isn't going to take your crap, and you look at that phone a hundred times a day hoping there's a text or an e-mail, only there isn't because you messed up, and you're not going to admit it and call first because you're Kongo Agon, and you can't even admit how bad it's killing you that she's not calling—"
Reiko stopped talking almost mid-word. Her eyes widened, and her lips stayed parted. She looked as if someone had hit her between the eyes with a hammer.
Agon didn't know what the expression on his face was, but the ones on Unsui's and Ikkyu's reinvented disbelief.
"Oh my God," said Reiko.
"Oni?" shouted Ikkyu.
"I'm right," said Reiko, a bit dazedly. She was staring at Agon's face. "I'm totally right! Look at you! You're waiting for a girl to call you!"
"Fuck off," snarled Agon.
"That's why you keep checking your phone!" said Ikkyu, as if his untimely death wasn't in arm's length of him. "That's why you won't even put your phone down at practice! You're waiting for a girl to call!"
All the first years were staring. Most of the seniors were, too. Unsui seemed to be trying to recognize the stranger standing next to him.
"Fuck you!" Agon glared. "I am not fucking waiting for anybody to fucking call!"
At that exact moment, Battle Without Honor or Humanity began playing from his pants. Agon had his phone out, flipped open, and at his ear in the time it took a normal person to flinch.
"Why the fuck haven't you called?" he shouted into the phone.
"Huh?" gasped Sena.
It was Sena. It was Sena. A feeling—some breathless, electric feeling that he, inexplicably, had no identification for—swelled up in his chest until he was ready to either score a thousand touchdowns or tear the steel sheeting off of a building. Agon couldn't decide if he wanted to maim someone or let them off with a dislocated shoulder.
I'm coming over, some treacherous voice suggested in his mind. Instead, Agon demanded, "Where the fuck are you?"
"At school? I mean, nowhere! I'm nowhere! I-I was just calling because—"
"Why aren't you in class?"
A pause. Then— "I just called," said Sena, very quietly, "because I needed to tell you something—"
This was it. Sena was coming crawling back. Just like Agon had known he would! Fuck yeah! Fuck, Kongo Agon was a fucking genius! Not even two weeks, and the fucking trash was dying without him. "Yeah?"
("Look at his face," someone whispered.)
"Agon," began Sena, with a deep breath,"I—"
"Who are you talking to, Sena?"
"Jyuumonji! I—no one, I wasn't—I'm not talking to anyone—"
"Why are you in the storage room?"
Agon. Was. Going. To. Murder. Everybody.
"WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?" Agon erupted into the phone, and everyone, Reiko, Unsui, and Ikkyu included, took two fast steps away from him, with the closest first years literally throwing themselves behind the seniors.
There was some static, some white noise as if the phone was being jostled, and then someone who wasn't Sena said somewhere near the phone, "Who's 'Math Tutor?'"
Then the phone went dead.
The plastic casing of Agon's phone split down the middle as he held it.
Reiko's eyes were wide. Unsui and Ikkyu looked alarmed.
"Agon," said Unsui carefully, "Agon, take a deep breath—it's probably not what you think—"
"Hell yeah it is," broke in Reiko. "Agon's girlfriend is cheating on him! Karma's finally catching up to you, Agon-chan!"
"Do you have to sound so oni happy about it," said Ikkyu, keeping a wary eye on Agon.
Agon wasn't listening. Jyuumonji. He knew that name. That blonde fucker—the one he'd bloodied up that day over a month ago, when he'd caught the asshole walking home with Sena. That one. The one he'd been almost eighty-nine percent sure had been doing the fucking pre-ex-virgin behind his back. That Jyuumonji.
Jyuumonji was a dead man.
"I'm going to kill him," decided Agon, his voice deranged and distant in a psychotic sort of way.
Now Unsui and Ikkyu really looked worried. "No, Agon—that's not a good idea—"
Agon had reached a strange mental place, where despite the fact that all he wanted to do was break every bone in Jyuumonji's body, he was still passably calm, as if he'd managed to get so fucking angry that his rage had reached some berserker nirvana where he was pure murderous composure.
The train was coming to a stop.
"I still can't believe it," said Reiko softly. "Kongo Agon, seriously seeing somebody."
"I'm not fucking seeing anybody," Agon sneered at the bitch. Then he turned to Unsui. "I have to go see somebody."
The doors opened. Unsui reached for Agon's sleeve and then Agon was off the train, heading for the stairs, his ticket already in hand.
("Don't kill anyone," Unsui called after him. Agon ignored it.)
Sena's neighborhood was almost two hours away. The uncanny feeling stayed with him as Agon bought a different ticket, then found his platform. By the time he got to the Kobayakawa house, it would be early evening, and Sena would be home. Agon's phone was broken.
I needed to tell you something.
Agon's first train came to a stop in front of him. There was a static-filled announcement, and then the doors opened.
A crowd of bald heads and Housen uniforms stared back at Agon.
"Hey," one of them said, a guy with bandages over one eye. "It's that dreadlocks! The one from the conveni!"
"That fucking dreadlocks," said another one.
Fifteen large bald boys turned toward Agon, hostility wafting off of them.
Agon bared his teeth in a horrible imitation of a smile, and stepped onto the train.
Two hours and twenty-two minutes later, Agon was standing in front of Sena's house, his shades folded and stowed in his jacket pocket. The sky was a burnt orange from the setting sun, and he could hear children laughing farther down the street, a bicycle ringing as it passed. The light in Sena's window was on.
Agon rang the doorbell.
Sena-Mom smiled when she saw him. "Oh! Agon-kun! It's been a while, hasn't it? Sena's upstairs. Would you like some tea?"
"Oh, no thank you, Auntie," said Agon, offering her a smile he'd gotten from a magazine. "I've been hydrating all day."
On the way upstairs, he passed Sena-Dad in the living room, who didn't look up but did lower his newspaper just enough to murmur, Ah, Agon. Wassup, ma nigga.
When he got to Sena's room, Sena was already in the open doorway.
Their eyes met.
Sena had changed his clothes. He wore black jogging bottoms and a red Nike T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair wet as if he'd just showered.
He stepped back to let Agon in without saying a thing, and then closed the door and locked it.
Agon tossed his bag down by the desk, flung his jacket over the chair, and grasped a fistful of Sena's hair.
The kiss was sloppy, almost frantic. Sena unbuckled Agon's belt, Agon pulled off Sena's pants and underwear, and then Agon slid his hands down Sena's back and over his ass and down his thighs and picked him up by the knees. Sena's back hit the wall. He clung to Agon by the shoulder and a fistful of dreadlocks, and Agon's arm was under his bent knee. He was whimpering as Agon freed his cock from his own underwear and pants, and he gasped when the head pressed against his flesh. There was no lube—Agon hadn't thought to bring it—and the hand cream was nowhere to be seen.
Agon spat into his hand.
The first thrust made Sena struggle and cry out in short, choking gasps, and this, this, this having Sena against him, this thrusting into Sena, this being in Sena and smelling his skin, his hair, his arousal—of being pressed up against Sena as Sena kissed and bit and yanked at his dreads all at once—this made the room go hot and golden under the light, in the ochre-lit curtains Sena had pulled closed, and this—this where he was fucking Sena, touching Sena—
—it made him wonder, made him rage, at how he had stayed away for even one fucking day.
"Agon," gasped Sena, "Agon—Agon—"
It didn't take long. Agon came to the sound of Sena murmuring his name, with one long, shuddering thrust, and Sena followed at the slightest touch. The cum was sticky on his hand and managed to get on his shirt, but, swear to fucking God, Agon couldn't quite fire up the synapses to be pissed. He just wiped his hand on Sena's shirt.
They collapsed onto the folded futon together, Agon still in Sena. Sena's legs were around his waist.
"I missed you," whispered Sena, into Agon's neck.
Agon closed his eyes.
He realized now that it had been his own fault. The mistake Agon had made was to have trusted Sena even a goddamn inch; the trash was not to be left to his own cognizance. The second Agon wasn't around, the fucking brat had blonde assholes sniffing around him, just looking for an opportunity to park it in the fucking ex-virgin. This was what happened when you started fucking a spineless idiot—you had to be around, you had to keep an eye on them, because they could not be trusted to follow the rules. What a huge waste of time. If he'd known Sena would turn out to be this high maintenance, Agon would never have indulged himself. Except he hadn't, and he had, and now here he was, fucking addicted to this whiny nympho who was failing second year math.
But none of it seemed to really matter, because for the first time in nearly two weeks, Agon wasn't angry at all, but just kind of tired.
He was just about to fall asleep with his spent cock still in Sena and his face against Sena's hair and the both of them smeared with cum when Sena shifted against him.
"Hey, Agon," said Sena softly. "How was your day?"
Agon...opened his eyes. And looked at Sena. "All right."
Sena hmmmed sleepily. "I thought you had some sort of training seminar."
There was a little silence.
And then Agon's hand, the one Sena hadn't come into, came lightly to rest on Sena's head, and the fingers stroked through his hair.
"Some stupid meditation shit," said Agon. "Unsui nagged at me for fucking days. Only reason I went was for the hot springs."
Sena made a noise under his breath. "Poor you. Two days at the hot springs, it's too cruel."
Agon didn't smile. He didn't. "Fucking trash. You want to hear this or not?"
"Yes, please. Tell me all about the free vacation your private school tried to send you on."
This fucking...! "Since when are you this fucking bitchy?"
Sena pressed his mouth to Agon's throat, and for a moment, Agon could say nothing.
"Please tell me, Agon," whispered Sena. "I want to hear."
Agon's fingers stilled in Sena's hair. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—mean, and all of it somehow got lost in the voice in his head that was saying Yes, yes, yes!
"But get off me first," said the fucking ex-virgin. "Your fat ass is breaking my leg."