![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ajremixTitle: A Little Attention
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Rating: PG-13 (because Hiruma has a foul mouth)
Word Count: 372
Characters: Hiruma, Mamori
Summary: An exercise in getting attention. Sort of.
This had to have been the eighth guy in as many weeks. Normally Hiruma didn’t have a problem with strange people coming to afternoon practice (as the team consisted mostly of strange people) but not these guys. And it may not solely be for the fact that they weren’t practicing. They weren’t even spectators.
Despite the fucking manager yelling at him to stop abusing these damn loiterers, Hiruma managed to chase each one of them off his field within the day (with the except of one who came for three straight days until Hiruma finally let Mamori’s fan club chase him away).
By the eighth one, though, this was getting fucking ridiculous.
Setting the team up for movement drills, he drew Mamori into the clubhouse by yanking on her arm until she got the hint.
“What do you want?” She glared, watching him sprawl into a chair and get his dirty cleats all over her clean table.
“Why the fuck,” Hiruma snarled back, snapping his gum (as Douburoku and Musashi both took his smokes away), “do you keep bringing these losers to my damn practice?”
“They happen to be nice boys.” Mamori retorted.
“Nice my ass. They just want to get up your skirt.”
She blushed. “Do you have a problem with that?”
And eyebrow jerked up. “What, are you serious? You LIKE that kind of attention?”
With a sigh, Mamori sat on the edge of the table. “Well maybe I’m using them because I’m not getting the attention I want from the person I want.”
“Yeah? And maybe you should be happy with the attention you’re getting from that person.”
“Well maybe I don’t /want/ to be happy with it.” She said a little daringly, putting a hand lightly over one of Hiruma’s ankles.
Both eyebrows rose, but he snorted. “In my experience, you take what you want. Fucking manager.”
Thoughtfully, she gave his ankle a pat. “That may be true.” She slid from the table and went to the door. Hiruma followed her out the corner of his eye, watching her go out of the clubhouse. He leaned back and cushioned his arms behind his head. And completely didn’t expect it when Mamori pulled his chair back and kissed him.
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Rating: PG-13 (because Hiruma has a foul mouth)
Word Count: 372
Characters: Hiruma, Mamori
Summary: An exercise in getting attention. Sort of.
This had to have been the eighth guy in as many weeks. Normally Hiruma didn’t have a problem with strange people coming to afternoon practice (as the team consisted mostly of strange people) but not these guys. And it may not solely be for the fact that they weren’t practicing. They weren’t even spectators.
Despite the fucking manager yelling at him to stop abusing these damn loiterers, Hiruma managed to chase each one of them off his field within the day (with the except of one who came for three straight days until Hiruma finally let Mamori’s fan club chase him away).
By the eighth one, though, this was getting fucking ridiculous.
Setting the team up for movement drills, he drew Mamori into the clubhouse by yanking on her arm until she got the hint.
“What do you want?” She glared, watching him sprawl into a chair and get his dirty cleats all over her clean table.
“Why the fuck,” Hiruma snarled back, snapping his gum (as Douburoku and Musashi both took his smokes away), “do you keep bringing these losers to my damn practice?”
“They happen to be nice boys.” Mamori retorted.
“Nice my ass. They just want to get up your skirt.”
She blushed. “Do you have a problem with that?”
And eyebrow jerked up. “What, are you serious? You LIKE that kind of attention?”
With a sigh, Mamori sat on the edge of the table. “Well maybe I’m using them because I’m not getting the attention I want from the person I want.”
“Yeah? And maybe you should be happy with the attention you’re getting from that person.”
“Well maybe I don’t /want/ to be happy with it.” She said a little daringly, putting a hand lightly over one of Hiruma’s ankles.
Both eyebrows rose, but he snorted. “In my experience, you take what you want. Fucking manager.”
Thoughtfully, she gave his ankle a pat. “That may be true.” She slid from the table and went to the door. Hiruma followed her out the corner of his eye, watching her go out of the clubhouse. He leaned back and cushioned his arms behind his head. And completely didn’t expect it when Mamori pulled his chair back and kissed him.
