Author's Notes: This takes place while they're in Junior High.

It had started at the peak of Youichi's problems at home.

He didn't question how odd it was to see Musashi's father's car nearly on the doorstep of his apartment when he arrived, panting, on the threshold. Instead, Youichi's mind merely focused in on the red mark angrily painting his cheek and the reason he'd run there in the first place.

He didn't question Musashi, under aged, being at the wheel. And Musashi didn't question his friend's subdued behavior, nor the fright hidden behind his eyes.

And they drove. No place particular in mind, they just drove until they had circled the district enough for both of them to be satisfied. Then Musashi dropped Youichi off at his apartment complex and, without looking at each other, they went their separate ways.

At hearing the sound of the car pull away, Youichi felt a stab of guilt. He could care less about tricking traffic control into thinking Gen was forty-some, but how many tanks of gas had Musashi wasted on him?

He knew he wouldn't apologize, though. And he tried to tell himself it was because Musashi had already pulled away, not because he was just too afraid to.

-

By the third time Youichi had become more accustomed to his friend's "surprise" visits. Feeling bold, he asked upon getting into the vehicle, "So, are you my personal stalker now, or...?"

Musashi smirked, putting the car in gear. "Well, you're right in one context: I've been waiting here longer than you've been coming, but it's really how you've been acting in school that tipped me off, so I..." He shut up suddenly. "Oh - wouldja' mind shutting the door, by the way?"

Youichi did, feeling a couple thousand less than a million bucks.

Musashi and his damn charity, he griped to himself.

-

This time, instead of driving around the city for hours (and wasting precious petroleum resources), Musashi drove them to a deserted area and parked the car.

Dryly, Youichi noted how close it looked to the infamous "Make-Out Point" in all those American movies. Musashi got a kick out of that.

"What - you think I took you here just to ravish your virtue? Please, Hiruma. Give me some credit."

"I oughta' rip you a new hole," Youichi grumbled stiffly. Palm on his chin, he gazed, brooding, out the side window.

Despite his airy laugh, Musashi felt tense. Hell, he could almost see the awkward discomfort burning between them, an aura of irritation growing reckless on Hiruma's side. It was unnerving and a little off-putting, considering the fact Gen was doing this for Youichi.

He sighed. "You're such a girl sometimes."

Youichi's head wrenched around just as Gen's hand came flying to his own mouth, appalled at himself.

Oh fuck, he thought. I'm going to die.

There was a small tussle and a lot of foul language on Youichi's part, but in the end Gen was the one who triumphed, managing to pin his friend(? This situation made that term questionable) by the wrists to the seat, straddling him to force him to stay still. But he should have known he wouldn't just roll over and surrender like that, and now the squirming, thrashing blonde beneath him was awakening something else in himself he didn't care to deal with right now.

"If I had just one of my guns-!" Youichi growled, writhing again. Gen breathed evenly, trying to keep his head clear and ignore the heat pooling between his legs. "Yeah, well, you don't."

Eventually Youichi began to settle down, eerily quiet in contrast to his usually outspoken nature. He looked at Musashi in a curious way before pursing his lips and glancing off to the side. Trying not to look at the boy above him, Youichi murmured, "So, um... Is that...? I mean, do you usually...?"

"What?"

Hiruma's face darkened in a blush of anger (or, perhaps, something else) when he realized Musashi really had no idea what he was talking about.

"That!" Youichi spluttered, bobbing his head ferociously in order to point out his friend's growing erection. Gen looked down, managing to keep his face void of guilt or any other emotion.

"Ah," he commented in a calm manner, the voice inside his head screaming. "That."

Well, this was it; he'd been found out. Oh, dear. Now he had not only soiled the family name, he had given Hiruma an excellent piece (a/n: -snort-) of blackmail against him. He supposed now he would have to transfer to another school, perhaps move to another country altogether to-

"A-hem."

Musashi noted how uncomfortable Youichi looked there, wrists pinned to the seat behind him with a rather large erection pointing at his midsection. Frazzled, Gen let go of his wrists, ready to dismount when a hand on his crotch stopped him.

"So..." Hiruma stated, sounding innocent enough. His facial expression, however, was far from. "Is this all because of me?"

As he spoke, Youichi stroked, causing a low grunt to sound from between clenched teeth.

"Please," the other boy grumbled, "don't-"

But then, he supposed this was his punishment for making Youichi uncomfortable not once, but multiple times.

Pheh. At this rate, he was never driving him anywhere again.

Hands resting behind him on the dashboard, Musashi bucked into the fervent hand. Surprisingly, though, he felt the second party grow slightly more averse. He looked at the demonic blonde quizzically, eyebrows raised.

You were all game a second ago. "What...?"

"You're squashing me."

Reluctantly, Musashi crawled off him.

...Which proved to be a mistake. Almost as soon as he had, Youichi pounced, yanking him into the backseat.

There was that single instant where there eyes met as they lay, half sprawled, in the backseat, Youichi clutching Gen's shirt while the more solidly built boy hovering over top of him, unsure of how to start. Ironic, considering he'd been fucking Youichi's hand only a few seconds before.

And, just like before, it was Youichi to break the ice, this time with a rough kiss characteristic to his nature. From there, Musashi gained some footing.

And very suddenly they were kissing - a lot - and rather roughly, too. And they were touching, and they were grinding, and it felt good good good, but then neither could really think straight, nor could they differentiate from wrong or right, though they supposed there wasn't really a wrong thing so much as an uncouth thing and a rather bewildering thing.

And Youichi was battling relentlessly with him for dominance, but it was no use because he was just that much smaller, that much weaker, dammit, and Musashi was like a power house in comparison to him.

But did it really matter? Because either way - though Hiruma would never, ever admit - it just felt good.

Or an adjective akin to "good".

-

"Damn - FUCK! Don't fall asleep, Your cock is still lodged up my-"

"Geez, I'm doing my best. It's much more tiring to be the pitcher, you know?"

"...Shut up."

Impatient, Youichi made an attempt to shove him off himself, which turned out to be a bad choice. He howled in pain.

"Stupid ass, what'd I tell you?"

Hiruma cringed. "As soon as I can walk, I'm fucking coming after you."

Musashi waggled his eyebrows alluringly (if such a thing can be managed). Youichi shoved his face away.

Gen smirked. "I saw you, smiling!"

"I was not!!" Youichi snarled childishly. "It's just your fucking perverted mind playing tricks on you, fucking old man!"

And then, before one could say 'Deimon Devil Bats', more "wrestling" ensued.

-

The End.