Title: Lesson 2: Hiruma's Heart (The Problem at Hand)

Disclaimer: I do not own Eyeshield 21

Characters: Hiruma/Mamori

The only time of day that ever bothered him was early morning. If he was up, then that meant he didn't get much sleep the night before. His eyes opened before the rest of his body awoke. He could tell by the faint strains of light ghosting into the room through the closed curtains that it was still too early to for any human being to be awake. His body came to life as it gradually shook off the sluggish confines of sleep, but his right arm was more stubborn than the rest of his limbs, refusing to give up its lazy position.

Hiruma looked over at the cause of the problem cradled into his right side. His arm rested beneath her sleeping form. He didn't remember reaching for her the night before, but the evidence was all over her, in the softness of her contented smile, and the blissful glow of her skin. He slowly extracted his arm from beneath her warm body, and instantly felt the angry rejection of the limb in the form of phantom needles. His right arm would have been content to die there underneath her weight.

He didn't ask her to stay that night, but she ended up staying anyway. Off and on, for several days now, she had been invading his quiet life. At first, it didn't seem unreasonable to him that she should clean up before going home, because they were both covered in mud. Then it only seemed logical for her to wait until her clothes were washed and dried before she left. Of course by the time that happened, it was already the wee hours of the morning, and she had fallen asleep nestled against his shoulder in one of his pajama tops that he never wore himself. But that didn't mean she had permission to stretch her one night sleep over into an extended event.

He grabbed the bottom half of his pajamas off the floor and slipped them on. Punishing his arm for its betrayal, he began doing one handed pushups near the foot of the bed. Moments later, the door eased open, and Cerberus jaunted leisurely into the room. The two of them exchanged a steely gaze, before Cerberus rounded the corner of the bed.

"Oh! Uh…good morning, Cerberus," Mamori's sleepy tone forced him to look up over the low edge of the bed to see Cerberus sitting smugly in her lap enjoying her attention.

"Get off my bed, fucking dog," he ground out between pushups.

"He's fine, and good morning to you, Youichi," her voice was a little too bright and cheery for his tastes, but he did like hearing the sound of his name on her lips.

"He's not fine," He huffed as he switched arms. "Yesterday morning when you weren't here, he took a nice big shit on my pillow."

"He's making that up, isn't he Cerberus?" she cooed. "You would never do such a thing, because you're such a good boy."

"I should have left it for you to clean up, but I do like sleeping in my own bed," he grunted, pushing himself to his limit and beyond in his irritation. "Alone," he added almost as an afterthought, but the silence told him that she understood his meaning. Sometimes her sweetness sickened him to the point where he could think of nothing better than to erase her from his mind.

Her foot came down on his rear in the middle of his push up making him lose his balance and collapse to the floor. "You need to keep your butt down if you're going to do these properly," she snickered and moved to go past him, but he snaked out an arm, grabbing her by the ankle, causing her to trip and fall flat on the ground. He wished he never taught her the fundamental basics of a push up.

"Who are you to coach someone on how to do the perfect push up?" He teased. She had rolled over on her back as he was sliding across her body, his hand traveling up her bare thigh underneath the lazily buttoned pajama top of his. An article of his clothing that she had by now claimed as her own.

"I thought you liked to sleep alone," she said as he pulled at one of the buttons with his teeth.

"Who said anything about sleeping?" he growled as he licked the soft skin between her breasts.

"We're going to be late for school," was her half hearted breathy protest. As he traveled further up her body, he felt her sharp shallow intake of breath. They had plenty of time, and her lips were close enough to touch. He barely brushed them and he could still feel them part with a silent sigh, inviting him to do more. Sometimes he felt guilty about the way he needed her, the way he used her. Or was she using him? Sometimes he truly didn't know who was marking who at times.

"Wear your own fucking clothes," he said dryly as their noses touched, and then snickered as he rose up from the floor, leaving her wanting as he stepped over her out into the living area.

Her clothes had become another point of irritation to him. He found some of her underwear stuffed in the back of one of his drawers the day before. She had a uniform hanging in the back of his closet, and recently it had been joined by two other outfits. Then there was the easy comfort in which she made her way around his place. As he sat at the coffee table booting up his laptop, she went into the kitchen opening cabinets, clanging dishes, and the smell of coffee brewing was all too comfortable for him. It was like she belonged there, with his guns, with his ammunition, with his files, and surveillance equipment. Not to mention the fact that she was turning his hell hound into nothing more than a house pet.

"What the fuck is all this?" He saw the neatly laid out plans and horribly drawn formations on his coffee table.

"Research," she said. "I found some old college football playbooks, and I came up with some offensive strategies that should be effective against Hakushuu." He could tell that was what it was without her answering, but that really wasn't what he meant by the question.

The dark circles around her eyes, the fact that she dosed off in one of her classes the other day, her growing inattention at practices; the fruition of all the signs he had been ignoring the past few days was staring him right in the face. Clearly she wasn't getting much sleep recently, and she was spending most of her waking hours trying to find a solution to the Gaou problem. The strategies weren't bad when he looked them over, but they presented significant risks that he just couldn't afford to take.

He couldn't risk the entire team just to protect himself. If he went down, he could be replaced, the team could still play, and they would still have a chance. But if their entire line was destroyed, then they had no one to replace them. He would have to forfeit just like the Taiyou Sphinx did, and that was the scenario he was looking to completely avoid. Saving him was not going to be part of the deal. If he was going to be saved, it was going to be by using his evasive techniques, and his arm. He would save himself on his own.

"This is all bullshit," he cackled as he tossed her research on to the floor.

"Excuse me?" Her wide incredulous blue eyes held a slight spark of anger in them. Something he seldom saw anymore and sorely missed.

She hadn't fought with him for in a long while. Her unquestioned obedience and acceptance of his methods had made arguing with her virtually obsolete. He missed the battles they used to have, but he didn't mind the fact that she was always at the ready to clean up after one of his tirades. He didn't exactly enjoy making her feel like a fool, but he did enjoy the reaction he got when she clearly knew that she wasn't.

"You actually wasted your valuable time compiling this bullshit together. What a stupid fucking thing to do," he cackled louder, seeing her begin to seethe as she poured their coffee

"I thought I was helping," she bit out lowly.

"Not with that unintelligible bullshit. You can't even draw a fucking line formation correctly. All you need are x's, o's, and dots. That should have been easy enough for you to do, fucking manager." She had made it easy to mock her, by drawing caricatures of the players in her formations. The Gaou caricature was probably the most hilarious one.

"I thought it would be cute," she said. He could tell she was pouting now, but he didn't care as he perused the latest college and professional amefuto standings online.

"By drawing fucking stick figure people? Well, it's fucking horrible, and a complete waste of fucking time," he was done winding her up, and was now waiting patiently for the explosion.

"I think you've already made that clear," she said as she sat his mug of coffee down in front of him. He cocked an eyebrow over the laptop at her. So this was her controlled blast. He picked up the mug and brought it to his lips. Watching the ever so slight wicked smirk in the corner of her mouth, he sniffed the concoction before sitting it back down, and pushing it to the side.

"Nice try," he snickered. Sometimes she truly did amaze him, especially when he saw a little of himself rubbing off on her.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was as innocent as the look in her eyes. What she didn't know was that while she thought he wasn't paying much attention to her making his coffee, he had seen her pour an insane amount of sugar into both mugs.

"You're not devious enough," he said as he went back to his laptop.

"I can be devious if I want to. What about Deimon Field Day?"

"You were acting. There's a difference, and it was for the good of the team." Although, that had been one of the best days he had ever had. Seeing her laugh maniacally was priceless, simply because every time someone offered money to see the footage, he turned them down cold.

"I even helped you set those traps," she said, trying to hold on to any little detail that would convince him that she wasn't the perfect fucking angel he knew so well.

"I can smell the fucking sugar from a mile away, okay," he pointed out, deflating her argument at the same time. "Plus the look on your face gave you away the instant I picked up the mug."

"I'm that transparent?" Her shoulders slumped as she sipped her coffee. Sometimes he wished she wouldn't give up so easily. But did he really want her to aspire to his level?

He sighed irritably. "You should have just put a teaspoon of sugar in the bottom of the mug before pouring the coffee. That way, I would still drink it while thinking something tasted different with your extraordinarily awful fucking coffee, before getting to the bottom of the mug, and finding the sugar surprise."

"Thanks for the pointers," she smirked as she continued to sip her coffee.

"Anytime," he winked back at her.

He knew her motives better than she did, but things were constantly evolving between them. He had to admit that at first their secret affair gave him a dangerous sort of rush. The kind of rush he thought he could only feel on the football field after a hard win. As things had progressed, he deliberately let her peel away certain layers of his psyche. It was nice to have her close, and still at a comfortable distance. A distance he maintained. A distance she was discovering new ways to encroach upon all on her own. He did not want to need her, but when she was gone he certainly did crave her.

"You can't move in here," he said abruptly as he shut down his laptop and stood up.

"Who said I was moving in?" She looked up at him with those shining innocent blue eyes that had become so fascinating to him. Unlike him, she had the ability to lure him, and bare her soul to him with just one look.

"I said you can't move in," he reiterated himself. His mouth curling into a sneer, making it clear that it wasn't a question, merely a fact that he knew all about her tactics.

"I'm not moving in," she shrugged as he turned to head back towards the bedroom.

"Good, then we are agreed," he called out to her as his disappeared from her sight.

"I didn't know that we disagreed," she called back to him.

"I'm jumping into the shower now. Don't keep me fucking waiting," he said loudly, as he imagined the rueful twist on her mouth. As much as he craved her, he knew she had become just as obsessed with him.