Willing Hostage
He wasn't pinned to the couch by cute little blondes every day. Rick couldn't remember when he'd had this much bodily contact with a single human being. He wasn't remotely uncomfortable. He might have joined his friend in sleep, but… the TV was on, movie credits scrolling, his arm felt like it was being jammed through a wood chipper, circulation cut off, and, finally, he had too much pride to be found in the morning cuddled up with Max. Rick looked appraisingly at the younger beyblader: face pressed against his chest, dubious dream-smile in place, resting peacefully. Somehow they'd gone from sitting beside one another to Max flattening his counterpart, curled up like a child and out like a lamp. Max played these games with people despite how often his antics unsettled and disturbed. It was questionable whether this game was safe to play with Rick, who had been undeniably violent in the past. Rick very carefully moved his pained appendage, not upsetting the blonde's position, gazing, thoughtful. It was incorrect to question his safety in the present however, because regarding Max, well – let's just say that at the moment, Rick's thoughts ran along these lines: "I am the luckiest."
Author's Notes: I know, I know! So… I don't see it as yaoi. Too… too much yaoi… Um. Rick is a great friend! You just shut up, you!