![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Title: Gunsmoke Signals
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
30_distractions
Theme: Huge; Tackle; Glomp
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity
---
Intimidation.
For the longest time she could never understand why everyone was so terrified of him. She never felt intimidated by him in all the years she'd known of him, nor during the year that she actually had to spend time around him, via football practices, games, and even the little adventures he made them go on.
But in all the time she'd known him, she had never put herself in this sort of position before; the position of actually understanding why other teams, especially the weaker ones, feared him; the position of being on his territory.
Despite it only being a week after their victorious battle at the Christmas Bowl, the weather was actually very nice; cool and breezy, but not cold and biting. The midnight sky hanging above them was a beautiful, velvety black, enhanced by the blanket of stars glittering like diamonds in contrast to the darkness.
The field was basically deserted, lost to the night's cool, dark embrace except for the dim, silver illumination casting along the ground from the full moon hanging high in the clear, dark sky.
She never felt so threatened, staring into the narrow, emerald-green eyes directly in front of her, the wicked, shark-toothed grin split wide in the sharp, light-skinned features of the Devilbats' now former captain.
The smooth ridges in the ball's leather skin felt slick in her small, clammy hand. Her heart was racing with adrenaline, excitement, and fright as she stared evil, quite literally, in the face.
Even his bigger body was a threat all on its own. His shoulders, even without the wide padding of his protective gear, were still impressively broad, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw those hard muscles flex, a light stirring under the light blue, unkempt layer of his shirt. It was a subtle warning; a telling of raw power, of strength that would take her down if she dared challenge it.
But she knew better. He wouldn't really tackle her . . . if not for the reason that she was a girl – a girl who wasn't ashamed to admit the truth of her being more delicate than him – than at least for the fact that they weren't wearing protective padding.
No, he wouldn't hurt her. Not intentionally, anyway.
. . . Right?
Her eyes dropped from his for a single second, trying gather courage that was greedily being sapped out of her by the devious glint in his feline eyes.
And her breath caught when her gaze landed on the wide expanse of his chest. Being crouched down, upper body lowered closer to the field's crisp, recently trimmed grass, gave her a devastating view of the defined ridge of his collarbone and a brief glimpse of the solid pectorals, flashing her brazenly through the widely unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt.
"What'cha looking at, fucking ex-manager. . . ?"
Her eyes jolted back up to his, heat of mortification immediately burning in her cheeks. Her heart was pounding at the soft, taunting tone of his voice. His arrogant smirk was taking on a different edge now . . . something sly; something . . . predatory.
Another, dangerous shift of muscle was the only motive her already frightened mind needed to mentally scream the command to run.
"HUT!" she squeaked, immediately dodging to the side just as he suddenly pounced, a long, toned arm stretched out to catch and wrap around her waist. But he missed when her terrified instincts took over, twisting her away from the danger, the heel of her tennis shoe digging into the ground, grinding up grass and dirt.
It couldn't have been that easy. No, he was toying with her; he had to be. Even though he was just a high school student, she knew that he could be seen as experienced on an impressive, professional level. No one could ever say the same about her. Up until joining the American football club she never once thought about the sport, much less partook in it in any sort of way.
But whether he missed intentionally or not, she didn't care. She couldn't care. She just needed to run; to get to the other end of the field; to avoid getting tackled by Deimon High's blackmailing delinquent.
Just one touchdown, she thought breathlessly as she ran like a frightened mouse down the darkened football field, guided only by the faint, ghostly light of the moon, the light-weight football tucked protectively against her body. Just one touchdown and he'll call me by my real name . . . if only once . . .
---
She pulled her comfortable, Devilbat-crimson letterman jacket tighter around her small body, a soft smile curling her lips as she strolled up the concrete ramp to the iron railing blocking in the bleachers and overlooking Deimon High's massive football field.
She sighed wistfully as she wrapped her fingers around the cold steel of the railing, her eyes taking in the magnificent view of the field as it was gently caressed by the silvery moonlight.
It was a beautiful night; very serene, peaceful. It made it sort of hard to imagine that only days ago they had taken on the strongest high school in Tokyo, famous for being undefeated since the very first Christmas Bowl. Their victory, even though it was by one point, was still sinking in. Part of her was still shocked; it felt like a dream.
How could it have happened? It wasn't possible that they could have defeated the Teikoku Alexanders. After all, the majority of Deimon Devilbats had never even played football until Hiruma had recruited them. Some were even taken from different sports! They were all amateurs, not knowing what they were doing, guided only by the frightening, relentless Hiruma and the patient, encouraging Kurita.
But . . . it hadn't been a dream.
They had risen from the dirt, taking on teams who had been more experienced and qualified, winning on only spirit, determination, and Hiruma's sharp intelligence alone.
She felt the hot prickling of tears well up in her eyes, becoming overwhelmed with pride and happiness. They had come such a long way . . . Sena was no longer a weak boy, always the target of bullies. Monta had reached his goal of ten years, becoming a recognized ace catcher. The Huh-Huh Brothers found a goal they could reach together and be recognized for what they can do; not for what they did. Even Yukimitsu had developed an ambition that wasn't a part of the classroom.
And more than anything . . . they'd given Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi their strived-for dream, taking the team to the Christmas Bowl. And then they had gone one step farther and given the original Devilbats a gift: the victory.
"Oi, fucking ex-manager."
Her breath caught, startled, and she turned her eyes up into the bleachers. Sitting there, donned in tight, faded jeans and his own letterman jacket, a black version of hers, was the Devilbats' ex-quarterback, lazily twirling a football between his hands.
"Hiruma-kun," she murmured, blinking in surprise, a warm blush rising into her cheeks. Had he'd been there the whole time?
He flashed her his shark-toothed grin, his dark green eyes glinting in the moonlight.
She felt a smile blossoming in response. Everything was going to change now that they were going to be third years, unable to take part in extracurricular activities. But if there was one thing she could put faith into staying the same, it was Hiruma.
She took a step back when he got up and lightly jumped down beside her. He was so tall, his body towering over her, that she had to tilt her head back in order to look him in the face.
"What are you doing here?" she inquired curiously.
"Kekeke . . . planning world domination, fucking ex-manager."
She gave him an exasperated look as he cackled and brushed past her. She quickly followed, coming to fall in step next to him. A comfortable silence drifted over them as they walked absently along the main isle of the bleachers. She snuck glance up at him. He had a hand tucked in a pocket of his letterman jacket, the other idly tossing the oval-shaped ball up in the air as he slowly exhaled a blue bubble of gum.
She looked away again. She stared down at her moving feet, her hands clasped shyly in front of her. "So . . . what will you do now? Will you . . . go professional?"
Her voice came out softer than she had intended, and for a long moment, she thought he either hadn't heard her or was ignoring her.
She looked up in time to see the blue bubble pop. He voice was flat; serious.
"No. It was never my intention to pursue a career in football. That's fucking pork bun's dream. Even shitty mohawk doesn't plan on going pro."
"Oh," she murmured, a little surprised by his reply. With all the passion and determination he had put into the team, she'd always thought he would want to continue it after high school. "Well, what are your plans then?"
He came to a stop, and as if she was tied to him, she did as well. He turned to face her and leaned back against the railing, a smirk lighting up the sharp features of his face.
"Not that it's any of your fucking business," he drawled, his smirk broadening when she flashed him an irritated look, "but I plan on leaving for America in a week. Gonna go abroad and all that shit. Get a degree in business and management."
"Oh, well . . . that's . . . wonderful . . ." He didn't just drop a bomb . . . he dropped a nuclear bomb. She could only stare at him, eyes wide with shock. He shrugged before tilting his head back to stare up at the midnight sky.
He was leaving . . . ? In a week . . . ? How long had he been planning this? Had he even had any intentions of telling anyone?
She swallowed, her mouth having gone dry. "Will . . . will you be coming back?"
He didn't divert his gaze from the starry, black sky, when he responded, his tone aloof and matter-of-fact. "Doubtful. Might visit the fucking porker and fucking old man. Maybe even see how the fucking shrimps are holding up."
'What about me . . . ?'
She nearly choked, astonished by that thought. What about her? So what if he was leaving? It's not like she cared what he did . . .
'Lies . . .' whispered the thought.
She clenched her hands tightly, staring at him. He was so handsome . . . Smooth, light skin almost glowing in the moonlight; the thick, blond spikes of hair moving faintly in a cool breeze; his eyes watching the stars leisurely. His whole posture was carefree; at ease.
There was a chance she would never see him again . . . and she should have felt thrilled; relieved. Lord knew the school would be at peace at last. But she didn't feel anything other than. . . disappointment. She wouldn't call it sadness. No. She was not sad.
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing.
She surprised him, his body jerking, when she suddenly reached out and snatched the football from his hands.
"Oi, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, though the bite wasn't in his tone as he stared down at her.
She smiled, patting the ball enthusiastically as she said cheerfully, "You like to make bets, right? What if I said I can get a touchdown on a one-on-one with you? If I do, you have to call me by my first name, at least once."
She was being crazy, taking on the devil of Deimon High in his area of expertise. And for what? She wanted to hear him call her Mamori, and she wanted him to mean it. Not like the day when she had been kidnapped.
Instead of laughing at her or blowing her off as being ridiculous like she had original thought he'd do, he just grinned manically and quickly stole the ball back.
"And if I win?" he purred, green eyes glittering with devious gleefulness.
She blinked. If he won? He was allowing her to choose the outcome of his possible victory?
She must not have responded fast enough because he started cackling again as he began walking down toward the field. "Kekeke. Never mind. I'll think of something, fucking ex-manager."
---
She was almost there. She was almost to the end zone!
She could see the towering pole of the goalpost tucked comfortably in the darkness, the soft moonlight having reached it just short.
Her lungs were laboring, her breath coming in loud, hard bursts in the quiet night. Her heart was hammering with adrenaline and exertion. Her legs were beginning to burn with each lift, and perspiration finely dotted her forehead.
She was scared out of her mind due to the fact that Hiruma had all but disappeared. She couldn't hear him anywhere, but she didn't dare stop to see if he was still around. No, she wasn't going to fall for his tricks!
A grin of victory bloomed prettily across her face, a giggle bubbling up in her chest as she neared the white stripe painting the grass, marking the goal line. She won! She won!
An arm shot out from the darkness, its light-blue sleeve rolled up to expose the taut, smooth skin of its strong forearm, snapping and locking around her waist. The muscles in the arm clenched with strength and she squeaked when she was suddenly halted in her desperate sprint and was hauled back roughly against a solid, warm body, taking her down to the crisp cushioning of the grass with its heavier weight.
"Oof!" she gasped, her breathing hard and labored, and her mind spinning with surprise.
Tackled. She'd been tackled.
And he'd . . . been gentle about it. It'd been no more uncomfortable than as if she had simply fallen on her own.
That thought caused a curious fluttering in her stomach as her cheeks with burned with indignation. He'd been toying with her! He had let her think that she was going to win . . . and then came in at the last second and effortlessly took her down, her victory only feet away!
As if reading her frustrated thoughts, warm breath gusted over her ear when he chuckled.
"Too bad, fucking ex-manager. And you were so close, too."
She scowled and jerked her body against the muscled arm still wrapped around her waist, a silent demand that he let her up. When it only tightened, holding her pinned against the length of his body, she stilled, her heart slowly beginning to pound with something other than physical exertion.
She became painfully aware of everything in that moment. The cool, night air; the grass tickling her cheek; the leather of the ball held to her chest; the heart beating a strong, steady against her back; the soft breath warmly caressing the nape of her neck.
Swallowing, she shied a glance over her shoulder. The tip of her nose almost brushed his and her heart jumped.
The somberness of his expression, the light frowning of his mouth and seriousness in his deep green eyes, had her breath quickening and her eyes searching his.
"H . . . Hiruma?" she murmured, her voice breathless. The arm uncoiled from her waist and he brought his large, long-fingered hand up to catch her chin.
"Hnn," was her only response before he closed the distance and brushed his lips gently over her own.
Her breath caught in a gasp, her light-blue eyes widening. It was the barest of touches; so faint that it could hardly be considered a kiss, but she felt its impact right to her little toes. It was like a shot of adrenaline, overwhelming her body's senses.
He drew back, a light, cocky smirk hovering over her parted, slightly trembling lips, before pulling away completely.
She blinked, stunned, as he got to his feet, dusting off his jeans. She dimly watched him when he started digging around in his back pockets. He cursed and started searching his front pockets.
Whatever he was looking for he must have found it because a wide, maniacal grin split across his features.
He suddenly turned toward her and fell into a crouch in front of her just as she was pushing herself into a sitting position.
"Hey!" she started when long fingers wrapped loosely around one of her wrists and snatched it up. She saw that the object he'd been scouring his pockets for happened to be a simple, black-inked pen, and he used it on her palm, scribbling something on her skin.
Finishing, he capped the pen and stood back up.
Smirking, he pointed the pen at her hand as she curiously read over the message. "No one else knows about that, not even the fucking fat ass or shitty kicker. Give it to anyone and I'll send you to Hell."
She stared at her hand and then up at him, silently asking why he would give her something so clearly private. Instead of elaborating, he just picked up the football sitting abandoned next to her and wordlessly walked past her, leaving her to herself on the dark football field.
For a long while, she just sat that, basking in the silver moonlight. She smiled, nibbling on her bottom lip as she snuck another peek at the messily written letters in the middle of her hand: devilbat_commander21@aol.com
Now . . . if only she could learn how to work a computer . . .
---
[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge:
30_distractionsTheme: Huge; Tackle; Glomp
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity
---
Intimidation.
For the longest time she could never understand why everyone was so terrified of him. She never felt intimidated by him in all the years she'd known of him, nor during the year that she actually had to spend time around him, via football practices, games, and even the little adventures he made them go on.
But in all the time she'd known him, she had never put herself in this sort of position before; the position of actually understanding why other teams, especially the weaker ones, feared him; the position of being on his territory.
Despite it only being a week after their victorious battle at the Christmas Bowl, the weather was actually very nice; cool and breezy, but not cold and biting. The midnight sky hanging above them was a beautiful, velvety black, enhanced by the blanket of stars glittering like diamonds in contrast to the darkness.
The field was basically deserted, lost to the night's cool, dark embrace except for the dim, silver illumination casting along the ground from the full moon hanging high in the clear, dark sky.
She never felt so threatened, staring into the narrow, emerald-green eyes directly in front of her, the wicked, shark-toothed grin split wide in the sharp, light-skinned features of the Devilbats' now former captain.
The smooth ridges in the ball's leather skin felt slick in her small, clammy hand. Her heart was racing with adrenaline, excitement, and fright as she stared evil, quite literally, in the face.
Even his bigger body was a threat all on its own. His shoulders, even without the wide padding of his protective gear, were still impressively broad, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw those hard muscles flex, a light stirring under the light blue, unkempt layer of his shirt. It was a subtle warning; a telling of raw power, of strength that would take her down if she dared challenge it.
But she knew better. He wouldn't really tackle her . . . if not for the reason that she was a girl – a girl who wasn't ashamed to admit the truth of her being more delicate than him – than at least for the fact that they weren't wearing protective padding.
No, he wouldn't hurt her. Not intentionally, anyway.
. . . Right?
Her eyes dropped from his for a single second, trying gather courage that was greedily being sapped out of her by the devious glint in his feline eyes.
And her breath caught when her gaze landed on the wide expanse of his chest. Being crouched down, upper body lowered closer to the field's crisp, recently trimmed grass, gave her a devastating view of the defined ridge of his collarbone and a brief glimpse of the solid pectorals, flashing her brazenly through the widely unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt.
"What'cha looking at, fucking ex-manager. . . ?"
Her eyes jolted back up to his, heat of mortification immediately burning in her cheeks. Her heart was pounding at the soft, taunting tone of his voice. His arrogant smirk was taking on a different edge now . . . something sly; something . . . predatory.
Another, dangerous shift of muscle was the only motive her already frightened mind needed to mentally scream the command to run.
"HUT!" she squeaked, immediately dodging to the side just as he suddenly pounced, a long, toned arm stretched out to catch and wrap around her waist. But he missed when her terrified instincts took over, twisting her away from the danger, the heel of her tennis shoe digging into the ground, grinding up grass and dirt.
It couldn't have been that easy. No, he was toying with her; he had to be. Even though he was just a high school student, she knew that he could be seen as experienced on an impressive, professional level. No one could ever say the same about her. Up until joining the American football club she never once thought about the sport, much less partook in it in any sort of way.
But whether he missed intentionally or not, she didn't care. She couldn't care. She just needed to run; to get to the other end of the field; to avoid getting tackled by Deimon High's blackmailing delinquent.
Just one touchdown, she thought breathlessly as she ran like a frightened mouse down the darkened football field, guided only by the faint, ghostly light of the moon, the light-weight football tucked protectively against her body. Just one touchdown and he'll call me by my real name . . . if only once . . .
---
She pulled her comfortable, Devilbat-crimson letterman jacket tighter around her small body, a soft smile curling her lips as she strolled up the concrete ramp to the iron railing blocking in the bleachers and overlooking Deimon High's massive football field.
She sighed wistfully as she wrapped her fingers around the cold steel of the railing, her eyes taking in the magnificent view of the field as it was gently caressed by the silvery moonlight.
It was a beautiful night; very serene, peaceful. It made it sort of hard to imagine that only days ago they had taken on the strongest high school in Tokyo, famous for being undefeated since the very first Christmas Bowl. Their victory, even though it was by one point, was still sinking in. Part of her was still shocked; it felt like a dream.
How could it have happened? It wasn't possible that they could have defeated the Teikoku Alexanders. After all, the majority of Deimon Devilbats had never even played football until Hiruma had recruited them. Some were even taken from different sports! They were all amateurs, not knowing what they were doing, guided only by the frightening, relentless Hiruma and the patient, encouraging Kurita.
But . . . it hadn't been a dream.
They had risen from the dirt, taking on teams who had been more experienced and qualified, winning on only spirit, determination, and Hiruma's sharp intelligence alone.
She felt the hot prickling of tears well up in her eyes, becoming overwhelmed with pride and happiness. They had come such a long way . . . Sena was no longer a weak boy, always the target of bullies. Monta had reached his goal of ten years, becoming a recognized ace catcher. The Huh-Huh Brothers found a goal they could reach together and be recognized for what they can do; not for what they did. Even Yukimitsu had developed an ambition that wasn't a part of the classroom.
And more than anything . . . they'd given Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi their strived-for dream, taking the team to the Christmas Bowl. And then they had gone one step farther and given the original Devilbats a gift: the victory.
"Oi, fucking ex-manager."
Her breath caught, startled, and she turned her eyes up into the bleachers. Sitting there, donned in tight, faded jeans and his own letterman jacket, a black version of hers, was the Devilbats' ex-quarterback, lazily twirling a football between his hands.
"Hiruma-kun," she murmured, blinking in surprise, a warm blush rising into her cheeks. Had he'd been there the whole time?
He flashed her his shark-toothed grin, his dark green eyes glinting in the moonlight.
She felt a smile blossoming in response. Everything was going to change now that they were going to be third years, unable to take part in extracurricular activities. But if there was one thing she could put faith into staying the same, it was Hiruma.
She took a step back when he got up and lightly jumped down beside her. He was so tall, his body towering over her, that she had to tilt her head back in order to look him in the face.
"What are you doing here?" she inquired curiously.
"Kekeke . . . planning world domination, fucking ex-manager."
She gave him an exasperated look as he cackled and brushed past her. She quickly followed, coming to fall in step next to him. A comfortable silence drifted over them as they walked absently along the main isle of the bleachers. She snuck glance up at him. He had a hand tucked in a pocket of his letterman jacket, the other idly tossing the oval-shaped ball up in the air as he slowly exhaled a blue bubble of gum.
She looked away again. She stared down at her moving feet, her hands clasped shyly in front of her. "So . . . what will you do now? Will you . . . go professional?"
Her voice came out softer than she had intended, and for a long moment, she thought he either hadn't heard her or was ignoring her.
She looked up in time to see the blue bubble pop. He voice was flat; serious.
"No. It was never my intention to pursue a career in football. That's fucking pork bun's dream. Even shitty mohawk doesn't plan on going pro."
"Oh," she murmured, a little surprised by his reply. With all the passion and determination he had put into the team, she'd always thought he would want to continue it after high school. "Well, what are your plans then?"
He came to a stop, and as if she was tied to him, she did as well. He turned to face her and leaned back against the railing, a smirk lighting up the sharp features of his face.
"Not that it's any of your fucking business," he drawled, his smirk broadening when she flashed him an irritated look, "but I plan on leaving for America in a week. Gonna go abroad and all that shit. Get a degree in business and management."
"Oh, well . . . that's . . . wonderful . . ." He didn't just drop a bomb . . . he dropped a nuclear bomb. She could only stare at him, eyes wide with shock. He shrugged before tilting his head back to stare up at the midnight sky.
He was leaving . . . ? In a week . . . ? How long had he been planning this? Had he even had any intentions of telling anyone?
She swallowed, her mouth having gone dry. "Will . . . will you be coming back?"
He didn't divert his gaze from the starry, black sky, when he responded, his tone aloof and matter-of-fact. "Doubtful. Might visit the fucking porker and fucking old man. Maybe even see how the fucking shrimps are holding up."
'What about me . . . ?'
She nearly choked, astonished by that thought. What about her? So what if he was leaving? It's not like she cared what he did . . .
'Lies . . .' whispered the thought.
She clenched her hands tightly, staring at him. He was so handsome . . . Smooth, light skin almost glowing in the moonlight; the thick, blond spikes of hair moving faintly in a cool breeze; his eyes watching the stars leisurely. His whole posture was carefree; at ease.
There was a chance she would never see him again . . . and she should have felt thrilled; relieved. Lord knew the school would be at peace at last. But she didn't feel anything other than. . . disappointment. She wouldn't call it sadness. No. She was not sad.
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing.
She surprised him, his body jerking, when she suddenly reached out and snatched the football from his hands.
"Oi, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, though the bite wasn't in his tone as he stared down at her.
She smiled, patting the ball enthusiastically as she said cheerfully, "You like to make bets, right? What if I said I can get a touchdown on a one-on-one with you? If I do, you have to call me by my first name, at least once."
She was being crazy, taking on the devil of Deimon High in his area of expertise. And for what? She wanted to hear him call her Mamori, and she wanted him to mean it. Not like the day when she had been kidnapped.
Instead of laughing at her or blowing her off as being ridiculous like she had original thought he'd do, he just grinned manically and quickly stole the ball back.
"And if I win?" he purred, green eyes glittering with devious gleefulness.
She blinked. If he won? He was allowing her to choose the outcome of his possible victory?
She must not have responded fast enough because he started cackling again as he began walking down toward the field. "Kekeke. Never mind. I'll think of something, fucking ex-manager."
---
She was almost there. She was almost to the end zone!
She could see the towering pole of the goalpost tucked comfortably in the darkness, the soft moonlight having reached it just short.
Her lungs were laboring, her breath coming in loud, hard bursts in the quiet night. Her heart was hammering with adrenaline and exertion. Her legs were beginning to burn with each lift, and perspiration finely dotted her forehead.
She was scared out of her mind due to the fact that Hiruma had all but disappeared. She couldn't hear him anywhere, but she didn't dare stop to see if he was still around. No, she wasn't going to fall for his tricks!
A grin of victory bloomed prettily across her face, a giggle bubbling up in her chest as she neared the white stripe painting the grass, marking the goal line. She won! She won!
An arm shot out from the darkness, its light-blue sleeve rolled up to expose the taut, smooth skin of its strong forearm, snapping and locking around her waist. The muscles in the arm clenched with strength and she squeaked when she was suddenly halted in her desperate sprint and was hauled back roughly against a solid, warm body, taking her down to the crisp cushioning of the grass with its heavier weight.
"Oof!" she gasped, her breathing hard and labored, and her mind spinning with surprise.
Tackled. She'd been tackled.
And he'd . . . been gentle about it. It'd been no more uncomfortable than as if she had simply fallen on her own.
That thought caused a curious fluttering in her stomach as her cheeks with burned with indignation. He'd been toying with her! He had let her think that she was going to win . . . and then came in at the last second and effortlessly took her down, her victory only feet away!
As if reading her frustrated thoughts, warm breath gusted over her ear when he chuckled.
"Too bad, fucking ex-manager. And you were so close, too."
She scowled and jerked her body against the muscled arm still wrapped around her waist, a silent demand that he let her up. When it only tightened, holding her pinned against the length of his body, she stilled, her heart slowly beginning to pound with something other than physical exertion.
She became painfully aware of everything in that moment. The cool, night air; the grass tickling her cheek; the leather of the ball held to her chest; the heart beating a strong, steady against her back; the soft breath warmly caressing the nape of her neck.
Swallowing, she shied a glance over her shoulder. The tip of her nose almost brushed his and her heart jumped.
The somberness of his expression, the light frowning of his mouth and seriousness in his deep green eyes, had her breath quickening and her eyes searching his.
"H . . . Hiruma?" she murmured, her voice breathless. The arm uncoiled from her waist and he brought his large, long-fingered hand up to catch her chin.
"Hnn," was her only response before he closed the distance and brushed his lips gently over her own.
Her breath caught in a gasp, her light-blue eyes widening. It was the barest of touches; so faint that it could hardly be considered a kiss, but she felt its impact right to her little toes. It was like a shot of adrenaline, overwhelming her body's senses.
He drew back, a light, cocky smirk hovering over her parted, slightly trembling lips, before pulling away completely.
She blinked, stunned, as he got to his feet, dusting off his jeans. She dimly watched him when he started digging around in his back pockets. He cursed and started searching his front pockets.
Whatever he was looking for he must have found it because a wide, maniacal grin split across his features.
He suddenly turned toward her and fell into a crouch in front of her just as she was pushing herself into a sitting position.
"Hey!" she started when long fingers wrapped loosely around one of her wrists and snatched it up. She saw that the object he'd been scouring his pockets for happened to be a simple, black-inked pen, and he used it on her palm, scribbling something on her skin.
Finishing, he capped the pen and stood back up.
Smirking, he pointed the pen at her hand as she curiously read over the message. "No one else knows about that, not even the fucking fat ass or shitty kicker. Give it to anyone and I'll send you to Hell."
She stared at her hand and then up at him, silently asking why he would give her something so clearly private. Instead of elaborating, he just picked up the football sitting abandoned next to her and wordlessly walked past her, leaving her to herself on the dark football field.
For a long while, she just sat that, basking in the silver moonlight. She smiled, nibbling on her bottom lip as she snuck another peek at the messily written letters in the middle of her hand: devilbat_commander21@aol.com
Now . . . if only she could learn how to work a computer . . .
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[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
Mood: 
chipper
chipperMusic: "The Cage" - Sonata Arctica
14 Songs | Access Music Library