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Oh, Brother: Is This What You Want?
by Night Strider

Author's Note: PG-15 for some for-adults-only content, and for swearing.

Dedication: For Wowie. I don't like this pairing but for your sake I'm gonna try to make this wholesome.

Disclaimers: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

I've been a little loose lately, like a bottle whose cap isn't properly screwed and whose content just keeps on evaporating into gas molecules to leave dry, sticky slumps on the bottom's surface. Hollow, volatile, and inert with head still above the biosphere. That's what I've been feeling; an anomaly in physical laws, curiously defiant to gravity. Couldn't think straight, couldn't move right, couldn't get logical wheels turning. Dumb as a hen in fodders, limp as an onion leek in a steam pan. Something's not making ends meet and leaves blanks empty; and it's all inside me. Darn. I'm bailing out from the ordinary no-retards-allowed world to join the pseudo-society of inarticulate ninnies; and I'm the first member, ever. Or let me rephrase that; Hisashi Mitsui is founding a new elite clique of special-non-interactive geniuses. That just fills it up. The first school organization that requires minimum amount of effort in audition by acting like a numb oaf with a hey-look-I'm-an-idiot smile. Nevermind, I'm thinking like a thoroughgoing cretin here; as if I'll be labeled as a moron or even a common weed for once. It's me; sexy, naughty, pretty me, for fuck's sake! The virtuoso of all existing leagues; the ever so versatile, so peerlessly handsome Hisashi Mitsui who made all edifices in the medievil times come tumbling down in heaps and the skyscrapers of the modern era come smoking into dust just by cracking a devilishly sexy smile. I can launch a million submarines, wage a universal war, summon hell's dominion's army, and even make the Olympians envy with these vaunted, incomparable good looks. And I'm feeling so drained down when I have more than what Rukawa and Sendoh could ask for. I'm irrevocably incomplete; a portion of my perfection has been chipped away and there's no use trying to find a less laughable quid pro quo. It has to be THAT thing. I'm seesawing out of my fulcrum, swinging out of my nuts, sending my nails up in the air just because...

Just because I'm attracted. Or is it how to put it correctly? Maybe we could adorn it with the pat word; physically attracted, more like. Or should I say sensual? That'd fit just fine too. But there's this word I'm digging; it would suit it absolutely right...Sexual Hunger. Vulgar? What the hell, I'm trying to sound honest here; forget about decency, I wanna rock. And when I say rock, I mean go wild like embarking on an African safari chasing down lions and dingos on my leather boots. I want that and I want it now. If I ain't getting it now, I ain't gonna last through the night; I've been tramelling these merciless impulses for ages now and one more night would just dice the last straw. To put it in more feasible terms other than those lame similes, I want to make a pass. Yeah, that's the story; to put a bit on the side with a 6 foot, buff bodied, red head someone; yes, Hanamichi Sakuragi, the blithering moron, of all fucking imps! Why, this is preposterous; me, in bed with that self styled Rebound King, that uncute cockerel of a camper? That's infra dig! And yet, the way it gives me a hard on when he's within my optical view, the way his unconscious leering makes me come all the time he swords it at me, how I get wet in the underwear until it feels so heavy with my cum...Why do I feel like banging away when our skin brushes against each other? Why do I think of him everytime I go about my daily habit of jerking off? It's not even mating season for Pete's sake! I'm feeling so hor---Wham!

Fucking ball. Screw the asshole. Who the fuck jammed the goddamn thing on my face?!

'It's daytime, Mitsui. Quit dreaming like it's lights out. Cover 20 laps for me.'

Akagi. The raging Gorilla wants to have a piece of...oh well, he's got the authority by the by.

'Sure, Master Sar-I mean-seargent Akagi.' Master Saru?! What the devil was I thinking? That's a narrow miss for an additional 50 rounds. Phew.

Sprinting full 20. Still not in harmony with this rebellious mind. I need to get me commanding over my functions; the hell am I to be in the mercy of my systems? I have brains of my own, for crying out loud. Must run this clean through without interruption from Sakuragi's aura, must keep my hands on the reins, grrrr. There he is; making a pun out of his traditional pompous speech. His red hair glittering like sanguine blood on a tin bar, his eyes like a pair of caliburs stabbing my heart, his smile like a crescent hanging upon the drowsy skies; his whole body bolting out of the blue...why can't I resist it/him? He's so plain looking; stave away that hilarious hair dress and he'd sure be ordinary. He has peculiar constants though; those killer eyes, long legs, and strong biceps, other than that he's not worth a second look. A no knockout somebody who's giving me an instant arousal everytime he's-well--everytime he's there. Kuso. I'm giving my damndest not to have salacious thoughts but man, ain't I just born to be a perv? Talk about years of lenient self discipline; I never once trained myself to be less aggressive when it comes to stuff of this sort. Sad.

'Hey Mitchy, how many more laps?'

It's him. Does he sound sexy or is it just me?

'Uhmmm, 6 more. What with?'

Here we go again; I can't stare straight at those two little orbs. They seem to look through me or rather through my clothing. Or maybe it's just me again.

'Later. I'll just join you.'

He's zooming off to my direction. The hell does he want to run 6 laps with me? He's hitting on me.

'W-what, Sakuragi?'

That's a little shaky. I need a bit more of tuning before things blow out of congruity. Must not be obvious.

'I'm itching to hit the showers; Can we go together after you're done?'

Gulp. What the fuck? He and I in the baths? Is he off the rails?

'Are you nuts, Sakuragi?!'

This is fucking weak. Why did it have to come out?

'No. Why yell at me?'

Now he's confused; I can see a quizzical oscillation on his brows.

'Uhmm, nothing. Sure.'

Gracious hell. Stripped. Wet. And panting. Me and him. In the same cubicle. Is this a chance of a lifetime or a just-like-all first time experience? Oh, well.

-FIN-

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