Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is © Inagaki Riichirou and Murata Yuusuke, Shueisha, Viz, etc. This is a nonprofit fanwork.

Oh What a Night!
by Fushigi Kismet



It was a quarter to midnight. Mamori glanced around the room – Sena, Monta, and Suzuna had passed out first. Kurita had – as near as Mamori could tell – overdosed on CAKE of all things and was mumbling quietly to himself as he slept, a smidgeon of cream still smeared around his mouth. The rest of the team had started dropping like flies around the second hour, and the Ha Ha Three Brothers had managed to drink themselves into a stupor with the rest of the alcohol Hiruma has smuggled in, and it was (if Monta's drunken can-can on the table not even a minute after his first shot of sake was anything to go by) some pretty high quality stuff. Not that she approved of underage drinking at any time, but, well, she supposed they would all learn their lessons in the morning.

This left Hiruma and her as the only conscious people in the karaoke room. With a sigh, she set down the microphone in exchange for her glass of water. As she delicately took a sip, the next song title came on prompting her to frown at the screen. "Who picked this song?"

She leaned forward across the table for the remote only to be pulled back by Hiruma on whose lap she was currently perched. ("Lack of space," he'd said, grinning, and everyone had wisely kept their mouths shut.) It was no secret they'd been going out for a while now, but everyone still found it more than a little disconcerting. A lot of things about Hiruma were – like his sudden decision to take everyone to karaoke and get them drunk.

He was a little drunk himself, she thought, slightly amused. Hiruma with just a buzz seemed to translate into a Hiruma who was a little less foul-mouthed and a little more affectionate than usual. Okay, a little quieter and a little more physical, maybe.

So she was almost prepared when he placed his lips near her ear, his hands on her thighs. She slapped ineffectually and half-heartedly at his hands; he responded by folding them into his own. The song started making her jump a little, but not as much as his warm breath by her ear. It took her an instant to realize that he was saying the words under his breath, and her mouth fell open a little in surprise. He wasn't singing them, but . . . but even so!

And naturally the lyrics were dirty.

"You," she murmured, her voice just as low as his to keep from waking the others, "are a very bad man."

He had let her right hand go and his hand was moving back up her thigh.

"What," he said, "you just noticed?"

"Hardly," she whispered, turning a little. His lips grazed hers. She caught his lower lip gently between her teeth. He made a noise deep in his throat, then he wasn't kissing her quite so gently, and as the kiss lengthened and deepened she savored the taste of him.

Someone's nightmare-induced groan caused her to break off the kiss and hurriedly stand and say, flustered, "Ah! I should wake them up and make sure they get back all right!"

She was acutely conscious of the predatory way he was watching her from behind, but all he said in a deceptively mild tone was, "They're smashed. Call 'em a fuckin' cab."

"But-"

Hiruma stood. Stretched. "Fine, two cabs. Fatass would take up the whole backseat by himself anyway."

"That's not the point and you know it!" She turned and frowned at him. "It might be the last day but we're still at training camp. It's our respon-"

The gleam was still in his eyes as he fingered a strand of her hair. "Who the fuck cares?"

She turned red. "F-Fine."



They ended up calling three cabs and if several of the team members had hazy memories the next day of being wedged into places and people they really shouldn't have been there was an unspoken mutual pact never to mention it. But really, none of them really remembered much.

Mamori, on the other hand, always remembered it as the night Hiruma went home singing.



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