It wasn't long before the legend of the Crimson Beasts arose, muttered between classes and in the corners of hallways at Kunugigaoka High School. There were two of them, and although they were different, in some ways, they were deadly similar.

One had hair like blood, glittering gold eyes that cut like knives, and a smile that sent shivers down your spine. He was batshit crazy, brutally devious, and liked nothing more than fucking with whatever dimwit crossed his path. His physical beatdowns were bad; his verbal baiting and flayings were far, far worse. He had a few friends, but hated pretty much every single teacher who had the misfortune of seeing his name on the roster. It was a weird one, too – Karma Akabane.

Everything about the other should have made him seem soft in comparison; from his sunset hair to violet eyes to a charm so smooth, so sincere, his followers were legion. But he had a spine of titanium, with a prodigal mind and a competitive streak wide enough to cross oceans and continents. He was the best at everything, and once locked on target, he didn't care who he had to mow down, he was determined to succeed. The prince of the school, he had a pedigree to back it up – Gakushu Asano.

The two locked horns on a regular basis, constantly jostling for top spot across the board. In math, which was both of their best subjects, things got downright lethal. On the surface, it seemed like they had nothing in common – Gakushu was the perennial president, persistently perfect in every way. Karma was the deranged delinquent, apparently determined, even delighted, to cement his reputation as a certifiable psychopath.

But under that, they were cut from the same cloth; gifted winners who had a capacity for cruelty and a history nobody discussed, but everybody sensed. Apparently, shit had gone down their last year of junior high. It wasn't talked about, but from the look in their eyes whenever the subject came up, major didn't quite cover it.

As the years passed and they advanced through the ranks of high school, their legends grew, separate in some capacities, helplessly entangled in others. As much as they so obviously couldn't stand each other, for some reason, they just couldn't stay away from each other. Karma had rapidly discovered that few people were quite as interesting as Asano. He just had the best damn reactions, and always put up one hell of a fight – something he came to appreciate over time. Gakushu also had a perfectly good reason for this. Akabane was too much of a threat to let him out of sight – that fiasco with the last final of junior high had proved as much.

But most of the time, he enjoyed, even insisted, on the distance they cultivated. Even now, he was making his quick, quiet way to room 317. To be fair, though, Gakushu wasn't just avoiding Karma. Careful research had shown that this was the room of the Spiritual Enlightenment Club, which barely met its member minimum and whose attendance records were obviously forged right before the month end final tally. Most of the time, he thrived on his place in the spotlight, but Gakushu needed a few hours now and then in comfortable quiet. He had a slab of practice exams, thick enough to beat someone unconscious with, waiting in his bag, and a deserted club room only he knew about. It was perfect.

Of course, that meant Akabane, living, breathing bane of Gakushu's existence that he was, had to somehow smear his psychosis all over it. He'd closed the door behind him and was halfway to the table when he saw the figure slouched by the window sill, the quick flash of silver a butterfly knife being hurriedly folded and hidden. He didn't even bother sighing in thwarted frustration before slamming his book bag down the on the table.

Karma had slid his mask of innocence, creepily doll-blank at best, on when he'd heard the door opening. But it was just Gakushu, glaring at him like he was sludge smeared along the hem of his perfectly pressed school trousers. Karma couldn't help it – he almost sighed in appreciation. Because those eyes were anything but ordinary. They glittered like crystals; pretty, but deadly. It was that edge that drew people, and inevitably damaged some. But not Karma. No, his hide was tough enough to play with those edges, and come away grinning.

"What are you doing here?" Gakushu bit off, pulling back one of the chairs with a banshee scream. Neither flinched.

"Fucking around, same as you, rock star," he returned lightly, watching as Gakushu folded himself down and began unpacking his bag.

"I'm studying, asshole. What's your excuse?" Karma just tipped his head.

"Do I really need one?" Deciding his time was better served in its original purpose, adamant that Karma's presence wouldn't veer him off-course, Gakushu set about the first test. Papers neatly spread, he tapped the end of his pencil against the curled metal binding of his notebook rhythmically, severe brows slightly knit as he worked through the problem he was tackling. It almost made Karma chuckle; it was just so damn textbook.

At least, he tried. Not five minutes after he wrote down the first answer, the first tiny chunk of eraser, whittled off by the butterfly knife that had reassembled itself in Karma's hand with a few articulate arcs of his wrist, landed on his paper. That started the slow artillery barrage, eraser bits bouncing off Gakushu's head, shoulder, and test, until they were scattered across the table and floor like gummy snow.

With grim determination, Gakushu ignored Karma and his immature nonsense. Finishing his first test, he set it aside and started on the second. The eraser salvo continued until, with a controlled jerk of motion reminiscent of a knife throw, Gakushu retaliated. Three inches from Karma's head, a pencil now quivered, buried past the shaved head in the cork board behind him. The student council president stared at him from the corner of his eye for a long moment before returning his attention to his exams.

Karma's eyes brightened like distant bomb blasts, slithering down off the window sill and stalking over. As he plopped down across the table in a study of nonchalant disinterest and reached for the finished exam, Gakushu's hand whipped out, slapping protectively over the test with a lifted brow.

"I'm just going to grade it for you," Karma said with an insouciant smile, internally skipping at the way Asano's eyes fractionally narrowed, his pencil stilling as he pinned those laser eyes on Karma.

"I don't need you to grade it." That stiff, harsh tone always made Karma want to toy with him. For some reason, those burnished strands of hair drew his attention at the moment.

"Come on, Gakushu. It's efficient. You're not worried about me finding a mistake, are you?" He didn't miss the way a muscle slid along Asano's jaw at his bright tone, the only manifestation of the way he was no doubt violently grinding his teeth. Finally, Gakushu slowly lifted his hand, reluctant until the very last moment, before returning his attention to his current test.

Lightly biting the tip of his tongue, Karma slid a red pen from Gakushu's pencil box, setting out on a raptor-like race to find the chinks in the perfect president's intellectual defense. Catching up to Asano's prodigious speed added spice to the challenge, but Karma fed on that sort of adversity.

And Gakushu was a hell of an adversary. Methodical and ruthless, his mind was his first, second, even third blade. The guy's brain was like a deadly encyclopedia, slicing the jugular of every question before moving on with determined, consistent lethality. That kind of meticulous destruction was endlessly intriguing to Karma – in a way, it reminded him of Koro-sensei.

When he couldn't find anything wrong, Karma doodled across the borders of the pages, some of them filthy, others outrageously stupid. Gakushu didn't understand his obsession with octopi, but if he drew another one, he'd retrieve the pencil he'd thrown at him and jab Karma in the eye with it. Anytime Karma marked an answer wrong, Gakushu demanded an explanation, some of which grated, because they were obvious. Others, though, tended to surprise him. When Karma explained how he'd come at the problem from a completely different direction, he was obviously employing a perspective that had to have been learned, as it didn't fall in line with his usual personality. How Gakushu wished Karma's intelligence was a fluke, a trick.

But he demonstrated repeatedly how, in reality, his mind was fluid and fast, fearless and fatal. He didn't allow himself to be bogged down by details, instead leaping over pitfalls like a jungle cat before closing in for the kill. When he had time, Karma liked to play and taunt, which both lulled his opponent and gave him a chance to think it through, to identify both his own weaknesses and the weaknesses of the question before committing to whatever scenario he faced. He was fiendishly observant, and when forced to do without the luxury of time, outrageously instinctive and brutal.

If he wasn't so damned irritating, Gakushu would be able to easily admit just how much he respected him.

As it stood, however, it was all Gakushu could do to resist the urge to snap his pencil in half, then jam the shards into Karma's jugular at that snarky little half smile that curled over his lips while waltzing through his explanation of the admittedly bizarre, but outlandishly effective, way of deconstructing a sentence in English. He shrugged at Asano's questions, muttered something that sounded like "Blondie," under his breath, and Asano was knocked nearly breathless by the tiniest flicker of soft affection and nostalgia that lit his hellfire eyes for the briefest second. Then he rolled his shoulders like a prize fighter, tipped his head to the side, and touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of his upper lip with a biting smile. Breathlessness bled into a grinding urge to drive his knuckles into Karma's glinting teeth.

But he restrained himself. Gakushu was quite good at it, actually – his years of constant battle with his father had honed his discipline to a scalpel-sharp edge. Upon their first clashes, he had condemned Karma Akabane as the most undisciplined twat to ever strut the face of the planet.

Years of going head-to-head had taught him otherwise, however. And Asano was nothing if not a quick learner. Karma loved to play the insane delinquent, but the reality of it was, when he wanted something bad enough, he devoted himself. The guy had an incredible capacity for learning, growing, adapting, absorbing. Like any good supervillain, though, he applied all that absurd talent to the cause of evil. Gakushu didn't imagine himself as a hero opposing Karma's villainy – that was stupid and juvenile. More like a competing villain. One who was more mature and sophisticated, and didn't get his jollies from poking at the peons. Much more efficient to control them.

Karma would have laughed maniacally had he heard the 'mature and sophisticated' bit from Asano's thoughts. Luckily for Gakushu, he had yet to master telepathy. However, if he had, he would have giggled himself to tears. Because he saw something entirely different in his rival's dense armor and spear-straight spine – perfect little Gakushu Asano was trapped. Caged, imprisoned. By every shadow, ambition, and expectation he cast on himself, doubled by his father. For years, Karma had been filing away at the bars, thirsty for the sight of Gakushu breaking free and wreaking havoc. With Karma, preferably. He often thought dreamily about kicking in a few weakened bars, but he did actually possess restraint, no matter what Asano thought.

Although, admittedly, it had been weakening as of late. Like now. Why in God's name did Asano's hair look so soft? Karma had been that child, of course. When everyone else said don't poke it, he poked it. When his parents bothered to actually tell him not to do something, he expressly did it. He was self-aware enough to know that this was attention-seeking behavior thickly coated in his natural perverseness. But just as Gakushu looked so prickly and defensive as he beamed those unearthly eyes down at the exams like they offended him, practically radiating "Fuck off," Karma's mouth actually watered, his fingers twitching, then flexing on his pen. The plastic creaked in protest before a faint crack drew his attention.

Oh, how he loved winding up Gakushu with his superiority. It wasn't like Karma always got top score – more often than not, they toggled back and forth, that slightest burn of failure motivating the loser just that extra little bit enough to shove them back up. Until the next test, at least.

Usually, Asano had to work his way through the bloodlust before the motivation hit. He had vivid, detailed fantasies about killing Karma. Strangulation was often involved, because whenever the bastard opened his mouth, nothing good ever came out. Like now. Karma scrawled the final score across the last exam with a flourish, balancing the pen across the backs of his fingers as he smirked at Gakushu.

"Nicely done, Asano. Still have a little work to do in Science; those formulas tend to get away from you." That sing-song teasing made the blood rush to Gakushu's cheekbones – he allowed the chemistry formulas to do no such thing. His burgeoning rage, however, was tamped a little by curiosity when Karma stood, skirting the edge of the table to ease his hip down next to Asano's elbow.

"Since I was such a nice fellow and graded those for you, I figure I deserve a reward." His logic was ridiculous, his expression obnoxious. Reminding himself of such, Asano held his high ground, faintly rippling his brows as his eyelids lowered in dismissal.

"I didn't want you to grade the exams in the first place. Why would I reward you for bad behavior, like everyone else does?" It irritated Gakushu, how his voice sounded so stiff and prim. Because he knew, he knew, that nothing bated Karma's bull like the red flapping of rules.

"But imagine how much better you'll do on your tests now that I've helped you out. No small sacrifice on my part, I assure you." Perhaps his voice was more layered than usual; perhaps Gakushu was learning to read the insane intricacies that constructed the nut bag that was Karma Akabane.

"Are you asking me for something?" Those stolen Nazi gold eyes flashed – Gakushu felt a reckless urge to engage in the looming fight. Running would be more logical, but something in Karma's face pushed him to stay and tug on the lashing tail of the panther.

"Maybe."

Looking back, Karma didn't ask. Then again, he'd promised nothing to Gakushu, and plenty to himself. Quick as a cobra, he snagged Gakushu's tie, yanking him up out of his chair and towards himself. It threw the golden child off just enough to have his palms crashing down to the table on either side of Karma's hips, just to keep from falling onto him. Not that Karma would have minded, but he had the president right where he wanted him. Practically nose to nose, those unearthly eyes blazing into his with shock and confusion. Oh, neurons were firing like comets in that admirable brain; Karma could practically see the lightning-fast connections. Before the last one quite clicked, however, he tugged a little, and pressed his lips to Gakushu's.

Karma was no stranger to intensity – he was a self-professed adrenaline-junkie, oft-accused psychopath, and a died-in-the-wool competitor. He'd assumed this would be fun; the reality of it was, a wave of heat rolled through him like a firestorm, scorching behind his eyes and leaving his brain reeling. Gakushu smelled of good soap and pencil shavings – he tasted like apples and sweet rice. And if he didn't gorge himself now, Karma thought with an almost giddy panic that he'd starve to death.

His knuckles had gone white around that strip of fabric; no way was he letting Gakushu slip through his fingers, not now. Greedy and desperate, the fingers of Karma's other hand speared into the hair he'd admired earlier, anchoring that pretty mouth against his to allow for thorough exploration. Just as he slid his tongue along the seam of Gakushu's lips, he became aware of a shiver coursing through the other boy. Before Karma had a chance to ponder whether or not he'd back off enough to check – he wasn't sure he was capable, or willing – Gakushu's hands clamped on his hips, pulling him closer as Asano's tongue swept into his mouth.

When the president had gone from shell-shocked to aggressively demonstrative, Karma had no idea. He also had no idea when Gakushu had nudged his knees apart and stepped between them, slicing the space between down to heated slivers all too easily done away with. Most puzzling, however, was how Karma had allowed himself to be sucked into this so completely. It was supposed to be yet another roll of the dice in a constantly evolving game – he'd gambled on dangerous retaliation once Gakushu regathered his wits about him, not devastating reciprocation. Maybe Asano Jr. had taken a page out of his dad's book and had mind-fucked Karma into aroused acquiescence. That had to be the only explanation as to why his head was solely focused on the press of their mouths.

Whenever he'd locked lips before, male or female, Karma had always felt a part of his brain drift, spinning and calculating like some deranged spider, even if he enjoyed it. Now, however, he was utterly, painfully present, aware of every shifting muscle and stuttering breath. Hungry and aching with a want he refused to admit scared him a little, Karma pressed his lips to Gakushu's pulse, hammering against his tongue in the fragile space below the sharp shelf of the other boy's jaw. As he nibbled and sucked, Karma was rewarded with a gasp he could almost taste, and a blooming mark on tender skin that appealed to the monster in him. Gakushu was his – his competitor, his rival, his equal. His. And now, he was branded as such.

Rattled by the press of Karma's mouth against his throat, Gakushu slid his hand up that strong, sleek back, bringing their lips back together as his palm trailed over muscle and bone. He knew, intimately, what drive felt like. But this push to taste Karma, to have Karma, was a curling flame to Gakushu's nerves. His liaisons were usually accomplished with control, and a sense of style. Both of which had been flung out the window like fucking Frisbees once he'd gotten over the mind-blowing shock of Karma's mouth against his. Gakushu still wasn't quite sure why he'd gone forward instead of pushed back, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. That incredibly novel thought was quickly forgotten, however, under the sudden desire to sink his teeth slowly into Karma's earlobe. The jolt that raced through that deceptively powerful frame was like tasting lightning, the tiny, restless sound that jerked from Karma like breathing wine.

If someone had told him an hour ago what would be happening now, Gakushu would have laughed, then bloodlessly destroyed their hopes and future. He hadn't intended this; he never would have intended this. But here he stood, kissing the brains out of Karma Akabane. And enjoying every filthy second.

Karma was all heat and angles, the press of lean muscle and the faintest scent of sandalwood and strawberry milk. That clever tongue was wiping out entire swatches of Gakushu's brain, a battle of wills underscoring every movement and touch. If he hadn't been kissing Karma like his life depended on it, Gakushu would have smiled – they were nothing if not consistent in their competition.

Karma had absolutely no interest in reality at the moment; so, of course, it had to insert itself like the asshole it was. Instincts sharpened by a classroom he missed to this day like a lost limb keyed into the sounds of footsteps outside the completely unbarred door. Faintly, he could hear voices on the other side. First, indignation at the door being closed still, as this was likely their club room. Then, dismayed horror when someone remembered that the president himself had asked for its use that afternoon, followed swiftly by the patter of retreat.

Gakushu had heard them too, and yanked away from Karma like his skin was radioactive. The disappointment was poignant. Oh, he could have kept that up for another decade or so, with the promise of delicious escalation enough to have him a little dizzy. That, and it would have been quite fun to see students' reactions at seeing their precious president this way. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, breathing like he'd raced up a mountain, desperate not to be late for the bell. Staring at Karma like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to shoot him or fuck him.

He had a preference of which, of course, but Karma was quite busy reveling in the blemish he'd worked into Gakushu's pale skin. In fact, he nearly licked his lips, eager to do it all over again. It was a shame that the president didn't share his sentiment.

Emotions, too fast to really catalogue, flickered in Gakushu's twilight eyes. His fingers twitched once before curling into fists. Suddenly, Karma scented danger. It wasn't entirely unwelcome, but what could have raised Asano's bloodlust so savagely, so quickly? After all, they had avoided discovery.

He chose, however, not to elaborate. Instead, Gakushu deliberately packed away his things, fighting not to shiver under Karma's lazy, silent perusal. He remained slouched on the table, almost obscenely displayed. It was all Gakushu could do to keep his eyes on the innocent papers and pencils, away from the slope of strong shoulders or the invitingly sexy splay of long, long legs.

Charged moments of silence ticked past.

Finally, Gakushu hefted his bag, sliding the strap onto his shoulder and turning towards the door with determined intent. It was only once his fingers grazed the cool metal of the knob that Karma spoke.

"Still my win." Gakushu felt the flush of temper resurge. He refused to acknowledge that it could be embarrassment. Because he was adamant that he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Giving himself a moment to restrain his face and his impulse, Gakushu finally turned, meeting Karma's mocking eyes.

"You sure? Felt like final point went to me." With that, he smoothly opened the door, vindicated by the sharpening of his opponent's eyes and the stiffening of his mouth. Just because he knew how soft and clever that particular mouth could be didn't mean anything. None of it meant anything. A whim easily forgotten, too unimportant to ever repeat.

Still back in the club room, Karma allowed himself a frown. He could admit that the whole kiss thing had gotten a little away from him. Next time, though, he'd be ready. Karma was nothing if not flexible. It was arguably his greatest attribute – to take in a situation, and adjust as called for. And this situation with Gakushu called for a greater presence of mind than any sexual interest of his had ever needed. Because there would be a next time. He'd gladly burn the school to the ground if that got Gakushu's mouth back on his. On any part of him, really, but the lingering taste of his rival was already sinking into his blood and his brain, and Karma was ready for another hit.

Of course, in his rush to get the hell out of Dodge, Gakushu had neglected himself. His normally neat hair and utterly tidy clothes were appealing mussed from Karma's hands. And then there was that purple flower unfurling its petals over his pulse. Perhaps if he'd flipped up his collar, it could have been passed off as a fashionable fad. As it was, however, the whispers would move far and fast. Nothing like a good scandal to get the juices flowing, Karma thought with a smirk as he hopped off the table and strolled out into the hall, heading in the opposite direction of Gakushu's earlier determined march.

This was going to be fun.

From the first moment we met Gakushu in AssClass, I was thrilled. No one brings out the most in someone like a rival, and as Karma was my favorite character pretty much from the get-go, I was so excited to see what this collision course they were on would lead to. It didn't take long for fanworks to introduce me to the one ship I'm really invested in from the show.

There are a few I like, but there's nothing quite like the mayhem and amazing sex that a relationship between these two would inevitably bring. I like too that being together wouldn't really tame either of them, just make them somehow… better, without dulling their edges. Because that, to me, is some of the most compelling things about these two.

I have quite a lot planned, both from their high school days and onward. As this is a fun little exercise, it might not get much attention. But NDK always gets me inspired, and a binge re-watch reminded me of just how much I love these two morons. Enough to get this little boat launched.

*Edit – A reader pointed out that I veered a little too close to another Gakushu/Karma fic that, incidentally, I quite like. After pondering about it for a while, I reworked the first chapter, and made some tweaks to the second. Don't worry, the yummy bits are the same.

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango