Title: Priorities
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Rating: PG
Summary: Hiruma's first two great loves are football, and winning.
Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 and all affiliated characters do not belong to me.

Hiruma spoke with exaggerated patience, as if speaking to a child, an idiot, or both: "That team's manager was checking you out during our last game," he said. "We know his weakness, and we're going to exploit it, fucking manager."

Mamori flushed. How embarrassing! How crude! She'd noticed the other team's manager looking at her; Mamori was neither blind nor stupid--she'd had some idea of why he found her so compelling, but to have Hiruma lay it out so bluntly was rather shocking.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," Mamori said, as primly as she possibly could.

Hiruma snorted, glaring at Mamori over his laptop. "You," he said, "are going to go flirt with the fucking loser. You're going to butter him up, and you're going to stroke his ego, and you're going to wring every possible bit of information out of him."

Mamori's cheeks flushed hotter. "I certainly will not!" she snapped. Her hands ached to wrap around the handle of her broom; they longed to curl around Hiruma's neck and squeeze until his eyes bugged out! Mamori suspected that Hiruma would take some perverse amusement out of any such attack on his person, and so busied her hands against her skirt instead.

Hiruma's smile was wide and pointed. "Are you refusing to do your job?"

"I am not one of your slaves," Mamori said. "You can't order me to do your dirty work."

"It's called gathering intel, fucking manager--and it's part of your job," Hiruma said. "You have wiles, don't you? Use them."

How dare he question her ability to do her job! How dare he treat her as an object to be used! Mamori sucked in a long breath, released it slowly. She was calm, she was mature, she would not slap Hiruma--even if he was an overbearing idiot.

"You overestimate my persuasive skills," Mamori said.

"You underestimate your sex appeal," Hiruma said. "You have 'em panting at your heels wherever you go."

She was dying, Mamori thought. She was surely dying of humiliation. "You're horrible," Mamori said, her voice strangled.

"I play to win," Hiruma said. He shut his laptop, and rocked back in his chair. "Unless--I could send the fucking pipsqueak. I doubt they'd be happy to find him lurking around their clubhouse, but--" Hiruma's shrug was elaborate, "he'd survive. Probably."

He was trying to manipulate her! But knowing Hiruma, he would send Sena out to spy on their opponent's team if Mamori didn't agree to go along with his scheme. Really, there were days when she hated him!

"You will not send Sena," Mamori said.

"It's settled, then," Hiruma said.

"You're a monster," Mamori huffed in defeat.

Hiruma's fingers curled around Mamori's wrist as she brushed past him on her way to the door. Startled, she looked down to meet his eyes.

"Don't be too long," Hiruma said, "fucking girlfriend."

--end