Disclaimer: I do not own Battle Royale or any of the characters within its universe

Summary: Kazuo catches Shinji staring at him across the classroom. Slash, ShinjixKazuo. One-shot.

Shinji Mimura shifted in his chair and tried not to groan. 11:30. Half an hour more of hypotenuses and adjacent angles before he could escape. Whoever decided to place trigonometry on the school curriculum was, in Shinji's opinion, a sadist of the highest order. Not that he couldn't do it. Oh no. Shinji knew he was fully capable of completing today's calculations. At the heart of it, he was simply – well, lazy. Sure, Shinji had the potential. But the Third Man just couldn't be bothered today; actually, he hadn't been bothered to work for the entire the week. The customary mid-term fatigue had set in, and Shinji was more than content to spend his lessons mindlessly doodling and observing his classmates. The cliques in Shiroiwa Junior High would make for a fascinating documentary, he mused, settling back with the trademark Mimura smile playing around his lips.

Take Shuya, slumped one desk across from him. Though his eyes seemed glazed and unfocused, he was scribbling rapidly on the sheet of paper in front of him, fingers shaping gestures in the air that could've only been imaginary chords. Clearly, his illicit pastime of playing rock music was taking priority over their trig work. And quite rightly too, thought Shinji. Really, who'd waste their time on triangles when they had future illegal classics to dream up?

One seat behind Shuya sat Yutaka, eyes half closed, heading nodding down onto his chest. Shinji couldn't help but grin to himself. Trust Yutaka to actually fall asleep in the lesson. No doubt he'd wake precisely one minute before the bell signalled the end of the period. Next to him, Hiroki was writing furiously, pen flying across his page with a frown of concentration creasing his serious brow. Sensing his gaze, Hiroki glanced up at Shinji, flashed him a friendly smile, and returned to his workings as intent as ever. Well, at least one of them was studious. The way Shinji saw it, Hiroki worked enough for him, Yutaka and Shuya combined.

Occupying the far corner of the room were Mizuho, Kaori and Megumi. Though harmless enough, Shinji couldn't help but be slightly creeped out by the three girls; it was questionable whether any of them bore even a passing relationship with sanity, especially that Mizuho. Then again, he supposed you could say that about any given teenage girl. For such a self-proclaimed womanizer, the minds of adolescent girls continued to mystify Shinji. Kaori let out a shrill laugh, and he turned; the noise grated on his nerves.

In front of them lounged Hardcore Souma herself, surrounded by her two faithful followers, Hirono and Yoshimi. Yoshimi was working silently, chewing on the end of her pencil whilst studying her textbook. Across from her, Hirono was sprawled in her chair, paper untouched with a look of pure disdain written across her face. Shinji wasn't sure he'd ever seen her smile. The spiky haired girl always seemed to be seeking confrontation, and was known for being a bully and petty thief, giving her a pretty negative reputation within the school.

Not that her reputation had anything on Souma's. The girl in question was reclining in her chair, glossy hair shining under the harsh lighting, perfect lips pursed. You could say what you wanted about Mitsuko, but there was no denying she was hot as hell. And she knew it. Right now, her trigonometry was abandoned in favour of her nail file, arched eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated. Suddenly, her eyes flashed up to his, a smirk pulling at those malicious lips. Shinji maintained the gaze briefly, and then broke it off, twisting in his seat. He wasn't intimidated by Souma. But he didn't want her to think he had been purposefully staring at her. Whilst Shinji knew he pushed his luck often, he wasn't fool enough to kick start an arguement with a girl whose nickname was Hardcore.

In front of him sat the other rebellious group in the class, although these guys were way more serious then Souma's wannabe part-time juvenile delinquents. Mitsuru Numai had his characteristic glare trained on his sheet, as though he could will the answers to appear through the sheer intensity of his eyes. Hiroshi Kuronaga, seated next to him, was attempting to look bored whilst simultaneously leaning non-too surreptitiously across his desk to spy on the answers of Ryuhei, who was regarding him with the kind of look one might give a particularly annoying wasp that was about meet with the side of a newspaper.

But it was the enigmatic boy seated in front of Ryuhei that Shinji allowed his gaze to linger on. Kazuo. Effortlessly elegant, with that oddly styled hair that only he could pull off, Kazuo was by far the most compelling person in the class to watch. Shinji leant back in his chair, settling down, toying with his earring. He'd often wondered about what went on in Kiriyama's brain; he was sure that even to Mitsuru, Kazuo remained utterly remote, a blank mask that gave away nothing of himself even as he conversed in low tones with the members of his gang. Shinji couldn't refute it: he found Kiriyama fascinating. And infuriating. He was a prodigy in any given subject without even trying. Hell, he could probably even beat the Third Man at basketball without breaking a sweat. His group of cronies were almost worshipful of his skill, answering to his every whim and order. And yet Kazuo remained unaffected. Cold. He shrugged off their praise as though it offended him. Shinji was sure that he had some kind of divine knowledge that the other pupils lacked; in most lessons he sat motionless until called upon, and when he did answer it was in a cool and flat tone of voice, as though he'd been contemplating something of far greater importance than a simple literature question.

He was good looking too, the bastard. Much as Shinji loathed to admit it, Kiriyama was certainly up there with him in the looks stakes. He was tall and slim, but with a powerful muscle tone that suggested he was more than capable of looking after himself in the absence of his gang. The slicked back hair suited his aristocratic features well, bringing attention to his sculpted cheekbones and defined jawline. His fingers were long and clever, though Shinji could all too easily imagine them curled around an Uzi. Kazuo had full, sensual lips, and his eyes were staring straight back at Shinji.

Shinji blanched, caught unaware, but found he couldn't break the contact. The normally emotionless almond tilted eyes were blazing, scorching into him with an intensity he'd never seen on Kazuo's face before in his life. Their eyes were locked on each other, Shinji's bewildered and trapped, Kiriyama's ignited with a dark fire utterly alien to the sociopath's face. Under the force of that gaze, the Third Man could feel himself buckling, caught in the power of Kazuo's eyes boring into his; they were wild, feral, hungry.

It could've been hours for all Shinji knew, but eventually, Kiriyama lowered his eyes, breaking the hold he'd had Shinji in. He turned back in his chair, to speak to Sho...

... and Sho was staring at Shinji. Well, staring would be the wrong word. Try leering. Very pointedly, he may add. Scowling, Shinji turned back to his textbook, trying to erase the image of Sho perving on him from his mind. Between Sho's lust and trigonometry, he would happily take trigonometry. Still, he could feel the ghost of Kiriyama's eyes upon him, and he shuddered slightly at the fire in that gaze.

"Mim? Mim! Yo, Mimmm!"

"Huh, Yutaka?"

Yutaka grinned goofily at him, bag slung over his shoulder. "Class ended three minutes ago, Mim. Looks like you were a bit too enraptured in Kazuo to notice though. Didn't think he was your type." At this, Yutaka couldn't help but laugh at the mortified look on Shinji's face.

Shinji elbowed his friend in the ribs hard, and ignoring Yutaka's yelp of indignation started to collect his stuff together, desperately willing the flush on his face to die down. Together, they exited the class for lunch, Shinji still inwardly reeling from Kiriyama's effect on him.

"So, I hear Sho has competition, eh Mim?" smirked Shuya, making room on the bench for him and Yutaka, "that was some intense eye fucking, my friend. Might want to go somewhere private next time" At this, even the normally serious Hiroki cracked a smile. Shinji just groaned, burying his face in his arms. It was going to be a long lunchtime.

Later, after his friends had gone home, Shinji found himself in the gym, still brooding over Kazuo. He'd come to practice his ball technique; usually, if something was bothering him, his focus on the game quickly erased any problems from his mind. However, he simply couldn't let this go: he'd missed three shots already. Sighing, Shinji leant against the wall, reaching for his bottle of water. Those eyes. Damn. He'd never seen Kazuo look at anyone like that before. He was so emotionless, so distant, but that stare had been hot enough to flay the skin. The Third Man closed his eyes, enjoying the cool liquid. No. He simply didn't understand Kiriyama. Or why he hadn't been able to look away.

"Staring is impolite, you know."

Shinji's eyes snapped open at the indifferent voice. Standing about two metres from him was Kazuo; cool, untouchable Kazuo, with those hungry eyes. He almost dropped his water bottle in surprise; that was how silently Kiriyama had managed to sneak up on him. To Mim's credit, he didn't, but instead flinched slightly, back up against the wall as he regarded Kazuo with growing panic.

"Uh, listen man, I'm sorry about that, I was just looking aro..."

"You're too arrogant, Mimura." Kazuo cut him off, stepping forward slowly, face still completely devoid of emotion but for his eyes. Shinji instinctively tried to step backward, put more space between himself and those goddamn eyes, but realised he was trapped; both against the wall and in the heat of Kiriyama's gaze. "One of these days, you're going to fix those eyes on the wrong person."

And suddenly, before Shinji could even process what he'd said, Kiriyama closed the distance between them, hands planted on either side of Shinji upon the wall. His scorching eyes raked up and down Shinji's body, and for perhaps the first time ever, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Faster than Shinji could comprehend, Kazuo's hands were on his shoulders, and he was being pulled into a burning kiss.

For once in his life, the Third Man was utterly shocked. All his customary cool and easy grace had left him the second Kazuo's lips had crashed onto his, leaving him helpless and open to Kiriyama's forceful ministrations. And fuck him, the bastard was even a great kisser, Shinji thought in a daze. It was completely different to the kisses of girls; it was harsh, demanding; chapped and animalistic next to the soft lip-glossed kisses he was used to. Kazuo kissed with a kind of fervour Shinji had never expected the stoic boy to possess, and damn, he liked it. Reaching up, Shinji tangled his hands in Kiriyama's slicked hair, revelling in the feel of the cool gel beneath his fingertips. Kazuo's tongue licked a line across his lips, as though requesting entrance, and Shinji complied giddily, parting his lips to allow Kazuo to devour his mouth.

After what felt like an eternity in Kiriyama's fiery hold, the other boy stepped away, nonchalantly adjusting his tie. Shinji slumped back against the wall, heart hammering painfully, lips swollen from the force of Kazuo's kisses. At the sound of the door, he looked up to see Kiriyama was now stood at the gym's entrance. In contrast to Shinji's thoroughly dishevelled appearance, his was immaculate, and the heavy-lidded eyes seemed satiated, without a glimmer of the earlier hunger.

"Just something to consider, Mimura."

I hope that was an enjoyable read. Reviews are greatly appreciated.