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Title: Mushrooms are a Delicacy
Author: kat8cha
Pairing: ~~fuck if i know~~ Past Hiyoshi/Kirihara, possible Kirihara/Kamio, Hiyoshi/Mizuki
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hiyoshi's an angry, angry shroom, and nothing seems to be going for him.

Hiyoshi slipped past the crowd at the street courts, disappearing fairly easily. Everyone was distracted anyway watching that loud redhead from Fudomine (Kamio, Hiyoshi knows his name he just pretends he doesn’t) and the louder guy from Seigaku (Momoshiro, power player, with freakish weather predicting skills) play another match against each other. Hiyoshi had showed up at the street courts because he was bored and he had a little free time. Usually Hiyoshi would have spent his time studying but he needed to get out of the house. The dojo had become almost stifling now, with his parents expecting more from him then ever before. Highschool was not as difficult as Hiyoshi had expected it to be but he still needed to get high scores on everything. Hiyoshi had never been top in his class but he tried hard to make it into the top 15.

"Yo." Someone greeted him from behind and Hiyoshi looked over his shoulder. Familiar green eyes sparkled and Hiyoshi scowled before looking back at the sidewalk, continuing his walk. "Oi, don’t ignore me." Kirihara grabbed his shoulder and Hiyoshi smacked the others hand away. Hiyoshi glared from beneath his fringe and Kirihara sneered back at him.

"Shouldn’t you be at the courts? Defending your *boyfreind*?" Hiyoshi said darkly. Kirihara’s sneer disappeared but he still looked angry and defensive. Hiyoshi clenched his fists.

"Look, Akira and I aren’t like that!" Hiyoshi scoffed.

"Could have fooled me when I caught you two making out at the party." He glared at Kirihara. ‘Akira’. He called the bastard by his first name. Kirihara had never once called him ‘Wakashi’ while they were dating. Course, Hiyoshi hated his first name so....

"Look, the punch was spiked okay?!" Kirihara looked upset now and made another grab for Hiyoshi’s arm. It took all Hiyoshi’s self control not to smack the bastard in the face. "Hiyoshi, c’mon I’ve tried to tell you I’m sorry." Hiyoshi shook off Kirihara’s arm and turned to stalk off.

"Save it for your precious ‘Akira’."

Hiyoshi smashed the ball past another member of the tennis club, wiping his forehead with a towel as yet another surprised classmate called out that he’d won the match with 6 love games. Sucking harshly on his water bottle he glared around him. He was in no mood to pussyfoot around playing and it was their fault for being paired with him today. "Someone's in a foul mood." A deep voice rumbled from behind him and he turned to glare at Oshitari through his fringe. "Does it have anything to do with your meeting Kirihara-kun yesterday?"

"Shut up senpai." Hiyoshi grumbled. Glaring around the courts Hiyoshi checked the time, flipping sweaty hair out of his face. Maybe it was time for a trim. Maybe he should cut it all off. The only reason he'd kept growing it was because Kirihara had liked tugging on it when they made out. Yeah, definitely cutting it. A shadow fell over him and Hiyoshi scowled upwards.

"Hiyoshi, twenty laps." Atobe ordered, giving Hiyoshi a ‘buchou look’. Hiyoshi grumbled, jogging away. By the time he was finished everyone else had left except for Atobe. Atobe was standing there hitting balls against one of the walls. Hiyoshi had never seen the point to doing that. You could not beat a wall, well unless you were that Momoshiro, though maybe Kirihara could. Hiyoshi’s scowl made a reappearance. The laps*had* made him feel a little better but now his previous bad mood returned.

"You know," Atobe lay his racket on his shoulder, "if you were an anime character there would be a storm cloud hanging over your head." He smirked and walked over to Hiyoshi. "While your sudden focus is good I’m worried about the reason." Atobe’s smirk only increased in size as he drew up to the akward teen. Hiyoshi glared at him from under his sweaty bangs. "There are plenty of teammates who would offer to help you with your... sexual tension."

"Shut up!" Hiyoshi burst out, and Atobe’s eyes widened slightly. "I don’t need your stupid... Gah! I’m LEAVING!!!" He stormed into the club room, not even bothering to shower just quickly changing back into his clothes. Grabbing his bag he left Hyotei.

Hiyoshi slumped on the park bench, kicking at the cement under his feet. Why had he headed back to the street courts? He knew that’s where Fudomine liked to hang, and with Fudomine came Kirihara. He was spending the day with Akira again. Hiyoshi sneered, glaring down at his feet as he kicked at the sidewalk. What did that skinny, speedy redhead have that he didn’t? The only thing Hiyoshi had ever held out was that he did not want actual sex. He bet that was it, the red headed ‘speed ace’ was probably fast.

"My, you look down in the dumps." A cool voice said to his left, and someone sat next to him on the bench. Hiyoshi grunted, looking out of the corner of his eye to figure out who it was. For a split second he thought it was Kirihara, but then he realized the hair was slightly different and the eyes were a normal color, not green at all. "Hmm, am I not good enough for words Hiyoshi-san?" Mizuki Hajime leaned back on the bench, calm and collected in the face of Hiyoshi’s metaphorical thunderstorms. "And here I thought I could bring you a little sunshine."

"Sunshine?" Hiyoshi leveled Mizuki with his full glare. The data gather seemed immune though, twisting a lock of hair with his finger and issuing those preposterous sounding chuckles.

"Nfu, nfu, nfu, I have news you might find interesting." Mizuki’s eyes gleamed. "It’s about a certain Rikkai demon and his love life." Hiyoshi’s eyes narrowed. If he squinted just a little he could ignore that Mizuki wasn’t Kirihara.

"You know what... I don’t care." He roughly grabbed Mizuki’s hair, twining curly strands around his fingers and pulling the other into a rough kiss. He dominated the others mouth, tongue roughly thrusting against Mizuki’s. He ignored the taste of mint and pretended it tasted like sugar, or salt, or as Kirihara had occasionally tasted; the metallic tang of blood. His hands slid under Mizuki’s shirt, roughly gripping the others hips as he pulled Mizuki onto his lap.

Hiyoshi groaned as he woke up. He ached all over, though it was a good ache reminiscent of when he had over done it during training. Sitting up Hiyoshi realized that this wasn’t his room. He held up a hand, blinded slightly by the purple. It reminded him of those training camps at Atobe’s cottage. He got out of the bed, checking his state of dress.

Just as he’d thought. Naked.

Crap.