I was trying to sit myself down to work on my other fic, but what I managed to do instead was to write this, this... Totally inconsequential Trent/Kirby oneshot. Like there aren't plenty of fics about these two already. I gotta get 'Walk Tall, Peanut' out of my system soon or my head's going to get constipated beyond belief, dangit...

Breaking the Bronc

The gym of Bullworth Academy was occupied at an unusual time. Kirby Olsen, the wide receiver of Bullworth Bulls, exercised there in the night, doing jumping jacks, sit ups, pull ups, push ups, squats, the basics. He had been at it for a while, but didn't feel any better no matter what he did. He continued anyway; he did it clinging onto the thought that he would become stronger, eventually.

In all honesty, the boy hated his body. He knew he was younger than most of his jock friends, many of whom had repeated school years, but he was still severely disappointed by how small and scrawny he was compared to them. Every now and then he felt great about himself, felt that maybe he could chill out a bit and just try to feel content with himself, but that was denied from him every time. Something always happened that proved him that he had hardly developed at all.

It had happened this very day, for example. It had been one of those days when you should not, should NOT piss off Jimmy Hopkins, the self-proclaimed king of the school. Zoe Taylor's parents had given him a rough time and someone had taken his bicycle while he had been in Blue Skies, leaving him to go back to the academy from from the industrial park by foot.

Too bad that there had been no way for Kirby Olsen to know that.

When he had seen Jimmy sitting on the bleachers, looking gloomy, he had approached him with a sneer to see what kind of a reaction he could get out of the stout, freckled boy. After it had been obvious that Jimmy had no intention to respond to his somewhat playful mock, he had gone for a straightforward insult. And, after that, a few of them. It had seemed like a good idea back then.

Kirby had eventually gotten under Jimmy's skin, but he hadn't been prepared for the consequences. The short but stringy and energetic jock had been pretty confident about himself and the physical development he had gone through as of late, but he had been an ant unwittingly trying to fight an elephant. When Jimmy had finally stood up to confront the boy pushing his buttons, he had done so with a bestial snarl that could have scared off a pack of wolves.

Jimmy hadn't attacked though. Not immediately. He had seemed like he was going to walk away from the situation, in fact. But when Jimmy had trudged past Kirby, the short jock had felt compelled to make one more verbal jab. That had been his last: Jimmy had turned, grabbed Kirby's collar, and tossed him against a rail as if he had been a pile of dirty laundry. In an uncharacteristically calm and collected way, Jimmy had disposed of his adversary with absolutely merciless kicks and punches.

He had given Kirby a chance though. Many chances. Without as much as twitching his face, Jimmy had waited patiently for Kirby to make a stand every time he had been brought down. Whenever the jock had tried to attack, he had been pushed down even harder and given a kick, as if to punish him for failing to be a challenge. This had continued until Kirby had lost his strength altogether and had possessed no will to fight.

That hadn't even been the worst part, though.

When Jimmy had stood by Kirby's limp body, he had grabbed him and started dragging him away. The small jock had pretended to be out cold – the thought of letting Jimmy know that he had been to scared to go on had been too much for him to bear. So, he hadn't protested when his opponent had taken him to the jocks' clubhouse.

Kirby wasn't sure what he had expected, but when he had been lifted on the untidy mattress, his heart had sunken a mile and he had become very afraid of something far worse than Jimmy had already done to him. But as the jock's heart rate had skyrocketed and he had been about to blow his cover by starting to sob, nothing had happened. He had laid there in his disoriented state for who knows how long, thinking that Jimmy had been in the clubhouse with him and about to do something horrible to his body.

When the jock had started to wonder why nothing had seemed to be happening, he had opened his eyes and realized that the morning had come just as quietly as Jimmy had left. With an immense sigh of relief, he had simply gone to sleep. Proper, quiet sleep. The other jocks had interrupted him a couple of times when they had seen him sleep on the mattress, obviously beaten up and sore, but Kirby had insisted on being left there. Telling what had happened had been beyond the much suffered and humiliated youth, so when he had finally gotten up, he had lurked in the more desolate parts of the school all day, avoiding human contact.

When the night had fallen, he had sneaked into the gym. So there he was, beating himself over the head over everything that had happened during the past 24 hours. All while pounding his body into submission with much more determination than Jimmy had. The fact that their fight hadn't even a contest was so unfair Kirby could cry, but he wouldn't – not until his veins were pumping battery acid. When he wouldn't be able to move an inch, he would permit himself to wet his battered cheeks with his tears, alone. That was the best motivator he could come up with in this situation. It was pathetic.

Kirby Olsen, however, wasn't alone in the gym. Hadn't been for a while. Someone had come into the building from the pool's side to have a smoke somewhere away from the prefects' sights. Then the intruder had heard stomps and pained grunting from the direction of the stairway connecting the gym and pool area, so he had sneaked to the source of the sounds. While the small jock was concentrated on doing push ups, back towards the bleachers, the watcher observed and wondered how long it would take for the boy to notice.

While the watcher took drags from his cigarette, he admired the sight that was granted to him. There was something rather alluring about how seriously and desperately the small jock was exercising, trying to waste his energy away. He had always been a hardworking type.

Yes, and when Trent Northwick, Bullworth's self-proclaimed superstar, had his eyes on you, you ought to be flattered. After all, he was an outstanding specimen and he knew it. Relatively tall, blond, and a hell of a talented actor. One hell of a ladies' and men's man who was certain he could get what he wanted when he wanted with the least imaginable effort. And what did he want? To see hotties swoon, weaklings cower, and make the rest envy of him, of course.

The bully grinned as he remembered the first time he had set his eyes on his current primary target. He had been waiting for his gym class to start, ogling at the cheerleaders practicing on the other side of the gym while the male jocks had occupied the other side. Quite randomly, he started to pay attention to the guys instead, which wouldn't have been anything special otherwise, but he got noticed. One guy among many caught him ogling, and it had been Kirby. And boy, the kid had seemed to make a big number out of it in his head.

It was with pure delight that Trent had realized that Kirby had been just a bit too affected by it for it to be coincidental. The short jock had occasionally glared at Trent's direction angrily and then looking for other annoyed looks in his direction from his jock friends, obviously trying to figure out a reason to call him out on ogling at guys without sounding suspiciously violated by it. No avail, though, so he had just gone on with his training regime and he had done it with so much utter fury. Yup, it had been then that Trent had decided that he would one day ride this pony and he wouldn't get him off his back. It was just such a misfortune that unlike most of Trent's targets, this one could kick his ass to hell and back. And, he was willing to do that with little provocation.

With that in mind, the blond young man thought about leaving without notifying his object of desire of his own presence. After some time, though, he decided to break the silence even though it was amusing how oblivious Kirby was to his ogling.

"What's the dealio dude?" the youth asked while he released a puff of smoke from his smugly curved lips.

Aw hell no, Kirby immediately cursed in his mind and stopped what he was doing.

"What the hell, Trent?" he asked with an accusing tone while he got up and turned to face the uninvited guest, obviously very miffed about his presence.

Trent Northwick cocked his brow as he measured Kirby from head to toes and took a better look at the bruises all over his bare torso and face. He doubted he had ever seen the boy beaten up this badly.

"That's what I was going to ask. What the hell happened to you?" he inquired, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"None of your goddamn business", Kirby retorted, obviously feeling somewhat violated that Trent had barged in. He had done this before when Kirby had a lonesome training session and the small jock had been very clear about what he thought about his privacy. His spying crept the hell out of him every time!

"Oh come on dude, don't be such a baby", the tall blond snorted

"Anyway, you look like shit. Is that the reason why you haven't been around today?" he continued.

Kirby bit his lip and looked away, rubbing his sore cheek.

"Just let it go, okay? And leave me the hell alone while you're at it" he said gruffly.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna stay. Haven't filled my guy-ogling quota for today yet", Trent responded, knowing that the short boy would be annoyed by that.

"What, you want some poundcake you asshole?" Kirby huffed angrily, but the ring of his voice told that he was also tired.

Trent frowned and the curve of his mouth turned downwards slightly as he scrutinized Kirby's looks and behavior.

"Sorry short stuff, but right now you don't look like you could even beat Pedro in thumb wrestling", he responded sternly.

Kirby sighed deep. He wasn't in the mood to argue with this guy. In fact, talking with him was never a good idea, because it lead to all kinds of stupid. Like going to the movies with him.

"... I know", Kirby said quietly.

The two were silent for a moment. Kirby was too embarrassed to say anything and Trent just wasn't sure what to say. What to say to a guy that was obviously not okay with himself but also not okay with anyone who dared to suggest that he was insecure? Knowing that he could very well be waking up poundcake-loving Mr. Hyde in the short brunette, Trent stomped his cigarette, stood up from the bleachers, and walked towards the bruised figure in front of him. To his surprise, the overly self-conscious boy let him approach him. As if he was approaching a wild injured animal, he slowly extended arm and put his hand on top of Kirby's head.

"Cheer up, man", Trent mumbled and gave the guy a light shake.

Kirby didn't react much, just withstood the shake and bit his lips. He wasn't really looking at Trent as much as he was looking past or through him and somehow he didn't find it in him to be outraged. He didn't even slap the taller boy's hand away even though it lingered on his head for an uncomfortably long time, rubbing his scalp. Trent took this as a golden opportunity and suddenly extended his other arm gently around the boy. His left hand was now rested on Kirby's head, his fingers in his brown hair, and his right arm went around his shoulder. Kirby still didn't have much of a reaction, which made this situation a new record in how far Trent had gone with him without the guy pushing him away or punching him in the stomach.

"You're always so hard on yourself, you little twerp", Trent said quietly and smirked.

Kirby focused his eyes on the sight in front of him and all he saw was the white fabric of the other boy's shirt. Then he glanced to the side, where he saw the double doors to the gym, looking at himself and Trent through the eyes of anyone who could have entered the building at that very moment.

"... This is gay", the small boy muttered. Still, he didn't struggle.

"I know", Trent hemmed and his smirk intensified.

Kirby felt very empty and exhausted. His body was aching both because of the injuries it had gotten from Jimmy and because of the strain he had forced it to endure. He was also aware that his ego should be aching too, because this situation was NOT okay.

Yet, Kirby just didn't care anymore.

"I'm gonna kick your teeth in if you tell anyone, understood?" he murmured and leaned forwards, letting his head rest against Trent's shoulder.

"Understood", Trent responded with a stifled chuckle.

Every time Kirby crashed and burned, Trent knew he was getting where he wanted, slowly.

END

Trent and Kirby are actually my punching bags, for reasons that are completely coincidental and not at all related to their bisexuality, looks, or popularity among fans... Kirby always finds the absolute worst time to chase me around, hollering about poundcake (pretty much the inspiration for this fic), and Trent is somehow omnipresent on campus, which makes him ultra-annoying in the beginning of the game when the bullies don't respect you yet. Beating them up became a habit, I guess...