The Best Laid Plans
The Best Laid Plans
Pairing: Nino/Sho, Aiba/Becky (Arashi)
Word Count: ~18,000
Summary: Nino fantasizes about his teacher. Aiba still hasn't done it with his girlfriend. Both of them are ready to make things happen. But will it work out?
Notes: Written for maiaide in the je_fqfest exchange. Thank you to everyone who helped/encouraged me with this, and of course to maiaide, without whom I couldn't have written this. :D
Nino is paying attention, just not to class. He's far more interested in the teacher writing on the board with swift, certain strokes, building up sentences of nonsensical English. Sakurai-sensei reads as he writes, and it's cute, his pronunciation. Sharp and clear.
Nino feels a tap, and maneuvers his hand around to intercept Aiba's note automatically.
You're getting dreamy-eyed again, it says, complete with a sketch of Nino with spiky hair and googly eyes.
Aiba, you're a dick, Nino thinks, and then decides to scribble just that underneath Aiba's chicken-scrawl and passes the note back.
Less than a minute later, the tap comes again. Nino takes the note.
Aiba's drawn a dick with a pair of balls, and labelled it Nino.
Nino is adding hair and relabeling when Sakurai-sensei wheels around, looking for someone to call on. He's so earnest. He really thinks people are listening. Well, to be fair, most of the girls are. Sakurai-sensei, handsome and just out of college, has a reputation as the school heart-throb.
Sakurai-sensei's eyes meet his, and Nino feels a thrill that shimmers in his gut. (Aiba had probably been right about the dreamy eyes, but Nino's not about to admit it.) For a moment, he thinks there's something there, looking back at him: Sakurai-sensei seems to hesitate, and a few seconds tick by where Nino almost forgets they're in the middle of a classroom.
"Ninomiya-kun, read this, please."
Shit. He probably should have averted his eyes.
He stands up, carefully gathering his book, and slides Aiba's note down the page and out of the way. It's distracting reading English with a sketch of a dick staring back, but Nino somehow manages with a straight face.
It helps that Sakurai-sensei is watching him the whole time. Nino can feel it, and he's getting a little high off it. There's something about the way Sakurai-sensei stares that's full of interest, hopeful.
It's probably because he's a new teacher, not jaded yet by the uphill battle of teaching kids things they don't want to know.
But then again, maybe it's not.
- -
Nino has already taken out the trash and swept the floor. Now he's putting away the equipment: beakers and test tubes freshly washed and cleaned, some still laced with water. They click onto the shelves, tinkle as he places them one next to another.
It's cold. Winter is in full swing, and Nino only has on his school blazer. The central heating doesn't reach this room, and Nino can see his breath when he sighs. Just a few more minutes, and he can go home. Just a few more beakers, and -
Nino's ears prick as the door opens, and there, framed by the hall light, is Sakurai-sensei, already full of endearing concern. "Ninomiya-kun," he says with surprise. "You're here late?"
This is right out of one of Nino's fantasies, and he's not ashamed to admit it (in the privacy of his own mind, of course). Sakurai-sensei walks towards him, a finger tucking over the knot of his tie to work it loose. "Were you waiting for me?" he says. Buttons come undone down the front of his shirt. Sakurai-sensei comes into his space, older and taller and masculine, until his voice is in Nino's ear. "You were, weren't you? You've been wanting this. You've been watching me, I've seen you."
And Sakurai-sensei puts his hands on Nino's hips, pushes him against the shelves so the beakers make musical sound, and forces Nino's legs apart with his knee.
Nino swallows, his fantasy clinging to him like smoke. There is a tight feeling in his stomach, but he very rationally tells his hormones to shut up, thank you. Sakurai-sensei is still standing in the door.
"I just had a little bit more to put away," he says. His voice doesn't crack. Fantastic. He's well beyond that age, but a situation like this is more than enough to bring him back to pubescent awkwardness. "Am I in your way? I can move."
And he's about to, but Sakurai-sensei says, "No, that won't be necessary, don't bother yourself," and is actually coming closer.
Time slows down as Nino's pulse speeds up. He notices little things, fragmented things, in great detail: the click of Sakurai-sensei's shoes on the tile floor, paced and even; the smell of his cologne (expensive, Nino's mind supplies, though really he has no idea); the roughness of his chin where he'll need to shave in the morning. He's so close, Nino thinks. He's so close, and we're alone.
Nino is a statue when Sakurai-sensei puts a hand on his shoulder and reaches up above them. Nino realizes it's for balance, but it doesn't work, because Sakurai-sensei ends up pressed to his back, a warm blanket that makes Nino's blood sing.
It's not cold, not anymore.
Sakurai-sensei grunts. Nino hears something shift, and then Sakurai-sensei steps back, a folder full of papers in his hand. "Sorry about that," he says, giving Nino a sheepish, careful smile. But he looks startled, Nino thinks. Like something just happened that he couldn't have anticipated.
"It's okay," Nino says. He still feels hot. Breathless. He can't take his eyes off Sakurai-sensei, even though he knows he should. The feel of Sakurai-sensei's hand is burned against his shoulder.
"Um," Sakurai-sensei says, and Nino realizes that he's flustered. Nino sees him run his hand down his chest, adjust his tie, and the smile on his face is crooked with enough embarrassment that it's not actually a smile. He's avoiding eye contact.
Oh my God, Nino thinks. There is a bubble of gleefulness in his chest, a wild sort of happiness as he realizes he's been right all along.
"Don't stay too late," Sakurai-sensei says, interrupting Nino's thoughts. He's far away now, in the doorway again. "And be careful on your way home!" And the door swings shut, shnicking softly home. He's gone.
Nino picks up a beaker on auto-pilot, placing it neatly on the shelf.
Sakurai-sensei wants me, he thinks, and now he knows it's really true. He's not just making things up in his own perverted mind because he wants what he can't have. He places the next beaker, and the next, with artful precision that he isn't even paying attention to. Sakurai-sensei wants me.
He needs a plan.
- -
There are lots of breasts in Aiba's magazines. That's okay with Nino, he appreciates breasts too. Particularly this pair that are pulled tight together in a bikini top that's made more of string than fabric. The leggy model is stretched against against a the hood of a Ferrari, feet apart and crotch exposed.
"I bet she'd be good for titty fucking," Aiba says.
Nino frowns at him and turns the page again. "Stop looking over my shoulder."
"You don't think so?" Aiba says, undaunted. "I've always wanted to try. You'd get to hold a boob in both hands."
Nino grabs Aiba's wrist and yanks, not letting him get up high enough to mimic the crude actions he's describing. Aiba giggles kind of like a horse as his butt hits the floor.
"It's too bad Becky's so small," Aiba says when he finally gets his breath back. "Maybe she'd let me."
"You haven't even had sex yet," Nino says, kicking his feet idly. "Shouldn't that come first?"
"Hey," Aiba says. "You don't know that! Wait, why do you know that? Hey. Hey, you've been talking to her, haven't you?" Aiba is close, really close, getting in Nino's face, his breath hot on Nino's cheek.
"You need to brush your teeth," Nino says, shoving at Aiba's shoulder.
"She did!" says Aiba, pushing back in rough, boyish frustration. "She told you!" He's invading Nino's space, and Nino feels his blood pump. In seconds they're tumbling around on the floor, magazines wrinkling under Nino's back as they skid this way and that, gangly limbs striking out when they can. Nino bumps his head against Aiba's desk chair and thankfully manages to avoid kneeing Aiba in the groin.
But Aiba always wins. Aiba is taller by almost a head, and he's on the basketball team and has all the stamina that comes with it. The only sports Nino plays are with a game controller (and sometimes Aiba wins those, too).
They're breathing hard, Nino pinned under Aiba's heavy hands. Aiba is still too close, hovering over him, expression glazed with the adrenaline of his win.
Nino stretches his neck, and kisses Aiba right on the mouth.
"Oh, yuck," Aiba says, immediately a body-length away and wiping at his mouth. "That's totally cheating. You ass." He's checking his hands, as if to make sure Nino didn't leave any lipstick-like marks.
Nino bares his teeth in an exultant smile. Kissing Aiba has always been the ace up his sleeve.
Aiba moans, and slumps against the side of his bed. "But she told you! That's so embarrassing. Seriously. That makes me sound so uncool."
"Just because you haven't fucked yet?" Nino says. He doesn't actually care about Aiba's sex life, and he's not sure why Aiba thinks he does. But Aiba has been hung up on Becky for months. Nino knows how much she means to him. "You should make a move already." He pauses, but can't help adding, "I'm going to."
"What?" Aiba says, and Nino can almost see his ears prick like a puppy's. "You don't mean Sakurai-sensei, right."
"Who else would I mean," Nino says, picking himself up off the floor finally, straightening out his shirt so his absurdly pale stomach is no longer on display. "I was right. I was right about him." Aiba is skeptical until Nino narrates the encounter in the supply closet. The memory is still freshly imprinted, each detail standing out in sharply, but Nino glosses over them in favor of the important part: Sakurai-sensei had been affected, too.
Aiba is crowding him again, but this time Nino doesn't mind. It feels cozy with Aiba's shoulder pressed against his and both of them scrunched down together, talking in confidentiality. "What will you do?" Aiba whispers, perhaps louder than necessary.
"I have some ideas," Nino murmurs, and then nudges Aiba. "What about you?"
"Well," Aiba says, ducking so his bangs hide his eyes. He pushes his fingers together, a nervous habit since elementary school. "If Nino-chan is going to be brave, I don't have any excuses."
"Don't do things because of me," Nino warns him, knowing already that Aiba won't listen. But he's not really bothered, because if this is the push that Aiba needs, Nino is glad for him to take it.
"Right, do it Aiba-style," Aiba says. "But Aiba-style takes too long. So it's time to do something." He nods, his shoulders setting into a determined line. He looks at Nino. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right," Nino says. "You should listen to me the first time." And he pushes Aiba till they start to tumble again, the conversation over but not forgotten.
- -
Aiba knows exactly where Becky's class is. Usually he's prompt in going to see her right as the lunch bell rings but today he walks in the opposite direction, against the flow of traffic, to class 2C, tucked in the back of the building. He thanks all his luck (he always does, every time) when he sees Meisa and Satomi still lingering over their desks. They're Becky's best friends, and it's hard to catch them without her.
"Mei~sa-chan, Sato~mi-chan," he says, and is rewarded when they look up and over at him with cutely rounded mouths.
"Aiba-kun!" Satomi is full of sparkles and boundless energy and she looks honestly astonished to see Aiba. "What are you doing here? What happened to Becky?"
Meisa is quiet, sizing him up in stillness. She's like a cat, porcelain faced and watchful, and Aiba likes her but he's never sure what she's thinking until she opens her mouth. It makes him more nervous than he already is, which is considerably if his sweaty palms are any indication.
"About that," Aiba says, eyeing the other people sitting around the class, unfolding bento boxes and picking up chopsticks. "Do you both have a minute?"
They consent to be led out the door and down the hall to a quiet inlet, but both of them are staring at him like he has something in his teeth. "What's this about? Did something happen?" Satomi asks, her expressive face lined with concern. She's cute, Aiba thinks, cute enough to think about kissing, but she doesn't have Becky's wicked sense of humor, which is one of his favorite things.
"I need advice," says Aiba, remembering to keep his voice down.
Meisa looks dubious. He doesn't blame her.
He hasn't rehearsed this enough times, it still sounds stupid, he feels stupid but he says it even though his cheeks are burning: "What would make her first time special?"
Satomi squeals. Aiba isn't sure whether or not he's relieved that she knows exactly what he's talking about. Did Becky tell everybody? He doesn't understand girls, he really doesn't. "Take her on a trip! A romantic trip, to Hokkaido or to Okinawa, and rent the suite room at a hotel. Or at an onsen with a view over the green landscapes, and you both in yukata, that would be so romantic, it would be amazing, I wish my boyfriend would do that!"
Aiba is swept up in her enthusiasm. He can picture it immediately. Becky in a yukata tied snug around her slender waist, the shoulder opening easily as he hooks his thumb in and pulls.
"Aiba-kun?" Meisa says, pulling him back to reality. "That would be a little too expensive, don't you think?"
"Oh," say Satomi and Aiba in tandem.
"Then, roses," Satomi says, already warming to a new idea. "He could buy red roses, and spread the petals across a bed… whose bed?" she asks herself, tapping her chin. "Probably your bed, Aiba-kun, because you wouldn't be able to get in to prepare Becky's without her, would you? Definitely make it a surprise. And candles, scented ones, Becky likes peach - " Aiba knew that. " - and you have to have good music. Some sexy R&B."
Aiba is trying to take mental notes (maybe he should be writing this down for real, maybe he should take out a pen), but Meisa folds her arms over her chest. "You don't need any of that," she says, sounding more opinionated and adult than any high schooler should. He's startled into looking at her more closely. "That might be what you want, Satomi-chan," she goes on, and Satomi presses her lips together in a sullen pout. "But Becky will laugh at you if you throw petals around, Aiba-kun. Simple is fine."
"Really?" Aiba asks. That means he's really no better than when he first asked.
"Probably," Satomi says, still sulking. Meisa pokes her in the side.
"You'll be fine as long as you're serious about it," Meisa says, warm with encouragement. It transforms her whole face. "That's the most important thing."
Meisa probably knows what she's talking about, since she's been dating Jun for nearly as long as Aiba's been dating Becky. Longer maybe, Aiba can't remember. But she looks so confident, and Aiba doesn't know Jun very well but he has such a reputation that Aiba can't help but think that Meisa is speaking from experience. Somehow, Aiba finds that reassuring.
"Okay," he says, and then firmer, with a salute: "It shall be as you say, Meisa-sensei!"
"Stop it," she says, mellow and a little flustered. "We should get back now, or Becky will start to wonder where we've been."
"She probably already does, actually," Satomi says. She fidgets, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "You don't think she'll be upset?"
"Upset at you? Maybe," Meisa teases.
They promise they won't tell Becky (Satomi reluctantly, but Meisa pulls rank), and Aiba walks with them past people he knows, back to the classroom, back to Becky. He really hopes that it's as easy as Meisa says. He can't keep sitting on his nervousness forever.
Especially since his parents are going away for the weekend.
- -
Nino has been present all morning. Everyone has seen him half asleep at his desk, barely holding his pencil upright. (He'd been taking more note of the way Sakurai-sensei's ass filled his trousers than anything else.) So he's sure that when everyone filters back from lunch to find their seats, someone will say, Where's Ninomiya?
Nobody will know the answer except Nino, and eventually, Sakurai-sensei.
Waiting is really boring. Nino doesn't have his DS, which would be too loud and give the whole thing away. He didn't bring his music player, or anything to do with his hands, so he sits in the corner underneath Sakurai-sensei's desk and quite literally twiddles his thumbs.
He can count down the minutes till the bell rings. Sakurai-sensei should be back soon. Nino knows he's crazy, waiting under tables, but he can't think of any plan that isn't crazy. What's not crazy about trying to seduce your teacher?
The warning bell goes off, and Nino hears feet, and voices, as people start to return to class. Inohara-kun talking about the program he saw on TV last night, a snippet of Nishimori-san gossiping with a gaggle of giggling girls. Feet, feet, and more feet, words lost by the sheer number of voices.
And then Sakurai-sensei is back, walking right into Nino's field of vision. All Nino can see are his trousers and his shiny loafers, but even that is enough to give Nino a rush of adrenaline. He can't back out now.
Time is speeding up and slowing down at the same time. It would be fascinating, if Nino's stomach weren't tangled in a huge knot.
"Okay everyone," Sakurai-sensei says after the final bell rings. There's a sudden, impressive quiet. Sakurai-sensei's shoes squeak as he shifts his weight. "Hmm. Has anyone seen Ninomiya-kun?"
"Not since before lunch," says someone.
"Aiba-kun?"
"He said he wasn't feeling well, so he might have gone to the nurse's office," supplies Aiba's voice. Nino is filled with an abrupt fondness for Aiba for trying to save his ass without any prompting.
"I see," says Sakurai-sensei, and he sounds bemused. "That's too bad. Close your books, everyone." Sakurai-sensei disappears from Nino's vision, footsteps heavy. "Pass these behind you."
There's a rustling of papers. Nino knows exactly what's happening: they're readying their pencils and erasers to take a test. When Sakurai-sensei had announced it that morning, Nino knew it was what he had been waiting for. Sakurai-sensei rarely ever sat at his desk otherwise.
"Begin," comes Sakurai-sensei's voice, and Nino clasps his hands together, trying to breathe quietly. There's no sound in the room but for the scratching of pencils.
Sakurai-sensei doesn't come back immediately. He must be walking the aisles, Nino thinks. He would be glancing at papers and the tops of students' heads, observing, pace slow like a wild cat, hands deep in his pockets. (Nino has secretly observed him before during tests, since he's always done before Aiba and always has to wait.)
So Nino is good at being patient. He uses the time to think of what he intends to do, mental preparation. Because this is no small thing, and he knows it. There's every chance he could end up in the principal's office, or even expelled. But he doesn't think so. Not if he's read Sakurai-sensei right.
And then Nino hears the weighted fall of feet coming back, and Sakurai-sensei's chair is wheeling away from him. He pushes farther back into the shadow, making room as his heart rate spikes again. Sakurai-sensei is sitting down, the chair is rolling forward, and it's only Nino's good luck that his knees are spread apart, framing Nino on either side, leaving him undiscovered.
Nino swallows, and gathers his nerve. So far, it's all going according to plan. All that's left is to go for it.
So Nino stops thinking and just does, sliding both hands up the insides of Sakurai-sensei's thighs. Sakurai-sensei's whole body vibrates with surprise, and his knees jump and whack inwards, squeezing Nino between them. His chair wheels backwards until Nino finds himself staring up into bright light and Sakurai-sensei's shocked face. His mouth moves, about to form syllables, but Nino is quicker: he holds a finger up to his lips, and makes promises with his eyes.
Sakurai-sensei stares, frozen.
Be casual! Nino mouths at him. It all hangs on this moment. Nino's chest is tight, his ribs closing in around his heart as he waits to see what Sakurai-sensei will do.
He's looking at all the students bent over their papers, and Nino can see the internal debate in the pinch of his face.
Tentatively, he slides his chair back into place.
Nino's breath whooshes out of him - he hadn't known he'd been holding it. The relief is tangible enough to make him lightheaded. But he doesn't waste time dwelling. He's going to make sure that Sakurai-sensei won't regret this.
He places his hand to the seam of Sakurai-sensei's trousers, feeling for the shape of his dick through fabric that wrinkles and shifts under his fingers. Sakurai-sensei is soft, but it seems like that won't be for long; Nino can already feel the telltale signs that he's waking up, slowly, like on a Saturday morning. Nino pets, fascinated with the slow, steady growth.
He has to be quiet, and so he's very careful when he unbuckles Sakurai-sensei's belt, keeping his fingers on the clasps as he tugs the tail of it free. He wonders what Sakurai-sensei is doing… pretending to write something in his book, maybe, or looking out over his class while attempting to maintain his composure. Nino is already on his buttons and zipper. He pulls it down with extra care, tooth by tooth, watching it split apart.
There's a moment of distraction when Nino realizes that Sakurai-sensei is wearing boxers with pickles on them. Tacky, thinks Nino. Tacky, but still somehow adorable.
But the moment doesn't last long. Nino is already dipping his fingers into the hole of his underwear, and in one smooth movement, he's tugged Sakurai-sensei free.
Sakurai-sensei still isn't completely hard, but it doesn't matter to Nino. His belly does a flip, and then a skitter, as he looks his dick up and down. It's a warm apricot color, and his foreskin is hiding the tip like a secret. The sight makes his balls tighten, because this is no fantasy, this is real, right in front of his eyes.
He must look too long, because above him Sakurai-sensei subtly clears his throat.
Nino leans forward, and licks. This isn't as easy as he'd imagined: Sakurai-sensei's erection swings away from him with the press of his tongue, and back to bump his lips. This happens twice before Nino realizes he needs to hold the base. It's warmer than warm, and alive with Sakurai-sensei's pulse. Nino tries kissing it, sucking on just the tip, and gets a slow leak of warm saltiness that spreads through his mouth.
Nino is sure that Sakurai-sensei has gotten blowjobs before, and in all likeliness he won't be able to compare, so he doesn't even bother to try. Instead, he does what he's always wanted to do. The only issue is that he has to do it without letting anyone else hear him, so noisy sucking is out, but licking is very in, and he licks at the head of Sakurai-sensei's dick so that he can feel the slit drag against the bed of his tongue.
He hears a soft grunt, and Sakurai-sensei's thighs tighten against him.
Nino's knees are starting to ache against the linoleum, so he shifts, easing his weight harder onto Sakurai-sensei. It's not ideal, because now Nino's just as worked up as his teacher, his own arousal blooming against the back of his zipper, and he doesn't have a free hand to reach for it. But he has enough to do, and waiting will only make it better.
Sakurai-sensei's hand finds him after another minute of muffled sucking. Nino sees it from the corner of his eye before it cups the back of his head. He's gentle, but Nino can still feel the urgency in the way his fingers press against the back of his skull. It's all he can do not to moan.
The taste of Sakurai-sensei is getting thicker. Heady drop after heady drop diffuses through Nino's mouth. And when Sakurai-sensei's fingers clench in his hair, he realizes why. Sakurai-sensei's dick spasms once against Nino's tongue, and then Nino's mouth is full to overflowing and he almost chokes on his surprise. He barely even registers Sakurai-sensei's soothing stroke down the back of his neck, being too busy trying to swallow and not drip anything on Sakurai-sensei's pants.
Mercifully, Sakurai-sensei is quick to offer him a handkerchief. It's there before Nino even realizes he's moved, and Nino takes it gratefully, mopping up what's left on his chin. Then, with just as much care as before, he tucks Sakurai-sensei back into his pants and buckles up his belt so that nothing looks amiss.
Then he slumps back, and worries about himself. If only he could have seen Sakurai-sensei's face. How had he looked? Nino has a vivid imagination, and that helps. As he's rubbing his own hardness he pictures it: Sakurai-sensei attempting stoicism in front of a classroom, each seat full but one. Maybe his mouth twitched here, and maybe he stared out the window while biting down on his tongue. Nino can see all of this, and in doing so a spike of pleasure fills his belly, hot and tight.
It's almost embarrassing how quickly he comes, but at least he has Sakurai-sensei's handkerchief to empty himself into.
Nino spends the rest of the class in a glazed state of come-down with only his breath and Sakurai-sensei's shoes for company. Ten minutes, thirty - he doesn't really notice, or care. Eventually, he hears students starting to get restless as they finish their tests.
"Good, put it here," Sakurai-sensei is murmuring.
"Sensei, are you hot?" It's Aiba's voice.
Nino pays a bit more attention.
"What? Oh, yes, the heater - the heater seems to be on too high today." He's probably sweating. Nino feels abruptly guilty that he can't hand him back his handkerchief. "But you seem okay?"
"You should take care of yourself," Aiba says. "Well, see you tomorrow!" And he walks out the door, oblivious.
Silence falls. Everyone has gone. Finally, Sakurai-sensei stands up, leaving a window of space for Nino to crawl out of, and he does, trying to look braver than he feels inside. He gets to his feet, shaky from being tucked in a ball for so long.
Sakurai-sensei is leaning against the desk as if it's all he has to hold him up. He doesn't look at Nino, but Nino notices the sheen of sweat along his temples and the nape of his neck. "Do you know what you've - " He pauses. "What we've done?"
"Yes," Nino says, folding up the handkerchief, small and neat. He can't give it back without washing it. "I sat under your desk and gave you head, and you let me, and I enjoyed it."
"That's awfully concise," Sakurai-sensei mutters.
"There's no point in beating around the bush," Nino points out. He hesitates, and then adds, "I want to do it again. I really like you."
"No," Sakurai-sensei says immediately. He draws himself to his full height, spine straight with determination, but Nino just thinks he's trying to convince himself. Sakurai-sensei has always been transparent like that. "I can't take advantage of a student. You're… what? Seventeen. That's too young, Ninomiya. It's not right, and you know it."
"You think so?" Nino says with a calm he doesn't completely feel. He'd been prepared for a fight, but that doesn't make it much easier. "It's not right? What is right? To ignore the fact that I want you, and that you want me too? Teachers are always saying follow your dreams. Teachers say to reach for the stars, to believe in yourself. Don't you believe that too?" Nino takes a step closer, gratified to see that Sakurai-sensei is watching him warily, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. "Isn't that what's right? I know what I'm getting into. I've run through all the scenarios. You could get me expelled, if you wanted. I may be seventeen, but I'm not that young. I know what I want."
"So it seems," Sakurai-sensei says. Nino can see that he's weighing Nino's words. "And if I did try to get you expelled?"
"You won't," Nino says. "That's not the Sakurai-sensei I know."
"That's a lot of faith to have."
"You think?" Nino takes another step, drifting slowly closer, and Sakurai-sensei doesn't pull away. "…What would it take to prove that I'm serious?"
"Oh, I can tell you're serious," Sakurai-sensei says, shaking his head in wonder. "But I don't - "
"What," Nino interrupts him, listening to his heart more than his head, "would it take to make you serious about me?" Nino is close enough now that he can feel the hint of Sakurai-sensei's breath. They're as close as they were in the supply closet, and Nino warms at the memory.
If anyone were to walk in then, there would be no alibi. Neither would be able to explain away their proximity, nor the long look they're trading. Nino can feel the air around them like a cloak drawn close.
Sakurai-sensei kisses him first. Nino's mind almost doesn't catch up before he's kissing back, tilting his nose aside as butterflies burst into his heart. Sakurai-sensei has years of practice and a mouth that's sinfully soft, coaxing gasps from Nino. If Nino had had the power beneath the desk, Sakurai-sensei has it now.
When they stop, Sakurai-sensei presses his forehead to Nino's. "What am I getting myself into," he mutters.
"A relationship," Nino says, and kisses him again.
- -
When Nino finds Aiba later by the school gates, Aiba says he's glowing.
Nino smacks him, but doesn't deny it.
- -
Aiba is all prepared. He bought new condoms on the way home just in case (different types, because he couldn't choose) and his sheets are crisp and fresh. He's even cleaned his room, hidden his dirty underwear in the closet, and taped up a WARNING DANGER sign on the door so she doesn't get any bright ideas about snooping.
Becky rings the doorbell an hour later. When he opens the door, she's standing square on his front porch, her duffel held in both hands and dimples on her cheeks. "Here I am!" she says, and gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him before she's even out of her heels.
It's a fluttering kiss, and she pulls away before he can even start. "Yes, finally," he says, and tries to kiss her again.
"No no," she says, laughing as she pirouettes out of his grasp. "I'm starving. You've thought of that, haven't you?" But she has on one of those knowing looks that makes Aiba as close to exasperated as he gets. They both know that he's had his mind on things that aren't food. "Then it's time for some Becky cuisine!"
There's something to be said for Becky in an apron. She's brought hers from home, a soft blue one reminiscent of Alice-in-Wonderland with white lace on the pockets. Aiba sits down on a stool and watches her bustle around. She knows where the silverware is, and the tinfoil, and in fact she's so comfortable in his kitchen that, watching her, it's easy to think they've been dating forever.
"Where do you buy things like that?" Aiba says, watching her chop onions into neatly diagonal slices.
"My apron?" Becky says. "Surely that's not what you really want to know."
"Eh?"
"You're thinking about getting under it," she says, and then licks her thumb. "Admit it."
Aiba gawks, at a momentary loss. "I was not!"
"Were too."
"I was not!"
"Ah, you sound like a five-year-old," she says. "How juvenile!" It's off-handed in its dismissiveness, so Aiba knows she's teasing, but Becky's teases always have a basis in what she really believes.
"Not like you were being any more mature," he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Women are always more mature," she says easily, and ignores him in favor of the chicken.
Aiba doesn't stay moody for long, though. The smell of her cooking is more than enough to soothe his most ruffled feathers. And then the smell of something burning makes him leap off his stool.
They eat it in awkward silence. Aiba tries to compliment her, but she effectively shuts him up with the "You're just saying that to be nice" line, which isn't true at all. It's only charred on one side, completely edible and much better than what he's done for himself in the past. (He doesn't count what he's cooked for Yusuke, that was burned on purpose.)
"Thank you," he says after his plate is clean enough to make his mother proud.
"For what?" she says, still grumpy, twisting up a corner of her napkin. "I ruined it."
"That's not true," he says. He wishes she would understand. He'd been so happy to see her, and all the thought she'd put into it. Her apron might be more appropriate for a doll than a person, but she'd brought it just for this. She'd pored over her hand-printed recipe as she hummed and stirred, and when she'd concentrated, the bridge of her nose had crinkled and the only word he could think was 'adorable'. And she'd done it all for him.
It slams into him like a battering ram: she's been trying to impress him this whole time.
"Would you make it again for me?" he asks.
She looks at him suspiciously from across the table. "Are you serious?"
"I don't get family cooking a lot. I get leftovers from the restaurant, usually." He looks shyly down at his plate and the curly patterns of the leftover sauce. "Eating this made me happy."
"Well," she says finally, looking him up and down as if she's still trying to find something to be annoyed with, "okay, then." She gains a note of resolution: "I'll make it better next time, too. Just wait."
Under the table, he mixes his feet with hers, and feels a warm glow when she finally smiles back at him.
Which of course should lead to getting in bed, but Becky has other ideas, Aiba discovers. First, they have to wash all the dishes, because "a dirty kitchen is a restless heart," and okay, Aiba can admit that trying to cover each other in bubbles is fun. Drying up isn't so fun, but he manages.
Which is when Becky declares that it's shower time.
"Okay," Aiba says, teenage hormones going zing.
"You're not coming," Becky informs him. She's rummaging through her duffel, taking out fascinatingly bright pouches that contain god only knows what. "I am taking a shower to get clean."
Aiba digs his toe into the carpet, adopting the sheepish look that usually makes girls coo over him. It's never worked with Becky before, and it doesn't this time, either. She sweeps by him and shuts the bathroom door behind her with a click that echoes disappointment into Aiba's very soul.
So he plays video games. At least, he tries to: he keeps imagining Becky in the shower - in his shower - while he's stomping on koopas. He can see her in vivid detail, swirling soap over her breasts and down her soft stomach while the water rinses it away in a waterfall.
A koopa shell rebounds back at him and smacks him in the face. Mario death-music plays, and Aiba grumbles. What would it be like to walk up behind her and take those breasts in his hands, the nipples tweaked between his fingers as he cups them? Her skin would be hot and flushed and he could push against her backside - he jumps on a series of goombas - and then suck on the back of her neck while he rolls against her.
He takes Mario down a pipe and concentrates half-heartedly on shooting more goombas with his firepower. The coins make distracting ding-ding-dinging sounds as he jumps around.
He doesn't know what Becky sounds like when she moans. He's heard her gasp through kisses, but that's the extent of it. Building on that, he tries to imagine. Maybe low? Or maybe she'll make kittenish mewls each time he thrusts into her?
"Dammit!" He hits pause instinctively, but the damage is done: he's frozen halfway into falling to his doom. Sighing, he unpauses, and manfully takes the death music in stride.
"You're not doing very well, are you?" Becky says. Aiba jumps. When had she come in? She's standing at the end of the couch toweling at the ends of her hair, which are wet and dark and snaking against her fingers. She has a fluffy terrycloth bow headband on. It suits her, even if Aiba doesn't really understand it.
"Think you could do better?" he says, hoping like hell she doesn't notice the half-formed hardness in his trousers.
"Gimme that," she says, snatching the controller from him. The couch bounces when she plops into it, right next to Aiba so he can smell his shampoo. If he wasn't hard before, he is now. Damn. He takes deep breaths, which doesn't help much.
But Becky is good at Mario. She does impressive double-triple-quadruple jumps and smushes enemies left and right. Aiba feels a fierce pride watching her. This is his girlfriend, and no one could be more awesome.
He yawns very loudly, drops his arm around her shoulders, and then exults when she leans against him.
Aiba is nosing into her damp hair (and getting partially poked in the face by her floppy bow) when she says, "Nino-chan seemed really happy today. Did something good happen?"
Aiba doesn't really understand how Nino is so popular with Becky and her girlfriends, or why he's coming up now. Sure, they're in drama club together, and sure, Nino's amazing at improv and can make everyone laugh without trying. Maybe it's just Aiba who sees what a frustrating geeky nitwit Nino can be. But Nino's charmed the pants off of her, and so Becky flutters over him like a mother hen (Aiba would be more jealous if Becky hadn't already figured out that Nino is gay).
Her latest concern is his love life, and actually, Aiba doesn't blame her. Nino has been watching everyone else jump in and out of relationships for the past couple of years.
"Actually, yes," Aiba says, grinning ear to ear. "Something very good, in fact."
Mario is forgotten, the controller half sliding out of her lap as she wheels on him. "What? Tell me!"
"Nino's wishes might have come true~~" Aiba says.
Becky gapes. "Sakurai-sensei? No way. No, you're totally serious, aren't you?" Her face is so expressive, Aiba thinks: alight with awe and shock and excitement. "I'm so happy for him. He'd better be careful, but, oh, wow."
Aiba giggles. "He was pretty happy too." He curls his arm in tighter around her, taking advantage of her enthusiasm. He can feel the solid warmth of her body through her predictably pink pajamas. The controller thunks against the floor.
"I bet he was," she says, whispering now. She's noticed how close they are.
Aiba's fingers twitch, tugging at the hem of her pajama top. He expects a sharp comment, or a shove, because she's forever shoving him, but she lowers her eyes instead, so he can barely see through the rim of her lashes. Aiba's heart makes an extra loud thump. "Becky…"
She doesn't say anything. She's toying with the collar of his shirt in a way that tickles, suddenly shy, and it's intriguing. Aiba curls his fingers over her ear, the dampness of her hair brushing against his knuckles. Her face tilts, and Aiba can take a hint.
Gentle, he kisses her. He doesn't need to overwhelm her with all the pent-up frustrations of the evening, even if they're all her fault, because now she's here, a sweet weight lying against his chest, and he can kiss her all he wants.
He wonders how long it'll take to get her naked.
"Aiba-kun," she says, pulling back to stare pointedly into his lap. "Really? Already?"
His cheeks go hot. "Don't mind that."
"A little trigger-happy, aren't you?" she says, and he shuts her up with another kiss, heavier, which makes the words catch in her throat as she tries to keep up with him. It's satisfying, the way it makes her cling to him.
Impatience thrums along his bones. He pushes his hands under her pajama top and finally feels skin, and when she doesn't stop him, he feels justified in exploring more: the hard line of her back, the soft flesh of her sides. And then he realizes she's not wearing a bra.
"Hey," he says. Her mouth is curled in a cute 'o' of surprise, but then he had been a bit abrupt, he supposes. "Where's your bra?" He tickles his fingers, as if still hoping to find what he already knows isn't there.
"Idiot," she says. "Who wears a bra to bed?"
"You don't?" Aiba says, disappointed.
She levels a look at him and he knows what that means: she is despairing of his intelligence. "Also, we should probably turn off the game. Unless you like the Mario theme on loop, I mean."
"Oh," Aiba says, sheepish. He actually hadn't noticed, but now that she's mentioned it he can't ignore it. Developing a Pavlovian erection to the Mario theme doesn't sound like a fantastic idea, so with reluctance he stands up and trudges to turn it off.
Her fingers are weaving through his before he turns around. "Let's go to bed?"
That makes him feel better immediately. It's amazing what simple words can do. He leads her there, and there's a hush of expectancy between them. Becky isn't meeting his eyes. She keeps looking at her pedicured toes, and she's pressed her lips together thoughtfully. So she's not expecting it when he pushes her onto the bed and climbs right on top of her, already tugging her pajamas up to expose the white of her belly.
"Aiba-kun!" she gapes, her hands on his head as if she's going to push him away. But she doesn't. She lets him nibble a ring around her belly button and dip his tongue into the middle while she giggles, and slants her knees up around him. It gives him dirty, dirty ideas.
Forget the pajama top. Aiba goes down to Becky's bottoms, tugging the elastic so it slides down her hips. Her underwear is simple, cute, and shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is. He runs his fingers along the edge, where fabric meets the soft space of her hip. Her knees keep wavering, tipping in shyly, and then out as she gets momentarily braver.
Aiba hooks his fingers in the elastic and pulls, and though Becky bites her lip and stares at the ceiling, she shifts in a way that lets him do it.
Really, Aiba thinks, she is really beautiful. Her hair is making his pillow damp, and she can't seem to figure out where she wants to put her hands, and she's half pink pajamas and half naked legs, and Aiba can't stop staring at her. He just knows he would never want anyone else in his bed.
"Aiba-kun, would you hurry up?" Becky huffs, lifting a leg to kick at him in her embarrassment. He catches her ankle as her heel glances off his shoulder (okay, that hurt, but it wasn't enough to distract him). Her legs are open, and her curls frame a deep, inviting pinkness. Can he really help wanting to look?
He slips a finger against her, and finds her moist. Her mouth opens as she breathes, caught up and waiting to see what he'll do, as if it isn't obvious: he draws up and down, pushing apart the lips so he can see better, and then, once he finds her hole, he slides a finger inside, watching as it disappears. And again, and again, in and out, as her slickness starts to coat him, and he can feel the twitch of her muscles as he tries to push his hand a little deeper. Maybe two fingers? She hisses a bit, baring her teeth when he presses.
"Does that hurt?" he says, suddenly unsure. It feels great to him, but maybe she doesn't like it. But she gives her head a tight, nervous shake. "Okay." And then he thinks of something. "Can I taste you?"
"Oh," she says, still having a staring contest with the ceiling. "S-sure."
This Becky, no one else has seen her. Aiba is the first to watch all her confident walls come down, to see her spread herself wide open. He likes it; he likes the gap between his prickly, strong Becky and this soft, girly Becky in his bed. He feels lucky that she trusts him so much, even when she's not sure of herself.
The space between her legs is hotter than he is. Becky smells like something he can't name: a little sour, a little sweet. He laves his tongue against her, and the taste is even richer, enough so that he can't stop. She's making those hot gasping sounds, like she's trying to be quiet, and he can feel her twitch. When his tongue slips inside her, she actually moans. He's never once heard her moan before. It runs through him, and his arousal jumps against his trousers in approval.
Well, not approval of the trousers, and they've been constrictive for the last too long, so Aiba gives in and worms around, trying to get his pants undone without actually lifting his head. "What are you doing?" Becky says, finally looking at him in exasperated bafflement. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, though Aiba can tell she's trying to quash it, which he's grateful for because being laughed at during sex might just kill his boner. "Just sit up and do it."
"I almost had it," Aiba complains, but does as she says anyway. He has to admit, it's a lot easier.
Now, it's Becky looking at him. Aiba suddenly understands her embarrassment. He wants to fold his hands in his lap and tell her to look at something, anything else, but that wouldn't be fair, so he sits resolutely and waits. "Where are the condoms?" she says, looking as pink in the cheeks as he feels.
He points before he can get his tongue unstuck. "In the drawer."
Becky curls her legs under herself as she dumps them over the coverlet. "Whoa," she says. And then: "Neon? Seriously?"
"There were lots of kinds, I didn't really know - I mean…" He looks at them all, feeling chagrined. "They all seemed like fun."
"They didn't have any normal ones?" she asks, picking up the box of ribbed ones. "Oh. Let's… can we try these?"
"Sure," Aiba says immediately. She opens the package, and he gets rid of the rest, dumping them sloppily back into his drawer. "Lie down again," he says. It takes him a second to get the condom on - he should have practiced - and by then she's waiting for him. She seems to have settled on gripping his pillow.
He moves over her, heavy on one elbow. "I'm really sorry if it hurts," he says, because it's probably going to, but there's not much he can do about it.
"It's okay," she breathes, and abandons the pillow for his shoulders instead.
It's slow, because it takes Aiba a minute to figure out where to aim. He fumbles, and she squirms, and then she kicks a leg up over his back and all of a sudden he's aligned. He can feel her body give way to him, and it's amazing. Nothing at all like a handjob. The heat pulls him in as she breathes under him in short pants, wide-eyed and tense.
So he kisses her. He tries to tell her just how amazing he feels, just how much he loves her. About the tingles that are marching down his back and the heat, her heat, that's enveloping him, making his brain signals crash and all his thoughts disintegrate.
He rocks against her messily, and she holds onto him, keeps him close. It's hard to keep kissing, but the way their bodies move against each other is more than enough to make up for it. She's whining his name in his ear, and he tries to pay attention, but it's all feeling, up and down.
His orgasm is fast, and washes over him in a heat wave. She's still clinging to him when the shudders stop. He feels completely wrung out and on top of cloud nine, and she's the best pillow he could hope for when he sinks on top of her and noses at her cheek.
"Wow," he says, head still spinning.
"Hm?" Becky starts petting at his hair. "Good?"
"Oh," he says with every ounce of feeling in his body: "Yes. Good." So he's gone a little caveman-esque, so what.
She sounds shyly pleased. "Good."
- -
On Monday, Aiba passes Nino a note that says Sex is gr8!!. Nino doesn't write back, but Aiba does get a thumbs up before Nino goes back to staring at Sakurai-sensei. Aiba can't tell if it bothers Sakurai-sensei or not.
It's not till Tuesday that the problems start. Aiba gets a strange feeling right when he gets to school. Everything seems normal when he looks around: girls giggling together, and everyone lagging on their way to class, preferring socialization to study. But something is off.
He hears about it at lunchtime, from Yamashita-kun. "Is it true?" he says, catching up to Aiba in the hall and grabbing his elbow to slow him down. "Ninomiya-kun and Sakurai-sensei?"
Aiba's mind bursts in panic. "What?"
"You haven't heard?" says Yamashita-kun, surprised. "Everyone's talking about it. Some people think they did it in the equipment shed, but other people say up on the roof. No one knows for sure."
Gossip, Aiba thinks, feeling dizzy. That was why it had seemed so odd this morning, why everyone had been dragging their heels and leaning into each other's whispers. "No," he says, and tries to laugh about it. "What, that's crazy! Who would believe that?" His smile feels awkward. He has to find Becky.
She stands up from her bento the moment he gets to her classroom and drags him out into the hall. Her face is whiter than usual. So, she's heard, too. Try as he might, he can't think of any way for anyone to know that didn't go through her, which means through him, too. It makes him feel sick.
"Aiba-kun, what do we do?"
"He's going to kill me," is what Aiba says. "And I'll deserve it."
Becky bites her lip. "It might not - I mean, maybe it'll be okay." But he can tell she doesn't really think that any more than he does.
"What happened?" he asks. "How did everyone find out?"
"I told Meisa and Satomi-chan," Becky admits, shamefaced. "I was so happy for him, and you know, they're fond of him too, so it just seemed like… Honestly, I don't think Satomi-chan meant any harm, but she told somebody, and then and it just… it just kept going," she finishes weakly.
Aiba closes his eyes. Holding Becky makes him feel momentarily better, even though it doesn't fix anything. "He's gonna be devastated."
Becky nods. She knows. "I'll watch out for him," she says, and squeezes his hand.
- -
On Wednesday, Sakurai-sensei is called to the office for a meeting. They have a substitute in the morning, and class is subdued, everyone full of questions but no one knowing enough for answers. The substitute rattles things off without checking to see if anyone is paying attention, which Aiba is thankful for because he couldn't pay attention if he tried.
Nino has been acting normal. So normal, in fact, that Aiba is temporarily tricked into feeling relieved, despite the fact that he knows Nino is not okay at all. He's still talking to Aiba, and keeps telling Aiba to shut up when he apologizes. But when he smiles it doesn't reach his eyes.
Aiba sees it, but doesn't know what to do about it.
- -
What Nino doesn't tell Aiba is that things aren't as easy as they seem. Of course they're not, he's now the target of everyone's attention, and everyone includes Sakurai-sensei's fanclub. Nino has thrown out several nasty letters that he found in his shoe box already. Or at least, he assumes they're nasty: he didn't read them, because he doesn't really want to know. The rubber snake had been harder to ignore, and he'd gotten a number of sideways looks when he danced a little jig after it fell on his feet.
But he can't blame Aiba, not really, nor Becky, nor Satomi, nor anyone else. He'd been the one to tell Aiba in the first place. So Nino doesn't tell Aiba about the notes or the snake or the pages ripped out of his books, because knowing Aiba he would take all the guilt upon himself unnecessarily.
So Nino keeps his mouth shut. He can put up with it. That's not the problem.
The problem is that Nino has no idea what's going on with Sakurai-sensei. After the mysterious and much talked about Wednesday meeting, he had come back to class like nothing had happened at all. And Nino certainly wasn't going to be the one to raise his hand and say, How did they take the rumor? No one else had obliged him either, though Nino knew they'd all been thinking about it.
But Nino notices the difference that no one else does. Sakurai-sensei won't look at him at all. He stands at the front of the class with his pointer and his eyes roll over Nino like water. Nino even tries raising his hand, but the one time Sakurai-sensei actually calls on him he doesn't know the answer, and Sakurai-sensei moves on without skipping a beat.
Nino doesn't tell Aiba about this, either, but Aiba's more observant than he lets on most of the time. "What are you going to do?" he asks in an undertone during lunch on Friday.
Becky passes Nino homemade cupcakes, and Nino doesn't have the heart to refuse, even though they're a little salty. He knows she made them to try to cheer him up. He takes slow bites, unwrapping the paper bit by bit. "About what?" Nino says.
Becky and Aiba exchange a glance over Nino's head that he's not supposed to see. "About Sakurai-sensei," Becky says.
Nino shrugs. "Nothing."
"Yeah right," says Becky in a no-nonsense tone that makes Nino look up with surprise. Becky is sitting on her heels, dipping her finger in the icing of her own cupcake. "You made things happen before. You took a risk. You got an answer, and maybe you were lucky, but you got the one you wanted. And now you're going to sit on your butt and do nothing?" She waggles her pink-tipped finger at him. "Unacceptable."
Aiba, Nino notices, is hiding a smile.
Nino gets it. He knows that he doesn't know the whole story, but he also isn't sure he wants to know it. And after already causing this kind of trouble for Sakurai-sensei, he doesn't think his presence will be welcomed.
Still, what Becky's saying has merit. After he went through all the trouble, and took all those chances, what's one more step into the dark? Maybe this time is only scarier because he's had a taste of what he might lose. He hovers over his cupcake, too distracted to eat it. "Unacceptable, huh? You make a compelling case, Becky-chan."
"Thank you very much," she says primly, and gives Aiba a smug look.
"So you're going to talk to him?" Aiba says, airily ignoring it.
"I guess so," Nino says. He's not sure how he's going to do it, but he might as well, even if his gut is twisting into knots at the thought.
"Good, that's settled then," Becky says. "Now why didn't either of you tell me I used too much salt in these cupcakes? You're both cowards."
Part II
Pairing: Nino/Sho, Aiba/Becky (Arashi)
Word Count: ~18,000
Summary: Nino fantasizes about his teacher. Aiba still hasn't done it with his girlfriend. Both of them are ready to make things happen. But will it work out?
Notes: Written for maiaide in the je_fqfest exchange. Thank you to everyone who helped/encouraged me with this, and of course to maiaide, without whom I couldn't have written this. :D
Nino is paying attention, just not to class. He's far more interested in the teacher writing on the board with swift, certain strokes, building up sentences of nonsensical English. Sakurai-sensei reads as he writes, and it's cute, his pronunciation. Sharp and clear.
Nino feels a tap, and maneuvers his hand around to intercept Aiba's note automatically.
You're getting dreamy-eyed again, it says, complete with a sketch of Nino with spiky hair and googly eyes.
Aiba, you're a dick, Nino thinks, and then decides to scribble just that underneath Aiba's chicken-scrawl and passes the note back.
Less than a minute later, the tap comes again. Nino takes the note.
Aiba's drawn a dick with a pair of balls, and labelled it Nino.
Nino is adding hair and relabeling when Sakurai-sensei wheels around, looking for someone to call on. He's so earnest. He really thinks people are listening. Well, to be fair, most of the girls are. Sakurai-sensei, handsome and just out of college, has a reputation as the school heart-throb.
Sakurai-sensei's eyes meet his, and Nino feels a thrill that shimmers in his gut. (Aiba had probably been right about the dreamy eyes, but Nino's not about to admit it.) For a moment, he thinks there's something there, looking back at him: Sakurai-sensei seems to hesitate, and a few seconds tick by where Nino almost forgets they're in the middle of a classroom.
"Ninomiya-kun, read this, please."
Shit. He probably should have averted his eyes.
He stands up, carefully gathering his book, and slides Aiba's note down the page and out of the way. It's distracting reading English with a sketch of a dick staring back, but Nino somehow manages with a straight face.
It helps that Sakurai-sensei is watching him the whole time. Nino can feel it, and he's getting a little high off it. There's something about the way Sakurai-sensei stares that's full of interest, hopeful.
It's probably because he's a new teacher, not jaded yet by the uphill battle of teaching kids things they don't want to know.
But then again, maybe it's not.
- -
Nino has already taken out the trash and swept the floor. Now he's putting away the equipment: beakers and test tubes freshly washed and cleaned, some still laced with water. They click onto the shelves, tinkle as he places them one next to another.
It's cold. Winter is in full swing, and Nino only has on his school blazer. The central heating doesn't reach this room, and Nino can see his breath when he sighs. Just a few more minutes, and he can go home. Just a few more beakers, and -
Nino's ears prick as the door opens, and there, framed by the hall light, is Sakurai-sensei, already full of endearing concern. "Ninomiya-kun," he says with surprise. "You're here late?"
This is right out of one of Nino's fantasies, and he's not ashamed to admit it (in the privacy of his own mind, of course). Sakurai-sensei walks towards him, a finger tucking over the knot of his tie to work it loose. "Were you waiting for me?" he says. Buttons come undone down the front of his shirt. Sakurai-sensei comes into his space, older and taller and masculine, until his voice is in Nino's ear. "You were, weren't you? You've been wanting this. You've been watching me, I've seen you."
And Sakurai-sensei puts his hands on Nino's hips, pushes him against the shelves so the beakers make musical sound, and forces Nino's legs apart with his knee.
Nino swallows, his fantasy clinging to him like smoke. There is a tight feeling in his stomach, but he very rationally tells his hormones to shut up, thank you. Sakurai-sensei is still standing in the door.
"I just had a little bit more to put away," he says. His voice doesn't crack. Fantastic. He's well beyond that age, but a situation like this is more than enough to bring him back to pubescent awkwardness. "Am I in your way? I can move."
And he's about to, but Sakurai-sensei says, "No, that won't be necessary, don't bother yourself," and is actually coming closer.
Time slows down as Nino's pulse speeds up. He notices little things, fragmented things, in great detail: the click of Sakurai-sensei's shoes on the tile floor, paced and even; the smell of his cologne (expensive, Nino's mind supplies, though really he has no idea); the roughness of his chin where he'll need to shave in the morning. He's so close, Nino thinks. He's so close, and we're alone.
Nino is a statue when Sakurai-sensei puts a hand on his shoulder and reaches up above them. Nino realizes it's for balance, but it doesn't work, because Sakurai-sensei ends up pressed to his back, a warm blanket that makes Nino's blood sing.
It's not cold, not anymore.
Sakurai-sensei grunts. Nino hears something shift, and then Sakurai-sensei steps back, a folder full of papers in his hand. "Sorry about that," he says, giving Nino a sheepish, careful smile. But he looks startled, Nino thinks. Like something just happened that he couldn't have anticipated.
"It's okay," Nino says. He still feels hot. Breathless. He can't take his eyes off Sakurai-sensei, even though he knows he should. The feel of Sakurai-sensei's hand is burned against his shoulder.
"Um," Sakurai-sensei says, and Nino realizes that he's flustered. Nino sees him run his hand down his chest, adjust his tie, and the smile on his face is crooked with enough embarrassment that it's not actually a smile. He's avoiding eye contact.
Oh my God, Nino thinks. There is a bubble of gleefulness in his chest, a wild sort of happiness as he realizes he's been right all along.
"Don't stay too late," Sakurai-sensei says, interrupting Nino's thoughts. He's far away now, in the doorway again. "And be careful on your way home!" And the door swings shut, shnicking softly home. He's gone.
Nino picks up a beaker on auto-pilot, placing it neatly on the shelf.
Sakurai-sensei wants me, he thinks, and now he knows it's really true. He's not just making things up in his own perverted mind because he wants what he can't have. He places the next beaker, and the next, with artful precision that he isn't even paying attention to. Sakurai-sensei wants me.
He needs a plan.
- -
There are lots of breasts in Aiba's magazines. That's okay with Nino, he appreciates breasts too. Particularly this pair that are pulled tight together in a bikini top that's made more of string than fabric. The leggy model is stretched against against a the hood of a Ferrari, feet apart and crotch exposed.
"I bet she'd be good for titty fucking," Aiba says.
Nino frowns at him and turns the page again. "Stop looking over my shoulder."
"You don't think so?" Aiba says, undaunted. "I've always wanted to try. You'd get to hold a boob in both hands."
Nino grabs Aiba's wrist and yanks, not letting him get up high enough to mimic the crude actions he's describing. Aiba giggles kind of like a horse as his butt hits the floor.
"It's too bad Becky's so small," Aiba says when he finally gets his breath back. "Maybe she'd let me."
"You haven't even had sex yet," Nino says, kicking his feet idly. "Shouldn't that come first?"
"Hey," Aiba says. "You don't know that! Wait, why do you know that? Hey. Hey, you've been talking to her, haven't you?" Aiba is close, really close, getting in Nino's face, his breath hot on Nino's cheek.
"You need to brush your teeth," Nino says, shoving at Aiba's shoulder.
"She did!" says Aiba, pushing back in rough, boyish frustration. "She told you!" He's invading Nino's space, and Nino feels his blood pump. In seconds they're tumbling around on the floor, magazines wrinkling under Nino's back as they skid this way and that, gangly limbs striking out when they can. Nino bumps his head against Aiba's desk chair and thankfully manages to avoid kneeing Aiba in the groin.
But Aiba always wins. Aiba is taller by almost a head, and he's on the basketball team and has all the stamina that comes with it. The only sports Nino plays are with a game controller (and sometimes Aiba wins those, too).
They're breathing hard, Nino pinned under Aiba's heavy hands. Aiba is still too close, hovering over him, expression glazed with the adrenaline of his win.
Nino stretches his neck, and kisses Aiba right on the mouth.
"Oh, yuck," Aiba says, immediately a body-length away and wiping at his mouth. "That's totally cheating. You ass." He's checking his hands, as if to make sure Nino didn't leave any lipstick-like marks.
Nino bares his teeth in an exultant smile. Kissing Aiba has always been the ace up his sleeve.
Aiba moans, and slumps against the side of his bed. "But she told you! That's so embarrassing. Seriously. That makes me sound so uncool."
"Just because you haven't fucked yet?" Nino says. He doesn't actually care about Aiba's sex life, and he's not sure why Aiba thinks he does. But Aiba has been hung up on Becky for months. Nino knows how much she means to him. "You should make a move already." He pauses, but can't help adding, "I'm going to."
"What?" Aiba says, and Nino can almost see his ears prick like a puppy's. "You don't mean Sakurai-sensei, right."
"Who else would I mean," Nino says, picking himself up off the floor finally, straightening out his shirt so his absurdly pale stomach is no longer on display. "I was right. I was right about him." Aiba is skeptical until Nino narrates the encounter in the supply closet. The memory is still freshly imprinted, each detail standing out in sharply, but Nino glosses over them in favor of the important part: Sakurai-sensei had been affected, too.
Aiba is crowding him again, but this time Nino doesn't mind. It feels cozy with Aiba's shoulder pressed against his and both of them scrunched down together, talking in confidentiality. "What will you do?" Aiba whispers, perhaps louder than necessary.
"I have some ideas," Nino murmurs, and then nudges Aiba. "What about you?"
"Well," Aiba says, ducking so his bangs hide his eyes. He pushes his fingers together, a nervous habit since elementary school. "If Nino-chan is going to be brave, I don't have any excuses."
"Don't do things because of me," Nino warns him, knowing already that Aiba won't listen. But he's not really bothered, because if this is the push that Aiba needs, Nino is glad for him to take it.
"Right, do it Aiba-style," Aiba says. "But Aiba-style takes too long. So it's time to do something." He nods, his shoulders setting into a determined line. He looks at Nino. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right," Nino says. "You should listen to me the first time." And he pushes Aiba till they start to tumble again, the conversation over but not forgotten.
- -
Aiba knows exactly where Becky's class is. Usually he's prompt in going to see her right as the lunch bell rings but today he walks in the opposite direction, against the flow of traffic, to class 2C, tucked in the back of the building. He thanks all his luck (he always does, every time) when he sees Meisa and Satomi still lingering over their desks. They're Becky's best friends, and it's hard to catch them without her.
"Mei~sa-chan, Sato~mi-chan," he says, and is rewarded when they look up and over at him with cutely rounded mouths.
"Aiba-kun!" Satomi is full of sparkles and boundless energy and she looks honestly astonished to see Aiba. "What are you doing here? What happened to Becky?"
Meisa is quiet, sizing him up in stillness. She's like a cat, porcelain faced and watchful, and Aiba likes her but he's never sure what she's thinking until she opens her mouth. It makes him more nervous than he already is, which is considerably if his sweaty palms are any indication.
"About that," Aiba says, eyeing the other people sitting around the class, unfolding bento boxes and picking up chopsticks. "Do you both have a minute?"
They consent to be led out the door and down the hall to a quiet inlet, but both of them are staring at him like he has something in his teeth. "What's this about? Did something happen?" Satomi asks, her expressive face lined with concern. She's cute, Aiba thinks, cute enough to think about kissing, but she doesn't have Becky's wicked sense of humor, which is one of his favorite things.
"I need advice," says Aiba, remembering to keep his voice down.
Meisa looks dubious. He doesn't blame her.
He hasn't rehearsed this enough times, it still sounds stupid, he feels stupid but he says it even though his cheeks are burning: "What would make her first time special?"
Satomi squeals. Aiba isn't sure whether or not he's relieved that she knows exactly what he's talking about. Did Becky tell everybody? He doesn't understand girls, he really doesn't. "Take her on a trip! A romantic trip, to Hokkaido or to Okinawa, and rent the suite room at a hotel. Or at an onsen with a view over the green landscapes, and you both in yukata, that would be so romantic, it would be amazing, I wish my boyfriend would do that!"
Aiba is swept up in her enthusiasm. He can picture it immediately. Becky in a yukata tied snug around her slender waist, the shoulder opening easily as he hooks his thumb in and pulls.
"Aiba-kun?" Meisa says, pulling him back to reality. "That would be a little too expensive, don't you think?"
"Oh," say Satomi and Aiba in tandem.
"Then, roses," Satomi says, already warming to a new idea. "He could buy red roses, and spread the petals across a bed… whose bed?" she asks herself, tapping her chin. "Probably your bed, Aiba-kun, because you wouldn't be able to get in to prepare Becky's without her, would you? Definitely make it a surprise. And candles, scented ones, Becky likes peach - " Aiba knew that. " - and you have to have good music. Some sexy R&B."
Aiba is trying to take mental notes (maybe he should be writing this down for real, maybe he should take out a pen), but Meisa folds her arms over her chest. "You don't need any of that," she says, sounding more opinionated and adult than any high schooler should. He's startled into looking at her more closely. "That might be what you want, Satomi-chan," she goes on, and Satomi presses her lips together in a sullen pout. "But Becky will laugh at you if you throw petals around, Aiba-kun. Simple is fine."
"Really?" Aiba asks. That means he's really no better than when he first asked.
"Probably," Satomi says, still sulking. Meisa pokes her in the side.
"You'll be fine as long as you're serious about it," Meisa says, warm with encouragement. It transforms her whole face. "That's the most important thing."
Meisa probably knows what she's talking about, since she's been dating Jun for nearly as long as Aiba's been dating Becky. Longer maybe, Aiba can't remember. But she looks so confident, and Aiba doesn't know Jun very well but he has such a reputation that Aiba can't help but think that Meisa is speaking from experience. Somehow, Aiba finds that reassuring.
"Okay," he says, and then firmer, with a salute: "It shall be as you say, Meisa-sensei!"
"Stop it," she says, mellow and a little flustered. "We should get back now, or Becky will start to wonder where we've been."
"She probably already does, actually," Satomi says. She fidgets, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "You don't think she'll be upset?"
"Upset at you? Maybe," Meisa teases.
They promise they won't tell Becky (Satomi reluctantly, but Meisa pulls rank), and Aiba walks with them past people he knows, back to the classroom, back to Becky. He really hopes that it's as easy as Meisa says. He can't keep sitting on his nervousness forever.
Especially since his parents are going away for the weekend.
- -
Nino has been present all morning. Everyone has seen him half asleep at his desk, barely holding his pencil upright. (He'd been taking more note of the way Sakurai-sensei's ass filled his trousers than anything else.) So he's sure that when everyone filters back from lunch to find their seats, someone will say, Where's Ninomiya?
Nobody will know the answer except Nino, and eventually, Sakurai-sensei.
Waiting is really boring. Nino doesn't have his DS, which would be too loud and give the whole thing away. He didn't bring his music player, or anything to do with his hands, so he sits in the corner underneath Sakurai-sensei's desk and quite literally twiddles his thumbs.
He can count down the minutes till the bell rings. Sakurai-sensei should be back soon. Nino knows he's crazy, waiting under tables, but he can't think of any plan that isn't crazy. What's not crazy about trying to seduce your teacher?
The warning bell goes off, and Nino hears feet, and voices, as people start to return to class. Inohara-kun talking about the program he saw on TV last night, a snippet of Nishimori-san gossiping with a gaggle of giggling girls. Feet, feet, and more feet, words lost by the sheer number of voices.
And then Sakurai-sensei is back, walking right into Nino's field of vision. All Nino can see are his trousers and his shiny loafers, but even that is enough to give Nino a rush of adrenaline. He can't back out now.
Time is speeding up and slowing down at the same time. It would be fascinating, if Nino's stomach weren't tangled in a huge knot.
"Okay everyone," Sakurai-sensei says after the final bell rings. There's a sudden, impressive quiet. Sakurai-sensei's shoes squeak as he shifts his weight. "Hmm. Has anyone seen Ninomiya-kun?"
"Not since before lunch," says someone.
"Aiba-kun?"
"He said he wasn't feeling well, so he might have gone to the nurse's office," supplies Aiba's voice. Nino is filled with an abrupt fondness for Aiba for trying to save his ass without any prompting.
"I see," says Sakurai-sensei, and he sounds bemused. "That's too bad. Close your books, everyone." Sakurai-sensei disappears from Nino's vision, footsteps heavy. "Pass these behind you."
There's a rustling of papers. Nino knows exactly what's happening: they're readying their pencils and erasers to take a test. When Sakurai-sensei had announced it that morning, Nino knew it was what he had been waiting for. Sakurai-sensei rarely ever sat at his desk otherwise.
"Begin," comes Sakurai-sensei's voice, and Nino clasps his hands together, trying to breathe quietly. There's no sound in the room but for the scratching of pencils.
Sakurai-sensei doesn't come back immediately. He must be walking the aisles, Nino thinks. He would be glancing at papers and the tops of students' heads, observing, pace slow like a wild cat, hands deep in his pockets. (Nino has secretly observed him before during tests, since he's always done before Aiba and always has to wait.)
So Nino is good at being patient. He uses the time to think of what he intends to do, mental preparation. Because this is no small thing, and he knows it. There's every chance he could end up in the principal's office, or even expelled. But he doesn't think so. Not if he's read Sakurai-sensei right.
And then Nino hears the weighted fall of feet coming back, and Sakurai-sensei's chair is wheeling away from him. He pushes farther back into the shadow, making room as his heart rate spikes again. Sakurai-sensei is sitting down, the chair is rolling forward, and it's only Nino's good luck that his knees are spread apart, framing Nino on either side, leaving him undiscovered.
Nino swallows, and gathers his nerve. So far, it's all going according to plan. All that's left is to go for it.
So Nino stops thinking and just does, sliding both hands up the insides of Sakurai-sensei's thighs. Sakurai-sensei's whole body vibrates with surprise, and his knees jump and whack inwards, squeezing Nino between them. His chair wheels backwards until Nino finds himself staring up into bright light and Sakurai-sensei's shocked face. His mouth moves, about to form syllables, but Nino is quicker: he holds a finger up to his lips, and makes promises with his eyes.
Sakurai-sensei stares, frozen.
Be casual! Nino mouths at him. It all hangs on this moment. Nino's chest is tight, his ribs closing in around his heart as he waits to see what Sakurai-sensei will do.
He's looking at all the students bent over their papers, and Nino can see the internal debate in the pinch of his face.
Tentatively, he slides his chair back into place.
Nino's breath whooshes out of him - he hadn't known he'd been holding it. The relief is tangible enough to make him lightheaded. But he doesn't waste time dwelling. He's going to make sure that Sakurai-sensei won't regret this.
He places his hand to the seam of Sakurai-sensei's trousers, feeling for the shape of his dick through fabric that wrinkles and shifts under his fingers. Sakurai-sensei is soft, but it seems like that won't be for long; Nino can already feel the telltale signs that he's waking up, slowly, like on a Saturday morning. Nino pets, fascinated with the slow, steady growth.
He has to be quiet, and so he's very careful when he unbuckles Sakurai-sensei's belt, keeping his fingers on the clasps as he tugs the tail of it free. He wonders what Sakurai-sensei is doing… pretending to write something in his book, maybe, or looking out over his class while attempting to maintain his composure. Nino is already on his buttons and zipper. He pulls it down with extra care, tooth by tooth, watching it split apart.
There's a moment of distraction when Nino realizes that Sakurai-sensei is wearing boxers with pickles on them. Tacky, thinks Nino. Tacky, but still somehow adorable.
But the moment doesn't last long. Nino is already dipping his fingers into the hole of his underwear, and in one smooth movement, he's tugged Sakurai-sensei free.
Sakurai-sensei still isn't completely hard, but it doesn't matter to Nino. His belly does a flip, and then a skitter, as he looks his dick up and down. It's a warm apricot color, and his foreskin is hiding the tip like a secret. The sight makes his balls tighten, because this is no fantasy, this is real, right in front of his eyes.
He must look too long, because above him Sakurai-sensei subtly clears his throat.
Nino leans forward, and licks. This isn't as easy as he'd imagined: Sakurai-sensei's erection swings away from him with the press of his tongue, and back to bump his lips. This happens twice before Nino realizes he needs to hold the base. It's warmer than warm, and alive with Sakurai-sensei's pulse. Nino tries kissing it, sucking on just the tip, and gets a slow leak of warm saltiness that spreads through his mouth.
Nino is sure that Sakurai-sensei has gotten blowjobs before, and in all likeliness he won't be able to compare, so he doesn't even bother to try. Instead, he does what he's always wanted to do. The only issue is that he has to do it without letting anyone else hear him, so noisy sucking is out, but licking is very in, and he licks at the head of Sakurai-sensei's dick so that he can feel the slit drag against the bed of his tongue.
He hears a soft grunt, and Sakurai-sensei's thighs tighten against him.
Nino's knees are starting to ache against the linoleum, so he shifts, easing his weight harder onto Sakurai-sensei. It's not ideal, because now Nino's just as worked up as his teacher, his own arousal blooming against the back of his zipper, and he doesn't have a free hand to reach for it. But he has enough to do, and waiting will only make it better.
Sakurai-sensei's hand finds him after another minute of muffled sucking. Nino sees it from the corner of his eye before it cups the back of his head. He's gentle, but Nino can still feel the urgency in the way his fingers press against the back of his skull. It's all he can do not to moan.
The taste of Sakurai-sensei is getting thicker. Heady drop after heady drop diffuses through Nino's mouth. And when Sakurai-sensei's fingers clench in his hair, he realizes why. Sakurai-sensei's dick spasms once against Nino's tongue, and then Nino's mouth is full to overflowing and he almost chokes on his surprise. He barely even registers Sakurai-sensei's soothing stroke down the back of his neck, being too busy trying to swallow and not drip anything on Sakurai-sensei's pants.
Mercifully, Sakurai-sensei is quick to offer him a handkerchief. It's there before Nino even realizes he's moved, and Nino takes it gratefully, mopping up what's left on his chin. Then, with just as much care as before, he tucks Sakurai-sensei back into his pants and buckles up his belt so that nothing looks amiss.
Then he slumps back, and worries about himself. If only he could have seen Sakurai-sensei's face. How had he looked? Nino has a vivid imagination, and that helps. As he's rubbing his own hardness he pictures it: Sakurai-sensei attempting stoicism in front of a classroom, each seat full but one. Maybe his mouth twitched here, and maybe he stared out the window while biting down on his tongue. Nino can see all of this, and in doing so a spike of pleasure fills his belly, hot and tight.
It's almost embarrassing how quickly he comes, but at least he has Sakurai-sensei's handkerchief to empty himself into.
Nino spends the rest of the class in a glazed state of come-down with only his breath and Sakurai-sensei's shoes for company. Ten minutes, thirty - he doesn't really notice, or care. Eventually, he hears students starting to get restless as they finish their tests.
"Good, put it here," Sakurai-sensei is murmuring.
"Sensei, are you hot?" It's Aiba's voice.
Nino pays a bit more attention.
"What? Oh, yes, the heater - the heater seems to be on too high today." He's probably sweating. Nino feels abruptly guilty that he can't hand him back his handkerchief. "But you seem okay?"
"You should take care of yourself," Aiba says. "Well, see you tomorrow!" And he walks out the door, oblivious.
Silence falls. Everyone has gone. Finally, Sakurai-sensei stands up, leaving a window of space for Nino to crawl out of, and he does, trying to look braver than he feels inside. He gets to his feet, shaky from being tucked in a ball for so long.
Sakurai-sensei is leaning against the desk as if it's all he has to hold him up. He doesn't look at Nino, but Nino notices the sheen of sweat along his temples and the nape of his neck. "Do you know what you've - " He pauses. "What we've done?"
"Yes," Nino says, folding up the handkerchief, small and neat. He can't give it back without washing it. "I sat under your desk and gave you head, and you let me, and I enjoyed it."
"That's awfully concise," Sakurai-sensei mutters.
"There's no point in beating around the bush," Nino points out. He hesitates, and then adds, "I want to do it again. I really like you."
"No," Sakurai-sensei says immediately. He draws himself to his full height, spine straight with determination, but Nino just thinks he's trying to convince himself. Sakurai-sensei has always been transparent like that. "I can't take advantage of a student. You're… what? Seventeen. That's too young, Ninomiya. It's not right, and you know it."
"You think so?" Nino says with a calm he doesn't completely feel. He'd been prepared for a fight, but that doesn't make it much easier. "It's not right? What is right? To ignore the fact that I want you, and that you want me too? Teachers are always saying follow your dreams. Teachers say to reach for the stars, to believe in yourself. Don't you believe that too?" Nino takes a step closer, gratified to see that Sakurai-sensei is watching him warily, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. "Isn't that what's right? I know what I'm getting into. I've run through all the scenarios. You could get me expelled, if you wanted. I may be seventeen, but I'm not that young. I know what I want."
"So it seems," Sakurai-sensei says. Nino can see that he's weighing Nino's words. "And if I did try to get you expelled?"
"You won't," Nino says. "That's not the Sakurai-sensei I know."
"That's a lot of faith to have."
"You think?" Nino takes another step, drifting slowly closer, and Sakurai-sensei doesn't pull away. "…What would it take to prove that I'm serious?"
"Oh, I can tell you're serious," Sakurai-sensei says, shaking his head in wonder. "But I don't - "
"What," Nino interrupts him, listening to his heart more than his head, "would it take to make you serious about me?" Nino is close enough now that he can feel the hint of Sakurai-sensei's breath. They're as close as they were in the supply closet, and Nino warms at the memory.
If anyone were to walk in then, there would be no alibi. Neither would be able to explain away their proximity, nor the long look they're trading. Nino can feel the air around them like a cloak drawn close.
Sakurai-sensei kisses him first. Nino's mind almost doesn't catch up before he's kissing back, tilting his nose aside as butterflies burst into his heart. Sakurai-sensei has years of practice and a mouth that's sinfully soft, coaxing gasps from Nino. If Nino had had the power beneath the desk, Sakurai-sensei has it now.
When they stop, Sakurai-sensei presses his forehead to Nino's. "What am I getting myself into," he mutters.
"A relationship," Nino says, and kisses him again.
- -
When Nino finds Aiba later by the school gates, Aiba says he's glowing.
Nino smacks him, but doesn't deny it.
- -
Aiba is all prepared. He bought new condoms on the way home just in case (different types, because he couldn't choose) and his sheets are crisp and fresh. He's even cleaned his room, hidden his dirty underwear in the closet, and taped up a WARNING DANGER sign on the door so she doesn't get any bright ideas about snooping.
Becky rings the doorbell an hour later. When he opens the door, she's standing square on his front porch, her duffel held in both hands and dimples on her cheeks. "Here I am!" she says, and gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him before she's even out of her heels.
It's a fluttering kiss, and she pulls away before he can even start. "Yes, finally," he says, and tries to kiss her again.
"No no," she says, laughing as she pirouettes out of his grasp. "I'm starving. You've thought of that, haven't you?" But she has on one of those knowing looks that makes Aiba as close to exasperated as he gets. They both know that he's had his mind on things that aren't food. "Then it's time for some Becky cuisine!"
There's something to be said for Becky in an apron. She's brought hers from home, a soft blue one reminiscent of Alice-in-Wonderland with white lace on the pockets. Aiba sits down on a stool and watches her bustle around. She knows where the silverware is, and the tinfoil, and in fact she's so comfortable in his kitchen that, watching her, it's easy to think they've been dating forever.
"Where do you buy things like that?" Aiba says, watching her chop onions into neatly diagonal slices.
"My apron?" Becky says. "Surely that's not what you really want to know."
"Eh?"
"You're thinking about getting under it," she says, and then licks her thumb. "Admit it."
Aiba gawks, at a momentary loss. "I was not!"
"Were too."
"I was not!"
"Ah, you sound like a five-year-old," she says. "How juvenile!" It's off-handed in its dismissiveness, so Aiba knows she's teasing, but Becky's teases always have a basis in what she really believes.
"Not like you were being any more mature," he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Women are always more mature," she says easily, and ignores him in favor of the chicken.
Aiba doesn't stay moody for long, though. The smell of her cooking is more than enough to soothe his most ruffled feathers. And then the smell of something burning makes him leap off his stool.
They eat it in awkward silence. Aiba tries to compliment her, but she effectively shuts him up with the "You're just saying that to be nice" line, which isn't true at all. It's only charred on one side, completely edible and much better than what he's done for himself in the past. (He doesn't count what he's cooked for Yusuke, that was burned on purpose.)
"Thank you," he says after his plate is clean enough to make his mother proud.
"For what?" she says, still grumpy, twisting up a corner of her napkin. "I ruined it."
"That's not true," he says. He wishes she would understand. He'd been so happy to see her, and all the thought she'd put into it. Her apron might be more appropriate for a doll than a person, but she'd brought it just for this. She'd pored over her hand-printed recipe as she hummed and stirred, and when she'd concentrated, the bridge of her nose had crinkled and the only word he could think was 'adorable'. And she'd done it all for him.
It slams into him like a battering ram: she's been trying to impress him this whole time.
"Would you make it again for me?" he asks.
She looks at him suspiciously from across the table. "Are you serious?"
"I don't get family cooking a lot. I get leftovers from the restaurant, usually." He looks shyly down at his plate and the curly patterns of the leftover sauce. "Eating this made me happy."
"Well," she says finally, looking him up and down as if she's still trying to find something to be annoyed with, "okay, then." She gains a note of resolution: "I'll make it better next time, too. Just wait."
Under the table, he mixes his feet with hers, and feels a warm glow when she finally smiles back at him.
Which of course should lead to getting in bed, but Becky has other ideas, Aiba discovers. First, they have to wash all the dishes, because "a dirty kitchen is a restless heart," and okay, Aiba can admit that trying to cover each other in bubbles is fun. Drying up isn't so fun, but he manages.
Which is when Becky declares that it's shower time.
"Okay," Aiba says, teenage hormones going zing.
"You're not coming," Becky informs him. She's rummaging through her duffel, taking out fascinatingly bright pouches that contain god only knows what. "I am taking a shower to get clean."
Aiba digs his toe into the carpet, adopting the sheepish look that usually makes girls coo over him. It's never worked with Becky before, and it doesn't this time, either. She sweeps by him and shuts the bathroom door behind her with a click that echoes disappointment into Aiba's very soul.
So he plays video games. At least, he tries to: he keeps imagining Becky in the shower - in his shower - while he's stomping on koopas. He can see her in vivid detail, swirling soap over her breasts and down her soft stomach while the water rinses it away in a waterfall.
A koopa shell rebounds back at him and smacks him in the face. Mario death-music plays, and Aiba grumbles. What would it be like to walk up behind her and take those breasts in his hands, the nipples tweaked between his fingers as he cups them? Her skin would be hot and flushed and he could push against her backside - he jumps on a series of goombas - and then suck on the back of her neck while he rolls against her.
He takes Mario down a pipe and concentrates half-heartedly on shooting more goombas with his firepower. The coins make distracting ding-ding-dinging sounds as he jumps around.
He doesn't know what Becky sounds like when she moans. He's heard her gasp through kisses, but that's the extent of it. Building on that, he tries to imagine. Maybe low? Or maybe she'll make kittenish mewls each time he thrusts into her?
"Dammit!" He hits pause instinctively, but the damage is done: he's frozen halfway into falling to his doom. Sighing, he unpauses, and manfully takes the death music in stride.
"You're not doing very well, are you?" Becky says. Aiba jumps. When had she come in? She's standing at the end of the couch toweling at the ends of her hair, which are wet and dark and snaking against her fingers. She has a fluffy terrycloth bow headband on. It suits her, even if Aiba doesn't really understand it.
"Think you could do better?" he says, hoping like hell she doesn't notice the half-formed hardness in his trousers.
"Gimme that," she says, snatching the controller from him. The couch bounces when she plops into it, right next to Aiba so he can smell his shampoo. If he wasn't hard before, he is now. Damn. He takes deep breaths, which doesn't help much.
But Becky is good at Mario. She does impressive double-triple-quadruple jumps and smushes enemies left and right. Aiba feels a fierce pride watching her. This is his girlfriend, and no one could be more awesome.
He yawns very loudly, drops his arm around her shoulders, and then exults when she leans against him.
Aiba is nosing into her damp hair (and getting partially poked in the face by her floppy bow) when she says, "Nino-chan seemed really happy today. Did something good happen?"
Aiba doesn't really understand how Nino is so popular with Becky and her girlfriends, or why he's coming up now. Sure, they're in drama club together, and sure, Nino's amazing at improv and can make everyone laugh without trying. Maybe it's just Aiba who sees what a frustrating geeky nitwit Nino can be. But Nino's charmed the pants off of her, and so Becky flutters over him like a mother hen (Aiba would be more jealous if Becky hadn't already figured out that Nino is gay).
Her latest concern is his love life, and actually, Aiba doesn't blame her. Nino has been watching everyone else jump in and out of relationships for the past couple of years.
"Actually, yes," Aiba says, grinning ear to ear. "Something very good, in fact."
Mario is forgotten, the controller half sliding out of her lap as she wheels on him. "What? Tell me!"
"Nino's wishes might have come true~~" Aiba says.
Becky gapes. "Sakurai-sensei? No way. No, you're totally serious, aren't you?" Her face is so expressive, Aiba thinks: alight with awe and shock and excitement. "I'm so happy for him. He'd better be careful, but, oh, wow."
Aiba giggles. "He was pretty happy too." He curls his arm in tighter around her, taking advantage of her enthusiasm. He can feel the solid warmth of her body through her predictably pink pajamas. The controller thunks against the floor.
"I bet he was," she says, whispering now. She's noticed how close they are.
Aiba's fingers twitch, tugging at the hem of her pajama top. He expects a sharp comment, or a shove, because she's forever shoving him, but she lowers her eyes instead, so he can barely see through the rim of her lashes. Aiba's heart makes an extra loud thump. "Becky…"
She doesn't say anything. She's toying with the collar of his shirt in a way that tickles, suddenly shy, and it's intriguing. Aiba curls his fingers over her ear, the dampness of her hair brushing against his knuckles. Her face tilts, and Aiba can take a hint.
Gentle, he kisses her. He doesn't need to overwhelm her with all the pent-up frustrations of the evening, even if they're all her fault, because now she's here, a sweet weight lying against his chest, and he can kiss her all he wants.
He wonders how long it'll take to get her naked.
"Aiba-kun," she says, pulling back to stare pointedly into his lap. "Really? Already?"
His cheeks go hot. "Don't mind that."
"A little trigger-happy, aren't you?" she says, and he shuts her up with another kiss, heavier, which makes the words catch in her throat as she tries to keep up with him. It's satisfying, the way it makes her cling to him.
Impatience thrums along his bones. He pushes his hands under her pajama top and finally feels skin, and when she doesn't stop him, he feels justified in exploring more: the hard line of her back, the soft flesh of her sides. And then he realizes she's not wearing a bra.
"Hey," he says. Her mouth is curled in a cute 'o' of surprise, but then he had been a bit abrupt, he supposes. "Where's your bra?" He tickles his fingers, as if still hoping to find what he already knows isn't there.
"Idiot," she says. "Who wears a bra to bed?"
"You don't?" Aiba says, disappointed.
She levels a look at him and he knows what that means: she is despairing of his intelligence. "Also, we should probably turn off the game. Unless you like the Mario theme on loop, I mean."
"Oh," Aiba says, sheepish. He actually hadn't noticed, but now that she's mentioned it he can't ignore it. Developing a Pavlovian erection to the Mario theme doesn't sound like a fantastic idea, so with reluctance he stands up and trudges to turn it off.
Her fingers are weaving through his before he turns around. "Let's go to bed?"
That makes him feel better immediately. It's amazing what simple words can do. He leads her there, and there's a hush of expectancy between them. Becky isn't meeting his eyes. She keeps looking at her pedicured toes, and she's pressed her lips together thoughtfully. So she's not expecting it when he pushes her onto the bed and climbs right on top of her, already tugging her pajamas up to expose the white of her belly.
"Aiba-kun!" she gapes, her hands on his head as if she's going to push him away. But she doesn't. She lets him nibble a ring around her belly button and dip his tongue into the middle while she giggles, and slants her knees up around him. It gives him dirty, dirty ideas.
Forget the pajama top. Aiba goes down to Becky's bottoms, tugging the elastic so it slides down her hips. Her underwear is simple, cute, and shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is. He runs his fingers along the edge, where fabric meets the soft space of her hip. Her knees keep wavering, tipping in shyly, and then out as she gets momentarily braver.
Aiba hooks his fingers in the elastic and pulls, and though Becky bites her lip and stares at the ceiling, she shifts in a way that lets him do it.
Really, Aiba thinks, she is really beautiful. Her hair is making his pillow damp, and she can't seem to figure out where she wants to put her hands, and she's half pink pajamas and half naked legs, and Aiba can't stop staring at her. He just knows he would never want anyone else in his bed.
"Aiba-kun, would you hurry up?" Becky huffs, lifting a leg to kick at him in her embarrassment. He catches her ankle as her heel glances off his shoulder (okay, that hurt, but it wasn't enough to distract him). Her legs are open, and her curls frame a deep, inviting pinkness. Can he really help wanting to look?
He slips a finger against her, and finds her moist. Her mouth opens as she breathes, caught up and waiting to see what he'll do, as if it isn't obvious: he draws up and down, pushing apart the lips so he can see better, and then, once he finds her hole, he slides a finger inside, watching as it disappears. And again, and again, in and out, as her slickness starts to coat him, and he can feel the twitch of her muscles as he tries to push his hand a little deeper. Maybe two fingers? She hisses a bit, baring her teeth when he presses.
"Does that hurt?" he says, suddenly unsure. It feels great to him, but maybe she doesn't like it. But she gives her head a tight, nervous shake. "Okay." And then he thinks of something. "Can I taste you?"
"Oh," she says, still having a staring contest with the ceiling. "S-sure."
This Becky, no one else has seen her. Aiba is the first to watch all her confident walls come down, to see her spread herself wide open. He likes it; he likes the gap between his prickly, strong Becky and this soft, girly Becky in his bed. He feels lucky that she trusts him so much, even when she's not sure of herself.
The space between her legs is hotter than he is. Becky smells like something he can't name: a little sour, a little sweet. He laves his tongue against her, and the taste is even richer, enough so that he can't stop. She's making those hot gasping sounds, like she's trying to be quiet, and he can feel her twitch. When his tongue slips inside her, she actually moans. He's never once heard her moan before. It runs through him, and his arousal jumps against his trousers in approval.
Well, not approval of the trousers, and they've been constrictive for the last too long, so Aiba gives in and worms around, trying to get his pants undone without actually lifting his head. "What are you doing?" Becky says, finally looking at him in exasperated bafflement. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, though Aiba can tell she's trying to quash it, which he's grateful for because being laughed at during sex might just kill his boner. "Just sit up and do it."
"I almost had it," Aiba complains, but does as she says anyway. He has to admit, it's a lot easier.
Now, it's Becky looking at him. Aiba suddenly understands her embarrassment. He wants to fold his hands in his lap and tell her to look at something, anything else, but that wouldn't be fair, so he sits resolutely and waits. "Where are the condoms?" she says, looking as pink in the cheeks as he feels.
He points before he can get his tongue unstuck. "In the drawer."
Becky curls her legs under herself as she dumps them over the coverlet. "Whoa," she says. And then: "Neon? Seriously?"
"There were lots of kinds, I didn't really know - I mean…" He looks at them all, feeling chagrined. "They all seemed like fun."
"They didn't have any normal ones?" she asks, picking up the box of ribbed ones. "Oh. Let's… can we try these?"
"Sure," Aiba says immediately. She opens the package, and he gets rid of the rest, dumping them sloppily back into his drawer. "Lie down again," he says. It takes him a second to get the condom on - he should have practiced - and by then she's waiting for him. She seems to have settled on gripping his pillow.
He moves over her, heavy on one elbow. "I'm really sorry if it hurts," he says, because it's probably going to, but there's not much he can do about it.
"It's okay," she breathes, and abandons the pillow for his shoulders instead.
It's slow, because it takes Aiba a minute to figure out where to aim. He fumbles, and she squirms, and then she kicks a leg up over his back and all of a sudden he's aligned. He can feel her body give way to him, and it's amazing. Nothing at all like a handjob. The heat pulls him in as she breathes under him in short pants, wide-eyed and tense.
So he kisses her. He tries to tell her just how amazing he feels, just how much he loves her. About the tingles that are marching down his back and the heat, her heat, that's enveloping him, making his brain signals crash and all his thoughts disintegrate.
He rocks against her messily, and she holds onto him, keeps him close. It's hard to keep kissing, but the way their bodies move against each other is more than enough to make up for it. She's whining his name in his ear, and he tries to pay attention, but it's all feeling, up and down.
His orgasm is fast, and washes over him in a heat wave. She's still clinging to him when the shudders stop. He feels completely wrung out and on top of cloud nine, and she's the best pillow he could hope for when he sinks on top of her and noses at her cheek.
"Wow," he says, head still spinning.
"Hm?" Becky starts petting at his hair. "Good?"
"Oh," he says with every ounce of feeling in his body: "Yes. Good." So he's gone a little caveman-esque, so what.
She sounds shyly pleased. "Good."
- -
On Monday, Aiba passes Nino a note that says Sex is gr8!!. Nino doesn't write back, but Aiba does get a thumbs up before Nino goes back to staring at Sakurai-sensei. Aiba can't tell if it bothers Sakurai-sensei or not.
It's not till Tuesday that the problems start. Aiba gets a strange feeling right when he gets to school. Everything seems normal when he looks around: girls giggling together, and everyone lagging on their way to class, preferring socialization to study. But something is off.
He hears about it at lunchtime, from Yamashita-kun. "Is it true?" he says, catching up to Aiba in the hall and grabbing his elbow to slow him down. "Ninomiya-kun and Sakurai-sensei?"
Aiba's mind bursts in panic. "What?"
"You haven't heard?" says Yamashita-kun, surprised. "Everyone's talking about it. Some people think they did it in the equipment shed, but other people say up on the roof. No one knows for sure."
Gossip, Aiba thinks, feeling dizzy. That was why it had seemed so odd this morning, why everyone had been dragging their heels and leaning into each other's whispers. "No," he says, and tries to laugh about it. "What, that's crazy! Who would believe that?" His smile feels awkward. He has to find Becky.
She stands up from her bento the moment he gets to her classroom and drags him out into the hall. Her face is whiter than usual. So, she's heard, too. Try as he might, he can't think of any way for anyone to know that didn't go through her, which means through him, too. It makes him feel sick.
"Aiba-kun, what do we do?"
"He's going to kill me," is what Aiba says. "And I'll deserve it."
Becky bites her lip. "It might not - I mean, maybe it'll be okay." But he can tell she doesn't really think that any more than he does.
"What happened?" he asks. "How did everyone find out?"
"I told Meisa and Satomi-chan," Becky admits, shamefaced. "I was so happy for him, and you know, they're fond of him too, so it just seemed like… Honestly, I don't think Satomi-chan meant any harm, but she told somebody, and then and it just… it just kept going," she finishes weakly.
Aiba closes his eyes. Holding Becky makes him feel momentarily better, even though it doesn't fix anything. "He's gonna be devastated."
Becky nods. She knows. "I'll watch out for him," she says, and squeezes his hand.
- -
On Wednesday, Sakurai-sensei is called to the office for a meeting. They have a substitute in the morning, and class is subdued, everyone full of questions but no one knowing enough for answers. The substitute rattles things off without checking to see if anyone is paying attention, which Aiba is thankful for because he couldn't pay attention if he tried.
Nino has been acting normal. So normal, in fact, that Aiba is temporarily tricked into feeling relieved, despite the fact that he knows Nino is not okay at all. He's still talking to Aiba, and keeps telling Aiba to shut up when he apologizes. But when he smiles it doesn't reach his eyes.
Aiba sees it, but doesn't know what to do about it.
- -
What Nino doesn't tell Aiba is that things aren't as easy as they seem. Of course they're not, he's now the target of everyone's attention, and everyone includes Sakurai-sensei's fanclub. Nino has thrown out several nasty letters that he found in his shoe box already. Or at least, he assumes they're nasty: he didn't read them, because he doesn't really want to know. The rubber snake had been harder to ignore, and he'd gotten a number of sideways looks when he danced a little jig after it fell on his feet.
But he can't blame Aiba, not really, nor Becky, nor Satomi, nor anyone else. He'd been the one to tell Aiba in the first place. So Nino doesn't tell Aiba about the notes or the snake or the pages ripped out of his books, because knowing Aiba he would take all the guilt upon himself unnecessarily.
So Nino keeps his mouth shut. He can put up with it. That's not the problem.
The problem is that Nino has no idea what's going on with Sakurai-sensei. After the mysterious and much talked about Wednesday meeting, he had come back to class like nothing had happened at all. And Nino certainly wasn't going to be the one to raise his hand and say, How did they take the rumor? No one else had obliged him either, though Nino knew they'd all been thinking about it.
But Nino notices the difference that no one else does. Sakurai-sensei won't look at him at all. He stands at the front of the class with his pointer and his eyes roll over Nino like water. Nino even tries raising his hand, but the one time Sakurai-sensei actually calls on him he doesn't know the answer, and Sakurai-sensei moves on without skipping a beat.
Nino doesn't tell Aiba about this, either, but Aiba's more observant than he lets on most of the time. "What are you going to do?" he asks in an undertone during lunch on Friday.
Becky passes Nino homemade cupcakes, and Nino doesn't have the heart to refuse, even though they're a little salty. He knows she made them to try to cheer him up. He takes slow bites, unwrapping the paper bit by bit. "About what?" Nino says.
Becky and Aiba exchange a glance over Nino's head that he's not supposed to see. "About Sakurai-sensei," Becky says.
Nino shrugs. "Nothing."
"Yeah right," says Becky in a no-nonsense tone that makes Nino look up with surprise. Becky is sitting on her heels, dipping her finger in the icing of her own cupcake. "You made things happen before. You took a risk. You got an answer, and maybe you were lucky, but you got the one you wanted. And now you're going to sit on your butt and do nothing?" She waggles her pink-tipped finger at him. "Unacceptable."
Aiba, Nino notices, is hiding a smile.
Nino gets it. He knows that he doesn't know the whole story, but he also isn't sure he wants to know it. And after already causing this kind of trouble for Sakurai-sensei, he doesn't think his presence will be welcomed.
Still, what Becky's saying has merit. After he went through all the trouble, and took all those chances, what's one more step into the dark? Maybe this time is only scarier because he's had a taste of what he might lose. He hovers over his cupcake, too distracted to eat it. "Unacceptable, huh? You make a compelling case, Becky-chan."
"Thank you very much," she says primly, and gives Aiba a smug look.
"So you're going to talk to him?" Aiba says, airily ignoring it.
"I guess so," Nino says. He's not sure how he's going to do it, but he might as well, even if his gut is twisting into knots at the thought.
"Good, that's settled then," Becky says. "Now why didn't either of you tell me I used too much salt in these cupcakes? You're both cowards."
Part II