All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 3

It is said that men are geared towards tunnel vision due to our hunting instincts. Our eyes face forward, not to the sides, so it is perfectly natural (in the most literal sense of the word) that a dense harem protagonist will miss the clues being dropped left and right by the more subtle girls of the cast while his gaze remains nailed to the white piece of fabric bared by the clumsy dojikko defenselessly exposed in front of him. It is just human (biological) nature.

In that vein, it needs to be stated in no uncertain terms that I hadn’t planned to meet Iroha this morning. I had, in fact, planned to come early to school so I could confront Shizu before classes started, and so that was my mindset (understandably mono-focused) at the time.

So it should come as no surprise that, when I see my Christmas Cake teacher come down the corridor, stop dead as our eyes meet, and promptly turn around and flee, my reaction is less ‘cool, collected senior skillfully evading a nosy junior’ and more ‘there is nothing suspicious going on, Isshiki, now I am going to run in that direction for absolutely no apparent reason.’

“Senpai! What the He--heck?!” My arm jerks back due to Isshiki still keeping her iron grip and I nearly dislocate my shoulder. I need to start exercising. Maybe I can convince Zaimokuza to go together to a gym and get a group discount? Or a discount from the gym if I promise them I won’t bring Zaimokuza anymore?

“Isshiki! Let go, I will explain later, I promise!” Curse you, mouth, you are always getting us in trouble. Oh, Isshiki is looking at me as if I am suspicious. And now she’s putting on that foxy smile of hers that makes her look suspicious.

“Of course, Senpai. I can see you are in a hurry, and I would never get in your way, so I will just be expecting a thorough explanation later on,” she says, the very picture of a demure, deferring junior.

Very suspicious.

“Fine, I will take it. Now, let go.” She does, and I am off to pursue Shizu.

Which is a bit… peculiar, as I am chasing down someone who is very much trying to look as if she’s not running away in case one of the few early students or another teacher catches sight of her, while I am also trying not to appear as if I am chasing her, in case anyone who can call the police or pull out a pepper spray does what comes naturally.

Basically, we are kind of rushing a bit, but not too much, while trying to maximize our advantage over each other, given our self-imposed limits on our speed. And suddenly I have a privileged insight into the art of the slow blade and the terrifying skill of Paul Atreides, scion of House Atreides, ruler of Arrakis, Emperor of the universe. Meaning I finally understand how silly it would have looked.

Yes, by all means, try to stab me slowly. See how that works out. This has now become my favorite way to not die against a fictional character.

And then Shizu reaches the stairs, looks around to see they are deserted, and starts running to the next floor, proving in practice that speed is actually a factor in any physical confrontation.

“Ms. Hiratsuka! Wait!” I raise my voice as much as I dare as I start taking the steps two at a time. She almost stops when she hears me, but picks up the pace quickly enough.

“We need to talk!” I insist, using the most dreaded phrase by men anywhere.

“No, we don’t! Everything is just fine!” I believe the gender roles have been inverted in this scenario. Which is a relief, because a girl chasing a fleeing boy is much more socially acceptable than the reverse.

“Shizu, stop!” She stumbles, and I almost catch up with her before she regains her step.

“Don’t call me that!” At the pace she’s going, we are gonna run out of stairs to keep this scene going.

“Make me!” I gasp out, my lungs letting me know in no uncertain terms how much they despise me.

“Don’t tempt me!”

“That’s the whole plan!”

“Wha—” She starts to turn around, red-faced and quick of breath, and I finally catch up to her.

And so, naturally, I kiss her.

It is rough, my hands pawing at her sides to make her face me, my neck stretching to make up for the height difference, my breath forcing me to start and stop in maddening pauses. It is clumsy, my exertion and eagerness making my movements frantic and unfocused. It is hungry, a whole night of longing and expectations pushing me forward.

It is perfect.

Shizu lets out a moan against me before she catches herself and backs away, climbing the stairs backward, and I press forward, our lips somehow not separating (something that seems quite unlikely without her active cooperation). At one point, I overtake her, turning her around and going one step higher than her before I start pulling her up the stairs, my hands on her neck and her back. And then, thankfully, we do run out of stairs to keep the scene going.

This would be an excellent time for a fade-to-black and transitioning to both of us smoking a cigarette.

“Hachi—Hikigaya, you can’t just do… that,” she says, bewildered, flushed, panting. I am tempted to take a picture and send it to Haruno. No, I don’t know why either.

“I am pretty sure I just did.” Cocky smiles don’t suit me, I am sure. This would have been the perfect line for the ikemen character to break down the barriers keeping him from his victim—I mean, destined true love. Speaking of which…

I turn us around at the landing at the top of the stairs, and push Shizu back against the door to the rooftop just before I slam my hand against the wall at her side and lean toward her. She looks at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“Did you… Did you just kabedon me, Hikigaya?”

“It was listed as the top fantasy for single women in a recent survey.”

“Do you realize it works much better when the man is taller?”

“If it worked much better than this, I think I would be calling an ambulance right about now.” Power of the cocky smile, don’t fail me now!

She snorts, which turns into a chuckle, which turns into full-blown laughter. What is it with me, beautiful older women, and making them laugh when they are far too near?

“All… All right, fine, it is a fantasy,” she concedes, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Finally, some recognition. “Thanks for fulfilling that for me, Hikigaya. Now let me go before we get in trouble.” I frown at her request, but also at something else.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” She looks confused.

I lean forward on my tiptoes, my chin tucked against her shoulder, my cheek caressing hers, and I breathe against her ear. “Stop saying my… Just… Just call me Hachi?”

Turnabout is fair play, after all.

I lean back just enough to catch her reaction and I see the whole sequence go off: visceral confusion, recognition of what she said to me yesterday, a flare of indignation at the brief suspicion I am mocking her. And then she turns her head just enough to look me in the eye.

And she sees me staring back—raw, naked vulnerability, a man that can’t put on a mask for fear he won’t be able to take it off. Sees how… how utterly fragile I can be. I hate myself that bit much for it, but it’s all I can offer. All I am.

And she kisses me.

“Hachi.” She moans my name as she peppers my face with light-feather kisses.

“Hachi,” she whispers, as she does something to my neck that makes me roll my eyes back and try not to moan.

“Hachi.” Her fingers thread through my hair and she pulls me against her, hungry lips devouring and being devoured by my own.

“Mine,” I growl as my hands run under her vest, pulling her against me till our bodies mash against one another, her soft curves flattening to my own shape. She moans at that, as much at the word as at the sensation. I start unbuttoning her vest, much less patient with the frustrating piece of clothing than yesterday, and soon reach her cotton blouse. I should hesitate, stop, ask for permission. And then I remember a silhouette turning around behind ground glass.

And so I don’t.

I unbutton her shirt and pants as quickly as I am able, silencing any protest with hungry kisses that she can’t help but return, her neck craned down to offer me easy access to her lips, her tongue, her everything. She flinches back in surprise when I finally manage to start fondling her over her bra, the stiff fabric insufficient to stop me from enjoying her softness, her shape, her weight, but she soon enough starts moaning harder and faster. Weak spot located. Hit it for massive damage.

I push the cups of her bra upwards, unwilling to try and decipher the arcane engineering required to unclasp these contraptions (or so the cliché would have me think, and I am not about to put it to the test given the current circumstances), and I finally, at last, manage to get a glimpse of Ms. Hiratsuka’s breasts after having speculated about them for far too long (seeing her in a bikini didn’t help—at all).

And I finally stop my assault.

Shizu stands before me, her clothing in absolute disarray, her face flushed, her breathing erratic. Beautiful as I have ever seen her. And her breasts… I know it’s uncouth, that it doesn’t do me any favors if I want her to see me as a mature man rather than a growing boy, but…

They are… I…

Dammit, Zaimokuza, where is that thesaurus when I need it?!

“So… You like them?” she asks, shy, flustered, slightly turned in profile.

My left hand takes her waist, my right lifts her left breast—pale, smooth skin capped by a pink nipple the size of the tip of my pinky finger and half as long, standing with a slightly upward tilt—and I begin to kiss the skin between her breasts, going up with every kiss as my fingers sink into the softest thing I have ever felt. Her scent surrounds me, envelops me, inebriates me, and as her moans start once again, I reach her neck, where I demonstrate I was paying attention by giving her a thorough rendition of what she did to me just seconds ago.

She raises a hand to her mouth, biting her index finger as her eyes clench shut, and I know I must be doing something right (which is a relief, because I still don’t know where half of these ideas are coming from) so I raise my head, nibble on her earlobe, and whisper in her ear, “I love them. They are yours.” And then I slip my tongue in her ear, playing with it as if I was kissing her mouth.

She sags against the door, her knees buckling, opening to let me stand between them.

I press forward, my thigh brushing where her legs meet, and she jerks her head back hard enough she knocks against the door at her back. But she doesn’t protest, doesn’t even flinch, and keeps biting her finger as if it is the most delicious thing she has ever tasted, ecstasy written across her partly obscured features. So I keep fondling her breast with my right hand, playing with circling caresses and stronger pressure, sinking my fingers, and finally tweaking her nipple playfully as my mouth remains occupied with her ear. But I have another hand. And I would like to keep my pants dry.

I let my left hand trail down her stomach, barely brushing it as I feel her defined abs under a thin softness twitch at my teasing touch, so soft compared to what I am offering elsewhere, and I soon enough reach the elastic band of her panties. Neither it nor our positions are ideal, and my wrist strains as I slip my fingers inside the garment, but when I do… Oh, Shizu, you look so beautiful when you are this defenseless.

I think I may be an S. No, that doesn’t stand for “Shizu-maniac.”

… Not exclusively.

The wet heat that greets me inside her panties is yet another stroke to my ego, so I decide to return the favor. As gently as I am able, I cross the thin patch of soft, silken hair and reach a nub of tender, erect flesh that, according to my studies (Fate/Stay Night deserves to be enjoyed in the original format), should be able to do the job on its own without me risking a sprained wrist, so I start rubbing it in a smooth, circular pattern that—

And Shizu grasps my head, pulls me away from her ear, and kisses me harder than she has till now. Which is quite hard.

My head swims as her tongue invades my mouth and her muffled moans reverberate through our joined bodies. She hugs me against her, and I feel my hardness, uncomfortably bent down my pants, press against her, and I shiver, almost forgetting for a moment that I have my hands full.

Almost.

Her own enthusiasm only seems to fuel my desire to bring her over the brink, to show her I can give her this much, that I can be a man for her, even if only in this small measure. I pinch her nipple before rolling it between my fingers, and I press her clitoris down as my tongue stops being pushed around by her own and I turn the struggle into a dance, twisting and twirling around each other. I manage to open my eyes after realizing I had closed them at some point and I catch a glimpse of her, of her expression completely overcome by passion and lust, and it is a miracle I don’t ruin my pants there and then.

Instead, I jerk my hand, a movement unintentionally more intense than I thought (if thinking is even the right verb for what I am doing), and she comes.

A low whine is lost in the distance between her lips and my own, her eyes closed tighter as something that almost looks like pain due to sheer intensity paints her features. It is the first time I have seen a woman climax. The first time I have made a woman climax, and I am fascinated by everything of it. By the way her muscles go taut just before slackening, by the way she so desperately tries to hold back something she has no hope of stopping, by the way I, just for this second, seem to become the center of her world, the pivotal point upon which this all-consuming moment hinges.

I can’t wait for the second time.

Shizu slumps into my arms, and I desperately use all of my meager strength to hold her up (definitely going to that gym—just not with Totsuka). Her skin feels scorching, waves of heat wafting off her and carrying her scent, her very much changed scent, up into me. I kiss the top of her head, my hands gently rubbing her back under her clothes as I silently curse the strap of her bra that occasionally trips me up. I will need to practice with these things. Hopefully, in a way that doesn’t make Komachi ban me from her room.

It is over far too soon, as she straightens up, still flushed against me, and looks into my eyes.

“Hachi… I… This…” I can’t let her finish, so I hug her tighter, pressing into her body, and make a problem readily apparent. Her blush reaches (delightfully) the top of her breasts. “You are… very hard, aren’t you?”

“Oh, how surprising, making a beautiful woman come has gotten me on the brink of ruining my underwear and my reputation. How will my maiden heart stand this indignity.” Uh. It turns out sexual arousal and physical intimacy are not enough to hold back my snark. Truly, it is an unstoppable force of nature.

She punches my chest. Obviously. Turns out the violent tendencies of Hiratsuka Shizuka are also a force of nature.

(Though the punch is weak as a kitten’s paw, and that makes me proud and giddy in equal measure. But that shall remain a secret forever.)

“I could… should help with that?” She looks into my eyes, head tilted down, eyes lidded, small, unsure smile.

Something snaps inside my head. At this rate, I am going to run out of things to be snapped by cute, flustered Christmas Cakes. Such a horrible prospect.

I take hold of her hand and bring it down on top of my erection, pressing it against her.

“Yes. I think you should. It’s only polite to return the favor, isn’t it?” Her smile grows a bit cheekier at my attempt at suave, domineering talk. It is a skill I shall endeavor to practice.

“And we wouldn’t want to leave any evidence, would we?” she asks, leaving me confused before she drops down to the ground and unzips my pants, her eyes intent on what is about to be revealed.

Oh.

Oh.

Shizu maneuvers our bodies so I am the one leaning against the wall, and she hooks her hands into the waistband of both my pants and my boxers before pulling them down, so I am suddenly far more naked than I expected to ever be in front of a faculty member (weird dreams involving the whole assembly hall aside). Her eyes grow far more focused, intent on the rod twitching in front of her, and I expect her to make a comment about my size, my hardness, my readiness, or the huge dollop of precum hanging off my tip. Instead, she looks into my eyes as she takes hold of me (and I don’t let out a squeak at her overpowering touch, no matter what some ill-intentioned individuals—Yukinoshita—would have you believe), and she gathers said dollop with her tongue before visibly swallowing it.

I shudder. She smiles.

It is not a soft smile.

I do not say aloud ‘I think I need an adult,’ but my new mantra flashes through my brain in between the short bursts of coherent, conscious thought that I am allowed as soon as Shizu decides to take my glans between her lips, and her tongue starts devoting herself to reducing me to a drooling husk. I don’t want to be mind-broken the first time I get a blowjob, dammit!

I lean back against the wall and look at the ceiling to distract myself from Shizu’s enchanting eyes and her predatory smirk still visible from where it is comfortably perched on top of my erection, but the suspiciously off-white plaster can’t distract me from the intense, electric bursts of sensation shooting through my body from my groin. Almost of their own volition, my hands travel to the sides of Shizu’s head, and I find myself running one hand through silken hair while another plays with her ear, then I am rewarded by a muffled moan that draws my eyes back down to find hers closed in warm pleasure. The sight is enchanting enough I don’t even care about Iroha’s red face peeking from around the knee wall at the top of the stairs.

…

I feel I just overlooked something important.

Raising my sight from Shizu’s moaning, joyful face, I find myself staring straight into the eyes of the Strongest Junior, who looks not so much as if she has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but in the middle of the secure vault with Top Secret and Biohazard signs posted all over. I try to signal to her, with body language alone and an expressive gaze, what I think about her presence here.

‘You are interrupting. I will be very upset if Shizu stops what she’s doing before I am finished. Please be a dear and get the fuck out of here before this gets any messier.’ Which is more or less me jerking my head in the direction of the stairs frantically, but I think it gets the message across.

‘What? Senpai, are you saying that if Ms. Hiratsuka leaves before you finish, you will have me take over to make up for it? That you want to get me messy with your cum, painting over my innocent features with your seed as you climax all over my panting, red face? I am sorry, Senpai, but that is impossible, I could never let you soil me in such a way before even taking me on a date. It just is impossible. I hope you won’t be upset and will still let me act my voyeuristic fantasies on you.' Okay, fine, she’s just shaking her head so fast her hair is whipping about, but I somehow get the whole speech. Operant conditioning is a scary thing.

So, I am getting my bone marrow sucked out of me by my beautiful Christmas Cake teacher as my no less appealing cheeky junior peeks on us with an expression that is the furthest thing from disgust I have ever seen from her, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her without getting Shizu far too flustered to continue. Shizu, who, right now, has the hand that isn’t fondling my member buried in her pants as a drunken look blooms all over her gorgeous face, streaks of saliva and precum gathering around her lips.

…

I will take it.

There is something perverse about being made a spectacle, about knowing whatever you are doing and is being done to you is pure enjoyment for a third, uninvolved party. I know I should be offended at this first time with Shizu being intruded upon by somebody else, but as I look down at my teacher so eagerly lavishing me with her (wet, sloppy) attentions, as I see her body undulate under her own touch and her expression positively radiant at my own, I couldn’t care less about Iroha’s meddling.

I feel that’s a phrase I will regret at some point.

Even so, even if I try to dredge up some kind of grudge, of indignation, I just can’t. I like seeing Iroha watching me. I like seeing her watch Shizu so eagerly, with such focus, as Shizu’s hand accelerates along my shaft, jerking me forward toward her waiting lips. I find it hard to divide my focus between the two, but each time my eyes meet Iroha’s as Shizu gives me a quick lick or sucks just hard enough to make me shudder, the sensation is magnified. She knows what Shizu is doing to me, and is drinking it all with as much intensity as I am. Which is, obviously, a lot.

So it is no surprise that I just can’t hold back anymore.

“Shizu… Oh gods above… Shizu, I am going to cum. Right now!”

Her eyes finally open, pure joy radiating from them as she nods without letting me go, dragging my cock up and down with the motion, and that… that is enough.

I cum.

Burst after burst shoots out of me as my vision goes pure white, as I feel my fingers dig into her scalp and I somehow manage not to pull her down till I am cumming straight down her throat. I empty myself inside her mouth, and feel her swallow frantically, desperate not to let a single drop escape her lips, her eyes capturing my own each time I am able to see anything that isn’t the back of my own skull or blinding light. Finally, with a last, weak spurt and suction strong enough to coax out the dregs of my seed, my strength leaves me and I let myself slide down the wall till I am sitting on the ground, in front of my still masturbating teacher.

I lean forward, our foreheads touching, my hand caressing her neck, and I whisper, “Mine.”

And she cums.

It’s not as spectacular as the first time, not as intense, perhaps due to my lack of involvement or perhaps due to the circumstances and how uncomfortable she must be, kneeling on the ground, but seeing her eyes open so widely, the surprise written on her face as her orgasm overtakes her… It is beautiful. And it is only for me.

And… It may be corny, even if I don’t say it aloud. It may be hormones, teenage lust, desperation, and a thousand other things. But…

I feel it’s genuine.

We lay there, in silence, supporting one another for what feels like ages before, in silent agreement, we separate enough to make ourselves at least halfway presentable. I almost want to banter, to joke around in the middle of the euphoric mood, but instead we let a comfortable quiet remain, an unspoken something still connecting us after the passion of the moment has been spent. I smile, and so does she, and I don’t think any word could improve this.

She takes out some paper tissues and cleans my remains off her face, and I, not nearly half as busy, tuck her hair back in place before she shoots me a grateful look that makes my knees go weak(er). It is a serene silence, something to be savored.

And it is broken by Iroha’s voice.

“Tobe? No, you can’t go up. Student Council’s business. What? What business? Oh, you are offering to volunteer your help? How generous of you, Tobe, you just have to—don’t run away, you coward.”

It sounds like it is coming from the landing below us, but both Shizu and I know well enough that there is no Student Council business here and that Iroha just covered for us. The gratitude is somehow muted at Shizu’s flash of panic.

I try to take her hand to reassure her, but she’s already halfway down the stairs by the time I reach her, and we see Iroha idly playing with her phone. Shizu almost freezes before she decides to nonchalantly march down the stairs with me fumbling behind her in tow. It’s just as we reach Iroha that she tilts her phone just enough that I can see what is on the screen.

A picture of me making a very weird face as Shizu kneels between my legs.

I think I already said it, but at this point it bears repeating:

My illicit romance is messed up, as I expected.