Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13300974.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      僕だけがいない街_|_ERASED
  Relationship:
      Fujinuma_Satoru/Yashiro_Gaku
  Character:
      Fujinuma_Satoru, Yashiro_Gaku
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Blackmail, Coercion, Role_Reversal,
      Obsessive_Behavior
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-07 Words: 7974
****** Hollow Places ******
by clockhands_(clockwatch)
Summary
          “I don’t want to ruin you, Fujinuma-sensei. No one will
          know unless I tell them.”
          “Yashiro…” Satoru finally says, his voice unsteady. “Are
          you… threatening me?”
     Where Satoru is a teacher and Yashiro is the student who falls in
     love with him.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Yashiro Gaku does not often doodle in class.
To be more precise, Yashiro Gaku has not doodled in class since he was seven
years old, and even then it had been a one time thing. Gaku still remembers
that doodle; a spiral scribbled in tense, jagged lines in the corner of his
math workbook. His parents scolded him, threw the workbook out, and made him
fill out a whole new one. Gaku hasn’t doodled spirals or anything else since.
But Yashiro Gaku is doodling in class now, nine years later.
With his chin cradled in one hand he draws the long, arched legs of a spider.
The legs bloom across the paper; thin looming shadows that cut across the
perfect script of his notes. He colors the body of the spider in with his
pencil, long strokes of graphite gray after gray. The sound of his pencil
scratching across paper reminds him of rope, creaking back and forth in a slow
steady swing.
He gets so lost in the repetitive movements of coloring the spider that he
doesn’t realize how hard he is digging the pencil in until the tip snaps. He
pauses, jolted out of his thoughts. There are visible indentations in the paper
from where he dug the pencil in. Gaku runs a thumb over it and feels the angry
lines engraved there. He digs his nail into one of the indents and feels the
strangest urge to scratch into it, like there’s an itch somewhere in there,
somewhere in him, and if he can just find it then maybe…
A hand brushes his shoulder.
Gaku doesn’t jump, but he does tense under the touch. He drops his hand and
looks up, pulling his features into something sheepish.
His homeroom teacher stands over him, blue eyes curious behind cheap, wire
frame glasses. His glasses are sliding low down the bridge of his nose and,
oddly, a stubby pencil is tucked behind his left ear.
He looks at Gaku’s drawing and Gaku has to resist the impulse to slam his
notebook shut. Instead, he forces an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Fujinuma-
sensei. I just finished my homework so I didn’t have much else to do…” he
trails off.
Instead of answering the teacher reaches up and plucks the pencil from behind
his ear and hands it to Gaku. He winks then continues down the aisle.
Gaku stares after him for a long moment, his expression going slack and blank
before he remembers he’s still surrounded by peers. He ducks his head and
stares at the pencil. It looks thoroughly well used and only just a step above
being considered a stump of graphite. The eraser is worn down to a darkened nub
and Gaku is certain he can make out the faint imprint of what looks like teeth
marks around the upper end of the pencil. He should be disgusted. He triesto
feel disgusted. But instead he finds himself running a finger over the teeth
marks, digging his thumbnail into the little indents the same way he had with
the creases carved into his paper. 
--
Despite being his homeroom teacher, Gaku does not know much about Fujinuma-
sensei. He knows he is quieter than most teachers and is probably the youngest,
but that is about the extent of his knowledge. Gaku has never paid much
attention to any of his teachers. Since the first teacher in grade school who
pretended not to notice the bruises spiraling up Gaku’s arms, they have all
blurred together into a set of indistinguishable voices he need only copy notes
from.
But Fujinuma broke through the blur, stamping his face and name to the
forefront of Gaku’s mind.
When Gaku finds him in the staff room early the next day to return the pencil,
Fujinuma smiles and shakes his head.
“Keep it,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “You should join the art club.”
“It was only a doodle.”
“I liked it,” Fujinuma says, so earnestly that Gaku can’t help but respond with
a sneer of disbelief.
Hastily, he schools his expression into something more pleasant, more blank,
but it’s too late. Fujinuma saw it. Gaku can tell by the way he is watching him
now, gaze suddenly so much sharper. Gaku smiles blandly. Fujinuma stares.
“Come to art club,” Fujinuma finally says, after a long silence. “You don’t
have to talk to anyone else there. You can just show up and draw. Or doodle.”
His lips quirk into a half smile. “Just give it a try.”
And Gaku, for maybe the first time in his life, can’t think of how to respond.
So he merely nods and heads back to class, the nub of a pencil gripped tight in
one fist.
 --
It’s a month before Gaku goes to art club.
He’s over an hour late and the other students have long cleaned up and gone
home. Yet the lights remain on and Gaku stands frozen in the doorway, watching
Fujinuma who hasn’t noticed him yet.
He’s perched on the windowsill with a sketchbook balanced in his lap, his head
turned to look out the window so Gaku can only make out the outline of his jaw
and cheek. It’s raining and the dark clouds cast shadows across Fujinuma’s
skin, blue and black like bruises. The room is quiet and Fujinuma has stopped
drawing, the pencil frozen inches above the page. He’s still, unnaturally
still, and Gaku’s fingers twitch to break the silence.
He takes a step forward and Fujinuma’s head snaps towards him, eyes distant and
cloudy. It takes a moment before his face clears with recognition and he
smiles. “You’re a little late.” He stands and gestures around the room, to the
stools that have been stacked on tables and the floors that have been carefully
swept and cleaned.
Gaku shrugs. “You’re still here,” he points out.
“I am,” Fujinuma acknowledges. He sets aside his pad and pencil and takes a
stool down for Gaku. Gaku doesn’t sit.
“What were you drawing?” he asks. He’s not sure if he’s asking to be polite or
if he’s actually curious.
“Just a doodle.” Fujinuma turns away and contemplates his drawing, like he’s
not sure if he wants to show it to Gaku or not. He hesitates, but then he sets
it on the table and angles it towards him.
It’s their classroom, long rows of blank desks and vacant chairs. It’s a simple
sketch, barely realized, but there’s an emptiness to it that tugs at Gaku.
He looks up, but Fujinuma is turned away from him, staring out the window
again.
“I like it,” Gaku says slowly. The words are dragged out from the hollow place
inside him and it’s been so long since he’s said something and meant it that it
tastes strange and stale on his tongue. Fujinuma is still staring out the
window so Gaku says it again and it comes out easier the second time. “I like
it.”
Fujinuma turns to look at him. “I thought you might.”
Gaku realizes he also likes that Fujinuma thought of him. 
--
Fujinuma’s full name is Satoru Fujinuma and he is twenty-six years old.
His favorite meal is curry and he drinks coffee even though he doesn’t like the
taste that much. He likes to read manga at his desk when he’s not grading
papers and his favorite series is Wonder Guy. Gaku found an old, battered copy
of volume 3 on Fujinuma’s desk, wrinkled and dog-eared.
Satoru Fujinuma is generally a good teacher. He’s kind, although he can be
impatient sometimes and a little too blunt with criticisms. He’s popular with
his students and seems to get on well enough with his coworkers. But there’s a
distance to him that only Gaku seems to have noticed. Satoru Fujinuma teaches,
he grades, sometimes he tries to offer awkward advice to his students, but he’s
also never fully there.
His eyes are focused somewhere else, somewhere beyond the classroom, and Gaku
wonders how he didn’t see it before. He wonders where Satoru Fujinuma goes. 
--
“Are you an only child, sensei?” Gaku asks one day after class. The other
students have left and it’s just the two of them now, Fujinuma gathering his
things at his desk with Gaku wiping down the chalkboards. He’s been taking over
classroom cleanup more and more often lately.
Fujinuma looks surprised by the question and he looks up from his papers to
blink at him.   “What makes you ask?”
Gaku drags a finger through chalk dust. “Curiosity. So, are you?” He’s not
usually so direct with others, but Fujinuma doesn’t seem to mind.
Fujinuma nods slowly. “Is it obvious?” he asks, turning to Gaku, head tilted to
one side. The gesture makes him look strikingly young.
“Not really. It was just a hunch.”
Fujinuma hums thoughtfully. “What about you, Yashiro-kun?”
Gaku considers the question and inspects the white dust on his fingertips. “I
had an older brother once,” he says simply.
“Had?”
“He hung himself.” Gaku closes his eyes and hears the rope swing and creak,
creak and swing.
“Ah.”
Gaku waits for the inevitable ‘I’m sorry to hear that’ but Fujinuma remains
silent. Gaku breathes in his silence, sucking in until he’s full.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Gaku says quietly.
Fujinuma nods. He understands. He’s met Gaku’s mother.
“Do you want to talk about it…?” Fujinuma asks after a hesitant pause. He looks
uncomfortable, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pursed in
concentration. Gaku pauses, not because he’s thinking of an answer, but because
he’s suddenly struck by the strange desire to dig his thumb into the crease of
Fujinuma’s frown.
“Not really.” He forces himself to stop staring.
“Okay.”
They don’t talk about Gaku’s brother again.
--
“Do you ever draw your students, sensei?”
“Not really.”
“Would you ever draw me?”
Fujinuma looks up from his sketchpad, eyebrows raised. “Yashiro-kun, if I
didn’t think I knew you better I would think you were asking me to draw you.”
“Is that a no?” Gaku asks, a slow smile beginning to take shape. It must be the
first time his teacher has seen him smile, really smile, because he goes still
and watchful. He stares at Gaku for a long moment then sighs through his nose
and flips to a new page.
“Just this once,” he mutters. His pencil immediately starts to fly across the
page (Gaku can’t help but notice it’s a new one but there are already little
bite marks along the end).
The art room falls into silence after that. Gaku holds very still, watching
Fujinuma’s hand work its way across the page, the bitten end of the pencil
bobbing with each stroke. Once in awhile, dark blue eyes flicker up from the
paper to glance at him and each time they do a small electric thrill pulses
through him.
It’s clear that in this moment Satoru Fujinuma is here. With Gaku.
When Fujinuma finishes he holds the sketchpad tight, like he doesn’t want to
share it.
“Let me see,” Gaku murmurs.
Fujinuma frowns then hands it over, his expression shifting to something
unreadable. When Gaku looks at it his breath stutters.
The Yashiro Gaku that Fujinuma drew stares past him, his lips pulled into
something that could be a snarl or a smile. But the hard line of his mouth is
softened by the look in his eyes, a searching, almost wistful gaze. There’s a
hollowness in them that reminds Gaku of the rows of empty desks that Fujinuma
drew once before. There’s a hunger there as well that reminds Gaku of the grey
legs of the spider he once drew across his notes.
Gaku looks at the portrait of himself and he sees his face, not the face he
wears, but the face he is.
Gaku stares at it for a long time. “Is this what I look like?” he finally asks.
“Not all the time.” Fujinuma pauses, tapping the end of his pencil against his
chin. “Only when you think no one’s looking.” He bites his lip, like he said
something he didn’t mean to.
Does that meanyoulook at me, sensei? Gaku wants to ask this, but he doesn’t. He
swallows the words, tucks them away to dissect at a later time, and instead he
asks, “Can I keep this?”
Fujinuma looks relieved at the change in subject and nods, shoulders visibly
relaxing. “Of course.” He rips the page out carefully and hands it to Gaku who
takes it reverently with both hands. “Don’t tell your classmates I drew that
for you though. The last thing I want is a crowd of students pestering me to
draw them too.” He grins and Gaku smiles back because now they share a secret.
--
Gaku keeps the portrait in a box under his bed, along with the nibbled on
pencil. He takes it out after he’s done with his homework and traces the lines
with his fingers, keeping his touch light to keep from smudging it.
“Satoru.” He says his teacher’s name slowly. It feels weird at first, but the
more he says it the more natural it sounds. “Satoru,” he repeats, tasting each
syllable. He tries to imagine calling Fujinuma that instead of sensei, tries to
imagine what kind of face he would make. Would he be shocked, offended? Or
would he be pleased?
Gaku plays that through his head and feels heat pool low in his gut.
--
Gaku has never wanted someone before.
He’s sixteen years old and he knows what it means to want someone. He’s heard
the way his classmates talk, seen the way they look at eachother. He’s noticed
the way girls glance at him, the way their cheeks flush pink when he smiles at
them.
He’s gotten enough letters slipped into his shoe locker to understand what it
means, even if he never actually read any of them.
But none of that measures up to what it actually feels like.
He watches Fujinuma- no, Satoru, even closer now. He memorizes the way he
moves, the way he talks, eats, breathes. He catches himself staring during
class, eyes tracking Satoru’s movements around the room. When Gaku raises his
hand for help Satoru comes to him, weaving his way through the desks to look
over his shoulder. Sometimes, Gaku will lean back and their arms will brush.
Satoru doesn’t always pull away when he does this. He’ll smile and reach over
Gaku to tap his paper, his voice a low murmur as he explains the math problem
that Gaku already knows the answer to.
In these moments, Gaku is close enough that if he just turned his head a little
his lips would find the soft line of Satoru’s cheek.
He’s surprised by how badly he wants to do that.
The time they spend together in art club is even better. It feels closer, even
with Satoru sitting across the room from him and entirely absorbed in his
sketchbook. Satoru gets so focused on his drawings he doesn’t notice Gaku
staring. (Gaku wonders why he even became a teacher when his passion so clearly
lies somewhere else- and maybe one day he’ll be able to ask).
Gaku likes to watch him draw and he likes to listen to the whisper of his
pencil darting across the page. He especially likes it when Satoru will pause
and roll the end of his pencil across his bottom lip. The gesture sends a pang
of hunger through Gaku.
Want rises and fills the empty place inside of Gaku; growing and growing until,
for the first time in a long time, Gaku feels full.
--
“Art club is going to be disbanded,” Satoru tells him, eyes full of apology.
Gaku stares. “Why?”
“It was never very popular and the last few members have stopped showing up
recently.” Satoru shrugs and slouches down in his chair. Gaku can tell he’s
trying to hide his disappointment.
“I still show up,” Gaku points out.
Satoru shuffles a pile of half graded tests to the corner of his desk. He looks
up at Gaku and smiles tiredly. “I know. But a club with only one member isn’t
really a club. I’m sorry, Yashiro-kun.”
Gaku curls his hands into fists and looks away, biting down the frustration.
He’s not mad at Satoru, he’s mad at himself. It didn’t even cross his mind that
the school might shut down the club if no one else showed up. He hadn’t been
thinking of that when he cornered the other members and whispered threats in
their ears.
“It’s not your fault, sensei.”
“There are lots of other clubs you can still -”
“Will you keep teaching me how to draw?” Gaku blurts out.
Satoru starts to frown. “Yashiro-kun…”
“Please.” Gaku widens his eyes and hunches his shoulders, folding in on
himself. “I really want to learn and I…” he trails off helplessly, lowering his
gaze to the floor. He doesn’t like to put on acts in front of Satoru, not when
he knows he can read through them so easily, but there are two other teachers
in the office and he knows they’re listening. “Art club means a lot to me,
sensei.” He looks up again and meets Satoru’s eyes because that part isn’t a
lie.
Satoru is staring at him, his expression torn. He chews his lower lip and
glances around the office, then sighs heavily. “I don’t know… maybe during your
lunch hour we can figure something out.”
Gaku brightens. “Really? You mean it? Thank you, sensei!” He’s probably
overdoing it, but the other two teachers are glancing over, smiling fondly at
his enthusiasm.
He’s sure that when he leaves the office they’ll tell Satoru that he’s lucky to
have a student like him.
--
Satoru probably only meant for them to meet once a week during lunch, but Gaku
drags that into two times a week, then three, then four.
His teacher never complains, not really. He caves easily to Gaku’s demands, and
soon they find themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm.
They sit together in a deserted classroom, lazy sun beams bleeding through the
blinds, as they sketch their emptiness onto paper.  It’s comfortable and Gaku
thinks he could be content for it to continue like that forever. But he wants
more than just contentment.
“I drew this for you,” he murmurs one day. With something almost like shyness,
he hands the drawing across the desk.
Satoru drops his pencil and takes the paper carefully. He stares at it, eyes
widening and lips parting in surprise. “You drew me?”
“You drew me once so now I’m returning the favor.”
Satoru nods, eyes still glued to the paper. Warmth swells in Gaku’s chest. He’s
not a natural artist, not the way Satoru is, but he’s spent many long nights
drawing faces and figures over and over again just for this moment. His drawing
echoes the one Satoru drew, made it so they are a pair, a match, and the only
way to view them properly is to view them together.
Satoru must see that when he looks at Gaku’s drawing. His expression flickers
into something strange, not a smile or a frown. Eventually he glances back up
at Gaku. “This is… it’s beautiful, Yashiro.” His eyes drop back to the drawing,
like he can’t look away.
And Gaku knows, in that moment, that Satoru understands.
He reaches across the desk, breath held, and brushes the pad of his thumb along
Satoru’s bottom lip, following the line of it to the corner of his mouth. He
starts to press his thumb in and almost gasps when he feels a hint of heat and
wetness there, before Satoru jerks away.
Satoru stumbles back so violently he half trips out of his chair. His sketchpad
falls out of his lap and Gaku’s drawing flutters to the floor.
He stares at Gaku, one hand slapped over his mouth. Gaku feels a stab of
disappointment when he notices that Satoru’s face is pale and not flushed pink.
He pushes his chair back and stands slowly, brow furrowing when Satoru takes
several steps back.
“Satoru,” Gaku starts to say. But the sound of his name seems to shake him out
of his shock. Satoru drops his hand and stands straighter, eyes narrowing.
“I’m your teacher,” he says sharply. “You can’t call me that. And you certainly
can’t…” his voice falters and he pauses. “I’m your teacher,” he repeats after a
moment, his voice sounding firmer. “And you’re my student. What you did was
inappropriate.”
“We’re more than just that,” Gaku says quietly.
“No.” Satoru shakes his head, voice firm. He breathes out slowly and pushes his
glasses aside to rub at his eyes.
“What if I wasn’t your student?”
Gaku doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s making but when Satoru looks at
him again the hard look in his eyes soften into something alarmingly close to
pity. Gaku clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
“Look… Yashiro-kun… you’re a great kid.”
Gaku flinches like he was slapped.
Satoru continues, oblivious, “you remind me a lot of myself when I was your
age. But this… this isn’t… I mean… I’m not…” He pauses, searching for the right
words. The anger is gone from his voice, replaced by awkward embarrassment and
apology. Gaku finds that he prefers the anger.
“I’m too old for you,” Satoru finally blurts out.
Gaku blinks. “Oh.”
Satoru’s shoulders sag with relief. “I’m sorry.” He stoops to pick up his
sketchpad and Yashiro’s drawing. “But… you understand, right?”
Gaku nods slowly. “I understand.”
And he does. He understands that Satoru is scared. He’s scared of what people
might say, what might happen to him if anyone finds out. He’s scared of the
scandal it would cause, the whispered words of taboo.
Gaku will be graduating high school in a few years and then it will no longer
be taboo. But Gaku is impatient. And Gaku can keep a secret just as easily as
he can spread one. 
--
Things are awkward after that afternoon. Gaku can tell Satoru is trying to act
like nothing’s changed, but there’s a new distance between them; a wall that
Satoru has built.
They still meet during lunch to draw (only once a week now). But Satoru speaks
to him carefully now, like he has to consider the weight of each word before it
leaves his mouth. He speaks to him like he’s a stranger.
It makes Gaku want to wrap his hands around something and squeeze.
But instead he smiles, he pulls back, he gives Satoru the space he needs to
feel comfortable again.
He waits and he plans.
--
Gaku figured it would be hard to lure Satoru into the storage shed- hard
compared to his brother at least.
But in the end, all it took was a call for help.
“It’s… it’s a first year. There’s something wrong with her leg and she can’t
move and I can’t find the school nurse and-” Gaku breaks off in his rambling,
bowing his head to catch his breath. He leans heavily against the doorframe of
the office. He ran around the school building twice to make sure he looked
properly winded and flustered. “I promised I would bring her help.”
Satoru is already out of his seat and tugging his coat on. “Where is she?”
“The gym storage shed. I think she was putting equipment away when she hurt
herself.”
Satoru practically sprints down the hall and down the stairs, taking steps two
at a time. Gaku follows him at a slower pace, watching Satoru’s back with a
slight smile. He had prepared several excuses and reasons to back up his story,
but Satoru hadn’t even thought to ask how it happened that Gaku was the one who
found the girl in the gym storage.
When they reach the shed Satoru flings the doors open and stumbles in, calling
out for a girl who was never there.
Satoru falls silent as he looks around the dark, but clearly empty, shed. He
turns back to Gaku and frowns. “Maybe she…” Gaku closes the doors and Satoru’s
voice fades into silence. Late afternoon light creeps in through the cracks of
the door, just bright enough to illuminate the confusion growing across
Satoru’s face.
Gaku locks the door behind him.
The click is loud in the silence and it makes Satoru flinch. “Yashiro,” he
starts to say, his voice tense with warning.
“You can call me Gaku,” he cuts in.
Satoru presses his lips together into a thin line. “Yashiro,” he says again,
like he didn’t hear him. “What’s going on?”
Gaku looks around the shed. It’s cluttered and dark and the air smells faintly
of mildew and dust, but it’s private and the walls and doors are thick. “I
think we need to talk.” He leans back against the doors and tilts his head,
blinking slowly as his eyes adjust to the dimness.
“Talk…” Satoru repeats slowly.
“About us.”
He hears Satoru breathe out heavily. “We’ve had this discussion. There isn’t-”
“You don’t want me because you think I’m too young. Because I’m your student
and you’re my teacher.” Gaku nods. “I understand that. I understand how bad it
would look if anyone found out you were involved with one of your students like
that. I understand that even the barest hint of a rumor could blow up into a
scandal. I understand that could ruin you.” He speaks lightly, head cocked to
one side as he watches Satoru’s face.
“I don’t want to ruin you, Fujinuma-sensei. No one will know unless I tell
them.”
Satoru is silent for a long moment. Gaku can see the rigid line of his
shoulders trembling. “Yashiro…” Satoru finally says, his voice unsteady. “Are
you… threatening me?”
“No, I’m just giving you a push.” Gaku frowns then shrugs. “But if thinking of
it as blackmail would make you feel better, then go ahead.”
Satoru gapes at him. “You’re serious about this.”
“Of course I am.”
Satoru turns away and paces to the end of the shed. “You can’t prove something
that never happened.”
“I don’t have to. We’ve been spending a lot of time alone together lately. You
even gave me a ride home once when it was raining and I didn’t have an
umbrella. Do you remember that?”
Satoru stops pacing and Gaku knows he remembers. “Nothing happened of course.
But rumors have a funny way of twisting everything.”
Satoru turns back to him. His eyes are cold and hard. “What do you want?” he
hisses the words, flings them at Gaku like it’s an insult instead of a
question.
Gaku points. “I want you to lie down there on those mats.”
Satoru follows his finger and glances at the pile of gym mats heaped in the
corner. His head whips back around to stare incredulously at Gaku. When he
doesn’t move Gaku pushes off from the doors and steps towards him. “They’re
clean. I wiped them down before I brought you here.”
Satoru backs away from him, but the space is small, and in five steps he’s
cornered over the pile of gym mats. He sits slowly, reluctantly, and glares up
at Gaku. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Gaku knows that Satoru is saying that because he’s angry, not because he
actually wants an answer, but he can’t help but respond anyway. He pulls a tiny
bottle of oil from his back pocket and taps his fingernail against the cap. “I
did, actually,” he says, proudly, because it hadn’t been easy finding out what
he would need.
Satoru’s eyes flicker to the bottle and for a moment his face goes blank with
confusion- until it clicks and his cheeks drain of color. “We’re not-”
“We are.”
“No.” Satoru says this quickly and with an air of authority, like they’re back
in the classroom and Gaku’s just a kid he’s reprimanding. With a snarl, Gaku’s
hand lashes out and grabs a fistful of Satoru’s dark hair (and it’s just as
soft as he imagined it would be).
“Then what do you offer instead, Satoru?” He forces Satoru’s head back at an
awkward angle and watches the way his throat bobs when he cringes. He drops the
oil bottle and drags two fingers up Satoru’s throat to his mouth. This time,
when Gaku pushes his fingers past Satoru’s lips, he doesn’t pull away.
His mouth is hot and wet and as he pushes deeper he can feel the hard hint of
teeth. Breathlessly, Gaku skims the pad of his fingers along Satoru’s teeth.
Satoru makes an odd, choked groan and starts to try and twist his head away,
but Gaku only tightens his grip in his hair and presses down against his
tongue.
The feeling of Satoru’s tongue moving against his fingers sends a pleasant
shock through Gaku. This is real.Satoru is here and Gaku has finally managed to
find a way to close that distance between them. A part of him wants to just
keep pressing in, past his tongue and down his throat until he reaches the
empty place inside of Satoru. He wants to feel it and fill it with himself, the
same way Satoru filled him. He wants to feel it and know that he was right;
that he’s not the only hollow person out there.
Satoru chokes on his fingers and, reluctantly, Gaku pulls back.
With wet lips and dark eyes, Satoru coughs and yanks away. Scowling, he raises
his hand and wipes the back of his mouth.
“Well?” Gaku prompts him, stepping closer.
Satoru hesitates and his eyes flicker towards the doors.
“No one will interrupt us. Club activities have ended,” Gaku murmurs
soothingly, loosening his grip in Satoru’s hair and running his fingers through
it instead. “So. What do you want to do instead?”
Satoru glances back up at him, his expression blank. “This is really what you
want?” he asks quietly.
Gaku thinks about the pencil and the portrait, tucked under his bed. He thinks
about the sad twist of Satoru’s lips when he rejected him. He sighs. “This is
what I want.”
Satoru stares at him for a moment longer then nods stiffly. He drops his gaze
and raises his hands to unbutton Gaku’s pants. His hands are shaking and Gaku
wonders if he’s ever done this before. Gaku forces the thought away. This isn’t
the time for jealousy, not with Satoru beneath him, perched between his legs.
And then Satoru’s hands are on him, pushing his pants open and slipping his
already hard cock free. Gaku watches, breathless, as Satoru’s long, pale
fingers wrap around him. His grip is loose, reluctant, but Gaku’s hips twitch
forward all the same. He stumbles closer and grabs Satoru’s shoulders, one knee
braced against the gym mats. “Your mouth,” he gasps, fingers curling into
Satoru’s jacket. “Now.”
Satoru doesn’t move and Gaku starts to wonder if he heard him, but then Satoru
dips his head down and Gaku melts.
Gaku tips his head back and groans, eyes staring hazily up at the dark,
cobwebbed ceiling. It’s hot. Hot and warm and wet and Satoru. It’s
Satoru’smouth around him. That thought alone has him moaning and bucking his
hips, heedless of the muffled grunts of protest below him. Distantly he’s aware
of the hands scrabbling at his hips and he knows that he’s going too fast too
deep, but the itch for more more more is there and with each thrust he feels
himself getting closer.
He looks down and shivers at the sight of Satoru struggling to keep up. His
face is flushed and his eyes are wet, glasses lopsided and slipping down his
nose. Gaku plucks the glasses off his face and tosses them aside, smiling at
the dark look Satoru then flashes up at him.
He looks younger without his glasses, Gaku realizes, more expressive. “Look at
me,” he murmurs, voice strained. He pushes Satoru’s bangs back, but Satoru
stubbornly squeezes his eyes shut. Gaku huffs in amusement. Now who’s being the
child?
He tugs at Satoru’s hair sharply. “Look at me, Satoru,” he says again,
thrusting deeper until Satoru’s nose brushes his stomach. He feels Satoru start
to choke, throat tight around his cock, and Gaku bites back a low groan before
he pulls back. Satoru’s eyebrows furrow but his eyes remain shut. “Sensei,”
Gaku croons as he strokes a thumb over the knot of Satoru’s eyebrows. Blue eyes
snap open, glistening with anger as they focus on him.
“That’s it,” Gaku murmurs, rocking into his mouth faster. With Satoru staring
up at him like that Gaku can feel himself teetering at the edge. He jerks on
Satoru’s hair and snaps his hips faster. Satoru’s fingers are digging almost
painfully into Gaku’s hips, but he doesn’t mind. A part of him hopes that there
will be bruises there afterwards; blue and purple shadows of Satoru’s
fingerprints inked across his skin for him to admire at night. It would be
proof that they connected- that he belongs to Satoru as much as Satoru belongs
to him.
His release comes suddenly, almost unexpectedly. With a short, stifled cry Gaku
bucks his hips rapidly. He squeezes his eyes shut and fills Satoru’s mouth,
hissing his name over and over again. He feels Satoru jerk to pull back but he
tightens both hands in his hair and holds him close, leaning forward heavily as
his legs tremble beneath him.
It’s only when the last fragments of heat from his orgasm fades that he pulls
back and sinks into Satoru’s lap, nestling his head into the crook of his
teacher’s neck. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as Satoru. Satoru gags and
sputters and twists his head to the side to spit. Cum and saliva drip from his
slick and swollen lips and the sight sends a twinge of heat straight to Gaku’s
groin.
With a small, satisfied sigh, Gaku turns Satoru’s head towards him and presses
their lips together.
It’s not a perfect kiss. Their teeth click together painfully and the bitter
taste of cum is almost overpowering, but Gaku throws himself into the kiss all
the same. With an almost frantic energy, Gaku deepens the kiss, sliding his
tongue against Satoru’s, panting against his mouth.
He stops when he feels the press of teeth against his tongue, not quite biting
down, not yet. He pulls back slowly and licks his lips. “Were you going to bite
me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He tilts his head to the side and blinks at
Satoru’s frosty stare.
“We’re done here,” Satoru snaps, his voice flat and hard. “You got what you
wanted.”
“You weregoing to bite me!” Gaku wants to laugh. He never would have thought
Satoru would willingly harm one of his students, no matter the circumstances.
This is a side of Satoru he’s never seen before, a side he never would have
gotten to see as just his student.
Gaku cups Satoru’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks so hard his lips
pucker. “And I’m not done yet,” he murmurs. He drops his hands to Satoru’s
shoulders and pushes him down until he’s flat on his back.
Eagerly, Gaku runs his hands up Satoru’s shirt, fingers searching and tracing
the smooth planes of skin there. His shirt rides up with Gaku’s hands, bunching
awkwardly under Satoru’s arms. Curious, Gaku drags a thumb over a dark nipple.
Satoru shudders beneath him and turns his face away, hands curling into fists
at his sides.
Sensitive, Gaku notes. He smiles to himself and drags his hands down Satoru’s
sides to the waistband of his pants. He tugs at Satoru’s belt (flimsy and cheap
imitation leather) and unbuckles it with quick, nimble fingers. Satoru grabs
Gaku’s wrists and shakes his head. “You’re not going to…”
“I am,” Gaku assures him.
“But I…” Satoru flushes and breaks off, unable to admit out loud what he did
for Gaku.
“Yes,” Gaku nods and tugs the pant’s zipper down. “And I enjoyed your mouth. I
can see why people like doing it that way. But that’s not what I brought you
here for.”
“You promised-”
“I didn’t promise anything.”
Satoru snaps his mouth shut and scowls, his grip tightening around Gaku’s
wrist. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” he hisses, a note of panic
entering his voice. Gaku glances up at him, amused.
“Of course. I researched it thoroughly.” He shifts to grab the discarded bottle
of oil and gives it a little shake for emphasis.
Satoru doesn’t look reassured. His eyes dart to the bottle and Gaku can see his
breath hitch. Shaking Satoru’s loosened grip off, Gaku tugs harshly at Satoru’s
pants, shifting them down his thin hips.
Satoru jerks at the movement and starts to twist away, kicking his legs out
wildly. “No! This isn’t happening!”
Gaku lunges forward and slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. In retaliation,
Satoru lifts a leg, jabbing him painfully in the stomach with a sharp knee.
Gaku hisses, eyes narrowing into a glare. “You shouldn’t be so loud, sensei,”
he bites out. “Someone might hear you.”
Satoru freezes and Gaku can feel his panting breath beat hot against his palm.
“The students may be gone but there might be some teachers around… a late day
grading papers. You never know.” Slowly, he peels his hand back. When Satoru
remains silent Gaku smiles approvingly. “Very good.”
Satoru’s jaw twitches.
Shifting back, Gaku tugs Satoru’s pants and underwear down his legs. It’s
awkward work, with Satoru remaining stubbornly dead weight throughout the
process (and Gaku has to stop halfway to pull Satoru’s shoes off).   But any
irritation he felt fades when he gazes down at Satoru spread out beneath him,
stripped from the waist down with his shirt hiked up. He doesn’t look like a
teacher anymore.
Gaku pops the cap of the oil bottle and pours it over his fingers. It’s only
when he nearly drops the bottle that he realizes he’s trembling. Gaku stares at
his shaking hands. He can’t remember the last time he felt so alive. He thinks
about the rough slide of rope between his hands, the weight of his brother’s
body, and the sweeping moment of satisfaction when no one thought it was
anything other than suicide.
Gaku slides a slicked hand between Satoru’s legs, fingers prodding for entry.
He hears Satoru gasp, feels his legs twitch against his hips and his muscles
clench around his finger. Gaku feels his heat and he knows that this is more
than what he did to his brother or what his brother did to all those girls.
This is a connection.
And maybe Satoru feels it too (he must) because even though he has his head
turned away, gaze fixed blankly on the wall, Gaku can feel him quivering
beneath him.
Gaku wraps his other hand around Satoru’s cock and squeezes lightly. Satoru
jolts, eyes going wide. He lifts his head and stares at Gaku with a strange,
pained expression. “Don’t,” he starts to say, voice barely audible.
“It’s okay,” Gaku soothes. He’s never touched another person like this, but
he’s practiced on himself (hand fisted between his legs, panting Satoru’s name
into his pillow).
Satoru shakes his head in denial, barely able to bite back a moan when Gaku
tightens his grip. Gaku strokes slowly, in time with the shallow thrusts of his
finger, eyes watching every reaction hungrily. Satoru folds his arms over his
face, smothering his groans in the sleeves of his shirt.
Unable to wait any longer, Gaku pulls back and hooks his hands under Satoru’s
legs, pushing them back until they’re folded against his chest. Gaku stares
down at him, a small smile curling his lips. “You look so small like this,
Satoru.” He leans forward, pressing his weight down to keep Satoru’s legs in
place as he slicks himself up.
Dripping with oil, Gaku lines himself up and meets Satoru’s pleading gaze.
“Don’t do this,” Satoru whispers. “Gaku…”
Gaku’s smile turns gentle. “You finally called me by my first name.” He leans
down and kisses the corner of Satoru’s mouth. “Thank you,” he murmurs before
thrusting in.
Satoru’s pained cry is nearly drowned out by Gaku’s groan. He digs his fingers
into Satoru’s thighs and he shudders at the clenching heat around him. Panting,
Gaku stares down at where their bodies meet. Although every instinct is pushing
him to rock, thrust, fuck into the body beneath him, he forces himself to hold
still and soak in the moment. He wants to be able to look back on this later
and remember every detail perfectly- Satoru’s toes curled tight, his cheeks
flushed a perfect shade of red, hair mussed and falling across his face.
With a shudder, Gaku starts to move.
Gaku immediately starts a frantic pace. He knows his self control is slipping
and, distantly, he also knows that Satoru is likely in pain, but he can’t bring
himself to dwell on that- not with Satoru so warm and tight and perfectaround
his cock.
Satoru groans and squirms under him, legs twitching with each thrust. His hands
scrabble along the flat surface of the gym mats, nails digging into the hard
fabric for some sort of purchase. He stares at Gaku throughout it all, even as
tears slip down his cheeks.
Feeling Satoru’s gaze on him, Gaku thrusts harder, deeper, hands sliding
against Satoru’s skin as he tugs him to meet each snap of his hips- desperate
to keep those blue eyes locked on him. He won’t let Satoru drift away, not now.
He wants- no he needs Satoru to look at him the way he did when he drew his
picture. He needs Satoru to see the truth.
“We’re more… than just a teacher and his student,” Gaku whispers breathlessly,
hands tight around Satoru’s hips.
Satoru doesn’t say anything. He looks up at Gaku, his expression shuttered by a
grimace of pain. When Gaku rocks back into him he whimpers, a sound so soft and
vulnerable it sends a shiver down Gaku’s spine. Groaning, Gaku spreads Satoru’s
legs wide and leans down to trail sharp, biting kisses down his jaw. He sucks a
bruise into the pale skin of his neck, delighting in the whine that it pulls
from Satoru’s swollen lips.
He wraps both arms around Satoru and squeezes their bodies together, burying
his face in Satoru’s shoulder as he thrusts into him desperately. Satoru
shudders against him, breathing raggedly into his hair.
They’re both tacky with sweat and Gaku can feel his shirt sticking
uncomfortably to his back. His legs are starting to ache and tremble, but the
heat under his skin is building higher, driving him faster. Gaku slides his
hands up Satoru’s sides, needing to cover every inch of him. “Satoru,” he
moans, reaching up to fist one hand loosely in Satoru’s hair. “Look at me.” He
pulls back, hovering inches over Satoru’s face.
Satoru’s gaze is unfocused, eyes glazed and wet with tears. “Look at me,” Gaku
repeats, tightening his grip in Satoru’s hair. He watches Satoru’s expression
flicker then sharpen into a glare. “Like that,” Gaku murmurs, tipping his head
forward until his bangs tickle Satoru’s cheeks.
And with Satoru watching him, Gaku thrusts deeply inside him and comes.
Satoru tenses and his arms twitch like he’s about to throw Gaku off him, but
after a moment he goes limp again, eyes drifting from Gaku’s face to the
ceiling behind him.
It doesn’t matter. He saw what Gaku needed him to see. Closing his eyes, Gaku
collapses over Satoru, body trembling with exhaustion. A part of him wishes he
could fall asleep like this, curled over Satoru, still buried deep inside him.
Maybe someday.
Reluctantly, Gaku pushes himself up and pulls back until his cock slips free.
He pauses to watch in fascination as a thin, white line of semen trickles down
Satoru’s thigh.
He stands (legs trembling only slightly) and turns away to tuck himself back
into his pants and straighten his shirt. He combs his fingers through his hair
before glancing back at Satoru.
Satoru is up, leaning awkwardly against the wall as he searches for his
discarded pants. When he stoops to pick them up he freezes and sucks in a sharp
breath of pain.
“I didn’t stretch you enough,” Gaku says with a small frown. He steps over to
take Satoru’s arm and steady him, but Satoru slaps his hand away.
Gaku shrugs and steps back. “It was my first time. Next time I’ll be more
careful.”
Satoru looks up at him sharply. “Next time?” His voice sounds raw and rough.
“Next time.” Gaku says. He turns around before he can see what sort of
expression Satoru makes, unlocks the door, and slips out into the dark.
--
Except there is no next time.
Satoru’s out sick the following day, and then the next and the next. The class
is told he has the flu, but one week bleeds into the other and Satoru still
makes no appearance.
Gaku is starting to wonder if it’s worth the risk to go straight to Satoru’s
house and corner him there, but on the twelfth day of Satoru’s absence an
announcement is made.
“Due to a sudden family emergency, Fujinuma-sensei will no longer be teaching
here. He sends his regrets and hopes that you will all continue to work hard
and don’t give your new homeroom teacher a hard time.”
Gaku remembers how it felt when Spice died; a pang of grief interrupting the
numbness of everyday life.
This is similar, he thinks. But instead of grief he feels rage.
He grips the sides of his desk so hard his knuckles bleach white.
Satoru didn’t die, after all, he ran away.
Another rejection, spat right in his face.
Gaku takes a deep breath and swallows down the howl of anger pricking at the
back of his throat. Slowly, he loosens his grip on his desk. His expression
settles into something carefully blank. He taps a finger against his desk,
beating out a steady rhythm.
Gaku is sixteen years old. In a few months he will be seventeen.
In one year he will graduate high school.
Gaku has managed to live sixteen years without Satoru- he can handle one more.
--
Life without Satoru isn’t really a life.
It took him longer than he thought it would to track Satoru down. Three years,
to be exact. Three years of empty smiles and meaningless gestures. Sometimes,
Gaku thinks he would have gone mad, would have done anything to feel alive
again, if it hadn’t been for Satoru’s manga.
It came out at some point in his last year of high school and Gaku latched onto
it, devoured it like a man gasping for air. It told a dark story about a grim
reaper and it resonated with Gaku the same way Satoru’s little sketches always
did.
Satoru’s manga are the first to be unpacked in Gaku’s tiny Tokyo apartment.
While the past three years may have changed Gaku (made him taller, broader in
the shoulders, sharper in the lines of his face) Satoru looks untouched by
time. He looks just as Gaku remembers him; pale and thin with a dark mop of
hair, still wearing the same cheap wire-frame glasses.
Gaku looks at him and feels his heart start.
There he is, crowded into the corner of a café with a half eaten sandwich and a
mug of untouched coffee. He’s turned away from Gaku, bent over a sketchpad, and
the sight is so achingly familiar it’s like they’re back in school.
But they’re not in school. Not anymore.
Gaku weaves his way through the crowd and places his hand over Satoru’s
shoulder, the touch light and familiar.
“I found you,” he breathes.
“And, now, there’s nothing that will get between us.”
End Notes
     phew.
     I wanted to get this posted for the holidays as a sort of present to
     my favorite fandom but it ended up WAY longer than I intended.
     Instead I'm posting this just in time for my own birthday haha
     chat me up on my_Tumblr
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