Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7689244.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gakuen_Heaven_2_~Double_Scramble~
  Relationship:
      Sakaki_Sojiro/Asahina_Yuki, Jokawa_Kiyotada/Sonoda_Eiji
  Character:
      Asahina_Yuki, Sonoda_Eiji, Jokawa_Kiyotada, Sakaki_Sojiro
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Secret_Relationship, Age_Difference,
      Masturbation
  Series:
      Part 17 of Ace_of_Hearts
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-05 Words: 8068
****** Scent of You ******
by Rahenna
Summary
     No sex? No problem. Yuki (somewhat unintentionally) swipes the
     professor's shirt from the laundry basket and takes it back to the
     dorm for an entire week.
Notes
     Contains spoilers for Gakuen Heaven 2. If you intend to play the game
     yourself, reading this may ruin your fun a bit. :)
     Originally posted here:
     Adults_Always_Lie
     If you want to know more about the Gakuen Heaven series, please visit
     my fansite for game translations and summaries:
     welcome_to_Heaven
See the end of the work for more notes
Saturday, October 14, 2017
My usual weekend visit to Professor Sakaki's apartment had been cut short by
the early sunset, a sure sign that winter was creeping up on us. The twilight
had already become an unconscious signal to my body, indicating that the time
for fun date activities was over, and that they would soon be replaced by a
more sensual enjoyment.
Except I'd been sent home at the first sign that I might break the ban I'd
imposed on sex. My resolve had disappeared like cotton candy in the rain as I
watched the professor change out of his dress shirt, every centimeter of bare
skin a feast to my hungry eyes. The want must have shown on my face, because he
immediately ducked into the bathroom to throw on his shapeless, fluffy
bathrobe. Less than five minutes after that, I was walking back to the bus
stop, pouting all the way.
But the professor didn't know that I'd claimed a prize before getting shooed
out of the apartment.
It had been an accident, really. The vivid green shirt lying on top of the
other clothes in the laundry basket had drawn my eye, and before I knew it, I'd
shifted my attention from packing my school bag to touching the smooth fabric.
It was soft against my fingers, conjuring memories of all the times the
professor had worn it while we were together. Not all that often, since we'd
only been dating for about three months, but it was his favorite, appearing
several times though I'd never seen him repeat any other non-work top.
And when I rubbed my cheek against the silky surface, remembering how the
fabric tickled my bare skin, my nose caught a faint and familiar scent. I was
just about to sniff at the collar when the professor returned from the
bathroom, startling me. In that moment of panic, I ended up stuffing the shirt
into my bag instead of putting it back in the laundry basket.
"What are you blushing for, Asahina? Do you like my bathrobe that much?"
"N, no, that's not it!" I'd protested, hurrying to close up my bag - though if
I was honest, he didn't look bad in it either. "Anyway, I'd better go! I'll see
you on Monday!"
~~~
I got back to my room about an hour later, after a brief stop to pick up some
snacks and a new notebook to use during tutoring. No one saw me on the way back
to the dorm, which was lucky; everyone seemed to know that I stayed out on
Saturday nights, and I didn't feel like coming up with an excuse for returning
early this time.
My room was dark when I got back, and even when I turned on the overhead
lights, it was dim inside with the curtains drawn and blocking out the last of
the daylight. I put the stuff I'd bought down on the low table and tossed my
bookbag on the floor, thinking I'd go have dinner, but I paused at the sight of
the strange lump inside my bag. My heart thudded in my chest, and I dropped to
my knees, throwing open the bag to retrieve a wad of wrinkled green fabric.
It was the professor's favorite dress shirt, the one he'd been wearing earlier
when we went for a walk, a beautifully fitted dark green shirt with subtle
pinstripes and iridescent mother of pearl buttons. I uncrinkled the fabric,
giving it a light shake that helped get rid of the worst of the wrinkles, and
held it out in front of me. It was easy to imagine his form filling the smooth
fabric, and I could just see the way it wrapped around his tall, slim body.
But stronger than that image was the impression of scent. I pulled the shirt to
me, burying my nose in the collar, and my senses were flooded with a mix of
smells that were unmistakably his. The sharp, burned smell of cigarette smoke
overshadowed but couldn't completely mask the sweetness of expensive cologne,
musky vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. I sniffed my way around the collar,
finding a different scent at the middle; the clean smell of his usual shampoo,
and along with that, the tang of the sweat that had moistened the nape of his
neck.
"Ngh," I sighed through my nose, eyes shut tightly as I inhaled the combination
of scents that added up to the unique fragrance of Professor Sakaki. A little
twinge of excitement stirred in my gut, a subtle shock that lasted only a
moment, but left a lingering impression.
My cheeks colored as I realized that I was getting aroused by sniffing a shirt,
but that vague sense of guilt was immediately swept away by a rush of
irritation. I may have been the one who said we couldn't have sex until the
health fair results were in, but the whole mess was the professor's fault in
the first place! It wasn't fair that he'd sent me home just for looking at his
bare chest. If he didn't want me to look, he shouldn't have taken his shirt off
in front of me!
"Ugh, it's not fair," I grumbled, clutching the shirt. As my fingers shifted on
the fabric, they encountered a cold spot, slightly damp, and I pulled it away
from my face. I didn't remember putting a water bottle in my bag, so why would
it be damp? I moved the fabric around, somewhat worried that I'd already
spilled something on it, and realized that there was a small sweat stain in the
armpit. Oh, that must have been what the professor meant... it was already
October, but the day had been unexpectedly warm and sunny, and he'd complained
about feeling a bit overheated. And I knew he hated getting sweaty, especially
when he was wearing something nice.
But I actually didn't mind his sweat, not when we were in bed together. It
wasn't really a bad smell, just different, stronger than the usual personal
scent that I could sniff at his collar or behind his ear. Before I could think,
I'd brought the shirt to my face again, burying my nose in the armpit. The
smell instantly conjured fragments of memory: a sheen of sweat on the
professor's broad chest as he leaned over my body; the slow-motion slide of a
single drop winding its way down the side of his neck; the slickness of smooth
skin beneath my fingers as I grabbed his shoulders.
"Mmm," I murmured into the fabric, the tip of my tongue darting out to touch
the damp spot. It wasn't wet enough to taste like anything, not really, but my
memory supplied the impression of saltiness. I breathed in the scent, letting
it fill my consciousness, and again there was a twinge of pleasure, stronger
this time.
I took the shirt from my face, staring at it for a few seconds. The feelings it
managed to stir in me, just with the professor's familiar scent and the smooth
softness of the cotton fabric, were almost like magic. I rubbed my cheek
against the breast of the shirt, remembering the times I'd been cuddled up to
the professor on the couch, my face resting on his chest. Or the time he'd
hastily dumped his clothing on the bed, not caring that I squirmed on top of
the pile while he touched me all over with his warm hands and bold tongue.
"Ugh, that's it!" I announced to no one at all, jumping to my feet with my
prize clutched in both hands. If I was going to be denied the sex I wanted,
fine, but I wasn't going to just accept it quietly! I switched on the small
study lamp on my desk, then turned off the overhead lights. Objects illuminated
by the dim light cast long, deep shadows, reminding me of the soft lamplight
and strong shadows in the professor's bedroom. I dumped the green cloth on my
bed, hands trembling as I peeled off my clothing, letting it fall to the floor
without caring where it landed. My heart raced as I picked up the shirt, first
cuddling it to my chest to feel its softness, and then as I shook it out and
slipped my arms into the sleeves, settling it over my too-small body.
I climbed onto the bed and curled up on top of the blanket, eyes dropping shut
as I pressed my hands to my chest. With my eyes closed, it was easy to imagine
that I was in the professor's bedroom, lying on the wide, comfortable bed we
shared. And with the professor's scent surrounding me, my memories stirred,
conjuring his image and his voice. I could imagine that the hands pressing the
smooth fabric to my skin weren't my own. I could almost feel the warmth of lips
against my ear, the faint stirring of breath as he murmured in a husky voice.
Where do you want me to touch you, Asahina?
"Everywhere," I sighed, my own voice barely more than a whisper. My hands moved
over my chest, brushing lightly over my nipples, still hidden beneath the
fabric. I shifted about, and the shirt tickled my skin, that light touch more
arousing than the press of my own fingertips. I felt my nipples tighten as I
imagined the professor embracing me, his scent and cologne surrounding me as
his half-open shirt rubbed against my bare chest.
No. More than imagination, it was memory. In the darkened dorm room that could
easily be mistaken for the apartment, surrounded by the comfort of my lover's
clothing and scent, memories came easily to the forefront of my mind. I didn't
have to fill in the gaps with what-ifs and guesses; we'd only been together for
a few months, barely more than a dozen weekends, but my body and my brain
already knew the story of our love.
Kiss me.
No one was there to respond to my unspoken desire, and I touched my fingertips
to my lips, tracing the shape of my lower lip. He would touch me like that
sometimes, the warmth of his skin lingering like an afterimage as he studied
me. In those moments, I forgot that I was small and skinny, with a face that
was more cute than handsome. The way the professor watched me, the way he
touched me, made me feel like I was the most attractive person in the entire
world.
I kissed the back of my hand, wishing it was him. I cracked my eyes open just
enough to see a blurry image of my own fingers, so indistinct that I could
superimpose the image of the professor's hands on my own. I loved watching his
hands move as he wrote on the board, each movement elegant and precise, a
reflection of his mature personality. And during tutoring, it was all I could
do to focus on my studies instead of the way his fingers traced the lines in my
workbook, remembering how they dipped into my clothing to trace the shape of my
body.
My sigh came out as a quiet nghof want, and my hands went to the front of the
shirt, fingers unsteady as I undid the first few buttons. My hands slipped
inside, fingertips warm against the smooth skin of my chest, and my eyes
dropped shut again as I remembered the professor's touch. His hands were so
strong and capable, but the way he touched me was so delicate, not with the
fear of breaking me, but the reverence of handling a precious treasure. That's
what he called me in his phone, treasure. I'd caught a glimpse of the screen
before he could hide it away in his pocket, and though I pretended I hadn't
seen, I couldn't get the image out of my head.
Treasure.That's how the professor thought of me, his own feelings so intense
that he had to hide them from me. But I could tell, even if I'd never seen the
word on the screen. His hands wrote the story of his love on my body, and that
could never be hidden from me.
Hands. I miss your hands...
I pulled the front of the shirt open a little more, exposing my chest. With my
eyes half-shut, I pressed the pads of my fingers to my skin again, first
tracing around my nipples, then rubbing over them lightly. A quiet sigh came
from my nose, little more than a heavy breath, and I did it again. Sometimes
the professor liked to lick my chest, using his tongue to stroke the stiff
little nub, and that felt good too, really good, but even so, I always focused
on the hand he used on the other side of my chest. It wasn't just that his
tongue was hidden from my view, I just... I just liked watching his fingers
work at my body, rubbing and rolling and even pinching lightly.
I mimicked his actions with my own hands, squirming on top of the blanket as
the memory of the real thing flooded my senses. It was easy enough to slip into
that memory with his scent surrounding me. You smell so good,I thought, taking
a deep breath. I loved to take in that scent as he touched me, wrapping my arms
around his shoulders and pulling myself close, burying my face in the side of
his neck. The shirt collar carried all those familiar smells, all blended
together into the most enticing cologne that I'd ever breathed in. I could
almost hear the professor's voice, that quiet chuckle in his deep tone that
made me feel like I was about to melt. I didn't care that he found my
exploration strange or amusing, because I knew he enjoyed it too, the heat of
his pulse quickening beneath my lips and tongue.
Are you a dog, Asahina?
Hmm, maybe I am,I'd say in response, grabbing his hand and bringing it to my
face, first to sniff at the familiar scent of myself on his fingertips, then to
suck his fingers into my mouth, tasting it directly. Sometimes he'd blush when
I did that, though it was hard to tell when his face was already flushed with
excitement. He always denied it when I pointed it out.
You're really cute, aren't you, Professor...?
When I said things like that, he'd blush even more, turning the conversation
back on me and pointing out something cute or needy that I was doing. But I was
sure he secretly liked when I noticed his honest feelings, since he was always
praising me for my sincerity. I wanted to see more of that, more of the self
that he kept hidden from others. Not just his genuine reactions and the moments
I caught him off guard, but also the times that his normally tight grip on his
self-control slipped. It hadn't taken me long to realize that I could entice
him into a rough kiss or pinch with a quiet groan, or earn a deep thrust if I
squeezed inside. It was one thing for the professor to lose control as he
rushed toward orgasm, and very different when he slipped as a direct result of
something I did.
I can make an adult do exactly what I want.My blush deepened as that thought
flickered across my mind, a little gasp of excitement escaping my mouth. He
doesn't say no. He doesn't want to say no. All I have to do is make a face, or
a noise, or move just right... and I can get anything I want.
The shiver that ran down my spine at that thought had almost nothing to do with
the way I was pinching my own nipples.
I brought the fingers of my right hand to my lips, drawing them in, licking
delicately at the tips of my index and middle fingers. There was nothing to
taste there, but the familiar action and the memory was just as arousing as the
hand that was still rubbing at my chest. I peeked down at myself, still sucking
on my fingers; I was getting hard, the deep green of the shirt pushing up from
my groin, a small spot of almost black dampness at the very tip.
I shouldn't stain it,came the dull, almost idle, observation, and I let my hand
slip from my chest and down my body, grasping the hem of the shirt. When I
pulled the fabric away, a sticky thread stretched between the shirt and the tip
of my penis, glittering briefly in the dim light before it broke.
Am I already that excited?
I brought my fingers back to my mouth, another quiet gasp slipping out as I
parted my lips to accept them. It was really strange, getting so aroused just
from touching myself. Sure, I'd done it before, plenty of times, but I never
really understood how other guys could get obsessed with it. Now that I had
memories of real sex with someone I loved instead of relying on vague
imagining, it was easy to conjure those images and relive intimate moments.
My thoughts slipped away again, drowned out by the pleasant tingle of arousal
that left my hair standing on end. I couldn't focus on anything but the way my
heart raced in response to the teasing of my nipple and the quiet slurping of
my own fingers. My skin felt hot, almost uncomfortable, and I could already
feel dampness gathering at the back of my neck and moistening my hair. I panted
raggedly around my fingers, and I finally pulled them away to take a deep,
steadying breath, holding them up in front of me. The way my skin glistened
wetly in the dim light made my heart leap.
It would probably feel good if I touched myself with my wet hand.
"Ngh," I groaned, eyes squeezing shut. That groan became a sharp gasp as I
wrapped my damp fingers around the hot, hard length of my shaft, softening to a
hiss as I let my hand slide down and up once. The deep breath I took drew more
of the professor's scent into my lungs, and my entire body twitched at the
memory of his eyes looking up at my face as he sucked me into his mouth. He
never hesitated, staring directly at me as he swallowed me deeply, until I had
to look away in order to keep from losing all of my self-control. It was so
hard to resist my body's urge to thrust, the monster in me that demanded more,
insisting that I should grab at his hair and let my hips move. The professor
would always hold me steady, making sure I didn't accidentally hurt him.
But I was alone in my own bed, with nothing to stop me from thrusting up into
and against my sliding hand. The saliva wasn't nearly enough lubrication for my
frantic movements, but the extra friction felt insanely good, more intense than
the softer wetness of the professor's throat. The hand on my chest finally gave
up, sliding down over my belly to join my other hand on my erection, freeing me
to move my still-damp fingers up to rub at the sticky liquid gathered at the
very tip.
A hot moan came from my throat at the touch to the most sensitive area, ending
in a gasp as I struggled to contain my voice. I knew it was impossible, just
like it was during the real thing. Rather, the professor encouraged me to let
go and make as much noise as I wanted, the heat of his lips brushing my ear,
breath tickling my skin.
I love hearing how much you want me, Asahina. Don't hold back.
"Mph, Professor," I grunted, turning my face to half-press it into my pillow.
That motion also drove my nose into the inside of the collar, where the scent
of cologne was most concentrated. My tongue darted out, tasting the fabric and
the hints of alcohol and sweat that lingered there. I shivered again, a spark
of pleasure shooting straight down my spine and into my groin, forcing more
fluid out onto my teasing fingers. Sometimes the professor would use that as he
moved his hand on me, and I did the same, moving my dry hand out of the way.
That felt even better, the tackiness of the liquid making my hand catch in
several places, the pull of skin against skin almost too intense to bear. I
rolled over onto my side, shoving my face harder into my pillow to stifle
another moan. But it was too hard to breathe like that, and I ended up half-
curled on top of the blanket, one hand working frantically at my shaft while
the other cupped and lightly squeezed my balls, unable to hold back the series
of whining moans that flowed in an endless stream from my open mouth.
I can't believe this is so exciting... I can't...
Despite that, I missed his touch. I wanted him, not myself, not the smell of my
lover on a shirt or the feel of his clothing against my bare skin. Tears welled
in my eyes at the unfairness of it all, forced to settle for a mere appetizer
instead of the full course that I wanted so desperately.
Maybe... maybe this could be even better. I slowed the movements of my hands,
chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. My heart raced even faster as
I considered it.
I could touch more. There.
My face was already red, but I felt the tingle of fresh blood in my cheeks. I'd
never dared to touch myself like that before, not when I was by myself. I'd do
a little as a tease when the professor was watching, a little prelude to the
real thing, but I'd never fully prepared myself without his help.
I, I don't have to go that far... just a touch... right?
I tentatively lifted one leg, sliding a hand down and back into the space I'd
opened between my cheeks, face on fire as my fingertips brushed against the
coarse hair that was hidden inside. I stretched my fingers a little more,
pressing the pad of my middle finger to the small, tight pucker, and jumped
with a yelp as it twitched under my finger. My penis mirrored the reaction, the
strong twitch against my other hand making my heart leap.
I didn't have the guts to try pushing a finger inside, so I just rubbed at that
twitchy spot, eyes shut and my face scrunched up as I tried to resist the
excitement of doing something so obscene. With my eyes closed and my ragged
breath in my ears, it was easy to conjure the professor's image in my mind,
remembering the lewd whisper of his strained voice and the firm touch of his
hand.
Do you already want me so badly, Asahina?
"Yes..." I half-moaned, half-sobbed into the pillow. "I want you..."
What do you want?
"Don't... pretend..."
Rub, poke, thrust, twitch, drip. My heart pounded so hard that I swore my body
trembled with each beat. Everything felt hot and tense and good, the familiar
tightness in my gut promising the satisfaction of release in the near future,
but it still wasn't what I really wanted.
Inside, I want you inside, but you're not even here...
My eyes squeezed shut, forcing out tears of frustration and want, but even
those feelings were quickly smothered by the pleasure I was giving myself.
Between my rough breaths and half-stifled squeaks of excitement, I could still
hear the subtle wet sounds of my sticky fingers, as if all my senses had been
amplified by my arousal. I slid my hand up, fingers collecting the fluid that
had pooled at the tip, letting out a quiet moan that would have been
embarrassing if someone else had heard it.
Right then, I didn't care. All I wanted was to rush to the end, climbing higher
and higher toward the peak with each movement, stroking and squeezing with one
hand while the fingers of the other pressed and rubbed frantically at my
shivering entrance. My spine curled like a spring, coiling tighter in
preparation of bouncing back all at once, and the tightness in my belly grew
hotter. Close, really close now,I thought, the sweat at my hairline beginning
to leak down my neck.
Don't hold back, Asahina.
"You too," I groaned, the mere memory of the professor losing control as he
approached release enough to push me right to the edge. I hovered there for a
moment, breath caught in my throat, chest impossibly tight as my hands froze.
And then there was a hot rush, a shiver that shook my entire body as my penis
jerked in my hand, the first powerful twitch splattering my sweaty skin,
quickly followed by a series of less intense shivers. My legs squeezed shut
reflexively as the surge of pleasure forced a high-pitched cry from my lips,
every short and desperate breath punctuated by a squeak. I cracked open one eye
to watch the milky liquid spray and drip onto my hand and arm, some even
smearing against my inner thigh.
It felt like forever before I was able to force my legs apart to free my hand.
I rolled over onto my back with a shuddering sigh, reaching to wipe sweat from
my forehead with the back of my hand. My arm fell to the side, hand resting on
the pillow as I struggled to catch my breath. I pulled my other hand from my
softening organ, briefly considering wiping my palm on the blanket before
deciding it would be a hassle to clean later, and tried to place my dirty hand
on my heaving chest. My fingers were unsteady, and they brushed against the
open edge of the shirt when I moved.
I gasped and pulled my hand away.
"Ugh... the shirt..."
I pushed myself up a little, peering down to examine the fabric. There was no
stain where my fingers had touched, but farther down, at the hem of the
shirt...
"Crap," I muttered, eyes widening as I took in the extent of the damage. The
inside of the shirt's left front panel, which had been directly under my butt
when I'd curled up on my side, was peppered with tiny splatters of wet semen. I
reached down to brush them away, but all that did was smear the drops around,
grinding them into the shirt's fibers.
A cold panic gripped my heart. The professor's favorite shirt... I stained
it... what am I gonna do?!?
Another part of my mind countered, this whole thing is Professor Sakaki's fault
in the first place. If his shirt gets messed up, too bad. Anyway, it's just
cotton, so you can wash it when you're done.
I sank back into the pillows with a quiet grunt of agreement. Yeah, that was
right. All I had to do was wash the shirt when I finished using it.
My eyes dropped shut and I let out a trembling sigh of satisfaction. If wearing
the shirt was going to make touching myself thatexciting, then I was going to
take full advantage. After all, it didn't matter when I washed the shirt, as
long as it got washed, right?
I mentally apologized to the professor as I turned my face to sniff the collar
again, the strong scent stirring up the glowing embers of my spent arousal.
Well, maybe not all that spent,I amended, tongue flicking out to moisten my
lips as I brought my hands to my chest once again.
One more time... then I'll take a shower and go eat...
I blushed as I imagined the professor's response.
You're choosing sex over food? You really have changed over these past few
months, Asahina...
"Shut up," I murmured, nibbling at the fabric and wishing it was his ear.
I barely made it to the cafeteria before it closed for the night.
~~~
Friday, October 20, 2017
"Eiji, carry my laundry basket too," Kiyo whined, depositing his overloaded
basket on top of mine without waiting for a response.
"Hey, cut it out, I'm not your personal slave!" I tried shoving the basket back
at him, but Kiyo just placed his hand on the side of the basket to keep it from
toppling over. "Ugh, don't make me carry this, your stinky gym clothes are
right under my nose now!"
"Buuut Hayato has extra practice today, so there's no one to carry my clothes."
I swear even his voice was pouting.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Stop pretending to be cute! Anyway, you shouldn't
be asking Hayato to do stuff like this either, he deserves better than to sniff
your dirty underwear!"
"You're such a hypocrite, Eiji." Kiyo leaned in, voice dropping lower. "You
don't seem to care about what I'm sniffing when I shove my face into your
crotch."
My face turned as red as my hair. "Kiyo! What the hell, don't talk about stuff
like that in the hallway!" I desperately tried to peer around the stack of
laundry. The hallway seemed deserted, but you never knew who was listening in.
"Anyway, we're not doing that now so shut up!"
"Heh, only because you freaked out over those health fair flyers. It has
nothing to do with me." Kiyo twirled the end of his ponytail around his finger.
"Geez, Eiji, you're such a big baby. I told you, I don't have anything. The
only thing you're going to feel when you get your results is disappointment
over missing a month of epic blowjobs."
"S, shut up, Kiyo! You're just trying to manipulate me, and it's not gonna work
this time!" I stomped off down the hall, ignoring the laughter at my back, and
shouldered my way into the laundry room. It was usually deserted on Friday
evenings, since everyone else was stupid and waited until the weekend to wash
their stuff. I didn't have time to deal with the madness of a hundred guys
trying to do laundry all at once - especially since everyone was too lazy to
come back and get their stuff out of the machines, clogging up the entire
production - so I always did mine during the week. I had no idea when Kiyo did
his laundry, or rather, had his laundry done for him. Probably whenever Hayato
had free time to be his personal servant.
I dropped the baskets onto the large folding table with a sigh.
"Oh, Sonoda-san! So you're doing laundry too?"
I jumped, barely managing to bite back a yelp of surprise, and peered around
the mountain of laundry. "Oh, Yuki-kun, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be
here. I guess you do your laundry during the week too, since you have busy
weekends."
My face colored a bit. Busy weekends getting boned by my cousin...
He blushed too. "Uh, yeah, haha. I don't want to get caught up in the Sunday
evening rush, so I always try to do mine on Thursday or Friday instead." His
eyes grew round as he took in the stack of laundry baskets. "Wow, that's a
lot... I guess you don't do laundry every week, Sonoda-san?"
"Ugh, this isn't all mine, Kiyo forced his stuff onto me. He'll probably be
along once he stops gloating about how he got me to do his personal chores." I
took Kiyo's basket off the stack and shoved it to one side. Carrying his crap
was bad enough; there was no way in hell I was gonna sort out his clothes, and
I definitely wasn't touching his underwear! I dumped out my own clothes and got
to work. Yuki-kun seemed very interested in what I was doing.
"Wow, Sonoda-san, you're going to separate stuff out? My mom told me I should,
but... I kinda feel like there no point, since it's only a week's worth of
socks and stuff..."
I shrugged. "It's just a habit, I guess. Plus I go through a lot more clothes
than you, since I have to change after working in the cafeteria. I don't want
to smell like a kitchen all day."
"Haha, that's true. If I smelled like the kitchen, I might want to eat myself!"
If anyone else had said something so stupid, I would have laughed, but knowing
Yuki-kun, he was probably sincere. "Please don't eat yourself, Yuki-kun."
"Well, I wouldn't really... but I might be tempted!" He turned back toward the
machines and began loading his clothes into the one nearest the window - the
best one in the entire laundry room, and the one I'd been hoping to snag by
coming early. Figures, of course the lucky boy would get the best machine. I
watched enviously as he tossed in his uniform shirts and pants, then upended
the basket to dump out the rest of his clothes, socks and underwear and... a
green dress shirt.
Oh my god, why do you have that, and why here?!
Not just any shirt, it was my cousin's favorite 'dressy casual' top, a designer
brand made of the finest cotton from an island somewhere or whatever, soft as
silk and even more expensive.
"Ah, wait, Yuki-kun, you can't just throw that shirt in the washing machine!"
"Huh?" He glanced at me, confused.
"That green shirt," I pointed to the sleeve that was poking up out of the
washer, "you have to be more careful with something fancy like that."
His face turned red. "O, oh... but it's cotton, so I thought..."
"Yeah, but that's not some cheap shirt like our uniforms. Get that out of the
washer. You have to undo the buttons and wash it on delicate, in cold water, so
the color doesn't fade." The professor would probably never stop bitching if
his precious shirt faded in the wash.
"Wow, Sonoda-san, you know a lot about dress shirts!"
Was it really that weird to know it was a bad idea to throw an expensive shirt
into the washer? "It's because I have to wear nicer things sometimes for
catered events or special occasions. Anyway, are there any spots on that shirt?
If there's any stains at all, you have to pretreat those. There should be some
stuff in with the other laundry supplies..."
Yuki-kun's back stiffened, and he yanked the shirt back out of the washer,
balling it up and holding it to his chest in a pathetic attempt to hide it from
my view. "Uh, stains, haha, yeah... I guess there's some of those..."
Gross. I didn't even want to think about what those stains might be, though it
was pretty obvious. "Um, Yuki-kun, if you scrunch it up like that, it could
make the stains worse."
He clung stubbornly to the fabric. "W, well, I'm about to treat them, so it
doesn't matter, right?"
I sighed. At least I didn't have to see the evidence of his wanking. "Yeah, I
guess..."
As I was digging through the supply cabinet, the door squeaked open again. "Oh,
Ace-kun," Kiyo's grating singsong voice called out, "that's a nice shirt, where
did you get it?"
Oh shit, Kiyo, don't you dare!I whipped around, glaring at him. "Don't ask
stupid questions, Kiyo, I'm sure Yuki-kun's parents wanted him to have at least
one nice shirt."
"But I've never seen Yuki-kun wear this shirt," Kiyo pointed out, marching
across the room to take a closer look. Yuki-kun clutched it closer to his
chest, trying to hide it inside his uniform jacket. Kiyo ignored that, reaching
out to rub the fabric between his fingers. "Mm, good quality."
"Um, please don't touch it, Joker-san." Yuki-kun took a small step back. "I,
I'm just borrowing it..."
"Hm, hm, I see... could it be that this shirt belongs to Ace-kun's rumored
boyfriend?"
Panic rose in me just as surely as it did in Yuki-kun; the first year just
stared at Kiyo, face completely red and unable to protest. Well, I had plenty
of protest for both of us. "Kiyo! Don't repeat stupid rumors you heard around
the school! Who cares where that shirt came from?"
"I do," Kiyo replied simply, a sweet smile on his face.
"Well, too bad, because the only thing that matters is getting it clean! If
you're not gonna help, then go away and take care of your own laundry or
something!"
"Eiji," his tone was tense with warning as he closed the space between us,
leaning in to murmur, "don't tell me what to do."
"Then you," I hissed, "don't cause trouble. Not about this."
His eye narrowed. "I'm already missing out on a lot of fun because you freaked
out, Eiji. I'm not going to let you get in the way this time."
"Look, I'll do something fun for you, just leave Yuki-kun alone!" I peeked
around him to find the Ace watching us, a puzzled expression on his face. I
sighed. "Fine, I'll do your laundry for you today, alright? Just don't pick on
him."
"Today andnext week. Including folding and putting it away."
I wanted to punch the smug smile off of his face. "Wha!? But you wear twenty
different outfits in a week, you slob!"
"How rude, Eiji. I'm not a slob, I'm being extra clean by not wearing the same
thing for too long."
"Yeah, but you don't have to wash everything you tried on for five seconds
before changing into something different!" I shouted.
"U, um... please stop fighting..." Yuki-kun sounded like a small child who was
trying to stop his parents from having an argument.
"We're not fighting!" I yelled, and felt guilty immediately as Yuki-kun
stiffened as if in fright. "Uh, I mean... we just got a little loud."
"Wedidn't do anything," Kiyo pointed out. "You were the one who started yelling
for no reason." He rolled his eye to the ceiling. "Really, Eiji, you're always
going on and on about how I'm difficultor unreasonable,but you're always the
one who loses your temper first. I'm not going to sit back and let you say rude
things about me without defending myself."
"It's not rude if it's true," I huffed.
"The wayyou say things is annoying, Eiji. You could announce that you'd just
found the cure for cancer, and that nasally whine of yours would make it sound
more like a nuclear war had started."
"Kiyo, why are you such a jerk?! Do you really have to say stuff like that
about my voice? I don't have any control over how it sounds! So excuuuse me!"
There was a quiet snicker, and I glared at him, daring him to say something.
Except Kiyo's expression hadn't changed at all; he was still frowning at me,
eye narrowed in irritation. Then who...? A little huff came from behind me, the
unmistakable sound of someone stifling a giggle and failing miserably, and I
turned around with a scowl.
"Yuki-kun, what's so funny?"
"Oh, uh, it's nothing! I was just thinking..."
Kiyo peered at him. "Hm, what is it, Ace-kun?"
"Well," he fidgeted a bit, still hugging the dirty shirt to his chest, "when
you and Sonoda-san fight like that, I just get this feeling. You two really do
seem closer than friends..."
I choked. Kiyo just laughed in that annoying way of his, throwing back his head
and letting it out like Yuki-kun had said the funniest thing in the world.
Geez, you jerk, it's not that funny!
"Ugh, we're barelyfriends. Mostly because we have to work together in Durak."
"You could just quit, then. I wouldn't stop you, and neither would Hayato.
Things would be about a thousand times less annoying." Kiyo sidled up beside
me, rubbing his shoulder against mine. "That's a good idea. If I pay you to
quit Durak, will you leave?"
"Shut up, Kiyo!" I shoved him away with my own shoulder. "You are such a jerk!"
He just laughed. I felt my face turning red. "A, anyway, Yuki-kun, don't listen
to this idiot!" I turned my back on Kiyo, rolling my eyes, and held up the
bottle of spot cleaner. "How about you get to work on those stains?"
~~~
Saturday, October 21, 2017
Asahina came over to the apartment immediately after school ended for the day,
his bright smile almost too cheery as he explained that he was going to stash
his bag in the bedroom instead of leaving it in the living room as usual.
"I thought it would be nice to keep things a little neater around here, so I'll
just bring the stuff I need out here instead of leaving the entire bag."
I glanced up from my book, trying not to smile at his weak attempt at
deception. There was an uneven lump at one end of his bookbag, not immediately
obvious, but easy for me to detect since I knew it would be there. I could only
hope that he'd remembered to wash it when he was done. "That seems like more
work, doesn't it? If your bag is out here, you can clean up faster." A wry
smile curled my lips. "After all, we won't be spending any time in the
bedroom."
His cheeks pinked. "Uh, well, I still want to try it."
"Okay, but come right back, I have something I want to show you."
"Well, I have to go to the bathroom too, so it'll be just a couple of minutes,
okay?"
I waved him off with one hand. "Of course, it's nothing that urgent. Take your
time."
"Riiight!" He zipped off into the bedroom.
God, Asahina, you're a terrible liar...
I watched him disappear through the open door, waiting several seconds before
setting my book aside and slowly getting up from the couch to follow him,
taking care to avoid a squeaky floorboard. My sock-clad feet were silent
against the bare floor, and I crept across the room with a delicacy that would
have amused anyone who watched me do it. A quick peek into the room confirmed
my suspicions; Asahina was kneeling on the floor in front of the laundry
basket, the flap of his bag open as he rummaged around inside. A moment later,
he pulled out a crumpled mass of green fabric, holding it to his chest with one
hand as he used the other to dig into the dirty laundry, intending to conceal
the shirt among the other clothes.
He was so intent on his mission that I was able to come up directly behind him
without being noticed. "Did you enjoy my shirt, Asahina?"
His back stiffened and an incoherent scream echoed in the room. "Uwaaaaaaaagh!"
I knelt behind him, laughing, and slipped my arms around his shoulders to
nuzzle his hair. His face was already so hot I could feel the warmth against my
own cheek, and his body grew even more tense at my touch. "Shh, Asahina, relax.
Did you really think I wouldn't notice my favorite shirt suddenly
disappearing?"
"B, but," his voice was small and choked with embarrassment, "you didn't say
anything..."
"Of course not," I petted his wiry hair, attempting to soothe him. "I wanted
you to have fun. You would have been too embarrassed if you realized that I
knew you had it, right?"
His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he allowed himself to lean back against my
chest. "W, well..."
"It's okay, Asahina, I'm flattered that you wanted to claim a token like that."
I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed the back of his ear. "Did you
wear it and think of me?"
His ear burned beneath my lips. "U, um... yes..."
"You're so honest, Asahina." I squeezed him tight. "Feel free to borrow
anything else you like. I don't mind."
He squirmed away, nearly babbling in his panic. "Uh, um! I washed it!" Asahina
held up the shirt, shaking it out so I could see. "S, so, it should go back in
the closet, not in here with dirty stuff!"
I wanted to keep holding him, but I knew that would only lead to trouble, so I
reluctantly let him go and pushed myself to my feet. "Hmm, it might need some
ironing after being scrunched up in your bag for a while. That's the only bad
thing about this shirt; it's a bit fussy." I took it from his hands, eyes drawn
to the hem, where a few faint spots remained, barely more than a shadow of a
stain. Whatever spot cleaner he'd used, it had done a pretty good job, but I'd
have to take it in for a professional cleaning later. That would be a hassle,
but...
Considering how my careless actions hurt him, if Asahina wants to swipe my
dirty laundry and use it as a masturbatory aid, that's a very small price to
pay.
And it was incredibly flattering, the image of my young lover clad in nothing
but my favorite shirt, squirming on top of the bed as he explored his own body,
remembering me. Knowing Asahina, he'd probably sniffed it all over, burying his
face in the armpits and collar, even long after the scents had faded. My eyes
were drawn to the barely visible stains again. It was a bit of a shame that
he'd washed the shirt, actually. I was tempted to put on an encore performance
later, once he had to leave for the night...
"Professor?" Asahina peered up at me, still blushing. "Is something wrong?" His
eyes widened in panic as he realized that I was staring at the hem, mouth
opening slightly though no words came out. He definitely wasn't going to admit
to getting it dirty.
"No, nothing." I opened the closet door and pulled out a hanger. "I was just
thinking that the wrinkles will probably fall right out if I hang this up in
the bathroom when I take a shower, that's all. Ironing is a pain, I'd rather
let steam do all the work."
That brightened him up a little. "Yeah, I do that with my uniform shirts too."
"Hmph, that cheap fabric needs a little ironing, if you ask me. You're the
student council president, Asahina, you need to look at least a little
presentable. Since you're not willing to iron your hair, at least iron your
shirts." I smiled a little to soften my words.
"Hehe," he giggled, getting up from the floor, "but you said you like my hair
this way!"
"Mainly because I know it's a lost cause." I tucked the shirt into the closet,
making a mental note to drop it off at the dry cleaners later. I reached out to
take Asahina's hand, giving it a gentle tug. "Come on, Asahina, I found those
limited edition matcha pumpkin marshmallows you were crying about. Let's try
them with some coffee."
"You actually found those? Aaaah, I'm so excited! Except I want cocoa instead!"
Asahina practically dragged me to the kitchen, babbling about the cute
advertisements he'd seen for the snack and all the online reviews he'd read. He
really was a creature of contradictions, a boy excited by junk food one moment,
and a young adult exploring his budding sexuality in the next.
"Huh, why'd you stop walking, Professor?"
In that moment, with those shining eyes fixed on my face, all I could do was
kiss him. His lips twitched in surprise, and then he melted against me with a
quiet sigh, warm hands gripping my shoulders as his tongue poked out to touch
my lips.
I was slightly out of breath when we parted. "Asahina, we can't..."
"You started it," he reminded me, poking my cheek with one finger.
Too bad we can't finish it.I sighed, wishing I hadn't forced us into this
situation. But it was fine, wasn't it? Everything with Asahina happened for a
reason, his luck transforming painful events and setbacks into pure gold. We
were meant to take a break, to slow down and get to know each other as people,
not just sex partners who spoke of love without sharing more than one facet of
it.
I touched his cheek, the light touch summoning another blush. "You're too cute,
Asahina. Let's eat."
                                                                        ~ end ~
End Notes
     *raises hand*
     So... I'm an ace lady who's only ever seen dicks on the internet.
     Sorry if anything is totally shit.
     I tried. ⚣ haha
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