花宮 真
He'd been too cocky, and today had been the day that the sensei for his calculus class had seen that he'd finished the work long before anyone else. That was the only reason he was walking down the halls to the Arts department, an area he didn't really have much time for, with the boxes of paperwork in his arms.
"So…can you fix it?" The male voice, light and airy, floats through the ajar door, catching his attention, as irritated as he is. He notes the door number, how it's directly opposite the room he's headed to, and places the boxes down on a nearby ledge, casually leaning against the wall by the frame, letting the conversation drift into his ears, even as he listens from out of sight.
'Fixing' something implied it was broken, and what was the point in fixing something if it was broken? Whether it was a bowl (purchasable by the dozen) or the latest iPhone, once it was broken, what was the point in repairing it? It's just garbage.
A grating noise escapes, and makes him think of pottery. The bowl analogy is seeming more and more correct with every passing second. Clinking and sliding soon follows.
"Hmm…Maybe? It might be easier to just get a new one." The (somewhat) surprising female voice replies, surprising since he was fairly certain that most of those in this section of the school were male.
"No! It has to be this one!"
"….." A deep sigh. "This is going to take a lot of time, energy, and it may not even work. Are you sure?"
"….Yes. Please, do this for me!"
"….Fine. Grab me the hammer and leather bag." Hm? Now that was interesting. A hammer sure didn't sound like a tool for fixing something like pottery.
"What?"
"Look to fix it, we're going to have to grind it down, start from scratch. Add in some enhancers, some strengtheners. Maybe bulk it out a little, replace some of the lost mass." There's a slight pause, and he knows he hears that tone change slightly. "It'll still be the old one, but…like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. A metamorphosis. We're going to completely shatter it and build it back up in the image we want. When something's broken, you can either throw it away or reforge it, make it into something useful again. And if you make it yours, put a bit of yourself into it, well…isn't that all for the better?"
Hmm…now isn't that a fascinating idea?
His focus now on the female spouting forth such an intriguing idea, he moves slightly, just enough so that he can look through the doorway, but not right next to the slightly open door so as to make him look like he's eavesdropping. With luck, it should look like he's waiting for someone to open a door after he's knocked on it.
Well, luck, an innocent face, and an impeccable school record.
He doesn't recognise the female, which isn't really all that surprising considering that she's down here during what should be normal class hours, which means this is where she goes when not in class or studying; the Arts are more than likely her hobby, focusing more on things to do with pottery or clay. Her hair, which he can only observe from a side angle, is dark and tied up beneath a bandana. Her apron covers more of her than he remembers what normal aprons are supposed to; is she small or is the apron just too big? Her hands and arms are bare all the way up to just below her shoulders, revealing scarred yet toned muscle; was working with clay that intensive? The skirt is of regulation length, if not a bit longer, and her workshoes are slightly scuffed from the bits of various substances that had accumulated over the early hours of the day.
Her face though….he supposes she is pretty enough….maybe?
He could imagine her beneath him, one hand pressing her wrists to the bed, another about her throat as he sank his teeth into the fleshy parts of her chest, sliding himself into her as she whimpered and whined as he took her and broke her and-
Tossed her aside?
Hm, toss aside someone so….unique? Would she even break though?
If it's broken, you can either throw it away, or reforge it however you want. Build it back up in your image.
"Sempai…..that's…..definitely an unusual outlook on life." 'Sempai'….so she's not a First year then, and he doesn't recollect seeing her in or near any of his classes; a Third year then?
"Never go through life with the same viewpoint, Kagatsu-kun. Watch, observe, take from your friends and from your enemies. Never assume that your way of doing things is the only way of doing things, or even the only right one, or that it's right altogether." Now isn't she just full of all sorts of pearls of wisdom.
"O….okay?" The slightly apprehensive tone in his voice is completely audible.
"….Do you want to do this together, or leave me to it?"
"You can do it, sempai! I mean, if you want to, that is? I don't mind staying…."
"Didn't you say something about an exam for last period?" It's more than evident she's giving the younger a reason to leave.
And with that, the door is nearly slammed open, Hanamiya not moving except for a slight jerk, as if to show that the door had caught his attention, and he wasn't jolting away like he'd been standing right by the door, listening. It doesn't matter though, since Kagatsu-kun, who's maybe five foot six, at a push, and weighs maybe half his own weight, near enough runs past him. Normally, he'd be angry about the lack of respect shown to a superior, but-
To break? Or not to break?
The sound of crashing echoes through the hall, and he looks back through the now wide-open door to watch as the female bashes away at the leather bag. Her face eventually glows red, her hits more erratic, and she steps back, a deep puff of air escaping her lips.
"Can I help you?" Is she talking to him? "You've been standing there for the past fifteen minutes, just watching. Is something wrong?" She's not looking at him, instead opening the bag to check how smashed up the contents were; a frown forms and he watches as she closes the bag back up, hitting away at it for another few minutes before finally deeming the fragments small enough.
By now, he's entered the room, the reason for his arrival here waylaid for the time being, and is standing a few feet away from her to her side. Up close, he notices that, yes, she is pretty enough. Maybe not what most people would think of as attractive, but…..
He likes the smirk that had crossed her face as she bashed away at the leather bag.
"You like breaking things?" He nods towards the bag, even as he notices she still hasn't looked at him.
"Making, breaking, fixing, reforming." The smirk forms across her lips again. "It's like I'm the God of my own little universe." An almost pleasant yet contemplative hum escapes his throat, and that is what draws her eyes to him. He observes as she looks him up and down, and even the one time he meets her gaze, she doesn't do anything but send her eyes back down his body. He does nothing but stand there, even as he leans against a nearby desk, knowing it makes him look better, more inviting.
He might not want a boy or girlfriend, but he loves the appreciative looks he gets from the rest of the student body, as well as those when he's out and about in the city.
The snarl that crosses his lips is unconscious as she turns away without even the faintest blush across her face, the slightest hint she was even affected. What the hell!? He worked hard for this body.
"2-A's Hanamiya Makoto, correct?"
"Indeed. You have me at a disadvantage…..sempai?" He puts on his best face, the one that lets him get away with near murder, and notices how she blinks at him, as though surprised.
"Such a mask," she murmurs, reaching up with one hand, sliding one finger down his forehead and nose even as he freezes. When was the last time someone saw through the mask so quickly? Or at all….."It's enough to make a girl curious….."
"Sempai?" He cocks his head just enough that she should be reminded of cute puppies and kittens, but she merely grabs his chin, and he looks down at her, at not that sharp of an angle since their heights are near enough surprisingly equal, with slightly narrowed eyes.
"What are you like behind the mask, Hanamiya-kun? What makes a boy with such a mask tick?"
"Mask?" It escapes as a mumble, since he can't open his mouth all that far, what with her astonishingly tight grip on his jaw. The pain is slight….but exciting.
"Oh, I can always spot someone with a mask, especially one like yours." One hand moves the bag into the centre of the table as she pushes him against it. He thinks he probably should've at least tried to stop her, but she doesn't act like other girls…
She acts more like him….the real him.
Now this is intriguing.
He doesn't bother trying to stop her from manoeuvring him, and soon enough she's standing in between his spread legs, their heights now near enough even as he slouches slightly.
"Like mine, sempai?" It's easier to speak now, since her hand has slid its way up the left side of his jaw, her hand creeping into his hair, her other hand resting gently on his hip. He spares a second to wonder what someone would think if they walked in right now, especially with the role-reversal he's experiencing; he's pretty certain the guy normally lifts the girl onto the table to stand between her open legs.
"Hm, you haven't realised it yet?" A few seconds pass before- "Did you know that some of the students here went to the same middle school as you? Not myself, but…. Well, some of them might not be as book-smart as you, but, some things you can't hide. Just a few seconds when the mask shifts, and you can see everything. And as much as you try to hide it, quite a few people here know that beneath this mask, there's something darker, something dirtier."
She leans in closer, and he finds himself actually having to hold himself back from leaning in also, even as his mind is in a state of faint shock; he'd thought his mask rather impeccable, and to find out that 'quite a few' of his fellow students might know what lay behind it….
It's disconcerting…to say the least…
"Oh…chibi Hana-kun," she starts, as her thumb somehow finds itself underneath his shirt and onto his waist, the touch just about ready to send shivers through him, even as he almost physically recoils from the 'nickname' she's just bestowed upon him. It sounds too much like what Imayoshi would say, and the tone is near enough the same.
The thumb of her other hand slides over his cheek, over his lips, pulling at the bottom so she can slide it inside his mouth. Even as he feels the pressure against his teeth, he sends his tongue forwards, drawing the appendage further into his mouth, before suddenly biting down (but not too hard), watching as she inhales and her eyes change.
Masochist, or…..?
Thumb still in his mouth as he begins to suck at it, her nails curve into his skull, little pinpricks of pressure around the curve of his cheek by his ear and down to the top of his neck. The fingers on her other hand have curved inside the belt of his trousers, the thumb rubbing a circle around his bellybutton, sending shivers down to his slowly rising cock.
Screw this!
His hands surge forwards, grabbing her beneath her thighs, touching bare skin, lifting her up with the faintest of squeaks escaping her lips, twisting them around so she is now the one on the table, legs spread open as he stands between them. The hand by his belly is still trapped there, and she tugs spontaneously, moving him forward until there's not even an inch between them.
He looks at her face, and still! Not even the slightest hint of a blush, even as he knows the tops of his own cheeks have pinked up. What the hell is with this girl?
He slides his hands up from her thighs, over her hips and to her back where the apron is tied with as much intention as he can possible convey, and she just looks at him as though she's thinking, 'Is that it?'
Fine, she wants more, she can have more! Insult his mask, will she?
The apron tugged over her head and thrown to the floor, he slides one hand back underneath her skirt, resting on the outside of her thigh, his other sliding up her front between the valley of her full breasts, up around the curve of her neck to grasp about the back of it. With a yank, she's jerked forwards, and her breasts end up squashed against his chest.
And she looks up at him with wide, almost innocent eyes, meeting his gaze for the first time, and she licks her lips as she almost pants out-
"Mako-chan….."
That fucking nickname!
With a snarl, he leans down and shoves his lips against hers, bruising them practically from the start, even as he pulls her body right to the edge of the table so their groins are pressed tightly together, his hand clenching her thigh so tightly, he's certain it will bruise, leaving his mark on her for days or even weeks.
His mark…..his claim….
Her hands slides up his shoulder to clench into his hair, tugging at it, even as he sends his tongue plunging into her mouth, both muscles twinning together in the wet cavern. Her other hand is outside of his belt, but her fingers are messing with his belt buckle, whilst her feet have curved about his legs, pressing themselves against the backs of his knees and lower thighs.
What sort of girl was this?
He's ready to rip her panties off and take her here and now when the sound of the bell echoes through the air, and they pull back from each other, both panting, and finally, finally, there's a blush to her cheeks. Soon after, the sound of sliding doors and footsteps can be heard, but not too clearly since the door to this room is still closed.
He pulls back, desiring to do anything but, and her hand slides from his hair, over his chest, the other being certain to 'casually' brush against the front of his trousers.
Fucking tease…
"Meet me in the toilets down the corridor in five minutes? There's a class coming in here in about ten minutes." Not a tease?
He clicks his tongue, wondering if continuing their little encounter is worth losing some of the bonus points he's slowly been gaining with his biology teacher. His twitching dick decides for him, as well as the sudden remembrance of the papers left in the hall. He's almost certain that Mujiwara-sensei is male, and if he notices the strain in his pants, Makoto can just say it was the tiled floors or something.
"Fine." He turns to walk away, jigging one leg to shift his half-hard dick slightly, when she calls out to him, with that stupid nickname. "What?!"
"You might want to brush yourself down." Her eyes travel the length of his body, and she cocks her head slightly, even as she still sits on the edge of the table. He looks down, noticing the faint brown and red powders that have gathered on him, some of them clearly in the shape of a handprint. He slaps away, faint plumes floating from him, and doesn't startle when a hand slaps him on his ass.
"Sorry. Guess my hands wandered earlier." Then the backs of his knees and thighs, and his ass, back and shoulders are subjected to a minute of frantic slapping and brushing, until she pulls away, and at the corner of his eyes, he notices her standing there, looking at his ass.
He makes to walk out, but as a loud slap echoes through the room, and he stops paralyzed as the pain goes straight to his cock, sending him from half-hard to nearly ready to pop in less than five seconds. He turns back, face turning red, and she slowly drags her eyes up to meet his.
"Three minutes, Mako-chan."
With almost robotic movements, his cock straining against the front of his trousers, he heads out the room, picking up the still present pile of papers, and knocks on the door, which is opened by a wide-eyed man, who invites him inside.
The flush on his face, so unusual for him and his reputation, must give something away to the teacher, who he's certain eyes him as he puts the boxes on a table by the window. As he walks back, the teacher hands him a slip of paper, but determinedly doesn't meet his questioning look.
"There's a bathroom at the end of the hall, Hanamiya-kun. You're excused from class for this period, understood?" And he didn't even need to explain himself.
"Hai, sensei." He bows as deep as he can, even as it galls him, and can't stop the twitch that makes his arm jerk slightly as his cock brushes up against his boxers and trousers. "A-arigatō." And godsdammit, the stutter isn't even intentional!
花宮 真
The door to the toilets opens with a bang, and he walks inside, walking to the sinks, using the mirror to check that the doors to the toilets are wide open, showing that no-one else is in the room. He barely restrains himself from punching the mirror in frustration, before he lets loose a momentary cackle.
When was the last time he'd had such fun?
It's only when he looks back up from splashing water on his face that he notices she's standing behind him, the mirror granting him the sight of her watching his ass as he bends over. Just to see what she'll do, he shifts his weight to his other leg, and watches how she cocks her head, licking her lips. Watches how her she walks forwards, her arm reaching out to him but out of his sight in full.
Feels how she slides a finger from the back of his balls, over his asshole and up his crack. The full-body jerk isn't intentional. Who the hell was this girl? Then there's a hand on his trousers, right over his cock, and between the match igniting and the bonfire being set aflame, he's somehow been navigated into the stall right at the end of the row, his back pressed to the door and her hand in his trousers through his unzipped opening, a tongue in his mouth as her hand rubs and strokes his dick through his boxers before sliding through the gap to touch his naked dick.
By the time he shakes away the pain of hitting the back of his head against the door, she's on her knees in front of him, his cock poking out through the holes of his boxers and trousers, and she's looking up at him with some of the most brilliant blue eyes he's ever seen.
Then all is knows is heat and moisture and sucking and the faintest hint of teeth as he receives the best blowjob he's ever had (not that he's had all that many). The sight of her sucking on his dick when he manages to open his eyes is what makes him come, the pure bliss on her face as she pulls all the way to the tip of his dick and rubs her tongue right against the slit, the way her cheeks hollow as she sucks enough to make everything tingle and send shocks through his body.
When his brain clicks back into gear, he's sitting on the closed toilet seat, all appropriately dressed, and their combined hands are resting on his knees as she kneels in front of him. His eyes focus on where her thumbs are rubbing over the tops of his, the motion meant to sooth. It's doing anything but.
The first thing out of his mouth is-
"What type of girl are you?"
It's not what he'd intended to say, however. He'd meant to come across like he normally does, but this girl, this woman….. She sees the him behind the mask. For all that it's exhilarating, he slowly realises it's also slightly terrifying.
And with that, brazen as fuck, she tilts his head back and nearly howls with laughter, the noise echoing about the tiled room.
"Oh Mako-chan, I'm the type of girl who gets exactly what she wants, whenever she wants it. This," a hand reaches out, cupping his half-hard cock, which begins twitching in anticipation at the pressure, "Is what I wanted, so I reached out, and I took it. Are you complaining?"
"What about what I want?" What about if I want to bend you over this toilet and fuck you till you scream my name in ear-shattering ecstasy?
"Your wants don't matter much to me….yet. Why should they? Do you want them to?" She quirks her eyebrow at him, staring at him with those intense blue eyes, so out of place in this school that he's fairly certain she must have more than her fair share of 'admirers'.
And yes, he wants them to. Wants to make her care and then tear her away, wants to make her and break her. Wants her so fucking badly. Instead, he quirks his own eyebrow, even though it's barely visible behind his fringe, and almost casually asks-
"What are you doing after school?"
Fuck her not caring about his wants, he's going to make her care.
And as she stands up, looking down at him with the faintest of smirks on her faces, he realises that he'd lost the game he'd unknowingly been playing. Then again, if this is what happens when he loses, he's not….entirely certain he minds…..
…too much.
花宮 真
Author's Note: 08/09/15 Just an attempt at looking at Hanamiya and seeing if I could make him do what I wanted; unsurprisingly enough, it's a tad bit difficult. Mainly, I just wanted to see if I could introduce him to a female who basically wouldn't take any of his shit, and I hope you all approve. It should be fairly obvious that I've tried to make her at least possess some similarities to Hanamiya, ones I thought would attract his attention, but at the same time make her slightly different.
At the moment, because writing Hanamiya is so difficult for me, this is planned to only be a one-shot, although that may change dependent on if I significantly improve my writing.
For those who follow me as an author and haven't come to this story and met me for the first time, I am really sorry that I haven't updated any of my other pieces of writing! First it was because I went on holiday (seven weeks in Japan, people!) and then I just ended up being overly lumbered with hours at work, which means I've literally been near enough on a schedule of eating, sleeping, and work.
Again, gomenasai!
As always, ConCrit is requested, and I don't mind the flames so long as they say why the story is so bad. Catch you all around!