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Things He Couldn't Take

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Suga is sliding his notebooks into his school bag after class when he hears his name called by Nakamura-sensei. What could this be? The gray-haired boy spares a glance in Daichi’s direction, squinting slightly at the orange glow of late afternoon sun crashing through the window behind his friend. Daichi pats him on the shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about being late to practice” as he and the others file out through the door and toward the freedom of afterschool activities.

Suga sighs. He wonders if perhaps he didn’t do as well on Monday’s test as he thought he had. He’d hardly slept Sunday night, spending most of it texting Daichi and Asahi about new developments in a TV show they were all watching. Daichi has a sixth sense when it comes to test taking, so it doesn’t surprise Suga that staying up half the night hadn’t hurt his score at all. Pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder and steeling himself against his guilty, racing heart, Suga makes his way to Sensei’s desk when the room is finally empty. I’ll just promise do better on the next one, he tells himself.

“Sugawara-kun, on your last test,” Sensei begins, pulling the papers out from his desk drawer, “you scored significantly lower than you usually do.”

I was right, he thinks. He sucks in a breath, ready to assure Nakamura-sensei that he’ll study harder for the next one when he’s cut off before he can begin.

“Given your previous scores I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and offer you an extra credit opportunity so this doesn’t affect your grade.”

Suga blinks and his face breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Sensei.”

Nakamura smiles back. “There’s a student who needs tutoring and I’m swamped with grading all these damn papers I decided to assign. It’d actually be a big help to me if you could do me this favor. I’ll go get her now.”

“Yes, sir,” Suga responds, lumbering back to his seat and sliding his bag to the ground before sitting. He supposes he’ll be more than a few minutes late to practice. Daichi can do without me for one day, he laughs to himself. He waits, idly playing with his pencil until Sensei comes back with a girl who looks vaguely familiar. Possibly a second year?

***

By the time the second year thanks both Nakamura and Suga for their help, the latter is antsy to get to practice. He thought he’d be happy for the reprieve, if only for the day, but it’s been too long without the touch of a volleyball on his fingertips, and he misses it. He glances at his watch. Practice should technically be over by now, but the way his team is, Suga knows they’ll be at it for at least another hour. Hinata’s cry of “one more” rings clearly in his head and he grins.

“Is that all, Nakamura-sensei?” the gray-haired teen asks, bounding up to his teacher who’s leaning against his desk, hair tied up in a knot at the back of his head. It sort of reminds him of Asahi, and suddenly he’s thinking of Asahi hitting one of his tosses.

“Call me Shinnosuke,” Nakamura-sensei says in a low voice that takes Suga by surprise.

“Huh?” is all that makes it out of his mouth before Sensei’s lips cover his own. They’re fierce and demanding. Suga’s initial shock dissipates and he tries to push the older man away but only succeeds in dropping his school bag to the floor. He goes cold. “Wha-what are you doing?” Suga splutters when he’s finally able to break the kiss. The other man is silent, eyes hazy with something he doesn’t want to think about. “Sensei?”

Nakamura pushes the teen back against the chalkboard, pinning his wrists above him. This time he drags his tongue along the boy’s neck in thick, wet strokes.

Suga shivers. “Stop,” he pleads, disgust choking his airway. “Stop, sensei. Please, stop.” He’s unable to pull his hands free of Nakamura’s iron grip, and as the man’s free hand slips underneath Suga’s shirt, panic shatters any logic.

He struggles. He begs. He cries. He curses this man who tricked him. Anything he can think of to get out of his current situation. Maybe someone will come to check on him. Maybe someone will walk down the hall and hear him. It’s so late that no one is probably even in the main school building anymore, a traitorous voice in his head mentions.

Amidst his fighting, Suga lands and knee to his teacher’s groin, and Suga doesn’t need an extra second to know that this is his chance to escape. He breaks free of Sensei’s grasp and jumps around the desk, thinking only about reaching the door and the hallway beyond, thinking only about getting out of this room. He only makes it a few steps before heavy hands shove him and topple him into the desks in the front row.

Rough hands twist in his hair and grab his upper arm, hauling him to his feet and back to the teacher’s desk. He’s aware of pens and books crashing to the floor. He’s aware of Nakamura-sensei’s labored breathing. He’s aware of what’s to come when his face slams into the wood of the now cleared desk. His heart races like it does at match point when Karasuno is the one that is down a point, except—no, except nothing like that. It’s so much worse. Suga feels like he’s going to throw up.

A hand wriggles into his pants and attempts to jerk him to hardness, but despite the man’s ministrations, Suga remains limp and unyielding, cold disgust and fear ever present in his bloodstream. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this… Suga zones in on an ink stain in his field of vision. It’s shaped sort of like a shoe. He wonders how it got there and when. Did someone forget to cap their pen? Had one exploded? He couldn’t tell for sure if it was blue or black ink.

“Stop being so stubborn,” Nakamura growls, suddenly yanking on his student’s cock and arm simultaneously. Suga yelps, instantly brought back to his present horror. Nakamura laughs at the noise and grinds himself against Suga’s thigh. “You feel that? You want that, don’t you?”

Suga shakes his head, unable to speak. Please, if someone—literally anyone—saves me right now, I don’t even care that they would see me bent over a desk. Please… Daichi… Sensei bites his shoulder and grinds some more.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Nakamura’s breathing is uneven. “Sugawara Koushi.” He relishes every syllable of the boy’s name coming from his mouth. Then he’s yanking down Suga’s pants and undershorts, spreading the setter’s legs with a knee, a hand exploring and laying claim to the ass beneath him. “Sugawara,” Nakamura breathes, pure lust. “This is why I like athletes. So…” His words fade into a moan.

The teen’s teeth grit together, realizing that this man has stolen his first kiss, has touched him where no one else has before, is planning to steal another of his firsts. And he’s been powerless to stop it. I’m not powerless. I’m not powerless. I’m not powerless. I’m strong. I—

Suga pushes against Nakamura with full force, ready to make another fast break for the door. For a moment he thinks he’s achieved his goal, feeling the weight leave his back and hearing his teacher stumble. But he is wrong. Nakamura-sensei only stumbles a little, and quickly slams Suga back down, shoving two fingers into his hole without preamble or apology. Suga shouts in protest.

Pain shoots up his back, splitting him in two, as his vision goes white.

“Don’t like that, huh?” Nakamura-sensei asks sadistically. He starts thrusting his fingers. “How about this, Sugawara?”

Suga tries to breathe. Suga tries to breathe through the pain—through the revolting feeling of those rough fingers rubbing against his insides. He leans into the desk even more, trying to get away. When a third finger joins the others, Suga gives up. He can’t rationalize the pain. He can’t contextualize it. He doesn’t know when it’s going to end and that’s almost as bad as the agony itself. It’s not like taking a volleyball to the face or falling badly, where it’s over in a second and the lasting echoes of hurt are not nearly as bad as the initial shock. No. This just keeps going and going and—

A sob escapes him. And once he starts crying, he can’t stop.

“You’re so tight,” Nakamura sighs. Suga doesn’t realize that the fingers are gone until the tip of Nakamura’s erection touches at his entrance. “This might hurt a little for you.”

The warning in no way prepares Suga for the agony of feeling his insides shred apart as Nakamura plunges into him in one leisurely thrust. The teen’s mouth goes wide, as if in a scream, but no sound escapes him. His breath completely leaves his lungs. Nakamura leans down and covers Suga’s body with his, teeth nibbling at the boy’s ear, panting and groaning right into it, as he thrusts.

“Such a nice hole,” he moans. “You’re so hot and tight. Fuck. So good.”

One hand holds his hip with a force that will definitely bruise while the other twists an arm behind his back. Suga can’t feel his fingers.

“Sugawara. So fucking good. You’re such a great hole.”

Suga scrunches his eyes closed. It hurts too much to waste energy on pointless things like keeping his eyes open. He wants to sleep. He wants to forget this and everything that happened today. He needs to forget the feeling of this man moving inside him.

Inside him.

Nakamura-sensei comes inside him. When Nakamura pulls out, Suga feels his legs tremble for a second before he collapses to the ground. At the man’s feet, he lies just as he fell, in a tangle of limbs, unable to move his aching body. His lower back is on fire. His backside feels sticky. He hopes he can sleep now.

But Nakamura flips him around and wipes his cock off on Suga’s uniform shirt, leaving behind a smear of blood and cum. I’m bleeding, Suga muses idly. He blinks slowly. Can I sleep now? Nakamura grabs him by the hair again, and this time it’s easy because his body is limp and pliant. Sensei positions Suga on his knees, but has to keep him upright and hold his head steady. A hand slips into his mouth and pushes it open wide. Gross; his fingers... Then Suga comes face to face with Sensei’s once again hardening member. Oh. Oh. Suga closes his eyes again, waiting for it all to be over.  

His mouth fills with the man’s dripping, hard cock. The tip touches the back of his throat, triggering his gag reflex and making him jerk back, but his sensei doesn’t care—just keeps pushing, deeper—a firm grip in that gray hair.

Nakamura releases a breathy moan. He drives in and out slowly, eventually picking up the pace, and all Suga can do is try to breathe and pray it will be over soon. When Nakamura begins thrusting in a frenzy, hips finally stuttering, Suga cringes, receiving the load down his throat with no way to spit it out. It’s salty and bitter, the teen now fully aware of the taste and weight of Nakamura’s dick heavy on his tongue.

Nakamura pulls himself out of the cavern of Suga’s wet mouth and releases the boy’s silver hair. He pulls up his pants and slides his belt into place. “You were such a good fuck. I’ll make sure to change that test score to an A.”

Suga watches through blurry eyes as Nakamura-sensei picks up his briefcase, grabs his coat from the door, and leaves as if this was just another ordinary day of lecture. He lies there, staring at the door for what feels like an hour, fingers bent in the foreground of his vision creating little pillars and partitions. He had tried to reach the door so many times, and now that he’s free to do so, he’s immobile. He feels… Suga feels so tired.

***

It takes him a while to pick himself up off the floor, but he does, a strange calm blanketing him, blemished only by the throbbing ache of his lower half. He dresses and buttons his coat to cover the stains on his shirt. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he makes his way to the bike rack at an excruciatingly slow pace. From there Sugawara Koushi limps homes, leaning heavily on his bike. He grits his teeth as if that will lessen the pain.