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Lesson	By : sakurazukamori6 Category: +S to Z > XXXholic Views: 6518 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own XXXholic, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Lesson
- 1
It’s not enough that I have to watch you suffer, but I have to watch you suffer alone.

Get angry and teach him. Because right now he has no idea how much he’s hurting you.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough with you.

Get angry and teach him.

My words mean nothing to you; my outstretched hand isn’t something you’ll take out of want, but grudging need. And you’re a selfish person when it comes to your feelings, Watanuki.

Get angry.

You back me into a corner, and then expect me to be fine with that. You act like you’re the only one in the world who understands anything. You act like I’m not even here.

And Teach Him.

I can’t watch you like this. I can’t just let you do as you please.

Teach Him!

Please just listen to me Watanuki…because you’re hurting me.

............
He’s sitting in front of me, and copying notes from the board, like he always does, the sounds of the pencil scribbling mindlessly and him shuffling about in his seat the only things I can hear. His head is tilted to the side and I don’t have to see his face to know why he’s squinting.

--Because he wears glasses and now on top of that, he’s half blind.

He shifts his head to the other side, trying to see around the student in front of him, and then he’s stretching that long neck and straightening his back, slightly raised from his seat and peering from under his bangs and glasses.

He has to try so hard to take some stupid notes.

No one notices. They all just continue to mindlessly take their own notes, while he raises himself a little from his seat and scribbles some more.

No one notices him at all.

Only me.

“Hey.”

He’s still scratching away on his notepad and I kick the leg of his desk. It rattles his delicate position on his tiptoes and he nearly falls forward.

“Hey.”

He’s trying to ignore me, so he writes some more notes.

“I’ll lend you my notes if you turn around.”

He stops writing, seats himself properly in his seat, turns around and crooks one of his slender eyebrows at me. “My name’s not Hey.”

“Here.” I extend my hand out and hand him my notebook.

“My name’s not ‘Here’ either,” he grumbles, and then takes it from me reluctantly.

He looks back up at me, slow and blinking, and taken over with recently uncovered sadness. Every time I look him in the eye, every time I catch the sight of that white bandage, it reminds me of what’s under it.

--The cold whiteness of a sightless eye.

And every time I remember, it takes a sense of control that I never knew I needed to not grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

He lowers his eyes when he sees I’m staring at him.

He’s somewhat ashamed that I know what’s under the bandage, but I know that the reason for it isn’t guilt. He doesn’t feel guilt for what he’s done. Not an ounce of it. He’s embarrassed instead, like a child would if someone were to point and laugh at him.

It just makes me even angrier.

He doesn’t understand anything at all.

Selfish.

“Thank you.”

Liar.

“For the notes.”

I can’t look at him anymore. I don’t want to. Not with that pathetic expression on his face, reflected in the one eye that the spider spurned.

My chest feels hot, like if I coughed, a flame would erupt.

“I’ll be done with them soon.”

My head, it hurts. It thrums. I can feel the pulse of blood in my temple, beating and repeating like some taunt. The pressure is unbearable.

He’s turning around, and before he rights himself in his desk, he flicks his gaze over to me again, and I hope, I pray that he can see the anger burning in them. He recoils a little, but stops himself before it can be more than a flinch.

His one eye is wide, shocked, and the blue in it looks like darkened, well water.

He gasps and then he’s turning his back on me, one hand clutching his chest and the other in the air so he can get the teacher’s attention.

He excuses himself to the bathroom.

Coward.

............
I follow him home like a shadow. Like one of the ghosts that trail after him and he doesn’t say anything about it.

I ditched archery practice.

He knows I ditched archery practice.

And I hope it’s eating away at him.

I hope he understands the exact reason why I’m behind him right now, following him like a ghost and not leaving him alone.

His shoulders are tense and his gait is stiff. His long legs scissor across the pavement, his gaze straight ahead, and I can only imagine the look on his face.

I hope he’s annoyed at my behavior. I hope it’s driving him up the wall.

“What?” With that one word I can hear the annoyance that I’ve been driving at for the entire day.

I answer him to drive the point home. “I’m walking you home.”

He stops walking, stops breathing, and I can see his hands fist into the pants’ leg of his school uniform. “Stop.”

Nice try.

“Stop what?” He can’t get rid of me that easily.

He spins around, glares at me, hot-blooded and breath-taking, and I forget for a second that his glare is diminished by the loss of one eye.

“This.” His mouth is pulled in a strict, straight line. The kind that means that I should take him seriously, that this is him not playing around, not feigning annoyance, and not flailing about in silly anger.

I hope he knows exactly how it feels to not be taken seriously, because ever since he’s met me, he hasn’t given me that courtesy. Not once, not when it really mattered.

He can’t just brush me off anymore, because I won’t let him. I won’t let him think that his actions don’t affect me, that I’m nothing to him. Think that I won’t care…

He shakes his head at me, tired and exasperated with my behavior, and then he’s turning around, making an effort to not let me get under his skin, under that blind eye.

“Leave me alone. Just go away and leave me alone. Don’t you have archery practice today?” His words don’t have that normal spark. He just sounds tired and fed up, and for some reason his words dig more, have more bite that makes the anger in me flare up like a snake. “Go, just go away.” He waves his hand at me, waiting for me to leave him, and my legs on their own accord walk towards and not away.

He stares at my approach, and I see the anger in him flare up too. The shock of it turns his one visible eye into a brilliant clear blue. It’s piercing and I feel the focus of it shred right through my chest.

I stop right in front of him. To the point where he needs to look up at me to give me a proper glare and he hates that. I know he does. Hates the height difference and hates that I’m so close to him to begin with.

“You have a hard enough time walking with two eyes and with one…” I let the sentence fall away, and I hope the possibility of what those words could have formed into, if I had said them will make him even angrier.

“That not your problem.” He had to say it. He likes to rub it in, like antiseptic on an open wound. He’d pour salt and pepper on it if I backed away from him now.

“I guess not.” I look him in the eye, narrow my own even more, and the look in my eyes, the one that’s not giving him any space, that’s contradicting my words, has him backing away from me. I follow his backwards motion and I continue to speak. “Never has been.”

It looks like he’s about to run away from me, and if he breaks into a sprint, he should know that I won’t just let him get away. I’m just as fast as him, if faster, and I won’t have any problem catching him. He knows that.

I’ll chase after him.

He can tell me to stay put, but I won’t. Never will.

“Go home.” He’s shaking a bit and I can tell it’s from the way he’s trying to control his anger.

Good.

“No.”

He suddenly slaps me, as soon as the word has left my mouth, right across the face, open-handed and scalding, so that one side of my cheek stings.

His hand is still raised in the motion, and my head is still turned to the side by his slap.

He’s shaking, and breathing heavily, and if he expects me to run home like some whipped dog, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

He’s still backing away and I catch his arm, squeeze until he’s yanking and cursing at me to let him go. And then, I begin to walk in the direction of his house. I walk without looking back, pulling him behind me.

He’s digging his fingernails into the skin of my wrist, his other hand is clawing at my arm and I tighten my grip around his forearm. He’s really fighting me, but he won’t be able to break away.

Archery has toughened my fingers, made them calloused, made my grip --the one used to pulling back the bow of stiff string and cloth to a fine degree, to the perfect angle for the shot-- impossible to break. And compared to my worn palm, his fingers are soft, even as they try to dig into my skin, his hands smooth and gentle from baking and cooking and housework.

There are two girls that I notice out of the corner of my eyesight wearing our school uniform. They watch, wide-eyed and unsure what to do, and Watanuki who had noticed them much sooner than I had, looks like he wants to explain to them, so they won’t get the wrong idea.

It pisses me off even more, his incessant need to please people, to please everyone--except me.

He has the other hand that’s not captured by me up in a placating gesture to the two girls, and before I can stop myself, before the girls can get up the nerve to ask me what I’m doing, I glare at both of them. Enough that they turn their heads away and try to ignore Watanuki, who’s still struggling to explain himself.

The grip tightens even more and he whimpers loudly. The girls most likely heard it, but I know they won’t try anything, not with the promise of what a glare like that would do to them if they tried to interfere. This isn’t anyone’s business. It’s between me and Watanuki and no one else.

He’s looking back at them, longingly, still wanting badly to explain himself and this whole situation. I know how this looks; Watanuki knows how this looks to those girls, and those girls would definitely read it that way.

What choice had I given them in interpreting it any other way? I hadn’t given them any, because I wanted them to think that way. If Watanuki was ashamed of being seen that way with me, then I want them to spread rumors. Have the whole school talking the next day about this little fiasco. Make Watanuki suffer even more, and torment him with the fact that everyone thought that he was going out with me. That we were together…

If Himawari heard about this…it would kill him.

Let it.

At the last stretch of houses, he stopped struggling, let himself be dragged along, and when I came up to the house, the one that he was renting the top portion of from some nice family, I asked him for the key to the front door. He gave it to me and I unlocked the front door.

The family wasn’t home. I could hear him breathe a sign of relief because of that, but really that didn’t matter to me. If they had been here or not, I still would have dragged him up the stairs, just like I was doing now and opening his door and flinging him inside and locking it behind me.

“You’re fucking crazy. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I lightly place his house keys on his kitchen counter, away from him and his reach.

“I need to talk to you,” I say without the hint of letting up and he eyes me like he’s about to chuck me out of his window.

“Then talk to me and leave.” He points at the door and his slump on the floor doesn’t make the words or the motion menacing, makes it more pleading and sad.

“Your eye”-

“Is none of your business! You hypocritical jackass!” He’s up from his seat on the floor, up and in my face. “I can’t believe the nerve you have. How can you talk about my decisions when you did the exact same thing? You didn’t come to me for help. You just left and--how the hell do you think that makes me feel? It was my fault. I’m taking responsibility for it and you have no right, no right to tell me otherwise.” He grabs the keys off the counter and begins to open the door. I let him.

“Now get the hell out!” his voice cracks and he was trembling so much that the door creaks under his grip.

I take one good look at him and my hand instantaneously makes up the decision for the rest of me.

I slam the door shut with enough force to have it rattling on its hinges and him stumbling to the side.

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” I could give a damn now about sounding calm. I’d always tried to keep that placid tenor, to not have Watanuki know how much he affected me, but it seemed that method had backfired.

He starts at my words, and I can tell he’s shocked by the way I was talking to him.

“I can’t go in Yuko’s shop. I had a piece of web closing down on my eye. I freaked out a little and I wanted to go home, and at least get a good idea of what was going on--That didn’t give you the right to make stupid decisions on your own. You make enough of those for yourself, and I sure as hell don’t want you to transfer them over to me, you little idiot.”

He’s gaping at me now, and I don’t care if this changed things between us, because I was sick of the way he was treating me.

I kick the side of his wall angrily and it seems to bring him out of his daze.

“You…” he chokes on the word and turns away from me so quickly that his shoes squeak on the floor. I follow after him as he tries to escape around his counter and into his kitchen. He goes for the window over the sink and opens it; thankfully for some much needed air.

He bites into his lower lip when he turns back around to face me, and says in a much smaller voice than I’d expected to come out from the likes of him, “It was my decision to make.”

His arms are bracing against the sink as he faces me, and I move closer to him. “Then…it was my decision too.” My voice had gone back to the normal volume and it seemed to have a calming effect on the person in front of me.

“Back then when I had pulled apart that spider’s web to get your hand free…that was my decision.” I had his attention and I moved past my barriers because I wanted to keep that attention. “Back when you were getting sick, when you were visiting that lady…I killed her, without a second thought. That was my decision too and I didn’t care if you hated me for it, because that was my decision.” He gasps, and I can guess that he’s reliving the memory of my arrow piercing into the woman he had most likely looked up to as a mother-figure.

“Back then, when that girl had attacked you with a knife, it was my decision to grab it before it struck you.” He’s shaking his head now, as if trying to deny that any of those things ever happened, and I move to put my hands on his shoulders to steady him.

My voice cracks with strange desperation. “Back then, when I dug through the ground for you, when I held onto Himawari’s ribbon and prayed that you hadn’t died, that you would come back, and waited in the rain for ten agonizing hours--”

I shake him a little. I can’t help it. Something was shaking inside of me, trembling like a leaf in the wind, even when my hands were steady and firm on his shoulders. “That was my decision,” I breathe out, and the eye on me is scared and sad-looking.

“And that day that I had held onto your hand and hadn’t let go, that first day that was going to be one of many with you…was my decision. All of it.” Tears were running down his face without the accompanying sounds, and the pure silence of his pain made it even sadder to witness.

“Watanuki.” I had to swallow the answering lump in my throat to his tears. “Please, you might not respect me, but please, respect my feelings for you.”

Watanuki pushes pass me then, walking clumsily towards his bed and where he kept a box of paper tissues. He falls on his cot, tears off his glasses, and starts yanking out tissues, and it was then that I heard it: the muffled sobs of someone who didn’t want anyone to hear him crying and crying so desperately.

I can’t help but walk toward him, can’t help but sit down next to him and pry his hands away from his wet face. Watch him fist them in my hands and struggle to pull them back to where they’d been. He hiccups and sniffling with embarrassment, he suddenly throws himself towards me and buries his face in my chest. I let him cry all over my shirt, crushed up against my chest with one of my arms around his shoulders and the other on his head, trying awkwardly to pat his hair.

He cried, and cried, and I started to worry that it would never stop. Not when every time it seemed it would, he would sniff and start back all over again. I thought that maybe I had broken something within him that kept the tears at bay, that kept Watanuki strong enough to keep all his sadness and his wants for a normal life and all his hardships under his control. The sobs had gradually died down and holding a broken Watanuki in my arms had made me feel somehow stronger. Another decision was forming in my head, the decision to not make him cry again, because it was loud and messy and made me feel like shit.

He hugs me tighter before peeking up from under his bangs. He backs away, but he’s still holding onto the arms that are still around the small of his back.

“I need to lie down.” His voice is weary with anguish and he’s suddenly leaning back into my arms. I shift so I can lie him down. He closes his eyes, but with my arms still trapped, I hover over him, waiting for some kind of sign that everything will be okay.

He sighs and arches up so I can remove my hands from under his back, and it suddenly occurs to me then, that I’m practically on top of him and that I was getting hard from that realization.

He’s still arched up, waiting for me to slip my arms from under him. But when he feels that I’m not doing what he expects, that I’m actually clutching onto his lower back, he arches up even further, trying to get away from that touch.

I didn’t let him get very far, because suddenly my mouth is on his, pressing him back into the mattress, as I climb on top of him. He sucks in a breath and I push my tongue into his mouth when his lips try to get more air into his lungs.

It occurred to me that Watanuki might not like me that way and that I was stealing a kiss from him that had most likely been promised to Himawari. Watanuki was more than none revolted by my behavior, and he had every right to be, and I knew that I should stop, pull away, leave him alone to mourn his lost control and other things, but…

I got my tongue in his mouth and my erection throbbed painfully. This wasn’t too much of a surprise really, not when I’d already had my fair share of wet dreams about him. About what it would be like to finally shut him up and kiss him, or occupy his mouth with something else…

I liked Watanuki a lot, had for some time now, and it made the perverse pressure between my legs harden further when I settled my weight on him. Pressed the head of my cock against his thigh and tried not to come all over myself when he’d lifted up those long legs and wrapped one around my back.

Watanuki was kissing me back, open-mouthed and heated, his hands were suddenly passing through my hair, his fingers trying to find a purchase in the short crop and failing miserably. They clung to my neck and shoulders instead, and I couldn’t help but buck into his arms, right between his legs, rubbing myself roughly against his thighs.

It felt too good, and before I knew it, my shirt was off and I was unzipping my pants and at the same time trying to undress Watanuki. He was still kissing me, deep and soulful kisses, that for all there clumsiness and jitters of the first time, was still making my knees weak and my erection ache.

I ripped his pants off and didn’t even bother with his shirt when I felt the first contact of his thigh against the bared head of my erection. I groaned, grabbed his legs, hauled them up, and instinct was overriding the fact that this was my first time with anyone, and that my first time was going to be with a guy.

For some reason, it wasn’t bothering me as much as I thought it would. Which was a big indicator, because if all the clues were pointing to what I’d guessed a few months ago, that I’d been slowly falling in love, then this would be the last person too.

Watanuki could be difficult in everything else, but in bed, it seemed he wanted it just as much as me, because he didn’t even wait for me to try and find something to prep him with. He just moaned, something so enthralling that it made my beating heart squeeze in my chest and my cock leak. His skinny arms around my neck had pulled and shifted me until the head of my penis was pressing into his anus. Then without warning, using both of his legs he had squeezed me down on top of him and I was inside, stupid with surprise and lust, and I couldn’t stop leaking and bucking my hips.

He was biting down on his lip, his back completely arched and his stomach and his own erection pressing into my abdominal muscles. His shirt was slipping off one shoulder and the material lightly brushed my chest as the motions of his breathing picked up.

He was in pain, had to be if he had just done something so stupid and nice…and it didn’t matter anymore because Watanuki had hooked his legs around my waist and with the muscles in his thighs--the ones that I liked to watch flex during soccer matches--he was moving my hips, and causing friction against my penis and his erection against my stomach. He shivered, and I forgot my hesitation and pushed back into him, as deep as I could go, and it was just so easy. The thought that making love to Watanuki was so damn easy and felt so good, spurring me into pulling back out and slamming back in with a grunt. He was moaning around my shoulders and I could smell the powdered sugar on his hands, on his lips. Probably from taste-testing the cake he had baked today in Home Ec. The one that I had eaten all by myself and hadn’t left a piece for the rest of the class to try--and it was getting me harder. He was moving his hips, meeting my thrusts and with every huff of his breath, I could still smell the powdered sugar. The cinnamon, and nutmeg, and flour, and it was all mixed up with the sugar, and I had to kiss him, get that taste in his mouth, before I came, because it was all suddenly very important. He let me kiss him, let me suck his tongue and bruise the soft underside of his knees as I gripped it helplessly and pounded into him.

It took all of a minute and I came fiercely inside of him. He shrieked at the feel of it and then he was coming, right against my stomach and I pressed my body down on top of him so that it would help with the shivers wracking his body.

“Doumekiii” he purred, as I began tucking my head under his chin, breathing in the scent there and nuzzling into the motions of his throat, as it rapidly worked and swallowed air into his lungs. He shifted under me, a motion that caused the sensitive skin of my penis to brush against the loosening muscles of his body, and I had to grip his hips and slowly pull out, because I could feel the stirrings of arousal lapping at my body again. He moaned at the feel of it and I watched half-drugged on my ego as I slide out of him.

Breathing was the first order of business, and after a couple minutes of careful breaths and rest, I had grabbed my pants and started to pull them on. He was still lying down when I began buttoning my shirt and it didn’t look like he was moving from that spot anytime soon. He curled into himself on his side and I glanced at his alarm clock, saw that it was an hour past and that in an hour’s time, my life had changed and in all the best of ways.

Watanuki’s breathing had leveled itself out and I couldn’t figure if he was sleeping, until he turned his head to look back at me and simply thrown my way, like he was giving me my lunch or asking me to borrow a pencil--

“I want my eye back.”

Get angry and teach him. Because right now he has no idea how much he’s hurting you.

And suddenly with those five, small words tucked away in my chest, the world seemed a much brighter place.

............
A/n: There is weirdness with verb tense in this entire chapter. As I wrote it mainly in present, but then at the ending (sex scene) I switch over to past. It could be seen as symbolic, as it’s a good technique for showing a character living in the moment, but then when faced with reality, they come back to themselves and see things through perspective. Or it could be that written sex sounds less awkward in past than it does in present.
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