Some say that there’s nothing worse than a sore loser. The kind of people that will piss and moan about their loss, cut down the winner and everyone else involved, blaming everyone but themselves for the task they either did not complete, could not complete, or couldn’t complete well enough.

The kind that berate the champions, the judges, their peers. The people that carried them, trained them, gave them ‘false hope’ that they could be number one.

But what about the sore losers that aren’t as vocal, the ones that brood and keep quiet, the ones that blame themselves - with smiles that don’t reach their eyes, empty gratitudes for the ‘job well done’s they receive, and the broken-hearted feeling they carry with them away from whatever it is they didn’t quite make it as?

The ones self-marked as failures, beating themselves up in solitude for something they gave their all to, and came up short?

“You carry that failure with you,” you whispered to yourself; your sad, quiet reflection in the mirror that watched you with dull, blue eyes. “You are nothing, Manami Sangaku.”

And you believed it.

The days past since the Inter-high were long; empty; meaningless. Your failure had cut you deeply, and a part of you felt silly - It was just a race, after all. A race that had been fun, a race that, logically, bore no mark on you as an individual, or even a cyclist. There were people that would have given anything, material or otherwise in their lives to come in second like you had.

The other part of you hated that first part. The childish part, the fun part. Foolish. Naive. The Inter-high was clearly what you were born for, and you fucked. That. Right. Up. Not only had you let yourself down - it would have been different! Things would have been different if this were some personal milestone you attempted, something on your own time that you could win or lose - but you’d let Hakogaku down, too. Toudou, Arakita. Fukutomi. A part of you even broke for Izumida and Shinkai. They had sent you in, not as a last resort but as their hope, their last bastion against Sohoku.

You hadn’t left your room in days. It reminded you of when you were little, sick and weary and unable to do anything for yourself. Toudou had called. Fukutomi had tried to stop by, but you made your mother tell him you were out. It was a feeble excuse, seeing as you weren’t even in school, but he’d stopped coming - he stopped caring. No one else really… Seemed aware of what was going on. And that was fine with you. Better to fade away peacefully than to go out kicking and screaming, leaving a mark on the face of Hakogaku that shed them in a poor light.

You thought it was fine with you. It… Hurt. But then there was that part of you again, sneering and telling you you didn’t deserve it anyway, didn’t deserve the pity and the words of kindness or encouragement. You didn’t want that. Maybe you wanted the companionship. But you didn’t need someone telling you you did your best, you did just fine, <i>everything was <b>okay</b>.</i>

Hauling yourself off the floor, you head to your bed. The bitter nostalgia of childhood hits you even harder, like a chill, climbing up your back and throwing itself over your head like the bag before an execution. You climb onto your bed - facing your tv, eyes roving over the game systems piled next to it. You hate video games. They remind you, again, of your childhood. You were very sick as a child, bedridden and only had video games to pass the time. Your resentment of the heroes and anti-heroes alike stemmed from one thing: you wanted to suffer like they did. You wanted to feel alive - live your own life, make decisions that were good or bad, painful and rewarding.

Your empathy needed work.

Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you started up a game and decided to subject yourself to the torment. Six lives lost later, you were just as miserable as you had been when you started.

Though, in a moment of self-preservation, you decide to get some fresh air. It reminds you that you are <i>not</i> helpless, and that maybe there is hope for you and your mood yet.

The optimism lasts until you get to your bike, hand on the seat as you stare at it. You don’t really deserve to ride your bike, do you?

“You lost that privilege,” you mumbled with a small frown, turning away from it and heading to the street. Hands get shoved into your pockets, and you walk.

Like in animes or dumb romcoms, it was a fittingly grey day; the air heavy but not uncomfortable with an occasional breeze that ruffled your hair. It would have been a nice day for biking. But you’re content to walk, the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement a solemn song to accompany your penance. The noise around you was easy to shut out, your eyes focused on the ground. You had no idea where you were headed, had no real goal in mind… You kinda just wanted to move. Move, be moving. The thought of being as sedentary as you were as a child was actually somewhat terrifying to you; afraid you could actually regress to your sickly self from years ago in your… depression.

You made a face. Was it really depression? You felt a little guilty calling it that when the feeling of utter, crushing defeat was your own fault, but you couldn’t think of a better word for it. It seemed unfair to call it that when there were people going through much worse than you were. This made you feel like a brat, and you sat down the first place you could to rest your elbows on your knees, your face in your hands. You had it so good, compared to some people.

“How dare you, Manami.” Your hands balled into fists, clutching blue locks tightly. How dare you feel this way.

“Kid. You getting on, or what?” The voice from above pulled you from whatever dark tantrum you were about to throw, blue eyes locking with… the bus driver’s. Apparently your choice seat had been a bus stop, and without realizing it the vehicle had pulled up. You wonder how long he’d waited for you before saying something.

Figuring you had nothing better to do, you stood - climbing the stairs and seating yourself near the door in back. You didn’t quite know where it was headed (you hadn’t bothered to look) but anywhere would be better than around here. Nothing exactly reminded you of your misery, nor did it exacerbate it. Just keep moving. Maybe, eventually, you’d feel better.

------

Your hand slipped off the window with a bump in the road, causing your forehead to thunk against it - pulling you from the sleep you’d managed to fall into somehow. Moving not under your own power had a tendency to lull you. A drowsy gaze tried to give you some hint as to where you had ended up, but again, without looking, you stepped off the bus at the next stop.

Unfamiliar streets greeted you as you rubbed sleep from your eyes, studying your surroundings. Before long your feet were moving again, hands once more in your pockets as you kept on your trek. You had decided, some point between getting off the bus and just now, to completely disregard traffic safety; only stopping to avoid head-on collisions with other people and stationary obstacles. A car could hit you, you conceded. That would probably be okay.

“My body is useless for anything else.” A sigh. “It may as well be bedridden again.”

Apparently, someone had heard you.

“Oi oi oi,” you heard, from somewhere beside you. Eyes glanced over to a small storefront. No, just a little further - there. Grouped in the opening of an alleyway were a handful of kids relatively close to your age in appearance that… you… thought you recognized. “Ah… Sangaku. Manami Sangaku.”

Your walking stopped, staring at the group. It took you a moment to recognize them without their jerseys.

“Hiroshima.” The only word you could manage. So you were in Hiroshima. That would account for the unfamiliarity. And the one talking to you… “Ibitani.”

The kid in question staggered back melodramatically, clutching his chest.

“The Wonder Boy recognizes me! Catch me, Miya, I might faint!” Snickers were heard amongst the team, and Manami looked away. Wonder Boy. What a stupid name. You were no wonder.

“Right,” you mumble, “I’ll be on my way now.” Out of all the places you could have wandered…

“Oi oi! You’re just going to leave? Why not stay and chat awhile? I’m sure Miya would loooove to talk to you! Isn’t that right, Miya?”

You looked up again, catching the gaze of the ace. He was watching you, and finally stepped forward.

“Manami doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to.” Machimiya’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked down his nose at you. “And I’m sure he wouldn’t. Isn’t that right, Wonder boy?” His eyes bore into you, actually sending a chill down your spine. “You beat me, after all. Why bother with a loser?”

You swore your heart stopped at those words, mouth falling open slightly. Equal parts confused, hurt, and infuriated, you spoke before thinking.

“I’m the loser.” Your chest ached admitting it. “I lost to Onoda-kun. Not you.” Machimiya sized you up for a moment, chuckling to himself eventually.

“You’ve lost your stars, Wonder Boy. I wonder what else you lost to that megane.” He stepped up closer, and for some reason it made your skin crawl. You held your breath, even as he touched your hair, then your face. With an exhale, any sense of self-preservation left you. Impassively, you watched him as he touched you, deciding anything that could happen, anything that he could do would be no worse than how you felt right now. How your loss made you feel. You even stared him down as he picked up your chin with long, thin fingers. His eyes reminded you of a fox.

“Miya -” Ibitani tried to interject, but Machimiya cast him a look. It must have told him enough, because Ibitani, as well as the other Hiroshima members, began to slowly head off. “...Yeah. We’ll see you later.”

Eyes were back on yours, and in the brief moments of the half-silent conversation you’d managed to find enough feeling to be miserable all over again; you could feel that you’d lost your stars. (Whatever that meant.) Machimiya could see that you were nothing as much as you could feel it yourself, and your impassive, blank countenance cracked. You felt your bottom lip quiver, quickly tugging it between your teeth. The corner of his mouth twitched, and the grip he had on you tightened by an almost immeasurable fraction.

“I don’t get you, Wonder Boy.” His posture straightened and he let go of you, beginning to walk around you in a slow circle. “You beat me, you beat hundreds of other riders. And you lose to one.” Index finger was held up as he came round to your front again, wagging it in your face. By now, you feel the prickling heat of shameful tears welling in the corners of your eyes. Your eyes burn, but you don’t blink. “Is this my chance to beat you?” The finger came closer, dragging up your throat and the underside of your chin, the very tip supporting your head. “Are you delivering yourself to me? You’re so thoughtful. So, so modest.”

“I don’t care what happens to me,” you hear yourself say before you can stop your mouth from moving, “my body can’t do the one thing I thought it was good for. It’s useless to me.”

He appraised your words silently, and after what felt like ages grabbed your wrist hard enough to bruise.

“Come with me.” His words were low and spoken with a smirk, though their intent was dubious. Wordlessly, you followed, not even bothering to see where he was taking you. It didn’t really matter, and you were a little too far mired in your own problems to be curious. At this rate you’d let Machimiya push you off a cliff with little protest.

It wasn’t a cliff, but it was a dingy corner convenience store, shelves packed with this and that and the other. His hands were busy, and you could hear him casually mulling things over with himself and infrequently speaking to you. More comments about your stars, promises to share his own with you so you could get out of this slump.

“Or whatever it is,” he generalized, grabbing a cold Bepsi from one of the fridges near the front. “It’s such a shame seeing you like this, Manami-<i>kun</i>.” He began tossing items in front of the cashier, and you took note of a few bike magazines alongside the Bepsi, as well as a box of condoms. He gestured at them lamely, opening a magazine he clearly had no intention of buying to scan the pictures. “Buy these for me. It’s the least you can do in return.” You removed your wallet from your pocket, forking over the money and mumbling a small ‘thank you’ to the cashier as he bagged the items, handing them to you with what you could only define as a ‘curiously sad’ look. You didn’t want your gloom to be infectious, but at this point it couldn’t be helped. Noticing you’d accomplished his task, Machimiya grabbed your wrist again, making you wince, dragging you from the store.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Sangaku,” he mused casually, forcing you to keep pace with him as he walked to wherever the two of you were headed. “Nothing to say? I could be kidnapping you.” A laugh. It sounded a little like a dog’s bark, short and cruel. “Of course I’m not kidnapping you.” As if you cared. You’d already told him you didn’t care what happened to you. “But I am curious as to what’s on your mind, Ma-na-mi.” With every syllable that grip tightened on your wrist, and you bit your lip in response. You had no intention of ever really talking about what was on your mind; any time you tried to articulate it it didn’t make much sense anyway.

“Nothing,” you let out in a breath, watching your feet and letting your head shake a little, “nothing important.”

“Ah, that’s fine. I’m sure you’re <i>very</i> preoccupied with all sorts of things, mm? Maybe that little Sakamichi. You put up <i>such</i> a good fight, but in the end he was just the better cyclist.”

You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not, but every word, every thought about Onoda simultaneously hurt and made you so very angry.

“You’re shaking, Manami-kun.” As if the death grip he had on you had nothing to do with it. “Here-” He led you into another store, this one slightly bigger. “-get yourself a snack. You must be famished. You look it, anyway.” He collected a few things for himself, holding up various treats and asking your opinion on them. The result was always the same, a disinterested shrug and dismissive ‘I don’t know’s’ given. He shoved a melon pan into your hands and took you to the register, and once again you paid for his groceries and your own snack. Once outside he even unwrapped it for you, holding it inches from your face for what seemed like years before you finally took it, taking a bite. Satisfied, he handed the bag back to you, and the two of you were on your way again.

You’d finished the snack by the time the two of you stopped walking again, and your eyes lifted to find an unfamiliar looking little building. The rack outside told you it must have been the Hiroshima bike club room, and even being this close to something involving cycles was painful. Your fist clenched, and the action was enough for Machimiya to look back at you again.

“I know this is a strange place to you, Manami-kun, but it’s a place very important to me. Riding bicycles is as important to me as it is to you, you know.” His smile was almost unbearable, and you instead look to the building again. It was definitely similar to Hakogaku’s club room, but slightly less inviting. You had no idea how Machimiya ran his team, but even in just how he was treating you now his techniques weren’t too hard to figure out. He let go of your wrist, opening the door and holding it; as if your entrance were any kind of choice. You knew better, at this point, to think anything he was doing was out of consideration for you at all. That was fine. You didn’t care. You headed into the clubhouse, still holding his bags. He took them from you with a sweet smile (or, his idea of one) and set them on the table, rummaging through them. With nothing to do, you sat and waited for him; not really sure (read: pretty goddamn sure) what you were waiting for. There was no mistaking that look in his eye when he first saw you, the look that persisted when he touched you, when he grinned and told you he’d get you your stars. (There was also no mistaking that you’d bought condoms for him, and honestly that was probably the most perturbing part of all.)

“Why here?” You asked, watching him waste time by methodically arranging items on the table, his touch lingering on the aforementioned box, fingers tapping thoughtfully.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he replied, voice gently condescending, as if he were reprimanding a child. “You said you didn’t care what happened to your body. I figured I’d at least do it the service of taking care of it someplace sheltered.” He turned, a wolfish sort of smile on his face. It was neither mollifying nor friendly. “And bikes are <i>comforting</i>, are they not? The things that make you feel most <i>alive.</i>” He stepped up to you, once again laying thin fingers on your skin. This time, one drew up your neck, and it made you shiver. “I’m going to make you feel again, Manami-kun. I’m going to give you stars.”

You swallowed, just in time for his thumb to brush across your throat. In the pit of your stomach, or buried deep, deep, deep within yourself, you felt a very small flame. You didn’t want this. But more than not wanting this you kind of wanted anything else to fixate on, and so you closed your eyes, letting out a defeated breath.

“I want your help.”

“Ask nicely, Wonder Boy.”

“Please help me get my stars, Machimiya-san.” No sooner had your sentence ended did he wrap his hand around your throat, slamming your head into the lockers behind you, behind the bench you were sitting on. A very startled, hurt cry left you, struggling to keep your balance between the gap. A heavy hand landed on your thigh, pinning your weight to the seat. The angle your body was at was extremely uncomfortable, and wow were you ever surprised by the odd sensation of euphoria that rippled through you briefly. It was compounded by the grip that tightened around your throat, your hands instinctively lifting to pry his off.

“Ah-ah,” he tutted, gripping your thigh tighter before lifting his weight off you entirely, causing you to slip between the bench and lockers, falling to the floor. Startled, you scrambled to your feet, tense and slightly shaken. Your deep, sharp breath was interrupted by his laughter, and he grabbed your wrist again. Lifted your hand, waggled it around a little. Predictably, you did nothing to fight him off. Your throat burned even from that little bit of pressure, afraid to lift your hand to inspect the tender area. You look up at him, mouth slightly open, expecting him to do or at least <i>say</i> something else. You weren’t sure what to do or expect… And there was no hint in those fox-like eyes of his. Even still, he blocked your way to the door - and you realized that you really had no desire of leaving anyway. Your flight or fight reflex was stunted, only briefly flirting with the idea of actually doing something to preserve that worthless life of yours.

His voice dragged you from your thoughts.

“Go get me that box, Wonder Boy. The box of condoms you bought for me earlier. What a good thing you did, helping me out like that. In return for what I’m going to do to you.” To, not for. The distinction made your knees quake ever so slightly, and it made the short walk to the table difficult. But you did as you were told, silently subservient to a man that chilled you to your very core. Offering him the box, you swallowed, watching it in his terrifying fingers. A little chuckle came from him, and you felt even more energy drain from you. Shoulders slumped impossibly low, you closed your eyes again. Ready to accept your fate.

He seemed to take this as a go-ahead, because it was then that he grabbed your bicep, once again with a grip enough to bruise, twisting you around and your arm behind yourself. You were slammed into the lockers again, biting your tongue and giving a weak cry of pain. He held your arm there, pushing it higher, and a whimper was drawn from your mouth. Shoulder burning, you lifted your other hand to close your fist, resting it on the locker next to you. It hurt more than anything you’ve really felt; you never really fought with people, much less physically, and even in your worst bike mishaps you’d scrape a knee or elbow or bump your head. Nothing constant, nothing where you can literally feel your bones and muscles protesting. It was a little amazing though, feeling new pain. So much so that Machimiya was dissatisfied with your silence, and pressed his weight against you.

“Ah-” Your sharp gasp of pain and quiet hiss made him snicker, and it was getting harder to breathe with him putting so much pressure on you and the locker like that. He was unrelenting, and every time you so much as twitched or breathed in a way he didn’t like, he would jerk your arm. This went on for a few agonizing minutes, and you weren’t sure what it was accomplishing. Was he trying to get you to submit? Your tail couldn’t get any further between your legs.

“M-Machi - Nnh!” This time, his free hand had gripped a handful of your hair, tightening as you instinctively tried to escape. His nails scraped your scalp, which felt as if it were on fire. He was pulling, and after a few moments you stilled, a feather-soft whimper on your breaths. But those too passed, even as your breathing maintained a quickened pace. Goddammit, you just wanted to <i>ask</i>-

“You’re struggling.” His voice was a ragged whisper, and it was right in your ear and his lips were brushing against it and shit it was unpleasant. “I thought you didn’t care what happened to your body.”

“I-I can’t h-help - ah!” You stupid, foolish fool. He didn’t want a response, not a verbal one anyway, and that was evident in how he dug his elbow into your back, right above your awkwardly bent arm. This made him pull your hair harder, and your eyes stung. He wasn’t wrong though. You didn’t care, but it was hard not to when everything just <i>hurt</i> so fucking <i>bad</i>...

He wasn’t even goading you any more, no sneers or jeers. Just pressure and pain, focused mainly on your back, head, and arm. Though you were standing a little weirdly to support yourself this way, and your legs had grown numb. You figured if he just planned to wait out your slow descent into madness your arm and back would grow numb, too. But before that would happen it would become unbearable, and just as it hit that point, Machimiya let you go.

You had not anticipated your knees giving out, nor how painful it would be to land squarely on them as you fell to the floor for the second time today. The sound surprised you, and your gasp echoed in the otherwise silent room. Your arm ached, and no amount of squirming could get that horrible feeling out of your back. Head was equally tender, and as you raised a hand to inspect, it was knocked away. Ah. Of course. You couldn’t go back on your word of being disinterested in what happened to your body, now. Injuries would have to be quantified later. When Machimiya was done with you. The ominous feeling once again settled on your shoulders, and you let out a tired, defeated sigh. You weren’t going back on it. What was the point? Either way, you’d leave here feeling the same (or, there was the possibility you’d feel different; better, as if the past few days weren’t filled with the crushing, overbearing feeling of emptiness. Unlikely, but not impossible-!) and Machimiya would have that disturbing smile as always. The two of you would continue disregarding the existence of one another and that would be that.

When you put it like <i>that</i> to yourself, the whole thing seemed really inconsequential. Inevitability was a very humbling thing. What made it frustrating was that Machimiya was incredibly unpredictable. It’s one thing, knowing something that’s going to happen no matter what celestial force might intervene. It’s another thing entirely being utterly in the dark, <i>waiting</i> for <i>something</i>, that could quite literally be <i>anything</i>, to transpire.

This made the seconds that ticked by seem like mostly-silent hours; your slightly uneven breathing the only sound to comfort you. You stared at the lockers, remaining as still as possible, focusing on the painful tingle of your arm. It was probably a few minutes later that you felt a firm pressure (very distinctive pressure points (very, very tiny pressure points)) focused in the middle of your back. Curious, as it(they) didn’t hurt, but as the pressure mounted you had no choice but to lean forward.

Your forehead slowly collided with the front of the locker again with a quiet ‘tunk’ sound, confusion prickling through your body. It was very slowly replaced by a dull pain. (, focused on those points.) Your back had been sore already.

“You look stupid like this, Wonder Boy.” It was this line from him that made you notice his voice wasn’t as close as it had been, and you speculated his foot was on your back. (Cleats…? Not like biking shoes, but for a different sport. Soccer. Baseball, maybe? You recall hearing somewhere he was a fan. You hadn’t noticed his footsteps making odd sounds like cleats might, but then again you weren’t really focused on that.) “Hmm.” The weight shifted slightly. (He was leaning now, on his bent knee, but you couldn’t see that.) “Open that locker next to you. There should be a little bottle in it. Get it for me.” Once again, obediently, you listen - not bothering to read it, you hand it backwards. “You’re very good at following instructions. I like that.”

Machimiya… Had that oddly impersonal way of delivering praise. It felt very dirty. As if he soiled the compliment before giving it to you. It was always wrapped around some insipid (though reasonable, you were just being a brat) command that you dumbly followed, so you supposed it was your own fault they seemed so underhanded. Still, they rubbed you the wrong way - adding that to the list of things you disliked about him.

He pushed further, and you slipped a little, needing to put your hands on the floor to brace yourself. From his perspective, it must have looked like -
“Oh, Wonder Boy,” he cooed, “bowing to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.” Mmn. His snicker sounded all sinister, and you winced. “Though I’m not about to complain. I like this view.”

His foot eventually slipped off your back and you winced again, but weren’t about to move. You knew better than that, surprisingly. You were a fast learner. If anything you bowed your head lower, letting out another shaking breath. You were oddly sore all over (not oddly in ‘how did this happen’, oddly in ‘odd. this is odd that all these places hurt like this.’) and the motion made the area between your shoulderblades ache. Though you were soon faced with another stimulant - the heat of Machimiya leaning over your back, fitted against you. He undoubtedly felt the chill race through you.

“You’re not as hungry as that Shinkai, are you,” he mused thoughtfully to the back of your head, but you felt him moving - and soon enough, his face was next to yours, hand creeping to your chin. Long, thin fingers traced your bottom lip. It took everything in your power to not take it between your teeth. “But you look like you like candy. Here, give these a suck, mmn?” Before you even had the opportunity to consider, the tips of his index and middle fingers were pushing past your lips, sliding along your tongue. The pads of his fingers were bitter and made your tongue retreat, but for every millimeter it shrunk back the fingers pushed in further, and you were soon forced to slide it under them for fear of choking on it. Or them. Working with him seemed to be the best option here, as choking just sounded wholly unpleasant. Far moreso than anything happening, at least.

<i>”Suck</i>, Wonder Boy.” The coldest command from him by far, and you made an unseated sound around his digits; though obliged. Tongue and lips busy, you imagined his fingers like one of those colourful popsicles you enjoyed sometimes after a good climb. You tried to, anyway. The taste and texture was off, and it took all you had not to gag. Far too lofty of a goal, evidently - you do anyway, eyes watering as you once again act on instinct, bowing your head away. “Don’t think so,” he chided, forcefully turning your head back to shove his fingers back in again, causing you to gag once more. But he was holding you still by your chin, and even from this angle he was remarkably strong. You wouldn’t have tried to escape, per se, but feeling like you were going to vomit every other second was a weird, uncomfortable limbo you knew you could live without. (You could also do without drooling all over yourself, but that was yet another luxury you would live without for now.)

He seemed to enjoy taking his time, and after another few long minutes that felt like they may as well have been hours, he pulled them out - your compensating swallows even grossing you out. Your reprieve was short lived though, and you felt the odd sensation of <i>something</i> leaving your body (it felt as if your chest got cold and tight, really. Your hands went a little numb, too) as he tugged down the back of your shorts. No amount of bracing or (however brief it was) mental preparation could ready you for the feeling that followed - a long, thin finger pushing itself into your asshole. Shoulders hunching, your forehead found the floor as your brow creased and your eyes pinched shut; gritting your teeth against the sharp intake of breath you took. Well-lubricated by your saliva, it hurt a lot less than it would have otherwise… But that didn’t make you feel any better about it. You felt his curled knuckles on your asscheeks, your own fingers pressing nails into your palms. This was fine. You could handle this. Even when he felt around inside you and it made you bite your lip to hide a whimper, you could handle it.Just relax. That was probably good advice, right?

“Relax, kid. I’m never going to get another one into you if you don’t chill out.”

Following your own advice (and refusing to acknowledge Machimiya had told you the same thing) you took a deep, shaky breath, letting it out over your hand. The floor felt cool on your cheek, and it countered the anxious heat that was building steadily in your body. Your cheeks, anyway, were on fire; you weren’t sure if it was because of what was happening, or because you were allowing yourself to <i>think</i> about what was happening. That finger probing you with little regard. Soon joined by another. You let out a soft ‘ah’ of a groan, nails digging further into your palms at the burn in your backside. It made you feel light-headed, and as he stretched you with those spidery fingers your back arched slightly.

“There we go. You’re lucky I’m being so attentive to your needs, Wonder Boy. Taking my time with you. I’m already giving you stars, but making sure you don’t get hurt? I’m <i>such</i> a good <i>friend</i>, I know. Even if you said you don’t care what happens to your body, <i>I</i> do.” He stayed knuckle-deep in you now, every movement of his fingers sending little blinks of light-headedness over you. It was very weird, the way the feeling came in waves like it did. It had felt like a dull pinch before, but now it wasn’t entirely awful. It’d be farfetched to say you <i>liked</i> it, but the more he did it, the less you felt the need to try and worm away.

You… weren’t really sure if you were glad for that, or not.

A shiver ran through you, once or twice, making you bite your lip and hold in a hum of discomfort. (Which you did poorly. You could hear yourself. As well as Machimiya breathing behind you. Every so often he’d tut and try moving his fingers in a different way - to which you responded probably exactly as he wanted, with a little noise and uneasy squirm.)

“Hmm.” The thoughtful hum from him preceded the withdrawal of his fingers, the action making you a little dizzy. You heard him fumbling around for something; fabric shifting. The hollow sound of thin cardboard being manipulated. “Spread your ass. I want to admire my handiwork.” It took you a moment to open your hands; after being clenched for so long your hand muscles didn’t want to work. You managed, however, and reached behind you - weight supported on your shoulders and the side of your face, feeling more heat rise to your cheeks as you parted your buttocks for him. A chill raced through you again, this time from the coolness of the room hitting some of your warmest areas. “Good… I like that. I did a good job for you.” His voice sounded different, just slightly. A little darker, a little huskier, maybe. “Thank me for helping you.”

Instantly: “Thank you, Machimiya-san.” Your own voice sounded weird, too, after being so quiet for so long. Soft. Distant. It held little inflection and you knew that he knew your words were insincere, but he didn’t seem to care.

You let out a long exhale, fairly certain you knew what was coming next. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before you felt a heat pressing at your hole, making your hands quake. He knocked them out of the way, saying something about how they were ‘in the way’ and how you’d ‘probably forget what you were doing anyway’. Your palms were flat against the ground as the swollen head of his cock was pushed into you, which was probably for the best - the unforgiving floor of the club room was probably a better thing to bite your nails into than your ass.

It was surreal how your vision blurred from the slight pain, bizarre how it was as if every breath was stolen from your lungs and had taken your voice with it. (Which you had noticed when your initial cry was nothing but your mouth hanging open stupidly, trying to get air in and out at the same time.) What was slightly less whimsical was how, in your attempt to get away from the invasion at first, you ran into the locker; stunning yourself momentarily.

“Christ, Wonder Boy. Calm the fuck down. I’m not even moving yet.” Little specks danced in your vision as he spoke, the initial spark of life fading from your bones. It had not been a lie, he wasn’t moving - but the sensation had you tense; elbows weak in their attempt to hold you up. You felt electrified, like your whole body was humming angrily. It was just - you’d never done this before. Not with an actual person. You didn’t really count it as anything special, it would have just been nice to have had experience.

But then again, it didn’t really matter, right?

When Machimiya began pushing his hips forward, guiding with firm hands on your hips, your head bowed downward again, once more finding refuge on the floor. You bit your lip and swallowed thickly, more determined than ever to put up with this and remain apathetic. Your stupid, useless body just had other plans, clearly not agreeing with what you had your head set on. It was evident in the little tears of duress that you felt in the corners of your eyes, lifting a hand to cover your face. That, of course, didn’t help, and no amount of will could have prevented the frail moan of distress that left through trembling lips. Your fingers curled uselessly against your cheek, teeth clenched again to try and focus on anything but the pressure that you felt. You were entirely rigid aside your tremors, the tension you retained in your entire form actually giving you a headache.

“I’m being so good to you, aren’t I?” His voice was strained, his fingertips pressing into your skin. “You should be - nngh, <i>relax</i> - so grateful to me.” Another moan, grinding your temple against the floor to try and alleviate some of the pain. Your breaths were shallow, hot puffs over the tip of your pinky you’d taken between your teeth to chew anxiously, eyes struggling to focus on anything across the room from you. You broke skin when you felt his hips against your backside, a stuttered little grunt your only vocal retaliation. His laugh sounded relieved, and his warm hands rubbed the tops of your still-clothed thighs. “Ah. You will be.” Grateful to him? You had your doubts. But then again, at the start of the day it didn’t seem like anything would drag you up from the depths of your mood.

He… wasn’t moving. A part of you was relieved, and the other part was confused. Why..?

“Does it hurt, Manami-kun?” Why lie. You nodded, tasting the blood on your finger from the bite. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice held no malice, no humor, no… nothing. It startled you. At this point, you weren’t sure if… Well, that didn’t matter. After some hesitation, you shook your head. “Use your voice.” You pulled your pinky from your mouth.

“No.” And then, quieter: “It’s okay to keep going.” What was this. What was he doing. Some sort of underhanded tactic to reel in your trust and then throw it back in your face? Would he have stopped if you told him to? Confusion gave way to panic, and you felt the tears slip down your cheeks. But you’d given the green light, told him to keep going, told him it was <i>okay</i> to keep going, and he did. It was fine. He hadn’t really prepared you very well, but he’d lubed himself up pretty damn good and you were used to the feeling now. You wouldn’t say you enjoyed it, a realization that disappointed you very slightly, but in the long run, what would it matter? Machimiya was helping you. Getting you stars. You’d… feel better.