To Sensei with Love
Title: To Sensei with Love
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho, Ohno Satoshi, Aiba Masaki, Ninomiya Kazunari
Summary: He ate quicker, doing his best to avoid looking at the perfect hair and the shorts and the gym whistle. Coach Matsumoto was just too pretty to be working at the school.
Notes/Warnings: I don't know where this came from. But I think I like it.
The bento from the convenience store didn’t look half as good as Aiba-sensei’s. Then again, when it came to Aiba-sensei’s lunch, appearance often outweighed common sense. Sho stared glumly at his cheap and not-as-fresh-as-he’d-hoped salmon rolls while Aiba stuffed bite after bite of curry rice in his mouth. It smelled almost pickled - Aiba did a little too much experimentation with his food.
But Sho supposed that was to be expected from a chemistry teacher.
The door to the teachers’ lounge opened, and his stomach did that little clenching thing it did whenever he came in. He ate quicker, doing his best to avoid looking at the perfect hair and the shorts and the gym whistle. Coach Matsumoto was just too pretty to be working at the school. He’d been a baseball player - an injury cut his catching career short. Instead of going into sports casting or something lucrative, he decided to be a gym teacher.
And for three long years, Sho had kind of sort of maybe had a crush on him. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. To be fair, the first year, Sho had not really liked him because he wouldn’t turn students in for smoking. Thus Coach Matsumoto was “cool” and Sakurai-sensei was “super lame.” And then in the second year, Sho had spent most of the year helping to run student council, which tended to coincide with baseball practice. So he didn’t see much of Matsumoto then.
But this year. Well, this year had been different. At the beginning of the school year, the desks in the office had been rearranged, some feng shui phase the principal was in. Now Sho’s desk was face to face with Matsumoto’s. And the Coach was always in there when Sho had his planning period. On the phone. Talking to whoever he was seeing that week.
He shoved a salmon roll in his mouth and chewed bitterly. Aiba gave him a nudge. “Why don’t you have him sit with us?”
“He always sits with Ohno-sensei.” And sure enough, the Coach was sitting with the art teacher, digging into his lunch while the other man slurped down his miso.
“Well, he doesn’t always have to sit with Ohno-sensei,” Aiba pointed out.
But Sho just shrugged. Matsumoto pulled his cell phone out of his shorts (and Sho couldn’t count the number of times he’d wondered just where he kept it in there before getting light headed) and started calling people. All his old sports buddies, girls, guys, Sho never knew. It seemed that nothing could really irritate the peaceful Ohno-sensei, so Jun could have lunch with someone and not send them off screaming in irritation.
Sho wished Coach Matsumoto would call him once in a while. But that was as likely as his students getting more than 60 points on an exam. He tossed the rest of his lunch in the trash and waved goodbye to Aiba.
He missed Matsumoto’s wistful gaze at his backside as he departed the lounge.
--
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”
He jumped in his seat, seeing Ninomiya was standing just in front of his desk, leaning against his mop. “Don’t…don’t…just never do that, would you?”
Nino sighed. “You’re the one off in dream land,” the janitor pointed out. Sho wasn’t sure why Nino was a janitor, why he didn’t have bigger aspirations. But the pay was consistent, and he used all of his down time playing video games. He usually had better systems and newer games than Sho’s own students.
“I’m grading,” he corrected the man, looking back at the stack of exams in front of him. Nobody was understanding plurals - when to use “s” and when to use “es.” English came easier to him than to lazy high schoolers it seemed. Sure, he really had spaced out, knowing that Coach Matsumoto was running a swimming unit this week. The thought of the Coach walking along the pool in tight trunks with just the whistle on his upper body…
“You’re gone again, Sho. Just thought you’d want a heads up.”
“Shut up.” He crossed out “birdes” on one student’s exam with his red ink and kept grading. “Don’t you have a toilet to clean?”
Nino just snorted. “I don’t see why you can’t just ask the guy out.”
“Because I don’t date co-workers.”
“Well, I do,” Nino announced proudly. “Which is why it’s always hilarious when you break up, and they try so damned hard to avoid you.”
“I don’t find things like that hilarious,” Sho replied, sighing at a test that was beyond all hope of passing. He’d have to redo the whole unit at this rate. “Besides, you and Ohno-sensei won’t break up.”
“That’s because the sex is great.”
“Okay, Nino. Thank you. Please leave, I’m trying to work.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t get laid. Keep telling a bunch of kids who aren’t listening about participles and shit.” He picked up his mop and bucket, still grinning that mischievous grin as he left Sho alone.
He nearly put the red pen through the next student’s exam.
--
“Who would like to read this sentence?”
He scanned the classroom. Fourteen sleeping or at least with their heads down, four on their cell phones, two staring out the window, three passing handwritten notes and one empty chair. That one was probably on the roof smoking.
“Yamada, you want to read this?”
“No.”
The piece of chalk snapped in his fist. He was getting an ulcer, he just knew it. “Okay. I’ll read it. It says ‘where is the police station?’ If you’re ever in America, this might actually be useful. So you don’t die.”
He was met with silence. The bell would ring in thirty-five seconds. He gave up. “Please complete pages twenty-seven through twenty-nine in your vocabulary books.” The bell drowned out his specific instructions, not that they’d listen otherwise.
Sho sighed, finding the eraser and wiping away his work while the students packed up and departed. He spent hours writing up his lesson plans. And for what?
“Sakurai-sensei?”
He dropped the eraser, chalk dust getting all over his slacks. Sho turned to see Coach Matsumoto in the doorway of the classroom, wearing track pants, a t-shirt and a visor. His whistle gleamed in the sunlight. “Hi. Hi there. Coach Matsumoto. Hi. How are you?” He was an English teacher - occasionally his own native language tended to elude him.
“I’m fine.” He adjusted the visor and smiled. Sho nearly collapsed. “I was chatting with Aiba-sensei.”
“Oh really?” This was bad. This was really bad. He was probably going to kill Aiba one of these days, if the man didn’t blow himself up in the chemistry lab first.
“Well, you see, there’s an American magazine that wants to interview me. About transitioning from sports to different careers.” Matsumoto looked slightly embarrassed. “Aiba-sensei said that you’d be great help with my English. Maybe you could even be my translator for the article?”
“Your…translator?”
Matsumoto blushed, turning as red as his t-shirt. “I completely understand if you’re busy. With your classes and student council and…”
“I’d love to!” Sho blurted out.
“You would?”
He cleared his throat, tried to calm his racing nerves. Tutoring? One on one? Tutoring Coach Matsumoto one on one? “I mean, I think I could find some time in my schedule. When’s the interview?”
“Two weeks.” He was leaning against the doorway, all long, graceful, perfect limbs. Why was he leaning like that? Why? “On a Sunday morning.”
“That should be fine.” Sho wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks, forgetting about all the chalk dust on them. “When would you have time for some tutoring?”
“How about during planning period? They overlap, don’t they?”
But Sho needed planning period to plan. He wasn’t a gym teacher, after all. The Coach was looking at him with those big, pretty eyes - well, he could always come in early and use that time for a planning period instead. “Sure.”
“Great! We can 'start' tomorrow,” Matsumoto said, trying out some English. Bless his beautiful heart. The guy’s cell phone rang, and he could only stare as Matsumoto pulled it from inside his track pants. “Whoa, better take this. Thanks!” Sho nodded as the coach jogged off, answering the phone.
Sho pinched himself. Wow. Not a dream. At least not this time.
--
A few days later, Nino helped himself to one of Sho’s rice balls. “Get your own lunch,” Sho complained. “Why don’t you eat in your closet?”
“Ahem,” Nino interrupted, mouth full of onigiri. “It’s the Fortress of Janitorial Solitude, Sakurai. And for the record, I don’t eat around my Xbox. Delicate machine!”
Aiba went ahead and took Sho’s other rice ball. “So how’s it going? Have you two had sex yet?”
Sho yanked the rice ball back, even though Aiba had already had it in his mouth. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“Come on, Sho,” Nino prodded. “You’re making moony eyes at each other during planning period. It makes me want to throw up when I’m trying to mop the floor in there.”
“We don’t make moony eyes,” Sho protested. “And maybe you should mop some other time.”
“Has the Coach learned any English yet?” Aiba asked, picking some weird sticky slime out of his hair. Obviously another experiment had gone awry in his class that day.
Coach Matsumoto’s English skills were…lacking, if Sho wanted to be polite. Nonexistent was more like it. There was no way Sho could get him ready to converse in English before the next Sunday - he’d probably have to translate the whole thing for him. But Matsumoto wanted to do it himself. He was stubborn, all right, but he’d make a fool of himself at this rate.
“He’s working very hard,” Sho said quietly. It was growing more and more difficult, having Matsumoto in those damn shorts sitting next to him during planning period, having him close enough to lick (if he wanted to - he did) while they went over sentences and lessons together.
“So when are you going to bang him?” Nino interjected. “I don’t really give a crap about his academic journey.”
Matsumoto entered the lounge, giving Sho a quick wave and a smile, and Sho waved back shyly as the coach sat down at his usual place next to Ohno-sensei. Aiba laughed. “You guys are so going to do it,” the chemistry teacher giggled, and Sho had to keep his hand from smacking the guy’s head.
“Shut up!” Sho squeaked. He got to his feet, scowling. “I have to get ready for class.”
He was so flustered that he once again missed Matsumoto’s appreciative glance at his behind as he departed.
--
“So,” Jun said. He’d insisted - Sho still wasn’t used to thinking of him as Jun. He’d always been Coach Matsumoto. It was really hurting his brain. It was getting harder and harder, or rather, more and more difficult to not jump on board Jun’s lap and blow his whistle.
“So,” Sho repeated. They’d been going over phrases for the better part of planning period, but Jun just wasn’t getting it. “Let’s try for a conversation, okay? Just in English. I’ll be the reporter.”
“And I’ll be me.”
He nodded. It seemed that Jun had gotten the pretty genes more than the smart genes. Sho didn’t mind.
He started out in English. “Good morning, Mr. Matsumoto.”
Jun nodded. “Good morning. Nice day, yes?”
“Why did you become a teacher?”
Jun squinted a bit, forehead crinkling in thought. “Why I…become…I…” He waited, watching Jun struggle for words. They’d gone over this again and again. The interview was in two days, and the coach was so utterly lost. “I love children.”
Sho bit his lip. That could go south very easily, especially if he wore his short shorts to the interview. “You care about students and want them to succeed,” Sho continued, trying to make Jun’s attempt a bit less gross.
Matsumoto slid over a bit, sitting close enough to get Sho’s heart beating like a rabbit’s. “Love students. So much I have love for students, yes.”
“You know what? Let’s take a break.” His voice had cracked. Between Matsumoto’s close proximity and his butchering of the English language, Sho couldn’t take much more. If this was the interview Jun gave, he’d just come across as a pervert who wanted to make sweet, sweet love to all his students.
And if Jun was going to make sweet, sweet love to anybody, Sho hoped and hoped it would be him. But that’s only because he had Nino and Aiba after him every day, hoping for a report on the sure to be awesome sexual prowess of the gym teacher everyone and their mother wanted to get with. He was surprised Jun had spoken to him at all, and he thought maybe they’d get some dinner after the interview, but the janitor and the chemistry teacher had given Sho an ultimatum.
If Sho didn’t bag himself a gym teacher by the end of the weekend, they were going to tell Matsumoto that Sho was in love with him. And he did not want to know how Nino or Aiba would phrase such a thing.
Jun looked depressed. “No good?”
“No, no…well, yeah,” Sho said, unable to really let him down gently. “They might think you like to sleep with your students if you phrase your answers that way.”
Matsumoto paled. “Oh.”
Sho paled too. “You don’t actually sleep with your students do you?”
“No!” Jun said. “No, I’m…well, I’m spoken for.”
Sho’s heart sank. There was no way he’d be sleeping with Jun if he was already in a relationship. This was bad. Terrible, even. He could already see Aiba baking a cake that had “Sakurai-sensei wants to take a shot at your goal!” written on it in frosting, or Nino patting Jun’s shoulder and simply saying “Sho wants to suck your…”
“Well, I better get back to the gym. Basketball today,” Jun announced, stretching a bit in his chair. It made his shorts ride up even more, and Sho busied himself with the papers and phrasebooks on the desk in front of him.
“Right.”
Coach Matsumoto’s interview was probably doomed. Sho’s love life was also doomed at this rate. He wondered if it was too late to submit a letter of resignation, pack his bags, and move to Antarctica. At least the penguins wouldn’t steal his lunch like the janitor did.
--
“I’m never going to be able to say anything,” Sho complained. He kicked the vending machine, seeing the bag of potato chips was suspended between the metal and not at the bottom where it should be. “Oh no. I’ll never get it out now!”
“You’re so certain,” Ohno-sensei said, watching Sho let out his frustrations on the machine. “Always with you…you’re always saying it can’t be done. Have you heard nothing I’ve been saying?”
Sho eyed the art teacher suspiciously. “Ohno-sensei. Getting chips out of machines is one thing. My…working with Coach Matsumoto is totally different.”
“No! No different,” Ohno insisted, giving the machine a gentle shake. “Only different in your mind.”
He was confused. Was he supposed to…shake Jun like a vending machine? “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”
“No! Try not!” Ohno demanded. “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
Sho awoke, the school cafeteria, vending machine and Ohno-sensei vanishing. He blinked a few times, realizing he’d fallen asleep on his couch. The Empire Strikes Back credits were scrolling up, and he sighed noisily in the dark.
No more movies this late. Not when he had a pretty coach to…coach the following day.
--
“And thank you very much for your help, Mr. Sakurai. I think Mr. Matsumoto is an inspiration for a lot of people,” the reporter said kindly, shaking his hand.
Sho felt a bit weak in the knees at the unexpected praise. Jun was beaming as the Americans packed up their gear and headed off for their next interview. They’d spent almost all of Saturday together, getting Jun’s English up to at least a three year old’s capability.
It had wounded Jun’s pride to let Sho do most of the translating, but after the first question had left him completely blank, Sho had hurried in with a rather eloquent and flattering answer. Okay, so maybe Coach Matsumoto didn’t volunteer at homeless shelters or help old ladies cross the street, but what did the Americans care? They had their heartwarming success story, and Jun got to prance around in his shorts for the photo shoot. Everybody was a winner that day.
Well, except for Sho. Jun was already on the phone with someone, telling them about the interview and how well it had gone. Sho just stood there in the school gym, uncomfortable, as Jun continued his conversation. It was probably his significant other, wasn’t it?
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be over for dinner later. Sure, sure,” Jun was saying while Sho looked at the blank scoreboard, trying to think of a way to leave without being rude.
Aiba was probably baking that cake. Nino was probably…well, Nino was probably online playing video games against twelve year olds from Singapore, but he was also plotting, Sho knew it. His love life was more depressing than the dream potato chips stuck in the dream vending machine.
Coach Matsumoto had gotten through his interview successfully. They’d part, better friends than before, but Sho had a metric ton of tests to mark up with red, and Jun probably had soccer balls to inflate. He turned around, ready to just wave, say goodbye and let Aiba or Nino ruin the one meaningful relationship he would have liked to have.
“Yeah, Mom…I’ll be there.”
Sho blinked. Mom?
Jun smiled. “I promise, I'll bring dessert. Love you. Bye bye.” He snapped the phone closed, sticking it back in his shorts.
Sho was flabbergasted. All this time? All those calls? Coach Matsumoto was just a mama’s boy? Hope leapt up into his heart - or maybe it was heartburn, but either way, he had a sudden rush of excitement. So did the Coach, as he closed the distance between them and smiled.
“Sakurai-sensei…”
“Sho’s fine,” he squeaked.
“Sho.” His smile was like a neon sign - just how many teeth did this guy have? “Thank you so much for helping me out. You’re the best.”
“No, you’re the best.”
What the hell did that even mean? He was going to keel over. He was literally going to die from beautiful man proximity, and they’d find him in the gym the next morning, all dead and stuff. His students would rejoice. But Jun just kept smiling, leaving Sho to continue the conversation.
“So…I guess that gets published next month? I’ll be sure and buy a copy. Ten copies! Er, unless that’s weird. I mean, if you don’t think it’s weird, then it’s totally not weird…”
“Sho?”
“Yeah?”
And then there was a gym whistle thudding against his sweater vest, and Coach Matsumoto taking his oxygen away and Coach Matsumoto pressed against him and Sho was quickly discovering that Coach Matsumoto was a wonderful kisser. He was completely still, save for some rumblings down below, unable to believe what was happening.
The man in the tight little shorts that he’d dreamed about for all this time, thanking him for the translating help with his tongue. All this time he’d been teaching Jun English, and he’d never thought about French. Jun broke apart first, nothing but wickedness in his eyes. “You can kiss me back. I know you want to.”
“I…what?”
Jun took Sho’s hand, guiding it around to cup his backside through the shorts. The damn shorts. “I like you, Sakurai-sensei. And that creepy otaku janitor says you like me too.”
Nino! If Sho wasn’t clothed crotch to clothed crotch with Coach Matsumoto right now, he’d be taking a hammer to the janitor’s Xbox.
Jun brought his lips back to Sho’s, languid and teasing. “So if we both like each other, why don’t we do something about it? You know I can hear you guys talking at your lunch table, right?”
He steadied himself, tightening his grip on the coach’s rear. “So…so if you know I like you, and you like me…you like me too, wait. How long could we have been doing this?”
Jun picked up the whistle, running the cold metal along Sho’s lips. “For ages.”
He shuddered, breathing hard enough for the slightest sound to come out of the whistle as Jun teased him with it. Even though Nino had already told on him, he was suddenly very determined (if the feeling between his legs was anything to go on) to win the bet.
Sho pushed the whistle aside, putting everything he had into pushing his mouth against Jun’s. He stopped just shy of putting his hand inside the waistband of those impossible shorts. “I know the perfect place. If you’re interested.”
The coach was running his fingers through Sho’s hair. “I’m interested.”
It was Sho’s turn to smile.
--
The salmon rolls were much better today. Or maybe everything tasted better to Sho now that he was floating on cloud nine. Even Aiba was noticing. The chemistry teacher elbowed him, wicked grin plastered on his friendly face.
“You totally had sex with him.”
Sho just dipped the sushi in some soy sauce, popping it in his mouth. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Aiba snorted. “Okay, sure. Then what’s with the whistle?”
Sho turned scarlet, tucking the metal whistle back inside his sweater vest. “It’s to keep the students in line.”
The lounge door opened, and Sho turned his head, ready to wink, smile, eye-copulate with Coach Matsumoto. But it wasn’t Jun. Nope, it was Ninomiya. Sho barely ducked in time as the Xbox controller came flying at his head.
“You!” the janitor was screaming. “You’ve profaned my fortress with your…with your…what did you do in there?!”
Aiba choked on his curry rice, and Sho beamed. He’d won all right, he thought proudly, getting to his feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I left my grade book in the gym.”
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho, Ohno Satoshi, Aiba Masaki, Ninomiya Kazunari
Summary: He ate quicker, doing his best to avoid looking at the perfect hair and the shorts and the gym whistle. Coach Matsumoto was just too pretty to be working at the school.
Notes/Warnings: I don't know where this came from. But I think I like it.
The bento from the convenience store didn’t look half as good as Aiba-sensei’s. Then again, when it came to Aiba-sensei’s lunch, appearance often outweighed common sense. Sho stared glumly at his cheap and not-as-fresh-as-he’d-hoped salmon rolls while Aiba stuffed bite after bite of curry rice in his mouth. It smelled almost pickled - Aiba did a little too much experimentation with his food.
But Sho supposed that was to be expected from a chemistry teacher.
The door to the teachers’ lounge opened, and his stomach did that little clenching thing it did whenever he came in. He ate quicker, doing his best to avoid looking at the perfect hair and the shorts and the gym whistle. Coach Matsumoto was just too pretty to be working at the school. He’d been a baseball player - an injury cut his catching career short. Instead of going into sports casting or something lucrative, he decided to be a gym teacher.
And for three long years, Sho had kind of sort of maybe had a crush on him. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. To be fair, the first year, Sho had not really liked him because he wouldn’t turn students in for smoking. Thus Coach Matsumoto was “cool” and Sakurai-sensei was “super lame.” And then in the second year, Sho had spent most of the year helping to run student council, which tended to coincide with baseball practice. So he didn’t see much of Matsumoto then.
But this year. Well, this year had been different. At the beginning of the school year, the desks in the office had been rearranged, some feng shui phase the principal was in. Now Sho’s desk was face to face with Matsumoto’s. And the Coach was always in there when Sho had his planning period. On the phone. Talking to whoever he was seeing that week.
He shoved a salmon roll in his mouth and chewed bitterly. Aiba gave him a nudge. “Why don’t you have him sit with us?”
“He always sits with Ohno-sensei.” And sure enough, the Coach was sitting with the art teacher, digging into his lunch while the other man slurped down his miso.
“Well, he doesn’t always have to sit with Ohno-sensei,” Aiba pointed out.
But Sho just shrugged. Matsumoto pulled his cell phone out of his shorts (and Sho couldn’t count the number of times he’d wondered just where he kept it in there before getting light headed) and started calling people. All his old sports buddies, girls, guys, Sho never knew. It seemed that nothing could really irritate the peaceful Ohno-sensei, so Jun could have lunch with someone and not send them off screaming in irritation.
Sho wished Coach Matsumoto would call him once in a while. But that was as likely as his students getting more than 60 points on an exam. He tossed the rest of his lunch in the trash and waved goodbye to Aiba.
He missed Matsumoto’s wistful gaze at his backside as he departed the lounge.
--
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”
He jumped in his seat, seeing Ninomiya was standing just in front of his desk, leaning against his mop. “Don’t…don’t…just never do that, would you?”
Nino sighed. “You’re the one off in dream land,” the janitor pointed out. Sho wasn’t sure why Nino was a janitor, why he didn’t have bigger aspirations. But the pay was consistent, and he used all of his down time playing video games. He usually had better systems and newer games than Sho’s own students.
“I’m grading,” he corrected the man, looking back at the stack of exams in front of him. Nobody was understanding plurals - when to use “s” and when to use “es.” English came easier to him than to lazy high schoolers it seemed. Sure, he really had spaced out, knowing that Coach Matsumoto was running a swimming unit this week. The thought of the Coach walking along the pool in tight trunks with just the whistle on his upper body…
“You’re gone again, Sho. Just thought you’d want a heads up.”
“Shut up.” He crossed out “birdes” on one student’s exam with his red ink and kept grading. “Don’t you have a toilet to clean?”
Nino just snorted. “I don’t see why you can’t just ask the guy out.”
“Because I don’t date co-workers.”
“Well, I do,” Nino announced proudly. “Which is why it’s always hilarious when you break up, and they try so damned hard to avoid you.”
“I don’t find things like that hilarious,” Sho replied, sighing at a test that was beyond all hope of passing. He’d have to redo the whole unit at this rate. “Besides, you and Ohno-sensei won’t break up.”
“That’s because the sex is great.”
“Okay, Nino. Thank you. Please leave, I’m trying to work.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t get laid. Keep telling a bunch of kids who aren’t listening about participles and shit.” He picked up his mop and bucket, still grinning that mischievous grin as he left Sho alone.
He nearly put the red pen through the next student’s exam.
--
“Who would like to read this sentence?”
He scanned the classroom. Fourteen sleeping or at least with their heads down, four on their cell phones, two staring out the window, three passing handwritten notes and one empty chair. That one was probably on the roof smoking.
“Yamada, you want to read this?”
“No.”
The piece of chalk snapped in his fist. He was getting an ulcer, he just knew it. “Okay. I’ll read it. It says ‘where is the police station?’ If you’re ever in America, this might actually be useful. So you don’t die.”
He was met with silence. The bell would ring in thirty-five seconds. He gave up. “Please complete pages twenty-seven through twenty-nine in your vocabulary books.” The bell drowned out his specific instructions, not that they’d listen otherwise.
Sho sighed, finding the eraser and wiping away his work while the students packed up and departed. He spent hours writing up his lesson plans. And for what?
“Sakurai-sensei?”
He dropped the eraser, chalk dust getting all over his slacks. Sho turned to see Coach Matsumoto in the doorway of the classroom, wearing track pants, a t-shirt and a visor. His whistle gleamed in the sunlight. “Hi. Hi there. Coach Matsumoto. Hi. How are you?” He was an English teacher - occasionally his own native language tended to elude him.
“I’m fine.” He adjusted the visor and smiled. Sho nearly collapsed. “I was chatting with Aiba-sensei.”
“Oh really?” This was bad. This was really bad. He was probably going to kill Aiba one of these days, if the man didn’t blow himself up in the chemistry lab first.
“Well, you see, there’s an American magazine that wants to interview me. About transitioning from sports to different careers.” Matsumoto looked slightly embarrassed. “Aiba-sensei said that you’d be great help with my English. Maybe you could even be my translator for the article?”
“Your…translator?”
Matsumoto blushed, turning as red as his t-shirt. “I completely understand if you’re busy. With your classes and student council and…”
“I’d love to!” Sho blurted out.
“You would?”
He cleared his throat, tried to calm his racing nerves. Tutoring? One on one? Tutoring Coach Matsumoto one on one? “I mean, I think I could find some time in my schedule. When’s the interview?”
“Two weeks.” He was leaning against the doorway, all long, graceful, perfect limbs. Why was he leaning like that? Why? “On a Sunday morning.”
“That should be fine.” Sho wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks, forgetting about all the chalk dust on them. “When would you have time for some tutoring?”
“How about during planning period? They overlap, don’t they?”
But Sho needed planning period to plan. He wasn’t a gym teacher, after all. The Coach was looking at him with those big, pretty eyes - well, he could always come in early and use that time for a planning period instead. “Sure.”
“Great! We can 'start' tomorrow,” Matsumoto said, trying out some English. Bless his beautiful heart. The guy’s cell phone rang, and he could only stare as Matsumoto pulled it from inside his track pants. “Whoa, better take this. Thanks!” Sho nodded as the coach jogged off, answering the phone.
Sho pinched himself. Wow. Not a dream. At least not this time.
--
A few days later, Nino helped himself to one of Sho’s rice balls. “Get your own lunch,” Sho complained. “Why don’t you eat in your closet?”
“Ahem,” Nino interrupted, mouth full of onigiri. “It’s the Fortress of Janitorial Solitude, Sakurai. And for the record, I don’t eat around my Xbox. Delicate machine!”
Aiba went ahead and took Sho’s other rice ball. “So how’s it going? Have you two had sex yet?”
Sho yanked the rice ball back, even though Aiba had already had it in his mouth. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“Come on, Sho,” Nino prodded. “You’re making moony eyes at each other during planning period. It makes me want to throw up when I’m trying to mop the floor in there.”
“We don’t make moony eyes,” Sho protested. “And maybe you should mop some other time.”
“Has the Coach learned any English yet?” Aiba asked, picking some weird sticky slime out of his hair. Obviously another experiment had gone awry in his class that day.
Coach Matsumoto’s English skills were…lacking, if Sho wanted to be polite. Nonexistent was more like it. There was no way Sho could get him ready to converse in English before the next Sunday - he’d probably have to translate the whole thing for him. But Matsumoto wanted to do it himself. He was stubborn, all right, but he’d make a fool of himself at this rate.
“He’s working very hard,” Sho said quietly. It was growing more and more difficult, having Matsumoto in those damn shorts sitting next to him during planning period, having him close enough to lick (if he wanted to - he did) while they went over sentences and lessons together.
“So when are you going to bang him?” Nino interjected. “I don’t really give a crap about his academic journey.”
Matsumoto entered the lounge, giving Sho a quick wave and a smile, and Sho waved back shyly as the coach sat down at his usual place next to Ohno-sensei. Aiba laughed. “You guys are so going to do it,” the chemistry teacher giggled, and Sho had to keep his hand from smacking the guy’s head.
“Shut up!” Sho squeaked. He got to his feet, scowling. “I have to get ready for class.”
He was so flustered that he once again missed Matsumoto’s appreciative glance at his behind as he departed.
--
“So,” Jun said. He’d insisted - Sho still wasn’t used to thinking of him as Jun. He’d always been Coach Matsumoto. It was really hurting his brain. It was getting harder and harder, or rather, more and more difficult to not jump on board Jun’s lap and blow his whistle.
“So,” Sho repeated. They’d been going over phrases for the better part of planning period, but Jun just wasn’t getting it. “Let’s try for a conversation, okay? Just in English. I’ll be the reporter.”
“And I’ll be me.”
He nodded. It seemed that Jun had gotten the pretty genes more than the smart genes. Sho didn’t mind.
He started out in English. “Good morning, Mr. Matsumoto.”
Jun nodded. “Good morning. Nice day, yes?”
“Why did you become a teacher?”
Jun squinted a bit, forehead crinkling in thought. “Why I…become…I…” He waited, watching Jun struggle for words. They’d gone over this again and again. The interview was in two days, and the coach was so utterly lost. “I love children.”
Sho bit his lip. That could go south very easily, especially if he wore his short shorts to the interview. “You care about students and want them to succeed,” Sho continued, trying to make Jun’s attempt a bit less gross.
Matsumoto slid over a bit, sitting close enough to get Sho’s heart beating like a rabbit’s. “Love students. So much I have love for students, yes.”
“You know what? Let’s take a break.” His voice had cracked. Between Matsumoto’s close proximity and his butchering of the English language, Sho couldn’t take much more. If this was the interview Jun gave, he’d just come across as a pervert who wanted to make sweet, sweet love to all his students.
And if Jun was going to make sweet, sweet love to anybody, Sho hoped and hoped it would be him. But that’s only because he had Nino and Aiba after him every day, hoping for a report on the sure to be awesome sexual prowess of the gym teacher everyone and their mother wanted to get with. He was surprised Jun had spoken to him at all, and he thought maybe they’d get some dinner after the interview, but the janitor and the chemistry teacher had given Sho an ultimatum.
If Sho didn’t bag himself a gym teacher by the end of the weekend, they were going to tell Matsumoto that Sho was in love with him. And he did not want to know how Nino or Aiba would phrase such a thing.
Jun looked depressed. “No good?”
“No, no…well, yeah,” Sho said, unable to really let him down gently. “They might think you like to sleep with your students if you phrase your answers that way.”
Matsumoto paled. “Oh.”
Sho paled too. “You don’t actually sleep with your students do you?”
“No!” Jun said. “No, I’m…well, I’m spoken for.”
Sho’s heart sank. There was no way he’d be sleeping with Jun if he was already in a relationship. This was bad. Terrible, even. He could already see Aiba baking a cake that had “Sakurai-sensei wants to take a shot at your goal!” written on it in frosting, or Nino patting Jun’s shoulder and simply saying “Sho wants to suck your…”
“Well, I better get back to the gym. Basketball today,” Jun announced, stretching a bit in his chair. It made his shorts ride up even more, and Sho busied himself with the papers and phrasebooks on the desk in front of him.
“Right.”
Coach Matsumoto’s interview was probably doomed. Sho’s love life was also doomed at this rate. He wondered if it was too late to submit a letter of resignation, pack his bags, and move to Antarctica. At least the penguins wouldn’t steal his lunch like the janitor did.
--
“I’m never going to be able to say anything,” Sho complained. He kicked the vending machine, seeing the bag of potato chips was suspended between the metal and not at the bottom where it should be. “Oh no. I’ll never get it out now!”
“You’re so certain,” Ohno-sensei said, watching Sho let out his frustrations on the machine. “Always with you…you’re always saying it can’t be done. Have you heard nothing I’ve been saying?”
Sho eyed the art teacher suspiciously. “Ohno-sensei. Getting chips out of machines is one thing. My…working with Coach Matsumoto is totally different.”
“No! No different,” Ohno insisted, giving the machine a gentle shake. “Only different in your mind.”
He was confused. Was he supposed to…shake Jun like a vending machine? “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”
“No! Try not!” Ohno demanded. “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
Sho awoke, the school cafeteria, vending machine and Ohno-sensei vanishing. He blinked a few times, realizing he’d fallen asleep on his couch. The Empire Strikes Back credits were scrolling up, and he sighed noisily in the dark.
No more movies this late. Not when he had a pretty coach to…coach the following day.
--
“And thank you very much for your help, Mr. Sakurai. I think Mr. Matsumoto is an inspiration for a lot of people,” the reporter said kindly, shaking his hand.
Sho felt a bit weak in the knees at the unexpected praise. Jun was beaming as the Americans packed up their gear and headed off for their next interview. They’d spent almost all of Saturday together, getting Jun’s English up to at least a three year old’s capability.
It had wounded Jun’s pride to let Sho do most of the translating, but after the first question had left him completely blank, Sho had hurried in with a rather eloquent and flattering answer. Okay, so maybe Coach Matsumoto didn’t volunteer at homeless shelters or help old ladies cross the street, but what did the Americans care? They had their heartwarming success story, and Jun got to prance around in his shorts for the photo shoot. Everybody was a winner that day.
Well, except for Sho. Jun was already on the phone with someone, telling them about the interview and how well it had gone. Sho just stood there in the school gym, uncomfortable, as Jun continued his conversation. It was probably his significant other, wasn’t it?
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be over for dinner later. Sure, sure,” Jun was saying while Sho looked at the blank scoreboard, trying to think of a way to leave without being rude.
Aiba was probably baking that cake. Nino was probably…well, Nino was probably online playing video games against twelve year olds from Singapore, but he was also plotting, Sho knew it. His love life was more depressing than the dream potato chips stuck in the dream vending machine.
Coach Matsumoto had gotten through his interview successfully. They’d part, better friends than before, but Sho had a metric ton of tests to mark up with red, and Jun probably had soccer balls to inflate. He turned around, ready to just wave, say goodbye and let Aiba or Nino ruin the one meaningful relationship he would have liked to have.
“Yeah, Mom…I’ll be there.”
Sho blinked. Mom?
Jun smiled. “I promise, I'll bring dessert. Love you. Bye bye.” He snapped the phone closed, sticking it back in his shorts.
Sho was flabbergasted. All this time? All those calls? Coach Matsumoto was just a mama’s boy? Hope leapt up into his heart - or maybe it was heartburn, but either way, he had a sudden rush of excitement. So did the Coach, as he closed the distance between them and smiled.
“Sakurai-sensei…”
“Sho’s fine,” he squeaked.
“Sho.” His smile was like a neon sign - just how many teeth did this guy have? “Thank you so much for helping me out. You’re the best.”
“No, you’re the best.”
What the hell did that even mean? He was going to keel over. He was literally going to die from beautiful man proximity, and they’d find him in the gym the next morning, all dead and stuff. His students would rejoice. But Jun just kept smiling, leaving Sho to continue the conversation.
“So…I guess that gets published next month? I’ll be sure and buy a copy. Ten copies! Er, unless that’s weird. I mean, if you don’t think it’s weird, then it’s totally not weird…”
“Sho?”
“Yeah?”
And then there was a gym whistle thudding against his sweater vest, and Coach Matsumoto taking his oxygen away and Coach Matsumoto pressed against him and Sho was quickly discovering that Coach Matsumoto was a wonderful kisser. He was completely still, save for some rumblings down below, unable to believe what was happening.
The man in the tight little shorts that he’d dreamed about for all this time, thanking him for the translating help with his tongue. All this time he’d been teaching Jun English, and he’d never thought about French. Jun broke apart first, nothing but wickedness in his eyes. “You can kiss me back. I know you want to.”
“I…what?”
Jun took Sho’s hand, guiding it around to cup his backside through the shorts. The damn shorts. “I like you, Sakurai-sensei. And that creepy otaku janitor says you like me too.”
Nino! If Sho wasn’t clothed crotch to clothed crotch with Coach Matsumoto right now, he’d be taking a hammer to the janitor’s Xbox.
Jun brought his lips back to Sho’s, languid and teasing. “So if we both like each other, why don’t we do something about it? You know I can hear you guys talking at your lunch table, right?”
He steadied himself, tightening his grip on the coach’s rear. “So…so if you know I like you, and you like me…you like me too, wait. How long could we have been doing this?”
Jun picked up the whistle, running the cold metal along Sho’s lips. “For ages.”
He shuddered, breathing hard enough for the slightest sound to come out of the whistle as Jun teased him with it. Even though Nino had already told on him, he was suddenly very determined (if the feeling between his legs was anything to go on) to win the bet.
Sho pushed the whistle aside, putting everything he had into pushing his mouth against Jun’s. He stopped just shy of putting his hand inside the waistband of those impossible shorts. “I know the perfect place. If you’re interested.”
The coach was running his fingers through Sho’s hair. “I’m interested.”
It was Sho’s turn to smile.
--
The salmon rolls were much better today. Or maybe everything tasted better to Sho now that he was floating on cloud nine. Even Aiba was noticing. The chemistry teacher elbowed him, wicked grin plastered on his friendly face.
“You totally had sex with him.”
Sho just dipped the sushi in some soy sauce, popping it in his mouth. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Aiba snorted. “Okay, sure. Then what’s with the whistle?”
Sho turned scarlet, tucking the metal whistle back inside his sweater vest. “It’s to keep the students in line.”
The lounge door opened, and Sho turned his head, ready to wink, smile, eye-copulate with Coach Matsumoto. But it wasn’t Jun. Nope, it was Ninomiya. Sho barely ducked in time as the Xbox controller came flying at his head.
“You!” the janitor was screaming. “You’ve profaned my fortress with your…with your…what did you do in there?!”
Aiba choked on his curry rice, and Sho beamed. He’d won all right, he thought proudly, getting to his feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I left my grade book in the gym.”