Work Text:
When Midnight and Mic told him that the three of them were going to celebrate his recovery together later that night, he rolled his eyes and tried to dissuade them. Questioning the necessity of a celebration for such a thing.
Mic was usually obedient but, without the threat of force, Midnight was not; and the Voice Hero was more than emboldened enough by her support to defy him.
But, in truth, Shota was glad they ignored him then.
Because now, he had their full attention.
When the building was void of other humans, they shoved him down onto the couch in the staff room, tore away his capture scarf, and littered his neck with marks, despite his weak protests.
Kissing him all over, murmuring to him: how glad they were that he was alright, how brave he was, how strong and resilient.
How handsome and sexy he was.
All of which only served to help the hands that slipped down his body and started palming at his crotch.
He was overwhelmed, barely registering it as the two of them reduced the three of them to various states of undress.
He did register it, evident to anyone but him by the groan he let loose as he leaned his head back, when Hizashi ran his tongue up Shota’s now exposed shaft.
In the sort time, Midnight had crawled behind Mic, stretching him out, getting him ready for Shota; and doing the same to herself, readying her body for the cock she was licking as she fingered them both.
Sometimes, Shota wondered where Shirakumo would have fit into this depraved little relationship of theirs.
Probably down there, between Hizashi and Nemuri.
He’d always had a thing for her after all.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine him under her, smiling like an idiot, taking whatever she gave him and thanking her for it.
The mouth around him jerked, startling him out of his thoughts.
Kayama bit at Yamada’s asscheek, grinning as she readjusted her glasses.
Her pink-tinted face covered in her own saliva and some of that weird edible lubricant.
Hizashi pulled off Shota’s cock and sent a scathing glare and little pout back at her, both of which fell as she ducked her head back down and started back up.
He cracked a small smile before turning back to and resuming drooling around Shota, looking up at him from over the top of his glasses. Hizashi’s mouth looked so fucking small next to his cock, it was as bizarre as it was hot.
They were both so pretty. Oboro probably would’ve been too.
Then there Shota was…Rugged and gruff.
An alley cat amongst purebred, pampered house cats.
His dick was jostled again.
He snapped out of his thoughts once more to hear Yamada growl indignantly at Kayama.
“Don’tcha think I know my ass the best?”
Aizawa and Kayama both snorted out little laughs.
“No. Now, be a good boy, and keep him hard.”
He turned away from Shota and sneered at Nemuri.
“He’s already hard, the difficult part’s over.”
“You know he’s not there yet.”
She tutted at him, which was apparently the wrong thing to do.
Yamada stunned them both, shoving Kayama down onto her back and grabbing her legs.
And, by the arch of her back and choked gasp, he subsequently sunk into her.
She raised her arms above her head, moaning contentedly and wrapping her legs around him, smiling like the smug bitch she was.
“Good boy. Fuck - I love your skinny little waist“
“Fuck you, I am not sk-INNY!”
The windows shook, Mic’s quirk vibrating the room through his yelp.
Shota’d barely let him finish his sentence before he was down on the ground behind him, hooking his arms under the two of them, and lifting them both off the floor.
Holding them both up with, what an outsider would call, disturbingly little effort.
Kayama stretched her legs out, trying to dig her heels into Aizawa’s side, or his back, he couldn’t tell which.
“Oh, fuck, that’s hot.”
Yamada tossed his head back onto Aizawa’s shoulder.
“Hell yeah it is.”
Shota was perfectly capable of holding up two grown adults, even ones as tall as the two of them.
He really shouldn’t’ve been doing so much work, but he didn’t care.
He chalked the questionable decision up to irrational sex hormones and the fact that he’d been pent up sexually and physically for a while, even before the USJ.
And, maybe, some stupid primitive urge to prove his strength to his partners.
He spun on his heels and lowered the two down onto the sofa.
Swiftly, but carefully, as to not jostle Hizashi too much while he and Nemuri were connected.
They hit the couch with two simultaneous ‘oof’s.
God, he’d really missed this.
He spread Hizashi apart and sunk in slowly, drawing out an obnoxiously long groan, but one that caused his dick to twitch inside the man.
He couldn’t see Hizashi’s grin, but if were anything like the manic, snaggle-toothed smirk that Nemuri had on her face, his imagination would suffice.
It wasn’t evil, exactly.
Evil adjacent.
Of course, if he could make out his reflection in her glasses, he had little doubt he’d see anything different on his own face.
After a while, probably no more than a few minutes really, Hizashi’s knees finally buckled, pushing him entirely inside Nemuri, and forcing Shota to jerk forward to keep himself enveloped.
Press them both into the couch, going as deep as possible.
He supposed, in a twisted way, he was trying to prove he was okay. That he’d survived.
That it hadn’t damaged him beyond repair.
Hizashi lost his composure first, being used in the way he was was always a quick way to get him to climax.
“I-I’m close- I’m close- fuck.”
Shota was almost shocked at how quickly Nemuri had reached down, clamping her fingers around the blond between them.
Her grin faltered for a moment, which spurred something inside him.
“Sh-Shota goes first.”
Shota responded by grabbing her arm and yanking it away from Hizashi, pinning it above her head.
The blond trembled between them and she looked up at Shota with that strange awe that she did before he really ‘took charge.’
He felt his mouth curl into a predatory grin, baring all his teeth and squinting his eyes at the two of them.
Lost to his desire.
“I’m not coming until you’re both spent, overstimulated, and in tears.”
He let go of Hizashi’s hip and then used the hand to press his head down into Nemuri’s neck.
Driving down into them both with such force that the springs in the couch began to scream along with them.
Years ago, he would’ve been mortified at his own loss of composure, at the burning heat flaring through his body while he let himself have this. Let himself accept that this was what he wanted. And that they wanted it too.
That it wasn’t twisted and sick.
He supposed it was their own doing, encouraging this behavior in him…And wasn’t that just a kick in the ass?
Well, if nothing else; it drove him to do the best he could to make them regret it.
“I’m not leaving this couch until we make such a mess of it we have no choice but to burn it.”