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He’s made a mistake.

The moment he hears Shouta’s hand on the door handle, he knows it. He realises, with startling clarity, that he’s neglected to lock the door, and there’s nothing in the world that can stop his flatmate from walking in on him kneeling on the floor in a compromising position.

Well, nothing except calling out a warning, which he does far too late. “NO WAIT!” he cries out, eyes screwed shut in the feeble hope that if he can’t see it, it isn’t happening.

Sadly, the world doesn’t work that way, and he hears Shouta choke in surprise and, no doubt, horror. He clearly has plans in the bathroom that don’t involve walking in on his best friend in such an incriminating predicament.

“What the…?”

Eking one eye open to try and judge how great Shouta’s disgust is, and how swift his removal from their home might be, Hizashi squints up at Shouta who is very definitely in some degree of shock and distress. His eyes are wide, his whole body frozen in place as he stares down at Hizashi, and there’s colour rising on his cheeks. As far as reactions to finding your flatmate dressed in a schoolgirl uniform and with a hairbrush inserted into their body go, it’s probably not the worst.

“What are you doing?” Shouta asks, his voice tight.

A simple question. Right. He can answer that, he can do this.

“Um, taking pictures?”

Which Hizashi suddenly realises he should stop trying to do. He lets the phone droop in his hand and tries to angle his hips to preserve whatever iota of dignity he might have left, but he’s brought a half-length mirror into the bathroom and angled it just so, so Shouta has no doubt seen everything. The hairbrush complicate things too.

Well, it was a nice friendship while it lasted.

“Couldn’t really get a good angle,” Hizashi hears himself admitting, turning away from Shouta and wondering how loudly he’d have to scream to end his own life. Sadly, nature has blessed/cursed him with a tolerance for his Quirk, so he’d probably just take out the neighbourhood – Shouta included – and be outed in the media as some crazy homicidal pervert.

For an interminable length of time the only thing he can hear is the racing of his heart, and then Shouta breaks it with another question.

“Who are they for?”

There’s a tenseness to his voice, his words strained, and Hizashi can’t help looking up at him, curious as to why it matters.

“Uh, someone I see sometimes.” And then, when the silence threatens again, he surrenders the whole truth. “Nemuri.”

To his surprise, Shouta seems to relax at that. He lets out a soft huff, a smile threatening. “Figures.”

“Figures? What figures?” Hizashi asks, mildly panicked.

Adding to the already questionable events he’s currently enduring, Shouta crouches down, holding out his hand. “Want me to take them for you?”

Hizashi’s jaw drops, the only discernible sound that makes it out being a heavy: “Huh?”

“The pictures,” Shouta elaborates, and he’s not exactly smiling, but there’s something in the way he gazes at Hizashi that betrays a strong interest in what’s going on. “I could… you know…” he continues.

It’s the closest to uncertain Hizashi has ever heard him. He stares, taking in every little detail and realising that, incredibly, Shouta doesn’t mind. He’s serious, and is willing to help Hizashi. That, or Hizashi has managed to find himself in an alternative reality where his super hot best friend is flushed with interest in him, his breathing rate quickening and hand trembling almost imperceptibly.

Unable to believe what’s happening, Hizashi surrenders to the surreal moment, handing his phone over. He’s not even surprised when Shouta unlocks it, knowing the code without having to ask.

“She told me to, um, dress up,” Hizashi explains, colour flushing his cheeks as Shouta stares down at the screen. “And to, uh…”

A smirk tugs at Shouta lips as the shutter goes. “And you submitted to her demands.”

Hizashi isn’t sure if he should bristle with indignation or with pride.

“Did she pick the outfit for you?” Shouta asks casually, as if this is an everyday occurrence for him and there’s nothing out of the ordinary about taking lewd photos of his best friend.

“She has a selection,” Hizashi supplies.

Shouta is quiet for a moment, inspecting whatever photo he’s just taken with a lot more focus than Hizashi expects him to give it.

“Good choice,” Shouta murmurs finally, and for a moment Hizashi isn’t sure if he heard him correctly. “Change position. This one isn’t the best.”

Confused into obedience, Hizashi shifts, not quite sure what sort of a pose he’s rearranging himself into even as his limbs move. It’s hard to do much without jostling the hairbrush handle inside of him, and he wonders if he should maybe ask Shouta to give him a moment to sort that out.

“Lean forward a little more,” Shouta directs, sounding like he knows what he’s doing. “Hands on your knees and spread your legs.”

He sounds like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and as Hizashi follows his instructions he tries to relax into the role. He tells himself he’s trying to look sexy for Nemuri, but, really, he would happily do this for Shouta too. He doesn’t often allow himself to acknowledge his long-term crush on his friend, but Shouta is making it incredibly hard to ignore.

“So what sort of a relationship do you two have anyway?” Shouta asks, crouching down again and leaning in close enough to cause Hizashi to splutter; granted, he was trying to take good, close-up pictures before, but it’s very, very different having Shouta be the one taking them.

“We hook up now and then. Casual.”

Stars above, why can’t he talk eloquently? And why is his heart still racing?

Shouta hums thoughtfully. “Want to turn around?”

Hizashi both wants and doesn’t want to. This level of embarrassment is new to him, but he finds he can’t help himself. The hem of the skirt barely hides his ass, and it certainly doesn’t hide the sin of the hairbrush protruding from him, but he still turns in short, stilted movements, the breath catching in his chest and his face on fire as he arches his back and shows himself off.

He hears the shutter again, and squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing the aching in his straining cock to subside. He shouldn’t be this turned on. He’s always suspected he has very little shame, and now he absolutely knows it.

“We fuck too, you know.”

“What!?” Hizashi cries, turning and staring up at Shouta only to realise that he’s deadly serious.

The revelation only serves to further heighten his awareness of everything that’s going on, and while part of him wonders if Shouta has ever dressed up and done something like this, and if there’s photographic evidence anywhere, the sudden thought of Shouta ploughing Nemuri is electrifying.

“Play with it.”

The command is breathless, that significant detail only registering after Hizashi’s hand has moved to the bristles, closing around the head of the hairbrush and shifting it a fraction. Even such a small movement feels profound, and he grunts in surprise, fighting back a moan. Shouta and Nemuri? Fuck.

“Are you exclusive to Nemuri?”

Shouta’s voice is pitched far lower than usual, the depth of it striking at Hizashi’s core and leaving him biting his lip in an attempt to gather himself and focus.

“N–no,” he gasps, finding that he’s unable to let go of the brush now that he has hold of it. He moves it gently, rocking it in and out the smallest of fractions just to sate some of his growing hunger. “Schedules,” he adds, not even sure if he’s still making sense. “But she’s the only one becau— Ah!— because I’m too busy for anyone else.”

“Are you too busy now?”

“Wh—?”

“Turn back around,” Shouta continues, almost as if he hasn’t dropped the heavily loaded question on Hizashi. “Do you want to do one with your skirt out the way?”

“I…”

All Hizashi can do is stare up at him, trying to figure out if he’s reading this right. Slowly, trembling, he decides to test what he hopes is a very solid hypothesis, and his hand drifts towards edges towards the hem of the skirt and he eases it up.

It’s Shouta’s turn to be rendered speechless. The air seems to be crushed from his lungs as he gets a full view of Hizashi’s hard, aching cock, and his eyes widen as he takes in the slender length of it and the glint of the piercing at the tip. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for a long, satisfying moment he seems utterly incapable of focusing on anything else.

Well, that’s the question of his sexual interest in Hizashi answered. It’s about ten years later than Hizashi would have liked, but he’ll will take it: better late than never.

Licking his lips, he tries to work out how to play this.

“Yeah, I have some time to spare now,” he says, trying to keep his voice sultry.

“I think we should take a few more photos,” Shouta says, his voice rasping as if he hasn’t had a drink in weeks. “Unless you have any objections?”

Hizashi smirks, seeing Shouta reach towards his own phone. He runs his hand up the inside of his thigh, the other tugging at the buttons on his shirt as his body sings with excitement.

“No objections.”

None whatsoever.

Now flushed and trembling visibly with anticipation, Shouta fumbles somewhat with his own phone.

“Are you going to share them?” Hizashi wonders, listening to the now familiar clicking of the shutter. He loves that sound.

“Maybe later,” Shouta dismisses, seeming not to care about anything else now beyond Hizashi. It’s an exhilarating feeling.

“Nemuri will want to know all the details,” Hizashi teases, thinking he’d also very much like to know the details of Shouta’s trysts with her; perhaps some time he’ll get to take part in them. “We’d better make them good.”

Shouta huffs at that, seemingly done with his phone. It’s shoved unceremoniously into his pocket. “As if we wouldn’t.”

And then he crouches down. Despite being almost level, Hizashi still feels looked down on, as if he’s being scolded, and it sends a shiver of excitement through him.

“First,” Shouta say, “we need to do something about that hairbrush you’re using as a dildo. It’s unsanitary.”

He doesn’t look like he’s in the least bit concerned by that fact. If anything, he seems to enjoy the taboo use of the mundane object, and his focus falls to where it’s awkwardly angled, stuffed haphazardly into Hizashi’s body.

“I did clean it,” Hizashi promises. “And it feels good.”

“Yeah?” Shouta responds, grinning dangerously. Hizashi gets the distinct feeling he’s walked right into a trap: one he doesn’t much care to get out of.

“Show me how good,” Shouta continues, reaching out to cup Hizashi’s cheek and caress it with his thumb, “and then we’ll continue this through in the bedroom.”

Now that is something Hizashi can do, and do well.