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lap brat

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As a pro hero, Hitoshi’s job requires him to remain in full control of himself at all times, and more often than not, because of his quirk, in control of others as well. It’s demanding work, both mentally and physically, and expects a level of maturity not asked of most twenty-three year olds. This isn’t a problem for Hitoshi, he couldn’t imagine himself in any other field of work, but it is exhausting, to so often feel like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

That’s why every once and awhile, in the privacy of his own home, Hitoshi allows himself to act like the teenager he never had the chance to be.

Conveniently, Shouta also happens to have the day off, meaning Hitoshi can indulge himself. Or rather, he can get Shouta to indulge him.

Because really, what’s the point of being with a man more than ten years his senior if he’s not going to take advantage of the opportunity to fulfill all of his daddy issue-fueled fantasies?

To do that though, he first has to get Shouta off of his laptop. A wild concept given the man hates doing anything on the computer if he doesn’t have to, but for some reason, he’s been camped out on the couch typing away at something for the better part of an hour now and Hitoshi’s tired of waiting for him to get off.

He’s also feeling like a brat, so he can work with this.

Getting up from the floor, where he’d been laying at Shouta’s feet hoping he would get attention, Hitoshi stands and faces his apparently very busy partner.

“Hey, old man,” he says, nudging Shouta’s shin with his toe.

Dark, bloodshot eyes raise from the computer screen to meet his own, eyebrows raised in a question that not so much asks, Yes, what can I do for you, but more, What the fuck do you want from me?

“I’m bored,” Hitoshi tells the eyebrows.

The way Shouta looks at him after that makes Hitoshi feel like he’s one of his students again. He doesn’t even grace Hitoshi with a response before going back to whatever he’s doing on the laptop. Is this how Denki felt all through high school? Hitoshi would ask him, but that would mean admitting that the hardass Aizawa-sensei doesn’t always think that the sun shines out of his ass, and Hitoshi can’t let any of his old classmates know that.

“Hey,” Hitoshi says, kicking at Shouta’s shin again, “I said I’m bored.”

The typing doesn’t stop this time, but Shouta does answer—verbally, even, “Then find something to do.”

“I have,” Hitoshi informs him, dragging his eyes down Shouta’s body in a way he knows the other will feel even if he doesn’t see. “It’s you.”

“Find something else, I’m busy.”

“With what?”


Hitoshi rolls his eyes.

“Deal with those later,” he says, dropping down on the couch beside Shouta and pressing close, “What I wanna do is more fun.”

When Hitoshi doesn’t get a response, he drapes himself over Shouta as much as he can with the laptop in the way and sighs, “You’re being a boring old man.”

“And you’re being a brat,” Shouta informs him, even though, really, Hitoshi hasn’t even gotten started yet. “Knock it off, this behaviour is below you.”

Hitoshi chuckles deep in his chest, resting a hand on the inside of Shouta’s thigh, and leans in closer. “You and I both know that’s not true,” he says, sliding his hand up higher and squeezing.

Hitoshi ,” Shouta warns.

Sensei, ” he returns.

Shouta lets out a slow measured breath through his nose. Hitoshi thinks he’s about to get what he wants, but then Shouta says, “Wait until I’m done.”

Hitoshi slumps further into his partner’s space. “But I wanna fuck now.”

He knows the whininess of the statement must sound ridiculous with how deep a voice he has, but it can’t be helped with the game he’s playing.

It must have the desired effect anyway, because Shouta’s voice takes on a stern tone that raises the hairs on the back of Hitoshi’s neck when he says, “I won’t fuck you at all if you keep this shit up.”

He’s still concentrating on the computer, but Hitoshi can tell by his body language that Shouta’s interested in playing along to some degree.

Now all Hitoshi has to do is figure out how far he can push his luck.

“That’s not fair, Shouta,” he draws out his lover’s name, running his hand up to Shouta’s stomach, gripping the soft material of his t-shirt and rubbing it between his fingers, much like a small child holding onto his father’s pant leg. “We hardly ever see each other,” he complains, then nuzzles his cheek into Shouta’s shoulder, “I need you.”

Though Hitoshi’s playing it up for the sake of the game, it’s really not all that far from the truth. They’re both busy men, being Pro Heroes and all that, so they’re rarely home at the same time. Emotionally, it can be difficult, and sexually - well - the rushed back-alley handjobs when they happen to both be on patrol (and when Hitoshi can actually convince Shouta to meet him) aren’t really cutting it. And even though Shouta’s sex-drive isn’t quite as - incessent - as Hitoshi’s is, it has to be getting to him too.

So when Shouta responds, “Then be patient and wait,” Hitoshi decides it’s time to kick it up a notch.

He sits up on one knee so that he’s practically looming over Shouta.

“You know,” he says, pitching his voice lower and reaching into his mind for his quirk, “ I could make you fuck me if I wanted to.

Suddenly, Shouta’s hair is standing on-end. When he turns to look at Hitoshi his eyes are glowing a brilliant red.

“Are you sure you want to play that game today, Hitoshi?” he asks, low and dangerous.

Arousal curls in Hitoshi’s abdomen as he meets Shouta’s gaze head-on. The warning behind his question hangs heavy in the air between them, sending Hitoshi’s pulse fluttering with anticipation. They remain locked in their stare-down for several moments until Hitoshi finally decides he wants to takes things in a different direction and relents. He sits back and lowers his head, feigning submission, and peers up at Shouta through his eyelashes.

This seems to appease Shouta enough for him to release his quirk. He gives Hitoshi one last lingering look to make sure he’s going to behave before going back to his work.

But Hitoshi has no intentions of behaving.

He waits until he thinks Shouta’s let his guard down before reaching forward, intending to snap the laptop shut like a stubborn child, but the moment his fingertips touch the computer a strong hand clamps down on his wrist, halting him.

“That,” Shouta punches out, squeezing Hitoshi’s wrist harder, “is enough.”

Hitoshi’s cunt clenches.

“Get up.”


“On your feet, Hitoshi,” Shouta snaps, releasing his grip.

Swallowing thickly, Hitoshi staggers to his feet.

“Face me.”

Hitoshi obeys. He can already feel himself getting wet just from the authority laced through Shouta’s voice.

“Now strip.”

He blinks. “Um, everything?”


The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, so Hitoshi starts to undress. He does it slowly, thinking that what Shouta wants is a show. However, when he looks up, he sees that Shouta’s eyes are on his computer screen, completely ignoring Hitoshi, as if he couldn’t care less about him.

Somehow, that’s even hotter than if he were watching.

Once Hitoshi’s removed all of his clothing, he clears his throat.

“Wait,” Shouta orders.


Hitoshi doesn’t know what Shouta’s plan is, but already he feels small and vulnerable, standing bare in their living room, waiting for his former sensei’s attention.

He’s always wanted his attention.

So he waits.

By the time Shouta looks up from his laptop, Hitoshi is already a bit of a mess, skin buzzing and thighs slick with his arousal. He’s got his arms crossed and a hip cocked, trying to seem unaffected, but by the dark look in Shouta’s eyes, he’s not fooling him.

Hitoshi drops his gaze to the floor in a brief moment of self-consciousness. When he looks up again the hungry look on Shouta’s face is gone, replaced once again by an impassive expression.

“Come here,” he says, spreading his legs and shifting the laptop to balance on only one thigh.

Raising a confused eyebrow, Hitoshi asks, “You’re not going to undress?”


“Why not?”

“Because I still have work to do,” Shouta explains simply. “But since you’re so desperate and won’t leave me alone, I’m going to let you ride my thigh until I’m finished.”

Hitoshi’s breath hitches on the word desperate.

“Perverted old man,” he tries to tease, but doesn’t manage any weight behind it, far too turned on by this entire situation.

Shouta doesn’t grace the comment with a reaction either, so Hitoshi licks his lips and asks, “Are you really going to ignore me while I fuck myself on your thigh?”

“I can tie you up in the bedroom if you would prefer,” Shouta supplies with a shrug. “But I’ll probably forget about you.”

He wouldn’t, at least not really, but the threat is enough to shut Hitoshi up. With a nod he steps forward and climbs onto the couch, straddling Shouta’s free thigh. It’s a little awkward at first, considering Hitoshi is both taller and lankier than Shouta, but after some adjustments he’s able to settle his aching cunt onto Shouta’s muscular thigh.

Just the pressure against his throbbing, engorged clit is enough to pull a sigh from his lips.

“Do not come until I’m finished,” Shouta commands.

And then he’s back to his work, as if he couldn’t care less that Hitoshi’s naked and needy in his lap. It stirs up the arousal in Hitoshi’s gut, spurs him on.

With one hand on the back of the couch for balance and the other on Shouta’s sturdy chest, Hitoshi starts rocking his hips. The friction on his desperate clit is near perfect, the fabric of Shouta’s sweatpants rough but not painfully so. Hitoshi grinds down a little harder and the pleasure that blooms from his cunt incites a full-body shudder.

The hand that Shouta has resting on Hitoshi’s thigh twitches, but otherwise he looks completely unaffected. The position they’re in is forcing him to type one-handed, and it looks terribly inconvenient, but also terribly not like Hitoshi’s problem.

He drops his forehead to Shouta’s shoulder and continues to hump against him like a sexed-up teenager. He closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of Shouta’s strong, warm thigh pressed up against his cunt. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but Hitoshi’s been so horny for so long, and Shouta’s indifference to his pleasure is only making him needier.

A low moan slips from the back of his throat. The pressure between his legs is already starting to build and swell, his cunt throbbing. He opens his eyes just enough to look down and see the wet spot he’s leaving on Shouta’s pants.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, hand clutching at Shouta’s t-shirt, eyelids falling shut again. “Shouta,” he groans, “Please.”

The only response he gets is the continued click-clack of Shouta’s fingers on the keyboard.

The sound that comes out of Hitoshi’s mouth next is so needy it actually embarrasses him. He nuzzles his face into Shouta’s neck to hide there, cheeks burning.

In a ploy to distract Shouta from his work, Hitoshi starts to nip and lick at Shouta’s throat, the delicate unshaven skin rough against his tongue. Still, Shouta pays him no mind. It’s hot and it’s frustrating— so frustrating— and all Hitoshi can do is continue to rutt desperately against Shouta’s thigh.

It won’t be long before he comes.

Shouta told him to wait, the threat of punishment if Hitoshi doesn’t obey clear in his voice. And Hitoshi could obey. But that’s not any fun.

He picks up the speed of his hips, grinds down harder.

This is exactly what he wanted. To be reduced to his baser needs and fucking let go.

So Hitoshi lets go.

He chases after his orgasm until he’s cursing, pleasure flooding through his body as he shakes apart in Shouta’s lap.

He rides it out, blissfully unaware of anything that’s happening around him, until the last wave shudders through him.

Once he comes down, Hitoshi barely has time to register that the sound of typing has stopped before he’s being bodily thrown face-down over Shouta’s lap. A surprised sounds slips out of him as his chest lands on Shouta’s leg, long arms sprawled out in front of himself. Shouta takes a moment to adjust Hitoshi’s legs, and then his hand is gone. Hitoshi knows exactly what’s about to happen, fingers digging into the couch cushion in anticipation:


He cries out when the first blow lands hard on his asscheek.

Suddenly there’s a hand in Hitoshi’s hair, wrenching his head back. His eyes roll up, and he’s just able to see Shouta’s dark expression.

“I told you not to come until I was done with my work.”

Another slap to his ass and Hitoshi whines.

“You were taking too lo—” Smack! “—fuck!” Hitoshi chokes on his spit, asscheeks searing, cunt dripping.

“Do not talk back to me.”

Hitoshi opens his mouth—

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Tears are running down his cheeks now. Shouta pushes his head back down with a tch and lets go of his hair. Hitoshi’s clit is hard and throbbing again, and there’s a deep, longing ache in his cunt. Empty, empty—he’s too empty.

“Shouta touch me,” he begs.

Another bruising spank to his ass. Hitoshi’s asshole clenches with it, and then he feels empty there too.

Shouta bends down to murmur darkly into Hitoshi’s ear. “What was that?”

Hitoshi takes a deep, shaky breath. “Please, please fuck me, touch me, anything Shouta.”

“Hmm,” Shouta leans back, smoothing his hand over the sore, sensitive skin of Hitoshi’s ass. “You’re asking me to fuck you. After you’ve been such a disobedient little shit.”

“I’ll behave, I promise,” Hitoshi moans, turning his head to the side, the view of their living room blurry through the tears in his eyes. “I’ll be good.”

Shouta threads his fingers into Hitoshi’s hair gently, traces the sharp cut of his cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb. “It’s a little late for that, honey.”

Before Hitoshi can even protest, Shouta spanks him again—hard—wrenching a sob from Hitoshi’s throat.

“I’ll tell you what,” Shouta murmurs, tracing a finger lightly down Hitoshi’s crack, stopping just before his cunt. “Make it through five more, and I might give you what you want.” He ghosts his fingertips over one of Hitoshi’s thighs. “Understand?”

Hitoshi immediately starts to nod, his addled brain not even caring that it’s just a maybe.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” Hitoshi croaks, “I can do it. I’ll take it so good, I promise.”

Shouta carassess Hitoshi’s jaw with his thumb and says, “We’ll see about that.”

And then he hits Hitoshi’s ass harder than he ever has before.

FUCK, ” Hitoshi cries, his voice cracking.

His clit is still so fucking hard, and he’s pretty sure his cunt is sopping wet by now. His ass hurts. But it’s good, so good.

Another spank. His entire body tenses with it, thighs shaking. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, forces his muscles to relax before the next blow.

The third one lands and Hitoshi doesn’t even get a sound out before the fourth one follows. The pain is searing, Hitoshi’s trembling. His face is soaked in tears and drool and his head is swimming with endorphins. Shouta’s cock is rock hard against Hitoshi’s stomach, and all he can do is fucking hope and pray that Shouta will give it to him when this is over.

The final blow is agonizing, has Hitoshi biting into the couch cushion to muffle his cry.

His entire body is buzzing with adrenaline and need. And if Shouta doesn’t fuck him, Hitoshi swears he’ll use his quirk and make him.

There won’t be a need for that though, because as soon as Hitoshi finishes the thought, Shouta’s hand slips between his legs.

The first touch of Shouta’s finger to Hitoshi’s swollen, throbbing clit has him jolting forward, followed by a loud moan.

“Fucking finally,” he groans, pillowing his forehead on his crossed arms.

Shouta’s hand pauses— “Should I stop?”

Hitoshi’s head snaps up, his arm flying back to clutch at Shouta’s shirt. “No, no, no—please!”

Shouta makes a smug sound and goes back to jerking Hitoshi’s large clit. The panic in Hitoshi’s chest subsides and he relaxes his head back onto his arm, keeping hold of Shouta’s t-shirt with the other one.

“Look at you,” Shouta rumbles, slipping a finger through Hitoshi’s wet folds to dip shallowly into his long-neglected hole, “Soaking wet just from taking a beating.”

Without warning, Shouta thrusts two fingers in up to the knuckle. They go in easily, and Hitoshi nearly sobs into his arms with relief, cunt clenching around the fingers as if trying to trap them there. Shouta wastes no time building up the pace, just starts brutally finger-fucking Hitoshi’s sloppy cunt, obliterating his insides with every stroke.

“Christ -hnng- fuck!”

“Is this what you wanted you fucking brat?” Shouta slows his thrusting to scissor his fingers, stretching out and teasing around Hitoshi’s hole. “What you were so desperate for?”

Hitoshi cants his hips, trying to fuck himself back onto Shouta’s fingers. “ Mmmhnn- more, I need more Shouta— sensei , please.

He hears Shouta suck in a breath through his teeth, feels his cock jump against his belly.

Shouta withdraws his fingers completely, but instead of sitting Hitoshi up and impaling him on his cock like Hitoshi expected, he slides them up Hitoshi’s crack, leaving a trail of slick in their wake, to tease Hitoshi’s asshole.

“You want more?” Shouta drawls, just barely pressing the tip of his finger in. “Here?”  

“Oh fuck,” Hitoshi moans, “Yes, yes, yes—god, please—fuck my ass, sensei.”

Already slick from Hitoshi’s wet cunt, Shouta’s finger slips in with little resistance, and Hitoshi’s so turned on and desperate to be filled that he relaxes around it immediately. Shouta goes ahead and works another one in and Hitoshi groans.

Shouta snorts derisively.

And Hitoshi loves it.

The stretch and the pressure are so good , and when Shouta rocks and curls his fingers, warm viscous waves of pleasure roll through him.

Shouta takes his time fucking Hitoshi’s ass with his fingers, turning Hitoshi into more of a writhing, desperate mess than he was before.

But his clit is screaming for friction, and the feeling of Shouta’s hot, thick cock against his stomach has become far too distracting.

“Fuck me, please,” he begs. “You’re so hard, Shouta, I can feel it—fuck—give it to me. Give me your cock, Shouta.”

And Shouta must have reached the limit of his self-discipline, because he doesn’t bother giving Hitoshi a hard time before removing his fingers and manhandling Hitoshi back up to straddle his lap.

Their mouths clash into a kiss, hot and tongue-heavy, as soon as Hitoshi’s situated. They work together franticly to free Shouta’s cock from his sweatpants, and then they’re both groaning as Hitoshi sinks down onto it, stretching and filling his cunt deliciously.

Finally, finally, finally!

Gripping the back of the couch for leverage, Hitoshi starts rocking his hips, squeezing rhythmically around Shouta’s cock in the way he knows drives is lover crazy. As if in retaliation, Shouta wraps his arms around Hitoshi’s waist and starts fucking up into him with hard deep thrusts, taking back all control. With every grind and thrust, Hitoshi’s rock hard clit rubs against Shouta’s lower belly, the friction causing pleasure to build and mix with the hot, throbbing fullness of his cunt. He’s so close to coming again, but he just needs a little more, wants to be as filled as possible.

“My ass, Shouta,” he babbles frantically, nearly choking on his words “—fuck, please.”

A groan rumbles in Shouta’s chest. And as Hitoshi grabs a desperate handful of Shouta’s thick hair, Shouta wets one of his fingers with his mouth then quickly starts working it into Hitoshi’s needy asshole.

At this point Hitoshi’s thighs are already shaking, entire body drawn taut, barely able to catch his breath, desperate for release. Shouta only needs to crook his finger for everything to piece together, and then collapse in barrage of pleasure.

Hitoshi comes so hard his breath gets caught in his chest and he’s unable to make a sound. He shakes silently as he rides it out, cunt clenching and spasming around Shouta’s cock.

A few moments later, Shouta’s hold on Hitoshi tightens and his hips stutter to a halt, pressed up tight to Hitoshi’s body as he cums inside of him.

They remain locked tight together until the tension leaves both of their bodies and they slump against each other, panting and sweaty.

“Damn,” Hitoshi breathes once the sex-fog in his brain clears.

Shouta responds with a squeeze to Hitoshi’s thigh.

The ache of good, rough sex starts to settle in and Hitoshi figures he should probably move before his muscles freeze up on him. He shifts and Shouta’s soft cock slips out, followed by the nasty feeling of cum dripping out of him, no doubt dirtying up Shouta’s sweatpants even further. They both smell like sex and sweat and ass, and it’s super gross and they definitely need to shower.

So with Shouta’s help, Hitoshi’s able to get off of his lap and onto his own very wobbly, fucked-out legs. He catches Shouta eyeing the blooming bruises on his ass appreciatively, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Hitoshi rolls his eyes.

“Don’t look so cocky old man,” he says, pointing to the bruises, “Next time I’m tying you up and paying you back ten-fold.”

Shouta crosses his arms and tilts his head, still looking smug as hell. “I only gave you what you wanted, Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi feels the corner of his lips lift in a half-smile without his permission.

“Yeah, you did,” he says, they share a soft moment and then Hitoshi gestures for Shouta to stand. “Come on, we’re gross. Let’s shower.”

Shouta looks down at himself and just shrugs. But once he looks up and sees the dry look Hitoshi’s giving him, he relents with a put-upon face and stands to join him.

“We’re napping after,” he grumbles.

“I thought you still had like super important work to do,” Hitoshi says somewhat mockingly as they start shuffling to the bathroom.

“Oh that,” Shouta says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I finished that a while ago.”  

Hitoshi freezes and turns to glare at Shouta.

“You bastard.”

Shouta grins. “It was a—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kick you.”

“You can try.”

Tch,” Hitoshi turns and starts walking away, “Damn old man.”

“Brat,” Shouta throws back at him as he follows.