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It started as a joke. A stupid, drunk joke. A joke that even Mineta wouldn’t make, but Denki was just red enough in the face to slur it aloud—and once he did he couldn’t forget it.
He didn’t do it then; Denki was already feeling good, and even better when he rolled over to pin Eijirou under him on the bed, rutting until he ruined their clothes, passing out in a half naked slump. What followed was a miserable morning trying not to vomit with a pillow held over his head, then a solid week of Denki touching himself while he fantasized about it, stroking a finger through his lips, little dribbles of slick crackling with a weak electric current whenever he dipped inside. It was only a joke, but the more Denki told himself that the weaker her felt and the more certain he was that his idea was actually the work of a genius.
He only needed one, just one to try it out. It wasn’t unusual for one vegetable to go missing.
That’s how Denki found himself trembling as he washed and peeled the biggest carrot he could find until it was clean and smooth and ready for him. He’s wandered his way through the internet and watched more than a few videos on this. He knows how to make it safe, and he’s far from the first person to try this, but—
He’s a little nervous, still.
Denki returns to his room, slips the orange vegetable from his front pocket and places it in the little fridge at the side of his bed. He’s brimming under a low boil as he takes his time undressing himself, running his hands over all the sensitive areas of his body, imagining they were attached to the various classmates he’s gotten the chance to connect with over the years.
Eijirou isn’t as rough as he looks. Denki remembers how soft his lips were on his skin, how gentle his tongue was lapping at his little cock and wet hole, how Denki had howled and shut his thighs around Eijirou when his best friend started to nibble, took him into his mouth and let Denki almost choke him with how violently he arched and squeezed, little surges of electricity dancing down to tickle his chin.
Fuck. Denki gasps with the realization that he’s already come, two fingers buried past the knuckle. He’s good. It’s good. He can handle this.
It’s just a carrot. He thinks as he rolls over to the edge and pulls the door to the fridge open. An experiment. He’s so hot about it again; it’s like nothing he does lately is good enough to last him more than a few minutes. Hormones, man.
At least it lifts his worries. Denki lets his legs bow out as he settles on his back, head floating on the pillow. He’s dizzy in the best way, unfocused at first as he slides the carrot through the indent of his pussy lips, pressing hard when it reaches his cock, holding himself steady—holding himself together—best as he can. All day long he’s been a wreck, wet and warm and tingling against the fabric of his underwear. All day long he’s been looking forward to this.
He lifts the carrot up a few inches, spreads his labia and gives himself a few firm smacks.
It’s a little cold, but he’s burning up where it hits and god it just reminds him of when he was training with Todoroki yesterday, working his limits to crack the towering wall of ice over and over again with his volts. Denki was too exhausted by the time he reached Todoroki to finish him off, but Todoroki took the liberty of letting his hand dangle by Denki’s inner thigh while he thawed Denki out. Denki brushed up against it, made sure Todoroki could feel how hard he was and Todoroki had let him rub against his palm a few times before he declared he was done, walking away with a flush that had nothing to do with his quirk.
Todoroki had teased him too, cool fingers barely causing Denki to shiver as they moved intently over his mound before drawing back.
Midoriya watched the fight from start to finish, his notebook temporarily forgotten at his side, lip bitten down in an obvious attempt to ignore the tent in his pants. Denki licks his lips, remembering how he could see the outline of it from where Midoriya stood at a safe distance.
Now Denki imagines it’s Midoriya’s cock that’s sinking into his hole as he pushes the tip of the carrot in. It’s not very big, but he’s tight—he likes to keep himself that way so he can feel the sting of becoming split open on someone’s cock when he gets around to it. It’s enough to fill him. It’s enough to make him crave more. It’s enough to make him whisper, though there’s nothing in the room he could disturb with his voice.
“ Fuck yes.”
Denki pushes it further, eyes shut, focused on the way the coolness gives way to a consistent body temperature as he rocks on the carrot—gentle, shallow—as if it were attached to a body instead of ending at the hilt of his hand.
Very soon his mind flicks to more of his classmates.
Sero, keeping him compliant with his tape, slapping a thick piece over his mouth, his nipples, his ankles and wrists. Shoji and his arms holding Denki in midair while he bounces on his cock—at the same time covering Denki’s body, making him feel safe and protected. Iida was obviously fast and he had stamina, Denki’s watched him changing into his swimsuit before and he knows exactly what he’d be working with—the only question left was how long he could handle a marathon fuck? Bakugo would be such a turn on. He acts like he doesn’t care, but Denki knows better after fighting alongside him. Denki loves a man that’s eager to prove his power, confident they’d make him come multiple times before they get to their own peak, then leave their mark on him. God, that’s what he was really craving, a nice, deep dicking. Maybe Momo would reconsider his personal request—craft a dildo from her body and use Denki to break it in.
Maybe...maybe Satou.
Denki shudders and stops, heart beating erratically in his chest. Satou wouldn’t stop, Denki is sure of it. He’d bring snacks to keep his strength up, fuck him good, so good, the kind of fuck where halfway through you forget the name of any other person you’ve ever jerked it to. The kind of fuck where you relinquish the right to exist.
He’s huge. He’s huge and hung and determined. Denki comes again with the image of Satou bending him into a mating press, cock nestled deep into his guts, hand slapping away at his swollen pussy, pulling the blushing folds back to spit on it, watching it drip into the uneven pulse of his hole. Denki would say something smart then and hope it’s enough to get Sato’s fingers to squeeze the air out from the sides of his neck.
Ugh, he’d do anything to get Satou to be that rough with him.
The circular concept of Satou dominating him makes Denki lightheaded. He pushes the carrot up a little higher, then clamps shut, whining lowly as the electricity crackles in his core, building under his skin.
The carrot is held in place as Denki lowers his forefinger and thumb to rub at his cock, bringing a few volts in a layer over his fingertips, concentrating many more into the pulse of his pussy, on fire, on fire as he wails too loudly into his fist. Next time he needs to shove something into his mouth if he’s going to work himself so hard. He continues to press down, fuck himself through another orgasm that leaves him weak in the knees. The carrot vibrates—it vibrates—as if it was an ordinary sex toy. Denki angles it so it’s hitting his g spot as he cranks the setting up.
He nearly blacks out.
Awesome. It’s fucking awesome. He’s definitely doing this again.
He doesn’t have the patience to wait. An hour later and he’s horny to the point where he can’t ignore it, but the carrot looks...bad. A little charred if he was being honest. He’s ruined it.
He’s ruined himself. Denki pulls on an old shirt that hugs his body more than he’s usually comfortable with and some tiny sleep shorts. It doesn’t matter, no one will see it; he’s gotta do this right and sneak another anyway. Nobody can find out how serious the joke has become.
It’s hungry work becoming a hero. He reasons as he squats to dig through the fridge for something—anything—to fuck himself silly with. I’m not the only one up for a midnight snack. I’m—
“Kaminari?”
Denki freezes with his fingers curled around a cucumber. It’s an instinctual response for his stomach to drop to the floor, but it’s an accident for the little top of the carrot he’d plugged at the edge of his hole to follow it. It hardly makes a sound but it’s in plain sight for the both of them. Denki moans at both the sensation and embarrassment.
He needed something to fill him. He couldn’t help it.
There’s a short, low gasp behind him that Denki recognizes. He hates that he recognizes it, because he’d try to talk or fuck his way out of most people discovering his dirty secret, but there’s something about Satou that makes Denki feel like he’d rather tell the truth and outright beg instead of coyly tease.
Another problem—solution—is that Denki isn’t wearing any underwear. The shorts are just that—short—the fabric is hanging loose and to the side, showing off his ass cheeks and a little peek of his pussy outlined under the big, bright light of the fridge. Denki swings around in surprise and backs up on the ground until he hits a cabinet. He’s distracted, hazy for a few moments while he rubs the back of his head, legs wide open. He’s distracted, and pain plus pleasure makes for a poor combination when feigning innocence.
Satou can definitely see it now, Denki’s pussy on partial display, swollen and wet and red from all the times he’s abused it. Denki can see that he’s interested. Very interested.
“Are you okay?” Satou’s cheeks are pink, his voice is huskier than usual—regardless of how late it is. He’s probably not fully aware of it, but Denki is.
Denki doesn’t want to answer, not when there are so many better ways to put his mouth to good use. He doesn’t want to ruin the tension with another stupid joke, though this one seems to have played an unexpected part in getting him this far. Sato is shirtless—ridiculously toned. Denki wants to run his hands over every bulge he can find. He wants to crawl over on his knees and suck away at the head of Satou’s cock straining in his boxers until Satou can’t stand straight anymore. Denki wants Satou to slam him onto the counter, pull his shorts even more to the side, and slide home.
“Yeah” is all he says. Satou can pick up on that, right?
Satou apparently can. He comes closer, shuts the fridge, and picks up the cucumber that’s lying a few feet away from Denki without letting his gaze stray. He squats also, head of his cock creeping toward the side of his own shorts as he lengthens. Denki swallows, hard.
“What were you going to do with this?”
Oh shit. Denki trembles, reaching down, passing a few times over his nipples, encouraged by the way Satou’s breath hitches when he gives them a twist. Now or never.
“You know what.” He drawls as if he’s drunk again, and really, Denki is, effervescent as he draws his index finger through the slick weeping just inside of his hole. “You were there when I said it.” He licks the finger until he deems it drenched, paying careful attention to the way Satou’s eyes widen momentarily in shock, then fall lidded, like his.
“Show me.” Satou’s parting Denki’s thighs even more now, boxing him in. Oh shit oh shit. Denki is drowning in the size of him, searching his arms as Satou yanks his shorts off and gives a few circular rubs to his cock. So he can be sexually aggressive as well—insistent and dominant just like Denki dreamed. Satou presses the cucumber to his hole and tries to ease it in.
Oh. It’s so much. It’s so much more than the carrot. So cold and girthy. Denki takes about an inch of it in before he wheezes and squints and Satou pauses, waiting for his words to continue.
“It’s...it’s too big.”
Satou’s fingers find Denki’s hair, reassuring him as he holds the cucumber firmly where he left it. Eventually, Denki relaxes, adjusts, moans in surprise as Satou starts pushing again.
“How’re you going to take me if you can’t take this?” Satou’s breath blows a chill over Denki’s forehead. The fingers in his hair tighten in a possessive twist. “I know you can, you’re already doing it so well on your own.”
Denki agrees with a high-pitched whine, submitting completely to Satou’s praise and direction. Sato slaps a hand over his mouth then makes a shhhh gesture, punishing him by giving the next push a little extra oomph. The cucumber has to be close to where Denki was holding the carrot earlier as he rubbed himself, but this is ten times better. He’s quivering so much he’s afraid he’s going to hit his head again.
Quiet. Yeah, Denki can do that. Satou is here this time to shove a few fingers into his mouth if he gets too loud. Actually, Denki wants to test the limits on that rule—Just now much is too much, and how many of Satou’s fingers would it take to choke the sound out of him?
“You’re going to fuck me here?” He purrs, sending small jolts of electricity down his arms and thighs to show Satou just how much he’s into the idea. Satou growls and digs his nails into Denki’s flesh and ugh Denki can’t stand it. He’s so lucky, what did he do to deserve this?
Instead of saying anything, Satou scoops him up. Before Denki has the opportunity to breathe, his ass is on the counter, spine bending, toes curling in the air where they’re crossed around Satou’s thick shoulders as his classmate slurps on his cock like it’s one of his special made treats.
Denki almost hyperventilates trying not to scream. Satou’s mouth is active, tasting him as the cucumber is pushed even higher. It’s so much stimulation, so much pressing at him from both sides that Denki can’t hold his quirk back anymore. He sends jolts of electricity concentrated enough to numb the body in higher succession. The hair on their arms, Denki’s thighs, and both of their heads stand on end.
Satou likes it.
He moans and sucks harder, adding his own vibration. Denki nearly explodes then, crying instead, more desperate to win Satou over than any other person he’s chased after in his life.
“Fuck me—fuck me Satou please—I can take it. I can take it!”
Satou makes the shhhh sign again, albeit this time it’s a lot less of an effect, because he drops it after a second to pull his boxers down. He eases the cucumber out, stroking himself, obviously getting off to the way Denki’s overstimulated body jerks with every inch lost and those tearful sniffs.
The cucumber makes a popping sound as slides out that almost covers Denki’s crying. It’s lewd, and bizarre, and damn if the exhilarated look on Satou’s face doesn’t make it the hottest thing Denki’s ever heard.
The hottest thing he’s ever heard, right after the sound Satou makes when he lines his cock up with Denki’s entrance, pushes without warning, and catches the groan in his throat before it turns into Denki’s name.
Fuck, he’s missed the real thing.
And Satou is the real thing. He’s about to be the best fuck Denki’s ever had.
Denki grabs the cucumber and shoves it sideways into his mouth, biting down into a howl as Satou lifts his ass well off of the counter and slams into Denki until he’s split wide open with that huge cock bumping against his cervix. Holy hell it burns, but it’s exactly what he wanted. When Satou moves, Denki is lifted higher, whimpers of prayers and curses aimed indiscriminately at the ceiling.
Satou’s fingers dig deep into his hips—marking him. Denki soars.
“I’m gonna take you back to my room.” Satou promises, shaking the fridge beside them from the powerful thrusts of his thighs. The smack of their skin is louder than Denki’s muffled noises by now, but Satou seems too focused on his mission to care. “I’ll bring that cucumber with me and you’ll show me as many times as I want to watch.”
Fuck. Denki is dizzy. There’s the electricity again. Satou’s breathing picks up, he fucks Denki harder, the sensation of buzzing added to the tight, warm walls that tug insistently at his cock. He’s so incredibly wet, they’re going to leave a mess. Denki’s body clenches. He bites deep into the cucumber, leaving his own little marks.
“Show me.” Satou repeats—groans—leans over to swat the cucumber away and kiss Denki as he staggers through his thrusts—deep and slow. He's close. Denki is too. Denki presses his lips against Satou’s hard enough to bruise, parts his mouth, and twists their tongues together. He turns up the setting, and for a few seconds experiences what it’s like to die in a sea of static.
In Denki’s vision, Satou swims beside him.
Denki takes the liberty of a huge gasp, drinking the cold night air as Satou quickly pops out of him to spill on his stomach. There’s so much of it, it pools toward his belly button. Denki gathers some between his fingers and licks it off, regretting that he didn’t ask Satou to finish inside. Would he do it next time? Would Satou choke him like he really wanted to make Denki pass out? Would he keep going if Denki did?
“Why did I have to be the one to walk in on this?”
Denki rubs his eyes, searching for the voice—mellow, and a bit disappointed. It’s a bleary line of white and red and a familiar chill that gets his body whirring to life again.
Todoroki. Todoroki is the one that found them. Denki could die. Or, he could get dicked down by two hot guys he knows for a fact fall into the top ten biggest cocks on campus. When it comes to cocksluts, Denki’s number one.
He’s feeling brave tonight.
“Just looking for a snack.” Denki dips his fingers into the sticky mess of Satou’s semen and makes a scene of cleaning it off with his tongue. Satou steps to the side to shove his softening cock into his boxers while Denki pulls back the lips of his thoroughly pounded pussy, spreading his hole open to show Todoroki what he was missing out on. “Gotta keep my energy up!”
Todoroki stares. Blank is kind of his brand. It’s hard for Denki to tell how he’s feeling sometimes, but there’s no way to miss the way his cheeks darken, and the heat that emanates between the three of them. Denki’s shirt is too stifling now, he yanks it over his head and throws it on the ground. Todoroki’s eyes don’t leave his body for an instant. Not even when Satou blocks him from sight to gather their things. He scoops Denki up again, and heads for the elevator.
Satou keeps good on his promise. He watches Denki fuck himself until he is nearly undone, debauched disaster that he is, and this time he comes inside without Denki needing to tell him, huge hand covering his throat to cut off his breath. Todoroki gives them another surprise by trailing their heels—locking the door behind the three of them. By morning come, Denki is calling him Shouto, riding out another orgasm on fingers swathed in an inferno of electricity and fire.
Yeah, he’s learned his lesson. Denki will never underestimate the power of a stupid joke again.