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shinsou turning a friendly sparring session into something more when he has shouto pinned face down on the ground and he wraps his capture weapon around shouto’s neck like a collar. hitoshi tugs on the slack fabric of the restraint till its nice and taut, till shouto’s head is tipped back and his throat is bared in a pretty arc and his back is arched.
shouto is panting from exertion, from how fucking humiliated he is in this position, with hitoshi holding him down like he’s nothing more than a dumb mutt— and he likes it.
hitoshi huffs a sardonic laugh at sho’s pathetic expression, at the way his arms tremble to hold him up, and he wraps the capture weapon one more round around his hand, watching shouto gasp and whine at the back of his throat.
“who would have guessed,” hitoshi leans in, his lips brushing shouto’s ear, “todoroki shouto, one of the most powerful quirk users in UA, likes being tugged around like a little bitch.”
“‘m not, ‘m not—” and shouto swallows at the way his own voice trembles and sounds so small to his own ears, and pretends he cant feel the slow curve of shinsou’s catlike smile against the shell of his ear. “i don’t..”
“you don’t? you don’t like this?” there’s a nip at his ear, and shinsou’s voice is so mean— it’s so patronising, a poison arrow tipped in honey, absolutely degrading words said in a smooth, low voice. “i dunno, puppy, why are you blushing like that, then? why are you grinding into the ground like a dirty mutt?”
shouto stills his hips. he hadn’t even noticed that he was working his hips down into the ground (and by extension, back against hitoshi’s hard cock pressing into his back).
“how shameless,” hitoshi tuts, leaning back (and shouto almost wants to whine at the loss of contact), “getting on this and whining like a bitch in heat and still trying to deny it? that’s cute.”
“shinsou,” shouto pants, his mind feels all foggy, like shinsou is using his quirk and he’s going blank with it— but he isn’t. shouto’s just a dumb puppy, just like hitoshi said. “shinsou.”
hitoshi slackens the leash, and shouto’s arms buckle, and he lands face first into the ground again, face tilted to the side to look at shinsou’s simper over his shoulder.
shinsou’s other hand comes to tip his chin up with a finger, and shouto shivers, biting his lip. he gazes up at shinsou, and watches the way purple eyes blink slow, like a hungry panther sizing up its (willing) prey.
“i know you want this, doll,” shinsou remarks, words slow and enunciated, like it’s the simplest truth in the world— like shouto’s fuckin’ dumb, nothing more than a mutt. “use your words and i’ll give it to you.”