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Shouta knew that he definitely should’ve put a stop to this a long, long time ago.
Just like every other night, Shouta laid in his bed alone, staring up at the ceiling. The covers were loose around his waist, the bed covered in his vast array of pillows, blankets, and the stray cat toy that had made its way up here. His breathing was even, but Shouta was wide awake, occasionally stealing glanced at the clock on his bedside table, reading the red numbers glowing on it as they ticked past one in the morning. Sleeping had always been difficult for him, but for the past year or so, it had gotten even worse, and Shouta knew that even if it would make the boy in the other room nearly die of embarrassment, all he had to do was say a few words to make it stop.
But he didn’t. He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, looking at the clock, and waiting, waiting, waiting, telling himself he was just trying to call asleep. But he wasn’t, and unfortunately, Shouta was well aware of that. He knew what he was waiting for. He knew what he wanted.
That want was fulfilled ten minutes after the hour in the form of a soft pant.
Shouta drew a soft breath in, letting his eyes fall shut. After a year of this, the guilt had only grown and grown, and Shouta still felt it wash over him every night. It didn’t stop his half-hard cock from giving an expectant twitch, though, and Shouta hated that he hadn’t even touched himself yet tonight and had still gotten aroused just from the thought of that was to come.
“Are your foster parents coming to graduation?”
It had been over a year ago that Shouta had asked Hitoshi that. He’d known the answer and truth be told, he’d known what had Hitoshi so anxious lately. It wasn’t the thought of graduation or nervousness at going out into the world as a newly licensed pro-hero. He’d made sure that Hitoshi was confident in his abilities, made sure that Hitoshi knew that Shouta would always be around, would always drop everything to take his calls, and that Shouta had pride and faith in him. No, it was something else that had Hitoshi down and Shouta knew exactly what it was.
They’d been in a quiet cafe near the school. Hitoshi had been holding a cup of hot tea in his hands, and Shouta had eyed the bandages on the back of his right hand suspiciously. Hitoshi hadn’t even been able to look at him, expression more depressed than Shouta had ever seen it before. Despite the fact that Shouta had helped him get employment lined up at a good agency and had put in every good word for him that he could, for the past few days, Hitoshi seemed at his lowest. And honestly, Shouta couldn’t blame him.
“No. They’re busy.”
Hitoshi had said it quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. Over the three years of training him and spending time with him, Hitoshi had slowly opened up more and more, growing more comfortable slowing his feelings around Shouta.
“Hitoshi,” Shouta had said, forcing himself to take on a stern tone with him. “I know something’s wrong.”
There’d been a pause.
“They’re kicking me out on graduation day.”
Shouta had known. He’d known all along. But it still hurt to hear it, especially with the obvious pain in Hitoshi’s voice. He’d known that Hitoshi’s foster parents were going to kick him out the moment they stopped getting paid for keeping him. That moment was the day Hitoshi would graduate high school. After that, Hitoshi was an adult. They weren’t obligated to keep him anymore. There was no reward to keeping him. So their plan was to dump him on the street, like he didn’t exist, like he was nothing to them. Shouta had never been so angry in his entire life on the day he found out. Unfortunately, he’d found out before Hitoshi had. This was no surprise.
Hitoshi had looked up at him, but still, he’d been unable to meet Shouta’s eyes, “I can find somewhere, you know, until I get my first paycheck or whatever. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Midoriya will let me stay with him or maybe Momo or… even—”
“Move in with me.”
It wasn’t like Shouta hadn’t tried before. He’d alway been aware of Hitoshi’s bad—even abusive—foster parents. He’d never quite been able to convince Hitoshi, though.
Even now, it took some convincing, but Shouta eventually got through to him. Hitoshi meant a lot to him, though back then, it had been only in a platonic, familial way. Eventually, he managed to convince Hitoshi of the truth—that he wanted Hitoshi around, that he was free to stay as long as he wanted, and that Shouta wanted a chance at giving him a better home life. On graduation day, Hitoshi had moved into his house and that was where he’d stayed for the last year.
“Ah—”
The walls here were thin. Shouta could hear every pant, every breath. Sometimes, he wondered if Hitoshi intentionally pressed himself against the wall in hopes that Shouta would someday notice. Shouta was older and had never been loud when masturbating and had managed to keep this nightly event a secret from Hitoshi for over a year, now, and Hitoshi seemed blissfully unaware that Shouta waited for him every night.
Truthfully, he liked having Hitoshi here. He was a good kid. He was the type of person Shouta liked, the type of person who he wanted to keep around. He liked to think that if Hitoshi was a bit older and hadn’t been his student, Shouta would’ve become friends with him, anyways. They had similar personalities, temperaments, and senses of humor. They got along well, and Shouta really did try his best to be a good father figure for Hitoshi and give him what he’d never had in a family. Hitoshi was grateful, never taking anything for granted, and Shouta did genuinely enjoy having him around. Despite the shame and guilt, the last thing Shouta wanted was for Hitoshi to leave or distance himself.
“Nn—Sensei—”
Shouta gave in quickly, bringing his hand to rub at the throbbing bulge in his loose sweatpants, listening to the panting on the other side of the wall. Hitoshi’s voice sounded a little more hushed today, more choked, like he was trying to keep himself quiet. He never succeeded, Shouta always able to hear every breath, hitch, and moan from the other room. He supposed some of this was his fault, as he’d let Hitoshi have the spare bedroom right next to his bedroom, where the headboard of the bed was pushed up right against where Shouta’s bed was. And now Shouta wasn’t willing to move the bed at all.
He wondered what Hitoshi was doing right now. He knew this was how Hitoshi put himself to sleep—that was the one thing he’d figured out over the past year. Sometimes, Hitoshi roleplayed with himself, murmuring like Shouta was there with him, and those times were simultaneously amusing and arousing at the same time. Despite being a year out of high school and a successful new underground hero, Hitoshi seemed to like the fantasy of being fucked over Shouta’s teaching desk or one of the school desks. If Hitoshi ever got over his insecurities and asked him to… Shouta didn’t think he’d be able to turn him down, not in a million years.
He’d known about Hitoshi’s crush on him since he’d started training the kid. He just hadn’t thought he’d ever develop the same feelings.
Another soft pant, Hitoshi’s breath hitching. Shouta touched himself through his pants, lightly running his fingers up and down his length.
What was Hitoshi doing right now? He’d never seen Hitoshi touch himself, though he’d been tempted more than once to look through the security camera in their living room to see if he’d ever dared to jerk off in there while Shouta hadn’t been home. He’d told himself that he’d always give Hitoshi privacy, though, because that was something else that had always been missing from his home life, and Shouta wasn’t willing to break that promise just so he could get off. After all, he had this to look forward to every night.
“Nn—ah!” Hitoshi’s tone raised a pitch, ending in a high moan and as his voice faded, Shouta could hear the unmistakable sound of buzzing. Despite himself, Shouta’s lips curled into a smile, knowing exactly which toy Hitoshi had. Shouta had gotten ‘careless’ at hiding his own collection a couple months into Hitoshi’s living here and as a result, things occasionally went missing. They were always returned, clean and with the batteries replaced, but Shouta always knew what he was using on himself. Tonight, it happened to be the large, impressive vibrator Shouta had bought about a month ago and subsequently never used on himself, waiting to see when Hitoshi would borrow it.
He wondered if Hitoshi could even get the entire thing inside of himself. Shouta had bigger toys, but Hitoshi had never dared to use anything big. He kept his eyes closed, imagining Hitoshi easing himself down on the thick shaft of it, trying to work it inside himself. He was fully hard, now, his sweatpants getting a little damp with precum. Shouta wanted to keep listening, though, and didn’t dare pull his pants down yet.
His thoughts drifted to trying to imagine Hitoshi more. Would he keep some of his clothes on? Hitoshi stole Shouta’s shirts sometimes, too, but still returned them. Did Hitoshi take all his clothes off when he played with himself? Or did he keep some on? He wondered what he liked, what Hitoshi’s preferences were.
At least he knew what kind of underwear Hitoshi liked to wear. Though the reason why he knew that was full of shame, too. Hitoshi wasn’t the only small-time thief in the house. Last month, Shouta had caved, had taken a pair of Hitoshi’s cotton panties out of his laundry basket, had done everything imaginable with them until they were completely used and abused and void of Hitoshi’s smell and taste. Every time he thought about it, it made him more ashamed, made him want to apologize or admit it to someone, but god, he was tempted to do it again every time Hitoshi left his laundry sitting out. He felt like a deviant, like a criminal, taking the undergarments of the kid that lived in his house and doing disgusting things with them.
Hitoshi wasn’t quite a kid anymore, though. He was nineteen now. He was tall, a little taller than Shouta, but still lanky and looking his age. He’d put on some muscle but when they sparred, Shouta could easily pick him up and take his weight. In their rare hugs, he could feel that Hitoshi was still thin, the effect of being underfed for most of his life, and he still had soft skin, marred only by a few scars from his childhood and none from major incidents with hero work yet. He often remembered those rare hugs at night, whether he was listening to Hitoshi in the next room or just thinking about everything in general, the way Hitoshi would show his emotions most obviously after being hugged or patted on the head, the way his soft hands would run down Shouta’s arms, the way his scent and warmth would surround him…
Against the wall, Hitoshi was panting harder now, his breaths coming fast, and he seemed to have forgotten about his earlier attempts to keep quiet. The buzzing had gotten louder, and Shouta quickly realized that Hitoshi had turned up the intensity of the vibrator. He could almost see it, imagining it nestled in Hitoshi’s ass, his entire body red and flushed with arousal. What Shouta wouldn’t give to sit Hitoshi on his lap, push that big vibrator into him, and stroke him while he rocked and thrust on Shouta’s thigh.
“Sensei, Sensei please…”
He really did love that Hitoshi still called him by his title. He assumed it was just a habit he’d gotten into when Shouta had started training him and had just become the thing Hitoshi called him and would always call him, but it sounded so good coming from his mouth.
Finally, Shouta pushed his hand into his pants, pulling the waistband down enough to free his cock. He didn’t hesitate, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking himself from base to tip slowly. He thought about touching Hitoshi, about kissing that sweet, panting mouth of his and slipping his hands up his shirt to trail over his skin and rub against his soft nipples.
He’d seen Hitoshi naked before, on multiple occasions, on accident, whether it was because he’d caught a glimpse at him showering after sparring or because Hitoshi had accidentally left his door open a crack while he was dressing, and he knew from those short glances what he looked like. He had the softest looking pale skin, hip bones that poked out of his skin a little, and violet pubic hair framing his cock. His thighs were muscular—probably from his bicycling hobby, Shouta had decided—and whenever Shouta saw him in something that didn’t completely cover his legs, the thought of burying his head between those thighs crossed his mind.
“Mm, please,” Hitoshi cried from the other room, his voice just getting louder and louder. Hitoshi really didn't seem to know how loud he was.
A year ago, Shouta would try to resist. Hitoshi didn’t start it right away. No, he got used to living here first, and as he did, Shouta developed an attraction to him. It only made things worse when Hitoshi started masturbating loudly against the wall they shared, and then even worse from there when Shouta very quickly realized that Hitoshi thought about him every time. It made things horribly, horribly worse when Shouta thought about the fact that Hitoshi was in love with him and how there was a good chance he’d accept Shouta’s feelings if he were to come clean.
He couldn’t, though. He was supposed to be Hitoshi’s mentor. His family. The father figure in his life. He wasn’t supposed to be attracted to him. He was supposed to get off on the sounds he made every night. He wasn’t supposed to be in love with him.
Hitoshi was so close to him, though. The only thing that separated them was a thin wall. Did Hitoshi really think he could sleep through this? Did he really think he was that heavy of a sleeper? Or was he really just completed unaware of how loud he was?
It had to be the latter, he decided.
“It’s big,” Hitoshi’s voice dropped a little, getting quieter, though he still panted heavily. Shouta squeezed himself, giving a push of his hips. He particularly liked it when Hitoshi talked to himself. He’d learned that Hitoshi could be talkative with people he felt comfortable with, and in the nights, he seemed to like to pretend there was someone—Shouta—there with him. There was a short pause, and then Hitoshi’s quiet, breathy voice again, sounding almost like he was talking directly to Shouta, “I can’t… I can’t get it all inside.”
Shouta bit down on his bottom lip.
That’s fine, he wanted to tell Hitoshi. Wanted to encourage him, just like he had when he was training him, when he’d been Hitoshi’s teacher. You’re doing so good already.
How far down on it was he? That thing was almost the length of Shouta’s forearm and wasn’t even the biggest or thickest toy he had. At its base, it was almost as big around as his fist. Could Hitoshi even get it in halfway? If it was all the way in… Hitoshi was so twig-like that it’d probably make his stomach bulge. No, he doubted Hitoshi even had it halfway in. It had only disappeared this evening, after Hitoshi had gotten home from doing deskwork. Getting it all the way in would take a few nights of work. He just hoped Hitoshi would keep at it, keep stretching himself with it over the next few nights until he could push it all the way inside of himself.
That was a nice thought—Hitoshi fully seated on that vibrator, moaning and panting. Precum rolled down Shouta’s cock, pooling at the base and in his thick curly hair, some of it even dripping onto his stomach. He didn’t want to come yet, not before Hitoshi did. He always tried to hold out to come either with him or after him.
“Feels good…” He could tell Hitoshi was starting to come apart and lose his composure. After over a year of listening to him, Shouta knew when he was close to coing. His next moan was loud, resounding through Shouta’s room, “Sensei—”
More than anything, Shouta wanted nothing else than to be the one taking Hitoshi apart. Undressing him, teasing him, looking over that soft, flushed body of his, making him cry out and try to hold back from orgasming. He wanted to see Hitoshi’s face, kiss those pretty lips, and run his hands over his body. He was horrible, disgusting for even thinking about it, for not saying anything to Hitoshi or telling him to keep it down at night, for letting this go on for over a year. He felt like a degenerate deviant, stroking himself and fucking his hips into his hand as he listened to his former student getting off and calling his name in the next room.
“Aizawa-sensei—!”
Hitoshi let out one last high-pitched moan, and Shouta head the creak of his bed springs, as if Hitoshi was pushing himself down on the vibrator a final time, and he knew that was it. There was another cry, panting, and buzzing, and Shouta squeezed his eyes shut, moving his hand fast over his dick, biting down almost hard enough to make himself bleed as he brought himself to completion. Hitoshi whined just as he did, and Shouta came, cum dripping down his dick and pleasure crashing over him in heavy waves for what felt like forever.
He always had the best orgasms when he was listening to Hitoshi. Even if they brought shame with them soon after.
In the moments post-orgasm, Shouta’s mind drifted further, into territories he didn’t dare think of even when masturbating. Hitoshi laying in bed with him, pressed against Shouta, fast asleep and letting him hold onto him. Thoughts of Hitoshi lazily sitting in his lap while Shouta worked. Hitoshi letting Shouta wrap his arms around him and press kisses onto his lips when he came home from teaching. It was one thing to get off to Hitoshi. It was another thing to want an actual relationship with him, as if they could be anything close to normal, ever.
Shouta let himself linger on it, and then shook the thoughts from his head, wiping his hand off on his pants before begrudgingly getting up and shakily making his way into his bathroom to clean himself up.