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Mirai glances around nervously, unable to look either Aizawa or Toshinori in the eye. The room is clean, with a luxurious bed that is clearly the centerpiece. Heat rises up his neck as Aizawa begins to casually strip.
“Mirai,” Toshinori says softly. “Why don’t you take off your clothes as well? Once you’re done, I want you to kneel and start prepping yourself.” Mirai swallows and obeys. “Now, you remember what we decided on, right?”
“Y-yes,” Mirai says, with only a slight stutter. “From now on, no talking, only hand signals.” Toshinori smiles and Mirai opens his mouth for the gag. Then he turns to Aizawa, who is now lounging on the bed, and begins the scene.
“Shouta, I brought you a present!” Aizawa’s lips curl up.
“Oh, what is it?” Mirai is unprepared for the low drawl to send a bolt of arousal straight to his groin. He looks down, face burning, as Toshinori gathers Aizawa into his arms for what sounds like a rather filthy kiss. Fingering himself open as they kiss makes him feel like a pervert, a dirty voyeur. He bites his lip to keep from moaning.
“You’re always so sore after sex, and you can get so impatient at times, so I found a toy that we can use called a cock sleeve! It’s smaller than me, so it’ll take less prep to fit and you won’t be as sore afterwards.”
“Well, how thoughtful of you,” Aizawa praises. Mirai can hear the bed creak and soft footsteps pad towards him. He is painfully aware that he’s already leaking as Aizawa squats down and grabs his cock. One finger points up, and he tugs sharply. Obediently, Mirai kneels up and Aizawa begins to examine his cock, pulling and tilting it to see from all angles.
“This will do quite nicely,” Aizawa says approvingly as he fastens a cock ring to Mirai. Toshinori’s smile outshines the sun; Mirai’s blush could perhaps rival its heat.
Hand still firmly wrapped around Mirai, he leads him to the bed and begins kissing Toshinori again. Though Mirai averts his eyes, he can still hear the wet noises and the moans. The bed creaks again and the sound of a cap opening draws his eyes up. Toshinori has begun stretching Aizawa open and the intimacy between them makes his presence more obscene. He really is just a toy for Toshinori to use right now, and his arousal at the thought is somehow unaffected by the pit in his stomach he does his best to ignore. He agreed to this after all.
“You’re so beautiful, Shouta, stretched out on my fingers like this. I can’t wait to see you stuffed full with the toy, begging for more.” Mirai is always surprised by Toshinori’s capacity for dirty talk.
“Toshinori, en-enough” Aizawa moans. “I’m ready.” Toshinori kisses Aizawa again, soft and sweet, as he reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out two condoms. He rolls one on as Aizawa gets on his hands and knees before pulling Mirai between them and fitting his cock with the second. Then Toshinori lines them all up and pushes in and the stretch is nearly unbearable. He forgot just how big Toshinori really was, and he feels like he is being split in half.
He trembles, trying and failing to hold back his moans. Distantly, he is aware that toys shouldn’t be so noisy, but he can’t focus on anything, overwhelmed by the cock boring into his hole and the tight, welcoming heat swallowing his own.
“Is this okay, Shouta?” Toshinori asks, slowly rocking into him as his hips move to match the rhythm.
“Ah, fuck,” Shouta pants. “You can go faster than that, you’re smaller now.” Toshinori chuckles at the impatience in his voice and obliges.
The first real thrust nearly finishes Mirai; it would’ve had it not been for the cock ring. Each subsequent one is faster, harder. Mirai is caught between them, whining and drooling and helpless, moving with Toshinori’s hips. The dual sensations assaulting him act as a riptide, dragging him under.
“Ah, Shouta, you’re always so tight,” Toshinori gasps. Pausing in between thrusts, he grabs Mirai’s leg and pulls it up and out, using the leverage to go deeper. Mirai sobs around the gag, shameless and incoherently begging for more.
“Fuck, Toshi,” Aizawa groans. “More, mo - ah, right there-!” Toshinori laughs, bright and beautiful.
“Shouta,” Toshinori pants. “So demanding. I should make you ask me nicely.”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop, I’m close so fucking close-,” Aizawa wails as Toshinori reaches around to wrap his fingers around his cock. Mirai can feel Aizawa’s hole clench around him as he comes and whines, high and desperate. Toshinori’s thrusts become ragged and Mirai knows that he’s close and he desperately wants to be allowed to come too.
A hot tongue slides across his neck before a soft mouth latches on and begins to suck. He whimpers as a large hand begins to play with his nipple, wordlessly begging for release. Finally, Toshinori decides to be merciful and unfastens the ring, simultaneously squeezing the now oversensitive flesh and Mirai shudders, mind whiting out as he experiences what may be the most intense orgasm of his life.
Mirai feels boneless, drained dry. He may never come again.
Slowly, he becomes aware of his body and his surroundings. He’s sticky with sweat and cum is leaking out of his hole. His face is tacky with tears and drool and someone has kindly removed his glasses and the gag. He’s thankful he can’t quite make out the expressions on their faces as they hover over him, wiping him down with wet towels.
He’s disgusting.
He’s disgusting, and while seeing the revulsion, or worse, the pity on Aizawa’s face might hurt, seeing the distant, polite warmth on Toshi’s would break him. The absurdity of trying to cling to dignity after what he just did strikes him, and he croaks out a laugh.
“Mirai?” Toshi’s soft, gentle voice breaks through the haze. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responded. He forced his body up. “Let me use your bathroom and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You don’t need to,” Aizawa’s gruff voice interjects. “We can clean you up. It looks like that scene took a lot out of you.”
“No need.”
He gathers up the clothes scattered on the ground and makes his way to the bathroom on wobbly legs. It seems that Toshi and Aizawa had managed to make their way up to his stomach while he was indulging in his self-pity, so he sets about washing his face and hands. He’ll take a real shower at home.
The slow, dragging in his chest increases, like cold mud welling up in his stomach. His eyes sting, and he pushes away from the sink, pressing his palms against his eyes. How ridiculous, he’s the one who enthusiastically agreed.
It was an enjoyable experience and if asked in future he will eagerly accept the crumbs of attention Toshinori is still willing to give.
He pulls himself together. He opens the door.
“Pardon, but -”
“Here,” Toshi says, holding out the very glasses he’d been looking for. Mirai blinks, and then smiles.
“Thank you. I’ll be going then.”
Aizawa’s eyes follow him as he leaves.
Back in his own apartment, he thinks back to that unreadable expression and wonders if the man can see the ugliness of his heart. Mirai hopes not; he treasures the chance to be useful to Toshi again. He falls asleep in his small, empty bed and dreams about gentle smiles and kind hands.