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“Try again!”
Shinsou shook off the blur from the blow and pivoted, used the dirt beneath his heels to slow his slide from the impact. He shot forward, determination etched in his features. This time, instead of shooting straight with his gear, he sent it off sideways to whip violently by Aizawa’s head. The man took the bait and jumped away from the scarf. Shinsou took the moment to launch into a kick.
You won’t evade me again, he thought.
Except, just before the hit landed, Aizawa reached up, without even turning his head, grabbed the leg barreling toward him, and threw his protege backwards.
Shinsou closed his eyes as he was flung, prepared for the landing. Instead he felt Aizawa’s scarf wrap around his body, constricting him. He knew better than to struggle, understood the compression would only intensify and permeate that crushing grip through his bones. He went limp and opened his eyes, but casted them down in shame.
“Sloppy,” Aizawa hissed. He jostled his student, made the purple strands of Shinsou’s hair flutter about his face as he flopped like a ragdoll. Aizawa closed the distance between them, kept Shinsou hovering off the ground so they were face to face. “Deflection is a better tactic, but it’s something to start or follow through on, not use as a last resort. Besides that you should have had a back up for if this strategy failed. Most villains will be two steps ahead. So you’ve got to be three.”
Shinsou nodded. He’d heard this speech before and it was usually a sign he was doing well enough that Aizawa couldn’t think of much else to critique. Even so, he still needed to improve. His gear work was slow and his physicality lacking. His quirk was good enough for most, but if they didn’t fall for the hook, he didn’t have much to fall back on.
Aizawa then launched into other ways Shinsou could improve his focus, and ironically, the younger man started to tune it out. It wasn’t that it wasn’t valuable information, or even that he didn’t want it. It was just that his instructor was so damn close.
It had become a recurring ritual. As Aizawa would lecture he’d get closer and closer, his voice would drop low, become almost intimate in timbre. His eyes would bore into Shinsou’s and the boy would become certain something different was going to happen.
He could sense how much Aizawa wanted him. He’d started to dream about it, being held up and unable to escape, being kissed senseless with hot whispered breaths between them. Expressions of, “This is wrong!”
Yet the fantasy never played out. Aizawa would lean into him until hot breath was ghosting Shinsou’s face. He’d inhale the scent of the student, always somewhat laced with citrus like a warm morning in an orange grove, then the lust in his eyes would flicker and subside to make room for guilt. He’d pull away. He always did.
Shinsou wanted to close the distance himself, crane his neck and mute the now meaningless words tumbling out of the other man. Yet, rejection terrified him. He wanted to touch without making Aizawa recoil, without losing the only chance he might ever have.
These thoughts had echoed, rebounded inside him for months. It was only inevitable that they would snowball, collect over time and gain an impossible force and speed.
It bursted through his good senses, highlighted the pearly pink of Aizawa’s lips and made the man irresistible. Shinsou was tired of playing coy and he didn’t want to give his mentor a chance to turn him down.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?”
Aizawa was caught off guard by the sudden interjection. “I said—” His words were abruptly cut off and his eyes went wide, first in realization, then with the power of Shinsou’s quirk. His gaze became clouded, and Shinsou felt his mentor fall under his control.
The boy was already excited, slacks beveling around the curve of his cock. “Kiss me,” he whispered. He’d been so confident lashing out, but as Aizawa leaned forward that tiny bit more and captured his lips, Shinsou felt a nervous flutter racket through his stomach and limbs. He was practically tingling as his mentor’s soft lips pressed firmly to his own. He could smell the woody musk coming off the man’s face, a mixture of sweat, natural underlying scents, and soap. It flooded Shinsou’s senses and made him almost instantly dizzy.
The brizzle of trimmed facial hair tickled against his own smooth skin. He twisted in the hold of Aizawa’s scarf. As their lips brushed together, touches featherlight and electric, Shinsou started to moan. He broke away to catch his breath and give out his next order. “Put me down.”
Aizawa, still captured in the snare of the quirk, obediently lowered the boy and unfurled his weapon.
“Strip,” Shinsou said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He watched, transfixed, as Aizawa untwisted his scarf, pulled his top up to expose the fine cuts of his abs, the ridges of his ribs, and then reached down to remove his pants and underwear.
Shinsou wasn’t really ready for how intensely the sight would rattle him. How the deep grooves of Aizawa’s hips would draw him in like a magnet, how the man’s firm prick would be so shocking and so mouth-watering. Most of all, he wasn’t ready for the wash of guilt. The deep, rumbling warning flares that he was doing something wrong. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this. Yet, he also knew that he’d already started and there was no sense in not seeing it through. He needed this, even if it was just one time.
Shinsou dropped to his knees and ran his hands up the lightly furred, tan thighs before him. He’d never been so aware of his own sense of touch, how each nerve lit up with awareness of the sensations below, how those feelings coiled and uncoiled inside him, twisting out into his blood and making every part of him hyper-aware.
Taste was the same he learned, as he pressed the flat of his tongue against the thick shaft and was bombarded with the brisk, salty warmth of flesh, the heady flavor of arousal, the bittersweet tinge of sweat and filth. It made his own cock throb in his pants and he groaned as he started to run the muscle up and down the girth. The lines along the member, made of veins and plunges and bulges of flesh, made the track along the path unique and memorable. Shinsou tried to memorize the thickness of each idiosyncrasy, ran his tongue back and forth until he could recall the thickness, the give, the length and pulsation of each one. He wanted the outline of this body, of this moment, logged away for the inevitable fall-out. Something sweet to remember his failure by.
Admittedly, there was a lacking element to this. Aizawa was perfectly still, able to express no reaction beyond the impulsive twitch of his cock. Shinsou wanted those strong hands in his hair, knuckles dragging roughly against his scalp. He wanted the hips he steadied himself on to buck, to make his motions a challenge. He wanted Aizawa to want this.
The lack of these components threatened to pull weakness from Shinsou’s eyes, but he pushed it down, leaned instead into the powerful odor of manhood that made the back of his tongue and nostrils burn and eagerly draw in more and more, into the taste and feeling of pleasure just below a silent surface.
He pulled up to the tip, tried to keep his quirk going as he boldly wrapped his lips around the bulbous crown and languidly sucked the flesh between his lips. He curled his inexperienced tongue around the head, lapped at the beading slit to wipe up what mess was provided, toyed experimentally beneath the glans to feel out the shape and get a sense for how firm it was. He took a bit more, slid down and let it gag him, and allowed his eyes to water as he struggled to consume more. He wanted it inside him, filling him up, he didn’t care if it choked him, stole his air and left him ragged. He wanted it all.
Of course, he couldn’t manage much more than half of the shaft before it was bulging almost painfully at the back of his throat, but it was good enough, maddening even. He bobbed his head up and down, was mindful of his teeth, attention drawn between his own pleasure, his desire to pleasure his mentor, and the need to keep the older man under thumb.
His lashes fluttered as he started to get lost in the feeling of the cock roughly stoking the inner lining of his cheeks, the front of his throat, the roof of his mouth. Drool spilled down the rod, puddled at the fingers that had mindlessly slid from hips to the base of the shaft to grope and stroke.
Shinsou’s hips rolled through the air, begging for contact from something—anything. He thought he would peak like this, just thrusting the open air, slurping down the dirty cock of his brainwashed teacher. He was vaguely grateful,in a distant sort of way, that they were deep enough in the woods to not be caught. It allowed him to fuck his own mouth unabashedly, as best he was able, without fear of reproach. At least, for the moment.
He was caught off guard when a strong hand tangled in his hair. At first he thought he was imagining it, but then his head was yanked back and he was forced to look up and see the twisted look of passion and rage painting Aizawa’s expression as the cock slid deeper down Shinsou’s throat, fully sealing his windpipe and aching delightfully as still hips launched into an abrupt series of merciless thrusts.
Soft moans bled into powerful whines, limited only by the blunt force ramming the tunnel of his throat. A fire lit up in Shinsou’s gut and tears poured down his face. He reached up and gripped those pounding hips. He didn’t try to stop them, took his punishment like a good boy as his mouth was fucked past his ability. He didn’t know how to suck like this, how to aid, so he just opened up as wide as he could and let Aizawa use him.
Punish me, Shinsou thought, his mind growing hazy from lust and lack of oxygen.
The cock drove painfully deep, pulled back until the crown brushed the inside of his lips, then lunged inside again, relentlessly.
Just when Shinsou thought he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was going to die from having his lungs fucked full, Aizawa growled. It was a sound that ripped through Shinsou’s whole body and made him feel soft and wobbly like putty.
Then the shaft was being yanked free and all Shinsou saw was the tip, red and angry, twitching hard right before streaks of white splattered his face.
Splurts of sticky heat bombarded Shinsou’s cheeks and forehead, dripped down the ridge of his nose, decorated his eyelashes. “Nghh, Shouta,” Shinsou whined, helpless and informal.
“Hnn, fuck!” The sound from his protege was too intense, too needy and longing to resist. It forced another hard pulse of Aizawa’s cock, urged the painting of the boy’s lips and neck.
The mess continued to ooze like icing down along Shinsou’s features while the boy struggled to catch his breath. Aizawa’s breathing too was erratic and he brought it down with a patience that was torn between settling his rattled nerves and trying to keep calm the anger he felt at having been taken advantage of.
“Do you have any idea the sort of trouble you could get me in?” Aizawa growled at long last.
The words made Shinsou cower. His shoulders drew in, his face fell. He looked pitiful, sad and ruined as Aizawa’s seed remained settled on his flushed features.
“Don’t play the victim now,” Aizawa sighed, the edge already leaving his voice. “You started this.”
Shinsou’s brows wove together and he wiped his face on his sleeve, succeeding only in cleaning the globs from his eyes and smearing the rest around as he tried to look serious. “I’m sorry! I am. But don’t pretend this was completely one-sided!”
Normally he would have put his foot down, but Aizawa acknowledged his own responsibility, his own part in this. The flirting, the extra touches, the deteriorating proximity. He’d never meant to act on it, never. Yet his pleasure was painted clearly on his student’s face, the face he’d just fucked senseless not sixty seconds earlier.
He sighed and crouched to get on Shinsou’s level. “I’m sorry too. I should have stopped you when I woke up. Hell, I should have never made you feel like this was something you should do. But this—this—isn’t the kind of thing a hero can do.”
Shinsou’s chest started to rise and fall, faster and unsteady in growing panic. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“Shh.” The desire to comfort won out for once over the need to teach. Aizawa wrapped an arm around Shinsou’s shoulders and drew him in for a hug. He pinned the boy to his naked chest and softly ran a hand through the cottony strands of purple hair. “Tell me, why did you want to do this?”
Shinsou’s worry seemed to ease and he nuzzled against the warmth of Aizawa’s skin. “I just wanted to feel you,” he muttered.
Aizawa hated how the words stirred him, how badly it twirled up forbidden wanting inside him. He knew he was about to make a mistake before his lips even moved. He knew he should tug the impulse back inside, bury it, do the right thing and forget this. Instead he nuzzled against the boy’s ear and purred, “Then you should have asked. Because now I have to discipline you.”
Shinsou gasped and trembled. He nearly jolted out of his skin as Aizawa’s free hand snaked down and squeezed the tender flesh that was so prominent it had to ache inside Shinsou’s slacks.
“Oh, god!” Shinsou’s head slumped forward, snuggled and pressed into Aizawa’s shoulder, trying to inhale the older man as skilled fingers rolled up and down his sheathed prick.
Aizawa tried to control himself, to move slowly as he caressed the hard flesh that swiftly began bucking into his palm. Shinsou was so sexy it was sickening. The teacher knew what he was doing was unforgivable, but since when did he need anyone’s permission to make his own choices? Even if the choices were admittedly stupid. He just wanted it, there was no deeper explanation, no validation he could seek. He just wanted the concertation to ease off the talented boy’s features, wanted to feel his developing body rattle and writhe. Aizawa just wanted to ruin him.
It didn’t take much, a few firm, informed strokes and Shinsou was biting back a whine, groaning as he rolled his hips through an impassioned fit of shuddering and spurting. Aizawa felt the fabric grow slick under his fingers and teasingly pressed the gooey mess against the twitching, ebbing rod. “Good boy,” he whispered. “Cum for me, my good boy.”
A whimper that might’ve been a sob sputtered out and Shinsou went limp in Aizawa’s grip, chest heaving as the aftershocks made his limbs shudder. “I—”
“Shh,” Aizawa hushed and ran his hands in soothing circles along Shinsou’s back. “Get yourself together. You still have to be punished.”
“Huh?” Shinsou blinked blearily.
Aizawa finally let the boy go and rose up, grabbing his clothes from the ground as he went. He loomed over Shinsou, posture imposing, naked or not he was a force to reckon with. “I said, you still have to be punished. You want me to fuck you? Then I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a man. On my terms. I’ll text you when the time comes. For now, get inside and wash up.” He grinned, face almost devilish. “You’re filthy.”
Shinsou watched his mentor strut confidently away, the muscles of his asscheeks were indented, his back clenched, deltoids drawn back, body on display. He was showing off his strength, each prominent muscle a parting promise.
Shinsou felt his body race with shivers of anticipation. He dragged himself to his feet and watched Aizawa until he disappeared from sight. “Okay then,” he whispered to the silent woods. “I’ll be ready.”