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All while growing up, Shoto was told that he needed to be in control. In control of his quirk, in control of his ranking, in control of his reputation, in control of everything. If he couldn’t keep himself under control, then everything would fall apart.
So even when he was young, he kept himself in control. Every response was measured, every test was studied for extensively, and his temper was held tightly in line. There would be no quirk accidents or slip-ups under his watch. At first it had been at the will of his father, but soon Shoto found that he needed that control. It just wasn’t possible for him to lay back and let the world turn on its own. So even when the stress was so bad he began icing over his morning coffee mugs and every pen he tried to pick up, Shoto kept it together. Without his control, he had nothing.
With one tiny asterisk.
“Oh, baby, you aren’t trying to get away, are you?” Hanta’s voice was nearly unrecognizable. What was usually lazy and quippy was now dark and seductive, a cruel laugh following up his question. “I thought I told you I was in control tonight?”
Heat curls in Shoto’s stomach as he writhes against the silk sheets. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Done a scene, as Hanta called them. Maybe that was their proper name. Shoto wouldn’t know. He had no idea any of this was even an option before Hanta had introduced him to it. Before Hanta, Shoto had assumed his bedroom life would be plain vanilla with whatever woman had the best quirk to pass on to his future children. Accepting that being with a man and having sex with one was okay already had thrown him for a loop, and he had barely adjusted to it when Hanta started suggesting the extra-curricular stuff. Despite the learning curve, Shoto was pretty sure he couldn’t live without it now.
“Y-you are…” Shoto tries to sound sure, but his voice comes out pathetically breathy and whiny.
He couldn’t help it. Hanta had tied him face down on the bed twenty minutes ago, binding Shoto’s wrists and ankles with the satin-lined cuffs. Usually they’d use his tape, but Hanta always used the cuffs when he wanted to draw things out. It was also sturdier, and better for the face-down, spread eagle splay of limbs he had been posed in. An utterly vulnerable position, and one that he couldn’t help but squirm against as Hanta trailed feather light touches against the backs of his thighs and lower back with something. Shoto didn’t recognize the feel of it, which meant it was new. The anticipation only made him squirm more, trying to get any kind of movement closer to his boyfriend.
“Then why are you acting like you can get away? I put you right here, so you’re staying here,” Hanta’s warm hand is suddenly between Shoto’s shoulder blades, pressing him more firmly to the bed. Shoto nearly moans at the contact, only straining harder to press against Hanta’s hand.
“I am, I’m staying, I’m staying,” Shoto mutters, feeling delirious. Every time they started a scene, it felt like this. When Hanta dimmed the lights of the bedroom and lit those sweet-smelling candles, it’s like all of Shoto’s thoughts melted away. He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t a Todoroki, wasn’t a leader. He was just whatever Hanta wanted him to be.
“I don’t know, baby,” Hanta’ voice is a low croon now, and he laughs when Shoto shivers all over. “It looked like you were trying to get up, to me. I think you need to be punished.”
Shoto, through his hazy mind, considers denying it. He knows if he puts up enough of a protest then Hanta would accept the squirming as nervous energy and continue with whatever plans he had for tonight. But Shoto can’t help the curiosity that rises in him at the idea of a punishment. They hadn’t done a scene too many times yet, and though Hanta had hinted at punishments he had never followed through with one.
“If you think I need one…” he says timidly, trying to turn his head to look up at Hanta. It doesn’t work. The second he tries Hanta puts his hand on the side of Shoto’s face, keeping his face pressed down against the pillows.
“You definitely do. Do you remember your safe word, Shoto?”
“Endeavor,” Shoto had picked a word so revolting he was positive it would kill any mood.
“Good boy,” Hanta praises as he takes his hand off of Shoto’s face, stroking down his back in gentle motions. It turns from calming to appreciative quickly, and it moves further down south to grope at his exposed ass, kneading roughly as Shoto whimpered. “Pretty boy, too. Do you remember when we talked about impact play?”
Shoto racks his brain for such a conversation, but he’s a little stuck on the way Hanta’s hand still paws at his ass and thick thighs. Shoto hated the way they were nearly disproportionately big to the rest of his lithe body, but Hanta made sure to frequently and emphatically show his appreciation for them. Even now he seems more concerned with feeling Shoto up then continuing the scene, but his ministrations slow when Shoto doesn’t immediately respond.
“Yes,” Shoto tentatively says after a moment of thinking, “like… like you want to spank me?”
Hanta laughs, and the sound makes Shoto try and press his legs together instinctually. Hanta clicks his tongue, and Shoto nearly jumps out of his skin as his boyfriend swats at his upper thigh, the blow more surprising than painful. It smarts for a moment before Hanta rubs his hand over the mark, smoothing away the sting.
“Yeah, baby. I wanna spank you,” Hanta purrs, “I wanna make your cute little ass red. Can I?”
Hanta never asks unless it’s something new. Even though they had discussed this a few days ago, Shoto appreciates he still takes the time to ask. Though his appreciation at being asked is almost outweighed by his embarrassment at having to say yes to the idea of being spanked by his boyfriend.
“Yes, you can,” he says quietly.
“I can do what?” Hanta asks with a chuckle, as if amused that Shoto thought he could get away with being vague.
“You can sp-” Shoto has to clear his throat when his voice breaks, face going pink. He tries to nuzzle his face against the cool satin pillowcase to cool down, but it does little in the grand scheme of things. “You can spank me, if you want.”
Shoto yelps as Hanta’s hand comes down, this time on the meat of his ass. It had a little more force behind it, and Shoto tries to curl up as much as he can against the impact. Hanta wraps a large hand around his ankle above the cuff and yanks his leg back to being straight, forcing Shoto to straighten back out. Despite being nearly as lanky and limber as Shoto was, Hanta still had enough strength to force Shoto into any position he wanted. Shoto still had to battle the shame he felt at how aroused that fact made him.
“You know I do, baby,” Hanta says, finally coming around to the other side of the bed and kneeling one leg on the side of it so Shoto could see him. He was devilishly attractive in the dim light of the room, dressed down to just his pajama pants that did nothing to hide the growing bulge there. “Since I’m such a nice guy, I’m gonna give you a choice tonight. You can either have my hand, or you can have this.”
Something rests against Shoto’s back, but he can’t quite tell what it is. Some kind of thin, long stick. When Hanta moves it, Shoto can feel that strange smooth texture from earlier. Leather?
“What is it?” Shoto asks, looking up at Hanta. His boyfriend was looking right at him, something dark and hungry in his obsidian eyes.
“It’s more fun if you don’t know,” he says, “so either fifteen hits with my hand, or ten with this. Your choice.”
Shoto bites his lip and tries to weigh out his options, but he can’t seem to think any further than ‘lower number better.’ He’s speaking before he can really consider that there’s a reason the mystery item comes with a lower number.
“Ten,” he says.
Hanta grins like he’s pulled some great trick on Shoto as he repeats, “Ten. Alright baby boy, ten hits with the crop.”
Hanta quickly stood up off the bed, and Shoto fought against the urge to watch him as he went. Hanta goes back to the other side of the bed where Shoto couldn’t see, and the room goes quiet. Shoto is so nervous waiting for the hip that he can barely process the word crop. Riding crop? Like for a horse? For a long moment, all Shoto can hear is the crackling of the candles and the quiet music that Hanta has put on in the background as he contemplates how a tool meant for an animal could be used on a human. Then there’s a sharp whoosh of air, and Shoto feels a sharp, smarting pain on his ass. It wasn’t painful-painful, like getting thrown through concrete by a villain, but it was a nice little sting. Enough to make him squirm.
“Hanta,” He says with no real purpose, trying to look back over his shoulder. The second his head lifts, Hanta's hand shoots out, and Shoto’s face is once again pressed down into the pillow. It’s enough to make him gasp, since he hadn’t known his boyfriend was that close. Either he developed a speed quirk or Shoto’s senses were seriously getting hazy.
“Baby, if you keep checking me out I’m gonna need to blindfold you. Keep those pretty eyes off me.”
“Sorry,” Shoto’s voice comes out pathetically weak, but the embarrassment isn’t enough to keep him from wiggling and trying to push his ass up more to entice another hit.
“You little slut,” Hanta says, nearly delighted, “I was hoping you’d be into this, but you’re practically begging for it. I should’ve done this sooner.”
He pops Shoto again, right above the first spot, and laughs at the surprised noise Shoto makes.
“Hanta, please…”
Shoto’s embarrassed whimper is enough to make Hanta laugh again, and Shoto is so distracted waiting for another teasing quip that he’s completely unprepared for the way the crop comes down again, this time on the meat of his thigh right under his ass. It radiates pain for just a moment, but the sting lingers longer now that Hanta hadn’t run his hand over it like he had before. The pain is making Shoto antsy, but he can’t help but want more of it. Even when he tries to keep still, he can’t stop the desperate way he twists his legs to try and get enough leverage to rut into the mattress below him.
“Desperate little whore,” Hanta says affectionately right before he lands another hit. This one is harder on the down swing, and it lands with an audible pop that has Shoto biting his lip to keep his whimpers at bay.
Before Shoto can even try to catch his breath- try and beg for more of that confusing sting of pleasure- Hanta lands two hits in quick succession, both of them landing right on the sensitive underside of his ass. Shoto moans brokenly when he thinks of how it will sting when he sits down tomorrow.
“That’s six,” Hanta tells him, as if Shoto ever wanted this to end. “Next time I’m gonna make you count ‘em, and I’ll start over if you forget. Get this slutty ass nice and red.”
Hanta grabs Shoto’s ass roughly, kneading the flesh there and soothing away the lingering smarts of pain. Shoto buries his face in the pillow to moan, but Hanta doesn’t let him. A large hand tangles in Shoto’s hair, and he’s viciously yanked up before he can stifle the sound.
“What’re you hiding from me, baby?” Hanta asks.
“Please, please, hit me again,” Shoto begs without meaning to, his voice half a desperate gasp for air. Hanta always made him act without thinking, reducing him to nothing but raw impulse and mindless pleasure-seeking. “I want more, Hanta, please.”
Hanta groans loudly at the debased way Shoto begs, and Shoto barely can catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror by their bed when he turns his eyes. His face is bright red, eyes teary and desperate. Humiliatingly, there’s a thin line of spit trailing from his bitten-red lips. He’d call it utterly unattractive, but somehow it does it for Hanta. He breaks the no-look rule to lean down on the bed and catch Shoto in a kiss.
It’s sloppy and desperate in a way that isn’t new, but Shoto hasn’t felt quite so off-kilter like this before. It’s a wet slide of tongues, and in his eagerness both of their teeth clack together near painfully, Open mouthed he pants, as desperate for Hanta as he is for oxygen. Shoto whimpers when Hanta pulls away, his black eyes lidded and hungry.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he nearly hisses, the hand not holding the crop palming the bulge in his pajama pants. He must have been fully hard by now, but he does little more than give himself a moment to calm down before he gathers himself and pushes Shoto head gently to go back down onto the pillow. “I wanna fuck you so bad, but we’ve still got four more hits. Though I doubt a desperate little slut like you wants to skip them. No, you’d take anything I have to give you right now.”
“Yes, yes,” Shoto agrees deliriously, “anything, Hanta, please.”
Shoto doesn’t process if Hanta says more. All he can process is the way that the crop is coming down again, and he tries to get his knees underneath him to rise up and meet the blow. Hanta doesn’t even rebuke the squirming, instead bringing the crop down again to mark up the un-touched skin towards the top of his ass. The pain there is more pronounced with how it’s less padded, but it doesn’t stop Shoto from moaning loudly into the spit-soaked pillow to beg yes, please, more, again.
The ninth hit is toward his sensitive sit-spot again, and it lands on top of the last blow. The pain is more intense that way, causing a deeper ache than the shallow smarts of the other hits. Shoto tries to arch into it, tears falling from his glassy eyes. He was so hard, and every hit caused him to squirm and rut his aching dick against the silk fabric of the sheets.
“Hanta,” He whimpers, so desperate it could be called a prayer, “I’m gonna.. I’m gonna cum. Please.”
“Just from having me spank you? God, baby, you’re a dream come true,” Hanta’s voice sounds nearly as fevered as Shoto feels.
“Please, please,” Shoto doesn’t know if he’s begging to cum or for the last hit- though he suspects it’s one in the same.
Hanta doesn’t speak, he just brings the crop down one last time on the meat of his ass with one strong swing. It causes Shoto’s entire body to jerk against the mattress, and the pain in combination with the way his dick grinds against the fabric has him cumming in a second. Shoto moans loud enough that he’d be concerned for a noise complaint- that was, if he could think. As soon as his orgasm subsides he practically melts against the bed, not caring for the way his ass stung or the uncomfortable puddle beneath him. Everything is hazy and perfect, and he struggles against the drooping of his eyelids.
A second later, something hot and sticky lands on his lower back and battered ass. Shoto barely has the cognizance to realize Hanta just got himself off, and a second later Hanta is quickly untying his binds. Shoto doesn’t move much when he’s freed, merely folding his arms under his head as he gets more comfortable. Though a moment later he’s displeased as Hanta comes back, dragging a wet rag across his lower back.
“You can’t sleep yet, baby, I gotta change the sheets,” Hanta says, his voice low and calm.
“It’s fine,” Shoto tries to insist, though his words are slurred and his tongue feels soft in his mouth, “we have a mattress protector.”
“Not an option. Come on, baby. I’ll run you a bath while I do it.”
“Okay,” Shoto agrees, “but you have to carry me.”
“Was gonna do that anyways, princess,” Hanta said, and he gently lifted Shoto off of the bed.
Shoto barely reacts, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. His body is weak and his joints feel as unsteady as jello, but that didn’t matter right now. At least for the rest of tonight, he didn’t have to be in control.