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Shouto is used to confessions. At this point, he kind of hates them.
Really, it’s because the people that flounce all over him—all over him, hands too familiar and unrestrained—don’t actually know him. Not really.
So, Eijirou confesses, “I like you,” and Shouto looks him up and down, and then says, “Prove it.”
—
“Whiny,” Shouto murmurs, hands full of Eijirou’s ass. He presses his nose under Ei’s ear, breathes hot onto his skin. “I didn’t know you could make those sounds.”
“S-Shou—“ Eijirou pants, squirming in Shouto’s lap. He whines, loud, when Shouto digs his fingers into his ass and pulls, baring his hole to the air.
Eijirou makes these little startled noises whenever Shouto’s groping hands wander, his fingers tracing firm over the pucker of his ass, and Shouto acknowledges him in quiet hums only, silently enjoying how Eijirou fills his fingers.
He really is thick everywhere and one quick jump of Shouto’s hand has Eijirou’s ass shaking, his plush chest squishing against Shouto’s collarbone where Sho’s got them leaned back in his desk chair.
Eijirou sinks a little, spine dipping lower and ass pushing out into Shouto’s hand. Shouto yanks him back up with a grunt, unable to ignore the sweet way Eijirou shivers when he’s moved.
It’s… interesting how Eijirou responds to his hands. His initial reaction to Shouto’s request was a flaming face and a slack jaw, something Shouto had met with indifference. He’d been a little less indifferent, though, when he’d pat his thigh and Eijirou had climbed into his lap with a blush.
But Eijirou must really like his hands. The first time they’d landed on his ass he’d jumped and then dipped his head, hiding from Shouto in his neck. Sho didn’t mind, and Eijirou didn’t stop him when he’d pulled his shorts off either.
Sho likes him like this—shaking apart in his hands, knees drawn up under him on either side of Shouto’s hips.
He snaps the elastic of Eijirou’s shorts where they’re hooked under his ass, and then slips his fingers between Ei’s thighs, rolling his thumb over squished balls.
“I think,” Shouto says slowly, slipping a hand under the back of Eijirou’s shirt, “that a lot of people only like me because they think I’m pretty. Do you think I’m pretty, Eijirou?”
Eijirou’s response is a choked out moan that breaks when Shouto slides his hand back up to his ass, two fingers rubbing gently against his hole. Ei digs the fingers he’s got spread out at Shouto’s waist into his side with a whimper, and Shouto’s stomach flips.
Somehow, Ei manages to breathe, “I think you’re pretty,” against Shouto’s skin, and Sho acknowledges that the compliment makes him run a little warmer. And that’s new—that doesn’t always happen with the people who ask him out.
“I’m not very nice,” Shouto continues, and drags his nails down the muscles on Ei’s back. He makes Ei rock his hips just to be mean, grinding their cocks together. “I don’t really want to be nice. Is that okay?”
Eijirou nods jerkily, and Shouto digs his fingers in hard, pressing at Eijirou’s rim with his thumb.
“Ahn?” Ei yelps, when Shouto’s finger goes from teasing to pressing, beginning to breach his rim.
He’s a little bored of playing, and Eijirou’s breath noticeably quickens, his whole body jolting.
“How about now?” Shouto asks the side of his neck. “Do you still like me, Kirishima?”
“Mhmm!” Eijirou whimpers out, his arms circling tighter around Shouto’s shoulders. “I s-still like you, Shouto.”
Shouto hums. “Even now?” he asks, and slips his finger deeper, feeling Eijirou gasp and clench down on him. Shouto drinks in the sweaty smell of his skin, and swallows a groan when Eijirou’s hips bounce, grinding their cocks together and fucking himself on Shouto’s fingers.
“What if this isn’t enough?” he asks, teeth scraping Eijirou’s blushing throat. “What if I want to fuck you?”
“I want you to fuck me,” Eijirou gasps.
Shouto pumps his fingers slowly. “What if I never let you fuck me? What if I just want to fill you up with cum over and over?”
Eijirou shivers, hard, and Shouto presses another finger against his rim.
Eijirou leans back and takes all of Shouto’s breath with him. His eyes are glassy and dark, his pretty mouth parted and spit dripping off of attractively sharp teeth.
“Please?” he begs, with a tip of his head and a whimper that goes straight to Shouto’s cock.
“I want to hurt you,” Shouto says against his mouth, heat twisting tight at his naval. “I want to make you cry.”
“Please,” Eijirou whispers again, and Shouto twists his fingers cruelly.
When Shouto hits him, a light swat across Ei’s ass, he gasps, mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back, and Shouto thinks, dizzily, that’s obscene. It makes him want to see more.
Shouto drags his mouth down Eijirou’s jaw and feels his chin tip up, giving Shouto space, hips rolling slow to fuck himself on Shouto’s fingers again. Eijirou’s heartbeat pulses on his tongue and Sho breathes in, sharp, before he sighs.
“Okay,” he mumbles, and curls his fingers against Ei’s tight walls. “I believe you.”