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Hitoshi hates being sick. He and his body are supposed to have an arrangement, which is that he doesn’t get sick. Ever. Normally that works out great for them, but then when Hitoshi does catch a cold or some other such bullshit, he’s really sick. For the past two days he’s been a snotty, feverish, aching mess of gross body fluids and neverending complaints, swaddled in blankets on Shouta and Hizashi’s bed, since it’s bigger than his crappy single bed next door that’s almost never used anymore. Why Hitoshi would go there to suffer like this makes no sense. He needs his suffering validated.
Today’s theme has been ‘drinking cough syrup and passing the fuck out’, as Hitoshi's barely managed to sleep since the start of this cold because his bones don’t seem to fit together the right way anymore. The fact that he’s been able to drift off at all today is progress, even though he still feels like a pile steaming hot garbage that someone’s taken a piss on.
He’s been slipping in and out of sweaty, feverish dreams and is eternally too hot or freezing cold, falling towards the former when he hears the curtains snapping open and disgusting daylight floods the room.
“How’re you feeling?” asks Aizawa sensei when they’re at school, or Shouta when they’re at home, or dad if you’re nasty.
“Horrible,” Hitoshi sniffs, then blows his nose into a mass of damp tissues that he’s accumulated around his head. “Just fucking kill me.”
“Drama queen,” Shouta says pityingly, sitting down on the side of the bed. “Drink this.”
Hitoshi’s grasped by the shoulder and guided up, letting a cup of warm, medicated liquid be brought to his lips that he sips at bonelessly, spilling some down the sides of his mouth that dribble onto the old t-shirt of Shouta’s that Hitoshi has been soaking with his sweat since he was changed into it last night.
“Entirely accurate and not at all exaggerating queen,” Hitoshi corrects pathetically, sighing as he focuses his blurry eyes on Shouta in front of him and probably looks as feeble as he feels. “I’m just tired of feeling like crap.”
Shouta puts the mug down on the beside table and brushes his fingers through Hitoshi’s hair, with a husky, “I know,” that makes Hitoshi’s eyelids flutter closed. “Just try to get some rest, you’ll feel better soon.”
“I will if you gimmie more of that cough syrup,” Hitoshi demands after finishing the mug of the hot drink, which is good at clearing his head, but doesn’t have the lovely drowsy effect that the cough syrup does.
“You’ve had plenty,” Shouta tells him all parentally, like he really gives a shit about being responsible when Hitoshi spent approximately three weeks at the UA dorms this year before deciding he’d had enough teenage bullshit to last him a lifetime, and his teachers had a far more appealing setup he could get into. On all levels.
“Want more,” Hitoshi pleads, and after a deep sigh, the sticky bitter bottle is put back to his mouth.
“Alright,” Shouta concedes as he lets Hitoshi take another slug, re-wrapping the blanket back around him properly and lowering back down into the mess of sweaty pillows. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
Hitoshi gives a wet sniff in response, then, “Thanks.”
Hitoshi’s probably dreaming, because everything around him is moving like his bed’s drifted out to sea, and his head feels like it’s melted, but there’s a warm feeling moving smoothly up his leg.
When he tries to move he’s weighted down, pressed into the mass of covers and mattress, and there’s a voice saying, “Relax, Hitoshi. You’ll feel good soon.”
That’s an appealing prospect, whether Hitoshi is dreaming or not, but he still doesn’t feel good now, his head throbbing and ringing in his ears and sweat like ice on his skin. He whines, he can admit, as he feels his leg being lifted up and moved, bent to splay apart from his other leg as he lies on his slide, and then the warm sensation shifts to his exposed inner thigh.
“Whas… happening…” Hitoshi drawls, and it’s still dark in this room, which doesn’t help his sense of direction, tumbling in the void as he feels a movement around him and then a tickle of what must be hair against this thigh. There’s an even warmer touch, midway up his inner thigh, and a light scratch of stubble.
“Just be still,” the raspy tones of Shouta pour out like thick, sticky cough syrup, right against his skin. “You need your rest.”
Hitoshi resting is an interesting concept, he thinks groggily, when he feels the hot, shocking wet of Shouta’s mouth seal against his skin and then the suction.
“Mmmmm,” Hitoshi moans weakly, trying to sprawl himself out further only to get quickly held down exactly where he is. Shouta sucks hard, enough to no doubt leave a fresh rosy welt, and then moves on to do it again. Hitoshi had told his legal guardian that he was sick of feeling like crap, and this is certainly one solution to that problem.
“Feeling better yet?” Shouta asks hoarsely, and Hitoshi tries to nod into the pillows but he can’t for some reason, his mind and body not really cooperating with each other like they should. Maybe he did hit the cough syrup a bit hard after all, though he still feels most of what’s going on, so there’s not too much to complain about.
Hitoshi’s not wearing anything underneath Shouta’s t-shirt of course, because what’s the point of that, so when Shouta’s mouth climbs higher, still sucking hickies into his thighs like they’re free real estate, Hitoshi squirms all the more. He feels sweaty and probably not all that appealing to be nosing around in the crotch, but Shouta doesn’t seem to care. Drags his tongue across Hitoshi’s skin like he’s tasting the tang of his feverish sweat rather than being put off by it. He’s a body fluids freak like that, so probably does like it, knowing him.
Hitoshi’s limbs are in protest still, meaning they only move when Shouta moves them, and not when Hitoshi wills his tired achy muscles and bones to do what they’re supposed to. He’s been off from school all week with this bug, which has been lonely on top of everything, so he’s happy for the attention now, Shouta lifting one of Hitoshi’s legs to bare his crotch as this mouth-led exploration continues.
“Shou… ta…” Hitoshi pants as Aizawa sucks on his balls, a light pulling sensation that makes Hitoshi’s hips twitch. He’s barely had an erection since he got sick, but maybe it was being saved up, because what sluggish blood he has seems to have rushed into his cock at record time. It feels big and hot and clammy against his stomach, then cold where his own precome is dribbling down his head to smear against his belly under the smothering t-shirt.
“Shh,” Shouta hushes, steering Hitoshi by the leg to sprawl fully onto his back now. He’s got a hand hooked into the junction of Hitoshi’s knee, calf folded down over his fingers, and feels like a ragdoll full of jellyfish. “Be a good boy, Hitoshi.”
“Ah~” Hitoshi moans, which he’ll have to hope is taken as a confirmation. Shouta’s still favouring his balls, moving from one side to the other with his hot, wet mouth, then swaps back down to Hitoshi’s other thigh to suck another love bite into it. Just a little pressure from his teeth, being gentle, Hitoshi can tell, and not biting hard enough to bruise. Other times he does, sure, but Hitoshi’s already feeling delicate, so even that little scrape of teeth is enough to give him chills. Or it’s the illness, but who fucking cares.
“Please,” Hitoshi says faintly, while Shouta’s leading back down the other inside thigh, as if he won’t be happy until they’re marked in perfect symmetry. He tries to reach for his own cock, to squeeze his confused, throbbing erection for some kind of relief, but Shouta catches his hand’s floppy attempt to move and just laces their fingers together, pressed down into the bed.
“Good boys are patient, Hitoshi,” Shouta reminds him, and Hitoshi wants to be good, he does, but he’s so hard and he just wants to feel some kind of relief.
It’s a little manipulative, sure, but if Hitoshi doesn’t do something he’s gonna pass back out with Shouta still just suckling on his thighs, and as great as that sounds on paper, it could be even better. So he pleads extra needily, “Please… dad,” and feels the exact moment when Shouta freezes. Target landed. “I just wanna feel good.”
Shouta’s grip tightens around Hitoshi’s leg, pressing it higher and then further down, until Hitoshi’s thigh is folded right next to his side. But all he does is blow, the wet marks his mouth has left all over Hitoshi’s skin lighting up every nerve.
“This doesn’t feel good?” Shouta asks him, a hand on Hitoshi’s leg and the other pinning down his hand. Hitoshi writhes on his back against the mattress, Shouta’s t-shirt riding higher up his stomach to fully bare his cock. It’s still dark in here and his eyes aren’t good enough to make out Shouta’s form, though it seems like he’s kneeling on the bed in front of Hitoshi, from the direction of his grip.
“More.” Hitoshi’s not too proud to beg, but he doesn’t always need to beg. “Dad, I want you to–” he cuts off when Shouta’s hand unlaces from between his fingers and finally touches Hitoshi’s cock, the soft heat of his palm wrapping around it and just holding.
“Want me to what?” Shouta asks very quietly, which is inversely proportional to his investment in anything. It’s when he’s the most quiet that Hitoshi gets the best results.
“Touch me,” Hitoshi gasps, which Shouta’s already doing, but he could do it more. He’s just got his hand wrapped around Hitoshi’s cock, not moving. So Hitoshi pushes his hips up into the ring of Shouta’s hand for what little sensation he can, head rolling to one side with a feeble, “Feels good.”
There’s a shifting on the mattress, Shouta moving closer, one of his knees pushing Hitoshi’s other leg to the side. His voice almost croaks, the soaked-in arousal that Hitoshi’s learned how to distill in him like aging a barrel of whiskey. “Such a lewd son, wanting me to touch you like this.”
Slowly, his hand begins to move, stroking Hitoshi firmly, grasping his cock in a fist. Hitoshi’s not sweating any less, that’s for sure, but he cares a lot less as well. It’s almost enough to send him over the edge when Shouta leans back down over him, the tips of his hair brushing Hitoshi’s stomach, and then his mouth suddenly envelopes the head of Hitoshi’s cock.
“Ah! Shoutaa~” Hitoshi moans as the hand slips further down his shaft and more of his cock disappears into his vaguely adoptive father’s mouth. The paperwork is just a legal provision to make their arrangement easier, Shouta says whenever Hitoshi’s teasing him about being a son-fucking pervert. It’s not supposed to mean anything.
The hand jerking him off speeds up, eased by the lubrication of Shouta’s spit when he sinks a couple of times all the way to the base of Hitoshi’s cock and back up again. Hitoshi feels himself pushing at the back of his Shouta’s throat, hips bucking involuntarily. Then the mouth lifts completely and he’s just being pumped hard and fast, eyes screwing shut as orgasm rips through him like a tornado, coming in hot spurts over himself as he clutches the bedsheets desperately.
It’s too fucking hot in here, that’s for sure, but still Hitoshi shivers all over when the haze passes. He feels washed out, like someone swapped all his bones out for strawberry shoelaces, but he doesn’t feel quite as shit as he did before.
“Look at the mess you made,” Shouta purrs, and Hitoshi lets out a pathetic whine when the hands on his body leave. Shouta gets up and crosses the room to draw the curtains back and opens up the window for a breath of fresh air. Hitoshi just lays in place panting softly, no smart answers for once.
He can focus on Shouta a bit better now, who comes back over to the bed and gently bundles Hitoshi out of his t-shirt, using it to wipe up the come on his stomach and then tosses it to the side. Hitoshi had kind of thought they were about to be done, for a second there, until Shouta settles back in between Hitoshi’s legs and pointedly rubs the bulge in his trousers against Hitoshi’s ass.
“Are you just going to be selfish, then?” Shouta loves a loaded question, and Hitoshi just lies there limply, lets his thighs be picked up and used to hoist him into position higher up against Shouta’s crotch, just a thing for him to grind against and hump.
“I’m sick, it’s my right to be selfish,” Hitoshi replies indifferently to being used like this, and his erection is deflating a little bit since unloading some of his backlog in missed orgasms, but the promise in Shouta’s tone is enough to keep him interested. “What’re you gonna do to me?”
“You said you wanted to feel good,” Shouta reminds him, still lazily pushing against Hitoshi’s ass, but then drops him back down to the mattress and reaches to the nightstand, clicking off the top on a bottle of lube. Hitoshi knows what’s coming after that, blinking heavily in the fresh sunlight filling the room, watching helplessly as Shouta coats his fingers while he looks dead at Hitoshi, making sure he knows what’s about to happen.
“Ahh!” Hitoshi moans again, louder, when Shouta reaches down between Hitoshi’s cheeks and rubs a fingertip over his hole just once or twice to slick it up before pushing his finger assertively inside. Hitoshi’s been pretty blocked up and barely eating, so gave himself an almost aggressive douching in the early hours of this morning, because it’s one form of deep cleansing and that’s one less thing to worry about. Plus, he hasn’t sex in a couple of days, and they were only gonna hold out for so long.
If Shouta was agonisingly slow and teasing before, this is too fast by comparison, giving Hitoshi no time to catch up in his over-medicated, post-orgasm brain before he’s got a finger inside Hitoshi right up to the last knuckle, curling to press exactly where Shouta knows to press down.
“Feeling good?” Shouta taunts as Hitoshi’s confused cock throbs, his prostate suddenly under assault and hurtling uncontrollably towards another orgasm.
“Fuck, fuck,” Hitoshi garbles when another finger is added, and now he’s really powerless to stop it. It takes almost no time at all of relentlessly being fingered before he’s blurting, “I’m coming again, oh fuck,” as Shouta milks another one out of him, cock completely untouched as it pools fresh semen against his stomach.
“That’s a good boy,” Shouta murmurs sinfully, still two fingers deep in Hitoshi’s ass, but not moving them anymore. He leans down close to Hitoshi’s face, where a wet trickle of snot is escaping his nose, watering eyes that could be from anything. Peers up at Shouta over him looking down with a stare like nitroglycerin as he mutters, “Make your dad proud.”
“Ahh,” Hitoshi moans and arches again when Shouta’s fingers start to move once more, slowly but surely, and then quickly joined by another finger. With his other hand Shouta grabs for the t-shirt, giving another quick sweep across Hitoshi’s stomach again, brushing his pulsing, over-sensitive cock.
Shouta’s breathing is deep, and he’s about to break out of his own trousers at this rate, soon relieved when he reaches for his fly to unzip with a hurried, “Turn over.”
Hitoshi tries to move, truly, he does, but it’s more of a half-hearted sprawl until Shouta grabs him by the knee again and just flips him onto his front, the fingers roughly leaving Hitoshi with a fresh moan. He’s flat out on his face, no strength in his body to hold himself up, but that’s not really a problem as he feels Shouta throw a leg over him and then the drag of his bare cock between Hitoshi’s cheeks.
Hitoshi’s face is pressed pretty square into the covers, but he can barely breathe through his nose to begin with so it hardly makes much difference, and for once he’s not thinking about how he feels anywhere else. Just the teasing pressure of Shouta rubbing his cock along Hitoshi’s crack, a fresh trickle of lube poured down into it as the friction turns to a glide.
“So desperate you’d even take your dad’s cock, huh?” Shouta’s also loves a stupid rhetorical question during sex, moreso than he ever asks such obvious things outside of it. Hitoshi’s only ever his ‘son’ for kinky purposes, so yeah, he takes his dad’s cock just fine. Hitoshi simply moans in answer, since he can barely speak with a faceful of the mattress and Shouta’s gonna put it in him anyway.
Two orgasms in already, and medicated off his ass, it’s almost more than Hitoshi can take when Shouta pushes past the initial resistance to slip inside. His head is spinning again, or maybe that’s the oxygen deprivation of having his face shoved in the mattress. Oh, it feels fucking good, though, after days of misery and suffering, being stretched open around his lover-teacher-parent’s hard cock.
It’s not a relentless pounding, but a weighty, almost methodical grind. Like the doctor recommended Hitoshi to get fucked face-down on the mattress, and Shouta’s just filling the prescription. He’s gripping Hitoshi by the ass, pulling the cheeks apart so he can see where his cock slips in and out of Hitoshi’s tight, two-days-unfucked ass. Maybe Hitoshi wasn’t the only one who’d been missing this too, though it’s not like there’s no one else to lend a hand in that department.
Speaking of which, Hitoshi doesn’t hear the door, but he sure hears the charismatic, “I’m hooooooome!” that rings through the apartment while Shouta’s still rocking into Hitosh undisturbed. “I brought chicken soup! Where– hm…” It’s a joke that’s not a joke that even Hizashi’s thoughts are so loud Shouta and Hitoshi can hear them, because Hitoshi feels like he can sense the train of thought that’s told by the quiet footsteps and then declaration made right at the bedroom door, “Oh, I didn’t realise we were that kind of medical establishment.”
“He said he wanted to feel good again,” Shouta reports, still gripping Hitoshi firmly by the ass to sink his cock into.
“Is he even awake? He looks dead, Shou.”
Hitoshi moans a sound that’s supposed to be ‘not dead’ but it doesn’t come out like words, and hears Hizashi’s warm laugh followed by a pointed zipping sound before leather hits the floor. “Well, if you’re warming him up already.”
“Yeah,” Shouta grunts, his thrusting more enthusiastic since his partner’s arrival. “Two secs.” Hitoshi can’t see them, but feels the extra weight on the bed as Hizashi must join them, and a moan from Shouta that’s quickly muffled before a throbbing fills Hitoshi’s backside.
There’s a slightly wet sound from between Shouta and Hizashi, and then the comment, “I thought he was meant to be feeling good?”
“He is,” Shouta responds, reaching for Hitoshi’s neck and slipping a careful hand around his throat to lift his face from the bed with a fresh gasp. “Came twice already before you got back.”
Hizashi clicks his tongue. “Only twice? Give him here.”
Forget the cold, Hitoshi’s ready to die by multiple orgasm as Shouta gathers Hitoshi up in his arms. He was weak before getting fucked to within an inch of his life, now he’s just a collection of limbs and orifices, loose and limber as Shouta gets Hitoshi’s back to his front and a hand around each of Hitoshi’s thighs, then shifts them both around to sit facing the foot of the bed.
Hizashi’s down to a white t-shirt and his cock sticking out of leather trousers shoved halfway down his legs, radiating fucky chaos energy as always, and the row of barbells piercings on the underside of his cock shine temptingly in the light. Shouta’s got Hitoshi completely spread out on display; the love bites on his thighs, crusting semen in flakes on his bare stomach, and Shouta’s load sliding inevitably out of his ass.
With a tsking sound Hizashi remarks, “You made such a mess of him,” and he’s always been a clean freak, so sets right to work. Starting with Hitoshi’s ass, which twitches and pushes more of Shouta’s come out onto a sweep of Hizashi’s tongue.
Hitoshi doesn’t come out with words so much as incoherent, fucked-out sounds while Hizashi enthusiastically licks his ass clean, then pops back up to be kneeling opposite to Shouta, Hitoshi splayed in-between them, with a truly delighted grin. Hizashi leans in over Hitoshi’s shoulder to kiss Shouta, a gesture that’s accepted only to break off with a groan as Shouta pulls away with a begrudging, “I knew you were going to do that.” Presumably, Hizashi has returned some part of Shouta’s load to its creator.
Hizashi snorts, wiping his mouth with his thumb and remarking, “You love it really.” Hitoshi felt Shouta swallowing behind him, so he complains but clearly doesn’t mind that much.
Turning his attention down to Hitoshi, who’s still hanging like some sort of fucky art installation from Shouta’s arms, Hizashi ducks in to touch his forehead to Hitoshi’s forehead while he unhurriedly jerks himself off with a free hand.
“He’s still warm.”
“Yeah, I’ve given him something,” Shouta answers. “He’s also been drinking cough syrup like soda.”
“Naughty boy,” Hizashi teases, pressing a kiss to Hitoshi’s forehead before rising back up on his knees and lining up his cock against Hitoshi’s hole. “Just twice, right?”
“Hm,” Shouta confirms. “Think we can double that?”
Hitoshi can’t see, but he can sense Hizashi’s grin just from the tone of his delivery, “Let’s find out.”
When he pushes into Hitoshi, ribbed barbell by barbell, they almost make it to three then and there. Hitoshi moans out like he’s coming apart at the seams, feeling how hard Hizashi is inside him.
“Lift him more,” Hizashi instructs, and Shouta raises Hitoshi higher, his knees tucked either side of his shoulders. The pressure on his prostate is immediate the second Hizashi draws back and then slams into Hitoshi right to the hilt.
Hitoshi actually screams then, but they have the window open and neighbours to worry about, so Hizashi takes over holding one of Hitoshi’s legs while Shouta covers his mouth. Occasionally sticks a finger or two in there for Hitoshi to suck on. Knowing him, he’s probably staring lovingly into Hizashi’s eyes as he watches his partner wreck Hitoshi’s ass like there’s no tomorrow. Well, Hitoshi won’t be going back to school tomorrow in any case, so it’s not like he needs to worry about limping around or being able to walk. They can go all out.
“Fuck, he’s even hot inside,” Hizashi huffs, ploughing Hitoshi for all he’s worth. “Put him down.”
Shouta moves him so carefully that Hizashi’s cock stays buried in Hitoshi’s ass the whole time, laying Hitoshi down flat on the bed on his back, hips propped up on a pillow, while Hizashi leans one of Hitoshi’s legs up against his shoulder, the other crooked around Hizashi’s hips as he resumes thrusting. This leaves Shouta freed up to actually take off the rest of his clothes, only as undressed before as he needed to get his cock into Hitoshi, just like Hizashi is now,
“The fuck did you give him? He’s so loose he’s practically sucking me in,” Hizashi chatters while Shouta’s getting comfortable next to Hitoshi on the bed, lying alongside him on his side.
“Normal cold remedy,” Shouta answers. “It’s the cough syrup probably, it’s got alcohol in it.”
“Wait he’s wasted?” Hizashi chuckles, and Hitoshi feels the pressure starting to build again towards another climax.
“Tipsy, maybe,” Shouta remarks, reaching for Hitoshi’s face to roll over and look at him. “What do you think, kid?”
“I feel good,” Hitoshi murmurs with fluttering eyelids, heat pooling in his stomach when Shouta leans over and in to kiss him on the mouth. They’ll probably both get sick from him at this rate, but clearly that’s at the back of their minds as Hizashi’s pace drives up to a jackhammer.
“You’re gonna break him, Hizashi,” Shouta nags what sort of constitutes his version of ‘playfully’.
“Yeah, but he’s not complaining,” Hizashi points out, and Hitoshi sure isn’t. Just clings to Shouta’s arm and moans, switching from looking at Hizashi between his legs and Shouta at his side.
“True.”
“Give him a little help, I think he’s almost there,” Hizashi suggests, and Hitoshi’s too disembodied to actually request that himself, but it’s exactly what he does want. Shouta gives him one more peck on the mouth, then retreats south, hair tickling Hitoshi’s chest as he takes Hitoshi’s cock lazily back into his mouth.
“Ah– there we go,” Hizashi hums, sensing the shift in tension through Hitoshi’s body as he tightens up in search of that next just-enough-too-much orgasm.
“Ah, ahhh~” Hitoshi sounds out as Shouta sucks him off devotedly, catching the forced trickle of come that’s left for Hizashi to fuck out of him and swallowing it without a trace.
“See?” Hizashi scoffs when Shouta’s mouth pops off Hitoshi’s softening, overstimulated cock. “You love the stuff.”
“His tastes better,” Shouta comments, rolling lazily back onto his side again. “Kinda sweet.”
“Hah, probably all that cough syrup,” Hizashi replies, steadying Hitoshi’s hips against him. “Hold him still, Shouta. He’s like a bag of jelly.”
Hitoshi pretty much feels like a bag of jelly, so that’s fair, limp and unprotesting as Shouta reaches over to hold his hips in place for Hizashi to fuck into. He doesn’t know how they think he’s going to come again at this rate, it’s barely enough to even stay awake, only the intense feeling of Hizashi’s piercings dragging over his insides keeping him in the room.
Shouta looks at him, his face drawn in peaceful contemplation of Hitoshi’s flushed, snotty visage. Then he reaches for one of the discarded tissues to gently wipe Hitoshi’s nose and asks, “Tired?” as if Hitoshi wasn’t getting fucked senseless from the waist down.
Hitoshi just nods, and Shouta brushes a thumb softly across his lower lip, eyes rolling sideways to Hizashi enthusiastically pounding away. “He’ll be a while, why don’t you close your eyes.” It’s not even a question, just a suggestion, as if he’s got the brainwashing quirk and not Hitoshi.
Drowsily enough to surprise himself, Hitoshi drawls, “I’m not gon’ fall asleep.”
“Does that matter?” Shouta replies, and Hitoshi can’t fault him on that, eyelids drifting shut as he releases any lingering obligation to give back in this exchange. Hitoshi and his body have fallen out over this whole ‘being sick’ thing anyway, so his body’s only got what it had coming, in his opinion.
It shouldn’t be possible, really, for Hitoshi to actually fall asleep while Hizashi’s fucking him like the clappers, but he drifts a little, maybe. He is still sick, and fucked-out physically exhausted now on top of it. At least this will help him get some fucking sleep, which he’s still trying to catch up on. So Hitoshi must have fallen asleep at some point, technically, because he wakes up when he’s being moved, and you can’t wake up from not being asleep.
“Yeah, flip him over,” Hizashi’s murmuring softly, like he doesn’t want to wake Hitoshi from feverish dreaming. Forgetting this is real and that he’s not just having a very immersive wet dream.
He’s cradled against Shouta’s chest and then carefully turned over, lying comfortably on top of Shouta and confusingly empty for a moment before he feels Hizashi’s hands stroking up his thighs, then grabbing his hips to lift up and push eagerly back inside. This way around his piercings hit Hitoshi’s prostate, waking him a bit more as the ridges rub inside him more intensely.
“AhhhHH,” he moans into Shouta’s neck, who hushes and strokes his back. Fuck, they’re going for number four after all, Hitoshi thinks as he feels Shouta’s cock hardening next to his own, pressed between their stomachs.
“Hm, there you go,” Shouta’s voice is soft and soothing in Hitoshi’s ear, then a little louder speaking to Hizashi, “Lift him up a bit.”
Hizashi raises Hitoshi’s hips, prodded and posed into sort-of supporting some of his weight on his lax knees. Shouta manages to fumble around for the lube and messily coat his palm, because when he reaches for Hitoshi’s cock to stroke it’s pure liquid heat. He gives Hitoshi a few rubs solo, but soon switches to pressing his own and Hitoshi’s cocks together in the same grip, Hizashi carefully lowering him back down enough for Shouta’s hand to encase them both easily.
Hitoshi trails mostly unintelligible moans and whimpers against Shouta’s neck, soothed with shushes and encouragement to just let go, that he’s doing great and they know he can do it. It’s a lot, basically, and that’s why Hitoshi sobs as he comes a fourth time, completely dry just quivering against Shouta, who’s fully hard again, cock throbbing against Hitoshi’s as he’s jerked off.
Hizashi pulls out of him after that, though this is mostly so Shouta can have another turn, rolling Hitoshi onto his side until they’re spooning and Shouta can just slip back into Hitoshi, unresisted. It’s a lot less intense compared to Hizashi, though Hitoshi still cries out in overstimmed emotion. Shouta’s very gentle, though, waiting and only fucking Hitoshi with slow, undulating rolls of his hips against Hitoshi’s ass when he’s ready for it.
There’s a moment Hitoshi almost forgets about Hizashi, since he’s lying there with his eyes closed and anyone who’s not physically inside him is basically out of Hitoshi’s cognisance of the world right now. But then he senses the rapid motions near his face, a hand that arrives on his jaw to pull his mouth open, and the moment Hitoshi is aware of Hizashi’s cock pushing into his mouth is the same moment Hizashi’s already filling it with his cum.
“Aha, good boy, make sure you drink all your medicine.” Hizashi’s hand has closed tightly around Hitoshi’s lips, sealing them around his cock since Hitoshi would’ve undoubtedly let the load dribble straight out of his mouth otherwise. It takes Hitoshi a second or two to register, and a couple of swallows to get it all down, but he does.
There’s a puff of laughter from Shouta behind Hitoshi, and the words, “You’re such a clown.”
Hizashi’s still holding Hitoshi’s mouth to his cock as Hitoshi lazily sweeps his tongue across the piercings in his mouth, then the head, tonguing the slit. Then with utter confidence Hizashi remarks, “Tch, like you’re one to judge roleplays, dad.”
Shouta’s hand tenses tight around Hitoshi’s hip, his thrusts quickly speeding up with a, “Fuck, nng,” before stuttering to a stop as he fills Hitoshi back up again.
“You’ve got some fucking issues, baby, you know that?” Hizashi scoffs as he finally backs his spotlessly clean cock out of Hitoshi’s mouth, holding it open for a moment to probably peer inside and be sure Hitoshi’s taken all his medicine. Clown.
“You’re one to talk,” Shouta’s murmuring as he slides back out of Hitoshi with a shudder, and now Hitoshi’s ready to sleep. Especially the way Shouta idly strokes his hair, the same way he pets cats. “He’s been so sick and miserable, I thought he could use cheering up.”
“Ah, such an altruist,” Hizashi teases right back, but Hitoshi was all for it. He still feels sick, but multiple orgasm afterglow is a much more satisfied type of exhaustion to sink back into.
Ever-so slightly sarcastic, where it only comes through for people closest to him, Shouta offers a dry, “It’s just who I am.”
The voices around Hitoshi are familiar and comforting; the company he’s been missing for long hours when they’re both gone, so when a blanket is pulled back over him and a pillow slid under his head, it’s perfectly easy to fall soundly asleep to their loving chatter.