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Shōta had been staring at the picture for hours. Or was it merely minutes, but time had become inconsequential from the moment he had opened the text. Either way, Shōta was enthralled. His only solace was that he was alone in his office, with nobody able to witness how his gaze clung to the screen.
Izuku Midoriya, one of Shōta’s students for his law and ethics class, was a common name that popped up on his phone; Midoriya was known for asking follow up questions after a lecture, not just of Shōta, but all his professors. He would soak in as much information as he could, which was good for someone hoping to become a lawyer, and then ask specifics later when he'd had time to process it. It did make some of his essays long and rambling, but he would usually make several points throughout that others missed.
So, when Shōta had received a text—they had long since moved from emails because they took too long for the young man's barrage of questions—he thought nothing of it, opening it to be greeted by not a series of questions, but a photo.
A scantily clad photo.
Izuku Midoriya had sent Professor Aizawa a nude.
Well, the student wasn't nude, but the slip of lace he was wearing really left little to the imagination. Not with the way it clung to him.
There were a series of frantic messages after that, but Shōta paid them no mind as he shamelessly devoured every detail he could.
The light flush on Midoriya’s freckled cheeks as he looked at the lens. The way the little ruby lace bralette did nothing to hide his nipples nor the peachy-silver scars on his chest. The muscles and little rolls of pudge leading down his speckled midriff to a beautifully spread pussy, framed with more obscene lace trimmings and glistening with slick in the lighting of the shot. The sizeable t-dick, standing proud between fingers and folds. The black and yellow dildo suctioned to the floor with just the head touching him, threatening to breach the boy's pussy once more.
It was the fastest Shōta had gotten hard in years.
And certainly the first time he'd cum in his office. Hard and fast, fisting his cock under his desk, shaking and breathless by the end of it. A quick clean up with tissues and the righting of his clothes, and Shōta was ready for the self disgust to wash over him. After all, he had just cum to an image of one of his students.
But as the post-nut clarity faded, the disgust never came. Even when Shōta started scrolling through the many texts Midoriya had sent immediately, all scrambles of words and frantic emojis trying to convey the greatest embarrassment and apologies that had been sent to Shōta instead of its intended recipient, he still didn't feel gross about it.
He felt good actually. Better than he had in a while. Maybe Hizashi was right and Shōta just needed to get laid.
Typing a quick reply to placate the younger man, nothing more than an ‘it's fine, accidents happen, take more care in the future, please’, Shōta packed himself up, made double sure he had cleaned up, and went home. Maybe having a shower would clear his head.
—
Watching the cum drip down the shower tiles for the third time proved him wrong. His mind kept drifting back to the picture, to the flushed and debauched face of his student. He could just imagine the sounds the boy would make, the breathy gasps and pitching moans as he rode that dildo. How much better it would be as he rode Shōta's dick.
Honestly Shōta was starting to get a little worried at this point, his dick tender and over-sensitive with all the abuse in the last few hours. It had been a very long time since he'd felt the need to masturbate like this, edging and cumming again and again, like some teenager who just learnt how to touch his dick. Pointing the spray of water at the wall he watched his shame run down the plughole and called it a night.
He would have to forget it happened. He wasn't the intended recipient; it would be better to delete the photo and pretend it never happened.
—
Shōta saved the picture in a locked folder in his phone.
—
The next day was torture.
Every single time he saw that head of green hair he felt his blood run south. Sometimes he didn't even need to actually see him, just the flashing memory of those freckles by Midoriya’s navel had Shōta stumbling. And the one time they had made eye contact had the young man dipping his head to hide his reddening cheeks and ducking away into the crowd.
Over the next few days Midoriya spent as much time avoiding Shōta as possible, which was fine since Shōta was doing the same. It was definitely fine. They couldn't avoid each other outright, that wouldn't be conducive as student and teacher, but Midoriya didn't text Shōta questions or theories for a long time. He hadn't realised how often they would talk. He missed it, just a little.
Mistakes happened, that was a part of life, and soon they would both forget about the picture and things would be less awkward. Once this all blew over Shōta would be able to make eye contact during lectures again and Midoriya would go back to asking too many questions about obscure concepts that nobody had ever thought about. All would be right in the world again.
Shōta spent more time than he would ever admit staring at that locked folder. He didn't open it again, probably in a desperate attempt to maintain some form of professionalism, but he also didn't delete it. Occasionally he would be reminded of his marathon of masturbation and be sorely tempted to look again, but it had taken nearly a month to smudge the details in his mind to a point where he could face his student again.
So Shōta continued to ‘ignore’ the locked folder and forced himself to be content to let the memory fade and never think about it again.
—
And then he got another photo.
—
The image of Midoriya on his knees, chest to the mattress, reaching back to spread his dappled cheeks to reveal a ruby plug would be seared into Shōta’s memory until the end of time.
The weekend was not long enough for Shōta; not nearly enough time to get the lust out of his system.
But it was all he had, and by the time Monday rolled around, he was beyond spent, exhausted physically and mentally. Luckily Monday was typically a minimal effort day for Shōta, and he was able to feign feeling under the weather when Nemuri asked him about his weekend.
—
The photo was saved to the locked folder.
—
The dodging each other returned. Mostly carried on by Midoriya because Shōta had accepted that he knew how many freckles were on his student's ass and tried to continue with his life. He still had a job to do, classes to teach; just because he had to take a moment to remind himself not to bend the boy over his desk during lectures didn't mean he could shirk his duties as an educator.
After a few weeks of dancing around each other the constant burn in Midoriya’s cheeks seemed to have settled and he could once again ask questions of his professor without looking like he was going to combust. Shōta was content to say nothing, hoping that just meant Midoriya would assume he had immediately gotten rid of them.
—
Another picture. Another string of awkwardly texted apologies. Another weekend testing the limits of Shōta’s endurance.
Another photo added to the folder of dirty secrets.
—
By the time Shōta had amassed a collection of ten photos, he was no longer willing to believe he was receiving them by accident. One or two he could handwave away, but hitting double digits made him think a little harder about it.
They had been coming in almost like clockwork now, basically every two weeks; a delicious picture of Midoriya doing something obscene followed by a spiel of messages proclaiming it was an accident and Shōta should ignore and immediately delete it.
Which he did not.
He felt like he understood what was happening properly now; it wasn't the first time a student had gotten a crush or had sent nudes to Shōta. It was, however, the first time Shōta had kept them and allowed himself to indulge in them.
So what was it that made Midoriya so much more than anyone else? Why did the boy have such an effect on him, not just leading him down the path of depravity, but plunging him well into their depths?
The things Shōta wanted to do to him… Maybe one day he'd have to send a reply.
—
The lecture was a disaster.
Shōta could barely get a sentence out without looking at Midoriya, who had coincidentally decided to sit not in his usual spot in the corner and instead sat in the middle of the room, where Shōta could see the flush of his cheeks and the flutter of his lashes without trying. He could see the gleam of interest in his eye as Shōta tried so desperately hard not to pop a boner; as it was, by the time Shōta gave up and told everyone to go home, giving the lie of a schedule conflict, he was stuck at half mast and thankful for the baggier clothing choices he’d made that morning.
As the disappointed students packed up, Shōta held Midoriya’s gaze, one brow quirked up slowly. The young man shivered, just minutely, but Shōta had been looking for it.
“Midoriya. My office.” Shōta kept his voice indifferent, so anyone else who heard him would just assume Midoriya needed to talk about a question; everyone already knew the kid went plus-ultra for his assignments.
“Yessir.” Any bravado the young man had was failing him as he rushed to gather his notes and follow Shōta out of the room.
The walk to the professor's offices was silent, Midoriya sneaking glances at Shōta or staring at his own shoes. Shōta was just focussing on not pulling the boy into a room and fucking him stupid.
Shōta's office was a small thing, tucked into a corner and kept dark with thick blinds. There wasn't much to the room, the usual stacks of textbooks and reference materials scattered around to show it was a professor's office, but Shōta had made sure he had the most comfortable couch he could fit in the space. Sometimes he would sneak a nap there between obligations.
Wordlessly he pointed Midoriya to take a seat on the couch while he shut the door. The boy sat quietly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while he waited for Shōta to speak first. Shōta decided to let him stew for a minute while he leant against his desk, arms folded like he was a disapproving parent about to scold a rebellious kid. Not the image he wanted in his mind while he tried valiantly to ignore the exuberant welcome his penis was trying to give the young man.
“Sir?” Ah, so Midoriya cracked first. Good.
With a heavy sigh, mostly for show, Shōta pulled out his phone and pulled up the folder, selecting the first image. He took his time before turning the phone to the young man, keeping his face blank and ignoring the burn in his own cheeks. The tiny gasp Midoriya made seeing the pictures made his dick twitch in interest before he could think about it, and while the boy was sitting there blushing furiously, he also looked so pleased.
“Care to explain?”
“I-I-I told you, it was an accident.” Midoriya kept his head down, looking up at Shōta through his lashes. The blush that stained his cheeks darkened while Shōta's cock stirred in the confines of his pants.
“An accident? Really?”
“Yup. Just an embarrassing mistake.”
Shōta didn't believe it for even a moment. He pushed away from his desk and sat himself next to Midoriya, unable to stop his smirk. He pulled up the most recent picture—Midoriya grinning after pulling a fake cock from his mouth, a string of spittle still connecting lips to silicone head—and showed it to the young man.
“What about this one? Was this a mistake too?”
The squeak the younger man gave at seeing another of his own nudes had Shōta salivating, the outline of his cock definitely visible through his pants. “Uhm. Y-yes, Sir. Definitely a mistake.”
“Pity. I quite liked that one.”
“I-I can see that Sir.”
Shōta was quick to pull his phone back, sitting it on the arm of the couch while he made himself more comfortable, legs spreading a little to relieve some tension. Midoriya’s eyes followed the movement through the cloth, and Shōta felt the young man transition from nervous to hungry; he even sat forward on the couch, getting closer to Shōta.
“D'you see what you do to me?” Shōta kept his voice low, trying not to let his obvious arousal stain his words, but it was a losing battle. He shifted again, his erection throbbing for attention.
“I had hoped you'd like them. I wasn't sure if you would actually look at them or just delete them. Especially the first one.” Midoriya made no attempt to hide his excitement, his words quiet and a little breathy as he ogled the tent in Shōta’s pants, not quite reaching for it, but very much wanting to. “You took so long to reply, I was losing my mind.”
“Don’t worry; I was too. You have no idea how much I appreciated your photos. Right here, on this couch.”
There’s no more pretending. Shōta reached for Midoriya in the same moment the young man climbed onto his lap. Their lips connected in a feverish huff, both desperate to taste the other. The little keen Midoriya made as he settled, ass resting on the top of Shōtas thighs as he ground himself—just a little—against his erection, Shōta wanted to record that sound and hold onto it forever; play it over and over until the end of time.
Shōta’s hands wandered, fingers dug into flesh to draw out moans from the student atop him; a firm squeeze of ass here, a trailing fingertip over a clothed nipple there. All while sucking little bruises onto whatever skin he could reach, relishing in the sounds Midoriya made.
A quick glance to the door and Midoriya slid off his lap with ease, dropping to his knees between Shōta's legs. With gentle, trembling fingers he undid the buttons to release Shōta's cock from its cloth prison; it bobbed in the cooling air, twitching in its new found freedom. The younger man took a few moments to just watch it bob while he wet his kiss-swollen lips in anticipation.
“Are you just gonna stare all night? Or can we put that mouth to use, Midoriya?”
The hand that wrapped around his cock gave a hesitant few tugs, but Midoriya looked him in the eye as he gave the head a gentle lick. Shōta shivered.
“With all due respect, Sir, I'm about to suck your dick. The least you can do is use my first name.”
Shōta would've laughed at the sass if he wasn't so focused on not cumming the moment Izuku’s warm mouth enveloped the head of his cock. A hand automatically wove its way into those green-dyed locks and Shōta fought the urge to fuck up into that perfect mouth. He would let Izuku set the pace.
“I think I can do that. And I won't tell you to drop the ‘Sir’, but you can call me Shōtahh-” his steady tone cut off as Izuku swallowed him to the hilt, nose pressed into pubes with no problems. No hesitation. Izuku swallowed, throat moving around the intruding cock with ease before he brought himself back up to the head only to sink back down again.
That was the pace. And Shōta was enraptured.
Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't last nearly as long as he wanted if he let Izuku have his way, and tightened his grip on those curls to get the boy to slow down.
“Easy there, Baby. I wasn't - ahh - expecting you to suck dick like a pro. You get a - hhh - lot of practice on those toys of yours?”
There was a quiet choking sound as Izuku tried to laugh with a cock down his throat, and Shōta pulled him off with a sloppy pop. He noticed the wet lashes and wanted to lick away the few tears that escaped; to shower Izuku in praises for doing so well before he fucked him. As he fucked him.
“Did you think I was a blushing virgin, Shōta?” Even stopping to talk didn't stop Izuku from giving pleasure; he kept a hand firmly wrapped around Shōta, using the spit to ease the slide.
Up and down, up and down, up and a gentle twist—and oh that had him squirming—and down, and Shōta could only moan.
The grin that took over the young man's face when he took in how flushed and ragged Shōta was already was bordering on feral.
“How many times can you cum, Sir?”
Shōta didn't know how to respond. Even if he was able to think of an answer, there was no way he could voice it; not when the only sound past his lips was a strangled moan as Izuku swallowed him down again.
Through hooded eyes and past the bobbing head he saw the boy snake an arm down his body, palming himself through those god-awful superhero shorts—and Shōta really needed to get him out of his clothes; he needed to show Izuku how much he wanted to leave little marks across his flesh, show him where his favourite parts of his skin were.
But first he needed to cum down his student's throat.
Unable to stop himself, he gripped and pulled the hair under his hand, not pulling Izuku off, but easing him up. He looked unto those wet verdant eyes and asked, “are you ready?”
The tiniest nod was all he needed, and he felt Izuku go almost lax in submission, throat relaxing and eyes closing as he let Shōta take over.
From his semi-reclined position, Shōta was able to get a firm grasp of hair and choose a speed which he knew would bring him to the edge without hurting Izuku. And then the boy's mouth was nothing more than a sleeve for Shōta. He worked himself up, listening to the sloppy noises and his own ragged breathing, and nearly missed Izuku tensing and shaking beneath his hand as the young man came to the friction of his own ministrations.
The muffled moan around his dick was enough to topple Shōta, and he held Izuku in place, nose to pelvis, unable to do anything, but take it, as he spilled down the throat of his desire. He could've sworn he saw stars.
As his senses returned he eased Izuku off his half-hard dick, watching the young man swallow as his eyelids fluttered. Tears rolled down those rosy cheeks and Shōta pulled Izuku off the floor, gathering him into his lap. He was able to wipe the tears away and give gentle kisses, first to cheeks, then to lips, savouring the taste of himself on his tongue, as Izuku returned to straddling him.
It didn't take long for gentle to become needy again as they worked themselves back up.
“Shōta. Please.” Izuku wasn’t quite gasping between their desperate kisses, but he was close. “I need you. In me. Right now.”
Izuku reluctantly leaned back, pulling his shirt up and off, revealing silver lace straps across his torso. Lingerie. Shōta froze at the sight, disbelieving. With a laugh, Izuku slid back, stepping out of his shorts to expose the matching crotchless panties.
Izuku had planned this.
“How long have you been wearing this under your clothes, waiting for me?” Shōta's voice was full of reverence; seeing the multitude of freckles in the flesh was an enlightening experience. He reached to pull Izuku back to him.
“Weeks, Sir. Been waiting weeks for you to snap.”
Izuku settled against him again, but this time there was nothing between them. They both gave quiet moans as their skin met, hot and delicious as Shōta's cock rubbed along Izuku's t-dick and slid effortlessly between slick folds.
Gods, he won't last long, even just rutting like nervous teens felt too good. But at least Izuku felt the same.
It didn't surprise him at all when Izuku raised himself up on his knees, guiding the heavy cock to where he needed it. Even with no penetrative prep, Izuku slid effortlessly onto him, and with a moan they're flush once again. Shōta rested his hands on smaller hips, taking breaths not to shoot his load immediately and let Izuku adjust. Time barely passed before the boy started bouncing, first tentatively, but quickly finding his rhythm, hands on Shōta's shoulders for support as he rode with reckless abandon.
Shōta's only regret is that he didn't get to worship Izuku like he wanted to. Not this time. But maybe, hopefully, there will be a chance in the future. This time it's Izuku’s turn to use him as a toy.
Trying to wrench his focus away from just how good it felt buried in his student's pussy, Shōta let himself stare.
Izuku had closed his eyes again, letting himself just feel the moment. He kept trying to drag his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle his sounds, but the need to vocalise his pleasure was stopping him. Powerful thighs lifting and dropping him with only the smallest quiver of fatigue. That flush Shōta's used to seeing in the photos had appeared, staining Izuku’s skin red in the best of ways. Well, maybe second best; Shōta would love to know how well he would react to spanking.
Thoughts for future fun, perhaps.
Izuku’s moans changed note, and Shōta felt him lose his tempo as he edged closer to climax. Moan turned to whimper as he lost himself to the feeling, and he squeaked and shuddered through his orgasm in a way that Shōta would never forget.
The rhythmic clenching of the tight heat around him was divine, but not enough to send Shōta hurtling over the precipice with him. Before Izuku had time to catch his breath, Shōta had lifted him off the couch - arms slid under thighs until elbows and knees met, large hands spread across the smaller back to hold Izuku steady as Shōta moved them over to his desk.
Laying Izuku down, apologising for the coldness of the wood against fevered skin, Shōta took his time fucking into Izuku with long languid strokes, watching his lover’s face as he teased him with his cock. The little twitches, moans and half-dazed blinks intensified when Shōta moved a hand to graze the boy's dick. Shōta smirked.
“You know, for all that sass, I should’ve known you would turn into a docile little Kitten once you got a cock in you. And my god, Kitten, you make the most heavenly sounds.” He picked up the pace just a little, enough to get another series of sweet moans. “That's it, Kitten. Sing for me.”
Shōta began stroking him in earnest, getting the young man writhing, muscles tensing in time with each thrust. Hips picked up the pace as Shōta leaned down for a filthy kiss, all spit and tongues and teeth clattering.
“You're so perfect. The perfect tease. The perfect student. And now the perfect slutty little Kitten, just for me.” The praises pour from his mouth before Shōta can think to contain his lust. “You’re gonna cum for me, just one more time, and then I’m going to fill you with cum. And then I'm gonna take you home and do it again. How does that sound, Kitten?”
Izuku could only nod, too busy trying to get that last bit of stimulation for another orgasm. Shōta knew he was teetering, just as he himself also was. He knew he didn't have long before he blew, but he had to make sure Izuku got there first.
The wood of the desk was beginning to leave bruises across Shōta's thighs as he drove into the green haired man, but for now he didn't care. The hand holding one of Izuku’s hips gripped him tightly as the other fisted around the small cock, tight enough to provide a flurry of sensations to the engorged organ and send Izuku into another wave of bliss.
“Shōtahhhhhhh.”
Tears leaked from him as Shōta took that as the sign to chase his own pleasure, both hands on hips to help with pounding the boy as deep as he could. Just as the coil snapped, Shōta pulled out, emptying himself across the sopping pussy and equally filthy lace panties with a groan.
The pair took some time to catch their breath, basking in the afterglow of a long overdue and thorough fucking. When he was able to see straight again, Shōta took a moment to admire his work—the rivulets of white across speckled skin. He couldn't bring himself to care that some dripped to the pants around his ankles.
Izuku took his time before he looked down his body at the mess on his skin, face curling in the slightest hint of sadness.
“I thought- I thought you said in, not on.” The younger dragged a finger through the mess with a light breathless laugh before licking it from his finger.
Shōta leaned down for a chaste kiss, taking care not to smear cum everywhere as he opened a drawer for his stash of tissues. “I wanted to; believe me, Kitten. But I didn't have a condom. Better to be safe.” With quick movements he wiped Izuku clean, taking care to be gentle after their enthusiasm.
Izuku sat himself up, clean and disappointed, but nodding in understanding. Shōta cradled his face in his hands and pressed a firm kiss to his lips before another to his forehead.
“I promise to make it up to you. But let me buy you dinner first?”
“Yes, Sir.”