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Rage beats a steady tempo in Shōta’s head, sits sour-sick and fire-hot on the tip of his tongue, curls clawed fingers tight in the depths of his soul.
“Shōta?” Izuku’s voice, low and dream-soft, floats to Shōta, clearing the edges of the red haze from his vision.
“Shō?” Hizashi’s voice, honey-smooth and twice as sweet, clears a bit more. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to kill him,” Shōta manages to say, tone surprisingly even as he flexes his hands rhythmically at his sides.
It’s the thought that’s been looping inside his mind since well before he’d left the Council’s chambers. He means it more and more with every repeat.
“I’m going to rip off his arms and beat him half to death with them and then, once that’s done, once he’s begging me for mercy,” Shōta feels his fangs descend, feels them sharp and ready in his mouth as his speech slurs just a bit, “I’m going to take the rest of him apart piece by worthless piece. It’s going to be slow and it’s going to hurt.”
Shōta is good at pain, both the giving and receiving of. Has had decades to perfect his methods and master his skills. Now he is going to turn all of his long, long years of experience toward this one goal with the singular sort of focus that has made him infamous in certain circles.
Red surges back up in the edges of his vision, sucking the excess color from the world, as his body finally does what Shōta’s been attempting to avoid for the past half hour.
Primes itself for the hunt.
There’s a familiar low whine but, for once, Shōta can’t focus on it.
The rustling of sheets is louder though and the feel of Hizashi’s hand, long, elegant pianist fingers, and a warm wide palm, grabbing the point of his chin is impossible to ignore.
His other hand moves to cup itself over Shōta’s mouth and nose, wet fingertip digging into the hollows of his cheeks.
“Inhale,” Hizashi orders, voice suddenly thrumming with power.
Shōta, ears open and guard down, instantly obeys.
Eyes blowing instantly wide, Shōta moans.
His hands come up to clutch at Hizashi’s wrist as his mouth drops open, tongue lolling out, as he presses forward into Hizashi’s grip desperately chasing the scent that’s suddenly taken over his entire world.
Sunshine, open sky and deep water, thunderstorms and freshly churned earth, musk and salt and something wild that reaches into the pit of Shōta’s skull and has his very soul screaming mine mine mine to all the dark places between stars.
Hizashi. Izuku.
Sex, blood, and all that is his.
All of Shōta’s favorite things combined into one delicious cocktail of scents that has his fangs suddenly aching with a different kind of hunger.
“There you go,” Hizashi croons, grip loosening and damp fingers stroking softly over Shotua’s cheek. Those same fingers dip teasingly into Shōta’s gaping mouth to stroke over his lolling tongue and send the taste of sex, blood, and HizashiIzuku flooding across his senses.
Shōta wraps his mouth around Hizashi’s fingers and sucks, helpless to do anything but chase the taste of his mates.
“Come on back to us,” Hizashi orders even as he fingerfucks Shōta’s mouth with deep, even thrusts. “Now, Shōta.”
The scent, the taste, the order, it all wraps around Shōta’s senses like a snare, snags him around the middle and jerks him up and out of whatever might be left of his rage.
“Good boy,” Hizashi praises, pulling his fingers from Shōta’s mouth despite the way he automatically attempts to stop him.
Hizashi just huffs at him and pulls his hand away anyway, taking a moment to wipe his wet fingers off across the arc of Shōta’s cheek. Hizashi’s other hand gives Shōta’s chin one final firm squeeze before he lets him go.
Shōta’s cock is thick and leaking in his pants, his fangs ache, and he is abruptly, shatteringly, ravenous.
But he is also present.
Present enough to see the way that Hizashi is standing in front of him, naked, covered in a mix of sweat, cum, and blood, his cock fully emerged from his soaked slit, the head red and weeping generously.
Behind him, splayed out on the bed like a filthy offering with thick chains wrapped around his wrists, is Izuku. Even filthier than Hizashi, Izuku still looks fucked out even with the concern that’s creasing his face as he cranes his neck up so he can look at Shōta.
Shōta knows exactly what kind of debauchery he’s walked in on.
Hizashi has been in a mood the past few days, temper short and vicious in that way far too many people never believe him capable of being.
They see his stage persona, see the flamboyance of his performances, and forget that Hizashi isn’t just a performer, is more than just his music and fashion.
Is more than the brand he’s cultivated with surgical precision.
Hizashi is a siren.
And just like all other sirens, beneath all of the glitz and the grins and the leather, Hizashi is a predator.
With all of a predator's drives and instincts that occasionally need a proper outlet.
Normally when this sort of thing happens there’s an easy, and pleasurable, sort of fix.
A handful of days every few months are dedicated to allowing Hizashi to hoard them close and bend them to his will. A few days spent entranced by Hizashi’s power-laden voice whisper-singing to them until they are ready to dash themselves against the proverbial rocks to give him any and everything he wants.
Well more so than they normally already are.
It is, they have learned, a pretty effective cure-all, the three of them spending time entwined, fucking and feeding practically non-stop.
Just like the runs they take with Izuku every full moon and the way it always ends with the three of them fucking hard and nasty in the dirt and the leaves. Izuku is always so gorgeous then, reduced to little more than a ravenous ball of teeth and claws. Bristling with lust and predatory instinct, all of the things that he’d once been mocked for supposedly lacking by idiots who’d mistaken Izuku’s calculation for cowardice and his natural sweetness for weakness.
Or the way that Shōta occasionally feels the urge to drag them all into the depths of their massive cellar and keep them there in the dark with him, weighed down by the lash of his power, willingly entangled in his allure. His beloved thralls splayed out across the huge sunken bed Izuku had hand-built for Shōta and tangled in the silk sheets Hizashi had meticulously picked out. Both of them kept close to feed and fuck in the dark like Shōta was a desperate fledgling not yet able to handle the sun’s harsh rays.
It’s a system that might seem odd to others, too restrictive and primal in these modern, civilized, times, but it works for the three of them.
Has worked ever since Hizashi had dragged Izuku home, one hand fisted in those messy green curls, and thrown their little stalker at Shōta’s feet with a dark and triumphant grin.
They’d spent the next three days taking Izuku apart piece by piece, breaking the wolf in properly and fucking him raw. Both punishing and rewarding him for being so persistent and clever with his obvious fascination with Hizashi and Shōta and the year's worth of frustration he’d given them in turn.
On day four Izuku, bites and bruises already healed, had cooked himself and Hizashi breakfast, slit his wrist into Shōta’s cup of coffee without hesitation, and then sweetly asked how they felt about moving somewhere with a bit more room.
They’ve been together ever since, Izuku having integrated himself into Hizashi and Shōta’s relationship and life like he was always meant to be there with them.
They’re a well-oiled machine these days when it comes to dealing with each other’s issues and needs.
But Shōta is late.
Hours late by this point.
And unlike any other time when one of them has gotten caught up in something, he hadn’t even called.
He’d be sorry for that if he wasn’t still so …
“Focus,” Hizashi snaps the order out.
Shōta’s slowly splintering focus snaps abruptly back together.
“Who are we killing?” Hizashi asks after a few seconds.
“And why?” Izuku calls from the bed. “Not that it really matters I guess.”
“Chisaki Kai,” Shōta grinds the name out.
A snarl, bone-rattlingly deep and guttural, rises up from the bed even as Hizashi hisses, low and displeased.
Chisaki has been a sore point for the three of them for years now.
Chisaki Kai, unaffectionately known as Overhaul, might hold a decent level of respect in the Council’s eyes but they know what he is.
A monster.
A waste of immortality that Shōta and Hizashi have ached to dispose of for years now, who Izuku has a newer but no less vicious sort of hate for.
“The Council is considering dismissing Nedzu’s charges,” Shōta manages to bite the words out. “Mera pulled me aside, told me that the Madam is considering greenlighting his request for … materials.”
All three of them know what, or rather who, that means.
Eri.
Chisaki, the vile creature that he is, is known for his experiments and his obsession with the Old Lines and blood purity.
For longer than any of them like to think about, Eri had been his favorite plaything. His twisted muse of sorts and his long-suffering canvas.
It had been pure chance Izuku had found her, a vampiric child running scared in broad daylight. He’d scooped her up, tucked her close, and brought her straight home.
Shōta had taken one look at her snow-white hair and crimson eyes and seen exactly what Izuku, always one to devour and collect knowledge, had to have seen as well.
Old Blood.
The purest and truest expression of Shōta’s species all wrapped up in a child littered with scars that simply were not possible for one of their kind to have. Not without being the victim of extreme and sustained abuse and starvation.
The story Izuku had been able to coax out of her had been long and horrific enough that Shōta had immediately called Nedzu.
Enlisting the ancient chimera’s help was the obvious choice.
Nedzu, normally too sadistic for most and uninterested in the vast majority of anything and everything that did not serve to further one of his many causes, had taken to Eri with shocking ease and enthusiasm.
Eri, in turn, had quickly come to adore Nedzu with the kind of fervor she normally reserved for the towering but lean and perpetually ragged-looking form of Izuku’s wolf.
Izuku was sure it had to do with the clear non-humanoid appearance of both.
Hizashi had made one ill-advised reference to stuffed animals he hadn’t dared to repeat on the threat of his shoe collection’s continued safety.
Shōta knows it’s because some instinctual part of Eri recognizes Nedzu as an oddly paternalistic sort of predator who will ensure she thrives as she slowly grows into her power.
Just as Shōta himself had.
Since Nedzu took over custody of Eri, the three of them have become an odd mix of second through fourth parents, older brothers, and indulgent uncles for her. Izuku in particular has formed a bond with her that has led to more than one round of teasing between the three of them.
To know that the Council was even considering attempting to take Eri from Nedzu, from all of them, only to return her to the torment Chisaki had heaped on her?
All in the name of whatever bits of power they might be able to wring from her blood before she comes into her own and is able to protect herself?
The screech of twisting and breaking metal pulls Shōta from his thoughts.
He has enough time to register the familiar form of Izuku’s wolf streaking for the bedroom door before Hizashi moves.
“I~zu~ku,” Hizashi sings out, power thrumming through each syllable.
Already halfway over the threshold, Izuku freezes, one massive paw raised and thick fur bristling.
“Come to me, my love,” Hizashi calls.
Shōta, not even the focus of Hizashi’s power-drenched call, finds himself stumbling a half-step forward.
Izuku, stubborn to a fault beneath all that sweetness, is still just as much a slave to his devotion to Hizashi as Shōta is.
He’s kneeling at Hizashi’s feet in the next second, the line of his spine rippling as he struggles to control his urge to shift right back to the fur he’d just shed.
“You’re both being so disobedient today,” Hizashi says, one hand coming down to sink deep in Izuku’s hair and fist there. “It’s beginning to piss me off.”
Hizashi’s disappointment falls on both of them like a lash, Izuku flinching and pressing closer to Hizashi’s bare thigh with a whine as Shōta’s knees buckle.
The rage is still there, still haunting the edges of his vision, but first and foremost, eating up the air and the space of the entire room like a dark sun, is Hizashi.
The weight of his disappointment, the ever-present, clawing, desperate need to please him.
Hizashi is everything.
“Chisaki will get his,” Hizashi continues, his other hand coming down to slide into Shōta’s hair. “We’ll make sure of that. And we all know Nedzu will obliterate the Council if they dare to sniff in Eri’s direction again. So the two of you running off half-cocked accomplishes nothing.”
Hands clenched tightly in both of their hair, Hizashi gives Shōta and Izuku a harsh shake.
The slight sting in his scalp just makes Shōta harder, cock drooling and fangs aching.
“Instead,” Hizashi says, stepping toward the bed, his grip on their hair forcing Shōta and Izuku to shuffle forward on their knees, “you’re both going to stay where I put you and do what I tell you, like good little toys.”
Shōta can’t help the shiver that ripples down his spine or the way he presses up and into Hizashi’s hand just a bit.
“Now clean up your mess,” Hizashi tugs Izuku up onto his feet and shoves him toward the bed.
Izuku, shoulders rounded but cock still hard and dripping, does as commanded. He makes quick work of clearing the thick iron headboard and the destroyed chains off of the bed and to the side of the room.
When Izuku turns it’s directly into the press of Hizashi’s open palm.
“Down,” Hizashi orders with a shove.
Izuku hits the mattress with a bounce, hands automatically moving up to cross his wrists above his head and legs splaying wide.
“So you can listen,” Hizashi comments. “Good boy.”
Izuku writhes just a bit on the bed, weak as always to any sort of praise. Even the backhanded, slightly condescending type that Hizashi is currently peddling.
There’s another harsh tug on Shōta’s hair and he follows Hizashi’s unspoken command and rises to his feet.
“Strip,” Hizashi doesn’t bother to look in Shōta’s direction, his other hand stroking his own cock as he stares at the stretch and flex of Izuku’s muscles.
Shōta doesn’t bother to be neat about it. Instead, he fists his hand in the front of his shirt and pulls, the fabric ripping easily and cleanly, his pants quick to follow. Shōta has a moment to be absently grateful that even in his rage he’d still instinctively left his boots by the door.
“Look at you,” Hizashi finally turns his attention to Shōta, letting his own cock go so he can wrap his hand around Shōta’s instead.
He squeezes meanly.
Shōta hisses, mouth gaping open with his fangs on display as his hips buck forward and his head presses back into Hizashi’s grip.
“One taste and you’re already so desperate,” Hizashi moves closer, pressing into Shōta’s space to lick a stripe up the line of Shōta’s jaw and bite down sharply on the lobe of his ear. “Pathetic, but cute.”
Shōta’s eyes lock on the throbbing pulse in Hizashi’s neck, unable to be anything but mesmerized when hunger is clawing so viciously at his soul. He strains forward enough to slide his own tongue against the side of Hizashi’s neck.
The sharp jerk backward he gets in return just makes him groan.
“Zashi,” Shōta rasps, “please.”
“Impatient thing,” Hizashi chides.“You know good and damn well you haven’t earned that yet.”
He hasn’t, Shōta knows he hasn’t, but he still wants it, needs it, desperately.
The sweetness of Hizashi’s blood on his tongue, coating his mouth with the addictive burn of his power as Shōta yearns to drink his fill of something he’ll only ever be allowed to sip.
Hizashi is a delicacy, something meant to be savored instead of gulped, and never fails to light up Shōta’s senses no matter how many times he’s tasted him.
The hand in Shōta’s hair tugs, urging him around until Shōta is facing the bed fully and Hizashi is draped across his back, the thick, wet line of his cock pressing against the curve of Shōta’s ass.
Hizashi finally lets his hair go, only to slide his hand down and around so he can grip Shōta’s throat instead.
“Look at our puppy,” Hizashi breathes against the shell of Shōta’s ear. “So desperate, just like you.”
And Izuku does look as desperate as Shōta feels. His arms and legs are trembling from where he’s attempting to hold himself still but he’s unable to help the small, rolling wave of his hips as he lays there, stretched out and vulnerable.
“You should have seen him before you got here,” Hizashi continues, one hand back to stroking teasingly across the length of Shōta’s cock. “All stretched out on my cock, whining and begging for more like a greedy little slut. It was almost perfect. Except you weren’t here, where you were supposed to be, fucking his throat or pressing into that sweet cunt of his right beside me. You know how needy our crybaby is, Shō. How could you neglect him like that?”
On the bed Izuku whines, a high-pitched and animalistic sort of noise that it had taken them months to get him comfortable expressing.
Now those noises are some of Shōta and Hizashi’s favorite sounds to pry out of him.
“I think you owe him an apology,” Hizashi says.
The hand around Shōta’s cock clamps down and twists.
“Sorry,” Shōta gasps out, head pressing back against Hizashi’s shoulder. “Izuku, sorry.”
“Do you forgive him, puppy?” Hizashi asks. “For not being here to fuck you with me like he was supposed to be?”
“Y-Yes,” Izuku manages to answer. “F-Forgive you, Shō.”
“Always too soft,” Hizashi huffs. “So sweet and ready to forgive. But then again, maybe you’re right. Shō did have a rough day, didn’t he? Maybe I’m being too mean, maybe he deserves a little treat.”
“ Please,” Shōta doesn’t think twice about begging again.
Hizashi revels in their pleas, is never happier than when he can crack Shōta and Izuku open at his own leisure and have them straining to follow his every order, too terrified that disobedience will mean he’ll stop.
The hand on Shōta’s throat squeezes once and then lets go before trailing up to press into Shōta’s gaping mouth again. The pads of Hizashi’s fingers press teasingly against the points of Shōta’s fangs.
Shōta’s throat works uselessly, reflexively swallowing around nothing.
“Our little leech is hungry, Izu.” Hizashi practically croons. “Should we feed him? You gonna be good and let him eat? Let him bite you open and take what he needs?”
“Yes,” Izuku’s hips buck up off of the bed, spine curving in a harsh arch as his cock twitches and drools against his abs. “Please, let me feed him, Zashi, please. I wanna be g-good. Wanna let him eat.”
“Little pain slut,” Hizashi huffs fondly. “Well, you heard him, Shō. Our little chew toy wants you to eat.”
Hizashi’s hands fall away from Shōta’s body.
“So eat,” Hizashi commands.
Shōta blurs into motion.
In the space between blinks Shōta is on the bed, his body pressing Izuku deeper into the mattress as his fangs bite deep into the vulnerable curve of his neck.
Izuku just moans, tilts his head back, and lets him.
That first mouthful is bliss.
The hot, heady rush of Izuku’s blood hits Shōta like a blow as he gulps it down.
Unlike the sweet decadence of Hizashi, Izuku’s blood is more earthy.
Wilder.
A never-ending feast that Shōta is free to gorge himself on.
Izuku’s healing is so powerful that it threatens to close the wounds around Shōta’s fangs, forcing him to practically chew on Izuku to keep the blood flowing.
And Izuku, the precious and unique thing that he is, loves every single moment of it.
There’s no fight, no resistance, none of the instinctual aggression that other weres have always shown in the face of being bitten by one of Shōta’s kind.
Just like with Hizashi’s call, Izuku is eager to surrender, eager to submit, to the press of Shōta’s fangs at his most vulnerable points.
There’s a reason why Shōta and Hizashi have been forced to protect their claim on Izuku more than once. Against elders of various races who, less enamored by the younger generation’s attempts to play at human civility, know just what kind of treasure Shōta and Hizashi have found in Izuku.
In the old days, someone of Izuku’s power and willingness to bleed would have been coveted. Would have been fought over. Likely would have found themselves at the center of a harem of some sort.
Shōta and Hizashi have always been selfish creatures though so sharing Izuku with anyone else is out of the question.
Besides, anyone skilled enough to somehow make it through Shōta and Hizashi both and then attempt to claim Izuku as their own?
Well.
Izuku’s submission belongs to Hizashi and Shōta, is his gift to them and them alone, and Izuku doesn’t actually need their protection.
Shōta drinks deep, one hand tangled in Izuku’s curls as the other moves down to palm the curve of his knee.
Long years with first Hizashi and then Izuku as well have spoiled Shōta in so many ways.
For him feeding and fucking are entwined at the base now, his instincts barely able to remember a time when the two have not gone hand in hand.
It’s the work of seconds to have one of Izuku’s legs up and resting on the crook of Shōta’s arm, his hips lifted up off the mattress as Shōta gets his knees underneath him, rising up without ever removing his mouth from Izuku’s throat.
A shift has the tip of Shōta’s cock pressing against Izuku’s hole, still slick from where Hizashi had fucked him earlier.
Shōta presses inside with a single, brutal thrust.
Izuku cries out, throat working against Shōta’s mouth as he bottoms out only to pull back and ram himself back inside.
Shōta, mind clouded, senses burning up around the edges and drowning all at the same time, fucks into Izuku ruthlessly.
Until Hizashi’s hand buries itself in his hair again and then jerks Shōta off and out of Izuku.
Shōta hits the floor halfway across the room and comes up hissing in the next second, blood covering his front and his cock wet.
“I said you could eat,” Hizashi snaps from where he stands between Shōta and the bed.
Between Shōta and that thick rich blood and the tight wet hole he’d just been fucking.
Shōta snarls.
“Down,” Hizashi orders.
Shōta’s knees buckle and his vision darkens for a split second.
There’s a hand on his face and fingers prying his jaw open, and then his mouth and throat are full.
“Disobedient fucking leech,” Hizashi hisses as he fucks his cock into Shōta’s throat mercilessly. “I try to be nice, decide to let you eat, and that’s how you repay me? Putting your cock in my toy without permission? Fucking my hole without asking? Apologize.”
Shōta goes limp, lets his mouth gap open and his head tilt back at a harsh angle, as Hizashi’s cock presses deep.
“That’s it,” Hizashi hisses, hands holding Shōta’s head in place as he skull fucks him. “Take it. Take it all and maybe I’ll let you have him. Let you fuck him some more. Get your cock all wet again and fuck that sloppy cunt as hard and deep as you want.”
“Please,” Izuku sobs from the bed. “P-Please.”
“You hear that?” Hizashi asks. “Hear what you did? He’s aching for it and now he’s empty because you couldn’t be good. He’s being punished now because of you. Maybe that’s a sign huh? Maybe that means I should make you sit in the corner after this? Make you watch me fuck him again and again, unable to touch yourself, unable to touch either one of us. Is that what you want?”
Shōta whines desperately around the relentless press of Hizashi’s cock.
That sounds like absolute torture. Sounds like something that would make Shōta want to claw his own skin off at the moment.
A part of him almost hopes Hizashi does it anyway.
Hizashi abruptly jerks Shōta back off of his cock and cums, hot and thick, across his face.
Shōta can’t help the way his tongue darts out of his mouth to chase the taste of it.
“Fucking filthy,” Hizashi praises as he steps back, cock still hard and slit weeping slick despite having just cum. “Now go let Izu clean you up. He’s actually being a good boy, unlike you. But if you even think about shoving that cock inside of him again without my permission you’ll be lucky if I let you sit in the corner.”
Shōta goes to stand but Hizashi’s foot on his shoulder stops him.
“Be good,” Hizashi demands.
Shōta knows exactly what he means, what he expects.
Shōta presses a kiss to Hizashi’s ankle and then lowers himself down.
Hands flexing against the hardwood and face pointed down toward the floor, Shōta crawls.
It’s only when his hands hit the thick plushness of the bedside rug, that Shōta allows himself to look up.
He crawls his way up onto the bed and over Izuku until he’s settled between his legs again, this time careful to keep his hands flat against the mattress on either side of Izuku’s head.
Izuku stares up at him, chest heaving and eyes blown wide. His chest and throat are covered in quickly drying splashes of blood but the wound Shōta must have left when Hizashi had jerked him off and out of Izuku is already gone. Erased like it never happened.
Freckled skin flushed, curls wild around his head, and love etched in every inch of his expression, Izuku is so beautiful.
They both groan, their cocks pressing together between their stomachs when Shōta lowers himself enough that Izuku can reach his face.
Izuku wastes no time in cleaning him up, his tongue darting out to eagerly lap up Hizashi’s cum.
When Shōta’s face is clean they pause, mouths a whisper apart, but both of them are unwilling to disobey Hizashi again at the moment. Not even for something as small and as sweet as a kiss.
The bed dips and Hizashi is behind Shōta again, pressing against the line of his spine, forcing Shōta to take his weight.
“Much better,” Hizashi says, chin hooked over Shōta’s shoulder as he reaches between them to grab both Izuku and Shōta’s cocks.
Shōta’s arms tremble as Hizashi strokes them both, his own cock once again pressing against the line of Shōta’s ass.
Shōta’s spine dips just a bit, pressing his ass back into Hizashi’s cock for a split second before he snaps himself back into place.
“Is that your play now?” Hizashi says instantly. “You get in trouble for fucking my toy so you think you’ll what? Slut that ass of yours out to me instead? Desperate to get it any way you can, aren't you?”
Shōta shivers.
“Yeah you’d like that,” Hizashi bites a kiss into the line of Shōta’s shoulder. “But that’s not fair to Izu, is it?”
Shōta knows what he wants, knows where he’s desperately hoping Hizashi will go with this.
He also knows better than to say anything.
Hizashi shifts, the brunt of his weight leaving Shōta’s back as he settles on his knees. His hands clamp down on Izuku’s thighs instead, pulling his legs up off of the mattress and forcing them up until he’s resting on his shoulders.
Shōta bites at his own lip so hard the skin gives, black blood dripping down onto Izuku’s flushed face.
“Hold,” Hizashi orders, one hand slapping at the meat of Izuku’s thigh.
Izuku instantly locks himself into place, folded basically in half beneath Shōta with no real support to keep his legs up.
Shōta hisses out a breath when Hizashi’s hand moves to wrap around his cock.
“You’re lucky,” Hizashi says as he strokes Shōta and then tugs him forward, “Izu has been good for me all day, holding still, being a good little toy, letting me use that hole and that cock as much as I want. He deserves a reward too. I might as well use you to give it to him.”
Hizashi guides Shōta’s cock back to Izuku’s hole, pressing him forward until just the tip has slid inside.
“Stop,” Hizashi orders.
Shōta freezes despite the way all he wants to do is press forward, to shove his cock into the wet, tight grip of Izuku’s ass and fuck him until neither one of them can move.
There’s the press of wet fingers against Shōta’s ass and he groans as Hizashi presses two fingers inside of him roughly, obviously using his own slick to ease the way.
Hizashi barely stretches him, just enough to take the edge of true agony off, before he pulls his fingers away and replaces them with the head of his dripping cock.
As always Hizashi, just like Izuku, knows just what Shōta wants, what he needs, even when he can't or won't say it himself.
Hizashi thrusts forward with no warning, bottoming out in Shōta and forcing him forward and into Izuku in turn.
Izuku moans, low and desperate.
Hizashi laughs, bright and mean.
Trapped between the two of them, pleasure clawing at his very bones, Shōta’s eyes roll back in his head.
But Hizashi gives him no time to recover, no time to catch his breath.
Instead he fucks forward sharply, hips slapping against Shōta’s ass as he uses Shōta’s body to fuck Izuku in turn.
Izuku’s legs end up crossed at the ankle and propped on Shōta’s right shoulder even as Hizashi presses Shōta further down onto and into him.
Izuku’s mouth drops open at the new position, tongue lolling out just a bit, and Shōta can’t help but dip his head down enough to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy, as Hizashi wrecks them both.
Hizashi’s hand slides up the line of Shōta’s back and fists in his hair, tugging his head back sharply, forcing his spine to bow even further as he’s fucked and forced to fuck Izuku in turn.
“There we go,” Hizashi pants, finally sounding less than completely composed. “Look at the both of you taking it so well. That feels good doesn’t it, puppy? Me making our little leech fuck your hole just right?”
“Yes,” Izuku moans. “M-More, please more.”
“You heard him,” Hizashi taunts. “More.”
All Shōta can do is hold on, hands planted on the mattress on either side of Izuku’s head, as Hizashi’s cock lights him up from the inside while the greedy clench of Izuku’s ass milks his cock relentlessly.
It’s so much.
Too much.
Shōta wants it to never end.
“P-Please,” Izuku begs, head thrashing against the mattress, sweat-damp curls sticking to his face and words barely understandable through his whines. “P-please, I n-need … knot … please let me…”
Shōta can’t help the way he clenches down around Hizashi, the memory of the rare times Izuku has been allowed to properly knot him sending a fresh wave of heat slamming down on him.
“You’ve been so good but do you think you deserve it?” Hizashi taunts from over Shōta’s left shoulder, hips working his cock into Shōta’s ass with a relentless and punishing rhythm. “You think that knot is worth anything, puppy? Like you could ever breed either one of us? You’re our bitch. Maybe I’ll put a clutch in you instead. How does that sound? Me and Shō can breed you full and fat.”
Izuku cums with a shrieking howl, untouched knot swelling as he gushes cum over the both of them, his hole clamping down so tightly around Shōta that his vision whites out.
Shōta has no choice but to follow after him, pleasure ripping down his spine and hollowing him out inside as he pours himself into Izuku.
Shōta collapses, unable to keep himself up, but Hizashi doesn’t care.
He rides Shōta down, still fucking into him, forcing Shōta’s sensitive cock deeper and deeper into Izuku with each thrust and sending aftershocks sparking down both of their spines.
Izuku is crying, eyes hazy and gone, by the time Hizashi cums, biting down meanly on Shōta’s shoulder as he presses as deep into Shōta as he can.
Shōta is barely any better, body trembling as he presses sloppy open-mouthed kisses to Izuku’s cheek as Hizashi grinds down into him, riding out the last flares of his orgasm.
He groans, hips hitching forward in a move that makes Izuku whine and his hole flutter around Shōta’s softening cock, when Hizashi finally pulls out.
Shōta is tired and ready to rest right where he is, the rage fucked out of him, covered in blood, sweat, and cum and buried in Izuku’s ass. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve slept like this and it won’t be the last.
Only…
There’s a hand on Shōta’s ass prying his cheeks apart, before Hizashi’s tongue, hot and wet and long, sinks itself inside of him.
Shōta groans, cock twitching and hips flexing forward.
Beneath him Izuku sobs, hole clenching around Shōta.
Behind him Hizashi laughs and then presses deeper.
~~~
Later, once Hizashi has bullied both of them into cumming another handful of times, Shōta finds himself wiped down and tucked lovingly into bed.
Wrung out and with Izuku on one side and Hizashi on the other, Shōta finally feels completely sated and calm.
“It’s going to be okay, love,” Hizashi murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to Shōta’s forehead.
“We’ll handle it like we do everything else,” Izuku agrees from where he’s curled around Shōta’s back, “together.”
Shōta sighs and lets his eyes slip closed.
They’re right.
He knows they are.
Eri is safe and she’s going to stay that way. If there was any real risk to her neither Hizashi nor Izuku would be so calm.
Chisaki has no idea what’s in store for him should he be stupid enough to make a move.
His days are numbered anyway.
Someday real soon Chisaki is going to find himself in the wild and he’s going to realize he’s far from the scariest thing lurking in the shadows.
Besides, their anniversary is coming up soon and it’s been a while since the three of them have had a good hunt.
Maybe it’s Shōta’s turn to plan something special for once.
A moonlit chase sounds like just the thing they all need.