Chapter 5: Chapter 5
The scratchy warmth of the worn velvet couch pressed against Izuku’s bare back. Late afternoon light, thick with dust motes, slanted through the window, painting stripes across the cluttered coffee table and the stacks of Shouta’s case files. The faint, tinny melody of a jazz standard drifted from the old record player, punctuated by the occasional pop and hiss of the vinyl. Izuku stretched, arching his back, feeling the pleasant pull in his shoulders. His t-shirt lay discarded on the armrest, leaving his 34C breasts bare, nipples pebbled slightly in the cool room air. He traced idle patterns on his stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of his loose shorts. Comfortable. Unashamed. Hizashi had drilled that into him years ago.
The click of the front door unlocking broke the quiet. Hizashi bustled in, arms laden with grocery bags, his signature blond hair catching the light like spun gold. He kicked the door shut with his heel, humming off-key to the record. "Delivery!" he announced, his voice bright and carrying effortlessly. He dumped the bags onto the kitchen counter with a thud, already shrugging out of his jacket.
Izuku watched him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Get the good coffee?"
"Would Papa bring anything less?" Hizashi winked, already rummaging. He emerged triumphant with a bag of dark roast beans. "Priority one, always." He moved towards the living room, his eyes immediately landing on Izuku. A wide, approving grin spread across his face. "Well, look at you, sunshine! Just lounging like a little feast." He crossed the distance quickly, dropping onto the couch beside Izuku with a sigh that made the springs groan.
Before Izuku could react, Hizashi’s hand was on him. Not tentative, not questioning. Possessive. Familiar. His palm slid over Izuku’s right breast, fingers curling around the soft flesh, thumb rubbing deliberately over the stiffening nipple. Izuku gasped, a sharp intake of breath that wasn't entirely surprise. Embarrassment, hot and prickly, flooded his cheeks. He squirmed instinctively, but Hizashi’s grip was firm, playful.
"Looking plump today, bunny," Hizashi murmured, his gaze fixed on his own hand kneading Izuku’s breast. He squeezed gently, testing the weight. "Perfect handfuls. Just like mine used to be before gravity got ambitious." He chuckled, his other hand reaching out to pinch Izuku’s left nipple sharply between thumb and forefinger. Izuku yelped, jerking back, but Hizashi just held on, giving the captured nipple a firm, twisting tug that sent a jolt of sharp sensation straight to Izuku’s cunt. Humiliation burned hotter.
"Papa!" Izuku protested, voice tight, trying to push the intrusive hand away. It was useless. Hizashi was stronger, and his touch, while invasive, held no sexual heat Izuku could detect. It was just… routine. Practical teasing. Like adjusting a collar.
"Shy?" Hizashi teased, finally releasing the nipple but letting his hand drift lower, skimming Izuku’s ribs, his stomach. His fingers dipped beneath the elastic waistband of Izuku’s shorts without hesitation. Cool air hit Izuku’s lower belly. "After all these years? Papa’s seen it all, touched it all." His fingers slid lower, past the sparse curls, and landed with a soft pat-pat directly on Izuku’s covered mound, right over his cunt lips. Izuku froze, mortified, feeling the dampness of his panties beneath the touch. Hizashi patted him again, almost affectionately, like patting a dog’s head. "Healthy little pussy. Good boy."
The front door opened again. Shouta shuffled in, looking weary, dark circles under his eyes, his capture weapon slung loosely around his neck. He took in the scene with a single, flat glance: Izuku flushed and pinned, Hizashi’s hand down his son’s shorts. Shouta’s expression didn’t change. He just grunted, heading straight for the kitchen counter and the promise of coffee.
Hizashi’s attention snapped to Shouta instantly, like a compass finding true north. The hand vanished from Izuku’s shorts. In one fluid motion, Hizashi was off the couch and gliding towards the kitchen. Izuku sagged back, breathing hard, pulling his shorts back up with trembling fingers. The lingering phantom pressure on his cunt pulsed.
"Long day, love?" Hizashi purred, sidling up behind Shouta as he measured coffee grounds. Hizashi pressed his front flush against Shouta’s back, his DD-cup breasts squashing against the worn black fabric of Shouta’s jumpsuit. His arms snaked around Shouta’s waist. Shouta didn’t pause his task, just gave a noncommittal hum.
Hizashi’s hands slid lower, over Shouta’s hips, then dipped boldly between his legs. He palmed the front of Shouta’s jumpsuit, fingers immediately finding and closing around the thick outline of Shouta’s flaccid cock through the fabric. He squeezed, a firm, possessive grip. Shouta’s shoulders tensed minutely, but he kept scooping coffee.
"Missed you," Hizashi breathed into Shouta’s ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He began to knead Shouta’s cock through the jumpsuit, his touch turning purposeful, rhythmic. "Missed this big, beautiful cock." He ground his pelvis against Shouta’s ass, the soft swell of his own cunt pressing insistently against the firm muscle. "Feel how wet I am already? Just thinking about you."
Izuku watched, frozen on the couch, the earlier humiliation mixing with a confusing, unwanted throb deep in his own belly. Hizashi’s transformation was instant, complete. The playful, almost clinical touch he’d used on Izuku was gone, replaced by raw, hungry desire solely for Shouta.
Shouta finally stopped scooping. He placed the coffee scoop down with deliberate slowness. He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting Hizashi’s, burning with a sudden, intense heat that hadn’t been there moments before. "Is that right?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through Hizashi pressed against him.
"Fuck yes," Hizashi hissed, his hand working faster now, stroking Shouta’s rapidly hardening length through the jumpsuit. "Need you inside me, Shou. Need you to fuck this wet pussy raw. Right now." He punctuated his words with another hard grind, his breath hitching.
Shouta’s hand shot out, grabbing Hizashi’s wrist and pulling it away from his cock. Before Hizashi could protest, Shouta spun around. His movements were swift, predatory. One hand tangled in Hizashi’s blond hair, yanking his head back sharply. The other hand went straight to the fastenings of Hizashi’s tight jeans.
"Shit! Shou!" Hizashi gasped, more arousal than pain in his voice. He arched his neck, baring his throat.
Shouta didn’t bother with finesse. He shoved Hizashi’s jeans and panties down his hips in one rough motion, letting them pool around his ankles. Hizashi’s cunt was exposed, already glistening, dark blond curls damp. Shouta didn’t pause. He spun Hizashi around, bending him forcefully over the cluttered kitchen counter. Files scattered. Hizashi’s hands slapped against the laminate surface, bracing himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His large breasts pressed flat against the countertop.
Shouta shoved his own jumpsuit trousers and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It was fully erect now, thick and flushed, the head slick with pre-cum. He spat roughly into his palm, slicked himself once, twice, the sound obscenely loud in the sudden stillness. The record skipped, stuck in a loop of static hiss.
He didn’t tease. Didn’t prepare. He gripped Hizashi’s hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the flesh. With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed his entire length deep into Hizashi’s waiting cunt.
"FUCK!" Hizashi screamed, the sound tearing from his throat, half agony, half ecstasy. His body bowed, then slammed forward against the counter. "Oh GOD! Shou! Fuck!"
Shouta didn’t hesitate. He pulled back almost completely, leaving just the tip inside, then drove forward again with punishing force. The wet, meaty slap of his hips hitting Hizashi’s ass echoed through the room, louder than the skipping record. Again. And again. A relentless, piston-like rhythm, deep and unforgiving. Hizashi’s cries dissolved into choked sobs and desperate moans. "Yes! Fuck! Harder! Deeper! Oh god, your cock! Ruin me!"
Izuku couldn’t look away. His own hand had crept under his shorts, fingers sliding into his damp panties, finding his clit swollen and throbbing. He rubbed frantically, eyes glued to the raw spectacle: Shouta’s powerful thighs driving forward, the flex of his ass muscles, Hizashi’s breasts mashed against the counter, bouncing slightly with each brutal thrust, his face contorted in pleasure-pain. The scent of sex, sharp and musky, began to overpower the coffee and old paper.
Shouta leaned forward, his chest pressing against Hizashi’s back, his mouth near Hizashi’s ear. His voice was a guttural growl, thick with exertion and possession. "This greedy hole… fucking mine… take it… take every fucking inch…"
"Yours! All yours!" Hizashi babbled, pushing his ass back desperately to meet each thrust. "Fuck! Filling me up! So deep! Oh fuck, Shou, I’m gonna cum! Make me cum! Please!"
Shouta’s pace intensified, becoming almost frenzied. The slapping sounds merged into a continuous, wet rhythm. He reached around, his hand roughly groping Hizashi’s bouncing breast, pinching the nipple hard. "Cum… fucking cum on my cock… now!"
Hizashi’s scream was primal, wordless. His body locked rigid, back arching impossibly, ass clenching tight around Shouta’s buried cock. A guttural groan ripped from Shouta as he felt the violent contractions. He slammed home one last time, burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep as Hizashi shuddered and whimpered through the aftershocks. Shouta’s own release followed seconds later, a harsh groan escaping him as he pulsed deep inside Hizashi’s spasming cunt, his hips jerking erratically.
They stayed locked together, panting, Shouta slumped over Hizashi’s back, his softening cock still buried deep. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the record’s persistent, mocking hiss. Izuku’s fingers were soaked, her own small climax a trembling, shameful echo in the silence. She pulled her hand away, sticky, staring at her papas tangled together over the counter, the scattered files, the forgotten groceries. The comfortable warmth of the room felt like a lie. The party costume, the playful teasing… it all seemed impossibly distant, drowned out by the brutal, undeniable reality of their connection. Her own arousal felt like a betrayal, a dirty secret whispered against the deafening silence. She curled tighter on the couch, pulling her discarded t-shirt over her head like a shroud, hiding her flushed face and trembling body. The scent of sex hung heavy, thick as fog.