Sometimes, it really did surprise Hitoshi just how popular Neito was.
He lingered at the edge of the crowd as the members of class 1-B gathered around Neito, showering him in gifts and praises and congratulations, and smiled to himself. He really wasn’t skirting the edges because he didn’t feel he belonged there - he’d managed to grow past that particular habit. A few short months ago, he would’ve been much less comfortable mingling among them, but enough visits over the past few months, enough invitations to their group hangouts, and he well and truly felt he’d become one of them. He had Neito’s aforementioned popularity to thank for that newfound confidence - as many jokes as his friends made, Neito was well-loved by the people he cared about, and for good reason.
That being said, he was the only one from outside their class present - Neito did have a habit of visibly alienating the A class, after all - and he wasn’t generally a big groups person regardless. He was happy just observing the festivities from the edge of the room and fist-bumping anyone who happened to peel off and chat with him before returning to their other friends.
Neito was hard at work opening a few gifts - of course he was the type to open gifts during the party, at their age - when their eyes met for a brief second. Neito was wearing a huge, silly foam crown that he’d been gifted by Kamakiri and he had all the giddiness of a child in his grin. He waved, and Hitoshi gave him a lopsided smirk back, but of course Neito couldn’t go an entire party in his own honor without putting his foot in his mouth just once.
“So, babe,” Neito called, and despite himself, Hitoshi felt his face grow warm. Dammit, they weren’t even official - why did Neito only ever call him that in front of other people? “When am I gonna be getting your gift?”
He fought down the instant prickling he felt under his skin as the other members of Class B turned their attention to him. In his mind, he knew nobody was judging him except, perhaps, the target of his affections, and even that was in question. The fact remained, however, that he didn’t particularly like having the spotlight on him without warning.
He fixated on Neito, drawing reassurance by the acknowledgement of his discomfort lurking behind his eyes. He’d learn from his mistake, Hitoshi was sure. He was good at that, and that was why he cared for him. “You’ll get your gift later,” he promised, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear, and was immediately greeted with a chorus of “OHHHHHHH”s in Class B’s best teasing “They’re gonna fuck” voices.
Hitoshi may have been red, but Neito became scarlet right up to his ears at the implication. He practically melted into his own neckline as his friends turned back to him, jostling him for the faux pas.
Hitoshi let it happen, suppressing a chuckle. It was Neito’s birthday, after all - he could wait to lavish him with his own affections.
Hitoshi laced his fingers through Neito’s sleek blond hair. The party had wound down, concentrating down from the entirety of class B to Neito and his closest friends watching movies together. Hitoshi was pinned underneath his loose, exhausted beau with Tetsutetsu on Neito’s other side and Kendou on his left. He couldn’t recall any of the characters in the movie they were watching, or even the actors, but he could’ve listed every time Neito had nuzzled into his stomach in his sleep.
Something exploded onscreen and Neito let out a small sound of annoyance, then wriggled closer. Hitoshi couldn’t hold back the little affectionate snort that bubbled out of him at that.
Of course, that prompted a nudge from Kendou. “Maybe it’s time you two went upstairs,” she suggested, having apparently just resigned herself to the knowledge that they were going to be sleeping together. Hitoshi looked up in time to see her salacious little wink and internally thanked god for the fact that Class B’s representative was her and not the square that class A had.
He looked down at Neito once more, curling and uncurling his fingers in his hair, and nodded stoically. Neito was cute like this, absolutely, but Hitoshi was barely willing to admit that to him; Kendou wasn’t dumb, not by a long shot, but he liked to maintain at least the internal illusion that he was impenetrable in his affections. “You’re right,” he said, finally, and playfully shoved at Neito’s shoulder. “Hey, get up.”
He got a small grunt in response, then a pair of blue eyes blinking up at him through the dark. “What,” Neito rasped, and Hitoshi ruffled his hair.
“It’s getting late,” he explained. “You do want your present, don’t you?”
Neito groaned and stretched, and Hitoshi couldn’t help the gentle curling of his lip. “Alright,” Neito muttered, “let’s go.”
He rolled off of the couch and Hitoshi followed, hearing Kendou wish him happy birthday one last time before Tetsutetsu grunted in his sleep. He glanced behind them as they made their way to the elevators, saw that Kendou had curled into Tetsutetsu’s side, and rolled his eyes. Had she just gotten rid of them so she could cuddle with her boyfriend?
It didn’t matter. Neito was loose and giggly and clingy as they walked away, and Hitoshi had been holding back his own affection long enough. He slung an arm around Neito and nuzzled into his hair, taking a deep breath.
“What a creeper,” Neito sneered jokingly. “Smelling my hair.”
“You wouldn’t use girls’ shampoo if you didn’t like it.”
“It’s unisex,” Neito replied indignantly, and Hitoshi hummed as the elevator dinged and they boarded. Neito almost pulled away, like he was self-conscious, but Hitoshi held firm, not saying a word. He could feel Neito eyeballing him, just for a second, then retreat back into humming and hugging and leaning into his side.
Hitoshi might not have been quite ready to admit it, but he liked it when Neito was like this. It made it… easier.
Hitoshi could tell that Neito wasn’t quite as comfortable with the silence in the elevator as he was, but he also knew that Neito was more socially aware than he let on; Hitoshi wasn’t half as extroverted as Neito was, and being alone with him was naturally a relief, but he still needed a second of quiet before they launched into their usual dynamic in private.
Internally, however, he also felt excitement mounting in him. Neito was damn good in the sack, after all, and he dared to hope he was coming to a point at which he could compete with him. And with what he had planned…
They arrived at Neito’s floor and Neito pushed away, giving Hitoshi a lopsided grin that melted into something much more suggestive after a moment’s eye contact. He paced forward and leaned on the wall next to his bedroom door, still fixing Hitoshi with that goofy little smile.
“Are you gonna unlock it?” Hitoshi suggested, pretending he didn’t know full well what that look meant.
“And here I thought you were gonna play the locksmith tonight,” Neito sighed theatrically, shrugging in false resignation. “Very well, I suppose my key is sufficient. I just thought you’d want to go the extra mile to make me feel special.”
Hitoshi rolled his eyes - not unkindly - and reached for the doorknob to find it unlocked. “You’re such a drama queen. How long were you waiting to use that line anyway?”
Neito’s lip twitched, and Hitoshi felt immense satisfaction to see his cheeks grow pink yet again. He was just so easy. “Whatever. If you’re going to be ungrateful, perhaps I won’t let you play with my lock at all.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” Hitoshi snorted, leading the way into Neito’s room. His gifts, jokes and sincere ones alike, had been unceremoniously piled on his bed, and Hitoshi wasted little time shuffling them into an equally disorganized pile on his desk.
“Don’t get my homework out of order,” Neito fussed.
“As if it wasn’t already? You’re not exactly an honors student.”
He heard Neito scoff as he finally slapped Kamakiri’s stupid crown and the goofy cape some other fool had given his - well, whatever Neito was to him - onto the desk. He really had to have a discussion with him about the whole business of exactly what they were to one another. He clapped his hands together with an air of finality and turned back to Neito, moving to push him back onto the bed. At the first sign of Neito getting excited, however, he switched tactics, collapsing bonelessly into him. “Good night,” he teased, and Neito huffed even harder.
“Excuse me! I think there’s something else you need to take care of first,” he objected, pushing at Hitoshi’s shoulders. Hitoshi responded with a contemplative hum.
“Huh, really? I thought we’d already checked all the boxes,” he remarked, holding up his fingers to count off. “Cake, presents, friends, sleep.”
“You didn’t give me anything yet,” Neito pouted.
“What, you really need something from everybody? Are you five?”
“You were the one who promised me!”
“Alright, alright,” Hitoshi soothed him, pushing up off of his whatever-the-fuck and rolling off the bed to where his backpack was propped against the bedpost. He made sure not to open the main compartment and instead reached into the front pocket, poking around blindly until he felt his fingertips graze firm rubber. He tucked the trinket into his pocket, ever aware of Neito’s wide blue eyes devouring every movement.
He gave Neito an annoyed look. “Impatient, are we,” he sneered, and Neito responded in kind with an expression of delight. This was the part, this was the tone Hitoshi took on when he was done with the teasing, when he was finally going to give Neito exactly what he wanted. He let Neito believe in the illusion and mounted the bed, stopping at Neito’s waist to smirk down at the bulge in his pants. “Well, I suppose a birthday blowjob couldn’t hurt.”
“Finally stopped being gunshy about that, eh?” Neito replied, and Hitoshi responded with a weak glare. He’d entered this relationship knowing full well Neito was better practiced at this particular art and had been more than a little anxious about reciprocating his amazing blowjobs.
At least, he had been until he’d realized that Neito was much less well-practiced at receiving than at giving.
It was this knowledge that had him drawing Neito’s zipper down without much fuss, wriggling his pants down his hips and gladly taking Neito’s cock into his mouth without preamble. It was a welcome heft, a nice mouthful without ever being too much, and the blissful sigh Neito let out at the long-awaited stimulation was just as familiar and welcome.
He was conscious not to take things too far as he sucked Neito down, sweeping his tongue in restrained strokes around and over the head and thrusting shallowly down. Neito hiccuped out his usual, cute little sounds as Hitoshi carried on.
He drew back after a moment, just tugging on Neito’s cock and carefully observing his behavior, the curve of his cock, and the arch of his back. He nodded to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he was fully aroused, but not quite at orgasm yet. Perfect - he wanted to tease him, not torture him.
It was Neito’s birthday, after all. He had no intentions of using his gift to its full potential until well into the future.
Hitoshi reached into his pocket, keeping an eye on Neito’s face in case he noticed what he was doing, and rolled the purple ring of rubber down over Neito’s cock before Neito opened his eyes, frowning down at him as Hitoshi settled it into place.
He gave Neito his best shit-eating grin. “Happy birthday, babe,” he teased, holding his hands out in a mocking ‘Ta-dah!’ gesture. “How do you like your gift?”
“What the hell!” Neito scoffed. “This isn’t a gift, it’s a punishment!”
“You think?” Hitoshi replied, “You want me to return it? You don’t think you’re going to enjoy making me fuck you with it on, using me as your toy, milking me for all I’m worth while I beg to cum in you? You don’t think you’re gonna like torturing me until I beg?”
He watched Neito’s mouth open, then close with a snap. He had a stubborn look on his face, like he knew what Hitoshi was trying to do. He was frowning, but Hitoshi could tell he was conflicted. Of course he was - Hitoshi was well-practiced in pressing his buttons.
He continued working his way upward, until he could properly look Neito in the eye. He mouthed over his jaw, down toward his ear until he could feel the soft give of his earlobe over his lips. “So, you don’t think,” he mused, his voice low and grinding just the way he knew Neito liked, “you’d be into me fucking you, over and over, edging you all night as a special birthday present?”
Neito didn’t respond, at least not loudly enough for Hitoshi’s quirk to take effect - of course he heard the hitch in his breath, felt the sharp rise of his chest underneath him, reveled in the rise of goosebumps under his fingertips as he brushed them over his arms. He let the question answer itself within the space of his own mind - it was Neito’s birthday, after all. If he wasn’t feeling the brainwashing, then there was nothing Hitoshi could do about it.
He moved to mouth hotly at Neito’s neck, familiar now with the pebbled surface of it, with the way Neito whined when he reached the hollow where his neck muscles met his collarbone. He peppered him with kisses, then paused to eyeball him.
“If you’re really not into it, I can take it right off,” he promised, and Neito seemed to mull it over for a moment.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, then grinned. “I’m not above a little experimentation. If you still want to make things up to me, though…”
Hitoshi snorted, relieved in some small way that Neito didn’t seem bothered as much as he was taking the time to really consider what he wanted. It was an unusual position for him to take, and it was easy to get nervous, but Hitoshi was glad things were ultimately okay. “What do you want, you monster,” he demanded.
“Would a birthday strip tease be too much to ask?”
Neito pouted. “Alright then, let’s just get naked. I wanna feel you. How does that sound?”
Hitoshi pursed his lips in an imitation of Neito’s own musing until Neito scowled at him. “That sounds damn good,” he purred, finally, and climbed off just long enough to shuffle out of his pants. He could hear Neito doing the same, but in his haste, he didn’t pay it all that much mind.
“Done yet?” Neito prompted him, and Hitoshi replied in the same breath as he turned to face him.
“What does it look -” he said, and cut off, and stared foggily down at his beau.
Oh, this bastard.
Neito snickered, looking just a little too pleased with himself. “C’mon, babe,” he prompted, spreading his legs. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Hitoshi complied, frustrated for a moment. He’d never thought Neito would feel any compulsion to turn the tides in this respect - he liked brainwashing so much, loved being completely out of the scope of control, loved submitting. What was his game now?
Neito looked pale and saintly and beautiful, spread out underneath him and shining through the fog in Hitoshi’s mind like a beacon. “I’ve decided what I want for my birthday,” he stated, and Hitoshi could feel ghostly pale arms brushing over his upper arms, draping themselves around the back of his neck and pulling him forward, every movement smooth and gentle so that he had no hope of breaking out of his own damn quirk.
Neito nuzzled into Hitoshi’s jaw in a mockery of Hitoshi’s own behavior from before, and Hitoshi could feel the curl of his lip against his skin. “I’m gonna make you wish you were the one wearing the cockring,” he breathed.
And he most certainly did.
The following morning, the pair was allowed to wake slowly. It was Sunday, after all, and they’d stayed up pretty late the previous evening.
Hitoshi in particular was painfully aware of that fact as his muscular soreness bled into his awareness, collapsed as he was on top of Neito. All the times he’d worked with Neito in class had really bit him on the ass, in this regard - Neito was a regular pro at maintaining Hitoshi’s quirk, stretching it almost as long as Hitoshi was capable, and of tricking him back into it whenever he happened to break.
Needless to say, he wasn’t going to be cumming again for quite awhile. At least he’d managed a full night’s sleep, he supposed.
He pushed off of Neito’s chest, smirking down at his - well, whatever Neito was’s sleeping face. He was just a beautiful man, in every way, and even as Hitoshi felt his shoulders pop with his stretch, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate Neito for turning his plans on their head.
Neito was good at following a plan where it counted. Here? In his bedroom, just the two of them? Flipping the script helped Hitoshi let go of his sense of control a little. It was nice, actually.
He groaned as he forced himself out of the bed. Neito was the kind of prima donna who would expect him to make him breakfast the day after his birthday, too, and he figured it was never too soon to get started.
At least, he did until he heard Neito shift on the bed and felt a hand grasp his wrist.
“Where are you going,” Neito groaned, blinking slowly up at him. Hitoshi offered him a little smile.
“Just to breakfast. Got a problem with that?”
“I’m the birthday boy,” Neito retorted, “And I want cuddles.”
“You’re not the birthday boy anymore,” Hitoshi snorted, but sat obediently at the edge of the bed.
“Still counts,” Neito murmured. Hitoshi felt something stir in him. Courage, maybe.
He took a deep breath, mulling over the decision in his head before shaking it away. If he let it go another moment, he was no doubt going to chicken out. So he leaned over, groping for his backpack, and asked, all in one breath, “Wanna see your real present?”
He could practically hear Neito snap to attention. “You mean, that wasn’t it?” he interrogated him, jolting into a sitting position with his eyes fixated right on him.
Hitoshi didn’t answer. He could feel his heart in his throat as he pawed through the bag until his hand land on a lump of soft fabric. He inhaled one more time, looking everywhere except for at Neito, and unceremoniously deposited the gift on Neito’s lap.
“Happy birthday,” he muttered.
He heard a rustle and a soft noise of confusion. “Not to be ungrateful or anything,” Neito murmured, and Hitoshi finally looked to him. He was holding Hitoshi’s favorite hoodie aloft with a questioning look. “But I kind of wear this all the time, anyway.”
Hitoshi nodded, his mouth set in a careful line. “I figured - it’s been long enough,” he explained. “You should get a proper - boyfriend sweater. You wear it often enough, you should get to keep it.”
And me. You should get to keep me, in whatever form you want me.
Neito took a second to respond. And then he fell backwards, burying his face in Hitoshi’s sweatshirt and screaming wordlessly.
Hitoshi couldn’t help himself - he snorted, gazing wonderingly down at what, he supposed, must be his boyfriend. Neito snapped up after another second, grinning like a lunatic.
“Promise you’ll wear it sometimes!” he demanded, “It’s no good if it doesn’t smell like you!”
“Is that a yes?” Hitoshi snickered, covering his mouth.
Neito just gave him a hopeless, amused, affectionate look and dove face-first into the sweatshirt. He pushed past Hitoshi out of bed and stood over him with a proud sneer.
“Let’s go show off,” he said, grabbing his hand.
What choice did he have? He followed along after, and he laughed with all the warmth bubbling out of his heart.