bnha oneshots (vol 1)

033 ⋆ mornings with you 🌸🍋

ship: todokiri

for todokiri week! the prompt for Day 4 was domestic life!

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The gentle warmth of the sun stroking against his cheek is what pulls Shouto from his slumber this morning, soft, almost hesitant strokes of warmth across his pale cheek following the line of bone just beneath his scar. He sighs into the caress—to the knuckles brushing against him, turns his head ever so slightly to catch one with a small peck. He captures the hand with his own and keeps it to his lips as he seals another kiss to the remaining knuckles, back of the hand, wrist; pulls back and presses a final one to the center of its palm. A mellow hum follows and Shouto opens his eyes to gold and crimson.

It takes him a moment to adjust, not that he'd need too long since they passed out just as the first cusps of orange began to bleed through their curtains. Alcohol still buzzes through his veins, a dull throb of energy. His eyes fall close when he stretches and twists, kicking out one leg whilst the other bends in toward his stomach. He sighs then, slow and steady, letting himself fall back into the sheets and back towards the narrow edge of sleep. It's there that Shouto teeters its weight, forces his eyes to stay open only for them to shutter close against his will. Warmth returns to him—this time fleeing from his temple, grazing behind the shell of his ear along with a few wisps of hair. Only then is he able to keep himself awake long enough to catch his husband's soft grin.

"G'mornin' beautiful," comes Eijirou's voice, low in his throat and rusted with disuse. Shouto blinks through the haze of sleep, swallows thick. It's not the first time Shouto's woken up to his husband staring at him, and yet he still feels as coy as he did the first time he found himself diving head first into pools of maroon.

Shouto's voice comes out groggy. "How long have you been up staring at me?"

Eijirou shrugs. "Dunno." His eyes seem to flitter about Shouto's face before he occupies himself with a lock of white, twiddling it between his fingers. "A while."

Shouto hums, quietly subjects Eijirou to his scrutiny; Eijirou looks as if he's been up for some time, though he isn't entirely sure how much of it was spent watching him, of all people.

It's merely a passing thought, however. Shouto has something else on his mind.

Slinking toward him, Shouto closes the distance between them with a curt kiss, murmuring "creep" against his lips and leaves Eijirou grinning harder at him.

"Says you, Mr. Morning Breath." Shouto huffs intentionally. Eijirou feigns disgust, twists his nose. "Blegh!"

"Oh, shut up." Shouto playfully knocks his head against Eijirou's, reigning kisses over his face and neck before taking his lips again. Eijirou's lips are taut on his—probably holding in a laugh—but eventually melts with a croon. Their kisses begin far and few between, lingering amidst meaningless babble and playful jabs, then sooner, an eager tongue teasing entry. Eijirou's fingers find themselves fully embedded in Shouto's locks as his tongue curls into the other's mouth, a tug pulling him ever closer, guiding him between legs that fall open at his mercy.

Shouto reels back, leaving Eijirou to follow after, brushes their lips together and mouths, "You taste like sake..." hot into the air connecting them.

"I might've had a sip or two," admits Eijirou. Shouto's lips close around a breath and stares expectantly. "Okay," Eijirou breathes, "maybe a little bit more than two."

Sho huffs. Eijirou steals the air right from his lungs.

It's a slow back and forth of tongue and teasing, a nip or earnest suck or two to reclaim markings leftover from the hours prior. Shouto savors his husband's body, how pliant his skin is in his hands—his teeth—dedicating every dip and curve to memory. Shouto finds the backs of his knees and drags him closer, leaves fleeting kisses up the length of the left whilst folding the other around his waist, grinding his desires into him. Eijirou's gasps crescendo before being punched out with a sudden hiss.

He jerks—"Wait—ow! Ow!"—recoils from where Shouto's half chub rubs against the silver plug lodged in his ass. Shouto pauses his ministrations to settle his husband's disgruntlement. Eijirou looks up. "I'm still sore."

"I'll be gentle."

"You said that already. Four times, actually."

Shouto tilts his head. "You've been keeping track?"

"Eh..." Ei flashes a lopsided grin. "I lost count after the third orgasm."

His eyes cross when Shouto bumps their foreheads together again, smile widening when he offers, "We can start over."

Eijirou laughs—"Already?"—loops his arms around Shouto's neck as he shuffles beneath him. They stay like that for a short while to milk the moment's peace of what it's worth: the intimacy of existing within the same space, the quiet exchange of heat, touches, gazes; murmurs, stolen breaths and languid kisses. Shouto mouths at the column of Eijirou's neck, nips at his skin with teeth and sucks on the steady thrum of his pulse.

Eijirou trembles with a shudder when Shouto presses his thumb into the plug, dragging it out slowly before sliding it back in. He keeps up the pace, occasionally dragging the widest part of the plug past his rim to slide it in with a twist. Eijirou's cock begins to stir between them and Shouto slots his own beside it, grinding in time with his hand, yearning for that slow bleed of pleasure. Eijirou chuckles breathlessly, whispers: "You're insatiable," punctuates it with a heated kiss.

Shouto hums and takes that as his cue to move forward, biting his lip at the lack of resistance as he pulls the plug out completely. He can't help but pull back to watch it happen—how the thickest bit breaches past his rim and then twitches around nothing. Shouto fills that void with his body, pressing forward until their hips meet and rolls with it. Eijirou bites back a groan and fist the pillow his head rests upon, sighs as he peers down to where he and his husband merge together.

"Hey Sho," he utters as Shouto begins to move. "Every time we're... like this, do you ever think about the time we first had sex?"

Shouto meets his gaze, thinking, then scoffs. "You mean that time you creamed your pants?" Ei hums. He laughs. "That wasn't sex."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too!"

"Not."

"Was—ah!" Sho thrusts into him particularly rough, shifts to bring a leg over his shoulder and grinds deep. Eijirou shivers a whine.

Smirking, Shouto tilts his head, teases him, searches for that spot that makes Eijirou sing. "What was that? I didn't quite catch you."

His smile falters when he feels Eijirou tighten around him, rolling his hips to match his thrusts, panting heavily, eyes glued to where they were working into each other. Eijirou then slumps into the sheets with a soft 'fuck', meets Shouto's gaze again. Really, Shouto planned on taking it easy, but now? Fuck it. He can't, especially not when Eijirou's looking up at him with those eyes, darkened with lust and full of need—and yet, just along the outskirts of pupils blown wide lies a ring of fire, crimson as passion itself.

He loses himself in it—those deep pools of maroon.

Shouto's hips move on their own accord and he brings his forehead to rest in the crook of Eijirou's neck. He pants into his shoulder, dampens the skin there as the steady percussion of his thrusts grow louder, harder. One of Eijirou's hands finds support in his hair as they rock together. The other digs into the broad of his back, trembling, scratching. Shouto's grunts pair well with his husband's string of moans and litany of praises he drabbles in-between.

They come just seconds after each other; Eijirou arches into his slow release, clinging tight to his lover as he's soon pumped full of his seed. Shouto collapses like dead weight on top of him, utterly exhausted. Tired himself, Eijirou rubs small circles into his back, cooing, "Great job, babe. You're so good to me."

Shouto grumbles, groans weakly as he pulls himself out and immediately replaces the plug before any of his release has the chance to escape. The lazy part of him wants to fall back into Eijirou's arms and ignore the sticky situation going on between him, but his dominating, sensible side wills him into teaching for the damp towel they kept on their nightstand for the better part of the night. He wipes down his husband before himself, massages stiff muscles, and kisses his thanks into supple skin. Eijirou's already fast asleep by the time he tosses the rag aside in favor of curling into his side, and Shouto soon follows, back to the fully risen sun, ever sated.