#1kevent

He grunted, lifted his head a little to flash you a killer smile.

“It’s perfect,” then fell back down, head in the hole, “I’ve actually been having a bit of back pain so this is great.”

 “Happy to help,” you replied, cordial and quietly, so as not to take over the ambience music in the room, but rather blend in with it. “Have you been training your legs more?”

 “Yeah, can you tell?” there was a tease to his question, but you bit back a retort, not one to instigate. It wasn’t his first one of the session, and it was getting harder to remain placid.

 “The main reason for back pain in heroes is the overuse of the glutes and tight hips,” you commented, digging your finger into the very round of his buttock, right where the nerve ending sits. You’d never heard someone so buff make such a whine before, and you shivered in the sadistic delight of hearing it. God, you love your job.

 “Shit, that’s sore,” Kirishima curses under his breath, you ignored it, the knot of muscle dissipating and relaxing under your relentless fingers. “Damn, you’ve got a magic touch.”

 That’s when you let your facade slip; a giggle escaped your lips.

 “Ah! So you’re not a robot!” the red-haired Hero exclaimed, you huffed, walking back to his head. You warmed another pump of oil in your hands, pressed them down to his neck and stroked up into the shave of his undercut.

 “Of course not,” you scraped at his scalp, watched goosebumps as they danced along the back of his arms. That’s a surprisingly soft, human, skin reaction, something you could tell your co-workers, and as you pulled the longer hair up, you gasped, “is that a tattoo?”

 On the back of Kirishima’s head, covered with thick hair, were two RR’s in his logo. He chuckled, the laugh booming and shaking his body.

 “Yeah,” he paused, only slightly. His voice dropped an octave, sending shivers down your spine “it’s not my only one.”

 Now, how could you resist that? You couldn’t, that’s why you answered him, matching his drawl with your own.

 “Oh? And where are the others?” your heart thumped in your ears, you’d never, ever crossed that line before. But he’s so fit, so charismatic, your mouth responding before your mind caught up.

 He was fast, astonishing for how much muscle he had to move, but he pushed himself up, onto his heels, kneeling. His quads stretched, flexed, the four individual muscles formed hills and valleys up his legs. Your eyes trailed up from his knees, slowly, frightened to see too much at once. Then you saw the second tattoo, right next to his--

 “Oh my,” you cleared your throat, averted your gaze, well, tried to. You felt your face catch fire, but the stiff cock stood up against the taut muscle of his abs. Everything about him was rock solid.

 “Like what you see?” he teased, an overwhelmingly large hand wrapped around the base. You swore he was not this massive laying down on your table a few moments ago. You swallowed, scolded yourself mentally for not looking away, eyes devouring his third leg, and the dragon tattoo next to it. He moved the dick to the left, the skin of his groin pulling flat so the tattoo stands out: black, intricate, dangerous. It stretched across his upper thigh, right below the line of where his hero costume would rest. You opened your mouth to remark, shut it, then opened it again. Fuck.

 “It’s, uh, nice,” you complimented, finally ripping your stare from his bare hips and up to his face, “the tattoo, I mean.”

 His red eyes glinted mischievously, his grin lopsided, teeth sharp.

 “And the cock?”

 “Big.” The words flew from your mouth, your hands instantly covered your lips. You could be swallowed by the earth now and have no complaints. “Shit, sorry.”

There it was, that deep, boisterous laughter. It made your core clench, a fresh wave of heat pool between your thighs. You watched as his chest shook, abdominals flexing and cock bounce. He laughed with his entire body. Does he fuck with it too? You took a few deep breaths, steadied your nerves. There was always a first for everything, and Lord knows, you’re not going to let him book another appointment when his hour is up. You glanced at the clock, there’s still some time. Kirishima’s eyes were closed, his mouth open and head back.

“How about I help you take care of it?” you propositioned. It shut him up quick. His jaw snapped shut, body frozen as he peered at your serious expression, your relaxed stance. You had a perfectly manicured hand on the edge of the bed, leaning into it, glistening with massage oil.

 “If you think you can handle it,” he smirked.

 “Oh, I can handle anything, Red Riot.”

 He red eyes flickered, lit by an internal fire. You rounded the bed, trailing your hands on the edge. He moved to seated, legs hanging off the side. With the lightest of touches, your fingers tips ghosted over the thick thigh. They widened, and you slotted yourself between his knees. There was no time to waste; his hands cupped your cheeks, yours pressed onto his knees, and your mouths met in a hungry kiss.

 His tasted like spices, sandalwood, warm and inviting. His hands drifted lower, down your neck, to the front of your uniform where he began to undo the aestheticians’ coat buttons with deft fingers. You rubbed circles into the muscles of his quads, feeling them ripple beneath your touch as you stroked up, leaning into the kiss with your entire body. You felt the coat loosen. You took a step back, a whine leaving Kirishima’s mouth desperately. The coat is strewn onto the floor. You grabbed the hem of your simple dress and tug it over your head, standing before him in a matching set of underwear. Thankfully.

 “C’mere,” he growled, pulling you close again. His large hands wrapped around your middle, the sheer size of them making you feel petite, dainty, but oh, how you were not. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulled him down for another kiss. He tightened his grip, keeping you flush against his chest and straightening up. You followed, leveraging your weight around his neck, not that you needed to, and straddled his thighs. Fuck, how wide is he? 

 You moaned, lowly, under your breath, when you felt the hardness of his cock slide between your bodies, bump against your mound, tickle your belly. You were getting hot, sweaty, the oil on his body, your hands, slicking up the skin between the two of you. There was a pounding in your chest, your ears, your cunt, as you grind against him, splayed open around his hips. His thick fingers trailed from your waist down your ass, reaching under and pulling up. They massaged between your folds, feeling how your slick soaks through the thin cotton panties.

 “I need to get you ready,” he whispered against your lips, his kisses moving so that they littered your jaw, your neck. Still, you grind down on his hand, the tip barely providing enough relief. You eyed the clock over his shoulder.

 “No time, just fuck me.”

 He pulled back, remarkably restrained for someone who’s cock was practically ready to burst between your bodies.

 “Are you sure?”

 “Yes.”

 “Alright then, but don’t scream.” The cocky bastard winked at you, then had the audacity to rip the seam of your underwear, the side falling apart and down. His lips came back to swallow your cries. It was a fucking matching set. He shifted back so that he was more on the table. Your shins pressed into the firm mattress to lift your hips. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your neck, warm and moist and gravitational. It kept you grounded into his kiss, his tongue coaxing yours from it’s resting place to dance together. His other hand trailed up your thighs, dipped between the gap, and rubbed two fingers against your slick slit, opening it up for the tip of his cock to tease your lower lips.

 He pressed in, and you severely underestimated the stretch, collapsing onto his shoulder. His trap was between your teeth, muffling your moans. Oh God, fuckfuckfuck, but it’s delicious. You breathed through your nose, relaxed into that weighted palm, leaving the smallest of pecks where you almost broke the skin in your bite. Almost.

 “You’re doing good, baby,” Kirishima whispered into your ear, dropping you lower. Your thighs quivered from being spread so thinly around his waist. But his praise spurred you on.

 “Look at you, taking my cock so well, we’re halfway now, just relax.”

 Hold up.

 You pulled back from his shoulder and looked down. Bitch, he’s not going to fit. He must’ve seen the expression of horror on your face, because he smiled, lips smug, eyes like an inferno as he chided you.

“I thought you said you can handle anything.”

 You can. So, you ground yourself a little further down, feeling how his silken cock filled your so completely.

 “That’s it, keep going beautiful.”

 The tip of his cock tapped your cervix, and your eyes almost rolled into another dimension. You stayed like that for a minute, then two. Kirishima felt how your walls clenched around him, wanting to swallow all of him, more than you physically could. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, his arms around your waist, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. 

He began to bounce you. The pressure in your womb climbed up, coming out in short ragged breaths against his chest. You were like his little plaything, controlled by his hands alone. You whimpered, feeling fire and ice pour into you from his palms and his cock; opposite ends of a spectrum meeting in the middle to explode sinfully in your body. Your fingers clawed at his body, massaging his back, his waist, before it found that gap between your bodies and pressed against your clit.

You’ve been so good at hiding your moans. Until now. The whimpers left your throat desperately. You clenched around him, pulled him in deeper, tighter, and he spiralled into you --no, he twisted you. He’d found his footing on the floor, and spun you both around so that your back pressed into the table and he could now fuck you with more power, more leverage, with his entire body. Fingers clamped around your jaw, two pushed inside to shut you up, the other massaged a breast, your nipples, tugging and pulling until you were biting those sinful fingers.

He thrusted into you, hips snapping, breaking your inner walls down so your emotions broke free into the room. It filled with energy so raw, so powerful. You had no idea where your hands were. At some point, they were in your hair, then his forearms, gripping them so fiercely, even he thought he’d snap. Your practised fingers could leave bruises on most men. But not Kirishima. His cock hit that perfect spot inside you each and every fucking time. You sucked down his digits, somehow you were not done being filled, but you were close, so so close.

 “Red Riot,” you mumbled around his fingers, all thoughts had already cleared out of your head, but he seemed to understand. The hand that massaged your breast flicked tight, quick circles against your throbbing clit. His pounding was getting sloppy, mistimed, and you broke down in pieces. A part of your soul escaped, latched onto his as you both died a small death. Yours unseen, black and ascending to the heavens, while his left warm, wet traces across your stomach.

 His fat cock throbbed as it rested against your mound, spent, once more soft. His fingers slipped from your slack jaw, his head bowed forward as both your chests heaved from the exertion.

 “Wow,” you managed to say after several seconds, your high subsiding into a gentle hum. Then, what you just did hit you like a train, your torso shooting up, cum dribbling down onto the table and between your legs. You fucked a Pro-Hero at work. A smile split your face in two.

 And honestly? No regrets.

-----

You open an eye, peering at the alarm clock next on the side table. It shows 5:30 am and you almost have a heart attack. If he’s only getting to bed now… you sigh, shutting your eyes to will yourself to sleep further. However, Kenma has other plans. Replacing his breath are his lips, kissing you so tenderly that you’re unsure if it’s a conscious decision of his, or if his body is on autopilot from testing out various video games for work.

It’s the former. You feel a hard muscle press against your lower back, tucking itself between the fold of your ass delicately, as if not to rouse you from sleep. You decide to play the game a little longer, inhaling deeply, stretching your neck out for him to suckle at more skin. You even moan softly, pretending to be asleep to see how far he’d go. Lithe fingers ghost down your arms beneath the covers, over your stomach and the tops of your thighs, until they gingerly touch down on the thin cotton shorts, neither pulling them down or pushing them up. To say you weren’t incredibly turned on would be a lie, the thought that he would take advantage of you like this has heat pooling between your legs until you’re certain that you’ve soaked through your pyjama’s.

He thrusts slowly, rutting against the valley of your ass, the moans in his throat coming out in short, low bursts. It tickles your ear, raises goosebumps along your biceps, and you almost join in. Almost. With a rustle that’s careful not to jostle you, Kenma tugs the waistband of his boxers down until you can feel his cock leaning against you, unfolding itself until the tip pokes at the save made by your thighs while lying on your side. His breath hitches, and you know he feels how wet you are, how easily his dick slips in between your thighs and rubs against some of your labia and the fabric of the shorts.

You part your legs, one knee falling past the other, only slightly, making it out as if you’re shifting in your sleep. He’s quick then, his cock landing against your opening with careful taps as he guides it past your tight hole. Maybe it’s how good you feel, wrapped around him, sucking him in deeper, but Kenma loses his self-control. His chest presses against your back, his chin tucking itself against your shoulder, his teeth nipping lightly at your neck as he nuzzles against you, cock slipping deeper into your pulsing walls.

“Kozume,” you moan, no longer trying to hide that you’re awake, but your voice still husky from sleep as your shift under his hold. He pauses, and you can feel how his heart drums, hittings your back with a force from adrenaline. “Don’t stop.”

Your green light is all it takes for him to sheathe himself in fully, hissing in your ear at the way you stretch around him.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers, trying not to break the early morning silence.

“So do you,” you counter, grinding back with each shallow thrust of his hips.

It doesn’t take long to come undone, especially when a skilled hand drifts to your clit, the friction amplified with your slick. Kenma whispers how tight you are, how beautiful, how much of a good girl you are for him, his words coaxing you from your body and into his palms as he flicks quick circles to your sensitive bud. The arm he’s laying on stretches up, grabbing your hair to tug your head back and against him. The slap of your hips beneath the sheets, the squelch of your slick cunt, it’s battle music that builds you both to a crescendo, until it bursts and you spin dizzily into him and he spills into you.

When you’re both coming down, and his softening cock slips from your welcoming taint, his forehead leans against your shoulder blade. You turn in his hold, hooking a leg over his hips to press quick kisses to his chest.

“Mmm, good morning to you too,” you mumble into him, stroking the black and bleached blonde hair from his face to peer up at his tired yet blissful face. He smiles down at you, embarrassed.

 You don’t say no, you can’t say no. You’ve seen his rowdy volleyball teammates. It’s actually one of the things he said he liked about you, during those rare moments where the silence after the sex was soft and serene instead of hard with pounding hearts. He needs it just as much as you. It’s one of the few times you get to see Iwaizumi without his brow furrowed in concentration.

 Tonight is a slow night, a quiet night. You sit on Iwaizumi’s lap, bare chests pressed together, your fingers wrapped in his soft, brown strands. His forearms wrap under your arms, hands splaying across your shoulder blades as you grind down. Sensually, sinfully, slowly, your hips circle around his thick girth. These moments don’t come often when his eyes are closed, head resting against the desk chair. It’s like he’s in a trance. His fingers trail lines, pinch, massage, into your skin. He plays instruments on your body as you twist him deeper out of his body and into yours. His mouth is slightly open, the softest pants kissing your jaw from his lips.

 He’s usually the one in charge, raw, animalist instinct taking over as he thrusts into you. There’s no thinking during the sex, for either of you. He fucks all thoughts out of your mind until all you know is him. However, now, with his legs trapped under yours, his balls nestled beneath your ass as you shift, he’s given himself up to the pleasure. There’s a build-up of periodic pressure as your sensitive bundle of nerves roll into his groin, winding you up deliciously slowly. He’s so beautiful when he’s relaxed.

“You feel really good,” he mutters, voice taking on a cadence that tells you he’s lost in the motion of your hips.

You massage down his scalp, to his neck, grind down a little harder. As his cock twitches, it tilts your hips forward, into him, a warning to slow down. Your hands wrap around his neck, thumbs pressing under his chin to tilt his head further up. The bone of his jaw is sharp, strong. Blunt nails scrape at your back as your fingers wander up to his face. One pushes his hair back gently, the others’ thumb swipes his bottom lip. The soft skin tingles against your fingerprint. His jaw lays perfectly in your palm, your thumb hooking the plump muscle. You never get to explore like this. It’s wondrous.

He clears his throat, one eyelid opening to peer down, scan your face. His pupil is hazy, unfocused, obviously too enthralled in the rolls of your hips to pay attention to much else. He shuts it seconds later, licking his lips, tasting your finger, shifting his hips on the chair.

 “Having fun?” he asks, voice breathy, stilling your hips when his hands drop to grab them. Those hands squeeze and pull, your body malleable under his touch.

 “Mm, yeah,” your thumb slides in to hook his cheek, pulling the skin wide. It’s so soft, so wet. He chuckles, fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull it away and backwards. Your head follows the motion until your lips connect with his.

 “Good.”

 You melt into the kiss, tasting toothpaste with each breath. You begin to grind again, aching to feel a build-up in your gut again, but he stops you, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the dips of your lower back.

 “Stop moving for a sec, I’m trying to think,” he says, withdrawing his lips, opening both eyes this time to peer into yours. He finds you pouting.

 “What are you thinking about?” you ask, playing with the tendrils on the nape of his neck. The hair wraps around the first joint of your fingers, tickling you, igniting the slightest shiver down his spine. His brow furrows, searching your face for something. What? You’re not sure.

 “Nothing.”

 “Aw, come on, tell me,” you try to convince, swivelling your hips once. He gives you a pointed stare. “You know I’m here to take your stress away, physically and mentally.”

 “Cute,” he snorts, playfully tapping your ass, “it’s about you.”

 Your fingers freeze. He makes some kind of huff, pressing back into your hands so you resume the teasing tugs, as though coaxing the thoughts from his brain. This conversation can go in multiple ways. You really hope he’s not about to tell you he loves you.

 “Have you ever thought about two at once?”

 That stumps you. If you weren’t impaled on his cock, you’d have fallen off his lap. Your hands drop to his shoulders to stabilise, ground your emotions before you can form words. Still reeling, you ask, “two what?”

 He thrusts up, jerking you around, tugging at that half wound up cord in your gut. You moan, digging into his muscles. God, he fits so snugly inside you, any movement from his hips is a shockwave.

 “Don’t be dumb,” he chides, but it’s with a smirk, knowing exactly the effect he has on you, inside you. When your heart calms, you place a kiss sweetly on his cheek, trailing it up to his ears.

 “I don’t think I can handle another cock when you’re inside me, Hajime.”

 The hands gripping your hips slide, his biceps flexing as he squeezes you tightly against his chest, standing up. He collapses on to the bed, your body trapped under his broad shoulders. A sly smile graces his lips as he knocks your knees apart to place himself between your legs. It makes you giddy, the thought of being fucked stupid coming up.