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Hitoshi’s family never used to make a big deal out of Christmas. Yamada would usually insist on getting Kentakkī, then Hitoshi and Aizawa would crash on the couch, watching shitty, cliché Western Christmas movies until they both fell asleep.
But this year, they had Eri. And Eri wanted to celebrate Christmas, since those hero-course students had hyped it up so much. Yamada had been over the moon, decorating the entire house from top-to-bottom, dragging them all out to any festive fair he could find, and roping both Hitoshi and Aizawa into dressing up. Though Hitoshi had complained, being forced into an elf outfit hadn’t been so bad. It wasn’t like he was the only one — Aizawa had been forced into a Santa outfit, beard and all. He seemed less enthusiastic, but at least it had made Eri happy for the day.
Hitoshi had complained, however, when he and Aizawa had been forced to don their costumes in the middle of the night to set-out Eri’s presents from ‘Santa’. They both lacked enough sleep already, surely walking around in the middle of the night — arguably performing manual labour — wouldn’t help.
Now, though, Hitoshi doesn’t mind. But that might just be because Santa’s blowing him.
Honestly, truthfully… Hitoshi has no idea how he got into this situation. No idea how he found himself sprawled against the wall, the pants of his elf costume discarded as his adoptive father sucks his tiny dick like he’s trying to win something. They’ve been drinking, maybe. Warm sake? Mulled wine? Hitoshi’s head feels a little floaty, his cheeks and chest unbearably hot.
He’s not a home-wrecker, and Aizawa isn’t a cheater. At least, not when they’re sober. That’s Hitoshi’s only ray of hope; they’ve been drinking, this is just a drunken mistake. He’s been in enough homes to know who gets blamed when the parent fucks the foster kid, and it’s almost never the parent. But they’re drunk, so no one’s at fault, right? Hitoshi isn’t at fault.
Even if Aizawa is making him feel so fucking good.
He has a way with his tongue, curling it around Hitoshi’s dick, pressing against it when he sucks, rubbing it. Every time he does, Hitoshi’s thighs tremor, and his fingers curl tighter in dark hair and a Santa hat. He prays that he isn’t dirtying Aizawa’s fake beard with pussy-juices, though Aizawa is dutifully licking-up what he can, devouring him. Hitoshi’s convinced that he’s never felt this good in his life. Maybe he should be concerned that something so wrong feels so fucking addictive. He’ll feel concerned and guilty later — right now, he desperately tightens his fingers in Aizawa’s thick curls, trying to pull him closer as his dick throbs and his hole clenches around nothing but empty air.
“Fuck, Aizawa!” Hitoshi has to exert every ounce of willpower he has to keep his voice down to a low hiss of pleasure, even as his mouth opens on a silent moan, eyes rolling back.
Despite having an unbearably slutty pussy, Hitoshi doesn’t like vaginal penetration at all. Aizawa somehow seems to know this, because he’d brushed two fingers over his leaking hole, coating them with slick, before moving them lower. He teases Hitoshi’s asshole, before slowly easing one finger inside. Hitoshi chokes down a whine at the brief twinge of uncomfortableness, though it’s quickly replaced by sheer embarrassment as Aizawa’s finger easily slides inside his tight hole. He’s a teenage boy on hormones, sue him if his ass isn’t as loose as it should be! At least his restless nights of fucking himself on toys are finally paying off. Aizawa slides his finger in and out, and the dexterous fullness has Hitoshi seeing stars.
His dick twitches again, and Hitoshi has to bite his tongue and pray to stave off an orgasm. He doesn’t want this to end yet, doesn’t want to face a reality where Aizawa isn’t making him feel too good to function.
“Aizawa…” He doesn’t quite manage to muffle his whine this time, voice embarrassingly-needy as his thighs tremble at the dual sensation of getting his dick sucked whilst a thick finger explores his ass. His embarrassment only grows when Aizawa hums a laugh around his dick, ears flushing pink underneath the plastic elf ears he’d been forced into.
Aizawa pulls back, just a little, and Hitoshi whines again, though it’s stifled by Aizawa pressing his free hand over his mouth. It’s a good thing that he does, because Aizawa seemingly thinks that Hitoshi isn’t wrecked enough — he shoves a second finger inside Hitoshi, watching him squirm and arch away from the wall, his cry muffled against his palm. Hitoshi doesn’t even get a moment to adjust to the rough burn before Aizawa is fucking his fingers in and out, curling them into his insides, pleasure wracking his body and making him shake. It barely takes Aizawa three more thrusts of his fingers before Hitoshi’s legs are giving out, trembling and useless as he sobs into Aizawa’s palm, pussy aching and pulsing with the need to come.
But Aizawa is a cruel, vindictive man.
He holds Hitoshi against the wall, leaning forwards to suck his dick into his mouth as he ruthlessly fingers his asshole. The pleasure is just right, but also entirely too much. Perfect and overwhelming, confusing his poor pussy with the onslaught of stimulation.
“Aizawa!” Hitoshi gasps-out against Aizawa’s palm, eyes watering and threatening to roll back as his toes curl and his hands clench in dark hair. “‘Zawa, m’gonna— come, coming, m’cominggg!”
Finally, Aizawa takes pity on Hitoshi. His ruthless, toe-curling movements soften into something gentler and sweeter, easing Hitoshi through his orgasm. His pussy clenches around nothing, dick pulsing in Aizawa’s mouth, ass tightening around previously-rough fingers. It all makes Hitoshi feel weak and liquid-like, melting against the wall as pleasure burns in his core, shivering through his trembling body. He blinks, lazy and languid as he’s moved away from the wall, carefully deposited belly-down on the carpet, allowed to rest his head as his hips are dragged up. Aizawa’s hands spreading him open, squeezing his cheeks, doesn’t register. Nor does the sound of a comically-festive belt-buckle being opened. The only thing that reaches him, in the end, is the sound of Aizawa’s voice.
“Hitoshi, baby,” he murmurs, gruff as usual but inexplicably soft. “Are you with me? I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re unconscious, kid,”
Hitoshi blinks at the Christmas tree that looms over him, slowly taking-in the slight weight over his back, the hand stroking over his ass cheek, the thick, hot length resting over his twitching asshole. His pussy is dripping on the floor, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat coating his back. He feels gross, but the way that Aizawa’s speaking to him still sends a shiver up his spine, before it settles in his oversensitive dick. He’s still so fucking horny, despite the orgasm that took him out for a moment or two. What’s wrong with him? Is he that addicted to Aizawa already? Is this just how sex works?
A hand gently taps his cheek. “Toshi. Come back to me, baby.”
At that, Hitoshi manages to glance over his shoulder, cheeks warming at the arch of his back, his ass sticking up. Aizawa is knelt behind him, leaning over him very slightly. One hand is holding his weight, the other is kneading his ass cheek, pulling him open so that his mouth-watering cock has a place to rest. Hitoshi’s dick spasms, and he lets the most pathetic-sounding whimper escape his throat.
“Hi. With me, now?” Aizawa asks, dark eyes lightened with amusement and affection. Hitoshi can just see a smile underneath the fake beard, his Santa hat wonky on his head.
All Hitoshi manages is a weak ‘uh-huh’.
“Good,” Aizawa shifts on his knees, taking his cock in hand and rubbing the leaking tip against Hitoshi’s hole, smearing pre-cum over it. “I’m gonna fuck you, now. Okay, kid?”
Again, Hitoshi can only nod.
Then Aizawa is pushing in, cock barely slicked with pre-cum and what Hitoshi assumes is saliva. He doesn’t really have the mental capacity to ponder it, too busy arching his back further, clawing at the carpet as he chokes on a ragged moan. Aizawa is big and fat and sliding so deep inside Hitoshi’s ass, he must be carving extra space inside there. He wouldn’t be able to fit, otherwise, absolutely not. He shouldn’t be able to fit, anyway, what with how small Hitoshi is and how thick Aizawa is — but he’s making himself fit, despite the tight clench. He’s rocking his hips forwards with little thrusts that make Hitoshi drool, sinking his cock in inch-by-inch until Hitoshi is crying. Actually crying. His cheeks are ruddy and wet, throat tight with overwhelming pleasure. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this.
“Fuck,” Aizawa mutters under his breath, hand gripping Hitoshi’s hip as he hangs his head, his Santa hat flopping forwards, almost comically. “You’re tight. Haven’t you been using all those toys I found in your room?”
“Huh?” Hitoshi squeaks, then frowns just a little. “Wait, what were you doing in my room?”
Aizawa sucks in a harsh breath as he bottoms-out, stilling for a moment. “Hoovering. Your room’s disgusting, by the way. I had to order a carpet-cleaner off of Amazon to get rid of that stain by your bed,”
Hitoshi can only blink back at Aizawa — who’s seemingly chosen to start overtly acting like his adoptive father — before he scrunches up his nose, desperately trying to ignore the hot, heavy fullness in his ass. “Are you seriously talking about a carpet cleaner whilst your cock’s in my ass? Seriously?”
Aizawa shrugs, looking far more put-together than Hitoshi. “What? Carpet cleaners aren’t cheap, you know. Set me back a couple thousand yen, actually,”
“Pull-out right now,” Hitoshi huffs, even as he desperately clenches around Aizawa’s cock. “I’m not fucking some old man that talks about the prices of carpet cleaners— ohh fuck, oh my god!”
Aizawa had chosen to interrupt Hitoshi mid-complaint, sliding his cock out before slamming back inside hard enough to shove Hitoshi forwards, knees burning against the carpet. God, he feels so fucking massive, filling Hitoshi’s ass up, pressing against every sweet spot possible. And the angle, the position… it had only been one thrust, yet Hitoshi can feel his untouched pussy drooling down his quivering thighs. Even though he wants to scream for Aizawa, to show him how good he feels, he has to control himself, silence himself. It’s the middle of the night, and they’re on the living-room floor, where anyone can just walk in and see Hitoshi getting pounded in the ass by his adopted father. He has to be quiet.
Hitoshi’s resolution to be quiet goes out the window almost immediately as a loud wail is ripped out of his chest. In his defence, Aizawa had shoved his legs further apart, and was now jackhammering into his poor ass even deeper than Hitoshi thought possible. He’s almost certain that his abdomen is bulging with every thrust. He is certain that his dick is twitching like crazy, throbbing and aching to be touched. Even his hole is fluttering and clenching, trying to take a phantom cock. Hitoshi has to bite into his palm to stop himself from making any more possibly-incriminating noises.
“Fuck, you sound sweet,” Aizawa groans, voice rough and ragged as he keeps up the intense pace, fingers digging into Hitoshi’s hipbone, using it as leveridge to drag him back on his cock. It felt like he was trying to fuck Hitoshi’s soul out of him, pummelling his insides raw, pressing into something sensitive, something that made his dick jump every time it was hit.
There’s an aching pressure in Hitoshi’s pussy, coursing through him, tingling in his dick. It grows with every thrust, forces sounds out of him with every thrust, makes the pleasure that much sweeter with every thrust. It feels like he’s going to come, but… different. More intense. The build-up is almost scary, pleasure ripping through him in every way it can. His eyes have rolled back, mouth open as he pants-out gasps and whines, the pleasure growing and growing, until, finally—
“Santa?”
Hitoshi’s blood runs cold, just before he’s shoved forwards, underneath the tree. He has to choke-down a yell as Aizawa rams his cock deep inside his ass and stays there, stuffed inside — because that was Eri’s tired voice just now.
“Santa?” Hitoshi can hear Eri yawn, shuffling closer. “Is your elf okay?”
Silence, for just a moment, before Aizawa answers, voice lowered and gruff. “Er— yes, my elf is fine!” he says, clearly trying to inject some jolliness into his voice. “Absolutely fine! Santa’s just… helping him put something under the tree,”
Another pause. “Oh,” Eri mumbles. Then, the shifting of feet gets further away. “Night night, Santa. Night night elfy,”
Hitoshi waits under the tree with baited breath, ass squeezing Aizawa’s cock with nerves. A few moments pass with no movement, and Hitoshi almost worries that Aizawa’s second-guessing himself, or has realised how wrong this is. Just as Hitoshi opens his mouth to begin apologising and begging for Aizawa to keep this a shameful little secret, he’s dragged out from underneath the tree, strong arms wrapping around his waist and yanking him upright, against a firm chest, a fake beard tickling the back of his neck.
He’s bounced on Aizawa’s cock only twice before the pleasure-pressure overwhelms him and reduces him to a trembling, gasping mess as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. Hitoshi expects it to just hit him and go, but it does the very opposite — it stretches out, wringing out everything he has to offer as he squirts, wetness dirtying the floor and the velvety trousers of Aizawa’s costume.
“Holy fuck—!” Aizawa curses, hugging Hitoshi to him as he pumps his ass full of hot cum, groaning into the nape of his neck.
Admittedly, it takes Hitoshi a moment to remember which planet he’s on, blinking away the bursts of colour behind his eyelids. He’s slumped against Aizawa’s chest, sitting in his lap as his pussy drips and cum seeps out around the cock in his ass. His legs are quivering and weak, almost numb, and he’s panting like a racehorse. He can feel Aizawa’s heartbeat pounding against his back, ragged breaths leaving the man, his arms tight around Hitoshi’s waist. Ruined, the both of them. Ruined and disgusting. A homewrecker and a cheater. Adopted father and son. A teenager and a grown man. Santa and his elf. Disgusting.
Hitoshi doesn’t regret a thing.