Monoma gives a small start as he feels a tap on his shoulder. He shifts around just enough to see Shinso behind him, looking sleep deprived as always. His bag is open in his lap with the contents looking thoroughly stirred up.
“Do you have an extra pen?” Shinso whispers, eyes darting to the front of the room where Present Mic is scrawling the day's lesson on the board, almost ready to start the third-year English class.
“Really? Again?” Monoma leans down and plunges his hand into his own bag. “Maybe all that sleep deprivation is catching up with you,” he adds with a chuckle, his fingers slip into the pouch that holds all of his writing implements.
Shinso’s control wraps over him like a second skin. There is only the slightest stutter in his movement as it goes from complete to barely there; settling down into the back of his brain.
Monoma curses silently. He could do it out loud if he wanted to, but then that would draw attention.
Monoma sits up, the pen in hand, and turns to look at Shinso.
“Thanks,” Shinso murmurs as Monoma hands over the pen. Despite his tired eyes, he gives him a small smile with just a touch of a teasing. “Don’t want to miss anything.”
Monoma says nothing, just glares as Mic moves away from the board. Behind Shinso, the rest of the room has grown quiet, ready for Mic to begin. Monoma can’t bring himself to stop glaring over his shoulder as he feels Shinso’s spiral of control sit at the base of his skull, wound tight and waiting to spindle down into his limbs.
“Pay attention,” Shinso mutters, just loud enough for Monoma to hear, and the little spiral flares out. Monoma turns fast enough that his neck cracks. Kendo gives him a side-look, one brow raised, but he does his best to shrug it off by cracking his neck in the other direction.
“Alright, kiddos,” Mic begins in English. “Let’s get started. Now—”
“How pent up are you today?” Shinso murmurs, his voice cutting through Mic’s. It’s no secret that Present Mic doesn't have the best hearing —years of dealing with his own screaming bounced back at him has taken its toll— but it’s a special skill to get away with talking in his class. He still hears high frequencies easily enough, leaving Shinso’s voice sinking down into an octave that only Monoma has the displeasure of hearing in class.
He’s half hard before Shinso even finishes the question.
“Tap your finger; one to ten.”
Monoma can’t stop from tapping out a six. Not the worst sense of need he’s ever had, but he’d had an oddly real dream just before his alarm, and while he had gotten off before classes, the quick release left him wanting.
“Already?” Shinso chuckles. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Monoma shifts, and he can see Kendo glance at him again, but with how quiet and low Shinso’s voice is, he knows she can’t hear him. She never does.
“Now!” Mic exclaims, and Monoma jerks his head up, doing his best to look like he has been paying attention. Sitting at the front of the class helps keep him from getting called on too much, but it's never really a problem, seeing as he usually knows the answer.
“Who wants to tell me how to conjugate this!?” Mic’s words rock through the room, snapping out the few snoozers in the back. Whoever’s name Mic calls barely registers in Monoma’s ears as Shinso leans a little closer, his breath tickling over the nape of his neck.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
Monoma taps twice on the desk; an affirmative response in the guise of concentration.
“Then I’m touching you now; just above your tailbone.”
The pressure is ghostly, but it’s there, and Monoma has to shift in his chair. Shinso offers no other description, so Monoma’s brain takes it and runs. He feels four fingers push into the base of his spine and rub; massaging into the muscle and making the skin dimple under invisible pads.
“Where do you want me to move them. Use your signals.”
His ‘signals’ are just about the tackiest things possible. Pen or pencil pointing up means up, the reverse is down, flat on the desk means left or right depending on the position of the point, and if he’s gripping it tight enough for it to snap it means just that; he’s not going to last.
The tip of the pen taps down because he has no choice but to tell Shinso where he wants it.
Shinso feigns a yawn behind him when Mic looks their way as Kuroiro writes on the board. He’s talking about how sentence structure works in the bastardization of the English language, explaining where Kuroiro got things right and wrong. Monoma doesn't hear a word of it.
“Slick enough for me to push in, aren’t you. Needy as always,” Shinso mutters, his voice barely covered by the scratching of his borrowed pen as he takes notes. “So easy to slip a finger inside.”
Monoma feels it; a pressure just inside the ring of muscle before it pushes past and into him. Monoma grips his pen tight, breathing through his nose as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on something that isn’t the steady beat of breathing against his back. Shinso’s leg bounces, making the legs of Monoma’s chair shudder just slightly due to the proximity, and it makes the ghost of the finger inside him that much worse.
He turns his eyes to the board, steadies himself and tries to focus in on what Mic is saying.
“What, need the second already?” Shinso asks as Monoma starts to write.
Monoma doesn’t even get to respond.
“I give it to you.” Shinso sounds somewhat board as he says it, though Monoma knows he’s probably grinning on the inside. The pressure of a second digit pushes against and then into his hole, making his muscles push and spread.
Monoma coughs to cover up his groan, bending to the side to get his water bottle and panting as he feels a shift inside him. There are no rules once Shinso seeds an idea, it’s all up to Monoma’s brain to interprate what happens next. Apparently, his minds has decided that Shinso is scissoring his fingers inside of him, and as his back bends, it sends the pads of non-existent fingers skittering deeper.
There is no worry about lube with this; his muscles doing all the work as his brain provides the scenario. His body ripples and flinches as it would if the fingers were really there, and the nerves are alight.
“You like it when I curl them, right?”
Two taps. He goes to take another drink in preparation to stifle a groan.
“Then let me give you a little pulse.”
Monoma knows what Shinso’s ‘little’ is first hand, and it isn’t little at all. He chokes on his water as his brain puts Shinso’s fingers digging upward; making the muscles of his stomach jump as they are stimulated from within. Kendo leans over from her chair, hand expanding so she can gently pat him on his back. It does wonders to help him swallow correctly but makes his insides jerk and twist.
“Careful,” Shinso mutters. “Don’t want Mic to know what’s going on. Do you want me moved to the back of the class?”
One tap; a no as he takes in little breaths and gives Kendo a thankful nod. She offers a concerned smile before she turns back to Mic.
“I didn’t think so.” Shinso’s pen scratches behind him, catching something Mic is saying. “There are three now.”
Monoma shudders and grips his desk with one hand as his toes curl and he is filled.
“Quiet now,” Shinso adds as the first bubble of a whine tries to climb out of Monoma's throat. It dies instantly. “And hold on. Don’t want you finishing too soon.”
The words translate easily enough, ‘You don’t cum until I say.’
Monoma would sob if he were allowed.
“Spreading you open is always so much fun. No matter how many times I do it, you’re as tight as the first time.” There is more scratching of notes behind him, and Monoma wishes Shinso would tell him to work. It would be easier to ignore what is happening inside him, but Shinso isn’t that kind; he leaves Monoma shaking, the pen in his hand about as useful as charcoal to an ape. He can press it to paper, make a few marks, but they mean nothing. Still, he tries. The English looks like nothing but a mess of childish scribbles. Fitting, seeing as he has the brain capacity of a three-year-old with how split his concentration is. Most of Monoma's mind is trying to curl around the pulse-point of control at the nape of his neck, trying to concentrate on the pressure there instead of that inside him.
“Should I put it in?”
Two quick taps become four, then six, and they keep multiplying.
Monoma hates how many times he doubles up the pattern for ‘yes’.
“Then out come the fingers,” Shinso tells him, and Monoma deflates as the pressure recedes. “And in I go.”
Monoma goes almost ramrod straight before he curls, coughing again to try and cover it up. He doesn’t make any noise, that’s still suppressed, but his body is under his control. Well, what little control he has left anyway.
“Are you okay?” Kendo hisses.
“Yeah, everything okay?” Shinso asks behind him, false concern in his voice. The question opens Monoma up to speak; a little loophole where before he had to be silent.
“F-fine,” he manages. “Something in my throat,” he gives her a small smile.
“You need to go over to Recovery Girl, kid?” Mic asks, walking around his desk to stand before Monoma’s. He has always enjoyed being at the front of the class, though he admits he’d very much prefer to be in the back right now, or the hall, or preferably on his bed with Shinso’s physical self instead of these damn ghosts touching all over him.
“No,” Shinso murmurs behind him.
“No,” Monoma mimics.
“Alright, but let me know if it gets worse.” Mic gives him a slightly worried look behind his glasses before he goes back to teaching.
Monoma nods and settles, though he can’t fully shift back his weight. Even if there is nothing actually there, only a trick of his brain and muscles, sitting back fully has him feeling spread and filled.
“That was close, wasn't it?” Shinso murmurs.
Two taps. He’s going to pin this fucker to the wall after class and—
“I start thrusting.”
Monoma’s lungs empty. There is nothing to cough with, to create a cover, and he is left breathless and staring down at a notebook page filled with the hieroglyphics of a brain long dead. It’s only job now is to acknowledge the neurons that are burning through his skin.
Behind him, Shinso chuckles.
“You feel so good, Neito.”
The whine dies in his chest because silence is still a command. He knows Shinso can't actually feel what's happening, but he can't help but picture how Shinso looks when it is him inside. It makes him cock pulse against his slacks, and he shifts, his hands balling into fists. The pen he holds creaks as Mic says something involving propositions.
“I love nibbling on your neck,” Shinso sighs.
And there they are, teeth in his skin pushing with the same pressure as a spider’s skitter.
“Should I leave a mark?”
“Want people to see it?”
Two more and Monoma hates that he wants that.
“Just below your right ear, and I use my teeth.”
Heat blooms as capillaries burst without actual contact. It will look more like a normal bruise, a rash, but Monoma knows what it is. Inside him, he feels the ghost of Shinso’s cock. It’s the right shape and size, spreading muscles in a rhythm he knows Shinso would set. It leaves his mouth dry as he tries to pull in breathes between numb lips.
“Okay, Monoma, kid, seriously,” Mic says, and Monoma looks up to find his teacher frowning at him. “I get not wanting to fall behind in class, but If you’re not feeling well, just let me know. You look like you’re burning up.”
“He’s kind of stubborn,” Shinso replies.
“Yeah, I get that,” Mic sighs. “Take him to Recovery Girl. I don't want to send him off on his own like that. Looks like he has a fever.”
“Yeah, not sure he can stand on his own,” Shinso agrees, then as a barely-there whisper, “Not when I ram his prostate.”
Monoma twitches and finds hands catching him as he topples sideways out of his chair.
“Yeeeeeeah. Get him down to the infirmary,” Mic says as Shinso helps him to his feet. “Kendo, as class Pres I expect ya to get them the notes.”
Monoma hears the words but doesn’t process them. Shinso’s hands are coals through his clothes as he is lifted and lead toward the door. He abasently hopes no one can see just how tight his pants are as he slumps against Shinso.
They’re almost there when Shinso speaks again, “I go harder.”
Monoma’s knees give out.
“Do you need help?” Kendo calls, her chair screeching as it is pushed back.
“I got him,” Shinso replies as he holds Monoma up with one arm and opens the door with the other. “Just make sure to take good notes.”
Kendo gives an indignant sound behind them because Monoma knows she does nothing but take notes during Mic’s class —her English is shit after all—, but he can’t voice that. He’s still supposed to be quiet.
Shinso closes the door behind them, one hand around Monoma’s waist, the other holding his arm over his shoulders.
“Can you feel me stroke your cock?”
A phantom hand is a sudden pressure over the head of Monoma’s dick. The direct question demands an answer, and he is barely able to reply with a strangled ‘yes’ before he is forced to move. They start out in the direction of the infirmary, but Shinso has them duck into the first men’s bathroom they come too. Shinso locks the door behind them without hesitation, and when the lock clicks, Monoma moves.
Shinso didn't say he can’t touch, and Monoma uses the loophole before he can take it way.
The slightest tang of copper fills his mouth as he kisses him more with teeth than anything else, but Shinso doesn’t fight it. He kisses him back with movements that are almost as needy as Monoma’s own. Monoma pushes up against him, having to raise himself up onto the balls of his feet to get to Shinso’s ear-lobe. He sucks it between his teeth as his hands tug at Shinso's uniform, fingers fighting between undoing and ripping off the buttons of his jacket and shirt. All through it, Monoma is still being filled and thrust into, his knees flickering back and forth between being solid bits of bone to trembling joints of jello.
Shinso’s hands work with Monoma’s, helping to hold him up when his knees have a weak moment before going back to the buttons between them. Monoma almost tears Shinso's open, and Shinso quickly helps him out of his.
With Shinsou's shirt open and Monoma's removed, their hands move down to one-another's groins. Shinso pops the button on Monoma’s pants easily but leaves the zipper up and Monoma straining in his underwear.
Monoma struggles with Shinso’s pants. Shinso’s hands scratching down his back is thoroughly distracting, along with the mouth on his neck; peppering it with small bites and kisses. None of them are hard enough to leave new marks, though Shinso does find the bruise behind Monoma’s ear, and Monoma grinds against him as Shinso adds depth to it. Monoma’s hands shake, the button keeps slipping, and Shinso finally takes some form of pity. He puts his hands over Monoma’s, helping them with the button, and hisses into Monoma’s ear when the zipper is roughly jerked down. Before Momona can get his hands on Shinso’s cock, though, Shinso pushes him back.
The whine is locked in Monoma's chest as he pleads up at him with his eyes. He wants to touch, needs to, and he knows Shinso is aware of this. Instead of taking pity on him, Shinso’s hands move between them, separating them. Monoma is left standing just a few inches away from him, body shaking as he tries to work past the ‘stop’ command. Shinso reaches up to grab his chin and angles his head down. Monoma is met with the sight of Shinso’s cock straining in his boxers.
“Suck it,” Shinso pants out between smiling lips.
Monoma’s knees give out without warning, forcing him to kneel. Both of his hands scramble to get Shinso’s pants down around his thighs, leaving red welts behind where his nails catch. The moment Shinso is free, his cock flush and heavy before Monoma, the command pushes Monoma to move forward. Monoma barely gets a breath in before he finds his mouth filled.
He almost takes Shinso to the base in that second but manages to stop. He wasn’t told how Shinso wants it, just that he needs to suck it. The small revenge is a delicious curl up his spine as Monoma sits with the head of Shinso’s cock on his tongue and gives the barest suckle; Shinso gives an annoyed groan.
Monoma turns his eyes up, defiant as he tries to breathe through his nose and feels the phantom cock inside him keep moving. He’s bordering on overstimulation now, his orgasm sitting on a precipice that is ever rising.
“Fuck,” Shinso bites as Monoma laps and suck at just the head between silent whimpers. He’s not going to go any deeper unless told; that, and breathing is a mild luxury now. Monoma’s brain is telling the phantom feelings inside him that he needs more and more to reach completion, even if Monoma consciously knows that it will be impossible to do so until Shinso tells him to orgasm. The ever building rhythm inside him has left Monoma just short of hyperventilating.
Fingers slither into his hair, and he hates how long they are. They remind him just how deep Shinso can get; physically and mentally.
“Are you doing alright?” Shinso pants.
Monoma taps twice against his hip.
“Remember how to get me to stop if you want me to?”
Monoma pinches him through the fabric of his slacks three times in quick succession.
“Good.” Shinso’s mouth twitches with a smirk, “Relax your throat.”
Monoma has no say as he feels the muscles relax and Shinso’s fingers tighten in his hair.
“You can make noise now.”
Why Shinso gives him the option when he just forces the sounds back down Monoma’s throat with his cock is beyond him, but it doesn't stop Monoma from trying. Tears spring to his eyes as Shinso pushes back into his mouth, following the curve of his neck as much as he can at this angle. It makes Monoma choke some, even with the command, but not enough that he can’t take it.
“G-get me nice and slick,” Shinso grits out.
The command kicks Monoma’s salivary glands into high gear, and he feels trickles of saliva push past his lips with each thrust.
“Good.” It’s more snarl than syllable. It barely registers between the pleasure gone pain in his spine and the lack of oxygen in his brain.
“Now.” Shinso pushes back into his throat, hands holding his head tight and still. Monoma looks up, his vision going to static along the edges. Both of his hands are fisted in the fabric bunched around Shinso's thighs.
The world bottoms out under Monoma. The only things that hold him up are the hands on his skull and the dick down his throat. The floor is gone, his bones are smoke, and if not for the cock blocking his airway, he’d be screaming.
He is left shuddering, eyes rolling, and Shinso is there to catch him when his nerves remember where his skin is and begin to slide back to where they belong.
“Good, good,” Shinso is saying, and Monoma’s not sure when his throat was cleared, but he can breath now. Thick, silent sobs wrack his ribcage as he is laid out on the bathroom floor. One hand pets over his forehead, slicking back his hair with his own sweat as the other shifts against his groin. It makes him shudder, feeling the sticky heat of his cum shifting around with the cloth. When it finally pulls away, he whimpers as cold air hits him.
“What’s your word?” Shinso asks as he gets Monoma's pants down around his thighs.
“Want to use it?” Shinso wraps an arm around Monoma's knees and pulls, settling both legs over one of his shoulders. Monoma closes his eyes, taking deep breathes as his brain processes that request. As he does, he hears something tear, and the frayed plastic sides of a torn lube packet tickles over his hole.
“No,” Monoma whispers.
His boneless legs are pushed back, bending him in half as Shinso shuffles forward on his knees. It’s the truth; he couldn’t lie even if he wanted to.
“Good,” Shinso hums. Cold lubricant glides over the cleft of his ass, and a finger pushes globs of it inside. He shudders and breathes heavily. The muscles of his body are already prepped thanks to the phantom touches from before and his orgasm; the lube is just to help the glide.
The finger disappears, and something thicker prods against his hole. “Unless you need to use your word, stay quiet for me.”
Monoma doesn’t have a choice as he is split open from Shinso’s spit- and lube-slicked dick. His voice catches in his chest as the nerves inside him light up, burning bright and hot as Shinso slides in with little resistance.
Both of Monoma’s hands scramble against the floor of the bathroom, catching between the tiles. Tears fall down his cheeks as Shinso grunts above him, holding his legs tight to his chest as he fucks into him. The sound is lewd, and Monoma knows both of them will have stains on their slacks when they finish. He’s too brain-dead to care.
“Doing s-so good, Neito,” Shinso pants above him. “Can you hold on a little more?”
Monoma nods with a jerk of his neck and slaps the floor twice.
“Good,” Shinso says, pushing a harsh kiss to his clothed leg. “I’m so fucking close.” His voice is quiet, barely audible above the slap of their skin. “You’re so good to me Neito. Listen to me so well.” One hand slides down to play against Monoma’s flaccid and cum slicked cock. Shinso squeezes gently, and if Monoma could scream, he would. Instead, he arches off the floor at the overstimulation.
“Cum for me one more time.” The words come out in a rush, Shinso’s breathing as erratic as his thrusts. Monoma does as he’s told, body going tight around Shinso as he is once again forced to see static and feels the slightest dribble of cum escape him; his insides throb. He feels screams settling into his lungs, pressing against his rib-cage as they demand to be released. Beneath it all, he feels Shinso shove in a few more times before he keeps his hips flush to Monoma’s backside. Heat shoots deep inside him, soothing frayed nerves as his brain starts to come down for a second time. The control at the base of his neck unwinds and slips away, leaving his mind feeling empty without a command to follow.
“Neito,” he hears as he blinks away tears. His body is nothing but raw nerves, and he sobs audibly as Shinso pulls out. “Shhh, hey.” Fingers pet over his face. “Did I go to hard?” Monoma finds worried indigo eyes looking down at him.
Monoma can’t find a voice to respond, which is probably for the best, seeing as he’s not sure how he feels about it yet. He had wanted it for sure, yes, but it'll be a bit until he can give any actual feedback.
Lips press to Monoma’s forehead, and they help sooth some of the tension from him as they move down over his nose and to his mouth. They linger there, a light pressure that is almost too much for his overworked nervous system.
“One second, I’ll be right back,” Shinso whispers as he gets up. Monoma reaches after him, but Shinso doesn’t go far. He pulls paper towels out of the dispenser, wets them, and quickly returns. The water is cold on Monoma’s skin, and he hisses as the paper is dragged lightly over his lower belly.
“Shhh, I’m sorry,” Shinso replies. “Just going to get the worst of it and then we’ll head back to the dorm and get you cleaned up.”
Monoma gives a little nod before he lets himself go boneless, shivering as the mess around his cock is cleaned up before Shinso moves on to the lube and what little cum has already leaked out of him.
“Come on, let’s get these back on,” Shinso says softly, referring to Monoma’s pants. He helps Monoma sit up and then stand. The wall keeps him up as Shinso pulls up his pants then works on getting his shirt back on him and closed.
“You did so well,” he murmurs, leaning in to push kisses up Monoma’s sternum before each button hides the flesh from the world. “Do you need my help to move?”
Monoma chuckles, the sound slightly broken, “Yes please.”
The control is complete this time, barely allowing any of Monoma through in comparison to the baseline from before. It is a balm to his nerves and leaves him standing easily against the wall as Shinso quickly buttons himself up.
“Come on,” Shinso says gently, moving Monoma to hold onto him as if he still needed Shinso to support him. “We’ll go get you cleaned up and changed and then go to Recovery Girl. We’ll tell her you threw up on the way to her and we needed to go get new clothes, alright?”
Shinso pushes a kiss to his temple as he reaches for the door.
“One more thing,” he adds as the lock clicks, and he grabs the handle. “When we get back to the dorms, you’re going to be good and let me take care of you. I don’t want you doing a damn thing on your own.”
Monoma shivers slightly as he nods; he doesn’t have a choice after all.
He doesn’t want one.