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Published:
2019-04-02
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1/1
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Glitter Glazed Thot

Summary:

Monoma doesn't drag Shinsou out to clubs often, but sometimes he just wants to go out for a night on the town. Plus, he has a new quirk he wants to try out, though maybe he should have tested it first before using it in public.

Notes:

Written for Kae! My fellow MonoShin shipper who gives me way too many ideas.

I explain the quirk he nabbed in the end notes.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The club is packed to the walls with students enjoying the fact that their finals are over and done with; defeated just like another villain. At least, for the students who had decided to continue their schooling after their time training in High School. It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure, but being multifaceted makes it easier to market a hero, and it’s becoming more and more common for people to continue with their studies well after their introduction into the hero pool.

“That was worse than dealing with Aizawa after a three-day stakeout,” Shinsou sighs as he drops onto the bar stool.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Did history almost get you?” Monoma could sit on the empty stool next to Shinsou, the two open seats the whole reason they came to this end of the crowded bar, but he instead bounces his way up into Shinsou’s lap, forcing Shinsou to grab him around the waist or risk them both tumbling back into the crowd. It makes the low jeans Monoma’s wearing slide even lower, and the only reason they aren’t ejected for indecent exposure is thanks to the long, thin tank-top he had pulled on. It’s one of Shinsou’s work-out ones, and even with Monoma’s muscle, it hangs off his slimmer form.

“The hell?” Shinsou grunts as he tries to fix their position.

“What, you’ve been telling me to be more considerate. How much more considerate can I be? I'm making sure some poor patron has a seat after such a rough day.” He grins up at Shinsou, smile wide and as sharp as the well-manicured nails he drags through Shinsou’s hair. He makes sure to drag them against the scalp, and watches how Shinsou’s eyes fight not to flutter at the friction. They lose, and slide shut as Monoma keeps working his fingers into the indigo tangles.

“You’re impossible," Shinsou murmurs and is only heard over the music due to their proximity.

“Mwah?” Monoma asks in mock shock, fingers stopping in Shinsou’s hair before tangling down near the roots and subtly pulling. “How could you say such a thing?”

Shinsou opens his eyes just wide enough to give something akin to a glare.

“You’re buying the first round.”

“Of course, anything for my broke hero.” Monoma says it teasingly. It’s true that Shinsou makes a lot less as an underground hero; taking jobs that stay well out of the spotlight and therefore our of marketing’s reach. Still, it’s enough for him to get by, and it gives him time to work on his literature degree easily with the number of stakeouts he goes on; easy to take a book.

Monoma, on the other hand, has been growing in popularity almost as quickly as the Bakubrat and Brocoli-haired duo. All while working on his degrees for French, English, German, and Zulu; the foreign languages making him marketable outside of Japan in ways he has been planning since he was a child. It’s put plenty of money in his pocket, at least for the lifestyle of a college student who lives in a decent apartment. It also lets him spoil Shinsou, even if he has to frame it as if he isn’t.

Monoma raises his hand to flag down the bartender who barely bats an eye at the two men crammed into one seat. They start with shots; the ones that are on special. They taste like processed sugar and gasoline. Monoma buys them two more.

“For a wine-o, you really don’t give a shit about liquor do you,” Shinsou mutters before he takes the next shot.

“You don’t either.”

“Yeah, well, according to you I’m a heathen when it comes to my ‘culinary tastes’.”

“That’s because you are,” Monoma replies as he leans in and licks away a drop of the vibrant green liquid from Shinsou's lower lip. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?”

“Gonna need more than a couple of shots for that.”

It takes four shots and some sort of cherry flavored sake-bomb to get Shinsou out on the dancefloor. The amount of alcohol in such a short time leaves them both wavering slightly when they stand up, but both hide it quickly, and pretty darn easily. Being tipsy is about the same as being mildly concussed, and they’ve both dealt with that enough to know how to hold themselves.

Monoma holds onto Shinsou’s hand as he pulls him through the crowd. Clubbing isn’t something they usually do for fun —Shinsou too much of a homebody and Monoma not one for getting sloppy in public (at least not often)— but he has a quirk he wants to use. A little something he stole while on patrol the night before. Technically, he shouldn’t even have the quirk stored away in his genes, but it had been too interesting not to take.

They find their way through the crowd to a little patch on the side of the dancefloor, back near the hall that leads to bathrooms and locked back-offices. It puts them beneath the tangled light show that shimmers from the right of the stage, and Monoma couldn’t have planned it better. The lights dance over his exposed arms, upper chest, and shoulders; painting the pale flesh in neon. It turns the traces of cracked white on Shinsou’s old t-shirt into glowing stars and laces his legs with colors where it touches on the rips in his jeans.

Monoma grabs him by the belt-loops and pulls him in, grinding against him. He’s already got the start of an erection, and he knows exactly why; having Monoma squirming in his lap for the last half hour, fingers in his hair and nipping at his ears while they drank is all part of his plan.

Now he needs to start phase two.

He keeps them close for a little while; Shinsou’s hands shoved into the tight pockets over Monoma’s ass while Monoma holds his arms tight around Shinsou's neck. While they are dancing, it is only due to the technicality that clothing is present and they are still both on their own two feet. Take that away, and, well… Monoma groans as Shinsou rolls his hips, and the move screams more sex than samba.

Monoma forces himself back, pulling Shinsou’s hands off of him; turning the removal of limbs into a spin and twirl around the other as the lights grope them and the bass of the music penetrates their heartbeats.

He manages to get himself an arms-length away when he finally digs in and finds the quirk he’s been wanting to use for just under twenty-four hours. It prickles over him, sticky and warm in his bloodstream as it reaches up into his skin and paints it in a sheen of gold that glows in the lights of the club.

Shinsou stops moving, eyes wide in the dark; his pupils blown, though it’s clear that it’s not just because of the dim lighting. They trace over Monoma as he moves. Monoma drags up his shirt up to expose his belly and chest, making the golden flakes shimmer. He’s not sure if they are scales or a form of flaking flesh, but as he runs his hands over his new skin and makes it shift he groans. Monoma quickly pushes himself into Shinsou. He needs more friction, needs it everywhere.

"Where did you snag that one?” Shinsou asks, voice a little more breathy even if they aren’t ‘dancing’ nearly as hard anymore.

"Holding pen last night," Monoma purrs as he puts his hands on Shinsou. Shinsou drags his palms up Monoma’s bare arms, shifting the scales. Each touch makes Monoma's skin buzz with heat. Monoma would blame it on the club, but it’s an entirely different type of warmth; one that seeps through his nerves and down into his bones.

"How long can you hold it?" Shinsou pets his hands up and down Monoma, and it’s much more distracting than it should be. Monoma grins as he thinks that this must be what one of those sequined pillows feels like.

"It's a simple enough one, so I would say at least fifteen." `If I can focus that long. What the fuck?' He spreads his hands on Shinsou's shirt, feels the glitter of his gold-glazed skin catch and pinch against the fabric, and lets out a little groan.

Shinsou pauses his hands. Monoma responds without thinking, presses up against Shinsou and grinds against him. His whole body lights up as friction makes his skin shift under the cloth. He gives another groan as he rolls his hips against Shinsou and fists his hands tight into his shirt.
Shinsou goes still, startlingly so, and Monoma raises his eyes to find Shinsou looking down at him with a blank face.

Monoma grins. There are only certain times he uses that face; horny as fuck in public is one of them.

"The hell was that?" he asks, voice just loud enough that Monoma can hear him.

"I think there's more to this quirk than I thought." He pushes his hand further up Shinsou's back, under his shirt, and finds himself having to cling to him. He gives an open mouth moan against his collarbone as he grinds his whole body against him.

"Feels s-so good."

Shinsou's hands tighten on his upper arms as he tries to pry him off.

"Come on," he grumbles at him, trying to pull away.

Monoma whines, not wanting to leave the cramped proximity of the dance floor. All around him, he can feel the shifting of heat and air as people move.

“Why?” His whine is pitiful even to his ears. Why can’t they just stay here and touch one another? Dance and touch and maybe fuck. The table just a little ways off would work. It’s a good height; they’d have to get rid of the glasses and—

"We're going to go somewhere more private," Shinsou murmurs into his ear.

'Oh.'

“Lead the way,” Monoma purrs, fingers refusing to dislodge themselves from Shinsou, but it doesn’t slow them down. They pass through the small gaggle of dancers near the hallway and walk towards the bathrooms. Monoma’s heart leaps. The bathrooms? Really? How seedy could they get? Though the idea of being fucked in a stall while others heard him moaning did send skitters along his skin. Without a touch of friction, the scales shifted, and he groaned.

“What the hell did you snag?” Shinsou asks him.

“Mmmm, not sure,” he replies, voice slow, “But I like it.”

Shinsou rolls his eyes and keeps walking, not slowing as he goes by the men’s bathroom.

“Wait, where—”

“You’ll see.”

Shinsou pulls him down the hall, getting to a door that has the words Staff Only printed out on a piece of paper and left to flutter in the draft from the ever-straining airconditioner. They pause in front of the door.

“I love it when you get all mysterious,” Monoma hums as he slides one of his hands up the back of Shinsou’s shirt. Even just feeling the way the skin of his palm shifts is intoxicating, especially as it seems to suckle the very warm from Shinsou’s skin.

“Yeah, I hope you still feel that way if I get us thrown out.” He grabs the door handle and turns. The knob moves smoothly, and the hinges barely squeak as he pushes inside. Monoma follows, hand trying to stay attached to his skin as they enter the room.

“Does the staff even use this place?” Monoma asks, fingers raking through a bit of dust. It clings to the tips, turning them shimmering silver. He rubs them together, the dust granular against the skin and slipping between the shifting slats. Monoma groans, rubbing them together harder.

“Seriously, what did you grab?” Shinsou asks as he grabs him. The second he’s pushed against Shinsou’s body, it’s like having fireworks exploding against him. His sense of touch is assaulted, his legs become as useful as rubber, and he collapses against Shinsou as a groaning mess.

“Fuck,” he pants against him. “How does that guy stay like this all the time?” he whines.

“Regretting taking a quirk you knew nothing about?” Shinsou asks, his voice a dark chuckle as his hands dance over Monoma’s back and dig into his shoulder blades. Monoma pushes against him, trying to escape the pain and pleasure that races up and down his spine. It just forces him forward, causing the same sensation over his chest.

Monoma gasps, making Shinsou chuckle as he pushes closer against him.

“I’m guessing it’s a full body quirk.” He slides his hands down to grab at the tanktop, pulling it upward until Monoma lets him pull it off of him.

“Hnnnn,” is all Monoma manages to get out as he feels the very air of the room shift against his skin. He becomes a panting mess as Shinsou slides his hands around the tight band of his jeans to the button on the front. Monoma’s cock strains against the denim, and the button to his fly opens with the barest press. He bucks against the hand, but it doesn’t stay. Instead, Shinsou’s fingers become a skittering pressure as they dance over his crotch, pulling down the zipper and allowing his cock to spring out between the teeth.

“Figured you weren’t wearing anything under these,” Shinsou murmurs against Monoma’s cheek. His hand slides gently up the underside of his shaft, circling the head, and shifting the golden skin that moves beneath each touch.

Monoma whimpers and does his best to wiggle out of his jeans. They are much too tight, and already they feel damp. From sweat or pre-cum, he’s not sure, and he doesn’t care. He forces himself back from Shinsou just enough to start fighting with the tight denim and his shoes.

“Off, off, off,” he chants as he bangs against a shelf. The thud shudders up his body before it settles and the wall instead supports him. With Monoma's newfound stability, he flings away one of his shoes.

“Neito, what the hell are you doing?” Shinsou hisses as Monoma throws the other shoe as well before pushing the denim down and off.

“What does it look like?” he hisses back, his legs are aflame from the drag of the rough fabric on his skin.

“If we get caught—”

Monoma cuts him off by grabbing him by his shirt and tugging him forward. He kisses him, hard, grinding against him and feeling something slick dribble down the back of his balls, not that he’s paying much attention. He’s too intrigued by how it feels to grind his whole body against Shinsou’s.

“If we get caught, you’d better already be balls deep in me,” Monoma pants out.

Shinsou is panting as well, his hands tight on his hips, and Monoma swears he can feel Shinsou’s heartbeat through his palms.

“I don’t have lube.”

It’s not what Monoma wants to hear, and he almost shoves him away, but the second his hands spread over his shirt, Monoma is left shifting them up and down, feeling how the heels of his palms catch on the nipples beneath.

“It’s fine,” he gasps. “Please, just, I don’t know. Spit, cum, just use something.”

“I’ll jerk us off, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

Monoma gives out an annoyed snarl as he shoves his hand behind him.

“Then I’ll fucking do i—” he freezes, middle finger against his hole and eyes wide. “What the fuck?” he murmurs as he pulls his hand back. His finger is wet and glistening with something slick. He shifts, paying more attention to his backside, and realizes that the trickle he’s been feeling is not pre-cum. It’s not even coming from his cock, though that isn’t to say there isn’t a good amount of pre bubbling up from the slit.

“What?” Shinsou asks, voice touched with worry.

Monoma looks up at Shinsou with a grin. ‘This quirk just keeps giving and giving,’ Monoma thinks to himself as he moves back. Shinsou looks at him in confusion as Monoma pushes up against the wall, just to the side of one of the many shelves. He lifts one leg as high as he can, putting the sole of his foot onto a shelf to help him balance. Shinsou watches him as he holds his cock in one glittering gold hand, and snakes the other between his legs. It’s not the best angle to do this, but he makes it quite clear that he presses a lot more than just one finger into himself.

The sound he makes saturates the room, bouncing from the walls and over his flesh as he pumps two, and then quickly three fingers into himself. The muscle feels loose, like he’s already been worked open, and he uses it to his advantage. His fingers squelch as they move, and more of the strange slickness drips out of him as he moves them.

“What in the hell?” Shinsou asks as he comes forward, watching with wary eyes.

“N-not sure, but I like it.” Monoma keeps moving his fingers, spreading the inch or so he can get inside himself at the angle he’s at. Shinsou keeps watching, and Monoma enjoys the way his eyes rake down his body and over the hand fervently pushing into himself. He isn’t just getting pleasure from his sensitive hole, but also from the nerves of his fingers. Every part of him feels like a livewire, and all he wants is to feel Shinsou’s heat adding to the feedback loop.

He slips his fingers out, though it is hard to make himself stop. Still, Monoma needs to show Shinsou that it’s fine, and what better way than the curl a shining finger at him.

“Come here,” he breathes, and while Shinsou is hesitant at first, he does move forward. Monoma reaches down with his clean hand to undo the button of his pants before plunging the slick one into Shinsou's briefs. Shinsou gasps, hands flying up to brace on either side of Monoma’s body.

“What the fuck?” he gasps as Monoma strokes him.

“Feel good for you too?” he teases, voice wispy.

“S-shifting. I can feel your skin shift.” Shinsou bucks up into his hand. Monoma quickly jerks it back.

“I’ve got something better than my hand for you.” He pushes his back against the wall, his skin finding every divot and pockmark in the paint.

Whatever reserves Shinsou had, they are gone as he moves forward. He grabs under the knee of Monoma’s propped up leg, holding it up a little higher as Monoma grabs his shoulders.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, pushing his foot down into the shelf to raise himself. Shinsou helps him, grabbing Monoma's other leg and helping him wrap it around his waist. The shifting scales along his calf sing and Monoma almost brains himself as his head falls back.

“You okay?” Shinsou asks, the head of his cock settled just against Monoma’s hole.

Monoma’s response is to go boneless and slide down the wall. Both of them cry out as his body swallows up Shinsou with the barest amount of resistance. Monoma’s nails dig into Shinsou's shoulders, the leg not in Shinsou’s grasp wrapping tight around Shinsou’s waist.

“F-fuck,” Shinsou chokes as his hips move. Monoma’s body shifts up the wall, the scales moving with the press. His other hand grips tight to Monoma’s ass, cupping one cheek in a bruising grip that sends Monoma’s muscles rippling. They both cry out, and Shinsou thrusts up hard.

“What the hell, the fuck,” Shinsou pants, burrowing his face into Monoma’s neck as his hips move in a fast, uneven rhythm.

“H-harder,” Monoma stammers, body shaking from each frantic thrust. More of the strange slick slips from him, and he can hear it drip against the floor is sloppy splashes between Shinsou’s shoes.

“What is this?” Shinsou asks instead, though his body does as Monoma wants. Each thrust jolts Monoma upward with the sheer force of it, causing his back catch on the uneven wall. The friction makes it so Monoma can’t think of a way to respond, and he instead clings to Shinsou; his tongue lolls out, spit dripping down his chin much like the slick that spills from him, leaving sticky trails down his backside and over the legs of Shinsou’s pants.

“Hitoshi, m-more. Please. More.” His voice is a high mewl as Shinsou keeps moving in sporadic staccatos. Teeth find Monoma's throat and sink into the shimmering skin. Monoma chokes, and while Shinsou is only biting in one place, it feels like his whole throat is pinching shut. Each muscle constricts, contracting beneath his skin and making his eyes roll while a cry claws its way out of his throat.

“Neito, fuck, I—” Shinsou’s hips slow, but Monoma can’t tell if it’s due to how tight he’s become or because Shinsou has to. No matter which it is, it signals Shinsou’s own release as he buries himself as deep as he can and cums. A new core of heat fills Monoma as Shinsou spills into him, humping upward in shallow thrusts that force it even deeper.

Monoma’s head lolls off to the side, eyes attempting to learn what his optic nerve looks like as static sings through him. His please spikes into a sudden orgasm, forcing him to cum in spurts that are almost painful with how hard he releases. For a moment, his mind and body disconnect, held together only by the threads of nerves floating above his being. He hangs there on the precipice of pleasure before the climax falls, his body limp, and his skin shudders. The honey warmth of the quirk beneath is skin dissolves as he loses his hold. It fades in patches over his body, making him jerk and shudder as each oversensitive section fades back into the soft and scarred landscape of his skin. Against his throat, Shinsou pants, his hands still tight against his ass and thigh.

“Holy shit,” Monoma sighs, body boneless against Shinsou as he is held up, body crushed between his lover and the wall.

Shinsou doesn’t respond, just pants against his collarbone as they stand in the little room. Outside, down the hall, they can hear the dancefloor thumping.

“Hitoshi?” he asks, voice slightly slurred from orgasm and exhaustion.

“That, was insane,” Shinsou pants in response before he gently slides out of Monoma. Monoma whimpers at the sensation of pins and needles in his leg as Shinsou lowers it down and helps him undo the leg around his waist. It’s slightly cramped, despite how boneless the rest of Monoma feels, and Shinsou ends up having to help Monoma pull on his pants.

“You were like a fucking fountain,” Shinsou mutters as he goes to button himself up, the dark denim almost black where the slick had soaked into his clothes. Monoma can see splashes of it on his shoes.

“Mmmm, felt good,” he hums as he manages to get his shoes on.

“I figured. Now let’s get out of here before we get caught.”

Monoma holds out an arm to him expectantly. Shinsou rolls his eyes, but dutifully wraps his arm around Monoma’s waist.

There is no one in the hall when they exit, and no one seems to pay them any mind. At least, until they get on the dancefloor. Monoma can see dozens of eyes darting over to the two of them.

“I think they heard us,” Shinsou grumbles as they walk.

“How would they ha—” Monoma pauses, eyes drawn to the bright smears on Shinsou’s shirt, then down to the splotches of crazy patterns around his groin and soak down into this thighs. The colors shift from the ever moving black lights above them.

“What?” Shinsou looks down, and they come to a halt. “Oh for fuck sake…”

A crazy little giggle escapes Monoma, "You look like a glazed donut."

"Screw you," Shinsou growls as he tries to wipe at the vibrant stain. Doing so makes his hand glow.

"Wonder if you taste sweet?" Monoma asks as he takes Shinsou’s shining hand.

Shinsou glares as Monoma licks one glazed finger, and grins.

Notes:

The quirk that Monoma stole is one that produces different bodily reactions based on sensation. The gold scales can pick on up the slightest shifts in temperature, airflow, ect., making the quirk owner very sensitive. If the owner got too hot, the scales would flare to release heat and make him sweat; too cold, they lockdown.

Seeing as Monoma was boozed up and already horny when he turned on the quirk, it amplified those feelings. Because his body was turned on, and he is usually a bottom, the quirk's reaction was to produce a slick, lubricant like substance to keep his body from being damaged. If he were used to topping, the scales on his cock and balls would have locked down and made it easier to last longer.

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