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Shouto doesn’t know why his shitty old man dragged him to this. He has classes the next morning, the inseam for these suit pants is a tad too short as it hasn’t been tailored since last year, and frankly, it’s strange. No one else brings their children to hero galas, whether or not they are child prodigies or hopeful heroes-in-training. Shouto’s pretty sure Endeavor just didn’t know who else to ask to be his plus-one.

His father tried to frame it as a potential learning experience—get noticed early so he can rise up the ranks faster, or some shit like that. Shouto doesn’t care. He tunes Endeavor and everyone else out, simply focusing on enjoying the food. It’s during some nobody’s speech that he excuses himself for the bathroom, needing to take a leak.

Shouto isn’t alone in there. He recognizes the pro-hero standing in front of one of the urinals right away. The Laundry Hero: Wash, is unfazed when Shouto goes up to the urinal beside his and starts peeing, even though there are a line of unclaimed urinals Shouto could have gone to. But Shouto chose the one right beside him for a reason.

He can hear the pro pissing but last Shouto checked, Wash is just a… washing machine. Well, almost. He’s obviously alive and has arms and legs and eyes, but Shouto can’t make sense of how he works. There’s all sorts of strange people in the world now, but usually their features, as inhuman as they are, are usually born of something organic. But a washing machine? What the fuck?

“Do you want a look?”

Shouto tears his gaze away, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. He didn’t intend to stare so obviously, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Sorry, I wondered how it works. With you being—” he pauses, staring at the grout between the tiles on the wall, trying to think of a way to phrase what he’s thinking. “—a washing machine.”

Wash doesn’t say anything at first, so Shouto drags his eyes away from the wall to glance at him, meeting the other’s beady eyes glowing from underneath his lid.

“I can show you,” Wash says, voice low, and if Shouto isn’t misinterpreting, promising. His voice has a somewhat echoey quality to it, deep and foreboding, and seems to come from somewhere inside the lid. Shouto squints, but he can’t make out any more of his face besides the eyes.

“You know,” Wash continues, “somewhere private.

Shouto remembers then that they’re in a public restroom, and he still has his dick out, and Wash’s eyes flicker down to his crotch before returning to Shouto’s eyes. Did he just—?

“Sure.”

Wash takes him all the way down the hallway outside the hotel conference room where the gala is being held until they find an empty meeting room. The door is unlocked and the lights out, but when they enter a motion sensor triggers a dim overhead light to turn on, leaving just enough for them not to bump into the conference table in the middle of the room.

“You wanna see it?” Wash asks, and when Shouto nods, he unzips his fly again and reaches in, pulling his cock out.

Or, that’s what Shouto assumes it is. It doesn’t look like any other dick he’s seen before. It looks sorta springy and stretchy, with an accordion fold to it, like the vent hose on the back of a dryer. But it’s definitely made of flesh and blood; it’s warm in Shouto’s hands when he touches it, and has a nice girth and heaviness to it. The head is tapered and the slit larger than on an average cock, and as he fondles it in his hands, a fat drop of precum forms at the tip and drips off to splat on the industrial carpet floor.

He gives it a squeeze and Wash moans. Shouto thinks the folds look kinda like ridges, and would probably feel good.

“You normally go around touching strangers’ dicks in dark rooms? You filthy boy… Wanna help clean it?” Wash puts a hand atop Shouto’s head and pushes lightly, encouraging him to drop to his knees.

Shouto does so like an obedient boy, and takes him into his mouth, licking the residual cum from the tip. It tastes like nothing. He takes more of the head into his mouth but can only get halfway before it’s hitting the back of his throat.

“I see this isn’t your first time. Take off your pants and hop on top of me, let me show you a trick.”

Then Wash closes his lid and Shouto can’t see his eyes anymore. He slowly rises to his feet, takes off his dress slacks and jumps up on top of him. He hears it before he feels anything—a quiet whirr, the gentle flow of water—but then the noise grows louder, and with it Wash begins to tremble, no, shake. He jostles rapidly back and forth as his inner drum spins, and the movement sends vibrations up the back of Shouto’s thighs and balls. His cock fills out as he sits and feels it, becoming more and more turned on not just from the sensation but from the very idea of fucking a goddamn household appliance.

When Shouto was younger he used to hump pillows because he was too afraid to use his hands, afraid of losing control and either burning or freezing his dick when he’d get too excited. So he’d wedge his cock between the couch cushions and fuck it, used to stick his dick in any hole-like shape he could find around the house. He did it so much that the mere thought of masturbating with objects his family would later use would make his dick stiff.

He doesn't do that anymore, doesn't have a need to, and while this is technically different, the ingrained arousing effect is still there. If Shouto closes his eyes he can pretend he’s at his house, naughtily sitting on the washer in the bathroom and hoping no one comes in and sees him playing with himself.

"That enough warm up for you, baby?" Wash asks. His voice is muffled by the closed lid, but Shouto can still make it out as he gradually brings his drum to halt. Shouto climbs off, legs unsteady and a little numb from all the vibrations. Wash opens his lid again to look at him.

"What else can you do," asks Shouto, and tries to put in as much seduction behind his tone as he's capable—which is to say, only slightly breathier than his normal monotone.

Wash pops open his front-loading door and pats the side of his cubed body. "Back that ass up, sweetie."

Shouto peers inside just for a second before shrugging to himself. Turns around and sits inside. Wash starts up a heavy wash cycle that massages Shouto’s taint, balls and asshole with warm water. It splashes and tickles, drips down the inside of his legs, soaking the carpet beneath them. He didn’t expect it to feel so good but somehow the directed and purposeful water flow feels like a really messy rimjob, and Shouto moans with it, pumping his cock.

He feels something thin creep along his crack and he jostles, alarmed, ready to leap out but one of Wash’s hands hold him steady.

“It’s ok, it’s just me, it’s one of my hoses.”

It pops past Shouto’s rim, sliding up his insides and spreading water and a thick, slippery substance. It fucks him like that for a little bit, Shouto writhing in the drum, until it exits and leaves him aching for more.

He falls to his knees trembling, and while bent over he feels the slick tapered head of Wash’s cock press to his prepped hole and begin to enter. It stretches him nicely, Shouto moans with each bit he takes in, but it never seems to end. Finally, Wash pauses.

“Got the tip in. Now for the rest.”

Shouto pants and looks back bewildered. That was only the tip?

But it turns out to be true, for when Wash starts pushing in more, the length becomes bumpy and ridged. Shouto’s asshole stretches and pulses over the intrusion, and his belly feels fuller with each added inch until he’s begging Wash to stop.

“How much is left?” he rasps. His own cock is leaking a steady drip-drip-drip of precum onto the carpet, the wet patch small in comparison to the mess they’ve already made from Wash’s drum.

“About half-way.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, sorry kid. No one can take me all the way, but we can do it like this.”

He takes the rest of his cock in his hand and begins to pull it in and out of Shouto’s ass, fucking it into him like a toy, barely moving his hips at all.

This is so strange, Shouto thinks, but it feels so good regardless that he lets himself go, spreads his knees as wide as they can go and perks his ass up, presenting himself as nothing but a hole for the other to use. He goes into a trance feeling his asshole fluttering around the constantly changing thickness. This is what it must feel like to use anal beads, he thinks. Then he starts to feel a tickle deep inside him, and warmth bleeding through his tummy.

“Are you coming already?” he asks.

“Not exactly.”

Is he peeing in him?

"What is that?" asks Shouto, tensing up. Not that he's opposed to piss…

"It's my pre-ejaculate," Wash explains casually, never stopping the movement of his weird hose dick. "I have a lot of it. This is gonna get messy. Hope you know how to take a load, kid."

Shouto huffs. He's taken loads before, this shouldn't be a big deal… But the way his tummy is already starting to feel heavy concerns him; this is no normal amount of precum, hell this feels more than even an actual load.

Wash pushes his cock into Shouto deeper and he feels it reach further into his body, still squirting a steady stream of cum. His body feels like it's being rearranged to hold it all, like his internal organs are swelling and getting squished. He looks down between his legs where his cock is still achingly hard, and sees a slight curve to how belly when Wash finally bottoms out.

"Guess someone can take it all." Wash sounds amused.

Shouto groans, and he barely has to touch his cock before it's spurting a vicious gush of jizz onto the thin carpet.

His knees have gone numb, the skin tender from rug burn, and he collapses onto his forearms, ass still poking into the air as Wash uses him as a cumdump. Just when Shouto thinks he can't possibly take any more, swears he can taste the cum in the back of his throat, the washing machine finishes.

The first several notes of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" play. The cheerful electronic melody sounds from inside Wash's lid, signalling the end of a wash cycle, and Shouto feels incredible warmth surge inside him. It leaks past his rim, running down his taint, the inside of his thighs. It feels so filthy good that Shouto fondles his softening cock as it happens, wishing he could have waited until now to come.

But Shouto doesn't get to enjoy the after effects for long. Wash starts to pull out, and just as Shouto feels the head tug free of his overworked rim, the door bursts open.

Endeavor stands in the doorway in his fancy suit, and his stupid fire beard roars to life at the sight of his son naked from the waist down.

"Shoutooo!" he calls like a warning, and instinctively Shouto jerks up at the noise.

And all of Wash's load comes flooding out of his asshole, splattering the floor in an obscene torrent, forming a thick gooey puddle between Shouto's legs. Endeavor glances at it exactly once, his normally unflappable, cold expression turning to horror for a blink before being schooled back.

For what feels like an eternity, father and son stare at each other unmoving, Shouto mentally preparing himself for the lashing he's gonna get later for this. Then Wash talks.

"I'm sorry, Endeavor-san. But your boy is too dirty even for me.” He seems not to notice the tense atmosphere. “Say, Shouto-kun, do you already know who you’re going to intern for next trimester?”

Shouto looks back at Wash. Endeavor was right—maybe coming here will turn out to be good for Shouto’s career after all.