Sometimes, Shouta wakes up and his entire body is on fire.

Chronic pain is what the doctors tell him. Leftover from all his past injuries and abuses, tragedies long past and gone. Pain that burns through his entire body from the moment he wakes up.

Luckily, Shinsou is there.
//a (hopefully) little thread that i wrote because im having a bad pain day and want someone to come take care of me. I feel like shouta would definitely have chronic pain issues after everything he’s been through. Heads up for pussy/trans shinsou i guess? Otherwise It Soft.
//there is a little bit of internalized ableism in this thread, mostly in the form of Shouta believing that he’s an inconvenience even though Hitoshi doesn’t think of him that way. Please note that a lot of this is taken from how /I/ feel when I’m in a state like this.
The pain sits heavily in his body, weighing him down, dragging him under the surface and holding him there, suffocating him. It hurts so much that he can barely breathe, that moving even enough to take a deep breaths burns his lungs.
When he wakes up, he can already hear Hitoshi in the bathroom, getting ready for school. The spot next to him is empty, cold. Shouta wants to reach out, wants to draw Hitoshi’s pillow close to his chest, wants to bury his nose in the pillowcase and breathe in his scent.
But it hurts too much.

So Shouta stays where he is, curled up on his side of the bed, his hands tucked into his chest, his one good leg bent at an awkward angle. He wants to move it, to pull his thigh against his stomach, knowing that’d be more comfortable, but he can’t.
Shouta waits, his bad eye pressed into his pillow, his good one staring enviously at the pillow on the other side of the bed. He can still see an indent where Hitoshi’s head was. If he was just a little better he could hug it tight and bury the rest of his pain in it.
But he can’t, and that’s the worst part, because it’s right there, smelling of Hitoshi, with Hitoshi’s warmth lingering on it. Soft and squishy and almost—almost—as good as the real thing.

There’s a strong surge of jealousy, and Shouta isn’t sure who he’s directed at.
Normal people, maybe, he thinks. Normal people who can wake up after their partners and can take the few sleepy minutes in the morning to hold their pillow and blankets close to their chest and just breathe them in. Do those people have any idea what they take for granted?
Or maybe he’s just jealous of that side of the bed.

Which seems silly because it’s inanimate.

But still, Shouta glares at the empty space enviously, like he can scare the bed into giving him the pillow just like he scares his students into behaving.

Notably, it doesn’t work.
The bed doesn’t cough up the pillow and Shouta is stuck, unable to get to it. He thinks, for a moment, about calling out to Hitoshi in the bathroom, just to ask him to maybe move the pillow over a little, but he doesn’t, because he hears the water’s running.
Hitoshi’s in the middle of getting ready for school. Brushing his teeth, from the sound of it. Shouta doesn’t want to interrupt. Hitoshi deserves some alone time in the mornings. Time where he’s not having to help Shouta with everything he needs.
Shouta knows the pillow thing is just a coping mechanism.

Something to be angry at rather than angry at his own body.
Something that can be fixed. Something that’s tangible. Something he can see and feel, instead of this invisible pain that takes over his entire body and suffocates him.

But fuck, he really wants that damn pillow.
He tries to take a deep breath, feeling the nausea swirling in his stomach as the pain rocks through his body. It makes him want to roll over and hurl over the side of the bed, but he can’t, can’t even think about moving that much, so he tries to swallow the lump in his throat.
Footsteps in the bathroom.

Some of the nausea fades, giving way to hope.

Shouta tries not to get his hopes up too much, reminding himself that Hitoshi needs solitude time. But he still hopes. Still stares at that pillow.
Still tries to ignore the aches that blanket his entire body, the fog that clouds his mind underneath all the pain, preventing him from thinking rationally and logically.

There’s an itch in his leg—the leg that doesn’t exist anymore—and it’s driving him fucking crazy.
The door to the master bathroom opens.

Hitoshi sweeps out, humming quietly to himself, a small smile on his face. Guilt hits Shouta immediately; he can tell Hitoshi’s having a good morning.
His hair is damp, some of it hanging over his face. He has his uniform on and he’s switched to the spring uniform, the short sleeves showing off his arms. Shouta will have to get him a new uniform soon—his thighs are starting to bulge in his pants, marking that it’s too small.
Hitoshi’s gotten cuter over the time that he’s lived with Shouta.

He’s gotten a little rounder, his cheeks and face filling out. He’s not dangerously skinny anymore, and he’s got a cute little stomach that Shouta likes to rest his head on.
Admiring him always calms the pain a little, always helps the itch, gives him something to focus on other than the invisible pain that no one else can see or feel. He’s a good distraction—and he provides a lot of even better distractions.
Shouta’s lucky to have such a cute boy living with him. A cute boy who sleeps in Shouta’s bed and cuddles him and lets him fuck his sweet little pussy until he can’t walk.

Shouta’s a lucky man, and it’s days like these where he has to remind himself of that.
“Good morning, Sensei,” Hitoshi tells him, turning his violet eyes to him, his smile twitching wider at seeing Shouta awake. He glances down at himself, then laughs quietly, “I think I need a bigger uniform.”
Shouta would usually sit up at that, would return a small laugh, would run his hands down Hitoshi’s body and feel all the parts of him that have filled out since taking him in. But it hurts to even smile—and Shouta tries.
Hitoshi’s grin falters at seeing Shouta’s shaky expression. He can’t keep the pain off his face and his smile turns into a cringe as he feels his entire body try to curl in on itself even further. His legs hurt the most, aching and burning, even the parts that aren’t there.
“Sensei,” Hitoshi says, his voice a little gentler. He sits on the bed, in his empty spot, and reaches over, laying a hand on Shouta’s shoulder. His touch burns initially and Shouta grits his teeth, but it soon subsides into Hitoshi’s unique brand of warmth.
“Bad morning?” Hitoshi asks, and that’s how he always says it.

Never ‘bad day?’, always ‘bad morning?’, ‘bad afternoon?’, ‘bad night?’.

Almost like Hitoshi doesn’t want Shouta’s entire day to be ruined by the pain.
“Yeah,” Shouta manages. His fingers flex against his chest, wanting so badly to reach out and hold Hitoshi. He swallows hard, trying to force down the nausea that the pain creates, “Could you hand me your pillow?”

He’s going to get that damn pillow even if it kills him.
Hitoshi automatically reaches for his pillow, and he gets as far as starting to pull it towards Shouta before he apparently thinks of something else and stops, “I’ve got a better idea.”

“You?” Shouta guesses. Hopes.
Hitoshi nods, smiling again. It’s an easy smile, one that Shouta didn’t see very often before he moved in here. Shouta lets out a sigh of relief, tries to open himself up to Hitoshi but then comes the caveat.

“You have to drink some water and take your medication first, though.”
That sigh turns into a huff of exasperation. If he had it in him, he would glare at Hitoshi, maybe even activate his quirk to scare him more. Hitoshi’s nearly immune to Shouta’s half-hearted intimidation, though, and he doesn’t have the energy for it right now.
“Fine.”

Hitoshi smiles wider. He reaches out and runs a hand through Shouta’s hair, gently and softly, fingers just barely ghosting over Shouta’s burning skin, “Good boy.”
There’s a surge of warmth at the compliment, momentarily distracting Shouta from his own body. But it’s back quick, the ache in his legs returning soon, the itch burning at his insides.
Hitoshi leaves, and Shouta listens to him in the kitchen. Water runs, the fridge opens, pills rattle around. Shouta waits, listening, glaring at that pillow and wishing Hitoshi had given it to him before leaving.
Hitoshi returns soon, though, carrying a glass of pinkish liquid and pills.

“Watered down juice,” Hitoshi explains as he sits on the bed, setting both on his bedside table as he looks over Shouta. “Just how you like it.”

“Thank you,” is all Shouta can say.
Hitoshi smiles. Smiles like this isn’t a huge inconvenience. Smiles like he doesn’t mind doing this at all. Smiles like this is just another part of his life. Of their lives.

“I’m going to help you sit up a little,” Hitoshi explains. “You can lay back down after you drink.”
Shouta doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Hitoshi moves carefully, deliberately. He slips his hands under Shouta’s arms, brings him close against his body. Shouta groans, the pain coursing through him, and Hitoshi apologizes under his breath.
“It’s okay,” Hitoshi assures him, his strong muscles working to pull Shouta’s body up. Shouta can feel just how strong he’s gotten from the way he helps him sit up. He moves Shouta, using his legs to maneuver Shouta’s own.
Shouta gives a sigh of relief when Hitoshi’s thigh nudges Shouta’s awkwardly placed leg, finally guiding it further down, stretching it out. Shouta’s wrapped around Hitoshi now, dead weight and completely reliant on him.
Hitoshi doesn’t have a problem with it, though; his movements are steady and smooth, like he’s done this a million times. He slowly guides Shouta up, up into his arms, and Hitoshi holds onto him tight as Shouta leans all his body weight on him.
“There,” Hitoshi sounds triumphant and Shouta settles into his new position. His back burns, aching with the pressure of sitting up, feeling all the weight from his top half settle on his spine. His legs are better though, his full leg stretched out, his half leg against Hitoshi.
“Open up,” Hitoshi tells him.

Shouta raises an eyebrow, “And if I don’t?”

He’s completely joking. They both know that. Shouta would do whatever Hitoshi asked of him.

He just wants Hitoshi to know that his personality isn’t completely gone.
“Hm, well I guess I won’t be able to cuddle with you then,” Hitoshi gives another easy smile at Shouta’s dry joke. “Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?”

Shouta pretends to think this over.

“I suppose so.”

Hitoshi could get him to do anything under the threat of taking cuddling away.
Shouta obediently opens his mouth. Hitoshi’s smile grows and that’s all the praise Shouta needs. He keeps an arm steady around Shouta, reaching over to pick up the pills from the bedside table.
He carefully reaches into Shouta’s mouth, setting the pills on the back of his tongue. Shouta stays still as Hitoshi gets the juice, placing the rim of the cup against Shouta’s lips and giving him a moment to adjust before tipping it back into Shouta’s mouth.
Sweet, watered-down liquid fills his mouth and suddenly, Shouta realizes how parched he is, how dehydrated he probably is. He swallows down greedily, drinking down the entire glass in a few gulps, washing the pills down along with it.
“Do you want more?” Hitoshi asks him earnestly when the glass is empty. And Shouta does, but there’s something he wants even more.

“I want you,” He answers genuinely.
Hitoshi laughs and sets the glass onto the table. His arms are around him, then, both of them, and Hitoshi’s legs wrap around his thighs. Together, they slowly slide back down onto the bed, until Shouta is nice and stretched out and laying down with Hitoshi wrapped around him.
Hitoshi arranges them carefully. He guides Shouta’s arms around him, pulling them around his neck and against his chest. He pushes Shouta’s good leg down, stretching it out, pulls his half leg in between his own thighs. Shouta fights through the pain, letting him.
The pain is still there. The brain fog still blankets his mind, making it impossible for him to think, but he doesn’t have to when he’s wrapped around Hitoshi like this. Hitoshi’s body is against him, warm and solid and there and supporting him—and Shouta feels better.
He strokes his fingers over Hitoshi’s chest. He can’t really move his hand, but at least he can move his fingers.

He wonders if Hitoshi intentionally put his hand over one of his sensitive nipples.

He sort of hopes so.
“Better,” Shouta decides. Under the brain fog, part of him wonders what time it is, how much longer they have until it’s school time. He doesn’t want to know, though. He wants to lay here like this until the pain passes, until it’s truly all better.
“Good,” Hitoshi leans in, pressing his warm, soft lips against Shouta’s head. “So…”

Shouta’s heart beats hard in his chest.

“...Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Yeah,” Shouta’s lips curl up and this time he’s able to actually smile. He looks up at Hitoshi with his one good eye, making a show out of batting his eyelashes at him. “Take your clothes off.”

He’s mostly joking.

Mostly.
“Oh,” Hitoshi’s face goes red, but his voice doesn’t waver. “You want me in that way.”

“Maybe,” Shouta tells him, even though the answer is yes. Very much yes. His fingers stroke over Hitoshi’s nipple through his white shirt.
“Getting off helps,” Shouta adds, even though they both already know. Hitoshi’s been helping him through episodes for months. He never seems to mind helping Shouta through orgasms when he’s like this.
Sometimes, Shouta wonders if he does mind. If he does think Shouta’s an inconvenience. If he’s upset that he moved in with him just to find out that Shouta’s a broken man with current and past injuries and traumas.

But then Hitoshi smiles at him, and it’s all better.
“I guess we’ll have to make sure you feel good, then,” Hitoshi says in a low, amused tone.

“You, too,” Shouta says quick. “You need to feel good, too.”

Hitoshi tips his pretty head back and laughs, like that’s the most ridiculous thing Shouta could possibly say. “I always do.”
Shouta lets him move again. Hitoshi hums to himself, picking up on the tune he’d been humming earlier. Like this, Shouta can almost believe that he hasn’t ruined Hitoshi’s happy morning. He wants to believe it so bad.
Hitoshi pulls away a little, just to undo the tie around his neck and start on the buttons on his shirt. It doesn’t take long for Shouta to realize that Hitoshi’s giving him a little show, intentionally going slow, revealing his skin inch by inch.
Shouta’s good eye hungrily roams over his chest as the buttons come undone. Hitoshi’s roundness isn’t just in his cheeks and thighs—Shouta swears his chest has gotten bigger since he’s moved in, like Hitoshi ‘s body is finally flourishing now that he’s in a safe place.
His perky little tits are one of Shouta’s favorite things about him.

Along with his cute lips, his bright violet eyes, his fluffy hair, his thick arms, his round tummy, his strong thighs…

Well, Shouta’s favorite thing about Hitoshi is all of him, now that he thinks about it.
Still, his perky tits are cute. Hitoshi gets embarrassed whenever he talks about them, blushing bright red and averting his violet eyes. But he loves having them played with, and Shouta absolutely loves playing with them.
Maybe that’s why Hitoshi undoes his shirt first, pulling it open to reveal his chest. His tits stick out a little, just enough to notice when he doesn’t have a shirt on, his puffy nipples already hard and pushing out against the cold of the room around them.
It’s more than enough to distract Shouta from the pain. Distraction is the only thing that soothes him until the medication kicks in, and Hitoshi’s very good at it. Some of the pain subsides, Shouta’s mind filled with Hitoshi and Hitoshi only.
It’s a temporary fix, but enough that it’ll get him through until the meds kick in. The orgasm always helps, too, providing its own brand of pain relief.

Sometimes, though, Shouta thinks Hitoshi’s better than the pain meds could ever be.
If he had to pick one or the other, it’d always be Hitoshi. Every time.

He’s a lucky, lucky man.
“You must like what you see,” Hitoshi purrs, his voice rumbling deep in his throat as he shrugs off his shirt and goes for his pants. He takes Shouta’s hands, guiding both of them to his chest, placing both on the little mounds of his tits.
They both feel Shouta’s cock jump in his sweatpants. Even through the pain, he can still get hard, and the arousal provides a nice, warm distraction, something he can focus on other than the intangible nerve pain that runs through his body.
The nerve pain is unlike any other pain. Shouta has to take special medication just to calm it. It’s different, harsher, and it makes him want to chew off his own fingers just because regular pain is better than nerve pain.
The arousal takes his mind off of it, gives him a sensation to focus on other than the pain and the phantom itch that runs down his missing leg. The nerve pain is horrible—and it takes an equally strong sensation for Shouta to even begin to push it away.
The arousal does that. It’s something else, something else that blankets his brain and flows through his body. Shouta can prioritize that. And it feels good, pleasure against the inescapable pain, managing to numb some of it out.
Hitoshi ‘s hand reaches down between them. Shouta’s half-leg is pressed between Hitoshi’s thighs and in order for Hitoshi to push his own pants down, he has to move it. Shouta groans when he does, half out of pain, half out of pleasure, and then Hitoshi’s pants are gone.
Hitoshi’s left naked against him.

Shouta eyes rake over his body, taking it in. His limbs are long and tangled with Shouta’s own. Their legs are slotting between each other’s thighs, Hitoshi’s thigh against Shouta’s aching cock and Shouta’s half-leg rubbing against his pussy.
Hitoshi’s little tits are hard in the cool air of the bedroom. Shouta can move enough that he can rub Hitoshi’s nipples, taking them between his fingers and pinching gently. Hitoshi gasps above him, moving his hips to rub his pussy against Shouta’s thigh.
“You shaved,” Shouta points out, his eyes dropping to Hitoshi’s perfectly bare pussy, his skin slick and shining in the light coming from the window. Shouta wishes he could reach down and touch it, slip his fingertips in between those smooth lips.
“I did,” Hitoshi confirms. “In the shower this morning.”

Shouta takes a deep breath, bowing his head as much as he can against Hitoshi’s shoulder. Hitoshi’s arms are around him, one slipped underneath his head, propping it up a little.

“You smell so good,” Shouta near growls.
“It’s lavender soap,” Hitoshi tells him, one hand threading through Shouta’s hair. “I’ll give you a bath later tonight and wash you with it. It’s nice and gentle. I got new flower shampoo and conditioner I’ll use in your hair, too.”
Shouta really hates how nice that sounds. Because he’s a grown man, and Hitoshi is younger than him, young enough that he’s Shouta’s adoptive son as well as his partner. Hitoshi should not be having to give him baths.
But fuck, it sounds so nice.

And the way Hitoshi says it—with a little twinge of excitement in his voice—like he’s actually happy to be taking care of Shouta. Like he’s looking forward to bathing him later tonight.
Hitoshi always makes sure he’s clean during episodes. He helps him to the bath, sits on the little stool outside the bathtub, and helps Shouta wash. He runs the water, making sure it’s warm enough—but not too warm—and he gently rubs soap and body wash over Shouta’s aching skin.
Shouta remembers Hitoshi coming to the doctor with him and learning that oatmeal baths help with itching.

After that, any time Shouta mentions the burning itch, even the one in his missing leg, Hitoshi insists on putting oatmeal in the bath for him.

It usually works.
Hitoshi really takes such good care of him.

Shouta’s a lucky man.
Shouta takes another deep breath in, pressing his face against Hitoshi’s shoulder and chest, breathing in the scent of lavender and flowers that clings to him. It fills his nostrils, going straight to his head, calming some of the fog in his brain.
“The flower smell is good on you,” Shouta comments, holding that scent deep in him before letting it out in a slow sigh. “Lavender’s my favorite flower.”

“Did you decide that just now?” He can hear the laugh in Hitoshi’s voice.

“Yes,” Shouta answers, not regretting it at all.
Hitoshi’s hand drops out of his hair, trailing down, his fingertips just barely ghosting over Shouta’s body. Down they go, only stopping at the waistband of Shouta’s sweatpants. He carefully pulls, easing them down until he gets Shouta’s cock out.
“There we go,” Hitoshi coos, one hand wrapping around his shaft. Shouta shudders, the feeling of his fingers around him causing a jolt to his wrecked system. Hitoshi gently twists his hand over his cock, stroking him from base to tip. “Good?”
“Good,” Shouta immediately answers, the word coming out in a breath. Pleasure and arousal fill him, his cock throbbing in Hitoshi’s hand.

He stares at Hitoshi again, his eyes moving across his body. One arm cradles Shouta’s head still, the other on his cock.
His perky tits roll under Shouta’s hands as he moves as best he can. His mouth waters, thinking about his tongue on those puffy nipples, thinking about Hitoshi’s breast between his lips. He moans at the thought, at the feeling.
Hitoshi’s hips work against his thigh, shamelessly rubbing his hairless pussy against his sweatpants. Shouta would usually feel self conscious—it’s his bad leg, the leg that only has a thigh—but Hitoshi doesn’t seem to mind at all, happily grinding himself against it.
“Feels good, Sensei,” Hitoshi pants quietly as he rubs Shouta’s dick, as if he can read his mind. It probably isn’t hard to tell what Shouta’s thinking about, with the way his eyes are focused on Hitoshi’s pussy on his bad leg.
“It does?” And he genuinely wants to know, because he’s discounted that leg as useless, nothing but and inconvenience and a nuisance, good for nothing. But if Hitoshi likes it, if Hitoshi can still use it to get off, maybe it’s better than useless.
Hitoshi nods, lips spreading into a grin that looks so much like Shouta’s own that he has to do a quick double take. He thrusts his hips down a little harder, daring to push his pussy harder against him, and those pretty red lips spread open into a moan.
“See?” Hitoshi breathes, Shouta able to feel the pulse of his cunt through his sweatpants, the way his slick soaks through “Your thighs are always good for a ride.”

“Even that one.” It’s not a question, but Shouta raises an eyebrow.

“Even that one,” Hitoshi grins in response.
Shouta lets out a breath, and relief pulls out of him, taking some more of the pain with it. Hitoshi’s hand works his cock expertly, rubbing at his head in just the way Shouta likes, all while his hips work his thigh.
It hurts a little, Hitoshi riding him, but it’s nothing like the nerve pain. It’s different, more like a pressure, and it’s drowned out by the pleasure flowing from Hitoshi’s hand on his cock. Shouta’s grunts of pain turn into moans of pleasure slowly but surely.
He takes the time to appreciate Hitoshi’s body.

He can see the slight roundness of his stomach from here, the way he’s filled out from the gaunt, skinny boy he had been before. He’s healthy now, and looks like it, no longer starved and neglected.
Shouta thinks about tonight, after his bath, about how Hitoshi will let him lay on his stomach while they watch a movie together. Or maybe he’ll ask Hitoshi to read to him. His voice always helps, smooth and deep and calming, putting out the fires within Shouta’s aching body.
He loves laying on Hitoshi’s stomach and chest, listening to his breathing and heartbeat, laying against him while Hitoshi strokes his hair.

He knows he shouldn’t want to be taken care of like this, but he does.
“Hitoshi,” Shouta manages, his eyes snapping back to the boy’s face. “Hitoshi, could you… move up a little so I could…”

He trails off. He doesn’t exactly want to embarrass Hitoshi.

But Hitoshi picks up right where he left off— “So you can have my tits in your mouth?”
“Please,” Shouta begs, his hands gripping Hitoshi’s chest, the tiny mounds under his nipples. Hitoshi gasps quietly, rocking his hips down, and Shouta knows that this feels just as good for him, too.
Hitoshi responds by moving. He moves them both, scooting himself up so that Shouta’s eye level with his chest. He pulls Shouta’s bad leg up a little higher so he can still grind against it, but not high enough that it’s uncomfortable.
The arm cradled against Shouta’s head pulls him closer, pushes his face against his chest. And Shouta thinks that he’s just fine there, his face between Hitoshi’s soft little tits, like he could just die there and still be a happy, lucky man.
Hitoshi’s hand tightens around his cock, fingertips squeezing him. Shouta moans, his mind far, far away from all the pain by now. He breathes in, taking in the scent of Hitoshi’s lavender soap, the flowery smell filling his head.
He turns his head to the side, his lips parting as he nuzzles his face against one of Hitoshi’s puffy nipples. His tongue flicks out, against the hard nub, and Hitoshi openly moans in response, hand squeezing Shouta’s cock as he grips him hard.
Shouta licks at the nipple, lapping at it with the flat of his tongue, flicking at it with the tip. The nub grows harder against his lips and Hitoshi moans with each ministration, making no secret of how much he likes Shouta’s mouth on his tits.
Shouta groans, pleasure pooling deep in his aching body, stripping away layer after layer of the pain, until he’s left with pure, raw pleasure. The arousal clouds his mind, forcing him to forget about the itch and the aches, replacing it with something warm that embraces him.
Shouta opens his mouth wider, his lips latching onto Hitoshi’s nipple, sucking it into his mouth and reveling in the loud moan the boy gives him. Hitoshi’s hand starts working faster and faster over Shouta’s cock, his hips thrusting against his leg as he starts to get close.
They’re both getting close. Shouta’s in heaven right now, Hitoshi’s hand on his cock, his soft tits in his mouth. It doesn’t matter that he woke up in pain and barely able to move; he has Hitoshi with him now, Hitoshi who’s more than willing to take care of him.
Hitoshi, who loves him more than anything, who loves him for exactly who he is, missing limbs and pain and all. Hitoshi who holds him and helps him take his medication, who gives him baths and strokes his hair when Shouta can’t take care of himself.
Hitoshi, who’s moaning and shaking in his arms, gasping out Shouta’s name and title. Hitoshi, who Shouta can bring to climax even when he’s too sick and in pain to move.

Hitoshi, who Shouta loves more than anything in the world.
“Sensei—” Hitoshi nudges his head, and Shouta knows what Hitoshi wants before he says it. “Other one, please.”

Hitoshi’s little tits are so sensitive. Shouta pulls his head away, managing to turn his face, lapping at his other nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
“Yes,” Hitoshi whispers, then moans, loud and unrestrained, his hand squeezing impossibly tight over Shouta’s cock as he jerks him off fast and hard. Shouta groans, his hips trying to thrust into Hitoshi’s hand, stopped only by the stiffness that sits in Shouta’s bones.
“Hitoshi,” Shouta murmurs against him, pulling his mouth away only for a moment to moan out his name before he goes right back to mouthing at his nipple.

He wants to come right here, like this, with Hitoshi’s hand on him, his pussy against his leg, and his tit in his mouth.
He doesn’t have to say it.

Hitoshi just knows.

He whines above him, cradling Shouta’s head hard against his chest, making it so Shouta ‘s nose is pressed against his skin, so Shouta can smell him and only him.
Hitoshi’s hips angle down against his bad leg one last time, humping it to his orgasm, grinding his bare, hairless pussy against his thigh until he squirts slick all over him.
Shouta’s hips snap forward, the pain dulled by the orgasm that rocks through him, shooting through his entire body. His toes curl at the force of it, every muscle in his body clamping up and relaxing all at once.

And for a few minutes, there’s no pain at all.
It’s natural pain relief, something to hold him over until the medication kicks in. It’s not permanent, but it’s something, and sometimes that’s what Shouta needs to make it bearable.
Hitoshi strokes him through it, until Shouta’s cock stops throbbing and dripping cum. Hitoshi’s hand is covered in it, Shouta’s thigh covered in his slick, and they’re both a bit of a mess.

When Hitoshi laughs, Shouta knows he’s laughing about the mess.
“I’ll clean you up,” Hitoshi offers, carefully untangling himself from Shouta. Before he goes, he slides his pillow to Shouta, guiding his arms around it and letting him hug it to his chest. Shouta buries his head in it, holding onto it tight as Hitoshi goes to the bathroom.
Shouta closes his eyes as he presses his face in the fabric, taking a deep breath in as he breathes in Hitoshi’s scent. It doesn’t smell quite like flowers, but it smells like him, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.
Hitoshi comes back with a cleaned off hand and a dried off pussy. He lays Shouta flat on his back, the two of them both knowing that the pain is returning, and pulls his pants and shirt off.
Hitoshi runs the warm washcloth over his body, even the parts of him that aren’t dirty. Shouta sighs, unravelling, letting him, knowing that pain makes him sweat and stink and feeling Hitoshi squeezing the warm water over his body and massaging his muscles feels undeniably good.
“All better,” Hitoshi murmurs when he’s done, when Shouta’s naked and all cleaned up. Shouta cracks his good eye open, watching Hitoshi stand back above him and admire his handiwork with a small smile on his face.
Then he says the one thing that lays all of Shouta’s worries to rest:

“I love taking care of you.”

He says it in such a soft, loving voice that for once Shouta doesn’t doubt it. He believes every word of it, and for the first time, Shouta doesn’t feel like an inconvenience.
“Thank you,” he tells Hitoshi quietly, staring up at him. He manages to raise his hand, just a couple inches off the bed, and Hitoshi doesn’t hesitate, taking it and lacing his fingers through Shouta’s.
Shouta smiles, just a little. “How late are we for school?”

“Only a couple minutes,” Hitoshi informs him. “Do you actually want to try going?”

Shouta thinks about it. He likes that Hitoshi isn’t automatically telling him that he can’t. It means a lot to him.
“I think so,” he decides. “I’ll just stay in the teachers’ offices and grade.”

“Good idea,” Hitoshi agrees, squeezing Shouta’s hand. “I’ll help you get dressed and I’ll call Yamada and have him bring a wheelchair over.”
Part of Shouta wants to tell him no, he’ll walk, but he knows that’s not right. He knows that’s not what Hitoshi wants from him. Hitoshi doesn’t want him to push himself, doesn’t want him to get hurt. He’s the reason Shouta’s now compliant with treatment and medication now.
Shouta doesn’t want to hurt Hitoshi. And hurting himself or doing something that would result in him potentially being hurt means hurting Hitoshi. So Shouta complies now. For Hitoshi.
“Thank you,” Shouta tells him, the pain having returned. It’s number now, though, dulled. The pain medication is starting to kick in, taking the edge off of the aches. A few more minutes, and Shouta might be able to actually move on his own a bit.
Hitoshi squeezes his hand and leans in, pressing his lips against Shouta’s for a moment. Shouta sighs against him, squeezing his hand back as hard as he can.

When he pulls away, Shouta smiles, “Is that bath tonight still on the table?”

Hitoshi just laughs, “Of course, Sensei.”
// thread!! thank you for reading! im having my own pain episode rn and writing this definitely made me feel a little better. i think i'd like to write a follow up about shinsou giving aizawa a bath someday✨
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