Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13499284.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      僕のヒーローアカデミア_|_Boku_no_Hero_Academia_|_My_Hero_Academia
  Relationship:
      Amajiki_Tamaki/Toogata_Mirio
  Character:
      Toogata_Mirio, Amajiki_Tamaki
  Additional Tags:
      Tentacles, Tentacle_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Riding, Established
      Relationship, Pillow_Talk, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, bnha_kink
      meme, Barebacking
  Collections:
      My_Kink_Academia
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-28 Words: 1742
****** On Purity, and Other Important Virtues ******
by neutralize
Summary
          Tamaki blinks twice, long lashes brushing against his face
          in a way that makes Mirio acutely aware of what nice
          cheekbones he has; he tells himself the sudden twitch in
          his pants is entirely coincidental in relation to that
          realization. Finally, Tamaki says, very slowly and
          deliberately enunciating his words, “You want me to do what
          now, Mirio.”

     Mirio asks Tamaki to use the tentacles on himself, and it all goes
     downhill from there.
Notes
     For the BNHA Kink Meme, prompt being, everyone always talks about
     Tamaki getting someone else off with his tentacles... but what if
     mirio asks tamaki to put on a show and finger himself?? bonus points
     if mirio gives up halfway through the show and fucks tamaki senseless
     (quietly collects bonus points) Am I a blessing or a curse upon the
     BNHA fandom???? Only time will tell (Thank you to_my_darling_Pax for
     the quick beta!)
It begins with, of all things, takeout in the form of okonomiyaki. It also
begins with a remark Tamaki probably doesn’t mean disparagingly, but one Mirio
can’t help but refute anyway. “Tamaki,” he huffs out, after he swallows a tangy
mouthful of mayo, “on what grounds can you back up that claim?”
Tamaki doesn’t look up from his portion of okonomiyaki, but his voice is as
flat as his food. “Experience,” he deadpans, setting his plate on the coffee
table and leaning into his side of the couch. “I’ve known you for a decade,
have been dating you for two of those years, and I have yet to meet anyone as
perverted but simultaneously innocent as you are, Mirio.”
The sigh that rolls out of Mirio’s mouth is long and theatrical, and he drapes
himself over Tamaki, nestling his chin into Tamaki’s clavicle. Tamaki
halfheartedly bats him away, which only spurs Mirio to nuzzle deeper into the
crook of his shoulder. He chuckles low in Tamaki’s ear, “Can you blame me,
though? It’s hard not to get carried away, because I always like doing those
kinds of things with you.”
Tamaki snorts derisively, but he tilts his head against Mirio’s, and Mirio lets
the warmth soak into his temple. “I think it has less to do with my prowess,
and more to do with the fact you’re just into weird things. I’ve never met
anyone who enjoys tentacles by themselves, let alone as something to be used in
the bedroom, like you do.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Mirio says. Three whole seconds
elapse before Mirio pulls himself away and looks expectantly at Tamaki, who in
turn narrows his eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You should do it to yourself.”
Tamaki blinks twice, long lashes brushing against his face in a way that makes
Mirio acutely aware of what nice cheekbones he has; he tells himself the sudden
twitch in his pants is entirely coincidental in relation to that realization.
Finally, Tamaki says, very slowly and deliberately enunciating his words, “You
want me to do what now, Mirio.”
The unimpressed tone in his voice is clear as day, but not one to back down
from anything, Mirio valiantly presses on. “Have I ever led you wrong?”
“Is that a rhetorical question, or are you being serious right now?”
Undeterred, Mirio thumps his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Suneater!
It’s to prove a point! You at least owe it to yourself to practice your Quirk
to its fullest capacity! Why not have a little fun with it, along the way?”
“So remember when I told you that you were the most noble skeeze I knew? You
just reinforced that point to an ironic degree.” Tamaki’s fingers thread
between Mirio’s hands, and he continues, more demure, “But to answer your
earlier question, no… you’ve never led me wrong. And if that’s something you
really want me to do…” He trails off, but Mirio doesn’t need to hear the rest
to squeeze Tamaki’s hands reassuringly, before leaning in to kiss him, quiet
but warm.
“Give yourself the same joy you give me,” Mirio offers when he pulls away,
scooping Tamaki into his arms and carrying him to their bedroom. Again, Tamaki
scoffs when Mirio sets him squarely in the center of their bed.
“Incredible. You seriously just tried to make the act of probing myself with
tentacles into a genuine, romantic gesture. You’re truly one of a kind, Mirio.”
Mirio watches his clothes flutter to the ground, before he grins at Tamaki.
“One in a million?”
“Mmmm. Just one of a kind, I think,” Tamaki murmurs. The bed creaks when Mirio
presses his weight into the mattress, fingers reaching for the handle of the
nightstand’s drawer on the other side. By the time he pulls out a bottle,
Tamaki already has lobbed his shirt on the ground and is fumbling with the zip
of his pants. Tamaki isn’t brawny like Mirio, but he’s lithe, smooth planes of
muscle Mirio doubts he’ll ever tire of looking at. The routine Mirio falls into
is a familiar one, fingertip touches and small breaths at first, then a gentle
hand gliding down a deltoid before his fingers catch against cloth around
Tamaki’s hips. He tugs the pants off, and absentmindedly tosses them away, more
intent on listening to the subtle crests in Tamaki’s breathing than caring
where they end up landing. Mirio gently nudges Tamaki to the head of the bed,
wedging a hand between Tamaki’s knees and letting them fall on their sides with
a push. Then he grabs Tamaki’s hand and pops open the lube’s cap with his
thumb, coating his fingers with a thick, clear layer, scooting a short distance
away to give Tamaki space.
“Ready?”
“Um. I guess I am,” Tamaki falters, looking at his hands. He shifts himself up
further in bed and Mirio’s eyes catch again on the contours of Tamaki’s frame,
slim but strong, and he finally lets his hand reach further down. Tamaki’s
fingers twitch, and transform into slender tentacles, and Mirio swears his soul
tries to leave his body when one of the tendrils on Tamaki’s left hand curls
itself wetly against the base of his cock, tips touching and glistening in the
low light of the room.
The tentacles on his right hand settle in between his splayed legs and inch
underneath him. He inhales a sharp puff of air and arches his back in a gentle
slope; he’s lifted himself high enough that Mirio can see well, despite the
angle and lighting - there’s only one partially buried inside Tamaki, but he
quivers when he slowly retracts it. He slips it inside again with more
deliberation and a soft squelch of sound, coaxing a breathy sigh from him.
Wetness begins to seep from between Mirio’s fingers, and he forces his hand to
slow down. He watches completely spellbound as another tentacle pushes past
curves of pale flesh, Tamaki’s toes twisting and untwisting into the sheets at
precise, split second intervals - then another tentacle, until three of them
are inside Tamaki. By now, more tentacles have wrapped themselves around his
legs and hips and they rub themselves along his skin with soft pops from the
suction cups.
One by one, Mirio’s muscles tense: it starts in his neck and it spreads to his
scapulae, the small of his back, settling heavily in his groin and growing more
hot and frenetic, the longer he watches Tamaki. His mouth is dry, and Tamaki
looks so wet, sweating into the sheets, all tangled limbs and punctured gasps.
His thighs spasm as he finally tears his eyes away from Tamaki, and, with
restrained roughness, he claws at him, pulling him into his lap as Tamaki
shudders, startled.
The noise Tamaki chokes out almost breaks Mirio - almost, because the urge to
shove himself against Tamaki’s mouth is barely stronger than his resolve to
implode right then and there. His hands grope around Tamaki’s waist and he
forces himself to gasp out, “Tamaki, can I - ” He nevers manages the rest of
the sentence, but mercifully enough, Tamaki gets the point well enough as he
pushes the lube from near the pillows towards Mirio. He wastes no time snapping
the cap off and slathering himself with a liberal amount of lube then tossing
it aside, momentarily wincing at the abrupt cool slickness. His stomach twists
with something less uncomfortable but more urgent in nature. It takes a moment
to line themselves up, as Tamaki straddles Mirio’s lap, but Mirio’s hands
squeeze Tamaki down around him, and this time, Mirio grits out a groan before
he can clamp his mouth shut at the sensation.
“Can I go - ahh - a - a little faster, please,” Mirio mumbles out, pulling
Tamaki back when he slides out by accident. Tamaki nods into his shoulder, two
quick jerks of messy dark hair, and his skin splits into more tentacles
protruding from his arms. Mirio loosens his grip enough to not dig into his
skin, but he still holds Tamaki down when he rolls his hips upward, tentative
until they build up a rhythm and soon Tamaki is bouncing in Mirio’s lap. The
tentacles rove around him, some attaching themselves to Mirio’s chest and the
others snaking up his neck, and into his hairline, and suddenly the breath is
sucking itself out his lungs before Tamaki can. Mirio strains to keep his hands
as steady as possible, but then Tamaki whines in his ear, crying out louder
when Mirio slams him down, once, twice, before losing count. Tamaki is hot and
tight around him, and Mirio’s breaths are stuttering and shallow; when he
finally comes, it hits hard and fast like a punch to the gut, and his heart
swells up in his throat.
Tamaki still trembles in his lap when Mirio’s hand slides around the base of
Tamaki’s length, jerking up in swift strokes. Tamaki gasps out Mirio’s name
like a prayer, soft unfocused chanting that finally fades when Mirio feels
Tamaki tense up, before he breaks and sags in Mirio’s arms, sweating, shaking,
and sticky.
At long last, Tamaki says, “Well. I think the two of us learned several
important things just now.”
It takes longer for Mirio to gain the ability to form a coherent sentence. “...
Yeah?”
Tamaki traces a slick - and now normal - hand against Mirio’s collarbone. “You
really are the world’s nicest pervert, Mirio.”
Despite the warm haze threatening to weigh him down, Mirio gently pries some of
the tentacles stuck on his body, and they snap at his skin when he tugs them
off. “That sure is a funny way of pronouncing ‘Japan’s luckiest man’,” he
replies with a smile.
“I still cannot believe you talked me into doing that.”
“Tamaki. Have I ever led you wrong?” He lolls his head forward and brushes his
lips against Tamaki’s temple, before reaching over to the nightstand again and
grabbing a handful of tissues to wipe themselves clean. Tamaki grabs a couple
and dabs at himself before tossing the tissues at Mirio, who lobs them back at
him with a snort. “But the real question to ask is, do I get to see you do that
again?”
“We’ll see,” Tamaki answers, ducking his head. “But that was certainly a
convincing argument in favor of a repeat performance.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Mirio laughs, and pulls Tamaki down into the damp
sheets.
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