i truly believe shoji would be the best lay of the guys in 1a. both personality wise and also with regard to the amount of stuff he could do with those arms. i know we as a fandom like the pretty boys who get a lot of screen time but shoji is an underrated king
He would definitely be really easy going about a no strings attached hookup. He doesn't dwell on his mutation or his scars much, but knowing that someone wants his body in something intimate at all still hits that little bit of hurt deep inside him. He's the type to want his partner's pleasure more than his own, he only lets himself cum at all because he knows it would be a little insulting not to, but the more he gets praised the more indulgent he'll get for the both of them.
The series mostly focuses on his distant scouting but all those extra sensory organs definitely make him very attentive and meticulous. He can tell his partner is on the brink of an orgasm before they do half the time. Those hitches in their breath, the strain and peak in their voice, the way they sweat and squirm and curl their toes, he never misses any of it. And GOD so many hands all over them at once would feel so fucking good.
All of this and I haven't even touched on the fact that his built like an ox and hung like one too-
touch starved if you’re okay with that for the bingooooo?
YEAH BABEY!!
on ao3! | request a bingo square!
contains: child abuse, My Weird Version of Fluff You Know The One
“And?”
Robin studies the map in front of him, the twisting streets highlighted and annotated according to their relevance. A slim finger traces hesitantly. “The apartment is a probably bad idea. Too many people to wake up. We could go for the shop because, um, there most likely won’t be anyone around … but it’s near the convenience store, so - the restaurant?” He looks at expectantly Slade, who leans over the table and stares down at the plan.
Robin feels a stab of embarrassment. He furiously studies the map, terribly cognizant of Slade’s eyes boring into him. “Oh.” He winces at his own failure. “Oh, right.” He’d been ignoring the second route the shipment was going to take. “The office rise. On 36th.” A pause. “Right?”
“Correct.” Relief fills Robin. Slade’s hand moves down the map, almost brushing Robin’s. Robin fists his fingers together, moving them to the side, and he feels himself resent the lack of contact. He buries his hand under the table on his thigh. Slade traces the route. “We’ll be able to get at the cargo if we can’t stop it in the tunnel or at the checkpoint, which is a potential outcome. Always go for the easiest way between two points.”
Robin stares down at his hands. “Sorry,” he murmurs.
Slade makes a sour mm noise that Robin knows means displeasure and indifference. Slade straightens, stepping away from the table. Robin’s nails spike curls of pain in his fists at his own own distress.
“Why are you doing this?” He asks suddenly, eyeing Slade. The man turns slightly to face Robin.
“It’s in the contract, boy.”
“Obviously it’s not that.” Robin can’t seem to help his mouth from speaking. “It’s - they’re not paying you anything. Or not much.”
“I have my reasons.”
Robin has spent so much time learning the danger in Slade’s voice that he knows it. He’s still stupid enough to ignore it. “What, some kind of assassin’s - what, word? You’re doing this all for some stupid word or -”
He stops short as Slade’s shadow falls over him, his breath hitching in fear. He’s gone too far, too much, and he curses his own words.
“Stand up,” Slade commands. Robin’s knees move without his volition. He snaps up to face Slade, already staring with shame at the floor. He can feel Slade near him, large and imposing.
The side of his face explodes in sharp pain and his head snaps to the side. His hands fist but don’t move. Slade lower his hand. “Do you know what that was for?”
Robin feels tears bead in his eyes. Shame overcomes him. “Talking back,” he mumbles, eyes still fixed on Slade’s shoes. The side of his face burns.
“You know your place, boy.”
Robin’s eyes are fixed on the floor. “Yes, Master.”
“Good. I hope you don’t forget it again.” Slade suddenly recedes, moving back, starting to move around the table. Robin feels something constrict, can’t help himself -
His hand grabs at Slade, closing around the shirt he wears - white and starch.
Slade turns to look at him, and Robin releases it instantly, realizing what he’s done. He cringes away, not daring or not wanting to move away from Slade, instead standing and feeling terribly, horribly small. His hands come to his chest, almost shaking.
“Please - ” he hears his voice crack, unsure what he’s asking for. “Master -”
Slade’s hand moves to touch his face and curl around his chin, still red and stinging from his reprimand. He sounds amused, less hard as he speaks. “What is it, pet?”
Robin stares at him, leaning in imperceptibly to the contact, relief filling him at the warmth against his skin. “I - ” His eyes swim with tears and he has to stop his hand from moving up to hold onto Slade’s wrist.
“Look at you,” Slade murmurs with condescending amusement. His fingers slide down Robin’s neck to hook around the ring of his collar, pulling him nearer. “You just want attention.”
Robin steps closer easily, staring up at Slade. He feels his face burn with embarrassment. Knuckles brush against his face and he can’t stop a small keen as he leans into it.
“Do you think you deserve it, pet?” Slade asks. Robin can’t help the fear as his eyes widen. Hands come up to rest against Slade’s chest, voice cracking again.
“Master- please -”
Slade laughs, as if it was a joke. “On your knees.”
Robin drops with relief to the ground. Slade pulls at one of the chairs at the table and sits, his knees coming up to Robin’s head. Robin kneels between Slade’s legs.
After a second puts an elbow over Slade’s thigh and rests his head on it. He can see the creased fabric that tucks into Slade’s belt with the tilt of his head. Slowly, he feels the tension drain out of him. He’s comfortable here at his master’s feet, natural, safe. It’s his place, after all, where he belongs - Slade’s taught him that. Robin’s eyes drift shut. Slade’s fingers drift through his hair as the man resumes his work, Robin making a small contented noise.
