Work Text:
Aoba had been less than thrilled when boarding his bus home from uni. Despite all his studying, his last exam had gotten poor marks and it had put him in a sour mood. He even snapped at Clear, earning reactions from his patchwork group of friends; some concerned, some angry. He apologized under his breath and made a quick escape to the bus station. He would properly apologize later but for now it would do just to get some time alone.
But the powers that be seemed to have other plans for his night, or so he would think after the events to come had passed.
Aoba’s bus home took the passengers through the poorest parts of town, and as such was always packed. He'd learned, however, there were a few points on the route when the bus would be empty. It would eventually fill up, but Aoba was partial to having a window seat on his way home to rest his aching feet and back from a long day of studying.
So it was that he walked a few blocks down from the University bus station to a less populated, more decrepit, bus stop. The sun had long since set and he couldn't make much out beyond the light of the lamppost illuminating the bus stop. Thankfully, his wait was short lived and he was all too eager to remove himself from the cold and slide down onto a warm, padded seat.
With the hum of the bus alive and well, Aoba secured his pink headphones over his ears. He could still feel the beat of the bus’ engine against his thighs and along the points of his arms that made contact with its cold walls, but the music drowned out the deafening hum and chatter of passengers and the pink glow of the bus lights soothed his aching eyes. He felt so limp.
As sleep started to cloud his mind, he felt a body take the seat next to him. He paid the passenger no mind. He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and he wouldn't be home for another twenty minutes. His eyelids drooped and he matched the pace of his breathing to the engines roaring around him.
With so much stimuli, he almost didn't notice the light, yet firm, hand on his thigh. He assumed it to be a backpack, a coat, an object of some kind. But then he could feel as fingers spread and massaged his leg through his jeans; this was a person.
Aoba had wondered, from time to time, what it might feel like to be molested.
It was no delusion of his that molestation should be a thing to seek out, and yet here he was, allowing a stranger’s hands to roam his lap unattended. Aoba kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep.
He was so in hate with his body. Everything it did was a rejection of what he as a sentient entity commanded of it. His headaches, his memory loss, his mental illnesses woven together like a forest canopy, keeping the light from the undergrowth that so desperately needed it. But what Aoba hated the most was his shape.
His friends knew. Despite the male pronouns and the men's jeans snug around his hips, they knew Aoba was lacking a few quintessential male aspects. Such as a Y chromosone or a corresponding dangly between his legs.
No matter what fantasy he played for himself, the moment his fingers slid between the folds of his sex, he couldn't bare it. His Other would mock him for trying to “befriend” his body. They were enemies, Aoba, his Other, and his Body.
So he wondered, ‘what if someone could force me to feel the pleasure I crave?’
He'd seen it in porn plenty. The girl would struggle but ultimately succumb to her assailants ways. Aoba wanted to sigh like that, to melt so easily into something his body and mind rejected. If it weren't Aoba’s choice whether he feel or not, would he, could he, experience that kind of pleasure?
Aoba’s blood was hammering in his ears. Stranger’s hand had made itself busy caressing his thighs, brushing over his lap in a petting kind of motion. Aoba shivered.
When Stranger pressed his hand to Aoba’s crotch, though, he stilled. What would this man think now? Was it over now that he knew what Aoba was missing?
Stranger didn't seem fazed, however, popping Aoba’s button and letting the zipper undo itself from the strain of straight cut fabric on round hips. Aoba silently contemplated the consequences of suffocating as his breath became shallow and his cheeks burned bright.
Stranger dipped his hands beneath his jeans, kneading at Aoba’s soft inner thighs. His fingers followed the crease of his slit, making Aoba shiver all the way down his spine. And then those fingers were under his boxers, between his slick folds and Aoba couldn't bite back the soft sigh burning in his throat.
Stranger was encouraged by this, sliding his middle finger up and down, each thrust wider than the next until he was rubbing Aoba’s clit and pressing at the folds hiding his hole. His lips parted, but no sound left him. Stranger’s finger circled the hole, his palm pressed against Aoba’s clit. And then he plunged in.
Aoba let out a puff of air sounding akin to a dying air horn.
Stranger's finger dug deep within him, then slid back out and up-up-up to the tip of his erect clit. And then right back down into Aoba’s heat. His finger moved faster with each stroke, curling into Aoba.
And Aoba could feel it. Something coming. It felt scary almost
But the feeling never mounted and Stranger was gone before Aoba could even see his face. Aoba was left sweaty and panting on a crowded bus, throat so dry it ached.
---
The bus was packed yet again. Aoba was not so lucky to get a seat and found himself standing in the well of the back door, bodies pressed against him.
It started roughly this time.
Without warning hands were on his hips, dipping into his underwear. One mingled on his sex while the other rubbed at his ass. Aoba braced himself against the poles around him.
Stranger spun Aoba around, pressing him against the wall dividing them from the upper seating. Aoba still couldn't see Stranger’s face, but he could feel the man’s fingers working his belt undone.
Aoba didn't register what was happening until he felt it, the slick head of a penis lazily rubbing against him. Aoba choked back a moan.
“N-No…” he gasped. “Please no, not h-here…”
Aoba’s pleas were lost in Stranger’s grunting, grinding, and careful placing of his body.
It felt so big, the penis slipping against his small clit, down to rest at his hole. His hands gripped the man's shoulders as he pressed in, slow and firm. Aoba bit his lip as his insides were spread wide for the first time.
He hated it, he burned, but what he hated most was that he loved it.
Only a single beat passed before Stranger pulled out and pressed back in, making Aoba moan into his shoulder. He continued in a fluid, in-out motion, undulating with perfect repetition. Aoba couldn't ignore the distinct feeling of needing to pee. Dear god, if he pissed his pants on this bus, but his voice and strength were lost to lust.
The bus jerked to a stop, Stranger slamming into Aoba, tip pressing against his uterus. Aoba sighed long and hard into Stranger’s shoulder. He had never realized just how empty he was, how much space he had begging to be filled.
Stranger grunted as the bus began to move yet again. His hips kept pressing into Aoba’s as a hand slipped back into his underwear.
Aoba felt spread inside, a pounding of flesh stirring a feeling he couldn't describe, and the fresh hand against his clit made his body feel numb yet excited all at the same time. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think.
Aoba tensed, gasping and grunting as every muscle on him went rigid. Stranger grunted, too, slamming once, twice, three times against Aoba’s womb.
“Ha-ah-haaaaah~” Aoba moaned, his vision blurring as hot cum shot through his vessel.
It felt dirty and gross, but Aoba reveled in the full sensation. His vision was blurry, breath labored, and he feared he'd caught the attention of at least one other passenger. Stranger seemed unconcerned however, discreetly slipping out of Aoba and dragging a high pitched whine out of him.
Stranger zipped Aoba’s jeans and pulled the cord to signal a stop.
Aoba thought for a moment he caught Stranger’s face. His cheeks lit up with the fire of embarrassment. No, certainly he was mistaken. It couldn't have been…
Right??