Shigaraki had never admitted, not even once, not even to himself, that he was wrong about anything. It was always someone else's problem or interference, even when it wasn't. Dito was an enigma. Not only was he able to so easily prove that Shigaraki was not in control of his own wants and needs but also that he wanted someone or something more to the point of desperation.

Groaning a sound of distaste in anticipation of whatever cocky shir Dito was about to spew at him upon dropping his guard and actually saying please like he did. But, what came out of the disciple's mouth was not what he was expecting, nor was the reaction it had on him. Good boy. Someone was actually calling him, Shigaraki, a good boy? Given the context too, it only heightened a sensation inside of him that had never come to light before. He wanted to be praised, to be called good and rewarded... What the fuck kind of sicko was he!?

Shivering at the sound of Dito's voice only to choke and splutter as those soft lips pressed against, arguably, some of the driest, sore skin on his withered body. "Oh fuck..." He whispered, moving his hips as he felt that skilled hand work him like a joystick. It's the subtle attention he pays to even just the head of his cock, feeling Dito's thumb smooth over a bead of precome, the slickness making that soft skin glide almost elegantly back down his stiffened shaft. Even Shigaraki isn't this nice to his own dick.

Feeling hips moving, fingers gliding, even just Dito's breath against him was doing more to work him up than any heated, filthy talking ever could, and frustration got the better of him. Letting go of Dito's hair, snaking his now trembling hand down their back, cupping him through his trousers as he slides his hand between them. So the little shit was just as excited as him huh? "Ugh How's this meant to go do? Are we fucking or are you just content to make me cream in my pants, huh?!"