[He hurries to the shower for the exact same reason Toshinori stares down at the stove: because he doesn't want to give into temptation just as much as he does, and he knows if he hesitates he's just going to throw himself at Toshinori. Aizawa's already breathless from that last kiss, and the moment the bathroom door closes he shoves a hand against his mouth so he can whine very, very softly.
Whether or not he gets off in the shower is a mystery, although one that probably isn't all that difficult to solve. He emerges in nothing but a towel, but fortunately for them both, heads into the bedroom first, donning his tracksuit. That ought to stop them from being tempted into fucking, right?
Probably not in the future. But at least it does the job now, as they sit at his little kitchen table. Aizawa does, in fact, eat breakfast, firmly ignoring Toshinori's smug little smirk as he does. Let him eat in peace! He falls silent for most of the meal, content to listen to Toshinori talk about whatever crosses his mind, pleased just at the chance to be near him.
The internship is . . . it is what it is. It's difficult to walk in after such a humiliating mistake, but it's still educational. He's scolded, as he deserves, but at least his pro-hero is smart enough to sit down with him and discuss the battle blow by blow. Aizawa is intent throughout the lecture, memorizing the tips he offers and taking mental notes on what he can improve upon.
There's a bit of a snag as they watch the footage of the battle. It's not the embarrassment of seeing himself go down so quick, no.
It's what happened right before that.
That villain with the guns for fingers had been firing mercilessly at All Might. Aizawa had activated his quirk, his hair lifting, rendering the villain quirkless, that was good. And then All Might had been there and Aizawa--
Aizawa had just stared at him.
Star struck, that's what the news anchor on the tape says. She chuckles, sympathetically amused, and Aizawa hates the way his ears have gone red. He hates, too, that Water Watcher laughs and claps him on the back. It's a very kind thing to do, especially after his blunder, but god. He's going to be known as the idiot intern who couldn't help but be dazzled by All Might, just like everyone else in the country.
Ugh.
The rest of the day is mundane. He makes himself useful, not in the field but around the agency, filling out paperwork and running errands. He hears a few stories about the pro heroes who work there and what they've done, which is interesting. It's a fulfilling day, and for the most part, he keeps his mind focused on the task at hand.
Not all the time, though. Every so often his mind drifts, and each and every time without fail eagerly slips back to Toshinori's apartment. To his bed, his couch, his wall, his kitchen counter; to an amused voice muttering earn it and owe me in such a low tone; to the thought of Toshinori above him, pinning him down, marking him up all over, or below him, spread out, hips jerking up uselessly as he whined about how Aizawa was being unfair and not giving him what he wanted--
Toshinori on his knees. Toshinori in the shower. Toshinori pinning him to the wall and fucking him not a foot from the door; his hands tied together, sitting on the couch and watching as Aizawa rode him, pushing his fingers into Aizawa's mouth--
It goes on and on. He has to cross one leg over the other more than once, his cheeks dusted pink, and throw himself into his work once more.
Eight o'clock can't come fast enough. It takes him another forty-five minutes to get back to the apartment (taking a moment to take a detour to UA, grabbing a bag stuffed full of extra clothes and toiletries, avoiding talking to anyone as he dos), but the moment he knocks at the door, he feels his heartrate spike.
Good god. Do all people feel like this when they have significant others? No wonder they never get anything done. This is . . . this is illogical, getting himself involved in something like this, addling himself in such a way, and yet he shifts his weight eagerly.]
no subject
Whether or not he gets off in the shower is a mystery, although one that probably isn't all that difficult to solve. He emerges in nothing but a towel, but fortunately for them both, heads into the bedroom first, donning his tracksuit. That ought to stop them from being tempted into fucking, right?
Probably not in the future. But at least it does the job now, as they sit at his little kitchen table. Aizawa does, in fact, eat breakfast, firmly ignoring Toshinori's smug little smirk as he does. Let him eat in peace! He falls silent for most of the meal, content to listen to Toshinori talk about whatever crosses his mind, pleased just at the chance to be near him.
The internship is . . . it is what it is. It's difficult to walk in after such a humiliating mistake, but it's still educational. He's scolded, as he deserves, but at least his pro-hero is smart enough to sit down with him and discuss the battle blow by blow. Aizawa is intent throughout the lecture, memorizing the tips he offers and taking mental notes on what he can improve upon.
There's a bit of a snag as they watch the footage of the battle. It's not the embarrassment of seeing himself go down so quick, no.
It's what happened right before that.
That villain with the guns for fingers had been firing mercilessly at All Might. Aizawa had activated his quirk, his hair lifting, rendering the villain quirkless, that was good. And then All Might had been there and Aizawa--
Aizawa had just stared at him.
Star struck, that's what the news anchor on the tape says. She chuckles, sympathetically amused, and Aizawa hates the way his ears have gone red. He hates, too, that Water Watcher laughs and claps him on the back. It's a very kind thing to do, especially after his blunder, but god. He's going to be known as the idiot intern who couldn't help but be dazzled by All Might, just like everyone else in the country.
Ugh.
The rest of the day is mundane. He makes himself useful, not in the field but around the agency, filling out paperwork and running errands. He hears a few stories about the pro heroes who work there and what they've done, which is interesting. It's a fulfilling day, and for the most part, he keeps his mind focused on the task at hand.
Not all the time, though. Every so often his mind drifts, and each and every time without fail eagerly slips back to Toshinori's apartment. To his bed, his couch, his wall, his kitchen counter; to an amused voice muttering earn it and owe me in such a low tone; to the thought of Toshinori above him, pinning him down, marking him up all over, or below him, spread out, hips jerking up uselessly as he whined about how Aizawa was being unfair and not giving him what he wanted--
Toshinori on his knees. Toshinori in the shower. Toshinori pinning him to the wall and fucking him not a foot from the door; his hands tied together, sitting on the couch and watching as Aizawa rode him, pushing his fingers into Aizawa's mouth--
It goes on and on. He has to cross one leg over the other more than once, his cheeks dusted pink, and throw himself into his work once more.
Eight o'clock can't come fast enough. It takes him another forty-five minutes to get back to the apartment (taking a moment to take a detour to UA, grabbing a bag stuffed full of extra clothes and toiletries, avoiding talking to anyone as he dos), but the moment he knocks at the door, he feels his heartrate spike.
Good god. Do all people feel like this when they have significant others? No wonder they never get anything done. This is . . . this is illogical, getting himself involved in something like this, addling himself in such a way, and yet he shifts his weight eagerly.]