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the critically acclaimed open post

assorted shitty people

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FILTHY THINGS:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I won't rp: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[It's unfortunate that they've, well, double-booked, but it isn't actually a detractor. All Might is new, but he's not green; he's easy to partner with in a pinch, which means this fight ought to go even faster.

Gunshots ring out (who still uses guns, he wonders faintly) as Aizawa zips and springs his way down, his stomach swooping giddily even now as the ground rushes up to meet him. He's quick, his shielded eyes scanning the people below. They run quickly for the most part, and he ignores those who do, but--

There, a woman who hobbles too slowly. She must have twisted her ankle, but she's gamely trying to go as fast as she can. It isn't fast enough, though; that acidic monster is turning, winding up one hand. It's a clear shot, there's no way he won't make it--

--and it's easy, really. It's almost like a training exercise. He lands on a pole and whips his cloth out, snagging her and yanking her up just as the acid flies. It sizzles on the ground, eating away at concrete, as she shrieks in terror and dangles in the air.

Give her this: she doesn't struggle the moment she realizes Aizawa is trying to help her. Within a moment he's released her, jumping down to join her and help her hurry away. Ten feet, twenty, and he half-turns, keeping that monster in his focus, except there's even more gunshots, too many for even a few people to be shooting at once.

It's not several guns. It's just one, one man, bullets spraying from his fingertips. Ten "guns" in all, and All Might is dodging well, but he's also contending with beating the other members of the gang. It's all too much at once, and then--

--abruptly, the bullets stop.

All Might sees the opening and strikes; within an instant he's knocked the walking gun out. And that's all well and good, and Aizawa feels something like pride rise in his chest, and then--

--then, there's a scream and a shout of warning and all he knows is darkness.

It's such a stupid injury. A rookie mistake that he'll agonize over later. He'd taken his eye off the acidic monster, and of course it had attacked: it hit him square on the side, a large glob of it eating through his uniform and sizzling on his skin. He'd staggered, stumbled, gasping from the pain; another blob had hit him square in the chest, and he'd blacked out from sheer pain.

And now he's here, in some sterile environment, his mind swimming as he tries to wake up.]

[It's a good fight, right up until the end. He's surprised for only a fraction of a second when he sees a flash of movement in his periphery and realizes it's Aizawa; his grin broadens as he sinks his fist directly into a gangster's face, and surely that's his love of justice making him smile like that and not his--whatever they are, people who've yet to go on a second date.

It's a good fight, anyway, and All Might ends his bout against the gun-handed man with only a graze to show for it, and then--

Everything is a blur, after Aizawa goes down. Toshinori wants to rush to his side but All Might is occupied with the remaining gangsters and the acid blob himself. He makes short work of the gangster - a punk with a quirk that creates false images of himself, but All Might is fast enough to punch through all of them and knock out the man before he can make more - and puts himself between Aizawa and the acidic monster.

One for All isn't the greatest quirk to use against what seems to be just an amorphous blob but he punches it anyway, knocking off sizzling blobs and blistering his hands as he does, until he can reach the quirk holder embedded at the center of it and drag them out, tossing them to the ground. It's done; civilians applaud, some press try to reach him, but All Might has already returned to scoop Aizawa up off the ground and demand an ambulance for him and the other injured people here.

He can see the headline now: All Might: Hero's Hero or something like it, singing his praises for plucking a hero intern out of danger. Too bad he doesn't really care what the press says about this incident, at the moment.

But All Might has work to do, and it pains him to leave Aizawa at the hospital, but he affects his best look of detached concern, tells a few people to "take care of the boy!"-- and he's gone. It never stops... until hours later, well into the next morning, it does, and it's Toshinori who lies his way into Aizawa's hospital room, saying something about being a former schoolmate and family friend.

Sure. Well, he's here, slumped in a chair and dozing, jerking awake when his head lolls back (he is... too tall for this chair). He's up, he's up, and so is Aizawa-- relief hits him full in the chest, and all of a sudden he's upright and awake.]

Hey! How are you feeling?

[He is . . . so loud. So loud and so bright, and Aizawa squints up at him, more than a little overwhelmed. He blinks once, twice, his eyes burning, wondering how Toshinori managed to get into his bedroom, vaguely pleased about it regardless . . .

But he's not in his bedroom. He's in the hospital, because he was acting like it was his first year and he had no concept of villains attacking in pairs. The memories come back one by one, stumbling in and presenting themselves in ashamed little mumbles. You got cocky, you got distracted, you got attacked and needed to be rescued--

With a groan he slumps back, resting against the pillow.]

What happened? Everyone got out all right?

[One more loud thing to add to the growing list: Toshinori dragging his chair as close as he can get it to Aizawa's bedside, reaching for his hand to curl his fingers around it lightly. He's sporting a few bandages himself - had to walk all the way here with his hands in his pockets, just in case - but otherwise he's fine. Of course.]

All Might punched the villain until it exploded, [he says, and that's pretty much what he did to the thing, so that's good enough.] No one else was hurt as-- as seriously as you.

[He doesn't outright ask if Aizawa is okay again, but it's written all over his face.]

Good.

[He says it thickly, some of the tension releasing from his body. He fucked up, but at least he hadn't fucked up in such a way that innocents got hurt. He won't be so lucky next time, he knows, and swallows thickly.

Toshinori's hand feels good surrounding his. He feels a bit guilty for accepting the comfort, but he knows pushing it away in some fit of self-flagellation won't help. Training, improving, getting better . . . that's how he'll make up for this.

He tips his hand up, threading their fingers together, and takes stock of how he feels.

. . . fairly miserable is the conclusion. His body hurts, one massive burn that hurts each time he moves. Even breathing hurts; the rise and fall of his chest is quiet agony.

A stray thought crosses his mind, and he frowns.]

What day is it?

It's Thursday morning. [So.] You're probably standing me up tonight.

[He manages a smile and a gentle squeeze to his hand. Date night is ruined, but he'll probably be here all night again if they don't let him sit here all day. He has things to do... not yet, though. Not yet.

He isn't particularly worried anymore, now that Aizawa is awake. Sure, he's still injured, but it's the difference between nearly comatose and awake, but hurt-- he won't die from an injury like this. Not that that makes Toshinori want to leave his side, but when he inevitably has to, he won't be as distracted as he was the night before.

Anyway, he can totally bring his DVDs here-- but first, another realization.]

There's a slight chance your name is in the paper. With mine. About that. Your internship had more to say than I did about you being there, and... [He waves his other hand, an "I couldn't help it so hopefully it's not too embarrassing" gesture.]

[It's not Toshinori's fault, but still Aizawa's mouth tightens, regret and displeasure written all over his expression. He can well imagine the headlines, frankly: painting him as inexperienced and immature, a boy who would surely have perished if All Might hadn't been there. It was undoubtedly good press for the symbol of peace; less so for Aizawa, who had virtually no other press to back up on.

This was going to cost him offers, Aizawa thought, but then forced the thought away. Perhaps it would and perhaps it wouldn't; either way, he could do nothing but accept that.]

Fantastic. Did they disavow me or just say they hadn't worked with me long enough to teach me anything?

[A croaked out few sentences as he pulls his hands back, bracing them on the bed behind him. Aizawa grunts from effort as he forces himself to sit up, the movement jerky and erratic. His body hates the idea and informs him in no small terms just how stupid he's being; he ignores it.]

I doubt I'll stand you up. There's no logical reason for me to stay in here much longer, not if they've already wrapped me. All I need are the instructions for the coming weeks.

They-- You're moving too quickly for your injuries-- They praised your initiative, at least.

[The real question is whether or not they meant it. Toshinori won't soften the blow and tell him he did a good job; he didn't, quite simply, and it's that kind of mistake that Toshinori, as All Might, would have to reprimand him for if Aizawa were his intern. Mistakes happen, everyone gets hurt eventually-- but they really shouldn't, when it comes to hero work.

A solid C- across the board. Toshinori watches Aizawa struggle just to sit up, frowning around his protest that he really should spend another night in the hospital, but instead--]

I'll take you home with me. I was going to pick you up anyway, so this is simpler.

[He scoffs. It's not that he thinks he didn't make a mistake-- he had, undoubtedly, and he expects no praise for it-- but this all comes back to the bureaucracy of heroics again, as far as he's concerned. Rather than simply tell the truth and say that it was a foolish mistake that was entirely Aizawa's own fault, the agency hedges and disavows him even as they falsely praise him. Initiative, as if that's worth anything. No, they say that just to save face, to keep their own reputation above water, and he hates it.

Better to just acknowledge he did poorly and say they'll teach him better. Or not, but to try and offer faint praise stings even worse.

But whatever. He'll do better next time, he resolves, and ignores his inclination to relive the incident with ear-burning embarrassment. He'll train harder, focus more on his spacial awareness, but for now--]

. . . all right.

[He'll have to check in with the agency anyway, but they don't care where he sleeps. His parents, while supportive, are more than a little hands-off; they won't notice if he's gone a night or two, not anymore.]

Let me . . . I have to meet with the others first. Or call them.

[He hesitates. He's still fuzzy from pain and medication both, but he feels a little removed, as though he isn't fully absorbing what's happening. Toshinori is taking him to his home, and that's . . . good, isn't it? Yes. And yet . . .

It takes him a solid half a minute.

Toshinori is taking him to his home, and the thought drops out of the sky one word at a time, solid and immobile, and his eyes go wide as he stares down at the blankets. They haven't even had their second date yet, but he's going to stay at his house-- and oh, yes, they'd gone up to Aizawa's dorm room, but that's so wildly different than visiting someone's apartment and staying with him. That has implications, and while he isn't stupid enough to think they'll have sex, still, it's a frankly breathtaking prospect all on its own.]

Ah-- yeah.

[He says it stupidly, and then shakes his head.]

Let me just-- I should find a phone, I have to--

[Oh, there he goes again, awkward and bumbling. Toshinori can't help but smirk, leaning back in his chair to give Aizawa his fidgeting space. Did he not realize they would wind up at his apartment to watch his American movies? Now that he's injured, this is simply the more convenient option - maybe make a pit stop for a change of clothes, or maybe he'll accidentally forget that and put Aizawa in his own clothes, hmm, yes.

Yes, that's a great idea. Either way - it's cute as usual, the way he fumbles over his words and his mind clearly runs away from him with all kinds of possibilities, and Toshinori does nothing but chuckle as he gets up to cross the room, where the generously provided phone from at least 20 years ago is sitting on an extra table. He brings it back and hands it over, trying not to stare too obviously as he pictures Aizawa failing to fill one of his t-shirts. It will fall off his shoulders just so, and he'll keep tugging at it, which will only make it that much more noticeable when it slips again...

He's a man of simple tastes. It's going to take a while for someone to come and release Aizawa after his phone calls, anyway, so he sits back down to wait.]

You call whoever you need to, I can wait.

[He'll wait very well, even resisting trying to hold his hand again in favor of playing with a lock of Aizawa's hair once or twice. Hey, he's still here, hello. When the calls are finally done, he speaks up again--]

I could sleep on the couch?

[Don't make him sleep on the couch, babe.]

[It's very hard to focus when Toshinori is playing with his hair. He isn't deliberately being distracting, he's not obnoxious, but still: he's already hyperaware of where his semi-boyfriend is, and each touch only makes it worse. He doesn't shiver, at least, although his head tips into the touch eagerly time and again.

At least his voice is steady. The agency is, of course, aware he's in the hospital, and they're generous enough to accept him back in two days, once his injuries have healed enough for him to be of use to them. There's a very long period in which Aizawa says nothing at all and a voice goes steadily on and on in a lecture, which is . . . not exactly fun, but certainly deserved, so he simply sits and listens, only occasionally making a noise to acknowledge he's still there.

(He thinks that perhaps it would have been a better taught lesson if the lecture had been delivered in person, but he isn't stupid enough to say that).

When it's over, he sighs and slumps back on the bed. He takes Toshinori's hand again, tugging him in closer. A nurse pops in, telling him he'll be released within the hour, which is just enough time for a quick nap.

He sort of wants Toshinori to come in here with him, but he won't say so. But if they're going to share a bed tonight (and they are), it's best to establish that here and now. So:]

Come here.

[So no, he won't sleep on the couch.]

Edited (listen i got distracted) 2018-06-21 19:06 (UTC)

[Aizawa's hair is nice and soft, even after a night in the hospital. Toshinori likes playing with it and keeps at it for most of his probably awkward phone call, only half listening. It's still early in the day; he can take Aizawa home and let him sleep, go get some work done, come back with dinner and go from there-- that sounds good. Maybe date night will manage to pull through, this time.

But for now they're just waiting for someone to come give Aizawa his instructions and let him go, and Toshinori's hand is being pulled, but come on - he genuinely can't fit in a hospital bed, especially one that's already occupied. It's still nice, still makes his heart flip over a few times that Aizawa wants him close, but it's just not practical.

He has a whole bed at home! Surely, this can wait. It's going to have to, as Toshinori stands halfway, leaning over the bed, but does not make a move to actually climb in.]

I'll get us both in trouble like that, [he says quietly, then less so,] I'm going to get some coffee.

[He's been up all night and a cramped hospital bed nap won't cut it, sadly. Still, he won't leave Aizawa high and dry, leaning down to kiss him soundly instead.]

[His heart twists at that soft rejection. It's for a hundred different practical reasons, he knows, and yet he stiffens, so wildly new at this that it feels as though he's made a grave mistake. His grip slackens, his hand pulling back as he retreats within himself-- he'll get coffee, it's fine, he won't ask for something like that again, Toshinori will sleep on the couch and he'll stop thinking about absurd things--

--and then he kisses him, and oh, but that's a lovely alternative. That's perfect, soft heat and overwhelming affection, and Aizawa freezes for just a moment, his entire body going still as his thoughts pleasantly fizzle and explode in delighted little shrieks. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes dimly that he's meant to participate as well. Hastily, clumsily, his mouth moves, returning the kiss hungrily (thirstily, ha ha), arching his back and pressing up to ensure it keeps going. His body protests loudly to such an action, but his body can shut up, he'll have all day to tend to it and this kiss is worth a great deal more, more, he wants more, he wants to spend the next hour kissing Toshinori--

And then someone knocks at the open door, coughing awkwardly, and Aizawa's resulting glare could kill, it really could.

At least it isn't a hapless nurse. Just Hizashi, grinning and apparently not all that fussed about Aizawa's apparent ire.

Toshinori excuses himself hastily, heading out to get coffee-- and, likely, to do a few laps and give Aizawa some space. That's nice of him. It's a pity it means that neither Aizawa nor Hizashi get peace, as the former snarls and the latter unashamedly asks question after question, his interest both caring and nosy. What's his name, what does he do, is he a hero, what's his quirk, why didn't I know about him, Shouta--!

On and on and on, and he answers the questions as best he can. Toshinori Yagi, he's a secretary, no, I don't know what his quirk is, it's only been one date--

The next set of questions are a little more invasive, and he doesn't bother answering them. A nurse comes to his rescue soon, giving him instructions on how to care for himself and when to come in for a check-up, and just like that, he's released.

Thank god.

Hizashi is, for all his loud teasing, genuinely worried about him, and so only peels away when Aizawa makes it clear he isn't just going back to his dorm to sulk. He even has the audacity to leer when Toshinori meets them at the hospital's entrance, which does nothing for Aizawa's general nerves, but it is what it is.

On to Toshinori's apartment. On foot, which might be a bit of a trial, but there's nothing for it but to walk, so off they go.]

[Ah, Toshinori thinks, he should have kissed Aizawa sooner. On their first date, tangled up in his dorm room, a kiss like this would have been perfect-- no hospital, no bandages, no sound of nurses muffled just outside. Aizawa is warm and soft and wanting, and Toshinori slides his fingers into his hair to keep his head tipped up, kissing him to make up for the times he could have done it sooner--

And then they're interrupted, and he stands there sheepish and red-faced until he can edge around Present Mic- who has a name he's going to have to learn and hastily, apparently- and get out of there.

He gets his coffee iced and drinks it all in two gulps, then gets another and takes his time drinking it. A few nurses try to chat him up and he's too distracted to even politely pay attention, edging back toward Aizawa's room with his coffee, catching the same nurse who released him and turns Toshinori back around to the entrance--

And Mic is still here, which is great, and Toshinori manages not to say anything absurd under the force of his shit-eating grin, but he does glue himself to Aizawa's side and put his arm around him despite all of the wiggling eyebrows going on just a few feet to the left.

On to his apartment, indeed. There's no way to improve the walk but it's not bad, and Toshinori's apartment is what one would expect from a recent graduate earning a secretary's salary. It's comfortable and tidy, with a few very vintage posters of heroes- fictional ones, but still- and, okay, he has some All Might merch. He does. It's very exciting to be an action figure and there is a little plastic All Might beaming down at them from on top of the fridge as he leads Aizawa past the kitchen to his bedroom.

It's less tidy in the bedroom, but most of the room is his huge bed, so that's to be expected. Aizawa can sit, Toshinori has a few things to fuss over first--]

You must be hungry! What do you want to eat?

[Watch as he produces a veritable encyclopedia of takeout menus. For real, they are in a binder. It's a mess. He lives like this. But he thinks this is totally normal, so he just goes on--] Your friend is exactly the same in person as he is on the radio.

[There's going to be some serious roasting later for that All Might figurine. The posters he can accept; god knows he's had to deal with plenty of those in Hizashi's dorm. But a figurine of himself? Good grief. Even if it is sort of cute, but still. Definitely gonna get roasted for it.]

Of course he is. Loud and annoying and overbearing. He wouldn't shut up about meeting All Might for weeks after your interview.

[Fondly meant, as Aizawa sits on the absurdly large, wonderfully soft bed, feeling himself sink into it a little as he does. Carefully, a frown on his face, he looks through this bizarrely organized stack of takeout menus. There's a lot of American places, he notes absently, although other cultures get their share: Chinese, Korean, Taiwanese, and of course there's a lot of sushi places.

It's a little overwhelming. All of this is a little overwhelming, honestly, from sitting with his not-actually-boyfriend in his room, on his bed, to being fussed over in such a busy way.

(How many people, he wonders, have fantasized about this? Sitting in All Might's bedroom, being cared for, with the quiet implication that they'll at least make out tonight if not more) (definitely not more, his ribs protest, but his sex drive wonders if they can't just power through it). Plenty, he decides. Plenty, and it's very bizarre to sit here and know that there's a fair few men and women who would kill him to be in his place).]

Sushi's fine.

[It's simple and easy to eat. Although--]

You like American food, right?

[They're going to watch an American movie tonight. Might as well go all the way.]

[He loves that action figure and he will not be shamed!! Look at it! They even got his perfectly chiseled abs right, look, look--]

You're the one with the menus! [He says, into his closet now as he looks for, hmm, something. Who knows what it could be. There are definitely way more American menus in there than anything else-- several are even duplicates from his favorite restaurants, with orders circled and everything.

All Might is a colossal dweeb, quite literally, which most people probably leave out of their fantasies. He's thumbing through t-shirts with dopey graphics on them right now, looking at Aizawa over his shoulder and beaming. He has also had two cups of coffee in the past hour, so bear with him.]

You like loud people. [Ha Ha Ha] He seems like a good friend! Now pick something to eat while I find you a clean shirt!

[ :) ]

[This is ridiculous . . . he's so ridiculous, and Aizawa bites back a smiles as he watches him buzz around in his closet. Idly, not really looking, he grabs one of the marked up American menus and pulls it free. He'll just get . . . some fries? Toshinori seems to like something bigger, but the thought of eating an entire burger makes him sick.

With that decided, he glances up, and oh, he's . . . going to wear his clothes? Okay.]

Okay.

[Okay, that's fine, that's great, that's just . . . fine, he'll be in Toshinori's oversized shirt and it'll smell like him and it'll be great, and he's absolutely determined not to turn red and stammer again, because that would be just pathetic.]

Fries, I guess . . . and you can order your usual.

[And with that being said, he hesitates for just a moment before unzipping his jumpsuit. It's filthy, torn up and badly in need of a wash; it's a relief to let it fall down to his waist.

He isn't actually all that slight or slender. He's a hero, he's pushed himself and improved his body as much as any of them. But it's hard to remember that sometimes when he stands next to the likes of Hizashi or Toshinori, both of whom are just so incredibly, unfairly big in different ways.

At least he isn't self-conscious. He just waits, his eyes a little wider than he thinks they are, his fingers curling against the blankets.]

How much All Might merchandise do you actually have?

[Said more to distract from his own nerves than anything.]

Hahaha, you saw the circles? I guess I'm a creature of habit!

[He finally picks a shirt - it is colored the exact gradient of a sunset and, when he turns it around, says "FUN IN THE SUN" on it, in English. Of course it does. Surely Aizawa won't find anything objectionable about this shirt, which is why Toshinori brings it over and doesn't hand it to him, not yet, looking at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

It probably hurts. No, no, it definitely hurts, and Toshinori wants nothing more than to hold him close and make him comfortable, but they should eat first. Food, then getting cozy, then who knows. If Aizawa keeps looking up at him like that, wide-eyed and teetering on the edge of something, Toshinori won't be able to resist--

So. He holds out the shirt, after just a little too long staring at him, letting his gaze skim down the lines of his body. Hm.]

I'll go make the call.

[He, fortunately, does not have idea what it says. Hizashi probably would, and he makes a mental note to take a picture later and ask about it. The color alone is mildly offensive, but also very much Toshinori, so he accepts it without complaint.

Or tries to accept it, anyway, except there's a solid moment, thick and undefined, where Toshinori stares down at him.

He barely dares to breathe. Toshinori's eyes are intense when he wants them to be, and Aizawa feels pinned by that gaze, soft but unapologetic, dragging down the lines of his frame and taking in how he looks. And because he takes his time doing so, Aizawa returns the favor: blatant in the way he finally drinks him in, eyes darting over what he can see. The noticeable swell of his biceps, the way the lines of his neck look, that gaze, hungry and yet not, restrained but clearly interested--

His mouth still aches from that kiss, and absently he presses his lips together, mimicking the pressure of earlier, trying to savor it.

For one long moment, he wonders if Toshinori is going to kiss him again-- but no, then it's over with, just as abruptly as it had begun. Soon Toshinori is holding the shirt out (and still looking at him, and it's all he can do not to beg him to come and sit near him, or next to him, or kiss him again, oh please).]

Right.

[He shoves it on hastily, pleased for more than one reason as it drops down to his thighs. He is so big, and with a little sigh Aizawa wriggles off the rest of his jumpsuit, left in nothing but some boxers and Toshinori's shirt. The collar does indeed slip down on one shoulder, and with a little frown he tugs it up.

He manages to get himself together enough to stand and walk around as Toshinori orders. It's interesting to see the apartment, really-- the movie posters and action figures, yes, (and he snorts when he picks up the figurine, but gives it an obligatory squeeze just to watch him flex), but the little things, too. The pictures, Toshinori beaming as he poses with an older woman; his slightly queasier smile as he stands next to . . . is that Gran Torino? He thinks so, but Aizawa isn't an obsessive when it comes to what Pro Heroes are out there.

There's newspaper clippings, articles on All Might both negative and positive. Bits are highlighted-- critique, Aizawa realizes. Moments of error, marginal and forgivable, but still something that might potentially hurt the image of a symbol of peace if they continued.

And so on. He looks at them all, wandering around in Toshinori's oversized shirt, more than a little self-conscious of what he's doing. When he finally gets off the phone, he half turns, glancing behind him.]

Who is she?

[The woman in the photos, he means.]

[There's no reason for Toshinori to spend so long ordering this food aside from the fact that whoever picks up at this restaurant knows him by order and wants to spend a few extra minutes talking to him, while Toshinori glances over just once-- and once is enough to be thoroughly distracted by Aizawa wandering around in his shirt and hardly anything else. This is only date number two, he has to remind himself, second date and Aizawa is injured, spending the night because Toshinori has decided it would be pushing it to walk him all the way back to UA like this.

But god, if he doesn't look appealing like that, despite the careful way he moves with his injury and the extra messy state of his hair. The shirt hangs just enough to taunt him, and jesus, without the jumpsuit, those legs—

Toshinori blinks, mumbles a thank you into the phone, and hangs up before coming over to peer at his wall of clippings. He drapes an arm around Aizawa's shoulders, tugging him close to press him against his side and hum thoughtfully, fingers skimming against his shoulder. They've got twenty or minutes or so until his American fast food feast turns up, which is... enough time... to look at his pictures, apparently.]

Hm? [--oh.] Shimura Nana. She was a pro hero back when we were kids. ["We," but Aizawa was like, 9--] She was something like my mentor before Gran Torino put me through the wringer.

[He doesn't really remember her, but he nods all the same. There's an inclination to question him a bit further, not out of doubt but simple curiosity, but then there's an arm around his shoulders and that suddenly gets his full attention.

He wants very much to kiss him again, and sees no reason why he shouldn't indulge that desire. He's hurt, yes, and every breath feels a little like agony, but on the other hand, Toshinori is warm and smells wonderful and they've got a fair bit of time before the food arrives.

So he squirms, shifting to pull away from that grip and face him properly. A hesitation, and then he reaches for the back of his neck, pulling him down closer.]

You're too tall . . .

[A grumbled complaint, as he rises to his toes and (carefully) kisses him again.]

[Oh-- Toshinori looks down at him when he squirms, eyebrows raised, wondering if he did something wrong or hurt him or-- no, none of that, he's being pulled down into a kiss and forgets everything he was thinking about a moment before. He's a whole foot and a half taller than Aizawa, but the hands on the back of his neck are persuasive and his mouth is warm and inviting, so a foot and a half is-- negligible.

It's easy and comfortable to wrap his arms around Aizawa, threading his fingers into his hair to tip his head back and lean down into the kiss. They've kissed all of twice now and he only wants more, too many to count, the whole twenty minutes before the food shows up dedicated to nothing else but Aizawa and the fit of his body against Toshinori's.

Good plan. The apartment isn't very big, so it's fine to steer Aizawa around and back him up toward the bedroom. He could just pick him up, he would if not for his injury, but—]

I'll be shorter if we sit down, [murmured against his mouth before Toshinori kisses him again.] There's plenty of time.

Half an hour.

[If that. Which means they've just enough time to get really worked up, hearts pumping and bodies trembling, before nothing at all happens. And that sounds perfect right about now, when they're still getting to know each other. Daring, but not overwhelming; exciting, but lacking the danger of going too far. He walks backwards, stumbling only occasionally, his mouth moving hungrily again and again as he throws himself into it. Soon his mouth is aching, lips swollen and wet, and it's getting hard to breathe but he isn't going to stop this for anything.

His thighs bump against the back of the bed, and they take a breathless moment to rearrange. He has the vague thought to recline back and let Toshinori climb atop him, but his body protests loudly to that plan. Instead: he waits until Toshinori has sat down before edging closer, sliding into his lap, straddling his hips and grinning fiercely.

He's inexperienced, but he doesn't lack in nerve. His heart is pounding hard, terrified he'll somehow be pushed away or rejected, but better to try and fail than just turn into some shrinking violet. His thighs edge in, knees pressing firm against Toshinori's hips, his shirt rising up indecently as he sits there and smirks.]

Better, right?

[Barely half an hour, and it's a length of time that sits between enough and very much not, and Toshinori isn't trying to have sex in the half hour before takeout dinner on their second date, but Aizawa isn't the one who'll be answering the door looking tousled and indecent. But he'll care about that later, when the delivery person knocks, when something forces him to tear himself away from Aizawa's mouth, all wanting and heat. When Aizawa isn't climbing effortlessly into his lap like he's done it a hundred times.

Toshinori looks at him- not quite up at this angle, but almost- and drops his hands to rest on Aizawa's thighs which are quite bare, something he apparently forgot in the last minute of kissing. This is-- very different from the Aizawa who fell asleep on him half a dozen times the other night, who stammers over the vaguest hint of intimacy, and Toshinori finds that he likes both very, very much.

So for a moment he just takes him in, the look, the weight in his lap, the glint of hungry desire in his gaze, the shirt barely doing its job of covering his body. Thighs under his hands; he squeezes, leaning in close to his lips but not kissing him again, not yet-- Aizawa is so much more lithe and compact than he is, and while he spends so much of his time sleepy and sulky there's a power in him that comes out, well, now, while he has Toshinori like this on his own bed.

Even if he's winging it, it's incredibly hot. Really goddamn hot, and Toshinori slides his rougher palm up the smooth expanse of Aizawa's thigh, breath catching at the look on his face.

Less than half an hour--]

Better, [and he closes the distance between them with a harder kiss, hungrier, every pent up frustration he's felt since Aizawa fell during yesterday's fight against the villains coming up at once.]

[Fuck, and he is winging it, desperately so, but it's a gamble that's so clearly paid off. Toshinori's kisses have changed drastically in the past hour, going from sweet, breathless things to something demanding, searing, leaving him breathless as he leans forward and tries to keep up. His mouth works again and again, lips parting and fingers raking through that blond hair, gripping it tight enough to sting.

His hands wrap around his thighs, long fingers pressing hard against tense muscle, and Aizawa shifts just to feel the edge of his shirt lift a little further. It'd be so ridiculously easy for Toshinori to slide those hands up further, work his boxers down, wrap one rough hand tight around him--

And isn't that a thought to keep him warm? Getting jerked off, sure, but like this, sitting in front of him, caught in that intense blue gaze, every moan and whine memorized, every expression noted-- would he even be able to handle it if Toshinori muttered filthily to him? Likely not. Likely he'd just shake himself to pieces, but what a glorious way to go.

Not yet, he thinks dimly, but he squirms around anyway, legs spreading so he can drop down lower on his lap. His hand drags over Toshinori's shoulder, down his chest, his side, blindly groping muscles until he can find the edge of his shirt and slip his hand beneath it. Fingers skitter over the lines of his body, each muscle ridiculously defined, and Aizawa finally gives in and groans softly.]

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