dumbshow | the critically acclaimed open post

[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.]

[Each move Aizawa makes on top of him makes Toshinori kiss him harder, more insistently, before he simply squeezes his thighs pointedly and pulls Aizawa flush against him. It's easy to move him around, a thought that excites him and makes his nerves spike at once. So easy to pick up Aizawa and move him anywhere convenient, so easy to move too fast and spoil this relationship before it begins—

It's like walking a tightrope, and Toshinori has never been the most adept at nuance. He knows this: Aizawa is warm, skin heating under his very hands, and he's kissing Toshinori like it's the end of the world, which only makes his own desire for this deeper.

And it would be easy, so easy, as Aizawa presses down against his lap, to slide his hand just inches over and touch him the way he wants to. The way both of them want him too, and that's a dangerous thought for a whole host of practical reasons, including whether or not he can get Aizawa off before dinner shows up at the door demanding to be paid attention to.

Not much of a question, of course; he most certainly can get Aizawa off in less than half an hour. That's a given. Then Aizawa's hand finds his skin and his breath catches again, almost silly compared to everything else they're doing, so Toshinori responds by pushing his hand higher up his thigh, under the shirt and after a beat of hesitation, under his boxers.

This is uncharted territory, and Aizawa's skin is hot and his leg muscled and firm, and god, it would be so very easy to shift his hand and make him groan like that some more, moan for him, to make his whole body tremble from the sheer force of wanting him that much—

But it's too soon, he tells himself, and he tries to listen to himself even as he lays another kiss on Aizawa's lips, wanting... but.]

We could, but... [But it's the second date? Dinner is on the way? Aizawa is still a little burnt to a crisp under that shirt and bandages? There are plenty of reasons, and Toshinori shrugs, rubbing his thumb over Aizawa's inner thigh in a little circle because he genuinely cannot help himself.]

[But, but he's in such pain, but they don't know each other well enough yet, because he doesn't actually want his first time to be a furtive handjob that has a fairly good chance of being interrupted by delivery. But he wants him so badly, and the tease of his fingers beneath his boxers is so electrifying, and it's so unfair that he has to say no.]

We won't.

[It's a declarative statement, drawing a line in the sand for both their sakes. No, they won't, though he leans in a moment later to kiss him again. Softer this time, because he's still panting, but he can't resist.]

Right?

[It's not that he thinks Toshinori will push, but best to hear agreement.

Besides: he wants to hear a very firm, very definitive statement before he starts teasing again. They're not going to have sex, but that doesn't mean he can't keep squirming and grinding down in his lap. He can claim innocence if he wants, but mostly he's motivated by seeing someone usually so noble and clean and pure have to stumble around and answer the door half-hard.]

[Ah-- disappointing, the same way Aizawa is no doubt disappointed, but drawing that line grounds him enough to see past his own desire and actually listen to the practical reasons he's put at the back of his mind until now. Kissing him like that, sweet and somehow comforting— he could fall completely in love with Aizawa right now, if he does that enough times.

Kissing him like that almost changes his mind, too, but he nods and curls his fingers against his skin, like that's an additional confirmation that they're not doing this now.]

Right. You shouldn't even be sitting on me like that, with your injury...

[But he's going to kiss him again, slower now, instead of politely lifting him off to sit somewhere else.]

I know what I can handle.

[He firmly stops that before it starts. The concern is sweet, but he isn't about to stop everything just because they're not going to have sex. Carefully, he sweeps his fingers through Toshinori's hair, smoothing it down. He meets his eyes, studying the cooling heat and worry there.

And then, with a wide smirk (the ones Hizashi hates, the ones he always wails make Aizawa look like a villain, it's so malicious and baiting), he squirms again, rocking his hips down hard. It's a bit clumsy, betraying how new he is at this, but pressure is pressure, isn't it?]

Do you?

Edited 2018-06-22 02:28 (UTC)

[He'll be concerned as much as he wants, a point he'd argue at least facetiously before Aizawa gives him that look. Either Hizashi is missing out or Toshinori is strange, because the force of that look shoots straight down his spine, leaving him looking at Aizawa dumbly in the moment before he grinds down against him.

Oh, he thinks, and his dumb look turns into a gasp, slack-jawed, and after getting so worked up there's no doubt that it feels good to get even that much relief.

So, fuck. They're not going further than this which means they can... go this far...? It means Toshinori tugs on Aizawa, a silent request for him to do that again. Maybe with a little more finesse, this time.]

Don't worry about me.

Are you sure?

[But unlike before, this is a taunt, smug and self-assured. He isn't quite as confident as he's putting on, but that gasp had done wonders for him. His fingers tighten, gripping Toshinori's hair hard enough to sting, as he rocks his hips down again. Like that, just a little less clumsily, and again, a smaller aftershock, his expression flickering from smug to something baser.

But no, he wants to keep talking, he wants to be smug and superior as long as possible.]

You look a little distracted--

[Ah-- even if Aizawa isn't entirely sure of himself, he's doing a fantastic job. Toshinori slides his hands up to grip his hips, meeting his gaze without a trace of embarrassment; just desire, and a little wonder. If Aizawa wants to try out taking control, having him in the palm of his hand, well damn-- he can do it as much as he wants.

He strains against the hand in his hair some, trying to lean forward and catch him in another kiss, a soft noise escaping him.]

You distract me.

[Someday, they'll be too used to one another to be susceptible to easy kisses, but it certainly isn't today. The instant Toshinori strains forward Aizawa ducks down, kissing him. It's eager and a little more sweet than he intends, though the way he keeps squirming around certainly adds an element of filth.

And then, breathlessly, against his mouth:]

At least it's mutual.

[A wry acknowledgement, and he bumps their noses together, humming softly in amusement.]

[Fuck, that's all very good-- Toshinori is just as breathless, shifting his grip to slide an arm around Aizawa's lower back and pull him all the way in, to be close and, okay, impede his wiggling just a little bit. He does have to get up and make it to the door, any minute now.

And he's so sweet, Toshinori can hardly stand it.]

Haha... this isn't what I had planned for our second date.

[He's not a total horndog... only, like, 60% horndog.]

We're still going to watch your movie.

[He grins as he keeps squirming: a little to tease, a lot because he's being implicitly told to stop.]

Did you think you were just going to kiss me chastely?

[Oh, good, at least he still gets to nerd out over an old movie, preferably while waving fries in Aizawa's face to get him to stay awake-- Right now he makes another noise, airy and half-laughing, and wraps his other arm around him, too.

Sooner or later this plan may work.]

I thought you might doze off, first—

I will later.

[He absolutely will, likely right after the first ten minutes of this movie, but whatever! For now he tries to keep moving his hips, but it's a great deal more difficult now that there's two arms around him.

So he slumps, relaxing, frowning faintly and not at all upset.]

I hope your endurance improves . . . ten minutes isn't much and you're already tapping out.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i have no icons for thiiiiiiiiiiiis

hey same!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject