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[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.

I'm buying you dinner! [Indignant, and he knows he's taking the bait with flying colors, but please!!--] Dinner I have to accept from another human being coming to my door!

[And all the mature reasons, but right now he's stuck on being incredibly turned on and still having to function as an adult in society. Augh--] You... have an attitude.

Yes.

[He says it simply. His smile is gone, but that doesn't mean he's unhappy-- far from it. He's just not the sort to smile a lot.]

You could always just hide behind the door. A man half-hard is probably the least of what they've seen. Or are you always so eager to be extroverted and chatty?

I'm a regular... [He whines, putting his head down on Aizawa's shoulder. His takeout reputation is at stake here, please take responsibility for getting him going.]

You could answer the door.

[Sending his half-dressed, makeout-tousled boyfriend(?) to the door in his stead is definitely the easier option.]

[Gently, entirely unsympathetic, he pats Toshinori's head. There, there.]

You're the older one. You're supposed to be responsible.

[A beat, and then, very aware of what he looks like:]

They'll think you ordered delivery service in more ways than one.

[Wow, what a jerk. Toshinori nuzzles against his neck with a hum that trails off into a chuckle.]

Do you want a pair of my pants, too?

No.

[Because he's not getting the door, by sheer virtue of being stubborn (and a bit lazy too). But that nuzzling is nice, and he falls silent, content to let it continue for a good while. Grinding up against him was fantastic, but sitting in his lap and nosing against his hair is lovely too, soothing and calm. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks dimly, and wonders at that. This is only their second date; what is is about Toshinori that relaxes him so much?

But it doesn't matter. He does, so much so that when there's a knock at the door, he groans softly. He's able to be pried away, but he's not actually going to make any effort to climb off.]

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