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[Everything he can think to say-- I'm not looking like anything; this isn't the same thing and you know it; stop fucking posing-- all sound too inexperienced and sputtering to be allowed to be aired.

Instead he scowls, because that's got a good track record.]

I don't know who convinced you spandex was a good idea when you look like that.

Well, it had to stretch.

[Duh? He gets bigger, Aizawa, there has to be a little give in his costume. He'd like to go over there and kiss that scowl straight off his face, but first--time for pants.]

Do you want breakfast?

[Just wait til he gets turned on in the middle of battle, they'll see just how much stretching room he has.]

Yes.

[Still, he spends a few extra seconds looking him over before finally tearing his gaze away to go to the kitchen. It's doubtful Toshinori has some of that hideous pouch food he lives on, but maybe . . .? Or maybe just some rice.

Definitely just rice. At least he can cook that, that's something. And it feels sort of good to be able to contribute. It was nice to be cared for, even spoiled, but he likes being able to offer something in return.]

[Try not to turn him on mid-battle?? There will be news coverage and that's even worse than having to answer the door.

Whatever, though; he puts on some damn pants, finally, before wandering out to see what Aizawa has done to his kitchen. He's... making some rice. Okay. That's barely a breakfast, babe.]

Are you ever hungry?

I'm nearly two feet shorter than you. I don't need as much.

[Rice is filling! Rice is just fine, god. It's at least a lot of rice, both because he hasn't eaten in god knows how long and because he assumes Toshinori will eat at least two shares.]

You eat like it's just for fun and you aren't enjoying it.

[This weird boy... Cooking rice is enough to get Toshinori to come up behind him and wind an arm lazily around his waist. It's never to early for lots of affection, after all.]

I still have those fries.

What is with you and those fries? Eat them yourself.

[But he loves that affection. He really, really loves it, and tips his head, exposing his neck in a silent bid for more.]

Eating is . . . bothersome. It wastes time and effort. I'd rather just get all my nutrients in one shot.

[He paid for them, that's what. Ah, but if he's given such a brazen invitation, what choice does he have but to lean down and press a kiss against Aizawa's neck? None at all, so it's time for kisses.]

I've never known anyone who gets bored by eating.

[Ah, and he's grateful he's facing forward, because it means he can smile without being seen. His toes curl against the wooden floor, and Aizawa prods unnecessarily at the rice.]

And how many people have you really known?

[What kind of call out is this? Such a strange boy, but a strange boy who's still warm from sleep and with soft skin that smells nice, that he hums against as he trails his lips up toward his ear. Hmm!!]

No matter what I say, that doesn't it make it any less odd, you know.

Ah--

[Oh, and perhaps now would be a good time for Toshinori to remember he is very, very new at this, and thus any arguments he wins via strategic flirting don't count.]

You should pick it up. It's more efficient. You could spend more time training.

[Is this a serious argument?? Toshinori is barely listening and just saying words that he hopes make sense, engrossed as he is with kissing his neck and sliding his other arm around his waist, too.

Will the rice survive this encounter? Who can say.]

I like eating. You saw my menus.

It's illogical--

[This isn't a serious argument in the least, in no small part because that was mumbled. He's twisting around, squirming beneath that touch, one arm lifting to reach back and latch his fingers firmly around the back of Toshinori's neck. Stay, and also incidentally keep doing that, or even more, he's easy--

Except that arm movement sends a shock of pain running through him, and Aizawa can't help the way he jerks and hisses in pain.]

Eating?

[Eating. Eating, a basic survival function, is illogical-- but he'll pursue this in a moment, now that Aizawa is fidgeting and apparently hurting himself. It's because he has to reach up a foot and a half, isn't it, so there's only one choice.

Well, there are several, but only one that appeals to Toshinori's desire to both kiss him and stop him from wiggling all over the place, so it's this: he turns Aizawa around by his shoulders and then effortlessly lifts him up to seat him on the kitchen counter. Tada!! Now he can lean in to kiss him without anyone having to telescope their spine or stretch their horrible acid burn wounds.]

[Oh, and he makes a little noise against his mouth, surprised and pleased and indignant all at once. No one's ever picked him up before (although Hizashi, god bless him, has certainly tried once or twice, tried being the keyword there). He's six feet tall, for crissake, muscled and fairly heavy for his height. Even if he wasn't, he's just not the kind of person who gets picked up.

But here he is regardless, moved so easily it's as if he weighs nothing at all, and there's something really fucking fantastic about that. Toshinori really can just move him however he wants him, and oh, but he'll absolutely fantasize about that later. He's fantasizing about it right now, hips rocking forward uselessly, face flushed in the best possible way.

For now: he sits up on the kitchen counter with his legs spread, Toshinori's oversized shirt falling off his shoulder and his mouth sore from how hard he's being kissed. Automatically one leg wraps around his hips, and he sighs in satisfaction as he yanks him in closer.

It's at least a minute before he dimly remembers--]

Turn the-- turn the stove off--

[Mumbled, and he doesn't give Toshinori a chance to respond before he's kissing him again.]

[He's the kind of person who gets picked up now, now that he's spending so much time with Toshinori, who can probably pick up anyone he's ever met unless they have a quirk that makes them huge. He absolutely loves that he can put Aizawa up on his kitchen counter like it's nothing and get away with it, coming closer to press against him between his legs, one hand groping blindly for his hip.

Turn the...? Oh, oh yes, the rice, and this breakfast should actually happen eventually, but apparently it's not happening right now. Toshinori has to grope blindly for that, too, occupied as he is with Aizawa's mouth, but luckily he can turn a dial and kiss at the same time.

So now there's no breakfast but there is Aizawa, flustered and flushed and still half-dressed, clinging to him with everything he's got once again. Toshinori's head is already spinning a little, and he squeezes Aizawa's hip hard to brace himself as he leans into him.

He has a schedule for the day— a schedule he's ignoring now to break apart from Aizawa's mouth with a breathless laugh at their completely predictable thirst. Not that he's done, far from it, ducking his head to nip at his neck. Aizawa wears that whole heap of fabric with his costume, he'll be fine with a mark or two—]

Sooner or later-- you're going to eat something.

[Or no more kisses, probably.]

[His head snaps back, an almost comically large shiver running through him. But fuck, that feels good, that feels like a hotwire being slipped all the way down his spine, leaving him hissing in pleasure, fingers gripping Toshinori's shoulders tightly. He probably ought to be worried about bruises, but on the other hand, who cares? He's one big bruise right now, a few stray ones on his neck surely won't make much difference. And he has his scarf, and he probably won't need to fight again today, and anyway all these reasons don't matter in the face of how fucking good that feels. The sharp shock of teeth scraping against his skin, biting down and digging in, contrasted swiftly by wet heat and a low voice saying--

Oh, for god's sake.]

I-is that your idea of dirty talk?

[Stop talking about food! He doesn't care about food, and he actually lifts a hand, smacking the back of Toshinori's head lightly. He wants to focus back on the way Toshinori is between his legs, that's way better to think about. Or how his fingers feel gripping his hip, brushing against the edge of his boxers in a tease that's never going to be followed through.

He can't imagine how dizzying it's going to be when they actually fuck.

But far be it for him to be the only addled one: he threads his fingers through all that blond hair, gripping tight and pushing forward. More of those bites, please, as his free hand fumbles to feel any bit of his lover he can.

God, but he's muscled.]

[Aizawa can smack him upside the head all he wants, but nothing will take Toshinori down from the high of getting him to react like that, all soft noises and grabbing onto him, all of him heating up under Toshinori's hands and mouth. God, but if he isn't appealing without even trying, all long legs around his hips and firm body under Toshinori's shirt-- already his imagination is running away with what they could get up to if Aizawa weren't still injured.

When is that other Tuesday he has off, they should go out again--]

It's scolding, [he says, voice tinged with both humor and something baser, hungrier, appropriate enough for the way he bites and licks at Aizawa's neck, speaking without even lifting his head. One hand in his hair and the other roaming over his body, and boy, he does not need to be told twice.

Maybe he could think of something dirty to say, but he's putting all his concentration into bruising Aizawa's neck and pulling him close by his hip and rocking against him. The filthy talk will wait until he's feeling more composed and less desperate to feel Aizawa against him in as many places as possible at once.]

[It's actually a little pathetic that he whines in response to a conversation about fucking breakfast, but to be fair, it isn't the words that have him overheated. It's that tone, hungry and full of desire, just as desperate for Aizawa as Aizawa is for him.

It's a whine for the way he's being bitten, too, just shy of too painful, teeth sinking down in time to the way he's rocking his hips forward, fucking hell. He's going to be hideously bruised and he'll have to wear his stupid capture cloth no matter where he goes, but right now that price seems a simple one to pay.]

If-- nn-- if you're going to scold me, do it for something more interesting--

[He grinds his hips forward again, the heel of his foot haphazardly nudging his trousers down. What if-- consider this-- what if they just ignored Aizawa's injuries and fucked anyway, what about that, huh?]

[Is the morning after the second date still the second date if Aizawa hasn't left or changed out of Toshinori's clothes? That's an important distinction, since "second date" is one of the stronger reasons they shouldn't have sex in his kitchen in the early morning. The others of course being what about breakfast and he's still fucking injured, although the latter seems to be something they're both only paying lip service to...]

Like what? [is what Toshinori breathes against his neck, finally looking up long enough to meet his gaze before leaning in to kiss him hard again, rolling his hips again. Shit-- Aizawa barely has to act to get him going like this. He can face down all manner of villains, but Aizawa's body pressed against his can undo him in seconds--]

You already gave me a hard time [rimshot] for letting you have your way, so this time you'll have to earn it...

[His neck is throbbing, reddened marks vivid against pale skin. They'll become dark bruises soon, but that's a problem for a future Aizawa to deal with.

He's very thirsty right now, all kinds of half-formed thoughts flickering through his head as they kiss again and again. How he could be fucked, how he could just get on his knees, how it would be to look up and see Toshinori watching him while he fucked his mouth, Jesus-- and that's nothing to say of how it'd be to have him all laid out for Aizawa, flat on his back and ready to be consumed--

But with all that being said, he still doesn't want to have sex just yet. He's enjoying this grinding immensely, but there's still a lot about Toshinori he doesn't know, that he'd like to learn before they cross that line.

Besides: he'd like his first time to be something a little more dignified than I sat on a kitchen counter and got a handjob, thanks.

Still: that doesn't mean he wants to stop.

It takes him a few stalled seconds to come up with a response, though. His brain is short-circuiting from the bites alone, never mind the absolute filth that is Toshinori saying something like earn it.]

Earn it how, exactly? You have to go on patrol soon . . . that doesn't give me a lot of options.

[He has to eat a fucking meal, that's how he can earn it-- or something, Toshinori isn't particularly bursting with ideas that aren't Aizawa getting what he wants anyway, for how increasingly filthy each one is. He's stuck somewhere between wanting to undress what's left of Aizawa's outfit with his teeth and wanting Aizawa to turn the tables on him with that cloth of his again, and god, if those aren't incredibly different ends of this spectrum--]

I'll be back before you know it, [is what he says, assuming that Aizawa may return to file papers at a desk this afternoon but will come back here, as eager to spend time with him - grinding or no - as Toshinori is.

And wouldn't that be nice? Sure, if he came home from patrolling to find Aizawa back and waiting for him, tousled and eager and wanting the way he is right now, that would be a sight to behold-- maybe he'd wear Toshinori's shirt and nothing else, but he won't--

Honestly, he could be passed out with the TV on and Toshinori would still be delighted to see him, but his domestic fantasies are a little at odds with the way he's still grinding against Aizawa. New idea: they just do this, nobody goes to work...]

If you can't think of anything, you'll just have to owe me.

F-fine--

[That gives him a solid eight hours to think of something suitable, rather than the frantic, semi-humiliating ideas that are bouncing around his head right now, ideas neither of them are really ready for. It's their second date, and yet here he is, gasping as he finally pulls back, fighting off his own instincts as he tries to catch his breath.

He's going to need to shower, he thinks vaguely, and shudders as he slips a hand down, palming idly at himself.]

When do you get home?

[Ah- pulling apart from him is disappointing as always, and Toshinori doesn't break contact with him entirely, but he swaps his tight grip for one that's softer, more innocently affectionate even as his whole body aches to be pressed against Aizawa even more.

But god, never mind that, Aizawa can't just touch himself right here, where Toshinori can look down at him and do nothing about it because it's their second date, etc, etc. He wants him so bad, that's hardly fair, and his grip around Aizawa's hips tightens minutely again.]

—Late. After-- after dinner.

[But Aizawa hates eating food, so whatever.]

Good. I should be out by eight or so.

[Probably. Hopefully. He really needs to make up for his shitty performance, which might mean staying late, but that's a problem for when he gets to the office. For now: he squirms, scooting towards the edge of the counter.]

I need a shower. Get breakfast ready.

[Bossy! And though he says that smoothly, he's far from unaffected; a quick glance will reveal that. Aizawa squirms again, impatient. There's no getting out until Toshinori lets him out, but-- surely he will.]

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