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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.]

[Squirming is patently unfair, too! Toshinori is marginally less smooth, face heating up more than it already had been when Aizawa slips easily back into his cool attitude. Good, he says, so he is coming back later? He'll be back, and whatever it is they could do tonight will be distracting him all afternoon.

It's absolutely terrible to be Toshinori Yagi this morning, shifting uncomfortably in his pants that are not designed with any give, especially not for getting hard in the kitchen while his equally aroused whatever-they-are-they-should-maybe-discuss tells him to make breakfast.

Which, of course, he probably won't even eat. Being Toshinori is the worst, this morning. He's already picturing Aizawa in the shower, wet hair pushed back and sticking to his skin, probably working himself over at this rate, god, he has to go run laps until Aizawa is out of the shower--

But first he presses against him again in one swift movement, one hand coming up to tilt his head back and kiss him breathless. He's all but panting when he breaks apart from Aizawa after that, taking a hasty step to the side to, uh, look at the stove. Damn! Nice stove! Go take a shower before his good judgment really collapses.]

[He hurries to the shower for the exact same reason Toshinori stares down at the stove: because he doesn't want to give into temptation just as much as he does, and he knows if he hesitates he's just going to throw himself at Toshinori. Aizawa's already breathless from that last kiss, and the moment the bathroom door closes he shoves a hand against his mouth so he can whine very, very softly.

Whether or not he gets off in the shower is a mystery, although one that probably isn't all that difficult to solve. He emerges in nothing but a towel, but fortunately for them both, heads into the bedroom first, donning his tracksuit. That ought to stop them from being tempted into fucking, right?

Probably not in the future. But at least it does the job now, as they sit at his little kitchen table. Aizawa does, in fact, eat breakfast, firmly ignoring Toshinori's smug little smirk as he does. Let him eat in peace! He falls silent for most of the meal, content to listen to Toshinori talk about whatever crosses his mind, pleased just at the chance to be near him.

The internship is . . . it is what it is. It's difficult to walk in after such a humiliating mistake, but it's still educational. He's scolded, as he deserves, but at least his pro-hero is smart enough to sit down with him and discuss the battle blow by blow. Aizawa is intent throughout the lecture, memorizing the tips he offers and taking mental notes on what he can improve upon.

There's a bit of a snag as they watch the footage of the battle. It's not the embarrassment of seeing himself go down so quick, no.

It's what happened right before that.

That villain with the guns for fingers had been firing mercilessly at All Might. Aizawa had activated his quirk, his hair lifting, rendering the villain quirkless, that was good. And then All Might had been there and Aizawa--

Aizawa had just stared at him.

Star struck, that's what the news anchor on the tape says. She chuckles, sympathetically amused, and Aizawa hates the way his ears have gone red. He hates, too, that Water Watcher laughs and claps him on the back. It's a very kind thing to do, especially after his blunder, but god. He's going to be known as the idiot intern who couldn't help but be dazzled by All Might, just like everyone else in the country.

Ugh.

The rest of the day is mundane. He makes himself useful, not in the field but around the agency, filling out paperwork and running errands. He hears a few stories about the pro heroes who work there and what they've done, which is interesting. It's a fulfilling day, and for the most part, he keeps his mind focused on the task at hand.

Not all the time, though. Every so often his mind drifts, and each and every time without fail eagerly slips back to Toshinori's apartment. To his bed, his couch, his wall, his kitchen counter; to an amused voice muttering earn it and owe me in such a low tone; to the thought of Toshinori above him, pinning him down, marking him up all over, or below him, spread out, hips jerking up uselessly as he whined about how Aizawa was being unfair and not giving him what he wanted--

Toshinori on his knees. Toshinori in the shower. Toshinori pinning him to the wall and fucking him not a foot from the door; his hands tied together, sitting on the couch and watching as Aizawa rode him, pushing his fingers into Aizawa's mouth--

It goes on and on. He has to cross one leg over the other more than once, his cheeks dusted pink, and throw himself into his work once more.

Eight o'clock can't come fast enough. It takes him another forty-five minutes to get back to the apartment (taking a moment to take a detour to UA, grabbing a bag stuffed full of extra clothes and toiletries, avoiding talking to anyone as he dos), but the moment he knocks at the door, he feels his heartrate spike.

Good god. Do all people feel like this when they have significant others? No wonder they never get anything done. This is . . . this is illogical, getting himself involved in something like this, addling himself in such a way, and yet he shifts his weight eagerly.]

[By the time 8 rolls around, Toshinori is tired. He isn't stuck behind a desk all day, thinking about Aizawa and all the surfaces in his apartment that can support two people of their respective, ah, sizes-- he's out in the field thinking about it whenever there's a lull in villain activity. Nothing large-scale happens today, thank god, but that leaves Toshinori's mind drifting between minor squabbles, always back to Aizawa. Lithe legs, muscles, his body compact and powerful-- and his body barely restrained, rocking against his, nearly lifting himself off the kitchen counter just to grind against him.

And then, god, whether or not Aizawa really got himself off in the shower, Toshinori spends no less than a solid hour thinking about it while he loiters around the police station, waiting for Tsukauchi (who of course can know nothing about this relationship on today of all days, when Toshinori would definitely say something about nearly fucking in his kitchen without thinking). He's distracted a dozen times thinking about Aizawa's hands, smaller than his and softer, hands he's held perfectly chastely, slender fingers Aizawa wraps around himself and could wrap around Toshinori whenever he wanted, frankly--

It's those little things that have his attention today; Aizawa's hands and the way he shifts his hips when he's desperate, the way he looks at Toshinori with those dark eyes like he wants to claim him and be claimed at once, his warmth... Toshinori has never found so many small details about one person as incredibly fucking hot as he does when it's Aizawa.

So it's a long day, and he gets home tired, and Aizawa isn't there yet.

That's disappointing in its way, too, but Toshinori needs some time to unwind anyway. He takes a shower of his own and thinks about Aizawa in this very shower this morning, how nice it would have been if he had joined him. Just picked him up again to pin him to the shower wall and fuck him there, next time, maybe next time Aizawa will ask him to come in there with him--

He's dressed in simple sweatpants and a t-shirt (without any goofy sayings on it, at least), hair damp from the shower, when Aizawa finally arrives. Toshinori doesn't hide his delight at all; he opens the door exuberantly and immediately reaches out to pull Aizawa in, kissing him hello before he gets the door shut behind him.

So, hello!! Babe!!!]

What took you so long? [Hmm, he doesn't really need a response, kissing him again before he can say anything.]

I ha--

[Except then he's being kissed, and somehow he doesn't have the energy to pull away and explain properly. He doesn't even have the strength to yank back and close the door; instead, his leg kicks out blindly once, twice, before his foot hits wood and it slams shut.

His bag is dropped to the floor, and he grabs Toshinori's t-shirt, yanking him forward and walking back blindly. His back hits the wall hard, and he grins against the kiss, overwhelmed in the best possible way. More, a blind thought that absolutely doesn't take anything into account but how badly his mouth has ached all day. More I want more, and he plunges his hands beneath Toshinori's shirt, groaning at the feeling of heated skin.]

[Aizawa had something to say there, and Toshinori will ask about his day later, but right now he's been thinking about pressing up against him all day and there's no sense in denying themselves this indulgence any longer. Aizawa's touch is electric, making him shiver even as his body warms in response to being this close. He slots a thigh between Aizawa's legs and reaches around for... uh...

However the hell he gets this ugly jumpsuit open. A zipper? Is there something he can pull on back here? Now it's Aizawa who's overdressed, a fact Toshinori conveys with an insistent hum and a series of tugs on the back of his jumpsuit - very eloquent.]

F-front, front-- don't rip it--

[He doesn't have an unlimited uniform budget. UA is pretty understanding when it comes to replacing uniforms destroyed in training; less so when your enormous boyfriend rips it up because he's too impatient to undress you. He could perhaps lie, but on the other hand, what was the lie, exactly? I faced a training exercise in which some villain tried to strip me down as hastily as possible?

Whatever.

The zipper is in the front, and he fumbles to pull it down. There's the problem of Toshinori's leg between his thighs-- not that it's a problem, per se, but it's hard to focus on anything, undressing included, when all he wants to do is grind his hips down and get off that way.

. . . so he does, because why not? Toshinori's the perfect height for this kind of thing, his thigh ridiculously thick and hardened with muscles, and the resulting pressure is enough to make him whine happily. His jumpsuit hangs haphazardly open, his capture cloth still around his neck (which is absolutely covered in bruises, dark enough to cause embarrassment).]

I won't-- [Not on purpose, anyway. He's got all the self control possible, everything not dedicated to just hefting Aizawa over his shoulder and carrying him off is dedicated to not tearing his clothes off just because he'll be testy about it. But thankfully Aizawa is taking care of it - why is the zipper in the front like he's wearing footie pajamas - which gives Toshinori the opportunity to kiss him again, pressing his thigh up higher as he leans down.

This cloth thing is-- in his way, so he tugs on it until he can see bruised skin (and that shoots a spark straight down his spine, white hot and wanting more), ducking his head to kiss the closest mark he left just this morning.]

Ai-- Shouta-- [God, more more more; Toshinori slides a hand into the open front of his jumpsuit, dragging his palm up his chest to push the garment off his shoulders. Aizawa undressed to the waist except for his ridiculous capture cloth, nearly held off the floor by Toshinori's leg, thrusting against him desperately-- more.]

Tell me-- tell me about your day.

[With his lips against his neck and hands sliding down to his ass, please, tell him how your day was, babe.]

I am not--

[Fuck, and this is overwhelming in the best possible way, dizzying and overheated, and he's so wildly out of his depth, but that seems to suit Toshinori just fine. He grinds his hips down again and again, rocking against his thigh in a steady pattern, absolutely aware of how fucking undignified that is and not caring. His hands jerk upwards, forcing Toshinori's shirt up. It drops a moment later as his fingers drag against muscle-- and then, harder, nails dragging against skin, a grin flashing unseen over his face as he tips his head back.]

I am not telling you about my day when you're--

[Someday he'll finish that sentence, but it sure isn't when Toshinori's hands are planted firmly on his ass. That's wildly distracting, and he shudders, his hips suddenly jerking irregularly. Fuck, and he lets out a strangled sort of noise--]

But Shouta, [he breathes out, half wheedling, half just wanting to hear his own voice saying his given name. It sounds good, one more indulgence, and Aizawa isn't stopping him so he must be in the clear--

He hisses through his teeth at the sharp bite of nails against skin, squeezing his ass to lift him again, up the wall, just enough to pin him there and get his legs around his hips. His own shirt getting in the way of Aizawa's hands is a hassle, but like hell if he's going to let go of him even for a moment. With a groan he rocks against him, teeth sinking into a spot of skin yet unmarked from this morning.

Tell him about your day, he's very into this, hearing Aizawa try to stay composed while he comes apart--] Talk to me.

Shit--

[That's for the way Toshinori lifts him, just as easily as he had this morning, effortless and utterly hot. One leg lifts, wrapping around his hips, as he pants softly up at the ceiling and tries not to descend into a nonsensical babble.

Shouta, and there's something almost sacred about the way he breathes it out. Better than any pet name or filthy euphemism, just a name almost no one else is allowed to use. He stifles a sigh to hear it, and instead squirms, trying to impossibly pull Toshinori even closer.]

I--

[Fucking hell, what is he supposed to say? He knows why Toshinori wants him to talk, but his mind is utterly blank, stunned into submission by this onslaught.]

I w-went to-- to the agency, we went over what I'd done wrong, we watched, watched the video-- t-they think--

[Mmph, wait, no, maybe not that. He squirms again, insistently pulling at Toshinori's shirt, trying to silently bully him into taking it off. His teeth are still at his neck, heated breath against his skin, and with an unabashed moan he rocks his hips down again, hating how good that feels.]

[God yes, that's it, there's something so incredibly appealing about hearing Aizawa say something completely ordinary while he's like this, breathing ragged and erratic movements, something Toshinori could indulge in all evening if he had the chance. He slides one hand up to Aizawa's lower back, groping blindly for the waist of his jumpsuit, eager to slip his fingers underneath the fabric as far as Aizawa will let him get away with it.

As for his shirt, well, he'll help if Aizawa pulls it up far enough, but that's all the effort he's willing to spare.]

What-- they think something?

[Something about how Aizawa fumbled the case, Toshinori thinks, and maybe that's not the sexiest thing to talk about, but whatever-- it's all in the words, the tone of his voice, the tremor in every other syllable that's all thanks to him. Still, grinding against him is good but it isn't enough, not after he's spent the whole day picturing Aizawa laid out on his bed, perched on the kitchen counter with his legs open for Toshinori to slide between his knees, most definitely less dressed than he is now--

Whether or not he explains the rest of the meeting, though,] Your injury-- how is it?

[How good to go are they, all other factors aside--?]

Just don't press too hard on them.

[He's not a pretty sight, his torso reddened and wounded, but it's better than it was yesterday. Healing quirks, Aizawa had decided, are wildly underrated; he'd be bedridden for at least another few weeks if not for the doctors and their care. As it stands, it hurts, but it isn't debilitating.

He wiggles a little, working his jumpsuit down lower on his hips, but there's really no way he's going to get undressed while he's being held up. So--]

Let me down.

[He's all for breathless talking and making out, absolutely, he'll tell Toshinori all about his day in a minute, but it'd probably be hotter if they were both just in their underwear, right? Maybe not sex, still, but at least the next best thing to it.]

[If he can move and Toshinori won't hurt him with any of this, then-- that's good. They're heroes, they can take more than this.

But, mm, putting him down is so-- well he just really doesn't want to, like the longer he holds Aizawa up the more likely it is that their clothes will just fall off without having to separate, but fine. He steps back only enough to give Aizawa the space he needs to undress, pulling his own shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. He pauses for only a second before hooking his thumbs under his waistband and tugging the sweatpants down, too - those get kicked to the side, too, and here he is--

In his All Might brand boxers, but hey, don't think about that.]

Couch--? [He doesn't care which one of them climbs over the other, but either way, that sounds like a good plan.]

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