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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.]

[Okay, on the one hand: Toshinori in boxers and nothing else is a very, very good thing. Aizawa is silent for a few seconds too long as he undresses, his eyes dragging shamelessly over every inch of him. Those shoulders, those arms, his torso, and fuck, the sharp jut of hips, and then--

And then, there are All Might boxers, and he meets Toshinori's eyes again.]

I don't know if I want to, not when you're wearing your own merchandise.

[He's very much teasing, but still: babe.]

[Yes, yes, he loves you too. Don't complain. Toshinori laughs, giddy with excitement for how hungrily Aizawa looks him up and down. He can take them off, he almost says, but--]

They're comfortable! I can get you a pair, if you want.

[Babe, please, come with him to the couch. He reaches for Aizawa's hands the second his jumpsuit is off, tugging him eagerly. Let's goooo.]

I am not wearing anything with your name on it.

[He kicks off his jumpsuit. He's left in sensible black boxers and, sadly, the capture rope, bunched up low on his neck. That he doesn't drop until they reach the couch, because if he needs it he wants it close on hand.

But even he can't act as though he's totally indifferent as they reach the couch. He climbs atop Toshinori swiftly, gripping his shoulders and pushing him back, catching him in a harder kiss than before. His neck is wet and aching, and while he loves the fact his skin is covered in possessive little marks, it's past time for him to stake his claim in return.

He drags his mouth down, nipping at his jawline, and then-- a breath, a moment of hesitation, and then he slides down to his neck, teeth scraping against skin. Just like his grinding last night, there's an undeniable element of clumsiness and inexperience about it, but on the other hand, the enthusiasm surely makes up for it.]

Why don't you tell me about your day, hm? Did you think of me?

But-- [But it would be cute, and depending on the product, pretty hot... He's mercifully distracted from his advertising as Aizawa climbs onto his lap, hands coming up automatically to trace his hips and around to squeeze his ass again. Reddened skin, hot to the touch, aside-- the bruises he left himself are a sight to behold, just like the rest of him, handsome and well-built and knowing exactly what he wants to do, if not exactly how to do it.

Toshinori gasps and lets his head fall back, fingers toying with his waistband as he rocks his hips up, desperate for that contact to complement the sensation of teeth on skin. It's-- hm, no, it's not expert necking, but it's Aizawa and nothing that can't be improved with practice, so Toshinori mumbles,] Lower--

[And now it's his turn to talk about his day, is it? Okay, he can-- he can do that.]

I-- yes, I did. I fought some villains, nothing-- nothing serious, purse-snatching, y-you know... And I thought about you and how much I want you, about this morning...

[Lower, and he does as bid, his tongue sliding against the crook of his neck, teeth scraping against heated skin. He smells fantastic, a mixture of soap and himself, and Aizawa is startled to realize he actually has that scent memorized.

Ah-- and he rocks his hips back, arching his back, knowing he's being a tease by pushing his hips against Toshinori's fingers and not actually caring.]

Imprecise.

[He grinds his hips down again, grinning at the resulting pressure. It's hot, but it isn't overwhelming, not like it was before. It's fun to be on the other side of the equation.]

How much you want me? In what way, hm?

[Oh, that one he's good at, good to know. Toshinori whines, a sound no one in their right mind would accuse All Might of making, but here he is, needy the moment Aizawa takes control. He loves it, and surprises himself by loving the way he's scolded for precision of language, of all things-- leave it to Aizawa to come up with that one.

For Toshinori, the tone is enough, the words don't matter nearly as much... but apparently Aizawa feels the opposite, and alright, he can handle that.]

Like this, [with a squeeze; he may never let go of this ass again. Hard to tell.] Or like this morning, or-- or last night. I want to-- to--

[This faltering is for a dumber reason than his dick being too hard to concentrate-- All Might Doesn't Say Fuck. Help him.]

--to touch you. Shouta.

You are touching me.

[He pushes his ass back into that tight grip, partially by way of demonstration and partially because he's discovering he really, really likes Toshinori's hands there.]

Toshinori . . .

[He draws back. There's more awkward hesitation in his gaze than he'd like, but it's hopefully safely hidden by the sheer glee that's appeared. He's flushed and hard and flustered but Toshinori is even worse, all worked up and at his mercy.]

What's wrong? You usually have no trouble talking to the press . . .

[And there's that villain grin again, wide and taunting.]

[Don't give him that look when he's all worked up and bothered, pulling Aizawa closer to press against him. That's so-- that's very-- No one can ever know how turned on he is by Aizawa's bizarre villain face, or he'll never hear the end of it.]

That's different... You know it's different--

[He doesn't desperately want to sleep with the press, for example. And merciless press are just annoying, while merciless Aizawa is really doing it for him...]

I don't have to try hard to impress reporters.

Then this is a good workout for you, isn't it?

[This is definitely going to come back to him, he thinks faintly. At some point the tables will turn and Toshinori will be cruel in that hideously sweet way he has, flustered Aizawa and driving him up a wall. But until then, he's enjoying the ride immensely.

In more ways than one, honestly; he squirms, beyond delighted to feel how hard Toshinori is (and how big he is, good god; he desperately wants to be fucked, but for the first time he balks a little, overwhelmed by the thought).]

Go on.

[Such is the curse of... being a huge boy... Toshinori laughs, breathless, leaning forward to kiss his neck and then just nuzzle against him, one hand shifting to inch up his thigh.]

Can I? This morning, I told you to earn it...

[Has he earned his heavy petting? Hmm.]

[He swallows thickly, his body tensing not unpleasantly beneath that slow creep of Toshinori's fingers. It's pleasantly contrasted by the sweet way he nuzzles against him, and Aizawa hums in pleasure, bumping their noses together.]

And what counts as earning it, exactly? Do you want me to give you a lapdance?

[It's a joke, he just wants him to fluster. Please don't make him do that, babe.]

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i have literally no icons for any of this

HARD SAME

struggling. @ fandom draw more sexy young mights

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