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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.]

I-- no, that's okay. [Thank god he's not looking him in the face, or the way his eyes light up in interest and then he instantly frowns would be, uh, visible. There's a lot about Aizawa he doesn't yet know, but he knows this boy would not make it through a lapdance, either giving or receiving.

So he slides his hand up further, more boldly, but purposely not giving him more than this little touch.]

Tell me what you want me to do. I'll think about it.

[He might! He might make it through! No, he wouldn't-- or at least, not now he wouldn't. Check back in when two months have passed.

For now: he squirms at that touch, light and not nearly enough. The question is a little more difficult, because the first answer that jumps to the forefront of his mind is fuck me, which . . . no. An absolutely appealing thought, but not yet, not until he knows him better.]

Just--

[He reaches for his wrist, biting back the shriek of nerves as he pulls Toshinori's hand to press firm against the front of his boxers.]

Like this.

[Not quite sex. Not stripping down completely. Just . . . like this, heavy and hot and overwhelming and yet not crossing that final line.]

[Wow, so promising. Toshinori hums and nuzzles against him again while he squirms and has whatever internal conflict he's having; he wants so desperately to touch him, to fuck him, to be as close to him as physically possible, but. Cheerfully pretending not to notice how frustrated he is has its own merits.

Like this-- Aizawa taking his hand and moving it for him, which makes his breath catch, but the first thing he does is grip him through his boxers anyway. He's... well, he has really big hands, so it only takes the one grip to get an idea of what he's working with here. An illuminating thought for later, when he's not palming against him slowly, not wanting to cross that invisible line.]

So, what about that video...?

Ah--

[Sorry, are they talking? No they are not, because the very fact Toshinori just has to use one hand to get him off and then some is enough to drive him to distraction. Never mind how he's touching him-- slowly, too slowly, and he bites back a whine as he jerks his hips forward. More, harder, his fingers twining in Toshinori's hair so he can bite at his neck again.

Don't worry about that video, babe.]

Hey--

[Tell him about the video!! Not that he's genuinely protesting, tilting his head for Aizawa and pressing his hand harder against him. The sounds Aizawa makes, his squirming around in Toshinori's lap-- that's good. Good enough to almost make him consider not moving his hand at all and having Aizawa rock against him to get himself off, but no, he can't resist wrapping his fingers around him- as best he can while he's still barely clothed- and giving him a few strokes.]

[Make him, why don't you, he's way too busy getting off on this handjob-but-not. And honestly, though he's avoiding talking for a good reason, it's not as if he's so clearminded: the second he wraps his fingers around him Aizawa is lost. He moans, low and intent, his hips snapping forward faster. More, please, more of that, that's very, very good, and he has absolutely no time to be embarrassed about the fact he's going to get off in his underwear, that's just how it be here and now.]

Keep--

[A breathless instruction, as he tips his head up and kisses him. Heatedly, intensely, messily, his core temperature rising just the way it had this morning, god but he's attracted to this man--]

[One breathless word is all Toshinori needs, surging against him when he's kissed, hungry and reckless. He locks his other arm around Aizawa's waist and rocks his hips up against him, just barely enough contact to keep him sated while he works him over with his fingers.

It's still through his goddamn underwear, though, and that's hot until he thinks about the skin he's not touching, how it's practically a searing touch when his hand brushes against Aizawa's stomach or his leg-- fuck, he wants more, stroking him faster to at least hear him again if he can't touch him more than this.]

Shouta, talk to me--

["Talk" is relative.]

[This is a thing with him, isn't it? Hearing Aizawa break down while he's getting off, watching as he loses the capacity for speech and simply starts babbling. He can definitely see the appeal, and makes a note to keep doing it in the future.

For now-- for now, he lets out a strangled sort of noise as Toshinori moves his hand faster. It won't be long, partially because he's spent all day thinking about this and partially because this is the first time someone else is getting him off, and oh, god, but what a difference it makes. He whines again and again, hips snapping forward, eager to feel the strength in Toshinori's arm as he keeps him pressed close.]

What-- what do you--

[He can't think of anything. He really can't; he's too distracted, too overwhelmed, too fucking turned on, and he bumps their foreheads together, closing his eyes.]

Toshinori--

[Unfair. And honestly, it's likely his not-boyfriend would let him get away with moaning and writhing and whining, it's not like that's bad to listen to, but Aizawa wants to do this. He's more than capable of it. But the only thing he can think to blurt out, rushed and breathless, is:]

T-they-- fuck-- they think I'm star struck for All Might--

Edited 2018-06-24 04:13 (UTC)

[It's most definitely a thing; he loves it, making this boy fall apart in his arms gets him going, and he doesn't want to get off by simply haphazardly bumping against Aizawa every other roll of his hips, but if he does it will be... well, embarrassing, but not entirely terrible. For now he has Aizawa held tight in his lap and his cock under his hand--]

Shouta-- [And he's precious, good god, he can't make noises like that and then lean in close like that, vulnerable, trusting Toshinori with his body for no reason other than he wants to. He's cute, and Toshinori tilts his head to pepper his face with kisses, short and sweet, saccharine at the same time he rubs his thumb from the tip down the length of him in one motion. The advantages of big hands continue...]

Are-- haha, are you? [He's whispering now, because he kind of wants an honest answer at the same time he just wants to hear Aizawa's control crumble.] Or do you just like me?

[He whines against his mouth, body shaking involuntarily as he gets closer to his finish. He's so big, a low wail of a thought that keeps repeating over and over, stunned and utterly turned on by how he's getting worked over. What will it be like later, when they fuck, when he's whimpering from trying to take all of him and Toshinori is there, staring at him in delight, whispering out praise and goading all at once--]

Fuck!

[Not an answer. Think, and he sucks in a deep breath, his hips snapping forward more urgently.]

Y-you-- just you--

[He doesn't hate All Might, but he isn't dazzled by him either. It's Toshinori he likes, adores, is utterly smitten with, Toshinori and his optimism, his unrelenting cheer in face of Aizawa's dourness . . . really, Toshinori had called it before: Aizawa does like loud, bright people.

It doesn't take too long before he feels his finish coming on: a low heat in the pit of his stomach, his breath coming in short bursts, hips stuttering-- he ends up ducking his head down, moaning against Toshinori's ear as three hard waves hit him.]

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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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