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Shouta was a control freak, a chronic overworker, a carer through and through.
Hizashi loved that about him, he did, but he also just loved him.
He was a person, like any other, who needed attention and care and rest.
Hizashi loved the myth he had married, but not as much as the man.
Eraserhead could be unflinchingly brave, strong and determined, fiercely independent.
Mr. Aizawa could survive on jelly pouches and shallow sleep on the unforgiving floor of a classroom, unfailingly vigilant however it may seem. Protecting, always protecting.
Shouta was a man who ate up every moment of affection he was given, who loved physical touch and long evenings spent together and the simple joy of a shared meal, but never demanded it.
Sho, for all his strength, was still shy in the heart of him. Quiet and careful and never asking too much, never asking enough. Grateful for what he was given, but too wary to take.
Always looking after other people’s feelings more than his own.
He gave Hizashi everything he wanted, everything he had, all his passion and energy and unblinking clarity. Pulled the truth from behind his walls of showmanship, coaxed out the roiling heart of him, provided and provided and provided.
Fucked like a god, had him gasping and panting for air as he stole it from him with that fierce grin, his certainty of touch. Hizashi loved to be pinned beneath him, safe in the bruise of his grip, loved the way he’d tease until he was sobbing and begging for something, for anything, loved the way it would crash on him like a calamity.
Sho was good at that. Pushing past the exhaustion to give Hizashi what he needed, to be generous as he ever was, but he shouldn’t always have to be.
Hizashi loved to make him selfish.
To give him a chance to rest. To let go and simply be, honest and true, irresponsible in his need.
He was so gorgeous like this.
Strong arms straining against the cuffs, flexing above him and making the headboard creak. Hair in disarray, strewn across the pillow from the tossing of his head.
Naked and sweat slick, toned muscle shining in the low light.
Like a Greek myth come to life. Like a painting.
Atlas, at rest.
How had he got so lucky?
To be the only person who got to see him like this. To be the sole recipient of his greed.
He was giddy with gratitude, with a privilege so rare, it was far too precious to squander.
He had kissed every inch of him, lapped the sweat from his skin with a devoted tongue, sucked gasps from him like he was seeking epiphany.
He knew all the tender places on Shouta’s body, those best to lavish with attention, and those to avoid. He worshipped them with hands and lips and tongue. Watching him buck, his control break, watching selfishness take him in a frenzy.
“Stop fucking teasing,” Shouta growled, voice rough, heady with need.
Hizashi wanted to live in that sound, wanted to crawl inside his chest and make himself a home, he wanted more.
He bit down on the nipple in his mouth, sucked on it until he heard Shouta groan, deep and thunderous as the tide, shivering up his spine.
His own body throbbed with matching need, skin tingling, alight with the desire to be touched in return. He ignored his own desire, kissed his way down Sho’s stomach, over the v of his hips.
He sunk to his knees, bracketed between Shouta’s legs, pressed a kiss to the crook of his knee, and met his gaze.
Electricity, crackling in the air, fierce with hunger and deep with the love of a lifetime.
Shouta’s eyes were lust blown and wanting, demanding and half furious, elemental in his desire.
A storm he would gladly be swallowed by, every time, just to feel the way his legs shook as he sunk his head down.
Shouta’s head slammed to the pillow, swearing with a voice so raw that Hizashi could have wept from it, hips twitching beneath him when his lips pressed to the root.
Hizashi swallowed, eyes fluttering closed while he held him there, skin against skin in the eye of the storm.
He pulled back, and the moment of peace shattered. Like the silence before the thunder, like the inevitability of rain.
Hizashi shuddered, breathless and dizzy with want.
Shouta’s legs wrapped around his shoulders, gripped tight and pulled, using all his considerable muscle to get his mouth back where he wanted it. Finally taking.
Hizashi was willing to give.
He spread his fingers across Shouta’s hips, feeling the muscles jolt there, the pulse that raged from the heart of him. He didn’t hold him down, just held on, raft in the swell of the tide, letting the water roil below.
The kind of hunger that sank ships. The kind of ocean from which stories of monsters were born.
He settled into Shouta’s hold, relaxed his throat, let the storm crash over his head as he drifted with the thrust of his hips, the pull of his legs. Breathed when the waves crested then dove headfirst into the calming deeps, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue. He could get lost in this place, but he didn’t want to be found.
He was content to give himself to this.
Shouta was panting, heavy and loud, making little gasps and grunts as he took and took.
Hizashi’s hands twitched on his hips.
He ached.
He wanted Shouta’s hands in his hair, but he wouldn’t unlock him. Shouta would reach for him, drag him into the depths, return attention with attention.
He would care more about the way he ached than he would about his own.
Hizashi wanted him like this, wild and untempered, thrashing and spitting and chasing his need. He wanted the animal heart of him, for once, not the thoughtful mind that would always choose to care.
He wanted all of him.
Love swelling over him, he let himself be lost. Sacrifice on the altar, willing, eager.
Shouta was quiet when he came. A huff of breath, like it was punched from him, and then the trembling.
Hizashi tightened his hold, clung to him, eyes shut as he curled in closer, closer.
Shouta’s legs jerked, clenched about his shoulders.
He swallowed and swallowed, Shouta’s heartbeat in his mouth, the heat of him.
Stillness.
A relieved hum, and his legs released, falling boneless to the bed.
Hizashi licked over him one last time, the loss of the end of it rising in him, wanting to hold on. He felt a twitch of oversensitivity against his tongue, sighed, and released.
He rested his cheek against Shouta’s inner thigh, looked up at him, feeling the way adoration radiated from his gaze, seeing its mirror.
“Unlock me Hizashi,” his voice was warm, gentle.
“Just a minute more.”
Hizashi lay there, feeling the shivers of pleasure as he ran searching fingers up his sides, watching unguarded satisfaction play across Shouta’s face.
He turned his head, nuzzled against the pulse in his thigh, pressed tender kisses there to feel it jump.
The muscle tensed. Shouta chuckled.
“Come on Zashi, it’s my turn,” soft and a little bit teasing.
Needy, in another way.
“Fine,” he conceded, not ready, never ready.
He kissed back up his body. Belly button, sternum, collar bones. Got lost in the slope of his neck, the sharp cut of his jaw.
Shouta turned his head, kissed him with all the lethargic energy of distant thunder. Tired, but no less passionate, no less fierce in his determination to be kind.
He ran his hands up his arms, feeling out the hard-earned musculature, the strength that made him fly. Shouta kissed him deep, urging him on, nipping at his lip while he fumbled with the key.
He heard a click, and felt his world swoop, Shouta striking like a viper as he flipped their places.
The cuffs fell to the bed, jangling metal, until they lay silent.
“Now be a good boy, and keep yourself still.”
Shouta loomed over him like an avenging angel, like a wave ready to crash, and Hizashi let his body relax.
“Whatever you want,” he breathed like a prayer, and let the tide carry him away.