Chapter Text
At first, you aren't sure what's woken you up.
It's dark and quiet, and your brain is fogged with sleep. Blinking blearily, you can just make out a lanky shape bent over by the foot of the bed, hopping as he wrestles with his ridiculous boots.
"... Hizashi?"
"Shh, babe, go back to sleep." The familiar jingle of his belt buckle comes to you as he undresses and shimmies out of his pants.
You squint at the clock across the room. "What time is it?"
"Late." Hizashi deftly hops over you to slide in behind. He tugs your warm, half-asleep form back against his chest beneath the covers. His lips press against your bare shoulder. "Sorry I woke you. Show ran over."
"Mmm. It's okay." You yawn yourself a little more awake, then roll over in the circle of his arms to face him. Your eyes still aren't adjusted to the dark yet. You reach up and sleepily traces his jaw, his lips. "How did it go?"
Hizashi catches the tip of one of your fingers between his teeth and grins at you. He's already combed and brushed all of the product out of his hair for the evening, and it spills over his shoulders in a golden tangle. "Three encores and a booking for next Friday."
"That's great." Smiling, you nuzzle the underside of his jaw, cuddling close. "I told you they'd love you." You yawn again, which itself turns into an appreciative groan as he runs his fingers through your hair and along your scalp the way you like.
"Mhm, you told me," Hizashi chuckles. The thought that nobody else knows the way he sounds like this, in these quiet little moments, sends a little quiver of buttery warmth throughout you. "We gotta get you out to the next one."
"What am I going to do at one of those crazy parties?"
"I dunno." Hizashi grins at you. His hands slip down your back to your waist to tug you flush against him. "You can be my number one fan. I'll give you a ten percent discount on merch."
"A discount, huh?" you ask with a grin of your own. When you prod him in the side, he twists away from your finger with a giggle. He's always been ticklish, something you're not above taking advantage of from time to time. "Next thing, you're going to be offering to sign my tits."
Without a word, Hizashi pointedly looks down at your breasts pressed against him, appears to consider them in a detached sort of fashion, then looks back up with a firm, almost prim, nod, like you're two Victorian bankers who have just settled an agreement.
Then he's on you in a flash, tickling, making you shriek in delight and swat at him. The bed isn't that big, so there's nowhere to go. The apartment the two of you rented together after school is what you might call "cozy" if you were feeling generous, and "fucking claustrophobic" if you were realistic. There's barely room for the two of you to have coffee standing together in the kitchen in the mornings. But, somehow, in the middle of the night in moments like these, it feels just about perfect.
At some point, the wrestling and playfighting changes.
Hizashi is on top of you now, his lean, muscled form dappled with moonlight and shadows from the window. When he leans in, when he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your throat that's all lips and teeth and hot, wet tongue, there's a sort of indulgent, languid softness that steals over you. You tangle your hand into the heavy, silken mass of his hair and pull his head up. Your tongues touch and stroke and flick against one another and you swallow his moan of need.
He's touching you everywhere. Those long, strong fingers stroking your thighs, skating up your ribcage to tease the tips against the sensitive underswell of your breasts. Your legs shift restlessly alongside his. When you let go of his hair, it spills down around you in a curtain. You slide your palms along his back and shoulders, mapping the play of muscle beneath flesh, and he shivers at the light press of your nails.
When he opens his eyes, you feel your heart kick up a notch. You've never known anyone with eyes like Hizashi, that crazy, intense electric green. Whenever he looks at you, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you always feel like you're the only person around. Maybe everyone feels that way. Maybe that's part of the persona. The whole Present Mic thing, this superstar empire he seems to be building almost effortlessly.
But somehow... you don't think so.
Hovering above you like that, your lips barely touching, he doesn't break your gaze as his hand slips slowly down between the two of you. The sensation of his fingertips trailing over your belly, lazily circling your navel, somehow isn't ticklish anymore. You sigh his name, head falling back, and he nudges the underside of your jaw with his lips.
Hizashi cups his hand over your pussy, just enough pressure to make you shift restlessly beneath him. His mouth traces the arch of your throat down to the dip between your collarbones. There are times where he's every bit as boisterous and showboating as he is on stage... and then there are times like this.
Hizashi's fingers are confident and sure as they trace the outline of your sex. He knows you so well; he's always been a quick study. He bows his head to kiss the swell of your breast, tongue flicking and circling the tip as if you have all the time in the world. He doesn't grope or maul you. His mouth moves over your skin like he's committing you to memory with it.
You run your hands up into his hair and he tilts his head back into your grasp. He almost seems to luxuriate in it, a languorous smile on his lips. Your fingers slide through his hair, scratching your nails lightly along his scalp. Leaning up, you run your tongue up the column of his throat to kiss and graze his jawline with your teeth. When he tilts his head down, the kiss this time is more intense, tongues curling and sliding together.
When you arch your hips against him, you can feel the head of his cock against your flesh. The contact makes you moan. Hizashi's lips press against your ear. That sensitive spot he knows makes you shiver. "Roll over," he says in a harsh, ragged whisper.
As soon as you do, belly flat on the bed, Hizashi climbs on top of you, skin to skin. His cock rubs against the curve of your ass, and he licks, sucks, bites restlessly at your neck. "I've been thinking about this all night," he moans.
You huff a laugh and turn your face towards his as best you can. "Yeah? What about all those groupies at your shows?"
Hizashi grins. "Groupies?" His hands slip beneath you to cup your breasts. "I don't notice any groupies. I don't see anyone but you, even when you're not there."
You roll your eyes a little, but can't help but smile. That's Hizashi; always "on". But if you're around him enough, if you know him well, you get to be able to pick out the sincerity from all the showmanship. You learn the way those toothy grins soften around the edges, the way his gaze gets more direct.
The way his hands feel on you.
The way he holds you in the middle of the night.
The shape of his mouth on the shell of your ear when he's pushing his cock inside you from behind.
You're so wet he glides nearly all the way in on the first push. Hizashi's fingers dig into your flesh and he makes a sound that's partway between a moan and a gasp. The way he's straddling you presses your thighs together, makes you clamp down more on his cock. It's tight, but the most delicious friction you can think of.
The feeling of him stroking you deep inside makes your body sing with pleasure. He pushes in until his pelvis is grinding against the cushion of your ass. When he pulls back out, slow, so slow, and pushes back in, you can hear how wet you are.
Pressed against your back as he is, these slow, deep thrusts are all he can manage. The wet sound of your sex, the soft creak of the bed beneath you, and your harsh breathing fill the dark room. Your focus narrows to the feeling of his skin on yours, the kisses he lavishes on your neck and shoulders, his cock sliding in and out of you. The sheets are rucked up under your hips, and the light friction of them rubbing against you is nice, but not enough.
You don't even realize you've let out a frustrated, needy moan until you hear him shush you. One of his hands leaves your breasts and moves down between your legs. Despite the angle, his fingers part and stroke you, sliding down and over the length of your pussy to drag your wetness up over the aching rise of your clit.
Your breath catches. As he rubs circles around your clit, it feels like he's winding something up inside you, making everything in your center coil in on itself. He knows just when to bear down to make all your muscles start to shake, and when to back off, stroking two fingers in a V on either side. Delaying the orgasm you can feel building within you.
Throughout it all, he doesn't stop fucking you. Sweat slides down his back, around his rib cage, with the effort required to keep this slow, tortuous pace. Except it's not as slow as it was a second ago. His thrusts are growing shorter, sharper, and his fingers speed up on your sensitive flesh. You know this means he's close, and he's trying to get you there before him.
It's almost too much. The orgasm bearing down on you feels almost frighteningly huge. Your hips twist and writhe but you can't escape his hand or his cock. It's like the sweetest agony you've ever experienced. "Hizashi!" you gasp. "I c... I can't... I'm going t... to... "
Good
Please
Good
Don't stop -
You can't even finish the thought before it hits you.
You buck beneath him as you come, head flying back and mouth open wide in a long, lurid wail. Later he'll tease you about what the neighbors will think. Now, all he can go is moan as your body trembles and squeezes around him in desperate release. As you sag against the bed, rendered boneless, his wicked hand pulls away from your pussy to grip your hip.
"How do you want it?" Hizashi's breathing hard, hot gusts against your ear. His hips don't stop thrusting, and the sensation against your nearly overstimulated nerves make it hard to think, but you know what he's asking.
"Inside," you manage, body twisting with sensation beneath him, "inside, oh, God, Hizashi, come inside me."
The sound he makes is one part relief, one part unchained need. He braces himself up above you on his forearms and begins pounding into you. You can hear his breathing above you. He's trying so hard to be quiet because it's too easy for him to lose control of his Quirk like this. Short whimpers and groans burst from his lips, and planted on either side of your head, his hands are white-knuckled fists in the bedding.
His battle with staying quiet only spurs you on. "Come on," you breathe, feeling him jerk and shudder above you, "come for me, Hizashi, I want it, I want you, nnggohGOD, come for me, please, please, please - "
And then he's slammed in as deep as he can get. Your eyes fly open as you feel him go off inside you, a warm, heavy sensation that wrings a groan out from your throat. Panting like he's just run a marathon, he leans down and licks the length of your spine, finishing in a lazy, exhausted kiss at the base of your neck.
With a grunt, he manages to ease backwards on his knees and pull out of you before collapsing sideways onto the bed. Both of you simply lay there, breathing hard and trying to remember how muscles work. With great effort, you turn your head to look at him. Hizashi's eyes are closed, hair strewn across the pillow and his face, and there's a small, content smile playing about his lips.
You nudge his foot with one of yours. "Hey."
"Hmn."
"You alive?"
"No thanks to you." He reaches out and grabs hold of your hand between you on the mattress but otherwise doesn't move or open his eyes. It's about the extent of the physical contact either of you care for at the moment, still overheated and covered in sweat, but the small intimacy makes your heart warm.
After a moment, you nudge him again. "Hey."
Finally a glimmer of green shows as he cracks one eye. His thumb makes lazy circles on the back of your hand. "Hmmmmn?"
You inch closer until you're almost nose to nose. "I think that was worth at least thirty percent off," you say, very seriously, "don't you?"
For a moment, he just blinks at you, confused, before comprehensive dawns. "First of all," he says, slowly leveraging himself up on one arm, ignoring your giggling, "how dare you. Second of all... "
Post-coital tickling should be illegal, and you find you still have enough breath in you to shriek in protest and slap at his hands even if you're too tired to actually fight him off. Thankfully, he has mercy on you almost immediately, tugging you back against his chest as he drops back down. He laces your hands together and clasps them over your breasts, as if you had some intention of trying to escape after. You feel him let out a gusty, happy sigh.
It's hot. Sweaty. You both have to be up in... probably far too short a time. In the morning, you'll both be exhausted and blaming one another's "lascivious attentions" for it.
And yet, somehow, you think, drifting off and feeling his heart thudding against your back through his ribs, it's also pretty much perfect.