There are few things that can make Yamada Hizashi really, truly mad. He likes to think that he’s a relatively easygoing person, generally, and sure, he’s been told a time or two that his sense of self is a little more elevated than it probably should be, but what famous musician isn’t like that? It’s how you make it in this industry.
However, if he ever meets Aizawa Shōta, writer for Billboard Japan, fists are going to fly.
If one thing can be said about Yamada Hizashi, it’s that he never fails to surprise. After all, until yesterday’s release of 何SOON, music lovers across the country believed that Yamada could not produce an album worse than SAY HEY. Yamada’s sheer arrogance oozes from every lyric, which is nearly as grating as the melodies themselves, a combination of the most tiresome pop renditions and –
Hizashi tears the magazine in half.
“What did Aizawa say about you now?” Iida Tensei snorts, looking up over the edge of his laptop.
“The usual,” Hizashi replies through gritted teeth.
“So, that you’re an arrogant, talentless hack?” Tensei surmises, and Hizashi scowls at him. “You know, I can’t understand why you read the reviews he writes. You know they’re just going to piss you off.”
“Yeah, well, someday he’s going to like one of my songs and then he’s going to have to admit it,” Hizashi says, tossing the ragged halves of the magazine down on the coffee table and then propping his feet up on top of them.
“Hizashi, there are some people whose opinions you just can’t change,” Tensei sighs, fixing Hizashi with the look of someone who’s had this conversation one too many times. “There’s always going to be someone who hates you in this business. Seriously, just stop thinking about it.”
“Maybe I should set up a dartboard,” Hizashi grumbles, slumping back further into the couch cushions. “Find a photo of that bastard’s face and blow off steam by throwing sharp objects at it.”
“You sound like a fucking cartoon villain,” Tensei snorts, and Hizashi tries to scowl at him, but it turns out more like a pout. “Go get laid or something. Stewing over Aizawa isn’t going to do you any good, and your songs are shit when you write angry.”
Unfortunately, Hizashi can’t exactly argue with that. Even he can’t stand the music he produces when he’s frustrated.
Which is how he finds himself at a local nightclub that evening, decked out in his tightest pair of leather pants. Midnight is one of the most exclusive clubs in the city – a celebrity hangout – but despite all the pretty people on the dance floor, it’s been almost half an hour and no one’s really caught his eye. He sighs and leans back against the bar, crooking a finger at the bartender, who hurries to make him another drink. If he’s not going to get laid tonight, he might as well get drunk.
However, as he glances further down the bar, his eyes catch on someone.
The man looks almost bored as he leans back against the bar, but the lazy slouch of his shoulders doesn’t hide the lean curve of his body. As he knocks back a shot, his shirt rides up a little, revealing the sharp cut of his hipbones, and Hizashi can’t help but lick his lips. When the man turns around to set the shot glass back down on the counter, Hizashi doesn’t even try to keep his eyes from straying to the man’s ass, outlined perfectly by his tight jeans.
Hizashi smirks and makes his way over. He’s definitely found tonight’s conquest.
“What are you drinking?” Hizashi asks, leaning against the bar beside the man. The man looks over at him, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but then his lips quirk up into the barest hint of a smirk.
“The most expensive thing on the menu,” the man replies, tilting his chin slightly, as if daring Hizashi to follow through.
Well, Hizashi’s never been the type to back down from a challenge.
“If it’s something pricy you’re looking for, all the really high quality stuff is back at my place,” Hizashi says, giving the man a blatant once-over. “We could break out the Dom Perignon.”
However, instead of flirting back or agreeing on the spot, the man lets out a derisive snort.
“God, you’re even more arrogant in person,” the man says. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
It takes Hizashi a moment to process that statement.
“What was that?” he finally manages, half convinced that the heavy bass of the club’s music has somehow damaged his hearing.
“Aizawa Shōta,” the man replies, fixing Hizashi with a smirk. “I suppose it’s socially acceptable to say, ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ but I’m really not. Thanks for providing me with some entertainment tonight, though.”
For a long moment, Hizashi finds himself staring, the name reverberating through his head.
Aizawa Shōta. He just tried to pick up Aizawa fucking Shōta.
(Damn, if part of him doesn’t still want to fuck Aizawa’s brains out, though. It should be illegal for someone so aggravating to look so hot.)
However, as Aizawa turns to leave, Hizashi finds himself reaching out, hand latching onto Aizawa’s shoulder and holding him in place. Aizawa glances back at him, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Hizashi demands, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them.
“Me?” Aizawa snorts, his eyebrows rising up towards his hairline. “One of the few people with balls enough to call you out on your bullshit. Now get your hand off me before I remove it myself.”
“Is that a threat?” Hizashi sneers, tightening his grip on Aizawa’s shoulder.
However, before his brain even manages to register what’s happening, he finds himself pressed up against the bar, the sharp edge digging into his stomach and his arm twisted behind his back. Aizawa’s body is pressed flush against him, holding him in place, and for a split second, Hizashi feels a rush of heat overcome his body.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a few people look over at them and his face flushes with frustrated humiliation. He sorely hopes that no one’s pulled out their phone yet.
“I don’t know,” Aizawa says, his breath hot against the shell of Hizashi’s ear, dragging his attention away from the bystanders. “Does it sound like a threat to you?”
Then, Aizawa releases him. For a moment, Hizashi finds himself slumped against the bar, dazed, still trying to process what just happened, but then anger bubbles up in his gut, his shoulders trembling with the force of his humiliated rage.
“Fuck you!” Hizashi calls after Aizawa as he walks away, too pissed at this point to care if people stare. Aizawa just waves at him lazily in reply, a casual dismissal that makes Hizashi’s blood boil.
(He tries to ignore the fact that it’s not the only reason his blood is still pumping fast through is veins, the phantom sensation of Aizawa’s firm body pressed up against him pricking at his skin.)
Fuck, he needs a cigarette.
It’s been two weeks since his encounter with Aizawa and Hizashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He’s been jerking off a lot, trying not to imagine how satisfying it would be to fuck the smirk off of Aizawa’s smug face. Although he’s picked up a few people since then, the sex has seemed lacking somehow, leaving him frustrated and unsatisfied, like there’s an itch on his back that he can’t quite reach.
He’s gone through twice as many packs of cigarettes as he normally does. At this rate, he’s going to ruin his voice before he hits thirty.
Right now, he’s itching to wrap his lips around a cigarette, but unfortunately, he’s in the middle of a photoshoot with Hakamata Tsunagu. If the photographer were anyone else, he’d have demanded a break already, but unfortunately Hakamata’s powerful enough in the industry that Hizashi would have to be a complete idiot to piss him off.
Still, Hizashi’s getting to the end of his rope. The jeans he’s been shoved into are the tightest he’s ever worn – which is really saying something, considering his wardrobe – and some of these poses are seriously trying his flexibility.
Finally, though, Hakamata says, “Alright, let’s take fifteen,” and Hizashi can’t help but let out an audible sigh of relief.
God, he needs a cigarette.
However, when he pushes through the side door, leading out into the alleyway next to the studio, he finds the absolute last person he wants to see right now. Aizawa’s leaning against the side of the building, dressed in charcoal grey slacks and a wrinkled white button down, tie hanging lose around his neck. There’s a cigarette held between his long, slender fingers, and for a moment, Hizashi finds himself thinking that Aizawa looks more like a model than he does right now.
Fuck that pisses him off.
“Please tell me you’re not here to hit on me again,” Aizawa says dryly, and Hizashi feels his face heat with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“I actually have a photoshoot with Hakamata,” Hizashi replies through gritted teeth, digging a cigarette out of his pack and clicking his lighter impatiently. “Why the hell are you here?”
“I was supposed to interview Hakamata ten minutes ago,” Aizawa answers. Hizashi can’t help but notice the subtle once-over that Aizawa gives him, eyes lingering for a moment on the dark ink of Hizashi’s tattoos, teasingly visible through the thin fabric of his white shirt. “Apparently Hakamata’s running behind schedule because of a… difficult model. I don’t suppose you would know anything about that?”
Hizashi bristles, unintentionally biting down on his cigarette.
“I know when to be professional,” Hizashi snaps, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.
“Really?” Aizawa snorts, arching an eyebrow at Hizashi. “You could have fooled me. According to one of my sources, there are at least three prominent photographers who refuse to work with you.”
That’s the final straw.
Hizashi stalks over to Aizawa and slams a fist into the brick wall just over his head, boxing him in. He’s ever so slightly taller than Aizawa, it seems, and Aizawa’s slouch only emphasizes the height difference, making Hizashi tilt his head down a little as he hisses, “What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem,” Aizawa says slowly, his gaze cool as he looks up at Hizashi, “is that you’re everything I hate about this industry.”
“Yeah?” Hizashi sneers, leaning in so close that he hear Aizawa’s breathing, smell the cigarette smoke on his lips. “And what would you know about this industry? You just hide behind that fucking magazine and whine about us actual artists not catering to your specific tastes. You probably jerk off to your own articles, don’t you?”
“Why? Is that what you do?” Aizawa drawls, almost lazily, despite being backed up against a wall and yelled at. “Jerk off to your own songs?”
Hizashi tries not to think about how his latest fantasy involved fucking Aizawa’s face, and is suddenly, uncomfortably aware of how easy it would be to lean in a few more inches and press his body up against Aizawa’s. Now that it’s on his mind, though, he can’t help but notice how Aizawa’s eyes have gone a little darker, his pupils dilated.
“Are you getting turned on by this?” Hizashi asks suddenly. Aizawa blinks at him, finally surprised out of his bored expression. “Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”
“You wouldn’t have made it this far in show business if you weren’t pretty,” Aizawa says, and Hizashi grins as cracks start to form in Aizawa’s unaffected veneer.
“You’re trying to avoid the question,” Hizashi replies, leaning in even closer and saying the words right against Aizawa’s ear, like Aizawa had done after pinning him to the bar those couple of weeks ago.
He hears Aizawa’s breathing hitch ever so slightly and grins. Jackpot.
Hizashi leans in a little closer, fitting his thigh in between Aizawa’s legs and closing his lips around Aizawa’s earlobe, tugging at it lightly with his teeth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Aizawa hisses, but although he presses one hand up against Hizashi’s chest, fingers curling in Hizashi’s shirt, he doesn’t make any move to actually push Hizashi away.
“What does it look like?” Hizashi snorts, pressing his thigh more firmly against Aizawa’s crotch, pleased when it makes Aizawa’s grip on his shirt tighten. “God, you’re such a fucking tease.”
“Unlike some writers, I don’t give out good reviews in exchange for sex,” Aizawa says through gritted teeth as Hizashi reaches down to pop the button of his slacks open.
“Yeah, well, looks like we’ve finally found something we can agree on,” Hizashi sneers. “I don’t fuck anyone I don’t want to fuck.”
Apparently that makes up Aizawa’s mind, because he drops his cigarette down onto the ground and crushes it under his heel before dragging Hizashi into a harsh, biting kiss. His mouth tastes like cigarette smoke and Hizashi grins, snaking a hand down the front of Aizawa’s pants and wrapping his fingers around Aizawa, stroking him to hardness.
Part of Hizashi thinks that this is probably a bad idea, fucking a critic in an alleyway, completely illuminated by the midday sun. Still, he’s never been good at holding back when he wants something and fuck does he want to shatter Aizawa’s smug, unaffected façade.
He breaks the kiss and leans in to bite at Aizawa’s neck, just below his jaw, pleased when Aizawa lets out a little hiss that’s halfway between pain and pleasure. Aizawa tangles one of his hands in Hizashi’s hair, his grip a little too tight to be comfortable – but, well, comfortable isn’t exactly what either of them is looking for right now.
However, before they can get any further, Hizashi hears someone yell from inside the studio, “Someone find me Yamada already!”
Well, it looks like his break is up.
“Fuck,” he hisses against Aizawa’s neck, half tempted to just ignore the situation and continue biting hickeys onto the smooth curve of Aizawa’s neck. Still, someone’s going to check the alleyway eventually, and he’d rather not get caught with his hands down Aizawa’s pants. “You have a phone, right?”
“It’s 2016. Who doesn’t?” Aizawa snorts, and Hizashi scowls at him before digging a hand into Aizawa's pocket until he comes up with Aizawa's phone. Apparently Aizawa gets the hint, because he unlocks it for Hizashi and lets Hizashi put his number in with quick, practiced movements.
“Call me,” Hizashi says as he hands the phone back to Aizawa, pressing his thigh pointedly against Aizawa’s crotch and earning him a muffled hiss.
Then, he pulls away and heads back towards the studio door. He’s still half-hard in his jeans and hopes that it’s not too obvious through the tight fabric.
Fuck, he hates photoshoots.
It’s been two days since Hizashi nearly got off with Aizawa in an alleyway and Aizawa still hasn’t called him. It’s beyond frustrating how often Hizashi finds himself checking his phone, hoping that the new text he’s received is from Aizawa.
He’s finally starting to think that Aizawa just isn’t going to contact him when he gets a text from an unknown number that just says, is that offer of yours still valid?
Well, Hizashi had meant it more as an order than an offer, but he doesn’t really give a shit about the technicalities at the moment as long as he finally gets to fuck Aizawa. He needs to get this out of his system already so he can actually go two minutes without imagining what Aizawa looks like with his mouth stuffed full of cock.
Hizashi grins and texts Aizawa his address.
Half an hour later, Hizashi finds himself letting an agitated Aizawa into his penthouse apartment. However, unlike the past two times they’ve met, Aizawa doesn’t look nearly as calm and collected as he normally does, his aggravation evident in every line of his body. Part of Hizashi is annoyed that he’s not the one who managed to work Aizawa up to this state, but mostly he’s too distracted by how hot Aizawa looks like this.
“Someone’s having a bad day,” Hizashi snorts as Aizawa stalks toward him.
“I’m here to have sex, not to listen to your annoying comments,” Aizawa growls, shoving Hizashi down onto one of the modern-looking armchairs in the living room. He strips off his shirt in one fluid movement, revealing a surprisingly toned stomach, and Hizashi lets his eyes wander appreciatively.
“I do have a bed, you know,” Hizashi says as Aizawa moves to straddle his lap. He slides his hands up the backs of Aizawa’s thighs to cup his ass, appreciating the firm muscle there. “Not that I’m complaining about the enthusiasm.”
“Shut up,” Aizawa replies and then leans in to capture Hizashi’s mouth in a kiss.
Hizashi kisses back roughly, not about to let Aizawa control the kiss without a fight. There’s more teeth and tongue involved than there probably should be, but Aizawa doesn’t complain when Hizashi’s teeth catch on his bottom lip, instead just tangling his hands tightly in Hizashi’s hair.
“Fuck,” Hizashi groans as Aizawa breaks the kiss and grinds down against his lap. He can feel himself getting hard almost embarrassingly quickly, and his grip on Aizawa’s ass tightens reflexively.
Aizawa impatiently tugs at Hizashi’s shirt, until Hizashi gets with the program and drags it off over his head, tossing it god knows where. Hizashi can’t help but feel smug as Aizawa’s eyes trace over the dark swirls of ink covering the right side of his chest, spreading up to his shoulder and down his upper arm.
“Like what you see?” Hizashi asks, and Aizawa scowls.
“Don’t you have enough people telling you how pretty you are?” Aizawa snorts.
“I’ll never have enough,” Hizashi replies with a sharp smirk, which apparently annoys Aizawa enough that he decides to shut Hizashi up with another kiss.
It only takes a few more minutes of making out with Aizawa grinding against his lap for Hizashi to start getting impatient, slipping a hand between them and popping open the button of Aizawa’s jeans. Aizawa’s fully hard already, slick with pre-come, and he lets out a little moan against Hizashi’s mouth as Hizashi starts to jack him off hard and fast. Hizashi slips his other hand down the back of Aizawa’s pants, fingers brushing teasingly close to Aizawa’s hole, a silent question.
Apparently Aizawa’s too impatient for anything that involved at the moment, though, because instead he starts biting at Hizashi’s neck as his hips snap forward, fucking up into Hizashi’s hand and then grinding back against his lap. Hizashi tilts his head back obligingly, enjoying the feeling of Aizawa’s teeth against his skin. Briefly, he wonders how much of a mess his neck will be tomorrow. Thankfully his make-up team is very experienced when it comes to hiding hickeys.
“Man, you’re worked up today,” Hizashi says, his breath hitching slightly as Aizawa bites him a little harder in retaliation.
Eventually, though, Aizawa’s rhythm starts to falter a little, his breathing going heavy. Hizashi tightens his grip a little, swiping his thumb over the head of Aizawa’s cock, pleased when Aizawa bites his lip in an attempt to muffle a low moan.
“Were you already on edge when you got here or am I just that good?” Hizashi asks, nipping at Aizawa’s earlobe.
“Shut up,” Aizawa growls, but his annoyed tone is ruined by the fact that his breathing hitches a little as Hizashi bites at a spot just under his jaw.
“C’mon, baby,” Hizashi says, stroking Aizawa firmly, and a moment later Aizawa comes with a bitten-off moan, making a mess of Hizashi’s stomach and chest. Briefly, Hizashi’s glad that Aizawa had dragged his shirt off of him earlier. Come stains are a bitch to get out.
“If you call me that again, I’m going to leave without getting you off,” Aizawa pants, pinning Hizashi with a glare. His face is flushed and Hizashi can’t tell if it’s from aggravation or from just having come.
“Well, we can’t have that,” Hizashi drawls, grinding up against Aizawa’s ass. “I’ve been thinking about your mouth on my cock for a while now.”
“Now who’s desperate?” Aizawa snorts, but he slides off of Hizashi’s lap, pushing Hizashi’s knees apart and settling in between them.
Hizashi doesn’t hesitate to unbutton his jeans, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. As he looks down at Aizawa, he’s half-tempted to ask if he can just jack off and come on Aizawa’s face, but for what’s probably the first time in his life, he decides not to push his luck. Aizawa looks like the sort of person who wouldn’t hesitate to bite off his partner’s dick if he got too annoyed.
“Condom?” Aizawa asks, making Hizashi blink at him for a moment and frown.
“Seriously?” Hizashi whines, and Aizawa gives him a flat look. “I promise I’m clean.”
“Can you even name the last five people you slept with?” Aizawa snorts, and Hizashi’s face flushes slightly. Honestly, he didn’t even ask the names of at least three of them. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Condom.”
Hizashi lets out a little huff but digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he comes up with an unopened condom packet, throwing it in Aizawa’s general direction. Aizawa catches it and pointedly checks the expiration date, making Hizashi bristle. God, he’s going to enjoy fucking Aizawa’s face.
Apparently satisfied, Aizawa opens the packet and rolls the condom down Hizashi’s shaft.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” Hizashi warns, reaching forward to fist a hand in Aizawa’s hair.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wanted gentle,” Aizawa snorts.
Then, he leans in to suck the head of Hizashi’s cock into his mouth. Hizashi’s grip on Aizawa’s hair tightens a little and he licks his lips as he watches Aizawa take him deeper. Aizawa’s lips are already a little kiss-swollen from earlier and they look damn good spread wide around Hizashi’s cock, if he does say so himself.
Any doubts he had about Aizawa being able to withstand a good face-fucking vanish as Aizawa takes him all the way down, nose bumping up against Hizashi’s neatly waxed skin. Then, Aizawa looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, as if daring him to take things further.
Hizashi grins and thrusts his hips forward.
Aizawa falters a little at the first thrust, but then he repositions himself slightly so that on the second thrust, Hizashi slides smoothly into the wet heat of his mouth. Hizashi tangles his fingers in Aizawa’s messy hair, using both hands to menuver Aizawa’s head as he pleases. He feels Aizawa’s hands come up to grip his thighs, fingertips digging in hard, but he doesn’t try to pull away or tap out, instead just looking up at Hizashi with dark eyes.
It should be a little unnerving, Hizashi thinks, having Aizawa look at him like this, but instead it just makes him feel hot all over. He supposes he’s always had a thing for being in the spotlight, everyone’s eyes on him, and the fact that it’s Aizawa who’s looking at him like that – Aizawa, who’s barely given him more than a derisive glance before – just makes it that much better.
“You’re pretty good at this for someone who was just getting all uppity about me not being able to remember the name of the last person I had sex with,” Hizashi says with a smirk as a little bit of saliva runs down Aizawa’s chin. Aizawa narrows his eyes in a glare, but he doesn’t make any move to pull off of Hizashi’s cock.
As he continues to thrust into Aizawa’s mouth, Hizashi feels a familiar heat building low in his gut. His rhythm falters a little and he tightens his grip on Aizawa’s hair reflexively, a move which Aizawa doesn’t miss, judging by the way his expression gets a little smugger. Hizashi can’t even muster the effort to get annoyed, though, not with how good it feels to fuck into the wet heat of Aizawa’s mouth.
Briefly, he wonders how much better this would feel without the latex separating them, but with how much of a stickler Aizawa was about it, he doubts he’ll ever get to find out.
Which is a pity, because he’d love to come in Aizawa’s mouth and on his face.
Instead, though, he spills into the condom with a rough moan, Aizawa’s fingers digging painfully into his thighs while his own fists tighten in Aizawa’s hair. It takes a long moment for him to finally release Aizawa, distracted as he is by the tingly, warm feeling encompassing his body. Eventually he loosens his grip on Aizawa’s hair, though, and Aizawa pulls off his cock with a lewd, wet sound.
“Tissues?” Aizawa asks, his voice a little croaky, wiping the saliva off his chin with the back of his hand. Hizashi lets out a little grunt in response and leans over to grab a box off a nearby side-table, tossing it to Aizawa.
Aizawa cleans himself up with efficient movements, before buttoning his pants again and getting up to go look for his shirt. Hizashi doesn’t make any move to help, instead just letting his eyes linger on Aizawa’s bare back, muscles shifting smoothly under his skin. The come still splattered across Hizashi’s chest and stomach is starting to dry uncomfortably, but Hizashi can’t muster the energy to clean it up at the moment.
“Classy,” Aizawa snorts, breaking Hizashi from his thoughts. He follows Aizawa’s gaze to the coffee table, where the torn apart halves of a certain Billboard Japan issue are still lying after his outburst a few weeks prior.
“Like your circle-jerk article was any classier,” Hizashi snorts. Well, that afterglow wore off quickly. “You’re a professional hipster.”
“That would imply that I don’t like any mainstream artists,” Aizawa drawls. “It’s actually just you I don’t like.”
“You liked me just fine five minutes ago,” Hizashi says with a smirk, earning him a glare from Aizawa.
“I tolerated you in order to get off,” Aizawa snorts, picking his shirt up off the floor and tugging it back on over his head. “Don’t start thinking that this is going to become a regular thing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hizashi drawls, watching Aizawa’s ass as he heads for the door.
Damn, he should have convinced Aizawa to let him tap that properly.
At his next concert, Hizashi debuts a song called, “Fuck the Critics.”
“This is dedicated to a very special person,” Hizashi croons into the microphone, a smirk on his lips. “You know who you are, babe.”
The next day, Aizawa writes a review of the song, criticizing Hizashi’s “immature, uncreative” use of innuendo. In response, Hizashi sends him a text which says: you weren’t complaining when you had my cock down your throat.
Aizawa never replies.
The thing is, having sex with Aizawa was supposed to quench a thirst, but instead it’s just made Hizashi want more. Whenever he has a moment to daydream, in between recording and preforming and promoting, he finds himself thinking about Aizawa: about his hips, his mouth, his cock. Honestly, Hizashi hasn’t been this sexually frustrated since he was a teenager.
It all comes to a head after a concert, after the after party. Hizashi’s drunk enough that his security team has to practically drag him back to his apartment, and Hizashi finds himself alone in his apartment, lying on his bed with no one to help him resolve his sexual frustration.
So, he pulls out his phone.
His hand isn’t terribly steady as he snaps a photo of his dick, hard and leaking against his stomach. The photo’s not too blurry, though, so Hizashi hits “send” without a second thought.
He strokes himself leisurely as he waits for Aizawa to reply, but with every moment that passes, he gets more impatient, biting his lip as he thumbs the head of his cock. However, as time stretches on, it becomes clear that either Aizawa’s busy or he’s decided not to deign Hizashi’s photo with a reply. Part of Hizashi hopes it’s the latter, hopes that Aizawa’s face had flushed red with embarrassment and annoyance upon opening the message and that he’s currently stewing in his conflicted feelings.
Hizashi starts fucking his fist as he imagines it, breath coming out in harsh pants. As he grips himself a little tighter, he wonders how long it’s been since Aizawa last took it up the ass, wonders how tight Aizawa would be, squeezing around him. Clearly it’s been a while if his unpleasant attitude is any indication.
When Hizashi finally comes, sticky fluid coating his fingers and stomach, he snaps another photo and sends it to Aizawa.
Then, too drunk to do anything else, he passes out.
When Hizashi wakes up the next morning, he’s received a new text.
what sort of idiot sends dick pics to a reporter
Hizashi scowls at the text for a moment, hungover and disappointed at not having gotten more of a reaction from Aizawa.
in order to actually publish those u’d have to admit that u had sex w/ me & i’m p sure that’s some sort of conflict of interest considering ur job, Hizashi replies, hitting the send button with probably more force than he needs to. Then, he drags himself out of bed and goes to take a shower.
After thoroughly cleaning himself (he always forgets how annoying it is to try to scrub dried come off your skin), he checks his phone again and finds another text from Aizawa.
i suppose you’re not a complete idiot, it says simply.
As he reads the text, it occurs to Hizashi that Aizawa hadn’t actually complained about the photos themselves. Aizawa doesn’t seem like the sort of person who’d quietly tolerate something that truly annoyed him, which means that maybe he actually enjoyed them a little bit. So, Hizashi holds up his phone and snaps another picture of himself in the mirror, hair still damp from the shower and only a towel hanging loosely around his hips.
Somehow, it becomes a habit, sending Aizawa compromising photos. The only replies he ever receives are derisive comments, but Aizawa never asks him to stop, so he must be appreciating them even if he won’t admit it.
As fun as this is, though, part of Hizashi desperately wishes he’d run into Aizawa somewhere again. He hasn’t had sex with anyone since his last tryst with Aizawa and it’s the longest dry spell he’s had in years.
God, he need to get laid.
Hizashi’s currently trying not to down an entire flute of champagne in a single gulp, instead forcing fake smiles as people greet him at the latest of Yagi Toshinori’s charity galas. (Honestly, there are so many of these charity events that Hizashi doesn’t even bother to keep track of the causes anymore. It’s probably something about endangered butterflies or whatever again.)
However, as Hizashi glances across the ballroom, his eyes catch on a very familiar figure and a real smile spreads across his face.
“If you’d excuse me,” Hizashi says, interrupting the person he’s talking with (some model whose name Hizashi’s already forgotten). “I just saw someone I need to talk to.”
He shoots the model his most charming smile, but doesn’t bother to wait for a reply, already starting to make his way across the ballroom. Aizawa looks delectable, having actually made an effort with his appearance for once, and Hizashi’s already calculating the distance to the nearest bathroom so he can start peeling Aizawa out of his tux.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Hizashi drawls, sidling up behind Aizawa and placing a hand on the small of his back.
“Yamada,” Aizawa says curtly, shooting Hizashi a side-eyed glance, but he doesn’t try to dislodge Hizashi’s hand.
Hizashi has to bite back a grin. He’s definitely getting laid tonight.
“I didn’t think this was your sort of scene,” Aizawa says coolly, taking a small sip of champagne.
“Oh, I’m very concerned about the conservation status of the, uh – ” Hizashi falters for a moment.
“Plebejus samuelis,” Aizawa snorts.
“That’s a type of butterfly, right?” Hizashi asks, frowning slightly.
Aizawa looks caught off guard for a moment, but then he grudgingly says, “It’s the Karner Blue Butterfly.”
“Great,” Hizashi replies, plucking the champagne flute from Aizawa’s fingers and taking a sip. “Now that we’ve established that I’m not completely out of place here, can we find a bathroom or a broom closet? I already donated, but my publicist said I had to actually show up for at least an hour.”
“You’re not here to make riveting conversation about endangered butterflies?” Aizawa asks dryly. “I would never have guessed.”
Before Hizashi can reply, though, nearby a dark haired woman exclaims, “Shōta!” and starts making her way towards the two of them. However, her eyes narrow a little as they land on Hizashi, a flash of something akin to protectiveness crossing her face. It’s gone in a split-second, though, covered up by a sort of bland friendliness that Hizashi’s gotten all too good at seeing through since entering showbiz.
“And Yamada Hizashi,” the woman adds as she comes to a stop in front of the two of them, sharing a look with Aizawa that Hizashi can’t quite interpret.
“Nemuri,” Aizawa says, his tone a little pained. The name sounds familiar, but it takes Hizashi a moment to identify the woman in front of them as Kayama Nemuri, board member for UA Records and owner of the club Midnight.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Kayama says to Aizawa. “You usually try to weasel out of coming to these sort of events.”
“Really?” Hizashi asks, a grin spreading across his face, and Aizawa’s expression turns a little more pained. “And here you were trying to give me shit about this not being my scene.”
“At least I knew what the fundraiser was for,” Aizawa huffs, but Hizashi doesn’t miss the way his cheeks have turned ever so slightly pink.
“I knew it was for butterfly conservation,” Hizashi protests, but he tries to keep his tone light. Aizawa doesn’t respond verbally, instead giving Hizashi an annoyed look and then plucking his champagne flute back from between Hizashi’s fingers, drinking a little too much at once to be classified as a sip.
It hasn’t escaped Hizashi’s notice that Kayama is watching his interaction with Aizawa carefully, her eyes sharp as she watches Aizawa take back the champagne flute. They must be personal friends of some sort, and Hizashi sorely hopes that she doesn’t decide to grill him about his “intentions” towards Aizawa or anything like that.
“So,” she finally says. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted.”
“We’ve run into each other a couple of times,” Aizawa replies, clearly trying to keep his answer vague.
Judging by Kamaya’s expression, she wants to ask, and you haven’t killed each other yet?
“We’ve agreed to disagree on certain artistic preferences,” Hizashi adds, turning his charm up to maximum levels. “But we’ve found some other common ground.”
Ha, common ground. And Aizawa claimed his euphemisms were shit.
“That’s great,” Kayama replies, but there’s something sharp about her smile that makes Hizashi think she’s not entirely convinced. “You know, Kan Sekijirō and I were just discussing the use of English phrases in Japanese-language songs. Let me introduce you two – ”
Which is how Hizashi somehow finds himself roped into three hours of conversation with various friends of Aizawa and Kayama’s, trying to force a smile while simultaneously feeling like he’s in the middle of a wolf den. Honestly, he sort of feels like he’s a teenager again, meeting his date’s parents and trying to convince them that no, he doesn’t plan on fucking their son in the back of his car before the night’s over.
Finally, though, the gala starts to wind down. Hizashi breathes an internal sigh of relief and vows to just play hooky the next time his publicist wants him to go to one of these things.
“So,” Kayama says after Aizawa goes to the bathroom, leaving Hizashi and Kayama alone for the first time that night. “Shōta’s been texting someone a lot recently, but won’t tell me who it is. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Why would you think I’d know anything about that?” Hizashi asks, his voice impressively steady.
“Oh, cut the crap,” Kayama huffs, finally dropping her polite façade. “Last I heard, Shōta was writing scathing articles about you, and now you’re cozying up to him and stealing his champagne. I just want you to know that if you try to fuck up Shōta’s career or something, I’ll hunt you down.”
“Aizawa’s a grown man,” Hizashi replies. “Even if I was trying to sabotage him – which I’m not, for the record – I just made the initial offer. He’s the one who followed up.”
“Well, then I guess I’ll have to have a conversation with him about thinking with his head and not his dick,” Kayama snorts, and for a moment, Hizashi thinks he could actually like her under other circumstances.
Before Hizashi can think up a proper reply to that, though, Aizawa comes back from the bathroom. Kayama glances at him and says, “Good talk,” patting Hizashi on the shoulder before going over to talk to someone else, which leaves Hizashi and Aizawa alone again for the first time since the very beginning of the gala.
“Please tell me you’re ready to head out now,” Hizashi groans.
“I wasn’t aware we’d made plans to leave together,” Aizawa drawls, and Hizashi lets out a soft snort.
“Well, a friend of yours was just telling me that you’ve been unusually invested in texting lately,” Hizashi replies, pleased when he sees Aizawa’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly. “I thought you’d be eager to finally have the real thing again, instead of just photos.”
“Do you know how annoying it is when you send those to me while I’m at work?” Aizawa huffs, and a smirk spreads over Hizashi’s face.
“I’ll stop whenever you ask me to, babe,” Hizashi says, settling a hand on the small of Aizawa’s back again.
“Don’t call me that,” Aizawa grumbles, but he leans into Hizashi’s touch.
“So, my place or yours?” Hizashi asks.
“Yours,” Aizawa replies, without hesitation.
When Hizashi wakes up the next morning, it’s to the familiar, obnoxious blaring of his alarm clock. He groans and rolls over, reaching to turn it off, but he finds himself blocked by an unfamiliar figure.
It takes him a moment to realize that Aizawa’s still in his bed.
“If you don’t turn that off in five seconds, I am going to murder both you and the alarm clock,” Aizawa mutters. Hizashi rolls his eyes, but props himself up enough to reach across Aizawa and hit the off button.
Then, Hizashi slides out of bed and stretches.
“What time is it?” Aizawa asks, making no move to get out from under the covers.
“Six,” Hizashi answers, rummaging around in his drawers for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
“In the morning?” Aizawa replies, incredulity clear in his voice. “On a Sunday?”
“Being a star isn’t exactly a nine to five job,” Hizashi snorts, pulling on his running shorts and a worn t-shirt. “You’re lucky it’s not a Monday or Wednesday – I get up at five for a long workout on those days.”
“You wake up at five to work out,” Aizawa says flatly, disbelief clear in his tone.
“This perfect figure does not maintain itself,” Hizashi replies, putting his hair up into a sloppy ponytail, “and fans expect a certain body type.”
Aizawa’s quiet for a moment, but then he says, “I’m going back to sleep.”
Hizashi supposes he can be generous enough to let Aizawa stay for a few more hours, instead of kicking him out this early in the morning. It’s not like he’s worried about Aizawa stealing strands of his hair to sell on EBay or anything.
So, he leaves Aizawa in the bedroom and makes his way down to the private fitness club in the apartment building.
It takes Hizashi a good hour to go through all the exercises his personal trainer has assigned him, but in the end it leaves him feeling refreshed, if a little sore. His skin is tacky with sweat and he’s looking forward to taking a long shower, but when he finally goes back up to his apartment, he finds Aizawa still asleep in his bed.
“Hey,” Hizashi says, shaking Aizawa’s shoulder lightly. Aizawa groans something unsavory in reply, and Hizashi rolls his eyes. “It’s time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Do you wake up everyone you sleep with at stupid hours of the morning?” Aizawa grumbles, cracking one eye open to glare at Hizashi.
“Only the ones who write shitty reviews of my music,” Hizashi quips.
Aizawa opens his other eye to glare at Hizashi properly, and Hizashi feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Here, I’ll give you two options,” Hizashi says. “One, you get your ass out of my apartment and sleep in your own bed, or two, you stick around a little longer and join me in the shower.”
Aizawa studies him carefully for a moment, but then says, “If I join you in the shower, you have to do all the work.”
“I can live with that,” Hizashi replies, grinning, before tugging his shirt off.
The shower in Hizashi’s bathroom is nothing short of decadent, spacious, encased in glass, and lined with sleek tiles. Hizashi has the water pressure tuned to perfection, but he doesn’t take too long to bask in it this morning, more intent on pressing Aizawa up against one of the glass walls and biting his way down his neck.
Just as he’d warned, Aizawa doesn’t make any effort to help, content to let Hizashi do as he pleases. His tiredness makes him soft and pliant under Hizashi’s hands, and Hizashi’s surprised to find that he enjoys having sex with Aizawa when he’s like this just as much as he likes it when Aizawa’s feisty, pushing against him every step of the way.
As it is, with Aizawa this relaxed, it takes barely any prep before Hizashi’s sliding into him. The shower runs hot over them as Hizashi fucks Aizawa slowly, not caring how much water they waste. Aizawa makes soft sounds, moans and pants, whenever Hizashi slides into him at just the right angle and Hizashi drinks them up. The other two times they’d fucked, Aizawa had been much quicker to bite his lip and swallow his moans, like they were a show of weakness somehow, but now it’s like he’s too sleepy and pleasure-drugged to bother.
Hizashi spreads Aizawa’s thighs a little further, using the wall to support most of Aizawa’s weight as he thrusts as deep inside Aizawa as he can reach. Aizawa’s fingertips dig into his bare shoulders, a solid pressure, but he doesn’t grip hard enough for it to actually hurt. As Hizashi continues to fuck Aizawa steadily, he sucks at a spot below Aizawa’s jaw, teasing the sensitive skin with his teeth and tongue.
“Fuck,” Aizawa groans, head falling back against the glass wall.
“You close?” Hizashi asks, shifting his grip on Aizawa’s thighs a little to reach a hand around to Aizawa’s cock, stroking him leisurely.
Aizawa makes a little noise in response, which Hizashi takes as a yes.
Sure enough, it only takes Hizashi a few more thrusts before he feels Aizawa clench around him, coming with a low moan. Hizashi fucks him through it, his rhythm only faltering for a moment. Now that he’s come, Aizawa’s even more relaxed, and Hizashi slides smoothly into him a few more times before finally tipping over the edge too.
For a moment, Hizashi just stands there, pressed up against Aizawa as he catches his breath, entire body feeling a little tingly from orgasm. Eventually, he slips back out of Aizawa, backing up to give Aizawa some more space. Aizawa’s a little unsteady on his feet at first, though, and Hizashi finds himself reaching out reflexively to help steady Aizawa.
“Thanks,” Aizawa mutters, and Hizashi blinks at him for a moment, caught off guard.
“Need me to help you wash your hair, too?” Hizashi asks, a smirk spreading over his face. “Wait on you hand and foot now that I’ve fucked you so well you can’t walk?”
Aizawa throws a washcloth at Hizashi’s face – which he only barely manages to catch in time – and then grabs the shampoo, apparently intent on washing his own hair. Hizashi rolls his eyes and reaches for the soap.
When they finally finish showering, Aizawa heads back into the bedroom to gather his clothes, while Hizashi stays in the bathroom for a moment as he starts on his post-shower hairstyling routine. However, just as he finishes combing out all the tangles, he hears muffled swearing from the other room. Curious, Hizashi sticks his head into the bedroom, frowning as he finds Aizawa glaring down at his cellphone.
“What’s got your panties in a twist now?” Hizashi asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s none of your business,” Aizawa replies, which only serves to make Hizashi vaguely annoyed.
“Oh, come on,” Hizashi complains, pushing off the doorframe and making his way towards Aizawa. “I thought I was the only one who you received aggravating texts from. A guy could get jealous, you know.”
“Well, it’s a good thing it was an email and not a text,” Aizawa huffs, but there’s something in his tone that makes Hizashi frown. “It’s not your problem.”
“Hey,” Hizashi says, his voice going a little softer. “If it’s not my problem, then you can rant to me about it without repercussions, right? I mean, I’ll probably make fun of you about it, but it’s no hardship for me to listen to you rant about something that’s pissed you off.”
Hizashi can be sort of altruistic sometimes, alright?
Aizawa studies Hizashi carefully for a long moment, but then sighs and says, “There’s this kid I met at a work function a couple of months ago – really talented, could make it big.”
“But?” Hizashi supplies, quirking an eyebrow at Aizawa.
“But she’s being headhunted by Shigaraki Tomura for League of Villains Records,” Aizawa says, a sharp note of distaste in his tone as he says the name. “I’ve been trying to convince her to turn him down.”
“Well,” Hizashi says slowly. “If she manages to survive the first couple of years, she could be huge. Toga Himiko and Dabi came up through that label.”
“She’s too naïve,” Aizawa snorts, shaking his head. “I’ve already asked Nemuri to take her on, but she doesn’t have the resources at the moment.”
For a long moment, Hizashi’s quiet. Then, he groans, “God, fine. Send me the kid’s demo. I’ll see what I can do.”
“What?” Aizawa asks, blinking at Hizashi, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I have connections. I mean, your taste in music is shit, but I’ll see if anyone likes the demo,” Hizashi answers, trying not to feel uncomfortable as Aizawa looks at him like he’s suddenly transformed into a complete stranger. “I’m not heartless enough to throw some little girl to the wolves like that.”
Finally, Aizawa says, “Thank you.”
“You’ve said that twice this morning and it’s starting to freak me out,” Hizashi complains, trying to ignore the small tingle of warmth in his chest. “And I haven’t actually done anything yet. If I manage to somehow get this kid another deal, then you can thank me. Preferably with a blowjob.”
At that, Aizawa rolls his eyes, and whatever strange moment they’d shared evaporates.
But this time when Aizawa leaves, Hizashi watches his face instead of his ass.
The thing is, Asui Tsuyu’s demo is pretty good. A little too cute for Hizashi’s taste, but the singer’s an eighteen year old girl, so it’s not like he really expected anything else. It’s good enough to show around at any rate, and by the end of the week, Hizashi’s already gotten some interest stirred up.
“Hey,” Hizashi says when Aizawa finally picks up his phone. “That kid of yours should be getting an offer from Ingenium Records sometime within the next couple of weeks. It probably won’t be as much as whatever Shigaraki’s offering her, but at least she won’t be signing away her soul or whatever.”
“Stop calling her my kid,” Aizawa snorts. “I’m not old enough for that.”
“Fine, your mentee, your protégé, whatever,” Hizashi replies, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, you owe me big time.”
“And here I thought you’d done this out of the kindness of your heart,” Aizawa says dryly. “Looks like I’m the one who just signed away my soul.”
“Hey, I’m not a monster,” Hizashi huffs. “I’m not actually going to force you to do something for me. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be opposed to you doing something to express your thanks.”
“I’m not writing you a good review,” Aizawa snorts, and Hizashi lips turn down in a scowl.
“Seriously? You know what, fuck you,” Hizashi snaps, anger welling up in his chest. “Clearly you still don’t know shit about me if you think I’d be satisfied with a review I didn’t fucking earn.”
With that, Hizashi hangs up, and only barely resists the urge to throw his phone on the ground as hard as he can.
Aizawa Shōta can go fuck himself.