Summary: Aizawa and Yamada invite Toshinori to dinner. They want to tickle him. Him, Toshinori.
Toshinori is excited, but nervous. What if he's not ticklish?
Words: 4,444
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Toshinori sat huddled at his desk in the teachers’ lounge, shoulders tucked up to his ears, a bright red—he was sure—bloomed across his cheeks. He still couldn't quite believe what they—Aizawa and Yamada—had told him over dinner the night before.
He laughed—startled from his lips before he could stop himself. But they didn't join in. They had just watched him—so serious, gentle smiles playing on their lips.
He cleared his throat, waved his hands in front of himself, as if trying to clear away his initial reaction. He didn't want to embarrass them. Didn't want to ruin the friendship they had been building. "I'm sorry. Um... c-could you say that again, please?"
Aizawa rolled his eyes, but a ghost of a smile still graced his lips. "I said," he started, pulling Yamada closer to his side, his fingers lazily twirling a blond lock of hair. He seemed so relaxed. “We like you. We like your laugh. We would like—"
“Yagi-san, we wanna tickle you!" Yamada had cut in, wincing as he seemed to remember they were currently in a very public restaurant. Aizawa had snapped to glare at Yamada, his hair fluttering as he flashed his quirk.
Toshinori had flushed fully red, a nervous grin pulling at his lips. "That's what I thought I heard..." A flutter had started in his chest. Sure, it was a bit... unusual, but Yamada had specifically said Yagi. But..." A-And you mean..." he trailed off, gesturing at himself from shoulder to waist, “not...” he trailed off, but the meaning wasn't lost.
“Yes, you,” Aizawa had assured, his voice level—earnest.
He'd said he needed to think about it. And the two men had agreed, Yamada even going so far as to say how weird of an admittance it had been. Toshinori had assured him it wasn't—because it definitely wasn't the weirdest proposition he'd been extended, though they were always for All Might, never Toshinori.
It had quickly become the only thing he could think about that night. Excitement bubbled up inside him—but was he excited about that, or was it because this form was wanted—desired?
But then… he thought about how it could go wrong. What if he wasn't ticklish? That seemed to be rather important. What if his laugh was different? What if they didn't like it?
He was lost in thought, staring at his computer screen when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Good morning, Yagi-san!” Mic greeted with one of his energetic smiles.
Toshinori took a moment for his nerves to settle, letting a genuine, gentle smile slide into place as he turned to face the younger hero. “Good morning, Yamada-kun! How are you, this morning?”
“Fine, fine. This morning's gig ran a bit long, but it happens. What about you?” he asked, raising a brow, concern pinching his features as his hand quickly slid from Toshinori’s shoulder.
Oh. They were still hiked to his ears. Oh crap, was he still blushing? He forced his shoulders into a more relaxed position, willing the red from his cheeks. He opened his mouth to reply that he was fine, but before he could utter a sound, the door was sliding open and closed with a snap.
“There you are, Shou!”
“I thought we agreed to give Yagi-san space, ‘Zashi,” Aizawa drawled, leaning against the doorjamb, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jumpsuit.
“I just greeted him…” Yamada said quietly—-was he pouting?
Cute. Yagi coughed, shaking the thought away. Glancing around the room, he saw the room was otherwise empty. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, flicking his gaze between the two. “So, I thought about it… I-If you still want to—uh, I mean—it could be fun, maybe. Uh—” he paused, finding a spot on the wall between the two, his index fingers tapping together as a wave of anxiety swelled in his chest, “I'm just not sure I'm actually—uh—”
“Ticklish?” Aizawa offered in his lazy way.
Toshinori’s gaze snapped to him, widening slightly at the gentle upturn of the man's lips. He nodded, unable to fight the blush that flared across his cheeks. He saw Aizawa's eyes widen in response before he dipped his face into the coils of his capture weapon. Why were they both so cute?!
‘Well, we can find out together!” Yamada chirped, clapping his hands excitedly. “Tonight? Or is that too soon? Your call, big guy!”
His heart thumped in his chest. This was really happening. Swallowing, he said, “Tonight's good… what time?”
“Seven?” They offered in unison.
“Seven is good! Uh—Should I come over, or?” Thump—thump, thump—thump.
“I think one first is enough for one day,” Aizawa said, moving over to his own desk and leaning back against it, bracing himself on the edge with the heels of his palms. “You’d probably feel more comfortable unwinding, after, in your own space. And then we can leave after.” He gave a short nod, turned and gathered a few files from his desk and headed for the door once more. “You should wear something that fits, but is loose. And drink some water.”
“Aw, Shou, you big softie!” Yamada teased, hastily gathering his own things from his desk before joining Aizawa at the door.
Shouta glared at him and shoved his shoulder.
Toshinori couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him. Aizawa’s glare found him instead, but there was no heat behind it. Toshinori just grinned, his cheeks pinking slightly.
When they were gone, he opened up the group chat that had appeared yesterday when they had invited him to dinner and fired off his address with shaky fingers and held breath.
Was he really going to do this?
The rest of the school day passed by in a blur, and soon Toshinori found himself on the train home to his apartment. It was almost five, and he had work to do. He burst through his front door at twenty after; dropping his bag by the door, slipping out of his loafers and into his house slippers. He shuffled into the kitchen and quickly cleaned up the mess from breakfast. He draped his rumpled throw blanket over the arm of his chair and then looked over the space. There were a few books scattered around but that was fine, right?
The clock on the wall read five-forty-five. Crap! Realizing they never stated where… things would be taking place, he bounded into his bedroom, nervously straightening his sheets and fluffed his pillows. He picked up random discarded clothing and stuffed them into his hamper.
His heart was racing, his nerves were jumbled again. After he spent all day trying to calm them down. He breathed through his nose. He wanted this—wanted to try. He took a couple deep breaths, he checked his bathroom, and the guest bathroom, relieved to find them clean but he gave the counters a quick wipe down out of nerves.
An alarm rang out at six. He darted back to his room and rummaged, as neatly as he could, through his dresser. At the back, he found a better fitted blue t-shirt and a pair of grey cotton shorts. That would be fine, right? He grabbed a pair of underwear and socks from his top drawer and set his clothes in a neat pile on his bed before he disappeared into his bathroom, his heart hammering away.
Twenty-five minutes later, he emerged in a cloud of steam, towel low on his bony hips, hair damp and a wavy mess. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, slipping on his underwear. He felt like he was forgetting something… but what? He stared blankly at the wall in front of him for a moment. Water!
He sprang up and hurried to his kitchen, throwing open the fridge. He snatched a bottle of water, cracking it open and practically chugging half of it before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to make himself sick.
He strode back into his room, dressing in his t-shirt and shorts, slipping his socks on. He grabbed his towel and draped it over his shoulders, fluffing and drying his hair as he sipped his water, giving his apartment a once over. Almost as an afterthought, he placed two pairs of smaller guest slippers at the step leading into the genkan. Giving a small nod of satisfaction to no one but himself, he slumps onto his sofa.
Ten minutes… they’d be here in ten minutes, and then… he shivered, a nervous grin slipping into place. He closed his eyes, trying to reign in his nerves… and then…
The doorbell rang.
Toshinori’s eyes flew open, zeroing in on the clock. Seven sharp. Of course. One of the men on the other side of the door was Aizawa, after all. Heaving himself off the couch, he padded over to the door, fixing his wild hair as best he could in the mirror before he pulled the front door open.
He was greeted by two very different personalities. Yamada was practically vibrating, a huge grin cracking his face. His hair was down—or at least, not in its trademark up-do—the sides pulled back as the rest pooled over his shoulders and down his back. His yellow glasses were gone, leaving his bright green eyes on full display. His eyes slid over to Aizawa, who looked much the same as he always did, though his hair was pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck—the V-neck of his long-sleeve t-shirt left his neck and collarbones exposed, with the absence of his capture weapon—a sight he never thought he’d see. He met the man’s eyes, there was a hint of excitement behind them, and his cheeks were a very faint pink.
“Hi,” he said, his nerves spiking suddenly as he tried to bite back another nervous grin. “Ah, come in!” He stepped aside, waving them in.
“Hi!” came Yamada’s excited reply, very different from Aizawa’s murmured ‘Hey,”—but he sounded anything but bored, Toshinori was pleased to hear. It calmed his nerves a little.
The two stepped inside, slipping their shoes off and into the waiting slippers. Yamada let out a low whistle as he stepped further into the apartment. “Nice digs, my man!”
Toshinori let out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly, “Thank you.”
His gaze flicked back to Aizawa, just in time to see Aizawa giving him a slow once over before their eyes met. Oh, he was full on blushing now. Was—was Aizawa smirking? “Nice to see you own clothes that fit you properly,” he said and then followed Yamada deeper into the apartment.
He swallowed, squared his shoulders, closed the door and followed after them. He found them sitting on either side of his couch, which he thought was an odd thing for a couple to do. But then Yamada smiled at him, broad and inviting and patted the space between them. Oh, he’s supposed to be between them. He swallowed, a shiver running up his spine as he shuffled toward the couch, his gaze flicking between them.
Yamada was still vibrating with excitement—as if he knew something Toshinori didn’t. Aizawa, in contrast, looked very relaxed, leaned back against the cushions, sprawled just a bit, looking as comfortable as he could possibly be—his eyes sharp and calculating as they lifted to meet Toshinori’s own nervous ones. He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to curl into himself, his lips twitching nervously. But he exhaled through his nose and settled between them.
“There you are,” Yamada said, his smile gentler, but no less bright, as he reached up and brushed a stray hair behind Toshinori’s ear.
And then he felt the same thing on his other side, his eyes snapping to Aizawa as a chill ran up his spine. Oh, no, he can’t watch them both. Is this—was he—?
“We thought we’d ease you into it. Take our time. And remember, you can call it quits at any time,” Aizawa said in that soft, reassuring voice of his. But his finger was still teasing the shell of his ear.
Toshinori shook his head slightly, goosebumps trailing down his ear. “Ah—I mean, I un-understand!”
“Good!” Yamada hummed, his fingers languidly teasing just behind his ear as Aizawa’s fingers continued their slow tracing of his other ear.
A shaky grin was beginning to part his lips, his shoulders shrugging slightly, another chill threatening his spine. This had to mean—no, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.
“Yagi-san, could yo-o-o-ou do a favor for us…?” Yamada asked in a sing-song voice, his eyes flashing with—something—so briefly, Toshinori thought he might have imagined it.
“Wh-What is it…?” he asked, as both of them trailed a nail simultaneously along the inner cartilage of his ears. He couldn’t help it, he shrugged sharply, his head shaking slightly as a—he was sure—goofy grin took over his face as a squeal slipped from his lips.
His eyes flew open, but the teasing touches didn’t stop, and as he shifted his gaze from Yamada to Aizawa, he could see gentle grins pulling at their lips. He swallowed, his cheeks burning.
“Just the simplest task… could you, possibly, rest your arms along the back of the couch?” Yamada asked, so innocently, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“Here, we’ll make it easier for you,” Aizawa murmured, his ministrations stopping, but instead of pulling away like Toshinori assumed he would at that point, his fingers were gently carding through the hair at the back of his head.
A moment later, he felt Yamada’s fingers change course, and then, two hands were gently working through his hair. He couldn’t help it, his eyes slipped closed and he leaned into it. Biting his lip—and blushing for the seven hundredth time that day—he did as asked, slipping his arms back along the top of the sofa.
“Good boy,” Aizawa murmured, the hand in Toshinori’s hair slipping down to tease along the long plane of his neck.
And it tickled, at least Toshinori thought it did, since he immediately shrugged his shoulder up protectively, and giggles did escape—but it was shrill and awkward—not at all what he thought his laugh usually sounded like. It felt like his heart was dropping to the floor and soaring at the same time. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about Aizawa calling him a ‘good boy’ but he felt like he liked it.
Glancing in his direction, Aizawa had stopped all movement, his own cheeks burning, his mouth parted in shock. Toshinori’s heart was plummeting again.
“Did—Did you just call The Symbol of Peace a ‘good boy’?” Toshinori flicked his gaze to Yamada, surprised and put a bit at ease to see that he appeared to just be amused. Then he looked back to Aizawa, it felt like he was holding his breath as he waited for the man to speak.
Aizawa’s mouth snapped closed, and he cleared throat, “No. I called Toshinori a ‘good boy’.” He shifted his gaze to Toshinori, who couldn’t help but blush brighter as Aizawa momentarily bit his lip. “I apologize. That wasn’t previously discus—”
“No, it—I mean, I… liked it…” he finished quietly, his gaze shifting to the ceiling as his cheeks burned anew. He also liked the way his name sounded coming from him, but he dare not say that.
Aizawa huffed a laugh, ducking his head slightly, as if forgetting he did not, in fact, currently have his capture weapon. He looked back up a moment later, looking Toshinori right in the eye. “Do you… want to continue…?” he asked quietly, subtly biting the inside of his cheek.
Toshinori slowly stretched his arms along the back of the couch, shifting slightly in his seat. “I think I'd like to. Yes.”
Aizawa’s lips quirked upward slightly, and he shifted back slightly, away from Toshinori’s side, much to the man’s confusion. But a moment later, a throw pillow was being secured against his left side and then Aizawa was shifting back into place.
Toshinori blinked at it and then smiled gratefully at Aizawa.
“Alright! Ready to rock’n’roll, listeners?”
Toshinori smiled, he was having a lot of fun with these two, even if he didn’t quite feel like he could say for sure if he was ticklish. He was glad that they seemed to be having fun, so far. “Ready,” he said, gently gripping the top of the couch. He suddenly felt a lot more exposed than he did a few seconds ago…
Blunt nails found the sides of his long neck, slowly gliding up and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Snickers escaped here and there, his shoulders shrugging the best they could. And then fingers were also teasing along his waist, against bare skin, and looking down, he could see that his shirt had ridden up a little, exposing the very bottom of his belly button and everything between to the top of his shorts. The muscles of his stomach twitched helplessly, trying to avoid the relentless tracing of nails. His lips pulled into a grin, and he could feel laughter bubbling deep inside.
Yamada's fingers were quick and exploratory, wandering almost aimlessly from his right hip, up his right side. Occasionally his fingertips would press between the spaces of his ribs—sending Toshinori careening into the throw pillow pressed between him and Aizawa, a quick bark of laughter escaping. But he always pulled back after that, returning to the gentle teasing that had taken up so much of the evening.
Aizawa was much more… thorough, Toshinori thought. His movements were fluid, but light and slow enough to leave goosebumps wherever he ventured. He seemed to like his hip, and the panicked, rapid-fire giggles he could get to pour from Toshinori. But like Yamada, he was soon pulling away, gliding his nails back to his belly button, circling and teasing until Toshinori helplessly squealed, his abdomen sucking in uselessly.
Suddenly, the two sets of hands felt more in tune, nails dancing on both sides of his neck, sending chills down his spine in rampant waves. He shrugged and twisted, gripping the back of the couch even tighter.
“I think he's holding out on us—what do you think, Shou?” Yamada asked, pulling his features into a look of mock-disappointment. So gently—that Toshinori almost didn't notice—the man's free hand came to rest at his ribs.
“I-I'm nohohot! How c-cohohould I?!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. And I just called him a good boy, too…” Aizawa said, letting out a convincing dejected sigh.
But as Toshinori looked quickly between the two—a very prominent blush overtaking his entire face, from his roots all the way down his neck—he saw the beginnings of two very scary grins. For a moment, neither moved, but he could help but shiver.
He's pretty sure he whined—quite pitifully—but it didn't seem to matter. Soon, Yamada’s fingers were pressed between his ribs, vibrating in a way he hadn't felt before—just as Aizawa’s fingers kneaded into his hipbone. Stars erupted in his vision as he twisted helplessly toward Yamada while simultaneously wrenching his left hip as far off the sofa as he could get it. “AYAAHEHEHE!! SH-SHIHIHITT-AAHHEHEHE!” His breathing felt erratic, wrong. But he didn't want to stop. He was having so much fun right now.
But it didn't matter. It never did. He could feel the blood building in his throat. Soon, it would make itself known and everything would come to a screeching halt, like it always did. “ST-STAHAHAP!”
Immediately, the warmth and exuberance of their touch fell away, cold leeching in to take its place. A wet cough ripped itself from his chest, pitching him forward. The right side of the sofa sprung up. Yamada was leaving, put off by his pitiful existence.
Blindly he reached for the box of tissues he kept on his coffee table. He hadn't gotten very far but suddenly, a handful of tissues were pressed into his stretched-out palm—a hand gently rubbing circles into his back.
Aizawa. Toshinori didn't think he should have to see him like this, but he was unable to form the words to say so.
Pressing the tissues to his mouth, he coughed violently, tears pricking his eyes until they spilled over. He coughed a few more times, sucking in slow wheezing breaths as the right side of the sofa dipped. Was Yamada back? But why?
Slowly, he pulled the tissues from his mouth, hastily folding away the dark red that was soaking the tissue. He swiped his tongue along his teeth, his head hanging low. “I'm sorry.”
He didn't know what else to say.
“Here,” Yamada said quietly.
As Toshinori wiped the tears from his eyes, he saw the man was holding a bottle of cold water out for him, already opened. Oh. Is that why he left in a hurry? “Thanks,” Toshinori croaked, partly from the coughing fit, but there was something else there, too.
He sipped at the water, his gaze fixed on the floor, his eyes fluttering slightly as Aizawa continued to dub circles into his back, even though he probably didn't need to.
“Why are you sorry?” the man asked.
Glancing at him, Toshinori saw his eyebrows pinched in confusion.
He took another slow pull from the bottle, swishing it carefully before swallowing. “For having to stop. You both seemed like you were having fun.”
“We were,” Aizawa assured, leaning forward to make sure he had Toshinori's attention. He had stopped rubbing circles, but he left his hand there, as a reassuring pressure. “But more importantly, were you?”
“I really was,” Toshinori said quietly, his jaw working. He was so frustrated with himself.
Yamada gently leaned in, pressing their shoulders together. “Don't apologize for having to take care of yourself. We're all pro heroes. We get it. Do you know how many times we've had to postpone our plans because someone,”—he leaned in and whispered—“Shouta,”—before returning to a normal volume, “got injured on patrol before our pre-planned dates?” Yamada asked, sending a playful glare over Toshinori’s head toward Aizawa.
Toshinori couldn't help but laugh, even as Aizawa cut in, “The point is: we aren't deterred. I think—and I'm sure 'Zashi would agree—you were a lot of fun to play with, and we are looking forward to future… playdates…”
An alarm cut through the slowly easing tension. Toshinori made to get up, but a firm hand on each shoulder kept him firmly seated. “I'll get it, you relax.”
And then Aizawa disappeared toward the genkan, returning a moment later with a still blaring phone.
Toshinori turned off the alarm, his eyes widening at the time. “It's nine already?!” he exclaimed, startling another cough from his lungs.
“Yeah, you lasted quite a while,” Aizawa confirmed, a gentle smile on his lips. “Impressive for your first time. What's the alarm for?”
Toshinori blushed, his head dipping. He didn't actually think it was impressive, they seemed like they were going pretty easy on him. “My medication,” hands were pressing him into the sofa again—he sighed, gesturing toward his bedroom, “it's on my dresser.”
Aizawa nodded, and headed toward the bedroom. When he came back, he set the bag on the coffee table and then took his seat back on the sofa. They sat in a slightly heavy silence as Toshinori sorted through his pills, taking one at a time.
Eventually, he sat back, and was momentarily surprised when warm bodies pressed into him on either side. Fingers ran through the hair on the back of his head once more —and once more, he found himself leaning into the touch.
His eyes fluttered closed and he stretched. “Did you two really have fun with me? It seemed like you were being purposely gentle…”
Both men shifted to be slightly more head-on with Toshinori, their fingers still gently stroking through his hair. “Look at us,” Yamada said, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.
Toshinori opened his eyes, anxiety fluttering in his chest as he looked at the two, young, healthy men before him.
“We were being gentle. I said at the beginning, we were going to ease you into it. We would have done the same with anyone who didn't have any experience—especially if they didn't even know if they were ticklish or not,” Aizawa said, in that same reassuring tone he had used all evening, the same one he often heard directed at his students.
Toshinori couldn't help but squirm, but he kept his eyes up, flicking them to Yamada as he began to speak.
“I know it seems like a letdown, having to stop before you want to. But we do want to play with you again—you have a whole plethora of spots we have yet to explore—and we have a good feeling some will be even more fun than your current worst spots…” Yamada grinned, chill and easy.
Toshinori's mouth fell open, his eyes widening. Worse, than what he just went through? He swallowed, a sheepish grin sliding into place. "Y-You think so?"
Fingers had run through his hair the entire time. He was starting to feel a little floaty, even as he felt yet another blush overtaking his cheeks—he couldn’t even imagine how anything could be worse than the last thing they'd done.
He shivered.
“You look tired,” Yamada said, his fingers slowing.
Toshinori pouted, deeper when Aizawa’s began to as well.
“You should get some sleep, Yagi-san,” Aizawa said, low and gravelly.
“Toshinori…” he mumbled in response. Man, his eyes felt heavy. He forced them open.
“What?”
“Call me Toshinori. Like you did earlier…”
“So I did,” Aizawa chuckled. “You can call me Shouta, then—”
“And call me Hizashi!”
A big smile cracked his face in half. He felt so warm and happy.
The two made their way to the front of the apartment, and he could hear the shuffling of shoes as they changed into their own shoes.
“Now get some sleep. In your bed,” Shouta called back into the apartment, “like a good boy, Toshinori.”
Heat bloomed over his face, again, but his chest was a-flutter. He didn't know why he liked it when Shouta called him that, but he really did.
“Yes, Sir…” Toshinori replied, mostly in sarcasm—but if the cackle that Hizashi released was anything to go by as the front door opened and closed, Shouta didn’t catch on.
After a moment more of basking in the evening's activities, Toshinori heaved himself up, stumbling on tired legs to his bed, immediately crawling under the covers.
For once, he fell asleep almost immediately, a smile stretched across his face.
He hoped they'd invite him for a… playdate again, and soon…
Chapter One: What Were You and Midoriya Talking About, Yagi?
…Shouta stopped short. The door slid the rest of the way open and Midoriya was down the hall in seconds, unaware that Shouta had been there at all. Eyes narrowing as he watched Midoriya disappear around the corner, he turned his attention to inside the lounge. “What was that about, Yagi?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb, an eyebrow cocked, tone bored as usual. No steam filled the room. He must be comfortable showing Midoriya this form…
His eyebrow rose higher as All Might startled, head snapping to look at him. “Ah—he was just… asking for training tips!” A smile stretched across the man’s gaunt face—and Shouta thought it looked a bit sheepish.
He narrowed his eyes. “Training tips,” he repeated dryly.
They said nothing as Shouta stared him down for a few moments more, before sighing and turning away. “See you tomorrow, Yagi.”
“S-See you, Aizawa…”...
*
…“So, what do you do outside of work? You never really mention friends…” Yamada asked, his voice growing quiet. Shoulta assumed he was asking Yagi—not that he was trying to listen…
“Well, recently I’ve been trying my hand at cooking. And I do have friends—er, well, one, from my college days in the States…” he sounded a bit hollow.
Shouta’s ears pricked, one friend? Even I have two… Wait, he’s not trying to befriend Midoriya, is he? He is a fanboy… He cut off his thoughts there.
“—laugh more!” Yamada was saying as Shouta tuned back in.
“Wha— ahahaha! Yamahahada! ”
There was a scuffle. Shouta tried to ignore it, but he found himself oddly curious. He rolled back over, just in time to see Yagi crashing to the floor, eyes wide, a shaky grin spread over the part of his face that he could see, one arm curled protectively to his left side as the other tried to fight off Hizashi…
*
…Shouta watched as Midoriya looked at his friends and they nodded, waving as they continued to the cafeteria, Midoriya-less. He started walking again as the hallway cleared, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was going to get to the bottom of this.
—
The opportunity presented itself a few days later. Shouta found himself in the teacher’s gym, back in the weights area. The place was deserted, save for Yagi in a corner, using a bench press. Yagi set the barbell back on the bench, exhaling slowly, when Shouta neared, snapping his capture weapon out. Coils of the weapon quickly lashed his wrists, the barbell, and the bench tightly together. He wasn’t going anywhere until Shouta said so…
*
…Toshinori’s nerves were sparking, as he continued to pull against that damned scarf. It truly was exceptionally strong for what it was. Maybe, if I push just a little…? No, no… He eyed the door to the changing room, his mind reeling, playing back every conversation he had had with the man recently. Nothing was jumping out at him. But then why was he in this position right now? What was Aizawa going to do?
He took slow, even breaths. He was almost positive Aizawa wouldn’t hurt him like this, but he had to admit, he didn’t really know the man well. Soon, Aizawa emerged; his usual hero costume exchanged for a grey tank top, black basketball shorts, and sneakers, his hair pulled back into a low bun. He deposited his bag and the water bottle—filled, Toshinori noticed—near the top of the bench. Toshinori didn’t know what to think.
“Aizawa, surely this isn’t necessary—” Toshinori started, trying to muster a calm authority, but he wasn’t All Might right now, he was just Yagi Toshinori, totally unthreatening. Especially when the school’s grumpiest teacher was standing over him, looking unaffected by his attempts. But all he could really focus on in the moment was how vulnerable he felt under that gaze, stretched out as he was…
*
…A shaky grin spread across Toshinori’s face, his arms straining uselessly against their bonds, a leg jerking up to offer some kind of protection. “I-Is this reheally necessary, Aizawa?”
“That’s entirely up to you, isn’t it?” Aizawa asked, skating one set of fingers slowly up the man’s stomach, the others veering back toward his ribs, easily finding homes for them all in the spaces between.
A laugh burst forth before he could clamp his mouth shut, but the damage was already done. He could see the flicker of amusement in Aizawa’s eyes before they returned to their usual look of boredom…
*
…“Was that a snort?” Aizawa asked, a breath of a laugh coating his words.
Toshinori could feel the blush taking over his face, his lower lip tucking between his teeth in a small comfort. He pulled uselessly against the scarf securing his wrists, his hips trying to disappear into the bench.
“Let’s see if you can do it again…”...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Writing chapter two of What a Weird Way to Start a Friendship, and Shouta is tickling the shit of 'Zashi, because he really wants to tickle Toshi but feels like he can't.
