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“Are you sure?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Aizawa regretted them. He shouldn’t have betrayed his indecisiveness. Shouldn’t spook Yagi.
But Yagi didn’t seem spooked. He had been curiously pliant throughout, submitting himself to be stripped down to underwear and have his hands bound behind his back with a cloth. Now he stared up at Aizawa with glittering eyes, breathing quickened with anticipation.
“Quite sure,” he said. “Please proceed, Aizawa-kun. I trust you.” And then, quite deliberately, he let his eyes flutter shut. Aizawa swallowed hard and stepped forward, the black blindfold laying loose in his hands. As he wrapped it around Yagi’s eyes, their faces were so close he could feel Yagi’s breath on his cheek. He made the final knot, and Yagi gave a sigh and went limp, completely relaxing against his bonds.
“Can you see at all?” asked Aizawa. Yagi made a movement with his head as if looking back and forth.
“No,” he said, apparently satisfied.
“Are you comfortable?”
Yagi smiled, showing a flash of teeth.
“Perfectly,” he said easily. Aizawa took a step back to drink it in: Yagi spread out on the rumpled sheets of Aizawa’s bed, his bare feet curling in the covers bunched up at the bottom. The bony knob of his knee leading up to the thin skin of his inner thigh. The knotted scar tissue of his side, which made Aizawa’s breath hitch a little every time. Not because it was ugly—Aizawa had little use for conventional standards of beauty—but because it was a reminder of how close Yagi had come to death.
He had been staring, he realized, for a while now. And then, on the heels if that thought, he realized that he could stare all he liked. So for once, he let himself look, long past the point where he would have looked away or kissed Yagi to break up the moment. It was easier without Yagi’s gaze on him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the movement of Yagi’s ribs up and down. His breathing was slow and steady, perfectly relaxed, and Aizawa felt a warm curl of contentment in his stomach.
Slowly, he let a hand trail up Yagi’s calf, just feeling the warmth of skin on skin, the fine hairs on Yagi’s shins and the whipcord muscles beneath. At the first touch, Yagi’s breath hitched, then evened out again. Aizawa smiled to himself, shifted up the bed so he could bring his hand up higher, to Yagi’s knee and then his thigh, watching in satisfaction as Yagi’s cock began to fill in his underwear. Not to full hardness, but enough to give Yagi a faint flush to his cheeks. Not enough to drive him to desperation, but enough that the arousal would buzz under his skin.
“How are you doing?” he asked softly, trailing his fingers idly up and down the inside of Yagi’s thigh. The expanse of unmarked, milky skin was intoxicating. Vulnerable.
“Quite well,” said Yagi, and then, squirming: “that tickles.”
Aizawa huffed a laugh.
“Sorry,” he said and, quite impulsively, pressed a kiss to Yagi’s hipbone. “You’re doing well.”
He meandered his way up Yagi’s chest, running a gentle palm over the scar and kneading at some of the tense muscle around it. He flicked at Yagi’s flat nipples, watching them pebble at the touch. Time wound away, coiling into the bluish veins showing through Yagi’s wrists and the long tendons in his neck. And for all of it, Yagi lay still and easy, offering himself up to Aizawa as easy as anything.
As he was untying Yagi’s arms later, after taking off the blindfold and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light again, Aizawa asked: “How was it?”
“Good,” said Yagi, and leaned forward to kiss Aizawa. “Perfect.”