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Yagi still hesitated to take off his shirt. His fingers played at the bottom hem of the faded green fabric. Aizawa never rushed him when his lover felt self-conscious, even if he found it illogical. He merely waited in their bed, pretending to busy himself on his phone while Yagi made up his mind. He knew how Yagi felt about his scars—how to him, they were a reminder of the greatness he would never feel again. They were a symbol of the beginning of his death, in a way. His death as All Might, at least, and very nearly his literal death. To him, they meant he was no longer the hero he wanted to be.
Aizawa saw his scars as a proof of triumph. He lived despite All For One’s best efforts. And they were his rebirth as Yagi Toshinori, the man Aizawa loved despite his best efforts.
Yagi slipped into bed with his shirt still on, as he usually did unless Aizawa otherwise distracted him. Aizawa put his phone away and turned to Yagi. He studied the lines of his face, his gaunt cheekbones and sharp chin. Yagi’s sunken, brilliant blue eyes stared back at him nervously, his face downcast as if awaiting judgment. He shouldn’t have been beautiful, but he still took Aizawa’s breath away.
“I love you,” Aizawa blurted, and he silently cursed himself for speaking so abruptly. But he didn’t have to measure his words with Yagi; Yagi was safe and wouldn’t judge, even if Aizawa spoke bluntly sometimes. Besides, Aizawa didn’t say those words often, and Yagi seemed like he needed to hear them.
Self-consciously, Yagi offered a small smile. “I love you, too.”
Aizawa leaned over to kiss Yagi’s thin lips, a question in the touch of his fingers on the older man’s cheek. When Yagi moved closer in acquiescence, Aizawa took the lead, nipping and running his tongue along Yagi’s lips to demand entrance. Yagi’s willful submission thrilled Aizawa. Hungry for the man before him, he kissed along Yagi’s jawline, pulled the other man’s earlobe between his teeth. Yagi gasped.
“Gorgeous,” Aizawa rasped into Yagi’s ear.
Yagi turned his face away. “You don’t have to butter me up.”
Catching his chin to make him turn around again, Aizawa asked in a deadpan voice, “would I say something to play to your ego?”
He chuckled tiredly. “I guess not.” He let Aizawa kiss him again.
Aizawa kissed the juncture of Yagi’s jaw and neck, just below his ear. Yagi shook slightly—he was ticklish and Aizawa possessively kept that information to himself. He trailed his lips slowly down to Yagi’s bony shoulder and bit lightly through the fabric. He wanted to rip the shirt aside leave a mark but that wasn’t what Yagi needed this night. Tonight, he needed to be worshipped.
From Yagi’s shoulder, Aizawa backed away just far enough to take Yagi’s hand in his own. He lightly kissed each finger and the palm of his hand. Yagi’s hand twitched at the feel of Aizawa’s stubble, but he didn’t pull away. Aizawa pressed his lips to the inside of Yagi’s wrists and sighed. “Lovely.”
Yagi muttered something incomprehensible and hid his face with his free arm.
Firmly but pliantly enough that Yagi could resist if he wanted, Aizawa pushed him to recline on his back. Aizawa then lay over his lover and pressed another kiss on his covered chest. He could feel Yagi’s heart beating frantically. He could kiss Yagi all over and never feel satiated. “I love you.” He heard Yagi swallow thickly.
His lips trailed over Yagi’s sternum. The older man shuddered, goosebumps covering his arms. Aizawa trailed kisses down to his stomach. He wouldn’t have felt the scar tissue through the shirt if he wasn’t already so familiar with Yagi’s body, but he kissed there as well. “I love you.”
Next, he kissed both of Yagi’s hipbones. He slid back and picked up one long leg to kiss the bend of Yagi’s knee. Yagi moaned. He didn’t seem to be aroused despite Aizawa’s attentions, but Aizawa wasn’t going to press the issue. Even if no sexual release was involved, he just wanted to make Yagi feel good.
“I love you.”
His lips trailed down Yagi’s slender calves until he kissed the top of his feet. He stared up at Yagi, who had propped himself on his elbows, his face flushed red. Unless Aizawa was mistaken, his eyes looked wet. His expression was raw and intimate. Sometimes, even great heroes needed to be held and protected.
Aizawa crawled up the bed to recline next to Yagi again. “Look at me?” As Yagi acquiesced, Aizawa kissed the tip of his nose, then over his eyelids, his forehead. He ran his fingers through wild, sunflower-yellow hair, letting his nails scratch lightly along Yagi’s scalp. Yagi shuddered in pleasure. “Mine,” Aizawa murmured against his cheek.
Finally, the older man leaned into Aizawa and kissed him in return, open-mouthed and sweet.
“I love you,” Yagi whispered with kiss-bruised lips.
Aizawa plopped down flat on the bed and hooked an arm around Yagi’s waist, pulling him against his body. Yagi took the hint and turned his back. Aizawa spooned against him, his nose buried in golden hair. He tangled their legs together and sighed heavily.
Yagi smiled quietly to himself. Aizawa professed to being terrible at intimacy, but he was more careful and loving than he’d admit. He seemed to intrinsically know how to take care of Yagi, even when Yagi himself didn’t know what he needed. “Thank you, Shouta,” he said after a few minutes.
Quiet breathing was his only reply. Aizawa had already drifted off to sleep. Yagi chuckled before lacing his fingers with those spread over his stomach—over his scar. He closed his eyes and thought of Aizawa’s kisses, those that had already happened and those still in store for them.