Chapter Text
Hitoshi had told Aizawa he could ‘stop by’ tonight in a very casual way, because there’s no way he’s letting Aizawa think too much of himself, like Hitoshi’s actually waiting around for him or some shit. He’s not desperate.
Except, Hitoshi’s a good way into his shift and Aizawa hasn’t shown up yet, which he’s supposed to. When Hitoshi says something as if he doesn’t care, that’s not meant for Aizawa to take it as such. He’s supposed to show up because he comes round here even when Hitoshi tells him to stay away. Can he not even take simple instructions?
“Hitomiiiii!” squeals Hitoshi’s current customer, another regular who really bores him, but pays for lap dances then jacks off in the toilet cubicle next door to Hitoshi while he’s ‘using the bathroom’, which saves him the hassle of having to take the guy all the way back to his apartment for ‘special services’, so that’s something. “Could you hop over to the bar and get me a new round of drinks?”
Hitoshi pretends to laugh and nods, holding his eye roll until he’s turned away. It’s because he’s wearing the playboy bunny girl look tonight, and the toilet wanker thinks he’s witty.
Although he won’t admit it to Aizawa, Hitoshi found a bunch of stuff he’d forgotten he even had now his wardrobe is all tidy and shit. This corset being one, which, although Hitoshi loves how tiny it makes his waist look, he forgot quite how restrictive it gets after a while. The rest of the outfit is simple yet effective, and he’d liked being able to admire himself in the mirror at home without having to tread over a bunch of other stuff to see the ensemble in full. His thigh high boots have come out from hiding as well, along with black fishnets that lead up into the bottom of the simple black leotard.
Hitoshi actually tucked tonight too, since the look hits different when he’s got a dick bulge to without, and tonight he’s feeling femme. That’s why he painted the boobs on too, clever makeup tricks and contour to give his chest the appearance of cleavage between the V-shaped neckline of his bodysuit, narrowing up to a set of spaghetti straps over his shoulders. He looks fucking cute, even without the little white collar and bowtie around his neck and matching cuffs around each wrist, but he’s extra cute with them, and Aizawa’s not here to see it. Rude.
Tossing his bouncy blonde wig for the night over his shoulder, the headband with a set of jeweled ears slipped on over the top to keep everything in place, and a fluffy white tail on his butt completing the whole look, Hitoshi heads to the bar for the toilet wanker’s new drinks.
Hitoshi thinks about texting Aizawa, but that would let him know Hitoshi gives a crap whether he shows up or not. The point of this mission is to make it seem unremarkable that Aizawa is in here when the target finally pays a visit, which happens about once a month when Hitoshi’s boss pays protection money, and should be towards the end of this week all things going to plan. But that means Aizawa actually being here and not off on his own stupid non-Hitoshi business.
It’s not until Hitoshi is giving the toilet guy his lap dance in the VIP area that Mamasan darts up to Hitoshi to whisper, “Someone’s waiting for you,” before dashing right back out again.
She doesn’t like to leave customers waiting, and there’s girls free still so that must mean whoever it is wants Hitoshi specifically. He pretends not to feel that rush of anticipation as he speeds through the lapdance, which just feels underwhelming now compared to the other night, then asks for a favour and sends one of the other hostesses into the bathroom with him to finish the job off. If he’s only sitting in there wanking off to them pretending to be on the toilet, it doesn’t matter who’s in there, does it?
It gives Hitoshi the chance to slip back out into the main room of the club and see who’s standing at the entrance waiting for him. Well, not quite standing. Aizawa’s wearing a suit Hitoshi’s never seen his damn life, the wrong fucking shoes, and is leaning against the wall like he’s propping it up. It, or himself, perhaps, because when Hitoshi gets close enough to swing out one hip and throw him a couple of fingers in a cutesy V sign at him in greeting, Aizawa gives a lopsided grin and sways onto his feet more than he stands.
“Back again so soon, Aikawa-san,” Hitoshi introduces cheerily, since it’s his literal job to act like he’s happy to see Aizawa, and nothing else. “You must really like me.”
Aizawa opens his mouth, but before any words come out he hiccups. It’s weird. Then when he does speak, his words all run together like watercolours, a sunset palette of low tones. “I thoughta’d paya’nuther visit.”
He steps forward and seems to stumble, getting close enough to Hitoshi that he gets the hit of whiskey off him, like he’s taken a fucking shower in the stuff. Is he drunk? Does he think this is fucking payback or something? Hitoshi’s gonna kill him.
But Mamasan and the owner love drunks, they’re some of the club’s best customers, so Hitoshi politely leads Aizawa over to a table. Walks ahead of him, which means he can really give it that playboy bunny wiggle while Aizawa staggers along behind him. The corset might be a fucking pain, but it gives him shape that makes his ass look extra round and delicious. Some of the other less well-endowed girls use padding, but Hitoshi doesn’t believe in it. Not for his ass anyway.
Aizawa’s certainly flushed in the face when Hitoshi slides in first to their ‘usual’ table and waits for Aizawa to join him. Aizawa weaves as he walks, overshooting the seat and putting a hand on the tabletop to stop himself toppling over, then collapses down into the seat like his legs gave out. He stinks of whiskey, which Hitoshi hates because it covers up whatever it is he normally smells like. His suit isn’t horrible either, though not exactly the most indiscrete choice, mismatching his jacket and trousers like that. Even if he pulls it off.
“So what the fuck happened to you?” Hitoshi asks with a lovely smile, and knows for a fact his makeup is on point tonight as well. Complete femme fantasy. Hungover or not, especially hungover as it happens, a good beat is always going to be Hitoshi’s saving grace. They’ll never see the exhausted hungover-as-fuck person underneath.
“I–” Aizawa hiccups again, and it’s the most bizarre thing Hitoshi’s ever seen. “I had som’ drinks after work with colleagues.” Flopping his arm down on the table to lean across at Hitoshi, turning his back away from the main room in the process, Aizawa continues, “can you believe they didn’ want to come here w’ me? Fuckin… milk toasts.”
Not knowing whether to scream or laugh, Hitoshi just stares at Aizawa in utter shock, before offering a quiet, “I can’t believe you’re wasted.”
But then Aizawa looks right at him and he fucking winks, and for the second that he does he’s sharp and alert, before blinking back to looking dumfounded and completely off his tits.
“I’llhavea whiskey,” Aizawa slurs, only getting the ‘whiskey’ part out clean, and Hitoshi rolls his eyes and shuffles all the way around the table to get out rather than trying to get past him with his eau de liquor aftershave. “Also,” Aizawa adds when Hitoshi’s two steps into walking away, “Y’look very cute.”
Whether he’s putting it on or not, Hitoshi thinks he’s gonna kill Aizawa either way.
Getting him the cheapest whiskey they have in the place, since it’s probably Hitosh’s fucking money he’s spending anyway, Hitoshi returns to the table to see Aizawa with his head sprawled all the way back against the seat, mouth open, eyes shut.
“Wakey wakey,” Hitoshi says sharply, and Aizawa moves to look right at him. He said Hitoshi looked very cute a few minutes ago. Which is true, and he’s acting like a wasted, infatuated customer who’d say exactly such a thing, but he still said it. “Are you sure you want more to drink?” Hitoshi tests, which is not a super popular question to ask in here according to Mamasan, but Aizawa just thumps the seat next to him with his hand.
“Absoou– absol… yeah, I do,” he fumbles and mumbles, and if he’s acting, he’s doing a damn good job of it. Normally it’d be madness to do anything so attention-pulling as showing up drunk, but Aizawa had told Hitoshi he was ‘better’ than his reputation suggests he is at this work, so maybe he knows what he’s doing. This is the first time Hitoshi’s actually seeing it. “Pull upa seat, cutie.”
Hitoshi’s guts, squeezed up into his ribcage by the corset, turn a somersault. He pours two drinks, one for him and the other for Aizawa, and then shuffles all the way back around to sit with him, tapping his fresh manicure against the edge of the glass.
“So, you think this is funny or something?” Hitoshi poses with an icy deadpan, while Aizawa picks up his glass and takes a swig. Actually drinks that much, it seems.
“You don’t like it?” Aizawa questions, and when he’s facing only Hitoshi with his back to the rest of the room, his expression levels out, so Hitoshi knows for sure that he’s stone cold sober, and this is all an act. So far. “Thought it’d explain what I’m doing back here so soon.”
“Ah yes, the poor lonely businessman, drunk and horny in the city all by himself,” Hitoshi parodies, flicking a glance over to the curtain on the other side of the room, watched over as ever by one of the hefty bouncers. “Afraid I can’t invite you back to the VIP area to do anything about that.”
Aizawa looks… conflicted. He usually does in this environment, like he’s fighting something internally, but tonight it’s like he’s fighting it less, for some reason.
Hitoshi doesn’t know why he does it, testing how far Aizawa’s prepared to go, probably, when he asks a flirty, “So, you like how I look?” Because it was awfully nice hearing him say Hitoshi was cute, and he might like to hear it a few more times.
“Always,” Aizawa murmurs like a hot spoon sinking into honey, and Hitoshi isn’t convinced that part is acting at all. Aizawa just seems different somehow, in a way Hitoshi can’t figure out just yet. Maybe it’s because they’re back undercover, doing the actual mission and that means Aizawa has to act a certain way, but before he’d seemed less sure of himself in it. Now he’s owning it.
Hitoshi had no idea what he was expecting, really, but it’s not Aizawa’s hand reaching out for the narrowest, corseted curve of his waist. Not on the side where Hitoshi is next to Aizawa, but all the way across the front of his body. An assertive, possessive grab of a grip, which Aizawa uses to pull Hitoshi next to him so their legs touch together. The fabric of his suit touching Hitoshi’s skin through the net of his stockings, suddenly hyper aware of how close Aizawa is to him right now.
Aizawa’s moving like his pathway is a groove carved into the floor, something set out long ago without anything either of them can do about it except follow. Hitoshi feels his chest rise and fall more shallowly because of the corset, breathing fast and just starting to sense the warmth of Aizawa’s hand through the thick fabric. Then he totally freezes when Aizawa begins tilting his head into the negative space around Hitoshi’s jawline, pushing back his wig with a hand.
“Drunk boys don’t always play nice, do they?” Aizawa must be teasing him, Hitoshi realises with a woozy jolt in his stomach. This is payback for yesterday. For whatever it was Hitoshi did to him to make him squirm so much, which Hitoshi’s pissed he can’t remember because maybe it’d help him now. Might give him something to retaliate with when Aizawa keeps dipping in closer to the cove of empty air created by his neck between his shoulder and jaw.
“Guess not,” Hitoshi pants, feeling Aizawa do the same. That hot whiskey breath on the skin of his neck. Oh fuck. Aizawa’s not supposed to do this, and maybe he knows that, maybe that’s why he’s doing it here in the first place. But Hitoshi sure doesn’t do anything to stop Aizawa from touching his mouth to Hitoshi’s neck, right above his collar on one side, where he’s soft and full of nerves.
Perhaps it had been meant just for show in the first instance, because to begin with Aizawa simply touches his lips against Hitoshi, and while that’s still plenty, that’s all there is. But then Hitoshi gasps, and at almost the same moment Aizawa’s hand slips down to his hip and squeezes, pulling Hitoshi firmer against him. Then his mouth opens against Hitoshi’s skin, and he feels the wet of Aizawa’s tongue.
“Ah–” Hitoshi tries to stifle himself, because he should have slapped Aizawa away by now. Not even guys getting lap dances are allowed to get away with this. Only high roller paying customers are entitled to do anything as raunchy as giving a hostess a hickey, and here’s Hitoshi giving it away for free.
Instead Hitoshi lifts his leg to twist over Aizawa’s, turning further into his lap, rolling his head back and swallowing another overwhelmed noise when Aizawa’s mouth seals against him and the pressure hits. Hitoshi’s gonna pop his tuck like this. He’s gonna lose his job. He’s gonna wriggle until his thigh’s pushed so far across Aizawa’s lap it has to brush his dick and forget about anyone else in the room, in the world, as long as Aizawa’s sucking a mark into his tingling, over-sensitive skin.
“Oh fuck,” Hitoshi mouths quietly. He thought he’d be prepared if Aizawa did something like this, the sort of thing Hitoshi’s been waiting and egging him on to do. Maybe he’s been saving it all up for tonight, to use where it matters, in front of everyone. Hitoshi doesn’t care. Hitoshi can’t think.
Aizawa’s mouth lifts off him and he breathes out heavily, cool rush of air on the warm saliva he’s left behind on Hitoshi’s neck. Then Hitoshi shudders when Aizawa just out-and-out licks a stripe across Hitoshi’s throat, straight over his adam’s apple stretched out past the collar, and suctions right back down on another part of his neck.
Hitoshi can feel Aizawa’s dick against his thigh now, but it’s Aizawa’s tongue against his pulse that’s making him dizzy. No idea what to do with his hands, totally forgotten; arms, what are those?
Then, just when Hitoshi’s sure he can’t handle anything else, Aizawa’s hand drops lower and grabs a juicy handful of Hitoshi’s ass, almost lifting him to drag closer into Aizawa’s lap as his mouth finds a new spot to suck another love bite into his skin.
Hitoshi’s not paying enough attention, though neither is Aizawa, it seems, when the bouncer crosses the room to interrupt them. This takes the form of the bouncer grabbing Aizawa by the back of his jacket and pulling him off Hitoshi to throw onto the floor.
Aizawa must realise it’s happening somewhat, Hitoshi registers fuzzily as his body howls for the lost contact and his brain comes back online. Because not even one of their bouncers could actually throw Aizawa like that, nor would he fall in such a spectacular way if he weren’t doing it on purpose. Literally goes down like a stack of greased dishes, collapsing onto the dancefloor like he doesn’t know up from down.
“Hands off the girls!” the bouncer barks while Mamasan is charging up scowling fiercely.
“S… sorry,” Aizawa scrambles onto his knees, bowing so hard in front of Mamasan he bangs his own head on the floor. Hitoshi covers his mouth with his hand just so he doesn’t burst out laughing. “She looked so good, I jus’ got carried away.”
It’s still really strange seeing Aizawa act like this, behaving in ways that seem so alien to how he usually is, even though he’s doing the perfect job at being a run-of-the-mill handsy guy who doesn’t know the rules around here properly. They get one every other week.
“Take him out through the back,” Mamasan says ominously, and a brick drops through the small cramped space that’s left for Hitoshi’s guts. The other girls and customers are all staring, since fools who break the rules get made examples of.
Hitoshi doesn’t know what the fuck Aizawa thinks he’s playing at, but it better be good. Hitoshi still thinks he’s gonna kill Aizawa one way or another, for not telling Hitoshi about any of this shit in advance. He really does suck at partner work. Not like he sucks neck, anyway. Hitoshi’s still tingling all over as Aizawa’s saliva dries against his skin.
“You heard her,” the bouncer orders, steadying Aizawa as he seems like he’s about to collapse again just trying to get up, while Hitoshi simply watches, awestruck.
Hitoshi knows they’re going to drag Aizawa out into the alleyway behind the club and rough him up, because that’s what they do. But he also reckons that Aizawa could easily turn the bouncer upside down on his ass if he wanted such a thing, and he better not. The rational part of Hitoshi is sure Aizawa would never do anything as stupid or reckless as that, but the rational part of Hitoshi would have stopped Aizawa at least two glisteningly fresh hickies ago, and look where that ended up.
His eyes lock onto Mamasan, who is not about this shit, and will chew Hitoshi’s ear off later for not pushing Aizawa away like he should’ve. Hitoshi asks her, “Can I have a smoke break?”
Huffing disapprovingly, but realising that it gives Hitoshi a bit of time to cool off after doing something he doesn’t usually do, she agrees, “Just make it quick.” Hitoshi’s normally an absolute stickler for the rules, so the fact that he let Aizawa get so tangled up in him means the mood was either very good or very bad, and Hitoshi doesn’t have to explicitly confirm which it is. He dumps his itchy hot wig and bunny ears while he grabs his cigarettes from behind the bar, then leaves out the front while they’re hauling Aizawa out through the back.
Looping around on the outside, Hitoshi sets up at the end of the alleyway he knows Aizawa will be coming out and lights his cigarette. Lurks just out of sight, but also no one would be looking down here to check for earless bunny girls smoking cigarettes and trying to get a look at what they do to the new guy with the wandering hands and molten tongue.
Hitoshi puts his empty hand to his neck as he sucks in on the cigarette, fingering the first mark Aizawa left just above his collar and bowtie and wondering if that’s where his degree of control shifted. If he’d thought he wouldn’t get carried away and then absolutely did, just as Hitoshi had.
The bouncer and Aizawa don’t say anything as the back door shunts open and the bouncer stomps out with ‘Aikawa’ hanging from his hand like overcooked broccoli. Releases Aizawa so that he sails across the alleyway and splats against the wall. Hitoshi’s far enough away from them that he only really sees the figures instead of the detail, but the bouncer doesn’t notice him, and if Aizawa does he doesn’t show it.
Without introduction, since there’s nothing that needs to be said, the bouncer grabs Aizawa by the lapel of his jacket to haul up off the wall, and brings round the other fist to collide with his face. Hitoshi flinches at the sound, taking another tense drag of his cigarette.
Aizawa just takes it. He’s supposed to, obviously, but Hitoshi didn’t know it would be like that. What it would feel like watching him take a beating for what he did to Hitoshi, what Hitoshi let Aizawa do to him. Ugh, it’s almost fucking hot. Hitoshi looks away, even though he can still hear the sounds, and that’s almost as bad. Grunts and skin on skin in violence.
Hitoshi only glances back when he hears the back door shut again, seeing Aizawa slumped back against the wall again, only for the door to open up again a moment later and the super lame backpack he came in here carrying gets chucked out at him, thudding softly against his body and falling to the ground.
The door shuts again, and a good twenty or so seconds pass before Aizawa moves. Hitoshi holds his breath as he watches Aizawa standing up with perfect balance and total control, the illusion dropped. He kicks up the backpack and then snatches it out of the air, swinging onto one shoulder as he turns to walk down the alleyway towards Hitoshi, who exhales a cloud of anticipated smoke.
Aizawa knew he was there, Hitoshi must conclude, but doesn’t let any feelings about this show on his face as Aizawa strolls closer.
“Enjoy the show?” Aizawa mutters as the light of the street hits his face. It’s not much now, but his eye is starting to swell already, and his lower lip is bleeding. All the damage done by that mouth, huh?
“Just making sure you took it like you’re supposed to,” Hitoshi murmurs tensely, clutching the cigarette even while Aizawa’s eyes go down to it. “Was all that necessary?”
“Just trying to stand out from the crowd.” Aizawa’s voice is even more ragged than usual, like a splintering oak barrel where they age the whiskey he reeks of. His eyes are still on the cigarette. “Gimmie.”
Hitoshi gives it to him. Can’t not, just stares at Aizawa opposite him while he’s taking the cigarette with a brush of their fingers to put to his lips. Loose flyaways from his hair, getting blood on Hitoshi’s cigarette, so good looking Hitoshi could die.
“Keep it,” Hitoshi says hurriedly, standing up from the wall and forgetting that it’ll bring them closer together for a moment. Close enough to see the depths of Aizawa’s eyes, like a lake’s surface in the middle of the night. They shouldn’t be talking like this anyway. Bad. Reckless.
Aizawa just nods at him, perfectly still while Hitoshi walks quickly away with unwarranted heat flooding his cheeks.
