For #pissweek day 5! it doesn't exactly fit the prompt but it's a SHINZAWA PISS collab with @shiru_desu!!! SO get ready for

PISS PISS FALL IN LOVE

// cw nsfw , watersports , piss , jealousy , age-gap , aged-up chars , mcd off screen and it's not shinzawa so w/e //

here is the BEAUTIFUL PISS ART: https://twitter.com/shiru_desu/status/1379235602881769481?s=20

Hitoshi detests hero events, but the afterparties are undeniably solid. This one especially, Hitoshi thinks, sipping a whiskey sour and enjoying the cool, rooftop breeze.

Despite the summit being held the next city over, many of the heroes he knows attended, including everyone from his UA days to current coworkers. It's not out of the usual, especially when the panel includes so many stars in the scene.

What is unusual, though, is the fact that Eraser Head hauled his musty old ass out of his classroom and actually turned up.

That’s who he’s concerned with. There's something special about seeing Aizawa in such a high-class space, shifting around in the meager shadows of the lounge on the roof. Hitoshi watches him across the room, how he fidgets with the soft, dark wool of his sweater.

Hitoshi knows how soft it is, because six hours earlier he'd been pressed up against it in a broom closet, tasting the coffee on Aizawa's breath and telling him they should share a room.

Aizawa says no, like he always does.

"Eye-fucking Sensei again?" Kaminari drops into his line of sight, sinking into the deep cushions of the couch. Sunset looks good on him, softening the electric yellow of his hair to a warm blond.

Hitoshi sighs, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and around his friend's shoulders. "Probably the only action I'm gonna get tonight," he says, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Kaminari laughs lightly. “Dude... tell me you didn't ask him out again.”

“I didn’t,” Hitoshi glowers. Across the crowd, Aizawa is leaning on the bar, languid and graceful as he sips something that's probably horribly bitter. The man has zero taste. "Just told him we should share a hotel room. It's logical, or whatever."

Kaminari cackles. Hitoshi examines the shine of the string lights across Aizawa's black hair, how his once-tidy bun is beginning to slide out of place.

"Poor baby," Kaminari says, leaning into his side and slurping his lemon drop. "Unrequited love is not cash money, my man."

"I'm not in love." Hitoshi watches Aizawa leave the bar, glancing around the room before his eyes find Hitoshi. Eye contact feels like ice water down his throat on a hot day, and he can't do anything but feel the beat of his heart until Aizawa looks away.

"—attention," Kaminari is saying. Hitoshi blinks at him slowly, and Kaminari sighs dramatically, dropping his head on Hitoshi's shoulder. "I was /saying/, we could always fuck around and see what gets his attention."

Kaminari's hand is warm on his inner thigh. Hitoshi spreads his legs, half out of habit because he and Kaminari go back about as far as two young men can. They're just not... Hitoshi is the type to fixate, and Kaminari has never believed in holding back his affection.

From anyone. Especially multiple people at a time.
And even if Aizawa refuses to date Hitoshi, at least he rarely seeks out anyone else.

"Maybe for old time's sake," Hitoshi drawls, turning his head to catch Kaminari's lips in a kiss.

Kaminari is a tease, just like always, pulling back enough that Hitoshi is forced to chase the sharp lemon of his tongue, turning on him until he's the one looming over him and sticking his tongue down his throat.

Kaminari may be a tease, but he's an eager one, and it's not long before he's groping down Hitoshi's chest, grabbing his dick like a horny teenager and damn him if Hitoshi isn't moaning for it.

"My room's open tonight," Kaminari says breathlessly, fighting down a squeak when Hitoshi's hand slips down the back of his pants.

"Tempting," Hitoshi hums, stilling enough to think it over.

He is still kind of pissed at Aizawa, and definitely frustrated, and even if the milieu of people Kaminari has been working up over the evening will be sorely disappointed, he'd love to not spend the night alone.

Kaminari strokes over his dick, brazen in front of a rooftop full of people but Hitoshi likes that, is tired of hurried sex in the shadows, and the booze and the pressure on his cock are starting to have him feeling really, really good.

"Alright, let's go," he decides.

Kaminari gives him a last, friendly squeeze before letting him stand.

"Finally," he says, looking over Hitoshi's shoulder. A wave of apprehension rolls up his spine, and sure enough he turns to find Aizawa standing a few paces away, mouth set and eyes darker than the night sky.

"Hi, Sensei," Hitoshi says, throwing him a sunny smile. Aizawa's arms cross. Hitoshi can see the muscles of his arms strain against that sweater.

"Shinsou."

"We were just leaving," Hitoshi says, his friendly tone barely covering the well of resentment stewing in his chest. "Kami, come on." He grabs Kaminari's wrist, and makes a break for it. Aizawa can't have his cake and damn well eat it, too.

Or maybe he can, because Aizawa grabs his shoulder and nearly pulls him off his feet. “No, you’re not.”

“Sensei—”

“We have business tonight,” Aizawa says, his voice cold and deep, running over Hitoshi’s skin like ice water.

Hitoshi’s further protests die out as Aizawa drags him across the room, much in the way he’d intended to drag Kaminari.

“Thought you were too busy with reports tonight,” Hitoshi pants, stumbling over his feet as Aizawa drags him around another corner.

“I /am/,” Aizawa snarls, yanking the door of his room—#210, Hitoshi had checked already—and shoving him into the room. “Didn’t know you were gonna fuck everyone in the venue in the meantime.”

Hitoshi scoffs, bitterness overriding his usual well of affection for Aizawa. “What do you care?” The lights flick on, just in time for him to see Aizawa close in on him, rough palms on his cheeks, walking him backwards until his back thuds against the hotel door. “Sensei—”

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa says, raspy and /passionate/ and then he kisses him. Hard. The back of his head knocks into the wood, and Aizawa’s whiskey-laced tongue is pushing past his lips, and Hitoshi melts for him, just like he always does. He can’t help it.

Aizawa has a way of looming over him even if Hitoshi is nearly as tall as him now, and his movements are always sure, hands large and skilled and currently gripping his face painfully hard. He pulls away just as abruptly, hot breath puffing over Hitoshi’s skin.

“Shouta,” Hitoshi whispers, meeting his eyes. Aizawa’s lips turn down, his face hard. At times like this, his age shows, in the deepening wrinkles next to his eyes, the wisps of silver in his hair.

He blames those on his students and on Hitoshi’s antics, in more light-hearted moments, he’s still a very young thirty-eight, no matter how testy he is about their age difference. Hitoshi gives him a conciliatory smile, and Aizawa’s frown depends.

“What do you want from me?”

“Anything,” Hitoshi purrs, grabbing deftly for Aizawa’s belt, then whining in disappointment when he steps out of reach.

“And from Kaminari?” Aizawa’s tone is harder, now, and suddenly Hitoshi is tracking just how angry he is. His own anger resurfaces just as quickly, as volcanic as his feelings as he pulls himself away from the wall and crossing his arms. “What do you want from /him/?”

“Anything,” Hitoshi snaps, "because /someone/ leaves me looking for scraps from other people.”

“I don’t fuck you for one night, and you spread your legs for the first person you see.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and there’s a shining edge of jealousy under the anger that Hitoshi is very interested in.

“Can you blame me?” Hitoshi says, intentionally relaxing his posture, languid in a way he knows will infuriate Aizawa.

Aizawa knows it too, but he can’t help the irritation tightening his brow. “Kami actually likes me,” Hitoshi adds carelessly, “maybe I don’t always want to feel like your fuck toy.”

“Hitoshi, you’re not,” Aizawa begins, but Hitoshi cuts him off mercilessly, going for the kill like a cat after a wounded mouse.

“Just a hole for you to jizz in, huh? My bussy deserves more.”

Aizawa’s eye is twitching, and he looks half-repulsed and half-endeared. “Do you have to use your goddamn lingo right now?”

“You like it.”

“I really don’t,” Aizawa says drily, but the hard edge of his anger is gone, and now Hitoshi just wants to tease out that jealousy.

“Kaminari does,” Hitoshi drawls, looking at him from under his lashes. “I bet I can still nab him if I hurry.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Is it working?” Hitoshi watches Aizawa’s tongue flick over his lips, and grins. “You did drag me back here, after all.”

Aizawa steps closer. Hitoshi’s heart rate soars in response. “I could always tell you to leave.”

Hitoshi’s mouth goes dry, and he’s hoarse when he says, “And I’d tell you I’d do anything to stay.”

“Anything?”

“You know I mean it,” Hitoshi says. “Better take advantage, or I’ll go do anything for anyone else.” He watches Aizawa’s hands make fists, clenching and unclenching until he finally rubs his face. When his hands drop, he looks calmer. Calm like the moments before a storm.

“Then kneel,” Aizawa says. Hitoshi’s knees hit the ground, and he’s presented with an excellent view of Aizawa unbelting his pants. His musk is familiar, and Hitoshi leans in, pressing his face into Aizawa’s underwear.

He doesn’t pull back when Aizawa pulls his cock out. Hitoshi mouths at it eagerly, ready to leave the unpleasantness of the night behind and do whatever the fuck Aizawa wants.

Aizawa runs calloused fingers through his hair, finally catching hold of a fistful and pulling Hitoshi’s head backwards. Hitoshi licks his wet lips, and does his best impression of an eager fuck toy. “Come on, Sensei, I was having fun with that.”

Aizawa scoffs, tightening his grip in Hitoshi’s hair until his scalp begins to smart. “Hate when you call me that.”

“You never stop me,” Hitoshi points out, because he knows how Aizawa’s cock throbs inside him when he uses his title in bed. “Now let me suck your dick, /Sensei/.”

“Such a brat,” Aizawa sighs, holding his dick in his free hand. “You can blow me all you want afterwards, but I don’t want to be hard for this.”

“What?”

Aizawa just looks at him.

Hitoshi is a little tipsy, and very horny, and that’s why it takes so long for it to dawn on him. “Really? Gonna piss on me? Marking your territory, much?”

Aizawa blinks down at him, eyes night-black and face impassive. “Maybe I am.”

Hitoshi swallows hard, heart pounding as he finally reads what’s written all over Aizawa’s face. He’s possessive, and Hitoshi really, really wants to be possessed. If he gets piss all over his clothes, then he can borrow Aizawa’s, smell like him for the rest of the day, and…

“What are you waiting for?” Hitoshi grins up at him. “I said I’d do anything.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe how shameless you grew up to be,” Aizawa says, adjusting his hold on his cock.

The anticipation of it is doing interesting things to Hitoshi’s libido, and somehow the prospect of being covered in piss—/Aizawa’s piss/—has him already half-hard in his pants.

“You always taught me to explore all possibilities,” Hitoshi says smugly, leaning into Aizawa’s grip.

“Brat.”

“Ungrateful old man,” Hitoshi says, goading him so obviously that he gets a tiny, crooked smile out of Aizawa. “You should be grateful you get my young, sexy body. I could be sleeping with anyone, you know.”

“You’ve always had poor taste,” Aizawa murmurs, sighing as he steps apart slightly. “You might want to close your mouth, now.”

Hitoshi is halfway into asking why when hot liquid hits his chest, soaking into his dress shirt.

He snaps his mouth shut, eyes wide in shock as Aizawa hums with the pleasure of release, the stream of piss steady as Aizawa aims at Hitoshi’s throat.

It’s a shock, even if he was expecting it, and he’s always loved being on his knees for Aizawa, but this is different. Better.

Aizawa can’t explain this away with attraction or convenience or practicality, he can’t act like the reason he accepts Hitoshi’s advances is pure logic. Hitoshi shuts his eyes in invitation, resisting the urge to touch himself because he wants this moment to only be about Aizawa.

Aizawa, and the way he’s pissing on his chin, up over his face, soaking into his hair until Hitoshi’s perfectly messy curls soggy. Hitoshi listens to the soft hissing noise, how the piss soaking into his pants is already cooling, feels the strength of Aizawa’s hand in his hair.

Somehow, even doing things like feels so undeniably right. They fit together, they always have, in a way that fundamentally changed when Hitoshi had become a pro hero and also a pro slut.

Why Aizawa can’t see that, Hitoshi will never understand.

All he can do is accept it, accept anything Aizawa wants to give him, and hope he’ll fall out of love at some point.

Aizawa makes a considering noise, and Hitoshi realizes that he’s done, that he’s just been kneeling in a puddle of piss, half-lost to the world.

He opens his eyes slowly, lashes heavy and wet, and then Aizawa is kneeling before him, hands on his face, wiping liquid away from his eyes, off of his lips.

Then he kisses Hitoshi, deep and thrilling in a way only Aizawa can achieve.

“I want you here, right here,” Aizawa says roughly.

“Been prepping my bussy for mmf—”\\

“/Stop/,” Aizawa snaps, clapping a hand over Hitoshi’s mouth. He looks angry for just a flash before hanging his head, hiding what Hitoshi is /sure/ is a muffled laugh.

“I can’t take you seriously like this," Aizawa finishes.

“You never take me seriously,” Hitoshi snips, and just like that, the tension is back. For once, he regrets saying something, because for a moment they’d felt so close.

It’s just that sometimes, feeling closer to what you want hurts more. It doesn’t matter how thoroughly Aizawa prepped him, how easily he slides inside, heavy body pressing Hitoshi’s back into the damp floor.

It still hurts, to hold him this close, to dig his fingers into the lean muscle of Aizawa’s back, to bury his face in Aizawa’s hair as he comes.

It hurts how Aizawa doesn’t even invite him to stay, quiet in his typical way when they step out of the shower.

Aizawa throws on a pair of threadbare sweats, a far cry from his earlier suit, but somehow still just as hot. By the time the floor is clean and Hitoshi is dressed in Aizawa’s nicer pair of sweats and a loose long sleeve shirt, the hurt is wrapped around his heart like a fist.

Maybe it’s because he’s still a little drunk, maybe it’s Kami’s teasing, but Hitoshi doesn’t really feel like playing anymore tonight. It’s not until he has his hand on the door that Aizawa speaks up.

“You’re leaving?”

“Got some people lined up on Gr/ndr,” Hitoshi says soullessly, but he still hasn’t turned to door handle.

Aizawa’s voice is tight when he answers. “Are you trying to hurt me?” That’s enough to make Hitoshi turn around in shock. Aizawa is sitting on the edge of the bed, fists on his knees, face set.

“I wasn’t aware you cared enough for that to be a possibility.”

“Jesus, Hitoshi, is that what you think?”

“You can be really fucking cold sometimes, Shouta,” Hitoshi says, tension seeping into his voice despite himself. It’s rare that they are this candid with each other, and there’s an undeniable thrill to it.

Terrifying, but thrilling in the sense it precedes change.

“I know,” Aizawa says quietly.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” Hitoshi adds, relenting enough to leave the doorway and collapse in the chair by the bed. “You dont get a say in who I fuck unless you date me.”

“I know.”

“So what gives? Because you know how I feel about you, and all you have to do is say the fucking word.”

Aizawa gives him a long look, tucking dark hair behind his ear. “It’s typical to have some kind of crush on your teacher—”

“You’re not my fucking teacher anymore.”

“Or if you’re having sex with someone,” Aizawa says stubbornly, switching tactics in an instant. “The body releases all kinds of hormones, and it's not uncommon for feelings to develop.”

Hitoshi’s hands make fists in the loose fabric of his borrowed sweats. “Stop minimizing my feelings.”

“I’m not, I’m just explaining—”

“I’m in love with you.” That, at least, shuts Aizawa up. Hitoshi stands, looking down at him. “It’s not because of any of your bullshit excuses. You can date me, or you can grin and bear it when I fuck whoever the hell I want. Got it?”

“Aggressive, for a love confession,” Aizawa murmurs, as if he’s grading the interaction. He does this often, unable to turn off his analytic side. It’s hopelessly endearing. “I’m not going to date you, Shinsou.”

“Why,” Hitoshi demands, more angry than hurt because this is the only possible outcome. “I know you won’t, but just… why? You know how well we work. How good this is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aizawa says hoarsely. “Doesn’t mean that I’m good for you.”

“You are.”

“You're so young,” Aizawa sighs, leaning back on his hands. “I know your twenties feels old when you’re going through it, but it’s different when you get to be my age. I can’t offer you the kinds of things you should have from a boyfriend, anyway.”

Hitoshi is completely speechless. This is the first sincere answer he’s ever gotten out of Aizawa.

“Sex is one thing,” Aizawa continues, meeting his eyes. “Emotional involvement… complicates things. I don’t want to complicate your life.”

“And you feel nothing for me,” Hitoshi prompts, trembling in place from sheer tension. Aizawa looks back to the shower, where Hitoshi’s clothes sit marinating in a trash bag.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“How we feel is the /only/ thing that matters.”

Aizawa rests his elbows on his knees, looking down. “What do you want from me,” he whispers.

“I want you to give this a chance,” Hitoshi says fiercely, too worked up to feel mortified by how forward he’s being. “Just once. If it’s bad, then we stop and deal with it.”

Aizawa’s mouth thins, pursing as he thinks it through. Hitoshi has more or less entirely forgotten how to breathe.

“Come here,” Aizawa says, so Hitoshi goes and kneels between his legs, face turned up to Aizawa’s brooding one. “You’re right, you know,” he says. “Everything I said… it’s just excuses.”

“Then why?” Hitoshi doesn’t understand, but he still likes when Aizawa’s hand cradles his cheek.

“I have a lot of hang ups, Hitoshi. Lost a lot of people. I’d come to understand that I’d be spending life alone, at least in this respect. Being with me… it won’t always be easy.”

Hitoshi smiles at him crookedly, heart in his throat. It had taken a while, but at some point after he’d graduated, he’d come to understand just how broken Aizawa is. Nemuri’s death, Yamada’s, and many of the other UA faculty during the war with All for One.

“I don’t want easy,” Hitoshi says, “I want you.”

Aizawa snorts softly, like he always does when Hitoshi is being a ridiculous smartass. “Christ, kid, you’re gonna be the death of me. Fine. One date. But—”

Hitoshi kisses the words off his lips, sloppy but eager and Aizawa lets him. They kiss until they’re breathless, until Hitoshi’s heart is too full from how big of a step this was for Aizawa to make.

“But what?” Hitoshi asks, cheeky as he pulls away.

“I, uh,” Aizawa trails off, eyes wide and disarmed.
Shinsou leans in and kisses him again briefly.

“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’re still leaving?” This seems to wake Aizawa out of his post-kiss trance. Hitoshi stands, still riding the dizzying high of getting a chance at everything he wants.

“I wouldn’t want to sleep with you before our first date. I’m not a slut, Aizawa-sensei.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes, then grabs Hitoshi’s wrist, yanking him down on the bed in a tangle of limbs. “You /are/ a slut,” he croons, pinning Hitoshi to the bed, “and you’re gonna stay here.”

Then he’s kissing and biting at the crook of Hitoshi’s neck, while Hitoshi grins up at the ceiling and realizes this means one date probably won’t be enough for Aizawa, either.

THE END

thank you again to shiru for the beautiful art!!! you are a STAR

please dont mind me making all my piss fics unbearably emotional i just cant stop myself? but i hope u enjoyed! <3 happy piss week!!

The fic on is AO3 here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/30499752 

My other threads are here:
https://twitter.com/i/events/1304604049765838848?s=20