Aizawa swears he’d only closed his eyes for a second, but when he drags them open again, Toshinori is just there next to his desk, leaning a bony hip against the wood, looking down at him with a grin.

“Sleepy?”

Aizawa grunts and shifts, shouldering the layers upon layers of scarf higher to hide the frown of his mouth.

“There is nothing dishonorable in taking a break, you know,” Toshinori continues. It is annoying. He is annoying. As All Might it is more bearable; the unceasing optimism that gets the students fired up, and inspires them to do their very best. As Toshinori, however, it sets Aizawa’s teeth on edge, even though he is so much more subdued in this form. (His true form, if Aizawa had any say in it.)

It makes him feel more… inadequate. Fake.

Aizawa is battling a constant, throbbing headache; eyes dry and scraping in their sockets. Hankering to sleep for ten years or never to wake up again in the first place.

Next to the pain Toshinori has to feel on a constant basis, half his lung, and stomach ripped out… coughing blood… he feels pathetic.

“Eh? Eraserhead?” Toshinori leans down, crystal blue eyes fixed on Aizawa’s tired gaze. He’d drifted off while Toshinori had been waiting for an answer. 

Annoying, annoying, annoying.

“Ah. Why don’t you let me get back to work. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get home.”

Toshinori straightens, gaunt face so very serious as he lifts both arms, giving Aizawa a double thumbs-up.

“You are honorable, Aizawa. Dutiful. I respect you, even though your methods are too harsh. I recognize, however, that you are just as harsh to yourself as you are to your students, and that is admirable.” 

Aizawa watches him warily from the corner of his eyes, pencil held loosely in his fist. He wonders what Toshinori is up to; he looks almost nervous.

“Still,” Toshinori continues, and even though shadow has swallowed his powder blue eyes again, Aizawa feels like he is being watched from the deep set gauges beneath Toshinori’s brow. His arms are still extended, still giving him a goofy double thumbs-up. “You deserve a break every now and then, Eraserhead. You deserve to relax.”

Aizawa is getting intrigued, turning his head minimally, and taking Toshinori in. Tall but continuously slouched. Ill-fitting suit hanging off of his emaciated body. Yagi Toshinori thinks that he is the impostor; the front – not All Might. He caters to his huge alter-ego body. Wants to be prepared to change at the drop of a hat wherever he is. Wants to be prepared to help.

“What are you on about?” he mumbles, vowels slurring – half from sleep-deprivation, half because he just doesn’t care.

And then he does wake up full and sharp as Toshinori suddenly moves; sliding down and beneath the table, quick and fluid – folding his tall, lank body in on itself with a deftness that shows how clearly he knows himself despite everything.

“What are you-” Aizawa starts, then chokes on his own words. Toshinori’s hands are at his fly; opening it quick and clever.

“You deserve to relax as much as anybody else, honorable Eraserhead,” he hears Toshinori’s deep voice mumble from beneath.

He feels a sharp pang of nervous shame as he thinks about how late it is; how he has to smell – but then Toshinori’s warm, moist breath is huffing against his cock; so effortlessly slipped from his underwear; and a nose is snuffling into the unkempt thatch of hair at the base of his dick. Inhaling. Exhaling.

Warm and gentle, just as the broad, long hand that is holding him upright. Keeping him steady for Toshinori’s welcoming mouth.

Aizawa curls forward, hands balled into fists, eyes wide as he stares at the divider giving him modest privacy in the office from the other desks closely pushed against his on each side. 

Nobody is here. It is dark other than a few stray lights.

Nobody is here other than Toshinori beneath his desk, suckling the tip of his cock warm and gentle into his mouth; tongue lapping at the slit, coaxing him to fatten up and fill out the space.

“T-Toshinori,” Aizawa grinds out, toes curling in his boots. His knees want to lift and clamp reflexively around Toshinori’s bushy blond head, but the man’s hands are there, holding them down. Keeping him seated as he crawls further in and slides down the throbbing shaft.

Taking Aizawa in deep, deep, deeper without a hitch until he can feel the crown push along the soft palate and even farther.

He holds his breath, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks bulging with little puffing breaths as he feels the wet resistance for a second before Toshinori shifts and relaxes and then he pops past that, too – and he can’t believe it, but Toshinori is deep throating him like it’s nothing special. Lets him deep dick his throat with an unending patience that brings water to Aizawa’s usually perpetually dry eyes.

Someone is taking heaving breaths that border on sobs, and he realizes with a start, that he is the one doing it. He clamps a hand across his mouth, and the other shoots down; fists in Toshinori’s thick fringe, then slides farther back to the untamed nest on the back of his head.

His hips jerk and jutter but he doesn’t do much in terms of moving. He’s fixed quite neatly behind his desk and he can’t believe Toshinori is sucking him off.

Great, long pulls as he bobs his head smoothly, his already gaunt cheeks hollowed even more to cushion Aizawa’s cock lovingly – and when Aizawa’s trembling hand manages to let go of the fist full of hair and slide down, he can feel the bulge of his dick through Toshinori’s thin cheek.

The sensation makes him bite the flesh of his palm, hips jumping, balls clenching.

He comes too fast. Way too fast. It is embarrassing.

Annoying, annoying, annoying.

But Toshinori doesn’t seem surprised. He swallows him down, then laps like a kitten at the silky head, trying to get every last drop.

When he slips out from beneath the table, he has put Aizawa neatly away and looks as put-together as gaunt, slouching Toshinori does. 

Aizawa isn’t looking at him. He is staring at the divider around his desk, chest still heaving, eyes wide open. Cheeks a deep red.

“I hope I could be of help,” Toshinori’s deep voice mumbles. There’s his warm hand in the middle of Aizawa’s back, giving him a small, friendly rub.

“You should go to sleep soon. Eraserhead.”