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Hizashi cracked his knuckles, tilted his neck from side to side and stretched out the crick in his back, running through a few quick warm up exercises in an attempt to recover his aching voice. He loved it here but, man, his day had been long.
Despite it all, he was excited for tonight. He always was, when Shouta was around.
The second they were live he flashed his kilowatt smile, like putting on a well fitting suit, the tensions of the day made way for the suave comfort of his stage persona.
“Toniiiiiigggghtttt, we have everyone’s favourite reluctant guest star, the grrrrumpy cat who knows where it’s AT, Errrraserhead! Say heyo to our audience, Eraser, you KNOW how much they love you.”
Shouta rubbed his temples, fixed him with a capital L Look.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
Hizashi barked a laugh, slinging one arm around his husband’s shoulders and pulling him close, just for a moment.
“Don’t let him fool you listeners, he’s here because he waNTS to be! He’s-a-big-old-softie-at-heart, aren’t you Eraser? Can’t get enough of our beLOVEd listeners, or your beloved host, (yours truly). That’s right listeners, this is Eraserhead’s idea of a good time! Who would have GuESseD it?”
Shouta drank about half of his coffee in a single gulp, leaned back in his chair, letting his head hang over the backrest.
“Not me, or anyone with sense. Do you lie to your audience often?”
Hizashi flung a hand to his chest, another to his forehead, swooned dramatically. He grinned far more genuinely than the audience would ever know.
“WhooOOOaahhh! I feel injured. You-hurt-me-Eraser, you really do. My professional pride may never recover! I am AS honest as the DAY is LONG!”
“It’s winter,” the wry smile on Shouta’s face couldn’t be heard in his voice. That was just for him.
His husband was so funny. He loved him so much.
He wasn’t biased. Everyone else was biased.
“HaH, shut-your-mouth, now as I was saying! Errraserhead is here to entertain, another of his ALL-TIME favourite things to do, so he wiiiill now be singing-“
“Nope.”
“Reciting-“
“Absolutely not.”
He let his persona drop, just for a moment. No one would notice, he was sure.
“Sitting there and occasionally adding a word or two while I talk for the next two hours and he glares at me.”
Shouta grinned.
“See, you can be honest when you choose to be.”
“I-don’t-know-why-I-keep-inviting-you-on-this-show, but for some reason the listeners LOVE it and who am I to disappoint?!”
“You disappoint me daily.”
Hizashi mimed taking an arrow, collapsing on his chair.
“There are tears streaming down my face. I am BLEEDING out. Save-me-Eraserhead. Heal me with praise!”
Shouta snorted.
“Earn it,” a raised eyebrow, a suggestive curl of the lip.
Hizashi backed away from the microphone, swallowed, took a deep breath before leaning back in.
“I suuuuure will! By being the best HEro, slash radio show host, slash TEACHER Japan has to offer!”
“Only,” Shouta corrected. “The bar is not high.”
“And yet I never fail to raise it! Iiiin the-latest-news-today-“ Hizashi squeaked, quickly covered it with excitement over the latest gossip.
Shouta’s hand had run up his inner thigh, come to rest on his crotch.
He reached for the button that would mute his microphone.
Shouta raised an eyebrow in challenge, rubbed gentle circles against the leather.
Oh, so that was the kind of night it was going to be.
Hizashi grinned, let his legs fall open, and continued talking.
He wasn’t lying, not really, Shouta did love his guest appearances on this show.
He loved the cosy dimly lit space of the booth, the comfy chairs, and the fact that it was just the two of them.
He was also fairly sure ninety percent of the appeal was the attempts to make him stutter on air, or gasp, or moan.
Not every time. Sometimes he just needed company. Shouta was a social person, far more social than he let on, with a job that too commonly forced him to spend his shifts alone.
Often they simply got lost in one another’s company, exchanging tender smiles and barbed words into the early morning, comfortable in the familiar space of the recording studio.
Sometimes he just curled up in a corner and fell asleep, leaving Hizashi to finish off recording on his own, or climbed into his arms and did the same.
He never knew when the nights like tonight would be. He loved them all, every version of his husband, every moment they got to share.
But this was what he longed for.
Shouta’s eyes, sparkling with mischief, with the energy left to play.
He loved this game. Even if he always, somehow, lost.
Hizashi didn’t mind losing, if it meant Shouta won.
He didn’t mute the microphone when Shouta pulled his chair closer, leaned over and started kissing and biting down his neck, while he pulled his zipper down and reached in.
“Hawks ranked the year’s HOTTEST male hero,” he shuddered, Shouta had started to stroke him, taking all of their years of marriage and using it as ammunition with which to ruin him, as always. “Though many internet users disagree. Some going so FAR as to,” he put his hand over his mouth, holding back a gasp, “claim that the entire system is rigged in favour of whichever hero the commission is currently pushing. Thoughts on that Eraser?”
Shouta pulled away long enough to grumble into the microphone.
“None.”
He bit at his pulse point, soothing the hurt with his tongue.
“Surely you have some opinion. Hawks is pretty hot, but is he the hottest?”
Shouta backed off and fixed him with an, honestly justified, glare.
He was teasing. He knew full well which pro hero his husband thought was the hottest (him, or, when he felt like being mean, All Might), just like he knew he couldn’t say it on air.
Officially, the public still thought they were both straight. Good friends. Besties. In some cases, reluctant colleagues forced to share one another’s company.
Unofficially, the shippers had pieced together far too much. It was lucky they weren’t famous enough to out.
Not that either of them truly minded, they were private people, but they were comfortable in what they were.
It wouldn’t hurt them to be known, they simply did not care enough to share.
Shouta licked his hand, wrapped it tighter about his length. He raised an eyebrow, leaned towards the mic.
“It shouldn’t matter. What matters is his abilities as a hero, which are substantial, not whether he is more attractive than the competition. Such rankings diminish the field, and reveal the quirkism still disturbingly present in our allegedly evolved society. While it is true that the rankings follow a consistent trend of favouring commission prodigies, that element is far less worthy of conversation than the fact that heroes with full body mutant quirks haven’t made the top ten once. Talk about that, or don’t talk about this at all.”
It was awe inspiring, just how much more verbose Shouta got when he was trying to prove a point. His point, in this case, being the fact that he was perfectly capable of having an intelligent conversation while reducing Hizashi to mush in his hands.
Hands which had worked him firmly, spreading precum down his shaft and squeezing at his balls, all without a pause in his speech.
Hizashi gawped, desperately attempted to pull himself back together.
“Uh, well, strong words from Eraserhead, once again showing that he is only quiet when there’s nothing important to say! And with that I am done talking about this before I make myself sound like an idiot!”
He knew he was barely managing to sound like Present Mic, instead of Hizashi, but at least he wasn’t moaning on air. A win was a win, he supposed.
“You are an idiot.”
Hizashi laughed breathlessly.
“Only when you’re around Eraser. Now, the phone lines are open, feel free to call in and-“
Shouta gracefully fell to his knees, boneless as a cat, comfortable as a sexually active gay man in his early thirties. Hizashi held on to the arms of his chair, gripping for dear life as Shouta swallowed him down.
“And chat to me and Eraser about- about whatever you wanna chat about.”
He laughed, smugly, around his dick. Hizashi gasped at the feeling, writhed in his grasp. Shouta pulled off, put a finger to his lips, nodded to the microphone. He lowered himself back down before Hizashi could respond.
“Aaand you’re on the air. What would you like to discuss dear listener?”
He really ought to receive an award for his professionalism. His voice hadn’t cracked at all. He sounded steady, even when Shouta hollowed his cheeks and did something truly diabolical with his tongue, even when his hands grabbed at his ass and pulled him into his throat.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all that professional.
Fuck it, not like anyone was ever going to know.
For all the inconvenience of having to run the entire show on his own, indie production did have its perks.
Like the fact that there was no one here to see him bite his own fist to keep the moans in. Like the fact that Shouta felt comfortable enough to do this at all.
Hizashi wouldn’t have cared. Shouta could have him anywhere he wanted, any time, any place. Nothing mattered more to him than this, than what they shared.
“I, um, I just wanted to say that I agree with what Sensei-“ Shouta froze, pulled off, eyes wide. “I mean Eraserhead had to say! There are a lot of prejudices that are going unchecked in our society right now and magazines ranking things like, um, who’s sexy or uh- they’re just making it worse.”
Hizashi smothered his laughter, feeling a little like a teenager that had just been caught with his pants down in the locker room. Shouta just glared at him, as if this wasn’t entirely his own fault.
“Thank you for calling in. Did you have-“
Shouta reached for the microphone.
“Go to sleep problem child, we have a test tomorrow.”
“Oh, um, yes! Sorry Sensei!”
Shouta rolled his eyes. Hizashi couldn’t help but giggle as Midoriya swiftly hung up.
“Well then, if the next caller would like to-“
“If any of our other students are currently on the line I suggest you do the same. If I hear any of your voices I will deduct points for insubordination.”
Hizashi didn’t mention how many of their waiting callers had just hung up. He would keep that information to himself, for Shouta’s sanity.
“Well, YOU JUST HEARD IT HERE FOLKS, Eraserhead punishes students for the way they spend their free time! Unethical? What do you think? I’m sure we’ll be glad to hear your opinions on-“
He trailed off on a whine. Shouta had reached up and pinched his nipple, and he didn’t look like he had any intention of letting go, twisting hard and rolling it between thumb and forefinger, not breaking eye contact as he did so.
“Don’t you think it’s time for our next song?” Shouta’s voice was deeper than normal, when he reached for the microphone.
“Oh, you’re absolutely right! Silly me, it totally slipped my mind! We will return to calls after you listen to the latest smash hit single by acclaimed pop sensation, who just can’t seem to stop hammering out the hits (you know, because of her quirk), Nailor Smith! Enjoy!”
He hurriedly muted their microphones and started the song.
Shouta wasted no time, dragging him to the floor before a note was played. Hizashi yelped, throwing his headphones to the desk before they could get yanked off, almost like they’d done this before.
Long fingers pressed past his lips, over his tongue. Hizashi moaned louder than he might have, if not for the previous silence, desperately grasping at the brief possibility of sound.
Shouta pushed his shirt up, bit hard at his nipples until they were red and puffy. Hizashi could do nothing but hold on, suck.
He didn’t even notice the song come to an end, but Shouta did. He never understood how he could do that, how his head could stay so steady no matter what, how sensation never seemed to carry him away. It was lucky. Their careers would have been over by now without it.
Shouta reached for the microphone, kept Hizashi pinned down as he spoke into it.
“Apologies listeners, Present Mic has had to step away, he will be back momentarily. With him out of the way feel free to call in and ask whatever probing, inappropriate, embarrassing questions you might have about him. I will do whatever I can to give you the answers.”
Hizashi widened his eyes, thrashed a little. Shouta just pushed his fingers in and out of his mouth, grinning when he kept sucking, licking at them like a cock. He muted the microphone.
“Good boy.”
And carried on.