"You want another shot? Seems like you're tight on deadline." The bartender asks you.
You downed your 5th shot, a trail of glistening liquid leaking from your lips. What a waste, was Aizawa's first thought. The second was... you were exactly his type.
"Not a deadline..." You leaned your elbows on the counter and rested your head on your left palm, cheeks flushed, cute and enticing. "I'm writing a pitch. Trying to. With a writer's block. They want me to write a thriller romance. I have to write the plot down first and pitch it to them. They want a story that involves hero work... Dammit! How am I supposed to write about that?!" You flopped your head down. "What do I know about heroes? I'm so dumb. I'm gonna quit writing."
You sat back up, realizing the bartender has already moved away to entertain another customer. You glared at the measly words on your tablet when someone towers behind you, leaning over you, a hand pointing over a certain paragraph, the person behind you mumbles, "... that's a breach of protocol. Raids don't work like that."
Your head swivels to the right and if you could, you would've purred at the sight of a chiseled jaw decorated with a sideburns. The upper half of his shoulder-length black hair is tied up into a man bun.
"Excuse you, sir." You say.
Aizawa side glances you. "Sorry. Habits. Overheard you and was curious." He moves away giving you your personal space back. "How about I buy you a drink or two for intruding on you?"
You scan him head to toe and then glanced at the shot glasses you emptied. He retracts his offer, "Or a cheesecake instead. How does that sound?"
You blinked. Your lips stretched into a languid smile, tempting with your eyes hooded. It made Aizawa's throat dry.
---
He was watching you. Your target. Aizawa Shōta. He wasn't obvious about it. You had to give him that. You met plenty of men who couldn't keep their eyes from your chest or your ass and who hadn't bothered to hide the fact. If you weren't aware of him, alert to every movement of his hands and every shift in his pace, you might not even have noticed where he was looking.
It might have been easier if he had leered. You were used to that. You could dismiss him then as just another drooling boy. But he looked at you subtly, with the cool, focused perception of someone in control. It made you want to wrench that control out of his hands. It was hard to tell if he was watching you because he wanted to wrestle with you in the sheets or wrestle you for suspicions of being a villain. You immerse yourself as a character, a writer for your backstory and you wait.
---
Maybe you were too into playing a character that you forgot yourself. The way he sat beside you has been so thoughtful not quite far that projects disinterest nor too close that he invaded your space. And he gives you solid advices on the story you're supposed to be working on. It felt funny when he leaned just enough so you can smell black licorice, absinthe and cigarette in his breath; there was a weird flutter in your stomach that you had to take a step away from him.
You leaned on the washroom's cemented finished wall. You kept replaying your interactions,
"So kit, got enough material for your work yet?" He tilts his head a bit and some of his fringe escaped blocked his view.
"Kit?" You asked confusedly and then shook your head. "That's not my name."
His lips stretched into a mysterious grin and then he chuckled, "Kitten, how 'bout we get out of here?"
You flushed. "I'll take Kit over kitten."
"Hnn?" He raised an eyebrow at that, takes your hand by your fingertips.
It takes alot in you to compose yourself. Touching him was like picking up live wire. More pleasant, less lethal; it focused all your attention on a single moment of contact. The whole world narrowed to the hand holding yours, and Aizawa looked so fit and hot and dammit, you wanted him. Fuck the mission when you can just fuck him! You looked up to his face and caught your breath at the intensity of his stare.
So here you are, in the washroom, with tail between your legs, trying to cool your head.
"You're a villain undercover agent." You tell yourself. "You're good at pretending to feel things. Or not to feel things. Remember that."
But all you could see in the back of your mind is how dark his eyes were. His voice in sinful baritone and you wonder how it would feel to have your fingers run through his hair.
You return, making eye contact with Aizawa in the dim light.
---
Kissing you was like drinking neat rum– almost uncomfortably hot and thoroughly, almost instantly intoxicating. There was nothing naive or submissive about you; nothing practiced or seductive either, though he didn't doubt you had experience. You were all wild demand and hunger, bordering on greed.
Aizawa tried to be gentle for a moment. Then you wound your hands in his hair, taking his hairtie, and pressed your body against his, your breath hot against his neck and his control snapped.
He kissed your mouth with almost painful violence, startling himself—but not pulling away. Not when you didn't. Not when you groaned instead and writhed, rubbing yourself against his chest and your hips against his aching erection. The Erasure Hero couldn't have stopped himself then for anything.
Your hands were on his shoulders, drawing him to you and pulling him downward at the same time so that you and him were both settling to the floor of his apartment's genkan. There's no way you and Aizawa could make it to his bed now.
He followed your pull, kissing your neck and the smooth skin of your chest. In a daze, he took a moment to just stare at you and you froze, mesmerized once again by his gaze.
What now? Your brain asked. You were supposed to seduce him for info but you're the one getting seduced by his pretty eyes.
His kiss still lingered on your tongue. Black licorice, absinthe and cigarettes. No way you could stop now.
