Fifty Shades of EraserMic (Shades of EraserMic #1)

Stock'em Up

Shouta wasn't sure if he hated or loved summer. There pro's and con's to it, just like with any other season, and yet as he sat in the car with the window down allowing the warm air to bellow into the car ruffling the air by his ear ash is hair flew around his face he had to admit it was comforting as Hizashi belted out lyrics to some song that struggled to be heard over the roaring of wind. He loved the summer as he had fond memories.

Nothing that ever stood out save for that summer festival where he and Hizashi rode Ferris wheel for the first time, or how he'd been coaxed onto a merry-go-round, then at the end of the night as fireworks were blasting off the blonde had confessed to him. He still remembered that red blush, the way the blonde had fidgeted and looked nervous, speaking so fast his quirk activated twice leaving his ears to ring and then the third time he spoke so fast they trembled together.

It had taken Hizashi five times to say it clearly for him to understand. And then, of course, there was their wedding they'd had; that day had been pure magic and even he, a surly sour puss man could admit it. He'd never, ever forget how Hizashi had not only convinced him to walk down the aisle on Nemuri's arm but had done the same with both of his mothers and how that day had seemed so long yet so short.

How it felt like one second he was sliding that ring on and the next he was being swept off his feet on the dance floor by his husband who was far too enthusiastic that night; even cutting the cake and the messy way Hizashi and himself crammed it in, how the fireflies had managed to peak out by the time they were flying off to their little honeymoon. He even had fonder memories of summer that he would rely on but those were the two highlights, the two major memories he reflected on that always made him feel painfully melancholic.

Or perhaps it was simply summer that brought with it that bittersweet feeling with it no matter what. And his cons? Well, they were perhaps the same as any other persons. The heat, the way his hair tended to frizz out after a shower or if he got caught in the rain depending on the humidity, the bugs he had to deal with for his poor husband, and the spiders that terrorized not only to the two men but Hitoshi and Denki by extension.

The many times they'd called Nemuri over or the many times Eri had merely scooped up a spider for them was an embarrassing number of times that he would never tell another soul. So many pros and cons. The blue sky, the storms, the rain. The scalding ground, the blistering heat, the way the sun always seemed to be shining, the cicadas. Oh, he could live without cicadas. Always shrieking and always annoying as can be early in the morning as it seemed to be a day after day battle on who could be louder.

The cicadas or the bird calls. He rolled his head against the head rest looking over at Hizashi who was flicking the blinker on, singing happily when those sparkling green eyes flicked to him and a bright smile was aimed his way. He was helpless not to return a soft little smile of his own at the brilliant one aimed just for him. He looked down when Hizashi reached over, assuming it was for the iced coffee in the cup holder, only to hum when the hand was placed right on his thigh instead.

While he could just shove it off, bicker with the man about keeping both hands on the wheel, he didn't have the energy for it. It was a warm day that was just over a comfortable heat and it was getting to him. So, if having Hizashi's hand not only felt nice but was an innocent little thing then he didn't give two fucks about it being placed there. He felt a little squeeze of his stomach, a tingle running through him when that hand began rubbing his thigh up and down slowly.

As if he were a cat he didn't want to spook and he reached down plucking the hand from his thigh and instead chose to weave their fingers together. Funny how their hands took a bit of wriggling before they fit comfortably against one another. He then clung to that hand, a trace of warmth in his cheeks, when he felt that thumb stroke the back of his hand as he looked out the window again eyeing the familiar houses flying by.