A/N: Realized that I never posted the last chapter of this story here, so here it is at long last. To all my EndMight lovers: here's lookin' at you, kid.
It's been two weeks since The Incident (as he's taken to thinking of it) when Toshinori receives a letter.
He damn near throws it out. Most of the mail that comes to his home address are credit card offers, coupon books, and letters meant for previous inhabitants. This envelope is so small that it gets wedged between one of the coupon leaflets; it's only when he goes to recycle them that he spots the corner of it, pulls it free, and realizes it's addressed to him.
Toshinori Yagi.
He doesn't recognize the small, neat script, and there's no return address. Part of him wonders – the cautious, paranoid part – if it's a trap. If his home address has been found out. Villains aren't above using the more archaic means of dispatching their enemies, and even though it's been years since he's heard of anyone receiving a package bomb or a toxic letter, that doesn't mean they can't.
It's the stamp on the back that convinces him. It's small, unobtrusive - three black lines curved in the shape of a flame. The Flame Hero's insignia.
This letter is from Endeavor.
He stares down at the thin, cream-colored envelope, frozen. This is unexpected. He hadn't heard from Enji at all after what had happened between them two weeks ago, but that wasn't surprising. He's been content to pretend it never happened, and assumed that was Enji's wish as well. Now…
He shakes his head. Don't overthink it. The letter hasn't even been opened yet, it's too soon for him to be leaping to conclusions. Maybe Enji's put him on his agency's mailing list now that he knows where he lives.
Toshinori sets the letter on the counter and begins his post-work ablutions. Strip out of his work clothes, fix up some dinner, watch TV and plan his lectures: his usual routine, when he's not being dragged off for drinks with Hizashi, Nemuri, and Shouta. He only manages to change out of his suit before the curiosity overwhelms him; he slits the letter open and pulls out the neatly-folded paper inside.
The message there is written in small, cramped, but tidy handwriting – ruler straight and evenly spaced. Toshinori realizes that he has no idea what Enji's handwriting looks like, beyond his Hero signature, but instantly, he knows that it's his. Handwriting is one measure of a man. If that wasn't enough, the message contained there he can almost hear spoken curtly.
All Might,
We need to talk. If you are amenable, meet me at 1400 this Saturday.
Inscribed below the message: an address and phone number. Beneath that, a crisp red hanko that must symbolize the Todoroki family.
He reads the message three more times, as though expecting the sentences to magically multiply. That's it?
Yes, that's it.
Well, Enji's always been a man of few words.
Toshinori folds the letter, then unfolds it again, adding both the number and the address into his phone, then slips the paper back into the envelope. He heats up his dinner and eats it without really tasting, too preoccupied by the whirlwind of thoughts now racing through his skull.
Enji wants to meet. To talk seriously, no doubt, and there's only one thing to talk about: the Incident. Toshinori's stomach squirms at the thought, and he pauses, a forkful of microwave lasagna halfway to his mouth, then sets it back on his plate.
Oh, hell.
He doesn't respond to Enji that night. It's only Monday, after all. Plenty of time to think it over. Instead he tries to throw himself back into teaching, hoping that some solution will drop from the heavens or that he might receive another letter the next day rescinding the offer.
No such luck.
By Thursday evening he knows he has to give a reply. And he still doesn't know what he wants to do.
No. That's wrong. He does know what he wants – he wants to pretend it never happened. He wants Enji to leave it alone, because the thought of dragging all this back out into the open makes him want to book a one-way ticket to America.
Toshinori has done many things in his life he's ashamed of, but this might be the worst. What had he been thinking? Goading another Hero? Bedding a married man, the father of one of his students?
Just the thought of it has his insides bubbling, hot with shame. Why hadn't he just gone along with Enji and let the Flame Hero beat the stuffing out of him? It's not like he'd never been on the receiving end of fists before, and he knows Enji wouldn't have killed him. One visit to Recovery Girl and everything would've been solved. No. He'd chosen the worst possible solution.
Toshinori presses his fingers to his throat, rubbing at the healing scabs where Enji's teeth had cut him. It had taken over a week for the bruising to fade, and he'd had to wear turtlenecks and high-collared shirts to work like some naughty kid hiding a hickey. No visit to Recovery Girl for that particular problem; he's always been spectacularly terrible at lying.
And Enji wants to talk about it.
Toshinori is sitting at the kotatsu, hunched over the letter. It's been opened and refolded so many times that the paper now lies half-unfurled, like the body of a dead spider.
Maybe he'll go there and Enji will just sock him in the face. It's what he deserves. But he'd take physical punishment any day over the psychological lashing that will no doubtedly take place - such cowardly thoughts. He's a Hero - or, was a hero, for god's sake!
Despite his mounting reservations, and flip-flopping stomach, he knows he can't back down.
If Enji needs to talk about it, who is he to deny it? He's the source of this problem, and he must be the remedy.
Before his courage can desert him, he opens up Enji's contact and sends off a short message of his own:
I'll see you on Saturday. - All Might
What have I gotten myself into?
Toshinori sits in the back of the cab, fingers tapping his knees. He's been in a constantly-escalating state of anxiety since he received the letter that's currently tucked into his suit pocket, but after the text it imploded.
His heart is ticking along at a speed that's mildly uncomfortable. Despite the coolness of the cab, his shirt is glued to his back. His hands are clammy. All day he's been in and out of the bathroom, guts tangled up in knots. Why oh why did he get himself into this?
What's done can't be undone.
That cynical little voice sounds a lot like Gran Torino. What would his sensei say if he saw the mess Toshinori has gotten himself in?
Well, he probably wouldn't say anything. Just keel over, heart seizing under the sheer stupidity of it all.
Sorry, sensei. I'm still an idiot.
The cabbie has been giving him not-so-subtle glances through the rearview mirror for the whole trip, and that's not doing anything for his nerves. Toshinori turns to look out the window, letting his hair obscure the driver from view.
He'd looked the address up online just yesterday, and knows it's a good forty minute drive from his place. They're halfway there, the hustle-and-bustle of the city dwindling to sparser neighborhoods just on the fringe of true countryside. The houses roll by, fewer and fewer until greenery predominates, and the gray high-rises have shrunk into obscurity.
Tap, tap, tap.
The dull sound of cushioned glass against plastic. Toshinori looks down and realizes his temiyage has slipped sideways and is rattling against the door. He picks it up and settles it in his lap, tugging at the tails of the furoshiki wrapping to make sure the knot hasn't come loose.
The gift is nothing extravagant, just shochu. Maybe he shouldn't have brought alcohol at all; in light of the event, it smacks as rather distasteful. He doesn't know whether or not Enji even drinks. But Hizashi had recommended this brand to him and he'd enjoyed it, and the thought of trying to guess what foods Enji might like had been overwhelming…
God, this is terrible.
Despite the beauty of the day, he's too nervous to appreciate it. His anxiety creeps up like the mercury of a thermometer, then spikes twenty minutes later when the cab turns into a long driveway, shattering any facade of his calm. He's here.
The car rolls along, pushing up a path that is dense with trees. It's a veritable wall of greenery, which is perfect for privacy, though he's a bit surprised to find a complete lack of security gate. His surprise only grows when the trees thin out and the car pulls up into a large circular drive in front of what looks to be an old minka – he'd pegged Enji as traditional, not antiquated.
The cabbie has scarcely given him his total before he pays and rushes out of the car, dodging what was undoubtedly an attempt for an autograph. Approaching the door, he glances at his watch: 2:56, just a touch early. Should he wait until 3?
The roar of the cab fades away, melting into the low hum of cicadas. He's alone, but his shoulders and neck prickle, alight with the sense that he's being watched. He peeks through the window. No sign of anyone waiting inside, and no car in the driveway. Is it a setup?
He realizes he's stalling.
Sick of second guessing himself, Toshinori raps sharply on the door and then steps back, squaring his shoulders. Sucks in a deep breath of warm summer air, then lets it out. Stay calm. He's faced countless Villains, been in innumerable catastrophes, even faced All For One twice and lived to tell. Sitting down with the Flame Hero for a few minutes is nothing.
Still, he jumps when the door opens.
There he is. Slipper-clad, hulking, looking distinctly odd in a simple gray yukata: Enji Todoroki. His face is impassive as he looks up at Toshinori, who now feels comical and overdressed in his too-large suit.
"All Might." Enji's gaze flicks up and down, lingering on the wrapped package in Toshinori's hands. He steps back, opening the door wide. "Come in."
Toshinori ducks through the door, and slips his shoes off in the genkan, setting them next to Enji's slippers. The man is waiting for him, and as Toshinori stands back up he thrusts the gift towards Enji. "Here. It's shochu."
Enji looks down at the wrapped bottle, his brows set in a faint frown.
"It's not much, but Hizashi – uh, I mean Present Mic recommended it to me, and I thought it was nice, so-" now Enji's turning the package over in his hands, and his gaze rises back to meet Toshinori's, blue and clear as a frozen ocean. "-Uh, if you'd prefer something else just let me know, I can return it…"
He trails off, feeling absolutely pathetic. All his nerves have turned him into a babbling idiot.
Enji blinks for what seems like the first time since he's arrived, and some of the tension eases. "It's fine. Thank you." And though the words are clipped, the tone is on the warm side of neutral.
Toshinori breaths a silent sigh of relief.
"Please, follow me." Enji turns, and Toshinori trails him gratefully out of the foyer and into the bowels of the house.
It's nothing like he expected. Much smaller than what he'd imagined for a family; in fact, there's no sign that anyone else lives here at all. No family photos. No toys. No stray socks or even the scent of a lived-in home. It's positively sterile.
Sterile, but beautiful. The outside had been traditional, but inside it's been modernized. Large windows, shoji panels made of glass and wood instead of rice paper, tatami made of something much softer and spongier than the straw he's walked on before. Muted colors in warm grays, blacks, reds, and golds.
Enji leads him into a side room, where a dark wood table has been set with two teacups and a sweating pitcher of what is unmistakably green tea.
He settles himself on the nearest cushion when directed, and thanks Enji when Enji fills his cup. All the frantic yammering inside has quieted; now he's left with blank puzzlement. Enji is being so formal. So reserved. The polar opposite of the man that stood burning in his living room just two weeks ago. Well, he had hoped for a transformation, hadn't he?
Toshinori waits until Enji's seated before taking a sip of his tea. It's good. Earthy yet sweet, with a creamy floral note. He'll have to ask Enji what brand he buys before he leaves.
Enji pours himself a cup but doesn't drink. Instead he just sits there, hands folded on the table in front of his cup, staring at a point just short of where Toshinori sits. Toshinori takes another gulp, and the sound is like a gunshot in the brittle silence.
When it seems that Enji won't speak at all, he sets his cup down. "So," he starts in a tone far too airy to sound completely natural. "What did you want to talk about, Enji?"
Enji huffs out a sudden breath. It's close to a snort. This time when he looks at Toshinori, his eyes are narrowed in that familiar glare. "You know what we need to talk about, All Might."
And just like that, the anxiety comes crawling back. "You know, you don't have to call me All Might," he mutters, as though filling the silence will delay the inevitable. "I'm not a hero anymore. Yagi will do, or Toshinori."
Enji's glare sharpens. "Toshinori?" He spits Toshinori's name like a curse. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll always be All Might."
"Well, I was Toshinori first," he fires back.
Enji opens his mouth like he's going to respond, then closes it again. He shakes his head, and waves a dismissive hand. "Fine. Whatever. You know why I invited you. We need to talk about what happened in your apartment."
Ah. It seems like Enji can't say it directly either. We need to talk about how you goaded me into fucking you is a little too crass for both of them.
Toshinori sighs. "Yes, we do."
He's been working on his apology for days, but even so everything he's thought of sounds trite. Hollow. Still, he tries.
"Enji-" he begins just as Enji starts to speak.
They both stop. Enji gestures for him to go first.
He takes a deep breath. "Enji… I'm sorry for what happened. I don't have a good reason for doing it, and I won't defend it. I shouldn't have goaded you like that, it was very wrong of me. I know you're probably-" Disgusted? Disturbed? Furious? "angry about what happened, so I'm… I'm ready to offer you whatever I can as recompense."
In the quiet after his proclamation, he's hands itch with the urge to move. To grab his cup, to fold together, to tap against the table, to do anything to dispel the tension that's building like nitroglycerin beneath his skin, oily and awful.
But he's said it. He's said it, and that's something, even if he's too nervous to meet Enji's eyes now.
Enji thumps a hand on the table, jolting both their cups and surprising him into looking up.
"Why are you apologizing?" Enji hisses, whorls of flame flickering on his cheeks then vanishing.
"I- well, I just thought-" he stutters, not quite sure what he's going to say. I thought an apology was what you wanted.
"Don't patronize me, All Might. I made my choices back then, you didn't trick me into anything."
Oh, damn. He knew he'd screw up something, but he hadn't thought it would be the apology. Now he's offended Enji, when he's supposed to be making amends!
"No! No, I didn't think I did, I was just saying, that I-" what the hell is he saying? "-I shouldn't have even suggested anything like… like kissing…"
"I didn't invite you here to hear your apologies, All Might!" Enji interrupts again. He's leaning across the table, a wall of pure rage and muscle, and Toshinori wonders if he might end up with a fist in his jaw after all. Why does everything with Enji always spiral so horribly out of control?
Enji hands flex, then he seems to wrangle his temper back in line. He coils back on his zabuton, a tiger straining against his chains, and takes a quick, perfunctory drink from his glass.
"What I mean is, I had just as many opportunities to stop what happened as you did," he says, voice low but crackling with urgency. "And what's more, I accosted you. So don't insult me by apologizing for something that was in no way your fault."
Toshinori nods weakly, and gulps another swallow of tea. Even if he disagrees, he's not stupid enough to get Enji riled up again.
"It was unforgivable, what I did to you," Enji continues. Toshinori can feel his gaze like the weight of fingers against his throat, zeroed in on the two scabs just visible over his collar. "And for that, I'd like to... atone." The last word is squeezed out through gritted teeth, as though it pains Enji to say it.
Atonement. He knew it would come down to this, one way or another. But he'd expected he'd be the one bowing down, not the other way around.
He meets that clear gaze, recognizing the stubborn set of Enji's jaw. Pride. What had happened had been a blow against his ego, every bit as much as Toshinori's retirement had been. If he doesn't let Enji repay, will he spiral back into madness?
It's not worth the risk. Even if it means letting Enji kowtow to him unjustly, or – God forbid – whip out his checkbook to force recompense on him.
"Okay." Toshinori drains the rest of his tea, setting the cup back down with a hollow clink.
Enji gets to his feet. When he gestures for Toshinori to follow him, Toshinori does, feeling puzzled. He's led out and down the hall to an adjacent room, but it's not until Enji turns to slide the door shut behind him that he sees what's inside.
A futon unfolded on the floor. Pillows. Is this Enji's bedroom?
And then he sees the bottle nestled next to the mattress, and hears the telltale dry swish of fabric on fabric. He turns.
Enji is unfastening his belt, revealing bare skin beneath his yukata. His mouth is set in a hard, grim line.
"Once you do this, we'll be even," he says, and the yukata puddles to the floor.
Before him Enji stands nude but for a black jockstrap, the tiniest scrap of fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination. Toshinori's mind stutters.
"Uh," he starts, and then gulps. "What is it you want me to do, exactly?"
This has to be some kind of joke. A prank. Is he trying to embarrass Toshinori? Re-enact the way he'd been shamed?
Enji frowns at him. "Do you need me to spell it out for you, All Might? I want you to fuck me."
If the AC had kicked on at that moment, it would have blown him over. His mind is a desert, blank and barren with disbelief. This? This is how Enji wants to be forgiven?
The horrible thing about it is that it holds a twisted kind of logic. Enji is so very proud. His idea of forgiveness isn't so much absolution as it is retribution – he'd rather level the playing field than wipe it clean.
Shit.
"Enji, I can't do that."
Wrong choice. Enji's eyes narrow, expression thunderous. "What do you mean you 'can't do it'. You didn't seem to have any problem getting it up for me two weeks ago."
Toshinori winces. "I mean that- that this isn't right."
Enji steps closer, and Toshinori takes a compensatory step back. His elbows brush the door.
"Nothing about this has been 'right', All Might," he hisses. His eyes are stormy, flashing with the madness that Toshinori had seen weeks ago. "But this is your chance to make it even."
Even. Curse him for being right. This is still all about Enji and his blasted pride.
Toshinori stares at him, despairing. He had thought they'd made headway. Thought that he'd gotten through. Whatever he'd done, it hadn't been enough to crack that iron wall. And if that hadn't done it, what can he possibly do that will?
Nothing, that's what.
Enji feels slighted. Less than. And he wants to drag Toshinori down to his level, even though Toshinori's already yanked them into the muck. At this point, what qualms can he have about any of this? He'd be a hypocrite of the highest order.
Enji is crowded close, cornering him. Even though he hasn't sparked into flame, the heat baking off him is intense, like standing in front of a bonfire. Toshinori can even see the faintest shimmer around him; superheated, distorted air.
"Okay. If you're sure," he sighs. Let's just get this over with.
"I wouldn't have invited you here if I wasn't," Enji snaps. He retreats as quickly as he had advanced, kneeling on the mattress on all fours. "Now get undressed."
With slow, halting steps, Toshinori edges towards the futon. It's so innocuous, this clean room, the warm glow of the afternoon sunlight, the lingering green flavor of the tea in his mouth. Somewhere between Enji's front door and here he fell out of normalcy and into the twilight place where all his worst options are somehow the only options.
Enji's down before him, facing away. He really is like a tiger, huge and hulking against the gray sheets, muscles rippling as he turns to watch Toshinori over one shoulder. Even in such a submissive pose, every motion radiates barely-contained violence.
"Well?" he barks.
Toshinori strips off his suit jacket and pops the top button of his shirt, clumsy with nerves.
"Are you sure?" he tries again, hoping that Enji will see reason. "What if one of your children comes home?"
Enji snorts at him. "They won't. This isn't the family home, this is my place. It's where I go when I want to get away."
Well, that explains some things. It also shoots down his one last hope.
He takes his time with the rest of the buttons, despite Enji's increasingly hot glare. When he strips his shirt off, he tosses it to the floor and resists the urge to cross his arms over his chest when Enji's gaze flickers to the crater in his ribs. Why should he hide? It's not like Enji hasn't seen it before.
Then he realizes that Enji's the only sexual partner he's ever had who's seen the full extent of his scarring. It's not so much funny as it is horribly ironic; the only person to ever bed him unwillingly is also the only one to see him at his most vulnerable.
Toshinori leaves his pants on but kneels on the bed behind Enji, who stiffens, then forcibly relaxes. Spread like this, nothing is left to the imagination. The skin before him is moon-pale, unnaturally smooth, well-formed muscles sloping down into a sculpted valley.
The second Toshinori touches him, Enji shifts without prompting, arching his hips back to expose a shiny pink pucker.
Toshinori rubs the pad of his thumb across it. The area is damp, slippery with lube; evidently Enji's prepared himself. But despite the preparation, he can feel the faintest shudder ripple through those muscles as he breaches Enji's hole with the tip of a finger.
Tight. It's so damn tight. As vocal as he'd been about this, Enji's body betrays him; it's locked down tighter than a Musutafu financial vault.
He withdraws.
"Uh, sorry about this, but is there a bathroom I can use first?" Toshinori asks, sheepish. The speed at which Enji snaps his head around is alarming. He looks like he's barely resisting the urge to wring Toshinori's neck.
"Down the hall on the left," comes the reply through gritted teeth, and Toshinori bows apologetically before rushing out of the room.
This isn't going to work. No way. He can't do this to Enji. It's rape. He doubts he'd be able to even get hard.
Toshinori pads down the hall, locates the bathroom and shuts the door. He leans against it, rubbing the back of one shaky hand across his sweaty forehead.
What the hell is he going to do? He's got maybe ten minutes before Enji starts wondering if he's simply run off, but he could have ten minutes or an hour or a year, and it still wouldn't work. Damn. Damn it all to hell. There has to be a solution!
He goes to the sink, splashes cold water on his face. Hunching over the white porcelain, he stares at his gaunt reflection fiercely.
"C'mon, think of something!" he growls at it. "You're All Might! You don't lose!"
What a fucking joke. Of course he loses. He'd lost to All For One when he'd faced him with Nana. He'd lost when he let All For One escape the second time. He'd let Katsuki Bakugou be taken by the League of Villains. He'd lost the second he'd stooped to goading Enji into kissing him.
But, like then, he can see no way out of this. If he doesn't do it, Enji will let the perceived slight eat him alive. Perhaps Enji even wants it to hurt. Wants to hate every minute of it, as one is supposed to when faced with punishment. It would be pointless if he enjoyed it-
Toshinori's eyes pop open as a thought hits him. That's it!
He looks at Enji's toilet. What luck; it's as modern as the rest of the home, a bidet with several settings. As he inspects the buttons, he finds what he's looking for.
Ten minutes and several rounds of high-pressure cold water later, he walks out of the bathroom, cleaned out but brimming with hope. This just might work.
Enji is where he left him, now sprawled on his side and looking at his phone. As the door opens, he tosses the phone down and gets back to his knees.
"Finally ready?" he sneers.
"Yeah, I think so," Toshinori says, taking his spot between Enji's thighs. "But I think I want to do things a little differently. Turn over onto your back."
Enji's expression curdles, but he does as he's asked.
"Can you pass me that?" Toshinori points to the bottle of lube.
"Why? You don't need it. I've prepared."
Toshinori smiles in what he hopes is a mildly patronizing way. "I know, but I'm a little bit, uh- more well-endowed than the average man," he pats his crotch, and cringes inwardly at how vulgar it seems, "I'd like to be certain. I don't want to hurt you."
Enji slaps the tube into his palm with a nasty grimace.
"Okay, just relax."
Instead of spreading Enji open, Toshinori sets the lube aside. He leans forward, nuzzling the clothed swell of Enji's cock with his nose.
Enji's thighs bunch with tension. "What are you doing?" he snaps, and Toshinori looks up to see him wide-eyed and horrified.
"What I want. You're repaying me, aren't you?"
"Well- yes, but-" Enji's lips curl. "But you don't have to do that! Just get to it!"
Toshinori runs a hand over the smooth swell of Enji's crotch. "No. I'll do this how I want. If you have a problem with it, just tell me to go home and I will, and we can forget all about this."
Oh, the maelstrom in those eyes. Blue and furious and trapped. Enji's lips twitch, his hands flexing and unflexing on the futon. "Fine," he bites out.
Good.
Toshinori leans down again, rubbing his cheek against the soft warmth that is Enji. He smells of clean laundry and something hot and singed – a muskier smell than the fiery snap that he's come to associate with Enji's Quirk.
Humming with pleasure, he continues to nuzzle, catlike, against the Flame Hero.
Enji is not an unattractive man. Even if they've never been the closest of friends, he can't deny that Enji possesses a certain animal magnetism. His rugged good looks, powerful body, and flashy quirk draw the eye, even if his reserved nature encourages distance. He's a beautiful and rare beast, caged away from the rest of the world.
Enji's standoffishness has always made Toshinori want to try that much harder to befriend him, even though he's constantly rebuffed. It's a shame. After this, he doubts there will be any way for him to achieve that closeness.
Instead of dwelling on the melancholy thought, he peels off the jock strap. Enji's cock is soft, nestled on heavy balls, but unlike last time he's completely hairless. Had he waxed in preparation?Thoughtful.
Toshinori sucks that smooth flesh into his mouth. With steady suction and languid movements of his tongue, he coaxes blood into Enji's cock like a snake charmer drawing out a viper. He flicks his gaze up. Enji is watching. Perfect.
Muscle form is hard to maintain even at the best of times, but partial transformation is much easier. Toshinori forces the change from his arms upward, swelling before Enji's eyes. Looping two fingers around the base of Enji's cock, he sucks firmly, holding Enji's gaze.
There it is. The cock in his mouth, which had until now been only half-hard, thickens rapidly until it's straining against his tongue. This time when he bobs his head down Enji's eyelids slide shut, his lips parting silently.
Got you.
He'd noticed it last time, but now it's readily apparent: Enji has a thing for his muscle form.Maybe it's the idea of conquering All Might, maybe it's just the thrill of the illicit act performed by the squeaky-clean image of his Hero form. Either way, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he gets Enji the way he wants him.
Toshinori forces himself as far down as he can, until the head of Enji's cock taps at the back of his throat and he convulses, resisting the urge to gag. He's rewarded with a husky groan, quickly silenced. Enji's fingers are tangled in the bedsheets, his head thrown back.
His groin pulses with heat. Toshinori's cock thickens, and he rubs himself through the placket of his pants as he continues to work. When he's fully erect he pulls back, rubbing his saliva-slick mouth.
"Now I'd like you to close your eyes."
At that, Enji nods and begins to roll over, but Toshinori stops him. "No. Stay on your back."
Thrumming with tension, Enji does.
Toshinori strips out of his remaining clothes quickly, and pops the cap of the lube bottle. He remembers how that had sounded to him, a brittle click every bit as ominous as the cocking of a revolver. The brief thrill of all-consuming terror. He wonders if that's how Enji feels.
It better be. This is supposed to be punishment.
He puddles lube into his palm and then slicks the fingers of both hands until they glisten. Hunching forward, he probes at Enji with the pad of his middle finger, sinking gently into him. With the other hand, he mirrors the action on himself.
It's difficult, this simultaneous stretch, made even harder by the fact that he's trying to distract Enji with his mouth. He's spinning plates, hoping they won't break. One finger, then two, then three, each subsequent digit harder to accommodate, until he's fucking himself forward on three long fingers and doing the same to Enji.
He's ready.
He pulls his fingers free, then touches Enji's thigh in warning. "Okay, I'm going to put it in," he says, climbing silently to crouch over Enji. "Try to relax."
He slicks Enji with the remains of the lube and squats over the top of him. Even with all his prep, Enji is bigger than his fingers. It'll be a stretch.
The head of Enji's cock sinks into him, and it's better, so much better than last time. It goes in smooth as butter, hot and pulsing, and he bears down, taking the first half of Enji in one slick motion.
Enji's eyes pop open.
"All Might, what-" but Toshinori puffs into full muscle form, pinning Enji's shoulders against the futon before he can sit up.
"We're doing this my way Endeavor." He puts on his 'hero' voice, pulling from deep in his chest. With quick jabs of his hips he works himself down, until his ass meets Enji's groin. "It's not fair that you dictate how I am repaid." He lifts his hips up then slams them back down, panting out a breath at the intense fullness.
Enji lies frozen beneath him. For the first time today he looks something other than angry; an amalgamation of emotions that Toshinori can't name. Is it because Toshinori had used his hero name? Because of how unnaturally forcible he's being?
It doesn't really matter.
He looms over Enji, holding his jaw firmly between two fingers. "You're going to fuck me, Endeavor. Fuck me and make me cum, and if you don't do it in the next ten minutes, I'm leaving. If I leave, you won't be forgiven."
When he smiles, he knows the motion draws the hollows around his eyes more sharply. "This is your punishment."
Sitting back, he lets himself deflate to half-form. Hopefully be able to hold onto this for however long it takes to get off.
Endeavor is still motionless beneath him. His eyes are wide and stunned, and if it weren't for the cock pulsing inside him, Toshinori would've thought he'd turned into stone. He begins to think he's made things even worse.
Then, Enji moves. He churns into motion like a gear shaking off rust, hands reaching for Toshinori's waist, then faltering. They finally settle on the crest of his hip bones, holding him firmly as Enji shifts his feet beneath him.
Toshinori gasps as Enji snaps his hips up, a seismic shift that rocks him forward so powerfully he has to catch himself on Enji's chest with both hands. The grip on his waist tightens. Enji begins to pound into him, quick punishing strokes that almost knock the breath out of him. It's textbook fucking. It would actually be painful, if he hadn't lubed so well. Toshinori lets it continue until it's clear nothing will change, then squeezes his thighs down on Enji's waist.
"Stop."
To his relief, Enji does.
"What?" he says, frowning. Toshinori shakes his head.
"I'm not going to cum like that." He shifts so he's squatting atop Enji, feet planted on either side of Enji's waist. "Slower. Like-"
It's easier to show than say, so he does, lifting himself off Enji and back down, changing the position of his hips each time. Finally he finds it – that perfect angle that sends sparks zinging to the tip of his cock and blood flooding into his cheeks. Fuck. That, right there.
"Right there," he pants, rolling his hips again. "Not too fast. Pay attention to my reactions."
The way Enji's lip curls, he wonders if he's coming across as patronizing. He doesn't really care. It wasn't a lie, what he said before – if Enji doesn't manage this within the time limit, he'll leave.
Enji begins to move again, sneer melting into tense pleasure as he buries himself inside Toshinori in careful, deep strokes. He's a quick learner. Within a minute he's found that angle again and Toshinori groans, helpless against the pleasure.
"Better, All Might?" Enji uses both his hips and hands to grind Toshinori down, one long, firm rub against his prostate.
Toshinori only pants heavily. His cock is drooling, a clear bead of precum bouncing on a gleaming string as Enji fucks him. It's really- oh, fuck- maybe he made this too easy-
Then, Enji stops.
"Changing positions," he grunts, and then heaves them both over.
Back against the mattress, Toshinori has a thrill of deja vu as Enji begins again. This is how they'd wound up last time; Enji pumping furiously between his legs, driving him to the edge and then hanging him out to dry. It doesn't feel quite the same as before. Now he's well lubed and Enji moves with care, but when he leans forward to cage Toshinori in with his arms, Toshinori winces. His neck itches in remembrance of that sharp bite.
Enji notices. His lips thin. Blue eyes fixate on something he can't see, but knows must be the shrinking scabs on his throat. Enji shifts so that he's facing the unblemished side of Toshinori's throat, and leans in.
Wet warmth on his neck. The hard edge of teeth has his eyes popping open wide and both hands flying to Enji's shoulders, preparing to push him off –
But, no pain. Nothing but pressure and suction as Enji laves at the band of muscle under his mouth. Pleasure like a burst of fire tightens his gut. Oh, fuck. Enji remembered how much he likes that.
Instead of pushing he clutches now, holding Enji to him and using his heels to force him in deeper and harder. His body sizzles with arousal. The world spins away from him as his orgasm builds, cock rubbing between their sweat-slick bellies.
The single functioning brain cell left reminds him that he should give Enji something to help him along. With great effort he concentrates, swelling into full muscle form.
There it is. Enji makes a low sound in his throat and pulls back. His eyes rake Toshinori, and a tangible pulse of heat rolls off him.
So this is what it feels like to be desired.
Enji rocks his hips. One hand grips Toshinori's erection, and he groans so loudly the sound bounces off the walls. The wet squelch of Enji sliding in and out of him is downright filthy, but a pleased rumble cuts through his embarrassment, filling him with a strange pride. It's the ravenous sound of a predator. Enji wants him. Enji wants him.
The fist around his cock pumps him mercilessly. Enji presses deeper, skidding across Toshinori's prostate in a burst of sweet heat.
Fuck. He's going to lose it.
"Endeavor," he gasps. "Ah-"
Four quick jerks of Toshinori's cock and he comes like a freight train, flying right past mind-blowing into near-delirious territory. His whole body tightens up. Stars? No, his vision is the white blast of a supernova.
Something wet hits his cheek, then his chest. He becomes aware of the fact that Enji has frozen again, probably because Toshinori has clamped down on his cock like a vice.
The world returns in a slow, tidal rush. He slumps against the bed, muscle form deflating in a blast of steam. Though he muffles his reflexive cough in his elbow, he can't help but notice the way Enji stares, still clutching Toshinori's softening cock.
Nervousness creeps back in. Toshinori tries and fails to achieve muscle form again, only managing the half-form as he looks up at Enji.
"Congratulations, you're forgiven."
The proclamation isn't as confident as he wants it to sound, but at least his voice doesn't crack. He squeezes down on Enji, whose nostrils flare as he exhales sharply. "Now you can finish too."
Enji blinks. "I already did."
Oh.
This has always been the most awkward part of any entanglement, but with Enji it's excruciating. He feels like a bumbling highschooler again. Too long and lanky, more apt to hinder than help. He tries to pull away as Enji leans over him but is stopped by a hand on his waist.
"Let me get a tissue," Enji mutters, and then pulls one from the box Toshinori hadn't noticed just behind his head. He slides free of Toshinori with a wet schlik, pressing the tissue to Toshinori's asshole before a mess of cum and lube can spill out.
"Hold that for me."
Toshinori does, and watches curiously as Enji pads from the room naked. As soon as Enji's back disappears, he feels relieved; the strained tension blows out as suddenly as a cramp letting go. Maybe he can get dressed before Enji returns.
He grabs a tissue of his own to sponge the mess off his cheek and stomach, and dabs gingerly at his sore hole. If he had known this was going to happen, he'd have brought a condom. Maybe he can sneak off to the bathroom…
Within seconds, heavy footsteps herald Enji's return. Damn. He's not quite fast enough.
Enji squats down next to him. Toshinori is surprised when arms are wedged beneath his knees and back and he's hefted into Enji's embrace.
"Uh, I can walk-" he starts, but Enji narrows his eyes.
"You'd leak everywhere. I'm going to carry you to the bath to get cleaned up."
Toshinori continues to protest as Enji begins to move. "No! No, really, all I need are some tissues and then I'll be on my way."
Getting fucked by Enji had been one thing, being carried bridal-style by him with the man's spunk dripping out of his ass is an entirely different kind of awkward. He'd feel much more at ease cleaning up in his own bathroom.
"All Might, you have cum in your hair."
One hand flies to the crown of his head. "Oh, really?" He feels down until his palm contacts something damp and jelly-like. Oh. He hadn't even felt that happen.
Enji just rolls his eyes.
He's carried out of the room and down the hall – Enji careful not to knock his feet or head against the doorframe – and into a room far larger than the one they'd just left. The master bedroom? Through that into an attached bath that's- oh, wow.
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Enji is a traditionalist, but the wall-to-wall bath still startles him. Water is flooding into the square wooden tub, steam rolling off the turbulent surface like dragon's breath. Enji sets him on his feet.
"Rinse off, then get in the tub." He points towards a long, flexible showerhead set against the wall. "Soak as long as you like. I'll put your clothes outside."
Enji leaves before Toshinori can reply, closing the door behind him.
He's tempted to follow and insist some more, until something warm trickles out of him and down the back of his thigh. Shuddering, he stays.
It's been ages since he's used a furo, but he remembers protocol. He hoses himself down near a drain set in the granite-tiled floors, wincing a little when his ass protests the cleaning. He'll be feeling that for days.
Once the worst of the mess is gone, he shuts the furo's taps off and eases in. The water is a tad hotter than he prefers, close to scalding, but his muscles seem to sigh as the heat unknots them. Maybe Enji is onto something...
Alone in the bathroom, with nothing else to occupy his thoughts, Toshinori drifts. Things went much better this time. No fire, except that flicker at the beginning. Enji's temper seems dulled. And he's even been kind; never in his wildest dreams has Toshinori imagined being carried by a lover.
God, that sounds weird. Enji is his lover.
Toshinori frowns. No, that's not quite right. They've been accidental fuckbuddies is all, and this bath is the last vestige of that intimacy before it ends permanently. Enji will become the new Symbol of Peace, and he'll return to his quiet retirement. All will be as it should've been.
After fifteen minutes, Toshinori forces himself out of the bath. He's beginning to fall asleep, and as kind as Enji's offer had been, he won't thank Toshinori for making him wait unduly.
His clothes are outside the door in a neat pile. He puts them on and then walks cautiously down the hall, looking for Enji.
No Enji in the bedroom. Nor in the sunroom where they'd had their tea. He doesn't feel comfortable searching the rest of the house, nor does he want to leave without another word, so he helps himself to another cup of now-lukewarm tea and waits.
Enji finds him five minutes later. He's fully dressed to Toshinori's relief, yukata nowhere in sight. "Done already?" he says, looking almost disapproving. "You could've spent longer."
It's almost like Enji wants him to stay. Toshinori can't think why. "No, any longer and I would've ended up napping in there. I don't want to take up any more of your afternoon." He drains the rest of his tea and gets up.
"Wait." Enji reaches, as if to put a hand on his shoulder, but pulls back at the last second.
Toshinori tilts his head, curious. "What?"
Enji's lips set. The corners of his mouth draw down. He seems to be struggling with what to say. When at last he finds the words, his gaze flickers from Toshinori's eyes then away, then back. His shoulders tighten. "I wanted to ask you something."
Whatever it is, it seems to be taking a lot out of Enji just to get permission for the question.
"Sure, go ahead," he says, and sits back down. Pouring himself another cup of tea, he takes a deliberate sip. It really is good, and maybe this way Enji won't feel pressed.
Enji takes the seat opposite him again. He cages his half-full cup between his fingers and stares at it. Silence reigns, absolute enough that he can hear the rustle of the leaves outside. Toshinori keeps drinking his tea, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun.
Finally, it comes.
"Why did you become a hero?"
It's not the question he was expecting. He stops, cup halfway to his mouth, and stares at Enji.
The answer to that question is public knowledge. When he was a rising hero, he got it all the time; from fans, from reporters, from other heroes. His answer has never wavered:
I wanted to make a world where everyone can live in peace.
Once upon a time, that had been the complete truth. After Nana died, it, like so many other things in his life, had changed. He kept the new version to himself. To make a world where everyone can live in peace, and to do it with Nana's trademark smile. It'sa private promise that he fulfills with every rescue, every appearance. A grin so reflexive it's worn lines around his mouth.
Toshinori sets his cup down. How much should he tell? He leans back on his heels, feeling the tips of his toes press into the tatami, and tilts his head back. The motion pulls his scabs taut.
All of it. It has to be all of it.
"I became a hero because I couldn't imagine being anything else," he begins, lowering his head to face Enji, "I always felt that there was something missing in the world. It was too… fragmented. Everything in disarray. I'm sure you remember it, don't you? Back when we were in school, no Heroes had united under a banner of any kind."
Enji nods, looking puzzled. It may be almost forty years since that time, but he must remember it like Toshinori did. Everything from the old days had been cast in the dark shadow of All For One. Terror reigned. No hero was strong enough to face him, and without a figurehead they could only scramble to react, not attack.
"The Villains were more organized than the Heroes were. Even before I made it to UA I could see that. I felt like if I just had a-" he catches himself before he says Quirk, "-a good mentor, and if I worked hard enough, I could become the Symbol that the world needed."
The look reflected at him from across the table is pensive. Enji is shifting each finger of his outermost hand slightly so that it presses against the knuckle of the other like a run of piano keys. 1-2-3-4. 1-3-3-4. Toshinori turns his gaze away, towards the outside window. The light flooding in is the pale golden color of flax; evening beginning to turn.
"I suppose in the end my motivations changed a little," he finds himself saying. "After my mentor was killed, I wanted to avenge her and carry on her legacy. To be the Symbol of Peace, and show people it was possible to keep smiling in the face of evil. To show that those who continue to smile are the strongest of all."
He darts a glance at Enji, and finds him staring back, rapt with attention.
"Anyway – I did what I set out to do, and those were my reasons. But that doesn't have to be why you fight, Endeavor."
Because that's just it, isn't it? Until now, Enji's been motivated by his sheer desire to beat All Might. To outclass him in power. Hell, the man has said as much to his face! Certainly not the most noble of motives, but competition has always been an element in the hero world. And envy runs through Enji like a sand vein through marble; it was only the sharp blow of Toshinori's retirement that exposed that flaw in full.
And now…
Enji's fingers cease their ticking. "I see."
That's all he says. Toshinori waits for more, but it seems no more is forthcoming. Enji's gaze is unfocused, drifting at a point somewhere along the table between them.
With a quick tilt of his glass, Toshinori finishes his third cup and pushes it away. "Is there anything else you wanted to ask?"
Enji snaps out of his reverie. "No – no. I don't think so."
"Alright then, I think it's time for me to go," he stands, then winces at the ache in his ass. Perhaps he was a little overzealous earlier. "Thanks for the tea, it was delicious. What brand is it?"
Enji stands with him. Pauses, glancing from the half-empty pitcher to a cabinet. "I'm not really sure. Something Fuyumi got me. Here," he goes to the cabinet and pulls out a tin, "you can have it. I don't drink tea."
Toshinori walks back to the front door, the tea tin clutched in one hand and Enji trailing behind. As he slips his shoes back on, he notices something strange. It takes him a moment to recognize the buoyant feeling for what it is, but as he fastens down his laces it clicks: the heavy pall of awkwardness between them is gone.
He stands and faces Enji.
"Thank you for the invitation, and the tea," he says, instinctively offering his hand in the Western tradition. Whoops, wrong choice. But before he can pull it back, Enji takes it.
The handshake is perfunctory and firm, then over. Of course Enji knows how to shake hands, but this is the first time he's ever shaken Toshinori's. The first time he's ever acknowledged Toshinori with something other than a contemptuous scowl. It feels…
It feels like absolution.
"Do you need a ride home?" Enji asks. The inquiry does not have the terse edge of a reluctant offer, and though the set of Enji's face is serious, his voice is soft.
Amazing. In less than two hours a fragile peace has been born from the ashes of one explosively fine mistake. Perhaps he should screw up more often.
Toshinori considers, then declines. Peace may be one thing, but that doesn't make them friendly yet. And there are clouds drifting in the still waters of Enji's eyes, his face looking empty and strangely young without its characteristic sneer. It's best to leave and let him process everything.
"No, it's fine. I'll wait outside for my taxi. It's a nice day, I'd like to enjoy the sun."
He nods to the man who would be the heir to his legacy, then strides out into the late afternoon warmth. As he pulls the door closed behind him, he takes one last glance at Enji.
Darkly-clad and barefoot, Enji looks back. The sharp angles of his fringe and cheekbones are like the broken edges of a rock face, the curve of his shoulders a faint and forlorn slope. Tired. He looks as tired as Toshinori feels, gravity weighing on every cell.
Toshinori shuts the door.