The Release of Sisyphus

by Deos

Enji has always been obsessed with surpassing him. (All Might/Endeavor)

1. All Might

A/N: This has been banging around on my computer for awhile, I figured it was time to let it out. Be warned, it contains M/M slash.

There is no decision that we can make that doesn't come with some sort of balance or sacrifice.

-Simon Sinek

Toshinori is on the way back from the grocery store when he is ambushed.

He has his hood drawn low, slouching and carrying his groceries loosely on two fingers as he turns up the street. Ever since his true form was revealed to the public, even something as simple as grocery shopping has become an ordeal. Before he was able to move through society because his weakness had been a secret. Now, even with his relocation, this trip will be the second time he's made it at least to the store without being accosted by anyone. Just the other week he had hidden for three hours, waiting out some over-exuberant fans that had seen him go into the Ito-Yokado.

Back alleys and side streets are something he's become very familiar with. People tend to avoid these areas unless it's for very specific reasons. The alley he turns onto is completely empty now, which he finds a bit odd; usually, it's crowded with groups of teens taking selfies in front of some very stylized graffiti of Hero Killer Stain. Too late he recognizes the warning sign for what it is when a broad form leaps out from behind a dumpster and pulls him into the shadows.

"What -" Toshinori starts, bringing one arm around ready to swing. The groceries slip from his fingers as he clenches his hand in a fist, his arm puffing into its muscled form reflexively for added weight. His punch is blocked by a sturdy forearm, and his groceries hit the pavement with an anticlimactic thud. Toshinori's arm deflates, unable to hold its form.

He's about to try a feint when he recognizes his attacker.

"Enji?"

Todoroki without his fiery beard and brows is almost unrecognizable, and with a cap pulled low over his blaze of red hair, his disguise is unbelievably effective. If it weren't for the stubborn set of his jaw and that sea-green glare, Toshinori might not have realized him at all.

The disdain twisting Enji's face is familiar at least.

"What are you doing?" Toshinori can't understand why Enji of all people would be here, pulling him off the street like a common criminal.

"You - how dare you - I refuse to accept it -" Enji is almost panting, the words blowing from his mouth in low, sharp hisses. He looks positively deranged.

What could be wrong? Is he under the influence of some strange Quirk?

"Enji?" He's barely able to raise his arm, trapped as it is in Todoroki's iron grasp. Grabbing one black-clad shoulder, he gives it a squeeze. "Enji, are you alright?"

Todoroki finally seems to get ahold of his mouth. His eyes pop almost comically wide with fury, their whites rimmed red with strained vessels. " You can't retire! I will beat you - I will earn my place as the number one hero!"

He squeezes Toshinori's arms, tight enough to grind the bones of his still-healing wrist. "What is with this weak form, All Might! Why are you hiding?! You have no right—"

Toshinori looks around nervously. Enji's voice is rising, becoming loud enough to carry out to the street. He really doesn't want to be discovered right now. Especially with Enji acting so bizarrely.

He shushes Enji, who only glares at him. A whorl of flame flickers to life on his chin before being snuffed out.

There's only one reason Toshinori can think of for Enji to turn up like this, and it's beyond just pestering him about his retirement. He wants answers.

Hah, him and the entire world.

Now that his secret is out, rumors had abounded, wild speculations regarding All Might's weakness that Toshinori had yet to quell. The only ones that know the true reason behind his form are a trusted few. He has forgotten how much of a shock it must be to see him like this, even among his own colleagues.

Enji wants answers.

Toshinori respects him enough to give them.

"Come on." He shakes off Enji's grasp, bending down to pick up the groceries. When he turns to head back down the alley he feels a hot hand snare his wrist again.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Enji really is as volatile as his Quirk. Instead of pulling away, Toshinori merely raises an eyebrow. "Home. Follow me, and I'll tell you everything."

Well. Maybe not everything. Enji doesn't need to know about Nana.

Pulling his hood low over his head, Toshinori sets off at a brisk walk. For the few first steps, he's actually pulling Enji along with him before the other man relinquishes his grip and stuffs his hands in his pockets with a snarl.

Home is a location Toshinori guards carefully. It's registered under a pseudonym, which makes receiving mail and paying the bills easy, but not much else. It's become a bit of a chore, keeping that sanctity. People recognize him. They follow him. And Toshinori will check into a hotel or flee the country before he gives away his home base.

Anyone else would think it sensible for him to quit grocery-shopping entirely. Most pro heroes choose a safer option, like delivery to their offices or having a sidekick pick up an order, but he doesn't want that. He's always liked his weekly jaunt through the city. Watching the news and listening to the radio is well and good, but hitting the streets is like having his fingers directly on the city's pulse. He's intercepted many villains just by being in the right place at the right time.

Today is the first time in a long while that he's been able to walk without being stared at. It might be Enji's presence that allows him to slip past, unnoticed. Even disguised as he is there's something about Endeavor that draws the eye. Maybe it's the bulk of him; Enji is broad and imposing; a lion trying to pass among lambs. He radiates a sense of danger that's almost as palpable as the Hellfire that usually licks across his skin. Toshinori, thin and unassuming by comparison is ignored.

Hm. Maybe he should have Enji hang around more often.

Twenty increasingly uncomfortable minutes later, they arrive. Toshinori fumbles with the key, feeling Enji's glower burning a hole in the back of his head, and unlocks the door.

He hasn't been expecting visitors. No one's been here… well, ever. He hurries to nudge his dress shoes out of the entryway, making room for both his and Enji's sneakers.

The apartment is modest, fairly sparse. Two bedrooms, just the right size for a bachelor. Until recently he hadn't spent much time here; most of his hours outside teaching have been spent coaching young Midoriya or else protecting the public.

The walls are bare, the sink has collected a few dirty dishes. A royal blue sweatshirt hangs over the edge of the sofa, emblazoned with UA's logo, and a ragged pair of socks lay in the living room where he had kicked them off two days ago. Toshinori hastens to scoop it all up on his way to the kitchen, chucking everything into his bedroom.

Enji stalks into his living room, eyes roving over the frayed tatami and particle board kotatsu, sneering at the modest flatscreen TV. Toshinori pretends not to notice. He places the groceries in the fridge, checks the eggs and finds that five of them have fractured in their cardboard cups.

Letting out a breath that is not quite a sigh, he takes a bowl and tries to salvage them. He can use them later to make tamagoyaki.

He's just picking flecks of shell out of the goobery whites when Enji loses his patience again.

"Well?" He stomps into the kitchen, hovering over Toshinori like an evil specter. The room feels palpably warmer, and it's not just in his head. When Toshinori turns to face him he can see flickers of flame dancing on Enji's chin like paper-thin whiskers. "You said you would tell me everything. Now talk. "

"Would you care for some tea?" Toshinori brushes him off, putting the eggs in the fridge and withdrawing a pitcher of pre-brewed green tea. Enji is a guest, after all, even if he's acting more like a—

"No, I don't want any tea!" The flames flare brighter, large enough to singe the brim of his cap. He snatches it off with an ugly growl, tossing it onto the counter. Toshinori hastens to pour himself a cup and take a spot at the kotatsu before Enji's temper blows the kitchen up.

"Okay, okay." He takes a sip of tea, tucking his legs beneath the fluffy comforter. "You want to know why I retired." Enji stands before him, not even deigning to take a seat at the kotatsu. His arms are crossed, and he's sneering down his nose at Toshinori.

Toshinori pauses to take another sip and collect his thoughts. This is why he'd left everything so vague when he made the announcement in the first place, there's no good way to begin.

"A little over five years ago I fought All for One. When we fought he injured me severely, but I won. I thought I destroyed him. I made it off the battlefield and sought treatment in secret, and when I returned, All For One's body had vanished."

He still remembers that day, how panic and fury at the sight of the empty, bloodstained dirt had made him physically ill. The strain of pushing himself so soon after his surgery had triggered the worst of his complications.

"I kept the fight secret, to prevent the public from panicking. I didn't want them to know that someone like All For One might still be around."

His hand comes up to his left side, tracing the puffy scar tissue through the cloth. There's really nothing to do but show Enji the damage All For One had wrought, so he rucks his shirt up to his armpit, leaning back on one arm to display it.

For the first time today Enji's face pinches, twisting with something other than anger. He takes one step toward Toshinori before aborting the motion. His fingers twitch. Toshinori thinks maybe he wants to examine the scarring more closely and leans back obligingly.

Enji doesn't move. He merely watches as Toshinori idly touches the twisted mass of scars, then slides his shirt back down.

"They took out my stomach, part of my small intestine, and a good portion of my left lung. I don't absorb nutrients as well as I should; it's hard to keep my weight up, especially when I use my Quirk."

And that is the truth. Or, enough of it to make a decent excuse. Recovery Girl had hounded him for years after his surgeries with dire predictions of how his injuries would affect his abilities in the long term, but he had been optimistic and naive. Even as the pounds melted away, he had thought he would eventually rebound.

He takes another drink, reminded of how Recovery Girl had also warned him to cut back on the caffeine.

"Your body will have trouble enough keeping up with the energy demands of an active hero, you don't need to make it harder!"

She had told him that after his second surgery, the one that took an extensive portion of his small intestine.

"That last fight really took a lot out of me -" -more like the last embers of One For All had burned out- "and I just… don't think I can keep it up anymore. I had to retire."

He shrugs, because that's all he can do in the face of his own helplessness.

The cup is almost empty. Talking to Enji seems to have parched his throat. He takes it and heads back to the kitchen, leaving Enji standing in the living room.

If he is to recover any semblance of his former strength, he really should choose a drink with more calories. He fetches the whole milk, and when he shuts the fridge he hears it.

Then he smells it.

Toshinori races out of the kitchen to find Enji ablaze. The shoulders and hood of his sweatshirt go first, curling and shrinking away as the cotton burns up, ashing all over the floor. Fire races in runners towards his waist, eating up the rest of his pullover even as Toshinori throws up his hands.

"Enji! Stop!"

He's putting off smoke, enough that Toshinori worries that he'll trip the smoke detector. But that comes secondary to the fact that he's blackening the ceiling with the tips of his flames.

"So, that's it huh?" Enji's voice is eerily calm despite the hot crackle rising from his skin. He completely ignores Toshinori's plea, continuing to burn merrily next to the kotatsu. "You quit. It got tough, and you decided you'd retire instead of working to stay at the top."

Toshinori contemplates dousing Enji with the dregs of his tea. Panic wars with frustration, clipping his tone just short of curt.

"No, Enji. I decided that I should focus more on raising the next generation of heroes than continuing my own work. I've finally decided to listen to Recovery Girl; my own health is more important.

"You and the other heroes have always done an exemplary job, I have no doubt that you'll rise to take my place as the number one hero, and the new Symbol of Peace."

...at least until young Midoriya comes into his own.

The flames abruptly burn out. Toshinori breathes a small sigh of relief and goes to open a window. The temperature inside has risen at least three degrees, and there's a hazy layer of smoke beginning to form on the ceiling.

He's just finished wedging a stick into the frame when hot hands grab him, steer him around and shove him down into the couch. Enji stands over him, looking just as deranged as he had twenty minutes ago. He's shaking, lips pulled back on a snarl.

"I don't accept that!"

Toshinori doesn't understand.

"What-"

"This is not how this is going to go!" One of his hands, still wound in the collar of Toshinori's shirt jerks him a little. "I'm not - I won't accept being made the number one hero like this!"

Toshinori can only blink at him. "Why not? That's how it works. If a hero is removed from the ranks, everyone else goes up a -"

"I know how the ranking works, All Might!"

Toshinori is beginning to think he knows exactly what this is about. He remembers their chance meeting at the sports festival, how Enji had boasted that Shoto would surpass him one day. How he had made Shoto for that very purpose; a phrase that had disturbed Toshinori greatly.

"I will not accept being given the number one spot! I will earn it!"

Bizarrely, Toshinori is reminded of something Nana once told him: something you get because you're lucky and something you're given because you're recognized are fundamentally different.

He had told young Midoriya that, just before bestowing One For All on him. This is what Enji is telling him, in his own twisted way.

Why?

"Enji, you have earned it!" he tries to reason with him, placing one hand on the arm that still clutches him. The flesh there is feverishly hot. "You've been the number two hero for years! Who is more deserving of the spot than you?"

Instead of calming him, the words have the complete opposite effect. Enji's eyes narrow, and Toshinori feels a noticeable pulse of heat roll off him.

"I will beat you, All Might. Even if I have to drag you out of retirement to do it!"

And now Toshinori can actually see wisps of smoke drifting up from Enji's fist. He's about to send Toshinori's shirt up in flames.

"Enough, Enji." The bones of his arm twinge painfully as he swells the muscles in them, forcing Enji away from him hard enough that his collar rips free from his grasp. "I am retired, and that won't be changing."

Toshinori stands, towering over Enji as he straightens to his full height.

Enji smirks, a manic, slightly deranged twist of his lips. "Fight me."

The statement hangs in the air like smog, heavy and thick with tension.

"Why?"

A simple question, but one that Enji seems unprepared to answer. He gapes at Toshinori, mouth moving soundlessly for a few seconds before the words tumble out.

"Why - to settle this, once and for all!"

"Settle what Enji?" Frustration bleeds into Toshinori's voice despite his best efforts to quell it.

"To settle who is the strongest!"

Who is the strongest?

The words clatter through his brain, strange and hollow. To settle who is the strongest. This harkens back to Enji's obsession with becoming the number one hero, he knows it. But for the life of him, he can't understand why it matters.

Number one doesn't mean anything to Toshinori. He had never sought the position; it was just the natural by-product of his success. His goal has always been to be a symbol of hope for the country. To crush evil where it grows and make the world a safer place.

And now here he is, the man who would be his replacement, demanding to fight him like some common villain.

The first sparks for real anger flare inside Toshinori now. This is ridiculous. A fight proves nothing, only wastes precious time and energy that could be spent confronting real evil. Does Enji's ambition for glory mean so much that he would forsake his duty as a hero?

"Do you think I'm stronger than you, Enji?"

Immediately Enji flares up again, flames leaping from his shoulders. "You are not stronger than me! I'd prove it to you now if you had the decency to fight me!" He looks about ready to start bouncing fireballs off the walls.

Toshinori watches Enji's face carefully, reading the subtle flicker of emotions there. A quickly-suppressed flash of envy. Bitter anger. But beneath that, something far older; a simmering well of ancient pain. Shame.

Why?

Because deep down he believes Toshinori to be better.

Enji has always been obsessed with surpassing him. Toshinori hadn't minded; mostly considered it just competitive spirit. A normal occurrence between heroes, despite Enji's obvious distaste for him. His ignorance had let this spiral out of control.

Now that the man was standing in front of him, feral and twitching with anger he realized: Enji had wrapped his whole self-worth into besting All Might, had spent the majority of his life chasing a dream that was now out of his grasp. His mind couldn't accept it; the strength of his pride would not allow it. The gap between them had always been insurmountable.

Until now.

Unable to cope with the schism, Enji's psyche has cracked wide open. There's no way the old him would've approached Toshinori for a fight, his honor wouldn't allow it. Toshinori isn't sure the man before him can be a hero.

But Enji must accept it. The world needs his strength now. Needs him to fill the power vacuum left from Toshinori's retirement, to show the people of this country that there will still be a hero there to protect them!

What can he do? He can't fight Enji like this. And breaking that mindset will be close to impossible.

He has to think of an answer!

Toshinori's face is beginning to feel sunburnt. Close proximity to Enji's Quirk is something he can't tolerate for long without One For All, so he side-steps, trying to get around him.

Enji pulls him back.

"You really want to fight?" Toshinori asks, thinking quickly.

Enji rolls his shoulders, flexing his fists eagerly. " Yes."

"Okay. But I want another cup of tea first." Toshinori slips around Enji, and this time he is not stopped.

He pours himself another serving of tea, mind working furiously. How can he pull this off? A real fight isn't possible. Less than 3 weeks ago his arm had still been in a sling, after all. But Enji needs a win. He needs to feel superior to All Might.

This is truly a mess.

The cool tea is soothing against his lips, which have dried in the baking heat of Enji's Hellfire. One thing is for certain, if they are going to fight Enji can't use his Quirk.

He sighs, staring blankly at his reflection in the black door of the microwave. Heroes fighting heroes. What Enji is contemplating is madness. Sure, the competition between all Pro heroes can be fierce, but to actively try to crush a colleague? It's backward. Primitive. Only villains squabble so.

Lifting his cup, Toshinori feels an echo of pain in his right wrist where the bones are still tender. Throwing punches likewise is out.

It isn't until he is draining the dregs from his cup that he gets the first inkling of an idea.

It's a stupid thing. Nana would have said he was crazy for even contemplating it. But, if he is right - if it works -

Toshinori leaves the kitchen and heads for his bedroom, bypassing the living room completely. He eyes the extra-long futon, unmade and rumpled. A pair of socks and black slacks are crumpled at the foot of the bed like shed skins, and there are a few teaching books piled up next to the lamp. The clothes make it into the hamper, the books shoved into the closet. He's even managed to tuck the comforter over the top of the mussed sheets before he hears the telltale thump of feet coming down the hall.

"What are you doing?" Enji, his voice threaded with impatience stares down at him. Trying not to look too nervous, Toshinori gets to his feet and shuffles vaguely closer.

"Nothing. Just looking for my - my inhaler," he says lamely. He doesn't have an inhaler. Inching closer, he tries to make it look natural. Like he's headed for the nearby closet, and not directly at the man now blocking the door.

"Well, come on. I have a place in mind that-"

Toshinori seizes Enji and pulls him forward, hard. Not expecting it, Enji makes to catch himself with a step forward but is blocked by Toshinori's leg, spread low so that it catches right at Enji's knees. Using his own weight against him, Toshinori sends him tumbling face-first towards the futon.

But Enji, even caught unawares is still a pro hero. He handles the throw with ease, ducking his shoulders and bringing his arms in tight so that he somersaults across the futon and lands with his feet bunched under him, ready to stand. If Toshinori weren't on him in a flash, he might've managed to regain his feet.

Arm wrapped around that thick neck in a chokehold, Toshinori feels the muscles there bunch and flex, the rumble of Enji's strained voice vibrating against his skin.

"All Might! What the hell do you think you're doing!"

He who rides the tiger can never dismount, Toshonori thinks, half-giddy with hysterical amusement at his own daring. At least all my affairs are in order.

"We're fighting. Didn't you want that?" Calm. Keep your voice calm.

Enji makes a sound like a strangled bull. Toshinori loosens his hold slightly, fearing that somehow he didn't know his own strength - but still the sound continues. After a few seconds, he realizes: Enji is actually inarticulate with rage.

Oh boy.

"What- why the hell- are you kidding me? " Enji finally grinds a coherent sentence out, angling his head back to spear Toshinori with a gaze like frozen seawater. A chill creeps down his spine, causing the fine hairs on the back of his neck to prickle.

"No. I'm not."

Toshinori maintains eye contact, unyielding. This is a battle of wills, as deeply primal as the urge to eat, sleep, or fuck.

Fingers dig into his arm, pulling. Against such iron force he won't be able to hold out long, but he just needs to last long enough to outmaneuver Enji.

"If you wanna fight, I'll end you," Enji promises darkly. "But we'll do it right. Now get off me."

There's really only one place to hit him to assure victory.

"You're only saying that because you're losing." He keeps his voice easy and taunting.

"The hell are you talking about?! You're the one taking cheap shots -"

"If you're really better than me, you should be able to beat me no matter how we fight. You're full of excuses, Enji."

That's it. Cool. Unimpressed. A hint of boredom, just to twist the knife a little. Toshinori knows it's cruel of him, but this is the only way: stirring Enji past the point of rational thought.

With a growl that he can feel reverberate through his arms, Enji breaks Toshinori's hold with one hard shrug of his shoulders and grabs for his forearm.

Then the fight is really on.

In close quarters there's no room for sweeping kicks or roundhouse punches, just grappling. They lock arms like deer locking horns, each vying for a more powerful stance, trying to twist the other to the ground.

Within a minute they're both panting. Weakened as he is, Toshinori still has the advantage of height, and his long arms and legs allow him to keep Enji at bay.

Enji's torso is slick with sweat, incredibly difficult to grab. More than once he slips right out of Toshinori's grip like a greased shark, all bared teeth and barely-leashed violence. Toshinori is no slouch either; he twists and turns in his shirt as easily as a cat turns in its skin, thwarting easy pins.

The fight is hard and furious. Toshinori's room is filled with soft sounds of exertion, ragged panting breaths, and short, superheated grunts. He barks his toes on the wall once. Enji's flailing elbow smacks the window shutters, breaking three of the thin white slats.

Frustratingly, his stamina is currently abysmal; nearly a month of rest and recovery has been good for his bones, but terrible for everything else. He fatigues quickly, and the tide of the fight turns on him.

Enji twists his arm behind his back, his weight heavy on Toshinori's legs. He's facedown on the futon now, nose pressed at an angle, hot breath puffing out against the royal blue comforter in quick blasts.

The unyielding weight of a body bearing down on him is heavy enough that he can feel his ribs creaking. He reaches behind him with his free arm, tapping on Enji's leg.

I yield.

It's a long few seconds before Enji releases him. Long enough that the breath hisses from him in pained squeaks, not quite able to expand his lungs fully. When at last his arm is released and the pressure is off his legs he rolls onto his back, looking up at Enji who is towering over him, looking pissed.

"You win."

Enji's mouth twists in a snarl. "Get up, All Might."

Toshinori does not. Instead he pillows his head on his arms, crossing his ankles as though he hasn't a care in the world. "No. It's over, Enji. You won."

Enji seizes the front of his shirt, hauling him bodily off the ground. He lifts Toshinori and shakes him, a terrier shaking a rat. "That was not a fight!"

"It's the best you're going to get." Toshinori touches Enji's bunched fists, and his hands are promptly smacked away as the Enji releases him forcefully. Enji's fingers flex and relax, as though itching to dig right into the meat of him.

Maybe that's what Enji needs.

"You can hit me, if you want," Toshinori offers, spreading his arms to expose his core. His shirt, which droops like a sail from his scrawny arms feels like it might as well be a matador's cape, waving on an angry bull. "It might make you feel better."

The sound grating out between Enji's teeth is almost inhuman.

"How dare you - you patronize me like this, All Might!"

"Not patronizing. I told you already, I can't fight anymore. This is all I have left." Toshinori smiles, saddened by both Enji's bullheaded pride and the cold spot inside him where the last embers of One For All have burned out. He can't fight. He won't fight. He's given Enji his all, and it's still not enough. If Enji couldn't dominate All Might on his terms, perhaps he would never get over this.

Unless…

There is one option left to him. One that toes the line between questionable and insane. He's going to have to hope that blind fortune favors him; if not, he'll likely be burned to a crisp where he stands.

"You bastard," Enji breathes. "You did this on purpose. You retired before I could-"

Toshinori closes the distance between them swiftly, one hand coming up to cradle the base of Enji's skull. Enji snatches his hand away, twists his wrist, elbow thrust between them like a barrier as he reacts instinctively. He must be expecting another attack.

Fortunately, he wasn't expecting this.

Toshinori's height makes him long enough that when his chest meets Enji's elbow he can still bend forward, arching his neck down to capture Enji's lips in a kiss.

The mouth beneath his is still, and unbelievably warm.

In the space of a heartbeat he's shoved violently away, so hard that again he rebounds off the wall and collides with his lamp, knocking it over. The lightbulb in it smashes with an electric pop.

" . Fuck, All Might."

If Enji was scary angry, he's terrifying now. Toshinori can feel the heat pouring off of him, but for once his face is blank, almost mask-like. For all his blustering and frenzy, this quiet stillness is as deadly as the calm before a Plinian eruption. All the fire in him seems to have concentrated in the blazing points of his eyes, which burn cold and butane-bright.

"Afraid, Enji?" He cocks his head, looking down through heavy eyelids. Like the whole thing is rather boring, and not one step away from becoming herocide. "Afraid to meet me on the only battlefield where we could possibly be equals?"

Oh, if that isn't a stab in the heart, he doesn't know what would be. Is it enough to offset an explosion?

The corner of Enji's mouth twists again, drawn down in a sneer. "What?"

"I know you don't want to believe it, but I'm essentially powerless Endeavor." The use of his hero name seems to snap something in Enji to attention. He narrows his eyes but doesn't interrupt.

"You don't seem to be all that satisfied with our fight. So I'm giving you an option to meet me in a battle I have a chance of winning."

Outraged, Enji opens his mouth, closes it, tries again and sputters, apoplectic. "Kissing? Kissing is not fighting, All Might!" He seems to be building steam again, barreling towards a towering rage. He opens his mouth, ready to argue again, but Toshinori cuts him off.

"Isn't it?"

He advances a step away from the wall. One small motion, but the set of Enji's shoulders changes instantly, defensive.

"I'm not sure what kind of kissing you do, but it's all about control. The body goes where the head follows. You take someone's mouth, you've as good as got them." He steps closer, closing the distance between them. God, he can't believe the nonsense spilling out of his mouth. It goes against everything he believes in, grates him in the worst way - but he has Enji spellbound.

He really believes this.

Toshinori is within two feet of Enji now. "If you win, I'll do whatever you want, short of coming out of retirement."

The terms of this deal are being pulled right out of his ass, completely unchecked. It's dangerous, but he can't spare too much time or Enji will overthink it.

"If I win, you have to do what I say."

There. The stakes have been set, balanced unfairly in his favor. That small injustice should be just enough to keep Enji off-balance, too angry to look deeper.

"How do you decide the winner?" Enji snaps.

Toshinori's mind whirls, casting frantically for something. He hadn't thought this far. Didn't really expect him to agree so quickly...

"Whoever gets an erection first." The words fly out of his mouth, unbidden, but instantly he knows they're right. He's stacking the deck in Enji's favor, though the other man can't possibly know it.

Enji's lip curls. "You think I'm gonna get hard kissing you, All Might?"

Toshinori shrugs. "I never said you couldn't play dirty to get a result. Do we have a deal?"

The two men stare at each other for a long moment. Toshinori meets Enji's eyes unblinkingly, heart pounding in his throat. Please take it. Don't overthink it. If Enji can win, maybe, just maybe he'll give up this ridiculous rivalry entirely. He'll have the superiority he craves.

Enji's expression shifts minutely, the agate green of his eyes glinting craftily. "Deal."

Enji surges over Toshinori like a cresting wave, gripping his shoulders and forcing him back against the wall. His lips are still curled in disgust, but his eyes are calculating. One warm palm cradles the back of Toshinori's neck, tilting his head down to meet Enji's approaching mouth.

Toshinori is surprised by the gentleness of the kiss. Enji's lips are hot, forceful, but without the violence he can feel simmering beneath his skin. Wetness presses against his lips: Enji's tongue. Toshinori opens his mouth, letting him in.

Enji is a good kisser.

The realization surprises him. Enji is pouring himself over Toshinori like warm rain, insistent and relentless. A low throb of arousal reverberates through him; for the first few seconds he forgets he is supposed to be fighting back.

When he finally remembers he rises to meet the kiss, gripping the back of Enji's head in return. The kiss intensifies as both of them vie for control, fingers tangling in hair for leverage, tongues deep in each other's mouths.

It's Enji that breaks the kiss first.

Panting, Toshinori lets Enji manipulate him, chin forcibly turned to one side. A hot mouth descends upon his neck, clamping down on the cord of muscle there and sucking. The starburst of sensation goes right to his cock, which begins to thicken.

No, not yet!

His dry spell has been prodigious. Add that to the fact that Enji is not an unattractive man, and it's a recipe for defeat.

He had promised Enji a fight, but less than a minute in and he's already a hairsbreadth from losing. Toshinori closes his eyes, forcing himself to think of something gross. The wet, sucking pressure of Enji's mouth could be a giant leech or a lamprey. The damp heat of him an enormous, feral beast.

When his cock begins to deflate, he breathes a sigh of relief. Now to give Enji a taste of his own medicine.

Leaning forward he latches onto Enji's earlobe, teasing it with both teeth and tongue.

Not a sound from him. Toshinori wonders if the other man would ever betray his pleasure; knowing Enji, his control must be absolute. Maybe to him, all Toshinori's efforts are like a slobbering dog licking his ear.

That's a distinctly discouraging thought, so he ceases his ministrations. I've got to keep trying.

Toshinori moves on from his ear, kissing along Enji's sharp jawline downward towards his throat. He's burly, built like a bear; years of dedication and hero work have given him a physique that Toshinori can now only imitate for seconds at a time.

Shame grips him. He's never once acknowledged his rival's hard work, never once told Enji how much he admires his perseverance.

He tries to say it with his body, nuzzling the hollow of Enji's throat and dragging his mouth across the skin there. The thick meat of Enji's neck is tantalizing. It's no wonder he went there first; the muscle jumping beneath his skin is begging to be tasted. Toshinori bites down, keeping the pressure light enough that Enji won't bruise, and laves his tongue across the flesh. Salty. A hint of bitterness, like the char on overcooked food.

One hand slides down, cupping Enji's groin. No sign of hardness yet, but that isn't surprising. Enji is straight, isn't he? That's why he's going to win this competition.

Hands shove him back against the wall, and a thick thigh slides between his own, pressing snugly against his groin. Enji retakes control, once again devouring Toshinori's mouth.

How long they kiss, Toshinori doesn't know. He only knows that it's become frantic, rougher with each passing minute. Teeth mash against lips. Enji sucks his neck so viciously that he knows he'll have bruises tomorrow.

Then Enji reaches down and palms him through his clothes, and Toshinori knows he's lost. The sweet pressure on his throat, the warm fingers massaging his groin - blood fills his cock so quickly that he feels dizzy from it.

Enji squeezes him twice, like testing the ripeness of a mango, then steps back.

"Looks like you lost."

His grin is positively feral, and thoroughly debauched. Red, swollen lips, a pink imprint at his throat; Toshinori knows he looks every bit as undone. His erection tents the loose green fabric of his cargo pants, and his neck throbs.

Uncertain of how best to break the sudden tension, he rubs at the back of his head, grinning weakly. "It seems I did."

It doesn't work. If anything the stress intensifies, pulling as taut as sinew. That crafty look is back in Enji's eyes. Toshinori isn't sure he likes it.

"So… what do you want me to-"

"Kneel." Enji cuts him off before the question has finished forming.

He goes to his knees, heart jackhammering in his chest. Is it going to work?

"Suck me."

A wave of relief sweeps through him, so suddenly that he feels almost giddy. It worked. Enji has taken the bait. This is it; he'll let Enji dominate him in every possible way.

He'll do anything. Anything to keep the world from losing the two top heroes. If this is what he needs, to see All Might bowed down before him, Toshinori will gladly do it.

Toshinori's fingers fumble a with the button on Enji's pants, made clumsy by nerves. Despite his relief, he's still apprehensive.

The silence in the room is absolute. When he takes the zipper down, the scrape of its teeth sounds as loud as a buzzsaw. Beneath is a black layer of silky material. Enji's boxers. Is he supposed to pull everything down, or just take Enji out?

He goes for the latter. The barriers of clothing make this more impersonal, something he thinks Enji would want.

Enji's cock hangs limply between his powerful thighs, the flesh pale and plump, crowned by a sparse smattering of red-gray hair. Toshinori feels a wave of melancholia at the sight; they are both a little too old for such games. That's neither here nor there though, so he leans in.

His lip seal at the base of Enji's cock, his nose butting up against his pubic mound. Toshinori breathes him in; a warm, salty musk edged with the smell of smoke. Something in him lurches hungrily at the scent, and he wonders briefly if it's a side effect of Enji's quirk or if the smell of fire has been branded into his flesh.

It's been a long time since he's done this, but it's as instinctive as breathing. He hollows his cheeks and flattens his tongue against the underside of Enji's cock, sucking hard to draw blood into the flesh.

Just like riding a bike.

Enji comes to life, swelling in hot pulses between his lips.

"You've done this before."

His voice is like the lash of a whip, cutting and derisive. He chances a glance upward. Enji's mouth is set in a sneer, eyes pinched in faint disgust. He's looking at Toshinori like he's something nasty he scraped off his boot, and that stings a little. No colleague has ever looked at him like that.

But his words were a statement, not a question. Toshinori doesn't bother responding, he just returns to his work. Enji's cock is rapidly becoming too long for him to take in completely, so he focuses his efforts on the first couple inches until the flesh is thick and straining against his tongue.

"Never took you for a queer, All Might. Was all your posturing with the ladies an act?"

Toshinori won't let the dark edge in Enji's voice bother him. He can accept his hate if it's for the greater good. Enji's just trying to goad him, grinding his victory in a little deeper. If it pleases him, he'll play along.

As Toshinori pulls off of him with a wet pop, Enji's cock bounces like a mallet hitting the taut skin of a drum, fully erect now.

"Does it matter?" he asks, wiping spit from his chin.

"Did I say you could stop?" Enji retorts.

Toshinori returns to his task. As he bends forward, powerful fingers thread themselves through his hair; Enji takes control and uses his leverage to begin thrusting.

It's sort of funny. Of all the heroes that have questioned him about his preferences, Enji was never one of them. Many things about All Might have been hotly debated for years. His civilian identity. His lineage. His parent's Quirks. But nothing has been so wildly speculated about as his sexuality. He's been asked by countless reporters, written to by endless numbers of fans, and had other pros hounding him for the answer as long as he's been in the public spotlight.

Toshinori always refuses to answer. It's become something of a game; flex and pose in public with some pretty young things, see how long it takes for the picture to end up in the tabloids.

It's the greatest irony that being weakened by All For One allowed him the most romantic freedom in his life – not that he had much time for it. Love is a young man's game; Toshinori has been too busy teaching and training young Midoriya to indulge in his personal life.

He's been alone for a long time. No companion to warm his bed or his flesh, only taking care of his needs when he has the energy or the urge seizes him.

Maybe that's why he doesn't mind so much that Enji is essentially choking him with his cock.

Despite the discomfort in his jaw, Toshinori tries his best to match Enji's pace. He gasps breaths between thrusts. He drools all over his chin. He keeps his lips tucked over his teeth so tightly that he knows there will be bruises there tomorrow.

Inside his trousers he is still rock-hard.

The pressure is torturous. Enji never said he wasn't allowed to touch himself, right?

Toshinori gives in, palming himself through his clothes. The sensation is so intense that he moans, a muffled vibration against the flesh filling his mouth. Enji must feel it because he pulls him off roughly.

"You're enjoying this, huh?" He shoves Toshinori backward, sending him sprawling on the futon. Enji's bare foot presses on his groin, threatening to squash his balls. He wiggles his toes against the bulge tenting Toshinori's pants.

"Strip."

Toshinori does, tossing his clothes haphazardly toward the hamper until at last he's completely naked. He kneels at Enji's feet, resisting the urge to cover himself. Warmth kindles in his cheeks as he feels Enji's gaze take him in, and restless energy builds as he waits for the next command. He's feeling uncharacteristically shy; he's never been exposed like this before.

He watches Enji's lips thin as his eyes trace down Toshinori's body, from the scarred crater on his side to the scars that twist along his stomach, and finally to his groin. Toshinori has folded his hands modestly on his knees, but they can't disguise his erection. He's aware of how he looks. While his body is completely proportional, his slimness accentuates everything to almost comical levels.

"Get on all fours facing the wall."

And, oh, if he was shy before he's incandescent with discomfort now. He does as Enji commands, turning over as slowly as he dares and keeping his legs tucked close together. There's nowhere to hide, not like this.

Thick fingers squeeze his butt cheeks, yanking them rudely apart to expose his most intimate bits. He bites his lip at the intrusion but can't stop the instinctive twitch from below as his anus contracts, shying away from the motion.

"You have lube?"

Even though this is exactly what he'd planned for, the realization that it's going to happen sends a pang of anxiety through him.

And then, a worse thought. Oh shit, does he actually have any lube? Most of the time he'll just polish himself off with a fistful of soap bubbles. He can't remember the last time he laid back and had a long, relaxing go of it.

If there is any, he's always kept it under the sink in the bathroom, and he tells Enji as much.

"You want me to go get it?" he asks, thinking that even if he doesn't, maybe he'll have something under there that can approximate it, but Enji refuses him.

He watches as Enji pads to his bathroom and crouches in front of the sink, taking the opportunity to spit into his palm. Hastily he swipes a finger through his saliva and pokes it through the dry ring of muscle, grimacing at the burn. Spit makes terrible lube.

He only gets up to the first knuckle before the cabinet door slams, and he returns quickly to his position. To his relief, Enji is carrying a small blue bottle.

"Jesus, All Might. This shit has to be ten years out of date." Enji swirls the bottle, which is less than a quarter full. "Do you ever get laid?"

Toshinori laughs quietly, forgetting his subservience for a moment. "You think I have time to get laid?"

A hard slap to his ass shocks him back into silence. "I didn't say you could talk."

Toshinori bows his head. Again the silence of the room seems magnified so that every sound hits his eardrums like a cymbal crash. There's a small flurry of scuffling behind him — Enji removing his clothes? — then the pop of a plastic cap. Wet squelching sounds.

The subsequent dousing of his asshole startles him, but not nearly as much as the rough hands that spread his cheeks apart again.

Oh god, he's not going to go in without prepping, is he?

But he is. Toshinori can feel the fat, spongy head of Enji's cock pressing firmly against his hole, pushing inexorably in.

He holds his breath. The stretch is intense; it feels like someone's pushing a hot iron bar into him. He spasms helplessly around it, pain reverberating through him as his sphincter is pushed to its limit. Enji is huge. It's too much, too much—

Enji stops.

Warm hands grip his hips, thumbs digging into the small of his back. It might be his imagination, but he thinks he can feel heat pulsing from the pads of Enji's fingers, sinking into the taut muscles of his back. It's soothing; distracting enough that he remembers to breathe and bear down.

Bearing down helps. The pain diminishes to manageable levels, more intense pressure than acute pain. Enji begins to rock into him with short, slow jabs of his hips, each small motion stretching Toshinori a little wider.

What he wouldn't have given for a finger or two before this. At least Enji didn't just shove it in; then his neighbors might have called the police.

When at last Enji bottoms out, Toshinori is sweating. His erection has died, overwhelmed by the pain and pressure. When Enji pulls out completely, he almost sighs in relief.

Click.

The brittle echo of a plastic-flip top cap, and more wetness drips onto his asshole. Lube. Enji is adding more lube. Thank God for that.

He takes another breath, hearing the wet squish of fluid on flesh as Enji slicks himself again, and the hollow clatter as the empty bottle is tossed to the floor.

The hands return to his hips, gripping him with purpose. This time when Enji pushes he slides in with no resistance, and Toshinori breathes deeply through the motion. Yes, he can handle this.

Enji allows him only a moment's rest before setting a punishing pace, forceful enough that Toshinori has to brace himself against the wall lest he fall face-first into the futon.

This really isn't so bad. His elbow may be digging into the wall and his arm may be quaking with the effort with keeping himself upright, but his body adjusts to Enji's girth quickly. Soon he can almost appreciate it.

The feeling of another body over his, the intimate slide of flesh inside him. It's been a long time since he's had this. His cock thickens as Enji pounds into him, inspired by the occasional flicker of pleasure as Enji skates by his prostate.

Only a few minutes later Enji's thrusts become choppier, quicker, and Toshinori thinks he's getting close. Now for the coup de grâce.

He forces himself into his muscle form, swelling beneath Enji's hands. The fingers digging into his hips falter, then Enji withdraws completely.

No!

Toshinori groans at the loss, frustrated. He can't hold this form for long!

"Turn over," Enji demands, voice rough with desire. When Toshinori rolls onto his back, he can see how pink-flushed Enji's cheeks and chest are.

"Legs up!"

Toshinori complies automatically. Enji seizes his thighs, seating himself back inside Toshinori with a grunt.

Something about Toshinori's muscle form must inspire him because the pace he sets now is slower, more thoughtful. With each snap of his hips he alters his trajectory minutely until one thrust sends a pulse of sensation radiating throughout Toshinori's abdomen.

"Uhn!"

The sound escapes him before he can stop it, and he bites down on his lip as his cock jumps. Oh hell, Enji's found his prostate.

"Soft spot, All Might?" Enji's sneer is softened by the lax pleasure on his face as he draws his hips back and pushes them forward again. Warmth radiates through Toshinori at the motion, the first inklings of sweet pressure beginning to build.

It's good. Maybe too good. He turns his head, pressing his mouth against his arm instinctively to muffle his moans.

"Move your head." Enji's tone is flat, cold despite the fire burning jewel-bright in his eyes. "I wanna hear it."

Then he snaps his hips again.

Breaths dissolving into senseless groans, Toshinori can only fist his hands into the comforter and hold on as Enji takes him over and over. How long he drifts in that twilight haze of pleasure, he doesn't know. He only becomes aware of a change in Enji's breathing when the man leans over him, tucking his face against Toshinori's neck.

The thrusts become more erratic. Enji's panting breaths feel hot enough to steam against the moist skin of his throat. Actually, Toshinori can see steam rising off his shoulders; he hasn't flared into flame, but his shoulders are hot enough to boil.

Toshinori's cock is trapped between their bodies. Each motion teases him terribly; it keeps him on edge, not quite enough to bring him to orgasm. He wraps his legs around Enji's back, trying to generate more friction. One powerful squeeze of his legs crushes them together, and yes, that's so good–

Teeth close on his neck in a sharp, stinging kiss. The pain shocks him; he lets out a surprised cry which only seems to spur Enji, who rumbles against his throat, teeth digging deeper. His hips jerk once more, and then Toshinori feels throbbing in his asshole as Enji's cock spasms.

He can feel the heat flare in his lower belly as Enji comes, his semen like a shot of hot water right up Toshinori's ass.

All Might can take it. Muscle form is far more durable, but he's struggling to hold on to it, has been for the last minute. Steam rises from his skin to mingle with Enji's as he quakes between Toshinori's thighs.

Toshinori's cock throbs, neglected. He desperately wants to just take himself in hand, but Enji hasn't ordered it. He waits, vibrating with tension as Enji gives one final grunt and rolls off him.

Come leaking out his ass, shivering and on-edge, Toshinori jumps when he feels Enji lean into him again. Wetness laps against his neck, stinging it anew; when Enji rears up to his knees Toshinori can see his red-stained tongue disappearing into his mouth.

Enji stares down at him wordlessly for a moment, wiping a hand across his lips.

"Touch yourself."

His eyes burn with intensity, and small flames flare on his neck and shoulders.

With a groan, Toshinori tugs himself over the edge with three quick jerks. He spills all over his stomach, spurting fluid that feels positively cool in comparison to the lingering imprint of Enji's flesh. For a moment, all he knows is bliss.

Then he loses his tenuous hold on his muscle form, snapping back to normal. The shock reverberates through him, forcing a cough that he muffles quickly against his palm. A smear of blood glistens there. He balls his hand into a fist and wipes his lips quickly, strangely embarrassed at the thought of Enji seeing him so fragile. He swallows, unsure of what to do next.

Enji reclines next to him, aloof as a jungle cat. The mad sparkle has faded from his gaze, his face relaxing back into an impassive mask.

This is the Endeavor he knows.

"What are you looking at?"

Even the tone of his voice has lost its fire. Good.

"N-nothing," Toshinori mumbles, folding his legs together. He looks longingly towards the bathroom and decides to just go, orders be damned. "I'll be right back."

Toshinori takes his time in the bathroom, cleaning himself up and inspecting the wound on his neck. It's still oozing, two small gashes where Enji's eyeteeth had dug in, and the neat purple imprint of the rest of his teeth. It's going to bruise like hell, and he's not sure he wants to go to Recovery Girl. That might lead to all sorts of awkward questions.

He washes and bandages it anyway and steps out to find that Enji bare-chested but otherwise clothed. Dressing quickly, he ducks his head, self-conscious. If only he had thought to bring his clothes into the bathroom.

In truth, he's a bit surprised to still find Enji here. As close-lipped as the man normally is, he can't imagine that there's much he wants to say.

Enji himself looks discomfited, the scowl on his face a cloudy mix of annoyance and… embarrassment? Naked shoulders hunching, he seems to be wanting to hide from Toshinori's gaze.

Oh, right.

Toshinori rummages through his closet, pulling out an old gray spandex shirt. He thrusts it towards Enji, who snatches it up begrudgingly.

It should fit, he wants to say, but doesn't.

It does fit. There's a slightly sour expression pinching Enji's eyes, but for him, that's positively normal. Maybe he's just annoyed that he has to accept this small kindness.

That's what you get for lack of foresight, Gran Torino would say.

Toshinori shuffles awkwardly in the entryway, looking down at the rumpled bedding. There's a wet patch right in the middle of the comforter, staining the navy fabric almost black. He doesn't know what to say.

Luckily, he doesn't have to say anything. Enji turns his back to him and walks away. Belatedly, Toshinori reaches for him, then stops himself. The aborted movement must catch Enji's eye, because he pauses, shooting a look over his shoulder.

"I know the way out."

Don't follow me, is how Toshinori interprets it.

Then he's gone.

Toshinori waits until he hears the door slam shut, then deflates. He didn't realize how much tension he was carrying until the moment it all falls away, leaving him almost light-headed with relief. Then the other sensations come creeping in. His ass burns. His scalp feels raw from where Enji tugged at his hair. His arms feel tender in a way that he knows will be trouble tomorrow.

Mostly, he feels tired. Exhausted to the marrow of his bones. He looks longingly at the futon, despairing at the patches where his and Enji's come has soaked, then towards the shattered lamp.

Collecting the broken pieces carefully, he bins them and then sweeps the room with flagging strength. Stripping his bedsheets takes Herculean effort; showering almost undoes him completely. He starts the washer and emerges from the bathroom pink-skinned and clean, scuffing his feet all the way to the front door so he can click the lock shut.

The pile of ash between the sofa and kotatsu stares at him. He wants so desperately to just curl up, sleep away the afternoon and just deal with all of this later. But he knows that if he leaves it he will likely forget about it, and when he wakes from his nap he'll step in it and grind it further into the carpet.

Troublesome.

With fingers that tremble slightly, Toshinori fetches his hand vacuum and begins to clean the carpet.