Makoto's knuckles were white as she clung to the edge of Toshinori's office desk, head back and cheeks flushed. He had one hand between her legs as he braced himself with the other, breathing hard. He knew she was getting close again. It'd been several weeks since their night at the hotel, and he knew her body now. Knew the rise of her breasts. The bite of her lip. Her thighs squeezing tight around his hand while his fingers carried her up. She whimpered his name, barely a whisper, and Toshinori bent in to kiss her hard.
They hadn't slept that night in the hotel, and had left together in the smallest hours of the morning to go back to her apartment so that they wouldn't be seen. Then he kept her awake until the smallest hours of the next day.
The things about her that he'd admired culminated in bed. Bold and unshy — unafraid to take what she wanted. Articulate and concise in her demands. She led from underneath.
Late at night he'd slip off campus to go to her apartment, and on the nights he had duty overseeing the checks on the dorms, she came to stay with him. Stayed the whole night, and didn't shy away from his scars. Any of them. Not the tight, pale reminder of everything All For One had taken, nor the long, jagged scars across his back and chest from all the blows he had refused to dodge to keep those behind him safe. She traced them, unashamed, with her tongue in the heat under the blankets, and with her fingertips afterward when their heads laid side-by-side on the pillow.
"What are you said afraid of?"
He had been right. He could not be with her and be casual. He let himself be selfish. He let himself ingest every thread she laid bare. Years of sacrificing his ties to the world for the sake of the world came to an abrupt end at the edge of her abyss. Yagi Toshinori — All Might, the Number One Hero — who had for years lived in the hollow trunk of loneliness, he let himself have her. Tsukauchi Makoto belonged to him.
"Everything."
He was a man who had spent his life living as though he had everything to lose — and it was only recently, in the quiet hours before the dawn as she slept with her head on his shoulder, that he felt the stab of fear that had never quite come on the heels of his actions. He didn't want to lose her.
His insecurities still ate him alive, breath by breath, and at moments it felt like all he could do to keep his head above water. He still hesitated before letting her pull off his shirt. He still held her against him in the night, and felt weak and diminished. A shadow of the sun he'd once been. Radiant. Blinding. But no more. He wished, sorely, in the dark of night that he could have had the chance to have her like this when he felt like himself.
He had tried to do the right thing in the day after they consummated their relationship, and offered to let her leave and take the position with Endeavor Agency. It would free them if the binds of employer/employee. Makoto would hear nothing of it. His protests had fallen not on deaf ears, but against her pointed counter arguments. He had no replacement, and he was just beginning to find his upswing in the media and public's eye again. And, sitting across from him at his own table, she asked plainly, "Even if I leave to go elsewhere, then what? Announce us to the press? Make it public?"
And that had made him freeze. He had never even considered what a public relationship would be like. He'd watched from those sidelines as other Heroes had their love lives devour and printed for public consumption. He'd watched nearly as many break under the strain. No, he didn't want to go public. Makoto read that answer on his face, then continued, "So if we don't go public, then it just looks like you're losing a high-profile manager to Endeavor Agency, and that will make everything worse. So it's settled. I'm staying."
In the here and now, however, she was peaking on his desk, spine rigid as she shuddered in his arms. His cock was throbbing behind his zipper, and he wanted to give it to her. Right here. On this side of the tinted office windows high above the city. He had no interest in waiting for tonight to take her to bed when he could have her now.
A gentle chime echoed from the speaker behind his desk, and Toshinori yanked away from Makoto. She still had a dazed look in her eyes as she scrambled off the desk, yanking her skirt down, and sat down in a chair beside the desk. She smoothed her hand over her hair, meeting Toshinori's gaze, as they both mentally counted the time it took for someone to cross from the vestibule back to his office door. He slid his fingers, slick with her fluids, between his lips and sucked them clean. Across from him, Makoto's lips parted just as the door opened.
"What timing," Naomasa lamented as he stepped inside the office, sparing his sister only the briefest of glances. "I was hoping to catch you alone — and spare myself the political lecture."
There was laughter in Naomasa's eyes though, and Toshinori made himself laugh along with him before he turned to Makoto.
"Can we have a few?" Toshinori asked, trying to keep his voice level despite his eyes catching the flush that was still in her cheeks. He could hear the echoes of her orgasm still. Could taste her on his fucking tongue.
Makoto nodded and excused herself, and Toshinori forced himself to turn away so that his gaze wouldn't follow the sway of her hips as she walked away.
"How's it been?" Naomasa asked, lowering himself into a chair on the other side of the desk where only minutes before Toshinori had been finger fucking his sister.
"Better than it was," Toshinori admitted. "I owe you one…Thank you for putting Makoto in my path. I cannot overstate my gratitude."
"She knows what she's doing," the detective agreed. "I'm glad for you. I want to see you pull through. I'm admittedly not here, however, for idle chit chat."
That pique Toshinori's interest enough that he momentarily forgot about Makoto, and he leaned forward in his chair, waiting.
"There's a raid coming up…Shie Hassaikai."
"Aren't they Yakuza? That's Majestic's agency's specialty."
"They've been getting intertwined with the League of Villains, so the files moved up the rankings. We have reason to believe they're engineering quirk-negating technology to distribute on the black market."
"Damn. What can I do? Whatever you need, it's done."
Naomasa's eyes drifted away, and Toshinori heard a muted sigh.
"I don't need anything, Toshinori. I'm here out of respect — professional courtesy — to inform you of what's going down."
An anvil dropped in Toshinori's chest, the rope cut and severed high above. The crash was deafening. Toshinori hesitated, not even sure how to process it, before he leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced.
"I don't want to sit on the sidelines if I can help in some way."
"I can't let you. The Commission has gotten some serious blowback from how unstable things were when you announced your retirement. I just can't let you be involved like that. It'd make the Commission look weak, and they can't afford that."
Toshinori scoffed. The Commission would look weak? That would be a pleasant change of pace instead of him looking like the weak one.
"Let me do something. I don't need acknowledgement."
"Hang back. I've seen the magazine covers — you've recovered some good ground with Makoto at the wheel. Don't change course. Stay retired." A muscle in Toshinori's jaw flexed. "I already said I'm telling you out of professional courtesy. You spent too long on the top to be left out of the loop. But you aren't needed. We have it handled."