@ pacifisting

[codominant]

[a few hasty bandaids over a profusely bleeding wound, that's probably all this is — but it stems the tide long enough for things to return to almost-normal by the time Monday rolls around. Todoroki has, as expected, recuperated from his hangover in the cool, dark, silent and blissful solitude in his room and sworn off consumption of clear Russian liquids for the foreseeable future, and seeing Midoriya in the morning is... well]

[they don't talk about it. and he doesn't want to. hopes to never, in fact, if he's allowed to have his way. there are a few times throughout the week he thinks he feels his gaze lingering on him a little too long, asking questions he doesn't have answers to (or doesn't want to), pushing his lunch around pensively as he thinks of a way to broach the topic when they're alone]

[in that, too, he gives him fewer opportunities for a while. Uraraka and Iida, oblivious as they are, make for pretty good buffers]

[...until he can't anymore, until there's blood leaking from his nose and his swollen, broken bottom lip, his back planted into the asphalt of an evacuated street by a giant's fist he wasn't fast enough to dodge, knocking the breath and the consciousness right out of him]

[when he comes to after the fight is over and Musutafu is, once again, safe, the only color he sees is — ]

Mi...dori...

[his voice is rough with pain or maybe screaming, a part of his body warm that usually isn't. is this... weight?]

Comments

[codominant]

[like hands carding through silk as the edges of his scar are exposed and hidden again, frustrated and tired wrinkles of his face smoothing as mismatched eyelashes flutter low and close to enjoy his kiss and his reactions, to shiver in his grasp as he emboldens, untamed body a riot in his arms as he sighs open and lets warm, wet heat flood him; he could do this for hours, and would, if other needs didn't demand his attention — if Midoriya's need wasn't so hard and obvious between his own thighs, pressed into the crevices of his own erection and not enough skin]

[it's a disappointment when he's forcibly separated, eyes opening again and slow with those words sinking in, relinquishing rational thought to lethargic hunger. when they do — ]

...Hmph. [a pale cheek darkens, a flush of boyish embarrassment given overcompensation when he rolls, seizing up those scarred and callused hands and pinning them above the thick curls of his head, flex and stretch of long muscle pinioning him over Midoriya's body, an act of retaliation; it does nothing to defend him against the accusation where he straddles the hard body beneath him, leaving muscled thighs spread over his lap and pulling a sigh out of his mouth as it finds its partner again, brief and fleeting, before he peppers kisses down along his jawline]

[some punishment]

I'll show you. [laced fingers squeeze, an act maybe meant to encourage its recipient or pacify himself, and like this he begins kissing his way south, taking lovebites from his throat, his collarbones, the ever-broadening depth of his chest where, somehow, a part of him has made a home; he pauses at scars, kisses each one he finds on his journey along his sternum, especially thick clusters of freckles drawing his attention]

[pacifisting]

[ Midoriya's dedicated a non-insignificant amount of time to learning how quirks work, how they can be used, how they affect each other. He's filled notebooks upon notebooks with scribbles and sketches and wants to do the same with Todoroki. He wants to spend ages studying him, which really isn't very sexy necessarily, but he doesn't attempt to hide that it's what he's doing, either.

The flush of one cheek, the way Todoroki's body moves, the way the light plays against his skin and the lean, long line of him, Midoriya memorizes every bit of it with wide eyes, equal parts appreciative and a little in awe at being allowed to see him like this.

It's instinct to strain against the hands holding him; Midoriya pushes at them but can't move without using his quirk, and that's a thrill he didn't anticipate. He might be stronger than Todoroki physically with the addition of his quirk but like this, he's pinned neatly and knows if Todoroki wanted he could probably freeze his hands to the bed. That also shouldn't be as hot as it is, probably. ]

Yeah? [ It's less commanding or challenging and more breathy encouragement as Midoriya squirms underneath him. Every so often his arms flex like he's fighting the urge to push up against the grip, muscles bunching and then releasing. The press of lips against scars is sweet, the bites a sharp counterpart that leaves him squirming. Near his ribs, Todoroki grazes sensitive skin and laughter bubbles out of him; he hadn't realized he was ticklish there, but he is. Through residual giggles: ] Are you gonna let me touch you back later, or-?