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“Harder” Izuku commands with a breathy sigh, tipping his head back against the wall. There’s the dig of his right heel in Tomura’s back, and the urgent tug of the hero’s hands in his hair, and Tomura answers his prayers with a feral smirk that gleams red in the darkness.
“That’s fine by me” he teases, murmuring the words directly into Izuku’s ear and relishing the shiver that follows, “but are you sure you want the entire dorm to hear you?” He gives a pointed roll of his hips, hiking the hero just a bit higher against the wall, and Izuku promptly has to bite back a noise. “Thought that was one of your rules.”
The hero cracks his eyes open just enough to glare at him. “They won’t—”
“Oh, they will.” Tomura accompanies the words with another thrust, this time in full compliance with Izuku’s earlier request. He watches every minute reaction: Izuku’s pupils going wide and blown just before he has to shut his eyes again; his voice, rising against his will in his throat like a tidal wave, only smothered by the hero’s quick thinking as he bites down on the back of his hand; his body, arching higher against the wall and pressing closer, impossibly closer to his own. “You’re a screamer, Freckles. We’d have every single one of your classmates rushing in to help you, and we don’t want that now, do we?” Another roll, this time nice and slow, to which Izuku responds with a whine. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.” He leans in to capture the hero’s earlobes between his teeth, pulling another delicious, muffled moan from the boy. “Of course, they probably wouldn’t take kindly to me being here, and then I’d have to defend myself...” he trails off, flexing his fingers with a dark, telling leer.
Izuku’s eyes go deliciously wide at that. “You can’t” he replies with an undercurrent of panic in his voice. “The rules—”
“Yeah, yeah” Tomura dismisses with a sudden, deep thrust that has the hero’s head catching against the lower side of a poster and his voice rising just shy of a scream. “I know the rules.”
What with being a villain and an outlaw, predictably, Tomura doesn’t much care for rules. However, even he has to admit that, in order to do what they’re doing, some clear boundaries are sometimes necessary. For the peace of mind—and physical safety—of all the parties involved, knowingly or not.
“Rule number one” he starts repeating with a pointed roll of his hips, “no uniforms.” That particular rule is more figurative than literal, since they’d definitely ruined more than one uniform—but that’s beside the point. No uniforms means that, as long as they’re seeing each other in a less than belligerent fashion, they are to leave their respective roles out the door. So, for Izuku, no calling the police or whipping out the capture tape; and, for Tomura, no turning unsuspecting students to dust with the favor of the night or kidnapping one for the road.
Although…
He pushes that particular scenario out of his mind, filing it away for later, in favor of regaling Izuku with a sudden snap of his hips that has the boy keening. “Rule number two: no fighting, or killing, or maiming.” That could perhaps have been included in rule number one, but the hero was nothing if not thorough in his stipulations. Honestly, Tomura suspects there are prenups out there that aren’t half as well-drafted as their little rules, and the thought always sends a possessive chill down his spine.
He licks a wet stripe up the boy’s neck before whispering close to his ear: “Rule number three…”
And then, slowly, he runs a finger all the way down Izuku’s chest. “No Quirks” he says finally, before splashing his whole palm on the hero’s stomach. There’s a squirm on the other side, one that’s part fear and part something else entirely, and Tomura relishes in the fact that he can always count on an honest reaction from the boy, even when he’s wearing his artist’s gloves to contain the damage. Some damage, it appears, cannot fully be contained.
“Please” Izuku murmurs in an uncharacteristic moment of meekness. He shifts against him, trying to maneuver Tomura’s hand where he needs it most, but the villain gives him a smirk and casually moves his fingers away. “I hate you” the hero whines, to which Tomura replies: “No you don’t” before clawing Izuku’s hips still with both hands and hiking him up in a sudden, deep thrust.
“Ah—!” the boy yelps, head catching against the edge of the poster again. “Careful” he murmurs, and it clearly takes every ounce of his strength to articulate a word that isn’t a wrecked string of vowels. Tomura can’t help but roll his eyes at that, gaze flitting briefly to the poster in question.
A thing about Midoriya Izuku’s dorm room: it looks like a stalker’s basement. Covered wall to wall in All Might posters and merch, it was a challenge on Tomura’s nerves—and libido—on the best of days, and he decided early on that, for the sake of what was left of his mental health, he would keep his eyes trained on the object of his attentions and consciously avoid looking at anything that seemed to have the color yellow in it.
Some days, the challenge is stronger than others.
Tomura hears himself growl, feeling the annoying megawatt grin staring back at him from above. Like peering into the abyss, every time the villain’s eyes flit accidentally to any part of the room that isn’t Izuku—and, sometimes, Izuku’s questionable clothes—the fuel of his hatred stares back into him, offering an unsettlingly encouraging smile.
Like many things, Tomura takes it personally.
He thrusts up again, and this time, he does so with a purpose, pushing Izuku even further up against the wall. As the boy squirms in his grip, the villain digs his knees even deeper into the mattress and repeats the motion, relishing in the satisfying tear of laminated paper. Izuku jolts, concern flashing across his face, but before he can do anything, Tomura drives into him again, sending his head knocking back against the wall once more and savoring the tearing noise that follows.
“Stop that” Izuku commands, but his voice is way too blissed out and breathless to be taken seriously, and the villain smirks in the crook of his neck.
“What, this?” he asks, giving another pointed thrust just like Izuku was begging him to do before, and he can’t tell what turns him on more—the broken sobs of pleasure coming out of the boy’s throat, or the steady rip rip rip from above their heads. It would be cause for concern for anybody else, but Tomura has been known to pick fights with parking meters with the right amount of rage and alcohol in his body, so.
Izuku tugs at his hair with an exasperated sigh and groans: “Stop trying to fuck the poster and fuck me!”
Since the villain isn’t made of stone – something no one in their right mind ever would’ve argued –, his impulse control being tenuous at best, hearing the lust-darkened voice of Midoriya Izuku begging Tomura, in no uncertain terms, to fuck him actually does things to him. It makes his head go light for a second, blood rushing entirely elsewhere. His mind goes blank but for a singular purpose, and he’s just about to give the hero exactly what he asked for, drive himself deeper and deeper in Izuku’s pliant body and swallow each sound with the possessive assault of his lips, tongue, and teeth—
And then, there’s a knock at the door.
“Midoriya?” Todoroki’s voice calls softly. “Are you alright?”
Telepathy isn’t either of their Quirks, but as they stare at each other in complete freeze-frame, Tomura could swear that their minds speak in unison.
Do something, the villain mouths urgently, and Izuku makes a face like a deer in the headlights. On any other occasion, he would’ve savored the sight, but right now, he suspects his own expression might come close to a mirror image.
Like what?!, Izuku mouths back, and before he can even think of an answer, Todoroki knocks again.
“Fuck” Tomura mutters under his breath, and makes to mournfully disentangle himself from the addicting, delicious, wonderful heat of Izuku’s body—
The hero locks his legs around him with a possibly even more terrified expression, murmuring: “Wait.”
“Midoriya…?” Todoroki’s voice comes again, and Tomura gets a powerful urge to leave Dabi short of a sibling when Izuku calls back: “Y-Yes?”
A beat. “Are you okay?” Todoroki asks with a faint note of concern.
“Yeah!” Izuku assures, tone shaky. Tomura slaps a hand on his face, already running through at least seven possible escape routes. There was a reason they did this over weekends: the dorms ended up practically empty except for a few overachievers, and the kids with shitty parents they didn’t look forward to visiting.
Unfortunately, Todoroki was a combination of both. And, according to Izuku, he also had trouble sleeping.
“You can’t sleep either?” the other boy calls. Tomura glimpses the handle of the door moving and he tries to squirm out of the hero’s death grip—is this what praying mantis males feel like?—causing him to drag a little too pleasantly inside him. “Ah—” a moan escapes Izuku’s lips, and the villain is already contemplating whether Tartarus would be such a high price to pay for finishing what they’ve started here, when the hero catches on that last syllable and twists it into: “A-Actually, I’m asleep right now!”
What the fuck? Tomura mouths, to which Izuku scrambles a distressed I don’t know! that’s equal parts guilt and desperation.
“…Really?”
In that moment, Dabi’s voice comes to him like the words of a prophet: How are you gonna pull this off? You have maybe one braincell between you.
“Yes! I, uhm. I sleep-talk. Sometimes. That’s—yeah, that’s what I’m… doing now.”
He grits his teeth and wonders, distantly, if he can thrust the braincell back in Izuku’s head through his dick somehow.
And then, like a choir from above, the younger Todoroki says: “Oh. I see.”
The handle stills.
“Goodnight, then” the other boy calls softly, and Tomura wonders, then, if Dabi was speaking from experience about sharing a braincell.
“Goodn—Ah!—ight” Izuku calls back, shooting the villain a glare for picking up right where they left off before Todoroki’s steps have even faded in the corridor.
Tomura smirks. “Now, how’d you pull that off?”
Izuku gives him a pleading look and an even more pleading squirm. “Todoroki-kun is very trusting. He—Ah!—he’ll believe pretty much ahh—nything if it comes…” he half-glowers, half-stares at him with unconcealed lust in his eyes. “If it comes…” he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut once more and twisting his fingers hard in the other’s hair.
“If it comes?” Tomura presses, grabbing the hero’s hips and switching up the angle just right—
“I-If it comes fro…” Izuku trails off in a broken little sound that goes straight down Tomura’s spine, making the villain pick his pace up and drive into him faster, harder, with each vowel that comes flying out of the hero’s throat. “From a f-frie…” there’s a tearing noise up above them, again, but the boy is too lost in the sensation to notice past a reflexive glance up, one that Tomura instantly halts by grabbing his chin and taking ownership of his mouth.
“Be a pity...” he smirks against Izuku’s lips, “... if he came again to check.” And then he captures them again, officially giving the boy permission to let his voice loose.
The relief is a rush through Izuku’s whole body. The villain swallows each sound, letting them reverberate through him and set the heat in his blood to the boiling point. He growls against the hero, pushing himself deeper and deeper, hitting that spot over and over again that has Izuku’s every atom sobbing with the intensity of it. Tomura doesn’t have many certainties in life, but he has at least one: having Midoriya Izuku like this—pliant and pleading and utterly his—feels much, much better than killing him ever could.
Tomura’s hand sneaks between their bodies, and all it takes are a few good strokes for Izuku to come undone under his touch. He crashes their lips together, and it’s a good thing he does, because the next scream out of his mouth is Tomura’s name. That, more than anything, sends him right over the edge.
They slump against each other as the aftershocks ebb away, catching their breath in the now almost soundless room. Slowly, the villain lets Izuku down, settling them both on the bed. The hero is a dead weight on top of him, and it fills Tomura with all kinds of pride.
That, and one other thing.
“Oh, c’mon” Izuku whines as his eyes finally catch sight of the poster—now utterly torn to shreds—above their heads.
The villain just smirks.
“New rule” says the boy, propping himself up on Tomura’s chest to look him in the eye. “No destroying each other’s property.”
“Mm. I don’t know, Freckles” Tomura says, making a pensive face. “Does that extend to—”
He gets his hand slapped away from Izuku’s ass, and has to mind his own voice lest he laughs too loud.