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All For One latches the door behind him and turns to the form on the bed.
From what he can see from the moonlight, he’s lying on his back with a washcloth draped over his forehead and eyes to cool his face, he still looks warm, though, too warm. His comforter’s drawn up to his chin. That’s no good. He ought to crack open the window, let a cool night’s breeze flush out the stuffy air of sickness hanging in the room.
He creeps over to the mattress, knowing where to step on the floor to keep his footsteps quiet.
The sick form is breathing heavy, and beads of sweat run down the little bit of skin that’s showing.
“Nii-san, it’s hot.”
All For One reaches forward and slowly draws back the sheets. It’s just to keep him from overheating, nothing more. He knows what he’s doing.
It’s not his fault the smell of fresh rain and snuffed-out candles washes over him, and realization that this isn’t just a cold smashes into his gut and yanks him back into the present.
He can tell by the scent it’s too early, too weak to be considered a proper heat, but it’s something. It certainly explains the extra pillows and blankets on the bed. He recognizes a few of Kurogiri’s vests and one of his own blazers strewn around him. Something inside him stirs at the sight, at the smell, something he’s had to control for far too long.
He sits on the edge of the bed, watching carefully.
Tomura doesn’t stir. He always has been a heavy sleeper, after all.
AFO’s fingers hook under the soft black cotton of his shirt, dragging it upwards, slowly revealing his navel, his little chest.
Rise, fall. Rise, fall. Rise, fall.
He reaches down for the boy’s side, tracing up and down the peaks and valleys of his ribcage.
Mine.
His hand slides down his waist, towards the elastic band of his dark sweatpants. It must be broiling in those. He snakes his arm under the small of his back, angling him up so he could tug the fabric off his hips, down his legs. His muscles automatically fall into their routine.
“I’ve got you, otouto.”
There’s a damp spot on his underwear. The smell is stronger.
What kind of caretaker would he be if he neglected someone in need?
His right hand slips down the front of his underwear, curving downward until he can run his fingers along the edge of his leaking hole.
He shifts in his sleep, and AFO uses his free hand to remove the washcloth to see those features better. His face is twisted up, as if he’s caught in the middle of a dream. He hopes it’s a pleasant one, for his sake.
Two fingertips dip in, and even then it’s already like a vice around him. He’ll need lots of prep before he’s ready for a knot.
What will it be like, if Tomura wakes up? Will he moan and mewl for him?
Or will it be like those last few times, in the vault, where he can no longer sneak the sleeping pills in alongside medication he refuses to take, or grind them up into powder and add to meals he’ll push away? Will he scream for a family long dead and gone? Will his stubborn refusals give way into desperate pleas for freedom? Will he sob desperately and cry out? Will his little fists put up a futile resistance and pound uselessly against his chest, too exhausted to put up a real fight?
He works diligently to stretch the boy out, settling into a gentle rhythm, marveling in the way he clenches around him instinctively, even in his sleep. As the minutes go by he becomes a bit more daring, angling his fingers just right and with purpose.
It’s all for his pleasure. It’s all for him.
He moves, and AFO catches sight of bleary eyes struggling to focus on him him. “What...”
Those two blood-red eyes are not his brother’s, he reminds himself. Tomura won’t slip through his fingers so easily.
“Shh, I’ve got you.”
They blink, confused and wild. “Sensei... why are you...?” He starts to squirm, even though the movements are lethargic and drained.
“You’re alright, Tomura.” He pushes in further and hooks his fingers, drawing out a gasp.
He has complete control of the situation for just a few more moments.
“I don’t- ah, Sensei-!“ those deadly hands dart up, and All For One isn’t sure where they’re headed but he’s not willing to wait and find out.
“Lay still, Tomura,” he orders, voice dripping with command. He feels that age-old possessiveness surging up from deep within him. It’s been so long.
Mine.
The boy recoils at the force of the order, ruby red eyes darting around frantically. His breathing seems to quicken and he bursts into a coughing fit. “It itches, Sensei!” He chokes out between his frantic breaths, hands quivering at his sides, desperate to scratch. He’s pouring sweat now, hyperventilating.
He pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on the sheets. “I’m sorry for startling you, Tomura. That wasn’t my intention. You’re allowed to scratch yourself.”
Those deadly fingers fly toward his neck and sink in.
All For One runs his other hand through the pale mop of hair on his head, careful not to catch on any tangles and letting calming pheromones drift out of the scent glands on his wrist.
“I’m here, Tomura.”
He repeats the words and the gentle motion until the panic quells, the scratching ceases, and Tomura’s scent loses its sour edge. He moves his hand to cup his feverish cheek, and the boy flinches, relaxes, leans into the touch, bares his neck in a sign of submission he’s too young to understand.
“What’s happening to me?” he whispers.
“There’s no need to be alarmed. What you’re feeling is completely natural for a presenting omega.”
His face scrunches up, as if he’s had his worst suspicions confirmed.
“Has Kurogiri talked to you about this before?”
He nods. “A little. I... I wanted to be an alpha like you. I want to be strong.”
He gives a small laugh. “Now, that’s no way of looking at things. I’ve met plenty of powerful omegas in my lifetime. Your placement doesn’t mean you’re weak. Things just work a little differently for you.”
“Different how? Is that why I feel like this?” His chest convulses and he coughs again.
He climbs off the boy, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand. “Well, not exactly. You’re sick, too.” He pours out some of the purple syrup into the little cup from the bottle, all the up to the line, then just a little bit over. “You might be able to manage your first heat by yourself under other circumstances.”
There’s a few scratches at that.
He moves to sit on the edge of the mattress, cups his hand under his little head and guides it up with Tomura’s compliance.
“The grape kind is gross.”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
He sips it down, grimacing at the flavor.
“Sensei, how do I make this go away?”
“I can help you, if you let me.”
Tomura takes a deep breath. “Will you... are you gonna do that again?”
“If you want me to.”
The boy still looks apprehensive. He can’t be blamed for that.
“Don’t you trust me, Tomura?”
He bites his lip, nods. “...yes.”
“Good boy.” He purrs, not missing the way he shivers at the praise. He reaches forward for his bunched-up shirt and tugs it over his head once Tomura raises his arms, discarding it to the side and climbing on top of the boy. He follows up with his now-drenched underwear, and some of Tomura’s earlier hesitation seems to return.
He stares up at him with wide eyes as he reaches down again, teasing his puffy lips and dripping entrance before plunging back in, marveling at how Tomura squeezes around his fingers.
“Sensei...”
He rubs against that spot to coax out little whimpers and more slick from his young successor. He reaches up with his thumb to tease his throbbing clit, and he’s rewarded with a pitchy whine.
“So good for me, Tomura.”
He melts with the praise, allowing himself to move his hips. All For One removes his thumb and replaces it with the heel of his palm, allowing Tomura to grind against him freely.
“Sensei, I... please, I need...”
“Use your words.”
He rips his gaze away. “Please, I just... just make it go away.”
He hums in response. That’s good enough, he supposes. There’s plenty of time to train him to beg like a proper whore. He sits up and fumbles with his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulls out his hard, leaking cock.
Tomura stares. “That... that won’t fit...”
He smiles. “Of course it will. Your body is designed to accommodate.” He gives himself a few pumps and leans over the boy, lining himself up.
“Wait, I don’t-“
“Shh, let me take care of you.” He sinks in, just the first few inches.
Tomura’s breath hitches and he tenses up. “Aah, Sensei!” He reaches up slowly, clutching the fabric of his dress shirt with four-fingered grips.
“How do you feel?”
“I- I’m trying... it hurts,” he admits and closes his eyes, turning away as if he’s ashamed of the burning stretch.
“You’re doing wonderful, Tomura. You’ll adjust in a moment. Just relax.” He pushes forward, slow and gentle.
“Sensei...”
He begins to rock his hips, reveling in the little pants and whimpers from his successor.
Tomura isn’t his brother.
He feels even better.
As he pumps into him gently, the wriggling dies down and he becomes pliant beneath him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the cough syrup is seeping into his bloodstream alongside the hormones to keep him calm.
The boy’s so fucking precious.
Lock him up too.
He brushes the thought away. He won’t have to resort to that. He’ll do things right this time.
His heavy form grinds into Tomura’s slender one, and he can see the steady build up the boy must be feeling rise up behind his eyes. He shifts, changes his angle, and plunges in everything save for the base. Not yet.
Tomura lets out a sharp whine and his face twists. “Sensei, wait! Something’s wrong, I don’t- hahh, please!” His grip tightens and his thumbs twitch dangerously.
He reaches around the little wrists and guides them down up above his head. There’s no force behind the motion, but he’s secured nonetheless. No accidents tonight. “You’re alright, Tomura. Just let me make you feel good.” He picks up the pace, pushing into his small, quivering form just right-
A high keen forces itself from the boy’s throat, and his back arches in a curve that looks almost painful as his whole body seizes up with a forceful arch. He’s wracked with tremors as he gushes around All For One’s cock, and it’s the holiest sight he’s seen this century.
He feels himself coming close as he fucks Tomura through his orgasm. It’s a little embarrassing, he used to last so much longer. He can’t blame himself, though. This is much more vivid than the nights when he asks Kurogiri to pretend. The mist man does his best, and he dearly appreciates the Noumu’s service, but his ‘nii-san’ always sounds so robotic, programmed, and it’s hard to imagine a dark blob as his dear brother. Tomura, though...
“Aah, ah, it’s too much, please-“
He slows his pace, allowing him to recover. “Did that help?”
He nods, looks away. “I still feel funny...”
“We’ll take care of that.” He keeps rocking, then suddenly he buries his face in the crook of Tomura’s neck, inhaling deeply. He reciprocates out of nothing but pure instinct, and he softens just a little more.
His hips snap forward, harder and rougher. Tomura starts to tense and jerk around in his grip as he’s gradually overwhelmed once more.
“Aah, please! Please!” Tears start to stream down his face as he writhes.
All For One’s not exactly sure what the boy is begging for. Tomura might not know himself.
Either way, he slams himself in over and over, his swelling base presses against his cunt. Tomura balks, looks down and his panic grows.
“Sensei... I don’t think-“
“I know you can take it, dear boy. Just bear with it for a little longer.” He’s pounding away, hunting for little more than his own release now.
“Sensei, wait-“
His knot forces itself in and seals him up. Tomura wails in ecstasy, in agony, and he tightens around it and climaxes once more. It’s magnificent. It’s flawless.
All For One licks and sucks at that spot on the crook of his neck, then breaks the skin with his teeth, Hot metallic fluid pours in his mouth and he drinks it all up like it’s fucking ambrosia, refusing to waste even a single drop. His fingers weave through his mousey blue mane, clutching the back of his head as he holds this precious thing close, so close, not close enough. His hips twitch as he expels the last of his seed and his knot starts to deflate. It’s a shame, really. Maybe it’s just the hormones talking, but he doesn’t think he would mind staying locked into the object of his adoration until the world crumbles all around them.
He releases his wrists and brushes his pale hair off his forehead to see his eyes. Theyre wet and bloodshot, making all the red that much more beautiful. They’re clouded over, too, but they gaze back regardless.
“I’m here, Tomura.”
He hold him close through the aftershocks, his extra trembles and weak little cries. "So good for me." He pulls out and tucks himself away.
Tomura curls up into a little ball. Sweet thing.
All For One reaches for the washcloth. It’s cold against his fingertips, so he heads to the bathroom down the hall and runs it under the faucet until it’s nice and warm. He wrings it out and returns.
The gasping cries have relaxed into a silent stream of tears with the occasional hiccup.
“You did so wonderful for me, Tomura,” he murmurs as he cleans up the cum and slick running down his thighs, tidying him up with care before abandoning the washcloth on the nightstand. The boy looks exhausted, debauched.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? Or would you like me to leave?”
He’s quiet for several moments. “Can you... can you just hold me?”
“Of course, Tomura.” He strips himself of his stiff clothes until he’s just in his undershirt and boxers and then he climbs in the bed dragging the covers up and wrapping an arm around the boy’s limp form. It’s so nice he can take his knot now, and it's so nice he can touch the boy like this while he's awake, and ease him into participating in these late-night excursions. Finally, after all these years.
“You bit me...” he says quietly, the smallest bit of his usual irritation and perhaps something else bleeding through the drugged-up, fucked-out haze inside his head.
“I didn’t do it to hurt you. It’s a claiming mark. They’re different from regular bites.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs, lying down beside the boy. “It means I’ll protect you, take care of you, be here for you. It makes you mine.”
“Yours,” he echoes, then goes silent. Maybe he’s drifting into sleep. Maybe he’s too shocked to do anything at all, if the occasional sharp inhale is anything to go off.
Once Tomura’s breath evens out, he allows himself to trace over the sore spot on his neck, bloodied and bruised.
His hand slides across his jutting clavicles, then down over Tomura’s chest.
He’s always considered himself a greedy man, after all.