Work Text:
In a home full of early risers, Tenya usually rises first.
It’s a rare alignment of calendars; what most people would experience as a lazy Sunday morning is his craftily-scheduled Tuesday. No patrols, no paperwork left to file at the agency, no interviews. Maybe he’ll catch up on laundry, or clean the bathroom today, but the rigidity of his usual itinerary is most assuredly on vacation for a little while.
The sun isn’t even up yet, but he feels more than sees the change in the blue above him, framed by the bedroom skylight. It’s not a real window; heroes can’t afford to be photographed from above while they sleep, but they sure can adopt a prototype bit of tech developed by a friend into a livestreamed faux window that shows them everything happening on top of the solar panels on the roof. His family has a history of embracing technology, and he recalls being delighted to see the look on Ochaco’s face when she realized she could sleep every night under the stars.
She sighs in her sleep, and Tenya presses a light kiss to her temple. He won’t stir sleeping beauty yet, not until the kettle is on at least. She’s not a late sleeper unless she’s absolutely exhausted, but she usually rises when the sun does. He won’t interrupt that process.
He swings his legs out of bed - how grateful he is that his exhaust pipes aren’t too cold under the blankets - and pads over to the door, grabbing a pristine white bath robe from a three-pronged hook on the door to the ensuite bath. Maybe he’ll shower later, he thinks, when running water won’t disturb peaceful morning sleep. For now, he’ll make his way to the kitchen and get started brewing his own coffee. He's had his eye on not-burnt, not-agency coffee all week.
The bed shifts as Tenya reaches the hallway door, and an arm reaches up over Ochaco’s waist, squeezing. She half-smiles contentedly, facing him, and warmth fills the engine hero from his chest outward. They needed this personal day. Work is draining, even if they see each other and their old friends from school often in the field. It’s much more of a relief to know that the loves of his life are home safe, with nothing but time together on the docket.
As he pads to the kitchen, he shakes his head. No matter how many times he tries to convince Izuku to keep his shoes on the rack in the entryway, they always end up somewhere between the living room and the bedroom. Never when they’re dirty, of course, but just often enough to make Tenya furrow his brow. He tucks them back into their designated spot and continues on his quest for caffeine. Sweet blessed coffee is his personal vice; few things stand between Ingenium and dark roast. But the kettle is large enough for all three of them to enjoy hot drinks in the morning, or whenever “morning” approximates to, for heroes with variable shift times. He pulls enough mugs from the cabinet, his French press, and the sugar canister from the corner of the counter. One tea bag into a simple earthenware mug, and another into a limited edition silver age All Might mug (with a manufacturer’s defect; the mint-in-box one is safely on display in another room).
Coffee brewed and hot drinks poured, Tenya blows an errant section of hair out of his face as he wrangles all three mugs in his broad hands. Four years and he thought he ought to have it down by now, but those sweet diner waitresses that call you “sugarcube” really have a talent for the balance. His mug and Izuku’s clink together almost loud enough to wake the block, he thinks, and some of his sweet bean juice dribbles down the side of the ceramic. He almost jeopardizes the whole operation attempting to save the drips from the floor with his tongue, tilting the mugs haphazardly.
But then, the day is saved; one mug is rescued from his grasp, and Tenya smells the crisp scent of tea tree shampoo and musk nearby. “I’ll take mine,” intones a tenor voice sweeter than honey, “and then you can focus on not spilling all over the kitchen, hun.”
Deku is a hero frequently credited with the final blow to a villain, and in this situation, he has successfully rescued one of his partners from the treachery of too many cups. His smile has won the hearts of citizens all across Japan, as well as the two that mean the most. Izuku snakes his free arm above Tenya’s shoulders, squared and shapely as ever, and pulls him in for a slow sleepy kiss. There is no rush in the kitchen this morning. It ends softly, blurred around the edges, eyes gently closed and bedhead fluffed. They’re both grateful to have time today, as the sun finally crests the horizon out the kitchen window, over the cityscape like a wave and into their home.
Izuku lets Tenya handle the responsibility of only two mugs as they shuffle back to the bedroom. This is precisely why their headboard is a cabinet running across the top of their rather large bed: to have somewhere to rest their drinks when it’s at maximum capacity, and without asking each other to “please hand me” what they need. Ochaco’s mug rests precisely in the middle, steaming gently into the air, and the warm glow filters down from the digital skylight onto the foot of the bed. She won’t be awake for another few minutes, when the square of sun works its way up to her face; but she breathes contentedly in the meantime.
She doesn’t shift as both of the men make their way back underneath the covers, but rather melts into their embrace as they settle. Izuku returns his arm to its rightful place, wrapped snugly around her waist as he conforms his body to hers, but this time his fingertips are in prime position to doodle lazy shapes on Tenya’s stomach. The latter lays flat on his back, snaking his arm up under Ochaco’s pillow for comfort as she tucks her face into his side, then up onto his chest. Tenya tucks his chin in just enough to plant a kiss on the very top of her head, tickling his nose in her tousled hair.
In these precious moments before the day truly begins, Tenya Iida revels in the softness he’s been blessed with, and the two people he’d choose over all to enjoy it.