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“I will block you.”
An empty threat, but you wish he would at least pretend to take it seriously. You had run back here from the other side of the complex and were still a bit winded when you entered the room—thinking the worst only to find your boyfriend sprawled on the same position you left him in a few hours ago. Tomura rolls his eyes from his massive king sized bed—courtesy of the PLF, only the best for their new leader—and just beckons you to join him. Never mind blocking him, you are going to chuck your phone as hard as you can at that thick head of his. Add another injury to his collection.
“20 missed calls. Really?" you say, crossing your arms. "I thought you were dying or something.”
He looks unrepentant.
“Dying of boredom. Come here,” he mutters when you just keep glaring at him from the doorway. He has the audacity to glare back when you don't move, as if you are the irrational one for not being in his arms already.
“What's the point of being your second in command if you don't even let me do my job?” you grumble, trudging towards the bed but staying just out of his reach.
Part of you wants to punish him for making you run off in the middle of a meeting for nothing. Teach him that just because you two are dating doesn't mean you are at his beck and call, that you can't drop your responsibilities to go see him any time he wants. The bigger—lovesick, very stupid—part though, softens at the sight of all the bandages still covering his body, and the, deeper than usual, bags under his eyes.
“Most of those meetings are bullshit anyways.” he says. “Tell Skeptic to send an email or whatever if he wants our opinion that badly”
He offers his hand, the sight of his missing fingers still making your heart hurt. You will never understand how he didn't kill Re-destro for that. Or at least cut off both of his hands. It was only fair after all.
Tomura calls your name and pulls you out of those musings, an impatient frown on his face. You give him one last unimpressed look and give in, taking his hand and climbing gingerly on his lap—careful of his broken leg. Once you are settled, he pulls you until you are flush against him, his chin resting snug on your shoulder.
“I need you more than them anyways," he says, pushing his hands under your shirt and tracing patterns on your back. “If you are away all day, how am I supposed to entertain myself?”
You pull back, with some effort, and gesture to the handheld devices that are thrown on the other side of the bed—a beat up DS, a PS Vita, hell even a Game Boy. He scowls and pushes them all away, throwing a few blankets over them.
"Stop being dense." He nips at your ear, making you yelp. He kisses it after, trailing down to your jaw, then neck in that way he knows makes you unable to think of anything else but him. "You'd rather be here too. Stay."
He's right. You hate that he is right, yet find yourself unable to argue as your thoughts get hazier by the minute—his hands slipping under your bra, the touch fleeting, teasing. Your nipples harden with the attention but he then decides to pay them no mind, his hands going back to caressing your sides and back. He takes his time, alternating between feather-like touches and pinching the skin near your hips. You bite your lower lip, try to swallow your frustration but he is relentless—taking you apart bit by bit until you can barely remember what had you so pissed in the first place.
Fuck it.
"I'm still mad at you," you say but the small whimper that escapes you right after, when Tomura swipes his tongue over your collarbones, destroys all your credibility. You can feel him smiling against your skin, the smug bastard.
Tomorrow's schedule will be hell with all the meetings you'll have to rearrange, all the minions you will have to throw excuses at for today's absence; but that's a problem for future you. The way Tomura moans and melts into your hands when you yank his hair and pull him—finally—into a deep kiss makes it all worth it.