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Eijirou initiates the first stage of his grand strategy when he breaches the study. He sneaks in quietly, successfully infiltrating the space without making his presence known.

His target sits at the wide office desk against the wall, leg absentmindedly jumping as he mumbles the same words he types out on the computer display in front of him. Just as Eijirou found him this morning, just as Eijirou finds him again now.

Izuku's been at it since even before Eijirou woke up. When Eijirou first approached his husband, fresh out of bed and asking how long Izuku had been up for, Izuku hadn't been completely honest. He spun around in his chair, told Eijirou not too long, planted a sweet kiss on his lips. The three empty coffee cups Eijirou spotted, on the other hand, said otherwise. Eijirou could have pushed back in that moment on grounds of conspiracy alone.

But he didn't. Eijirou knew when to pick his battles. He decided he would be back later, after he went out on his morning run, after he did the laundry, after he got a second kiss—and maybe even a third, a fourth. Eijirou's always been a flirt, especially when the subject of his interest has, like, a bajillion freckles, so many that he's sure he still hasn't kissed all of them despite having known Izuku since they were both first years.

Izuku ended up shooing Eijirou away before he could get a fifth one on him, telling him he really, really needed to get back to work—the hero incident reports weren't going to fill themselves out. At the single mention of that, Eijirou willfully retreated. If flirting with his husband like they were still high schoolers was his weakness, then paperwork was his Achilles's Heel.

He's back now, though, intent on taking his plan into action. All his hero training, every real life stealth mission, has prepared him for this domestic conflict. He sneaks up behind Izuku, draping himself over the backrest of the chair and wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders. Izuku jumps, making a surprised little noise.

Eijirou fondly chuckles. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he says. "How's the work going?"

Izuku eases back, back audibly pop-pop-popping as he raises his arms to the ceiling. It's probably the first time in hours he's afforded himself a moment to even stretch. "As good as it can be?" Izuku yawns. "I don't think I've sorted through even half the agency's emails."

"Has Ito been slacking on that?"

Eijirou already knows the answer himself, because Ito is the best goddamn assistant they could have ever asked for. The question is more of a strategic one.

Izuku, as expected, tenses up under the scrutiny. "No," he admits, avoiding Eijirou's gaze in the reflection of the monitor as he starts tapping away at his keyboard again. "I'm just being thorough."

"Babe," Eijirou wheels the chair back, dragging Izuku away from his desk, "you know there's zero point in hiring staff if you're gonna do all the work yourself, right?"

Izuku gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "I know.”

"And you know it's pretty much impossible to try 'n carry the work of an entire agency on your back, right?"

"It's not... entirely impossible."

The chair spins around. Izuku's forced to look Eijirou in the face.

Izuku frowns, guilt sweeping across his expression. He’s been pinned. "It's only improbable."

"More than improbable, but, yeah." Eijirou stands up straight, folding his arms over his chest. "We have people like Ito for a reason. Why are you staying up all night doing their job?"

"I stress, Ei—I'm not used to everything being out of my hands," Izuku says. "It's hard enough staying home as it is."

"You'd be stressing even more if you were at the agency right now. This is your first real day off in how long?"

Izuku counts the months on his fingers, then the days. "Three hundred forty-three days." A pause, followed up by a restatement. "Under twelve months, almost a year."

"Exactly," Eijirou says. "You couldn't even get time off for New Year's Eve."

"Neither of us could," Izuku mumbles, as if that makes the situation any more fair.

"I remember," Eijirou huffs. "But I get breaks, you don’t. That's all I'm asking you to do—take a break."

"Ei..." Izuku starts to swivel back, but Eijirou catches the seat of Izuku's chair on his knee, turning him back into place. "I know I should, I really do. And I know Ito and the others can handle it, but I’d really feel better if—”

"If you took a break." Eijirou takes Izuku by both hands, dragging him up to his feet. He looks unconvinced, but doesn't fight it when Eijirou pulls him close, knocking their foreheads together. It’s a dirty tactic, he knows, but Eijirou wills it anyway: two big puppy dog eyes, a pout, a bow of his head so he just looks that much more pitiful. "Please? Thirty minutes tops."

Whatever hesitance Izuku had been grasping onto melts away between his fingers. "Twenty minutes." Well, most of it, anyway. He still makes for a tough negotiator.

Eijirou winds his arms around Izuku's waist, swaying the both of them together in the same motion. "Twenty-five."

Izuku tries not to smile—Eijirou can see it in the way the corners of his lips twist, the way the line of his mouth tightens. "Twenty-two and a half."

Eijirou isn't nearly as skilled at keeping his poker face. "I'll take it."

In a single magnificent maneuver, Eijirou sweeps Izuku off the floor and throws him over his shoulder with such an ease that you wouldn't even know Izuku was the single most powerful man in the world. Not that Izuku would ever say that about himself, but it makes Eijirou feel more than a little smug as he jets down the hallway with his capture.

"Eijirou!" Izuku practically squawks, arms flailing. He gets a hold of the back of Eijirou's shirt, fisting his hands in the fabric for some kind of stability.

"Izuku!" Eijirou echoes, a loving and all-knowing taunt. He makes a sharp turn around a corner, sliding on the soft soles of his slippers, and he hears Izuku erupt into laughter.

Kicking the door to their bedroom open, Eijirou touches down on the runway of the carpet leading up to their bed before making final landing on the mattress, barrel rolling them both into the comforter. Wrapped up and caught under Eijirou's frame, Izuku can't do much more than completely surrender himself to what's to come.

Sitting up on his knees and elbows, Eijirou dives down, claiming Izuku’s lips with his own to finally take that fifth kiss for the winning.

Something during their very political, very official exchange tips Eijirou off to the idea that Izuku might not be too dissatisfied with this outcome of events afterall. Maybe it's the way a hand finds stronghold in the roots of Eijirou's hair, or maybe it's the way Izuku chases him back over the battle line for a sixth kiss, a seventh.