Archive of Our Own ^beta

Katsuki likes riding Shouto until his knees give out and his brain turns to mush; until he’s babbling, moaning, too full to think straight. He lives for that feeling, the stretch, the burn, the ache in his thighs as he bounces on that thick cock like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He loves tugging on Shouto’s hair; grabbing fistfuls of that red and white mess, pulling until the halves mix and knot together, until the pleasure curls into something mean, something sharp. He likes that too. He wants that sting.

And fuck, he loves watching Shouto when it happens; loves the way that perfect face scrunches up, lips parted, eyes blown wide and hungry. Loves how the calm, collected Todoroki Shouto turns into someone reckless, someone greedy, someone who fucks up into him like he’s trying to lose control. Like Katsuki makes him lose control.

His voice changes, too. That usually smooth, quiet tone drops; deeper, rougher, soaked in want. Every grunt, every breathy curse, every groan rumbling from his chest as he drives in deeper, harder, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach.

And Katsuki feels it all. Every inch. Every grind. Every desperate thrust that brushes against his sweet spot and sends stars behind his eyes.

It’s so fucking good—so addicting, it’s driving him insane.

“Katsuki, baby…”

The way Shouto moans his name; low and breathless, calling him baby, sends a sharp electric shiver straight down Katsuki’s spine. His hips jerk up with desperation, fucking into him with so much need it makes Katsuki’s chest tighten.

“Yeah?” Katsuki gasps, his lips brushing against Shouto’s parted ones. His rhythm’s all over the place now, getting sloppy; his insides too sensitive, fluttering around the thick heat inside him. Shouto doesn’t answer with words. He just tilts his head and kisses down his neck, sucking hard, and Katsuki whines. “Nngh—Shou...”

His hands slide across his boyfriend’s back—now ridiculously broad, every inch of it solid and warm. Shouto’s big everywhere and it’s almost overwhelming—but Katsuki fucking loves it. Loves how his nails dig into that pale skin, dragging down hard enough to leave angry red marks across his shoulders and spine.

When Shouto’s mouth moves lower—suckling at one of his nipples, tongue swirling lazily—Katsuki loses it for a second, arching into him, and starts scraping messy lines along Shouto’s shoulder blades with his nails.

“So fucking sensitive,” Katsuki chuckles listening to that, breathless and gasping between moans. It’s ironic as hell; that the school’s heartthrob, the quiet golden boy who smiles at everyone like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, is now growling curses while pounding Katsuki’s guts like he wants to break him open.

The bed creaks and screams beneath them, abused within an inch of its life by two hormone-fueled Pro Heroes-in-training on a too-small dorm bed. It’s almost ridiculous, the way they’re fucking like animals in the dead of night while their classmates sleep a few feet away but Katsuki doesn’t give a single fuck.

Because right now?

He’s going to ride his boyfriend like it’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s the only thing that matters.

Boyfriend.

The word would’ve made the Katsuki from two years ago combust on the spot. That version of him used to call the half-and-half bastard his rival. He used to yell at him for breathing too loud, snap at him for being too perfect, too calm, too there all the time.

But things changed—after the war, after everything. It started because of those damn extras always crowding around them like they were some kind of celebrity; well they’re heroes but damn, let him live. Wouldn’t leave them the fuck alone even during lunch.

Katsuki’s never given a damn about girls. Romance? Even less. He scared most people off before they even got close. Until it changed.

He still remembers the day he and Shouto had to sprint through the corridor, ducking from a group of squealing fangirls who somehow found their dorm schedule.

Fucking lunatics.

But weirdly enough, it brought them closer. And Katsuki, being the impatient bastard he is, didn’t waste time once he realized he liked the guy. He wasn’t about to pine like some pathetic side character waiting for a miracle.

He cornered Shouto and told him, straight up.

Now here they are.

And Shouto?

He’s perfect. In every goddamn way. In battle and in bed. He has a strong body and crazy handsome face; that scar on his left face? Fucking hot. He’s smart and he knows how to fight and knows shit to say. He’s everyone’s dream. 

Like hell Katsuki would settle for anything less; if someone’s gonna fuck his brains out until his spine’s bending backwards, then that someone better be unreal. And honestly? Katsuki doubts anyone could ever top Shouto in any fucking category.

They’re both 18 now—barely two months from graduation, with Shouto still the younger one—and they’ve been fucking like the world might end tomorrow. Like they’ve got something to prove. Or maybe just something to make up for since they just start having sex after Shouto turns eighteen.

It’s almost funny how no one’s caught on yet.

Because Katsuki is loud, and Shouto makes him feel so good he doesn’t even try to hold back anymore.

“Focus on me,” Shouto growls, one hand gripping Katsuki’s jaw, tilting it up so he can see him better. See everything. 

Katsuki lets out a shaky laugh and obeys—he’s not about to argue. Not this time. Because a demanding Shouto? Is a fucking hot Shouto. And Katsuki’s gonna enjoy every second of it. 

“You’re twitching inside…” Katsuki pants.

Shouto lifts his head, lips slick, eyes dark. “You’re the one clenching around me like that,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with heat.

Katsuki groans. “Don’t fucking say that—fuck—” Before he can finish, he’s suddenly pushed back—Shouto’s strength making it effortless—and the next thing Katsuki knows, he’s no longer straddling Shouto’s lap.

Those big hands grab his hips and slam him down, just once, hard, hitting that spot dead-on. Katsuki yelps, back arching clean off the mattress.

“Shit!”

He scrambles for control, nails raking across Shouto’s shoulder, trying to ground himself, but Shouto doesn’t let up. His pace gets meaner, deeper, more deliberate; like he knows exactly what Katsuki needs and he’s going to give it to him until he’s crying into the sheets.

“You’re so loud,” Shouto whispers, pressing his forehead against Katsuki’s temple. “You always get loud when you’re close.”

Katsuki’s whole face burns. “Fuck you—nghh—”

“I am,” Shouto says calmly.

“Fuck you—fuck, fuck—” Katsuki’s voice breaks again, a desperate whine caught in his throat. He’s close, way too close, and the worst part is, he knows Shouto can feel it.

One of Shouto’s hands slips between them, wrapping around Katsuki’s cock with that same infuriating calmness, and Katsuki shatters.

He comes with a choked moan, back bowed, nails digging into Shouto’s skin like he’s trying to leave something permanent.

Shouto fucks him through it, steady and deep, breathing hard now—his rhythm faltering just slightly before he finally thrusts in one last time and groans, low and guttural, spilling deep inside him.

They stay there for a second; bodies shaking, chests heaving, skin sticking together from sweat and heat and whatever else.

Then Katsuki exhales, flopping onto his back like he’s just gone twelve laps of morning run. “You’re the worst.”

Shouto’s already moving to grab a towel, still breathing heavily. “You said I’m the best.”

“I was coming, asshole, I’d say anything.”

“So you did like it.”

Katsuki throws the nearest pillow at him.

When he wakes up, Shouto’s no longer in bed—but Katsuki doesn’t mind.

They don’t exactly hide their relationship from their classmates, but they’re not parading it around either. No need to give people more than they already suspect. They’re still students, still future Pro Heroes, and there are things more important than public displays of affection.

He checks his phone.

6:03 AM.

The group chat Pinky made back after the first U.A. Sports Festival is blowing up with notifications again. It’s the only one Katsuki hasn’t muted—mostly because it’s the only one he’s in. Talking about the event, he didn’t participate at the second year since he was focused on rehabbing his damn arm, and barely anyone joined the tournament in third year.

Whatever. Shouto won that second year’s Sports Festival anyway. Not that Katsuki counts it as a loss.

If anything, watching Shouto fight with his full power on display was incredible. Katsuki’s always liked studying other people’s quirks—but Shouto’s? He’s been weirdly obsessed with that bastard’s power long before he ever realized he had a thing for him.

He still calls him names, of course. He’s not about to turn into some sappy, lovesick boyfriend. He’s a badass one. And Shouto lets him. ...Well, outside the bedroom anyway.

Fuck.

Katsuki really doesn’t want to get hard first thing in the morning. He’s got shit to do.

So he drags himself out of bed, heads to the shared bathroom, gets dressed, and starts cooking breakfast—trying really hard not to think about Shouto’s mouth or the way he sounded last night.

The eggs are just starting to sizzle when the door creaks open.

“Morning, bro,” Kirishima yawns, scratching the back of his head, his bright hair flattened on one side from sleep. “You’re up early.”

Katsuki grunts in response, flipping the eggs with practiced ease. “You always say that like I’m not the one who wakes up first every damn day.”

“Fair,” Kirishima says with a sleepy grin, plopping down at the small table. “But like... you’re extra early today.”

Katsuki shrugs. “Had shit to do.”

Kirishima hums, eyeing the neatly set plates. “...And made breakfast?”

The spatula slaps against the pan. “You complaining?”

“Nah, man, I love when you cook.” Kirishima chuckles, but then his grin turns a little too knowing. “Just wondering what inspired this morning’s domestic mood. Y’know... since I kinda woke up around 2 a.m.”

Katsuki tenses, just for a second.

Kirishima keeps going casually, reaching for a cup. “Thought I heard something. Like... thudding or something? Kinda rhythmic.” He sips, then adds, “Honestly, I thought maybe you were working out or something weird like that.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fly out of his head. “Yeah, sure. Doing reps on my fucking bed at two in the morning.”

Kirishima chokes on his drink, laughing. “Okay, okay, not what I meant, man!”

“Mmhmm.”

A beat passes. Katsuki plates the eggs, drops them on the table in front of his idiot friend with zero fanfare. Kirishima picks up his fork, still grinning.

“I mean,” he says, stabbing a bite, “you could’ve just been dreaming really loud. People have those dreams, y’know?”

Katsuki gives him a flat look. “Are you trying to get murdered this early, Shitty Hair?”

Kirishima just shrugs, way too unbothered. “Hey, just saying. If there’s someone special keeping you up at night, you could tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Katsuki snorts, pulling up a chair across from him. “You suck at subtlety.”

“You suck at lying.”

They stare at each other for a second, Kirishima’s grin turning smug, and Katsuki just... scoffs. Rolls his eyes again. “I’m not confirming shit.”

Kirishima raises both hands. “Didn’t hear a thing, bro.”

And just like that, the subject drops—but the smug little glint in his eyes doesn’t. Not that Katsuki minds. He kinda likes that someone already knows without needing to ask.

The clink of the front door catches both of their attention, followed by quiet footsteps padding across the floor.

Then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, Shouto appears—hair damp, probably from the early morning shower, his uniform shirt half-buttoned and sleeves rolled up. He walks in like he belongs there.

“Good morning,” Shouto says, voice calm and even.

Katsuki doesn’t look up. “Took your sweet time.”

“I dried my hair.”

Katsuki grumbles something under his breath and turns back to the stove, reaching for the pot already sitting on the back burner. He ladles out a bowl of miso soup, grabs the chilled soba from the fridge, and sets both down on the counter. Then, without a word, he slides a separate plate of tamagoyaki he prepped earlier next to them.

For Shouto.

Kirishima blinks. Slowly. Fork pausing mid-air as he watches Katsuki move around the kitchen without cussing anyone out. And then the real kicker, Shouto reaches over and tries to steal a piece of egg from Katsuki’s plate.

Katsuki smacks his hand. “You got your own, dumbass.”

Shouto just hums. “Yours is warmer.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even swear.

Suspiciously quiet.

Kirishima narrows his eyes, like he’s mentally connecting all the dots—and just when he opens his mouth to say something. 

“YOOO!!” Denki bursts in, laughing about something that was probably only funny in his own head, and beelines straight for Katsuki’s plate like a man on a mission. “Damn, what’s cookin’? You made miso soup? Is that soba—oh my god this egg looks fire—”

Before anyone can stop him, Denki nabs a piece from Katsuki’s plate and shoves it in his mouth like a gremlin.

Katsuki freezes.

Then explodes.

“STOP STEALING!! GET YOUR OWN DAMN PLATE, DUNCE FACE!”

Denki jumps, mouth still full. “Mmh—sorry, Kacchan! It’s just so good!”

Kirishima’s cackling now, tears in his eyes. “Bro, now he gets mad.” Shouto, very calmly sipping his miso soup, glances at Katsuki like it’s nothing and Kirishima just keeps going on. “Bakugou is mad at you but not mad at Todoroki,” he adds.

“NO ONE gets mine, what the fuck—get outta my plate, all of you!” Katsuki glares at all three of them like he’s ready to commit murder, but his ears are a little pink, and Shouto’s eyes are definitely lingering a little longer than necessary on his face.

Kirishima just smirks into his bowl.

Yeah. He knows.

Shitty Hair doesn’t pry after that; probably gathers enough info for all Katsuki cares. Dunce Face’s dumb as ever, so he doesn’t notice anything, and the rest of the class eventually filters into the common area, chatting and stuffing their faces like usual. It’s loud, chaotic, and comfortable.

Katsuki watches out of the corner of his eye as Shouto moves across the room, tray in hand, and settles in next to Four-Eyes, Deku, and Round-Face. Figures.

It’s always like this—same classroom, different circles. Katsuki, again, doesn’t mind. Having Shouto sit with his friends would just spark questions anyway, especially from Deku and his insufferable mouth.

Because Deku is nosy. And loud. And never knows when to shut the fuck up.

So when they’re in the locker room later to change into their hero gear, everything still feeling normal, Katsuki isn’t expecting disaster to strike.

Until Shouto, in all his oblivious glory, casually strips off his shirt like it’s nothing. And turns around. Exposing his very naked, very bruised back to the entire fucking room.

“Todoroki-kun?!” Deku’s voice shoots up about three octaves. “Oh my god—what happened to your back?! Are those—bruises?!”

Katsuki freezes.

Fuck.

Now everyone’s staring. And it’s not subtle. It’s very obvious. And those bruises? They’re not “battle” bruises. They’re ‘someone-got-dragged-down-and-ridden-into-the-mattress’ bruises.

“I—uh.” Shouto glances over his shoulder like he just realized his entire back is on display. “…Yeah?”

“Todoroki, this looks like a wild animal attacked you!” Four-Eyes chimes in, horrified. “Your back… it’s completely scratched up!”

Katsuki groans under his breath, aggressively yanking his gauntlets into place to avoid making eye contact. He sees Shouto tilt his head toward him.

With that face. That dumb, innocent face.

Like he doesn’t know why his back looks like a fucking scratching post.

Deku squints, eyes narrowing. “Wait a second… Kachan, weren’t you and Todoroki-kun doing extra training together last night?”

“No, we weren’t,” Katsuki snaps immediately.

“But I thought you said—”

“I didn’t say shit, nerd.”

Kirishima’s shoulders start shaking like he’s holding in a laugh. Kaminari’s eyes go wide. “Wait. Wait, wait…do you think—?”

“Don’t,” Katsuki growls, pointing a finger at him like it’s a warning shot.

But it’s too late. Dunce Face is already gasping dramatically, turning to Shouto. “Yo, you’ve got battle damage in the shape of fingernails. That’s… kinda hot.”

“Kaminari!!” Iida cries, scandalized.

Shouto, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He just shrugs and grabs his suit like nothing’s wrong. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” Deku screeches. “Who did that to you?!”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. His fist curls. He can already feel the migraine forming behind his skull. And just before he explodes, just before he punches the wall or yells at the next idiot who speaks, Shouto throws him a look. A little too calm. A little too knowing.

Katsuki glares back.

Oh, it’s on now.

But before he can open his mouth, Shouto beats him to it—voice calm, almost bored, like he’s talking about the weather instead of dropping a bomb on the entire locker room.

“My boyfriend did it.”

Silence.

Dead. Deafening.

Like the universe itself paused for dramatic effect.

Then chaos ensues. 

“BOYFRIEND?!” Deku practically shrieks, his voice cracking so high it echoes off the lockers. “You—Todoroki-kun—you have a boyfriend?! Since when?! Who?! Who is it?!”

The press flinches at the volume but adjusts his glasses anyway. “While I am startled, I must admit I’m relieved to hear those marks weren’t from a wild animal attack. However, Todoroki, I must remind you this is still a shared dormitory. You must exercise appropriate restraint in—”

“Wonder who the feisty boyfriend is~” Shitty Hair sings, wiggling his eyebrows with an evil grin.

Ignoring Kirishima, Katsuki frowns seeing Sero gasped and opens his dumb mouth like he knows it’s going to be something stupid. “No way. Wait. Is it someone from another school?”

That almost makes him laugh; another school? Like that half-and-half bastard even has the time for that. These guys really are dumb. They don’t even realize Shouto barely goes out, and the two of them have been practically glued together since they started dating. At least Shitty Hair noticed something—even if he looked like a damn clown wiggling his eyebrows like that.

“Is it me?” Denki says way too quickly and that rolls his eyes at this. Stupid idiot friends; how is he friends with them again?

Then the pervert with purple balls immediately starts crying. “WHY CANT I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND—”

Thankfully someone puts a hand over the jerk’s mouth before he can get louder. Meanwhile, the guy with the tail looks politely away like he’s trying to vanish. 

Deku is now spiraling. “Wait—but—you never said anything—Kacchan never said anything either— Wait. Wait. WAIT—IS THAT FROM—”

And because Katsuki refuses to get dragged by freaking Deku, he lets out a sharp, humorless laugh and snaps. “Those were from me, for fuck’s sake! We’ve been dating for almost two years now. How are you dumb fucks still not getting the hint?”

The locker room falls dead silent again.

Kirishima’s mouth opens in shock. “But I—”

“Shut up,” Katsuki barks, pointing at him. “You just figured it out this morning, Shitty Hair. Don’t act smart now.”

“Woww~ Kacchan~ didn’t know you’re that aggressive on bed~” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dunce Face—“

“Dude,” Kirishima says, laughing now. “Imagine being me. I sleep right next to his room and had to pretend I didn’t hear them banging. I was so ready to keep the secret too, you know?!”

Katsuki’s whole face is on fire. His jaw clenches. His fists are balled tight at his sides. If looks could kill, this whole fucking locker room would be gone.

Shouto, of course, just shrugs like he didn’t cause a scene. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Katsuki’s eye twitches. Of course he said it like that. He snaps his locker shut hard enough to make people around it flinch. 

“Y’all are so fucking dumb, I swear to god,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Get a life.”

And with that, he stomps out of the locker room; red in the face, ears flaming, steam practically pouring off him—leaving behind a room full of stunned, nosy, gossip-hungry idiots and one very calm Shouto Todoroki.

By lunchtime, everyone and their fucking pet goldfish knows. 

The girls won’t stop talking.

At first, it’s fine—Katsuki’s proud. Hell, Shouto’s basically worshipped by half the female population of U.A, and he gets to bag him. He’s smug as hell. But then it gets embarrassing when they start talking about the marks.

Some dumbass from the locker room must’ve let something slip, and as much as Katsuki’s proud of his artwork, he doesn’t want to hear about it every second of lunch. The girls keep giggling, dropping Shouto’s name every other sentence, and then...just to make things worse, the first and second-years start chasing him down.

It’s like that time all over again, when they used to ask about his and Shouto’s numbers; except now they’re throwing out embarrassing-ass questions about their relationship instead. Who confessed first? How long have they been dating? When did it happen? Yada yada fucking yada.

If he didn’t know better, he’d end up in detention for blowing the roof off—but no, he’s in the damn detention room anyway, for a completely different and way more humiliating reason. 

Because right before their last class starts, Aizawa corners them both in the hallway and starts a conversation Katsuki wants no part of.

“You two need to be careful. I assume I don’t need to explain the boundaries of shared dorms. Or basic sex education.”

Katsuki immediately cuts in. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Unfortunately, we are.” Aizawa says.

Shouto’s lips twitch like he’s about to laugh, and Katsuki turns on him with a death glare that could decimate a building.

“Don’t.”

Aizawa sighs like they’re both disappointments. “Just don’t get expelled for being horny. There's only two months left. That’s all I’m saying.”

Katsuki is so close to throwing himself out a window.

By the time the last class ends, his head is pounding. His jaw hurts from clenching. His whole body is vibrating with pent-up embarrassment and rage and feelings.

He doesn’t even wait for Shouto. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Doesn’t look at anyone. Just stomps straight back to his dorm and slams the door shut behind him.

Or… he tries to.

Shouto slides in just in time, slipping through the door before he can lock it.

“Fuck.” Katsuki doesn’t even have the energy to yell. He throws his bag into the corner and flops face-first onto his bed with a groan.

A beat of silence.

“…Are you mad at me?” Shouto asks, voice soft.

Katsuki lets out a strangled, muffled noise into his pillow.

Shouto tries again. “Katsuki?”

He doesn’t look up. “No.”

“You sure?”

“No, I’m not mad!” Katsuki yells, lifting his head just enough to glare before flopping back down. “I’m not fucking mad, alright?!”

Another pause. “Okay…”

Katsuki groans again. He flips over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “I’m just—” His voice cracks. He bites it down. “I’m just overwhelmed, okay?!”

It comes out sharper than he means it to. Louder. More explosive. Shouto blinks, startled. But then his expression softens. “Oh,” he says. Just that. One syllable, like it makes perfect sense.

“Everyone won’t shut up,” Katsuki grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. “And you—you just said it. Like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Shouto replies gently. “But I didn’t think it would bother you this much.”

“I didn’t think it would either!” Katsuki snaps. “I didn’t think I’d get this… flustered or whatever. Everyone keeps talking and laughing and asking me shit and I don’t know how to fucking deal with it!”

Shouto hums, then sits at the edge of the bed, close enough that their legs touch. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

Katsuki groans. “You’re not the problem.”

Another pause. Then, softly, like it’s just a truth he’s known for a long time, Shouto says, “Sometimes it’s okay not to overthink things, you know? I can tell you’re always analyzing. Always anticipating the worst.”

Katsuki stiffens a little—caught. 

Shouto’s gaze stays steady. Calm. Never pushing, never judging. “You don’t have to do that with me,” he says. “You don’t have to brace for impact every time something feels too good.”

Katsuki turns his head slowly, glaring half-heartedly. “You’re such a sappy-ass boyfriend.” He huffs. “I don’t need your fucking words.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it.

But Shouto just laughs—quiet and knowing, like he sees straight through him but doesn’t mind. He leans in a little closer, shoulder warm where it brushes Katsuki’s. “So what do you need?” he asks. “To feel less overwhelmed.”

Katsuki stares up at him. His throat tightens, and for a second he thinks about making a dumb joke, or brushing it off like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

“…I dunno,” he mutters. “Just… be here, I guess.”

Shouto’s smile is small. Crooked. Infuriatingly warm.

“I can do that.”

And he does.

Shouto doesn’t press. Doesn’t tease. He just leans down, brushes a kiss against Katsuki’s forehead—soft, maddening—and lets him lie there in silence until the world finally begins to quiet.

Katsuki doesn’t move.

He stares up at the ceiling again, jaw clenched, fists curled tight into the blanket like the tension’s still crawling under his skin. That kiss lingers. Warm. Steady. A gentle fucking thread being pulled taut across his chest.

Like a fuse lit slow. The silence stretches long, but it’s no longer sharp. It’s not awkward. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s just full—with everything they’re not saying.

Katsuki exhales. Quiet. Rough. “You’re still here.”

Shouto answers like it’s obvious. “I said I would be.”

“…Even after I yelled.”

Shouto huffs, a breath of something close to a laugh. His fingers brush along Katsuki’s scarred arm, light enough to ground him without asking for anything in return. “You always yell.”

Katsuki glares at the ceiling now. “That’s not an excuse to stay.”

“No,” Shouto says. “But I’m not looking for one.”

That shouldn’t make something twist in Katsuki’s chest the way it does. He scowls at the stupid warmth in his throat. At the heat crawling back under his skin—but not from embarrassment this time.

“You’re too calm,” he mutters.

“You like that about me.”

“I fucking hate it.”

“Liar,” Shouto says, and leans in.

Katsuki doesn’t stop him. Not when Shouto’s lips ghost over his cheek. Not when they trail lower, skimming his jaw, his neck, the edge of his collar. He just lies there, pulse hammering, pretending he’s not already half hard from the anticipation alone.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Shouto murmurs.

“Then shut me up.” Katsuki finally turns to look at him—face flushed, breath uneven, eyes narrowed like a challenge. “Seriously,” he says, voice rough. “Make it stop.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not even fair. But Shouto knows what he means. So he listens.

He climbs over him slowly, hands sliding beneath Katsuki’s shirt, pushing it up and over. Katsuki arches into the touch—too sensitive, too tense, too wired from the day’s chaos and groans when Shouto mouths at his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you’re fucking gentle first just to ruin me later.”

Shouto hums. “It works.”

Katsuki bites back a moan. “Don’t drag it out.”

“You don’t want foreplay?”

“I want you to fuck me stupid, Shouto. I want to forget my own damn name.”

There’s a pause. Then Shouto grins—actually grins—as he sits back and pulls off his shirt. “Guess I’ll have to do my best, then.” He smiles before dropping his head to kiss Katsuki’s neck. “Because I love getting you worked up so then I can fuck you silly, Katsuki.” 

Katsuki’s shirt hits the floor. Shouto follows, slow and steady, mouth brushing along his skin like he’s memorizing the terrain. Katsuki’s breath hitches; his chest rising too fast, muscles twitching under every kiss, every stupid soft touch that makes him feel more than he wants to admit.

“You always get like this when you’re overwhelmed,” Shouto murmurs, voice low as his fingers trail along Katsuki’s ribs, making him shiver.

“Don’t start,” Katsuki grits, trying not to squirm.

“Touchy. Sensitive.” Shouto presses his palm to Katsuki’s toned stomach; right where the muscles tense and flutter. “But still so greedy.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking—”

“You’ll what?” Shouto cuts in, finally grinding down, hips rolling just enough to press hard against Katsuki’s thigh.

Katsuki chokes on a gasp. His hands grab at Shouto’s waist, dragging him closer, grinding up because fuck… he’s already so hard, and Shouto hasn’t even done anything yet.

“I’ll kill you,” he mutters. It comes out a little too breathless to sound convincing.

Shouto kisses him. Deep, unhurried. Thumb dragging along the edge of Katsuki’s lip, tilting his jaw just right so he can take his time with it; like he knows Katsuki’s too stubborn to beg, so he’s going to make him unravel first.

And it’s working.

Katsuki fists a hand in Shouto’s hair. “Get my pants off already, fuck—”

“They’re in the way,” Shouto agrees, like it’s the most logical observation in the world.

And when those hands; warm, careful, too big, slide down to Katsuki’s waistband and start tugging, he swears under his breath. His thighs tremble, his whole body arching as he gets stripped bare, impatient and burning.

“Goddamn tease,” he spits.

“You said not to drag it out.”

“Then do something, I’m dying here.”

Shouto hums again, Katsuki’s gonna punch that sound off his face one day and then he finally wraps a hand around him. Slow. Firm. Just enough.

Katsuki groans, low and guttural, and drops his head back against the pillow. “Fuck. Oh—fuck—”

Shouto keeps watching him. Like he’s studying every reaction, cataloging each twitch and gasp, until Katsuki’s biting his lip hard to keep from whining.

“You’re extra so loud when it’s me,” Shouto whispers, sliding down to press kisses into the inside of his thigh.

“Because it’s you, you bastard—shit—!”

Tongue. Just the lightest flick of it against the tip, and Katsuki jerks, hips rising off the bed. He’s flushed head to toe now, legs spread wide and back taut. Knuckles white, fists twisted in the sheets, like if he lets go he’ll come undone.

“You want me to keep going?” Shouto asks, way too composed.

“No, I want you to sing me a lullaby, what do you fucking think?!”

Shouto smiles, and then he sucks him in all at once and Katsuki shatters.

The moan that rips from his throat is filthy. Sharp, cracked, wrecked. His hands fly to Shouto’s hair again, hips bucking before Shouto pins him down, keeping him still as he works; slow drag, deep slide, that hot, wet heat making Katsuki’s vision go white.

“Shit, shit, fuck, don’t stop—”

Shouto doesn’t. He takes him apart in slow, devastating strokes until Katsuki is gasping, begging, twitching with every roll of Shouto’s tongue.

He’s close. Too close.

“Stop, stop—shit—I’m gonna—”

Shouto pulls off with a soft pop, thumb stroking him while Katsuki pants like he just ran a marathon. His legs won’t stop shaking.

Shouto leans over him again, breath hot on his lips. “You still want me to fuck you stupid?”

Katsuki’s brain short-circuits. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re perfect like this,” Shouto murmurs. “All flushed. Needy. Trying so hard not to fall apart.”

“I’ll fall apart if you don’t put your dick in me right now,” Katsuki hisses.

Shouto laughs. “Alright.”

And when he finally presses in—slow, deep—Katsuki gasps, eyes squeezing shut, fingers clawing at Shouto’s back.

“Shit, shit—yes—”

It feels too good. Shouto’s always too big—stretching him open with unbearable heat, making Katsuki’s back arch and his breath catch in his throat. He grips the sheets firm, blinking through the haze clouding his vision as Shouto pushes in, slow and steady, until he’s all the way there.

Until Katsuki can’t breathe.

He feels every inch. Every pulse. Every maddening, thick heartbeat inside him.

It’s too much. It’s never enough.

“F-Fuck… so tight, baby…”

Katsuki’s thighs tremble. His eyes flutter shut, chest rising in shallow, desperate gasps. His body burns, stretched and full and aching, and it drives him fucking crazy that Shouto still hasn’t moved.

“Ngh—Sho…” he gasps. “Move. Please.”

He hates begging. Hates how wrecked his voice sounds shaky and pleading like he’s already falling apart. But Shouto knows him too well. And that’s what makes this worse.

“Look at you,” Shouto murmurs, brushing a thumb across his hip. “Already shaking.”

Katsuki’s cheeks flare, jaw tightens. “Don’t—”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence, because Shouto rolls his hips forward; once, and Katsuki’s words die in his throat.

“Ah—fuck!” he cries, nails digging into the mattress. “Shit—right there—”

“Here?” Shouto asks, grinding deep again, slow and relentless, hitting that spot dead-on like he mapped Katsuki’s body by heart.

Katsuki nods, head thrown back, teeth clenched. “Yeah—fuck—keep going—”

Shouto pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in—deeper this time, harder, but still controlled, like he wants Katsuki to feel every second of it.

And god, he does.

His nerves are on fire. His legs wrapped around Shouto’s waist, heels digging in, chasing more friction, more everything. His cock leaks against his stomach, untouched but throbbing with each thrust.

“You’re doing so good,” Shouto breathes, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, then the shell of his ear. “So perfect like this.”

Katsuki whines—actually whines—and grabs Shouto by the shoulders, dragging him down so their chests press together. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re gonna make me—nghh” he pants, voice breaking, “…gonna make me come if you say shit like that.”

Shouto chuckles, low and warm in his throat. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes—no—fuck, shut up—”

But Shouto doesn’t. He keeps talking, sweet and quiet and dirty—just enough to send shivers crawling up Katsuki’s spine. Keeps moving just slow enough to drive him insane, each thrust sending stars behind his eyes, every drag in and out making his body coil tighter.

It builds fast.

Too fast.

Katsuki’s body is already teetering on the edge, every thrust pushing him closer; hard, slow, deep and Shouto knows exactly what he’s doing. His angle is perfect. His pace is cruel. He presses in like he’s trying to memorize the shape of Katsuki’s insides, like he’s not gonna stop until Katsuki breaks.

“Fuck— I’m—” Katsuki gasps, eyes squeezed shut, hips twitching with every roll of Shouto’s body. “Shou—I’m gonna—gonna—”

“I know,” Shouto murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Katsuki sobs out a sound raw and wrecked, right as Shouto thrusts in hard, right against that spot that makes his vision explode.

And that’s it.

The knot in his gut snaps, unraveling in a wave that crashes through him all at once. His whole body seizes, thighs clamping around Shouto’s hips as he comes hard between them; stomach slick, breath gone, voice caught in a strangled cry.

“Shit—Shit—” he pants, nails dragging across Shouto’s back as the pleasure rips through him in white-hot pulses.

Shouto curses under his breath, “Katsuki… fuck…” then buries himself deep with one last thrust and comes, groaning low against Katsuki’s throat. He shudders above him, holding on like he’s scared to let go, chest heaving, body pressed full against Katsuki’s.

For a long minute, neither of them move. Just the sound of their breathing. Their racing hearts. Sticky skin. Warm limbs. A room that suddenly feels too quiet.

Then Shouto pulls back just slightly to look at him.

Katsuki’s eyes are still half-lidded, his golden hair a mess, cheeks flushed red down to his collarbone. He glares weakly. “Don’t say anything.”

Shouto smiles, all smug and soft and absolutely infuriating. “Didn’t plan to.”

He slips out gently, makes Katsuki hiss, and then leans over to grab a towel, cleaning him up like it’s second nature. Katsuki scowls, but doesn’t stop him.

He can’t stop him.

His limbs are jelly. His brain’s gone. His heart is doing stupid shit in his chest and he knows it.

“You okay?” Shouto asks, wiping sweat from Katsuki’s brow with the side of his hand.

Katsuki grunts. “No. I’m dead.”

Shouto laughs—laughs, like this is funny. “Guess I’ll have to revive you with cuddles.”

“Absolutely not.”

But then Shouto lies down beside him anyway, all warmth and weight and steady hands, and Katsuki doesn’t push him away.

He lets his head drop onto Shouto’s chest. Lets their fingers link together under the sheets. Lets the silence wrap around them again—soft, safe, calm.

And when Shouto leans down to kiss his temple, Katsuki doesn’t flinch.

He just mutters, low and grudging and nearly drowned by Shouto’s heartbeat. “…Maybe I do need your words sometimes.”

Katsuki’s heart still hasn’t slowed down. Shouto’s fingers are brushing back the hair stuck to his temple before caressing the marred side of his face gently, like he’s done it a hundred times, like it’s normal, like it’s easy to be soft with him. It makes Katsuki’s chest twist.

“You always do that,” he mutters suddenly, eyes on Shouto’s face.

Shouto hums. “Do what?”

Katsuki swallows. His throat’s dry. “Touch me like I won’t flinch.”

Shouto doesn’t say anything right away. He just keeps tracing lazy circles along Katsuki’s arm, gentle and unhurried. Like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“That’s because I know you,” he says finally, voice low. “I know when you’re bracing for something that’s not even coming. When your shoulders go tense. When you shut your mouth because you’re trying not to feel something.”

Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat.

Shouto shifts, turning toward him, their legs tangling under the sheets. “You don’t have to earn my softness, Katsuki. I’m not waiting for you to mess up.”

Katsuki exhales, shakily. “You always talk like I’m better than I am.”

Shouto smiles, small and real. “No. I talk like I see you.”

And fuck—Katsuki feels that in his spine. That burns.

Because how the hell does someone look at him—with all his rough edges, his baggage, his pride, his explotions—and still love him like this? Like he’s precious even when he’s not being sweet. Like he’s still worthy even when he doesn’t say thank you. Even when he screams. Even when he’s hard to love.

He never asked to be someone’s everything.

But somehow… Shouto made him want to be.

Katsuki closes his eyes. “…Sometimes I wonder how the hell you see me,” he mutters. “Because the way you look at me… It’s like you’re seeing someone I’m still trying to figure out.”

Shouto doesn’t answer immediately. He just presses his forehead against Katsuki’s. And whispers, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “Beautiful. You are beautiful, Katsuki.” 

A pause.

Then, quietly, Shouto adds, “I also see someone worth loving. Even when you don’t believe it yet.”

Now Katsuki feels this one in his chest.

All his life, people saw the worst in him first—his anger, his roughness, his sharp tongue. But Shouto… Shouto looks at him like he’s not hard to love. Like he’s already enough. Like he’s softer than he thinks he is. 

And he thinks he’s beautiful.

And it’s terrifying. But it’s also…

Addictive.

And for once, Katsuki doesn’t fight the silence. He just leans into it. Leans into Shouto. Because maybe he does want to see what Shouto sees.

Maybe he wants to learn.

“…I’m not good with words,” he mutters, eyes flicking away. “Never been.”

Shouto doesn’t say anything. Just waits, patient. Like he knows something important is trying to claw its way out of Katsuki’s throat.

“I don’t know how to say shit like you do,” Katsuki goes on, voice rough. “Can’t make things sound nice. Can’t explain why you matter the way I want to. It’s all just—too much. In my chest. And when I try to say it, it comes out stupid. Or not at all.”

His teeth grit as his thumb rubs along Shouto’s wrist. He doesn’t know why it feels like he’s confessing to a crime.

“And you’re always just… calm. You talk like you know what you’re doing. Like you don’t get scared.”

“I do,” Shouto says softly. “I just learned not to run from it.”

That makes Katsuki flinch a little. Not visibly, but Shouto probably notices. He always does. “I’m not running,” Katsuki snaps, quick. Defensive.

“I know,” Shouto replies, so gentle it makes Katsuki feel raw. “You’re still here.”

The silence after that feels heavier. Full of things Katsuki doesn’t know how to put into sentences. Things like thank you, or don’t go, or I think I need you more than I know how to say.

So instead he mutters, “I’m trying.”

Shouto’s fingers curl around his hand. Squeezing. Steady.

“I know,” he says. “And that’s all I’ll ever ask for.”

END