Chapter Text
"No fucking way!"
"Bakugou, keep your voice down. This is an official staff meeting. I expect you to act with appropriate decorum."
"Decorum, my ass." Katsuki mutters under his breath, which only earns him a stern glare from Best Jeanist.
He'd been beyond annoyed when he had received the official telegram this morning. A telegram notifying him of his formal assignment within the agency's rotational partner system.
Recalling the insipid, politically correct, sickly sweet language has him clench his fists and grind his teeth.
The Hero Safety Commission extends its sincerest gratitude for your generous contribution toward team spirit, promoting stable psychological health, and reinforcing the importance of companionship within Hero infrastructure.
He glares at his assigned partner pointedly only to not even be acknowledged in return.
Todoroki Shouto.
Out of all people, not that Katsuki needed to be assigned with any Omega to begin with, it had to be the aloof, half-and-half bastard, whose scent is always supressed anyway.
He doesn't need Todoroki to be his partner in anything.
"This is ridiculous." Katsuki snaps, only barely stopping himself from banging his fist against the table. "You expect me to drop everything to go cuddle up with Icy-Hot just because his clock went off?"
Todoroki, whose expression is perpetually somewhere between a stone wall and a block of ice, merely shrugs.
"It's a formality, Bakugou." Todoroki says flatly, his voice utterly devoid of inflection. "I accepted the arrangement because the agency threatened to dock my salary if I didn't. I assure you that you do not need to trouble yourself."
"Trouble myself?" Katsuki bristles, the sound a low, warning rumble in his chest. "What? You think I want to avoid responsibility? I do what needs to be done. What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't need to do anything. I take care of myself during my heats." Todoroki's gaze is steady, his voice softer now, infuriatingly detached.
And the thing is, Katsuki should be relieved, right?
Less drama for him this way. Less hassle.
He should be happy, but the cool, self-assured dismissiveness with which Todoroki states he doesn't need him, doesn't need any Alpha in fact, slices through his pride, has something caustic rise in his chest.
That animal, primal part of Katsuki that is all Alpha is profoundly offended.
An Omega telling him he is unnecessary?
An Omega taking care of himself during heats?
Because make no mistake, it's not like Katsuki does not support Omega rights. He does. But he also believes that there are biological imperatives that cannot be denied or reasoned with no matter how much you try to politicise them.
So no, he's not buying this bullshit.
I take care of myself during my heats.
What in the actual fuck is Todoroki even on about?
The first day of Todoroki's heat arrives with a subtle, yet unmistakable, shift in the atmosphere of the temporary safe-house they have been relocated to. Katsuki is working out in his room, already on his fifth set of arm curls, trying to hit an appropriate level of exhaustion before bed, when the scent hits him.
It is a raw, concentrated burst of need and musk that demands his immediate and undivided attention. It makes that animal part of him roar to full, raging wakefulness. His mouth fills with saliva so quickly he dribbles down his chin.
It's fucking embarrassing.
For a long moment, he just stands there, the barbell still clutched in his fist, taking it in.
Todoroki’s unsuppressed scent fills his nostrils for the very first time, and Katsuki is fucking dizzy with it.
Only now when being hit with it so potently, does he realize how thoroughly the Omega always masks himself. Todoroki has been so methodical and diligent about supressing his scent Katsuki had fully tuned out the fact that he is even an Omega up until he received the telegram.
The telegram that very clearly states that his partner is scheduled to take his first heat in years, that the renewal request for his suppressants has been denied on account of him skipping all his previous heat cycles. For the sake of his health the agency has scheduled him in for a non-negotiable leave.
Katsuki can't ever recall Todoroki taking leave for a heat. Like ever.
The half-and-half bastard has been on suppressants and wearing scent patches for as long as Katsuki can remember.
And thank fucking God.
Thank fucking God because if Todoroki had not been suppressing his scent for years, Katsuki realizes with a sudden chilling clarity, he wouldn't have been able to do his fucking job around him.
If the half-and-half bastard had not been popping suppressants like candy even in the middle of missions, Katsuki wouldn't have been able to focus on anything beyond how much he wants to pin him down and lick every single square inch of his skin.
Todoroki Shouto smells like home.
Like spicy cinnamon and sticky, rich honey. Like something precious, warm, and sweet, something meant to be devoured and savoured.
And fuck, Katsuki is only human, alright?
It's not like he asked for any of this. It's not like they weren't paired for a reason. And it's not like he will just all of a sudden start shirking his responsibilities as a hero, agency bureaucratic garbage or not.
Katsuki marches towards Todoroki's bedroom, almost in a daze, already preparing a heated speech about how stupid it is to power through something that clearly requires assistance.
Come to think of it, the Omega hasn't even asked for any items of Katsuki's for his nest. What's with that?
Does he not like my scent?
The thought digs into him with irrational insecurity, which only makes him more agitated than he already is.
He knocks on the door, a little too hard, the sound a jarring thud in the otherwise quiet house. He is already half-hard, progressively growing harder, just with the way Todoroki's scent comes stronger now, more saturated, even through the thin wood of the door.
There is no answer.
He is about to bang his fist against the door again when a muffled voice comes from inside.
"Yes, Bakugou?"
"You're not going to open the door?"
"You think that would be a good idea?"
"I just wanna talk." Katsuki raises an eyebrow, fights to keep his voice level, trying to tone down the words that nearly come out as a growl. "I'm not a wild animal, you know. I can control myself."
There is a moment of agonizing silence, a moment in which Katsuki tries to even out his own breathing, a moment in which he has to gulp down the saliva that pools relentlessly in his mouth like a slobbering dog.
"Okay." Todoroki finally says eventually, but the door remains closed. "You may come in."
Katsuki hesitates for barely a second before he opens the door with a little too much force than strictly necessary only to stop dead in his tracks.
The potent, cloying sweetness of Todoroki's scent hits him in the face like a ton of bricks, takes his breath away, has something hot and heavy pool in his stomach like molten lead.
Katsuki is fairly sure he whimpers before he manages to curb the sound. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists, teeth grinding together so hard he is certain Todoroki can fucking hear it. His chest heaves once, twice as he forces control over himself, trying to focus on his surroundings and not on the way the blood in his whole body migrates so quickly and painfully to his cock his vision blacks out for a second.
The first thing he notices is the glaring absence of a nest. No mountain of soft blankets or pillows, no scent-soaked comfort items. There is only the cold, bare surface of the tatami next to the simple, unused, still perfectly made bed.
And then there is Todoroki.
Todoroki who's kneeling on the floor, perfectly upright, wearing only a pair of thin, blue athletic shorts and a loose, white t-shirt. The clothing does little to conceal the fine, relentless tremors running through his limbs. His eyes are closed, breathing shallow but deliberate, measured, like he is meditating through an extreme physical exercise. Katsuki’s gaze drops, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Todoroki's thighs are pressed together with violent, locked intensity, knees tucked neatly under him.
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of his slick, and Katsuki can see the unmistakable, glistening, wet shine of it coating the pale, delicate skin where his thighs meet.
Heat is very clearly rippling through him, but Todoroki is not touching himself.
He is not crying or whimpering or begging or scratching at his own skin. He is just sitting there, utterly still, the perfect picture of discipline and endurance.
"What the fuck?" Katsuki’s voice is a low, stunned rasp.
"You wanted to talk." Todoroki whispers, and there is the slightest waver to his voice, like speaking interferes with whatever breathing exercise he's doing. "Talk."
"You've no nest. Where's-"
"I don't need it."
"But-"
"Next question."
"Are you for fucking real, Todoroki!?"
"That's your next question?"
Katsuki growls, low and gurgling, and takes a decisive step closer. That's when Todoroki opens a single, vibrant blue eye, white eyelashes fluttering against fever-flushed cheeks. His hands twitch in his lap and he clasps them tighter together, knuckles white as he licks his lips and subtly readjusts his weight. A fresh spill of slick darkens the fabric of his shorts, and he merely presses his thighs tighter together, muscles straining, his chest softly heaving.
Katsuki has to suddenly remind himself that he is indeed not an animal.
His hand flies to the doorframe almost on instinct, anything to stop him from lunging forward. His fingers dig into the wood so harshly it splinters with a hollow sound under his grip.
"Todoroki, I-"
Todoroki’s other eye slides open as well now, grey and feverish, and focuses on Katsuki with a curious, pained gleam. Todoroki's head tilts to the side softly and sweat glistens along the long, slender line of his throat, his lips parting in a silent gasp for air.
Katsuki's cock is throbbing so hard in his sweatpants that for a moment it is all he can focus on. His instincts are brought to a razor-sharp, agonizing point, primed and ready and focused on a single, primal purpose. It takes all of his self-control to stay exactly where he is and not lunge forward, pin Todoroki against the bare tatami, and lick his way between his quivering thighs.
"You... you should leave."
"Do you really want me to leave?" Katsuki forces the words out, low and rough, straining against the lump of primal desire and confusion in his throat.
Todoroki closes his eyes again, his breathing hitches on a tiny, suppressed gasp. He takes one, deep, shuddering breath, holding it for a beat too long before releasing it in a faint, almost inaudible hiss of air against his teeth. The controlled exhale only makes his already slick thighs press harder together.
"Yes." Todoroki whispers, the single syllable brittle, yet absolute. His voice is like a thread, taut and near-breaking, yet it holds firm conviction. "I'm doing this by choice. It's what I've been taught. Your presence is unnecessary... Alpha. It's also... making it worse."
Taught?
This isn't self-care. This is self-flagellation, Katsuki realizes, a deliberate, absolute and utter rejection of his own biological needs.
This is what the Todorokis teach young Omegas?
To suffer and suppress and endure and deny the needs of their own bodies? To weaponize painkillers and willpower against a natural force that is supposed to be met with warmth and partnership?
"Look, I just-"
"Please..."
The fight drains out of Katsuki in the face of Todoroki's resolve, the agonizing way in which he clings to it. This runs much deeper than sheer willpower or obstinate desire for control, he realizes. His hand unclenches from the splintered doorframe, fingers stained with wood dust. It is neither the time, nor the place for him to press this further.
The cloying scent of Todoroki's slick seems to cling to the back of his throat, sending tingles up his thighs, and for a terrifying, endless moment Katsuki just stands there, gathering the dregs of his control through a fog of animal arousal.
The fine tremors in Todoroki's frame have intensified into visible shudders, vibrating through his shoulders and neck. His teeth are clenched so hard the muscles along his jaw look as if carved out of stone. Sweat glistens on his brow, his usually pale skin is flushed a painful, blotchy red. His eyes are barely open now, feverishly swimming beneath heavy, wet, clumped lashes, the striking blue and grey of his irises almost completely swallowed by his massive, dilated pupils.
"B-Bakugou, just... go."
"Fucking fine." He grinds out, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "You want to suffer on your own. Be my fucking guest."
He nearly slams the door shut, has to make the conscious effort not to rip it out of its fucking hinges. He heads down the hall, angry and aroused and confused and more frustrated than he ever remembers being.
Fuck this!
Fuck the agency and its mandated practices.
Fuck Todoroki and his stupid, pretty eyes and fucking annoying, beautiful scent.
Katsuki doesn't stop until he reaches his room. He doesn't turn on the light, just throws himself on the bed, blood and futile rage roaring in his ears.
Every primal instinct within him demands he go back, tear down the door, take Todoroki in his arms and show him it doesn't need to be like this.
That it doesn't need to hurt.
That a heat doesn't need to be endured but shared, even savoured.
He doesn't touch himself.
His hand remains resting on his lower abdomen, clenched into a white-knuckled fist.
He's not an animal. If that obstinate fool can control his instincts, so can Katsuki.
He lies there for the rest of the night, every muscle tense, the heat of his frustrated arousal radiating off him in waves.
He doesn't sleep a wink, just stares at the ceiling, listening to the profound silence from down the hall, wondering if Todoroki has ground his teeth to dust already.
Wondering if his slick has formed a puddle on the tatami under his knees.
Wondering if he tastes as sweet as he smells.
The sun rises, pale and cool, and he watches its rays slowly crawl up the wall until they reach his bed. His alarm goes off, announcing day 2 of his mandated partner's heat, and Katsuki has the wild urge to hurl the phone into the wall, silently wondering if he will make it past day 3 before he loses his fucking mind.