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Shouto feels good.
On him, around him, engulfing him and invading his senses like a sickeningly intense scent and making his eyes tear up and nose burn. His noises make Katsuki’s mind and heart go wild. The way his hand grips his arms and his thighs and his shoulders and his body has Katsuki wishing that he could just. Stay like this forever, teetering between the reality of the world and the haziness of love and pleasure and Shouto.
Bakugou is boundlessly in love, endlessly falling further and further into it, wrapping — no, tangling himself into the messily placed feelings he gets when he thinks about his lover, when he sees him or touches him or hears him or feels him or smells him. Bakugou is never going to be who he used to be again. He couldn’t be even if he tried.
Bakugou had killed that version of himself the second he chose to grow up. Todoroki helped bury him when Bakugou realized he had fallen madly in love with someone who couldn’t be further from his league.
Every morning he wakes up to the feeling of soft skin on his own, a warm body wrapped up around him like it was trying to absorb him, take him in, ininin until there was no just Todoroki or no just Bakugou but instead Todoroki&Bakugou, forever together until the day they die and even beyond that.
After they make love, these feelings grow tenfold. Shouto glows, ever so incandescent and tempestuous in the way he holds on to Katsuki. As if letting go then means letting go forever. They don’t speak, not vocally, rarely even moving after finally getting situated.
It’s always the same conversation: Katsuki rubbing a gentle hand up and down the expanse of his lover’s back and Shouto pressing light, almost unnoticeable kisses to Katsuki’s bare skin, wherever his lips can reach.
They’re sickeningly sweet after coition. Shouto says he thinks it’s because they’ve finally found a way to get rid of frustration buildup. Katsuki argues and says it’s because they’re in love and nothing feels better than being with the person that makes you the happiest.
Shouto, ever so coy, says that could be it too.
Katsuki thinks he goes hysterical when he’s with Shouto. He doesn’t mind it.
Shouto’s chest gleams with the chain around his neck that’s adorned with the promise ring Katsuki had gifted him fresh out of high school. He wears it everywhere, all the time and Katsuki, like most things that make him happy, will never admit to the way his heart stutters when he sees he hasn’t taken it off.
Shouto shifts, pulls back and smiles up at him, leans upwards from where he lays to rest a gentle, almost ghostly kiss on Katsuki’s chin, and Katsuki thinks there’s no way there’s something existing that’s as beautiful or as soft as his person. Even when he’s red faced and angry, voice heavy with hurt and words slick with the intention to pierce, Shouto is as soft as he is when he’s holding a child or petting a kitten no bigger than his palm.
“I love you.” Katsuki says. He has to. Overflowing with the feeling of it, of the need to have Shouto by his side forever, of the need to feel his body pressed close to his, of the need to let him hear it so that he knows what his body can’t say. There’s very little Katsuki holds back on.
“I love you back.” Shouto whispers against the side of his face, into his ear, where he’s sure Katsuki will hear it no matter what and Kastsuki’s heart, held in Shouto’s wonderful hands, thrums where it lies.