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It's dark, late at night. The only source of light is the moon, high in the sky, making long, unhurried shades in the surface of the ocean.
The water is cold, weirdly enough with how warm the beach is, even at this hour.
Shouto shoots Katsuki a smile.
That one that makes him look the happiest—all warm and gentle and like he's having the time of his life, coming out of the water like he can't feel anything else but unfiltered joy.
It's at these moments when Katsuki remembers—all the simple things that Shouto lost as a kid.
Going on trips to the beach, playing with the sand beneath your feet, making castles and getting dirty all over; splashing water everywhere, eating popsicles and ice-cream and getting the good kind of tired after playing all the afternoon. Shouto didn't have those things.
Shouto didn't know what it was like.
Maybe that's why he likes spoiling him. Maybe that's why he likes indulging him in the most ridiculous requests, even if they're in bed at ten PM and the trip is three hours long. Even when the water and the air must be cold. Even when he doesn't particularly feels like it. Shouto looks at him with beautiful eyes and a soft smile, and says "I never have been on a beach before. It must be fun. I heard it looks pretty at midnight, too," and he's weak. It doesn't matter if he's warm in bed and he's tired and wants to sleep more than anything else. Because Shouto's happiness has always been the most important, above everything.
"Hey," Shouto says, soaked to the bone and getting Katsuki wet in the process, smiling merrily and content. And it's that—that fucking smile.
That smile that makes Katsuki weak at the knees and a bit tad stupid. That smile that makes him understand what love is, that makes all—everything, all of it—all worth it; the tiredness, the cold, the feel of sand under his toes.
"Enjoying yourself?" Katsuki asks.
Shouto, the absolute menace, nods and, then, decides that it's a good idea to kick water in Katsuki's face direction as he sits at the shore.
"You asshole," Katsuki says, but can't help but smirk, "Come here."
Shouto hums, "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Think again," Katsuki says, and then grabs Shouto's shirt as he gets closer. He pulls him down on his knees so he can have his pretty face at his level. Even with the damp hair sticking to his forehead, Todoroki Shouto is the prettiest guy to ever exist.
"Thank you for bringing me here," Shouto whispers as he gets close, and leans into the touch when Katsuki brushes hair off his face.
"Hm, yeah," Katsuki hums, "Happiness looks good on you."
He smirks, a devilish edge to it as he thumbs at Shouto's lips languidly.
"Not as good as when you beg in bed, but a close one," he whispers, and then holds Shouto's cheek. Then, he tilts his chin up, just as Shouto leans down, and they kiss. Warm, slow, vivid. It's eletric and gentle and Shouto takes his time as much as Katsuki does.
Shouto tastes like summer breeze and the ocean and sand and so, so sweet—like all those candies and pastries and smoothies and milkshakes he likes to eat and drink. He licks inside his mouth, sucks at his upper lip and enjoys the sound Shouto makes; enjoys the way his fingers curl on Katsuki's shirt, the way he clings at him with utter need.
"Easy, sweetheart," Katsuki says, pulling him closer and into his lap, and Shouto comes along—easy, way too easy.
Katsuki cups Shouto's face, holds it like the treasure it is, rubs circles at the burning skin.
And they kiss. And kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Lazily, pulling at clothes and hair; breathing heavy and hot on the other's neck, tasting salty skin on collarbones, tugging softly at full lips between avid, needy, sharp teeth.
"I was lying," Katsuki breathes, dreamy, stupid, dizzy.
Drowning in Shouto, Shouto, Shouto. And he smells so sweet—like strawberry shampoo and lavender soap. And he tastes so, so sweet; tongue and skin and lips and him.
"When?" Shouto says between stuttering breaths. And Katsuki touches firm, hot skin beneath his fingers as he holds Shouto's hips, buries fingers under jeans and feels a hint of waist.
"Happiness is the best look on you, nothing else beats it," he whispers, and crashing waves eat his words, but Shouto can hear them. Can hear it. The love, the care underlying. "So smile for me."
And Shouto does; warm, tender, alive and absolutely, irrevocably breathtaking. Katsuki is gone; gone, gone, gone for him.
"Good," Katsuki says, staring openly, because he can, and offers a small, genuine smile in return.
Shouto's smile melts in delicate edges, shaky breaths as Katsuki brushes his fingertips up; slow, slow, slow, all the way up his back, feeling the spine, shoulder blades and strong muscles.
"Smile for me," Katsuki repeats, like a prayer, and Shouto does, holding the entire universe in his smile; holding Katsuki's heart tenderly.
He smiles. Smiles, smiles, smiles.
And as Katsuki leans one more time to capture it into his mouth, he realizes—it tastes like summer breeze and the ocean and so, so sweet; it tastes like home.