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“You can’t look,” Todoroki insists, arms crossed over his chest. He’s doing a remarkable job at making Katsuki look pouty. Tch. As if Katsuki is some random, helpless idiot who pines and pouts. (He isn’t. Except maybe when it comes to Todoroki.)
“I have to pee,” Katsuki hisses. “What are you going to do, hold it for me?”
Todoroki shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll hold it for you. It’s nothing I haven’t touched before.”
“You’re not touching my dick, princess.”
“Technically speaking, it’s my dick,” Todoroki points out, which—
Yeah. Technically. Because technically, this isn’t Katsuki’s body. It’s Todoroki’s. Which explains why he’s staring down at his own face looking very unlike his own face. Softer, somehow. Less strained. Like Todoroki filling out his body somehow means they’re sharing it, changing it from within. And isn’t that a thought—being inside Todoroki. Certainly not the way Katsuki had pictured it first taking place when he was sixteen and alone in his room late at night.
“Yeah, but I’ll still be the one feeling it,” Katsuki says. “You know, you touching my dick.”
Todoroki tries to stifle laughter. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know what your own hand feels like touching there?” he asks. “Because using mine might actually be a different experience for you.”
Goddamnit. It’s late and Katsuki’s tired and the villain’s quirk apparently only had a six-hour duration so it’s not much cause for concern since four have already passed but. He really needs to fucking pee.
“Todoroki,” he says, voice strained. He can’t believe the shit he’s about to speak into the ether. “I’ve seen your dick before. It’s not, like, embarrassing or anything.”
“I know you have,” Todoroki says. “Yours is—perfectly adequate too. I just—you haven’t. Not really. Not, uh, not recently. And I—it’s not about the dick itself, per se.”
“Oh my god,” Katsuki says. “Halfie, do you have, like, a tramp stamp or something? Is it that insomniac’s name? Please say yes.”
Todoroki’s mouth purses. “Shinsou and I never dated,” he says acridly, only to add, “Officially, at least,” a little more quietly.
Katsuki had been a real bastard about that. About the sharp, aching realization the first time he’d caught Todoroki trying to quietly stumble out of Shinsou’s room at five in the morning, and he’d pressed a hand over his neck like he was trying to hide evidence of a murder having taken place. It had, in a way. Katsuki’s damn sure some foolish, fledgling hope of his died painfully that day.
Anyway, now they’re—
Better, maybe. They go out drinking after work sometimes. (Todoroki got drunk and wrapped both arms around Katsuki’s neck and kissed him like it was something he regularly thought about doing, once. Just once. Katsuki still thinks about it. Obviously. Of course he does. He’s real pathetic like that.)
“Are you still sulking about that?”
Todoroki shrugs. “He asked me to be his boyfriend before graduation,” he confesses. “I said no. I guess I was—,” he huffs. “I suppose I was waiting. Hoping. Or something like that.”
Katsuki’s throat feels dry, all of a sudden. “Yeah?” he asks. “Hoping for what?”
Todoroki shrugs. Then, without warning, he moves closer, cups Katsuki’s face, and brushes a finger below the outline of his own scar. “Something better,” he says. “Which probably just means it’s a good thing we didn’t end up together anyway. It never works out when you hope for more.”
Katsuki can’t speak. Todoroki touches him, sure, but not—not like this. Softly and intently and without an excuse. Maybe it’s just easier when Katsuki doesn’t look like Katsuki. Maybe it’s easier to touch a body you see in the mirror every day. Maybe it’s easier to touch everyone besides Katsuki. Maybe—
Katsuki bites down hard on the inside of his mouth. Thinks that if he drew blood he would finally know what a part of Todoroki feels like on the tip of his tongue. Wants an excuse to yell.
“God,” he says. “You’re real stubborn. You know that, sweetheart?”
Todoroki shrugs. “I’ve been told,” he says. “By you, mostly.”
“This shit’s supposed to be easy,” Katsuki says. “You like someone? You tell them. And there’s a 99% chance they’ll like you back because you’re kind and pretty and surprisingly tolerable when you stop worrying about it. And pretty. Which needs to be said twice because I’m sure you’re, like, both Ponytail and Iida’s exception. Which might be more of an argument for sexuality being a spectrum than anything, but. You know.”
Todoroki laughs. It’s loud and bright and it sounds wrong coming out of Katsuki’s mouth. “How about you?” he asks. “Could I be your exception?”
Katsuki shakes his head. In a fit of foolish bravery, he lets the steadily and persistently growing thing inside his chest unravel, says, “Can’t be an exception if there’s no one else, pretty boy.”
Todoroki’s eyes go wide as saucers. Which looks fucking ridiculous on Katsuki’s face. Katsuki wants to hit him, a little bit. Made real easy by the fact that the perfectionist part of him has always wanted to give himself a good whack. He bites his lip, asks, “Katsuki, do you—,” like he’s not sure he’s allowed to, only to steel himself and swallow past the doubt. “Do you like me?”
Katsuki makes a face at him.
Todoroki smiles knowingly, and corrects, “Do you like me enough to let me touch your dick?”
“Brat,” Katsuki hisses, but, even to his own ears, it’s undeniably fond.
It feels more significant than it has any right to, in so many ways.
…
Precisely two hours later, they’re in Katsuki’s bed, comfortably settled back in their own bodies, and Katsuki traces the mark above Todoroki’s hip almost reverently. “Can’t believe you were upset about this,” he says. “It’s real cute.”
Todoroki places his hand above Katsuki’s, covers the tiny grenade tattoo in the process. “Momo dared me,” he says. “Said I couldn’t do it. Joke’s on her, I was too drunk not to. And at least it’s not something too embarrassing. It’s small. Easy to hide.”
Katsuki feels strangely grateful for it. For Todoroki Shouto and objectively questionable drunk decisions and shitty villains with shittier quirks. For everything, really. Everything that led here, that led to having Todoroki in his bed, pressed too close, taking up space like he’s not scared to, like he wants it just as badly and horribly and irreparably as Katsuki does.
“Don’t hide it,” Katsuki says. “I like it.”
Todoroki smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “You licking me all over did give that impression.”
“Spoiled little princess,” Katsuki says. “Used to think I couldn’t stand you.”
“You still used to stare at my mouth a lot,” Todoroki says. “I noticed.”
Katsuki flicks him on the forehead. “Why didn’t you do something about it, then? Or were you too busy staring back? That it? Was I too irresistible?”
“Might have been,” Todoroki says. “That, or too annoying. Or maybe both.”
“Oh my god,” Katsuki says. “Shut up.”
Todoroki raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to make me?” he asks, and—
Yeah, Katsuki can do that. Katsuki can definitely do that. Katsuki is seriously considering never letting Todoroki leave the bed. “Got years to make up for,” he says. “Don’t push it, sweetheart.”
“Oh,” Todoroki says. “But I’m sure I can take it.”
Which is just—
Like.
Fucking unfair, really. Katsuki is way too gay for this. (Way too in love, maybe. But that’s for later.)
For now, he just kisses Todoroki right in the center of his pretty, pouting mouth. Tries to memorize the taste.