Work Text:
The first thing Hitoshi used to do whenever he came into the kitchen and saw Katsuki cooking was ask if he could help. Now he knows better. Heʼs a fast learner (in everything). Thank god for that.
Now he just comes up and hugs Katsuki from behind. He’s so stupid tall that he covers all of Katsuki when they're pressed front to back. And that’s nice, real nice, even though Katsuki’s never ever gonna tell him that.
Katsuki can feel Hitoshi’s stubble against his neck, then against his shoulder as Hitoshi pulls back the edge of his t-shirt to expose bare skin. Then right under his jaw, as Hitoshi fucking nuzzles him from the back like a cat.
Dumb bastard never shaves. Another thing Katsuki’s never gonna tell him: he likes the feel of Hitoshi’s stubble against his thighs.
“Smell so good,” Hitoshi mutters in his low, low voice, and it sends a shiver down Katsuki’s spine.
At least it wasn’t hi, baby (Katsukiʼs ultimate weakness) or he might have lost all sense, panicked and thrown the wooden spatula that’s in his hand. Probably at Hitoshiʼs head.
But it does smell good in here.
Stir-fry’s almost ready. The smell of soy, garlic, chili-paste and lime’s been wafting through the kitchen for a while.
Yaki udon with red chili paste is one of Katsuki’s signature dishes. Of course it smells fucking amazing.
“Knew you were gonna love it,” Katsuki decides.
He better love it.
“Yeah, probably,” Hitoshi admits. “But I was talking about you.”
What—oh. Gross. Awful. Terrible.
Hitoshi thinks he smells good.
Hitoshi’s so into him it’s pathetic.
(And also a quiet, ever-present thrill.)
“Shut up. Donʼt be weird.”
“Are you gonna let me try some?” Hitoshi peers over at the wok from over Katsuki’s shoulder.
When the fuck did he get used to taking up so much of Katsuki’s personal space?
And, more importantly, when the fuck did Katsuki get used to him taking up so much of said personal space?
“You talkin’ about the udon now, or still me dipshit?” Katsuki demands.
“The udon,” Hitoshi says. “I know you’ll let me do this.”
He turns Katsuki’s face towards his and kisses him. It’s hi, baby and tadaima and fuck, yeah, Katsuki all rolled up into one. Butter soft.
Damn it.
When he pulls away he takes his thumb and wipes off a bit of soy sauce from the corner of Katsuki’s mouth and licks it clean.
“You’re ridiculous,” Katsuki says, heart beating fast, and he turns around and grabs a piece of seasoned tofu with a spare pair of hashi and holds it in front of Hitoshi’s mouth. “Open up.”
He does.
Maybe that’ll shut him up for a while.
“Well?” Katsuki asks after he swallows. “How was it? How’s it taste?”
“Not too spicy, but not bland. Light enough that I could eat a lot of it, not so boring that I wouldn’t want to,” Hitoshi recites.
It’s actually the perfect praise.
Katsuki can’t help what his face does when he gets it. Apparently there’s a flushed, happy, glowy look that he gets with praise. It’s worse when Hitoshi’s working him over in hand, the worst when he’s sitting on Hitoshi’s dick.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says, triumphant. “I knew it.”
“Might wanna try making it myself one of these days. You mind giving me the recipe for your spice mix?”
Huh?
Katsuki doesn’t share recipes. Ever. Not even with boyfriends.
Especially not with boyfriends. Deku knows the recipes because he’s a shit nerd that knows everything, and that’s a whole different story. But—
He didn’t like it, one time, when he found out one of his exes was still making the food Katsuki used to make for him. Making that food for someone else. Making it with Bakugou Katsuki’s Ultimate Explosive Spice Mix.
(It hurt and it hurt bad. And he has to act like these things don’t bug him as much as they do, so he couldn’t and didn’t make a whole thing out of it.)
And sure, maybe it’s petty, being this stingy now about his secret spice mixes and the secret steps he does to make things taste a certain way when he makes it, but it’s not like Katsuki doesnʼt have a damn good reason.
This food is a piece of him. He’s not gonna give it away just like that to any schmuck that comes along. He needs to trust that it’s going to be taken care of like it should be, not just used and thrown away like last night’s trash, or given to somebody else like it didn’t mean anything.
Like Katsuki didnʼt put his blood, sweat and tears into it. Metaphorically, cause that’d taste terrible. And heʼs gotta remember to be more literal since he spends so much of his time talkinʼ to fuckin’ Todoroki.
Shinsou though, heʼs not like the other guys Katsuki’s messed around with. He said heʼs liked Katsuki since forever and somehow after dating for a couple months the novelty of actually having Katsuki didnʼt wear off.
Shinsouʼs weird and he doesnʼt know how to express himself. Nearly choked on an I love you but heʼs so fucking touchy. He pays attention and he works at it, at this shit, being in a relationship like a real fucking person.
And he’s always fucking hungry (for Katsuki’s food, for Katsuki).
“I’ll write it down for you,” Katsuki decides. “We gotta eat first. Just…remind me later.”
“You’re serious?” Hitoshi asks.
Katsuki debates hitting him with the spatula anyway. “You want it, it’s yours. I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”