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There's nothing more heroic than falling in love!
So proclaims the lurid, pastel pink, heart-covered banner that drapes across the atrium of the convention hall. Valentine's Day week has finally arrived, and the popular pro hero con "My Hero Love Story" has the venue practically overflowing with visitors.
Shouto takes it all in with wide eyes. He's never been to MHLS before, because it's much more of a fan-run convention than other events. Not a lot of pros actually go, except some of the ones who are especially good at navigating the more, uh, intense side of fandom, or heroes who are married or in otherwise committed relationships. Shouto is none of those things, but that just makes this unfamiliar setting all the more curious to him.
"Bakugou," he says, "can you take a picture of me under the banner?"
"What?" comes the irritable growl, but Shouto is already tossing his phone in Bakugou's direction. He doesn't have to look to know Bakugou will catch it.
"If I stand right here, can you get the whole thing?" Shouto asks.
Bakugou looks at him in what Shouto would like to call annoyed endearment, but is primarily just utter disbelief.
"What are you doing?" he snaps at Shouto. He storms up and grabs Shouto by the arm, dragging him closer to hiss in his ear. "Did you forget we're supposed to be undercover?"
The rough scrape of his voice, the hot gust of his breath over Shouto's ear… his hand wrapped firmly around Shouto's bicep and the easy way he'd yanked Shouto against him…
Not for the first time, Shouto wonders how heroic it is, really, to fall in love with one of your best friends if you're too chickenshit to do anything about it.
He swallows, and tries to act very normal, like this entire situation, the two of them being sent to a love convention together, is just business as usual.
"We don't have to act like we aren't here," he reminds Bakugou. "Just like we aren't here on assignment."
Their obvious presence, actually, is an important part of the sting operation they and the rest of their team are conducting. Several weeks ago, Uravity's agency had uncovered intel that there might be a planned villain attack brewing at My Hero Love Story. With so many people in attendance, but comparatively few pros overseeing things due to the convention's reputation for being frivolous, the implications couldn't go ignored.
While several top heroes had been stationed in the area to observe things more stealthily, Shouto and Bakugou, as young yet very recognizable faces, had been sent in directly as a deterrent. After all, what kind of villains would be dumb enough to attack the convention when two of the most powerful up-and-coming pros in Japan were on the scene?
This all technically means it's okay for Shouto to take selfies, but apparently, Bakugou doesn't see eye to eye with him on that point.
"We're still on duty, you half-and-half bastard," Bakugou says. "Can you stop messing around for one—"
"Cheese," Shouto says blandly, raising both hands in victory signs. As usual, it takes Bakugou several seconds to come to grips with the fact that he is being completely ignored, during which time he splutters like an angry fish, eyes bugging out of his head.
"Cheeeeese," Shouto repeats.
Bakugou makes a wordless noise of frustration, and takes his picture.
"Why didn't they send fucking Deku on this stupid mission," Bakugou is muttering as Shouto rejoins him, reaching out to take his phone back. He looks at the pictures, plural, because Bakugou never half asses anything and had taken several so Shouto could choose his favorite. The shots are pretty good. He might upload one to Twitter, after the convention (and after they make sure nobody gets attacked by villains). Bakugou continues mumbling under his breath. "That nerd loves shit like this, and I know he fuckin' collects doujins, it makes no sense that they decided to send—"
"Do you want a picture under the banner?" Shouto asks him.
"No."
"Okay."
He's wondering what he should propose they do next, when a shrill scream interrupts his line of thinking. He and Bakugou whirl around immediately, both already on alert—only to realize that it's not a scream of fear, but excitement.
"Oh, woah, wow," says the girl standing behind them, staring. Slowly, she raises her phone. Shouto hears the camera shutter noise go off. It's a mark of how much Bakugou has grown since their school days that he just goes completely rigid and doesn't try to grab it from her. "Are you… are you guys really Shouto and Ground Zero?!"
She squeals it loud enough that heads turn. Who else could we be, Shouto thinks, before remembering how many people cosplay for events like these.
"That's us," Bakugou grinds out. Shouto waves.
All hell breaks loose. They're mobbed by a huge crowd, growing ever larger, as people start to recognize them.
"But—why are you here?" asks the fan who'd spotted them in the first place. They have a cover story for this.
"We wanted to check it out," Bakugou scoffs. "Hero should know who his fans are, or whatever. Anybody got a problem with it?"
"Of course not!" she squeaks. "It's just, surprising! Especially since you came here together…?"
"And why's that?" Bakugou asks, falling into the trap that is his own overly combative personality.
"Well, most pros come to this event as a couple!"
Bakugou's jaw goes slack, and Shouto can practically see him wallowing internally as he attempts to figure out how to climb out of the hole he just dug for himself.
Shouto doesn't know why he says what he says next. He's never been good at deception, and he matches Bakugou for impulsiveness—he's just less angry about it, usually. This is why they were given a cover story.
And maybe there's a part of him that doesn't want to hear Bakugou deny it. Maybe he doesn't want to hear the vehement refusal, the derision.
"Yes," Shouto says, nodding once, "we're on a date."
Everyone, including Bakugou, stares at him in shock. Belatedly, Shouto lifts a finger to his mouth.
"But it's a secret," he adds. "Shhh."
The crowd erupts into chaos. People are shouting questions at them—it's suddenly not that different to a press conference or the aftermath of a villain attack. There are a lot of people crying; Shouto honestly can't be sure whether they're overjoyed or grieving.
Bakugou turns to him and smiles in a way that makes Shouto wonder whether he will actually survive the convention. "Thought we were trying to stay… undercover," Bakugou reminds him again, his words heavy with significance and unspoken death threats.
Shouto shrugs. "What can it hurt if a couple people know?"
Bakugou slowly shakes his head at him. "You dumb motherfucking fool."
Unfortunately, Shouto has no time to feel even mildly insulted by this, because before the hour is up it seems word has spread to anyone with access to the internet and even a passing interest in current events. It exploded so insanely fast that the convention organizers have already reached out to both him and Bakugou to ask if they'll be willing to do an impromptu panel on finding love amidst the rigors of hero work. Shouto goes ahead and uploads his picture under the banner to his Twitter, because why not? Everyone knows he's there now anyway.
Bakugou is furious.
"Why did you say that?" he demands, trailing behind Shouto, hissing like an angry goose as they make their way towards one of the panels. People continue to stare at them, not even bothering to hide their picture-taking. It's good, in a way, because it's probably the main thing keeping Shouto alive.
"I couldn't think of anything else to say."
"How many times do we all have to tell you not to speak when you can't think of anything to say? It never ends well!"
"We had to say something," Shouto points out. He stops to snap his own picture of an affectionate couple cosplaying as Earphone Jack and Creati. Cute.
"You could have picked literally anything besides that," Bakugou says.
"Like what?"
"Like…" Bakugou trails off. He looks somehow even angrier. When several moments pass without him giving an answer, and Shouto has raised his eyebrows at him, and then raised them again to make even more of a point, Bakugou plants his palm on his face and physically pushes him away. His hand is big and calloused and warm, and Shouto lets himself be pushed. "Fine, you smug bastard, I don't know! But now we're stuck with this as our cover story, and we're gonna have to ride it out 'til they catch this fucker."
"I'm sorry to have saddled you with the horrific fate of having to pretend to be attracted to me," Shouto says dryly.
Rather than agree, Bakugou glares at him, gaze suddenly sharp with irritation. "I didn't—shut the hell up," he says. "Don't put words in my mouth, asshole."
"Okay…" Shouto says slowly. Bakugou does hate people trying to speak for him, it's true. Still, Shouto knows he isn't wrong, so it's strange for him to act so angry about it. But he's already pretty pissed, so maybe Shouto is just poking too frequently at that already fragile temper. "I don't think it'll be too bad. Our main objective was just for it to be apparent that we're here, and… it's definitely apparent, now."
"No," Bakugou says. "Our main objectives are to be here and be convincing as casual observers. We want them cautious, not running, or else they get away and who knows what their next target is."
"I know that," Shouto says.
"Then tell me, Todoroki," Bakugou says, "what happens if they start to get suspicious that this whole 'first date' business isn't actually a date at all? How do we convince them of that?"
The blood drains from Shouto's face. "Ah…"
"Yeah, 'ah.' You colossal fuckwit."
The problem isn't that they said they're dating; it's that now they have to pretend to really be dating—and Shouto doesn't know how to do that. He has no idea how to flirt with anyone, let alone Bakugou. He might actually implode.
Bakugou is already trying to figure it out without his input, having evidently given up on him. "We need to do something obvious, something they can't miss…"
A thought strikes Shouto. "I think I might have an idea," he says. "But you really aren't going to like it."
*
"Thank you both so much for agreeing to do this at the last minute—everyone's so excited to have you!"
Shouto was right. Bakugou really does not like his idea.
They (mostly Shouto) have agreed to do the impromptu panel. While even Bakugou has to admit that it's a pretty foolproof way to be both visible and visibly dating, that doesn't mean he's happy about it. It is a known fact that the only kind of panel Bakugou likes being on are the ones where he gets to talk about how awesome he is. Presumably, panels where he's being asked a bunch of questions about his lovey-dovey feelings for Shouto, who he is not even in love with in the first place, are not highly ranked on his list of preferences.
But… he's still sitting there beside Shouto, borderline glaring at a roomful of people, all of whom are there to hear them talk about their love life. The long table they've been seated at seems comically large for two people, especially when their chairs are right next to each other. But Bakugou doesn't seem bothered. Instead, he stretches his arm out to drape it over the back of Shouto's chair, completely nonchalant.
"Since I had no idea this was gonna happen, I don't know if I can say I'm excited," Bakugou says dryly. "But thanks for the invite."
Shouto feels like he's overused his left side. He's overheating inside his chest and hopes his face isn't as red as he worries it is.
It's evening now, a whole day already gone, spent wandering the con in something a bit like harmony. And also, with instances like this happening every so often—Bakugou standing too close to him, or leaning too far in to whisper something completely innocuous in his ear, or getting him coffee without being asked—and how did he know Shouto's preferred drink order? It was little things like that which made Shouto feel even more flustered than the outright assertion of being… together.
Now, sitting with Bakugou's arm around him, they're nervewrackingly close again. It feels like he could just lean back into Bakugou's chest. Also, he'd expected Bakugou to sound angry, at best—but instead he just sounds exasperated.
"This announcement did seem to come out of nowhere," the moderator agrees.
"It wasn't an announcement," Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. "Somebody just got too nervous and blurted it out." The crowd laughs, and Bakugou smirks. "Yeah, he's cute, right?"
Now Shouto's face is definitely on fire—not literally, but he has to check to make sure of that. He realizes Bakugou is acting; acting for the crowd, for any villains that may be watching and analyzing, for the sake of their cover story. The problem is that he's too good at it.
"I wasn't nervous," Shouto says. He may be dying a slow death, but that doesn't mean he's going to let Bakugou walk all over him. If he could manage it during high school, he can manage it now. He's an adult, goddammit. "I just didn't see a reason to keep it a secret."
He's not expecting for Bakugou to reach around with the arm over his shoulders—grab Shouto's cheeks between his fingers and squeeze.
"You ever think maybe I wanted to keep you my secret a little longer?" Bakugou sneers. He grins as he says it, the same dangerous look of triumph he gets when he's about to lay a villain out unconscious. "This is why I gotta keep that mouth of yours occupied whenever I can."
And—it doesn't matter that he's a fucking adult. Bakugou still makes him feel the way he did when he was sixteen: awkward as hell and hornier than Kirishima's hair spikes after he first opens a new bottle of industrial strength hair gel.
Shouto is fucked. But only metaphorically, unfortunately. God, he wants.
There’s nothing to distract him from his wanting for a long, long moment. The moderator is having no luck in being heard over the crowd, which is now in an uproar, and Shouto thinks about the rooms booked for them at the hotel. He thinks of a locked door between them and the world, and a private place where Bakugou could keep his mouth occupied in whatever way he pleases.
Speaking loudly over the chorus of kyaaaa-s from the audience, the moderator says with a flustered laugh, "Oh, wow, that is—we do have to keep it family friendly, you two!"
This makes Bakugou laugh openly. Shouto stares at the long line of his throat, exposed with his head tipped back.
"Right, right," Bakugou says. "Hey, I could've just been talking about kissing him. Get your minds out of the gutter."
What is even happening? Bakugou, joking about kissing him, to distract from making even more suggestive references, no less? How did Shouto's life come to this point? Right, he idiotically told everyone that they're dating. And because of that, it seems Bakugou isn't content just with acting—no, he is on a mission to punish Shouto.
Despite promising to act more appropriately, Bakugou takes every opportunity he can get away with to do the exact opposite of that. He catches Shouto completely off guard after Shouto takes a hasty sip from a water bottle, running his thumb along Shouto's bottom lip to swipe the lingering drops of liquid clinging to it. Bakugou doesn't pause in answering the question he's been asked, not even in the face of the excited little murmurs from the crowd, or Shouto's stunned expression.
About halfway through, his hand—bigwarmstrong Shouto's brain rattles off in rapid fire succession—finds its way to Shouto's thigh. He just leaves it there, and whenever Shouto answers a question himself, he can feel Bakugou's grip tighten, squeezing slightly. It's distracting, but also somehow reassuring. Then Shouto realizes that nobody in the audience can see where Bakugou's hand is. He looks down at it, then up at Bakugou, while they wait for the moderator to choose the next question.
Bakugou looks back at him, then leans in close. "Just some mild encouragement," he murmurs, low enough that the mic won't pick it up. "Since you're so shit at interviews."
It's half true—he's not the best, but Bakugou is actually much more of a disaster in the public eye than he is. Which means that this is a lie, and Bakugou has no reason to be doing… whatever it is he's doing.
"I'm not shit at interviews," Shouto whispers back, his mouth dry.
Bakugou shrugs. "Guess I'm just getting into character, then."
The audience mic gets passed to a nervous girl whose bangs obscure most of her eyes. She's barely loud enough to be heard even with the mic.
"I don't r-really have a question," she whispers into it, "but I… I wanted to give Ground Zero this…" She's clutching something in her hands, and one of the staff dutifully takes her offering to deliver it to Bakugou. He and Shouto both lean in to see what it is.
It's plastic, and about seven centimeters in size. It's such a foreign object that Shouto is still trying to determine what he’s looking at when Bakugou freezes, his hand squeezing Shouto's thigh harder. This brings a sort of clarity to Shouto's thoughts, and the flesh-toned shapes, the stark red and white, resolve in his mind, and he realizes it's a person, tied up, and—
Oh. That's him. Or at least, it's a charm made in his (somewhat starkly clad) image, designed so the user can wrap their headphone cord around it, to make it appear as though he's actually been tied up. Charm-Shouto looks very flustered about it, which is not that different to how Shouto himself actually feels.
"You want me to have this?" Bakugou says. He sounds hoarse, and his grip on Shouto's thigh is bruising. Shouto's world has narrowed to two points; that charm, and Bakugou's fingers on him.
The girl speed-mumbles a high-pitched affirmative, reminding Shouto just a bit of Midoriya, and bows at a ninety degree angle. Shouto tugs at the charm, but Bakugou's hand is clenched around it. He seems stunned.
"For our audience," the moderator says, "Bakugou has just received a, um… an earphone wrap of Shouto, and it's—it's quite…" The charm is not exactly family-friendly, and seems to be giving them a bit of trouble in working out what to say. "It's a headphone wrap charm…"
There are more titters from the audience, accompanied by gasps and giggles, and then a hush falls over the room. Shouto still hasn't succeeded in tugging the charm from Bakugou's death grip. What does he say, what should he say, what can he say—
His thought process, once again, is an exercise in dramatically bad decision-making.
“Maybe I'll keep it, instead,” he says. "Since he knows he can tie me up anytime he wants."
Bakugou's grip loosens enough for Shouto to wrench the charm from him, and he stares down at it a little longer. Realistically, he doesn't know how his hero outfit could ever be torn like that, but there was the time at their first year sports festival… huh. Maybe it is possible. Maybe an occasion would, some day, arise when he might be in the position to bare that much skin in front of Bakugou. Maybe if he keeps staring down at this charm hard enough, he'll never have to look up and see Bakugou's expression.
The hand on his leg hasn't moved, and—ever so slowly—Shouto lifts his eyes. And then he catches Bakugou's stare.
He's completely frozen as the room erupts into shrieks and shouts and other enthused chaos. Shouto barely hears it.
Bakugou is looking back at him, and Shouto would say it's impossible, but he's looking right at it—that heat in Bakugou's stare, matching the warmth of his hands and the fire that burns inside of Shouto, hotter now than it's ever been before.
The moderator keeps calling for order, but it's useless at this point. Eventually, they decide it's time to wrap up anyway, since they've taken over the room for an unscheduled panel as it is. Shouto's phone buzzes at the same time Bakugou's does, and the trance is broken.
It's a text from Uraraka: Watched the livestream of your "panel" - holy SHIT you two?! We picked up some chatter on the surveillance feed and it sounds like the villain is reconsidering their next move, so we can all breathe a little easier. You were VERY convincing but it's probably best if you lie low for a bit. We don't want them to bail before we catch them, so we'll have the night shift take over for now. You two are officially off the clock for today!
Got it, Shouto texts back. He locks eyes with Bakugou again, unsure of what their next move should be, either.
"Let's get out of here," Bakugou murmurs. His voice is still so low, husky, but less sure than it was when he was grandstanding.
"We could go back to our rooms," Shouto offers, despite the fact that he'd do anything to stay near Bakugou right now, but—
"Nah." Bakugou shakes his head. "Gonna look weird if we split up, now. We'll both go back to mine."
"Oh," Shouto says, and swallows. "Okay."
The staff has to help them sneak out a side entrance, but not before one of the conference organizers asks them if they would be interested in joining any of the "after dark" adults only panels; it's coming up on that time as it is, but they're assured that they could hop into an existing line-up if they wanted.
Bakugou shoots him a sidelong glance. "What do you think, Shouto?" His smirk gives away his bluff.
Shouto thinks he'd evaporate on the fucking spot, but he calls Bakugou on it anyway. "Up to you, if you think you'd have enough to say, Katsuki."
Bakugou's grin only widens. "Oh," he says, "I think I'd have plenty." Then he shakes his head. "But I feel even more like we should get back to our room, instead."
While Shouto is still reeling from the insinuation of those words, the organizer takes the hint, and they're able to make their way out of the convention center without anyone impeding them further. The hotel they booked is nearby. Shouto doesn’t even ask for his own room number—with the recent change in their course of action, he just trails along behind Bakugou after he checks in, feeling like a lost puppy someone has taken pity on.
The room beyond the door is completely unassuming, but with the panel fresh on Shouto's mind, and the things they'd said, and Bakugou's hand, clenched on his thigh—it feels as lurid as if they'd just entered a honeymoon suite. He imagines that desk could support his weight if they start grinding against each other there; he could probably straddle Bakugou on that armchair, at least, he thinks it's big enough; he could grip the headboard as Bakugou drives into him on that perfectly serviceable bed—
He has to put his thoughts away so his body doesn’t betray him. They’re professionals on a stake-out, and when he threw a wrench in their story Bakugou simply gave as good as he got. They have a job to do—
"Gonna take a shower," Bakugou announces.
God help him, Bakugou is going to be naked and wet inside the same room as him, separated by a singular wall, after Shouto basically admitted to being into bondage to his face.
"Okay," Shouto says, "I'll be out here." It is as stupid coming out of his mouth as it sounded in his head, and yet, he can't stop it. Why can't he stop all these things from just emerging?
Bakugou laughs at him. "Standing guard?"
Shouto keeps a straight face. "You know what they'll expect us to be doing right now. Someone may try to break in to catch a glimpse."
At least now he's not the only one with a red face. "Jesus, Todoroki," Bakugou says, "that's terrible on… several levels." He shakes his head as he disappears into the bathroom, leaving Shouto alone with his thoughts.
At a loss for what to do now that they're off duty, Shouto changes into an undershirt and lounge pants. His uniform has felt too close and restrictive all day, tailor made to his measurements as it is. The fabric may be especially breathable, but with his regulator and belt and boots on it was practically suffocating.
He tosses himself down onto the bed to wait, and that's when he realizes.
The bed? It's Bakugou's bed. Not in the regular sense, since technically, it's the hotel's bed—but they'd come to Bakugou's room, and Shouto is now supposed to stay here all night, or else risk suspicion. But the fact is indisputable: it's a small room, with no pullout couch or anything. And there is only one bed.
His hands are itching for something to do, so he pulls out his phone. He very deliberately does not navigate to Twitter, but he does send Uraraka a few more detailed updates about the convention, anything he noticed that seemed like they should pay specific attention to it. He also has several messages from Midoriya from much earlier in the day, and he can guess what those are about. He saves them for last, and when he opens them, they aren't a surprise.
IZUKU: Shouto??? Oh my gosh, wow I am seeing
IZUKU: uh
IZUKU: a lot of News about you and Kacchan!!!
IZUKU: I know I keep trying to tell you it's no good to bury your feelings but I also didn't quite have this in mind and I'm pretty sure you didn't either
IZUKU: Are you okay??
"A lot of news" is one way to put it. Shouto almost laughs.
SHOUTO: hey. I'm… something. Probably okay but also
SHOUTO: yeah, kinda freaking out
IZUKU: nooooo
IZUKU: don't freak out… I don't think this is a bad thing
IZUKU: But at the same time, it IS kacchan. I think you should just try to be very… direct. Tell him how you feel or he'll refuse to see it.
I should tell him I want him to fuck me senseless? Shouto contemplates sending back. But before he can type anything, the bathroom door swings open.
Shouto glances over reflexively and nearly drops his phone as Bakugou strides back into the room in nothing but a pair of sweats, drying off his hair with a towel. It shouldn't be that much of a big deal—they practically went to boarding school together, they shared a communal bathroom. Shouto has seen him in less.
But he's always made sure never to look. When they were at school it was easy. The bathrooms were big and there was always an entire class of rowdy boys to distract him from the angles of Bakugou's hips, his narrow waist, his sharply cut abs.
Here it's just the two of them, in one tiny room. Shouto has nowhere else to look, so he tries to stare down at his phone again.
"Any break-in attempts to report?" Bakugou asks, slinging the towel around his neck. He fishes his own phone from the pocket of his pants and then, before Shouto can say anything, throws himself down onto the bed next to him on his stomach with a deep sigh.
Shouto is almost too distracted by the sight of the liquid smooth shift of his back muscles beneath his skin to reply. "All quiet out here."
Bakugou snorts. He appears to have no intention of putting on an actual shirt. And what about their sleeping arrangements? If he's lying here already, then could he possibly mean to stay?
"So which one’s more embarrassing to you," Bakugou says into the thick silence, "the fact that people think you’re dating me, or the fact that they think you like being tied up?"
When Shouto dares to look at him, it's to find Bakugou already looking back. There's an intensity in that red gaze that suggests the flippant question is more than a joke, much more—and Shouto is glad his own expression only ever ranges from deadpan to mildly surprised, or he'd be giving something away by now—and he wants to give, but he's still so unsure. How much? Bakugou has always given as good as he gets from Shouto, but how much will he take?
He remembers Midoriya's texts. Be direct.
"Neither," he says. "Why should I care what they think I like?"
Bakugou barks a laugh. "Even if it's me?"
"You ruined my reputation by association a long time ago," Shouto says, and neither of them is able to stop the small exchange of smiles that passes between them, Bakugou muttering something about him being an ungrateful bastard under his breath.
The thing about embarrassment is a thin lie. Shouto feels hopelessly embarrassed right now for getting them into this situation, for exposing himself the way he has, for being so transparently desperate. But also—but also, maybe Izuku was right. Maybe it's not a bad thing, the way it feels like he's being pushed closer and closer to doing something.
"I bet…" Bakugou says, then licks his lips. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. "I bet I could still ruin you a bit more. If you're not careful."
Shouto exhales, much too loudly. Dammit, yes, he is embarrassed—Bakugou is just watching him, and those eyes never miss anything, and Shouto knows he knows. It's embarrassing to be seen so clearly, churns hot and low in Shouto's gut.
He lets the flames flare, in the way that only he can. He has gotten so good at embracing the fire, pulling it into his grasp.
Bakugou is so near, has come close deliberately, and Shouto stares back. He's spread out on the bed with his still-damp torso on display. Smooth—the others used to joke about it all the time in school. Something to do with his quirk, how it makes Bakugou's skin unusually soft. Shouto only knows of this fact through second and third-hand information. But he could just reach out and see for himself right now.
What would the con-goers think—would that be heroic?
One thing's for sure: even separate from the mission, Shouto won't get a wink of sleep tonight with Bakugou next to him.
"Todoroki," Bakugou murmurs, and Shouto's hand twitches, he lifts it—
There’s a knock at the door.
Both of them spring to sudden attentiveness. Jokes of break-ins run through Shouto's head, suddenly feeling much less humorous, and a series of gestures and nods have Bakugou approaching the door while Shouto stays behind to keep an eye on the window.
"Room service!" calls a cheerful voice—the girl from the desk. Bakugou and Shouto relax only slightly; Bakugou opens the door.
It's the girl from the desk with a cart. She gestures at the object on top—an ice bucket containing a huge bottle of champagne, tied with a red ribbon.
"From a fan," she says, her cheeks flushing. "This arrived at the front desk addressed to you. I wasn't sure you'd want to be bothered, but my boss said to deliver it and leave it out in the hallway if you were busy—um! Unavailable..."
The blush on her cheeks intensifies, and Shouto wishes he could see the look on Bakugou's face instead of just the tense set of his shoulders. How close to murder is he?
"Thank you," Bakugou says. "We'll enjoy it."
Holy shit. He sounds like he's actually smiling. Bakugou brings the bucket inside the room and closes the door—and the smile transforms into an expression much more familiar on him.
"That damn Uraraka…" he sneers derisively. "She thinks this whole thing is funny."
He sets the bucket down on the table before grabbing the envelope attached to the bottle, opening it to shake the contents out onto the table.
Several items fall out. A note of some kind, as well as… a My Hero Love Story convention branded condom and packet of lube. Bakugou scoffs at those; Shouto, meanwhile, is fairly sure the sight of them has taken several years off his own lifespan. Bakugou goes for the note.
His posture stiffens as he reads it and Shouto steps closer, heart thudding nerves. The last thing he needs is for Bakugou to feel even more uncomfortable. "What'd she say?"
"It's not from her," Bakugou says, thrusting the note at him. "It's from them."
For a moment, Shouto wonders who else among their friends caught their disastrous panel and is already giving them hell for it. When he reads the note, he sees it's something different entirely.
"Congratulations on your perfect love story…" he reads out. "It would be a shame if it was all a ruse… A ruse? Who sent this?"
"Who else," Bakugou says. "It's gotta be the villain we're after." He grabs his phone and takes a picture of the champagne and note (carefully shifting the lube and condoms out of frame, Shouto notices), before quickly shooting off a text to Uraraka.
"Why would they… care?" Shouto asks blankly.
"I don't know, because they're a big fuckin' weirdo?" Bakugou says.
"Do you think they can see in here?" Shouto asks, glancing around the room.
"Not likely," Bakugou says. "The team swept both our rooms, no way anything is left behind. This is just a bluff."
"But if they have a quirk…"
They stare at each other. Bakugou shifts from foot to foot, and then shrugs in an overly unconcerned fashion.
"Alright, maybe they have X-Ray vision or some shit. And they saw where the bottle was delivered, so they know which room we're in. So, what?"
"So we… would have to do something to make this continue to seem convincing," Shouto says. He takes another step closer to Bakugou. Bakugou doesn't move away.
"And what exactly were you thinking?" he asks.
Shouto closes the distance between them and kisses him on the mouth.
For a long moment, they stand like that—Shouto leaning in just far enough that his positioning is awkward and makes his neck hurt. Bakugou remains unmoving, lips still and terrifyingly unforgiving. When the stillness of the moment becomes more than unbearable, Shouto slowly backs away.
Bakugou wears the most Bakugou-esque expression Shouto has ever seen on him; eyes lit by an undefinable mania, teeth bared in a feral smile, face flushed with something. Impossible to tell if it's anger, or embarrassment, or—
He raises his hand to his lips, rubs his fingers against them. "You're really on a roll today, aren't you, Half-and-Half?"
Uh oh. Shouto backpedals. "Sorry, I—"
Bakugou grabs him by the front of his undershirt and hauls him in to kiss him again.
Shouto makes a surprised noise, mouth falling open in shock, and Bakugou takes it as an invitation. His tongue is there along with his lips, licking inside Shouto's mouth like he belongs there, and Shouto reaches out to grip his arms, hold on to something to keep himself grounded.
"Oh," he gasps, when Bakugou finally pulls away again.
Bakugou grins at him. "Kissing. That's your big plan, huh?"
"Uh," Shouto says, lips still buzzing. "I was thinking you could fuck me, actually."
His reward for his brazenness is Bakugou's mouth falling clean open. For a moment, he doesn't, or can't, respond. Eventually, he fumbles for the bottle of champagne he's still holding, yanks the cork out, and then takes a long, solid swig of it as it fizzes over, running down his chin. He does not break eye contact with Shouto the entire time he's drinking, and Shouto does not look away.
Finally, he lowers the bottle and draws in a huge gasp for air.
"Well, fuck, Shouto," he says, "about time you suggested something good."
Before he can say anything, Shouto finds himself being shoved roughly back towards the bed. Bakugou thunks the champagne down on the bedside table before pushing Shouto down into the sheets where he lands in an ungainly sprawl on his back. He struggles to sit upright, but then Bakugou is there, climbing on top of him to straddle him, preventing him from getting far—not that Shouto wants to move.
"What's gotten into you today?" Bakugou demands, staring down at him.
Looking up at him, Shouto almost forgets to breathe. "Me?" he gasps. "What about you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're the one who's been saying… all kinds of things today," Shouto says. "You… in front of all those people, you called me…"
Bakugou grins. "What? Cute?"
"Yes," Shouto says. "You won't even admit my cat is cute."
"Your cat is a monster," Bakugou says automatically, "and I had to." He crosses his arms. "Because of this little mess you got us into."
"Yeah, but—" Shouto doesn't know how to ask the things he wants to. "So, that was all just to trick everyone."
Even me, he wants to say, but can't.
But Bakugou shakes his head. "No, idiot. That was true."
Shouto's heart squeezes even tighter. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh—this is what I'm talking about," Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. "That's all you have to say? After telling everyone we're dating? After you, by the way, were flirting back? Don't act like it was all me!"
"I'm not trying to," Shouto says quickly. "I just didn't know what to do. I'm still not sure why you actually said all those things."
"Because—" Bakugou slaps a hand over his eyes, dragging his palm down his face slowly. He seems exhausted. "Because I like you, Todoroki. But I had literally no way of knowing how you felt up until now, because your fucking reaction to everything up to and including an explosion going off in your face is usually 'oh'."
Shouto opens his mouth, and then closes it again.
Bakugou squints at him. "Were you about to say it again?"
"No."
"Tell the truth, you minty bastard."
"I—what?"
"Hot and cold," Bakugou explains, "like a mint."
"I was about to say it again," Shouto confesses, putting this newest insult aside, "but it's because I'm surprised as hell right now, and I also had no way of knowing how you felt, because you react to any other emotion besides anger with anger, and mostly I just thought my feelings would annoy you—"
"They do annoy me," Bakugou says, and Shouto clamps his lips shut. Bakugou's mouth twists. "Don't give me that look. It's annoying because you thought all this stupid shit instead of just telling me."
Shouto wants to point out that Bakugou is literally no better than him in this regard—but Bakugou is repeating his newfound tactic of kissing him to shut him up, and it's incredibly effective, both in that it renders him physically unable to speak and mentally unable to recall why he disagreed with anything Bakugou said in the first place.
Bakugou pulls away just barely, hands bracketing Shouto's head on the pillow, teeth nipping at his lips.
"Knew keeping your mouth busy would be the right call," he murmurs, and Shouto shivers, eyes closing involuntarily as a new rush of heat assaults his senses. His next breath shakes as it leaves him. "Hey. Why'd you tell everyone we're dating?"
Shouto opens his eyes again to meet his stare head on. "I wanted it to be true."
The gleam of hunger in Bakugou's eyes gets impossibly brighter. "Then I can do whatever I want with you?"
At this point, Shouto will let him do anything. But telling Bakugou what he wants to hear has never been fun, so he tilts his chin defiantly as he says, "Only if you can prove all your shittalk out there wasn't a bluff."
"A bluff, huh?" Bakugou asks.
Fast as a whip, he darts his hands out, grabbing both of Shouto's wrists to gather them together. Shouto's instinct from all their training is to try and regain the upper hand, to throw him off, but Bakugou growls at him as he reaches for the bottle of champagne. Shouto stops moving. He wonders if maybe Bakugou is just planning to club him over the head with it, but then Bakugou snatches the long, satiny red ribbon it's been tied with.
"What about you?" he murmurs, pushing Shouto's hands over his head. "Were you bluffing? Or are you gonna let me tie you up like you said?"
"Fuck," Shouto chokes, hips jerking under Bakugou's weight, and a stab of sharp pleasure thunders through him. It's overwhelming, that some stupid, hopeful line he blurted out is making Bakugou act like this. He loops the ribbon around Shouto's wrists, leaning all the way down to mouth at his jaw, drag his teeth over Shouto's chin, pinching the skin like he intends to take a bite right out of it.
"Damn, you're hot," Bakugou tells him. Shouto sucks in a breath, and he adds, "I mean literally. Are you gonna last or should I slow down?"
He looks way too pleased with himself, and Shouto has to gather his wits enough to retort. "I'm fine. You're not afraid of a little heat, right?"
"Nah," Bakugou says, "but when you start to lose control, it's usually because you're freakin' out." He leans in closer, smirk insufferable and knowing, and runs a scorching hand up under Shouto's shirt. Shouto gasps—he can feel the tiniest sparks of energy crackling off Bakugou's palm against his skin, just enough to sting. "Am I making you lose control, Todoroki?"
Shouto pants, glares straight up at him, and says, "I want to put my mouth on your dick."
It's with no small sense of satisfaction that he watches Bakugou's bravado fall away, leaving him staring at Shouto with undisguised desire. "Fucking hell," he says, "where'd you even learn to talk like that?"
It's not really something he's learned—at least, Shouto doesn't think so. He's just saying what he's wanted for a long time, feelings buried deep down to try and hide his embarrassment and uncertainty and the crushing fear that Bakugou could never see him the same way. Now that he doesn't have to worry about that anymore, it's all coming bubbling to the surface.
He's being fucking direct.
"Let me," he says, partway between a demand and a plea, and Bakugou immediately fumbles to shift into a better position. Every time he moves, he puts pressure on Shouto's cock, and Shouto thinks he will lose control if Bakugou doesn't figure this shit out, fast. He wriggles beneath him, twisting his bound hands uselessly. He doesn't have a lot of options.
"Hang on," Bakugou hisses.
"Move up more," Shouto says.
"What the hell do you want me to do?" Bakugou asks, eyes wide. "Fuck your mouth?"
"Fuck my mouth," Shouto confirms. "Just come here—"
"Okay, okay, fuck!" Bakugou says. His voice sounds oddly strangled, and he shuffles up the length of Shouto's body awkwardly, struggling with his own pants. Shouto watches impatiently, eyes trained on Bakugou's rough hands, the calloused pads of his fingers.
"Hurry up," he says, and Bakugou swears again, but finally pushes the band of his sweatpants down over his hips.
Shouto can't stop himself from licking his lips. The sight of Bakugou looking down at him like that has him fully hard in his pants. Bakugou's face is flushed pink, borderline shy in embarrassment at being exposed. But his arousal is still undeniably clear, especially with his dick hanging in Shouto's face. It's thick, slick at the tip and beading drops of precum, and Shouto unthinkingly opens his mouth wide.
Bakugou groans. "You're gonna kill me, you piece of shit," he huffs, even as he guides his cock to Shouto's lips. His movements are more hesitant than Shouto's ever seen him be. Shouto would be touched if he wasn't so eager.
He's the opposite of hesitant. He laps at Bakugou with his tongue, craning his head forward to reach. Bakugou tastes a little bitter, salty, not amazing, but Shouto craves even more as soon as he gets his first taste. He swirls his tongue around the tip and Bakugou breathes a shaky sigh above him and gives him what he wants.
The angle helps; it's not that easy, getting a cock down his throat, and Bakugou is definitely above average in size. But slowly he pushes in, until Shouto can wrap his lips around the head, encouraging him with little noises at the back of his throat, sucking on him, rolling his hips in a way he knows Bakugou notices.
"What the f-fuck," Bakugou pants, "I never thought you'd be so—"
Shouto waits to hear what he's going to say. Needy? Slutty? Desperate?
"So fucking good at this—" Bakugou finishes, and Shouto practically keens around him.
The fact that Bakugou—the same man who, since high school, has acted as though he'd rather die than admit Shouto is capable at anything—has just told him he's good at this makes his cock twitch. He feels like he can do anything, which right now means swallowing Bakugou's cock more than halfway down his throat to listen to the way it makes him moan, lifting his head to try and fit more in until Bakugou himself figures it out and starts to help, thrusting his hips in short, shallow jerks.
"Todo—shit, Todoroki," he gasps, when Shouto's throat is starting to feel raw and there are tears running down his cheeks, and his mouth is thoroughly occupied. "Gonna—I'm gonna—"
If Shouto were unrestrained, he'd grab Bakugou and try to hold him in place. But unfortunately his hands are tied, and Bakugou's cock slips from his swollen lips just as Bakugou orgasms, half filling Shouto's mouth with his cum, the rest splashing over his lips and cheek. Shouto chokes, in a bad position to swallow, and Bakugou hurriedly drags him upright so he doesn't almost die.
He coughs uselessly as Bakugou flops onto his back on the bed. He looks somewhat shellshocked.
"You just sucked my dick," he mumbles.
A bubble of pride fizzes up inside Shouto's chest. "Yeah. And I made you come fast as hell."
"Shut the hell up," Bakugou says.
"It's true, though." Devoid of usable hands, Shouto bends forward and presses his face to the sheets, trying to wipe the cum off before it dries.
Bakugou groans, and this time it's exasperated, not sexy. "You fucking weirdo," he says, before pulling Shouto upright so he can help him. It's a rare moment of Bakugou taking pity on him, and Shouto lets him scrub the streaks off with the slightly harsh tissue from the little box on the side table.
It apparently requires a lot of face-holding on Bakugou's part, his fingers hot against Shouto's cheeks. His hands are soft, it turns out; Shouto wants to rub his face against them, maybe lick—no, bite—the fleshiest part of his palm, because Bakugou smells so sweet, like caramel all warmed up. But he stays very still as Bakugou turns his face from side to side, checking until he's satisfied.
Shouto is so distracted by the weird disparity between Bakugou's usual roughness, and the tenderness of his touch at that moment, that it takes him awhile to realize Bakugou is just staring at his face, unblinking. He seems to be concentrating hard.
"Bakugou…?" Shouto murmurs, after several moments' worth of silences have elapsed between them.
Bakugou kisses him again without warning. Shouto makes a muffled sound, and then lets him in again, readily, without reservation. It's like Bakugou is trying to taste himself, licking deep inside Shouto like he wants to fill him all over again, and it's still all Shouto wants.
"Bakugou," he pants, words barely formed in the space between their lips, "I need you to finger me."
Bakugou freezes, and then his hand fists in Shouto's hair. "What the fuck," he says, but it sounds rhetorical. He pulls back just enough to look at Shouto, expression almost pained. "You doing this on purpose?"
"Doing what?"
"Fuck," Bakugou says in answer, and thunks their foreheads together. It hurts, except Bakugou is still breathing harder than usual, and he's just looking at Shouto's face and directly into his eyes again—and the throb between Shouto's eyes goes all the way down his body to where his cock is still straining against the front of his pants—and deeper inside, where he still wants that cock he just sucked off pressing into him, making him feel full, god, Bakugou really is big—
Shouto shifts his hips, impatiently raging with desire.
"So will you?" he asks. "Finger me?" He still has not gotten an answer on this.
"Fuck!" Bakugou says, gripping Shouto's hair hard for a moment longer before letting go. He looks down at Shouto's hips.
"I’m taking these off," he says angrily, like Shouto's joggers have personally offended him. Shouto thinks this is an excellent idea. He lies back down and thrusts his hips up, and now, finally, the pants are coming off. In fact Bakugou pulls pants and underwear off in one, which is just as well, even if Shouto is left staring at his own leaking cock in something like surprise, like: oh, there I am. Bakugou stares too but not, Shouto thinks, in surprise.
Bakugou licks his lips. He skims his thumb over Shouto's hipbone before holding his hip more solidly, and there's that smell of burnt sugar again, slickness on Shouto's skin. His hands may be soft, but they're also still unbelievably strong. He could hold Shouto down with ease, like this; Shouto would let himself be pinned the way he never would if they were sparring.
He thrusts his lower body up again to remind Bakugou what they're there for.
"Will you—stop thrusting already, you horny idiot?" Bakugou says, voice coming out a weird sort of wheeze, and Shouto realizes he's trying to hold back a laugh.
"You keep slowing down," Shouto says, not petulantly.
"Because I'm trying to—" Bakugou covers his mouth with his hand, but he's not successful at hiding his laughter at all. He never is when it's genuine. "I'm trying to look at you for a fuckin' second, I've thought about getting you naked for years and now you just wanna rush me through it?"
The admonishment effectively punches Shouto directly in the stomach. Winded, he lays back and stops squirming. "I'm not trying to rush you."
"Still tryin' to process that you just let me come in your mouth and you're already on fingers up the ass… fuck's sake," Bakugou mutters, more to himself than Shouto.
"I just—"
"You want me to hurry, I got it already—"
"I want you in me so much it hurts," Shouto blurts out, and Bakugou shuts up. He isn't getting it. Shouto doesn't want to hurry them through this like it's something they need to get over with. He's just the dam, and it's finally broken, and he needs— "Bakugou."
"Okay," Bakugou says, but he doesn't sound exasperated anymore. "Shit—I haven't even touched you yet—"
It could be teasing, or it could be an apology, but then he puts one of his warm hands on Shouto's dick and Shouto doesn't care what it is. He gasps, eyes closing, head tipping back as Bakugou trails his fingers down the length of his shaft, rubbing his thumb over his balls before squeezing them in his hand.
"F-fuck—oh, fuck—"
It's not what he wanted, but it feels so agonizingly good he's happy to take it, would gladly let Bakugou finish him like this with just his rough fingers and nothing more. Then something slick and cool just barely brushes against his entrance, and he moans in eager anticipation.
"Can't believe you," Bakugou breathes. "Always thought you'd be some blushing little virgin in bed…"
No, Shouto isn't a prude; he just has a good poker face, which was always an asset when it came to staring blankly into the distance after particularly sweaty quirk training sessions, zoning out while he imagined all the things Bakugou could do to him with hands that had that level of violent control.
And now Bakugou is over him, leaning down until Shouto can feel the heat of him. He drags his mouth over Shouto's throat, shoving Shouto's bound wrists into the bed over his head like a reminder when he presses the first finger inside him. Shouto doesn't need to hide what he's feeling while he just imagines, anymore. Now he knows.
He spreads his thighs wider to try and give Bakugou better access, and Bakugou makes a noise that goes straight to Shouto's leaking dick.
"So you're good at this too, huh," Bakugou says hoarsely.
Shouto doesn't answer him directly, instead humming low in his throat in encouragement when Bakugou pumps his finger steadily in and out. Of course this part is easy for him. The amount of times he's done it himself while thinking of Bakugou's hands on him, fingers in him, is probably too high to count. He decides to withhold this information for now, because there must be a limit to how often he can admit Bakugou features in his sexual fantasies in one day.
"Keep going…" Shouto mumbles, unable to keep his words from slurring all together. "Your hands…"
"What about 'em?" Bakugou says.
"They're perfect…"
"Yeah?" Bakugou's voice hitches. "They makin' you feel good, Half-and-Half?"
Shouto nods shakily as Bakugou loosens the hold on his wrists to trail a calloused, warm palm down his arms, over his chest, slowly down his stomach. Shouto wants to tell him how good they make him feel, but all that comes out is wordless whispers of pleasure—and in the end, even those go silent when Bakugou slips a second finger inside him, just as easy.
"Look like you feel good," Bakugou says, as Shouto arches his back, mouth fallen open in pleasure. "Fuck, you look so damn good, all tied up for me—long past due I got to have you like this, you coy little bastard." He grips Shouto's thigh hard enough to bruise, twists his fingers up inside him just right, and Shouto sees stars.
Bakugou is right—it is long past due.
"Now," Shouto gasps. Bakugou is getting hard again, and Shouto can't hold out anymore. "I'm ready, where's that—"
Bakugou snatches up the condom that had come with the champagne, and the open packet of lube. He tears open the condom wrapper and it falls out, an unnecessarily bright shade of pink and patterned with little hearts on it. Even as turned on as he is, Shouto can't help it—he snorts.
"No way I'd put this thing on my dick if I wasn't doing it for you," Bakugou says flatly. It's one of the sweetest things Shouto has ever heard him say.
“Want to—” he starts, incoherent with his own stupid desire. “Can I—” His wrists strain against the ribbon binding them, and Bakugou deciphers his inane ramblings.
"Nope," he says, leering down at Shouto. "You stay right where you are."
He rolls the condom on himself slowly while Shouto can do nothing but watch. Next time, Shouto promises the pulse low in his belly. He’ll do it next time. Although next time, there may not be the glory that is Bakugou's dick clad in that stupid pink condom. Bakugou half flinches at the sight of it, and Shouto laughs at him, and the taut pull in his stomach mixes with an equally warm one in his chest. It's bright, and painfully fond, and he thinks he's felt like this about Bakugou for far too long, for it to have taken him this much time to say anything about it.
“What is it you want, Half-and-Half?” Bakugou asks. He grabs the base of his cock; Shouto's mouth may be watering. “This fucking—fuck, I can’t take myself seriously—" He laughs, trying to regain his composure. "You want my bright pink, heart-spangled… ugh.”
This is taking too long. The condom, while a fortunate (if questionably intentioned) offering, has shredded their entire sexual momentum to pieces, and Shouto is too tied up by his own volition to do much about it manually. On the other hand, he didn’t endure years of physical training with Aizawa for nothing. His legs are weapons too, and he throws them hard around Bakugou and twists, trying for momentum.
The tied wrists make it hard, but Bakugou’s surprise makes up for it. Like they're wrestling, Shouto wrenches their positions around, causing Bakugou to fall hard against the mattress. He shouts as he nearly topples over the side of the bed, but Shouto keeps him there, tilting them both back until Bakugou is flat on his back. Then, with the air of a king ascending his throne, Shouto straddles him.
“Holy fucking shit,” Bakugou says, the condom forgotten. That is, Bakugou has forgotten it. Shouto hasn’t. He cannot possibly forget Bakugou's dick jutting up like a fuchsia-sheathed saber, and Bakugou displeased but willing to go through with it, for nobody but him.
It makes him ache inside in a way that he knows only Bakugou can ease—only his bad temper and his harsh hands and his cock in its stupid wrapping. Shouto looks down at him; Bakugou still hasn't moved much after the shock of being overturned. All the usual belligerence seems to have gone out of him, and been replaced with the need to stare longingly, his gaze wide and unguarded.
It feels like a point of no return, but it can’t be that; there's been no going back for Shouto for a long time. Maybe, unbelievably, he hasn't been the only one hurtling towards this moment. Maybe Bakugou was always meant to meet him here—and the only way either of them knows is forward.
And now Bakugou is looking up at him like this is inevitable, and his cock is hard and ready, and Shouto is dripping, and—
Shouto moves to align their bodies, and Bakugou whimpers. It’s such an un-Bakugou-like sound Shouto half believes he imagined it, or made it himself—but no. Bakugou is the one overcome—lashes fluttering, breath coming fast, hands clenched in the sheets. Shouto is the one who’s determined. Who plans to take what he needs. He lets out a breath.
“Gonna do this,” he tells Bakugou.
“Don’t go making promises without—”
Bakugou doesn’t finish his insult. Shouto rises on his knees to get enough leverage, and he’s open and wet with the lube left over from the fingering, and it takes nothing at all to really do it, to sink down onto Bakugou’s cock. Bakugou gasps, fingers digging harder into Shouto's thighs.
Then he whispers, almost like a reflex: "Shouto."
And fuck if it doesn't sound like he needs Shouto, too.
Shouto drops all the way down, and it's easy, Bakugou slipping the rest of the way inside him like he was meant to be there from the start. Shouto moans in satisfaction at how right it feels, at how good it is to not be left wondering and wanting and empty anymore.
"Ah…" he murmurs, breathless, "you are…"
"What? I'm what, Todoroki?" Bakugou snaps the words at him, but Shouto thinks it's less annoyance and more that the effort of holding still is getting to him.
So he moves, rocking his hips in a short thrust to test. It makes his body shock all over, sends little trembling shudders all up and down his spine and all the way to the ends of his fingertips. He wets his lips with his tongue as he tries to find his voice again.
Finally, he manages to say: "Good."
"Shit," Bakugou says, with a laugh that comes out weak for a million reasons, all of which Shouto thinks he's probably feeling too. "Get fucking serious already, so I can show you just how good I can be."
As goading as he is, after all that Shouto has asked of him today, he can't deny Bakugou that request. He rocks against Bakugou again, harder this time, and Bakugou groans beneath him. When he matches Shouto's movements in return, it's like lightning striking. Shouto pants, rising up higher, trying to help fuck himself deeper on Bakugou's cock. He slams back down onto him, and Bakugou's cock pounding inside him is delicious, but the intensity of his movements makes things precarious. Unable to support himself with his hands, which are still bound and tucked against his chest, he wobbles off balance, tipping sideways.
"Careful," Bakugou huffs.
"I'm fine—" Shouto starts to say, but bites his tongue when Bakugou shifts under him to grab him, much more securely than he had been at first. One of his sure hands settles at Shouto's hip, and the other comes up to grip his shoulder like a solid anchor, and even when Bakugou plants his feet on the mattress, Shouto knows there's no way he'll fall. Bakugou has him held safely in place, fingers hot on Shouto's skin, claiming him, enough to make Shouto lose his mind.
Bakugou rolls his hips up again, and Shouto grinds back to meet him, and the feeling of Bakugou burying himself so deep inside makes him cry out loud enough to startle himself. He chokes on it, on his own voice and his pleasure and the warmth of Bakugou inside him.
"Fuck, yes, that's good—" Bakugou says, a low, half-delirious mumble of encouragement, "sound so good for me—only for me. This is all me fucking you up, you're all mine now, Todoroki—"
Shouto can't even be sure he heard right—can't even fathom Bakugou telling him these things, even when it's said right to his face. And half of it may be his ridiculous ego, sure; but if Bakugou wants him in his entirety, wants Shouto to be his, then he can fucking get it.
He doesn't mean to use his quirk, but the flare from his left hand leaves the red ribbon a burned coil of ash faster than blinking—one moment it's there, the next it's gone in a flash of light and heat. Shouto falls forward, bracing his hands against Bakugou's shoulders, and Bakugou doesn't say a word to reprimand him. He just stares up at Shouto like there's nothing else to see in the world.
"Katsuki," Shouto practically sobs, and Bakugou moves his hands to hold his face as Shouto works himself on his cock, so far gone with bliss that he can't even keep a proper rhythm. Bakugou doesn't seem to care. "Katsuki, Katsu—Katsuki, please—"
"Fuck," Bakugou whispers, something like reverence in his voice. He pulls Shouto down towards him, palms still pressed to his cheeks, until the two of them are so close Shouto could kiss him. "Quit begging, already."
"I n-need—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Bakugou says, and it's him who kisses Shouto first. When he speaks again, Shouto can feel the way he's grinning, proud and fierce. "You need me."
He kisses Shouto again, hard enough to make his head spin, messy and intoxicating—and then his fingers are around Shouto's cock, moving in time with their bodies as he thrusts inside Shouto again and again. Their changed angle makes his cock brush Shouto's prostate every time he pushes back in, and it's all so much, it's too much, too good.
But nothing feels as good as knowing Bakugou gets off on being needed, and it's that thought that pushes Shouto to his limit.
"I'm close—" he gasps. "W-wanna come—with you inside me—"
"Then do it," Bakugou growls, hand twisting torturously over his cock, lips frantic as they press angrily to the corner of Shouto's mouth—and it's so characteristically him that Shouto's heart aches. "Come for me, show me how much you want me—" He presses into Shouto again, strikes that cluster of sensation one more time, and Shouto's mind whites out.
He clings hard to Bakugou as his orgasm wipes the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. He's dimly aware of how tightly Bakugou is holding him as he spills between them, painting both their stomachs sticky and wet—there isn't room for much in his head beyond Katsuki and yes, like that, and it's only after his breathing has slowed the barest amount that he realizes he sobbed it all out loud.
"That's it," Bakugou is telling him, "I got you—fuck, you're so tight—"
His arm tightens across Shouto's back, and his jaw clenches, and then he's coming a second time—Shouto can feel it in the way his whole body tenses and shakes, hips rolling slow and deep inside Shouto those last few times before he slumps completely into the bed, boneless and apparently utterly spent.
Shouto is still trying to get his breathing under control—the fact that Bakugou just came twice, with him, because of him… it's not helping. He gasps, sharp and shuddering.
"Hey."
Bakugou's voice cuts through the tumult of emotions inside him. Shouto blinks at him, and when their eyes meet, he finds the scarlet pair looking back at him lacks all the hard edges he's used to seeing.
"Just stay quiet," Bakugou tells him, "and c'mere."
It's too easy for him to awkwardly pull out, toss the condom, and then motion for Shouto to come closer. He tugs Shouto down against him, and Shouto wonders briefly if he's dreaming—but he can't bother with resisting. His own body is as weak as it ever is after getting pummeled by a villain, but without the adrenaline that usually accompanies a fight to keep him going. All he feels is the contentment that comes after a good orgasm and the uncertainty that comes with telling one of his closest friends of the past few years that he's been imagining getting railed by him for the majority of those years.
He flops on top of Bakugou, ignoring the cooling sweat and cum drying between them. "Bakugou—"
"No," Bakugou says. "I told you to be quiet, I do not wanna hear any smartass remarks right now."
Shouto snorts quietly. "How do you know I was going to say something smartass?"
"What were you gonna say?"
"…That I hope you weren't thinking about that condom the whole time."
"You fucking—"
"Kidding," Shouto says, because he hadn't initially been thinking about that, but, if Bakugou was going to go and be a jerk right away… "I was just—I was going to ask if you were okay."
Bakugou is quiet a moment, before he repeats, "Okay?"
"Yes…" Shouto shifts, nuzzling hesitantly closer. "With… what we just did."
"I think I would've stopped somewhere around shoving my cock down your throat if I wasn't okay with anything," Bakugou replies dryly.
Shouto presses his lips together. "Right…" Yes, that was a thing that had happened. "Well…"
"I'm okay with it," Bakugou says, then sighs heavily. "No, fuck that—I was okay with you saying we were dating. I was okay with doing that stupid panel. I was even okay with sharing a room with you for the fucking night when I still didn't know what the hell was going through your head. But this? What we just did?"
He stops talking, and it's not until Shouto looks at him that he continues. Bakugou puts a hand at the back of Shouto's scalp, fist clenching in his hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point.
"Don't misunderstand me, Icyhot," he says. "Don't fuckin' act like you don't know how I feel anymore. Everything you asked me for, I wanted to give."
Shouto's throat feels oddly constricted, and he has to swallow several times, before he finally nods and manages to say,
"Oh."
"Are you fucking serious right now with that?" Bakugou snarls furiously.
But Shouto knows, as he finds himself being manhandled onto his back in the sheets, that Bakugou isn't actually angry; the same way Bakugou knows he means much, much more than just one monotone syllable, and Shouto vows to find many better ways to actually show him.
I don't know why it took us so long to say anything, Shouto tells Midoriya over text—much later, after they think to check their phones and receive the good news that the villain (who turned out to be a spurned ex-lover of another pro hero attending the con that year) had been caught while they were… occupied. Apparently, the villain had been apprehended inside the hotel itself, while trying to sneak up to Bakugou's room.
I do, Midoriya replies, you're both too similar for your own good.
Shouto glances at Bakugou, currently lying next to him texting Uraraka, and smiles. He thinks Midoriya means they're both idiots, and Shouto can't really deny that part; but they're also heroes, and he's starting to think the saying might just be true after all.
Falling in love is pretty heroic; but it's more than just the falling. It's owning up to it despite the uncertainty; it's taking a leap even knowing everything could change. But most of all, it's making sure Bakugou knows he's in love.
That makes Shouto feel braver than he ever has before.