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Katsuki knows he wants too much. He should have gotten over it by now, maybe. It’s been years. They’ve grown up. This shouldn’t be the one thing that still makes him feel like he’s fifteen and his skin doesn’t fit quite right over his bones.
Todoroki has always been kind of an exception, though.
Todoroki has always been—
Well. He’s always been just close enough to reach for. And Katsuki has never managed not to be terrified of the possibility that he might want to. To reach for him and hold him and keep him.
So. This is what they do instead of talking about it.
Katsuki remembers stopping to ask, the first time, remembers pulling back while Todoroki tried to tug his shirt off and asking him if he was sure, if he really wanted Katsuki to be the one he did this with, remembers Todoroki kissing him hard enough to bruise instead of answering.
It’s familiar, now. Sometimes Katsuki can guess what Todoroki wants before he’s even opened his pretty mouth to ask for it.
Doesn’t make it any—less, though. Doesn’t make having Todoroki Shouto bent over his lap and clutching the fabric of Katsuki’s sweatpants between pale, dainty fingers feel any less fucking monumental.
Katsuki brings his hand down over the soft, reddened flesh, and Todoroki breathes in sharply.
“Count, sweetheart.”
“Eleven,” Todoroki says. He sounds like he wants to cry.
Katsuki bites his lip so he doesn’t say something really stupid, and spanks him again.
“Twelve.”
Todoroki’s so fucking vulnerable like this, bare and trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, his hard, flushed cock rubbing on Katsuki’s thigh each time he tries uselessly to squirm, and Katsuki just—gets to look at him. Gets to do this to him. Gets to stroke a hand over flushed skin and whisper, “Good boy.” Gets to feel just how much Todoroki enjoys it.
Gets to be the one to ruin him.
“Ah,” Todoroki says, “Thir—thirteen.”
Perfect little prince, sobbing for it to hurt more. The things Katsuki wants to do to him—
But it’s not about that. It’s not about what Katsuki wants. It’s about what Todoroki needs. And that—that’s different, no matter how regularly Katsuki fantasizes about slipping a lube-slick finger between Todoroki’s cheeks and teasing him until he begs to be properly filled up, until he begs for Katsuki’s cock stretching him open.
“Think you can make it to the end?” Katsuki asks, before giving him two more quick slaps.
Todoroki is panting, muffled, needy little ah ahs that make Katsuki want to force him to get on his knees and tug on his hair before stuffing his mouth full. He looks so fucking pretty sucking cock, looks so pretty crying and overwhelmed and still trying his best to take Katsuki deeper.
Todoroki nods once, face pressed against Katsuki’s thigh. “Fourteen,” he says. “Fifteen.”
God, Katsuki wants to fuck him so badly. To lay him out on the bed and spread him open. Or to be mean and make him press his thighs together and hold himself up while Katsuki slides his cock between them. Maybe he wouldn’t even touch him. Leave Todoroki hard and flushed and panting until he begs enough to earn it.
“Such a pretty thing,” Katsuki says. “Bet everyone wants you like this. But this is just for me, isn’t it?”
Todoroki sobs.
Katsuki wants to sink his teeth right into the curve of his shoulder. “Answer me, sweetheart.”
“Sixteen,” Todoroki says, just as Katsuki brings his hand down again.
Katsuki laughs. “That’s good, but that’s not what I asked.”
“Yes,” Todoroki says frantically. “Yes, just for—just for you. I don’t—don’t want anyone else, Katsuki, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please—ah, seventeen—please let me come.”
“You think you deserve it?”
“I’ve been good,” Todoroki says. Then, softer, “Right?”
Katsuki bends down to press his mouth over sweat-slick skin, to lick the salt off Todoroki’s neck. “Yes,” he says, “you’ve been good.”
Todoroki shivers. Katsuki doesn’t let him catch his breath before delivering the remaining slaps, hearing him bite out eighteen nineteen twenty in rapid succession before his trembling body settles in Katsuki’s hold.
(Like he belongs there.)
“What do you want?” Katsuki asks, slipping a single finger between his cheeks, just a dry pressure against Todoroki’s hole.
“You,” Todoroki says. “Just—you. Whatever you want.”
“What if I want to make you come like his?” Katsuki asks. “What if I want to feel you clenching on my fingers, Shouto? You gonna be good and come for me like that?”
“Can’t,” Todoroki says. “Hurts too much.”
Katsuki presses a little deeper. “Does it?”
“Katsuki,” Todoroki hisses.
“What?” Katsuki asks. “Could drop to my knees and hold you open and eat you out until you’re crying, sweetheart. I think I’m being fucking nice.”
Todoroki manages something like a laugh. “You’re never nice,” he says. “But I like you anyway.”
That’s—unfair. Todoroki does that a lot. Bares his neck like he’s not scared of Katsuki trying to tear out his throat. Like it hasn’t even occurred to him. (Trust. That’s the word for it, as much as Katsuki tries not to think it.)
“Liar,” he says, because Todoroki can’t see his smile, so it’s fine.
He reaches for the lube right after, so Todoroki doesn’t say much. Just whines until Katsuki’s got two fingers pressed deep inside him, until he’s back to writhing like he doesn’t know if he wants to chase the mounting pleasure or flee from it. Not like Katsuki’s giving him much choice here, though.
“Come on,” he says, “come for me.”
And—
Todoroki does. Katsuki likes seeing him come with a cock in him, when gets loud and needy and begs for it harder until he’s unraveling, falling to pieces in Katsuki’s hands, but—
This is nice too. Seeing pleasure on Todoroki’s pretty face is always nice.
“Shh,” Katsuki says, stroking a hand over his back. “I’ve got you.”
“I know you do,” Todoroki says. “You’re—you always do.”
…
Katsuki’s fucked a couple more orgasms out of him by the time Todoroki—wearing one of Katsuki’s spare shirts and looking very much like the human embodiment of a giant spoiled cat—says, so softly Katsuki could miss it if they weren’t so irrevocably intertwined, “Thank you. For doing this. For—for taking care of me.”
Katsuki kisses the top of his ridiculously fluffy head. “It’s fine,” he says. “I like doing it. Like taking care of you.”
“That’s good,” Todoroki says, mouth stretching into a yawn. “I’m—I’m glad you do.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Go to sleep, idiot.”
“Yeah,” Todoroki says. “Okay. I’m going to—I’ll do that. But—don’t leave. Don't want you to.”
“Not going anywhere, halfie.”
Like Katsuki’s that easy to get rid of.