Chapter Text
Kirishima hates Halloween. Not because of the pranks; the ones that he has spent hours meticulously planning for, ensuring maximum laughter and minimal damage. Or the costumes; like dressing up as a super hero when he was six, a robot when he was seven, a firefighter when he was eight. He loves candy year round, keeping hidden drawers stocked full whenever a craving hits.
And still. Still. He hates Halloween. Not because of the noise, or the rowdy parties, or the terrifying haunted houses that have given him nightmares.
It’s the discrimination.
“Aren’t you a little old–”
“Aren’t you a little–”
“Oh-kay, here we go,” Katsuki smoothly steers him away before Eijiro can explain, with more detail and source material than a thesis, exactly why he is not, in fact, too old for Halloween. The grip on his shoulders tightens, body pulled flush to Katsuki’s side, doing nothing to settle the white hot rage he feels.
He knows his face is twisted, mocking the shrill voice of the convenience store worker - ‘aReN’t YoU a LiTtLe OlD’ - but he can’t help it. What, so because he’s an adult he’s not allowed to have joy? What a rip off.
“Can’t believe these people,” he scoffs, gripping Katsuki’s wrist that dangles off his shoulder, needing something to ground him. His fury is righteous, all consuming. “They’ll be on Santa’s naughty list–”
Katsuki barks a laugh, shaking his head, blond spikes flicking this way and that. “You’re insane.”
Eijiro’s heart falls. “Don’t tell me you’re on their side–”
“There is no side!” Katsuki cackles, waving his hot chocolate in front of them like he could somehow conjure reason out of thin air. He’s sure his boyfriend would have stayed holed up in his room, curled over a textbook if Eijiro had left him to his own devices.
He ruffles the Mario cap on his head, making Eijiro wince. “You wanna dress up like an idiot and run around with the rest of the crotch goblins, begging strangers for candy, that’s fine, Ei,” he wipes his eye with his thumb, shoulders still shaking with residual laughter, unaware or simply uncaring of the way he makes Eijiro's heart palpitate. “We can stop by the store–”
And no. That’s not what Eijiro wants. He wants the experience. The adrenaline sitting low in his gut, the anticipation of ringing a doorbell, the creativity and colors and expression. They can buy candy any day of the year, but this, the feeling of winter kissing their cheeks as fall surrenders, the warmth of laughter bubbling from down the street, kids shouting and squealing and making memories to last a lifetime - that is what Eijiro yearns for.
He sighs, cheek pressed to Katsuki’s collarbone. Might as well file this Halloween next to the last several disappointing years. He lifts his chin, ready to tell Katsuki he wants to head back, but something shiny catches his eye that makes his entire nervous system shut down.
“Eijiro? What’s the hold up?”
His fingers curl around Katsuki’s jaw, turning him toward a work of art.
Todoroki stands across the street, long legs covered with the gaudiest purple disco pants Eijiro has ever borne witness to. Flared at the bottom with shimmering glitter and large plastic diamonds likely glued on, each step a kaleidoscope of color. They’re tight, so tight Eijiro swears he can hear the inseam screaming for mercy around those strong, surprisingly toned thighs.
He shifts at just the right time, in just the right way, Eijiro can see the ruffles around his chest, more pirate themed than disco. An off cream color, accented with a thin leather strap around his waist, like he changed his mind halfway through getting dressed and decided, ‘fuck it’. It’s low cut at the chest, giving miles of cleavage he wants to crawl into.
Eijiro hates how much it works.
“He’s a fucking disaster.”
His eyes flick back up, taking in the way Katsuki’s lips purse, the strain in his brow, a vein pulsing in his temple.
How Katsuki’s eyes never stop moving over Todoroki.
Oh, now they can’t go home.
“We should go say hi!” He grins, too sweet and too excited, already tugging Katsuki’s arm, taking advantage of his stupor before he can think to fight back. “He looks kinda lost, right?”
“Wha– no, wait– fuck–” Katsuki struggles, halfhearted at best, eyes suddenly scanning the crowd. “Yer just hopin’ the nerd is here–”
No sooner have the words been spoken before said nerd appears. Bright green eyes framed with thick glasses, wig askew and wild on his head.
“Oh my gods, of course he’s Einstein.” Katsuki mutters, stumbling in Eijiro’s grip.
He can feel the way his face stretches wider.
“Midoriya! Todoroki!”
Two heads swivel toward their direction, eyes locking on to Eijiro’s arm waving before meeting his eyes.
If Eijiro didn’t know better, he’d say they both blushed when they saw him, but he’s sure it’s just from the cold snap of wind blowing by.
Midoriya mumbles something Eijiro can’t hear from so far away, so he moves to drag Katsuki faster. His night may be salvageable after all!
“H-hey, Kirishima. Bakugo.” Midoriya bows, cheeks radiating heat. “What are you–”
“Are you trick or treating?” Todoroki hums, head tilted just enough that some hair falls out from under his fro-wig. Katsuki’s fingers twitch on his shoulder, thumb digging into Eijiro’s neck just to get out that itch. It's palpable. The need to tuck it back, to feel that supple skin against his knuckles, to lean into the energy writhing under the surface.
Eijiro grins bright, compelled. “Yeah!” His cheeks flush, a weight settling in his chest. Knowing the consequences of their rejection will break something in him. Halloween is such a core part of Eijiro’s existence, of a youth filled with more questions than answers, looking in the mirror as another version of himself, his true self, refusing to let that feeling go even now.
“We just came from the library’s Halloween party,” Todoroki points behind them, “but we can go back. They had leftover candied apples.”
Just like that. No follow up question. Simple acceptance, a branch extended, roots taking hold. Eijiro sways a little, huffs quietly, leans deeper into Katsuki only to ground himself. To force his body to recognize reality. His next breath is thin, wheezed, and he coughs. His entire universe has been flipped on its axis.
“Need some water?” Midoriya is there, a pinch in his taped unibrow. The world's tiniest water bottle outstretched, a leaf unfolding. Eijiro feels light headed. Like gravity has failed. The bottle is cold in his hand but the warmth in his chest burns hotter. Demanding to be heard. To be acknowledged.
Midoriya smiles again, nodding his head up the street, asking if Eijiro is ready or if he’d rather go back to their dorm and watch scary movies. He holds up his bag, filled to the brim, and promises to share so long as he doesn’t tease Midoriya for needing a nightlight on.
Eijiro unravels.
“Eijiro and I were just heading back,” Katsuki, calm, cool, collected, grips him tighter. Blames the tremor on the breeze that isn’t there. He’s flushed from alcohol he didn’t drink. Anything to get them out of there before Eijiro combusts. Before he drowns them all in feelings too big for him to contain. The dam is cracking under the pressure, chipping as Midoriya and Todoroki wave, both frowning.
Disappointed.
It’s those looks, the ones that settle just too long, that linger with more, that give him hope. Maybe it’s not just him, but them. All of them. Coming together time after time, as steady as the seasons.
He curls inward in the safety of the car. Of familiar leather and warm cinnamon. The car bounces softly as Katsuki slides in, but his face remains buried in his hands.
For a beat, there is silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
The kind of building pressure that makes your joints ache, storm growing dense. Something unpredictable stirring, sky filling with clouds so thick they mold together. A shift in the wind could make the difference between survival and total annihilation.
“This is hard.”
Soft. Vulnerable. Words jagged and bleeding.
He looks up slowly. Half cowardice, unsure what face Katsuki is making, if he can read between the lines. There’s still time for plausible deniability. Let the fantasy dissolve with the rest of their forgotten dreams, something they use behind closed doors where no one can hear them.
Katsuki’s eyes are dull, lidded, face void of any emotion. Everything and nothing he expected. His hands lay limp in his lap, keys loosely held between his fingers. He looks tired, down to his pores.
Eijiro reaches across the console without a second thought.
“We can do this.”
He has to believe it.
Because he’s seen the way they look back.
How they linger.
Sees the question in their eyes.
Eijiro clenches his fist, grinning wide and aching, relaying his conviction. “Plus Ultra!”
He can feel Katsuki’s eyes burning into him. His words hang heavy, ringing in his ears with such a long silence.
Then.
The faintest noise.
A soft snort.
Katsuki’s lips quirk, just slightly. “Dork.” He shakes his head, starting the car.
Eijiro feels lighter. His residual gay panic left behind, giving him room to breathe. To squeeze Katsuki’s hand in solidarity, not fear.
The drive to their dorm is quiet, but comfortable. Still charged, but now with something hungry, alive. Katsuki drives a little faster. Eijiro grips the door handle tighter. He thinks back to fighting fires. The feeling burning in his chest as he stands before someone' s home, the pieces of themselves worn into every grain of wood, every chip of paint, is similar. Lightning tingles in his fingertips, buzzing hotter, faster, every moment not moving.
Katsuki parks.
Eijiro moves.
He half drags Katsuki over the console, lips meeting like they’re fighting a war. Blood and teeth and greedy, wicked tongues consuming inside and out. The hand on his chest burns, heart pounding like thunder crashing around them. A groan tears from his lips and he arches, needing closer, needing more.
“Inside,” Katsuki murmurs against his lips, just as affected, unwilling to pull away long enough to give distance, to let doubt linger. His hand moves from Eijiro’s chest, a loss he feels in his marrow, to the handle. They spill out together, Eijiro’s shoulders hitting pavement, Katsuki sprawling on his chest.
It’s messy and desperate and still they’re kissing. Touching. Panting humid air as the chill of outside burrows under their skin. Tripping over each other, not like it matters to be first, but because they can’t wait. He’s sure his ankle is sprained by the time they make it upstairs, and there’s a special bruise between his shoulder blades from the doorjam. But then Katsuki is lifting him by his thighs and surging forward, storming into their home, their sanctuary, carrying Eijiro like he’s nothing.
Like he’s everything.
His breath is pushed from his lungs, back falling onto Katsuki’s mattress with more force than he prepared for. Katsuki’s fist snatches the front of his overalls and he growls, honest and truly, like the fabric committed a grave atrocity for simply existing over his skin. He fumbles for the loops, legs wrapped around Katsuki’s waist in case he gets the idea he can leave.
Eijiro won’t let him now.
The clasps snap, he’s sure one is bent, but it doesn’t matter because Katsuki’s hands are sliding under his shirt, palms dragging up his sides, fingertips gripping at firm muscle. One curls around his back, holding him steady, molded to the arch in Eijiro’s spine. The other slides down, flat and overwhelming, dragging every inch over Eijiro’s hip, pushing jeans and boxers down with surgical precision.
Fabric falls to the floor, yet Eijiro only feels hotter.
Katsuki kisses down his neck, knuckles blanching, gripping Eijiro’s thigh so tight the muscle aches. A claim he won’t be allowed to forget. His shirt is shoved under his chin, bodies colliding with magnetic force. Katsuki’s lips mark his clavicle, the curve of his pec. Lips dance over a pebbled nipple while fingers spread his folds and Katsuki’s digging his palm into his cock.
“Fuck!” Eijiro bucks his hips, eyes fluttering, hands gripping blond hair to stay steady, lest he float away. “Katsuki–”
He jerks at the feather soft kiss above his naval, whining from deep in his throat. Katsuki’s thumbs, warm, firm, press at his folds, spread him fully, lips pressing to his mound. It’s dizzying, electrifying, pleasure zipping through his core.
“Shit,” Katsuki groans, thumb pressing up, teasing the most, “so hard for me already.”
His cock twitches, needing acknowledgement, attention. Katsuki huffs like he knows a secret, then presses his tongue to the base of his cock and grinds up.
He sucks Eijiro off like it’s his destiny. Like every moment of his life has led to this point of contact, his lips on Eijiro, his fingers spreading and claiming. Eijiro’s soul ascends, back bowing off the mattress, moans and pleas spilling from loose lips. Lost in the way Katsuki’s lips mold to him, suck and tease, tongue dipping, tasting, obsessing. Uncaring that Eijiro’s parts are different, only focused on swallowing him whole.
“Ah! Ahh!” His first orgasm rolls through him in a burst of light and static, ears ringing, electricity fading to a dull buzz in his fingertips. Katsuki’s hand strokes his thigh, nuzzling his pelvis like he’s made a home for himself there.
Likely would if he could.
Eijiro sighs, breathing, fingers coaxing Katsuki up. He hums under his breath, gooseflesh tingling in a burning trail, led by the tip of Katsuki’s nose. Such a tender, delicate movement, so unlike how Katsuki treats others, even friends. Gentle, not because he has to, not because Eijiro is fragile, but because he cherishes every moment he’s allowed this. Takes his time mapping every curve, kissing every freckle, measuring every dimple like they hold the meaning to life. Studying the molecular interactions between them.
His grip settles on the back of Katsuki’s neck, chin tipped up to meet his lips head on. Fingers drag up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, his lips part, moaning into Katsuki’s mouth like he’s selling his soul. Katsuki’s thumb presses to his minora, bending the joint just so, spreading, lodging the scalding head of his cock to his hole.
“Katsuki…”
Lips quirk against his own, nose bumping his cheek.
“... what gotcha all worked up, Red?”
He groans, eyes fluttering, muscles taught. He’s bracing for Katsuki, for a question sitting heavy between them. His mind, ever a traitor, a bully, happily supplies him with the answer. The memory of Todoroki, of those tight pants, the earnest way Midoriya had looked at him, eyes big behind his glasses, fake mustache hanging on his upper lip like it couldn’t stand obstructing such a pretty face. How they had been out, dressed up, cheeks pink with the energy of Eijiro’s favorite holiday, looking every bit a disaster but free.
Then, because of course, like he’s sitting in middle school, staring at the projector sheet working questions and the teacher throws another page over it with more questions, no answers–
“Answer me, Red.”
He imagines, for a second, the time it takes to blink, someone else between his legs. Someone else's hands on his hips, on his neck. Someone else’s cock splitting him open–
“‘Roki!!”
Katsuki grins against his cheek, near silent as he moves his hips, nose pressed to his temple. He grips Eijiro tighter, hip aching, pulse a tempo Katsuki strives to achieve.
“Yeah?” He drags his next thrust, grinding deep, stealing Eijiro’s breath. “What– hngg– what about ‘im, baby? Tell me–”
Eijiro’s nails scrape Katsuki’s shoulders and he whines. “P-pretty–” he chokes, rocking his hips, meeting Katsuki’s pelvis with a new rhythm. “So– fuck– those pants–”
He can’t get them out of his mind. Strong thighs, limber calves, narrow joints like he was made for dancing. Energy buzzes in Eijiro’s palms and he groans, huffs, shoves at Katsuki’s shoulders and bucks up. Katsuki’s head bounces on the bed, hands finding Eijiro’s hips like he’s under duress. His own settles on Katsuki’s chest, lips parting on a guttural, aching whine as he grinds down in Katsuki’s lap.
Katsuki grins up at him, tongue tracing his teeth.
“Bet you could bounce a coin off that ass.”
Eijiro clenches his jaw, groaning.
“Bet you could bounce off that ass.”
Katsuki’s eyes widen, fingers flexing on Eijiro’s hips.
Sweat beads between Eijiro’s shoulders, tracing a line down his spine.
“... fuck me like him.”
His throat closes.
“... what…?”
Katsuki squeezes his hips, eyes alight with something new. Curiosity burns in an open gaze, a new wall burns down between them.
“I want you to fuck me like I’m him.”
And oh.
Eijiro takes a breath. Then another, because this is absurd. They’ve talked about this, something along these lines. About how much they care for each other, that they love what they have, but sometimes dream of more. More to love, more to hold. Whispered in the quiet moments between making each other's coffee, standing on the balcony as the world wakes up around them. Where there’s space leftover.
He sits up straighter, half his bun falling out, hair tickling his shoulders. His gaze meets Katsuki’s, unafraid, unwavering.
“... Sh… Shouto…”
Katsuki’s brow twitches, only barely.
He rolls his hips. Tips his head back. Sighs, giving Katsuki something to look at. Giving Shouto something to want.
“Shou…” his voice doesn’t crack, per say, though the nerves are obvious.
“What do you think he’d be like, Ei?”
He shivers.
And lets himself imagine, if only for tonight. If only once. Eyes closed, the touch on his hips softens, the digits seem longer. Pictures that soft flush on Todoroki’s cheeks and pretends it was because of him. Sees Todoroki beneath him, cheeks warm and eyes a little unfocused but unmoving from him.
He lifts up on his knees and huffs, seeing Todoroki in his mind's eye, how he shivers and clutches to him like he’s scared of floating away. Drops down, hearing the soft hum in the back of his throat.
“... reserved…” Eijiro murmurs, like he’s quietly taking notes. “He’d be… controlled.” He drops down, moaning, drowning out the noise Todoroki makes. “Wouldn’t… wanna go too fast…”
“Yeah?” Katsuki’s voice is distant. An echo in his soul. “Think he’d slow ya down?”
He shakes his head without question. “No,” he rocks his hips down, “think he’d… make me take my time. Appreciate it more.” His heart stutters at the quiet confession. He settles a palm over the space it beats, gasping as Todoroki’s cool fingers ghosts over his skin.
Eijiro loses himself in the fantasy. In the idea, the dream, of sitting in Todoroki’s lap, of being with someone else without losing what he has. Exploring new ways to love, to be loved. Embracing change rather than fighting it.
He’s moaning, he realizes. Maybe crying a little. Overwhelmed with newness. Unchartered territory.
“Shouto– oh fuck, Shouto–”
He bounces harder. Deliberate. Grounding himself in the moment, the fantasy, reality peaking behind a curtain someone else holds shut.
“That’s it… let yourself have it…”
And it’s that. Those words whispered into the fabric of his being, stitched with gentle kisses pressed to his chest, Eijiro allows himself to fall. His hands are curled to his chest, eyes clenched tight, bowing forward as his soul leaves his body.
Hands, gentle and strong and familiar, hold him steady. Keep him upright. Holding the weight of his hopes and dreams.
“... if we go now, they might still be up.” Katsuki whispers like he’s testifying.
Eijiro does not need to be told twice.
They rush to clean up, Katsuki sending an eloquent, two syllable text to Todoroki while Eijiro rinses off. Boxers should come with warning labels, he thinks. Bright bold letters ‘DO NOT PUT ON WHILE WET’ considering he’s nearly broken his neck three times.
Katsuki’s beanie is inside out, his jacket on the wrong sleeve, boots untied but he’s reaching for the door–
A squeak has Eijiro and Katsuki’s necks snapping toward the sound, coming face to face with a pint sized Einstein and a disco pirate.
For a moment, they all simply stare.
Eijiro at Todoroki, his face heating with every beat of his heart.
Midoriya at Eijiro, eyes flicking over him like he’s studying.
Katsuki at Midoriya, breathing shallow, taking in the way the costume hangs off Midoriya’s too narrow shoulders.
Todoroki at Katsuki, expression unreadable.
Midoriya is the one to break the tension, lifting his bag of candy and another black bag.
“We uh… were hoping you’d wanna watch a movie? I know it’s unannounced–”
Katsuki snatches both their wrists and drags them inside, just as Eijiro slams the door behind them.
He may not be able to celebrate Halloween like he wants, but this new dream is better.