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When Katsuki sees Todoroki hunched over the sink, trying to staunch the blood gushing from his busted nose and lip, he has the fucked up urge to laugh all over again. But he refrains, just stands at a distance simmering in satisfaction at having landed the punch. Even if it meant getting kicked outta practice by Coach Aizawa.
Todoroki’s a goddamn prick and he asked for it, that’s all Katsuki’s gotta say.
The faucet turns off. Todoroki pulls the bunched up T-shirt away from his face to study the damage. He winces, swearing under his breath. His stupid pretty face is a goddamn mess but the bleeding’s mostly stopped.
Their eyes meet in the mirror. If Katsuki was a lesser man, Todoroki’s glare would make him shit his pants. He smirks in response.
“I’d like to kill you,” Todoroki says, voice low and menacing. Despite the nasal quality, something about the tone makes Katsuki shiver.
“Oh yeah?” he sneers. “And how’s that?”
Todoroki whips around and Katsuki doesn’t move. Stands his ground as their team’s resident Ice Prince stalks closer. Shirtless, covered in sweat, built like a goddamn marble statue.
Fuck.
“You’re lucky I’m a nicer person than you are.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Nicer? You play dirtier than any motherfucker I’ve ever met. No one can stand you.”
At those words, Todoroki flinches harder than when Katsuki threw his fist at him. Only now does regret and guilt rise up inside Katsuki.
“But I keep it in the rink,” Todoroki says. “And I fight and play for the team. Unlike you.” As much as Katsuki’s always loathed Todoroki’s guts, his aloofness, and general existence since they started on the university hockey team together, this is the most genuine venom he’s heard in his teammate’s tone.
It’s enough to set him off, even if Katsuki may or may not have been the one to start this.
The lockers rattle in the empty locker room when Todoroki’s back hits them. Katsuki snarls up into his impassive face, awkwardly grasping for purchase to keep his mortal nemesis pinned there. But all he does is fucking grope his sweaty chest.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki spits. “All I do is for this team. All I train for, work for. Bleed and sweat and cry for, is for our fucking team, Todoroki. So don’t you ever say that shit to me again, you fucking asshole.”
Katsuki’s breathing hard. Yeah, that got to him, all right? ‘Cause there was a time when he really was that selfish about the sport. But he ain’t that person anymore. And Todoroki implying that he hasn’t changed hurts like a bullet to the chest, even if that’s a past he’s not entirely aware of.
Todoroki just stares and Katsuki bares his teeth, hands splayed over his sternum. The bastard doesn’t even fight him, just stands there and takes it. The yelling, the pushing.
And then…and then Todoroki’s eyes soften. Looks like he understands. Like something clicked in that stupid thick head of his. LIke he gets Katsuki, in a way no one else does. And that pisses Katsuki off more than anything else.
So he does the only thing that makes sense to do at the moment. He kisses Todoroki square on the mouth, blood and teeth and salt.
Only a second of shock and confusion before Todoroki gives into the heat of him. Kisses back, brutal and rough. Wanting. Needing. And Katsuki takes it all.
“I fuckin’ hate you,” Katsuki growls into his mouth and Todoroki hums.
“I know, I hate you too” he breathes, tipping his head to the side. Katsuki nips his way over and bites down on the cut of muscle at the juncture of his neck, making Todoroki hiss in pleasure.
“You’re the goddamn worst.”
“Mm, so are you.”
“I’m gonna eat you alive, princess. Gonna fuck you up.”
A sharp tug of his hair has Katsuki gravitating to Todoroki’s mouth once more. The blood is everywhere, crusty and drying. He’s met with a look of pure, intense determination that Katsuki only ever sees out on the rink.
Todoroki grins—insane and fucking beautiful. “I hope that’s a promise, Bakugou.”