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Shouto knows he can’t keep going back. It's bad for him.
The way his heart wrenched after leaving Katsuki's apartment covered in barely hidden hickies makes the severity of his situation obvious enough. The warning signs were glaringly present in the ghostly embrace of broad hands wrapped around his waist as he sat alone on the train ride home. He feels them now—the warmth that stretched along his back as he was pressed into the bed, the wall, over the couch.
This situation with Katsuki—the desperate, drunken kisses in dark corners of parties or club bathrooms—left him feeling cold and empty.
But the thing about feeling empty is that you’re always looking for something to fill that space. So when Katsuki calls with that hint of need in his gruff voice, Shouto can pretend that this is something else. He can pretend that Katsuki sees him as more than a means to an end, more than some convenient fuck.
It didn’t start out like this. Back then Shouto convinced himself that all he wanted was a casual fling—something to release the tension and get him out of his head for a while.
————
They were both way too many drinks in after a failed mission left them feeling hollow. Katsuki was downing shots like they were penance and Shouto was feeling self-destructive—looking for something to fuck up his life.
While they don’t screw up their missions often, whenever they do he and Katsuki end up at the same nightclub. It was infamous to the public for its clandestine reputation—the same reason it was so appreciated by its high end clientele looking for a secure place to get plastered.
Eventually, Katsuki would migrate to the dance floor pressed up against some nameless, faceless girl who he’d go home with. Meanwhile, Shouto would lose himself in the bottom of a bottle—something strong and bitter enough to match the stale taste in his mouth after watching Katsuki leave through the same door they came in together without him.
That should’ve been the first warning sign.
On that night, Shouto was staring at a group of friends laughing and dancing to some song he heard Kaminari play before but never got the name of. He picked up his drink to take another sip, feeling a heavy gaze on his face. Turning towards his friend, Shouto found Katsuki glaring at him. It lacked the usual malice—furrowed brow verging more on questioning than disgust.
Shouto opened his mouth to ask Katsuki what was wrong, when he was bodily dragged from his bar stool. He barely registered the harsh slam of Katsuki slapping money on the counter for their drinks, as he was paraded across the dance floor.
At that moment, Shouto would’ve let Katsuki drag him anywhere. That should’ve been another warning—the fact that Shouto didn’t put up a fight.
Katsuki found their final destination—a secluded corner tucked between the bathroom and an electrical closet—and crowded Shouto against the wall. He was breathing heavily, or maybe that was Shouto, he couldn’t tell over the thrumming beat. Shouto’s slight height advantage meant absolutely nothing at the moment. He felt so small under Katsuki’s shadowed gaze.
He tried to question the other man again, but his pathetic attempt was cut short as a strong hand grabbed the back of his neck. Katsuki stopped short before they made contact. His eyes were deadly serious as he warned, “if you don’t want this you better fucking stop me.”
He offered no clarity on what “this” was or when and how Shouto should stop him. But all the clues pointed towards something reckless and regrettable—just what Shouto was seeking. Plus the added benefit of not watching Katsuki slink out of the bar with one of those girls he’d otherwise call extras.
So, Shouto nodded, shakey and rushed. “Just what I thought,” Katsuki teased, closing the distance between them.
He and Katsuki were closer than they had ever been that night. After their heated kiss in the humid hallway, Katsuki shoved Shouto through the bathroom door and locked it behind them.
Katsuki was on him in seconds, marching Shouto backwards in a sloppy kiss. As they reached the sink, Katsuki kicked Shouto’s legs apart, stealing the last of his precarious balance. The blond caught him under his thighs and hefted him up, seating him on the bathroom sink. Shouto reflexively wrapped his long legs around the other’s thin waist. The effortless way Katsuki lifted him haunts him like a painfully sexy nightmare to this day.
Shouto’s head spun, dizzy with the feeling of Katsuki’s hands all over his body, his hot breath in his ear, his searing tongue on his neck. The blond’s talented hips pushed into his, in measured thrusts. Shouto would’ve felt embarrassed about the sounds he let out had he the consciousness to do so. Back then Katsuki and Shouto were both shocked by the breathy, high-pitched whimpers he produced. Nowadays, Shouto doesn’t bother staying quiet. Ever since that first time, Katsuki worked relentlessly to rip those sounds from him. Who is Shouto to deny him the satisfaction of hearing how good he is at doing so?
After kissing Shouto breathless, Katsuki pulled him from the counter, dropping Shouto onto his knees right there in the middle of the bathroom. The blond roughly yanked down his zipper and shoved his jeans enough for his dick to spring out, hot and heavy against his abdomen. He was so hard that it looked painful and Shouto was feeling gracious enough to kiss it better. He kept his eyes locked with Katsuki’s as he hesitantly wrapped his lips around the tip. When he swiped his tongue along the leaking slit, Katsuki’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he groaned a low, “fuck”.
After a few experimental licks, Shouto tried suctioning his cheeks in shallow bobs of his head. Once acclimated with the size, Shouto slid down the length of Katsuki’s cock in a slow glide, stunned by how huge it was. Before that night, he remembered catching glimpses of Katsuki naked in the locker room, but he never focused on it for long. That was probably for the best anyways, as it would’ve been branded into Shouto’s memory. But the rest of Katsuki’s body had always been built like a dream, so it’s hardly surprising that his dick would follow suit.
Huffing in irritation, Katsuki threaded a rough hand through the silky red strands of Shouto’s left side and yanked him forward in an iron grip. Katsuki was always impatient with Shouto’s pace—while walking to lunch, in the field, during sex. Shouto’s gaze flew up to Katsuki’s where he saw a teasing smirk resting on his bitten lips. Shouto was responsible for some of the swelling there, a fact that made him buzz with pride.
But it was Katsuki’s eyes, those molten red pools that hypnotized him. Katsuki looked down at Shouto like he was the sexiest thing he’d ever had the divine pleasure of witnessing and all the shame and confusion fled Shouto’s mind for the first time in years. He let Katsuki cage his head in between his palms. He let him fuck into his face for as long as he needed, with the sole purpose of getting himself off—use him like a toy. In between Katsuki’s relentless hips and the cool concrete counter, Shouto was trapped.
Both men knew how capable Shouto was of getting out of that spot. But they also knew just how little he would fight it—how desperately he wanted to be right there on the seedy tiles, jeans scuffed and throat raw.
Shouto remembers how his eyes burned with tears, hot shame and pleasure overwhelming him. He was the most turned on he’d ever been in his life that night. Katsuki had chosen him, wanted him, was getting off to him. To Shouto. He’d felt dizzy with the burning need to be good for Katsuki. To be better than any of those fucking girls. To show him that he didn’t need them when Shouto was right there beside him. He didn’t need to put himself through the trouble of pretending to like dancing or overcrowded clubs or any of that shit. They could bypass the bar altogether and get shitfaced at his or Katsuki’s apartment. He could take Shouto apart however he wanted. He could—
Katsuki yanked Shouto’s head forward again and crowded his strong hips against his face. Between the feeling of Katsuki’s cock in his throat and the heady scent, Shouto was delirious, desperately spinning towards the edge of oblivion. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen he’d felt at the time.
Suddenly, Shouto felt a hot spurt against the walls of his throat. His eyes rolled back at the sensation as he choked. He tried to pull his head back to gain his composure, but Katsuki kept him in place, hot come filling his mouth. Shouto’s mouth watered at the taste. It was disgusting and so fucking hot and god he couldn’t help it. Katsuki croaked a broken “shit” as he slowly rode out his orgasm.
And Shouto lost it. Came untouched like a fucking 15 year old in the tight jeans Mina bought him for his birthday, while kneeling on the bathroom floor. He should feel ashamed about that—still carry the embarrassment with him today. But there’s been so much fucking shame packed tight in Shouto’s body he can’t even recognize it. It’s probably shoved somewhere between never living up to his father’s expectations and pushing his mother over the edge enough to maim her youngest child.
All these months later and Shouto still couldn’t blame himself for that moment. For any of it. Put Shouto in that exact situation and he’d end the night with bruised knees worshiping Katsuki’s cock on the vodka-soaked floor every time.
————
Unfortunately, things have gotten complicated between them— at least on Shouto’s end.
The following morning, Katsuki pretended as if nothing happened. And Shouto pretended like that fact didn’t burn a hole through his heart. He played along with Katsuki’s usual gruff nature and calculated nonchalance like his throat didn’t ache from the treatment it received. Like he didn’t ice his knees that very morning, wincing at the bright purple stains on his pale skin.
At the time Shouto figured it was because they were around others. So, he waited until he could sneak into the break room where Katsuki was reading a book all alone to test the waters.
He walked into the room quietly and shut the door, staring at Katsuki. Maybe it was just leftover arousal from the night before, but Katsuki looked gorgeous sitting there—tempting. He’d always been attractive to Shouto, but he never felt a strong urge to crawl into the other man’s lap in the agency’s break room before. First time for everything, he guessed.
The blond huffed, “you just gonna fucking stand there?” Without looking up from his book.
Shouto shifted from the door to the chair across from Katsuki. “Bakugo…” he began, because he was still just Bakugo at the time.
Annoyed at Shouto’s dropped comment, Katsuki pushed, “what?”
“Did you forget?”
They were both drinking and pretty upset last night. Perhaps Katsuki was further gone than Shouto originally believed.
“What? That I fucked your face in the club last night?” Shouto had gasped at Katsuki’s forwardness, not used to such brazenness when discussing sex. “I wasn’t that out of it, Icyhot.”
That only confused Shouto more. “But then…?”
“Fuck—what?!” Katsuki had groaned, rolling his eyes. He set his book down. “Should I have brought you flowers or some shit?” he laughed cruelly. “We hooked up. It’s nothing.”
Nothing.
Right. Shouto processed this idea. “Of course it was nothing” after all, it’s what he wanted. Something reckless and regrettable. Not a thing.
“Then why are you being fucking weird about it?!” He dragged a hand down his face, dropping his head back. “Listen, Halfie, last night worked. It was fine. No need to be a freak about the whole thing. You sucked my dick and creamed your pants. Move on.”
It worked.
It was fine
Move on.
Shouto walked out of that conversation feeling hollow like they had just failed another mission. Hollow and reckless.
That one drunken night of nothing metastasized into a pattern. It went from frenzied hands and sloppy kisses in dark corners, to blowjobs in electrical closets. Then one night, about a month after this started, Shouto found himself and Katsuki stumbling into Kaminari’s bedroom to have the best sex of Shouto’s life.
He remembers his and Katsuki’s first time like it happened minutes ago. He remembers how Katsuki threw him onto the bed and roughly ripped off his jeans. How he flipped Shouto onto his stomach before sliding his briefs over his ass, resting the band right under the curve. Katsuki opened him with barely slicked fingers until Shouto was a whining mess on the bed. He thanked whatever god was out there that Denki kept lube and condoms in his bedside table, because if Katsuki had to stop before fucking him Shouto would’ve died, or killed someone. Or both.
Katsuki had used his teeth to tear open the package, one hand pulling Shouto to his knees before pushing his head down into the sheets. It was the most vulnerable position Shouto had ever been in, and his arousal licked through him like a live wire at the thought of how he looked.
Shouto watched from over his shoulder as Katsuki slid the condom on. He pulled his fingers out and Shouto felt Katsuki line himself up with his entrance. Without any warning he pushed in all the way, drawing a broken sob of pleased surprise from Shouto. He knew how big the blond was, but Katsuki felt unbelievable inside of him. His arms gave out and his body slid forward on the bed. Katsuki roughly dragged his hips back, slamming back inside. “Where are you going, brat? Be a good girl for me, yeah?”
Girl.
To tell the truth, that wasn’t the first time Katsuki called Shouto a girl or a bitch or a slut. The last two he didn’t mind, not really. In fact they were pretty hot, but girl? He didn’t like it when Katsuki called him that.
Originally, he thought it was a weird fetish of his, and Shouto went along with it. He’d call himself a good girl when Katsuki asked and thought nothing more about it. Then one day Katsuki and Shouto’s friends were gathered around a small bar table telling updates about their life. Naturally the subject of relationships came up. Shouto didn’t delude himself into believing him and Katsuki were something more than friends with benefits. He honestly preferred the privacy of keeping their arrangement secret. However, he was not prepared for the way Katsuki talked about his sex life. Would never have predicted the way he took a sip from his drink and described the girls he’d been going through. Girls.
Of course, Katsuki could have been referring to actual women. They never said they were exclusive. However, he only talked about girls. And in that moment it occurred to Shouto that Katsuki only ever talked about girls.
From then on, Shouto wasn’t able to unsee it. He saw every time Katsuki’s gaze would linger on the girls that walked by. Or how he’d lean over the bar to flirt with the busty bartender with cow eyes and long braid. They way he’d stil migrate to the dance floor and get felt up by a petite blonde or two before coming back to Shouto and fucking him in the storage room.
He pretended that it didn’t bother him.
Gender has always been complex for Shouto. He was a man and comfortable with that. But he occasionally liked feminine things.
There was one time in high school where Ashido and Hagakure corralled all the girls to give Shouto a makeover. He was offended at first. Even now Shouto harbors insecurities about his appearance. Yaoyarozou, sensing this, assured him with a warm smile that the girls were not insulting him. They stumbled over themselves with apologies and explanations, claiming he didn’t actually need a makeover, it would just be for fun. And it was.
He’d never worn makeup before, but he liked the way it made his lips pouty and framed his eyes. He felt pretty. Upon request, the girls were even able to cover the scar over his left eye. It wasn’t perfect, but if you didn’t already know it was there you could be fooled. The girls wasted no time parading their handiwork around the Heights Alliance dormitory. Even kirishima said he liked the makeup on him. Everyone except Katsuki had something encouraging to say back then. He’d taken one look at Shouto and walked away with a pissed off expression.
He hasn't felt the need to wear makeup, until recently. Maybe if his lips popped or his eyes were framed better he’d keep Katsuki’s attention. Or if his scar was less visible, smooth. Maybe if he was pretty.
For the last few months Shouto’s been picking up makeup tricks from Mina and incorporating them into his daily routine. He’s gotten pretty good at it. While it started out as something for Katsuki, Shouto’s grown to love it. He felt confident with it on.
He’s also grown his hair out. The long strands end right under his shoulder blades, and he often wears it in a braid in the field. At first, Katsuki would tease him about the hair. However, he once expressed how much he loved it with the locks twined around his fist like a rope. Shouto wouldn’t dream of cutting it now.
He knows he has to do something about this…thing with Katsuki. Shouto always adored the blond—desperate to be his friend since first year. Now he wants so much more. He wants to be Katsuki’s everything. He wants to wake up with him and go to sleep with him. And be the only person on his mind ever. Shouto wants.
But Katsuki gives in the same breath as he takes. And Shouto would let him take everything just for the chance to be his for more than one night, or morning, or afternoon quickie in a hastily locked agency shower stall.
———
Shouto walks into his cold, quiet apartment and sighs, kicking off his boots and stumbling to the bathroom. He lazily removes his eye liner and concealer, revealing the dark circles and deep red of his scar. He takes a moment and stares at himself in the mirror—always a bad idea that brings up way too many repressed emotions. In his face are years of twisted, painful history. Too many regrets reflect back at him—his mother’s grace and her biggest shame all in one broken little package.
Nobody gives a shit about your pathetic pity party, Halfie Shouto thinks in a voice that sounds alarmingly like Katsuki’s and applies the moisturizer Momo suggested. It hasn’t faded the red of his scar, but it’s become much softer. Even Katsuki’s noticed, if the way his thumb seemed to linger high on his cheek bone meant anything. The blond was also buried deep in Shouto‘s throat at the time, so there’s a high chance he was distracted.
Besides, this was a self care routine. One that had absolutely nothing to do with Katsuki and yet Katsuki kept coming to mind like an intrusive thought. A nagging voice telling him to touch the hot stove and drink the poison that is Katsuki Bakugo. Every second of the day Shouto was either dreaming of the blond or drowning in his enormous presence.
The worst part about it was how unbalanced Shouto knew their arrangement was. It meant nothing but a little fun and relief for Katsuki. Shouto was left with stinging, gaping wounds—ones that he’d pry open, raw to satisfy the other man. His friend.
As friends, Shouto should say something. Cut this deal off before it goes any further. Certainly, he should end things before people find out. His friends are all suspicious—Momo and Izuku giving him concerned looks whenever they meet up. Shouto’s sure Kirishima is catching on to something more happening between his friends too. It’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out. Shouto would prefer to be on the side of the discussion that doesn’t frame him as a weak, desperate plaything for their mutual friend. But god it had to mean something that they haven’t needed to be drunk to hookup in a while. That Katsuki would call and Shouto would come over and they’d still fall together so seamlessly.
————
In bed that night Shouto imagines breaking things off with Katsuki. In none of the fifteen different renditions of his speech does Katsuki ever look regretful. There was even one particularly painful version where Katsuki laughed at him and walked away. That Katsuki was only marginally better than the one who exploded him to pieces for breathing in his direction.
The worst part is that once Shouto officially ends things with Katsuki, he’s not sure where he’ll fit in to the blond’s life anymore. He’ll be a coworker, an acquaintance, a partner in the field. But things will change between them. They probably won’t end up going to the bar together anymore. He wont find himself drunk, knees scuffed on the bathroom floor with Katsuki. The man will probably go to the club alone or with Kirishima and Denki and follow some faceless girl back to her place. Whatever girl Katsuki wanted.
Shouto wants it to be him that Katsuki chooses. Needs it to be him.
It’s late. Shouto has to be up in four hours for his shift.
Ping
Shouto rolls over and grabs his phone, squinting at the screen’s brightness. When his vision clears he reads the singular text, feeling his heart race and anticipation flood his cheeks.
Katsuki
Tomorrow. 9PM.
Shouto gives the text a quick thumbs up before shoving his face into the pillow.
Thoughts of the blond keep him up long past when he should have been asleep.