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The first time it happens, Katsuki is taken by surprise.
They all collectively discover that the resident pretty princess is real weak to cuddling before his heats after an unfortunate training accident in second year that ends up with Shouto flushed and panting pinned under him.
(Katsuki remembers honest-to-god growling with his teeth bared a breath away from Shouto’s bare neck until Aizawa-sensei put a hand on his shoulder and said that’s enough, Bakugou.)
But that was different, obviously. Because that was a training exercise and the kind of proximity that’s anything but deliberate and not—not Todoroki Shouto willingly straddling Katsuki’s lap right in the middle of the common room.
While fuckin’ Pikachu makes lovesick eyes at the back of Jirou’s head, it needs saying.
It feels—
Well, Shouto feels warm. Not warm like Katsuki is. His quirk and the alpha thing always keeping him running a little too hot, but—softer. Warmth like holding a cup of hot chocolate between your palms after a walk in the winter chill. Warmth like other soft shit. (Like having a pretty omega in your lap.)
“What are you doing?” Katsuki asks, even as his hands settle on Shouto’s waist. Itch to crawl a little higher.
“My heat’s due,” Shouto says, like that explains anything at all. “And you’re comfortable.”
And then he nuzzles his face into Katsuki’s neck, settles there, and all Katsuki can do is hold him a little tighter.
…
The second time is—
Slightly less weird, if only because of prior exposure.
Also slightly less weird in that Katsuki doesn’t immediately shove Shouto off like he almost did the first time, the back of his neck prickling with the awareness that every nosy idiot in their class already awake for it was staring at them. Mostly at Katsuki, probably. Because Shouto wasn’t new to sitting in people’s laps right before his heat.
Now, Katsuki willingly and publicly cuddling an omega—
That one was definitely new.
They’re not in public now, though. And Katsuki’s not any less willing.
They were supposed to study. Shouto was going to help him with English and Katsuki was going to look over his Organic Chem homework because Shouto hates doing the grunt work. He’s smart, obviously. Smarter than Katsuki as far as working hard for it goes. Because he just had to be soft and pretty and the kind of smart where he uses it to lazily stretch out on Katsuki’s freshly washed sheets while Katsuki looks over his isomer drawings.
Katsuki’s teeth itch, the prickle of it sharpsharpsharp inside his mouth.
He didn’t think he’d mind being an alpha when he presented. Seemed like a good thing for hero work. And certainly less of a bother than having to deal with heats each month.
It bothers him now, though.
Shouto bothers him. Doesn’t he know? Didn’t anyone tell him what it means when you get in an alpha’s bed and rub your scent all over it? Or is he just—what?
Spoiled? Used to people giving him whatever he wants because of that soft pink mouth and those big eyes and the way he purrs in your lap when you finally dare to run a hand through his silky hair?
“You’re getting your scent all over my sheets, you know,” Katsuki hisses.
It’s not—
It’s not a problem, really. Not at all, god, and the primal thing inside his head that’s all omegaomegaomega mineminemine bitehimbitehimbitehim is growling at him to get it right, to stop being an idiot about it, to reach out and take what he wants because he wouldn’t even need to ask for permission when they’re like this. When Shouto’s already rolling around in his sheets.
“Oh,” Shouto says. “Right. ‘m sorry.”
And then he sits up, all prim and proper, and tugs on Katsuki’s sleeve until he’s pulling him down on top of him, and it’s not even falling as much as slipping into place, Katsuki staring wide-eyed at Shouto’s pretty face, his hair fanned out on the pillow underneath him—Katsuki’s pillow, god—until Shouto bares his neck for him, and then he’s flipping them over and—
And sucking at the soft skin there with Shouto tucked in his lap, that faint scent of strawberries getting more intense with each nip and bite and deliberate swipe of Katsuki’s tongue over Shouto’s mating gland.
“Oh,” Shouto says, hands tugging at the short hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck. “Oh, alpha.”
(In retrospect, that’s how he falls. Because of the things that come out of Shouto’s pretty mouth like they’re meant just for him, like Katsuki’s the only person he could ever say them to.)
…
The third time takes a while. Katsuki gets antsy waiting for it, starts feeling strange sitting down without a comfortable weight on his lap, seriously considers just. Tugging Shouto in by the wrist straight to his lap, until he’s got those soft thighs around his hips, and the heat of Shouto’s body comforting enough all around him that nothing else feels worth worrying about.
It’s not that easy, though.
Shouto can get away with it because he’s an omega. Because he’s soft and pretty and—and who’d ever say no to him without crumbling in zero point five seconds flat, anyways?
If Katsuki does shit like that, he’s just the blockheaded alpha who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Just some idiot reaching for what isn’t his. Because—that’s it, isn’t it? Shouto’s not his, no matter how much space he takes up when he sprawls in Katsuki’s bed or how comfortable he is when he bares his neck in front of him or—or even how he whines alpha with his lips brushing against Katsuki’s earlobe.
No, because Katsuki would have to ask for that. (And Shouto would have to say yes.)
But Shouto does, eventually, put an end to his misery.
Katsuki’s still sweaty from a run when Shouto plops down into his lap and nuzzles at his jaw, nose rubbing against the prickle of stubble there. “You smell good,” he says. “You, ah, smell really good.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, an arm wrapping around Shouto’s waist. He feels small, like this. Like—he’s an omega, sure, so he’ll always be leaner than Katsuki, but—is it supposed to be like this? This easy to take care of him? To want to sink his teeth in and keep him forever and then deal with the consequences every single day of his life, fucking gladly? “You like the way I smell, princess?”
“Yeah,” Shouto whines. “It’s—ah, gets me really wet.”
And then he’s tucking his face into Katsuki’s neck, hiding there, pressed closecloseclose, and Katsuki has never wanted to bite an omega this fucking badly before, but he takes a deep breath and just. Keeps holding him instead.
Because—
That’s what Shouto wants, right? Comfort. And god knows why he’s picked Katsuki to hand it out, to give it to him, to take care of what he needs when he’s this vulnerable, but—well, Katsuki’s not gonna be a jerk, for once.
So. He holds him. Eventually, Shouto starts purring into the crook of his neck, and it’s—nice. Real nice, actually.
…
But, after that—
After that, Katsuki realizes it is highly possible that he fucked up.
Overcorrected in the wrong direction without even meaning to. He just—he didn’t want to be the kind of alpha who reaches for what’s not his without bothering to ask first. And—and he could have, he realizes, in retrospect, that Shouto warm and cozy in his lap was the perfect time to open his mouth and ask if he could have him, if he could maybe keep him forever, but that also felt like ruining a good thing.
(The kind of good thing he wasn’t even sure he deserved.)
And now Shouto’s avoiding him.
Like—
Actually turning the other way when Katsuki starts walking towards him, clutching Momo’s hand tighter and crossing the street if Katsuki tries to reach for him.
Katsuki tries flowers. Katsuki tries chocolates. Katsuki tries homemade soba. He grinds the buckwheat himself to make flour, and still. Nothing.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
The realization of just how badly he fucked up, comes, as usual, against his own will. Because he’s not good at sitting with his messes, gets this itch to Fix Them Now right behind his teeth, and—and the knowledge that he can’t do that with Shouto stings. That he can’t just nose at his throat and whisper some cheesy shit like baby, I’m sorry because they’re not—
They’re not like that, and that’s the damn problem. It’s Katsuki’s fault.
…
Short of mating Shouto on the spot, Katsuki’s at his wits’ end when Pikachu tells him, “Have you, um, considered that it’s because Todoroki has an outie?”
Katsuki stills in the middle of prepping vegetables for dinner. “Hah?” he says. “What the hell did you just say?”
Pikachu lifts both palms up as if in surrender. “You know,” he says, “because it, um, rubs against stuff easier? When he’s in your lap?”
Katsuki blinks down at his cutting board. And then he blinks again. And then he decides that putting down any sharp objects would be the best course of action for the rest of his conversation so everyone can make it out of this kitchen in one piece by the end of it.
“Are you seriously talking about—that?” Katsuki asks, unforgiving heat prickling at the back of his neck, the tips of his ears, all over his damn face, really.
“Oh,” says Pikachu, vaguely apologetic. “So you haven’t seen it yet.”
“Why the fuck would I have seen it?” Katsuki says. That he doesn’t yell is a miraculous show of growth and self-restraint on his part. “Why the fuck have you seen it?”
“Ah, um.” Pikachu digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek. “Well… I’m an omega too,” he says. “It’s not just alphas who talk about that stuff, you know. Besides, he was worried. He thought it looked weird. It’s really very cute, actually. Very, um, pink. It suits him.”
Katsuki growls. “Pikachu, I swear to god—”
“You should ask,” Pikachu yelps. “You should ask him. To show you. And to be your omega. Mostly that second one, but—he’ll probably appreciate both?”
“He won’t talk to me,” Katsuki admits. Which he isn’t sulking about, by the way. He’s just—unhappy about it. “I tried, but I think I messed it up real bad.”
“No, you didn’t,” Pikachu says. “Todoroki just… gets in his head about these things. He was being brave with you. I guess it took you a bit longer to notice.”
Yeah, because they all survived a war, but Katsuki still doesn’t know how to talk about this shit. And he doesn’t want to talk about it, with Shouto. All his dumb alpha brain has been telling him is bite him, bite him, bite him.
“Oh,” Katsuki says, out loud, like an idiot.
Pikachu laughs. “There you go,” he says. “Now you’re getting it.”
…
So.
Katsuki stops holding back.
It’s not hard.
Especially not when Shouto answers the door with wet hair and one of Katsuki’s old hoodies on.
“Oh,” he says, lower lip jutting out. “Bakugou.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me,” Katsuki says.
Shouto’s eyes narrow. “And what am I supposed to call you?” he asks. “Because you made it pretty clear you don’t like it when I—”
“Sweetheart,” Katsuki says, pressing closer, cupping Shouto’s cheek. “I need you to shut up now, okay?”
And then he kisses him. Shouto’s mouth is soft. All of him is soft, so that’s no surprise, but it feels like a revelation anyway. The kind of thing only Katsuki gets to find out. Hopefully. Because he’s always been a little selfish, and he doesn’t see that changing when it’s about Shouto.
“Oh,” Shouto says again, except this time it comes out a pleased little sigh when their mouths part. “Thank you, alpha.”
Katsuki laughs. “That’s more like it,” he says, stroking Shouto’s cheek. “Sorry. Took me a sec to figure it out.”
“I should have probably said something instead of just—usurping your lap,” Shouto admits, nose scrunching. “I’m sorry about that too.”
“Nah,” Katsuki says. “Don’t be. I had fun. You barely weigh a thing, by the way.”
Shouto bites his lip, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “Do you, um, want to have some more fun?” he asks. “Or did you want dinner?”
Katsuki licks his teeth. “Nah,” he says. “I’m not that hungry.”
(Not like that, anyway.
But he does find out firsthand that it is, in fact, pink. And cute.)