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Todoroki Shouto was an enigma. When the Holy Sea launched a crusade against demonkind to defend the borders of the UA Kingdom, the Todoroki Dukedom offered up their third son of the Todoroki Knights, in all his double-quirked glory, to burn heretics on crucifixes and cool hellfire’s breath. The King had been so pleased with the act of loyalty that the Dukedom was provided with a magical mine – and a royal hand in marriage.
Rather than a lord, which the field journalists would write in the newspapers circulated to young and old with bated breath, the youngest Todorki was akin to a prince on the battlefield. He speared basilica spires through flying serpents, plummeted the temperature to a desert night, and brought dawn – the very last – to his enemies in a maelstrom of judgement flames. In a celestial display of miracles, the paper wrote about a demigod born in the battlefield amassing religious morale. That was the first day Todoroki joined the war, and the first time royal knight commander Katsuki felt sparks, somewhere other than the palm of his hands.
After two long years of deigning to grace the battlefield, the demons were banished to a hell colder than Todoroki fire. The Holy Sea declared the crusade ceased, and Todoroki’s figure stood alone amidst the ash, photographed as the stone-faced chilling hero of the UA Kingdom.
“We need to account for retailitary troops.” Thump.
Katsuki felt nostalgic, but most of all cheated. Exactly where did his hero go?
“Do you think we should refrain from disbanding the allied knightage for now?”
In the auxiliary castle and a timestamp just a hair away from the sanctity of holy war, ruby-eyed will-fight-your-grandma-for-money salaried mercenary (royal knight commander) Katsuki found himself a lapful of sleepy, glorious hero Todoroki Shouto. He waltzed into his corridors in the dead of night, and of course none of the guards thought to stop the champion making his way to Katsuki. Shouto’s sleep garments hiked up his alabaster thighs and plopped right atop Katsuki’s own, tracing a double-u around Katsuki as he slow-blinked dumbly at his blond personal pillow. Katsuki’s traitorous hands found themselves aching to reconfirm the shape the supple legs made.
“Katsuki, are you listening to me?” The vision between his thighs, his hands, and the center of his world at this point really, said with a pout. Strong enough to break the man from his stupor.
“That’s Commander Katsuki to you Shortcake. Gods! It’s the middle of the night. And you’re in sleeping clothes. Why the fuck are you in my office, Princess?” Why are you in my lap? Can you please stay and never ever leave?
“Fine then, Commander Katsuki, I hoped to reconvene with the palace knights to procure safety measures for the borderland territories–” Which could definitely wait until tomorrow, Katsuki concluded, before a newspaper got shoved before his eyes with superhuman speed, outlining a gruff and fluffy forest cat.
“–and I wanted to let you see Muse Meows before, you know, the maids trash the paper and since he looks just like you.”
And while the feline pressed on every Sunday periodical (courtesy of Meowchal Angelo) may have shared a slight resemblance to his oft worn scowl, the very frown could hardly be worn in the presence of the angel, still looking ever so dumbly at him this Sunday evening, despite the harsh words Katsuki rasped out and his encroaching bedtime.
“God the holy fucking father, Halfie, it’s practically midnight and I have better things to do!” Katsuki groaned emphatically, he would drag his hands over his face if the digits weren’t preoccupied from almost holding the split-haired beauty, almost ghosting fingertips down the other’s ankles, up his knees, slowly snaking his way up an expanse of gorgeous thighs, and wrapping around to the lighter inner area. Todoroki’s head whipped up and his mismatched eyes locked with ruby red, Katsuki got pushed back into his chair with the sheer force of magnetism? and stayed planted in his seat to listen to the stupidity that would (and could) somehow excuse this blatant disrespect to a royal knight commander.
“It’s eight o’clock and I don’t see you busy with anything else though.” Todorki’s pout deepened. He took a break from gazing at Katsuki with mild annoyance and burrowed himself into the broad chest of hired muscle. Katsuki took this as a sign to sigh a disbelieving chuckle as he finally stood up, unceremoniously dumping the half-asleep nationally acclaimed savior onto the fine surface that was hardwood floor.
“I’m plenty busy.”
“Katsuki, it’s colder down here.” The pretty boy whined. The spikes of Katsuki’s hair, not unlike a cat, stood straight as he broke out into a furious flush.
‘You can’t expect me to keep you warm without burning you when your skin bathed in moonlight touches my wretched body finally gives my soul reprieve and a reason to breathe.’ Or that’s what Katsuki would have said, if he was dramatic. “Get out of my office! Before I explode!”
At least that last part was truthful. Last night, however, was not a one night fling. Todorki would never let it just be a one-night stand. There would be more lap sitting to be done. It had been a long long month after the war.