Chapter Text
Shouto is twenty seven.
He thinks about staying exactly where he is, cheek smushed into his pillow, curled up under his blanket for the rest of the day.
A minute passes. The numbers on his phone increment and unfortunately they still read 4:03 AM.
Well fuck.
Today isn’t even his birthday. He’d forgotten about it completely yesterday after working straight through the night before and passing out just after six. He’d been up for nearly forty consecutive hours and then gone straight to bed without dinner.
It’s a miracle he’d even bothered changing out of his hero costume to shower. Someone should give him an award for that.
A sudden sharp pang in his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten in a worryingly long time. He rolls onto the complaining organ and stubbornly ignores it.
He’s good at that. Ignoring his needs.
Shouto looks at his phone again and he has a dozen unread text messages and at least three missed phone calls. The notification previews of the former are all happy birthday messages from the class 3A group chat he’d been added to what seems now like a lifetime ago. There are also private texts from Yaoyorozu, Natsuo, one of his coworkers who is a little too friendly in Shouto’s opinion, and surprisingly his dad.
The calls are from Fuyumi, his mom, and Midoriya and they’d all left voicemails.
Shouto props himself up on his elbows, and sighs as he runs a hand over his face, then drags it through his hair. He scrolls blankly through the rest of his notifications.
He should call them back, reply in the threads, let everyone know he still cares. (They know he’s alive, he’s on the news nearly every day.)
He’ll do it later, when it's not such a shitty hour.
(Translation: he won’t.)
They’re used to it by now, he thinks. He’d stopped replying years ago. They know he sees the messages- he still opens the threads to leave them on read. But they’ve also long since learned to stop asking if he’s doing well, if he’s free this weekend, if he’s seeing anyone.
Seeing anyone, what a concept. Shouto almost never sees anyone outside of work and his family, much less in that way.
He does keep in touch with Midoriya still, but Midoriya’s been in England, then America, for the past two years now. Naturally, he’s working hard too. And Shouto is already grateful enough that about once every other month or two, Midoriya will wake up early to catch Shouto staying up late just to catch up. He can’t bother his best friend more than he already has.
He didn’t mean for it to be like this. But Shouto has always, always, found it difficult to connect with people. It’s even harder when everyone is so busy and relegated to words on a screen. Without tone of voice, body language, and regular in person contact, Shouto had found texting increasingly more awkward and contrived over time even after everything in high school that’d brought them together. At least he tries to show up to the major in person events, like Iida’s wedding and All Might’s final, final retirement party, and that should count for something right?
He’s not the only one inactive in the chat.
It’s only natural to drift apart after so much time right?
Ten years out of high school, and Shouto is so, so fucking lonely.
He lets his phone slide out of his hands and onto the edge of his pillow. Shouto’s face follows immediately after, letting the soft high thread count natural cotton suffocate him until his lungs begin to burn more than the emptiness in his chest.
—-
Seize life by the day!
Shouto pauses, spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth, and snorts as the colorful commercial turns out to be an ad for some kind of exclusive hero matchmaking service.
Discretion guaranteed! Hundreds of happy clients!
He turns the tv off and moves from the couch to put his dishes away.
It’s been a week since his birthday and he’s proud that he’s called his mom back and texted his siblings.
He has the entire weekend off of work for once and no plans to do anything.
An hour passes slowly and-
For some inexplicable reason that stupid commercial is now stuck is Shouto’s head.
Seize life by the day!
Shouto is twenty seven, and he’s still a virgin. At his age, his shitty father was married with three kids and a fourth on the way. Not that Shouto wants to be like his father.
It’s also not like he’s never tried dating or that he’s not interested in sex.
He’d been a teenage boy, once.
It’s just that, the hero Shouto attracts the kind of people that are interested in him for all the wrong reasons. And the few sparse dates he’d been on, half of which were set up by his dad, he’d felt absolutely nothing but an anxious growing desire to go home. Amajiki senpai had never been so relatable.
After high school graduation, he’d even gone on a short series of three dates with Yaoyorozu who remains until this day the most logically compatible partner he’s ever met, but there was just nothing there. She’d asked him out first with the vestiges of a teenager’s first crush, and then gently hugged him on their last date and said, “I’m sorry Todoroki-san, I really do love and respect you but think we’re better off as friends.”
And Shouto had nothing to say but, “Okay.”
Love is for other people, he thinks. Shouto doesn’t know if he even knows what love is.
He suddenly remembers Touya snickering from his hospital bed, badly burnt wrists bleeding painfully around thick anti-quirk cuffs. “You need to loosen up little bro. Go get laid or something.”
At the time Shouto had called him a raging hypocrite.
But…maybe he’s not wrong.
Love might be for other people but Shouto can at least get laid right?
It can’t be that hard to find somebody he doesn’t feel disgusted touching. He’s been voted number one sexiest hero of the year for nearly ten straight years since his debut.
He remembers with a small amount of amusement that there was some random year in between where the class group chat had blown up for months because he’d lost that spot to Bakugou of all people. He can’t recall what happened then because Shouto had never cared about such things. Bakugou is also glaringly absent from this chat these days.
Seize life by the day!
Shouto sighs, and pulls out his phone to look up the number. It’s not like he has anything better to do this weekend.
—-
The office is small, neutral, with minimal furnishings and decor. Everything looks new though, and what little is there seems to have been well thought out and carefully placed. It certainly looks like the space of a new budding business that’s trying its best to grow. It makes Shouto feel a bit less completely out of place, because work at least, is something he understands well. Perhaps too well.
The young lady that greets Shouto, whose name he'd promptly forgotten, looks starstruck only for a second before schooling her expression back into place, and Shouto quietly appreciates her professionalism
She leads him to sit at the only desk in the room, and seats herself at the other side of it, tapping away rapidly at her laptop. After a minute she spins it around to face him, a form pulled up for him to read and sign. There are several more tabs open in the background.
“So as I explained over the phone yesterday, our agency takes the privacy and concerns of our clients extremely seriously. Since most of you are famous to some degree- and of course you especially Todoroki-san -we do ask everyone to sign these legally binding nondisclosure agreements. I know the terms for violation can seem harsh but so far they have been serving us well. We’ve only had one minor incident in the past year and a half that we’ve been open. I’ll give you some time to read through it after I explain the other documents.”
Shouto nods, and she leans over the desk to click through the other tabs.
There’s a welcome letter that explains what the agency does and how they work. The next one is a schedule of fees and charges. Then there's a disclaimer about what to expect and waiver of guarantees. The last one is a questionnaire for partner preferences.
“My twin sister, Hana, and I run this agency together and we will be the only ones with access to your documents, so you won’t need to worry about anyone else seeing anything you put down. As explained in the welcome letter, while we do take your written preferences into account, we also use our quirks to help make better matches. Sometimes that means a particular match might not exactly meet all of your written preferences, but we ask that you trust us and give them a chance. While I can’t go into the exact nature of how our quirks work, I promise they are nothing invasive like reading thoughts or memories or anything like that! I will need to touch your hand, and the result is more like a color, or a feeling.”
The young lady who is at most Shouto’s age, if not younger, sits back down and smiles at him.
“I think that’s about it! Do you have any questions? If you’re still interested, I’ll leave you for a bit to look over everything. Please sign here, here, and here, and initial all of these here if everything looks good. Also, I just want to add that we try to be completely impartial here, hero Shouto! Please consider us a safe space. If you choose us we would be so honored.”
The way she talks makes everything sound so…normal. She makes it sound like everyone signs up for a matchmaking service they saw on tv every day. It makes him feel less insane than he'd worked himself up to be between the phone call and arriving here. Shouto nods again as she steps out of the room, into an even smaller one in the back which looks suspiciously like it might've once been a closet.
He stares at the documents, scrolling through them in order, not really reading anything. It looks mostly fine. It's just a lot of legalese, the words privacy and discretion repeated so often they stop looking like real words.
Well, he'd come here with singular intention. He might as well see it through.
Shouto e-signs the forms, and then finally just has just the questionnaire left.
It starts off fairly innocuous, things like: Preferred gender. Any. Preferred age. Plus or minus five years?
Describe your ideal partner's personality?
Shouto stops to think about this, and realizes it's not that hard. He's thought about this in moments of loneliness before.
Honest, hard-working, independent, and a good person.
He looks at it again, then adds: Witty.
And then it starts asking about his lifestyle, general availability, and what he's looking for. Shouto fills those out honestly too, that he works a lot and lives alone in a apartment in Tokyo. He's not looking for anything specific.
The next group of questions make him blush.
Would you consider yourself more dominant or submissive?
Preferred sexual kinks?
Non-negotiable sexual preferences?
Well, Shouto is a virgin so he has no idea. He's never gotten further than kissing. He has a fleeting thought that if the word 'daddy' ever came up in the middle of the act, he might set something on fire. (That's always going to be a sore spot no matter how much progress they’ve made towards healing as a family.)
He leaves everything blank.
The young lady comes back into the room just as Shouto finishes answering the questionnaire like she'd been watching his progress. That's fair, he supposes.
"We are so pleased to be working with you, sir!" She starts, and collects the laptop as she quickly looks over the forms. Deeming them completed, she looks up at him, and reaches both hands out. "All that's left then is this, please rest your palm face down in mine."
Shouto does.
He feels an unnatural tug at his heart, like an invisible pair of hands have touched it, and the young lady's eyes begin glowing yellow and orange, like a flame.
It only takes a brief moment until she lets go of him, and her eyes widen with a thoughtful expression crossing her face.
"Oh! How interesting. I- I need to talk to my sister." She smiles reassuringly again at him, "You're all done for today! We'll reach out when we have your first match available. It shouldn't take long, I think. I already have someone in mind."
—
Friday night finds Shouto frowning at the address on his phone.
True to her word, he’d gotten the arrangement text sooner than he’d expected on the Tuesday immediately following his appointment. There’s no name or description of who he’s supposed to meet, just a simple date, time, and place. Dress casual!
He looks up again, and yeah. He’s got the right place. A room on the twenty second floor of one of the swankiest five star hotels right by the river in Minato Ward.
Were all the agency’s matches like this or were they catering to what they thought Shouto would want, as the former number one hero’s son and current number two in Japan? He hates that idea already. Maybe it’s what his match prefers? Shouto isn’t sure how he feels about that either.
Also a hotel room for a first date seems a bit… presumptuous? Sure, the implications might be exactly what Shouto had wanted, but he’d still expected to have to ease into it. Normally people meet for coffee or drinks before right? Maybe dinner?
Are they expected to spend the night together?
A doorman holds the door open for him with a polite bow as he enters and Shouto is glad to remain unrecognized in his civilian clothes. He’s wearing one of his nicer shirts, an ice blue button down that he knows brings out the colors of both his eyes, and a pair of fitted gray trousers. Over this he’s thrown on an oversized unzipped white hoodie with the hood drawn up over his hair. He’d put on a facemask but foregone sunglasses since it is already dark outside.
If the front desk receptionist recognizes him, they don’t mention it. The room is under the matchmaking agency’s name, and he gets a keycard without any hassle. Shouto is ten minutes early, but apparently his companion had already picked up their card even earlier.
They don’t give him any hints on who it might be, and he doesn’t ask.
Outside the room, he hesitates again. He’d spent the better part of the week working up the resolve to meet at least one person. How bad could it possibly be? It can’t be any worse than one of his father’s blind date setups, right? At the very least it would be rude to stand him or her up last minute without any explanation. He can always leave.
Shouto knocks on the door twice, sharp and curt as a courtesy warning. He gives it another ten seconds and when there’s no response, he lets himself in.
Most of the lights in the room are off, and the few that are on are dimmed low.
Shouto freezes just inside the doorway. It could be nearly pitch black and he’d still recognize the shock of angry blond hair and scathing ruby eyes anywhere.
Bakugou stands, hands tucked into his jean pockets watching him cautiously. He must’ve been on his way to open the door, Shouto realizes belatedly. It’s strange to see him out of his hero costume, and stranger still to see him without an openly hostile expression. That much really hasn’t changed over the years. His shock fades into a calm familiarity. Of all the people- he tries to imagine Bakugou sitting in the same chair he did at the matchmaking agency and can’t.
They stare at each other, neither moving.
Bakugou is wearing a plain black t-shirt over distressed jeans. The shirt is low cut in a v shape, and shows off the sharp edges of his collar bones and sharper dip between defined pecs. The tapered fit emphasizes the shape of a deliciously narrow waist. His pants hug thick thighs. Bakugou treads barefoot.
He looks - Shouto swallows, mouth dry - he looks good. But he also isn’t going to be happy in about five seconds.
Bakugou’s posture is deceptively relaxed, but Shouto knows the subtle tension in his shoulders, and the way his breathing is strictly controlled. He’s on high alert for a threat. Shouto knows this because the two top heroes presently in Japan do work together after all, on occasion. They’ve known each other for nearly thirteen years.
Recognition flits across Bakugou’s face and Shouto wonders if it’s his eyes or the visible fringes of his bangs that give him away first. He wonders if maybe he should have worn the damn sunglasses.
Bakugou’s fight or flight response only ever goes one way, and Shouto braces himself for it.
“Bakugou?”
“What the fuck?” Bakugou growls on cue, tone dangerous and eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing, half 'n half. Did you get your fucking room wrong?”
Shouto wets his lips and checks his expression. He pulls his mask off and steps out of his shoes. The hardwood is cold beneath his socks.
“No.”
He takes a step forward, and Bakugou takes two back.
Shouto lifts an eyebrow and watches with interest as an embarrassed flush threatens to peek out from under Bakugou’s collar. Bakugou appears to realize his mistake when his back brushes the wall and then he’s stalking forward, right up into Shouto’s face.
“Move.” He demands, “I’m fucking leaving.”
Shouto stands up straighter, and his extra three and a half inches force Bakugou to tilt his head up to continue glaring at him.
Time has matured them both, but it hasn’t fundamentally changed either of their personalities.
Bakugou isn’t patient enough to wait for Shouto to respond. He moves to shove Shouto aside and reach around him for the door handle.
Shouto catches the wrist by his side easily.
“Bakugou, wait.” He sighs, “You can leave, if you want to. But, you know I won’t tell anyone. We’re here for the same reason aren’t we? I’m at least a little bit curious, aren’t you?”
Bakugou jerks his wrist back as if scalded.
He rubs absently at where their skin had touched and glares at Shouto for another long moment, brows furrowed and mouth drawn, not saying anything. Shouto stares right back, unyielding.
They’re so close that Shouto can smell the expensive cologne that Bakugou wears on occasion: to formal hero events, and apparently his dates or whatever this is. There’s a pleasant undercurrent of the sweet scent of his nitroglycerin sweat. He really does clean up nicely, even Shouto has to admit, although he’s never really put much thought to it before.
His brain is having trouble reconciling the Bakugou that Shouto knows with the idea that someone out there with a supposedly relevant quirk has apparently found them to be particularly compatible… romantic? Sexual? Something. Something partners that's strictly non platonic.
The circumstances make Shouto brave. Bakugou is considerably more flustered about this than he is. The mood lighting and lingering warmth of contact make it easy now to imagine the hot press of lips against skin, the slide of hands under clothing. Shouto finds that he doesn’t care if his first time is with Bakugou. It’s better actually, than most options he can think of. Bakugou will keep it to himself and Shouto already trusts him. He imagines what it's like putting that explosive mouth to better use and-
“Fuck! Fuck.” Bakugou’s loud swearing jerks him out of his thoughts and Shouto hopes Bakugou doesn’t notice that he’s half hard in his pants. “Fucking fine.”
“What-“ Shouto starts.
“You want to do this? Fine.” Bakugou whirls around and stomps back into the suite. “I need a fucking drink.”
Shouto follows him in.
—-
As far as Shouto is aware, Bakugou doesn’t drink. Once, in the end of their third year, Kaminari and Sero had snuck several bottles of cheap sake into their dorm and nearly everyone had proceeded to get absolutely trashed. It’d been so exciting, then. They were teenagers who’d already seen more tragedy than most over the course of a lifetime, playing at grown ups on the precipice of adulthood and something bigger than themselves, savoring one of their last sunsets together. Shouto had felt so alive. Like maybe this was the start and end of something. They were so, so young with dreams in their eyes and trauma in their hearts, with more feelings than anyone could understand. Bakugou had called everyone idiots and threatened to blow up anyone who woke him up. Then he’d gone to bed promptly at 8pm like any other day.
Shouto can barely remember any of the rest of that night, but he still remembers the looks on the teachers faces when a third of the class fails to show up the next morning. It had almost made his headache worth it. In the end, the teachers didn’t even have the heart to punish the kids who’d been forced to grow up too quickly for something like that.
He can’t even recall seeing Bakugou nursing a glass of champagne or anything at any given hero gala or charity events.
He muses out loud, hovering a safe distance away, “I didn’t know you drink.”
Bakugou tilts an unlabeled glass carafe of clear liquor into a small ceramic cup, and side eyes Shouto. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“That’s not true.” Shouto replies evenly, and when it becomes obvious that Bakugou doesn’t intend to pour a second shot, moves to do it himself. “I know that you like spicy food, sleeping early, and you cook well. That you dislike the cold because it makes your quirk weaker. I know that you went out of your way to visit the family of the little girl we couldn’t save last year to personally apologize even though we weren’t even called in until it was too late for her.” I know that sometimes you look like you hate yourself, Shouto doesn’t say out loud.
“You keeping a creepy Deku-ass notebook on me too? I drink when I want to.” Bakugou downs his shot as if to prove his point, then pours himself another one. He drags his gaze slowly once over Shouto in a way that makes Shouto feel self-conscious.
“Alright, I’ll bite.” Bakugou says, watching Shouto play catchup with the sake. “What the fuck are you doing here? There is no way you don’t have a million people falling over themselves to give you whatever the fuck it is you want. So why am I looking at you right now?”
“Why do you think that?” Shouto frowns down at his cup, ignoring the questions he can’t answer. He’s definitely not going to tell Bakugou the truth about how pathetically lonely he is. A million people may know his name and face, but they also, in Bakugou’s own words, don’t know shit about him. Shouto doesn’t know how to do meaningless relations. He’s barely able to keep up with the meaningful ones. Distractedly, he then thinks- Bakugou has never been meaningless to him. What a revelation.
“Why-?! You’re fucking hot.” Bakugou scowls at him incredulously, as though personally offended. “I know there’s a whole lot of nothing going on in that pretty head but come on, the goddamn extras have been telling you this since day one.”
Shouto nearly drops his drink. Then he grips it so tight it frosts over. His cheeks feel extra warm.
“You think I’m hot?”
“I think you’re a moron,” Bakugou corrects immediately. He glares off to the side,”I said what I said.”
There are layers to this conversation that Shouto will try to unpack later but at the moment he can barely think with the rush of blood pounding in his ears and there are no thoughts in his head except Bakugou Katsuki thinks he’s hot.
It makes him a little mad, actually. Here they are, on a supposedly mutually beneficial arrangement, with nothing else but a king sized bed and expensive liquor. Bakugou is a smart guy. He’s asking questions he already knows the answers to, just to make Shouto say it. Why does he have to make everything so difficult?
Shouto finishes his last shot and grabs Bakugou’s half finished cup out of his hand, setting it down none too gently on the hotel room minibar.
Bakugou visibly flinches as Shouto crowds into his personal space, not touching him, but just barely, arms bracketing him on both sides against a table.
“Bakugou. You’re fucking hot too. I could ask the same things but I won’t.” Shouto’s eyes are drawn to the movement of Bakugou’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, leaning as far back as he can from Shouto. He ends up staring down at Bakugou’s lips. He briefly considers the consequences of closing the distance just to know how they taste. “I came here to meet someone I could lose my virginity to,” he mutters, a little more quietly, “and it could be you, if you’re willing.”
The pretty flush from earlier finally makes its way up Bakugou’s entire face.
“You’re a virgin?” He asks, eyes wide and unblinking, voice uncharacteristically uncertain. “And you want your first time to be with…me? Because someone put us in this room together? Are you fucking with me?”
Shouto presses forward a fraction more, eyes blazing in his earnesty. “I’m trying to, yes.”
For a minute, Bakugou closes his own eyes and appears to take several deep breaths. A tiny tremor wracks through him as his fists clench. When they’re open again, Bakugou presses an open palm, heavy into Shouto’s face, putting some space between them.
“Bakugou…”, Shouto tries, muffled around the salty taste of skin against his tongue. He blinks through the space between thick splayed fingers.
Bakugou groans, “You better not make me fucking regret this, Todoroki.” And then he hauls Shouto back in by the collar of his shirt.
—-
Kissing Bakugou is a lot like sparring with him, Shouto thinks. Hot, urgent, and with quite a bit of bite. He has one hand braced against the table digging into his back and the other still fisted tightly in Shouto’s clothes.
“Close your eyes,” Sharp canines nip against Shouto’s bottom lip. “Don’t be fucking weird.” He laves over the same spot with his tongue.
Shouto kind of doesn’t want to, but obediently closes his eyes anyway. He wants to remember Bakugou’s face like this, with the red of his eyes darkened nearly black, cheeks tinged pink, lips glistening with their mixed saliva. It is a really good look on him.
He chases Bakugou’s tongue with his own, licking and sucking his way into the wet cavern of Bakugou’s mouth, delighting at the small moan that elicits in response.
One of Shouto’s hands explores up the front of Bakugou’s shirt, tracing the pads of his fingers over the ridges of hard abs and old scars. The shirt rides up far enough for Shouto to brush over a nipple. He rolls the nub between his fingers and then pinches it experimentally. The sound that Bakugou makes jolts straight to Shouto’s cock. He repeats the process on the other side and then one of Bakugou’s hands tightens in the back of his shirt, dragging him down so they’re pressed flush against each other, trapping Shouto’s hand between their bodies.
Bakugou’s legs part to allow one of Shouto’s to slip in between. He breaks the kiss with a loud gasp when Shouto’s thigh slides against the hard shape of his cock through their pants, and Shouto grinds his own down into Bakugou’s hip with a broken sound. Something unspoken shatters between them and once started they can’t stop, desperately rutting into each other.
He’s so hard that it hurts.
There’s a growing wet spot in his underwear from how much precum he must be leaking that quickly begins to chafe, but Shouto is too far gone to care. At some point someone shifts so that their cocks line up directly, grinding hot and hard with every movement, and the friction is driving him insane.
“W-wait,” He dimly hears Bakugou stutter as Shouto presses tiny kisses to the side of his neck, “Didn’t you want to- nngh ah! I don’t know, actually fuck, or- fuck! something?”
Shouto’s hips snap forward with a shudder. “Oh,” he manages, “I think it might be, um, too late for- “
“Fucking christ-“ Shouto is cut off by hands frantically undoing his belt and unzipping and pulling him out of his pants. It takes another second for him to register that Bakugou had done the same for himself, that he now has a hand wrapped both of them, jerking them off fast and hard with the wet slide of copious amounts of precum easing the way.
“Bakugou,” Shouto all but cries, head dropping onto Bakugou’s shoulder, hands clenching against the table, mouth open and panting, unable to do anything except thrust up into his imminent orgasm. It is so much.
“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Bakugou gasps into the top of his head, “Come for me halfie. God.”
Shouto spills wordlessly all over Bakugou’s hand before he’s even finished his sentence.
He’s never come so hard in his life.
When he’s able to think properly again, Shouto looks at the mess they’ve made, streaks of white splattered onto the floor and all over the front of their pants. The table is covered in a thin layer of ice from where he must’ve accidentally used his quirk in an unconscious effort to cool down the way his blood had felt like it was on fire.
Bakugou stands up and winces as his back audibly cracks and he looks for and grabs several tissues to clean himself up a bit before his expression settles into something inscrutable. Shouto watches him cautiously, feeling both incredibly satisfied and horribly awkward in the aftermath of what they’d just done.
What’s he supposed to say? What happens now? He has no more reason to be here tonight, unless Bakugou wants to go again, but he surprises even himself when he realizes that he doesn’t want to leave immediately. Suddenly Shouto wishes that he could talk to Midoriya about this. Midoriya would know what to do, maybe. Then, the image of Midoriya and Bakugou being together like this pops into his head and he decides he doesn’t like that idea after all.
“You’re staring.” Bakugou says shortly, shoving the tissue box into Shouto’s chest.
“I-“ Shouto tries to find the right words, but all that he ends up blurting is, “I’d really like to do that again.”
“Ugh,” Bakugou’s eyes narrow in disgust, and Shouto’s stomach flips. “We just came in our fucking pants like goddamn teenagers. We are not doing that again.”
“Oh. Okay.” Shouto swallows around the lump in his throat and fumbles with his belt as he zips himself back up hastily. “Sorry if it was that bad. I’ll… go.”
He’s about to toe on his shoes when Bakugou speaks again, tone slightly incredulous. “What part of cumming in my pants makes you think I thought it was that bad you fucking idiot?”
Shouto frowns at his feet, pausing.
“You said-“
“You are the worst date ever.” Bakugou huffs, and he almost sounds like he’s laughing. It’s surprising enough to make Shouto turn around.
“Next time, at least try to make it out of your clothes.” Bakugou’s lips are red and half swollen, one corner lifted into a lazy smirk. Shouto did that to him. He’d said next time. “No wonder you’re still a virgin with a face like that.”
It’s really hard to be mad about it, when not five minutes ago that same mouth had been moaning profanities into Shouto’s. Bakugou isn’t even technically wrong. Just rude.
“And who’s fault is that?” Shouto complains, even as he allows a small smile to grace his own lips.
Bakugou rolls his eyes, straightens his clothes, and shoves his hands back into his pockets.
“Yours, obviously. Get out of here you loser, I ain’t getting caught leaving with you.”