Shouto isn’t usually the sort to call drinking on an empty stomach fun but his head is buzzing and Kirishima is laughing at his flat sense of humour. Kirishima’s eyes are glassy, tears of mirth darkening his eyelashes as Shouto bluntly observes Izuku’s latest rambling Twitter thread. It’s all a little much.
He knocks back the last few sips of whiskey in his glass, now tipsy enough to not wince at the taste, the usual burning throat dulled to a tingling warmth.
“Woah, Todoroki you’re kinda hardcore, you know that?” Kirishima leans away to take in Todoroki’s appearance. He’s no doubt flushed, eyes a little unfocused, but Kirishima nods appreciatively, lifts his glass and knocks it back.
Shouto takes in the bar as Kirishima chokes. It’s dark, rustic, just on the right side of grungy without being unclean. There’s no fruity cocktails on the menu or a dance floor. A few permanently occupied pool tables instead. The music is heavy and it thrums through his chest when he lets it. He has no doubt Katsuki would thrive here. Kirishima really does know him well.
“Are you alright?” Shouto asks, reminded of Kirishima’s struggle. His eyes are watery when he nods but otherwise, he’s alive and well. “I’m not hardcore,” Shouto continues Kirishima’s earlier thought, “you’re just a marshmallow.” Kirishima snorts, loud and ugly. It makes Shouto want to smack his head against something.
“Screw you too, dude,” he says, mock offended.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Shouto thinks.
“What?” Kirishima asks, raising his voice over a sudden burst of noise from a group in the corner. Shouto panics.
“I said - another round?” He amends. Kirishima shakes his head, looking vaguely green at the idea.
“I need a break.”
Shouto nods, settling into the well worn cushioning of the booth they’ve taken up. They talk about nothing, for a while. Hero stats, where their friends holidayed this year, how their mothers are doing. When Shouto admits that, actually, his mother isn’t doing particularly well, Kirishima leans into him and their knees knock together, their thighs pressed close. Shouto has never claimed to be the most socially or emotionally aware but when he realises that when, even in this crowded bar, he barely has to raise his voice for Kirishima to hear him talk it becomes clear something is happening.
He doesn’t think he’s ever been sat so close to someone in public. Possibly not even Katsuki. He’s so near that all he would have to do is turn his head and his lips could be brushing Kirishima’s ear.
“You know you’re, like, one of my best friends, right?” Kirishima interrupts. Shouto’s thoughts grind to a halt. He turns just slightly, just enough to see the sheepish grin on Kirishima’s face.
“What?” He chokes. The irony of his ability to knock back alcohol but choke on feelings while Kirishima does the opposite is not lost on him. However, it’s really not the moment to be having a crisis about his emotional availability.
“Yeah, I mean,” Kirishima slings an arm around Todoroki’s shoulders. “We got super close at U.A. when we were trying to work out how to both date Katsuki at the same time. You were so good about all of it, so chilled out. I was so anxious, you really made me feel better.” Shouto shifts, turning into Kirishima’s body to give him his full attention. His hand slips onto his thigh before he notices what he’s doing. Since it’s there, though, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Still, look at you now. You’ve got no reason to be hanging out with me so I can feel better about Katsuki cancelling on us tonight, I just wish I could do more for- for you,” Kirishima finishes.
“What I mean is- is that if you ever need anything you should ask me, okay?” Kirishima looks so hopeful. Shouto has no doubt he would diligently carry out whatever Shouto asked of him right now. It should make him feel powerful. Instead, his eyes flicker down to Kirishima’s lips.
It’s ridiculous how bereft he’d felt after their late-night talks had ended when they moved out of the dorms. Now he knows why. He hadn’t been mourning a friendship, he’d been mourning a crush.
“Todoroki,” Kirishima calls, hesitant. Only then he realises he’s been staring too long. Kirishima definitely caught that. When Shouto manages to drag his eyes up again he can feel his cheeks burning with something other than whiskey but Kirishima isn’t frowning. He isn’t smiling his usual smile either but his face is relaxed in what looks a lot like curiosity.
“I-” he swallows- “I don’t have anything to ask for,” Shouto lies, “but if I ever think of anything-” Kirishima beams. Shouto can’t finish his sentence for the life of him, too busy staring at the million-watt smile so close to his face. His heart skips.
“That makes me so happy, man, you don’t even know.”
“I do,” Shouto says, quieter than before. His eyes slide away, staring at the drop of whiskey left in his glass on the table. “It was strange not being able to talk to you as much after U.A,” Shouto admits, sliding his hand from sitting on top of Kirishima’s thigh to wrapping around it, fingers pressing into the meat of his inner thigh. “When I realised I hadn’t ever needed your phone number before- well, Katsuki gave it to me. I don’t always have a lot to say but you’re one of the first people I always think about- saying it to,” he cringes inwardly at how wooden he sounds.
Kirishima goes oddly still. Shouto’s eyes flicker back to his face, looking up through his eyelashes to try and keep his red face angled away. Kirishima sniffles.
“That’s- oh man,” Kirishima laughs through watery eyes. “You can’t just say that shit, be gentle with me,” he says.
“Don’t cry,” Shouto half begs. Kirishima chuckles, seemingly recovered despite sniffling.
“We need another drink,” he declares.
By the time Kirishima flags down one of only two waitresses, Shouto’s throat is parched. He can’t work out if it’s from feeling a few too many things or that he feels a lot like Katsuki would be incredibly smug right now. They’ve talked about it before, about Katsuki’s fantasies of having Shouto and Kirishima at once. It’s why they removed a degree of separation, started going on dates as a three sometimes.
It was always the two of them spoiling Katsuki. Now, Shouto realises, it was likely how magnetic Katsuki is to them both that stopped whatever this is from happening. Katsuki has always been the best kind of distraction.
He knocks back this whiskey faster than the last one. Kirishima guffaws at him but doesn’t try to match him, sipping away at his glass.
Shouto steals it out of Kirishima’s hand, taking an extra sip to preserve his sanity. Or, possibly, to lose it somewhere in a drunken haze.
“Double dipping, much?” Kirishima jokes. Shouto rolls his eyes, blood rushing through his veins and heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“We’re both sleeping with the same man, I’ve practically had your cock in my mouth,” he reminds him. He takes a mere moment to be regretful before consciously throwing his reservations out of the window. Who cares if he wants to flirt with his boyfriend’s boyfriend? The only opinion he cares about on this subject is Katsuki’s.
“I mean- that’s true but-” Kirishima splutters. Todoroki finds that expression taking over his face, the one that spells trouble. The one that tends to only come out around Katsuki in the privacy of their bedroom. The ache of the smirk in his cheek grows as Kirishima starts to turn red.
“But?” He prompts. Kirishima deflates. “Anyway, finish this,” Shouto encourages. He pushes the glass back into Kirishima’s hand. He manages to swallow it in one without coughing this time but his face still screws up in a way that makes him and his many pounds of muscle look adorable. Kirishima shudders, presses his forehead briefly against Shouto’s in a mock headbutt. It’s so desperately close. Shouto’s palms are sweaty.
“Need the bathroom,” Kirishima says, breaking away from Shouto faster than either of them expected. Shouto worries briefly that Kirishima has gone to throw up but he walks steadily away from their table. He feels oddly exposed all of a sudden, too alone in a bar full of people.
He pulls his phone out, fitting himself snuggly into the corner of their booth, fingers automatically opening his chat with Katsuki; the screen is taken up by his short but effective apology for missing tonight and Shouto’s reluctant acceptance. He locks his phone, tapping it against his lips a couple times, squinting in the direction Kirishima disappeared.
To Katsuki 21:58
How would you feel if I sucked your boyfriend’s dick tonight
He takes a deep breath. Too late to regret it now. His head is still fuzzy enough that it doesn’t really make him panic. Katsuki is the simplest of the three of them. Shouto is the one who overthinks because he knows he’s not particularly adept at reading a room. Kirishima is the one with self-doubt. Katsuki is the one who lets everything roll off of him, kind of, maybe with a few choice curses. If he’s not fine with it he won’t be offended, Shouto is sure of it.
He knows he’s losing time when Kirishima reappears beside him, seemingly out of nowhere. He shakes himself off mentally, doesn’t let himself hesitate. He slides along the bench right back up against Kirishima, whose arm falls around his waist like that’s where it had been in the first place, so he returns his hand to Kirishima’s thigh.
“Lonely while I was gone?” Kirishima teases, looking pointedly at where Todoroki has pressed himself up against him.
“Desperately,” Shouto gives as good as he gets. Kirishima’s cheeks are pink, eyes a little wide, but he smiles at Shouto all the same.
“Anyway, what were we talking about- uh-”
“Your cock in my mouth,” Shouto reminds him in his breeziest tone.
“R-right,” Kirishima wobbles, “I don’t know how you can say that so easily.” Shouto ponders that. Ultimately, the answer is very simple; he wants Kirishima’s cock in his mouth. He’s always been awkward but straightforward in his desires and intentions. He’s never really beat around the bush. He shrugs. Kirishima relaxes a little, securing his arm further around Shouto’s waist.
Shouto’s phone lights up in his hand, attracting his attention for a moment.
From Katsuki 22:04
Shouto hits the lock button, heat rushing through him all at once. Kirishima’s hand on his waist feels like a livewire. He squeezes the palm he has on Kirishima’s leg as he leans forward and puts his phone down on the table, letting the angle of his fingers change as he moves, brushing close to the seat of his pants.
Shouto turns, looking Kirishima in the eye as he beckons him closer with a finger. He knows he’s onto a winner when Kirishima leans in, not giving it a second thought, trusting him so implicitly. He licks his lips, lowers his voice to the tone that always makes Katsuki shudder.
“It’s about familiarity,” he explains. Kirishima watches him closely, eyes dropping to his mouth as he talks. “Sometimes, just once in a while, Katsuki will talk about you. He doesn’t spare any details but I’m sure you know that,” he murmurs. Shouto has to hold back a shiver, watching Kirishima’s pupils dilate right in front of him. “But, on an even rarer occasion, he’ll see me right after he sees you.”
“Shit,” Kirishima breathes. His chest hitches. Shouto moves his hand further up Kirishima’s thigh until it would only take one movement, one inch, and he’d be touching Kirishima’s cock through his pants.
“Sometimes,” Shouto continues, “while I eat you out of him, I wonder what it’d be like to taste from the source.” Shouto’s cock throbs against his thigh.
“Shouto- I- this is-” Kirishima says, hand gripping Shouto’s waist so tight it could bruise. But Kirishima used his name and, stirred in with the whiskey, the pain in his waist just feels like heat. “I’m confused, are you trying to say you want that?”
Shouto’s inhale shudders, uncertainty gripping him out of nervousness, but he nods; he holds Kirishima’s gaze with renewed determination, not allowing him to look away again.
“Shit,” Kirishima repeats, half moans. Other hand coming around to paw at Shouto’s leg, almost swallowing up his thigh with the breadth of his palm. He steels himself, bites back the nerves. Leans in.
His lips meet Kirishima’s cheek. The rejection knives through him, feeling how Kirishima turns and flinches away. He doesn’t think he’s experienced such a visceral feeling of self-doubt since he found out Kirishima and Katsuki were dating, assuming he had lost his chance. He lets his head fall to Kirishima’s shoulder, a weak laugh escaping him.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry-” Kirishima repeats. “I can’t- not without talking to Katsuki, I could never-” he removes his hand from Shouto’s leg to cover his mouth. Shouto wants to laugh and cry all at once, relief flooding him. It’s still a little miserable but it’s so much better than Kirishima flinching away because he’s repulsed by him.
“I’m really happy it’s you,” Shouto says. Smiling despite the sting.
“What?” Kirishima asks, confusion leaking through. Shouto rolls his eyes. Kirishima is so good to Katsuki, Shouto has had to up his game so much because of him and their relationship is better for it. He feels so much warmth for Kirishima’s blatant unwillingness to overstep Katsuki’s boundaries that it makes his newly realised crush explode even further.
He lifts his head, grabs his phone, not looking at Kirishima as he unlocks it. By the time Kirishima takes it from him, reading the text messages between Shouto and Katsuki, he’s fighting the urge to let his leg bounce impatiently.
“ Oh ,” Kirishima says, starts typing something out on Shouto’s phone. The wait between Kirishima texting Katsuki and Katsuki texting back feels like five years. “Fuck, okay,” Kirishima says, mostly to himself. Something about it is meaningful but Shouto isn’t sure he can face him right now. Not that Kirishima takes that lying down. He takes Shouto’s chin between thick fingers and forcibly turns his face back towards him. Unable to look elsewhere, he finds Kirishima’s expression unfamiliar. Unfamiliar but hungry. “Let’s get out of here.”
Shouto literally shivers.
“Yes,” he agrees but Kirishima already has a hand back around his wrist, pulling him from the booth they’ve been sitting in.
Leaving the bar is a blur. Shouto is too busy trying to breathe through the idea of Kirishima wanting him back, reeling from how quickly everything turned around to concentrate on street names. Kirishima’s apartment is only one stop away on the train, a mere fifteen minutes and- no, he can’t think about that yet.
Kirishima doesn’t let go of his wrist until they’re on the train but even then it’s only to grab him by the hips. He backs Shouto into a dark corner, the carriage is empty this late at night. He grabs the bar overhead to steady himself, lets Eijirou tilt his head back. His stomach bottoms out when he finally kisses him and their lips slot together oddly naturally.
He links his free hand around the back of Eijirou’s neck, using the leverage he has on the overhead bar to roll his hips. Eijirou bites his lip, tugging until Shouto is slack-jawed. Only then does Kirishima’s tongue invade his mouth. Shouto meets him in the middle and he can’t help but feel the loss of control, letting Eijirou push him around. His hands roam under Shouto’s shirt, stroking up his spine in a way that drags a purring moan from deep in his chest that he wasn’t even aware he could emit.
Fifteen minutes pass in two.
They’re back onto the bitingly cold streets in what feels like a blink. Shouto knows he’s had too much to drink but Eijirou keeps distracting him, tugging him along with an urgency Shouto is feeling just as vividly. They tear into Eijirou’s apartment with the same impatience, finding themselves mere metres inside when Shouto’s knees hit the floor, hands fumbling with Eijirou’s belt.
Eijirou’s fingers comb through his hair, pushing it back as reality crackles out.
He knew he had a little too much to drink.
Everything hurts. His jaw aches with a vengeance, forcing him awake. He’s not sure if his throat burns because he needs to vomit but his stomach rolls like he might. He blinks at an unfamiliar ceiling from an unfamiliar bed.
His memory hasn’t failed him entirely, though. He knows that the snoring he can hear next to him is Kirishima. When he turns, those familiar red spikes are gone, soft red hair splayed out across the pillow instead. His stomach flips again. Differently, this time. He can feel his heart picking up pace, even in light of his hangover.
He knocks back the painkillers and water he finds on the nightstand gratefully, flips through the memories of last night, finding the darkest and blurriest are after arriving at Kirishima’s apartment. He’s had his cock down his throat, though. He can tell. He can remember at least that much.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He reaches for it, bleary with sleep and squinting at the screen as he brings it close to his face. It’s a notification from a group chat he’s in with Izuku and Iida. He ignores it, unlocking his phone anyway to see his and Katsuki’s messages with sober eyes.
What he finds instead is a video beneath a text Kirishima had sent the night before. He hadn’t signed it with his name, but Katsuki’s response of ‘just get on with it, Ei’ is telling of how well he knows them.
The thumbnail of the video is easily recognisable, his hair is particularly unique, after all. He’s on his knees on the floor at Kirishima’s feet. Blatantly getting his face fucked. The play button covers his expression but he can already imagine exactly how fucked out he looks.
He leaves his phone in bed and drags himself to Kirishima’s bathroom. He finds a packaged toothbrush and mentally apologises to Kirishima before he rips it open. Only once he’s brushed away the fuzzy feeling on his teeth does he realise he’s wearing one of Kirishima’s shirts.
He puts it back on after he rinses himself off in the shower and doesn’t bother with his underwear, it’s probably dirty anyway. When he makes it back to bed Kirishima is up. Shouto can hear him banging around in the kitchen but he doesn’t care to investigate, flopping back onto the mattress with a groan.
He’s drifted off again when he hears Kirishima close the bedroom door behind him, fighting to open his eyes to the toast being waved in front of him.
“Thanks,” he says, voice hoarse. Kirishima winces, clambering back into bed with him and tearing a bite out of his own toast.
“Sorry about your throat,” he says as he chews. “I don’t have any tea or anything otherwise-”
“Kirishima,” Shouto interrupts, startling his bedmate more than he intended, “I imagine it was beyond worth it.” Kirishima grins, nodding in agreement for a moment before he stops dead.
“I can watch the video to remember the details,” Shouto reasons, mostly to himself. He doesn’t expect Kirishima to stuff the last bite of toast into his mouth and disappear under the blankets with an embarrassed groan.
“I forgot about the video,” he hears from Kirishima’s hiding spot. It drags an incredulous laugh out of him, poking the Kirishima shaped lump to try and chase him out. “Ack, hey! Alright,” Kirishima gasps re-emerging with a flourish, “but please stop calling me Kirishima when I came on your face last night.” Shouto frowns, hand coming up to check his face. “Wh- no, I- it’s fine, I cleaned you up.”
“Thanks, Eijirou,” he says, amusement breaking through the hangover. Eijirou leans back against the pillows, covering his face with his hands. They sit in silence for a while, Shouto chewing on his toast slowly so as to not upset his stomach.
He’s hyper-aware of his phone, the video some forbidden treasure that he feels like he needs to study in excruciating detail. He glances sideways, watching Eijirou watch the ceiling and wonders why he’s pussyfooting around.
“Want to watch it?”
“Yeah,” Eijirou responds immediately. He shifts closer, leaning his head on Shouto’s shoulder as he pulls his phone out of their hangover nest. He hesitates to press play, looking a little too long at this censored image of himself. Eijirou waits patiently, shuffling in closer when Shouto finally taps his screen.
His volume is on the lowest setting, only leaving them with a faint impression of Eijirou moaning his name. They’ve obviously moved on from the hallway, Shouto on his knees leaning back against the side of Eijirou’s bed, who stands in front of him. Cock thick and full and currently sliding into Shouto’s mouth.
They’ve obviously already had their chance to warm up, Shouto’s cheeks splotchy and red, taking Eijirou so deep down his throat he’s got his nose buried in black curls. The camera isn’t particularly steady in Eijirou’s hand, especially when he tilts his hips to pull his cock halfway out of Shouto’s mouth and thrust back in.
He gags, loud enough it filters through the speakers and drool dribbles down his chin but he holds fast. Lets Eijirou fist a hand in the back of his hair and fuck his throat, Shouto making loud wet noises every time Eijirou irritates his gag reflex.
It’s disgusting but it’s so hot. Shouto’s cock throbs underneath the sheets but he ignores it in favour of seeing the video through. Eijirou is oddly still as well, watching as Shouto squeezes his eyes closed on screen and a tear leaks from his left eye while Eijirou’s thrusts get more brutal.
He ends up flinching back a couple of times to suck in air or cough but comes back just as eager for more every time. Eyes bright with tears and lips swollen red.
Eijirou pulls out and comes across Shouto’s face, moaning what sounds like praises as a rope of come lands diagonally across Todoroki’s nose bridge. The rest paints his lips and tongue, that he’s obediently lolled out of his mouth.
The video ends as Eijirou smears his thumb across Shouto’s lower lip, slipping through his own seed as Shouto shudders in place.
He immediately clicks replay. Watches all over again the way his brows pull in as he concentrates on not choking, the way Eijirou cards fingers through his hair to encourage him or praise him for taking a particularly hard thrust. How dilated his pupils are at the end. How he doesn’t even need to see it to know from his shuddering at the end that he’s come as Eijirou paints his face.
“Fuck,” Eijirou observes from beside him. Shouto almost flinches, so absorbed in what was on his screen that a reminder real life exists is a shock. “I’m rock hard right now,” he continues. Shouto’s silence speaks a thousand words. “If you dare make a joke about my quirk-”
“Me too,” Shouto interrupts. Eijirou lifts his head from his shoulder, moving to look at Shouto’s face.
“Yeah,” he echoes. Eijirou pushes the phone from his hands as he comes to lean over Shouto on his hands and knees, bodily dragging him down the bed so he’s laid back on Eijirou’s pillows. It’s too much for his heart to lay staring up at the way Eijirou’s hair falls around his face, so he welcomes the kiss, as filthy as it is. Eijirou’s tongue is in his mouth before he’s taken the moment to appreciate the way his lips feel with a sober mind.
He moans his approval into Eijirou’s mouth anyway, inordinately pleased with the slow heat seeping through his body as he begins to rest more of his weight on Shouto. Not that he’s satisfied until Eijirou is pressed right up against him like a particularly jacked weighted blanket. When did his hands get into Eijirou’s hair?
Shouto accepts it as it comes, appreciating how soft the strands and the buzzed geometric patterns in the sides feel under his fingertips as they fall into something slower, stickier. It’s no less intense but the sharp edge of starvation fades away as time stretches out between them. Neither of them is going anywhere.
“Off,” Eijirou instructs as he pulls at the shirt Shouto is wearing. They only part for a moment, enough for Shouto to sit up and Eijirou to pull the blasted thing off of him. When he hits the sheets again Eijirou’s lips are at his collar, tongue tasting the skin there. Shouto hooks a finger into the elastic of Eijirou’s underwear and tugs meaningfully.
“Off,” he echoes. Eijirou obliges him with an easy grin and Shouto is pulling him back down to kiss it off his stupid sexy mouth before his underwear even makes it past his ankles. They both make a wrecked noise as Eijirou leans his weight back into Shouto, rolling his hips and sliding their cocks together.
“God, I wanna fuck you,” Eijirou mumbles distractedly into Shouto’s neck.
“Yeah, okay,” he replies, punched out with how embarrassingly hard he’s breathing. Eijirou pauses, sitting up a little to look Shouto in the eye with a not so innocent grin splitting his face.
“Don’t act like that isn’t where this was going and get the lube,” Shouto instructs. Eijirou beams, launching himself towards the drawer of the bedside table.
“I’m so fucking lucky, man,” he says. Shouto smacks his ass in retaliation for being so embarrassing. “Ow,” Eijirou says pointedly as he comes to sit between Shouto’s legs. To his great satisfaction, Eijirou wastes no time slicking up two fingers and pressing them against Shouto’s ass.
“Come back here,” Shouto demands, pleased when Eijirou leans down to kiss him and rubs a tight circle around the pucker of his ass. He sinks his fingers inside Shouto with no time wasted. It’s a tight fit and Shouto’s nails find a home in Eijirou’s shoulder blades.
Eijirou doesn’t make any extra movements, doesn’t fuck Shouto with his fingers, just scissors them enough to stretch him. The hot wet efficiency has Shouto salivating for it, the end goal in such clear sight. Eijirou moves his fingers like he’s known Shouto’s body this way for years, pushing and stretching in all the ways that have Shouto malleable in mind and body.
They both feel the moment Shouto’s body gives way to the stretch, groaning against each other’s mouths.
“You good?” Eijirou asks.
“Yeah, yes,” Shouto corrects unnecessarily. Eijirou moves to press inside him as soon as the words leave his mouth. He has to fight not to let his eyes roll back into his skull, the girth of him splitting Shouto apart so perfectly as Eijirou relentlessly presses forward. He bottoms out with a groan, face buried into Shouto’s neck.
“Holy shit,” Eijirou says, voice strained. Shouto pulls the hem of Eijirou’s shirt up.
“Less of this,” he says, breathless. Eijirou moves just enough to let Shouto pull the front up and over behind his head out of the way, uncaring of the discomfort it’s probably causing stuffed up into Eijirou’s armpits and stretched oddly across his shoulder blades. “Perfect,” he mumbles, sliding the palms of his hands down Eijirou’s chest and digging his thumbs into his abs.
“You of all people don’t get to say that,” Eijirou says as he hooks Shouto’s knees over his shoulders, folding him in half as he leans over onto his elbows and presses a kiss into Shouto’s sternum.
“Shut up and fuck me,” Shouto retaliates.
“Yup,” Eijirou says and grinds his hips down deep. Shouto chokes out a moan that turns breathy as Eijirou pulls halfway out and sets a rhythm. The unrelenting pressure and friction against his prostate has most of his mental faculties failing, too busy appreciating the quiet, wrecked sounds Eijirou makes when he slides in particularly deep.
Luckily, for Shouto’s pride at least, Eijirou pauses to sit up and fight his shirt the rest of the way off. Although the front row seat to Eijirou with his arms above his head, muscles flexing in his chest, does absolutely nothing to pull Shouto back from an embarrassingly early end.
Shouto accepts this is going to be fast when Eijirou hooks one of Shouto’s knees back over his shoulder and closes him in against the sheets again with a frustrated grunt.
Eijirou picks up the pace, fucking him deep and hard but pressing his forehead into Shouto’s. Holding his gaze in a way that disallows Shouto from glancing away for even a second. Shouto keens. “I’m not going to last, sweetheart,” Eijirou groans, “not with you making pretty noises like that.”
“Fuck, go on then,” Shouto goads, “come for me.” Eijirou’s chest hitches before he pushes up off his elbows to hold Shouto’s legs back with his hands.
“Want me to pull out?” Eijirou asks as he sacrifices a little force for speed that makes Shouto’s toes curl.
“No,” Shouto says, voice cracking awkwardly with the syrupy heat this new angle is dripping into his gut.
“Fuck,” Eijirou curses under his breath, then continues to screw Shouto into oblivion. He’s so close, moans falling from his lips and heat throbbing through his cock when Eijirou slams home. He leans forward, his weight pressing on top of Shouto as his cock twitches and empties inside of him with a punched out moan.
“Shit, Eijirou, I was so close,” he accuses, half babbling, “fuck.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles into Shouto’s neck, struggling back onto his elbows. “Sorry, baby,” he repeats, and something flips in Shouto’s heart as well as his stomach as Eijirou picks up his thrusts again.
“Oh God,” Shouto moans. He’s so overstuffed with Eijirou’s come that every thrust squelches. Eijirou grins down at him, face flushed and sweat glistening across his chest.
“Touch me,” Shouto demands. Eijirou does as he’s told, reaching down between them to stroke his cock.
Shouto comes all over himself with a yell.
His breath saws in and out of his lungs like he ran a marathon as he comes down. What kind of teenage bullshit- he scrubs his face with his hands, drops them just in time to catch Eijirou staring at where they’re joined as he pulls out. Shouto can feel when their skin peels apart, slick with a mixture of come and lube. Eijirou presses a thumb against Shouto’s taint, stroking down and passing over the now sensitive nerves at his entrance.
“You really ate Katsuki out after-” Eijirou snaps his mouth closed. Shouto’s chest jumps with a silent, breathless laugh.
“Yeah,” he admits.
“Fuck,” Eijirou’s face heats pink, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling rather than at Shouto, who’s losing himself to something borderline giggly in his sheets.
It’s like that, with Shouto’s legs still slung over Eijirou’s thighs, that the door swings open so hard it hits the wall with a bang. They both launch themselves up in shock, scrambling into something vaguely defensive on instinct but when they register Katsuki standing in the doorway they both slump back down into the sheets. “Holy shit,” Eijirou wheezes.
“You fucked! ” Katsuki yells, pointing an accusing finger in their direction. “Holy shit, you fucked! I cannot believe- the audacity -” Shouto’s blood runs cold, panic setting in somewhere wholly devastating. He feels Eijirou tensing up beside him, both staring in wide-eyed shock as Katsuki rages. “You fucked! You really- you dare- I can’t believe I missed it! I wanted to watch you- you rotten pieces of- ” Katsuki implodes and relief floods Shouto’s body.
He glances over at Eijirou, who is looking a little traumatised but better than before, and nudges him meaningfully.
“This was just payback, Katsuki,” he explains. It takes everything he has in him not to crack a smile at the bewildered look on Katsuki’s face as Shouto turns to get on his hands and knees. He arches his back, bearing down until he can feel Eijirou’s come dripping down his taint.
“Oh my God,” Katsuki murmurs.
“Your turn,” Shouto informs him as he looks back over his shoulder. Eijirou grins, reaches out and palms Shouto’s ass cheek, pulling them apart so Katsuki has the perfect view of exactly what they’ve been up to.
Katsuki launches himself forward like his life depends on it.
“This is the best day of my life,” he breathes, right before he dives face first between Todoroki’s ass cheeks, Eijirou’s laugh resounding bright between them.