Chapter Text
Steam curled lazily through the air, rising in soft tendrils from the dark stone bath. The scent of minerals lingered in the warmth of the private onsen, and the heat soaked deep into Todoroki’s muscles. He shifted slightly, stretching out, his body still humming with the aftereffects of their earlier activities.
Across from him, Bakugou leaned back against the edge of the bath, arms spread out along the stone ledge. Droplets trailed slow paths down his bare shoulders, catching the soft glow of the lights before disappearing into the water. His usually sharp eyes were softer, half-lidded with relaxation, his breathing slow and even.
His skin was flushed, a deep, heated pink that spread from his chest up to his neck, trailing along the sharp cut of his collarbones and the defined muscle of his shoulders, making the contrast of his scars stand out even more. The water lapped gently at his skin, mixing with the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to him.
Todoroki watched him, gaze lingering. He looked good like this, so at ease, so unguarded. They had been soaking in silence for a while now, the kind that was easy, comfortable. The tension that had once lingered between them had unraveled entirely. And yet, Todoroki could still feel something floating beneath the surface—unspoken, unfinished, curling through the space between them like the steam drifting into the air.
“So,” he asked, voice quiet but steady, “what happens after this?”
Bakugou’s relaxed expression shifted, his brows drawing together slightly as his gaze sharpened. “The hell does that mean?”
Todoroki exhaled, shifting slightly in the water, fingers trailing absently along the smooth stone at his side. “I mean… are we dating?”
Bakugou’s shoulders immediately tensed. His hand shot up, sloshing water over the edge of the bath as he scrubbed aggressively at his face. Todoroki couldn’t see his expression, but his ears turned red.
“You can’t just keep saying shit like that!” he sputtered, voice cracking slightly as he sank lower into the water, nearly up to his chin now.
Todoroki blinked. “Why not?”
Bakugou groaned, tilting his head back dramatically against the stone. “Because—” He clicked his tongue, shoulders tensing before he huffed, slouching deeper into the water. “Obviously we are, right?”
Todoroki hummed, the knot in his chest loosening. He hadn’t been worried, not really, but hearing it confirmed made something settle inside him.
“Do we tell people?”
Bakugou’s eyes snapped open, and he practically lunged upright, sending another wave of water over the edge of the bath. His face was still flushed, but now it was twisted into something fierce, like he’d been personally offended by the suggestion.
“Hell no,” he snapped, expression sharp. “Don’t go tellin’ everyone.”
Todoroki considered that, watching the way Bakugou’s fingers curled around the stone ledge, grip just a little too tight. “Even our friends and family?”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, his scowl deepening. “Also no.” His voice was firm.
Todoroki held his gaze, studying the way Bakugou’s jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he looked away.
It wasn’t that Todoroki had planned on making a public announcement—not that he would necessarily be opposed. But he had thought they could at least tell the people closest to them. His family. Their friends. People who mattered.
But Bakugou had already decided for both of them. He could understand Bakugou wanting privacy. That part wasn’t surprising. But still…
He didn’t say anything, and after a beat of silence, Bakugou shifted, his fingers sinking into the water.
“…It’s not like I care what people think,” he muttered, voice quieter now. His fingertips brushed absently against Todoroki’s knee beneath the surface, something thoughtless, barely there. “I just… wanna keep this ours for a while. That a problem?”
Todoroki’s heart did something strange in his chest.
“No,” he said simply, his voice even. He let the words settle between them before adding, “I don’t mind.”
And he didn’t—not really. It just wasn’t what he would’ve chosen. Bakugou’s reasoning made sense, especially if it was only for a while. And besides, the way he was acting about it was… kind of cute.
Bakugou let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping just slightly, and Todoroki took in the sight of him, flushed from the heat, relaxed in a way he rarely ever let himself be.
He could live with this.
Todoroki watched him for a moment longer, taking in the way the golden glow of the bath lights flickered across his skin, the way the steam curled around them, making everything feel soft, hazy, dreamlike.
Bakugou barely had time to react before Todoroki shifted, pulling him closer. His hands slid along Bakugou’s waist beneath the water, fingers tracing the dips of his muscles before settling at his back. He guided him forward, and Bakugou didn’t resist, just let himself be pulled, settling onto Todoroki’s lap with a quiet exhale.
“You’re cute,” Todoroki murmured, and Bakugou shoved at his chest, face burning hot.
“Shut the hell up,” he snapped, but he didn’t move away.
Todoroki only smiled. The heat between them shifted, deepened, something familiar curling at the edges of the moment. Todoroki could feel the tension coiling low in his stomach, feel the way Bakugou’s breathing had changed, the way his fingers flexed unconsciously against his skin.
The steam swirled around them, obscuring everything beyond the small space they occupied. The warmth of the water, the golden glow of the lights, the way Bakugou felt against him. Todoroki wanted to hold onto it, wanted to stretch this moment just a little longer.
Tomorrow, they would check out, leave the quiet seclusion of the ryokan behind, return to the rhythm of their separate routines. But right now, none of that mattered. They were still here, nothing between them but the bathwater.
His hands slid lower, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his fingertips. Bakugou inhaled a slow, measured breath, but Todoroki felt the way his body reacted.
One more time. He wanted him again. Wanted to take his time, to feel him completely, to make the most of what little remained of their trip together.
✦
It had only been two days since they got back from Ishikawa.
Todoroki figured that Bakugou probably wanted his space—they had spent nearly three full days together, constantly at each other’s sides. It was the longest uninterrupted time they had ever spent together, and if Bakugou needed some distance afterward, that made sense.
But that didn’t change the fact that Todoroki had been thinking about him all day.
He hadn’t expected the trip to go the way that it did. It had been his first real vacation, and one of the best experiences of his life. Not just because Ishikawa in the fall had been beautiful—the crisp, cool air, the countryside painted in deep reds and golds, the maple leaves fluttering down around them like something out of a dream. Everything had been perfect. From the ryokan itself to painting pottery together in that small workshop. The food had been incredible, each bite something he wanted to remember. And the hiking trail, winding through the mountains, leading them to breathtaking views of the countryside.
Bakugou put so much thought into all of it.
And they had sex for the first time—
Todoroki exhaled through his nose, focusing his gaze on the report in front of him.
His rhythm at work had been off all day. Everything was fine, normal, routine. But something felt like it was missing.
They had only seen each other once or twice a month before this. That had been fine, normal. But now two days felt like forever.
Todoroki had gone home after work last night and had dinner with his mom and Fuyumi like he usually did. He had lived with them since graduating, trying to make up for lost time, continuing to rebuild what had once been broken. He liked being home, liked the quiet warmth of it, the easy rhythm of their routine. But last night, sitting at the dinner table, something felt different.
It wasn’t like anything had changed, not really. But he had felt an unfamiliar weight in his chest when he’d gone to bed, the space beside him colder than he wanted it to be.
Since they’d returned from Ishikawa, neither of them had reached out. No messages, no calls. It wasn’t unusual. Before the trip, their communication had been sparse, mostly practical.
Todoroki glanced at the time on his phone. One more hour until he was off. He quickly sent a message, Do you want to go out for dinner?
Less than a minute later, his phone buzzed. That was… fast.
No. Don’t ask for things on short notice! I’m having dinner at home.
Todoroki blinked at the screen. That was fair. He should have reached out earlier, when he’d first started thinking about it… His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second, but he didn’t type anything.
His phone buzzed again.
Come over if you want.
His phone buzzed again. Another message. This time, it was an address.
Todoroki stared at the screen. A quiet, easy warmth settled in his chest. He had never been to Bakugou’s apartment before.
One hour to go. Suddenly, he felt lighter, more awake.
✦
After work, Todoroki took the train to the station closest to Bakugou’s apartment. The ride was quiet, smooth, the city lights flickering past the windows in a blur of neon and warm shopfront glow. Outside, mid-November had settled fully into the city, the air crisp with the sharp bite of approaching winter. The streets were still lively, clusters of salarymen lingering outside izakayas, their laughter trailing through the cool air. Steam curled from the food stalls lining the sidewalk, the scent of grilled skewers and broth filling the space between passing conversations.
From the station, it was a ten-minute walk. It was convenient, close to everything, nestled in the heart of the city center. The buildings here were tall, sleek, their glass facades reflecting the deep blue of the evening sky.
Bakugou’s apartment building was exactly what Todoroki had expected—modern, high-end, secure. The entrance was minimalist but well-designed, polished stone floors reflecting the recessed lighting overhead. He passed through the quiet lobby, stepping into the elevator. The ride up was silent, smooth, the faintest hum of motion barely noticeable. When the doors opened to the high floor where Bakugou lived, the hallway was empty, dimly lit with warm, ambient light.
The door opened before he could knock. Bakugou met him at the door, crossing his arms. “Take a shower.”
Todoroki’s gaze flickered over him. He was dressed casually, gray sweatpants, a black T-shirt, the fabric fitting snug over his broad shoulders, the sleeves straining just slightly against the muscle of his arms.
Todoroki stepped inside. “…Alright.”
The apartment was exactly what he had expected. Or rather he hadn’t been sure what to expect, but now that he was here, it made sense. It suited Bakugou.
A 1LDK on a high floor. It was minimalist, functional, but not impersonal. The entryway was uncluttered, shoes lined up neatly, everything in its place. The open-concept living room and kitchen were sleek, dark wood and clean lines, no wasted space. A few high-end appliances gleamed under the soft kitchen lights.
The furniture was simple but carefully chosen. A large, well-cushioned couch took up most of the living space, positioned in front of a high-end TV. There was little in the way of unnecessary decoration, no framed photos, no cluttered bookshelves, but what was there felt intentional. A single potted plant sat near the window, green and thriving in the soft glow of the city lights. On the counter, a knife block with a pristine set of kitchen knives, their polished steel handles catching the light.
Todoroki made his way to the bathroom. Just as clean, just as precise. The toiletries were neatly arranged, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash lined up in perfect order. Their scent was fresh, clean, nothing overpowering. The towels were thick, high quality, freshly laundered, stacked carefully on a shelf.
He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over him, relaxing the muscles that had been tense from the long day. The steam curled around him, the heat sinking deep into his skin.
When he stepped out, running the towel through his hair, he paused. A neatly folded set of clothes was waiting for him on the counter.
Bakugou had already laid them out for him.
Todoroki blinked, then picked up the sweatshirt and joggers. He pulled them on, the fabric soft and comfortable. Thankfully, Bakugou liked his clothes oversized, so the fit wasn’t bad, but the sleeves were just a little short, his wrists peeking out. The pants ended just above his ankles, not quite long enough, but fine.
As he stepped out of the bathroom, the smell hit him immediately—rich, savory, the deep warmth of ginger and soy sauce.
Drawn in by the scent before he had even fully processed it, Todoroki walked toward the table.
The meal was already laid out, carefully plated, precise and balanced, like something out of a cookbook.
A lacquered bowl of miso soup was placed neatly beside a bowl of rice, each grain perfectly fluffed, distinct, the gentle sheen of steam rising into the air. The ginger pork was sliced thin, arranged in delicate folds on a ceramic plate, its glossy sauce pooling slightly at the edges, the aroma rich with soy and the sharp bite of ginger.
Beside it, the tamagoyaki sat in neat, golden layers, their delicate folds glistening under the warm kitchen light. A small dish of spinach, bright green and lightly dressed with sesame, rested beside another plate of thinly sliced pickled daikon, their pale yellow color almost translucent, each piece stacked with careful precision.
Every part of the meal was arranged in small, perfectly portioned dishes, each element balanced, intentional, laid out to the same high standards that Bakugou applied to everything he did.
Todoroki sat down, picking up his chopsticks. This made sense. Bakugou was a perfectionist. He wasn’t the type to just slap something together. Every part of the meal was balanced, thought-out, deliberate. The protein was high, the portions exact—lean pork for muscle recovery, eggs for additional protein, spinach for iron, miso for gut health.
Todoroki took a bite—the sweetness of the pork balanced by the bite of ginger, the texture tender and perfect. It wasn’t just a meal, it was optimized. Precise. Exactly what his body needed after a long day. But it was also undeniably good. Flavors perfectly layered, textures contrasting just right, each dish complementing the next.
His gaze flickered to Bakugou. “It’s really good.”
Bakugou scoffed, picking up his own chopsticks. “Of course it’s good. Who do you think made it?”
There was pride in his voice, like the very idea of it being anything less than perfect was insulting.
Todoroki hummed, taking another bite, chewing slowly. This was even better than what they had at ryokan, because this was Bakugou’s homemade food.
They had eaten together before, back in the dorms, but that had been years ago. And even then, it had only been late-night snacks—onigiri put together with precision, miso soup made quickly on the kitchen stove, steaming bowls of rice with eggs stirred in, eaten under the glow of fluorescent lights when the rest of the dorm was quiet.
Looking back, he had been bold for asking Bakugou for some of his food. But from their first year, he had always thought their relationship had been good. Bakugou had always complained, loudly, whenever Todoroki asked for some. But then he always handed it over anyway.
Todoroki took another bite, glancing at him again.
Had Bakugou already liked him, even back then?
Todoroki smiled faintly and took another bite.
After dinner, they cleaned up together, falling into an easy rhythm. Bakugou washed while Todoroki dried, the quiet clink of dishes filling the space between them. It felt natural, effortless—like something they had done a hundred times before, though Todoroki never had. Not in someone else’s home. But it didn’t feel strange, if anything, it felt easy.
When everything was put away, they ended up on the couch. Bakugou had barely sat down before Todoroki was on him.
He leaned back against the cushions, his head tilting slightly, his lips parting just enough to let Todoroki in. The first kiss was deep, unhurried, the kind that settled low in his stomach, that made heat coil at the base of his spine. But it didn’t stay that way for long.
Bakugou’s breathing turned unsteady, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Todoroki’s shirt, holding tight, like he wanted him closer. Todoroki could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body was already keyed up, restless, his skin burning beneath his palms.
He didn’t let Bakugou breathe. Didn’t give him an inch of space. Their mouths met again, and again, rougher now, messier, lips parting only for sharp exhales before reconnecting, teeth catching, tongues sliding, heat pressing into heat.
It had only been two days since they’d done this last. But it felt like it had been forever.
Bakugou pushed against him, a sharp, impatient movement, before reversing their positions and shoving Todoroki back into the couch, climbing onto his lap with one knee pressed into the cushions beside him. His hands gripped Todoroki’s shoulders, bracing himself as he rocked down, grinding against him with no restraint, no hesitation. The pressure and friction sent a shiver down Todoroki’s spine.
Todoroki slid a hand down Bakugou’s back, fingertips teasing along the curve of his ass, finding his entrance with ease. There was zero resistance. His body swallowed his finger without effort, muscles clenching around the intrusion like it had been waiting for it.
Bakugou’s breath hitched, his hips shifting automatically, a sharp inhale leaving his throat, breaking into something softer when Todoroki pushed in deeper.
His head tipped back, mouth open, eyes fluttering shut as he struggled to keep himself together. A small sense of relief settled in Todoroki’s chest, knowing that the past two days had been just as hard for him.
He found himself wanting to see his control slip even more.
Todoroki moved slowly, deliberately, curling his finger just right, pressing against the spot that made Bakugou’s thighs tremble. He didn’t say anything, just watched, taking in the way his body reacted, the way his voice, normally rough, took on a sweeter edge. His cock was hard against him through his pants.
“Shit,” Bakugou breathed, swallowing hard, his fingers clenching, his hips shifting forward without thinking. His red eyes were locked onto Todoroki’s, his pupils blown, his expression wrecked.
Todoroki hummed, pressing another slow, deep stroke inside him before adding a second finger. He rotated them, opening him up with slow, precise movements, loosening the muscle until there was no resistance. Then, he pressed upward, against that spot—
Bakugou’s hips twitched violently. And fuck, the sight of it—Bakugou, the most proud, stubborn person he had ever met, was taking it from him like this. His legs spread open, his breath hitching with every push of Todoroki’s fingers, body taut with want, his pride nowhere to be found in the way he rocked down, pressing himself closer, taking everything Todoroki gave him without hesitation.
He couldn’t look away.
Todoroki swallowed, his own breath coming slower, heavier. He added a third finger, stretching Bakugou further, and the reaction was instant—a strangled sound left Bakugou’s throat, his thighs trembling where they spread over Todoroki’s lap. His body clenched down hard, gripping his fingers so tightly it was as if it refused to let go.
His hole swallowed all three fingers, hot and slick, pulsing around them in tight, desperate waves. Every time Todoroki moved, curling them just right, Bakugou’s breath hitched, his hips twitching forward, his abs tensing like he was barely holding himself together. He was so deep inside him now, his fingers coated in the slick heat of his body, the grip around them unbearably tight.
He was still grinding against him, his cock pressing against Todoroki’s abs, hard and leaking through his pants, his nipples hard beneath his shirt. Todoroki decided to help him out, using his free hand to pull his cock free, pushing the waistband down just enough.
Todoroki left his fingers buried deep inside him, pressing against that spot just enough to keep Bakugou squirming. He slid his free hand down, wrapping around Bakugou’s cock, fingers curling around the base before stroking up, slow and deliberate.
Bakugou sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening where his knees bracketed Todoroki’s waist, thighs clenching around him as he ground down instinctively. His moan broke into something breathy, almost pleading, his voice unsteady as his body moved with the rhythm Todoroki set. His abs tensed and relaxed with every roll of his hips, muscles flexing, sweat dampening his skin in the heat of it all.
Todoroki could feel everything—the tight grip of his body around his fingers, the heat pressing against his palm as he stroked him, the way Bakugou’s breathing grew uneven, shuddering with each passing second.
"Fuck," Bakugou’s voice was strained. His fingers dug into Todoroki’s shoulders, gripping him like he needed something to hold onto.
Todoroki wanted to make him feel even better.
He moved his fingers, quickly stroking that spot inside, his other hand stroking Bakugou’s cock in time with each thrust. His palm slid easily over the head, already drenched in pre-cum, and Bakugou shook his head, writhing, his body arching as if trying to escape the intensity of the pleasure.
Todoroki exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip. The angle was too awkward. His wrist was starting to ache. He paused what he was doing with his hands, and without a word, he yanked Bakugou’s sweats and boxers down in one swift motion, letting them fall to the floor.
Bakugou barely reacted. He just lifted his hips to make it easier, then immediately reached for Todoroki’s wrist again, guiding him back, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and wrecked, demanding more.
Todoroki gave it to him. His fingers pushed back in, deeper than before, pressing firmly against the spot that made Bakugou’s back arch. Over Bakugou’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of their reflection in the dark glass of the TV—not just Bakugou’s body curled over his, but everything. The way his muscles flexed beneath his flushed skin, the tremor in his thighs, the way Todoroki’s fingers disappeared inside him, working him open. He could see everything.
Todoroki exhaled slowly, letting his gaze linger for just a second longer before dragging his focus back to Bakugou—who was panting against him, his grip tight, his body shuddering with every push inside.
Todoroki took his time, fucking him open with his fingers, stroking his cock, watching the way his body moved against him. He wasn’t thinking about himself, wasn’t distracted by his own pleasure. He just wanted to make Bakugou feel good, to see how much he could take, to watch every second of it unfold in real time.
Bakugou’s hands clenched where they rested against Todoroki’s chest. His head dropped forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, his breaths short, uneven. He shuddered with every push inside him, his body taut until finally he came with a sharp, broken moan, milky white spilling up his stomach, streaking across the hem of his t-shirt. His body tensed, then shuddered violently, his hole clamping around Todoroki’s fingers in tight, pulsing waves.
Todoroki didn’t move, just held him through it, waiting for his breathing to calm before slowly pulling his fingers free.
Bakugou stayed like that for a second, chest heaving against him. Todoroki could feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, his own cock painfully hard.
Then, finally, Bakugou lifted his head, red eyes meeting his. His face was flushed all the way down to his collarbone, his lips swollen, damp from where he had bitten down on them.
"Just—fuck me already," he snapped, voice rough, his words breaking apart at the edges.
Todoroki wasn’t about to argue.
Without a word, Todoroki stood, lifting Bakugou effortlessly, carrying him through the apartment. Bakugou barely resisted, his head dropping against Todoroki’s shoulder, still breathless, still coming down from his high. His body was warm, pliant, flushed from head to toe. The way he let himself be handled so easily, just holding onto Todoroki, legs instinctively tightening around his waist, sent something possessive curling hot and deep in Todoroki’s chest.
Bakugou’s bedroom was exactly as he expected—simple, modern, uncluttered. The bed was large, sheets crisp and cool beneath Todoroki’s hands as he set Bakugou down. He lingered for a moment, just taking him in.
Then, moving efficiently, he shoved down his own pants and boxers, kicking them to the side. Bakugou reached down and tugged off his come-splattered shirt, tossing it aside without a second thought. His hair was messy, damp with sweat, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted as he caught his breath. The scars on his chest and shoulder stood out stark against his pale skin, rising and falling with the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.
Bakugou looked up at him, first at his cock, gaze dragging over it in a slow, appreciative once-over, before his eyes flicked up to meet Todoroki’s. He wasn’t just looking. He wanted. Dark, heavy-lidded, unmistakable. His gaze burned with something raw and desperate, his lips parting slightly, his breath coming uneven as his fingers twitched against the sheets, as if fighting the urge to reach out.
It wasn’t a look he gave freely, not something anyone else got to see. And fuck—Todoroki wanted more.
He thought about their trip. The dinner Bakugou had made for them. The way he had planned everything so carefully, had gone out of his way to make it perfect. The way he had been looking at him all this time. Todoroki felt something shift inside him. When Bakugou had said he wanted to keep this theirs… in a way, he understood.
He climbed onto the bed, sliding his hands up Bakugou’s thighs, pressing him down into the mattress. He wanted to see more of those looks. Wanted to draw out every little expression Bakugou never let himself show.
Bakugou’s breath hitched as Todoroki pushed his fingers back inside him, still stretched, still wet. He made a low sound, his hips shifting automatically, chasing the pressure. Todoroki hummed, pressing deep, watching the way Bakugou’s body reacted, how easily he took him, how much he wanted this.
He lined himself up, pressing in slow, savoring the way Bakugou’s lashes fluttered, the way his jaw went slack as he sank all the way in. He set a deep, steady rhythm, dragging his hips against Bakugou’s just enough to pull more sounds out of him, just enough to keep him desperate.
Between thrusts, he asked, “How long have you liked me?”
It was an honest question, one that had lingered in the back of his mind for a while now. And now—here, like this, with Bakugou open beneath him, wanting, needing—Todoroki figured he could finally ask.
Bakugou stiffened beneath him, his body tensing, squeezing down around him so tight that Todoroki groaned softly. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. His fingers clenched into the sheets, his breath hitching, his eyes wide—shocked, embarrassed.
Todoroki slowed, rolling his hips deeper, deliberate. Waiting. Watching.
No answer.
Todoroki stilled completely, hands tightening around Bakugou’s thighs. “Tell me,” he said, voice smooth, even.
Bakugou made a frustrated noise, his hands twitching like he wanted to grab him, to shove him away, to do anything but answer. But Todoroki just waited, steady and patient, gaze unwavering. He didn’t move, and Bakugou’s hips twitched against him, pushing back, willing him to just move again.
Finally, Bakugou exhaled sharply, turning his face into the pillow like it might shield him from the embarrassment of it. “…Since our second year,” he spat out between his teeth, voice muffled. His cheeks were flushed. Then, a little louder, bristling with frustration, “Happy?!”
Todoroki’s chest tightened, heat curling in his stomach. There was something exhilarating about knowing, about having it confirmed. He pressed in deeper, watching the way Bakugou clenched his jaw, his breath coming faster, his body reacting instinctively to the pleasure, even as he tried to pretend otherwise.
“Yeah,” Todoroki murmured, voice quiet, reverent. He brushed his fingers along Bakugou’s cheek, tilting his face back toward him. “Thank you for telling me.”
Bakugou made a choked noise, ears burning red, but Todoroki kissed him before he could snap back, before he could bury himself in his own embarrassment. The kiss was deep, slow, full of something tender and overwhelming, something Todoroki had never had before but wanted so badly to give.
“I like you too,” he murmured against his lips. “I want you too.”
Bakugou trembled beneath him, his fingers scratching at Todoroki’s back, pulling him closer. His legs wrapped around Todoroki’s waist, squeezing him tightly, as if asking for more and more.
He wasn’t sure how long they went on after that. He only knew the feeling of Bakugou’s hands gripping his back, the heat of his body pulling him closer, the sharp, ragged sound of his breathing between them. The desperation of it. The way they moved together, sweat-slick and mindless, chasing pleasure until it felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.
Todoroki pressed in deep, his breath catching as Bakugou clenched around him, pulling him in, keeping him there. The heat, the tightness, the way Bakugou’s body trembled beneath him—it sent him over the edge. His hips stuttered, his grip tightening as he buried himself fully, releasing with a low, shuddering groan.
Bakugou let out a breathy exhale, his muscles twitching, his body still open, taking everything Todoroki gave him. Todoroki stayed there for a second, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through both of them.
When he finally pulled back, his come spilled out of Bakugou, slick and warm. Bakugou shifted slightly, clearly feeling it, his lips parting like he was about to say something—but then he just sighed, his body relaxing completely.
Todoroki stayed above him for a moment, pressing slow kisses against his forehead, his jaw, the edge of his mouth. Bakugou hummed, too exhausted to do anything but let it happen.
“Too fucking hot,” he muttered eventually, voice hoarse, wrecked. He made a weak attempt to shove Todoroki away, but there was no real force behind it.
Todoroki let himself be pushed back, rolling onto his side. He activated his quirk, cooling the air just enough to chase away the heat sticking to their skin.
Bakugou sighed, already sinking deeper into the pillows. “You’re useful for something, at least,” he mumbled, the words low and teasing. He shifted closer, pressing against Todoroki’s right side, where the air was still cool from his quirk.
Todoroki huffed a quiet laugh, feeling the way Bakugou’s leg draped over his, how he instinctively sought out the lingering chill. He didn’t comment on it, just let his fingers drift lazily through Bakugou’s hair, feeling the last of the tension drain from his body.
Within seconds, Bakugou was out, completely relaxed, completely comfortable. Todoroki stayed awake a little longer, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his breath, something soft settling deep in his chest.
He let his eyes close, exhaling one last breath before sleep took him, too.