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Doesn't Get Much Better

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Not much can top making the game winning shot.

 

That’s the philosophy of Katsuki Bakugou, Yuuei’s rising star on the basketball court who’s armed with good looks, an explosive attitude, and a winning streak that goes straight to his head. It’s fine — at least, according to him — because he’s earned those bragging rights, all right? Come back and talk to him when you manage to swerve around powerhouses like Inasa Yoarashi.

 

So yeah, there’s not much that can make Katsuki feel as high as taking the team to the state championship.

 

“Kacchan! We did it!”

 

Except that.

 

And it wasn’t like that at first, not even close. Once upon a time Katsuki could’ve gone the rest of his life without hearing that high pitched squeal of Kacchan from across the court. Izuku Midoriya was the epitome of annoying, that kid folks assumed you were friends with because you grew up on the same block and your parents got along with each other. He spent years dealing with a freckled faced lump of Kacchan is so amazing , and while that sounds great in theory, it got real old, real fast. Even coming up with a mocking nickname like Deku hadn’t deterred the kid, so eventually, Katsuki accepted the fact that him and, ugh, Deku,   would be a package deal.

 

Then high school happened.

 

And Izuku Midoriya, that awkward little Deku, changed.

 

Instead of tripping over his shoelaces to try and catch up to Katsuki, Izuku learned how to tie them so he could keep up the pace. There’s an energy to him now, something warm and bright, the kind of charm you want to follow even if you can’t quite figure out why. He’s the happy face on the team, the soft to Katsuki’s sharp edges, and together they form a duo that’s unstoppable.

 

And boy, that’d been a hard pill to swallow.

 

Katsuki Bakugou knows that there’s no I in team , but having to accept a Deku ? That’d taken some major adjusting on Katsuki’s end, lots of biting comments that left their teammates uncomfortable on Izuku’s behalf. Those words still come out every now and then, usually in the heat of the moment when their backs are against the wall as Izuku strategizes and Katsuki snaps at him to get out of his head so they can actually do something !

 

To the untrained eye it’s a volatile relationship, but those closest to them? Well, they’re dumping Gatorade on the boys for a reason, letting out celebratory cheers because, “WE’RE GOING TO STATE, BABY!” Thanks Kirishima.

 

Katsuki’s too deep in the zone to care, arm wrapped around Izuku’s shoulders, hair dripping a mixture of sweat and red juice. Izuku’s smile is tired, uniform drenched and stained and hopefully his mom can wash it out. The rest of the team is huddled around them, shoes squeaking against the floor as they jump up and down like the ground’s made of bouncy balls. At some point the cheerleaders join in, their exhausted coach and even the over-enthusiastic announcer. It’s a mass of Yuuei High bodies, everyone losing track of each other, bodies squished together like a glob of Play-Doh.

 

But through it all? There’s Katsuki and Izuku.

 

They’re pressed against each other now because the huddle is becoming a massive, sentient being that consumes anyone around it. It’s uncomfortable, and Izuku’s foot is pressed down on Katsuki’s, but none of that matters. All that matters is this moment where they’re so close to one another, and through the chaos Katsuki’s words are clear as day.

 

“Good job, nerd.”

 

Izuku gives him a smile that’s only ever meant for him. “You too, Kacchan.”

 

“PARTY TIME!” Kaminari. Always Kaminari. “WE GOTTA CELEBRATE! LET’S PARTY!”

 

The atmosphere shifts immediately as every teenager in the vicinity agrees to spend the rest of Friday night taking up space at a local restaurant or wrecking someone’s house. There’s a lone voice speaking against the idea — Iida, always Iida — but he’s shut down when Shouto Todoroki offers up his lavish home as a sacrifice to teenage adrenaline. Besides, his father would be so proud that a Todoroki’s going to state, it’d be a poor showing to not allow an evening of loud music, chips, and pizza. The group separates after that, the team heading to the locker rooms so they can shower and be on their way.

 

Katsuki and Izuku are the last ones out the huddle, the team leaving them to their own devices.

 

“K-Kacchan...”

 

Which is how they end up behind the bleachers, lips sticky from the Gatorade, bodies in desperate need of a shower. They can hear the crowd stepping down from the bleachers, making comments about how close the game was and how amazing The Wonder Duo had been — the title the two of them have been given. Unbeknownst to their fans, their praise serves as fuel for breathless kisses between Yuuei’s top players. It calms the excitement of the game, creates a new sort of thrill that leaves them moaning against each other’s lips. If you ask them what victory tastes like they'll tell you that it's a combination of dry lips, sweat, determination, and whatever red tastes like — fruit punch, according to the electrolytes in Gatorade.

 

Katsuki’s hands slip into the back of Izuku’s jersey, indulging in the slick lines of muscle. And wow, Katsuki still can’t pinpoint where they came from, because Izuku was so scrawny when they were growing up. He’s still got the babyface, the Jolly Rancher green and the spray paint of freckles, but now? Right now? It’s like the whiny kid grew into himself, standing at the perfect height, feeling like the perfect match.  

 

“Kacchan, we’re disgusting,” Izuku laughs when Katsuki stops kissing him. His legs are sore and they both smell like they played four straight quarters of hell.

 

“No, we’re winners,” Katsuki says, voice raspy, throat reminding him that he’d been yelling, running, dribbling and shooting for long periods of time.

 

“Yes, but I need a shower. You need a shower. We both need-”

 

“Shut up,” then Katsuki leans in and kisses him again. “What we both need is right here.”

 

Izuku’s fingers make their way into Katsuki’s hair, pulls him closer so their foreheads rest against each other. The haphazardous spikes of blond are a mess, feeling like over-watered grass that hasn’t had the chance to dry. 

 

And yeah, it doesn’t get much better than that.