Chapter Text
The drone of hero paperwork is a perpetual headache. Even business minded Shoto Todoroki is having trouble tolerating it today. Granted, that wasn’t exclusively the paperwork’s fault.
Shoto winced as a pair of muddy combat boots wiggled in time to some silent drumline, dropping half dried clods of dirt on the pristinely polished surface of his desk. Shoto’s jaw clenched compulsively, his lips narrowing to the thinnest of lines. “Bakugou! Get your boots off of my desk. What are you,15 again?”
He pushed a box of tissues across the desk with purpose. “Clean it up.”
Katsuki removes his heavy boots from the mahogany desk with a thud. Shifting forward in his seat, he drew himself up to lean his elbows on that once pristine surface, getting into Shoto’s space. “I’m not too keen on playing your maid...but I could be persuaded with the right...compensation.” His voice lowers into a near growl and his fingers grip the collar of his partner’s shirt.
With an icy calm only Shoto could produce, he reaches up with his right hand and grips the wrist attached to his collar, freezing it up the elbow, and extricates the frozen fingers from his no longer freshly pressed collar. “Compensation? How about I don’t mention this little assault in your weekly report to the commission.” Shoto looks at his now muddy desk in disgust. “You know, on second thought, why don’t we go get coffee together. You could use some more…socialization.” Shoto pages his secretary to clean and sanitize his desk and let them know that he would be going out for a while.
‘Assault?’ Surely he’d misheard. Bakugou Katsuki, who has decimated entire buildings with his quick; incapacitated innumerable villains; and soared through the rankings- or at least, before his disappearance. Nevertheless, his prior offense of scruffing Shoto hardly deserves to be called assault. That’s an insult to his capabilities as a master of pyrotechnics. “Socialization? Do I look like a damn dog to you, half ‘n half?” Lips curl back from sharpened teeth in an unquestionably beastly snarl as his free hand crackles and pop with miniature sparks. Katsuki uses them on his frozen appendage to free the forearm at least.
Shoto cocks his head, making eye contact with Bakugou. In a slow and steady drawl, “If it looks like a dog. Acts like a dog. Barks, like a dog. It’s probably...a dog.” He grabs his coat, shrugging it on. “Don’t forget why you are here Bakugou. You need to control your temper. I still don’t know what happened to you out there, but that doesn’t mean you can shirk your responsibility to heal from it.” Shoto paused, turning back to Bakugou, “And if you touch me again, physically or with your quirk, I will be including this in my report. So let's avoid a trip to the pet store on the way back, shall we? I’d hate to have to explain to my accountant why I expensed a choke collar and a muzzle.”
Ah, here we go...another lecture. Fuck. I’ll go gray before I manage to turn this stick-in-the-mud into an even halfway interesting- (“So let's avoid a trip to the pet store on the way back, shall we? I’d hate to have to explain to my accountant why I expensed a choke collar and a muzzle.”) Or maybe the answer is right under Katsuki’s nose. The blonde can barely mask his hedonistic glee in the face of this new, exciting revelation. Unbridled rage is surely the response that Shoto would anticipate in this situation, so Bakugou plays his role to perfection. Crimson eyes shooting open wide to stare in ‘rage and horror’ at the very mention of such equipment being used on himself. “Like HELL you’re gonna put me on a leash half ‘n half bastard.”
Turning his head over his shoulder he pauses at the door. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t like dogs. I wouldn’t be leashing you myself...wouldn’t want to risk getting dirt on my Armani. Dry cleaning is a small fortune these days.” With a small smirk, Shoto turned out of sight toward the exit.
It’s...fuck. How annoying that Bakugo finds himself genuinely intrigued by this unexpected side of Shoto. Things were simpler, after all, when he was doing this strictly for the sake of complying with orders; but this does arguably make the mission that much more enjoyable. “Oh it’s on, you bastard…” The promise is murmured just beneath Katsuki’s breath, too quiet to be overhead by any potential listening ears. With a borderline feral grin of his own, the blonde slinks along behind his ‘partner’ to embark on this journey for coffee. “What’s a small fortune when you’re charging daddy’s credit card, hah? C’mon Shoto, you’d go through all the effort of buying and fitting me for a shiny new collar and muzzle, then let someone else try and put ‘em on me? You ain’t fooling me.”
Shoto bristles almost imperceptibly, “You know I hate that man. I make my own money these days, but my taste for…” He side-eyes Bakugou up and down distastefully, “Classy things...has not changed.” Shivering slightly, he pulled his coat closed as the air outside met them with a brisk chill. “Perhaps instead of the pet store, we should find you some clothes that don’t look like you slept in them on a park bench. I don’t particularly like my image being tarnished by the public seeing me working with a half rabid, unshowered, and poorly clothed animal. I’ve given you a month, and you have not cleaned yourself up, so it looks like I must do that for you as well.” Shoto pulls his phone out and checks the time. “My tailor doesn’t close for another two hours. If we hurry, he can probably squeeze you in.”
With every insult flung his way, so does Katsuki’s temper rise. If not for the fact that he’s seeing real, genuine emotion reflected in that heterochromatic gaze, then he would be rioting in the streets; spectators be damned. And more importantly, this small sliver of annoyance is rather delicious. ‘Half rabid, unshowered, poorly clothed, and starved animal is more like it.’ Katsuki muses silently, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargo pants. They sit low on his hips, accentuating a slender waist and the enticing lines of his pelvis; only just visible above his pants. “No thanks. I like being able to walk without my ass cheeks perpetually clenched. Seriously, how do you function with your pants practically vacuum-sealed to your legs like that?” He’s exaggerating of course, but it’s all for the sake of riling Shoto.
“They’re tailor-made. They don’t hinder my movements like a pair you would buy off the rack. And this isn’t optional. You will be issued clothing to wear when you will be seen with me. What you wear outside of that time is irrelevant to me.” Shoto opened the door to the coffee shop and made his way to the counter. He glanced at Bakugou, ”Order what you’d like,” Before giving the person behind the register his order. “I’ll take a 160z white chocolate mocha caramel and cinnamon syrup. Double the shots please.” He pulled out his wallet as the person flusteredly, obviously recognizing Shoto, but recoiling in shock as they took in Bakugou’s appearance, waiting for his order.
The word ‘issued’ doesn’t sit well with Katsuki in the slightest. Thus far, mentions of collars and muzzles can be laughed off at least, but this is a different kind of control. And a none too fun one at that. It reminds him of- (“Katsuki! You still haven’t learned how to tie this properly? I can’t believe I’m raising a slob.”) Bakugou doesn’t recall entering the coffee shop in the first place, but the overwhelming scent of expresso and various sugary syrups has his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth uncomfortably. “Black coffee. Doesn’t matter what size. Actually- since Icy Hot’s paying, make it the biggest you’ve got.”
The clerk takes their order and they retreat to the bar-stools at the window to wait for their coffees. Shoto perches on the edge of one casually, sliding his hands partway into his navy blue trouser pockets. “So what say you? Will you accept a slight...wardrobe change while working with me? Your choice of style and color. Within reason of course.” Shoto raises his eyebrow in question.
Bakugou trails along behind his ‘partner’ with hands stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders slouched. Suddenly he doesn’t feel comfortable here. Painfully aware of his image and how gravely it differs from Shoto’s well put-together exterior, he knows that people will whisper. ‘What is pro hero Shoto doing out with a bum like that?’ ‘That’s Ground Zero! Or at least, it looks like him. Maybe not?’ ‘If it is, he’s really let himself go.’ Dammit. Are those voices even real, or a figment of his imagination? He doesn’t know. He can’t tell anymore, and fuck it’s- Shoto’s voice cuts through the discourse inside his mind, drawing him back to the present and the conversation about wardrobe. “...yeah sure, whatever. Who am I to say no if you want to throw money at me, right?” He props his chin atop the heel of one hand as a sly smirk curls onto those lips.
“It’s settled then. We will head to my tailor, you give him your preferences, he measures you, and the clothes will be ready next week for fitting.” Shoto’s name is called, and he pushes gracefully off the stool and picks up both cups, holding the gigantic black coffee out to his partner. Lifting his to his lips, he blew a gentle puff of cold air, cooling the first scalding sip to just the right temperature. As the aroma of the drink entered his nose, he vaguely wondered why he had ordered this particular one. It smelled oddly familiar. With a start, he realized it was HIS favorite, and now he knew why. The scent of spice and burnt sugar had clung to his office for two months now. A stab of pain shot through his chest like a knife. He understood. Painfully and suddenly. He couldn’t deal with this now. He had shut him out successfully for months now, and he would not allow him back into his mind. Not now. Not with Bakugou here.
‘Of ALL the people they had to pair me with. Why did it have to be Bakugou?’ The pain twisted harder and he surreptitiously froze the inside of his hand to pull him back to the present.
It’s been approximately two months since they were officially paired together. And over those two months, Bakugou’s nearly been starved, waiting for Shoto to express some form of human emotion. Yet today...Katsuki is undeniably being fed, albeit in small barely perceptible portions. Earlier, there had been a taste of agitation in the air between them; so faint he had almost missed it. This, however, is wholly different. Distress radiates from Todoroki’s form, flavoring the air with something far stronger, and arguably more delectable than coffee grounds and cinnamon sugar. Those knowing carmine orbs trace the lines of Shoto’s face in silence while he gives the other man time to recover. Or rather, while he soaks up that delicious taste of suffering till it’s gone. “They make your drink wrong, half ‘n half? You want me to go get you a new one? I’m sure they’d be willing to make it on the house.” The malicious glee sparkling behind those ruby irises is unmistakable.
Staring at the cup Shoto took a deep and measured breath. Then he took a long drag from the drink, not bothering to cool it, instead, allowing it to scald the inside of his mouth to keep himself grounded, and tossed the remainder in the trash before striding out the door without a word. He didn’t trust himself to speak, as he was having trouble fighting down the pain and jealousy. He swore under his breath. He had been doing so well. ‘Why did I have to go and order that damn coffee. SHIT. I’ve gotta calm down, last time this happened I had a panic attack. I’ve gotta get back to the office. Mental note: HIS lattes are triggers.’ His pace quickened, not even checking to see if his partner was behind him.
Another sip is taken from the paper cup and again, Shoto’s emotions spike in correspondence. Curiosity piqued, the devil eyes the discarded cup after his partner’s sudden departure, but doesn’t linger in the shop for much longer afterward. After all, he has a meal ticket to tail… Suffering has a unique flavor; rich, decadent, and addictive. He can taste it on his tongue even now, with hints of brewed dark roast dancing across his tastebuds. A low purr reverberates in the blonde’s throat as he savors the bittersweet notes lingering on his palate. Such a shame that Shoto left so quickly. Ah well, it’s all the better if he can get him alone to savor that delicious suffering in peace. “What the hell Icy Hot?!” Bakugou exclaims, fingers encircling the other man’s wrist once he has closed the gap between them. “You’re always saying I can’t be trusted alone, and then you up and run off without me.”
Shoto was so single-minded, he didn’t hear his partner approaching behind him until his wrist was grabbed roughly. Acting on lizard brain instinct, Shoto whipped his arm around and reversed the hold violently, his forearm pressed to his partner’s neck. “I said don’t fucking touch me,” He hissed, releasing Bakugou, already regretting his action. Shoto turned and resumed the path back to the office. Shit. Shit shit shit. Why had he done that? It wasn’t Bakugou’s fault. Fuck. Need to call my therapist, see if she can see me after hours tonight. Shoto’s normally proud upright bearing had slouched a little. Not quite enough for most people to notice, but enough.
He’s coming apart at the seams, slowly unraveling from that perfect prim and composed Shoto that everyone sees into something REAL. This is Todoroki Shoto, the boy masquerading as a man. He was made to grow up too fast. They all were. Thinking back on their time spent together in UA, is it any wonder they’re all so fucked up now? Constant villain attacks, the loss of All MIght. Clawing their way to the top, vying against one another for attention from agencies and sponsors, they’re lucky to be alive all. Or is that the true curse?
Katsuki remains silent for the rest of their walk to Shoto’s agency. Shoulders rolled forward and slouching subtly, he looks more like a punk than a hero; and it suits him fine. He keeps an eye out for potential dangers all the while. Protect Shoto? He hardly needs it, normally at least. Now, however, he’s compromised. And it shows.
He closes the distance between them slowly, casually. But the tension between his brows is anything but. “We’re going home early today,” Bakugou announces, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not asking.”
Shoto paused, hand on the door of the building, not turning around. Words were hard in this condition, and he didn’t want to risk Bakugou seeing his mental state compromised. Just what he needed, one of his least favorite people mocking him for being fragile like china. The thought of having to explain himself to Bakugou was unbearable. “Why don’t you go ahead and go home. I’ve got paperwork to do.”
Taking a deep, almost shuddering breath, he opened the door and gave his secretary their code phrase. Immediately his secretary was on their feet, blocking Bakugou’s path, heedless of the imposing figure in front of them. “I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Todoroki will not be seeing anyone right now.”
A storm flashes behind those ruby irises. He’s being dismissed so half-heartedly, pawned off to a secretary of all things! Some partnership. He’s not so disillusioned as to believe that they’re suddenly friends, or anything close to it, but to work together they have to at least be willing to speak to one another on semi civil terms. And out of all the people he could have been partnered with, Todoroki isn’t the worst option. He is, however, perhaps the most frustrating for this particular mission he’s been tasked with. ‘Corrupt the man with a heart of ice. Yeah easier said than done.’ But the challenge is part of the appeal, Bakugou must admit.
“Yeah? Well, he’ll be seeing me.” The blonde shoulders past Shoto’s secretary without so much as a second glance. “We aren’t done here Icy Hot.” Katsuki growls in a low register, shoulders rolled forward as he stalks after his partner into the office. “Paperwork isn’t going to save you from your own head Shoto.” Bakugou would know that better than most, but he won’t say as much. Not yet, at least. Vulnerability is still weakness, his mother ensured he never forgot that lesson.
Shoto slumped into his chair.
Eyeing his bottom drawer, he paused, not wanting Bakugou to see weakness, but he felt the panic welling up that he had been followed into his safe space. “What do you want from me? A heartfelt confession? My life story?” Shoto’s eyes were tired. Grimacing, he gave in, unlocking his bottom drawer and extracting a small orange pill bottle and an unopened bottle of water. He downed a tiny white pill with several large gulps of water.
“Fuck no,” Bakugou scoffs at the idea, rolling his eyes as he deposits himself once more in that chair across from Shoto. “You wouldn’t give that up to me anyway...not even under intense interrogation. We’re not close like that. You don’t trust me with that side of you. But you did trust HIM, right?” Deku...that bright eyed, excitable idiot. He has a way of chipping down your defenses without you realizing it. It was infuriating.
Katsuki allows his arms to dangle between his spread knees as he slouches forward, eyeing Shoto with a neutral expression. “Believe it or not, I’m not here to antagonize you. I know...I know how it feels. To not be safe, even in your own mind.”
Shoto’s hand froze about the drawer, trembling. Did he know? No, he couldn’t have known. They hadn’t told anyone, and it had never leaked to the media. To the rest of the world, they were just work partners. Just like he and Bakugou were now. He couldn’t know how torn up Shoto had been when Deku walked out on him. Or why he did. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Shoto shut and locked the drawer, leaning back in his chair and staring at the literal demon sitting across from him. His demon. His nightmare. His entire reason for his world collapsing around him. And yet, somehow, the world decided it was time for him to face up to the pain he had kept locked away for months by shoving him neck deep into it. He had managed for two months. Two. Whole. Months. Of mental torment. And it was a godsdamned LATTE that finally collapsed the house of cards.
Scarlet irises trace the length of Shoto’s arm, down to that hand which trembles damn near imperceptibly. ‘Seems like I’m on the right track. Tch, it figures.’ The other man’s denial is to be expected, given how uncomfortable he clearly is when it comes to discussing matters of the heart. Not that Bakugou is any better, himself. No...Feelings are complicated. Vexing, to say the least. He can’t physically incapacitate his feelings.
“Alright, I’ll let you play dumb this time...Since I’m not interested in free therapy anyway.” The devil sits upright, stretching arms over his head with a groan as joints pop and muscles loosen marginally. “Y’know Shoto…” a small, barely there smirk creeps across the blonde’s lips slowly, “I could help you unwind. No talking required; no feelings required.”
Shoto’s eyes, which had drifted from his partner, snapped back to meet his eyes. “Excuse me? What do you mean, help me unwind?” On the one hand, having Bakugou near him at all times was triggering and stress inducing, but deep down there was a spark of sadistic irony/pleasure, that even though Izuku had left him to find Bakugou, now he couldn’t be close to either one of them, since both Shoto and Bakugou had been publicly partnered. That spark pained him, and he tried to stamp it out every time it tried to blossom again. The very idea pained him. That he could wish ill on the man he had loved unconditionally for so many years. But it was there nonetheless. Years of jealousy roiled deep in his chest. He knew Bakugou couldn’t be insinuating what Shoto thought he was. It was preposterous.
Jesus. Bakugou couldn’t quite stifle a laugh as fingers comb back through unruly ashen spikes. Ruby orbs go hooded, darkened with unmistakable lust. He gazes across the desk to Shoto, who has the audacity to feign ignorance even now. “I know you aren’t pure as the driven snow, like you’d want your loyal following to believe. C’mon, you don’t have to hide from me...I’ll bet you’re actually painfully vanilla, huh?” So much for not antagonizing the other man - but he makes it too easy.
The thin, whip-like tail unfurls from the base of Bakugou’s spine to sway languorously to and from, much like a contented cat. “If it offends your delicate sensibilities, you can forget I even mentioned it.” Katsuki reclines in his seat now, arms folded behind his head.
Shoto couldn’t hide the look of shock that passed over his face. The cruel irony was inescapable. Bakugou was propositioning HIM. Todoroki Shoto. Not Izuku, the man that had loved and obsessed over Bakugou his entire life, with his entire being.
Porcelain cheeks reddened and he looked away. “I could never do that to him,” it was barely above a whisper, but audible enough for his partner to hear, and he knew it. Subconsciously he twisted the ring on his right ring finger. Shoto’s quick dissolve anxiety pill began to take effect, and the vice around his chest loosened slightly. Forcing his mismatched eyes open, he met Bakugou’s again. “And for the record, I wouldn’t exactly call myself vanilla. I just don’t announce my private life to the world.”
As the mildly intoxicating effects of the meds kicked in, memories of Izuku and him in the bedroom flashed through his mind in rapid succession. They felt dulled and more bearable in this state. Izuku was the only person that Shoto had ever allowed himself to get close to. Emotionally AND physically. The thought of being with someone else in such an intimate way terrified him. His ex partner had broken his trust and his mind, though he was not prepared to admit that yet.
“You said so yourself; you don’t announce your private life to the world. He’d never know.” Carmine orbs watch as Todoroki spins that ring round his finger in an almost trance-like state. Of course. “Unless, of course, you blabbed...which I don’t doubt you would.”
They say that love is blind, and oh, if Todoroki Shoto isn’t a prime example! Here he sits, miserable and alone; continuing to devote himself to a man who abandoned him for an unrequited childhood crush. It’s so pathetic, Katsuki almost feels a stirring of sympathy for his partner. That feeling passes quickly, however, as that cool blue and grey gaze meets his own smoldering scarlet. ‘Looks like the meds have kicked in...And we’re back to being Mr. No Nonsense Big Shot.’
Shoto regards his partner, still twisting the ring mindlessly, eyes raking the gruff features he remembered... now hardened, aged, and almost...warped. His gaze darted to the tail whipping back and forth. His brows furrowed, his mind starting to fog from the anxiety medicine. Fuck. He hadn’t been expecting Bakugou to still be here. He shouldn’t have taken it until he was gone. The medicine was a double edged sword. On the one hand it quashed/prevented a full blown panic attack, on the other hand, it was intoxicating like alcohol. He felt like he had just slammed two shots on an empty stomach, and that was not a good thing in this situation. He considered his inhibitions one of his best features/coping mechanisms.
He started to feel uneasy under the intense unwavering red gaze. The unmistakable feeling of prey being eyed by a large predator. It was unnerving, to say the least. “Why are you here, Katsuki?” As the words left his mouth, he cursed internally. He never used Bakugou’s first name. It was a level of intimacy that he didn’t share with many people. This did not bode well for upcoming interactions. Oh well. It looked like they were going to be stuck working together for a while, so he might as well get used to it.
But those eyes. Fuck. It was like they were boring a hole straight into him, mercilessly. And he hated it. He hated feeling vulnerable, and here he was, sitting across from one of two people on the entire planet that could accomplish that feat. He swallowed nervously, waiting for the smart ass comment that was sure to follow.
Why? Such a disappointing question...For someone so incredibly intelligent, he can be so frustratingly stupid. Or simple, rather - yes. Simple is a good word here. Why is Bakugou here? Because the commission insisted that they work together. Because his current mission, from an outside organization with wholly different motives, is to corrupt Shoto from within. Because he wants to be? That response is less interesting; it lacks flavor and flare. Why...perhaps not such a boring question after all.
Without moving a muscle, that slender, sleek black tail snakes over the desk and around Shoto’s wrist. The spaded tip trails up his arm, flexing its spade like a pair of tiny demonic wings. It trails up the fair skinned man’s arm, over one shoulder, and traces the prominent artery in his throat. “I’m waiting you out,” Bakugou answers finally, with a definitive note that speaks to his honesty. “I know that sooner…” carmine irises glow faintly; like embers of a dying flame. That mischievous tail slips gently into the knot of Shoto’s tie, loosening it slowly while those glowing eyes remain locked onto his partner’s face. “Or later, maybe..You’ll see all that I can offer you.”
Shoto tried to recoil from the touch, but he was held fast by the tail wrapping itself around his arm. He stared at it in a state of complete shock, the feeling of it gliding across his skin sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. No one had dared touch him since Izuku had left. And definitely not someone with...a tail. And definitely not a tail that was prehensile.
When the tail made it’s way to his neck, he inhaled sharply, the momentary spell broken. Shoto’s eyes flicked back to Bakugou’s, and he was shocked to see his normally red eyes lit up with a fiery glow. Transfixed, he felt his tie loosen. Tearing his gaze away, he looked down. That...that thing...that TAIL was undoing his tie. You’ve GOT to be kidding me. How is this even possible. And why is -’ a flash of clarity brought him back. He grabbed the thing with his other hand, glaring at his partner. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The emotions the physical touch elicited from Shoto were undesirable. They served no good, and would only cause harm. This is why he loathed it so much when people touched him. He was touch starved. Completely. He had reverted back to his only ways, when he didn’t KNOW what a tender or loving or intimate touch even was. He had closed himself off from it. He hated that he enjoyed the feeling of being touched like this. Even with...a tail. Disgust, anxiety, fear, and a healthy dose of desire began to dance within him.
Fear is such a cumbersome emotional response...Truly, it holds Shoto back. Even now, with the stirrings of arousal evident in his natural scent, he fights his most basic carnal urges. Annoying. Those lust-dark ruby irises roll down to the fingers ensnaring his tail, and the blonde smirks slowly as the spaded tip of said appendage sways languorously in Shoto’s hold. “Careful Shoto...tail’s an erogenous zone. You ARE familiar with what that means, aren’t you?”
Without breaking eye contact, Katsuki leans forward in his seat; his hands grip either side of Shoto’s desk for support as his serpentine tongue lolls past rosy lips. “Or don’t be careful...Prove to me you’re not a vanilla as I think you are. C’mon! The possibilities. Tell me - honestly tell me you’ve never considered fucking on this desk of yours? I’ll bet I could make you sing with my tail alone.”
Images flash through Shoto’s mind of him and Izuku doing that exact thing (minus the tail), on the exact same desk, but now it was Bakugou doing the seducing. The irony was not lost on him, even in his compromised state. He glared at the tail and squeezed it. Hard. “It should be him here, not you!” Teeth semi-bared, he looked up and asked again. “Why. Are. You. Here.” Keeping a grip on the wiggly thing was unnerving him a little, but he held firm.
Throughout the exchange, Shoto’s breath has quickened slightly, pupils dilating ever so slowly as he tried to forget the memories that caused him so much pain. But they were also memories of pleasure. Pain and pleasure were synonymous in his mind. One could not exist without the other.
“I’d advise you to mind your temper with me, Todoroki.” Bakugou is no stranger to pain; long before he became a hero, Katsuki had someone at home that instilled in him the value of pain as a tool… (“What are you going to do if you fire off that half baked quirk of yours and hurt someone Katsuki? THINK! Do you even have a brain?”)
Compromised. Shoto’s ability to process his emotions is in shambles now. He’s trapped in a limbo; aroused, but frightened by that, because…? Because of ‘him’. The realization leaves Bakugou numb. He’s not fully in control of himself as the light fades from behind those garnet eyes.
Without warning, he leans in closer still, a hand clasped round the front of Shoto’s throat to haul him in close. “You want HIM here? Really?? He abandoned you...To come. Find. Me. And he couldn’t even do THAT! I was alone for months - No one saved me - I saved myself, Todoroki!”
Is he shaking..? Or is Shoto? No - wrong on both counts. Katsuki realizes belatedly that he is, in fact, shaking Shoto. The blonde retracts his hand immediately as if burned; in reality, he’s mortified by his own actions just now. “He’s all anyone ever talks about...What’s so special about that damn Deku anyway? That bastard…”
Shoto didn’t protest at the hand around his throat. In fact, he didn’t react at all except to let his fist release the tail. When the hand released him, he sat back numbly, his brain switching into backup mode.
He couldn’t even look at his partner. Weakly he muttered, “It’s only ever been you. Everything. Was for you. You were all he ever talked about.” Fixing his eyes on Bakugou’s throwback faded skull t-shirt, he let his mind drift into a light state of dissociation.
"Yea, like THAT'S not creepy as fuck!" The blonde's face contorts in disgust, before noticing his partner has vacated the discussion. Rolling his eyes internally, he reminded himself he had to do this. For the mission.
"Yo! Half an half!"
Fingers snapping in Shoto's face brought him back from his momentary fugue. Shoto averted his gaze in embarrassment, shifting uncomfortably away from his partner's still too-physically-close-for-comfort proximity.
Bakugou smirked. He could taste Todoroki's spike of confused arousal, and he allowed the predator to come out and play. He was hungry. So. Fucking. Hungry. He couldn't waste this opportunity, he didn't know when he'd get another. And he was determined to crack this Icy bastard open and lick him clean. In more ways than one.
Risking his tail back into the danger zone, Bakugou slid his tail under a pointed chin, raising it suddenly to meet his lust-starved gaze. When Todoroki didn't immediately protest, he crawled over the top of the desk. He took a perverse pleasure in soiling the damn expensive thing for a second time today. And if he had his way, there would be a third on the way.