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Shouto is carefully dabbing antiseptic on a cut high on Katsuki’s cheek when it hits him. After five years together, he had settled into the comfort of knowing, pretty much certain that nothing could surprise him. About himself or about Katsuki. Honestly, Katsuki could spit in his mouth and it would be fine. Not due to any particular proclivity Shouto might have for being spit on, but just because Katsuki would be the one doing it. And Shouto has found that he likes a lot of things if Katsuki is the one looking into his eyes while he touches Shouto.
“Something the matter, pretty boy?”
Pretty boy.
It’s silly how that still makes Shouto feel warm. Giddy. Eager. Eager like he doesn’t get to come home to Katsuki every single day. Like they don’t share space and food and time as often as they can. Like their friends don’t make fun of them for being obvious when, sometimes at those drawn-out hero gala things, Katsuki waits precisely ten minutes before trailing after Shouto towards the bathrooms. It’s just—
Everything is better with Katsuki. And now Katsuki looks—
Well. It’s not like Shouto likes seeing him hurt. Obviously that’s not it. It’s just—this part. Taking care of him. Wiping the dull red of dried blood off his face. The look in Katsuki’s eyes when he tries to pretend the disinfectant doesn’t sting and he’s above such feeble things as flinching from it. The thought of—of dipping his tongue directly into Katsuki’s bleeding lip, and knowing Katsuki would let him, that Katsuki would welcome any pain for Shouto.
He swallows. Maybe he should mention this to his therapist during their next session. That seems—advisable. “You’re hot,” he says, because honesty has yet to fail him, with Katsuki, has yet not to get him what he wants, even when he himself doesn’t exactly know what that is yet. “I think I like you.”
Katsuki laughs. At least nothing hurts too much, in that case. He’s not hiding injuries from Shouto. He just—got a little scraped up during his shift. It’s fine. He’s fine. That’s—good. “Yeah?” he asks, and suddenly his hand is trailing deliberately up Shouto’s thigh. “You got a crush on me or something, sweetheart?”
Shouto bites at the inside of his mouth. That’s—
What Katsuki had told him at the end of their remedial classes. All angry and a lot less self-assured than he is now. Shouto remembers it. Getting pinned to the nearest wall, Katsuki pressing himself too close like he was trying to make up for the handful of centimeters between them. Having his first kiss when he’d nodded and said, “I’m not sure, but I think so. I’ve never had a crush before.”
And then he’d mumbled something about Izuku telling him it probably is a crush if Kacchan being mad around him makes him feel all fluttery inside, and Katsuki had hissed shut up about the damn nerd, and kissed him. Just like that. Like kissing Shouto was another one of those things he wanted to practice so he could get good at and do it for the rest of his life.
He’s been very consistent, so far. About kissing Shouto. And the rest of his life bit. Loving him. Even if it took him a little bit of work and effort to stop scoffing at the word. Shouto always feels very loved. It doesn’t matter if Katsuki is yelling at him to take a shower or complaining about his useless coworkers or just. Looking at him knowingly after a long day until Shouto goes red and whispers oh and lets Katsuki take what he needs to feel better.
“You’re just so cool, Dynamight,” Shouto says now, trying extra hard to look at Katsuki with stars in his eyes. “Your quirk is so strong, and you train so hard, and you’re so handsome.” He looks down all shy, whispers, “I bet your boyfriend is very lucky.”
Katsuki snorts. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head, tipping Shouto’s chin up with a single finger, making him look. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Brat. I love you, you know.”
Shouto nods. “I do know,” he assures. Bites his lip before asking, “Hey, does anything still hurt too badly?”
“Why, you gonna take advantage of me while I’m vulnerable?” Katsuki asks, and he’s leering, and he’s, um, obviously joking, but. Well. It’s his own fault. His own fault for being so good and for teaching Shouto it’s okay to voice his wants and for loving him too well.
Shouto covers his face with both hands, peeks through his spread fingers to confess. “Maybe? Can—can I? Is that okay?”
“Oh my God,” Katsuki says. “I was joking.”
“I know,” Shouto says. Petulantly. Like a spoiled child. “I know, but I like you.”
“You like me like this, you mean,” Katsuki says, like he’s absolutely ecstatic at the revelation. “What is it? Do you like being my cute little nurse? Do you like seeing me a little roughed up? Miss it when I used to pin you to the training mats at school? Or—do you just have a thing for bad boys, princess?”
Oh. Oh, when he puts it like that—
Shouto winces. “All of the above?” he asks, uncertain. “But only because—only because it’s you.” That part’s important. The part where no one who isn’t Katsuki gets to touch him like Katsuki does or take care of him like Katsuki does or fill up all of his thoughts like Katsuki does.
“So I could have lost you because I did all my homework on time and went to bed early?” Katsuki teases. “Phew, that was real close, baby.”
Shouto pouts. “Don’t be mean,” he says. “I’m taking care of you. It’s rude to be mean.”
Katsuki arches a knowing eyebrow. “Is it really mean if you like it?” he asks, and Shouto wants nothing more than to press closer, to crawl into his lap, to kiss Katsuki everywhere he’s allowed, all over. “Should I, like, get a motorcycle and give you the only helmet? Would that do it for you?”
Shouto makes a scandalized face. “Shut up,” he says, smacking Katsuki’s unfairly firm chest. “Cracked skulls aren’t sexy. I just—”
“You just what?” Katsuki asks, indulging.
“Love you,” Shouto says, like it’s obvious, because it is. It should be. “I love you and I know you love me and I don’t hate myself anymore because of it, because you showed me how not to, and I want—I want you. All the time. Always. But—I won’t deny you’re, ah, particularly appealing right now.”
“Particularly appealing,” Katsuki repeats, and his mouth is twitching like he can’t help himself, can’t help the urge to smile. “Thank you, your highness. Your loyal servant lives to serve. And to provide the appropriate amount of orgasms at the necessary intervals.”
“I hate you,” Shouto says, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Could never force himself to. He loves Katsuki so much it hurts. So much that when he has to sleep alone because they’re apart for work he wakes up and reaches towards the empty side of the bed on reflex alone. Katsuki fills him. Fills him up. Paints over the cracks in his soul with gentle hands and loving words.
Katsuki smirks. “I know,” he says, stroking Shouto’s cheek. “I know, baby.”
“I’m yours?” Shouto asks, because he needs it, needs to hear it, needs to know. To know that he’s loved and cared for and enough. Enough for Katsuki in return, the same way Katsuki is enough for him.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says, promises. “All mine. And I think I’m gonna carry you to bed and make sure you never leave. That okay?”
“You’re not supposed to ask right now,” Shouto points out. “You’re ruining it.”
Katsuki pulls back. “Cute,” he says. “You and your repressed fantasies about being taken against your will. I bet it’s those bodice rippers you pass back and forth with Ponytail giving you ideas.”
“I’m never touching your dick again if you keep talking,” Shouto threatens. “Gonna have to go back to getting off in the shower moaning my name at five in the morning like back in high school until I’m nice enough to do something about it.”
“Oh, really?” Katsuki says, and now his hand is on Shouto’s waist, big and warm and solid. And Shouto is being pulled in. And Shouto lets him. And Shouto loves him. And Shouto belongs here, pressed too close, with Katsuki’s hands on him, bending down to peck Katsuki’s mouth. “Is that how it went? You were nice enough to touch my dick?”
“Yeah,” Shouto nods. “And I think that whole overachieving thing you had going on might have been contagious because I decided I had to give you my virginity too. Even though that’s definitely a mostly misogynistic social construct.”
“Oh my God,” Katsuki says. “Shut up. No more Simone de Beauvoir for you. Not when I’m injured.”
“We can cuddle?” Shouto suggests. “I’ll kiss it better, I promise.”
Katsuki kisses him again. “Everything’s better with you, princess,” he says. “You don’t need to do anything. Just—stay with me. Okay?”
“I’ll put on a nurse outfit for you,” Shouto promises. “One of those really objectifying ones. Short skirt and thigh highs and everything. Pinky promise.” He even extends his pinky for good measure.
Katsuki makes a strangled sound. “Sweetheart,” he says. “I think I need my blood a little, you know, higher. For other things.”
“Yeah?” Shouto asks.
Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, brat.”
“Don’t worry,” Shouto says, dragging the tip of a chilled finger along the side of Katsuki’s neck. “I’ll cool you off.”
“That so, princess?”
“Promise.”
“I love you,” Katsuki says, fond, fond, fond.
“I know,” Shouto says. “I love you too.”
Katsuki arches an eyebrow. “Even if I still hand in my reports on time? Still not a deal breaker?”
Shouto huffs. “Even then,” he says. “You’re my favorite hero. Keep me safe, Dynamight. Take care of me. Pretty please?”
“Don’t have to beg for me, princess,” Katsuki says, voice gentle, soft. “I’ll give you anything. I’ll give you everything.”
And—
Yeah, he will. Shouto knows it. Katsuki is too stubborn to ever let anyone down, let alone Shouto. He’s going to love Shouto for the rest of their lives. Is going to make him feel good and safe and adored for as long as they both breathe.
“I think,” Shouto says, feels shy all of a sudden, like the confession is too big for words, “there’s, um, a decent possibility you already have.”
“Damn,” Katsuki says, “only a decent possibility? I’m getting rusty.”
Shouto laughs. Shouto loves him. Shouto gets to have this forever. Isn’t that—
It’s everything, actually. Katsuki is everything. “No,” he says, kissing Katsuki’s forehead. He smells like caramel, mostly. A little bit like antiseptic. A lot like Shouto’s favorite things. Like the shampoo they share even if Katsuki insists he hates the flowery stuff. Like home and comfort. “You’re perfect.”