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The train ride home from the airport is quiet.
He’s back a little earlier than expected. A day or two, Shouto thinks, from what he remembers after spending all night writing up his report. He hadn’t even bothered crawling into the too-firm hotel bed his team had afforded. It isn’t the same; he misses his own.
He misses sharing it. Being held under the covers. Two heads on one pillow.
It’s been weeks.
The car he’s been assigned is a comfort, at least. It’s quiet and empty and no one’s around to bother him for an autograph. Not that he minds it, but he doesn’t want to have to think about being a hero right now. The dramatic airport terminal arrivals, the shouting and cheering in the streets, photos and notebooks held in hands just asking for a signature—
The only thing on his mind is Katsuki.
Shouto’s missed him. And he thought he’d be busy enough not to, but it never really works out that way. Katsuki’s explosiveness reaches beyond skies and seas and borders. It fills every crevice of Shouto’s brain until there’s little room left for coherent thought (there was just enough to get through his mission successfully, however; that much, he’s thankful for).
The less intensive parts of his days were spent thinking about how much Katsuki would’ve liked coming to Thailand this time of year. It’s somehow pleasantly warm despite the mid-winter season. He wouldn’t have to bundle up and there’d be no grumbling about his Quirk being ‘on the fucking fritz’—which is just a nice way of saying he hates that he still can’t quite control that small drawback of Explosion without actually saying it.
Shouto misses Katsuki’s grumbling, though. He misses all the ridiculous things he says.
Mostly, Shouto just misses him.
It’s not really all that normal for him to be the one on long missions. Usually, it’s the other way around, with Shouto in Musutafu looking out for homebase while Katsuki’s travelling for weeks at a time, ‘fuckin’ up bad guys and lookin’ cool as hell doin’ it.’
It’s funny how, either way, he’s left longing.
The train comes to a halt, and Shouto’s stop is announced overhead. He makes for the exit with a single duffel he brought along from the pile of bags he left with, a heavy and aching weight on his shoulder. Everything else is being transferred by the agency, so he doesn’t have to worry about it, but he can’t bring himself to part with this bunch of personal items. Special edition pajamas—his cat socks. And a few souvenirs for Katsuki and Momo and some of their other friends.
It’s important to him to keep these kinds of material things by his side.
It’s just a bus ride home now, Shouto thinks. He’s lucky to once again get one of the less packed transports; if there is a god, they know well that he really doesn’t feel like being suffocated tonight. And this way he gets to hold onto his duffe, too. Shouto likes twisting his fingers through the soft handles and fingering the pockets. There’s just so many.
It does little to distract him, but it’s enough. He’s almost home.
Shouto bypasses the stop in front of his apartment and goes to straight for Katsuki’s instead.
That’s expected, though. It’s an empty home, when he thinks about it. He’s never there. Shouto had moved the last of his clothes and belongings into Katsuki’s apartment months ago after getting sat down and spoken to about how much time he spends there anyway. He only keeps his lease because it’s fully furnished with his mother’s old things and filled to the brim with memories.
Touya jokes about it being the perfect getaway house for days when he and Katsuki are full-blown arguing. But that’s just silly.
Shouto can never even bring himself to leave the room when they fight.
So, his apartment gathers dust, gets cleaned religiously once a month by his siblings, and hosts his reformed eldest brother on days his own boyfriend kicks him out.
Joke’s on you, Extra Crispy, Katsuki would probably say.
He’s called Touya ‘Extra Crispy’ before, after all.
It’s funny to think about now, the way Shouto’s relationship with Touya has changed and flourished because of Katsuki. When Touya was first released—on account that Endeavor is his father, plenty is owed to the agency, and yes, Touya will never take that goddamn ankle monitor off—everything was so tense. Only Fuyumi was allowed to speak to Touya; was allowed to set him up for home and hang out with him on weekends. Even after he’d good behavior-ed his way out of probation, he kept everyone at arm’s length.
It was only because Katsuki had seen how upset the lack of harmony between Shouto and his siblings made him that he’d crashed their monthly family dinner some time ago and told Touya off in front of everybody.
Told everyone else off, too.
Katsuki had griped at them to get it together. That if they’re family and want to be in each other’s lives, they need to start acting like it. Shouto tries to forget him pointing out their individual flaws (while standing up and actually pointing), but it’s easier said than done. Because Katsuki had been right, even if everyone at the table wished he wasn’t.
Shouto had kept quiet while Natsuo and Fuyumi had worn twin frowns. And Touya...
Touya just thought Katsuki was the funniest guy alive. He even complimented Shouto on his taste—even though Shouto definitely knows he got the best of the best. It was a foot in the door for the both of them, and their closeness only grew from there. Now, Touya and Katsuki fight all the time and Shouto gets to laugh with them more than ever.
Shouto doesn’t think he’s ever thanked Katsuki for that. He really should.
But maybe he should stop thinking so much about it—at least for right now. He’ll miss his stop. It lets off a block away from home, and Shouto practically races to the crosswalk once he steps out of the bus.
Katsuki’s high-rise is a comforting sight.
The reflection of the night sky and the countless city lights bounce off an endless expanse of dark, shiny windows. The image of it warps like a Van Gogh painting shooting straight up into the atmosphere. It fills Shouto with memories of nights wrapped up under covers—bodies huddled to one corner of the sofa and movies playing on the television screen.
Only Shouto’s more interested in the skyline then, too. The wrap-around windows showing him a different, but equally breathtaking view no matter the direction of his gaze.
With a deep, minty-cool inhale, he enters the building, waves at the concierge, and rides the elevator to a floor three stops from the top.
Katsuki sometimes complains about all the windows in his apartment. He sometimes complains about how expensive the privacy blinds he bought were. Sometimes he criticizes himself for the purchase, since he’s so high up that privacy isn’t much of an issue. He complains and complains and criticizes, and Shouto lets him without a care in the world.
Because this is where Katsuki stays. And where Katsuki stays is where Shouto finds home.
That’s all that matters.
The door to the apartment is a plain, sleek black that offsets the taupe and celadon halls nicely. Technically, Katsuki wasn’t supposed to paint this door in the first place, but no one ever berates a hero for something as small as the forfeit of their safety deposit. There are some things even Katsuki enjoys as ‘perks of the job.’
Shouto unlocks it after fighting with his bag for the key.
He walks in tiredly, setting his duffel down in the genkan. Katsuki will get annoyed—he hates when things aren’t immediately put back in their place—but Shouto doesn’t have it in him to unpack. All he wants to do is find Katsuki and curl up in bed. If he sleeps for three days straight, at least it’ll be with Katsuki stuck to him like glue.
Dragging past the kitchen and into the hall, he hears the shower running with soft pitter-patters.
It’s a little late for Katsuki to be taking one—a shower. He’s such a stickler for routine; he usually cleans up right after dinner so he can get to bed on time. Something about early birds getting ‘fucking worms’ and a slew of other endearing mutterings.
Somehow, it blooms hope in Shouto’s heart that Katsuki’s like him in more ways than he thinks. That he loses track of the time because he’s entranced with thoughts of Shouto. That he’s missing him when he’s away.
Maybe.
Shouto smiles to himself at the musing. He doesn’t bother going back to their room to change or even sitting down on the couch to wait for the water to stop running. Part of him does want to lounge in front of the huge aquarium spanning one of the smaller walls between the door and the hallway and watch the fish swim circles in the low light, but he’s content to peek around and listen in on Katsuki instead. Make up for what he’s missed.
Like Katsuki’s soft sighs as he washes, the click of his tongue when he inevitably gets shampoo in his eyes. His old man grunting when he drops a container onto the shower floor and has to bend to pick it up.
For someone so put-together in all else, he’s a real messy bather.
Shouto is careful as he walks over to the bathroom door. It’s cracked just enough that he can somewhat see the shower curtain in the fog, and doesn’t make much noise when he opens it to step inside.
Not that he’s trying to hide.
“Sho?”
The sound of Katsuki’s voice is so comforting, even in that questioning tone. It’s soft; all the edges are rounded and the gravel’s gone smooth.
Shouto makes the room cold in confirmation with his Quirk. Just a few degrees—just enough to hear Katsuki’s breath catch and the long, warming exhale that follows.
He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t think he needs to. Shouto lets his whims run free and goes through the motions of stripping off his clothes and opening the curtain in silence. Katsuki doesn’t turn around, only lets him do as he pleases, even if he hasn’t answered any questions or made himself obviously known. Shouto’s quiet a lot of the time, after missions, so Katsuki’s reacting in kind.
It makes Shouto’s heart flutter, the way Katsuki reacts so mindfully to every little thing Shouto does.
He’s a complete and total ass in nearly all other situations, but he treats the matters of Shouto’s heart with such care; it’s hard not to find him endearing over all else. It’s the small things about Katsuki that stand out to Shouto. That’s how he knows that Katsuki’s always watching. Always paying attention. He can differentiate so well between Shouto’s everyday feelings and the longing he’s exuding now.
Shouto feels clammy in the steam. Katsuki seems normal, but Shouto can tell he’s looking for cues with the way he tilts his head just slightly. Things that point him in the direction of what he should be doing in a situation so far from the norm—because when do they ever shower together?
Shouto decides to bridge the gap so he doesn’t have to.
He steps into the water behind Katsuki, kissing his shoulder. His hands land on the dips of Katsuki’s hips when he gathers the will to move them, and he keeps his lips against that damp, scarred skin as the water washes over them both. It’s blazing hot, but feels good after sitting in the coolness of the night air for so long.
Katsuki is extra sudsy right now, like he is on nights when he takes bubble baths. He must’ve mixed up the regular soap and Mina’s gifted Secret Garden Love Spell; Shouto can smell the light strawberry fragrance. It’s a small difference from the norm, but just another thing that tells Shouto that Katsuki’s a little bit off.
It pleases him, in a weird sort of way. Because stress doesn’t put Katsuki out of order. Neither does sadness.
Only anger. And maybe... missing Shouto.
Shouto pulls his head back, amused to see bright pink bubbles gathering between them in huge amounts. The water cascading down on them washes away most of the suds soon enough, and Shouto’s given a breathtaking view of Katsuki’s glistening back.
It feels different, looking at him like this. And it might be because Shouto’s been away for so long, but the sight of Katsuki, warm and wet, makes him want to touch.
So, he does.
Slowly, Shouto brushes his hands up along Katsuki’s sides. Strong and sturdy; all cut stone. Lets his palms roam over the swell of his chest and down the muscled planes of his stomach—smooth skin and scars—until the tips of his fingers brush against coarse, blond hair.
Katsuki’s breath catches again, his chin dropping towards his chest. Shouto takes the opportunity to kiss the back of his exposed neck. He keeps his lips there, finding comfort in thie sudden urgency to feel any part of Katsuki that he can. Because he can. Because he’s missed him. He’s missed him, he’s missed him, he’s missed him.
Right hand carding through damp hair and falling lower, Shouto wraps his hand around Katsuki’s hardening cock.
It’s slightly slick with soap, making the first stroke easier than it would’ve been otherwise. Katsuki’s stockstill in his arms, back to Shouto’s chest and breathing achingly slow. Shuddering, but silent—like he’s waiting for what happens next.
Shouto doesn’t often witness such compliance.
Clumsily, he begins moving his hand, calloused skin working the length of Katsuki’s cock until the precum coats his palm and he’s able to glide in smoother strokes. Shouto jacks him slow, brows knit together and focused on the task until Katsuki barely-there puffs of air can be heard over the sound of running water. Until he’s pliant in Shouto’s hands.
Katsuki relaxes into his touch, soft breaths echoing off the walls as his head tips back. Shouto’s cheek slides into his hair and eventually presses against his temple as Katsuki rests his head on his shoulder. He doesn’t make another move except to wrap his hands around Shouto’s forearms, thumbs pressing and fingers squeezing into his skin.
The shower is a cloud of damp fog and steam. Mostly because of Katsuki’s need to take blazing-hot ones, but also from the pickup of his warm, wet huffs. His eyes lid, and his open mouth is pink and shining. Shouto doesn’t stay his hand, and Katsuki doesn’t do it for him.
Which is good. The longer he gets to see Katsuki like this, the less he misses him.
Part of Shouto is a little worried about what comes after this, though. After the shower. This act is a whim—it’s letting the intrusive thoughts win, just like Denki says. There’s always a part of Shouto that feels strange and out of place with this kind of intimacy, and Katsuki knows that.
Because they don’t... usually do this.
Neither of them ever press the topic, but Shouto isn’t really all that interested in sex. It’s easy to be attracted to Katsuki and his body—Shouto’s always, always loved him—but his drive just isn’t there. Katsuki’s always been so good about it. He never asks or gets in a mood or tries to make Shouto do things he doesn’t want to do (even if he’s willing).
It makes moments like these feel like they mean everything. Because, sometimes, Shouto does want things.
Sometimes he wants to touch Katsuki like no one else will ever be able to.
Feel through him in so many different ways. Hearing the cracks and echoes, the softness and emotion, in his voice is one thing. Preening under loving praise and proud declarations and heartfelt laughter is one thing. Basking in the gentle touches and caresses, the attentive back rubs and the bone-breaking hugs, is one thing. They’re a given. A gift. For Shouto alone.
Using his hands to touch Katsuki and give back is another thing entirely. It’s almost better.
“Sho.”
It is better.
Shouto makes sure to measure his strokes. Not too fast, not too slow. Even and steady, building up like a rising wave living for the moment that it gets to crash down.
There’s something stirring in the way Katsuki breathes. Like this—in his ear, against his chest. It makes Shouto come alive like nothing else can.
Like he is now. Bold in his exploration of this single part of Katsuki’s body. Looking for more ways to pleasure him; for more reactions to that pleasure. Shouto cools the temperature of his right hand just to feel Katsuki’s body shiver in his arms. Hands flow back over the curve of Shouto’s hips, grabbing where they can and holding steady. Like this, they’re anchored.
Before long, Katsuki’s rolling his hips forward into the closed fist around him in languid movements. But there’s no rush to go any faster than they already are. He still follows Shouto’s lead.
Shouto’s left hand splays across Katsuki’s chest, squeezing at his pec before sliding down and letting his hand rest on Katsuki’s shivering stomach. He tightens the curl of his fist and enjoys the first audible moan he’s heard since they started.
“Fuck, Shouto.”
“I missed you,” Shouto murmurs in reply, cheeks flushed. He presses his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck.
“Missed you, too, pretty thing.”
That only spurs Shouto on—those tender, loving words. So much so that his entire purpose becomes getting Katsuki off.
It doesn’t take much longer.
Katsuki’s warmth spills over his hand, washed away by the water in seconds. It’s anticlimactic, but beautiful—in a relaxed-movie-night-weekend sort of way. Shouto’s at a loss for words, not that he had many to begin with. It’s always a meaningful silence in regards to Katsuki.
And there are no words said, still, as they finish washing up. It’s like clockwork. The smoke clears, Katsuki takes a few drawn-out breaths, and then he immediately begins fussing over Shouto. Shouto lets him. Lets Katsuki wash his hair and then smack away his hands when he tries to do the same for him. He doesn’t try to push Shouto into anything more, nor does it seem like he wants to, anyhow. There’s a small, close-lipped smile on his face that tells Shouto he’s good.
Content.
Katsuki’s the first one to start talking. He asks about the mission, goes through the general questions, and slyly gets Shouto to tell him confidential details of his team’s report. He’s good like that. Sneak attacks with offhand questions that don’t sound like much until Shouto realizes he’s just divulged things he shouldn’t have.
It’s okay, though. Katsuki never tells.
As they dry off, he makes fun of Shouto’s mission partner this time around—Neito, or: Phantom Thief, what a loser. Why do they always stick you with the losers? Uh, yes, Mindjack is a total goddamn loser. C’mon, Deku’s the biggest loser of them all! Monoma’s such a close second, he might as well be first-and-a-half, though.
Shouto’s quick to tell him that Neito’s Quirk was inexplicably the most useful asset to the mission, much to Katsuki’s disdain. He even mentions that Neito was the reason they were able to wrap everything up early and return days ahead of schedule. Without Phantom Thief’s help, who knows how long you would’ve stayed in that shower. You’re a lot prunier than I thought you’d be already.
“Are you listening to me, Katsuki?”
Katsuki does listen, first with a frown and an eyeroll, then a reverent smile.
“Can it. You’re not funny at all.”
And then, as if he’s just realized something, he smacks Shouto up top of the head—gently, for the effects.
“Why the hell didn’t you call when you landed?” he asks, totally soft and completely unserious. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Katsuki’s voice becomes even more of a murmur, and he kisses softly Shouto’s lips. Before Shouto can unnecessarily defend himself, he continues. “I could’ve had somethin’ ready for you. You hungry?”
Shouto shakes his head; even if he did miss Katsuki’s cooking, he’s not really hungry right now. He’s...
“Talk to me,” Katsuki prods after a moment. Like he knows there’s something new floating around endlessly in Shouto’s brain.
Shouto pushes into his space, as if on cue, and pulls him in close. Katsuki turns his nose into Shouto’s hair, a humorous huff blowing at his strands. He does that sometimes, when he’s pleased that they’ve both used the same shampoo.
God, Shouto’s missed this. Even now, with Katsuki’s right in front of him, he misses him all over again. A different kind of longing than what he’d felt in Thailand or even on the train and bus ride home. An intrinsic longing that’ll never go away, because unless they merge the strands of their D.N.A and become one singular entity, Shouto doesn’t think he could ever get that kind of fulfilment.
It’s an almost embarrassing desire to think about. He can imagine well what Katsuki would say to Shouto admitting he wants to become a giant blob of bones and organs with him. That’s not something Katsuki would understand despite how utterly romantic he is. It’s Shouto’s silly little secret; his unspoken wish.
“I missed you. Can we cuddle?” Shouto asks, in lieu of his greatest desire.
“‘Course. You’re gonna have to scrape me off your side like gum off the fucking pavement.”
“I missed your way with words,” he sighs happily. Ever the romantic, just as said.
“Anything else you miss? Somethin’ cold and noodly?” Katsuki asks. Probably waiting for Shouto to bring up his long train ride before segueing into how much he’d really like some of Katsuki’s cold soba (now famous amongst all members of the Todoroki family). Which he would’ve done, normally. But he was served an amazing cold noodle dish in Thailand a dozen times over so. He’s okay, for now.
Tomorrow, maybe. For breakfast.
“First Degree,” Shouto says, reverently, because he’s missed his little girl dearly. It’s odd, though, now that he thinks about it; neither of their cats had crawled out of their hiding places to see him when he got home. He’s sad that he hadn’t noticed. Shouto pulls his head back to look down at Katsuki’s scrunched up face. “Where is she?”
“Cohorting with Second to steal the rest of my goddamn socks,” Katsuki huffs. “I threw them in the guestroom and closed the door so all their havoc’s confined to one area while I shower.”
A strained mewl sounds suddenly, followed by another—and another. Shouto aches to release them from their cold, dark prison.
But. They should be fine for a few more minutes. Just this once.
Shouto sighs, bumping their foreheads together. “Everything is just as I left it.”
“Shut up.”
Katsuki sounds annoyed, but he’s holding Shouto like he never intends on letting go.