Chapter Text
At twenty-five years old, Shouto considered himself to be the opposite of the paragon of heroes.
Despite his current rank as Japan’s number three hero, he wasn’t as well put together as they all believed he was. He sometimes wore his socks two shifts in a row because he forgot to do laundry, didn’t sleep at a decent hour before grueling twelve-hour shifts, and he sometimes ate a singular frozen waffle as breakfast when he woke up late for work. And unlike his peers, he didn’t have his love life figured out yet.
Perhaps that was the biggest joke of them all: he was twenty-five, allegedly widely-wanted by men and women alike, and he was still single as far as they all knew. In his mind, however, he was taken by the man who made it his mission to know him down to the deepest layers of his flesh, bare-knuckled and all teeth.
“Izuku,” he moaned as Izuku nibbled at his neck, the thin skin caught between his teeth. “We can’t–”
“Sure we can,” Izuku whispered as he ran his fingers along Shouto’s spine. His lips peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses up his neck until he kissed his jaw slowly and languid, his left hand gripping onto Shouto’s thigh like a vice.
“No,” Shouto rasped, throwing his head back with his eyes closed. “There’s people outside–”
Izuku snorted and pulled away for the briefest of moments to stare at Shouto with a molten emerald stare. “Is that really your concern right now? Because if it is, I’m not doing my job right. You should only be thinking about kissing me back.”
“Someone could barge in at any moment,” Shouto argued weakly, and felt the grip on his thigh tighten. “We almost got caught last time–”
“Last time was your fault,” Izuku murmured. “You practically mounted me in the staircase at your sister’s house–”
“Shut up,” Shouto rasped before pulling Izuku into an open-mouthed kiss. He felt the rumbling of Izuku’s chest as he laughed under the palm of his hand that desperately searched for buttons to undo.
Briefly pulling apart, Izuku breathed, “So needy. What’s the verdict, then? Kiss or no kiss?”
“Kiss me and do every goddamn thing in between,” Shouto rushed out before pulling him in for another kiss that Izuku was all too happy to indulge.
Every touch sent his body into a frenzy, and every clash of their teeth sent him into a feral state of needing more. Izuku undressed him from the waist down and used his fingers to make him keen and forget that he was the number three hero with a duty to Japan; under Izuku’s expert curl of his fingers and the friction of his palm, he was just Shouto Todoroki, human and weak to the touch of man.
Izuku fucked him like it was his only purpose on earth to please him and kissed him like he wanted to drown in the taste of Shouto’s kisses. He flushed red and moaned like watching Shouto falling to pieces was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, like they hadn’t grown accustomed to each other’s bodies since they were nineteen. He touched his body in the way he knew would drive him mad, got down on his knees like a man at confession, and praised him like he was a fucking star.
Outside, a drunk man banged on the door and the music from the bar they had stumbled into together after dinner hummed in their bodies and drowned out the sound of Shouto’s moans as they let themselves fall into the routine he hadn’t put a stop to, even when he fell in love and it began to hurt.
It began like this:
Shouto was nineteen when his father died and he was left with complete leadership of Endeavor Agency.
He remembered the funeral in bits and pieces; most of his classmates took time out of their busy schedules to support him, available pro-heroes showed up for appearance sakes, and he accepted their condolences with a robotic ‘thank you.’ He remembered how Natsuo didn’t show up to the funeral and how shocked he was that Fuyumi didn’t shed a single tear, not even when giving her speech to honor his life.
He remembered watching his father be lowered into the ground and the way his sister held onto his hand tightly, still not crying. He remembered the luncheon that came after it more, the one that filled his mother’s new house to the brim with guests dining on the food she and Fuyumi had silently prepared the night before.
The silence and murmurs that day had made Shouto’s skin crawl until he was ready to jump out of it. Rather than do something stupid, he had excused himself and made his escape to the patio behind the kitchen where he knew no one would be.
To his surprise, there was only one person there.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
Izuku looked up from his place at the railing, his face glowing orange under the brightness of the lights strung up in the yard for the upcoming holidays. Despite only three months passing since the last time Shouto saw him, he looked different; his curls were less wild than usual, his jaw a little more defined, and his eyes duller than ever. Shouto couldn’t help but find him beautiful.
(He’s always thought of him as beautiful since he was sixteen and he fell harder for him than Icarus did from the sky.)
“I sort of slipped in at the last minute,” Izuku confessed with a wry smile. “Your sister makes good rice cakes, by the way. Wish I had gotten to try them under different circumstances, but…”
“Yeah,” Shouto nodded. “Why didn’t you say hello? I was looking for you.”
Izuku raised his brows at that. “You were?”
“I was. You’re never one to skip out on a gathering, no matter how morbid it may be.”
“Ah, well,” Izuku chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “You were kind of busy with Yaoyorozu when I walked in and I didn’t want to bother you guys. I did say hello to your mom and sister, though.”
Shouto hummed. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Your condolences probably mean more to them than they do to me. I hadn’t seen him since I graduated last year.”
“Really?”
“We had a strained relationship after the war, but I stopped engaging with him completely after we graduated. My mother stayed with him, though. She was with him when he died.”
“That’s…really awful,” Izuku winced. “She seemed fine when I was talking to her. Is she okay?”
Shouto sighed at that and ran a hand through his hair. “My mother…is a mystery to me sometimes, even after our reconciliation. I don’t know exactly how she is feeling, but it has to be different from what I’m feeling.”
“What are you feeling?”
Silence. “I don’t know.”
Izuku flashed him a small sympathetic smile at that. Turning around, he let his back settle against the railing and offered a rice cake to Shouto. He took it with a silent thanks before making his way to the railing and settling his arms on it, staring out at the lights like they held the answer to what he felt.
“I think I’d feel relieved.”
Blinking, Shouto turned to look at him. “What?”
“I think I’d feel relieved that he died,” Izuku said with a faraway look at the kitchen entrance. “I mean, there wasn’t anything else he had to lose after the war. He lost it all already. He paid his price for the bad things he did to you, and now he’s gone.”
Shouto stared at him blankly before returning his gaze to the dim lights. “I suppose you’re right. But I’m also mad.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s inconsiderate, even in death,” Shouto couldn’t help but spit as he glared at the lights. “He tried to be a good dad in the end by keeping his distance, but he couldn’t even do that right in death. I’m mad, Midoriya. I’m relieved he’s gone, too, but I’m mad that he just left it all to me in the end, like that would fix everything.”
“What do you mean?” Izuku paused. “Did he leave you–”
“The agency. He left me the damn agency when I didn’t ask for it. My sister tells me I should be grateful, but I can’t. It feels like an awful last ditch attempt to fix his wrongs.”
“But Todoroki, that’s not his agency anymore,” Izuku said softly. When Shouto met his eyes, he continued, “He’s gone. That agency is yours now. It’s up to you what you do with it.”
Shouto sighed and shook his head. “I know that. I’m still mad.”
“I think you’re more mad he’s gone than him giving you ownership of the agency,” Izuku said gently.
“I don’t know,” Shouto said with a ball in his throat. “I should be relieved. I shouldn’t be mad he’s gone.”
“He was still your dad.”
“I…”
“There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, you know. Grieve how you want to grieve. That’s what my therapist says anyway,” Izuku said with a small shrug.
“You’re in therapy?”
Izuku blinked and his cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, well, it’s mandated therapy. Yuuei has this new program they instated for students and teachers after we graduated thanks to Uraraka.”
“And you did this voluntarily.”
Izuku snorted softly at that. “No. Principal Nezu said I had to and Mr. Aizawa backed him up, which I think is insane because I didn’t need it. I am perfectly adjusted to my life without a quirk.”
Despite his assertion, Shouto saw through it. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I’m happy to listen to anything you have to say.”
For some reason, Izuku flushed a darker shade of pink. Laughing tightly, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Midoriya.”
Izuku glanced at him hesitantly, his left cheek caught between his teeth. In response, Shouto tilted his head, a silent proposition that made Izuku look away.
“I miss having a quirk,” Izuku said quietly, so quiet that Shouto almost thought it was the wind.
Silently, Shouto reached out to squeeze Izuku’s shoulder. He felt Izuku’s body trembling but didn’t pay any mind to it, more worried about the dark shadows under his eyes that were present every time he saw him but never mentioned by a single soul. Maybe they didn’t realize Izuku was hurting, or maybe Shouto was just too good at reading him.
“It’s really stupid of me to feel this way,” Izuku continued with his faraway stare aimed at the ground. “It wasn’t technically my quirk to begin with. I knew what life was without it and I knew I would go back to it one day, but I didn’t–I didn’t expect to feel like my entire world just ended.”
Izuku scoffed, and lifting his head up, he flashed Shouto a wry smile. “Do you know how many times a day I reach out for something, expecting Blackwhip to bring it to me? Or the amount of times I have to remind myself to be vigilant on the streets because I don’t have Danger Sense to warn me if something’s off? It sucks, Todoroki. It freaking sucks.”
“Midoriya…”
“But it has to be fine,” Izuku laughed bitterly, scuffing his heel against the floorboard. “I have to live like I didn’t just get a taste of my dream and lose it in the span of two years because that’s what I signed up for. I can’t complain and I can’t cry about it, and I’m supposed to accept it, but…damn it, I was so close to getting everything I wanted!”
Shouto watched with pain in his heart as Izuku slammed his hands down on the railing, his shoulders shaking as he bowed his head to hide his face. He knew deep down that Izuku wasn’t happy with his ending, but to hear how devastated he actually was after watching it be masked under hollow smiles and over enthusiastic congratulations when his friends debuted was heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry,” Shouto found himself saying softly.
Inhaling sharply, Izuku tilted his anguished filled face to stare at Shouto. “What are you sorry for? None of this is your fault.”
“I’m sorry for complaining about my father giving me a hero agency when you can’t even do hero work now. You’re right; that fucking sucks.”
Izuku barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. It really does. But don’t– don’t do that. Don’t be sorry. It’s my burden to deal with.”
“You shouldn’t do it alone.” Shouto frowned. “I am here, Midoriya. Whether you want me to be here or not, I’m here to listen to you. At least confide in me if you’re not being honest with your therapist.”
“Therapy is a joke,” Izuku answered with a roll of his shoulders and a sideways glance at Shouto. “Every session just leaves me restless. At least when I had my quirk I could burn the restlessness off with a training session. Now I don’t have anywhere to put my stupid manic energy towards.”
“You could still spar with me.”
“I’ve tried sparring with Kacchan and Kirishima. It doesn’t work. And I can’t bake away my energy or clean it away.” He inhaled sharply. “I’m now realizing that I wasn’t built for staying in one place. That’s probably one of the worst parts of losing my quirk.”
Leaning forward in his arms, Shouto said, “Sounds like you and I are in the same boat. Not even sparring with Momo gets rid of my stress nowadays. I just feel like everyone is watching me and I can’t screw this up. I have to be better than my father.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re one thousand times better than him,” Izuku said with raised brows. ”The public adores you and people online always talk about how safe you make them feel. You’re nothing like him.”
“I still have to work hard to be the best version of myself that I can be.”
“Careful,” Izuku teased, the ghost of a smile visible on his face. “If you stress yourself out, you’ll be completely white by the time you’re twenty-five.”
Shouto stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a laugh, his veins humming with warmth. “Funny, but untrue.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Izuku chuckled with a good-natured jab at Shouto’s right arm. Smiling, he stared up at the lights. “Restless and stressed out. We make quite the pair, don’t we?”
“Mhm.”
“What other forms of stress relief are there?” Izuku asked curiously, tilting his head to look at Shouto. “I know you know. You were always offering ideas for relaxation to our classmates in high school.”
“Well there’s sparring and your typical stress relief methods; taking a bath, sleeping, yoga. There’s a pressure point between your thumb and index fingers that’s supposed to relieve stress, but it’s never worked for me.” He flushed red then, averting his gaze to his hands. “Then there’s physical ways to relieve stress.”
“So…sex. That’s what you’re saying.”
Shouto nodded.
Snorting, Izuku dropped his jaw onto his palm. “Huh. There’s something I haven’t tried yet.”
Shouto bit his bottom lip, his eyes roaming up and down Izuku’s figure. They lingered on the curve of his back and the edge of his jaw, then on the curls he suddenly had an urge to touch. He admittedly hadn’t tried that mode of stress relief, either. But here, watching Izuku’s honey-glowing skin grow pink as he thought about it, he found a dangerous proposition sitting on the tip of his tongue.
“You could try it with me.”
Izuku’s jaw audibly clicked shut as he snapped his head around to meet Shouto’s eyes, disbelief written in his own.
“What?”
“Sex for stress relief. You could try it with me.” Breathing in through his nose, he added, “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’ll just be sex.”
“Just sex,” Izuku repeated, gaze unmoving. “With you. Just casual sex between two friends for stress relief.”
“Yes.”
“I…I don’t know, Todoroki. You’re my friend.“
The absurdity of it all clicked in Shouto’s head at that second, and biting his tongue, he looked away. “You’re right. My apologies for suggesting something so unorthodox. We should just focus on our friendship.”
Silence fell between them. Shouto silently cursed himself for suggesting the idea, berating himself for giving into the weakness of human desire that he allowed himself to entertain for the briefest of moments.
Fingers digging into his skin, he opened his mouth to excuse himself, only to be stopped by crooked fingers latching onto his wrist.
“Wait,” Izuku blurted out, cheeks pink under the glow of the lights. “Don’t go.”
“Why?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
Stunned, Shouto asked, “It’s not?”
Izuku shook his head. “We’re good friends. Sex won’t destroy that. And we both need it, right? Stress relief?”
“Right,” Shouto croaked. “Yes.”
“Right,” Izuku echoed. Eyes locked with Shouto’s, he said, “I want to try it.”
Breathing in shakily, Shouto said, “Okay. What are your conditions?”
“One, that we both agree to whatever it is we do. If you’re not comfortable with something then we stop. Two, we don’t let it ruin our friendship. It’s just sex.”
“What else?”
“We can’t let anyone know about this. It has to stay between us.”
“Okay,” Shouto agreed, ignoring the way his head was screaming at him to turn tail and bow out of something he had no business of starting.
He knew this was wrong; he’d had a massive crush on Izuku since the Sport’s Festival during their first year, and it had only grown since then into something he didn’t dare give a name yet. His heart jumped every time he saw Izuku and wanted him to belong to Shouto alone, but he knew better than to hope for something more than this to happen between them anymore. So maybe it was ten different layers of wrong, but Shouto was willing to take as much as Izuku was willing to give until reality slapped him in the face when he met someone he wanted and left him for good.
Realizing he’d been silent for a little too long, Shouto turned around so his back was digging into the railing.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “So do we shake on it to make it official?”
Izuku’s lips curled up with amusement. “That seems a little too formal for something like this.”
Swallowing his nerves, Shouto tilted his head and rasped, “Then you should probably kiss me to get it out of the way.”
Izuku’s eyes widened, and out of the corner of his eyes, Shouto saw his fingers spasm on the railing. He watched Izuku’s tongue swipe over his lips like he did when he was nervous, but he held his ground, anticipation growing in his chest.
Slowly, he watched Izuku peel himself off the railing and walk towards him, the tips of his ears matching his rosy cheeks. Coming to a stop in front of him, Izuku’s hands reached up to cup his cheeks, and Shouto swore his skin burned under the touch. This close, he could see each of Izuku’s individual freckles that still remained, as well as each pretty lash that brushed over his cheeks every time he blinked.
They stared at each other for the briefest of seconds, and then Shouto was pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to Izuku’s lips.
It was a quick kiss, more like a peck, and both pulled away with stunned looks.
Izuku tasted like the rice cakes Fuyumi had served for the funeral reception and the mango juice he loved to drink, and he smelled like the familiar lavender pine that lingered in Shouto’s dorm room for years from how often he’d stay there. Izuku tasted familiar, like Shouto had been kissing him his whole life.
Suddenly, the pieces clicked in his head and a pool of desire went up in flames. Desire like molten lava filled Izuku’s eyes, and before Shouto could kiss him again, Izuku was grabbing him by the collar and yanking him into a hot, searing and downright dirty kiss.
There on the patio porch that night, Shouto made out feverishly with his best friend until his back hurt from digging into the railing and Izuku’s curls were disheveled beyond repair from Shouto’s fingers running through them. That night, they fumbled messily at belt buckles and Shouto learned that despite their shape, Izuku’s fingers knew exactly what they were doing when they wrapped around him. That night, a contract was sealed with that first, hesitant kiss.
In the bathroom mirror at his apartment, Shouto traced the fresh bruises with the tips of his fingertips.
The green fading bruises underneath the new, red bruises made the marks look ugly to the unknowing eye, but to Shouto, they were victory marks. No one else knew that Izuku’s kisses were downright vampiric; they didn’t know that his front two teeth were slightly crooked from his high-school battles, nor did they know that when he broke skin he kissed the blood in a silent apology. No one knew that Izuku loved to give pleasure more than he liked to be on the receiving end, ever the people pleaser. No one knew Izuku’s haunting touch the way Shouto did.
“You’re running out of conditioner,” Izuku said as he stepped out of the shower, his blue towel hanging low on his hips. ”I can stop by the store after work tomorrow and get you a new one.”
Glancing at him through the mirror, Shouto said, “Sure. If that’s what you want.” A pause. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Grinning, Izuku batted his wet lashes. “Like what?”
“Like you want to give me a hickey necklace.” Shooting him a glare, he said, “You’ve done enough for today. I look like a grape.”
“A cute one!” Izuku teased as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Shouto’s shoulder. Pulling away, he said, “You’ll be fine. You’re always fine.”
“Momo is going to give me hell for this…”
“She always does,” Izuku laughed. Drying his curls with a spare towel, he asked, “Are you calling her tonight? Or is the weekly catch up session tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Shouto replied as he turned away from the mirror. He turned to look at Izuku then. “Do you need the scar cream?”
“Please.”
Wordlessly, Shouto picked the tub of cream up. Dipping two fingers into it, he began their nightly routine: he would apply scar cream to Izuku’s cheek, taking care to do it as gently as possible. Then, Izuku would insist on doing the same and Shouto would let him, an act done in silence from the solemnity each scar carried. They’d kiss a little, and then they’d collapse in Shouto’s bed with Shouto cocooned in Izuku’s embrace. Scarred fingers would trace up and down his spine as their owner blabbed about upcoming lesson plans while their muse replied back as best he could, and then he’d fall asleep with his nose buried into the split center of snowy white and fiery red hair.
Like clockwork, the red numbers on Shouto’s bed stand read 12:05 AM, the time Izuku was always asleep before when he found himself in Shouto’s bed. His soft snores filled the dark room, and his fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of Shouto’s pajama top, a baggy shirt Izuku had loaned him once in third-year and he’d never returned.
Like clockwork, they ended their day like two lovers did while they were the farthest thing from being in love. And still, desperately in love, Shouro closed his eyes and pretended it was real and like they were in love.
(It’s a lie he’ll tell himself until he has to say goodbye and face the consequences of dancing with the devil.)