Work Text:
Shouto adores coffee.
He appreciates the acrid bite of whole beans being freshly ground. Whether it’s to granules suited to a pour-over, a french press, or espresso; Shouto cherishes each version uniquely. But more than the grounds and the methods, Shouto loves the sweetening additives, the myriad of options and potential.
At the centre of his adoration is the fact that it feels impossible to accomplish anything until he’s ingested a reasonable quantity. Even a plain espresso shot makes dressing and leaving his apartment bearable. It keeps him from setting fire to his manuscripts before they can be published. Coffee makes people almost tolerable some days too.
An extension of the coffee itself, Shouto is terribly fond of coffee shops. However, coffee shops are not equal to one another and when he moves to a new city further from his father, Shouto needs to find a new café to call his second home.
The coffee shop chosen holds no particularly unique qualities. It doesn’t have a vehemently cohesive theme to the interior design like shop three; no obscure efforts at renaming classic drinks just to be ‘different’ like shop one. If he has to choose one thing that distinguishes it from any run of the mill café, Shouto would have to say, it’s the name: Plus Ultra Beans.
It may seem average, despite such a quirky name, but after six previous attempts to find a suitable environment for his work, Shouto returns to this café after the first visit.
And the following week.
When his editor asks him what made him settle on Plus Ultra the third week he spends nearly every day in the shop, Shouto can only answer, “The staff.”
After nearly a month, the baristas greet him by his surname without once appearing to recognise him the way shop five had. They’re all similar in age to him, each with their own distinct personalities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to even on that first visit.
Midoriya always has a positive outlook on nearly every topic, despite the scars that crisscross his arms. Mina gives affection and sass in equal measure to both her coworkers and the patrons. Jirou’s dry sense of humour and calm demeanour balance out her coworkers. Sato’s rumbling laughter feels warmer than the baked goods he makes. Sero never fails to have a witty repartee or random factoid.
And Bakugou.
Bakugou loudly proclaims his hatred for everything and everyone, handing insults out like candy with his perfectly crafted coffee; all the while still caring deeply for his friends and coworkers and unwilling to serve any customer less than the best brews.
Shouto’s beginning to worry that he’ll miss an upcoming deadline for the first time in his career thanks to the baristas he’s enjoyed getting to know over the past month.
The last highlight to Plus Ultra Beans that solidifies Shouto’s choice is how little everyone’s secondary gender influences the way they interact. Entirely unlike shop six.
“What will it be today, Todoroki?” Mina smiles wide at Shouto as he steps up to the register.
He gives it a moment’s thought before replying, “Medium cappuccino, 3 ristretto shots, chocolate drizzle on the inside, 3 pumps of hazelnut syrup with two sugars. Almond milk please. And a foam cat, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Mina’s smile turns coy as she answers, “Oh, no trouble at all! Right, Bakugou?”
A loud groan comes from the espresso machine to the left and Shouto turns to find a pair of red eyes glaring at him beneath tousled blond spikes. “It is fuckin’ trouble. You aren’t the one making the damn thing, Pinky.”
Shouto cocks his head to the side and offers a blink. “Are you saying you can’t make it, then?”
“Of course I fuckin’ can, I’m not some scrub,” Bakugou snaps. As he turns back to the machine, he mutters loud enough to be heard. “Don’t understand how you come in here dressed like that and order complicated expensive shit.”
Glancing down at his outfit, Shouto frowns. No matter what he wears when he comes into the café, it always receives harsh criticism from the angry blond. Shouto’s quite fond of his blue and violet floral polo shirt beneath white and blue plaid button up.
Shouto pays for his drink before answering Bakugou with one arched brow. “I don’t know what my attire has to do with ordering coffee.”
Opposite him, Mina giggles as she passes his card back.
“Fuckin’ half-n-half idiot,” Bakugou mutters. Despite his words he nimbly begins to prepare Shouto’s drink order.
Shouto steps aside, taking his time striding past the coffee bar on his way to the seat just across from the espresso machines. The small table tucked against frosted glass has become his “spot” whenever he stops in and he’s loath to part with this routine. He’s confident one day the seat will be taken and Shouto doesn’t know how he’ll handle that.
Planting himself in the chair, Shouto draws out his laptop and goes about creating his workspace for the afternoon. The document comes to life on his screen as he takes his glasses off the bridge of his nose, wiping the lenses with the hem of his shirt. When he can see again, Shouto’s attention is drawn to a new inbound email notification in the bottom right of his computer.
From Momo.
He opens it. If it were from anyone else, he’d likely disregard, but as a long-time friend and his editor, she deserves his prompt attention.
Subject: Deadline Heat
The final manuscript deadline is approaching in three weeks’ time. But my calendar puts your next heat due the Thursday after next. I’m concerned it might interfere with your progress and delay your writing. Please let me know if my worry is unfounded or not. I will request an extension if you say so.
Shouto lets out a small huff of amusement, clicking open a reply message window and beginning his answer to her. His heat will never be anything more than a major inconvenience, Shouto’s certain of it.
“Oi.”
The gruff voice draws Shouto from his rapid typing with a slow blink.
Bakugou stands beside his table with coffee mug in hand, planting it next to Shouto’s left hand with a narrowed gaze.
“Too busy to come get your own damn drink, hah?” he accuses.
Brushing white and red strands out of his face, Shouto takes a moment to collect himself before replying, “Not necessarily. Just distracted.”
Bakugou leans forward, palms pressing into the table and bringing him closer to Shouto than the two have ever been. “What’s so interesting that you can’t acknowledge the person who just suffered making you the nightmare you call fuckin’ coffee?”
“A work e-mail.” Shouto’s gaze lands on the pitch black patch on the side of the barista’s neck. If he wasn’t wearing them, he wonders what the man would smell like. From this close, it would envelop him. Shouto’s hand wants to reach out and touch, an impulse that doesn’t happen often. He takes the coffee mug into his hands as he stifles the thought.
“So you actually have a fuckin’ job.” Bakugou leans back out of Shouto’s personal space, taking the pressure of impulse away with him as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t sure with the way you dress. They must not be payin’ you enough to buy proper clothes.”
Shouto frowns, forced to look down at himself for the second time today. “They pay me just fine. What do you have against what I wear?”
The barista scoffs. “The fuck kind of question is that? Everything. You come here lookin’ like you robbed the damn homeless. If they pay you enough like you say, go buy new shit.”
“Never realised my attire could be so offensive to you,” Shouto retorts with a small upturn to his lips.
“Kacchan!” That’s Midoriya’s voice calling. “Leave patrons alone and come clean the bar please!”
“Fuckin’ Deku,” Bakugou mutters with a glance over his shoulder. When he looks back at Shouto, he glares. “If you wanna look a mess with those clothes and sloppy bun? I don’t give a shit, you’re just offending yourself.”
Then the blond stomps off, leaving Shouto to sort out his thoughts and finish his response to Momo. And the manuscript itself, of course. The drivel isn’t going to write itself.
* * * *
Later in the week, Shouto finds himself considering his attire with a little more attention. He’s had people comment on his outfit choices in the past, Momo teases him ceaselessly, but for some reason it’s Bakugou’s words that he hears when he reaches for a shirt he likes even though it was too big on him. In the end he arrives at Plus Ultra in a fitted pale blue tee shirt with a cat printed down at the hem. He’s chosen a pair of dark green trousers and tan moccasins to go with it.
His long hair still sits atop his head in a loose bun. Shouto’s never known what to do with it.
“Hello, Todoroki!” Midoriya smiles wide, wearing green plaid patches today that complement his eyes.
Shouto nods his head in greeting, gaze sweeping over the staff currently moving like a well-oiled machine around the coffee bar. Jirou drops the wand into a pitcher of milk and pulls the handle to start the steaming. Her deep violet hair brushes against her studded black collar as she turns to say something to Mina who stands beside her at the second espresso machine. Her patches today are pastel pink with a delicate floral pattern.
“Good afternoon.” Shouto fills the silence between them belatedly as his gaze returns to Midoriya. “How’re you?”
“Good! How about you?” Midoriya’s gaze seems to watch Shouto closely as he waits for a response.
“Decent.” Shouto spares a glance at the menu board before offering up another heavily modified cappuccino. Large today. Midoriya dutifully punches in each aspect of his order without missing a beat. “Has it been busy today?”
Midoriya shakes his head as he passes the order on to Jirou. “Not particularly! But it’s still early. Wednesday usually gets busy later on when most start leaving work.”
Shouto’s eyes follow the mug as Jirou picks it up between slender fingers. She’s always done fine making his drinks, though he’s almost certain she doesn’t wait for the ristretto shots to finish before adding in the milk. The only person who has always crafted his orders perfectly is nowhere to be found.
“He requested today off so he could work on a project.”
Looking up from where he’d unfortunately spaced out, Shouto blinks into Midoriya’s smirk. “Project?”
The smirk only deepens and Shouto feels as if he’s been caught in something. “He has a few he works on. You should ask him about it! But I’ll let him know you swung by.”
“Uh, thank you but no need.” Shouto slips away from the counter with a small frown, thankful to see that his table is open.
Belatedly, Shouto realises that he’d never asked a question, yet Midoriya answered the one that was on his mind. It makes him uneasy that one of the baristas has taken notice of his curiosity where Bakugou is concerned. And it is simply curiosity. Shouto has no time for mates or even casual sex. People are exhausting, incapable of satisfying; in the end, an utter waste of his time.
Alphas are the epitome of that.
Bakugou is objectively appealing. But so are other men he’s encountered. Bakugou isn’t much different and Shouto reassures himself that it’s a surface level curiosity that stems from his need to observe and understand his surroundings. A side effect of his profession.
And his profession is the reason he’s here. That’s the end of it.
Shouto opens his laptop and clicks on his manuscript. By his estimation, he has seven more scenes to write and roughly two weeks to finish them all.
A doable suffering.
So long as he can get through this heated scene he’s currently trapped in.
Shouto lets out a soft sigh and reaches back to undo his hair from its bun so he can do it up again more firmly.
“Oi, Deku! I thought I said not to fuckin’ text me when I’m off the clock, hah?!” Bakugou’s raised voice draws the attention of every patron in the shop and Shouto’s head snaps around just like the rest.
“Sorry, Kacchan!” To Shouto’s ears, Midoriya doesn’t sound genuinely apologetic.
Shouto still has his fingers buried into his long red and white hair as Bakugou comes into view behind the bar, glaring at the green-haired barista who stands his ground in the face of the other alpha’s wrath.
“Calm down!” Midoriya huffs and waves a hand. With his back to Shouto, Midoriya’s expression is lost but it seems to pull Bakugou in with a frown. Midoriya says something in a low voice and a moment later, red eyes jump up to find blue and grey.
For the briefest moment, something intense passes through Bakugou’s expression. Unable to stand it, Shouto drops his gaze, feeling a small kernel of guilt at being caught staring. Hastily, he drags fingers through his hair, tying it back up as he turns to his computer screen. As he narrows his gaze at the blinking cursor, he nudges his glasses up his nose. He needs to write.
Except the sound of heavy footfalls tugs at Shouto’s attention and though he refuses to look up, it doesn’t surprise him when Bakugou sets the wide-mouth coffee mug beside him and grabs the opposite chair. He turns it backward before dropping into it with splayed legs.
That shouldn’t look as attractive as it does.
“What the hell do you do on that damn laptop of yours every day?” Bakugou questions with a grunt and a jerked chin in the direction of the computer.
Shouto arches one red eyebrow as he picks up the cup of coffee and considers the blond for a moment. It’s been a month and though he’s exchanged bits of conversation with everyone working here, no one has yet to ask him why he’s in the shop so often.
The omega can tell that his delay in answering is having an effect on Bakugou. Shouto lifts the mug to his lips, taking a drink and glancing at his computer screen as he licks the foam away that clings to his top lip.
When Shouto lifts his gaze back to the man sitting across from him, he finds red eyes caught on his mouth.
With a small sense of accomplishment, Shouto returns the question with one of his own. “What project are you working on that you had to take the day off for?”
Bakugou blinks, finding Shouto’s eyes again before turning to glare at the mop of green hair behind the counter. “That fucking nerd never shuts up, does he?”
“He was making conversation.”
“Like hell he was,” Bakugou retorts. He offers a shrug and adds, “It’s nothing.”
Shouto sets the coffee on the edge of the table before turning his attention to his laptop. Fingers begin to tap away at the keys as he says, “Of course.”
Shouto can feel the heat of Bakugou’s gaze on him but he remains resolute in his work. He has no idea what he’s actually conveying in the scene. He doesn’t really care, either. Momo will salvage it and despite being lukewarm sex in a tepid romance novel, it will sell.
He hates how true the thought is.
“Oi.” His impromptu coffee companion is far more entertaining, clearly perturbed at being ignored. “You didn’t fuckin’ answer me. What are you typing over there, halfie?”
“You didn’t answer me, either,” Shouto responds without looking up.
In his periphery, Shouto sees Bakugou jerk his head. “I asked you first, dumbass.”
Shouto cocks his head as his fingers hesitate on a word. “I’m working. I’d love to hear about your project while I finish this. I have a deadline to meet.”
“Listen here–” Bakugou’s hands come down on the small square table, rattling everything on the surface.
Shouto’s steaming cappuccino concoction topples over, landing in his lap in a splash of hot espresso and sticky sugar. Jerking up from his seat, Shouto lets out a hiss as his skin scalds. The mug rolls from his lap to shatter at his feet. The sound echoes but all Shouto can hear is a static rush between his ears.
No doubt all eyes are on him.
Silence envelops the coffee shop for a split second before Midoriya starts around the bar. “Let me—”
“I’ll fucking handle it!” Bakugou snaps with a growl in his throat.
Midoriya continues toward them with a firm gaze. “I’m taking care of the broken mug. You help Todoroki.”
Shouto steps away from the table and the shards with a shake of his head. “No, I’m fine. I should—get going.”
The skin of his abdomen smarts, burning in an all too familiar way that summons searing memories from the depths of his past. The skin on the left side of his face itches. Shouto’s fingers tremble as he reaches forward toward his laptop, determined to escape the embarrassment of the situation. No one needs to witness him reacting poorly to a simple accident.
“The hell you are.” A calloused hand catches his before it can reach his computer and Shouto lets out a soft gasp, jerking his hand out of Bakugou’s. The blond stands next to him now. When had he moved?
Shouto finally focuses on the man; Bakugou’s brow is pinched, frowning as he watches Shouto with an intense gaze.
He doesn’t want to show his mounting anxiety to this alpha. Not to anyone.
Shouto starts to shake his head again, a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but Bakugou speaks first.
“Come on. You can’t leave with a mess on your clothes.” He jerks his head toward the bar. “At least get the coffee out so that shit doesn’t stain.”
Shouto hesitates, conflicted. The anxiety squirms beneath his skin and he impulsively wishes to cover his face. Yet, he knows he’ll be a terrible sight on the trains with a damp crotch and an ugly coffee stain.
He nods slowly and Bakugou takes the acquiescence at face value, turning and heading for the direction of the door leading to the back of house. Shouto follows, refusing to meet Midoriya’s gaze or the looks being thrown at him by patrons and the staff still frozen behind the coffee bar.
When he steps into the back room, he expects Bakugou to take him to one of the industrial sinks. A quick shedding of his shirt and running it under cold water. Yet Shouto follows with growing confusion as the man ahead of him continues to a further door at the opposite end, opening it and ushering Shouto to step through.
It’s a narrow staircase leading up to a second floor.
Shouto pauses on the bottom step, uncertain where he’s being led.
“Fuckin’–just go!” Bakugou gives him a shove from behind and it sends Shouto moving upward, one step at a time.
At the top of the stairs, Shouto opens the door and steps through.
The omega immediately turns on his heel, blinking with a small frown. “Do you live up here?”
Bakugou shoulders past him with a snort. “What the fuck else would this be then? Yeah, welcome to my place or whatever. Now hand it over.”
“What?”
“The damn shirt!”
Shouto realises he’s forgotten why he’s been brought up here, too busy taking in the expanse of this studio apartment space. His earlier anxiety has all but sunk back into the recesses of his bones. At Bakugou’s beckoning fingers, Shouto brings his fingers to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off with a small sigh. He never expected he’d be in Bakugou’s home and taking off his clothes.
Passing it over into Bakugou’s outstretched hand, Shouto doesn’t quite meet his gaze but knows he’s being looked at now that he’s bare chested. There’s a beat of silence before Bakugou moves further into the room and heads for a door. He goes to enter the other room, pauses, and turns to snap, “Don’t touch shit!”
Shouto offers a nod and Bakugou disappears with the stained shirt, leaving Shouto to his own devices in the open space.
Bakugou’s space suits him, Shouto finds himself thinking as he admires exposed brick and pipework; lofted ceiling and open floor plan. A rough warmth, accentuated by floor-to-ceiling windows that allow the afternoon sun to spill across wooden floor boards freely. To his right sits a tastefully decorated kitchen. On the left stands three bookshelves, impressively stretching across the room from wall to wall except for a gap the width of a doorway between two. Shouto spots the corner of a mattress through the gap; Bakugou’s bedroom, divided off for privacy.
But the focal point of the space is the area in front of the two large windows; sawdust and wood ribbons littering the floor beneath a table top covered in tools and a wide slab of wood.
“Dry off!” A towel comes flying from the other room and Shouto pulls himself away from admiring the obvious crafting space long enough to pick up the towel and begin to soak up what he can of the coffee and sweetener clinging to his pants.
Despite pretending it’s nothing, Shouto can’t get enough of the smell of the space. The woodsy freshness of cut sawdust, the bitter edge of coffee filtering in from the floor below, and the bright warmth of honey and ginger entwined between them. His instincts tell him that the delicious honey ginger is the alpha’s own particular scent.
That same instinct now demands he find Bakugou’s laundry and rifle through it for an article that will suit his nest. One he can bury his nose into and inhale that rich scent straight to his brain.
His fingers clench around the terry cloth. He’s better and stronger than this.
When Bakugou steps out of the other room, the soft blue shirt isn’t with him.
Shouto manages to arch a brow in question and the blond answers, “It’s in the drier for a few. Damn stain should be out though.”
“Thank you,” Shouto replies with a small nod.
Bakugou shrugs, turning away from where his eyes had lingered on the other man’s chest too long. “Just fixin’ what I fucked up.”
Rather than give that a response, Shouto looks from Bakugou to the worktop. There’s a slab of wood on the surface, posts protruding out from each side. It looks like it could be a foot or headboard and half the face of it has an intricate design of spirals and loops carved into it. Shouto steps closer, keenly aware when the other man’s gaze returns to bore into him.
“Is this the project you took the day off for?” he asks softly. Slender fingers reach out to brush over the smooth wood dips and rises. “It’s wonderful.”
“Don’t touch it,” Bakugou snaps distractedly as he strides forward with a low growl. It’s not angry, just a warning. Shouto swallows down the craving that shoots through him, wanting to hear it again. Bakugou doesn’t notice the reaction the omega has as he adds with less heat, “The oils from your skin will fuck up the staining later.”
“Oh.” Shouto steps back, hand withdrawn. “But you really did all this?”
Lifting the chisel, Bakugou gives it an expert twirl before leaning over it. “Yeah, I fucking did. And I’m gunna keep doing more. I can’t fall behind so just shut up and wait for the damn drier to go off.”
Shouto gives a nod he doubts Bakugou sees from his hunched position. He keeps his distance, watching as the chisel’s edge sinks into the soft wood at the edge of where he’d left off. Bakugou seems to quickly settle into a rhythm and pace that’s both delicate and swift. Deft movements, artful precision. Thick fingers and blunt fingernails that would suit a fighter or menial labour; revealed to also be meticulous and gentle, careful with the fine details of an unexpected craft.
Shouto can’t blame instincts this time. The sight of those hands, the thought of the callouses no doubt layered in places, as they run over his body with the same talent as his carving; he feels warmer than before while still being shirtless. Bakugou has to this point presented as an aggressive alpha, one that would chase his own pleasure in a violent force of his knot. Shouto doesn’t know how to process this side of the man, this side of himself around the alpha. It has been far too long since he last felt this level of attraction.
Thank god he’s still wearing his collar. He’d be scenting so hard right now.
The hint of slick on the other hand, he can’t control quite so readily.
Bakugou’s fingers still, chisel resting just above the groove he’s been making. The blond’s next inhale is a full body motion, deep and slow. Shouto doesn’t think it possible to be that sensitive to scent unless he’s nearing rut. But he wouldn’t…
There’s a moment of utter stillness between them and then Bakugou lets out a grunt and leans forward again, going back to working the short chisel into the grain of the wood. The flex of tendons in his wrists and hands shouldn’t look so erotic to Shouto and he looks away, toward the bookshelves.
Now he recognises the carvings in the sides of them for more of the artistry Bakugou’s revealed of himself.
“You made your shelves too,” he finds himself commenting with admiration.
He only receives another grunt. Shouto takes in the spines of the books set between polished wood figures and trinkets, adding with mild curiosity, “Have you read all of these?”
The soft scraping of metal against wood stops. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ have them if I didn’t read them, dumbass.”
Shouto hums to himself and moves toward the shelves again, this time just as much out of interest as it is an excuse to put some distance between them. “What’s your favourite genre to read?”
“Shit with action.” The scraping starts up again.
The omega feels a small wave of relief wash over him. So Bakugou hasn’t read his works. It had been a small worry when he first spotted the books, despite not taking Bakugou to be one for syrupy romances.
“Good choice,” Shouto returns. Spotting an author he’s familiar with, he asks, “Have you read Kamihara’s latest work?”
“I ain’t made of money. Waiting for that shit to go on sale or something.”
“I can give one of my extras.” Shouto doesn’t know why he makes the offer.
The scraping stops once more. “Extras? The hell are you doing with multiple fucking copies?”
Perhaps it’s because he’s learned something new and personal about Bakugou, but Shouto can’t help but feel compelled to offer more information about himself. It’s not something he’s ever been comfortable with. Many have wanted to use him for their own personal gain once they know.
But Bakugou doesn’t strike him as that type.
“He sent them to me. I tend to get numerous copies of works from the other authors at the publishing house.”
“Hah?”
Shouto finally turns around to find Bakugou staring at him with narrowed eyes. There’s no heat there, not anger anyway. It’s a burning curiosity. An avid interest that feels too intense. “Does this have to do with your damn work you do on that laptop every time you’re here?”
With a small nod, Shouto explains, “I’m an author with Endeavour Publishing. It’s customary for us to give each other free copies of our works. Improves circulation and reaching a broader readership or what have you.”
Shouto turns back to scan the spines, tapping the ones he recognises as works his father’s publishing house has produced. “You have some really good ones that we’ve put out.”
“Then what the fuck do you write?”
That’s the question he least wants to answer. “You wouldn’t read my books.”
“Why the hell not?” Bakugou’s voice is nearer now, forcing Shouto to turn back around and face the man. He now stands with arms crossed, no more than two feet in front of him.
“Not enough action,” Shouto says softly. He can’t make himself meet that potent gaze as he finally supplies, “Tawdry romances.”
Bakugou’s reply comes sharp and quick. “You don’t like writing that shit.” It isn’t a question but an astute observation. One with a force behind the words that yanks Shouto’s gaze upward until it’s trapped by striking red eyes.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then writing something else.”
Shouto shakes his head, eyes never leaving Bakugou’s. If only the solution was that simple. “I can’t. Or rather–I do, in my spare time, but it’ll never see the printing room floor.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrow again. “Why the fuck not?”
“Contracts.” Shouto can’t voice the true reason. Shirtless and exposed, he can’t bring himself to share further. There’s a line here and he’s unwilling to cross it.
“Bullshit.” Bakugou takes a step closer and Shouto feels trapped between the alpha and the shelves at his back. A tension crackles between them, fervent and hard to ignore.
A buzzer sounds. The drier.
Shouto finally lets his gaze snap free to look toward the door where the sound came from. “I believe my shirt is ready.”
Bakugou’s gaze is hot and sharp, running down the length of Shouto’s torso as he speaks in a gravelly low voice. “What if I want to keep you shirtless, Todoroki?”
Shouto inhales sharply and lets the carved shelves dig into his back.
“I smelled you earlier.” They both know what he’s referring to. Shouto shakes his head with flushed cheeks. Bakugou licks his lips and adds, “Tell me to get out of your way and I will. Tell me you’re not interested and I’ll fucking pretend that this never happened.”
Shouto can’t move.
His heat isn’t for another two and a half weeks. He’s in control here. All he has to do is tell him to go away.
But his mouth won’t work.
Yes, Shouto has passively wondered about Bakugou over the past month. Admired how attractive he is but vehemently denying that it’s attraction. Right now, though, he can’t ignore the warmth in his gut; the last of his denial evaporating with every passing second.
Shouto reminds himself that this never works out. Partners never get him off. And he’s refused to even consider being with an alpha until now. It wasn’t worth the headache of instincts clouding things. A partner more concerned with their own knot.
Bakugou arches a brow.
Shouto’s gaze follows the movement and then wanders along the slope of the alpha’s nose, the dip of his Cupid’s bow, and the curve of his upper lip. He might be disappointed in the end but Shouto decides he’s willing to pursue this, see what happens. If he can learn what honey and ginger alpha tastes like, he thinks it’ll be worth the inevitable let down.
Bakugou’s mouth falls open, likely with some snide remark, but when Shouto lifts his hands to his neck and begins to undo the buckle on his collar the alpha remains silent. The worn leather slips off Shouto’s neck, freeing his scent glands and demonstrating the omega’s willingness to stay.
It isn’t easy, allowing himself to be intimate, given how exposed he feels right now. Shouto’s fingers clench around the collar now in his hand. Though his own scent of Japanese cedar and fresh snow expresses his interest, the omega knows he’s failing at hiding the anxiety.
Bakugou shifts, drawing Shouto’s gaze back to the man. The alpha steps forward and reaches out with both hands, gently taking the one Shouto grips the collar in. Between the sure warmth of his hands and the steady gaze that doesn’t leave his face, Shouto lets the collar go.
With one hand, Bakugou removes his own scent patches and then lifts the collar towards his face to take a deep inhale. He makes certain to hold Shouto’s gaze as he exhales with a groaned, “Fuck, you smell good.”
The groan, the eloquent fuck, Bakugou’s thick scent beginning to fill the finite space between them; it injects arousal straight into Shouto’s veins. If he’s not denying himself, denying attraction, his want, then he’s going to take. Consequences be damned for once.
Shouto’s hands pull Bakugou in, lips seeking lips as the space between them is erased. The alpha’s body burns every place it touches Shouto, a promise sealed with the passionate movement of Bakugou’s mouth against him.
Pressed into the bookshelf, Shouto knows he should be uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to move, fingers clenched around the collar of Bakugou’s shirt. Bakugou’s hands are at Shouto’s hips, calloused fingers moving along exposed skin. Their tongues explore one another, mouths hot and urging each other to give and take; tasting, biting, craving more.
Shouto wants to sink fully into this encounter, to allow Bakugou to please him. But there’s a quiet voice in the back of his head that reminds him just how uncertain this is. Every spark of pleasure, of excitement, is tempered by the understanding that it always starts out well before unraveling into disappointment and frustration. The difference this time is that this alpha’s scent is making it difficult to stay cognisant of the fact.
“I’m going to eat you alive,” Bakugou rasps as he moves away from Shouto’s mouth, nipping at his jaw and lower, taking a taste of Shouto’s gland. A low groan and Shouto can no longer doubt the heavy press of the alpha’s trapped erection against his thigh. “Bed, come on.”
Bakugou takes Shouto by the wrist and walks past the bookshelves to the entryway between. Beyond is a bed resting against another floor to ceiling window in the middle of the far wall. And the smell. Bakugou’s scent hangs rich here, both fresh and old lingering pleasantly. Shouto feels the slightest lightheadedness come over him as he inhales the essence of a strong alpha.
Shouto wants this. He does.
As the alpha sheds his own shirt, Shouto ignores the brief thought of keeping it for himself. Bakugou’s skin presses against his own, hot and smooth. With a firm nudge, Shouto falls backward across the mattress, enveloped in the scent of the man above him. The alpha climbs atop him, those rough thick hands Shouto had just admired minutes earlier now dragging across his bare chest. It feels far better than he’d briefly imagined it would be.
“You’re thinking about something too hard.” Bakugou mouths the words into Shouto’s shoulder before leaning back to look him in the eye. “Whenever you’re really thinking, your brows pinch and your scar goes a little wrinkled at the top.”
There’s a faint flush across Bakugou’s cheeks but he doesn’t look away. He waits for an answer, vermilion gaze holding firm.
Removing his glasses and setting them aside, Shouto hesitates a moment before answering, “It’s nothing. Just make me stop thinking.”
“With pleasure.” Bakugou rolls his hips, grinding his cock against the swelling of Shouto’s own, sending sparks of arousal dancing across the omega’s nerves. Shouto can’t stop the gasp that falls from his mouth seconds before Bakugou silences him with his mouth, biting and licking his way in.
The shallow rocking of Bakugou’s hips maintains a steady friction between their trapped erections. Already, Shouto feels his body flare in response, aching for more blissful sensation. His thoughts turn to what else Bakugou will have in store for him.
Bakugou’s lips move away, caressing and licking, biting and tracing lines down Shouto’s body.
A growl, deep and all encompassing, vibrates out of Bakugou the moment that Shouto’s jeans are off and the scent of slick breaks free unhindered. The alpha settles squarely between Shouto’s spread legs and lowers his head down. As Bakugou inhales deeply he runs his nose and then lips against the soft flesh of Shouto’s inner thigh with another low growl in his throat.
With one hand, Bakugou takes hold of the omega’s cock while the other spreads the lips of Shouto’s cunt. Then his mouth dives in, tongue seeking out every inch, and Shouto’s thoughts scramble, unable to latch onto any thought beyond the desire squirming beneath his flushed skin; senses overwhelmed and consumed by the alpha. Bakugou’s hands and mouth carve paths of pleasure into Shouto.
Shouto’s fingers sink into the soft strands of blond as Bakugou all but devours him. Mouth open and panting, Shouto’s tongue feels heavy with the thick scent of aroused honey and ginger. A moan breaks free of Shouto without warning when he feels Bakugou’s tongue plunge deep into him. His fingers clench in Bakugou’s hair, hips pressing down on the intrusion to take it as far inside as he can get it. “Fuck, Bakugou.”
“Katsuki.” Bakugou pulls away, jaw damp with slick and spit. “Call me Katsuki.”
“Shouto,” he returns with a small nod.
The pause is a moment for Shouto to regain his breath, but it doesn’t last. Bakugou—no, Katsuki—lets his gaze skate down Shouto’s flushed body until arriving at the omega’s slender cock in his hand, the swollen lips of his cunt. His gaze burns with arousal as he lowers himself back down and says, “You taste better than imagined, Shouto.”
Katsuki returns to devouring him with adept tongue and lips, fingers dancing in the gaps between, and Shouto can only vaguely recognise that the alpha had thought of what he might taste like. The thought breaks apart under the onslaught of pleasure that returns, steadily mounting. Shouto sinks into the mattress, hips shifting and grinding into Katsuki’s ministrations. The omega can feel his body winding upward, reaching for that pinnacle he knows will remain out of reach.
Katsuki sucks marks into the skin of Shouto’s inner thigh, licks, and then bites down.
Shouto feels unhinged in that moment, a gasping moan falling loud and wanton from his lips. Flames of pleasure spiral outward over Shouto’s skin in the wake of the bite’s momentary pain. The omega’s nails dig into Katsuki’s scalp as the alpha growls and laps at the bite mark. He doesn’t linger, mouth moving to the other thigh, leaving marks—hickies and bites—in his wake with abandon while two fingers easily slip into Shouto’s cunt and pump in and out.
Shouto’s intoxicated. Drunk on Katsuki, body strung tight against the onslaught of pleasure. It thrums beneath his skin, a drum beat steadily picking up pace. There’s a crescendo on the horizon, whipped into a frenzy and buzzing at the base of his spine.
Katsuki doesn’t let up. His attention only shifts, his hot mouth sinking down around Shouto’s weeping cock. Back arching, the omega whimpers, feeling the stroke of the alpha’s thick fingers still moving slick and fast inside. Katsuki hollows his cheeks, sucking as he draws back and then lowers himself down to engulf Shouto’s cock in the wet heat of his mouth.
Shouto isn’t given the chance to warn.
His orgasm erupts, ensnaring him, springing to life like a match struck, and every nerve ending catches fire. The omega is deaf to his own scream of euphoria. Slick gushes, his cock throbs, and Shouto knows nothing but ecstasy for several seconds that stretch unreal and hazy with bliss.
As he comes back to himself, Shouto pants and blinks down at Katsuki where he’s watching with a self-satisfied grin stretching over his face. The glisten of slick and spittle smeared around his lips is strikingly erotic. The fingers resting lax in Katsuki’s hair now tug up, guiding the alpha into crawling up over Shouto until their faces meet and Shouto licks his way into his mouth. He tastes himself, languidly enjoying the movement of their lips against one another.
“I hope you know I’m nowhere near done with you,” Katsuki murmurs against Shouto’s lips.
“I didn’t think so,” Shouto retorts softly. His muscles feel soft as putty, scent-drunk and enamoured with this single man; the first to give him this feeling.
For once, Shouto wants to give as much as he’s receiving in return. To be a far more active participant than he’s ever been with someone in the past. Their lips dance against one another for a moment more before Shouto moves forward, brushing his mouth against Katsuki’s jaw before descending lower and inhaling the alpha’s scent.
When Shouto’s tongue darts out to taste the condensed oil at Katsuki’s gland, his mouth tingles, heady honey and ginger molasses rolling over his taste buds. With a moan, Shouto buries his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck. Tongue sliding and lips sucking up the taste, Shouto hears Katsuki groan and arms come around his shoulders to press him closer.
Though Katsuki makes the best coffee Shouto’s ever had, he thinks he’d rather get a taste of the man’s scent every day to get him through just about anything.
And isn’t that just a terrifying thought?
Shouto has no room to analyse himself out of this situation, aching as he is for more. Katsuki’s cock sits heavy against his hip and the omega wants to know exactly what that thick alpha dick feels like filling him, stretching his cunt open.
“Sh-Shouto.” Begrudgingly, Shouto detaches himself from Katsuki’s neck, privately pleased to see the red flush of a hickey rising to the surface.
Katsuki shifts once he’s free, letting Shouto go and moving off of him entirely. Shouto shifts onto his side to watch as the alpha settles himself further up at the head of the bed. Part of Shouto expects Katsuki to demand he present himself, to allow himself to be mounted in the classic mating fashion.
“Come here, gorgeous,” Katsuki beckons. When Shouto comes forward on his knees, cock already waving at halfmast again, Katsuki takes hold of the omega, powerful hands effortlessly moving Shouto into place where he wants him. And Shouto goes willingly, adoring the feeling of Katsuki’s hands on him. When they half-sit, half-lie together, Shouto draped over Katsuki’s lap, the alpha reaches up, tugging Shouto’s hair free of its tie before cupping the omega’s jaw. Shouto lets their lips fall together, fitting perfectly like the grooves of a dovetail joint.
The hand at Shouto’s jaw drops away, palm sliding over his chest until fingers surround their goal of a dusty pink nipple. Shouto gasps into Katsuki’s mouth as his nipple is pinched and pulled. In retaliation, the omega bites down on the alpha’s bottom lip, tugging.
Katsuki chuckles, licking at Shouto as he draws back. His hand stops, slides across to the other nipple to give it the same treatment, but not before his other hand reaches from behind. Shouto’s back arches as both his nipples become epicentres of sensation, biting down into his own lip to stop himself from letting out more absurd noises.
“Let me hear you,” Katsuki insists, planting kisses across his shoulder. One hand abandons Shouto’s chest and slides lower, and lower still until he wraps calloused palm around the omega’s cock. “Don’t fucking hold back now.”
He’s never had reason to make such obscene sounds before. No one has ever made Shouto feel every inch of pleasure, deep enough to heat the very marrow of his bones. He’s not certain he knows how to let himself be heard.
Katsuki seems determined to wringe all sense out of Shouto, however. His hands expertly move, moulding sensation into Shouto like he’s a piece to be carved. It doesn’t take long for arousal to swell anew, his cock hard and throbbing in Katsuki’s hold. The alpha’s thumb swipes over the head at the same moment his finger twists sharply against Shouto’s nipple. He whimpers long and low, body bowed under the overwhelming sparks flying beneath his skin.
Shifting himself slightly, Katsuki spreads Shouto’s leg back and positions his own cock against Shouto’s wet pussy. The rub of the alpha’s cockhead against the folds of his cunt sends a shiver of anticipation up Shouto’s spine. He’s certain Katsuki feels it. The alpha presses his hips forward, sinking ever so slowly into Shouto.
The omega can’t help it, he moans at the feeling of being filled. The slow press feels better than it ever has before. Sh0uto lets his leg fall further open of its own accord, one hand reaching up and back to bury fingers into Katsuki’s hair as he gasps out, “Katsuki.”
Katsuki presses his lips to the space just below Shouto’s ear before chuckling softly. “God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”
With slow deep thrusts, Katsuki works Shouto’s nerves into another frenzy of need. The omega doesn’t even know if it’s possible for him to cum again. He hadn’t even known he was capable of the first. From the moment all sense exploded into a million fractured pinpoints of pleasure, Shouto has been navigating unknown territory. It’s almost as if Katsuki knows this, is milking it and pushing Shouto to the limits of what he thinks possible. And then beyond.
The alpha keeps his pace agonisingly slow, thrusting in and out while languidly running his hands over the expanse of Shouto’s skin. Shouto feels at odds; body thrumming, blissfully bathed in a simmering all-encompassing arousal he wants to linger in but also aching for more than this. It feels amazing just the way they are and also not enough.
Shouto lets out breathy sighs, allowing katsuki’s mouth to roam freely across the skin of his neck and shoulder. The alpha surrounds him, securely holding him close, thrusting impossibly deep, engulfing every one of Shouto’s senses. This has to be the most absurdly pleasurable moment of his existence.
“Fuck—Katsuki.” Shouto finally voices his desire, unsure how he’ll be received. “Faster. I’m not—not going to break, dammit.”
“Never thought you would,” Katsuki answers with a chuckle, “I wanted to hear you ask for what you want. Can’t read your damn mind, Shouto.”
There’s a witty retort on the tip of Shouto’s tongue. The syllables are lined up for delivery but the second he opens his mouth, the words topple out in incoherent keening punched out of him with the sudden force of Katsuki’s cock driving into him.
“Like this?” the alpha questions into the shell of Shouto’s ear.
“Yes!” Shouto lets out a gasping whine as his hips try to move in time, encouraging Katsuki’s cock further and faster, deeper and harder. There’s no more room in Shouto’s chest to hold the noises in, his own breath barely fitting. If he had any awareness, Shouto would surely be embarrassed by the lewd sounds being thrown freely from his open mouth. Katsuki growls and groans with him, noises vibrating against Shouto and echoing in his ear; hearing the pleasure of his alpha only sends Shouto spiraling.
He climaxes again. A rippling, searing, explosive pleasure that ravages Shouto from head to toe. A second scream echoes, nails dig, body quivers; Shouto’s reduced to nothing but cresting arousal, clenching around the cock still thrusting with no hint of stopping.
“Could watch you fucking cum every damn day,” Katsuki growls into Shouto’s skin. “Fuck, Shouto, you’re so good. Even came dry that time, goddamn.”
The omega whimpers, writhing against the pounding onslaught, overstimulated but only capable of craving more. Shouto can feel the swell of Katsuki’s knot where it brushes just outside of reach, briefly kissing the lips of his cunt with each thrust. The hand now dragging over Katsuki’s hip grips hard as Shouto whines, breathless, “Want your knot—alpha, Katsuki, knot me, f-fuck.”
“Yes, gunna—make you cum again when I fuckin’ knot you.”
Katsuki takes Shouto’s cock in hand once more, stroking with the same abandon that he pounds into Shouto’s pussy with. There’s no end in sight and Shouto doesn’t fucking care. Everything feels amazing, too much so; body overwrought with arousal, with pleasure he’s never touched before today. He can’t fathom coming a third time.
Yet the moment Katsuki’s massive knot finally sinks into Shouto and the alpha squeezes the head of his cock, Shouto is torn asunder, cum spraying across his stomach and chest. The sensation of being spread thin around the alpha’s knot, Katsuki’s cum shooting hot to paint his insides; Shouto’s maddeningly full in a way that shakes him to his core, makes his omega keen with joy and his body go limp with the deluge of blissful rapture.
They’re both panting, a sheen of sweat coating them both. Shouto feels his mind come back to him slowly, in pieces of information. The inside of his thighs smart where the bite marks stand out against his pale skin. There’s hair clinging all over his face, damp clumps sticking to his shoulders in places Katsuki didn’t lavish with attention. He doesn’t recall when his glasses came off but they’re resting well away from the mess they’ve made of themselves, folded at the foot of the bed. Katsuki’s fingers are entwined with his against Shouto’s hip, feeling impossibly right.
And he’s stuck on the man’s knot, feeling an occasional throb from inside that steals the breath from his lungs.
Shouto’s head falls back with a sigh as Katsuki shifts them both into a more comfortable position, lying fully down in the bed. Before this moment, the thought of being trapped with someone, waiting out the deflation of the knot locking them together sounded like the worst kind of torment. Shouto couldn’t fathom being made to maintain touch with someone, to sit in awkward silence or stilted conversation while they wait upwards of an hour and a half to be free.
Right now, muscles loose and heavy, Shouto can’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be. He feels enveloped by Katsuki, safe and warm, tied to the strong alpha in a way that makes his omega feel secure. It’s not at all how he imagined it would be.
But then again. None of this was.
“Glad you liked it,” Katsuki rumbles against Shouto’s throat, nose brushing under his jaw.
“Hm?” Shouto doesn’t recall speaking.
A soft chuckle vibrates against Shouto’s back. “You’re purring.”
Is he? Shouto forces himself to be more aware and realises he is.
The sheer volume of new experiences finally strikes Shouto square in the chest, forcing a shocked bubble of laughter to erupt from him. He brings one hand up to press into his face, body shaking.
“What the fuck are you laughing about? Your purring?” Shouto can hear the frown in Katsuki’s voice. Katsuki tries to lean forward to see Shouto’s expression better but it causes the knot to tug uncomfortably. Shouto’s laughter chokes off on a gasp.
“No—well, yes. And no.” Shouto answers as he settles his breathing. “I’m just—not used to this.”
“You’re not used to purring?” Katsuki continues to inquire with befuddlement clear in his tone.
With a thoughtful sigh, Shouto turns his head as best he can to get a look at the man lying at his back. “Definitely not used to that. Also not used to actually having an orgasm during sex. Let alone three.”
“When’s the last time?”
Shouto blinks. “This would be the first. You’re the first.”
Katsuki remains silent for several long seconds before spluttering, “Hah? Seriously?”
Shouto nods, letting his head rest beneath his hand, staring across the room. “For once, I enjoyed myself. A fluke, surely.”
Katsuki’s arm wraps around Shouto’s waist, pulling him tighter against his chest. Warm lips press against his shoulder and then Katsuki’s warm rough words brush over Shouto’s skin. “Ain’t a damn fluke. I’m just that good.” His fingers flex, holding him close. “Guess we’ll just have to do this again to prove it.”
“Is that so?” In this moment, the thought of having sex with Katsuki again fills Shouto with anticipation and elation rather than revulsion or anxiety. He isn’t certain how to operate within this new emotional canvas. “You want to go another round?”
Katsuki snorts. “As great as that would be, I plan on taking you on a fucking date next. Today, you got shit to write and I have my headboard to work on.”
“So that’s what that is? Not just some prettily carved wood,” Shouto teases. “Thought you were dressing up some firewood.”
“Alright, I’m ready for you to get off my knot, asshole,” Katsuki grouses with a laugh.
* * * *
Shouto shuffles toward the edge of the bed, looking toward the floor for his clothes once they’re no longer tied. Katsuki moves in close, tugging on a swath of the omega’s hair.
“You should leave your hair down more often,” he rumbles. “Damn near jumped over the espresso machines when I saw your hair down earlier.”
When Shouto turns to give him a look over his shoulder, Katsuki closes the gap to plant a kiss to his red-bitten lips.
“I’ll consider it, so long as I get my hair tie back. It’s my favourite,” Shouto answers, rising to his feet.
When he moves toward his shirt in the far corner, Shouto discovers that walking is a greater challenge than he thought it would be. A snort from the bed lets him know that his partner has taken notice as well.
It’s fine. He can handle it.
Shouto repeats that to himself as he slowly redresses, ignoring how his thighs burn, his cunt throbs, and his knees still feel like mounds of jelly barely supporting his weight. Once his clothes are on, Shouto turns to head out of the bedroom on careful legs.
“Fuck, hey, Shouto.” Katsuki comes up to him, yanking his boxers on. There’s an amused grin on his face as he insists, “Let me give you a ride home. Last thing you need is to limp onto the train with the way you smell.”
“Fine.” It’s not the fact that he can’t walk that makes Shouto agree but the thought of what the scent clinging to him will broadcast to strangers on the train ride home. He’d prefer not to be the subject of stares and whispers; the slim chance that word finds his father sends a spike of anxiety through Shouto’s chest.
And what would his father have to say about Katsuki?
Shouto turns this thought over as he sits in the passenger seat of the man’s car, belongings in his lap. Shouto glances at Katsuki as the alpha drives him to his apartment and finds himself thinking that one day, he’d like nothing more than to see the look on Enji Todoroki’s face. After their first date, of course. Shouto has a feeling it will be the first of many.
A hair tie lands in the omega’s lap. When Shouto looks up, he finds Katsuki grinning at the road with the setting sun glowing against his profile.
Oh, I sure fucking hope so, he thinks with a soft smile.