Work Text:
Working with Katsuki is nice.
He doesn’t even grunt or huff about Shouto calling him that when they’re in the middle of patrolling a busy area and civilians can overhear, ever since they graduated. Not even while Shouto drags out his name and says please at the end and maybe tugs on his sleeve because the path of least resistance is most often the one that involves pouting a little at him, and Shouto is far from too proud to stoop to that, these days.
In fact—
It doesn’t really feel like stooping in the first place. It’s just. Well, it’s nice, being an omega. Knowing, and getting to hide a small smile whenever Katsuki stills before saying good morning just because Shouto walked out of his bedroom wearing one of Katsuki’s suspiciously missing hoodies just close enough to his next heat for Katsuki to be able to tell.
It’s not on purpose, most of the time.
It’s just—comfortable.
They already live together, and Katsuki has always been—
Asking seems like it would do more harm than good, honestly.
Katsuki has to know. He’s smart. He picks up on these things. And he’s grown up enough not to yell much about it.
If anything, there’s a distinct lack of yelling in Shouto’s life.
Katsuki didn’t even say anything when Shouto accidentally washed a tie dye project he was in the middle of making with Fuyumi with most of their white shirts. No, instead he just picked up the wet heap of brown-tinged laundry and started saying something about lemon juice, and when he noticed Shouto still pouting about it he sighed before walking over and pressing a kiss to his forehead, rough hand warm cupping the back of Shouto’s neck.
So, yeah. Shouto doesn’t really feel a pressing need to talk about it.
But—
Katsuki does like to return the favor, sometimes, and that’s—
That tends to make Shouto reconsider.
Because—
Because, right now, he’s looking up into Katsuki’s eyes with his back pressed to the wall, and Katsuki leans in close just to cup Shouto’s cheek and let out this soft huff of laughter, and then he says, “The fans are right, don’t you think? Calling you Strawberry Shortcake, I mean.”
Right. That was a thing that happened. That trended worldwide, if they’re being specific. He got an actual merch partnership offer out of it. Doesn’t help that he goes around smelling like strawberries most of the time. Katsuki always says he can tell even when Shouto’s not close to a heat, and that’s—well, that would pose a pressing problem all on its own if Shouto weren’t already about to blush.
“There’s the hair,” he says, biting at the inside of his cheek. “And my scent, I suppose.”
Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, and you’re all cute and small.”
Shouto’s mouth purses. “Actually,” he says, “the Japanese height average for men is a lot smaller than you’d—”
“Hey, sweetheart,” says Katsuki. “I’m trying here.”
And—
Oh, Shouto thinks uselessly. It’s like that.
Because Katsuki touching him isn’t enough to trigger a realization on its own. No, it’s just something that happens after a long day pressed close on the couch at home or when they’re quietly doing chores side by side (Katsuki more than Shouto, to be fair) or—even like this. In a cramped alley right at the end of their shift because maybe Katsuki couldn’t wait anymore.
(Because he’s smart. Because he knows.)
“Oh,” says Shouto, out loud. “I thought you didn’t mind.”
“Didn’t mind what?” Katsuki asks, more like he’s indulging him than anything.
He smells good. He’s close and he smells good and Shouto’s gotten so used to having that scent around during his heats, a stolen pillow or a shirt Katsuki strangely never seems to remember to put with the rest of the dirty clothes before he changes out of it always somehow (Shouto knows how, but he tries not to think too much about it) ending up in his nest, and—
“You should kiss me,” he blurts. “If—if you want.”
“If I want, huh?” Katsuki repeats, and there’s so much fondness in his eyes Shouto doesn’t know what to do with himself. You know, except maybe—
“I feel like you wanting to is important. Because I already want you to, so—it has to be, um, reciprocal?”
“Oh, come on now,” Katsuki says, incredulous. “Shouto.” It’s not exactly an admonishment, but it’s the closest Katsuki’s ever going to come to it with him, probably. “I make you dinner five nights a week.”
Shouto blinks. “Yeah,” he says softly, a dawning realization even if maybe it doesn’t have much reason to be one. “You do.” Then, he pouts. “You won’t even let us get pizza on the weekends.”
“I know how much of it you eat when I’m not looking,” Katsuki says. “Remember your last heat?”
Which—
Oh, god.
Yeah, Shouto remembers. Particularly, he remembers Katsuki coming back from his shift still in full hero gear just to find Shouto sitting on the floor with a pizza box open in front of him, cheeks round from shoving a whole slice in his mouth in one go.
“Heat cravings are different,” Shouto protests. “The temperature fluctuations burn a lot of calories.”
“Is that why my clothes always go missing around your heats?” Katsuki asks. “Because your thermodynamic equilibrium could use some external help?”
And Shouto—
Well, Shouto should tell him the truth.
“Yeah,” he says, barely holding back the urge to smile so wide his cheeks hurt. “That’s why. Pretty sure the only viable course of action here is you getting more directly involved.”
“With your heats?”
Shouto nods. “Mm,” he says, “with my heats.”
That’s when Katsuki finally kisses him, holding Shouto like he’s precious even when Shouto ends up whining into his mouth, thinking alpha, alpha, alpha. Thinking about asking Katsuki to take him home and show him just how willing to help out he is. Thinking about him kissing Shouto just like this pressed up against their hastily closed apartment door, about—
“Okay,” Katsuki says when they pull apart. “Anything you want, princess.”
Embarrassingly, Shouto lets out a little whimper. “You,” he admits. “I think it’s just been you for a while now.”
Katsuki smiles at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”
And—
Okay, maybe Shouto should have said something. Because then Katsuki would have kissed him sooner.
(They’re going home together, though, so. Maybe it doesn’t matter that much. Maybe it’s just—nice. Because Shouto’s got a feeling Katsuki was pretty set on taking care of him forever either way. He should be a good omega and let him.)
“That’s sweet,” Shouto says. “Guess you’ve really got a thing for Strawberry Shortcake, don’t you, alpha?”
Katsuki takes his hand, laces their fingers together. “Shouto,” he says. “Baby, shut up.”
(And yeah, that’s pretty nice too.)