Archive of Our Own

It’s not the date itself that bothers Eijirou—the blind setup that’s randomly sprung on him in the middle of the gym while he’s still toweling off his sweat. He’s an experienced first-dater, a small talk aficionado. He loves meeting new people. Normally, he wouldn’t bat an eye. But something about this date specifically is suspicious as hell.

First of all, Bakugou is the one to propose it. Bakugou. The guy who jeers at Hallmark movies and sneers at public displays of affection. And since Eijirou knows there’s no way in hell he came up with the idea on his own, Midoriya must be involved somehow, which is even worse. He’s been around those two long enough to know never to involve himself with anything they can actually agree on—especially when it comes to romance.

Bakugou doesn’t find his hesitance amusing. “Get that stupid look off your face,” he chides. “You’re the one who’s always moaning about shit like how boring your life is and how single you are. We’re doing you a favor.”

Okay. Maybe Eijirou’s dating expertise has been a little out of practice these days. Still, suspicious.

“I appreciate the gesture?” he tries. At the dull look he receives, he sighs and shelves his dumbbell. “No offense, man, but I’ve got a bad history with blind dates.”

“You mean that one chick who got Crimson Riot and Red Riot mixed up?” Bakugou sniffs distastefully. “Get over it. She was an idiot. Did she really think his old ass was going to—"

“It’s not just that,” Eijirou interrupts. “I’m busy, man.” Which isn’t even an excuse. Summer is prime time for criminal activity—a grueling season of busted backs and overtime hours for pro heroes. They’re all busy. Bakugou knows that just as well as he does.

But instead of empathizing, or even continuing his verbal assault, Bakugou smiles —that horrible, sinister smile of his that only ever precedes disaster. “Not on Saturday, you aren’t.”

Eijirou’s stomach sinks. “You didn’t.”

“Sure did,” he replies smugly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Nerd over there stalked your schedule and booked a delightful dinner date for two on your night off. No getting out of it.”

“Seriously?” Eijirou cranes his neck to frown at Midoriya, who gives him a cheesy grin and a thumbs up from the treadmills. “Since when do you two care about my love life?”

 “ I don’t. But I do care about you being a big fucking drag whenever we hang out, and if sucking face with someone is gonna get you back to normal, so be it.”

“Dude. That’s gross.”

“Reservations are at seven. Fancy ass restaurant uptown, by the Endeavor agency. Or whatever it’s called now.” He slams his weight down next to Eijirou’s, pinning him with a dangerous look. “Stand him up and I’ll kill you.”

Now that’s extra suspicious, because who does Bakugou care about enough, present company excluded, to make such an extreme statement? Unless it’s one of his usual empty threats—which, honestly, isn’t unlikely. Still, Eijirou’s getting weird vibes. Even Midoriya’s lips are sealed when he tries pressing him for information on the way out of the gym.

“You’ll like him,” is all he says, upbeat as ever. “I mean, you like everyone! And . . . this guy. He’s really great.”

“C’mon, bro. Not even hair color? Height? You need to give me something.”

“What, and ruin the surprise?” barks Bakugou, from Midoriya’s other side. “Isn’t it called a blind date?”

He’s still oddly chipper, like the two of them are in on some big secret. Definitely not good. If it’s got Bakugou of all people excited, this arrangement has definitely been made at someone’s expense—though Eijirou isn’t sure whose.

“But how am I going to know who to look for?” he asks, pleadingly.

“Trust me,” Midoriya replies, a gleam in his eye. “You’ll know.”

Bakugou snickers. Then he compares a passerby woman’s ugly dog to Midoriya’s face, and the two of them end up jostling each other around and totally ditching the subject. God, they’re annoying. Shouldn’t they be focusing on their own unresolved romantic bullshit before butting into his?

Unfortunately, they’re also right. Both of them. Eijirou is woefully single, and too into his job, and tired all the time. He thought those were staples of being in your twenties, but apparently they just make him pathetic. Great.

He decides to go on the stupid date. It takes him two hours of walking home, heating up leftovers, and staring at the reservation info Midoriya texted him, but he commits. It would be rude to leave this person hanging, whoever he is, and even if Eijirou’s so-called friends won’t so much as give him a hint, he doubts Bakugou would set him up with someone truly hideous. As sadistic as he is, pranks aren’t his style.

Eijirou still only tells a few people. Better to keep the support squad small in case this ends in disaster.

“The mystery is what makes it romantic!” Mina crows on their joint mission the next morning, fake-swooning before melting a runaway robber’s pants off. “Live a little, Kiri.”

Kaminari is similarly optimistic over video call. “Worst case scenario, he’s ugly and you have a funny story to tell me after,” he reasons. In the background, a head of purple hair that must be Jirou’s nods in agreement.

“Be yourself. But call us if things get hairy. We’ll whip up a good distraction.”

“Yeah. We’ll totally fake a villain attack for you, bro.”

“A legal distraction,” Jirou clarifies, making Kaminari visibly deflate. Eijirou snorts.

“Thanks, guys. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“Manifesting a smoking hot babe!” Kaminari says, holding up prayer hands for good measure. Eijirou mimics the gesture before hanging up.

Saturday comes before he knows it. Eijirou spends maybe an embarrassing amount of time in the bathroom getting ready, carefully spiking his hair and dabbing on an old cologne he dug out of the drawer. He braces his arms on the counter and looks his reflection in the eye, trying to hype himself up. Dates aren’t scary. Tonight is a treat. He needs this.

In hindsight, he probably should have put it together sooner. It should have occurred to him long before he put on his best tie and followed the map directions to a four-star restaurant that there’s really only one person both Midoriya and Bakugou would gun for like that. One single mutual friend to set their only other single mutual friend up with. Someone they didn’t need to describe to Eijirou. Someone he very clearly knows.

And yet, when he walks into the velvet gilded lobby to find Todoroki Shouto in a turtleneck, his first thought is surely not.

They’ve barely seen each other in person since UA, and the Todoroki who stands before Eijirou now doesn’t look much different now than he had at eighteen. A few things stand out, though. Broader shoulders, well-defined arms, and suntanned skin—Eijirou recalls a social media post about his tropical overseas mission, months ago. His hair is shorter, too, bangs trimmed to expose more of the burn framing his left eye.

Kaminari hadn’t been half off about the “smoking hot babe” thing. That’s Eijirou’s second thought. His third is that this has to be a coincidence. If Midoriya and Bakugou wanted him to go out with Todoroki, couldn’t they have just said so? Why all the fanfare? And, out of all their male-inclined classmates, why not pick someone actually in his league?

Buried in his phone, Todoroki still hasn’t noticed him, so Eijirou grows a pair and opens his mouth. “Yo, Todoroki!”

Split-colored hair lifts, and Todoroki regards him with mild surprise. His features have filled out handsomely since third year. He’s done something to his eyes, too—sharp lines and a subtle shimmer. Is that makeup? Does Todoroki wear makeup now? “Kirishima.”

His voice sounds softer than it does in his interviews. Mellower. It’s the Todoroki Eijirou remembers, not the ice-cold vigilante persona dominating both the hero charts and the modeling scene. Not that it makes any difference; at the attention, Eijirou finds himself seizing up nervously. Which is stupid. So what if this chance meeting just so happens to coincide with his date reservations? Life is full of happy accidents.

Being wrong would be embarrassing for both of them, so Eijirou plays dumb. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, nudging Todoroki with his shoulder as he approaches. “You got plans?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m waiting for a date.”

Well, shit.

Maybe he’s still wrong. There are probably plenty of people interested in Todoroki. Like, supermodels and stuff. “No way,” he says, voice facetiously upbeat. “Me too! That’s crazy. I, uh, got set up on this blind date by—”

“Midoriya and Bakugou?” Todoroki finishes the sentence for him, completely nonplussed—unlike Eijirou, whose eyes have expanded to record sizes. “Me too.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“You look good,” he adds—an afterthought, like he’s only allowed to say it now that they’re on a date. Without waiting for a response, he offers his arm. Eijirou catches a whiff of cologne, sharp and minty and expensive. “Should we get our table?”

This is going to be the weirdest two hours of his life.

The first thing Todoroki does on their date is down an entire glass of wine.

This doesn’t bode well, since Eijirou doesn’t remember him so much as glancing at the drinks Mineta and Kaminari smuggled into their graduation party. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Sure, he wasn’t expecting the matchup either, but is he really disappointing enough to turn Todoroki into an alcoholic?

Okay. Probably not.

Maybe he’s just nervous. Eijirou sure as hell is, and he’s not even the introvert between them. Not that there’s any reason to worry. They’re friends—old classmates. They’ve already got that in common! Never mind the fact that they didn’t really hang out one-on-one back in the day, always cushioned by the company of others, and as a result he never had a clue how Todoroki felt about him specifically. Never mind the vast gap of rank and popularity, as well as several figures in pay wages, separating them even now; they were escorted into the restaurant discreetly, seated in a separate room from the rest of the guests, and Eijirou knows it wasn’t for his sake.

Never mind the unfortunate reality that, all that aside, Todoroki is conventionally—objectively!—one of the most attractive people he knows.

Eijirou’s hands feel clammy. He grabs his own drink and takes a generous gulp.

Across the table, Todoroki watches him intently. Catching Eijirou’s eye, he breaks the silence. “I didn’t realize you were dating now. Did something happen with Ashido?”

Right. They haven’t spoken since high school. “Oh, Mina and I split a while ago,” he replies, dabbing at his mouth. “No hard feelings, though. We’re still friends and stuff.”

“Ah,” Todoroki says, giving a little nod. “I see.”

Yeesh. Awkward. Why are they starting off with a conversation about Eijirou’s ex of all things? Plastering on a smile, he tries steering the conversation into friendly territory. “But what about you? You don’t seem like the type to date around.”

Todoroki grimaces. “I’m not. But I’ve, um, been trying it lately. Nothing serious.”

His eyes drift wistfully to his empty wine glass, and Eijirou feels a pang of sympathy. Poor guy. He totally doesn’t want to be here. How much convincing had it taken for him to agree to a blind date in the first place? Midoriya’s a motivating force all on his own, and that combined with Bakugou’s methods . . . yikes.

Their underhanded tactics have nothing to do with Eijirou, though. He’s got enough experience and people skills to pull his weight. He’s perfectly capable of giving Todoroki a good date, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do: make conversation, keep their relationship intact, and get their friends to leave them alone. Simple as that. With newfound determination, he lifts his glass.

“To keeping it casual.”

Smiling slightly, Todoroki completes the toast.

The menu is Italian-style, so Eijirou doesn’t touch it and takes the waitress’s recommendation. She’s an obvious fan of Todoroki’s, eyes practically sparkling under his princely aura, and doesn’t mind waiting as he pores over each entrée carefully. When he asks for a refill on the wine, she beams and offers him the bottle free of charge. Todoroki handles the interaction with uncharacteristic grace, gently thanking her and even autographing her apron with a ballpoint pen. Eijirou still remembers when he’d hide behind Iida at the first sign of cheering fans.

A lot can change in two years.

“You handled that well,” he says once the waitress leaves, making Todoroki tilt his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Talking to her. I still get flustered when fans greet me in public.”

“Oh, I was petrified,” Todoroki replies dismissively. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell.”

It’s been so long since they’ve spoken, Eijirou nearly forgot Todoroki is one of the biggest enigmas known to human psychology. His expression hadn’t looked any different during that interaction than it does now, as he takes leisurely sips of his drink across the table—had it? Eijirou really can’t tell. How do his friends do it?

“Is everything okay?” Todoroki’s voice jolts him back to reality. There’s a subtle crease between his eyebrows that might be concern. “You’re squinting a bit.”

“S-sorry! Zoned out.” Feeling warm, Eijirou leaps for the first common ground he can find. “So, uh. How’s life? Saw you moved up in the rankings again.”

Todoroki nods into his glass. “A few higher-ups retired. You should have moved up, too.”

“Oh. Guess so.” This is a disaster. “Doesn’t change the fact that I see you everywhere. Seriously, what shifts are you pulling to get that kind of publicity?”

Eijirou knows exactly what kind of shifts he’s pulling: a nine-to-five of being Todoroki fucking Shouto. Bakugou’s five ranks above him and doesn’t get nearly the same advertisement. But Todoroki, thank god, seems to be predictably unaware of this, giving a small shrug.

“They can’t be much different than yours. I guess I just get lucky.”

“Yeah,” Eijirou agrees through his teeth. “That’s probably it.”

This leads into something closer to a conversation—substanceless comments on villains of the week, how high the crime rates are these days, and, when things get really dry, the interior design of the restaurant. Eijirou has to admit, it’s tough. Even talking with a complete stranger would be easier; at least then he could play the usual twenty questions. With Todoroki, it’s different. Eijirou already knows about the mundane things, like his family and his job and what school he went to. What kinds of questions is he supposed to ask? Hey, how’s your relationship with your shitty dad going?

He’s never been great at that sort of thing. Unpacking the deep stuff.

Awkward silences make him antsy, so he drains the last dredges of wine from his glass to fill up space. Noticing, Todoroki reaches for the wine bottle and refills it for him.

“Thanks,” Eijirou says, sheepish.

“No problem,” Todoroki replies. Eijirou would kill to know what’s going on in his head right now. Is he bored? Is he enjoying himself? Does he even mind the silence?

 “I, uh, feel bad for not keeping in touch,” he admits, tracing the blade of his table knife with a hardened finger. “We could’ve met up sooner than this.”

“Life is busy. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s just—like—you’re such a good guy, but I kind of figured you didn’t like me that much? I dunno.”

The words rush out thoughtlessly, in one breath, and Eijirou bites his tongue. There goes his filter. Maybe the wine was a bad idea. His mortification only deepens when Todoroki frowns, that fretful crease reappearing between his eyebrows.

“Aren’t we friends?” he asks, sounding worried, and Eijirou’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Y-yeah! Of course we’re friends, I didn’t mean—shit—" He rubs his neck, ruffling the gelled points of his hair. “Sorry. I guess I can’t read you that well.”

“It’s okay. Most people can’t.” And the way Todoroki says it is just so sad, so perfectly resigned to being misunderstood, that Eijirou forgets all about nerves, or misunderstandings, or the sheer bizarreness of the situation they’re in.

“But I want to,” he says. “Show me how to.”

“Show you . . . how?”

“Yeah.” Eijirou leans forward, onto his elbows. Bakugou’s bitching about table manners echoes somewhere in the back of his head, but he ignores it for the time being and offers Todoroki a lopsided smile. “Let’s get to know each other better, ‘Roki. I wanna know what makes you tick.”

Todoroki blinks at him owlishly, once, twice. Then he pours himself another glass of wine.

“I didn’t know you were such a big drinker,” Eijirou tries to joke.

“I’m not,” he replies, and leaves it at that.

It takes some coaxing, but after a few minutes of info-dumping about his own life—tales of second-rate criminal busts and nearly getting evicted (twice!) and going to the gym with Bakugou—Eijirou finally gets Todoroki to talk about himself. The wine helps, loosening his lips with each swig. He tells Eijirou about taking over his father’s agency, and the mountains of paperwork that came with it. He talks about the best places in town to order soba, the stray cat who always naps on his balcony, and—after most of his drink is gone—the plot of the shoujo anime he’s been secretly absorbed in for the past week. His movements grow animated, his voice louder, his eyes brighter, and Eijirou just sits and listens, awestruck at how much he has to say. He thinks he’s beginning to like tipsy Todoroki.

Their food comes just as the conversation strays back towards hero work. It’s midway through a chat about their classmates’ rankings that Todoroki bashfully admits to stalking all of their activity online. Eijirou doesn’t believe him until he lists all of them in rank order, from Mineta to Bakugou.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou marvels, his chin propped on a fist. “You keep up with everyone? Even me?”

“Of course,” Todoroki replies, between bites of pasta. The alcohol has gone to his face, now, dusting his cheeks with pink. “The fight you had with that bird villain last week—”

“In Hosu? You watched that?” For some reason, the thought makes him self-conscious. He hadn’t gotten his ass kicked too badly before winning, right?

“Just the news highlights. Dragging him out of the air with Unbreakable was a smart move.” Todoroki slurps up a fettuccine noodle before continuing. “You’ve always been good at making quick decisions. I really admire that.”

The praise, rare from Todoroki, fills Eijirou’s chest like helium in a balloon, but he smothers it in favor of indignance. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Your quirk takes, like, twice the brainpower. I just brute force things.”

“Brute force is still force,” Todoroki insists. “You’re the one selling yourself short. And besides,” his lips twitch slightly, eyes drifting towards the table, “at least your fans find your quirk sexy.”

It’s been an odd night, but the word “sexy” coming out of Todoroki Shouto’s mouth might be the craziest thing he’s heard all year.  Eijirou gapes at him, for maybe a second too long, before finding his voice. “You’re messing with me.”

“It’s true.”

“I had no clue! What did they sa—” His muddled brain snags on something, and he falters, lifting an accusing finger. “Wait. How do you know that?”

All the mischief drains from Todoroki’s expression in a matter of seconds. “I saw it online somewhere,” he stammers, but it’s too late. A gleeful grin is already spreading across Eijirou’s face.

“Are you snooping through my hero forums, Todoroki?”

“. . . No.”

“You are!” Delighted, he leans across the table. “What else are the people saying? Are you one of them? Do you think my quirk is sexy?”

Todoroki’s ears glow a brilliant red as he hunches over his plate, shoveling food into his mouth. “Forget I said anything,” he says, eventually, and a dangerously endeared laugh bubbles out of Eijirou’s throat.

“For the record, I think you’ve got quite the handsome quirk yourself.”

“ Please shut up.”

The words are sour, but Eijirou thinks he catches a glimpse of a smile past all those noodles.

Is this flirting? Is he flirting with Todoroki? The thought is a bit alarming, but Eijirou quickly reassures himself that it’s not the case. He’s just joking around. Keeping it casual. Bro things.

That’s all besides the point, anyways. Todoroki isn’t indifferent about him; they’ve been friends all along! He watches Eijirou’s fights online. He’s active on Red Riot forums. Hell, he likes shoujo anime. Who knew? Eijirou’s a little pissed at himself for not figuring it out sooner. How long could they have been doing this?

“We should do this more,” he declares, once his plate is clean and they’re splitting the check. “Just hanging out, I mean. Doesn’t have to be dinner. Unless you want to make Midoriya and Bakugou super happy.”

The very mention of their names has Todoroki’s eyes rolling impressively. “They should mind their own business,” he says. “You know they’re in love with each other, right?”

Eijirou’s jaw drops. “Dude.”

“I’m not joking.” His words slur together a bit as he continues. “Bakugou has had a crush on Midoriya since our first year work studies, and Midoriya . . .” He narrows his eyes, clearly thinking hard. “Midoriya has liked him even longer.”

“Dude,” Eijirou says again, this time through shaking laughter. “Not cool. But also, you’re totally right. I’ve been third-wheeling ever since Bakugou started dragging Midoriya to our gym dates. It’s kind of miserable.”

“Imagine being stuck between them for five years. I need compensation.”

“Definitely. You deserve, like, an award.”

It feels fitting for their date to end on this exchange—a full circle moment back to the people who made this whole weird event possible. The waitress makes a timely return with their receipts, giving them both (but mostly Todoroki) several sweeping bows and thank-you’s for their patronage.

“If you’d like, I can escort you two out through the back exit,” she says. “To avoid attracting attention.”

A weight lifts off Eijirou’s shoulders at the offer. Tonight has been good, and he’d prefer it to stay out of those forums Todoroki loves lurking in so much. “Sounds perfect.”

He rises from his chair, a little disoriented but still steady. Todoroki isn’t so lucky. He nearly topples over, knocking a loose fork off the table in a scramble to get his balance. Eijirou laughs, like a terrible person.

“Whoa, man. How much did you drink?”

“Just a little,” Todoroki replies, swaying precariously. Definitely drunk. Eijirou rushes forward, catching him around the waist before he can fall face-first into his leftovers. Goosebumps prickle up his arms—he must have gotten his cold side—but Eijirou adjusts his grip, letting Todoroki sink his weight into him. He flashes the waitress a thumbs up.

“I’ve got him. Lead the way.”

Even with Eijirou’s support, getting Todoroki out of the restaurant is an ordeal. He can’t take a straight step, veering the two of them in a wavy path down the hallway and nearly taking out several waiters in the process. Eijirou apologizes profusely to each one, then lifts his head and promptly pokes Todoroki in the eye with his hair on accident.

“Ow,” Todoroki says.

They’re doing great.

After a few more close calls, and Todoroki nearly vomiting all over the velvet carpet, they finally make it to the door. Eijirou separates himself from Todoroki, planting his hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes—or, at least, trying to. They’re kind of wandering all over the place.

“Okay. How did you get here?”

“Walked,” is the absent reply. Todoroki tips forward, leaning uncomfortably close, and the intermingled scents of wine and spearmint flood Eijirou’s senses. “You smell nice.”

“Uh, thanks,” he says, cheeks prickling. He pushes lightly against Todoroki, desperate to get a little distance between them. “But focus. Where do you live? I can hail you a taxi.”

The question doesn’t seem to register. Todoroki’s mismatched eyes are vacant, transfixed on Eijirou’s face.

“Hey. Stay with me, dude.”

“I don’t remember,” he finally mumbles, his brows scrunching together pensively. It’s pretty cute, but also so not helpful, and Eijirou bites his lip. “. . . Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Um.” Something itches the at the back of his brain—a memory of Bakugou saying something about this location specifically. Right. “Your agency’s nearby, isn’t it?” he asks, and Todoroki hums affirmatively. “Let’s take you there. Your sidekicks might know what to—”

But this suggestion has Todoroki furiously shaking his head, bangs swaying with the movement. “They can’t . . . see me like this . . .”

Ah. Understandable. Eijirou frowns, racking his brain. He’d be fine with taking Todoroki home with him—casually!—but his apartment is all the way across town, and he doesn’t like the idea of hauling him to the train station. Taxi, maybe? Would them getting in a car together look too suspicious? Who’s even out on a Saturday night, anyways? Except for literally everyone?

“Pardon me,” the waitress pipes up, startling Eijirou. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “I know the manager of the hotel next door. He’s my boyfriend’s—well, it doesn’t matter. I might be able to get you two a room.”

“Bed would be good,” Todoroki supplies helpfully.

Eijirou bites his lip harder. It’s risky, but not nearly as risky as the other options. Truth be told, he’s also far from sober, and out of all the headlines featuring them that could appear on the news tomorrow, “Red Riot and Shouto Seen Entering Hotel Together” is vastly preferable to “Red Riot and Shouto Found Drunkenly Wandering Through Musutafu.”

“That works,” he decides. “Thank you.”

It’s an awkward situation all around, but the hotel’s front desk employee makes their lives easier by being Todoroki’s second biggest fan, clapping a hand over his mouth when he sees Eijirou practically piggybacking him in. It doesn’t take much convincing for him to hand them a pair of keycards, bouncing in his seat.

“He’s so much cooler in person,” he whispers, like he’s worried Todoroki will overhear—fortunately for him, he’s nowhere near conscious enough. “Do you think I could get an autograph?”

“I’ll ask about it later,” Eijirou promises.

Before leaving, the waitress catches up with them, tucking a scrap of paper into the stack of cards: a coupon for the café down the street. Eijirou had spotted it in his map app earlier.

“For breakfast tomorrow,” she specifies. Then she gives a nod to Todoroki, hands folded effusively over her heart. “You two are such a cute couple.”

Close enough.

Eijirou doesn’t bother correcting her, smiling wearily. “Thank you. Seriously. Did I catch your name?”

“Aoi. Matsui Aoi.”

“Thanks, Matsui-san. I’ll bring you up in my review.” He holds up his palm, spreading his fingers for effect. “Five stars.”

By the time he finally gets onto the elevator, Todoroki is little more than dead weight around his shoulders. He’s been quiet for a while, now, and isn’t doing much to pull his weight, either; did he fall asleep? Eijirou wouldn’t be surprised. It’s been a long night, and he drank a ton. Honestly, he’s shocked the guy could even stand.

As he presses the tenth-floor button, a murmur comes from just above his ear, debunking his theory. “’m sorry, Kirishima. This is . . .  embarrassing.”

Eijirou chuckles and pats his shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time tonight. You’re a lot of fun, y’know?”

Todoroki gives a little shake of his head, his hair tickling Eijirou’s temple. “Wanted this to go well,” he whispers, the words nearly inaudible. “I  . . . really like you . . .”

Huh?

It’s incredible how quickly Eijirou sobers up, going perfectly still. He tries to look at Todoroki, but their position prevents it, obscuring the other’s face from his view. His heart pulses unevenly in his chest.

He lets it sit, settling in the air for a moment, before prodding him gently. “What’d you say?”

No reply.

“. . . Todoroki?”

Nothing. Just steady breathing and natural coolness seeping through his clothes. If he’s actually asleep this time, Eijirou would have no way of knowing. The elevator grinds to a halt, jolting him (and his stomach) back to reality. Sucking in a breath, he tightens his grip around Todoroki’s waist and steps through the doors. Only a bit farther.

Thank god for the gym.

Their room is way too nice to be free.

It’s clearly one of the more expensive options, with a full kitchen, minibar, and a balcony that overlooks a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Across from a massive flatscreen TV sits an even bigger bed—king-sized, with feather pillows and a down comforter. It’s the only bed in the room, Eijirou realizes, as he flicks the light on; Matsui, misinterpreting them as a couple, must have asked for it specifically. Sure enough, spread across the covers in the shape of a heart is about fifty tiny wrapped chocolates. He also notices rows of scented candles flickering from the dressers, wafting a sultry aroma through the air.

Matsui booked them a honeymoon suite. God bless that sweet, helpful, incredibly misled woman.

Eijirou is too worn out to care much. After carefully laying a motionless Todoroki down on the nearest end of the mattress, he makes a beeline for the bathroom. If he’ll be spending the night here, he wants to scrub the gel out of his hair ASAP.

. . . And if the room was fancy, the bathroom is borderline ridiculous. It’s huge, around the size of their dorm rooms back at UA, decked out in marble and shining silver. Eijirou spends a moment gawking at all the amenities—a vanity spanning the length of an entire wall, a full-sized jet bathtub, and even a towel warmer— before turning to the shower. The dials take some trial and error to figure out, but he’s eventually able to get hot water running, which he takes as a win.

It's not the relaxing break he was hoping for. His head is throbbing, and the steam only makes his mind hazier. Not to mention his arms, now aching both from his morning shift and hauling Todoroki Shouto from a four-star restaurant to a five-star hotel.

Right. Todoroki. The thought of him, sleeping peacefully in the next room, sends something nervous skittering up the back of Eijirou’s neck. His hands, lathering half a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo into his hair, falter.

Wanted this to go well. I really like you.

Todoroki’s words have double the force now, slamming into his chest and making his head hurt even more than it already does. It’s obviously something he wasn’t meant to hear. A slip of the tongue. Eijirou doesn’t even know what he meant by it—not entirely. He should probably just forget it happened.

But he can’t, and it’s going to stick in his head like a bad stain unless he figures it out. There had been something over dinner, a spark maybe. A shift that had steered them away from making the best of an uncomfortable situation and towards an actual, enjoyable date. Something they never had the chance to explore at school.

It matters too much to him—knowing how Todoroki feels about all this. About him. Eijirou doesn’t even know how he feels, but what he does know is that Todoroki gets blushy when he’s drunk and leaves tuna out on his porch for stray cats and cares enough about his friends to keep tabs on them from afar, and if he were to tell Eijirou that he liked him as more than a friend, Eijirou would probably be fine with that. Scratch that, he definitely would.

His head tips forward, hitting the shower wall with a thunk.

“. . . Shit.”

Maybe this is why Bakugou had been so smug. He’d known about the dangers of Todoroki’s socially awkward charm, and how this time Eijirou wouldn’t be too busy dating other people to notice. That twisted genius. He’s doomed him.

There’s a single speck of comfort, as Eijirou slips out of the shower after forty-five minutes of pacing and towels himself off, in the fact that he doesn’t have to sort his feelings out right away. He can be cool about this. He’s going to go out there, get into bed with Todoroki, and pass out with a respectful three feet of distance between them. It’ll give him time to think things over. Maybe, in the morning, they can talk about it.

Yeah. Perfect strategy.

He worms back into his slacks, but ditches the dress shirt. There’s no way he’s sleeping in that thing, and besides, Todoroki won’t even be awake to witness it off, which gets any uncomfortable situations out of the picture. Sure, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but a honeymoon suite is a drastically different setting than their high school locker room. Especially after an almost-maybe-sort-of-confession.

Eijirou is so confident in his plan, so reassured of his safety, that when he rounds the corner to find Todoroki sitting upright on the bed, completely awake, it’s only natural that he nearly has a heart attack.

Todoroki watches, bemused, as he clings onto the wall and catches his breath. His hair is mussed up from the pillows, red on white and white on red, and his still-rosy cheeks are illuminated by candlelight, and fuck, fuck fuck fuck, Eijirou is speedrunning each and every feeling he just promised himself he’d think through. He can’t do this. Abort mission. Disengage.

“Sorry,” he manages, overly conscious of his dripping hair and very bare chest, which Todoroki isn’t even attempting to avoid staring at. Not helpful at all. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I wanted to wait for the shower.” Todoroki already sounds leagues more lucid than he had in the elevator; either he’s sobered up at record speeds, or he’s doing an amazing job of faking it. Belatedly, his eyes lift to meet Eijirou’s. “I’m never drinking again.”

Eijirou laughs, but it comes out nervous, skittish. He prays it isn’t noticeable. “Sorry. Would’ve let you take it first if I knew.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize twice.”

Oh. Had he?

Several foil wrappers flutter to the floor as Todoroki slides off the bed (looks like he discovered the chocolates) and makes his way shakily towards the bathroom. This is probably the part where Eijirou should get into bed and find the cooking channel on TV, or try to sleep off whatever the fuck is happening to him, but instead he just stands and watches him like an idiot. His brain is fried, dysfunctional, and the only thing left is blind instinct—the impulse to take the problem by the horns and face it head-on.

It's not a good idea. Brute force and reckless abandon is for hero work, not first dates. Eijirou’s always been guilty of jumping in way too fast, too hard. Never thinking of the consequences. It’s gotten him into more trouble than he cares to admit.

Todoroki had also called it one of his better qualities.

Sleep on it, his rational side, the one that had been so helpful in the shower, reminds him. Think it over.

But his mouth betrays him, opening just as Todoroki passes him by.

“Hey. Wait a sec.”

The sound of socked footsteps comes to an abrupt halt, and when Eijirou works up the nerve to turn around, Todoroki is standing still, eyeing him warily. He’s silent, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he does.

“What you said, in the elevator. Did you mean that?”

Todoroki’s eyes widen slightly, like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

It’s an obvious lie, a cover so he can get out of talking about it, but Eijirou presses harder. He has to know. “You said you really liked me. I remember.” He swallows, his throat dry. “Were you serious? Did you mean . . . did you mean just as friends, or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Todoroki interrupts shortly. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, you were. But that’s not what I’m asking.”

There’s a pause, tense, as Todoroki digests this. One of his hands lifts, fidgeting with the cuff of his sweater sleeve. He’s always been taller than Eijirou by a handful of centimeters, but in the moment, it makes him look impossibly small.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “I meant it.”

Eijirou’s heart twists in his chest.

Todoroki continues, tone emotionless—like this is all some professional exchange. “You can do with that what you will.”

He turns to retreat into the bathroom. Eijirou doesn’t let him get that far. His right hand shoots out, wrapping around Todoroki’s wrist and pulling him back within arms reach. The other clamps down on his shoulder, trapping him in place. Quirks aside, he’s always had the upper hand in a physical fight, and after a few seconds of halfhearted struggle, Todoroki gives up.

“What?” he asks, a little irritably.

“You told me to do what I will.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then don’t,” Eijirou says. And before the adrenaline can wear off, he leans in to kiss him.

It’s simple, safe—nothing more than a brush of their lips—but the contact has Eijirou’s pulse racing, his blood thrumming in his ears. He pulls away almost instantly, overwhelmed, and Todoroki is rigid as he does. He stares at Eijirou, speechless, like he hasn’t quite registered what just happened.

“Shit,” is the first thing Eijirou can think to say. “That was so not cool, Todoroki, I’m so—”

He never finishes the sentence, because Todoroki surges forward, clumsily meeting his mouth in a frenzy of chocolate and heat and alcohol, and oh. Oh.

There’s a lot to notice, now that he has time to. Todoroki’s lips are rough, chapped, warmer on one side than the other. His hands are freezing, scorching, as they trail up Eijirou’s arms, settling uncertainly on his biceps. Shivering, Eijirou’s own hands scramble for Todoroki’s waist, pulling him closer. Their height difference is glaringly obvious now, with Eijirou shifted forward on the balls of his feet and Todoroki leaning down to meet him, and god this is kind of embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. He really, really doesn’t.

It takes a minute, but they find a rhythm. Eijirou’s head tilts to deepen the kiss and Todoroki lets him, sighing hotly into his mouth. His grip around Eijirou’s arms is nearly painful now, sending contrasting sensations dancing across his skin. It’s surprisingly intense, more reactive than Eijirou would have ever expected, and when they break apart the question rushes out of him hoarsely.

“Why me?”

“Huh?” Todoroki’s eyes are still half-closed, lashes fluttering. It takes all of Eijirou’s willpower not to abandon the subject and kiss him senseless again.

“You’re on a completely different level than me. You’re, like, important, and strong, and attractive, and I’m—”

“All of those things,” Todoroki interrupts. He sounds confused, like he hasn't put the pieces together yet.

“No, I mean—we never see each other anymore. And even back at UA, we only hung out when our friends did. You were popular with pretty much everyone, and I was far from the closest person to you, so—” He’s beginning to sound childish, insecure, so he stops himself. “Why me?”

It’s the one thing he couldn’t quite crack during his long-winded shower musings, and for a moment, Todoroki just studies him thoughtfully. When his reply comes, it’s short and to the point: “Third year.”

“Third . . . year?”

“Bakugou was always with Midoriya, so you asked me to be your new training partner.” His eyes flit away, the inebriated flush tinging his cheeks spreading. “That’s when I started liking you.”

Oh.

Eijirou remembers it now. The hours in Gym Gamma pitting their quirks against each other. The morning jogs fraught with protein shakes he pestered Todoroki into joining. The debriefs about new strategies in the locker room, just the two of them. Now that he thinks about it, they had spent a lot of time together.

It had felt so normal to him back then, so thoughtless. He never considered how much it meant to Todoroki. Not once.

“I didn’t plan on acting on it,” Todoroki continues, still avoiding his gaze. “You were just . . . nice. You didn’t treat me differently from anyone else. It was the closest thing to normal I ever got.”

It makes sense. Their classmates had always put him on a pedestal of sorts, even when they all got closer. Maybe Eijirou had done the same thing, mentally. But he never saw the point of walking on eggshells around the people he went to class with everyday—people he’d nearly died alongside. Had Todoroki needed that all along? To just feel like a teenager?

Eijirou’s brain is lagging, straining to grasp the concept that Todoroki’s been crushing on him since third year and never once tried to reach out or say anything. If it weren’t for tonight, he might have never found out.

A part of him still refuses to believe it, somehow. “But what about Iida,” he begins, “or Midoriya, or—"

“Kirishima,” Todoroki cuts in impatiently. “I don’t like Iida because he isn’t my type. Midoriya isn’t either. You are.”

Wow. Top ten sentences he never thought he’d hear in his life.

“I’m your type?” Eijirou splutters.

“I browse your hero forums in my spare time. How much more do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Wow, okay. Okay. I get it.” He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but suddenly his cheeks are aching, something giddy fluttering in his stomach. Then he remembers that Todoroki is standing approximately seven centimeters away from him, red-faced and looking more vulnerable than he has in years. “So, uh. There’s a lot I want to say, and we should definitely talk about this more later, but,” Eijirou hesitates, ears prickling, “can we make out? I really want to make out.”

It’s far from eloquent, but Todoroki is completely on board, nodding enthusiastically. “Me too.”

“Cool.” He smiles nervously. “Hold on.”

And before Todoroki can reply, he’s scooping him up by the thighs, hoisting him off the ground easily. Todoroki sucks in a breath, not quite a gasp, as he scrabbles to hold on, his arms eventually winding around Eijirou’s neck. When he looks down, his eyes are huge.

“Whoa.”

Thank god for the gym.

In a few swift strides, Eijirou’s back at the bed, bending to ease Todoroki against the pillows. The heady scent of cherry and saffron permeates the air, and Eijirou finds himself feeling way more grateful for the candles now than he was an hour ago—they’re a nice touch, really. He owes Matsui one.

“So,” he says casually, sliding onto the mattress, “what did you mean by me being your type? Because I kind of want the details.”

The scowl Todoroki gives him is way too cute to be taken seriously. “I said you were. Isn’t that enough?”

“C’mon, just tell me one thing,” Eijirou teases. Planting a hand near Todoroki’s hip, he leans forward, grinning tauntingly. “What got you all hot and bothered?”

At the proximity, Todoroki’s eyes drop, zeroing in on his lips. “When you pierced your ears,” he admits quietly. “The black studs.”

Eijirou still has the pair in his bathroom drawer. He’d nearly worn them tonight. “Oh my god. Sensei hated those.”

“They were hot.”

The blunt admission has heat crawling up his neck. “I’ll wear them for you next time,” he vows.

There’s a lot to unpack there, maybe too much: implications of something beyond whatever it is they’re doing right now. But then Todoroki leans forward to kiss him again, hands slithering around the nape of Eijirou’s neck, and all of it fizzles into insignificant static.

Todoroki is more prepared this time, lips parting obligingly to puff hot air into his mouth. Eijirou takes this as an invitation to kiss him deeper, angling his head and slotting their mouths together. Nails dig into his neck, leaving icy imprints behind. They’re clearly reaching the limits of Todoroki’s kissing experience—which, if Eijirou knows him at all, probably doesn’t extend much further than post-date pecks. Luckily, he considers himself a bit of an expert. Or, at least, competent enough to fake it.

It’s not like Todoroki will be able to tell the difference either way, so he goes for it. Coaxing his mouth farther open, Eijirou prods Todoroki’s tongue with his own. Todoroki jerks, going fire-hot beneath his fingertips, but he’s a quick learner. After a moment of acclimation, he reciprocates, rising onto his elbows and licking into Eijirou’s mouth and oops—

“Forgot to tell you,” Eijirou gasps, their mouths separating with a wet pop. “My teeth. They kind of . . .  get in the way.” Memories of bedroom partners flinching away to dab at bleeding tongues come to mind. He’s not eager to relive that, especially with Todoroki of all people.

But maybe he’s about to eat his words, because Todoroki is making a face Eijirou has never seen him make before. He’s blushing all the way down to his neck now, pupils blown as they flicker between Eijirou’s lips and his eyes, and god it’s crass, but he looks halfway fucked out just from kissing. And the warning only makes him flush deeper.

“I think I can manage,” he murmurs.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s so cute, and Eijirou is going to cuddle him so hard after this. He can’t even get out an “okay” before Todoroki is yanking him back into a sloppy kiss. He’s fully upright now, pressing against his chest earnestly, and Eijirou’s hands slide to his waist to steady him. A burst of heat rolls up his spine as Todoroki’s tongue slips into his mouth and, curiously, traces one of his canines. Whoa.

No one’s ever done that before.

Emboldened, Eijirou adjusts his angle, catching his lower lip carefully between his teeth. He’s rewarded with a light groan—the first noise Todoroki has made all night. Eijirou wants to hear at least a thousand more, so he switches tactics again, abandoning Todoroki’s lips to kiss down the soft edge of his jaw. It’s his cold side, and they shiver in tandem.

His torso, on the other hand, is sweltering. Eijirou’s fingers skirt under the hem of his shirt and nearly blister at the temperature. Ouch. Cutting their kiss short, he pulls away to assess the source of the issue—Todoroki’s sweater, bunched up around his waist.

“We should probably get rid of this.”

Todoroki blinks up at him, disoriented. Like he hadn’t even considered it. “Right,” he says, reaching for one of his sleeves. “I’ll—”

“W-wait.” Eijirou flails out to catch his wrist, stopping him, because he has enough of a brain left to at least show some decorum. “Let me.”

The offer, maybe a little too eager, makes Todoroki deepen another shade. Eijirou needs to get him out of this thing before he gives himself heat stroke.

As he rolls the thick material up, he can’t help but stare, ogling the lean muscle adorning Todoroki’s form. His hero costume does a good job of hiding it—too good. Sure, Todoroki’s always been fit, but—

“Damn, ‘Roki. You buffed up.”

Todoroki, eyes glued to the ceiling, responds: “Bakugou got me on his exercise routine.”

That beautiful genius. Eijirou, admiring a glistening pectoral, decides all is forgiven. Pulling off the sweater completely, he lets out a low whistle. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Todoroki replies, sounding painfully embarrassed. “Can we continue?”

“Gladly.” Tossing the balled-up sweater over his shoulder, Eijirou dips into the crook of his neck, nosing the skin there. Todoroki tenses in anticipation—adorable—and Eijirou weighs his options. After all that kissing, he can safely assume that Todoroki is not turned off by his teeth. He might even, fingers crossed, be into them. It’s a best case scenario, but Eijirou decides to be optimistic, opening his mouth to nibble on the warm side of Todoroki’s neck.

A sharp inhale comes from above. Todoroki arches against him, ever so slightly. Bingo.

“That okay?” Eijirou asks.

“Do it again,” Todoroki breathes out.

Not an explicit yes, but Eijirou will take it. The first bite was a test—not enough to bruise, much less break skin. This time, he’s sharper, nipping at the skin beneath Todoroki’s ear. Another bit-back mm, another curve against his torso, like Todoroki wants to get closer but isn’t sure how.

Definitely into the teeth. An electric thrill courses through Eijirou at the discovery.

He bites him again.

“Shit,” Todoroki hisses.

Eijirou licks a stripe over the sore spot, reveling in the way Todoroki shudders. His hands brace against Todoroki’s sweat-slicked back, gradually lowering him onto the mattress as he ventures farther down his torso. It’s kind of fascinating; his body really is an even split temperature-wise. A kiss to his left collarbone has Eijirou’s lips searing, while a bite above his right nipple nearly numbs his gums. He wonders if Todoroki has trouble regulating it when he’s flustered.

God, he sounds like Midoriya. Bakugou would get a good laugh out of this.

. . . And the last thing Eijirou wants to think about is those two while he’s leaving hickeys on their mutual friend. Who they set him up with. Not weird at all.

The weight of Todoroki’s hand settling atop his head, fingers weaving through Eijirou’s hair in some attempt at encouragement, has the weirdness dissolving, something warm and fuzzy taking its place. Trailing his lips down Todoroki’s abs earns him a light scratch that nearly has him melting on the spot. It feels heavenly, and Eijirou has to keep himself from nudging against Todoroki’s hand for more attention—like he’s a dog or something.

No, that will have to wait, because the lower he goes, the trickier it is to ignore that Todoroki is hard as hell. Like, nearly bursting out of his pants. It would be flattering if Eijirou wasn’t halfway there himself, each little noise from Todoroki shooting straight to his dick. He sucks a bruise just south of his navel before sparing a cautious glance upwards.

The sight doesn’t do anything to help his boner: Todoroki, hair disheveled, lower lip tucked beneath his teeth, chest heaving and littered with purpling bite marks— his bite marks. Their eyes meet, and Eijirou’s mouth goes dry. This is crazy. He’s in over his head.

“Um,” Todoroki breaks the silence, voice breathless. “I’ve never done any of . . . this.”

He blinks. “This?”

Todoroki nods, bringing up one of his hands to gesture vaguely at Eijirou, shirtless and halfway on top of him. “This.”

Ah.

“Ah,” says Eijirou.

That shouldn’t really surprise him. Two years ago, when they were still in school and living in the same dorms, it would have made sense. But they’re adults now, and Todoroki is a practical celebrity—not to mention looking more stunning than ever. Seriously, he’s been ranking top spots on “Hottest Rising Heroes” articles since the day of his debut. Every modeling brand in Japan has fallen on their hands and knees to strike deals with him. The fact that he hasn’t hooked up with anyone yet is . . . impressive.

But here Todoroki is, backed up against the headboard like a frightened animal, looking very suddenly like being in bed with Eijirou is one of the bravest things he’s ever done, and it occurs to Eijirou a moment too late that he’s a huge dumbass. Why did he assume Todoroki had an active sex life? The guy barely knows how to kiss.

He’s starting to accept that he’s been a dumbass about most things when it comes to Todoroki.

“Okay,” he says, after a long pause. “Well, we don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Todoroki interrupts, firmly, and the meaning behind it is loud and clear: I’ve wanted to. Has he fantasized about this before? Eijirou feels dizzy. Some of the confidence dissipates as Todoroki curls in on himself, self-consciously. “It’s just—I might not be any good.”

Not any good. Eijirou can think of at least a thousand people who would do anything to spend a night with Todoroki, just to receive a crumb of his attention, and he’s worried about not being any good. Maybe he isn’t the only oblivious one around here.

“Hey,” he breathes, and he isn’t sure what brings him to touch Todoroki’s face, cupping his cheek with clumsy fingers, but it works somehow. Mismatched irises lift, once again, to watch him. “You’ll be fine. You said you want this, right?”

Todoroki nods, mutely. It feels odd to be in this position, talking him through things when he’s always seemed leagues more mature. Eijirou can’t say he hates it, though—the trust Todoroki is placing in him. The emotional vulnerability. The way he shivers when Eijirou traces a soothing thumb along his cheekbone.

“Then let me take care of you,” he says, giving each word weight. “It’ll be just like sparring, okay? You can tap out whenever you want.”

Todoroki’s throat bobs, his eyes glassy. “Got it.”

Eijirou kisses him, one last time, before turning his focus onto Todoroki’s belt buckle—some fancy brand he’d probably be able to name if given the time to think about it. He undoes it without much trouble, and is just working on the zipper when Todoroki pipes up again, his voice uncharacteristically frantic.

“Wait. Kirishima, wait—”

Eijirou’s head flies up nearly as quickly as his hands do. Todoroki fidgets uncomfortably under his gaze, like he’s puzzling out what to say and how to say it. Eijirou braces for a let’s stop, a this was a mistake, or even a sorry, I actually had a crush on a different Kirishima. What comes out of Todoroki’s mouth, however, is completely unexpected.

“It wasn’t a blind date. I knew it was going to be you.”

A beat, blank.

“Excuse me?”

“Midoriya knew I still had feelings for you, so he worked out the details and got Bakugou to talk you into it. They were trying to do me a favor.” His expression darkens, overcast. “I misled you, and I’m sorry.”

So that’s why Midoriya and Bakugou had been acting so weird. And why Todoroki didn’t seem all that surprised when they met. And, Eijirou has a sneaking suspicion, probably why he was drinking so much. Getting the two of them together had been the plan from the start. The implication that Todoroki took such drastic measures just to catch his attention has his insides twisting guiltily, but there’s something kind of amusing about the situation, too. Namely the way Todoroki is hanging his head, shamefaced, looking like one of the sad kittens from those animal shelter ads that always get Eijirou so teary.

“Todoroki,” he begins gently, doing his absolute best to hold back the fond smile pulling at his lips. “This isn’t a confessional.”

“But I lied.”

“I was going on a blind date either way. So what if you knew it was going to be me? Being here is still my choice.” Reaching forward, Eijirou takes Todoroki’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m doing all this because I think you’re awesome. Not because you tricked me into it.”

Todoroki stares down at their hands for a moment, lower lip jutted out in something that could almost be considered a pout. He looks awfully pretty when he’s embarrassed, Eijirou thinks. “I just wanted to be honest with you,” he mutters. “Before we, you know—”

“I know,” Eijirou replies, reassuringly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Another pause as he grimaces, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You can, uh, take my pants off now.”

Eijirou snorts, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting it go. “So romantic, dude.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“That reminds me.” He leans down to fumble with Todoroki’s zipper again, tone sly. “Did you put on that eyeliner just for me? Since you knew I’d be your date and all.”

Predictably, Todoroki takes a few seconds to reply. It’s all the confirmation Eijirou needs. “That was a coincidence.”

“Funny, I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

“You don’t know everything about m— oh.” Todoroki’s entire body goes tense as Eijirou’s hand slips into his pants, palming his bulge. Experimentally, his hips shift, rocking into the touch, and he shudders, bitten lips parting prettily. The sight nearly has Eijirou forgetting his own name. 

“You were saying?” he tries to tease, hoping the slight quiver to his voice isn’t noticeable.

Todoroki scoffs but doesn’t answer, lost in the sensation. His hand grasps blindly for Eijirou’s wrist, keeping his hand locked in place as he ruts against it. Eijirou would be perfectly happy stopping here—sitting and watching him get off like this until he comes—but Todoroki deserves better than that, so he gets to work on his remaining clothes. With his free hand, he yanks the slacks midway down Todoroki’s thighs, praying to god they aren’t designer, before jumping back up to his boxers. Todoroki makes a disgruntled noise as Eijirou wrenches his hand from his grip, fingers settling along the elastic waistband.

“This’ll feel way better,” he promises.

The first thought that crosses Eijirou’s mind once he peels the layer off is, wow, he’s probably the first person to ever lay eyes on Todoroki’s dick. In this context, anyways. There’s a not-so-small part of him that feels very, very thrilled about that.

The second thought is, wow, he really has to be pretty everywhere, huh?

He’d felt how hard Todoroki was before, but the sight of him, pink and slick, leaking against his stomach like he’s already halfway gone, hits him like a punch to the gut. There’s a neat patch of white hair encircling the base, but when he leans forward to take Todoroki in hand, Eijirou finds him pleasantly warm to the touch.

“God, you’re pretty,” he exhales. Todoroki stifles a noise, and Eijirou glances up to find him biting down on his lip again. He’s been doing it all night—reining himself in, fighting to keep his composure. And sure, that may be in line with the Todoroki Eijirou knows, but he wants more than that. He wants the Todoroki he’d caught glimpses of over dinner. Whatever mystery lies past that carefully crafted shell. He wants to know it all.

He lowers his head, lifting Todoroki’s cock to his lips. Then, being sure to hold deliberate eye contact, Eijirou flicks out his tongue to lap at the tip.

Todoroki whimpers.

That’s more like it.

It’s such an alien noise coming from him, high and keening and sweet, making Eijirou throb painfully between his legs. Entranced, he drags his hand upwards and Todoroki’s hips jump to attention, trying to chase the movement.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and yeah, that pretty much summarizes how Eijirou’s feeling too.

“S-slow down,” he pants, bracing a hand against Todoroki’s hip to still him. “Let me.”

With a hiss, Todoroki slumps against the pillows, squirming as Eijirou gets him off slowly, meticulously. It’s pretty cruel, but Eijirou is determined to make this last for him, to make this good for him. To make up for all the time they could have spent doing this. He kisses Todoroki, and this time it’s tender, unhurried, their mouths sliding together hotly. Little sips of breath stagger the in-betweens.

“Don’t hold back,” he mumbles against Todoroki’s lips. “Wanna hear you.”

He pairs the request with a twist of his hand, scraping his teeth across his lower lip as they separate, and Todoroki actually does it. He tilts back his head and moans—a full, distressed sound that burns itself into Eijirou’s eardrums, plunging his mind temporarily into white noise.

Pinpricks of pain pull him back, spreading across his skull. It takes Eijirou a moment to realize it’s Todoroki’s hand, fisted in his hair. “More,” he pleads, and the broken twist to his voice assails both Eijirou’s bleeding heart and his aching dick, pressed up against one of Todoroki’s thighs. He rolls his hips, groaning at the near-instant relief it brings.

“Yeah?” he asks hoarsely. “It’s good?”

“So good, it’s so— ah—” Todoroki’s back arches as Eijirou’s thumb grazes his slit, fingers tightening in his hair. Eijirou doesn’t even have time to process the pain before Todoroki’s thigh is lifting too, grinding harder against his groin, and white-hot pleasure washes out all other sensations. He lurches forward to sloppily kiss down Todoroki’s neck, licking the bruising spots and leaving a couple more. Todoroki whines into his ear and the sound is so good, sending a current of lightning racing up his spine.

Noticing his movements, Todoroki shifts his leg, pressing up hard as Eijirou’s hips come down, and Christ. He nearly sees stars. His grip slackens, and Todoroki seizes the opportunity, thrusting into his fist, chasing his own pleasure. He’s abandoned subtlety now, letting out a stream of curses and whimpers and moans that have Eijirou flaming, a familiar warmth pooling in his gut. 

“Fuck,” he groans, nearly toppling over in the rush to undo his pants and pull his dick out. “You’re so gorgeous. Can’t believe I get to have you.”

“Waited for you.” The words tremble as they leave Todoroki’s mouth, nearly swept away in the heat of things. “Wanted it to be you.”

And god, of course he had. The thought of Todoroki holding out for all this time, wanting him and only him, pushes Eijirou over the edge. He slides off Todoroki’s thigh, all but tearing off the pants pooled around his knees because fuck designer. Slotting himself between Todoroki’s legs, he takes both of their cocks in hand, pressing them together, and the feeling is so intense that he almost forgets to do anything else.

“Kirishima,” Todoroki whines and he swallows, hard.

“Right here.”

“I . . . do think your quirk is sexy.”

It comes out in an exhale, one last confession. And Eijirou can’t even laugh, not when he’s so far gone, mind already racing with all the ways he could possibly implement that. Not now, but later. Next time. There’s definitely going to be a next time.

“Noted,” is all he says, before leaning down to sink his teeth into Todoroki’s neck.

Everything blends together after that, a blur of sticky sweat and spikes of pleasure and hips jerking. The only thing remaining in focus is Todoroki, splayed out beneath him. Each movement has him twisting, fingers raking freezerburn paths down Eijirou’s back, but his eyes don’t close once—always hazy and half-open, trained upwards like he wants to commit every last detail to memory. When they pull out of a kiss, foreheads knocking together, his left eye is bluer than ever, brilliant against his flushed skin.

The sight, embarrassingly, has Eijirou coming first.

Todoroki immediately follows, like he’s been waiting, a final moan spilling from his lips as Eijirou guides him through it, stroking until they’re both going soft in his hand. And just like that, his energy is gone. His arms give out, sore from keeping him propped up, and he collapses against Todoroki with a sigh.

So much for making things last.

They stay in that position for minutes, hours maybe, before Eijirou catches his breath enough to sit up. Todoroki, being god’s favorite, looks beautiful even now, glimmering in the afterglow, frosted lashes fluttering as he gazes up at him.

Eijirou can hardly remember how they got here. He also really doesn’t care.

Dipping down, he kisses him softly—first on the mouth, then on the cheek, just below his burn. Then, he gets up and grabs a pre-warmed towel.

Todoroki is unfamiliar with the concept of aftercare, but happily complies, lying prone as he’s cleaned off. When Eijirou slides back into bed, he forsakes any former shyness to to throw an arm across his chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Eijirou reciprocates, arms wrapping around him, and Todoroki melts into the touch. Neither of them speak, but this time, Eijirou doesn’t stress about the silence. He thinks he understands it now. From Todoroki, it’s a sign of comfort, relaxation—not indifference.

What feels like ages later, Eijirou finally speaks. “We should do this more.”

Todoroki yawns, cuddling closer. His left side has mellowed out now, keeping them both pleasantly warm. “Just hanging out?”

“Nah. Dating. Kissing.” He presses his cheek against Todoroki’s head, toying with a white curl at the nape of his neck. “Turns out I like you too. A lot. Sorry for being slow on the uptake.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t exactly obvious about it.”

But Eijirou is insistent. “Just you wait, ‘Roki. We’re going to go on so many dates I’ll be able to read you like a book. No more stupid misunderstandings. Mark my words.”

Todoroki laughs at this, a melodic sound that has butterflies flurrying in his stomach. “Shouto.”

“Huh?”

“If we’re going to be dating, I want you to call me by name,” Todoroki explains simply. “It’s less of a mouthful, anyways.”

“Shouto,” Eijirou tests the word out. It feels awkward, unfamiliar on his tongue, but it’s got a nice ring to it, too. A sense of beginning. “I can do that.”

Todoroki hums, pleased. “Can I call you Eijirou, then?”

It’s the prettiest his name has ever sounded, and now it’s Eijirou’s turn to blush, heat sweeping up the back of his neck. “Definitely,” he says.

“Good.” Another stretch of silence passes, thoughtful, before Todoroki speaks again. “Can I put in a suggestion for our next date?”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s arrange a blind date for Bakugou and Midoriya.”

Eijirou bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. He curls against Todoroki, abs sore from just about everything, and the two of them swap conspiratorial grins. “I’ll convince Bakugou if you make the reservations.”

The next morning, Eijirou sends Kaminari a photo over breakfast: Todoroki, posing next to a comically large croissant (bought at half-price, courtesy of a handy coupon).

Manifesting works, bro, he captions it.

The response comes within seconds.

Oh my fucking god????