Chapter Text
Mannheim, Germany— IIHF World U18 Championships, Semi-Final
The ice shines under the arena lights, freshly resurfaced for the third period. Katsuki leans against the boards during the TV timeout, breathing hard through his cage, sweat dripping down his temples despite the cold.
His eyes track across the rink to the Japanese bench.
Number 11. Todoroki Shoto.
Katsuki has been watching him all game, studying the way he moves like it's another tactic he needs to learn. Fluid and deceptively lazy, like he's not even trying until suddenly he's blowing past defenders like they're standing still. The media calls him "The Ice Prince," and Katsuki thinks it's apt. There's something untouchable about him, something cold and distant that makes Katsuki want to crack through it like a fist through lake ice.
They're tied 2-2 with eight minutes left in the semi-final. Germany versus Japan. The arena is packed.
"Bakugou!" Coach’s voice cuts through his focus. "Next shift, you're on Todoroki. Physical play. Make him remember you."
Katsuki grins behind his cage, feral in a way he seems to intimidate people. "Pleasure."
The puck drops. Katsuki waits, patient, and when Todoroki receives a pass in the neutral zone, Katsuki is already moving.
He's been timing this. Watching Todoroki's patterns, the way he tells his movements just slightly when he's about to make a play. Right now, Todoroki is looking down at the puck, his weight shifted forward. Perfect..
Katsuki accelerates.
The hit is clean. Perfectly legal. Katsuki leads with his shoulder and catches Todoroki square in the chest just as he's reaching for the puck.
But the moment of impact surprises him.
Todoroki is lighter than Katsuki anticipated. Not weak, no, not at all— but lean in a way that makes him fast, yes, but also makes him fly across the ice when he's hit properly. The collision sends him spinning, skates leaving the ice, and Katsuki watches as Todoroki crashes into the boards with a sickening thud that echoes through the arena even over the crowd noise.
The whistle doesn't blow. Clean hit.
But something about it makes Katsuki's stomach twist. That looked worse than he intended. Todoroki's head snapped to the side on impact, and Katsuki sees him stay down for a second. Just a second, but longer than most players would, before he starts to move again.
Katsuki skates away, but he's watching…. Waiting.
Todoroki gets up. Not quickly, but seemingly fine, pushing himself to his knees and then to his skates. He touches his face briefly, his nose, and when he pulls his glove away, there's blood on it.
The referee finally blows the whistle, skating over to check on him. Todoroki waves him off, skating to his bench, and the crowd noise swells.
"Looks like the Phantom took a hit there," one of the commentators says over the arena speakers during the break. "Todoroki Shoto, the Japanese rising sensation. Let's see if he can shake it off."
The Phantom? Katsuki frowns. He's heard "The Ice Prince" before, but not that one.
Todoroki sits on the bench, takes off his helmet, and the team doctor examines his nose. Even from across the ice, Katsuki can see the blood on his upper lip, the way the doctor tilts his chin back. But Todoroki is shaking his head, refusing whatever treatment they're offering, just wiping the blood away with a towel.
Two minutes later, he's back on the ice.
Katsuki is on the bench when it happens. When he sees why they call Todoroki "The Phantom."
He takes a pass in the offensive zone. Two German defenders rush on him, good positioning, textbook defense, and for a second Katsuki thinks they have him trapped against the boards.
But Todoroki does something...
It's like he barely moves at all, and that's what makes it so effective. Just a subtle shift of his hips, a turn of his shoulders, the puck sliding between his skates in a move that shouldn't be physically possible given the angle and the pressure. And suddenly he's through them both, like a ghost passing through walls, alone with the goalie, so much time and space it looks like a power play.
The goalie doesn't even move. The red light blazes.
3-2, Japan.
"And there it is!" the commentator shouts. "The Phantom strikes! Todoroki with a beautiful solo effort, and Japan takes the lead!"
Katsuki understands the nickname now. Todoroki doesn't power blindly through defenders like he does. He basically glides through them. Makes them look foolish without even seeming to try. Almost like a figure skater rather than a hockey player.
The arena goes silent except for the small group of Japanese fans, mostly parents that accompanied the team, who erupt in cheers.
Todoroki doesn't celebrate his win. Doesn't pump his fist or shout or even smile. He just glides to his bench, taps gloves with his teammates in that fleeting way, and sits down. There's still blood on his upper lip that he wipes away absently.
He’s completely calm. Seemingly untouchable.
Like scoring the game-winner in a World Championship semi-final means nothing.
Like Katsuki's hit meant nothing.
Like Katsuki means nothing.
Germany pulls their goalie with ninety seconds left. Katsuki plays the full shift, desperate and furious, throwing everything he has at the Japanese defense. He gets two good shots on goal. Both are saved. When the final buzzer sounds, Katsuki slams his stick against the ice so hard it splinters, the crack echoing in the suddenly quiet arena.
"Fuck!" he snarls, ripping off his helmet and throwing it.
His teammates skate past him, shoulders slumped in defeat. Coach is already talking to the officials. The Japanese team celebrates at center ice, surrounding their strongest player.
They line up for the handshake.
Katsuki's jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache. His gloves are soaked with sweat. He can still feel the impact of that hit reverberating through his shoulder, can still see Todoroki's head snap to the side, the blood on his face.
When he reaches him in the line, he grips the offered glove harder than necessary.
"Next time, you're eating the boards, Halfie," Katsuki growls, low enough that only Todoroki can hear. The nickname is petty, a mere reference to the boy's looks, but Katsuki is feeling petty. So it's okay.
Todoroki's grip is just as firm. He meets Katsuki's glare with those calm, infuriating eyes and says flatly, "You talk too much."
Then he's moving past, and Katsuki is left standing there with rage and something else burning under his skin.
That night, he can't sleep. He lies in his hotel room in Mannheim, staring at the ceiling, replaying the game over and over. The hit. The way Todoroki flew. The blood on his face. The goal. That fucking goal and the way Todoroki moved like gravity didn't apply to him.
The way he had looked at him during the handshake. Not angry actually, not dismissive either, just... entirely calm. Like he'd already forgotten about Katsuki.
Katsuki has been in Germany since he was six years old. His father got offered a position at a prestigious engineering firm in Munich. The kind of opportunity you don't turn down, and the whole family moved. His mother saw it as a blessing, aince Germany has some of the best youth academies in Europe. She realized that Katsuki was under-challenged in Japan or that his temper was getting him into trouble. Katsuki was being too explosive for the Japanese youth hockey system, too angry, too much. He received a scholarship to an elite German boarding school for athletes.
The German system would be good for him, she said.
She was right, mostly. He grew up speaking German as fluently as Japanese, trained with some of the best youth coaches in Europe, and became something the Japanese system tried to prepare him for: a dominant power forward who plays with planned aggression rather than blind rage.
But it also made him an outsider. Too German for Japan, too Japanese for Germany. He belongs to both countries and neither, and hockey is the only place where that doesn't matter. On the ice, he's just a force. Just someone who wins.
Except tonight he didn't win. Tonight, Todoroki Shoto ghosted through his team's defense and ended Katsuki's tournament.
And Katsuki can't stop thinking about it.
Two Years Later— IIHF World Junior Championship (U20)
The hostel hallway smells like old beer, cigarette smoke that's seeped into the walls over decades, and the staleness of too many people passing through its doors. The carpet is worn thin in patches, the wallpaper is peeling near the ceiling, and somewhere down the corridor a radiator clanks and hisses like it's trying to die.
Katsuki stands outside room 347 with his training bag at his feet and fury simmering under his skin.
He's nineteen now. Two full years older. Two years of brutal training, of becoming someone the professional scouts are already watching, of learning to channel his rage into something that wins games. He's grown two centimeters and added five kilograms of muscle. He's better than he was in Mannheim, when he thought it was over for him.
And he just lost to Japan. Again.
2-1.
Game-winner scored by Todoroki fucking Shoto.
Again.
The worst part, the absolute worst fucking part, is that it was beautiful. A rush that had the entire arena on its feet, Todoroki weaving through defenders like water through rocks, finishing with a wrist shot that went bar down so fast the goalie didn't even see it.
Katsuki had been on the ice for it. Had chased Todoroki the whole way, had been half a step behind, close enough to reach out and hook him but not close enough to actually do it without taking a penalty.
Now he's here, in this shitty converted monastery on the outskirts of Prague because some administrative clusterfuck means half the tournament is staying in overflow accommodations, and his key card won't fucking work.
He swipes it through the reader. Red light.
Again. Red light.
"Fuck!" He slams his palm against the door.
"Having trouble?"
Katsuki's whole body goes tense. He knows that voice. He's heard it exactly once in person, in a handshake line two years ago. Never again during their games. But he's heard it in interviews, in highlight reels, in his own head during training when he's pushing through the burn.
He turns around slowly.
Todoroki Shoto stands exactly three doors down, key card dangling from his long fingers. He's wearing black joggers and a Team Japan hoodie, his distinctive hair still damp from a shower. He's gotten taller, having maybe four centimeters on Katsuki, and broader through the shoulders. He must a year younger though. Eighteen looks good on him. His face has lost some of the softness of youth, not entirely, but turned into something that looks well and dominates magazine covers already. Dear daddy's work.
He's also staring at Katsuki with those weird eyes, and there's something in his expression that he can't quite read. Recognition, obviously. But something else too. Something that looks almost like anticipation.
"My key won't work," Katsuki says flatly.
"Room 347," Todoroki says, not moving from his spot. "That's mine."
Katsuki looks at his key card. Room 347. Then at the number on the door. 347.
"The hell it is," he says, holding up the card. "This is my room. See? Same fucking number."
"I checked in this morning." Todoroki starts walking toward him, and Katsuki tracks every step. "There must have been an administrative error."
"Yeah, the error standing in my hallway." Katsuki shoves the card in his pocket. "Go find whoever's running this shitshow and get your own room."
"I could say the same to you."
They're close now. Close enough that Katsuki can see the water droplets still clinging to his hair, can smell the clean scent of his shampoo.
The hallway is empty. Most of the other players either went out to drown their losses or are already passed out. It's past midnight, and the hostel staff probably went home hours ago.
Katsuki should walk away. Should go downstairs, deal with this like a rational person, get his own room sorted out.
But he's actually still kinda mad and full of adrenaline with nowhere to put it. And Todoroki is standing there looking infuriatingly composed after ending Katsuki's tournament for the second time in a row. Katsuki is so fucking tired of being the one who loses to him.
"Nice goal," he says, and it comes out like an accusation. Like he's testing something. "Real fancy footwork. Your daddy teach you that move, or did you come up with it all by yourself?"
It's a low blow, and Katsuki knows it. Everyone in hockey knows about Enji "Endeavor" Todoroki. The legendary player turned coach, the father who's been molding his son into a hockey machine since childhood. The rumors about his training methods range from professional discipline to intense to outright abusive, though not confirmed. But the few times Katsuki has seen Todoroki's father at games, the man's presence seems to drain all the light from his son's face.
But Katsuki is tired and angry and needs to get under the boy’s skin the way he gets under his.
Todoroki's face twicthes. Just barely, just a slight tightening around his mouth, a brief flash of something cold and dangerous in those eyes. For a second he looks less like the Ice Prince and more like something wounded.
"Losing doesn't suit you, Bakugou," Todoroki says quietly. "You should work on that."
The words are perfectly, infuriatingly delivered. And they work.
Katsuki closes the distance between them without thinking about it. One second he's standing by the door, the next he's in Todoroki's space, chest to chest, having to look up slightly because of those extra centimeters. This close, he can see the tiny details the cameras miss. The faint freckles scattered across Todoroki's nose. The way his pupils dilate slightly when Katsuki gets close. The barely-there hitch in his breathing. The small cut dividing his left eyebrow. The tension in his jaw like he's bracing for something. Maybe a hit.
"Say that again," Katsuki says dangerously low.
"Which part?" Todoroki hisses in a low whisper, getting in his face. "The part about losing, or the part about you being a sore fucking loser?"
Katsuki shoves him.
Not hard. Just enough to get a reaction, to crack that perfect facade, to make something happen because the alternative is standing here doing nothing and he can't do that.
Todoroki shoves back, and he’s stronger than Katsuki expected, and suddenly they're not standing still anymore. They're grappling, pushing at each other, and it's not quite a fight but it's not quite friendly either. Something in between.
Katsuki gets a hand fisted in Todoroki's hoodie. Todoroki's fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to hurt. They're stumbling down the hallway, breathing hard, and neither of them is backing down, giving shove after shove.
Katsuki's back hits a door, his door, and it suddenly swings open, momentum carries them both through.
They catch themselves in the doorway, Katsuki gripping the frame, Todoroki gripping him to keep from falling. They're both breathing hard, faces inches apart, eyes wide, and Katsuki can feel Todoroki's heart hammering against his own chest.
For a long moment, neither of them moves. They just stand there in the doorway, staring at each other in the dim light.
Then Todoroki's hands loosen on Katsuki's shoulders, and he takes a step back. Creates distance. The loss of contact feels strange, unwelcome even, though Katsuki won't examine that thought too closely. He's probably freezing. That's it.
The room is small and dark, lit only by the amber streetlight filtering through thin curtains. A single bed with a sagging mattress. A narrow desk with a broken drawer. Both their travel duffels sitting against a far wall like the universe planned this. Or some incompetent person.
"Stupid. This is stupid," Todoroki mutters, slightly strained, lacking his usual control.
"Yeah," Katsuki agrees, not moving from the doorframe. He can feel his pulse hammering in his throat.
They stare at each other across the small space. Chests heaving, adrenaline still coursing through their systems. Katsuki can see it in the tension in Todoroki's shoulders, in the way his hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, in the slightly wild look in his eyes that the media would never see.
Katsuki knows he looks the same. Feels the same. Drained and tight at the same time, full of energy with nowhere to put it, still riding the high and low of the game. His muscles are twitching with the need to do something. To shout, to move, to fight, to go out and fuck, to anything that will make this restless feeling go away.
"We should go downstairs," Todoroki says, but he doesn't move further away. His eyes stay fixed on Katsuki. "Figure out the room situation."
"Yeah," Katsuki says, but he doesn't move either.
They keep staring at each other. The silence stretches out, heavy in a weird way. He can see the exhaustion in the dark circles under Todoroki's eyes, in the slight slump of his shoulders now that they're alone. The composed mask he wears for cameras and coaches is cracking, and underneath it is just a tired eighteen-year-old who looks like he hasn't slept properly in days.
Todoroki breaks eye contact first, looking away, running a hand through his damp hair with a deep inhale. He looks frustrated, almost defeated. "Fuck," he mutters.
Katsuki knows that look. It’s the crash after the adrenaline, the moment your brain turns back on and starts picking everything apart. The win doesn’t matter. All that’s left is the replay and consequences.
“You look like shit,” he says, because it’s true and it’s easier than asking what’s wrong.
Todoroki bites his teeth. “I know,” is all he says, clipped. He doesn’t offer an explanation. He doesn’t need to.
"Yeah," Katsuki nods. "I get it."
"Do you?" Todoroki looks at him again, and there's something in his expression now. Something vulnerable that Katsuki has never seen before. "Because you always seem so— I don't know. Confident. Like you never doubt yourself."
"I doubt myself all the fucking time," Katsuki says bluntly. "I just don't show it."
"Okay but how do you deal with it? The thoughts. The constant replay of everything you could have done better. How do you make it stop?"
Todoroki is watching him intently now. Like he's hoping Katsuki has an answer that will fix whatever is bothering him.
He shrugs, aiming for casual even though his heart is beating faster. "Different ways. Sometimes I run until my legs give out. Sometimes I listen to music. Sometimes I lift until my arms are shaking. Sometimes—" He pauses, watching Todoroki's reaction. "Sometimes other things."
"What other things?"
The question hangs in the air between them, heavy with implication. Todoroki's eyes are dark in the dim light, his chest still rising and falling with quick breaths, and Katsuki can see the exact moment understanding dawns. The way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips part, the way his breathing changes.
"Oh," he says softly.
"Yep."
They stare at each other. Neither of them moves, but the atmosphere between them has changed.
"I've never—" Todoroki starts, then stops. Swallows hard. Starts again. "I don't know how to do that. How to just— turn it off."
"I could show you," Katsuki hears himself say. "If you want."
He sets the offer between them, bold and unmistakable, making very clear what he means. He watches Todoroki process it, sees the conflict play across his face— surprise, uncertainty, want, fear, and then something that looks almost like relief.
"We're rivals," Todoroki says finally, but it sounds more like he's reminding himself than protesting.
"I know."
"This would be complicated."
"It doesn't have to be." Katsuki shifts his weight, leaning against the doorframe. "It's just stress relief. Just two people working off adrenaline after a hard game. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"It doesn't mean anything," Todoroki repeats, like he's testing the words out. Seeing how they feel.
"Nothing at all," Katsuki confirms.
Todoroki is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching Katsuki's face like he's looking for something. Reassurance maybe. Or permission. Then he says, voice a little tight, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
Something hot coils in Katsuki's gut. He pushes off from the doorframe, crosses the small space to where Todoroki is standing. Close enough to touch, but not doing so yet. Close enough to see the way Todoroki's breathing has gone shallow, the way his pupils are dilated, the slight tremor in his hands.
"Ground rules first," Katsuki says, keeping his voice low. "This is just physical. No feelings, no complications. And no one finds out about this. Ever."
"Agreed."
"And you tell me if you want to stop. No bullshitting."
"Okay."
"Say it," Katsuki demands, watching him carefully. "Say you'll tell me if you want to stop."
"I'll tell you if I want to stop," Todoroki repeats, obediently, and something about the easy compliance, the way he just follows the instruction without hesitation, makes Katsuki's cock twitch with interest. Damn. Who would've thought.
"Good." He reaches out and fists his hand in the front of Todoroki's hoodie again, pulling him closer. The fabric is soft and worn, still slightly damp in places. "Last chance to back out."
"I don't want to back out." Todoroki's eyes are dark and determined, fixed on Katsuki's face. He really means it.
"Okay then," he whispers, and closes the distance.
The kiss is rough and graceless at first, fueled more by exhaustion and need than any kind of tenderness. For a second Todoroki just stands there, completely frozen like he doesn't know what's happening.
Then he kisses back.
It's clumsy. Inexperienced in a way that tells Katsuki everything he needs to know. Todoroki's teeth click against his, his nose bumps awkwardly against Katsuki's cheek, and his hands hover uncertainly near Katsuki's shoulders like he doesn't know where to put them or what to do with them. Like he's never done this before and doesn't have the muscle memory to fall back on.
But he's kissing back with enthusiasm that more than makes up for the lack of skill.
Katsuki kicks the door shut behind them without breaking the kiss, then reaches up with one hand to tangle his fingers in Todoroki's hair. It's still damp, soft and clean smelling, and when Katsuki angles the head in his palm to reach better, Todoroki lets him without resistance. Just follows Katsuki's lead, completely pliant and eager.
The other hand stays fisted in Todoroki's hoodie, holding him close, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath the fabric.
When Katsuki licks at the seam of his lips, Todoroki opens his mouth almost immediately beneath his. No hesitation at all. Just instant compliance, letting Katsuki in, letting him deepen the kiss. His hands finally settle on Katsuki's shoulders, gripping tight enough to feel his nails even through the jacket.
Katsuki takes control of the kiss completely, slowing it down, showing him the rhythm. How to angle his head, how to move his lips, where to put his tongue. And Todoroki, he follows every unspoken instruction like he's taking notes. Like this is another skill to master.
When Todoroki makes this sound, surprised and wanting and almost overwhelmed, a small sigh, it goes straight to Katsuki's dick.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to breathe, and in the dim light from the window he can see the other’s face. Eyes wide and dark, pupils blown so large the heterochromia is barely visible. Lips already swollen and red from kissing. A flush spreading down his neck that Katsuki can see disappearing beneath his collar.
"You done this before?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer from the way Todoroki kisses. From the clumsy enthusiasm and complete lack of technique.
"No."
"With a guy, or—"
"With anyone." Todoroki swallows hard, throat clicking. "Is that— does that matter?"
It should probably make Katsuki stop. Should make him think twice about what they're doing, about taking someone's first anything in a shitty hostel room after a hockey game. But instead it just clarifies things for him. Makes it simpler. This isn't about feelings or relationships or anything complicated. It's just two people working off adrenaline after a brutal game.
And if Katsuki is the first showing Todoroki this kind of stress relief— well. Maybe that isn't too bad. At least he trusts in his own capabilities. Better than some random club fuck.
"No," he says out loud. "It doesn't. You wanna do this?"
"Yes." No hesitation at all. Todoroki's hands tighten on Katsuki's shoulders. "I want— I need—" He seems to struggle to find the words, then settles on, "Yes. I want this."
"Okay." Katsuki takes a small step back, creating just enough space between them to think. He shrugs off his jacket, tosses it in the general direction of the duffel bags. "First time can be overwhelming. Promise me you'll tell me if it's too much."
"I promise." There's that competitive edge in Todoroki's voice, like this is another challenge he's determined to meet. "I can handle it."
Of course he would approach sex like a hockey drill. Katsuki almost smiles.
"We'll see," he says. Then, testing something he noticed earlier: "Take off your hoodie."
Todoroki blinks, but complies. Grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in one go, dropping it on the floor without looking away from Katsuki's face. Quick and obedient, like he's responding to a coach's instruction during practice.
Interesting.
"Shirt too," Katsuki says, watching him carefully.
Again, Todoroki obeys without hesitation. Pulls his shirt off and drops it, leaving him bare-chested and slightly breathless in the dim light. He's not flexing or posing, just standing there waiting for the next instruction, and there's something about that immediate compliance that makes heat curl low in Katsuki's gut.
He takes a moment to just look at him. Lean muscle carved by years of training, elegant lines, shoulders broader than they were two years ago. Scars scatter across his left side, catching the glow from the streetlight. Old burns by the look of them, just like the one on his face, healed over but still visible. Katsuki doesn't want to read too much into them.
Todoroki's chest is rising and falling with quick breaths, and Katsuki can see his heart beating visibly beneath his sternum.
He's nervous. Probably excited.
He pulls off his own shirt, watching Todoroki's eyes track hungrily over his chest and shoulders and arms. There's definite want in that gaze, but also uncertainty. Like he wants this intensely but has no idea what to do with that want or how to act on it.
So, "come here," Katsuki whispers. Helping him ease into it.
Todoroki closes the distance between them easily, and Katsuki kisses him again. Slower this time, more gentle, really teaching him. When he sucks on a plush bottom lip, Todoroki makes that broken sound again and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, seeking friction against Katsuki's body.
Katsuki reaches down between them, palming him through his joggers, giving him exactly what he wants. He's already hard, has probably been hard since they started kissing. The simple touch makes him gasp into Katsuki's mouth.
"Sensitive," he hums almost smugly against those lips, squeezing lightly. Just to be an ass.
"I've never—" Todoroki's cheeks flush darker, visible even in the low light. "No one's touched me like this before."
The words make something hot coil in Katsuki's gut. The idea that he's the first one to touch Todoroki like this, to see him like this, to make him feel like this— it's more appealing than it should be.
He pushes that thought away. This is just physical. Just stress relief.
"Get on your knees," he whispers, eyes pinning the ones just inches away intensely.
Todoroki's go wide at the bold request. "What?"
"You heard me." Katsuki takes a step back. "On your knees. Wanna see something."
For a second, Todoroki just stares at him. His throat works as he swallows. There's confusion in his eyes, but also something else, something that looks almost like curiosity.
Then he slowly, gracefully, sinks down until he's kneeling on the worn carpet in front of Katsuki, looking up with those now almost glassy eyes.
And fuck, what a sight that is.
Todoroki Shoto, the Ice Prince, the so-called Phantom, the rising star who dominates on the ice with skill and speed and an almost supernatural ability to read the game— on his knees in a shitty hostel room. His hair is messy from where Katsuki ran his hands through it. His lips are swollen and red from kissing and biting. His chest is rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. And he's looking up at Katsuki with partial uncertainty, part trust, part something that might be eagerness.
Waiting for the next instruction.
Katsuki didn't expect this. Didn't expect that the same person who ghosts through huge bodies like they don't exist, who scores game-winning goals with that infuriating composure, who carries himself with such confidence, would be so quick to submit. So eager to be told what to do.
It's a hell of a revelation.
"How does that feel?" Katsuki asks, genuinely curious, keeping his voice steady and without judgement even though his cock is throbbing in his pants.
"I—" Todoroki mutters, uncertain. "Good. It feels good. Should it feel good?"
"Yeah. It should." Katsuki reaches down and cups Todoroki's jaw, feeling the muscle jump beneath his palm. His thumb brushes over a cheek, and heterochromatic eyes flutter closed for a second. "You like this? Being told what to do?"
Todoroki's breath catches. He doesn't answer immediately, like he's processing the question, reading his own reaction. Then he says quietly, "Yes. I think I do."
"Good to know." Katsuki's thumb traces over a bitten bottom lip, indulging in the way Todoroki's mouth parts seemingly automatically. "Now, stand up."
He stands, gracefully, something crossing his face. Disappointment maybe, or confusion. Like he thought they were going somewhere with that position and now Katsuki is stopping it.
"Not here," Katsuki clarifies, gesturing to the dingy carpet with its suspicious stains and worn patches. "You'll fuck up your knees on that floor, infections and all that shit. I'm not explaining that to medical staff. Bed."
Understanding flashes in Todoroki's eyes, followed by what is definitely relief. And anticipation.
They move to the bed together, and Katsuki sits on the edge of the mattress. The springs creak under his weight, protesting loudly in the quiet room. He spreads his legs and looks up at Todoroki.
"Come here," he gestures for him.
Todoroki steps between his legs, and from this angle Katsuki has to look up at him. Has to crane his neck back to meet his eyes. It's an interesting reversal of their dynamic, and Katsuki finds he doesn't mind it. Especially when he reaches up and grips slender hips, pulling him closer, and sees the way Todoroki's breath hitches.
"You trust me?" Katsuki asks, his hands sliding up warm sides, feeling the shift of muscle beneath skin, the slight tremor that runs through him at the touch.
"I don't know," Todoroki admits honestly. "Should I?"
"Probably not. I'm your rival. I want to beat you every time we step on the ice together." Katsuki's hands map the planes of Todoroki's chest, his shoulders, learning the feel of his body. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not in any way you don't want. I'm going to show you things. Teach you things. And you're going to follow instructions. Think you can do that?"
"Yes."
"Good." Katsuki hooks his fingers in the waistband of Todoroki's joggers, keeping eye contact throughout everything he does. "Can I take these off?"
"Yes."
He pulls them down slowly, along with the boxer briefs beneath, and Todoroki steps out of them without being told. Now standing there completely naked while Katsuki is still fully clothed from the waist down, and there's something about that imbalance that makes this hotter. More about power and control.
Todoroki is hard, his cock flushed and already leaking slightly, and he's clearly self-conscious about being looked at. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to cover himself.
"Don't," Katsuki mutters when Todoroki's hands start to move. "Don't hide. Let me look at you."
Katsuki takes his time, mapping every detail. The muscle, the scars, the flush spreading down Todoroki's chest and stomach, the way his cock twitches under Katsuki's attention, the way his thighs are trembling slightly. The way he's just standing there, naked and waiting, because Katsuki told him to.
This might be getting to his head if he isn't careful.
"You're beautiful," Katsuki says, and means it. Because he might be an asshole, yes, but he’s an honest one.
Todoroki's flush deepens. "You're staring."
"You're worth staring at."
Without warning, Katsuki reaches out and wraps his hand around Todoroki's cock. The reaction is wonderful. Hips jerk forward into the touch immediately. "Oh fuck— Bakugou—"
His hands fly to Katsuki's shoulders for balance, gripping hard, letting his head fall forward. Katsuki can feel him trembling, can see the way every muscle in his body has gone tense.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, stroking slowly. Experimentally. Learning what makes Todoroki's breathing hitch, what makes him gasp, what makes those tremors running through his body intensify.
"It's—" Todoroki's voice cracks. "It feels—"
"Good?"
"Really fucking good."
Katsuki works him with long strokes, watching his face. He's completely unguarded, all that careful control he shows the world just gone. His pleasure is written across his face like words on a page. In the way his eyes flutter closed, in the way his mouth falls open, in the way small sounds keep escaping him that he doesn't seem aware he's making. His whole body arches into the touch like he can't help himself, like he needs more.
"Look at me," Katsuki whispers.
Todoroki's eyes snap open almost instantly, fixing on his face. And there it is again. That instant obedience, that eagerness to follow instructions, that need to do this right.
"Good," Katsuki grins, and is rewarded by the way Todoroki's cock pulses in his hand, by the way his breathing gets even more ragged. He likes the praise. Likes being told he's doing well. "You like this?"
"Yes," Todoroki gasps.
"Want more?"
"Please."
"Ask properly."
Todoroki's brow furrows slightly, like he's trying to understand what Katsuki wants through the haze of pleasure. Then he whispers, "Please, Bakugou. I want— please— more—"
"Better." Katsuki tightens his grip slightly, speeds up just a little, and watches Todoroki's eyes go wide. "You can touch me too. If you want."
"I— yes—" Todoroki's hand trembles as he reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Katsuki's cock through his pants. His grip is tentative, like he's afraid of doing it wrong. And not nearly enough.
"Ah, wait. Lemme take these off," Katsuki hums, amused despite himself. This is a lot more fun than he's had in a while. He releases his grip on Todoroki and stands up, listening as the other makes this small sound of loss that goes straight to Katsuki's dick.
He strips off his pants and underwear quickly, and when he looks up again, Todoroki is just staring at him. At his cock, specifically, with wide eyes and parted lips.
"Oh," he breathes. "You're— that's—"
"Second thoughts?"
"No." Todoroki swallows hard. "Definitely not. I want—" He stops, seems to gather his courage. "I want you to fuck me."
The blunt statement makes Katsuki's cock throb, visibly so, but he still shakes his head. "No."
Todoroki's face falls. "Oh. I thought—"
"Not here," Katsuki clarifies. "Not like this. Not your first time in a shitty hostel room with paper-thin walls and a mattress that probably has bedbugs."
"I don't care about that."
"Well I do."
Todoroki is quiet for a moment, processing that. "So you do want to. Just not here."
Katsuki hadn't meant to imply that, hadn't meant to suggest this would happen again, but he doesn't correct it. "We can do other things."
"Like what?"
"Well, lemme show you. Sit down on the bed," Katsuki instructs. "Scoot back."
Todoroki complies, sinking down on the edge and then shuffling backward until he's sitting in the middle of the narrow mattress with his back against the wall. The bed creaks loudly with every movement, springs protesting.
Katsuki climbs onto the bed after him, and the cramped space forces them close together immediately. He gets beside Todoroki rather than on top of him, less intimidating this way, more equal, even though there's nothing equal about their experience levels.
"Touch me," Katsuki instructs, getting as comfortable as he can in the pillows.
Todoroki reaches out hesitantly, his hand shaking slightly as he wraps it around him. His grip is too light at first.
"Tighter," Katsuki whispers, reaching down to adjust the hold with his own hand, showing him how he likes it. "I'm not gonna break. Like this."
Todoroki adjusts, tightening his grip, and Katsuki groans at the pressure. "God fucking— Just like that."
He starts stroking him, slowly and carefully, and it's immediately clear he has no idea what he's doing. The rhythm is inconsistent, too fast then too slow, and the pressure varies wildly from one stroke to the next. He's overthinking every movement, Katsuki can tell from the intense concentration on his face, that little furrow between his brows.
But he's also watching Katsuki's face intently, paying attention to every reaction. When Katsuki's breathing hitches, Todoroki repeats whatever he just did. When Katsuki groans, his grip tightens slightly. He's learning, cataloging what works, and there's something incredibly hot about that. About the way the Ice Prince is concentrating so hard on getting this right. On pleasuring him.
Katsuki wraps his own hand around Todoroki again, and gets the most wonderful reaction out of him. His whole body jerking, his rhythm on Katsuki's cock faltering completely as pleasure overwhelms his ability to multitask.
"Don't stop." Katsuki keeps his own strokes slow and languid. "Keep touching me. Try to follow my rhythm."
Todoroki tries. His hand moves on Katsuki's cock while he strokes him, but it's uncoordinated at first. Todoroki keeps losing his rhythm entirely whenever Katsuki does something that feels particularly good, his hand going slack or tightening too much. But gradually, slowly, he starts to find a pace that matches. Not perfect, but improving with each passing second.
The room fills with the sounds of their labored breathing and the obscene wet sounds of skin on skin, slick with pre and spit. The bed creaks quietly beneath them with every small shift. Katsuki keeps his movements a consistent rhythm that the other can follow, while Todoroki's strokes become increasingly erratic as he gets closer to coming.
Katsuki can see it happening. The way Todoroki's breathing gets ragged and harsh, the way his hips start moving in small, involuntary thrusts into Katsuki's fist. His hand on Katsuki's cock is losing its rhythm entirely now, becoming jerky and uncoordinated. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth falling open, small sounds escaping with each exhale.
"Bakugou," Todoroki gasps, and there's panic in his voice now. Embarrassment. "I'm— I think I'm going to—"
Katsuki glances at him, taking in the tension in every line of his body. "Already?"
There's no judgment in his voice, just curiosity and maybe a hint of satisfaction at being able to reduce the Todoroki to this state so quickly.
"I'm sorry, I've never—" he eyes squeeze even tighter shut. His hand has stopped moving on Katsuki's cock entirely now, just gripping tight as he tries desperately to hold back. "I can't hold it—"
"Don't apologize. Don't hold back." Katsuki speeds up his strokes, adds a twist of his wrist at the head that he knows feels good, and watches Todoroki's eyes fly open in surprise. "Just let go. You can come."
It only takes that much before Todoroki does exactly that. He comes with a choked gasp that's almost a sob, his whole body going rigid. Katsuki feels the first pulse, and then Todoroki is spilling over his hand and across his own stomach. That orgasm seems to hit him incredibly hard. His hips jerk up repeatedly, seeking more of the feeling even as he's already coming, and his hand clenches almost painfully tight around Katsuki's cock. He makes these pretty sounds that are almost too intimate for their situation.
Todoroki collapses back against the mattress like his strings have been cut. His chest is heaving, his whole body trembling with aftershocks, and he's staring at nothing with glazed, unfocused eyes. His hand is still wrapped around Katsuki's dick but it's gone completely slack, no strength left in his fingers.
For a long moment, neither of them moves. Katsuki just watches him process what just happened, sees the slow return of awareness in his eyes. When Todoroki seems to remember what he was doing, his hand tightens around Katsuki again and he starts to stroke, but his movements are weak and uncoordinated. His entire arm is trembling with the effort, and it's clear he's still too far gone to manage anything close to effective.
Katsuki reaches down and gently pulls the hand away from his cock. "Nah. You're done. Just breathe for a second."
Todoroki looks at him, and there's both frustration and embarrassment warring in his face. The flush has spread all the way down his chest now, his skin feverishly hot and gleaming with a sheen of light sweat. "But you didn't—" He stops, swallows, and Katsuki can see him struggling with how to say this. "That was pathetic. I lasted like two minutes. Less than two minutes. I'm sorry—"
"Again. Stop apologizing." Katsuki wipes his hand off on the sheets without ceremony. They're in a hostel, the sheets are definitely not clean to begin with. "It's your first time with another person. It's completely normal."
"It's embarrassing."
"It's hot," Katsuki counters, and he means it. He leans back against the wall. "Watching you lose control like that when you’re usually a stone-faced asshole.. You have no idea how good you looked."
Todoroki's flush deepens impossibly further, and he covers his face with both hands like he can hide from the words. His voice comes out muffled through his fingers. "Really?"
"Really." Katsuki is still achingly hard, his cock throbbing and demanding attention, but he's more interested in the other’s reaction right now. In the way he's processing this experience. "How do you feel?"
Todoroki lowers his hands slowly, actually seeming to consider the question seriously rather than just giving an automatic answer. His eyes are clearer now, more focused, though still slightly dazed. "I—" He pauses, searching for words. "Good. Really good. And like I want—" Another pause, and his voice gets more certain. "Like I want to keep going. To make you feel like that."
That easy eagerness sends another spike of arousal through Katsuki. "Yeah?"
"Mhm." Todoroki's eyes are dark and intense again. "Tell me what to do. Show me. Please."
There's something intoxicating about Todoroki's enthusiasm. The please, the way he's already asking for more despite having just come.
Katsuki glances down at Todoroki's cock. It's soft now, resting against his thigh. "You recover fast?"
He follows his gaze and seems almost surprised to see his own body. "I don't know. I've never tried." There's curiosity there. "Can people usually....?"
"At our age? Sometimes. Depends on the person." Katsuki shifts on the bed, making a decision about how he wants to approach this next part. "Let's find out. I'm going to use my mouth on you. See if we can get you hard again."
Todoroki's eyes go wide, his lips parting in surprise. "You want to— on me? Already? After I just—"
"Yeah. I really fucking want to." Katsuki moves down the bed, positioning himself between long legs. The mattress dips and shifts under his weight, springs creaking. "Spread your legs. C'mon. Gimme room to work."
He settles between his thighs, and from this angle he can see everything. The cum drying on Todoroki's stomach in white streaks. His soft cock. The way his thighs are still trembling slightly. The nervous anticipation on his face as he watches Katsuki with wide eyes.
"Okay?"
"I… think so?"
Katsuki leans down without further preamble and licks a slow stripe up the length in front of him.
Todoroki's whole body jerks violently, hypersensitive from his orgasm, and his hand flies to Katsuki's hair instantly. Just grabbing on like he needs it. "Fuck!" The curse is shocked out of him. "Oh fuck— that's— Bakugou—"
Katsuki pulls back just enough to check in. "Too much?" Even though he can tell from Todoroki's reaction that it's not too much, just overwhelming. The way he is panting, the way his cock is already starting to show interest despite having just come.
Todoroki's hands are both fisting in Katsuki's hair now, trembling. "I don't— I don't know." His breathing has already gone ragged again. "It's really intense. Really— oh god—"
Katsuki does it again, effectively cutting him off, slower this time, really dragging his tongue along sensitive skin. He watches as Todoroki starts to harden again. His cock twitches against Katsuki's tongue, gradually filling out, and the sounds he’s making are even more desperate than before. Higher pitched, more breathless.
"How are you—" Todoroki groans. "I just came and I'm already— how is this even possible—"
Katsuki pulls back just enough to respond, his breath ghosting over wet skin. "Looks like I'm pretty good at this." Then, without giving Todoroki time to process that, he takes the head into his mouth.
Hips jerk up against him, seeking more of that wet heat, and hands clench so tight in his hair it actually almost hurts now. A string of incoherent sounds spills from Todoroki’s mouth. Words maybe, or just pure want.
Katsuki works him slowly and carefully, using every trick he's learned. He hollows his cheeks, sucking. Traces his tongue against the underside. Finds the spots that make Todoroki's thighs tremble violently on either side of his head. Todoroki is getting fully hard again now, responding beautifully despite having come just minutes ago, and his whole body is shaking with the intensity of it.
"Bakugou," he moans, a pretty thing that will burn itself into Katsuki's mind. No doubt. "That's— oh fuck— I—"
He can't even form complete sentences anymore.
Todoroki's obviously trying so hard to stay still, to not thrust up into Katsuki's mouth. Katsuki can see the effort in the way his thighs and stomach are clenching, in the way his hands are clawed so tight in Katsuki's hair, in the way his breathing has gone desperate. He's being careful and considerate, even through the overwhelming pleasure.
Katsuki pulls off for just a second, keeping his hand moving to maintain the stimulation. "You can move. I can take it."
Todoroki's voice is strained, concerned even now. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. Trust me."
Katsuki takes him back inside, deeper this time, and when Todoroki's hips roll up hesitantly, testing, careful, Katsuki hums his approval around him.
That seems to break whatever control he was clinging to. His hips start moving, slowly at first and then with growing confidence as he realizes Katsuki really can handle it. The restraint goes, and Katsuki can see him starting to lose himself in the feeling. His hips roll up in small thrusts, his hands keep their grip in Katsuki's hair, and his breath comes in gasps and moans that he's not even trying to suppress.
And watching Todoroki let himself fall like this is better than Katsuki expected. Better than any of his previous hookups, even if his current hookup is completely inexperienced. The way Todoroki gives in to it, the way his composure just entirely shatters under pleasure. The way the Ice Prince is being absolutely destroyed right now by Katsuki's mouth. It's a lot.
It doesn't take long before Todoroki is close again. Katsuki can read the signs now, especially the increasingly desperate sounds he's making with each thrust.
"I'm gonna—"
He hums around him in acknowledgment, and that's all it takes. The vibration sends Todoroki over the edge. He comes with a cry that's probably too loud for the thin walls, his whole body going rigid. His hands clench so hard in Katsuki's hair, sending sharp sparks of pain across his scalp. Katsuki swallows, works him through it, until Todoroki is gasping and trembling and probably too sensitive to handle any more today.
When Katsuki finally pulls off, Todoroki is staring at the ceiling. His chest is heaving like he just played three overtime periods, his whole body is shaking with aftershocks, and he looks completely destroyed in the best possible way.
After a long moment, he manages to speak, barely above a whisper. "Holy shit." A pause as he tries to catch his breath. "That was—"
Katsuki wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling smug and satisfied despite still being achingly hard. Reducing Todoroki to this state is its own kind of win. "You got one more in you?"
Todoroki looks down at him, dazed and confused. Almost horrified. "I— what? You want me to— again? How would I even—"
"No." Katsuki crawls back up the bed, the thin mattress denting under his weight. "My turn now. I'm gonna show you how to use your mouth on me. You wanna?"
The dazed look disappears almost instantly, replaced by that curiosity again. It's like watching him snap into game mode. "Yes. Show me." He moves quickly, positioning himself between Katsuki's spread thighs.
"Start slow," he instructs, keeping his tone steady despite how much he wants to just grab Todoroki's head and push him down. Which he won't do… but still. "Just lick it. Get used to the feel of it. And the taste."
Todoroki leans in and licks a tentative stripe up the underside of Katsuki's cock. Careful and experimental, and it makes Katsuki's hips jerk involuntarily.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Like that. Do it again."
Todoroki does, with more confidence this time. He licks up the shaft, his tongue flat and broad, then swirls it around the head. When he tastes the precome beading at the tip, he makes a small sound. Not quite disgust but also not quite pleasure, just surprise.
"Okay?" Katsuki asks.
"Yeah." Todoroki licks again. "It's— different than I expected."
"Good different or bad different?"
"Just different." Todoroki looks up at him. "What do I do now?"
"Now try taking it in your mouth. Not much to it."
Todoroki opens his mouth and takes the head in. Immediately, Katsuki feels teeth scrape against skin, making him hiss before he can even really feel it.
"Shit—" Todoroki pulls back quickly. "Sorry, did I—"
"It's fine. I didn't tell you. Happens." Katsuki reaches down to cup his jaw gently. "Relax your jaw more. Make your lips cover your teeth. Try again."
Todoroki takes a deep breath and sinks down again. This time it's better. Still clumsy, still clearly inexperienced, but no teeth. The heat of his mouth is incredible, wet and tight, and Katsuki has to grip the headboard to keep from grabbing his hair and hurting him.
"Good," he manages. "That's good. Now your hand on what won't fit— fuck—"
Todoroki wraps his hand around the base of Katsuki's cock and starts moving. Immediately it’s clear he has no coordination between his hand and mouth. His hand moves at one speed while his mouth moves at another. His grip varies from too tight to too loose. His depth is inconsistent. And he keeps accidentally scraping with his teeth when he loses focus on keeping his lips wrapped correctly.
But he's trying. Katsuki can see the intense concentration on his face, see the way he's paying attention to every sound Katsuki makes, every hitch in his breathing. Trying to figure out what works and what doesn't through pure observation and adjustment. The way he glances up periodically with those actually kinda pretty eyes, checking for approval or correction or guidance.
It's endearing in a way he didn't expect. The deep focus. The determination to get this right despite having no idea what he's doing.
Katsuki's breathing is getting rougher, harder to control. "Try to move your hand and mouth together. Same rhythm." His voice comes out breathier than he wants to admit. "Like this—"
He reaches down and puts his hand over Todoroki's, guiding him through several strokes until the pattern becomes clear. Up and down together, keeping consistent pressure and speed.
It's better now. Not great, he's still learning, still figuring out the mechanics, but better. More coordinated. He takes Katsuki a little deeper, and the slide of wet heat combined with the pressure of his hand makes Katsuki's vision blur slightly.
"That's it," he groans, fingers tightening on the headboard. "Just like that. You're doing good."
Todoroki makes this pleased sound around his cock again, and the vibration travels straight up his spine like electricity. His other hand grips the edge of the mattress hard enough that his knuckles go white.
Then Todoroki gets a little ambitious, maybe high on that praise. He tries to take Katsuki deeper, too deep too fast, and immediately his gag reflex triggers violently. He chokes, pulls back with a gag, his eyes suddenly streaming with tears.
"Fuck—" he hisses, scraped and instantly wrecked. He's coughing, looking absolutely mortified by his body's reaction. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing—"
Katsuki reaches down, wiping a tear from his cheek, and that small gesture alone feels weirdly intimate. More intimate somehow than having his cock in Todoroki's mouth. "Hey. You're learning. Everyone chokes their first time."
"This is humiliating."
"This is normal." Katsuki tilts his chin up gently, making him meet his eyes. Making sure he understands. "You don't need to take it so deep. Just focus on the head and use your hand for the rest. Okay? There's no prize for deepthroating on your first try."
Todoroki nods, still looking glassy eyed but also very much determined. "Can I try again?"
"Yeah. Take your time."
He leans back in, and this time he follows Katsuki's instructions more carefully. He focuses on the head, sucking and licking while his hand works the shaft. It's still not skillful, the rhythm remains inconsistent, he still occasionally forgets about his teeth, but the sheer enthusiasm still makes up for every bit of inexperience.
"That's good," Katsuki groans. "Mh— fuck— that's really fucking good."
Todoroki hums again, absolutely pleased with the praise. Katsuki's hand tightens on the headboard, his other hand moving to rest in soft hair. Todoroki is finding his rhythm now, something that actually works. His hand and mouth move together, the pressure is more consistent, and he's taking Katsuki just deep enough to be amazing without triggering his gag reflex again.
"Fuck," Katsuki moans. "Just like that. Don't change what you're doing."
Todoroki keeps going, and the pressure is building fast in Katsuki's gut. The wet heat of his mouth, the slide of his hand, the sight of him between his legs with his lips stretched widely around his cock— it's all too much.
"I'm close," he warns, hand tightening slightly in Todoroki's hair. "You should pull off. I'm about to come."
But Todoroki doesn't pull away. If anything, he speeds up slightly, taking Katsuki deeper, his hand working faster.
"Todoroki, seriously—" Katsuki gasps. "I'm going to— you need to—"
Todoroki still doesn't pull off, and when Katsuki comes with a bitten-off groan, he tries to swallow. He doesn't quite manage it, some of it goes down but most of it spills from the corners of his mouth until he pulls back coughing and sputtering, looking oddly proud.
"Was that okay?" His voice is absolutely wrecked in a way that makes Katsuki's spent cock give an interested twitch.
He just stares at Todoroki for a long moment, chest heaving as he tries to remember how to breathe. His brain is still struggling to come back online after that orgasm. Todoroki is a complete mess. Lips swollen and red and shiny with spit and cum, more cum on his chin and neck, eyes still watering slightly from choking, his hair completely disheveled from Katsuki's hands. He's flushed and breathing hard, looking uncertain and hopeful and thoroughly debauched all at once.
He's never looked better.
"That was more than okay," Katsuki finally manages when he can form words again. "That was fucking perfect."
Todoroki unexpectedly smiles at that, small and pretty, and it transforms his entire face. Makes him look almost shy, completely different from the persona he lives. "Really?"
"Really. Come here."
Todoroki crawls up the bed slowly, and settles beside him. They're both covered in sweat and cum, both breathing hard, both completely spent.
For a moment Katsuki considers kissing him again, but that feels like it might be too much. Too intimate for what this is.
They collapse onto their backs, not touching but close enough on the narrow mattress to feel each other's heat. Katsuki's whole body feels loose and satisfied, all the tension from the game finally drained away and replaced by pleasant exhaustion.
The room is quiet except for their breathing and distant sounds from elsewhere in the hostel. Laughter, footsteps, creaking pipes. The streetlight still paints everything amber, creating an unexpected intimacy despite the shitty surroundings.
They lie there in comfortable silence for several minutes, both catching their breath and processing what just happened.
Katsuki glances over at Todoroki. His eyes are closed, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, and there's also still a small satisfied smile on his face that he probably doesn't realize is there. He looks completely relaxed, no tension anywhere in his body.
He looks at peace.
After a while, he opens his eyes and turns to look at Katsuki.
"Your brain still racing?"
"No." Todoroki sounds almost surprised. "It's quiet. I'm not thinking about... well, anything at all right now."
"Good. That's the point."
"Is it always like that? Does it always make everything else stop?"
"If it's good, yeah." Katsuki stretches, joints popping. "That's why people do it. Me too."
"I see." Todoroki is quiet for another moment. "Thank you. For showing me."
"Don't thank me. I got off too."
"Still." He sits up slowly, and Katsuki watches as he starts looking around for his clothes.
"I should go. Figure out which room I can take. Let you sleep."
There's no awkwardness in his movements now, no regret or shame. He's just matter-of-fact, already getting over this.
Katsuki respects that. Makes it easier.
"Yeah. Probably smart."
They get dressed in silence. Todoroki finds his scattered clothes and puts them on slowly, still a little sluggish. By the time he's fully clothed again he looks composed and put together. Like nothing happened.
It's impressive. The way he can just put his armor back on.
Katsuki dresses more slowly, watching him just as Todoroki heads for the door.
He pauses there, not turning around at first, hand on the knob.
"Bakugou."
"Mh?"
"Next time we play..." Todoroki glances back over his shoulder, and the Ice Prince is fully back now. Eyes narrowed slightly, almost smug. "I'm not going easy on you."
Katsuki smirks, loving a challenge when he sees one. "Good. Neither am I."
Todoroki nods once, then opens the door and leaves. The soft click sounds loud in the sudden silence
Katsuki stands there for a moment in the empty room, surrounded by the evidence of what they just did. The rumpled sheets, the smell of sex in the air, his remaining clothes scattered on the floor.
His phone buzzes from somewhere in his jacket pocket. He digs it out and sees a text from a teammate: You coming out tonight or what? Everyone's at that bar near the square. They have that Czech beer you like.
Katsuki types back: Tired. See you tomorrow.
The guy responds immediately: Did you get laid or something? Thought you wanted to come out.
Katsuki stares at the message for a moment, then types: Fuck off.
Another buzz: That's a yes. Good for you, man. See you on the flight.
Katsuki tosses his phone onto the bed and runs a hand through his hair. He should shower. Should probably figure out his actual room situation too. Should do a lot of things.
But instead he just lies back on the bed, staring at the water stained ceiling, feeling good. Satisfied. Loose and relaxed in a way he hasn't felt since before the tournament started.
Tomorrow they fly back to their separate countries. Tomorrow he goes back to Munich, and Todoroki goes back to Tokyo. Tomorrow this becomes just a memory, a one time thing that happened in Prague after a hard game.
Tomorrow everything goes back to normal. That rivalry between two rising stars, the competition, the endless cycle of games and tournaments where they'll face each other across the ice and try to destroy one another.
And that's fine. That's exactly how it should be.
This was what it was. Stress relief, release, nothing more. Very simple and uncomplicated. Two young people working off adrenaline and the need to fuck. That's all. Katsuki is completely fine with that. He doesn't want complications. Doesn't need them. This was perfect exactly as it was.
He falls asleep easily, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He dreams of nothing at all, his mind finally quiet.
