The boy dips his face, keeps an ear to his chest as if listening for the evidence; then, proof of life as battered, still-beating heart speaks back in a heartbeat. Thump thump thump. This makes two in sync when its rushing quickly meets Shoto's, a very small nod once Katsuki explains his worries away. His ears burn pink, and he tries to keep pressed to him for sake of being this close. Feeling hesitant over pushing things further now, but... his pulse skips, and his brows knit with his quiet attempts to process, to understand that it's Katsuki that's somehow sparked his excitement.
Still holding back.]
Maybe mine's the one to worry about...
[And once again, his picking up pace to match the sound of the other's, sparked by his voice when he cups his face with shaking hands of his own, pressed thumbs smoothed to cheekbone's pink in response to the warmth of it. "I'm here, I've got you". He's stuck on "rough" like it might call violence into something this soft, worries because he's bigger, taller, three months older than the boy in his lap, each touch further than either one has led with before. He sighs a muffled sound as he breathes against his shoulder, dips his face into the slide of his throat, mouths his jaw before pulling away with painfully slow, shy movements, salt-sweet sticking.]
I didn't think I'd still be shaking like this-
[Because he's restless, because he's embarrassed that Katsuki can still hear his heartbeat. Pulse, bloodstream, anxious nerves when he grips his waist with weak, small confidence; without examples of what to do, how close to pull without his fear of bruising the other. He can't help his thoughts, his small reminders peeking back into existence; a million others where they fight to be first of them. There's still the flinch when his eyes slip shut, recall his half-emptied room, a loveless marriage held together stuck with power and threats, false love in a house of real violence, and he's tensed with a constant, terrified worry he's incapable of the softness his hands won't translate. Careful fingers, cautious touch.
He wants to tell him, to start to tell him everything his mind's built up. "Sorry, it's clumsy; sorry, I like you more than anything else; sorry, I don't have words for this, yet". Male, female; no one else, no one close to what Katsuki sparks inside at this very moment; and he is desperate to connect with the heart he didn't grow up with, his open want when he grinds up softly to meet the blond like this, to brush their hips together.]
I've never really liked anyone else, before...
[A second worry when he threads loose fingers through a spiked nape of peach-fuzz. Open, honest.]
You're special, to me.
[Very simply.]
Edited (my terrible math skills...) 2026-04-29 22:19 (UTC)
[Katsuki can hear everything, indeed. That anxious heartbeat, the blood rushing to pinken that pretty face whenever he's shy. His own quickening pace as fast as it can, when Shoto presses his head against chest to listen. Telling on Katsuki-- letting the other know just how much he loves him despite how much he tries to keep a serious expression.
His touch is so gentle and cautious, bodies both shaking thanks to nerves and adrenaline keeping them from being still. Katsuki's pout melts into a soft smile when his face is held so softly in Shoto's hands. When he drops to breathe lightly into the vampire's shoulder, right in the crook of his neck. He feels his body tense a little when the older boy trails up to kiss his jaw, and then the tenseness releases as a sigh trembles out of his mouth. This kind of attention was so foreign and new to him that a part of it sets off the part of his brain that says "NO" whenever someone enters his bubble. But then it also sets off the other part of his brain, which is.... well.
It's so starved from this kind of touch and wants more, more, and more---
It's almost overwhelming being caught between such extremes. But Shoto makes it so easy to let the "want" win. Every time he looks into those eyes and sees just how much the other boy truly loved him, he just wants to be as close as he can to the other. Wants to kiss him over and over, and everywhere he can. Right now is no exception, and Shoto seems to understand as he gently grinds up against Katsuki. Their hips rubbing together in a way that takes his breath away.
He almost misses everything said, but how could he really? Being called "special" is something that takes Katsuki back just a little. Lips pursing as he thinks about all the times his mother would try to beat it into him that he wasn't special at all. Trying to beat down an inflating ego from peers and teachers praising his every move, but using the wrong words to do so. Giving him an insecurity that's stuck with him, still.
Both of them seem to have issues with love from broken homes. But Katsuki is more than happy to experience these new feelings together. To explore together.]
...I'm special?
[Katsuki asks that quietly, while his boyfriend's hands wander to the nape of his neck. His own slip down to grasp at Shoto's waist. Holding him there as he very nervously rolls his back against him, as if to answer that curious grind.]
Even though there's those other "me"s before me?
[He always felt a little insecure about the fact that there's other Bakugo Katsukis out there. Feeling this weird urge to be the "best" one. The "real" one. He's wondered, lightly, unhealthily, if Shoto's ever had any feelings at all for the other versions he's met. If there's Katsukis that he likes more than him.
[How many lives has he lived to find this specific love? He half recalls "Katsuki" as he was on Avalon; a dirt path leading up to a painted-white door, that same door opening into a room, Izuku's face beaming up to invite him inside. Their house, their partnership established long before he'd entered their frame; without him. Izuku's... Katsuki's. This was 5 years ago, and there'd been no name for the something that'd crumpled up inside him. How it'd been too late for his feelings to move into anything else; and then, those same friends, disappearing silently back into their own lost times. Again, and again, and again. How long had he'd carried himself confused, crushed, quietly devasted back to Hijikata? Without a word yet for the searing, pinching, aching feeling his heart first experienced?
The stranger-friend, looking in on the something he'd always believed unattainable.
Watching hurt. It'd always hurt. And how does he, who tries to keep buried so many things to not trouble others, explain how deeply he felt his initial loss of the blond? His first self, his second self; his third, his fourth...? His only constant being a rough, world-weary swordsman trying to keep him intact. He's tucked too much into the backs of his thoughts; keeps his feelings in places he always hopes to forget.
Friends, a family, all lost potentials in the things left behind, hopelessly hoping his life would be different "next time around". Katsuki Two, distraction from One; Izuku Fourth from the Third. Trailing Katsuki. Sparring with Katsuki. Katsuki, physically, reigniting the flames he'd thought he'd lost to their magics, the first he'd met in a sea of an unfamiliar new. And there, the better part of his first two years whittled trying to be close; to pull friendship from one whose interests centered entirely on another.
He doesn't mean to, but the kiss that follows isn't nearly as chaste as he wants it, as Shoto's trying to be.]
You're the first one that's looked at me-
[The boy-weapon outsider. He feels restless over how Katsuki looks at him, how no one's ever.
3 lives built-up when his fingers shake, and he peeks up brightly with a nameless feeling, tugging his shirt up.]
Like it mattered. [Then, as if he's said nothing-] Can I touch you...?
[His Katsuki. His own unique, special, irreplaceably in his timeline so full of others. He's never said it, wasn't allowed to say it when they'd stood at their arms-length before, but... the name slips out despite all the breath he's held. Softly, quietly.]
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no subject
The boy dips his face, keeps an ear to his chest as if listening for the evidence; then, proof of life as battered, still-beating heart speaks back in a heartbeat. Thump thump thump. This makes two in sync when its rushing quickly meets Shoto's, a very small nod once Katsuki explains his worries away. His ears burn pink, and he tries to keep pressed to him for sake of being this close. Feeling hesitant over pushing things further now, but... his pulse skips, and his brows knit with his quiet attempts to process, to understand that it's Katsuki that's somehow sparked his excitement.
Still holding back.]
Maybe mine's the one to worry about...
[And once again, his picking up pace to match the sound of the other's, sparked by his voice when he cups his face with shaking hands of his own, pressed thumbs smoothed to cheekbone's pink in response to the warmth of it. "I'm here, I've got you". He's stuck on "rough" like it might call violence into something this soft, worries because he's bigger, taller, three months older than the boy in his lap, each touch further than either one has led with before. He sighs a muffled sound as he breathes against his shoulder, dips his face into the slide of his throat, mouths his jaw before pulling away with painfully slow, shy movements, salt-sweet sticking.]
I didn't think I'd still be shaking like this-
[Because he's restless, because he's embarrassed that Katsuki can still hear his heartbeat. Pulse, bloodstream, anxious nerves when he grips his waist with weak, small confidence; without examples of what to do, how close to pull without his fear of bruising the other. He can't help his thoughts, his small reminders peeking back into existence; a million others where they fight to be first of them. There's still the flinch when his eyes slip shut, recall his half-emptied room, a loveless marriage held together stuck with power and threats, false love in a house of real violence, and he's tensed with a constant, terrified worry he's incapable of the softness his hands won't translate. Careful fingers, cautious touch.
He wants to tell him, to start to tell him everything his mind's built up. "Sorry, it's clumsy; sorry, I like you more than anything else; sorry, I don't have words for this, yet". Male, female; no one else, no one close to what Katsuki sparks inside at this very moment; and he is desperate to connect with the heart he didn't grow up with, his open want when he grinds up softly to meet the blond like this, to brush their hips together.]
I've never really liked anyone else, before...
[A second worry when he threads loose fingers through a spiked nape of peach-fuzz. Open, honest.]
You're special, to me.
[Very simply.]
no subject
His touch is so gentle and cautious, bodies both shaking thanks to nerves and adrenaline keeping them from being still. Katsuki's pout melts into a soft smile when his face is held so softly in Shoto's hands. When he drops to breathe lightly into the vampire's shoulder, right in the crook of his neck. He feels his body tense a little when the older boy trails up to kiss his jaw, and then the tenseness releases as a sigh trembles out of his mouth. This kind of attention was so foreign and new to him that a part of it sets off the part of his brain that says "NO" whenever someone enters his bubble. But then it also sets off the other part of his brain, which is.... well.
It's so starved from this kind of touch and wants more, more, and more---
It's almost overwhelming being caught between such extremes. But Shoto makes it so easy to let the "want" win. Every time he looks into those eyes and sees just how much the other boy truly loved him, he just wants to be as close as he can to the other. Wants to kiss him over and over, and everywhere he can. Right now is no exception, and Shoto seems to understand as he gently grinds up against Katsuki. Their hips rubbing together in a way that takes his breath away.
He almost misses everything said, but how could he really? Being called "special" is something that takes Katsuki back just a little. Lips pursing as he thinks about all the times his mother would try to beat it into him that he wasn't special at all. Trying to beat down an inflating ego from peers and teachers praising his every move, but using the wrong words to do so. Giving him an insecurity that's stuck with him, still.
Both of them seem to have issues with love from broken homes. But Katsuki is more than happy to experience these new feelings together. To explore together.]
...I'm special?
[Katsuki asks that quietly, while his boyfriend's hands wander to the nape of his neck. His own slip down to grasp at Shoto's waist. Holding him there as he very nervously rolls his back against him, as if to answer that curious grind.]
Even though there's those other "me"s before me?
[He always felt a little insecure about the fact that there's other Bakugo Katsukis out there. Feeling this weird urge to be the "best" one. The "real" one. He's wondered, lightly, unhealthily, if Shoto's ever had any feelings at all for the other versions he's met. If there's Katsukis that he likes more than him.
Even if it's something so silly to worry over...]
no subject
The stranger-friend, looking in on the something he'd always believed unattainable.
Watching hurt. It'd always hurt. And how does he, who tries to keep buried so many things to not trouble others, explain how deeply he felt his initial loss of the blond? His first self, his second self; his third, his fourth...? His only constant being a rough, world-weary swordsman trying to keep him intact. He's tucked too much into the backs of his thoughts; keeps his feelings in places he always hopes to forget.
Friends, a family, all lost potentials in the things left behind, hopelessly hoping his life would be different "next time around". Katsuki Two, distraction from One; Izuku Fourth from the Third. Trailing Katsuki. Sparring with Katsuki. Katsuki, physically, reigniting the flames he'd thought he'd lost to their magics, the first he'd met in a sea of an unfamiliar new. And there, the better part of his first two years whittled trying to be close; to pull friendship from one whose interests centered entirely on another.
He doesn't mean to, but the kiss that follows isn't nearly as chaste as he wants it, as Shoto's trying to be.]
You're the first one that's looked at me-
[The boy-weapon outsider. He feels restless over how Katsuki looks at him, how no one's ever.
3 lives built-up when his fingers shake, and he peeks up brightly with a nameless feeling, tugging his shirt up.]
Like it mattered. [Then, as if he's said nothing-] Can I touch you...?
[His Katsuki. His own unique, special, irreplaceably in his timeline so full of others. He's never said it, wasn't allowed to say it when they'd stood at their arms-length before, but... the name slips out despite all the breath he's held. Softly, quietly.]
Katsuki?