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The gym smelled of ozone, scorched concrete, and the cloying, sweet scent of nitroglycerin. It was a cavernous space of reinforced steel and high-impact flooring. The air hummed, thick with the residue of a dozen previous bouts, but the current silence was different. It was a vacuum, a held breath before the storm.
The whistle shrilled, a piercing needle of sound that punctured the stillness.
Bakugo didn't wait for the echo to die. He launched himself forward, his boots skidding across the floor as a massive detonation erupted from his palms. The blast sent him screaming through the air, a human missile trailed by a wake of orange flame and grey smoke.
Across the expanse, Todoroki stood motionless. He didn't flinch at the roar of the explosion. He simply raised his right hand, a gesture as casual as closing a curtain against the morning sun.
A deep, splintering crack ripped through the floor. Ice surged upward, a jagged white tide that froze the air in its path. The frost climbed higher and higher, crystallizing into a monolithic wall of translucent blue and blinding white. It slammed into place a fraction of a second before Bakugo hit.
The collision was a thunderclap.
His grin widened, teeth bared in a feral snarl. He didn't recoil. He leaned into the impact, his palms pressing flat against the frozen surface.
"Get out of my way!"
Another blast, tighter and more concentrated than the first, tore into the ice. Fractures raced across the barrier like a spiderweb of lightning. For a heartbeat, the shards hung suspended in the smoke, glistening like diamonds in the harsh overhead fluorescent lights. Then, the wall disintegrated.
The explosive man tore through the cloud of ice and steam without slowing. He didn't need to look back to know the barrier was gone; he could feel the rush of air, the sudden absence of resistance.
He pivoted in mid-air, a second explosion propelling him in a sharp, jagged arc.
Todoroki shifted his weight, his expression a mask of porcelain indifference. He swept his arm across the horizon, and a second wall of ice surged from the concrete, thicker and more opaque than the first.
The impact shook the very foundations of the gym. Shards of ice scraped against the fabric of Bakugo’s uniform, the sharp edges whistling past his ears. One sliver of frost grazed Todoroki’s cheek, vanishing into the white strands of his hair.
Todoroki didn't even blink.
"Is that all you've got, Icy-Hot?" He roared, his voice raspy and hungry. "I thought you were actually going to make me work for it today!"
Todoroki remained silent. His mismatched eyes—one grey, one turquoise—tracked Bakugo’s every movement with clinical precision. He wasn't fighting; he was calculating.
The red-eyed felt the irritation simmer in his gut, hot and volatile. He hated that look. He hated the way Todoroki treated the battle like a mathematical equation to be solved.
"Answer me, you damn statue!"
Bakugo dove again, the explosions coming faster now, a staccato rhythm of thunder. He changed direction in a blur, snapping his body left and then right, forcing Todoroki to rebuild his defenses in a frantic, overlapping sequence. Ice bloomed wherever Bakugo intended to land, only to be vaporized by a blast of heat that turned the gym into a sauna of swirling mist.
The pace became relentless. The floor was no longer concrete; it was a wasteland of slush and scorched craters.
Todoroki continued to move with measured steps. He didn't waste a single motion. He let some attacks pass, allowing the heat to singe the air around him, only raising a barrier when the threat became critical. He was a mountain, immovable and cold, absorbing the storm.
Bakugo’s breathing grew heavy, his lungs burning with the scent of his own sweat and burnt sugar. He landed in a crouch, his palms sparking with small, impatient pops.
"Stop hiding behind your walls!" He yelled, his eyes narrowed. "Fight me for real!"
Todoroki finally spoke, his voice a low, steady drone that cut through the ringing in Bakugo's ears.
"I am fighting."
"Like hell you are! You're just waiting for me to tire out. You're playing it safe. You're boring!"
Todoroki’s gaze shifted, a flicker of something passing through the turquoise eye. "Safety is efficiency."
"Efficiency is for cowards!"
Bakugo launched himself again, but this time, he didn't go for a direct hit. He spiraled, using a series of small, controlled blasts to create a whirlwind of smoke and heat. He vanished into the haze, leaving Todoroki staring into a wall of grey.
Todoroki didn't panic. He closed his eyes, listening to the displacement of air, feeling the sudden spike in temperature. He swung his left arm, unleashing a torrent of flame that incinerated the smoke in a blinding flash of crimson.
The fire roared, a hungry beast that turned the gym into an oven.
Bakugo emerged from the flames, his skin flushed red, his uniform singed. He had used the heat to mask his trajectory, diving low beneath the fire. He was suddenly there, a blur of motion, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Five meters.
Three.
Two.
Todoroki reacted instantly, a wall of ice erupting between them. But Bakugo didn't try to break it this time. He used the wall as a springboard, blasting himself upward and over the crest of the ice.
He descended like a falling star, his fist clenched, aimed directly at Todoroki’s jaw.
Todoroki tilted his head by a mere inch. The punch whistled past, the wind of the strike whipping his hair across his forehead.
Bakugo landed with a heavy thud, rolling back onto his feet. He was panting, a manic grin plastered on his face. He could see the slight rise and fall of Todoroki’s chest. The stoicism was still there, but the edges were fraying.
"What's wrong?" The blond sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "Tired already? Or are you still waiting for daddy to tell you how to fight?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
The air in the gym seemed to freeze, not from the quirk, but from the sudden, violent shift in pressure. Bakugo felt it—a sudden drop in temperature that had nothing to do with ice.
Todoroki didn't move. He didn't scowl. He didn't scream.
But when he looked at Bakugo, the clinical precision was gone. The turquoise and grey eyes had sharpened into something predatory. There was a flicker of genuine anger there, a simmering heat that threatened to boil over.
Bakugo felt a shiver race down his spine. It wasn't fear; it was a jolt of adrenaline, a violent sense of anticipation that made his blood sing.
"Say that again," Todoroki murmured.
"I said," Bakugo stepped forward, his voice a low growl, "that you're a pampered little puppet. You've got all this power and no spine to use it unless someone tells you to."
Bakugo swung again, a wide, powerful hook.
Todoroki didn't raise a wall. He didn't use fire.
His hand shot out with the speed of a viper, his fingers clamping around Bakugo’s forearm. The grip was a steel vise, digging deep into the muscle, halting the punch dead in its tracks.
Bakugo froze. He tried to wrench his arm away, but Todoroki didn't budge. The strength in those fingers was unexpected, raw and desperate.
"Katsuki..."
The way Todoroki said his name was different. It wasn't the distant, polite acknowledgment of a classmate. It was low, intimate, and laced with a dangerous edge.
"Let go, Half-and-Half!" Bakugo snapped, though the bite in his voice was wavering.
Todoroki didn't let go. Instead, he stepped closer, closing the gap until their chests were nearly touching. The contrast was jarring—the radiating heat of Bakugo’s skin clashing with the sudden, oppressive chill emanating from Todoroki’s right side.
"You're awfully loud today," Todoroki whispered, his breath warm against Bakugo's ear.
"Go fuck yourself!"
Bakugo struggled, his boots scraping against the slushy floor. He tried to ignite a blast in his free hand, but Todoroki was faster. With a sudden, violent jerk, Todoroki yanked him forward, throwing Bakugo completely off balance.
Before Bakugo could recover, he was slammed backward.
The impact was hard and blunt as his back hit one of the gym’s massive steel support pillars. The metal groaned under the force, and the air left Bakugo's lungs in a sharp wheeze.
Todoroki didn't pull away. He crowded into Bakugo’s space, his body pinning him against the cold steel. He planted his hand on the pillar next to Bakugo’s head, his arm a barrier that locked him in.
Bakugo looked up, his red eyes wide, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He could smell the scent of winter and old ash clinging to Todoroki. He could feel the heat of the other man's left side pressing against his hip, while the right side felt like a slab of marble.
"You're fucking insane," The blond whispered, his voice strained.
Todoroki didn't answer. He stared down at him with an intensity that felt like it was stripping Bakugo bare. The silence between them was no longer a vacuum; it was a live wire, humming with a tension that made the air feel thick, almost liquid.
His gaze dropped to Bakugo’s lips, then back up to his eyes. The anger was still there, but it had mutated. It was no longer just about the insult; it was about the friction between them, the years of rivalry and unspoken frustration finally condensing into a single, volatile point.
"I wonder," Todoroki murmured, his voice dropping an octave, "how much longer you're going to keep trying to provoke me before I shut you up in the only way you understand."
Bakugo opened his mouth to spit out another curse, to tell him to die, to blast him through the wall—but the words died in his throat. He was hyper-aware of everything: the grit of the floor beneath his boots, the cold steel of the pillar biting into his shoulder blades, and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the other’s heart beating against his own.
Todoroki leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Bakugo’s. The proximity was suffocating. Bakugo could see the individual flecks of gold in Todoroki’s turquoise eye, the slight tremor in his jaw.
"You think you're the only one who's frustrated, Katsuki?"
Bakugo’s breath hitched. He felt a sudden, sharp surge of desire, a hunger that mirrored the violence of their fight. He reached up, not to push him away, but to grab the front of his uniform, bunching the fabric in his fist and pulling him closer.
"Then do it, you bastard," Bakugo challenged, his voice a ragged whisper. "Shut me up."
***
"Ah… nnh!"
The sound was a strangled, wet moan that echoed off the bedroom walls.
Bakugo was slammed against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. His legs were hooked tightly around the other man’s waist, his heels digging into the small of his back. One of Todoroki’s hands was clamped like a vice around both of Bakugo’s wrists, pinning them high above his head against the drywall.
They were kissing with a violence that mirrored the gym, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. It wasn't a gentle embrace; it was a continuation of the fight. Bakugo’s chest heaved, his heart hammering against his ribs as their bodies crushed together, leaving no room for air.
Todoroki pulled back just an inch, a string of saliva connecting their lips. His eyes, usually so distant, were dark, predatory.
"You talk so much, Katsuki," The bi-color whispered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "All that screaming. All that pride."
Bakugo gasped, his head lolling back against the wall. "Shut… shut up… just fuck me already, you bastard."
Todoroki didn't move. He shifted his weight, pressing his hardness firmly against Bakugo’s thigh. He let out a huff of a laugh, a sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down Bakugo’s spine.
"Is that how you ask? No manners at all."
"I don't… give a fuck about manners!" Bakugo snapped, though it ended in a whimper as Todoroki bit down hard on the sensitive skin of his neck.
Bakugo arched his back, a loud moan escaping him. He quickly clamped his mouth shut, remembering where they were. The UA dorms were quiet, the walls thin. Any noise could bring classmates—or worse, Aizawa—to the door.
Todoroki felt the tension in Bakugo’s throat and smiled. He pulled back, his gaze sweeping over Bakugo’s flushed face and blown-out pupils.
"Who would have thought, Huh?" Todoroki murmured, his breath hot against Bakugo’s ear. "Outside you're so fucking arrogant, proud… pining for a bit of my attention. But here… you act like a fucking whore, begging me to fuck you, Begging for me to finally put you in your place."
Bakugo’s face burned a deep crimson. The insult hit him like a physical blow, but instead of anger, it triggered a surge of heat in his gut. He leaned his head back, exposing his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.
"I'm not… a whore," Bakugo whispered, though his voice lacked any real conviction.
"You are," Todoroki countered, his hand leaving Bakugo's wrists to slide down his chest, gripping a nipple and twisting it sharply. "A loud, foul-mouthed little slut who can't handle it when someone finally pushes back. Look at you. Shaking. You love it when I talk to you like this, don't you?"
Bakugo let out a choked sound, half-sob, half-moan. He tried to pull away, but Todoroki’s grip tightened, pinning him more firmly against the wall.
"Answer me, Katsuki. Tell me what you are."
"A… a slut," Bakugo gasped, the words tasting like defeat and desire. "I'm a fucking slut."
Todoroki’s expression didn't soften. If anything, it grew colder, more demanding. He tore Bakugo away from the wall, and drove him onto the bed hard enough to make the mattress jolt beneath them. Before he could rise, Todoroki was over him, pinning him down with his weight. He reached down, grabbing the waistband of Bakugo’s pants and ripping them down with a single, violent tug. The fabric groaned and gave way, and Bakugo’s underwear followed in the same swift motion. The sudden exposure left him shivering in the cool air of the room, his pale skin pebbled with goosebumps.
He stood over him, a predator admiring a trapped animal. He activated his quirk, a faint frost beginning to crystallize around his right side.
— Look how it's dripping. So anxious about me. How long were you thinking about this while you were yelling at me during practice?
The right side of Todoroki's hand became a weapon of absolute zero. Bakugo let out a muffled scream as the bi-color pressed his icy palm against his chest, right over his heart. The thermal shock was brutal. The cold didn't just touch the skin; it pierced through the muscle, sinking deep into the bone. Bakugo's nipples hardened instantly, peaking into tight, sensitive knots. A violent shudder racked his entire frame, his breath hitching in a ragged gasp as the freeze locked his muscles in place.
—Do you like the cold, Katsuki? —He asked with a clinical detachment. He began to slide the frozen palm downward as he kissed and bit his neck. The ice traced a path over the defined ridges of Bakugo's abdomen, leaving a trail of white frost on the flushed skin. Every inch the hand moved felt like a blade of ice carving into him. He was trembling, his teeth chattering. As the frozen fingers finally grazed the base of his cock, he arched his back off the mattress. A moan escaped him, a sound caught between a sob and a plea, his hips twitching involuntarily against the freezing touch.
Todoroki paused, his eyes tracking the way Bakugo’s chest heaved. He shifted his weight, moving his left hand upward. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the other's throat.
He squeezed.
The pressure was precise, cutting off the airflow just enough to make the world blur at the edges. Bakugo’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating as oxygen became a luxury. Todoroki didn't let go; he leaned in, the heat from his left side beginning to bleed into his palm. He activated the fire quirk slowly, letting a concentrated, searing warmth radiate through his grip.
The contrast was agonizing. While the right hand kept Bakugo's lower half in a state of frozen shock, the left hand burned into the delicate skin of his neck. The heat intensified, not enough to blister, but enough to leave a lasting, angry red mark circling his throat—a collar of heat and ownership. Bakugo’s face flushed a deep crimson, his mouth hanging open as he fought for air, his body vibrating with the intensity of the conflicting temperatures. He leaned into the choke, his throat pulsing against the other’s calloused skin, finding a twisted pleasure in the restriction.
Todoroki finally released the throat, leaving the skin there throbbing and branded. He didn't give him a second to recover. He shifted his focus, extinguishing the ice and allowing a focused, radiating heat to bloom from his left palm.
He pressed the warm hand firmly against Bakugo’s inner thigh. The temperature was borderline excessive, hovering on the edge of a burn.
The blond jumped, a loud cry nearly escaping his lips. The sudden transition from the biting frost to the oppressive heat sent a jolt through his nervous system. Todoroki reacted instantly, shoving two fingers deep into Bakugo’s mouth.
The intrusion was sudden and dominant. Bakugo’s eyes widened, his teeth grazing the skin of the other man’s fingers for a split second before he surrendered. He began to suck on the digits instinctively, his tongue swirling around the skin, tasting the salt and the faint scent of ozone. His breath came in hot, ragged bursts, coating Todoroki's fingers in a thick layer of saliva.
"Shh," The two-toned man commanded, his voice dripping with a cruel sweetness that clashed with the intensity of his actions. "Keep it down”.
Todoroki pushed his fingers deeper, hitting the back of the red-eyed man's throat and forcing a muffled, wet sound from the blonde. He watched with a predatory satisfaction as Bakugo’s eyes glazed over, his pride dissolving into raw, animalistic need.
“You wouldn't want Kirishima or Kaminari to hear how you're whimpering for me, would you? Imagine their faces when they find out the Great Bakugo is nothing but a needy little hole for me to use."
The mention of their classmates made Bakugo stiffen, a flash of his usual defiance flickering in his eyes, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat radiating from Todoroki's palm on his thigh. The warmth was spreading, melting the last remnants of the ice and replacing it with a heavy, pulsing ache in his groin.
Todoroki withdrew his fingers slowly, a string of saliva connecting them to Bakugo's trembling lower lip. He shifted his hand, sliding the heat of his palm upward, grazing the sensitive skin of Bakugo’s groin. He didn't touch the cock yet; he just hovered, the warmth making the blood rush to the area, making Bakugo’s erection throb with an unbearable intensity.
The skin was hypersensitive, screaming for a touch that wasn't meant to torture. Bakugo let out a broken whimper, his hips lifting off the bed in a subconscious search for friction. Todoroki smirked, the expression barely there but devastating in its arrogance. He gripped the length of him, his thumb rubbing over the leaking tip, smearing the pre-cum across the glans.
"Look at you," Hei whispered, his voice a low vibration that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "So loud in public, so quiet in my bed. I think you're finally starting to understand who is in charge."
"Please," Bakugo whimpered, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "Shouto, please… just do it."
"Please what?" Todoroki asked, his voice devoid of pity. "Be specific. Tell me exactly what you want your betters to do to you."
"Fuck me!" Bakugo hissed, his eyes pleading. "Fuck me, you arrogant piece of shit! Please!"
Todoroki chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through both their chests. He reached for his own pants, stripping them off in a few hurried motions, revealing his own erection. It is thick, veiny, and throbbing, leaking its own fluid.
Bakugo stared at it, his mouth hanging open.He looks like a starving man staring at a feast. He reaches out, his fingers trembling, wanting to touch, but Todoroki slapped his hand away.
"I didn't tell you to touch," Todoroki whispered. The blond freezes, he looks up at the two-toned man with wide, desperate eyes.
He reached for a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. He didn't ease into it. He pushed two fingers deep into Bakugo’s tight heat in one swift motion.
"Ah! Fuck!" Bakugo’s head slammed back against the bed. He tried to scream, but the other man leaned in, capturing his mouth in a rough, punishing kiss.
Todoroki’s tongue invaded his mouth, sucking on Bakugo’s tongue, exchanging saliva in a messy, desperate clash. While he kept Bakugo silenced with the kiss, his fingers began to work. He stretched him open, curling his fingers to hit the prostate, finding the exact spot that made Bakugo’s entire body shudder.
Bakugo’s legs tightened around Todoroki’s waist, his toes curling. He was making muffled, high-pitched sounds into the otheri’s mouth, his body vibrating with the need for more.
Todoroki pulled away, leaving the other breathless and drooling.
"You're so wet," He observed, his voice clinical yet cruel. "Look at how you're leaking for me. You're practically begging for it, aren't you? Just a pathetic, desperate little thing."
"I hate you," Bakugo sobbed, though he was grinding his hips against Todoroki’s hand. "I fucking hate you."
"I know," Todoroki replied. "That's why this feels so good."
He shifted his position, lifting Bakugo´s hips slightly higher. He positioned the head of his cock against Bakugo’s entrance, the tip rubbing against the slick opening. He didn't push in. He just teased the edge, sliding in and out a fraction of an inch.
Bakugo let out a whimper, his hips bucking. "Now! Now, goddammit!"
Todoroki leaned in, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Not yet."
He pulled back entirely, leaving Bakugo empty and aching.
"What are you doing?!" Bakugo yelled, his voice cracking.
Todoroki quickly slapped his hand over Bakugo’s mouth, his eyes narrowing. "I told you to be quiet. If you can't control yourself, maybe I should just leave you like this. Frustrated. Empty. Pathetic."
Bakugo’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. He shook his head violently, his muffled pleas sounding like a wounded animal. He began to lick Todoroki’s palm, his eyes wide and desperate, pleading for the release he had been denied.
Todoroki watched him for a long moment, enjoying the sight of the most prideful student in Class ‘A’ reduced to a begging mess. Slowly, he moved his hand from Bakugo’s mouth to his throat, squeezing just enough to make Bakugo gasp.
"You want it that badly?"
Bakugo nodded frantically.
"Then beg for it. Properly."
"Please… please fuck me, Shouto," Bakugo whimpered, his voice trembling. "I'm your slut. I'm your fucking whore. Just… please, put it in. I need you. I need you inside me."
Todoroki’s expression shifted. The coldness remained, but it was now laced with an intense, burning hunger. He gripped Bakugo by the waist, lifting him up higher, and thrust forward.
He buried himself in one deep, violent surge.
Bakugo’s scream was cut short as Todoroki slammed his mouth back onto his, swallowing the sound. The sensation was overwhelming. Bakugo felt himself being split open, the thickness of his cock filling every available space, stretching him to the limit.
The sound of their bodies colliding was a wet, heavy slap that echoed in the small room.
Todoroki didn't give him time to adjust. He began to move, his thrusts hard and relentless. Every time he pushed in, he hit Bakugo’s prostate with unerring accuracy.
The sound of lubricant and natural fluids mixing was loud in the silence of the room. Bakugo was losing his mind. The world had narrowed down to the feeling of Todoroki inside him and the crushing pressure of the mattress against his back.
"You… you're so tight," Todoroki groaned, his voice losing some of its composure. "Fuck, Katsuki… you're gripping me so hard."
"More!" Bakugo gasped, his voice a ragged whisper. "Harder! Break me, you bastard!"
Todoroki's grip on Bakugo's waist tightens, his fingers digging into the skin, leaving bruises that will last for days. He increases the speed, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, more frantic. He bites into Bakugo's neck, drawing blood, marking him as his own.
The friction was intense, the heat building between them. Bakugo’s body jiggled with every impact, his breasts—small but sensitive—rubbing against Todoroki’s chest.
In his fervor, Todoroki’s cock slipped out almost entirely during a particularly violent thrust, the air making a wet sound as it exited. He didn't stop, immediately slamming back in, the impact forcing a loud, guttural moan from Bakugo’s throat.
"Shhh!" Todoroki hissed, though he was breathing just as hard.
He decided to bring the temperature play back into the mix. As he continued to fuck the blond, he let a wave of heat radiate from his left side, warming the skin of their stomachs where they touched. Then, he suddenly shifted, sending a shock of freezing cold through his right side.
The sudden contrast made Bakugo shriek.
Todoroki immediately clamped his hand over Bakugo’s mouth, his fingers digging into his cheeks.
"Do you like that?" He whispered, his voice dark. "Burning and freezing all at once? Just like your explosions. Total chaos."
Bakugo couldn't answer; he could only moan, his eyes rolling back in his head. The sensory overload was too much. The heat, the cold, the stretching, the degradation—it was a storm that was pulling him under.
Todoroki began to slow down.
Bakugo felt it immediately. The rhythm changed from a frantic assault to a slow, agonizing grind. Todoroki was circling the spot, teasing the edge of the impatient man’s climax, but refusing to push him over.
"No… no, don't stop," Bakugo pleaded, his voice a broken whisper. "Shouto, please, don't stop! I'm close… I'm so close!"
"I know you are," Todoroki murmured, his eyes locking onto Bakugo’s. "But I didn't tell you that you could cum."
He pulled back almost all the way, the head of his cock barely touching the entrance. He stayed there, vibrating, the tension in the room becoming thick enough to choke on.
"Please!" Bakugo sobbed, his hips jerking desperately, trying to pull Todoroki back in. "Please, I'll do anything! I'll be whatever you want! Just let me cum!"
"Anything?" Todoroki asked, a cruel glint in his eye.
"Yes! Anything!"
"Then tell me. Tell me how much of a pathetic slut you are for me. Tell me that you're nothing without my cock inside you."
Bakugo’s pride fought one last, losing battle. He looked at the man he had fought, the man he had envied, the man who now held his entire world in the palm of his hand.
"I'm… I'm a pathetic slut," Bakugo wailed softly, tears streaming down his face. "I'm nothing… I'm just your toy. I'm your fucking hole. Please, Shouto… please let me cum for you."
Todoroki’s composure finally broke. He let out a low, animalistic growl and slammed back into Bakugo with everything he had.
The pace was no longer measured. It was a blur of friction and sweat. The sound of their bodies meeting was rhythmic and vulgar. Todoroki’s balls slapped against Bakugo’s skin with every thrust, a wet, fleshy sound that added to the debauchery.
The red-eyed man was screaming now, though he tried to bite his own arm to keep the noise down. He felt the pressure building, a white-hot explosion starting in his gut and radiating outward.
"Now" Todoroki commanded, his voice finally breaking. "Cum for me"
Bakugo let out a strangled cry as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. His internal muscles clamped down on Todoroki’s cock in violent, rhythmic pulses, milking him with a desperate intensity. He came hard, his seed splashing across their stomach, a messy, hot release that left him shaking and breathless.
Todoroki didn't stop. He gave three more deep, punishing thrusts, his own climax hitting him with a force that made his entire body stiffen. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he filled Bakugo with a hot, thick torrent of cum.
They stayed like that for a long time, pinned against the mattress, their breathing the only sound in the room. Todoroki’s forehead rested against the other’s, their sweat mingling, their hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.
Slowly, Todoroki withdrew. The sound was wet, sliding as he pulled out, leaving Bakugo’s entrance gaping and leaking a mixture of lubricant and semen.
The mattress dipped under Bakugo’s weight as he sank, his muscles turning to lead. He didn't just lie down; he collapsed, limbs splayed across the tangled linen like a seastar. His chest heaved, drawing in air that tasted of ozone and salt. He looked ruined, a wreckage of sweat and adrenaline, yet a jagged, triumphant smile clung to his lips.
Todoroki hovered over him, the predatory shadow that had dominated the last hour receding from his eyes. The intensity vanished, leaving behind a familiar, crystalline calm, though a new warmth simmered beneath the surface—a quiet, grounding understanding. He watched the erratic rise and fall of Bakugo’s ribs, his expression smoothing into something dangerously close to tenderness.
"You're shaking," Todoroki observed. His voice remained a low drone, but the sharp edge had vanished.
Bakugo let out a huff that was half-laugh, half-groan. He stared up at the ceiling, the white plaster blurring.
"Shut up, Icy-hot. I'm fine."
Bakugo shifted, the movement causing the collar of the sheets to brush against his throat. He winced, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth. He reached up, fingers trembling, to touch the skin of his neck. His fingertips met a raised, searing patch of flesh. Todoroki had used his left side with surgical precision during the height of their friction, branding a crimson mark into Bakugo’s skin that pulsed with a fading, artificial heat.
"You actually burned me, you half-and-half bastard," Bakugo rasped, his voice a ruined growl.
Todoroki didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his weight, bracing himself on one elbow to look down at the mark. A flicker of guilt crossed his features, but it was quickly eclipsed by a profound tenderness.
"I’m sorry" Todoroki replied, his voice a low vibration that seemed to hum against Bakugo's skin.
Bakugo scoffed, though there was no heat in it. He let his arm drop back onto the pillow, his body too spent to maintain the facade of anger. He looked up at Todoroki, seeing the way the dim light caught the dual colors of his hair, the way his gaze softened into something almost vulnerable.
Todoroki reached out. He didn't grab or pull, he simply let his palm cup Bakugo’s cheek. His thumb traced the line of his jaw, brushing away a stray bead of sweat with an agonizingly slow motion. The touch was a stark contrast to the violent temperature play of moments ago—it was cool, steady, and devastatingly gentle.
Bakugo leaned into the palm, closing his eyes. The tension that usually held his shoulders rigid snapped, leaving him open and exposed. He felt the slight callus of Todoroki's skin, the warmth of a man who finally knew exactly how to handle the explosion he had spent years provoking.
"Stay," Bakugo muttered, the word barely a whisper.
Todoroki leaned down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to the burnt mark on his neck before sliding down to press his forehead against Bakugo's.
"I'm not going anywhere."