The phone call with Shoto had been a bizarre exercise in deduction, a frantic attempt to make sense of the chaotic desires that had hijacked my body. We'd thrown around theories like darts at a board – a rogue villain with a lust quirk, a poisoned hot spring, some sort of bizarre pheromone attack. It all felt like something out of a bad sci-fi movie, yet here I was, a walking, talking embodiment of it. We'd finally hung up, both of us needing to eat, a temporary reprieve from the mental gymnastics.
Walking into the dining room, a wave of warmth washed over me. Mom and Dad were there, laughing, the sound so familiar yet still new. It was a sound I'd craved for so long, a sound that had been absent for years. Dad was back for real this time, and it felt like the world was finally righting itself. We sat, we talked, we ate, and for a blissful hour, the oppressive fog of the lust quirk seemed to dissipate. I felt…almost normal.
But the peace was fleeting. Later that evening, as I stood under the hot spray of the shower, the insidious feelings clawed their way back, stronger than before. It was a physical ache now, a burning, desperate need that had me wrestling with my own body, with thoughts I'd never entertained before. My mind was a battlefield, reason and desire locked in a brutal, internal war. I found myself reaching, touching, a shameful battle cry in the dark silence. I was on the precipice of giving in, of losing myself completely, when the bathroom door slammed open with a violent bang.
Kacchan.
His face was flushed, redder than I'd ever seen, his chest heaving, and my eyes widened, catching the unmistakable bulge in his pants. He was a mirror image of my internal turmoil, a walking testament to this ludicrous quirk. His eyes briefly widened too, a flicker of surprise before a smirk, a predatory curve of his lips. My hand instinctively went to cover myself, but it was useless. I was a deer caught in headlights, frozen, terrified, and oddly… attracted.
Before I could even form a coherent thought, Kacchan was stripping off his clothes. The air crackled with some unseen energy, a shared and undeniable pull. He stepped into the shower with me, pinning me against the tile wall with a force that made my breath hitch. His eyes were dark, burning with need, and as he kissed me, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest, but another part, a terrifyingly loud part, wanted more. This wasn't right, not at all, but as his hands moved, as he explored with a confidence I'd never known, I found myself responding, moaning, my body betraying any semblance of restraint.
His fingers played with me, a master puppeteer with a well-tuned instrument, and the intensity of it was overwhelming. It was raw and urgent, a feverish dance of desperation. And then we were together, a tangle of limbs, sweat, and moans that filled the small space. It was my first time, a chaotic rush of sensation unlike anything I could have ever imagined, all with Kacchan in the most surreal way. Best friends, rivals, now… this. It was a blur, a fever dream of stolen kisses and whispered desires. It was…perfect.
But now, lying in bed next to him, his breaths even and deep, I knew that the effects were fading. My head was clearing, and the reality of what we'd done slammed into me like a cold wave. We were Bakugo and Midoriya, not two bodies driven by lust. We were… us. The weight of it suddenly crushed the dizzying high of the past few hours.
What do we do now? Pretend like it never happened? Pretend that the lust-fueled encounter was some strange hallucination? I could try, I suppose. I could try to bury the memory and pretend that his touch hadn't shattered something within me. Or we could talk, acknowledge the messy, complicated truth of what had just happened.
My eyes drifted to him. His face, relaxed in sleep, looked almost vulnerable, the harsh edges softened. This wasn't just about some stupid quirk; it was about the raw, exposed emotions that had just been laid bare. Talking felt terrifying. But ignoring it felt worse, a betrayal of what we'd shared, however unintentionally. It was time to chose, to take the next step into the messy reality we'd created together. Was I ready for that? Could we be? The thought of it both scared and strangely excited me. The silence of the room felt heavier than it ever had before, waiting to be broken.