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They haven’t kissed yet.
That’s mostly what Katsuki’s thinking about as he stares at Shouto’s unfairly pretty face instead of looking at the cup he’s bringing up to his mouth. It’s seven a.m. And Shouto is—well. Shouto. It’s always too early for him to be all ruffled and gracefully sleepy.
Which—
Is probably (most likely) why he ends up with a burned tongue. Why he yells, “Fuck,” and grips the counter too tightly. Because he took Shouto’s cup, and Shouto’s cup, since the stupid pretty boy has a temperature regulation quirk, is usually scalding. But at least it’s untouched. Not—not that Katsuki’s grossed out by it, or anything. Stupid to worry about it when swapping spit is basically all you can think about the second you’re alone. Counterproductive and ridiculous. But—
God. It’s Deku’s goddamn fault that Katsuki even knows that the phrase indirect kiss exists in the first place. But he’s thinking about it now. Worries about it. Because he really, really, stupidly wants their first kiss to be extremely, unambiguously direct.
And now—
“Are you alright?”
“I burned my fucking tongue on your stupid fancy pants tea, halfie.”
“Oh,” Shouto says. Then, “But you seemed to like the tea. I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
It stings worse than that time three year old Katsuki tried to stick his tongue in the simmering pan of tomato sauce on the stove because the bubbling looked cool. So, yeah. It fucking hurts.
“What do you think, princess?”
Shouto flushes, scratching at the back of his neck. He likes that. Being treated all sweet without anyone making a big deal out of it. Being cherished. (Katsuki’s going to cherish him for the rest of his life, but he needs to lure him in with enough soba first. It’s a work in progress.)
“I’m sorry,” Shouto says. Katsuki can practically see the cartoon light bulb light up above his head before he opens his mouth to speak again, to say, “Wait, I know how to fix it.”
And then—
Fucking hell, it’s way too damn early in the morning. Shouto’s pretty. Katsuki is gay. The sky is blue. And Shouto chose him. Wants him. Wants Katsuki when he could have everyone and has been slowly gaining awareness of the absolute veracity of this simple fact.
Katsuki wants to kiss him, is the thing. Is staring at his mouth right now. Like an idiot. Like a pathetic, love-smitten fool. Shouto deserves that, though. Being loved and cared for until it’s too much for one human body to contain. Until it spills and Katsuki is more love for halfie than he is human.
“Yeah?” Katsuki asks. “How? You gonna kiss me all better?”
His palms are sweaty. It’s a lame joke. Really fucking lame. Katsuki shudders to even think it, but it’s Pikachu-level lame.
Shouto smiles a just a little before nodding, “Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”
And then he’s softly and gently cupping Katsuki’s face with delicate, long-fingered hands that smell like the blackberry hand cream that Katsuki knows for a fact Shouto only got because he thought the packaging was cute, exhaling a puff of cold air against Katsuki’s lips, easing the ache even as he sparks up an entirely different one.
He’s close. Katsuki is in love. (None of this is news.)
Shouto slots their mouths together like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and the chill immediately starts helping with the burn. But the heat grows, too. The visible red too high on Katsuki’s cheeks, and the friction generated by his heart pounding against his ribcage like it’s trying to crawl into Shouto’s palms because it knows just as well as Katsuki himself does that that’s where it belongs. No way is Katsuki half-assing this shit.
Shouto is pretty, and Shouto is kissing him, and he must like Katsuki at least a little bit in that case, and the ice cold tip of his pink tongue is poking persistently against Katsuki’s tightly closed mouth (self-preservation) and Katsuki didn’t even realize he was getting hard, but he might actually come in his pants any second now. In public. Because Shouto wants to bring European inclinations into the concept of a first kiss. Katsuki doesn’t particularly like french fries or french toast, but he’s got a pretty good feeling that he’d enjoy french kissing as long as Shouto’s the one offering to help him test the hypothesis out. But—
God, he can’t.
He wants to, but he can’t.
Shouto pulls back, arches a single eyebrow. “Was it bad?” he asks. “It didn’t help?”
Katsuki, rather eloquently and with surprising physical resemblance to a literal tomato, hisses, “Fuck off, pretty boy.”
And then he grabs Shouto by the collar and of his pajama top and shoves his tongue into Shouto’s mouth. Cold enough to immediately send shivers down Katsuki’s spine, to make him want to get his hands in Shouto’s silky hair and taste more of his toothpaste.
“I think I like kissing,” Shouto says eventually when they pull back, and Katsuki’s mouth hurts considerably less and his dick considerably more.
“I think I like you, princess,” Katsuki says, and kisses him again just because he can. (Because he’s the only one who can.) “That okay?”
Shouto nods dazedly, mouth shiny and a little swollen. “Yeah,” he says. Then, smaller, “Can we please do that again?”
Katsuki laughs. Strokes his cheek. “Course we can,” he says. “My tongue still hurts. Take responsibility, pretty boy.”
“I think I’d make good nurse.” Shouto giggles. Giggles.
It’s bad for Katsuki’s heart. “Oi,” he hisses. “No kissing your patients, got it?”
Shouto looks at him and pouts. “Not even my favorite one?”
Katsuki shakes his head. It’s love, no doubt about it. Who cares that they’re young and dumb and—well. More likely to die than when you don’t want to be a hero. “One exception,” Katsuki concedes. “That’s it. No more. And no amendments.”
Shouto winks. “That’s all I need,” he says. “You’re all I need. Is that weird? Or, I don’t know, bad?”
His mouth is warm. Katsuki wants to spend a lifetime placing kisses on it. “Nah,” he says, tucking a lock of Shouto’s hair behind his ear, whispering a secret and a truth. “You’re all I need too.”