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scarabsi · 6 years

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Match Cut (tododeku, BNHA Summer Exchange 18)

heyyyyyy so here’s the fic I wrote for the @bnhasummerexchange event, for @rutilatedho! I hope it’s enjoyable in some way or other, and if not, at least it amused ME.

[Read it on Ao3]

Shouto liked to think of himself as a decently balanced person. He understood his faults, he paid attention in classes sometimes, he knew some of his classmates’ names. Perhaps sometimes he’s not the most composed or reasonable person in the room, not the brightest or the quickest on the uptake, but that was inevitable when you’ve grown up with a tyrannical abusive twit of a father and what could Shouto be expected to do about that?

He appreciated summer for the chance to freely exercise his right side. In other times of the year it concerned others if he maintained crystalized ice over an entire half of his body, potentially risking frostbite, but in the summer there was little anyone wanted to do about it but join in.

Not to mention, it’s ridiculous to entertain the idea of his right side causing frostbite. He knew better than to do that; it’s his own ice, after all. He would save the frostbite for a particularly annoying day of school he wants to skip and not a day sooner.

“Dathhhhs pitty neat Tododoki, but it don’t tchangth how it tasthe,” Kaminari mouthed into Shouto’s forearm.

“Natsuo insisted I’d done it before,” Shouto protests. “Swear on my pops, you keep your tongue there another five minutes and the froyo flavor I ate should come through.”

“That’s cheap as hell, Todoroki, you hate your pops,” Uraraka chimed in from her front row seat to the spectacle.

“I love my pops?” Shouto squinted at her, confused. “I can’t make them the same with my quirk. The new brand mixes in a smooth milk and creme with the strawberry to really bring out the tartness of the flavor. I would protect my pops with my life.”

“Eyy!” Kirishima cried from his position a little higher up Shouto’s arm than Kaminari, “I think I tasthed thomething dust dow!”

“Whaaat? Theriouthly?” Kaminari said.

“Eyah, thorta. . . thavory?” Kirishima guessed, eyebrow raised. “Ait, ait, no, ait. . . no, dat’s thweat.”

“Yeah, I asked them to discontinue that flavor,” Shouto scoffed. “Nasty as hell, catch me dead before I touch it again.”

“What’s going on?” said Midoriya from the living room entrance.

A shiver went up Shouto’s spine, and Kaminari and Kirishima fell to the ground with twin yelps as their tongues were suddenly thawed free.

“Todoroki says he can make his ice into different flavors if he eats something before,” Uraraka explained to a bewildered Midoriya, who absently dropped his schoolbag in the middle of the hall.

“Yeah, can you imagine Midoriya? Free icees?” Kaminari waved enthusiastically. He grabbed Shouto’s right arm and ran a hand up the length of it. “It’s too bad it takes so long! Does it take a lot of concentration?”

“Yeah,” Shouto replied absently out of reflex, which was wrong because it shouldn’t take much concentration at all. He watched Midoriya fumble his hands all around his hips.

“Fascinating,” Midoriya said, retrieving a small notebook from his pocket and flipping to an empty page. “Can you give me more details? What kinds of flavors is it possible to replicate? Can you replicate foods not traditionally served in ice or can you replicate any flavor regardless of suitability? If the flavor is related to foods you take into your body, is the flavor secreted from your pores or spun out of the molecules of the air?”

Shouto shrugged.

Midoriya nodded, appeared to scribble something, and continued without missing a beat. “How were you able to discover such a property existed? Does the flavor contain traces of the food it comes from? Is it possible to recreate nutrients? This could be very useful in times of emergency and may be interesting to know for the future if we find ourselves in a situation short on food. . .”

Uraraka laughed. “Oh, Deku, there you go again.”

Kirishima groaned and Kaminari whined out, “Come on Midoriya, it’s way too hot for this right now.”

“Is it really that hot?” Midoriya asked, a surprise lilt to his voice. He laughed and ran a hand through his untidy hair. “I guess it is! I’m used to training my body through all weather conditions so I forgot to pay attention.”

Shouto could smell the fragrance of sweat and musk from Midoriya’s hair as he ruffled it, far overpowering whatever soap he might have put into it once upon a time, long before his training session. Now that he mentioned it, Midoriya had clearly been spending the day in the dormitory gym; the unfashionably plain clothes he was wearing clung to his skin when he moved and there were still small signs of condensation in parts of his face and hair.

“Wanna have a go?” Shouto found himself saying.

“I’m sorry?” Midoriya said.

Shouto blinked; he was a foot away from Midoriya, right arm proffered prominently under Midoriya’s nose. A droplet of sweat from Midoriya’s wild forest-green hair dripped into the palm of Shouto’s hand, and he thanked his luck that he hadn’t extended his arm prone like a noblewoman awaiting a kiss.

He could hardly believe what had just left his mouth. Perhaps the heat was getting to his head after all, despite his liberal use and abuse of his right side. He had to say something else to rectify his reputation with his friends at once.

“Wanna tongue up my arm?” Shouto corrected.

It took until English class the next day before Midoriya spoke to him again. He appeared by Shouto’s desk as soon as Present Mic left the classroom, his expression contrite but his body language strong and determined.

“H-hey, about yesterday,” Midoriya said, his voice shaky and his cheeks pink, “I’m sorry for running up to my room so quickly. It was just, uh. . .” he trailed off, cheeks flushing more, until his eyes seemed to glaze over.

Shouto waited, but Midoriya seemed to be done, so he shrugged. “I don’t mind. It did seem like you really needed to shower.”

“It-- it seemed like I needed to shower?” Midoriya squeaked.

“Yeah,” Shouto said, a little confused about the strange reaction. “You were covered in sweat. Like, everywhere. You literally dripped sweat onto me.”

Midoriya laughed strangely. “That’s right! I did do that! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” Shouto said with a soft smile. Midoriya definitely had nothing to apologise for. He could still remember the sensation of the warm droplet hitting the palm of his hand, something that had come out of Midoriya’s face and dribbled past his lips and fallen off his sweet little chin. Later in the evening he’d even found himself putting his palm against his mouth, as though he would be able to smell or taste some trace of Midoriya from it hours later. He felt his fingers tingle now from the memory of it.

He twisted his head to look back at Midoriya, who stretched an arm behind his head. There were some popping sounds as he stretched his right arm, and then he shook out his hands and picked his special All Might controller back up.

“You should never be sorry for needing to take care of yourself,” Shouto said, mostly to himself. Midoriya quirked his head over, his large eyes bulging out of his head.

“Wh. . . what?!” he croaked, and then his eyes darted around and he seemed to hit on a conclusion. “Oh, because we’re playing fighting games in this heat? It’s honestly fine! Even if you weren’t here,” he gestured to his room closet, where boxes of wrapped merchandise were stuffed to bulging, “I have a limited-edition All-Might electric fan that’s a great help when I start to get dizzy.”

Shouto frowned and put down his own (much more generic) controller. “I didn’t realize you let yourself get dizzy. I’ll take care of that.” He raised his right arm and focused on gathering a thin layer of ice onto it.

Midoriya watched Shouto’s arm in a slight daze, and gave no reaction to the incremental cooling of the room. He slowly moved toward Shouto until he was practically bent over Shouto’s right arm.

Shouto chuckled. “You’re hotter than I thought,” he said.

“I might need to take care of myself,” Midoriya mumbled. Shouto wondered whether he heard him correctly because he couldn’t make sense of it. “It’s really okay?” he asked.

“Course,” Shouto said, because he has never taken offense to his friends treating him like a walking climate control center, and takes pride in being able to provide such a necessary service that no one else can give, and then Midoriya leaned his head down and put his tongue on Shouto’s arm.

Instantly the room got a lot warmer.

Midoriya’s tongue darted quickly in small swipes, then travelled languidly up Shouto’s arm. One last lick leapt lightly off the top of Shouto’s shoulder, and then Midoriya hung there, his face beside Shouto’s, eyes lidded, tongue still peeking shyly from his lips.

As Shouto stared, Midoriya’s eyes focused onto his own, and then that tongue and those lips made a short reunion as Midoriya rolled them together.

“As promised,” Midoriya growled, his voice much deeper than before, “I’m not sorry.”

“I think maybe I am,” Shouto muttered frantically to himself through the watery echoes of the shower. He pressed both palms against himself and hissed from the shock of the conflicting sensations.

There was no way that ducking into the bathroom at full speed had been an appropriate or subtle reaction. It had taken him about five wet heart-pounding shower minutes to realize what had probably happened: Midoriya had taken him up on yesterday’s offer and had wanted to play the Flavour Ice game.

He let out a single bittersweet laugh as a novelty All-Might shampoo bottle made uncomfortable eye contact with him. It turned out his no-good father had been right all along and joking around with friends could indeed ruin his life, but in somehow the strangest most contrived way possible.

The others seemed to agree when Hagakure walked into the living room and found Kirishima teaching Bakugou a trendy new game he had discovered online. She prematurely screamed at the top of her lungs because she mistakenly thought something lewd was going on but, Kirishima assured, the strange way he had pinned Bakugou with his pelvis was a new wrestling move he was trying to perfect and the tongue-on-tongue contact was worth extra points.

Everyone else was loudly skeptical of this excuse, especially Bakugou himself who was so offended by the story he stormed out without saying a word, but Shouto was excited.

“What are the rules?” he asked Kirishima. “Is it fun?”

Kirishima’s eyes squinted and shifted from side to side. “Uh,” he droned. “Uhhhhh. I. . . yes? Yes.”

“It looks just like kissing. What makes it different from kissing?” Shouto asked.

Kirishima turned pale and laughed. “It’s. . . uh. . . crap, I know exactly how Bakugou would answer that. Oh, crap. For real.”

Shouto frowned and put his hands on his chin in thought. “Could you demonstrate the difference for me somehow?” he asked, and Kirishima almost turned blue.

“Todoroki, he was obviously lying!!” Uraraka said around her tears of laughter. “He made a really terribly-constructed excuse for him and Bakugou being nasty in public, and then doubled down on it because he never knows when to quit!”

“But what if that’s what he wants you to think?” Shouto insisted, leaning forward to give his table slam a little more dramatic weight. His Lunch Rush tray slid a centimeter in a suitably dramatic fashion. “I know what it looks like, but can you imagine how fun it would be if it was real? And he and Bakugou are hoarding the fun new game to themselves?”

“I regret enrolling in this school,” Midoriya whispered from beside Uraraka, his face nested into his arms.

Uraraka patted Midoriya half-heartedly, but her eyes were gleaming at Shouto. “So did you make him kiss you or something? Are you serious?”

“He refused,” Shouto sighed. “Hence, hoarding.”

Iida had dutifully moved Uraraka’s milk far out of her reach so that she would stop squirting it out of her nose throughout the conversation, and her hand was groping the lunch table subconsciously as she snorted. “You know what you could do instead?” she goaded, and Iida’s eyes flashed in alarm.

“What?” Shouto asked, a little warily if he were being honest.

“You know, I think maybe Deku would be interested in hel--”

In a flash of green lightning, Uraraka and Midoriya had vanished. A quick glance around found them balanced on a ledge close to the ceiling, where Midoriya seemed to be frantically shaking her.

Which Shouto hated, because what on earth did Hell have to do with Kirishima’s trendy new game Shouto still wanted to explore being real, and why on earth was Midoriya so bothered about it?

“No quirks in the school cafeteria!” Iida shouted dutifully at his dumb friends. “In addition, balancing on that ledge is highly dangerous and you’re setting a horrible example for the first years!”

“How are you like this and still friends with those two?” Shouto wondered.

“That is an excellent question that will no doubt be asked variously at the funeral for my early death!” Iida answered in the same dutiful voice, punctuating with a salute for good measure. Shouto raised his juice box, because he sure as hell could toast to that.

“Oh, thanks,” Midoriya said, reaching down to grab Shouto’s juice box. “I hate getting dehydrated in the middle of a set, these leg straps are a pain to get out of.”

Shouto smiled as Midoriya returned the juice box and continued his inverted sit-ups. Rather than deal with tucking in his shirt or having it fall into his face all the time as he hung upside-down, Midoriya preferred to circumvent the shirt altogether and it was a feast for the eyes. Each time Midoriya folded himself upward it was extremely clear which specific muscles were making it happen.

“And that’s roughly 200, I think,” Midoriya sighed as he lowered himself one more time, skin glistening in the dimmed gym lights. “Help me down?”

“Of course,” Shouto replied. He grabbed a small step stool and reached for the straps. “I’m steady.”

“Great,” said Midoriya, and wrapped his large, warm arms around Shouto. Shouto undid the straps on his legs and stood straight as Midoriya gracefully leveraged himself back to the ground.

“I think I get a big workout just from making sure I don’t drop you on your head,” Shouto laughed. “Is it really safe to exercise like that?”

Midoriya shrugged, then bit his lip with a small blush. “To be honest, I could easily do it by myself.” He gestured vaguely toward the juice box, and Shouto handed it to him. He sipped it with a sunny smile. “I like it better when you’re here, though. Everything is better when you’re around.”

Shouto felt like a boiling teapot, watching that smile, and fanned himself. “I. . . I need ice. Do you need ice?”

Those large round eyes lit up. “I would love to try one of your icees, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Ohhhh, that made Shouto even warmer.

He held out his right arm and Midoriya gripped it gently, pressing a cheek against it with a soft sigh.

“I. . . I think I should mention,” Shouto pushed through the embarrassment and the slight croak to this voice, “the whole thing about flavoured ice was a lie. I was pranking those guys into freezing their tongues and it got out of hand.”

Midoriya glanced up and their eyes met. Midoriya had a small smile on his face as he moved his face higher up Shouto’s arm, and they watched each other as Midoriya gripped Shouto’s shirt, turned his head and pressed a kiss to Shouto’s bared shoulder.

“I thought so,” Midoriya said, eyes soft, voice soft.

A warm shiver rushed down Shouto’s arms and made his fingertips dizzy. “I didn’t mean to trick you,” he said.

“You can’t trick me, Todoroki, how long have we been friends now?” Midoriya laughed. He put his hand over Shouto’s on his waist, and when had Shouto moved his hand there? “Did it get out of your hands, Hand Crusher?”

Shouto broke their heated eye contact to hide the dramatic flush to his face. “I’ll make that my hero name if you’re not careful. I’ll really do it. It will be legal and everything.”

Midoriya chuckled and put his forehead against Shouto’s. “It would suit you, since you’re so handsy.”

Shouto wrapped his other hand around Midoriya’s waist and they rolled on the ground, Shouto showing Midoriya just how handsy he could really be. They were halfway across the room when Shouto exhausted himself and settled for a hug, and Midoriya laid there and let him.

“Everything is better when you’re around too,” Shouto said.

Midoriya turned his head to smile sunbeams at Shouto. Shouto tightened the hug and buried his face into Midoriya’s neck.

“I’m glad you exercise with a spotter,” he admitted. “I’m glad you take care of yourself now. I hate seeing you hurt, and I hate even more when you hurt yourself.”

Midoriya tensed, and then put his hand into Shouto’s hair and stroked it gently. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Shouto said. It was hard for him to move his arms when they were wrapped around and under Midoriya’s body, but he rubbed Midoriya’s back with his thumb. “I’m not sorry so don’t you be. Be happy you’re healthy, like I am.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” Midoriya said. “That was always what mattered the most.”

It wasn’t reassuring to hear that, but the tremor in Shouto’s sigh wasn’t just from concern. He searched for something to say, but couldn’t find the words, so they lay there quietly for a while, listening to the hum of the fluorescent gym lights.

“Hey, Shouto,” Midoriya said.

Shouto hummed.

“Do you want to try figuring out how to get those extra points?” Midoriya said.

“I can’t believe you actually pulled off that crazy move at the last moment!” Kirishima cheered and whooped as Izuku made a perfect, cinematic superhero landing, green-lightning laced crater and all. “How did you figure out how to get us those extra points?”

“I noticed Kaminari had left himself wide open after his third discharge,” Shouto said proudly, clapping a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “But I can’t believe he understood what I meant when all I said was ‘Den’.”

“‘Den’ meaning Kaminari Denki, and also the conductivity between his quirk and the discharge from my quirk, right?” Izuku said, slinging his arm around Shouto. “Isn’t it obvious what I was supposed to do?”

“You guys cheated!” Kaminari called over from his team. “I should have poached Todoroki for my team! Who let you guys work together?”

Bakugou pushed Kaminari’s head down with a grunt. “We lost. They did a better job. Get over it.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from Mister Muzzle!” Kaminari cried, clutching his head and surreptitiously checking his hair.

Kirishima glanced toward the other team and threw a thumbs up. Bakugou answered with a thumbs down.

Shouto rested his head against Izuku’s neck as he watched his classmates congratulate and complain about each other, feeling softly content. “Maybe it would have been more fair to join Kaminari’s team,” he said.

Izuku laughed. “You’re such bullshit, Shouto.”

#tododeku #bnha summer exchange 18 #rutilatedho #fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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