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It’s quiet when Shouto wakes, sheets empty, warm still. He has no reason to worry. This is not his bed.
Sunlight streams through the blinds, and he spares a moment to rub his cheek into the pillow, a pleasant ache from the previous night settling in his bones. It feels good to roll over and stretch, run his fingers over fresh satin. He can’t remember the last time he slept this well.
He imagines Katsuki and Izuku are already awake, earlier risers than he’s ever been, and when he shifts to sit up, he hears the water running, accompanied by soft sounds. Sleeping in is tempting, pulls at his limbs, but where they are, Shouto wants to be.
He locates a shirt, very much not his, judging by the way it hangs off his shoulder. It smells nice, and Shouto tucks his face under the collar as he pads to the joint bathroom, other hand wrapped around himself just to hold.
They’re here as he knew they’d be, voices hushed as though not to wake him, and Shouto goes unnoticed for a moment as he watches, warmth bubbling head to toe. It feels good just to be here in their presence, always has, even before the kisses and confessions and everything that followed. Katsuki and Izuku are his home, that much has been true for a very long time.
He stands in the doorway and does not feel out of place, no jealousy to be found when Katsuki reaches up to adjust Izuku’s spa headband, move his curls out of his eyes. Izuku shifts up on his toes, but Katsuki pushes him back down, hand on his shoulder. “Not until after,” he says quietly. “Open up.”
Izuku does, and Katsuki places a toothbrush in his mouth. Shouto is fascinated.
Admittedly, affection is new to him, at least of this sort. Quirk marriages don’t exactly serve as the best example for what love is meant to look like, and he’s never cared for anyone else in the way he cares for Katsuki and Izuku. He’s learning still, what it means to show your feelings, especially ones that run this deep, curled around and within every inch of him, written into his body’s design. It’s hard to talk about how you’re feeling while you’re actually feeling it, Shouto has come to realize, and he loves them all the time.
Katsuki and Izuku make it look easy, though, they always have. Slowly, Shouto’s understanding the depths of what they’re willing to teach him.
They’ve never done this before, that he’s seen. It’s such a small thing, to brush one’s teeth, but it feels so much larger a gesture when someone else is doing it.
He wants to know what that’s like.
Shouto may be quiet, but they are not oblivious, and he knows they know he’s there. It’s not a surprise when Katsuki looks his way.
“C’mere,” he tells, tilts Izuku’s jaw and has him spit. “I’ll do yours next.”
This much is a surprise, even now, the ease with which they read him. As though they watch him as much as he watches them. Izuku takes the cup Katsuki offers, rinses his mouth, takes hold of Shouto’s shirt as he nears and kisses at his exposed collarbone. He’s so warm, he checks his quirk just to be safe.
“You don’t have to,” Shouto says, hoarse from sleep.
“I know I don’t,” Katsuki counters, and Izuku plasters himself to Shouto’s back, slips a hand around to rub at bare skin. Shouto sags a little at his touch, involuntary, and Izuku takes his weight with a kiss between his shoulder blades. He tucks his face there, hands roaming.
Something sweet courses through his veins, simmers, and Izuku holds him tight, murmuring affection hardly meant for his ears. Katsuki slips something over his head to push his hair back, fingers lingering on the strands, cradles his cheek and lets him lean into the touch. “Yeah, sweetheart, we got you,” Katsuki soothes, low and private. “Open your mouth.”
The room might be spinning, but Izuku’s grip is steady, and Katsuki’s hand cups his jaw and holds firm. He squeezes, and Shouto opens, lets Katsuki slide the bristles over his canines first.
It’s Izuku’s, Shouto realizes, toothpaste fresh but brush used. Something about the knowledge has him weak in the knees, bordering on overwhelmed. Izuku rubs his face over Shouto’s back, and Katsuki thumbs at his lower lip to urge his mouth wider. He’s gentle, eyes burning, coats Shouto’s teeth sure and even.
“Good,” Katsuki exhales, and it slides down Shouto’s spine and settles. Izuku hums something approving, holds him close and still and lets Katsuki work.
Foam spills over Shouto’s lower lip, trickles down his jaw, and no effort is made to stop its descent.
“That’s good, Shouto,” Izuku sighs, sweet and soft, slips a hand lower, fingers grazing the hair below his navel.
He’s not doing anything, Shouto thinks. Just standing, barely that, just letting Katsuki drag the bristles over his tongue. Izuku can’t even see him.
“He’s watchin’,” Katsuki assures, tips his head toward the mirror, like he’d spoken out loud.
“So pretty,” Izuku mumbles. His hand dips lower, ghosting pressure, and Shouto twitches. Fingertips dig into his waist, bare skin. “Following directions.”
“He’s a good listener,” Katsuki hums. Foam drips onto the tiles, and Shouto’s head fills with cotton.
“Oh,” Izuku sighs, pets right over his front, takes him in hand through the material. Shouto hitches something in his throat, and Katsuki slides his fingers over his chin, catching the mess. It slips over his knuckles, coats Shouto’s jawline when Katsuki takes hold of it again.
Izuku palms him, rubs over the head, cups lower. Shouto wobbles, and is shushed. “We have you.”
Izuku’s hand retreats, and Shouto’s voice nearly catches on a whine, but it slips quickly under his boxers, spit-slick and warm. Shouto’s toes curl in his socks, over the tiles, thighs trembling. Izuku pulls back his waistband, lets the head peek over, shamefully wet.
Katsuki curses, slides his hand lower, palm pressed to his throat. Shouto swallows thick at the pressure, blinks slow, peers through his lashes with watery eyes. Izuku presses his first finger, teasing, and he nearly jolts.
“Shh,” Izuku tells, when he whimpers, broken on the way up. “That’s okay, Shouto. You’re doing so well.”
The foam drips. Shouto leaks. He shakes.
The world sort of dims at the edges, and Katsuki pushes up on his jaw to close it, slides the brush over the sides of his teeth, the front. Izuku circles his cock with two fingers, squeezes, whispering nonsensical affirmations into fabric.
Nothing has ever felt like this. Shouto floats in the space between them, quivers at an upward stroke, tight and slow. “Oh, Shouto,” Izuku breathes. He’s so close it aches. “Look at you.”
Katsuki tips his head toward the mirror, and Shouto catches sight of Izuku first, eyes bright and hot and needy. His lips are parted, cheek squished into Shouto’s shoulder, hair mussed. He couldn’t be more beautiful. Katsuki taps his face, commanding, and Shouto tears his eyes away to watch his own reflection.
He looks – utterly ruined. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed. Something hot coils in his gut, spreads out to the tips of his fingers. “Don’t look away,” Katsuki orders, so he doesn’t.
It feels so good, to listen.
“Look how beautiful you are,” Izuku says. Shouto can almost see it. “Please, Shouto.”
There’s a buzzing under his skin, in his ears. There’s no need for Katsuki to keep brushing, but he does, torturously slow, the same pace as Izuku’s hand. Shouto’s vision blurs completely, numb to everything but this, but them.
“Come for ‘em, sweetheart,” Katsuki coaxes, eases the brush from his mouth. “Be good.”
Shouto’s come splatters the tiles with the foam.
He’s never felt more loved.