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Shouto looks worn as he toes off his boots in the genkan.
It's not the first time your boyfriend has come home looking tired, and it's thankfully nothing like the bone-deep exhaustion that always pulls at him after a truly harrowing shift. But it's very clear Shouto has stretched himself today, judging by the slightly slower, more ginger way he's carrying himself.
Drawing closer, you can see dirt and ash scraped over his high cheekbones, and that much confirms your suspicions. Definitely a tough take down today, if he's looking this beat up.
"Hi Sho," you say, hurrying over to throw your arms around him, relieved to have him back in your hands. It's a little easier with the height the genkan step gives you, putting his broad shoulders in easier reach. "Tough day today?"
Shouto's arms come around you as he presses his face into your shoulder, breathing in deeply. He's cold, the chill from outside still lingering on his clothes, on his skin. He smells like ash and sweat.
"Hello, love," he says, his voice a low rumble you can feel against you. "It was... difficult."
You grip him tighter, holding him to you. "I'm glad you're safe."
His mouth is warm on the skin of your neck. "I am glad to come home to you."
A smile pulls at your mouth as you pet through his hair. It's soft and silky, but a little piecey—the after effect of having used phosphor, you know. You spend a couple moments absently running your fingers through the strands, clinging to as much of his shoulder as you can reach, reveling in the feeling of him back in your embrace, home safe where you like him best.
Shouto lets you hold him, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, the line of tension in his shoulders unwinding. His breath tickles your skin, slow and even. You cling just a little bit more tightly.
"Let's get some soup in you and get you in the shower, huh?" you say after you've stood like that for some minutes, your voice a little startling in the quiet of your apartment. You lightly tug on a hunk of his hair, inquiring.
Shouto doesn't move, just huffs softly into your shoulder.
You can't help but grin again, charmed by him as always, shifting so you can clutch his face in your hands and pull him up for a kiss instead. This time Shouto goes easily, his mouth following yours, his kiss soft and sweet and slow.
Shouto takes his time with you, so you do too, pouring your relief and your happiness to see him again into the kiss. His hands tighten on your back like he understands, hitching you up against him a bit more firmly.
"Soup time," you tell him when he finally lets your mouth go. Those heterochromatic eyes flutter open, and he frowns a little bit, leaning back in.
You smile into another kiss, laughing when his hands creep down your sides, charting a path to your thighs where you know he intends to pick you up once he's got you. Any other day and you'd let him take you against the wall right there in the genkan. But he's moving so slow you know it will be a struggle for him today, and you don't want him to strain himself any more than he already has.
There are other ways you can show your affection, today.
You quickly worm out of his embrace, dodging when he reaches out a long-fingered hand for you, frowning again. Fuck, he's so cute.
"Soup first," you order him, marching him into the kitchen.
A tiny pout purses his mouth but you're not to be deterred—you set him up at the table with a hot bowl of soup and several of last night's leftover sides; blanched spinach ohitashi and simmered squash. You plop an extra bowl of chicken and cucumber marinade directly in front of his soup as well—knowing full well he'll need the extra protein after a day like today.
As you hoped, the food quickly overtakes your boyfriend's focus. In your experience pro heroes need to intake an insane amount of calories, and even more on days they've utilized their quirks to the extreme. Shouto is no exception, his temperature quirk one of the most voracious energy burners of all, and very quickly the bowls in front of him begin to empty.
He looks even more exhausted when he finishes, and you wolf down your own bowl of soup, cutting him off as he attempts to clear the table.
"Go shower," you tell him, leaning down for a kiss even as you yank a bowl out of his long, elegant fingers.
Shouto looks up at you again, a microscopic downturn to his mouth that would be unreadable on anyone else, but on him counts as a pout. "You said after soup—"
"I'll join you when I'm done," you promise, your heart swelling with affection. It always pleases you that time with you seem to be his priority, even when he's clearly tired like this.
You laugh when this works like a charm, Shouto leaning in for another kiss before obeying. You hear the shower gutter and hiss on as you scrub the bowls in the sink, laying everything out to dry on the counter.
The bathroom is already hot and thick with steam when you let yourself in, and the mirror fogging. Shouto's left the curtain askew and your mouth dries out a little at the peeks of his body you can see—all that lean, sleek muscle glinting wetly in the light.
You step out of your clothes and slide in behind him, throwing an arm around his waist. His shoulders look especially broad in the small stall of your shower, taking up nearly the entire width, and you lean up to kiss in between them, letting your mouth linger.
"Hello, love," Shouto says, trying to turn to look at you. You hold him in place with your grip on his trim waist, reaching up to run a hand through the wet strands of his hair.
"Let me take care of you tonight," you say, pouring your insistence into your tone.
There's not much you can do to help Shouto with a job like pro heroics, particularly without a quirk of your own. But what you can do, what you like to do, is be there for him in the little ways—feeding him soup, washing his hair, taking the reigns when he's tired like this.
The contraction of Shouto's abdomen under your fingers as he sucks in a breath tells you he's understood your meaning. He shifts in your arms to face you, ducking in for a hard, wet kiss. Hot water spatters over your shoulder as he does so, pooling in the places where his skin meets yours.
You let him kiss you, slow and careful. Then you reach past him to uncap his shampoo, and rake it carefully through the strands of his hair, as Shouto obligingly keeps his head bent for you. You admire the way his long eyelashes flutter against his high cheekbones, the way his lovely mouth looks so soft and relaxed like this.
You take your time, moving slowly and carefully, before reaching for his conditioner. You slowly massage that in too, blinking against the water on your face when Shouto pulls you closer to him, pressing his face into your shoulder and huffing out another relaxed breath.
He could be asleep standing up by the time you move onto his his body wash, but he shivers as you run your hands over him. You love the feeling of him in your hands, all that slick, tight, dense muscle under your fingers.
He's so beautiful, so divinely-crafted. Sometimes you cannot believe Todoroki Shouto is yours to love and to care for.
His breath comes a little faster when your hands slide down his trim waist, as you work the suds into the V of his hips. "Love," he says, his voice low, rumbling.
"Turn around," you tell him, gently reaching up to move him as you do so.
You let your hands slide back in place, and then let them slip lower, taking Shouto into your hand. He's velvet soft in your fingers, but obligingly hard, thick and full—and even though you can't see him, you know just how pretty he looks in your palm. You press a kiss to his shoulder blade as he shudders, a powerful arm coming up to prop himself up against the shower wall.
You work him slowly at first, just as carefully as you'd pulled the shampoo through his hair. The flex of his abs against the palm of your other hand is transfixing, the shine and glint of the light over his muscles as he shifts in your fingers hypnotizing. Both of you linger in the moment, letting it stretch out long and hot and sweet, thick and slow like honey.
Shouto lets out a low groan when you thumb over the head of his cock, the arm he has pressed to the wall tensing. You do it again, reveling in the flex of his bicep, the roll of a powerful shoulder.
Shouto is the only person on earth as beautiful on the outside as he is on the inside, and you drink it all in, the sight of him, the beautiful sound of him as he utters your name, low and smooth and thick with feeling.
You keep pumping him like that, exactly how you know he likes, until he strains in your hands, that trim waist flexing as he can't help but rut into your grip.
One of your arms clutches him tighter against you as work him faster, and he lets out a soft moan, his fingers curling into a fist on the shower wall. It's only a minute or so more before he's arching into your hand, his hips bucking.
You tighten your fingers, thumbing over his head again, and that's all it takes. Shouto groans your name into the hiss of the shower spray, and comes all over your palm, every muscle in his body straining forwards.
He's so beautiful as he comes apart in your hands. His chest is heaving when you finally stop, and he shifts in your arms again, ducking his head to press an exhausted, satisfied kiss to your mouth.
"Thank you, love," he intones, those heterochromatic eyes settling on you, dark with pleasure. Pink stains his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and he looks flush with effort, exactly the way he does after he takes you apart in bed most nights.
You grin up at him, leaning up on your toes to press another kiss to his mouth. "I love you, Sho."
He murmurs his reply into your mouth, and you run your hands over him again, pulling through his wet locks.
"Now let's get you into bed," you tell him bossily, reaching past him to turn off the shower spray.
"What about you, love?" he asks, a little frown marring his perfect mouth. You kiss it off of him, then tug him out of the shower and wrap him in a fluffy towel, scrubbing it over his hair.
You'll get back in to take your own shower properly in the morning, you know, and once Shouto has slept things off, he will be eager to return the favor. For now though, you tell him you are satisfied just to be with him, to be near him, to take care of him.
You tell him you love him again, and pull him into bed, still damp and sweet and pliant with his release. You're satisfied as he melts into sleep, his exhaustion winning out.
Truthfully, there is nothing more you want in this life, you think, as you follow after him, slipping into slumber too. You want him like this always, relaxed in your embrace—home, safe, yours.