Life after Yuuei, Hanta discovers fairly quickly, is mainly the same as it was while he was attending Yuuei, except with fewer loosely enforced curfews and more near death experiences.
Sure, him and the others are better equipped to handle those now, both physically and mentally, but it really starts to take a toll on stress levels during the particularly busy weeks.
Maybe that's how he ended up here, though.
Because although post-high school life is mostly the same, one of the ways in which it's different is that now that they don't all see (and spar) each other every single day, with a bunch of teachers breathing down their necks no less, exploring territory beyond "friendship" becomes a little less awkward and a lot more viable.
"You can set your stuff down anywhere," Todoroki says, tossing his keys on the counter.
"Ah…" Hanta shoulders his bag with his uniform in it and looks around nervously. Anywhere could really mean anywhere, because Todoroki's penthouse apartment is enormous.
So this is how the extremely marketable and extremely high ranking pros live, huh… Hanta is neither of those things, certainly not in the top ten, so he wouldn't know. He opts for setting his bags down literally right by the front door, slipping his shoes off quickly so he can tag along behind Todoroki. The apartment has few walls, floor to ceiling windows, black and glass furniture accents. It's coldly intimidating, kiiiinda like someone else Hanta has gotten to know pretty well over the last few years. At least he's not that intimidated by Todoroki anymore; although currently, the situation sort of calls for it.
"Can I get you anything?" Todoroki asks.
"No, I'm fine—I'm good," Hanta says. They're just back from dinner and drinks anyway, two former school friends catching up in between the rigors of hero work.
"Ah," Todoroki says, and then he's stepping forward into Hanta's very personal space until there's none left between them at all, his voice dropping perilously low. "Then I'll skip all the boring hospitality shit, if you don't mind."
"Wow," Hanta says, absolutely stunned as Todoroki slides a hand against his waist to pull their bodies flush together. "Damn."
Todoroki's eyebrow quirks, and his mouth twitches, in that expression that most people would call neutral, but that Hanta knows by now is definitely a smile. "Was that too forward?"
"Wh—no," Hanta says, "that was, um." Hot. It was definitely very hot. "You're not awkward at all anymore, suddenly you can just do that?"
"Oh, no, I am," Todoroki reassures him. "I'm just a lot better at faking it, all those photoshoots…"
"Right," Hanta says. "Well, I definitely don't mind."
Todoroki really does smile when he leans in this time, small and pleased. It reaches his eyes, warms both striking colors, and Hanta finds himself wondering how, exactly, he managed to convince arguably the hottest person in their entire year to take him home.
"Lucky me," Todoroki murmurs, right before he goes in for The Kiss. And goddamn, Hanta is not prepared.
Todoroki is a good kisser—because Todoroki kisses like what fantasies of him must be like. It's pure wish fulfillment; his lips and teeth and, oh, god, his tongue are fierce and dominating one moment, the slow burn all-consuming as he takes everything he wants. But then he's pulling back the next second, tantalizingly cold, like winter wind that hurts to breathe in but still feels so invigorating.
This is dangerous, Hanta realizes, as Todoroki pulls him towards the long black couch in front of the big penthouse windows, pushing him down onto it and straddling his lap in one fluid motion that reeks of sex.
Okay, so Todoroki is hot, they all knew that already—the problem is that Todoroki is also hot, like, smoking hot, and Hanta doesn't know if he's going to be able to keep it together, necessarily.
Todoroki peels his shirt off, the pale skin of his stomach and broad chest shifting over tight, hard muscle, his back arching as he yanks it over his head. His hair is mussed, eyes gleaming as he licks his lips and leans down to breath literal steam over Hanta's ear before he bites it. It's almost too hot, like vapors from a kettle that have just finished boiling, and Hanta groans.
"You learned—" he wheezes, "all this? From photoshoots?"
Todoroki hums. "I'm not faking any of this." He doesn't need to prove anything at this point, but he rolls his hips forward, pressing the front of his nicely fitted jeans against the growing hardness in Hanta's pants. Todoroki is already getting hard, too, and the pressure feels like some kind of incredible torture. "You can—touch me, Sero—"
"Y-yeah," Hanta says immediately.
He slides his hands up, over Todoroki's strong hips, up his back, which is smooth under Hanta's touch. He can feel the muscles rippling, shifting, when Todoroki moves. It's kind of terrifying, touching him like this—Todoroki is practically royalty, and Hanta is just… himself, not to mention Todoroki is clearly experienced at this kind of thing. Hanta, on the other hand, is very much not.
"Can I?" Todoroki asks, hands hovering at Hanta's zipper. Hanta can only nod, speechless.
Todoroki's hands on him might be impossibly even better than Todoroki's mouth, although that may just be the placement. Because, yes, it's amazing when Todoroki mouths a hot, wet trail up Hanta's neck to his ear, but it's amazing when Todoroki slides his fingers into Hanta's pants, warm and cool, confident hands both working over his dick like they belong there.
"Oh, fuck—" Hanta moans, and Todoroki huffs a laugh against his jaw. Somehow, Todoroki laughing makes everything even better (or worse?). He's got a nice one, husky and rarely heard, and if he's laughing that must mean that he likes this.
"Is this okay?" Todoroki asks, like the noises Hanta is making could mean it's anything but okay.
"Are you serious?" Hanta huffs. "Your hands are like magic."
"I'm not even really doing anything," Todoroki tells him, which becomes a blatant lie a second later when he strokes Hanta from the base of his cock to the tip with his left hand, heated to some kind of calculatedly perfect temperature that makes Hanta practically whimper in pleasure. Good to know Todoroki's still a sarcastic troll, at least. He leans in and brushes another surprisingly soft kiss to Hanta's mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. "I didn't expect you to be into me, so I guess I feel like I have to impress you."
"Nnngh—" Hanta makes a distinctly dumb noise when Todoroki shifts to pull himself out of his snug jeans, wrapping his heated hand around them both.
He figures he can and will, eventually, get to the bottom of this whole "didn't expect you to be into me" nonsense, but right now he can't even think properly, and it's getting worse with every twist of Todoroki's hand, every squeeze of his fingers. Hanta reaches up and grabs his face to drag him in for another kiss, far less soft this time.
"I'm—d-definitely impressed," he gasps. He's been impressed by Todoroki since their first year, so may as well add gives great hand jobs to the list. His whole body feels weird and shaky, definitely far less under control than it does when he's flying solo.
"Good," Todoroki murmurs, and he'd sound very self-assured if the words weren't so breathless. "I'd really… like to make you come."
His wish, apparently, is Hanta's command, because that's what does it. The relentless pumping of his hand and that one sincere hope; Hanta moans and his hips spasm, a shudder shaking its way up his thighs as he rocks himself into Todoroki's hand, sliding their dicks together in the other man's firm grasp. It hits him harder than just about any orgasm he can remember, and the fact that he barely kept it together for more than five minutes can almost be ignored in favor of how damn good that climax felt. He feels like he's unraveling completely. Even his arms ache, a familiar, sore tingle prickling down them, all concentrated in one spot in particular…
He opens his eyes blearily and then yelps when he sees the scene in front of him.
Todoroki is entirely covered, from the chest down, in white tape. He looks just as stunned as Hanta, his lips parted in shock as he stares down at the sticky mess plastered all over him, Hanta, and the designer couch. Hanta had been so far gone that he hadn't even realized what was happening.
"Holy… shit," he says, still trying to catch his breath. "Oh my god, I'm—I am so sorry, that's never—I swear I didn't—I don't do that every time?!"
Todoroki blinks, his expression intensely blank. "Does that mean it was really good, then?"
"Todoroki…" Hanta groans, burying his face in his hands.
"This feels like payback for the sports festival our first year…" Todoroki says, plucking at one of the tape strands. It tugs on the skin of his stomach and he frowns. "Ow."
"It, um," Hanta says, still mortified, "I can get it off you, just give me a minute…"
"I think I'm basically stuck in place…" Todoroki says, "but I guess that means you are, too."
"Yeah. I'm—I'm seriously so sorry—"
"I'm saying," Todoroki says, shifting in Hanta's lap experimentally, "that there's no rush. I have nowhere to be this afternoon… and I haven't finished yet."
"Oh, man," Hanta says, "I really messed that up, didn't I?"
"Not necessarily," Todoroki says. "If I can figure out how to get off like this, won't that be even more impressive?"
Hanta has to admit that, even if Todoroki technically has nothing to prove, he can't argue with this logic.
"Go for it," he says.