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Just Shoto and Katsuki helping each other........ummm jerking.

The silence in the locker room after hours of grueling joint-agency training was heavy, broken only by the hum of the ventilation system and the ragged sound of their own breathing. Everyone else had already showered and cleared out, leaving just the two of them at the far end of the benches.

Katsuki sat with his elbows on his knees, a damp towel slung over his broad, scarred shoulders. His chest heaved slowly, his skin slick with sweat that smelled faintly of sweet nitroglycerin. Across from him, Shoto was leaned back against the lockers, one leg stretched out, his gym shirt discarded on the bench beside him. The stark contrast of Shoto's quirk the soft glow of heat still radiating from his left side, the faint, melting frost on his right only amplified the suffocating humidity in the room.

Neither of them was moving. Neither of them was speaking. But the tension between them was thick, a coiled spring waiting for a single spark to detonate it.

Katsuki’s crimson eyes flickered up, sharp and scanning, tracking the way a bead of sweat rolled slowly down the column of Shoto’s throat, over his collarbone, and down the defined planes of his chest. Shoto didn't look away. His mismatched eyes—one dark grey, one brilliant turquoise—locked onto Katsuki’s gaze with an intense, unblinking focus that made Katsuki’s jaw clench.

"The hell are you staring at, Half-and-Half?" Katsuki growled, his voice lower than usual, a gravelly friction in the quiet room.

"You," Shoto replied simply. His voice was calm, but there was a distinct, heavy undertone to it that hadn't been there five minutes ago. He shifted slightly on the bench, his thighs parting just enough to reveal the unmistakable, heavy ridge straining against the dark fabric of his training shorts.

Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged breath through his nose. His own sweatpants were uncomfortably tight, his heart hammering a violent rhythm against his ribs. The sheer competitive nature that defined their entire relationship was shifting into something entirely different, something darker and deeply physical.

"Don't act like you're the only one aching, Bakugo," Shoto murmured, his gaze dropping down to Katsuki’s lap.

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki snapped, but there was no real venom in it. Instead, he stood up, the bench creaking under his weight, and closed the distance between them in two heavy steps. He crowded into Shoto’s space, shadowing him completely with his massive, muscular frame.

Katsuki reached down, his large, calloused hand gripping the waistband of Shoto’s shorts and dragging them down, freeing Shoto’s thick, fully hard length into the cool air. Shoto let out a low, caught breath, his fingers instantly clamping onto the edge of the bench.

Without a word, Shoto reached out with his left hand the warm side and mirrored the action, tugging Katsuki’s sweatpants down to his thighs. Katsuki’s cock sprang free, heavy and pulsing, already slick at the tip.

They stood there for a breathless second, just looking at each other, the proximity radiating pure, unadulterated heat.

Katsuki moved first. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Shoto’s shaft, his grip firm and unyielding. At the exact same time, Shoto’s warm fingers closed around Katsuki. The sudden, intense friction made both of them hitch their breath simultaneously.

"Ffuck," Katsuki muttered, his knuckles turning white as he began a slow, deliberate stroke.

Shoto matched his rhythm perfectly. Because of his left side, Shoto’s hand was incredibly hot, his skin smooth but firm as he slid his palm up and down Katsuki's length, his thumb deliberately smearing the pre-cum over the sensitive head. Katsuki’s eyes blew out, a dark, feral hunger taking over his expression as he looked down at their hands working in tandem between them.

The rhythm picked up quickly, born from the sheer, urgent need to break the tension that had been building all day. The quiet locker room filled with the messy, wet sounds of skin friction and the heavy, unhinged pants of two men completely losing their grip on reality.

Katsuki’s stroke became aggressive, punishing. He used his thumb to press down hard near Shoto’s tip, driving a sharp, broken gasp from the half-cold, half-hot hero. Shoto’s head dropped back against the lockers with a dull thud, his hips rolling involuntarily into Katsuki’s hand, chasing the friction.

"Bakugo—" Shoto rasped, his eyes half-closed, his chest rising and falling frantically. The heat from his left side was flaring, making his skin scorchingly hot to the touch.

"Keep going," Katsuki ordered, his voice a ruined, guttural snarl. He leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching Shoto’s, his breathing completely shot. "Don't you fucking dare stop."

Shoto’s grip tightened, his pace becoming frantic, matching Katsuki’s brutal speed stroke for stroke. The friction was overwhelming, white hot sparks of pleasure coiling tight in Katsuki’s stomach. He could feel the tight spasms building in Shoto’s shaft, the sheer weight of their shared climax hovering right over the edge.

"Right now," Katsuki growled, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped violently in his cheek. He drove his hand up and down Shoto one last, devastatingly fast time. "Together."

Shoto let out a loud, strangled groan, his hips bucking upward as he shattered. A heavy, thick rope of semen shot across their hands and chests, the intense heat of his release making Katsuki lose his hold entirely. With a deep, primal grunt, Katsuki came right after him, his entire body locking up as he poured his own hot release over Shoto’s fingers and stomach.

They stayed frozen like that for several long moments, chests heaving, their foreheads finally resting together as the frantic sounds of their breathing slowly filled the quiet room once again.

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