Studying you ~TodoBaku~

Chapter 6: dreaming through tinted lenses~

CW // Minor Smut, Brief mentions of masturbation, Kind-of-a-wet-dream (?)

Shoto Todoroki

As soon as I rounded the corner, I smacked myself in the face. Hard. I did so every time I managed to think of a new word for my sentence. Why. Didn't. You. Ask. Him. Out! There's no guarantee that we'll ever meet again, and that could be my one chance blown! All because I got nervous when he adjusted his glasses? God, I'm such a dumbass!

You're supposed to be cool, goddamnit! You're a football player! You've just left a sweaty locker room with 24 naked guys in it, and yet you're flustered over the thought of one?!

But....this one was hotter than all the others combined. Not sure why, but in my head, glasses are best complimented by bad attitudes. Scowls, swearing, they make glasses even hotter. So naturally, this blond seemed as hot as a volcano to me right now. There was nothing I wanted more than to make him mine.

The walk home felt longer on tired legs, and I collapsed pathetically on top of my bed the second I got inside, my gym bag thrown to the middle of the floor without a care in the world. We did it! We won! I scored! I won!

My brain was as good as done for today, and I wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and sleep. I treated myself to a solemn pizza delivered to the door, and daydreamed about Bakugo being with me here. I was glad I had a name to put to the face, it might make finding him a little easier: I regretted not hanging around to see his reaction to me telling him I was looking at him, the dangerous hypotheticals playing round and round in my head.

A million questions filled my head. What does he study? Where does he live? Does he have a roommate? Is he even single? Would he date me? Is he a botto-

Shaking my head clear of the definitely important questions, I stumbled my way into my room, my achy legs about to give up on me, and stripped off almost all my clothes, diving playfully onto the bed and throwing the covers away, the humid summer night unbearable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"M-mmh! Ahhh! Shoto! Ffffuuuuuck~!"

"So good, so good baby, I love you, I love you Bakugo!"

"I-I love y-AHhhh"

Heavy panting. Adoring, if not exhausted laughs. The slight strain of a chain. Skin meeting skin as one collapsed onto the other. The complaint of a sore arm. The unlocking of a padlock. The passionate, tongue-swirling kiss.

It all suddenly fell away.

Panting heavily, I shot up in bed. I felt like I'd been trapped in an oven for hours, my room was so hot! I gathered my bearings enough to learn that it was just after 4am. Way too early to get up, but not quite worth going back to sleep.

Instead, I decided to just lay back and stare at the ceiling, recalling my dream. I'd...I'd had a sex dream! About fucking Bakugo! He was handcuffed to my bed! It was only after coming to that realisation that I discovered the fact that I was not clothed at all anymore. Jesus, my lusty dream must've made my underwear evaporate!...might've been an idiot's conclusion, but I quickly located them on the floor.

But...I left them there. I was...well, hard as a rock at 4am on a Wednesday morning. No time like the present, huh...?

That's how I ended up sat on the cool bathroom floor, jerking off to the thought of the blond boy I'd only met yesterday. I imagined him handcuffed to my bedpost, just like in my dream. Imagined him glazed in honey, and me licking every last drop off of him as he squirmed. Imagined myself tied up and him crawling onto me and kissing me as his back arched like a playground slide.

That alone was enough to make me reach possibly the quickest climax I'd ever achieved, ropes upon ropes of cum shooting over my red-hot chest. Guess it's time for a morning shower!

...the visions never stopped though. All through my shower and morning, as I indulged in some early morning tv, I couldn't get my mind off of Bakugo. His sheer attractiveness was enough to overwhelm my cognition completely, and I found myself functioning solely on the thought of seeing him again. I had training again this afternoon, so had the rest of the morning to attempt to clear my head, but I had no idea how.

The best solution I could come up with was to go jogging. A simple 45 minute jog around the local area would suffice, and before I knew it all thoughts of Bakugo were pushed to the back of my mind. Alas, the realisation that they were gone helped me remember them, and I slumped down onto my couch, defeated by my mind's desperation.

I'd have to talk to him again. Properly, with interest, and with an invitation for a date at the end of it. There was simply no other way. I'd drive myself crazy if I didn't at least attempt to ask him, and the thought of denial was warmer than that of unsureness. I had hopes of being accepted, of course, but it's impossible to tell. I remember I'd ask people out before, and had never once been accepted. Sure, I was like 13 the first time, and the boy had pulled a face, so I ran away before he could answer, but still! It was only really after I got quite well known for the football that people payed attention to me.

I hated it. Football wasn't a characteristic of me, it was a skill. It didn't define the way I acted, and I never saw it as a stereotyping factor. Sure, I met a couple of the stereotypical aspects applied to footballers, the team spirit of the locker room overwhelming sometimes, but I didn't consider myself generalised by the word footballer.

But anyway, Bakugo! I'll have to find him later, in a totally non-stalky way, and suggest a date somewhere. But...where? Somewhere like a coffee shop or a cinema seemed really generic, so maybe a nice dinner? I could afford to splash out a little bit, and I had a nice suit left over from my brother's wedding last year, so I could always fashion that into an excuse to eat some nice food with him...?

Yeah...yeah, I'll do that! I'd find the best restaurant in the city and take him there for dinner one night! The entire setup appeared to me, us both laughing over a joke I'd made, a half-empty bottle of wine between us, and delicious food on fancy plates.

That's the footballer's lifestyle, after all
————————————————————-

Shoto you hypocrite!

I like this fic. It's fun.

Fact of the Day: is it a wet dream, technically? I'm not sure, so you've got a warny thingy just in case.