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He got it from Jirou, who got it from Yaomomo. His stomach flips as he turns over the bundle of fabric. He’s not sure what Jirou told Yaomomo to get it for him, but he knows that he owes her something big for it. He makes a mental note to offer her a one time use favor - they’ve been passing them back and forth for ages, might as well keep up with tradition.
The fabric is nice, and far softer than he expected. He had honestly thought it was just going to be the same scratchy poly-cotton blend that he’s heard Cheeks complain about, but Yaomomo has outdone herself. He keeps rubbing the fabric between his fingers, really liking the soft grain of it, the way it slides smoothly against itself. It’s hard to make himself set the bundle on the bed, but he can’t put it on while he’s still wearing his normal clothes.
He strips down to his boxer briefs and pauses with thumbs hooked into the elastic. Should he? That would be weird, wouldn’t it? But the fabric would feel so nice, and isn’t it a thing to go commando in skirts? He read that somewhere, right?
“Fuck it,” he mumbles, and works the soft fabric of his underwear down his thighs. He’s not some kind of sex pervert, but the illicit thrill of wearing clothing that’s not made for him has blood moving south and
fuck
. Maybe he
is
some kind of pervert with the way his body is reacting to the mere thought of what he’s about to do. It’s just clothing. He doesn’t want to be a girl or anything, just thinks that maybe wearing the serafuku will make him look good like the guys in the trashy manga he won’t admit to reading.
He’s probably too buff for it, he reasons as he steps out of his boxer briefs. He kicks them aside; he’ll put them back on when he changes into normal clothes - before he has to go meet Eijiro for their study thing. It’s not a date, no matter how many times Jirou tries to tell him otherwise. His thighs are thickly muscled, his abs and waist well defined, and he wonders what he’ll look like in the skirt and top. There’s only one way to find out.
Naked, Katsuki unfolds the fabric bundle. Wherever Yaomomo got the outfit (he doesn’t know if he can handle the thought that maybe she used her quirk to create it herself), he thinks he must be expensive because the fabric doesn’t hold any wrinkles as he separates the pieces. The skirt is a beautiful navy, pleats sharp and perfect. The blouse is a crisp white with cuffs and a sailor collar that matches the navy of the skirt. A red scarf is pre-folded into the proper shape for the collar. He finds two pairs of socks in the bundle, regular fit and slouchy, and he has to admit that he appreciates the options.
The idea of putting the outfit on, of dressing himself up, has a heat simmering low in his belly. He grabs the blouse, cheeks warming. He’s in his room, the door is locked, and he has nothing to be embarrassed about. Katsuki is doing this for himself, a treat that he has so far only indulged in in his head, and he’s not going to let anything stop him now that he’s actually got the clothing in hand.
The blouse is soft and fits perfectly even with the breadth of his shoulders. It’s like it’s been tailored to his measurements, and for a moment all enjoyment is sucked from him. He forces himself not to dwell on the thought that Jirou may have told Yaomomo what he’s doing; he’s not prepared to face her if she knows that it’s for him. He takes a deep breath, hands absently petting at the top. It feels good, comfortable, and the hem hits a little below the natural bend of his waist, loose enough that it doesn’t touch him but not so loose that it looks like a baggy mess.
He likes it, the way it feels against his skin. He grabs the scarf. In hindsight he should have put it under the collar before he put the blouse on, but it’s too late now. He glances in the small mirror on his wall as he struggles to get it into place under the collar without everything bunching up awkwardly. It takes time, but he manages it, and knots the ends together to secure it. He pats the ends, arranges them until he’s satisfied.
Katsuki’s dick is still interested in the whole thing, slowly filling as he looks at what he can see of himself in the mirror. It’s not much, flushed face to the center of his chest, but he likes the look, likes the contrast between his short hair and obviously masculine face and the inherent femininity of the serafuku.
The skirt is next, and he fingers the pleats for a moment before he finally lifts it. It’s a brief fight to unhook the small hook and bar fastener above the zipper, and he curses under his breath until the damn thing gives in and lets him open the waistband. His cock is making itself known, almost fully hard just from getting the blouse on.
He gives himself a few light strokes, just to take the edge off, still holding the skirt in one hand. It’s a little easier then to bend at the hips and hold the skirt open to step into it. He pulls it up his thighs, another excited thrill running through him as it easily makes the journey. He’s not one hundred percent certain where the zipper is supposed to go - the back or the side - but he knows himself well enough to know that he’s not going to be able to do it up behind himself.
He settles for zipping it up over his hip, intending to spin in around to get the zipper at the back - he
thinks
it’s supposed to go at the back anyway. His dick tents the fabric of the skirt, head pressed against the material. His breath comes a little faster, cheeks warmer than before as he hesitates, pauses there with the skirt held up and ready to be fastened. He pulls the skirt higher, pleats dragging against him. It feels good, hips rocking forward to chase the feeling.
Katsuki doesn’t let himself get carried away, stills himself to finally slide the hook into the bar so he can do up the zipper. He’s just about to do it when -
“Oi, Bakugo! I’m here for our study ti-”
He freezes, staring at his very
unlocked
door and the slack jawed redhead staring at him.
“O-oh… You’re…”
He finds his voice even if he can’t move to hide himself. “Get the fuck out, hair for brains! Don’t you know how to fucking knock?!” He knows he’s not as threatening sounding as he wants to be, voice just on the side of breathless from the way his dick keeps pressing against the skirt. He can’t move, not even to turn around and hide how hard he is.
Eijiro doesn’t leave but he does close the door, and spins around to face it, nose practically against the wood. “I… Fuck Bakugo, I’m sorry for interrupting,” he apologizes, words bouncing off of the door and back into the room.
“I thought I said get out.” It’s flat, not a question. He doesn’t want Eijiro to leave, not really. He never wants Eijiro to leave when he barges in, even if he might complain about it.
He laughs nervously, fingers picking at the fabric of his jeans on the outside of his thighs. “I panicked?”
Katuski rolls his eyes. “You don’t tell anyone what you fuckin’ saw, alright?” He drops the skirt and grabs for his boxer briefs on the floor. He’s stepping into them when Eijiro speaks again.
“You look good.” He’s still facing the door, the back of his neck and tips of his ears nearly as red as his hair. His forehead thunks against the door. “Shit, I… I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Please don’t hate me.”
The last is small and desperate, his voice tight and maybe he wasn’t joking about panicking. Katuski finishes pulling his underwear up, tries to make his still mostly-hard dick as unnoticeable as possible. He keeps the blouse on for the moment; he needs to address the huge as fuck elephant in the room.
“I could never hate you, idiot.” The insult is heavy with affection, the way it has been for at least a year. “Even for barging in and seeing me like this.”
Eijiro’s shoulders are tense. “Even if I say that you look really good like that? Like… ‘I want to put my hands on you in a very,
very
un-bro-like fashion’ kind of good?” His voice shakes the way it does when he’s nervous but trying to push through it, trying to be brave enough to do what needs to be done.
Is that what this is? A moment to be brave? What the fuck is Eijiro on about? “Uh...” Eloquent. He curses silently and then out loud, a small explosion of expletives accompanying the sudden realization that maybe all this time of Jirou calling him a moron was for good fucking reason.
“I… I should probably go.”
His hand doesn’t even make it to the knob before Katsuki is there, a hand flat between Eijiro’s shoulder blades. “Hey, what the fuck. Don’t go.”
“You told me to leave…”
“And now I’m not. You just saw me in a fucking girl’s school uniform. You’re not the only one that can panic.” He’s not pressed up against Eijiro, not quite ready for his best friend to feel that he’s still kind of chubbed up in his boxer briefs.
There’s silence between them, and so much heat from the natural amount Eijiro radiates and the embarrassed flushes they’re both colored by that he’s feeling a little sweaty. “Did, uh…” Katsuki hates the way he has to pause, how he can’t get the words out all in one go. “D’you really think I looked okay?”
The hand that had been reaching for the knob shifts backward to awkwardly reach for Katsuki. “You always look good, Bakugo. Flushed and kinda hard and in clothes I never would have dreamed to see you in?” He sucks in a breath, lets it out in a long shuddering sigh. “Sinful.”
He takes a half step closer, allows Eijiro’s hand to find his bare waist. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ You’re hot as fuck, bro, and I’ve been into you since first year but I never wanted to overstep and mess up our friendship. Our friendship is important to me, and I never wanted to ruin it by confessing my feelings and making things weird.” He gives Katsuki’s side a light squeeze that somehow manages to seem hopeful and reassuring at the same time.
Katsuki slides his hand over to grip Eijiro’s shoulder, urging him to turn around and look at him. He waits until Eijiro looks at him to speak. “Well I’m into you, too, so let's stop being idiots and study for this fucking test. We can sort everything else out later.”
Eijiro’s face lights up in a delighted grin, all sharp teeth and scrunched up nose and so goddamn cute that Katsuki might not admit it but he feels blessed. His face falls a little and he can’t quite look at Katsuki after a moment. “You should, uh… Definitely put your normal clothes on if we’re going to study.”
His blush, that had faded almost entirely, comes back with a vengeance. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he’s very aware of his bare legs and the bit of his abs exposed between the hem of the blouse and the waistband of his underwear. “Think you can’t control yourself around me or something?” he asks, already stepping away to grab his pants. He doesn’t want to take off the blouse until he has to, and he thinks he can feel Eijiro’s eyes on him as he pulls the pants over his ass.
Katsuki gives himself another minute with the blouse on, soft fabric against his skin, under the guise of searching for a specific shirt to wear. He ends up with a black t-shirt with a skull on it - one of many that he owns - and he carefully trades the blouse for the t-shirt. Carefully, he folds the blouse and puts it into his dresser.
“Here.” Eijiro is there, right next to Katsuki, offering the skirt. “So you can keep them together.”
Still red, he takes it and folds the skirt quickly. He almost catches his hand in the drawer in his haste to close it. “If you tell anyone -”
Eijiro touches his arm, light and hesitant. “I wouldn’t do that,” he assures, a tiny tinge of hurt to the assurance. “You know that, right?”
Katsuki deflates, nods slowly. “I do.”
He squeezes his arm. “Good.”
“Let’s fucking study already,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t move. “I’m gonna fight you if it gets any softer in here.”
Eijiro grins, gives Katsuki’s arm one more little squeeze. “Sure, bro.” He drops his hand and moves toward Katsuki’s desk to take the chair.
He takes a deep breath, gathering himself slowly. Not only did Eijiro catch him in the girl’s uniform, but he
likes
Katsuki and thinks he looked hot in it and that’s a lot to process. It takes him longer than he’d like to get his head into the hero law text they’re supposed to be reviewing.
They’ve got a lot to talk about, and Katsuki wants to avoid it for as long as possible. At least Eijiro seems willing to give him time, not pushing even when they take a break to get something to eat.