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> are you busy tonight?
Izuku stares at the message blinking up at him, a flag planted on unexplored territory. He saved the number the first time Katsuki made an elusive appearance in the class group chat, but they’ve never texted each other; at least, not until today, when the chime of a notification cut short the monotonous routine of throwing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it.
Another alert, and his screen lights up again.
> it’s katsuki
He fumbles upright, tossing the tennis ball to the other side of the room, where it hits the side of his desk and slinks sadly to the ground. Between their new classes, rebuilding efforts, and the stretches of blank time they spend in their rooms that rarely overlap, it’s been a while since he talked to Katsuki, or even said anything to him beyond a polite morning greeting.
When Izuku tries to pick apart the reasons, they come to him in flashing beams of light, abstract images that turn his stomach to a dark pit; a hospital bed, wet mud, a blood-stained trading card. At its core, there’s nothing he could say to Katsuki that doesn’t involve tearing out his heart for the barest hope that Katsuki could make sense of the chaos, so it’s easier to stay away like he should have done from the start.
Still, staying away is one thing, and ignoring an attempt to reach out is another. Katsuki’s motives are about as clear as island fog, but Izuku’s not in the habit of questioning him.
The average day finds his fingers stiff as fish hooks, but a warm gel pack he draped over his fists earlier eased the ache enough that he manages to type out a response without any spelling mistakes.
Hi! What’s up? Is something wrong? <
> why would something be wrong
Because you’ve never texted me before <
Not that I’ve texted you either haha, but you know <
A good few seconds pass before the typing animation shows up again.
> 7 pm your room, me you all might’s 5th movie
> i’ll bring food
Izuku’s almost sure he misread the words, or that Katsuki messaged the wrong person, or that an issue during the reconstruction of telephone lines led to widespread diversions of texts to incorrect recipients. Farfetched as they are, all of those options make more sense than Katsuki wanting to watch a movie with him in his room after weeks of nothing but awkward glances and painfully casual exchanges.
> ??
Impatience practically leaps off the screen. Hurriedly, Izuku sends him another text.
See you then (⑅•ᴗ•⑅::) <
Since their return to school, his dorm has been a mess. His mother asked him to come home now that living on campus wasn’t mandatory anymore, but leaving everyone to play at normality in his unchanged childhood bedroom sounded more constricting than anything else, so he’d told her he wanted to stay, and she looked at him long and hard before sighing and retreating to the kitchen to make dinner.
A quick look at his clock confirms that it’s almost five p.m. already. Panic seizes his laze-numbed limbs, fueling him through the next few frantic minutes; tossing dirty clothes into his hamper, tidying up the notebooks on his desk, reorganizing the countless All Might figurines on his shelves as if Katsuki will notice that they weren’t lined up in chronological order.
Once his room looks acceptable, he makes a rush for the communal bathrooms with a bottle of fancy shower gel his mother bought him a few months ago. ‘Wild Meadow Sunrise’, the label declares proudly, smelling nothing like it. It feels like he’s cheating on the plain, white bar of soap he’s worn down to a tiny sliver, but if Katsuki’s coming here to watch a movie, they’ll be sitting in close proximity for hours, and Izuku would fight Shigaraki again, quirkless and all, before he made Katsuki feel uncomfortable.
He’s halfway through trying to scrub the skin off his kneecaps when that thought rolls back like a boomerang and crashes into him with all the force of one. Katsuki will be in his room. It’s been more than a decade since they hung out for fun instead of necessity, and tonight, it’ll be the two of them again, alone, in a darkened room, for hours, in the dark, alone, with no well-meaning friends or classmates to pick up the slack in the conversation if they realize they don’t actually get along.
His relationship with Kacchan had been getting better, but the odd silence of the last few weeks has him doubting everything. Maybe Katsuki saved him out of a weird sense of obligation and doesn’t care about Izuku now that he’s satisfied he doesn’t owe him anymore. No, that wouldn’t make sense—he’d seen the card on the battlefield, watched speechless as Katsuki cried because his dream of competing with Izuku for the rest of their lives (he hadn’t had time to unpack that yet) had crumbled to pieces. Pure sincerity.
Hot water pours down his limbs, stinging unpleasantly where he’d scrubbed himself with too much zest. It doesn’t matter. Kacchan invited him to a movie night—or invited himself over, technically—and Izuku isn’t going to let himself overanalyze a friendly invitation from his childhood friend.
It’s completely normal, and casual, and a whole lot of other things Izuku doesn’t know how to be.
By the time the knock comes on his door at 6:59 p.m., Izuku is hovering in the center of the room in sweatpants and a t-shirt that says movie shirt, frozen in the motion of checking the clock. With a deep breath, he strides forward, sweaty hands slipping on the doorknob as he fumbles to wrench it open.
Katsuki’s looking off to the side, but he turns at the click of the door. His hair’s fluffed up, a red tinge to his cheeks. He’s wearing a loose black shirt, so soft on his frame that Izuku gets the sudden urge to reach out and touch, press the fabric flat against the jut of his hip. There’s a little scrunch to his nose, and he’s holding a bright yellow lunchbox shaped like a bus, so unexpected that it stops Izuku’s thoughts in their tracks.
“Your face looks clean,” Katsuki says.
Izuku blinks. “Uh… does it not normally?”
“Don’t start with the questions.” He shoves the lunchbox at Izuku, who fumbles and just manages to catch it before it falls. The plastic wheels spin and flash red-and-blue. “You gonna let me in or what?”
“Of course! Sorry.” He steps aside and almost bows before he catches himself, awkwardly straightening his spine as Katsuki strolls inside and kicks the door shut, turning back to face him.
It’s like seeing an exotic bird in a grocery store. Katsuki always has a bright, golden glow to him, energy that radiates out of him and lights up his surroundings, turns the air to a charged field of tension, and it’s strange to have all that dazzling power spreading through such an ordinary room. For the first time in his life, he finds himself wishing he put away some of his All Might figurines.
“What’s wrong with you?” Katsuki says, eyebrows knitting together. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
“I’m fine,” he squeaks. “It’s just weird, I guess. Having you here.” At the indignation that blooms over Katsuki’s face, he adds, “Not bad! Definitely not bad. It’s nice. Just… different.”
“You’re so weird, Izuku. Where’s your computer?”
He gestures at the laptop on his desk, too caught up in Izuku, Izuku, Izuku to muster any words, or any kind of human reaction, while Katsuki huffs and lifts the lid, typing in the password. He gets it on the first try, which should be concerning but doesn’t really surprise Izuku, and sits down at the desk chair.
“How was your day?” Izuku manages to say, finally.
Katsuki glances up from where he’s logging into a streaming service. “Fine. Start eating—I didn’t make all that shit for it to go cold.”
That startles him. “You made the food? I thought you were bringing takeout.”
“What kind of lazy ass do you think I am?”
“I know you’re not—but if I knew you were going to the trouble, I’d make more of an effort.”
“You saved the goddamn world.” He switches on the desk lamp and picks up the computer, crossing the room to turn off the lights with the device balanced on the inside of one broad forearm. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”
Izuku’s getting more and more confused. “Are you being sarcastic?”
Katsuki looks offended, mouth twisting into a downturn that instantly makes Izuku regret everything he said that got Katsuki to switch from looking so content to put-out. “I’m serious. You look good.”
Unease flares in his chest. “Kacchan, you’re scaring me. Were you hit by a quirk? Did you talk to any strangers today—or are you… no, I know you’re the real Kacchan, the pattern of your steps is the same as always, and your intonation hasn’t changed, either, but you’re acting so different—”
“Shut up, you goddamn nerd! I’m being nice, so stop complaining and take it!”
He breathes a sigh of relief, the rush of it making him dizzy. “Oh, great. Kacchan, you really scared me.” He pauses, then frowns. “You’re being… nice? Why?”
“Went through a lot of shit,” he says, simply. “I just wanted to try… I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck. The tips of his ears have gone a bright shade of red. “Figured dinner and an All Might movie is a pretty good way to spend an evening, and you’re the only dork I know who’d be into that.”
A flutter of joy seizes his ribs, easing his insides to a warm puddle. “ Kacchan. I—thank you.”
He shrugs, looking down at the ground, voice lowered to a mumble. “Shut up. Let’s watch the movie.”
The bulb in the desk lamp has been weak ever since he accidentally zapped it with a burst of One For All during one of his nightmares, but it still gives off a small halo of golden light that pierces the blue-tinted darkness. The computer’s at the foot of his bed, balanced on a pile of books, and Katsuki’s just barely brushing his side on the twin-sized mattress, legs spread comfortably, leaning back against the pillows.
Kacchan’s in his bed. His bed. Izuku has always liked this movie, even if it’s one of the weaker installments of the franchise, but it’s overwhelmingly difficult to focus on anything beyond the warm presence beside him, the spot where Katsuki’s thigh is touching his own that feels like a fingertip pressed to a searing stovetop.
It’s dark enough that he chances a glance. A veritable mountain of blankets is piled up on his bed at Katsuki’s insistence, who complains whenever the air conditioning is turned the slightest hint below room temperature, but the blue glow of the computer still falls onto his face, illuminating the soft curve of his jaw, his eyebrows, upturned with unconscious worry at the action scene. A rapid flutter catches the rhythm of Izuku’s heart, turns his fingertips to flickering peaks of warmth that ache to reach out.
As if it weren’t enough that Katsuki brought food cooked to perfection, still warm when they opened the containers and tucked into it with chopsticks with eyes glued on the screen, he waltzed in here with that pretty face and an inexplicable desire to be nice, and it’s doing weird things to Izuku’s heart.
It would be a bold-faced lie to say he’s never thought of holding Katsuki’s hand or had vivid dreams of kissing him, woken up panting amidst sheets drenched with sweat and a familiar name heavy on his tongue, but he thought he’d managed to suppress those feelings. Katsuki would never like him—that much has always been clear.
However, having Katsuki cozy and relaxed in his bed, wrapped up in blankets that will smell of him later, has unlocked the floodgates, bringing it all flowing back.
Katsuki looks over at him, expression softening when he sees Izuku looking at him, and oh. He’s so cute.
“Izuku,” he says, and Izuku nearly tells him to stop because he’s dangerously close to cardiac arrest each time he hears his name in Katsuki’s low voice. “Has anyone said anything to you about your looks?”
“Hm? In what way?”
“You know, compliments, insults. That kind of thing.”
“Oh.” He considers the question. “Not really. I mean, Uraraka-san once called me plain, but—”
His eyes flare like red lights. “I thought Round Face had a thing for you.”
Izuku’s face feels hot. “I don’t think so. Well—Kaminari-kun kind of implied the same thing, once, and sometimes she and Asui-san whisper when I walk in—or, at least, they used to, before everything. But I really don’t think she likes me. She said I have a plain face, after all, and that my hair looks weird—”
“Bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“That’s stupid. You’re hot as fuck,” Katsuki announces like he’s reading out sports scores.
He chokes on his spit, drawing in desperate, shaky gasps of air, sputtering, “You— what?”
A deep flush tints the apples of Katsuki’s cheeks, pink cutting a warm line through his features in the darkness, but his voice sounds nonchalant, as if he’s said this a thousand times and Izuku is the idiot who hasn’t been listening. “You have nice eyes. You got enough muscles to bench press a person, and you’re always walking around all shy and humble, like you don’t know half the class wants to fuck you.”
“Kacchan!” If his face felt hot before, it’s burning now, waves of heat tingling all the way to his fingertips.
For some inexplicable reason, what sticks in his head from that whole spiel is you have nice eyes.
He’s had a few comments on them, casual remarks upon the vivid tone of green and that time in middle school when Katsuki told him he looked radioactive, but he’d never considered them something someone could find attractive—much less Kacchan. He’s noticed Katsuki staring at him, but he always wrote it off as the unintentional consequence of some deep inner monologue about rivalry, or guilt, or whatever Kacchan thinks about in his free time when he’s not imagining Izuku—fucking him?
No way.
“You’re—you’re messing with me.”
“I told you, I’m dead fuckin’ serious. Your whole ‘good guy’ thing gets a lot of engines going.”
“Why—” He takes a deep breath, trying to make sense of this, of anything Kacchan said. “Why are you telling me this?”
His expression’s frighteningly serious. “Because your self-esteem is shit. You beat yourself up for every goddamn thing, and part of it’s my fault, but calling yourself plain—”
“Uraraka said that.”
“—and acting like you’re some random extra and not the hero who saved Japan—well, you can’t blame that on me. So, here it is, Deku—you’re hot, and you deserve a lot more than the shit you got. Get your dick hard, because I wanna suck it.”
Izuku’s jaw drops.
Part of him is still convinced that Katsuki’s messing with him, but the flush across Katsuki’s cheeks has spread all the way down to his collarbones and his whole body is tensed like he’s posed for a fight. It has been a long time since he had to make an addition to his Kacchan Body Language guide, but the way Katsuki’s looking up through his pale eyelashes is more shy than anything. It’s an odd contrast to the sheer bluntness of his declaration.
With an impatient huff, Katsuki reaches over, casually as if he were reaching for a potato chip, and palms over Izuku’s dick.
All the circuits in his brain fizzle and explode.
Kacchan’s touching his dick. His dick. Kacchan. Kacchan’s hand.
Atoms blown apart and yanked back through irresistible ties of magnetism, the shattered pieces of Izuku’s sanity fly back together to the tune of a yelp—he jerks away, flattening himself against the wall with eyes so wide the onslaught of cool air has them watering unpleasantly, bulging.
Like a cat, Katsuki prowls closer, a beautiful, terrifying expression on his face, and Izuku throws up his hands frantically like it’ll hold him off. “Kacchan, stop, wait! What are you doing?”
“Trying to suck your dick,” he says, frustrated, like Izuku’s the one acting weird. “Get horny, damn it.”
“I—why?”
“I’m not sucking it soft!”
“That’s not what I meant! Why are you trying to—my—” He can’t bring himself to say the words.
Katsuki sits back on his haunches, his mouth curving into that same sad downturn as before that has Izuku’s heart clenching. It’s a miracle it’s still beating considering the amount of blood flowing downwards in a wild rush; his body’s getting with the program much faster than his mind. “I told you. I want you to have a good time. I wanna take all that shit off your mind.”
“By… coming onto me?”
“By showing you I care.” He wets his bottom lip, head cocked. “And by giving you the reward you deserve.”
His frantic heart is refusing to calm, struggling lungs barely managing to drag precious air to his ringing bloodstream, but it finally clicks. It’s so, so sudden, but with Kacchan looking at him like that, embarrassed and determined and hopeful, all the strange, lovely things Katsuki has said tonight, the food he brought and the movie he chose because Izuku has a soft spot for it, he’s starting to understand.
He just never thought Katsuki would choose to unveil his secret tender side through offering the reward of his mouth. Around Izuku’s dick.
Suddenly, he doesn’t know why he’s been stalling.
Izuku gulps. “Could I kiss you first?”
He prepares for rejection, but instead Katsuki gives a small nod and climbs onto Izuku’s lap, spreading his knees on either side of his hips. Shadows pool in the dips at his collarbones, blue washing over lean limbs and casting patterns onto the wall that flicker in time with the long-abandoned movie, a strobe light to the vision straddling his hips and staring down with raw hunger.
For someone who came onto Izuku with so much aggression, Katsuki yields at the first press of their lips, a low, breathy noise catching in his throat as he melts into Izuku.
He kisses so sweetly. Izuku sighs, tilting his face up and bringing his hands to the small of Katsuki’s back. Katsuki makes little noises when he kisses, soft sounds in the back of his throat like a happy kitten eating from a bowl, and it’s so sweet it makes Izuku feel bad about how hard it’s getting him.
A string of saliva drips between their lips as they pull apart.
“You’ve been hard since I told you your eyes are nice,” Katsuki says. The insides of his thighs are brushing against the bulge in Izuku’s pants, a featherlight touch that sparks small, quivering waves of awareness with each passing second.
He gives a nervous laugh. “You like my eyes?”
“Yeah, I like your eyes.” His thighs tighten by Izuku’s hips as he leans in, placing a light, wet kiss at the base of Izuku’s throat. “I like having them on me.” Another kiss, higher, chasing his pulse. “I like that shade of green.”
“Radioactive.”
He draws back, surprise flashing over his face at the reminder of that comment before it softens for a laugh. Wrapping his arms around Izuku’s neck, he kisses him again, sticking his tongue in his mouth. It's a weird feeling, but when Katsuki tilts his head so they fit together better and moans against his lips, a burst of pleasure fizzles through Izuku’s head and explodes down his spine.
It's good, he decides. Very, very good.
“Izuku,” Katsuki breathes in his ear, and he almost cums in his pants. “Can I suck your cock?”
It’s straight out of a wet dream.
Shivering, he nods, and Katsuki moves off him, grabbing his hips and yanking him to the edge of the bed. A blink, and Izuku’s pants are off, discarded with his boxers, leaving him bare and embarrassingly hard just centimeters from Katsuki’s pretty face.
“You’re really into this, huh?” Katsuki says. He’s kneeling by the bed, looking up at Izuku with those maroon eyes, glinting in the darkness.
Not as much as you seem to be, he wants to say, but that might get Katsuki angry enough that he decides not to suck Izuku’s cock after all, and… well. He is into it.
“This is for me, right?” he says instead.
“Mm.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against the flexed tendon at Izuku’s thigh, right under a smattering of freckles. His skin’s warm. “You’ve earned something nice for yourself.”
He might have argued if Katsuki didn’t turn his face and stick out his tongue, licking a hot, wet stripe up the length of Izuku’s cock that tears a horrifyingly loud moan out of him. He slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed by his own obscenity, but Katsuki shoots a glare up at him that makes him reluctantly lower his hand. He’s rewarded with another thick swipe of Katsuki’s tongue, spreading spit and saliva over his cock.
All semblance of intelligent thought slips away when Katsuki dips his head and takes his swollen cockhead into his mouth. He doesn’t know if he yells or sobs, fists bunching in the bedsheets, mind blurred to a mess of color and glinting light. He can’t look away from Kacchan, blond hair curling over his forehead as he bobs on Izuku’s cock, hot lips wrapped tight around him.
Far too soon, Katsuki pulls off with a wet pop and a cough. “Fuck you. You're big.”
It sends a jolt down his spine. He doesn't know how to respond without sounding like a nerd, so he gives an awkward grimace. “I'm sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry for that.”
Precum drips from Izuku's leaking tip, and Katsuki licks it off, running the pad of his thumb over a vein pulsing at the underside. It’s firm, dripping with ease, the way he sucks the desire off Izuku’s overheated skin like they’ve been doing this for years. It’s easy to imagine them on a weekend morning, Katsuki knelt on the plush rug at the foot of a couch while Izuku strokes his hair and cums into his mouth, as natural a part of their routine as cleaning up and driving to the grocery store.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, begging his body not to betray him by ending this now.
“Look at me,” Katsuki says, and Izuku does, opens his eyes, forces himself to look at the thick head of his cock smearing over Katsuki's cheek. It leaves a glistening trail of silver under the cool light. “Stop acting like such a nerd. You can touch me.”
Tentatively, he drops his hands, winding trembling fingers into Katsuki's hair. Satisfied, Katsuki swallows his cock down, sucks lightly, and all the synapses in Izuku's body spark into blinding pleasure.
Shakily, he says, “You… you look good, Kacchan.”
A moan sends dizzying vibrations through Izuku's cock as Katsuki rests his sweat-damp palms on Izuku’s thighs, nails scraping over his skin. He can feel Katsuki’s throat pulsing, the wet, hot ridges, the clench of muscle around him as he flexes his hips up to press into Katsuki’s soft palate.
Izuku spreads his fingers in Katsuki's hair, pulling gently at the soft strands, entranced by how it makes his pink face scrunch up. He's so pretty like this. He's pretty all the time. “Did you want this? Before?”
A sharp exhale blows cool air over the skin between his hips before Katsuki moves off, lips wet and pink. “The hell does that mean?”
“You said I deserve a reward,” he says, and it's probably not the right time to bring it up but it's coming out anyway. “Like—compensation. Since I didn't get a lot of acknowledgement—not that I wanted that, or that that's why I did any of it.”
“Deku,” he says, a dangerous weight to his voice. “Are you telling me you think this is because you didn't get a damn statue?”
It prompts a twinge of defensiveness. “That’s what you said.”
Wiping his mouth with the inside of his wrist, Katsuki unfolds like a dancer and clambers onto his lap, so smooth and swift it has a pang of fear twisting in Izuku’s chest right before Katsuki puts his arms around his neck.
One hand slides into the curls at Izuku’s nape, feeling over damp, tender skin.
“Shitty nerd,” he says. “Don't you know me at all?”
He gulps, heart thrumming as he gazes up at Kacchan, the furrow of his brows and the pink smear of his mouth. It feels like there's a right answer, but it's quicksilver slipping through his grasp.
Katsuki huffs an impatient noise, but he doesn’t push, dark eyes searching Izuku’s face. His touch is firm against the back of Izuku’s neck, unyielding pressure that draws blood to his cheeks in a simmering rush. Everything Kacchan does is so assured, so loud, and the tenderness emanating from him now is so unfamiliar that it’s twisting Izuku’s mind into a loop.
It’s what makes him realize what Katsuki is waiting for.
For someone so confident in himself, Kacchan’s words have always been fickle, veils to the vulnerability under the surface. It has always been his actions that offer a glimpse into his feelings, clear as a mirror to someone who knows how to read him, and Izuku knows better than anyone.
His vision blurs with what he desperately wishes he could say weren’t tears, and the jeweled mass of colors in front of him leans forward, oil paints smeared over a canvas, bright in the dark.
Warm hands cup his cheeks, tilting his face up, and his tears spill to where thumbs brush over the curve of bone.
“Do you want me?” Katsuki says.
Shaky hands find their way to Katsuki’s hips. The fabric of his shirt folds and shifts easily under his touch, plastering flat to the hard line of Katsuki’s waist. “I’ve always wanted you.”
“Then show me.”
It’s kind of embarrassing, kissing Kacchan with tears drying on his face, but it’s not much weirder than Katsuki sauntering into his room and demanding to suck his dick, so he gathers Katsuki closer to his body, slips his hands under his shirt to palm over the ridges of his ribs, desperate for anything, anything Kacchan will give him. His cock’s pressed between them, precum soaking into Katsuki’s shirt, and he can imagine it seeping through to his navel, painting a cloud of glimmering fluid over his pale skin.
“What do you want?”
He releases the sensitive flesh of Katsuki’s neck he’d caught between his teeth. The question is dangerously open for everything Izuku wants, but he has to find a place to start. “Can you take your shirt off?”
With a sharp intake of air, Katsuki yanks the shirt off, dropping it to the floor. Backlit by the dull glow of the lamp, shadows frame the valley between his pecs, the full shape of muscle he worked so hard to build. He looks down at Izuku with something that's almost shame, almost anger, so Izuku doesn't let it develop further, wrapping one arm around Katsuki's back as he takes one pink nipple in his mouth.
Katsuki jolts, hand tightening in Izuku’s hair, a burst of pain at the base of his skull that prompts a choked moan. His head has gone electric with static, heart beating so loudly it vibrates in his ears as he kisses over firm pecs, tongue darting out to taste the salt of Katsuki’s sweat, catching his small, hard nipples between his teeth.
Katsuki’s breath shatters to shards at the first hint of exploratory suction, his head falling back to expose the long, smooth column of his throat, a canvas of blue and gold under the light.
“Kacchan,” he mumbles into his sternum, kissing over the jagged scar. “You taste so good.” His lips move up to Katsuki’s neck, laving hot, wet breath where he goes. “Thank you for letting me do this.”
Moving back just enough to get a hand between them, he spits in his fist and grabs Izuku’s cock, dragging up and down, all slick, tight strokes. “You wanna fuck me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve dreamed about it. You riding me. Pushing me down and calling me names while you fuck yourself on me, taking your pleasure.”
He rubs his thumb over Izuku’s slit, coaxing out sharp bursts of oversensitivity that jerk his hips up in a squirming reflex. “What else do you want?”
Desire’s clouding his vision scarlet, turning the world to a mindless haze, but it’s still hard to voice what he wants Katsuki to do to him—for him—as opposed to the various dreams in which he’s pleasuring Katsuki. “For you to use your mouth again.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, sliding off Izuku’s lap to settle snugly between his legs. “Want to fuck my mouth?”
“No,” he says. Katsuki’s eyebrows arch. Hot blood rises in his cheeks, but he goes on, voice a shy stutter. “I—I want you to get me off.” A hasty afterthought, he adds, “Please.”
The corners of his lips quirk up. “I gotta put in the work, huh?”
“You said it's for me,” he says, resisting the urge to cover his face with his hands.
It’s hard to figure out where to draw the line between flirting and pressuring Katsuki—he's never known Katsuki to do something he doesn't want to do, but he's never had sex with him, either. He's never even acknowledged the possibility that Katsuki might like him back, and here they are.
Unexplored territory once again, a flag over hectares of smooth, white rock.
“Eyes on me,” Katsuki says, like it’s possible to see anything else. To look beyond him, stare around the sun that’s burning so brightly right before Izuku.
He threads his fingers into Katsuki’s hair, so in love he feels sick with it. Like it could spill from him, springwater through the cracks in a cave, emotion so old he’d never put a name to it. It had always been Kacchan, the same shade of crimson painted over his heart, that voice haunting his dreams until nightfall brought the sweet ache of knowing he’d have Katsuki to himself, even if just for a few hours.
His cock squeezes into the back of Katsuki’s throat, and he moans, legs dissolved to jelly. “That’s so good, Kacchan. You’re so good. Can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”
Blunt nails scrape over the dusting of hairs covering his thighs, leaving faint red lines connecting the sparse freckles there. Nose pressed into dark curls, Katsuki looks up, eyelashes shining, silver glistening over his dazzling irises. The lightbulb’s faded enough that the room’s washed in blue, cool and dark, but he can see Kacchan like a nebula in the darkness.
“Kacchan.” He flexes his hips, pumping into Katsuki's warmth, so tight, wet, a mirror of the wetness cooling over his own cheeks. His hands are shaking in Kacchan’s hair. “I want you here, always. I want to hug you, kiss you, make love to you, oh, Kacchan.”
Katsuki strokes the shaft of Izuku's cock with his tongue, blinks moisture from his lashes that falls over the pink suffused across his cheeks. Warm hands cup his balls, massaging them gently, and his eyes crave the release of falling shut but he can’t take them off Katsuki. He doesn't deserve this, did nothing to earn what Katsuki seems to consider a reward, but even his self-doubt can’t pull a blind over the desire written all over Katsuki’s face—all that want, effort, for Izuku.
“Kacchan,” he mumbles, vision blurry. There’s nothing except the feeling of Katsuki’s mouth, the sheer bliss of having that intense gaze pinned on him. Sensations are blending into each other, ecstasy and sensitivity, caught on the edge of a precipice. He doesn’t know if he’s close, what kinds of noises he’s making, but his whole body’s glowing, awash in pulses and sparks.
He’s pretty sure he cries when he cums, which might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind left to care.
The air feels cool on his spit-slicked skin when his cock slips from Katsuki’s mouth.
Katsuki sits back, licking his lips, looking at him. Izuku looks back, breaths ragged, lightheaded.
The pause is long enough to bring a hint of worry, but it’s dispelled when Katsuki stands up, slowly, and settles onto Izuku’s lap once more. White’s smeared over the corner of his lips, and without thinking, Izuku kisses it off to a tangy stain on his own tongue. Beside them, the film has reached the cusp of a climax, but he can barely remember the plot.
“Thank you,” he says.
Katsuki snorts, reaching up to wipe his hair off his own forehead. “Dork.”
“Can I…” Tentatively, he presses his fingertips between Katsuki’s legs to find a wet, sticky patch. Awed, he looks back at him. “You… really?”
“Shut up,” he mutters. “Was jerking off, that’s all.”
He’s pretty sure he hadn’t seen Katsuki’s hands anywhere near his own dick, but he chooses not to mention that. Instead, he presses a soft, fleeting kiss to Katsuki’s mouth, closed lips on lips, and as he’s drawing away, Katsuki huffs an impatient noise and drags him into a deeper kiss.
“You’re mine,” he declares. “Deku.”
The warmth in his chest takes on a bittersweet edge. Kacchan hasn’t called him by that name since his apology, which means there’s only one other explanation for the reference. “I’m not Deku anymore.”
“I know that, you idiot.” His arms loop around Izuku’s neck. “Shitty nerd.” Tender lips press to Izuku’s temple. “The world’s had enough of their hero. You’re mine, now, Izuku.”
Bliss spreads through him. It’s heaven, having Katsuki’s attention, getting to rub the damp grooves of his ribs like he’s soothing a cat, awash in the glow of attention he’d never thought to crave but feels like warm honey seeping into tea. “I’m yours.”
“Good.” A kiss to the crown of Izuku’s head, and a hand fists in his hair—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make him jerk in surprise. “I’ll keep you satisfied, so don’t get all those stupid, self-conscious thoughts in your head again.”
Breathless, he palms up Katsuki’s abdomen, his hips, the flesh of his thighs; all the tender, sacred places he’s now allowed to touch. “Satisfied?”
His hands slide up to the sides of Izuku’s neck as he rears up on his knees, pecs just at Izuku’s eye level. He’s so close his shadow’s falling over Izuku, blocking out the rest of the light. The sweat in the dips of his pecs looks like quicksilver dripping down his heated skin.
“I’ll keep you fed. Work out with you.” He licks his lips, and Izuku's gaze falls to the shimmering glisten over pink. “Let you fuck me.”
The breath’s punched out of his lungs. “I—I wanna do something for you, too. I mean, you did a lot, too, and—you didn’t get a statue, either.”
He lets out a laugh and grabs Izuku’s shirt, fists hot coals through the sweat-damp fabric. “Just don’t hold back on me. I don’t care if it’s sex, your attention, your obsession—give me all of you, or I’ll back off and you can take this as a one-time thing.”
That breaks the floodgates. He pulls Katsuki down to kiss over his wet cheeks, his neck, the bare curve of his shoulders, hugging his waist against his body. “No, Kacchan, please—let me have you, please, all of you.”
Katsuki’s arms feel hot around him, possessive. “You gonna start telling me what you want?”
“Yes, I—I want to sleep with you, make you breakfast tomorrow—” He’s tearing up, but Katsuki doesn’t seem to mind, stroking a hand over Izuku’s cheeks and pressing in closer until they’re entwined so tightly it’s hard to breathe. “I don't need a reward, or for you to make up for anything. I just want you to be mine.”
Katsuki presses a hard, wet kiss to his mouth and grins up at him, eyes bright and victorious.