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Izuku’s fingers are warm where they curl around the nape of Katsuki’s neck, and Katsuki’s so hard he thinks his dick could cause serious injury if he leans just a little too far forward.
Just to be safe, he plants a hand on the armrest of the couch and angles his hips away. Izuku sighs all dreamy and quiet into the air above Katsuki’s head, and shit, Katsuki’s got the perfect vantage point from just above his collarbone. Strong thighs twitch when he starts to suck something pretty and purple, and there’s — fuck yes, there’s a wet spot at the front of Izuku’s shorts. Izuku arches into his mouth, fingers twisting, and the force of his grip strength sends a fucking shockwave down Katsuki’s brain stem.
“Oh my — Kacchan, you’re gonna — watch the teeth Kacchan, I was gonna wear that — ah,” Izuku sucks in a breath and goes mute, and Katsuki never does learn what he was planning on wearing or why the hell he’s wearing it. It’s not important in the slightest — not when he needs to get a hand around Izuku’s ribcage and squeeze, not when Izuku’s halfway to squirming and sucking all the oxygen out of the room, most definitely not when he’s finally taking the hint and settling back against the couch cushions, and yeah, yeah, yeah —
Fucking finally, he’s getting what he wanted. Izuku blinks up at him all hazy and half-lidded, lower lip swollen and throat bitten to hell, and it’s straight out of a dream. He digs crooked fingers into the space between Katsuki’s shoulder and his neck, opens a wetted mouth and reaches — Katsuki meets him all the way there with a sound he’ll deny for years.
“Mm,” Izuku mumbles, and Katsuki thanks whatever the hell is up there that he’s just as mouthy in this context as he is in any other because it’s doing wonders for Katsuki’s ego — head too big for his body, chest inflated twice its normal size type stroking. Katsuki sinks his teeth in the juncture above his collarbone and wishes he had another mouth to swallow Izuku’s sounds whole. “I guess I could wear the — oh, but —”
Even this is good, being able to break up that train of thought that never seems to stop, with him — Izuku can do his fucking party planning while they make out all he wants if it means he’ll keep cutting himself off like that to sigh and breathe approval. Katsuki tugs hard at the collar of his t-shirt and ignores his squeaking, choosing to prioritize getting at a freckle just below it. Maybe if he bites hard enough it’ll stay just like that, all red and indented and as close to Katsuki’s name as he can safely carve into Izuku’s skin.
“Oh, don’t, Kacchan, I really like this shirt, y-you’re gonna stretch the —”
Izuku gasps, then hiccups as Katsuki forces cotton up to his armpits. Fucking fine, he likes this shirt, Katsuki’ll just get it out of his way. Just means he gets to see more bare skin, anyway — so much uncharted territory, flesh he knows with his eyes but rarely his hands and never his mouth, but he can change that if Izuku would just —
“C’mon, lift your arms,” Katsuki mutters, eyes tracking the flush that spills down the center of a tanned, freckled abdomen, pooling around his belly button, and holy shit, he didn’t even think the red could reach that far — trust Deku to go breaking biological records on a Wednesday afternoon, the fucker. Katsuki doesn’t think it’s usually possible for teeth to itch, though, so maybe shit’s contagious.
Izuku doesn’t budge, and Katsuki huffs his frustration, something biting already on the tip of his tongue when he glances upwards. Izuku does lift his arms when his gaze runs higher, but it’s not to help Katsuki with his shirt — he shoves his face into the crook of his elbow and wheezes, shaking his head all panicked.
What the fuck.
“Uh —” Katsuki starts, then swallows, that good, buzzing feeling simmering into something far less pleasant. “Shit, Izuku, c’mon — m’sorry about the shirt, look, I’ll buy you a new one, just —”
Izuku shakes his head faster now, flinging a hand out to grip Katsuki’s shoulder. He’s so red in the face he looks like a fuckin’ strawberry, and Katsuki has to shove down the familiar urge to bite into his cheeks ‘cause it’s clearly not the time. “It’s not that,” Izuku says, rubbing a thumb in circles, then loosening his grip. “It’s just, um —”
“Spit it out,” Katsuki snaps, because he’s got about three point five seconds to learn what’s got Izuku shaking underneath him before he starts properly freaking the hell out, and that won’t be fun for either of them. Izuku takes a deep, shaky breath, eyes a little glassy and absolutely not for the reason Katsuki was hoping they’d be by now, and he says —
“I’ve, um. I’ve never done this before.”
Which is a fat fucking lie if Katsuki’s ever heard one. “Hah? We make out like every day, you dick.”
“N-no, um —”
Izuku swallows, and Katsuki follows the line of his throat, watches it bob beneath deep purple and red rings. He wants to clear this shit up fast so he can get back down there, retrace them with his mouth, hear those sounds again — interrupted by Izuku’s steady stream of consciousness rather than a weird ass case of kiss-induced amnesia, however the hell that happens.
“Like,” Izuku whispers. “You know, sex.”
Katsuki’s stomach flips and drops.
What the fuck.
Izuku fits a hand over his mouth, flinching, and Katsuki gapes, not following in the slightest. Yeah, sure, he was trying to take off Izuku’s shirt, but it’s not like he was initiating anything — can’t fucking do that when he doesn’t know how. He’s got zero clue what gave Izuku the impression that Katsuki’s some expert on the subject and could just make that transition without so much as talking about it first — or that he was somehow the type of person to wanna have their first time on a couch.
There’s barely enough room for him to plant both knees on this piece of shit, and he thinks too much pressure would snap the whole thing and send them tumbling to the hardwood — like he’s risking that when they’ve got a perfectly good, warm bed down the hall with changeable sheets. No way in hell.
Stupid, anxious nerd and his contagious ass panic. Katsuki glares, but his thoughts don’t transfer via osmosis, and Izuku still looks serious, and scared, like his virginity would be a barrier even if Katsuki wasn’t in the same damn boat. Fucking hell.
Katsuki opts for the most obvious and relevant of statements, because unlike Izuku, he can’t just unhinge his jaw and let loose every thought that‘s ever crossed his mind.
“Deku,” he says slowly, carefully, so there’s no room for misinterpretation, “we’re not having sex.”
Izuku blinks. Relief floods his features, and there we go, Katsuki missed that smooth, eased little expression. “Oh,” he breathes, then his face twists up all over again — goddamnit. “Wait, like ever?”
Embarrassment swallows Katsuki’s composure whole. “We’re not having sex right now! In this very moment, we are not having sex!”
More of that cherry color invades Izuku’s face. “Well yeah,” he spits back, eyes wide and posture defensive, and his hands come into the picture, frantic gestures emphasizing his point. “But I just thought ‘cause, you know, you were taking my shirt off —”
Katsuki leans forward and bonks their skulls together, and Izuku yips and cuts off, peeking up through one watery eye to glare as he rubs the red mark. Katsuki presses his forehead to his, more gently this time, ‘cause if this keeps up and Izuku doesn’t calm down he’s never gonna be able to get back to his task of marking the hell out of what’s his — back to chasing that good feeling down the line of Izuku’s throat.
“Hey,” he says softly, and ugh, this sucks, but Izuku’s eyes get all big and green again, and fine, maybe he can tolerate saying this shit out loud. “Not gonna do anything you don’t wanna do, ever. Did it feel good?”
Izuku rolls his teeth over his lower lip, and Katsuki has to fight himself not to kiss it, pull it between his own teeth and suck ‘til it’s black and blue and okay, stop — they’re talking, this is important. “Yeah.”
Katsuki already knew that by the way he was moving under him, noisy as all hell, but it feels real good to hear. “Then we’ll do that. I wasn’t tryin’ to get you naked, just trying to spare the shirt — dumbass,” he tacks on for good measure.
Izuku’s eyes flick over his face, processing, and after a moment, he relaxes under him — another win for Bakugou Katsuki. “Okay.” Izuku reaches up and pets over his cheek, rubs under his eye, and Katsuki tips his head to bite the pad of his thumb, warmth blooming in his chest over Izuku’s muffled, amused sound. “I wanna do it to you, too.”
Oh, that’s just too far.
“When I’m done,” Katsuki snaps — like hell he’s waiting on his prize any longer, after everything he went through to get back to square one. No thank you.
Izuku laughs, and fucking finally, he’s lifting his arms over his head. Katsuki wriggles him out of it, and it’s like the goddamn pearly gates open up — Katsuki squeezes into all the bare skin, buries his face into Izuku’s chest, and dies right there. Fate sealed by teeth and tongue and Izuku’s wet gasps into the air of their living room. Fuck yes.
If, later, Katsuki learns that Izuku’s mouth at his throat is a magnet for sound — unbidden garbage pulled straight out of him with every drag across his shoulder and down his sternum, encouraged by Izuku’s hands and constant mumbling of praise — that’s nobody’s fucking business but theirs.
Izuku’s doing work from home again. Katsuki’s gonna kill him.
They only get so many private hours in a day together, and Katsuki’s sick of Izuku wasting them locked in that room down the hall, oblivious to the world and all Katsuki’s protests.
He doesn’t know how many times he has to tell him that office is for when they’re on leave, not for whatever paperwork Izuku drags home as though it’ll disappear by the time he steps foot into the office the next day — he had to settle for bringing dinner to his desk again instead of kicking Izuku under the table like he’s meant to be doing, and Katsuki’s sick of it.
Something’s gotta give.
Threats don’t work, yelling doesn’t work, the smell of food wafting from the kitchen does fuck-all — so Katsuki’s got a different strategy this time, because Izuku stops everything for a handful of kisses. He uses that to his advantage sparingly, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.
Katsuki pushes the door open slowly despite wanting to slam it, and Izuku’s got both hands planted on the desk, muttering away with shoulders hunched. The action is cute, but the context is infuriating — their bedtime routine should’ve been started by now.
“Nerd,” Katsuki grumbles, and Izuku hums absently and doesn’t look up.
Bastard. Katsuki creeps up behind him, and his intentions are to distract, but really, he’s just giving in to impulse.
“Izuku,” he tries. “Come to bed.”
Izuku sighs, tips his head to the side like he’s about to justify himself all over again — then Katsuki slots their hips together, dropping to mouth at his nape, and his spine straightens.
“Kacchan…” Izuku breathes, and Katsuki kisses his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, closes his teeth around the shell of his ear. Izuku shivers, then sighs again, more pleased this time, turning in Katsuki’s arms to face him.
Got him.
“I really should finish this,” Izuku tells, but his eyes flutter shut when Katsuki presses against him again, and Katsuki knows he’s won. It’s a good fucking feeling. The way Izuku gives into him feels like a fresh victory every single time.
“Tomorrow,” Katsuki says to his lower lip, fits a hand under his thigh. Izuku’s head tips back, body melting as Katsuki’s mouth trails down his throat, and yes, yes, yes — that’s it, this is what they should’ve been doing hours ago.
Hips pressed tight, one leg hitched up, Izuku hooks his hands around the edge of the desk and lets Katsuki take his weight. “Tomorrow,” he agrees softly, finally, then pushes forward, and oh, they’re doing this — Katsuki was just gonna kiss him, but like hell he’s passing up the opportunity to grind against Izuku when he’s so clearly asking for it.
“Mm.” Katsuki nips his jaw, rocks into him, and Izuku gives as good as he gets — settles onto the heel of his palm and digs his fingers into the meat of Katsuki’s shoulder, meets Katsuki in a biting kiss, and everywhere their skin meets lights him up like a match.
“Feels good, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, dropping his head back into Katsuki’s hand, and not for the first time, Katsuki considers locking him away somewhere private for the rest of forever — keeping him out from under the eyes of anyone else for the sake of pulling that shit out of him over and over again, Katsuki’s ears only.
Katsuki rocks up, sucks something into his collarbone, and drinks in the feeling of Izuku getting hard for him. It’s good, it’s so fucking good — everything is just as it should be, Izuku panting into the space above them, hips stuttering, stretched up and lacing his fingers through Katsuki’s hair and on his way to an orgasm strong enough to leave him stupid.
No room for paperwork in a head full of fireworks. Katsuki squeezes him tight and pushes into him like he’s fucking him, and Izuku moans, nails scraping over the wood, cup full of pens clattering to the floor.
“Yeah,” Katsuki sighs, drags his tongue up his throat, kisses him again. Izuku’s lips part to welcome it between his teeth, and this never gets old. They make out wet and lazy, a sharp contrast to the near frantic way Izuku drags his body against him, and he starts gasping between the meet and release before long, loud and desperate and so fucking sexy it drips down Katsuki’s spine.
“Close, Kacchan,” Izuku confesses, and Katsuki digs his fingers so tightly into the meat of his thigh it’s sure to bruise.
“Lemme see it,” he murmurs, and Izuku yanks at the strands between his fingers, eyes squeezed shut, mouth twisted up into something that rips all the air from Katsuki’s lungs. Fuck, that’s good. “C’mon, Izuku, baby —”
Izuku gasps, wet and broken in his throat on the way up, and his body jerks once, twice — fuckin’ gorgeous, that’s what he is. Katsuki knocks his forehead against his collarbone and groans, orgasm tearing from the small of his back upwards, then out. Neurons popping, desk creaking, Katsuki drops Izuku’s thigh in favor of cupping his jaw and swallowing the sound of his release, vision spotting and going dark around the edges.
Mission fucking success.
Izuku whines when they get sticky, something about messes and his favorite sweatpants and cleanup, and Katsuki kisses him quiet ‘cause he’s never given a fuck about anything less. He’s got his favorite fucking person sleepy and sated and biting into his mouth on the comedown, and work is pushed to tomorrow in favor of tangling under the bedsheets.
Laundry can wait ‘til he gets to it.
Katsuki’s in the middle of working the second round of shampoo into his hair when the bathroom door bursts open, scaring the shit out of him. He jumps so bad he knocks the bottle to the floor, landing with a thump that narrowly misses his feet and hurts his ears. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Kacchan?” Izuku calls, like somehow there’d be anyone else behind the curtain and Izuku hadn’t watched him come in here not ten minutes earlier, towel in hand. Sometimes Katsuki’s convinced he just likes saying his name.
“The fuck do you want,” Katsuki barks. He’d gotten a faceful of spray when Izuku stumbled his little ass in here, and bubbles had streamed right into his eyes and mouth — it burns like hell, and Katsuki’s got his eyes rolled back under the stream to try to rinse it out when he hears a clatter from the other side of the curtain. “Deku, I swear to god —”
Izuku snatches the curtain open, and Katsuki makes a really fucking undignified sound, high and flustered as all hell — if he’s called out on it, he’ll gaslight the fuck out of Izuku, blame the noise of the water. “Hi,” Izuku chirps, wiggling his way past the curtain and shoving his way into the space that is really not big enough for two.
Naked as the day he was born.
“What the fuck,” Katsuki chokes, and Izuku hums, knocking his hands out of the way and taking over scratching his scalp in gentle, circular motions. He’s not hard, but that doesn’t mean shit to Katsuki’s rotten, lizard brain — Katsuki stares wide-eyed at the soft cock nestled between Izuku’s thighs, nails dug into his palms, brain melting into useless mush as Izuku cradles the back of his skull in his hands and shuffles closer until they’re pressed chest-to-ribcage. “Guh.”
“I missed you,” Izuku whispers happily, mouthing under his jaw, holy shit, holy shit, Katsuki’s getting hard. Izuku kisses over his jugular and sighs as Katsuki fills out against his lower belly, soapy fingers of a single hand slipping down his back to fit tight against his waist.
Katsuki wheezes. “Hahh, fuck.” Izuku presses a hand to his forehead to tip his head into the spray, rubbing gently to help rinse his hair, and Katsuki is unquestionably the worst person alive, getting off to an innocent display of affection. “Missed you too.”
Izuku rubs until the water runs clear, never once mentioning the horror insisting on its presence between them. He kisses under Katsuki’s chin. “Hang on.”
He dips to pick up the bottle Katsuki had knocked over, and Katsuki misses his body heat immediately. The water suddenly feels way colder than it did before Izuku came in. He blinks through the absence, looks down and — oh fucking hell, Izuku’s face is way too close to his dick.
Fuck, fuck, he’s gonna do something awful if this shit keeps up. Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut and waits until he feels Izuku pressed against him again to reopen them, for everyone’s safety.
Izuku’s stretched up on his toes, retrieving the conditioner, and Katsuki’s brain short-circuits fresh. Willing his erection down is fucking impossible with him this close, all marked up, warm-looking skin. Izuku squeezes the treatment into his palm, and Katsuki exhales, wrestling with every ounce of self control he has.
Mine, aforementioned lizard brain says.
Shut the fuck up, Katsuki says back.
There’s a soft upturn at the corner of Izuku’s mouth as he works gently through the strands of Katsuki’s hair, and Katsuki’s whole body starts tingling, starting where he touches and spreading outwards in waves. It’s good. He leans in unconsciously, needing to feel that smile firsthand, and Izuku meets him and kisses him and sighs into his mouth. Katsuki lifts his hands to cup his jaw, swallows it right down, and the world rights itself in inches.
Kissing Izuku is easy. Kissing Izuku doesn’t cross very important, very tempting boundaries.
“Did you wash,” Izuku mumbles against his upper lip, twisting his fingers in Katsuki’s hair, and sound threatens to bubble up Katsuki’s chest at the pressure. He nods dumbly, chasing Izuku’s mouth again — then chokes on his own spit as Izuku releases and pets down his belly.
“W-wait, Deku, Deku,” Katsuki blurts, and Izuku tips his head onto Katsuki’s chest, shoulders shaking, laugh muffled against his skin. He wipes his palm clean over Katsuki’s navel, slips his hand lower — and takes Katsuki in hand.
Dear fucking god.
Thumb rubbing gently under the head, then up over the slit — Katsuki slaps a hand against the tiles and sucks in a gasp, thighs trembling so badly Izuku has to lock an arm around his waist to hold him up. “What —”
“That’s good,” Izuku sighs, strokes down, up — a pace that has Katsuki grinding his teeth and swallowing panic over the fact that this will be over very, very fast. “That’s so good, Kacchan.”
“Shit. Shit, Izuku, baby, I can’t — my fucking god,” Katsuki rasps, and Izuku tips his head, mouthing over a nipple and drawing it between his teeth. He can’t look up at Katsuki with the water pouring over them still, and Katsuki counts his fucking blessings over that one — if he saw Izuku’s face right now, he’d be done for.
“Yes please,” Izuku breathes into his skin, barely audible over the spray. “Please, please, been thinking about it, Kacchan, want it, want you to — missed you all day, kept waiting for you to come find me but then you went straight here, and I told myself I’d wait, I said I would, but I was out there and you were in here and I kept thinking about it and — oh, please, Kacchan, won’t you?”
Katsuki’s head is spinning, his dick is pulsing between Izuku’s fingers — Izuku’s running his mouth and begging, pleading for Katsuki to come, and holy shit, he’s been thinking about this.
“Oh my fucking god,” Katsuki rasps, and comes so hard he feels it in his fucking teeth.
He spills all over Izuku’s fingers, vision whiting out entirely, and he whines through it, sound tearing up his throat loud and helpless. Good-fucking-night, he’s officially a minute man.
Izuku gasps when he hears it. “Oh. Oh, Kacchan, that’s so good, you sound so good.” He twists his hand, then gentles his motions, kissing absently over Katsuki’s chest, and Katsuki only realizes his knees gave out once the feeling returns.
He thinks his fucking fingers went numb. Izuku loosens his grip around his waist once he steadies, then immediately stretches for a kiss, looking pleased as all hell.
With effort, and two false starts, Katsuki finds his voice. “The fuck was that for,” he mutters into Izuku’s mouth, waiting for his brain to solidify, for his soul to fit back into his body. Fucking hell, he’s pretty sure his cognitive functioning exited through his dick.
Izuku ducks to rub his face over Katsuki’s chest, squeeze tight around his ribs. “Just wanted to,” he breathes back. “Was so good. Better than I thought it’d be.”
Katsuki huffs, scratching over his scalp, every inch of him buzzing, and Izuku tips his head into it with a happy sound.
What a fucking bastard, letting Katsuki feel like a creep when his intentions were evil to begin with. Izuku reaches for the faucet behind him, twisting and cutting off the spray, and fuck, their utility bill’s gonna be through the roof this month.
The current running throughout Katsuki’s whole body argues that it was worth it, though.
Izuku pulls back the curtain and steps out, looking shifty as hell, and Katsuki isn’t stupid — he knows by now what Izuku looks like when he’s about to run.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Katsuki snaps. “I’m getting you back for that.”
Izuku blanches, and Katsuki follows him out, snatching up a towel and rubbing furiously over his skull. Through the fabric, Izuku protests. “That wouldn’t be authentic!”
He’s so fucking ridiculous. There’s not a person on earth Katsuki likes more than him. “The fuck do you mean authentic? I’ll show you authentic you sneaky little bastard, barging in on my shower just to touch my dick, goddamn pervert —”
Izuku’s laugh bubbles up his chest, eyes so damn bright they’re practically sparkling, and Katsuki’s officially gonna eat him. He snatches him up when he tries to flee, locks an arm around his waist and holds fast, then takes a fat bite out of his cheek in victory.
Izuku yelps, then moans so goddamn loud when Katsuki gets a hand on his dick that Katsuki fumbles.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, then rights himself — and Izuku goes on to give him every sound from every wet dream he’s ever had.
Fucking incredible.
The first time Katsuki gets Izuku properly under him, sprawled over their sheets with a kiss-bitten mouth and throat rubbed raw from both the sounds he made and the shit he insisted on getting up to beforehand, he learns that fucking somebody is hard.
Seriously. Katsuki’s a great fucking multitasker, takes pride in that — and until he actually lined himself up between Izuku’s thighs, he was fucking positive this would be no different.
Then he got his hands under his knees and started pushing in, and Izuku’s head hit the pillow, and he moaned so fucking loud it was like a punch to the gut.
Katsuki had to close his eyes and do breathing exercises for a solid fucking minute to recover from that.
Internally, Katsuki curses every mention of sex out there that failed to inform him that appreciating the look on your boyfriend’s face a little too much means setting yourself off before you’re even balls-deep. It’s — by the grace of what, he doesn’t know, but something out there that keeps his nerve endings intact and his orgasm a hair's breadth out of reach.
Izuku blinks up at him all dumbfounded when Katsuki asks him to pinch him as hard as he can, but he does it, and the pain reminds him to breathe.
“F-fucking hell,” Katsuki gasps into the bubble they created, and Izuku’s face goes all soft. Katsuki knows he’s put the pieces together when he reaches up to rub his thumb over his cheekbone.
“Feels good?” Izuku whispers, eyes all wide and wondering, and Katsuki’s so fucking grateful for his flexibility in that moment, because he needs to kiss him. Izuku exhales into his mouth, then squirms a little when he licks behind his teeth, and Katsuki loves him, he fucking loves him.
“I’m —” Katsuki chokes, and Izuku curls a hand around his nape, kissing at the corner of his eye, his temple. “I’m gonna last like thirty seconds.”
Izuku laughs, locking his thighs around his hips, pulling Katsuki a little deeper. Holy fucking shit. “It’ll be the best thirty seconds I’ve ever had.”
“Bastard,” Katsuki accuses, but he lets Izuku guide him in increments, breathing hard through his nose, abandoning Izuku’s thighs in favor of cupping the back of his head and kissing him between inhales.
When their hips finally meet, it’s fucking earth-shattering. Izuku makes some noise like it’s the best thing in the whole world, and Katsuki’s pulled a whole range of sounds out of him, but none of them have sounded quite like this one. It’s a mirror of the way he feels.
It’s even harder to fuck him. Izuku keeps holding onto him like he’s some fucking anchor despite the fact that he feels like he’s gonna up and float away any minute now, whispering reassurances in his ear that it’s okay if he comes, really, it’s already so good, best first time ever, which — it sounds like he’s asking him to do it, the way his voice cracks and breaks and pitches up high, and eventually Katsuki has to fit a hand over his mouth and tell him to stop fucking talking.
It’s ineffective. Like Izuku’s ever listened to anyone in his whole goddamn life.
There’s something ruining about being inside Izuku — about the confirmation that he’s wanted back, that he has permission to touch him and hold him and fuck him in all the ways he’s dreamed of since the concept of desire clicked fully into place in his skull. It smashes his filter into a thousand pieces, and what comes spilling out is absolute garbage.
Izuku’s a motormouth on a fucking good day — apparently, Katsuki gets his dick wet and becomes worse.
He puts his mouth everywhere he can reach, leaving marks like he’s possessed, and he can’t stop talking. Mumbling shit about how tight Izuku is, about how good he looks — spitting out desires that Katsuki hasn’t even let himself think about fully-formed, and Izuku drinks down all of it, rakes his nails down Katsuki’s back and meets him hit for hit.
It’d be fucking humiliating if he had to watch it back — but the sounds Izuku makes, the way he squirms, the messy way he reciprocates — knocking their foreheads together, biting him, gasping an equal amount of bullshit back — it empties his head of nothing but the man under him.
He’s holding it together, he really fucking is – then Izuku fucks everything up and starts to cry.
Katsuki’s self control withers and crumples to dust. This is the shit of his dreams.
“Oh my god,” Katsuki rasps, feeling like he’s splitting out of his skin. Izuku goes wide-eyed, and Katsuki barely resists the urge to lick the tears that unstick from his lashes in response, that unbroken cascade of salt down his cheeks. “My fucking god, baby, gets me so hard when you do that, keep going.”
Izuku sniffles, fingers clenched in the sheets, and his confusion — that goddamn doe-eyed look, like he’s been caught in headlights, like Katsuki’s just that fucking bright — it makes his dick ache. Guilt is a motherfucker, but hell if it isn’t taking a backseat to drink in that red rimming the green. “When — when I cry?” Izuku whispers, thick and choked, watery, and Katsuki’s higher functioning flickers and fucking dies.
Izuku’s sound as he dips, drags the flat of his tongue up his cheek, closes his teeth around the taste — core memory, full stop.
“Kacchan,” he breathes, and Katsuki kisses him so hard their teeth clack. He wants Izuku to come for him so badly the enormity of the desire fucking hurts — doesn’t quite fit right in his chest, swells in the center of him and pushes out every fucked up thing he’s ever thought about in the context of Izuku.
There’s no good way to explain what this does to him, why he likes it so much — other than the fact that Deku’s always, always looked so fucking pretty when he cries, and that Katsuki wants all of him, each expression of his affection, every emotion too big for his body. Katsuki can admit in the privacy of his own head that the craving for Izuku’s tears is unconditional — the reaction it pulls out of him uncaring of the context — but here, like this, Katsuki decides all at once it’s the best fucking way to see it.
Izuku fits a hand between them to touch himself, tears falling openly, moans quiet and wrecked in the meager distance between their mouths, and it’s the end of Katsuki’s restraint.
“Come on,” he murmurs, urges, with the absurd thought that he might need Izuku’s orgasm to breathe. Izuku gasps, licks messy over Katsuki’s lower lip, and shakes so hard against him it rattles his teeth. “Come on, Deku, Izuku, there you go —”
“Kacchan,” he pleads, shatters beneath him. “Kacchan, Kacchan —”
They’re pressed so close Katsuki doesn’t understand how it could be comfortable, but he can feel it when Izuku spills over anyway, makes a mess between them and squeezes into Katsuki’s arm so hard it hurts.
His face twists up, and the image burns itself into Katsuki’s brain. He sobs into Katsuki’s mouth, and it’s a direct line to where they’re connected. He gets so fucking tight it’s impossible for Katsuki to avoid following.
If he died right here, Katsuki thinks, it’d be worth it.
The energy in the room sparks but doesn’t fizzle out, and he’s probably halfway to crushing Izuku beneath him, but Izuku fixes him with a look so awfully adoring when he wipes at the salt on his cheeks it’s a concern for the back burner.
“That was way longer than thirty seconds,” Izuku teases softly, throat absolutely wrecked at this point, and Katsuki laughs because offense is so far away from him he’s forgotten what it even feels like.
“Like I was gonna fuck this up,” Katsuki says back. No fucking way he was letting himself cut this short when they’ve been building up to it for so long.
“You wouldn’t have.” Izuku pushes sweat-matted hair off Katsuki’s forehead, then thumbs over his ear, eyes flickering over every part of his face — like if he looks long enough he could memorize every inch of it. Katsuki loves him so much it’s fucking nauseating. He urges Katsuki’s ear closer to his mouth, and Katsuki dips, shivering when warm breath washes over the shell. “I had to jerk off three times earlier so I wouldn’t go off when you kissed me.”
Katsuki’s amusement leaves him in a bark far too loud for how close they are, and Izuku’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs back, bright and uncontrollable.
Fuck, he loves him.
Izuku’s whole face crumples, but before panic eats Katsuki alive, he inhales — chokes out, “I love you, too.”
Ah fuck.
Of all the shit to come out of his mouth tonight without his awareness, it’s by far the most soul-bearing — but Izuku said it back, and Katsuki’s brain is still dripping out of his ears, so fine, he lets it go. Savors the warmth three little words spark behind his ribcage.
Izuku’s eyelashes are so damn long they kiss the freckles on his cheeks when he blinks away residual moisture, and, overcome, Katsuki does the same.