Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Katsuki was a little crossfaded.

All it had taken was a rough day at the hero gig, a beer rattling in the open door of the fridge and a quirked brow from Izuku on the couch of their shared apartment. It rarely took more than that, in truth. That math - at the very least - added up.

Now, what Katsuki couldn’t tell you was whether it was the crossfade or Izuku himself that was keeping him from reaching a truly spectacular orgasm.

It was a given that the sex was as good as always - blindingly, earth-shatteringly, toe-curlingly good in a way that Katsuki would neither admit to under oath nor water torture. That was not the problem. The problem was that he'd been kept on the very precipice of coming for more than an hour now.

“Hey, dumbass,” Katsuki grunted, as deferential as always, shifting his hips just to tease, “You gonna get me there?”

Izuku huffed a fond noise, softly amused, ducking his head to press his mouth to the bare curve of his shoulder, “Just enjoy it, Kacchan.”

And, sure, Izuku was pressing in with slow circles of his hips, just the way he liked. And, of course, he was taking his sweet time taking a hit just to breathe it into Katsuki’s open mouth, in a way that was utterly obscene. It was all hot as sin, okay - Katsuki was enjoying himself, that was not the issue here.

The issue was the white hot ache deep in his abdomen, the unbearable throbbing at the core of himself. He wanted to come, and fuck if he wasn’t going to get exactly what he wanted.

Digging his heels into the sheets, Katsuki leveraged himself to take Izuku’s earlobe between his teeth, dragging against the sensitive skin to speak in his ear.

“Come on, hero,” Katsuki goaded, and the title made Izuku throb inside of him; he felt it, grinning, “Get me off.”

Instead of the intended outcome, Izuku went back on his heels, stubbed out the joint at their side table. He pulled Katsuki to him with steady hands broad across his thighs, all effortless strength.

“I wanna take my time with you,” Izuku told him, and the words were soft, but there was something in his eyes that told Katsuki he knew exactly what he was doing.

If people knew how deeply evil this little sunshine freak was capable of being, Katsuki was half-convinced the world would end.

“There’s taking your time, and then - ” Katsuki hissed a breathless sound as Izuku shifted to continue the slow, sinuous drag of his hips, “And then there’s torture, you absolute psychopath.”

“There is also something called patience, Katsuki,” Izuku answered airily, dictating to him as though he weren’t nailing the place inside of him that made his vision blur. He pressed a palm low on Katsuki’s stomach, feeling how deep he was inside, just to make him writhe, “You could benefit from some.”

“Coming from the guy who got his hands on me the second he figured out how sex worked,” Katsuki scoffed, pressing his hand down on Izuku’s own to add pressure and tossing his head back with a sharp noise at the feeling - it was fucking good, but it wasn’t enough, “God, can you remember the first time I let you do this?”

After a few moments had passed with no response, Katsuki lifted his head to gage Izuku’s expression; caught the red sash across his cheeks and ears, the glazed look in his eyes.

“Oh, you're remembering, huh?” Katsuki simpered, drawing his heel across his collarbone to drag some of his attention back to the present, “You wanna share with the class?”

Izuku caught his ankle, focus coming back to the fore, eyes locking with Katsuki’s own in a way that made a shiver go up his spine.

“I remember you being a little more flexible,” Izuku told him, mutinously, tugging Katsuki’s ankle so it lay against his shoulder.

Katsuki made a disgruntled noise, unsure whether to be more pissed at the comment or the manhandling. Soon, Izuku took his other leg in his palm and arranged them to match, calves pressed to Izuku’s chest. It was a close call, but the motion of it had Katsuki deciding that definitively, the manhandling was worse.

Before Katsuki could sputter out his indignation, Izuku pressed in deeper, humming to himself thoughtfully as he tells him, “I remember this.”

Nonplussed, Katsuki manages a shudder, hands coming up to desperately scrabble against Izuku’s thighs. He needed something to anchor himself whilst he got the breath fucked out of him.

Once he’d managed to catch a breath, he tried to take stock of the new arrangement. The angle was better; he could definitely work with this. The intensity of the look Izuku was giving him? That had a few warning signs going off in the back of his head.

“I remember you telling me to fuck you so you wouldn’t owe me anything.”

And that - that had Katsuki’s eyes opening.

He took in the look on Izuku’s face and realised with a mounting panic that he did remember the first time they’d done this - in vivid technicolour fucking detail.

“It wasn’t - ”

“I remember, after doing as you asked, you begging me not to finish until I made you come again,” Izuku goes on, pointedly, voice low and intimate in a way that made Katsuki’s toes curl, “You want me to remind you?”

Katsuki swallows, realising that all of his taunting had only lead him here - at the end of Izuku’s quiet smiling wrath. Sure, he would come -  but by God it would be merciless.

“I remember you clawing ten jagged marks down my back,” Izuku tells him, drawing his nails up Katsuki’s thighs in a soft mockery of the damage he would have inflicted back then, “I remember you showing me how to tilt your hips to make it good for you.”

Izuku shifted pointedly, and the angle settles into something heaven-sent - deep-seated and punishing and perfect. He feels his vision near white-out and makes a keening sound at the feel of it. Izuku simply smiles, hushes him gently, kisses his ankle with an expression somewhere between adoration and condescension.

“I remember you soaking my lap,” Izuku hums, unrepentant, and Katsuki screws his eyes shut against the onslaught of words, the images they brought back, the vivid heat in his abdomen throbbing tighter, “I remember the wet heat of it between my thighs when you told me to fuck you through it.”

“Fucking - hell, ‘Zuku,” Katsuki admonishes, teeth grit, both appalled and unbearably aroused in even measure. He braces his fists against Izuku’s chest, near breathless, thinking back to the time when the man would flush crimson at the mention of a mere kiss. Katsuki had created a monster.

“Is it coming back to you now?” Izuku prompted, relentless, and Katsuki may have created a monster but he fucking adored it, couldn’t get enough, would take him for all he was worth, “Or do you need me to show you?”

Katsuki felt the tension in his abdomen start to mount, heat building - he knew if he was going to get what he wanted, this was the way to get it.

“Show me,” Katsuki conceded with a shallow nod of his head, his voice a harsh scrape of sound, reverent, “I can take it.”

Izuku betrayed himself with a heady little intake of breath, giving away how much this affected him. Katsuki savoured it, felt the razor edge of a grin shape his face as Izuku forced his thighs further open.

He took Katsuki’s waist in his broad palms, thumbs pressing firm to his hipbones, dragged him closer and began fucking him properly.

Katsuki felt it knock the air out of his lungs, felt the grin slip from him in increments, felt his composure get taken from him one ruthless press of Izuku’s hips at a time.

Within moments, the tension in the lines of his body submitted, head lolling back against the sheets, vision hazed and lips parted. Distantly, he could hear the sounds he was making, and there was a faraway part of him that knew he should be mortified. At the forefront he was euphoric, drunk on it, eclipsed by it.

“I remember you sounded like this the first time, too.”

Izuku, for his part, was unrelenting. He may not have his power anymore, but if it made a difference in the force of his body, Katsuki couldn’t feel it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, and here Katsuki was, shaking apart. He could feel the slow clench of his orgasm building in his stomach, knew Izuku would feel it by the way he tightened around him.

“Shh,” Izuku soothed him, and Katsuki registered the keening sob of his own breathing, felt him ease off just enough to stave the orgasm,“You’re okay; I’ve got you.”

Katsuki hiccuped a breath, letting out a disgruntled rumble to voice his displeasure at being babied, before reaching out to drag Izuku to him. As always, Izuku went, powerless to deny Katsuki when he held his arms out to him.

The movement had Katsuki’s legs falling around his waist, had Izuku’s chest pressed to his own, had his face drawn close.

Katsuki wasted no time cupping his face, taking Izuku’s plush bottom lip between his teeth, smothering the ensuing moan with a kiss. As ever, this was all it took to shatter Izuku’s resolve.

He panted into Katsuki’s open mouth, gasped as Katsuki raked his nails down his shoulder blades, pace stuttering at the sting of it. He was a stone cold sentinel against pain, as long as it wasn’t Katsuki doling it out in bed. Then he was a bitch for it.

“I remember you being scared to touch me at first,” Izuku told him, quiet and intimate between them, breathed out like a secret, “I remember you getting like this. Needy. Desperate.”

Katsuki got his hands into his hair and tugged, vicious, in retaliation. Izuku groaned at the feeling, pupils blowing out in a way that was obscene.

“Yeah?” Katsuki bit out, gaining enough lucidity to know he had ground to gain back here, “I remember you crying like a bitch.”

It’s enough to shock a breathless laugh from Izuku, ducking his head to Katsuki’s chest, kissing him there; all easy forgiveness.

Katsuki remembers he’d hidden his face like this back then, too - tilted enough for Katsuki to think the wet drips to his chest were sweat, not tears. That was until he’d seen the hitch of his shoulders; gotten a hand into Izuku’s hair and jerked his face back, learned the truth. Saw the utterly overwhelmed look on Izuku’s face, blush high on his cheekbones, tears framing his jaw.

It had been as shocking as it was arousing; revealing something about himself that Katsuki hadn't been ready to face.

In the years that followed, it was something that’d he’d learned to surrender to. Knew now, in the wake of everything, that Izuku loved crying for him as much as Katsuki loved making him cry.

“It was the best I’d ever felt,” Izuku admits, easily and openly, because there were no secrets between them like there had been back then, “Thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, dismissive, if only to cover the way it made his chest ache, despair at the oblivious insensitivity of his youth.

He should have known that any memory of theirs would bring back everything they had ever put each other through. Tries not to think about how the foundation of their relationship was rooted in convenience and lust for him, where it had only ever been love for Izuku, all the way down.

He’d only come to learn that years after, when he’d succumbed to what should have been obvious between them from the very start. And when he fell, he fell hard; hard enough to know how devastating it must have been for Izuku those first few years - allowed to touch but never to keep.

“Hey,” Izuku urges, clearly having caught him out, “Eyes on me.”

Katsuki clenched his jaw and did as he was told, tried to exude indifference, but the soft look in Izuku’s eyes tells him he had failed.

“You’re forgiven; you’ll always be forgiven,” Izuku tells him, simply, as if it were not the most devastating thing Katsuki had ever heard, “Now focus here, with me.”

Katsuki swallows the emotion and nods, lets Izuku distract him with with his mouth, pressing kisses to his cheeks and eyelids and lips. Then, when he feels the tension leave Katsuki’s body once more, he takes his attention to his collarbones - light scrapes of his teeth, sucking a bruise into the hollow of his throat.

Katsuki arches into it, feels for what must be the thousandths time tonight the steady swell of mounting arousal. Izuku takes his hot mouth to his chest and Katsuki gasps, hands clenched as the heat of his tongue teases him, his teeth grazing the sensitive nubs.

He felt as though he could come from this alone, so when he feels the knuckles of Izuku’s hand brush his abdomen, all his hair stands on end. The hand dips lower, knuckles drawing through the wetness between his legs.

Desperately, Katsuki tilts his head to watch, sees as Izuku draws his thumb up the base of his own cock where he’s buried inside of him. He starts rubbing Katsuki there, just underneath the hood, slow tight passes of his thumb in a way that sends hot magma to the core of himself. The sight of it was obscene, nearly dragging him over the edge.

Finally, excruciatingly, mercifully; it was enough.

“Close, Zuku, fuck - fuck,” He grits his teeth, screwed his eyes shut, voice coming out like gravel, “Please, let me - I’m close, please - ”

Izuku groaned like he was dying, his forehead coming to rest at Katsuki’s collarbone, began bearing his weight fully into the pace of it -  and finally, finally gave him what he wanted.

It felt a little like dying, actually. Katsuki would know. Like a star collapsing. All of the explosive power of his body felt like it had been shaken free of his core in suspended time, lips parted around it, all the tension and pressure and heat building into one single, shuddering, breathless moment.

He came back to himself with his back still arched, fingers and toes curled into the sheets - and like everything Katsuki had ever let go of, there would be scorch marks - staring, unseeing at the ceiling.

“Motherfucker,” Was the first word from him when he regained sentience, appreciative and sated, realising in slow increments that Izuku was still fucking him, thighs soaked, pace steady and unhurried.

It was the kind of pace Izuku preferred when he was teasing himself, drawing out the inevitable with Katsuki tightening up around him like a heartbeat.

Katsuki tilted Izuku’s face up to gage his expression, caught the fucked out look in his eyes, pupils blown and cheeks ruddy.

“Jesus,” Katsuki grinned, both in admonishment and appraisal, “Look at you.”

Izuku whined, like an animal trying to get at prey through the bars of a cage, desperate and just out of reach.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Katsuki simpered, voice pitched low in his ear, “Inside for me; you know it’s yours.”

Izuku made a noise like he’d been hit, all breathless and shocked out of him. Katsuki tightened his thighs around Izuku’s hips, dragged him impossibly deeper, and that was all it took.

He gripped Katsuki’s hips like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the Earth, and Katsuki looked forward to the ten perfect bruises of his fingerprints. Loved the way they would ache pressed against the belt of his combat gear.

He held him through it, until the last shaky flinches of his body subsided, and he melted into his arms - exhausted and satiated.

“I’m impressed you held out this long,” Katsuki huffed out, amused, pressing a kiss into his unruly curls as Izuku got his breathing under control.

Izuku nuzzled his face further into that place between Katsuki’s throat and shoulder, rumbling his contentment like some overgrown house cat.

“You’re lucky I have better control than I had back then.” Izuku murmurs back, sounding utterly serene, weightless.

Unfortunately for Katsuki, he wasn’t quite so weightless on top of him, boneless as he was. He hitches his leg around and rolls them both to lay beside each other, and Izuku instantly curls back around him, all strong limbs and ridiculous body heat. Katsuki soaks it up like a moth to moonlight.

“Don’t sell yourself short, crybaby,” Katsuki breathed, settling into the haven of their bed, “You didn’t do too bad for a first timer.”

Izuku sits up a little, and the shift had Katsuki’s eyes opening to look up at him, catching the fond, confused look on his face.

“You think I did that through sheer willpower alone?” Izuku murmurs, looking bemused, “Are you kidding? I totally cheated.”

“You -?”

“Used my quirk,” Izuku told him, easily, like this wasn’t entirely new information, “Or maybe abused it, would be the correct term.”

Katsuki’s mind was all sex-addled, dazed with endorphins, too muddled to keep up with Izuku’s words.

“You used - ”

“Blackwhip, yeah.”

“As a - ”

“Cockring, I guess. Kinda bummed I can’t use it anymore, actually.”

That woke him up.

“That’s diabolical,” Katsuki tells him, and despite himself, the thought was kind of hysterical. He felt his mouth twitch up at the thought, “You’re diabolical.”

“Hey, you weren’t complaining at the time,” Izuku says, flopping back onto the bed with all the ease of someone who knew there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do that Katsuki wouldn’t forgive him for.

“What - you think I just held out? For however long I fucked you? Me? The first time I ever got to be inside the person I’d been in love with since I was 4 years old - ”

Katsuki pressed a thumb and forefinger into his eyes, feeling a migraine coming, “Please don’t talk about our first time and you being 4 years old in the same sentence.”

“- I mean seriously, Kacchan, it was a miracle I lasted after getting my mouth on you - ”

“Okay, enough of that, you’re not fucking me for another hour tonight,” Katsuki cuts him off, nudging him in the ribs to get him to concede ground on the bed.

Dutifully, Izuku scooches over, relinquishing the space while throwing him a conspiratorial look which Katsuki had aptly named Danger.

“Does that mean I can fuck you for less than an hour, or after an hour?”

“Neither, smartass,” Katsuki sneers, getting the covers up around them both and getting the light, “You’re all out of fucks.”

Izuku hums, all sunshine, like he finds Katsuki endlessly charming. He's still turned to reach the light switch when Izuku catches him around the waist, and Katsuki rolls his eyes as he’s dragged back to the sheets, tucked up in his arms.

Izuku’s broad chest presses to his back, the contours and heat of it familiar and comforting. Katsuki feels the tense lines of his body ease into it, like butter in a hot pan.

“I didn’t know you had such total recall for the first time you went down on me, nerd,” Katsuki mumbles into his pillow, Izuku nuzzling into his hair.

“Oh, yeah, it’s photographic,” Izuku humours him, voice hazy with sleep, “I remember all of it.”

Katsuki takes that in, and responds in the only way he knows how.

“Fucking sap. That was like 10 years ago.”

“It was 8 years ago, Kacchan,” Izuku tells him, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, what-the-fuck-ever, babe,” Katsuki dismisses, grinning despite himself and because he knows Izuku can’t see, “You shut up and let me get some sleep now, and I’ll let you fuck me in the morning - how’s that sound?”

Izuku responds with a very poorly over-acted snore, and Katsuki snickers all the way down into sleep.

- 8 Years Ago: The Start -

It starts, like most weekend nights in the last semester of their final year, with Katsuki steadily making his way towards being absolutely plastered. In his defence, most of the dorm was in a similar state, celebrating the last of exams and procrastinating the last of their coursework.

Naturally, he had finished early - sent the last of it in the week before, so now his only responsibility was avoiding responsibilities until the semester wrapped up and real life flooded in.

Izuku was in the same position, finished and now in limbo - though, perhaps a couple degrees less hammered than Katsuki himself.

Katsuki couldn’t quite tell, looking at him from across the way in their circle of friends, scattered as they were in various states of intoxication around Sero’s dorm-room carpet.

Izuku seemed to sense his gaze, eyes lifting to meet his own; intense as ever.

Definitely not as obliterated as me, Katsuki thinks, ducking his head away to take a swig of his beer and act oblivious to the fact he’d been staring.

Sue him; there was a lot to stare at.

It seemed as though someone had taken a baseball bat to anything delicate about Izuku in the last couple years, swung away until all that was soft was now firm.

His 20th birthday alone had deemed it amusing to gift him shoulders like fucking Atlas, the long line of them seemingly taking on the weight of the world.  They made it impossible for Izuku to diminish himself; and now he took up space where once he’d cower.

Katsuki noticed. Of course, he noticed. He noticed all of it.

He noticed the breadth of his knuckles, the line of his jaw. He noticed the sharp cut of his canine teeth when he smiled.

The only thing that hadn’t changed about him were his eyes; a little more tired and shadowed under the weight of everything - but evergreen and determined as ever.

Katsuki chanced another look and caught those eyes on him, creased under an expression of askance.

He cuts his eyes away, takes another swig, and is saved by Denki’s drunken slur.

“Kacchan!”  And fuck if Katsuki doesn’t flicker his eyes back just to see Izuku’s jaw twitch, as it always does, when anyone else calls him that -  “Dare? Or truth?”

“It’s ‘Truth or Dare’, dumbass, how do you fuck that up,” He sneers, amused despite himself, and the others chuckle drunkenly around him. He decides he might make an ass of himself if he’s told to move, so he concedes, “Truth.”

“Alright, alright,” Denki gestures excitedly, like he can’t believe the opportunity he’s been given. He flaps for a minute, trying to come up with something, before a genuinely evil glint takes his eyes, “Alright, okay, I’ve got it.”

Katsuki sends him an unimpressed look, inspiring another ripple of snickers throughout the room.

Denki grins, leans forward on his hands like a kid, asks; “What was the last thing you jerked off to?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, bringing the lip of his beer up to his mouth as he says, “I’ve got fucking grenades for hands - you think I’m putting that shit anywhere near my junk?”

Yeah, he was plastered alright.

The second the words are out, he knows he’s fucked up. He hears the laughter give way to silence, and then hushed whispers, confusion.

“Wait - never?” Sero coughs, waving away smoke from a blunt he’d inhaled wrong at Katsuki’s answer, “Like - never?”

Katsuki doubles down, because he’s stubborn to a fault.

“You’re seen my quirk, right? Bit of sweat, bit of friction - enough power to level a building - and you want me to rub one out? Fuck that,” Katsuki dismisses, like he hadn’t just admitted to something deeply secret and carefully hidden, “Go fuck yourself with some TNT, see how you like it.”

Sero’s just the right side of high for his eyebrows to say Fair enough, holding his hands up in surrender. Denki doesn’t quite get the memo.

“But - like, seriously, you’ve never - ?” Denki furthers, looking at him like he’d said something incomprehensible, impossible.

“Is there a fucking echo in here? What’s not clicking?” Katsuki hisses, splaying his arms out, the beer in his hand sloshing dangerously inside the bottle, “Never, not once, never tried, never will. Also; none of your fucking business.”

“Well, everything about your personality suddenly makes a lot of sense,” Shinsou points out, lazily snagging the joint from Sero and taking a hit. Katsuki flips him off.

“I mean, no wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Denki mumbles, peering into his empty beer bottle like it held the answers to the universe. With a startled look, he points the beer at Katsuki like he was a reporter with a mic, “Wait - does this mean you can never have sex?”

Katsuki huffs a breath, pointedly doesn’t answer, downs another gulp of beer.

Shinsou makes a noise that’s almost a laugh, getting toward the hysterical side of stoned, “This guy would make it look like Pompeii if he’s ever invited to an orgy.”

“You think you’re funny, huh,” Katsuki grits out, low, bringing little fireworks to his palm in threat, “Let’s see if that quirk of yours still works if I burn the tongue outta your head.”

“There are quirk suppressants for sex,” Izuku cuts in, voice calm and thoughtful, as if he’d heard Denki’s question and nothing else of the ensuing tension, “Just prototypes, for now, but they should be available in the next couple years. Probably expensive, though.”

For a moment, everyone’s attention is blissfully on Izuku. Even Denki seems as though he’s about to start directing his questions at him instead. Of course, it doesn’t last.

“You hear that?” Shinsou redirects, lifting his own drink in mock cheers, “Give it half a decade and your entire life’s savings, and you’ll finally be able to get your rocks off.”

Katsuki made a move to launch at him, but Kirishima puts an arm across him like a seatbelt, chuckling lightly at their antics. Taking an easy sip of his drink, he sends Katsuki a calm look, eyes softly amused, and somehow diffuses all the fight out of him.

He shoves his arm off and gets another smile in response. With his other hand, Kirishima takes the joint from Shinsou - who surrenders with fairly minimal protest - holding it out to Katsuki in peace-offering.

Katsuki takes it, scowling.

“Seriously, though, man - that’s gotta suck,” Kirishima offers, with a sympathetic wince, “Can’t you use - I don’t know - toys - or something?”

“The smell of burnt plastic didn’t really do it for me,” Katsuki glowers, repressing a shudder at the memory of that particularly eventful evening. Trying to dispose of sheets infused with melted silicone in the middle of the night was not one of his finest moments.

“Jeez,” Kirishima winces again, shaking his head at the thought, “That’s rough, buddy.”

Some of the girls were giving him sympathetic looks; Ashido definitely looked like she could empathise. It’s almost a little hysterical, and he huffs a laugh at the thought.

“But like - what if you go out, and someones chatting you up and you’re digging them - what do you do? Just tell them to fuck off before second base?” Of course the question comes from Sero, who’d been picking up girls and guys from clubs ever since his facial hair was enough to fool the bouncers at the door.

Katsuki scoffs, shakes his head, dismisses, “You think I’ve got time to fuck around? Not everyone's happy settling for being a sidekick, Soy Sauce.”

“What do you do with morning wood?” This - of all people - comes from Shouto in his deadpan tone, and Katsuki takes his spot amongst the rest of the room gaping at him, speechless. He’d been spending too much time with Inasa, clearly.

Thankfully, another voice perks up to snap them out of it.

“Or like - what are you gonna do if you like somebody? Are you just never going to sleep with them?” That’s Jirou, and she might be head over heels in puppy love with Momo, but surely she knows that life isn’t a fucking fairytale. What world was she living in if she thought Katsuki had the time or the patience or the aptitude to fall for anyone?

“As if I’d ever want that,” He sneers, but finds that his voice gets overlaid with everyone else’s; a palimpsest of questions, comments, opinions -  all of it drowning him out.

“You don’t have to use your hands to sleep with someone,” Ashido points out, because of course she does.

“Yeah, you could just tie his hands up - problem solved,” Sero shrugs, apparently already distracted rolling up another one, since the last joint had mysteriously disappeared into the fray.

“Kinky,” Denki snickers.

Katsuki feels the room spin as the conversation rapidly gets away from him.

“But you’re not allowed to touch someone? Not ever?”

That brings Katsuki up short. The spinning room seems to waver, shift, slow to a stop.

He can’t even pinpoint who’s said it, looking around the group and their ever mounting questions, feeling an unsteady panic crawl up his chest.

There’s a noise then, unmistakable -  the glassy clatter and glug of a beer bottle tipping over, spilling all over the table and carpet.

“Ah, shoot,” Izuku swears, as everyone scrambles to grab their phones out of way of the spreading mess, “I’m sorry, Sero. Here, let me - ”

He reaches across the table for a cloth, knocks another beer over in his wake, has another flurry of people standing up so as to not get soaked.

“Jesus, that’s enough for you,” Sero chastises, grinning, too hazed to find it anything other than mildly amusing as he searches around for paper towels, “Not on the carpet, man - my only rule.”

“I’m so sorry - honestly, let me help - ”

Amongst the chaos, people running off to the kitchen to get beer stains out of skirts, drying off phones, mopping up the mess with cloths and paper towels, Izuku meets Katsuki’s eye from across the room.

His green eyes flicker to the open door, and then back to Katsuki, clear as day.

Katsuki grins, thinks, You little shit, and makes his escape.

By the time people have startled to settle, before the beer has even dried, Katsuki is already gone.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kacchan,” Is the first thing out of Izuku’s mouth when he switches on the desk light to find Katsuki on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” Katsuki tells him, voice still a little slurred, “Shut the door ‘fore someone sees me.”

Izuku does as he’s bid, kicking the door closed behind him, shrugging out of his hoodie and throwing it over the back of his desk chair, “Didn’t think you could make it to your own room?”

“Ei would have come to check on me,” Katsuki brushes off, not looking up from his phone, “Didn’t feel like talking.”

“So you came to my room.”

“Nice assist,” Katsuki says, instead of responding to that, “Was sneaky as fuck.”

“Eh, they were being nosy,” Izuku waves a hand, coming to lean against the side of his desk facing the bed, “What’s a little spilt beer between friends.”

“Seriously, though,” Katsuki reiterates, and yeah he was still a little drunk, he could feign no memory of this in the morning, “Thanks.”

They’d come a long way for please and sorry and thank you to be words passed between them, and Izuku takes it in, sighs at the weight of it, nods, once.

“Anytime, Kacchan.”

There’s a quiet between them then, a silence that used to be tense and volatile, and was now a tender awkwardness; almost an ache.

“It never occurred to me that you - couldn’t, you know,” Izuku finally says, into the bruised air between them, and Katsuki quirks a brow.

“You got fucking questions too, huh?”

“Shit, sorry - no, of course not,” Izuku shakes his head, rakes his hands through his hair before rubbing his eyes, tiredly, “I’m sorry, Kacchan.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes at his dramatics, turns his attention back to his phone. He was scrolling through nonsense, unseeing, all the panic still vibrating just underneath his skin.

“You can, if you want,” Katsuki acquiesces, voice carefully nonchalant, “Ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer, if it’s a dumb fucking question, but you can ask.”

From the edge of his vision he sees Izuku swallow, nod, seemingly unsure of where to start with the weight of what Katsuki’s just given him. Permission to ask about something he’d never mentioned, once, ever, to anyone. Something that, apparently, had never occurred to Izuku - with all his obsessive observations and knowledge of quirks.

“Does it frustrate you?” Izuku asks, tentative, “Like - do you get pent up?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Katsuki answers, honestly, with a shrug, “Never known it to be any different.”

“But - don’t you,” Izuku stops himself, chews on his lip, thinks about how he wants to ask, “I know you don’t - get hard. But don’t you get - I mean - don’t you get - ”

Katsuki waits a moment, patiently, for Izuku to finish the question. He never does, but they both know what he’s asking, so Katsuki puts him out of his misery.

“Of course I do,” Katsuki affirms, voice unflinching. “Fucking soaked, most days.”

Izuku looks away at that, cheeks and ears red. Katsuki thinks he shouldn’t ask questions he’s not prepared to hear the answers to.

“And you’ve -” Izuku swallows, his voice thick, “You’ve used - ”

“Toys, yeah,” Katsuki finishes for him, used to the way their minds run along the same tracks. He answers in a mechanical staccato so Izuku gets all the information he apparently needs; “Tried using the ones you can attach to the floor, so I wouldn’t have to hold it. Didn’t know what I was doing, just ended up hurting like a bitch. Burnt a hole through the carpet. Haven’t tried again since.”

Izuku swallows again, nods. He lets out a shaky little breath.

This was embarrassing him deeply - possibly more than it was embarrassing Katsuki himself - but he clearly wanted to know. Wanted to help, most likely, needed all the information so he could work out an answer - as if Katsuki needed a fucking hero for this, too.

“And you’ve never - asked anyone to help?”

That, for Katsuki, qualified as a dumb fucking question. He answers anyway.

“Who would I ask? What would I say?” Katsuki shoots back, a little incredulous, “‘Hey, I can’t get myself off, and I can’t touch you, fancy going down on me?’”

Izuku’s eyes widened, pupils blowing out in what Katsuki could only imagine was shock, apparently appalled by his words.

“I mean,” Izuku looks skyward, as if seeking divine guidance, “Someone like Kiri, would help. If you - if you asked him.”

“Oh, sure, you think I’m letting him anywhere near me with those teeth?” Katsuki scoffs, shaking his head, “Besides, he’s totally gone on Mina.”

And what’s more, Ei was the only other person beside Izuku and his parents that knew about him. Never questioned it, never challenged it, took it in stride and continued calling him manly as hell - and it was cheesy, sure, and stupid, of course - but Katsuki heard it and felt ten feet taller anyway. Fuck if it was gonna mess with a friendship like that, or get in the way of his chance with the raccoon chick.

“No kidding?” Izuku asks, seemingly in far more comfortable territory. The girls always came to him with their crushes and relationship drama and gossip, dressed him up and took him on their girls nights out, of course he was more comfortable talking about this.

“No kidding,” Katsuki confirms, nodding a solemn, drunken tilt of his head, “Totally starstruck.”

“Oh, we need to set that up,” Izuku urges, looking a little starstruck himself.

“Already on it,” Katsuki tells him, and God, he really was tipsy if he was admitting to playing matchmaker with his friends.

Izuku sends him a fond look, all soft smiling eyes and hero-worship, the same look he’d given him when they were kids.

Back when they’d been young enough to not to know any better, silly and curious and covered in dirt. Back when they’d shoved off their clothes to go play in the river and found out that his boy parts didn’t look like Izuku’s boy parts.

And then spent the rest of their teenage years terrorising him to ensure he’d never tell anyone what he’d seen.

Katsuki knew now - now, only when it was too late - that Izuku never would have told anyone anyway.

“You’re a good person, Kacchan,” Izuku tells him, as he always did whenever Katsuki showed a shred of humanity, like he was training a dog into good behaviour with praise, “Don’t you want something like that one day, too?”

Katsuki creases his brow at him, a little too lost in memories to follow the thread of their conversation. His eyes follow the hazed outline of Izuku’s shoulders, limned in the soft yellow desk light. He follows the buttery blur of it down to his waist, hip cocked against the desk, arms crossed.

“Kiri and Mina,” Izuku explains, tilting his head like he found Katsuki’s lost look charming, “Don’t you want something like that one day?”

Katsuki thinks back to Jirou; her inane question, her fairytale outlook.

“Don’t be stupid,” Katsuki sneers, reacting like he had before, with a relapse of his old personality - walls going up, anger coming out, “Why the fuck would I want that?”

Something in Izuku’s expression flickers, as if the idea hurts him, somehow, before it’s covered back up, going back to the drawing board.

“Alright, well - not Kiri, and not a relationship,” Izuku maps out, knocking his knuckles against the desk as he thinks, “What about someone else? Someone who understands your situation?”

“Who the fuck would understand my situation?” Katsuki snarks, the insanity of the thought making him lash out. The quirk was one thing, but letting some extra know his junk didn’t match the status quo? He snorts, self-deprecating and sardonic, “Or are you offering yourself?”

The quiet that follows makes Katsuki look up. What he sees doesn’t immediately make sense.

He sees Izuku’s expression shutter entirely, blinking like he’d been hit, cheeks gone white. Fingers curled tight around the edge of the desk like he was anchoring himself.

“You were,” Katsuki hears himself say, when the penny finally drops, “Weren’t you?”

“Kacchan - ”

The idea is ludicrous; it’s laughable. It makes a spike of hysteria and adrenaline go through his chest, like Izuku had just thrown down a gauntlet. Fuck if he wasn’t gonna pick it up.

He tosses his phone to the end of the bed, swings his legs over the edge. Sees Izuku’s panicked look as he stands up and advances. He feels the insanity of it take him.

“Kacchan, you’re drunk,” Izuku protests, as Katsuki gets up in his face, tries to gage the expression from up close.

“You’d do it, wouldn’t you? If I asked,” It’s not even a question, Katsuki knows the answer even as he says it. He sees the confirmation of it in the panic of Izuku’s eyes, knows he’s right when he says, “You’re just fucked up enough to do it.”

“That’s not - ”

“You’d do anything,” Katsuki pushes, pressing his forefinger right into Izuku’s chest, accusatory and smug. He thinks of the hero-worship, the admiration, of how Izuku would follow him right over the edge into oblivion. Sees his own crazy reflected back when he looks at him. “If I asked you to. Wouldn’t you?”

Katsuki sees something he’d never seen on Izuku’s face before. All those years of bullying, all of the cruelty, and he’d only ever looked resigned to it. Indignant or angry, sometimes, but never this.

Never fear like this.

“Get out.”

It’s quiet, when he says it. Barely there at all. Izuku looks as though he hadn’t expected to hear it out loud; had only thought it in his panic. His breathing was unsteady, his face ashen.

Katsuki feels himself, irrefutably, having crossed a line he can’t take back.

“Fine,” He says, stubborn, and his voice almost shakes at the thought of undoing all the work they’d done to get here, all the trust they’d built in the time between.

He swallows around the dryness of his throat, the sudden dread. He’d gone too far. He knows that.

He steps away, nods, as if affirming it to himself. You’ve ruined this, now walk away from it.

He makes it to the door, unsteady, hesitates to reach the handle. He flinches from it like it will burn him, feels the insistent urge to turn around, apologise. He doesn’t get the chance.

A hand takes his wrist, holds it there. Katsuki feels the broad sash of Izuku’s chest against his back.

“Say no, and I stop,” Izuku tells him, hushed, not sounding like himself, “Otherwise, be quiet.”

Katsuki tries to free his wrist, finds the grip unmoving. Opens his mouth to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, before the heat of a palm dips under his shirt. Like a brand, it holds his hip, and he feels the air leave his lungs.

“Are you asking me to?” Izuku asks him, quiet, next to his ear. Katsuki can’t speak, all his mental facilities are tracing the path of that hot palm up to his chest, a thumb brushing nonchalant against the bud of his nipple, sensitive and hard, “Katsuki; are you asking me to?”

Katsuki shudders, can’t seem to find his voice. A little breathless, he nods, overwhelmed.

The grip leaves his wrist, joins the other under his shirt, both palms sliding up to tease his chest.

“Hands over your head,” Izuku directs, and Katsuki does as he’s told, unthinking, dizzy with those hands on him, “Palms up, wrists crossed, fists closed.”

Katsuki complies. Palms skyward, wrists overlapping, hands clenched. The risk of scorching anything but the air was minimal. For some reason, the act of it has something throbbing low in his abdomen. The obedience of it, maybe. The surrender of it.

“Good,” Izuku breathes, and Katsuki shivers, voice still dark with something Katsuki had never heard before, “Stay.”

Again, Katsuki nods; the movement restricted. He’d sobered up some by the time he’d settled in Izuku’s room, but everything that happened tonight had him hazed out, like he was dreaming.

The only points of focus are those hands on him, blood-hot and rough, running over his chest and his waist and his hips. Over and over until the motion of it had Katsuki’s head hanging forward, his fists propped up, elbows coming to rest against the door to hold him upright.

The lines of his body relax until he feels near weightless, and then Izuku’s left palm slides up the centre of his chest until it cups his throat, collaring him like a dog with his hand.

The sensation of it is almost enough to cover his other hand slipping lower, cupping Katsuki’s sex through the soft fabric of his sweats.

Katsuki makes a tortured sound, throwing his head back against Izuku’s shoulder, and Izuku simply holds him like that, hushing him softly.

“Katsuki,” Izuku murmurs to him, and the sound of his name is strange, foreign, arousing, “Are you asking me to?”

He’d already answered this; he knows. He knows Izuku is asking him again, pointlessly, as if he’d say no to this now he’d felt it.

“Yes,” He breathes out, dazed. He sounds utterly beaten by it. Like he’d run a thousand miles and was down on his knees.

“And do you know who you are saying yes to?”

Katsuki groans; a gritted sound between his teeth.

“Izuku.”

He feels those hands tighten, just for a moment, like a flinch.

“And do you know where you are?”

Katsuki keens, frustrated, tilts his hips further into the touch. He knows why he is asking, knows Izuku wants him cognisant, knows he would never do anything without his full and utter consent - Katsuki is flattered, honestly, but all he wants are those hands on him, harder.

“In your room,” Katsuki relents, utterly breathless, “Please.”

“Alright,” Izuku surrenders, sounding more like himself, “Alright, I’ve got you.”

Katsuki lets out a noise of sheer relief, almost teetering forward on the balls of his feet when Izuku slides his hand higher, teases the edge of Katsuki’s sweats.

“Are you - ”

“Izuku,” Katsuki whines, desperate, mortified by the sound of himself but unwilling to stop, “Please, touch me.”

Izuku makes a sound like he’d been hit, before finally, mercifully sliding his hand inside.

The first touch makes Katsuki feel as though he’d been shot, like someone had poured molten lava into his stomach. He jerks at the feel of it, and Izuku’s fingers slip further, pressed against the wet heat of him.

Izuku makes another ragged sound, and his head comes forward to Katsuki’s shoulder, utterly undone.

Katsuki feels his fingers drag through the dripping mess between his legs, feels the hot pulse of his breath at his throat.

“Fuck,” Izuku swears, before Katsuki can get the chance, “God, Katsuki - you’re - ”

“Soaked,” Katsuki finishes, feeling like he was outside of himself, floating,  “I told you.”

“Do you - ” Izuku sounds uncertain suddenly, like he’d finally woken up to what they were doing, “I mean - inside, or -”

“I don’t - ” Katsuki shakes his head, swallows, says honestly; “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Izuku nods; Katsuki feels the motion of it against his shoulder blade, hears Izuku’s voice start to steel itself, “Okay. Just tell me how this feels.”

Instead of what he expects to happen next, Izuku’s fingers brush upward. Finding the little swollen nub at the peak of Katsuki’s sex, Izuku rubs him there, soft and slow.

“Oh,” Katsuki breathes, and the feeling of it shocks him; shocks the noise out of him. He feels the liquid magma heat of it pool in his loins, throbbing between his legs like a heartbeat.

How the fuck did Izuku know how to touch him; he didn’t even know how to touch himself.

“How the fuck - ”

“Shh,” Izuku startles at the volume of Katsuki’s voice, tries to do damage control all while rubbing concentric, insanity-inducing circles, “I did research, okay - ”

“Just say you watch porn.”

“No, Kacchan, I read an article - ” Izuku huffs, matter-of-factly, stopping himself when he hears how inane they’re being, “It doesn’t matter, okay - how does it feel?”

Like he’d stuck his tongue into an open electrical socket, that’s how the fuck it felt. Like he was going to shake apart into all the particles that made him up.

“Just - ” Katsuki moaned as Izuku went a little harder, circled a little faster, “Just keep going, fuck.”

Izuku’s hand slows a little, like that had blindsided him. Katsuki almost kills him for it, until his fingers get right back to it, picking up that perfect pace, making his thighs almost give out.

“Like that?” Izuku had never sounded cocky a day in his life, and Katsuki took a moment to thank the Gods for that, because it was downright obscene.

“Yes,” Katsuki admitted, because fuck his pride, Izuku had something building low in his stomach, he was making him feels things he’d never felt in his life, “Yes, just - I need - ”

He didn’t even know what he needed, something, anything to take the edge off the intensity of what he was feeling, something to act like a conduit for all the electricity pulsing through him. He needed - something to bear down on, something to tighten up around, something to dull the throbbing -

“Inside,” Katsuki breathed out, feeling his toes curl inside his socks against the carpet, “Please - I need - ”

Izuku let go of this throat, and Katsuki felt bereft without it, felt the air of the room go cold against the brand of heat left there, took in an unsteady breath, and felt, insanely, that he breathed worse off without it -

Then Izuku’s knuckles stroked down the lee of his spine, pressed to the small of his back, and lower, dipping inside his waistband. The heat of that hand over his ass had another throb of arousal going through his stomach, throbbing tighter still as the hand went lower, and lower. Until it cupped Katsuki’s sex from behind and pressed a finger inside, and Katsuki’s vision whited out.

He slammed both fists into the door, clawed down until he felt the paint come away under his nails.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Katsuki chanted, feeling hysterical, panicked, overstimulated. Unsure of which hand to rock against.

Izuku hushed him, though his own voice sounded raw, strained, like he could feel everything he was doing to Katsuki. Still, through the onslaught of his hands, one rubbing him to orgasm and the other fucking him to oblivion, he asks, “This okay?”

Katsuki makes a sound like a sob, nods vehemently against the door, knows his hands should be up above his head, held into fists, but all he can do is hold on, feel what Izuku was giving him.

He was going to come like this; he could feel it. Had never felt it before but knew, inexplicably, that Izuku was dragging it out of him, one pass of his fingers at a time.

“Please, I’m - ” Katsuki gasps, ragged, unable to get enough air in, “Please, I - ”

“I know,” Izuku soothes, hushes him as Katsuki writhes between his hands, desperate, “Shh, I know. I’ve got you.”

Katsuki moans, feels Izuku hands go, impossibly, faster. Feels the circles wind tighter and tighter, feels himself get fucked deeper, and harder, and when his vision starts to go black around the edges, he feels something low in his abdomen go taut, like Izuku had pressed his fingers into all of Katsuki’s strings and pulled tight.

The noise in his head when he comes is like a gun shot. Like a branch in a bonfire bursting under the heat.

He can’t make sense of it, not with his head pounding with his heartbeat, not with the aftershocks of his orgasm still throbbing between his legs.

Then, blearily, he looks up and sees two perfect hand-shaped scorch marks gouged into Izuku’s door.

It’s the last thing he sees before the black at the edges of his vision eclipses, and drags him under.

.

.

.

.

.

When he wakes, sun streaming through the window in a golden sash across his eyes, he realises he is still in Izuku’s room. Within his first waking moments, he also realises that he is alone.

He doesn’t remember making it back to the bed, doesn’t remember much of anything after Izuku had made him -

God, made him come so hard he’d blacked out. Fucking Christ.

The blackened handprints on the door are like a fucking omen.

He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, feels the sledgehammer weight of the night before try to crack his head open. He’d been nigh sober by the time Izuku had gotten his hands on him, albeit a little stoned, but the dehydration was enough for one hell of a migraine.

It seemed like divine retribution for the way he had just royally fucked his life.

With neither the strength nor the motivation, he leverages himself out of bed. Grabs his phone from Izuku’s desk - plugged in to charge overnight, was Izuku some kind of fucked up saint? - and does what he should have done last night.

Gets the fuck out of Izuku’s room.

Chapter Text

- 8 Years Ago: The Aftermath - 

The next couple of days pass in a blur of light, and colour, and sound. Most of the others are finishing up the last of their course, packing up their dorm rooms and working out the next steps.

Katsuki has made a start, but he doesn’t have to finish packing until another two weeks, when he’s set to move into the campus rooms of an agency internship under Miruko. She’d finally gotten her head out of her ass about taking interns. Figures it would only take a few run-ins with Izuku for her to change her mind; he had a funny way of getting Pro Heroes to do whatever the fuck he wanted.

The thought of Izuku gives him pause, staring sightlessly into the cardboard box of knickknacks on his desk.

They hadn’t spoken. Not since it happened. Surprisingly, that one wasn’t on Katsuki.

Izuku had been avoiding him. Avoiding his eye, and avoiding his presence, and avoiding the conversation they needed to have.

Katsuki wasn’t even fully aware of what the conversation would entail, but he sure as shit couldn’t have it by himself.

He clenched his jaw; unclenched it. Balled his hands into fists and then released. None of it relieved the tension thrumming through him.

He lets out an aggravated sigh, turns on his heel and parks his ass against the desk. He chews at his lip as his mind flickers through the various possibilities of how this plays out, how this ends up.

One, they talk, hash shit out, go back to the way things were. Two, they never talk about it, go back to a fractured version of how they used to be, under the weight of this unspoken transgression. Three, they try to talk, it ends in a fight, they never speak to each other again.

Four -

Four is shapeless; unthinkable. Katsuki can’t even bring himself to imagine how four plays out, there’s too many variables, too many reactions, too much of Izuku’s unspoken position in this.

He doesn’t know how Izuku will react, fully sober, in the cold light of day. If it goes wrong, it doesn’t bear thinking about. But if, somehow, mercifully, everything lines up the way Katsuki wants - needs -

Katsuki stands, decided. Like most of his decisions in life, his final thought is; Fuck it.

He stalks to the door, hauls it open, and goes in search of Izuku.

Izuku, when he finds him, is in his dorm room. Because of course he is. There is an ugly kind of symmetry in that.

He doesn’t even bother to knock, just grabs the handle and throws it open, where Izuku is packing up his things and almost drops a limited edition All Might figurine in his fright.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kacchan.”

Katsuki snorts. Yeah, that tracks. He closes the door behind him.

“I want to do it again.”

There goes the action figure. He almost fumbles the whole box off his bed when the words finally register. He’s gone white.

“Kacchan - what - ”

“The things we did, in this room, a couple of nights ago,” Katsuki enunciates clearly, so Izuku’s scrambling brain can catch up, unmistakable, “I want to do them again.”

Izuku stares at him, uncomprehending. His mouth opens, then closes, speechless.

Katsuki jerks a thumb over his shoulder, to where he knows the starburst violence of his hands have carved shadows into the wood, “That. I want to do that again.”

“You want - ” Izuku’s brow creases; Katsuki thinks he may be short-circuiting, “You want to ruin my dorm room door - ?”

Katsuki advances, impatient. Izuku scrambles back against the bed, falling on his ass on the sheets, and Katsuki plants a knee up on the covers just to loom over him, make him finally hold the eye-contact that he’d been avoiding the last couple of days.

“I want your hands on me, again,” Katsuki tells him, succinctly, “Yes; or no?”

Katsuki could see the breaths Izuku took, the way his chest jerked uneasily through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, over-soft and skin-warm. He wanted to run his hands underneath, feel the heat of him, touch him the way that Izuku had touched him.

He knew, bitterly, that he couldn’t. Not for longer than a few moments, not long enough to lean in to kiss the panicked breaths from his mouth, not long enough to melt into it and let go of control.

He couldn’t lose control here, not like that. Not with his hands holding Izuku.

“Did you hate it?” Katsuki asks, when Izuku still hasn’t made a sound, staring depthlessly up at him.

The crease deepens between his brow, like the question hurt. Izuku was shaking his head no before he seemed to know what he was doing, voice cracked when it affirms, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like touching me?”

Izuku makes a little noise in his throat, like a whimper. Katsuki presses closer, and that seems to break his silence.

“Yes, I - ” Izuku breathes, ragged, and his words are barely there at all, whispered and cracked open, “I liked making you feel good.”

Something in Katsuki’s chest unfurls at the idea, pleased. His gaze follows the line from Izuku’s pink, panting lips, down to the quivering hollow of his throat. That same something in his chest wants to sink its teeth in.

“Do you want to make me feel good again?” His vision flickers back up at the question, steadily gaging Izuku’s reaction, looking between his green eyes and the tremble of his mouth for any sign of discomfort or untruth.

He watches as Izuku’s pupils blow out, cheeks flooding red with arousal. His eyelashes tremble.

“Yes,” Izuku hushes out, and it sounds like an ache he’d been holding on to, to admit to this, “Yes, please.”

That feeling in Katsuki’s chest stretches out, purrs its pleasure, settles deep into his abdomen like some great heavy beast.

Katsuki wants to hear him say the words. He presses closer, lips nearly meeting as he commands, “Say it.”

Izuku searches his face, brow creased like he thought this was some kind of trick, some test he was set up to fail, eyes shimmering as though he may cry at the thought.

“I want to,” Izuku surrenders, voice soft but resolute, “I want to.”

“Good,” Katsuki purrs, sated. He gives in to impulse; allows the first soft press of their mouths as a reward. The pressure of it is enough to upend Izuku’s tears, and he feels one streak down his cheek to meet their lips.

He moves to pull back, to check if Izuku is alright, because he may be a crybaby but tears are tears -

But Izuku slides a hand into the shock of hair at the nape of his neck, holds him there as he tilts the angle and slides the kiss deeper. He slips a hot tongue into Katsuki mouth, his other hand already working on the button of Katsuki’s jeans, and his mind goes blank with it. His stomach goes molten with it.

He makes a soft noise of deference, and gives in to it.

The rest of their final year passes with them sneaking into each others rooms, Izuku finding increasingly creative ways to get him off. It’s terrifying, and scintillating, and new.

They’re half distracted with packing, with goodbyes, and half distracted with each other, and this terrible, unspeakable, exhilarating thing between them. It isn’t until they’ve moved out of the dorms, and into the intern campus - looking at each other like naughty school-children when they find their rooms across the hall from another - that Izuku finally uses his tongue.

Katsuki doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe that he’d never had this sooner. On one hand, the feeling was utterly incandescent- on the other, he’d never get anything done. Why would he ever want to do anything else? 

They hadn’t even finished unpacking before Izuku had gotten his hands on him. It had taken a little time for him to get on board with the fact that he could touch him anywhere, anyway he wanted to, and Katsuki would respond to it like a sunflower to sunlight, arching toward the heat of him.

Now, Izuku knew he could take Katsuki by the slender line of his hips and press him into the bed. Knew he could get Katsuki’s jeans halfway down his thighs in his impatience to get his fingers inside.

Katsuki had been more than a little soaked after the manhandling - was learning more and more about the things he liked the more Izuku played with him - but he’d still felt a little thrill of shock go through him when Izuku brought those fingers to his mouth to taste.

The bare arousal of it showed plainly on Izuku's face; his pupils had nearly eclipsed the green of his eyes, swallowing them up with black.

Then, apropos of nothing, he’d begged.

“Let me,” Izuku asked of him, and Katsuki had been too stunned to know what he was even asking for, knew he’d say yes regardless, “Please, let me.”

Soundlessly, Katsuki had nodded his head, unaccustomed to this side of Izuku and intrigued to see how it played out.

It had played out with Izuku dragging his jeans down his thighs and off, before getting onto his knees. Katsuki had just stared at him in dizzy shock as Izuku had held his thighs open and gotten his hot mouth on him.

Katsuki couldn’t speak too much as to what happened after that. He may or may not have torn the sheets.

Because Izuku and his hot mouth were indecent. They were ravaging and merciless. He’d pressed his tongue in heated circles around the swollen nub of his cock, pressed inside the dripping heat of his cunt and fucked him like that until he’d come in sobbing breaths of his name.

His thighs were still shaking as Izuku licked him clean. Tidied up the mess he’d made with long, slow passes of his tongue, swallowed it all like it was honey, ichor. Katsuki would shiver with overstimulation, bearing down so another flood of slick would trickle out, and Izuku would moan, low and worshipful, before following it down with his mouth.

Katsuki was nearly worked up enough to go again by the time Izuku lay panting against his thigh, eyes closed. His eyelashes painted long shadows down his cheeks. He looked fucked out, sated, even though Katsuki had never touched him. A glance downward showed that he was still hard, like he always was when they finished these trysts of theirs.

He’d never asked for anything back. Never even touched himself while he’d eaten Katsuki out. He wonders if he goes back to his own room and takes care of it like that. Wonders if he’ll go back tonight, and come all over himself with the taste of Katsuki still in his mouth.

Katsuki decides, with a little shiver of avarice, that he wants that too.

In the time between these thoughts, Izuku had already gotten up, was puttering about the en suite, washing his hands, fastidious as always.

When he comes back, Katsuki had just about made it up onto his forearms. He was still bare from the waist down, thighs obscenely spread, and Izuku was pointedly not looking between his legs, though he was blushing regardless.

He had a wet cloth in his hand, presumably to clean Katsuki up further, but he’d paused awkwardly in the doorway like a vampire waiting to be bid entrance.

Katsuki smirked, tilting his face in askance for a kiss. Izuku, as though pulled by a thread, comes to him. He’d never deny him. Not anything.

He kneels up on the bed, and kisses him, once, twice, sweetly. Katsuki simpers up at him, shifts his weight to one elbow, and reaches down to run his knuckles along the hard line of Izuku’s cock.

Izuku flinches, like he’d been shot.

“Kacchan - ”

“What do you do with this, when you get back to your room?” Katsuki asks him, tilting his face with a grin, passing his thumb over the fabric under his hand.

“Nothing - ” He chokes the word out. His voice is scandalised. “Nothing, Kacchan - I swear.”

Katsuki feels that wash over him, cold. With a growing sense of unease, Katsuki realises he isn’t lying.

“You - ” Katsuki sits up, and Izuku has to scramble back to the edge of the bed to avoid being head butted, “Nothing - you don’t do anything?”

Izuku is giving him a frightened look, like he doesn’t know the answer that Katsuki wants.

Katsuki feels sick.

“So, you just - what, come to my room,” Katsuki hisses, feeling like he was underwater, “Service me, like some kind of whore - and you don’t even get off on it?”

Katsuki didn’t understand. He felt like something fundamental had just been torn out of the middle and now none of it made sense. He thought this was mutual - he thought they were both getting something out of this. He knows he can’t reciprocate, knows he can’t touch, but the thought that Izuku wasn’t even enjoying this enough to get off on it - 

“I thought you liked this,” Katsuki accuses, sitting up fully and grabbing his discarded jeans to at least cover his lap, “I thought you wanted this, at least enough to - ”

“Kacchan,” Izuku cuts him off, his hands coming to hold Katsuki’s in his lap, the motion of it enough to quiet him, “Slow down.”

Izuku’s brow creases, taking in the panic of Katsuki’s face. He reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind Katsuki’s ear, follows the motion down to cup the nape of his neck. The feeling of it is foreign, somehow far too intimate between them. He feels it shock him silent like none of his other touches had.

“I didn’t know I could, that’s all,” Izuku tells him, quiet and honest. Katsuki feels the truth of it start to ease the tightness of his chest. “I never asked; I didn’t think I was allowed.”

“Allowed?” Katsuki finds the word odd, out of place. When had they made rules for this?

“I thought it would be - dishonest,” Izuku struggles to word it, tries anyway, “Disrespectful, almost. I didn’t want to do it without you knowing.”

“It wouldn’t have been hard to guess,” Katsuki snarks, despite the weight still in his chest.

“Kacchan,” Izuku admonishes, through his embarrassment, ears red.

“You could’ve,” Katsuki tells him, to set that to rights, at the very least, “I wouldn’t have cared.”

Izuku’s brow does a number of things as it flickers between fondness, unease, self-consciousness, “I know that now. I suppose it felt odd, to do something without you, because of how you’d made me feel.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say in the face of that. It seems like an acknowledgment of something neither of them were ready to admit. He hides from the raw emotion of it with humour.

“So, I’ve gotta hold your hand while you jerk off now, is that it?”

“Kacchan!” He chides, like he’s somehow still shocked by his vulgarity. It flusters him bright red, but it eases the tension between them into something more familiar, manageable. Katsuki saying something appalling, and Izuku scrambling to do damage control.

Then he cuts his eyes away, stage-whispers something under his breath to show Katsuki what he really thinks, “Besides, you not being able to hold anything is the reason we’re in this situation.”

Katsuki feels it become his turn to be affronted, mouth opening a little at the gall.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh,” He seethes a threatening grin, tugging Izuku’s shirt until he’s sprawled over him on the bed again. Izuku looks startled, and then pleased at the arrangement, until Katsuki gets his palm back where Izuku was still half-hard in his trousers. Then his expression shutters in shock, arousal, embarrassment, “I can hold things alright. Just depends on how bad you wanna keep ‘em afterward.”

“Kacchan - ”

The panted whine of his name sends a thrill through him.

“You been holding out a week? Maybe two? Since we started this?” Katsuki taunts, feels a shiver of elation go through him as Izuku starts filling out in his palm, “Bet you’re frustrated, huh? Pent-up?”

He sees the recognition of Izuku’s own questions register in his face, sees him - impossibly - make an even more desperate expression.

“Kacchan - ”

Katsuki feels his heartbeat start to pick up at the sheer want in his voice, feels his palm start to heat with the adrenaline and friction - reluctantly, he pulls his hand away, chastised.

Izuku whines helplessly, like the loss of his touch was a physical ache. Katsuki takes mercy on him, draws his thigh between Izuku’s legs, guides his hips until Izuku gets the hint, begins to ride there.

“You can,” Katsuki soothes him, listens to Izuku’s breathing hitch at the permission, “You’re allowed. I want you to.”

Izuku makes a sound like a sob, presses his hips down, exhales shakily at the friction he finds. Katsuki gets his hands on Izuku’s belt, undoes it, starts to tug it free.

“Get these off,” Katsuki hums in Izuku’s ear, and Izuku shivers as he complies, helps Katsuki tug his pants open and down his hips, kicks them off onto the floor.

The first hot slide of Izuku’s bare cock into the vee of Katsuki’s hips has him arching, grabbing a fistful of the back of Izuku’s shirt until he sears the fabric.

Before he can even gather himself enough to apologise, Izuku was upright, tugging the shirt up and off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere indistinct before diving down and kissing Katsuki squarely on the mouth.

The endless expanse of Izuku’s body is dizzying; his naked skin is everywhere. Warm and rough and soft in equal turns, covered in scars. Katsuki learns his body in increments, in the few fleeting touches he allows himself.

Izuku rocks against him in slow, steady drags of his hips. The tease of it is rapturous. Katsuki feels it rake the embers of his stomach. He feels his own hips rise to meet the undulation of Izuku’s own, hears Izuku’s shuddering outward breath at the thrumming heat between them.

Steadily, Katsuki’s arousal builds, listening to Izuku’s own. Listening to his hitched breathing, his little tapered moans.

“Could you come like this?” Katsuki whispers, hears the words crackle between them like a hearth. Izuku groans, presses his forehead to Katsuki shoulder in supplication.

“Yes,” Izuku begs, and the sound of his voice sends little rivers of fire through Katsuki’s body.

Mortified, he feels himself clench around nothing. Feels a throb of slick between his thighs. Knows, inexplicably, what he wants, despite never having had it before.

“Could you fuck me like this?”

The reaction is not as he expects. Izuku flinches away, violently. Katsuki is half scared that he’d burned him, somehow, but his hands were held closed by his sides.

The drag of his hips had stopped. It sounded as though his very breathing had stopped, too. He’s pulling back, staring down at Katsuki in soundless alarm.

“It’s not like you can knock me up,” Katsuki tells him, crudely, just to ease the tension some. Izuku doesn’t look as though that was his only concern, and Katsuki rolls his eyes, “You think I’m letting you do this shit without getting anything out of it? Fuck that. I’m not owing you anything.”

Izuku looks ashen.

“Kacchan, that isn’t - ”

“Shut up. You want this, right?” Katsuki says it plain, “So do I. I’m allowing it; so fucking do it.”

Eyes panicked, Izuku searches his face. Again, it seems as though he was looking for a trap, for the other shoe to drop.  Katsuki supposed that with their history, it was fair.

It was fair, but Katsuki was impatient.

He arches slowly, so their bodies press in one long line of heat, ankle to chest. He feels Izuku’s fists tighten in the sheets.

“You gonna take it?”

Izuku’s eyes close, expression pinched. Like he was fighting an agony. He brings his face to the crook of Katsuki’s throat, breathes there for a moment, as though he needed to hide from his own answer.

The answer, when it comes, is ragged. Whisper-quiet and torn open; “Yes, Katsuki.”

Katsuki shivers in delight. His heart hastens in his chest, frightened and excited both. He spreads his thighs open in invitation, ignoring the way his legs shake.

“Come on, then, hero,” Katsuki teases out, through gritted, grinning teeth, “Come get your dick wet.”

Izuku looks as though the words barely register, at the surface level. He’s staring, plush lips parted, ears burnt red, at the place between Katsuki’s thighs, where he’s dripping steadily into the sheets.

Looking near reverent, Izuku slides his palms over Katsuki’s thighs, holding his legs further open when they come to cup the soft skin at the backs of his knees. He looks as though his body is moving of its own volition, and he's only there to watch.

Katsuki watches him back, transfixed. He daren’t speak unless he shakes Izuku out of this little trance he’s in. Desperately, he wants to see what Izuku will do.

What he does isn’t what Katsuki expects. He’d thought Izuku would hold him apart and slide right in, right down to the hilt, until he was explicitly, unbearably full. He’d expected that; even wanted it, a little, too.

But Izuku slides his cock over the wet heat of him, instead. It glides through the slickness there, blood-hot and heavy between his legs, pressing against Katsuki’s sex in slow, electric drags. The head of Izuku’s cock rubs at his entrance, over the nub of Katsuki’s own cock, hard and throbbing. Katsuki’s wetness soaks him, and the slide of it is easy; tantalising.

He teases him like that until Katsuki’s eyes go half-lidded, watching Izuku’s face in raptures. The sweet agony of it is too much.

He takes Izuku by the nape of his neck and pulls him down into a kiss, holding him flush against him. Katsuki gasps into his mouth when Izuku continues to roll his hips with his cock pressed so deeply against him.

He puts his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, too aware of his heated palms at the soft skin of his neck, and looks up into his eyes, wanting his full attention. He gets it immediately; entirely.

“Inside,” Katsuki murmurs, voice too soft by far, “Please. I want it inside.”

Izuku swallows, nods with his forehead resting against Katsuki’s own. He puts his weight on one forearm as he reaches between them both to take ahold of himself, pulling his hips back just enough to line himself up.

When the slick head of his cock is pressed to the soft opening between Katsuki’s thighs, Izuku looks at him, searching.

“Okay?” He asks, voice quiet, eyes soft with their intent. Katsuki feels something in his chest cleave apart at the sound.

He nods, not trusting his voice, and when he’s certain Izuku had gotten what he needed from his expression, he turns his attention between their legs.

He wants to watch this. He’s not sure why. He wants to watch Izuku slide inside him more than anything.

But the very first feeling of pressure inside of himself had him throwing his head back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of it, the slow, dominating stretch of it.

There was no pain; not with how wet and orgasm-soft he was, not when he was now used to taking three of Izuku’s broad fingers into himself. But it was overwhelming and demanding regardless.

It bid Katsuki open to him, utterly, entirely, fully. He did. There was no more space left inside of himself that wasn’t Izuku’s to take.

The hilt, when it finally came, found him panting. The hot brand of Izuku’s hips against his thighs made him feel oversensitive, bared open.

In mortifying increments, he notes that he had scratched ten perfect lines into Izuku’s broad back with his fingernails. He hadn’t even realised doing it.

Chastised, he lets his arms fall above his head, palms surrendered upward. Katsuki looks up at him, half expecting his usual reproachful expression Izuku wears whenever Katsuki had managed to knick him with his violence.

Instead, Izuku was looking at him like he’d put the planets in the sky with his bare hands.

He takes Katsuki’s face into his palms, hands cupping his jaw and sliding up into his hair, as though he was some precious, coveted thing. Izuku kisses him soundly, drinking from him deeply, and the intensity of it is enough for Katsuki to throb around him inside.

Izuku gasps and pulls back.

“You can’t - ” Izuku looks shaken, pupils blown, breathing arrested, “You can’t do that, while I’m inside. Or I’ll - ”

“Isn’t that the point?” Katsuki grins, a little elated at this newfound power over him.

“Not yet,” Izuku ekes out, voice strained. Katsuki tilts his head, simpers, decides to be a little merciful.

“Come on, then,” He acquiesces, tilting his hips so Izuku presses deeper, “Earn it.”

Izuku’s expression flickers. He looks like he always does when Katsuki challenges him, resigned and steadfast in equal measure. He takes a slow, calming breath, centring himself.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face to the crook of Katsuki’s throat; nods his assent there, as though it was his new favourite place to hide.

“Yes, Katsuki.”

Katsuki shivers, finds himself steadily growing an attachment to that phrase in Izuku’s timbre.

Then, Izuku moves.

Katsuki can’t place the sensation of it; having never quite felt it before. It seemed like every electric drag of Izuku’s fingers, every pass of his tongue, every press of his hips; all of it in one steady, overwhelming motion of his body. All of it inside of himself.

The heat of it was consuming. The steady, stroking pressure had an intensity already beginning to build. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, wanting more than anything to hold Izuku to him tighter, impossibly closer - knew, viciously, that he couldn’t.

Unmoored, Katsuki’s hands clenched above his head.

Unconsciously or not, Izuku seemed to sense his distress, began soothing him with his palms, everywhere.

He stroked running lines of heat from his hips all the way to his chest, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones and his ribcage and his shoulders. They dipped underneath to massage his shoulder blades, pressed his thumbs into the soft blonde downy hair of his underarms in a way that made him shiver.

Katsuki, helplessly, melted into it. Shuddered as those hands ran their steady pressure up his biceps, his forearms. One travelled further, held Katsuki’s surrendered wrists in a broad palm, gave Katsuki something to press up against. The other slipped down, came to tilt Katsuki chin to receive the press of Izuku’s mouth. He couldn’t even see Izuku’s expression, his curls had fallen haphazardly across his face, hiding his eyes. Inexplicably, he tasted salt.

Katsuki’s brow creased, as Izuku trailed his mouth down, pressing kisses to his throat, his collarbones. His hands followed, teasing his chest, thumbs rubbing his nipples until they were pert enough to suck. Izuku’s hot mouth at his chest made him arch, and the angle inside turned into something mind-melting.

It was almost enough to distract him from the hot, wet drips onto the centre of his chest, from the way Izuku’s shoulders shook.

Almost.

Incensed, Katsuki got a hand into Izuku hair, pulled his face back. The motion had Izuku’s body going still.

He took in the dazed look on Izuku’s face; cheeks ruddy, pupils blown. His mouth was kiss-red. He looked high, almost, blissed out and overcome, tears streaming steadily down his face. Katsuki watched as they framed his jaw, dripped onto Katsuki’s stomach, his navel.

Izuku’s attention caught at his eyes, and when they did his brow creased, as though he were begging.

The sight of it made Katsuki’s stomach throb. It had him feeling both uncomfortable and unbearably aroused, and the sensation telegraphed through him.

Izuku moaned, having felt it too.

“Please,” Izuku whispered, before Katsuki could even ask what the fuck was happening. His voice sounded like an ache, “Please, Katsuki. Feels so good.”

Katsuki swallowed, uneasily. The throbbing doubled.

He searched Izuku’s face, tried to gage whether there was any pain behind the tears. All he could see was the euphoria of Izuku’s expression, and the pleading of his eyes.

Slowly, he nodded.

Took his hand out of Izuku’s curls, let it fall back against the sheets.

Izuku took it as the surrender that it was, taking Katsuki’s hips in his hands and began fucking him again. Katsuki felt the perfect pace of it begin to melt the tension out of him.

Then Izuku tilted his face away, as though to hide his tears, and Katsuki clicked his tongue at him.

“Ah-ah,” He chastised, as though correcting a dog, “Eyes up here. On me.”

Izuku did as he was bid, and Katsuki could tell his words had affected him. He looked fucked out, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted around every soft panted breath.

“Good,” Katsuki hums, shifting his hips to try to recreate the angle from earlier, “Tilt my hips up.”

Izuku nods, sits up a little to do as he’s told. Instead of arranging Katsuki’s hips, as Katsuki expects, Izuku takes his thighs, presses them together, and puts both of his legs over Izuku’s right shoulder. Begins fucking him like that, easily, as if Katsuki wasn’t nearly 6ft and 185lbs of pure muscle.

The position makes the pressure tighter, and the angle deeper. Katsuki opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a startled moan when Izuku presses against something inside him.

“That’s - ” Katsuki starts, panicked, feels himself start to short-circuit as it’s pressed over and over, mind beginning to melt;  “Fucking hell, Izuku - just - just like that.”

Izuku’s breathing goes ragged, his eyes close. He starts putting real weight behind the drive of his hips, and Katsuki arches his whole spine into it, helpless.

The feeling of something building in his abdomen returns, tenfold. It feels as though it had been dormant, stirred into wakefulness once or twice, and was now fully awake, utterly present. The relentless press against that place inside of him is merciless; the mounting pressure imminent.

“I’m - ” Izuku’s voice shakes him out of the daze of it, the heady space he had been floating in, “Katsuki, I’m close.”

The admittance sends a feeling of near panic through him; the thought that this ends sooner than Katsuki needed to chase the feeling in his abdomen to its end. It was impermissible. Katsuki rejected, outright.

“You can’t,” Katsuki grits out, near breathless. He tries for authority, but his voice was wrecked, closer to begging than command, “I need - I need you to hold out. You can’t.”

Izuku groans, agonised, “Katsuki - ”

“I need you to,” Katsuki repeats, finds an ounce of his usual control before Izuku digs his fingers into his thighs, and his breathing hitches, “Fuck, ‘Zuku - please.”

Katsuki watches Izuku eyes widen at the word, sees him swallow, feels his pace stutter.

Then his eyes go dazed, and he was pressing forward, folding Katsuki nearly in half just to press a kiss to his mouth. Katsuki feels the position press him impossibly deeper, feels held open and exposed, feels Izuku pick up that mind-melting pace from before. He feels, undeniably, that molten heat in his abdomen turn supernova. 

“What do you need?” Izuku pants into his open mouth, and Katsuki moans, tries to arch up into it, finds himself utterly pinned beneath him. For some reason, the feeling excites him more.

“Just - just like this,” Katsuki manages, risks sliding his hands into Izuku’s curls just to kiss him deeply between words, “Just keep fucking me like this. When I come, I want you to keep fucking me through it.”

Izuku groans, buries his face into Katsuki’s throat, and for a moment Katsuki is worried he’d sent him over the edge with his words. But the pace of it never falters; he does exactly as he’s told.

“Fuck, Katsuki,” Izuku bites out, and Katsuki had never heard his voice sound so rough. Never heard him swear as much as he does when they were alone like this.

“Don’t stop,” Katsuki tells him, manages to claw back some of the command in his voice, “Not until I say. I’m close.”

Izuku moaned like he was dying, muffled into the heat of Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki feels his breath against his skin and it makes him shiver.

Izuku does whatever Katsuki tells him, and the pressure builds. Katsuki feels as though he’s teetering at the very precipice, the heat flooding through every square inch of him. He feels it pool ominously in his palms.

“I’m - Izuku, I need - ” The feeling makes him panic; his control slipping, “Fuck, I need you to hold my wrists, I can’t - ”

Izuku’s palms slide to his wrists, hold them there against the sheets. For a moment, the feeling soothes him, utterly, the panic evaporates - and then Izuku was drawing his wrists up, pulling his palms to cup Izuku’s face.

Eyes never leaving his own, Izuku presses a kiss to Katsuki’s palm.

He feels his heartbeat skyrocket. He feels his panic melt into near hysteria.

“Izuku - ”

“Shh,” Izuku hushes him, unworried, still cradling his hands against his face. Katsuki tries to pull his hands away, but the friction of Katsuki’s tugging sets off little sparks, and he goes deathly still, unable to move. Izuku’s grip remains firm. He presses a kiss to Katsuki thumb, eyes dazed and adoring, as though kissing a lover and not an incendiary.

Throughout it all, the pace was unceasing. Katsuki felt it shove at him at the cliffs edge, pressing insistently against his control.  His voice, when it comes, is shredded thin with desperation.

“Izuku, I can’t - ”

“You can,” Izuku tells him, easily, as if the threat wasn’t real. He leans in, kisses Katsuki softly, and he tastes like nitroglycerin. Katsuki feels a sob, hysterical, build in his chest.

“Don’t do this,” Katsuki begs, and sees when the raw fear of it gets through to Izuku. The dazed look dissipates, and his grip lessens. Scared to move, Katsuki doesn’t pull his hands away.

“Hey,” Izuku soothes, brushing his thumbs over Katsuki’s wrist softly, “You’re okay.”

The whiplash of emotions had done nothing to deter the mounting pressure, and Katsuki felt delirious with it. Izuku brushes a hand against Katsuki’s cheek, and he leans into it, bonelessly. Can't bring himself to move his hands away.

“I trust you to control it,” Izuku tells him, voice soft. He pulls at Katsuki’s wrists until his palms slip down to his chest, splayed there on his bare skin, “Keep your hands here.”

Katsuki searches his face for any trace of doubt, of fear. Finds nothing but open, easy trust.

Slowly, he nods.

Izuku grins at him, elated, kisses his cheeks, the edges of his lips, his mouth. The heady release of relinquishing all control to this man had Katsuki feeling lightheaded. The throbbing heat at the core of himself was reaching feverish; unbearable.

“I can’t - ”Katsuki sobs, feeling all his strings pulled tight.

“You can,” Izuku hums, unrelenting, fucking him slow and steady and deep, "You can take it.”

And that’s all it takes. Katsuki is dragged, weightless, over the edge.

His senses are reduced to a single, beating canvas. His vision whites out.

He feels a gush of heat between his thighs, feels Izuku fucking him through it, feels his lap and the sheets get soaked.

He feels the heat in his palms, pressed to Izuku’s skin -

His eyes fly open; the world crashes back in. All he can hear is his own ragged, panted breath. He pulls his hands back, sees the expanse of Izuku’s chest - unmarred, untouched. His hands had not ignited. He feels elation grip him like a hurricane.

“See?” Izuku spoke, and all of Katsuki’s attention turned to him, bewildered, “We can train it out of you.”

Katsuki takes that in, shocked silent with it, shakes his head at his audacity, says, “You’re fucking crazy.”

He pushes at Izuku’s chest with the words, feeling mortified.

Izuku just laughs, kisses him, gathers him into his arms. Gazes at him like he’d fucking die for him, no questions asked, and Katsuki knows that he would.

Knows he’d take a hit straight to the chest just to prove some shit about trust.

Katsuki looks away, unable to hold the weight of it.

With his faculties starting to return to him, he notes, with a little start, that Izuku was still hard inside of him. He pushes him back to an arms length, looks at his face, takes in his flushed expression.

“You haven’t finished,” He points out, as though it weren’t already obvious. His tone is near accusatory; suspicious.

“You haven’t told me I can,” Izuku tells him, simply.

Katsuki stares at him. He wants to swear at him, tell him not to be a smartass, but something deep inside is bewitched at the words. The heady control of it.

His eyes follow the line of his body downward to where he’s pressed inside him; flushed deep red and buried to the hilt. He bares down on it, just to feel Izuku shudder, his hands tightening on his skin.

“Kacchan - ”

“You can,” Katsuki tells him, calmly, “You’re allowed. Go ahead; take it.”

Izuku makes a noise like surrender, does as he’s told. It doesn’t take much. Three or four more drawn out drags of his hips, and he was coming inside, helpless.

Katsuki holds him through it, hands balled up into fists at his back. Doesn’t trust himself fully, not yet. Not with the way his stomach spikes with heat at the noises Izuku makes, shaking in his arms.

They stay like that, afterwards. Together, their breathing comes down. It’s loud in the small room, like a tide, in and out, settling.

They don’t speak much. Katsuki never knows what to say, and Izuku never offers anything. He grunts when Izuku pulls out, feeling sticky and exhausted. Next to his hip, the flannel Izuku had brought to clean him up with was soaking steadily into the sheets. Even if it wasn’t, the bed would be sodden. The feeling makes him grimace, embarrassed.

He stands to get cleaned up in the en suite, steadily ignores how his legs seem to want to give out. He cleans himself in the shower, grips the wall when he feels Izuku’s mess drip down his thighs, cheeks bright red. Sighs, cleans that up too.

By the time he comes back, Izuku had stripped the bed, changed it. The sheets were in the hamper by the door. Katsuki had half a mind to burn them rather than wash them.

He stares at the empty room; bed remade, floor cleared of strewn clothing, window open and letting in a light breeze - unchanged as if nothing had happened. Izuku was already gone.

It was never any different. He never stayed after they did this. Not once.

Katsuki doesn’t know why he cares.

He corrects himself, mentally. He doesn’t.

He gets the light, climbs into bed. The sheets are fresh and crisp and cold. There’s no scent to them; no heat. He closes his eyes and feels the lack of it like an ache.

Why would he care? He doesn’t.

- 8 Years Later: The Morning After - 

Katsuki sits at the island in their apartment kitchen, shovelling cereal into his mouth. His lower back gave a steady throb from their morning activities, because he kept his promise.

He really needs to stop promising these things.

He chews, feeling chastised. His mind was going over last night like a videotape stuck on rewind. He knew Izuku’s memory was like a steel trap, but the details he’d recalled were vivid. He’d remembered their words; their movements. He’d had every moment of it coming back to Katsuki in technicolour recollection.

He was wondering what other moments throughout their relationship Izuku had put under such microscopic review.

Before he can get too deeply into it, the object of his thoughts comes sauntering into the kitchen, shower fresh and hair fluffy, humming to himself like he’d just had the fuck of his life.

Katsuki had it on good authority that he had.

“Alright,” Katsuki challenges, apropos of nothing, unable to stop himself. He knows Izuku will catch up, “If your memory’s so good; when was the first time I fucked you?”

Izuku stops in the open doorway of the fridge, paused in thought like Katsuki had just asked him what he thought of the weather today.

“With your fingers - or the strap?”

Katsuki feels himself flush red.

“Take a guess, dumbass,” Katsuki mutters, glaring down at his cereal.

“November 3rd,” He says, easily, taking the milk from the fridge for his coffee, “6 years ago. It was so cold you let me keep my socks on, even though you think having sex wearing socks is stupid. Oh, and you made me come without touching me.”

After a few moments of shock at Izuku's brazenness, Katsuki finally manages to nod his approval at the memory, recalling it fondly.

 “Good times. Whatever happened to that strap?”

“You tossed it after we got the blue one, remember? Said ‘why keep mediocre when we’d found the best’,” Izuku regales him, calmly spooning far too much sugar into his coffee.

“Oh, yeah,” Katsuki remembers, the little morose in his voice entirely put on once he remembers the blue one, flicking through news on his phone, “Shame. Alright, humour me. First time you let me suck you off?”

Izuku joins him at the island, tucks himself into a chair and curls his hands around the warmth of his coffee mug. He seemed to think a moment before it comes to him, eyes lighting up in tender amusement.

“About 2 weeks after our first time. You had to talk me into it. I was scared to let you because - ”

“You thought it would be taking advantage of me,” Katsuki cuts in, when it comes back to him, face twisting up at the thought, “Yeah, I remember that. It was stupid as fuck.”

“Don’t say that!” Izuku laughs, the sound a nervous little chirp, his voice gone high as it always did when he feels indignant, “I was seriously worried I’d coerced you or something.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, remembering the old argument, “Because you were getting me off every other night - you thought some equal treatment would be taking advantage?”

Izuku sits up in his chair a little, taking the bait, the laughter in his voice giving way to his ever-present sense of morality, “Because it was like you thought you owed it to me! We’ve been through this!”

Katsuki waves him off, unbothered. He knows the fight is old, that they were merely pantomiming it at this point.

“Eh, I just played it off like that,” Katsuki mutters, feeling small like he always did when he admits what he’d felt, “You think I could’ve told you back then I wanted my mouth on you? I could barely admit it to myself.”

Izuku leans forward on the island, cheeks propped up in his hands, smiling and gazing at Katsuki like he’d hung the moon. It was the expression he wore when he was about to sass Katsuki within an inch of his life.

“Such a special and complicated little snowflake, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll still kill you. You know I will,” Katsuki emphasises the threat with the point of his cereal spoon, fighting down a grin in order not to undermine himself, “Love of my life, best lay I’ve ever had - I don’t care. I’ll do it.”

“Kacchan, I’m the only lay you’ve ever had,” Izuku points out, taking a sip of his coffee and watching for his reaction cattishly over the rim of the cup.

“Keep it up,” Katsuki encourages, sardonically, “I’ll be the last lay you ever get.”

“But what will you do without the love of your life, Kacchan?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki flusters, feels his cheeks redden. Fuck. He’d got him, the little bastard, “This isn’t about me; stop redirecting. This is about you and that freakish memory of yours. When was our first date?”

Izuku’s teasing expression softens at that. He looks down at the table, as if this is the question that finally makes him sheepish. Katsuki watches his long eyelashes draw shadows down his cheeks, feels the sight arrest him as it’s done since they were 17. He hadn’t even had the words for this feeling back then.

“It was August,” Izuku tells him, voice quiet and enamoured, like he was holding the memory of it close to himself, “August 10th. Hottest summer on record, 5 years ago.”

Katsuki watches as Izuku lifts his eyes back up, as if to check if Katsuki was still listening. He doesn’t even have time to hide the intent look on his face, or even cover with his phone. It lay, screen black, on the table, forgotten. Izuku smiles at him, like he knows. Knows every act of nonchalance and indifference around him was a lie.

“We were laying around your room eating ice cubes in front of a fan,” Izuku goes on, and Katsuki catches the tips of his ears reddening; unsure if it was caused by the memory alone or his full attention on him as he speaks, “You turned to me and said we needed to stop ‘fucking around, finally get serious about things’. I cried because I thought you were telling me you didn’t wanna sleep with me anymore.”

Katsuki huffs at that, remembering.

“God, what a fucking mess,” Katsuki shakes his head at their ridiculous antics; the brazen idiocy of their first fumbled attempts at romance, “Was up all night trying to figure out how to ask you, and you just up and cried on me.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles, voice light with fond amusement, holding in laughter, “There were so many other ways of asking me out.”

“Hah?” Katsuki squawks, indignant, “Did I not take you on the best date of your life? Did I not sweep you off your fucking feet?”

Izuku smiles at him, all sunshine. Katsuki feels it catch in his chest like a ray of fucking light.

“You did. You took me to the museum that night,” Izuku acquiesces, surrendering to Katsuki’s appeasement, “Got us tickets for the Heroes Through Time exhibit I’d been wanted to go to all year. I couldn’t even concentrate. Spent the whole time wanting to hold your hand, couldn’t work up the nerve.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Katsuki mutters, scratching his cheek, embarrassed, “Finally reached out and took it when we left and you started fucking crying again. I thought someone was playing a prank on me. Didn’t know what the fuck I’d done wrong.”

Izuku laughs, a little mortified, covering his face, “God, I was such a mess.”

Katsuki shakes his head at them both again, wondering how the hell they’d both survived until now.

“How come you remember all this shit, anyway?” He asks, at length, finally getting down to the reason he’d started this conversation. “God, I mean. I remember most of it, but it’s like blurred together, you know? Just like one big picture reel of us. I can’t pick out the days like you can. The dates and the details - you remember all of it.”

Izuku lifts his face out of his hands, and his expression does something funny. Like he didn’t know whether Katsuki was joking or not. As though the answer was obvious, and Katsuki was just a little slow.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, slowly, softly. Like Katsuki was a child who’d asked how the universe came about, and needed everything made simple. When Katsuki continues to look at him, uncomprehending, waiting for the answer, Izuku lets out a soft breath.

“I’ve wanted you all my life, " Izuku tells him, plainly, "Before I even knew what it meant to want someone like I wanted you. You think I’d forget a single moment of it? You think I’d let any of it go?”

Katsuki felt that settle, uneasily, in his chest. Like everything Izuku told him that was too big of an emotion for him to hold comfortably within himself. This was bigger than him; he knew that. Knew he’d have to be better to earn the breadth of it. To be deserving of what Izuku gave him freely, since before he could remember.

He deflects it, because he doesn’t know how to begin apologising for all the years Izuku spent loving him, alone.

“Anyone ever tell you you can get a little obsessive?”

Izuku’s smile widens, easily. Katsuki feels it like the first kick of full breath after being winded; heady relief.

“Is there any point if I’m not obsessed with you?” Izuku tells him, simply.

He stands from his chair then, and Katsuki watches him round the island to stand next to him. Katsuki turns in his seat, welcomes Izuku into his space, into the opening between his legs. Izuku comes easily, slides his hands up into his hair, strokes Katsuki’s cheeks with his thumbs, tells him, “I love you. I don’t remember ever not loving you.”

Katsuki swallows at that, tries to redirect again, hears his voice come out rough and quiet irregardless, “You remember the first time you ever told me that?”

There isn’t a moments hesitation.

“September 19th.”

Katsuki feels his brow crease at that, perturbed. It was wrong.

“It was April 27th,” He corrects; he’d made a point of remembering it, because he knew Izuku got sentimental about things like that, “4 years ago. Got it saved in my phone.”

“Nuh-uh,” Izuku says, lightly, “September 19th. 7 years ago.”

Katsuki feels his brow deepen further. He shakes his head, confused. Izuku smiles at him, and there’s something shaky in it, like an apology.

“I used to wait until you fell asleep,” Izuku admits, and Katsuki feels the confession of it prickle at his skin, like feeling of being watched, like a wash of deja vu, “And then I’d tell you. September 19th, 7 years ago. First time I ever said it out loud.”

Katsuki doesn’t speak to that, finds himself unable to. What could he possibly say? He’s sorry? Wishes he’d known, wishes he’d said it back? Wishes he’d recognised the writhing, aching, burning force in his chest for what it was back then - that made him drawn to Izuku, unable to look away, unable to think of anything else?

Izuku takes his silence, and speaks into it for him.

“I used to mouth the words into your skin, when we - ” He trails off, as if embarrassed by himself. Shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile, “I needed to tell you so badly, but I couldn’t.”

Katsuki forces himself to respond, “You could’ve - ”

“7 years ago?” Izuku cuts him off, words accusatory but smile already forgiving, “You would’ve believed me?”

Katsuki has nothing to say to that. He wouldn’t have; not back then. There was nothing that would have gotten through to him.

“8 years ago, 15 years ago?” Izuku goes on, just to drive his point, “You would have let me?”

Katsuki lets his expression speak for him to that. Lets his face reflect how he felt; wounded and sorry.

Izuku was already forgiving him for it. Katsuki wondered if his forgiveness was perpetual, if it continued happening forever, underneath everything. He wondered if it was the unending ribbon wrapped around everything they did.

“It’s okay,” Izuku tells him, as if it’s that simple, “I knew I had to wait. I mean - I didn’t even know if you’d ever - ”

Katsuki’s hands come up to his hips, holding him there, stopping his words. He looks up into Izuku’s face, imploring.

“Izuku. It was there.” He promises him, firmly. His hands tighten on his waist, as if pressing his conviction into his skin, “I just couldn’t  - admit it. To myself, let alone you.”

Izuku smiles, adoring. He cards his hands through Katsuki’s hair, scritches him there in the way he knows Katsuki loves, like some domesticated beast.

“I know,” Izuku breathes, calmly. He kisses him; one slow, warm press of his mouth, and Katsuki feels himself lean into it, weightless, “I remember it, now. Now I know what to look for. It was in everything you did.”

Katsuki feels those words wash over him, achingly. It breaks the little dam in his chest, where he’d been holding the emotion back, and he feels his lip wobble at the threat of tears.

“Hey,” Izuku soothes him, his voice hushed and intimate, loving, “Such a crybaby.”

“I’ll sue you,” Katsuki threatens, a little hysterical, fighting back tears, “Defamation of character.”

“Oh yeah?” Izuku grins, playful, wiggling the fingers of his left hand in Katsuki’s face so the ring catches the light, “Is this gonna be before or after you plan to marry me? Should I get a pre-nup just in case?”

Katsuki growls at him, unamused. Rethinks giving him that damn ring now he uses it to sass him at every chance he gets.

“Will it be Bakugou V. Bakugou in the courtroom? Or Midoriya V. Midoriya?”

Katsuki gets his hands on him for that, digging mercilessly into his ribs in a way that Izuku finds unbearably ticklish.

“How about we settle it here?” Katsuki grits out, standing fully and lifting Izuku up onto the granite counter of the island, splays him out still writhing at the onslaught of his fingers, “Izuku V. Katsuki?”

Izuku takes in a full breath between laughter, tears of mirth in his eyes, “I like the sound of that.”