Chapter Text
In the span of just a few seconds, Izuku rockets from the exhausted sleep of a dead man to wide awake and sitting up straight in bed. His hands grip at the greasy, messy curls of his hair and he groans long and low.
“The eggs!” he yells, and his voice cracks on the words.
How could he so stupid!? Sure he’d worked for sixteen hours yesterday, covering someone’s morning while also putting in his closing shift. And yeah he’d been an exhausted zombie by the time he’d gotten home, barely able to pull his shoes and coat off before falling face first into bed. But tomorrow is brunch service. Brunch. The restaurant will be teaming with middle aged women sipping mimosas and ordering every variation of eggs benedict that they have on the menu.
And Izuku. Forgot. To poach the eggs.
Fumbling blindly in the dark, he somehow manages to find his phone. He’s panicking because he’s only been a sous-chef at this restaurant for like a month, and a screw up this big? Could get him fired. Especially since…well, the other sous doesn’t really seem to like him very much. That doesn’t stop Izuku from hitting the speed dial for his number.
The phone rings, and rings, and Izuku chews on the edge of his nail before he finally gets up and starts pacing his room. He’ll have to go back, he already knows, so he swipes his pants off the floor and rummages through his closet for a clean chef coat. One that doesn’t smell like sweat or have some unknown substance splattered across the front of it. By the time he’s found one and is haphazardly hobbling into his clothes, the line picks up.
“This better be fucking good,” hisses the voice on the other end.
Izuku blinks in shock and then pulls his phone away from his face. Fuck. It’s two am.
“Uh,” he says, bringing the phone back to his ear, and when Katsuki growls he finally manages, “I fucked up.”
There’s a huff from the other end, and the sound of rustling fabric like Kacchan is sitting up in his bed. Izuku rolls a button on his coat between his fingers, trying not to picture his childhood friend all sleepy and bedraggled, probably shirtless. His body temperature runs too high for him to be comfortable sleeping in anything except underwear or the nude. Izuku’s not sure which is better. Or worse.
“What the fuck did you do now, shitty Deku?” Kacchan asks tiredly. He’s probably carding his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his temple the way he does.
“I, uh. Forgot to poach eggs,” Izuku admits, fingers falling away from his coat. His breath lodges itself in his throat as he waits for a response, Katsuki’s quiet breathing the only sign he’s still there. After a moment he starts cussing quietly under his breath, the words lost in the distortion of the phone call.
“I hate you,” Kacchan says, loud enough to make out. “So fucking much.” His voice is too tired to carry his usual wrath, but somehow that just makes Izuku feel even more guilty. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Kacchan cuts him off.
“Just get to the restaurant as soon as you can. You worked all day yesterday, right? I can’t trust you to poach them all alone so I’ll meet you there.”
“Ah, Kacchan-” but the line is dead and Izuku is talking only to the silence of his apartment. He sighs and goes to finish getting ready, stuffing his feet into his shoes and grabbing a bandanna from his collection at random.
God he’s tired. His fingers tremble as he ties the bandanna in place, smoothing it back over his mess of hair.
But he can’t risk this job. Not now. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and he’s still not even where he wants to be yet. He’ll have a restaurant of his own somebody, his own staff, his own menu. Executive chef. All the power and responsibility that entails. And if that means going in to poach eggs at two in the morning with the coworker he should probably spending the least amount of time alone with well…that’s just how it is.
Izuku’s apartment is further from the restaurant than Katsuki’s, so he steps on the gas a little more than he should. He still doesn’t beat the other sous there though, because when he pulls up he can see lights on in the kitchen. The door is unlocked when he tries it, but he goes ahead and locks it up behind him again just to be safe.
“Kaachan?” he calls, tucking his knife bag a little closer to his body. It’s not really necessary for just poaching eggs, but if he was tired enough to forget the eggs there’s no telling what else he might have forgotten to prep.
“I told you to stop fucking calling me that!” Ah, there he is.
Izuku pushes the kitchen door open to find himself pinned under a harsh, red stare. Kacchan looks just as tired as Izuku feels, and he’s not even dressed properly. Sweatpants hang long on his hips and his coat, the same black as Izuku’s, is open over a plain tank top. Typically he wears a flat chef hat in the kitchen, beanie style its called, but right now he’s just got a ball cap on backwards, blonde hair sticking out awkwardly from the front and sides. It’s endearing. And hot. Oh man there’s a little strip of flesh showing between tank top and sweatpants.
Jerking his gaze away from that tantalizing sight is what saves Izuku from being smacked in the face by an apron. He catches it, fumbling a little, and watches as Kacchan ties his own deftly behind his back.
“C’mon, lets get to work so I can go the fuck home. Set up the rondeaus, and tell me where the fuck your prep list is, I wanna check it to make sure you didn’t miss anything else. Goddamn idiot.”
Izuku directs him towards where he’d stashed the clipboard when he’d left only four hours ago, then starts to set up. Kaachan had said he would help, so Izuku pulls out four of their big, shallow rondeaus, two for each of them, and measures out water and vinegar in each. When he’d first started here he’d been a very by the books cook, someone who kept a thermometer in their coat and measuring cups handy. Now he just eyes the splash of vinegar as he pours it straight into the water, and stops when he figures its about the right amount. There’s something to be said in learning to trust yourself, your intuition, in measuring ingredients by sight alone at times when precise numbers aren’t necessary.
Two skimmers, two timers, four bus tubs full of ice and water. It takes a while to collect everything together and even longer for the water and vinegar to come to a roiling boil. Kacchan paces around him, muttering under his breath as he works his way through the list. Apparently Izuku didn’t miss anything else, thank god, because Kacchan barley acknowledges him other than to give a quiet call as he’s passing. It’s only the two of them, and the neither is handling anything sharp or hot, but it’s simply ingrained into them by this point. Izuku has even found himself saying “behind” or “coming down” in non-kitchen places, like the grocery store, or on public transit.
He can feel himself growing slower and slower as he goes, until he feels like he’s barely keeping his eyes open. He’s finally lugged the last of the ice over and is staring blearily into the gentle waves in the bus tub when Kacchan finally acknowledges him again.
“Hey, fucker.” Ah, so pleasant.
“Hmm?”
“Look up.” It’s a bark of an order, and Izuku lifts his head tiredly, blinking in confusion. All that’s in front of him is the window, the place where food passes from the kitchen into the front of house. Oh, but there’s…a thermos? Bright red with a black lid.
“Is that-?” Izuku murmurs, then grabs at it, the metal hot against his palms. He slides the lid open and almost cries when the scent of coffee wafts out of the cup. “Oh my god, Kacchan.” The words come out more moan than anything else, and he doesn’t even care that the coffee scorches his tongue on the first sip. How long has this been sitting there? How long has Kacchan just been holding out on him? Izuku doesn’t even care, drinking greedily from the thermos with a long noise of pleasure.
Behind him Kacchan makes a choked kind of noise, and it finally distracts Izuku from trying to caffeinate himself in the quickest form possible, minus an IV. He pulls away from the thermos, glancing over his shoulder to find his childhood friend red in the face and staring at a point just over Izuku’s shoulder.
“Don’t fucking guzzle it, Jesus.”
“’M tired,” Izuku replies sheepishly, trying for a little smile. “Thank you for letting me have some.”
Kacchan just grunts and gestures to another thermos, this one black. “It’s for you, I have my own. Didn’t want you fucking falling asleep on me.”
“Oh.” Something in Izuku’s chest starts to thrum faster, and he can feel himself flushing, a little less in control than usual. He tries to remind himself its just coffee. “Well. Still, thanks.”
“Yeah, whatever. How long did you even work yesterday?”
“Sixteen hours,” Izuku breathes, cuddling the borrowed thermos close. Already the caffeine is starting to do its job, a jittery sensation crawling into his limbs. He doesn’t even like black coffee, and his mouth feels sour and burnt with the taste. Doesn’t matter. He takes another drink and thanks the gods. And Kacchan.
Kacchan who looks almost…concerned? But no, that pinched expression must mean something else. Except Izuku knows all of Kacchan’s expressions, has them all categorized in his mind, and that is definitely concern. Even if it’s wiped away half a second later.
“Fucking wimp,” Kacchan growls quietly, then louder, “Let’s get this over with. We still have to be in at six, don’t forget.”
Ugh, how could he forget? Brunch is going to be actual hell tomorrow. Today. Whatever. Especially since Kacchan is going to be running the line, and unlike Chef Aizawa he won’t grab a bottle of well whiskey and pass it around when shit hits the fan. Not that Izuku usually partakes, but after a shot or two everyone else on the line tends to relax a little, which in turn helps him relax.
They only need to poach four cases of eggs, so they each take two and set to work. It’s a slow, time consuming process, and doing it alone can take up to two or three hours. All of which have to be spent in front of the stove, attention fixed. Stir the water into a whirlpool, crack a flat of eggs into it, set timer, move to the next rondeau and repeat. By the time those eggs are in, the first batch will be almost ready to scoop out, toss the bad ones, and then put the good ones in the ice bath.
It’s mind-numbing. Izuku chugs his coffee in the spare seconds he has between batches, noticing Kacchan doing the same thing to his right. Usually he likes to put music on when he’s doing this, have something to lighten the familiar, tedious motion of cracking eggs. Balance flat in left hand, grab egg with right, crack it on the edge of the stove, drop it into the whirlpool with a little twist of the wrist, throw shell away. Repeat. Grab, crack, drop, throw. Grab, crack, drop, throw. There’s almost nothing to break the monotony of that. He’d turned the hood vents on when they came in, and they churn loudly above. But the noise is so familiar it doesn’t even process anymore. The only other sound is the flames within the stove top that crack and pop sometimes, licking up the sides of the rondeaus with fiery glee.
Izuku feels jittery and uncomfortable in his skin, the coffee working it’s way through him and making his stomach cramp. When was the last time he even ate? He can’t remember exactly. Only an hour passes before he’s back to yawning, simultaneously wired and exhausted.
Beside him, Kacchan abruptly pauses in dropping eggs to cover his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawns too. A mirror reaction. He shoots Izuku a glare out of the corner of his eye, but says nothing.
When Izuku yawns three more times over the course of the next ten minutes, and Kacchan ends up mirroring each and every one, the blonde’s patience seems to come to an end. His jaw snaps closed on the end of the last yawn, sharp teeth clacking together.
“Fucking stop it!” he snarls.
And Izuku…well, he’s tired okay? And keyed up on coffee. Possibly a little delirious. So he laughs. It builds up as a little giggle in the back of his throat, lips closed tight around it, and then when Kacchan’s eyes grow wide in disbelief he bursts out in loud, echoing peels.
“Fuck you!” Kacchan yells, pointing his skimmer threateningly at Izuku’s face like the world’s worst weapon. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Tears are forming in the corners of Izuku’s eyes, his chest shaking with the force of his laughter. He ends up bending at the waist and clutching his stomach, unable to stop even as Kacchan starts to rant. What once was so quiet before is erupting into noise all once, the timer beeping its shrill noise to add to the chaos.
And Izuku knows he needs to fish the eggs out before they get hard but he just. Can’t. Stop.
Kacchan cusses loudly, calling him every name in the book even as he shoulders Izuku aside to rescue the eggs. “Fucking useless!” he snarls, but he’s red in the face in a kind of blushy way and the corner of his mouth is tugging up on one side.
“I-I’m sor-r-ry,” Izuku manages in between laughs, sucking in noisy gasps of air after each syllable. “I ca-can-n’t st-stop.”
In several sharp, practiced movements Kacchan manages to get all the eggs into an ice bath and then he’s whirling on Izuku. The skimmer is still brandished, dripping with water and egg whites. “What the fuck is so funny!?”
Izuku hiccups and then makes a gross snorting noise. At this rate his nose is going to start running thanks to the tears sticking to his cheeks. In all honesty he has no clue what’s so damn funny, but once the laughter had started it had been over. His whole body feels electric and shaky, practically vibrating.
And that’s when he makes his fatal mistake. His sides are cramping, stomach twisting uncomfortably from the quaking of his muscles and too much coffee and he ends up listing to the side, hand shooting out to try and catch his weight. His palm lands on the edge of the stove, fingers grazing the rondeau and then settling against the hot, black metal of the burner.
His laughter garbles into a high pitched yelp as he jerks his arm back towards his body, a hacking cough rattling through his chest as he body continues to try and laugh. It dies into a splutter, and then gasping as his lungs struggle to fill properly. All with Kacchan staring at him, completely unimpressed, hands settled judgingly on his hips.
“Are you done now, you fucking idiot?” he finally says when Izuku is doing nothing more than breathing heavily and clutching his arm close to his body.
“I sure hope so,” Izuku says with as much feeling as he can muster. His hand hurts, the skin of his fingers already tight with swelling under the constant, fiery burn. But he works in a kitchen, has for a long time. Burns are super common, and he’s definitely had worse.
They don’t talk about that stupid fucking waffle iron. Ever.
So he’s not tearing up or hissing in discomfort like he once did back when he was just a line cook. But he knows his features are screwed up in pain, and Kacchan is watching him warily.
“Oi, it wasn’t that bad was it?”
“Dunno,” Izuku mumbles, finally pulling his arm away. Slowly he unfurls his fingers, wincing as he does so, to asses the damage.
The tips of his first three fingers are already puffing up with huge, fluid filled blisters and his skin is red and shiny looking all the way down to his palm. It could definitely be worse, but using his hand is going to suck for a while. Luckily, he’s a fast healer.
Kacchan sucks in a noisy breath between his teeth and suddenly he’s there, all up in Izuku’s personal space and making his heartbeat go haywire. Exhausted, in pain, still reeling from laughing so hard, he’s in no shape to handle whatever this situation is. Kacchan’s hand is around his wrist, holding him tight but gentle, his other hand cupping the back of Izuku’s fingers.
The flesh pressed again his is hot to the touch and sends little electric tingles all up Izuku’s arm. Or maybe that’s the coffee. And this close he can smell Kacchan too, gunpowder sweat and something warm that Izuku’s delirious brain labels as sleepiness. He’s not sure how being sleepy can have a scent, but it definitely does.
“Uh,” Izuku says intelligently.
“Why are you so fucking dumb?” The words are deadpan but soft and followed by an explosive sigh. “Wait here, I’ll go grab the first aid kit.”
Kacchan steps away and suddenly it’s like Izuku can breathe again. He takes several deep, shaky breaths and tries to clear the fog in his mind. It lifts only a little before Kacchan is back again, suffocating in his heat and the sharpness of that red, red gaze. Like a sunset, like blood. Like everything Izuku’s ever wanted out of life.
With careful but brusque movements, Kacchan applies ointment to each of Izuku’s blisters and then wraps his fingers up individually, so he still has movement. The ointment is blessedly cool against his burned skin.
The kitchen falls back into an almost unnatural silence as Kacchan works. It’s usually unsettling because during the day this space is hot and loud, filled to the brim with frenzied, controlled chaos. This quiet, this stillness doesn’t sit right with him. Usually.
But right now, the silence feels significant. It’s all caught up in the space between his and Kacchan’s mouths, filling with electricity every time the other man glances up through blonde, blonde eyelashes to lock gazes with Izuku. There’s something unsaid, something hanging in the air, but before Izuku can muster up the courage to try and address it Kacchan is already moving away again.
Izuku panics. Before he can even register the motion he’s reaching out and fisting his good hand in the loose edge of Kacchan’s open coat. A single step and a gentle tug is all it takes to close the distance between them. Blood pounding in his ears, Izuku leans up and kisses the other man like his life depends on it, his sleep-deprived brain finally falling silent and still.
The flames of the stove, left on but unattended, continue to snap merrily. The liquid in the randeaus bubbles, steam rising hot and thick to disappear into the whirring hood vent above. Seconds tick by.
All at once Izuku’s senses slam back into him full force, the sounds, his heart racing, the unmistakable feel of lips sitting against his but definitely not pressing back. With a sound of fear he jerks away, heat rising hot and fast to his cheeks.
Kacchan’s eyes hadn’t even been closed. His gaze is narrow and suspicious, red glinting brightly under pale eyelids and lashes. Despite that, there seems to be a flush climbing up his neck, the same as Izuku.
“Oh my god,” Izuku breathes, aghast. “Kacchan, I’m so sorry oh my god I just-”
“Shut up.”
Izuku’s jaw snaps closed hard enough to be audible. Honestly he’s expecting the worst; yelling, insults, Kacchan’s teeth bared like an angry animal’s.
What’s he’s not expecting is for Kacchan to scoff loudly. “You just can’t do anything right, can you?” he says, but there’s no time for Izuku’s stomach to sink into his stomach because Kacchan is grabbing his coat and yanking him forward.
Unlike Izuku, Kacchan doesn’t just press their lips together and then freeze. No. He’s all up in Izuku’s space, hands pressing against his cheeks, lips guiding Izuku’s apart in order to sweep his tongue inside. It’s fierce and hesitant all at once, like he’s not positive this is a good idea but he wants it anyways.
After a brief second of shock Izuku can feel himself melt into it, a small noise of pleasure slipping from his throat. His hands settle on Kacchan’s wrists, keeping those fingers pressed tight to his own face, and his lips fall apart with no hesitation. Why would he hesitate? He’s been in love with this man for ten years, since he was fourteen and just figuring out that oh, romance is a thing that exists and maybe it explains that funny feeling in his stomach when Kacchan is around.
Even when Katsuki had started to be even more of an ass than usual, pushing Izuku away at every chance. Even when they’d fallen apart, moved away, gone their different directions. And especially when he had walked in those front doors, all prepped for his interview, and immediately heard that familiar voice yelling across the restaurant, smokey and deeper than when they were kids. Izuku has loved him through two boyfriends, a girlfriend, and a handful of one night stands.
So when Kacchan backs him up against the boards, Izuku goes willingly. When Kacchan slides one hand down Izuku’s body and then hitches his thigh up, Izuku wraps it around his waist. Their lips are moving faster, breathing going ragged in between kisses audible even over the droning of the hood vent. Without conscious effort his hands have started to roam, sliding up Katsuki’s chest, cupping his cheek, feeling the width and strength of his bicep, smoothing down the long, lean line of his throat. All the things he’s wanted to touch but was never brave enough. Places he thought would be forever off limits to him.
Katsuki makes this low growling noise, hips pushing forward against Izuku’s and yeah it makes the metal edge of the board dig into his spine but he is not complaining right now. He responds with a high pitched whine, reaching up to card his fingers into Kacchan’s hair and then tug harshly.
The move makes Katsuki finally pull away from their kiss, gasping and flushed. His pupils are dilated, expression intense as he groans a low, “Fuck.” His thumb swipes under Izuku’s eye, soft and fleeting,and Izuku turns into that hot, hot palm, lips brushing the thick skin. His pulse is pounding in his ears and the hand on his thigh burns even through his pants.
Kacchan’s breath rattles out of his chest, almost a growl. He swipes his thumb over Izuku’s bottom lip next, eyes tracking the move with a hunger Izuku has always wanted to see.
“Kacchan,” he says, soft and deliberate.
Red, red eyes snap up to meet his. Izuku gets lost in them for a second, wanting desperately to confess right here and now. An I love you pressed between them, and he wants Kacchan to kiss the words off his lips, to make that growling noise again, to press him back until his spine arches and he has no choice but to cling to Katsuki for support.
Instead he says, “more,” and slides his hands down to Kacchan’s neck to tug him forward.
Kacchan comes easily, sliding back into his space like it’s natural. But he only hovers, finger still pushing down on Izuku’s bottom lip, forcing his mouth open just a touch.
“You look fucking good like this.” The words are a rumble, smokey and hot, like tar bubbling on asphalt. They make Izuku shiver, make him want to grab Kacchan by the hips and reverse their position.
But his knees are weak, and he’s only bold enough to murmur back, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Kacchan breathes, all steaming exhale and sharp canines. “Makes me want to fuck you up.”
Izuku can’t help his little moan because god he wants that too, and it’s all the encouragement Katsuki needs to finally move that finger and kiss him again. This time there’s no hesitation, only heat and the harsh scrape of teeth against Izuku’s bottom lip, a hand on his thigh sliding towards his ass, the other on his hip.
Without warning, Kacchan is grabbing him and lifting him by the backs of his thighs, setting him down on the board so that he can step between Izuku’s spread legs. They’re both half-hard, he can feel it through their pants. And thank god for chef pants really, thin and breathable and absolutely emitting the heat of Katsuki’s cock where it’s pressed into the cradle of Izuku’s hip. Like a brand. Like a vindication of all the times Izuku thought about just this scenario.
Unfortunately, Izuku is still sleep deprived and delirious. Sitting where he is has Chef’s voice filtering through his head, low and amused and entirely unwanted, “Boards are for setting glasses, not for sweaty asses.” A statement born from all the stupid line cooks who tried to hop up in the very position he’s in right now.
Izuku grins unintentionally into the kiss, messing up their rhythm and Katsuki makes a low noise in complaint. But that spurs the delirium on and he starts giggling. Not the huge, belly shaking laughs from before, but something high pitched and silly.
Kacchan’s hands tighten where they were gripping Izuku’s waist and he pulls back. “What the fuck is funny now?” he grouses. His voice is still low and gravelled like sin, sobering Izuku a little.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, smile crooked as he slides his hand from Katsuki’s neck to rest on his chest right above his pounding heart. “Just thought of something stupid.”
For a moment Kacchan eyes him warily, and Izuku would be concerned if they weren’t still pressed together at the hips and Katsuki’s normally pale skin wasn’t flushed red.
“Well,” he finally says, “stop fucking thinking about it.” It’s clear he’s moving in to kiss Izuku again, to pick up where they left off, but Izuku holds a hand up to stop his progress.
Katsuki’s eyebrows furrow, the lips Izuku’s fingers are pressed against pulling into a frown. “Now what?”
His befuddled, pissed expression is kind of adorable and Izuku melts. “Sorry. I just…” Now that he’s had a second to think, he realizes that they’re moving a little fast, that he’s nervous and could use a little reassurance that this is more than just a quick fuck. But he has no idea what this is, and assuming Katsuki is as in love with Izuku as Izuku is in love with him could definitely ruin things. So instead he says, “We need to finish the eggs.”
Katsuki blinks, slow and deliberate, before his lips twist in a scowl and he jerks away from Izuku’s hand. His expression says that Izuku is right but he’s not fucking happy about it. He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you’re the one saying you want more, then loudly grumbles, “We’re not doing anything. You’re going to sit there and not fuck up anything else, and I’m going to finish.” Before Izuku can respond, he’s swooping close again, grabbing Izuku by the wrist so he can push their faces dangerously close.
“And don’t think I’m done with you,” he growls, low and feral. It makes Izuku dizzy, a delicious shudder crawling up his spine. “You’re going to crash at my place tonight, got it?”
Izuku nods obediently and only lets out the air in his lungs after Katsuki has pressed a brief, harsh kiss to his lips and stepped away again.
There’s still tension in the air, in Kacchan’s stance as he locks eyes with Izuku, staring him down. Then he turns, cursing quietly under his breath when he notices that almost all of the water has boiled out of the randeaus. Being cut loose from that intense gaze makes Izuku suddenly feel adrift, his pounding heart slowing to a crawl, his breath evening out. He thinks he might be swaying where he’s sitting, exhaustion catching up to him, but he can’t quite tell.
His eyes blur and start to drift shut. The sounds of Katsuki shuffling around and continuing to curse and grumble are weirdly relaxing and Izuku finds himself focusing on them. Grab, crack, drop, throw, cuss. Grab, crack, drop, throw. It doesn’t last very long, mostly because they’d finished most of the eggs before they’d gotten distracted. Izuku is startled out of his doze as Katsuki goes about lifting the bus tubs and carrying them to the speed rack, where they’ll stack on top of trays and await morning.
Were he not falling asleep where he’s sitting he’d offer to help. But instead he watches as Kacchan cleans up the discarded cardboard and carefully walks the randeaus, still steaming in their heat, over to the dish pit. He’s worried Katsuki will try to scrub them now, because it’d take forever, but he just sprays them with cold water and leaves them in the sink. When the kitchen is almost as tidy as they’d found it he gives a decisive nod and then offers a hand to Izuku.
“C’mon. It’s already four. If we hurry we can grab a shower and an hour long nap.”
It makes Izuku want to cry a little. He just wants to sleep forever; an hour is such a terrible, terrible tease. But he takes the offered hand and hops off the board, wobbling a little as he tries to find his feet. “Okay,” he murmurs, word a little slurred, and doesn’t protest as Katsuki pulls their aprons off and herds him out of the restaurant and into his car.
He must fall asleep to the faint rumbling of the engine because the next thing he knows, Kacchan is gently ushering him up and out of his seat. It occurs to him as he follows that stocky figure, ash-blonde hair sticking up every which way, that he’s never been to Katsuki’s apartment before. Normally he’d be excited, curious, maybe even a little nervous. But he can barely spare the energy to glance around a sparse but clean living room, a cluttered kitchen, and then he’s in a dark-tiled bathroom blinking tiredly as Katsuki turns the shower on.
His gruff voice seems to echo off the walls. “Alright, shithead, get in. We’re sharing because I want to fucking sleep too.” Despite the proclamation his red eyes search Izuku’s face for a moment, looking for something. When Izuku doesn’t protest, just starts clumsily trying to strip, those broad shoulders relax.
Maybe Izuku should be freaking out about this a little more. He’s exhausted, overworked, and just kissed his childhood crush (love?) for the first time ever, and now they’re about to be naked in the same room not even an hour later. Not for sexual purposes exactly, but still. Naked. It’s four am-ish. His skin is pebbled from the cool air and he can hear the rustling of clothes as Katsuki strips down somewhere behind him. He has no fucking clue what they’re doing, and he’s not sure Kacchan knows either.
But he’s not nervous. He wants a nice, hot shower and to get some sleep. He wants to finish their brunch shift and then sleep some more, preferably in Katsuki’s bed, and then maybe after all that they can figure this out.
For now he steps into the shower.
And immediately yelps. The water is freezing and Izuku’s exhaustion is suddenly, forcibly shoved to the back of his mind as he reels away from the spray, nearly tripping over the edge of the tub in his haste.
Behind him he can hear Katsuki’s throaty laughter. “Sorry, guess it didn’t heat.” Soft footsteps pad across the bathroom and then Kacchan is there, leaning in to adjust the knobs. Izuku is pressed to the wall furthest from the shower head but the water is still hitting his bare feet. He can feel as it slowly loses it’s chill and then rapidly starts to heat. But he barely notices.
Katsuki stands up again, one hand reaching out to feel the spray. He’s completely naked, his pale, defined body stark against the dark tiles behind him. It makes Izuku’s breath catch in his throat because he knew the other man was well built but. Damn. Just damn.
His gaze naturally travels from sculpted shoulders and biceps down a flat, toned stomach, lingers on the sharp V of his hips and the wiry blonde hair creeping up towards his belly button before, finally dipping lower. Oh god.
See, the thing is, when you work in a kitchen, a hot, loud, messy place that tends to attracts workers who are just as hot, loud, and messy, the conversations always get dirty. Izuku has lost track of all the stupid dick jokes he himself has made (“cut off the tips of the asparagus so we can blanch them” “just the tip, huh?”). And don’t even get him started on the time the grease trap for the flattop had overflowed all over the floor and rather than helping him, when he’d frantically yelled “My grease trap is leaking!” he’d only gotten a chorus of “Ew!”s, gross comments, and laughter. The teasing had continued for so long that the phrase ‘leaky grease trap’ had been banned from the kitchen all together.
And in all the stupid dick jokes and terrible puns, Izuku had learned something interesting. Namely, that back in college Katsuki had gotten his dick pierced as part of a dare, and had ended up actually liking and keeping the piercing. Izuku had been so surprised and turned on that he’d actually frozen up on the saute station and burned the eggs he’d been making. The knowledge has sat with him ever since.
And now he’s staring at it for real. Not that it’s easy to see when a) there’s so much space between them and b) Katsuki is soft. But still, that is definitely the glint of metal at the tip of his dick and it makes Izuku’s mouth go dry. Even soft Katsuki is big and it makes Izuku want in such a primal way it’s actually kind of frightening.
“Like what you see?”
The low growl has Izuku squeaking and jerking his gaze upwards like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Those red eyes are hooded and hot and Katsuki makes no effort to hide the slow sweep of his gaze up and down Izuku’s body.
But looking into that handsome, beautiful face, the water pounding down between them, steam starting to fog the air, he remembers why they’re here. Because as hot as that expression is, there are still dark bags under Kacchan’s eyes and exhaustion in the shape of those strong shoulders.
“Yeah,” Izuku rasps back after a moment. Then, with a crooked grin, “But if I cum right now I probably won’t wake up again in time for work.”
The words shock a little laugh of Katsuki, a flash of sharp canines as he mirrors Izuku’s grin. “Yeah, okay, same. Guess we should finish up and sleep then, yeah?”
Izuku hums in agreement, and quietly they get back to the task at hand. It’s a little difficult when Katsuki joins him and they discover that the spray isn’t big enough for them to share at the same time. They end up shuffling awkwardly around each other, skin sliding against skin, to try and get their fair share. Then Izuku reaches up to try and run his fingers through his gross hair and is viscerally reminded of his wounded hand. He hisses, bringing it down to his chest to cradle there. The bandages are dripping wet, ruined.
Next to him Katsuki scoffs. “Idiot. Come here.”
Izuku glances at him, blinking water drops off his eyelashes, and tries to ignore how amazing Kacchan looks with water rolling over that toned body. He shuffles a few steps closer and sighs when Katsuki grabs the shampoo and starts scrubbing almost harshly at Izuku’s hair. It’s bordering the line between pleasant and painful, as most everything with Kacchan is, but Izuku doesn’t really mind. It feels amazing and he relaxes under the other’s ministrations.
They finish up pretty quickly after that and Katsuki bundles them both up into big, fluffy towels and herds Izuku into the bedroom. It’s small and there are curtains drawn tight over a window, dirty clothes piled up in one corner. The bed is big and inviting though, and Izuku doesn’t think twice when Kacchan abandons his towel and collapses into it. They just showered together after all, what’s a little nude sleeping?
He doesn’t even make it under the covers. Just crawls on top of them, stuffs a pillow under his head and passes the fuck out.