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Izuku isn’t sure if there is anything in the world more tedious and tiresome than a stakeout, outdoors and in the middle of an icy December. The rooftop they’re scouting from is freezing and blustery, and the apartment building they’re keeping an eye on isn’t much to look at, either. Izuku tells himself it’s important, that even the monotonous jobs need to be taken with the utmost seriousness. If their theory is correct, the infamous drug lord Juggernaut could be stopping by any day now trying to see his daughter for the holidays. Importance doesn’t make shivering in the icy chill any more fun, however, and Izuku has never understood Katsuki’s hatred for winter more deeply than he does standing on that icy rooftop staring at a brick building for twelve hours at a time.
When Fat Gum’s agency requested backup from Mirko’s, Katsuki and Izuku had been the first to offer themselves up. They had lost their chance to capture Juggernaut early on in their careers and were eager to jump at the chance to correct that. The drug lord was infamous for targeting vulnerable youth and the homeless, using his chemical-altering quirk to make all sorts of heinous substances. One of Izuku and Katsuki’s very first missions as hero partners had been a sting operation trying to infiltrate his underground network of dealers, and while they had managed to shut down one of his major operating bases, Juggernaut himself had slipped through the cracks. Neither Katsuki or Izuku had been able to forgive themselves. Izuku still grits his teeth just to think about the lives at risk because of his failure.
And so they’d agreed to stake out. Katsuki grumbled that he doubted the notorious drug lord would put himself at risk like that, and Izuku agreed it seemed very unlikely that anything would come of it, but they’d volunteered anyway, even if it was a bit of a long shot.
Fat Gum’s agency has arranged for them to have apartments in the same building as the roof they are scouting from, just to the southwest of the drug lord’s family’s home. It’s their residence for the entire month of December while they wait to see if Juggernaut shows himself. They have their own rooms, but Izuku and Katsuki do have to share and it’s… Nice, actually. More than nice, it’s wonderful. They have the overnight shift, but Katsuki still insists on making them breakfast food when they wake up at five pm. Izuku has been treated to waffles, omelets, and even crepes. If Izuku hadn’t already been ridiculously in love with Katsuki, seeing him just as he’s woken up with his ashy blond hair awry and bare feet on the kitchen tiles, furiously scowling at his carefully crafted crepes, would have done him in.
As hero partners and best friends, Katsuki and Izuku are used to spending most of their time in each other’s company, but living together adds a whole new layer of intimacy. They share every meal, come home from a long, freezing day and hunker under the kotatsu together, haul their laundry down to the laundromat together and bicker gently over who is sorting their clothes correctly. (“You can’t throw your hero shit in with your civilian shit! It has to be a separate load!”) Katsuki cooks, Izuku does the dishes, and then they collapse on the couch under a thick blanket while anime reruns roll on in front of them. Sometimes, if Izuku is lucky, Katsuki will nod off midway through an episode and Izuku can give up the pretense of watching TV and stare at his face instead. So serene, so chiseled, and so unbelievably gorgeous it’s almost hard to look at him. Izuku thinks that if he didn’t have to spend twelve hours every night, stationary and in the freezing cold, he would be the happiest he’s ever been.
Two weeks into this arrangement, Izuku comes back from their frigid shift with a sniffle. It had been a particularly blustery night and by the end of it, Izuku’s ears were numb and not even the handwarmers stuffed in his coat pockets kept his battered hands from aching terribly. Katsuki must notice, because he orders Izuku to have a bath the second they return to the apartment and makes hot pot for their five am dinner. The bath helps, and the hot pot is wonderful, but what really warms Izuku’s heart is Katsuki draping a blanket over his shoulders as Izuku sips his soup under the kotatsu. Izuku stares up at him in pure adoration.
“Thank you,” Izuku says softly.
Katsuki grunts. “Winter fucking blows.”
Izuku laughs and agrees, and since Katsuki is being especially pliable tonight, he wrangles him into watching a cheesy Hallmark movie after their meal. The sun rises and fills their apartment with golden light as the movie rolls on.
“Why the fuck is she giving up her career for this snoozeball?” Katsuki complains.
“It’s true love!” Izuku protests, even though he’s grinning.
Katsuki scoffs. “If he really loved her he would move to the city with her, not make her live on his shitty Christmas tree farm forever.”
Izuku hums in agreement, leaning back on the couch cushions and gazing at him fondly. It feels so good to be like this with him, so right. Izuku can so easily imagine this being the rest of his life. It doesn’t have to be romantic. They can just be like this: together, domestic, comfortable. Izuku will take anything so long as he can have Katsuki at his side.
Izuku wakes mid-afternoon and his nose is still stuffy. He rolls over and groans into his pillow with a curse. This shift is going to be miserable.
At his first sniff, Katsuki shoots a glare over his shoulder.
“Oi,” he says. “You aren’t sick, are ya?”
Izuku tests his lymph nodes. He doesn’t think they feel swollen. He frowns.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “I must have just gotten too cold last night.”
Katsuki scowls like Izuku has personally offended him. He stirs the hashbrowns aggressively and Izuku admires the way his arms flex as he works. Izuku sets upon the dishes as soon as he finishes eating, but Katsuki waves him off.
“I got this,” Katsuki says. “Go bundle up.”
Izuku does as he is told, adding an extra two layers before zipping himself into his heavy-duty coat and wrapping two scarves around his neck. He waits for Katsuki to join him, but once again Katsuki waves him off.
“Go relieve Shitty Hair,” he says. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Izuku pauses. That was… unusual. Katsuki must be worried that Izuku is in fact sick and doesn’t want to be around him in case he catches it too. It’s reasonable, but it makes Izuku’s heart sink. Izuku hates it. He shakes himself like it will dispel the disquiet in his chest, but it doesn’t help. God, he’s let himself get too clingy if even walking up to the roof separately is giving him anxiety. Izuku marches up the stairwell as if each stamp of his foot will smash his uncomfortable feelings down.
Kirishima greets him cheerily and Fat Gum looks visibly relieved to see him. They sanitize their ear pieces and monitoring-equipment before passing them over to Izuku, and Izuku, knowing how Katsuki is, sanitizes them again after they leave. He attaches the monitor that reads their vitals, checks that he can hear the agent on the ear piece, and then busts out the high-tech binoculars. The sun has long since set and the buildings' windows alternate between warm, golden, and lit and completely dark. He checks the family’s windows and even through the curtain he can see shadows moving inside. Kirishima and Fat Gum didn’t mention any unusual activity though, so Izuku is forced to assume it’s just the drug lord’s ex-wife, probably mulling about the kitchen and getting dinner ready.
The door opens with a creak and Izuku swivels around. His heart does a little cartwheel, but then it always does when he sees Katsuki. He is bundled up in his thick, black ski-coat with the high-collar that’s only zipped up to his sternum. The fur-lined hood is pulled up and his stocky black boots march toward him. He looks oddly flushed.
“There you are,” Izuku says, hoping he doesn’t sound too relieved. “Don’t worry, I already—”
A huge cherry-red thermos is thrust in his direction. Izuku blinks at it stupidly.
“Kacchan?”
“Take it, it’s for you,” Katsuki mutters, like he’s irritated he even has to say so.
Izuku obeys. It’s heavy, and a little warm even through Izuku’s gloves. He looks at Katsuki questioningly.
“What is it?” he asks.
Katsuki shrugs one shoulder. He brushes past Izuku and takes the extra monitor and ear piece from where Izuku had set them on the half-wall lining the roof's edge. He takes out his clorox wipes and sanitizes them a third time.
“Something to keep you warm,” he says, unusually quiet.
Oh. Izuku’s heart tumbles out of his chest and splats painfully on the floor. It’s over, he’s so done for. He’s never falling out of love with Katsuki. This mission has been terrible for Izuku’s stupid life-long crush on him, and Katsuki is only making it worse by being so… so sweet . Izuku doesn’t think anyone from Class 1-A would believe him if he told them how sweet Katsuki really is. Maybe living together has brought out his more domestic tendencies. Izuku smiles at the thought and determinedly blinks back his tears.
“Thank you,” Izuku says.
Katsuki turns to him. His eyes have something intense and unreadable in them; Izuku almost flinches from it.
“Thank me after you’ve tried it,” Katsuki says.
Izuku blinks. Whatever he’d expected Katsuki to say, it sure as hell wasn’t that. Izuku eyes the thermos warily. What could it be? Miso Soup? Coffee? Izuku expects Katsuki to turn away again, but Katsuki keeps watching. Waiting, Izuku realizes with a start. Izuku fumbles with the cap of the thermos and brings it to his face.
Oh! Sweet, chocolatey, and heartbreakingly familiar— One small whiff and Izuku is instantly transported back in time. The memories flash through his mind: vivid, and sweet, and just a touch painful. He remembers snowy days spent in Katsuki’s backyard, chasing each other and hurling snowballs as they shrieked with laughter and struggled not to slip. The snowmen they used to build and then promptly destroy once they were bored of them. Katsuki’s mad, cackling laughter as Izuku tried to keep up and get him back for shoving snow down the back of his shirt. The snow fortresses they would always fail to build big enough to keep the other neighborhood children from finding them. Memories he hasn’t thought of in years come back to him with striking vibrancy. He can’t believe he had forgotten it; it’s been well over a decade since he’d last had Mitsuki’s homemade hot cocoa, but it was a staple of Katsuki and Izuku’s childhood. Their wintry days of play would always be punctuated with this. Katsuki and Izuku would drink it curled together under the kotatsu, cheeks and noses still pink from a full day out in the cold.
The memories strike an aching, tender chord within him. It had all been so simple, so straightforward and pure. Even back then, Izuku had loved Katsuki with all of his might. He gives Katsuki an astonished look.
“Auntie’s?” he asks, barely daring to believe it.
Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away. “Made the old hag teach me how to make it a few years ago.”
He made this for me , Izuku realizes with a whoosh in his belly. He clutches the thermos a little more fiercely, pressing the metal bottle to his chest. He doesn’t fight the tears this time, wiping them away with the bottom of his scarf.
“Thank you,” Izuku says, in a breathy whisper.
Katsuki scuffs the floor with his shoes and sniffs. “Yeah, whatever, I can’t have you fuckin’ getting sick on me.”
Izuku smiles at him fondly. He brings the thermos to his lips and drinks and oh, oh wow it really is as good as he remembers. It’s thick and creamy and rich. It’s so warm Izuku feels steam gushing out of his ears. He closes his eyes and makes a deep, pleased noise low in his throat.
“Mmmm god, that’s good,” Izuku says, wistfully. “You did amazing, Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. He makes strange, hitched, breathy sounds. Izuku can hear his lips smacking, but no words are spoken. Izuku blinks up at him and startles.
Every square inch of Katsuki is a brilliant shade of crimson, all the way to the roots of his ashy blond hair. He looks horrified. His brow is furrowed and his jaw moves up and down wordlessly.
Izuku’s widen in concern. “Are you alright?”
Katsuki is very obviously not alright, but the question seems to jog him out of whatever stupor he’s in. Katsuki shakes his head, expression screwed up and almost pained looking. His irritated sigh streams through his gritted teeth.
“Dumbass,” he finally manages. “Obviously— of course I—”
Stammering? Katsuki? Izuku gapes at him and Katsuki flinches from it like he’s been struck. Suddenly Katsuki swivels around and marches off. Izuku jolts, almost spilling his cocoa as he moves to reach out for him.
“Kacchan, wait!”
“I have to piss, dipshit!” Katsuki shouts back at him, swinging open the exit door violently and slamming it behind him as he leaves. Izuku stares after him, bewildered. He can’t remember the last time he’d heard Katsuki stammer like that and he’s never seen Katsuki blush so furiously. What just happened? How was he so unbelievably sweet one moment and then storming off on him the next? Izuku supposes that’s Katsuki for you, but something about it seems…. strange. Izuku replays the conversation in his mind, frowning. What had set him off? Was it the compliment? No, that couldn’t be it; Izuku compliments Katsuki daily. Izuku frowns. He takes another savoring drag of his hot cocoa and ponders on it. It’s so velvety smooth that Izuku can’t help but groan in pleasure.
And then it clicks. It hadn’t been the compliment that set him off; it was— it’s Izuku’s turn to flush furiously— his moan? Oh god, thinking back on it, the sound he’d made was really suggestive. Is that what made Katsuki so flustered? No, no, what is Izuku thinking? That couldn’t possibly be right. Katsuki wouldn’t get flustered because of an embarrassing sound Izuku made. He’d make fun of him, mimic the sound mockingly, and never let Izuku live it down. Right?
Izuku has a full fifteen minutes to argue with himself about it before Katsuki reappears, looking considerably more composed, but definitely still surly. He yanks the binoculars out of Izuku’s hands and takes over watch duty. Izuku tries not to stare at him too brazenly. He feels like a live wire, every nerve ending in his body finely attuned to Katsuki’s every little movement.
Even just the thought that a small sound like that could have any effect on Katsuki is both mind-boggling and wondrous. Thinking that Katsuki could be responsive to him, to Izuku of all people… Of course it’s just a theory. And theories need to be tested.
Izuku stares vacantly at the apartment building across the road. His mind is going a million miles an hour. Does he dare? What if Katsuki stormed off again? He would need to be subtle about it; Katsuki would kill him if he ever suspected he was doing it purposefully.
Izuku’s hands itch in anticipation. He watches Katsuki very carefully as he brings the thermos back to his lips. Is he imagining the way Katsuki seems to grip the binoculars slightly tighter?
Izuku takes a small swallow and hums, low and pleased.
Katsuki takes a sharp breath. Izuku watches his lip tremble in fascination. Izuku can feel his own pulse in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. Izuku watches Katsuki breathe deliberately evenly, like he’s consciously forcing himself to remain steady. Has Izuku done this to him? Is Izuku the one forcing Katsuki to breathe manually, to strangle the binoculars so viciously that his gloves squeak— all because of a little moan?
Izuku feels brilliantly alive, incredibly powerful, and deeply delighted all at once. He can’t begin to think what this could mean, but he thinks— he hopes— oh god, his heart aches with the brilliant hope he suddenly has. It feels close to agony. He’s wanted Katsuki for as long as he’s known what wanting was and even just the possibility that he maybe, in some small way, is wanted back is almost more than he can bear. His wanting has been so intense that it’s excruciating. But what if he’s got it wrong? Maybe there’s another explanation. He wracks his brain for another answer, but comes up with nothing. Does— does that mean—
“The fuck are you mumbling about?” Katsuki grunts, not turning to look at him. “You see anything?”
“No! No,” Izuku says quickly. God, how unprofessional is he being right now? They’re doing important hero work! Lives could be saved if they catch Juggernaut and here Izuku is messing around and paying more attention to his hero partner than his work. He busies himself with another mouthful of hot cocoa. Shit, he hopes he didn’t let anything vital slip in his mutterings. He needs to say something, anything that could throw Katsuki off the trail of his little experiment. He gestures to the thermos. “Just. Just this. It brings me back.”
He watches Katsuki’s Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
“You like it?” Katsuki asks, gruffly.
Izuku nods furiously. “I love it! It’s wonderful.”
There’s a beat. A prolonged pause. Izuku sets the thermos on the ground at his feet and sends Katsuki a sideways glance.
“Do you remember the Snow Might we made?” Izuku asks.
Katsuki’s expression cracks into a grin. “I remember your dumb ass hugging the thing so hard it fell over, yeah.”
“I was six,” Izuku scoffs.
“I spent fuckin hours trying to get his hair spikes right and you toppled it in seconds,” Katsuki says, flatly.
“We toppled all our snowmen eventually!”
“That thing was my fuckin’ magnum opus and you didn’t even let the hag get a picture of it before you smashed it to pieces,” Katsuki says. He shakes his head like Izuku has deeply disappointed him. “It was your idea to make his abs out of sticks.”
Izuku gasps.
“He had a stick-pack,” Izuku says, and Katsuki barks out a laugh, finally pulling the binoculars off his face and swiping at him. Izuku deflects easily, aims an elbow at Katsuki’s ribs, and soon enough Katsuki’s grabbing for him. Izuku grins as he steps out of range, and his giggling is shrill as Katsuki chases after him.
It’s a little tricky play-fighting in the snow like this; Izuku and Katsuki both slip and slide as they bob and weave around each other. Izuku swerves, but never strays too far out of reach. He loves the thrill of Katsuki’s fingers brushing past his coat, the looming heat of his body as Katsuki charges toward him. Izuku is alive with the chase. His pulse races; every nerve ending in his body feels like it’s vibrating in anticipation of his touch. Izuku could keep dodging, could keep running, but one backward glance at Katsuki’s nasty grin and any desire to escape evaporates. He only has time to turn away before Katsuki is on him. Izuku oofs as Katsuki’s thick arms lock around him, pressing Izuku’s back to his chest tightly and pinning his arms to his sides. Katsuki’s head sits on his shoulder, face turned toward him, his cold nose pressed to Izuku’s cheek.
“Got you, nerd,” Katsuki says, his breath hushing down Izuku’s throat. His mouth is so close that Izuku swears he can feel his grin against his skin. “Fucking stick-pack. Such a shitty-ass pun.”
He’s so big, Izuku thinks, as Katsuki’s solid body is pressed into his own. His arms are like steel bands wrapped around him and the heat of him is delicious. Izuku can smell the heady scent of his skin, a faint whiff of his citrusy shampoo. Izuku breathes heavily. Katsuki is just so close . His presence is overwhelming. Izuku feels dizzy, almost intoxicated with it.
“You laughed,” Izuku manages to counter, although he sounds breathless even to himself. He wriggles, trying to break free, but Katsuki’s grip only tightens.
“Nuh uh, you’re not getting off that easy, asswipe,” Katsuki says gruffly.
“Kacchan…” Izuku says, helpless to say anything else. He turns his face toward him. Their breaths puff out in billowy white clouds, so close they mingle together. It would be so easy for Izuku lean in further, to press his mouth to Katsuki’s skin, to taste him like he’s always longed to and— and—
He wants me, Izuku thinks. He responds to the sound of my moans.
That thought makes him bold. He smiles a little before speaking.
“You got me,” Izuku says in a low voice. “What are you gonna do with me?”
Katsuki’s breath hitches. Izuku feels his chest stammer with it. Katsuki’s hands ball into fists in Izuku’s coat.
Come on, Izuku thinks, urging him, pleading with him in his mind. Give in. Give it to me. I know you want me.
Katsuki’s grip loosens slightly and Izuku wilts. And then Katsuki’s hands are dipping under Izuku’s coat, fingers digging into his skin and furiously tickling him. Izuku shrieks.
“No! No, stop!” Izuku cries. He’s flushed with his piercing laughter. He kicks back at Katsuki, thrashing in his grip. “No, Kacchan! Kacchan, stop!”
Katsuki doesn’t relent. Izuku elbows him and spins in his grip, giggling madly as he tries to shove him off. Katsuki’s grin is savage. Radio static buzzes in his ear.
“Deku? Dynamight? Your heart monitors are showing unusual activity. Is everything alright?” one of Fat Gum’s interns asks worriedly.
Their gazes lock in mutual horror. They break away at once. Katsuki fumbles for the binoculars and quickly zooms back in on the apartment building across the road. Izuku forces his breathing to even out before touching the ear piece and responding.
“We’re fine.” Fuck, his voice is at least half an octave higher than usual. “Just—” Shit, what can he say? Katsuki makes a cutting motion across his throat. “—jogged up the stairs from a- a bathroom break.”
“.... Both of you?”
Fuck! He sends Katsuki a frantic look, but he only shakes his head aggressively and points at the building.
“Uhhh… I— I startled him,” Izuku says, lamely.
“..... Any activity on the Wilson apartment?”
Katsuki shakes his head. Izuku clears his throat.
“Nope, no, all clear over here,” Izuku says, voice painfully light.
“I’ll check in at the hour.”
The radio goes dead. Izuku thrums with dread. Fuck, what had he been thinking? They’re literally doing hero work right now and Izuku has been, what, flirting with Katsuki instead? Unforgivable. It’s unbelievable how unprofessional he’s been. Heroism requires diligence, especially through the boring, tedious parts. Lives could be saved if they caught Juggernaut. He straightens his spine and joins Katsuki at the edge of the rooftop. Katsuki passes the binoculars over to him and Izuku gives the building a once over, zooming into the windows, but sees nothing. Just two golden windows, warm with light softening the chilly night air. Oh, what had Izuku been thinking? If the drug lord was going to visit his daughter, he would try to make it discreet, preferably under the cover of night. That made their shift all the more critical.
“Stop freaking out,” Katsuki mutters. “We didn’t miss anything.”
Izuku’s gaze doesn’t leave the apartment the rest of their shift, as if hypervigilance will make up for his momentary lapse, but the entire night slinks by with no activity. Fat Gum and Kirishima to relieve them at five am, all bundled up in their winter wear and bleary-eyed, but thankfully do not ask them about the radio call in the middle of the night.
They make their way back to the apartment. Izuku is very consciously aware of Katsuki’s heavy footsteps trodding behind him. They shuck off their winter wear and shoes. Izuku tries not to stare as Katsuki shrugs out of his coat, his broad shoulders flexing as he does, the nip of his waist looking even smaller compared to the bulk his coat had given him. Izuku remembers what it had felt like having those arms around him, that incredible body pressed flat against his own, and forces himself to look away.
Katsuki makes stir fry in unusual silence. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s feeling the same shame Izuku is for their lapse in professionalism. Izuku’s mind is racing. They couldn’t have been play-fighting longer than a few minutes. Juggernaut’s quirk is chemical-alteration, but maybe he has a henchman who possesses super-sonic speed. Izuku runs through the paperwork in his head, trying to recall the names and faces of the henchmen in Juggernaut’s inner circle. What if there was a shadow quirk that allowed him to slip in through the window? Or a portal quirk with a ripple they had just missed in their scuffle? Or—
The wok slams down on the stove harshly. Katsuki turns to him, red eyes full of fury.
“Oi! Knock it off! I can hear ya overthinkin’ from here!” Katsuki barks.
Izuku swivels over to frown at him. He wrings the couch cushions in his hands worriedly. “I just can’t help but wonder—”
“Stop,” Katsuki presses. “We didn’t miss anything.”
“But what if—”
“We didn’t!” Katsuki goes back to shaking the stir-fry aggressively. “Juggernaut’s quirk doesn’t give him superhuman speed, and every henchman he’s been in regular contact with doesn’t have anything that would get them in and out that quickly either. If he was there, we would have spotted him.”
Izuku sighs through his nose and his head slumps onto the couch cushions. The stove top clicks off, and then Katsuki’s rapid footsteps are stomping over to him. Two fingers slot under Izuku’s chin and tilt his face upward. Katsuki’s gaze is all seriousness.
“Hey,” Katsuki says, softer now. “Relax, alright? I skimmed through the file while you had the binoculars. There’s no way five minutes of fooling around was enough time for him to slip through. Trust me.”
Izuku melts a little at his words. It’s comforting to think Katsuki was also worried. He loves that Katsuki also takes the work deathly seriously. And he does trust him. More than anyone.
“Okay,” Izuku says, ignoring how even those two fingers on his jawline have his body thrumming with arousal. “I trust you.”
He sees the tension drain from Katsuki’s shoulders. He gives Izuku a small nod. He pinches Izuku’s chin.
“Now stop freaking out,” Katsuki orders. “Or I’ll burn your fucking dinner.”
Izuku grins. Katsuki is too much of a perfectionist to ever let that happen purposefully, he knows, but the empty threat is just so him that Izuku can’t help but love him for it. Katsuki releases him and finishes up. Izuku marvels at how easy it all is: being with him, living with him, trusting him. Izuku knows without Katsuki’s gruff reassurances he would have been up half the day researching and agonizing. He probably wouldn’t have slept, probably wouldn’t have eaten anything, either, but Katsuki goes so far as to make him a plate and bring it over to him. He settles on the couch beside Izuku and flips on the TV. They’re just in time for the morning news. Izuku holds the steaming dish to his face and breathes in.
“It smells incredible,” Izuku tells him. Katsuki grunts, not glancing away from the television. Izuku doesn’t miss the flush creeping up the back of Katsuki’s neck though. Suddenly, Izuku feels extremely devious. He licks his lips. He keeps his eyes fixated on Katsuki as he takes a big bite.
“Mmmph,” Izuku says, tilting his head back. “‘Sho good, Kacchan.”
The all too familiar sound of crackling. Pop-pop- bang! Izuku jumps in his seat as rice explodes all over the room in a puff of smoke.
“Shit!” Katsuki curses. His plate is cracked in half and smoldering. “Fuck!”
Izuku leaps to his feet, snatching the broken plate out of Katsuki’s hands in case he goes off again, and runs toward the kitchen. The smoke alarm blares shriek and shrill, and Katsuki spews out a string of curses. Izuku watches him get to his feet, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans.
“Watch out for broken glass!” Izuku cries.
“Shut up, I know,” Katsuki snaps, gingerly stepping over the mess and giving the smoke alarm a whack. “Fuck, so much for keeping a low profile.”
Izuku smiles despite himself. He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth before Katsuki can see.
“Just have mine,” Izuku says. “I can make myself some eggs or something.”
He feels more than a little guilty making Katsuki lose his dinner like that, but at the same time he feels gloriously triumphant. Katsuki shakes his head. He moves to the linen closet and retrieves the vacuum.
“Just eat,” he says, voice rough. “I’ll clean this up and make something else.”
Izuku stubbornly whips out the dustbuster and helps get as much of the rice off the couch as he can before finishing his meal in merciful silence. Katsuki makes himself another batch of stir fry, shoving the leftovers in the fridge before skulking off to his room.
As soon as Katsuki is out of sight, Izuku hunches over his knees, covers his face with his hands, and forces himself to think. He has to be reasonable about this, even if his heart soars to one seemingly obvious conclusion. Izuku struggles for long minutes to think what else it could possibly be, but there’s only one answer: Katsuki was flustered. Each time Izuku moaned, Katsuki… responded. And responded strongly, he might add. Izuku’s sounds had affected him so greatly that Katsuki couldn’t even control his quirk. He wonders what other physical reactions he can coax out of Katsuki. Could just the sound of Izuku’s voice be enough to get Katsuki hard? Could he be in his room right now, jerking off thinking about Izuku? Izuku flushes at the thought, his cock twitching in interest. Delighted is an understatement; Izuku is fucking euphoric.
Izuku jerks off in the shower shamefully, thinking of Katsuki’s rock hard body pressed against his own, how his breathing felt rushing over his skin, his sheer responsiveness to Izuku. If Izuku comes especially quickly, that’s between him and the shower drain.
The orgasm puts him to sleep fast at the very least, and in the evening he wakes up to Katsuki banging on his door and barking at him that he’s on breakfast duty today. Izuku makes sure to spice Katsuki’s eggs thoroughly and even gets a gruff thank you for his trouble.
Before they head upstairs, Katsuki presents him with the thermos again, freshly filled. Izuku blinks up at him and Katsuki bristles.
“What? You said you liked it,” Katsuki says, defensively. He folds his arms across his chest, tucking his nose into his scarf.
Izuku’s heart warms. He feels embarrassingly close to tears again. He pops open the top and sure enough, the familiar smell of Mitsuki’s hot cocoa wafts up to him. He beams.
“Kacchan,” he says, almost admonishing him. “Thank you.”
“Whatever,” Katsuki says, too softly. He brushes past Izuku and storms up the stairs. Izuku, feeling a little wicked, takes a long drag of his hot chocolate and makes an even longer noise of appreciation. Katsuki stumbles, barely catching himself on the stair rail in time before face planting. Izuku can’t contain his snort.
“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki snarls and Izuku’s laughter chases him up the stairwell.
It goes like this: Katsuki holds the binoculars, the snow falls around them, and every so often, Izuku will bring the thermos to his lips and hum in deep satisfaction. Katsuki will huff through his nose, or shift his stance slightly, or even mutter the occasional shit under his breath. Izuku is careful to keep them few and far between, no more than once every hour or two. The rush he gets each time fuels him, burns through him like liquid fire, and leaves him with an itch for more. Anticipating what he will coax out of Katsuki next makes the time go by much more quickly. It makes him feel more alive than he has in years. He takes his turn on the binoculars and wonders if he’s imagining Katsuki’s shoulders slumping a little in relief.
Halfway through their shift, Katsuki nudges Izuku’s thigh with his knee.
“Hey,” he says. He gestures to the thermos. “Can I?”
Izuku blinks at him rapidly. His cheeks flush.
“Oh! Sure,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound nearly as flustered as he feels. Katsuki takes the thermos, brings it to his lips, and Izuku can’t help but think: indirect kiss.
“Hm,” Katsuki says, almost sounding perplexed.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Katsuki says. He shakes his head, his lips twitching into a little smirk. “Just remembering.”
Izuku smiles to himself, touched and pleased that the memories are a soft spot for Katsuki, too.
“You were always so shit at snowball fights,” Katsuki says. “It wasn’t even fun.”
“Oh, well excuse me for having poor hand-eye coordination,” Izuku says, dismissively. He shoots Katsuki a look. “I could kick your ass now.”
Katsuki’s grin is pure wickedness. “Oh, yeah? Is that what you think, nerd?”
“That’s what I know,” Izuku counters. “With Blackwhip I could be pelting you from all sides.”
“If you could catch me,” Katsuki says. “I’m fuckin’ fast.”
“I’m faster.”
“Prove it,” Katsuki says, turning to face him.
“Alright,” Izuku says, turning and meeting him head on. “I will.”
Katsuki’s eyes gleam dangerously and Izuku shivers, but it has nothing to do with the cold. Fuck him, he can’t keep letting Katsuki do this to him. Or— Izuku flushes to think about it— he supposes it’s only fair considering what Izuku has been doing to him.
“After our shift, I know a place,” Katsuki says.
Usually, at the end of their shift they’d head straight home, too cold and exhausted to even consider doing anything else. But Katsuki must be as invigorated by the spirit of competition as Izuku is, because they power walk all the way out to the subway station. They don’t even stop anywhere for dinner, and considering what they’re about to do, Izuku thinks he knows why. It would be a little embarrassing for pro heroes Deku and Dynamight to be caught fooling around doing something as childish as a snowball fight. No, this was best done in the still early hours, where they were less likely to have any paparazzi asking any questions.
Katsuki brings him to the outskirts of a little suburb, where there’s a massive outstretch of lawn surrounded by a copse of trees. Katsuki turns to him with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“We doin’ this for real?” he asks.
“Obviously,” Izuku says, putting his hands on his hips.
“What do we say if cops come sniffin’ by?”
Izuku considers that for a moment. He scratches his chin thoughtfully.
“It’s not a snowball fight,” Izuku says, carefully. “It’s… seasonal combat training.”
Katsuki’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Oh is that right.”
“It’s perfectly legal,” Izuku says, breezily. “Heroes have to keep their skills sharp at any time of year. It’s basically a training exercise.”
Katsuki grins. “You fuckin’ nerd.”
It almost sounds like a term of endearment. Izuku grins back.
“It’s an entirely appropriate use of our Hero Licenses,” Izuku reasons. He pops his brows teasingly. “Not scared, are you, Kacchan?”
“Hell no!” Katsuki says. He widens his stance. “What are the ground rules?”
“Ten minutes to prep snowballs, first to take three hits is out?”
Katsuki nods. “Done.”
“Oh, and when you lose, you’re buying me dinner,” Izuku adds with a cheeky grin.
“When you lose,” Katsuki corrects, “you’re taking me to Hori’s Hot Ones and you’re eating a bowl of their spiciest udon.”
“Kacchan is so cruel,” Izuku sighs, holding a hand over his heart and shaking his head empathetically. “It’s a good thing you’re going down.”
“Bring it!”
“Ready?” Izuku pulls out his phone to set a timer. “Go!”
Izuku throws himself to his knees and begins making snowballs as quickly as his achy hands will allow. They’re a little stiff this time of year; the cold always aggravates his old injuries, but Izuku pushes through. He’s too exhilarated not to give it his all. Thinking that all these years later, he gets to play in the snow with Kacchan once again… no stop, stop! He isn’t going to cry. He can’t afford to cry. He has a battle to win. He’s positively giddy as he builds his arsenal.
The timer goes off. Katsuki rounds on him and eyes Izuku like he’s prey. Izuku feels a hot rush in his belly, swooping dangerously close to his groin. Fuck, he’s so weak for him. Katsuki holds the snowball aloft and ready.
Izuku busts out Smokescreen and hears Katsuki curse. He summons multiple tendrils of Blackwhip and uses them to scoop up a half dozen snowballs, with a final tendril as a sling to hold six more close to his chest. He uses Float so Katsuki can’t hear his boots crunching in the snow and waits. Katsuki has stopped cursing, but Izuku knows he’s too restless to stay still for long, and sure enough. Crunching. On his left! Izuku swivels around and zooms toward him, snowball aimed and ready—
As soon as he flies toward the noise, he knows he’s miscalculated. Instead of footsteps in the snow, there are two snowballs smashed into the ground. Izuku swivels but it’s too late. A snowball bursts against his shoulder.
“Shit!” Izuku soars into the air, whipping around and hears Katsuki rocketing off the ground after him. He uses Blackwhip to sling several snowballs at him, but Katsuki swerves in the air, blasting the ones that get too close and only one manages to hit his boot. Damn him, he’s good. Pride and frustration wrestle within Izuku as he grits his teeth.
“Nice aim, asshole!” Katsuki barks. He’s made himself his own sling out of his winter coat with a handful of snowballs pressed to his well-defined chest.
Oh, Izuku is gonna get him. Determination flares in his gut. All he has to do is force Katsuki into using his quirk, and then his ammunition will melt. Can’t win a snowball fight without snowballs. The thought makes Izuku smirk. He floats higher, letting his Blackwhip tendrils restock. Katsuki aims a blast at him when Izuku suddenly drops out of the air, dodging easily.
“C’mere you,” Katsuki growls. Izuku grins up at him and hurls another snowball, catching him on the upper-thigh. “Fuck!”
Izuku’s laughter is bright and happy. He’s gonna do this. He’s gonna win. Katsuki dives in the air after him, but Izuku is faster. It isn’t a fair fight, really. Katsuki’s snowballs are slushy from the heat of his explosions and don’t soar through the air right. Izuku dodges them all too easily. Katsuki must see he isn’t gonna get anywhere at this rate and instead throws his body at Izuku. Izuku pelts him on all sides with his Blackwhip, but Katsuki’s Howitzer Impact obliterates every last one of them. Shit! Izuku’s reserves are empty. He’ll have to return to the ground for more snow, which Izuku can tell from Katsuki’s triumphant grin is exactly what he wants.
It’s a race to the earth. Izuku lashes out with Blackwhip; Katsuki dodges. Izuku sends another tendril and it wraps around Katsuki’s waist, flinging him off to the side to buy Izuku some time. The explosion Katsuki releases to catch himself melts all the snow directly under him and he curses. Izuku falls to his knees, grabbing at the snow wildly and pounding it into shape. He can hear Katsuki’s charging footsteps and crouches to make himself smaller, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
“You’re mine, nerd!” Katsuki roars.
Izuku shrieks as a slushy snowball is hurled right at him. He swerves, but it catches him in the hip. Tied, they’re tied. Izuku’s heart races. Katsuki dips to grab more snow as he charges. Izuku turns, aims. He only has one chance.
Blackwhip shoots out and snatches Katsuki’s wrist, wrenching the snowball out of his hand before flipping him onto his back on the ground beside Izuku. Katsuki lands with an oof . In a fit of madness, Izuku climbs on top of him. He slings a leg over Katsuki’s waist and smashes the final snowball right into his face. Katsuki chokes.
“I win!” Izuku cries, throwing his arms in the air.
“Asshole!” Katsuki coughs, smearing snow out of his face.
“Ha, ha, ha-ha ha,” Izuku says in a sing-song, putting his hands on his hips triumphantly.
“You didn’t have to fuckin’ headshot me!” Katsuki shouts, indignantly.
Izuku beams down at him. “Yes, I did.”
“You suck,” Katsuki spits. He lunges upward, rolling them over, and pressing Izuku into the snowy field. In one rough motion, he pins Izuku’s hands above his head and oh. Oh . That does dangerous things to Izuku. His heart surges into his throat; his body is alive with adrenaline and sheer giddiness. “I’m fucking getting you back for that.”
Izuku can’t stop giggling for the life of him. “No, Kacchan! Please! Mercy!”
“Mercy?” Katsuki sneers. “You want fuckin’ mercy? I’ll show you mercy.”
Katsuki shuffles so his one hand pins both of Izuku’s. Izuku struggles, but Katsuki is just so strong . Izuku feels thrillingly vulnerable. Katsuki scoops up a fistful of snow.
“No!” Izuku wheezes and thrashes under him. “No, Kacchan!”
“You asked for it, nerd,” Katsuki says, and he promptly shoves it down the front of Izuku’s coat. Izuku shrieks at the shock of cold. He writhes to no avail.
“You’re such a dick!” Izuku wheezes through his giggling. “I can’t— I can’t believe—”
Katsuki is grinning down at him, all mischief and ruddy cheeks. There are snowflakes caught in his eyelashes and glittering in the soft spikes of his hair. It reminds Izuku so sharply of him when they were younger that it aches. Only Katsuki has somehow gotten even more unbelievably beautiful. Muscle has filled out his sharp features; he’s so angular, defined, and… perfect. Looking at him now wipes all the thoughts out of Izuku’s head.
Katsuki looms over him, the steam of his breath billowing across Izuku’s cheeks. “You can’t believe what?”
Fuck, it’s too much. His body weight, the husky sound of his voice, his devastatingly handsome face. If Izuku gets hard right now, Katsuki will feel it and— and—
Flashing red lights snap their attention toward the road. Izuku’s stomach sinks as an officer gets out of the car.
“Everything alright over there?” he calls. “We got calls that there was a disturbance.”
Izuku waves as best he can, only managing to bend his wrist limply as Katsuki is still pinning him down.
“We’re fine,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. Shit.
“Seasonal Combat training,” Katsuki says promptly and awkwardly, and Izuku smothers his snort with a cough. “Hero business. This idiot needs to figure out how to fight in the snow.”
At least the cop has killed any possibility of a poorly timed boner from happening. They have to show their Hero Licenses predictably, and get a bit of a telling off for not informing any local authorities of their plans, but are mercifully not called in for further questioning. As soon as the cop pulls away, Izuku sighs in deep relief. Katsuki gestures to the road with a nod.
“Alright, come on, let’s get dinner,” he says.
“Kacchan!” Izuku scolds. “We can’t get dinner right now, it’s breakfast time!”
Katsuki gives him a hard look. “It’s our third meal of the day so it’s dinner.”
Izuku shakes his head stubbornly, puffing out his cheeks a little as he frowns. “No way. I said dinner. I don’t want any cheap old diner food. I want appetizers, drinks, and everything.”
Katsuki scoffs. He grabs Izuku’s head and ruffles his curls.
“Greedy little fuck, aren’t ya?” he sneers.
“You were going to make me eat udon from hell!” Izuku chirps back. Katsuki’s rough fingers on his scalp make his heartstrings go taught with longing.
“Alright, alright, have it your way,” Katsuki says, shoving him off. “When?”
“Tomorrow?” It is their rest day. Amajiki and one of Fat Gum’s interns would be taking their usual nightshift.
Katsuki is quiet for a moment. He kicks a loose pebble on the ground as they make their way back to the subway station.
“It’s a date.”
It doesn’t mean anything. Izuku tells himself so over and over again. It’s a figure of speech; it’s just an expression. Katsuki has always been direct about things. If it was an actual date, he would have made that clear. And besides, Katsuki is only doing it because he lost the bet. It means nothing, it means less than nothing. Izuku tosses and turns, furiously punching his pillows into different shapes as he sternly tells himself to stop overthinking it.
It’s a date. The words echo back to him in Katsuki’s rough voice again and again. He has butterflies just remembering it. Why the hell does Katsuki have to be so goddamn attractive all the time? Katsuki has had his hands on him so much lately that Izuku feels haunted by it. Recalling how easily Katsuki had him pinned him down, the delicious weight of his body, how beautiful he looked with his face flushed with cold. Izuku jerks off to the memories shamefully. He hates how he would give anything for their lost-a-bet dinner to be an actual date.
Their sleep schedules are fucked beyond repair so Izuku sleeps until three in the afternoon. He staggers into the kitchen and sees Katsuki has left an omelet in the fridge for him and a note.
“I’ll be back at eight to pick you up for dinner. Dress nice. Don’t embarrass me, nerd.”
Izuku reads it twice. His stomach drops; his heart riots in his chest so violently he thinks it might give out. He holds a hand over his mouth and presses the note to his chest. No, no, he needs to read it again. Dress nice? Dress nice for what, their lost-a-bet dinner? Surely that’s a little overkill.
It’s a date. Oh god, oh no, oh holy fuck. Izuku scrambles back to his room and tears apart his suitcase but the nicest thing he brought is a goddamn polo shirt with a little All Might emblem at the breast pocket. Izuku holds the shirt to his face and screams.
Dress nice, Katsuki had said. Don’t embarrass me. What the hell is Izuku going to do?
He does the only sensible thing and calls Uraraka.
“What’s shakin’ bacon?” she says, picking up after the second ring.
“I don’t have anything to wear!” Izuku wails, already going into full panic mode. He paces around the room frantically. “He said to dress nice, and I didn’t pack anything nice, and I’m going to embarrass both of us, and it hasn’t even started yet!”
“Whoa, whoa, okay easy buddy,” Uraraka says. “Slow down. What’s going on? You gotta date or something?”
Izuku makes an exasperated noise. “I don’t know .”
Uraraka laughs, tinkling, bright, and tinny over the phone. “How do you not know?”
“It’s complicated!” Izuku whines. He clutches his heart and grimaces. He trusts Uraraka with his life, but he knows the moment he reveals who he’s going on this ambiguous-perhaps-a-date with he will never hear the end of it. Katsuki has only been the love of his life since he was four. The stakes couldn’t possibly be higher. Izuku brings his fist to his forehead, willing himself to calm down.
“Who is it?” Uraraka asks. Izuku can practically see her wiggling in excitement from here. She always gets so excited at any new developments in his love life. “He must be pretty hot for you to get all panicky about him.”
Only the most attractive man Izuku has ever set eyes on. And his best friend. And the love of his life. Oh god, he’s going to fuck this up so hard.
“I need a drink,” he announces. “And I need to be sexy in like four hours.”
“Attainable goals,” Uraraka compliments. “Come over. I have wine and slutty tops.”
“Thank you,” Izuku says, relieved.
“And hopefully you get a slutty top tonight too!” Uraraka cackles.
“Oh my god.”
“So,” Uraraka says, two glasses of wine deep and half an overstuffed closet later. Currently, Izuku is sporting a sparkly top that he does not have the curves for. He examines himself in the mirror miserably. “How’d you meet him?”
“Uraraka-saaaan,” Izuku whines. Okay, maybe he’s gotten a bit tipsy. Sue him. He tugs on the hem of the top, trying to get it to lay flat. “Do you have any not-boobie shirts?”
“Stop deflecting!” Uraraka cries, pointing at him accusingly. “Seriously! I need deets! Mina’s gonna skin me alive if I come out of this without any ‘hot goss.’”
Izuku gathers the excess fabric around his hips and sinches it back. His waist isn’t as lithe as Katsuki’s but it’s… something. He rips the shirt off in a huff of frustration.
“Alright, fine,” Uraraka says, tapping the wine glass to her chin thoughtfully. “I’ll guess.”
Izuku snorts. He goes back to the closet and thumbs through the rows of fabric critically. Should he go with green? Or is that too obvious a choice? He checks the mirror and goes back to the closet, trying to match his exact shade.
“He’s obviously a top, or you wouldn’t be quivering in your boots,” Uraraka reasons. Izuku gasps, aghast. He grabs the nearest blouse and hurls it at her and she laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Is he tall?”
Izuku flushes. “Y-yeah.”
“Oho!” Uraraka cackles delightedly. “Scale of one to ten, how hot is he?”
Izuku hides his face in his hands and groans.
“So at least a nine,” Uraraka concludes. She tuts, considering. “How did you even meet this guy if you’ve been on overnight stakeout missions for, what like a month?”
Izuku clears his throat nervously. “Two weeks.”
Uraraka sits up so fast she nearly spills her wine. Her oversized eyes are wider than ever.
“No, wait, he’s on the mission, isn’t he?” she says, hushed with realization. She takes one glance at Izuku’s face and nearly shrieks. “He is! Oh, god, wait, wait, wait. So he’s either in your agency or Fat Gum’s, right?”
She snaps her fingers repeatedly. She hums as she thinks.
“What was his name? Animal man? Amajiki-san!” she says. She frowns. “He’s not really your type though, is he?”
Izuku ignores her as best he can. His heart thuds in his chest painfully. Getting this tipsy was a grievous miscalculation on his part. At first it had given him the confidence to try on all of these ludicrous tops, but now his stomach is roiling with it.
“I need some water,” Izuku says weakly. He turns away from the closet and marches to the kitchen.
“Is it Kirishima?!” Uraraka shouts after him. “Oh my god, wait no, I forgot Mina existed. Haha, whoops! Don’t tell her, okay?”
He grabs Uraraka a water bottle too while he’s at it because she clearly needs it. He rests the chilled bottle against his forehead and breathes. He should just tell her. But saying it aloud will only make it more real and if it’s real — Izuku fights down a surge of bile. Okay, drink water now, panic later. He cracks the cap open and downs the whole thing in one go.
Uraraka’s footsteps are frantic and loud. She lurches through the doorway, leaning on the door frame heavily, wine glass still clutched in hand. Her brown eyes are blazing.
“Midoriya Izuku,” she says, dangerously even. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Izuku blinks at her, shrinking back at her intensity. He offers her the water with a little shrug. “Water?”
“You!” she cries. She smacks him on the arm several times in a row. “Tell me it’s not him. Tell me it’s not Bakugou Katsuki.”
Izuku buries his furiously flushing face in the crook of his elbow. Uraraka shrieks.
“Oh my god , it’s happening, it’s fucking happening!” Uraraka shouts. She sets her wine glass down harshly. “Give me that!”
She snatches the water bottle out of his hands and begins chugging.
“Uraraka-san!” Izuku cries. “Wh-what are you—”
“Shut up. Put your shirt back on,” Uraraka orders, pointing to her room. “And drink more water, we’re going shopping.”
“Shopping?” Izuku squeaks out.
“Yes, obviously, are you insane? You can’t just wear anything to this!” Uraraka cries, throwing her hands in the air, splashing as she does. “He’s like the love of your life! The star in your sky! The pizza in your pie or whatever!”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s only the guy you’ve been in love with for what, like, ever?” There’s angry banging from Uraraka’s upstairs neighbors that she valiantly ignores. “Hurry! Go! Put your shirt on!”
Izuku obeys because of who he is generally as a person, and when he returns, Uraraka is chugging more water furiously.
“You should have told me you had a date with fucking Bakugou,” she seethes. She stomps into her boots and pulls her coat on at the same time. “God, we’ve wasted so much time. Are you kidding?”
She takes his shoulder in one hand and shakes him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses.
“It’s! It’s— I don’t— I mean—” Izuku struggles, high pitched and uncertain. She pushes another water bottle into his hands as she marches out the door, keys jingling in hand. He barely has time to stuff his feet into his shoes and snatch his coat. “I-I don’t know if it’s a date -date.”
Uraraka rounds on him. Her expression is flat and unimpressed.
“Okay, I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’re about to spout off to me right now, but I’m almost ninety-five percent certain that if you think you might be going on a date with Bakugou, you definitely are,” Uraraka says. She gives him a shove and locks the door behind him. “You! What happened? You have to tell me everything.”
“You can’t tell Mina,” Izuku orders.
“I make no such promises.”
Izuku tells her anyway, because he kind of can’t not. He doesn’t mention the uh. Moaning thing he’s been doing, but he includes the important bits like the bet and the note on his breakfast this morning. Uraraka leads him toward the shopping mall about four blocks from her apartment and listens with rapt interest. At the end of it she looks entirely exasperated.
“So he said it’s a date,” she repeats in a deadpan.
“It’s an expression!” Izuku says, though it sounds weak even to his ears. “It doesn’t mean— It’s not because—”
“And he said to wear something nice,” she continues, “because it’s not a date.”
“It could be like a casual hang out thing!” Izuku protests.
“Casual hang out things don’t have a dress code!” Uraraka cries. “God, Deku-kun! He’s only been crazy about you since high school!”
It pleases him to hear it, but he can’t take it to heart. She doesn’t know Katsuki like he does. Sure, maybe from an outsider's perspective it could seem a little silly agonizing like this, but Katsuki isn’t just anyone. The friendship they’ve built has been so hard-won and precious, and… strange. Katsuki’s friendship isn’t like anyone else’s. Thinking about anything that could shatter it is unbearable. Izuku doesn’t know if his heart would ever recover if he lost Katsuki again.
Uraraka seizes him by the elbow.
“Listen to me,” she says, fiercely. “You’re going to look so fucking hot on this date tonight, he’s gonna have to choice but to fuck you silly, and then you’ll see.”
“Uraraka-san!” Izuku cries. He wonders if it’s possible to die from blushing too hard. “He isn’t! He wouldn’t!”
But then he remembers the way Katsuki’s chest heaves when he hums a pleased note. How he ruined his dinner at Izuku’s groan and stumbled at the sound of his sigh. He purses his lips.
“I mean,” Izuku says, considering. “Maybe.”
“I’m telling you, Deku-kun,” Uraraka says, swinging open the mall’s entrance door. “You’ve got this in the bag.”
Uraraka is an excellent shopper. She powers through the crowds with the confidence of a much taller person. She’s decisive and smart and always seems to know exactly where to go next. She holds several garments up to Izuku’s chin and knows at a glance what’s worth trying on and what isn’t. Izuku mostly just sees overpriced clothes in so many colors and fabrics that his head spins.
It takes about an hour, but eventually Izuku comes out of the dressing room in a semi-sheer top that sparkles in the light. He examines himself in the mirror. The shirt leaves little to the imagination: he can see the contours of his abs, the generous curve of his pecs, the barest hint of his nipples, dark through the forest green fabric of the shirt. He’s not as absolutely ripped as Katsuki is, but even Izuku can’t deny his body is nothing to scoff at. Even if he’s marred with scars he’s received over the years, he is well-built. The black jeans hug his shapely hips and meaty thighs, and the boots Uraraka has picked out for him have just the tiniest heel to give his already thick ass that extra bump. Even Izuku has to admire himself. Uraraka claps her hands delightedly.
“Oh, he’s going to eat you,” she coos. She brings over a thin silver chain and drapes it around his neck. “What do you think?”
“I… I dunno,” Izuku says honestly. “It’s not too much?”
Uraraka gives him a pointed look. “He’s the one who said to dress nice. He asked for it.”
He supposes she’s right on that count. He spins in the mirror again and feels a pleased little rush. It occurs to him that, if he really puts his mind to it, he can look pretty fucking hot. Or he supposes if Uraraka puts her mind to it. He stands straighter and pops his ass out. He looks positively sinful.
“Those are definitely your new fuck-me jeans,” Uraraka says, eyeing him. “You should get two in case he rips those off you.”
Izuku stammers his protests, but does as he’s told, if only because he really does look good. And besides. Maybe… If he looks this good, maybe Katsuki wouldn’t be opposed to … He can’t think about it too long without trembling.
They head back to Uraraka’s place and crack open a fresh bottle of wine. Izuku tries to take it easy, but the closer the time ticks to eight the more he needs it for his nerves. Uraraka somehow convinces him to let her put some eyeliner on him, and even though Izuku had his doubts, he has to admit the finished product is pleasing to look at. The eyeliner, along with the color of his top, makes his already big eyes pop and sparkle. Uraraka admires her handiwork with a grin.
“You look stunning,” she says. “Lemme take a picture of you.”
Izuku wrinkles his nose. “Do you have to?”
“Uh, yeah,” Uraraka says. “For the wedding album, obviously.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Izuku says. “It might not even be a date.”
“It’s going to be a date the second he sets eyes on you,” Uraraka proclaims with all the confidence in the world. “Fuck, I’m gay and I’d shoot my shot with you.”
That leaves them giggling. Izuku stays with her as long as he possibly can, but at seven-thirty he has no choice but to brave the cold and head back to the apartment. His body is buzzing with wine and dreadful anticipation. He heads straight for his bathroom and checks himself out again in the mirror. He fluffs his hair, spritzes on cologne, considers shaving, but upon further inspection realizes he doesn’t need to. He’s never grown facial hair all that well. He’s still in the bathroom, trying to figure out what else he could possibly do to prepare himself for this maybe-date, when he hears the front door swing open with a creak. Izuku’s heart rockets into his throat.
“Oi, you ready yet?” Katsuki’s voice echoes through the entryway. “You better not keep me waiting, I’m fuckin’ starving.”
Izuku checks himself one last time. He forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath. And then, with as much casualness as he can muster, he saunters out to meet him.
Izuku stops dead in the doorway of his bedroom. Katsuki’s back is turned to him, but oh god, oh holy fuck. He’s— Izuku blinks several times but the vision doesn’t clear— Katsuki is wearing a suit. A nice one, a fitted one, that accentuates the broad line of his shoulders and flatters the neat nip of his waist. Izuku watches him fiddle with the cufflink at his wrist.
Just looking at him knocks the breath out of Izuku. Suddenly he is extremely grateful for the wine sloshing in his stomach, because god knows Midoriya Izuku isn’t brave enough to maybe-date a Bakugou Katsuki who looks this fucking good. Katsuki senses his presence, turns, and startles at the sight of him.
“Oh,” Katsuki says, like the sound has been punched out of him. He flushes a brilliant shade of pink. “Fuck.”
I didn’t even have to moan this time, Izuku thinks, wonderingly. Izuku drinks in the sight of him. The shirt under Katsuki’s suit-jacket is midnight-dark and silky, the exact same shade as his all-black suit. He’s wearing polished dress shoes, and most baffling of all, a lacy red tie. Katsuki hates wearing ties. Especially after his kidnapping during their first year at UA, any constriction around his throat makes him anxious. But here he is anyway, wearing one. Izuku thinks he could stare at him forever and never get over just how fucking good he looks. Izuku’s body is blazing at him just looking at him; he wants him so badly that it burns hot trails through his veins.
“Hi,” Izuku manages, soft and breathy.
“Hey.” Katsuki visibly swallows. He looks Izuku up and down. “Fuck.”
“Too much?” Izuku asks, worriedly.
“No, shut up,” Katsuki says. His eyes never leave Izuku for a moment. “Lemme look at you.”
Izuku is tipsy enough to step forward and take a turn for him, letting Katsuki see him from all angles. Katsuki’s eyes rake over him and Izuku feels it like a physical touch. Izuku shoots him a grin over his shoulder.
“Not embarrassing, am I, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, coyly.
Katsuki drags a hand over his mouth, his breath hissing between his fingers.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Round Cheeks behind this one?”
“Yup,” Izuku says, popping his lips on the ‘p.’
Even the tips of Katsuki’s ears are pink, much to Izuku’s delight.
“I figured you’d be wearing All Might merch,” Katsuki grumbles. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
Izuku laughs, bright and happy. “I almost did!”
Katsuki looks a little relieved to hear it. He jerks his head toward the door.
“Come on, don’t wanna miss our reservation,” he says.
“You made a reservation?” Izuku asks, wonderingly. Katsuki removes Izuku’s coat from the hook and holds it open for him.
“Course I did,” Katsuki says. “I ain't waiting around just to get seated.”
Izuku slips into his coat. Even through the layers of fabric he can feel the heat of Katsuki’s hands calling to him like a siren’s song. Katsuki holds the door open for him and Izuku barely resists looking back to see if Katsuki is checking out his ass. He hopes he is. He puts an extra wiggle in his step in case.
“You know, you really shoulda let me choose where we go,” Izuku chastises, once they’re out the door. “I won the bet afterall.”
“Oh really? And what would you have chosen?” Katsuki asks, sardonically.
“Kame—”
“Kameko’s Kitchen, right?” Katsuki finishes for him and his grin is smug.
Izuku shoots him a look. “You didn’t.”
Katsuki nudges him with his elbow. “You’re very predictable.”
Izuku elbows him back, harder.
“And you’re very sweet,” Izuku says it like an accusation. “Remembering my favorite places.”
Katsuki sputters. He shoves his hands in his pant pockets. “Yeah. Well. Shut up.”
Izuku is still laughing as they exit the apartment building and make their way towards the bus stop. It’s dark already, but the city is alive with bustling people, the snowy streets stained in neon lights and flashing billboards. It’s crowded, and getting onto the bus is a pain, but with Katsuki’s warm presence at his side, Izuku hardly minds. Izuku gets more than a few head-turns in his aptly-named fuck-me jeans, but Katsuki’s deathly glare is effective at keeping everyone at bay. Izuku thinks they’re all staring at the wrong person. Katsuki lets him take the last seat on the bus and stands over him protectively.
“Nah,” Katsuki is saying, swaying a little as the bus chugs forward. “Golden Age is golden for a fuckin’ reason, ‘Zuku.”
“Silver Age’s merch is better, I don’t know what to tell you,” Izuku says, shrugging helplessly.
“Ask the geezer himself and he’ll tell you. Golden is fuckin’ golden.”
When the bus pulls up to their stop, Katsuki offers him a hand and Izuku takes it with a violent flutter in his belly. Katsuki’s hand is so soft, his fingers are long and smooth and nothing like Izuku’s scarred ones, and they feel wonderful. Katsuki doesn’t drop his hand, even as they bicker a little more on the way to the restaurant and it occurs to Izuku that for all his dread leading up to this moment, he suddenly isn’t nervous at all. Being with Katsuki is effortless, as natural as breathing. Being with him feels like Mitsuki’s hot chocolate: warm, and familiar, and just right.
Katsuki holds the door to the restaurant open for him too and okay, correction, maybe Izuku is a little nervous, but the good kind. The kind that makes his heart do backflips and makes his toes wiggle in his boots. He steps into the restaurant with a gracious nod.
“Ah! Dynamight!”
The woman at the hostess stand is pretty and curvaceous, with antlers protruding out of her blond pixie-cut. The way she beams and waves over at Katsuki hits Izuku with a flash of jealousy. He clutches onto Katsuki’s bicep as if to say: you can stop smiling at him, he’s with me.
“I was so glad to get your call that you were coming in!” she says. She gives Izuku a big grin. “And you must be Deku. I’m a big fan!”
Guilt drowns out his previous jealousy. He gives her an apologetic grin.
“Thank you for making time for us on such short notice,” he says.
“Oh please, anything for our favorite Wonder Duo,” she says, waving her hand and shooting him a wink. “Come on in!”
She seats them. Katsuki helps him out of his coat too, unzipping the zipper for him and peeling it off Izuku’s body. The gesture feels possessive somehow. Izuku never would have expected Katsuki to be the doting type, and yet here he is. He grins up at him.
“Are you going to drink with me?” Izuku asks, once they’re settled in a booth and sitting across from each other. Katsuki has removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and fuck, fuck he’s mouthwateringly perfect. Katsuki wrinkles his nose.
“Do I have to?” he asks, whiny like a child and Izuku laughs. Katsuki detests anything that harms his body, but he does still drink occasionally. Izuku has mostly come down from his wine earlier, but if Katsuki is going to keep doting on him while looking this goddamn edible, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.
“I’m not gonna force you,” Izuku says, teasing. He rests his cheek on the heel of his hand and stares at Katsuki adoringly. “It could be fun though.”
Katsuki shoots him a look, garnet eyes smoldering with something Izuku doesn’t dare name. Izuku’s heart stammers in his chest, but he doesn’t break his gaze. When the waitress stops by he orders a whiskey and Izuku asks for a mojito and gyoza as an appetizer. When the drinks come by, Katsuki downs half of it right away and orders another. Izuku has to bite down his excitement. By the time Izuku has his second drink, they’re both giggling like children.
“There’s no way, there’s no way,” Izuku insists. “Iida would have told Uraraka and Uraraka would have told me.”
Katsuki grins. “It’s cute that you think that.”
“I know that. There’s no way Iida has a girlfriend,” Izuku considers for a moment. “I don’t think Iida even knows what sex is.”
That wins him a loud, cruel laugh from Katsuki. Izuku slaps a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he’s just said.
“Fuck, that was rude, I’m sorry Iida-kun!” he says, apologizing to the ceiling like Iida somehow heard him.
“Oh whatever, he ain't here and I ain’t tellin’ him shit,” Katsuki says, grinning wickedly. “You’re right, his calves aren’t the only robotic thing about him.”
Izuku leans in then, waggling his brow. “You mean… you don’t think he’s gotta robot…”
“Oh my god, shut up, gross,” Katsuki says, hunching his shoulders and shuddering. “Jesus Christ, why’d you put that image in my head?”
“What?” Izuku takes a sip of his mojito and bats his eyelashes innocently. “What did I say?”
“You know what you said, you little shit,” Katsuki says, leaning over the table, his handsome face looming even closer. A zing rolls down Izuku’s spine as he catches a whiff of his cologne. Katsuki’s tie dangles from his neck like an invitation. Izuku takes it in hand, rubbing the lacy fabric between his fingers.
“I think you have a dirty mind, Kacchan,” Izuku says in a low voice.
“Like you don’t,” Katsuki shoots back. He cocks his head to the side. “I said Glasses had a girlfriend and the first thing you thought of was fucking.”
Oh. The word makes Izuku shiver. He’s heard Katsuki say ‘fuck’ a million times, but hearing him say ‘fucking’ here and now, with more than a little liquor in him, makes heat pool dangerously low in Izuku’s belly.
Izuku parts his lips to speak, but at that moment, their appetizer arrives. Izuku is only a little ashamed at his impulse to shoot their waitress a glare. He releases Katsuki’s tie reluctantly as she sets their gyoza down in front of them. They thank her politely, or well, as politely as Katsuki can manage, which is a curt nod, and then dig in. Izuku hasn’t moved on, though. He eyes Katsuki critically.
You have a dirtier mind, he thinks. You squirm at the sound of my moans.
Izuku is tipsy and tempted at the prospect. He gives it a few moments. He lets them discuss their food a little, makes a few idle comments about the promptness of their waitress and the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant. And only does he take a potsticker and pop it in his mouth. Izuku groans.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Izuku says with a sigh.
Katsuki chokes. He hits his chest with the flat of his fist a few times, bringing a napkin to his face and coughing into it. Izuku leans across the table and seizes his bicep.
“Kacchan! Are you alright?” His heart thuds in his chest, a little sluggish from the alcohol. If he kills Katsuki over a stupid prank he will never forgive himself. Katsuki grabs his drink and downs it, shaking him off.
“Don’t be stupid,” he rasps. His eyes are watery. “I’m fine.”
Katsuki is fully flushed and holds his chopsticks in a death grip as he coughs through it. Izuku rakes his teeth over his lower lip. He really should be ashamed for teasing Katsuki like this, but it’s just too easy. All his life he’s longed for some part of Katsuki to be his, and the rush of power he feels when he coaxes such strong, clear reactions is dizzying. Katsuki settles himself and Izuku eyes him like he is fresh meat, ready to be devoured.
“Hag talk to you about Christmas yet?” Katsuki asks, later after their entrees have arrived. Izuku’s katsudon is good enough to actually moan over, but Izuku refrains for Katsuki’s sake. Izuku raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Nope,” he says. “Why?”
Katsuki grunts in irritation, stabbing his udon with his chopsticks.
“She’s got it in her head we should all like, I dunno, build gingerbread houses and sing Kumbaya or some shit. She wants you and Auntie to come over.”
Izuku smiles sweetly. “That could be fun.”
“Yeah, that’s cuz the hag thinks the sun shines out of your ass,” Katsuki grumbles, but the look he sends Izuku is hopeful. “You’ll come?”
“Of course,” Izuku says. “I think it would mean a lot to mom if we were all…”
Like family , he doesn’t say. It both sounds too charged and yet not nearly enough so he lets the thought trail off. He clears his throat instead.
“Will you be making hot cocoa or Auntie?” he asks, lightly.
Katsuki scoffs. “Like she’d let me do shit in her kitchen.”
Izuku indulges in a third drink, even though he really shouldn’t, but what the hell, it’s not like he’s paying. He even steals a sip of Katsuki’s whiskey, much to his regret. It’s so strong it makes him shudder and gag. Katsuki laughs so hard that tears spring into his eyes. Izuku kicks him under the table, but Katsuki only hooks their ankles together.
Izuku bites down his grin at the gesture. He is so, so getting kissed tonight, he can feel it in his bones. Maybe more if he’s lucky. His cock throbs with interest as Katsuki’s calf cradles his own. Izuku feels warm and pleased in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. Going out to dinner was a stupid plan, they should have ordered take out and made out on the couch all night instead. That would be enough for Izuku. Though. Izuku gives Katsuki another once over; he has to admit the view is nice. He can’t wait to strip it off him. Whoops! Izuku always gets horny when he drinks.
Katsuki offers to buy dessert too, but Izuku passes on it. They do have a final round of drinks before they leave though, and when Katsuki stands he wobbles. Izuku can’t contain his giggling.
“Oh fuck off,” Katsuki grumbles. “I could still take you.”
“I’m sure you could,” Izuku purrs, helping Katsuki into his coat, zipping up his zipper for him before patting down his chest. Katsuki goes beet red and fumbles to respond. Izuku grins up at him deviously.
“Don’t placate me!” Katsuki snaps. “You’re supposed to wanna beat me!”
Izuku giggles again and turns so Katsuki can help him into his own coat. Izuku only has a moment to feel suave and sexy before he’s tripping through the doorway as they exit. Katsuki snatches a fistful of his coat just before he faceplants on the ice.
“Whoops!” Izuku says through wheezy laughter.
“Dumbass,” Katsuki curses. He wraps his arms around Izuku’s waist and hauls him upright, pressing Izuku to his chest. “You alright?”
The world is a little spinny, but Katsuki is solid and firm. His arms around Izuku’s waist are so strong. Izuku leans into him.
“I am now,” Izuku says, shamelessly.
He’s close enough that Izuku can smell his cologne. Rich, and masculine, and heady. That he wore for me, he thinks, with a possessive curl in his belly. Izuku leans in to breathe it in and expects to be shoved off, but Katsuki only ushers him forward, keeping one arm wrapped around him as they leave the restaurant and head back toward the bus station. Izuku is so happy he thinks he might be glowing. He puts his own arm around Katsuki’s waist and keeps his cheek pressed to his shoulder. It delights him to no end that any passerby would have no choice but to assume they were a proper couple out on the town for a Christmas-time date. A couple! Him and Kacchan!
He’s mine, Izuku thinks at every wanderer that passes them by. He’s with me, this one. He’s mine.
“What are you mumbling about now?” Katsuki gruffs.
“Hm?” Izuku says, lifting his head to look up at him. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah you did,” Katsuki says, but doesn’t fight him on it any further. Izuku hadn’t noticed on the way here, but there are a lot of novelty shops along this street. Bakeries with cakes shaped into Christmas trees and ornaments, cozy cafes adorned in twinkle-lights, a toy store all decked out in fake snow and tinsel for Christmas. Izuku finds himself especially drawn to the last one. He drags Katsuki over to the window of the toy shop and they watch the little toy train roll round and round.
“I miss getting toys for Christmas,” Izuku says, wistfully.
“Dumbass,” Katsuki scolds, though he sounds fond. “Who would you even play with?”
Izuku shoots him a look and squeezes his arm. “You, obviously.”
“Ha!” Katsuki lurches forward with the force of his laugh. “No way!”
Izuku whines and tugs on him. “Why not?”
“I ain’t doing baby shit with you,” Katsuki says. Izuku’s eyes widen. He pouts; he flutters his eyelashes like he’s about to cry. Katsuki points a threatening finger at Izuku, close enough that he almost boops his nose. “Nuh, uh. Don’t even think about it.”
Izuku’s pout deepens. “Think about what, Kacchan?”
“You know what you’re doing,” Katsuki accuses with a sneer. “Batting your eyelashes at me like I’ll do whatever you want if you cry about it. I ain’t falling for that shit.”
Izuku nuzzles his head on Katsuki’s shoulder. He strokes his bicep up and down. “Please?”
Katsuki sighs. He starts walking again, hand pressed to the small of Izuku’s back to get him walking too.
“I’ll get you a nerf gun and blast the shit out of you,” Katsuki eventually says, once they’re further down the block. Izuku leaps, gasping and laughing.
“Oh, Kacchan, really?” he asks, all too delighted at the idea.
“You better get me a real cool one,” Katsuki grumbles. “I want that shit to be like a cannon.”
“We should get them together, so it’s a fair fight,” Izuku reasons. He stops in his tracks. “We should get them now.”
“Now?”
“The store is right there!” Izuku says, gesturing back to where they came.
Katsuki sighs in exasperation, but dutifully follows him anyway. Izuku would actually squee if he didn’t think Katsuki would turn right back around and march them home.
“Remember, we’re fucking sober,” he tells Izuku, which only makes him giggle madly right before they enter the store.
The warmth inside is such a relief that they take their time wandering the aisles. It’s predictably packed, so they have no choice but to keep close. Izuku humors buying little trinkets for all of their friends and they debate over who would like what. Katsuki presents an Endeavor plushie when Todoroki’s name gets brought up and Izuku laughs so hard that several shoppers whip around to stare at him.
“Stop!” Izuku wheezes, trying to smack it out of his hand. Katsuki holds it just out of reach. “That’s so mean, Kacchan!”
Katsuki’s grin is downright evil. “What? I think he’d have fun setting it on fire.”
He might be right about that. Izuku giggles all the way to the cashier, where they buy their matching set of nerf-gun cannons. Izuku pulls his card out to pay for Katsuki’s, but Katsuki waves him off.
“Can’t play with only one,” Katsuki says like that’s reason enough. He elbows Izuku in the ribs. “You better get me something cool, nerd.”
Izuku will have to ponder that when he’s less tipsy. Katsuki insists on carrying the bags for him, and lets Izuku take his arm as they make their way to the bus stop. As soon as they get there, Izuku knows he’s made a critical error. Izuku gasps when he checks the schedule; the last bus left fifteen minutes ago.
“Shit! Kacchan, I’m so sorry!” he says, holding a hand to his face and staring at him worriedly. “I didn’t think we took that long!”
Katsuki shrugs. “‘S fine. We can walk.”
He offers Izuku his arm again and the wind picks up. It really has been an unforgiving December. The chill bites through Izuku’s coat, and his semi-sheer top underneath isn’t doing him any favors. He shivers and huddles as close to Katsuki as possible. Katsuki sends him a worried look and picks up the pace.
It’s almost a thirty-minute walk, and while their chatting is amiable, Izuku can tell Katsuki is growing more irritated the longer it takes for them to get home. Some of the sidewalks aren’t plowed and while Izuku’s boots are cute, they’re not exactly built to resist moisture. His teeth are chattering by the time they reach their building and Katsuki's expression is dark.
“Get under the kotatsu,” Katsuki orders as soon as they’re through the door. Izuku nods, removing his coat and rubbing his shoulders up and down for warmth. Katsuki tugs off his tie and suit jacket, throwing them over the couch before making a beeline for the kitchen. He ducks back in to bring Izuku a water bottle, and then after a moment of consideration, he heads to the living room and brings him a blanket to drape over his shoulders too.
“I’ll be fine, Kacchan,” Izuku says, smiling at him fondly. Katsuki scowls.
“If you get sick, I’ll kill you,” Katsuki says. He shakes his head and heads back into the kitchen. Izuku blinks after him. He hears him rummaging through the cabinets and his feet shuffling, even catches a glimpse of his shadow moving, but can’t see much else from the kotatsu. Izuku waits for him, soaking in the warmth and sipping on his water bottle. He checks his phone and sees no less than seven messages from Uraraka that he promptly ignores to check Twitter instead.
It’s only after his toes stop being numb that he realizes his socks are wet and he immediately goes to his room to change. He considers getting into comfier clothes all together, but then remembers how Katsuki looked at him earlier and decides against it. When he leaves his bedroom, he can see Katsuki standing at the stovetop, stirring something that smells suspiciously chocolatey. Izuku drinks in the sight of him. He just looks so sexy in his silky button up, so trim and cut and so v-shaped. His pert little ass in his dress pants is to die for. Izuku lets the blanket fall off his shoulders as he walks toward him.
“Mmm,” Izuku says, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. “Smells good.”
Katsuki huffs. “Course it does, I’m makin’ it.”
Izuku laughs. “When Kacchan is right, he’s right!”
Katsuki turns to the side a little, wrapping an arm around Izuku’s shoulders and pulling him to his chest. Izuku snuggles into him happily. Katsuki stirs the chocolatey mix and then carefully offers the spoon to Izuku.
“Here, taste,” he says and Izuku can feel his voice rumbling through him. He accepts the offered spoon and— without thinking, almost like now it’s become a habit— moans low in his throat. Little sparks pop off Katsuki’s fingertips.
“Fuck! Jesus! I’m sorry!” Katsuki says, jerking away from him suddenly. “Did I get you?”
“No, no I’m fine!” Alright, maybe a couple of sparks had flicked over Izuku’s skin, but nothing bad enough to hurt longer than a moment. Katsuki must be unconvinced because he looks infuriated. He lets the spoon clatter to the floor as he takes Izuku’s face in his hands, turning him this way and that as he examines him. His thumb runs over Izuku’s cheekbone, where there must be a little pink burn mark, because he scowls at the spot furiously.
“God, Izuku,” he snaps, waspishly. “It’s just fucking hot chocolate you don’t gotta cream your pants over it.”
Izuku snorts before he can stop himself.
Shit. He covers his mouth, but it’s too late. Katsuki is already looking right at him. Katsuki stills. His scowl falls into a blank stare of shock. His hands drop from Izuku’s face and he takes a step back. He looks Izuku up and down like he can’t quite be sure what he is seeing.
“No,” Katsuki says, slow and disbelieving.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, clasping his hands together in a plea. “Kacchan, I’m sorry.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki says. He is absolutely livid; his ruby eyes are practically glowing with it. His chest is heaving. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Kacchan, wait, I can explain!” Izuku cries.
“You were fucking with me?” Katsuki shouts. “The whole time?!”
“Not—not the whole time!” Izuku stammers. He waves his hands defensively. “It’s just— I had to be sure! And you were just so responsive Kacchan—”
Katsuki seizes the front of Izuku’s shirt and hauls him forward. Izuku yelps. God, how his body pulses with their proximity. Katsuki breathes into his mouth and Izuku is helpless but to drink it in greedily.
“You fucker,” Katsuki spits. His glare is horrendous to behold. “I coulda hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” Izuku counters quickly. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. He doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to touch Katsuki when he’s this angry, but dear god how he wants to. His fingers tremble with the longing of it.
“You think this is funny?” Katsuki seethes. He shakes him and their noses brush. Izuku’s breath catches in his throat at the contact. “You think this is a game?”
“No, Kacchan, not a game, never,” Izuku clarifies. He’s never been more aroused in his life. Every nerve ending on his body is electrified; his body feels achy and empty and desperate to be touched.
“Why?” Katsuki demands.
Izuku looks up at him through his eyelashes. His shaking hands settle on Katsuki’s waist, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. He stares at Katsuki’s panting mouth for a moment, pink and oh so tempting, and then glances up again.
“I liked it,” Izuku says, breathlessly.
Katsuki’s breath hitches. He searches Izuku’s face over and over again, like he’s waiting for Izuku to break, to laugh, to make some other excuse and brush it off completely, but Izuku remains steady. Or as steady as he can when his knees are jelly and his whole body is vibrating with the need to be held, had, and handled. Katsuki’s irritated sigh streams out of his nose.
“You liked it,” Katsuki repeats. His voice is flat, almost disbelieving. “You liked moaning like a whore for me.”
Izuku nods fervently. “Yes.”
There’s another beat. A dreadful pause as Katsuki stares at him, his expression entirely unreadable. His grip loosens, but Katsuki’s hands don’t leave him. His fingertips drag down Izuku’s body, settling on Izuku’s waist and gripping so hard Izuku thinks he might leave bruises.
“You wanna moan that bad?” Katsuki asks, voice dangerously soft. Izuku nods again. “You wanna moan like a fucking whore?”
Katsuki leans in and every single nerve ending in Izuku’s body is singing, thrumming with anticipation, like harp strings plucked too sharply. Izuku could be vibrating and he wouldn’t be surprised. Katsuki’s gaze rakes down Izuku’s face, landing on his lips, and Izuku thrills.
“I’ll give you something to moan about.”
And then their mouths crash together, open, wet, and hungry. Izuku groans into it helplessly. It’s rough and urgent and everything Izuku has ever wanted. They’re kissing desperately, and messily, and it satisfies a craving so deeply buried within Izuku that he had almost forgotten it was still there, begging to be satiated. Izuku’s legs go entirely liquid. Katsuki’s arms wrap around him, long fingers dragging over Izuku’s back and pulling their bodies flush. Izuku’s hands fists in Katsuki’s hair, yanking his head to the side to kiss him deeper. Katsuki growls low in his throat.
“You are so fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Katsuki gruffs out, mouth never leaving Izuku’s skin even as he speaks. “So fucking stupid.”
Izuku is too kiss-drunk to do anything but laugh. Katsuki smothers kisses all over Izuku’s cheeks, down his jawline, and oh! Izuku whimpers as Katsuki suckles at his throat.
“Kacchan, yes, yes please, oh god, Kacchan,” Izuku babbles mindlessly. He tugs on his hair again and Katsuki groans for him.
“You know how fucking infuriating it was to hear you like that? Hear you moan for fucking hot chocolate, but not for me?” Katsuki snaps. He rewards Izuku with a punishing bite, and Izuku cries out. His hand rakes across thick muscles along Katsuki’s back. God, there’s so much of him Izuku needs to get his hands on; there’s so much he needs to feel for himself. Izuku yanks Katsuki’s head up and kisses him savagely.
“Do it,” Izuku demands. “Make me moan for you.”
Katsuki fumbles to turn off the stove with one hand, kissing him all the while, kissing him with teeth and tongue and purpose. Izuku struggles with the buttons on Katsuki’s shirt before Katsuki makes it simple and rips it in half, buttons scatter everywhere and clink off the stove and the refrigerator. Izuku giggles wildly and then his own shirt is stripped off, much more gently, before being thrown aside.
“You liked the outfit,” Izuku accuses, amused. Katsuki takes his face in his hands before kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.
“You’ve no idea,” Katsuki breathes into his mouth, “what you fucking do to me.”
Katsuki grapples with Izuku’s belt and tugs it off before ridding him of his fuck-me jeans entirely. Izuku kicks them to the side, breaking into goosebumps now that he’s been stripped down to his boxers. Katsuki’s hands cup Izuku’s thighs and it’s all the invitation Izuku needs to jump and wrap his legs around him. He’s just as strong as Izuku had always imagined. Izuku is by no means a small man, thick with muscle and dense, but Katsuki carries him to Izuku’s bedroom with a smooth stride like he weighs nothing. Izuku uses his time wisely, generously smothering every square inch of Katsuki’s face with open-mouthed kisses. He wants to imprint himself so deeply on Katsuki that he can never be removed. He wants every piece of Katsuki to be his and his alone. Katsuki kicks his bedroom door open and tosses him onto the bed, crawling over him and wasting no time palming Izuku’s cock through his boxers. Izuku throws his head back and whimpers.
“Please, please, please,” Izuku begs shamelessly. His nails dig into the meat of Katsuki’s back. He needs him naked and inside him, preferably years ago, but now will do. Katsuki tsks.
“Needy little shit, aren’t ya,” Katsuki says. He gives Izuku’s clothed cock a squeeze and Izuku cries out. “You’re desperate for it.”
“Yes,” Izuku says, almost a whine. He ruts his hips into Katsuki’s hand. “Yes, yes Kacchan I need you.”
Katsuki drags Izuku’s boxers down his legs and Izuku’s short, fat cock bobs free. Katsuki takes it in hand and Izuku gasps so hard it scrapes the back of his throat. His hips jump and Katsuki presses him back down with a growl.
“Patience,” Katsuki grits out. “You can’t do that shit when I’m sucking you off.”
“Whe—Wha—” Izuku only has a moment before Katsuki is guiding his cock to his mouth, pressing the flat of his tongue at the base and licking a long, luxurious stripe upward. “Ah, oh god.”
Katsuki hums like he’s pleased. He keeps Izuku’s hips pressed down with one hand and cups Izuku’s balls in the other, squeezing gently as he laps at the shaft like it’s his last meal. He swirls his tongue around the head, traces his veins, even leaves a few smacking kisses like he just can’t help himself. Izuku tries not to squirm, but it’s a losing battle. His legs are draped over Katsuki’s shoulders and he almost clenches his thighs around Katsuki’s head at every well-placed lick. Izuku grasps the sheets so tightly that his weathered hands ache.
“Shit,” Izuku whispers. “God, Kacchan you really— you’re so amazing. Kacchan I can’t— I can’t believe you—”
Katsuki sucks the head of Izuku’s cock into the wet heat of his mouth, and Izuku’s back arches off the bed with a wordless cry. Katsuki bobs his head as he takes him further, tongue working as his cheeks hollow out around him. Izuku’s nipples harden; his breathing is ragged. He meets Katsuki’s blazing red gaze as Katsuki takes him deeper, deeper.
Kacchan is sucking me off, Izuku thinks dizzily. Kacchan, my Kacchan.
Izuku’s hand trembles as he reaches for him, fingers carding through those ashy blond locks he loves so much. Katsuki leans into his touch and his moan buzzes around Izuku’s cock. Only Katsuki’s firm hand on his hip keeps Izuku from bucking into his mouth.
“Hng, fuck, you’re so good, you’re incredible, mph ah, look at you, look at you—” Izuku breathes, tugging on his hair for emphasis. “Oh god.”
Katsuki’s eyelashes flutter at his praise. He’s teary from taking Izuku so deep into his mouth, but his brow is furrowed with determination. He’s so beautiful, so good, and just so painfully Kacchan that Izuku falls in love all over again. Katsuki’s head bobs. He prods Izuku’s slit with the tip of his tongue before sinking down again and Izuku is so close.
“W-Wait!” Izuku says. Katsuki stills immediately. He comes off of Izuku’s cock with a slick pop. “Wanna come with you inside.”
Katsuki makes a strained, strangled noise. His hand grips Izuku’s thigh like a vice. His brows pinch together.
“You sure?” he says, hoarse.
Izuku nods furiously. He strokes Katsuki’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp.
“Kacchan, I want you,” Izuku whispers. “I’ve wanted you so long, I’ve waited so long and I— I don’t wanna wait anymore I need— I need you.”
Katsuki’s breath hitches. When he meets Izuku’s gaze, his eyes are dark and serious, only a thin blood-red line around his blown out pupils. Izuku sits up and kisses him. He can taste his own pre-cum on Katsuki’s tongue and laps it up greedily. Katsuki hums into it.
“Fuck,” Katsuki mutters, but he’s nodding. “You have what we need?”
Izuku only allows him to leave their tangle of limbs long enough to retrieve the lube and condoms from the dresser drawer. He almost wants to try and talk Katsuki out of the condom entirely, but doesn’t push it. Katsuki thankfully, finally, blessedly removes his pants while he’s standing and Izuku’s mouth waters at his dick print through his boxers. He sits up, palms it, and Katsuki hisses.
“Careful or I’m not makin’ it,” he grits out.
Izuku stares up at him wonderingly. He gives Katsuki’s cock a gentle squeeze and oh of fucking course he’s hung like a horse. Izuku’s hole tightens in anticipation.
“I’ve barely touched you,” Izuku protests softly.
Katsuki’s eyes are blazing on him. Heat rushes through Izuku, starting in his cheeks and spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes. His hand cradles Izuku’s throat as he swoops down to kiss him.
“Roll over,” Katsuki orders. “Spread your legs for me.”
Izuku does as he’s told, propping himself up on his elbows and knees and face planting into a pillow. He cranes his neck to look at Katsuki as best he can, but only catches his profile. Even in the dim light pouring through the open door, he can see the ripple of Katsuki’s muscles as he breaks open the box of condoms. Izuku’s toes wiggle in his socks, impatient.
Katsuki stands over him and grabs a handful of Izuku’s ass. Izuku gasps.
“Your body is insane,” Katsuki tells him. He pulls Izuku’s cheeks apart, massaging the dense fleshy tissue. “Most fuckable ass I’ve ever seen.”
Izuku preens at such open praise. It’s only made better hearing it in Katsuki’s rough voice. His cock leaks onto the bedsheets and pushes his ass out shamelessly.
“Fuck it then,” Izuku demands.
“Bossy little shit, I’m tryina be nice to you over here.”
Izuku's laughter is promptly cut off by Katsuki’s sharp teeth digging into the swell of his ass. Izuku groans deep in his throat.
“Please,” he whines. “Please, please I’ve waited so long.”
The lube opens with a crack and Izuku feels a chill run down his spine as Katsuki’s breath hushes over his hole. He gives his other cheek a savoring kiss.
“Course you’re even freckled here,” Katsuki says. This time when he bites it’s a gentle scrape, just the tease of teeth against skin. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Warm and syrupy feelings melt in Izuku’s chest and drip down to pool in his belly. He longs to touch Katsuki, longs to see his face and witness his sincerity for himself. But then, two slick fingers stroke his hole, and Izuku whines.
“That’s it baby, lemme hear you,” Katsuki says, roughly. Izuku clutches the bedsheets desperately. Katsuki circles his rim with the smooth pads of his fingers, warming him up. Izuku’s thighs tremble.
“God Kacchan, I can’t believe you’re real,” Izuku breathes. “Ah!”
A finger sinks into him and Izuku ruts against the mattress. Katsuki trails kisses up the notches of his spine.
“I’m real, I’m here,” Katsuki says. He’s leaning over him now; Izuku relishes the swaths of skin-to-skin contact. He pushes himself up on his elbows to press his back to the broad, flat expanse of Katsuki’s chest. “You gotta relax for me, alright?”
Izuku nods frantically. He wills himself to do as he’s told. Katsuki drops his head onto Izuku's shoulder, peppering the slope with kisses as he works his finger deeper inside him. Katsuki pushes in and out, slowly, letting Izuku get used to the intrusion before adding a second. Izuku moans at the stretch.
“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes. “Kacchan, faster.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Katsuki snaps.
Izuku wiggles his hips and whines.
“I can take it,” he says, in what he hopes is a seductive whisper. Katsuki’s hand slides out of him and Izuku earns himself a slap on the ass. “Ah!”
“Just because you can take it, doesn’t mean you should,” Katsuki scolds. He rubs over the strike soothingly, fingers slick with lube, and kisses the corner of Izuku’s jaw. “Lemme take care of you.”
Izuku goes melty at the words. He feels like warm putty in Katsuki’s capable hands.
“Okay, Kacchan,” he says. He turns his head toward him and Katsuki meets him in a slow, savoring kiss. Izuku shivers when Katsuki enters him again. Those two nimble fingers pump inside him, knuckles curling, and—
“Oh!” Izuku rocks back onto his hand. “There!”
It feels so fucking good. Having Katsuki inside him, on top of him, having him close enough to physically feel his hum of acknowledgement rumble through his flesh. Izuku never wants it to end. Katsuki kisses Izuku’s jawline as his fingers scissor inside him, his knuckles purposefully dragging past that sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. Izuku pants and moans.
“Ah, mmph, Ka—Kacchan.”
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Katsuki whispers, mouth pressed against Izuku’s throat. The kisses he leaves there are clumsy and earnest. “You’re doing amazing, you feel so fucking good.”
Izuku makes such a pitiful sound that he would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so turned on. He squeezes his eyes shut. Katsuki takes his time working him open. Izuku should have known he would be like this: thorough and methodical and deliberate. Determined that if he’s going to do it, he’s going to do it right. Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t half-ass anything, not even sex apparently. The thought makes Izuku grin. A third finger slips inside him and Izuku relishes the stretch. Now they are finally getting somewhere.
“Yes, yes Kacchan, thank you,” Izuku says. He rocks on his knees and ah, ah, ahs everytime Katsuki’s fingers brush his prostate. “Oh my god.”
Katsuki only grunts in response, but he does scatter kisses all across Izuku’s shoulder blades, so Izuku thinks at least some part of him is pleased. His hand pumps inside of him at a steady, thorough pace. It’s so much, and yet it’s nowhere near enough. Izuku thinks he’s going to go insane if he doesn’t have Katsuki’s cock in him in the next ten seconds. He whimpers, high pitched and breathy.
“Fuck, stop, I’m going to come, please,” Izuku whispers. “Please, I wanna come with you inside.”
“Okay, baby,” Katsuki whispers. His hand retreats and Izuku clenches on air, feeling unbearably empty. He tears the condom foil tear, and suddenly it hits Izuku that this is all real, that it’s really happening here and now. He can’t bear the thought of not seeing Katsuki’s face at this moment and he turns around. Katsuki’s built chest is heaving, his massive cock is out and sheathed in the condom, already lubed-up and ready. He looks like an Adonis, so perfect like he’s just walked out of one of Izuku’s wildest fantasies. Izuku stares up at him in awe.
“You okay?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku nods furiously. He pulls Katsuki down, kisses him, and somehow, deep in Izuku’s soul he knows that their whole lives have been building toward this moment, here, together. Izuku doesn’t want to waste another instant not having him. He scooches further back onto the bed, dragging Katsuki with him, spreading his legs and grasping onto Katsuki’s slick cock, guiding it toward his entrance. Katsuki groans at the contact. He takes Izuku’s thighs, spreading them further and pushing his knees to his chest. He waits for Izuku to nod again.
“Give it to me,” Izuku says. “Please.”
Katsuki kisses him first, and oh. Just the first prod at Izuku’s entrance has Izuku shaking. He’s so big, so girthy. But Izuku has never minded a little pain. Katsuki sinks into him slowly, just pushing the head of his cock past Izuku’s rim and fuck, fuck, fuck. Izuku gasps, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes, his toes curling. Katsuki kisses wherever he can reach: his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, his knee. He rocks into him carefully, experimentally, just as he did with his fingers. The stretch is painful, and sweet, and satisfying and it just keeps going. Izuku throws his head back and swears profusely.
“Breathe, ‘Zu, breathe with me,” Katsuki murmurs against his skin. He strokes Izuku’s chest up and down. “Breathe through it, baby, you’re alright.”
His words have Izuku going molten. He gulps in air and his body remembers how to do this, how to adjust. Katsuki fucks into him shallowly, inch by inch, letting Izuku ease into it. It takes an age for Katsuki to bottom out; his thick thighs press against Izuku’s cheeks and Izuku swears he can feel him in his fucking throat. He stares up at Katsuki, blinking through his tears. He wraps his shaking legs around Katsuki’s hips, and keeps him in place.
Finally, is all Izuku can think, half-delirious and drunk on wonder and love. He’s mine.
Katsuki stares at him; his lips are trembling and his brow is furrowed. He touches Izuku’s face, dragging a thumb across his cheek.
“You okay?” he asks, hoarsely, like he’s the one being split in half.
Izuku must have a million things he wants to say. He can feel his mouth moving, trying to come up with something, anything, worthy of this moment. But then he feels Katsuki’s cock twitch inside him, and all he can do is grin. Mine, he’s inside me, he’s mine. He reaches for Katsuki’s face and pulls him down for a searing kiss.
“Move.”
The first thrust punches the air out of Izuku’s lungs. Izuku throws his head back, and Katsuki fucks him, relentless and steady and oh so fucking good that Izuku thinks he must be dreaming. He knows just how to angle his hips and hit Izuku’s prostate perfectly. Izuku’s groans are torn from his throat and his gasps are hiccupping and sharp.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Katsuki swears. Katsuki’s face is screwed up beautifully and his moans are masculine and glorious. He holds Izuku’s hips in place as he fucks him, propping himself on one elbow and nuzzling into Izuku’s throat. “Fuck.”
Izuku’s nails rake across Katsuki’s back, desperately trying to hang on. Tears roll down his cheeks as he’s pounded mercilessly. It’s so rough; it’s so right. Izuku sobs through it. He barely realizes he’s babbling; there isn’t one coherent thought left in his head.
“Fucking so good to me, so good, so—ngh, Kacchan, oh fuck, Kacchan, god,” he whimpers, nails biting into the meat of his shoulder. Their kissing is sloppy, but Katsuki insists on it even as their flesh slaps so harshly it stings. Izuku cards a hand through his hair and their foreheads knock. Izuku loves every second of it. He loves the firm, solid weight of Katsuki on top of him, the fierce heat of his skin, the relentless rhythm of his cock pounding into him. Tears stream down his cheeks as he keeps babbling.
“I love this, I love you,” Izuku whispers. The weight of it off his chest is so immediate and liberating that he laughs. “God, I love you so much. I love you.”
Katsuki chokes. His hips stammer. He reels back to look at Izuku head on and his eyes are strangely teary. He surges back down to capture Izuku’s mouth in a fierce kiss.
“You better mean that shit,” Katsuki rasps. He keeps rocking into him, though more gently, like he knows he won’t get a proper response if he continues to fuck Izuku’s brains out. “If you’re just running your mouth cuz I’m inside you—”
Katsuki kisses him instead of finishing his sentence. Izuku embraces him, squeezing him with everything: arms, legs, and ass clenching Katsuki like he can keep him if he latches on and never lets go. He relishes the maximum skin-to-skin contact as their bodies press flat together.
“Loved you my whole goddamn life,” Izuku says, barely leaving Katsuki’s lips long enough to speak. “Always loved you, only loved you.”
Katsuki’s groan sounds almost pained. His hands tighten on him, one raking through Izuku’s hair and the other curling around Izuku’s throat. He breaks away and his expression is furrowed. His swollen red mouth opens and closes several times.
“I—” he says. “Me too. It was always you. It’s always going to be you.”
Izuku’s smile could light up the whole goddamn country. He presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes as tears trail down his cheeks. Katsuki frames his face in his hands, meeting each tear with a kiss or a swift lick. Izuku giggles and Katsuki seals their mouths together once again, sweet and deep and open. Katsuki rolls his hips as he keeps kissing him softly, slowly, over and over again like he’s savoring him. Izuku moans then at just how loving it is. Katsuki’s cock is still buried inside him, but it’s the sweet slide of his mouth that makes Izuku’s heart stammer.
Katsuki pulls away with a soft smacking sound. He smirks at Izuku like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him.
“That’s how our first kiss woulda gone if you hadn’t pissed me off,” Katsuki says, and Izuku throws his head back and laughs.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says. He strokes the smooth planes of Katsuki’s cheeks with the backs of his knuckles. “My Kacchan.”
Katsuki nods as if in agreement. He draws out before punching his hips forward again and Izuku’s back arches off the mattress. Katsuki’s hands frame Izuku’s throat, the pads of his fingers pressing onto the bruise his bite left earlier. He tilts Izuku to expose the unbitten side and promptly gets to work on making another matching mark as he fucks him.
“Yes, mark me, I want to be yours, I want everyone to know I’m yours,” Izuku chants. Katsuki growls low in his throat and Izuku gasps as Katsuki drives into him, suddenly harsh and desperate.
“Only mine,” Katsuki says, roughly. “You’re mine, you got that?”
“Yes!” Izuku cries out, sobbing again. The elation in his chest swells so fiercely he feels like he might burst from it. “Just yours! Only yours!”
There’s no rhythm to their fucking now. Izuku bucks up to meet him thrust for thrust and it’s desperate, messy, and perfectly imperfect. Izuku’s neglected cock bounces against his abs, throbbing at every direct hit to his prostate. Izuku’s balls tighten.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he manages before his orgasm hits him like a bullet train. His vision goes white, arching off the bed. He splatters Katsuki’s washboard abs with cum, but he barely registers it. His mind has gone blank. He shivers as his orgasm rolls on and on, washing through him like a warm, milky tide, each wave so sweet, and bringing such deep relief. Izuku trembles and weeps through it. Katsuki only thrusts into him for another moment before he comes with a low, throaty groan. Katsuki collapses on top of him and Izuku clutches him like a lifeline. They’re sticky with sweat and cum, but nothing could pry Katsuki out his grip. Izuku strokes his hands up and down the deep gouges his nails have left in Katsuki’s back and they breathe together for long, drawn out minutes.
Izuku comes back to himself slowly. He pauses his ministrations to feel the thick muscle of Katsuki’s shoulders, dragging over the swell of his biceps and squeezing. Mine, mine, he’s all mine.
“Mmmm,” Katsuki says. He nuzzles into the heat of Izuku’s throat. Izuku must have been muttering again because then Katsuki adds: “Damn right I’m yours.”
Izuku’s grin quickly devolves into a giggle. Katsuki bites his ear gently.
“Oi, what’s so funny, hah?” Katsuki asks, too softly. He sucks Izuku’s earlobe into his mouth. “Shit’s serious.”
It is, isn’t it? Izuku is filled to the brim with manic glee.
“I love you,” Izuku whispers fiercely. Katsuki kisses his throat and hums.
“Love you,” Katsuki echoes, quiet and sincere.
Long after the sweat and cum has cooled between them, they manage to pry apart. Izuku whimpers at the loss as Katsuki slides out of him and Katsuki kisses him through it.
“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs against his temple. He pats Izuku’s thigh before crawling off him. “Stay.”
Izuku’s legs are too rubbery to consider doing anything else. Katsuki comes back with a wet towel and a water bottle, and he cleans Izuku with rough, efficient strokes. Izuku stares up at him, still barely daring to believe this is all really happening. Katsuki meets his gaze with a sharp look.
“Hydrate, moron, or you’ll be paying for it later,” Katsuki says, flatly.
Izuku grins up at him dreamily. “It really is you.”
Katsuki reels back, obviously flabbergasted. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Izuku shrugs, sitting up and wincing. Okay, wow he’ll definitely be feeling that tomorrow. His hands tremble as he brings the water bottle to his lips and Katsuki curses before his hand braces his elbow.
“Jesus, don’t get it all over the sheets,” Katsuki mutters, but his brows are pinched with concern. His free hand rubs Izuku’s leg up and down. “You alright?”
Izuku nods. Katsuki is still wonderfully naked and Izuku takes his time ogling him. The breadth of his shoulders, the ripple of his abs, just how thick his pecs are. Izuku licks his lips. He’s allowed to touch now, isn’t he? He finishes his water like a good boy and tosses the bottle onto the bedroom floor haphazardly. He pulls Katsuki in for a kiss before groping him, one hand cupping a firm pec and the other tracing down the line of his abs. Katsuki hums into it, cupping the back of Izuku’s neck as their kiss deepens. Izuku toys with Katsuki’s glittery blond happy trail before wrapping his hand around his cock and thinking, holy shit that thing was inside me .
“Oi,” Katsuki says, hoarsely.
Izuku hums in acknowledgement. He pivots them, pushing Katsuki onto his back and throwing a leg over his waist. He can feel Katsuki hardening again, already, which is so fucking hot that Izuku moans into their kiss. Katsuki’s arms wrap around him and the sound he makes is almost a whine.
“I just fucking cleaned you,” Katsuki whispers.
“You’ll clean me again,” Izuku assures him.
Katsuki does clean him again. And then cleans him a third time after their post-cotial snuggling once again turns into heated kissing and grinding their too-sensitive cocks together. And after a ramen break at around five in the morning, Katsuki cleans him a fourth time, cursing him all the while.
“You’re an actual demon, you know that?” Katsuki says, as he’s forced to bridal-carry Izuku to the shower. Izuku grins up at him wickedly. He kisses Katsuki’s thoroughly-bitten throat and Katsuki hisses. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
Izuku’s laughter echoes through the bathroom. Katsuki dries him, but they don’t bother dressing before Katsuki carries him off to his own bedroom where the sheets are mercifully clean. Izuku snuggles in at once, pressing a pillow into his nose and drinking in Katsuki’s masculine caramel scent. Katsuki turns the lights off, pulls over the black out curtains, and collapses onto the bed beside him, flat on his back and spread like a starfish. Katsuki’s eyes flutter shut. Izuku stares at him for a long moment.
“Just get over here already,” Katsuki grumbles, and Izuku pounces, throwing his arms around him and nuzzling into his throat. Katsuki holds him, stroking long lines up and down Izuku’s back as they finally drift off to sleep.
“Oi!”
Izuku wakes with a start and immediately winces. Oh god, he’s sore just about everywhere. He definitely didn’t hydrate enough because his head is throbbing with a nasty hangover. Katsuki groans beside him, cheek marred with red indents from his pillow and eyes squeezed shut in irritation. The room is pitch black except for the light creeping in through the cracks of Katsuki’s bedroom door. Izuku rubs his eyes and hears shuffling feet in the entry hall.
“What’s taking you so long? Are you guys alright?” More footsteps, a sound of surprise. “Whoa, what the hell happened here?”
Izuku freezes, a cold shock startling him to full alertness with a snap. Katsuki sits up at the same time, ridgid with panic. Izuku scrambles to find his phone and check the time, but quickly remembers it’s still in the pocket of his fuck-me jeans left strewn across the kitchen floor. Izuku holds a hand over his mouth.
“Shit,” Katsuki whispers. He lurches up, pushing Izuku off of him and getting to his feet. “Hurry, put something on.”
Izuku fumbles in the dark, struggling to open Katsuki’s closet and grabbing the first shirt he finds and throwing it on. Katsuki tosses him a pair of his boxers.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Kirishima says, his voice sounding like it’s coming from the opposite end of the apartment. Izuku realizes with a pang of horror he’s checked his room. The room Izuku and Katsuki most definitely didn’t bother cleaning up afterward. Oh why didn’t he even consider that Fat Gum’s agency would have a spare key to the place? Stupid, stupid! Mortification is an understatement.
“Uh, did— did Midoriya have someone over?” Kirishima asks, warily. “Oh my fucking god, that’s— that’s really— okay, closing that door now.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Katsuki chants quietly, tugging on a pair of boxers. Izuku looks at him worriedly.
“Do we jump out the window?” Izuku asks as quietly as he can.
“What the fuck, no!” Katsuki whisper-shouts.
“Oi, that you in there, Bakugou? What the hell, why aren’t you responding?” Kirishima says, sounding both relieved and a little hurt. His footsteps approach rapidly and there’s the sound of a hand on the door handle. Izuku squeaks. Katsuki lunges toward the door, but it’s too late. Kirishima steps inside, the light of the hallway spilling in after him.
“Bakugou! What the—” Kirishima stops short at the sight of him. He frowns. “What the fuck happened to you? ”
There is no hiding it. The evidence is painted blatantly on their skin. Katsuki is shirtless and littered with bites, bruises, and scratch marks. Izuku’s too-big shirt slips off one shoulder and reveals that his throat is well-bitten too. Kirishima’s gaze flicks to Izuku and his gasp is comically loud. He staggers back.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouts. He covers his mouth with his hands. “Oh my god! You— and— and holy shit!”
“Kirishima, I will give you fifty-thousand yen to get the fuck out of here right fucking now,” Katsuki says in his darkest voice. Kirishima points between the two of them.
“You!” he says. He laughs, short punchy sounds of disbelief. “You two— you really— oh my god!”
Katsuki grits his teeth. “Shitty Hair, I’m fucking warning you!”
Kirishima backs out of the room with his hands up, and his shoulders heaving. He looks between the two of them, his shoulders hunching and his laughter getting more high pitched.
“You crazy kids!” he chokes. Is he crying? “Holy shit!”
“Get out of here,” Katsuki grits through his teeth.
“Listen, you— you gotta come take your shift, we’ve been waiting, like, an hour now,” Kirishima says, somewhat breathless. He drags a hand through his hair and dabs his eyes. “But. I’m, like, so happy for you dudes. I can’t believe after all these years you finally— and on a mission too? Oh my god, Mina is gonna flip.”
Katsuki marches after him, steaming with rage. “You ain’t telling her shit, you hear me?”
Kirishima scrambles out the front door at full speed, slamming it shut on Katsuki’s face, correctly betting that Katsuki isn’t shameless enough to leave the apartment in only his boxers. Katsuki swears up a storm after him. Izuku wanders into the kitchen and retrieves his phone from his discarded jeans. It’s buzzing so much that Izuku thinks he’s getting a call, but it’s only Uraraka texting repeatedly.
“Okay, it’s been almost twenty-four hours, did he actually eat you or what?”
“I JUST GOT MINA’S TEXT YOU FUCKER YOU DIRTY FUCKER YOU ANIMAL YOU HOUND DOG I GET ALL THE CREDIT FOR THIS HAHAHAHA”
“JESUS KIRISHIMA SAID HE COULD SMELL SEX FROM THE HALLWAY WHAT DID Y’ALL DO”
“SCRATCH THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU DID YOU SLY DOG”
“YOU OWE ME SO BIG FOR THIS YOU’RE WELCOME HOW’S YOUR BACK HOLDIN UP CHAMP.”
Izuku snorts. He rubs his temple with the heel of his palm. Katsuki rounds on him.
“They all know then?” Katsuki asks, hoarse from all his yelling. At Izuku’s nod, he curses. Izuku deposits his phone on the kitchen counter and pads over to him, wrapping an arm around Katsuki’s waist and kissing his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku says, softly.
Katsuki hooks his arms around his shoulders. He buries his nose in Izuku’s hair, breathing in deeply and then out again before responding.
“Not your fuckin’ fault all these stupid extras are always in our business,” Katsuki mutters darkly. He tilts Izuku’s face upward, kissing his forehead before kissing his mouth. “So fuckin’ annoying.”
“Mmmm,” Izuku says, kissing him sweet and slow. “We should get up there.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki says. He rests their foreheads together and lingers for a moment. He frames Izuku’s face in his hands and Izuku turns to press kisses to his fingers. “Sorry.”
Izuku laughs then. “What for?”
Katsuki scowls. “What do you mean what for?”
Izuku shakes his head. He kisses Katsuki deeply, morning breath be fucking damned.
“I don’t mind them knowing,” Izuku admits, quietly. “I’m glad they know. The more people that know you’re mine, the better.”
He punctuates this with a gentle scrape of teeth along Katsuki’s jawline. Katsuki’s breath hitches.
“Shitty Hair—”
“Knows how well you fuck me,” Izuku whispers. “Knows I was desperate for it. He could see it on us, smell it on us, even.”
Katsuki’s body shudders against him.
“You are such a fucking freak,” he hisses, but then his mouth is on Izuku’s hungrily and his hands are sliding under Izuku’s shirt to pinch his sensitive nipples. The only thing that keeps Izuku from jumping him right there and then is his phone vibrating on the kitchen counter where he left it. “Goddamn it.”
Izuku grins. “Later?”
Katsuki kisses him. “Later.”