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Katsuki bites his tongue as he marches through the extravagant throne room. The excess of glittering chandeliers and gold-painted frescoes burn his eyes. Despite the enormous stretch of space between him and the young king sitting on that lavish mahogany throne, Katsuki feels like a wolf caught in a snare. It would be selfish to gnaw off his own leg and run away. His comrades need him to pull this off if they have any hope of surviving.
He’d half considered using his modest supply of gunpowder to destroy the young king’s palace. But Katsuki’s tempered his hot-headedness and pride over the years. What he would have done at fourteen has no reflection on the man he is at twenty-five. He has never been a killer, and assassinating Deku would undoubtedly result in more bloodshed and death.
Katsuki’s footfalls echo through the vast, sparse room as he strides up the sparkling granite aisle, never taking his eyes off the young king. His head of messy green curls, familiar in a way that makes Katsuki’s heart squeeze with a pang of nostalgia, are adorned only by a thick pewter circlet so out of place in this prison of excess.
Even as Katsuki draws closer, the new ruler doesn’t look up from the scroll resting on his lap, opting instead to chew on his bamboo pen as he mutters to himself. This, too, is familiar. Familiar in a way that makes regret and devastation swell against the cage of his heart.
It’s not him. It can’t be him.
The village burns bright and hot around him, licking at Katsuki’s knuckles as he yanks open a flame-engulfed window and pulls out a sobbing, coughing little girl.
Eri’s big, sad eyes strangle his heart. Her parents—like Katsuki’s—are dead. Massacred in the town square with all the other adults once night fell.
He carries her on his hip as he darts through the throngs of injured and terrified children and teens, eyes sweeping the chaos for Izuku. He’d been rescuing people from nearby houses, so where is he?
“Izuku!” Katsuki barks desperately. “IZUKU!”
“KACCHAN!” Izuku’s rattling voice pierces through the night.
Katsuki hugs Eri close and runs through the haze of smoke, pushing people out of the way as he races towards the sound. His instincts have always—will always—lead him to Izuku.
“IZUKU!” he calls again, handing Eri over to Shouto before he runs out of the flame-engulfed village and into the forest. The path is rocky and overgrown, but Katsuki knows this route better than the chambers of his own heart.
Ahead, a lone masked man wrestles a skinny, scrambling, and soot-covered Izuku onto the back of a horse, laying the struggling boy on his stomach across the broad flank, pleas muffled by a dirty cloth stuffed in his mouth. Lungs screaming, Katsuki heaves himself forward and reaches for Izuku’s desperate, outstretched hand. Their fingertips graze together as the bandit jumps on the horse and kicks it to a gallop.
“IZUKU!”
Katsuki chases them, though his speed is no match for the horse. Katsuki chases them, even as the sound of clopping hooves fades into the night. Katsuki chases them, even as the sun rises. Katsuki chases them, even as the rain erases all signs of their trail.
Katsuki chases them, even as the seasons change. Katsuki chases them, even as he organizes the young survivors and helps them integrate into his distant relatives’ nomadic clan. A lack of solid roots means safety. It means no one can rip your soles from the ground and leave you alone to rot.
Year after year after year, Katsuki chases them, looking for that bright, smiling boy. Those round, freckled cheeks. Those determined daffodil sprout eyes.
His Izuku needed saving. And Katsuki failed.
Katsuki’s throat clenches. He can’t speak as he stares at those sparse freckles—four on each side—because Katsuki would know them long after the earth transformed his corpse back to soil.
He tries to say it.
Izuku.
The name won’t come out.
What if he’s wrong? What if eleven years of grief has altered his memory? What if he’s seeing Izuku in this man simply because he wants to? Katsuki utters a weak, strangled noise.
The king jolts at the sound, the heavy circlet slipping off his head and clanking against the granite floor. He scrambles and shoves it back on, his relaxed, concentrated demeanor changing in an instant as he straightens his back and fixes Katsuki with a polite, stoic expression.
“Apologies,” King Deku says. “I didn’t hear…”
Big, emerald green eyes widen. Soft lips part as the king’s face turns to one of wonder and disbelief. “Ka… Kacch…”
Finally, Katsuki finds his voice. “Izuku?”
All at once, Katsuki is enveloped in a warm, strong hug that expels all the air from his lungs. Breathing doesn’t matter anyway. With shocked timidity, he wraps his arms around Izuku, hands pressed into the taut muscle of Izuku’s back. As though he needed confirmation that this was his long-lost osananajimi, hot tears drip onto Katsuki’s exposed shoulder.
When they slowly, reluctantly pull away from one another, Katsuki realizes Izuku’s eyes lay parallel to his own.
“You’ve grown,” Katsuki says.
Izuku’s gaze sweeps over Katsuki’s exposed torso. He dons only an open, patchworked coat and an array of necklaces over his midsection, highlighting the pink, blooming scar in the middle of his chest. Izuku presses rough, scarred fingers against the mark.
Katsuki never lets anyone near it, but he doesn’t stop Izuku.
“What happened?” Izuku asks.
“The fire.” Katsuki takes Izuku’s hand and traces the lines of scars. “These…?”
Izuku takes a shallow breath. “The fire.”
“How—” Katsuki releases Izuku’s hands and turns away. It’s so much. Izuku’s touch is sharp and hot like a newly forged sword. Like if Katsuki holds on too long or squeezes too tight, it could sever his limbs. “You’re the fucking king?”
“You’re the vicious leader of a band of marauders that took over a district in the western province?” Izuku’s query is quiet, soft. There's no judgment in his voice—only curiosity.
“Marauders.” Katsuki grunts. Of course that’s the story that got circulated in the capitol. “We used to be sheep herders. Our grazing lands were razed in the turmoil after King Yagi’s death. How the hell else were we supposed to survive when they decimated our flocks?”
“They… what? Kacchan, who—”
Katsuki turns on his heel, glancing back with a sneer as he challenges Izuku’s confusion. “You mean you didn’t know? You’re from the western province! Or did you forget all about your origin when you became this… Deku?” The name feels like a one-two punch on his tongue.
Izuku looks down, shoulders stooping.
“What?” Katsuki asks, trying to understand but unable to quell the fury in his veins.
Izuku doesn’t look up. “The bandits gave me that name before…”
Katsuki’s barrage of judgmental thoughts grinds to a halt. “You escaped? You must’ve.” Of course he did. Izuku never gave up. But then why didn’t he come back to the village and find his way to the survivors? Why didn’t he look for Katsuki like Katsuki looked for him?
“No.” Izuku’s laugh is sad and hollow. “They sold me.” He pulls back the sleeve of his deep purple tunic to reveal the crude Kanji of his name tattooed on the inside of his wrist.
Katsuki blinks, too stunned to respond. He knew the symbol for “de” and “izu” could be read the same, but it never occurred to him when it came to Izuku’s name. “But you’re the king. How?”
When Izuku shrugs, it’s with the same shy humility Katsuki remembers from their childhood. His jaw has strengthened and his face has thinned. He’s grown taller, broader in their years apart, rivaling Katsuki in stature. His eyes sink with the sadness of youth lost too soon, even though they’re the same springtime green Katsuki remembers.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Izuku says. “Where are you staying for the night?”
Katsuki shrugs. “Half expected to be spending it in prison.”
Izuku has the audacity to look insulted. “I promised I’d hear you out without repercussions!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I’d be coming face-to-face with Midoriya Izuku, for fuck’s sake.”
A childlike hope lights Izuku’s somber face. “We’ve got plenty of rooms in the castle.”
Even if it’s Izuku, Katsuki doesn’t trust easily. Not anymore. “So your guards can tie me up and throw me in prison when I'm least expecting it?”
Izuku scrunches his brows together. He looks… hurt. “We’ve been through a lot since we were separated. But Kacchan… I’m still me.”
And maybe that childlike hope ebbs through the space between them. Maybe Katsuki lets a little bit seep into his heart. Because he finds himself agreeing far too readily.
He wouldn’t do that for anyone else.
“Fine,” Katsuki says. It was meant to sound gruff, reluctant, but his swollen throat cracks his voice. “I’ll—I’ll stay.”
Izuku pulls his lips between his teeth and gives a shy nod that brightens the years of hardship on his somber face. “Have dinner with me? We can talk about… I dunno. Everything?”
Katsuki doesn’t want to get his hopes too high, despite how overjoyed he is to see Izuku after eleven years apart. He came here for a reason, and Izuku is still, somehow, a king. “As long as we talk about the reason I came.”
“Oh, gods, Kacchan! Of course!” Izuku seems sincere, even embarrassed that Katsuki’d think he would suggest otherwise. “We’ll talk about that first. I promise.”
And Katsuki believes him, because this is still Izuku.
His Izuku.
The bedroom’s almost as big as Katsuki's childhood home, though not as extravagant as he would’ve expected from the palace’s otherwise sickening display of wealth. The dark wood floors and walls are far more natural than that gaudy throne room, and the big windows filter enough light in to soothe his claustrophobia. The connected bathroom is too large, and he feels guilty that he gets to bathe while Shouto, Kirishima, and Jirou are stuck camping in the woods. He fills a wooden bucket with water from the furo and does a perfunctory scrub-down before sinking into the hot thermal water. It soothes the muscle aches from so many days on the road.
When he’s finished, Katsuki towels off and heads back into the main bedroom. In his absence, a servant brought a hanger crowded with a dizzying amount of pants and tunics. The impeccable craftsmanship has Katsuki thinking of his parents’ tailor shop, so he shuts the thought down and chooses a simple pair of black pants and a forest green shirt. The clothes are too new, too unworn, and he itches for his usual coat and trousers.
But they smell awful by now, and he’s having dinner with the king.
With Izuku.
Katsuki paces back and forth, waiting for the servant to return and take him to wherever the hell they’ll be eating dinner. He eyes a small hand mirror, face-down, on one of the dressers. His heart lurches.
As one of the more well-off families in their village, Katsuki’s parents had one. When they were children, he and Izuku would entertain themselves on rainy days, taking turns making ridiculous faces, challenging one another to see who could make the other laugh first. Katsuki usually won.
He takes the mirror, shoves it in the top drawer of the dresser, and slams it shut. Other than blurry reflections on water and swords, Katsuki hasn’t seen his face since he was fourteen. He has no intention of starting now. He knows he was handsome in his youth, but now he’s battle-weary and worn. And if Izuku thinks he’s ugly, well… Katsuki would rather not know.
He’s not ready to process what that means.
Katsuki jolts at the knock at his door. He smooths out his drying hair, knowing it will do little to temper it. As he pulls at the sparse wrinkles on his shirt, he tries not to think too hard about why he suddenly cares so much about his appearance.
When he opens the door, Katsuki’s greeted not by a servant, but by Izuku. The childhood friend he’s spent the past decade searching for. He forgets the wrinkles. It shouldn’t matter if he’s covered in sheep manure, for fuck’s sake. Being in Izuku’s presence is enough.
Izuku smiles as openly at Katsuki as the last time he came knocking at his door in their village. Katsuki startles at the old but familiar pang in his chest.
Another thing to compartmentalize for later.
“Kacchan!” Izuku says, grabbing him by the wrist and leading him down the hall. It’s how Katsuki would lead him into the woods for childhood adventures so long ago.
“What d’you think you’re—”
“Oh! I just finished up my last meeting for the day, so I figured I’d drop by instead of inconveniencing one of the servants. I already had to apologize to my cook because she had to buy different ingredients than usual.” Izuku keeps his eyes on Katsuki, not once bothering to look ahead at where they’re going. “I’m paying her extra, of course, but still. I’d’ve prepped it myself, but then you would’ve had to wait longer for food, and I know you’ve been traveling for days, and I really didn’t wanna keep Kacchan waiting.”
Izuku continues his rambling as they reach a set of doors at the far end of the hall. His voice makes Katsuki feel like someone has cleaned the rust from the gears of his heart, allowing it to pump blood through his body for the first time in ages. How long has he been existing in this unfeeling, half-dead state?
Izuku opens the door and allows Katsuki to enter first, as though he’s courting him like the firstborn daughter of a neighboring kingdom or some shit. A painful lump forms in Katsuki’s throat. Is Izuku married? He doesn’t remember hearing anything about King Deku taking a wife, but Katsuki was more concerned with feeding his people than gossiping over a lame-ass arranged marriage.
He’ll ask later once he’s had a few drinks in him. Maybe.
Izuku’s rooms are larger than his own—more a spacious apartment within the palace than anything else—but it’s imbued with that same dark, soothing wood as Katsuki’s, and light from the setting sun filters through the shoji screen windows. After lighting a few oil lamps, Izuku gestures for Katsuki to take a seat at the chabudai.
Katsuki pulls out the cushion as he eases himself onto the ground, eyeing the spread of uncooked meat, vegetables, fish, tofu, and noodles. At the center sits a metal cooking pot with a roaring oil flame. The bubbling red broth tingles his senses.
“Spicy hot pot?” Katsuki asks. He can’t remember the last time he had something with numbing peppercorns. The trade routes from the south were disrupted ages ago.
“Thought it might be up your alley.” Izuku smiles, taking the seat across from him and pouring a cup of sake for Katsuki, then for himself.
Katsuki sips the warm, smooth liquid—by far the highest quality spirit he’s ever had—and busies himself by adding food to the pot.
“So the whole… marauder thing,” Izuku says, dumping fresh wheat noodles into the soup. “What’s up with that? Who burned your fields and killed your sheep?”
“Some so-called militiamen a few towns over.” Katsuki polishes off his drink and pours himself more. “They said they were there to protect us while Shigaraki fought Dek—fought you— fuck, that’s weird—for the throne. But once you won, they never went away. They walked all over our clan lands like they owned them. After a while, they decided they did.”
Izuku bites his bottom lip. “I’d ask why people would destroy something just to gain power over it, but I’ve seen it happen a lot during my life, and I’m no closer to understanding it.”
Katsuki pulls noodles, cabbage, and shaved pork from the boiling soup as he mulls over Izuku’s words, wishing he could ask what horrors his childhood friend has seen to make him come to that conclusion. He fought Shigaraki, so that’s certainly part of it, but…
They sold me.
Every implication of that is chilling. Izuku is no stranger to the darkest parts of humanity, that’s for certain.
“We steal from the militias because it’s the only way to survive,” Katsuki says. “I came here to plead my case and make you do something about the fact that you’ve got fucking warmongering tyrants in the western lands. Me, Shouto, and my uncle Tsunagu have been organizing people to try and fend them off, but at the end of the day, we’re just scrappy fucking farmers.”
“Shouto?” Izuku’s eyes well with tears. “Shouto survived, too?”
“Most of us kids did. We learned to be resourceful pretty fast.”
Izuku’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “The gunpowder explosions from my latest report! That was you!”
Katsuki folds his arms over his chest and puffs himself up. “Damn right.”
Izuku pulls a scroll out of fucking nowhere and unfurls it, mumbling as he reads. “I was wondering who’d be smart enough to figure out exactly where to place them… how to detonate them from a distance like that. It was Kacchan all along! Of course. Of course it was Kacchan!”
An old, dangerous pride rises up in Katsuki’s chest, chased with nostalgia that goes down like rancid juice. “We need your help. Now that I know I don’t gotta convince you, what’re you gonna do about these militias?”
Izuku taps his chopsticks excitedly against the table. “Let me ride back with you. I’ll bring troops, and we’ll put a stop to it for good.”
Katsuki nods, barely containing his own glee. It’s easy to temper it when he thinks, And what happens when we defeat them and you go back to the capitol? What then?
He can’t worry about eventuallys when he has Izuku right in front of him. The tragedies in his life have taught him to live in the moment, if nothing else.
They eat and drink until Katsuki is comfortably full and his muscles loose from the alcohol. Izuku picks up the pot, snuffs out the flame, and asks, “You want a tour?”
“Of the palace?” Katsuki asks.
“No, Kacchan.” Izuku’s cheeks, ruddy from the liquor, scrunch when he laughs.
It’s… cute.
Fuck.
“Of my apartments!” Izuku jumps up and beckons him forward. He leads Katsuki into the kitchen, showing off fully stocked shelves and cookware Katsuki could barely dream of having.
“Who’d’ve thought the kid who could burn water would grow up having all this?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku leans on the counter. He’d rolled his sleeves up at some point during the evening, displaying strong, corded forearms.
Katsuki's impressed. Or... something. Seriously, how much muscle is he packing under those clothes?
“I was Yagi’s cook for a long time,” Izuku says. “Apprenticed under his former cook before she left. I actually got pretty good in the kitchen.”
“From cook to king, huh?” Katsuki says. “How’d that happen?” He doesn’t ask how Izuku got to be a cook in the first place. It’s probably too much for both of them.
Izuku purses his lips, his posture stiffening. It’s a marginal shift, but Katsuki remembers his mannerisms. “How ‘bout we continue the tour?”
The bathroom is massive, with a wide, built-in tub made of brown stone. It’s filled to the brim with steaming water. Katsuki whistles. “Your own personal hot spring. Livin’ the dream.”
Izuku tenses up again. “I know you’ve been through things I can’t even imagine, and I don’t wanna take away from that. But I need you to understand that I…”
Katsuki waits.
Izuku takes in a deep breath. “That I’ve had it pretty rough, too.”
Katsuki doesn’t know when it happens, but he finds that he’s gripping Izuku’s elbow, running his thumb over the inward crook. “Yeah.” His voice warbles. “I know. I didn't mean to be an ass.”
"I know." Izuku stiffens at the touch, but he doesn’t move away.
Katsuki doesn’t, either.
“If Toshinori hadn’t saved me…” Izuku sits at the edge of the tub and dips his fingers into the water.
Katsuki’s heart pangs. And if I would’ve saved you…
The thought makes him want to walk away—to return to his room until morning. Daylight makes it easier to avoid painful truths that the night ushers forth.
He can’t. This is Izuku. The boy—the man— he’s spent so many years searching for, yearning for. What that yearning means, though, he’s less certain than ever. So Katsuki pads over to the tub. Sits next to Izuku and watches the ripples as they disperse in the water.
Izuku turns his back to the tub. “I mean, look at me. Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”
Katsuki turns in the direction Izuku’s facing, glimpsing a blond mess of spikes in a thin horizontal mirror that’s hung parallel to the tub. He snaps his eyes away and squeezes them shut.
“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice is distant like a whisper through a valley. A hand, warm and damp, rests atop Katsuki’s.
Katsuki shakes his head, avoiding the dangerously entrancing view of the mirror in his periphery. “There’s gotta be more to see. C’mon. Show me how a king lives.”
A smile teases at Izuku’s lips, and he links his arm with Katsuki’s and leads him out of the bathroom. They fumble down the hall like they’re kids again and spill into the most inviting bedroom Katsuki’s ever seen, though he ignores the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall. He knows it’s a palace, but why do there have to be mirrors everywhere? Fucking narcissists.
Because he’s so accustomed to being on the run and sleeping on hard, cold mats, the plush bed beckons Katsuki forward. He's barraged with invasive thoughts of Izuku splayed out on it, relaxed and laughing as he pulls Katsuki into his embrace.
Katsuki shakes away the image. This is Izuku, his long-lost friend. They grew up together. Dug holes in the dirt and played in the creek and made silly faces in his parents’ prized mirror.
But now he's a king. Adorned with scars and muscle and that he covers up with royal purple.
Besides, his bed is huge. Far too much for one person. Despite the palace’s appearance, he doesn’t seem to have the obsession with greed and affluence Katsuki expected from the king. So Katsuki says, “Where’s your wife?”
“My w—my what?” Izuku sputters, the color draining from his face. “I don’t—a wife? Why would you think I have a wife?”
Hopeful discomfort bubbles in Katsuki’s chest. The alcohol spurs him on. “Mistresses, then? Pretty big bed for one guy.”
“No, Kacchan, no,” Izuku says it like he’s desperate to make Katsuki believe him.
Guilt mixes with unfettered jealousy. Katsuki should have kept his stupid goddamn mouth shut. What the hell made him ask such a personal question? Alcohol’s no excuse. He’s tipsy at best, not drunk.
Izuku sits at the edge of the bed and rakes his hands through his hair, the movement exposing numerous glints of metal along the shell of his right ear. He's doing it on purpose, showing Katsuki the long curve of obsidian piercings running from the lobe all the way up to the cartilage.
Despite himself, Katsuki gasps.
“Yeah.” Izuku doesn’t look up. He lets go of his hair, and it falls in shadows across his face. “So I haven’t… not since Toshinori rescued me five years ago.”
Katsuki swallows the bile creeping into his mouth. “Why not take them out?”
“I don’t want to forget what happened to me,” Izuku says. “Where I came from. I’m the king, and I want people to know I’ve suffered just as much as they have, even if it means my reputation was tarnished from the get-go. I’m proud of every mark and adornment on my body.”
“You’ve suffered more than most of them,” Katsuki says quietly. Why the hell did he have to open his stupid mouth and let years’ worth of possessiveness over his childhood best friend get to him?
Izuku shrugs. “I got out alive after three years without any diseases or major injuries. I’m luckier than most people who've been forced into that life.”
His blunt casualness at the horrific situation leaves Katsuki speechless, breathless.
Finally, Izuku looks up. “Do you wanna sit down? Sorry if that was… too much.”
Katsuki is dizzy and sick and yeah, maybe he should sit down before he ends up sticking his entire foot down his throat and waking up in the infirmary. “Don’t worry about me. It’s your life; not mine.”
This didn’t happen to Katsuki; it happened to Izuku. So why does it hurt so much? Katsuki takes the space next to Izuku on the bed, careful to ensure their legs don’t rub together.
“What about you?” Izuku asks. “Do you have a wife? A mistress? A wife and a mistress?” He nudges Katsuki in the side, and Katsuki yelps, swatting at Izuku playfully.
Katsuki thinks of the few bumbling and disappointing experiences he’s had with women (too soft, too smooth, too much, not enough) over the years and laughs. “No. Definitely not.”
“Hmm…” Izuku ponders, hand on his chin. “D’you prefer a different flavor?”
Katsuki blinks at Izuku’s teasing expression. The question makes him freeze up, shifting something in his world that he doesn’t quite understand. The Izuku that Katsuki remembers would’ve never asked a question like that. He would’ve squealed and disintegrated from embarrassment.
“What—what’s your flavor?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku chews his lip, pondering the question that Katsuki oh-so-bravely threw back at him. “Spicy up front, with a sweetness that settles in as you acclimate.”
Katsuki doesn’t know what to say. He’s completely out of his element—sitting on the king’s bed— trying and failing to match his flirting. The king who, in the coincidence of the century, happens to be Izuku.
His Izuku.
“I like something bold,” Katsuki manages. “And… aesthetically pleasing.” Gods, Katsuki needs to get his shit together and stop acting like a idiot.
“Me, too.” Izuku rests a hand on the outside of Katsuki’s thigh, and okay, he’s definitely not imagining this. But Izuku’s barking up the wrong tree if he’s looking for someone aesthetically pleasing.
Self-deprecating as it is, Katsuki can’t stop himself. “You should probably look at a different menu, then.”
Izuku retracts his hand. His face is tinged with pain, and his eyes scan Katsuki like he's searching for that bright, overconfident boy he used to be. Much as Katsuki can see the embers of the old Izuku behind that world-weary face, Katsuki knows his own burnt out long ago.
“Kacchan, you don’t actually think…”
Katsuki clenches his fists. Stares down at hands that he can’t stop from tremoring. Izuku managed to become a king, but Katsuki? Katsuki’s just a no-name herder who took up the helm and organized his people out of necessity. The gap between Katsuki's failures and Izuku's successes has stretched beyond repair.
“I don’t need the ego boost,” Katsuki says.
I’m not—” Izuku pauses. Purses his lips. “Do you really not see how stunning you are?”
Stunning.
Stunning. The only thing stunning about Katsuki are his explosions.
Izuku envelops Katsuki’s hand in his own. “Let me show you what I see. Please.”
The request is so gentle—so genuine—that Katsuki lets Izuku turn him towards the mirror. At the first sight of blond spikes, he snaps his head back.
“S—sorry…” Izuku says. “I just thought—”
“I don’t know what I look like!” Katsuki says.
Izuku’s jaw drops.
“I haven’t seen my face since…”
Visions of their younger selves sticking out their tongues and blowing raspberries flash through Katsuki’s mind.
Izuku’s fingers graze the curve of Katsuki’s jaw. “You’re afraid to face the man you’ve become.”
Katsuki sneers. How does Izuku just say shit like that?
“What if I tell you what I see?” Izuku hooks his thumb under Katsuki’s chin, green eyes searching his face.
Katsuki sighs his permission despite the uncomfortable heat that creeps across his chest.
Izuku taps at Katsuki’s brow. “I see the same fiery red eyes I remember. Sharp and discerning ‘til they soften when you’re caught off-guard. Strong cheeks that scrunch up when you’re embarrassed.” He runs a finger across Katsuki’s lower lip. “A vicious mouth that slices injustice to shreds but lights up this whole dismal place when you smile. I see you. I see my Kacchan.”
Katsuki removes the hand from his lips, clenching it in his own as he shifts into Izuku’s space and presses their foreheads together. Their breaths mingle, dewy and short and alive. When Katsuki closes the gap, Izuku’s soft, plump lips move slowly against his cracking, sunburned ones.
Katsuki buzzes with excitement and disbelief. In a span of a few hours, he’s gone from finding out Izuku is his king to kissing him on his bed. Maybe, if Katsuki searches the dusty recesses of his memory, he finds that he’s wanted—needed—this with Izuku for a very long time.
Izuku’s mouth is warm and pliant and melting against his own. His hand grasps at one of Katsuki’s stone necklaces, and the beads clack together as Izuku pulls him closer. When Izuku’s hand presses into the small of Katsuki’s back, Katsuki arches into it, pulling their bodies flush and reveling in the strong ripple of muscle.
Touching Izuku— kissing Izuku—is nothing like his fumbling encounters with women. With those, Katsuki went through the motions because of some kind of indescribable, uncomfortable tension between them. There is nothing uncomfortable as he matches Izuku beat by beat. As he pushes Izuku down onto the mattress and kisses along his jaw and up his heavily pierced ear.
“Kacchan.” Izuku throws his head back, eyes opening to expose wide, lustful pupils. “Look at us.”
The mirror.
Izuku’s watching them through that cursed mirror.
Katsuki doesn’t look up, focusing his attention on ripping Izuku’s shirt open, popping a few buttons, laving his tongue across the planes of his well-defined chest. It sparks a feral curiosity as he shifts his hand under the shirt and finds the hard muscle of a pec instead of the soft give of a breast. Katsuki’s never known what to do with breasts, but this is so different—so much better. When the pads of his finger graze against metal, he rips the rest of Izuku’s shirt open and stares longingly down at the obsidian rings in his nipples.
Guilt stirs in Katsuki’s stomach, and he barely tamps down his desire to suck them into his mouth. “You kept these ones, too?”
Izuku smiles up at him with pretty, swollen red lips. “I kept all of them.”
All of them. Does that mean…
Katsuki’s guilt rages against his want of stripping Izuku bare to see the other embellishments hiding under his clothes.
He must have stilled for too long, because Izuku pulls him into a heady, desperate kiss, sucking at Katsuki’s ear, whispering. “They used to be all bright and glimmering gold. When I was freed, I realized I wanted to keep the piercings themselves. It was just the jewelry that didn’t suit me.”
He guides Katsuki’s hand to his nipple, inviting him to squeeze. Katsuki moans as metal rolls against the give of pebbled flesh.
“I’ve made this journey my own, and I’m proud of it.” Izuku grasps each side of Katsuki’s shirt and rips, smiling softly as he places a hand over the old burn scar on Katsuki’s chest. Izuku’s brows arch up, shy and hopeful. “You should be proud of yours, too. I mean, look at you.”
Katsuki’s heart pounds against his ribcage, Izuku’s hand scorching like the fire that marked him so long ago. Slowly, Katsuki tilts his head upward, his eyes catching the splay of Izuku’s curls through the mirror. In his periphery he sees the outline of his own body, one arm holding himself up on the bed, the other toying with Izuku’s nipple. He can feel Izuku looking at him through the mirror.
“Please, Kacchan.” Izuku’s fingers are under his chin again, but he doesn’t move Katsuki’s head. They serve as a brace, not a guide. “I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”
Slowly, Katsuki looks, his eyes trailing up his arms, safely covered with cloth. At his chest—the big, blooming scar he’s observed from above so many times. Unlike Izuku’s piercings, it’s not beautiful, but it’s still a part of himself he wears with pride: a testament to how he long he's survived. It's comforting and familiar, even if viewed from a different perspective.
His neck… it’s thicker than he remembers, his Adam’s apple more pronounced. His voice must be deeper than the last time he and Izuku were together. And together means something entirely different now.
His face, though… he can’t.
Katsuki buries it in Izuku’s neck, sucking soft at first, then harder, eliciting whimpers from his friend that transform into deep, needy gasps.
“Too slow, Kacchan…”
When Izuku’s hand grips Katsuki’s hair and pulls , Katsuki’s elbow buckles. Their chests crash together. Katsuki’s world flips in an instant, his back cradled against the soft mattress, Izuku’s hands grasping his biceps as he climbs on top of him, Izuku’s dick pressing hard against the throbbing length of his own.
And Bakugou Katsuki, the explosive, fearsome bandit leader himself, whimpers from beneath Midoriya Izuku.
From beneath his king.
Izuku’s eyes darken at the sound, and Katsuki lifts himself enough to allow Izuku to remove his ruined shirt. He throws it on the ground and runs his hands down Katsuki’s sides, grasping his hips as he grinds against him.
“Want you, Kacchan.” Izuku throws his head back. “Want you so bad. Been wanting you all fucking night. D’you know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?” He wedges a hand between their pelvises and rubs hard against Katsuki’s cock.
Katsuki gasps, bucking into Izuku’s hand. He doesn’t know when or how Izuku turned into this horny version of himself, but with the throb of his cock, he finds he doesn’t care.
“Didn’t expect you to be so timid,” Izuku says, increasing the pace of his movements. “Thought you’d rip my clothes off and take me the moment you got me alone. You want this? You want me?”
Katsuki nods, keening at the tight squeeze to his dick. “Yes, fuck! Of course I do! What kinda question is that?”
Izuku blinks rapidly at him, surprise in his eyes.
“What?” Katsuki sneers.
“Are—are you a…”
“The fuck? Of course not!” Katsuki’s face heats with embarrassment. He looks away as he mumbles, “Just haven’t… with a man.”
Izuku stills on top of him. “You’ve had sex with women? You?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing! I just always thought… I mean, you never showed interest in girls!”
Katsuki gulps. The taste of sake and Izuku linger on his tongue. He just kind of… fell into bed with women a few times after his clan took a hard loss, or when he thought he finally had a lead on Izuku, only for it to end in another disappointment. It was harder than being alone, but still, he did it.
“Yeah, well…” Katsuki still can’t meet Izuku’s eyes. “It wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Izuku hums in thought, expertly nibbling down Katsuki’s neck before taking his lips again. His tongue flicks and dances inside Katsuki’s mouth, teasing a little before he pulls back slightly. His lips brush against Katsuki’s as he says, “And what about this?”
Katsuki groans, pushing back at Izuku as he helps him scramble out of his shirt. His heart hammers at the solid expanse of compact muscle above him, and Katsuki can’t stop himself from claiming the other nipple with his mouth. The tang of metal melds with the taste of Izuku, indescribable and sweeter than ice wine.
“Can’t believe I get to be your first man.” There’s something wild and wanting in Izuku’s voice as he unhooks the clasp of Katsuki’s pants and pulls them down past his ass. Katsuki’s cock lays long and swollen and heavy on his abdomen.
Izuku curses, pulling Katsuki to the edge of the bed and settling between his legs. It’s so much, so indescribably good, and Katsuki's entranced by Izuku’s forwardness. If Katsuki looked up, he could probably see a sliver of his body through the mirror, but he has no desire to take his eyes off Izuku.
Izuku grips Katsuki’s thighs, staring reverently at his cock. “Did those girls ever give you a blowjob?”
Katsuki’s too turned on to be embarrassed, so he just nods. He can’t believe the word blowjob just came out of Izuku’s mouth without shame.
Izuku lays a single kiss on the tip of Katsuki’s cock and lewdly licks the dab of glistening pre from his lip. Fuck… Izuku’s barely touched him, and already Katsuki feels like he’s going to explode.
“And did you like it?” Izuku asks.
“It—it was fine.”
“Just fine?” Izuku teases, licking sloppily up Katsuki’s cock. “This dick is too fucking exquisite to be given anything but excellence.”
As the last word leaves Izuku’s mouth, he swallows down Katsuki’s entire length. It’s hot and wet and the suction. Gods, the suction. It burns Katsuki, the way Izuku’s cheeks hollow, how his eyes flutter shut like he’s been waiting his whole life to give Katsuki this pleasure. The sounds Izuku makes are lewd, guttural grunts as Katsuki’s length batters his throat. Katsuki was so careful with women—they never seemed particularly enthused by sucking him off, and they could never take him more than halfway down.
But when Katsuki grabs Izuku’s head and forces his nose against his pelvis, it only encourages Izuku more. He looks up at Katsuki like he’s drunk on his cock, eyes rolling back as he yanks Katsuki’s hand away and starts a fast, sloppy rhythm and coats Katsuki’s length with thick spit, slurping like he’s desperate for it.
Katsuki knows he should try to hold back—to last longer for the man who’s fucking obsessed with his cock—but he can’t stop himself. Doesn’t want to stop himself. He cums hard into Izuku’s mouth. Izuku moans through the sprays of his spend before pulling off and opening his mouth proudly to reveal the cum pooled there. When Izuku smiles, it leaks out of the corners of his mouth.
It’s the hottest fucking thing Katsuki’s ever seen, and he pulls Izuku onto his lap, welcoming him into a sloppy, slick, open-mouthed kiss that he can’t get enough of. Izuku moans they devour each other with the most delicious and filthy way. When Izuku wipes at his mouth and offers up his cum-soaked fingers, Katsuki devours them.
Izuku pulls out of his mouth with a rumbling chuckle. “Never seen someone so drunk on their own cum. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was the first time you’ve tasted yourself.”
Katsuki kisses Izuku so he doesn’t have to formulate a response. He’s never been sucked to completion before, so yeah, actually, it is his first time tasting himself. But Izuku doesn’t need to know that.
Emboldened by the fact that Izuku is clearly as much of a deviant as Katsuki’s quickly discovering himself to be, he hastily undoes Izuku’s pants and slips his hand beneath the fabric, moaning when he wraps his hand around Izuku's thick cock. Something deep inside himself aches for it, even if he doesn’t understand why.
Katsuki’s not some blushing innocent. He knows what some of the men in his camp get up to, or he understands the mechanics, at least. The opportunity’s just never presented itself. As he pumps his hand and Izuku digs short, sharp fingernails into his back, Katsuki remembers daydreaming that something like this would one day happen for him. He'd touch himself while picturing some faceless man sinking his cock deep inside.
He couldn’t picture Izuku. It hurt too much.
But he has Izuku—a man— here, now, letting out desperate little gasps as he gives himself to Katsuki, slipping out of his pants as he begs for more, more, more.
Katsuki pushes him back on the bed, mouth watering as he gets his first view of his big, flushed length. The tip glistens with a curved black barbell.
Katsuki wants. He hovers over Izuku, taking him in his hand, working him as he writhes atop the mussed covers.
“Mmm… You can touch it, Kacchan.”
But Katsuki’s already… oh. He means the piercing. He slowly leans over Izuku, taking in his heady scent and tentatively flicking his tongue over the barbell. It shifts against his tongue, and Izuku lets out a high, needy moan.
Emboldened, Katsuki does it again, toying with it, licking into the slit that it peers out from, circling his tongue around the head. The juxtaposition of metal and skin has him craving more, and he dives down on Izuku’s cock, letting it brush against his throat, stopping just before he gags, bobbing up and down as he lets his hand make up for his inexperience.
Izuku doesn’t seem to mind. His head falls over the side of the bed, and Katsuki digs his hand into sharp hip bones, needing nothing but Izuku and his big, stupid, pretty cock. Despite the lack of touch, he’s getting hard again already simply from the act of having another man’s dick in his mouth. Katsuki’s world is alight with flame and color, washing out the dull sepia that's clouded his reality until this moment.
“K—Kacchan.” Izuku stammers, gesturing to the wall ahead. “Look.”
And Katsuki simply… does.
There he is. In the mirror. Face wet with spit and cum, eyes shining with tears as he strains to take his first cock, lips stretched as he drools obscenely. Heart jolting, he pulls off Izuku’s dick and sits back on his heels.
Now that Katsuki’s allowed himself a glimpse, he can’t look away.
This is… him? He presses the pads of his fingers into his rosy cheeks. Strong cheeks, he thinks, just like Izuku said. His mouth is plump and swollen from kisses and cocksucking. His eyes are the same vibrant ruby he remembers, but hazy from chasing an unquenchable desire. His hair is mussed like they’ve been fucking for hours, and he cards his hands through it in a vain attempt to tame it.
Izuku sits up on his elbows. “Kacchan?”
Katsuki climbs away from him, lifting himself from the bed to stand in front of the mirror. He was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t a skinny kid anymore, but seeing his broad shoulders, his defined pecs, the cut of his abs, the cinch of his waist from a different perspective, it’s…
Strong arms wrap around Katsuki from behind, and Izuku rests his head on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“That’s… me.” They’re the only words Katsuki can form.
“That's you,” Izuku encourages, nipping at Katsuki’s nape in a way that sends shivers across his skin. His hand ghosts down Katsuki’s stomach and finds his cock, giving it a few slow pumps that have Katsuki biting his lip, his new face distorting into something he barely recognizes.
Katsuki doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.
“It’s you,” Izuku whispers into his ear. “It’s you. You’re gorgeous. Never thought I’d see you like this. Gods, Kacchan.”
He looks at their faces, scrunched together, so different from when they were young. But the bond remains as Izuku works him, guiding Katsuki back onto the bed and settling between his legs, kissing the sensitive skin of his thighs as he asks, “How far do you want to go tonight?”
Katsuki wants to go to the end of the line. To let Izuku ease away the tangled sinew in his heart. Given the obvious canyon separating their levels of experience, it would be easier for him to take Izuku. But Katsuki doesn’t want that.
Katsuki wants to trust his body to Izuku’s care. For Izuku to open him up, to flay open his chest and hold all those damaged pieces in his perfect, scarred hands. But Katsuki doesn’t know how to say that.
So he shifts back on the bed, spreads his legs, and angles his hips to make his desires known.
Izuku gasps at the display. “Are… you’re sure?”
“Hurry up before I change my mind,” Katsuki says, knowing full well he won’t.
Izuku curses, yanking open the top drawer of the built-in nightstand and producing a small glass vial of clear liquid. He uncorks the cap and coats his fingers with it as he settles back between Katsuki’s legs. “Have you ever opened yourself up before?”
Katsuki throws an arm over his eyes with a groan. There’s no use lying to Izuku, as embarrassing as his inexperience is. Izuku would know, instantly. He always has.
“It’s gonna feel weird at first, okay?” Izuku says. “But then it’s really, really good. I promise. Especially with my piercing. It’ll help stimulate your pleasure center, and—”
“My fucking what?” Katsuki removes his hand, squinting at Izuku.
“Your… pleasure center?” Izuku says like it’s obvious. “There’s something inside you that feels really, really good from this kind of stimulation. With enough practice, you might even be able to cum without having your dick touched!”
There’s the overexcited, youthful Izuku Katsuki remembers—but instead of talking passionately about adventure novels, his focus has shifted to pleasure centers.
“That’s a stupid fucking term,” Katsuki says. “There’s gotta be a better word for it.”
Izuku giggles, squishing his face against the inside of Katsuki’s knee. He’s adorable and confident while Katsuki’s spread out on the bed, far more exposed than he ever thought he’d be with anyone. It’s too much, all of a sudden.
“Quit grinning like an idiot and stick your fingers in my ass, already!”
Izuku snorts, nuzzling into Katsuki’s thigh. It’s infuriatingly cute.
“Okay, Kacchan.”
Katsuki’s about to protest again when he feels a warm, slick press and tenses at the touch. With his free hand, Izuku rubs encouragingly along his leg and moves his oil-coated fingers in soft, slow circles.
Katsuki stares up at the wood-slatted ceiling, finding he can’t meet Izuku’s eye. Though Katsuki trusts Izuku unconditionally, that step, for some reason, is too much.
“Just breathe, all right?” Izuku says gently. “There you go. Relaxing so well for me.”
Katsuki melts at the praise. Why does it feel so good?
But he knows the answer. Because it’s Izuku. And Izuku’s always praised him for everything. In this instance, it expands in his chest until there’s nowhere else for it to go.
A finger slips in, and Katsuki fucking whimpers again, clenching hard around Izuku. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s definitely fucking weird, just like Izuku said it’d be. Makes sense. It’s not every day Katsuki has someone prodding into his ass.
“Amazing. You’re doing amazing, Kacchan. Just like that.” Izuku pumps his finger, humming sweet musings that soothe Katsuki’s nerves and allowing Izuku to slowly, carefully add another. It should hurt; it should burn, but amazingly, it doesn’t.
Finally, Katsuki lifts his head and lets himself look at Izuku. Izuku looks back with adoring eyes. “Any pain?”
Katsuki shakes his head.
“Hmm, didn’t think so,” Izuku’s grin sparkles with confidence as he pumps his fingers. “My Kacchan couldn’t be in better hands for this.”
A beautifully terrifying amalgamation of awe and sonder for all the pieces of Izuku’s life Katsuki has yet to know bursts in his lovesick, lovestruck chest. He bites back a sob that’s whisked away when Izuku presses on something good.
“Fuck!” Katsuki arches back.
Izuku lets out that sultry, intoxicating hum again. “That’s your pleasure center.”
“Stop calling it— shitfuckhelldammit!” It’s deeper, stronger than any sensation Katsuki’s ever felt from his dick.
“You were saying?” Izuku teases.
“Call it anything other than— IzukuIsweartofuck!”
“What about a cum button?”
“I’m gonna kill you. Just stick another finger in so you can fuck me.”
Izuku gasps. The sexy, seductive mask of King Deku slips away, and Izuku looks as raw and exposed as Katsuki feels. Like the fact that he’s about to have sex with his Kacchan is finally sinking in.
He opens Katsuki thoroughly, making sure he’s relaxed, soft, and pliant where he needs to be. As he slicks up his cock and climbs atop Katsuki, he looks, for the first time, just as nervous. He hesitates at Katsuki’s entrance.
“Something’s wrong,” Katsuki says.
“No.” Izuku shakes his head. “No, of course not. Kacchan’s perfect. You’re doing so well.”
Katsuki sits up, crossing his legs and pressing his hand against Izuku’s freckled cheek. “But how’s Izuku?”
Izuku folds Katsuki's fingers in his own and rests their hands against his chest. His breaths are rapid, his heartbeat wild.
“Hey,” Katsuki prompts again, trying to bring Izuku back into himself.
“I’ve done this hundreds of times. Both ways. Nobody’s ever asked me that.”
Katsuki squeezes his hand in reassurance. “I’m asking. And if this is too much for you, we can stop.”
A sob catches in Izuku’s throat. “Nobody’s ever told me I could stop. They just…”
Katsuki takes their still-joined hands and wipes the tears from Izuku’s cheeks. The realization crushes him like an anvil: this is the first time Izuku is agreeing to share his body with another. This is why he never took a lover after Yagi rescued him.
After everything Izuku’s been through, Katsuki is the first person he’s allowed himself to trust with his intimacy.
Katsuki’s eyes sting with tears of his own. “I don’t care if we don’t go any further tonight. Or—or ever. We can just hold each other. Talk. I don’t care. I just want you by my side.”
Izuku captures him in a wet kiss, tears flowing freely between them. He pants against Katsuki’s mouth, pressing their foreheads together. “I want you. I want you.”
Katsuki cradles Izuku’s face in his palms. “This is just as much about you as it is me, got it? You can tell me exactly what you want. You’re safe.”
“I want to go back in time and only have you.” Izuku cringes, like he’s realizing what a naive daydream it is as the words leave his mouth.
“I want that, too,” Katsuki says.
“We can’t.”
“I know. But we’re together now.”
“For how long?” Izuku grasps Katsuki’s forearms with sturdy, vulnerable hands. “‘Til we stop the militia, you go back to herding, and I return to the palace? We have very different lives now.”
“We were never supposed to!” Katsuki insists. He knows it’s true—he can feel it in the deepest recesses of his soul. That this chance encounter with Izuku was their little pocket of the universe correcting a wrong, bringing the stretched-thin threads of their hearts back together. “ You wanna herd sheep with me? Fine. You want me to live in the palace with you? I’ll do it. You wanna leave this entire gods-forsaken country behind and sail into the unknown? Then let’s go. I don’t give a fuck where we end up as long as you’re next to me.”
Their bodies clash and meld in turbulent desperation. Katsuki kisses every part of Izuku he can reach. Izuku pulls Katsuki into his lap, squeezing their cocks together, rocking back and forth as Katsuki rolls his hips. He buries his face in Izuku’s neck, breathing in soap and sweat and sex. He bites into Izuku’s shoulder, catching the reflection of red eyes and green curls in that cursed mirror.
Instead of looking away, he challenges his new face with a fierce glare, climbing off Izuku and turning him around so that he, too, can confront it. Unlike Katsuki, Izuku’s never had to think about what the changes to his reflection means. They must be unnoticeable when you see them every day.
Katsuki kneels behind a confused Izuku and sets his chin on top of his head. In any other situation, they’d look like an obnoxiously sweet—if lewd—couple’s portrait.
“You wanted me to look at myself, right?” Katsuki says. “Now I want you to do the same.”
“I already knew what I looked like.”
“Really, really look.” Katsuki points Izuku’s face parallel to the mirror. “Who do you see? Who are you?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
With a sigh, Izuku rolls his head back on Katsuki’s chest, fixing him with narrowed, serious eyes. “I see all my fragments. Deku the captive. Deku the whore.”
“Hey, don’t—”
“Deku the whore.” Izuku thrusts his tattooed wrist in Katsuki’s face. “Deku the king.”
“Izuku—”
“You asked the wrong question, Kacchan.”
Katsuki furrows his brow, looking at the sad and beautiful picture they make with their bodies pressed together. “Then what’s the right question?”
Izuku shifts towards the middle of the bed, leaning back as he guides Katsuki in front of him, between his legs, back to chest. It’s a bit awkward, but when Izuku reaches around to squeeze Katsuki’s cock, he couldn’t care less.
“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses. “Are you horny or introspective?”
“I contain multitudes, Kacchan.”
“Little shit.” Katsuki grinds his ass against Izuku’s cock.
Izuku moans against his ear. “The right question is, ‘what do you see when you look at us?'”
Through the fog of trauma and desire, Katsuki understands. When he thinks of himself individually, he sees Katsuki the herder. Katsuki the reluctant marauder. Katsuki the man who fucks women because he’s supposed to. But when he looks at them as a whole, he knows.
It spills from Katsuki’s mouth. “Izuku and Kacchan.”
Izuku presses his cock once more against Katsuki’s entrance. “Kacchan and Izuku.”
Katsuki settles slowly onto Izuku’s dick, eyes flitting between their disbelieving, beautiful faces (because they’re both fucking beautiful like this) and the slide of Izuku’s cock into his body. The stretch is intense, and if there’s a bit of pain because it’s certainly bigger than Izuku’s fingers, Katsuki pushes past it, determined to take Izuku to the hilt.
When his ass comes flush with Izuku, Katsuki takes slow, calming breaths, letting himself acclimate to what he feels, what he sees. How his legs splay and his body opens for Izuku’s taking. How his mouth falls open when Izuku first rolls his hips, how his muscle grips and flutters as he squeezes around Izuku. How when he watches Izuku’s lips suck red blotches on his neck, it's the most himself that Katsuki’s ever been.
“Does that feel good?” Izuku asks. He digs his fingers into Katsuki’s hips and thrusts up, hard, shooting simmering sparks through Katsuki’s body. It emboldens him, and he steadies his feet against the mattress, using strong thighs to lift himself up and sink himself down. Slow at first, then faster, watching in disbelief as he, Bakugou Katsuki, yields to his pleasure and bounces on Izuku’s cock.
His own dick slaps against his stomach, and the thought that he’s not using it—that he’s getting exactly what he needs with Izuku buried inside—careens him into an arduous frenzy.
“Fuck, Kacchan,” Izuku says. “Can’t believe you’re giving this to me.”
“You idiot.” Katsuki pulls him into a hard, needing kiss. “Who the hell else would I give this to?”
Izuku guides Katsuki’s hips in a way that has him hitting the spot that feels so fucking good, over and over and over. He teeters close to the edge but doesn’t cross it—doesn’t want to cross it. Katsuki needs to feel Izuku deep inside for as long as he’ll let him.
When Izuku reaches for Katsuki’s cock, Katsuki pulls his wrist away. “Not yet.”
“Getting—getting close, Kacchan. Need to slow—fuck!”
Katsuki can’t help himself. He rides Izuku fast and hard, caring less about his own release, focused on Izuku, making him feel good, his body humming as he anticipates what it must feel like to have Izuku cum inside him. Wanting—craving to get it before he even thinks about chasing his own climax.
“Don’t wanna cum ‘til you do.” Katsuki’s ass slaps loudly as he furiously fucks himself on Izuku. “‘Til you fill me up.”
“You want me to cum inside?” Izuku’s eyes flash with disbelief.
“That’s what I said; isn’t it?” Katsuki grinds down on Izuku’s dick as Izuku thrusts up, hard, rearranging Katsuki in body and mind. “Fucking cum inside me. Wanna feel it. Wanna see—”
Izuku’s release, hot and sudden, flows through Katsuki, filling him, slicking his needy, well-fucked hole. He settles his shaking legs, trusting Izuku to carry his weight, knowing he can take it just as well as Katsuki’s taking him. Katsuki rocks slowly back and forth, milking Izuku for all he’s worth, needing every drop to find a place inside him.
“Fuck…” Izuku’s hand loosens its hold on Katsuki’s hip, but he doesn’t let go. Despite his own release, Izuku doesn’t stop moving, even if it’s slower, more controlled.
“Not too much for you?” Katsuki asks as Izuku’s dick continues its sloppy glide against his walls.
“Don’t stop.” Izuku reaches between their legs and teases at the puffy red rim that does its best to hold his softening cock. “I love when Kacchan's too much.”
It’s slowly slipping out of Katsuki, but at Izuku’s instruction, he keeps fucking himself onto it, captivated by the cum that seeps from his body. Izuku swipes it with his fingers and lifts them to Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki sucks them in with ravenous fervor, panting in ecstasy as he tastes Izuku for the first time.
“Look at you,” Izuku says, his voice strangled from extended overstimulation. “Do you like what you see?”
Katsuki thrums with bliss as he looks—really looks— at this version of himself that Izuku mined and polished and put on display for his eyes alone. How could he change from a hardened, reckless bandit to this cock-hungry mess? And why does he love it?
Katsuki finds he doesn't care how he got here. He can be both, dammit. He chases what he wants, fucking and fucking and fucking until Izuku's cum-soaked cock finally slips out. His hole pulses, dripping thick spend onto the man beneath him.
“I… think that answers my question.” Izuku says in disbelief. “And you haven’t even cum yet.”
Katsuki scrambles for Izuku’s lips and kisses him harshly, loving how used he looks, more desperate than ever now that he’s full of cum but empty of cock.
“You’re insatiable,” Izuku says. “You finally ready to cum?”
“Yes,” Katsuki whispers, completely fucking wrecked. “Please.”
“Anything for Kacchan.” When Izuku’s hand finds his dick, Katsuki grabs his wrist and guides it farther downward. “You… seriously?”
“I’ll worry about my cock,” Katsuki says. “Find that goddamn spot again.”
“I don’t wanna hurt—”
“You think you’re gonna hurt me?” Katsuki asks. “Stop pretending I’m not a natural and get something back inside before I explode.”
Stunned into silence, Izuku circles Katsuki’s rim with his fingers. When Katsuki glares daggers in warning at the teasing, Izuku slips three fingers inside like it’s nothing. Katsuki breathes deeply, not for the stretch—he’s too fucked out for that—but at how right it feels to have Izuku inside him again. This time, when Izuku’s expert touch finds that new, addicting spot, Katsuki works his cock fast and hard.
His skin is on fire as he soars higher with every movement inside and out. Having teetered close to the edge for so long, Katsuki finally surrenders himself to the crash of his orgasm. A deep cry erupts from his throat as he falls back on Izuku’s chest, coating himself in thick cords of cum.
As they catch their breath, Izuku slides his fingers out of Katsuki with gentle care, and Katsuki's chest warms with appreciation now that his mind’s returning to some semblance of normalcy.
What normalcy means now, however, is a question he needs to explore.
Later, though. Not tonight.
Katsuki rolls off Izuku and onto the mattress, feeling, for the first time, the burn in his overexerted muscles and ass.
Izuku turns on his side to face Katsuki. Sweat glistens on his hairline, and his eyelids droop with fatigue. Neither speaks for a long while, opting to hold each other, exchanging shy kisses with gentle glides of tongue. They giggle without words at silly flirtations, like when Katsuki pinches Izuku’s ass, or when Izuku flicks his tongue on the tip of Katsuki’s nose.
When the mutual discomfort of bodily fluids drying on their bodies gets to be too much, they carry their spent bodies to the bathroom and take turns rinsing and washing each other. Katsuki feels no need to look away from the mirror as Izuku carefully scrubs every inch of him.
Thoroughly clean, they slip into the deep, inviting tub. Katsuki welcomes Izuku into his arms, holding him close and safe.
"We should change the sheets," Katsuki muses.
Izuku traces Katsuki’s collarbone with pruning fingers. “You’re spending the night with me?”
If he didn’t know what Izuku’d been through, Katsuki might have rolled his eyes and made some joking comment about how he’s clingy because he knows full well that Katsuki’s just as attached.
But Katsuki understands now. Understands how much more there is to uncover about his friend—his lover—as time unfolds. So he kisses the top of Izuku’s head and says, “‘Course I am. You’re not getting rid of me.”
Izuku hums sleepily as he settles into Katsuki’s chest. The steaming water ripples outward from their joined bodies. “Nobody’s ever stayed the night before.”
Much as Katsuki wishes he could take the pain of Izuku’s past away, they can only heal—together—by embracing this. By walking hand-in-hand into whatever future they choose. As Izuku’s slow breaths turn to light snores, Katsuki hugs him tight and close, vowing to never let him go again.