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It starts, as all great disasters do, with a villain whose quirk nobody understood before a fight.
Apparently Izuku had taken down a villain that was bar hopping and causing public disturbances by accident on his patrol. He was, according to him, chatting with Shoto because they ran into each other—and then ran into the villain and they took her down.
And it gets worse, because when Izuku trudges home and goes to sleep, he doesn’t tell Katsuki about the fact he got hit with her quirk before they wake up together the next morning.
Currently, Katsuki has no clue about what secret freak is about to be unleashed on him.
“You good?” Katsuki asks, eyeing Izuku from across their kitchen. The morning sun and doves chirp through the window, easing sleep from behind his eyes. Katsuki would find it peaceful, but… “You’ve been staring at that damn cup of coffee for five minutes.”
Izuku blinks slowly. “Just thinking.”
Izuku is being weird. It’s not a peaceful morning.
Katsuki raises a brow, turning back to his pan full of eggs very slowly. “... Thinking about what?”
It’s silent for a few seconds. Then, very seriously, Izuku says, “About tying you to the bed and seeing how loud I can make you scream.”
Um.
Katsuki’s hand spasms and he drops the spatula he was currently holding. “Excuse me?”
“I said, I’m fine.” Izuku smiles—grins, actually. Grins like the devil learned how to blush and decided it was hot.
Katsuki squints, opens and closes his mouth, bends down to pick up his spatula, then finally states very eloquently, “The fuck?”
That’s how Katsuki learned something was wrong with his boyfriend a full twenty-four hours after Izuku’s patrol ended.
And also learned his boyfriend was even more of a pervert than he initially thought.
Look, it’s not like Katsuki’s dumbass nerd never got a little pushy in bed—he’s competitive by nature, and they’d experimented. Katsuki learned very early on into their relationship that Izuku was a secret pervert. Even with all of that, their sex life was very predictable—Katsuki took charge because Izuku was too worried about accidentally fucking something up. Simple as that.
But that? Tying him up and making him scream? That’s not normal. That’s a slightly disturbing, strangely pants-tightening, what-the-hell-happened-to-my-boyfriend kind of not normal.
Katsuki eyes him wearily. Izuku grins wider.
“So, who’s quirk fucked you up this time?” Katsuki finally asks, turning the stove off and plating their breakfast. He keeps one eye on Izuku the entire time.
Izuku tilts his head, all faux innocence and freckles. “Huh? What makes you think I got hit by a quirk?”
Katsuki scoffs. “You just told me—with your whole chest—that you want to tie me up and make me scream while holding a coffee mug like it’s a loaded gun. That’s not your usual brand of horny, nerd.”
Izuku hums, setting the mug down with all the care of a man containing dangerous thoughts and even more dangerous intentions. “I mean, is that really that far off from normal?”
Katsuki squints at him harder. “Yes.”
Izuku shrugs, waving his hand dismissively. “Fine. Some villain chick with a quirk that affects ‘internal filtration’ tagged me during patrol. It’s just making me more, well… talkative. Confident too? I just say and do what I want and can’t stop it, basically.”
Katsuki gapes. “What the fuck.”
“She got Shoto too. He told his secretary she was the most powerful woman in Tokyo and then offered to be her house husband. He got down on his hands and knees.”
Katsuki chokes on his coffee.
“My team said it’ll wear off in a day or two,” Izuku continues casually, sipping his coffee. “In the meantime… I should be monitored. You know. Just in case.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Monitored.”
“Closely.”
“You manipulative little shit!”
Izuku pouts. “You offered!”
Katsuki throws his arms into the air. “Three months ago! I offered to monitor you when you got hit with that quirk that made you think your name was Greg and forced you to continuously reintroduce yourself as such every five minutes!”
Izuku shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “I like this one better.”
“You like the one that makes you act like a PornHub star.” Katsuki shoots back, deadpan.
Izuku laughs under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief. He leans on the counter, eyes gleaming, and says—softly, almost adoringly—
“I want to ruin you.”
Katsuki flinches and knocks his coffee off the counter by accident.
Izuku watches the mug shatter across the floor, unblinking.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“… You’re not allowed to go on patrol anymore,” Katsuki mutters, half to himself, cleaning up the coffee and mug pieces as Izuku just watches him. “You’re banned. I’m calling the Commission.”
Katsuki wipes his hands down, floor now clean, and stands up.
Izuku takes a step forward.
Katsuki takes a step back.
“Oh no,” he says. “No. no, no, no. We are not doing this right now. I haven’t even had caffeine—”
Izuku’s there in front of him a second later, one hand braced beside Katsuki’s head against the fridge, the other cupping his jaw like he’s something precious and doomed.
“I could bend you over this counter right now,” Izuku whispers, voice gone deep and full of gravel. “Pull those shorts down, spread you open, and make you scream so loud the neighbours call for a wellness check.”
Katsuki’s knees buckle embarrassingly.
“You—hold up.” Katsuki snaps, pushing his palms against Izuku’s shoulders. “You’ve never topped. Izuku, we’ve been dating for five years and you’ve never topped me. Why would you say that—"
“Because I’ve been holding back,” Izuku says simply. He smiles, slow and wicked, like he’s savoring every second of Katsuki unraveling in front of him. “Out of respect.”
“Respect?!” Katsuki repeats, borderline hysterical. His brain is not keeping up with the feral switch Izuku has apparently gone through. “What the hell kind of respect makes you wait five years to top your boyfriend?!”
“The kind where I didn’t think you’d survive it,” Izuku says, maddeningly calm.
Katsuki stares.
Izuku just lifts a brow.
“… You’re so full of shit.”
“You’re right. I’ve been too nervous.”
Katsuki snorts, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. That’s normal.
Izuku just kisses the corner of his mouth softly, grins, and continues his horny parade, “I’d edge you for hours, Kacchan. Tie you up and make you beg. You’d be dripping, shaking, desperate—”
“Okay,” Katsuki breathes, feeling like he got whiplash, voice cracking. “Okay, that’s—alarming.”
Izuku kisses down his jaw, across his throat, mumbling hotly against his skin, “You’d make the most desperate, whiny noises for my cock. I’d choke you out while using your body like my personal fuck toy. And you’d sob for more.”
Katsuki makes a noise that can only be described as undignified—half-squawk, half-moany-wheeze. His hands are still on Izuku’s shoulders, but they’re definitely not pushing anymore. They’re just… there. Useless. Trembling slightly.
Izuku notices.
Izuku grins.
“You’re freaking out,” he says, far too pleased.
“I’m not freaking out,” Katsuki hisses, visibly freaking the fuck out. “I just—this is new. This is—this is like if I suddenly started wearing a suit and called you ‘sir’—”
“I’d love that.”
“Shut up!”
“If we do fuck,” Izuku hums and leans down, their foreheads nearly touching. “You can safeword. You know you can safeword. But you won’t. You’d be too in love with my cock to want to quit.”
“I—” Katsuki’s mouth opens. Closes. His brain fully blue screens.
Because here’s the thing: Katsuki has thought about it. Not often, and not for long, because it short-circuits his entire system, but the idea of Izuku getting all confident and commanding—of seeing that look in his eyes he only gets while fighting villains directed at him—and being the reason for it—
He’s not immune.
Not even a little.
But also—
“We’re in the kitchen.”
“Is that a no?”
“I’m still holding a fork, Izuku.”
Izuku’s eyes flick down. “You’re not using it.”
Katsuki scowls, affronted. “Because you distracted me with your weird quirk boner—”
“Neither of us have boners yet, Kacchan,” Izuku says, clearly offended.
“My soul does,” Katsuki snaps.
Izuku loses it—breaks character completely and starts laughing into his shoulder, his hand falling away from the fridge as his body shakes.
“Kacchan,” he wheezes. “You’re so dramatic.”
Katsuki’s ears are red. His neck is red. He doesn’t know how this is his reality right now. He points the fork like a weapon. “Back off, Greg.”
That only makes Izuku laugh harder, and he steps away from Katsuki, leaning back against the counter and clutching his stomach.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Katsuki mutters, backing away from Izuku with his fork in the air like a caged animal. “I’m gonna kill you and tell the Commission it was self-defense.”
“Sure,” Izuku says breathlessly, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’m sure you will.”
Katsuki huffs, stares for a while longer, and eventually straightens out. He narrows his eyes at Izuku and grabs their plates of (now barely warm) food and brings them over to the table. Izuku follows him like a lost dog.
As Katsuki settles down at the table across from Izuku, he asks, because he’s very suspicious of this quirk now, “The quirk fuck your moods up? Does it make you horny?”
Izuku shoves a bite of food into his mouth and shakes his head. “No—it’s more of a hidden desires amplifier.”
Katsuki pauses mid-bite, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “Hidden what now?”
Izuku chews, swallows, and says with a shrug that should be illegal, “It doesn’t change what you want—it just makes you go for it.”
Katsuki sets his fork down very, very slowly. “So you’ve always wanted to tie me up and use me like a sex doll.”
Izuku meets his gaze without a flicker of shame. “Yes.”
Katsuki opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Then drops his head into his hands with a groan loud enough to shake the dishes.
“Holy shit,” he mutters. “I live with a freaky monster.”
“Correction,” Izuku says around another mouthful of food, “you live with a freaky monster who’s really good at holding back.”
“That’s worse,” Katsuki explodes, head snapping up. “That’s so much worse! You’ve been quietly fantasizing about all this while acting like some perfect boyfriend and meanwhile I’ve been thinking you’re too much of a nerd to—”
“To what?” Izuku interrupts, tone suddenly lower, warmer. “To wreck you?”
Katsuki makes a high-pitched, strangled noise. “I need a restraining order.”
“No, you need to bend over this table and start begging for my cock,” Izuku says under his breath, looking dead serious.
Katsuki shoves his chair back so fast it screeches against the floor. “Nope. Nope. I’m leaving.”
Izuku leans forward, grinning, and hooks his ankle around one of Katsuki’s chair legs—then yanks. Katsuki makes a small yelping noise, grabbing the table as his chair, that he’s still sitting on, is pulled back into the table.
Katsuki’s about to yell, freak out some more, but then he freezes. His face twists up in a confused grimace, and he says, “I—hold on—does this mean Icy Hot has always wanted to be a submissive house husband?”
Izuku blinks, then bursts out laughing again—an absolutely diabolical laugh, half-choke, half-cackle, like someone just handed him the juiciest piece of gossip he’s ever heard. “Oh my God,” he wheezes. “You’re right. I think I know too much about him now.”
“And now I do too because of you,” Katsuki snaps, stabbing his now-cold eggs with unnecessary violence. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“He’ll probably be embarrassed after this is over,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “He’ll look down all polite and say something like, ‘Please forget everything you’ve seen,’ and then give a three-point essay on why his trauma caused it.”
“Jesus Christ.” Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he can physically squeeze the entire morning out of his brain. “I can’t be here. I’m not strong enough for this.”
“I think you’re perfect for this,” Izuku says cheekily, reaching across the table and playing footsie like it’s goddamn game time and not Katsuki’s-downward-spiral time.
Katsuki kicks him.
Izuku yelps and clutches his shin. “Kacchan!”
“You started it!”
“You moaned when I said I’d use you!”
“I flinched, asshole! That was a fear moan!”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is when you’re actively being hunted by your boyfriend’s new demon sex-confidence!”
Izuku smiles sweetly, massaging his shin. “You’re being dramatic again.”
Katsuki mutters something under his breath about insufferable nerds and committing actual crimes, but Izuku just keeps eating, unbothered, calm, terrifyingly collected.
Eventually, after a tense silence where Katsuki tries to finish his breakfast without combusting, Izuku sets his fork down and leans back in his chair.
“You know,” he says, casual as hell, “we could just try it. Fucking when I’m like this.”
Katsuki nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”
“Just once. You safeword, we stop. Full control. Total trust.” Izuku shrugs. “You’re always yelling about how much you trust me.”
Katsuki glares. “Yeah, to not tie me up like a Christmas ham and rail me into another dimension.”
“You exaggerate.”
“I don’t. I vividly remember your exact words. ‘I’d choke you out while using your body like my personal fuck toy.’ Those were your words, Izuku.”
Izuku tilts his head. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
Katsuki throws his napkin at him.
Izuku catches it, grinning.
But the grin softens for a second, just a second, as he says, “I’d never do anything you didn’t want, you know. Even like this. I want you to feel good. To feel safe. I always do.”
And that, more than anything, makes Katsuki pause.
Because yeah, Izuku’s being a menace right now. Yeah, this version of him has no filter and way too much confidence. And yeah, Katsuki’s been on the verge of combusting since the man opened his mouth.
But at the end of the day—it’s still Izuku.
And Izuku, with or without villain quirk enhancements, has always made Katsuki feel safe. Wanted. Loved. Sappy things.
Katsuki exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“… Maybe,” he mutters. “We can. Later. Not right now. I think I’d lose it.”
Izuku’s eyes light up like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket and a life-long free gym membership. “Really?”
Katsuki scowls. “Don’t get too excited.”
“I’m already hard, Kacchan.” Izuku deadpans, sending him a flat look before he starts pushing out of his chair.
“I swear to God, Izuku—if you start undressing in the kitchen—”
“I was gonna clean the dishes first, damn,” Izuku says, hands in the air, mock-offended and grinning cheekily. “It’s only eight AM.”
Katsuki slumps forward on the table with a groan. “… I’m never gonna survive this.”
From the sink, Izuku hums. “You’ll survive,” he says, warm and amused. “You’ll just walk funny.”
Katsuki groans into his palms.
***
Katsuki walks into his living room after taking a (much needed) cold shower to Izuku sitting on the edge of the couch, legs spread and hands on his knees, eyes focused on the TV.
He’s watching videos of Katsuki’s old villain fights. A compilation video.
“Oh God,” Katsuki breathes, rubbing his hair with a towel. “What the fuck are you doing now?”
Izuku flinches a bit, like he was so engrossed into his video that he never heard Katsuki walking up, and slowly turns his head to stare at him.
Katsuki freezes.
Izuku is looking at him like he’s made of something holy and forbidden and filthy all at once.
Katsuki’s mouth goes dry.
Izuku smiles, a bit too sharply to be sweet, and says, “You look so good when you fight, Kacchan.”
Katsuki looks at the TV, then at Izuku, and scoffs. “I literally got hit by a whole-ass Honda Civic in that clip.”
Izuku doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even blink. Just shrugs a shoulder and murmurs, “Yeah. And it ripped open the entire chest part of your costume, so I’m thanking that car today.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes, towel clutched in one hand like he’s two seconds away from chucking it at Izuku’s smug face. “You’re deranged.”
“And you’re hot,” Izuku counters, completely unbothered. He leans back a little, legs spreading wider like he owns the entire room and everything in it—including Katsuki. His fingertips tap lightly against his knees, casual, easy, almost bored. “It’s really not my fault. I was bored.”
“It is your fault,” Katsuki grits out, because Izuku is giving him the same look he gives buffets before he absolutely demolishes his third plate of dessert. “You chose to put that on. You searched for that video.”
“It was in my recommended,” Izuku says casually, then pauses and smiles wider. “But I did click it. Multiple times. Might’ve even left a comment.”
Katsuki feels his soul try to leave his body. “No.”
“I said you were the best thing that ever happened to V-neck tops.”
Katsuki makes a sound that is entirely too close to a squawk for someone who blows up buildings for fun. “You are sick and twisted.”
Izuku grins, all teeth and trouble, and tips his head to the side like he’s appreciating a sculpture. A very angry, very damp sculpture in nothing but a towel and an attitude. “You know what? I’m glad I got hit by this quirk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered in my entire life.”
Katsuki scoffs, mildly affronted. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, towel tied low on his hips, the other thrown over his shoulder, and glares. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. As soon as this quirk is gone you’re going right back to your, ‘Kacchan, I can’t bite you during sex, what if you get hurt?’ attitude.”
Izuku blinks. Then laughs—deep and sudden, his head tipping back like Katsuki just handed him front-row tickets to his own personal comedy show. “Oh, Kacchan,” he says between chuckles, voice dipped in honey and sin. “You think I’m like this because of the quirk?”
Katsuki’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—yes?!”
Izuku leans forward again, elbows resting on his knees, and his voice drops just low enough to do dangerous things to Katsuki’s brain chemistry. “Babe. I’ve been deranged about you since high school. The quirk just means I finally get to be honest about it.”
Katsuki’s towel suddenly feels a lot less secure than it did three seconds ago.
“And for the record,” Izuku adds, tilting his head like he’s about to break Katsuki down molecule by molecule, “I would bite you. I just want you to ask for it.”
“I wouldn’t ask for it.”
“You would if I had you face-down and whimpering.”
Katsuki’s brain flashes a critical system error. His towel nearly commits assisted suicide.
“I—what the fuck, Izuku?!”
The TV, still forgotten, replays the moment Katsuki gets Honda-launched into a mailbox.
Izuku glances at it, then back to Katsuki with a dreamy sigh. “God, you’re such a slut for violence.”
“I hate you.”
Izuku grins, then shrugs, leaning back in the couch. “You don’t hate me.”
“I don’t like you,” Katsuki hisses, taking a half-step back as if distance will save him. “You’re a perverted freak with YouTube playlists of my explosions.”
“I also have one that’s just your walk-away shots set to Rihanna,” Izuku says proudly, a hand on his chest like he’s swearing on it. “You strut like you know what Mitsuki’s genes did to your hips and waist.”
“I walk like a person,” Katsuki yells, flinching back, instinctively taking the towel off his shoulders and chucking it in Izuku’s direction. It lands a few inches away on the floor. “I’m not strutting—”
“Strutting like you own the whole world.” Izuku says cheekily, grinning at him.
Katsuki narrows his eyes at Izuku. “… What song?”
“‘Shut Up and Drive,’” Izuku answers without hesitation.
“I’m confiscating all of your devices.”
Izuku just laughs again—fucking glowing now, full of mischief and unrepentant thirst like this is the best night of his entire life.
“You can try,” he says, all mischief. “But then I’ll just have to describe the videos to you. In detail. With hand motions.”
Katsuki goes red so fast it’s a health concern. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
“Do you remember that slow-mo one where you walked away from an explosion and flicked blood off your gauntlet?” Izuku goes on like he didn’t hear him, already moving his hands in the air like he’s drawing the scene. “You looked so hot I thought I was gonna fail calculus. I didn’t even have calculus that year. We weren’t even dating.”
“Stop talking!”
“Too late, I’m reminiscing now,” Izuku says with fake solemnity, a hand held towards Katsuki to tell him to shut up without saying it. “That outfit was barely holding itself together. Like, a single thread away from giving me a life-altering experience. I jerked off to that video every night for months.”
Katsuki growls and throws the towel around his waist at him with much more precision than the last towel.
Izuku catches it. Sniffs it.
Sniffs it.
“You’re disgusting!” Katsuki squawks, lunging forward.
Izuku just grins and tosses the towel lazily over his shoulder. “What? It smells like ambition and testosterone.”
Katsuki nearly trips over the coffee table trying to strangle him. “You are never allowed to say that sentence again!”
Izuku stands like he’s just remembered he has legs, all five-nine feet of him stretching up in the most dramatic possible way before looking Katsuki over with an expression that could make concrete wet again. “You’re really cute when you’re panicking.”
“I’m not—!” Katsuki starts, and then realizes he’s one more comment away from genuinely combusting. His hands spark a little without permission.
Izuku watches the sparks. Fucking purrs.
“Oh no,” Katsuki says flatly. “Absolutely not.”
Izuku smiles wider. “I think that was my favourite thing I’ve ever done to you.” He looks up at Katsuki, eyes sharp with heat. “Have you ever thought about using your quirk during sex?”
Katsuki’s soul leaves his body.
Not dramatically. Not with a bang. Just a soft whoosh, like a balloon deflating, as his brain slams into the nearest mental wall and collapses under the weight of Izuku’s fucking face while asking that question.
He doesn’t even know what sound he makes—it’s not human. It’s not hero-like. It’s not anything that should come out of someone who makes the top ten in Pro Hero rankings.
“I’m—what the actual fuck—Izuku?!”
Izuku, completely unbothered, just tilts his head again, looking genuinely intrigued. Like this is a casual research question. A thesis he’s submitting to ruin Katsuki’s entire life.
“I’m just saying,” he drawls, walking around the coffee table and stalking towards him in the most sexually intimidating way Katsuki has ever seen. “The precision. The heat. The hand placement. I bet you could make someone see stars without ever touching—”
Katsuki clamps both of his hands over his ears.
“I’m not listening!” He shouts. “I’m not hearing this!”
Izuku physically pries Katsuki’s hands off his ears.
Katsuki stares at him with wide eyes, pink cheeks and the composure of melted chocolate. Izuku stares back at him like he’s made it his personal mission to have Katsuki underneath him.
“You know,” he murmurs, “I was going to wait until later. Be a gentleman. Respect your personal space, or whatever the hell that means when you’re naked in front of me every other day.”
Katsuki swallows hard, heart thudding. He suddenly feels very naked without that towel around his waist. He’s never been this naked in front of Izuku, and he’s been naked a lot of times by now. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Izuku leans in, breath warm against his ear. “It means I’m having a hard time controlling myself,” he says, voice like sin wrapped in silk. “And I’m feeling a little competitive right now. Wanna see how flustered I can make you.”
Katsuki inhales sharply, eyes narrowing. “You wanna make this a competition?”
Izuku grins, full of challenge and heat. “Baby, it’s always a competition with you.”
Katsuki’s entire body goes weak.
He doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s not even like Izuku’s become a different person—it’s almost as if Katsuki is reading one of his notebooks. And that’s worse. Because it’s still just Izuku but completely unfiltered.
Eventually he says, weak and strained, “… ‘Baby’ is new.”
Izuku’s eyes gleam like he’s just discovered Katsuki’s last nerve and decided to play it like a harp. “You like it?”
Katsuki glares at him. “No.”
“Liar,” Izuku says, all confidence and criminal intent, backing Katsuki up until the backs of his knees hit the couch. “You’re all red. I called you baby and you looked like you had a mental battle with your dick.”
“I did not—you’re crazy!” Katsuki mutters.
Izuku hums. “Weren’t you the one that said ‘if you wanna get crazy then I’m right there with you’ a few years back?”
Katsuki opens his mouth.
Closes it.
His brain is buffering.
Izuku leans forward like he’s gonna press him right into the couch cushions and ruin his life with eye contact alone. “I have so many things I could call you.”
Katsuki shoves a hand between them, one finger stabbing into Izuku’s chest like he’s trying to physically push back the avalanche of filthy nicknames threatening to fall on him. “Don’t.”
Izuku raises a brow, doesn’t move. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t fucking list them.”
“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku says, all mock pity and evil affection. “You sweet, sexy, bratty man. You think that’ll stop me.”
Katsuki is suddenly aware that the only barrier between his sanity and Izuku’s Very Real Intentions is the thin thread of his own pride, and his pride is currently a ripped condom.
“You’d get all red and twitchy from the nice ones—like sweetheart,” Izuku says, voice calm and slow, eyes tracking Katsuki like he can’t look away. “Or love, maybe even honey.”
Katsuki’s face is red and his body is twitching, exactly as Izuku said. Izuku looks at him with thinly veiled amusement.
And then he keeps going, “The mean ones are fun. Like brat.” Katsuki’s entire body shudders. Izuku’s eyes widen in interest. “Oh, see? What about slut?”
Katsuki chokes audibly. He steps back, his knees hitting the couch and wobbling, until he’s falling onto the cushions, blinking up at Izuku with wide eyes.
Izuku looks down at him with a grin too feral to be legal and tilts his head. Katsuki looks up at him and swallows the lump in his throat that suspiciously feels like, ‘call me a slut again and I’ll cum right here, right now.’
Katsuki exhales shakily and blinks at him.
Once.
Twice.
Then croaks, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Izuku shrugs. “Repressed feelings. Early and unsupervised Internet access. Obsessive tendencies towards you. I could go on.”
Katsuki glares at him.
Izuku doesn’t back down.
“You’re a menace to society,” Katsuki eventually says, but his voice lacks bite. It’s breathless and shaky and fucking fond, like it’s been dragged through too many emotions to come out clean.
Izuku just smiles again, lazy and lopsided like he’s won. He dips in closer, speaking so low Katsuki feels it in his spine. “You know what the real problem is?”
“No,” Katsuki says too quickly. “And I don’t want to.”
Izuku ignores him. “The problem is—now that I’ve said this stuff out loud, now that you know I think about you like this, you’re gonna start thinking about me.”
“I already think about you—” Katsuki starts, then freezes. Visibly recoils. “Wait—”
Izuku grins like he’s just cracked open a geode and found a gem inside. “Oh?”
“I meant—” Katsuki flails, desperate to recover. “I meant like… like in a ‘what dumbass thing is Izuku gonna do today’ way!”
“Oh, sure,” Izuku purrs, crossing his arms as he looms over him now, smug as hell. “You think about my dumbass doing you, huh?”
Katsuki emits a sound no man should ever make. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“You’re gonna suffocate me with those tits, maybe,” Izuku mutters with absolutely no shame. “Honestly, what a way to go. I’d die happy.”
“Izuku—!”
Izuku just cackles like he’s planning Katsuki’s entire downfall.
***
Since Izuku decided he wasn’t even going to try and fight this quirk, and is now unleashing all of his shit on Katsuki, Katsuki has decided to take advantage of it too.
In a slightly different way than what Izuku is doing.
Later, closer to lunch, Katsuki slides down onto the couch next to Izuku and presses a cold can of Redbull to the side of his neck as he snarks, “Let’s play a game, you freak.”
Izuku hisses and jerks away from the can, but he looks up at Katsuki with wide, intrigued eyes, then rushes out, “Does it involve me putting my dick in you? Because if yes—then fuck yes.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes at him, snapping, “No, you perverted asshole.” He grins, cracking the tab of his drink. “We’re playing twenty questions.”
Izuku’s nose wrinkles like he’s just been handed homework instead of an invitation into Katsuki’s pants. “That’s not a game, that’s foreplay with extra steps.”
Katsuki takes a long sip of his Redbull just to avoid launching it at him. “Rules are simple. I ask, you answer. Then you ask, I answer. But if you skip or lie—”
Izuku perks up, pupils dilating like Katsuki just said ‘fuck me.’
“—you take a shot of hot sauce.”
The shift is instantaneous. Izuku goes from a horny menace to a man staring down his own mortality.
“You still have that bottle of Hellfire Inferno in the fridge,” Izuku says slowly, as if trying to reason with God. “The one with the warning label in six languages and a tiny cartoon of a guy dying?”
Katsuki smirks, pulls the little bottle out from behind his back and a shot glass, and wiggles them in front of Izuku’s face. “Yep. And you’re gonna be the cartoon guy.”
Izuku considers this for one whole second before sighing dramatically and leaning back like a man walking into the gallows.
“Fine. But if I go blind, I’m suing.”
“You can sue me,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. Izuku watches him set the deadly combo of hot sauce and shot glass on the coffee table with the same expression people wear when watching a horror movie protagonist walk towards the loud noise instead of running away. “I’ll go first.”
Izuku sits up straighter. “Wait, are we doing normal twenty questions or, like—'Kacchan, what color is your underwear' twenty questions?”
Katsuki gives him a look. “That’s not even a question. I swear you already know. You’ve been staring at my crotch for twenty minutes.”
Izuku beams. “They’re orange.”
“Creep,” Katsuki growls, cheeks pink, before clearing his throat. “First question: When did you start jerking it to my fight compilations?”
Izuku doesn’t hesitate. “The day that video I mentioned earlier dropped. November 3rd. 11:07 PM. It was a Wednesday. I was seventeen. I never recovered—" he gestures to Katsuki, “—obviously.”
Katsuki chokes on his Redbull.
“What the—how do you remember the time?!”
“I remember the experience,” Izuku says solemnly. “It was formative.”
Katsuki takes five seconds to recover and write ‘therapy’ on his mental to-do list. Then he gestures at Izuku lazily. “Your turn.”
Izuku taps a finger to his chin, thinking way too hard. “Okay. What's been your favourite sex session we’ve had so far?”
Katsuki stares. “What the fuck happened to ‘what’s your favorite color?’”
Izuku wiggles his brows. “This is more fun.”
Katsuki exhales like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes. “You’re fucking unhinged.”
Izuku doesn’t blink. “I could have said ‘what’s your favourite sex position’ but I’m not an animal.”
“Debatable.” Katsuki runs a hand through his hair and glares at the ceiling like he’s praying for strength. “Fine. That one time when I sucked you off outside. When we were behind Montana's. We were eating with our friends but Kaminari started talking about how his new girlfriend was a brat in bed and you got a hard on—"
“I was thinking of you, babe.”
“Yeah… and then we had to excuse ourselves so you wouldn’t cum your pants at the dinner table.” Katsuki finishes with a huff.
Izuku’s whole face lights up like Katsuki just told him he won the lottery.
“No fucking way. That was your favorite?! You were grumpy for, like, an hour after that because you had to eat a burger while your mouth tasted like dick!”
“I was grumpy because I couldn’t taste my fucking food,” Katsuki snaps, jabbing a finger at him. “You have no self-control. You didn’t even warn me before you came. I told you to warn me.”
Izuku grins, absolutely shameless. “I remember your little choke when I came down your throat. It was like magic to my ears.”
Katsuki groans and downs half of his Redbull like it’s hard liquor. “This was a fucking mistake.”
“You say that now, but I know you jerked off thinking about it later.”
“You literally jerked us off at home after, and that was the only thing you could talk about!” Katsuki grits out, ears turning red. “You were all, ‘thank you for helping me, can you do it again next week outside Wendy’s?’”
Izuku bursts out laughing, wheezing out, “I did not say that!”
Katsuki stares at him before rubbing a hand down his face.
“It’s my turn, so shut up.” Izuku covers his mouth, grinning and laughing behind his palm. Katsuki shoots him the deadliest glare he can muster and spits. “You’ve fucked other people, right? Ever think about me while you did?”
Izuku stops laughing.
Like—visibly freezes. Hand still over his mouth, eyes wide, pupils blowing out with something that sure as hell isn’t just arousal anymore. It’s guilt and heat and ‘oh no’ all rolled up into one stupidly hot, wildly incriminating expression.
Katsuki sits back, folding his arms, smug. “Didn’t think you’d flinch so hard. That a yes, or are you gonna melt your tongue with Hellfire Inferno, Izuku?”
Izuku slowly lowers his hand and breathes out like he’s about to confess to murder, “… Yes. Once. Maybe. Twice. Okay, three times, but in my defense—”
“There is no defense,” Katsuki barks, grinning wildly, but his ears are red again. “You fucked another bitch while thinking of me. That’s fucking psychotic.”
“I know!” Izuku looks distressed, but also just horny enough that Katsuki doesn’t buy the remorse. “It’s embarrassing. Like—how do you explain to someone ‘sorry I came so fast, I was picturing my childhood rival’s thighs?’ You don’t! You ghost them and cry in the shower!”
Katsuki wheezes. “You’re so fucking broken.”
“And you’re the one who made me like this!” Izuku points an accusatory finger, then narrows his eyes like he’s just remembered this is still his turn. “Alright. Fine. My question.”
Katsuki braces himself.
Izuku grins like a menace. “What’s the filthiest thought you’ve ever had about me?”
Katsuki goes still.
Izuku tilts his head, triumphant. “Yeah. That’s right. Eat your own medicine, bitch.”
There’s a long pause. A beat of silence where Katsuki could lie, or dodge, or take the fucking shot and spare both of their sanity.
He does not.
“… I had a dream once,” Katsuki mutters, voice quiet and shaky, “that—uhg, okay—that I was sitting on your face. You were tied up, and I wouldn’t let you stop until you made me cum. With your tongue. I was, like, riding your face or whatever.”
Izuku makes a sound so high-pitched he starts choking on his own spit. He drops back onto the couch like he’s just been shot, palms pressed over his eyes.
“Holy fuck, Kacchan.”
“You asked, I answered,” Katsuki grumbles, burying his face in one hand and gripping the Redbull can with the other like it’s the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence.
“I didn’t know it was gonna be that good!” Izuku practically wails, kicking his legs out like an overexcited dog. “Now I’m gonna be useless for the rest of the day. I’m just gonna sit here thinking about your ass and your dreams and your face when you said—!”
“Stop talking!”
“You’re the one who started it!”
Katsuki grinds the heel of his hand into his eye like he can scrub out the last sixty seconds of his life. “You literally asked me the filthiest thing imaginable. I gave you content. You’re welcome.”
Izuku just whines pitifully as he sits up, rubbing his red cheeks. Katsuki swallows a heavy mouthful of Redbull like that’s going to wash away the words that just came out of his mouth.
“My turn,” Katsuki hisses, and he’s starting to regret starting this. He’s regretting everything. “What exactly are your kinks? Because you’ve said a lot of freaky shit today.”
Izuku doesn’t even try to resist. He doesn’t even hesitate. He points directly at Katsuki like he’s listing items at a deli counter.
“Manhandling. Choking. Biting. Pinning. Being bossed around. Bossing you around. Slapping. Praise and degradation at the same time. Public stuff. Mirror stuff. Crying—but like, the good kind. I’ve never seen you cry during sex but I think I’d cum on the spot if you did. That voice you use when you’re angry. That voice you use when you’re pouting but refuse to admit you’re pouting. Your back. Your arms. The way you say ‘stay’ and ‘fuck.’ Hands on my thighs. Hands in my hair. Hands—in general. Your hands.”
Katsuki’s expression deteriorates in real-time.
Izuku continues like he’s reading off a grocery list.
“Overstimulation. Power play. I’ve dreamed about brat taming you, so like, bratty you. Slutty you. You. Getting shoved against walls. Getting pulled by my belt loops. Spit. Restraints. Sweat. Probably foot jobs honestly. Rough kisses. Messy sex. Lingerie. God, imagine dumbification—but like, you? Holy shit. Enthusiastic consent, as in, cock drunk. Begging. Topping you is a kink of its own at this point. You—”
“Enough!” Katsuki yells, voice breaking like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
Izuku pauses mid-rant, lips still parted, hand frozen mid-air like he was just about to say ‘knife play’ or some other unholy thing. Katsuki is fully red now—face, ears, neck, probably his goddamn spine—and he’s gripping the can so hard it might actually combust.
The silence is oppressive.
“… You okay, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, with what might be genuine concern if it wasn’t for the way he looks like he’s about to drool on himself.
“No. No, I’m not fucking okay.” Katsuki snaps, head in his hands, breathing erratically. “You’re on a list now. A government list.”
“I’m already on, like, four of those,” Izuku says brightly. “I’m banned from entering at least seven countries. Remember my depressive streak from U.A.? That did some damage to my reputation, apparently.”
“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki mutters, rubbing his eyes like he’s seen things. Which he has. The inside of Izuku Midoriya’s brain, for one. It’s just wall-to-wall smut and Katsuki’s ass, apparently.
“My turn!” Izuku says, too excited, too chipper for the fact he just listed his kinks like he was picking toppings for a burger. Katsuki groans pitifully into his palms. “Okay—what’s the one thing I could do to you in bed… that would ruin you? Like, mind-break level ruin. No recovery. Brain soup.”
Katsuki blinks at him. Katsuki thinks he must have died and ascended to Hell somewhere and not noticed until this very moment.
Izuku just looks so pleased with himself, like a horny little quiz show host waiting for the contestant to buzz in.
Katsuki doesn’t answer at first. He just sits back heavily, mouth working soundlessly for a second like he’s buffering.
Then—
Katsuki reaches for the hot sauce.
Izuku gasps—a loud, dramatic, reality-TV-show-style gasp—like Katsuki just picked the rose meant for someone else.
“No way,” he says, stunned. “No way. You’d rather drink a shot of Satan’s ass juice than tell me? I really wanted to know that one, too!”
Katsuki doesn’t even blink as he pours it.
Izuku watches, slack-jawed, as the viscous hell-liquid drips ominously into the tiny glass. It steams. It sizzles. It probably whispers dark incantations if you listen closely.
Katsuki knocks it back.
The effect is immediate. He makes a noise that is not human. Somewhere between a wheeze and a battle cry. His entire face contorts. His soul exits his body. He may or may not slap the arm of the couch just to stay grounded in this realm.
“Holy fuck—Kacchan—Kacchan—!”
Katsuki is wheezing. Tears are forming.
He flips Izuku off with trembling hands and rasps, “My turn, bastard.”
Izuku stares at him, awed. “You’re insane. I’m turned on and afraid. I don’t know what to do with this information.”
Katsuki coughs into his elbow and growls, “Shut the fuck up.” He hacks a few times, then manages to wheeze out, “This fucking quirk—how come it’s only making you horny?”
Izuku shrugs helplessly, cheeks flushed, eyes way too bright. “Kacchan, the only thing in my brain I keep under lock and key is how desperately I’ve wanted to wreck you.”
Katsuki coughs again, wheezing through the fire still crawling up his throat. “You’re a walking liability.”
“I prefer ‘emotionally generous’ and ‘physically restrained.’” Izuku grins, then pats Katsuki’s thigh like he’s comforting an old man instead of someone currently being incinerated from the inside out. “Do you need water? Milk? A priest?”
Katsuki waves him off, sucking air through his teeth. “I need you to shut the fuck up and ask your question so I can force you into spice-induced purgatory.”
Izuku beams like Christmas came early. “Alright. If you had to roleplay one fantasy with me, what would it be?”
Katsuki squints at him like he’s trying to decide between a grenade and a landmine. “Why the fuck are all your questions perverted?”
Izuku blinks innocently. “You started this.”
“I asked when you started jerking it to me, not what part of your soul I could ruin with a flogger.”
Izuku’s eyes go wide. “Wait—are you flogging or am I?”
Katsuki lobs the shot glass at his head. It misses. Barely. Izuku catches it. Annoying asshole.
Izuku cackles, wiping tears from his eyes, clearly delighted. “Fine, fine, I’ll be normal—” He leans forward, lips twitching. “But just answer the question. Just one fantasy. Doesn’t have to be weird.”
Katsuki mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘they’re all weird if it’s with you.’
Still. He thinks. Hard.
Until he eventually mutters, voice low, almost a whisper, “… Teacher.”
Izuku freezes.
Katsuki stares straight ahead like a prisoner of war.
Izuku does not move. He just slowly, slowly starts to vibrate like someone winding up a toy.
“Teacher,” he echoes in a tone that could start a wildfire. “Like, one of us is a teacher? Fucking in a classroom? Over the teacher’s desk? Teacher roleplay?”
Katsuki doesn’t meet his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Which one of us is the teacher? Do you want to give me detention after class?” Izuku asks, voice low and warm, leaning in, “Or do you want me to bend you over my desk and—"
“Shut the fuck up!”
Izuku laughs, head back and hand slapping the couch cushion below him. Katsuki fights back the urge to launch himself at the dumbass and strangle him.
Izuku wipes a tear from his eye, chuckling under his breath as he wheezes out, “Okay, okay, your turn. I’m never forgetting that though.”
Katsuki exhales heavily. His goal now is to make Izuku choke on hot sauce. That’s the only way he can recover some of his dignity.
So he says, cautiously, slowly, “… If I said I’d maybe let you fuck me right now and all you had to do was take a shot of hot—"
Katsuki doesn’t get to finish speaking. Izuku is already reaching for the hot sauce.
Katsuki stares.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He just watches Izuku pour and then down the shot like it’s water and not pure molten demon sweat. The glass hits the table with a clink. Izuku blinks once. Twice.
Then he makes a noise that could generously be described as a gargle of regret.
His face turns bright red. He clutches his throat, eyes wide and panicking, like he just realized his actions have consequences and those consequences are on fire.
Katsuki doesn’t even try to stop the evil grin that spreads across his face. “You just raw dogged the spiciest thing in the apartment for ass, Izuku. That’s not horny. That’s suicidal.”
Izuku nods frantically, eyes glassy and full of regret. “Worth it. So worth it. Give me a minute—I’m gonna shrivel up and die—but after that, we’re doing it.”
“Like hell we are, you look like you’re dying,” Katsuki snaps cheekily, even as his ears turn pink.
Izuku is crying, squinting, tongue halfway out of his mouth as he breathes through the pain. “I want you to sit on my face so bad, Kacchan—”
Katsuki grimaces and lunges for the sink. “You’re getting milk!”
“I don’t need milk, I need your thighs—ow, ow, ow! Holy shit—!”
Katsuki shoves a glass into his hands and slaps the fridge open, finding the milk and pouring it for Izuku. “You need medical help, you idiot. I said maybe, not ‘destroy your taste buds and I’ll do a downward dog onto your crotch’!”
Izuku gulps the milk like he’s been in the desert for days. His whole body shudders. His eyes roll. His legs twitch.
“Why did I drink it so fast,” he gasps. “I blacked out. You said the words and then I was in a trance. I think I’m possessed.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes and snatches the empty glass from him. “Yeah, by your dick. You gave up your sinuses for five seconds of delusional hope.”
“I regret nothing,” Izuku rasps, dazed and flushed and beaming. “You said maybe, and in my heart that means yes.”
They flop back onto the couch together, staring at the bottle of hot sauce. Katsuki’s eyes narrow. Izuku shuffles away from it.
“I’m locking that in a safe and throwing it into the ocean.” Izuku mumbles, fanning his sweaty face.
Katsuki nods, half-heartedly fanning Izuku too. “I’ll help.”
They’re silent for a few seconds before they make eye contact, and then break into grins and quiet laughs.
Izuku flops on top of Katsuki like a wet blanket and nuzzles his face into his shoulder with a grin. “Best date ever.”
Katsuki wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. “Fuckin’ twisted,” he mutters—but he’s smiling, and he doesn’t let go.
***
Katsuki has never gotten fucked before.
Even before he was dating Izuku, when he graduated high school and had that one year of one night stands and regret before finally confessing that he’s been in love with Izuku for years, he never bottomed.
It wasn’t because he was opposed to it. It wasn’t some weird masculinity thing. It was more like… every time the opportunity presented itself, he panicked.
Like, viscerally panicked.
He’s not even the kind of person that panics easily, but there’s just something downright terrifying about having someone near his ass. Inside him. Potentially rearranging his insides. And he just has to trust them not to.
The whole thing is freaky.
One guy had tried to finger him and he’d karate-chopped a lamp off the nightstand by accident. The lamp hit the guy across the head and he lost consciousness. Katsuki fled the scene immediately after that.
Another had said the word ‘prostate’ and Katsuki’s soul just left his body. He blasted the guy's window off its hinges, jumped out of his seventh floor apartment, and ran—this was before they even finished undressing. To this day, he still can’t say the cursed word out loud without needing to walk it off.
He even tried to finger himself once, managed to get a knuckle in, and cried . Not from the pain. Not from the shame. But from stress. Like his body just had a trauma response to vulnerability. Like the second he crossed the Rubicon of butthole acceptance, his brain hit the emergency brakes and said nope, we are not emotionally prepared for this journey, turn the fucking carriage around.
Izuku slapped him on the ass a total of one time in their entire relationship. It wasn’t even hard, it was basically gentle—just a tap. He did it as a joke, and Katsuki scurried away, practically up the walls like a spider with the jitters. Izuku never did that again.
So, yeah.
Katsuki has never gotten fucked before.
No one’s ever been back there. Not medically, not recreationally, not even in a ‘just the tip’ scenario.
Which is why the current situation is so dangerous.
They’re sitting across from each other, eating dinner Katsuki had just finished cooking. Izuku is humming some song over the sound of their forks scraping across their plates. Katsuki is creating a ten-step plan in his mind on how he can safely get fucked, or maybe it’s about escaping getting fucked, or maybe it’s about throwing himself off the roof of their apartment building. He doesn’t know.
Izuku glances up from his plate, totally oblivious to the internal catastrophe unraveling across the table. “This was really good,” he says, smiling like sunshine and sins. “Did you use that garlic stuff I bought?”
Katsuki blinks at him.
“Uh. Yeah.”
He used like seven cloves because he forgot how to measure while spiraling about anal logistics, but sure, let’s pretend this was all deliberate culinary prowess and not a fever dream of panic cooking.
Izuku keeps talking—something about garlic being an aphrodisiac or maybe he just says the word ‘aphrodisiac’ and Katsuki short circuits so hard his fork slips out of his hand and clatters onto the table.
Izuku blinks. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki says, voice about two octaves higher than normal.
Izuku’s brow furrows. “Are you sure? You look—uh. Flushed.”
That’s because Katsuki is thinking about positions.
Not in the sexy way, but in the ‘how do I not break my spine or break Izuku’s dick mid-thrust’ way. He doesn’t even know what his ass looks like. Has he ever taken a mirror and checked? His ass doesn’t look bad in jeans but who the fuck knows what it looks like bare. What if Izuku goes down there and laughs and then Katsuki dies and comes back as a vengeful spirit who haunts every gay bottom in existence?
“I’m great,” Katsuki lies again, aggressively stabbing a piece of broccoli like it personally wronged him.
Izuku narrows his eyes at him and leans closer across the table. “So, Kacchan,” he starts, voice calm—maybe a little firm, a little tentative. Katsuki’s too freaked out to analyze it. “You ready for later?”
“What?” Katsuki snaps, voice shaking and pitched suspiciously like Mineta’s before he hit puberty. “What? Later? Actually, I think I’m on patrol. On shift. To work.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“… Cuba.”
Izuku blinks. Tilts his head. “You’re going on patrol… in Cuba.”
Katsuki nods solemnly. “Yeah. Critical mission. Very top secret. Endeavour is involved. So is—President.”
“The Japanese president?”
“No. The Cuban one. We’re tight.”
Izuku just stares at him for a beat. “I know you’re not going to Cuba. You literally booked the next two days off with me sitting next to you.”
Katsuki splutters, opens his mouth and then closes it.
And like clockwork, Katsuki panics.
“I just think maybe we should wait a bit, alright?” He blurts. “Like. I dunno. Till Mercury’s outta retrograde or some shit.”
“Mercury’s not in retrograde.”
“Then it’s about to be, I can feel it, my ass has instincts—”
“Kacchan.” Izuku sets his fork down and reaches across the table, catching Katsuki’s fidgeting hand in his.
And now Katsuki’s freaking out more, because the hand-holding is gentle. It’s reassuring. It’s nice, and it’s reminding him that Izuku is good and safe and hot and stupidly patient and probably about to ruin his insides with an eight-pack and a smile.
How do people just get fucked? Izuku’s been doing it for five years already. Katsuki’s been with other people who just dropped their pants and bent over. Like—were they not skeptical of his ability to safely thrust and not cause an acute anal fissure? Did they not worry about not washing properly? About hemorrhoids? Incontinence? Prolapse? All of the unsexy parts of anal sex? About being rearranged like IKEA furniture but with less instruction sheets and more internal bleeding?
Izuku, who’s still holding his hand, says in that unfairly calm voice, “You’re freaking out.”
“No,” Katsuki snaps.
Izuku waits.
“… Maybe,” Katsuki mutters. “A little. Like, hypothetically.”
Izuku squeezes his hand. “You know we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, right?”
Katsuki groans and slumps forward until his forehead is mashed into the table. “I am ready. I want to. I just—I don’t know how to get fucked, Izuku! There’s no manual! There’s no exam! No pro hero training for this!”
Izuku snorts. “Okay, first of all, that’s a lie. Mineta tried to make a YouTube video on it once.”
Katsuki doesn’t look up as he grumbles, “Mineta also tried to make a grappling hook out of sex toys. He doesn’t count.”
“That’s fair. I retract my statement.”
Katsuki lifts his head, cheeks red. “What if I suck at it? What if I flinch or cry or punch you on accident and you never wanna fuck me again and you leave and I have to fake my death and move to an underground bunker where no one can find me and call me ‘Captain Coward Anus’ for the rest of my life?”
Izuku is full-on wheezing now. Like hunched-over, eyes-watering, holding-his-stomach laughing. “Oh my God.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Don’t laugh! I’m baring my soul!”
“You called yourself Captain Coward Anus, Kacchan,” Izuku wheezes. “I’m trying to be supportive, but come on.”
Katsuki throws a napkin at him, similar to this morning. Izuku catches it with a small grin.
“And for the record,” Izuku says, his voice dropping lower, prickling Katsuki’s skin. “I’d be into it if you cried. Like, really into it.”
Katsuki moves like he’s going to yell, but he makes a small, dying, wheezing noise and slumps into his chair. He eyes Izuku up and down, then says, “… And you’re sure you wanna top? Seriously?”
Izuku blinks at him like Katsuki just asked if the sky was blue.
“Are you kidding?” He says, very seriously, and Katsuki’s already regretting asking. “It’s all I’ve been talking about all day. I’ve dreamed about it. Fantasized about it. Had a whole internal monologue about it while fighting a villain, on multiple different occasions, and all of them were very inconvenient times to pop boners, by the way.”
Katsuki chokes.
“Like, full PowerPoint in my brain,” Izuku continues, unrelenting. “Slide one: why I should get to rearrange my incredibly hot, emotionally constipated boyfriend. Slide two: the benefits of giving Katsuki Bakugou the best dick of his life. Slide three: me crying tears of joy when he finally lets me in, emotionally and physically—”
Katsuki launches a spoon at him.
Izuku dodges it effortlessly and grins. “Slide four was just a picture of your ass zoomed in at 400%.”
“Izuku,” Katsuki growls, “I swear to God, I will murder you.”
Izuku leans in, elbows on the table, that annoyingly confident smile on his face, green eyes glinting like he’s having the time of his life. “You’re not the big, scary top that you think you are.”
Katsuki looks personally attacked. “I—what the fuck, Izuku?!”
Izuku tilts his head, grinning like a little shit. “Yes. You whimper, Kacchan. You whine. I can hear it when we kiss and you get too into it and you start rocking your hips and making those soft little sounds.”
“I do not whimper!”
“Mhm,” Izuku drawls, smiling wider, “and you shiver when I bite your neck. Your ears go red, your knees shake. It’s honestly adorable. And hot. Really hot.”
Katsuki looks like he might spontaneously combust. His cheeks are redder than a villain’s bloody intent, his jaw tight enough to crack a molar. “I do not shake.”
“You do,” Izuku says, unbothered. “Like this one time last week, you were on top of me, grinding—real hot, by the way—but then I said something filthy in your ear and your whole body just—” he mimes a shudder, dramatically clutching his chest. “Like I hit a cheat code. I almost cried, it was so beautiful.”
Katsuki’s brain is working on high alert. His eyes flick every which way—left, right, down, up—until he pushes away from the table, then mumbles, “I’m going to Cuba.”
Izuku watches, deeply amused, a little too smug for Katsuki’s comfort. But also—God, okay, maybe this is why he did fall in love with the bastard. He’s infuriating, sure, but also weirdly tender. Somehow a nuisance and a nurturer. And terrifyingly perceptive, because—
“I know why you’re scared,” Izuku says suddenly, softer now, fingers brushing the edge of Katsuki’s. “It’s not just about getting fucked. It’s about letting someone take care of you. Trusting someone else to not mess you up.”
Katsuki lifts his head slowly. His expression’s still vaguely that of a man dying inside, but his eyes flicker with something quieter, something closer to being seen. And maybe that’s worse than all the sex jokes.
“I can take care of you,” Izuku says firmly, using that terrifying confidence for something good for the first time all day. “And I will. Not just because I want to fuck you—which, let me be clear, I desperately do—but because I love you. And because you’ve trusted me with every part of you except this one, and I get that. But I’m not going anywhere, Kacchan. Even if you never let me in. Emotionally or otherwise.”
Katsuki looks like he’s gonna cry, throw a punch, or possibly ascend to the astral plane. “That was the gayest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Thank you,” Izuku says proudly. “I practice.”
There’s a long, awkward pause. Katsuki stares down at his empty plate like it’s got the answers to the universe, cheeks pink, mouth twitching with the effort not to smile.
“Okay,” he says, mainly to himself, almost like a prayer. “I might punch you.”
“If it makes you feel better? Go for it, babe.”
“Or scream.”
“You’re always screaming.”
“… Or jump out the window.”
Izuku snorts, eyes crinkling with fondness. “I’ll jump out with you. We’re in this together. Ride or die.”
Katsuki leans back in his chair, face red and mouth set in a scowl—maybe it’s a pout. He says it’s a scowl. “Okay.”
Izuku perks up, tilting his head. “Okay?”
Katsuki nods stiffly. “Okay.”
Izuku goes still. Like still-still. Like cat-watching-a-laser-pointer still. His face is carefully blank, except for the slow lift of his brows.
“Okay, okay?”
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You just gave me a green light to ravish you tenderly and respectfully, and then maybe a bit ferally, and you want me to not make it weird?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“That’s basically what you said, Kacchan.”
“I didn’t say ravish. Who the fuck even says ravish—”
Izuku gasps. “You do want to be ravished!”
“I will literally flip this table.”
Izuku reaches across the table again, wraps his fingers around Katsuki’s wrist—warm and grounding—and his smile softens into something dangerous. Not in a ‘I’m going to fuck your life up’ kind of way. No. It’s worse. It’s a ‘we’re in love and I know all your secrets and I’m going to kiss you until you forget why you were scared’ kind of dangerous.
Katsuki swallows.
“Okay,” Izuku murmurs again, like a promise this time.
And that’s the thing that makes Katsuki’s stomach flip. Not the teasing. Not the idea of being taken apart or made to cry or whatever other unholy fantasies Izuku probably has stashed behind those freckled cheeks. No. It’s the way he says it. Like Katsuki just handed him the most sacred thing he owns and he intends to protect it.
Katsuki mutters, “You better lube me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Izuku’s eyes go wide. His jaw drops. “Kacchan—”
“I’m serious. I want to hear it squelch.”
“Kacchan—”
“You think I’m gonna do all this internal monologue bullshit and not get five-star treatment?! I want a hot towel. A back massage. Snacks between rounds. I want the royal fucking treatment, Izuku.”
Izuku is wheezing again, tears in his eyes. “I can’t—”
“I want fruit snacks,” Katsuki demands. “I want to cum first and last. I want you to fuck me and not act like a tingly pervert. And if you so much as joke about my prostate, I’m lighting the mattress on fire with you on it.”
Izuku leans back in his chair, hands over his face as he laughs into them. “You’ll get everything,” he says, practically vibrating with glee and giggles. “Candles. Music. A goddamn choreographed entrance if you want. But holy shit, Kacchan, you’re finally letting me—”
“Just shut up and get ready, nerd.” Katsuki snaps, grinning a bit wobbly as he points his fork at Izuku.
Izuku swallows. His pupils dilate. Then he’s up in a split-second, rushing off towards the bedroom, before he’s stumbling and backtracking, rushing over to Katsuki.
He pushes Katsuki’s forehead into his lips, kissing him as he says, “You’re gonna be so good at bottoming.”
Katsuki vibrates with embarrassment, neck tingling with heat. “I swear to God—”
“Captain Coward Anus is gonna be Captain Best Bottom by sunrise.”
Katsuki tries to tackle him. Izuku sprints into the bedroom, cackling the whole way.
***
Katsuki is lying against the headboard of his and Izuku’s shared bed, hair still damp from his very thorough, honestly embarrassingly thorough shower, scrolling on his phone with an open pack of fruit snacks on his lap.
Izuku is lying next to him, his head on his shoulder, practically vibrating. Like a sex-crazed earthquake.
“Stop it,” Katsuki mutters, not even looking up from his phone.
“I’m not doing anything,” Izuku replies, with the deeply unconvincing innocence of a man who is definitely doing something. “I’m just… existing. Peacefully. On my boyfriend. Waiting for him to stop scrolling through Twitter and to finish his snack so I can fuck him senseless.”
“… You’re twitching,” Katsuki accuses, popping a fruit snack in his mouth and pointedly ignoring the last part of Izuku’s sentence. “Your thigh is bouncing.”
“It’s called anticipation,” Izuku says, trying to sound intellectual while also curling his fingers into the hem of Katsuki’s shorts. “You agreed. You said okay. I’m trying to remain calm but you’re over there eating Scooby-Doo gummies like we’re not about to enter a new chapter of my dick’s relationship with your ass.”
Katsuki snorts, finally dragging his gaze from his phone to shoot Izuku a flat look. “First of all, they’re not Scooby-Doo gummies. They’re the pro hero themed ones. I’m eating myself, actually.”
Izuku blinks, then breaks into a wide, delighted grin. “You would eat your own face if they made it in cherry flavour.”
Katsuki shrugs, chewing. “Tastes like victory.”
Izuku leans in, nosing at his jaw. “You taste like stubbornness and fear of intimacy.”
“Bitch, you’re the one trying to talk dirty using Twitter and fruit snacks as your warm-up act.”
Izuku laughs, low and warm. He lets go of Katsuki’s shorts—mercifully—but only to drape an arm across his waist and cuddle in closer, forehead pressed to his neck. “You’re stalling.”
“Yup.”
“You nervous?”
“… No.”
Izuku pulls back enough to look at him. He raises a brow. “Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t meet his eyes, but his ears are turning red.
“Babe,” Izuku says gently, reaching up to move a few strands of hair out of Katsuki’s eyes, “we don’t have to do this tonight. Seriously. You can say no.”
“I want to do it,” Katsuki mutters, and now he’s looking at Izuku—defensive, frustrated, his jaw tight. “I just—fuck, shut up, okay? Let me get there.”
Izuku softens immediately. “Okay. Yeah. Of course.”
They sit in silence for a second, Izuku just tracing lazy patterns on Katsuki’s stomach with his fingers, hand under his shirt, letting him breathe.
Then Katsuki exhales like it’s being ripped out of him and grumbles, “Also, you said ‘my dick’s relationship with your ass’ like they’re married or something and I’m still recovering.”
Izuku bursts out laughing. “They are married. Emotionally. Spiritually. Legally in several countries.”
Katsuki glares. “I want a divorce.”
“Nope. Too late. You’re already hyphenating your last name.”
Katsuki throws a fruit snack at his face.
Izuku catches it in his mouth and grins. “I knew you loved me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Kiss me before I change my mind.”
Izuku doesn’t need to be told twice.
He lunges for it.
Izuku’s lips crash against Katsuki all too suddenly, and Katsuki makes a surprised little noise before he’s kissing back just as hard. Their lips move lightly, then hard, pressing closer together and moving wetly. Izuku groans like he’s been starving and Katsuki is a full-course meal, grabbing his jaw and deepening the kiss like he’s trying to win gold in mouth-to-mouth combat.
Izuku’s tongue licks into Katsuki’s mouth, his teeth biting at his bottom lip. Katsuki grabs the back of Izuku’s head by his hair, sits up a bit just to shove his tongue deeper, then yanks Izuku’s head away right as he’s letting out a small, whiny moan.
Izuku blinks at him, dazed and flushed, lips swollen, panting a little like Katsuki just short-circuited his brain.
“You tease,” he breathes, voice gone low and wrecked in a way that shoots straight through Katsuki’s spine.
Katsuki smirks, all smug and cocky and in-control despite the fact that his heart’s hammering like a damn jackhammer in his chest. “Damn right. You think you get to act like a horny freak all night and just have me? Nah. Work for it.”
Izuku stares, pupils blown wide, and then grins like he’s just been issued the world’s most exciting challenge. “Kacchan, baby. I love working hard.”
He doesn’t even wait for a reply—just grabs Katsuki’s hips and pulls him into his lap like he owns him, like he’s done it a hundred times and will do it a hundred more. Katsuki makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a gasp as Izuku kisses down his throat, dragging teeth along sensitive skin, murmuring things like ‘so fucking pretty’ and ‘mine’ between kisses that make Katsuki’s toes curl.
Katsuki’s hands find Izuku’s shoulders, fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself. He hates how easy it is to melt under the weight of Izuku’s voice when it goes all gravel and growl, how it makes his stomach flip and his skin feel too tight. He wants to shove him off and pull him closer all at once.
“You’re such a fuckin’ perv,” he mutters, tilting his head just enough to give Izuku more access to his neck, because apparently Katsuki’s free will is made of whipped cream now.
Izuku hums against his skin, smug and hot. “And you like it.”
“I do not.”
Izuku doesn’t say more about that—he just moans quietly against his neck, sucking a mark lightly before pulling off and whispering like a prayer, “You taste like sugar. I’m gonna get a cavity.”
Katsuki opens his mouth to snap at him—but it’s hard to form a coherent sentence when Izuku’s tongue is currently tracing the line of his collarbone like it’s melting ice cream dripping down the cone. “Fuckin’—if you don’t stop talking—”
“Make me,” Izuku says, smiling like a brand on his neck, and that’s it. Katsuki’s done.
He grabs the front of Izuku’s shirt and yanks him up into another kiss, messier this time—less coordinated, more teeth and need. Izuku makes a sound, something helpless and wanting, and Katsuki feels it echo in his own chest like someone lit a match and dropped it straight into his ribcage.
Izuku shifts, trying to get Katsuki under him, but Katsuki hooks his leg around Izuku’s and rolls them both over, pinning him to the mattress with a knee between his thighs.
Izuku looks up at him, flushed and panting, hair sticking to his forehead. He’s glowing like Katsuki personally invented a new way to breathe.
“Jesus,” Izuku whispers, stunned. “Hi.”
Katsuki grins, a little breathless. “Hey,” he ducks down, nipping across his neck, then to his ear, presses against the boner in Izuku’s pants with his thigh and whispers, “You still think you’re gonna be the one to fuck me?”
Izuku groans, his hands flying up to hold Katsuki’s waist with bruising fingers. “Yeah,” he breathes, voice low, tongue heavy, “I’m going to ruin you. You won’t want to use your dick ever again.”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki spits—but he can’t stop the shiver that rips through his body. Izuku feels it, and his fingers loosen, tracing up and down lightly as he huffs a small, smug laugh next to Katsuki’s ear.
“You like that?” Izuku whispers, all heat and honey. “You wanna be my cockslut? Just get fucked and ignore your big, useless dick?”
“Jesus Christ—" Katsuki hisses, jerking back as his body shudders unhelpfully. “Shut the fuck up—"
“No,” Izuku says, sharp and teasing. One of his hands snake around Katsuki’s waist, press low against his stomach, and he mumbles, “Wonder if I could see my dick in your stomach when I fuck you.”
Katsuki slaps a hand over Izuku’s mouth, spitting shakily, “That is physically impossible, holy shit. You’d kill me.”
Katsuki can’t see it, but by the way Izuku’s eyes crinkle with mischief and heat he knows he’s grinning under his palm. Izuku’s hand moves lower, pressing hard against Katsuki’s crotch, against his boner—
The moan Katsuki lets out is low and unguarded, like it slips free before he can stop it. Izuku freezes, before he presses his palm harder, and Katsuki gasps, choked and sharp. His fingers twitch against Izuku’s face, before he’s ripping his hand away and diving for Izuku’s mouth.
“Kacchan—“ Izuku tries, voice slipping out between kisses, but he grinds his palm against Katsuki’s dick again and Katsuki slots his lips against Izuku’s all over, cutting off any noises threatening to spill out.
Izuku huffs against his mouth, and then his hand is in Katsuki’s hair and he yanks him back, just like how Katsuki did earlier. “You’re keeping your noises from me.”
“I’m not making noises,” Katsuki huffs, neck and ears tingling with warmth. “Just shut up—ah!”
Katsuki slams his mouth shut so fast he might’ve bit his cheek. Izuku blinks up at him, before he’s shivering and whispering, “God, you sound so good.”
And then Izuku is moving, pushing them back and grabbing the hem of Katsuki’s shirt and forcing it up over his head. Katsuki grumbles, losing balance where he’s straddling Izuku’s lap, and grabs Izuku’s knees behind his body to hold himself upright.
Izuku’s pupils dilate. He looks Katsuki up and down, then says, low and gravelly, “You’re pushing your tits out.”
“I don’t have tits—" Katsuki grumbles as his eyes flick down to his body, to where yes, his chest is pushed out, and scrambles to sit straighter. His words die in his throat.
Izuku whines, pressing his arms back behind his back, making Katsuki keep his hands on Izuku’s knees as he says, “Stay like that—fuck, you’re so hot. Can’t believe this is mine.”
Katsuki shudders, his fingers digging into the skin of Izuku’s knees, and he stays there. “Possessive nerd,” he mutters, voice airy.
“Want to suck on your tits while you jerk me off,” Izuku whispers, body shaking like the thought is enough to set him off. He spreads his palms against Katsuki’s bare chest, squeezing lightly. “Your chest should be covered in cum twenty-four-seven. It’s what it deserves.”
Katsuki can't help it—he laughs quietly, grinning as he says, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck yeah, cum on your tits under your hero costume, at home, while you sleep—” Izuku breathes, groaning. He rubs his fingers over Katsuki’s nipples, hard red buds, and groans again. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
Katsuki shivers, biting his lip as Izuku leans down and licks across his nipple, tongue flat. Izuku’s hand slips down to his waist while his other lightly pinches his one, breathing hot against the other.
“You’re such a pervert,” Katsuki hisses, voice shaking and high. Izuku moans against his chest, then sucks, pulling a nipple into his mouth. Katsuki shudders, mouth falling open. “Fuck—fuckin’ freak—“
Izuku pulls his nipple between his teeth lightly, pinching the other, and Katsuki gasps, sparks and tingles shooting from his chest down his body, his hips jerking unconsciously.
“Kacchan is so sensitive here,” Izuku murmurs, whiny yet somehow smug at the same time. Katsuki looks down at him, breathing heavily, then moans as Izuku sucks and twists each nipple harshly.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Katsuki pants, fingers scraping at Izuku’s knees, arms and shoulders shaking. Izuku moves his mouth to the other nipple, switching his hand and pinching Katsuki’s wet skin with a sharp twist. Katsuki’s back arches, his mouth dropping open in a shaky moan.
Izuku whines, honestly a little pathetically, against Katsuki’s nipple before pulling away, immediately giving the nipple his hand instead of his mouth. “I swear I’ve been going through withdrawals,” Izuku murmurs, watching his fingers tweak each bud with the eyes of a hawk. “You never let me play with your tits.”
Katsuki growls low in his throat, but the scary-intimidating effect is lost by how shaky he is, and by his red and puffy nipples. “You have the most disgusting way with words.”
Izuku laughs quietly under his breath, all tense and low, and it shoots straight through Katsuki’s dick, his hips moving instinctively. Izuku eyes him up and down, then says, “You like it when I talk filthy. Too bad my mouth is gonna be pretty busy for a while.”
Katsuki doesn’t get to question that, because suddenly Izuku’s hands are under his thighs and ass, and he’s being lifted and flipped around, roughly—the back of Katsuki’s head hits a pillow, and he wheezes, both surprised and horny to hell and back. Izuku crawls overtop of him, eye-to-eye.
Katsuki blinks up at him, shoulders tense, and Izuku just flashes him a beaming smile before his fingers hook into the waistband of his shorts and boxers, and yanks them down his legs. Katsuki’s dick, embarrassingly, smacks against his stomach, hard and absolutely ready.
“… You fucker. Don’t manhandle me.” Katsuki snaps weakly, arms at his sides and fingers tangling into the sheet below him.
One of Izuku’s hands finds his nipple again, lightly rubbing the pad of his fingertips into it. Katsuki huffs a small gasp as Izuku reaches down and tugs his clothes off of his legs the rest of the way, effectively making him fully naked, then tosses them aside.
And then he’s back, right up in Katsuki’s face, one thigh between his legs and one hand twisting a nipple. He grins, then says, “I know you like manhandling. If you keep lying in bed I’ll have to gag you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki freezes, opens and closes his mouth, then yells, “You—we don’t even own a gag!”
“I can improvise,” Izuku purrs, one of his hands slipping lower, tickling the inside of Katsuki’s thigh. “I could stuff your mouth with something, like a tie. A shirt.” His fingers dig into Katsuki’s skin, and he suddenly shudders and whines, saying quickly, “God, one of these days when you start mouthing off—I’m gonna get you on your knees and shut you up with my cock down your throat.”
Katsuki chokes, his dick twitches traitorously, and he spits out, “You’re fucking sick.”
Izuku just laughs, then pushes Katsuki’s legs open as he yanks on his nipple, forcing Katsuki to jerk and moan. “Every time you call me a mean name I get more turned on, Kacchan. You aren’t winning like that.”
“Sick,” Katsuki gasps out, trying to wiggle away from Izuku’s hand bruising his nipple, twisting and pulling. “You are fucked up.”
Izuku chuckles, all light and airy, then shuffles down. He presses his hand flat against Katsuki’s chest, and Katsuki watches him closely, then swallows heavily when Izuku is eye level with his dick.
The hand not holding one of Katsuki’s tits slowly circles around the base of Katsuki’s dick, holding it straight. Katsuki bites off a groan, then rushes out, “You trying to make me cum before the main course, you bastard?”
Izuku flicks his eyes up to him—all dark green and dilated pupils, heavy and desperate—then he grins. “I’m trying to make you cum enough times that you lose count.”
Katsuki doesn’t react. His dick twitches. Izuku grins wider.
“You—oh, fuck!” Katsuki gasps, body jerking as Izuku licks across the head of his dick. Izuku groans, then like a man starving, sucks the tip into his mouth, tongue flattened against the bottom of his cock.
Izuku sinks down more, taking more of him into his mouth. Then he sucks up, and down, and sinks down further. Katsuki is trying not to cum like a virgin getting his first blowjob, because this is more like his thousandth blowjob, but something about tonight is making it incredibly difficult.
Then the hand on his chest twitches like Izuku just remembered where it was, and moves. Izuku’s fingers fumble a bit, then roll across his nipple, and Katsuki jerks so violently that his dick is pushed farther into Izuku’s mouth.
Izuku moans around him, then pinches and twists his nipple, and Katsuki moans loudly. Louder than he usually does, breathier than he usually does, stumbling out words, “Fuck, fuck—Izuku, you can’t—" Katsuki’s hand stumbles up to his chest, nails digging into Izuku’s wrist. “You can’t do both.”
Izuku just hums, breathing out through his nose as he bobs halfway down Katsuki’s dick. Katsuki shudders and shakes, and then Izuku’s other hand is slapping down onto his chest, both of his hands over Katsuki’s tits.
Izuku, the apparently suddenly hard-of-hearing asshole, pinches both of Katsuki’s nipples and swallows down his dick at the same time.
Katsuki chokes, face twisting up in pleasure, then gasps and moans—and he’s never really heard himself moan like that before, high and sharp, as he fumbles to shout, “Holy shit—fuck! Fuck, don’t—fuck!”
All of that shocks him almost enough to throw off his orgasm.
Almost.
Because Izuku doesn’t stop—he just moans, sucks up and then back down, and twists Katsuki’s nipples again, harder, wetter, better this time.
Katsuki snaps so quickly he doesn’t even see it coming.
His abs tense, and then he’s cumming down Izuku’s throat, body trying to curl into the pleasure or away, a long and airy whine leaving his lips.
Izuku swallows around him once, and that almost feels as good as cumming itself, so Katsuki groans, sharp and brokenly. Izuku pulls off while Katsuki is still cumming, watching his dick weakly dribble cum with wide eyes, lightly rubbing his fingers against Katsuki’s nipples to keep the sensation going.
Katsuki slowly slumps against the bed, blinking and breathing heavily. He lightly swats Izuku’s hand on his chest, mumbling, “Don’t touch.”
Izuku whines, but he moves his hands, and entire body, climbing up Katsuki to lay on top of him. He rests his head in the crook of his neck and threads his hands in his hair soothingly.
“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes, voice hoarse, “that was so hot. I wish I took a video of you cumming like a goddamn pornstar.”
Katsuki doesn’t even have it in him to react exasperatedly to Izuku’s insane inner monologue escaping his lips, so he just grumbles, “I’d make millions.”
“Billions,” Izuku corrects with a soft snort, kissing Katsuki’s neck lightly. “But a video like that would be for my viewing pleasure only. And I would get a lot of pleasure from it.”
Katsuki just rolls his eyes. “Too much information, nerd.”
Izuku laughs, listening to Katsuki breath.
Then he shivers and says, “… Your nipples are all red and puffy.”
Katsuki punches him lightly, hissing, “I swear to God, if I have to ice them or some ridiculous shit you are never getting another opportunity like that again.”
Izuku whines, sitting up to kiss the corners of Katsuki’s lips as he mumbles, “Don’t say that. That's devastating to hear.”
Katsuki threads his fingers into Izuku’s hair, grinning slightly as he guides him to kiss his lips properly. They’re lazy, slow, until Izuku licks across Katsuki bottom lip and they’re opening their mouths wider. Katsuki makes a small noise when Izuku’s tongue meets with his, the taste of his dick heavy on his mouth.
Izuku pulls away, voice low and desperate, shifting slightly as he murmurs, “You still good for more?”
Katsuki pauses, that weird nervousness surrounding getting dicked down creeping in. But he just tilts his chin up and spits, “Yeah.”
Izuku beams, moving away, running his hands up and down Katsuki’s arms. Then he says, “It’s easier to prep from behind.”
Katsuki blinks at him as he sits up, closing their distance, pressing as close to Izuku as he reasonably can. “… I know that.”
Izuku grins, tilting his head, then says sweetly, “So get on your hands and knees.”
And, like usual, Katsuki panics.
“Why don’t you get on your hands and knees?” Katsuki grumbles, voice tight as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans away from Izuku.
Izuku just follows him—strokes his sides lightly, kissing along his cheek, whispering, “Come on, Kacchan. It’ll make me so happy.” He bites his earlobe, and Katsuki shivers, tension melting from his shoulders. “I want to worship and wreck you. Please? I promise I’ll treat you right. We can stop anytime.”
Katsuki swallows heavily, his fingers twitching against his skin. He pulls away, jerkily, uncoordinated, and eyes the bed. He exhales, and feels Izuku watching him, feels him touching him, soft and hot all at the same time.
And he moves.
He plants his hands flat onto the mattress, knees too, his dick hanging uselessly between his legs, and despite everything, rapidly hardening all over again. Katsuki stares over his shoulder, eyes sharp with tension and embarrassment all wrapped up in one. “… You happy now?”
Izuku lets out a strangled, half-dying moan and rushes behind him, nails scratching up and down his sides and back like he can’t do anything else to keep his excitement in check.
“Kacchan, I almost came.” Izuku whispers, voice tight and heavy, shooting through Katsuki’s insides and making his dick twitch. “Seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life.”
Katsuki looks away, his face flaming red, and weakly mutters, “You’re unbelievable.”
Izuku hums, all shaky and low, and his hand presses flat against the middle of Katsuki’s shoulder blades. “You know,” he starts, pressing harder, “you might hurt your wrists like that. You should press your chest into the mattress. It’s more comfortable, tested and tried by yours truly.”
Katsuki’s fingers flex into the sheets below him, and the stupid, analytical part of his brain agrees with that statement. So he nods silently, moves his arms so they’re folded in front of him stiffly, fingers gripping the edge of the pillow as his cheek rests against the sheets.
Izuku moans. Full on, loud and unashamed. His nails dig into Katsuki’s skin hard enough to prick, his forehead dropping to rest against the small of Katsuki’s back, his body shaking.
Katsuki blinks. Then tries to kick out at Izuku.
“You asshole,” Katsuki snaps, voice strained, dripping with arousal and embarrassment. “You just wanted to see my goddamn back arched.”
Izuku giggles, warm breath hitting Katsuki’s back, all sweet and completely shameless. “Guilty as charged.” He kisses Katsuki’s back lightly, adding, “You’re never fucking me again. This is where I wanna be for the rest of my life. Behind your ass with your face shoved into the sheets.”
Katsuki lets out a strangled noise, pulling on the pillow in front of him. “Your dick isn’t even in me yet.”
Izuku moans again, nipping Katsuki’s skin, making him jerk and shiver. “God, I know.” He sits up straighter, pulling his face away from Katsuki’s back as his hands move lower, holding Katsuki’s hips. “I’m gonna eat you out.”
Katsuki’s brain takes a good five seconds to compute that. Then, he’s jerking forward a bit, spluttering, “You—you’re taking foreplay too far!”
“No I'm not,” Izuku murmurs, chucking under his breath, and that noise vibrates through Katsuki’s entire spine. “I’m just showing you how good it is to get treated like a princess.”
Katsuki opens and closes his mouth, feeling heat spread from his cheeks down his neck. Izuku notices, because he laughs and squeezes Katsuki’s hips harder as Katsuki weakly protests, “I’m not a princess, you fucker.”
Izuku’s hands trail lower, skipping over touching his ass to touch across the insides of his thighs. He pushes, spreading Katsuki’s legs open wider, and cuts off a groan. “With me you are.”
Katsuki's shoulders are tense, his whole body is tense, and he wants to jump up and get away instinctively—but he trusts Izuku, as sappy as that is. So he stays, and murmurs, voice tense and hoarse, “Do what you want.”
Izuku hums at that, whispering, “You’re gonna regret that,” as his hands carefully move up, grabbing the globes of Katsuki’s ass.
Katsuki tenses further and shivers at the same time, if it’s even possible. Izuku whines softly, squeezing. Then he says, in the most ridiculously serious yet deadpan voice he can muster, “My hands and your ass? Married In every country.”
Katsuki blinks, then snorts, a laugh escaping his lips as he looks over at Izuku over his shoulder. “What the fuck? You’re ridiculous.”
“No, I’m serious.” Izuku says, quirking a smile and squeezing harder. “You wouldn’t want to widow my poor hands, would you? It would be devastating. I don’t think they’d ever recover.”
Katsuki’s shoulders drop, shaking with laughter he’s trying to keep in. Tension leaves his body, and he bites his lip before he breathes out, “Your brain is a work of art, you dumbass.”
Izuku winks at him, all goofy confidence, and squeezes one more time as he says, “I’m honoured you think so.”
Katsuki laughs into the crook of his arm, sighing quietly. Izuku kisses from the small of his back, down, then down further, moving his lips against a cheek.
Katsuki can’t even tense or freak out because Izuku murmurs, completely seriously, “Looks like my hands, your ass, and my lips just got into a poly relationship.”
“What the fuck?!” Katsuki splutters, cackling into his arm and the sheets below him, trying to suck it all down but it’s impossible when Izuku is acting like that in a situation like this.
Izuku laughs quietly, his fingers grabbing Katsuki’s ass firmer. Katsuki feels him spread him open, but he’s still trying not to laugh, his body is still light, and Izuku is still kissing him like his lips really are married to his ass.
“I’m gonna murder whoever you tried to bottom with before me. Respectfully.” Izuku murmurs, smiling against his skin. “All you needed was someone with no brain-to-mouth filter. Giggles save the day once again.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, grinning and snickering. He shakes his head, heart full of fondness and heat and laughter, and says, “You say that as if you aren't tweaking out over the idea of getting to pop my ass cherry.”
Izuku groans loudly, sitting back and saying, almost slurring, “Oh my God, literally shut up. I will cum. That’s a threat.”
Katsuki laughs, and in the boldest move he’s done all night, wiggles his ass a little as he says, “Get on with it, cherry-popper.”
“Um—fuck,” Izuku murmurs, entirely awed, which is utterly ridiculous. He bites off a small whine, then asks, voice shaky, “… On that note, I think I know… but, have you ever—like, fingered yourself? Anything?”
Katsuki huffs, and he feels both a little powerful and extremely turned on when he says, “Nope. You’re gonna be the first, ever.”
Izuku slurs a sound that might have been ‘Kacchan’ or might have been ‘I just ascended to heaven.’ Katsuki doesn’t know. Katsuki doesn’t care to know, because Izuku is pulling his ass apart further and licking from his perineum up to the top of his ass, tongue hot and wet and it’s the worst and best feeling Katsuki’s ever felt.
Katsuki gasps, shaking, fingers clawing at the sheets around him. Izuku’s hands are holding him so sharply he might bruise as he licks up and down again, then again, groaning into his skin.
Katsuki cuts off a moan when Izuku’s tongue presses against his rim, firm and hot, before he flicks it up and down. “Fuck, Izuku—Jesus—"
Izuku moans a whine, his breath hot and perfect against the wet skin of his ass, making Katsuki shudder. He flicks his tongue over and over again, all spit and messy noises, and Katsuki melts into the sheets as his dick twitches between his legs.
One of Izuku’s hands slide down from his ass to the front of his body, lightly dragging his fingers up the shaft of his cock. Katsuki jerks back, pressing harder into Izuku’s tongue on accident as a choked moan leaves his lips.
“What are—are you trying to get me off again?” Katsuki hisses out, trying to peer over at Izuku. Izuku’s fingers tighten around his dick and he laughs against his skin, sending shivers down Katsuki’s body.
Izuku pulls away just an inch, murmuring lowly, “Can’t do it?” He jerks Katsuki up and down slowly, his other hand massaging into his ass. “Usually you have good stamina, Kacchan.”
Katsuki groans into the sheets, gritting out, “Hard to keep stamina when I’m seven minutes post-orgasm, nerd.”
Izuku snickers, tightening his hold on Katsuki’s dick and mouthing sloppily with his tongue again just to be a bastard. “I’ve seen you cum twice in under three minutes. You’ll be fine.”
Katsuki tries to lift his head to glare at him, but he just ends up half-melting again because Izuku chooses that moment to jerk him off sharply, twisting his hand on the tip of his dick while pressing his tongue against his hole. A jolt shoots through Katsuki’s spine, sharp and hot, and he groans lowly.
Katsuki’s arms tremble, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets like he could somehow ground himself, like he could stop the way his whole body is flushing under Izuku’s filthy mouth and warm hands.
His mind is loose, and he distantly remembers this is something he’s been dodging like a phone call from a debt collector for the past half decade of his life.
He tenses for half a second—and immediately untenses when the heat from Izuku’s breath ghosts over him, and he suddenly comes to the conclusion that he was stupid for never doing this sooner.
“Fuck— fuck, Izuku,” he grits out, voice wrecked, vibrating with the tight coil of pleasure that’s quickly spiraling out of his control.
Izuku pulls back just enough to murmur, “Gonna make you cum like this, Kacchan. Just my mouth and my hand, nothing even inside you yet.” His voice is wrecked, hungry and full of awe, like Katsuki’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
Katsuki snarls weakly, “Big talk—” but the words die in his throat when Izuku does something obscene with his tongue, basically sucking him, slick and strong against his rim while twisting his wrist just right around the head of his cock.
His hips jerk uncontrollably, grinding back into Izuku’s mouth and forward into his fist without thinking, and a high and loud moan rips from him.
Izuku groans under him, wet and messy, and fuck if that doesn’t make it worse. Better. His hand works Katsuki’s cock faster, teasing the head with little strokes that have Katsuki’s back arching.
“You’re—fuck, you’re not playing fair,” Katsuki rasps, panting so hard he’s almost drooling into the mattress.
Izuku huffs a low, breathless laugh against his skin, kissing the flushed, spit-slicked curve of his ass. “Told you before,” he whispers, voice cracking with heat, “Wanna wreck you so good you forget your own name.”
“Already—” Katsuki gasps, hips twitching helplessly. “Already halfway there, dumbass—!”
Izuku grins against him, wicked, then—he spits, wet and obscene, right onto Katsuki’s hole. It’s surprisingly cold, and Katsuki doesn’t know why his whole body shudders from getting spit on, but it does.
A broken noise leaves his throat before he can catch it. His body tries to pull away on instinct, but Izuku’s hands are firm, anchoring him there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Izuku hums low, soothing and dark, and dips his tongue back down, messy and hungry, pressing slick circles into Katsuki’s rim, smearing the new wetness around. His fist doesn’t stop either—stroking Katsuki’s cock with smooth, focused strokes that have Katsuki’s entire body trembling.
“God,” Katsuki gasps out, voice fraying at the edges. “Fuck—“
He can feel the sweat sliding down his spine, the heat building unbearably tight in his gut. His legs are shaking, thighs spread wide, vulnerable, and Izuku is everywhere, burning him up from the outside in.
Izuku groans again like he can’t help it, nosing into the cleft of Katsuki’s ass while his hand works faster. His other hand kneads at the meat of Katsuki’s hip, grounding him, keeping him exactly where he wants him.
“Cum for me, Kacchan,” Izuku pants into his skin, voice wrecked and heavy. “Wanna see you fall apart on just my hand and tongue, please—”
The filthy sweetness of it—the desperation in Izuku’s voice—something in it knocks Katsuki over the edge.
He chokes out a broken moan, hips stuttering helplessly as Izuku flicks his tongue across his hole. His cock throbs hard in Izuku’s hand once, twice—and then he’s spilling, coming in hot, shuddering pulses all over Izuku’s fingers and the sheets beneath him.
Katsuki cries out, slumping forward onto the mattress like his strings were cut, trembling all over as the last of it wracks his body. His mind whites out, sizzling static in his ears.
Izuku’s hands are still on him, gentler now, coaxing out the aftershocks. His mouth presses tender kisses along Katsuki’s flushed lower back, sweet and grounding and promising at the same time.
Katsuki whines softly into the sheets, utterly wrecked, utterly overwhelmed because he just came twice with almost no fucking refractory period—and utterly, embarrassingly happy.
Izuku, voice thick with awe, murmurs against his skin, “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Katsuki manages a weak, wrecked snort. “You’re such a fucking sap,” he slurs, limp and boneless under Izuku’s touch.
Izuku only laughs, breathless and adoring, and leans in to mouth along his spine again, like he can’t get enough.
“Only for you, Kacchan,” he says, voice wrecked and raw with sincerity.
Katsuki numbly reaches his arm out to the side, fumbling around as he demands, “Water.”
Izuku huffs a low, laughing sound against his back, the vibrations buzzing warmly through Katsuki’s overworked body. “Bossy even after I just blew your mind,” he mutters, clearly amused.
But he doesn’t complain. He presses one more lingering kiss between Katsuki’s shoulder blades, then pulls away slowly—his absence making Katsuki’s skin prickle in the sudden cool air.
Katsuki groans quietly, not even bothering to lift his head from the mattress. His muscles feel like jelly, every inch of him loose and throbbing. He hears the shuffle of Izuku moving around the room, the click of a bottle cap twisting open, and then Izuku is back—gentle, careful, nudging Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Here, babe,” Izuku murmurs, hand steady against the back of Katsuki’s neck as he tips the water bottle to his lips.
Katsuki drinks greedily, throat dry and raw, until Izuku pulls it away with a soft, pleased noise.
“Good boy,” Izuku says under his breath, probably without thinking.
Katsuki would punch him if he had the strength.
Instead, he growls weakly, “Gimme five minutes and I’ll fucking end you.”
Izuku just chuckles, clearly not feeling threatened in the slightest. “Take your time,” he says, voice dropping low again, thick with promise. His hand runs slow, heavy strokes down Katsuki’s spine, like he’s petting him. “Not going anywhere.”
Katsuki finally peels one eye open, lifting his head just enough to glare at the menace seating on the bed next to his head. “You’re disgustingly smug.”
Izuku just smiles at him—all flushed cheeks, wet chin and lips, tousled hair, and the kind of love-sick expression that makes Katsuki’s stomach turn into something molten.
“Can’t help it,” Izuku says, leaning back down, his mouth brushing just below Katsuki’s ear. “You’re gorgeous when you cum. Gonna be even prettier when you’re stuffed full.”
Katsuki’s body jolts, an involuntary tremor running down his spine.
“Shut up,” he snaps, but it’s weak, breathless. His ass is still slick, his mind still clinging to the idea of being fucked like a lifeline, and his cock feebly twitches against the ruined sheets beneath him.
Izuku hums low, pleased, and nips at his ear, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, “You want it already, don’t you? Can see it in your eyes. Like a siren's call for my dick.”
Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes. He really wants to deny it, especially when Izuku puts it like that. He wants to bark something cutting and mean, maybe push him a little, somehow end up on top at the end of the night. But the truth is written all over his body, shivering and greedy under Izuku’s hands.
Instead of answering, he shifts his hips back up just slightly—challenging, bratty, daring.
Izuku groans and narrows his eyes at him. His hands flex against Katsuki’s back, fighting for patience, fighting to stay gentle.
“You’re taking your sweet ass time,” Katsuki says lazily, propping his chin up on his hand, oozing casualness. “You haven’t even fingered me yet.”
Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, sharp and audible, his pupils blowing wide like Katsuki just handed him the fucking universe.
“Yeah?” he mutters roughly, sliding a hand down to Katsuki’s ass, squeezing and touching. His voice drops even lower, practically a growl. “You that needy for me, Kacchan?”
Katsuki smirks lazily, the picture of smugness—except for the desperate way he feels his body light up under Izuku’s touch, begging for more without a word. “Fuck off. I might just top you if you take forever.”
Izuku curses under his breath, scrambling to move behind Katsuki. Katsuki snorts, which turns into a half-yelp as Izuku grabs his hips and lifts him back onto his knees, his chest and cheek still pressed onto the mattress.
His dick is still soft, because fuck everything, he just came twice in very quick succession—but he can feel heat pooling low in his gut, can feel his body trying to jump back on ship faster than it’s physically able to.
And then there’s a sound from behind him. Katsuki knows the sound, because he’s been in Izuku’s position countless times—but it still makes his body jerk when the cap of the lube bottle the nerd definitely secretly grabbed while getting him water clicks open.
“I remember,” Izuku mumbles, and Katsuki looks over his shoulder to see him dripping lube onto his fingers, rubbing his fingers together. “You said you wanted to hear it squelch.”
Katsuki flushes hot, biting back a full-body shudder. Goddamn nerd remembers everything.
“Yeah, well—” he grits out, trying for tough, but it comes out wrecked and wanting. “Don’t fuckin’ disappoint me, Izuku.”
Izuku’s answering grin is slow, wicked, hot. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Kacchan.”
Then his slick fingers are pressing against Katsuki’s hole—gentle at first, careful—and Katsuki shakes, half with want and half with anxious energy. Izuku just rubs his hole in slow circles, his other hand gently massaging his hip. Katsuki’s body doesn’t know what it should do—instead, it just rushes every drop of blood right to his cock.
“I know you’re going to feel perfect,” Izuku mumbles, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself, but Katsuki can tell it’s for him when Izuku leans down to kiss at his back. “You’re going to take me so well. I’ll probably cum the second I get in, honestly.”
Katsuki laughs quietly under his breath, forces his muscles to relax—because this is Izuku, and he wants this, and it’s been good so far, and he’s got a semi already—and pushes back shamelessly with a small, frustrated whine.
Izuku hisses, his free hand tightening on Katsuki’s hip. “Fuck, look at you,” he mutters roughly, voice all shaky and needy.
Katsuki bares his teeth in a wicked, shaky grin, breathless but defiant. “Stop looking and fucking do something, nerd.”
Izuku groans low in his throat, and the sound sends a bolt of heat through Katsuki’s gut, pooling molten and hot between his legs.
“Bossy little brat,” Izuku mutters, but there’s no heat behind it—just raw, desperate adoration.
And then finally, Izuku presses in. A single finger first, slick and easy, breaching him with a slow, deliberate push. Katsuki’s mouth drops open around a silent gasp, the obscene squelch of lube filling the tense air as Izuku starts working him open.
It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t really feel that weird. It’s just Izuku and his hands and the searing heat under Katsuki’s skin.
He fucks him slow with one finger, twisting and crooking it just so, coaxing Katsuki’s body to relax, to melt. And Katsuki does—against his better judgment, against all his instincts to fight—because it’s Izuku, and Izuku’s hands are so damn good, his voice so soft when he leans in and whispers, “There you go, Kacchan. Let me have you.”
Katsuki shivers, lets out a strangled, wrecked noise he’ll deny later, and rocks his hips back for more.
Izuku adds a second finger without warning, and Katsuki gasps, muscles fluttering around the stretch. It’s just on the edge of too much, but Izuku’s so fucking careful, stroking his hip, murmuring low praise against the damp skin of his back.
“So good for me. So tight. Fuck, Kacchan—” Izuku’s voice breaks, rough and full of awe.
Katsuki huffs a breathless laugh against the mattress. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”
But then Izuku scissors his fingers, and Katsuki gasps, and then he curls them, brushing that spot inside him—his prostate, holy fuck, someone’s actually touching his prostate—and that makes Katsuki jolt, choking on his next insult and moaning loud and sharp instead.
Izuku chuckles darkly, smugly, and mutters, “There it is.”
His fingers fuck into him deeper, spreading him wider, relentless and slow and devastatingly gentle. It’s wet and loud, because the asshole really listened and is making it squelch—which is both mortifying and mind-numbingly hot at the same time.
Katsuki bites the sheets, a low, broken whimper torn from him despite every shred of pride he’s clinging to. His cock’s fully hard again now, throbbing against the ruined bed, leaking pathetically without even being touched.
“Sound so fuckin’ pretty,” Izuku breathes against his spine, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You don’t even know what you do to me, Kacchan.”
Izuku doesn’t rush it. He refuses to rush it. Every twist of his fingers, every slow thrust, is measured and deliberate, dragging out every ragged sound Katsuki makes like he’s collecting them, hoarding every gasp, every tiny choked-off whimper.
“Fuck, you feel so hot inside,” Izuku groans, his voice wrecked, worshipful. “You should see yourself—you’re just sucking my fingers in.”
He scissors Katsuki open wider, presses in deeper, rubbing over that spot again and again until Katsuki’s knees wobble too much, and he suddenly realizes he’s being held up, and starts shaking.
“Shit— shit, Izuku,” Katsuki hisses, fists clenching in the covers, ass twitching helplessly back against Izuku’s hand.
“You can take it,” Izuku pants, almost desperate, and he leans over Katsuki’s back, mouthing along his shoulder blade while his fingers work Katsuki open slow and steady. “You’re doing so fucking good for me, Kacchan. Letting me fuck you. Letting me make you feel good.”
Katsuki snarls a broken sound, caught somewhere between pride and utter fucking need, grinding back against Izuku’s fingers shamelessly.
Another slick, obscene squelch fills the air as Izuku withdraws just slightly—and then pushes three fingers in without warning, making Katsuki jerk and cry out, guttural and raw.
“Fuuuck,” Katsuki moans, the stretch burning just enough to make him blink tears into the pillow. His cock leaks between his legs, hard and aching and untouched.
Izuku’s free hand slides under him then, ghosting feather-light over Katsuki’s dick, teasing without giving relief. Katsuki bucks, hips caught between wanting to fuck himself on Izuku’s fingers and chase that damn ghost of a touch.
But then Izuku’s fingers aren’t moving, he isn’t really touching his dick, and Katsuki is confused for all of three seconds before Izuku says, “I kind of want to make you beg for it.”
Katsuki growls low in his throat, twisting his face into the sheets, trying not to give the nerd the satisfaction—but Izuku’s fingers crook just right again, stroking that devastating spot inside him, and Katsuki lets out a wrecked, desperate sound he doesn’t even recognize as his own.
“You’re such a fucking—” he grits out, but it dies off into a broken gasp as Izuku starts to slowly, slowly move the three fingers in and out, dragging slick and heavy through his body, fucking him open even more.
“Come on, Kacchan,” Izuku breathes against the nape of his neck, hot and heavy, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “You know you want it. Say it. Tell me what you need.”
Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut, humiliated at how easily his hips keep rocking back, chasing the thrusts, desperate for more. He wants to cuss Izuku out, call him a damn sadist, but then Izuku grinds the heel of his palm down just barely against Katsuki’s cock, enough friction to make his vision white out for a second.
A pathetic little whimper slips out. Katsuki swallows it down, breathing shakily.
“Move,” Katsuki grits out between his teeth, low and murderous.
“That’s not begging,” Izuku says, practically sings, radiating so much smugness that Katsuki thinks he might just kick him in the balls to knock him down a peg. “I want to hear ‘please’ and ‘I need it’ and all your little whines.”
Katsuki snarls into the mattress, every inch of him shaking with the effort not to give in. His pride’s a stubborn, living thing clawing at his throat—but his body is betraying him, trembling and open and soaked in sweat, his cock throbbing, cruelly ignored.
Izuku’s fingers twist again, slow and grinding deep inside him, and Katsuki breaks with a ragged, guttural noise he couldn’t choke down if he tried.
“Fuck,” he gasps, hips jerking desperately. “Please.”
Izuku’s fingers still for a second, buried to the knuckles in his ass, and then he smiles against Katsuki’s back, wicked and breathless. “Please what, Kacchan?”
Katsuki groans, shoving his face harder into the mattress to muffle the desperate, humiliating noise climbing up his throat.
“Fuckin’ move, touch me—” he claws out, shaky and breathless. “Please, I need it, do something—"
Izuku groans, low and filthy, like Katsuki just punched the air out of his lungs. “God, you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect for me, Kacchan.”
And then Izuku is fucking him with his fingers, starting up a brutal rhythm, pumping his three fingers in deep, crooking them up into that devastating spot over and over until Katsuki’s world tilts sideways.
He can’t do anything but take it—mouth slack, drooling a little against the sheets, hips twitching and rutting weakly. The wet, filthy sounds of Izuku fingerfucking him are the only thing filling the room now, obscene and relentless and so, so good.
Izuku’s voice is low and hoarse when he speaks again. “I wanna make you cum just like this,” he pants against Katsuki’s neck, shoving his fingers deep and staying there, grinding mercilessly into his prostate. “Or edge you until you cry. Shit—have you so desperate for me that you can’t think about anything else. Oh, fuck.”
“Fuck—fuck, Izuku—fuck—” Katsuki chokes out, over and over again, so close to the edge again that he can barely think.
Izuku changes his angle, on purpose, Katsuki knows it’s on purpose—because now he’s not hitting his prostate anymore, just brushing past it, lazily fucking in and out.
Katsuki growls low in his throat as his dick throbs, heat searing through his body, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead. “You fucking bitch.“
“I wanted to tease you, but—" Izuku breathes out, long and low, then mutters quietly, almost like he’s confessing a dirty secret, “Ah, fuck. I can’t wait anymore.”
Izuku pulls his fingers out with an obscene squelch, and Katsuki whines—and feels a little pathetic because of that—from the loss, hips bucking back in search of the stretch, the fullness.
“Damn, I should take a picture,” Izuku pants, voice hot and wild. “You’re shaking for it. You’re—shit, Kacchan, you’re gonna kill me.”
Katsuki doesn’t know what to do—he’s just there, ass up, waiting, mind blank. He just wants to get fucked. He wants Izuku.
Then Izuku’s grabbing him, manhandling him and turning him around, so that he’s laying his back flat against the bed, head resting against the pillow, limbs loose around him.
Izuku doesn’t waste a second—he slips his pants and underwear off, grips the back of Katsuki’s thighs and practically folds him in half, his knees almost touching his shoulders as he puts himself into position.
Then he pauses.
He’s just looking—like he’s trying to burn the image of Katsuki into his memory. Katsuki, wrecked and waiting, spread open under him, blinking up at him, lips parted in a soft, breathless pant.
“I—” Izuku starts, voice hoarse, almost unsure. His thumb brushes Katsuki’s thigh, soft and worshipping. “You’re—fuck, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Katsuki’s arms circle around his neck, drag him just an inch closer, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt. He feels off—not because of anything that’s going on, but because he’s a mess, and Izuku is composed, barely sweating, barely shaking and still wearing a shirt.
Katsuki stares at Izuku, eyes narrowed, then tightens his fingers into Izuku’s shirt and pulls lightly. “Take your shirt off.”
Izuku, soft moment instantly broken, perks up like a predator just caught sight of prey.
His eyes crinkle in mischief, a grin splitting his face, as he says low and sharp, his hands fighting on the back of Katsuki’s thighs, “Why? Is it embarrassing to be completely naked and falling apart while I’m still fully dressed?”
“Izuku,” Katsuki growls, low and maybe a bit unsteadily, yanking harder on his shirt, “If you don’t undress I’ll blow this shirt off you.”
Izuku laughs—fucking laughs—low and breathless like he’s never been more turned on in his life. His hands tighten where they’re splayed wide on the backs of Katsuki’s thighs, thumbs digging in just hard enough to make Katsuki twitch.
“Okay, okay,” he breathes, voice gone rough with need. “You win.”
He lets go reluctantly, standing up just enough to yank the damn shirt off over his head, leaving his hair mussed and wild, muscles flexing under the room’s dim light. His skin is flushed down his chest, breathing heavily.
Katsuki doesn’t even try to hide how he stares.
Izuku grins, all pink cheeks and teeth, and says, “Like what you see?”
Katsuki’s face burns. His hands clench the sheets. His voice is rough, somewhere between demanding and pleading as he snaps, “Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Izuku.”
That does it.
Izuku groans, deep in his chest, and before Katsuki can even blink, he’s back on him, grabbing his thighs again, spreading him wide, lining up.
This time there’s no hesitation.
Izuku presses forward, slow but restless, the thick head of his cock breaching Katsuki’s already stretched rim, and Katsuki keens, full-body shuddering under the sheer burn and stretch of it.
Izuku bites his lip so hard it goes white, staring down where they’re connected like he wants to carve the sight into his fucking soul.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, shoving deeper, watching Katsuki’s body swallow him down.
The stretch is brutal after the emptiness, Katsuki’s body clamping down automatically, a strangled, broken moan tearing from his throat as Izuku presses deeper, deeper, inch by slow fucking inch.
It’s too much, it’s not enough—it’s perfect.
Katsuki fists the sheets so hard his knuckles ache, every nerve ending in his body singing with the feeling of Izuku sinking inside him.
Izuku groans, long and low, as he finally bottoms out, buried deep until his hips meet Katsuki’s skin, the heat of Katsuki’s body squeezing him tight.
“Shit, Kacchan—” he pants, forehead pressing down against Katsuki’s, his whole body trembling from the effort of holding back. “You’re so—fuck, you’re perfect—you feel like you were made for me.”
Katsuki whimpers, a rough, broken sound he never would’ve believed he could make, not even in his worst fucking nightmares—and Izuku drinks it down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.
“You’re so hot,” Izuku rasps, voice wrecked and worshipping all at once, hips giving a shallow, grinding thrust just to feel Katsuki flutter around him.
Katsuki gasps—fuck—his head tipping back against the pillow, baring his throat.
Izuku growls at the sight and dips lower, mouthing at the flushed skin, biting gently at the tendon there while his cock throbs deep inside him.
He pulls out slowly, so slowly Katsuki feels every dragging inch, before slamming back in hard enough to rock the bedframe.
Katsuki cries out, his entire body shuddering, mouth dropping open as useless words fall from his lips, “Izuku—fuck, like that—harder—"
The words tear out of him without thought, raw and desperate, and Izuku answers without hesitation, hips snapping forward in a brutal, punishing rhythm that drives the breath right out of Katsuki’s lungs.
The bed creaks violently beneath them, every thrust forcing broken, wrecked little sounds out of Katsuki’s throat—gasps, whimpers, choked-off sobs that only make Izuku moan and fuck into him harder, deeper, like he’s trying to brand his name into Katsuki’s fucking soul.
“Yeah? You want it harder, baby?” Izuku pants, voice dripping with hunger, his hand sliding up to wrap around Katsuki’s throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding him there, making him feel owned.
Katsuki’s vision sparks. His cock jerks between them, leaking steadily against his own stomach, untouched but so fucking sensitive he feels like he’s about to cum just from the way Izuku’s body devours him.
“Please,” Katsuki gasps, voice cracking, hips rocking up to meet every hard thrust, shameless, needy, ruined. He presses his throat against Izuku’s hand, never really knew this was something he liked, but desperately wants it now. “Izuku, come on—wreck me.”
Izuku loses it.
“Fuck, Kacchan,” he groans, his grip tightening just enough to make Katsuki’s head swim with it—safe, owned, his.
Katsuki clings to him—arms around Izuku’s shoulders, nails raking angry red lines down his back—like he’ll die if Izuku lets him go.
He might.
It’s too much. It’s everything.
Izuku’s grip tightens on his throat just slightly, just enough to make Katsuki’s pulse hammer wildly against his palm, to make his cock twitch helplessly between them, leaking so much it’s a mess against their skin.
“You fucking love it,” Izuku growls, mouth dragging hot and open over Katsuki’s jaw, his cheek, his ear, voice filthier than Katsuki’s ever heard it. “You love getting fucked like this, don’t you, baby?”
Katsuki whines—an honest-to-god whine—and Izuku laughs, breathless and wrecked, and fucks him harder.
“Say it,” Izuku snarls, pounding into him so deep Katsuki feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s gonna snap in half around Izuku’s cock. “Tell me how much you love my dick.”
Katsuki sobs, legs locking tight around Izuku’s waist, dragging him deeper, if that’s even possible.
“Fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking wide open, “Fuck—love it, need it, so good—good—can’t think straight—"
Izuku moans, deep and rough in his chest like some wild animal, then shifts, hikes Katsuki’s legs even higher, bending him over until his knees do touch his shoulders, and the new angle ruins him—hitting deep and devastating, making Katsuki scream, loud and filthy and unashamed.
“Right there!” Katsuki cries, clawing at Izuku’s back, “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, Izuku—!”
Izuku picks up the pace, slamming into him harder, the bedframe creaking under the force, skin slapping skin, the whole world boiling down to the filthy, desperate sounds filling the room. His hand stays resting on his throat, squeezing every now and then, shocking pleasure through Katsuki every time he does.
Katsuki can’t tell if he’s breathing or even living anymore—he’s just there, under Izuku’s hands, feeling everything he gives him.
“You’re mine, all of you, all of this,” Izuku groans, fucking him harder, pounding into him with brutal precision. “Tell me, Kacchan. Tell me you’re fucking mine.”
“You—fuck—yours,” Katsuki cries out, no hesitation, no shame. Because it’s true. Because he means it. “Yours, yours, yours—”
Izuku lets out a sob, maybe a moan, maybe a groan, and leans down, licking and biting along Katsuki’s jaw as he mumbles ‘mine’ and ‘good boy’ into his skin.
Katsuki feels heat pool in his gut, his dick throbbing, eyes fluttering—and he clenches down around Izuku, crying out in a silent plea.
“Kacchan,” Izuku gasps, losing rhythm for a second because Katsuki’s squeezing down so hard, before picking it up again. “Kacchan, fuck, you feel like heaven—fuck—gonna cum just from this? Just from getting fucked?”
Katsuki tries to deny it, tries to spit something snarky or sharp back—but then Izuku slams into that spot just right, and he’s boneless and spineless, nodding helplessly as his entire body shakes and shudders.
Izuku moans, shaky and wrecked, slamming in hard as he mumbles, “God, so good, you were made to be fucked, baby.”
Katsuki’s voice cracks on a moan, stumbling out, “Izuku—"
And then Katsuki’s gone.
He cums untouched between them with a violent, shuddering sob, his vision whiting out, his whole body clamping down hard around Izuku’s cock. Cum hits across his chest, messy between them, and he feels tears prick in his eyes and drip down his cheeks as he shudders through the orgasm, through Izuku fucking him hard and fast into it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” Izuku moans, pupils blown wide as the hand resting on Katsuki’s throat moves up, gripping his chin in a bruising grip to keep Katsuki’s face still and facing him.
Izuku stares at him for a second, sucks in a sharp breath as more tears pull from Katsuki’s eyes—then sobs, cock shoving in deep and grinding roughly as he’s dragged over the edge with him, spilling inside, heat flooding Katsuki’s body in thick, endless waves.
They cling to each other through it, Katsuki shaking so badly he can barely hold on, Izuku pressing frantic, worshipping kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, licking up his tears, whispering, “Good boy—so good for me—so fucking perfect—”
Izuku doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move at all except to loosen his hand from Katsuki’s throat, to press his forehead against Katsuki’s, still catching ragged breaths, to kiss across his face.
Katsuki lets him, still clinging to him with the last of his strength, blinking up at the ceiling like he doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to exist after that.
For a long, breathless moment, they just stay there—tangled and trembling, bodies slick with sweat and cum, the smell of sex thick in the air.
And then Izuku laughs weakly, burying his face against Katsuki’s shoulder, then mumbles, “Told you you’d be even prettier stuffed full.”
Katsuki just groans, lightly swatting him upside the head as he snaps, voice more hoarse than he remembers it ever being, “Shut the fuck up.”
Izuku just nuzzles closer, sighing contently as he says happily, “Need anything? Water? Snacks? A formal review page to rate my fucking abilities?”
Katsuki snorts and wraps his arms around him, because he wants to, damnit, and mumbles snappily, “Your dick out of my ass.”
Izuku laughs quietly. “No can do,” he mumbles smugly, turning his head to grin at Katsuki. “I’ve got round two planned. I’m thinking blackwhip. Orgasm denial. More begging and crying.”
“I’m cutting your dick off.”
“You can’t! You like it! You told me so!”
“Then I’ll buy a goddamn dildo!”
Izuku gasps like he’s genuinely offended and sits up straighter, saying deadly seriously, “I can be your dildo. I promise I’m just as convenient and easy to use.”
Katsuki levels him with a flat look. “Alright, dildo, then get to fucking.”
Izuku blinks at him, his cheeks going pink as he mumbles, “Well—Kacchan, I’m not hard yet… I need a few more minutes.”
Katsuki grins and crosses his arms, humming sassily, “Hm. That’s very ‘convenient and easy to use’ of you.”
Izuku whines and wiggles around, and Katsuki feels victorious—until he literally starts to feel Izuku getting hard inside of him. He splutters, opening his mouth, but Izuku beats him to it, mumbling, “Your little grins and bratty attitude are like my biggest turn ons, Kacchan. Don’t blame me.”
Katsuki drags a hand down his face, huffing a small, almost disbelieving laugh against his palm.
He grips Izuku by the hair, grins at him, then whispers, “Fuck me, Izuku.”
Izuku, of course, obliges with no hesitation.