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Feels good—the kissing. He can get lost in it.
It wasn’t always like that. It used to take so much conscious brainpower, focus on every bit of what he was doing, so much that he forgot to feel. Before it became more or less muscle memory.
This is perfect, just like this. The half-made bed soft under him, and Izuku warm over him. They aren’t in a rush. Katsuki stays on pace with him, slow and sure and lazy.
They've been kissing for so long that his mouth is tingly and the taste of it is skin and saliva and Izuku’s mouth—just that. No hint of toothpaste left. Katsuki’s upper lip has gone tacky until Izuku lifts his chin and kisses it again. He lets Katsuki trap his bottom lip between his own, pull back and repeat.
There’s something heady about this pace. Something that makes Katsuki’s heart kick. It’s special when Izuku moves slow like this—like he’s savoring Katsuki. Their lips brush and bump together, parted but mostly dry. There’s warm breath on his lips, his cheek—another soft slide, a glancing halfway kiss. Then they slot together again as Izuku angles so his nose presses into Katsuki’s cheek. It’s warm from near-constant contact. The tip of it was cold at the start, but all the nuzzling and brushing noses changed that.
Katsuki inclines a fraction forward for more, and goosebumps ripple over his skin at the series of soft ticks when their mouths slip apart and together and apart again.
It's automatic now to follow Izuku’s lead on a minute shift, and then their heads tilt to kiss the other way. The scar tissue on Izuku's face is paradoxically bumpy and smooth under Katsuki's nose. Izuku’s digs into the tender skin of Katsuki’s scar too. It’s healing up nice, but it was a deeper cut than it looked like, and faint soreness lingers under the skin.
A scattered drum of raindrops on the window starts and builds into a steady murmur. The balcony door is cracked, letting in humid air. It’s gotten hot out in the hour since Katsuki got to Izuku’s room, but getting up to shut the door and turn on the fan would be too much of a hassle.
Katsuki mouths at Izuku’s upper lip, and the moisture on the inside wets his own lower lip. It adds a tingling slide when they tilt and lock deeper—another kiss, another, until they’re indistinguishable. Katsuki’s stomach is warm, his chest too.
He could do this for a long time.
Izuku’s hair parts and bends under the comb of Katsuki’s fingers. He drags through the waves with a soft pulling motion, and Izuku makes a low sound in the back of his throat. Katsuki does it again, then again to feel Izuku sigh through his nose and kiss him firmer. The short shaved part is almost velvety against the pads of his fingers, the longer curls fluffy against his palm. The good one—the nerves in the other are still stubborn about not feeling.
But Izuku’s lips center Katsuki—not by refocusing his thoughts, but by draining them away. They're soft. His chapstick has long been kissed away, but the intermittent brush of slick saliva keeps them from feeling too chapped. They skim the corner of Katsuki's mouth.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, in a tone that’s so achy and reverent it nearly tears a whimper from Katsuki's throat.
Instead it comes out as the quiet, indistinct click after a swallow, and then a rush of breath, and Katsuki’s skin warms. Izuku kisses him again without waiting for anything, uses his hold on Katsuki to cradle him, keep him there as his mouth presses until Katsuki gives in and parts his lips wider.
This simple pleasure muddles his thoughts in just the right way. He’s almost never relaxed. Nothing’s ever easy and good. But Izuku's hand under the back of his neck, the other on his jaw—it makes his stomach tighten and flutter with something nice. There’s not one other thing they should be doing right now.
Izuku’s body runs warm through his shirt. Katsuki’s other hand, loosely on Izuku’s back, slides up to join the left. Katsuki can’t move this one well—it’s still heavy and uncoordinated as he tries to run it through Izuku’s hair too. He has to be careful, make sure he’s gentle enough without tactile feedback.
But Izuku hums against his mouth, and his fingers spread out. They fan, his thumb a light pressure under Katsuki's chin. Fingers braced along his jawbone, his cheek, the hollow behind his earlobe. It's a guiding, proprietary touch—the kind that makes everything in Katsuki melt and twist around itself. Makes his brows draw in and his mouth part wider with the little hit of goodgoodgood.
And neither of them stop moving. Their lips still melt and slip apart and back together and fit and re-fit all the while.
Katsuki makes another tiny sound into Izuku’s open mouth, and forgets to be embarrassed—the tip of his tongue at Katsuki’s top lip and the slightest bump of his teeth erases that. Izuku hums then, and seals his lips around one of Katsuki’s. Again—the tease of his tongue, replaced by soft lips—a change, a swipe across Katsuki’s lower lip, then gone and replaced with a kiss.
It’s a careful back-and-forth that Katsuki matches, never more than a half-pace behind.
He can only hold back with his teeth for so long. There’s a lingering kiss, and just as Izuku starts to withdraw, Katsuki catches him. He nips at that swollen bottom lip and lets go just as quick, a smile trying to force up the corners of his mouth. Izuku just kisses Katsuki's teeth, eyes still shut tight, and smiles too. His head rocks forward to press their foreheads together.
Izuku’s hair falling around the left side of his face is like a cocoon—a barrier between the two of them and the glass balcony door, the afternoon sun, the rest of the world.
The freckled tip of Izuku’s nose presses at Katsuki’s, and he tilts his chin up to make room for another slow lean-in and a teasing pull-back. Izuku’s hand is firm on Katsuki’s face like he’s gonna keep him from interfering this time. Fuck—fuck, it’s nice how he handles this. Katsuki's heart is thrumming, and he bites Izuku again, a semi-frantic attempt to wrestle a little control. Not to take it for himself, really, but to make Izuku lose it.
He only huffs a laugh against the side of Katsuki’s mouth, and Katsuki curls his good fist tighter into Izuku's hair.
“Mm—Kacchan—” He kisses again, consciously slow and soft. His body weighs Katsuki down and sinks him into the bed. It’s so good like this. He’s all steady and tethered in the physical. That’s always good. Being truly in his own body, conscious of it.
“Izuku,” Katsuki breathes. There’s a small gap between them, but he cranes up to close it in a kiss, then another, then his head tilts to nose at Izuku's scarred cheek. “Lemme…” he presses Izuku’s right shoulder.
They shift, roll. Izuku lets Katsuki settle on top of him, and his hands slide down Katsuki's waist over the cotton of his shirt. Warm fingers play at the hem, slip underneath just the barest hint to stroke at warm skin. Izuku’s palms shift to cradle Katsuki's hips.
Breathing into it, Katsuki drags in air when his mouth opens between one kiss and the next. His mind isn’t often quiet. But like this, when they’re—
Maybe quiet isn’t the right word. His thoughts are there, spinning and wheeling; Izuku and feels good and more Izuku. But they’re indistinct, sprouted directly from raw sensation. Nothing more than marveling at what it feels like to have those hands holding his waist; about how he might kiss Katsuki next; about how Katsuki will respond back; about oh that’s nice yeah I like this—
No, his brain is far from off. But it’s different. Attuned to sensation, focused on enjoyment. Everything else fading into the background.
Being close to Izuku like this makes his heart pound.
Different way, though. Not like… battlefield heart pounding. Or exercise, or anger or the anxiety from needing to prove himself. Something else only related to Izuku. Not even related to Izuku like Fighting with Izuku or Training with Izuku or Thinking About Being Heroes with Izuku. This is its own thing.
Izuku’s hand splays warm and heavy around the side of Katsuki’s head. A scarred thumb skims his cheek back and forth. The repetition is nice—kinda soothing. Katsuki makes a soft noise and his cheeks flare hot without meaning to. Izuku better not be able to feel that with his thumb.
He hums—damn. Probably felt it.
Katsuki presses harder, kisses him with distracting force, and the laugh Izuku exhales is muffled between them, buzzing against Katsuki’s lips, tickling, forcing him to concede and give ground.
He slumps sideways, sighing and dragging at Izuku's shoulder and his back until they roll onto their sides again. Izuku’s mouth is relentless, though. He chases and keeps them a hair’s breadth apart even as they shift, so he can lean partway over Katsuki and kiss him again, again, again.
There’s a thread drawn taut under his movements—anticipation and need that’s building as fast as Katsuki can keep up. Faster, even. He's on Izuku's heels, a whisper behind, and Izuku keeps nudging. Katsuki’s fingers fumble around his shoulder.
Shit, oh, Katsuki loves that—when Izuku touches like that, put a hand really low on his back and presses. Drags him in tight so they’re pressed up together at the hip and stomach, nice and tight. There’s only enough space between their chests for Katsuki's arm caught between them where he reaches up to hold Izuku’s jaw with numb fingers.
Katsuki breathes out harsh and heavy against his cheek when their bodies line up, and Izuku turns to capture his mouth again. It’s deeper, then. With their mouths parting wider and Katsuki arching to crane closer how Izuku’s hand guides him. Lined up so that Katsuki can feel his breathing there at his belly, and not just in the soft exhales across his mouth or his cheek. The subtle thud of Izuku’s heartbeat, the movement of his diaphragm.
Someone else’s living breathing form against the place where his own barely-healed lungs move—it’s electrifying. Maybe it won’t be years off from now when everything’s familiar to him, or maybe it will. But right now it turns Katsuki’s skin warm with blood.
He breaks away for a precious second to breathe, jerking his head up and sending Izuku’s lips glancing off of his chin and jaw.
Izuku only lets out another muffled, flustered laugh into Katsuki's neck, and then kisses there.
Katsuki shivers when he does it again. “Tickles,” he mumbles. It does that, when the pressure is too light, or when Izuku’s eyelashes touch him. They’re long and fluttery.
“Sorry,” Izuku breathes, no apologetic note to be found.
He rolls Katsuki the rest of the way onto his back like it’s easy. It is. Katsuki made it easy; got distracted and left himself open and exposed his throat. And Izuku has never been one to let an opening pass him by. Propped on one elbow, he settles heavier over Katsuki, the other hand tucked under his shoulderblade.
Blinking up at the ceiling, Katsuki slides his arms around Izuku too. Across his back and draped around his neck, where a clammy, dangerous palm catches on the absorbent cotton of his shirt. He doesn’t dare slip it underneath like Izuku has done with him. His hand balls into a fist around the fabric.
Izuku’s mouth is soft on his neck, moving down and hardly lifting between each kiss, so they drag and blend together. It's less kissing and more shifting his head, dragging his slack mouth to feel the texture of Katsuki’s skin against the nerve endings of his lips.
He kisses again in a way that’s softer and harder—open-mouthed but needy. There’s a hint of suction.
Katsuki squirms. The idea of Izuku leaving a mark on him gets his nervous system acting up. They have class and shit, though—
Izuku doesn’t. He moves after a second or two. Katsuki’s nose crinkles with a mess of emotions and he can’t parse them out right now. Izuku just leaves another kiss over his Adam’s apple, then another lower down, right where Katsuki’s trapezius melts and peaks into his collarbone. That’s low enough for Izuku to have to move his shirt a little. Katsuki’s fingertips press into his back.
“Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles.
“Hm?” Katsuki’s hand fumbles up into his hair, and he pulls. Draws Izuku’s head up, out of his neck, up. They lock together again. Izuku’s hand behind his shoulder keeps Katsuki close and curling up toward him; like he’s in any danger of Katsuki pulling back right now.
His lips are tingling, kissed sensitive and numb at the same time. It mirrors the sparking sensation in his chest. If Katsuki turns his head as far as he can with their mouths still together, the tip of his nose will skim the seam of Izuku’s fresh scar.
They part with a small wet noise and then seal back together. Katsuki’s almost addicted to the sounds, the click of each kiss. Scratches his brain just right. He has to keep hearing it, has to keep making the sound happen.
Izuku doesn't seem to mind. He leaves his hands on Katsuki, holding like he wants him even closer. Katsuki flattens his hands harder against Izuku in return. So warm against his palm. The open and shift and close of Izuku’s jaw with each kiss is tangible—moving under Katsuki’s palm. He slides lower to touch the side of Izuku’s neck.
He hasn’t tried…
Katsuki’s hand backtracks and tugs at his hair again. It isn’t hard enough to force Izuku’s movement, but it’s enough to get a groan out of him that in turn does something strange to Katsuki’s stomach. He pulls again, from the base of his head, firmer and more insistent and hinting.
Izuku’s chin goes up, and Katsuki doesn’t hesitate. He lifts up, neck straining, and kisses the freckled line of Izuku’s throat from underneath him.
The skin is mobile and tender, slides over the tendon there when Katsuki applies pressure with his mouth. Izuku’s breathing huffs out and stirs his hair. There’s some element of instinct, but Katsuki still defaults to copying what Izuku has done to him half a dozen times.
Slow kissing down his neck to his collarbone, sucking at the skin until his breath grates in and out and his hand pulses tighter around the back of Katsuki’s neck.
Katsuki takes the delicate skin between his teeth, half out of curiosity and half to get a reaction. Sound vibrates in Izuku’s throat right into Katsuki’s nerves, and then he’s ducking his head to find Katsuki’s mouth with his own once again. Clumsy and off-center at first, air gasped in between them before they melt together like before.
Maybe wetter than before. With Izuku’s mouth opening wider and guiding Katsuki’s to do the same, all so his tongue can drag at the ridges of his teeth and recede. Katsuki breaks away, panting, hands tight on Izuku’s shoulders.
“Izuku,” he says, hoarse.
He sort of likes this line where it gets to be just barely too much. Katsuki’s always liked shit like that. But he likes before that, too. The comfortable lull of physicality and closeness without a destination in mind. He’s always got destinations and goalposts and mile markers—they’re scattered though every facet of his life. Izuku was his goal here, there’s no need for that fuss right now.
“Sorry,” Izuku says into his cheek.
“S’okay,” Katsuki says, fingers gripping the back of Izuku’s shirt collar. “It’s just.”
“Yeah,” Izuku exhales it into his neck and smiles. “Yeah, I know, Kacchan.” He kisses once with gentle suction, and the hairs on Katsuki’s arms stand up. “I got you.”
They come back together into something more controlled then.
Katsuki shifts his legs, inch by inch, until they’re parted enough for Izuku’s weight to settle down between them, hips cradled there. He’s dense, heavy with muscle, and the weight of him over Katsuki makes him sigh. He doesn’t feel pinned, exactly. Not trapped. Just gently pressed into place, right where he should be.
Still where he should be when Izuku slips one hand down Katsuki’s thigh. He drags slowly down toward the outside of his knee, then up closer to his hip. His hand skips up and past the ridden-up hem of Katsuki’s shorts to stay over the fabric. Back down, up, down, up.
It drags the pace of the kissing even slower when Izuku gets distracted. It’s not an unwelcome respite. The touch is distracting on Katsuki’s end too. More so when Izuku curls his fingers and guides Katsuki’s thigh over his own hip. Having his leg hooked around Izuku’s waist gets a reflexive tense out of him.
“Is that okay?” Izuku pants, kissing him again before he can answer and smothering Katsuki’s response.
“Mhm,” he tries again when they part, and their lips latch together again as soon as it’s out. Izuku’s hand still traces on Katsuki’s thigh. It’s so warm, bigger than it should be in proportion to him. Katsuki’s brain is cottony. Every soft exhale from Izuku's nose warms his skin even more.
Izuku used to be… not so good at this. Just a few weeks ago when they first tried. Not great to Katsuki, at least. Too wet, too much tongue and too fast. Izuku sort of still likes kissing like that, when things grow desperate and urgent and Katsuki lets it happen because the adrenaline gets to him. It’s unbearably nice to indulge Izuku. The way he grabs at Katsuki those times and the choked off sounds he makes—they’re worth it.
But they both like this too. The way they’ve learned to kiss, the way Katsuki’s taught him by squirming away every time Izuku tried to put his tongue in Katsuki’s mouth without warning.
And fuck if he isn’t good at it now. Too good. Izuku has never been deterred by negative feedback, and he’s all too good at incorporating it, adapting, perfecting. He’s relentless until he gets something right—they both are. It’s the same way Katsuki learned how hard to bite at Izuku to make his arms squeeze tighter around him.
“Ahh—Kacchan’s perfect.” Izuku drops his head to mumble into his shirt collar when Katsuki does just that, a fast nip. Izuku’s breath is hot where sweat has started to bead up on Katsuki’s neck.
Izuku’s lips find the soft place under his earlobe. They’re gentle. But Katsuki’s skin is sensitive there, so he shivers anyways.
“You’re so cute,” Izuku exhales.
Katsuki’s hand curls uselessly. “I—I’m—” He stumbles over his words. “M’not cute.”
Izuku's smile curls against his skin, laugh hot and breathy, his hands squeezing. “Yeah you are,” he says, high and giddy. He's grinning, eyes squeezing shut and face so joyful Katsuki’s muscles pull to copy it without his permission. “So cute.” He nuzzles Katsuki's throat.
Katsuki's heart slams. He isn’t cute in the typical way, but that’s fine if Izuku says it or thinks it. Really totally fine. “Whatever,” he grumbles.
It’s not clear what exactly he did that made Izuku call him that, but he’s almost squirming with the need to find out. So he can repeat it over and over, pressing the button that will dispense a treat until he can’t anymore. He’ll just about do whatever it takes for Izuku to say sweet things about him.
Katsuki wets his lips. “You’re cuter. Fuckhead.”
Izuku beams. He laughs, head dropping to tuck into Katsuki's neck again, and then he bites. It’s restless and needy like he needs to relieve tension. He's all grabby on Katsuki's waist, too, and that gets him shuddering.
“Izuku.” It comes out like a whine, almost. Katsuki's skin tingles with heat, and he noses against Izuku's face to demand another kiss before he can notice Katsuki blushing. They seal back together, hotter this time with an edge of desperation under it.
Katsuki can never resist slitting his eyes open every once in a while while they kiss. To see the furrows of earnest concentration on Izuku's face and the bead of sweat welling at his hairline. Izuku looks nice like this. Katsuki blinks slow and hazy, take in the shine of Izuku's lips when he retreats an inch. There are even freckles on his closed eyelids. He kisses deeper, mouth prying Katsuki's open so his tongue can brush at his teeth.
He's not just pressing down on Katsuki from above him, but his hands are pulling Katsuki up—arching him into the contact. Katsuki’s leg draws tighter around Izuku’s waist to tug him in. He squeezes his eyes shut again to feel.
“Kacchan—” Izuku starts. Another kiss. “You’re so—”
He doesn’t finish, his chest pressing down on Katsuki before he draws away, arms lifting himself up. There’s color on his cheeks, underneath his freckles, and he moves gingerly onto his side again.
Katsuki’s face goes hot when he realizes why, and he doesn’t glance down Izuku’s body to confirm. It puts a pleasant but confusing twist in his stomach, knowing Izuku reacts physically to this kind of proximity. It feels like a compliment. Like power.
Izuku reels him in again, hips held away but his upper body still close.
Katsuki’s right hand lies between them on the bed, the upper part with sensation pinned under his shoulder since he’s on his side, propping him up. His left hand feels, though. He pets down Izuku’s back as he nudges their lips together, head angling to the side. He’s so warm under the thin cotton of the t-shirt. With his head and arms curling in toward Katsuki, the knobs of his spine jut out, framed on either side by firm, shifting muscle.
“Fucking crazy that—” Katsuki is cut off with another kiss. “—mm—that this’s real.” He wouldn’t say shit like that if he was in his right mind. Or he wouldn’t have before. Or it’s the summer heat melting his brain.
“Yeah,” Izuku pants. “I’m glad Kacchan confessed to me.” Izuku’s breathing is shaky against Katsuki’s moistened lips. Each puff of air hits warm and then abruptly cools. “Kacchan.”
Katsuki closes his eyes again and kisses the salt of sweat away from Izuku's upper lip. It gives Katsuki a jolt—minute but physical—when Izuku’s teeth snag and pull at his lower lip. It’s not the first time, but it’s rare enough at this point to startle a faint noise from his throat. Comes out louder than he expected with his mouth partway open. They were winding down, he thought. But Izuku bites again, sending a tiny pinprick of bright sensation through his lip.
Katsuki kisses him harder. He nudges with more force, Izuku’s lips denting under his and then opening. Katsuki’s upper lip touches his teeth, and he draws back to soften it. Slower, until Izuku nips again and another soft, high sound reverberates out.
It’s not… involuntary. Katsuki could force the noise back if he wanted to. But it makes Izuku’s fingers curl into his thigh, makes the arm under his waist drag him closer again. It’s nice when Izuku just moves him where he wants him. When Katsuki does something he likes enough to spur something else out of it.
He relaxes into it and hums another quiet noise that Izuku echoes.
And then Izuku draws back. At first only far enough to make Katsuki chase him for a lingering kiss; and then farther back—too far to reach without moving his body. Sometimes when Katsuki does that to him, Izuku traps him in place and kisses him again, a flat crush of his mouth that stays there until Katsuki wrestles free to laugh.
They’re both breathing hard.
Izuku is pink in the face. He smiles. The giddy, shaky one that makes Katsuki’s chest throb. Izuku’s still touching Katsuki, gentling him. His hand slides up his ribcage over the muscle of his chest to reach his neck. His thumb traces the hollow of Katsuki’s collarbone.
His heartbeat doesn’t slow. But he takes in Izuku—the healing cut dividing his hair, the slight asymmetry of his eyebrows, the lighter green striations in his irises, the round curve of his mouth, the jagged edges of the new scar under his eye. The light rain outside has died off.
“Done?” Katsuki whispers.
Izuku studies his face. He’s cataloguing something—everything. Microexpressions of Katsuki’s that he can’t even monitor or decipher himself. Izuku licks his lips. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Katsuki’s tongue mimics the movement. “Tapping out, huh?” he tacks on too late.
Izuku smiles. “Mhm. For tonight.”
Katsuki makes an ugly face because he can. “Whatever.”
Izuku’s eyes are soft. They both know the tapping out is probably more for Katsuki’s benefit.
Izuku dips down again to press a fast kiss to Katsuki’s mouth before he can say anything else. He pulls back, hovering an inch away, smiling, then does it again. The third time, Katsuki catches him with hands on either side of his face. He draws it out for a few seconds before he lets Izuku go.
Well, not all the way. He holds on when there’s a few inches of distance, and squishes Izuku’s cheeks until his lips smoosh out. His eyes close and he laughs.
“You look stupid,” Katsuki mutters, smiling. He lifts his head to kiss Izuku’s forced pout, then shoves him away.
The momentum takes him, and Izuku flops onto his back next to Katsuki with a sigh.
His fingers search across the bed between them. They crawl until they bump against Katsuki’s right wrist. He can sort of feel it. A little.
He looks instead, so he can know that Izuku’s picking up his hand and holding it, alternating their fingers to slot together, and then using his free hand to curl Katsuki’s fingers closed around his own. They relax open again against his will when Izuku releases them, and Katsuki’s ears burn. He looks away.
If he focuses everything in him on it, he can make them twitch and curl part of the way up again.
“Nice,” Izuku murmurs. His eyes are bright, watching. It sounds so genuine Katsuki can’t even play up being mad at it. “You should borrow my hand gripper, Kacchan! I bet it’ll be great physical therapy practice.”
“Alright,” Katsuki says. “Gimme it before I leave.”
“Okay. Don’t leave yet.”
“I’m not.”
Izuku raises their joined hands and lays a kiss on the back of Katsuki’s knuckles.
“God—fuck it,” Katsuki grumbles, rolling onto his side and into Izuku’s personal space. “Let’s just keep going. Don’t know why you stopped anyways.”
He wants Izuku to kiss his neck again, and maybe his ear like he did one time last week.
Katsuki’s lips are still tingly and swelling from before, and it makes things that much better when Izuku closes the distance again.