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Izuku unlocks the door to his apartment quietly, kicking off his boots, shrugging off his jacket in the dark. He moves as noiselessly as he can down the hallway to the bathroom, switching on the light once he reaches his destination.
He ignores the yearning sensation overcoming his body when his eyes spot the door to the bedroom standing agape, softly coaxing him to enter. He really needs a shower after tonight, so the comfort of his bed and husband will have to wait just a little while longer.
When Izuku finally gets undressed, the warm water soothes the tension in his muscles, and he lets his head hit the tiled wall in front of him with a soft thud.
The steaming hot water runs along his back and shoulders, enveloping his body and mind in a hazy glow. It makes him even sleepier than he was before coming home. But he reaches for the shampoo, nevertheless, thoroughly rinsing his entire body.
Izuku steps out of the shower after a while, feeling fresh, free of any dust and dirt. He wraps a towel securely around his waist, wiping away the steam coating the mirror as he meets his own reflection.
He can’t deny the exhaustion that evidently shows on his features. The dark circles under his eyes have grown more prominent, and the need for sleep seemingly gets stronger and stronger. But knowing himself, Izuku will hold on for as long as he needs to, putting everyone else first—call it a bad habit, if you will.
When he enters his bedroom, Izuku’s heart melts, overcome with affection and appreciation. He resists the urge to stare and soundlessly moves to the closet, flinching as the door screeches in protest when he opens it. He’s never been this quick to put on a pair of boxers and sweats before now.
The mattress dips when he crawls into bed, and Izuku sighs out in relief. He’s finally home.
“‘Zuku?”
“Hey,” he whispers, kissing Shoto’s forehead
“Welcome home,” his husband says, snuggling closer. “Mmm, you smell good.”
Izuku hums, pulling Shoto into his chest. He kisses the top of his head, letting his eyes fall shut, enjoying the sound of his husband’s breathing as it hits his collarbone like a gentle breeze.
“How was patrol?”
Izuku’s eyes flutter open again, and he regards Shoto with a smile when their eyes meet. “A bit boring, actually. It was good, though.”
Shoto yawns. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” Izuku whispers against the softness of his hair. “You should sleep some more.”
“No,” Shoto speaks in protest, voice muffled. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Izuku tries to reason. “You’ve got work tomorrow. You need all your strength.”
Shoto moves against him, slowly getting out of his grasp before straddling his hips. Izuku feels his mouth water, eyes dancing up and down Shoto’s sculptured frame as he sits on top of him, body on display for Izuku’s enjoyment. Shoto is smaller than Izuku, but his body is surrounded by a layer of hard muscle, chiselled to perfection.
Sleep can wait, he thinks, I can sleep when I’m dead.
His scarred hand settles at the curve of Shoto’s waist, thumb rubbing smooth circles into his skin. Shoto smiles down at him, red and white hair messy from sleeping.
Their lips meet in the dark—soft, gentle, and loving.
Izuku tightens his hold on Shoto’s waist as their lips press together, bodies hidden, yet finding each other with ease, like a constant push-and-pull force that neither of them can explain.
Izuku caresses Shoto’s cheek with the back of his finger as their lips separate. “I love you.”
Emerald eyes gleam in the dark, watching proudly as subtle tones of pink settle on Shoto’s cheekbones, slowly deepening into a shade of red as Izuku continues to stroke his cheek.
Shoto has always been easy like that, has always been easy to fluster and take by surprise and Izuku loves it more than anything else. He loves the reddened flush on Shoto’s cheeks, loves to watch as it deepens and expands down his neck, loves to make him flustered and lost for words by complimenting him every chance he gets. It’s something he’ll never grow tired of.
Shoto bites his lip, gaze flickering back and forth. “Love you too, Izuku,” he whispers.
Their lips brush together in a gentle rhythm, and Izuku’s eyes flutter to a close again. Kissing Shoto feels magical, like an enchanting sensation that sends him into a state of bliss, making him feel so incredibly special and loved, like he's the only one in the world worthy of Shoto’s vulnerability and affection.
Izuku kisses him softly, fingers moving to the back of Shoto's neck, tangling themselves in his hair. His touch is delicate, gently threading through the bicoloured strands, and Shoto sighs into his mouth, melting against him, his hands landing on Izuku’s shoulders.
Izuku thrives, humming against his husband’s mouth as he parts his lips. The hands on his shoulders send pleasant shivers down his spine—shivers of hot and cold.
Satisfaction deepens in Izuku's chest, knowing that he’s the only one who’ll ever get to experience Shoto like this, to have him like this—flushed and ready.
He pulls away, pulse quickening at the expression on Shoto’s face. They’re both panting softly, breaths mingling together.
Izuku pushes himself into a sitting position, the hand in Shoto’s hair tugging at his roots roughly. Golden pleasure fills Izuku’s veins by the way his husband shudders against him, a mewl falling from his lips.
With a lustful gaze and a desperate need to hear it again, Izuku kisses down the length of Shoto’s throat, teeth claiming and marking as much pale skin as they can. Izuku can be unforgiving, uncaring and even selfish when it comes to claiming what’s his, but Shoto seems to love it just as much as he does.
“Izuku…” he breathes, “fuck. ”
“Mine,” he breathes back, licking over the many shades of amethyst that form a beautiful pattern on his Shoto's throat. “So pretty just for me,” he says.
“Yes,” Shoto says, voice breathy and small, “just for you.”
Izuku is still kissing up and down his neck, going over the darkest marks, lips lingering a second longer in silent apology.
“‘Zuku,” Shoto tugs at his hair, “want you.”
Their lips meet anew—desperation and need filtering through the tiny space of their bedroom. The air is hot between them, breaths growing heavier with each press of lips and each brush of tongue.
Shoto’s breath stutters in his throat, their lips barely separating when he’s forced back onto the mattress with a rough push. Izuku hovers over him, licking his lips, eyes hungry and narrow. He kisses his husband again, prying his legs apart with his palms. Shoto whines into his mouth, fingers greedily tugging Izuku closer by his curls.
Shoto has always been impatient when there’s something he wants, and always wants it as soon as possible. He rolls his hips against Izuku’s, mewling beautifully when he succeeds, chasing the feeling over and over until he’s a ruined mess, gasping and begging for more.
Izuku kisses him deeper, swallowing the many sounds that escape his husband’s lips, fingers gliding down his chest. Shoto has a special thing for having his nipples played with, and Izuku loves to see the effect it has on him.
A dark red blush appears on his cheeks, hand pressed to his forehead, eyes closed and head tilted back all the while Izuku touches, tastes and devours.
“Nnnngh —Izuku, please, please—” Shoto whimpers, sounding so good that Izuku can’t get himself to stop. This is fucking addictive.
He sucks one of Shoto’s nipples into his mouth, tongue gliding over the hardened bud as a pair of hands pull at his hair again. Even after all these years, Izuku is still amazed by how sensitive Shoto is to his touch, how easily he’s dissolved to nothing more than a whimpering mess, wanting to filled and fucked so hard he sees stars.
He’s begging now, broken cries passing through his lips, begging Izuku to hurry up and fuck him, to make him come, to fill him up until he can’t breathe.
“Please, ‘Zuku—can’t—”
His own patience is wavering, Izuku realises, and the familiar feeling of his Quirk spreads steadily across his skin, coating their bedroom in hues of green. It takes nothing more than a second for him to grasp Shoto by the hips, successfully getting him naked within the blink of an eye, his own clothing abandoned on the floor.
The green hues fade away, and Izuku hovers over Shoto again, gaze unwavering as his hand moves down to stroke the hardened cock in front of him. Their lips meet and Shoto moans into his mouth, hips shamelessly thrusting upwards, breath hitching at the slightest feel of stimulation.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Izuku whispers against his lips.
He abandons the cock in his hand, and brings his fingers lower, letting them ghost over Shoto’s entrance teasingly as he kisses down his chest once more. Izuku showers him in love, lips planting kisses all the way down Shoto’s stomach, his fingers circling around his rim—
Izuku pauses, green eyes flashing as he stares up at his husband knowingly.
He keeps his hand in place, but moves his body up, towering over Shoto again, carefully pushing his finger in without any resistance. Shoto shudders against the mattress, having the satisfaction of finally being filled, eyes fluttering as he moans.
Izuku's tone is nothing but a low murmur. “You fingered yourself?”
Shoto throws his arm over his eyes, panting. “Yes.”
Izuku’s eyes are attentive and focused, watching his husband closely as he begins to move his finger in a soft motion. In and out.
He licks his lips. “You’re so loose,” he breathes. “How many fingers? Three?”
Shoto mewls, pushing back against Izuku’s hand when he adds a second finger. “Four.”
“Holy fuck,” Izuku curses lowly.
Shoto takes his fingers with ease, stretched and ready to be used. He’s begging again, begging for Izuku to give him more, to get inside him, to fuck him silly into mattress—
“Please, ‘Zuku—” he gasps, back arching unforgivingly as Izuku’s abuses his prostate, leaving him shaking and gasping once more. “I’m ready, gods, please. ”
Izuku kisses him softly on the mouth, carefully pulling out his fingers, reaching for the lube on their bedside table to get his cock nice and wet. Shoto tries to catch his breath, legs spread, body pliant, hole fluttering around nothing.
His breath hitches when Izuku pushes in, eyes rolling back into his head. His legs rest on top of Izuku’s lower back, urging him to move faster, fill him up, to fuck him until he can’t remember his own name.
“You’re taking me so fucking well,” Izuku groans through gritted teeth. “You feel so good, Sho.”
Shoto’s fingers tug at his hair, moaning quietly into his ear as Izuku fills him up nice and slow, inch by inch until he’s fully inside.
Their eyes meet in the darkened room, lips brushing together before meeting in a kiss. Shoto tugs at Izuku’s hair again, telling him to hurry up, that he needs to be fucked, and that he can’t wait anymore, and to be honest, Izuku can’t either.
So he fucks Shoto just how he likes it—deep and slow, at first, setting a nice rhythm that has Shoto melting against him. Izuku groans shamelessly into his neck as his husband tightens around him continuously, moaning sweetly into his ear, telling Izuku just how good it is.
“Don’t stop—please, don’t stop,” he keens into his ear, his nails digging into Izuku’s bare skin.
Izuku fucks him harder, grasping his hips with a bruising grip and he finally, finally pounds Shoto into the sheets unforgivingly, just like he asked for. The slap of skin echoes throughout the bedroom, the air hot and thick with the smell of sex. But Izuku doesn't care because he's giving Shoto everything he has to offer, fucking him until he can't form a single sentence in his pretty, little head.
“Right there,” Shoto sobs, “right there, ‘Zuku.”
Izuku doesn’t dare to stop, doesn’t dare to slow down because Shoto is begging, gasping and sounding so fucking gone that Izuku can’t bring himself to do anything other than listen to his husband’s beautiful cries and obey.
“Come on,” Izuku pants, fisting the sheets as he drowns in his own pleasure. His hand moves to stroke Shoto’s cock with a pace that makes his back arch, and breath hitch in his throat. “Come for me, baby.”
Shoto comes, arching into Izuku’s touch. He looks majestic like this, whining, whole body shaking, a single tear running down his cheek. Izuku fucks him through it before surrendering himself to the small, beautiful death, a white light of ecstasy shining before his eyes.
His arms are shaking when he collapses, and all the air is knocked out of him. Shoto brings him impossibly closer, but Izuku doesn’t have the energy to talk as he regains his strength as well as his breath. His lips brush to Shoto’s collarbone, humming happily when his husband’s fingers stoke up and down his spine, cooling him softly.
“I love you so much,” Izuku whispers, voice and words muffled.
Shoto catches on, nevertheless. “I love you, too.”
Izuku pulls away from Shoto’s neck, smiling at him lazily.
Their lips meet in the dark, sealing the same old promise of forever—the two of them against the world, in sickness and in health, till death do them apart.
A promise of forever.