Archive of Our Own ^beta

Katsuki doesn’t exactly mean to give Shouto a mating bite on a random goddamn Thursday afternoon.

He doesn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change the fact that he does.

Does it without thinking, so caught up in the moment—in the heat of him, the way that being with him feels—that he can’t even help it.

Which sounds pretty fuckin’ similar to how he’s felt about Shouto almost the entire time he’s known him. At this point, Katsuki’s spent the better part of half a decade getting his emotional shit absolutely rocked by the weirdest, most peculiar omega he knows.

The two of them have been in this odd relationship limbo for actual goddamn years now.

Some sort of nebulous unspoken thing, a step or two beyond friends with benefits—absolute surety and exclusivity and mutual affection grandfathered in, ‘cause they’re both possessive bastards—but not quite a verbalized, confirmed relationship.

They’re kept from defining any sort of parameters for their partnership by a variety of things.

Their own respective emotional shortcomings, for one. A general unwillingness to be caught vulnerable outside of the thirty seconds before and after they’ve both come where Katsuki says and hears things he will not be repeating, for another.

A sense of stubbornness that rivals most barnyard animals, according to fuckin’ Deku.

Stubborn as a goat, he said, two fruity cocktails in at a bar night a few weeks ago, in reference to Katsuki himself.

Then amended his statement to include Shouto too, to really round it out.

Just tell him you love him, he begged later that night, a few more drinks making him fast and loose with his Katsuk-and-Shouto-hang ups. It’ll be easier for everyone if you just talk about how you feel, he wheedled. It’s not like you haven’t more or less been in a committed and loving relationship for years, he bemoaned.

Wah wah wah. Cry him a goddamn river.

You’re basically bonded without the, ya know, actual bond, Eijirou had chimed in, adding his absolutely unnecessary two cents and sending Katsuki into a Shouto-relationship induced spiral for two days straight. What’s a little mating bite between bros?

Whatever.

Just ‘cause he and Shouto aren’t holding hands while skipping in circles and monologuing about the everlasting power of love doesn’t mean that they don’t have something between them.

Something good.

Something easy and effortless, something uncomplicated.

‘Cause while Shouto might be a blunt, weird, spoiled motherfucker, he isn’t complicated.

He’s never been anything but exactly who he is, upfront and straightforward. Both in general and to Katsuki himself. And he appreciates that, more than anything.

Once he got the hang of it—and he would rather perish than not be proficient in something—being able to tell how Shouto’s feeling is as simple as knowing where to look. Watching his pretty boy face, taking note of his posture and his hands and the way his full mouth purses.

Second nature, almost.

Katsuki is nothing if not aware of his surroundings and when his surroundings include Shouto, what the hell is he supposed to do? Not look?

Absolutely fuckin’ not.

When they first met, introduced on some godawful night out spurred by Deku’s neverending quest for friendship, he couldn’t take his stupid eyes off him.

He still can’t.

So it’s no surprise that Shouto is easy to read now. Katsuki’s had a lot of practice.

The slight shift in scent, his body language, the tiny pulls of his bicolored eyebrows and the quirks of his lips—Katsuki knows.

It took him a bit, but he can pinpoint what each incremental change represents, what emotion drives it.

This sense of knowing involved a lot of fucking trial and error at the beginning. Shouto clamming up or going blank when pressed too far, smelling like scorched earth, the desert cracked and dry. Rolling his eyes when Katsuki needled him relentlessly, or rising up to meet a challenge he’d thrown out offhand, surprised by the force that Shouto dug his heels in with, refusing to budge.

He knows what the slightest shift of hips means, the scuffle of feet. The completely ambiguous humming noises and the monotone “Ah, I see”s. How his jaw clenches when he’s overwhelmed, where his hands rest on his lap when he’s comfortable, the sound he makes before he starts speaking after being quiet for a while.

And yeah, okay, fine, he can admit he spends a lot of his time looking at Shouto. Fuckin’ sue him.

Katsuki knows this ability is mutual, knows that Shouto can read him just as well, because he does it all the damn time. When they’re together, it’s the easiest thing in the goddamn world.

‘Cause they look and they watch and they see, reading each other and taking note and reacting accordingly.

A push and a responding pull.

Most of the time, Katsuki knows what Shouto needs or doesn’t need and by the grace of fucking God, Shouto knows the same.

So yeah, maybe they aren’t telling each other their feelings in words necessarily, but they understand each other without them.

Showing how they feel with their bodies is easier, anyway.

Physical touch is a language they’re both fluent in.

Katsuki doesn’t fuck anybody else. Hasn’t in ages.

And he knows Shouto doesn’t either.

Mostly due to him routinely saying every single thought in his goddamn coconut head without filter. Combined with the fact that he’s almost physically incapable of lying.

He’s got no practice with it, years of saying whatever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants under his belt. No need to lie when he’s able to make his thoughts everybody else’s problem, which he does routinely.

If Shouto did hook up with somebody else, it would come out eventually. Probably in some absolutely confidence crushing quip about how Katsuki’s sexual performance is severely lacking compared to some other asshole alpha out there.

Some real honing in on your weaknesses type shit, ‘cause Shouto can be an awful little bastard when he wants to be.

But that isn’t a problem, thank fuck.

Because Shouto’s smelled like him—and only him—for years.

Covered in his scent at any opportunity, both out of his own volition and Katsuki’s insatiable need to scent him whenever he does something cute, sexy, or stupid. In that order.

Which is more or less all the goddamn time.

They’re up on each other a lot, is what he means to say.

Some part of Shouto is always touching him—an ankle pressed against his under the table, a palm slipped up his shirt to press against his ribs, skin to skin. Pinkies locked while they walk, his entire body draped over Katsuki’s like a cape the second he sits down anywhere.

Shouto sitting pretty in his lap when they go out to bars, his possessive streak a mile wide as he attempts to subtly scent Katsuki while drinking his corny ass ginger highball and shooting lasers out of his eyes at anyone they don’t know who tries to make eye contact with either of them. Shouto in his bed, hair fanned out around him, a blush high on his cheeks and his neck and wrists pink from Katsuki rubbing his whole face against them.

Shouto in his kitchen, in yet another stolen t-shirt, long legs and bare feet and hickies trailed up his inner thighs.

And it’s not like Katsuki’s any goddamn better himself.

He can’t help it.

Every single fiber of his being just wants to touch. To make sure Shouto stays close, stays his.

He never feels as good as he does when he’s got Shouto under him, over him, next to him. When he can feel his quiet, even breaths or the tickle of his soft hair under his chin.

Everybody always goes on and on and on about how great omegas smell, but Katsuki doesn’t have the patience or the skill set to pick out notes and layers of scents.

To him, you either smell good or you don’t. Neutral, if you’re lucky.

Shouto smells clean. A little earthy, maybe, if he thinks about it real hard. It kinda reminds him of waking up in the middle of the night parched as fuck and drinking a cold glass of water and being immediately healed of every single stupid thing that’s wrong with you, ready to pass right back out.

Calm and cool and purifying.

He can’t put many words to it aside from good.

Mine is one of the others.

Katsuki likes it, is all. Having Shouto close, being able to tuck his face into his neck and breathe deep, the tension loosening throughout his whole body in a wave.

He’s never wanted to hold anybody’s hand in his whole entire life but he holds Shouto’s whenever they’re anywhere at all. In the grocery store, walking down the street, on his goddamn couch.

Every time he goes over to Shouto’s place after work, they stand in the hallway just past the genkan and thin, long fingered hands work his button up shirt out from his belt, sliding up to touch his bare skin. When Shouto finally touches his fill, spending way too fuckin’ long tickling the sensitive skin at Katsuki’s waist with his cold fingers, he’ll melt into him. Will let Katsuki wrap both arms around him and press them together tight.

A ritual, something that settles the both of them.

They’re real about that—rituals. Routines and habits and things they always, always do.

Every Saturday morning they get breakfast from the place down the street from Shouto’s apartment. They sit in the same spot, on their respective sides of the booth. Him with his feet kicked up onto Shouto’s side, leaned back for optimal comfort, Shouto swimming in whatever jacket he stole the night before, his fingers tucked up the cuff of Katsuki’s pants to rub tiny circles around his ankle.

They spend the morning people watching, trading bites of whatever pastries Shouto decides he wants. As of right now they’re halfway through their mission of trying every drink on the menu and rating it on a comprehensive scale of their own making.

Twice a month they go to an Event, capital E.

Because Shouto mentioned something offhand once about wanting to go places, to do things.

So now they do.

Not too often, mind you, ‘cause they’re both still homebodies through and through, but occasionally. Every once in a while.

To see and learn something they might not otherwise.

Katsuki will spend an entire evening knee deep in research, finding something interesting or local or educational for the two of them to do. He then tries to keep a straight face when Shouto brings his own offering to the table—usually some ridiculous bullshit like a trip to the trampoline gym, a talk on the history of tea composting, a luminary making workshop that he’s about 95% sure was intended for kids.

Whatever it is, they go, together. And they almost always enjoy the fuck out of it.

Rituals.

One of his favorites—an unspoken one, one they’ve never talked about, that just sorta happened once and every time since—is Shouto wanting to be scented before bar nights.

Before anything. When they go out just them for a drink after getting dinner, with their friends on the weekends, for birthday parties, celebrations. Anything.

Whether it was something Shouto wanted for himself—a delicious, selfish thing, smelling like Katsuki—or something he knew would settle the proprietorial urges that occupy a third of Katsuki’s shitty brain at any given moment, he wants it all the same.

Before they go out, he’ll stand in the hallway of whoever’s apartment they’re at with arms spread wide, looking at Katsuki all fucking expectant and shit. Eyes real big and sparkly and beautiful, not saying a word.

Waiting to be scented.

Katsuki never asked, didn’t have his head on straight enough around it to even realize it was something he could ask for, let alone put it into words, but it’s something that simultaneously soothes him and lights a fire deep in his chest. Shouto, no qualms about such an overt possessive gesture, arms wide and face tilted for easy access to his neck. Every time.

Welcoming it, wanting Katsuki on him like a warning.

He’s always been possessive, even for an alpha.

At least Shouto is like, real fucking into it. Clearly.

It took him ages to work out his control when he was a kid. To scale back on the anger, to reel in his emotions and the scents and sounds that follow. He was overbearing and intense up until early high school, chomping at the bit and taking every perceived slight as a gauntlet thrown.

That’s not to say he isn’t overbearing and intense now, ‘cause he’s sure as shit still both of those things, but he’s got a better handle on it.

He’s more relaxed, more comfortable in his own body, less likely to snarl and snap and posture but still just as likely to start a fight if the situation calls for it.

Even he can admit he’s better. Better than he’s ever been.

But sometimes the instincts get so overwhelming that it drowns everything else out.

They heat and rut share, ‘cause of course they fuckin’ do.

Been helping each other out for so long that their cycles have almost completely synced up, a quiet point of pride that Katsuki carries around in his pocket like a lucky coin.

He could go through a rut alone, if he had to. He’s sure Shouto could be alone too, could find some other dumbass motherfucker to fall on his knees for him if that’s what he wanted, what he needed.

But he doesn’t have to, is the thing. Neither of them have to be alone or find someone else.

They’ve got each other.

Six months after meeting—after the constant ribbing and the arguing and the banter and Katsuki making his own heart race when he could see Shouto getting fed up, when he could smell it, acrid and dry, when he would catch Deku slapping his palms over his face out of the corner of his eyes, as though watching them interact was like watching a car crash, not turning to look ‘cause all he could see was Shouto—he asked.

Shouto asked, like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

Like Katsuki was someone to ask for things from. Big things, important things, taking care of him during his heat things.

That’s how it went, a question and an answer. Once again uncomplicated and simple and right.

Shouto asking, straightforward and wanting, with nothing to hide. And Katsuki too head over heels even back then to refuse him anything, let alone refuse a request for help. A request that put him in Shouto’s bed a week after he asked and every month since.

And god, does he like to be in Shouto’s bed.

Honestly, Katsuki likes being in Shouto’s apartment in general. It’s clean and it smells good and has a beautiful goddamn kitchen that he takes advantage of whenever possible.

The space is homey, tastefully decorated in a way that skews maximalist, all the weird bullshit Shouto collects or is gifted gently set in its own rightful place.

Plus, it’s kinda flattering to spot his clothing spread around everywhere. A long sleeve t-shirt folded on the back of the couch, a few of his t-shirts neatly stacked on the chair in the bedroom. The leather jacket he draped over Shouto’s shoulders on a walk home from the bar a few months after they met in the front closet.

A pullover hoodie, Katsuki’s fuckin’ favorite, tucked into his bed.

Makes his alpha rumble with satisfaction, knowing that Shouto keeps these things around, keeps them close. Clothing that can’t smell like anything but him.

Things that Katsuki knows from experience that he nests with.

Although Shouto is always carrying on about how he doesn’t nest.

But that’s bullshit. Just because it isn’t a fully constructed, planned, organized ordeal doesn’t mean it’s not a nest. Doesn’t mean he isn’t nesting.

Low key, nesting is kinda inherent in his whole set up.

He’s got a truly ludicrous amount of pillows on his bed. Just—so many pillows. More pillows than any rational person could need.

Regular bed pillows, a weird long body pillow that Katsuki always kicks to the floor when he sleeps over, cute lil’ bullshit throw pillows with weird art and funky patterns on them. More blankets than he knows what to do with.

Getting into Shouto’s bed feels like getting lost in one of those pits filled with foam blocks that gymnasts jump into so they don’t break their necks or whatever. His body being overtaken by soft things with his fuckin’ head sticking out for air, getting sucked under.

So yeah, maybe he’s not actively “nesting” during his heats, but he’s got a fucking nest, that’s for damn sure.

He won’t pretend it isn’t nice, especially when Shouto’s in there with him. purring all quiet and attaching himself like velcro to Katsuki’s side.

And it smells good there.

Like the two of them.

They’re annoying. And obsessed with each other.

Katsuki can admit that without too much haranguing.

It’s nothing new and also nothing they’re attempting to hide, given that their respective and mutual friends give them shit for it all the time.

Katsuki’s own mother won’t leave them the fuck alone and whenever they get together with Shouto’s family, Enji always tries to catch his eye like the two of them are about to have some sort of “welcome to the family, you’re now my fourth son” conversation that he will matrix backbend away from until his dying day.

Just because he doesn’t mind Enji and his tawny lil’ beta and all of Shouto’s goddamn siblings and his mom doesn’t mean he wants to talk to them about their relationship, or lack thereof.

And he will never reveal anything of emotional importance to his own mom because she’ll yell about it so loud that everyone on their street will know he and Shouto’s goddamn business and he doesn’t have time for that.

It works, what they have. Keeping it quiet, low key. Low stakes.

It’s his favorite goddamn thing and he isn’t going to let it slip through his fingers. Especially not because all of their friends think “talking” about their “feelings” would make it any better.

He isn’t going to push or press or make any sudden movements. No sweeping declarations or grand confessions.

Where they are is good and he doesn’t need more.

They don’t need to be anything more.

It’s not like talking about mating bites is anything new either.

They flirt with the idea of them all the time. At this point, they’re a key staple of their expansive and varied dirty talk repertoire. A classic, if you will.

Bringing them up is a surefire way to get the two of them into bed, or at least somewhere private enough that they can fuck without actively getting caught.

Katsuki’s always crooning about it, ‘cause he’s a goddamn fucking knothead idiot who can barely keep his dick in his pants whenever Shouto’s around let alone keep his thoughts confined to his brain.

All he has to do is press close, murmur something about how good Shouto would look with Katsuki’s teeth marked into his neck and they start kicking up enough “let’s fuck” pheremones to knock themselves out.

They’re both so easily worked up.

A glance here, a brush against the back of Shouto’s neck there, a long-fingered palm closed around Katsuki’s knee, fingertips dragging up the seam of his pants.

The dreamy little sigh Shouto makes when he’s thinking about somethin’ real nice.

Doesn’t take much.

They’re infamous for bowing out of events early, soundtracked by the jeers and catcalls of their shithead friends. Handsy in cab rides home, magnetized to each other in elevator rides up to their apartments. They fuck frantic and rushed in bar bathrooms, slow on the couch on weekend mornings, all gentle when Shouto comes over after work in the middle of the week.

It’s easy to get them there in the first place, both of them absolutely gagging for it. Katsuki’s a stupid horny motherfucker in general, but he’s a real stupid, real horny motherfucker for Shouto in particular.

And Shouto isn’t any better. Always trying to climb him like a tree the second he gets the chance.

A few weeks ago at some bullshit weekend pre-drink dinner, Denki asked Shouto if Katsuki had “dickmatized” him while on the topic of long term relationships.

Dickmatized.

A word that he would like to go on record to say that he absolutely fucking abhorrs and would never like to hear out loud again, let alone shrieked by the peanut gallery full of hyenas that he calls friends.

Dickmatized! Come the fuck on. Who even comes up with this shit?

Shouto didn’t even deny it. Nothing even close to a denial actually.

He asked Denki if that meant what he thought it meant and when he confirmed that yeah, it meant exactly that, Shouto fucking smiled and said yeah. With his full chest.

Then they made eye contact and Shouto’s cheeks turned pink and everyone jeered and wolf whistled and acted a fool. Which meant that they left the restaurant early, went straight to Shouto’s, and fucked about it, ‘cause what the hell else were they supposed to do?

Katsuki fuckin’ showed him dickmatized, Jesus goddamn Christ.

Denki got to live another day solely due to Shouto being extremely fuckin’ horny and he should thank his lucky stars.

So, yeah, if that’s what he’s gotta deal with on the regular, he’ll freely admit that he riles them both up on purpose.

All it takes is him crowding in close, mouth pressed to the soft skin just below Shouto’s ear, mumbling every single thought in his head—about making Shouto his in the realest way he knows how.

How he’s already Katsuki’s, but with a mating bite, everyone would know.

Everyone would see it on him, would be able to tell.

It’s dizzying, the thought of it. Absolutely foundation shaking.

But it’s not like he’s the only one bringing it up.

Shouto weaponizes their mutual sexual insanity in the same way, always tilting his head in a sweet sort of confusion that Katsuki is no longer sure is exaggerated or not, showing off his neck.

Always begging for a mating bite the second Katsuki gets inside him, desperate and frantic, like he’ll go mad if Katsuki doesn’t. Tossing his head back, baring the smooth line of his neck. Clinging to Katsuki like he’ll drift out to sea if he doesn’t hold tight.

Taking Katsuki’s hands in his and sliding them up his own throat. Pressing tiny kisses to Katsuki’s palms, dragging his entire face across the scent glands on his wrists and pricking them with his sharp little omega teeth.

He’s a bastard, through and through.

But he’s a bastard with a highly detailed map of all of Katsuki's goddamn weaknesses, equipped with pinpoint accuracy and absolutely no hesitation in his quest for what he wants.

Which, most of the time, is Katsuki.

On him, in him, near him.

It’s fucking fantastic. Lights up that special spot in his brain where his alpha lives like no other. Gives him a ridiculous headrush from the blood swiftly leaving his brain and swan diving straight to his dick whenever he thinks about how badly they want each other, even after all this time of having each other.

He never does it though.

Never bites Shouto.

Never crosses that unspoken line in the sand, the one neither of them will step over.

They’ve never talked about it. Not in any real sort of way.

A fun aspect of their sex life is all it is. Like a fantasy, almost. One that they regularly play out, a loose mimicry of mating bonds.

Hickies over scent glands, sharp teeth just a little too close.

A fantasy, like Shouto’s physically impossible breeding kink. Or Katsuki’s ever-closer brushes with full blown exhibitionism—which aren’t his goddamn fault, he might add.

He’s always spurred on by whenever they’re out somewhere with their shithead friends and Shouto looks at him, in that real specific way that makes heat bloom in his belly, makes his alpha rumble deep inside of him.

It's not his fault he wants people to know.

That Shouto’s his. That they’re each other’s.

That’s just alpha instincts, probably.

Or something.

Either way, they’re both intimately familiar with each other’s buttons and they know just how hard to press and in what combination to get exactly what they want from each other. And get exactly what they fuckin’ want from each other they do.

It’s why they work so well, why they’ve been doing this for so long.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Mating bites aren’t binding.

They’re indicative of a bond, sure.

Bonded pairs, mates, whatever the hell you want to call it.

They signify intensity, longevity. Relationship status layered over primitive hindbrain possessiveness. A biological impulse, something programmed in your very make up, bolstered by modern day social norms.

The physical act is intimate, vulnerable. Someone else’s teeth in your neck.

The effects are minimal but enjoyable. A boost of oxytocin, straight to the fucking dome. Amplifying whatever mushy, sexy feelings you have about someone and making all the physical parts of a partnership all the sweeter.

Mating bites don’t last forever and they don’t prevent relationships from going to shit if you don’t put your goddamn all into them. They aren’t a fix-all and they definitely aren’t some sort of magical soulmate detection device.

There aren’t any physical ramifications to ending a bonded relationship, either. No heat sickness or rut fever. No knot-crazy omega after effects or alphas going feral.

Nothing like that, thank fuck.

Nothing eternally binding or physically toiling, but rather an action made by and between two people, expressing a choice.

A physical representation of a bond shared. An oath of care, protection. Satisfaction.

Something representative of a long term commitment.

Partnership. Mates.

An instinctual thing—keep your mate close, keep your mark on them. Keep the weird, ancient thing that lives alongside you in your brain happy. Make sure the weird, ancient thing that lives in your partner’s brain is happy too.

Devotion and belonging and intent made physical.

And maybe Katsuki’s a little bit old fashioned, in this sense and this sense alone. Mating bites mean something to him, even if that sounds stupid as all hell. They feel like a big deal.

So far, he’s never given anyone a mating bite or gotten one himself.

There’ve been others, before Shouto. One night stands and week long flings. Relationships that lasted months, that spanned the spectrum of casual to serious. No one ever broached the topic of mating bites and he can’t say he’s sad about that.

Nobody’s ever felt right. Felt serious enough.

He isn’t going around giving and receiving them willy fucking nilly, is what he means. But then again, neither is anybody else he knows.

Deku gets all goddamn blushy and freaked out whenever they’re mentioned in connection to him or anyone he’s dated or is dating, acting like they’re more serious than marriage.

His mated friends all seem happy, comfortable. Stable and serious, assured in their decision to be with one another, layering bite over bite and never letting them fade.

His parents, together for years and years and years, have had them as long as he can remember. As far back as his memory goes. Nothing obvious or flashy. Just matching bites, tucked under shirt collars and scarred over.

It’s a constant—something he’s grown up watching, something he can’t help but want to emulate. He wants it for himself, that innate, easy sort of love.

The knowledge that you belong to each other in a way so comprehensive you’d wear it on your body like a point of pride.

Being so sure of someone that you’re willing to let them close their teeth around your neck.

Even if it feels sickeningly corny to admit it, that’s what he wants.

Katsuki’s not a fucking prude, thank you very much, but he’s not gonna dick around with mating bites either. This isn’t some sort of casual thing, not to him.

Doesn’t seem that way to Shouto either.

And maybe they talk about giving each other mating bites all the damn time, but he isn’t going to bring it up in a serious conversation to Shouto if Katsuki’s not absolutely, completely sure he wants it too.

His pride—his pride can’t handle a rejection like that. Not now, not this far in.

But maybe that’s why they’re so into it—why it feels so good to talk about exchanging them in the heat of the moment. The almost taboo feeling of devotion and dedication, something unable to be ignored. Choosing each other in the truest sense of the word.

Play acting at all the trappings of a real, adult relationship.

Thinking about it for too long makes his head spin. There’s too much there to make psychoanalyzing their reasonings for working each other up with talk of mating bites worth it.

It feels good, to talk about, to think about. That’s enough.

Who cares about why.

It’s late afternoon on a Thursday and predictably, they’re in Katsuki’s bed.

Shouto’s next heat is close. Probably a week tops, give or take a few days.

This isn’t Katsuki’s first rodeo either way.

He’s always able to tell that it’s coming, would be able to even if Shouto hadn’t shared his cycle with him on the little app that tracks his heats.

It’s the way that Shouto zones out, staring at him for minutes at a time and saying fuck all nothing. Just watching, thighs pressed tightly together.

How he tucks himself up against Katsuki when they wake up in the morning after sleeping over at each other’s places, as close together as possible, tugging his body over him like a blanket. How he laps at the scent gland on Katsuki’s neck, little kitten licks that make him want to pull away ‘cause they’re ticklish as fuck but also press closer, lean in harder.

How his scent gets even more potent, overpowering and sweet and sharp, like breathing fresh air that’s too cold. Filling up the entirety of Katsuki’s idiot hindbrain until the only thing he can even bear to think about is getting between Shouto’s legs.

That’s all evidence enough.

Katsuki can especially tell by the way Shouto lets himself into his apartment, sheds his coat and belongings by the door like he lives here, and slips into his lap where he’s sitting on the couch reading a book. Without even saying hello.

He hooks his free hand around Shouto’s waist to haul him closer the second he settles. Rubs his cheeks against the top of Shouto’s head just for the feel of it, to rescent him and cover up all the other smells of the day, and laughs under his breath when the generated static makes his hair puff out.

Shouto lets him, pliant and easily manhandled, not saying a word aside from a quiet sigh of contentment that makes Katsuki squeeze him even tighter.

“You good, sweet thing?”

He means for it to come out just a little bit mocking, but he fails, like he always does.

The warm concern in his words is obvious the second they fall out of his mouth. He’s sure Shouto can hear it too.

A few years ago, his voice betraying his true thoughts like that would’ve made him bristle, would’ve had him tossing something inflammatory out into the space between them to get Shouto to focus on something else.

Now, he says it and doesn’t feel a damn thing about it aside from the bone deep care already evident in the question.

The relaxed heap of omega in his lap doesn’t reply verbally, just tucks his face between Katsuki’s neck and shoulder and hums.

The sound tickles the side of his neck, but he doesn’t pull away.

They sit like that for a few minutes—Shouto breathing steady, trying to climb his way into Katsuki’s fucking chest through sheer physical proximity alone, and him flipping pages of his book one handed while the other sweeps gentle strokes up and down Shouto’s back.

Work was surprisingly fine, nobody pissed him off or did or said anything all that aggravating, but this is still the most relaxing part of his day so far.

Quiet. Peaceful, almost.

It’s wild what having Shouto here, this close, does to his mood. How the warmth of his body and the steady metronome of his breathing soothe something at the core of him, something he didn’t even realize was wound up until it wasn’t anymore.

A physical closeness that saps all of the tension out of him and swirls it down the drain.

That is, until Shouto starts rocking against him.

It’s an absentminded sort of motion at first, tiny shifts of his hips that make Katsuki’s eyes widen, his attention immediately pulled away from his book.

When he does nothing to stop it, draws no attention to Shouto at all, the rocking gets more purposeful, the slow back and forth spooling out into full circles.

Intentional.

Setting his now closed book down on the arm of the couch, Katsuki shifts, changing position. Shuffling lower, letting his legs fall open more. Tipping the two of them even closer together and letting gravity do the work.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying to hide the amusement in his voice so Shouto doesn’t think he’s being made fun of and stop.

Shouto hums again, the vibrations passing through where their chests are pressed together. The hum tapers off at the end into a quiet, barely there moan, a sound that finally has Katsuki tilting his hips up to meet Shouto’s.

The gasp it pulls out of him is soft, a sweet and surprised thing that spreads warmth low in Katsuki’s belly.

Leaning down, he nips Shouto’s shoulder through his sweater and pretends he doesn’t love the way he jolts in response. How it makes their cocks grind together.

He’s already hard, a Pavlovian response to Shouto being in his lap and smelling how he does, clean and clear and his favorite damn thing.

Shouto’s clearly got some shit goin’ on too, hormones already out of whack as he approaches his heat. Probably hard before he even settled in Katsuki’s lap.

That thought shouldn’t get him going as much as it does, but what the fuck ever.

“You have something in mind for the rest of our evening, huh?” he goads, slipping a hand up Shouto’s soft cream colored sweater to feel the dips and ridges of his spine.

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps rocking himself on Katsuki’s lap, still moaning quietly.

That isn’t an answer, even though he loves the way it sounds.

“You gotta tell me what you want, clown.” Using his grip on Shouto’s hips for leverage, he drags them together. The friction is absolutely fucking ridiculous, even though all they’re doing is grinding on the couch like goddamn teenagers. “Use your words.”

Shouto makes a terrifically dismissive noise that makes the hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck stand up.

“Don’t call me a clown when I’m trying to get you to fuck me.”

When he leans back to see his face, Shouto is scowling down at him, cheeks pink and pupils already blown.

This fucked out from a little barely there frotting.

Yeah, he thinks, they’ve got a few days until his heat at best.

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em, motherfucker.”

Then, ‘cause he’s a dickhead alpha bastard with no sense of self preservation and an innate desire to push Shouto’s buttons now and forever, he bucks his hips up. Hard and with no warning.

The movement has Shouto flailing, falling forward and throwing his arms out until his hands end up curled around Katsuki’s shoulders to catch himself.

God, if Katsuki could help it he would, but he can’t fucking help it, so all he can do is grind against him again, palms pressed tight to Shouto’s hips.

Being able to visibly see Shouto’s barely there aggravation melt back into blatant interest feels like a reward in itself. Feels like winning.

He’s gotta lean up a bit in order to kiss him ‘cause Shouto is a few inches taller than him even in his lap, but their mouths need to be touching like, literally right fuckin’ now.

Their kiss soft and almost chaste, quick pecks that light fireworks in Katsuki’s chest, until Shouto bites down on his lower lip, hard. Fucking sharp ass omega canines, Jesus. Goddamn needle teeth.

Taking advantage of Katsuki’s vaguely pained gasp, Shouto slips his tongue into Katsuki’s mouth and tries to lick the back of his teeth.

They start to lose control pretty quickly, after that.

Kisses edging on frantic, hands fisted in clothes, their combined body heat warming him all through.

Shouto’s always warm at his core and cold at his extremeties, his hands chilly and his feet like fuckin’ blocks of ice that he has no problem pressing to Katsuki’s warm calves in the middle of the night, but right now his skin is searing. Hot, like a heated blanket setted over him.

Touching like this feels so damn good.

Shouto practically goes limp in his arms when he gets a handful of red and white hair and pulls, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his exposed neck.

A dreamy “Oh,” spills from his mouth when Katsuki licks a stripe up the column of his throat, stopping to suck none too gently on the scent gland there. The pressure, the barest hint of teeth combined with the taunt of it all makes him writhe in Katsuki’s lap.

“Bed,” Shouto mumbles, head still tilted back. He’s slapping an open palm against Katsuki’s shoulder repeatedly while he speaks. “Bed, let’s go. Come on.”

In retaliation for both the impatient smacking and the bossy demands, he pinches the soft skin of Shouto’s waist and narrowly avoids an elbow to the solar plexus.

Hefting them both up off the couch is a whole ordeal, both helped and hindered by Shouto’s goddamn octopus limbs. But it takes little effort to actually get Shouto in his arms, legs wrapped tight around his waist and Katsuki’s hands tight against his ass, especially when he jumps a little in anticipation.

As they make their way out of the living room, one of Shouto’s hands tries to snake its way down the front of Katsuki’s pants from where it’s trapped between them, the other looped around his neck to keep from falling.

“Easy, baby.” It comes out like a laugh, even though he’s so hard he can barely fucking see straight.

The sound Shouto makes after that has the warmth in his stomach bursting into flames.

From there, it’s a race to his bedroom with a brief interlude in the hallway when Shouto attempts to rid him of his shirt while still in his arms, forcing Katsuki to lean him back against the wall, holding him up with the press of his hips.

Batting Shouto’s grabby hands away, he tugs off his shirt and shucks it in the vague direction of his bedroom, already shivering at the chilly sweep of hands across his chest and back the second his skin is easily accessible.

They stop again in the doorway to kiss, ‘cause why the hell not.

When they finally make into his bedroom, he steps close to the bed and with one last curl of their tongues, releases Shouto onto it with no heads up. He flops, limbs akimbo, huffing out a laugh at the force of the bounce.

The sound of his laughter, that quiet joy shared here in this space between them, makes him clench his fists against his thighs where he stands, watching.

Looking inordinately pleased, Shouto lies back and snags Katsuki’s sheets and blankets, rubbing his fingers along the soft fabric—soft for him, purchased with him in mind ‘cause he absolutely fucking hated the blanket Katsuki had on his bed the first time he brought Shouto home and literally refused to touch it. And he couldn’t fucking have that now, could he?

Snuggling deeper, Shouto continues on his quest to scent the hell out of Katsuki’s bed, tangling the covers around his wrists and dragging them up his body and along his neck until he’s practically wearing the comforter like a scarf.

His room is going to smell like Shouto for weeks.

Not that it doesn’t already anyway.

The hem of Shouto’s sweater is rucked up near his ribs from all the rolling around, his hair splayed everywhere. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, only drawing Katsuki’s extremely rapt attention to how kiss swollen and bitten red his lips are.

Letting his legs fall open, Shouto smirks up at him, a feisty little expression that makes Katsuki’s heart start pounding in his chest even though sees it multiple times a week in this exact context.

He looks like a fucking wet dream personified.

Fucking hell, nobody should be able to look like that. But fuck if he’s not glad that Shouto does.

He belongs here, in Katsuki’s bed, looking like that.

With that final thought, he drops to the mattress and walks on his knees up to where Shouto’s spread out. He hovers over him for a second, just long enough for one single kiss, then lays himself out over him, their bodies pressed together like magnets from chest to thigh.

They make out for a while like this, slow and unhurried in this space just for them, before someone starts getting impatient as all hell, wrapping his legs around Katsuki’s waist and using his heels to kick at his lower back like Katsuki’s a goddamn horse or something.

“Don’t rush me,” he scolds, shuffling back onto his knees to divest Shouto of his sweater t-shirt combo and to reveal the pale stretch of his chest and torso. “M’gonna take my time.”

And take his time he does, pressing soft, delicate kisses to Shouto’s collarbones, down his ribs, nipping gently at his hip bones. He rubs the rasp of his stubble against the slope of Shouto’s neck to make sure his scent is absolutely all over this gorgeous motherfucker, rolls pretty pink nipples between his fingers until Shouto’s breath seesaws out of him.

Sucks deep, blooming hickies anywhere he can reach.

Slides his palm against the front of Shouto’s black jeans and absolutely fucking revels in the way he arches into the touch, gasping.

He keeps it up—a circuit of open mouthed kisses to his mouth, his collarbones, his chest, his hips—until Shouto’s groaning and writhing, a hand fisted in his own hair.

Messy and fucking incandescent with it.

And sure, maybe all the teasing isn’t very nice, but neither is Katsuki.

“Pants,” he says eventually, when Shouto’s hair looks like he’s rolled down a hill from all the shifting and tossing his head back into the bed he’s been doing since the second they got in here.

He pats at Shouto’s hip and tries not to laugh as he frantically starts undoing the button and zip, practically in a backbend to shuck off his jeans and underwear in one go. At one point he has to dodge a foot to the face as Shouto wiggles out of the rest of his clothes.

He doesn’t even apologize, ‘cause he’s a dick.

When he gets everything off, he just looks up at Katsuki, breathless and eager.

How stupid beautiful he is, how good he smells right now, makes his alpha sing and his dick fucking throb.

Settling between Shouto’s legs, he rests his face against Shouto’s side and doesn’t even pretend like he’s not blatantly staring at his dick.

And fuck, if seeing him naked isn’t a whole goddamn lot.

It kinda always is, no matter how many times he gets to see.

Shouto isn’t shy, hasn’t ever been. Not in general and never with him.

Comfortable and at home, he’s sprawled out in Katsuki’s bed, covered in his marks, visibly hard and undoubtedly warm and wet between his legs.

He pushes himself onto his elbows to watch the way Katsuki watches him.

Then makes a ridiculously impatient noise in the back of his throat when Katsuki doesn’t make a move to do anything. Spreading his legs wider, he pointedly jostles Katsuki’s head from where his cheek is flush against a sharp hipbone and the soft, muscled plane of his upper thigh.

“What do ya want?” Katsuki asks, like he doesn’t already know.

“Anything,” Shouto replies, flopping flat onto his back and running a hand through Katsuki’s hair without looking, honest to his core. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

That makes Katsuki huff, indignant.

“You know damn well I’ll give you everything.”

He isn’t going to think too critically about whether or not he means sexually or in just. In general.

Now isn’t the time for those sorts of thoughts, he’s got dick to suck.

Shouto’s dick is cute, almost. Slender and flushed pink, precum slick and shiny at the head. Fits so nicely in his hands, in his mouth, the skin soft and warm.

Leaning down, he nuzzles against Shouto’s barely there red and white happy trail, bites his hip bones just this side of too hard to keep him on his toes, and proceeds to dedicate a truly obscene amount of time to a pair of matching hickies on the inside of his thighs.

Not once touching where Katsuki absolutely knows he wants to be touched.

It’s a fun little game he plays, each and every time. He usually wins, too.

Pulling away, he blows a quick burst of air across the tip of Shouto’s dick and laughs out loud when he full body twitches.

“Stop being a jackass,” Shouto mumbles, the hand in Katsuki’s hair tightening like a warning.

Now they’re getting somewhere.

“Excuse the fuck out of you. A jackass? I’m being nice.”

He isn’t. They both know it.

Shouto blatantly fucking ignores him, voice starting to sound needy. “Give me everything, like you said.”

He shifts at the hips, Katsuki’s head still resting against his waist even with all his fidgeting. Katsuki’s few days of unshaved stubble scrapes across the delicate skin there with the shifting and Shouto shudders.

“Just—” He sucks in a breath and it sounds like it hurts. “Put your mouth on me, somewhere, please. Stop teasing.”

Katsuki hides his grin against Shouto’s belly, pleased as fucking punch. “All you had to do was ask.”

Shouto huffs, frustration so goddamn evident in the tiny sound. Katsuki knows he’s an absolute dickhead all the way down to his soul ‘cause the noise lights his brain up like the fucking sun.

When he leans down and takes the entirety of Shouto’s cock into his mouth with absolutely zero fanfare, the frustrated sound melts into one of contentment. Relief.

He spends time between Shouto’s legs, his thighs hooked over Katsuki’s shoulders, circling his tongue in the ways he knows pulls breathy little sighs and quiet cursing out of the prettiest fucking mouth he’s ever seen.

Finding a comfortable rhythm for them both is easy, letting Shouto cant his hips up into his mouth is even easier, the weight of him comfortable on Katsuki’s tongue.

After a bit, Shouto grabs at his hand—uncurling his fingers from where they were pressing gentle indents into the soft skin of his thigh and trying to move them down between his legs.

The sound his own mouth makes when he pops off of Shouto’s dick is ridiculous. He wants to sear it into his brain for all time.

“What?”

Shouto groans, wordless and pretty but altogether extremely unhelpful in explaining what the hell it is that he wants.

Tightening his grip on a pale hipbone and circling his other hand around the base of Shouto’s dick to slowly jerk him off, he repeats himself. “Shou. What.”

Katsuki will get him to say what he wants if it’s the last thing he does. He needs to hear it.

He always wants to hear it.

“Need something in me,” Shouto blurts, not embarrassed in the least but not loud about it either. “Please,” he adds primly, like an afterthought.

Hell fucking yeah. He can do that.

“‘Course, yeah. Of fucking course.”

Pulling back, Katsuki swipes his fingers up between Shouto’s thighs, slipping through the slick practically fuckin’ dripping out of him.

“Wet,” he points out, casual like an observation about the weather, just for the way it makes Shouto squirm.

“Yeah, no shit,” Shouto replies, in rare form.

It makes Katsuki chuckle without meaning to, trying to hide his laughter so they don’t slide off the rails of their sexual momentum and end up belly laughing in bed like they do sometimes. The way Shouto smiles up at him washes that worry away immediately, his eyes crinkled and his mouth curved all big and beautiful.

His grin melts into something a little more contemplative the longer Katsuki watches.

“I’m serious though, I’d like something inside of me now.”

Katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response, sliding two fingers into him with a quick circle of the pads of his fingers around his hole as the only warning, knowing that he’s wet enough to take it.

Ducking down, he puts his mouth back on Shouto, times the thrusts of his fingers into the wet heat of him with the bobs of his head.

All of his focus for the foreseeable future goes into simultaneously curling and flexing his fingers up inside of Shouto and swallowing around his cock. He keeps his pace steady, sure. He knows what the fuck he’s doing, knows what Shouto likes.

Right before Shouto’s about to come—he can tell, he can always tell, the way his scent gets sharp, warm and honeyed and everything—he slips his fingers out of him and pulls off, reveling in the distressed noise he makes at the complete removal of touch.

Just ‘cause Katsuki’s gonna give him everything he wants doesn’t mean he has to be sweet about it.

“Why are you like this?” Shouto heaves out while staring blankly up at the ceiling, sounding well and truly undone. And exasperated, which unfortunately for him is exactly how Katsuki likes him.

He’s got a hand pressed to his chest and indents from his own teeth imprinted on his lower lip.

Katsuki wants to ruin him.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love it, you bastard.”

Before Shouto can say anything in response, he dips back between his thighs, shuffling Shouto’s body closer and arching his hips up for a better angle so he can press his mouth to the source of all the goddamn slick.

He licks into him until Shouto cries out and throws a hand over his face, chest heaving.

When he glances up the length of his body, Shouto’s chest and neck are mottled pink, new love bites layered over old ones on his hips and collarbones.

Katsuki reaches to grab the hand tossed across his face, tugging it away and twining their fingers together.

“Nah, none of that. Lemme see ya.”

He’s real good at this—couching how mean he’s being with a little sweetness, exactly how Shouto likes.

They make eye contact and Katsuki grins, mouth wet, before getting back to the task at hand.

Shouto comes with both hands tangled in Katsuki’s hair a few minutes later, thighs pressed tight to his ears.

And goddamn, Katsuki fucking loves it.

He’d live here if he could. Pay fucking rent to stay right here, between Shouto’s thighs.

Lax from his orgasm, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, Shouto’s legs eventually fall open. Katsuki wipes his mouth on the back of his arm to get most of the excess slick covering the entire lower half of his face off, then crawls up Shouto’s body to kiss him, deep and sweet.

He’s cute, blushing pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a little sweaty. Kinda glowy, almost. Those big mismatched eyes are dazed, his lower lip a touch swelled up from all the previous kissing and then an orgasm’s worth of digging his own teeth into it.

Katsuki leans down to scent him again, reveling in the way it sends tingles down his spine and makes Shouto sigh and curl up tighter into him.

He’ll wring another out of Shouto before they’re all said and done, but one of his favorite parts of all this is how goddamn clingy he gets after he comes. Arms wrapped around Katsuki’s neck, face tucked into the curve of his shoulder, their legs tangled together.

Close, close, close.

It’s so easy to indulge, to shift closer, to rest against his omega like this.

Eventually he pulls away, but only to stand up and kick off his own pants.

Shouto watches intently, a show just for him.

The second he’s fully naked, Shouto reaches his arms out for Katsuki to fall into, to press their bodies back together. Cool fingertips trace delicate, swooping circles onto his back. Feels good, he thinks, a pleased sort of rumble coming deep from his chest.

He lies on top of Shouto like a compression blanket, peppering kisses all over his stupid, pretty face, nipping his earlobes, and nosing into the silky curtain of his hair ‘cause it smells so nice.

It barely takes any time at all until Shouto’s ready to go again, whether it be from the soft, easy attention Katsuki lavishes on him or the start of that achy, all consuming need that’s going to turn his brain into horny mush in a few days.

Either way, he sure as hell doesn’t mind. If there’s one thing about him, he’s always going to meet Shouto wherever he’s at.

Taking his own cock in hand, Katsuki rubs the head of his dick through the warmth between Shouto’s thighs, smearing slick all over the both of them. Shouto jolts with the motion and whines, soft and quiet, so he does it a few more times for good measure.

Slipping his hand back down, Katsuki gathers more slick, coating his fingers so they’re wet enough to give himself a few strokes with it. It feels ridiculously good, to finally get a hand on his own dick but also to combine it with such a heady, possessive action. Shouto’s slick to wet them both.

Using his own hips to nudge Shouto’s legs wider, he hooks one long, pale thigh over his shoulder and lines up.

Shouto’s pretty mouth opens on a silent gasp at that first press of the head of Katsuki’s dick against his hole, like the breath has been knocked right out of him. Mismatched eyes flutter shut, practically rolling back into his head.

Watching the face Shouto makes when Katsuki first gets inside him is probably the closest Katsuki’s ever gonna get to heaven, if he’s being completely honest.

He always looks like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And it fuckin is.

This is where he belongs, here, in Katsuki’s bed, with his cock in him.

Katsuki’s the one that makes Shouto look like this. The one to fuck him right, to pull those sweet noises out of him, get him to make that face. He’s the only one that Shouto begs for—to fuck him, to knot him, to bite him.

Pushing in slow with repeated short thrusts, he takes his time, giving Shouto a minute to adjust, to make sure he can take it.

And fuck, he’s so fucking wet.

So warm inside, Katsuki thinks, a little deliriously, made for him.

He must mumble that out loud, ‘cause all of a sudden Shouto’s clutching at him, using the leg wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, to press them flush together.

Shouto chokes out a moan, absolutely fucking wanton, the second Katsuki’s all the way in him.

“I know, baby,” he mumbles, hitching Shouto’s leg up higher on his shoulder and tucking his smirk in the crook of his knee when the shift makes him gasp brokenly. “I know.”

They move together, the motions controlled at first until they start to slip into something a little more frenzied, Shouto melting underneath him, doing his best to rise up to meet his thrusts but knowing that Katsuki’ll take care of him either way.

It takes no time at all until Shouto starts begging for it, whining and moaning for a mating bite, just like he always does. Just how Katsuki always fucking loves.

“Bite me, bite me, please.” He’s practically chanting, his voice cresting and troughing with the sharp snaps of Katsuki’s hips. “Wanna be yours.”

“You’re already mine.”

He says it without thinking, thoughtless and rote. ‘Cause it’s true and he means it and it feels damn good to say it.

It makes Shouto whine again, high pitched and desperate.

If having a ringtone wasn’t sickeningly out of touch and a thing only boomers in department stores did, Katsuki would make that noise his.

“Already yours,” he sighs in agreement, nails scratching bright lines of prickly pain-pleasure down Katsuki’s back.

Shouto’s slurring now, overwhelmed. But his words are still clear enough that Katsuki hears them like they’re spoken through a megaphone, direct to his brain. “Wanna be yours like that.”

“Yeah?” He’s fully aware that he’s being a dick, repeating what Shouto says and not adding anything else to help him along. It’s one of his favorite tactics to get him to share what it is that he wants. “Mine like what?”

He pulls back to see him, thrusts angling shallower. Shouto practically crawls up him to shift their position back to where it was before.

So Katsuki stops moving all together.

Panting, Shouto cries out, “No, no, keep going.”

Katsuki ignores him, no matter how pretty he sounds. “Mine like what.”

“Yours like—I want to belong to you,” he stutters out, clenching around where Katsuki’s inside of him, hot and hard and still. “Show everyone I’m yours”

Fuck, hearing that out loud is too damn much, like a siren call asking him for all of his deepest, most poignant desires, letting him know that he can have them if he comes a little closer, if he puts his mouth to Shouto’s neck.

He wants to—he wants to…he just wants.

Shouto tilts his head without prompting, mumbling quiet, desperate pleas to himself.

Katsuki mimes a bite, leaning into it. Opening his mouth wide and trapping Shouto’s scent gland all sweet between his teeth, playing up the action and then having to force his jaw to relax when Shouto starts fucking mewling.

The sound makes his mind go absolutely quiet, thoughts replaced with the instinct-soft whisper of make your omega feel good, make him feel good, you can make him feel good, you know what to do that he wants, no—needs—to listen to.

He tries to breathe through his mouth, the concentrated scent Shouto’s kicking off absolutely capable of pulling him under if he lets it. He thinks he can feel Shouto’s pulse against his tongue but it might be his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Fucking hell.

Katsuki’s too close to the edge, dancing along a tightrope and daring himself to jump, to do a backflip, playing with fucking fire.

Shouto gets a fist into the hair on the back of his head and pulls, tugs him closer, shifting his hips up at the same time to try and get Katsuki to go back to fucking him, all while making the most pornographic goddamn noises he’s ever heard.

He pushes his tongue into Shouto’s mouth to concentrate on something other than the way he feels—stupid close to coming already.

It works for a while, distracting him from how badly he wants to give Shouto exactly what he’s asking for.

Katsuki gravitates back to that spot on his neck the second their kisses fizzle out, Shouto panting too loudly to do anything more than brush their tongues together.

The slope of Shouto’s neck fits perfectly in his mouth.

Makes his teeth ache something awful. Bone deep and tender.

He wants to bite down on something.

That would fix the throb, he knows.

“Knot me, knot me, bite me,” Shouto begs, so sweet. There’s no way Katsuki can prevent himself from giving him what he’s asking for, not when he wants it just as badly. He’s gotta do it, gotta give his omega what he wants. “All of it, give me everything.”

He can feel his orgasm building low in his belly, a molten sort of heat, bright and white hot.

There’s not a single thought in his goddamn head as he chases it, tries to thrust up to where he knows will make Shouto cry out to get him there with him. Pressing forward even harder, he lets his movements go sloppy, less finesse and more racing to the finish line.

He bites down without thinking as he comes, Shouto just behind him.

The second his teeth meet skin for real, with intent, Shouto keens so loudly under him that it feels like the noise echoes in his brain. The flex of his body is so good, the arch of his back, the tightening of all his muscles, his hands digging into Katsuki’s shoulders.

He’s beautiful and perfect and Katsuki’s.

Knotting him is a given, the perfect and typical ending to almost all of their sexual encounters. Snapping his hips forward one last time, he bites down harder on the scent gland between his teeth, growling low in his throat when Shouto moans brokenly.

They stay right there, suspended in time for a beat, until Katsuki blinks the fucking stars from his eyes.

Breathing shallowly, he shifts Shouto’s leg off his shoulder and guides it to wrap around his waist, settling in for the few minutes they’ll be close like this.

In response, Shouto tightens his legs so forcefully that it almost tips them sideways. Katsuki catches them with an elbow pressed to the bed, holding them steady while he attempts to release his teeth as painlessly as possible.

Beneath him and all around him, Shouto is trembling, taking in tiny, short gasps of air and occasionally whining, a high pitched, dazed sort of sound.

“You’re good, I got you,” Katsuki mumbles, laving his tongue across the bite in an attempt to soothe. “I got you.”

He can feel Shouto nod from where he’s tucked against him, the circle of his arms tight around Katsuki’s shoulders. He’s still breathing fast, his heartbeat racing where their chests touch.

Smells good though, even with the noises and the panting. Real fucking good. A happy, satiated sort of smell, content and pleased through and through.

Katsuki pulls back to look at him and predictably, Shouto’s arms stay where they are, looped around his neck and not letting him move any farther away.

He’s beautiful, as per fucking usual. Mouth still red, cheeks pink, sweaty hair pushed back from his forehead. His eyelashes are wet, glittering a little in the fading afternoon light, clustered together in red and white points.

All Katsuki can do is lean down to nuzzle his face, swiping away the tear tracks and leaving kisses in their place.

When he can finally pull out, he does so slowly and carefully, pushing his fingers right back in to stop the rush of come before Shouto can even start whimpering about it.

Rituals.

Shouto kisses him in thanks, real sweet and warm, hands tangled in Katsuki’s hair and tongue delving into his mouth. They pull apart after a while and Katsuku flops onto his back, worn out.

They lay there, chests still heaving and bodies noodle-like.

He feels good, really fucking good. Settled.

Whole, for the first time. In a different sort of way.

His alpha is so calm, so goddamn pleased. Absolutely euphoric, preening with satisfaction at giving his omega a mating bite, finally, finally, finally.

As the sweat covering his entire body dries, it makes his hairline and the back of his neck prickle.

They lie on their backs next to each other, Shouto’s leg flopped across his and their fingers tangled together.

Everything feels so good, exactly how it’s supposed to be. Here, in his bed, with Shouto.

Reeling Shouto closer and tucking him up under his chin, they breathe together for a while until their hearts slow.

The taste of blood is what brings Katsuki back, what brings his consciousness crashing down to earth from where it was floating gently in the post-orgasm clouds.

There are smears of it still on his lips, wet and slick.

He swipes at his mouth with the hand not looped around Shouto and when he pulls it back to look, the stark red across his knuckles makes the room spin even though he’s lying flat on his back.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What did he do.

What the fuck did he do?

Katsuki fucking bit him, is what he did. Gave him a goddamn mating bite. He fucking bit him. What the hell.

Panic descends over the relaxation, rushing away the sweetness of what they just did and replacing it with bone deep fear. Turns it darker, makes it wrong.

He’s got better control than this, he thinks, still staring at the blood on his knuckles. So goddamn red.

He should be better than this.

He is better than this.

But he’s fucking not, clearly.

All the work he’s done, curbing his unfettered anger and pride and reactionary, rampant impulses, shifting away from letting his emotions drive him. Letting them rule over him completely.

It means nothing in the face of what he just did.

Every conversation he’s either been a part of or listened to since the moment he understood what informed and mutual consent was flips through his brain like the pages of a book in the wind. He can’t see them, can’t read them, can’t pull each specific thing he knows to the forefront of his brain, but he knows it’s all there. Can see the words on the pages.

Katsuki didn’t ask if this was okay, he didn’t ask about a damn thing.

He let Shouto’s honey-sweet begging cloud his judgment and did whatever the fuck he wanted, whatever felt good in the moment, without thinking about any sort of consequence. Let his dick and the rumbling, hungry, possessive thing inside him guide him.

He put his teeth to Shouto’s neck.

Katsuki’s the one that’s supposed to be taking care of him, so close to his heat. Taking care of them.

This is his fucking job. To listen, to direct them where they need to go, to not let them throw themselves off an emotional cliff down into the choppy, dangerous waters of an aspect of their relationship he’s not sure Shouto even fucking wanted.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Shouto eventually notices that something’s wrong, turning to look at Katsuki from where he’s been dopily smiling up at the ceiling for the last few minutes.

Even through the haze of panic and disappointment and self-flaggelation, that dumb look still settles something roiling inside of him.

Until it changes, the smile fading and his face going blank, Shouto very clearly clocking that Katsuki is freaking the hell out.

“Why do you smell like that?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He tries to brush it off, avoiding Shouto’s eyes and gently squeezing the thigh still tossed across his waist.

“Like what?”

“Bad,” Shouto mutters, no punches pulled. When he reaches out to cup Katsuki’s cheek, he can’t help but lean in even though he’s so fucking sick with guilt that all he wants to do is pull away.

He doesn’t deserve this. Not this kindness, this sweetness and concern.

This isn’t for him, not after what he just did.

There’s a furrow between Shouto’s brows now, a terrible juxtaposition to the relaxed smile from seconds ago. The hair at his temples is damp, mussed up in the back from Katsuki’s fingers continually running through it.

As he watches, Shouto’s perfect mouth flattens into a frown.

“Was that not good?”

“No, fuck—” Jesus, not good? That was the best orgasm of his stupid fucking life. “No it was good, it’s always good, it was great, but I—”

But I fucked up?

But I bit you? Claimed you? Marked you without asking?

Made you mine?

Every option sounds horrible, absolutely fucking gut wrenching to admit.

Owning up to this thing he did, without asking. Taking, taking, taking, like he always does.

He can’t make the words come out of his terrible, still-bloody mouth.

“Katsuki? What’s wrong?” Now he sounds worried in addition to looking concerned, his voice going quiet, serious.

Neither of them say anything, the silence so damn loud.

“I didn’t ask, Shou.”

“Didn’t ask what?”

He snaps before he can stop himself, his voice sounding too sharp. Panic making him mean. “I’ve got a mouth full of blood and my mark on you and I didn’t ask.”

Now that Katsuki’s said it, opened the floodgates, everything else spills out of him in a rush.

“I bit you,” he says, anger at himself bleeding into his voice. He hopes Shouto doesn’t think it’s at him, but his brain won’t let him stop. “Without asking, fuck, I claimed you.”

When he fists his hands in his hair, Shouto makes a quiet little noise, something startled and put off. Leaning up on one elbow to look at him closer, Shouto reaches out to put a hand on his face again and he jerks away.

“We’ve never talked about it. Not once, Shouto, and I fucking did it anyway.” He’s sliding into audible panic, furious at himself and sick over taking this choice away from someone he cares so damn much about. “Got too caught up in the moment like some fucking idiot asshole that doesn’t care about you, about what you want.”

Beside him, Shouto is shaking his head, expression puzzled. Before Katsuki can keep ranting, he cuts him off.

“We talk about it all the time.”

What.

A strangled sort sound bursts from Katsuki’s mouth, his breath too caught in his chest to breathe out fully.

Shouto keeps going, confusion evident in his voice. “We’ve talked about it, what? Once a week for the last three years?”

What the hell is he talking about?

“The hell are you talking about?”

“Every time we go out you look at me like I’m a bonfire you want to throw yourself into and you talk about wanting to claim me.” Shouto’s expression goes flat, shuttering, like he’s drawing his own conclusions without any input from Katsuki. “Is that not true?”

“No, what, fuck,” he scrambles to say. “Nothing has ever been more true.”

God, does he mean it.

“We’ve talked about it then,” Shouto repeats, steadfast and sure.

“That’s different, it’s different, that’s not—” But is it different? Have they both not meant it, every time? “I thought it was just a—a sex thing, a dirty talk thing.”

Shouto makes a face, contemplative. Some tiny, far away part of Katsuki’s consciousness appreciates the fact that he’s listening to what Katsuki is saying, taking it into account and systematically replying to it.

“I don’t see why it can’t be both.”

“Both what,” he grinds out, the lack of understanding making his emotions scrape up against each other like too-tight gears.

“A sex thing and a real thing. A want, for both of us.”

Shouto shrugs then, easily. Like him bringing up them sexually terrorizing each other in public is a valid counterpoint to Katsuki’s fullblown breakdown.

Which at this point, it actually might be.

Laying his cards on the table, guilt turning him recalcitrant, Katsuki mumbles, “Didn’t think you were being serious.”

“I wouldn’t beg for it if I wasn’t serious.”

In response, Katsuki makes noise like a balloon losing all of its air and slaps his palms over his eyes.

Shouto sweeps a leg over him then, straddling him in one smooth motion and settling. Tucking his thighs tight against Katsuki’s hips, he grabs his face tight in both palms, an intensity to his grasp that makes something inside of him level out instantly.

Even with the societal shift away from traditional secondary gender stereotypes, most people will occasionally still act like all omegas are is caring and sweet and soft.

Shouto can be all of those things, sure, but he’s also stubborn as a mule, crass as fuck when he wants to be, and an absolute terror when he needs to be.

He’s glad Shouto knows he doesn’t need gentle right now.

What he needs is his face clamped between Shouto’s palms, forcing him to make eye contact and to own up to his mistake.

“Stop,” Shouto says, voice firm and his grip tightening, like he can see what Katsuki’s thinking and doesn’t like the way it looks. “Listen to me.”

The second they meet each other’s eyes, Shouto bends down and rubs the entirety of his face against Katsuki’s. The motion is so reassuring, so comfortable and soothing and familiar, that it’s beyond easy to press up into it, tightening his hands where they rest on Shouto’s thighs.

“You think I would have let you bite me if I didn’t want it?” Shouto asks, pointed, when he’s finished scenting the everloving fuck out of him. The hint of challenge that lives in his voice whenever Katsuki baits him is even more obvious than usual. “If I didn’t want you to do that, I would have said something. Would have gotten you to stop by any means necessary.”

He presses a kiss to Katsuki’s temple, and says, quiet but sure, “You know how I am.”

And fuck, he does know. He’s always known.

Shouto might not be as thoroughly muscled as he is, but he can still hold his own against him if he had to. If it really came down to it, though it never would. Against anyone, if it was warranted.

They play-wrestle constantly, pinning each other and laughing until it turns into something a little more real, their competitiveness spurred on by the physical closeness. Shouto’s not above fighting dirty, aiming for weak spots. Anything to get someone off of him, if he didn’t want them on him to begin with.

“Yeah,” Katsuki breathes, “yeah I do.”

“And I know how you are,” Shouto replies, confident like he’s dealing the finishing blow in one of their arguments rather than discussing the fact that Katsuki just gave him a mating bite mid-fuck without asking.

He concedes, barely able to nod with the hold Shouto still has on his entire fucking skull.

The attempted nod brings a smile to Shouto’s face, small but bright, and he keeps talking, releasing his death grip to card his fingers through Katsuki hair. The motion is gentle and comforting and it brings the gland in Shouto’s wrist close to his face.

He’s very clearly actively pushing out mad relaxing pheromones, ‘cause it makes Katsuki melt back into the sheets.

“I thought you weren’t ready, maybe. Or that you didn’t want to just yet. And that was fine. I’m always willing to wait for you.”

That tilts Katsuki on his axis, turning his entire world upside down.

What he says next comes out of him like it’s burning. “I’ve wanted to for years.”

“Then it’s good that you did, right?” Shouto asks, knowing that he’s won. That he’s convinced Katsuki of this inherent truth they’ve both shared for months upon months, that they’ve never said aloud in this exact way. “We both wanted it, we’ve both said that we’ve wanted it hundreds of times.”

Then, he gives Katsuki a pointed look and presses a kiss right to the middle of his forehead.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shouto says, soft. “Not to me.”

He says it like he knows, like he knows Katsuki wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. To overstep his boundaries, to lay claim without asking.

And Christ, if that doesn’t confront and alleviate every worry he had in an instant. Now that the fear is gone, the potent disappointment in himself and disgust in his actions, he can think about what happened a little more clearly.

Naked as all hell and still sitting on top of him, Shouto looks like a goddamn angel. Backlit by the window, the start of golden hour tossing honeyed warmth all over him.

The bite mark on his neck is so stark against the pale skin of his throat that it practically glows. It’s perfectly round, the exact imprint of Katsuki’s teeth.

Looking at it makes him want to groan.

He wants to touch it, drag his fingers against it. Wants to press down on it, to see if it would make Shouto arch his back all pretty like he likes.

“You know I love you, right?” Shouto asks, exceedingly casual for the words he’s saying.

Katsuki, still orgasm-stupid and post-breakdown numb, looks away from the mark and up at his beautiful face and asks, like the fucking idiot he is, “What? Really?”

“Yes, really.” He says it like Katsuki’s being fucking stupid, which he probably is. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. From the first time you kissed me, I think.”

“Like…forever ago?”

Shouto nods, the light blush on his cheeks from fucking earlier getting even darker.

Katsuki can feel his stupid mouth drop open, gazing up at who might be the actual love of his stupid life.

“I love you too, fuck,” he gasps out, reeling an arm around Shouto’s neck and tugging them tightly together. “Love you so much, goddamn.”

It’s Shouto’s turn to drop kisses all over his face, on his mouth, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. They tickle a little, but he doesn’t shy away.

“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki mutters after Shouto pulls back, thumping his bed back against his pillow. “Maybe people have a point about saying shit out loud.”

Shouto shrugs, unconvinced. “I’ve never been concerned about not knowing how you feel about me, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it now and again.”

He’s taken the fuck out by that, by the fact that Shouto’s never worried about what they are, what they mean to each other.

That he’s always known, been sure.

They sit there for a bit, Shouto still on top of him, sex hair absolutely wild, bite mark on his neck. Staring into each other’s eyes like lovesick idiots.

Until Shouto’s start to go hazy, his hands dropping to rest on top of Katsuki’s, where they’re cradling his hips.

Katsuki knows that fucking look.

He smirks up at him, like the dickhead he always is.

The expression on his face makes Shouto sigh, but not in exasperation.

More like in anticipation.

Shouto shifts his hips, the core of him so warm. Says, “Your teeth are bloody,” all relaxed and casual, like that’s an observation he makes every day.

Katsuki raises his own hips to meet him, physically incapable of anything else.

The sound their grinding makes is so obscene it would make a lesser man blush. Shouto’s still slick between his legs, a hot, wet heat that makes his head spin.

“Hah?”

He’s distracted by the slow flex of thighs on either side of his hips—the well known motions of fucking like this, Shouto riding him, head thrown back and Katsuki’s hands all over him—even though they both got off not even five minutes ago.

“Your teeth,” Shouto repeats, then pauses as he takes a deep, focusing breath, like he’s been distracted. “They’re still bloody.”

He smoothes a palm across Katsuki’s jaw, along the rasp of his stubble. The slide of his wrist against the side of Katsuki’s neck makes them both go tense, then relax.

It’s ridiculous, that it still makes him feel like this. That they’ve scented countless times, and it always makes him feel exactly like this.

Simultaneously relaxed and on fire, a comfort like nothing he’s ever known combined with a heat that burns from the inside out.

Curious fingertips stroke across the seam of his lips, tracing what Katsuki can only assume are the leftover smudges of blood.

“Open,” Shouto murmurs, a statement rather than a demand.

He bares his teeth, opening his mouth immediately. All ‘cause Shouto fuckin’ asked. Even if it was a command, even though he absolutely loathes being told what to do, Katsuki would still do it.

Easy as anything, Shouto slides two of his thin fingers into Katsuki’s mouth and swipes them across his front teeth. Presses, fingertips gentle, against his canines.

Katsuki can’t help the way his entire head tilts downward in reaction, meeting force with force. A simulated bite.

At the hint of pressure, Shouto whines, quiet and low in his throat. Breathy and unconscious, like he isn’t even thinking about it.

It’s all Katsuki can do not to flip them, not to wrap an arm around Shouto’s waist and toss him back into the mattress, to shift between his thighs and slide right back where he belongs.

He sucks Shouto’s fingers into his mouth, closes his lips around them and laves his tongue, soft and slow, against the pads of his fingertips.

Watching the way his eyes flutter shut has Katsuki practically fucking vibrating.

When Shouto’s eyes open, the look in them is determined, a little desperate. Absolutely sure.

“I want to give you one to match.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes out. Now they’re both shuddering, rutting against each other like it’s the first time they’ve ever touched.

He watches the way Shouto’s pupils dilate from this close, blue and grey swallowed up by black. Hears how sweetly he asks, “Can I? Please?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding like a goddamn bobblehead. Attempting to hide how much he wants this isn’t even in the realm of possibility, nor is it something he even wants to do in the first place. He needs Shouto to know how much he wants this. “Of fucking course.”

Hitching Shouto closer, he bares his own neck.

The idea of having matching mating bites, a reciprocal claim, makes his alpha practically croon with delight.

They love each other, they said it out loud. Katsuki thinks he’s probably always fucking known, but hearing it is different. Being sure of it is different.

Mating bites have always been their thing, their dirty talk touchstone, a foolproof way to get them worked up, desperate and wanting for each other. Now, he thinks hysterically, they’ll really be their thing.

A mutual desire made real.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Katsuki reminds him. “All you gotta do is ask.”

The sharp pin prick of his omega’s teeth makes his head tilt back without thought, his grip on Shouto going tighter.

Yeah, this feels right.

Feels like the easiest thing.

When Shouto’s teeth close around his neck, he shuts his eyes and leans in.