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If asked, Izuku would probably say his favourite part of Kacchan was all of him. A nice, safe, unrevealing answer. Cheesy to discourage further questioning, and true enough besides.
But not entirely honest.
The truth is, Izuku’s life is sectioned into periods of time during which he’s fixated on a different part of Kacchan. He finds all of him desperately attractive all the time, of course, but he has special phases for his shoulders, jawline, collarbone. Eras where he’s obsessed with one feature specifically. Blame his ADHD.
But there’s one body part that overlays all his phases, which honestly compound anyway. Drives him insane.
Because Izuku…. definitely has a thing for Kacchan’s hands.
Sue him — they’re large, and strong, and hot in every sense. He’s had them directed at him, combusting, and he’s wanted them directly on him, touch scorching.
Kacchan’s hands are roughly proportional to the rest of him, so they don’t seem abnormally large. At least not until one is splayed over Izuku’s face in an attempt to blind or silence him, and Izuku dies a little inside at the realization that Kacchan’s hand spans the width of his face.
He could grip his head in one hand, if he wanted. While practicing their combo moves in training, hands clasped as one of them launches the other through the air, Izuku spares a split second of brain power to acknowledge how his hand feels in Kacchan’s. Not weaker, just…smaller. Scaled down.
Kacchan’s hand could cover his, would widen the spaces between his fingers with his own if they were interlaced, could probably hold both of his hands in one. God. Izuku watches them now, as Kacchan twirls a pencil in his right hand in front of him. They’re all studying in the common room, and Izuku is two seconds away from scolding him for lack of public decency. Especially when Kacchan reaches for his water bottle and unscrews the cap, the bottle and lid tiny in his hands, tendons flexing casually in a way that is, quite frankly, obscene.
Izuku was losing it. He ducked his head back down, trying desperately to focus on… what even was this subject? English prepositional phrases. Like what he wanted Kacchan to do to him. With him. Against someth—
“Oi.”
Izuku jolted at the gruff voice coming from diagonally across from him at the table, looking up to find Kacchan staring back unimpressed.
“The hell are you thinking about,” Kacchan said, eyes taking on a devilish twinkle. He reached out, Izuku watched in slow motion as his (big, glorious) hand stretched toward his face, finally coming in contact with an errant curl off his forehead about three years later, tugging it slightly.
“Your face is all red, nerd,” Kacchan said, neutrally. “You like English that much?”
Izuku wished the ground would swallow him up whole.
“Shut up, Kacchan,” he glared back, wanting to turn back to his homework but not wanting to dislodge Kacchan’s hand still near his face, playing with the curl. Emanating warmth that wasn’t helping the blush fogging just under his skin.
Kacchan looked at him consideringly. “Need some help?” he asked, taking his first three fingers to tuck the hair behind Izuku’s ear casually.
Izuku’s brain short-circuited.
What. What was that. Why— Kacchan was still looking at him, waiting for an answer like not a thing was out of the norm, patience probably running out while Izuku tried not to gape at him dumbly, sat frozen and vibrating with slightly widened eyes.
“Um. I’m fine,” he squeaked, finally whipping his head back down now that Kacchan’s arm had fallen away, back to Kacchan’s zone of personal space where it wouldn’t impede on Izuku’s higher brain functioning any longer.
Kacchan grunted in affirmation like the caveman he was and went back to his own work, back to twirling that godforsaken pencil. Izuku gave himself two seconds to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself, then actually got to work. He could process this later. Mic-Sensei probably wouldn’t take “overcome-with-gay-panic” as a feasible excuse for a bad grade.
Katsuki stared at his hands in shock after Izuku left to go to bed. Fuck. What the fuck was he thinking? Reaching out so causally like that?
He knew what it was — that he hadn’t been thinking at all, actually. Being around Deku seemed to turn his inhibitions off, for some reason, leaving him so comfortable with himself and with the two of them that he doesn’t think, his body just moves on its own.
As showcased by the debacle he’d just committed. Damn Deku and his shittyass pretty hair. If Izuku didn’t want Katsuki touching it, he’d have to do something about the stupidly soft curls he let lay messily on his head, alluring and dangling and just calling to be messed with. Making Katsuki’s hands itch. Filling him with jealousy with how they brushed against his soft cheeks, kissed his brow bone.
Katsuki stared down at his hands, thinking. Izuku had to be real dumb to think Katsuki wasn’t perfectly aware of his obsession with his… but wasn’t it his shoulders? Or the crook of his jaw, once. He’s pretty sure he goes through literal, actual phases, like the ridiculous loser he is. But yeah, Izuku couldn’t possibly expect Katsuki not to know. As if he wasn’t blatantly obvious in his staring, and had been for years.
Come to think of it, even though the nerd seemed to more or less move on from his bimonthly fixation on some part of him to another, Katsuki could even remember a time way back in middle school, when they were grouped together for a project, when the dweeb zoned out staring at his hands. At first, younger Katsuki had thought he was staring at his lap, embarrassingly enough, but revised his assumption when he moved to flip a page and watched Deku’s glazed-over eyes track the movement. What a dork.
If he’s being honest, Katsuki had always been aware in the back of his mind that despite being all-around obsessed with him anyway, Izuku had a special thing for his hands. A mistake on Deku’s part, honestly. That shit went straight to Katsuki’s head.
He was proud of his hands. They weren’t as soft as they used to be, his mother’s quirk notwithstanding, now etched with calluses from years of rigorous training of his body and his quirk. These hands were violent, usually. He thinks they could be gentle, for Izuku.
Hm.
Katsuki grins. Well, shit. If he could make that pretty flush grace Izuku’s cheeks that easily, he might as well stop holding himself back altogether, all the time. The nerd had seemed to collect himself fairly quickly, though, despite his dumbfounded face for a good minute. Hmm.
Katsuki was just gonna have to step up his game.
When Izuku woke, something was amiss. Something in the air. Danger sense was quiet, so he didn’t think much of it, but he still squinted around him on the walk downstairs for breakfast, suspicious.
Hm. Mina pressing bodily up on a flustered Kirishima, check. Iida and Ochako watching the news, check. Momo and Jirou fruitlessly pulling Sero and Kaminari out of the pantry, check. A rough hand in his hair when he entered the kitchen—
All Might save him.
His heart jumped as the heavy hand on his head dragged through his curls as if it had done so every morning since the beginning of time, nonchalantly dropping as Kacchan passed him on the way to the pantry. Izuku watched him go, dumbstruck, faintly registering Kacchan nudging aside Momo and Jirou to help them shove Sero and Kaminari out of the hot chocolate stash. He barely heard them whining and Kacchan yelling about sugar in the mornings, too busy trying to get his brain to restart. Okay. Cool. Perfectly normal behavior, right? If the way Kacchan was moving on had anything to say about it. Izuku blinked a couple of times and moved to the counter, fumbling a breakfast together for himself. What were those English prepositions again? Above, across, after, against, around, behind —
Someone was behind him.
Oh, god. Izuku could feel their distinctive body heat, their larger frame a veritable furnace as it drew closer, closer… he felt like caught prey, pulse racing, eyes wide and unseeing.
Kacchan pressed up behind him.
A large hand placed itself on the crook of Izuku’s shoulder, almost on his neck, as Kacchan’s front made contact with Izuku’s back. His long fingers practically dipping into his casual tee, dripping with heat. Kacchan stretched behind him, a muscled arm reaching past Izuku’s peripheral to grab a mug from the cupboard above them. Izuku’s heart fluttered at the solid heat passing his ear. Kacchan’s shirt shifted against his back with the movement, as did the hand on Izuku’s shoulder/neck, surely leaving a visible trail of lava on his skin.
“‘Scuse me,” Kacchan said, belatedly, settling back down and finally, blessedly stepping away, out of his space enough that Izuku could finally breathe again. His hand slipped off Izuku’s shoulder, trailing a path of fire. Izuku restrained himself from looking down at the skin of his collar left uncovered by his shirt, knowing he wouldn’t find the burn marks he subconsciously expected to be left behind. Kacchan stepped up next to him, fixing a mug of something. Izuku wasn’t sure exactly what, given how three-quarters of his mental capacity where wholly preoccupied with how tiny the mugs and spoon looked in Kacchan’s big hands.
Wait. Was that hot chocolate? “Didn’t you just—”
“Shut up,” Kacchan cut him off, gruff. Ears tinted red. He stirred the mug with the apparently tiny spoon. “I’m making those idiots the good stuff, not that pre-packaged diabetes shit.”
Izuku finally registered the high-quality cocoa powder on the counter, the brown sugar. His heart warmed. Kacchan tried to be a bastard most of the time, but he really was so sweet.
Kacchan groaned from next to him. “Stop whatever the fuck you’re thinking,” he said, eyeing Izuku’s unconscious smile.
Izuku simpered on purpose, teasing. “Kacchan’s so ~sweet~,” he sing-songed, sidling up to Kacchan’s left side and batting his eyelashes like a southern belle from a Western, chin tilted up. Kacchan looked down at him, amused eyes betraying his straight face. He looked almost affectionate, shoulders facing the counter but gaze on Izuku. He turned smoothly, left hand coming up to Izuku’s face.
Before Izuku knew it, there were gentle fingers cupping his chin, lifting it up even more. Izuku’s breath caught as a thumb brushed along the corner of his mouth.
Izuku’s heart stuttered. Kacchan’s eyes were so warm on him, somehow warmer than the fingers burning their path. Izuku didn’t dare move, afraid to interrupt the moment— he just watched Kacchan back, breath caught.
“You got somethin’ here,” Kacchan finally murmured, but Izuku barely heard him, brain filled only with static and the sensation of Kacchan’s warm hand effortlessly handling the bottom half of his face. Kacchan’s thumb rubbed the edge of his mouth one final, considering time and fell away.
Katsuki straightened — Izuku hadn’t even noticed him unconsciously bending down the slightest amount. That Izuku had been leaning into it too.
They looked at each other for another charged half-second before returning to their respective tasks, Izuku’s face flaming, Katsuki with a hidden smile that Izuku noticed out of the corner of his eye.
“What was it?” Izuku asked dumbly, hand lifting to his mouth before changing his mind, not wanting to disturb the residual heat of Kacchan’s touch.
“Food or something. I don’t fuckin’ know,” Katsuki said, picking up the finished mugs and leaving for the eating area, where Sero and Kaminari saw him coming and cheered.
Huh.
Izuku hadn’t eaten anything yet.
Over the course of the next few days, Izuku was pretty sure he was losing his mind. Kacchan’s behaviour had shifted slightly; not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Izuku to. At the very least, because this change seemed centered around him: the casual touches continued and grew in both frequency and boldness. Izuku was near-constantly dizzy from it.
In class, again — a nonchalant hand in his hair. This hadn’t been unheard-of before, in all fairness, but now Izuku was hyperaware of the heat of Kacchan’s palm, the strong fingers dragging through his curls. The trail they marked as they fell away.
At dinner — a hand around his wrist, rather than a slap, to direct him away from the unfinished pot Kacchan was stirring. Long, hot fingers circling the delicate bone. Izuku couldn’t tear his eyes away from how they wrapped around it completely and then some, the tips of Kacchan’s fingers overlapping, for the brief moment they encircled his wrist to lead his hand away.
During training — a scorching palm on the dip of his waist, burning straight through his costume, while Kacchan shifted him aside to pass him on the way to the field. Later, in the privacy of the empty lockers, Izuku peeked under his clothes at his waist, fully expecting to find a handprint-shaped burn laying claim to the gentle curve there. There wasn’t one, of course. And Izuku definitely wasn’t disappointed, definitely not.
Maybe he just wanted a reminder of Kacchan’s touches. Not that he needed one, given how frequently he was given them. A nudge to his cheek when he apologized for rambling. Casual tugging at his curls. A hot palm on the crook of his neck, on his wrist, in his hair, and Izuku couldn’t decide whether he lost it more at the feeling, or the way it trailed away.
Because that was the real thing, the kicker — how the touch lingered.
It wasn’t enough, apparently, for Kacchan to touch him — he had to make it seem like every moment spent not touching him was reluctant, like he was savouring the feel of his hands on Izuku. Like it took everything in him to pull away.
So yes, Izuku was losing his damn mind. He couldn’t handle his heart rate picking up every time Kacchan was near (not that it… hadn’t already done that), only to pick up impossibly at the inevitable touch, leaving Izuku lightheaded.
They couldn’t go on like this for much longer, not talking about it. They had already historically riled each other up with just their presence easily — now every held eye contact was charged with electricity, with the exciting, unspoken knowledge that only the two of them knew they were playing a game.
A dangerous game, if Kacchan’s near-smoldering gaze and actually smoldering hands had anything to do with it. His touch varying from teasing to heart-stoppingly bold.
Finally, one day after school, the tension snapped.
Izuku landed hard on his back, wheezing. He glared up at Kacchan above him, wiping the blood from his mouth. Katsuki grinned manically down at him, hands pressed into his shoulders. Izuku stared a little too long at the fire in Katsuki’s eyes, then heaved his legs up to lock around Katsuki and flip them.
Kacchan gave a little “oof” as Izuku shoved him into the dirt, triumphant.
It wasn’t often he won against Katsuki, lately. Not for lack of strength — he and Kacchan were pretty evenly matched, sparring-wise, if he used about 2% of OFA.
No, he had been losing more often lately because of the inherent skin-to-skin nature of sparring, the touch so goddamned distracting when compounded with the lingering ones from earlier each day. He knew he couldn’t afford to lose focus like this in a real fight, but in a real fight his opponent wouldn’t be a six-foot blonde hunk with flaming, lingering eyes and flaming, lingering hands. Hopefully. Actually, this would really put him at a disadvantage if a villain ever personified Kacchan.
In the present, Izuku panted, hunched and sitting on Kacchan’s torso while the other laid his head back in the dirt, chest also heaving. They had been at it for hours.
Kacchan’s tilted back head exposed the lines of his neck and collarbone, tendons bulging. Izuku’s hands itched.
He could feel that particular phase coming back.
Before he could complete the thought, Kacchan tiredly tilted his head back forward again, looking up at Izuku leaning over him in exhaustion. Kacchan’s eyes caught on something near his hairline.
Kacchan rubbed his hand on his uniform pants. Izuku watched it lift to an errant curl dangling between them from Izuku’s bent head. Kacchan took the curl and tucked it behind Izuku’s ear, his fingers brushing Izuku’s earlobe almost lovingly as he tucked the piece behind it.
Izuku swallowed, heart fluttering. Kacchan held his gaze steadfastly. Christ, Kacchan. Izuku lifted his own hand to the one lingering by his ear, now twirling the other curls there and threatening to shove itself fully in his hair. He grasped Kacchan’s wrist gently, pulling his hand away and standing up, using his grip to help pull Kacchan up with him. Kacchan followed without resistance, even as Izuku led them, trembling, to the locker doors, where there was a little alcove leading to a storage closet. A semblance of privacy tucked away in the corner of the gym.
Izuku pulled them both into the alcove, turning to face Kacchan in the small space, his hand still around Kacchan’s wrist. They were close enough he had to tilt his head up slightly to make eye contact. His blood buzzed.
Izuku had just opened his mouth to finally ask the damning question when he was cut off, abruptly, by lips pressed firmly onto his.
Izuku’s heart leapt. His nervous system lit on fire as Kacchan’s other hand reached round to slip into his hair, cradle his skull, right where the lower bone dipped and curved, tightening in his curls as Kacchan brought his head closer, kissed him harder. Izuku kissed back, gasping, heartbeat in overdrive. His hand left Kacchan’s wrist to join the other in gripping his shirt, leaving Kacchan’s free to slip onto the other side of his head, too. Cradling him like something precious. Gripping his head and pulling him closer desperately, like he was everything Katsuki had ever wanted. Izuku knew the opposite, at least, was true, as he leaned into the kiss, trying not to whimper at the hot hands in his hair, hot mouth on his own.
Kacchan kissed him like he was the air he needed to breathe, barely pulling away, not giving Izuku a second to catch his breath. Izuku didn’t mind. He could pass out right here, under Kacchan, and be happy. He felt like might pass out anyway, not from lack of oxygen, but from the tongue now dipping into his mouth, making Izuku’s brain leak out of his ears. He really did whimper, this time, and Kacchan only groaned and gripped him harder, kissed him deeper. His shoulders were hunched with the force of it, with how desperately he was holding Izuku.
Finally, Kacchan broke away with an obscene sucking sound, panting. Izuku was in a similar breathless state, dazed and swaying. Kacchan held him upright with the grip on his head, still burning into his skull, gentled now that they weren’t in the middle of an embrace. His fingers twirled the curls there idly, and he smiled.
“Been wanting to do that for a stupid long time,” Kacchan rasped, on a light laugh.
Izuku made a strangled noise. He hadn’t quite gotten his speech capabilities back yet.
Katsuki’s right hand slid out of Izuku’s hair, down to his neck so he could push Izuku’s jaw up with a thumb. The V of his hand splayed on his throat, four remaining fingers gripping the back of it. He grinned down at Izuku’s glazed-over eyes.
“Cat got your tongue?” He said, certain his eyes were alight with mischief. Filled with triumph. He wondered how far Izuku would let him go.
If the limp way Izuku leaned into his hands was anything to go by… Katsuki felt lit up inside. Izuku’s eyes didn’t break away from him once, wide and almost worshipful, fluttering as he seemed to try to sink into Katsuki’s touch. Katsuki shifted his hand up, rubbing a thumb over Izuku’s swollen lips. Appreciative. Testing. He pressed slightly.
Izuku, red-cheeked, looked up through his lashes and directly into his soul as he parted his lips, letting Katsuki’s thumb inside.
Fuck. Katsuki withheld a groan, hooking his thumb in Izuku’s now open mouth. Dragging over Izuku’s tongue.
Kat got your tongue. Ha. Jeez, Izuku was so hot he was clearly making Katsuki actively lose brain cells.
…He had to stop this before he did something in public they’d probably both regret.
Clearing his throat, Katsuki moved both of his hands to Izuku’s collar, gripping it harshly.
“I like you,” he barked, suddenly embarrassed. All Might help him, he could put his fingers in this freaky shit’s mouth, but he couldn’t confess without flustering.
Izuku looked like he was about to pass out.
Was he even breathing? Katsuki shook him a little. Izuku took a big breath in abruptly, and Katsuki could practically hear the Windows start-up sound of his brain coming back online.
“Kacchan,” Izuku choked out, darting forward to throw himself onto a newly flustered Katsuki, who caught him in the hug. Oh. This was nice. Katsuki was immediately addicted to the feel of Izuku in his arms, warm and smaller and solid.
“I like you too, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered into his neck, still trembling. Probably from the stimulation overload of the last ten minutes. Katsuki held him close, burying his face in Izuku’s curly head, heart full to bursting. He felt like he could take down an army. He settled for the rough equivalent: holding all of Izuku in his arms.
Izuku peeked his head up, digging his chin into Katsuki’s sternum.
“We’re all sweaty, Kacchan,” he giggled, nose scrunched. Jesus christ, he was so cute. Katsuki felt lightheaded.
“You don’t seem to care much,” Katsuki countered, pointedly eyeing the way Izuku’s entire body was leaning against his own. Izuku rolled his eyes and pulled away, which was the exact opposite of what Katsuki wanted, but his instinctual frown lightened when Izuku slipped his hand into his larger one.
Oh. They fit so perfectly together. Like pieces of Katsuki’s very soul finally, finally clicking into place. He stared at their hands in wonder. They looked so nice together, too, his own hand engulfing Izuku’s, fingers settling perfectly between the spaces of Izuku’s so that they interlocked securely.
They showered and went to dinner, holding hands all the while. Katsuki observed with amusement how Izuku’s gaze kept drawing back to where their hands were joined, as if by magnetism. He couldn’t judge; he was doing the same, although he was mostly looking at Izuku himself. At the way he seemed to be glowing. Katsuki squeezed the hand in his, and Izuku gave him a smile that could move mountains.
After dinner, Izuku and Kacchan parted ways, exhausted from the day and promising to meet before breakfast the next day. Izuku gathered his courage and left Kacchan with a kiss on his cheek, darting into his room immediately after, face aflame.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
Izuku buried his face in his hands to muffle a squeal, completely overwhelmed. Kacchan…. his face stretched with an unintentional smile into his palms, eyes closed and blushing and so, so happy.
Izuku went to bed with Kacchan’s hands in his head caressing the cusps of his dreams, the memory of his touch warming him to sleep. Of his bright-cheeked confession. Their ki—
Perhaps he should revise his statement. He couldn’t pick.
All of Kacchan really was his favourite, after all.