Work Text:
Izuku’s been feeling too much.
His perpetual state of anxiety in the months following the war has been eating away at him. He’s got pent up emotions, some kind of autopilot drive to do, constantly, guilt that nags at him as soon as he relaxes.
On his desk, his homework is finished already. Stacks of it. It’d been assigned two days ago, and Izuku picked it up every so often, when his nervous system told him to. Maybe he should get somebody to look at it. Ask someone to correct his mistakes.
Maybe he should text Kacchan.
Kacchan would’ve finished it already. He’s always extra quick, because Denki and Eijirou always need his help.
And now Izuku, too. Although—
Izuku’s not confident about a lot of things post-war, but he would say that he’s confident in him and Kacchan. They did talk, in the hospital. It turns out that even though Shigaraki evaporated into dust, Izuku had ‘saved’ Tenko. Whatever that meant, anymore, anyway. Izuku had set him free, and it wasn’t enough.
Tenko was just a boy. He didn’t want One For All. He wanted a family. He wanted a friend.
Izuku failed, and the energetic thrumming of his quirk taunts him. Blackwhip feels like a noose around his neck. His muscles feel weak, even though he goes to the gym at odd hours of the night and is continually proven wrong. His forearms and hands feel phantom, like his body remembers what it was like to lose them.
Kacchan is at his door two minutes later. He opens it by himself, doesn’t knock; leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and waits for Izuku to notice he’s there.
For about ten seconds, Izuku pretends not to, so he can get away with looking at him in his peripheral vision. He’s wearing that t-shirt again. The one with the printed skull on it— its white outline is cracked and faded, and where it once was baggy and loose, it now hugs the curves of his body tight. Izuku wouldn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, wouldn’t want to tell him that it might be time to give it up and throw it away. Would never want to say that he should let it go.
“How much have you done?” Kacchan asks him, when Izuku eventually acknowledges his presence.
He smiles, sheepishly. “All of it.”
“Mic’s English?” Kacchan tests.
“Done.”
“Quirk history worksheets?”
Izuku shuffles from foot to foot. “Done.”
“Aizawa-sensei’s annoyingly complicated map of the human muscular system?” He raises an eyebrow, doesn’t let up even for a second.
“Done, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers.
He doesn’t know why he feels so ashamed. Maybe it’s because he thinks Kacchan knows why he’s done it. Maybe it’s because Kacchan knows him, and that he never would’ve done it this quickly before, that he would’ve spent God knows how many hours rambling on about quirk history and filling up the worksheet instead of the one or two sentences he put down instead. Maybe—
“Huh,” says Katsuki, ostensibly impressed. “‘s good, Deku.”
Izuku freezes.
Oh. Why—
Why does he feel dizzy, all of a sudden? Why is it warm? Is he warm? Is Kacchan also warm? Did it get hot?
He sucks in an affected breath.
“You gonna let me in?” Katsuki asks, after Izuku’s spent an entire minute freaking out, and then freaking out about not being able to retreat inside his own head and figure out what the hell is going on because Kacchan is standing there in front of him, almost taking up the entire doorway, looking down at Izuku all war-torn and broken and telling him he did good.
“Yeah,” Izuku croaks. “Come in.”
The desk is too small for two people, so they opt for the bed. After Izuku collects the stack of homework and shuffles back against the wall, he watches Kacchan lift his entire body weight with mostly one arm (he’s still in physical therapy for the injured one) so he can shift backwards too.
Izuku changes his mind very quickly. Katsuki’s going to rip that shirt before anyone can tell him to throw it in the trash or donate it to charity.
Kacchan’s used to being in his room, but this feels different, somehow.
Izuku hands him whatever’s on top. He thinks it’s English, but he’s not even sure what he did last. Kacchan takes it wordlessly, though, and looks over it like Izuku wanted him to.
“Where’d’you learn this,” Kacchan muses after a while, pointing to a word he’d written under question five. Izuku glances over to see what he’s talking about.
“Melissa,” he answers, ‘cause it’s probably true. She texts him in English, sometimes, to help him improve.
As it happens, feeling less emotionally connected to a language helps Izuku talk. Words don’t feel so weighted. He says things, unknowingly, that are more earnest than he intends them to be, only realising when she sends him fifteen crying emoticons in response.
Kacchan doesn’t reply. He just continues reading.
“Gotta knock this off, here,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Yeah, ‘n conjugate these properly. Your tenses are fucked up.”
Izuku squirms in place, and Kacchan lifts his head to look at him. Holds out his pen for Izuku to take. And he does try, but Kacchan snatches it away at the last second, making Izuku yelp in indignation—
“Hey!”
Katsuki snorts. “I’m g’na let you have it,” he says, amused at his retaliation. “G’na let you have it, Deku.”
Kacchan calls him Izuku more often than not. Only calls him Deku when he needs him to pay attention. He supposes this is one of those times.
“Okay, Kacchan,” Izuku says placidly. “Thank you, Kacchan.”
“Little shit. G’na let you have it.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. Izuku wants to giggle, feels it bubble up in his throat before guilt stamps it down.
He likes it when they do this. When Kacchan trusts him enough to let him push all his buttons, knowing he doesn’t mean any harm. It’s something secure, but not so, like they’re teetering on the precipice of something unsaid amongst a foundation of all the things that were.
“Mhm,” Izuku agrees, tilting his head.
Kacchan urges the pen towards him. “If you tell me what you’re using it for.”
Something swoops low in his stomach. Excitement, maybe. Something else, maybe. Something Izuku can’t quite name. “Okay,” he says, and leans closer to look at his answer. “Um. Oh. I spelt it wrong. Lose has one ‘o’, and I used two.”
“Good,” Kacchan hums. “What else?”
Izuku can’t focus. His head spins, and his heartrate quickens, but at the risk of Kacchan finding him out, he tries his best. He only stumbles once.
“I—” Izuku pauses. What did Kacchan say? His tenses were fucked up? He looks back at the question. “Oh. I think— it should be ‘lost’ instead. He asked for past tense.”
“There you go. One more,” says Kacchan, inclining his head towards the paper, and tapping it with his pen.
Izuku scans it. “Um.” Nervously, he points to a word in the sentence. He’s unsure, but Kacchan’s mouth quirks up in a small, reassuring smile that makes Izuku’s stomach do backflips.
“Uh-huh.” Kacchan’s eyebrow raises. “You got it.”
“Found,” Izuku says, a little more confident. “Not find. Past tense.”
He sits up straighter. Anticipatory. Waiting for something, hoping for something, and Katsuki hands him the pen—
Silence.
Izuku looks down at it, and looks back up at Katsuki, and he doesn’t say anything but to his utter embarrassment he can see Kacchan study his expression in real time. Watches his eyebrows crease and relax again, eyelids drooping slightly in an almost comical deadpan.
“Good boy, Deku,” he drones, like it’s funny. “‘s that what this is?”
God. It might be.
Izuku feels the uncontrollable urge to apologise. So, he does. “Sorry,” he blurts the word out in a rush. “I’m sorry. You can go, if you want.”
And Kacchan clicks his tongue. “What? Now when the fuck did I say that.”
“I just—” Izuku flounders. “I’m—”
“Fix your work,” Kacchan says, gruff. “And stop being cagey. It’s fuckin’ weird. I’ll give you a gold star, or whatever it is you want.”
Izuku might be blushing. He might be whatever comes after blushing, actually, because his face is so warm that he could pass out.
He takes Kacchan’s pen, and fiddles with it nervously. Takes the paper from him too. Gets to correcting, with Katsuki watching over his shoulder all the while.
Time fades together after that.
Kacchan’s voice is a steady hum that sinks his brain into a pile of soft, fluffy clouds. When Izuku does well, Katsuki will say, ‘Good,’ in a tone so gentle but authoritative it only makes him sink deeper into it.
He gets to question seventeen by the time his consciousness comes up for air again, and Kacchan is saying, “—see things like contractions in legal documents ‘n shit, ‘cause it’s s’pposed to be this informal thing, I dunno— what, Deku.”
Izuku blinks. He hadn’t realised he was staring. He can feel his brain rebooting each of his limbs one by one, regains feeling in his hands and feet, his arms, shoulders, his legs, feels the slow, burning heat in his lower abdomen, and then—
Oh, shit.
Oh, fuck.
Izuku freezes, clutches the stack of paper on his lap like a lifeline, drawing it slowly back towards his stomach to cover himself.
Dread seeps cold into his blood. This is bad. This is really, really bad.
It isn’t like he had any time, what with having to adjust to his quirk and train to fight in a war, fighting the war and saving the entire world I guess, to think about his— sexual inclinations, as it were.
He had a lot of time to himself in middle school. Made all his important discoveries before even coming to UA. Knew that he liked girls. Knew that he liked boys, too. Knew that he liked Kacchan, even though Kacchan didn’t like him. Could only dream of a future in which Kacchan were sat on his bed helping him with his homework and praising him like this.
And he just had to go and make it weird.
He just had to react like this, he just had to like it this much, and of course he would. Of course he would, it’s Kacchan, and Izuku is tired, he’s so, so tired, and it feels so good just to be in the moment with someone who—
Izuku swallows.
God. Someone who’s proud of him. Someone who would take care of him, after Izuku broke his back taking care of everyone else. After Izuku almost died trying, after Izuku failed, and the world kept on spinning.
For a moment, he almost thinks he got away with it. Until he looks up, and finds Kacchan staring right at his lap, unfazed. “Real subtle,” he drawls, and Izuku wants to crawl into a hole and die.
“Kacchan, don’t,” Izuku whispers, squeezing his eyes shut in humiliation.
Shame eats at his flesh, prickles his nerves. His brain feels like it’s been electrocuted, wrangled back out of that soft, peaceful state into the real world, where the things he wants are always just an arm’s reach away.
Kacchan’s going to be weird with him, now, isn’t he? As if they needed Izuku’s strange sex crap after everything they’ve been through. After everything they’ve fought so hard to mend.
Izuku is so busy mourning their entire friendship in advance that he almost doesn’t hear Katsuki’s muttered, “Let me see.”
What.
He feels uneasy. But Kacchan says it again.
“Deku,” he rasps, as Izuku’s breathing quickens. “Izuku. Let me fuckin’ see.”
It’s worse, like this. Hearing Kacchan’s voice. Hearing Kacchan’s voice telling him to do something, because he feels like his entire brain has been rewired in pursuit of his praise. He feels like he’d do anything for it. Walk through fire for it. And—
Kacchan’s still here. He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t stood up and left and slammed the door, or insulted him. Kacchan’s still here, and he wants to see.
Izuku casts his mind back to the hospital.
Kacchan got skewered right in the stomach; a hit that was meant for him, and Shigaraki killed him because of it. Kacchan said so. The clock had struck two, and the only noises in the hospital room were the steady beeping of Kacchan’s heart, hooked up to a monitor beside his bed, and Kacchan’s grief-stricken whispers as he recounted the story with angry tears in his eyes.
He told him Shigaraki wanted to leave him a present. Told him that he died thinking only of him, and that he saw All-Might’s vestige. That he laid his life on the line thinking those would be the last thoughts he ever had. Thinking he was saying goodbye to him forever, reaching out and frozen in time.
It was haunting. And surely—
Izuku had thought about it for days. Guilty, yes, but— surely, that meant something. If not what he hoped, at least that their friendship is stronger than this.
Maybe Kacchan just wants to tease him. Make it lighthearted, and ease the tension that’s palpable in Izuku’s body. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? They’re friends. Close friends, as recent events would have it, so…
Slowly, Izuku steadies his breathing, grips the bedsheets tight in one hand as the other shifts the stack of papers on his lap painstakingly over to one thigh. When he lets go, they fall onto the bed beside him.
Kacchan exhales. “Fuck,” he mutters, and Izuku almost gasps. “Shit. Good boy, Deku.”
Izuku’s whole body shudders with need. He feels it— at full force, he feels it. Throbs for it, where Kacchan can see, heated and wanton.
Kacchan reacts to that, too. His next exhale is shaky. “You really do like that,” he says, understanding curling around his syllables in something comforting. There’s a pause. Just a few seconds, and then he says, “Open your eyes. Izuku.”
There’s only a moment of hesitation. When Izuku opens his eyes, Kacchan is closer than he remembers him being, no longer looking down at his lap but looking straight at him.
This is bad. It’s bad, Izuku tells himself, it’s bad. Kacchan’s eyes are intoxicating. His brow is knit; he’s thinking about something, and Izuku feels quite like he’s being dangled off the edge of a really large cliff. His lungs feel too big for his body, his stomach feels tight, and the humiliation, the scent of him, the warmth of him, right there, is somehow making it all worse.
“‘s that for me,” Kacchan murmurs, soft. He looks sad, already, so close to Izuku’s watchful eye. “Or is it, y’know. All that nice sappy shit.”
Izuku startles. Blinks away his shock. The question is unfathomable, but—
Oh.
Oh. “It’s you,” Izuku whispers back. His throat is dry, and his hands are clammy, but he finds it in him to be honest, because he thinks— he hopes— that he gets it now. That he understands. “It’s always you.”
Katsuki’s jaw slackens in surprise. His lips part, eyes searching. Izuku’s pulse jackrabbits under the skin of his neck, under the veins in his wrists.
He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t, he doesn’t deserve it, he never has, but—
Against his better judgement, he leans in when Kacchan does on instinct alone; mirrors him in his every action. There’s a gravitational pull that’s simply always existed and Izuku can’t help but give into it because he’s being kissed, and suddenly, anxiety and fear washes away over his shoulders into nothing.
Izuku’s lips tingle and his body yearns to come closer. Kacchan tugs him by his shirt and pulls away from him to rasp, “Open your mouth. C’mere, Deku, let me look at you.”
Oh, God, he sounds hot. This is hot, and it’s so humiliating. Every nerve in Izuku’s body burns, and his muscles scramble to comply, crawling desperately into Katsuki’s lap and flinging his arms around his neck. He doesn’t leave more than two inches between their lips, makes it easy to find him again, even with his eyes closed.
The first time was a little clumsy. This time—
“Ah—” Kacchan’s tongue brushes his own, and Izuku’s hips jerk involuntarily. Pleasure sparks in his gut. He presses impossibly closer. “Mm… nnh, Kacchan—”
“Shut up,” Kacchan grunts against his mouth, leans back in and bites his lower lip in frustration. “Shut the fuck up. You sound— like—”
“Like what?” Izuku breathes, eyes going half lidded as he opens them slightly, now that Kacchan’s a little further away.
Katsuki’s eyeline raises. The shape of his words tickle Izuku’s lips. “Like you’re being fucked,” he says, and Izuku’s pretty sure he stops breathing.
He has so many questions. Is he? Is he being fucked— tonight? Is Kacchan going to fuck him tonight? What does it feel like? Does Kacchan know what he’s doing? Has he done this before? Has he thought about this before? Made himself cum like this before?
That thought makes him dizzy. Instead, he says, “If I stay quiet, will you call me— that, again?”
He stumbles over his words, but that’s not what’s making him panic. It’s that he even said them in the first place. Just like he did earlier.
Is this what it’s like, to feel safe enough?
Kacchan’s inhale is sharp, and it shakes, in the middle. He leans back, squeezes his eyes shut, whacks his head on the wall and groans. “No,” he mutters. “No, fuck. I was lying.”
His eyes flutter open, but he stays there. Izuku gasps.
Kacchan looks wrecked. Red in the face, sweating a little. Eyelids relaxed over his blown pupils, lazy and affected, chest expanding more than usual on his slow, self-soothing intakes of breath— Kacchan wants this. Kacchan wants him.
“I thought you’d be—” Katsuki pauses, swallows. “Thought you’d— fuck. I like you, like this.” He feels his way up Izuku’s shorts-clad thighs, squeezes them emphatically as if to get his point across. “Make as much noise as you want. Then I’ll give it to you.”
Izuku’s cheeks burn. “Okay,” he whispers.
His hands fell down to Kacchan’s stomach after he leaned back; he flexes his fingers like he’s just remembered they’re there, fiddles with the material of Kacchan’s shirt.
Katsuki doesn’t move, either, but he doesn’t look away. Izuku realises a second later that he’s waiting. He’s waiting for him to take what he wants.
Izuku swallows his anxiety.
He’s waiting on himself, too. Can he really— God, can he really have this?
Kacchan licks his lips. The seconds tick by, and he squeezes at Izuku’s thighs again like he’s urging him on, but he doesn’t look impatient. He’s just waiting for him, like he’s always done. Giving him room to decide for himself.
He’s confident, Izuku realises. Kacchan knows that he wants it too. Otherwise, he’d be— historically, Kacchan’s feelings about rejection aren’t so great, and Izuku knows this about him.
What, then, is Izuku waiting for?
His eyes flicker down to the slope of Kacchan’s neck, down, further, until they reach his own scarred hands nestling atop his abdomen.
He knows, if he lifts Kacchan’s shirt up, they match.
Izuku could cry. He wants it so badly, he aches. Involuntarily, he leans closer. His hands slide up to Katsuki’s chest, and he angles himself downwards, experimentally. Taking it step by step, closer, closer.
“There you go,” Kacchan reassures him. Like this, Izuku can feel the words rumble under his chest. One of Kacchan’s hands slides up his thigh to hold his hip instead, firm. “C’mere, baby. I’ve got you.”
Oh. Izuku’s heart leaps out of his chest. Eyebrows creasing with welled-up emotion, he closes the distance between them with a kiss that’s got way too much force, and way too much teeth.
Kacchan hums into it anyway, coaxes his mouth back open with his tongue. Izuku squirms. His dick twitches, and he’s fully aware that Kacchan can feel it, but he’s not sure he cares about that anymore, not when Kacchan’s licking inside his mouth and sliding a hand round the back of him to—
“Ah!” Izuku yelps, as Katsuki grabs a fistful of his ass. He soothes him with a swipe of his tongue, and Izuku melts for it as quickly as he startled. It should be gross. It should be, but he isn’t at all surprised by himself. “Mmh…”
“Yeah?” Kacchan laughs, squeezes him again, and pulls Izuku further towards him. “You like this?”
“I like it,” he whispers, slightly muffled against Kacchan’s mouth, and Kacchan grips him tighter, pushes their hips flush together and licks across his tongue as soon as he’s done talking. It’s so intense, all-encompassing; his body is fuzzy with arousal, and everything, everywhere, is Kacchan. He moans— a sound foreign to his own ears. “I like it, Kacchan, I like it.”
Katsuki makes a noise that Izuku’s never heard before either. Something strained, something tortured, slightly whined and honest. “Mngh, fuck,” he chokes. His hips twitch. Izuku fights every instinct he has not to grind down into the pressure. “Good boy, ‘s fuckin’ good. Feel nice?”
Izuku almost sobs against his mouth. “Kacchan,” he whimpers out instead. He’s so hard. He’s so hard it hurts, and he’s probably wet, too, oh God. He can smell Kacchan’s cologne, and he’s close enough that he’s rubbing up against the muscles of his abdomen and chest and he’s so warm and solid and—
“Uh-huh,” Kacchan murmurs, and Izuku doesn’t have time to be embarrassed that he was mumbling all of that out loud, because he takes one of Izuku’s scarred hands and places it just over the waistband of his sweatpants.
Izuku bluescreens.
His eyes snap open, and Kacchan is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive. “You can touch it,” he says, inflection of humour in his tone. “Won’t hurt’cha, baby. Not yet.”
Holy shit.
This is every wet dream he’s ever had come to life. Not yet, Izuku replays in disbelief. Kacchan had said it like a promise. Kacchan wants to do this again. Kacchan wants to keep him. Kacchan wants him to touch his—
“I can?” He whispers it. He’s scared to ask, almost, scared to have the moment snatched away from him.
“Yeah.” Kacchan sounds breathless, too. “Can’t fuckin’ listen to you whine anymore. Driving me crazy. Izuku.”
Everything feels warm. There are too many layers of clothing involved, and Kacchan’s saying his name so tenderly Izuku might crack and break right down the middle.
He moves his hand lower, pressing and rubbing over the outline of Kacchan’s erection. His heartrate kicks all the way back up as he feels his way around it, trying to estimate—
“Shit,” Kacchan hisses through his teeth. “Good boy, c’mon, don’t be a tease.”
Izuku whines in protest. “You want me to—”
“You too,” Kacchan blurts out. “Yours, too. If you want.”
Oh.
His heart squeezes, then palpitates with anxiety. Communal showers are one thing, but this— this is so very different. This is Kacchan.
Their noses touch. Breaths mingling, Izuku hooks his fingers over the waistband, and pulls.
Kacchan hums his approval, as the fabric of his sweatpants and underwear bunch up underneath his balls; Izuku’s knuckles brush the weight of them on his way back up but he barely registers it. A shaky hand comes to wrap around Kacchan’s girth. Izuku closes his eyes. Exhales, trembling.
“Good boy,” Kacchan grits out through his increasing impatience. “Good boy, fuck.”
Izuku pushes against his forehead, whining. Every word Kacchan says to him goes straight to his head, straight to his dick, in that voice. It’s not fair. Kacchan must know he’s hot. He must know what it’s doing to him. Izuku’s brain is floaty again, body trembling with arousal.
“Kacchan, I—” he tries, but he doesn’t quite have the words. Instead, he focuses on moving his hand, feeling Kacchan out with his palm while he can’t really see for himself.
Kacchan seems to like it. His groan punctures Izuku straight through the stomach. “‘s good, Deku,” he pants. Then, asks, “You a virgin?”
Spluttering, Izuku’s rhythm falters. “Yes. Why?”
Katsuki snorts. “Squeeze me tighter,” he says, grinning. Izuku only opens his eyes a little. He feels Kacchan’s smile before he sees it.
He obeys. “Like this?”
And Kacchan’s grin falls open in a low moan. “Yeah. God, yeah.” He juts his chin upwards to bring their mouths together again. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated as Izuku tries to get hold of his rhythm again, tight, like Kacchan said, and he’s murmuring, “Know what this is? Huh? Know what you’re touching?”
Izuku hiccups against Kacchan’s lower lip and squirms. His whine gets trapped in the column of his throat. He tries to speak, but it comes out a feeble whisper instead. “Tell me.”
Katsuki groans. “‘s my cock, baby,” he says, punctuated with a sharp moan as Izuku’s fingers tighten around him reflexively. “Say it.”
“Oh, I—” Izuku stutters. He’s so embarrassed, his cheeks aflame, body tingling everywhere; he’s leaking, he’s absolutely sure of it, and his heart skips several beats trying to feel his way around the words Kacchan wants him to say.
“C’mon,” Katsuki urges him with an emphatic squeeze of his ass. Izuku yelps. “First dirty word, huh, Deku.”
“Hey,” Izuku protests, weakly. His resolve is crumbling, though. What is dignity, anyway, in the face of this?
Katsuki grins like he knows he’s won, kisses him again, and whispers quick and filthy against his mouth, “Say it.”
“Mm..’s Kacchan’s cock,” Izuku whimpers, thighs trying to squeeze shut. Ohh, God. Why does that feel good to say? Why does it feel—
“Good fuckin’ boy, there you go.”
Izuku’s moan cracks in half, and Katsuki swallows it eagerly, laps it up with his tongue and turns Izuku’s brain to mush. “‘m touching Kacchan’s cock,” he says, experimentally, trying to ignore the fact that the humiliation of it all might be… turning him on?
“Fuck,” Katsuki whines (whines), and— oh. He throbs so hard in Izuku’s palm he almost jumps at it. “Fuck, I gotta— hah— gotta touch you too.”
“Oh,” Izuku gasps as Kacchan follows through, pulls his hand away from its position on Izuku’s asscheek to dip underneath his waistband, fumbling slightly in his haste. “Oh, that’s—”
“Shit,” Katsuki curses, wrapping his hand around Izuku’s length. It’s soft, eager touch that’s different to Izuku’s own scarred hands. Smoother, with more intention. “Izuku. You’re fuckin’ wet.”
“Fu-uck— Fuck, oh,” he cries, tipping his head back as pleasure blooms behind his eyelids. Suddenly, he’s forgotten how to breathe. He feels rabid, and desperate, and— “Oh, fuck…!”
Kacchan’s rough exhale ghosts along his neck. He tightens his grip, pumps him slowly. Slicks him up with his own precum and grinds up into Izuku’s fist at the same time. “Knew it,” he’s whispering, “I fucking knew it, I knew it, I know you—”
“Kacchan,” Izuku sobs at it. Everything feels so good he barely knows what to do with himself, just tries to keep his hand nice and tight for Kacchan, doesn’t hold himself back, for Kacchan, moans and writhes and cries for Kacchan, always, “Kacchan, Kacchan—”
“Yeah, baby.” Katsuki licks up his neck, and Izuku shudders, feels him drip, too, down the side of Izuku’s hand, and all of a sudden Izuku has to see. He has to see.
The tendons in his neck strain with effort but he wrenches his head up, kisses him again. Kacchan’s mouth is dry from his heavy breathing, so Izuku fixes that, too, because he wants to, because he’s got so much to give again, and he wants to give it all to Kacchan.
“Lemme see,” Izuku mumbles against his mouth, wobbling on a faltering moan and mirroring his words from earlier. Demanding, almost. “Wanna see.”
Kacchan doesn’t stop him. Izuku looks down at where they’re joined, where his hand is curled tight around—
He gasps. “Oh.”
“Izuku.” Kacchan falters slightly, but Izuku barely registers it.
Reluctantly, he takes his hand away to get a better look. Kacchan is big. It’s long, and thick, and perfect, and it fit so nicely in his hand that Izuku wasn’t thinking about it but now he is. Now he definitely is.
He runs a curious fingertip over the head, watches with fascination as precum beads in his slit. He almost moans. “Big,” he whispers instead. Can barely get a word out. “Kacchan… oh—”
“Shit,” Kacchan hisses, knocking his head against the wall. His eyes flutter pornographically closed but Izuku swears he watched them roll back just before they shut, and his brain is kicked into overdrive as he throbs, spills over a little with excess precum.
Oh. Oh. Izuku tilts his head questioningly. “Do you like that?” he asks, and Kacchan tenses up like a brick. Izuku winces. He should’ve approached it more gently, but Kacchan’s on the edge now, of waiting. “Could you cum, if I—”
“Quit it,” Kacchan protests, but it’s weak. It has no bite. He doesn’t mean it in the slightest.
The realisation makes Izuku’s heart flutter with glee. His dick does something similar, but he ignores it in place of the burning questions at the forefront of his brain, and whatever happy chemicals are chanting about the fact that he’s not the only one embarrassed about weird sex things he’s finding out as they’re happening.
He’s not great with words when he’s not utterly overcome with pleasure, but if he looks at it like a quirk analysis…
Izuku teases it with his fingers. Feather-light touch that makes Kacchan grit his teeth. “So perfect,” he says, quietly. “You’re so proud. Of your strength, I mean. You’re proud of your body, aren’t you, Kacchan?”
Kacchan looks apprehensive about answering. “So what if I am?”
Izuku shakes his head. “I like that,” he whispers. Glances up, and makes eye contact with him. Gives the girth of his cock a firm, assured squeeze, and Kacchan makes a noise like the wind has been punched out of him. “I’d be proud of this, too. Look at it, Kacchan, it’s—” He stifles his embarrassment to ask, “Can I have it?”
“What,” Kacchan breathes, eyes widening in apparent surprise.
It’s only now that Izuku realises he’s salivating, looking down at it again and watching him drip. “I—” He’s warm again. His cheeks are burning. “I want it,” he admits. “I want it inside me.”
Kacchan leans back against the wall again, groaning and covering his face with his other hand even though it probably hurts to move that fast. In retaliation, he squeezes his good hand around Izuku’s dick. He pumps him just once, making Izuku whine, before he lets his arm fall back at his side, staring at him with interest.
“Where,” he rasps, red in the face. “Where’d’you want it.”
Izuku squirms on his lap, arching into the touch as Kacchan works the pace back up. “Fuck,” he whimpers. His hands feel so good. “I can’t— f-fuck—”
Katsuki laughs at him for it. “Cat got your tongue, now, Deku? After all that?” He urges his hips towards him, where Izuku’s teasing his shaft with tender fingers. “Say it. Tell me.”
But Kacchan’s getting faster, and— warmer? Izuku’s not sure if he realises his palms are heating up but he doesn’t care, it feels too good, it’s so good he can’t think straight, body trembling and moans tumbling out of him before he even registers the sounds he’s making. He whimpers, shaky, “My mouth.” Near-sobbing, “Want it in my mouth.”
“Shit,” Kacchan gasps. Izuku becomes suddenly aware that his hands have stopped working, and rectifies that immediately, rubbing his thumb underneath Kacchan’s tip, where he’s wet. “Oh, fuck. That’s good, fuck, that’s so good.”
“Mmh, Kacchan,” he cries, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Unconsciously, his hips start rocking, and the tightness in his gut only intensifies as Kacchan works him over in his hand, fast and tight and smooth and it feels like a dream; he’s not close enough. He needs to get closer.
Lurching forward, Izuku clumsily slots their mouths together, mind working through the fog of pleasure to wrap his fingers tight around Kacchan’s girth. God, that feels good in his hand. He wonders what it would feel like—
Kacchan moans into his mouth, and Izuku stops working for a millisecond. “Say it properly,” he mutters, licking over Izuku’s lower lip and grunting when Izuku starts stroking him. “Hah— tell me you wanna’ suck my cock.”
Tears spill over Izuku’s waterline as he squeezes his eyes shut, sobbing against Kacchan’s tongue as they meet in the middle. The fuzzy feeling of having something in his mouth while Kacchan’s telling him to say—
“Kacchan,” he hiccups, and Katsuki mumbles something unintelligible as Izuku tries to get his words out. “I wanna’ suck your cock. Want it— o-oh, fuck—”
“That’s it, good boy,” Kacchan groans, and Izuku sobs harder, almost there, almost— “Are you fucking crying? Holy shit.”
“Kacchan, I’m so close…” Izuku’s fit to break apart. His lungs are squeezing, crying out for help, thighs shaking with effort and his core is so tight, he feels so full, drunk on Kacchan’s praise and the touch of his hand.
“Fuck,” he rasps, swiping his thumb over Izuku’s tip. “Gonna cum, Deku?”
“Yes,” Izuku’s chanting, “Yes, yes, yes—”
“Yeah.” Kacchan kisses him again. Izuku shakes. “Good boy,” he encourages, biting at his lower lip. “Good fuckin’ boy, that’s it, y’look so pretty like this. So goddamn beautiful.”
Oh. Kacchan thinks he’s pretty? Kacchan thinks he’s—
“Cum for me, baby,” Kacchan says, and Izuku tips right over the edge with a loud, broken cry.
His orgasm crashes into him in waves, and it feels like relief.
Hips rocking upward into Kacchan’s steady hand, crying into Kacchan’s mouth, senses clouded with pleasure and the smell of Kacchan’s cologne, he spills over without so much as a conscious thought. Instead, his mind is a constant loop of Kacchan thinks I’m pretty and Kacchan thinks I’m good that keeps him going for a while, until his brain reboots and he remembers that Kacchan hasn’t cum yet.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, panting into Kacchan’s cheek, where he’d slipped a little mid-orgasm. “I want you to cum, too. Let me…” Izuku squeezes around him again, and works up a slow, steady pace. Not too fast, but still tight.
Kacchan lifts his bad arm just to thread his fingers through Izuku’s hair. “That was so fuckin’ hot, it won’t take much,” he admits. “You c’n get me there. Keep goin’, fuck.”
He’s slurring his words a little. Now that Izuku’s more conscious, he’s fully attentive, filing everything away into the ‘Kacchan’ folder of his brain. He kisses along his jaw, and Katsuki twitches jerkily. Doesn’t pull away from it.
“Wanna watch you cum,” Izuku whispers, nuzzling up to his ear. He pumps him a little faster, now, and without the added noise of Izuku’s moans he can hear the slick, wet sounds of his hand.
Kacchan responds with a bitten moan. “Make me, then,” he pants.
Izuku hums, grinning against his ear. “I will. You feel so big, Kacchan,” he says playfully. He’s not sure how to do this, really. All he has to go on are the shitty porn videos he used to watch pre-UA, but Kacchan hisses like he’s been shot or something, so Izuku takes that as a good sign.
“I didn’t mean—” Kacchan tries to say, but Izuku tunes him out ‘cause he knows he’s bullshitting.
It’s power he never expected to become addicted to so quickly. Knowing intimate things about Kacchan like this, feeling him react in real time. Being able to call his bluff. Being able to affect him.
It isn’t like he’s lying, either. When he nibbles on his ear and whispers, “I might need some help fitting it in my mouth,” he’s being completely truthful. The post-orgasm glow just removes his filter, a bit.
Kacchan’s hips stutter, and his groan cracks halfway through. “Fuck,” he croaks. Izuku feels the slip of precum as his thumb swipes over Kacchan’s tip. “Wanna’ watch you fuckin’ choke.”
“I will,” Izuku whispers, again. His arm is starting to hurt, but when has that ever stopped him? “Gonna’ cum yet, Kacchan?”
“Yeah.” Katsuki strains. “But I don’t— fuck, I don’t want to—”
“Does it feel good?” he asks, heart swelling with fondness. He can’t help feeling happy about it. Kacchan likes it so much that he doesn’t want to cum. He doesn’t want it to be over.
Izuku could cry.
“Yeah, ‘s fuckin’ good,” Kacchan’s whining, like a wounded dog. His hips are moving of their own accord, Izuku thinks, up into his hand like he’s chasing his orgasm despite not wanting it just yet, and something about that—
Something about that is enough for Izuku’s own dick to twitch valiantly in his boxer-shorts, already wet and slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s okay,” he assures him, making sure his pace doesn’t falter as Kacchan gets closer to the edge. Suddenly embarrassed to assume that he wants to, Izuku adds, “If you cum now, then— then maybe, I— later, you can teach me how to—”
“Fuck,” Kacchan gasps.
“Are you close?” Izuku mumbles, pressing closer. “Give it to me, Kacchan, I want it.”
Katsuki breaks.
His hips jerk, hard. “It’s yours,” he’s whispering, crying, almost, pathetically into the air. “It’s yours, it’s yours, oh, fuck, ‘m g’na fucking cum—”
Izuku pulls back from his ear to watch as Kacchan’s eyes roll back and he arches off the wall, cum spilling over the edge of Izuku’s hand and down the length of his cock. He doesn’t know where to look.
Kacchan curses through his orgasm, rutting into Izuku’s hand. His whole body reacts to the stimulation.
He’s gorgeous.
“Oh my God,” Izuku whispers. He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but his reflexes are too slow to stop him. “Kacchan, please keep me.”
“You’re insane.” Kacchan shakes through the aftershocks, panting, looking up at him through hooded eyes.
Izuku falls forward and kisses him. Kacchan sighs into it like he’d been waiting. Maybe he has, just like him.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, not-so-discreetly wiping his hand on Katsuki’s shirt.
Kacchan grunts. “I can feel that. Asshole.”
It makes Izuku giggle. He doesn’t pull away from Kacchan’s mouth. It feels too far a way to go right now; he wants to be close, just like this, forever. “Please keep me,” he says, again.
He doesn’t say ‘I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what love even was.’ He doesn’t say that, because that’s a bit much, even though it’s true.
He doesn’t say ‘I don’t think I’m good enough, right now, but I believe you when you tell me I am.’ He doesn’t say that, either. Doesn’t want to give Kacchan the responsibility of ‘fixing him’, because then he’d be admitting that he’s broken.
It feels harder, asking someone to love something like that.
But Kacchan rolls his eyes as if he thinks Izuku’s being absurd. Says, “I’d be fuckin’ crazy to let you go.” Right against his mouth, like he means it.
And maybe, just maybe, that’ll be enough.