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“Kacchan. Kacchan - slow down. You’re going too fast, he’s going to pass out.”
The words are slow, worry threading the edges and tickling Katsuki’s eardrums.
Somewhere in his head, Bakugo is distantly aware of the sound of Izuku’s voice, calling him back from the head rush of tonight’s feed. He’s not listening, though. He feels too good.
The blood in his mouth is warm and fresh and young, flowing freely from the pretty college boy in his lap. The poor kid had just been walking home from a bar on campus, just around the corner in front of the alley Izuku had tucked them into.
He wonders if the boy had been on his way home for the night, maybe disappointed he was going alone. Maybe turned down by some pretty potential mate at the bar. It would explain the way Bakugo had found him, fragile hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched over before Bakugo bled from the shadows and the boy ran.
This human’s inability to seduce had worked out splendidly in his favor though, as the boy now sits pliant and nearly limp in his cold arms and his blood in his mouth.
He’d put up almost no fight at all, not that Bakugo had really given him a chance to. The whole hunt had taken them less than ten minutes.
Bakugo clamps down a little harder on the boy’s jugular, sucking the warmth further over his tongue and almost crooning with the taste. He’s fucking starving.
“Kacchan.” Izuku says again, firmer this time, enough to draw a small, defensive snarl from Bakugo’s wet mouth.
Then, there’s fingers lacing through blond tufts of hair and the stupor of the feed is broken with a sharp tug on his scalp.
Bakugo reluctantly unlatches. His fangs are still dropped and and dripping with little beads of crimson, spilling messily down his lower lip as the hand in his hair cranes his neck back far enough to meet the eyes of its owner.
Their surroundings start seeping back in through the fog in Bakugo’s head as he gazes into two shiny emerald pools. He simply scowls at them.
He’s on his knees, on pavement that’s wet with the rain he remembers being so inconvenienced by the night before, grumping to Izuku that rain always made preys scent harder to track. Their catch sits cradled in his lap, still conscious if the soft mumbles and hiccups falling from his mouth are any indication.
Izuku, well, Izuku stands above him cast in the backsplash of deep night, looking as rapturous as the first day Katsuki had met him so very very long ago. His clean mouth pulled into a frown and scarred fingers still tight in Bakugo’s hair.
“Why don’t you ever just listen?” Izuku asks, cocking one slender hip out.
His mate is a fearsome, devastating sight. Dark curls made darker by the night wild from the short chase they’d given and eyes bright in the half moon. The thrown on black suit jacket tapered sinfully at his waist and black pants only serve to make his skin paler, almost luminous in the weak glow of a flicking street lamp.
Jewels and metal bands decorate the curves of his ears; the lavished bumps of his knuckles splintering silvery and white in the moonlight, glittering as if it’s trying to compliment Bakugo’s matching gold ones.
He’s beautiful, but Bakugo has always known so.
Long before they’d snuck into the overly lavish bedroom of some overly pompous nobleman’s mansion and mated each other through the night. Long before grasping hands and open fanged kisses had been laid while the French Revolution raged outside their door.
Bakugo had known long before then what Izuku was, and would always be, to him.
Even so, he can’t help but think Izuku has never been so pretty as he was then, in France, engraved with hot touch into the memory of it.
Izuku’s never matched the sight of himself with blood slicking his skin, stolen diamonds and pearls hanging from his neck and hands and ears, legs spread as Bakugo had taken him in the firelight.
The fresh, angry mating bite on his shoulder left by Bakugo’s teeth and the twin soon to follow on his own.
“Look,” He says, pointing to Bakugo’s chest with his other pale hand. His voice jolts Bakugo back to the present, breaking him soundly from his lament. “Now you’ve made a mess of our dinner and your clothes.”
Bakugo just grins sharp and feral, feeling drunk and finally well fed for the first time in weeks. “You wanna bite?” He purrs, turning his head to lick a lazy stripe over the still-leaking bite mark on the boys neck. “He’s healthy. Eats better than most of the filth around here.” He looks up at Izuku, who’s eyebrows are creasing in the middle now, “I can barely even taste the shit beer in him, he’s a responsible drinker and everything.” He turns back again and pats the boys cheek a bit meanly, “You’re a good little blood bag, huh?”
“Katsuki.” Izuku snaps, releasing his hair to smack the offending hand away, green eyes taking on that unnatural glow he only got before a feed or when Bakugo really pissed him off. “Don’t be cruel. Can’t you smell that you’ve already scared him half to death?”
He can. He just doesn’t care as much as Izuku always does. Humans and their general importance has never been something they’ve agreed on. Even in the millennia Bakugo has spent at Izuku’s side, they’ve never reached understanding.
To Bakugo, humans are little more than a means to an end.
They’re the most abundant food source on Earth, and he’d drain half of them dry without a second thought if it meant keeping himself and his mate fed.
Izuku drops to his knees, ignoring Bakugo entirely, instead he displays their differences with wild accuracy as he shifts the boy from Bakugo’s unforgiving grip to the softer cradle of his own arms.
How his mate can touch so gently with hands that can shatter a femur without much effort at all, Bakugo will never know.
He’d tried to explain it to him, once.
After they’d spent the night picking through a rubbled battle field somewhere in Germany decades ago, drinking from the freshest of the survivors that had been left to die. Most were already dead, but Izuku insisted they check anyway. Mercy, he’d called it. Killing them before infection or blood loss or the cold was a kindness, apparently.
Bakugo had not understood why the bodies on the field deserved as much from them. They were laying bleeding and dying by their kind’s own hands after all, but Izuku had wanted, and so Bakugo complied.
He’d watched Izuku cry over a human life for the first time that night, cradling a boy not much older than the one he held now in the ash coated grass. Watched as his companion whispered soft comforts into the frail hands he grasped.
The boy had asked for his mother over tears tracking through the dust on his face, and Izuku had sat in the dirt for hours with him because he could offer nothing more than company. He’d easily compelled the boy into happy memories of his family and home until the compulsion at last pulled his last breath.
Bakugo, confused and shaken by the whole scene, had not done more than sat and watched. Izuku would not drink from a human that night, and did not for many to follow, but asked Bakugo to hold him when they returned home in the morning and cried softly into his chest through the afternoon.
The scene now is not the same as then, Bakugo knows. This boy isn’t dying, and will not die tonight by their hands, and that field in Germany is a long time gone now.
But Izuku’s tenderness remains now as it was then as he curls an arm beneath the boy’s legs and hums softly in his chest like he’s thinking about something troubling.
Bakugo almost opens his mouth to gripe that they’re both going to have human blood and sweat on their clothes now, but he’s already in trouble, and this just what Izuku does. So he instead just huffs his displeasure and keeps quiet.
Izuku’s thick, scarred fingers push the sweaty hair matting on the boy’s forehead out of his eyes soothingly as he turns his head and appraises the bite. “At least it’s clean.” He sighs, more to himself than Bakugo.
“Of course it’s clean,” He snaps back, “I’m not a fucking animal.”
Izuku just shoots an unimpressed look at the front of Bakugo’s white button up, sleeves messily rolled to his elbows, now spotted with patches of wet, red blood.
Bakugo opens his mouth to snap at him again, but a choked gurgle cuts him off. Two sets of unnaturally colorful eyes snap downwards to meet a pair of brown ones, wide and oozing fat, panicked tears.
“P-please.” The boy sobs, waking now from the stupor Bakugo’s venom had him under. He’s too weak to fight, and Izuku too strong, but Bakugo still lets a low hiss escape his throat when the boy’s shaky hands lock around Izuku’s wrist and claw pathetically at the sleeve of his dark jacket.
“Oh,” Izuku says, sounding a little surprised that their prey was alert and speaking already. “Hello. That was fast.”
Bakugo just watches as the kid practically clings to him, crying and shaking and stinking like fear enough that Bakugo wants to crinkle his nose.
“Please don’t kill me!” The boy wails, a little too loudly, so Izuku scoots him further into his lap and goes about cooing at him like a spooked animal.
“It’s alright,” He shushes, petting through short brown hair, “I won’t hurt you.”
Big brown eyes flick to Bakugo, whimpering like a dog, and Izuku throws him a “See what you did?” look that forces him to grind his teeth together to keep his tongue in check.
“He won’t hurt you either.” Izuku says, waiting until those eyes return to his face to give the most human smile he can manage.
It’s a little left of natural; teeth too long and too sharp, eyes too open and too green, skin paler and smoother than most marble, speckled with freckles like flecks of cinnamon on his skin.
Bakugo’s sure, sure as the dead, that Izuku is the most ethereal creature to ever be born in their time.
He knows the effect isn’t lost on their guest either when he hears the sound of weak human lungs catching.
A shaky hand lifts, as if to reach for Izuku’s face, those human eyes blown big and wide in something that looks like awe. It drops again when Bakugo snarls and snaps his fangs with the threat of a bite.
Izuku might have a soft place in his heart for humans, but Bakugo does not, and he’ll be damned if one of them touches what’s his without his permission.
The human’s hands go to its neck on instinct, as if the thin cage of his fingers could stop either of them anyway, gasping when they touch the sticky slick of blood at his throat.
“O-oh god.” He whimpers, staring up at Izuku like he’s been betrayed, “Yo-you bit me?!”
“Technically,” Izuku peels the hand away gently and nods towards his partner, “He did that. But yes, you were bitten. Does it hurt?”
The boy blinks, looking rapidly from where Izuku holds his hand and Izuku’s kind face. “No.”
“Good. It’s not meant to. That means the venom is working correctly.”
Bakugo leans back on his hands and let’s Izuku take over the situation entirely as the boy chokes on the word. If it were up to him, the guy would be out cold and they’d been halfway home by now. Thankfully for the child, it is not up to Bakugo, and Izuku can go about purring at him.
“V-venom?! What the fuck is going on? What are you people?”
Izuku coos again, licking his thumb and rubbing at the specks of blood on the boy’s jaw in a gesture so motherly Bakugo has to physically restrain his scoff.
“In a few hours, nothing more than a bad dream.” Izuku answers, and the boy just keeps watching him with confused eyes, and trembling.
Bakugo begins to wonder if that’s all this human is capable of, staring at his mate just enough to piss him off and shaking like a baby deer. He assumes yes. He’s never met a human good for much else.
A pink, tear-wet mouth opens to beg or question further, but Izuku cuts him off this time. Dawn is approaching fast, Bakugo can already feel the soft itch of it beneath his skin, and he knows Izuku is aware they need to leave here and soon.
“Hush now,” Izuku purrs, his voice suddenly dipping low and smooth like velvet, “Listen to me.”
Bakugo can’t repress the shudder that rolls up his spine at the sound of Izuku’s compulsion.
The dual toned deep sound of his will oozes from his lips, thick and honeyed like clotted blood. It’s intoxicating, sweet and deep and even Bakugo feels the faint tug of Izuku’s words in his gut.
No matter how many times he’s heard it, no matter what decade or century, it’s always tempting.
It tempted him when they’d met in 17th century Vienna, when his life had irrevocably crashed into a boy with big eyes and hair so silky black it almost looked forest green chasing the same prey as him and altered forever.
It tempted him in the 18th century in the red streets of France, mating him deep and hard in sheets belonging to people nobler than them.
It tempts him now, on a dingy college campus somewhere in Japan with rain water soaking his knees and blood on his chin.
It begs him to follow, to obey, to submit to everything this man made of divine brutality wants of him. As if he wouldn’t already; as if his entire mind, body, and god-forsaken soul weren’t laid at Izuku’s feet to do whatever he damn well pleased.
The compulsions are, of course, much less effective on members of their own kind, but the pull is there nonetheless.
A human boy doesn’t stand a chance.
“Do you think you can stand?” Izuku asks. The boy’s eyes go glassy and dull, his muscles relaxing to near limpness as he nods slowly, gaze rapt on Izuku’s mouth.
“Good. Do you think you can walk home from here, you’re very near the bar you just left. We can take you back to the main road.”
The boy blinks. “Yes. I can…I can find the road. My dorm isn’t far.”
“Alright,” Izuku hums, eyes locked with human ones. The blackberry and jade scent of his power thickens in Bakugo’s nose as his compulsion flexes further into the boy’s head. “You’ve done very well, little one. There’s a few more things I need you to do for me tonight, and then this whole thing will be over and you can go home and rest. Can you do that for me? Hold out for just a little longer?”
The boy nods so fast Bakugo if he’s strained his neck. In his disgust he can’t help but wish to break it.
“Good boy,” Izuku praises, and even if he hadn’t been watching Bakugo would have been able to hear how fast the blood in the boy’s body rushes to flush his cheeks.
Izuku just smiles that strange smile and continues on. “I’m going to send you home now, alright? I want you to walk home slowly, with your hood up to cover your neck. I’m going to give you my jacket to cover the stains on your sweatshirt. When you get there I want you to bathe, eat something, and go to sleep until morning. You might feel a little dizzy on the way, but it should pass quickly.”
Bakugo’s eyebrows knit in the middle at this, leaning forward to try and catch the other’s attention.
Izuku hadn’t fed.
The catch had been Bakugo’s, but it’s rare for only one of them to eat on a hunting night. He doesn’t dare interrupt the compulsion, but there’s a bubble of irritation he can feel simmering in his stomach that is bound to rupture with vengeance.
Bakugo utterly refuses to let Izuku go unfed while he sits there with a comfortably full belly.
“I’m going to do something that will help the bite heal,” His mate says, “It won’t be much more than a bruise tomorrow morning. If anyone asks; you went to a bar, had a few too many drinks, met someone nice, and hooked up in the back alley before you went home to sleep it off.” Izuku thumbs gently over the half moon mark of Bakugo’s fangs. “Your partner simply got…carried away.” An accusatory glance is thrown Bakugo’s way, “But it’s nothing more than a hickey. The blood on your sweatshirt is from a nosebleed you got in the middle of the night. Any memories you have of us or this conversation is simply the alcohol in your system making you misremember things.”
Bakugo almost snorts.
The kid won’t remember. Izuku’s compulsions are some of the strongest he’s ever witnessed. They don’t ever remember more than a kind voice and a pair of glowing green orbs, no matter how much of a mess Bakugo makes.
“What are you doing?” Bakugo interrupts.
Izuku stops, hands halfway to shucking his own jacket off, those shimmering eyes lifting to gaze at him like he’s confused.
“Cleaning up after you.” He replies, but makes no move to continue.
Bakugo shakes his head. “You didn’t feed.”
Izuku just shrugs and turns his attention back to the boy. “It’s alright. I’ll be fine for one night.”
“Deku.” Bakugo snarls, loud enough that the boy cowers further into the crook of Izuku’s elbow and Izuku’s eyes snap up, opened wide and surprised.
Green blinks away from sight once, then again.
Bakugo can see the flurry of emotions flicking by in his gaze, oscillating between annoyance and confusion. His curls flop as he tilts his head to the side like he’s working out a puzzle, somehow managing to still look dangerous.
“Bakugo.” Izuku says, slowly, carefully like he’s testing the word in his mouth.
Bakugo shuffles forward on his knees, not caring about the state of his pants, picking up one of the boy’s warm, limp wrists. Izuku lets him, seemingly curious to what he’s doing, both of them ignoring the way the human whimpers.
“Deku.” He repeats, thrusting the hand towards his mate just on the other side of too rough for such fragile bones, “Drink.”
Izuku, appraising him in that quiet way that unnerves Bakugo, takes the hand and just, sets it in his lap.
This time Bakugo doesn’t try to dampen the growl that slides from his throat.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says softly, eyes going all wise and gentle like they do when he understands why Bakugo’s upset more than Bakugo does. “I think he’s had enough for tonight, don’t you?”
“No.” Bakugo says immediately. “I don’t care how much he’s had. You need to feed.”
Izuku just hums and drags a thumb over the human’s wet cheek. “Next time, Kacchan.” He whispers, “I promise.”
And in their lives together, as long and perpetual as they are, Bakugo has learned enough about the creature in front of him to know he isn’t going to win a battle once Izuku’s staked his claim.
Instead he settles for an obvious show of displeasure, giving in with a “tch,” and an aggressive snap of his teeth.
“Thank you.” Izuku says quietly, as though it’s a forfeit, and soundly ignores the lip that curls up over Bakugo’s fangs.
The air thickens with the pull of compulsion again, heady and flowery and sweet. The boy gasps, and Bakugo hears his heart rate flutter like bird wings when Izuku’s steady hands touch the sides of his face.
“Stay very still.” He orders, and without warning drops his fangs and sinks them shallowly into his own lip.
They retract with a wet noise, and just as quickly as he’d made the bite, Izuku leans forward and seals his bleeding lips over the human’s open mouth.
The kid startles, as humans are ought to do, but the compulsion drags his limbs down and the kiss is over before it had ever really begun.
Silver ringed fingers cage themselves around the boy’s jaw before Izuku pulls away fully, tongue flicking out to lick the already healing marks on his lip, eyes flickering an unnatural blazing green.
“Swallow.” Izuku says, and the boy’s mouth closes with a pop. There’s a bob in his throat as he complies, a little too eager.
Bakugo pretends to not hear the sweet little sigh that sneaks from fleshy lungs. He’s fairly certain Izuku wouldn’t be very happy with him if he decapitated his little human pet. Even if the fantasy is a sweet temptation.
A pleasant smile settles on Izuku’s lips, as though what he’d just done was a totally normal thing for humans to experience. His mouth opens to continue on before the boy sputters and twists his face up like he’s in pain.
A curious little worried noise eeks out of Izuku at the same time the child wails,
“Please don’t! Am I going to be like you now?! Please, oh god, I can’t - I don’t want to eat people!”
Bakugo tries not to laugh, truly, he does. But the small flailing hands and his mate’s look of surprise pull a throaty chuckle from him before he can stop himself.
The boy stares at him and trembles like he’d forgotten Bakugo was even there.
Izuku tends to have that effect on people. His presence verges on all encompassing to the point that Bakugo is fine with being lost in the background.
“My bite, his blood,” Bakugo growls out when the boy’s gaze gets too comfortable, “Idiot human. If even he had bitten, that’s not nearly enough blood to turn you. Although maybe it’ll help you grow a fucking pair of balls, huh?” He scoffs when the boy chokes on absolutely nothing. “Stop sniveling on him.”
He can almost hear the roll of Izuku’s eyes over the shuddering, gulps of air the human takes.
“The blood I just gave you is just meant to help you heal a bit faster. For the bite.” Izuku explains, ignoring Bakugo, dark voice slower and softer like he is. “That’s all.”
There’s a pause while Izuku at last shucks his jacket, leaving him in a silky red undershirt that fills Bakugo with a pit of hunger in his stomach all over again, shifting away and pulling the boy upright in his arms.
“Stand.” He says. “Nice and slow.”
The boy listens so eagerly Bakugo wonders if they even need the goddamn compulsion in the first place. His lanky limbs wobble and his knees almost knock together, but the thread of Izuku’s voice in his head helps him find his legs with some effort.
After a moment, he’s just standing there with his shoes dipping into a puddle, clothes and hair a wreckage and blood drying on his neck in startling reddish brown slices of color.
Brown eyes watch them like he’s scared they’re going to change their minds and pounce at any second. Bakugo spits bloody saliva on the ground. He doesn’t despise the idea.
“Good,” Izuku says again. Bakugo stands in time with him when Izuku follows the boy up, their inhuman bodies moving smooth and silent and in easy synchronization.
There’s an itch under Bakugo’s skin, a crawling roil in his gut, and he can’t even tell if he should blame it more on the impending morning or his stubborn lover. Either way it sets him on edge; legs jittery and senses too alert, too aware of every drip of drain runoff and every beat of this human’s infuriatingly loud heart.
“Let's go now,” Bakugo growls, low and agitated. “You already gave him his instructions.”
Izuku makes a soft, placating noise in his throat. “Patience, Kacchan. I know you want to go home.”
Bakugo’s teeth grind so hard he’s nearly sure even the human’s pathetic ears can hear them cracking.
Izuku only turns back to the boy. “You did very well. Because of you, my mate is fed, and I’m grateful for that.”
Bakugo very nearly snarls in his face just for saying so. It’s not like the human did any of the fucking work.
“Now I want you to close your eyes.” Izuku takes a step forward, watching the human’s throat bobbing, and throws his jacket across the kid’s slim shoulders.
“Count to three hundred. When you’re done you can open up and walk home and do what I told you. Take your time, and cover your shirt and your neck.”
Another nod, slow and dazed and so reverent of the creature gently sliding its arms into a cold suit jacket that Bakugo’s eye twitches.
“I apologize for the headache you’re going to wake up with tomorrow.” His mate hums, his pale mouth ticking up at the sides like he’s fighting off a smile.
The human gurgles something that sounds like “it’s okay” but his words are mashed up from the weight of Izuku’s compulsion, eyes already halfway closed and getting closer.
“Close your eyes now.”
Izuku steps back, releasing the boy for the first time in what feels like hours to Bakugo but can’t have naturally been longer than twenty minutes, and finally, finally returns to Bakugo’s side.
The itch under his skin lessens. A bit.
Bakugo’s bloodless muscles are still locked tight, his whole destructively strong body coiled tight a metal wire on the verge of snapping.
It’s less, now that Izuku’s scarred hands aren’t pushing into pink skin that turns white under his fingers and covering himself in human stink.
But the annoyance rages, bubbling like hot water just below the surface of his expression that’s he’s schooled into bored, unaffected.
Annoyance that Izuku likes to play with the strings of his nerves like a harp. The anger that comes with his mate’s usual berry-sweet summer night scent becoming tainted with salt and fear and dirty rain water.
“Let’s go.” Bakugo snaps again. He wants to be home. In a place that smells like them, no humans, just his own burnt pine and Izuku’s fresh sweetwater scent and some kind of warmth that their bodies can’t generate.
Deku nods this time. “Okay, Kacchan.” He says, brushing his knuckles like a shock against Bakugo’s as he stands next to him, all pretty and dark in softening moonlight.
There’s a quiet little disappointed sigh when Bakugo jerks his hand away that he pointedly ignores.
“Start counting,” Izuku says louder but no less gentle, pausing a moment to be sure the boy does. Then when two soft pink lines start mouthing numbers behind closed eyes, Izuku turns to Bakugo again and echoes, “It’s okay, Kacchan. Let’s go.”
He’s gone before his lip has time to curl at being patronized.
Once he’s moving, Bakugo instantly feels a shift. An ease of locked muscles that have to loosen to allow his long strides. The knot in his chest relaxing minutely with the bite of wet, sweet night air hitting his face, the fresh scent clearing his head.
He feels…better. Not entirely, not just yet. But better.
He’s still pissed off, and a heavy, sticky post-feed exhaustion is settling in his bones. But this, running at his speed and not the infuriatingly slow drag humans trudge at, this is a pleasure he’s willing to indulge.
This is how it was all the time, before Izuku.
Furious, primitive, bordering the blade edge of feral with one foot skimming the surface of something barbaric and ancient inside of himself. Sloppy with his hunts, bodies and limbs and so much blood left in his wake. Utterly unconcerned about who he fucked and who fucked him as long as their fangs never grazed his neck.
And then Izuku had come, and Izuku had stayed, and all of that changed.
Bakugo pumps his legs harder when the thought stirs that unease in him, not unhappiness, but a frantic sort of clawing need in his chest that feels like he’s trapped a wild animal beneath his ribcage.
The shadows melt and swallow him as he bleeds into their inky tunnels and alleys, distracting him from Izuku’s presence pushing against his back.
They don’t touch, or speak, but he stays a perfect two strides behind Bakugo, phantom steps perfectly matched.
His gaze feels hot and intent on the back of his head as they thread their way through the university district.
Bakugo doesn’t particularly like the feeling of being watched, monitored for signs of distress, he’d simply tell if he was. But he knows how Izuku worries, always so spun up about Kacchan, and sometimes it’s all he can do to just let him.
The only noise punctuating Bakugo’s stuffy, overcrowded thoughts the silent tap of their feet hitting puddles, not hard or long enough to break the surface with anything more than a gentle ripple.
Home breaks into his field of view like a sanctuary. Their own personal church, built from warm brick and hardwood instead of marble and stone and spires, the bones of it different from the churches their kind aren’t allowed inside.
Their newest house is…exuberant. They’ve had many, throughout the centuries, all various sizes and shapes and sprawls. This one Bakugo had been allowed to choose for their time in Japan, and he’d chosen lavishly.
It’s big and dark and dramatic and he’d chosen it that way on purpose. It reminds him so dearly of the mansions and near-palaces they’d made homes of in centuries prior, where they could roam the halls for hours without being caught. Nobody ever questioned their affinity for the shadows because all the best masquerades happened at night anyway.
It’s not as though the three story beast of a home nestled in the far suburbs of Japan isn’t well within their means. Izuku alone has six PhD’s, and Bakugo has hoarded enough money from his businesses for the two of them to afford three of these houses with enough to spare.
Dark wooden arches draw Bakugo through the doors of their home, the ornate carvings in the wood reaching for him like regal claws to beckon him in. He doesn’t glance back to check for Izuku as the heavy wood door squeals on its way shut. He’s there.
The house is dark, as it always has to be, the ache of the approaching sun on his skin immediately, blissfully lessening to nothing.
Izuku kicks his shoes off behind him, hands stuffed casually in his pockets as he watches Bakugo move through the grand foyer. Tension hangs thick and solid in the air, Izuku’s mouth dipping down into a frown in Bakugo’s peripheral. His big green eyes glitter and his head tilts like he’s concerned, shifting his weight between his feet despite not actually needing to.
Bakugo dutifully ignores him.
Plush, ornate carpets lead Bakugo’s footsteps past a kitchen that’s never been used with all of its glittering counters and too-expensive appliances that he occasionally catches Deku eyeing wistfully. He passes by the smooth marbled cut of the Discobolus in the hall, the one that he still isn’t even sure if they managed to keep the replica or the real one, ducking under his perfectly outstretched hand.
Bakugo isn’t even surprised when he reaches the living room with Izuku hot on his trail, footsteps near silent. The discomfort seeping out of his mate is near palpable in the air.
He doesn’t even have the mind to feel bad about the pang of satisfaction that shoots through his belly.
The darkness splashes the room nearly black, cut up by slices of pale moonlight tracking over the countless paintings and harsh lines of coal and pencil and chalk pieces covering the walls.
The room is round and big, every bone white wall reaching towards the sky like the basket of a ribcage.
A handcrafted chandelier that Izuku had found and refinished himself hangs solemn and unlit from the ceiling, metal vines twisting around the candle holders like the curl of a dead spider’s legs.
Izuku likes beautiful things, likes to collect little pieces and odes to the humanity he lost.
Their home is littered with swirls of color on canvas and woven fabrics on the floors and hunks of marble carved into deities. Art older than themselves and much more precious than they have any right to keep in their living room, but do anyway because Bakugo knows Izuku could spend hours staring into the elaborate touches of dark color and light in his favorite Rembrandt.
Bakugo is staring at that same Rembrandt above the mantle as he goes about shutting their black out curtains, pulling them shut with a hiss of the rings over the rods. Although he’s more prone to collecting books and novels and poems than art (his library takes up nearly half the house by now) he does like this one.
The pink-pale pudgy curves of twisting bodies always painted in dark candle light that should look gruesome but fall somewhere closer to spectral. It reminds him a bit of them. Unnatural, fearsomely beautiful creatures born of night and the flicker of candlelight in fresh blood.
Izuku’s resolve to relieve the silence breaks before Bakugo’s does, shaking him from whatever trance he’d been losing himself to.
Bakugo’s hands are still lifted, finishing sliding the last black curtain into place over the glass windows, when Izuku’s compact, scarred arms wrap around his waist and hold him there.
Bakugo almost wrinkles his nose at the lingering smell of human on his clothes.
“Kacchan,” Comes breathed softly into his nape, as Izuku buries his cool forehead into his neck. He says it like he’s pleading, although Bakugo doesn’t know what for.
Bakugo’s arms go limp at his sides, but he makes no attempt to shake him off. That clawing itch is so much lesser when Izuku touches him. Instead he simply bites off a sharp, “What?” Without turning around.
Izuku nestles further into his skin at the tone. “Are you still angry with me?”
Neither of their dead lungs breathe, so the sigh Bakugo looses is purely for Izuku’s sake as he relaxes minutely into his mate’s hold.
“I’m always angry with you. You’re a pain.” He growls.
“I know,” Izuku hums, seemingly not taking offense to the barb, “But are you angry?”
The spot in Bakugo’s chest where his stone heart sits pinches painfully, gut twisting hard with guilt.
Izuku isn’t asking about his usual brand of fire and brimstone anger, always wild and snapping and ready to detonate.
He’s asking about the quieter kind, the kind they both reach when their ropes are cut through and fraying and their knuckles broken from too many bloodless fights. When Bakugo is convinced he loves Izuku so much he might have to kill him for it.
How such a dangerous thing, such a powerful creature, can bend to him and beg so gently without words that he just not be angry with him again…part of Bakugo hates himself for making Izuku feel like he has to ask.
Bakugo turns around, bringing his hands up until Izuku’s chin is grasped between his forefinger and his gold-ringed thumb. There’s still blood beneath his nails.
He tilts his head up, looking over wild dark hair and a mouth pulled tight. Izuku gazes back up with the only pair of eyes that have ever really mattered. The only shade of green to ever exist for all he cares.
The great clawed beast in his chest shudders again, and Bakugo doesn’t ignore it this time. He indulges it’s whim and kisses Izuku like he always has. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it, even when he has permission to do it for the rest of eternity. Bakugo kisses Izuku like eternity’s not enough for him.
Izuku makes a surprised little noise against his lips, but makes no move to escape, just opens his velvet mouth and lets Bakugo in.
His tongue flicks against Izuku’s canines, fangs not fully descended but still on the edge of too sharp, mapping his teeth with soft strokes and grazes of his matching set.
He pulls away once he feels Izuku relax in his arms, big hands trailing up and settling on his chest over the violent flower-petal splotches of blood drying on his shirt.
“Not angry.” Bakugo says simply when he feels his mate take a habitual breath like a human would, and leans down to bump their foreheads together.
Izuku glances up, screwing his pretty face up in a grimace. “You couldn’t have mentioned that sooner?” He huffs, “I was driving myself halfway to insanity worrying about you the whole way home.”
He doesn’t have the heart, or the balls, to tell Izuku that he hadn’t actually decided he wasn’t truly angry until this very moment, so instead Bakugo just clicks his teeth and grins.
“Really?” He hums, tugging gently at one of Izuku’s silver earrings. “I didn’t hear any mumbling from where I was.”
Deku growls softly, playful and light, snapping his teeth at the hand offending his jewelry. “I’ve been trying not to do that so much.”
Bakugo takes advantage of the turn of Izuku’s head and bends his neck, running his mouth along the knife sharp cut of his mate’s jawline. “What? The mumbling? Or the pissing me off.”
“The mumbling.” Izuku replies, sliding his cold arms around Bakugo’s taller shoulders and stretching his spine when his hands slide up and over his tightly muscled waist. “I piss you off regardless.”
Bakugo ignores that last part, sliding his lips across the line of Izuku’s neck in slow reverence, careful to keep his fangs sheathed.
Izuku’s summery scent is still muted, like Bakugo can smell the memory of it, even on his neck where it usually flares strongest.
Bakugo can’t help the growl that slips from his throat as he sticks his tongue out and licks a stripe across Izuku’s Adam's apple, wet and slick like he can wash the reek of the night away with just his tongue and teeth and spit.
Izuku simpers in his throat, steel fingers flexing against the ruined fabric of Bakugo’s shirt. His sweet, beautiful mouth opens to speak, most likely to beg Bakugo to take him right over the side of their Chesterfield couch like he’s done many mornings before, but Bakugo cuts him off.
“Are you?”
Izuku looks up, eyes glazed and droopy like he’s under his own compulsion. “Am I what?”
Bakugo looks away first, peppering kisses over Izuku’s sharp cheekbones and brow and hairline and everywhere he can remember shaking fingers touching as he speaks. “Angry with me.”
Two fingers come up and touch his lips, effectively halting his soft assault on Izuku’s deceivingly delicate face. Bakugo almost growls again, wanting desperately to bite at the smooth curve of each freckled cheek.
“Why would I be angry with you?” He asks, tilting his head and matching a deep ruby gaze with a startling emerald of his own.
“Hell if I know,” Bakugo shrugs, mumbling around the obstruction of Izuku’s fingers. “For being a brute. Not being careful enough with your precious lamb of a human.”
“Ah,” Izuku says, dropping his fingers when Bakugo’s tongue slides out like a snake to lick between them. “You were careful, for the most part.” That same hand gets tangled in Bakugo’s hair, pushing through the short tufts of blond as Izuku purses his lips like he’s thinking deeply. “As for being a brute, I gave up on trying to domesticate you decades ago, Kacchan.”
Bakugo bares his teeth in a silent snarl and Izuku just laughs quietly; a dark, soft sound like the purr of distant thunder.
Izuku feels like a snapshot in time when he’s like this, old photographs that better picture the sound cicadas and a cold stream. Lightning bugs in a field and summer storms. Bakugo knows that if he closes his eyes he could probably feel the hush of grass on his skin and cricket song in his ears. The life they would’ve lived as boys, perhaps, if they’d truly lived any at all.
But for now, he lets Izuku lean up and press his lips to the snarl, to the knives in Bakugo’s mouth, tasting plump and very nearly warm.
“You chose me.” Bakugo reminds him when the fruit pulp and heat taste of him is gone again, aiming for anger and landing somewhere closer to petulance.
Izuku only hums and cranes the starlight pale column of his throat up to catch Bakugo’s mouth back in a kiss.
They’ve kissed a thousand times. A hundred thousand times. More times than Bakugo could ever hope to count in more places and eras and lives than he’d ever seen himself living with another.
And when Izuku’s other hand joins the first in Bakugo’s riot of hair, and Bakugo’s cradle Izuku’s face so sweetly in his palms, he remembers why he’d end lives and entire civilizations to kiss this one mouth.
But even so, Bakugo’s want for him is rarely a patient thing. As quickly as their lips had met, Bakugo is tugging Izuku’s face away, licking over the seam of his lover’s lips like a predator. Hands gripping his face so tightly it would bruise a normal being.
There’s a faint slick of blood scent in his own mouth from the feed, sticky and hot on his tongue. Bakugo doesn’t hesitate to push the taste into Izuku’s mouth, sharing the residual tang of their freed catch with his mate like a temptation. Izuku purrs, trying to nip at Bakugo’s tongue, eyes blown and hungry like he’s on the hunt again.
“Kacchan.” Deku breathes, tugging at a blood painted button when Bakugo starts mouthing down his throat again, drunk on the June night scent of him. “You said you weren’t mad.”
Bakugo licks the smooth hollow of his throat and moves his hands to Izuku’s waist, pulling their hips together in a slow, tight grind. “I’m not.”
Izuku turns his head enough to land a hard nip to the shell of Bakugo’s ear, enough to hurt but not quite bleed, his fang catching on one of the gold hoops. Bakugo hisses loudly, straightening up instinctively as his body tries to orient his arousal and pain at the same time.
“Then stop teasing.” Izuku snarls, not harsh enough to be mean but enough to send a shiver spiking down Bakugo’s spine. “Don’t wanna play like that tonight, mon cher.”
His mate grins up at him, fangs exposed now and gleaming bone white in the thin cast of the moon.
Bakugo would do anything for him, and when Izuku looks at him like he might eat him alive just to see how he tastes, Bakugo wonders if he knows exactly what lengths he could drag him to.
If maybe he’ll put his hands out and push a little further just to see how far his back will bend.
“Just want you.” Izuku says with conviction. His hands pop the buttons of Bakugo’s shirt so fast Bakugo doesn’t actually see it, splaying his cold palms against Bakugo’s marble torso.
Bakugo has never been one to deny Izuku, and he doesn’t plan on starting tonight.
Izuku’s legs are around his waist in a snap of motion, mouths open and devouring, and they’re up the spiral staircase in the time it would take a normal human to blink.
Izuku’s laughing when Bakugo tosses him onto their massive bed, bouncing lightly despite his frame in the sea of red velvet blankets and white furs. The sound worms its way into Bakugo’s brain like a parasite, making his lifeless guts feel warm and fuzzy like they only do when he’s with Izuku this way.
When he leans over the bed and catches that smart mouth again, hands roaming and pinching and sliding over skin that perfectly matches the texture of his own, Bakugo feels like he’s screaming you have me at the very top of his lungs.
Every piece of clothing that rips beneath his unforgiving hands says I’m yours, don’t you see that?
Every crevice and dip he slides his killing tongue into once they’re both naked, save for the deep scarlet button up hanging opened off of Izuku’s shoulders that Bakugo couldn’t stand to part with, asks don’t you know?
Bakugo kneels above him like a guardian angel ripped of its wings, devout and the furthest thing from God all at once.
Izuku writhes beneath him, curling his body beneath swipes and circles of his cool tongue.
He shoves Izuku further up the bed as gently as the cloying need in his chest allows him to, following behind with his head low and shoulders dropped like a panther. He’d devour this man, this monster built so beautifully with half of his own soul, alive if he could.
Impossibly soft skin trembles under his tongue as he licks his way up Izuku’s muscled legs and over his hips.
Bakugo wishes sometimes that they still had warm blood flowing through their veins, wishes the harsh sucks and nips he scatters across pale thighs and hips could actually bruise. He’d paint the prettiest picture on Izuku’s skin with only his mouth.
“If you keep doing that, I’ll finish before we’ve even started.” Izuku huffs, head leaned back against the pillows and back arching ever so slightly into Bakugo’s touch.
“No you won’t,” Bakugo replies, because if centuries of doing this every chance they get has granted them anything, it's stamina.
But he stops teasing all the same, lapping his tongue once over the flat, pink buds of Izuku’s nipples, tugging on the ring nestled firmly in the left one with his teeth just to elicit an instinctual gasp. Izuku’s laugh rattles the chains of his self control like a beast before he’s crawling further up the length of his lover’s body.
The cradle of Izuku’s pelvis perfectly hugs Bakugo’s as he settles his body over him like a shield, rocking his hips forward to slide their filling lengths together in an easy, fluid roll.
Izuku groans loud and perfect, hands fluttering up to grip Bakugo’s shoulders in shackles.
Bakugo just slowly ruts like that for a long moment, drowning in the sweatless but still smooth slide of their erections and the fresh, hot day scent of his mate flooding his nose, the sweet little sounds falling from that plush mouth.
“More, Kacchan.” Izuku purrs, altogether deadly and enchanting and Bakugo knows, in this moment and all the other little ones in their endless existence, he never really stood a chance.
Izuku turns quick when Bakugo groans and slides a hand down to grasp their cocks together.
His fangs bared, he tries again to plunder his tongue into Bakugo’s mouth with the hunger of a carnivore.
The movement is jerky, a hair pin trigger away from a bite, and it forces Bakugo to pause.
His instincts bristle when Izuku whines, higher and reedier than his normal silky moans. The snarl Bakugo can feel building like a tsunami wave in Izuku’s chest is just left enough of normal that his eyes open to look down at him.
Izuku looks wrecked beneath the cradle of Kacchan’s thighs.
Too wrecked for how much Bakugo had touched him.
His hair is tangled and wild, mouth hanging wet and open with too much spit. Sharp fangs sit fully extended in a rare show of dominance, and all at once their mating ritual tips on its side and suddenly feels a whole lot more like their standing on the cliff’s edge of a fight.
“Deku.” Bakugo whispers, watching blown pupils and crackling green irises tear from watching his mouth to meet his eyes. Izuku’s hands falter their frantic touching, relaxing the vice grip on his shoulders.
It almost hurts to feel Izuku’s hands peel away from his skin. Pale eyelids cover the blazing green in one slow blink, and then another.
“Kacchan.” Izuku coos back, wrapping his lips around the name like an apology.
Bakugo sits up until his body is looming over Izuku, laying flat on his back, pale skin lambent in the dusky light.
The dark ruby fabric of Izuku’s flayed open shirt is an agonizing contrast to the amber freckles dotting his naked body and Bakugo’s gums itch with the urge to sink his teeth in.
But then Izuku whimpers again, trying in vain to rut their hips together like he’s desperate for it already, and Bakugo starts to understand.
His well-fed, sex addled brain slowly stirs back to life and shakes itself awake in his skull.
Izuku’s hungry.
Trying to taste the gore lingering in Bakugo’s own mouth.
Hungry enough that he’s riding a paper thin line of self control and Bakugo is actively, unwittingly trying to burn through it.
The lush, savage curls of green snapping in his irises very rarely get so brilliant when Izuku has human blood in his belly.
Bakugo hums, running his big hands up and down Izuku’s hips in soothing lines, and makes a decision that requires almost no amount of forethought.
Izuku’s green eyes burn through him, watching as Bakugo ducks his head down and plants a kiss to each of his defined hipbones.
Then he’s sitting up again, legs pulled forward to straddle Deku’s hips, and flipping hand over. Izuku blinks slowly like a dazed animal, as Bakugo presses the softer, thinner skin of his inner wrist to Izuku’s mouth and simply says, “Here.”
Izuku catches on quickly.
“A bloodshare?” Izuku’s lips mumble around Bakugo’s arm. “But I thought we were going to -”
“We are.” Bakugo purrs; cuts him off with a mean, feral grin that he can feel slicing through the lower half of his face.
It's the same smile he uses on humans when he feels like batting them around a little, for the sole purpose of it being so sharp and unnatural that he’s made one or two faint, but Izuku just frowns against his wrist and has the audacity to look concerned.
“I’ll fuck you for as long and as hard as you want me to, stubborn Deku.” Bakugo huffs, as if he hasn’t had fantasies about staying buried in that tight heat for as long as their endurance holds. Which, considering they don’t need to sleep, or relieve themselves, or even breathe, he suspects would be a very long time. “But you’ll do this first.”
Bakugo can feel the argument rising in Izuku’s throat before he even gets it out.
“Kacchan, really, I’m fine. We have another hunt planned next week. You don’t have to -”
“Izuku.” Bakugo snarls, voice like a gunshot, loud and vicious enough that he’s surprised the windows don’t rattle in their frames.
Izuku’s mouth closes with an audible click of his teeth, and Bakugo crushes his hand against those lips hard enough that he suspects it hurts. Not that he really cares, not now, as Izuku squirms beneath the burning red of his wrathful gaze. “I wasn’t asking.”
His mate fights back silently for another minute, eyes digging into Bakugo’s for any sign of hesitation, seemingly debating the risk of trying to argue with him again.
He seems to decide it's not worth it then, with Bakugo staring holes into his face and practically trying to force feed him his wrist, and his body goes lax and calm.
“You have to stop me if it becomes too much.” Izuku says, tugging at Bakugo’s arm just enough to free his crushed lips.
“It won’t be too much.” Bakugo rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s not like this is the first time we’ve done this.”
“I know,” Izuku hums, adjusting Bakugo’s wrist over his mouth so his arm isn’t jerked at an angle. “Regardless.”
There’s an unsaid I don’t want to hurt you swimming clear in the pools of Izuku’s green eyes, familiar enough that Bakugo doesn’t need him to say it.
He always gets like this when he’s denied himself one too many meals.
Fidgety and nervous, holding tight to his baser instincts with white knuckles and aching fingers that Bakugo suspects are one failed hunt away from breaking.
Izuku is always so painfully in control, even when his body savagely demands the nourishment he continuously refuses it.
That’s fine. Bakugo can handle it.
Izuku’s self deprivation doesn’t bother him now nearly as much as it had in their beginning, when each human Izuku would blatantly refuse to drain would send Bakugo into a blind rage, always rooted in a sick worry that he couldn’t admit to for a very long time. But, that’s fine too.
He knows Izuku better than he knows even himself, now. He’s more than willing to pull apart the threads of that control and yank out the guts inside if he has to. If Izuku needs it.
It wouldn’t be anything he hasn’t done before.
“Izuku.” Bakugo says again, as gentle as he knows how to, trying to convey all of this with just his hands and eyes and lips because words have never done him much good.
Izuku watches him hesitantly as he uses his free hand to pinch Izuku’s chin and gently place the paper thin skin of his wrist on his teeth.
“You have the self control of a patron saint.” He snorts, then leans down and presses his lips to Izuku’s forehead and whispers into his skin like sharing secrets, “I trust you. Always have.”
Izuku says nothing more, just looks over Bakugo with eyes that know too much, know everything.
Eyes that would know him in the darkest nights, at the end of the world. They’d watch it all burn down together.
Bakugo barely feels the bite. Or, rather, he does feel it, but the sensation barely registers through his neurons as pain.
There’s a moment of pressure; of Izuku’s razor sharp fangs puncturing his unnaturally tough skin with a pop that soft, pliant human skin doesn’t make.
Izuku meets his eyes for a half second, checking for signs of discomfort, and when he finds nothing but the red blaze of Bakugo’s desire and drive, rolls those eyes back in his head as he begins to suck.
The bloodshares are not the same as a feed.
While their feeds are often frenzied, especially in the young ones, they aren’t nearly as overwhelming of an experience as this. The moment Bakugo’s blood, rich and heavy from a successful feed floods Izuku’s mouth, it's a fight to stay upright above him.
While his hunt had left him sated and well satisfied, the bloodshare is an altogether different type of delirium.
They’re purely intoxicating, a vicious transfer of life force instead of nutrients like humans provide, a primitive clash of skin and blood and teeth. Addictive enough to be taboo for unmated pairs, and forbidden to newborns altogether. They feel good. They feel deadly. They trigger every survival instinct and light up every pleasure center all at once, stabbing deep into the heart of whatever angry beast lurks under their skins.
Its better than any adrenaline rush or drug or orgasm he’s ever tasted in his time.
Bakugo groans low and throaty as Izuku drinks from him like a man left to parch in the desert, tongue laving agitated lines beneath the spot his teeth dig in. They’ve done this before, enough times that the euphoria of their bloodshare is manageable after the initial bite, if only just.
It still feels like someone is injecting pure drug into his veins, his limbs warm without a heartbeat, skin tingling at every point of contact. It feels like Izuku’s in him, everywhere, the scent of him oozing over like a peach crushed in someone’s fist. Like the collision of stars, ancient and annihilating, trapped in the space between their empty chests.
The first time they’d done this, somewhere in Rome somewhere around the time humans had stumbled into inventions they were calling automobiles, the first time had nearly killed them both.
He’d sunk his teeth into Izuku’s skin, right over their mating mark, and for the very first time hadn’t released at the first taste of blood. The sex had blurred the lines of fucking and killing, and Bakugo had never come so hard in his life.
Now, though, with Izuku trembling beneath him and his trust, his dead heart bared and held delicately in the other’s hands, the lure of a frenzied bloodshare isn’t more than a distant pull somewhere long tamed.
Bakugo calms himself enough to roll their hips together again, his cock hard enough to cut diamonds and aching worse than the crunch of Izuku’s teeth through the muscle and sinew of his arm.
Izuku’s whole body jerks, the clamp of his fangs in Bakugo’s vein loosening enough to slip a wet moan around the blood slicking his mouth.
His eyes fly open and find Bakugo with soul-shaking purpose, green blazing so bright his eyes burn like flames.
Two stark lines of thick, cherry colored fluid pour from the corners of his mouth. Bakugo’s blood cuts rivers of russet down his jawline and flows easily towards the devastatingly high arch of his neck, smearing when Bakugo’s free hand clenches down hard on that sharp, open jaw.
“God,” Bakugo rasps in his ear, bucking the powerful plane of his hips into Izuku’s just to see the blood leak thicker from his stretched mouth as he tries to moan. “Look pretty like that.”
A high whine bubbles the gore on Bakugo’s skin, a small pool of it forming at the base of where Izuku’s neck rests on the bed.
“I hate when you do this to me.” He continues on, ignoring the sudden startled widening of his mate’s eyes, clarity shocking through the clouded haze of his irises. Izuku tries to open his mouth, tries to unlatch, and only stirs the cooling anger in Bakugo’s belly alive again.
Golden fingers, drenched in ruby and smearing the color across skin, dig into Izuku’s cheeks and force his maw shut again.
“I hate feeding without you.” Bakugo clarifies, accenting his annoyance with a sharp thrust of his hips.
Izuku’s cock twitches, but his eyes stay trained on Bakugo’s face like his life hangs on his next words, gaze rapt even if his body curls with sin.
The hand steeling Izuku’s jaw moves faster than a bolt of light and tangles in the dark curls falling over his forehead, tugging sharply and forcing Izuku’s head back further into the soaked sheets. “Stop making me.”
“I don’t hunt for just myself, merdique Deku. I hunt for you too. As you do for me.” He snarls, face so close his lips nearly brush his own hand, still cradled by Izuku’s teeth. “I hate when you force me to make you go without. If you’re going to insist we only feed off a human once, you feed first. You before me. I won’t just play along next time.”
Izuku whimpers, hips grinding up for any kind of purchase while Bakugo denies it.
The anger in him clashes with the need, fighting tooth and claw to choose which collar the monster in him wears tonight. Which leash he should tie to the small immortal beneath him and tug with both hands.
When Izuku releases his jaw this time, Bakugo doesn’t stop him, a light headed fog creeping at the edges of his consciousness with how much Izuku has taken from him.
His mouth is a murder scene.
His fangs drip utterly, completely vermillion; chin and lips stained in his mate’s blood down to the dip of his graceful, pale collarbones.
He swallows what’s left on his tongue and takes a few grounding, deep gulps of night air, wet hands gently palming at Bakugo’s face.
“I’m sorry.” Izuku coos, following the path of his hands with his messy lips. He kisses Bakugo’s chin and cheeks and jaw almost frantically, leaving trails of his own blood shining on his tan skin. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”
Bakugo doesn’t say it back, because he doesn’t have to, instead steals his marred wrist back and loses both of his hands in Izuku’s hair, reclaiming his mouth with a snarl that cracks through the air like a whip.
The kiss is filthy, and tastes like his blood, like burnt cinnamon and smoke. Their hips find a rhythm and he moans into the slick taste of spit and venom and blood. The bloodshare clings and scents the bedroom with aggression and sex and arousal so thick that Bakugo can’t smell anything in the air that isn’t Izuku.
Bakugo wants to lose himself in that heat, wants to drag his lover into it with him until they’re powder and ash because he needs it even more than Bakugo does sometimes.
His hands move again, blindly gripping Izuku’s thighs and moving them around so Izuku’s hips sit in his lap, graceful and fluid in his movements. Fingers dig into supple, soft flesh and push, stretching Izuku’s thighs up towards his chest and further exposing the leaking column of his cock, appreciating the way it twitches without even being touched yet.
“Spread your legs.” Bakugo manages to snap around the tongue fucking into his mouth, wild and greedy as it licks over his lips and teeth, digging flesh over a fang until the muscle pricks with fresher blood.
Izuku moans like he’s dying when Bakugo grips his cock once and pumps his fist over it, legs up and splayed and laid out so vulnerable and trusting it makes Bakugo’s chest tighten.
Bakugo’s wrist is still bleeding, dripping heavily down to his elbow and painting shocking lines of red down Izuku’s marble thighs and over his long shaft.
It’ll heal itself soon, but the scene is barbarous.
If Izuku had more of his wits about himself Bakugo knows he’d be getting scolded for making a mess of them both.
But Izuku just rolls his hips hard and fast; bares his teeth in both threat and invitation, watching Bakugo’s blood trickle across his pelvis like a brand that he would beg for in his skin.
He whimpers when Bakugo releases his cock just as fast as he’d gotten a hand on it, too far gone to even properly glare at the mean smile Bakugo flashes at him.
Bakugo leaves a wet kiss on the inside of his knee, a calming reminder that he knows what his mate needs from him, and drops his hand past Izuku’s cock to press a blood-slick finger to his entrance.
Izuku chokes when one long finger enters him smoothly, gliding sleek through the viscera slathered on his body. “Kacch- God, Katsuki. Oh. You were right.”
Bakugo hums, his neglected cock twitching at the silky sound of his given name, the only name as old as him, on Izuku’s tongue.
He leans back on his knees to watch a second finger disappear into his mate’s willing body, eyes flaming red and ravenous, a tentative curl of his knuckles meeting almost no resistance.
“I usually am.” He replies after a moment, thrusting his fingers in before dragging them out tortuously slow.“But what would I be right about this time?”
A cracked, breathy laugh escapes Izuku’s mouth with a gust of useless air. His hips move in time with Bakugo’s fingers, trying in vain to quicken the pace they twist inside of him.
“Earlier, when you said - God, when you said...I chose you.” He manages, his voice nearing the point of wreckage where he just starts babbling nonsense and praise in a near constant stream.
Bakugo leans over to meet his gaze, two anomalous colors clashing together with the force of countless lifetimes whittled down to this one morning.
“You were right.” Izuku breathes, moaning shamelessly when Bakugo picks up the pace of his fingers. “I did choose you. I’d make the same choice again if I had to. I’d choose you again, Katsuki.”
The name is a breath, a devotion, one he doesn’t have to take, but that Bakugo trembles just the same beneath the weight of.
Izuku reaches for him, and Bakugo just lets himself be pulled down until their bodies are pressed tight, chests sliding together in the slick.
“I’d choose you in every lifetime.” Izuku tells him, so soft he’s barely speaking at all. “In any lifetime.” Bakugo has to strain to hear his purrs over the wet slap of his palm on the skin of his ass, but every word digs into him to the very bone. “I wanted you so badly, then. That first night. In France. For so many nights before that. I’ve always wanted you, I think. Before I even knew you existed. I wanted you as mine before I even knew it was you I was looking for. I felt you in my blood before we ever met. Ah! Katsuki! It’s like - it’s like I was just waiting for you to start looking for me too. God, please fuck me.”
Bakugo shudders, despite that he has, of course, known all of this for years. Felt the depths of Izuku’s adoration for him firsthand, held the bond Izuku had forged in his hands and gripped it tight.
“Izuku.” Bakugo growls, strained and tight, old and yet stripped to fresh, new youth by the blunt edge of Izuku’s faith in him.
He removes his fingers with a squelch of blood and precum leaking all the way down to his ass. Izuku nearly sobs, tearless and angry, his cock standing proud and so hard it looks borderline painful.
Bakugo does not have the self control or patience to do anything more than shift his hips back, still pressed flush to the small, compact body beneath him and slick his cock with his own blood with a few hard strokes.
The hand wetting his cock is stolen by scarred fingers and dragged up, up over Izuku’s mouth, lips glistening like gems in the darkness as his long, red tongue slides out and licks over his palm.
The sheer amount of pink tinged saliva in Izuku’s mouth should be disgusting, but Bakugo just snarls again like a rabid dog and licks into that cool mouth, his hand dropping to coat his cock with as much filth as he can.
Even after centuries, the first press of the blunt head of his cock into Izuku’s body still is so blissfully, heavenly tight.
“Fuck, ‘Zuku.” He grits between his teeth, nails biting hard into the blood stained sheets on either side of that pretty face as he pushes himself to the hilt.
“Katsuki.” Izuku sighs, making a sweet soft sound when their bodies glide together and Bakugo buries himself fully.
He tilts his head back to appraise the open-mouthed moan Bakugo looses as Izuku tries a slow roll of his hips, hair a wild thatch of ebony in the dark.
“You are mine.” Izuku tells him, cradling his face so tenderly in his hands that Bakugo’s chest nearly spasms.
It feels obvious. Bakugo thinks it should be obvious that of course, of course, he is Izuku’s.
It's carved into his skin, across the bones of his ribcage, it's shoved in the hole where his heart should be.
Their love is a damned, unnatural thing. A mutation, a perversion of the natural order that one of them resents and the other covets, but remains so intimately theirs.
It's a love that Bakugo would thrust his fists into Hell and spit in the Devil’s face for. One he’d cheat Death once more to experience it again for the first time.
Bakugo doesn’t know how to say all of it, doesn’t know how to word just how gone he is for this little immortal beneath him, this celestial beast made of shadow and bone and stars.
Instead he thrusts his hips forward with a grunt, mouthing at the skin beneath Izuku’s ear, that last tender place he has yet to sink his teeth into and settles on, “There’s only you. In all things. Always.” Because it's the barest truth he knows even if he barely knows what he means.
Izuku groans, leaning forward to kiss him hard enough that he nearly feels the ghost ache of breathlessness in his lungs.
Bakugo’s thrusts are not gentle, or soft, or apologetic. His touch is a claim, a mark, a burn. Their scents clash violently in the air, mixing hot and heady, like a summer wood caught on fire. A cleansing blaze lighting the deep night of distant forest red and orange.
His touch is unforgiving against Izuku’s hips and thighs and hands, digging and touching and soothing with gentle swipes of his tongue.
Bakugo snaps his hips forward hard enough that Izuku’s body shoves up the bed a few inches, mouth open and moaning so loud it rings Bakugo’s ears.
Izuku’s nails rake red, bleeding lines beside the curve of Bakugo’s spine, imprinting the proof of his own claim.
“God, Kacchan, please.” Izuku babbles, as Bakugo tilts his hips and drives into the spot he knows makes his back arch so beautifully. “Fuck me, right there. Like that. Mon amour. Je veux que tu me baises.”
They fuck like animals, because they stray closer to beast than human, they fuck and Izuku looks up at him like this is making love.
Bakugo moans as Izuku’s thighs clamp around his waist like a vice, his whole body pulling tight and perfect around Bakugo’s cock.
The bedframe smashes into the wall with enough force to rattle the prodigiously valuable paintings on the walls.
Bakugo doesn’t care if they break, not as Izuku throws his head back and wails as Bakugo thrusts hard against his prostate. He’ll buy him more, he’ll buy him the entire fucking Louvre if he wants it.
He just wants to see Izuku come, wants to feel that tight little body and all its clandestine strengths bend under his touch.
“That’s it.” He huffs, lapping hungrily at his blood and the tender patterns it swirls into Izuku’s skin. “Come on. Fuck, Izuku, you feel so good. You’re always so fucking tight, how are you always so tight? Come on, mon ange. Ma moitié.”
Izuku gasps, jerking his body to meet each bruising thrust Bakugo gives him, jewelry sparkling silver and white against the cardinal red mess covering his hands and lips and chest.
The soft tap of their rings clicking together as Izuku laces their hands together only backs the wet, ravaging sounds of Bakugo plunging into Izuku’s hole like he’s possessed.
“I want to feel you come around me,” He whispers, low in his ear, scraping their fangs together in a heathen’s attempt at a kiss that’s all tongue and spit. “Ah - I can feel you’re close. Get so tight when you’re about to come on me, huh? Shit, ‘Zuku, you’re so pretty like this. Let go. Let me feel.”
That’s all the permission Izuku seems to need, his back curving in a dramatic arch and his hips slamming up to meet Bakugo once and then twice before he’s releasing in thick, white ropes between their chests.
He’s untouchable like this. Even from inside of him, Bakugo thinks him ethereal. A vision in red and white and silver, the shine of his skin cutting through the dark like a blood diamond.
He’s everything and eternal, with love that slices through Bakugo like a knife or a fist through a cheekbone. Love like a weapon, a mercy killing, a savior’s kiss.
He’s the moonlight expanse of an empty church, a firefly lit field in the country, a palace filled with secrets on lips, a diner in the 50’s that they used to frequent, a dirty underground punk venue in the 90’s with their names on the walls, a home nestled in the outskirts of a city they’ve seen change like a hand of cards.
He comes with a shout of Katsuki’s oldest name, moaning loud and sweet and dirty. Digging his nails into Bakugo’s shoulders hard enough to leave half moons that drag Bakugo right over the edge with him.
And just for a moment, there is nothing else. Just heat in dead bodies, and light for creatures that live in omnipresent darkness. And their souls, as hell-bound as they are, pressed together so tightly that there isn’t room for them to be separate, but instead the same expansive, lasting thing holding its hands out and demanding the universe bend to meet the curve of its great tooth and claw.
His orgasm is staggering, a flash bang convergence of a thousand lifetimes and moments and years sticking together like the dried blood between their bodies and the spend nearly touching Izuku’s chin.
Izuku’s cooing at him, working a hand over his face in gentle devoutness, kissing what parts of skin his lips can reach. “Tu es le sang de mon sang,” He whispers against his mouth, old vows of an older ceremony that still rings their barest truth, “L'os de mon os."
Bakugo stays for a moment, spilling sticky and nearly endlessly inside Izuku, who moans and kisses him between soft professions of his love. His arms tremble through the aftershocks until his weight wins out and he sags into Izuku’s chest.
He presses his face to Izuku’s neck, hands finding their way to his ruined hair, combing strong fingers through the strands in methodic strokes.
“Je t’aime.” Bakugo whispers to his skin, the same way he had long ago, the way he would until his mouth he couldn’t form the words anymore.
“I love you.” Izuku replies, and Bakugo again feels a stir in his long-dead heart.
The beast in him sheathes itself for a time, hunger sated, calmed by the settling scent of summer and cold hands in his hair and a cared for mate.
They lay there like that for a long while, Bakugo half dozing on Izuku’s chest as Izuku tries not to breathe out of habit and disturb him. Neither of them have slept in weeks, and Bakugo fully intends on slipping into unconsciousness for a full twenty-four hours when Izuku gently pokes his cheek with one of his rings.
“What?” He grumbles, voice garbled from the way his cheek is squashed into Izuku’s collar.
“I really am sorry, you know.”
Bakugo doesn’t have to look up to hear the soft, accidental pout in Izuku’s voice. “It’s fine. Stupid.” He slurs, half back to himself, “Just stop doing that shit.”
Izuku just hums, trailing his fingers down the lacerations on Bakugo’s back that are already near healed and flaking with dried blood. “We’re kind of disgusting.”
“Are you complaining? Because this is mostly your fault.” Bakugo growls without any heat, propping his chin on Izuku’s chest to glare at his softly sculpted face.
“No.” Izuku replies immediately, but still tilts his head as he looks down. “But the bed is covered in blood and cum. And so are we.”
“You’re a messy eater.”
“Don’t taste so good then.” Izuku says, smiling like he thinks he’s clever. Bakugo’s eyes roll so hard he thinks he might’ve caught a glimpse of his brain.
“If you want me to run you a bath, you can just ask me to run you a bath.” He mumbles, nipping gently at Izuku’s skin until he squirms away with a soft growl.
It quickly dissolves into that velvet laugh when Bakugo kisses over the spot, feeling light and content to his very center.
Bakugo looks up again, back to that shade of deep forest green, the lazy smile curving sharp and white across Izuku’s bloody lips.
There’s heat there on the surface, love that Bakugo doesn’t have to chase or hide from, and a want that promises a second round the minute the tub gets filled.
Izuku leans down, kisses Bakugo soft and sweet through the taste of copper, and smiles with each and every one of his fangs. “I’d kill for one.”