Chapter Text
Izuku fidgets, chewing into his lip. He keeps checking his phone, just to have something to do. He's fully aware how awkward and out of place he looks in front of this classy hotel on this side of town. Izuku specifically went shopping for this occasion as soon as Katsuki sent him the address where they would meet – he definitely doesn’t have clothes nice enough for this establishment – but even with his best effort, he’s clearly missed the mark.
He hops from one foot to the other, checking the time again. This is a mistake. This has to be a mistake. He’s had ample time to freak the fuck out about this – and, some courageous part of him is convinced he’ll use this as an opportunity to firmly set boundaries. To say goodbye on his own terms.
Yes, it was lovely to see you. Yes, I’ve lived seven lifetimes now with a singular goal and it is to see you alive. Even if you remember me, you have to agree this is the only way forward. We should never see one another again.
The wind rustles, sending cherry blossom petals tumbling to the ground. Izuku ignores the squeals of tourists and the bright flashes of cameras around him. The streets are clogged with people, all making their tracks to their own plans, their own dinners, their own lives. Izuku’s never belonged around here – until today, he guesses.
There’s an astounding amount of couples, arms latched together, smiling and laughing at their own private jokes.
Guiltily, Izuku looks away.
The valet with whom he shares the awning casts him an uncomfortable glance, though he stays stalwart, staring forward, hands clasped behind his back. His red uniform matches the logo of the hotel, is ironed in perfect symmetrical lines. Izuku looks at his own slightly wrinkled sports jacket and tries to pull his sleeves down, as if that would somehow hide the creases on his shirt.
He’s amply distracted with becoming progressively more self-conscious when he hears a car screech up in front of them, the roaring motor earning Izuku’s attention. His eyes widen slightly, jaw dropping. A boyish giddiness bubbles in his chest. Oh, that is a nice car. Jet black, all curves and sleek lines, just looking at it gives Izuku an impression of power. It actually sort of looks like All Might’s car from his stint as a vigilante.
Izuku blinks at the car, furrowing his eyebrow. The niggling deja-vu is hard to ignore, considering he’s lived seven lifetimes. With so many lifetimes lived, Izuku eventually developed quite the attention to detail.
His heart is somewhere between his throat and his tongue when the driver’s door opens. His chest pangs painfully at the sight of blonde hair. God, he hasn’t seen All Might in years – and he’s going to have no idea who he is –
The person who exits the car is not All Might. The person who exits the car is dressed in a sleek, black suit, blonde hair ruffled into perfect ‘casual’ spikes, eyes a pulse-raising red and a mouth perpetually turned into a frown.
“Don’t scratch it – “ Katsuki Bakugou barks as he throws his keys to the unsuspecting valet before turning his attention back to Izuku. For some unforeseen reason, he grins at Izuku, and Izuku wishes to dissolve into the sidewalk and drip into the sewers underneath.
Izuku did not think this through. If he nearly had a heart attack seeing Katsuki completely covered up, with a face-mask and hidden by an umbrella, this is… this is like dying, coming back, then dying all over again.
Izuku would know, after all.
“Sorry ‘m late. Come on, lets head up.” Katsuki Bakugou speaks to Izuku completely casually, like they have conversations like this every day. Like this isn’t the second time they’ve ever met. Like Izuku isn’t crushed by the fact that he’s ended six timelines before stumbling on this one. Like the fact that seeing his face, free of his baby fat, sharp, angular, that he can see just a shadow of blonde stubble (that he never had before. Not a single strand of facial hair when he was seventeen. Izuku knows, because he’s kissed every single inch of his boyish face) isn’t making all the air escape out of his lungs like a over-inflated balloon.
He just stands there, stunned, letting his body defer to autopilot while his brain tries desperately to make any sense of this.
The two of them step into a glass elevator, the attendant pressing the top floor. Izuku keeps his eyes fixed outside. Somehow, watching them ascent hundreds of feet into the air feels safer than meeting those devastating reds again.
Izuku’s seen pictures of this place on the internet, but he was still not prepared for the degree of luxury the two of them step into. White tablecloths, tasteful orb-shaped lights hanging various lengths from the ceiling creating an illusion of starlight, and the view – Tokyo Tower right in front of them, the city expansive yet tiny under their gaze.
The hostess just bows at the sight of the two of them and, without a word, takes them to a table in the corner, situated right against the window. Politely, she waves her dainty hand towards the table and Izuku tries desperately to not trip all over himself as he pulls out his chair. Somehow, Katsuki even makes sitting down cool.
The hostess lights the candle in between them, bows again, and leaves them alone.
Izuku looks around the room, holding his breath. Pristine white marbled floors, walls covered with monochromatic art. Except a few young women accompanying much older men, he and Katsuki are by far the youngest people here. Izuku’s eyes round back to the table, only to be met with Katsuki’s.
Katsuki is staring right at him, eyebrow quirked, a smile he’s never seen before playing across his handsome face. Like he’s happy that Izuku is there. Like he wouldn’t want anyone else to be here with him.
Izuku breathes in, his brain finally catching up with his body, and the stupid thing starts screeching in his head, forcing Izuku to flinch. Is this a date?!
Katsuki, noticing Izuku’s attention on him, raises his eyebrows once, biting into his bottom lip in what can be called a nearly bashful action.
“The place does a taster menu. Courtesy of the chef. You drink alcohol?” Katsuki asks, like that’s a normal thing to ask.
Izuku, stunned, just nods.
Katsuki turns to the bar, putting up two fingers, before directing his full attention back to Izuku. He leans forward, smile spreading on his face like some kind of invasive species. Izuku continues to gawk.
“You must have a lot of questions,” Katsuki starts.
Is this a date?! Izuku nods again, opening his mouth to test whether he can, somehow, create words with his useless tongue again.
“Were you – did you – when we – did I – “ Izuku tries to start the sentence multiple times, but finds himself at a loss for words. He spent years imagining the two of them running in to each other again, what Izuku would say, what kind of impression he’d make – but those were all childish daydreams. This is real. The real Katsuki Bakugou, alive, age twenty-four, in a jet-black suit in a five-star restaurant, watching him across the table with a smile that screams This is my world, you’re all just living in it and, in a moment of clarity, it somehow simultaneously makes sense and makes no sense at all.
This Kacchan isn’t the same as his Kacchan. If he had gone through the same time loops Izuku had, then why is he so different?
“Did you go through the time loops with me?” Izuku’s mouth rushes out. He cringes, digging his fingernails into his thighs. The beats of silence are enough to make any man question their sanity.
“Hm. No. I only found out about this two years ago,” Katsuki says casually, taking the napkin from the table and placing it on his lap.
A server wordlessly walks up to the two of them, carrying two tiny white towels wrapped in a tight roll. Izuku furrows his eyebrows at it, but Katsuki reaches out, unfurls the towel, and, as if in a practiced motion, wipes his hands with it. Izuku, too embarrassed with his twitchy hands and sheer classlessness, grabs the towel quickly. It’s warm and wet and nice against his trembling hands, and he tries to absorb some of that heat before placing it back on the plate. The server walks away and Izuku looks back at Katsuki.
“…How?” Izuku asks, looking at the Katsuki Bakugou across from him with new eyes. This is the Katsuki Bakugou that grew up without Izuku Midoriya. He’s brimming with confidence, his body language screaming power. He seems so comfortable in his skin. Guilt rolls in Izuku’s stomach as he glances at the flame of the candle in front of them. Looking at the other too long hurts, in more ways than one.
“I got One for All.”
Izuku’s head shoots so quickly up to Katsuki that he’s pretty sure he cracked a vertebra. In that exact moment, their server returns, placing two white plates with a tiny salad on them, as well as a glass with white wine. The server is explaining what the plate is, saying some words about the wine that Izuku doesn’t understand.
No, his brain whispers, panicked. No. Someone with a Quirk can’t have One for All. It sucks away your lifeforce. You’ll die young. You’ll -
“I,” Izuku’s heart is beating so fast he suddenly feels dizzy. He grips on to the table, fingertips bending painfully with the force and uses the ache to ground him, somehow.
“…I thought Mirio Togata was going to be All Might’s successor if I – if he didn’t – “
Izuku’s eyes fall down to the candle, the flickering flame burning his eyes. Katsuki’s hand, his long fingers, enter Izuku’s field of vision and, like a magic trick, his hand seamlessly moves right through the candle.
“Yeah. He was.”
He has Permeation, Izuku’s brain supplies deliriously.
Izuku tries very, very hard not to throw up.
“… He gave it to me when he died. His last words to me were ‘Find him.’ It didn’t make sense why he gave it to me. I just happened to be on the same battlefield, part of this underground operation to take down All for One. I didn’t really know Togata. Or All Might.” This Katsuki laughs, the power of nine prior generations fluttering under his fingertips.
“Actually, I didn’t see eye to eye with All Might at all in high school. We got into it a couple of times. Thought his version of heroism was idealistic and ignorant. Behind the times or whatever. Imagine my surprise when that motherfucker started talking to me in my head,” Katsuki scoffs, pointing to his own skull with an eyeroll.
“…So All Might’s – “
“Yup,” Katsuki pops the ‘p’, shoving a bite of salad in his mouth. “Dead as a goddamn doornail.”
“…It was said in the news that… they went undercover…” Izuku tries, fighting off the pressure threatening to concave his chest.
“Coverup,” Katsuki shrugs through a mouth full of salad. “You saw what happened last time All Might publicly retired. Fuckin’ chaos.”
Izuku blinks.
“It’s still fuckin’ chaos, but at least all these idiots get to sit here and feel safe even though the foundation they’re standing on is rotten with maggots,” Katsuki takes a drink of his wine, then narrows his eyes onto Izuku’s plate.
“Eat,” he tells Izuku more than asks, and, Izuku mechanically lifts his hand, grabs the fork, puts food into his mouth. He tells himself to chew. He doesn’t taste anything.
“Anyway, I unlocked Second early on, but he won’t let me use the fucking Quirk, just gave me all these confusing-ass ‘memories’ – “ Katsuki looks exasperated.
“Like six movies of my goddamn life that I had to watch over and over again. I was such a fucking spineless coward – “
Izuku’s brain comes back online, and, against any and all logic, he bangs his fist against the table.
“Don’t say that about hi – um. You.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Katsuki says with a smile, resting his chin in his hand, eyes brimming with such a degree of affection Izuku wants to disintegrate.
“There was this fucking guy that I’ve never seen before who seemed like the most important person in my goddamn life, and suddenly this – this feeling,” Katsuki looks thoughtful, bringing a hand to his chest, furrowing his eyebrows, “This feeling like something was missing my whole life made sense. It was you.”
Katsuki reaches out, soft hand covering Izuku’s trembling fist, still anchored to the table.
“I was meant to be with you,” he repeats, softer still. Izuku’s face bursts into flame, the heat under his sports jacket suddenly stifling. Is this a date?! He wants to scream, because somehow, despite the life-changing bullshit Katsuki just told him, all his can think about is this.
The other’s hand against his. His eyes. His smile.
“Bakugou-san,” Izuku starts, the words feel absolutely disgusting rolling off his tongue, hand pulling away against every single impulse in his body. The desire to stay. The desire to touch. The inexplicable magnetic pull of Katsuki Bakugou. He wants to surge forward, wants to grip the lapels of his expensive suit jacket, wants to kiss him until the candle between them burns to nothing, until the table and the floors and the whole establishment is engulfed in their flames.
“…That’s. Very. Um. Flattering. But if you saw what happened in those lifetimes, then you know that me being in your life caused you to… it didn’t end well for you. I’ve lived through it six times. There’s no other way.” Izuku keeps his voice even, professional.
“I don’t think this shit is going to end well for me this time either,” Katsuki shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t I get a choice in how I want it to go?”
“Bakugou-san…”
“Fear isn’t going to define my life. If fate wants to kill me, I’m going to go down fighting. I’m not going to run away from this just because I may fail. I’m not that kind of person,” Katsuki continues, eyes narrowing on Izuku.
“You weren’t that kind of person, either.”
Izuku’s cheeks flush, but for an entirely different reason. He’s too aware of how lanky his body is, how his thighs and chest and arms all feel foreign and wrong, how the corded muscle and scars were home, were his, how he feels he’s existed in a stranger’s body for twenty-four years.
Perhaps he is a coward. A quitter. To save Katsuki’s life, Izuku will be whatever it takes. There isn’t any crumb of pride inside Izuku that won’t succumb to the lowest lows for the person in front of him.
He’s almost surprised that that feeling hasn’t faded over time.
“I’m not who I was back then.” Izuku whispers, flexing his fingers, expecting the tension of scarred tissue but feeling nothing but his useless softness.
“I can’t ever be that person again. There’s some losses that are just too great. I… my involvement only caused misery. Look at the city below us – “ The sun is starting to set, oranges painting the skyscrapers and streets in a romantic hue.
“There are thousands of people that are alive because I gave One for All up. Because I gave you up. It’s the right thing to do.”
“A hero even in this life, huh?” Katsuki smirks. He doesn’t seem at all surprised at Izuku’s answer. A second plate of food appears in front of them. Some kind of minced meat, likely fish, garnished with citrus. Izuku’s stomach growls.
“Fine. Then give me tonight. Give me a chance to prove you wrong. You owe me that much, doncha?” Katsuki’s voice is teasing, and Izuku suddenly feels very shy under his gaze.
“And enough of that Bakugou-san bullshit. We’ve been through enough together. Call me Kacchan.”
Izuku’s heart lurches. That name means something. It carries with it their entire childhood, six lifetimes of grubby hands and tiny feet chasing after one another. The person in front of him is not Kacchan. The more he realizes it, the more he wants to cry himself into an endless sleep.
“I… I can’t do that.”
“Katsuki it is, then. And I’ll call you Izuku.”
No honorific, Izuku’s mind adds deliriously. You’ve killed for him and died with him multiple times. Maybe you’ve earned no honorific, a different voice, one that sounds suspiciously like sixteen-year old him, adds.
“Then tell me about yourself. About this life you’ve built,” Katsuki asks.
Izuku smiles slightly. Yeah. This is a date.
“Um. Well. I’m a social worker,” Izuku starts in earnest. Katsuki is staring right at him, leaning forward, looking like he’s so interested in his boring, lame life and Izuku is…
Izuku has not been this happy in twenty-four years.
It’s the most delicious meal he’s ever had. Two more plates that he can hardly remember, drinks that taste like honey in his mouth, but he can hardly pay attention to anything but Katsuki’s eyes, his hands, the way his mouth moves.
They’re having a conversation. Katsuki is listening, and answering, and talking back. God, this is more than a dream. This is a fantasy.
He watches the darkness settle over the Tokyo skyline, the Tokyo Tower lighting up red. They don’t hold a candle to the reds of Katsuki’s eyes. There is no shade of red that can compare to his. Katsuki makes everything – colors, light, food – more ethereal, more special with just his presence.
Izuku feels like some kind of fairytale princess, standing there in his stupid sports-jacket with the patches on the elbows, standing next to the handsome boy whose hand rests against his shoulder, who pulls him close, who smiles at him with those perfect lips.
He even opens that sports car passenger side door for him.
If Izuku knew how to swoon, he would definitely be swooning right now.
He stares outside the window, hands clasped against his thighs the whole ride, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it if he looks at Katsuki. Watches him behind the wheel. In his six prior lives, he died being too young to drive.
Katsuki doesn’t ask for Izuku’s address, and he doesn’t offer it. That warm, tender feeling in his chest is clouding his logical mind, so when Katsuki parks inside a fancy underground garage, reaching his hand out for Izuku to take, Izuku does not hesitate.
He touches his palm against Katsuki’s and gets whisked away into this perfect dream.
He probably shouldn’t have agreed to come here, but the warmth of alcohol in his gut and… the fact that he’s having such a good time, and the fact that he’s pretty sure Katsuki is flirting with him… Coming on to him… That he’s willingly inviting Izuku into his home…
Just like everything about Katsuki, the apartment is simple, stylish, modern. The tall windows showcase the glowing Tokyo underneath them, warm lights from overhead lamps making the place seem comfortable despite its spare furnishing.
Katsuki directs him to the couch, himself disappearing into the kitchen.
If Izuku listens extra hard, he can head music. Where its coming from, what genre, he doesn’t know.
He sits there, on the surprisingly comfortable couch. This feels like a dream. This might be a dream.
“I can hear you thinking, Izuku,” Katsuki interrupts. He holds out a tumbler filled with ice and a brown liquid to Izuku. Izuku doesn’t ask what it is, just takes it gratefully, nursing it between his hands.
“What are you thinking about?” Katsuki asks, sitting down next to him. His arm rests against the back of the couch. Izuku could lean back, just a little, and be embraced by him. It makes his heart pick up pace, running a race with no foreseeable end.
“How different you are.” Izuku says, unfortunately honest.
Katsuki doesn’t seem offended, just hums in response.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet. That kid’s brain was a mess. He was so insecure and terrified and wracked with all this guilt. There was always something stopping him from acting on what he wanted. Fuck, it took you initiating for him to finally kiss you, even though he’d been thinking about it for….”
Katsuki’s eyes are half-lidded as gentle fingertips take Izuku’s chin and turn it towards him.
“I don’t fucking have that problem, Izuku. I know what I want.”
Izuku doesn’t move as Katsuki leans in.
His lips are sweet just like the liquor he was drinking moments before, unimaginably soft and warm. Each wall that he’s built up over the years cracks and crumbles with that earthquake of a kiss. He’s so confident, his lips are just so perfect, and Izuku’s soul exits his body. Izuku’s eyes flutter shut as he lets Katsuki steal his breath away.
It feels just as transcendent this time as the first time.
Katsuki pulls back, just enough so that their noses touch, the heat between them comforting rather than stifling. His hands travel to the nape of his neck, a gentle fingertip ascending up to graze against the back of his ear until fingers are brushing through his curls. Izuku shudders under the ministrations, goosebumps erupting up and down his sensitive skin.
“You want to know something? He was always thinking about you. Always. And he wanted you like this, wanted your eyes and your mouth and your attention so bad it drove him crazy.”
Izuku hums, his heart squeezing painfully. Behind his eyelids, memories play on repeat – the raw energy between them when they fought, the bruise against his cheek after their first blood-drenched kiss, the hummingbird pulse as he cornered him in his bedroom, and more than that, more, how when they kissed he kept his hip angled away, how he tried to suppress every moan, how easy it was for him to get carried away, for his hands to roam up his shirt, down his pants –
Katsuki’s lips caress against the shell of his ear, an exhaled warm breath sending shivers down Izuku’s spine. Confident lips, soft against his over-heated skin, skirt down his neck, traveling down his pulse-point. Izuku imagines a beast, coming in for the last kill, canines against his jugular. He silently wishes for it. To die at the other’s hands. To experience that perfect bliss.
He can’t move his hands, just sits ramrod straight on the couch as his body, soft and malleable as clay, is formed into something different, something beautiful, something like art under Katsuki’s nimble fingers.
He can’t let himself indulge in this – even though his nerves are singing songs of ecstasy under his skin, even though his muscles tremble with sheer desire, like they were created to wrap themselves around Katsuki’s body, even though his chest feels full, full, so impossibly full like all that he’s kept inside is going to spill out, to drown them both.
He’s afraid. He’s afraid that if he kisses back, he’ll never be able to stop.
“Izuku,” Katsuki whispers again, first against the shell of his ear, then closer, against his cheek, against his eyelashes, against his own trembling lips.
“You want to know what it was like… to wake up one day and be in love with someone I’ve never met?”
Izuku shivers again.
“You’ve been living with this want… haven’t you? I get it, Izuku. You didn’t have to hide it from me. I feel it too.”
Izuku whimpers at that. His entire body is stained glass, and with each honeyed word, he feels it crack, shatter. Only a little bit more pressure. And Izuku wants to run – as soon as he shatters, he will cut the other. He will make them both bleed. He’s terrified what this want unleashed will look like. He thinks it will look like a black hole. He thinks neither one of them will ever escape.
Katsuki pulls back, half-closed lids and dilated eyes leveling with Izuku’s own. Behind them, he sees the swirling of time itself, seven lifetimes of certainty. For all the trepidation Izuku feels, there’s nothing hesitant behind those ruby-red irises.
“I’ve seen that monster inside you, Izuku. Let it out. I can handle it. I’m a monster too.”
And Izuku? Oh, Izuku lets that shadow hidden deep, deep behind his ribcage like a self-imposed prison erupt out of him, cut through his flesh like ribbons and, as if the monster held all his bravery (and maybe it does. Maybe he had to hide his bravery away, too, because what made him brave made him foolish) Izuku reaches out and takes.
He finds one sweaty hand in Katsuki’s hair, the other around his neck, surprised by how large his fingers feel against the other. He kisses back – hard – the wild feeling in his chest making him want to gnaw, to chew, to devour Katsuki alive. He bites into the other’s lip, tongue soothing over the wound as Katsuki presses himself closer. His tongue finds its way into Izuku’s mouth, explores it like its greedy for it, skirting against his own tongue unhurriedly, like each point of contact is precious, is necessary.
I love you.
There’s a part of Izuku that suddenly feels bitter. Angry, even. That this Katsuki isn’t the anxious, shaking, virginal Kacchan that he knew. He wanted to take him all for himself, but this Katsuki isn’t his, this Katsuki has touched skin other than his own, this Katsuki has lived a life fully separate from Izuku. And it’s jealousy, a sour vitriol that ascending up Izuku’s throat, so he claws into the other’s back, knees pressing hard into the other’s stomach. He wants to wrap his whole body around Katsuki like a boa constrictor, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until all the life is gone from his body, consume him, become him. He’s losing his mind and Katsuki, Katsuki is smiling against his lips, he’s smiling and rolling his hips against Izuku’s (not in the shy way his Kacchan did. Not with the fear of rejection. He knows exactly how Izuku feels. And that’s both liberating and devastating.)
It’s this wild possession that makes Izuku’s mouth travel from the other’s kiss-swollen lips to the other’s jaw, to his neck, sucking hard against the muscle, teeth biting deep enough to feel the other’s tension, the gasp, then soothing with tongue. He’s put so many bruises on his Kacchan, but this one gets different ones, this one gets the brunt of Izuku’s shameful desire, this one will hurt for him.
Katsuki’s still on top of him, and, suddenly needing to feel his skin against him, needing to see his chest, needing to know this one isn’t his, he starts unbuttoning the buttons with shaking hands. Katsuki, seeing what he’s doing, wastes absolutely no time and rips the button-down in half, the only sound between them heavy breathing and the sound of plastic hitting hardwood.
Katsuki throws it off, taking off his undershirt in a nearly performative way. Izuku stares, dumbfounded with lust as the other’s abdominal muscles stretch, revealing a tapered waste, large, muscular pecs and shoulders that could easily hold the weight of the world on them. Katsuki notices Izuku noticing him and grins – but he’s got it all wrong. Because there’s no scar, not on his shoulder, not on his abdomen, there are no signs of Kacchan’s sacrifice, no marks of Kacchan’s devotion.
This one is just borrowing the other’s love.
Even so, Izuku can’t help but shake so hard he hurts when he reaches out to those spots, feels how smooth they are against his fingertips. This is how it should be, Izuku thinks. This is how you should have always been. Look what caring about me did to you. You’re so beautiful without me. I ruined you. I ruined you.
Katsuki doesn’t comment on Izuku’s hesitation, just darts forward, ripping his shirt off in concert. Feasting his eyes on Izuku’s much thinner body. This feels foreign, too. When the two of them were pressed against each other before, their builds were very similar. Now Katsuki’s bulk outweighs his. He couldn’t take him in a fight. Not anymore.
Katsuki, too, is staring at his right arm, fingertips trailing up the unmarred skin, like he knows exactly what Izuku’s thinking, like he’s touching the rough surface of a scar in another life, on another Izuku.
“This is fucking crazy,” Katsuki murmurs, taking Izuku’s hand and kissing against his forearm, tentative teeth scratching against his skin.
“I miss your scars, but I never knew you with scars. I miss a you that never fucking existed. Not in this universe. Not to me. I feel like your dead Kacchans are controlling me.”
Funny. Izuku feels like his dead Kacchans are controlling him, too.
Katsuki’s devilish tongue starts below his bellybutton, licking upwards, biting at his flesh along his breastbone.
“He wanted you like this too. He hated himself for it.” Katsuki laughs, then wraps his lips around Izuku’s nipple, biting softly. Izuku gasps, hips jerking at the touch, only to be pressed down by Katsuki’s own. It grounds him, somehow.
“Not me, though. I’m not ashamed of how much I want you. I want to fuck you. I want to split your weak little body on my dick. I want to make you cry for me. I want to make you forget about your other little Kacchans. I want you to look at me. Touch me. Think only of me.”
Izuku shudders like he’s been dipped in cold water. He’s called him out, knows exactly what he’s thinking, but Izuku’s whole body is responding to this Katsuki with an almost overwhelming appreciation. There’s no lying, there’s no shame, there’s no awkwardness. This Katsuki wants him back.
Izuku doesn’t have a chance to respond before his body is being lifted from the couch. He bites his tongue to avoid yelping and holds on to the other’s neck, hiding himself in the crook of his shoulder, suddenly very embarrassed while simultaneously being in credibly turned on by the show of strength.
Katsuki’s bedroom is larger than Izuku’s apartment, a king-sized bed sitting smack-dab in the middle. The dim bedside lamp is the only light in the bedroom. As Katsuki approaches him, grin wild on his face, the backdrop of shadows make him look almost predatory.
Its exhilarating.
So exhilarating Izuku nearly forgets that he’s a virgin.
“Oh, um, I – wait – “ Katsuki’s hands are already on his slacks, zipper down, when he glances back up at him, eyebrows lifted in curiosity.
Izuku swallows, not being able to meet the other’s eyes.
“Oh! Oh. You haven’t – this is your first time.” Katsuki concludes without Izuku so much as whispering a peep.
“Saving yourself for me. So sweet,” Katsuki coos and Izuku’s eyes open wide, indignation rapidly replacing his embarrassment.
“No problem. I actually prepared for this exact scenario. You know how I like to plan ahead,” Katsuki teases, winking at Izuku as he reaches to his bedside table, pulling out a bottle and a silver foil packaging. He tosses the two at Izuku and Izuku’s poor reflexes nearly drop the slippery bottle and condom.
His head is spinning. Katsuki came to dinner with Izuku… prepared to have sex with Izuku? And Izuku was agonizing whether it was a date?!
It gets his body right back on track, though, the thought of Katsuki prepping, of fingering his hole nice and loose before getting into that tailored suit and driving his sports car to a date with a social worker with freckles and a stuttering problem.
This is so unbelievably hot Izuku might pass out.
“First one’s a freebie. We’ll work up to it,” Katsuki winks again, and, oh. He’s implying there will be a second time. Izuku briefly remembers telling Katsuki that that was the last time they would be seeing each other, but he can’t for the life of him remember why.
Katsuki, undeterred by Izuku’s silence, takes off his pants, then, slowly, he takes off his black bower-briefs, hard pink cock, the head swollen a purplish red bobbing out eagerly.
Izuku has never seen Katsuki’s dick.
He could probably make a religion out of this.
It’s not just that – its him, being turned on while being with Izuku. It’s the sheer power in his thighs as he crawls onto the bed on his knees, the V-shape of his abdomen, the flexing on his biceps as he cages Izuku in his too-soft bedsheets.
This all feels like a wet dream that Izuku’s going to wake up from. Any second now.
Any second now.
If Katsuki is seeing his hesitation, he says nothing. Instead, he leans down, capturing izuku’s lips with his own, taking all the doubt with it. His mouth travels down his jaw, his neck, lavishes his other nipple, then slowly, tantalizingly, teasingly his mouth travels down his abdomen, tongue flicking into his belly button before his wet breaths end right at his underwear line.
Izuku’s embarrassingly hard, wet spot obvious on his red boxer-briefs, and Katsuki chuckles this dark, deep chuckle, the vibrations of which makes Izuku’s dick throb, like it’s trying to get closer to the other’s face. Katsuki lifts the elastic of his underwear and Izuku holds his breath, only to groan loudly when the other simply snaps it back down. The sweet sting is so good Izuku wants to beg for more, but he keeps his eyes fixed to the boy on top of him instead, too afraid of missing a single moment of this.
Katsuki hooks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulls, Izuku’s cock jumping out to greet him with unabridged enthusiasm.
Izuku hides his face behind his hands, suddenly incredibly embarrassed. In this moment he feels no different than he did at sixteen, desperately hoping Kacchan didn’t find out as he ran away from their kissing sessions to jerk off by himself in the bathroom.
His whole body jolts at a wet, warm sensation around the head of his dick, and, oh. He opens his eyes to the absolutely devastating sight of Katsuki’s kiss-swollen lips pressing against the head of his cock, tip of his teasing tongue lapping at his pre-cum.
“Oh, Katsuki, you don’t have to – “ Izuku tries to stop him, but the other’s hazy eyes look back up at him inquisitively, as if to say, Oh, you think this is for you?
Katsuki clears his voice before he talks again, schooling his expression into something more nonchalant. The thought that this is actually affecting the other as much as its affecting Izuku is dizzying.
“You changed reality six times to save my life. I think you deserve a blow-job out of that,” Katsuki’s voice is upbeat, nearly teasing in nature. His tongue darts out and, like he’s putting on a show, he licks up from the base to the tip with one fell swoop.
Izuku arches his neck back, moaning against his own will. He’s never going to be the same after this. His life is ruined.
I love you.
Katsuki’s mouth wraps around the head of his dick and he slides down, down to the base, down until the other’s nose is touching his pubic hair and Izuku can feel the way his dick caresses the back of the other’s throat. Its wild, because he knows he should be enjoying this, and yet the unstoppable thought that this is too good, too practiced, that this Katsuki has been with someone else, sucked someone else’s undeserving cock has Izuku rolling his hips to fuck deeper into the other’s throat.
He meant for it to be somewhat uncomfortable, but he doesn’t expect the other to moan against the intrusion, tear-stricken eyes to meet his with an intensity he hasn’t seen before.
This is a Katsuki that knows exactly what he wants. And he wants this.
Katsuki stays still, as if giving Izuku permission, and the other rolls his hips, feeling his cock slide against a flattened tongue, hollowed out cheeks, the head hitting the back of the other’s throat. He’s embarrassingly close – but the thought of cumming down Katsuki’s throat is so enticing he doesn’t stop himself when the orgasm suddenly crests and erupts.
He moans loudly, hands finding Katsuki’s hair as he presses the other deeper onto his ejaculating cock, the sensation of him swallowing around the intrusion so valiantly making him want to pass out on the spot.
Jelly-boned, his eyes flutter closed, heart trying to catch up to all the blood supply its not giving the rest of his body.
“Mmm,” Katsuki says, somewhere in front of Izuku. He doesn’t open his eyes, just lets the other kiss into his mouth, not remotely disgusted at the taste of his cum on the other’s tongue. He licks into it, revels in it, groans into the kiss and presses Katsuki closer into him.
When he opens his eyes, the other is smirking, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth of spit.
“Hm, since you throat-fucked me, I think I deserve a little reward, don’t you think?”
Izuku nods his head. Whatever Katsuki wants as his reward, he will give it to him.
The other flops down on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow from behind and thrusting it under his hips.
“Good. Want you to prep me.”
Izuku’s eyes widen and he’s never scrambled so quickly to the edge of the bed in his life. His spent dick twitches valiantly at the sight of Katsuki’s spread legs, his cock still hard against his abdomen, his perfect pink hole enticingly inviting.
“T-tell me how?” Izuku cringes once more, the stutter making the moment decidedly less sexy, so that affectionate look on Katsuki’s face comes as a surprise.
“Pour some lube on your hand, then rub it between your fingers, warm it up,” Katsuki instructs patiently. That, too, makes his dick twitch. If Katsuki could see him, Izuku might have the mental fortitude to be embarrassed.
Instead, he pops open the lid, pours lube into his hand, and rubs it between his fingertips, just imagining how the slippery feeling is going to feel against Katsuki’s walls.
This is more than a fantasy to Izuku. This is an impossibility. For Katsuki Bakugou, to be spread open in front of him, completely open, honest, vulnerable, desiring Izuku to enter him, to witness his most private, embarrassing moments. If he had a chance to live long enough, would the Kacchan in his previous lifetimes ever let something like this happen?
“Start with one finger – gently, insert it about halfway and curl. Give me a moment to adjust…”
Izuku does as he’s told. He feels Katsuki’s body tense under him, but his hole isn’t tight and his walls are warm and inviting. The other’s body doesn’t resist, so he pumps the one finger in and out at increasing speeds, listening to the sounds coming out of Katsuki’s mouth.
“Second finger,” Katsuki orders him, and he happily complies. Together, he enters inside of him, and, just like any good scientist, explores. He pumps, then curls, then explores, trying everything he can, urged on by Katsuki’s increasingly erratic breathing. One particular curl of his fingers earns him a jolt of the hips and a whimper. He catalogues that away for later.
“Scissor and a-add a third,” Katsuki’s voice is more breathy, urgent, his cock jumping with every move of Izuku’s fingers and Izuku doesn’t even notice, addicted to the way the other’s body moves under him, the noises he makes, the shuddering of his body that he’s hard again.
“’M gonna ride you.” Katsuki tells him, and Izuku thanks whatever God or time-jump universe of the Second One for All User, who is in Katsuki’s head right now, probably watching them fuck.
Izuku blinks, obediently falling back onto his bed.
“Uhhhh…. Can. Can the – can they see this?” Izuku asks, suddenly horrified, pointing to his brain.
Katsuki – oh, Katsuki, with pink cheeks, blown pupils, bitten lips, sweat matting down his perfect hair – grins at him.
“You want them to?”
“NO!” Izuku shouts, eyebrows jumping to the top of his hairline.
Katsuki just rolls his eyes, situating himself over Izuku’s dick.
“No, they can’t see shit. I lock them behind when I don’t want them reading my thoughts or getting in my way. Its fucking compartmentalization, nerd.”
I’m in love with you.
Katsuki rubs some lube over Izuku’s dick, putting on the condom, and even that amount of contact puts him on the very precipice of his second orgasm.
“Kacch – Katsuki. I’m not gonna last,” Izuku tries desperately. He’s sweating buckets into this bed, his dick is ready to explode, and this ethereal angel – red eyes and golden crown and body crafted by the gods themselves – is towering over him, and he’s never been more thankful to be alive than he is in this moment.“Don’t care. Think I might die if I don’t do this,” Katsuki confesses, a degree of desperation finally leaching through his words. The fact that he wants this just as badly as Izuku does does nothing to reduce how much he wants to cum untouched.
Katsuki lines himself up over Izuku and slowly, slowly like the fallen angel he is, he inches his way down over Izuku’s length. Centimeter by overwhelming centimeter.
He closes his eyes hard, willing the image in front of him to dissipate because he might cum before the first stroke, and he’s got some dignity left over. Somehow.
Still, the tightness, the heat, the velvety smoothness of the other’s walls despite the fact that there’s a condom between them is so much.
He’s inside Katsuki.
He thinks he’s always wanted this. This Katsuki lamented something similar, annoyed at how Kacchan in the past never admitted that he wanted this. But neither did Izuku. Izuku wanted this so badly and he never, not once, admitted it to himself.
He feels Katsuki’s pelvis hit his and braves opening his eyes. The other is shaking, the pinkness of his cheeks spreading all the way down his chest, his muscular thighs shaking with exertion, pink cock flushed and pretty over Izuku’s abdomen.
Shit, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
With precision and control that could rival the best pro-heroes, Katsuki’s thighs flex, and then he’s slipping out, the friction against his dick literal heaven, before he’s going back to again. Slowly, ever so slowly, Katsuki finds a rhythm. He’s been so chatty during this whole encounter, but now he seems focused, his own eyes fluttering shut, golden lashes matted with sweat as he works himself on Izuku’s cock, over and over and over again.
He’s dissolving. He’s disintegrating. He’s space dust. This feeling is not that far from how he felt the first time he ended space and time itself for Kacchan. Connectedness and peace. The universe can be as large as stars in the sky, as small as two people finding each other between sheets. He bites into his lip, trying hard not to cry, but the tears still try to escape, persistent against his lash-line.
Can I still reach you?
Izuku sees stars, constellations, universes ending and universes beginning. His own abdomen is imploding, a dwarf star, a new big bang. This is everything and nothing all at once. Insignificant and life-changing. There was once a Katsuki whose battered fingers reached out to Izuku’s, smile on his face, blood pouring from his mouth. There is a Katsuki on top of him, eyes scrunched shut in bliss, body unhurt, powerful, his own hand around his perfect cock, pleasure instead of pain.
He starts to cry anyway, hands finding their way to Katsuki’s hips, fingernails digging I deep.
“I – I can’t.” Izuku sobs, and Katsuki’s eyes open, staring right down into Izuku, through Izuku, through their shared lifetimes.
He jerks his cock faster, spine bending with ecstacy, and Izuku can see it for the permission it is. He lets this higher power take him as the heat in his abdomen builds, travels up his neck, into his fingertips, into his toes, along each rib, along this lifetime and previous ones too.
He cums with a gasp, holding on to Katsuki like he’s the anchor keeping him in this life. In the next too.
“Fuck, Deku!” Katsuki’s release splashes all over Izuku’s chest as the other leans over him, opening his eyes in surprise and, in that moment, Izuku swears he sees his Kacchan.
He leans forward, kissing him softly, knocking his forehead against the other’s.
Sweaty and spent, Katsuki rolls off of him, the two of them catching their breaths for a few moments. Izuku rolls the condom off, tying it off. Katsuki, without being asked, grabs it from him and wanders off to where the bathroom must be. The lights turn on and he hears the sink. Izuku’s eyes are already drifting shut as a warm cloth rubs over his abdomen, then something soft, something perfect, presses against his cheek.
“Do you remember me… Izuku?” a voice that transcends space and time whispers against his face. An arm wraps around his abdomen and sleep takes over every wild thought threatening to make a home in his haggard brain.
It isn’t light that wakes Izuku up, or noise. No, this time it’s a smell. A delicious scent of pancakes wafting through he bedroom door. He’s momentarily confused – this bed is much more comfortable than his own, his body sinking into it gratefully, but his muscles feel bruised and battered, like he just ran a marathon. He opens his eyes slowly, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, slowly coming to the realization that he is fully naked. The memory of last night comes to him in waves and he, on impulse, hides himself under the covers.
What did he do?!
Anxiously, he finds his clothes on the floor, putting on his underwear and, in his insanity, just his button-up shirt, because putting his slacks back on seems… seems crazy.
He walks outside to a world bathed with sunlight.
He sees Katsuki in the kitchen, bobbing his head to some unheard tune, and thinks I can get used to this.
He banishes the thought instantly.
“Pancakes,” Katsuki says without even looking in Izuku’s direction, setting them down on the kitchen bar. Izuku, unasked, sits down and starts to dig in.
Its probably the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. Made more delicious by the site of Katsuki’s muscles flexing, the vast expanse of his back tensing with each flip of the skillet.
There’s coffee, too, and Katsuki hands him a cup. Two creams, two sugars. Just like Izuku has always liked him.
I am so, so desperately in love with you.
They eat in silence and, Izuku the fool, can’t help but smile with each taste.
Katsuki showers while Izuku gets dressed, using a spare toothbrush, chest fluttering at the sight of Katsuki’s hair gel, his face-masks, the special comb he uses in his hair.
He’s still his Kacchan, but he’s completely different too.
Is it possible to fall in love with the same person seven separate times?
When Izuku walks back out to the living room, Katsuki is fully dressed.
“Come on, get dressed, we have to go.” Katsuki says. He ties his boots, feet pressing against the kitchen table. He cracks his neck, that soft, persistent smile replaced with a much more familiar serious frown.
Izuku just stares at him.
“Go where?” he tries, a sense of impending doom already blossoming in the space where his errant heart used to be.
Katsuki levels him with the least impressed look Izuku’s seen in the past twenty-four hours.
It screams so much of his Kacchan that, despite its negative connotation, Izuku’s stupid heart still skips at least a couple of beats.
“To figure out how to get back to the right timeline. Let’s go.”
