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Pressed behind his ear to slide down his jaw, Izuku’s nose is cold — desire an echo behind Katsuki’s navel.
It’ll grow there unchecked, a gnawing thing in his belly, longing for touches to follow. Izuku plants it like it’s nothing, and when Katsuki’s lucky, he’ll water it.
He tries not to let the hope build too high. Chilled, trickling, Katsuki’s arousal is a dip in temperature and the stutter of his heartbeat. Entertaining it drags him further from sleep. Without a follow through, a sharp ache.
“Kacchan,” Izuku sighs, and Katsuki’s body reheats itself all at once.
It forgets that it’s had a long day and a late night, when Izuku calls for him like that. Rough with sleep and still alert enough to be adoring. Like he’s always said it, but less restrained. Sweet, with the knowledge of reciprocation.
A single, calloused palm presses tight into flesh between Katsuki’s hips, and it takes even less than a request to get Katsuki awake.
Sort of. His eyelids are heavy, and there’s a wicked knot protesting its soreness beneath his right shoulder-blade. Not the type of feeling to invite doing anything ambitious, even with the promise of a really good orgasm.
Izuku can have what he wants, but Katsuki isn’t helping.
Which isn’t to say he doesn’t want it.
“Are you going to pretend to be asleep?”
Katsuki wasn’t, but he bristles at the amusement in Izuku’s voice anyway. If he was, Izuku wouldn’t be able to tell. He’d be good at it. He turns his face into his pillow to make his displeasure known, but only succeeds in baring more skin for Izuku to breathe against, hot and steady and tingling up the side of his face.
“Why,” Katsuki bites. Puts force behind it he doesn’t really feel, “That get you off?”
Izuku kisses at his jugular, wet, hot and cooling fast. He exhales a little heavier through his nose, and it’s cheating, preying on that added sensitivity. Katsuki’s shiver is helpless. “Mm, maybe. If it’s you.”
The press of bared teeth to his pulse tells Katsuki that Izuku noticed. He gets excited over these little triumphs, the small indications that he has an effect, but it works against him. Izuku getting smug only strengthens Katsuki’s resolve.
“Fuck off, I’m sore,” Katsuki grumbles, at the fingers growing brave under his waistband.
“Are you?” Izuku purrs, and that’s what he’s doing, isn’t it, he’s purring. Bastard thinks Katsuki’s gonna give, thinks Katsuki isn’t serious, he won’t actually say no —
The grind of Katsuki’s teeth is audible. Izuku drags the tip of his nose where it’s loudest and doesn’t flinch. His indifference in the face of Katsuki’s rejection sparks something challenging in Katsuki’s chest, something hot and ready to catch. Maybe he will say no, maybe Izuku will have to go without it for once, jerk off alone in their shared bathroom and settle for uselessly wanting, pitiful and nothing Katsuki could possibly relate to when one of the two of them gets shoved on nights again for a week.
Or when their shifts do overlap, but it’s twelve hours on their feet with their lunch breaks on alternate.
He wouldn’t know anything about that. Izuku’s erection presses needy and neglected at the small of his back, and he wouldn’t know anything about that, either.
“But it’s been so long, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, soft and genuine and audibly aching, and the drag of blunt nails above the base of Katsuki’s interested dick is just firm enough to make his eyes roll.
Game over.
Nearly.
Izuku’s getting almost obscenely good at this, and it’s entirely down to practice, because Katsuki likes to be seduced, and Izuku likes to do the seducing.
Izuku’s easy, when it comes to these things, all shiny, labeled buttons begging to be pressed. Fun in its own right, pulling those reactions, playing him the way he likes — but with Katsuki, it’s a sport. What worked yesterday won’t work tomorrow but maybe it will.
Usually, Katsuki puts in a little more effort. But Izuku was telling the truth — Katsuki can hardly remember the last time they got off together, something quick and messy in the shower, dangerous for how exhausted they both were. More of a physical release than seeking closeness, satisfaction.
Katsuki’s been craving him. It won’t take much more to give.
But Izuku isn’t moving.
Katsuki waits for that final push, the finishing move to satisfy the little part of his brain that likes to fight it. Izuku always makes it so good, makes him feel like he had to pull out all the stops to get Katsuki to give in, like it was worth doing. Like out of everything Izuku has possibly won, Katsuki is his favorite prize.
It doesn’t come.
The silence drags for so long that Katsuki almost breaks character, almost thinks Izuku might’ve admitted defeat for once (which, what the hell, that stings, is Katsuki suddenly not worth the effort?), but then the wired body behind him goes slack — and all that good, charged tension bleeds from the room.
What the fuck.
“You did take a beating today, huh,” Izuku mutters thoughtfully. His hips shift away, withdrawing that insistent press, and the alarm bells that started dull break into something loud in Katsuki’s head, blaring, all red between his eyes.
No, no, no, wait —
“Sorry Kacchan,” the whisper is regretful and the lack of pitying edge does nothing, “you’re probably in pain, I won’t push —“
He’s stopping?
It stings like rejection, behind Katsuki’s eyes and in his throat, and only rational thought lets him swallow the sob that tries to scratch from him. Stupid, thoughtful, serious bastard probably thought Katsuki meant it.
Something inside Katsuki snaps in half, an audible break, and the edges are jagged.
“Fuck all the way off,” he hisses, harsh enough to freeze Izuku entirely, body to breath, fingertips still lingering at his waist. They twitch, and the brush against skin strikes through him fresh. Katsuki’s chest nearly splits with the longing. “Like I can’t handle myself, swear to god, you’re so annoying —“
Katsuki shoves Izuku’s hand fully under fabric, gripping his wrist tight enough the bones creak. It thaws Izuku in one jolt, and he laughs when he catches on, soft and startled, even as he wraps his fingers gently over the base. Katsuki guides him in a rough stroke, root to tip. It’s entirely too much too soon, but he has a point to make.
Fuck, his throat hurts. There’s water in his eyes. Izuku plays along for a moment, but he stills them when a sound actually does claw free from Katsuki’s throat, voice twisted with worry.
“Gonna chafe you, Kacchan, wait —“
“Then get me wet, stupid.”
Izuku’s breath hitches. Good, Katsuki thinks wildly, want me. Get off just thinking about it, get hard if I even suggest it, don’t look at anyone but me.
“Right,” Izuku whispers. Heat floods along Katsuki’s back, and Izuku’s squeezing in tight again. The lips pressed to his shoulder are placating.
He’s taking too long. There’s a tiny, black hole of a thought inside Katsuki that opened up when Izuku froze on him, and it makes him spit into his own hand, shoving Izuku’s out of the way to ease the glide for him. Izuku makes a noise of surprise.
“I was gonna —”
“Shut up, you’re too slow. Come on, touch me, do I need to do everything around here?”
“Bossy,” Izuku mumbles, a little awed. He listens, and the return of his touch settles something racing inside Katsuki.
Good. Izuku’s here, wants him. Everything’s fine.
Katsuki withdraws his hand to tangle in Izuku’s hair, urge that searching mouth again, keep him close to himself and empty-headed save for this —
Pain jolts through his shoulder, sharp and squeezing, and Katsuki hisses before he can stop the sound. A reflex, the jerk of his arm back to his side, and Izuku stills. “Ah.”
The silence is knowing.
“Don’t stop,” Katsuki begs immediately, before the mortification can sink its teeth into him. He can’t play it off, Izuku’s too damn perceptive, and he won’t listen to excuses and rage. Not over something like this. “Come on, Izuku, you know I can take it, don’t —“
He’s on his belly before he can blink, air rushing from his lungs. Then his heart rate kicks on again, and reflexive arousal and fear and disappointment pool into something cold and awful in his veins.
It’s all wrong. Their game wasn’t supposed to end this way. He’s all twisted up inside, knotted with need and incapable of unraveling on his own, Izuku isn’t having him, and it hurts.
Katsuki sucks in a breath to say — something, anything — to fix it. But Izuku kisses sweetly at the nape of his neck, once, twice, three times, and the shiver melts Katsuki right back down his spine.
“It’s okay,” Izuku soothes, low and soft. Thread between his fingers, tugged gently. “I know you need it. Just trust me.”
Two hands fit beneath Katsuki’s shoulder blades, and the touch is warm water.
Katsuki loosens. Sighs, melts downwards, yes, yes — he does, he will.
Izuku will take care of him. He’s okay.
The muscle fucking with Katsuki tonight is the same culprit as always, but Izuku rubs gently over the span of his upper back anyway, fingers seeking spots of tension. They lack dexterity, slip over his skin, but it’s soothing, because it’s Izuku. Under his hands, Katsuki is liquid.
“I should’ve been up earlier, I could’ve taken care of this for you,” Izuku says to himself, which, no he shouldn’t have, that shift was fucking brutal, and Izuku’s always needed more sleep than he gets. Katsuki can handle a smarting shoulder for one night — Izuku can’t handle exhaustion throwing him off his game.
They have a massage setting on their shower head for a reason. It’s just that a bed with Izuku in it took precedence over an extra twenty minutes in the spray.
Izuku digs two thumbs into the base of the knot, and Katsuki’s chest vibrates on a groan.
“Fuuuck, that hurts.”
“Good or bad hurt?”
“Good, s’fucking good, keep going.”
“Mm.” Izuku leans just barely into him, partly to kiss the side of his face, speak to his ear. “Just let me get this, and I’ll fuck you.”
It’s a hell of a promise. Katsuki sags into the mattress, and Izuku makes a happy sound, soft and broken up by his swipes over the loosening muscle. It’s a stubborn one, so Izuku presses into it again and holds, and — fuck, he’s good at that.
It gives, and the pain turns dull. Katsuki exhales heavily, and Izuku smoothes over the skin with a satisfied sigh. “Better?”
“Mmm.”
“Good. See, only took a minute, Kacchan.”
A minute he could’ve done without, a minute he could’ve come within — whatever. He feels relaxed in a way he hadn’t before, when Izuku couldn’t get close enough for his liking and still kept pulling away. He can admit as much.
It’s nice like this. Izuku settles between his knees with the promise of blanketing him, and desire sparks new and uninhibited in his gut.
“You’re beautiful out there,” Izuku’s whispering, trailing hands to grip over his waist, urge a tilt to his hips. Held there, Katsuki doesn’t protest the pillow tucked under him. “Shouldn’t have been thinking it. She hurt people, Kacchan, she was hurting you — but I love watching you win. You make it look like art.”
Izuku’s hands are lulling him somewhere fuzzy. Gentle in his strength, practiced in finding every spot where Katsuki aches. There was a time where being under Izuku like this would make him feel exposed, vulnerable — but even as Izuku works his boxers down his thighs, he can’t feel anything but warm.
Another kiss to his nape. Katsuki doesn’t even flinch when Izuku retreats for the lube in their nightstand, urgency fading in the wake of promises. The lamplight is left off, and it allows Katsuki to doze a bit, lulled by Izuku’s quiet, his confidence.
Gentle fingers brush, but don’t probe at a tender spot on his side. The mattress dips under Izuku’s returning weight. He makes a short noise under his breath, soft and sad. “She got you good, didn’t she.”
Katsuki doesn’t bother to counter it, when the evidence is right there. It’s nothing he can’t handle, but he knows Izuku knows that, or else he wouldn’t be prepping him. Wouldn’t run a hand up the back of his ribcage to feel over his waist, or warm lube between his fingers before nudging at his rim.
They slip again, but it only aids in getting Katsuki wet. His body blooms with shivers everywhere Izuku touches him, lit up and squeezing his inhibitions out of his ears, and he finds himself arching into it, the smallest motion.
Izuku leans forward to kiss at the small of his back, then lower. Bites into flesh like an afterthought, not meant to pull a reaction, but to satisfy an urge.
“S’good,” Katsuki mumbles, because it is. Izuku slips in easy to the first knuckle, and how good it is, to be treated as something to be held, but not something that could break. He isn’t rough, but he isn’t careful, either, despite how long it’s been.
The mindful hand spanning his body doesn’t match the urging press of his fingers, as Izuku gives him one, then two without concern, sighing something happy and satisfied as Katsuki just takes it.
It’s fucking good. As he gives in to him now, as natural as it is, Katsuki struggles to imagine a time where he’d be hesitant to do this.
“You won’t be tight, will you, you’ll relax for me,” Izuku murmurs, and it’s absent, which makes it worse. He doesn’t even mean to talk dirty, when they’re here like this, but feeling good shakes his filter loose, and Katsuki’s left to deal with the full force of his desire.
The poor bastard who squirmed at the idea of letting Izuku take the reigns is missing out.
Izuku pets up his spine, humming happily as Katsuki relaxes, good and open under him. “Perfect, Kacchan,” he breathes as he withdraws, and the pang of emptiness is soothed by the praise, by the adoration in the hands that cradle his hips, thumbs pressed to where Izuku claims he dimples, but Katsuki can’t quite feel on his own.
He can have that piece of him, he supposes. Katsuki’s already given the rest.
“Still want it,” Izuku checks softly, and it’s a testament to how much he loves him that Katsuki can’t even muster something biting anymore. He just nods into the pillowcase, cheek brushing up more of the scent of Izuku’s shampoo, and it’s a haze he falls into as Izuku presses in close, and slips inside.
There’s a number of things Katsuki likes about being fucked, and if he’s being honest, having Izuku inside him is closer towards the bottom of the list, as good as it is. He favors other things, instead — like an Izuku who drapes himself over his back to kiss over his shoulders, who breathes his pleasure into the shell of Katsuki’s ear. Who mumbles when he has the energy, endless praise that wells from his subconscious, or who, like now, is tactile on the border of sleep, almost quiet, save for his search for oxygen, and the occasional hitch of Katsuki’s name.
Izuku settles his hips into his, exhaling something adjacent to relief, and Katsuki’s pleasure pools with gravity into the pit of his stomach.
“You’re warm,” Izuku tells him quietly, broken up by his own nerve endings, and Katsuki doesn’t fault him for the way he itches in the silence, incapable of not saying how he feels. He leaves it be, even if it makes his cheeks feel hot.
Izuku brushes his lips over where blood rushes red at the back of his neck, and even if Izuku can’t see it, it feels like reassurance. A balm to his embarrassment. It bares Katsuki a little wider, makes him ache for Izuku to kiss his mouth, makes him open his own and admit, “You feel really good.”
Izuku goes still, and quiet. Katsuki closes his teeth and eyes and stirs in the discomfort, sure if he listened hard enough, he’d hear Izuku’s brain whirring behind his eyes. The pause feels like free-fall.
Then Izuku sets a pace, something rocking, and deep, and liable to melt Katsuki over the mattress like unwrapped candy, sticky and exposed. It’s good. Katsuki shudders, mouth falling open, and Izuku sighs at his cheek. Kisses there, and hums, “Do I?”
At the back of Katsuki’s mind, alarm surges. Humiliation, and the urge to chew off his tongue. He’s given Izuku an inch, and now he’ll be sweet-talked into the mile, bit by shameful bit.
But the heat in his gut isn’t getting the message. As Izuku fucks into him, achingly slow and steady and practiced, nosing affectionately into his face and dragging his palms up Katsuki’s wrists to tangle their fingers, he finds himself nodding, eyes squeezed shut, mindless and bordering on needy.
He swallows around the drool and his mouth and breathes broken, and Izuku coos, “Tell me.”
God, fuck, why does it feel so good? Discomfort swoops his stomach, lights his face on fire, but Izuku mouths wet and warm over his shoulder, grazing affectionate teeth, and all the heart-racing feelings swirl in his belly into something scorching, something that makes him sure he’s wetting the pillow beneath him to ruin.
Izuku angles his hips, and his breath catches on a whine. High, shaking, on the edge of a complaint.
“Shh, shh,” Izuku kisses over his wrist, tongues over a vein, and Katsuki loses the rest of his breath to a surge of arousal, coaxed into a sigh. “It’s okay, Kacchan, it’s just me. You can tell me. Do I feel good? Do you like it?”
Katsuki, he realizes, as Izuku lets a soft sound slip into the space between them, is going to lose twice in one night, to a man who takes his greatest pleasure in pleasing him.
In this way, they’re identical. Katsuki thinks of nothing more than Izuku when their positions are reversed, of drawing out every expression of desire and sound of satisfaction he possibly can from him, drinking his fill of the knowledge that Izuku wants Katsuki and no one else, gets what he needs from Katsuki and Katsuki alone.
Izuku knows that Katsuki loves him. Knows he loves this, needs it, wants it with his oxygen — but if he’d discovered a fresh way to get Izuku to admit that he wants him, he’d seek that out too. With a single-minded purpose.
It’s the reminder of their mutual desire that cracks Katsuki. Izuku frees a hand to secure it at the nape of Katsuki’s neck, just how he likes it, rubs his other thumb over the back of Katsuki’s knuckles and squeezes. For the second time tonight, Katsuki’s eyes grow wet, and he chokes.
“Katsuki,” Izuku lilts, and Katsuki’s eyes roll. The air sucks itself from his lungs, returns full force, and the dam breaks.
“Good, it’s — god, it’s so good, Izuku, baby you fuck me perfect,” he blurts. Izuku’s breath hitches, then trembles in his throat. Hips stuttering, hands shaking, his grip grows slack, and he buries his face between Katsuki’s shoulders.
“Kacchan…”
“I fucking love it. I wouldn’t want anybody else,” Katsuki rasps to the hand in his, to the love of his life, chasing his pleasure at his back. The heat in his gut is flaring towards too much, and he won’t last, not when he can feel Izuku getting his skin wet with overwhelmed tears. Izuku sucks in a breath, and he’s fucking harder now, grip strong enough at Katsuki’s nape to slow the flow of blood to his brain, just barely. Enough to elicit that sharp jolt of pleasured excitement it gives him. “Fuck, I’m close.”
“Me too,” Izuku gasps, and Katsuki wishes he could swallow it. He likes it this way, but what he wouldn’t give to kiss him, feel him lose himself in Katsuki’s mouth instead of at his cheek.
“Yeah,” he urges, to compensate. “In me, Izuku, you’re mine, make me yours —”
“Y-you —” Izuku laughs wildly, a breathless thing, and puts his weight into him. “You are mine, Kacchan, you’ve always been mine. Please come.”
Izuku loosens his grip, and the sudden rush of blood makes him dizzy. Izuku pleads a little more, and the heat in Katsuki’s core swells, and bursts.
White noise rings in his ears, a blinding wave flooding his body, his vision. The shaking above him tells him Izuku felt it, and followed, and Katsuki drowns in the affection spilling over their sheets, the satisfaction and contentment of being the thing to push him over the edge.
Izuku wants him, just as badly as he wants Izuku. It’s knowledge that he indulges in, after years of depriving himself of it.
Awareness trickles in and out of his ears, and Izuku presses countless kisses over his shoulders, his temple, his cheek. His pulse struggles to regulate, keeping him alert as Izuku extracts himself gently, then it settles into something slower, stronger, allowing sleep to pull at his limbs again.
Freshly relaxed, assured of their connection, lulled into something barely conscious by Izuku’s careful beginning attempts at cleaning them up.
“I love you,” Izuku tells him, as if he doesn’t know.
Katsuki sleeps for a few more hours, and wakes to an empty bed.
The sheets are still warm, and his body aches with the reminder of getting slammed into the pavement, and something overlying, sweeter — remnants of the asshole who should know better than to slip out of bed when Katsuki’s still asleep.
Down the hall, he hears one of their kitchen cabinets shut. At least, Katsuki relaxes, he had the decency to be home.
He finds him starting a pot of coffee, humming to himself, shoulders loose in a way that speaks entirely of sex, and reignites that spark in Katsuki’s gut, left over from the early hours of the morning.
Izuku sensed him coming in, and smiles at him now, soft and shy and small for all that he did to Katsuki not even yesterday. Flustered under Katsuki’s attention, despite that frightening ability to chip him down to something raw.
His cheeks grow pink under his freckles the longer Katsuki looks, and Katsuki’s struck with the urge to touch — always is, when Izuku looks soft and warm from sleep. His t-shirt hangs low enough to hide that his boxers hang lower, but it’s the principle of the thing that catches Katsuki in fantasy — one of pressing fingers to coarse hair and cut skin and rubbing lower. Feeling the tremble and give of muscle, the sigh that now translates to victory in Katsuki’s ears.
Izuku’s hair sticks up on one side, flattened from the pillowcase. Something he might give Izuku shit about on a day where there’s more to do than exist together in their own home, but in context only worsens the itch in his fingers.
Katsuki gets no protest, when he fists a hand in his shirt and tugs. Izuku goes with ease, tips his head into the brush of Katsuki’s nose under his jaw. A kiss makes him sigh.
Made for him, Katsuki thinks, that’s what he is. Izuku abandons their coffee mugs for the sake of being kissed, and it’s such a simple thing, but Katsuki echoes the sentiment of it times a thousand. The things he wouldn’t give up for Izuku.
“Kacchan…” Izuku blinks up at him, then swallows thick, as wandering hands fit under his sleep shirt, his waistband. His lashes flutter, and Katsuki kisses over closed eyelids.
“Let me,” Katsuki says.
Izuku exhales, and he sags. Lets Katsuki take his weight, and return the favor.