Work Text:
Asking him is probably in the top five most nerve-wracking things Izuku has ever done. And he’s asked Kacchan on dates.
It’s less about the gravity of the situation than it is about how much of himself it bares. Izuku’s worn his heart on his sleeve since he could walk, and Kacchan’s name is the only one to ever be written there (give or take a few crushes, over the years).
Telling Kacchan he likes him – that’s expected. Katsuki probably saw the confession coming, after their first few emotional breakthroughs.
But this is quieter. More personal.
Izuku’s pulse thumps so roughly in his chest, it makes his hands shake. He’s cold all over. Kacchan stands tall in their kitchen frowning over the dish he’s making for dinner (it’s katsudon, because it’s Friday, and Kacchan — Izuku still gets giddy, just thinking it — Kacchan loves him. They have it every week. Scheduled).
He knows Kacchan can feel him watching. Years spent honing his senses, years spent with Izuku in his shadow. Or however Kacchan viewed it. Point is, Izuku was there, and now he’s here.
Heart fluttering.
He might be sick.
Katsuki straightens where he works, and twists the burner onto low. He turns his head a little to the right, but doesn’t turn fully.
“What is it,” he rasps, and his voice gives Izuku chills.
It’s so quiet. Roughened by time, and nasty habits neither of them fully seemed to quit. There’s a softness now that speaks of their promises, and their past; a gentleness that comes from he and Izuku being partners – in work, and in life, although there’s a newness to the latter.
Years ago he might’ve snapped it, and Izuku would’ve stuttered his way through the question. Demanded out of him, not coaxed.
This tone is just as effective. Izuku shuffles up behind him, and clutches at the fabric of his shirt.
He buries his face there, between his shoulders. Kacchan lifts up his arms, and Izuku takes the invitation to wind his around his waist for what it is.
He smells good, like smoke and shower-clean. Izuku rubs his cheek over lax, thickened muscle, and admits, “I wanted to ask you something.”
Just barely, that muscle stiffens beneath him. It’s a there-and-gone movement, because in his next exhale, Katsuki’s eased again.
It isn’t a statement Izuku makes very often. Maybe he senses the importance, feels the tension in the line of Izuku’s body.
Maybe he can feel his heartbeat, thudding through the center of Katsuki’s back.
Warm, human fingers slip their way between his, and hold gently. Izuku allows him to thread their hands together, and breathes out again.
“Okay,” Katsuki says quietly, after a moment. “You wanna come outta there to do it?”
Izuku considers it, and pauses. He can’t see Katsuki’s face like this, his emotions. His body is warm in Izuku’s arms, and he twitches, when Izuku squeezes around him. Lithe waist, gorgeous hidden eyes. Katsuki’s head lowers, and he turns over the pork idly.
Imagining looking him in the face while he asks what he wants sends Izuku’s stomach dipping to his hips. Adrenaline is a cold, trembling rush in his body. There’s no consequences if Izuku says no, and asks out from under the watch of Kacchan’s gaze.
“I’m good here,” Izuku decides softly. Runs his thumb carefully over Katsuki’s knuckle, and continues, “It’s about sex.”
Katsuki gives no indication he heard him. Izuku turns his head further between his shoulder blades, and breathes there. His lungs feel several shades tighter than they did before he mentioned the question, and Izuku has known Katsuki long enough to know he’s holding himself carefully.
Stiffly, like he might turn in Izuku’s arms. Like he’s respecting his wishes, even as his tune changes.
It’s just — just a question. “Okay,” Katsuki says slowly. His prosthetic pets its way up Izuku’s forearm, and his fingers grip a little more firmly around Izuku’s. Offered comfort, and he takes his own in turn. “What about sex? You want it?”
Izuku’s pulse floods a little bit in his ears, before it continues. Pools in his cheeks on the way down. He breathes something breathless against the fabric of Katsuki’s tank top, an exhale, a laugh from nerves but maybe a little humor.
Oh, does he.
“Kind’ve,” Izuku says. It’s closer to the truth that it isn’t, and the furthest Katsuki would get on his own. This thing Izuku wants, he’s held closely to his heart.
As long as he can remember. A private desire turned shameful, for its intensity.
Katsuki thinks. Izuku can hear it, over the pork sizzling. The turn of wheels, cogs that are nowhere near needing oiled. He’s smart, and he knows Izuku better than anyone. Izuku feels the moment he decides.
“You’re not bein’ this serious over just sex,” Katsuki says, finally. His voice is measured, and still easy in his mouth. Nose brushing over his spine, Izuku shakes his head slowly. “Alright. Lemme hear it.”
The words stick briefly in his mouth. Up under his tongue, somewhere he can’t swallow. Katsuki traces a pattern over the bulk of his arm, something soothing, feather-light.
He’s soft with him.
Maybe some years ago, Izuku wouldn’t believe it. Before time and heartache pulled apart the worst of them. He watched the transformation himself, and knows more, now, enough to be brave enough to ask for this.
This thing he craves. This thing Katsuki might not be able to deliver. He can’t tell, yet, how far his devotion stretches; how deep his affection might lie.
There’s an ache Izuku can’t soothe on his own. If Katsuki can’t give it to him, he’ll continue to bear it.
But he could. Katsuki could ease it for him.
If he says yes.
Izuku swallows carefully. “I was wondering if,” he starts, and turns his face to the side again. Toward Katsuki’s better ear, where it listens intently. “During sex… if maybe you could try being – I don’t know. Sweet to me.”
His voice leaves him small, and echoes there in the following silence. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut like it might brace him for the answer, and feels Katsuki slowly grow taller in his arms.
His heart thuds so hard, his head grows light. But the words are out, and he can inhale deeper now.
“Sweet to you,” Katsuki repeats. “Elaborate.”
Izuku’s next breath out shakes. Elaborate.
Ugh. Where could he begin.
“It’s just that,” Izuku curls his toes against the tiles, and tips his head to the front again. Rubs his face there in a soothing motion, and squeezes, Katsuki’s body unyielding. “I think that I’d like – well, I’ve always wanted – if maybe you’d say sweet words to me, when we’re doing stuff… I just. Think I’d really like it.”
His face burns. His voice saturated itself with its longing, without his permission. There’s a tension that ebbs from Katsuki’s body, the longer Izuku clings there tightly, and he’s nodding, slowly, comprehendingly.
“Gotcha,” Katsuki says. “Okay. So you want me to talk to you.”
Almost. “Kind’ve,” Izuku says, then blinks through the deja vu. “I mean, it’s just that – it doesn’t have to be now, or ever, I’ve just been thinking. I’d like it if you called me sweet names. Said nice things. Maybe you think I’m —”
Katsuki waits. Izuku chews on the rest of the words, but they shrivel between his teeth. It’s more embarrassing than asking, to feed the words he wants to hear into Katsuki’s mouth.
But he’s started the sentence, and Katsuki will wait until he finishes. This he knows. Katsuki won’t accept Izuku going quiet.
“Maybe I think you’re…” Katsuki prompts, and he swallows.
“Pretty,” he finishes quietly, throat closing. “Or something.”
“Hm.”
The noise Katsuki makes is thoughtful, and Izuku’s face is so warm, they could fry the rest of the pork off it, surely. Kacchan’s grip hasn’t loosened, so he can’t hope to extract himself from his arms. Izuku has made his metaphorical bed, and now he’ll lie in it.
At the very least, if Katsuki wanted to reject him, he’ll do it quickly. He’s years past the man who might taunt him.
“Yeah. Alright. I can do that for you,” Kacchan says. Simply, like it isn’t a response to the heaviest question Izuku’s ever asked him. Izuku reels from it, stomach flipping, and Katsuki nods decisively like he can’t hear him floundering. “Later, if you want. Was gonna ask to fuck you anyway.” The bluntness makes Izuku’s ears burn, and Izuku breathes through a squeak, one that tries in vain to escape. “That all you wanted?”
Izuku’s breath shudders, and it’s audible. He knots his free hand tight in Kacchan’s shirt, and pretends it's an anchor. “Well, yes. But –” he starts. “I just wanna clarify, I – I need to know you mean it. That you’re not just humoring me, because I’d — I really wouldn’t like it if you didn’t mean it.”
Just the thought of it makes his stomach sink. Kacchan, feeding him words Izuku wants to hear – but they’re words he doesn’t want to say. Words he’s indifferent to. Words only uttered to please one of them.
He’d never recover. Eyes watering, Izuku closes them tight. With everything off his chest, there’s fresh room for tears to well at his lashline. Izuku doesn’t want to cry seconds after accomplishing his goal, but Katsuki agreeing without understanding the intensity of his desire makes him feel panicky. Raw, and off-kilter.
If Kacchan knew just how badly Izuku craves this, maybe he wouldn’t have said he would do it.
Katsuki’s breathing quiets. His movements slow, as he turns the flame to nothing. For the first time this evening, Katsuki stills fully.
Then he rescinds his earlier patience, and turns to face Izuku in his arms.
It makes Izuku’s body tense. Katsuki peers down at him searchingly, and his eyes are so arresting, burning crimson clouded by silver on one side. Izuku’s hand had been released, and he finds those fingers squeezing lightly around his jaw. Commanding his attention, as though Katsuki wouldn’t already have it. He leans in close, and the tiniest drop of moisture slips its path down Izuku’s cheek.
He’s so handsome, it hurts to look at him. Any earlier sense of casualness has vanished. Kacchan regards him with a look so serious, it steals the breath in his lungs.
“Do you think,” he starts carefully, then his brows pull. He squeezes around bone, and Izuku wets his lower lip anxiously. Katsuki’s eyes track it. “Do you think — that I would need to pretend to be nice to you. That I’d have to fake it.”
The look on his face makes Izuku’s stomach flutter. Butterflies, a whole swarm. The look on his face says absolutely fucking not, he wouldn’t.
Katsuki’s eyes are narrowing. Darkening, into a pool Izuku can’t see the bottom of. Izuku hasn’t been on the receiving end of this much intensity in a long while, and it stirs something to life in him. His chest, his belly. He’s so warm.
But —
“It’s not just being nice,” he mumbles. Lowers his lashes, and twists his fingers in his shirt. The urge to wring his hands twitches through them. “It’s more than that.”
“I know what it is,” Katsuki says. His voice dips. Rasps in his insistence, his disbelief. Then it softens – and so do his fingers. Gentled, as his hand slips back to Izuku’s jaw. He cups there. “You want me to talk to you. Tell you you’re pretty, or something. You wanna know how good you look on my cock. Ain’t gotta lie to tell you that shit, I have eyes. You need to hear you’re special to me? Izuku.” Katsuki leans so close, Izuku could kiss him, if he really wanted to. He’d probably taste Izuku’s heart in his mouth. “I can be sweet to you.”
Izuku’s head spins. If Katsuki released him, he’d go tumbling. The ground sways heavily beneath his socked feet, but Katsuki goes nowhere.
He kisses him right on the mouth. Full, harsh, and seeking. The reeling in Izuku’s head slips to his lower belly, and there’s a heat that flickers to life between his thighs. A match struck, quick and rising.
There’s a relief he doesn’t know what to do with. Some anticipation that takes his place, riles his nerves up just as bad. Kacchan pulls away from his mouth like it’s a necessary evil, like he doesn’t really want to, but he’s proved his point, and tells him,
“After dinner. I’m havin’ you. Say okay.”
Izuku’s stomach trembles. His voice comes out small. “Okay.”
…
The sort of sex they have is vanilla, for all purposes.
They touch each other where it feels good. They breathe and sigh and they’re quiet until it’s over. They get worked up, they get off, it ends.
Izuku loves every second of it. But it’s so wordless, and he has those fantasies that he has.
Most nights, it stirs up a craving. Izuku thinks of nights where Katsuki might roll him and take what he wants, (because he wants him, that’d mean he wants Izuku). He gets himself hot imagining what a pet name might sound like in Katsuki’s mouth.
Something like baby. Or sweetheart.
Something like he’s using for him now.
Kacchan has him bare, from the waist down. Shoved him in one of his old skull shirts to clothe his upper body. Izuku won’t complain: it smells good, Kacchan loves when he wears his clothes, and something about it makes Izuku feel like his.
It warmed him up, and eased him down. Until Katsuki got to touching him. Snatched him into his lap, back to chest.
Thighs hooked over both Katsuki’s knees, Katsuki’s hand pressed flat under his navel, he’s grateful for the one small barrier.
He’s embarrassed.
“Mhmm, spread ‘em,” Katsuki murmurs, and works his knees apart wider. Izuku’s pulled with him, and hitches over it, eyes pinching shut. “So shy. Didn’t you want this, baby? You gave it to me.”
In his hands, he holds Izuku’s shame.
It’d taken time to coax the request out of him. Countless sweet touches, softened words — thorough kisses until Izuku fessed up the rest of the fantasy.
Izuku’s used the toy on himself plenty of times. Worked it inside, and worked himself desperate. Now Kacchan knows he’s used it thinking of him.
“Can’t believe you’ve had this without me knowin’,” Kacchan says into his ear. His thumb grazes over the sensitive skin of his belly, and turns the toy over in his other hand. It’s slender until it isn’t, where it thickens, meant for pressure in good places. Katsuki teases over the on button, and Izuku’s already wet, and breathing fast.
It was his last little secret. After this, there isn’t a thing Izuku keeps away from his Kacchan.
Izuku doesn’t answer, because Kacchan’s fingers slip lower, teasing a little trail. He turns his face into the side of Izuku’s head, and the kisses pressed to his curls feel like warm water, trickling down.
Slowly, gently, Kacchan taps the toy where he’s wet. Slicks it.
“Pretty baby,” he says quietly. “Gonna let me fuck you?”
Izuku’s breath leaves him in a soft rush. He flexes his fingers over their sheets, then grips into Katsuki’s arm to ground himself. Katsuki glides the toy over where he opens, an offering, thumb hovering over the button that’ll ruin him.
There’s a curved piece, that promises Izuku will come just like this.
“Yes,” he whispers, small. There’s a tremor in his thighs, in the muscles of his lower belly. Kacchan got him wet enough to slip right inside, if he wanted to, but he teases.
A slow trace over where he opens. Brush of the tip where he swells, and a hand petting its way up to his ribcage. “Listen to you,” he murmurs. “So sweet. The things I’d do for you.”
Izuku shivers, insides welling with liquid heat. Kacchan noses into his hair, chest expanding as he breathes in. That wandering hand slips even higher, up to close around his throat. Just to hold, just to softly comfort.
“Sweet baby,” he coos, and Izuku’s stomach clenches. Arousal sends a tingling out to his fingertips. Katsuki rubs the pad of his thumb where Izuku’s pulse flows strongest, and starts to work the toy inside of him.
The pressure makes him squirm, it’s so good, and Katsuki forces his legs wider as they start to close. Izuku curls his fingers into Katsuki’s arm, a whimper curling on his tongue, and the sound Katsuki makes is so satisfied, his stomach turns over on itself.
“There you go. Beautiful,” Katsuki squeezes around his throat in increments, shifts the toy until it’s wet — works it in to the hilt. “Just like that, baby. Open up for me.”
Izuku’s next gasp is choked. Kacchan’s hand is warm where it holds him, and the pressure of the toy inside him eases a persistent ache. He pulls it out gently, shifts it back in, and Izuku swallows a sound.
It’s already so good. The need is so much, Izuku doesn’t feel like he can fill his lungs the whole way. The toy he gave Kacchan fills him in a way that makes him desperate — thick and curved in sensitive spots, ribbed to promise stars behind his eyelids.
He wants Katsuki to fuck him with it so badly it hurts. Twinges there, everywhere he’s pressing. Kacchan shifts it to get the angle right, and the whine slips between his teeth before he can stifle it.
“Aw, baby,” Kacchan says in his ear. Voice low, dipped in desire. “Feels good? You took it so easy.”
Izuku whimpers. Out, then back in, Katsuki works the toy, sets a gentle pace. Slow, but there’s a promise of more. Izuku knows because Katsuki promised what he’d been craving — all of it.
Kacchan talking to him. Kacchan using the toy. Kacchan fucking him like he does when he’s alone.
He closes his eyes at the thought. His Kacchan, fucking him hard enough to cry.
“God you’re wet,” Katsuki rasps, shifting his grip under Izuku’s jaw. “You don’t know what it does to me, feelin’ you get worked up like this. I make you feel good, baby? I feel good? That’s all I want.”
Izuku breathes in something shaky. Kacchan keeps that pace, but with an added force — head hitting Katsuki’s shoulder, Izuku squirms into the fuck of it, crying out.
“There you go. That’s what I wanna hear. You like it, beautiful? Sound so fuckin’ good.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku hitches. He isn’t pleading for anything, not really, except he is. For Kacchan not to stop. For him to give more. For everything Izuku was promised.
The toy feels better when Katsuki uses it. It feels bigger — like something bullied into him, rather than shoved frantically. This isn’t Izuku’s usual desperation, his longing.
It’s Kacchan having him. His pleasure centralized, Katsuki an afterthought. Evidence that his Kacchan finds him desirable, and seeks to make him feel good.
He wouldn’t do this, if he didn’t want to. And Kacchan’s so hard, against the small of his back.
He likes it.
A hard thrust has Izuku writhing. He gasps, eyes pricking wet.
“I dream about this. You know that?” Kacchan says, rubbing a thumb along the curve of his jaw. “Touchin’ you like this, hearin’ those noises. Pissed I can’t have you all the time.”
Izuku’s cunt squeezes, and he whines as the toy wrenches free. The ribbing catches somewhere sensitive, and his body floods, hot and shaking. Kacchan fucks back in, harsh, driven into where Izuku ends. “And you have the nerve to think I might fake it. Fuck, baby, this really gets you? Hearin’ me?”
Izuku shivers, and his cheeks heat. “Don’t — don’t.” Kacchan’s hand moves faster, urgent, and he chokes with it, swallowing a sob.
“Shh, that’s alright. You like when I’m sweet to you, that’s okay baby. I like this. Right here, gettin’ you off.” Katsuki’s thumb grazes the button, and holds. When the toy buzzes to life, Izuku jolts, and cries. “There you go baby. Let’s get you there.”
Kacchan fucks him so hard, Izuku seizes. Flings his arms behind Kacchan’s neck, and buries his face in his throat. He’s shaking so badly, squirming, but Kacchan follows him — pins him down by his hips as he takes him.
“There you go. This what you needed?” Katsuki rasps. “You said it hurt, baby, does it feel better? Poor thing, always hurting inside.” Izuku whimpers, the force making him fuzzy. He’s never wished more that he could kiss him. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll fuck you better.”
Kacchan squeezes into his skin, noses into his temple. Between Izuku’s thighs is starting to ache, the vibrations sending jolts through the coaxed-sensitive tip of his cock. He can’t decide whether he’s supposed to arch into it or away, as Kacchan fucks him maybe a little harder than he should.
It’s everything he wanted. Nights spent working this inside of himself, forcing it in hard enough to hurt, begging for his Kacchan to take over the effort. To have him this way, whispering sweet words in his ear.
“Fuck, baby, you’re loud. Fuckin’ love you like this, my Izuku, always thinkin’ about it.” Kacchan kisses there, his skin, down to his cheek, bites. His pace never falters. Earned strength, and determined focus. Izuku burns up in his arms, watery eyes spilling over.
He feels so good. Full, and wanted, and —
“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty baby. Look at you shakin’, you like it here?” Kacchan grinds the toy so deep, right against the tip of his cock, as deep as Izuku’s body will allow, and Izuku whines, full and loud in his mouth. “Yeah. Know you do. Just take it. Fuck, take it.”
The knot in Izuku’s belly coils so tight, burns so hot, he curls his toes and cries and desperately wishes he could stay right here all the time. Teetering over the edge of release, Kacchan’s hand roaming his body, Kacchan forcing a toy in and out of his sensitive cunt. Kacchan thinks he’s pretty.
He couldn’t speak if he wanted to. He’s so close it hurts, hyperaware of his own lungs struggling to fill themselves. Kacchan is so solid against him, hot and hard and breathing harsh against the skin of his cheek.
That mind-melting pace never falters. Kacchan only fucks into him harder, and a low, desperate sound builds in Izuku’s chest. Kacchan meets it with his own sound, rasped and approving, and presses into the button to turn the setting up higher.
Izuku’s voice breaks — dies in a gasp.
“C’mon, come. You’re right there. Fuckin’ beautiful, give it to me, I gotcha. Promise,” Kacchan whispers, and Izuku comes so hard, it’s violent.
Already so close, the surge of arousal jolts him in his arms. That coiled heat in his belly floods, and bursts. Kacchan’s arm is a firm restraint around his hips as he shivers and writhes, sob choking free from his chest as his orgasm’s fucked, and forced out of him.
It’s never-ending. His pulse jumps, and surges in a full-body wave. The intensity of it stuns him, whites his vision, and with Kacchan holding him so tightly, there’s no running.
Overstimulation runs his body hot, then sharp. He doesn’t recognize himself for the way he cries, Kacchan’s soothing sounds barely edging through the haze.
When Izuku plays with himself, this is the point where he switches off the toy — made too sensitive to handle the stimulation of his cock, too eager for pressure in his fucked-sensitive cunt.
If he has something in him too long, it makes him desperate. Too many nights he’s spent, working a toy into himself, mouth full of pleas to no one — don’t stop, never stop, please, oh, please, I’ll be good.
His arms grow tired, or he grows so lonely. No one to hold him, or comfort him in the aftermath. Brought to tears by his own doing and no one to wipe them away.
Izuku comes for Kacchan, and comes, and comes. Kacchan fucks him until he’s whimpering protests into the palm of his hand — fitted over Izuku’s mouth somewhere in the middle, when all his senses abandoned him for orgasm.
His face is wet with tears, mouth slicked from his cries. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and sniffles, twitching even as Kacchan slows, and holds down the button until the hum quiets. Izuku’s cunt clings desperately to the soft silicone, pleading to be kept full a little longer.
He’s whispering his begging. Helpless, objectiveless. “Kacchan,” he breathes into his skin, echoes of nights without him, muscle memory forming the shape of his mouth. “Kacchan, Kacchan.”
“Shh, baby. I have you.” Kacchan releases the toy in favor of squeezing Izuku against him, bundled in careful arms, mouth brushing the salt of his cheeks, and he rocks. Voice drug through the dirt, a lulling, slow back and forth. “This is what you’re made for, ain’t it. Didn’t know you could take me like that. You needed it, I know. I know.”
A hand cups the skin of his cheek, his jaw. Izuku tangles his own fingers between his, and clings. Shoves his own hand between his thighs to keep the toy there, snug, and noses there into his palm.
Tears bead fresh at his lashes, clumping them.
There’s no gnawing between his hips. No ache wound twisted, a tight knot unwilling to ease. The twinge to follow as Kacchan breathes with him, murmuring sweet nonsense in his ear, is satisfaction. A honeyed relief.
For a long moment, it’s quiet. Izuku catches his breath, slows it to match Kacchan’s against his back. The rise and fall soothes his racing heart into a soft thrum, and Kacchan traces a slow line across his chest with his palm, down to his belly, back up.
His other hand pets down to fit between his legs, feel where he’s still stretched, kept full. Izuku inhales his sensitivity, and Kacchan kisses at his temple, gently, as he eases the toy from him.
It’s a rare instance that the loss doesn’t hurt.
“Fuck, you made a mess,” Katsuki rasps, and blood floods Izuku’s cheeks freely. It surges a warmth in his gut, the embarrassment, and the self-satisfaction lacing Kacchan’s words.
“Don’t make fun of me,” Izuku protests softly, shifting in his arms. Kacchan accepts his face tucked in the side of his throat, fingers tangling in a mussed section of curls. He smells good, and he’s warm, and Izuku’s body’s still lit with a pleasant buzz.
The toy is abandoned carelessly atop a towel. Izuku flushes to think of its next use, now that he knows how it feels in Kacchan’s hands.
When Kacchan breaks the next silence, he has to hide himself there pressed against him.
“You were really wantin’ it that bad?” he asks quietly, fingertips ghosting between Izuku’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t have much in the way of nails, but what’s there feels good. Izuku shivers, squeezes his eyes shut against the question.
He knows he doesn’t have to answer. Kacchan’s asking less for confirmation than he is something else: something more like why didn’t you ask me sooner.
Izuku doesn’t have an answer for that that won’t sound sad even to his own ears. The truth only comes back to just that — how badly he wanted it.
Still, he shifts a leg over Katsuki’s hips. Wriggles himself closer, and whispers, “Yeah.”
Katsuki’s quiet again for a moment. Slips his hand lower, to tease under the hem of his shirt, and pet his way over bare skin. Izuku mouths a little at the skin of his throat, a place to put his affection, the good feelings that well over just from being so close. Touched so gently.
It’s hard to sit in the fear that it won’t happen again, when he’s being so soft, even now. Kacchan squeezes his body into his own, his breathing contemplative, and lingering anxieties slip through his fingers like water.
He doesn’t say Izuku could’ve told him, but he knows he’s thinking it. It’s unsaid. Instead Kacchan curls his hand around his hip, cupping at the nape of his neck, and tells him, “Next time. Just ask. I don’t care what it is. Don’t go runnin’ around with problems I can fix like that.”
Izuku’s chest tightens. He swallows around a forming lump in his throat. There’s a thousand things he feels like he could say, all born from lingering insecurity.
Kacchan scratches gently up to his scalp. Izuku sucks in something that catches, and forces himself to breath out. “You don’t know what I’d like too. I don’t even know half the time. You’re the person I’m — we’re supposed to figure that out.”
Together, he doesn’t finish, but Izuku hears it. Kacchan’s hand is full of motion, dipping to his waist, squeezing around his hip, pulling him closer. Back over the rise of his ribcage.
It shouldn’t turn him on again, but Izuku can feel it. Latent arousal rearing its head in his belly. Kacchan feels so good. He can still hear him.
Izuku worries quietly he’s created a monster. “Okay,” he says, instead of what he’d sort of really like to. Will you roll me again. I’m still wet, you could fuck me like this. I could be pretty again for you. I can feel you’re still hard.
Kacchan’s hand gropes lower, on his way back down. Squeezes over the swell of his ass, his thigh, and Izuku’s a little too lax to swallow a hum of need. “You didn’t tell me you could sound like that,” Kacchan says, and hitches Izuku’s knee higher.
It’s easy to pull him, settle him atop his hips. Izuku keeps his face down, still, where it’s safe. Kacchan is hot and heady against him, and Izuku wants a thousand things he has words for, but can’t voice.
Kacchan is decidedly stiff between his legs, and any longing that might’ve managed to be sated earlier wells to life again in Izuku. He wants to feel him inside, full and tucked close and actually, finally in reaching distance of his mouth. He wants Kacchan’s hands on his hips, guiding and squeezing bruises into the muscle there.
He wants Kacchan’s eyes on him, deep and appreciative and burning him up from the inside out.
He sits up, and Kacchan watches him carefully — eyes hooded with interest, that blow wide as Izuku pets between his legs.
“Fuck — yeah?”
There’s a hole in the front of his briefs. Izuku’s so grateful he could kiss the manufacturer, getting to ease Kacchan’s cock through the fabric and just — sink. Glide him where he’s supposed to be, and take it all; soft and fucked-sensitive and welcoming his favorite intrusion.
“Hahh, fuck,” Kacchan grits, head dropped back against the pillow. He looks like sin, and his hips arch to meet Izuku’s as he sinks down. Izuku sighs, steadying himself, and Katsuki digs a five-point pressure into his hips to grind up. “Fuck, look at you. You're a dream.”
Izuku’s insides feel tender, probed to aching. Kacchan shifts him atop his hips, and grinds into him lazily, a slow, intoxicating thing. There’s a whine between his teeth that slips right free, and Kacchan curses, taking up his curls for a kiss.
He meets his mouth filthy. Bites his lip to open, and licks over the crown of his molars. Izuku moans right up against his tongue, and Kacchan makes a noise so deep, his toes curl. His stomach melts.
"Fuckin' beautiful," Kacchan praises. "You like it?"
Izuku nods into their next kiss, because he does, he does. “I like it,” he whispers back. “Kacchan, I like everything. You feel so good.”
Kacchan hums roughly into his mouth. His hips move, but too slow. It’s good, but Izuku wants more. Wants to steal what he wants for himself, no more fear of asking.
It’s physically easy to sit himself back, and take over. Plant a hand on the bed, shift himself up, and roll his hips down.
Mentally, not so much. His cheeks burnt hot. But the face Kacchan makes — oh.
Kacchan’s mouth drops open as he does it. Then closes — he pants harsh through his teeth, and doesn’t seem to know where to look. He squeezes over the swell of Izuku’s thighs, up his belly, his hips. Rasps his groan into the humid air, gone sticky.
Izuku rides him long, and hard. It’s a sharp sort of pleasure, deliciously addictive, but truthfully, he just wants Katsuki to come. Feel him lose himself, tucked safe and warm and wet inside Izuku.
From the sounds he makes, he’ll get it. Kacchan digs his teeth into the swell of his lower lip, eyes squeezing shut, then opening wildly, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. Izuku’s setting the pace, but he meets him there, the arch of his hips desperate enough to unseat him, if he weren’t stronger.
“Cum in me,” Izuku whispers, dips his voice somewhere Kacchan will like it. It’s embarrassing, makes his cheeks feel like fire, but he wants it, and Kacchan has done so much for him, unsealing his mouth all night for his pleasure. He lowers his eyes, makes himself tight, and pleads, “In me, Kacchan, right here.”
Fitting a hand over his lower belly, rubbing a small circle, he watches Kacchan’s chest shudder. The swell of his throat bob as he swallows. His groan sounds desperate, and Izuku feels it, right as he caves and does it.
Kacchan’s face melts into shock as his cock kicks. Like it caught him by surprise — like he wasn’t there until he was. He’s gone off fast in Izuku before, dunked Izuku’s chest in pride and satisfaction, and it’s just as good to watch him now.
Swallowing curses, flushed down to his chest. Breathing harsh, with a high edge to it as Izuku continues to rock.
Overstimulation looks different on him. Izuku feels his own body is made for it, most of the time — Kacchan feels so good inside him still, when he’s swollen and soft and filled past comfort. But Kacchan isn’t built the same.
It’s something he tries to grit his teeth and bear, most of the time — remnants of stubbornness that manifest in pushing himself to pain to finish pleasing Izuku. If Izuku wanted to ride him to tears, he’s sure he could.
Kacchan doesn’t say a word in protest. There’s a tortured pull between his brows, and he’s swallowing down all his sounds. Ragged things that die in his throat.
Izuku takes pity instead, and slows. Relishes the feeling of Kacchan inside him, sticky-warm, growing softer. He sighs happily, and Kacchan’s fingers join his over his belly. Tangle, and hold.
He stills, and Kacchan’s chest trembles on his exhale.
“Fuuck,” he rasps, flinging an arm over his face. It’s reddened still, sweat glistening there at his temples. He looks so good beneath Izuku, powerful, but made so pliant in orgasm.
He stomach rises and falls under Izuku’s hands. Izuku watches the muscles flex, feels over plush softness, and breathes through the itch in his teeth. Wanting to bite Kacchan isn’t anything new, but Izuku can’t quite bend that way yet.
“Get down from there,” Kacchan tells from the crook of his arm. Izuku leans down to kiss him, and he accepts it, lifting the limb just enough to meet him. They move slow, soft, until Kacchan says into his mouth, “Felt like I died.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I saw the light,” Kacchan insists. Izuku breathes a laugh, and his answering grin his sluggish. A half-thing.
Kacchan fits his hands into his hips, and urges Izuku to lift, and roll off him. He hisses as he slips out, and Izuku wants to protest so badly, but allows it.
He does whine, feeling Kacchan spill a bit onto his thighs. Kacchan sighs at it, and rolls with him, pinning him to the mattress.
The weight feels good — makes his muscles release. Izuku sinks into the mattress, and hums happily as Kacchan kisses him again.
Slow, deep. Hand in his hair, elbow propped to lean over his face. Izuku always wishes he could watch from the outside — see Kacchan's mouth move from every angle. Watch his eyes slip shut. His arm flex.
It breaks when Katsuki yawns. Scrunching his face up, partially at himself, and tip away from Izuku’s mouth to breathe out. He drops his head onto Izuku’s chest, then, and Izuku lifts a hand to cradle it.
“We’re sleeping,” Kacchan announces into his shirt, and Izuku laughs.
He knocks out often, afterwards. Sometimes he doesn’t even manage to pull out of Izuku (and secretly, so secretly, Izuku loves that. But he thinks Kacchan knows). But Izuku sleeps good and hard when Kacchan fucks him first, and the rest is good — he's got no complaints for the routine.
Kacchan’s breath is already evening, his body sleep-heavy atop Izuku's own, so it surprises him when he speaks again.
“I’m gonna be — so fuckin’ sweet to you,” Kacchan mumbles to his sternum, resolute. “For real. You’ll never be soft again.”
Oh.
Izuku’s cheeks pinken, and his stomach heats. Kacchan turns his head, and kisses over where his pulse decided to skip. Anticipation stirs in his chest.
The promise makes Izuku feel greedy, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, and swallow a plea for him to start right now.
“Okay,” he whispers instead. Kacchan settles his head back on his chest, and breathes out.
He doesn’t have to pretend to believe him. He does.