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“Oh,” Deku says, muted. He’s got their big desk calendar out on the kitchen table, a pen in hand. He’s slumped against the chair. Weird. “We don’t have any matching days off.”
Katsuki walks over to him, pulling the towel from his head and letting it settle around his shoulder. “What?”
And then he frowns, looking over Deku’s shoulder.
He’s right. None of their days off are matching this month. Not for their regularly scheduled patrols, that is.
“Have you checked-”
“Yeah,” Deku answers, still quiet. Katsuki leans over farther, tilting his head so he can get a better look at Deku’s face. “Our team-up missions are all in town. Or near enough, that we don’t have travel days.”
Katsuki eyes flick over to where Deku is despondently tapping the pen against the table. Did he not tell him? Or did Haruka not brief him yet?
“Except for the raid.”
“Except for the raid,” Deku repeats, then blinks. “The raid?”
He reaches over Deku’s shoulder, tapping the last Tuesday of the month. “We’re flying out for Todoroki’s raid.” He trails his fingers over Tuesday, Wednesday, all the way until the next Sunday. “We’ll be back Sunday, if we choose to drive instead of flying.”
“Wait, where are we going?”
“North,” he says simply. “You didn’t read the briefing?”
“I- no?” Deku frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between the Tuesday Katsuki had pointed to, and the Sunday his finger still rests on. “Haven’t checked my email yet… Wait. Why would we drive if we’re flying in?”
“Because,” Katsuki says, settling his palm on the calendar to support his weight, bringing his other hand down on the other side of Deku to do the same. This close to Deku, his chin brushes the top of his head. He needs to be very careful not to startle him and get a broken nose. “If we drive, it’ll take a day.”
“A day,” Deku repeats. This close, Katsuki can hear each one of his breaths.
“A day. And we’ll have to leave the morning after whenever this shit ends. They don’t like it when we drive through the night,” he says, as if he’s ever cared about the limitations their agency has put on them.
“But Sunday?”
“They’re giving us a day after we come back to “recuperate” which means…”
“Which means,” Deku says slowly, “we’ll have two days off?”
“Something like that. And our next days off next month are-”
“Monday and Tuesday. Right after the raid. Oh,” Deku breathes, slumping back against the chair, but not with that depressing aura around him anymore. “Like a mini vacation.”
Katsuki snorts, drops his chin to use Deku as a headrest.
“Sure. I already told them to rent us a car for the way back. Asked for an extra day in case anything happens during the raid or on the drive back, but we’ll have those days and the night after the raid, for sure.”
Deku tilts his head back, forcing Katsuki off, but he offers a smile to appease him. “So, if we don’t mess up-”
“If Todoroki pulls his weight.”
“-then we can relax a bit together. Mini vacation! We’ll just have to get through the month!”
If Katsuki is confident in one thing about this mission, he’s not using their days off for relaxing, that’s for fucking sure.
He smirks down at Deku’s innocent, smiling face. One would think that after all this time, Deku would be wary of any extra days Katsuki, a workaholic that rivals his husband, has preemptively planned for. It probably hasn’t clicked for him yet, in his relief at having a day off together.
That’s alright. He’ll figure it out, sooner than later. He smooths a hand over top Deku’s hair, tugging a little. “Yeah, sure. A vacation.”
He’s definitely bringing the big bottle.
-
“You know what you wanna eat, baby?”
Deku shakes his head.
“You?” he asks, and Katsuki can only grunt. “Guess not.”
He’s hungry enough to start eating his own arm, but just tired enough that trying to make any decisions beyond EAT – SLEEP – REPEAT are out of his current mental capacity.
“I’ll look left, you look right?” Deku offers.
He takes Katsuki’s hand off the gear shift and shifts it to his lap, playing with his fingers. Katsuki doesn’t stop him. He curls them together, brushing his thumb across crooked, dirty fingers. They need to take a shower as soon as possible, too.
“Fine,” Katsuki says. “Look for drive-thru signs.”
“‘Kay,” Deku answers, quiet and just as tired.
Katsuki continues driving in the general direction of their hotel, more focused on Deku’s soft breathing than any road sign. They’ll get there eventually. Hopefully, with a fuck ton of food ready to eat.
“Hey, you feel like soba?” Deku asks, turning his head to Katsuki. He peeks at him in his peripheral but keeps his focus forward. He’s learned the hard way that he can’t keep his eyes off the road too long while Deku’s in the car with him or else he’ll get nagged to hell and back. He hits a stop sign one time, once, and now he can’t even look at his husband while driving.
“Hell no,” he grumbles, turning the car left. They’re not too far from the hotel location their agency sent them, so they need to make a choice soon.
“Why not- Kacchan. Really?”
“Fuck off.”
“We’re not even sharing a hotel with Todoroki this time. He’s staying at one of the airport ones tonight, which is practically across town.”
“Yeah, because I told him I’d blow his dick off if he came anywhere near me for the next two weeks.”
“You told him you wouldn’t buy him soba for two weeks.”
“Same difference.”
Deku sighs, but he can hear the smile.
“I swear on my old hag,” Katsuki starts, eyeing a food truck before driving past it. He doesn’t want to get out of the car until they’re at the hotel. “If they put us on an overnight mission with him in the same hotel for a week straight again without warning, I’m going to peel their skin off one layer at a time and make gyoza from it. Least they could do is keep his half-and-half ass away from me when I’m trying to sleep.”
Deku rolls his eyes at him, so he pinches his thigh.
“You say that – ow! – you say that every time, Kacchan, and it is literally never that bad.”
Katsuki turns his head to look at him with wide, incredulous eyes, slowly rolling up to a red light. Is he fucking serious?
“Are you really saying that to me? Really?”
“Kacchan-”
“When the last time we shared the same hotel as that bastard he knocked on the door while I was balls deep inside your throat, asking if he could sleep over? Are you fucking with me, Deku?”
Deku flushes right down to the collar and goddamn but Katsuki has been starving for hours or else he’d have pulled over right then and there to feed another type of hunger – one that never leaves but gets worse every year no matter how much he consumes. Especially with the cause sitting right under his fingertips, nearly always out of reach regardless.
Like Tantalus, but in a hell of his own making.
Katsuki’s hand squeezes tighter, and he forces himself to relax, to breathe through his nose.
“Okay, that wasn’t the best moment, I can admit, but-”
“Or what about every other fucking time we’ve shared a hotel and he’s pulled the exact same shit? And every time it’s because you said you talked to him and that he wouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s not fair, Kacchan.”
“And yet, without fail, he comes knocking on our door like he’s five fucking years old and he’s just pissed the bed for the first time. I am not in the mood to entertain him or your shit tonight. I just want to eat and then go to sleep, Deku.”
“You know he does that just to mess with you, right? You entertain him almost more than when he messes with his dad.”
“If he shows up, I’m not fucking you tonight – I’m going to kick you out and sleep for thirteen hours straight. You can entertain that Candy-Land NPC all night instead. Have fun braiding each other’s hair and jerking off, I don’t give a shit – as long as you’re out.”
Deku stops talking to snicker under his breath and avoids eye contact. But even in his peripheral, Katsuki can see that he’s blushing, red under the dirt on his cheek and the dried sweat on his temple. He doesn’t look as tired as Katsuki feels. Maybe he’ll make Deku ride him tonight.
He stares at Deku with a pointedly raised eyebrow, cracking a smirk when Deku turns to look out the window, ears red.
Katsuki snorts. He turns back to the light and squeezes Deku’s thigh harshly.
“That’s what I thought,” he says snide, a little smug. He’ll never get over riling Deku up like this, knowing he’s practically frothing in the mouth for Katsuki under that good-boy routine he puts up in public.
“Shut up.” Deku grumbles something else under his breath, but he laces his fingers over Katsuki’s anyways. The light turns green, and Katsuki starts driving again, ignoring Deku’s shit talk.
It’s quiet except for the low drone of the radio, turned to a classical station so Katsuki doesn’t feel more inclined to blow the speakers out from being forced to listen to any voice other than his or his husband’s and so Deku doesn’t go crazy from hearing only dead silence.
Deku hums along. He’s easy and mellow, honey-voice low, unaware that he’s more audible than he’d like to be.
Even though Katsuki has had every chance to tease him over this, to pull at his unnecessary embarrassment and make Deku aware that he hums along, that he doesn’t sing the melody but the harmony, he never has. It’s too much of Katsuki’s, of small moments in time only he’s privy to, that it’d feel like a desecration of the worst kind.
He squeezes Deku’s thigh idly to the rhythm. He makes a note to download the song when Deku turns the volume up. Deku can add it to his cooking playlist.
Katsuki’s shoulders slowly drop, and he fights to keep his eyes open.
They really need to decide sooner than later or else Katsuki is going to do the inevitable and wrap their car around a tree like some shitty modern art.
“Kacchan,” Deku says softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. Katsuki hums, thumb rubbing a slow circle. The fabric is too thick to feel the heat of Deku’s skin, but Deku settles at the motion, sighing quietly. “We should travel, soon.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“We’re always going somewhere for missions, but the last time we went somewhere because we wanted to was our honeymoon,” Deku explains.
Katsuki suppresses a wince. Their honeymoon was twelve years ago. They got married sixteen years ago. They’re both ass at taking time off with any consistency.
“But we didn’t go anywhere the first week.”
“That was your fault,” Deku immediately says, but he’s smiling at the memory.
“Just because we were a little late-”
“Six hours is not a little late.”
“-doesn’t mean they should have cancelled all our shit. Still pissed about that. Didn’t even have another flight we could take that day.”
“Again: your fault.”
Katsuki barks a laugh, trailing his hand higher up Deku’s thigh and jabs him in the soft muscle. His legs clamp shut, stopping his ascent before he can get too far, but he’s where he wants to be.
“If I recall correctly, you were the one that sucked me off before we could even leave the venue. Anything after that was a result of your actions, dumbass, don’t try and switch the blame.”
“Hey!” Deku cries out, but his laugh tickles Katsuki’s ribs, loud in the closed space of the car. “That means it’s your mom’s fault! She designed your after-party suit!”
“Hmm, but you didn’t see me trying to jump you five seconds after I saw you.”
“That’s because Kacchan jumped me five seconds before he saw me.”
“You’re stupid, that doesn’t make any sense.” He shoots Deku a look, eyeing his wide smile. He’s too happy at being called stupid. Dumbass.
“Doesn’t make it any less true. Jerk.”
“Baby.”
“Meanie.”
“Shithead.”
“Motherfu- oh hey, wanna go there?” Deku interrupts himself to point at a colorful, glowing sign. Katsuki hasn’t seen any place he’s particularly excited to eat at, so he turns his blinker on.
“Sure.” He doesn’t even read what food they’re offering, just swerves left and flips off the fucker that honked at him. Dickhead.
He pulls up to the drive-thru, unsurprised when Deku unbuckles to lean closer and read the sign. Nerd needs to get his eyes checked soon, complete the nerd look. He’d look cute in glasses.
Especially if they were covered with cum.
His chest presses into Katsuki’s shoulder, mouth right by his ear and warm puffs of air tickling his hair.
“Should we buy extra for later? I’m really hungry,” Deku murmurs, thinking out loud.
He reads the menu to himself, full lips mouthing the words and squinting eyes darting back and forth. Katsuki turns his head all the way, watching as Deku’s eyebrows crinkle in thought, mouth pouting the slightest bit. This close he can see every mismatched freckle decorating his skin, darker from how often they’ve been outside this late into summer and painted in reds and blues from the sign.
Shit.
“Hey, Kacchan, do you want to double up on- mmpf!”
Katsuki kisses him hard, the hand that was on his leg grabbing a handful of Deku’s uniform to keep him in place.
He tastes something metallic – a cut on Deku’s lip from the fight earlier rubbing against Katsuki’s. Deku’s mouth is even warmer than his lips, and he darts his tongue inside for a quick taste.
It’s not enough.
Katsuki pulls back before Deku can reciprocate, unable to stop himself from leaning down and biting his neck, right above the ruined, torn collar. Deku jerks, hands reaching out to grab him back.
His teeth ache, but a quick look at the rearview mirror shows a line of cars behind them. Not now. Katsuki kisses him one more time for his own satisfaction, quick and rough, before pulling completely away.
“Yeah,” he answers, letting go of Deku’s uniform and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t look away from Deku once, focused on the slight swell of his bottom lip. Deku’s hands slowly drop, eyes dazed. “Grab my wallet.”
He pulls up to the speaker and starts ordering, listing out nearly the entire menu before he’s satisfied. He keeps an ear out for his husband’s rough breathing, hiding a smile when Deku hands him his wallet and decides to stay leaned over the middle compartment so he can rest his forehead on Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Kacchan,” he whispers once he’s caught his breath, and the car is idling in line. He sets his wallet down where their drinks usually go, car inching forward little by little.
Katsuki hums instead of saying anything, hand gravitating back to Deku’s thigh now that it’s free again.
One day he’ll convince Deku to switch to shorts. One day. It’s been one day going on fifteen years now, but hell if he ain’t stubborn. He will get Deku to patrol in shorts and then fuck him through them.
One day.
Deku shifts before he speaks, breath hot against Katsuki’s bare skin.
“Hurry.” Raspy, pleading. Bit of a teasing edge because Deku knows how to play just as hard. “Please, Kacchan.”
Fucking hell.
-
Deku moans, obscenely.
“So good,” he mumbles.
Katsuki grunts, too occupied to reply properly. Fuck, it’s good.
Deku makes another obscene sound and Katsuki shoves his shoulder.
“Slow down,” he chews out, watching as Deku shovels more food into his mouth. “You’re gonna choke like an idiot.”
“Kacchan won’t rescue me?” Deku pauses to look over at Katsuki. “Even after everything we’ve been- hey!”
Katsuki swallows the bite he stole from Deku’s bowl, smirking. “Shut up and eat normally, dumbass.”
Deku hunches over his food protectively and tries to sneak his fork over to Katsuki’s side but he bats him off with his own fork.
“Oi, fuck off.”
“It’s only fair, Kacchan.”
“I do not give a- Deku, I’ll break your fingers.”
“Uh-huh. Just- let me-”
“No. Eat your own food.”
“But you-! Ah! Kacchan…”
They both stare down at where the tines of the plastic forks have cracked off on both their forks, leaving a single one on Deku’s, bent back so far it’s useless, and two left on Katsuki’s on either end, now also useless. Deku lets go of his fork and it falls to the table in two pieces.
“…We still have extra chopsticks in your bag, right?”
Katsuki sighs and pushes Deku off his chair once he starts laughing.
“One dinner,” he grumbles, shoving back from the small table tucked into the corner of their hotel room covered in takeout bags and stomping over to where he had thrown all their duffle bags and backpacks in the space between the bed and the wall. “One peaceful goddamn dinner- fuck, I sound like my mom!”
Deku laughs harder, sitting up on the floor. “No, you sound like Aizawa, Kacchan.”
“That’s worse!”
He grips Deku by the elbow as he walks back to the table, yanking him up and shoving him back into his chair.
“Sit,” he says, shoves a pair of chopsticks into his hands. “Eat.”
He starts divvying up more of the food, putting extra scoops of rice on Deku’s plate. He didn’t eat enough this morning.
“Yes, Sensei- no, no! No. Down, Kacchan, I’m sorry. I’ll eat my food quietly.”
He’ll kill him… then kill himself right afterwards because fuck if he’s going to let his husband get to the afterlife before him.
Once Deku is done doing his best impression of a vacuum and Katsuki thinks if he eats one more bite he’ll shit himself, he herds them to the showers, snagging their toiletries as they go.
“Wash my back?” Deku asks, wrinkling his nose as he peels his outer layers off. His belt drops to the floor with a clunk, one side of it singed. Even temp gear doesn’t last long in Deku’s hands. Typical.
“As long as you don’t pull any shit.”
“Kacchan, of the one hundred and eighty-eight times we have had sex in the shower-”
“You’re lowballing it. By a lot.”
“-a hundred fifty of them minimum have been initiated by you. Not me. And you better not this time.” Deku whirls on him, eyes narrowing.
“Easy, shitnerd. I’ve been awake longer than you, remember? You’d break my dick before I could even get it in you.”
“I would never,” Deku immediately retorts, struggling with his zipper. His temporary costume has it placed on the back and Katsuki has watched Deku struggle with it for ten minutes before, laughing the entire time.
This time, he steps forward and places a hand on the wrist Deku has reaching over his back, stilling his movements. It’s just like Deku to fuck up his summer costume so bad before they go on an away mission that he gets stuck with the shitty backup their agency has on hand. Nothing but an empty skull in that big head of his.
“Why not?” he asks, undoing it for him and pulling his wrist flat against his neck just because he can. His red neck. Katsuki smirks.
“Because it’s too much of a hassle to try and find a replacement.”
Katsuki’s smirk drops.
“A replacement?!”
He drops Deku’s arm to spin him around, mouth already open and voice building in the back of his throat-
And he’s fucking with him.
“Kacchan,” Deku laughs, the shoulders of his costume sliding down and hanging loose around his chest. “Your face-”
“Shut the fuck up. And put your cleavage away.”
Deku continues laughing but shrugs the rest of his suit off.
“You’re so easy to tease, Kacchan. I would never replace your dick, I’m sorry.” He’s still laughing.
“And I can make you come in three minutes, so I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Get in the goddamn shower. And hurry up. I fucking stink.”
Deku presses a kiss against the corner of his jaw but does not dutifully step in under the stream, his smile pulling the kiss sideways and sloppy.
“Teeth first, Kacchan.”
“Then shut the fuck up and start brushing.”
Deku laughs, pulling their brushes and toothpaste out.
“What happened to washing my back?” He stuffs his brush in his mouth, waits for Katsuki’s answer. He rolls his eyes because of course that wouldn’t shut him up.
“Suffer.” He starts yanking his own costume off. “I call dibs on the tub when we get back home.”
Deku spits in the sink, looking at Katsuki through the mirror. “Why can’t we just share?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
“I’ll suck you off.”
“You can get ten minutes in the tub with me. Ten.”
“Only ten?”
“Shove over.” He puts a hand on Deku’s waist to move him carefully. He doesn’t trust Deku not to slip right now.
There’s a quiet tremble in Deku’s body, nothing some sleep won’t fix, but they’ve been on their feet for more than twelve hours. Deku’s liable to fall asleep in the shower and then slip and concuss himself. It’s happened before.
Deku spits in the sink again, rinsing his mouth out. “Want me to turn it on?”
He nudges Deku towards the shower in answer when he starts brushing his teeth, eyes glued to Deku’s bruised, toned back but perfect, indestructible, nigh godly, and unblemished ass as he waits for the water to warm up.
He squeezes his toothbrush when Deku steps into the shower, the visible muscles of his thighs shifting, calf flexing, the tendon near the back of his knee prominent enough for Katsuki’s teeth to get a good hold in. He needs to get his hands on him ASA-fucking-P.
His arm speeds up and he ignores Deku’s slightly muffled, “Stop brushing so hard, our dentist is going to yell at you again.” The fuck does his dentist know?
He gargles quickly, dropping his toothbrush on their toiletry bag and slapping the curtain back to step in behind Deku, crowding up close.
“Warm enough?” Deku asks, raising a hand up to the stream once he feels Katsuki’s hand balancing on his side. He’s drenched already, the last suds of shampoo washing away.
No, it never is, but it’s warm enough for Deku.
“S’fine. Get out of my way.”
Deku grumbles but doesn’t resist the hand pushing on his back to switch places.
“Kacchan, pass me the- thank you.”
He starts scrubbing the top of his head with shampoo, keeping an eye out when Deku bends over to wash his legs. Why the fuck is there not a place to sit in any of these stupid hotel bathrooms? A shower concussion once when they were twenty-two was enough for him.
The view is nice, though, and he steps closer. Deku’s got a cute asshole.
“We need to get soap, now that I think about it,” Deku says.
“You’ve got a cute asshole,” he says back.
Deku fumbles the soap, jerking upright so fast he almost slams his head against Katsuki’s chin. He does get Katsuki directly in the collarbone, a dull thud to match the rest of his aching body.
“Oi! Chill!”
“Kacchan!” Deku shouts, scandalized. The deep red on his skin is far too dark to be from the heat of the shower alone. He flounders for words, head whipping around to glare at Katsuki. “Wha- Kacchan!”
“Damn, what! Stop fucking yelling! And hurry up!”
“Stop saying stuff like that!” Deku deliberately turns around so his back is no longer facing him, and squats instead to wash the grime off his shins and ankles, so red he looks like he’s going to pass out.
Katsuki stares at him. They’ve been married for almost two decades. What the hell is he doing.
“I see it every day, why are you so surpri-”
“Stop!” Deku yells, scrubbing harder. His dick twitches a little, hidden between big thighs.
Katsuki’s smirk is slow and victorious. He’ll quiet for now, but later, when he’s got Deku belly down, knees spread…
Deku looks up at him, face blanching at whatever expression Katsuki has. His voice echoes when he yells, “Lotion!”
“Hah?” Katsuki frowns, rubbing a palm against his ear. Jesus Christ, Deku is loud.
“We also need lotion,” he hurriedly says, finally standing back up. He keeps his back towards the wall instead of Katsuki, avoids eye contact. Cute. Also, annoying. He should be able to look at his husband’s asshole whenever he wants without something shitty like embarrassment getting in the way.
“Do we,” Katsuki grunts in answer, dropping his head under the stream and vigorously scrubbing. The water flows down with a dark tint and he sighs. Guess he’s doing two passes on everything.
“Kacchan, bend your head.”
“I can wash my own hair.”
“You’re going to scrub your scalp off. Like you do your enamel.”
Katsuki shoots him a look. Deku stares back, lips twitching. He sighs.
He bends his head, setting a hand on Deku’s waist when he reaches up to scrub shampoo in his hair for a second time. He eyes the top of Deku’s head while he does, reaching up to move a limp curl back. It falls far past his eyes when wet. Gonna be too much of a hassle soon unless Deku starts wearing a headband.
“Haircut. When we get back.”
Deku hums, fingers digging into the hair at the base of his neck and Katsuki’s eyes close. Fuck, Deku’s got magic fingers. His shoulders ache, but every pass of Deku’s fingers eases more tension out than the beating hot water can.
“Thinking about growing it out, actually.”
“Again?” Katsuki raises an eyebrow, curling his lip in a snarl when Deku’s thumb sneaks over to rub it out of shape.
“Yeah.”
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
Katsuki hums, sliding his hand down to the back of Deku’s neck, pulling at the hairs at the base. “Because you can’t take care of your hair for shit.”
“Not true.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nuh-uh. Consider this: you’ll have more to pull?”
Katsuki hums, tugging his hair with a pleased grin because yeah, as long as he can pull on Deku’s hair, he doesn’t really give a shit what length it is, not when Deku makes sounds like that. “I’m considering.”
“Keep considering. Close your eyes?”
“They are closed, shitnerd.”
“They’re- oh. Thank you.”
Katsuki feels a rush of warm water dripping over his face and Deku’s hand running through his hair, getting the last of the grime and bubbles out.
“You’re so tense,” Deku murmurs, and Katsuki opens his eyes.
“Today fucking sucked.”
“Yeah. We won though.”
Katsuki scoffs, pushing at Deku’s waist to turn him back around. Deku goes, but his neck flushes. He wants to bite. “Finish up. And of course we did.”
He covers his hands in Deku’s conditioner and starts running it through damp, green strands while Deku washes his chest. He starts at the ends, carefully parting it with his fingers and moving up to his scalp, quiet.
Katsuki took a nasty hit to his head today, but Deku stopped the bleeding for him early on. It’s already scabbed. But Deku was the tank today and took most of the hits. He runs careful fingers over Deku’s scalp, breathing out when he feels nothing out of the ordinary.
At least he’s not actually concussed.
Something, something morally fucked up about fucking your husband when he’s all fucked up in the head, despite Deku trying to convince him to do it before. He doesn’t wanna argue about that shit tonight.
“Injuries?” he finally asks.
“Cut on my thigh,” Deku offers. “And a few bruises. Thought I sprained my wrist but it’s just a little achy today.”
Katsuki leans down to bonk his forehead against Deku’s head. Good. He stays there, holding his husband close and warm. Deku doesn’t pull away.
“Just sore,” he finally says in return, blinking his eyes back open and pulling his head back. It’s too comfortable like this. They need to get out, soon. “And the-”
“The forehead cut,” Deku cuts in. “Switch?”
He rinses his hands in the stream before settling them back on Deku’s waist to turn them around and put him in the water instead. Deku keeps his head carefully ducked forward to keep his conditioned hair out of the water, but his sigh is audible when the water starts hitting his shoulders.
Katsuki reaches above him, turning the shower head to the jet stream and watches Deku’s spine melt right out of his back and onto the floor. He adjusts the heat, makes it just a little less hot for Deku’s skin.
“It’s fine.”
“’Kay. We have some bandages, still.”
“Not if we’re taking care of your thigh, too.” A pause, and Katsuki cuts in before Deku can even start. “And we are. I’m not bleeding anymore.”
“I’m not bleeding anymore, either,” Deku mumbles, pushing at Katsuki’s shoulder to turn him. His hands are warm as they scrub down Katsuki’s back.
Katsuki snorts and starts lathering soap over his skin. “Barely. Might have to superglue it so you don’t kick it open tonight.”
“Why would I kick it open? I never move as much while sleeping like you do, Kacchan.”
“You wanna stitch it close?”
“Not deep enough for stitches,” Deku grumbles.
“Superglue it is. Don’t whine. Did you wash it yet?”
“No,” Deku mutters mulishly, the liar. Katsuki literally saw him carefully soap up around the scabbing cut.
“Then hurry up and get out. And get ready,” he says over his shoulder, eyeing the top of Deku’s head.
He can feel Deku’s hands lingering on his waist, a mouth pressed against the middle of his back before he moves to carefully clean the shallow laceration running down the length of his thigh. Again. Katsuki rolls his eyes and doesn’t call him out on it. It’s not like they’re paying for the hot water.
“Ready for what?” Deku asks.
He massages his thumb into his left palm, easing the ache there and washing off stubborn remnants of tacky, dried over sweat. “Guess.”
Deku makes another sound, echoing in the bathroom and tries to clear his throat. Katsuki knows that sound. He smiles as he dunks his head back under the stream, blindly shoving Deku back with his foot.
“I thought you were too tired,” Deku mutters.
“Gimme an hour,” he declares, reaching behind him to instead shove at Deku’s stomach when he doesn’t move. “And get out before you get wrinkly.”
“An hour of what?” Deku asks, reaching for the curtain.
“Rest, Deku. An hour of fucking nothing happening,” Katsuki emphasizes.
Even though Deku could argue (and has) that he could go on patrol right now if needed, that they both could, it’s not needed. They finished the mission, they have four days off after tonight, and they’re driving all day tomorrow. They can take some time to rest so Katsuki can do what he wants later without worrying if he can hold himself up long enough to properly stuff his dick inside his husband.
“Nap time? Not bedtime?”
“Just get out, shitnerd.”
Deku laughs, and he hears the bathroom door close behind him. He sighs, roughly scrubbing a hand in his hair. “That fucking…”
He yanks the handle and turns the water as hot as it can go. He grumbles to himself, but without Deku distracting him, the conditioner and second pass of soap goes far quicker and he’s pulling a bathrobe on not soon after. He rolls the sleeves up to his shoulders, hoping to stave off some few minutes of sweating, and then halts when he realizes Deku left him the thinner one for that exact reason.
He scowls to himself. Idiot.
He pulls a towel off the shelf as he leaves, dropping it over his head and loosely tying the belt around his waist.
“Oi,” he calls out, stepping into the room in the hotel provided slippers and waving away the steam. “Deku?”
Deku’s head pops up from the side of the bed, waving a little. “Just getting the kit, Kacchan.”
He grunts, toweling off his hair and making his way over to him. He settles on the bed heavily and the bed creaks under him, loud. Katsuki frowns but brushes it aside.
“Finished?” He nudges Deku’s side with his foot.
He’s sitting on Katsuki’s duffle bag that he filled with their discarded hero gear, left knee propped up and bent inward to have a proper look at the wound.
Good. If Deku had sat on the hotel floor with nothing but a shitty robe between it and his bare ass, he’d have to kick said ass.
“Almost.” He watches Deku carefully smooth antibacterial ointment over the cut, fingers practiced and quick. “It’s not as bad as it looked. Just a lot of initial blood, I think.” Deku looks up at him, flashing a quick, boyish smile at Katsuki’s raised eyebrow. “Promise. If I do open it up while sleeping, I’ll superglue it tomorrow, but I think I’m okay.”
Katsuki hunches over, squinting at Deku’s thigh, and reaching down to poke around the bruised outline of the cut when Deku turns his thigh towards him.
“Hn,” he grunts, and leans back.
“We need to restock. We only have one more bandage for you, and I don’t know where any of the swelling cream is.”
Deku’s skin is warm. Soft. He fists a hand in Deku’s hair because that’s what’s closest to him.
“It’s good enough for… now… the hell?” He trails off quietly because his hand just made a squishing sound. In Deku’s hair.
Deku makes a disgruntled noise completely unrelated to Katsuki’s and sits on the bed angled knee to thigh, bringing the ointment and the last butterfly bandage up with him. Water drips from his hair to the white bathrobe, the fluffy collar around his neck matted down.
That’s a lot of fucking water. Too much.
Katsuki reaches out, trailing the side of his finger up his neck and collecting water as he goes. He ignores the shiver, scowling.
“Are you a brat still?” Katsuki asks, pushing up to get the hairdryer. “Why is your hair dripping wet?”
“Natural drying is better for it,” Deku says, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down. The bed creaks again, too loud, and Katsuki makes note to stop moving so roughly. Who knows how much of a piece of shit it is? If it breaks under them, he’s not paying for it.
“Only if you get most of the water out beforehand, Deku.”
“It’ll be fine, I won’t get sick.” He tilts Katsuki’s head down, brows furrowing as he studies the cut on his forehead.
“I don’t care if you get sick. I don’t want to sleep on a wet pillow.”
He slings the towel off from around his own head and drapes it over Deku’s, squeezing his hair.
“I can’t see, Kacchan.”
“So?”
“So, I still have to put the bandage on.”
“Leave it.”
“Kacchan.”
“It’s not bleeding and it’s not going to.”
“Kacchan.”
“For fuck’s sake…”
He whips the towel off Deku’s head and wraps his fingers around Deku’s collar. He doesn’t wait for Deku to catch on. He pushes forward, relentless, until Deku’s flat on his back and Katsuki is pressing him deep into the squeaky mattress, not an inch of space between their bodies or mouths.
There’s spit leaking from the corner of their mouths but Deku is still trying to talk, tongue stiff and moving opposite of Katsuki’s.
“Deku,” he says, pulling back only briefly to take in the satisfaction of making Deku breathless. “Shut the fuck up.”
And he dives back in, hands too rough where they shift to grip under Deku’s neck and on his bare knee, impatiently digging under the robe.
Finally, finally, Deku shuts the fuck up. Which means he’s distracted.
He pushes his hand up Deku’s thigh, reaches out blindly for the stupid fucking tube of ointment dropped right next to it, and pulls off Deku with a pop of air, sitting on his haunches and away from Deku’s stupid fucking hot mouth. One of Deku’s legs automatically unfolds just to hook around Katsuki’s lower back and keep him from moving too far away.
“Got it,” Katsuki breathes, triumphant, squeezing the small tube with far too much force.
Deku sucks air in with quick little gasps, hands still resting by his head in surprise, eyebrows raised. He’s flushed, but his eyes quickly narrow in on Katsuki’s hands.
Katsuki dives through the small window he made and slathers a glob of the stuff onto the cut, feeling around until he’s certain he’s covered more than enough of the injured area so Deku can’t say shit. It’s bigger than it feels, but it has nothing on the shit he took to the arm a few months back. Deku’s got nothing to worry about.
“Good enough,” he repeats, smirking when Deku’s expression gets stormy, a small scowl twisting his lips.
“Kacchan,” he says, disapproving. “I could’ve done it. And better.”
“Nuh-uh,” Katsuki cuts him off, and throws the tube of gloop onto his duffel bag. He hates the slimy feeling it leaves. He is not putting it on his face more than once. “It’s taken care of, now leave it alone.”
Deku reaches for his face anyway, expression determined. “At least let me put the bandage-”
“No,” Katsuki says, and grabs Deku’s reaching hand, drawing it off to the side.
There’s a moment, quick, and fleeting, but there and just as solid as the vein pulsing under his fingers where before Deku’s face becomes indignant, his eyes flash: a lick of heat, sudden and quick, at Katsuki’s firm, absolute denial.
Katsuki’s smirk grows, because oh, he knows how to play this game. Has been winning the past two decades. Deku wiggles his fingers, and Katsuki lets go. Is Deku going to…?
“Kacchan, why n-”
Katsuki pushes Deku’s hand away again before he can finish talking, this time leaning into it until his body weight is holding Deku’s entire arm to the bed. He carefully squeezes his fingers tighter, waiting for-
Deku’s knees squeeze against Katsuki’s sides, brief, and his hips lift a little.
Yeah, there it is.
“No,” he repeats, just to be an asshole.
Deku glares up at him, cheeks a pale pink.
Glare all you want, baby, he thinks, because his hold isn’t very tight, actually, and he’s not using his body to hold any other part of Deku down to the bed, either, and all he’s said was no, and not Don’t move, Deku, stay still, Deku, keep your hands to yourself, Deku, or anything else, really, so why is Deku laying there, squirming at the denial, completely able to overpower Katsuki and yet choosing not to?
He sits back on his haunches again, shifting his grip so Deku’s hand is lying next to his waist, still caught in Katsuki’s hold.
Deku’s eyes dart around his face, and he squirms when Katsuki only watches him. He finally pushes against Katsuki’s hold, even when he finds that there’s no give, no leeway. Brat.
He should do something about all that squirming. And, more importantly, about the bruises under Deku’s eyes. Settle his husband.
Deku shifts again, legs moving like he’s not sure if he’s going to throw Katsuki off him or buck up into him.
Not a fucking chance in hell.
Katsuki hooks his left hand into Deku’s cinched belt, and yanks, like he’s doing a curl, so that Deku’s waist lifts with it. He tugs rough, hard enough that Deku bounces a little before gravity reaches back for him and starts testing the strength of the belt’s stitching.
And this time, when Deku reacts, he reacts.
He gasps at the manhandling, heels dropping to the bed awkwardly like he’s not sure how to support himself when Katsuki is holding half his weight up in the air, robe tugging harsh against his skin where the belt pulls tight and forces his back to arch.
“Kacchan!” he gasps, his free hand digging into Katsuki’s forearm, eyes wide.
He flexes his arm, yanks Deku towards him, and them drops him so he bounces against the mattress instead. He ignores the rusting springs protesting the move and instead focuses on the lack of protest from his husband.
Why, indeed, doesn’t Deku stop him? He can’t help his smirk, especially when Deku’s eyes keep darting between his arms and his mouth, breaths heavy.
Because Deku likes it, if the slight tent he’s pitching under the robe has anything to say about it. But only as long as it’s Katsuki, and only like this, here, just the two of them, in a bed, against a wall, on the floor.
And look at that: there’s a bed, a wall, a floor. Some couches and chairs, too. A table, even. For just the two of them.
Katsuki leans down as he lifts Deku’s wrist back up to his face, kisses the skin peeking from the gap between his pinky and ring finger. Deku’s utters a low, earthy noise from the base of his throat, poorly hidden, and Katsuki’s smile is a quick thing.
He does it again, spreading his fingers farther apart, increasing the pressure to watch as Deku’s skin swells and flushes to accommodate his grip. His lips skirt the base of Deku’s palm, catching briefly on the rough skin.
A little calloused, a little dry, but the transition to his bared wrist is smooth. Easy.
His veins are a light, faded blue against his pale skin, usually covered by his gloves or the sleeves of his uniform. They’re bared to him now, vulnerable and fluttering – easy hunting under Katsuki’s teeth.
They really should take a break. Deku needs the sun, desperately, and Katsuki needs his husband.
Well, he can rectify one of those things immediately.
“You didn’t win, so don’t get a big head,” he reminds, before sliding down until he can get a hand under each one of Deku’s thighs. He skirts his fingers along the shallow cut on the outside of Deku’s thigh and gets comfortable, but the robe is in the way. He rucks it up to Deku’s waist.
“Win? Win what? Kacchan- holy-”
The tip of Deku’s cock scrapes the top of his mouth as Katsuki pulls back slowly, watching.
Deku can’t keep his eyes open. His hands tremble, suddenly free from Katsuki’s reign but with no direction on where to place them. His nipples are as big of a tease as their owner, flushed and peaked, but just barely covered by the mussed and wrinkled robe. When Deku shifts, squirms at Katsuki’s warm breath on his hardening cock, they flash Katsuki, but never for long.
“Rude,” he mutters, and reaches up to yank the robe completely open.
There it is. He licks his lips, grinning. He presses his hand to the underside of Deku’s cock, down to his stomach so he can get a better view.
“Damn,” he says, mostly to himself, because what a sight his husband is, from his head to his hole.
“Don’t,” Deku groans, covering his face with trembling hands.
“I can’t admire my husband?”
Deku’s thighs twitch and Katsuki grins.
“Your taint is cute, too,” he says, running a finger underneath Deku’s tight balls, pushing them up just enough to see the rosy-red skin. It’s a little swollen, a little flushed, just as enticing as Deku’s cute asshole. He wants to cover it in cum, to cover his twitching hole with it, to press the tip of his cock directly against his taint and make Deku wail.
For now, he rubs a single finger back and forth on the soft skin, biting the pelvic muscle next to Deku’s cock when he chokes on a moan, still hidden behind his hands.
It twitches, the tip a little flushed and valiantly holding up against the onslaught, but Katsuki knows. He knows.
Especially because Deku refuses to make eye contact, to remove his hands from his face – but Deku hasn’t realized yet, somehow, that his hands blush a little too when he’s this worked up, like his body is tangibly leaking out his desire because he’s got too much of it. Heat comes off him in waves, feet squirming against the sheets, toes curling and uncurling, stomach trembling.
He’s shy, Katsuki realizes with no hidden glee. Almost two decades and he can still make his husband shy. He presses his smile to Deku’s cock, releasing the pressure to let it bounce back up just a bit and licking the leaking pre clean.
Deku spasms again, full body, still hiding his face.
“Deku,” he laughs, endeared against his will. Deku makes a sound, cock twitching.
“Kacchan, don’t- don’t laugh like that, please,” he rushes out, palm covering the bottom half of his face.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sensitive.”
Katsuki takes him into his mouth again, then hums, just so he can hold Deku down to the bed.
“Kacchan!”
“Why are you so sensitive?”
Deku glares at him, corner of his eyes red, like he’s about to start crying. Katsuki’s spine tingles. He grips Deku’s thighs tighter.
“You know why, you jerk.”
Katsuki bites the muscle next to his mouth. “Oh?”
“I haven’t- I haven’t because of you!”
“Haven’t what?”
Deku squirms, and Katsuki winds his arms tighter around his thighs, grinning when Deku stares at his exposed biceps.
His body aches (just enough to be noticeable but not enough to stop him – like hell could anything stop him right now), and keeping Deku still takes a fair bit of strength, but the shower helped. He tightens his arms, places one of his hands flat on Deku’s abdomen. A nap will help too, for later. But it’s enough for now.
“Haven’t come because of you!” Deku finally gets out. His hole clenches rhythmically, waiting for something it’s been trained to never go without.
“I can fix that,” he says with casual confidence, licking the base of Deku’s cock. “As long as you didn’t touch yourself.”
“I haven’t,” Deku sniffs, and Katsuki’s not sure if it’s because he’s slightly offended or he’s trying not to cry. Or both. Katsuki would take both. “Wanted Kacchan.”
Katsuki shoves his mouth over Deku’s thigh again, biting down. Fuck, but Deku took to the challenge well.
“Said three minutes, earlier,” he reminds. He eyes Deku’s twitching hands and rapidly rising chest, and snickers, delighted beyond all reason to still have this monumental effect on his husband. “You can do it under three, actually.”
“Three?” Deku asks, mind hazy, and then his eyes widen and he reaches down to stop Katsuki. “Wait, wait, Kacchan-”
Katsuki takes him into his throat with a slight smirk.
Deku wails, and his hands dart down like he’s going to yank Katsuki’s head back.
Hell no.
He grabs one, unwilling to remove his other arm, but one is enough to halve Deku’s momentum.
The denial is clear when Katsuki squeezes his hand and then sets it down on Deku’s stomach, letting the weight keep him still. Deku keens a guttural sound, and grabs Katsuki’s shoulder with the other hand. He doesn’t push or pull; he holds on, desperately.
Katsuki removes his hand slowly, obscenely pleased when Deku keeps it in place.
He brings it back down, presses a knuckle right behind Deku’s balls and probes the glans underneath the tip of Deku’s cock with his tongue as he pulls back. He hums, enough to make Deku squirm against the weight of his arm, and considers his options.
If he wants to make that time limit…
To him, it feels like hell.
First time Deku blew him back in high school, he had assumed Katsuki liked it the way he did, and then found out, quite quickly, that the only thing pain does to Katsuki is make his cock get limper than a soggy noodle and his temper higher than Mount Fuji. And his balls are almost too sensitive for anything more than some (not so) heavy petting. The way Deku had taken him in his mouth and tried to touch him…
He still shudders thinking about it sometimes – when he’s not teasing Deku about it, of course.
Deku had been so sorry he started crying, and-
Well.
If there’s one way to make Katsuki full mast nigh immediately, Deku also discovered that quite quickly.
Practically twenty years later, though? Deku is easy money – of course he’s going to win.
Katsuki gets a little sloppy, a little less coordinated. Doesn’t watch his teeth so much, or how open he keeps his mouth, closes a hand around Deku’s balls to tug and squeeze and- ah. There.
Deku jackknifes off the bed, curling around Katsuki’s head with a loud gasp. He can’t even say Katsuki’s name. All the air in his chest is gone, expelled, body trembling. Katsuki squeezes again, teeth carefully scraping against Izuku's skin. And again. And again.
He pulls off two minutes and some number of seconds later, swallowing roughly, tongue and lips faintly sticky. Deku falls back onto the bed, a loud, grating squeak from the mattress accompanying his half-hitching whine. It almost sounds like a sob.
“What’d I say?” he gloats, voice a little rough. He swipes a thumb over his lips, clearing any lingering cum away, and fists his own cock with it – just for a moment, just to get the edge off.
Deku hiccups a little, gasping for air.
So close. Katsuki got so close to making him cry.
He feels that competitive pride building up in his chest, and then the arm banded on top of Deku’s waist to keep him still twinges a little. Later, then.
He still swipes a knuckle from Deku’s hole up to the tip of his still leaking dick, just because he can, because he wants to, because bullying Deku is his favorite pastime. Deku chokes, head digging into the bedspread and eyes squeezed shut.
Katsuki frowns. He crawls up his body, grabbing Deku’s face to tilt it back down. He wants Deku to look at him. He kisses him, grinding against his hip.
“So good,” he says to Deku’s cupid bow, inordinately proud of his husband. “Baby, you’re so good.”
“Kacchan,” Deku manages, gripping the collar of his bathrobe.
Katsuki pulls back before Deku can convince him to finish. They really need to sleep first and his refractory period isn’t nearly as high as Deku’s. He needs to pace himself to make sure he can outlast Deku before he becomes a husk of a man.
“Later,” he says, biting it into Deku’s chest. “I don’t want you falling asleep on my cock again.”
“Your fault,” Deku protests, but lets his hands loosen from the desperate grip on Katsuki. Somewhat. There’s still not a lot of give.
“You liked it.”
“Yeah,” Deku agrees. His feet shift at the reminder, and Katsuki sucks his nipple between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue.
Last time Deku passed out was a month and some days ago, tired from his sixth orgasm in a row, despite needing to hold out for two more. Hence the challenge.
Well, Katsuki says challenge, but Deku treated it like a punishment, not being able to come for days, especially after rough missions. Felt like one to Katsuki, too, since jerking off when his husband was sitting right there in front of him, ripe for the taking, was pretty damn pointless. What’s the point of coming if he can’t stuff Deku full with it?
Still, watching Deku sit there, squirming, covered in his cum and unable to do anything about it was a sight to savor. He grinds harder against Deku, grunting lightly.
“Later,” Deku repeats slightly breathlessly, because he knows the limits of Katsuki’s self-control as well as his own, and yeah, he said later, but Deku is right. Here.
He bites Deku’s nipple, angry at the limits of his own body. He’ll wait, because he said he would, but goddamn is it hard. He pulls back from Deku’s nipple to kiss him on the mouth again.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki says, just because.
“Kacchan is greedy,” Deku mutters, pulling him closer.
That little bit of give vanishes, and Katsuki goes, settling down between Deku’s legs and wrapping his arms tight under his body. They’re not quite on the pillows, but it’s fine. He shoves his face into Deku’s neck, glad the robe is still spread wide enough that all he gets is warm skin.
“Yes,” he mumbles into him, with the same tone he’d say obviously. He could move to a more comfortable, breathable position, but it doesn’t matter – Deku can take his weight. He burrows further in when Deku laughs. “I am greedy. Let me be greedy.”
Deku hums like he’s humoring him, the fuckwad, but he doesn’t prod Katsuki further.
“Nap,” Katsuki says, muscles relaxing. His dick is still hard. He settles more firmly over Deku, forcefully closing his eyes.
“Nap,” Deku repeats, speaking it somewhere in Katsuki’s hair. “Wake me up?”
“You wake me up,” Katsuki grouses, eyes falling close. Deku smells good. Like fresh soap and like Katsuki.
Deku hums something, hands moving lazily over Katsuki’s back and through his hair. It’s not hard, then, to let himself slip asleep, a spare shred of conscious thought left so he can keep listening to his husband sleepily sing to himself.
-
In his light dozing, somewhere between fully falling unconscious and awake enough to crave more warmth, Deku starts shifting again. It pulls Katsuki’s attention up and his eyes open, watching as Deku’s nose crinkles and his mouth opens on a quiet sigh.
“W’time,” he grumbles, muffled against Deku’s skin. He could fall asleep completely, given a few more minutes.
“Moon time,” Deku says back.
Katsuki’s brows furrow. “Hah?”
“Moon’s out. It’s moon time,” Deku says, like it’s a completely normal thing to say.
Katsuki looks to their window, curtains drawn all the way back and open a few inches.
The sun is still out. Late in the evening, about to set in an hour, maybe, but still there. This late into the summer the moon doesn’t come out until deep in the night.
He looks back at Deku’s closed eyes, the soft edge to his smile.
“…Go back to sleep, Deku.”
He hums, stretching his arms wide and with a cute sound before slumping back into the bed. He barely jostled Katsuki with the move. He says on a yawn, “No. Wanna look at Kacchan.”
Despite saying so, his eyes are losing the battle, pathetically so. He keeps peeking at Katsuki through squinted lids and smiling whenever their eyes meet like he’s a baby learning object displacement for the first time.
Katsuki squeezes the bedding underneath his hands, holds it for one, two… fuck it. They had their power nap.
He shifts, moves up with all the leisure of a predator that knows their prey is secure in their clutches and slides his mouth over Deku’s.
Deku hums, eyes closing completely.
“Hungry?” Katsuki asks, leaning on his elbows so he can sink his hands into Deku’s (dry, thank god) hair. He doesn’t pull, not yet, just rests them there because he knows Deku likes the heat, likes to feel each of Katsuki’s fingers pressing against his scalp and holding him.
When Deku gets bad migraines, the ones that leave him unusually quiet and sullen, he’ll patter over to Katsuki on quiet, nervous feet and settle his head in one of his hands. He won’t say anything if he doesn’t have to. He’ll just wait until Katsuki gets the signal and then settles down with a sigh.
Normally Katsuki is working, but being ambidextrous has its perks and he learned to adjust early into their marriage. Early into their relationship too, considering they got married just a few years out high school despite the aneurysm his mom had about it.
Suck that, you shitty hag – sixteen years strong and he still wants to fuck Deku like he’s trying to break his own back.
“No,” Deku says, eyes fluttering open. They settle halfway, green peeking up at Katsuki in a sleepy, and most likely unintentionally (Because Deku can’t flirt on purpose for absolute shit, let alone seduce him – fortunately for Deku, Katsuki is incomprehensibly attracted to all the awkward shit he does. He blames it on his mom.) sultry gaze, locked onto where Katsuki’s lips pull back wet. “Maybe later?”
Katsuki acknowledges him with a kiss. Deku’s legs have fallen open in his relaxation, and Katsuki eases himself back into the welcome space, Deku’s warm, bare thighs pressing against his own. They’d shifted just enough while sleeping that Katsuki was only half on Deku, but Katsuki wants back in.
“Thirsty?”
Deku goes to shake his head, then nods. “A little.”
“Hm.” Katsuki gives him one last lingering kiss then moves to get up.
Deku frowns, and his lax thighs suddenly come up and tighten around Katsuki’s legs, one foot hooking around his calf and the other curling higher, close to his hip.
“I’m okay,” Deku insists, hands gripping the wide collar of the bathrobe. “I’d rather you stay like this. We can get water after.”
Katsuki hovers for only a second before lowering back down to Deku’s body, tucking his face into his neck to bite behind Deku’s ear. “We’ll be too busy for water later. Gotta get you hydrated now so you don’t pass out.”
“That was one time,” Deku sighs, a hand slipping into Katsuki’s hair and eyes closing. “One. And it was really hot that day.”
“Once is too many already,” Katsuki mutters into his mouth, speaking around his kisses. “Who the fuck passes out because they haven’t drunk enough water? You’re a hero, that’s part of your job. Stupid Deku.”
Deku gives him a look, then slips his lips over Katsuki more firmly. It draws his attention, easily, like a horse and its carrot.
Kissing Deku sends sparks down his spine on a normal day, but now, there’s a pile of embers and coals remaking his bones, making a hearth out of his ribs. Touching Deku like this, kissing him like this, no matter where they are, feels like he’s done the impossible and grasped eternity in his hands, made it tangible and tamed it not for himself, but for Deku.
He draws his hands down Deku’s sides, sharing his heat, pushing the robe aside on every pass. His skin is soft, smooth. He veers his hand right, tucks it behind the dip of Deku’s waist to feel for the scar right around… there.
He lingers, until the heat in his palm is high enough to make Deku sigh. Kisses him harder with the softly murmured, Kacchan, he gets in return.
Katsuki moves his hand again, up, to the left, fits his arm into the curve of his back to grasp the other side of Deku’s waist and hike him up higher, tighter. He’s firm underneath him, a hefty weight that slowly pools easy pleasure in his gut each time Deku lets Katsuki move him around. He squeezes his hand in that irresistible dip of his waist, just prominent enough for Katsuki’s hand to spread wide across it, fit his palm directly in it.
Deku accommodates easily, hooking both ankles behind Katsuki’s back. His hips buck, a muffled screech from the bed echoing the move, pressing their cocks firmly against each other and Katsuki’s hands tighten.
“Easy,” he says, and starts a slow grind. Deku’s cock presses against the robe still covering Katsuki’s, but the heat is easy to feel through the thin fabric.
“Don’t want easy,” Deku says back, and does it again, eyes closing in pleasure.
“Easy,” he repeats, and shoves Deku down into the bed with his body, holding him still. “Slow down, De-”
The bed groans, louder than it has all night. It’s a piercing sound, echoing, and it takes more than a few seconds for the bed to stop moving and settle down. They both pause, look at each other.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he sighs, dropping his head into Deku’s neck.
“Kacchan…” Deku starts, muffling his voice against his palm.
Katsuki narrows his eyes, roughly shifts Deku closer to him. He’s not using nearly half of his strength, or most of his body weight. He just manhandles Deku into a better position, and fucking Christ – the bed squeaks again, a loud, horrendous, rusty grind of the springs and bed frame and Deku is gone.
Damn, he wishes his cock was in him if he’s laughing like this. Although, looking at Deku, maybe not. He doesn’t want it squeezed off.
He tosses his head back, hands clutching at Katsuki’s shoulders and knees squeezing up. Katsuki can’t tell if he’s snorting or giggling or some gross combination in between.
His lips twitch.
“Deku,” he growls, purposefully low. He grinds their hips together, exaggerating the movement, and can’t tamp down his smile when the loud bed sends Deku into another fit.
“I can’t, I can’t, Kacchan,” Deku gets out. “The bed, Kacchan, the bed.”
“Bet this is what my grandma sounds like when she’s fucking.”
Deku throws his head forward again, eyes comically wide. He tries to hide it, but Katsuki can see the laughter dimpling his cheeks. He leans down and kisses them, ignoring Deku’s shaking.
“Kacchan!” he tries, but a snort escapes him before he can slap a hand over his mouth.
“What? That woman is a Bakugou, her libido is insane. Did I tell you about the time in junior high when I walked in on her and-”
“Kacchan, stop talking!” Deku yanks his head aside to kiss him, but he sucks at it because despite wanting Katsuki to shut up, he can’t stop laughing.
It’s contagious. As he gets older, he finds it’s harder to deny Deku most things, but especially his joy.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you shut up,” he mutters, snorting when Deku jabs a finger into his side.
“Kacchan, we can’t,” Deku says, eyes crinkling at the corners where wrinkles have started to make a home. Katsuki bends down to kiss them, snorting when the movement makes the bed squeak again. They’re lucky no one’s banged on their wall yet. Maybe they don’t have hotel neighbors, or maybe they’re deaf.
Both would be good considering how fucking loud Deku gets.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t do it on the bed, it’s too loud.”
Katsuki tilts his head to consider it, as if he’s not already sneaking hands under Deku’s leg and back to pull him tight against his body. “Like you’re not just as loud. Is the reminder of grandma a turn off?”
“Kacchan- woah!”
He sweeps him off the bed and down to the open space of floor next to it, tugging the loose robe around Deku so his head isn’t lying on the hotel floor. “Oi, gimme your arms.”
Deku moves, still smiling, and slips his arms out of the sleeves, letting Katsuki spread the bathrobe wide beneath him so not a single bit of bare skin touches the floor.
“You know, there’s a perfectly usable – well, I won’t say perfectly, because it could be like the bed – but there’s a couch over there.”
“Who’s the greedy one now?” Katsuki says, untying his robe and wadding it up. He fits a hand under Deku’s head and lifts, placing it underneath. It’s a thin, shitty robe but better than nothing. “That’s for later.”
“Later? How many times…?”
Katsuki shrugs. Does it even matter? Until he is physically incapacitated, or Deku asks him to, he’ll keep his dick in Deku for as long as possible.
“Does the hotel even have lube?”
Katsuki gives him a look. “Really?”
“Why do you look disappointed in me?”
“Deku, pass me my bag.”
“Duffel?”
“Backpack.”
Deku tilts his head back, stretching an arm out and using Black Whip to snag Katsuki’s bag and drag it to them.
Katsuki uses the distraction to run his hands down Deku’s bare body, not stopping until he gets both hands on Deku’s thighs and spreads them. What a fucking sight. He’s about to duck his head down when Deku makes a triumphant sound.
“Got it!”
“First pocket – no, the middle one. Yeah,” Katsuki tells him when the bag is within reach.
“What am I looking for – really, Kacchan?”
“Oi, you don’t look disappointed in me. I hate fucking with only spit, you know that.”
Deku raises an eyebrow, then pulls out the large bottle of lube they normally keep in their house. “Really?”
“You got something to say to me, nerd?” Katsuki ducks down, hiding his smile in the crease of Deku’s hip and thigh.
“Was the big bottle necessary? We have travel size bottles for a reason, Kacchan. That would have been sufficient.”
Katsuki snorts, kisses down Deku’s thigh to his knee, sitting up as he pulls back.
“Sufficient,” he repeats, draping Deku’s knee over his left shoulder and cocking his head to the side to watch how easily his husband spreads open for him. So willing, his husband. So easy.
His.
He kisses Deku’s knee with a slight turn of his head, never breaking eye contact.
He’s going to turn Deku purple and blue, carve himself into his body, because he’s his, because he’s Katsuki’s husband, because since the fight ended and the adrenaline wore off and Deku shot him his stupid, familiar, and exhausted smile Katsuki’s chest has been hurting with every minute he went without touching him or hearing his voice.
It's not often, at least not anymore, where Katsuki is starkly reminded that between one second and the next, they could lose each other, that for all their power, their strength, the hard-earned wisdom and experience, their job is still to play the shield for society.
He owns Deku just as much as Japan does, as the world does, as a cat in a tree to a person crying out for help in a burning building does. Less, even, considering how much their work bleeds into their life. He signed up for this, they both did, and they both know it.
It doesn’t lessen the ache anymore when Deku barely dodges the wrong kind of blow, when he takes a heavy hit meant to shatter bones. Especially not when they’re already so tired and one slip-up becomes the end all be all before they start choosing urns.
But he wants his mark to be permanent.
He wants it to last beyond death.
He wants it to be known that without a doubt, no matter how much Deku gave and gave and gave, he still came to rest at Katsuki’s side; he still chose, every day, from the moment they met to the day they finally go out in a quick and painful death, to be Katsuki’s.
His grip tightens, ring digging painfully into Deku’s knee.
Deku is his, no matter how many pieces of his soul the world tries to claim. He’ll house what’s left of Deku until the heat death of the universe comes to claim him, too.
So, it doesn’t matter, not when Deku is under him, alive and breathing, and here, here, here.
Doesn’t fucking matter that the bed is shit or it’s on the floor of a hotel hours and hours away from home or that they both barely got any sleep and they still ache down to their bones. As long as it’s him and his husband, nothing else matters.
It must show in his expression because Deku quiets watching him, soft smile and wide eyes shifting to something wordless, fiercer. His hands squeeze around the bottle, so Katsuki reaches down, takes it from him and sets it to the side of their bodies with a firm tap. Deku’s eyes flick between the way Katsuki’s fingers linger on the bottle and his face.
Katsuki turns his head, sucks a hickey into the thick muscle right above his knee and grips tight when Deku’s thigh flinches reflexively. His cock twitches, resting against his stomach and wet at the tip. Katsuki doesn’t hide his staring.
“Deku,” he murmurs into his skin, warm under his lips. “I’m not going for sufficient.”
Deku licks his lips, restless.
“I want to make my husband such a mess,” he says, pressing down, a hand settling right next to Deku’s head, “that everybody who sees him knows he got fucked within an inch of his life not once, not twice, but until the moon gave up first. I want to make a goddam puddle out of his spine, make him taint his tongue with my name, exchange his freckles for my teeth marks, make his hole as sloppy and wrecked as possible from my cock alone.”
He bites up Deku’s jaw, grinding his dick against Deku’s ass. “I want to make you beg for mercy knowing you’ll never get it. Does that sound sufficient to you?”
“No,” Deku manages, throat hoarse. And Katsuki hasn’t even touched him with his fingers yet.
“Then what does it sound like?”
Deku wraps his arms around his neck, breath damp and warm against Katsuki’s skin. He shivers, and Katsuki feels it transfer down his spine, curls his fingers into a tighter grip until his ring leaves an imprint in both their bodies.
“It sounds like you love me,” he whispers, tugging him closer. “Love me, Kacchan?”
What is Katsuki supposed to say to that?
Deku makes the choice for him, consuming his breath and his thoughts, licking up into his mouth until spit is dripping past their lips.
“Turn,” he says, and Deku shakes his head.
Katsuki frowns. “Turn. Gonna prep you.”
Deku shakes his head again, and sneaks a hand down between them, smoothing along his stomach. His knuckles and the tip of his fingernails drag along Katsuki’s skin. He doesn’t pull back to give him space – there’s already too much growing between them the further Deku’s arm goes.
“I can reach,” Deku murmurs.
Katsuki frowns harder. “Hey. Don’t be selfish.”
“Selfish?” Deku’s breath hitches, thumb skirting down the underside of his cock.
“Yeah. Selfish.” He stares down at Deku’s face, intense and probing.
Deku rolls his tongue over his bottom lip, and Katsuki takes it as the invitation it is. He rubs their tongues together, gross and warm and wet, rough from all the times Deku’s anxiously bitten on it. He sucks as he pulls back and moves down to Deku’s chin, the curve of his jaw, drawing his tongue along his skin.
“How?” Deku finally asks, hand moving lower, brushing over his balls. He lets out a tremulous breath at the sudden bite and tilts his face into Katsuki’s teeth.
“Was gonna eat you out,” he admits. “Been a while.”
Deku moans audibly, pressing a dry finger to his hole. His arm isn’t moving enough so Katsuki knows he’s only playing with himself, applying pressure then backing off before a single centimeter can slip inside.
He still fists the robe next to Deku’s head anyway, jealous beyond belief.
That’s his job, his privilege. Deku has no right.
No right.
“Later?” He flips his grip, trailing fingers up Katsuki’s cock instead.
“Now.” He tilts into Deku’s touch, aching. There’s already been one too many “laters” tonight alone.
“But,” Deku breathes, fingers swirling over the sticky head of Katsuki’s cock, “I want you in me now.”
Jesus Christ.
“Then. Turn. Over,” he growls, and finally loses enough patience to do it himself.
It’s too much of a hassle, Deku’s limbs going everywhere they shouldn’t, but he finally settles his rowdy husband with a palm to the middle of his back, belly down, knees spread wide.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, and because Deku laughs at him, he pours the lube directly onto Deku’s hole without warming it up. Little shit.
“Hey!”
“Shut up.”
“Kacchan is mean.”
“The sky is blue.”
“And your dad is ho-oh!”
Katsuki’s thumb presses in and holds the space he makes for it.
“What was that?”
“Um,” Deku says, and pushes back on it instead. “Faster?”
“Nice fucking try.”
Deku snickers, all too pleased with himself and stretching his spine out like a fat cat. He rubs his face into the robe under his head, smiling.
Goddamnit.
Katsuki tugs on his rim as he pulls his thumb out, grumbling to himself.
Stupid husband. Stupid attractive husband. Fucking nerd. Fucking shitnerd stupid attractive husband.
The lube warms up quickly on his fingers, and because he’s feeling petty, he presses two to Deku’s hole immediately.
“Relax,” he says when Deku tenses in surprise, and presses in.
“Kacchan,” Deku says, a little shocked. Serves him right.
“Relax,” he emphasizes, hooking his fingers against Deku’s smooth walls as he pulls back. He pushes back in and effortlessly adds another finger. Deku doesn’t even notice. Much.
He melts into the familiar stretch, hands reaching up in front of him, calling Katsuki’s name.
“Good,” he praises lowly, and the fourth goes in just as easy, even with Deku’s rougher breaths, with his restless fingers and twitching thighs. “That’s good, baby. Let me in. Breathe.”
Deku sighs at the praise, and the restlessness building in his spine eases out of him. He breathes out while Katsuki pushes in, back rolling under Katsuki’s palm. He’s warm, a little damp, sweating already.
When he takes a deep breath in, Katsuki slides his palm down from Deku’s back to his hole and nudges his thumb against Deku’s already stretched rim.
“Ready? Been a bit.”
“Yeah,” Deku sighs. “C’mon, Kacchan. Ready.”
Katsuki gives a questioning hum. He should ignore Deku and eat him out anyway.
He slips his thumb in alongside his fingers, shivering at Deku’s answering groan, the way his shoulders shudder a little, fingers clenching in the robe.
“Look at this,” he mutters to himself. “When’s the last time I fisted you?”
“Birth- my birthday.”
“Too long ago.”
“Kacchan,” Deku calls, breathless when Katsuki stretches his fingers wide while pulling them back, his thumb dragging against Deku’s rim. “Don’t care. Want you now. Later, do that later. I want-”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, reluctantly pulling his fingers out of Deku. Fuck, he really wanted to eat him out, though. And that gape, Deku’s constant twitching, just open enough to take Katsuki’s cock. He wipes the leftover lube on his cock, the wet sounds of his fist piquing Deku’s curiosity.
He twists his spine a little, tries to look back and watch Katsuki jerk himself off.
“Eyes forward,” he barks, loud and sudden enough to make Deku jump. He snickers, squirts more lube onto his hand.
“Hey!”
“Easy,” he says, and the only reason Deku stops bitching is the feel of Katsuki’s cock rubbing against his ass.
But not against his hole, and if he knows Deku, then his husband, pent-up and unsatisfied, is going to take severe offense to that. But goddamn is his husband’s ass fat, moving perfectly along with Katsuki’s cock. He could come like this, between Deku’s cheeks, cover him in weeks’ worth of cum just to start it all off.
“You really do have a cute asshole,” he says.
“Kacchan,” Deku groans, like he’s about to start clutching his hair to wail and gnash his teeth. “Hurry up.”
“No. Wanna take a picture.”
“Our phones are dead, Kacchan, so put it- in!” Deku’s voice hitches when the tip of Katsuki’s cock finally, finally breaches him.
“Like this?”
“If you give me only the tip, Kacchan, I swear-”
“Chill, Deku.” He grabs a handful of Deku’s ass, leans down to kiss Deku’s burning, red neck, nudges his head aside to get to his cheek as well. “I got you.”
And then he pulls away and pushes his cock in, settles a steady grip in the divot between Deku’s hip and thigh, the other soothing down Deku’s flank.
“Oh,” Deku breathes, and all the tension melts straight out of his body. He makes another noise, long and low with every slow centimeter he takes. Deku is meeting god, it sounds like, which is nice, he guesses, because compared to Katsuki-
“Jesus fuck,” he hisses, and has to stop halfway not because Deku needs adjusting, but because Katsuki is seriously, really, actually going to bust his nut right now if he doesn’t.
“Kacchan?” Deku asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says through grit teeth. He’s clenching so hard onto Deku’s hips for a lifeline that he’s worried he’ll give him permanent damage.
But Deku is Deku, and he only sighs at the increased pressure.
Fuck.
“Breathe, Kacchan,” Deku teases, and Katsuki glares at his back, contemplates spitting on it for lack of anything else that would annoy him that also wouldn’t make Katsuki have to take his dick out.
“I’m going to spit on you,” Katsuki informs him, tongue tight and eyebrows furrowed, and inches forward at the exact moment Deku clenches up, excited.
“Yeah?” Deku asks, hopeful, and fuck. Fuck!
“Fuck!” he bursts out, leaning down to drop his forehead onto his back instead. “Can you fucking not!”
“Kacchan,” Deku laughs, and then gasped, cut off halfway, “Kacchan!”
Katsuki grinds his jaw, trying is damnedest to ride out the wave of suddenly pushing into Deku the rest of the way. Fucking hell.
He should’ve taken that handy from Deku earlier.
Deku’s shoulders shake under him, failing to catch his breath at the sudden pressure and weight of Katsuki’s cock fully hilted inside him, and Katsuki can only vindictively smile. Deserved.
“Th-three,” Deku gasps.
Katsuki immediately frowns. Pulls his hips back. The pressure slowly eases, and he blows a slow breath out as he gains his control back. It’s too early to come right now. Deku doesn’t deserve it. “What?”
Deku shudders out an exhale. He presses his face into the robe, forearms bent and hands clutching desperately at the fabric on either side of his face, but his voice rings clear. “You were right about the three minutes. I could get you in under two, even, just like this.”
“Deku,” he warns, tracing a finger around Deku’s sensitive, stretched taut, and deliciously pink rim. No longer immediately about to blow his load, and a little pissed at Deku’s teasing, he asks, “You sure you wanna play this game?”
“Kacchan started it,” Deku mumbles. “I still have a chance.”
“Not a chance in hell, baby,” he says, and slams back in.
Deku makes a noise, and then lightly laughs at himself directly after. “Kacchan, you always make me- ah-”
“Make you what?”
“Make weird noises.” His spine stretches out, back held tight to brace himself against Katsuki’s heavy pace.
“Not weird.”
“Yes, it is. Embarrassing. So loud.”
“Nah, it’s hot. Really hot.”
Deku rolls his face into his arms, muffling himself, like he doesn’t believe him. Katsuki’s brow furrows, and he pulls back, angles himself a little. Waits for Deku to start talking again.
He will. He always does. Gets mouthy while Katsuki fucks him until he loses place of his tongue and every big word rattling around in his skull, dependent on Katsuki to find them for him.
“What, it’s hot, me choking on my- oh my god, stop, wait, slow, slow, I can’t talk, Kacchan-”
“That’s what I mean,” he groans. “You making sounds like that? Gonna make me bust.”
Deku laughs, the sound hitching when Katsuki reaches down to grab under Deku’s knee, push it up so he’s spread wide and open. It pulls his face out of his arms, his torso off the ground, just a single knee to keep him steady against Katsuki fucking back into him.
He wobbles, but Katsuki’s got him. He’d take both legs off the ground if he didn’t want to keep at least one hand on Deku’s skin as bad as he does.
“Like this?” Deku gasps.
Katsuki grunts, sliding back in smooth. “For now.”
“’Kay.” His head hangs down, between his shoulders, and he breathes, “Wanna kiss Kacchan.”
“I hate you,” Katsuki says vehemently and with feeling. It’s more embarrassing that he immediately flips Deku onto his back than the fact that he almost came as soon as he slid his cock into Deku. “Fuck you.”
“Please.”
“Whore.” He pushes in as he says it, and groans right against Deku’s cheek.
“Yeah.” Deku damn near cheers his agreement, the pure joy of being able to see Katsuki’s face making him more agreeable than the aftermath of spending hours hanging out with Toshinori. Either he’s having a heart attack, or Katsuki has only grown more susceptible to his husband’s joy.
Fuck, his chest hurts. He rubs his knuckles over his sternum, grunting at the dull pain. It’s no help.
Deku raises a happy eyebrow, and Katsuki almost, almost, flips him off.
“Fucking slut,” he says instead, mumbling it under his breath the same way he says damned nerd. “Shit ass dweeb. Hate you.”
“Kacchan’s slut?” Deku breathes, laughing a little. He’s wormed his hands right around Katsuki’s neck, thumbs tapping excitedly at the crook behind his ear and shifting his hips impatiently.
Katsuki sneers, takes the hint, and starts rolling his hips deep into Deku again.
Talking to Deku high off having cock in his ass is useless. He admits to and says things that would have to be waterboarded out of him otherwise. And even then.
Katsuki leans down and kisses him to quiet his nonsense, long used to the curl of warmth he gets at Deku’s pleased noise.
Those sweaty fingers gripping the back of his head loosen, all of Deku’s attention and focus moved to the movement of their lips.
It’s been a long time since they’ve spent so much time together, fucking or otherwise. The whole month without a single day to just rest by his husband started getting on his nerves the closer and closer to the raid they got. The quick jerk off sessions in between did nothing to alleviate that want. He missed him.
Katsuki grunts, increases the pressure of their mouths. His lips buzz, echoed by Deku’s sweet sigh.
He needs more. Of Deku, of this, of time. Maybe, on the way back, they can get food. Go to a park. Something. Anything.
“Kacchan,” he murmurs against his lips. That buzz increases, a beehive directly in his ears. Katsuki licks his lips, swallowing dry when all he gets is the lingering taste of Deku. “What are you thinking about?”
“Wanna take you out,” he huffs, shifting weight to the hand by Deku’s head so he can curl an arm under his waist. He lifts him up, clutches him close.
“Out? Me?” Deku repeats.
“Who fucking else? Dumbass.” He rolls his hips into Deku a little sharper, inhaling deep from the crook of Deku’s neck.
“Oh. Want a date with Kacchan.”
“Been a while.” He grunts through Deku’s fluttering, squeezing grip around his cock. His fingers slip from Deku’s waist, sweaty, and he readjusts, going down to a single elbow.
“I asked you out, last date,” Deku gasps between thrusts. His head tips back as much it can on the floor, throat bobbing. Katsuki presses his lips to his Adam’s apple, feels the vibrations as he speaks.
“Yeah,” Katsuki groans. Fuck, Deku clenched up. “Couple months ago. My turn.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Lemme show you off?”
Deku hums, needy and wanting. “Me?”
Katsuki huffs. He’s literally fucking his husband stupid.
“Yes,” he repeats, emphasizing each word with a snap of his hips. “Who. Fucking. Else.”
“Okay,” Deku moans, biting it into the arm Katsuki has curled around his head, nose jamming in the crook of his elbow. “’Kay. Kacchan, yeah, yeah, okay.”
“Yeah?” He bites the side of Deku’s neck, hikes Deku’s waist higher.
“Yeah.” The word trembles in the air, and Katsuki turns his face out of Deku’s neck to eat the next one. He pushes himself higher, closer, to have direct access to Deku’s mouth, and the adjustment makes Deku moan, flutter around his cock. He’s squeezing the life out of Katsuki’s ribs with his thighs, slipping against his sweaty skin.
Katsuki grins.
“Like this?”
Again, Deku demands wordlessly, mouthing the words against Katsuki’s cheek. Again, again, he agrees, just like this.
“Should fuck you then, too,” he mutters to himself. “Really show you off.”
Deku squirms, uncomfortable, and Katsuki pulls his head back to bite his cheek, soothing it with his tongue after.
“Kacchan,” he complains, nose wrinkling a little at the wet feeling. He better get used to it fast today.
“What? Scared?”
“Just wanna be Kacchan’s.”
“You are. No one else will touch you.”
“They’ll see me.”
“Fuck," he mutters, because just the idea of it... "Yeah, yeah, baby. See how good you look writhing on my cock, how stupid you get, all flushed and pretty, all because of me. Hear you crying for me, just me, no one else. Gonna let me show you off?”
Deku squirms again, panting a little. The tip of his cheeks have darkened, and Katsuki scrapes his teeth over it, desperate to have the color sit on the roof of his mouth so he can taste Deku’s desire whenever he wants.
“Dunno,” he groans, fingers digging into Katsuki’s side. He got tighter the moment Katsuki started talking about it. Squeezing, twitching, his cock leaking onto his stomach. He won’t meet Katsuki’s eyes. “Sounds weird.”
“Won’t then,” Katsuki says simply, kissing his temple and panting into his hair. Too bad, but it’s not like this isn’t enough. “Gonna keep all of you just for me then. Take care of you just like this, baby.”
“But Kacchan wants it?”
“Yeah. Kacchan wants it.”
Deku’s head tilts back, a whine keening out at Katsuki’s simple, honest words, at the deep, grinding thrusts, the manic want in his eyes when Deku finally connects their gazes.
“Then Kacchan,” he pants, grinding his head back and forth on the robe. He groans it out into Katsuki’s forearm. Fuck. Fuck, Deku likes the idea. “Then Kacchan should do it.”
“Do what.”
“Fuck me in front of everybody.”
Katsuki swallows rough. Says, “You don’t like it.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I will,” he insists. “Kacchan can do anything he wants to me.”
“Fuck,” he groans, curling desperately over Deku’s body. He wraps both arms tight around Deku’s waist, digging his head into Deku’s sternum and arching Deku’s back and legs off the floor. His pace picks up, not hindered the least by all of Deku’s weight in his lower half resting solely in his arms.
“I’d like it because it’s Kacchan. Kacchan can do it. Will you do it?”
Fuck, he just doesn’t fucking shut up.
“Yeah,” he gruffly manages. He blinks the spots in his eyes away, tilts his head back to watch Deku’s eyes scrunch up. “Yeah, baby. I’ll take care of you. Won’t be scared or nothin’, I’ll make you feel so good, baby.”
“I know,” Deku says, breathless, excited. “I know. It’s Kacchan.”
Katsuki pulls back to sit on his heels, sweat dripping down his brow. He keeps both hands wrapped around Deku’s waist as he moves, keeps that little arch in his back so he can get the full expanse of Deku’s flushed, trembling body seared into his mind. He shuffles his knees wider, then pushes up to hang Deku off his cock.
“Oh,” Deku gasps at the move. His arms had slipped away when Katsuki first moved but they grip his wrists now. His legs curl tight and desperate around Katsuki’s waist, feet locking behind him. “Oh.”
Katsuki bodily moves him closer to his cock, careful since Deku’s head is the only thing touching the ground right now. “There?”
“There,” Deku groans. He presses a hand to his cock, holding it against his stomach like he’s trying not to come. His fingers tremble, like even that much contact is too much.
“Gonna come?”
“Kacchan,” Deku says instead. “Yeah. Maybe- I don’t- ah, Kacchan, it feels- there’s so much of you Kacchan, I can feel you in my throat.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, and rips his eyes away from Deku’s face to watch his cock mercilessly stretch Deku apart. His rim is shiny, nearly disappearing when he pushes in, but yielding, gaping around Katsuki’s cock on every pull back, sticky and red.
He clumsily pushes Deku’s hand away from his cock so it stops obstructing his view. He squeezes his hands further in on Deku’s waist, indenting his thumbs in Deku’s abdomen. He draws his cock out, firms his grip on Deku, and slowly, slowly, pushes back in, like he’s notching the head of his cock along every bump and curve of Deku’s walls.
And under his thumbs, hardly visible in the low light of the sun, but moving, he watches with his own eyes as the shape of his cock buries itself at the base of Deku’s spine, deep inside, right up to his bellybutton.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Look at this shit,” Katsuki huffs, pride and rightfully earned cockiness dripping from every word. “We’re damn near perfect for each other, hah?”
Deku shivers, hands gripping Katsuki’s wrists even as his neck bends back.
“What?” he half gasps, half laughs.
“Look,” Katsuki prompts, squeezing Deku’s waist in one hand harder so he can shift over slightly and press his thumb down.
In this position and this angle, he can see his cock bulging against Deku’s stomach, even through the layers of muscle and fat and skin. Right there – Katsuki’s cock carving a way through Deku, both inside and out.
He really is the greatest at everything.
Idly, he wonders what Deku would look like with a bellybutton piercing, what he’d look like with Katsuki’s cock settling deep inside of Deku, right under that piercing. Wonder if he held Deku like this, waist at a sharp angle, hanging directly off his cock, if he could get it to move, to glint in the low light, to have indelible proof just how deep Katsuki is claiming him.
Fuck, Deku would look so hot with a piercing, any piercing. Belly button, trailing up and down his ears, a ladder up his cock, his tongue, that stupid fucking tongue that never shuts up, that laves over Katsuki like he’s a devout worshipper resting at the altar of his god.
One with a little charm, a piece of jewelry, something to directly resemble Katsuki, so that every word thoughtlessly shared is tainted with him, so that Deku can never escape him, even while he’s breathing.
Fuck.
Black and orange, for sure. Tongue or belly button, both if he really likes it.
Something small, not dangling or loose, so it wouldn’t get caught on Deku’s costume, but big enough that Katsuki would be able to feel it through all the fabric when he hauls Deku in by the waist, could rub his thumb over his belly and press against it when they’re sitting together. Could force Deku’s mouth open to take his fingers so he can tug at it and his tongue, kiss him breathless so his mouth falls open on display, cover it in Katsuki’s spit.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe two kanji, instead of a symbol or a plain jewel. Or just one, even.
Victory, settled into Deku’s body, literally ingrained in his skin.
He won. Deku is his.
Deku can take his ring off, does all the time for their job. Gives it to Katsuki to safekeep when he can.
He’d never take the piercing out. Not without risk of it closing.
Katsuki groans, rough and loud. He squeezes Deku’s waist so tight the skin on his hands hurt, that the muscles beneath his thumb protest the force.
Deku flings a hand down, whining.
“You’re lucky you married me,” he mumbles over Deku’s sharp sound and inhale. No one else is insane enough to handle his husband and all the potential stuffed in every inch of his body. He fixes his grip, properly holding him up again. He grinds his hips selfishly. It’s too much, too good.
“Wh-what?” Deku tries lifting his head off the floor to look at him, the beginning of a breathless laugh bubbling out.
“I said what I fucking said.” He smooths both his thumbs up and down, watches the way Deku’s skin presses and pushes to follow the movement, the way the bulge moves with every grind of his hips. “You got me with you for the rest of your life, and that includes my cock. You’re gonna die happily, whether you like it or not.”
That seems to do it.
Deku laughs, hands folded on his stomach right on top of the slight protrusion. His body shakes, head tipped back and throat bared. He’s fucking begging for a scar of Katsuki’s teeth at this point. “I love you, Kacchan.”
He says it unprompted, eyes closed, cheeks high in a great, big smile, missing the way Katsuki’s breathing stops.
He laughs again, a soft noise. “I really, really love you, Kacchan, you know?”
He opens his eyes, meeting Katsuki’s heavy gaze, and the shallow, second dimple that almost never shows is visible – he’s smiling so hard. Because of Katsuki.
He lowers Deku’s hips and waist, sets him on his knees so he can lay chest to chest with Deku and reach his mouth. He doesn’t close his eyes, can’t when he kisses him, when he draws his tongue across Deku’s bottom lip and to his cheek. He needs to see.
Deku hums, delighted.
“I love you,” he repeats again, softer, right against Katsuki’s lips. “Love you, I love you, I love you Kacchan. I really, really do.”
He accepts the kisses that Katsuki interrupts each declaration with full of easy joy.
It’s so easy for Katsuki now. So, so easy. To live, to breathe, to look at his husband like this, to say the kinds of things his youth could not permit him, the kinds of things he needs Deku to know past the barrier of his bones.
“I can’t live without you,” Katsuki says, quiet and serious and sure, the same way Deku says I love you. He says it straight into Deku’s mouth, for the words to be received anywhere else would be-
His breath catches, a little.
He’s never uttered such words in the presence of someone else, could never even think of a situation where he’d give them willingly to anybody else. Not when Deku has carved those words out of every breath and every insult and every glare that Katsuki’s had to give, pieced them together to form something beyond the shallow, surface meaning.
Not when no one else has earned them.
Deku smiles, pushing both hands into Katsuki’s hair. His breath eases at the touch, at Deku’s warm, familiar smile.
“Guess you’re lucky you married me then, huh?” Deku says, cheeky and rosy and so fucking tempting.
Katsuki snorts, kisses him quiet before pushing back up. Deku has no clue just how fucking right he is.
“Where are you going?” Deku asks, fingers digging in futilely. His eyes trail down Katsuki’s body as he draws back, fixating on the large vein leading down his pelvis and to his cock hidden in Deku’s body. His crooked finger trails it absentmindedly, getting closer and closer to his hole on every caress.
“Hey,” he says, grinding his cock back in, welcoming the heat that hadn’t even had a chance to recede. “Eyes up here.”
It’s always there, simmering in the background, ready for whenever Deku is ready, and it’s not hard to take ahold of that desire now when his heart is beating out of his chest. He stares down and catches Deku’s gaze, licking a canine as he pulls back from root to tip.
Deku whimpers a little and immediately slaps a hand against his mouth in embarrassment.
“You’re so hot, this is not fair,” he mumbles into his palm. Like a little boy whose crush just said hi to him, Deku’s ears immediately turn red, flushed cheeks glowing a darker pink. Katsuki wants to chuck him across the room.
“Is too,” Katsuki says, frowning in offense, eyebrows scrunching incredulously. Deku has no idea how much worse Katsuki has it. He shifts back, gripping the thighs strangling his waist and grunting quietly as he pushes Deku wide open so he can see everything. His cock jerks, still a couple inches deep in Deku’s twitching hole. “Look at what I’m dealing with.”
“That is in no way compara- hngh.”
“Is too,” he repeats, scowling, because did he or did he not almost bust a nut not even a minute after pushing into Deku’s ass? Fuck that noise.
He starts moving them around, shuffling in place to get into position. Katsuki doesn’t want to play nice anymore; it’s his turn to be selfish, to make Deku give him what he wants. He lifts Deku’s leg up onto his right shoulder the same time he pushes in, scooting his knees closer.
“Ka-!”
“That’s it, baby.”
Deku is red again, down to his cute tits.
He was going to draw this out but even Katsuki has his limits.
He ducks down, sucks Deku’s nipple harshly and pulls back with his teeth.
“Lift,” he grunts once Deku made a loud enough sound, and bodily moves Deku closer, sliding his hand down Deku’s thigh with a mean grip until he can reach under his knee.
“What- what’re you doing?” Deku gasps, hands scrabbling for Katsuki’s shoulders.
“It’ll be easier for your back,” Katsuki says, moving Deku’s other leg to his left shoulder and knowing that Deku knows that he knows he’s full of shit. It lifts Deku’s hips completely off the ground, ass pressed as close to Katsuki’s cock as it can get, cradled on his thighs with his spine bent and strained under the heavy weight of Katsuki’s body. “Less of a strain, hm?”
“You liar,” Deku tries to say, but Katsuki cuts him off with his cock, watching greedily how Deku can’t seem to keep control over his expressions or his voice anymore. Perfect position. “This will just put more strain – ah – more strain on my- my-!”
“Your?” Katsuki asks, smirking when Deku tries to talk again. He interrupts him with a rough thrust. Pressed this close, thighs under Deku’s body, gravity does half the work. He draws away and falls back into Deku’s burning hole like a magnet, the sharp clap of their skin meeting almost as loud as the sounds Deku is making.
“More strain on my- oh my god, Kacchan,” he moans, frustrated but feeling too good to do anything about it. His hands clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders, almost too tight. He’ll have bruises there later. They’ll be visible while in uniform.
His pace picks up at the thought. He’ll just have to make sure Deku’s are equally visible. Can’t lose, refuses to, especially when his uniform shows a hell of a lot more skin than Deku’s does.
“More strain on what? Speak up, baby.”
“You- you bastard,” Deku wheezes, neck straining as he rolls his head back and forth on the ground roughly, oddly angled from being bent at the waist and pressed further into the floor with every thrust.
Katsuki ducks down, eating the groan out of Deku’s mouth when it stretches his leg and his hole more. Fuck, he’s even tighter like this.
His hand clamps tighter to the thigh he’s practically hugging to his chest now. He spreads his fingers wide on the floor to keep some semblance of balance with his other hand. No use in breaking Deku’s hips right away. He’ll need him for later, after they’ve taken a break. Maybe.
Depends on how riled up Deku gets him.
“You got a dirty fuckin’ mouth, don’t you,” he mutters right against Deku’s lips. He licks the saliva from the kiss away but doesn’t bother keeping it clean. He leaves a wet trail across his cheek as he bites away from his lips and back. Katsuki can make him dirtier.
“Kacchan,” Deku can only say, desperately.
“Yeah?”
“Kacchan!” He tugs at Katsuki’s neck instead of clarifying, the very tips of his cheekbones a deep, deep red, the rest of his face slowly following suit.
Katsuki hums, dips his head down and digs his teeth right into Deku’s neck below his jaw. His teeth settle in a blunt but deep hold, and he has to consciously watch his strength, to make sure his jaw doesn’t lock because finally. Finally.
His breath bursts out of him, rough and through his nose, as he rolls his tongue around the muscle and skin swelling between his teeth.
He squeezes his jaw, increases the pressure without breaking skin, and sucks, hard enough that the bruise to come out of it will look big enough to be confused with a work injury. If it wasn’t for the deeply intimate placement, and the red ring of his teeth surrounding it, that is. There’s no hiding Katsuki’s marks. Not this time.
Deku groans, loud and in his ear, sweaty hands slipping from his neck only to move into Katsuki’s hair.
“Wait, wait, my neck,” he says, rushed and strained.
Katsuki slows, largely unwilling, but pulls back to see his face anyway. “What?”
“My neck, ah,” Deku gasps, still clutching tight to Katsuki, still fluttering around him. Jesus fuck. “Pillow.”
Katsuki grunts, moves to change positions again. He’ll just support him with his knees like he’s been doing – the bed is too damn far away.
But Deku grabs his wrist, shaking his head. “No, wanna stay like this.”
He flushes as he says it, but his eyes are firm, his other hand glued to Katsuki’s waist to keep him inside even as they pause.
Katsuki’s lips twitch. Knew this was the perfect position.
Despite the neck problem, but on a bed it’d have been fine.
Fuck these shitty hotels.
“Gonna have to get up to get another one then, baby,” Katsuki grits out, unable to help his hips jerking forward. “Gotta let me go.”
Deku’s shoulders twitch, eyes fluttering close for a moment. He shakes his head back and forth in denial, digs his fingers deeper into Katsuki’s skin.
“I can, I-” he tries to say, blinking slowly. “Ah, I can get one.”
Katsuki starts moving again, slow enough it won’t strain Deku’s neck anymore, but deep, full, pulling out from base to tip and then pushing back in smoothly, feeding his cock to him.
“Wait, Kacchan,” Deku almost whines, letting go of Katsuki’s waist to cover his face.
Katsuki continues rolling deep into Deku’s body, hips tapping gently against his ass.
“Hm?”
“Slow, slow a bit, I need to focus.”
So, he was going to use Black Whip again. Hm.
Katsuki pushes up on his hands, sliding the one on Deku’s thigh down so he can get a full view of him.
“This is slow,” he says, pulling back. “Look.”
He starts fucking only the tip in, shallow thrusts that tug at the rim and make Deku squirm.
Over and over and over again, the constant pressure right at the tip of his cock flushing his face and sending goosebumps down Deku’s skin.
“Hng, wait.” Deku rolls his head away, staring desperately at the abandoned bed.
Now that’s rude.
He adjusts his weight to one hand so he can slip his right behind Deku’s neck and fist his hair, forcefully tilting his head down. He lets go once Deku gasps, sharp and high, spreading his fingers wide on the back of Deku’s neck to keep him there. His thumb stretches across Deku’s face, digs into his hollow cheeks until he can feel the imprint of his teeth pressing against the squishy muscle.
He’s definitely fucking his mouth later.
“Look,” he demands, waiting until green eyes, pupils blown and corners bloodshot, focus on Katsuki’s cock, on the protruding veins and thick ridges, on the subtle shine coming from the setting sun through the window.
Then, and only then, does he fuck back in with rough force, pushes as deep as he can just so he can see the way Deku’s face crumples. And then he holds the pressure, grinds so tight Deku doesn’t have an inch of wiggle room. Keeping a fist in Deku’s hair, he goes down to his elbow so he can do the same to Deku’s cock, grip it around the base and jerk up, with tight, squeezing force.
“Kacchan!” Deku cries out, whiny and pitiful and thick with tears, hands beating around on the ground like he’s lost all vision, fingers curling like claws and reaching for Katsuki to help ease the waves.
He must feel like it, like his very soul is leaving him because fuck does Deku look it.
Hazy eyes, tears pooling with no end, wide, delirious gaze – Deku is coming so hard he’s losing all his senses. At least he can still feel when Katsuki’s cock pulses on every flinch and squeeze of Deku's hole, his heaving stomach flexing just a second after, scarred fingers twitching.
Cum pools in Deku’s belly button, sliding to the dip of his waist. He coats Katsuki’s hand, cock angled up just enough that it gets his abdomen and chest, too, and when Katsuki looks up at Deku’s face he sees that fuck, fuck, some even reaches Deku’s cheek.
He lets go of Deku’s cock, reaches blindly for his cheek. He grabs him by the face, and bites into Deku’s jaw so roughly that he feels the nerves grinding between his teeth. Deku’s cum smears across his own skin, and down to his neck when Katsuki shifts them to bite his husband’s lips instead, to lick his hot, wet mouth open and pant into it.
Deku shudders, full body, back lifting from the ground and landing roughly.
He cries out, vision gone in the wave of pleasure, for Kacchan, Kacchan, his Kacchan, please, and thank you, thank you, thank you, Kacchan, thank you.
Katsuki needs to marry him again. Soon.
Take him out, treat him right, let him sleep minimum ten hours then fuck him straight for twelve. Leave for that stupid, impossible vacation they need to take and fuck him on the way there.
Fuck him in the airport bathroom and on the beach and in the woods and in each row of their car and at a stadium and in their offices and on every goddamn inch of this hotel room until the feeling of Katsuki is so ingrained that even if he goes deaf, dumb, and blind, he’ll know him through the pain of pleasure, die begging for his cock.
“Kacchan’s still here,” he says, pinning Deku’s wrists against his bent legs. His fists curl open and close inconsistently, scratching at his own thighs, and Katsuki leans his weight on him further. Deku gasps, eyes rolling back a little when Katsuki’s cock nudges just that much bit deeper into him. Fuck, he’s sensitive.
“Look at Kacchan, baby,” he says, easily catching the twitch in Deku’s softening cock when he hears Katsuki refer to himself.
“Deku,” he calls, and lets go of one of Deku’s wrists to grab him by the face again, force his head and hazy eyes back up. Green eyes crystal clear underneath the film of tears look up, blink open, searching like he still can’t see Katsuki. “Be good for your Kacchan. I said I’ll take care of you.”
He leans down, roughly swipes his clean palm over Deku’s eyes, clearing the fresh well of tears. They coat his palm, drip down the side of it, cool compared to the heat burning under his skin.
Katsuki brings his hand up to his mouth, tongue hanging out to lick the tears. Salty. He leans into the excited shiver that runs across his shoulders and cleans his hand completely. Swipes his hand over Deku's face to do it again.
Deku shudders, hole tightening dangerously. His own red tongue peeks out on his bottom lip like he needs something to suck on, too. Katsuki grins. He’ll give him something better. Fill up his desperate hole, first, until he can’t go anywhere without leaking Katsuki’s cum.
He takes his hand, tacky with spit and remnants of tears, and presses down demanding and onerous on Deku’s stomach right where his cock is. He holds the heavy pressure, some of the tension in his neck dissipating as he feels himself inside Deku so clearly, so easily, that there can be no mistaking what Deku was made for.
Soon, soon, soon he keeps saying. There will never be enough time in the world for all the things he wants to do to Deku.
Deku jackknifes off the ground, gasping, just barely louder than Katsuki’s possessive gloating. “That’s it. Perfect whore, huh. Gonna fill that fuckin’ gaping mouth, too. You want Kacchan's cock? Tongue? Or would just my fingers be too much? Not even a proper whore. Bet you’d choke right away. That’s okay, baby, I like ‘em sloppy. You’ll be good enough for me and me alone. Can’t handle nobody else but your Kacchan, huh?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Deku cries, gripping Katsuki’s wrist. “Kacchan wait, too much.”
He hasn’t even started fucking him yet.
“Is your Kacchan too mean?”
Deku sobs, hole tightening up so much that Katsuki bends over with a sharp inhale, fingers curling on top of Deku’s stomach. His nails dig in, stark red lines flaring where he claws at Deku. It’s a pretty color on him.
“My Kacchan is mean,” Deku cries. “Please, please, please, Kacchan, please. I’m good, I swear, I’ll be so good, good for Kacchan, so, so good for Kacchan.”
“So good for what? You even know what you’re begging for?”
“Whatever Kacchan wants, I want Kacchan, just- I need Kacchan.”
“Me? My breath?” He bends over, blows hot air over Deku’s half-hard cock.
Deku cries out, whines, tries to push his head away. He snatches Deku’s wrist up and puts it flat on the ground again to match his other one.
“Don’t be fucking rude,” he growls, and bites Deku’s chest, sucking as he pulls away. He moves over, bites Deku’s nipple between his teeth and tongues at it until Deku starts begging for nothing again.
“Kacchan, wait, wait, sorry, m'sorry, don’t- hah, not like that, not- I want Kacchan’s-”
“Kacchan’s?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't want to hear Deku saying sorry, he wants to hear him finish his sentences.
He tentatively lets go of Deku’s wrist again, moves his hand to Deku’s hole stuffed to the very brim with Katsuki’s cock. He sets a finger to the juncture of their skin, slick with lube and sweat. He pulls back slowly, swollen rim clinging to his cock, and Deku gets increasingly more desperate the further back he goes.
“No!” Deku cries out, reaching for Katsuki once more and then thinking twice, digging his fingers into his stomach instead.
Katsuki smirks, stops right before he pulls out. The flared head of his cock bulges Deku’s rim, and he slides his hand down to rub his fingers all over that shiny, stretched muscle. God, Katsuki can't even see it right now but Deku can gape.
“My fingers?” he asks, digging the pad of his thumb into the sensitive skin. He leans back a bit, angles his head and raises his hand to spit on his first two fingers, spreads it around with his thumb.
Deku gasps, sharper than any recent noise he’s made, and Katsuki smiles. He hasn’t earned Katsuki’s spit yet.
He starts worming his wet thumb in alongside his cock, shifting to make it look like with every bit of finger he pushes in, he’s pulling his cock out, replacing it.
Deku cries out like he's in the throes of grief, a hand lifting to cover his face as he hiccups. “No, wait, Kacchan, wait, please. Please? Kacchan. Kacchan!”
“What, baby?” he asks, and doesn’t gentle his tone. He does take his thumb out, soothe his hand along Deku’s heaving flank. A trail of spit lingers in its wake.
“I always want Kacchan,” Deku hiccups, “always, always, always. Every part.”
Katsuki hums, warm. Deku says it so sincerely, means it just as much. It's not what he's been waiting for.
“But not like- I want Kacchan in me, right now. Always. Not his fingers or his- his tongue or his breath. I want Kacchan’s-”
His breath hitches, not of his own volition, and he makes a pathetic, wounded noise, like he's disappointed in himself. Katsuki hides his smile in Deku’s chest, kissing his way up his sternum.
“Want?”
“I want Kacchan’s cock,” Deku warbles, piteously. Dangerously. Tears escape from beneath his hand, pooling at his hairline. “I want Kacchan to stay in me. Please, don’t go.”
Katsuki blows out a tremulous breath, aching and sweating, and kisses Deku’s pulse point before rearing back on his heels. There it is.
“S’all I needed,” he says, squeezing Deku’s thighs, and resettling them more comfortably on his shoulder. He welcomes the weight. “Thank you, baby. You did good.”
Deku whines, pleased and flushed and still crying. A sob stops in his throat, thickens the sound.
"So good, Izuku, just what I wanted," he continues, nearly breathless with the sincerity of it, just to see the way Deku's eyes well up, how his chest shudders and his hips lift. A croon lingers in his throat, making way for slurred words instead.
“Love you,” Deku mumbles, apropos of nothing, wiping his face with the back of his hands like a little kid and sniffling. "Kacchan, love you."
A lick of lightning threads its way through every nerve in Katsuki’s body, and he groans, clamping his teeth on Deku’s thigh right by his face to hide the guttural snarl clawing out his throat. Fucking hell.
Deku gasps, pained and delighted, hands scrambling to grab hold of Katsuki again, and he ignores it to pull out and slam back in without hesitation. It’s not enough.
Right away he knows it’s not enough.
He starts moving them, gripping the back of Deku’s knees and fighting to tear them off his shoulders. He grunts, pressing against Deku’s resistance and straightens his body out so he can press them firm against the floor, until the backs of Deku’s thighs are exposed to the air, hips tilted up.
His cock slips out, unintentionally, and Deku reacts like a wild beast, eyes flitting back and forth in clingy, needy betrayal, groaning loud and heavy, hands scrabbling as he tries to adjust to Katsuki’s quick movements, to pull him back. His head bangs on the floor in frustration, tears soaking into his hair again.
Katsuki doesn’t stop gripping Deku’s legs bloodless, fights through Deku’s frantic resistance. He moves up into a semi-squat and mounts Deku, pressing them thigh to thigh, all of his weight utterly and inescapably bearing down on Deku’s body. He pushes into Deku’s exposed, leaking hole immediately, and fucks him deep enough he swears he’s hitting a wall.
Deku wails, a hand gripping his own hair, the other clutching Katsuki’s wrist like a lifeline. His eyes roll back and Katsuki groans, long and loud.
Like this, if Deku comes again like this, he’d spill directly into his own mouth. Trapped in the mating press, surrounded on all sides by Katsuki’s constant weight, he can’t even move his head an inch away.
Helpless. Vulnerable.
“Fuck,” he grunts, dropping his weight down with every thrust, fucking Deku so hard his legs hurt. Deku’s cock is caught between their bodies, a puddle of pre and cum on his stomach disturbed every time Katsuki fucks down, balls brushing Katsuki’s abdomen when his weight settles for a moment before he’s pulling back out just as quick. “Fuck!”
He sets a brutal pace, transfixed on how hard Deku tries to keep his eyes open.
He fails, pathetically so.
Katsuki’s balls throb, watching Deku fail to make eye contact, try to, pupils blown so wide they swallow all green, red rimmed and wet, rolling back every other thrust like he just can’t help himself. His hairline is matted with sweat and tears, eyebrows scrunched, and dark lashes clumped together.
Deku looks so wretched like this. Destroyed and wrecked and so fucking good. He's so good. He's everything.
Katsuki wants to kiss him.
He stares, licks his lips when Deku does, bites his tongue when Deku’s come out, pants open-mouthed and heavy when Deku moans.
He needs to.
Katsuki worms a hand under Deku’s neck, palming the heated, flushed skin and gripping tight. He squeezes and doesn’t wait for Deku to acknowledge him: he slants their mouths together, gives Deku his tongue to suck on like he wanted so much earlier.
But Deku can’t even do that much – he can barely keep his mouth open wide enough for how much Katsuki wants to devour him, let alone breathe. He’s struggling to keep up with Katsuki, with his pace, with his desire.
“Pathetic,” he grunts out, sneering, adoring, smug, enamored beyond belief. “Baby, you’re so…”
Deku keens, spit drooling from the corner of his mouth, fingers spasming where they try to clutch Katsuki closer. Like they could get any closer than this, pressed thigh to thigh, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, cycling through the same breaths because Katsuki refuses to move back a single millimeter.
“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, echoing a decade old vow, spreading his knees wider, gaining more leverage so he can make good on that promise immediately. “Fuck you real good, yeah? Nobody else can do it but your Kacchan, but your husband – hah, shit, you like that? Got tighter, baby. So fucking good. Hah. Look at you, can’t even take it anymore, huh, so pitiful, but I’ll take care of you. Make you take it. You gonna take it, Izuku?”
He whines at Katsuki’s rambling, helpless, but the whine lives somewhere on Katsuki’s cheek instead of directly on his tongue.
Deku has escaped him little by little, centimeter by centimeter, still caught underneath Katsuki’s weight but helpless to the power behind every thrust, the force pushing him off the robe.
For a moment, Katsuki deliriously thinks that if he’s not careful, he’ll fuck Deku straight down through the floor.
He shakes his head, quick and rough like a dog obsessed with its chew toy.
No, because then Deku would be too far.
Katsuki yanks him back down towards him, back into the cradle of their bodies and Deku doesn’t fight him, has no energy, no will to do anything but let them get closer.
“Yeah,” Katsuki repeats, spots swimming in his eyes, overwhelmed by how fucking good his husband is for him – to him. He’ll never get tired of Deku’s desire. “Yeah, you’ll take it. C’mere.”
Katsuki tightens his grip, looks as Deku goes boneless with it. He wants to see that desire. He wants to watch with his own eyes again how much he overwhelms every single one of Deku’s senses.
“Whaddya need,” he slurs against Deku’s chin, nose bumping the crook of his jaw on every thrust. “Baby, whaddya need, tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Deku whines.
“More?” He shifts his stance, widens his legs until Deku’s pressed flatter against the floor and Katsuki sets his knees on either side of him instead, still pressed thigh to thigh. He grinds into him, short thrusts but consistently, inescapably deep. He worms his heels under Deku’s hips until his weight is settled on Katsuki’s Achilles’ heels, replacing the pillow so Deku's waist is held up from the floor but his body is kept in place from Katsuki’s weight. “Like this?”
Deku’s tongue fumbles in his mouth, losing his words.
“Yeah,” Katsuki grunts. “Like this.”
He’s close. Been close since the beginning, but something about this position, the maximized skin contact and heat, being so deep inside Deku not a single inch of his cock is left untouched, and so close to Deku’s face that he can feel every emotive change with his tongue tugs at his gut almost painfully.
He grunts, places both elbows on the floor. His forearms shove under Deku’s shoulders, and he links both hands under Deku’s head. His knuckles press into the floor uncomfortably, but it’s inconsequential when Deku curls into him.
Barely any of Deku’s weight is resting on the floor now.
Katsuki wants to take all of it, hold Deku entirely within his palm then crush him, flatten him down so no one else can look at him, can see him, can want him.
“There,” Deku manages. Katsuki tongues a tear off the round of his cheek. “K'chan, there.”
Katsuki grinds, toes flexing against the carpet, elbows burning from the robe. Deku’s cock twitches between their abdomens with no room to go. It’s slick and wet, so wet from just Deku’s cock alone. Katsuki’s balls pull so tight that he doesn’t know how he’s going to handle the release.
He feels like his lungs are plummeting from his body, taking all the air with them, and on every gasped inhale, he gets dizzier and dizzier, like Deku’s sucking all the life from him.
He doesn’t know when the last time he blinked was. Can’t, not with Deku below him.
He needs to see.
“Gonna come,” he grunts, solely for Deku’s benefit. His husband’s eyes go wide, pupils contracting and dilating excessively quick. He starts squirming harder, restless, fingernails pulling at Katsuki’s skin so hard skin tears.
“Yes,” Deku hisses. “Yes, please, yes, yes, Kacchan.”
He pushes up fruitlessly against the weight of Katsuki’s body, moaning at the restrictive feeling. He can’t go anywhere, and his hands and arms can only reach so far like this. He has no choice but to take it, to feel everything.
Deku’s hole clenches around him, constantly. He’s weeping, staring up at Katsuki with starstruck eyes and naked want.
He can see his reflection in Deku’s pupil, and he shivers, hint of a smirk cresting his lips, because of course Deku’s focused solely on him. Of course his gaze is filled with literally nothing than Katsuki. That’s how it should be, at all times.
“Gonna come with me? Gonna show me? C’mon, baby. You’re close. Wanna see it. I’ll come in you after. That what you want? My cum? Filling you up? You’ll have it, baby, all of it.”
“Yes,” Deku answers immediately. He doesn’t blink, and his tears pool along his eyelids without end. Katsuki shudders, staring at his lashes, glistening with his tears and clumped together. He’s gorgeous. “With Kacchan. Yeah. Want it, want it, want it, Kacchan, I want it.”
Like a broken record, yes, yes, yes, yes Kacchan. He’s desperate for Katsuki’s cum, and he’s working himself into a frenzy just at the thought.
Instinct has Katsuki speeding up, a high-pitch whine echoing in his ears that he thinks he’s imagining until a particular thrust chokes the sound right out of Deku, interrupts it so cleanly, so loudly, it’s unmistakable the peak Deku is approaching.
“Fuck,” Katsuki grits out. He curls around Deku tighter, wrapping both arms under his neck and under his back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Deku shouts at the sudden increase in power, thighs shaking with every slam down.
“Kacchan,” he moans, long and drawn out, hitching at the end. “Kacchan-!”
His head tilts back over Katsuki’s forearm, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut.
Katsuki inhales, so quick he almost chokes, and leans further into Deku’s face. He won’t let him escape.
He bites Deku’s chin, shifts up to stuff his tongue into Deku’s mouth, intrusive and relentless, and Deku shudders from head to toe. With a choked gasp and clawing fingers, he comes immediately.
Tears spill over. His cock jerks against Katsuki’s navel. He hiccups, swallows his tongue. He can’t say Katsuki’s name, can’t say anything, can barely breathe. His hole gets so tight for a second Katsuki is afraid to move, can’t with the sudden burst of heat consuming him.
The look of pure, unfettered bliss across Deku’s face and the lingering sound of his name is enough.
Katsuki bites his groan into Deku’s neck, not careful enough with the strength of his jaw. He can feel Deku’s gasp on his tongue, can taste the salt of his skin as he comes, and Katsuki’s cock jerks inside of Deku’s tight, unbearably hot hole.
He stops slamming down into Deku’s body with a final, heavy thrust. Near immediately, at Deku’s begging, he moves into a slow grind to milk his cock, and Deku’s appreciative whine sends a shiver down Katsuki’s spine.
“I can feel it,” Deku groans, words slurred and slow. “Kacchan’s cum is so warm. I’m so lucky.”
“Fucking Christ,” he manages, breathless. His cock jerks again, and again.
Deku goes limp, but Katsuki doesn’t uncurl from around him right away.
He seeks refuge in Deku’s neck, mouth open as he inhales musky, warm air.
It’s embarrassingly difficult to try and get a steady rhythm going, especially not with Deku’s drunk-like mumbles echoing in his ears, all sorts of inane praises and happy exclamations, all aimed at Katsuki.
He soaks it all up. Gives his acknowledgements to each one in open-mouthed kisses.
When his feet start to fall asleep, Katsuki slowly, carefully straightens his legs. He pushes up, knees on the floor but no longer resting all of his weight on Deku nor pressed thigh to thigh. He slips his cock back in the few inches he lost while moving, and shudders again.
His cum may be abnormally hot enough for Deku to feel it, but he bets it’s nothing to Deku’s heat.
His balls pulse, drawn tight, and he finds that he’s not quite done yet. Has barely even started. After a month of practically no contact, of different shifts and separate missions, this hasn’t even scratched the surface of his pent-up desire.
He stares down at Deku, leaning his weight on his knuckles, connected hip to hip with his husband as Deku’s cum settles on them both, sticky and wet.
Sweat drips off his nose, lands on Deku’s torso. He tilts his hips forward, just to see how sensitive Deku is.
“Kacchan?” Deku calls, as steady as a hot air balloon touring the sun's surface. “Need- need a minute.”
Katsuki grunts.
“Stay like this?”
Katsuki grunts again, finally finding where he misplaced his tongue. “Yeah.”
Deku lets his head fall back to the floor and doesn’t protest when Katsuki selfishly, greedily grinds his softening cock just a few more times, breathing heavy. Deku puts a hand against Katsuki’s taut stomach, slightly trembling.
“Just,” Deku breathes, thighs twitching, splayed wide on the floor without Katsuki there to keep them in position. Or rather because of Katsuki. He doesn’t know which reason he likes better: Deku can’t do anything without him, or Deku becomes so useless and feeble, all that god-like strength gone, solely because of Katsuki. “Just a sec, Kacchan.”
Katsuki finally stills and rakes a hand through his hair. He tries to blink back the encroaching, all-consuming heat behind his eyes, and finds that only barely can he keep his wits.
He grabs Deku’s hip in one hand then sits on his heels. He doesn’t pull out, not quite yet, and Deku doesn’t pull off. He drops his hand to Katsuki’s knee, squeezing slightly while he regulates his breathing.
“Just one,” he allows, unable to keep his gaze from roaming.
Katsuki looks down at Deku’s stomach, at the cum laying there. He reaches his hand down.
“No,” Deku says, still catching air, and snatches his wrist up. “Do not-”
Katsuki barks a laugh, and finally lays down, slumps his full weight onto Deku. His cock slips out of Deku’s ass, softening, and he probably doesn’t regret moving as much as Deku does, if the look of loss on his face is anything to go by.
More of Deku’s cum squishes against his skin and he wrinkles his nose. He’s not really bothered, too used to the sensation, but it’ll get tacky in a bit, which is a bitch to clean off.
“It was funny,” he says, full of gravel. He clears his throat and looks across the room to where his water bottle is.
“It was not funny,” Deku insists, letting his hands drop to the floor, arms stretched all the way out. “Who the heck draws a dick out of their partner’s cum right after they have sex? You obliterated the afterglow.”
“Obliterated your ass too,” Katsuki snickers to himself.
He did it on a whim, fully blasted by the force of his orgasm a few months back, and Deku got so embarrassed and angry (humiliated that he didn’t have enough of his senses back to notice until Katsuki couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore) that he kicked Katsuki off of him and didn’t let him touch him for the rest of the night.
Worth it.
“Who does that?” Deku repeats, poking Katsuki’s side on every word until he jerks.
“Comedic geniuses do. Which is why it’s funny.” He jerks his chin towards his water bottle, cheek smushing further into Deku’s chest. “Oi. Grab my water bottle.”
Deku frowns at him. He glances at the table and makes a funky face as he concentrates to summon Black Whip. The single strand is shaky and flickering and barely tangible enough to wrap around the water bottle. It takes him a couple of tries to actually lift the bottle, and he gets redder with each try.
“Heh,” Katsuki smirks. He fucked Deku real stupi-
THUNK
“The fuck?!” he snarls, rearing up on his elbows. He reflexively catches the bottle as it bounces off his head, pushing up fully to a single palm.
Deku laughs at him, hand falling back to the floor and Black Whip disappearing.
“It was funny,” Deku lilts, bobble-heading as he mocks Katsuki.
He looks at his husband laying on the floor all sated and happy. He looks at his water bottle, clasped in his hand and three-fourths full.
He starts unscrewing the lid.
“Wait,” Deku says, gaze flicking between Katsuki’s blank face and the bottle. “Wait, wait, wa-!”
-
He smooths his hands down Deku’s thighs, then flicks the leftover water he picked up directly at Deku’s face.
“I can’t believe that got you hard.” Deku slaps his hand away, shifting in place. A slightly wet curl slips off his forehead when he rakes his hand through his hair. Katsuki reaches under his waist, nudging Deku’s side to make him lift a bit.
“What can I say,” Katsuki deadpans, readjusting the pillow he grabbed off the bed under Deku’s hips. “You squirming, squealing, and flashing your ass does it for me, apparently.”
“I was not- squirming! Or squealing! I don’t squeal!” Deku protests. He grabs Katsuki’s right hand away from the pillow and links their fingers. “You dumped your water bottle on me, of course I was going to-”
“Run away?” Katsuki questions, raising an eyebrow.
“Strategically retreat.”
“Run away,” Katsuki repeats, lips quirking. “Like a little bitch.”
“No, not li-”
“Pussy.”
Deku glares at him and starts reaching for the pillow under his back.
“No,” Katsuki says, glaring. “I’ll slip out again if you move it.”
Deku considers his options, shifting his hips and squeezing down on Katsuki’s cock warming in his ass. There’s a healthy blush spreading down his damp chest, his cock laying thick and flushed against his thigh.
It’s in Deku’s best interest, really, to stop fucking moving around so much when Katsuki’s trying to enjoy his afterglow.
He finally settles down, sighing like he’s in a drama and the music cued that he got put in charge of the funeral arrangements for his loathed stepmother.
Deku could probably do it – his crying face would kill in any show, especially a drama.
Then Katsuki could jerk off to it later.
“Fine,” Deku says, and sighs again, but in content pleasure this time. Katsuki runs his hands back down Deku’s bent legs, unable to keep his hands away.
He’s got more bruises, now, enough on the inside of his thighs from Katsuki’s mouth to match the ones their battle gave him on the outside.
Katsuki draws his hands up, smoothing over the fuzzy hairs on Deku’s thighs and tucking his fingers in the crook of his knees.
He’s got a little scar on his right knee. Thick and raised, not more than a fingernail long.
He doesn’t remember where it’s from, but he rubs his thumb over it idly.
Deku’s got cute knees.
Katsuki blinks. Looks down at his hands, then at Deku’s unaware face.
The hell?
He looks at Deku’s knees again, bruised and a little tanned, small under Katsuki’s hands. The thought doesn’t go away. If anything, as his hands squeeze tight enough that Deku’s skin goes pale underneath each fingertip, he wants to punt Deku across the room more than he normally does. Maybe squeeze him by the neck and swing him around like their neighborhood grocery store hag does with her brick-n-purse when someone gets too close to her.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m losing it.” The fuck is wrong with him?
Maybe he should just toss Deku out the window. They’re on the ground floor, he’ll be fine.
“What’s the matter, Kacchan?”
He shakes his head, moves his hands down to Deku’s waist instead. At least here, he thinks, pressing his fingers into Deku’s firm stomach, he already knows the weird thoughts that arise when he’s got Deku’s toned waist safely tucked between his palms. A safe zone.
Horny zone, obviously, but safe. Understandable.
Not the weird shit like what he feels about his husband’s fucking knees.
He really is losing it. “Nah, nothing. Just realized I’ve gotten stupider with age.”
“What?” Deku laughs, the intended reaction. “There’s no way. What were you thinking about?”
Katsuki brushes his thumb over Deku’s belly button, keeping the pressure light.
He really would look good with a piercing, impractical as it is.
Deku makes a noise, and Katsuki smiles a little.
If he wanted to, he could press down and feel his cock still nestled in Deku’s ass, map out all the space he’s taking up inside his husband, move the cum still sitting inside. He doesn’t. Mostly, he just wants to feel, in all aspects, where they’re connected. Always wants to touch Deku as much as he can.
He presses his palm flat for just a second before leaning down to breathe from Deku’s neck, hovering a few scant centimeters above his bare, hickey-laden chest.
“Hi,” Deku whispers, lips curving into a quiet smile.
Katsuki stares. Sighs. That stupid goddamn smile is what got him into so much trouble already.
“Was thinking about the fact that you make me stupid,” he eventually says, reaching back to cup behind Deku’s knee. He’s warmer than he usually is, leeching from Katsuki’s body heat, sticky with leftover sweat and water. He needs to get up and turn the air conditioning unit by the bed on.
“Stupid?” Deku asks, making a stupid face of his own in his confusion.
Katsuki doesn’t move a single inch away. He rubs his thumb on the side of Deku’s knee, pressing lightly at a dark bruise slinging around the side. “I thought your knees looked cute because I’m apparently going senile, stupid, crazy, whatever the hell you wanna call it.”
He expects Deku to laugh again, tease him at the very least but instead he blushes.
Blushes.
Katsuki can’t stop staring. His husband is so fucking-
Deku grips one of Katsuki’s biceps in his hand, fingers squeezing the bunched muscle and catching his straying thoughts.
“Not stupid,” he says, quiet. “I think a lot of things about Kacchan are cute and hot and a bunch of other stuff.” He smiles. “Whatever you want to call it.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki snorts, tightening his grip under Deku’s knee and hitching it higher up on his hip. “Like what?”
“Like when Kacchan stretches his arm out to the passenger seat when backing up and the tendons in your wrist show,” Deku says, quiet, earnest. “And then your veins bulge and I just really want to lick them.”
Katsuki shrugs. That’s basic shit, especially compared to how much Katsuki straight up licks Deku while he’s fucking him.
Deku dips his head, speaking more to Katsuki’s chest than him. A feather-light finger brushes over the vulnerable tendons of Katsuki’s wrist on the hand settled by Deku’s head, and Katsuki shivers.
“Or,” Deku continues with a slight pause, lips quirking up again. Katsuki leans down.
“Or, like when Kacchan is in a suit and you’re wearing low socks,” his foot trails up Katsuki’s calf, hooking behind his knee and bumping him closer, “and I can see your ankle bone between your pants and shoes. Sometimes I want to bite it.”
Katsuki grunts, lets himself be bumped, hips pressing tighter together. Ankle is a bit unusual, but not really. “Can’t get mad when I call you ankle biter anymore.”
“I’m not short.”
“You’re shorter than me.”
“Kacchan’s ankle will always be hot no matter how much taller you are than me.”
Katsuki blinks down at him. Heat flares at the base of his cock, and he really shouldn’t be surprised.
Deku squeezes his bicep for a long second before trailing his hand down Katsuki’s arm, dipping his thumb into the crook of his elbow. “Or when Kacchan just wakes up and looks at me and I can see the tip of your canine when you smile. I want to suck on your tongue and your tooth, and I kind of hope that you’ll stick your fingers down the back of my throat since your tongue can’t reach that far back.”
Katsuki’s hands flex, and he lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “Fucking hell.”
“I like everything about Kacchan,” Deku whispers, tugging at the crook in his elbow to make Katsuki bend down, closer, all to place a kiss at his collarbone. His lips linger when he speaks, sending sparks skittering over his skin. “I’m glad Kacchan thinks my knees are cute.”
“Right,” Katsuki says, like he’s not pulling back to bury himself deep inside Deku and like his throat isn’t closing up, making it hard to speak.
“Right?” Deku repeats, breath hitching.
“Right. I’m not the insane one. You are,” he gets out, catching the delighted, quiet inhale Deku makes when Katsuki squeezes his thigh, bound to leave more marks.
He laughs, breathless, hitching his leg higher with a low, easy sigh. “Kacchan. I’m okay now. You can move.”
“About damn time,” he mutters, and yanks Deku down and firmly onto his cock, gripping him close with both hands. He grabs Deku’s right leg, carefully lifts and pulls it to the side of his body until Deku’s laying side-saddle, bruised thighs pressing together and twisting his waist. He’s tighter like this, body compact, like Katsuki could curl around him with space left to share. “Felt like I was dying.”
The view of Deku like this, hole exposed, nothing to push back on, every hard edge and soft curve emphasized, is fucking delicious. He wants to devour Deku down to the very root of his soul.
“Thought- thought you liked cock warming,” Deku says, fingers digging into Katsuki’s skin. Bound to leave more marks.
He grabs Deku’s left arm, slides his hand up to clutch Deku’s forearm and pull it straight. Leverage. The other Katsuki tucks into the sweet, addicting divot between his hips and thigh, settles his hand heavy and secure. Permanent.
Deku’s skin is overwhelmingly soft under the thick, calloused skin of his own palm. Even his scars, smooth and light, thick and raised, make way for Katsuki’s hands.
“Yeah,” Katsuki agrees.
He takes a long look over Deku’s body, at the flush making its way across his skin, at the excited rise and fall of his chest, the glint in his eyes. The last rays of the sunlight washing over Deku lying on the floor feels like he’s witnessing an impressionist piece come to life.
He really wishes he had remembered to charge his phone when they first got settled in the room. He’s loath to forget this, to let his memory blur and taint the image of his husband, bruised and flushed, opened up on Katsuki’s cock with his hair pushed back from his face. Even just one photo would be enough to satiate him.
He laughs at himself, drawing his hand down Deku’s thigh before settling it back in place.
Who the hell is he kidding? Like he’d ever stop at just one picture. Not when the night is stretching out in front of them.
“Kacchan,” Deku complains, tries to cover his face with his free hand. Katsuki doesn’t let him. “Don’t.”
“Yeah. I like fucking you more.”
Deku stops complaining.
-
Katsuki can hear the sigh from the bathroom.
He finishes washing his hands to walk out in only his boxers. Deku’s sitting on the shitty bed, looking like someone just kicked a puppy – except he’s the puppy.
He swears he can see the ears.
“Deku,” Katsuki calls, pauses. He was fine just a few minutes ago. Maybe he should handle this a bit delicately in case something’s wrong. He clears his throat. “The fuck is the matter with you?”
Deku laughs. Katsuki’s shoulders lower and he starts walking towards him again.
“My bag,” Deku sighs, lifting his big ass Disney eyes up to meet his. Katsuki blinks away for a few seconds before he lets himself look back at Deku.
His dick needs a break.
“What about it?”
“It’s not here.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow and steps up to Deku’s feet where the bags are, and sure enough, no ugly, old All Might duffle bag is there.
“Is it in-”
“I already checked the car.”
Katsuki turns to stare at what Deku is wearing.
Or rather, what he’s not wearing.
“Deku,” he starts, eyes narrowing.
“I was quick! Very quick!” he immediately defends, putting his palms up.
Katsuki grabs one of his wrists and yanks him up so he can clamp his teeth down on his cheek.
“Hey!”
“Don’t go running around outside in nothing but a fuckin’ bathrobe!”
“Nobody saw!”
“Except for the cameras! That’s what you need, some dumbass employee leaking footage of your ass streaking around a hotel. Your ass would be all over the news before we’d even be home to fix it.”
Deku’s cheeks flush, darker especially where Katsuki’s teeth were. “I didn’t think about that…”
“Obviously.”
Katsuki lets go of Deku’s wrist to land his hand very firmly on the top of his head instead.
“Nooo,” Deku complains, hands coming up to grab his forearm. “Don’t basketball me.”
“I’m going to basketball you.”
“Kacchan, that’s not fair. I just wanted to get my clothes!”
“Just go-”
“I am not going naked, Kacchan. I like to feel decent and respectable, unlike you- ow, ow, ow, stop.”
Katsuki stops squeezing his hand and instead threads his fingers through Deku's hair to tug at it.
“What’s wrong with the bathrobe?”
Deku shifts on his feet, taking Katsuki’s hand and lowering it. Katsuki lets him, settles it on Deku’s neck instead, slipping between his slightly wet hair and the damp collar of the robe.
“It’s just- it’s too wet now, the fabric. Makes my skin feel weird. I wanna put clothes on. Proper ones.”
Katsuki stares at him, before sighing quietly. Yeah, fucking- fine. Whatever. He gets it.
“Move,” he says instead and grabs Deku by both elbows, frog-marching him backwards to the big loveseat next to the window.
They stumble like idiots a good portion of the way there, and Deku protests the entire time without a single word. Fucking Disney princess.
He still sits when Katsuki presses down, watching him with a tilt to his head and big, curious eyes.
Katsuki turns around, resolutely ignoring the siren call, and goes back to their pile of bags to single out the one with his day clothes. He doesn’t normally wear pajamas to bed like Deku does but his tanks should be fine enough for sleeping.
Katsuki pauses. Pretty sure they passed a konbini a few blocks over. Whatever. Deku will either wear his shit or go boxers only like a normal person. He doesn’t feel like making a midnight run for sleep clothes, of all things.
“Did you forget it?” he calls over his shoulder, crouching down at his black duffel.
He unzips it, zips it back up, and throws it against the wall. His other black duffel, with Deku’s shit-ass knock-off Mirko charm on it. One of her ears is all fucked up: wrong shape and wrong color. He meant to shove it in her face last time he saw her.
Eh, he’ll just take a picture and send it to her.
“At the other hotel? Maybe. I don’t remember if I even grabbed it or not. Hopefully Todoroki has it.”
Katsuki grunts, pulling out some of his dress shirts that he wore at the beginning of the mission while doing recon when he feels the air shift behind him.
“Sit back down,” he says, lifting his hand to put it on the bed next to him. “I’m getting you-”
“This one,” Deku answers from right behind him, and takes the black dress shirt out of Katsuki’s hand.
It takes a few seconds for Katsuki to register what happened, and he turns his head just in time to see Deku sliding the shirt over his shoulders, wide open in the front and bathrobe pooled around his feet.
Jesus Christ.
“Can I borrow one of your boxers?” Deku asks, frowning a little. He thumbs at the waistband, the stretchy fabric rolling up around the widest part of his thighs. His hipbones flash into view, pale and marred from Katsuki’s fingers, as the shirt flows out of the way. “I put on my old ones for now, but I already took a shower.”
Katsuki swallows, turns around completely to get the full view.
The sleeves are too long on him, and while Deku is no slouch when it comes to muscle mass, the shirt was tailored specifically to Katsuki’s body and drapes loose around his shoulders and arms. Even the area around the waist hangs slack because while Deku’s shoulder to waist ratio is more even than Katsuki’s, he’s still smaller than him.
Always has been.
Katsuki swallows again, rough and dry.
He’s backlit by the moonlit and the single lamp they turned on, the muscles on his chest shadowed and hips framed loosely. The shirt isn’t made out of thick fabric – Katsuki sweats too much, and his ma made this material a few years ago just for him, designed thin and with an undershirt in mind.
It’s just sheer enough that despite the black fabric and shadowed room, he can see the outline of Deku’s body through it. See a hint of his nipples, just a little, hard from the chilled water still clinging to his skin.
That “just a little” is going to drive Katsuki fucking insane.
“Deku,” he gets out, throat clicking. And then he drops to his ass and puts his head in his hands, groaning. “I hate you.”
“What?” Deku asks, bewildered. He drops down with Katsuki, folding his hands over his knees and settling his chin on them.
The shirt flows around his body with the movement, settling over his sides. It’s long enough that the tails brush against the floor. A tripping hazard if Deku were to move backwards right now. As if Katsuki would let him.
He crouches on his feet all prim and proper so he’s not flashing Katsuki with his bulge but he kind of wishes he was.
“Is that a no on the boxers?” Deku tilts his head, studying Katsuki. “They should fit me, if not be a little loose. But all your clothes are like that on me.”
Katsuki lets out a frustrated groan, draping his arms over his bent knees and letting his wrists hang limp.
“You,” he starts, trailing his pinky up and down Deku’s bare calf, “are not going to be able to walk tomorrow. I swear it on All Might.”
Deku flushes, predictably, and then shuffles his feet closer in a cute little waddle, keeping his chin on his hands. Katsuki smiles a little – no tripping hazard the closer he gets.
Less predictably, Deku grabs the right edge of the shirt once he’s gotten as close as he wanted and slides the fabric up his bent legs, revealing bunched, squeezable, muscled thigh pressed against torso. The line where they meet makes Katsuki want to shove his hands in between and yank Deku’s legs wide open.
He could do it. Right now. Shove him belly first onto the floor, ruck the shirt up in his hand, bounce him off his cock with the leverage. Deku would like it. Would take it. Katsuki wouldn’t give him much other choice.
He clears his throat, but Deku beats him to it.
“Good thing we’re driving all day tomorrow, yeah?” he says.
Katsuki doesn’t even try to fake a proper answer to that. He grabs Deku by the face and kisses him.
“C’mere,” he says, pulling back to lean against the side of the bed. He wraps a hand around Deku’s ankle, tugs at it insistently.
Deku uncurls, knees spreading wide before his feet move and Katsuki’s cock jumps at the lascivious sight, at Deku’s cute, not quite hidden smile when he shows himself off. He gets a pleased little look at Katsuki’s obvious, immediate reaction.
How Deku can act like an innocent whore is beyond him, but Katsuki is enjoying it. Deku can tell Katsuki is enjoying, gifting him a little more with knees spreading wider before he stands up, feet on either side of Katsuki’s legs. His thighs flex and Katsuki’s hands move on their own.
He tugs the boxers off with no small urgency, and Deku lets Katsuki watch for his balance as he steps out with warm hands on his thigh and behind his knee before getting impatiently pulled into Katsuki's lap.
Deku doesn’t protest the rough handling. The longer Katsuki’s hands stay directly on his skin, the harder his cock gets.
Katsuki tugs at him harder.
“Am I riding you?” Deku settles on his thighs, feet flat to the floor.
“Yeah, baby.”
“How long?”
“As long as I can last.” He’ll either bust a nut first or get too riled up and flip Deku back onto the ground himself so he can grind his cock deep enough to see a bulge.
Deku hums, excited and pleased, knowing both options exist and probably thinking up a stupid little plan to make whichever one he wants come true. He starts pushing and pulling at the hem of Katsuki’s boxers, and he lifts his hips to kick them off his legs. Deku shudders a little when Katsuki does it without moving his weight off him, abdomen clenching at the work.
“Can you help me?” he asks, completely unnecessarily.
Fuck.
“Yeah.” Katsuki has to clear his throat, but Deku shivers at the sound, hands clenching on his shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll help you.”
“’Kay,” Deku murmurs, like he’s shy all of a sudden despite him taking Katsuki’s cock into hand, palm wet with copious amounts of lube. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he grunts. He watches Deku’s hand move leisurely, like he’s touching his own cock instead, far too familiar with Katsuki’s, and the pleasurable swell at the base of his cock only increases.
“So big,” Deku mutters to himself. One of his hands has dropped to his thigh, rubbing the inside of it absentmindedly like he can feel the ghost of a stretch. “Big and gonna be in me. I can take it.”
Oh, Deku can fucking take it.
Katsuki’s patience runs out and he moves his hands. He slips one against Deku’s thigh, almost under his knee. Deku takes the hint, spreads his legs a little wider.
The other he settles firmly in the divot between his hip and his thigh, thumb sneaking down to press at the base of Deku’s cock.
Deku’s hips twitch.
“Kacchan,” he breathes, starts lifting himself.
“Ready? Still open enough?”
He slides his hand down from Deku’s cock to check anyways. He tests his rim with his finger, slipping it inside and tugging. He looks up as he casually moves it in deeper, watching how deep Deku’s flush gets.
Loose still, but not by much.
“It’s enough,” Deku says, tugging Katsuki’s hand away impatiently and then swallows the tip of his cock without another sound. He doesn’t stop, continues a steady, slow descent until his ass is meeting Katsuki’s thighs and he’s shivering like it’s the middle of winter.
Loose enough but he’s tight. Tight and his, all his.
“Fuck,” Katsuki sighs, running both his hands up and down Deku’s sides under the shirt. “You did good, Izuku. Fucking took it all, Jesus.”
“Ah- Kacchan,” Deku moans, dipping forward and pressing his forehead to Katsuki’s neck. “Need a sec. You’re big.”
“I know.”
Katsuki continues running his hands over Deku’s skin, pressing his thumbs up into his pectorals then squeezing his hands as he drags them down. He’s got cute tits, a natural byproduct of their job.
Katsuki should see if he can get Deku to come by his nipples one day, see if he can get him sensitive enough. He wonders if Deku even realizes, if he knows what it means that Katsuki can dig his fingers in every part of his body, even as it changes, and lay his claim there.
He digs his thumbs into Deku’s sharp hipbones and drags his hands back up, feeling his ring twist a little around his finger as he goes.
Over and over, he runs the circuit up and down until Deku stops shivering and his legs stop twitching, skin far warmer thanks to Katsuki’s palms.
“Kacchan,” he eventually sighs, all soft and sweet. He kisses the side of Katsuki’s neck and pulls back, leaving a wet spot to cool. “I think I almost came.”
He’ll kill him.
Deku’s face shifts, mouth opening a little. “You just got harder? Bigger.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki confirms, and stops his hands at Deku’s waist, squeezing. “Gonna need you to move, baby. I’ll help.”
And then he lifts Deku up and drops him down.
“Oh,” Deku laughs, just a little, the giggly kind, the pink-hearts-and-red-cheeks kind – all smiles. “I wasn’t ready, but it’s-”
Fuck, when Deku smiles-
“Kacchan, again.”
Katsuki does it again.
And Deku laughs, lets his head dip down, knees tucking in as much as they can against Katsuki’s body, a little shiver in his stomach.
And when he laughs-
He can’t. Katsuki can’t.
With a palm low on Deku’s back, he reels him in, puts his shoulder in his mouth because otherwise-
“Baby,” he practically moans, hands flexing and grabbing with no consistency on Deku’s body, lifting him and dropping him down, listening to the way Deku gasps and breathes like he’s a little high, a little drunk, like he’s a little out of this world. “Baby, you can’t.”
“Can’t,” he pants, “what?”
“Laugh,” he grunts, because it’s not just the way Deku squeezes down on him, not just the way his nails curl into Katsuki’s shoulders and cement him as part of his body. It’s not just the way Deku looks at him after, peeking through his fallen hair and the dimple framing his pink, bitten lips or how his cock twitches when he’s seated completely and fully in his lap, toes flexing against the carpet.
It’s the way the sound reverberates softly in the hotel room and stays in Katsuki’s ears, the way Deku has to close his eyes for a moment, the way he’s feeling himself, so happy and goofy and alive because of Katsuki, the halo of the moon behind his head and in his hair, hazy and colored like Monet took a brush to his skin and filled his freckles in.
Katsuki- he lost. Easily. Quickly. Damn nerd.
He’s so lost. Lost in that sound, in his heat, in his eyes, in his husband.
“Kacchan,” Deku hums, setting his cheek on top of Katsuki’s head, curling around him, letting them rock and sway like there’s an old love song playing in the background and not just their shaky breaths.
He looks so good like this. Happy. Lost in himself, in the pleasure Katsuki can give him, in this moment. Like he’s just as lost as Katsuki is.
“Deku,” he gets out, biting his soft chest, sucking a deliberate line down his neck until Deku starts laughing again, giggling, more ticklish the more aroused he is.
“Yeah?”
“Baby.”
“Yeah?” he laughs, louder this time.
“Deku,” he murmurs against his skin, again and again. “Deku. Deku, Deku, Deku.”
“Mm, that’s me Kacchan.”
“Izuku.”
“Still me.”
“Husband.”
Deku shudders, ducks his head down, tucks a hand under Katsuki’s chin to urge his head away and meet his smiling lips instead. Katsuki bites at them just the same, enough to mark out every inch of skin his cum had covered, his tongue has laved over, his lips have loved.
“Mm,” Deku hums into the kiss. “That’s really me this time. Kacchan’s husband. Mm.”
“Gimme a kiss,” Katsuki demands when Deku moves back to speak.
“Hmm, here?” He kisses the corner of his mouth.
“No.”
“What about… here?” Deku grabs his face, gentle, always careful with Katsuki for some reason, shifting it to the right so he can kiss the corner of his eye.
“No.”
“Oh, so greedy, husband of mine,” Deku sighs, rocking his hips.
His fingers flex against Katsuki’s cheeks, breath catching on the next inhale. He’s fighting so hard not to claw deep into Katsuki’s skin, like Katsuki wouldn’t wear the marks and pain with as much pride as he wears his wedding ring.
Deku gets lost, again, just for a moment, and his pace stutters.
Katsuki can’t look away. He lets his head rest against the bed, staring up in something too intense to be called reverence because the sight of Deku above him, eyes fluttering, his shirt swaying back and forth with him, unable to keep his skin away from Katsuki’s? It inspires the same kind of faith he used to search for in heroes.
But it’s not a faith he can ever escape from, not one easily lost. He’d forgo liberation from samsara if it meant he could worship at Deku’s side until he ceased to exist.
Katsuki helps him sink into a slow, steady rhythm; he cups the bottom of Deku’s ribs, feels him breathe, fits the wrinkles between his knuckles around Deku’s waist and gives all the heat in his palms to every scar across his back. He keeps Deku moving, constant, like waves at low tide, back and forth – a soothing nature.
It’s the same way Deku kisses him late at night, right before bed, when they don’t have time for more.
And even then, Katsuki can’t stand the way his husband treats him, can’t be expected not to act when he’s right there in his hands, warm and soft and just tired enough to look vulnerable and needy in the low lamp light.
His hands flex, grip tightening, and Deku sighs into Katsuki’s temple, utterly satisfied.
“How about…” He kisses behind Katsuki’s ear, sucking softly when he pulls back, trails down his neck slow and simple.
“No,” Katsuki grunts, but presses his head further into the bedside for him. Deku hums against his collarbone, raising and lowering his hips so he can shimmy deeper into Katsuki’s lap, like gravity isn’t doing enough.
“I wonder,” he says, too much of a smile in his voice to be anything but a tease. “Where would my husband like to be kissed?”
“Should I show you? Since you seem to have forgotten what a real kiss is.”
Deku laughs, plants a loud, obnoxious kiss on Katsuki’s cheek, flexes around his cock. “Please, Kacchan. Show me where you want me to kiss you.”
“I don’t want just one,” he warns, sliding his hand up Deku’s damp back until he can fit his entire palm into Deku’s hair, curl his fingers just enough to feel some resistance.
“Greedy,” Deku hums, ducking his head down as much as Katsuki allows him.
“I don’t want just two.” He settles his other hand into the dip between Deku’s bent thighs and hips, presses down, holds Deku on his cock.
“Greedy, greedy,” he gasps, knees flexing inwards, stopped by Katsuki’s ribs.
“Not even three.”
“Greedy, greedy, greedy,” Deku says like he’s cheering Katsuki on. “How many will satisfy you then?”
“Come closer and find out, Deku.”
That laugh of his. Adoring.
He’ll kill him.
“I’ll kill you.”
“Before your kisses?”
“C’mere,” he says, softer than he’d meant.
Deku’s face- crumples, brightens, softens, fuck, something changes, just a little, just enough, and he stops teasing Katsuki. He goes, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
And it is, to hold Deku like this, to kiss him like this.
It didn’t used to be. He had to fight.
Fuck did Katsuki fight so hard to keep him. So incredibly hard, to his very last breath, and he likes to think they earned this - he earned this life that they live; hard and fast and death-defying, a loud life, a quiet life, slow and soft and just them and Deku’s laughter in a room together somewhere hours away from home but still, somehow, no different than if they were in bed, fighting not to sleep just so they can talk some more.
“C’mere,” he says again, smiling a little when Deku ducks his head down first, eagerly, sliding his lips right against Katsuki’s like he can’t hold back any longer.
Yeah.
Yeah.
-
“Kacchan,” Deku says later, curled against the recliner, knees at his chest, ankles at his ears, sweaty and gasping.
Katsuki grunts; doesn’t blink. The moonlight is bright, shining a spotlight directly onto Deku’s flushed face, on the way his hair bounces with the force of Katsuki’s hips, the spit leaking from his mouth and the drying leftovers from Katsuki’s overeager tongue.
He can’t stop.
Katsuki’s gripping the chair’s armrests so hard he thinks he broke part of his fingernail off, the edge of it throbbing with every beat of his heart. A bruise is going to form where his thighs keep meeting the edge of the seat, and the sound of his skin clapping against Deku’s exposed, red ass is loud, crisp, clear.
The window is open; they can probably hear them from the street. The air is too warm to cool them down, to keep them from slipping against each other’s sweaty bodies too much. They’re lucky Katsuki remembered to push the chair back against the wall before shoving Deku onto it. He’s pretty sure they’d be on the floor by now, tangled atop the tipped over chair.
He doesn’t care, actually, if it falls or not.
Deku is drowning under him, and Katsuki wants to shove him deeper.
He wants to get his hands on him, to reach through their frenzied fucking and dig his fingers into his lungs, but he knows this is working for Deku, knows he’s doing him good because Deku makes a deeply choked sound, almost like a whimper, hands clutching at Katsuki’s bent wrists instead of his own ankles.
Like he needs an anchor to pull him down further as he’s being drowned.
Katsuki growls, and dives forward, not watching his strength as he ducks his head and sets his teeth into Deku’s thigh, the closest part he can reach without stopping.
More, he needs more. Not even the feel of Deku’s skin breaking under his teeth is enough anymore.
“Open,” he growls, pressing down like he’s doing pushups, until he’s hovering directly above Deku, face to face. He hilts himself deep, rolling his tongue around his mouth.
Deku’s hazy eyes suddenly focus, keenly watching Katsuki’s lips.
He doesn’t ask what, or why. He opens his mouth, tilting his head back so it’s directly underneath Katsuki’s.
His tongue, pink and a little swollen at the tip from all his biting, presses forward and out eagerly. He can barely breathe like this, so excited, so eager.
For the first time in hours, Katsuki’s pace slows.
His hips move at a crawl so he can focus, pulling back to just the tip, so he can watch with depraved, devout eyes for Deku’s reaction.
He spits, directly onto Deku’s tongue, and slams back in.
Deku moans, guttural and in his throat, swallowing frantically, but Katsuki snarls, braces himself on the chair so he can reach down and wrench Deku’s jaw back open with a hand covering his entire face.
“Open,” he demands again, impatient, saliva building in his mouth at Deku’s blissed out face.
He opens, like a good boy, like a natural whore, like the eager teenager Katsuki spent years losing more than just his virginity to, and this time, when Katsuki spits directly into the back of Deku’s mouth, Deku keens, like his brain just split in half, like someone shot electricity straight down his spine.
Katsuki doesn’t even have to tell him to say thank you.
“Thank you,” Deku babbles, getting a head start. He’s arching his back against the curve the chair has forced him in, like he can strain and get closer to Katsuki, ask him to do it again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Katsuki moves his hand, stuffs two fingers into Deku’s mouth to grip his tongue, to hold it in place as he fucks him deep into the loveseat. The throb in his finger pulses straight to his cock when Deku laves his tongue over the miniscule wound.
It’s hard to hold this position on one arm, to keep himself semi-vertical, but the strain is negligible. It always is.
His eyes burn, but he can’t look away from the mess that’s become of his husband. The image cements itself into his eyelids, breath practically snarling out of him on every exhale.
“Kacchan,” Deku tries, the word destroyed as soon as it reaches Katsuki’s fingers, but the way he says it, like he owns every inflection and syllable, like he’s offering up his soul just for the privilege to voice it aloud.
He pulls at Deku’s tongue, transfixed at the easy way Deku’s jaw falls open to accommodate Katsuki’s big fingers. He scrapes the top palette of his mouth with the back of his knuckles, like he would the tip of his cock, reaches back into the blistering warmth of Deku’s throat, and only pulls his fingers out when Deku starts gagging hard enough to choke, his ass squeezing around his cock in time with each gag.
He wipes the saliva on Deku’s cheeks, mixes it with his tears, and leans down to lick him clean.
Katsuki is still starving.
He eats Deku’s moans straight from the source, drinks up the deluge of tears, bites like he can tear his skin off and make it part of his own.
And Christ but Deku’s scent. He inhales deep, smashing his nose into Deku’s neck, behind his ear, into the damp hairline.
Deku smells like him, like Katsuki’s sweat, like his hands from when he ran his palms over every inch of Deku’s body earlier to soothe the trembles plaguing him. And it’s stayed, with every inch of Katsuki covering him, his sweat dripping off his body only to get soaked by Deku’s.
His, utterly and completely his. His husband.
Deku gasps for him, hands leaving Katsuki’s wrists to claw at his own thighs. Lower and lower, he squeezes his legs, flexes his muscles, like it’ll bring him salvation – like Katsuki isn’t already giving it to him.
“Kacchan,” Deku gasps, feverish, delirious, eyes manic and fingers frantic. He pulls himself wider, fingertips tracing the stretched rim of his hole, palms digging into his sweaty skin and knuckles smashed flat against his cheeks from Katsuki’s thighs. “Here, please, Kacchan, please. Please.”
There’s nothing but white-hot heat as Katsuki slowly pulls back to stare down at his husband, to look from Deku’s face as he pleads with those frenzied, wet eyes to where his cock carves a way through him.
Katsuki groans, setting his head against Deku’s and keeps his gaze low as he pulls back, watches his abused rim stretch and pull with Katsuki’s cock before finally letting go. The shiver that travels through Deku lands directly at Katsuki’s balls, drawn tight and painful as Deku’s fingers inch closer so that with every pull back, he’s sliding against the inside of those scars.
He shudders, grinds his forehead against Deku’s to echo the snarl crawling out his throat.
“Here,” Deku repeats, near sobbing, toes clenching spasmodically. He impatiently nudges his head against Katsuki’s, renewing his grip on his cheeks and pulling himself further apart, insistent and utterly focused on getting what he wants. “Here. Please.”
Katsuki pulls back, angles himself, and opens his mouth.
A tremor runs through Deku at the first sight of his shining spit. He trembles with anticipation, watching it collect at the joint meeting of Katsuki’s pursed lips. His hips flex up, squeezes around the tip of Katsuki’s cock.
“Kacchan,” he gasps, voice high and breathy when gravity answers Deku’s call.
They both stare, transfixed, holding stock still as his spit falls. It lands perfectly on Deku’s hole, on the shaft of Katsuki’s cock, warm and wet as it drips down and around, seals his cock to Deku’s hole.
The vivid claim is too much.
Deku clenches up so hard Katsuki nearly falls over him with a ragged gasp, gripping the back of the chair for a lifeline and thrusting in so quick that the strained, cracked moan Deku had first breathed out cuts off to a shrill shriek.
“Oh my-”
Deku can’t finish his sentence, every sound coming out garbled as Katsuki growls and keeps up the pace, grinding his forehead into the chair’s back so he can keep an eye on where they meet, so he can watch the same time he feels his spit meld into the rhythm of their bodies.
“Yes,” Deku hisses, drawn out and pitch jolting up every second. “Oh, Kacchan.”
He should be treating his husband good. He should be holding his hand and kissing him carefully. Trade his teeth for his tongue so Deku won’t come out the other side bloody and just a bit broken.
Because Deku is good. He’s the best thing to exist on this planet. He deserves to be treated well and kind and like all the things he missed out on as a kid.
He fists a hand in Deku’s hair, wrenches his head to the side and spits on him, rough and forceful and right next to his mouth just to watch Deku’s eager tongue dart out immediately, chest stuttering at the sudden and intense pleasure.
A self-satisfied, breathless smirk pulls at Katsuki’s cheeks as he watches Deku run a finger over spit on his cheek to add it to the tacky, drying spit that collected underneath his hole, rubbing it into his skin as his eyes fight to stay open, even just half-lid and hazy, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing all the while from Katsuki’s selfish pursuit in his body.
Look at him. Katsuki’s not treating him well. He’s spoiling his husband.
As is his duty.
-
“Hey,” he calls.
Deku hums, fingers clenched tight around the edge of the table. His back arches off a little, a puddle of sweat pooling underneath from how long Katsuki’s kept him up, edging them both.
The sudden onslaught of sensation at being denied orgasm slowly fades, and they both take a moment to catch their breath, Deku in greater need than Katsuki. But even then, Katsuki has learned that edging his partner isn’t much different from edging himself, especially during long sessions.
He should have brought a cock ring - one for the both of them. An idea for later. That second honeymoon, maybe. He has more pressing matters to deal with right now.
“Hey,” he calls again, impatient. “Open your mouth.”
Deku’s eyes blink open, something sparking to life in the blown-out pupils, and he complies immediately when Katsuki lays over him, pulling his tongue out with two fingers and examining the color.
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, a flare of annoyance squeezing his fingers tight. Deku shivers, testing the resistance. Katsuki doesn’t play into it. He lets go and pulls back, grabbing Deku by the thighs and pushing him back so his ass is resting on the table now.
Deku blinks, confused. He lets go of the table and reaches a hand towards him. “Kacchan?”
“Hold on.” He can’t keep the annoyance out of his tone.
Not only did they bring this up earlier, but Katsuki should have caught it sooner with the obvious fucking signs. No wonder Deku looks like he’s a little delirious.
Deku makes another sound, a low question in his throat, pulse still fluttering visibly. He opens and closes his hands a few times, like it’ll make Katsuki come back.
He pulls out with a quiet hiss, cock bobbing straight back up against his stomach.
“Wait,” Deku says, a little panicked now, moving an elbow back so he can prop himself up. “Wait- Kacchan! Where…”
He almost falls off the table trying to reach Katsuki.
“Hey! Hey, Izuku, baby, calm down.” He reaches towards the hand and isn’t surprised when Deku forgoes his fingers to clutch at Katsuki’s wrist instead. It’s the same way he grabs at Katsuki when they’re sparring hand-to-hand and doesn’t want Katsuki’s sweaty palms to slip away from him.
Katsuki presses back between Deku’s legs which wrap back around him eagerly, tight. He’s definitely not going anywhere anymore. But Deku’s a little wild-eyed, still caught up in the moment.
“I’m grabbing my water bottle, and I’m going to fill it up,” he says, low and quiet. He doesn’t fight either of the holds Deku has on him, instead running his hands back and forth on the outside of Deku’s warm thighs, digging his fingers in on the pull back. He’s careful of the cut on his thigh, skirts just shy of it. The contact soothes Deku’s eyes, but he still clutches Katsuki’s wrist too tight. “Your tongue looks too dry. We both need water.”
“Oh,” Deku says, a bit dumbly. His fingers don’t relax, nor do his legs. He didn’t really hear what Katsuki said, inhaling and exhaling too quick.
Katsuki waits him out, lets him come back from the peak of ruined, heavy pleasure slow and silent, nice and easy. His breaths are still labored, voice rough, but there’s some clarity in his eyes now that he doesn’t think Katsuki is trying to abandon him out of nowhere.
“Oh,” Deku says again, blinking. He runs a tongue across his dry lips, and blinks again. “Okay.”
“Just a few minutes,” Katsuki promises, settling his thumbs at Deku’s hips, fanning his fingers wide on his back.
“A few minutes,” Deku repeats, fingers smoothing up Katsuki’s forearm, digging his thumb into his bicep briefly.
Katsuki nods. He hasn’t looked away from Deku once, keeps eye contact. It eases something in Deku, lets him breathe out and relax.
“I want you to stay here.” Katsuki digs his thumbs in, leans close enough to knock their foreheads together.
Some direction might help, especially since this will be the most space he’s put between them in hours.
He probably could have done this a bit more tactfully, especially since he knows how clingy and needy Deku gets after spending so long under his hands, but Katsuki also learned the consequences of waiting too long once he’s noticed.
Katsuki looks him over again, but despite his dry lips and discolored tongue, nothing looks immediately out of place.
If anything, Deku’s cock is still flushed and throbbing, occasionally twitching from the sudden relief of having Katsuki’s fingers no longer squeezed around the base. He trails a single finger up it, spreading the leaking pre to his slick head.
Still. It’s time for a break.
A small one.
“Don’t move,” he starts, and when Deku offers no protests, he rattles off a list of things for Deku to focus on, enough to tide him over. “Catch your breath. You can touch yourself, if you want, but only your cock. Don’t come, no matter what. That and your hole is for me alone, got it?”
Deku’s breath catches on the inhale, but he nods back in answer, steadier. He tugs at Katsuki’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss – his grip isn’t taking no as an option.
Katsuki snorts before going. Demanding little shit.
It’s leisurely and easy, not quite the raging heat from before but a slow smolder. Something to ease the ache, to soothe the space between.
Deku sighs, opens his lips under his. He’s warm, and soft, and doesn’t have nearly enough saliva in his mouth. Yeah. Definitely dehydrated.
Katsuki pulls back, scoots Deku a little higher on the table so his feet have space to rest without risk of falling asleep.
“I’ll be back,” he reminds, and throws on his bathrobe, barely cinching it around his waist and stepping into slippers before he’s out of the room.
His water bottle is in one hand and he makes sure to snatch the ice bucket on the way out, slipping their keycard into his pocket. He dares not look back when he hears a quiet, broken whimper and the slick sound of a hand fisting a cock.
Fucking hell. He ties the belt a bit firmer to hide his very obvious, still stupid-hard erection better.
Stupid Deku.
The air in the hallway is a freezer compared to the hotbox they made their room and Katsuki is sweating way too much. Blowing out a rough breath, he shifts everything to one hand so he can roll his sleeves to his shoulders while he walks to the ice machine. Better than nothing.
The lingering image of Deku sitting on the table, spread wide open, a shaky hand barely able to wrap around his cock for fear of coming immediately and gaze fixated on Katsuki does nothing to lower the heat.
He needs to hurry.
He glances quickly at the sign on the hallway with little pictures pointing to the elevators and the ice box, and another to the fire exit. He turns down the hall, towards the elevators, eyes scanning from side to side.
It’s completely empty. No sounds coming from behind any of the doors either. He’s not surprised. It’s fuck-o-clock in the morning, and most people are sleeping so they can make their checkout time.
All the better. Means fresh ice and no wait. He’ll just scoop it into the bucket and his bottle, then get back.
His steps quicken, and he drags his heels so the slippers don’t come off at his pace.
Katsuki gets past the elevators and stops in his tracks, squinting at the nook in the wall across the way. That noise definitely sounds like an icemaker, but there’s no big-ass container with fresh bucket liners or metal scoopers on the side.
It looks like a fancy new water fountain, with two motion-detected spouts, but instead of water, there are two different ice options. Big chunks and small chunks.
A fucking hi-tech ice dispenser.
A shitty, standard water fountain sits right next to it, low on the wall.
What the hell.
Katsuki stares at it, incensed. So this hotel can afford a high-quality, wasteful ice dispenser but not a bed of well enough quality he can fuck his husband off of? A shitty, motion-activated ice dispenser, when the air conditioning in their room is so fucked up that it does jack all to circulate air?
Fucking idiots. Who the hell booked this as their hotel?
He clicks his tongue, hand squeezing his water bottle too tight. This is why Katsuki does everything himself.
For a single, fucked-up second, so fucked-up it makes him immediately cringe, he wonders what the hotel Todoroki is staying at is like and if it’s better than theirs.
And then he exorcises all thoughts of that asshole from his mind.
He was stuck in a car with him and Deku yesterday for eight hours straight – Katsuki has had more than enough “quality time” with Icy Hot to fill his quota for the next six months.
He crams the bucket under the big chunk option, gritting his teeth as it takes it’s time to slowly fill up.
Goddamnit. He would have been done already if they just had the normal box full of ice to scoop from. He fills up his water bottle at the same time and screws the cap on with more force than necessary. Fuck this noise.
He turns on his heel, and marches back to their room, the hum of the ice dispenser fading the farther down the hallway he goes.
It’s not until he’s unlocking their door and reaching to put the bottle on the small side table that he realizes.
He forgot the ice bucket. Shit.
He looks back at the still partially open door to Deku squirming on the table, eyes wet, utterly and completely focused on Katsuki’s entrance.
He can’t leave him again.
He steps into the dark room, stopping by the bathroom to snatch a spare robe before making his way to Deku.
The semi-open doorway slants a beam of light directly across Deku’s body, and Katsuki’s eyes are helpless but to track it from Deku’s intense gaze, down his heaving chest, and to the tip of his cock peeking through his hand, flushed and shiny with pre.
He settles between Deku’s legs again, taking a moment to pop the top of the bottle open and pour some water in his mouth. He misses, just a little, and Deku whimpers when water spills down Katsuki’s throat.
He doesn’t swallow. Instead, he leans down, presses his mouth to Deku’s, and gives him no choice but to accept the water pouring into his mouth.
He does this a few times, gives Deku mouthfuls of water to drink until his breathing is under control and he doesn’t look so dangerously flushed. Then he drinks for himself, setting the bottle aside on the table after.
“C’mon,” he says. He wraps his hands around Deku’s biceps to pull him off the table. He nudges Deku’s slippers under his feet before they touch the floor, then guides him into the robe.
Deku doesn’t protest, but he does look confused when Katsuki pulls him into the hallway.
He’s blinks at the bright hallway lights, dazed, but he slips his slack fingers through Katsuki’s into a more purposeful hold. He pads behind Katsuki quietly, shivering a little.
“Kacchan?” he asks, voice raspy. Katsuki just tugs him faster.
The ice bucket is still there, just as Katsuki left it, but some of it has started to melt. He dumps half of it out and places it back under.
The ice-machine shudders, releasing slow grating and grinding noises as it starts back up. At peak volume, loud enough to earn a noise complaint, it spits out a truly pitiful amount of ice into the bucket and stops. Then it starts all over. Shuddering, shaking, and pitifully grinding more ice.
Katsuki briefly closes his eyes. So not even the fancy-ass ice-machine can hold up for long.
Deku jerks at the sudden noise of the ice landing, shoulder bumping into Katsuki’s. The sweat on his temples is drying, and Katsuki eyes him, reaches out to push Deku’s hair back from his forehead. The sweat helps it stay in place. Cute.
He drifts his hand down, feels Deku's still feverish cheeks with the back of his hand and frowns.
Katsuki reaches into the ice bucket, ignoring the few pieces of ice that hit the back of his hand. He pulls Deku closer to him, bringing a hand up to his face, and holds the ice out, waiting for Deku to grab it. It begins melting in his heated palms after only a few seconds, and he shakes his hand with emphasis so Deku can take it already.
He doesn’t. Deku scoots closer to him and busies his hands in Katsuki’s robes. Instead, he takes the ice with his teeth, and then looks up at him with big, wide eyes.
Katsuki makes a face, gesturing him to hurry up when Deku just stands there, ice between his teeth. As he waits, he rests his now empty and temporarily chilled hand on the back of Deku’s neck. His thumb lays comfortably on Deku’s pulse. A little quick, but steady. Familiar.
Deku sucks on the part of the ice in his mouth, but nothing more.
Katsuki can’t tell if it’s because his brain is still slowly solidifying back to normal, or if Deku’s teasing him.
He frowns, squeezes Deku’s neck.
“Chew,” he says, and Deku chews, utterly docile even with the ice cracking loud and sharp between them.
Not teasing, then.
He’s never this docile, not when he’s out in public, and especially not with Katsuki. It’s strange, and would be more than a little worrisome except…
Deku stares up at him, dutifully chewing on the ice. He’s plastered himself to Katsuki’s side, under his arm, chest against his ribs, clutching the back of his robe and the front of his own. The faintest of trembles runs through every inch of his body.
Except when Deku needs Katsuki so desperately, he can focus only on him.
Katsuki smiles, slow and pleased and a little mean.
It’s his fault Deku is as strung up as he is, but the pleasure of knowing that Deku is in such a state because of him overrides that concern. Besides, this has an easy solution.
He resettles the hand on the back of Deku’s neck, tucking into the collar of his robe. Katsuki tugs him closer, and Deku, already melting from the weight of his hand, steps the last little bit closer until his hips are pressed directly against Katsuki’s leg. He’s still achingly, pitifully hard.
“Get to work,” he murmurs, scratching slow and very lightly across the sensitive skin of Deku’s neck. Deku shivers, hips thrusting forward a little.
“What?”
Katsuki gives him his options. “You either come here, right now, on my thigh, or I keep edging you in our room. Pick, baby. Kacchan will take care of you.”
Deku’s mouth drops open, shuddering, like Katsuki just offered him two priceless treasures, like it’s a boon in and of itself to be able to choose.
This lost in lust, when he’s removed all worldly thoughts and the heavy privilege it is to choose, to Deku it is.
Deku mumbles something, blush steadily darkening.
Katsuki stares, wonders sometimes how different things would be if Deku didn’t flush so easily, if he didn’t wear his emotions so readily on his skin for Katsuki to read. If he’d have a harder time reading Deku, feel less encouraged about if he’s doing or saying the right things to Deku, if he’d have found another way to incite the same level of flustered pleasure he likes to draw out.
He’d find a way, of course, but he can’t help but prefer Deku like this, hot to the touch, unable to make eye contact, and so red that anybody who passes by would be able to see, from one glance alone, just how Deku is feeling.
It inflates his pride an absurd amount because it’s not like anyone else has had a chance to treat Deku like he does. Katsuki hasn’t let anybody get close enough to even start.
“Louder,” he says, not a whisper and not soft, but something low, heady.
Deku’s gaze skitters away and he chews the inside of his cheek. “Thigh,” he answers clearly, finally.
Katsuki smiles, pleased. He tugs on Deku’s neck, just enough to guide his face into his chest, give Deku that false sense of privacy he needs to boost his confidence.
He doesn’t say anything more, just waits for Deku to take the first move.
For all Deku knows, this is for his singular pleasure, not Katsuki's. Deku is doing this for himself (that’s what he thinks, at least – Katsuki could easily get off to watching Deku squirm on his thigh, over-stimulated and lust stretched tight like a rubber band at its absolute limits) so he can feel good, which means no direction from Katsuki, no asking, no help. Katsuki is here to watch and listen, provide his husband a platform.
Deku needs to dictate the pace, the when, the how. He just needs to take that first step.
But his husband, being his husband, takes the offered privacy greedily before anything else, nosing past the robe so his face is directly squished into Katsuki’s chest. He’s hesitant, almost awkward, stepping over Katsuki’s proffered thigh and settling his weight on him, scooting up on his tiptoes when he starts to slide.
When Katsuki says nothing, does nothing but continue to stroke his warm neck, Deku whines a little, embarrassed.
He’s tentative, at first, self-conscious and caught up in his head. His hips barely move, and Katsuki can barely feel the pressure of Deku’s cock against his leg. It must be torture, like he’s edging himself again instead of chasing that feeling with all the desperation still coiled tightly in every single one of his shivering limbs.
Deku really can’t do anything without Katsuki, huh.
He leans down, noses Deku’s red ear. “Good,” he praises. “Like that. You don’t wanna go faster, Deku? Harder? But you can’t handle it, huh.”
Deku shudders. His hips stutter for a moment, stopping, and then with fists clenched tight in his robe, he grinds harder against Katsuki’s leg, not with more confidence, but with more purpose.
“Good boy,” Katsuki says, low and dripping with pride. “That feels better, doesn't it. Keep going, baby.”
Damp puffs of air hit his collarbone, and Katsuki looks down, sees that Deku’s eyes are squeezed shut. He bites his lip again, muffling a cracking groan.
“Keep going,” he repeats, tugging at Deku’s hair just to remind him where his attention should be.
Deku pants, opening his eyes and lifting his head to gaze blearily up at Katsuki.
“Faster,” he encourages, and Deku goes faster. He digs his teeth into Katsuki’s chest, eyes rolling a little. Katsuki shifts his foot behind him, to steady himself against Deku’s pace. “Good job, baby. Feeling good? Gonna keep going?”
Deku gasps quietly, eyes tearing up at the corners. He nods, finally, and some of the stitches in Katsuki’s robe snap.
He’d almost think Deku would have been out of tears at this point, especially after all the times he ruined his orgasm on that table, but again, Deku doesn’t know what the word impossible means.
No wonder he got so dehydrated so quickly.
He’s gained a steady rhythm, no longer hiding his face, barely hiding his sounds, and clinging so tight to Katsuki that he’s barely giving himself room to move. Most of his pleasure comes from just bearing his weight down on Katsuki’s leg, pressing his cock tight between them and crying from the feeling.
Katsuki watches him, attention singular, only barely keeping an eye out on their surroundings. How can he, when Deku keeps seeking his gaze, his approval, shivering with each word Katsuki gives him?
So eager to please, to do well, even when it’s all about himself.
Katsuki is smug, he knows, can feel the smirk straining his face and the ache settled in the root of each teeth to dig deep into Deku’s flesh. His husband is so good.
A muffled sound comes from behind a door far down the hallway, and Deku freezes his movements, clutching Katsuki’s robe tighter. He trembles in place, hips fighting to keep moving the way they were before, and Katsuki raises an eyebrow, stops scratching to tug at Deku’s hair.
“Do you want to stop?”
Deku peeks up at him. He searches Katsuki’s expression, finds no panic in his eyes, no annoyance on his lips, or worry crowding his eyebrows. The anxiety eases from Deku’s frame, and he answers honestly, “No.”
He breathes it out, like he can barely remember how to talk. Deku buries his face back in the robes instead of his chest, flushed pink and panting open-mouthed. He’s probably hoping the fabric will muffle his voice.
“Then don’t stop again.”
Deku whimpers, starts moving.
Katsuki slides his hand down to the small of Deku’s back, applies pressure and holds it. He grabs the loose ends of Deku’s belt, and tugs, wrapping them around his fist so Deku’s moves are hindered, tighter, so he can’t move so far out Katsuki’s embrace anymore.
The ice-dispenser has gone quiet in the background, its automatic timer ending with the bucket nearly full, and only the hum of the lights above them answer Deku’s muffled groans and quiet grunts.
“Can’t,” Deku whispers.
“Can’t, what?”
“Kacchan, help me?” he whines, his rutting desperate but uneven, jerky. Too stimulated to focus properly and do it himself. Instead, he looks up at Katsuki like he can fix it for him.
Of course he can.
“Why should I?” he asks instead.
Deku’s mouth opens, but he can’t think anything coherent, can’t stop chasing that pleasure. His forehead digs back into Katsuki's chest in frustration.
“Please,” he begs, grinding in tight, quick, circles, “please, Kacchan, I can’t- need Kacchan.”
Katsuki says nothing. He watches, takes a careful, slow breath in.
Deku looks up at him again, makes eye contact, says so earnestly and pathetically in a quiet voice, unburdened by pride or shame, "I need you."
Katsuki’s cock twitches, already half-hard from Deku’s show.
"Fucking Christ," he mutters, jaw flexing. Jesus fucking Christ.
He crowds Deku against the wall next to the ice machine, hidden in the nook so Deku stops tensing up so much, and hikes his thigh up between Deku’s, bending at the knees a little so he’s not kneeing his husband in the balls. He grabs a fistful of Deku’s robe at the back of his neck so he can’t move his head away when Katsuki goes to kiss him, and hikes Deku’s knee up to his hip so the full brunt and breadth of his thigh settles in the cradle of Deku’s hips, pressing into his stomach and pelvic bone and bearing all his weight against Deku’s leaking, twitching cock.
“Can’t do anything by yourself, can you,” he grunts, at wit's end, and presses into him. He sets a heavy pace - the only goal is to get Deku to come.
Katsuki holds the pressure, grinds his cock into Deku’s body when he grinds his thigh.
Deku’s cry echoes in the hallway. He shoves their mouths back together and doesn’t let up the pressure or pace once. He forces Deku to ride out the intensity that has him scrabbling at the wall behind him before clawing down Katsuki’s bare arms and kisses him until Deku’s cum splatters the inside of his robes.
Deku gasps for air, hands clenched in the bunched-up fabric at Katsuki’s shoulders. His shout is only barely muffled behind their tongues.
Katsuki kisses the sweat lining Deku’s hairline away, easing off his grip and lowering his thigh. He threads his fingers into Deku’s hair, presses until their foreheads are tipped together, touching. This way, he gets all of Deku’s attention. This way, every breath Deku takes is already tainted by Katsuki.
“Better?” he asks.
Deku heaves for air, gaze unfocused. He’s overheating again, but the trembling has slowed to a complete still, and the tension of denied pleasure has left hard-earned bliss in its place.
“Better,” Katsuki answers for him, and ducks down to kiss Deku’s damp neck by the collar of his robe. Deku shivers violently.
He’s still hard, but he’ll just see if Deku wants to blow him later. He needs a break, too.
Katsuki stretches his arm out, scoops a handful of ice out of the bucket and drops it in his mouth. Deku watches him, bleary, waiting.
“C’mere,” Katsuki manages around the ice, and presses his cold lips to Deku’s. He inhales at the stark difference and Katsuki pushes the ice into Deku’s mouth with his tongue.
Deku chews automatically, blinking up at Katsuki and waiting. Katsuki kisses the freckles on his right cheek in answer. Not enough, but it’s a start.
“C’mon.”
He pulls back, keeping one of Deku’s hands in his, and grabs the ice bucket from the dispenser with the other.
Deku stumbles after him, pressing close to his back. His breaths are still rough, but he presses his face into Katsuki’s arm when they stop in front of the door to key in.
He reaches into the bucket and grabs some ice of his own, and Katsuki shifts his hand so it’s easier. His chest swells with something seeing Deku come back more to himself, become more aware of their surroundings, but still cling so close to him.
Means he did something right. Helped quiet something in Deku’s head.
The lock clicks softly and Katsuki pulls them through the doorway.
It’s still hot when they step in, so Katsuki nudges Deku towards the loveseat by the open window.
Deku kisses his bare arm with cool lips and drops his robe as he goes, slumping naked and unashamed across the cushions, tilting his face into the slight breeze only the barest bit cooler than the temperature in the room.
The aircon unit fills up the room with white noise, working overtime. Finally. Hopefully the room will have cooled down enough when they go to sleep that Deku won’t kick him off.
Katsuki busies himself with putting everything away in the right spot, and picks up Deku’s robe, for now flinging it over the stained table. He’ll take care of it before they check out.
Deku will have an aneurysm if the hotel’s cleaning crew comes in after they leave and are forced to clean up all their cum and sweat. Stupid Deku.
“Shit’s hot as Satan’s taint,” he mutters. Deku hums lowly in agreement, head lolling back on the loveseat as Katsuki turns away to set the bucket on the table for now, too, idly chewing on ice. A drop of sweat rolls down the back of his neck, and his scowl deepens.
Katsuki guzzles water of his own, tugging the belt holding his robe together open. Fuck, it’s too hot to be wearing anything, and the cold air isn’t circulating around fast enough.
He drops more ice in his mouth before working on Deku’s bottle. It’s still half-full, but the water is lukewarm at best. Gross. He fills it up with ice and turns around to chuck it at Deku, the tip of his husband’s name on his tongue.
The sight stuns him silent.
Deku is splayed across the loveseat, a calf resting on the arm of one side, head lying on the other end, facing the window. He’s breathing slow and steady, gazing out at the full moon. One hand stretches to his face, slowly tracing red lips back and forth with just the pads of his fingers. The other rests by his thigh, middle finger trailing along the indent where his pelvis meets his leg, right over the massive, blooming bruise Katsuki left there with his mouth.
The image is as hedonistic as it is tender, so indulgent and effortlessly sensual, that Katsuki is helpless but to heed the call.
His breath caught somewhere in his fourth rib and his desire permanently settled behind his navel, Katsuki goes.
“Izuku,” he says lowly. He looms over his relaxing husband and presses the chilled bottle to his neck, unaware of the feverish glint in his eyes, his wide pupils or the slight baring of his teeth, face cast in shadow with his back to the window.
Deku blinks over and up when Katsuki’s shadow falls over him, and, without a second to waste, a smile blooms – it puts every smile Katsuki has ever seen to shame.
His husband flushes red when they make eye contact, something shy but welcoming in his gaze. He reaches over, puts the fingers tracing his lips not on the bottle, but on Katsuki’s hand still holding it to him. His ring glints with the motion.
Katsuki shivers, tongue moving restlessly in his mouth.
Deku tugs at Katsuki’s robe with his other hand, pulling it wider. It starts slipping from his shoulders; Katsuki doesn’t make a move to fix it.
“Kacchan,” he calls, a siren masquerading as a mere human.
The robe drops, the bottle falls, and so Katsuki goes.
-
“Turn,” he demands, pushing Deku off his cock.
Deku clings to his leg, mouth still open, tongue idly moving like Katsuki’s cock is still resting heavy there.
He doesn’t wait for Deku to comply. He bodily moves him, shoves his face against the cushions of the loveseat, baring his pretty, flushed neck and heaving back.
Katsuki rarely takes Deku from the back, can’t stand to not see his face or kiss him for minutes on end, which means this section of Deku’s skin is pale, clear of any blemish. He needs to fix that. He has to.
His shoulders heave, rising and falling faster than Deku’s gasping breaths leave him.
He smells like Katsuki, his neck especially so from how often Katsuki welds his hands there to hold him up, to hold him down, to move him like Katsuki wants – but it’s not enough anymore.
He needs his existence to be written on Deku’s skin, put inside of him so indelibly that it’ll be undeniable when they dig Deku’s bones up just who he belonged to, who took care of him, who dedicated himself so wholly to Deku’s being the proof is immortal. He needs to do it with his mouth, his teeth, dig deep, like a collar, a tattoo, a piercing, but first-
He strokes his cock feverishly, eyes catching where Deku’s hands sneak down. Not to touch his leaking, flushed cock hanging between spread legs, but to his gaping, wet hole. He sneaks a finger around the rim, whimpering when even that much stimulation proves too much.
He’s not brave enough to keep touching himself, not like how Katsuki does.
He still tries anyway, shaking and shuddering when Katsuki grips his shoulder as he leans down, leans forward, starts thrusting his cock against Deku’s bare back, and when it's not enough, between the groove of his shoulder and his neck, using his thumb to keep them pressed together.
He’ll mark him here with his cum first, spread it so deep into his skin the smell will linger for days.
Deku tries to turn his head, to kiss Katsuki's leaking cock on every thrust forward, but Katsuki palms his head, squeezes through his hair down to his scalp to keep him still.
“Kacchan,” he sighs, a complaint and a call, fingers fluttering against his hole. The tension in his shoulders ease at the heat of Katsuki’s hand, of his cock pressing deep into his skin.
His voice sounds so broken, like it’s held together by the grace of Katsuki’s presence alone, and he’s suddenly coming all over Deku’s pretty, bare neck, covering the nape, the bottom of his hair, clumping the strands together. He hunches over, gasping, hand spasming around his cock and watching fastidiously as his cum covers Deku's shoulder blades, the clearest patch of skin on his entire body. Katsuki aches to rip his teeth across every protruding bone.
He groans loud and unabashed when it starts dripping down Deku’s spine in a slow, steady path to his open hole. It spills over Deku’s shoulder, even onto the side of pretty, freckled cheeks.
Katsuki sighs at the sight, and reaches out, massages it into his skin.
“Okay?” he asks, running his fingers through the hair clumped together with his cum, the white on green far too addicting a sight. He messes it up further, spreads it lower onto Deku’s neck instead, chest still heaving.
“No,” Deku moans. “Need, I need-”
Katsuki kneels down behind him all too easily, so quickly that his knees ache for a second even as they land on the thin cushioning his bathrobe provides. He slips his hand to the front of Deku’s throat just to hold him in place.
He’s still hard, just enough, and it’ll be easy to slide into Deku like this. Not to do anything more, can’t, but to occupy that space inside Deku only he can.
He runs the fingers covered from the cum that landed in Deku’s hair over his rim, and finds he only has the patience to stuff it inside for a few seconds.
The tip of his cock, cum still clinging to and dripping from it, presses against Deku’s rim and Katsuki has to press down on Deku’s neck, on his clavicle and curve of his shoulder, to keep him still, to make sure Katsuki can slip inside at his own pace, make his husband wait for it properly so he doesn’t hurt himself.
“Yeah,” he sighs, and seats himself in so deep and so satisfying that they still, a gust of air leaving them both.
This is where they both should be - where Katsuki needs to be. He warms his cock inside of Deku’s slick, heated ass, gives himself time to recover from coming not even a full minute ago.
Even after everything, it wasn’t enough.
On days like this, it never feels like it is until Katsuki is practically collapsing from exhaustion. He can probably go a few rounds more. He’ll make sure Deku does, too.
He keeps a hand on Deku’s throat, middle finger stroking the skin lightly. Deku’s hands come up to grab Katsuki’s other hand, to pull it around his waist and hold it to his ribs; he squeezes him there so that Katsuki wouldn’t be able to leave even if he wanted to.
He’s still so tight, so perfect, fits around and under Katsuki like he was always meant to.
“Izuku,” he murmurs into his shoulder, uncaring of the cum sticking to his chest as he presses closer.
Deku is mumbling something to himself, mouth smushed sideways against the seat.
Katsuki’s cum presses deep into his cushion from the cheek Deku is laying on, and the freckles on his clean cheek are drying tacky with sweat, a faint dimple present underneath the moonlight.
Katsuki starts moving, a slow rocking. Not to orgasm, but to stretch out the pleasure, steal Deku’s warmth. Despite complaining earlier, Katsuki didn’t get as much time as he wanted to cock warm with Deku.
He licks the dimple, the one so shallow nobody but Katsuki consistently sees it.
Good, because it’s his.
Deku gets louder, but still mumbles softly, like he’s finally finding his voice after so long.
“…me.”
Katsuki hums, presses his face on top of Deku’s, cheek to cheek. He shuffles closer, knees and thighs bracketing the outside of Deku’s. Their skin sticks together, warm and damp, and Katsuki breathes as the pleasure builds slow in his spine.
He should have opened the window again.
He closed it earlier, Deku so loud it made inane jealousy rear its head at the thought that random people could be getting off to it without his permission. He had covered Deku’s mouth with both hands, shoved his fingers deep in his mouth and heavy on his tongue, took all his words for himself.
Now, Deku can barely speak, but that’s okay. When he finds his voice again, Katsuki will swallow that, too.
“…me,” Deku sighs again. “Kacchan…”
“Too quiet, baby.”
“Kacchan,” he says, like he’s forgotten all other words.
“Yeah.”
“…love me.”
“Yeah.”
“You love me,” Deku says, not clear, not loud, but unmistakably firm.
He chants it, the same way he hums along to the radio: completely unaware, honey-voice low, a little raspy. Over and over, again and again just to himself. Katsuki is only here to witness it, is privileged enough to hear it directly in his ear.
He says it haltingly, slowly, around the imprint left behind from Katsuki’s fingers and to the rhythm of Katsuki’s cock carving through his insides again. “You love me; you love me.”
Katsuki shudders against Deku’s back, buries his face closer to his neck so he can hear him better, laves his tongue on salty skin.
After every slow, indulgent thrust, Deku sighs it again, like a comforting blanket being pulled over chilled skin.
In. “You love me.”
Out. “You love me.”
Fingers squeezing his throat, his shoulders. “You love me.”
A bite to his shoulder, gasped this time. “You love me.”
He can’t fucking stand him.
“Baby,” he says, the second chamber of my heart, he means. “Gonna marry you again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“But- but we’re already married.”
“I know.”
“I already have a ring.”
“I’ll get you another one.”
“Two- two rings from Kacchan?”
“As many as you want.”
“I only have ten fingers.”
“Then another honeymoon, when you run out of fingers.”
“Just me and Kacchan.”
“Yeah. Just you and me, baby.”
“And my ten rings,” Deku half-laughs, half-sobs.
He’s reached the point where any filter left in his brain is gone. There’s only nonsensical, half-baked thoughts and silly absurdity, and Katsuki would be a liar if he said it didn’t ramp up his desire or swell his adoration.
It’s so tempting to answer each honest thought that Katsuki has never even considered filling Deku’s mouth with his fingers or his tongue so he quiets, can focus only on the pleasure. Not when Deku is like this.
“Gonna need- need more chains,” Deku babbles. “For each one.”
“We’ll make a date out of it.”
“Kacchan is-” he gasps, almost chewing at the fabric of the chair until Katsuki places his arm there first, accepting the blunt pain of Deku’s teeth with a grunt “-is gonna woo me, again, take me out on a date, again, marry me, again, like- like- special Kacchan privileges. I have Kacchan privileges. I get him twice.”
“More than twice.”
“Kacchan is treating me like a high school sweetheart,” he laughs softly, breathlessly. “Like I’ll run away if you don’t catch me in time. Gonna put a ring on it. Again. But I’m already your husband.”
“You are.”
“Hm?”
“Mine, baby. Sweetheart. Husband. All of the above.”
“I know,” Deku moans, clutching at Katsuki’s hand, bringing it to his chest. His heart is beating so hard and so fast Katsuki would be worried except his own heart is just as loud pressed against Deku’s back, knocking against his sternum and begging for Deku to answer. “I know. I know, Kacchan.”
“’Course you do,” he mutters, feeling like he’s lost his footing despite being on his knees when Deku whines and shifts at the uncommon pet-name coming out his mouth. He likes hearing Deku beg, craves it, but he’ll never have to beg for this. He’s so good. So, so good. He deserves to feel it, to be called it, as much as he wants, without ever asking. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”
The magnitude of Deku’s loyalty over the past two decades, Deku’s confidence in them, in Katsuki – it’s more potent than any drug. He wanted to earn that loyalty, at first, didn’t feel like he could ever measure up to a lifetime of devotion before he ever had that word in his lexicon.
But now? Now he wants to reward it, wants to praise it, wants to give Deku everything.
He’ll call Deku whatever he wants, whatever saccharine, cliché, typical pet name there is, every degrading insult that drips pleasure down his spine like warm honey and every harmless tease that flushes each freckle on his cheeks because it’s proof that Deku wants to stay with him. Wants to keep Katsuki close, no matter what happens.
“Because- because of Kacchan,” Deku cries, the back of his thighs sticking where they rest on Katsuki’s, his toes curling against Katsuki’s calves. “I feel so- ah, ah, Kacchan, Kacchan.”
“There’s my baby.”
Deku whines, a cracking, ragged sound. He’s drained, all fucked out, but still he gives to Katsuki by letting him take. He’ll take him there.
“Can you give me one more?”
“If Kacchan- if Kacchan does, too. Kacchan feels good?”
“Fuck, baby, yeah. Yeah, ‘course, Izuku. ‘Course. Losing my mind.”
“I’ll help you find it,” Deku promises, nonsensically, rolling his head back on Katsuki’s shoulder to peek at him. “Whatever Kacchan wants.”
“I want you.”
“Okay.”
“Wanna marry you again,” he repeats, like a dog and its bone.
“Okay.”
“Go on a date.”
“Yeah, yeah, date with Kacchan. I promise.”
“Fuck you in our car.”
“Okay.”
“In front of your friends.”
“Okay.”
“Gonna take you on the fuckin’ streets, in your costume.”
“Yes, yes, Kacchan, yeah.”
“No take backs.”
“Never. Never. Whatever Kacchan wants. Wanna make Kacchan happy.”
Katsuki bands both arms around Deku’s body far tighter than he should. He holds him like he’s going to bolt – as if Deku has ever run away from him. The thought pulls his arms closer together. He groans, pulling Deku deep down onto his lap and holding his weight there, grinding up into that heady heat.
“Think I’m not?”
“What?”
“Think I’m not happy?”
“No,” Deku breathes, a little giddy, legs starting to tremble at Katsuki’ slow, precise grinding, at the full weight and girth of his cock settling deep inside him. “No, Kacchan is happy with me. Happier than anyone.”
“Yeah.”
“Only with me?” he asks, a hint of that bashful pleasure crawling up his neck and into his voice. As if there could be anyone else.
“Only you, sweetheart.”
“Kacchan,” he whines. “Don’t.”
“But you are.”
“Embar-” he gasps, closing his eyes. “Embarrassing.”
Katsuki huffs. His husband, shy and embarrassed now. Only Deku. “Don’t wanna be my sweetheart?”
Deku makes a noise.
He wonders, rolling the blissful, heavy sound Deku made at being called sweetheart around in his head. He’s heard his friends use this on significant others before, but mostly in a joking way, or while pleading because they fucked up.
Katsuki’s never considered it, because “dumbass” suits Deku more than anything most days, and "baby" is soft enough already.
But connected together like this?
Katsuki can compromise when he feels like it. When he knows it’ll make Deku lose his mind. Just once, though.
A weapon in his pocket if Deku likes it.
He kisses the back of Deku’s neck, and calls to him, low and smooth, curious. “Feel good, angel?”
Deku’s shoulders bend inwards, eyes flying open. He squeezes around Katsuki, so tight it feels like his cock is going to pop off. “Kacchan. You can’t.”
“What?” he manages. He stops moving, clutches Deku tighter. Holy shit.
A weapon indeed, one that deals double damage, apparently.
“I don’t- I can’t think, Kacchan, you can’t, don’t call me-” Deku shudders, cries quietly, the weight of the pet name too much.
“Mm,” he agrees, catching his breath and nosing into Deku’s neck. “I know.”
“Mean.”
“Yeah, your Kacchan is mean. Gonna keep fucking you, sweetheart.”
Deku groans. “Mean.”
“You’re gonna marry me anyways.”
“Whatever Kacchan wants.”
A slow, hazy pink hits the corner of their room, and Deku hides his face again as the rising sun lights up his expression.
“Don’t,” Katsuki says almost desperately, biting into the back of Deku’s neck, uncaring for the taste of his own drying cum on his tongue. “Izuku. Don’t hide.”
“But Kacchan.” A plaintive whine.
“Wanna see. Lemme see?”
“Kacchan is always staring,” Deku mutters, and turns his face back out, cheek resting on Katsuki’s forearm, right over the bite mark. “Ain’t got nothing new to look at.”
“Don’t care,” he grunts, kissing Deku’s chin sloppily. “Mine to look at. Wanna see.”
“’Kay,” Deku sighs, closing his eyes. Some of his hair has flopped back onto his forehead from Katsuki’s slow thrusting, getting into his eyes. His eyebrows scrunch, but not tight enough to mean his hair is bothering him.
Katsuki leans down, blows it away only so he can rest his forehead against Deku’s temple. “What is it?”
“Kacchan,” he says, just to say. “I have an idea.”
“Mm.”
“Instead- ah, ahn, wait, wait, lemme- ah, Kacchan lemme-”
“I’m listening, baby.”
“Can’t.” A whine, spoiled and beloved.
“Keep talking.”
Deku groans, face plaintive and pleading. “Instead of another, ah, another ring, how about-”
Katsuki perks up, an eyebrow raising. “Yeah?”
“Kacchan, do you still not want a tattoo?”
“Dunno,” he answers. No, he might’ve said before, firm and absolute, but he’s uncharacteristically pliant when he’s had Deku squirming on his cock for hours. But only when it comes to Deku, and how Katsuki can answer his needs. And there’s a need, there, hidden in that non sequitur, and it’s Katsuki’s to dig out. “Depends.”
“Because, what if,” he starts, stopping to bite Katsuki’s forearm again.
“What if, what?”
“What if, we got a tattoo of our rings, so I wouldn’t have to take it off? I’d have Kacchan on me, forever.”
Katsuki halts in place, eyes blowing wide. His cock pulses, once, twice, a lick of heat straight to his balls because Deku’s words have just registered and holy mother of-
Deku doesn’t notice, eyes closed, mouth pursing down in a small frown at the interrupted movement. He continues talking, anyway. “I know you don’t like it. Taking our rings off. ‘Cause I almost lost it.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” he immediately says, near gasping, a reflex after all these years. His voice comes out low, rough, like he needs to clear his throat. “Wasn’t- I don’t mind. Wasn’t your fault, baby. You still have it. Even if you did lose it, it’d be fine.”
Deku says lost, but someone stole it and almost got away with it.
Deku used to put his ring in his locker at work, but he gives it to Katsuki, now, to wear against his body in the winter, and keep at home in the summer. Deku’s never trusted the chain he got for it. Too afraid of losing it mid-fight, that the force of his quirk would be too much for some paltry metal links.
Or, worse, Deku confessed to him once, quiet and as drunk as his quirk allowed, that he’d be the one to destroy his ring, that even being careful, it wouldn’t be enough.
It’s part of the reason Katsuki is damn-near obsessed with their rings these days, but even he knows that’s a flimsy excuse.
He’s had images of gold sitting on Deku’s pretty finger since he was a sweaty virgin. It only increased after he fucked his virginity out of them both, and realized that Deku, sweaty and panting and clinging to him, was a sight his imagination did no justice to, especially once he started covering him in gold and the shape of his mouth.
“You do mind,” Deku says, so plainly and so easily, like Katsuki’s possessive nature flaring when it comes to something as simple as Deku taking his ring off while working is fine to him. Normal even, like he doesn’t expect either less or more of Katsuki. “I do, too, especially on away missions.”
Katsuki can’t help it. He flexes his hips, rougher than anything he’s done in the past half hour, because just the thought of Deku knowing him so well, of feeling the same, of wanting some irremovable sign of him on his body that everybody could see at all times cranks his pulse into overdrive.
“Baby,” he moans. “Baby, you have to mean it. You can’t just be saying shit like you do.”
Deku huffs, a breathless noise, practically kneading where he holds Katsuki. “I don’t just- I don’t just say shit.”
“You do,” Katsuki says absentmindedly, flexing his hips again. “Whenever I get my cock in you, you do. No filter. You get stupid, baby. S’cute.”
“Kacchan,” Deku groans. Katsuki kisses the back of his flushed ear.
“So you can’t just be saying it,” he repeats. “Not with this.”
“M’not,” Deku denies. He buries his face into the cushions, against Katsuki’s arm. His skin radiates heat where they touch, more so than usual. “I promise. Been thinking about it since…”
“Since?” he prompts.
“Since my ring got taken,” he confesses, soft, as if such a confession didn’t just claw its hand around Katsuki’s spine and squeeze with every bit of strength possible. “It’d take too long, if it did ever get permanently lost, to get another one. I want Kacchan with me, always.”
This fucking man.
Not only has it been years since the ring incident, he can’t believe that Deku has felt guilty over it for so long without Katsuki ever digging it all out of him and exploding it away. Not even that: Deku has been thinking about this for every single one of those years. And with such a yearning that he can’t look at Katsuki while he says it.
For a second, he really does think Deku is just saying shit.
He’s saying it for Katsuki’s benefit alone, to soothe his nature. He’s saying it because he noticed the small leftovers of the wounded part that came out snarling when one of the few, tangible, life-long gifts Katsuki has ever given Deku was revealed missing, stolen – because hell if that isn’t Deku: taking on irreversible damages, permanent marks and changes to his body just to help someone else.
He fingers the scars on Deku’s hand, the ones sitting right above and below his warm ring. Tries to think past the dizzy haze overwhelming his senses, to how exactly, Deku answered.
Because Deku’s voice trembled as he said it. That flush on the back of his neck, under slowly drying cum, is burning hot to the touch. He’s clenching around Katsuki sporadically, like even just talking about a ring tattooed around his finger, a permanent mark of Katsuki’s devotion, is doing it for him.
Katsuki didn’t think he’d come again, not after everything they’ve done. Especially not when his last orgasm is still sticky and covering Deku’s everything. He just wanted to be close, to greedily take in all of Deku’s heat, to give him his cock like Deku had asked, give him what he needs, always.
But with that confirmation, with Deku’s needy little pushbacks, his quiet groans and stuttered breaths, that stupid, irresistible flush-
Well, he learned long ago, nothing is impossible when Deku’s at his side.
“You,” he grits out, barbed wire scraping over blacktop, “are fucking insane.”
“Probably,” Deku agrees. “I want to share urns with Kacchan.”
“Shut up.”
“Melt our rings, too, to decorate the urn.”
“Shut up.”
“Fertilize the- the riverbank, back home, with our ashes. You remember? Where Kacchan and I-”
He lets go of Deku’s hand to shove his fingers into Deku’s mouth.
“Stop fucking talking,” he growls. “Just- stop.”
“Kacchan,” Deku whines behind his fingers, spit pooling under his tongue.
“Fuck,” he hisses, increases his pace.
He doesn’t even know if he has anything left to give at this point, if Deku does, even with his insane refractory period. But he stepped onto this ride with Deku knowing it’d end something like this, exhausted and tired and willing to rip his soul out bloody by bloody knob from his spine just to make sure Deku looks at him with those eyes, with that face, and says his name like he meant to say God’s instead.
He desperately grabs at Deku’s thigh with his other hand, groping the muscle, hand sliding across the shared sweat of their bodies.
His ring pinches at the thin skin between his fingers uncomfortably, and he claws his hand up to Deku’s abdomen, to his chest. He feels Deku’s gasping breaths along the inside of his forearm and can’t match pace with the quickness.
“Izuku,” he groans. He’s going to pass out, knees aching and thighs tired. His lungs are exhausted from breathing, but he mashes his face into Deku’s neck anyways, licks up all the sweat pooling along his skin.
Deku is wracked with shivers, and he trembles violently when Katsuki drags his hand back down to Deku’s cock.
He doesn’t even have time to wrap his fingers entirely around the weeping length. Deku shouts, coming immediately, dry and quick, like lightning shot through his veins. He bites down hard on Katsuki’s fingers, no control in the strength, and Katsuki hisses, teeth bared.
The pain of Deku’s teeth around the knuckles of his first three fingers is overshadowed by the sudden, all-consuming feeling of Deku squeezing so tight around him it punches his breath directly through his lungs, the inexplicable darkness that rushes over his eyes for a second when Deku’s tears start pooling where his palm rests against Deku’s cheek, the base idea of marking Deku permanently, forever-
“Shit, ‘Zuku,” he gasps, groans, loud and broken, cock twitching helplessly inside Deku and adding to the mess.
He blinks back the darkness, finds his teeth embedded in the back of Deku’s neck. Too deep. Broke skin where his canines rested. He pants, staring uncomprehendingly at the mark he left.
He’ll need to clean that. Maybe it’ll scar.
Katsuki’s cock pulses again.
Deku shudders, from head to toe, and Katsuki slowly lowers his hand from his mouth, dragging saliva down Deku’s jaw. He grips his chin, turns his head around, and slants their mouths together in a facsimile of a kiss.
Deku’s mouth tastes bloody.
His fingers throb in time, and he drags the broken, bleeding skin down Deku’s throat, clutching at his shoulder. The trail is thin and light but bold, stark against Deku’s skin. It fits in too well with the mess of bruises and bites covering him.
He doesn’t let Katsuki reach down to his half-hard cock, the tremble in his fingers stilled only by Deku’s iron grip. It’s betrayed by the sudden twitching of his own fingers and his uneven breathing.
“Sensitive,” Deku gasps. “I feel like I- I think I came already. Before. Can’t-”
“Alright,” he soothes with as much air he can manage and settles his palm against Deku’s stomach, right where his cock pulses intermittently. He managed to miss it somehow, couldn’t clock it amidst the overwhelming sensations of Deku’s everything, but the throbbing in his fingers is a damn good indicator when. Good. “Okay. Good. That’s good, Izuku.”
Deku slumps into his hold, that stupid expression of his getting worse from the praise. Katsuki doesn't blink, can't, lips and tongue dry as he stares at Deku, clocks every minute twitch and saturated millimeter of flushed skin like he can find the divinity that keeps him tethered to Deku's side.
"Yeah," he mutters, shaky but steadfast, palm pressing deeper. "Good boy."
His muscles slowly lose tension the deeper of a haze that Deku recedes into, panting softly from his words, and Katsuki places more and more of his weight against Deku. Deku doesn’t fight it, nor does he try to keep them upright.
They heave for breath together, slumped against the loveseat.
Deku’s position in his lap keeps his cock in his ass, and the little twitches and shudders that make his walls flutter and shiver are going to be the death of him.
“Kacchan,” Deku mumbles. “M’legs… fuzzy.”
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, tries to find the strength to pick them both up, move them across the room to the bed.
He can’t. He can barely keep all his weight from crushing Deku as is. And even that wall is crumbling.
Maybe they should have fucked on the bed, after all.
-
Deku hisses, quiet, and Katsuki frowns. He doesn’t apologize, never does after sex when Deku clearly expressed his enjoyment, but it doesn’t mean he fucking likes it.
The base level of violence Deku brings out in him, for better or for worse, is something they’re both used to. But Katsuki can control it, usually. Keep it light. Easy. Never enough to scar. To permanently harm.
He doesn’t remember the last time he had to clean up a wound on Deku’s body that he put there – one that didn’t come from sparring.
He rubs his thumb over the incisor marks on the back of Deku’s neck, spreading ointment around. There’s bruising from the rest of his teeth, uneven and mottled, worsened by how long Katsuki kept his mouth connected, but those four pinpricks in Deku’s skin…
“Kacchan,” Deku calls, and reaches a hand over his shoulder. Katsuki moves his hand back before Deku can reach him. He doesn't know that he'd be able to stop touching, otherwise. “I’m fine. Just was surprised, that’s all.”
“Might scar,” he says. Will almost definitely.
He’s been reprimanded, before, for getting too into a fight and biting his opponent. And not the clean, purposeful bite he left on Deku, one meant to claim, to soothe, to express his desire when he couldn’t find the adequate words.
He meant to tear that fucker’s throat out. Nearly did. The bastard is permanently scarred now, because of Katsuki’s jaw.
He felt insane, then. His quirk wasn’t enough. His hands weren’t enough. He needed to feel the life pulsing out of the bastard with his own tongue. Needed to rip into him with his own teeth or else he’d never be satisfied.
He hurt Deku. Almost fatally. Katsuki didn’t need any other reason.
And to think, Deku asks for Katsuki to put his teeth on him.
He wonders who of out of the two of them is more fucked up: the one who offers violence as affection, or the one who puts his throat in the other’s mouth to begin with.
“So? I’ve got lots of scars. It’s nice to finally have some more from my husband instead of enemies, don’t you think?”
Katsuki grips his shoulder. He breathes out a slow, controlled breath, contains the pressure in his hand. “That’s not funny.”
“Kacchan? I- oh. Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
Katsuki grunts, releases his grip and moves himself to sit by Deku’s side on the shitty bed, their backs to the headboard. He lifts Deku’s leg and bodily turns him so it’s lying across his lap.
He doesn’t do anything for a while. Doesn’t say anything. Rubs his fingers across the big, thick scar that runs perpendicular to his thigh. There are small circular scars running down either side from where they stapled him back together so he wouldn’t lose his leg. He walks his fingers up every single one.
Counts them, like always. Eighty-three staples in total. One hundred sixty-six scars left behind.
He doesn’t know how Deku came back from that.
His leg was almost cut clean through, sawed in half, and yet here he is, years later, the scar that stretches from either side of his thigh the only remnant. The cut from the battle after the raid just barely misses the edge of it.
Katsuki stares at it, unseeing. He runs two fingers up and down on either side of the cut absentmindedly. The texture, despite everything, makes Katsuki's gums itch.
“Kacchan,” Deku says. Katsuki looks up.
Deku smiles, soft and teasing, and overwhelmingly warm. Fond. “If I want a tattoo of our wedding ring on my finger, I think I’ll be fine with Kacchan’s teeth in my skin.”
He frowns, something squirming and wiggling in his chest because Deku doesn’t understand, isn’t taking it seriously. Katsuki hates it just as much as he hates the immediate, vicious satisfaction he feels at Deku claiming Katsuki's teeth in his skin. He jaw pulses, tight, and he lifts his hands off Deku’s leg.
Deku reaches for his hand not even a second later and doesn’t let Katsuki pull away this time. He bends forward, forces eye contact.
It’s impossible to refuse him like this.
“I’m serious,” Deku says, intense, low. “When I said I’d let Kacchan do whatever he wanted to me, I was serious. When I said that I want Kacchan’s mouth and teeth on and in me, I was serious. And when I say that I’d be just as happy wearing a scar from Kacchan as I would be a tattoo of our wedding ring, you have to believe that I’m serious. I mean it Kacchan. I really mean it.”
Deku pulls his leg back and climbs right into Katsuki’s lap. He settles close, chest to chest, their hands atop his legs.
“It’s not just one way, Kacchan,” he says softly. “You know that. No matter what you do. No matter what I do. We’re in this together. No matter how many times either of us has to learn this lesson.”
“Feels different,” he mutters, unwilling to concede. “I felt like I was losing my mind, but like I was in control up until then. I-”
“Got so caught up in loving me, in feeling good with me, that now I have a permanent reminder whenever I want it? That at any moment in the day, I can touch the back of my neck and know, without a doubt, that Kacchan is waiting at home for me? That he wants me? Loves me? That even when I’m not wearing my ring or if I lose my finger or the tattoo gets worn, I’ll still have the perfect shape of my husband’s mouth on my skin?”
Katsuki bonks their foreheads together. His teeth ache; saliva pools under his tongue. “You’re making it weird.”
“You’re making it weird,” Deku says, pushing back against him. “We don’t even know if it’ll scar, yet. And if it does? It’s like I have a kiss from Kacchan now, forever. Forever, Kacchan. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yeah,” he says. He brings his hand up, brushes with feather-light fingers over the scabbing marks. “This only ends when both of us are gone. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Good thing I don’t plan on leaving.”
Katsuki hums.
“Besides,” Deku says, tilting his head back into Katsuki’s palm and smiling a little. “Didn’t I also?”
“Also… what?”
Deku nods down at the hand left to rest on his bare thigh.
Katsuki looks down, and there, on the lower knuckles of his first three fingers, is fresh, pink skin tinged a faint red with scabbing bite marks.
From Deku.
He nearly forgot about that, the pain so insignificant compared to the realization that not only did Katsuki bite through skin, but in the heat of the moment, he wanted to do it again.
Not just that heat of the moment. It explains the very bruised, deep mark on Deku’s thigh. And on his chest. The side of his neck. The desire he has right now, arguably clearheaded and calm, to take Deku up on the offer and carve a permanent ring around his finger.
“Huh." Katsuki trails the back of his scabbing fingers up Deku’s torso. Warm. He pinches a nipple between two knuckles, squeezing lightly. He wants to put his mouth here, too. Dig his teeth in just to feel the give. “One hell of a bite, Deku.”
“Learned from the best,” Deku says. Katsuki rolls his eyes, shoves his hand into Deku’s face and pushes him away.
Deku laughs as he dodges. He fights him off and Katsuki’s hand lands somewhere near the side of his throat instead. His fingers overlap on the back of Deku’s neck and he shifts so the hold is tighter, purposeful.
“If you’re okay with it…”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow at the trailing question, smoothing a thumb across Deku’s jugular and the largest bruise he left there. He looks good – too good, with a ring of bruises the size of Katsuki’s mouth completely overtaking his pale skin from side to side.
“Okay with what?”
“Can I have one more, Kacchan?” Deku asks, sweet and open. There’s a glint in his eyes, feverish in his want, and Katsuki is drawn like a moth to a flame.
“One more?”
Deku reaches back to cover one of Katsuki’s hand, shifting it down until he covers the marks of his teeth with the full breadth of his palm. “One more. One just for me, where only I can see.”
Katsuki stares, feels his lips pull up.
“I can do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He looks at him, nearly the same height while in Katsuki’s lap, his legs coiled tightly around him despite the easy, relaxed slump to his shoulders. Yeah. He can do that. Easy. “I know exactly where.”
Deku shivers and leans forward to kiss Katsuki. “Good. Give me everything, Kacchan. I want it all.”
“Greedy,” he praises, an echo of Deku. He palms the scars on Deku’s legs, fills his hands with Deku’s weight and warmth.
Deku, Deku, Deku.
His Izuku.
“Very,” Deku breathes. “I want all of my husband. Mine. All mine. Let me?”
Katsuki clears his throat, returns the kiss. “Yeah, baby. Yeah. I’ll take care of you.”
-
“You know,” Deku says, panting, head still angled uncomfortably against the car door. Katsuki swallows a rough breath and leans down to adjust Deku so his head is resting between the seat and the door instead. Not much better, but good enough from the sigh Deku lets out.
And then he promptly collapses on Deku’s body, gulping too warm air down as he tries to still the shaking in his hands and arms. Jesus Christ.
“Kn’what?” he grunts. He slaps his hand somewhere to the left of Deku’s shoulder until he finds and jabs the window button.
Deku groans from the waft of fresh, blissfully cool air, pushing hair back from his sweaty forehead.
“If you were serious,” Deku starts.
“M’always s’r’ous.”
“Then we need to do it before my back gives out. And my hips.”
Katsuki snorts, moving back so he’s no longer eating Deku’s shoulder when he speaks.
“Yeah? What about your knees?”
Deku shoves his fist in Katsuki’s ribs, and then lets his arm fall limp. His fingers still tremble, and when Katsuki’s cock finally slips out of Deku, soft and slick with cum, he shudders head to toe.
“…We forgot the towel.”
“They can pay for it.”
Deku grinds his knuckles against him again, shaking them both as he laughs softly. “You really want to explain to Haruka why we’re billing the agency for a car cleaning? I don’t think this was part of her job description when she signed up as our HR rep.”
“None of them should have expected anything else.”
“Still. We can be nice.”
Katsuki shifts his head just enough to give Deku a look. And then he stuffs his face back into Deku’s shoulder, pressing up into that fluttering pulse with his nose.
He still smells deeply like Katsuki. That last shower before they left didn’t do anything, and there’s a deep, curling warmth of primal satisfaction that settles easy in each of his palms where they rest on Deku’s skin.
This is how it should be, every day. Katsuki imprinted on him, permanently, through every single sense.
“Okay, Kacchan,” Deku says, patronizing, and then a high-pitched, “Kacchan!” when he pinches his sides.
“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me,” he grumbles, and bites Deku’s neck for good measure. “G’nna eat you.”
“You already did,” Deku grumbles right back, fingers trailing slow and light up Katsuki’s back. He veers right, tracing underneath his shoulder blade. “I look like I got mauled.”
Katsuki smirks, unrepentant. “Yeah, you do.”
“You do, too,” Deku says back, just as unrepentant. Every centimeter of skin Deku’s fingers brush over comes with the dull pain of shallow wounds healing.
“Battle scars,” Katsuki says, smile growing when Deku snorts so hard his body jerks.
He shifts so his knee isn’t pressing uncomfortably against the floor mats of the car, but it just makes his other leg, cramped and pressed foot to knee against the far car door, squish even further.
He gives up. Tiny ass fucking car. They need one with bigger backseats.
“As I was saying,” Deku laughs, amused at Katsuki’s squirming and grumbling as he tries to adjust, “if you were serious serious, before we turn forty would be the best, probably.”
Katsuki’s brow scrunches, and he stops kissing Deku’s neck to scoot away enough and settle his chin on Deku’s chest. “Before forty? Why?”
“Because if the last two days were any warning, I don’t think I’d last the full time, let alone the first day, if we do it after. I think my body would simply turn to dust.”
“You’re not that old,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. “I’d go easy.”
Deku raises an eyebrow.
“Easier,” he amends. “Probably.” Probably. Because – well. It’s Deku. Katsuki is not that strong of a man. He can’t see it changing in five years either, considering Deku insists he got worse in the last twenty.
“You are going to break both of our backs if you keep trying to fuck like this by the time we become middle-aged.”
“If we can still work full-time middle-aged, I can fuck you however I want middle-aged. I haven’t even hit my stride yet.”
“You are in your prime.” Deku raises an eyebrow, implying something Katsuki resolutely chooses to ignore. If Endeavor made it past retiring age even as fucked up as he got, Katsuki will blow past that, easy.
“You say that like it won’t last. Oi. Don’t make that face. We’re stopping by the agency before we go home. I’ll show you what prime is. Gonna pound your ass to ash, nerd, get ready.”
“Kacchan,” Deku laughs. “The training rooms aren’t open yet, they’re still renovating it.”
“Fuck,” he says, low and with feeling. Would’ve been the perfect way to round off their mini-vacation: a nice, long, no-holds-barred spar with Deku until they’re both collapsing with exhaustion, Katsuki in victory and Deku losing like an absolute nerd. “Fine. You and me: Speed. Gonna steal Halfie’s deck, double the cards.”
“Will Todoroki play, too?”
“No.”
“Aw.”
“Don’t ‘aw’ me. I’m jacking his shit, not his company. He’s not coming over to our place again until he replaces the goddamn porch step.”
“That was years ago.”
“And yet it still has his footprint. Where’s my un-burned step, Deku. Where is it.”
“Fine, I’ll take you on. I won last time,” Deku says, deflection so obvious it’s like he’s commenting on the weather in the middle of fucking just so he doesn’t bust right away.
Both of Katsuki’s eyebrows raise. The audacity. “You fucking cheated, it doesn’t count.”
“I did not. And it does, too.”
“Does not.”
“Does, too.”
“Does fucking not.”
“Don’t be a sore lose, Kacchan.”
Katsuki rears up, incensed and ready to go right now. “I’ll show you sore loser, Deku. Gonna make you eat your own tears.”
“Promise?”
Katsuki stares at him. “Your ass is still wet, nerd, don’t start something that’ll get us in trouble. Or you.”
Deku’s eyes skitter away, head turning slow and steady, about as un-fucking-subtle as Icy-Hot on a good day.
“Oi, oi, I fucking saw that.” He grabs Deku by the cheeks, the space between his thumb and forefinger smashing into Deku’s chin. “And stop fucking laughing.”
“You’re sho grum’y,” Deku teases, cheeks squished together.
“Yeah? Guess the cause.”
“Certainly not me. I love Kacchan, I would never make him grumpy.”
Katsuki gives him a look. Deku’s smile only gets wider.
“Where do you even want to go?” Deku asks, slipping his fingers under Katsuki’s palm and gently pulling it away from his face.
“Hm?” Deku’s ring is slipping a little. They either need to resize it or he’s too sweaty. Both, probably. He adjusts it for him before Deku gets the chance to link their fingers.
“Our second honeymoon before we become middle-aged.”
“Away.”
“Yeah, I got that much.”
“Away from my mom.”
Deku bursts out laughing, sliding his hand up Katsuki’s arm to tug behind his neck. His palm settles easy and warm in the fine hairs at the base. “Oh, come on. We can take at least one or two days to go visit them.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as she finds out we have vacation days, she’s gonna force us to use whatever shitty itinerary she’s made and expect constant pictures and updates every single fucking day. Again.”
“We didn’t even manage to do it two days in a row, though.”
“Exactly. Which means she’ll be worse this time.”
Deku smiles up at him, his free hand resting limp and loose on his navel, the leg not stuck between the seat and Katsuki’s body stretching out to press against the passenger seat. He groans a little, pointing his toe as he stretches. “Mm. You just want to keep me all to yourself.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, sarcastically, “that’s the reason: you’re fucking irresistible. Catnip to every Bakugou.”
“Are you still mad that Grandma Bakugou-”
“Kidnapped you? Of course I am. I had to pay fucking ransom to get you back. Ransom. For my own husband.”
Deku laughs again, sweaty skin unsticking from the seat as he pushes to sit up. Katsuki pushes up on his arms to give him room but doesn’t move himself. He just flops back down, face somewhere to the left of Deku’s limp dick, sticking to his sweaty thighs. He turns his cheek to bite the one directly under him.
“Hey, at least she used it for an anniversary gift, Kacchan. That was nice of her.”
Katsuki grumbles under his breath, yelling indignantly when Deku pinches his side.
“Come on,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Let’s fill up our gas then go home. It’s too hot.”
“I’ll fill you up,” he says under his breath, and puts on the shorts that Deku whacks him in the face with. Worth it.
-
Katsuki puts in a three week leave request for the beginning of fall the moment he steps foot into their agency and stands in Haruka’s doorway to make sure she approves it right away.
Katsuki used to be able to do it himself, but he can’t approve his or Deku’s leave requests anymore on account of never taking any. Can’t deny mandated leave if they can’t approve or deny any leave. Fuckers.
Haruka raises an eyebrow at the amount of time, but readily signs it, and hands Katsuki a copy that he immediately turns into ash. No evidence, or else Deku will start planning before Katsuki has a chance to even decide how many countries he’s putting between them and his parents. Eat shit, ma.
He tilts his head, considering as he flexes his hand and watches even the ashes burn. They can afford a day for Inko, though. Toshinori, too.
But after that, Deku’s time is all his. He’s going to explode their phones into the goddamn exosphere as soon as they step foot out of Inko’s place.
Maybe he’ll visit a shrine after work today and prematurely get a blessing for Deku’s body. He might not know where yet, but he’s got plans for their second honeymoon that’s got nothing to do with locations.
He needs to make good on that promise to fuck Deku in public, after all.
OMAKE
Izuku forces his smile to stay in place because this is not happening to him.
Kacchan, the son of a bitch and unrepentant bastard that his husband truly is – sorry Mitsuki, Masaru, please excuse his language – is of no help. He’s worse, actually. He guffaws, the sound hidden so poorly despite being behind one big hand that it just sounds louder, echoey.
This is not happening to him.
“So?” the gas station employee says, smile wide and inviting on his face, eyes scrunching in slight confusion and darting between Kacchan’s increasingly hysterical laughter and Izuku’s frozen expression.
“Um,” Izuku says, eloquently, and Kacchan officially loses it.
“I can’t,” he wheezes, and heads straight out the door. It dings as he strides out, and for a second, before the door slides close, his laugh is loud and unfettered.
With a soft sninch the glass door closes. Izuku can still hear him.
The employee raises an eyebrow, smile faltering a touch, and Izuku shifts on his feet and oh god, bad move.
He can’t believe he’s getting hit on by a random civilian while Kacchan’s cum is still dripping out of his ass.
And it’s not like the rest of him looks any better, either! They both rocked up to the store looking worse for wear, and Izuku is wearing a t-shirt! A t-shirt! His neck is more purple and red than it is white and there is no effort being put into covering it because he is wearing Kacchan’s t-shirt!
Goodbye necklines, hello indecent collarbone exposure. This is all Kacchan’s big shoulders’ fault.
He feels like a Victorian maiden, shrugging his shoulders inwards so the fabric covers more, except all the stark teeth marks suggest more whore who fucks a priest in the confessional and less maiden that flashes their bare ankle so their husband has something to jerk off to later.
“I mean, if you don’t like movies, that’s cool. We could go do something else,” the employee offers, and Izuku can’t believe this.
“Um,” he repeats, smile straining.
Kacchan bangs a hand against the glass wall when he leans over to support himself, shoulders hunched and shaking. If there is any attempt to gain control over his laughter or reaction, Izuku is failing to see it.
“So?” the employee repeats.
Kacchan takes in a deep breath, looks up at Izuku’s expression, and continues to laugh.
This is it. This is when Izuku snaps. He’s going to kill his husband, once and for all.
Instead, he points to Kacchan, his ring finally on display, and says not nearly apologetic enough, “That’s my husband.”
The employee – Ushio, his name badge reads Ushio, which Izuku is absolutely going to forget way too soon – freezes, eyes widening.
Izuku grimaces.
Yeah. He knows. Kacchan is the coolest loser he’s ever known. And he married him.
“I’m flattered, but no, thank you. Have a good day.”
He snatches up the gallon of water, the snacks and the gum, and stalks out of the store as carefully as possible because-
Because.
He carefully steps off the little sidewalk and turns to immediately pelt Kacchan in the head with the pack of gum.
“You-!”
Kacchan tilts his head back and laughs harder, catching the gum when it falls to the side. “What’d I say, baby?”
“Completely unhelpful!”
“Fuckin’ irresistible,” Kacchan says over him, coming up to his side and snatching the gallon from him. Good choice, because Izuku was shifting his grip on it. There’s still a slight struggle between them where Izuku refuses to let go until the jug’s handle starts bending dangerously under his fingers. “They just can’t help themselves.”
“Not like you’re any better!”
“No,” Kacchan agrees, shameless and smug, “I’m not.”
As if to prove his point, he steps closer, reaches down, and grabs Izuku’s ass in broad daylight. In front of the glass walls of the gas station store, where Izuku can see from the corner of his eye that the employee is still watching them.
“Hey!” he gasps, balling up a fist and setting it against Kacchan’s chest with strength just shy of a punch. It still moves Kacchan back an inch or two, but he resolutely refuses to let go of his ass.
He can feel Kacchan’s cum moving in him, leaking out (gym shorts were a bad choice, maybe, but they were the first thing out of Kacchan’s bag that he grabbed when they cleaned up in the car) and he still feels so empty after the last two days. That’s not fair.
“Let me prove it to you,” Kacchan offers, like Izuku needs convincing. He narrows his eyes, and narrows them further when Kacchan raises an eyebrow, just like that employee.
Except his husband is hot.
That’s not fair.
Kacchan is touching him, and smiling, and he’s sweating just a little at the temples, and his cheeks are a tiny bit red from laughing so much and All Might help him, his husband is so attractive that Izuku literally does not know what to do with himself.
And, this is important, Kacchan is in a really, really good mood, which isn’t rare, per se, but seeing him like this? Smiling what feels like all day, always keeping some skin-to-skin contact, playing up his anger or irritation when Izuku bothers him and acting like a goofy buffoon just to see Izuku’s reactions?
Damn it.
“I need a vacation from you,” he mutters, and races Kacchan back to their car, cum be damned.
He is so going to suck Kacchan’s soul through his dick.