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There was always something attractive in seeing you consume, hunched over yourself in wretched greed, your hands wrist-deep into the wet heat of someone else's ribs. It’s such an intimate affair I could consider it cheating if it weren’t necessary for your– our –survival. Your eyes get so dark, ravenous with a hunger I’ve never felt and will never understand but know it comes from your desire for me. I fault you for it, being like this, and yet I refuse to look away. I know I’m supposed to feel subjected to some unspeakable horror, and yet I beckon, taunt, and pull you into the curve of my lips when I smile at you with pride after you commit such heinous acts as if that doesn’t matter at all.
Pride, it’s a funny thing to feel with a monster. But even Frankenstein prided himself on his abomination, so is it so wrong I derive pleasure from knowing I created you like this? Made a monster so loyal and devoted without doing anything but exist within your heart and encompassing you in mine? I do love you, that much is true.
I can feel the love brimming in my chest as you smear blood around your mouth like it’s the most delectable thing you’ve ever tasted, moaning my name while there on your knees as if praying to god. As if you were between my legs once more, when you allowed yourself such treats. When I allowed you such treats after your bouts of withholding your touch from me. Your hands are stained, disgustingly clotting crimson as you touch me after, and I could vomit from the taste of iron on your tongue and knowing you touch me with filth. If it weren’t for your devotion, and the reverently possessive way you do it, I think I’d hate you.
But you do this thing where you make even the most vile of things elicit something yearning and lustful within me. The person I was before you disappeared the moment you called me yours, my inhibitions bending to your will even as I was the one put in control over you. Only you can do this. I let you. I want you to. It shows how much you love me to know you could crush me between your jaws, your instincts begging you to, but you choose to hold me soft.
You have an excuse for your love for me, it was borne out of necessity and devotion, the predator needs the prey to survive and in turn learns to love it. Learns to feel. My love for you is the most unconventional, it was borne out of wanting to be your prey despite not needing you at all for any reason beyond basic wanting to be desired. To be held. Protected.
I want you dearly, Izuku.
I’ve spent years waiting.
So for my birthday, will you please, relinquish your control and give in?
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When Katsuki had found out he was a cake it was when his middle school teacher tried to lure him into his car after school under the premise of needing help with something in the back. The parking lot had been empty and he’d looked around to see if he could get out of the favour but sure-enough he’d had him cornered. It was late, he hadn’t kept track of time from one of his extracurriculars and the parking lot was empty. He doesn’t know why he didn’t notice it then, the look of hunger and depravity in the older man's eyes when the autumn air blew against his back towards his direction, he just remembers wanting to get it over with, to help the old man and leave, already running late to get home.
It sent a strong shiver down his neck though, the way the man loomed over his shoulder with his hands hovering so close to his waist it could be considered inappropriate. It was like his body knew, on some base level, it was being preyed upon with how goosebumps rose beneath his clothes. He could feel him pressing too heavy against him, the thick stench of his cologne and sweat enough to make his nose itch with the desire to sneeze. He had the instinct to lower his head, peeking at the older man through the corner of his eyes as he asked him where the item was. His stomach felt as though it dropped, shoulders hiking up as sweat prickled against his skin. Unease.
His teacher was looking at him far too intently for comfort.
He tried to pull away from him, inhaling shakily to smell less of him as he whispered. “I can’t.. exactly find what it is you’re asking me for.”
“It’s there, further in the back, sorry if it’s so hard to find. I don’t know why my kids are so careless. I’d get it myself but my back, y’know, it isn’t what it used to be and what with my wife constantly berating me to take out the trash I pulled it last night-” He laughed nervously, so unlike him, his teacher who was usually so uncaring and dry-humored on normal days. He was so close, he could feel his hair brush his cheek and Katsuki had to will himself not to flinch but he could swear that he was sniffing him.
Panting, deep inhales like a dog muffled by the trunk of the car and howl of the wind that whipped by them in a sudden accelerated pace while rustling the leaves of dying trees, huffing the scent of his shampoo and sweat when the air blew just right. Katsuki had never felt so disgusted, so objectified, in his entire life. And in this position? Half in the car, with his bag slung low on his wrist and back bent, one leg up on the edge of the fender, he knew it was exactly what he wanted. Bent over, he could feel his eyes on the rise of his pants on his ankle or the low exposed collar of his shirt which he never buttoned properly, exposing the unmarked skin there.
“I…really can’t fuckin’ find it sensei.”
“Bakugou, you shouldn’t use such crass language in front of your teacher or I’d be obliged to give you detention, are you alright? You look a bit pale, would you like me to drive you home?” His hand was spindly and the fingers thin, skin worn and palm calloused as it slid up his side in rabid need. He was grasping for whatever excuse he could get in, gears shifting, and Katsuki was hit with the sudden desire to run away.
“Mr.Nakamura-” He protested, grasping his wrist when the old man gripped at his hips, pushing him forwards. He was openly dragging his nose up the back of his neck, lapping up the beads of sweat that had formed at the collar of his uniform. His teeth were scraping against the fabric, he was sucking at it. His stomach lurched violently. His voice sounded so foreign, so pitiful to his own ears as he grit his teeth and kicked back at the old man's legs. “Fucking- stop it! Let me go-”
For such a weak looking man, he held him– groped him– like he’d been training for this very moment. His legs locked on either side of Katsuki’s own hard enough that he felt the bones of his knees dig in, one hand tight on his hip and the other nearly popping the golden buttons on the front of his shirt. “Do you have any idea what you smell like? How you taste? You have no idea what you are, do you? Cakes never do.”
With his head stuck into the trunk, he could’ve just tossed him inside and locked him in and that would’ve been the end of it. Katsuki played it out in his head in the same way it had in the stories his mother liked to watch on TV when making dinner, how he’d fight back like they always do, how he’d kick and punch and scream. How no one would find him if he took them to a different location. He had no doubt he could escape, but then what? Then what? No one would believe him. If this was all he wanted, some sick perversion, would that be better to let him have than the other option?
A sharp stinging pain dug into his shoulder that made him cry out and Katsuki jerked back, elbowing the man in the side and stumbling, hands raised as if to fight, as if to do
something
characteristic of himself. But he stumbled back into something warm, something that steadied him by arm, held him unlike how he’d been held before.
Forever the thorn in his side and stalker, Izuku had grounded him with an aloof smile and their teacher stopped. His expression shifted and they both smiled at each other, fakely, stiffly, like two wolves over a piece of fresh game. It took about two minutes, their conversation as Katsuki just stood there wide eyed catching his breath. His shoulder still stung .
Katsuki was so put off by what had happened, sickened by how he’d acted so frozen, that he hadn’t even argued when Izuku wrapped his hand around his wrist and tugged him along, until they got to the end of the road and the other spoke first. “Don’t go near Mr. Nakamura alone anymore, Kacchan. Your mom wouldn’t appreciate it.”
I obviously wouldn’t want to fucking be near him anyway . He thought but he didn’t say that. He just yanked his wrist away from his hand and gripped the strap of his bag instead, chest rising. Izuku’s frown looked disappointed, eyes pitying. Fucking pitying as if he were some girl who got felt up on the train. Who did Izuku think he was? He should have hit him, punched him, throttled and shook him until he swore to never speak again of what he saw happening. To be left alone so he could think about what had even happened in the first place, get his bearings enough to breath without his hands shaking, but he just stood there holding the side of his neck where his teacher's saliva cooled beneath his collar.
The wind made him sway unsteadily, it only made him feel all the more sick as he stared at the floor, holding himself together. Katsuki doesn’t know what made him ask, why he thought Izuku would know, but maybe even then he knew when he met his eyes that he could always trust Izuku to know these sorts of things. To know what he meant. It was written in the set of his jaw and the hardening of his eyes that he already knew. “Hey, Deku, what the fuck is a cake?”
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I’m ashamed to say that I was terrified of you for much of my youth, I couldn’t bear to think of you being better than me and yet you resoundingly were. You never let me push you down, you kept fucking getting up stronger and stronger. That’s what scared me more than you being this monster you claim to be.
You who were so bright, so overarchingly heroic but weighed down with this curse? I’m ashamed to say I was grateful that was your only flaw. That you had flaws. I wanted you more then, when you were humanized and steadied beneath my hand. Is that sadistic of me? Is it fair for you to know that I’ve been as sadistic and harsh with you in the past as I want you to be with me in the present?
I wonder, though, whatever did you do to our teacher? Mr.Nakamura was pronounced missing the following evening.
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Izuku’s been cursed all his life. He doesn’t know what god chose to make him so unlucky, hated him so much to wrong him on every turn, or loved him so much to give him the strongest of battles to persevere through like some kind of saint to grant him permission into eternal life, but all he does know is that Katsuki was one of his very few blessings. Had it not been for him he was sure that he’d have become the monster he was undoubtedly predestined to be from birth.
Upon learning of what he– and, alternatively, their teacher at the time– was, Katsuki shied away from him at first. It was normal, an understandable reaction of disgust and fear he’d expected, but it didn’t take him long to fall back into place by his side in high school. That’s the thing about them, no matter how much they could harbor some hatred or contempt for each other through circumstance they always came back through something akin to love. Through common ground and understanding that the other understood them best. It was Katsuki’s curse, Izuku assumed, to be stuck with him all his life. He could never see why he would willingly want and seek it out.
High school was when Katsuki realized as a cake he had to know who were forks, or he’d be liable to be cornered and taken forcefully. As strong as he was on his own he didn’t understand the desperation of that sort of depraved hunger, the strength that came from the emotions that got evoked within a fork when they smelled a cake. Like a starved, caged animal. He needed Izuku’s protection, his insight, his…whatever odd thing it was that made him just know who was who.
He didn’t word it like that though, of course he didn’t, he waited until he was nearly on death's door before daring to ask him for help. It was one of the worst days of Izuku’s life, seeing him like that, chest reddened and wrists bruised in the alleyway outside of the school, hidden in the darkness of the shrubbery and slumped up against the wall. He wouldn’t have been found until morning if Izuku hadn’t smelled him when leaving the building, the overpowering aroma of his scent breaking through the absolute nothingness Izuku tasted day to day. He’d run towards it and found him there like a wounded prey animal.
And he’d saved him. By some grace, some miracle, he’d been able to save him and go against his baser instincts of finishing the job for just a single taste.
“You’re so stubborn, Katsuki.” He remembers saying, while dressing his wounds and trying to ignore the saliva pooling on his tongue and the back of his throat in hunger. In want so deep it made him nauseous in how his stomach reverberated its emptiness by chasming a low growl. He knew Katsuki heard it because he could’ve sworn his lips quirked up in something akin to a pained smile, like he just knew . They weren’t even on good terms, and yet he’d always known Izuku best. “Can you just trust me? Let me..fuck, not take care of you but–”
Izuku tripped over his words, and he doesn’t know what really went on in Katsuki’s head so he can’t tell as to why this change of heart came about (god, how he was desperate to know), if it were the blood loss clouding his judgement or something he’d been mulling over for some time, but his warm palms cupped his cheeks and everything seeped out of him. Izuku could feel the tension, the fear, the anger, the uncertainty drain from his own limbs with how Katsuki held him with certainty. It was so gentle, so unlike him, and yet it was him when he met his eyes and saw the anger there. The loathing, the disgust, and something else. Something kind that had never been there, or noticed, until now. “I can learn to trust you if you give me something to believe in, Izuku. If you explain it to me, all of it. Don’t hold back.”
He had found himself giving into him immediately, willingly, bowing his head into his palms as he had explained it all.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
Forks and cakes, where could Izuku start? It was such a ridiculously soft and saccharine name in contrast to what it truly meant and stood for. When he’d explained it to Katsuki at the time his own knowledge was limited and accounts mostly personal, seeing as how little its existence was in the public domain. It was one of those things their countries and government swept under the rug, you had to be it or at least involved in it to know what it was. It was not something you just stumbled upon unless searching up some pretty fucked up things on the wrong side of the internet, but even then it was results scarce enough to seem fictional which was fine, which could excuse its existance. Which didn’t fully encompass the depth of it.
He found out he was a fork at a young age from the doctor, who had deduced what he was when his mother brought him in for a checkup and started listing his symptoms. He was severely underweight, the bones of his ribs apparent when he stretched just a little on his toes to look at the equipment in the doctor's office.
It was scaring Inko, how he refused to eat, saying he couldn’t taste anything when he tried and it disgusted him to even swallow the food she made. He could feel the texture, if it were salty, sweet, sour or bitter, it’d be centered around the back of his tongue and evoked saliva in his throat but he couldn’t taste . She’d tried to give him fruit, candy with an array of flavours, easy things to describe the taste of but he said it tasted like water or milk. Like everything tasted like lukewarm emptiness in his mouth just in different states and forms and textures. Even more worrying? His sense of smell was muted, she’d tried everything to see if she could help but nothing worked. He couldn’t even smell the charcoal of fire or acidic burn of bleach.
The doctor spoke in a hushed voice, scratching his mustache as he told Inko they’d run tests but it seemed likely they knew what he was. Then his mother wept, pressing a tissue to her mouth and wailing when he’d gone into detail of the results. When he showed her pictures of past patients, some in news clippings and others with pictures similar to mugshots, she looked devoid of emotion and full of sorrow as if learning her son had died. Izuku felt as though he were in another world, somewhere apocalyptic with how they’d poked and prodded and tested him before giving him medication he’d stop taking in his teens and pretended to swallow for his mothers benefit. It wouldn’t matter, she always seemed afraid of him. Afraid for him, like seeing a ghost.
The doctor said forks never tasted anything, never really knew true hunger until they met a cake. And cakes? They were normal everyday people unaware that there was something different in their blood or genetics (scientists hadn’t yet figured it out) that made them the perfect meal for forks, made their scents and bodies taste sweet. Like a piece of cake, simple enough.
The doctor spoke of cannibalism and of sex, how eating the cake or engaging in the “exchanging of bodily fluids orally” often curbed a forks appetite and Izuku had seen his mothers face fall further at the implication. Her son might never be able to survive off of anything but human flesh and fluid if they didn’t fix him, because if Izuku, as young as he was, smelled a cake? He might not have the restraint to hold back from feasting upon them.
That was, of course, because they assumed he hadn’t found a cake when he had in Kacchan.
Nonetheless he’d woken up countless times in his youth to priests at his bedside, or Inko praying reverently with tears in her eyes looking up at the ceiling and begging for some angel, God, to save her son. Her son who was, in her eyes, too pure to deserve such punishment. He’d learned to sleep through the night to the symphony of their gospel cries and attempted exorcisms. He’d learned to think of his hunger as its own separate demon, a beast he could tame, but he always knew it was a part of him and not some separate entity.
The medicine they gave never really worked but he pretended it did, smiling and learning how to describe the things he tastes in his mothers cooking through practiced research. It took some trial and error at first, but he got the gist of it fast enough that by middle school they figured him cured, the medicine in effect like it had been in their trial studies.
Truth is, from Izuku’s knowledge no fork ever got cured. They either learned to pretend for the rest of their lives or got sent to jail for failure to cooperate and getting caught, and neither option was particularly swell. Because the government didn’t trust them if they thought they were still under the influence of whatever was wrong with them.
Truth is in simple terms being a fork meant being a cannibal and their society would never naturalize cannibalism and would rather sweep it under the rug with subpar medication and hush-hush programs to make it seem as if they had the issue under control. It was considered an illness, a sin of the mind and corruption of the flesh. It was treated as such. As a disease. But they’d found their way around it, there were forums he’d found with people just like him trying to survive. Some were pathetic, others finding themselves with a hero-protector complex. Then there are those like Mr.Nikamura, who stick to being alone as they try and see how far they can get until they are caught.
Izuku lived just fine like this, though, pretending to be okay. Pretending to taste what he ate while thinking of sinking his teeth into flesh and loathing himself for it. It’s not like he found cakes often, so the temptation was only constant for one person who he cared for too much to hurt. That was until Katsuki offered himself up to him. Because that was his solution and proposition to help each other.
Katsuki would feed him cake, and in turn Izuku would protect him from other forks. It wasn’t supposed to be a romantic transaction but it grew to be, and he blamed it on how Izuku couldn’t help but be a messy eater, muttering his name as he feasted. It didn’t help that he was what was keeping him sane all this time in hiding either, in pretending to eat he’d thought of Katsuki’s scent since he was young. He always had the sweetest taste. Like red velvet or caramel.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
I wish I had a better sense of time, a framework, or some sort of date for which it took for us to realize you were too weak willed to handle me.
You had nearly broken me when we kissed the first time, outside on the balcony after you’d been complaining about something nonsensical like our teachers. It was things that didn’t matter, people we didn’t understand or wouldn’t know in a year. We were due to graduate, I think, in a few months' time. You were talking about an ideal future, but you kept saying ‘ us ’ like a promise, a bond that kept us surging forwards intertwined. It was no longer just you that you were planning for but me, and you shaped yourself around me entirely in a way that seemed subtle and yet equal parts purposeful. I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss you, for no other reason but wanting to.
You’d told me before that if things got intimate between us– more than it already had with you licking the sweat off of my palms– I should run away. You knew I was strong enough to and never doubted my ability to shut you down, but you weren’t prepared for the surge of emotion you’d feel at me encouraging you. Initiating the contact. You shook like a leaf, lips trembling and hands shaking before you grasped my waist and slotted your fingers against my skin like you were destined to.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of kissing you before, when your tongue was laving over my sweaty clothes muttering something about it tasting like sugar to you or when you were huffing at the back of my neck like a dog, begging me to let you have more of my body. You wanted fluid that I couldn’t even attempt to think of giving you in my disgust, but you assured me it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted and I’d done it regardless of my prudishness. I’d watched you mix it– me – into your coffee and sip dutifully until every drop was gone. You wanted me to be in every piece of food you ate and I wanted you to be in me.
Perhaps I should blame my father for my liking to pathetic men, men who marvelled at their women in the obsessive and reverent way you do, because that’s how he treated my mother. But that was too Freudian of a concept for me to delve into back then, and it felt like a cop-out to blame him for my affections on you. My affections were borne out of the desire to be looked at the way you looked at me. Like I was your sun, moon and all your stars. It was all I wanted in a partner, and no one did it better than you. I only wanted the best.
“We shouldn’t-” You’d whispered against my lips, but you were pulling me closer. “It’s wrong-” and yet you were deepening the kiss. You were no different than a cheating older man trying to justify his liking for young women as opposed to his wife. You said one thing, yet continued to touch and want another, coming back again and again. But so long as you wanted me I did not fault you for it. “I’ll hurt you…”
I wanted you to, I think. I’d come to terms with that much by now. I tugged at your hair and you relented your incessant pleading to finally kiss me properly, biting my lips and sucking on my tongue with that same needy moan you made when you were hungry. It set me on fire. How I wanted to hear more of it, feel how you pressed me down and bore into me with sounds of abandon. I wanted you to go wild, I wanted your beast that had been tamed through years of monotonous labour.
Your lips on my neck was such an intimate affair, your tongue gentle and soothing like night summer air on feverish skin. The slice of your teeth like the ocean on sand. You drew my blood so gently I could’ve wept because no other person who’d come this close to my skin was as gentle. No other man was as kind. I lost consciousness to that thought.
Blood loss does that to you.
You thought yourself a lecherous devil when I’d come to and realized I was slumping in your arms, tears in your eyes as you cupped my face. You said you’d lost control, you’d never hurt me that way again, you loved me too much. You apologized profusely for daring to draw my blood, as if that in of itself was the worst of sins you’d ever committed and god would strike you down right there where you stood for hurting me. But it hadn’t hurt me, not at all, I could’ve been lulled to death in your arms with a smile and been thankful. Been soothed.
You begged me not to go. I never thought of such a thing, not since you’d saved me and I’d learned of how you felt to what you were. Never again would I want to leave you. I was yours, and you were too ridden with your guilt to acknowledge that yet. I’d have let you do anything to me, it only took one kiss to be sure that I was addicted to the thought of being stuck between your teeth for the rest of my life. I wanted to be stuck there forever.
Unfortunately I’d spend the next few years watching others take my place around your mouth first.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
By the time they were in their mid-twenties it was a simple routine. After months of searching Katsuki found some cakes-anonymous forums where they had meetings to talk about how scared they were for their safety with the only people who’d understand and found out where they were hosting said meetings, before bringing Izuku along. These were people who’d been hurt before, burned before, and so it made it difficult but they made do. He’d let Izuku pick who he wanted, they were often women, then he’d go over and speak to them. He had this way of connecting with them, his eyes warm and tone soft, despite his rough-around-the-edges personality. Like a cat, Izuku would say, domestic enough but still holding that edge of probable cause of violence if jostled. He felt safe, warm. And some of them were so weak with frost, that a fire was a fire, they let Katsuki lull them into a false stupor of safety.
When he spoke to them, so many were already on the end of their rope and desired to just get it over with, get eaten, get devoured. They wanted to find forks who’d be gentle, so they romanticised their state and it didn’t seem so bad when it ended. While others were so terrified the thought made them sick, they wanted the police to take forks more seriously and make the issue more wide-spread online. Izuku usually chose the weak-willed ones.
Maybe it made him feel less guilty to snuff out an already dying light than a burning flame.
He’d ask them to speak more, and they’d leave together. He’d get their number, and they’d meet up at least once or twice until far enough time had passed between meetings to not seem suspicious for someone to just disappear. Then he’d let Izuku have them.
Katsuki often wondered how many like Izuku were in hiding and preying on cakes who had no idea what they were and the temptation they posed. Did it make him a bad person to stand by the sidelines and serve them up to him on a platter? They were weakened and willing, but that didn’t change the fact he gave them up to him like a sick offering of affection, like a saint would to a god. For a reward.
Originally he didn’t watch due to the vile nature of what they were doing and how it churned his stomach to think about, but now he couldn’t help himself, sitting by the locked door and staring intently as his childhood friend made himself dinner. It was the way he did it, with care and precision, and yet messily like a cub while looking up at him expectantly. For approval. It was erotic, especially when he began saying his name between bites. Between moans.
Even when touching and feasting on another, Izuku wanted him. That, he thought, was true love.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
“You have me on a leash, Kacchan, anyone in your place would wish to be as lucky. To have a fork subdued, kept safely in a drawer. Why do you want me to push my luck with you?” You were wiping your face, missing the blood on your cheek as you continued sucking away the cartilage between your teeth like a cat licking its whiskers clean after a good meal. You’ve started to fill out now, strength in your arms and a flush on your skin that hadn’t once been there when you were pretending to eat your fill of normal food.
Not that you hadn’t stopped mixing me into that very same “normal food” as you liked to call it. Our friends didn’t know that the medicine bottle you carried about for your throat actually was.
We’d only kissed a handful of times, and you’d found yourself on your knees with your head locked between my legs at least twice, but you never let me return the favour. You never spoke of it, you avoided the topic.
“You know I love you Kacchan, that’s why I can’t let you do this. You think you want it but you don’t, last time I could’ve killed you. You have no idea what you do to me and I don’t care to show you. It’s reckless enough we’re living together like this.”
You thought yourself scary, I wish you knew I found it cute that you tried to terrify me in this manner. It made you all the more attractive, that act of trying to be the saviour.
You didn’t understand why I’d want a dog like you to bite the hand that feeds, why I loosened the leash willingly to let you breath down my neck. It was a fair enough thing to be confused over, and yet I despised that you didn’t understand. “Wouldn’t it just be easier for you to use me when we can’t get more cakes? Satiate you more?”
“It would, but just because it’s easier and just because I would want it doesn’t make it right. Don’t argue with me, I don’t want to get into this right now.” You kissed me, chastely, just a touch of lips. It was apologetic, yet I failed to accept such apologies when it left a sour taste on my tongue and stained my skin red with another person's innards. You’d whispered. “Stop being a saint. I will not martyr you for my own starvation, I’m happy like this.”
You were lying. Neither of us was truly happy like this, just barely on the edge of content. Neither of us wanted to hold back anymore.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
“So… my birthdays in a few days.” It was a pathetic segway, a cry out for attention that Katsuki had never used before. It was desperate.
Izuku was making him dinner, in the sweet way he’d begun to help Katsuki around the house even if he couldn’t taste it. He followed the recipes exactly, but then let him taste it to be sure. He seemed to like feeding Katsuki too, as if repaying him for every meal he’s gotten in return. Slicing the meat with a steady and practiced hand, he made perfect cuts of chicken as he murmured in that low and endearing tone he used when relaxed. “I’m well aware, Kacchan. Is there anything specific you’d like?”
He always asked that, and Katsuki had always lied saying he needed nothing or needed something materialistic so as to not anger Izuku further with this topic but this year he found himself asking with sudden bravery. “I want you to make love to me.”
Izuku flinched and he couldn’t help but cringe at his own wording, stammering to catch him before he moved to deny him so hastily. “We’ve been together for fucking years now, Izuku, I trust you. I want you to let go with me for once. Will you, please?”
The sharp snap of the knife against the chopping board kept up its slow, methodical rhythm followed by the slab of meat being added to the marination bowl. It made a familiar wet squelch. Izuku’s eyes were dark with thought, thick brows furrowed in the handsome way that made Katsuki wish to smooth his fingers over them and kiss right between the middle crease on his forehead. He was already getting grey hairs and he could see it when the light from the stove hit his face just right, from stress most likely. It was dashingly handsome. “Will I please, what? You know what happens when we get that close, we’ve had close calls.”
“Yeah, when we were, what, eighteen? We’ve gotten better now. You can eat me out and suck me off just fine, but you can’t fuck me?”
“Most men would be content with that, Kacchan. Most men would adore being left to lay down and just indulge-”
“I am not like most men!” His voice rang out like an echo in the kitchen and Izuku dropped the knife, drawing up to full height and though it was nothing in comparison to Katsuki’s own he was still intimidating in his own right when his shoulders squared out and arms flexed like that. He didn’t even look at him, just closed his eyes and breathed. Izuku didn’t appreciate when they fought, so he said quieter. “I’m not most men, nor am I most cakes, quit fucking saying that shit. I want to make you feel good too. I want to feel you . I trust you that fucking much and I think it’d be special if… if we did it on that day. God, Izuku, we’re nearly thirty. How long do you want to go around waiting? I'm tired of seeing you with other people on your tongue, I want it to be me. ”
“The whole reason we’ve been doing this is so I don’t hurt you, Kacchan.” Izuku said it almost as if to chastise a child. As if to say ‘ remember? Remember sweetie? Cookies ruin your appetite, we wait until after dinner ’ or ‘ we don’t get into strangers vans, honey, you saw what happened to that kid on the news ’. It was a gentle reminder and warning.
“I know it’s not as simple as you’re making it seem. What if I want you to hurt me? Please-”
“No you do not.” He said it so tensely, jaw flexed, the veins in his neck pulsing. Anger, frustration clear and bubbling up in his eyes, something he didn’t look at him with often. His tone grew so cold. “You do not understand what you’re asking of me, do you?” An inhale, sharp and hissing past his grit teeth. He sounded full of loathing as he leaned closer. “It’s sick. To give in to it, you know that? I see them as animals when I do it, Kacchan. Animals. I see them as nothing more than meat bred for my consumption. Lambs to slaughter . I don’t see it as anything romantic as you’re trying to make it out to be in your journals, or sexual, or endearing. I see it as consumption and nothing but.”
Katsuki had grown used to his acts of aversion, his tactics attempting to scare him away. They never worked, they merely burned like the stinging slap of a lie and betrayal since Izuku wasn’t supposed to see his journals. He wasn’t supposed to know. He hated the slippery slope Izuku took, the spiraling to get to this point, he may have written what he wrote but it was clear he didn’t listen to a word he said. “You’re lying. Either to me or yourself, you’re lying, I’ve seen you when you do it and that’s not the reverence of a man eating a steak, I would know, I know what it’s like to eat normally and you don’t do it Izuku. That is the desire of a man eating his own heart for an answer.”
“Kacchan the only romantic part of it is that I know I am sparing you their suffering, that I am not hurting you the way I torture them, the way I play with my food, but I still think of eating you as I do them and it makes me sick .”
“No, it doesn’t, it makes you fucking hungrier. That’s why you do this. You’ve said it before, my scent, the way I taste. It affects you the most, I affect you more than anyone. Why not for once, for fucking once just indulge in it? I’m asking you to indulge in it, for me. For myself. Do not be so selfish as to think this is only for you.”
A long pause, then-“Let me think about it.”
But it was said in such a tone that Katsuki knew he did not trust himself to indulge him this much. He added soon after. “For you I’ll do my best, you know that right? I want you just as badly and I want to give you what you want, I always do because you deserve it for what you do for me, but I care more for your safety than I do our desires so let me think about it, okay baby?”
He only used those endearments to be sweet, forgiving, not wanting to hurt Katsuki’s feelings and soothe him. It worked enough for him to not press the topic, settling with the prospect of maybe dangling before him. “Alright.”
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
You did not speak to me for a few hours, alone in your office marking papers for your students. Ironic you were to become a teacher years later after stopping our own from having me.
I could barely focus on my TV, the sound so low that I could barely hear it. I wanted to hear your breathing in the other room, the scratch of pen on paper and the way your chair creaked when you moved restlessly. I wanted to rest my head on your lap like nothing but a housecat, allowing your fingers through my hair and along the base of my neck.
By the time you returned, I was close to dozing off, and your fingers danced down the column of my throat to settle over the jittering of my pulse to check if I were awake. Leaning down over the couch, you whispered so close I could smell the coffee on your shirt that you’d no doubt clumsily spilled earlier. You were still mixing parts of me into it to reap the benefits of the caffeine on your system and have me on your tongue. Perhaps that weakened your resolve, my taste, so sweet and abundant that you couldn’t help but indulge me this one thing in return for my constant giving all these years. “I’ll give you what you want, but you will have to promise me something.”
“ Anything .” I said breathlessly, reverently, like the lovesick fool I was. Desire made a fool of us, it was human nature and I was innately human as much as I tried to deny myself the novelty of weakness. I was quickly deteriorating in my wanting for you. I often wished I could find my voice– god, my fangs, my bite– to snap at you like I had in our youth for ignoring me, but you’d domesticated me so thoroughly that I melted beneath your steadying palm.
“Promise me you won’t let me eat you, my love. I cannot live with myself if you go.”
‘Go’. You could not even admit nor fathom in your hypothetical the thought of killing me, so much so you never uttered the word. Could you not see how harmless and gentle of a monster you were?
“I promise.” And I meant it.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
April 20th.
Katsuki was awoken sweetly the morning of his 28th birthday. Hands glided up along his sides, beneath his shirt, making his skin tingle with how-featherlight the touch was. He stirred, quiet and with the cutest of sound that Izuku couldn’t help but bury himself closer within the column of his neck and inhale deeply. He wound his arms around him from behind, allowing himself the treat of sucking on his pulse, nibbling softly on his clavicle despite the danger of it, whispering. “Happy birthday, Kacchan.”
“Mornin’ to you too.” His partner slurred, stretching out without leaving his arms, and like that with his arms raised above his head, his waist thinned out and Izuku couldn’t help but squeeze at it. What he’d give to cusp him entirely between his hands, make him feel small there, dig his fingers against his flesh until he bled and bruised. “Mm, gentle..”
“Sorry.” He mumbled, body thrumming with the desire to bite into his neck. He never allowed himself to be this close to his pulse, pressing up against him until there was no more space between their bodies, and that was why this was dangerous. He was trembling, and he’d barely touched him much at all, that was the usual way he was. Katsuki was used to this, his body shivering from the inside out as if the hunger chasming in his stomach ricocheted through his entire nervous system. “We should probably head out tonight to get that cake.”
“Mm, she’s a pretty one, why’d you pick her?” He could remember how she looked, a brunette with wide chestnut eyes. She was a cute thing, petite with a good amount of muscle on her bones.
“She smells similar to you, I thought it would help hold me off when.. When-” Stammering, stumbling, stutter hitching and hiccuping over his tongue.
“Have sex?”
Izuku shuddered once more. He’d barely come to terms with that thought, it made his head spin. “Yes.”
“And what do I smell like to you?”
“The closest equivalent is red velvet… with maybe the faintest traces of caramel. It’s intoxicating. It gets stronger when you sweat, your heart picks up, I can feel it when we kiss. You get an adrenaline rush, huh? Why have you never told me.”
“Quit reading my journals, they aren’t for you to see.” He turned in bed, golden hair cascading over the pillow. He was a sight like this, soft spoken and gentle, fingertips brushing along the side of Izuku’s cheek as if tracing the path of his freckles down the side of his neck. He shone beneath the silvers of light peeking through the curtain like his own personal angel. “I shouldn’t have to tell you for you to know what you do to me.”
Pressing his lips to his palm and breathing in, Izuku whispered. “I’d like to hear it anyway. That’s why I like your writing, it’s without your usual inhibitions. It’s honest.”
Sensitivity lit Katsuki’s veins alight, fingers twitching at the reverent and soft kisses Izuku gave to the center of his palm and up along his fingertips. He could feel the heat of his tongue, the faintest nip of his teeth just enough to tease. He wanted to press his fingers onto his tongue, press down and let Izuku bite. He wanted to feel him rut against him as he sucked on his fingers until they were reddened and saliva dripped down his wrist.
But he merely pulled away when his knees started feeling weak and kissed him one more time, whispering. “We should go get you that meal. It’s no use celebrating on an empty stomach.”
“Don’t you want to do anything else for your birthday? Go to your mothers, meet our friends? I am not the most entertaining, you’re with me every day.” He meant it to be a tease, but it didn’t truly land.
“We can do that, for some time at least, go see them for lunch.. but I'd rather spend the day with you.”
There was something conflicting in Izukus expression when he said that, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Katsuki eased the crease between his brows by kissing right in the center, whispering. “Quit deciding what you think is best for me. It’s my special day, right? Allow me the dignity to pick what it is I would like to do.”
“Yes, my love. Whatever you’d like.”
Izuku did not expect him to like to watch him eat before they proceeded. He did not expect him to already have his meal laid out and prepared for him after they’d gone out to visit his parents for most of the afternoon and their friends at a bar in the evening.
Katsuki was on the edge of tipsy, coherent but looser in the way he smiled and laughed and had his hand on him throughout the entire night. Beneath the table, his fingers had traced up and down his inner thigh, tempting him with subtle touches.
At some point he’d taken off his sweater, and his skin glistened beneath the bars lights, scent potent enough to make Izuku himself feel drunk off of it. He looked so free by the end of the night when they got into the car and he directed him to where to go, eyes sparkling and alight with amusement, tanktop nearly sliding off of one side and hair tousled. He looked most beautiful like that, when anger and frustration wasn’t clouding his gaze (though Izuku found that incredibly sexy).
“Did you enjoy your night?” His hand was on the small of his back, protective as he looked over his shoulder to the empty street while Katsuki got his keys. He always worried another could smell him, could feel the sweetness that radiated off of him, and he wasn’t willing to share.
“Definitely. But I’ll like it even more if you don’t chicken out on me.” Katsuki unlocked the door, looking at him with an expectant glimmer in his eyes. “The girl should be here soon, so go get ready.”
Getting ready meant hiding in the spare bedroom they reworked into a bit of a meat-locker. It wasn’t easy to do, and they had to wait months, but discreetly they’d done it. No one visited their home anyway, not even Izuku’s own mother, so it was feasible enough.
“Make a mess for me?” Katsuki had whispered, lips on the shell of his ear, tone desperate with something Izuku didn’t quite understand. His hand was tugging on the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the first few buttons, nails scratching lightly beneath the fabric before the doorbell had rung.
He nodded, and he’d gone, already rolling up his sleeves in a way that made Katsuki feel hot.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
Izuku liked to eat with his hands, but that night he opted for the knife and gloves, a peculiar feeling of shame making him blush at the way Katsuki was squinting at him. He had to explain that it was easier that way, more efficient and less time consuming then if he were to rip the flesh with his nails, but it was a clear ploy of holding back that he was enacting.
Was it progression if a cannibal used utensils? Should he have handed him a fork and a plate? The thought was amusing.
“I said to make a mess.” Katsuki sat on the other side of the room, his designated area so he wouldn’t get blood on himself. He leaned back as if watching a film, but there was no detachment in his eyes as he rested his legs up on the metal table Izuku set his tools upon. He never looked at the cake, just Izuku, staring right into his eyes before letting his gaze slowly trail down to the blood dribbling on his lips. “And you wore gloves.”
“You want me to touch you after, don’t you?”
“Yes. I don’t see your point.”
“I don’t like to mix flavours.”
“Liar.” He sighed, stretching up slowly, humming. “What’s she taste like?”
“Sweet.” Izuku mumbled, unable to describe the feeling of euphoria at sinking his hands into the warmth of blood that pooled from her body from where he fed, the gloves barely helping for it made a ring around his wrists. The squelching noise was disgusting, sickening to Katsuki who never liked this part, but the nausea was eased when Izuku took a bite out of her liver. He groaned so deep it vibrated into his bones until it felt like his own cartilage was liquifying for him. He pressed his legs together. “You’re sweeter, don’t make that face. Only you could become jealous of this. I don’t get it.”
Of course he wouldn’t get it, he wouldn’t understand the hunger Katsuki himself felt, the envy that crawled up his throat when he saw someone else's blood on his lips. It should be him that close to him, so deep inside of him that their blood blended together until his essence was pumping through Izuku’s heart and keeping him alive. He felt that jealousy rumble through him, finally allowing himself to feel it fully knowing that at the end he’d get what he’s desired for so long.
He let himself feel the fire in his stomach, it clawed through his loins as he pressed his legs together to calm himself down. Izuku’s eyes were downturned, teeth shining white against the crimson flesh, adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The chilliness of the room they were in did little to ease the sickly and shiverish feeling creeping down the back of his neck when he looked up at him, eyes striking and dark as a forest, so harsh that it broke through the hazy buzz in his brain. His pupils grew so wide, leaving only a ring of emerald green as he looked him over while chewing, lips pursed in an unamused and disappointed line.
And finally he knew what it meant to be ravenously starved when Izuku had his fill and moved to take off his gloves, because he was instantly across the room stopping him from removing it fully and pulling his arms around him, spinning him forcefully so they were eye to eye. Katsuki couldn’t find it in himself to care for Izuku’s inner-loathing when he loved that look so much. “I said to make a mess. You didn’t listen. I said I want to be as close to you as they are, you didn’t listen either. You read my journals, you impeded on my privacy, but you still don’t get it do you?”
He spoke to him so placatingly, like Izuku was a big dumb puppy. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Izuku’s brow furrowed, frustration easing just enough to allow himself to be pulled in, scrunching his nose when he cupped his chin and wiped the blood along his chin with his thumb and fed it back into his mouth. His hands hovered, limp at the wrists so he wouldn't get the stains on Katsuki’s shirt as he lapped dutifully at his finger, letting it rest on his tongue until he chose to pull away. “No, I don’t get why you’d ask a monster to eat you, to crawl all over you and ruin you. You shouldn’t even want me to touch you. I’m cruel, I’m disgustingly reliant on human flesh, and you want that? You want someone who wants to rip you open and crawl so far inside of you that you won’t be recognized anymore? You want-”
“I want you. From those urges to your gentle nature, I want it. Devour me.” Katsuki brushed their noses, and smiled in amusement as he whispered almost in a mean way, in a pathetically coddling way. “You’re a bit of a pathetic monster, aren’t you? Begging your prey to run away, crying at being loved and cared for? You don’t scare me at all, I want you to be consumed by your desire for me, I love it. I want you to be cruel, I’m asking you to give into those urges, and you’re refusing me. What sort of unhinged beast of a monster is that? You’re a chained dog, Izuku. You’re mine and I know you won’t hurt me even if I beg for it. So yes, I want it. I want it so badly . You can’t explain yourself enough to make me hate you, you never can. It’s too late.”
Izuku tilted his head to say something, but stammered to a halt when Katsuki’s teeth caught his bottom lip, tugging lightly with a low murmur. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
“Yes, Kacchan.”
“Don’t you trust me?” His breath blew into his mouth as he tugged on his curls, tightening his grip just enough to pull him closer, voice syrupy. “Or do you prefer eating from lifeless strangers?”
Izuku couldn’t attempt to formulate a response, the cloud of sugar and spice making it feel like he was buzzed. Cotton in his ears. Izuku’s hands were trembling, fingers twitching until Katsuki’s tongue traced the edges of his teeth, indifferent of where his mouth had been, licking into his mouth and biting light yet mean against his tongue and Izuku was gone .
Wrapping his hands around his waist, smearing red against the black fabric of his tank top, Izuku pulled him in against his body and tilted his head and kissed him. Hard, feral, all tongue and heated bites with blood on his lips and another woman’s innards between his teeth. He slid his fingers through his curls and tugged him forwards against his body harder, muscles wound tight with the prospect of finally .
Izuku kissed like he ate, messy and all consuming, lips pressing to his hard enough to bruise, enough to have Katsuki gasping shakily when he started walking him back against the tool table; nearly making him slip against the slick floor. He could feel how he smiled into the kiss, how he arched and wound his legs around him with something like a laugh bubbling from his chest.
“What?” Izuku looked at him in confusion.
Katsuki didn’t respond, merely pulled him in again and slid Izuku’s hands up his shirt. He couldn’t tell him how amusing it was, how fulfilling it was to know he’d get him to fuck him in the same room where he ate all the others. He couldn’t tell him the pride he had in being loved by him and so unlike anyone else- any other cakes- he’d ever come across to get him this smitten. He could only grind his hips up against his, curl his fingers through his belt loops to pull him in and whisper. “Keep going”
The room smelt thickly of iron and Izuku was sticky with sweat from exerting himself with the bones earlier, but Katsuki was content. He was happy to lean back against the cold of the metal table, pushing aside the tools and lifting his shirt over his head, spreading his legs like an invitation for him to get between. A prized gift. The preacher's favorite sacrificial lamb.
Because that’s what this union was to Izuku, who loved him so much but knew it was a precarious line they tread. He who knew how he touched him was not out of love but a forceful offering from a selfish hand. It was out of worship. He wanted to crush him, tear his flesh and rip the very veins out of his arms so he could feast upon it, feel it burst in his mouth until his blood was in the wound of his heart that bled to be accepted by Katsuki. Bled and begged to be loved but shied away from the hands that tried to love him since he always stained them with filth.
Izuku wished he could say a prayer, wished he could bestow the proper worship upon his body before he ruined it. Perhaps that’s why he was so gentle, trying to translate his desires but he could only allow himself to whisper. “Perfect, Kacchan.”
His hands were staining the pale of his skin and he ripped the damning gloves off to feel the warmth of his body, forever a heat unlike the kind he got from the inside of others bodies. This was comforting, smooth and delicate in a way that warmed his heart and made his stomach turn. This- he - was everything and he let him pull his head to his chest until he was drowning in the fog of his scent. He wanted to consume him but there was also something to be said in how he wanted to be consumed by him, wanting to suffocate between the planes of his muscles or the heat of his mouth.
“Focus.” Katsuki’s voice was an anchor, low and soft yet enough to slice through his muddled thoughts, guiding Izuku’s hands lower as they usually did. He was keeping him afloat, petting his hair and cooing in his ear as he whispered. “I got myself ready for you. You just need to give it to me, can you give me that?”
Izuku could’ve cried from his tone alone, from the gentle way he cupped his cheeks and let his fingers trace his jaw, wiping away whatever mess was left over from his meal. He had no right, no right whatsoever to make Katsuki beg for something like this. Beg for his love when it was already so abundant yet stifled because he was scared. He was so scared.
But he let his hand be guided and pressed his lips to the side of his throat and kissed there sweetly. He hissed low and guttural when his fingers hovered over where Katsuki placed them, feeling the cool end of the plug and thumbing over it. Because, at the end of it all, despite calling himself a monster he was still just a man at the end of it all. He had a baser instinct. He was instantly hard. “You really are perfect .”
“I know, Izuku.” And he was smiling again, the soft kind, the loving kind that made him want to die with how his heart seized.
“And you’re sure?”
“Fucking hell.”
“I’m just…double checking.” He whispered, eyes low and enraptured as he tugged at the base of it, felt the way Katsuki seized up and his thighs fell open further. He had been too distracted by his thoughts to notice him undressing and he mourned missing it but he made it up by focusing intently on every twitch and flex of his body as he moved. He wouldn’t let Katsuki’s scent make him lose focus this time like it had every time before. “I can’t believe I get to be the first person to do this to you, make you mine fully. It could’ve been anyone else. Anyone normal.”
“I’ve been yours, I’ve always- ah - been yours.” Breathless, kicking slightly at his leg when Izuku twisted his wrist, letting the plug stretch him fully around the base before pressing it back inside, teasing the resistance and soon enough Katsuki was popping the buttons of Izuku’s shirt open to roughly pull the sleeves down his arms. Impatience was etched into his brows and a squirm made his hips rock up, and twitch sporadically in a way that was hypnotizing to Izuku. “Get on with it before I get bored , Izuku.”
Izuku couldn’t help the chuckle that broke from his chest, couldn’t help but soften beneath his touch, his heart fluttering like a mockingbird beneath Katsuki’s warm palm. His fingers were firm, pressing into his neck as if trying to feel his pulse, threading through his veins over his skin. “Yes, Kacchan.”
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
I could’ve cried. You were so gentle, so loving, even as we lay and made love beside the body you cannibalized a few minutes prior. I could taste metal on your tongue, a reminder of the heinous sins you’ve committed and would continue to do, and yet-
And yet . What is more lovely than a monster undone with wanting?
Your kiss mutes the taste, I barely acknowledge it, and when you bear your hips into mine I can’t even acknowledge the world around me. I think of nothing but you, feel nothing but you.
Nothing else matters.
I feel complete.
So I guide your hands lower, lower still, and pull your head to my chest so you can feast on my heart now instead. Show me how much better I am to you than anything you’ve ever had before.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
Izuku pressed their foreheads together, letting Katsuki hook his fingers through his belt to ease his pants down, kissing over the beauty marks peppered along his face and reveling in the soft laughter that continued to bubble from him in response, soft and shaky. Because of course he was nervous, he was trembling with it, they both were. Despite all they’d been through and all they'd done this was still something new entirely, something embarrassingly intimate, but Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to hide or be ashamed– be terrified of being this close to him– when Katsuki was smiling like that.
“You’re surprisingly calm.”
“Cause it’s you.” Izuku mumbled, brushing their noses in a way that could’ve been considered cute. He was watching Katsuki’s hand, clean and delicate, wrap around his cock and shivered. “You’re cold.”
“S’cold in here, that’s why you’re supposed to warm me up. You’re doing a really bad fuckin’ job right now.” His cheeks were flushed a beautiful pink, making Izuku want to nibble and bite against them but he fought against the urge to focus instead on opening him up just a little more. They fumbled around with each other, laughing into each kiss, teasing and riling each other up just enough until Izuku could feel how his thighs trembled and core tightened in need before giving in.
Sliding into him the first time was a feeling Izuku couldn’t even begin to describe, unlike the heat he’d felt before up to his forearms. It’s like every neuron in his brain fired to life and his eyes zeroed in on nothing but the bright light that was Katsuki’s face, his beauty and radiance glowing within the very crimson of his irises until he was sure the image would be engraved into his mind forever. He was so tight, body wound and coiled like a hot iron, hands grasping onto Izuku in desperation as he keened. Keened , cute and quiet as he tried to turn his face away so Izuku wouldn’t see how his eyes welled up.
From pain or emotional closeness, Izuku wasn’t sure, all he knew was he couldn’t help but kiss beneath his eyes and taste it, chase him when he tried to hide. Sweet and salty like caramel drizzle he assumed. Like sugar water. Fear bore away into a power tip, the way it usually did when Katsuki would force his head between his thighs in the time before.
“You’re so tight like this. You got ready for me so well, Kacchan. So good for me, so amazing, you’re everything, whatever did I do to deserve you? You went out of your way for me on your birthday, I-” He mumbled, rambling as his hands trailed up and down his figure, squeezing the middle of his waist and groaning at the way Katsuki stretched out for him, stomach rippling beneath the tight squeeze. He fit perfectly beneath his hands, as if he were made to fit between them and accept the bruises he wished to bestow upon him.
He tried to ignore the blood he’d put on his body earlier, but couldn’t help but smear it along his stomach with a sick perverse desire as he pressed his hand firmly over it, putting pressure on where he was inside of him just to feel the rise of his breathing and desperate arch of his hips trying to rock up to meet his to escape the unyielding pressure inside. The hiccuping breaths he had and the gasping moans he gave were so beautiful that Izuku could’ve stayed like that. Stayed still inside of him and let the twitches and squirming of Katsuki’s body make them both finish as he indulged in every little part of him that he had up until now.
“God, fuckin’- Shut up, Izuku.” He’s embarrassed, Izuku knows that look and tone well enough to know that means he should stop teasing him and give him what he asked for but he can’t stop. He won’t stop because Katsuki’s shame only makes him want to keep going, pushing his buttons until his body bent to his will. He liked how his eyes welled and lips trembled.
His skin, his warmth, his tears and sweat and even the pre beading on his tip. Everything was so sweet. He moved slowly at first, letting the feeling of Katsuki’s body overtake him, but then his thrusts grew more erratic when he felt how he dug his heels in against Izuku’s stocky thighs and tried to lift himself up to meet each one, not allowing himself to just rest and savor it. Growing impatient. “Shh, Kacchan, let me-”
“S’not enough-” He slurred, gripping the edge of the metal table and meeting his eyes, panting breaths making his chest rise and fall, beckoning to Izuku when each rhythmic motion followed by a shaky grunt. Like he was at his limit. There was something oddly gratifying about that, being the one to fill him up for once instead of the other way around.
“You’re new to this, let yourself adjust sweetheart. Ease up.” His thumb ran circles around the divot of his v-line, still unable to look away from how contrasting the spill of red against his skin was. He wished to add to it, the thought making his throat dry and teeth ache, jaw tensing to lock his mouth closed because he wouldn’t ruin the moment with thoughts like that. Absolutely not . “It’s your birthday right? Hmn? Let me do something for you.”
He rocked his hips to make him stop squirming, a solid shiver roiling through him as Katsuki dug his nails into his shoulders and tossed his head back, exposing the unblemished and smooth column of his pale throat. Like prey, waiting and willing.
He’d never seen Katsuki so vulnerable in his life, the cake forever avoiding this fork by holding him on his leash, tightening and loosening when he pleased– opening and closing the drawer so to speak– but now here he was reduced to nothing but stuttering and stammering desperation, flushed and starting to beg . So unlike the game he spoke before. “Please~ Please move. Please, fucking- Izuku, god, Touch. Me. ”
And by now he knew touch meant bite, meant give in, meant to enrapture him and this time Izuku was too far gone to disagree with him. Because here he was, his cake, his saviour, the sun of his life now reduced to something to be consumed willingly. Not a meal but rather something to be savoured slowly, in leisure, a dessert . A beautiful, trembling offering beneath him that was tangible and physical and enough for him to shed some of his core moral standings.
He let his lips brush over every scar on his body like something sacred, worshipping the body he mapped out and learned through the years of them being together and trying to work around each other, intimate as he whispered. “You promised you wouldn’t let me eat you.”
“You won’t .”
“And if I bite you now, feed from you now? Are you so sure I won’t?” His teeth scraped against where his lips once had, now with a stinging promise and Katsuki’s body jerked, making Izuku slide so deliciously deeper inside of him that he couldn’t help but fall forwards just a bit more to grind up in retaliation. He groaned at the same time Katsuki mewled– a fragile whine breaking through his grit teeth, eyes squinting and brows furrowed, thighs trembling further as he tried to keep them locked around Izuku’s waist without growing restless. He was twitching hard around him, and Izuku remembered he hadn’t really moved, hadn’t relieved him besides the teasing phantom grinds he gave into each pulse of his hole trying to tighten around the base of his cock and pull him in.
“ Please -”
Palms flat against the table his arms caged around him, his lips pressing to the hollow between his neck and shoulder, the intoxicating headiness of his scent now warmed with the sultry undertones of sex (god how could he explain that in a way that explained how much it appetized him?). And Izuku wondered why he ever protested to this, why he ever tried to deny them both this. He wanted to bite him then. Right there. God , he wanted to bite him so badly that it felt like he’d be set aflame if he didn’t right then. His control was flickering, slipping between his grasp like sand the more he felt his lover dig into him so yearningly.
Katsuki liked the pain didn’t he? The risk? So what’s so wrong to let himself give in, dip his hand into the cookie jar and take them both out of their misery? It was his birthday wish after all. He knows how far he can go, doesn’t he?
Izuku pressed his lips to the side of Katsuki’s throat, hands trembling where they cradled his jaw, as if holding something precious as he opened his mouth. The scent of him was as overwhelming as it was when they’d first kissed that night, nothing had truly changed in the years between then and now, even with his stomach full he wanted to cannibalize him. His Kacchan, his cake, his first and probably final meal one day.
“I don’t know how to stop.” Izuku whispered, and he didn’t mean for his voice to tremble the way it did, but he steeled it as he said softly. “If I start… if I really start, I don’t think- Kacchan I don’t know if I can stop.” His thumbs skimmed right beneath his jaw, forcing Katsuki’s head to tip back, meeting his eyes. “And I know you want that, so forgive me if it hurts you. I want it to hurt you…”
Katsuki smiled, because of course he did, blissed and content as he whispered. Taunted, as if they were rivals in a playground and not predator stalking prey. Which of them was which in this scenario? The lines blurred with how Katsuki wound his arms and legs around his body like a vice. “Show me your worst, Izuku.”
Izuku’s chest seized at that, at the self assuredness he had, the confidence in Izuku’s admiration and care for him that he didn’t care if it were overridden by his instincts. Something inside him cracked, loud and monstrous, and if his hunger could roar he was sure it would have. He rocked into him slowly, lovingly, because he felt that was what Katsuki should want as he mumbled praise against his throat, over his collarbone and down his chest “You’re perfect,” He said again, quieter. “I love you so much, you know that? You’re everything.”
“I know.” He was brushing his hair out of his eyes unbothered, tracing the grey areas no doubt caused by stress and kissing the freckles on his shoulders, loving him so delicately regardless. “Then take it. Take everything.”
And maybe he would. Maybe he already had when he saved Katsuki that night and explained it all to him instead of pushing him away. Maybe he was already pushing his luck by allowing them to build this fractured and dangerous relationship because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him all that time ago.
When he sunk his teeth into the side of his throat his vision blurred and the world narrowed to the warm spilling between them in ebbs and flows, the bursting of abundant sugar on his tongue enough to make Izuku think he could describe the taste of love if he were asked. The type of love that had always tasted a little like violence.
He’d wake up the next morning feeling guilty with his mouth sticky and red, and he knew he’d drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness once more. Beg Katsuki to never let him do such a thing again, to run far away from him and save himself. He’d run himself in a few more circles before letting himself be pulled back and anchored again, loved again. Because Katsuki, still warm beside him, still his , would just sigh and pull him close into the cavern of his heart once more.
Until they destroyed each other or learned to live with the ache, they’d stay like that. Because this was their love, messy and consuming and a little forked up.
═ ∘♡༉∘ ═
You called me the romantic?
You’re such a hypocrite Izuku. You came the minute you bit me.
Pot. Kettle.
You came the minute I bit you too? You wanted to be unlike anyone else and you were. You made me cum.
Stay out of my journals.
I love you but you’re pushing your luck.
I love you more,
Happy Birthday, Kacchan.