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Izuku squares his shoulders and approaches the front counter, ears ringing as he stares at the photos of the top ten hosts and hostesses on the wall. There, in the number one spot, sporting heavy eyeliner and sparkling obsidian eyeshadow while he bites his lip, is Molotov.
Kacchan. His Kacchan is moonlighting at a host club. He’s not even in the top ten on the hero charts, but he’s the number one host?
It doesn’t make sense. Why would Kacchan degrade himself like this? It’s not like he needs the money.
“Sir?” The receptionist, a stoic woman in a dark red satin dress, brings him back to reality.
“Huh?”
“I said, have you been here before?”
Izuku shakes his head. “I’m here for Molotov.”
She laughs a little. “He’s booked all night. I could set you up with—”
Izuku slams his debit card on the counter, and the receptionist startles. Oops. Maybe that was kinda overkill.
Whatever. She needs to understand how urgent this is.
“I’ll pay double whatever his most generous client is giving you.” Izuku narrows his eyes, mouth twitching. “I know how these things work. Just take some time away from the cheapskates.”
“Of course, sir.” Her fake nails tap-tap-tap against the reception tablet. “I’ll need your ID, and you’ll have to secure your phone in a locker for the duration of your visit.”
Oh, so it’s one of those places. What’s Kacchan doing working at a host club that doesn’t allow phones?
When Izuku slides his ID across the counter, the receptionist’s eyes widen in shock, but otherwise she keeps up her professionalism. This is a high-end place; no doubt she’s used to seeing pros and former pros all the time. Still, it must be quite a shock to see sweet little Deku here, demanding Dynamight’s attention.
He’s a chipper, picture perfect war hero as far as the public is concerned. Izuku knows what his reputation is. He keeps it that way on purpose.
When she finishes setting up his account, the receptionist leads him through a set of double doors that spills out into a wide open space decked out in rounded, black leather couches and gleaming black tables.
This place is packed—guests, hosts, and hostesses fill every table. People toast with champagne flutes and pour bottles of Moët like they’re pitchers of water . The murmur of dozens of conversations mixes with punk music blasting through the speakers.
A purple-haired hostess in a plaid skirt and a lacy bralette leans over one of the tables, giggling as two women fondle her breasts.
Anger licks at Izuku’s skin. Is Kacchan letting random people touch him every night like this? What else is he letting them do? Izuku clenches his fists, nails digging sharp wedges into his palms. One way or another, Izuku will make damn sure no one else ever touches Kacchan after tonight.
The receptionist leads Izuku through the crowd and unlatches the gate on a red velvet tensa barrier marked VIP. He squares his shoulders, because yes, he is a VIP, thank you very much.
And by the end of the night, Kacchan will know it.
The VIP section is more spacious, more secluded, with four high-walled alcoves, their interiors obscured by heavy black curtains. There’s a swish of metal gliding across metal as the receptionist opens it to reveal an intimate space with walls decorated in tasteful black and white nude paintings. With a nod, Izuku settles onto the couch, leaving the chaise on the other side of the coffee table open for Kacchan.
“Molotov will be with you shortly,” the receptionist says. “You can use the tablet to order drinks.”
When she goes to close the curtain, Izuku stops her. “Leave it open.”
The world will see that he’s the one who gets to spend the evening with Kacchan.
With anxiety pulsing through his veins, Izuku flips through the menu, looking for the most expensive drinks. That’s what Kacchan will want, working at a place like this.
“Well, well, looks like I’ve got a VI—”
Izuku turns his head to see Kacchan leaning into the alcove, pierced nipples threatening to burst through his mesh tank. In the low mood lighting, the outline of his dick—even bigger and heavier than it looked in the UA showers— is visible through tight leather pants.
Expression dark and serious, Izuku looks him in the eye. “Hello.”
Kacchan’s lips part. He blinks rapidly, lids glimmering with a thick layer of eyeshadow. He looks so different here—like some androgynous, untouchable rock god.
He recovers from the shock faster than Izuku likes—but of course he does. This is Kacchan. He’s going to keep Izuku on his toes.
Kacchan steps into the alcove and reaches for the curtain.
“No,” Izuku says, his voice flat and commanding. “Leave it open, Kacchan.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Kacchan sits in the middle of the chaise, feet planted on the ground, legs spread, the outline of his cock even more obvious in this position. “Who the hell is Kacchan? I’m Molotov.”
Izuku rolls his eyes. If Kacchan wants to keep up the persona, fine. Izuku can play along… for now. “What would you like to drink, Molotov?”
“The house red.”
Izuku snorts. Is Kacchan trying to get him to save his money? Unbelievable. Even if it costs him his entire life’s savings, he’s going to show Kacchan he can give him more than all the people who wine and dine him for a few hours of his attention. He flips through the menu and orders the Moët.
Moments later, it arrives in a chrome ice bucket on a conveyor belt that’s fixed to the wall. This place really takes their VIPs’ privacy seriously.
Kacchan eyes the bottle. “Haah? That’s not—”
Izuku sits back, arms resting on the back of the couch. “I thought Molotov might have more expensive taste than he’s letting on. Why else would he work here? He can’t possibly need the money. Maybe he just enjoys being groped by random strangers?”
Without missing a beat, Kacchan takes the tray off the conveyor belt and sets it on the table, leaning over and pressing his pecs together as he covers the bottle with a towel and angles it away from them. When it pops, he removes the towel and holds it against his chest, eyes sharpening on Izuku as the bubbly runs down the bottle and drips through his mesh shirt.
“Oops. Looks like I made a mess. Help me clean it up?”
Kacchan pushes his pecs together again, and—okay, this is definitely premeditated. Izuku’s dick twitches despite the jealousy that burns in his gut. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Kacchan had been hit with a quirk.
But no. He’s acting like a slut for money.
“Take your shirt off,” Izuku says. “It’ll dry faster.”
When Kacchan reaches for the curtain again, Izuku grabs his wrist. “Why bother? I’m sure everyone here’s already seen you in less.”
Kacchan’s cheeks flush pink, a stark contrast to his goading, seductive smile. “I take it off on stage every night, anyway. They go crazy for it.” He lifts the hem of his shirt. “I just thought the great war hero Deku might want a show all to himself.”
“Maybe later.” Izuku shakes his head. “I want everyone to see that tonight? You’re mine.”
In one swift movement, Kacchan pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it to Izuku. The champagne glistens across his chest and drips down from the delicate chain connecting his piercings. It was obscured by his shirt, but now that it’s on full display, Izuku plans to use it as intended.
He hooks a single finger behind the chain and tugs. Kacchan’s nipples, permanently hard from the modification, stretch towards him, the bars on his taught, supple chest a beacon that begs for Izuku’s mouth.
Izuku twists the chain. Pulls it closer. Kacchan’s chest heaves as the action inches him towards Izuku’s wanting mouth.
Kacchan holds his lip between his teeth, fiery, determined eyes locked with Izuku’s. And maybe that look used to be enough to fluster Izuku—to force him to look away. But now, with the threat of losing Kacchan to some random guy with deep pockets?
There’s no chance in hell.
Izuku tugs harder on the chain, edging Kacchan’s glossy lips towards his.
Kacchan’s breath stutters. He blinks. He runs his finger across Izuku’s and pulls tighter at the chain. It sends a surge of electricity across Izuku’s limbs.
Izuku’s grip loosens, and Kacchan grabs his palm and presses hard on the pressure point.
“What the—” Izuku rips his hand out of Kacchan’s.
With a dark laugh, Kacchan looks down at his chest, then at Izuku. “I’m gonna be all sticky once this dries. Unless I can find somebody to clean it up.” He flits his tongue through the air suggestively.
Somebody? What does Kacchan mean, somebody? It takes all Izuku's self-control to stop himself from lunging across the table.
But he doesn't need to. Pushing the Moët out of the way, Kacchan climbs over the table on all fours, lingering mere centimeters from Izuku’s face. The chain swings back and forth.
Izuku's single thread of constitution snaps. If Kacchan did this in the privacy of one of their apartments—if Izuku’d never found out about his little side gig—he would have stammered, made some kind of excuse, and run away.
But now, Izuku knows. Knows Kacchan lets all these slimy bastards touch him. Fuck him. For days he’d tried to forget, tried to shove it into a box and store it in the back of his mind, but it squirmed into every wrinkle of his brain. It wriggled around at all hours and stopped him from sleeping.
Eventually, he had no choice but to confront it.
It was all over once Kacchan, decked out in his whorish get-up, introduced himself by his host name. Here, Izuku’s a paying customer—not Kacchan’s childhood friend but war hero Deku. And Kacchan might think he can parade around as Molotov, selling himself for the thrill of it, but after tonight, Izuku will make sure he never wants another person’s touch.
Izuku leans forward and licks the trickle of champagne that’s settled between Kacchan’s pecs. When his tongue meets hot, smooth skin and rippling scar tissue, he can’t stifle the moan that leaves his throat.
The low burn of desire flares into something hotter—something more dangerous—when he realizes there isn’t a single hair on Kacchan’s chest.
“Hmm…” There’s a neediness to Kacchan’s voice that Izuku’s never heard before. “You’re gonna have to pay extra for that.”
Fury rips through the fog of arousal. How many other people has Kacchan let lick champagne off his chest?
Izuku barely recognizes the low, dangerous timbre of his voice when he says, “I’ll bet you have a going rate; don’t you? Know it all off the top of your head because you’ll let any sleazebag touch you if the price is right?”
Kacchan startles at the accusation. Just barely, but Izuku notices. He always does.
Good. Let him be uncomfortable.
Kacchan recovers quickly, settling on his heels, legs still splayed wide as he crosses his arms behind his head. The action pushes his tits up. “Maybe.”
“You look like a fucking stripper.”
This time, Kacchan doesn’t flinch. Not at all.
“You got a problem with that, Deku?” Kacchan hovers over him, eyes hooded, smoky, sparkling. “‘Cause there’s a word for people who come in here looking for what you’re looking for.”
“And there’s a word for people who give them that.”
Kacchan laughs like he’s entirely unbothered. “What makes you think you can afford it on a teacher’s salary? You’ve already paid out the ass to get my undivided attention.”
“Is this your persona? Expensive slut? It doesn’t suit you.”
Kacchan leans forward on his hands and knees and brushes his fingers over Izuku’s crotch.
Izuku gasps, and all the remaining blood in his body rushes to his cock. Kacchan shouldn’t be so comfortable doing that unless—
“Neither does your good boy look.” Kacchan slides across the table and sits directly in front of Izuku, flinging his legs over the table and setting his feet on Izuku’s knees.
Izuku can’t help himself. He looks down.
Kacchan’s so hard that his cock threatens to burst from his too-tight pants. “You hiding a fat bank account behind that sunny, fake-ass smile?”
A fiend rises in Izuku’s chest—gnashing, snarling, demanding freedom. This is bullshit. Izuku would sell his soul if it meant he could have Kacchan. He doesn’t care how much it costs; he’ll make sure Kacchan never again loses himself on a dick that isn’t Izuku’s.
Izuku grabs Kacchan’s calves and yanks him onto his lap. Kacchan’s eyes go wide for just a moment, and then they narrow into that seductive gaze that’s becoming more familiar—more enticing—with every moment that passes. “Whatever. Not my problem if you can’t pay rent next month.”
“You’re right,” Izuku says. “It’s not your problem.”
The fiend breaks free.
Izuku fists his hand in Kacchan’s hair and pulls their mouths together.
It’s all teeth and mashed lips and hot, sloppy tongue. Kacchan melts into the kiss—into Izuku—and pushes his ass firmly against Izuku’s dick.
Izuku can’t help it—he whimpers.
Kacchan pulls back, lips spit-soaked and swollen. “That desperate for it already?” He rolls his hips, grinding down onto Izuku’s cock.
Izuku bites his tongue hard to stop from reacting, but he knows his ill-constrained lust is written all over his face. He can’t let Kacchan get the better of him.
Izuku grabs him by the hips and thrusts fast and hard. Kacchan throws his head back, exposing his pretty, delicate neck. It’s a rare treat, since most of Kacchan is sharp grins and hard muscle and biting quips.
Kacchan must be hiding other delicate parts of himself under his clothes.
Izuku intends to find them.
He sucks at Kacchan’s throat and runs his lips across the soft skin. It hits Izuku all at once. That Kacchan is here. On top of him.
Izuku’s for the taking.
Kacchan laughs again, and if he’s mocking Izuku, Izuku doesn’t care. He’ll have Kacchan crying soon enough.
He grips Izuku’s shirt, slams his fist hard against Izuku’s chest, and stands up, knocking the table back. Their forgotten glasses tip over and spill the expensive champagne.
Izuku barely notices—all that matters is putting his hands on Kacchan again.
Izuku follows his movements, crowding Kacchan against the table. Kacchan shoves it back with his foot, never once breaking eye contact with Izuku.
Kacchan takes a step back and beckons Izuku forward with a single finger. “C’mon, Deku. Tell me why you’re really here. You jealous?”
Izuku scoffs. Jealous? He just doesn’t want to see Kacchan debase himself for anyone else. That’s not jealousy. “You’re a pro-hero working at a glorified brothel. What am I supposed to think?”
“Glorified brothel?” Kacchan’s voice wavers on the second word. His face skews with something ugly. Something… shameful?
“Kacchan,” Izuku pleads, “I’m trying to understand. I—”
“It’s Molotov,” Kacchan says through his teeth, the characteristic grit seeping back into his voice. “How many times do I have to remind you?”
“But it’s just me!” Izuku insists. “What’s it matter?”
“You’re the one who showed up at my workplace and spent, what, like a month’s salary to have my undivided attention?” Kacchan’s arms twitch as he balls his hands into fists. “You could’ve just asked me about my side gig. But you didn’t. You came here. Started this weird-ass game. Why?”
Izuku opens his mouth. Closes it. His heart pounds hard and heavy.
“Why, Izuku?” It ekes out from Kacchan’s throat—low, strangled, desperate.
Izuku gulps. There it is: his real name for the first time since they laid eyes on each other tonight. The name Kacchan always uses these days.
Kacchan turns his back on Izuku and heads towards the room’s exit.
Izuku’s heart plummets into his gut.
Then Kacchan stops. Pulls the curtains closed. The muscles on his back ripple with every breath. “Since I’m a whore, let’s do what you came here for.”
Kacchan turns slowly to face Izuku, pain shadowing his expression.
Izuku can’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t understand.”
Kacchan’s on him faster than Izuku can track. He pushes Izuku against the wall, powerful arms pinning him by the shoulders.
Izuku should fight back, but he’s frozen—a prisoner to those smokey eyes, that glistening chest, that throbbing cock that presses hard into his hip. When Kacchan nibbles at his ear, down his neck, and along his collarbone, Izuku is gone. Nothing in the world exists but Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. His knees weaken, and he braces himself against the wall to stop them from buckling.
“You trying to save me or something?” Kacchan whispers, hot breath ghosting into Izuku’s ear.
“I’m not a hero anymore. But you are. And you’re selling your body to—”
“Last I checked, that wasn’t any of your concern. Besides tonight, you’ve never given me any inclination that you want me.”
Something in Izuku snaps. He breaks out of Kacchan’s hold and tackles him to the ground. It’s all fists and knees and punches at first—like it was back in their early days at UA. But this time, Izuku seizes the advantage. He headbutts Kacchan in the chest and rolls on top of him.
Through smeared eyeliner, Kacchan stares at Izuku in shock.
For Izuku, that’s all it takes.
“I want you,” Izuku says. “Right now.”
It’s more than want; it’s need. To cherish. To possess. To smelt his soul to Kacchan’s until their essences are indistinguishable.
“You’ve given yourself to so many other people.” Izuku runs gentle fingers down Kacchan’s cheek. “So give yourself to me.”
Only to me.
Kacchan’s grin is wide and wicked as he laces his hands behind Izuku’s neck and pulls him into a desperate, wet kiss. Izuku doesn’t know if it’s a good kiss or not—has no idea what he’s doing—but he can’t stop himself. Because he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to Kacchan.
So he kisses back, running his hand down the front of Kacchan’s pants, groaning when he presses his palm into the hard heat of Kacchan’s cock.
Kacchan lets out a startled breath that emboldens Izuku. “You’re such a fucking whore .” The word is spewed with vitriol. “Giving it away night after night? You have no right to be this desperate.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Though Kacchan skews his eyes shut, he grabs Izuku’s ass and ruts their hips together.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hop on my dick the second I got here.” Izuku bites hard at Kacchan’s ear this time, drags his teeth across it, wonders how much it would take to break the skin. “I know playing hard to get is part of the game, but c’mon… with the amount I’m paying you, you should already be naked and bent over for me.”
“Hard to get pays off,” Kacchan says. “I’m the number one host for a reason.”
“Mhm. And the number twelve hero. I can see where your true passion lies. Legs wide open, moaning as you take cock after cock night after night.” Izuku grabs the waist of Kacchan’s skin-tight pants and yanks them down. When Kacchan helps by lifting his ass, Izuku leans into the victory and casts the pants aside.
It seems the more Izuku talks to him like this, the more Kacchan’s willing to do.
Fucking slut.
For the first time, Izuku observes Kacchan in all his nude, sculpted glory. At the cock that lies heavy and hard against his stomach.
The power that possesses Izuku is one he hasn’t felt in a long time. He almost believes Blackwhip could resurrect and tie Kacchan up so Izuku could have his way with him as long as he wants.
“Can’t believe you were hiding this from me.” Izuku grips Kacchan’s cock, just tight enough to hurt.
And Kacchan? He whines.
At the weak, desperate sound, Izuku lifts Kacchan up, hands under his firm ass as he dumps him onto the chaise. Kacchan lets out a startled gasp, cheeks red, legs spreading like it’s natural.
Like it’s instinctual.
Like it’s an invitation.
Izuku yanks Kacchan’s legs further apart as he crawls between them. He licks a single, taunting stripe up Kacchan’s cock, His eyes sharpen as he pulls back and turns his attention to the soft, slick ring of muscle below. “Did you already let someone fuck you today?” Izuku thrusts two fingers in Kacchan. It’s too soft, too loose, too easy.
“Shut—the fuck up.” Kacchan’s throat bobs as he bites down on his hand to muffle a whine.
“My fingers better not come back with some other man’s cum on them.” Izuku slides them out, pleased to see they’re only coated in lube. “Good boy, not having unprotected sex with strangers. You’ve set the bar so high for yourself, Kacchan.”
Kacchan gasps, props himself up on his elbow, and grabs Izuku’s wrist. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
That? It pisses Izuku off.
“I don’t know how you treat your other clients,” Izuku jolts out of Kacchan’s hold, “but you’re not gonna do that with me.”
He looks at Kacchan. At the mess of smudged eyeliner and glitter, at the beet-red coloring of his face and neck, at the sweat and sticky champagne that gathers in the groove between his tits.
He’s already ruined. Has been for months—shit—maybe even years.
And Izuku? He’s going to ruin him even more.
He manhandles Kacchan, gripping his waist and flipping him onto his hands and knees. He expects Kacchan to retaliate, to turn back around, to fight him in some way.
Instead, Kacchan grips the back of the chaise, pressing his chest to the headrest. He looks over his shoulder at Izuku, eyes dark and desperate through his blotchy make-up.
Without blinking, Kacchan spreads his legs and reveals the pulsing pucker of his hole.
And Izuku… he just has to know.
He has to know what it feels like to be inside Kacchan.
“What?” Kacchan says. “If you’re not gonna do it, just tell me. I’ll find somebody else to give me what I need.”
Fury rushes through Izuku’s body and all the way down to his cock. He rips his pants open, scrambling to get them down. He doesn’t have the patience to take them off all the way, so he pushes them just far enough that his cock springs out, throbbing and heavy.
He lunges forward and cages Kacchan in, hands gripping tight to Kacchan’s ribs. Watching himself enter Kacchan for the first time is, somehow, too much for him.
Is he really about to do this?
Can he do this?
Izuku ruts against Kacchan, his dick sliding across the crevice of Kacchan’s ass. He buries his face in Kacchan’s neck, taking in the scents of champagne, shampoo, sweat, and a sharp cologne Izuku’s never smelled on him before.
Must be for his clients.
Kacchan presses back into Izuku, breath stuttering. Still, he says, “You don’t even know what you’re doing, huh?”
That? It pisses Izuku off.
He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he bites down hard on Kacchan’s neck. He grips Kacchan’s hips, positions himself blindly, and slams inside in one fell swoop.
Kacchan gasps like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Izuku’s quick entrance sent him flying forward, his arms slumped over the back of the chair, face buried in the cushion.
And Izuku? He’s never felt better. Kacchan squeezes around his cock, pulling him in and out with every thrust of Izuku’s hips. High, breathy noises escape Kacchan’s throat, so Izuku goes harder. He grips Kacchan by the hair, pulling his head to the side, forcing him to look him in the eye.
Izuku stuffs his tongue into Kacchan’s mouth, and Kacchan accepts it gratefully, sucking on it, chasing it like he’s desperate for as much as Izuku will give him.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Izuku says when he pulls back. “No wonder you’re so popular. Are you always this docile, or is it just for me?”
Instead of a quip back, Kacchan sits up on his knees and presses his back into Izuku’s chest. Izuku holds him tight to ensure they’re joined as close as they can possibly be.
Because Izuku’s going to take and take and take until he can’t anymore.
He grabs Kacchan’s firm pec with one hand while the other finds his cock. His movements are furious, uncoordinated. It’s impossible for them not to be when Kacchan is a limp mess in Izuku’s arms.
When his head rolls back onto Izuku’s shoulder, Kacchan surrenders himself completely, eyes fluttering shut, mouth wide open as he spills into Izuku’s hand.
Another thought—dark but inescapable—pushes itself to the front of Izuku’s mind.
Because Kacchan needs to be punished for all the other men he’s fucked in his life. So Izuku takes his cum-covered hand and stuffs as much of it as he can down Kacchan’s throat.
Kacchan chokes as he takes it, throat closing around Izuku’s fingers, ass squeezing his dick.
And that’s how Izuku cums—cock buried in Kacchan’s ass with his hand stuffed halfway down Kacchan’s throat.
Self-pleasure has never made Izuku this tired. The moment his muscles loosen, Kacchan slumps forward onto the chaise, and Izuku’s dick pops out with a lewd squelching noise.
For a moment, Izuku just stays kneeling, mouth agape, eyes tracking the little red indents his nails left on Kacchan’s hips. On the lovebites he doesn’t remember making.
And that big, purple bite mark on his neck. Oh, god.
That’s what makes it real. Not the cum seeping from Kacchan’s hole, not the stains on the chaise that didn’t make it into Kacchan’s mouth, no—
It’s that fucking bite mark.
Did Izuku seriously just have sex with Kacchan— Kacchan— in a host club?
And pay for it?
“Oh. Oh, god. Kacchan,” Izuku panics, fully aware that his ass and dick are still hanging out, but he’s too shocked to do anything about it. “I don’t know what came over me. I…”
Kacchan rolls onto his back. A lot of the make-up has rubbed off, and he looks gaunt, fucked out, but no less gorgeous than he did when Izuku came in. Hell, he looks even more beautiful after being fucked within an inch of his life.
Izuku almost hates himself for thinking it.
The expression on Kacchan’s face is unreadable. It’s softer than Izuku’s seen in a long time, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Kacchan was… embarrassed.
But Kacchan doesn’t really get embarrassed. Does he? And he must be used to random fucks by now. He has to be used to lying nude and prone as his client’s eyes run up and down his body. But then why does Kacchan curl into himself? Why do his eyes flit to the ground when he asks, “Was it at least good for you?”
Izuku would rather his heart stop beating than feel this crushing, suffocating avalanche of conflicting emotions. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears gather in Kacchan’s eyes, turning them from carmine to ruby under the dim lights of the room. He covers his face in the crook of his arm. “Message received.”
Izuku blinks rapidly at the tears gathering in his own eyes. “What message? What did I do wrong? Was I not as good as those other guys?”
Kacchan sits up, hissing through his teeth like the movement hurts. “What other guys?”
“The—the ones you have sex with every—”
“Jesus fuck, Izuku!” Kacchan scrubs hard at his eyes. “I was literally a virgin up until you slammed your dick in my ass!”
“But you're so soft and loo—”
“I jacked off before work—sue me!”
Izuku’s blood runs cold. He can’t move.
“It was part of the act!” Kacchan says. “You were being weird, and it was hot, and I—”
“Hot?” Izuku’s dick gives a pathetic little twitch, and he remembers that it’s still very much exposed. That it was very much in Kacchan’s ass just a few minutes ago. Maybe he should cover it up, but he doesn’t want Kacchan to be the only one with his cock out. So, out it stays.
For Kacchan.
“After all these years, you looked at me like you finally wanted me.” Kacchan sits up a little, reaching for his underwear, shifting but not standing as he puts them back on. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, and that, for some reason, has Izuku’s stomach doing somersaults.
Izuku tries to give Kacchan space to process whatever just happened between them. He really does.
But Kacchan has other ideas. He pulls Izuku onto the chaise, grabs him by the chin, and forces Izuku to look at him. “I gotta know: do you actually want me, or do you just want nobody else to have me?”
Izuku chews on Kacchan’s question, shuffling through the garbled feelings he’s repressed in his mind and heart for most of his life. Finally, he takes a breath and says the most honest thing he’s ever admitted to anyone.
“I think a part of me always assumed you were mine. I just didn’t notice ‘til I thought it was ripped away. And I need you to be mine, Kacchan.”
He hears how fucked up it sounds.
He expects Kacchan to push him away. To keep getting dressed and leave.
But instead, Kacchan grabs the back of Izuku’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. It’s wet, hard, certain.
When they break, Izuku says, “That was my first time, too.”
“You’re so stupid.” His tone isn’t unkind, and the way his eyes gleam now when he looks at Izuku… it makes his heart leap into his throat.
Izuku kisses him again, letting the taste of his own cum linger between them. “We’re stupid.”
Kacchan just laughs, looking wistfully up at the ceiling. His face really is a mess, so Izuku grabs a bottle of water from the pitcher on the table, dabs it with a napkin, and wipes off his face. Kacchan leans into it like a cat.
It’s too cute for Izuku to handle.
“Why are you working here, anyway?” Izuku asks. “You never answered me.”
Kacchan shrugs. “Need the extra money.”
“But why? That’s what I can’t understand. You’re a top twenty hero!”
Kacchan just smiles. “You’ll find out someday.”