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Katsuki wakes to heat.
Not sunlight—though it spills golden and warm across the bed like a lazy cat—but the other kind. The kind pressed against his side, clinging to his hip like a vine too soft to pull free. Izuku’s arm is looped around his waist, curls ticking his shoulder, one bare leg flung over his thighs. They’re tangled up, bodies slick with sleep-sweat and skin-warmth, and Katsuki’s mouth is already dry from it, from the slow shift of Izuku’s hips and the low hum of breath that isn't quite asleep anymore.
His eyes slit open. Green stares back at him. Faintly unfocused, heavy-lidded, half-lidded.
Izuku smiles, all sheepish and boyish, like he isn’t gently rutting his morning-hard dick against Katsuki’s thigh with lazy, almost thoughtless rhythm.
“The fuck’re you doin’?” Katsuki rasps, voice shredded from sleep, hand sliding up Izuku’s spine like it has a will of its own.
Izuku’s smile flickers wider, hungrier at the edges. “Woke up like this,” he murmurs, breath sweet with sleep, hips giving a little roll, “and you were right there. Warm. Kacchan…”
Katsuki grunts. His hand curls against Izuku’s back, fingers dragging along the knobs of his spine, the indent where his waist dips. His own cock’s stirring now, thickening from heat and proximity alone. Izuku keeps grinding against him like a dog in heat, like he wants to soak him in it, rub himself raw just from the friction of cotton sheets and Katsuki’s leg.
Their lips meet halfway, mouths colliding sloppy and eager—too dry, too open, too perfect. Katsuki groans into it, thumb pressing into the jut of Izuku’s hipbone as he sucks on his bottom lip, bites until Izuku whimpers.
“F-fuck, Kacchan,” Izuku gasps, rutting again, grinding his cock up the inside of Katsuki’s thigh now, slow and needy. “You’re so warm—hnnh—so good—”
Katsuki shifts, legs spreading instinctively, giving the bastard more room to move. “You’re a mess,” he mutters into Izuku’s mouth, voice thick, “all this just ‘cause I was breathing near you?”
Izuku pants into the crook of his neck, teeth grazing over skin, fingers clinging to Katsuki’s biceps like he needs them to anchor himself. “You always smell like home,” he breathes, voice trembling. “Like sweat and burnt sugar and—fuck, I don’t know—mine—”
His voice cracks as he jerks against Katsuki’s thigh, desperate and whining. Katsuki can feel the wet patch on Izuku’s briefs, the slick grind of it, and his own cock pulses, twitching, ready to bite through his shorts. He drags his nails down Izuku’s back, making him shiver.
But he doesn’t give in.
Katsuki grabs Izuku’s jaw, tilts his face up and licks slow into his mouth again, hot and filthy and claiming. Then he pulls back.
“We gotta get up.”
Izuku blinks, dazed. “Wha—? No, but—but it’s our day off,” he protests, hips still moving. His voice goes up, needy and small. “Kacchan…”
“We’re not staying in bed all day,” Katsuki growls, smirking now because Izuku’s pouting like a kicked puppy, flushed from collarbone to hairline and still grinding like he’s trying to fuck the air between them. “Especially not when I’ve got plans for you.”
Izuku stills, goes quiet for half a breath, then: “...What kind of plans?”
Katsuki leans in, tongue sliding along the shell of Izuku’s ear, his breath hot and mean. “I’d like you to wear your collar today,” he says, voice low, dangerous.
Izuku’s whole body flushes, the pink in his cheeks flaring to crimson, his breath catching hard in his throat. He shudders against him, eyes wide, so fucking bright. “Y-you—Kacchan, I—fuck—of course I’ll wear it,” he breathes, mouth falling open around the words like he’s coming just from the thought. “I don’t—I never mind wearing it—I love it—I love being yours—”
Katsuki smirks, sits up, stretches, every muscle in his back rippling like a predator uncaging himself. He pushes the sheets back and stands, cock straining beneath his shorts, head fuzzy with heat but his voice firm.
“Good. Then stay right there.”
Izuku immediately stills, eyes huge, his thighs squeezing together like he can hold onto the warmth Katsuki left behind. His chest heaves, breath shaky. His dick twitches under the thin cotton of his briefs, soaked through and leaking, pulsing against his stomach.
Katsuki pads across the room, cock heavy between his legs, to the drawer where he keeps the stuff. The red leather collar, soft-lined and worn in all the right places, buckled just for Izuku’s throat. The leash. The plug. The lube.
He doesn’t look back yet. He doesn’t need to.
Izuku’s waiting. Quiet, obedient, panting into the sheets and rutting slow against the mattress as if he can’t stop, wouldn’t dare try. Just the idea of wearing that collar in daylight got him squirming, feral.
And they haven’t even started yet.
Katsuki pulls the drawer open with a quiet scrape of wood, fingers closing around red leather like it’s a handle to Izuku’s spine. He hears the shift of sheets behind him—Izuku squirming, still breathing too fast, his body betraying him in every slick, whiny motion.
He grabs the collar first. The leash coils cool and heavy around his wrist. The plug—small, black, humming a little in Katsuki’s imagination even though it hasn’t been touched—sits tucked against the lube like an afterthought. It won’t be.
When he turns back, Izuku’s on his knees in the middle of the bed, thighs parted, arms limp at his sides. Obedient, but already trembling, already dripping. His eyes flash up, and Katsuki sees hunger, worship, desperation curling in the green.
“You remember the rules,” Katsuki says, voice flat, dry like a match about to spark.
Izuku nods so fast it’s almost pathetic. His cock twitches untouched, smeared against his stomach. “Yes, Kacchan.”
“Say them.”
Izuku licks his lips. “Once the collar’s on... I don't talk unless you ask me to.” His voice trembles, but the words are clear. “I don’t tease. No touching without permission. I bark, whine, beg—nothing else. I’m not your boyfriend when it’s on. I’m your mutt.”
Katsuki's chest tightens, slow and low like heat rising under his ribs. The leash clinks softly in his hand as he steps back to the bed.
“Good boy.”
He sits on the edge and Izuku crawls closer, neck bared, every inch of his body screaming need. Katsuki buckles the collar on slow, watching the way Izuku’s lashes flutter when the leather settles against his throat. The red looks obscene on him—obscene and perfect, the way it presses into his pulse.
He considers stopping there. He really does. There’s something sweet about leaving him like this—just collared, nothing more. Maybe letting him curl around Katsuki’s leg while they eat, waiting for scraps of attention, kept on a tight leash for hours before Katsuki finally gives in and touches him.
But Katsuki isn’t sweet.
And this mutt has already drooled all over his thigh.
The leash snaps on with a sharp metal click. Izuku gasps softly, a little hitch in his breath that sounds like it wants to be a moan but can’t be—not without permission.
Katsuki grabs the plug last. “Turn around,” he orders.
Izuku obeys instantly, crawling onto his elbows, ass high, hole twitching between spread thighs. Katsuki watches him clench, desperate to be filled. The plug's not big, but it's enough to remind him. Enough to make sure every motion all day rubs right against that spot that makes him whine with his whole spine.
The lube’s cold. Katsuki likes that it makes Izuku shiver.
He presses the plug in slowly, watching every breath shake through Izuku’s shoulders. The resistance gives way in seconds—he’s too used to this, too eager—and it pops into place with a low, slick squelch and a breathy, broken little “hhnnngh.”
“You don’t come,” Katsuki says. “Not until I say.”
Izuku nods fast, face flushed, thighs shaking.
“You don’t ask, either.”
Another nod, frantic.
Katsuki pats him on the head, fingers fisting gently in the curls, tugging enough to make him groan. “Good mutt.”
Then he stands.
And Izuku whimpers.
But Katsuki doesn’t touch him again. Doesn’t even look at him as he pads into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers, muttering under his breath as he grabs eggs and rice, pan clattering onto the stove.
Behind him, from the bedroom, the leash scrapes faintly over the floor as Izuku shifts, trying not to moan, not to hump the sheets or beg for attention. Collared. Plugged. Straining and untouched.
And Katsuki? He’s just making breakfast. Like a civilized man.
The pan hisses as oil kisses the surface, Katsuki cracking eggs one-handed like it’s muscle memory. It is. Everything in the kitchen bends to his will—flames, steel, seasoning. He doesn’t even have to look. He could do this blindfolded.
But his ears—fuck, his ears are trained on the bedroom.
Every soft rustle of sheets. Every faint whimper. The drag of leather over cotton. The slow, shaky breath Izuku lets out as the plug shifts inside him when he tries not to move. Katsuki can hear it all, sharp and clear, a siren song hidden beneath morning quiet. He doesn’t even have to look to know Izuku’s cock is drooling onto the bedspread, twitching with every twitch of his hole.
A low, helpless little whine curls down the hallway.
Katsuki groans low in his throat, hips jerking forward against the counter before he can stop himself. His dick is rock hard, pinned to the front of his boxers, pulsing with the rhythm of Izuku’s fucking need. He doesn't touch it. He doesn't go back in there. He stirs the miso soup instead, seasoning with practiced rage, like every dash of dashi is an act of sadistic patience.
Behind him: another whimper. A high-pitched keening breath, broken off at the end like Izuku bit down on it.
Katsuki bites his tongue. If he goes in now, he’ll ruin it. He’ll bend his mutt over the kitchen table and rail him until he screams, and the whole leash-and-collar show will be lost in the flood of Izuku’s begging and come.
No.
Not yet.
He plates everything—rice steaming, soup perfectly umami, eggs soft and runny. The smell should be comforting. It’s not. It mixes with the scent of sex clinging to his skin, makes the kitchen feel humid and electric.
He sets the plates on the table and finally calls out. “Mutt. Get in here.”
Silence.
The kind that buzzes, shamed and breathless.
He waits two seconds, three. The leash doesn’t rattle. The floor doesn’t creak. Izuku’s either frozen or testing him, both equally stupid.
Katsuki’s voice sharpens, hard and dry like gravel.
“You want me to drag you in here by the leash, is that it?”
The response is immediate. A soft thud—Izuku scrambling off the bed—and then the frantic patter of hands and knees on the floor. The leash scrapes. A soft bark leaves him, a pathetic little noise halfway between apology and desperation.
Katsuki smirks without turning.
“That’s what I thought.”
The sound of crawling gets louder. Izuku rounds the corner and enters the kitchen with his head bowed, the leash dragging between his teeth, collar flush against his neck. His face is red, eyes wet, thighs trembling—but he doesn’t hesitate. He crawls under the table, positioning himself between Katsuki’s legs, resting on his knees like it’s the most natural place in the world.
Katsuki sits down, spreads his legs wide, and starts to eat.
The smell of food wafts down. Izuku’s stomach growls softly—but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t whimper. He just pants, mouth open, tongue slightly out, eyes fixed on Katsuki’s thighs.
Katsuki doesn’t offer him anything.
Not food.
Not touch.
Just the slow, torturous sound of chewing, of his own quiet breath, of Izuku’s leash gently tapping the floor as he shifts with every clench around the plug.
Breakfast has never been so satisfying.
Katsuki eats slow, deliberate. He knows how to savor. He knows how to drag out heat like smoke rising off a skillet, how to let anticipation cling to the air like spice. Every bite of egg is molten on his tongue. Every slurp of miso soup is a reminder that he hasn’t touched Izuku in nearly thirty minutes.
Under the table, Izuku shifts. Quiet. Careful.
Katsuki doesn’t look down—yet. He doesn’t need to. He feels it: the slow press of warm hands on his thighs, soft palms smoothing over his muscles like prayer, thumbs kneading in little circles near the crease where thigh meets hip. It’s reverent. Submissive. Perfect.
His cock twitches. And Izuku feels it.
The mutt hums low in his throat, a needy sound muffled but there, vibrating against Katsuki’s skin like promise. He presses his face to Katsuki’s leg, inhaling slow and deep like he's trying to memorize the scent of sweat and skin and dominance. And when Katsuki finally glances down, he meets eyes so wet, so wide, so fucking hungry that it makes his fork pause midair.
"Look at you," he mutters, voice dragging rough over his teeth. "Acting like you’re not starving—but drooling all over my leg."
Izuku doesn’t answer. He just tilts his head, lips parted, that leash still clinking faintly when he moves. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw flexes like it aches to be full.
Katsuki snorts, cock pressing against the front of his shorts. "Can't talk, but I can still tell you want it. I see how you're lookin' at me. Like you're gonna fucking die if I don't let you have it."
Izuku nods—eager, breathless. His hands slide higher, inching toward the waistband of Katsuki's boxers, but stopping short. He knows the rules. He knows better.
Katsuki takes another bite of rice. Chews. Swallows.
He watches Izuku from the corner of his eye, the way he shifts his weight from knee to knee like he can’t stay still. The way his ass must be clenching around that plug every time he moves. The way his tongue keeps flicking out to wet his lips like he’s already tasting precome.
"You’re bein’ good," Katsuki murmurs finally. He spreads his legs wider, lets Izuku’s hands drift closer. "Real good. Didn’t whine once since you came in. Didn’t beg."
Izuku leans in, pressing his cheek to Katsuki’s thigh, eyes fluttering shut at the praise. His whole body trembles.
Katsuki exhales slow. Looks down at the mutt under his table, plugged full, collared tight, leash limp between them like a fucking lifeline.
"I should make you wait," he says, voice low and mean. "Should finish my breakfast. Pretend your mouth ain’t watering under the table. Let you sit there the whole damn meal while I act like I forgot about your needy little face."
Izuku’s hands twitch on his thighs.
"But I don’t think I can," Katsuki mutters.
He grips Izuku’s curls, tilts his face up. Their eyes lock—green glazed, wild, tongue slipping out as if just being looked at melts his brain. Katsuki grins slow.
“You want it?”
Izuku’s nod is frantic, desperate.
“You gonna bark for it?”
He whines first—high, shaky—and then barks once, soft and sharp, like it hurts not to be allowed real words.
Katsuki groans low in his chest, cock throbbing. “Fuckin’ mutt.”
And he spreads his shorts down his thighs, thick cock springing free—hot, flushed, leaking already. Izuku stares at it like it’s salvation. Like it’s the only thing in the world he’s ever wanted.
Katsuki lets go of his hair.
“Well? If you’re gonna be under the table, you better start earning your keep.”
Izuku wastes no time.
The moment Katsuki’s cock is out, flushed dark with blood and smearing precome across his abs, Izuku’s on it—tongue out, mouth open, the leash clinking as he leans in and licks a slow, trembling stripe from base to tip. His breath shudders, nostrils flaring with the scent, and then he moans—quiet and broken, like he’s grateful just to taste it.
Katsuki groans through clenched teeth, one hand threading into that unruly mess of curls, the other still holding his chopsticks.
“Shit, you’re good at this,” he growls, hips jerking just a little when Izuku’s lips wrap around the head and suck. “Fuckin’ hell, look at you.”
Izuku moans around him, hollowing his cheeks like Katsuki’s cock belongs there—like the shape of it’s carved into his throat. He doesn’t gag. Doesn’t choke. He fucking melts around it, mouth slick and hot and reverent.
“#4 fuckin’ hero in the country,” Katsuki spits, voice sharpening with every wet suck. “Top of the charts, adored by the fuckin’ public. An’ here you are—under my goddamn kitchen table. On your knees like a mutt. Mouth full of my cock.”
Izuku moans loud, messy, spit trailing down his chin. His hips twitch, thighs tensing with the effort of not grinding against the tile floor. Katsuki’s cock pulses between his lips.
“That’s it,” Katsuki breathes, tilting his head back as the pressure builds. “Keep suckin’ just like that. You’d make more money doin’ this than givin’ those fuckin’ nerd lectures.”
He looks down, sees the way Izuku’s eyes roll back just a little when he hears that. The degradation hits him hard—Katsuki can feel it in the way he moans louder, sloppier, like the words alone milked more precum from his tip.
“Bet you’d have a whole line out the door,” he snarls. “Heroes, sidekicks, villains. They’d pay a fortune just to feel that mouth. Hell, I’d pay double just to watch you beg for it.”
Izuku bobs his head deeper, throat flexing, eyes locked on Katsuki’s like it’s the only thing keeping him conscious.
“You love this, don’t you?” Katsuki hisses, tugging his hair back to make him gag, just once, just to feel that hot little choke. “Fuckin’ pervert. All that power, all that rank, and you’d rather be down there like a good little mutt.”
Izuku barks around his cock. A choked, broken, half-moan half-whine bark that sends vibrations straight down to Katsuki’s balls.
“Shit—fuck—”
Katsuki grabs the edge of the table, hips grinding forward, fucking just a little into that tight mouth. Izuku takes it, obedient, eyes glassy, hands resting on Katsuki’s thighs like he’s afraid to move without permission.
“Goddamn, you’re perfect like this,” Katsuki mutters. “Can’t believe they let you give speeches with that mouth. It should be mine. Every goddamn day. Just like this. You’re so good, baby. So fuckin’ good at this.”
Izuku moans, and the vibrations send a jolt up Katsuki’s spine.
“Fuck—fuck—I’m not gonna come yet,” Katsuki growls, dragging him off slow. Izuku’s lips pop off with a wet gasp, spit stringing from his lip to the tip of Katsuki’s cock like a web of filth and devotion.
Izuku pants, tongue out, desperate for more. But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t beg.
He just kneels.
Plugged, leashed, drooling. Waiting for more.
Katsuki cups his jaw, thumb swiping across his swollen bottom lip.
“You’re the prettiest mutt in the whole damn country,” he murmurs. “And you fuckin’ love it.”
Katsuki’s thumb lingers on Izuku’s bottom lip, pressing down slow, letting it drag the skin down just enough to see the gleam of teeth, the shimmer of spit. His cock twitches against his thigh, still hard, still aching from that sin-soaked mouth.
He smirks. Voice low, dangerous.
“You want it under the table… or over it?”
Izuku freezes. Brows twitch. He looks like he’s thinking—like he wants to answer, like he’s about to lift his hand or tap a knee or whine a syllable. But then he catches himself.
His throat bobs, and then—
bark.
Short. Sharp. Obedient.
Katsuki grins, wide and slow like a wolf at the edge of the woods.
“Trick question, mutt.”
He grabs a fistful of curls and yanks Izuku up off the floor with practiced ease, not rough—just commanding. “You don’t get to choose. You don’t decide a fuckin’ thing. You’re not my equal. You’re not a boyfriend, not a hero, not even a damn person when that collar’s on.”
He yanks Izuku forward until he’s standing between Katsuki’s legs, knees knocking the edge of the chair, thighs trembling from the pressure of that snug little plug still nestled inside.
“You’re just my mutt.”
Izuku’s whole body shudders. His mouth opens in a silent moan, eyes hazy, cock bouncing against his stomach with a desperate twitch.
Katsuki slaps his thigh, hard enough to make him gasp.
“Lap,” he snaps.
Izuku clambers up instantly—straddles Katsuki’s lap like it’s instinct, like his body belongs there, legs spread wide, flushed cock pressed between them, eyes fluttering.
Katsuki grabs the base of the plug and twists it. Just a little.
Izuku whines, loud and filthy, hands gripping Katsuki’s shoulders like he’ll float away if he doesn’t anchor himself.
“You wanna bounce for me?” Katsuki murmurs, mouth dragging along Izuku’s throat. “Gonna ride me like a good mutt, right here in the kitchen, fuckin’ breakfast on the table?”
Izuku nods frantically, hips rolling before permission even comes.
Katsuki pulls the plug with a slick, obscene pop, and Izuku gasps, a soft choked sob of relief as his hole clenches on nothing.
Katsuki lines himself up—presses the leaking head of his cock against that spit-slick rim, still gaping from the plug—and doesn’t push in yet.
He looks up at Izuku. Watches every muscle in his face twitch with want.
“Show me,” he growls. “Show me how much you love bein’ my little mutt.”
Izuku groans, knees spreading wider, hips sinking down until the head catches, presses, slides—
And then Katsuki’s inside.
Hot, tight, perfect.
Izuku’s mouth drops open in a soundless scream, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out slow, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully on Katsuki’s cock, trembling, stuffed full.
And from the way his thighs quiver—he fuckin’ loves it.
Katsuki’s breath hitches, sharp in his throat as Izuku sinks down, slow and agonizing. Every inch of him feels like a brand—hot, clenching, molded to Katsuki’s cock like he was made to take it.
And fuck, maybe he was.
Izuku’s body knows the rhythm before Katsuki even gives the command. He grinds down slow, rolls his hips in tight, greedy circles, pulling a thick groan from deep in Katsuki’s chest.
“Shit—”
He tries to brace himself, tries to stay still and savor, but Izuku starts bouncing in his lap with practiced ease, like he knows exactly what angle makes Katsuki’s thighs tremble, exactly how to clench around the base just before pulling off.
And fuck him, the mutt does know.
Katsuki growls low, dragging one hand to the small of Izuku’s back, the other gripping the leash where it dangles between them. With a single sharp tug, he yanks Izuku forward—makes him choke on a gasp, their chests flush.
“You think just ‘cause you’re good at this, you get to show off?” Katsuki snarls against his ear. “You think I forgot who’s in control?”
Izuku whines, a high desperate nnnh! his breath stuttering as Katsuki’s fingers dig into his ass, bruising the meat of it, spreading him wider, slamming up hard just once—enough to knock the air out of Izuku’s lungs.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky I’m lettin’ you move at all.”
A loud smack echoes through the kitchen as Katsuki brings his palm down on Izuku’s ass, skin reddening immediately. Izuku jerks in his lap, thighs tensing, hole fluttering around Katsuki’s cock like a desperate apology.
“You like that?” he hisses, smacking the other cheek just as hard. “Like bein’ handled like a fucktoy instead of the country’s golden boy?”
Izuku nods—sloppy, messy, breath fogging against Katsuki’s neck. He barks again, soft, needy, the leash twitching between them.
“Damn right you do.”
Katsuki bites his ear—hard—and Izuku shudders, a broken moan slipping out with a stuttered thrust of his hips. Katsuki holds him there, lets him bounce again, once, twice—then slams him back down hard.
“You’ve got stamina, huh?” Katsuki pants. “Fucker’s got a whole schedule of patrols and meetings and still has the energy to ride me like this. You train your cock as hard as your body?”
Izuku’s nails scrape down his back, useless without permission to grab. Katsuki doesn’t stop him.
“You’d fuckin’ last hours if I let you,” Katsuki growls. “Bounce like this all day, plug fallin’ out, cock leaking, tail waggin’ for attention.”
Another smack, harder this time. Izuku cries out, hole clenching like a fist.
“But I’m the one who decides. I fuckin’ own you right now.”
He leans in close, lips dragging filth against flushed skin. “You’re not a hero when you’re like this. You’re my toy. My mutt. Just something warm and tight to use until I’m satisfied.”
Izuku whimpers, bouncing faster now, thighs slapping against Katsuki’s, every downward thrust a shudder of muscle and noise. His cock is untouched, trapped between their bellies, smearing precome across scarred abs.
And Katsuki?
He’s not letting him come. Not yet.
But he’s gonna leave bruises on every inch of Izuku’s ass before breakfast’s even cold.
Katsuki grits his teeth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. His fingers dig bruises into the meat of Izuku’s hips as the mutt fucks himself down, slick and perfect, bouncing with that maddening rhythm he’s clearly perfected in secret. Katsuki's head drops back for half a second, a ragged groan clawing out of him unbidden.
“Fuck—‘m close—shit—”
He opens his eyes. Looks down. Izuku’s eyes are wild, dazed with pleasure, pupils blown, tongue poking between his lips like he can’t stop tasting Katsuki even while he rides him raw. But there’s something in his face—something hot, tight, close.
Too close.
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “You gonna fuckin’ come?”
Izuku freezes—just for a second. A flinch. Barely noticeable. But enough.
Katsuki snarls, yanks the leash hard, and Izuku gasps as he’s pulled forward, cock rubbing against Katsuki’s stomach, balls pulled tight, full.
“Off.” Katsuki’s voice is sharp, cruel. “Get the fuck off. Now.”
Izuku’s whole body trembles. His breath comes in short, shocked gasps, the need so thick on his skin it’s practically sweat. But he nods. Silently. Obediently.
The way he lifts himself is agonizing. Katsuki feels every slow inch drag free, his cock glistening, twitching, throbbing from the loss of that tight, perfect heat. Izuku's thighs shake as he slips down to the floor again, tongue out, chest heaving.
There’s pain in his face. Frustration. Desperation.
Katsuki stares down at him, breathing hard. “Mutt doesn’t get to come before his master. You know that.”
Izuku nods again, eyes shimmering, spit smeared at the corner of his mouth, hole still twitching, still open from being stretched around Katsuki’s cock.
“Then earn it.”
He fists the leash, wraps it once around his hand, and guides Izuku’s face to his cock. The mutt opens up like instinct, lips sealing around the head without hesitation, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing like his whole world depends on this.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Katsuki groans, hand tight in green curls. “Suck like the good boy you are. Don’t leave a drop.”
Izuku moans around him, loud and pathetic, eyes fluttering shut.
Katsuki doesn’t last a second longer.
His cock throbs in Izuku’s mouth, hips jerking once, then again as he spills hot down his throat. Izuku swallows immediately, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stop. Just drinks him down, throat working, tongue lapping at the tip like he’s chasing every last drop.
When it’s done, Katsuki breathes deep, sweat cooling on his chest.
Izuku pulls off with a pop, gasping, spit and come glistening on his lips. He pants through his nose, tongue out, leash dangling from between his hands like a chain of worship.
Katsuki stares down at him, cock softening, heart pounding.
“You didn’t come.”
Izuku shakes his head, whining faint.
“Good.”
Katsuki smirks, leans down, and wipes a bit of spit from Izuku’s chin with his thumb.
“You can keep beggin’. Maybe I’ll feed you next.”
Izuku barks. Once—sharp and urgent. Then again, softer. Then again, higher, desperate, like the sound alone can plead where his words can’t. He presses his lips to Katsuki’s thigh, then his hip, then the crease just above his softened cock, kissing over sweat-slick skin like it’s holy.
His breath trembles through every kiss. Each one wetter, messier, more pleading. His tongue flicks out—testing, reverent—just brushing the edge of Katsuki’s navel, leaving a glossy trail like an apology.
Bark. Bark. Another kiss. Another whimper.
Katsuki watches in silence, elbow on the table, chin in his hand, cock twitching back to life already at the sight of this wrecked little mutt worshiping his skin like it’s a sacrament.
“You really want it that bad, huh?” he mutters, voice gone husky.
Izuku barks again, nodding frantically. The collar creaks faintly as his neck jerks.
Katsuki leans forward, fingers brushing through damp green curls. “You’ve been good,” he says, slow, savoring it. “Might let you use your words. One sentence. That’s it.”
He sees the light flare in Izuku’s eyes. Sees him lean in, mouth open, body vibrating with tension like the words are gonna rip out of him if he holds them a second longer.
“Speak.”
Izuku gasps, voice cracked, hoarse from barking. “I’ll be good—I’ll be so good—please, let me come, Kacchan.”
His voice breaks on the name. Katsuki sucks in a breath.
That tone—his name like a sob, like a prayer—it shoots straight down his spine.
“You sure?” Katsuki asks, low. Dangerous. “Once I let you, there’s no goin’ back. You come, you scream, you lose every last fuckin’ thought in that nerd brain. You ready for that?”
Izuku nods, eyes glassy. “Yes—yes, please—”
Katsuki grabs him by the leash, yanks it just enough to make Izuku stumble up into his lap again, knees landing with a dull thud on the hardwood. He drags him close, guides him into place, cock already hard again, pressed between their bellies.
“You wanna come?” Katsuki whispers, teeth against his ear now, biting soft. “Then show me. Ride me like you mean it. No slowing down. No stopping. You’re gonna fuck yourself dumb on my cock until I say you can let go.”
Izuku’s whole body jerks—spine arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he sinks down again. Katsuki watches him take it, inch by inch, that slick, used hole swallowing him like it missed him.
And once he’s fully seated, grinding like he never left—
Katsuki grips his ass, bruises him again, harder.
“Go on, mutt. Earn it.”
Izuku moves like he’s possessed.
Katsuki’s cock vanishes inside him again and again, and still—still—Izuku fucks himself deeper, harder, like he’s trying to crawl inside out, split himself open on Katsuki’s lap. His hands tremble on Katsuki’s shoulders. His back arches, sweat gleaming down the curve of his spine. His mouth’s open in a pant, in a silent cry.
And his face—fuck, his face.
That flushed, ruined look. Eyes watery, lashes clumped, lips glossy with spit and need. Katsuki hates how fucking cute it is. That look he wears like a badge—“I’m suffering, I’m trying so hard, look at me, Kacchan—”
Katsuki growls, grabs his jaw, and kisses the look off his fucking face.
Mouth on mouth, teeth knocking, breath stolen. Izuku moans into it, bucking, hole fluttering around him. Katsuki swallows the sound, drowns it, eats it down. He doesn’t stop kissing him, even when their lips slip, even when he bites and tastes blood and Izuku only gasps harder.
Izuku knows what he’s doing. Of course he does. The grind of his hips, the clench at the tip, the way he leans forward just enough to angle everything perfect—he’s a master of his own destruction. He’s trying to destroy Katsuki with pleasure.
And it’s fucking working.
“Fuckin’ little tease,” Katsuki pants against his mouth. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
Izuku whines, nodding like it’s a confession. His face is flushed to his chest now, eyes glazed.
Katsuki grips his ass, squeezes until his fingers sink into meat. He slaps one cheek—smack!—and Izuku jerks, moaning again, cock leaking against Katsuki’s abs.
“I should ruin you,” Katsuki snarls. “Should edge you all day. Tie your ass up and make you beg until you cry.”
Another smack. Izuku yelps.
“But fuck—fuck, I can’t—” Katsuki’s voice cracks on it, eyes burning. “You’re—fuck, I’m so—”
There’s no insult left that fits. No degrading word big enough to match the way Izuku makes him feel. Katsuki could call him mutt, toy, cumdump—but it wouldn’t touch the truth. Wouldn’t touch what’s real.
Because he’s obsessed.
Not just with the way Izuku rides him. Not just with that sweet face ruined by pleasure. Not just with the collar or the leash or the obedient little whines.
But him. All of him.
And there’s no amount of bruises he could leave that would hide it.
So he lets go.
“Come for me,” Katsuki growls, voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ fall apart. You earned it, baby. Let go.”
Izuku breaks.
A sob rips from his chest. His whole body tightens—legs locked, back arched, mouth open in a silent scream. His cock spurts between them, untouched, spilling thick ropes across their chests as he trembles, shakes, gasps.
Katsuki wraps his arms around him, holds him tight, fucks up into him through every pulse, every quake. Izuku’s hole clenches rhythmically, milking him, dragging Katsuki over the edge.
Katsuki groans loud into Izuku’s neck, teeth sinking in as he comes hard—deep inside, cock twitching, balls tight, every pulse of release matched by Izuku’s shattered little whimpers.
They don’t stop moving for a while.
Izuku pants, slack and soft, arms around Katsuki’s neck like he’s not even conscious. And Katsuki just holds him, hand stroking down his trembling back, breath catching in his chest.
Because he loves him.
He’s not ashamed of it. Not when Izuku looks this perfect—plugged, spent, leaking, clinging to him like he’s his whole damn world.
Katsuki kisses his forehead. “You’re mine,” he mutters, voice rough.
And Izuku, still dazed, still cock-drunk and smiling, nods against his chest.
“Always.”
The afterglow hangs heavy. Sweat clings to their skin, breath slow and ragged, bodies still tangled. Katsuki’s cock softens inside him, warmth pooling between them, but he doesn’t move—not yet. Izuku’s trembling, flushed and perfect, forehead pressed to his shoulder, heart racing like he just finished a battle.
Katsuki’s hand finds the buckle at Izuku’s throat. The collar’s damp with sweat, skin beneath it red and faintly marked. He unfastens it slow, deliberate. Lets the leather fall into his palm like a symbol laid to rest. The leash comes next, a soft jingle as he slips it off, setting both on the edge of the table beside the plug—used, glistening, still faintly twitching where it rests. Katsuki raises an eyebrow at it, then glances down at Izuku’s stomach.
Yeah. They should eat. Before one of them faints.
“You’re done,” Katsuki mutters, voice low but warm. “Collar’s off. You can talk again.”
Izuku shifts, slowly lifting his head from Katsuki’s shoulder. His cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, but his smile’s dopey, bright, so fucking sincere it makes something in Katsuki's chest clench.
“Thank you…” he breathes. “Kacchan, thank you for today. That was… that was more than I thought it’d be. So much better.” He’s glowing, like Katsuki gave him something precious. Like he got everything he never knew he wanted.
Katsuki clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes like he’s not dying inside from how fucking adorable that is. “Dumbass. You act like I haven’t got a thousand more ways to make you feel better than ‘better.’”
Izuku laughs—soft, breathy—and shifts just enough to nuzzle his nose against Katsuki’s cheek, still lazily seated in his lap, as if the thought of leaving it hasn’t even occurred to him.
Katsuki hums. “You wanna eat first, or wash up?”
Izuku doesn’t hesitate. “I’m starving.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Tch. Figures.”
He shifts, lifting Izuku with a grunt, just enough to pull free and settle him down gently onto the chair beside him. Izuku winces, thighs trembling as his hole pulses open with the ghost of Katsuki’s cock. It’s obscene, and Katsuki watches him squirm with quiet satisfaction before standing up.
The food’s mostly cold now, egg yolks starting to solidify on the rice, soup no longer steaming. Katsuki clicks the burner back on, setting the pan over low heat. He moves with that focused efficiency—reheating the miso, tossing the rice into the pan with a little more oil, bringing it all back to life without saying much.
Izuku doesn’t leave his side.
The moment Katsuki steps to the sink to rinse a plate, Izuku’s arms wind around his waist from behind, cheek pressed to his back, clinging like a barnacle. His skin’s still warm, sticky, covered in drying sweat and bite marks. But Katsuki doesn’t push him off. Doesn’t say a word.
He keeps working—cleans the dishes, wipes down the counters, reheats the food, all with Izuku pressed to him like a second skin. He even rinses off the plug, grimacing just a little, drying it off and tossing it in the drawer without comment.
Izuku sighs into his back. Breath slow, content. His fingers slip beneath Katsuki’s tank top, resting on warm skin. Not trying to tease. Just needing to be close.
Katsuki grumbles under his breath. “You’re clingy as fuck when I let you come.”
Izuku hums. “Mmhmm.”
He doesn’t argue.
Katsuki finishes plating the food, reaches back with one arm, and loops it around Izuku’s waist. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t need to.
“C’mon,” he mutters, dragging him gently toward the table. “Let’s eat before I get the urge to bend you over it again.”
Izuku only smiles. Wide. Radiant.
“Okay.”
The food hits the table with a quiet clatter, steam rising again like it forgot it had cooled. Katsuki hands Izuku his chopsticks and plops down into his seat with a low grunt, already digging into the rice before his ass fully touches the chair. Izuku follows, slower, with the stiff-legged wobble of someone freshly fucked and thoroughly ruined.
He takes his first bite and moans like it’s the second orgasm of the morning.
“Mmm—Kacchan, this is so good,” he says, mouth full, eyes fluttering closed for half a second. “You already ate, though, didn’t you?”
Katsuki snorts, chewing through a mouthful of egg. “Yeah, and then my mutt got it in his head to hop on my dick like it was a damn springboard. So guess what—I’m hungry again.”
Izuku flushes, laugh muffled behind his palm. “Well. It’s not my fault your lap’s the best seat in the house.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, stuffing more rice into his mouth. “It kinda is. You knew what you were doin’. Don’t act innocent.” He jabs his chopsticks in Izuku’s direction. “You came in all whimpery and cute and ruined. You planned it.”
Izuku’s grin widens, cheeks still red as he polishes off his soup in a few big, eager sips. “Maybe just a little.”
They eat in the comfortable kind of silence that only comes from people who’ve known each other through war, disaster, and the taste of each other’s breath. Katsuki finishes first, leans back in his chair with a low sigh, hands draped over his thighs, watching Izuku lick the edge of his chopsticks clean like he’s not already thinking about putting his mouth to other uses later.
Katsuki hums. “You’re gettin’ a bubble bath after this.”
Izuku blinks, swallows, then beams. “Wait—seriously?”
“Yeah.” Katsuki runs a hand through his hair, then points lazily toward the plug and leash still sitting on the table like forgotten relics. “Figure we both need it after all that shit. Muscles’re sore. You’re leaking.” He pauses, then grins. “And I like how you look all soapy and relaxed. Kinda makes me want to fuck you all over again.”
Izuku chokes on his rice.
Katsuki smirks. “After brunch. Or whatever the hell this is.”
Izuku’s face is flushed pink again, and he fidgets with his chopsticks before blurting, too quickly, “And the collar… tonight?”
Katsuki raises both brows. “Yeah. Night with the collar. You’ll wear it for me, all damn evening. No barking this time. Just kneeling. And waiting.”
Izuku nods fast, too fast, eyes bright, lips pressed tight like he doesn’t want to squeal. “Yes. Please.”
Katsuki chuckles, low and rough. “Damn, you didn’t even pretend to hesitate.”
Izuku shrugs, all shy grins and glowing cheeks. “Well, you spoil me.”
Katsuki leans forward, grabs Izuku’s chin, kisses him across the table, slow and filthy, tongue dragging lazy across his lips like a promise.
“Damn right I do.”
They finish eating with clinking chopsticks and lazy little sighs, the kind that only come when muscles ache and hearts feel full. Katsuki scrapes the last grains of rice into his mouth, downs the dregs of the miso, and rises from his chair with a grunt.
Izuku tries to help, of course—standing, wobbling, blinking like a baby deer—but Katsuki just scoffs and waves him off.
“Sit your sore ass down. I got it.”
Izuku doesn’t argue. Just leans back, smiling faintly, watching him like Katsuki’s a goddamn sunrise. It makes his chest feel hot, even as he rinses dishes and scrubs out the pan. The collar, leash, and plug are all gathered with careful, practiced hands—no shame in the cleanup, just routine—and carried back to the bedroom, slipped into the drawer with a quiet click.
When Katsuki returns, Izuku’s waiting by the hallway, still naked, still sticky, looking flushed and fucked-out and way too pleased with himself.
Katsuki grabs him by the waist without a word and lifts.
Izuku yelps. “Kacchan—put me down—!”
“No.”
“I'm heavy—”
Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, heavy with mutt-brain. Quit squirming.”
Izuku gives a token resistance—wiggles, grumbles—but his arms are already around Katsuki’s neck, his head resting on his shoulder, breath warm against Katsuki’s collarbone.
He doesn’t want to be put down.
So Katsuki carries him through the apartment like he weighs nothing. The bathroom’s already steamy—he started the water while scrubbing plates—and the tub’s nearly full, bubbles frothing at the edges, the scent of cedar and something sweet filling the air.
Katsuki steps in first, setting Izuku down carefully, watching him hiss and flinch as the hot water laps over sore thighs.
“Too hot?” Katsuki mutters, already knowing the answer.
Izuku groans. “No, it’s perfect.”
They both settle into the water—Katsuki behind, Izuku between his legs—and for a moment, it’s quiet. Just steam. Dripping water. The tiny crackle of soap bubbles breaking on the surface. Katsuki grabs the washcloth, soaks it, and starts to scrub—slow, careful drags over Izuku’s chest, his arms, the fading bite on his neck.
Izuku starts making noise.
Not words. Not moans.
Just little sighs. Whines. Low, breathy hums with every pass of the cloth, especially when Katsuki’s fingers skim his ribs or graze the curve of his hip.
“You’re doin’ it again,” Katsuki growls, cloth pausing. “Tempting me.”
“I’m not trying to…” Izuku breathes, squirming slightly. “It just feels good…”
“Yeah?” Katsuki drops the cloth, slips his arms around him instead, and presses his mouth to Izuku’s shoulder. “So you’re just sittin’ here makin’ all those little sounds ‘cause you’re too dumb to know better?”
Izuku giggles, then moans—quiet, unintentional—when Katsuki’s hands trail lower, just brushing the insides of his thighs.
“Shit,” Katsuki mutters. “I said stop tempting me.”
He kisses him anyway.
Turns his face, grabs Izuku by the jaw, and kisses him with steam curling around them, mouths slick and slow and burning. Izuku melts into it immediately, lips parting, tongue eager, breath caught in his throat like he’s been waiting for it all morning.
And maybe he has.
Katsuki groans into his mouth, thumb brushing over the mark on Izuku’s throat where the collar sat, remembering how it looked.
How he looked.
He kisses him deeper, like he’ll never get enough.
The kiss deepens, lazily at first—tongues sliding, lips slick with heat and water—but it turns greedy fast. Izuku shifts in Katsuki’s lap, his ass grinding down slightly in the warm water, and Katsuki grabs his hips to still him, groaning low.
“We’re not going for another round,” he mutters into Izuku’s mouth, even as he keeps kissing him, biting at his lower lip, not pulling back an inch.
Izuku doesn’t answer.
Instead, he kisses down Katsuki’s jaw, down the column of his throat, lips dragging hot and wet over skin. His teeth graze the edge of a collarbone, and Katsuki’s arms tense under the water, muscles twitching.
“Oi,” Katsuki warns.
Izuku hums innocently against his skin—mmm—and then his hand disappears under the surface, sliding low, curling between Katsuki’s legs.
Katsuki jolts, grabbing at his wrist, but Izuku’s already there—fingers curling around the base of his cock, squeezing just right, slow and filthy.
“You little—fuck—”
Izuku kisses the spot just beneath Katsuki’s ear, murmuring breathless against his skin. “I didn’t say we had to go for another round…”
Katsuki growls, low and feral. He can feel it—the way Izuku’s body shifts in the water, how his thighs squeeze together, how his breath hitches. His cock’s already half-hard again, twitching against Izuku’s palm.
And fuck if he isn’t right—Izuku’s hole is still open. Warmed from the bath, stretched from earlier, and probably clenching on nothing every time he moves. Katsuki’s cock pulses at the thought. Izuku’s still dripping from his own orgasm, and already his length is twitching under the water again, rubbing against Katsuki’s stomach, leaking slowly.
And those fucking eyes—wide and glazed, lashes wet, lips parted. That look that says please ruin me, please do it again, please.
Katsuki grits his teeth, then snaps.
“Turn around.”
Izuku’s smile lights up like a firework. “Yes, Kacchan.”
Izuku turns, slow and fluid, the water sloshing around them with a gentle lap as he straddles Katsuki’s thighs, back pressed to his chest. Katsuki’s hands slide down immediately—palms flat against damp, trembling skin—stroking along Izuku’s ribs, his hips, gripping his waist like he means to carve bruises into bone.
The heat of the bath doesn’t compare to the heat rolling off their bodies.
Katsuki leans in, mouth at Izuku’s ear. “Lift your hips.”
Izuku obeys instantly, rising just enough. Katsuki reaches under the water, lines himself up by feel—his cock throbbing, aching, guided by pure need.
The moment the head presses against that still-open hole, they both groan. Izuku’s body welcomes him, pulsing, slick and loose and so fucking hot, Katsuki nearly loses it then and there.
He sinks in slow, letting the bathwater carry the weight, letting Izuku feel every goddamn inch. Izuku shudders in his arms, mouth parted in a silent moan, his hands gripping the edge of the tub like if he lets go he’ll float off into space.
“You’re still open,” Katsuki breathes against his neck. “Still fuckin’ dripping from earlier.”
Izuku whines. “I—I didn’t get to come enough, Kacchan—”
“You’re about to.” Katsuki buries himself fully, hips flush to Izuku’s ass, one arm coiled around his waist, the other palming his chest, fingers brushing up his throat. “Gonna make you come so hard you’ll forget your damn name.”
Izuku starts to move. Little bounces at first—gentle, wet sounds rising from the bathwater with every shift—but it quickly turns frantic. His thighs slap the surface, water splashing over the sides, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing off tile.
Katsuki meets every motion with sharp, upward thrusts, growling low in his throat, biting at Izuku’s shoulder. His hand snakes down, wrapping around Izuku’s cock, stroking in time with each snap of his hips.
“You’re fuckin’ mine,” Katsuki hisses, breath hot at Izuku’s ear. “Not Japan’s. Not the public’s. Mine.”
“Yes—yes, Kacchan—yours—!” Izuku sobs, back arching as he rides, thighs quaking, cock throbbing in Katsuki’s hand.
Katsuki slams into him harder. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours—I’m only yours—!”
Katsuki’s teeth sink into his shoulder as he fucks up into him, water sloshing violently around them, chest to back, skin to skin. Izuku gasps, whining louder, mouth falling open as his body locks up.
Then he breaks, again—cock spurting over Katsuki’s fist, hole clenching down hard, milking him with desperate, pulsing spasms.
Katsuki growls, eyes snapping shut as he lets go too—coming deep, heat spilling inside that perfect body, holding Izuku tight as he bucks and jerks through it, through every last wave of pleasure.
Water stills around them in trembling ripples.
Izuku slumps against him, boneless and warm, head tipped back on Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki just breathes. Hand still wrapped around him. Body still inside him.
Still connected.
Still his.
Izuku groans, soft and breathy, head lolling back on Katsuki’s shoulder. His body’s limp, heavy with afterglow, chest still rising fast like his lungs forgot how to slow down. But his voice carries a playful little whine.
“Kacchan… we’re all dirty again.”
Katsuki chuckles into his neck. “You think I didn’t know that?”
Still, he reaches for the washcloth, fingers brushing through bubbles as he grabs it again, warm and soaked. He starts slow—dragging it across Izuku’s chest, down his stomach, back up over his throat. He’s gentle with it now, something easy in his touch, like he’s not scrubbing off filth but blessing him clean.
Izuku sighs, melting under the care, too tired to tease, too relaxed to hide the way he leans into it.
Once he’s satisfied, Katsuki drains the tub. The water gurgles down, and he helps Izuku out first, holding him steady by the waist as he steps onto the bath mat, legs wobbling like a newborn deer.
“You're gonna fuckin’ fall over,” Katsuki mutters, grabbing a towel.
“No, I’m—ah—okay, maybe not,” Izuku breathes, gripping his bicep for balance as Katsuki wraps the towel around him and starts drying him off, rough and fast like he’s rubbing down a damn racehorse.
He gets every drop—back, thighs, hair, between his legs, until Izuku’s flushed again from the attention alone. Then Katsuki towels himself off, slaps his own ass dry without finesse, and heads into the bedroom.
Izuku’s already following in slow steps, towel slipping from his hips halfway there.
Katsuki tosses him his softest PJs—the ones that cling a little too nice around his ass—and helps him into them one piece at a time. Shirt, then bottoms, Izuku raising his arms obediently and smiling sleepily the whole time.
Once they’re tucked into bed, Katsuki about to click off the bedside lamp, Izuku shifts against him, one leg sliding over Katsuki’s.
“…Kacchan?”
Katsuki turns to look. “Yeah?”
Izuku bites his lip. Hesitates for a breath.
“…Can I wear my collar again?”
Katsuki blinks. “You sure?” His voice is quieter now. Less bite, more weight. “Not because it’s tight or anything. But because of what it means.”
Izuku nods slowly, curls brushing the pillow. “I know what it means. That’s why I want it.” He reaches for Katsuki’s hand under the covers, fingers sliding between his. “It makes me feel comfortable. Safe. I just want to… wear it. Not do anything. Not yet.”
Katsuki watches him for a moment. Then sits up, reaches over to the nightstand, opens the drawer. The collar sits there, red and familiar.
He holds it in his hands for a second, thumb brushing the worn inner lining.
Then he nods. “Yeah. Alright.”
Izuku sits up slowly, letting Katsuki fasten it around his neck. The click of the buckle feels final, but not heavy. Not now. Izuku breathes in deep and settles back down, head on Katsuki’s chest.
“You look good in it,” Katsuki mutters, threading his fingers through Izuku’s curls. “But now that it’s on, we’re takin’ a nap.”
Izuku huffs. “Whaaat? But I just—”
Katsuki shuts him up with a palm to his face, smirking. “No whining. You just got fucked twice, moaned through a bath, and you're still wearing my fuckin’ collar. I’m not overexerting you today. It's our day off.”
Izuku pouts, dramatically. “You’re just scared I’ll ride you again.”
Katsuki snorts. “Nah. I’m scared you’ll pass out halfway through and I’ll have to carry your limp ass back to bed again. Shut up and sleep.”
Izuku laughs quietly, lips brushing Katsuki’s chest.
He doesn’t argue this time.
He just clings closer, collar snug around his neck, and lets himself drift.
Katsuki lays back, one arm draped behind his head, the other curled possessively around Izuku’s waist, fingers splayed across soft cotton and warm skin. The collar’s snug around Izuku’s neck, the little buckle gleaming faintly in the dim bedroom light. It fits him too well. Like it was made for him.
Katsuki can’t stop looking.
Izuku’s already half-asleep, breath even, lashes fluttering just a little like he’s dreaming of something soft—something safe. His lips are parted, still kiss-bitten and damp. One hand clings lazily to Katsuki’s shirt, and every few seconds, he gives a quiet little sigh that makes Katsuki’s heart thump like he’s still balls-deep in him.
He’s so fucking cute like this. Too cute.
And pliant. Katsuki could whisper anything, ask anything right now, and Izuku would nod through it, flushed and willing and drowsy with trust.
Katsuki exhales slow, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
He wonders what he’ll do once they wake up.
Maybe he’ll have Izuku prep himself for him. Make him kneel at the edge of the bed, plug in one hand, lube in the other, cheeks already flushed just from Katsuki’s stare. Maybe he won’t let him touch, just watch—arms folded, legs spread, cock hard against his thigh as Izuku opens himself up on shaky fingers.
Yeah. That sounds good.
Maybe he’ll sit in the chair and make Izuku stretch himself wide, slow, clenching and dripping while Katsuki gives lazy instructions, praising or punishing by the twitch of a brow.
Or maybe—fuck—maybe he’ll have Izuku beg for it first. Beg to be seen. To be used. To be filled.
He’ll decide when he wakes up.
For now, Katsuki just watches him sleep. Watches the collar rise and fall with each breath, fingers twitching where they rest against his side, face so soft, so his.
Izuku shifts a little in his sleep, pressing closer.
Katsuki leans down, kisses the crown of his curls.
Mine.