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Shouto has really nice legs.
It’s something Izuku thinks often. When he comes home to find Shouto curled up on the couch, knees tucked under him with a book on his lap, or they’re about to sleep and he’s warm in the cradle of Shouto’s lean, clingy limbs. Shouto’s beautiful everywhere, from his lovely face to his fingers—whenever Izuku tries to focus on one part of him, there’s always something else that draws his attention, like trying to compliment a vast, sprawling countryside. A thousand wonderful details, a well that will never run out.
What’s your favourite part of your partner, an interviewer had asked once, and Izuku wouldn’t have been able to come up with an answer even if he let himself think past the bemusement of being asked to choose just one. Shouto was so kind, determined, thoughtful. He could work for two weeks on an undercover mission and still think to bring Izuku his favorite protein bars on his way home because they are only sold in that city.
The picture is always shifting, changing, different aspects drifting to the forefront, but Izuku thinks about Shouto’s legs in particular when he’s kneeling between them, one thigh thrown over his shoulder.
One hand’s clenched in his hair, so warm it’s on the edge of steaming. Careful self-restraint that Izuku’s slowly, lovingly, working his way to shattering. He doesn’t moan, not often, but the quiet, weak rhythm of his breathing is a high Izuku is addicted to.
“Relax,” he coaxes, easing his middle finger deeper into Shouto, curling it. He’s already soft, wet with the lemon-flavoured lube Izuku had bought out of curiosity, but kept buying because it tastes like shortcake. “I’ll hold you up.”
Almost experimental, Shouto leans just a little more of his weight onto Izuku, thigh flexing, not quite relaxed. His other leg’s still on the ground, shaking, knee close to buckling, even with his back braced against the wall.
When he made it home from the mission, Izuku had been all over him, overjoyed, but aside from a quick kiss, Shouto wouldn’t let him touch him until he’d showered. The compromise between his impatience and Shouto’s distaste for making out in his grimy, sweat-soaked suit was shoving Shouto up against the wall the moment he got out of the shower and falling to his knees.
“Izuku.” He tugs at Izuku’s hair. His face is dusted with red, eyes hazy, hair still damp and sticking to his forehead. “Please.”
“You’re so polite, Shouto-kun.” He drags his tongue up the side of Shouto’s cock, enjoying his ensuing hitched breath, the tremor of his thigh. “You don’t have to say ‘please’, you know. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
“You like it.”
“I like your voice.” Well-aware of the rising desperation in Shouto’s expression, he pushes a second finger into him, crooking them both, rubbing. “I like everything you say.”
It would have been nice if he kept the suit on, Izuku thinks as he sucks the neglected head of Shouto’s cock into his mouth. Just the top, torn and smeared with mud, stretched tight over his shuddering chest, riding up to expose the glistening sheen of sweat over his abdomen. Still, he looks good bare, too. A side of him reserved only for Izuku—splayed open and vulnerable, smelling of soap and green apple shampoo.
A dull thud sounds as Shouto’s head lolls back against the wall. He’s impatient, that much is clear, but he’s not pushing for more beyond the subtle rocks of his hips. Izuku leans into them, taking Shouto’s cock into his throat. His hands cramp easily, but when the motion of his fingers draws all those soft, strained noises from Shouto, he doesn’t mind—especially not when it gives him an excuse to hold Shouto’s heated hand later.
“Izuku, don’t.”
He pulls off, licking his lips, looking up. Shouto’s watching him now. He’s pretty sure he knows what Shouto means, but the whole point of this is to treat him to exactly what he wants after that mission. To let Shouto loosen the reins, give up his control and let Izuku give him something nice. Sweet. “You want me inside?”
“Yeah.” He moves his thigh off Izuku’s shoulder, putting his foot back on the ground, and Izuku immediately mourns its loss. “Come up here.”
Biting back a grin, he stands and grabs Shouto’s hips, pulling them against his. He’s been told by friends, colleagues, he can be a little overenthusiastic sometimes, zealous in his attempts to talk up the things he loves, but this fact is indisputable: Kissing Shouto is his favourite feeling in the world. Pecking his cheek before he rolls out of bed in the morning for an early shift. Licking into his mouth like he is now, slow, indulgent, letting the pleasure of it roll over him in a languid swell.
Shouto wraps his arms around Izuku’s neck, making a quiet noise low in his throat, meeting him with that same filthy enthusiasm that has Izuku’s stomach writhing, hot. It takes some maneuvering to get his pants and underwear off without breaking the kiss, but he manages it, kicking them off his ankles.
Shouto isn’t light, but Izuku has trained enough to haul him up into his arms, carrying him over to the bed. He carefully lowers him onto the mattress, then climbs over him, his stomach swooping when Shouto hikes his long legs up around his hips, arms around Izuku’s shoulders.
Dizzy with want, Izuku kisses him and presses inside, shuddering out a long, choked moan. Shouto is all lean, strong muscle and sharp angles, the consequence of endless training, non-stop shifts, but his skin is soft, so soft Izuku is almost impatient for the part where he gets to press delicate little kisses over Shouto's shoulders and chest for hours, smooth back his floppy hair to kiss his forehead, the edges of his scar. His hands feel nice on Izuku’s back, twin spots of warmth that light him up. Everything about him feels nice.
He looks so pretty like this, red-and-white hair fanned out over the pillow, cheeks dusted with a deep, glowing red. Izuku wants to kiss him again, but he’s too wrapped up in just gazing at him, enchanted.
Shouto doesn’t seem to mind the staring, eyes closed, face scrunched up with pleasure. It washes over Izuku, blissful, slow as sinking into a warm bath. Maybe this is his favourite feeling after all—making Shouto feel good. Knowing that after everything Shouto has been through, everything he still goes through, he can lay back in bed and trust Izuku to take care of him, thrusting into him slow and sweet, kissing his beautiful face.
He’s still not moaning, but his breaths come more and more uneven, lips half-parted, panting. He does make a little choked noise when Izuku sucks at that tender spot under his jaw, and Izuku revels in it. In the way Shouto’s legs tremble around his hips, and the subtle arch of his spine, bringing him up closer to Izuku.
It’s an extraordinary piece of luck, he thinks, forehead pressed into Shouto’s sweat-slicked neck. That he is the one lucky enough to love Shouto, and have his love in return. He’ll never not be grateful.
Shouto tangles a hand in his hair. Not pulling, just holding. Rubbing his fingers over his scalp. Izuku lets out a sound almost like a whimper, bucking harder into him.
“Feels nice,” Shouto mumbles. His heel’s pressing into the small of Izuku’s back, slipping on the hot, sweaty skin.
“Yeah?” He tilts his face, pressing messy kisses over Shouto’s jaw, his cheek. “Can you use your quirk?”
Shouto’s hand heats in his hair, and Izuku shivers, tingles rushing down his spine. The warm touch drags down to his nape, rubbing over the base of his skull, and it’s slowly unraveling him, bringing him closer to his ruin.
“You’re so good, Shouto.” His voice breaks. He tries to stifle it in Shouto’s neck, but there’s no point. Shouto can read him to his core anyway. “I love you.”
He doesn’t reply, simply cradling Izuku closer, scratching over his scalp, but that’s alright. Shouto doesn’t declare his love aloud often, but it rings too clearly to ever doubt for a minute.
Shouto breathes a quiet whisper of his name, and that’s it. Izuku holds him close as he comes, shaking, hips jerking helplessly. Shouto kisses his hair, and Izuku loves him so much it takes up all the space inside his ribs.
Pulling out slowly, he shifts down the bed to settle between Shouto’s legs again, heaving them onto his shoulders. He could stay here for hours, days, letting the world narrow to the feeling of Shouto’s thighs clenched around his ears, his cock in his mouth. Warm and safe.
Shouto arches sharply, then falls flat against the bed, gasping. Izuku swallows and moves back up to kiss him, quick and chaste—Shouto doesn’t like tasting himself, even though he doesn’t have the same problem when it comes to Izuku’s release—before rolling off the bed and making a rush for the bathroom to rinse his mouth.
When he returns, Shouto gives a soft hum of gratitude and reaches out, pulling Izuku back onto him and tilting his chin up for a longer kiss.
“Do you want to take a bath?” Izuku asks once they break apart, stroking Shouto’s still-damp hair away from his forehead with a sheepish smile. “I got you all dirty again.”
“That was the point,” he says, serious. “Can we keep kissing for a bit?”
Is it possible to faint out of sheer endearment? “Of course.”
Shouto looks pleased, as if he doesn’t already know that Izuku would give him the world if he asked. As it is, all he wants is a kiss, and it’s a pleasure to lean down and give him one that lingers.