Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s never bottomed. Like, ever. But Izuku doesn’t need to know that.

Izuku probably thinks that Katsuki gave it the old college try before they got together, found it wasn’t to his liking, and decided that he was better off topping from there on out. He probably muttered all this to himself, hopeless nerd that he is, like he was reciting some scientific calculations, until he was satisfied with his assumption and decided there was no need to do a further deep dive on the topic of Katsuki’s asshole.

Incredibly, it’s something they’ve never discussed. (Katsuki bottoming, not his asshole. Although, in a round about way, this does concern his asshole. Ugh, whatever). Katsuki’s not exactly sure why they haven’t touched on the topic, but when he gets to thinking about it, he sure it’s because he’s always taken good care of Izuku.

As much as he’d like to gas himself up, it’s not like it came easy to Katsuki when they first started dating. No, learning Izuku’s body had been hard won; reading the hitches in Izuku’s breaths and the pull of his eyebrows, Katsuki scrutinized his body, analyzed how it would betray its pleasure, until he had an understanding of all Izuku's quirks and tells.

So. All that to say: Katsuki knows Izuku’s satisfied.

It’s not like Katsuki hasn’t thought about it—lying underneath Izuku, cradling his hips in between his legs, raking his nails down the muscles of his back. The mental image would come knocking at the door every so often and he would let it in, examine the thought like he would any other, and usher it out after a short while. Like a polite guest, the image never lingered too long.

Until it did.

Then it really started freeloading.

They had been a bit tipsy a few months back so Katsuki blames it on the liquor. How it gave Izuku liquid confidence, made him all flirty and almost aggressive in his desire to get laid.

After suffering through a long, drawn out karaoke session and terrible daiquiris at Denki and Kirishima’s house-warming party, they stumbled back home. Barely a toe past the threshold, Izuku promptly pushed Katsuki up against their front door and attacked his throat with a flurry of teeth and tongue.

That wasn’t anything new or revelatory. Izuku liked to get handsy sometimes, to see how far he could push his luck until Katsuki shut his shit down. So Katsuki made to do just that. With a low growl like something of a warning shot, Katsuki’s hand bolted out, intent on yanking Izuku's head back and putting an arch in his spine. Katsuki blinked (rookie mistake) and the next thing he knew, both his wrists were in the circle of Izuku’s one hand, pinned above his head and pressed against their door.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in a breath. “What the fuck—”

“Kacchan, c’mon,” Izuku teased, a tad breathless. He was biting through a cheeky smile, green eyes glittering. “Play nice.”

He had wrangled Izuku into the bedroom after that. Laid him across his lap and spanked him until the swell of his freckled ass was littered with bright red handprints. Katsuki couldn’t even call it a punishment because Izuku had loved it. Face pressed against their mattress, he had drooled all over the sheets, hips jerking with each slap, until he broke so beautifully—begging for Katsuki’s cock, for his forgiveness, all “Please, please—I’m sorry, I’m so—ah, fuck!”

Katsuki had figured it was an isolated incident. Had supposed that Izuku wanted to be tossed around, scuffed like a cat, and made to submit. He was a brat at the best of times and liked to tap dance around what he wanted until Katsuki filled in the blanks for him. Then he’d get all smitten like he was crushing all over again when Katsuki figured out his tricks.

But then, just a few days after the first incident, when Izuku was bouncing himself all pretty on Katsuki’s lap, the little shit caught him off guard once again.

“Fuck, look at you,” Katsuki smirked, crossing his arms behind his head.

Izuku looked gorgeous. Broad shoulders, defined pecs, abs that were tensed from the strain of chasing his release. Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip, letting his gaze wander and savouring each detail along the way—Izuku’s gold nose ring that glinted in the soft evening light, his slutty patchwork tattoos scattered here and there over his strong legs and thighs, green eyes bleeding into a hazy mist as he worked up a sweat on Katsuki’s cock. Fuck, what a dream.

“Kacchan, please, I—” Izuku cut himself off with a gasp, planting his hands on Katsuki’s chest and lolling his head back. He must have hit the spot. “Please, need you to—”

“Giving up already?" Katsuki laughed, mean and low. “C’mon baby, you’re the one that wanted to go for a ride. Show me what you got.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed with something unreadable and in retrospect Katsuki should have seen what was coming next. Should have flipped Izuku over and pinned him against the mattress before he started playing funny games.

“Yeah?” Izuku breathed, lips quirking slightly.

Fast as anything, he snuck one hand behind Katsuki’s head, grasping the hair at his nape while his other hand curled a tight grip around his throat.

Katsuki’s stomach bottomed out, his lips parting a fraction as he sucked in a quick breath. His brain seemed to be working on a delay but Izuku was full speed ahead, probably sensing that he was working with borrowed time. Rising up on his knees, he picked himself up and slammed himself back down on Katsuki’s cock, again and again and again.

Squeezing Katsuki’s throat, he leaned down, hips rolling all the while, to pant warm puffs of breath against his ear. “Like that, Kacchan? Need me to fuck you just like that?”

And yeah, that was a real come to Jesus moment right there for Katsuki.

He sucked in a sharp breath and gripped Izuku’s hips, practically putting dents into his flesh so he could hold him down before he did something remarkably embarrassing.

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up, pinning Izuku with a death glare. His lips had split into a slight smirk and there was something so foreign about it, seeing that smug and smouldering expression on Izuku’s face, that made Katsuki’s stomach flip all over again. This was Deku. Japan’s darling. Supposed poster boy for sweet, wholesome innocence. Christ, what a crock of shit.

Katsuki flipped Izuku on his back and proceeded to fuck him stupid, pointedly ignoring his cock that was trapped between their bodies, flushed red and drooling steadily all the while. Katsuki kept him on edge for a couple of hours. Suspended between tension and relief, shaking like a little leaf, Izuku got the smug fucked right out of him.

Katsuki’s crouched on top of a warehouse roof with Kirishima by his side and they’re keeping a close watch on the loading dock below. It’s like a ghost town down there and Katsuki’s almost expecting a tumbleweed to come rolling through the empty parking lot. It’s two o’clock in the morning though, so the empty stretch of silence checks out.

Izuku’s voice crackles through their earpieces. “No movement yet.”

Yeah, Katsuki can see that. “Thanks tips.”

He receives a soft huff in response.

Shinsou confirmed the drop was set for three this morning during yesterday’s briefing, but Katsuki’s intercepted cargo enough times to know that anything could change between then and now. Drug runners tend to get spooked and are known for switching their rendezvous point at the very last minute. Sometimes the drop is called off all together and postmarked for a later date and other times the drop site turns out to be a fairy tale, some location invented to throw heroes off their trail if they get the sense that there’s a rat in their midst. So Katsuki can only hope that Shinsou’s bit of intel was solid.

A bad batch of Trigger has been sweeping the streets for close to a year now and people have been dropping like flies. Cardiac arrests, aneurysms, all that good fun stuff. The ones who do survive end up under medically induced comas to try and mitigate the damage that their boosted quirks are doing to their bodies. So if they can get their hands on these drug runners and the sizeable shipment that’s due to come rolling through in the next hour, it’ll be a historic take down. After they’re rounded up, Shinsou will take over the interrogations to get information on who their main manufacturer is (god bless that freak’s brainwashing quirk) and from there, all that’s left to do is to cut the rotten fruit off the tree. Badabing badaboom, Japan is saved once again.

But in the meantime they’re left to wait and Katsuki’s not a patient man. Look, he’s been through his fair share of anger management focused therapy, alright? He made remarkable progress (or so his therapist said) but it didn’t turn him into Jesus Christ or anything like that. So he’s waiting, but with all the patience of a cigarette smoker trapped on a sixteen hour non-stop flight. And while he’s waiting, he’s stewing.

Last night had brought another fresh round of fuckery and Katsuki doesn’t really understand what Izuku’s end game is. Whether he’s trying to test Katsuki’s patience, his sanity, or what. All he knows is that the threads of his self-control are fraying because last night, when Katsuki had Izuku’s knees pinned to his ears, giving him these long, slow strokes that usually gets him all gooey and non-verbal, Izuku couldn’t manage to keep his mouth in check.

The whole time he was all “Look at you, baby. So good. Kacchan just wants to be good for me, huh?” and “Yeah baby? Gonna show me what you’re good for?" to the point where Katsuki felt like he was the one who was getting fucked. His cock had twitched and throbbed like a traitor and it was a wonder that Izuku didn’t catch on, though he seemed pretty delirious, fucked out to the point where he was probably just saying shit.

And now Katsuki’s being inundated with mental images like it’s a full on bombardment campaign meant to level his shit. Izuku, crooked fingers slicked with lube, playing with his prostate until his cock is drooling so steadily it looks like he’s coming. Izuku pounding him over their bathroom counter, right in front of the mirror—one scarred hand wrapped tight around his throat and the other clutched at his hip so he can haul Katsuki down on his cock and meet him halfway with each thrust. He’d probably make Katsuki look at his reflection—cheeks flushed an incriminating pink, the corners of his mouth slick with drool—so he couldn’t even hide from himself how much he loved it.

Would he love it? Fuck, would he even like it? He really doesn’t know.

He thinks Kirishima might know a thing or two, though. He’s been with Denki almost as long as Katsuki and Izuku have been together and while Denki has 'pillow princess' written all over him, Katsuki’s intuition tells him that he’s a switch. Probably a menace when he’s on top, too. He’s seen the way Denki looks at Kirishima sometimes—the possessive hand on the back of his neck, how he’ll grab his face and squish his cheeks, nip at his lip before soothing it over with an innocent peck. He’s clocked Kirishima’s reactions too, how he goes all buttery soft under Denki’s touch, his eyes glazing over all dumb and docile.

So Katsuki’s staring at Kirishima’s profile, trying to figure out how the fuck he’s gonna broach the subject. He doesn’t know how to be anything but blunt and he can’t seem to find a delicate way to ask if Kirishima ever bottoms, so he settles on: “You ever bottom?”

Katsuki expected Kirishima to splutter a bit, like a tailpipe on a banged-up jalopy, which he does, but he’s also fixing him with such a shocked expression that you’d think Katsuki just uttered a fucking Nazi oath or something.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Forget it.”

“No, no!” Kirishima says, grabbing Katsuki’s hero suit and hauling him back down. “I mean, yeah? I have. But like, why—”

“Do you like it?”

“Dude, where is this coming—”

“Who’re you, the fuckin’ press? What’s with all the questions?”

Kirishima huffs, exasperated. Then he pinches his thumb and fingers together and waves them around, gesturing like he’s an old Italian.

“You come to me on the day of my daughter’s wedding—”

“Swear to fuckin’ god if you pull your Godfather bit on me one more time—”

“—now you come and you say ‘Eijirou Kirishima, tell me if you bottom.’ But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer—ow!"

Katsuki’s about to give him another flick in the middle of his forehead when Kirishima throws his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima says, looking a little sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs one shoulder.

“I like it, yeah. It’s uh—it’s obviously way different than being on top, but it’s good, y’know?”

No, Katsuki doesn’t know. He gives Kirishima a humph and averts his eyes.

“So can I finally ask what this is about?”

“Reconnaissance,” Katsuki says, and doesn’t elaborate any further.

Kirishima’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You’re doing recon on bottoms?"

It’s silent for another moment or two but Katsuki’s watching Kirishima out of the corner of his eye and he can physically see it on his face when he puts two and two together. In hindsight it’s pretty funny, the emotional journey his features goes through, and Katsuki thinks he registers all five stages of grief within five seconds flat.

“Bakubro, my dude, are you saying you’ve never—”

Izuku’s voice hisses urgently through the static of their earpieces. “Get ready! Two vehicles approaching north side!”

Huh, no shit, hey? Guess he has to give Shinsou credit where it’s due.

“Idiot. Why the fuck aren’t you hard yet?”

Kirishima gets all pink in the face and Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t break a few capillaries.

“Fuckin’—your quirk, dummy.”

“Oh!”

Kirishima turns jagged at the edges and knocks both of his fists together, giving Katsuki a curt nod and a shark’s smile.

Once the two vans are in perfect position, cruising just below the warehouse they’re perched on, they jump off the ledge and smash straight through the hoods of each vehicle. Goodnight, engines. Goodnight, transmissions. Goodnight, moon.

Katsuki hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about Blackwhip’s dexterity. He’s not the one who owns a filing cabinet full of stalker diaries packed with information on all known registered quirks and heroes. He’ll leave that to Izuku, total stan that he is.

But if Katsuki spent any time thinking about Blackwhip, it would’ve been in a neutral, offhand manner. Like anything eye-catching or noteworthy, Katsuki’s brain would dedicate enough time for him to think hmm, that’s neat I guess before he moved on with his life.

So when Izuku swooped off the adjacent warehouse roof, using Blackwhip like some kind of grappling hook, and proceeded to round up a few stray drug runners that had managed to bolt, Katsuki had froze on the spot where he stood.

Blackwhip had effectively hog-tied the men, leaving them panting and furious, their cheeks pressed to the pavement as they struggled fruitlessly against those staticky tendrils of energy.

“Oh stop that, you,” Izuku chuckled, this to the beef-cake of a man who was uttering death threats at him.

He had them properly handcuffed at that point and before his capture quirk turned to dust, Blackwhip gave them each a consolatory pat on the head.

Katsuki wouldn’t admit this to anyone, not even under the threat of torture. Fuck, not even under active torture. But he maybe, maybe might have hopped onto Twitter that night (on a throwaway account while he was in the bathroom with the door locked and the shower running in the background) to scroll through NSFW fanart depictions of Izuku’s capture quirk.

For uh, for reconnaissance.

“Do you think I’m set in my ways?”

Izuku’s chopsticks freeze an inch away from his open mouth like someone just pressed a pause button. Noodles dangle limply, broth drip drip drips back into his bowl, and Katsuki rolls his eyes and sucks at his teeth.

“Is this a trap?” Izuku asks, squinting at Katsuki and tilting his head, like that’ll help him to detect any funny business.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

Izuku’s lips quirk slightly. “Okay,” he says, placing his chopsticks down and pushing his bowl aside. “Remember last year when we took PTO and went to Osaka?”

Katsuki shifts around in his seat. He thinks he knows where Izuku’s going with this, but he decides to humour him. “Okay? Yeah?”

“Well, I remember that we had left our place on a Friday, and the reason why I remember that was because you wouldn’t water the plants since it wasn’t a Sunday, and then—”

“That’s ‘cause the plants—”

“—get stressed. I know, babe. And then Eijirou had to drive to our place a couple days later to water—”

“It wasn’t just to water them,” Katsuki scoffs, indignant. “We have rare tropicals. It’s a delicate fuckin’ operation and you know it. The humidity needs to be monitored like a damn hawk and the leaves need to be wiped down so they can absorb—”

Katsuki cuts himself off when Izuku starts biting on his lip to tamp down a grin. He’s pleased as all get out and Katsuki feels his left eyelid start to twitch.

“Fine. Whatever. What else you got?”

“You refold the laundry as soon as I’m done with it,” Izuku says, folding his arms across his chest (hello, biceps) and leaning back against the booth. He raises both brows and gives him a look like gotcha, bitch.

Katsuki actually laughs, he can’t help it. “That’s because you fucking cram them into our drawers like the godless heathen you are.”

Izuku gasps like he’s been shot, swinging his head back dramatically. His curls bounce along the way and he’s so damn cute Katsuki wants to pinch his nose right off his face.

“I absolutely do not.”

“I went out of my way to teach you the Marie Kondo method. Twice. Breaking my fuckin’ heart over here.”

“Okay, but like, who has time to do origami with their laundry?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. He reaches across the table and grabs Izuku’s hand, threads their fingers together and squeezes once. Izuku squeezes back.

“Also, you never let me cook,” Izuku says, huffing and puffing and smiling all the way through his half-assed complaint.

“Don’t even start,” Katsuki grits out, bringing his free hand across the table so he can pinch Izuku’s nose and use it to shake his head side to side before he gets smacked away. “You’re the one who robbed us of our security deposit.”

Izuku tips his head back and cackles, menace that he is.

Katsuki just shakes his head like he can’t believe what he has to put up with. He cracks a fleeting smile and then he sighs.

Izuku’s eyes soften a touch and he sits up straight, fixing Katsuki with a searching look. 

“Where’s this coming from?”

Katsuki’s still holding Izuku’s hand and he focuses his attention on his scarred knuckles. He soothes his thumb over the ridges of raised skin tissue and shrugs one shoulder, feeling a divot form in between his brows.

“I just—” Katsuki clears his throat, tries again. Fuck, he hates having to speak shit out loud. “I don’t wanna get too comfortable. Become some stale old boring-ass bastard that’s too afraid to try new things.”

Izuku’s still searching Katsuki’s eyes and while he’s miles and miles away from picking up what Katsuki’s trying to lay down, he does his best with the information that’s been handed to him.

“Oh babe, no,” Izuku shakes his head, pining him with a look that so earnest it clutches at his heart like a fist. “Wild child like you could never be boring.”

Katsuki feels his lips quirk. He forces them back into a straight line. This is getting way too gooey for his liking.

“Kacchan, c’mon. Look at me,” Izuku says, ducking his face down to catch Katsuki’s eyes, crowd his vision. “Are there things you—I mean, have you been thinking about anything specific? That you’d want to try?”

“No.”

Liar, liar. You’re such a fucking liar, oh my God—

Izuku doesn’t look convinced but he nods along anyways. Katsuki stares as Izuku mulls around for the right words.

The restaurant lights are glaring and not doing him any justice, but Christ is he ever gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, defined chest, sculpted arms, all hidden underneath a Supreme hoodie that’s stretched over the wide plane of his chest. His one ear is stacked with piercings that have finally healed (Katsuki had to hold him down on a nightly basis and apply saline because the fucker wasn’t gonna do it himself) and the other is practically bare, save for one dangly angel wing earring that Katsuki wants to take in between his teeth this instant. He’s looking like some fuckass frat boy with his shorts and socks and slides and he’s so big Katsuki’s spine splinters with the desire to be under, beneath.

“If there is, or if you think of anything, you know I’m right there with you,” Izuku smiles, squeezing Katsuki’s hand. His green eyes are glittering. “You know that, right?”

Yeah, Katsuki knows that. Knows it down to his bones. His marrow even produces that knowing.

Denki [8:39 pm]:

alright
whose dick do i gotta suck to get y’all to go clubbing with me?

Hanta [8:40 pm]:

mine

Shinsou [8:41 pm]:

mine

Izuku [8:41 pm]:

👀 i mean…

Kirishima [8:42 pm]:

OH my god

Shouto [8:43 pm]:

I appreciate the offer but I think I’m asexual?

Katsuki [8:43 pm]:

yeah we know

Shouto [8:43 pm]:

How would you know?? I’m not even so sure

Izuku [8:44 pm]:

oh shouto, hun 💞
denki, you know i'm always down!

Shouto [8:44 pm]:

??
What’s that supposed to mean

Denki [8:44 pm]:

🍆💦
r u on patrol right now?

Izuku [8:44 pm]:

uhhhhh down to club
is what i meant 😳😅

Katsuki [8:45 pm]:

such a slut dude

Kirishima [8:45 pm]:

Brooo come on now

“You’re so mean to him,” Izuku huffs from the cradle of Katsuki’s arms.

They’ve got a few hours before their shift starts and they’re tangled up on the couch, trying to make out in between the pings of their group chat while the Batchelor plays on their flat screen in the background. One woman has just been handed a rose and she’s weeping with delight. Izuku’s choice, not Katsuki’s.

Katsuki rolls his eyes and pinches Izuku’s nipple for good measure. “He loves the attention and you know it.”

Katsuki [8:48 pm]:

find a night where everyone’s schedule aligns and i’ll suck my own dick

Hanta [8:48 pm]:

dude denki please
i kinda need to see that

The following Monday, Denki sends their work schedules to their group chat. They’re all free as birds that coming Saturday.

Denki [7:45 am]:

Nov1-Nov15-Patrol-Rotation.pdf

Denki [7:45 am]:

ugh my throat hurts

Stepping out of their Uber, the late November chill greets them with a slap to their faces. It’s bitterly cold and Izuku’s scantily clad in a sheer mesh shirt tucked into black slacks with a pair of combat boots to top it all off and Katsuki wants to call him a fool and an idiot for risking hypothermia for the sake of fashion, except he looks ridiculously hot in this get up so Katsuki bites his tongue until it bleeds.

They both spot Denki and Kirishima right away, arm-in-arm and posted up in the middle of the line to get into the club. Denki waves at them frantically, gesturing for them to hurry the fuck up.

Shinsou and company are at the back of the line and around the corner, almost hidden out of sight. Sero’s stuck to his vape like a hamster to its water feeder and Shouto’s hacking up a lung, blunt in hand. Kinda wild that they’re brazenly puff puff passing in public, but they’re in the seedier part of the city and Katsuki hasn’t spotted paparazzi yet, so he can only hope they don’t make headlines tomorrow.

“Good thing Kacchan’s flexible, huh,” Izuku chirps, digging his elbow into Katsuki’s side.

“Fuckin’ bullshit. Do I even wanna know how many HR violations it took?” Katsuki grumbles, this to Denki, once they’ve reached reached their place in line.

Denki smiles all smug, like a cat who got the canary and says, “None, 'cause I’m Hawks’ favourite child.”

Kirishima’s beaming. He gives Katsuki a slap on the back and then reaches over to bring Izuku into a crushing side hug. While they exchange pleasantries, Katsuki notes that one bouncer is eyeing Denki warily and he watches as that bouncer turns to his bouncer friend and mutters something Katsuki isn’t able to catch before jerking his chin in their direction.

This is all lost on Denki who’s shamelessly flirting with Izuku. His hands are all over him—petting a stray curl from his forehead, pinching his freckled cheeks, tugging him closer by his belt loops—and Izuku’s laughing along good-naturedly, looking equal parts flustered and pleased with the attention, and like he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands.

“This your go-to spot?” Katsuki asks, raising a brow at Denki.

“Yeah, they love me here.”

“Right.”

Amazingly, there’s no trouble once they reach the front of the line. When the bouncer scans in Denki’s ID he skims the information on the monitor, lets out the longest, deepest sigh Katsuki’s ever heard in his life, and then he unlocks the velvet rope, ushering them in with a sarcastic swoop of his hand.

Denki clicks his heels and leaves them in the dust, jetting up the stairs in record time. Once he reaches the top he thrusts both arms up in victory and screams “YES!” which startles a small group of club-goers who are in line for coat check.

“Wasn’t sure if I had two strikes or three but the night’s still young, boys!”

Katsuki glances behind himself and catches the bouncer’s eye. He has a finger on his earpiece and he’s muttering again. He shoots Katsuki a nasty look before turning back to the line of people waiting outside.

Kirishima scampers upstairs and grabs Denki by the waist, crushing him to his side. “Dude can you puh-lease be normal? Like, just for a second?”

“Oooh babe, look!” Denki squeals, pointing towards the dance floor where a male dancer is suspended inside of a cage. Katsuki spots a security guard from across the way and his eyes follow Denki’s finger. “Think I can fight him for the cage?”

Katsuki grits his teeth and when he’s within reach he pushes Denki towards the bar. “Get a grip,” he hisses. “Or I’ll bounce you like a fuckin’ ball.”

“Kacchan!”

Something bright flares up at the corner of his vision and Katsuki turns to see a bartender who’s in the midst of pouring a flaming line of shots up at the counter. The crowd ooohs and aaahs and the lure of alcohol seems to distract Denki. He reaches blindly for Izuku’s collar and drags him towards the bar, hip-checking people out of the way so he can carve them a path straight to the front of the line. Izuku glances back and shoots Katsuki a look that says haha, oh fuck.

Denki orders them a round of tequila shots and then another round right after. Katsuki accepts his drinks with a wince and a barely suppressed gag and then orders them all a pint of beer right after so he can wash out the shit taste from his mouth.

While the bartender is pouring their beers Denki complains about the club’s three strike system and his infamy.

“It’s total bullshit,” he scoffs.

Kirishima’s brows shoot up. “You kept referring to security as the Gestapo. To their face."

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”



“Okay,” Izuku laughs. “So that’s one strike. What’s the other for?”

“For requesting a song. Can you believe that?”

“Oh my God. That’s not the whole story,” Kirishima smirks.

“Okay, fine. I requested Hollaback Girl. How is that strike worthy?”



“Five times. Five times you requested it.”



“So? It’s a fucking bop."

Just when Katsuki thinks he could maybe sneak out and find someone to bum a cigarette from, Shinsou parts through the crowd and plops himself down on an empty barstool next to Izuku.

“Oh wow, nice of you to finally join us,” Denki says flatly.

Izuku scrunches his brows. “Where’s Shouto and Hanta?”

“There,” Shinsou says, pointing across the way with his vape.

Izuku turns his head and gasps and Katsuki’s cranes his head in the direction of Izuku’s eyeline.

Shouto looks like a husk of a man. His eyes are glassy and unfocused and he’s looking at them with a shell-shocked expression— parted mouth, thousand yard stare, and all. Sero has an arm wrapped around his shoulders and his free hand is clutching one of Shouto’s and he’s leading them step by baby step over to the bar like he’s some sickly Victorian child who’s going out back to visit the garden one last time.

“Oh, man,” Kirishima whispers, with feeling.

Katsuki exhales a sharp laugh through his nose. “Fuck’s the matter with him?”

Sero cracks a smirk. “Hitoshi had to go and score this crazy bagga weed and now baby’s gone non-verbal.”

“No shit?” Katsuki says, turning to Shinsou. “I should shake your hand.”

Shouto’s whole body looks as rigid as a plank of wood and his face is paler than a sheet of computer paper but despite that, he manages to shoot Katsuki a glare from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, hun,” Izuku reaches over and squeezes Shouto’s elbow, jostling Shinsou in the process. “It’s okay. It won’t last forever.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Shinsou says, catching Izuku’s wrist and tugging him back to his side. He stares at his chest far longer than necessary and then plucks at the sleeve of his shirt, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger. “This your stylist’s work?”

Izuku blushes an impressive shade of pink but his laugh is bright and pleased. “Um, no? I, uh—I did this. I mean, this is my work.”

“Big boy now, huh. Dressing your own self.”

All eyes are on Izuku. Even Shouto, far gone from earth, manages a small, imperceptible nod.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and tips his head to the ceiling, like he’ll find his patience up there.

“Y’all keep flirting with him and see if I don’t start cracking heads.”

Sero snorts and Shinsou doesn’t even bat an eye and Katsuki fears he’s losing his touch. At least Kirishima has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Should I flirt with you instead?” Shinsou asks, his sleepy eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Don’t be jelly,” Izuku coos, sidling up to Katsuki so he can slide a hand into his back pocket.

Call him weak-willed, but the squeeze Katsuki receives to his ass cheek mollifies him.

“Come on, have you seen him?" Denki croons, chancing a step closer to play with Izuku’s belt buckle. Utterly shameless.

Katsuki snaps his jaw, his teeth clicking audibly, and Izuku giggles nervously. Kirishima complains half-heartedly, groaning, “I’m right here."

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna get it later,” Denki says, his yellow eyes still locked on Izuku. He’s all heat and honey and his stare is smouldering. “You ready to be my Swayze, baby?”

Izuku’s eyes shift, looking for approval, and when Katsuki grunts and jerks his head in the direction of the dance floor Izuku grins all toothy and plants a noisy, wet kiss onto the stubble of his cheek.

“Jackass,” Katsuki grumbles, slapping Izuku’s retreating ass for good measure.

Denki turns back and smirks. Izuku’s already ahead of him so he makes a point of raking his gaze all over his ass while he has Katsuki’s attention. Then he bites his fist and rolls his eyes back into his skull, fucking degenerate that he is.

Somehow Katsuki knew he would end up babysitting one of them. Only he had his money on it being Denki, plastered after too many shooters and not enough food, or even Kirishima on the rare but not rare enough occasion that he gets his shit rocked, thinking he can dome a blunt with a belly full of beer.

So Katsuki’s surprised, but only just a little, when it ends up being prim and proper Shouto. He had to practically carry his gangly ass to the booth they’re posted up at and now Shouto’s sandwiched between them, Kirishima to his left, checking Twitter and scrolling through a Red Riot fan account because he has no shame, and Katsuki to his right, watching his half-and-half ass stare at a pint of beer, his cornea an inch away from the glass.

“Bubbles,” Shouto monotones. He’s graduated from grunts to an occasional word or two, so at least that’s progress.

Sero had his ass dragged to the dance floor by a cute little brunette (“Oh my GOD. I’m, like, your number one fan!”) shortly after Izuku and Denki skipped off and now Katsuki’s lost track of him. He can only hope she was an actual fan and not a honeypot, and that Sero’s currently getting his dick wet in a bathroom stall instead of being black-bagged and tortured in some abandoned warehouse off by the industrial district.

After Sero left, Shinsou quickly excused himself to take a call (smoke another blunt) so now Katsuki’s left to nurse his beer in the company of these two sterling characters.

The club is packed and the walls are practically sweating from everyone’s collective body heat and God knows what else and Katsuki should be disgusted, except the drinks he’s had are lulling the part of his brain concerned with public health hazards. Strobe-lights are pulsing rhythmically, glistening bodies bump and grind on the dance floor, and the music is so loud Katsuki can feel the vibrations of the thumping bass through his goddamn chest.

They picked a booth facing the dance floor so Katsuki has a prime people-watching spot.

Some twink dressed up as a naughty nurse (white hat with a red cross, stethoscope dangling around his lithe little neck, pantyhose held in place with a garter—the whole nine) is gliding around the place and apparently he’s a regular occurrence because whenever he approaches other club-goers they open their mouths without any prompting so he can place a colourful pill onto their waiting tongues like he’s doling out a round of nightly medicine to his charges.

Katsuki’s eyes part from that spectacle and immediately land on another, which happens to be Denki who’s attempting to jump and grab onto one of the hanging cages like he’s trying to take a swing on some monkey bars. Christ. The dancer occupying the cage is thrown by this and Katsuki sees him looking around the club, trying to flag down security with his eyes, before Izuku snatches Denki’s hand and drags him back to the safety of the dance floor.

Izuku gets them maybe two steps away from the cage when Denki bolts again, this time over to the DJ set. He neglects the stairs leading to the stage and instead plants his hands onto the platform to hoist himself up so he can roll onto the stage in a dramatic tangle of elbows and long legs, because why the fuck not.

Apparently his song request wasn’t ban worthy because a moment later the music cuts out and Pony by Ginuwine starts playing. The slinky opening instrumental with its percussive beat turns the crowd into one big writhing mass. Hips start to circle, bodies roll, and suddenly everyone is dirty dancing like they’re trying to summon the ghost of Swayze.

Katsuki huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“This song has ‘Denki’ written all over it,” Kirishima pipes up, amused.

Katsuki turns his head and sees Kirishima’s phone screen turn black as he locks it. Katsuki hums his acknowledgement.

“Kinda surprised they haven’t left us for each other,” Kirishima sighs, shaking his head all fond.

He needs a new dye-job desperately. A deep conditioning treatment while he’s at it, too. The red is fading and his hair is frizzing out of control and he looks like a straight up clown.

Katsuki’s eyes cut back to the dance floor and he spots Denki with his arms thrown around Izuku’s neck, swaying his hips along to the music as he whispers into his ear. Izuku’s eyes crinkle and he tips his head back to let out a bark of laughter. Once he’s recovered he squishes Denki’s cheeks in between his thumb and fingers so his lips puff out and then leans in to coo at his face, shaking his head back and forth as he does.

Katsuki smirks, crossing his arms. “Couple of bottoms? They wouldn’t even know what to do with each other.”

“Nah, man. Denki’s, uh—versatile,” Kirishima says, clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly in his seat. He winces out a shy smile.

Yeah, Katsuki figured as much.

“Izuku would probably cry as soon as he got it in,” Katsuki says eventually.

He studies Kirishima’s profile, curious to see if he’d agree, but his eyes are glued to the dance floor and Katsuki sees his lips twitch.

“I dunno, man.” Kirishima chuckles, jerking his chin in the direction he’s looking. “Seems like he’s gonna spit Denki out after he’s done chewing him up.”

Katsuki frowns, his head turning like it’s on a swivel, and, oh. Fuck.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers.

“That’s what I said,” Kirishima replies, a tad too smug for Katsuki’s liking.

Izuku has Denki’s back crushed against his chest and one hand clutched at his throat, just below his chin. His other hand is splayed across Denki’s bare stomach (the man loves his slutty little crop tops, what can you do?) and Izuku’s fingers are fiddling with his belly button piercing. Just like that, they grind against each other—it’s fluid, rhythmic, synced perfectly to the beat, and Katsuki feels his jaw unhinge without his consent.

He tries to come up with a cutting remark, some snappy bit of banter, but when Denki pops a stripper squat and starts to roll back up and Izuku grabs at his hips with both hands while he’s still bent in half, Katsuki’s words wither and die in his throat and the ghost of his retort escapes his mouth in the form of a wheeze.

“Your boyfriend’s a tease,” Katsuki blurts out finally, once Denki manages to escape Izuku’s clutches, only to beckon him forward a moment later with a few sly curls of his finger.

Izuku smiles all sweet and then he’s back on Denki in a flash, one hand gripping his waist, the other hand travelling up his spine so he can grip his hair by the root. Izuku yanks his head back and whispers something into Denki’s ear that dissolves him into a fit of giggles. He makes a weak attempt at shoving Izuku away but Katsuki knows he’s just loving it, lapping up the attention like a dog to its water bowl.

“Dude, I think your boyfriend’s a dom," Kirishima shoots back, his eyes still glued to the dance floor.

“No the fuck he’s not.”

“Brother, I’m literally watching him dominate in real time.”

“He’s just playing,” Katsuki huffs, grabbing his glass of beer and downing the rest in one swallow.

Shouto blinks and lets out a small, wounded noise. Sorry, bubbles went bye-bye.

“Yeah, with his food," Kirishima laughs, leaning back and resting his elbow against the back of the booth. “Oh my God, look! Look at them now!” he urges, thrusting his arm out, palm pointing to their boyfriends like see what I mean?

Katsuki can’t bring himself to look right now so he reaches over and slaps Kirishima’s hand down. “Stop it,” he hisses.

Kirishima smirks and shrugs his shoulders but a moment later he softens up, his expression turning all earnest, which Katsuki doesn’t like the look of one bit. It seems like he’s gathering his words carefully because he goes silent for a short while.

“So,” Kirishima starts, then clears his throat. His gaze flicks over to Katsuki before retreating back to the middle distance. “You ever let Izuku top?”

“Jesus fuck, I—dude," Katsuki sputters. His eyes snap over to Shouto who’s staring down at the table and petting a couple fingers against the wood grain. His sweat is leaving wet streaks on the varnish. Gross. “We have company.”

Kirishima flicks his hand like he’s brushing Katsuki’s words away. “It’s fine. He’s only physically here.”

Katsuki stares hard at Shouto. “The fuck did they give him?”

“You know bro’s a lightweight. Remember Mina’s birthday? God, I thought he’d never—” Kirishima cuts himself off suddenly and squints his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not talking to you about this,” Katsuki says, his tone final.

Kirishima has the gall to look hurt. “We’re best friends. If not me, then who?”

He makes a good point, but Katsuki’s not about to admit that. He does relent, though. Just a little.

“He hasn’t. Topped, I mean,” Katsuki says, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Kirishima. “Not with me, at least.”

He makes the mistake of glancing towards the dance floor and catches a glimpse of Izuku who’s currently crowding Denki and walking him backwards until he’s splayed against a huge speaker. Christ, the stamina on him. Katsuki’s stomach swoops and his spine splinters with electric heat and he can’t linger on that thought if he wants to to stay flaccid. Which he really truly does, being in public and all that.

The thing is, Katsuki’s not a jealous man. There’s no reason for him to be. He’s secure in his relationship with Izuku and he trusts him with his literal life. So by that logic, Katsuki reasons that Izuku and Denki are best friends and if they grind on each other at the club every once in a while, it’s just their way of paling around. Call it stress-relief, call it bonding, whatever. It’s fine.

What’s not fine, though, is that Katsuki’s coming to the slow realization that he’s desperately jealous of Denki and the position that he’s in—caged in between Izuku’s strong arms with an oh shit expression on his dumb face because he knows he’s about to get tossed around all over again.

Lucky little fucker that he is.

“Why not?” Kirishima asks, effectively ripping Katsuki from his mental spiral.

Katsuki bristles at this. “I don’t know," he snaps. “Current state of the union is just fine.”

Kirishima nods sagely, like he’s a wise old elder on the council of bottoms.

“Do you want him to?”

Katsuki sighs and looks around for a server to flag down. He needs another beer. He needs a whole flat of them, actually. Kirishima’s eyes are burning into the side of his face and he feels twitchy from the attention. He lets the silence build to an uncomfortable degree before he relents.

“Yes,” Katsuki grits out, toes curling in his shoes.

It shouldn’t be this excruciating to admit, shouldn’t take him all the strength he could muster to get it out, but it does. He knows Kirishima’s just trying to help. Trying to fulfil the job description that comes with being a best friend, and Katsuki’s trying to let him, trying not to misplace his frustrations.

“Cool,” Kirishima says, like it’s no big deal. Like Katsuki isn’t having an identity crisis at the ripe age of twenty-five. “What about him? Does he want to?”

Fuck. Katsuki’s stomach drops. He’s a bad partner, isn’t he? Almost seven years they’ve been together and Katsuki doesn’t know the answer to Kirishima’s question. He curls his hands into fists and feels the bite of his nails against his sweaty palms.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?"

“No, fucker. I don’t,” Katsuki grits through his teeth.

“Okay, uh,” Kirishima flounders for a moment. “What’s the—I mean, what’s holding you back?”

Now that’s a million dollar question.

Katsuki’s asked himself that same question and there’s many answers that he’s mulled over in excruciating detail. Could it be A) he’s never bottomed before and he’s not super keen on having to relive the experience of being a fumbling virgin all over again, or B) he doesn’t want to give Izuku the ick when he lets out a whimper or some shit, or C) he doesn’t want Izuku to think differently of him once he gets Katsuki underneath him, or D) all of the above?

It’s all of the above.

Though the self-soothing part of Katsuki’s brain tries to tell him these are bullshit reservations.

He’s never bottomed before. Okay, newsflash: you can’t gain experience without first going through the experience. He’ll make stupid sounds. Yeah, that’s just insecurity talking. Izuku’s constantly trying to get him to make more noise while they’re having sex. Fuck, he’d hold up a microphone to Katsuki’s mouth if he didn’t value his own life. Izuku will lose respect for him. That’s just factually untrue. Katsuki never lost an ounce of respect for Izuku when they first got together. It was the opposite, actually. Like, yeah babe, you’re the Symbol of Peace, strongest man on the planet, and you take my cock like a dream. That’s poetry right there. The juxtaposition is gorgeous, frankly.

Katsuki inhales and exhales. “Stupid shit,” he admits. “It’s uh, me. My brain. I’m the stupid shit.”

Kirishima’s eyes soften with sympathy and he reaches over to squeeze the back of Katsuki’s neck. “Just talk to him, man. I mean, damn dude. You know Deku would literally rip the world apart for you.”

Katsuki knows that. He knows because he would literally do the same for Izuku. But to talk about what he wants? To speak it into existence? Saying words that will turn into sound vibrations that Izuku’s ears will register and translate into language and meaning and then realization? Katsuki feels his face turning hot already. Ugh, fuck.

“Yeah,” he says lamely.

He orders Kirishima and himself another beer and a shot of tequila for Denki and Izuku once they decide to call their foreplay session quits. He also wrangles a whole pitcher of water for the table because he knows they’ve probably lost their body weight in sweat. He figures Denki can sense alcohol like how dogs can pick up incredibly high-pitched frequencies because soon after Katsuki brings their drinks over to the table, Izuku and Denki materialize out of no where, panting and flushed and slicked with sweat.

“Have fun, kiddo?” Katsuki asks, handing a shot glass over to Izuku along with a glass of water.

Izuku’s grinning from ear to ear. Sweat beads at his hairline and trickles down the sides of his face. His hair is a halo of damp curls and he’s all golden skin and freckles and glistening muscles. He shoots his shot and nods through a wince. “Yeah! Thanks, babe.”

Katsuki thought he managed to keep his expression casual, but apparently not, because when Izuku glances at him he does a noticeable double-take. His eyes soften a touch and then darken with realization and Katsuki’s cock stirs in response. He swallows thickly and averts his eyes.

Denki’s curled like a cat on Kirishima’s lap, nuzzling their cheeks together and Shouto’s perked up a bit, looking between Izuku and Katsuki with noticeable interest. Katsuki feels his palms start to sweat and he can only pray that Shouto’s blunt induced lobotomy managed to extend throughout the run time of his conversation with Kirishima.

Izuku pounds back a glass of water and Katsuki makes grabby hands at him. He giggles all coy but then sits himself in Katsuki’s lap and leans his head back against his shoulder with a happy little sigh. Katsuki wraps his arms around his waist to buckle him in and then noses at the sweaty space just below his earlobe.

“Fuck, you’re gonna get it,” Katsuki mutters, nipping at his salty skin.

Izuku’s chest hitches slightly and Katsuki can feel a shiver vibrate throughout his body. “Yeah?” he breathes, very much interested. He shifts around and gasps through his nose when Katsuki pulls him down against his lap and rocks his hips up ever so subtly.

“You don’t even know,” Katsuki growls.

Katsuki can’t think about it too much or he’s going to chicken out so he just rolls with the impulse that’s tightening up his chest with an increasing sense of urgency.

Izuku’s pinned to their front door with Katsuki’s palms on his thighs. His chest is heaving, his pupils are blown wide, and he’s staring down at Katsuki who’s kneeling between his kicked out legs like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. And that helps to ease Katsuki’s nerves just a little.

Blowjobs are a staple part of Katsuki’s repertoire, and if he’s really counting, he’s probably sucked Izuku off hundreds of times. Maybe close to a thousand? The point is: Katsuki’s not an asshole. Well, he is. But not like that. Not in a selfish, too-lazy-to-please-my-partner kind of way. So yes, while he has gone down on Izuku many a time, this time it’s gonna be a bit different. This time he wants Izuku to—

“Fuck my throat,” Katsuki rasps, fumbling with Izuku’s belt buckle.

“Okay.”

Izuku’s shaking, thighs quaking all over the place because he can’t seem to put a lid on his excitement, and Katsuki’s betting on his own life that he’s gonna bust as soon as he hits the little punching bag at the back of his throat. The thought makes him snort and Izuku giggles along with him for some reason, clueless weirdo that he is.

Katsuki shucks his pants to his thighs and rolls his briefs down and his cock springs up, slapping his belly with a satisfying smack and fuck, he’s so pretty. Pink and thick and flushed. He’s already wet at the tip and Katsuki smirks at this for a bit before grasping him with a firm hand.

He gives Izuku’s crown a little kitten lick, dipping his tongue into his slit so he can lap up the taste straight from the source and Izuku groans, the back of his head hitting the door with a dull thump.

“Oh please,” Izuku whispers, his fists bunching at his sides like he’s trying so hard to control himself. His breath shudders with every exhale and it makes Katsuki’s belly burn bright. “Please don’t tease.”

“You’re teasing your own damn self,” Katsuki smirks, squeezing the base of his cock and watching as a fat dribble leaks and rolls down his length. Yum. “Better start fucking, fucker.”

Izuku’s laugh devolves into a moan when Katsuki licks a sloppy line from root to tip. “God, you have such an incredible way with words.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Katsuki smiles, smug. He has a retort on the tip of his tongue and he snaps his eyes up to Izuku, ready to shoot, when he stops short. Izuku has his bottom lip sucked into his mouth and he’s staring down at Katsuki with just about the hungriest look he’s ever seen. His pupils have practically swallowed up all the available green and when he releases his lip from his mouth the smirk on his face makes Katsuki’s cheeks go all hot.

“Gonna get it wet for me first, Kacchan?”

Katsuki’s cock kicks up against his zipper and he has to clench his jaw in an attempt to ground himself. He doesn’t think his voice is steady enough for words just yet so he narrows his eyes and puts on his most performative ugh, really? expression before he gathers up some saliva and spits a glob onto the tip of Izuku’s cock.

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat and Katsuki huffs out a soft laugh. He watches his spit roll halfway down Izuku’s cock before he chases it back up with his tongue. Then he sucks Izuku into his mouth and focuses on keeping his breaths even so he can feed his entire length down his throat. Once Katsuki’s nose hits his trimmed patch of hair he gags around Izuku’s cock and hums a happy little note because he knows it drives Izuku nuts and Katsuki’s here to make him suffer.

Izuku’s hips jerk on reflex and Katsuki gags again and splutters a bit and then both of Izuku’s hands are cupping his face. He pulls out just a bit, giving Katsuki an inch of breathing room, and then he’s babbling an endless stream of praise while his thumbs rub soothing circles against Katsuki’s cheeks.

"God. Oh my God—Kacchan, fuck. You’re so good. Wanna be pretty for me? All sweet with my cock down your throat, yeah baby?”

And yeah—that. That’s what drugs are made of right there. Listening to Izuku talk like that is gonna get addicting real fast.

A thrill sweeps up Katsuki’s spine and he has to fight to maintain his scowl. He pulls his mouth off Izuku’s cock with an obscenely wet pop and fixes him with a glare, ignoring the pitiful groan he earns in response.

“Gonna gag you if you keep that up.”

“You wouldn’t,” Izuku chirps, biting his lip through a shit-eating grin. “‘You like it when I tell you how pretty and good you are. Oh my God, Kacchan—you do, don’t you? Oh baby, you’re shaking.”

Katsuki’s mouth parts with genuine shock. He sucks in a breath to let out a torrent of choice words but gets stopped short when Izuku takes himself in his hand and rubs the head of his cock around the wet circle of his lips. Katsuki freezes, stiffening up, and Izuku giggles, beaming and delirious and turned on. Fuck, Izuku’s so turned on by this and it’s making Katsuki’s cheeks flush and his scalp prickle with heat.

“C’mon, Kacchan. Gonna let me feed it to you?”

Katsuki huffs, pacified by the change of subject, and opens his mouth a little wider. He presses his tongue flat to his bottom lip and Izuku groans out a deep rumble straight from his chest. He grips the back of Katsuki’s head and feeds his cock into his mouth, nice and easy, inch by inch, until Izuku’s patience runs thin and he snaps his hips at the tail-end, burying the last few inches down Katsuki’s throat.

Katsuki’s eyes shutter to a close and it puts some pink on his cheeks when he feels drool start to spill from the corners of his mouth. Izuku mutters a curse under his breath and then he pulls out an inch before thrusting back in, more gentle than Katsuki would prefer, like he’s testing the waters.

“Oh, baby,” Izuku breaths, rocking his hips in a gentle give and take. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted a fraction and he’s looking at Katsuki like he can’t actually believe he’s real. “You look so good when you’re stuffed. You like it? Want some more?”

Molten heat blooms in the pit of Katsuki’s pelvis but he manages to narrow his eyes and frown before he fuck his throat onto Izuku’s cock, taking him root deep and holding him there. His eyes water and his diaphragm hitches on a barely suppressed gag and fuck is it ever worth it when Izuku’s thighs start to shake.

“Shit,” Izuku breathes, his head falling back against the door.

He loses himself to the skilled bob of Katsuki’s head for a few moments before his head snaps back down, chin to chest, fixing Katsuki with a look that makes his cock kick up a fuss. Katsuki lets himself get smug for a moment, smirking around his mouthful, before Izuku fists his hair by the roots and decides to humble him.

He hauls Katsuki almost all the way off his cock and then slams back in, all the way home, and just like that he fucks Katsuki’s throat, fingers threaded tight through his hair, hips hardly putting in any effort. Just pushing and pulling Katsuki’s mouth up and down on his cock like he’s his very own fuck toy and that in and of itself would’ve been enough for Katsuki’s soul to transcend past its mortal vessel, but then Izuku starts saying shit.

“Just like that, huh. This what you wanted, Kacchan? For me to use your throat? God, look at you. Just perfect. Like you were made just for this.”

A small sound manages to slip past Katsuki’s lips and when Izuku echos it he feels like he’s gonna pass out. He’s gonna pass the fuck out in a puddle by Izuku’s feet and there’s really no coming back from that. Fuck.

Katsuki's eyes slip shut and he relaxes his throat and then he gives himself permission to just soak it all in, to just let it happen. Izuku's crowding the walls of his throat, carving himself in with these long, pounding strokes, and it should be jarring Katsuki’s head, these brutal thrusts that punch the air clean from his lungs, but Izuku’s got a vice grip on him and there’s no slack, not even an inch, and that realization gets Katsuki groaning gutturally around his cock.

Izuku’s letting out all these perfect little sounds—choked gasps that catch in his throat, sweet hiccups, soft sobs. In between it all he’s purring like an engine and Katsuki fears he’s gonna come just from hearing Izuku slowly lose his mind.

“Driving me nuts. You’re—ugh—gonna make me go insane. The sounds you’re making, Kacchan. You love it. You really do—fuuuck!"

Katsuki’s certain that he’s leaking through his boxers at this point and that’s on God. He’s kind of scared to see how livid his cock looks once it’s finally freed from his boxers.

Izuku doesn’t seem to be faring any better. His thighs are shaking out of control, his abs keep clenching and unclenching as he chases his release, and he’s so far gone that his eyes have turned a shade blacker than black. He thrusts himself in deep and curls his free hand around Katsuki’s throat, squeezing slightly, and then he just stays there.

Katsuki’s eyes flutter and roll and he hears Izuku chuckle, dark and all-knowing.

“Hold it, baby. Hold it," Izuku hisses when Katsuki makes a move to jerk his head away.

Katsuki’s eyes fly open and when he blinks he feels tears gliding down his face and fuck, that’s embarrassing. Izuku’s staring him down with a look so intense it could peel the paint off their walls and Katsuki’s never felt so seen.

Admiration isn't the right word. Reverence doesn't even cut it. No, because Izuku's looking at Katsuki like he's something to be worshipped. Something that should be placed on an altar. Something that deserves total devotion, blood offerings—all that mystical mumbo jumbo. Christ, that's a lot for Katsuki to take in while he already has Izuku's whole length down his throat, twitching and throbbing, and hard. So hard that Katsuki's going to be feeling the shape of Izuku every time he swallows for days to come.

“Kacchan’s amazing,” Izuku sighs dreamily, finally relaxing his hold on Katsuki’s head.

Katsuki twists his face to the side, his mouth popping off Izuku’s cock, and coughs a few times. His breathing has gone ragged, his chest is heaving and he’s pretty sure his face is a fucked out mess—drool and tears and precum all mixed together—but Izuku is staring at him like he’s never looked better.

“Fuck that’s so hot,” Izuku whines, his thumb swiping away a tear from the corner of Katsuki’s eye. “Are you okay?”

Katsuki’s throat is swallowing reflexively, over and over again, but he manages to scowl.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Christ, his voice is shot to shit.

“You’re incredible. Oh my God, I love you so much. Marry me?”

Katsuki laughs, shaky like he’s all fucked out. “You’re so broken.”

Katsuki doesn’t waste any time taking Izuku back into his mouth. He slides all the way down until Izuku’s root deep and then hums a deep and satisfied note. He chances a look up at Izuku who’s already looking down with his mouth parted, his eyebrows pulled up and together and yeah, that’s good shit.

Izuku’s whisper-chanting "I’m gonna die" over and over again and Katsuki wants to laugh but his mouth is a little preoccupied so he ends up choking and spluttering around his cock instead. That seems to spur Izuku into action because in the next moment he’s got Katsuki back in his clutches and then he’s rolling his hips—fucking in and out with these deep and slow and filthy strokes, like he wants Katsuki to feel every inch of him, like he’s fucking Katsuki’s—oh, fuuuck.

Katsuki squeezes the hard outline of his cock through his jeans to take the edge off and then he has to rip his hand away because holy shit, he could really come from just that and that really can't happen because then Izuku will really know. Katsuki's already certain that Izuku's nerd brain is gonna go into overdrive after this— analyzing, cross-referencing, and whatever else he gets up to in there, so he really doesn't need to add more clues to his mental cork board.

“Fuck that’s tight,” Izuku groans, breathless from exertion. God, he’s just gorgeous like this—biceps flexing as he tightens his grip around Katsuki’s roots, hips stuttering and fucking out a pace that’s gone sloppy, erratic. “Oh, Kacchan—please, I—can I come? Just like this?”

Katsuki’s cock twitches and throbs and he’s nodding as best he can, humming out his permission, and Izuku moans desperately, the pace of his hips increasing with his excitement.

“Gonna be my cum slut, Kacchan? Just for me? Gonna—oh, fuck—”

Two, three, four more strokes that puts an ungodly bulge in Katsuki’s throat and Izuku lets out a choked sob, thighs shaking and hips jumping out of control. He thrusts in one last time just as he’s about to come, all the way to the hilt, burying himself down Katsuki’s throat like he’s gonna stay there for good, and Katsuki swallows around every pulse, every throb, until Izuku’s hips are twitching from overstimulation and he has to pull out.

Izuku releases his death grip on Katsuki’s hair and slumps back with an undignified oof! against their front door. His cock is still rock hard, slicked with spit and jumping from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and Katsuki wants to keep that image with him for the rest of his life, until someone has to eventually pry it out of his cold, dead hands.

Before Katsuki has a chance to slip into a mental spiral about all that they’ve done, Izuku’s all over him. He grabs Katsuki, hauls him up, spins him around, and then Izuku promptly drops to his knees.

“Wha—”

“Your turn,” Izuku says, beaming, and that’s all the preamble Katsuki gets before his jeans and briefs are ripped unceremoniously down to his thighs.

His cock slaps against his belly, rebounding just slightly before standing straight up because he’s so fucking hard and he needs to come like yesterday and his dick looks every bit as flushed and angry as Katsuki suspected it would be.

Izuku stares for a moment and then lets out a loud groan that startles Katsuki out of his skin.

“Oh baby, look at you. You’re so wet."

Katsuki manages a weak glare. “Do not."

“Is that all ‘cause of me, Kacchan?”



“Jesus, ‘zuku, just—”

Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath and fights to keep his eyes from fluttering shut when Izuku takes him all the way down with one bob of head his and fuck, he’s really not gonna last a minute. Not with the way Izuku is swallowing around him, like he’s trying to milk the orgasm out of him by sheer will power and the tight clench of his throat alone.

Izuku sighs happily and starts pulling out all his tricks. He alternates between short and sharp bobs of his head while Katsuki’s deep down his throat and then long, lavishing strokes, twisting and undulating his head until Katsuki’s eyes roll back and his mouth parts on a silent gasp.

Izuku moans around his cock like he’s the one who’s about to come and then he takes Katsuki all the way down again, just to stick his tongue out and lap at Katsuki’s balls which are tightening at an alarming rate—and Katsuki’s so through. Done, gone, goodbye.

When Izuku locks his gaze onto Katsuki, his eyes all green and glittering and tearing up from his efforts, Katsuki’s hips kick out in a knee-jerk reaction and then he comes, pulsing for what seems like a whole minute straight down Izuku’s throat which keeps swallowing around him, taking everything that Katsuki gives him because he’s good. He’s so good and perfect and Katsuki will never know what he’s done to deserve him.

When Katsuki is thoroughly wrung out like a rag, Izuku gently extracts his mouth from his cock and then there’s a moment of deafening silence. Actually, no. That’s just the ringing in Katsuki’s ears. He’s pretty sure his grey matter is starting to leak out. Holy fuck.

Katsuki reaches down to cup Izuku’s face with both hands and Izuku takes to it immediately, nuzzling his cheek against his palms and planting a kiss against his wrist and Katsuki couldn’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“I might actually physically kill you,” Katsuki rasps out eventually.

“What—why?!" Izuku yelps, eyes wide. “I—I thought we had fun!”

“You,” Katsuki starts, pointing an accusing finger at Izuku whose mouth is parted in utter dismay, “have a filthy fuckin’ mouth. Japan’s darling my ass."

Izuku brings both hands up to cover his face which does nothing to hide how flaming red his cheeks are. He groans, drawn out and guttural, and eventually chances a peak at Katsuki through his fingers. “I said what I said.”

“Fuck, you’re nasty, Katsuki smirks, reaching down to pinch his nipple and earning an indignant “Hey!” in the process.

“I was delirious! You made my soul eject right out of my dick!”

“That—that’s too much information.”

"That’s too much? You just had my whole dick—”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Izuku kneels back on his heels, tips his head back, and laughs and laughs and laughs. Real life tears are springing up at the corners of his eyes and it makes for such a sight that Katsuki cracks a smile despite himself. He rolls his eyes and gives up his performance a moment later, reaching down to give Izuku a hand up.

They have a perfectly good bed but they end up making out against their front door far longer than necessary. Katsuki can taste himself faintly in Izuku’s mouth and that, coupled with the insistent press of Izuku’s hips, is enough to get his cock stirring once again.

Izuku eventually pulls away with a wet click of his lips and tucks his face in the crook of Katsuki’s neck so he can trail a line of open-mouthed kisses up his throat. It makes Katsuki break out in goosebumps and he has to actively fight to suppress a shiver.

“Was that okay? Did you uh, did you like…that?” Izuku asks, pulling away from Katsuki’s neck to fix him with a sheepish look.

He looks a little worried, a little unsure of himself, and it makes Katsuki’s heart clench like a fist. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that this was also totally out of Izuku’s wheelhouse. Fuck, he’s such a dumbass.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, fighting to maintain eye-contact because he owes that to Izuku and he wants him to know that he’s being sincere. “Yeah that was—you were really good, alright?”

“Cool,” Izuku exhales, his shoulders drooping. He nods, relieved. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Still can’t believe you called me a cum slut, though.”

“Stop!” Izuku groans, burying his face back into Katsuki’s neck and letting out a huff. “You know I love you, right? And—and admire you, and—”

“Such a sap. Loser nerd with a lame-ass crush,” Katsuki laughs. He turns to plant a kiss against Izuku’s temple. “Love you too. Would buy us one of those two-person hoodies if it wouldn't turn us into social pariahs.”

They eventually make it into bed at a whopping two in the morning, with work early the next day looming over their heads, but not until Katsuki kisses every available inch of Izuku’s giggling face.

Shouto [7:46 am]:

I can’t believe you gave me SALVIA
I had to Google my symptoms last night bc I thought I was DYING

Hanta [8:01 am]:

oh fuuuuuck

Hitoshi [8:10 pm]:

fuck me
forgot i had that in my pack
how do you feel now?

Shouto [8:11 am]:

Like I got kicked in the BRAIN

Katsuki [8:15 am]:

just wait til his father hears about this

Izuku [8:17 am]:

💀