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“Oh, yeah, so nice to see you,” Izuku lies for the eighth time tonight. Kacchan’s palm is slightly clammy against his, squeezing too hard to provide reassurance. He’s just glad that he knows where Kacchan’s hand is, honestly.
Kacchan swiftly takes over the conversation, chatting with Hawks. Or— Hawks dressed as a cereal box? A cereal box with a fake knife.
Tonight is the annual Halloween Hero Gala, a special charity event hosted by the Commission where pro heroes arrive dressed in their funniest or most monstrous costumes.
And Izuku, of course, has worn a…
Suit.
Yeah.
See, Kacchan didn’t tell him that it was a costume party. He just said ‘gala,’ so Izuku pulled out his ‘gala’ suit. (Which happens to be his regular suit, but that’s…just not relevant right now.)
At least he wore a seasonal tie, he thinks morosely as he catches on their reflections. The mirror across the room oddly stretches their proportions just slightly, giving a subtle funhouse effect.
Shinsou stumbles by, Monoma clinging to his shoulder and mouth running like a stream. They’re dressed up as a very convincing zombie and a campy vampire, respectively. Izuku’ll have to ask Shinsou how he got that fake flesh peeling effect on his forehead; it’s impressive.
Kacchan stiffens beside him as they pass.
Izuku hums, shoulder nudging him out of reflex. A little comforting act they’ve given each other in public spaces for years, now. A way to say he's here, to remind him of their coping mechanisms. One thing you can touch, one thing you can see, one thing you can taste... At least Kacchan’s hand is currently intertwined with his, so he knows Kacchan can’t possibly—
It happens again.
By it, Izuku means Kacchan reaching down and Izuku’s body and.
And squeezing. His, er. His package.
“Kacchan,” he whispers, panicked. “Kacchan, you cannot be serious.”
“Shut up,” Kacchan mutters, not even looking at him. His fingers continue to grope Izuku’s cock, touch muted by two layers of fabric and the heavy weight of mortification.
“I’m holding your hand, how’re you—?” He stops. Of course. How could he forget.
Kacchan has two hands.
…Which means that Kacchan is reaching across his body to grope Izuku’s dick while they’re standing in front of Hawks. Or Cereal Box Hawks.
“Kacchan,” Izuku hisses.
Kacchan continues to talk. It’s as if Izuku didn’t say anything at all.
Hawks (Cereal Box Hawks) also continues to talk? Like this isn’t even a thing. Like Kacchan isn’t totally grabbing Izuku’s crotch in full view of everyone in this room.
Eventually, his hand retreats and Izuku can breathe a little easier. He makes note of it, though, eyes darting around the crowded space. Nobody’s looking at them, thankfully. And wow, Hawks is still droning on. He’s walking backwards, Kacchan following him with Izuku in tow.
They end up sitting at a table with an un-costumed Endeavor, who glowers silently at some middle distance while Cereal Box Hawks hangs off of his broad shoulder, the integrity of his box-like structure deteriorating a bit with each motion.
Kacchan just talks and talks and talks, it’s really impressive. Izuku’s never seen him this chatty at one of these events. He wishes he could pay attention to what they’re saying, but he’s been unfortunately distracted by the menace that has been Kacchan’s hand randomly cupping his balls throughout the night.
“Oh, hi guys!” Kaminari shouts over the din, waving from a few meters away with Jirou and Yaoyorozu. For a few seconds, Izuku doesn’t even recognize them. They’re in very well-made oni costumes, skin painted from face to feet. They’re even wearing contacts, wow! Izuku will need to ask later how they decided on that.
Kaminari is just wearing a pair of devil horns and fake wings. A little less impressive, but still. Izuku wishes he got to wear a headband or something at the very least. Instead all he has is this stupid pumpkin tie.
“Hi,” Izuku replies, waving and smiling. “You guys look grea—”
Fingers roughly grab his cock. He almost yelps, jerking forward in his seat. His eyes dart to the table, where Cereal Box Hawks drones on about something. Endeavor continues to dissociate. Izuku tries not to feel too jealous about that. And Kacchan looks…
His fingers are like a vice around Izuku. He squirms under his touch, fighting down a grimace. The touch is in danger of hurting, which— Kind of makes Izuku feel a certain way that it probably shouldn’t? Huh. Uh.
Their friends step up to the table, smiling. Izuku eke out a smile in return, sweat beading at his nape. “G-great paint, guys. Really impressive costumes.”
“Yeah, they’re super realistic, right? Yaomomo is crazy good at this kind of stuff,” Kaminari says.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Yaoyorozu waves away their compliments, turning her face away in a way that is decidedly not oni-like but rather Yaoyorozu-like. Fondness lights a gentle fire in Izuku’s chest at the sight.
Kacchan’s death grip on his penis douses it slightly.
Jirou winds her earjack around her clawed finger. “We got some cool light-up effects we can show outside later. You should check it out.”
“S-sounds great!” Izuku squeaks. “See you guys later!”
As they wave and turn, he notes the intricate runes painted onto Jirou’s spine, visible thanks to her backless dress. Wow! Very impressive work and honestly a bit creepy.
Kacchan continues to choke his dick off. Izuku turns slightly, eyes sweeping over the table. Cereal Box Hawks is still talking, completely oblivious, while Endeavor has closed his eyes. And Kacchan continues to squeeze and squeeze, jaw tight and eyes wide and—
“Are you nervous?” escapes Izuku, baffled. “Kacchan.”
Kacchan’s ears are red. “I’m not nervous,” he snaps. “I’m…”
Nervous.
“Oh my gosh,” Izuku breathes. “Kacchan’s nervous.”
“Shut up!”
“Kacchan is normally cool and calm during these kinds of events—he doesn’t really get social anxiety—so it must be something else. But what?”
Kacchan’s non-molesting elbow presses into the table. “I’m telling you, nerd, it ain’t it.”
“Something wrong?” Cereal Box Hawks asks, amused. Or maybe that’s just how his voice usually sounds. Endeavor is looking at the ceiling.
“N-no!” Izuku says. “Everything is fine. It’s just that Kacchan is, um—”
“Oh, it’s so nice to see you all here!”
All Might’s voice rouses everyone to attention.
“All Might!” escapes Izuku, strangled.
“Hi All Might,” Kacchan says, much cooler.
All Might sure is here, wearing a crooked witch hat on his head and otherwise a normal suit. Izuku wishes he could have worn a witch hat, too. Then he could be in a coven with All Might. That would be so cool, wow. Shit, he’s so upset that he didn’t get to dress up.
“Is this seat taken?” Witch Might asks, gesturing to the chair between Endeavor and Izuku.
Endeavor says nothing.
“Take a seat, All Might,” Cereal Box Hawks says. “How’ve you been hanging?”
Kacchan’s hand retreats to Izuku’s thigh. Location noted. It’s tracing the danger zone, but outside of its bounds, thankfully.
“Ah, very well, thank you,” Witch Might says, sliding into place at the table. “And how have all of you been enjoying the festivities? I’ve seen some very impressive costumes!”
“Did you see Jirou-san and Yaoyorozu-san?” Izuku asks.
Witch Might nods, smiling. Izuku’s heart settles more at the expression. And Kacchan’s hand on him feels nice, outside of context. He feels secure, kept. Kacchan’s casual touches have always steadied him, granted a sense of muted satisfaction, a calm that he’s never been able to name. In this moment—this single moment, outside of the weirdness tonight—he’s glad to have it. The gentle back and forth of Kacchan’s thumb against his inner thigh warms something in his chest, renders him syrupy and pliant.
Everyone continues to talk. Izuku continues to fail to grasp very much, as he has the whole night. He blinks slowly, words slipping through his fingers with each pass of Kacchan’s hand on his body.
“Hello, everyone!” Iida says in passing, chopping his arm at them. The cloth of his grim reaper robe flops goofily with the motion. The scythe is very large and a bit ominous.
Izuku cocks his head, looking up at it. “Wow, Iida-kun, that’s really coo—”
Kacchan grabs his balls.
Izuku’s chair squeals against the floor.
“Midoriya-shounen?” Witch Might asks, frowning.
“I— I’m fine, thankyousomuchAllMight!” Izuku says, spine ramrod. He turns to Kacchan, lowering his voice. “What’s going on?”
Kacchan grimaces. His fingers don’t leave, palming along the length of Izuku’s cock. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Each time, throughout the night, it’s been when someone has greeted them. But maybe it’s not tied directly to the greeting? Something else? There are only so many options.
“Are you afraid of the Halloween costumes?” Izuku mutters.
“Shut the hell up,” Kacchan mutters back.
“Well, you keep touching me when—”
Kacchan’s pawing slides just on the right side of good finally, sending a frisson through Izuku’s body. He shudders, swallowing thickly. Oh, this is bad. This is so bad.
He— He might be getting hard. If Kacchan keeps this up, he’ll get hard in front of All Might. His idol, his hero, All Might.
That should soften him. It should, but Kacchan’s fingers are frightfully insistent.
Izuku’s chest seizes with panic. A warm haze burbles at the back of his brain, purring in time with Kacchan’s palm pressing into him. All Might says something, but it’s garbled. A question? He’s asking a question. “Yes,” Izuku says loudly.
Endeavor finally focuses, giving him a weird look.
I need to evaporate, Izuku thinks desperately.
“Are you alright?” Witch Might asks, tone gentling. “Are you ill?”
“No!” Izuku yells.
Now everyone is staring at him. Even Kacchan. Hawks looks up from his phone.
Izuku pops to his feet, chair teetering behind him. Kacchan’s hand falls off of him with the sharp motion.
He is standing in front of a table of the greatest heroes he has ever known, with a semi.
He almost starts bawling. How humiliating.
“Izuku,” Kacchan says, brow furrowed. “You okay?”
He cannot talk to Izuku with that low, gentle tone right now when he is directly the root of Izuku’s slightly-stiff problem.
“You, uh, have a problem you need to take care of or something?” Cereal Box Hawks drawls.
Izuku bolts.
A yell follows him, then feet. Kacchan grabs his arm. He wrenches it away and keeps walking, steps quick and light. The back doors are wide open, but the cool air doesn’t hit until he’s properly heading down the steps. A whole pastiche of Halloween décor and activities are spread along the lawn, backlit by cheesy purple and orange lights. A picture booth, a dunking booth with various fruits floating in it, some sort of “pin the wormshot(???) on the…” banner that he can’t properly see in the dark, and a cramped hedge maze by the edge of the property.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, hopping off the steps. The grass is slightly damp under his loafers, threatening to trip him and make this night even more of a colossal embarrassment.
“Oi, where are you going?”
“I’m getting air!” he calls.
Kacchan quickly matches pace. “Izuku.”
“I can’t believe you convinced me to go to this. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was costume required!” He squeezes his eyes shut, mortification threatening to swallow him. “I can’t believe All Might almost saw you fondling me! Seriously, Kacchan! All Might!”
“Izuku.”
“What?” he snaps.
“You walked us straight into the fucking maze, idiot.”
He stops, looking around. Tall bushes surround them on all sides, looming high above Izuku’s head. “…Oh.”
Kacchan grabs his elbow. “What the hell is your deal?”
“My— My deal?” He turns, finding his ire again. “Kacchan, there’s so much! One, the gala was a costume party and you didn’t tell me, so now I look silly.”
“You always look ‘silly’ in that ugly suit.”
“Two, you didn’t tell me that All Might would be here!”
“You literally see him every other day.”
“And three, you were groping me the whole time!”
Kacchan stares back at him, unmoved. “So?”
“So? So?” Izuku’s voice cracks under the weight of his bafflement. “Kacchan, we were in public! A public place! With your hand over my— My— Y’know!”
“I touch your dick all the time. Who gives a shit?”
“All Might almost saw.” How does Kacchan not recognize the enormity of this horror?
Looking at his face, he clearly doesn’t. He doesn’t care at all. Why doesn’t he care?
“Listen, I understand that you’re…nervous? Is that why you were doing that? But you can’t just grab me anytime you’re nervous, Kacchan, especially my…y’know.”
Kacchan scowls. “I wasn’t nervous.”
He very much was nervous.
Not now. No, now Kacchan’s face is gaining a different sort of glow to it, made only more frightening by the tacky purple lights overhead, casting his face in uncanny shadows. Kacchan’s looking at him with the eyes of a predator.
Based on ample experience, Izuku identifies them as bedroom eyes.
“Kacchan, this is not the time.”
Kacchan steps forward. Intension sizzles in the air around him. Is he serious? Here? Now? When Izuku is unbelievably embarrassed and more than slightly pissed off? Really, Kacchan?
“Are you listening to me at all?” Izuku snaps, throat thickening with emotion. “Kacchan, you groped me in front of the whole room at a few points!”
“And?” Kacchan advances. Izuku retreats. Step by step. “You could have forced me off at any second. Could have even said stop, couldn’t you? Why didn’t you?”
Izuku opens his mouth. Closes it. Honestly, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Now that Kacchan has pointed it out, he can’t lie that it’s very strange that he didn’t object. It hadn’t occurred to him because…because why?
“Yeah,” Kacchan says. “Yeah, that’s right, Izuku. You didn’t say anything besides a few little wimpy ‘Kacchan’s. Have to wonder why.”
“That’s— Like, that’s not relevant, okay? I’m serious, Kacchan. You can’t touch my dick at a public event like this!” His eyes sting with tears. Kacchan is looking at him like that and it sets his heart to an uneven, eager gallop. Desire trickles through his stomach, warms his thighs. …In a maze in the middle of a hero gala. Ridiculous. “Kacchan, that’s— If I get hard—”
“Then don’t,” Kacchan says, stalking ever closer.
Izuku swallows, back hitting a shrub.
“Don’t get hard.” Kacchan boxes him in. “It’s that simple, nerd. Your dick belongs to me, you got it? If I want it soft, it better be soft. And if I want it hard—” His fingers snatch the crotch of Izuku’s slacks, curling into the heft of his bulge. “—then you better get hard. Do you understand?”
“U-um.” He blinks. Blinks again. A strange fog is pressing around his head. He’s felt it before. Usually while they’re making love in bed, or on the couch, or fucking in the bath. (It’s not really ‘making love’ if it’s in the bath. Too cramped and awkward.) In the past, he’s managed to jerk himself out of the cottony feeling.
Kacchan’s hand roots him in place.
“I’m…Kacchan’s,” Izuku says, the words sweet and terrifying on his tongue.
Red eyes gleam. Correct answer. “That’s right,” he says. “You’re Kacchan’s.”
Izuku licks his lips, muscles loosening slowly under the uncomfortable press of his suit. “Y-yes, Kacchan.”
“This thing isn’t yours. Got it?” Fingers nudge at his balls.
“K-Kacchan’s dick,” escapes his mouth, his voice small and faded to his own ears.
A sharp laugh. “No, Izuku. This thing ain’t a dick at all. It’s Kacchan’s stress toy.”
Izuku gasps as Kacchan takes his lips, pressing him harder into the shrubbery. Kacchan continues to knead at him, same as he has all night, but he seems to have found a new intention behind the touching. It’s less distracted, less fumbling. Anxiety swims in Izuku’s veins at the twitch in his own hips. “K’chan, I might get hard, ’m gonna get hard.”
“Get hard,” Kacchan murmurs against his jaw. “Get hard so I can use my stress toy.”
Izuku’s breath shudders as his head falls back against the maze wall. Sticks poke at his face, leaves ticking his cheeks. He’s too busy sucking in air and trying not to hump Kacchan’s hand to give any irritants much mind, though.
His zipper snarls as Kacchan wrenches it down. Cold air stings his stiffening cock.
Not his cock. Kacchan’s cock. The thought leaves him weak, his hips flexing forward in offering. Kacchan roughly shoves down Izuku’s boxers, cock bouncing. “Good start,” he says, breath fogging between their faces. “Come on. Know you can do better.”
Izuku whimpers, fucking the air. “W-wanna do better,” he manages. “Wanna be good f’r Kacchan.”
“Love this dick,” Kacchan murmurs against the crown of his head. His fingers wrap around the base, fingers curling under his sack. “Love playing with this fat, heavy thing.”
Izuku pants, twisting in his grip as Kacchan slowly strokes him to the tip and back down, thumb tugging at his foreskin. “K-Kacchan’s,” he says, the thought rolling in his head. Sweet on the back of his tongue, soaking down his throat. Kacchan’s words have unlocked something he still has no name for, but it presses to the back of his teeth. “Kacchan’s, ’m Kacchan’s, Kacchan’s…”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Kacchan pulls back, sliding down his pants and underwear. His cock is hard, leaking between his pale thighs. Izuku’s eyes stick to it, his mouth simultaneously dry and too wet. “You bitched about me taking too long in the bathroom before we left, but I bet you won’t be complaining now.”
“Mm.” The words are in and out, same as the rest of the night. Maybe Izuku’s been here the whole time, ever since Kacchan first laid his hands on him in the car on the way over.
“Fuck,” Kacchan hisses, grimacing as he reaches behind himself. “I’m not wearing a plug this long again.”
Izuku blinks, eyes glossy. He hears the click of a bottle, watches Kacchan finger himself roughly. A palm presses hard on his shoulder so he sinks with it, follows it down to the grass. Kacchan looms over him, his cock just far enough away that Izuku can’t lean up and suck it into his mouth. A horrible tease. A whine rises in his throat.
“Was waiting to ride you all night, fuck,” Kacchan breathes. “Fuck, Izuku, I wouldn’t have been able to stand this shit if it weren’t for you.”
He blushes at that, heart large in his chest. “O-oh, well. Um. Same.”
“Stop blushing like a virgin. You’re such a loser.”
“Well, I just appreciate Kacchan’s care and—”
Kacchan sinks onto him.
It’s hot. That’s always Izuku’s first thought whenever they have sex: the inside of Kacchan’s body is very hot. And tight. And smooth. Basic observations that pale in comparison to the actual physical experience. Language leaks from Izuku’s mouth in stuttered syllables and thick drool.
Kacchan’s ass is heavy as it presses into his hips, grinding him into the dirt. His fingers curl harshly into Izuku’s hair, anchoring their bodies together. Kacchan taking the cock he owns. Kacchan’s, Kacchan’s. “You like this, Izuku? Yeah?”
“Y-yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, Kacchan. I like it a lot. I like…b-being Kacchan’s.”
Kacchan leans down, brushing a kiss against his forehead. Izuku trembles at the gentle touch. “I’m gonna start fucking you now.”
A nod is all he’s able to give before Kacchan lifts.
He rides him hard and rough, fingers yanking harshly as he pulls himself up and down. Izuku feels like little more than glorified furniture, breath quick in the hollow of his mouth as he clings to Kacchan’s hips.
“I’ll fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want, you got that?”
“Yes!” he cries out, eyes rolling. “Yes, Kacchan!”
“Do whatever I want with your body because it’s mine.”
A shiver wracks his spine, flinging drool from his mouth. “Yours,” he promises. “Yours, yours, Kacchan, all yours—!”
Rustling. Kacchan jolts, freezing.
Izuku is lax under him, head lolling. He notices the sound. Of course he does. But it’s not relevant; the only thing that matters is Kacchan, after all. Kacchan over him, Kacchan’s scent and his feel and whatever he wants.
“Sh,” Kacchan hisses against his lips. “Shut up.”
Izuku shuts up.
They sit there, unmoving. Kacchan’s ass flexes around him, but his head is raised, eyes tracking something in the dark.
Izuku sits there and feels his cock ache and lets Kacchan do whatever he wants. Always. Forever. He doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to worry. Kacchan makes the decisions. Kacchan is in control.
“No idea where they could be,” he hears a voice loudly say. Hawks, he identifies belatedly. “I’m sure they’re taking a smoke break or something. Chill, All Might.”
“Smoke break?”
“Sure. Come on, let’s head back to the party. I know Endeavor’s dying to talk to you.”
The noises pass after that. Izuku doesn’t know how long. It’s anecdotal. Kacchan is over him, breathing, warm, his leaking cock smearing lines along Izuku’s button-up.
Kacchan rolls his hips more smoothly after that, one hand leaving Izuku’s hair to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his lips. “Be quiet,” he whispers. “Keep being quiet, got it?”
Izuku just pants dumbly, too loose to nod.
“Gonna cum soon. Stroke me off.”
He unlatches an uncoordinated hand from Kacchan’s hip to grab his cock, hot and wet in his palm. It’s probably one of the sloppiest handjobs he’s ever given, Kacchan bouncing over him with wet breath.
“Good boy,” Kacchan pants. “Good boy, Izuku, good—fuck—shit—!”
Cum spatters against Izuku’s shirt, soaking through to his stomach. He arches into the heat, a shiver wracking his body. “Can— Can I, Kacchan? CanIcanIcan, please? Please?”
“Shit, I didn’t know you’d ask.” He grinds down hard over Izuku’s cock, ass flexing around him. “Yes, Izuku. Yeah, cum. Cum in me.”
He chokes, balls drawing tight as his hips lurch, body curling into Kacchan’s, forehead pressing into his chest. His ears ring with the sweet curl of his release, Kacchan around him, Kacchan’s warmth, Kacchan’s body, Kacchan’s approval.
He unwinds after a moment, flopping back. Kacchan’s eyes glisten in the strange lighting, trained on him. He slowly lifts himself, Izuku’s cock flopping out against his shirt with a mess of his cum. “Gross, he thinks he hears, but it’s muffled under the thudding of his pulse in his skull.
“K’chan?” he croaks, watching Kacchan reaching behind himself.
“Your shirt’s ruined anyways,” Kacchan says dismissively, standing up. He pulls up his pants, tucking back in his shirt and straightening his clothes. Then he leans down, buttoning Izuku’s suit jacket.
Language slowly trickles back. Izuku shifts, grunting. “So why were you groping me all night? Because you wanted to have sex?”
Kacchan scoffs, tucking Izuku back into his pants. He zips the crotch, patting him roughly. Izuku yelps. “I told you, you’re my stress toy. Hated being in that shithole with all those weirdos dressed up freaky.”
So it was the costumes. Noted.
“Sure, Kacchan,” he agrees, subdued. He supposes it doesn’t really matter, in the end. Kacchan can do whatever he wants to him. The thought is warm, liquid in his veins. The chill of the air can’t touch him, the hard ground immaterial.
“Come on, nerd. We’re going home.”
“Oh. Cool.” Izuku shifts, wincing at the ache in his hips. He slowly looks around the stretch of shrubbery around them, dark and inscrutable. “Um. How do we get out of here?”
Kacchan straightens Izuku’s collar. He leans down and plants a kiss on his loose mouth, lips lingering as he slowly parts. “Izuku, we barely made it four turns into this stupid thing.”
He blinks. “Oh.”
Kacchan helps him up, palm warm and solid. “Don’t worry about it; you’re clearly brainless right now. Just follow my lead.”
That is something Izuku certainly can do.
As they shuffle through the maze, he absently paws at the now-soft swell of Izuku’s cock through his slacks. It’s oversensitive, too sharp to feel pleasurable. Izuku doesn’t twist away. That’s Kacchan’s, after all. He learned that lesson well tonight.
He’s excited to see what else Kacchan wants to do to his stress toy when they get home.