Work Text:
>> i'd suck your dick
That's what the text says. Laughing in Katsuki’s face, the pixels on the tiny screen morphing into a visual of his own impending doom.
He’s so fucked.
It was a little fantasy he entertained sometimes. Typing out lewd things in the thread and imagining Izuku’s reaction if he were to send them, say them to his face.
Izuku blushes like he’s taken up a part time job as a tomato - he wraps his arms over his head and tries to make himself look as small as possible, as if he’d condense himself into nothing if he could. But he can’t actually do that, so Katsuki would make fun of him for it. Drag his arms away from his face to see how red it is, laugh at him for being a loser perverted nerd and then kiss him. Touch him, tease him, provoke him into doing something himself for once.
i’d suck your dick and spit your cum back into your mouth when i kiss you, is what he’d typed out, and even though they were his own words and his own fantasies, they feel horribly obscene when he reads them back to himself.
He hit backspace, watching the letters disappear one by one.
Lewdness aside, those texts were for his fantasies, for his own sick satisfaction. They were not meant to go anywhere. Izuku was talking about something he learned in his History of Heroics class, and Katsuki could almost hear him rambling from across the city, lying in his own bed in his own empty apartment. There were two walls of text in the thread already, and Izuku was still typing the next one, while Katsuki was sitting here wiping away evidence of his late night lewd thoughts.
And then the alarm rang - one he didn’t remember setting, startling him out of the cozy little space his little daydreams had sent him into. He reached up to turn it off, and the phone slipped out of his grip, falling onto his chest with a painful thump. Annoyed, he picked it up, and turned it over.
And nearly passed out.
There it was - gone. Out there. The remnants of a text he’d been trying to erase.
‘I’d suck your dick,’ from Katsuki to Izuku. Not trying to be subtle. Nothing he can take back under the guise of it being meant for someone else, because then Izuku would think he’s out here sucking other people’s dicks, which he is not doing, nor is that the impression he wants to give, thank you very much. On the off chance that Izuku is even remotely interested, Katsuki has to be as available as possible.
He can’t pass it off as a lame joke either, because it’s too sudden and out of place for it to be one. It could’ve been a (really bad, terribly executed) joke if the conversation was relevant in some capacity, but it’s not; it’s too out of the blue. No matter how much he tries to insist it’s not real, Izuku isn’t stupid enough to not pick up on the truth that’s been tossed out there.
Izuku is online, had been in the middle of typing out his own text, so Katsuki can’t unsend his own cursed abomination of a not-quite-confession because it’s already been read. The read receipt had popped up before he’d even known he’d sent it. He watches in horror as the three dots disappear, then come back, and then disappear again.
Silence. Nothing.
Izuku has seen his text and has nothing to say.
Katsuki is already thinking of ways to fake his death and start a new life in some other corner of the world. Surely, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight dying in a freak villain fight is believable?
He stares at the screen some more. It’s probably weirder to send something like that and disappear - does Izuku think he’s waiting for a response? - but what can he even use as a follow up? Nothing he says now can hide the truth in what he’s thrown out there.
Then they come back - those cursed three dots. Izuku is typing.
>> is this kaminari?
Katsuki almost laughs. Almost. A sigh of relief and a laugh. Sure, he could blame Dunceface for it. It's his kind of prank, anyway, that piece of shit pervert. But no, this is not Kaminari, this is not the time of day he’d be hanging out with Kaminari, and Izuku doesn’t believe it is anyway. Katsuki isn’t the local Izuku expert but even he can read the tone over text. Confusion, sure - for good reason. Katsuki can’t blame him for that one.
And irritation. This isn’t how Izuku types. No caps, no honorifics. One question mark instead of two.
His mouth is still dry, his hands still clammy. Izuku is not buying it, and for some reason, Izuku is also mad, and Katsuki is not about to lie to his (metaphorical) face to save his own.
But he’s also not about to put himself out there and set himself up for humiliation, so he settles for the safest, most cowardly route possible.
>> do you want it to be?
Silence. He stares at the screen. Izuku is not typing. Not typing and stopping, and then typing again - he is not typing. But he can see the little ‘read’ next to his text. Either Izuku is staring at the screen, or he’s stepped away for something.
It’s hard to imagine him stepping away for anything at all right now, but again, Katsuki is not the local Izuku expert.
And anyway, he’s thrown the situation back at Izuku like a coward, even though it was very much his fault they’re here to begin with. Just as he’s starting to think of a way to say hey, I was kidding, don’t think too much about it, his phone buzzes, startling him again, and the screen lights up.
Incoming call from Izuku.
Katsuki sits up, thumbs hovering over the screen as he weighs his options. For a second, he entertains the thought of rejecting it - turning his phone off and going to sleep. Not that he’d be able to, but Izuku wouldn’t know that. He’s not here to watch Katsuki twisting and turning in bed as he mourns his fuck-ups.
If nothing, Izuku can be left staying up late thinking about him for a change.
But as much of an asshole as he can be, Katsuki is not that kind of asshole, so after a second’s hesitation, collecting all the confidence and calm he has in his body, swipes over the screen and brings the phone up to his ear.
“What do you want?”
“Kacchan!” Izuku’s voice is shrill in his ear - high pitched, like it gets when he’s embarrassed. He’s probably shaking his leg too. Again, Katsuki is not the local Izuku expert, but he’s spent two decades with Izuku and knows his embarrassed habits like the back of his own hand. “You–um. Are you busy?”
Despite the fact that he feels lightheaded and his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest, Katsuki can’t help but huff out a laugh. Even in this situation - with Katsuki being the one with his vulnerabilities out on display - Izuku is the one avoiding the topic.
“Obviously I’m not,” he says, laying back down on the bed. Maybe if he forces himself to feel calm and collected, he’d actually manage to be calm and collected. It doesn’t seem to be working so far, but who knows? At the very least, he needs Izuku to think he’s calm and collected, so he holds the phone away from his face and takes a deep breath. Then, in a voice he hopes is nonchalant, asks: “Are you?”
“What? No, I–no. I’m not.”
“Okay.” A pause. He waits for Izuku to speak, counting backwards from ten, but there’s nothing. “Did you call me just to breathe into my ear or do you have something to say?”
Another pause, this one way more tense than the last one. And then:
“What did you mean?” Izuku’s voice is low, hesitant. Carefully picking his words.
He’s still dancing around the topic, though. Refusing to say it out loud, refuses to be the one to put it out there, out loud. Katsuki almost finds it funny. He was obviously not planning on any of this when he’d been typing it out - in fact, if he could take it back right now, he would. He’d swallow the words down and choke on them if he could, but he can’t do that, so here he is on the phone.
But if he can turn it around to pin the humiliation of the situation on Izuku, he would. He will.
He is.
“What did I mean by what?” he asks, innocently. On the other end of the line, he can hear movement - Izuku is walking. Pacing, maybe. He’s picked that up as a habit ever since he started teaching. Katsuki has spent many days sitting on Izuku’s bed as Izuku walks around the room rambling about something or the other.
“Kacchan,” he says now, frustration laced into the words. “The–what you said earlier.”
“What, that I’d suck your dick?” It makes his face feel hot, saying it out loud. Saying it with Izuku’s voice in his ear. But some part of it also gives him a little thrill - his fantasies on crack. Izuku’s reactions all right here for him to play around with.
Izuku makes a strangled sound in his ear. “Yeah, um. That. Did you mean that?”
It doesn’t miss him that the question is different now.
“Do you want me to?”
“Kacchan, you can’t turn this around on me!”
“I just did.”
“Turn it back around, then! You’re the one who said it!”
“And you’re the one who called about it.” He feels calmer now. The banter is familiar territory, but new at the same time - easier for him to navigate, but in the context almost feels like flirting. There is a little pool of heat in his stomach - something else, also familiar, slowly building.
It’s not cold in the room. The AC is off, the weather pleasant, but his skin tingles. Goosebumps, hair standing on end. Blood rushing through his head. He feels like he does after a mission - the adrenaline rush making him feel restless, making him want to get out of bed and do laps.
He could do laps right now, if he had to, but there are other ways to burn off the energy on hand.
For a second, Izuku is silent. Maybe he’s contemplating what to say, weighing what he can toss back at Katsuki so they can continue their back and forth. But Izuku doesn’t have to think to do that; it’s a natural reflex. Arguing, bickering–it comes to them like breathing.
So Katsuki is already prepared for something between them to break. A wall, of sorts. A boundary they’d set up without realizing; one he’s been teetering over the edge of for a while. One he’d stepped over when he’d accidentally hit send.
“How?” Izuku asks quietly, and it shatters.
Katsuki grins, against his will. The corners of his mouth have already pulled themselves up on their own accord by the time his brain catches up to him.
He’s thought about that often. All the various ways he could blow Izuku - under the desk at UA, in his room at night, in the agency locker room when everyone’s out for lunch. Izuku’s bad at keeping his mouth shut, and Katsuki is very good at keeping his mouth open.
Realistically, somebody would catch them, figure them out, call them out, but none of that matters when it’s a fantasy. It might even be more important considering it’s a fantasy. Katsuki is not an exhibitionist, not really, but the thought of being caught with Izuku pinned to the lockers while Katsuki takes him in his mouth is at least a little bit exciting. At least if it’s not real.
He pulls his shirt up, running slow circles over the bare skin of his stomach, letting it build. He can't touch himself yet - not so soon.
He's still not even sure if Izuku is necessarily taking part in whatever's going on, but where he is now, there's no point in caring. He's said it out loud, so he’s going to jerk off to Izuku on the phone, and Izuku is going to hear it. Izuku doesn’t seem to be averse to it, anyway, even if he’s not an active participant yet.
It doesn’t matter that it started as an accident - he’s going to see it through to the end. Katsuki was not raised to be a quitter.
“Agency,” he starts, settling for the most dangerous spot. He’s been working under Jeanist, so something like this would give him a heart attack. Izuku would be mortified at the idea, which is why he picks it. As expected, Izuku makes a surprised sound. “When you drop by after classes to see me.”
“Do…do you think about it when I do that?”
“Yes,” he says, without missing a beat. His hand travels lower, below his navel tracing the waistband. “The locker room is empty around that time. Everyone's out for lunch or on site. I'm the one on call.”
“You can't do that when you're on call.”
“Sure, I can,” he says. “Would rather be sucking you off than sitting there manning the phones.”
“Kacchan…” Comes Izuku's voice, and it's breathier, shakier. He can hear the rustling of clothes. “We'd get caught.”
Katsuki's heart thuds loudly in his ribcage. There it is: we and not you - Izuku is getting more receptive, going along with it. Adding to it.
Feeling much braver, he hooks the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his hands and push his sweatpants down over his thighs. He's half-hard–still not quite there yet, but very quickly approaching. He palms himself over his briefs and doesn't try to disguise the moan as anything other than what it is.
Izuku's responding groan rushes straight to his crotch.
“We won't get caught,” he says. “No one's around at the time.”
“What if they come back?”
“Then they'll catch you with your cock down my throat.”
He hears Izuku breathe in sharply. It's too bold, too much. Katsuki is not subtle about anything, it’s just that Izuku is shit at picking up on any of the hints he's been dropping for years, and if it takes this to make Izuku realize how badly Katsuki wants him then so be it.
“Kacchan…” Izuku's voice is shaky. “I wouldn't want that.”
Katsuki’s hand freezes, body tensing. For one panicked second he rushes over every word either of them have said during this conversation, wonders if he’s fucked it up big time, and then Izuku continues: “I wouldn’t want anyone to see you like that.”
He blinks up at the ceiling, at the warm white lights and the stains of seepage in the corner that he’s yet to fix. His body is relaxed again, his breathing evening out. Izuku is still interested. Izuku is being possessive.
“Yeah?” His underwear follows his pants, and he kicks both off his legs and onto the floor. He settles back onto the pillow and wraps his fingers around himself, stroking slowly. Is how Izuku jerks off? What does Izuku’s dick look like when it’s hard? Katsuki knows it’s big, but would he even be able to blow him without gagging? Does Izuku think about that? Izuku is so quick to be possessive, has he thought about it before? “Why can’t others see me like that?”
“Because–ahh,” Izuku starts, moans. “That’s–that’s between us, right? I want to keep it to myself, that’s something you’d do for me, it’s mine and–Kacchan, are you touching yourself?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki runs his thumb over the head of his dick. Izuku’s rambling is making him dizzy, lightheaded. He puts the phone on speaker, lets it fall onto the pillow next to his head and shoves two fingers into his mouth, trying to imagine it’s Izuku - Izuku’s fingers, Izuku’s cock. Izuku’s hand on his own dick, jerking him off.
“I want to see you like that,” Izuku is saying. He’s also breathing hard, his words cut off by gasps and moans. Katsuki wishes he could see what Izuku looks like when he’s turned on, when he’s jerking off, when he’s thinking about Katsuki. “With my cock in your mouth, you’d take it so well, I know you would. You’re always so good at everything you do. I want to come on your face–Kacchan, is it–is it okay if I come on your face?”
Katsuki groans around the fingers in his mouth. He takes them out, runs a line down his chest, stomach, thighs, down between his legs to his ass. Spit isn’t enough to fuck himself, but it’s enough to rub a wet circle over the entrance while he thrusts up into his fist.
He’s about to say yes–yes, Izuku can come on his face, can come on any part of him, can fuck him stupid if he wants. Then he remembers the text he’d typed out for himself earlier.
“Izuku,” he says. He sounds out of breath, even to himself. “You’re not coming on my fucking face, you’re coming inside my mouth.”
Izuku groans on the other side of the line.
“And when you do,” Katsuki continues, “I’m going to kiss you and spit it right back into your mouth.”
“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice pitches higher, shakier. “I wish I was there, I wish you could do that, I wish I could fuck you.”
Katsuki’s vision blurs, for a second. Body arching, toes curling. He feels lightheaded, dizzy, like he’s somewhere far away while still blinking up at that same damn ceiling. But there’s a pressure off his chest now. He’s still catching his breath, his skin tingling all over, and on the other end of the line, Izuku sounds just as wrecked as he feels.
He’s done it–he’s jerked off to Izuku and Izuku has heard it, indulged it, reciprocated it.
He feels gross now, so he pushes himself up, picking his pants off the floor and wiping his hand on them. They’re going to the laundry now, anyway.
He turns back to his phone. Izuku is silent, but still there. Breathing hard on the line.
“Did you come?” He asks slowly.
“Yes,” Katsuki responds. “Did you?”
“Yes.” He pauses. “Kacchan, why did you send me that text? You wouldn’t have known this would happen.”
“It was a mistake,” Katsuki says, honestly. “Happy accident or whatever. If you regret it, now’s the time to say we pretend it never happened.”
“No! Kacchan! Why would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
“No, I–I’d like to do it more often, actually. If that’s okay.”
“‘If that’s okay,’ he says,” Katsuki snorts. “Two minutes ago you were saying you’d fuck me.”
Izuku makes a garbled, embarrassed sound. Katsuki doesn’t fight back the smile on his lips. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s late. Izuku has to be at the school early, and he has to get to work on time, because he doesn’t want to listen to another one of Jeanist’s lectures.
He takes the phone off speaker and brings it up to his ear. Izuku is rambling, as he always is, about some nonsense.
“I mean I do want to but I don’t want you to think I would do anything that you wouldn’t want to, and I mean you’re receptive to phone se–to doing this over the phone, so I just wanted to say I would like to do it again and–”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Katsuki interrupts, grinning. “I’ll see you after class at the agency tomorrow, Izuku.”