Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maybe it’s a bit fucked up, but Katsuki can’t help it.

He keeps watching the video. Videos. 

The first couple times he had to pause, heart in his throat, reflexively throwing his phone across the room. When multiple attempts to swallow the organ back where it belonged didn’t work, he’d stumble into the attached bathroom to heave, shuddering head to toe.

He couldn’t watch them all the way through, his heart too quick, his stomach a tangle of too many emotions far too big for him to process. The sharp sting of panic, instinctual fear at seeing his face again, phantom aches blooming to life across his healing body. And that’s not even including the clusterfuck of emotions that watching Izuku gave him, because Katsuki didn’t even know where to begin untangling them.

So it’s probably, definitely, messed up that Katsuki kept coming back. Kept picking his phone back up and retrying the next day, over and over, like some sort of crackhead, clinging to a poisonous vice. An addiction. 

He just… couldn’t stop thinking about it. What he had missed while he was unconscious, while Izuku was fighting alone against Shigaraki. The lengths he had to go to.

But, Katsuki discovered to his dubious luck, the entire thing was recorded, streamed online, available in video form. So, he kept trying, forcing himself to know.

After failed attempts, Katsuki would lay awake, staring at his ceiling, body tingling with pins and needles while his heart raced in his chest.

Something about it… 

He was horrified, of course he was horrified, at first. Seeing just how desperately Izuku throws himself into every battle with zero regard for his own life will never not be horrifying, but…

It sure as hell didn't stop Katsuki from watching him do it.

It takes five days before Katsuki can watch them all the way through, his left hand shaking with its white-knuckled grip. A week and a half for the nausea, the leftover panic, to be absent completely. Katsuki’s heart still kicks a riot in his chest, but it’s a different kind of unrest.

There’s heat slithering through Katsuki’s veins at the end of that week and a half. 

Late enough to bathe the campus in milky moonlight, to where first-year Katsuki would be deep into REM sleep, Katsuki sits propped against his pillows and watches the videos. 

He remembers vividly, the night of that fifth attempt, his jaw dropping open and staying that way as he watched Izuku tear through Shigaraki’s mutated fingers with animalistic ferocity. He handled Blackwhip like he had the quirk his entire life, like it was an extension of him, and not like he’d spent months training it from scratch with Katsuki. 

There was pride for sure, as Katsuki watched, but it felt distant. Took a backseat to every other emotion crowding his chest as Izuku tore through the sky like a bullet, glowing yet cloaked in darkness like something unholy.

It was… mesmerizing. To watch. Izuku’s suit ripped to hell and entire torso bared; Blackwhip forming dark stripes beneath his skin along his corded muscles, protruding from his back in writhing tendrils, covering his mouth like a goddamn muzzle; hands sharpened into claws at their tips.

Shigaraki’s voice purring, staticky and barely audible beneath the rain and poor audio quality, You don’t… look very heroic right now. Sounding smug, gleeful about it, and Katsuki couldn’t help but agree. What Izuku looks is… feral. Beastly. 

Katsuki watches him now, fighting for his goddamn life, twisting himself into darker and darker forms to protect, to save and win, and his entire body shudders.

Not a fear shudder, not disgust, not sickness. Katsuki’s nape heats, a sort of honey-slow warmth pooling in his stomach and spreading up his spine, reaching the tips of his ears and teasing his cheeks. The camera zooms, catches Izuku’s mouth opening wide on a shout Katsuki can’t quite hear, his teeth bared with fury, back and chest coiled with so much power it feels like the screen can barely contain it.

It’s… Katsuki’s turned on. He’s turned on.

That’s what the shudder is. It’s out of pure fucking lust.

Katsuki’s known for a while he hasn’t got the tightest screws in the world, especially when it comes to Izuku, but this… this goes beyond that.

Green lightning arcs off Izuku’s arms coiled tight with muscle, broad chest and shoulders heaving. His form streaks through the dark and the rain and the flesh, shreds it like paper, but the look on his face isn’t murderous. Furious? Abso-fucking-lutely. But it’s determined anger. Desperate in the way only Izuku ever is.

Katsuki swallows roughly, shifts restlessly. The heat seeps down deep into his gut, squirming, boiling him from the inside out. On screen, Izuku coils and snaps, power in every centimeter of him, Blackwhip aiding his rapid, gravity-bending movements. The glow from One For All throws him in sharp, glowing light, deepening the shadows into a contrast that screams with it. 

It carves him. Paired with the dark stripes criss-crossing all over his torso, he’s all brutal, compacted might.

In his loose sweats, Katsuki’s cock twitches.

It’s been months, edging close to a year, but he still doesn’t have complete function with his right arm yet. He can move it, but not lift it very high, or grip anything with the hand. At least not for longer than a few seconds; his fingers sometimes struggle to curl fully, and his grip strength is shot.

But this… this he should be able to do.

Shakily, Katsuki pauses the video, sets his phone down beside him. With a slight grimace, he tucks both thumbs beneath his waistband. He lets his left arm do most of the work as he slides his sweatpants over his lifted hips, abandoning them halfway down his thighs to hesitate over his underwear.

Katsuki glances at his phone screen. It’s paused on a blurry in-between, but Katsuki can see clearly how Izuku’s snarling so fiercely it looks like he’s grinning. And isn’t that a fucking image. Izuku, grinning something feral and bloodied and dark, a blazing force of violence and reckoning as he fights his way to victory with single-minded laserpoint focus.

Like Katsuki. 

Katsuki’s boxers join his pants without conscious thought, shimmied down over his ass and leaving him bared. His cock slaps against his navel when it pops free, twitches in the air, and Katsuki nearly gapes down at where he’s so turned on it leaves a sticky little trail of precum behind.

“Holy fuck,” Katsuki whispers. Yeah, okay. He’s doing this.

Katsuki scrambles for his phone, swapping it to his right hand, using his heaving stomach as a support. Thank the fucking gods he’s ambidextrous. It’ll be a bit harder to get the pace and grip exactly right, to make it as familiarly satisfying as his right hand would be. But also, it’s been a fucking while, and Katsuki feels so turned on he could probably blow his load within a few strokes. 

He lets his head fall back, closes his eyes and allows himself a second to gather whatever wits he has left. Really process what he’s about to do.

A deep breath, and Katsuki drops his head back. Bends his knees a bit. Wipes his sweaty palm along his sheets just in case.

He sucks in a breath at the same time he presses play on the video, even bites his lip, but it all does absolutely jackshit when Katsuki wraps a hand around his cock— he groans immediately. Gives himself a firm, dry couple strokes, and already his hips want to twitch into the stimulation.

He lets them, even as he eases back on the pressure to tease himself and swipe his palm up and over the head to gather the pre pooling there. There’s not enough to really ease the way, to aid the glide, but Katsuki’s fine with that. He’s always liked it a bit rough, handling himself just on the edge of pain. Besides, he’ll start sweating again soon enough. That’ll help.

Katsuki spends the next few seconds practicing the right tempo, grip, how to twist his wrist just right to send a pulse of fire straight to his gut. He jerks his gaze away from the fist on his cock to focus on the screen. Multitasking, he’s great at that.

Izuku’s a bright beacon to Katsuki’s gaze, drawing his attention in like a moth to flame. He’s still a snarling, hypnotizing vision, pummeling through obstacles like they’re nothing. Each time Izuku lunges, punches, throws himself into each hit with speed that makes Katsuki dizzy, it’s another pulse of lust spiraling down Katsuki’s veins. 

Wide-eyed, Katsuki loses himself in it, in tracking each move. It’s hard to catch everything Izuku does, as he spins and twists and flits about like he’s dancing a tango of death, but Katsuki can nearly feel the force and power through the screen. He thinks, distantly, this would have pissed him off in the past; Izuku being so goddamn fucking strong.

Now, well… 

Izuku’s chest looks almost marred from the dark lines spiraling from it, coalescing between his shoulder blades, spreading outwards and down his limbs like corruption. His abs are framed like a goddamn painting. Fuck, he’s thick.

Katsuki’s foot slips along the mattress with the force of the sudden jerk of his hips. He arches, scrabbles to regain the leverage, ends up bending his knees completely, planting his feet to use his bed as support as he fully thrusts into the circle his fist makes.

Katsuki moans. Low, quivering, rough, as he fucks his fist for a few dizzying seconds. Then he yanks the reins back and forcefully stills his hips, but speeds up his hand. The glide’s gotten easier, slick enough to make each stroke loud in the quiet, and Katsuki’s ears heat until they’re burning at the sounds. He has to fight to keep his eyes open and locked on the screen. It’s fucking— Oh, fuck.

Izuku launches himself upwards, curls over and hunches like a feral animal. His hair whips wildly, and the camera zooms in to the look in his eyes, the gleam to them, to the way his brows are tilted like he’d be growling if he was making noise. His fucking shoulders—

Katsuki squeezes around his cock, tightens his grip until the beginning tingle of alarm skitters along his nerves, warning him, Pain, it’ll hurt if you keep going. He stops there, but he doesn’t slow. His gut clenches up. Fap fap fap. Fuck, it doesn’t even matter anymore.

Blackwhip spills from Izuku’s claws in chains that latch, send him spinning and speeding through the air. His barrage of hits sends pale chunks of flesh flying in all directions. Katsuki doesn’t know how Izuku can fucking see through the downpour, but his eyes are wide and unblinking. There’s blood down half of his face, and he’s fucking gorgeous.

That’s the issue, that’s Katsuki’s vice, the reason he’s quickly becoming addicted to this, fucked up as it is: Izuku looks so unbelievably fucking good.

“Fuck,” Katsuki whines, utterly uncaring of how pathetic he sounds. His breath trips in his throat. “Oh, shit.”

Katsuki’s no goddamn slouch himself, and he’s in the hero course, he’s seen his fair share of muscle, nearly every day in fact. But there’s just something specifically about Izuku’s arms that drives him crazy. And Katsuki doesn’t think it’s only this version, this wrathful, monstrous version of Izuku that fights like he’s got fire in his veins and it’s burning him from the inside out.

No, it’s Izuku’s arms in general. Maybe it’s because Katsuki’s known Izuku since he was a scrawny middle schooler, a twig of a kid, that now seeing him have so much raw strength in him, watching him wield it for good like a goddamn paragon of heroism, hits so hard.

Katsuki twists his wrist on an upstroke that he slams right back down with enough passion that his back arches. There’s a thin bit of gleaming wetness spilling out over his knuckles now. They shine in the low light of the moon. Katsuki barely spares his hand a glance, only enough to watch the deep, flushed red of his head peek through the circle of his fingers, once and then twice before his gaze inevitably returns to his battle-turned-porno.

Fuck, he’s never gonna be able to watch this again without getting hard.

“Fucking worth it,” he rasps to himself, quickly chasing it with a moan. The tightness in his gut has spread lower, begun feeling like that familiar coiling of a spring. There’s probably sweat dripping down Katsuki’s forehead, with how goddamn hot he feels. Maybe it’ll even fuckin’ evaporate when it hits his cheeks. God, he’s probably flushed down to his stomach.

On screen, Izuku’s wielding his power with fierce expertise. Every maneuver is calculated, thought out, purposeful down to the minute shift of muscle. He makes it look effortless. 

Katsuki knows first hand how goddamn effortful using One For All is for Izuku, and yet that thought permeates, sinks into Katsuki’s lust-drunk head with finality.

Through the fog of climbing horny hysteria, Katsuki thinks, Would he fuck like that too?

Katsuki’s hand spasms around the phone, nearly slipping from his clammy grip. He tightens his grip reflexively, hisses when it aggravates the tender muscles. His nerves still don’t really obey him in that hand yet, so he doesn’t end up moving all that much, but the shock it sends through his system has him gasping.

Fuck, is he really going there? 

The camera zooms on the flex of Izuku’s biceps, the way the muscles are tight and thick all the way up his shoulders and down his back, wrapping around to his navel. A fresh wave of lust-filled heat cascades down Katsuki’s spine. His cock throbs.

He’s going there. He’s so going there.

Katsuki drops the phone carelessly to the side. It goes tumbling off his bed, but he could not give less of a fuck. He tangles his now free hand into the sheets, clawing, scrabbling weakly and leaving streaks of sweat from his fingers. The goddamn video’s probably still playing. Katsuki doesn’t need it anymore.

He closes his eyes, tips his head back, as image after image flashes behind his eyelids. His hips are writhing, fucking unevenly up into each drag of his fist. 

There’s too much sweat, Katsuki should probably pause to wipe his hand clean of it, but the possibility of danger, of that spark of pain, settles along his spine, raises the hair at his nape.

Yeah, not happening.

Katsuki grits his teeth, sounds spilling from beyond the barrier, each one rough and low in his throat. 

Katsuki replays the twist of Izuku’s body, the curl and coil of Blackwhip, his glowing emerald eyes and the feral snarl of his mouth. Katsuki imagines, then, Izuku over him, pinning his wrists to the bed. The Izuku in reality doesn’t have any of the One For All quirk factors left, but Katsuki still imagines him with that beneath-the-skin Blackwhip. Imagines the claws drawing blood, imagines Izuku licking broad strokes up Katsuki’s sweat-streaked body and opening wide, biting into the meat of his pec until skin breaks.

Katsuki’s jaw falls open. He pants hot and fast, relinquishes control of his lower half and just lets go.

In his head, Izuku is between Katsuki’s legs, large, scarred hands wrapping around the backs of his thighs and forcing them up and apart. Spreading Katsuki wide, left open and wanting as Izuku tongue-fucks him, growling into it until the vibrations make Katsuki cry out.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Katsuki moans. Tosses his head to the side. He can’t— fuck he wishes he could finger himself right now.

The fantasy shifts. Katsuki’s face down, ass up, pinned by his nape, forced into an arch so sharp it fucking aches. But it’s good, it’s so good. There’s a thick arm locked around his middle, keeping his ass high in the air. Izuku’s panting into his ear, and without warning, his cock bullies its way into him, and Izuku is merciless, one sharp thrust burying to the hilt. You’re so tight, Kacchan, he groans, praises, breathless and sexy.

Katsuki gasps, loud and high, his voice breaking apart in his throat. “Ah–! Izuku—”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His orgasm is climbing rapidly, heat ratcheting, balls tightening. His bicep is starting to hurt, unused to maintaining this position, this speed and angle, but it’s lost beneath the pleasure washing through him, whiting everything out.

Katsuki’s mind can’t fucking settle on a position, rapidly flitting through vision after vision; Katsuki, riding Izuku, hands planted on his chest, watching Izuku’s arms flex as they guide Katsuki’s movements; Izuku, fucking Katsuki up against a wall, biting him bloody until his teeth drip red as he snarls; Izuku, fingers sharpened to claws gripping Katsuki’s head with pinpricks of sharp, stinging pain as he fucks his mouth until Katsuki chokes and gags, growling out his pleasure.

It’s too fucking much. 

Katsuki can’t even bring his hand up to bite and muffle his moans, so he just fucking… gives up. Prays it’s late enough for Kirishima to be asleep or at least downstairs, and moans with reckless abandon, quickly overtaking the repeated shlick shlick from how goddamn wet he is, the slapping of flesh meeting flesh. 

Katsuki shamelessly imagines it’s the sounds of Izuku pounding into him as his orgasm builds and builds, chanting, “Yes yes yes, fuck, fuck, Izuku, Izuku—!” 

The pleasure crests, white-hot, filling his veins with sparks— almost literally, popping behind his eyes as they fly open only to roll back— and Katsuki comes like that, teeth dug so deep into his lip it burns, writhing and fucking his increasingly tight fist.

He whines with it, loud and long, and cannot fucking care even a little bit. Can barely fucking breathe as his entire body tingles and awareness fades but for the throbbing of his cock as it kicks and spills, as he comes all over his fist, his shirt, his hips, down his fingers.

It’s the hardest Katsuki’s come in a while. Fuck, Jesus, he was pent up.

He strokes himself through it, unrelenting even as the pleasure quickly turns biting, as his wrist starts to hurt too, because fuck, his left hand was not meant for this, but holy shit does it feel incredible.

Finally, Katsuki stills his fist, releases his cock, and slumps down onto his bed into a puddle of limbs. He blinks dazedly up at his ceiling, at the thin stretch of moonlight coming in through the curtains as he catches his breath.

Wow, is all he can think.

Once Katsuki’s sure he’s back on Earth and in his body, he looks down and grimaces at the cum streaking his shirt and all over his hand. This is his least favorite part. At least his pants made it out safe.

Katsuki very carefully does not think too hard about what exactly he just jerked off to as he makes his way to the attached bathroom to clean up. He washes up, changes his shirt, and retrieves his phone from the floor. The screen is dark, but Katsuki does little more than glance as he sets it atop his headboard and flops bonelessly onto his back.

His muscles have that pleasant ache, the looseness that comes only from either a good orgasm or a good fight.

He’s definitely, absolutely gonna do this again.

Christ, Katsuki’s so, so fucked.

He does it again the next night. Then the night after that, and the night after that.

The orgasms aren’t all as mind-blowing as the first was, and Katsuki takes extra care to be quieter (Kirishima makes no indication of having heard, but Katsuki has enough post-nut embarrassment for the both of them), but they’re still incredible. Still releases of tension that help Katsuki sleep deeper than he has in way too fucking long.

The only problem being… what he’s getting off to.

Or rather, who.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if it was just the videos, but Katsuki hardly needs them anymore. He just goes straight to fantasizing, only replaying some of his favorite parts perfunctorily, like he’s got anything to prove to himself. 

And, sue him, Izuku’s fucking hot in the videos, and Katsuki is gay as hell. 

Izuku… probably knows about them, by now. He’s got enough admirers and enough smarts to surmise that people have seen the battle. 

Point being, Katsuki comes with Izuku’s name on his lips and then has to look the guy in the eyes the next morning. 

Not to mention how they’ve only gotten closer and closer as the days go by. Probably something to do with surviving a war— technically two wars— together. Against all odds, considering Katsuki almost didn’t survive. So yeah, they’re friends, best friends. Katsuki’s a bit in love. He jerks off and jizzes himself stupid imagining Izuku fucking him every night.

No big deal. Totally manageable. 

Katsuki, turned in for the night earlier than normal, drops his face into his hands and groans. He really doesn’t fuck with the fact that masturbating has become one of his coping mechanisms as of late, but it’s harmless anyways, so what the fuck ever. 

Katsuki sucks in a breath and straightens, hands falling away. Just a quickie, to take the edge off. Today’s physical therapy fucking sucked. It was tedious, and painful, and set Katsuki on a short fuse for the rest of the day. He snapped over little things in a way he thought he’d left behind on that battlefield.

Katsuki sighs. Scoots further up onto the bed and slumps back against the wall. He goes about the familiar process of working his pants off, ending up hissing furious swears under his breath as his right arm refuses to fucking cooperate. PT was supposed to help with that, not make it harder! Fucking, recovery’s not a linear line, the road is long and winding, ugh.

Grumbling, Katsuki finally forces his pants and underwear down his thighs, then kicks them completely off to get comfortable. He’s still flaccid, but a minute or so and a handful of fantasies will have him fattened up in no time.

With a final sigh, Katsuki takes himself in hand after licking a broad stripe up his palm, and uses all his practice to stoke the sparks trying to form in his belly into flames. It takes a bit, but he gets there, warmth licking up his limbs, filling his gut, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Blood flows down to his length and up to his cheeks. Katsuki rubs a thumb across his slit, down the frenulum, a fine shiver working its way down his spine, tingling his nape.

Fuck, there we go. Katsuki exhales slow, a bit shaky, a lot relieved. Tightens his fist, just the way he likes.

A couple minutes later, Katsuki’s still conjuring up fantasy after fantasy, even revisiting some of his favorites, but nothing seems to work. He could probably, no, definitely, come just from jerking off like this. Of course he can. But it wouldn’t be satisfying, it wouldn’t relax him like the past ones have, wouldn’t leave him with that bone-deep satisfaction that results in mostly-dreamless sleeps.

That’s what Katsuki needs right now. That release. Both kinds.

Fucking— Katsuki growls, bites back a curse just to spit it out anyways. A harsh, pissed off, “Fuck!”

This isn’t working.

With a frustrated groan, Katsuki leans to the side and grapples for his phone, atop his headboard like it always is. His right arm shakes as he lifts it, the muscles protesting, clumsy in its stiff movements. He doesn’t so much as grab the phone as he does knock it off the headboard and onto the bed, but whatever fucking works.

His cock has flagged a bit by the time Katsuki resituates himself, phone propped kinda awkwardly on his thigh because he knows trying to use his right hand would only piss him off further. Just like he has the past few nights, Katsuki navigates back to that last video, his favorite one, and settles in.

He’s worked himself back up in no time, hissing, blood heating, a frenzy in his veins, stuffing the whimpers back where they came from because it’s too damn early to be making noise. Sure, most of Katsuki’s classmates are still lounging about the common room and he’s on the fourth floor, but he isn’t taking any damn chances right now.

By now, Katsuki’s basically memorized when to pause to fill his screen with the best freeze-frames, zooms of every sculpted, black-ringed muscle on Izuku’s body. The look in his eyes, the unrelenting pounding of his fists and feet, each snap and spring of power that launches and propels and twists him. Around and around and around again, so bare that Katsuki can’t stop imagining him naked.

He wonders, not for the first time, if that striping stretches down past the ripped part of Izuku’s suit. If the Blackwhip-enforcement wraps his thick thighs too, follows the curve and bulge of his quads, his feet, up to his thick cock—

“Shit,” Katsuki moans, catching himself a bit too late. He lets the muffled, staticky audio fade to the background in favor of closing his eyes and following that train of thought. Katsuki’s head grinds back into the wall as his chest quivers, heaves, hitches in its effort to keep the sounds inside.

Katsuki’s thoughts run wild. From Izuku’s cock spearing him open, to fucking his thighs, his face, to— Can Blackwhip itself fuck Katsuki like a cock can? Could it reach even deeper? Tease Katsuki in places nobody and nothing has ever touched before?

Katsuki’s eyes roll back beneath the fluttering of his lashes. Fuck, that sounds hot. Blackwhip buzzing along his nerves, holding him open, wrapped around him like shibari except it’s Izuku. Controlled by Izuku. His power, his color, marking Katsuki, keeping him bound and vulnerable for the taking.

And take Izuku would.

Katsuki arches up off the wall, rolls with the motion to fuck up into his fist the best he can in this position. He gathers his legs up, knees bent in that tried and true position for better leverage.

The heat’s building, rising within him, turning his strokes slippery with precum. His toes curl. He’s close. 

“Oh, fuck, please,” Katsuki begs nothing, a harsh, desperate whisper. He imagines Izuku hearing his pleas, ignoring them, taking his own pleasure from Katsuki’s body even as he writhes and whines and begs. “Fuck, fuck—” His voice tips up into a whine.

The coil’s tightening, sparks are skittering along his nerves. Katsuki speeds up, stroking himself root to tip with renewed fervency. His legs fall open. He’s close. He’s so close. “Please, please, please—”

Katsuki knocks his head back against the wall, barely feels it let alone hears it as his orgasm builds, promising the sweet relief of bliss on the other side.

In his head, Izuku’s right there with him, whispering filth into his ear, against his nape, telling him how tight he is, how good he looks. Taking Katsuki reverse cowgirl style with Blackwhip binding his limbs, singlehandedly fucking him on Izuku’s cock while Izuku’s hands leave bruises where they grip.

Katsuki’s so deep in it, so lost to his own harsh breathing and increasingly desperate movements and that deep, smooth praise in his ear, that he doesn’t hear the knocks, or the voice, or the creak of his unlocked door opening.

“Kacchan? I knocked, but you didn’t respond, are—” 

Katsuki realizes a second too late that the voice is very much not in his head, from his fantasies, and is in fact extremely and unfortunately very fucking real.

Katsuki’s heart damn near stops in his chest. Again. His eyes snap open as his entire body freezes, locks up head to toe. 

In fight or flight, he’s fight, always has been, always motherfucking will be.

It seems, however, that his instincts have no goddamn clue what to do in this specific, humiliatingly unbelievable situation. So, freeze it is. Hand on his dick and everything. 

His orgasm slips from him, but even more humiliatingly, his cock doesn’t flag. Nope, it stays hard, dripping, right in view of his childhood fucking friend.

Well, Katsuki thinks a bit hysterically as he meets Izuku’s— real, there, showing up at Katsuki’s dorm room out of nowhere— eyes, at least I wasn’t moaning his name this time.

Izuku’s gaping in the doorway, mouth open dumb and soundless, eyes so wide he looks like a goddamn bug. His cheeks are flushing a deeper and deeper red the longer he stands there. His eyes make a slow crawl down Katsuki’s body and then stick. An indecipherable look flashes across his irises.

Staring. He’s fucking staring. At Katsuki’s—

Katsuki snaps his legs shut, tucks them in close, body finally obeying his frantic commands to move, damnit! His heart kicks and stutters in his chest.

Katsuki’s about to scream at Izuku to get out or get in, you fucking pervert, but Izuku beats him to it.

He clears his throat, but his voice is rough and shaky anyways when he says, “Are you- are you watching the video of my final battle? While you…” He trails off, voice fading to nothing, seemingly unable to finish that sentence. His eyes are locked on Katsuki’s now-closed legs, still.

Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath. Heat entirely separate from any lingering lust floods his body. He’s probably red to the roots of his hair. “That’s what you’re fucking focusing on?!”

“Well, I—” Izuku cuts himself off. He sways a bit where he stands, forward then backwards, like he’s wavering on a decision. He swallows. “Can I… come in?”

“You want to—” Katsuki curls up tighter, brings his uncooperative right arm to hide more of himself even as it makes him wince. The phone’s pressing up into his gut right now, but it’s so inconsequential in this moment that Katsuki doesn’t give even a little bit of a fuck. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Izuku quickly responds, even though that wasn’t a genuine fucking question and he knows that. He repeats, “Can I come in?”

Katsuki scowls so fiercely he feels it pull the scar tissue on his cheek. Can Izuku come in? On one hand, Katsuki’s so down bad for him that he wants to take him out on sappy, romantic dates just as much as he wants to get dicked down by him. 

On the other, Izuku just caught him jerking off to a video of him, and surely that’s… some kinda breach of privacy, or whatever. Yeah, it’s a public video, but still. Izuku shouldn’t want to come in. Also, Katsuki’s dick and balls are out.

Katsuki realizes literally anyone could walk by and see this trainwreck happening live in 4k, and his decision is made. His shoulders hike up, insecure, and he hisses, “Get the fuck in. Lock the door.”

Izuku obeys before Katsuki’s even got his full sentences out. Katsuki barks, “Turn around,” expecting the same immediate obedience, but Izuku only frowns.

“Why?” he asks, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Katsuki nearly sputters. As is, he snarls instead. God, this is probably the most humiliating thing Katsuki has ever experienced, and that’s including everything that happened in his first year. 

“So I can put my fucking pants back on, you weirdo!”

Izuku’s expression clears. He steps closer, once and then twice, and Katsuki’s already tense body coils up even tighter as he approaches. His racing heart picks up speed. What the fuck, what the fuck.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Izuku says, somewhere between a chirp and a low murmur.

Katsuki blinks. Feels like he’s losing his mind a little. “Wh—”

“Kacchan, be honest with me,” Izuku continues, either uncaring that he interrupted or he just genuinely didn’t notice. Either way, Katsuki’s offended, but he listens anyways, because at this point he’s starting to wonder if he's dreaming. “Were you, or were you not, g-getting yourself off. To. To me. That video of me.”

Katsuki studies him. Really studies him. Takes a moment to pause and take in the deep flush staining Izuku’s cheeks, the wide, sincere look in his eyes, how his chest is rising and falling faster than normal, and—

The breath catches in Katsuki’s throat.

There’s a tent in Izuku’s baggy pants. A noticeable one.

Arousal begins to stir in Katsuki’s veins again, his cock taking interest.

Katsuki licks his lips. “I—”

“Please,” Izuku cuts in, tinged with a desperation that goes beyond curiosity, beyond simply wanting to know. It sounds familiar, looks like a mirror of Katsuki’s own desperation. It’s yearning. Or something uglier. “Please be honest.”

Yeah, Katsuki was gonna be. His answer hasn’t changed.

“I was.” A sharp inhale from Izuku, and, “I have been. The past few nights.”

“Oh,” says Izuku, a weak, wavering thing. His hand lifts halfway like he wants to touch, but then his fingers curl into a fist, restraining himself. “Can I, uhm. Can you— I want—”

“Spit it out,” Katsuki snaps.

“Sorry,” Izuku squeaks. He shivers, literally shakes himself out like he’s knocking his thoughts back together in his skull. The part of his hair that had to be shaved off has already almost grown back, and it’s new, but it’s handsome. Katsuki wonders if he could card his fingers through it, get a good grip and hold on for dear life as Izuku pounds him into the matt—

“I want to see,” Izuku finally says, dubiously confident, snapping Katsuki’s conscious back into him. 

Beginning to regain his footing, Katsuki flatly says, “What, my dick?”

Izuku’s tongue darts out across his lip, and he promptly sweeps that footing right out from under Katsuki’s feet. “Yeah. I want to watch you do it, Kacchan.”

Oh. Holy shit.

Katsuki chokes on his next inhale, a soundless gasp. His cock twitches, throbs, fills with blood so quickly and suddenly Katsuki feels dizzy.

Yeah. Okay. Abso-fucking-lutely yes please.

Wordlessly, Katsuki removes his arm, spreads his legs back open. On the phone screen, the video’s conveniently paused on a close up of Izuku’s left side, curled over himself, muscles bunched, claw outstretched curling into nothing. Just looking at it fucks Katsuki up all over again, even more now that he knows the real Izuku is just fucking watching him. Is watching Katsuki get hard watching him through a screen.

Katsuki releases the last of the tension in his shoulders as he curls his fist back around his length. The weight of Izuku’s gaze crawls along his skin, raises the hairs along his arms. Jesus, it feels fucking physical, like a brand, hot and unforgiving. A focused heat that makes Katsuki’s cock kick in his grip, precum pooling at the tip.

Katsuki twists his wrist, gathers it in a familiar movement, spreads it down and up, up and down, with the next few strokes. Izuku’s next breath is audible, more wheeze than actual exhale. 

Katsuki smirks up at him, keeps his strokes slow and indulgent, playing with himself, and he knows even without checking that Izuku’s stare is lasered in on the movement.

“You just gonna stand there, Izuku?”

Izuku twitches into movement. He gingerly takes a seat next to Katsuki, scoots back to join him against the wall. The phone gets tossed unceremoniously to the side, and both of them ignore the dull thunk it makes as it hits the floor.

Katsuki half-turns to face him, gives him an even better view, tucking his leg beneath the arch of the other. It pushes his hips out, juts himself in Izuku’s direction. 

Fuck, this is getting him so goddamn wet. Just knowing Izuku’s watching everything, cataloguing every minute twitch, probably memorizing how Katsuki likes to pleasure himself. Already, the strokes sound slick, flesh to throbbing flesh. Katsuki has to fight to not speed up. He does tighten his fist though, and can’t help the small hitch in his breath, the pulse of heat through his gut.

Izuku’s lips part. His hands are clenching white-knuckled into his pants, so tight it’s a wonder he isn’t ripping them. The tent he was pitching earlier has grown twice in size. Christ, his cock has gotta be fucking straining in its confines, probably aching, but he makes no move to free himself. 

Katsuki wishes he could use his fucking right hand. ‘Cause then he could reach over, palm over Izuku’s crotch, feel the heat radiating from it. He could snake his hand down beneath, feel his way to the hidden prize he’s spent the better part of a week fantasizing about being fucked by. 

It would take nothing, to nudge Izuku into stripping himself, too. Then, Katsuki could return the favor, jerk Izuku off with one hand and himself with the other. Feel that heat, the thickness, the heft in his palm. Struggle to focus on giving both him and Izuku pleasure at the same time. Izuku might tease him, might stutter his way through praise, might tell Katsuki exactly how to touch him.

Fuck. He wants it. Katsuki’s about to fucking beg for it. Helplessly, he speeds up. His heart is thundering in his chest, a relentless drum beat beneath his skin. His right arm twitches, a mindless attempt to carry out his desires, but it doesn’t get very far.

Izuku notices. Of course he does.

“You’re using your—” Izuku cuts himself off once again, and his breathing turns harsh and quick for a couple of seconds that make Katsuki imagine increasingly filthy things before Izuku’s leaning towards him. “Nevermind,” he breathes. His hand hovers between them. “Let me help, Kacchan. I want to do it.”

Katsuki can’t help it— he groans, low, all heat and wringing lust. Head hanging, fist squeezing hard around his base. Izuku makes a breathless sort of desperate noise.

“Yeah,” Katsuki manages, voice shaking. “Okay.”

“I have an idea,” Izuku says, a notch deeper than when he last spoke. Katsuki fucking shudders.

He releases his cock with slight reluctance, and lifts his head to watch Izuku bounce up to his feet, strip himself of both his pants and underwear, and sit right back down in under five seconds.

Katsuki wants to taunt him, to tease him about being eager, but that would become one of the most hypocritical things he’s ever said, as his breath hitches with anticipation.

It’s with a fiery hunger that Katsuki takes in Izuku’s— firstly— bare thighs, the freckles dotted over the carved muscles, the sheer thickness of them. He follows their path up, up, to the glorious package between. 

Sure, Katsuki’s seem glimpses, mere glances, of what Izuku could be packing in locker rooms throughout the years. But he never saw much, if anything, only hints that teased his subconscious while his conscious mind reeled from disgust in merely being in Izuku’s presence.

Yeah, fucked up past and all that.

But Izuku’s here now, fully hard, bared for Katsuki’s eyes. And yeah, fuck. He’s just as proportionately thick as the rest of him. Flushed, dripping, standing proud. Katsuki swallows back an excess of saliva, then damn nearly chokes on it as a scarred hand blocks his view, wraps around that thick cock and gives it a few indulgent tugs.

Katsuki watches the hypnotic up and down of it, and suddenly understands how Izuku just sat and stared dumb and unmoving like he forgot about the possibility of his own pleasure entirely. Because goddamn does Katsuki’s entire focus narrow down on that sight, on how it opens up a yawning pit of want in his stomach.

He wants it filling his mouth, bruising his throat. Wants it stretching his hole and making him bleed and sliding hot and home and true.

When Izuku releases his cock, it bobs. Katsuki’s brain might be steaming in his skull.

Then that hand begins reaching for Katsuki.

Katsuki’s head snaps up, and he runs head-first into the dark, swallowing gaze of Izuku’s eyes. It feels like a strike to the goddamn solar plexus. Izuku’s eyes have always done that— knocked the breath loose from Katsuki’s chest.

Izuku whispers, low between them, “Can I…” and Katsuki’s saying yes so quickly that Izuku cracks a shaky smile.

With his left hand, Katsuki drags his weight closer, and struggles to give a fuck about how eager his body language is. Actually, he struggles to do any kind of thinking as he watches Izuku’s hand approach. Mouth dry, heart beating up into his throat, Katsuki forgets to breathe when Izuku’s fingers wrap firmly around the base of his cock.

It feels like Katsuki’s entire goddamn body flushes at the touch. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is real. This is actually happening.

Izuku gives a couple of experimental strokes, eyes wide. Each one sends Katsuki reeling further and further into what is probably approaching delirium. He can’t look away. Izuku’s hand is on his dick. A small moan gets smothered in the back of his throat.

Izuku makes a strained, sort of awed sound, and it sounds like pure sex to Katsuki’s ringing ears. Like Izuku can’t quite believe this is happening either but he’s sure as fuck happy it is. 

Izuku’s palm is warm, rough with calluses and scars. Kinda dry. Each stroke drags the rough texture along Katsuki’s cock and sends bright sparks up his spine, little shivers at the back of his skull. 

Many of Katsuki’s fantasies feature Izuku’s hands one way or another, but this isn’t something he really thought about. Fingered, throat-fucked, pinned and choked and pulled by the hair? Yes. All of that.

But jerked off by him while they both just sit and watch as Katsuki’s body reacts? As Katsuki gets wet for it, for Izuku?

God, fuck. It’s dizzying. It’s revealing, unraveling, embarrassing. And so fucking hot. Those hands.

Strong, sure, slow. Teasing but so good.

Katsuki gets a fistfull of his sheets and tries not to fuck up into the feeling, tries not to let his impatience win and urge or demand Izuku to speed up his slow, careful touches. Nerd’s probably not as coordinated with his left hand, the loser. For some reason, that makes it even hotter.

Well, Izuku hasn’t had the practice you’ve had, pervert, says a voice in Katsuki’s head, which he very happily ignores. 

His chest jumpstarts on a breath that wheezes out of him when Izuku tightens his fist, just slightly. Katsuki has to squint against the assault of pleasure, and then his lips are parted to make way for the ragged pants leaving him.

Fuck, it’s lewd, though, the image of Izuku’s tanned, scarred skin contrasting against the pale, flushed red of Katsuki’s cock. Izuku jerks him and he looks desperate for it, wet and so turned on he’s literally throbbing with every pound of his heart. Katsuki lets his head fall back against the wall, tilts his hips into it, searching for more of that spine-tingling stimulation.

Slow and careful as the strokes are, Izuku’s definitely touching Katsuki confidently. Knowing the nerd’s analytical brain, he probably really did catalogue how Katsuki touched himself earlier, and is now being gentle to fuck with him. To push Katsuki’s limits, see if he’ll be the first to fold. To beg.

Katsuki considers it. He really, genuinely, actually does. Considers abandoning whatever dignity he has left and whining, Faster, Izuku, touch me, make it good, please please please—

Like he read his mind, Izuku says, voice still breathy and rough, “Tell me how to make you feel good, Kacchan.”

Katsuki whimpers.

Izuku twists his wrist, cups Katsuki’s crown, and works his palm over the head in circular motions that have Katsuki’s fucking toes curling, his vision blurring. He moans, low and scratchy as his voice breaks around it. Izuku doesn’t relent, rubbing and rubbing like he’s idling waiting for Katsuki’s response.

He can’t— Katsuki can’t fucking think—

With a tingling traveling all the way up his spine into his teeth, Katsuki manages, “Faster.”

Blessedly, Izuku immediately speeds up, sliding his fist back down and giving Katsuki that blessed stimulation; firm, fast, root-to-tip pulls. Izuku squeezes periodically, teasing out twitches and jerks and beads of precum.

Katsuki’s already squirming into it, gut tightening and fluttering and generally doing everything it can to make him feel like he’s struggling to function. His thighs keep twitching like they can’t help it, can’t stay in place, jerking open then closed then open again.

When Izuku’s fingers crest the ridge on a particularly gut-clenching tight tug, they snap shut and are pried open by Izuku’s free hand in the next second.

“Be good and hold still, Kacchan,” he chides. He squeezes, once, then pulls back.

Oh my god.

A pathetic whine leaves Katsuki, followed by a hiccuped gasp, and then a moan that shakes as it leaves him. Izuku’s grip had tightened while he spoke, like he was reprimanding Katsuki for the literal involuntary movements, and Katsuki’s vision had exploded with heat. Katsuki finds himself locking up his muscles to obey anyways, because Izuku could probably tell him to do anything right now and he’d listen. As long as he doesn’t stop.

The texture of Izuku’s scars rubbing against the sensitive skin of his cock is turning his brain to mush. That’s what it is. The heat is melting him from the goddamn inside out, eating away at his defenses. Katsuki fucks helplessly into the tight ring of pure sensation, a frantic rhythm punctuated by the muted slap of Izuku’s fist meeting his navel, the creaking of the bed, Katsuki’s thready noises.

Izuku’s hands are so strong. And big. It’s so much better than any of Katsuki’s fantasies. Holy fucking shit—

“Harder,” Katsuki begs, “‘Zuku, harder, tighter—”

Izuku obeys before Katsuki’s done speaking, groaning, and Katsuki chokes on the rest of his pleas. He arches into the increasing pace with a cry, the tightening, coiling heat in his gut drawing it out into a moan. He opens his eyes to watch Izuku’s fist blur over his cock like he’s trying to wring him fucking dry.

God, but Katsuki would let him.

The slick sounds seem to double, suddenly. Familiar, tell-tale fapping that makes Katsuki’s head spin. He feels his pulse behind his teeth, practically tastes it, as he lolls his head to the side and— his breath stutters in his chest. 

Izuku’s got the hem of his shirt hastily pushed up his abdomen, and Katsuki follows that mouth-watering happy trail down to where Izuku’s currently got his free hand around his own cock, setting a punishing, furious pace with himself. He’s grunting, panting, brows furrowed and jaw slack as he jacks them both off. His eyes are laser focused on Katsuki.

His expression alone is so arousing that Katsuki can’t help the small moan that leaves him, and Izuku’s eyes snap up to his own. Katsuki shudders head to toe when their gazes meet. His cock kicks, leaks even more pre. Izuku’s ready for the subsequent roll of his hips, doesn’t even have to look, and Katsuki watches Izuku’s other hand squeeze his own cock tight as he fucks into it for a blistering second.

Jesus, he’s wet. From the sounds alone, Katsuki can tell, but looking at him, and the thick length of him dripping into his own fist, shlick shlick shlicking… Fuck. So turned on just from touching Katsuki, from hearing him moan and watching him squirm.

“You’re so beautiful, Kacchan,” Izuku breathes. His words end with a hitch that’s nearly drowned out by the combined noises of two cocks getting jacked. By their own sounds.

All Katsuki can respond with is a throaty moan that teeters into something high pitched and utterly humiliating.

He can not give a single fuck about how he sounds right now. Especially not when Izuku gasps at the sound, and speeds up both of his hands, sending fire lancing through Katsuki’s veins. His heart’s working overtime, blood singing, drenching him in heat. Katsuki’s thighs tense like he’s trying to brace himself against the ratcheting pleasure. It does fuckall, of course. Izuku’s relentless.

Not that Katsuki wants him to stop anytime soon. Or ever.

Kastuki claws sweaty fingers into the sheets, scrabbling, letting off little pops just to fucking self-regulate he’s so overwhelmed. It’s too good for just a handjob. Too good for just some mutual jerking off, but holy fuck is it the hottest thing Katsuki’s ever experienced.

It’s Izuku jerking them both, concentrated on giving them both the right type of pleasure at the same time, probably struggling to focus on the separate tasks as his wires cross and fry. Katsuki struggles closer, clumsily shoving their sides together, until he can feel the heat radiating from Izuku, his arm moving, muscles working and bunching right up against Katsuki’s immobile right arm as he jerks him off.

For some reason, that’s what makes Katsuki tip over the edge of overwhelming pleasure into holy fuck I’m going to come right fucking now if you don’t stop. It’s as his orgasm hurtles towards the nearest cliff that Katsuki realizes he doesn’t want to come yet, not so soon, not until—

Frantically, with a whine, Katsuki wipes his palm of sweat— ignoring that it does jackshit— and with extreme reluctance, grips Izuku’s wrist to still his motions. Izuku doesn’t get it at first, doesn’t stop; ignores the grip and keeps stroking, determined lust clouding his eyes like all he wants is for Katsuki to come. And then Katsuki lets out a strangled, desperate attempt at his name.

With a gasp and hard blink, realization floods Izuku’s face, his eyes, and he squeezes tight around Katsuki’s base, killing the orgasm that was cresting. Katsuki, despite asking for it, jerks like he was shot at the brutal interruption, then shudders into stillness, heaving for breath. He whimpers, just a little.

Izuku squeezes his own base as well, the scars stretching over the skin of his knuckles. Katsuki drags his gaze up past the tensed abs to watch as Izuku’s face twists with a pained grimace, and the brief glance of his bared teeth tickles the back of Katsuki’s brain. Rapid flashes of darkened claws, carved muscles, blood and ferocity and fury. Katsuki shivers.

After a moment, Izuku releases them both. Katsuki’s so hard his cock bobs, twitches in the cooler air, flushed and wanting. He finds an unmarred part of the sheets to grip so he isn’t tempted to tug himself to completion. Forces himself to look away.

Between breaths, Izuku rasps, “Do you not… want to come like this?”

“Hnn,” Katsuki says, trying to figure out how to form words around the galloping of his heart. “Wanna…” His head lolls. Izuku’s eyes are dark and lidded as he watches. “I dunno.”

They come down for a moment, and then Izuku nods. “I have an idea,” he says, again. He reaches behind himself to strip his shirt off over his head and tosses it over the side of the bed. He settles back, opens his arms. “Come here?” 

Katsuki eyes him suspiciously but shifts to his knees anyways. He tries his best to ignore how his cock is throbbing a frantic plea for release, but it’s kind of fucking hard to do when he’s got Izuku Midoriya naked and sat before him. 

Compact muscle, sturdy frame, scarred and freckled all over. Katsuki wants to worship him. Izuku must be impatient for release too, because he deems Katsuki too slow, reaching out and literally bodily dragging him where he wants. Which is, apparently, perched atop his lap, face-to-face, dick-to-dick.

Katsuki feels smoldering heat burn his face anew, even as he scowls at the blatant mandhandling. Fuck, that was hot. His cock seems to think so, anyway, twitching with the pulse in his gut.

“Sorry,” Izuku mutters, not sounding sorry at all. He urges Katsuki to set his weight fully on his thighs, then reaches for the hem of his shirt. It’s a bit of an ordeal with Katsuki’s arm being so uncooperative, but together they manage to wrestle Katsuki free, and then they’re both naked, Katsuki reeling at the sheer amount of skin on skin.

Izuku’s all smooth skin and toned bulk, and Katsuki will probably never get over just how sturdy Izuku is. It’s not that he’s insanely buff beyond comprehension, but it’s just… broad shoulders, broad chest, broad back— he’s a fucking tank. Katsuki has to swallow back excess saliva remembering how the under-the-skin Blackwhip had carved out the muscles threaded through every one of his movements.

Mmmfh.

Katsuki scrambles to focus on the very important current situation of being naked and perched atop the (thick, muscled, warm) lap of a similarly naked Izuku. The bare skin isn’t helping. Izuku’s a goddamn feast for the eyes and he doesn’t even know it.

Katsuki forcibly drags his eyes away from Izuku’s chest. He’s about to ask just what the hell Izuku has planned when his hand darts down between them and grasps them both without another word.

Instead what leaves Katsuki’s mouth is a sharp, “Fuck!” and his hips fucking into the fist, onto Izuku’s cock against his own, the wet slide loud and filthy.

Oh. Yeah, okay. Abso-fucking-lutely.

Katsuki moans his approval, and is echoed by something soft and breathy from Izuku.

“Let me do the work, Kacchan,” he murmurs, coaxing, low and sweet. His voice has a tinge of sex-roughness, all breathless rumble. Fuck, Katsuki loves when Izuku’s voice gets deep like that.

It’s soothing, and normally Katsuki would be bristling at that fact, at how easily it fucking gets to him, but he’s too busy arching into the solid warmth of Izuku against him, thighs quivering as they squeeze either side of Izuku’s waist. 

“You literally just did all the work,” Katsuki points out, not at all a protest. His right arm is limp at his side, fingers twitching against the bedsheets, while the left raises to wrap around Izuku’s shoulders, settling them more firmly against each other. Closer, sharing breaths and body heat, basically chest-to-chest.

Izuku hums in approval, drags his fist up the length of both their cocks, thumbs over the slits to smear the precum like he even needs any more when they’re both still dripping from earlier. As Katsuki whimpers through a full-body twitch, he thinks it’s probably not about the precum at all. He's sensitive.

Izuku mouths at the hinge of Katsuki’s jaw, following a kiss with a barely-there scrape of teeth. “I want to.”

Hnngh. Well. No way in hell Katsuki’s saying no to that. Wordlessly, he nods. Tries not to squirm at how goddamn embarrassing this feels for some reason.

Katsuki said fare-fucking-well to his dignity the very first time he came to Izuku’s snarling visage, to the depraved fantasies, but this feels like an entirely different type of humiliation, throbbing and dripping against Izuku’s cock. It was one thing when Izuku was watching him. That felt less vulnerable, even when he felt so exposed. And when Izuku was jerking him off, he was preoccupied by how new and good and hot it was.

Like this, he’s pressed right up against Izuku. He’s everywhere; his scent, his touch, the sound of his breaths. The fucker can probably feel how fast Katsuki’s heart is beating. Even like this, he’s still controlling both their pleasure. The thought probably shouldn’t appeal to Katsuki as much as it does.

Katsuki doesn’t bother stifling his whimper, just trying to focus on keeping his hips still, on letting Izuku work them both over like he said. But his head’s gone fuzzy, pleasure overriding the synapses that work so hard to keep him sane. The position is just… Katsuki inhales deep, and it’s all Izuku, sweat and musk and something uniquely fresh and achingly familiar. Not to mention that he’s still on edge from the cut-off orgasm, nerves left tingling.

Katsuki hunches, writhes on Izuku’s lap, stuffs his face into the tan expanse of his throat to muffle the continuous, small pathetic-sounding moans. He pants there, damp and open-mouthed, and realizes his heart is fucking thundering in his chest. There’s too much sensation, too much to keep track of. 

The contrast of Izuku’s rough scars sliding up the side of Katsuki’s cock, his strong fingers pressing them close, and the warm, slippery sensation where they’re rubbing together… Katsuki’s already losing his mind. Like this, it’s easy to tell: Izuku’s just slightly bigger.

Izuku nuzzles against the side of Katsuki’s head, kisses the hair there. Katsuki feels his chin move as he says, right into Katsuki’s ear, “Just let go, Kacchan.” He squeezes his fist around them, moans, then breathes, “I’ve got you.”

His left hand finds Katsuki’s right, so careful when he slides his palm under Katsuki’s and lifts it, just the barest touch and pressure as he gently links their fingers together, palm-to-palm. Katsuki whines, struggles to reciprocate the hold, still too stiff and sore and uncoordinated. He settles for digging the fingers of his working hand into the muscles bunched up at Izuku’s shoulders. 

Fuck it, he decides. Seriously, just fuck it.

Izuku’s got him. He always has. So what if he comes immediately? He’ll… He can just keep going, overstimulation be damned. The idea actually sounds pretty damn appealing.

Katsuki meets the next downward stroke of Izuku’s fist with a thrust up, and fully fucking shivers at the appreciative squeeze Izuku gives them.

“That’s it,” he praises. Starts twisting his wrist on the upstroke. “Just like before, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki claws at his skin, clinging to his broad shoulders, nearly goddamn drooling at the feel of Izuku twitching right against his sensitive underside. Izuku wastes no time, setting an unrelenting pace that has them both moaning.

“Fuck,” Katsuki pants, head hung, squirming. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s wet and hot and he can’t stop letting loose moans and grunts and whimpers, fucking up into the tight hole Izuku provides and against that thick cock against his own. Katsuki pries his eyes open— unaware of when he squeezed them shut— and shifts so he can stare down at his lap, at himself in Izuku’s lap. 

It’s goddamn obscene. Izuku’s big hand wrapping around them both in a damn tight fit— fingers not quite meeting— squished together and sandwiched between their bodies, making an absolute mess as they leak over each other and over Izuku’s scarred knuckles, creating a symphony of slick noises. The flushed heads peek out over and over, ruddy and shiny, and Katsuki follows the length of Izuku’s arm with his eyes to watch how the muscles in his bicep jerk, the tendons in his forearms bunching and releasing with each motion.

Izuku’s hand is fast, firm, determined, barely budged by the rutting. Strong. Katsuki remembers the videos, the fucking claws, and groans, loud and long. White hot pleasure pulses in his gut, sends him dizzy and breathless and on fucking fire.

Jesus fuck.

Katsuki’s cock throbs, and he gives a mighty thrust, a helpless jerk of his hips that kickstarts a frantic rhythm. With it is a borderline pornagraphic moan that Katsuki has to close his eyes against, hunch back over to hide his absolutely flaming face. He thinks if his body gets any hotter, he might spontaneously combust.

Or end up singeing Izuku’s skin, or the walls, or the damn bed sheets again. For now, Katsuki just tries to breathe around the tightness of his chest, the pants and moans that trip from his throat as he ruts like his life depends on it.

Izuku’s sudden guttural moan snaps Katsuki’s soul back into his body, and all of a sudden he’s hearing every moan, every hitch of breath, every bitten off word of praise and Katsuki’s name. 

A specific set of words sticks out, loud and clear among the rest of the incoherent muttering:

“Good boy, Kacchan.”

It feels like Katsuki’s entire nervous system restarts. Oh. Of fucking course he has a praise kink.

Katsuki’s resulting moan is more whine than anything, loud and desperate-sounding. Whorish. Every hair on his body raises, and he shivers so hard it’s audible. 

He ruts harder, opens his jaw, and fucking bites, just needing some way to release this feeling that’s becoming too big for his skin. His teeth latch onto Izuku’s trapezius as he huffs and whimpers his pleasure like an animal. A wounded one.

Izuku gasps so lewdly it sounds like he just came, but Katsuki doesn’t feel the telltale wetness. When he sucks on his mouthful of heated flesh, Izuku makes a strangled, desperate sound, and his fist speeds up until it feels like he’s trying to fucking strip their cocks. Katsuki’s eyes roll back as he fucks just as frantically into it.

“Ah, ah, Kacchan—” Izuku pants, moans crescendoing. “Gonna— Fuck, fuck, Oh—”

Izuku tenses all over as he comes with a loud, almost pained-sounding moan, and Katsuki nearly follows right fucking after at how indescribably hot it feels when Izuku’s cock throbs right up against his as it releases rope after rope of cum. It gets trapped between their slick bodies, spread by Izuku’s fist as it pumps and pumps and pumps.

It gets ten times wetter, the obscene sounds of slick fapping transforming into lewd squelches, but still Izuku doesn’t stop. He fucks up into his fist, into Katsuki’s ruts, with each spurt and then keeps going.

Katsuki gets so lost in the heat of it all, the scent and feel of Izuku’s cum sending heat spiraling deep in his core, that he only remembers to unlatch his teeth when he feels drool slipping out of his mouth and down Izuku’s skin. 

Izuku’s growling now, still working them over, sounding near-feral with it. He’s straining, against Katsuki’s weight, his own fist, arching off the wall with nowhere to go. But he doesn’t stop. And throughout this all, his grip on Katsuki’s right hand never tightens to the point of pain.

It’s the sexiest thing Katsuki’s ever witnessed.

Katsuki, delirious and so close he can feel his orgasm building beneath his skin, heat spreading through his bloodstream and swallowing him whole, pulls back and smashes their lips together.

Izuku opens up immediately, and he releases Katsuki’s hand to bury his fingers in Katsuki’s hair instead, tugging at the strands until his scalp stings and he moans against Izuku’s tongue. Katsuki does his best to swallow Izuku’s growls, the grunts, the rasping breaths, while it feels like he’s disconnecting from his body.

Katsuki tries to warn Izuku as his balls tighten, as his gut pulses and coils and squeezes his lungs, but all he manages between scraps of breath is a few muffled whines. Izuku gathers up any drool that escapes, swallows it back like the fucking freak he is, and Katsuki feels every finger and toe begin to tingle as his moans get louder and louder and—

He comes with a cry, barely muffled into Izuku’s mouth, nails sinking into Izuku’s heaving shoulder and probably leaving bloody crescents behind. Izuku moans as Katsuki falls apart. Fireworks explode behind his lids, within his veins, little crackling pops from his palm, and he paints Izuku’s fist and navel with his cum. He feels it combine with the mess of Izuku’s, hot and wet and pulsing and— sliding down to his balls, squelching between them.

Katsuki stops being able to kiss back as he trembles through an orgasm that floods his entire body with scorching heat, never-ending bliss. Izuku licks into his slack, open mouth, undeterred, drinking in the moans that quickly turn into whimpers because—

Holy shit, Izuku still isn’t stopping.

Izuku’s second orgasm is silent, but no less visceral. There’s far less cum than before, but still his cock kicks and spurts, and Katsuki’s about to lose his fucking mind at how the musky scents are overlapping, at how blisteringly hot it is that there’s three orgasms worth of cum squelching between them, the slide of Izuku’s fist so wet it feels like Katsuki’s got his cock in someone’s body.

Izuku’s hissing through gritted teeth, brows scrunched up, and it’s so obvious he’s in pain but it’s fucking sexy, how he’s not stopping. How he’s torturing himself to, what? Make Katsuki come twice, too?

I’m gonna die, Katsuki thinks hysterically.

He isn’t given the opportunity to come down from his first orgasm before the second one starts building beneath his skin again. It’s a sharp, unforgiving kind of pleasure. Biting, burning. Izuku moans, but it’s pained, strung high in his throat. Every muscle in his body is tense.

Katsuki gapes, chokes on a moan. “You’re—”

“I can take it,” Izuku grinds out. Katsuki shudders at the grit in his voice, the breathless, deep sort of rasp.

He sounds wrecked.

“Fuck, Izuku,” Katsuki moans, shivering.

“Mmgh,” Izuku agrees, and then he’s gripping Katsuki by the hair and tugging him into another kiss. Prying his lips open and licking behind his teeth, tangling their tongues together. Little pained sounds eke from his throat. 

Katsuki slides his hand from Izuku’s back to his front, feeling across all that tense muscle, the sweat, the scars dotted here and there, slicing through the otherwise smooth skin. Izuku makes an appreciative sound, returns the favor by dragging his nails across Katsuki’s scalp, down to his nape, gripping him there, anchoring him for Izuku’s exploration.

Katsuki lets him, drops his jaw open and pants, breathes when Izuku allows him to. He swipes up a streak of cum splashed across Izuku’s abs, genuinely no idea whose it is, and brings it to his lips for a taste.

Izuku pulls away at the nudge of knuckles against his chin, and watches, chest heaving, eyes dark, as Katsuki sucks the fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. He’s so hazy with pleasure, drunk on the rush of it all, that he barely registers what he’s even doing. But he’s addicted to whatever the fuck it does to Izuku.

A flame ignites behind his green eyes, something in his expression bursting into an explosion of heat and lust. It darkens him, darkens the deep flush to his cheeks, the hair framing his face, the set to his brows and his lidded eyes. Oh, fuck. Now he really reminds Katsuki of the videos. Izuku looks like he’s approaching something feral. His hand squeezes around them, slows for the first time since his initial orgasm, and his breaths turn deep and labored.

Katsuki’s fingers pop free of his mouth, shiny with spit, and then he’s grabbing his right arm and manually draping it over Izuku’s shoulders, wrapping the other back in its place and locking the hold by gripping his wrist. He can’t really squeeze with his right arm like he can with the left, can’t curl his fingers into the muscle beneath them as well, but this works.

Katsuki crowds close, closer, until they’re breathing each other’s air, and Izuku’s probably struggling to keep his fist moving between the squish of their bodies. Katsuki squirms his hips into it anyways, a wordless plea for Izuku to speed up, and he moans when the toe-curling pace resumes. 

Katsuki swallows rough, tasting faint salt and bitter iron. “Hot,” he pants. “Hngh—”

Izuku exhales an approximation of a chuckle, nothing more than a few strained huffs. He tilts his head, nudges his nose against Katsuki’s. “Say, Kacchan…” He pauses to groan, suck in a sharp breath. His hand slides from Katsuki’s nape to the side of his throat, thumb settling right over the scar on his cheek.

Katsuki rumbles imploringly, then jerks with a high-pitched keen when Izuku pauses and encircles their crowns, jerking in short bursts at that sensitive spot that makes Katsuki’s gut twist and cock feebly twitch. He clenches tight around Izuku’s waist. His thighs burn.

“How did it feel,” Izuku growls against Katsuki’s lips, voice dark, husky with lust, “when you fucked yourself to videos of me?”

Around uneven breaths that barely give Katsuki enough oxygen, he gasps, “I didn’t—”

“What were you thinking of?” Izuku swiftly interrupts. His hand resumes its root-to-tip stroking, and his wrist has gotta be fucking killing him, but he twists it anyways. Up and down and up and down. “What did you like about it? About me?”

It doesn’t even occur to Katsuki to be annoyed at being cut off. He just moans.

“Nngh– Everything. Every— Ah! The… the power. Wanted to… to be— Ohh, fuck—” Katsuki gives up on trying to be coherent, instead letting his jaw go slack. 

“Wanted to be what?” Izuku presses, sounding starved for the answer, like he needs it to survive.

Katsuki tosses his head back, fucking against Izuku’s cock in earnest, slipping through the mess his cum made, so turned on from it all he can’t feel his fucking toes. Izuku dives into his throat the second it’s bared, cupping his nape and sucking at his pulse, scraping his teeth down across Katsuki’s adam’s apple.

Katsuki shakes his head, moans an unintelligible jumble of words before he keens, “Fuck me.”

It’s an answer and it’s not. He’d try harder at wrangling together his melting brain cells if Izuku wasn’t so focused on marking up every centimeter of Katsuki’s skin. He licks a broad stripe from the hollow of Katsuki’s collarbone to the edge of his jaw. Chasing the sweat, Katsuki realizes, feeling lightheaded.

Fuck, he’s actually gonna come again. It rises within him, and it kind of fucking hurts, but it’s so good that Katsuki’s eyes are fluttering, rolling back again before they snap back open.

His voice trips out of his throat in a throaty gasp. “Izuku—”

Izuku doesn’t miss a beat. “Come,” he demands, begs. “I wanna see it. Wanna taste it.”

Katsuki has literally no other choice but to obey. 

His orgasm slams into him like a kick to the sternum, robbing him of breath and all higher thought.

This time he’s pretty sure he blacks out, because when he’s next able to feel any part of his body, he’s slumped against Izuku’s chest, panting and shuddering while strong arms cradle him close, petting at his sweaty skin soothingly. Izuku’s heartbeat is firm and steady against him. 

Katsuki nuzzles into where his face is tucked, breathing in deep and smelling absolutely nothing but sex.

He tries to say Izuku, but it comes out more like “Hmmfhu.” Fuck, he feels wrung dry. And not just of cum. Of life force.

Izuku hums like he understood anyways. “Kacchan,” he says back tiredly. Tired, but sated. Satisfied. He sounds happy enough, anyway.

Katsuki deems that enough for now, and decides to wait until he feels possible of coherency. It’s a peaceful few minutes, just coming down together, slotting back into their skin, relaxed bone-deep.

Finally, Katsuki untucks his face, sighs deep and satisfied, and says, “If we don’t shower off this cum, I’m going to kill us both.”

Izuku laughs softly. It’s endearingly scratchy. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

They stumble into the attached bathroom together on unsteady legs and rinse and soap each other down. Katsuki can’t stop yawning, and Izuku spends most of the shower leaning heavily against the wall. Except for when he’s carefully washing Katsuki’s hair, because Katsuki figured, when in Rome.

Izuku’s especially gentle when he reaches Katsuki’s right arm, massaging away the knots in his shoulder until Katsuki groans, blissed the fuck out and bumping his mouth into Izuku’s smiling one.

After they dry off and nearly fall over putting on fresh pairs of underwear, Izuku frowns down at the sheets. Katsuki blinks slow, takes a steady breath, and pivots to his closet. He throws Izuku the first clothes he sees, half-hazardly dresses himself, and drags Izuku out the door once he’s clothed.

The sheets are tomorrow’s problem.

Izuku laces their fingers together on the way to his room, and Katsuki spies a little smile on his face when his head pops free of the shirt Izuku once again helps him out of. Katsuki’s asleep within minutes of snuggling under the stupid All Might covers, tucked back-to-chest against Izuku.

Not before feeling the kiss pressed to his nape and Izuku’s mumbled, “I love you,” though.

And not before he tugs Izuku’s arm further over his waist and slurs a “Love you,” right back.

Yeah, they probably have a shit ton to talk about the next morning, but that’s morning-Katsuki’s problem. For now, he soaks up the warmth of Izuku’s body, the chest rising and falling against his back, and falls into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep.