Archive of Our Own

Izuku’s in their bedroom when the front door slams open, hard enough that some of the items on his desk rattle.

“Oh,” he says, turning his head to the partially closed bedroom door. “I think that’s going to be the last question, everybody! Thank you all for donating and hanging out afterwards – I hope the Q&A was fun, too!”

A series of extremely loud thuds and heavy footsteps echo, each one more aggravated than the last. Through the cracked doorway he hears rustling fabric and buckles, the sounds angry in a way only one person is capable of.

T-minus fifteen seconds.

“I’ll post proof of everything later, as well as my own matching donation. It was important to me that we helped bring more awareness to this organization as it’s providing so many people tremendous amounts of help, so again, thank you for showing up and participating! I’ll be hosting another charity stream next month, and I’ll post the details soon. Bye, everybody! Bye! Have a wonderful evening!” Izuku says, offering one last smile as the chat flies by on his screen, farewells and more questions coming in at the last second.

What sounds like a kick to the wall but is most likely a boot kicked off with extreme prejudice punctuates the end of the stream with a bang. Izuku turns the webcam off (unplugs it for good measure), removes his headphones, and closes the website with practiced motions.

Heavy footsteps travel down the hallway to the bedroom, harsh breathing audible the closer they get.

Three, two, one…

The bedroom door slams against the wall, and there stands Kacchan, chest heaving as his eyes roam the room quickly. Everything but his pants and a few buckles are gone, sweat dripping down his chest, grime and dirt smeared across his skin. His ring is noticeably absent from around his neck, and he’s flushed down to the collarbone, jaw grinding painfully and strands of his hair matted with sweat.

His gaze sweeps across the bed, the dressers, then snaps to the desk where Izuku sits, stunned still with hands lax around his headphones.

His eyes meet Izuku’s, an outright blazing glare, and his lips curl, sneer as they sweep over Izuku’s body.

Oh. Oh, it’s that kind of day.

Izuku shivers.

Two long strides and then Kacchan is gripping Izuku’s collar in one hand, yanking him up from the chair and forcing him to stand chest to chest with him. He rips the headphones away with his other hand, and after a quick glance to the side, grabs the webcam off the computer and throws it into the wall as well.

Izuku gasps, but that’s all he gets to do. Kacchan yanks him to the side of the bed, a burning hand already crawling under his shirt and pulling it off, rough and impatient.

He stumbles at the force, gut tightening. Kacchan takes advantage of his wonky balance to shove him onto the bed, fingers hooked into his shorts and boxers to yank them off as he stumbles over his own feet. He’s naked before he hits the bed, only his compression sleeve left. The cool sheets against Izuku’s back are almost shocking with Kacchan’s feverish palms still pressing into his skin.

“Kacchan,” he starts, and then stops, fire racing through his veins and blood pooling in his cock already. Izuku doesn’t know what to say or even what he would want to say when he has complete understanding of what’s coming and has no intentions of stopping it.

Kacchan looks at him for only a moment, eyes boring into his as he looms over him from the side of the bed, his dirty body tense. Izuku nods, breathing fast.

That’s all the sign Kacchan needs.

He flips Izuku over, hooking his left hand into his knee to pull it up the bed and open his legs wide. He leans over him to snatch the bottle of lube they didn’t put away last night from between their pillows, and the buckle of his pants bite into the meat of Izuku’s thighs, dragging up and against his ass as he stretches.

Izuku can feel Kacchan’s bulge pressing against his back, hard and insistent where it’s still trapped in his pants. Big.

Izuku presses his hips up and grinds back against it for only a second before Kacchan’s hand lifts from his leg to his back, pressing down with an unforgiving palm and forcing him back onto the bed. He keeps it there, pressure steady – a heavy reminder to not move.

Izuku can’t help the excited wiggles, but Kacchan doesn’t seem to mind that.

He does mind when Izuku attempts to press up onto his forearms. His hand turns from a heavy reminder to an immovable object, the heel of his palm digging into Izuku’s back as he shoves him down and uses his body weight to keep him prostrate. Metal digs into his skin, warm from Kacchan’s palm – and ah, there it is. There’s his ring.

He must have put it on when he was coming back home instead of putting it back around his neck. Kacchan only does that when he misses Izuku, when he wants to feel closer to him but can’t be by him. It makes Izuku’s heart burst, but that line of thought is swiftly pushed aside in favor of another new realization: Izuku can’t move.

His cock twitches, trapped against his stomach.

Kacchan’s other hand drops the lube by his hip, and then with no preamble, his burning, sweaty fingers are wiggling around the base of the plug he put in Izuku this morning. Blunt fingernails grip the flared end then pull, drawing it out steadily.

He’s silent behind Izuku except for the pants trapped behind grit teeth.

But that’s impossible for Izuku. His voice reacts as quickly as his body does, loud and clear in their quiet bedroom.

“Kacchan,” Izuku calls for lack of anything else to say, face warmed from his own breaths as he shoves it into the bedding. “Kacchan.”

His fingers twitch at the sudden movement inside him, so he grips the sheets next to his head, all too aware of his heavy breaths.

Kacchan tugs with impatient hands when the widest part of the plug gets to his rim, and Izuku forces himself to relax, groaning lowly when it’s finally out and Kacchan drops it unceremoniously to the floor behind him.

Izuku’s going to make him clean that later.

As soon as it’s out, Kacchan hooks a thumb into him. It enters easily, feeling the gape left behind and tugging. It’s a quick, testing touch, nothing more, and yet Izuku can’t help the cant of his hips pressing up against Kacchan’s palm as he tries to get it back.

“In,” he says, muffled into the bed. He turns his head to the side, trying to peek past the hair falling in his eyes to see what little of Kacchan he can over his shoulder. “In, Kacchan.”

Kacchan ignores him.

His hand slides from his back down to his ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads Izuku open, baring his hole easily. It twitches with nothing inside, the slightest bit wet from leftover lube and Kacchan’s sweaty, probing fingers.

Izuku flushes, down to his chest – Kacchan is staring, watching his hole open and close reflexively. He puts his head back in the sheets, humming low in his throat at the mix of embarrassment and heady arousal.

He can’t help it. After sitting with it in all day, working out, doing chores, streaming with it in, it feels unnatural for there to be nothing instead of something.

He feels empty.

But Kacchan fixes the issue, two fingers covered in quickly warming lube tracing his rim and then, finally, in.

He’s quick with the prep, purposeful as he shoves them in. He waits only for Izuku to relax enough for him to add the next and the next, spreading him wide and ready for his cock. Four fingers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Kacchan twists his wrist, flexes his other fingers against Izuku’s back as he leans his whole body into his arm. Izuku jerks at the stretch, at the sudden weight, and he presses Izuku down again, down and into the bedding, into the mattress until Izuku would need to use significant strength to get out from under him.

Instead of testing Kacchan’s patience, he gasps out loud, toes curling and hands tearing into the sheets.

He twitches a little with every push in of Kacchan’s fingers as they go back and forth and back and forth and everywhere like Kacchan can’t decide if he wants to fuck Izuku on his fingers or if he wants to grind them against his prostate mercilessly.

He chooses neither. He hooks his fingers as he pulls them out, wipes the excess lube on Izuku’s ass, squeezing it roughly with no purpose other than he can, other than the fact that Izuku can’t and won’t stop him. A possessive grab, nothing else, before Izuku is suddenly bereft of both hands. He hears a buckle clink behind him.

Oh. Oh, fuck. Kacchan’s really not in the mood today.

Normally, prepping Izuku is one of his favorite parts, often to Izuku’s demise.

Kacchan loves to eat him out until his rim is oversensitive and he’s crying, loves to tease with his fingers, eyes unflinching from where they’re glued to Izuku’s face, waiting for every minuscule reaction and sound. He loves to keep Izuku on his cock, warm and still, a firm hand on the small of his back to remind him of where he is and who he’s with.

Kacchan can spend hours edging Izuku in the guise of prepping him, has spent hours doing so, mean smirk on his face and eyes filled with glee every time Izuku breaks and begs for him to put his cock inside already.

But not today. He did the bare minimum of what he knows Izuku can take, and then, now, without warning, the blunt tip of his cock is pushing past his rim in one thrust, bottoming out immediately.

“Oh, my g-” Izuku barely gets out, legs jerking at the sudden pressure and sensation.

Kacchan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound. Just pulls right back out, smears some of the excess lube from Izuku’s ass onto his cock, then slams back in.

Then he does it again. And again. And again and again and again, a brutal, punishing pace that only increases with every snap of Kacchan’s hips.

“Oh my god,” Izuku finally gets out. It comes out low, guttural, half the syllables still stuck somewhere deep in his throat where normally only Kacchan’s cock would be able to reach.

If Kacchan hears him, he makes no recognition. He spears Izuku on his cock over and over again, focused, single-minded. Like a dog and his bone.

Izuku grinds his forehead into the sheets, unable to close his mouth for fear of choking on his tongue and drowning on his own moans. He feels his spit drip down, soak the sheets by his chin. It’s all he can do to bite and grind them between his teeth, hoping it’ll take the sounds he’s making and hide them away.

Heat is all he knows – the slow heat from the still fresh stretch of his ass and the sharp, stinging heat of Kacchan’s thighs meeting his quickly, the heat of his thoughts delightfully suffocating as Kacchan enters him again and again.

His hands dig into Izuku’s waist. Mean, unforgiving, and wholly familiar, they squeeze as he pulls Izuku back to meet his hips. The pressure is barely bearable. The clap echoes loudly, almost masking Izuku’s gasp.

His balls, low and heavy, meet Izuku’s skin on the upswing every time, a carnal measure that Izuku can hardly keep track of.

There’s a snarl under Kacchan’s every breath, an angry echo as he splits Izuku down the middle. Izuku’s just a conduit for his anger, for his lust, the only way for Kacchan to expunge everything in his head and exorcise everything in his heart.

But even fueled by rage Kacchan is nothing but control. His hand on Izuku’s waist and one trailing up to his hair, the deliberate snap of his hips, the precise pressure of his teeth as he gnaws on Izuku’s back and paints out the map of his mouth with his tongue. All of it carefully controlled, irritation and anger funneled into taking Izuku apart with the same precision of a surgeon and so thoroughly the only parts of him left are the ones left singed by Kacchan’s hands.

He demands Izuku’s body, takes control of his pleasure even when focused only on his own. But even then, even when Izuku is but a waypoint for him, Kacchan gives him everything he could ever need.

When the end result is a mind so clear he touches the stars, how could Izuku ever deny him this?

He yanks Izuku out of his mind and back into him and his cock like he caught Izuku trying to run away. But even as the ever-humming machine that is his brain gets caught between Kacchan’s fingers and spills out everything in it like sand from a sieve, there’s a single pervading thought.

It feels good, good like pressing a fresh bruise, like breathing after burning hands have left his throat, like reaching into his chest and pumping his heart with clumsy fingers.

And Kacchan has only just started. Izuku’s not sure he’ll survive this encounter.

Kacchan tires of their position quickly. He pulls out with a low, almost dissatisfied sound in his chest and grabs Izuku’s hips to flip him back over. Kacchan lifts them completely off the bed, holding him up with only the strength of his arms while Izuku is still twisting his shoulders around, caught a step back.

Before Izuku even has a second to realize he’s on his back now, Kacchan bullies his way back between Izuku’s thighs and pushes in. He doesn’t slow his pace, doesn’t change his rhythm – he slides back in, a centered point of heat in Izuku’s body, and gets back to work.

It feels like all Izuku can do is gasp, overwhelmed with the intensity. Kacchan’s desire is a carnal, greedy thing, and Izuku’s body stands in its way.

Kacchan stays up for only a few seconds before he’s ducking down, shoving Izuku’s knees to the bed and on either side so he can lay chest to chest with him. His heaving ribs rest against Izuku’s like nothing else could take their weight.

He places a single knee on the bed under Izuku’s hips to keep him on his cock. He shoves his face into Izuku’s neck, teeth immediately attaching to his skin and settling, breath hot and wet, spit coating his throat the longer Kacchan mouths and bites at him. It forces Izuku’s head to the side, gulping in air like it’ll relieve the ache.

He wraps his left arm under Izuku’s waist, hand spreading wide across his side until Kacchan has a single finger on both his hips and his ribs, digging in painfully. The other digs under Izuku’s head, gripping the hairs at the base and pulling. They stay, his palm warm against Izuku’s scalp and tugging at the strands with every thrust. It keeps him still, trapped with Kacchan’s mouth on one side and the swell of his bicep on the other, fingers a leash on green strands.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, gasps, chokes. He’s not aware of what or how he’s saying anything anymore. Kacchan is burning hot and covering him so completely he can barely breathe, let alone speak.

He’s rough, hips hard and loud against Izuku’s skin. Where before Kacchan was fast, overwhelming, he’s deep now, methodical, powerful.

Every thrust in shoves Izuku across the bed. But even that inch away from Kacchan must be too much because he digs his fingers into Izuku’s waist, shuffles after him on the next thrust. He doesn’t let up on the force, pushing and pushing and pushing until Izuku’s head and shoulder are cradled on Kacchan’s arm, nose tucked into his elbow, until Izuku’s own nails are digging into Kacchan’s back in his attempt to hang on.

He's so close Izuku can smell everything still clinging to Kacchan’s skin. His burning sweat, the distinct almost metallic smell of outside, the barest hint of his deodorant – all of it smothered in ash and dirt. Izuku shoves his face closer, desperate for more.

“Kacchan,” he repeats, face going red at the pitched sound of his own whine.

Kacchan grunts, and jerks Izuku bodily towards him. He scrabbles for purchase, one hand landing in sweaty, blond hair almost desperately and pulls, accidentally, caught on the movement of Kacchan pushing his cock back in.

Kacchan jerks, hissing air out his teeth. They dig into Izuku’s neck, harsh, bruising, tongue forcing itself flat against Izuku’s skin and sucking.

“Oh!” he gasps, hands twitching. “Kacchan!”

He doesn’t mean to pull again, but he does, and this time Kacchan retaliates with the hand in Izuku’s hair. With extreme precision, he increases the tension until Izuku is whining, neck arching with the pull. His spine tingles, and he shivers, twitching in Kacchan’s hold.

It’s too much, the different sensations. His mouth against his neck, his big hand in Izuku’s hair, his hot, sweaty skin pressing the air from his lungs as Kacchan uses his own body weight to keep Izuku still and under him. Worst of all, Izuku’s dick trapped and rubbing against his and Kacchan’s stomach with every thrust, matching every time Kacchan shoves his cock back in with little finesse and almost too much force, hammering against him until he feels raw and used.

Whenever he thinks he can get used to one sensation, he gets distracted by another. He’s pulled in all directions, the weight in his gut underlined by the constant feel of Kacchan’s big cock carving out something irreplaceable inside of Izuku, conquering what’s already conquered. He’s inexorable in his pursuit.

It aches. It aches so bad, a building and building pressure pushing Izuku to the edge, feeding a raging inferno and charring his veins.

“I can’t,” he sobs, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Kacchan picks up the pace at his words, almost desperate in his movements. Both of his legs are on the bed now, knees digging into Izuku’s ass and back as he follows him across the bed. “Kacchan, I can’t.”

He sobs again, a quick sucking breath right against Kacchan’s ear. The first tear falls, sliding down his cheek to land on Kacchan’s face still pressed into his neck, and Izuku comes without warning. Eyes rolling, toes curling, he cries out, face slick with tears.

It’s like a switch flips, because Kacchan growls, muffled and echoing against Izuku’s throat, predatory in every way that matters.

If he was insistent before, he’s relentless now. He pushes and pushes and pushes into Izuku until suddenly his head is hanging off the bed, moaning into the open air as he shakes. He has no control over his limbs, every muscle in his body tensing past the point of pain, cramping yet held down by Kacchan’s body.

His rim is sensitive, rubbed raw, his tears slipping into his hair, the little space between their torsos slicked by Izuku’s cum, but still Kacchan doesn’t stop. His hand moves from Izuku’s hair to grip the edge of the bed. His knuckles are white, tendons straining on the back.

Izuku’s dick is still so hard it hurts, feeding into the cycle of pain and pleasure that Kacchan made. He gets no reprieve. Kacchan fucks him into his orgasm and past it.

One wave becomes another and another and another until Izuku is drowning. Every touch, every brush of their skin, of Kacchan’s teeth and fingers is another little death. He cries because he can do nothing else, can feel nothing else.

“Please,” Izuku begs, for what he can’t say. He just knows that whatever he needs Kacchan can give to him, is giving to him. “Please, Kacchan, please.”

Suddenly out of rhythm, Kacchan’s hips slam harder than before, and then Izuku is sliding off the bed, head and shoulders hanging in the air.

“Kacchan!” Izuku gasps out, arms sliding desperately around Kacchan’s shoulders as he falls, feet hooked into each other and his thighs squeezing Kacchan’s ribs as hard as he can. “Kacchan, wait, I’m- Kacchan!”

Kacchan’s breath punches out, just a little, and his cock twitches when he slides out an inch, then another as gravity takes Izuku and he brings Kacchan with him.

Izuku wants to whine at the loss, this being the longest Kacchan has been outside of him since he first bottomed out and stayed there. He doesn’t get a chance.

Kacchan’s hand shoots out from where it was gripping the bed and they slide another inch before it slams against the floor, stopping their descent. Izuku jerks as Kacchan groans, tight, face screwing up like it hurt.

And still he doesn’t stop.

“Oh my- oh my- god, Kacchan,” Izuku hisses, wet eyes squeezing shut and blinking tears away. They trail up his face, get lost in his eyebrows before they trail past his temple and forehead.

Oh god, but Kacchan doesn’t stop. Not when Izuku first came, not when they started sliding off the bed, and not now when Izuku bends backwards over Kacchan’s arm and the tips of his hair brush against the floor. Izuku has nothing to push back against anymore, nothing to ease off the unrelenting force. He can only take it, can only hang here in the air by the grace of Kacchan’s strength and pushed down by the force of his cock.

Kacchan’s arm is tense around Izuku’s waist, veins straining in the forearm stretched out by Izuku’s head. He sears Izuku to his torso with the way he presses him close to keep him from falling.

He holds all of Izuku’s weight on a single arm effortlessly, even as his palm slips along the floor, even as Izuku shudders and his limbs go limp and refuse to help hold him up.

And then Kacchan reclaims the few inches inside of Izuku he lost, hips angled and shifted in their descent as he rams back in. The large, blunt head scrapes against his prostate, and Izuku all but screams.

“Slow- slow, wait- I need, Kacchan, please-”

He doesn’t want slower, he doesn’t want more, he doesn’t know what he wants.

His hairline is soaked from how much he’s crying, and his body slips against Kacchan’s with how much he’s sweating. He’d be sliding down if not for the fingers digging into his waist.

He’s burning up and dizzy – from the overwhelming pace, from all the blood rushing into his head and the edge of danger as he shudders precariously above the floor, from the hoarse echoes of Kacchan’s shuddering breaths against his neck.

All this time, Kacchan has been fucking like he’s angry, a predator unrelenting in his pursuit. But now, clutching Izuku to him and breathing just as heavy as when he first kicked the door in, he’s fucking like the only peace he’ll find is in Izuku’s body.

Izuku whines, voice cracked and choked off as Kacchan does it again, passes against his prostate so hard it’s like he’s passing through, going so deep it should be impossible with their position.

He can’t come again, Izuku can’t, but he hasn’t softened since he first came, caught unaware by the tightening noose of his own pleasure. And this time, he can feel himself shattering under Kacchan’s unrelenting care.

Kacchan thrusts again, his palm slides, and gravity forces him deeper into Izuku.

He chokes, swears he can feel the head of Kacchan’s cock at the base of his throat, because what else is blocking him from breathing, is punching the air from his lungs? What else could explain the tightness in his chest and the wave of his tears?

Over and over and over again, until Izuku’s head presses into the floor and his neck bends uncomfortably.

“Kacchan,” he sobs, choking on his own spit. “Oh, god.”

His cock twitches against his stomach, precum dripping to pool in the hollow of Izuku’s neck, the cum from his first orgasm smeared against his tensed stomach. His fingers tremble from where they press tight and bloodless into Kacchan’s back. What little strength he has he puts into keeping hold of Kacchan, of keeping him close even as he slides further and further away.

Kacchan just grunts, bending his elbow to lower Izuku’s shoulders to the ground, but only just – he doesn’t let go of Izuku, doesn’t move his palm from where his fingers have spread wide against the floor to provide support for the combined weight of their bodies. He only lets the skin on the top of his shoulders scrape against the carpet to even out the bend in Izuku’s neck. Just enough for him to breathe.

He drags one foot from the bed to the floor, taking half the sheets with him and plants it next to Izuku’s arched waist and ribs. The other presses against the side of the mattress, heel dug in like he’s about to push off. Kacchan still refuses to let Izuku’s hips drop to the floor, keeps a firm arm around his waist to keep their hips connected, always connected.

Crouching over Izuku’s body, and using the floor as leverage, Kacchan fucks into him like an animal.

“Kacchan!” he cries out, a throaty sound. Nothing intelligible has come out of his mouth since Kacchan first pushed in, nothing but his name. But however he sounds out the syllables of his name, complete or slurred and half broken, Kacchan listens for it.

One of his hands falls from Kacchan’s shoulder to push against the wall a few feet behind him, but his hand is slippery with both of their sweat. He scrabbles for purchase fruitlessly, a shiver running up his body and landing at his fingertips.

It burns, up his spine and down his legs. The wide, merciless stretch of Kacchan’s cock bulging in his stomach and hitting the base of his spine is a way point, and then a constant, over and over.

“Oh my god, please, I need- I can’t- Kacchan, please.”

He can’t find anything to hold on to. Kacchan is too far away now, head pulled from his neck and looking pissed about it. Kacchan ruts forward and pushes Izuku further across the floor. Everything but his waist and legs rest on the floor now, and he slumps against gravity’s hold, shoulders cramped against the carpet.

He can’t find the strength to lift back up, to hang from Kacchan’s neck when he can barely blink.

Kacchan sucks in a harsh breath, the air hissing back out through his teeth as he follows Izuku down. His pace jolts off beat for only a second while he moves, a rare twitch of his shoulders echoing his breaths.

He finally settles his other foot on the floor, brings their hips with him as he lands roughly on his knees and shoves back between Izuku’s. Kacchan settles over him like a weighted blanket and immediately sets his teeth into Izuku’s cheek. He bites down, savage and mean.

Eyes narrowing when Izuku’s cock twitches against his stomach and he cries out, he does it again. His breath is hot against Izuku’s face, ragged, centered right above the blooming heat his teeth left.

“No,” he whines, hands coming up to grip at Kacchan’s shoulder and pull him closer, keep his mouth on him.

Kacchan takes his right wrist and slams it against the floor by his head. His grip slides up to finger his palm, a mockery of a hand hold as he slots two of his fingers between Izuku’s thumb and pointer. His hand spreads too wide, pinky stretching past Izuku’s and thumb hooking under Izuku’s own as his ring finger settles somewhere in between.

Izuku doesn’t care. He holds back as tightly as possible, fingers spasming every time Kacchan pushes against his prostate or bites his face.

Kacchan huffs, sucking almost tenderly against his cheek when Izuku tilts his head down to try and kiss the side of his head. He doesn’t quite manage it, and he squirms against the floor the little that he can, hips moving up to meet Kacchan’s in his frustration. He tugs at the base of Kacchan’s head, the short strands of hair slipping through Izuku’s sweaty fingers. It gets his attention, which is all Izuku wants.

“Mouth,” he pants, words slurring against the weight of his own tongue. “Kiss me, Kacchan, please.”

He wants his mouth on his, wants Kacchan to eat his tongue and suck his spit and steal his breath.

But Kacchan is moving too hard and too fast for Izuku to seal their mouths together, too rough for them to do anything more than echo each other’s breaths.

“Kacchan,” he calls, a plaintive whine.

Kacchan pulls off his cheek to glare at him. For the first time since they started, the pace slows a fraction of a second. Sweat drips down his forehead to land on Izuku, a facsimile of the same tears smeared across his face.

He tugs at the hand Kacchan still has trapped, a cry in the back of his throat.

Finally, finally, Kacchan leans down, presses their foreheads together. He doesn’t kiss him right away. He keeps careful watch as he moves inside him, tracking the minuscule changes in Izuku’s expression when he pulls out far enough for the head of his cock to tug at his rim. He groans the same time Izuku does, quieter, but low enough to reverberate in Izuku’s bones.

When he snaps his hips forward and their foreheads grind against each other as Izuku moves from the force, when Izuku’s legs spasm against his waist, when he bares his throat as he arches against Kacchan’s heavy body – that’s when Kacchan dives down like a starving man and eats his gasp.

It’s absolutely filthy, too much spit and not enough air. Kacchan traces his teeth with his tongue, sucks at his lips like he could steal his blood, feeds him his breaths until Izuku’s brain is nothing but the haze at high morning.

Finally.

Izuku moans, a fresh wave of tears spilling from tightly closed eyes. Kacchan is finally close, finally here, finally home and in his arms. Izuku is so warm.

When Kacchan pulls back, unwraps his arm from under Izuku’s waist to place a palm on his stomach, he keeps close enough for his face to stay by Izuku’s neck. Kacchan’s teeth grind the meat of his shoulder and the tip of his clavicle in lieu of words.

His thumb brushes against Izuku’s stiff cock, fingers pressing against Izuku’s stomach.

Izuku jerks up, eyes snapping wide open as his entire spine twitches.

“Holy sh-”

Kacchan does it again, holds the pressure of his palm like he can feel his own cock through the layers of skin and fat and muscle of Izuku’s stomach.

Izuku whines, neck tingling and the hairs on his arms raising.

“Shit. Close,” he gasps. “Close, close, m’close, Kacchan.”

Kacchan ruts his entire body into Izuku’s now, shoulder blades undulating under Izuku’s palms and the sharp cut of his hipbones bruising his inner thighs. His palms are sweaty and hot, fingers losing grip of Izuku’s.

He snarls in frustration, lets go so he can lower to his elbow, fit his fingers around Izuku’s wrist until they overlap.

“Izuku,” he growls, directly into his ear, and he’s gone.

Before, Izuku came like he was drowning, orgasm lost under Kacchan’s relentless pursuit. But now, with a cracking cry, he damn near breaks his own spine trying to shove against Kacchan’s heavy body. He comes again, hard enough that if Kacchan wasn’t laying against him he’d swear he’d have felt his own cum hit his chin.

He tenses up, more aware now than he was before of Kacchan’s cock in his guts when he can’t help but bear down on it, refuses to let it leave. He can’t see through the film of tears in his eyes, can’t breathe through the weight on his chest.

He must bring Kacchan with him, because he shudders against Izuku, hips screeching to a stop when he clutches his body tighter against him.

Kacchan makes a sound, so forceful and low that Izuku’s cock twitches again, a weak frisson of pleasure tapping against every joint in his body in an echo of an orgasm. It’s a guttural, heaving moan, like it tore up and out through Kacchan’s throat and left a bloody trail in its place. Ending on a grunt, a rippling, deep sigh tears the last of it free.

His fingers squeeze his wrist, dig into his stomach and his hip, a bruising strength that grounds Izuku through the pulsing heat in his head.

For a long second, neither of them move. They do nothing more than breathe, tripping the other’s senses when they shiver.

And then Izuku sniffles, blinking his eyes rapidly. His limbs slowly, slowly start to release all of their tension. He can’t catch his breath, at least not as quickly as Kacchan does. He gulps in air, the tail-end of a moan painting every breath.

Kacchan slowly sits up, pulling out of Izuku’s space and away from his limp arms. His arm falls as Kacchan straightens, landing limply across his torso into the mess left there. The fingers of his arm left on the floor twitch, still spasming as the aftershocks wreck his body.

Kacchan watches, moves his hands to pull Izuku’s trembling thighs down from his waist to settle them firmly on Izuku’s bent knees. They’re the only thing keeping them up and off the floor, from spreading wide as a sign of the damage Kacchan wreaked.

He breathes out through his mouth, rough and heavy, blowing a piece of hair from his eyes. His skin gleams with sweat, muscles untensing as he finally settles. His eyes rake over Izuku. He can feel his gaze like it were his hands themselves.

Kacchan’s head tilts to the side as his chest still heaves. He doesn’t blink as he moves back, watches every agonizing second as he pulls out inch by inch from Izuku’s raw, red hole.

Izuku spasms, violently. Kacchan looks away from the cum dripping out of him to his flushed face and still leaking tears.

He leans back down, palms settling back on the floor on either side of Izuku’s face as his hips are cradled once again by Izuku’s legs, but his torso stays clear of his to allow him a chance to breathe on his own. He bends his head and finally kisses Izuku again. Wet, full lips cover his, forces them open.

He kisses Izuku like he’s breathing, a deep sigh escaping from his nose as he smothers him.

Izuku can’t even move his arms to hold Kacchan close longer. He can barely kiss back, just enough to open his mouth at Kacchan’s insistence. His chest hitches softly, an echo of a sob.

Kacchan pulls back at the sound, lips tracing still-drying tears up to Izuku’s eyes. He pauses there, moves a hand to wrap under Izuku’s neck and hold him still, hold him gentle, while he takes the time to clean Izuku’s face with lethargic yet devoted care, tonguing his freckles and sucking on the round of his cheekbone until soft, pink marks are left behind. He mouths the smile-wrinkles at the corners, drags his teeth against his cheek, and then lands inevitably on Izuku’s lips again, wet and salty with his own tears.

This time, he kisses Izuku in greeting, a silent I’m home passed between breaths.

When Kacchan pulls back to breathe, the haze in his eyes has cleared.

Izuku kisses him one more time simply because he can, because Kacchan is here and still close enough for him to do so without straining his neck. His breathing settles, eyes shining as he meets wine-red and smiles.

“Welcome back,” he croaks. He clears his throat, and Kacchan’s hand squeezes when he swallows, thumb pressing behind his ear while his Adam’s apple bobs.

Izuku stretches his stiff fingers to wrap gently around the wrist still by his face, his desire for skin-on-skin contact overriding his inability to make large movements. He presses, vaguely notes the fast-beating pulse against his callouses. He soaks in the warmth all the way to his crooked bones and sniffles, blinking wetly up at him.

Kacchan shivers.

Tracking the last tear curling up in the corner of Izuku's eye with fastidious attention, his chest flexes as he dips down again, shoulders bunching just for Izuku's greedy eyes. He sucks and teethes more aggressively at Izuku’s mouth, a just as greedy curl to his lips to match the hand gripping the back of Izuku's neck. It squeezes, heavy. With his mouth at his front and his hand behind his head, Izuku can go nowhere else, can't turn away or breathe without Kacchan's express approval. Izuku hums, pleased.

Sucking at what will surely be bruised lips come morning, heated tongue pressing insistently, Izuku can only open with a soft sigh, letting Kacchan tilt his head to his satisfaction.

Kacchan grunts as soon as he's allowed back in Izuku's mouth, fingers tightening once before relaxing. The motion is reflexive in nature, confirming Izuku is really in his hands and under his mouth. Familiar.

His kisses calm and Izuku hums again, quieter.

Watching through shuttered eyes, Kacchan moves his hand from Izuku’s neck to his chest and presses down, counts out the space of five heartbeats. Kacchan pull back on beat six, kisses him one, two, three more times, more chaste than anything he's done all day. When Izuku smiles, shaky and weak, Kacchan gnaws at the corner of his chin, as if to distract Izuku from his adoration – like he could ever.

"Kacchan," Izuku sighs, letting his head fall back onto the floor. "One more."

He gets one more, and then another, and another, until his lips are buzzing softly. Only then does Kacchan wordlessly sit up with a satisfied tilt to his shoulders.

He pushes one of Izuku’s knees up and away, opens him to his gaze. Without warning, he presses the tips of his fingers to Izuku’s hole, watching as it periodically twitches and flexes against nothing. He drags his fingers through the cum sticking and stretching to it with every involuntary flex, only stopping when Izuku moans, cracked and broken.

Kacchan’s fingers are too warm, too much, especially when Izuku can’t help but linger on how full he used to be not a minute before.

He stands up, all the way to his feet, looming over Izuku for only a second before big hands are passing under his body and lifting him. Kacchan walks the few steps over to the bed and places Izuku down on his side, back facing him.

His legs, with the faintest of shivers still running through them, lay weakly over each other, and his arms land somewhere in front of him.

Izuku still isn’t aware of half his body parts, doesn’t know if his arms are still attached, if his fingers still work beyond the simplest of movements. He’s hardly aware of when Kacchan reaches over to carefully slide his compression sleeve off, nimble fingers working under the fabric and smoothing across his scars like kisses.

All he knows is the deep-seated ache he hopes to feel for at least a few more days still, the fog in his brain only Kacchan can induce, and the utter quiet where his thoughts used to be.

He turns his head, groans as he shifts just so he can see Kacchan’s face, drink in the color of his eyes after hours bereft of him.

He stands at the edge of the bed, hands still attached to Izuku’s skin. One of them grabs at his ass, squeezes and lifts with sure fingers. Izuku shivers, cold after being smothered with Kacchan’s weight for so long and at the realization that Kacchan is again watching the way his cum leaks out, slow and steady. His head falls back onto the bed, heavy.

“You good?” Kacchan rasps, finally speaking again.

His voice is as wrecked as Izuku feels, despite not having been used the entire time he was inside of Izuku.

It hits the base of his spine like a Molotov, and he shudders again, harder. He can feel his hole spasmodically twitch, one of his arms jerking a little.

Kacchan is dangerous.

“Yeah,” Izuku says after a length, voice hoarse. “So good.”

Kacchan grunts, and Izuku peeks over his shoulder again to watch as Kacchan pulls back. He rolls his right shoulder with the smallest of winces before turning around and heading to their attached bathroom.

He faintly hears the tub start to run, and gingerly rolls onto his back, foot gently tangled in the sheets still haphazardly attached to the bed. His breaths leave him shaky and weak, but the pleasure still rolling through him is anything but.

That cold has grown though, a distant weight making a home in the fog of his mind the longer Kacchan is away. He needs to touch him, see him, needs to be attached to his skin for at least another century for he’s growing restless in his own without Kacchan’s hands to guide him.

It’s a soundless relief when Kacchan comes back as quickly as he had left, hands immediately gravitating to Izuku when he makes a beeline across the room. There’s a quiet to his footsteps, heels settled as they walk with a different purpose now. But it’s a purpose that seems to always lead him back to Izuku.

He once again fits his arms under Izuku’s body, pulling him up close and tight to his chest as he carries him to the bathroom. He drops a kiss to warm skin as they walk, head lolling against Kacchan's shoulder.

The tub is still running as they enter, but Kacchan doesn’t put him down.

Using his foot, he scoots their stool out and sits with a quiet huff. He moves Izuku so he’s also sitting, albeit in his lap, knees spread over Kacchan’s and a muscled arm around his waist.

He’s completely dependent on Kacchan to keep him from slipping with the way he’s spread open like this. But it feeds a skin hunger that plagues them both, pressing them chest to soul and binding them together just as much as he had when Izuku had first started to slip off the bed.

It overwhelms Izuku’s slow mind, so he simply leans back, greedy as he is satisfied to be skin to skin with Kacchan again.

While he settles, Kacchan takes the shower head hanging low on the wall and starts to guide it over Izuku’s body. The water is warm, the pressure soft, and he sighs, leaning into Kacchan’s chest and letting him do what he wants. The water glides over his skin, washing away the sweat and the spit and the cum. It’s a gentle departure from before, and Izuku appreciates the reprieve on his body. He's not cold anymore with Kacchan’s heat at his back and the warm water on his front.

He relaxes, taut muscles easing as he trusts Kacchan to not let him fall on his ass on the cold floor tile.

Once Izuku’s leaning back enough, Kacchan slips the arm from around his waist to rub away at his skin with their body wash. He moves with the water, fingers firm as they press into Izuku’s body. His hand covers more than the water can, spreading wide over Izuku’s stomach to press him almost possessively closer, unyielding and unrelenting.

He tenses just enough to press into the touch. Kacchan can cover him so completely, can hold him so easily. It’s one of the greatest comforts Izuku has ever known.

His hand moves, trailing lower and lower across the cut of his hips and the relaxed muscles of his thighs until Kacchan’s fingers are tugging at his rim again.

They’re not shy or slow as they enter, and sitting like this, Izuku can feel every movement in his gut.

He gasps, oversensitive and burning with it, but Kacchan doesn’t let up as he cleans Izuku out with two sure fingers. He rests his chin on his shoulder as he looks over his body, digging in when Izuku starts to squirm too much.

He whines, one hand grasping the forearm pressed against his torso and the other to Kacchan’s knee. His fingernails press deep but Kacchan only hums.

He kisses Izuku’s neck almost lazily, eyes still watching where his hand disappears and where Izuku’s cock makes a valiant effort to twitch against Kacchan’s forearm. It looks almost dwarfed compared to the size of Kacchan’s arms, to the moving, tensed muscles, and Izuku whines again, turning his face away as he feels himself go red.

Kacchan is just so big, everywhere. It’s not fair.

He cleans him out thoroughly, methodically, ignoring the broken gasps and muffled whines Izuku can’t fight with every push in and pull out. It’s almost too much, his rim raw, but Kacchan’s fingers, though large, aren’t rough. They are long though, longer than Izuku’s, and accidentally press against his prostate – once.

Once is enough for him to practically jackknife off his lap, knees trying to snap close as he chokes on nothing.

“Kacchan,” he croaks, not sure if it’s pained or pleading. But Kacchan is quicker, the forearm pressed along his stomach pulling Izuku close and using the wrist of the hand still holding the shower head to keep his knees open and over his own legs.

“Baby,” Kacchan says, holding Izuku tight. “Stay still.”

Still shuddering, Izuku doesn’t have the strength to fight against him, and can only sit there as Kacchan continues like nothing happened. His fingers continue to pull out of Izuku covered in his cum, and he washes them away with warm water, repeating the process over and over.

When he finally deems Izuku clean enough and pulls his hand away to wash it off with the shower head, Izuku slumps against Kacchan’s chest again, breathing heavily. He hadn’t realized he had gotten so tense, but his heart is hammering in his chest and he’s hard again.

He wills it to go away, too tired to take care of himself.

Kacchan puts the shower head down on the floor next to them, replacing it with Izuku’s right knee. His grip is firm, like stone, preventing movement Izuku hasn't made yet. His other arm moves up until he’s grasping the base of Izuku’s cock in his big, warm hand as he says, “Here.”

“Kacchan-” he gasps. It’s all he can get out before Kacchan is stripping his cock with quick, clean movements.

“Izuku,” he murmurs into his neck, the word vibrating. “I’ve got you.”

His pace is as relentless as when he had his cock in Izuku, but mercifully gentler. His dexterous fingers know exactly where to move, how much pressure is too much, knows how much Izuku can take, how exactly to make it good for him.

Kacchan kisses his neck again, nudges his forehead and the line of his nose against Izuku’s pulse as if to soothe.

He hadn’t touched Izuku when he was fucking him until the end, hadn’t given more than a single thought to Izuku’s pleasure in the pursuit of his own, and Izuku was honestly grateful. To have all that force, all that intensity focused solely on him in addition to everything else would have surely ripped him apart.

But Kacchan’s doing it now, not quite an apology or thanks, with all his focus narrowed down to Izuku and Izuku alone, taking care of him. Always taking care of him, even when he doesn’t need to. Especially now, having already come twice before, but Kacchan’s hand is rough with callouses, the motions practiced and his voice smooth, fire licking up Izuku’s spine.

His cock throbs in Kacchan’s hand, balls drawing up tight, and he can feel the gape Kacchan left behind, his hole squeezing like it’s waiting for something to fill it.

Not one part of him is safe, not when Kacchan’s hands are on him.

It doesn’t take long, Izuku’s senses still fragile and body tender, thoughts stuck behind the haze in his head yet exclusively attuned to every point on his body touching Kacchan. Heat sears through him, traversing already burnt ley lines to burst into existence behind his eyes.

He groans, voice echoing in the bathroom just barely louder than the rushing sounds of water from the tub and comes, arching against Kacchan’s secure grip.

His cock spurts pitifully, thin, weak lines of cum caught between Kacchan’s fingers and dripping to the floor before he finally stops. Kacchan squeezes the base of his cock one last time, and Izuku’s groan breaks, shatters in his throat.

Kacchan has wrung everything out of him that he could. He lays against him limp, ribs expanding too quickly, aftershocks jerking tired limbs.

He kisses Izuku’s neck, walking his mouth up to the underside of his jaw and then to his temple. His lips are soft, a little chapped, and the barest hint of stubble grazes his skin. Izuku can’t help the flinch of his body, or the scraped wheeze stuck in his throat as he tries to breathe through the sensation.

Kacchan seems no better. He breathes roughly through his nose, and Izuku can feel his cock twitching against his ass, but he does nothing more. He lets it pass as he continues to mouth at Izuku, warming cold skin.

“Izuku,” Kacchan says, just to say it and watch how he trembles.

His hands soothe down Izuku’s sides until he’s no longer gasping, pressing firmly like he can imprint his touch onto his very skin. Down and down from the top of his ribs until he hits the crease of his thigh, until Izuku can finally properly say Kacchan’s name back.

Then does Kacchan pick the showerhead up again, turning it back on to clean Izuku off one more time before finally standing up. He walks over to the tub with Izuku in his arms, leaning down and turning the water off before carefully placing him in.

Steam drifts up from the surface, and the tap drips slowly as Kacchan steadily submerges Izuku’s body into the large tub, arranging his limbs for him where Izuku would just let them fall wherever they may land.

He retains a hand on Izuku’s neck, keeping his head clear of the water and adjusting him so he rests on the rim of the tub without being in danger of drowning.

It’s considerate of Kacchan to do so because Izuku certainly has no capacity to do it himself. His body is buzzing violently and is pleasantly numb as the same time, like Kacchan shook up a beehive in his stomach and it took over his every nerve.

The warm water soothes the shivers crawling up and down his spine, seep into his muscles until they have the same consistency of a wet paper bag. In fact, all of Izuku has the consistency of a wet paper bag, and the man responsible for the state of his body stands like he didn’t come home after a rough day full of patrolling only to add another hour or so of vigorous cardio by way of drilling his cock into Izuku’s body.

While Izuku tries to gather his bearings, Kacchan washes himself down quickly, scrubbing his hands over his body and through his hair with brusque movements, so very different from how he had washed Izuku.

Bubbles stream over scarred skin and freshly blooming bruises, getting caught between folds of skin and muscle.

Everything Kacchan does is somehow graceful, but right now he looks almost unearthly, hard-earned muscles shining under the late light of the sun peeking in through the bathroom window and body highlighted by the water.

And then his face twists sharply in a grimace when he reaches to put the showerhead back on the wall, and he shakes his head like a dog, water flying everywhere. It should break the spell, but if twelve-year-old Kacchan couldn’t scare Izuku away, he’s confident no manner of ugly faces or mannerisms will do so.

When he finishes, he stands to leave the bathroom and Izuku watches him go, head tilted lazily on the tub’s edge.

Kacchan turns partially away, naked and dripping water, the wide breadth of his back curling something possessive in the pit of Izuku’s stomach. He’s lightly tanned in the shape of his uniform, but red stands out strong against his skin, courtesy of Izuku’s blunt fingernails. The ones from yesterday haven’t healed yet, and the new ones follow similar and different paths. Some of them will be visible past his tank top, scratches not easily brushed aside as wounds from a fight.

Izuku smiles, settling more comfortably into the water.

His eyes trail down, and he watches as Kacchan’s ass flexes with every step, hands resting open and relaxed by his strong thighs. They bunch up as he leaves, and despite how big his thighs are, long legs corded with thick muscle, they’re not able to completely hide his swinging cock as he passes through the doorway oblivious to Izuku’s ogling.

And to think, Izuku had that monstrosity inside him not too long ago, had wept for it.

He’d do it again.

Izuku sighs, closing his eyes. He’s in danger of falling asleep right then and there in the tub, but the low, throbbing ache in his waist and his ass keep him awake. Barely.

“Hey,” he hears, and blearily opens his eyes to see Kacchan standing next to the tub, a cup filled nearly to the brim with water. “Drink.”

Izuku sits up, slowly, and takes the cup from him with both hands. Some water spills as he brings it up to his mouth, and Kacchan rests a heavy hand on Izuku’s neck. He doesn’t let go of the cup with his other hand, helping to tilt it until Izuku has drunk it all completely.

The cold water helps to clear some of the haze from his mind, and he sighs happily. Kacchan brushes his hair out of his face before he steps back, setting the now empty cup on the floor. Before he can come back to Izuku, he clears his throat.

“Get the Epsom salts,” Izuku says, voice quiet. “For your shoulder.”

Kacchan pauses, an eyebrow raised. Out of surprise, Izuku realizes.

“You noticed?” he rasps, something in his tone Izuku can’t quite place.

Izuku just hums, offering him a small smile.

Kacchan wordlessly gets the salts from under the sink and kneels next to the tub. He sprinkles them into the water in front of Izuku, silent as he helps them dissolve with his hand.

Izuku watches him before he decides to sit up again with some effort and leans over to press a simple kiss to Kacchan’s head. He lingers, luxuriating in his proximity, and exhales happily once he leans back against the tub.

Kacchan grunts, not looking at him, but his hand squeezes Izuku’s knee for a few seconds in passing.

He stands once the salt has dissolved, shaking his hand of the excess water. He steps closer to the end Izuku is leaning against before bending, placing a hand on Izuku’s shoulders and firmly pushing him away from the tub’s wall.

“Scoot,” he says, hand sliding down Izuku’s back and pushing him forward. He slips into the tub behind Izuku gracefully, the water rising quickly as he settles. Some of it spills out as he pulls Izuku back against his chest and brackets him with his long legs. They stretch past Izuku’s, knees bending slightly as he presses his feet against the opposite wall.

He wraps his arm around Izuku’s shoulder and across his chest, forcing him to lean back as he grips Izuku’s bicep. He places the other back over Izuku’s abdomen, like when he was washing him earlier. His fingers skim lightly over his stomach under the water.

Izuku relaxes fully, submitting himself to Kacchan’s care.

“Feel better?” he asks quietly, turning his head so he can place a kiss against the underside of Kacchan’s jaw. It’s a little scruffy, some dirt still stubbornly clinging to his skin.

Kacchan sighs, deep and long, before his tight hold relaxes. He drops his head down, leaning it against the side of Izuku’s and presses his lips to his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he eventually answers.

“Well, alright then,” Izuku says, soft and more than a little happy. He wiggles in place before scooting down in the water. He rests his head against Kacchan’s collarbone and the curve of his shoulder, playing with the water and letting his hands float to the top.

“Thank you.” It’s murmured quietly but clearly, punctuated with another kiss.

Izuku laughs, light and airy, and the mood shifts. He can feel Kacchan hide a miniscule smile into his shoulder.

“Whatever Kacchan needs,” Izuku promises. “Always.”

Kacchan shifts his hand from Izuku’s arm to his jaw, moving it to press their lips together.

He kisses Izuku without hurry, with firm pressure but slow movements. He hums when Izuku leans into the rhythm and closes his eyes.

The soft, wet sounds of their lips meeting over and over echo in the quiet bathroom.

Izuku pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He breathes through his nose, takes in the faint scent of their body wash and the Epsom salts, of Kacchan’s personal scent.

Kacchan doesn’t pull his lips from his skin. He moves to kiss Izuku’s temple, drops another on his forehead, then his cheek, then ends with one at the corner of his lips. When Izuku laughs, a little ticklish from the soft pressure, Kacchan leans back against the tub and pulls Izuku with him.

“How was your day, baby?”

“It was very good,” Izuku answers, smile widening. He’s not sure if Kacchan wants to talk, or wants to hear Izuku talk, so he keeps his answer simple. But Kacchan prods him with his chin, voice low in Izuku’s ear.

“Raising for a domestic abuse non-profit, right?” When Izuku doesn’t answer right away, he nudges him again.

He takes the hint and happily starts talking, content to distract Kacchan with his voice.

“Yeah! I had to be careful sharing the information at first because I didn’t want to crash the website, but other than that it went pretty smoothly.”

Kacchan slides down a little more so he can rest his head more comfortably against Izuku’s.

“We raised past our goal,” Izuku says, scooping some water in his hands and then letting it trickle out onto Kacchan’s forearm. He repeats the action, smoothing the warm water over soft skin. “More than I thought we would, but honestly, it’s all thanks to Todoroki. He stopped by in the chat during his lunch break for just a few minutes and donated at least half of what we had already raised. I think he’ll be hosting his own fundraiser later. He seemed to like how we did this one.”

Kacchan grumbles, only half-faking his annoyance at the mention of Todoroki. “You’re matching it, right?”

“Yeah. Er, wait, Todoroki’s or the total?”

“Fuck him. I meant the total.”

Izuku laughs. “Then, yeah. I’m matching everything, including what Todoroki already donated.”

“I’ll match, too.”

“Thank you, Kacchan.”

He grunts.

Izuku peeks up to the side, and his breath catches in his chest, heart pounding painfully.

Kacchan’s eyes are closed, but he’s listening to Izuku, making little faces at his words. He’s content, fingers idly running up and down Izuku’s body, feeling his skin in the water.

Kacchan will talk more if he wants to, and Izuku will be here to listen, so he doesn’t stop.

“That means we’ll have raised- wow, with both of us matching the stream, that’s more than five times our goal. That’s amazing.”

“And next month?”

“There’s a daycare whose building got vandalized. Luckily, it was after hours so no one got hurt.”

“Daycare,” he repeats.

“Yeah. They’re a tiny place, and they work with kids having trouble handling their quirks.”

“What happened?”

“A group of people broke in, destroyed everything and stole what they didn’t break. Left a lot of, uh, rude messages, too. Had strong opinions on some of the quirks the kids have, and enough info to name some of them out specifically.”

Kacchan grunts, hands tightening around Izuku.

“Those pieces of shit got away?”

“Jirou caught them.” That’s how he heard about it in the first place.

“Good,” he rumbles, fingers flexing again.

“Yeah.”

Izuku drops his head, kisses Kacchan’s arm. It takes a few more for his grip to ease up, but eventually he’s back to lightly stroking Izuku’s skin.

“I was thinking we could raise funds to help cover the repair costs and get them some better security. This shouldn't have happened to begin with, so we'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Also, we need to update literally everything they have. They’re still using some teaching materials from when we were kids, Kacchan. And their kitchen didn’t work before. They deserve better.”

“Hm. Talk to All Might.”

“All Might?”

“He can get better books. From Nezu.”

“That’s a good idea. You know, I kind of wanted to visit after everything got fixed, say hi to everybody. Jirou showed me some pictures of the workers and kids and some of them are still so tiny!”

“You got baby fever still?”

“What do you mean, still? Kacchan you’re the one who saw me with that baby and got really h- mmf!”

Kacchan’s hand moves from his arm to cover his mouth, big hand covering everything from Izuku’s nose to his chin and muffling him completely.

“Deku. We agreed not to talk about that.” His words are stilted, an almost embarrassed edge to them.

“But Kacchan,” he whines from underneath, licking his palm until he pulls away. “It was hot.”

“Shuddup.”

“But it was!”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Sure, su- Kacchan!” Izuku yelps. Water spills over the side as he jerks from the fingers digging into his ribs. He’s too sore to be moving around like this! “Okay, okay! You’ll definitely kill me and not kiss me- wait, wait! Uncle!”

“Try me again, baby.”

“Uncle! I said uncle!”

Kacchan finally pulls his hands back, and Izuku’s traumatized giggles trail off. He traces over his skin like Izuku didn’t almost go into cardiac arrest from the sudden attack.

“Cute,” Kacchan says, kissing Izuku’s shoulder. “But weak. Didn’t take even two seconds for you to cry uncle.”

“Jerk,” he says, a little wheezy.

Kacchan’s hand brushes against his side as he moves, and Izuku startles reflexively, sucking in a breath so sharp he almost chokes. Kacchan snickers behind him, holding the underside of Izuku’s thigh now and tracing back and forth with light fingers. He doesn’t deviate from his path.

Izuku audibly exhales. A safe zone. He can relax again – for now, because with how smoothly and how quickly Kacchan can change from light touching to outright groping, who’s to say, especially when it involves his thighs.

“You like it,” Kacchan says, confident, a little too smug.

Izuku grumbles but relents. He catches his breath and sinks deeper into the water.

“Kacchan is okay?” Izuku asks, rubbing his cheek against Kacchan’s skin.

Kacchan is still answering in mostly grunts or short sentences, but he’s responding and teasing Izuku, so it should be okay to ask. If anything horrible had happened, he would have told Izuku right away, so he’s not overly worried, but he still wants to make sure Kacchan is okay, wants to take care of him.

“I’m fine,” Kacchan answers. “Just…”

“Rough day?”

“Yeah. One of the interns wouldn’t listen at first. Stormed out. He came back and we settled our shit but I’m gonna have to call fucking Aizawa now. Villain got in a lucky shot to my fucking shoulder, cost me a few minutes. And we lost the lead to the Osaka fire, so we can’t tell the hospital jack shit other than it was quirk caused. Everything was just shit – even patrol.”

Izuku hums, understanding. That sounds like a demoralizing day. Kacchan doesn’t talk as much as Izuku, but he thinks almost just as much, and probably built it up in his head as he was coming home, focused solely on his mistakes and not his victories. No wonder he was in such a state.

But he’s okay now.

Izuku smiles, snuggling deeper into his arms. Kacchan lets him adjust, and then tightens his hold as he hooks one of his ankles around Izuku’s under the water.

“Wanna do something for the hospital,” Kacchan says suddenly. He doesn’t clarify why, but Izuku doesn’t need him to. He lazily moves his fingers up Izuku’s thigh, writes something against him then swipes his hand over it like he’s clearing the way, smearing it into his skin.

“In Osaka?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay! I’ll contact them later, see what they need so we can do it after we finish with the daycare.”

“Hm.”

“I think Iida also had a nonprofit he was advocating for, so we should talk with him later. And Haruka wants to meet with us when we come back, for the donation we gave to the quirkless advocation group last month.”

“Something wrong?”

“No, or at least I don’t think so. I think she just wants to get us in contact with the group’s president, do official publicity with them in uniform and not just the stream. Probably wants us to shake hands and speak a little.”

“Fucking hell.”

“C’mon Kacchan, it won’t be that bad.”

“She’s always pushing for more. Can’t leave us the fuck alone for more than a second.”

“That’s kind of her job, Kacchan.”

“PR can suck my dick.”

“I’ll do it if you promise to show up.”

A pause, then, “Fine.”

Izuku hums, hiding a smile.

Another pause. “Now?”

Izuku snorts. “Kacchan if I suck your dick in the tub, I will drown. Don’t you remember last time?”

Kacchan grumbles, writing against his thigh again. He doesn’t swipe away this time, just keeps writing over it. “Yeah. But it was hot.”

“Kacchan.”

“What.”

“I’ll do it on the day of, okay? I don’t want pneumonia.”

“Fine.”

Izuku lifts his fingers up to pat his arm, but Kacchan grabs one of his hands, studying the tips. Izuku’s starting to get a little pruny.

“Like an avocado,” he mumbles, squeezing the tips together. They squish together. Like an avocado. Maybe Izuku is more like an avocado than he realizes.

“Alright,” Kacchan says immediately after, like he had heard Izuku’s thoughts. “Out. We’re done.”

He brings them both up to stand, hands a steady support until he can sit Izuku on the lip of the tub and drain the tub. He shivers, the porcelain surface and the air away from the heated water cold against his wet skin.

“Stay,” Kacchan says, giving him a look before leaving the bathroom and taking the empty cup on the floor with him.

He’s dripping everywhere once again, and Izuku frowns a bit. If Kacchan doesn’t help him walk, he is definitely going to slip on the puddles echoing Kacchan’s footsteps and brain himself on the floor, banana peel style. Why would he try and leave?

“I’m not a dog,” he grumbles, but obediently doesn’t move from his spot, either.

Kacchan returns with another glass of water and gives it to Izuku to drink. He grabs his towel as Izuku learns fine motor control once again and runs it over his body, dabbing the wet spots on Izuku’s chest when he spills with patronizing fingers.

“Slob,” he mutters. Izuku pointedly finishes his water in silence, spilling a little on purpose.

Kacchan combs through the few parts of Izuku’s hair made damp from the bath water and humid air with his fingers, and tugs lightly on the ends. It’d almost be playful if it weren’t for the heated look in his eyes.

Izuku meets them, narrowing his. If Kacchan wants to fuck anytime soon, he should not have just gooped Izuku’s brains out on the stool earlier.

“You, Kacchan,” he starts, squinting harder when Kacchan’s lips twitch, “are a menace. Give me a chance to feel my toes again.”

Kacchan hums, tugging Izuku’s hair one more time before settling his towel on his shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”

When he goes to move away, pushing off his knees, Izuku tugs him back down. He might not be fully capable of walking just yet, but his hands work just fine.

“Deku,” he says, frowning. “I’m-”

“Just wait, okay?”

“The hell are you doing?”

Izuku answers by putting the empty cup in Kacchan’s hand and taking the towel from around his shoulders off. Before Kacchan can say anything, he places it over Kacchan’s head and begins to slowly move his hands back and forth.

Kacchan is tense for only a second before he sighs, long, loud, and exaggerated. But he kneels back on one knee, tilting his head down to make it easier for Izuku to reach.

Once he’s no longer dripping copious amounts of water from his hair or his shoulders, Izuku leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

“’Kay,” he says, all quiet.

“Done?”

“Yeah.”

Kacchan stands up, towel around his shoulder, and pulls Izuku with him.

He accepts the arm around his waist when Kacchan pushes him towards the bedroom, clinging a little tighter when his heel slips on the edge of a puddle. Kacchan just lifts him up and over it, like it’s nothing, like Izuku doesn’t weigh almost as much as Kacchan does.

Okay, so maybe Izuku can feel his toes again.

(That’s a lie – he can’t. He really can’t. They’re still numb. He can barely feel his dick touching his thighs. But Kacchan makes it really hard not to lie to himself when he just… does things like that.)

He walks them to their dresser and slips on a pair of boxer briefs. Izuku grabs at one blindly, hands moving from habit as he steps through the opening and uses Kacchan’s body as support.

Izuku struggles to put it on more than he should. Tight around his waist and the swell of his ass, but not as much around mid-thigh – it still digs in a little, pinching the skin around the sides but only because it settles lower on his thigh than he’s used to.

It’s only once he looks down that he realizes they’re not his. Mostly because they’re a plain black in color and have no fun images or even a shred of All Might patterning on the hem.

“Kacchan,” he starts, thumbs still hooked into the waistband.

“What?”

“These are yours.”

“And?”

“Can you give me a pair of mine?”

Kacchan hums, hand sliding down from his waist and under the briefs to palm Izuku’s ass. He smirks down at Izuku, and says while tonguing a sharp canine, looking far too smug, “No. It looks good.”

“But it’s tight.”

“Exactly why you should keep it on, baby.”

“Oh my god, Kacchan.” He kicks Kacchan’s shins, and only just grazes his toes against his calf.

Kacchan snorts under his breath and starts hauling Izuku over to the bed.

“Pay attention next time,” he says, letting go of Izuku to fall back onto the bed. “You can take it off if you want, but I’m not getting you another pair.”

“You’d like that.”

“Fuck yeah I would.”

The sheets are still on the floor, there’s a wet spot near the foot of the bed from spilled lube, and the mattress isn’t sitting correctly in the frame, but Izuku doesn’t mind any of that, choosing instead to collapse right next to Kacchan. His forehead lands on Kacchan’s spread eagled arm, his hand landing somewhere next to his thigh. He wants to scoot over and burrow into Kacchan’s side because he’s cold, but as soon as he fell onto the mattress, all bodily movement went extinct.

Once he’s mostly on the bed, bum legs notwithstanding, Kacchan throws a proprietary leg over his back. He’s always touching Izuku, always removing as many pieces of clothing as he can when he gets home to get his hands on Izuku’s skin. He might just take the boxers off of Izuku himself, just for the hell of it.

Izuku groans into the sheets, melting as he decompresses.

“My body,” he says, more of a pleasant sigh than a complaining whine like he’d meant.

“My fucking shoulder,” Kacchan says back. He rotates it, wincing.

Izuku turns his head in the sheets to look at him, frowning. “From earlier?”

“Nah, the shitass villain. Need to ice and wrap it.”

Izuku pushes himself up, groaning only a little. Kacchan’s leg starts to slide off him, catching his attention.

“Oi,” Kacchan calls, lifting just his head up to glare at Izuku. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Izuku says, sitting up and getting his legs under him. He tests sitting on his knees, slowly stretching before nodding to himself. Yeah, as long as he has something under him, he’ll be fine.

“Fucking looks like you’re going somewhere,” Kacchan grumbles under his breath, still staring at Izuku with narrowed eyes. His leg twitches, like he’s thinking about slamming it into Izuku’s back to keep him on the bed and under him.

Izuku hums, eyes darting around as he thinks.

Kacchan’s not one for being pampered, especially if he can’t see the long-term benefit of it. Especially if it’s something he can do himself or do for Izuku instead.

So Izuku appeals to the only way he’ll let him take care of him: practically.

“Can you scoot up, Kacchan? Lay on your stomach?”

Kacchan slowly sits up, big shoulders rolling and abdomen clenching as he narrows his eyes at Izuku. Izuku swears he only gets distracted for, like, five seconds. Ten, max.

“…Why?”

“Trust me?” he says instead of pointing out that Kacchan seems to have gained another half-inch on his lats.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow further.

“The fuck are you up to?”

“Nothing bad, I promise.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean you won’t try some weird shit, though. Pervert.”

Izuku flushes. Okay, that’s fair. But still. “Nothing weird either.”

Kacchan clicks his tongue, but ultimately concedes. He rolls over, punching his pillow into shape and angrily stuffing it under his head. His crosses his arms under his head and the pillow both, shoulders bunched up and back tense.

“Happy?” he asks, sarcastic.

“Yes,” Izuku answers, not sarcastic.

He walks forward on his knees, slow and careful, until he’s hovering over Kacchan’s waist. He sits down gingerly, legs on either side. The stretch is a bit much, but it’s not terrible, and Kacchan’s hips aren’t as wide as his shoulders. If Izuku had tried to sit higher up, by his chest… may his ass rest in peace.

The longer he sits, the better it feels, like stretching sore muscles after working out.

When he groans quietly, shifting and squeezing his thighs against his sides while he settles, Kacchan lifts his head, speaks up.

“Deku,” he says, turning to peek at him over his shoulder. His eyes are burning. “Careful.”

A warning. Not for Izuku’s wellbeing, but of the consequences to come if he doesn’t watch himself.

“Kacchan,” he says back, face warming. “It hasn’t even been thirty minutes. Aren’t you tired? You can’t be ready to-”

“Like that’d stop me when you’re grinding your ass into my back,” he cuts him off. His back flexes, muscles tense. He drops his face back into his pillow, his next words muffled. “Like it’d stop me even without that, especially when it comes to you.”

Izuku knows this, knows that he could literally just stand there in a burlap sack and somehow Kacchan will still want to consume everything about him. Knowing this doesn’t stop him from being flustered. He squirms again, red in the face and down his neck, and Kacchan bucks his hips a little, bouncing him playfully.

“Okay, okay! And in any case, I can’t.”

Kacchan pouts, pushing his head further into the pillow to try and hide his reaction. “Really? You were serious?”

He sounds disappointed. It’s cute. But also, when it comes to Kacchan, Izuku’s refractory period…

“…Well at least not so soon.” His toes are tingling.

Kacchan grunts, shifts his hips under Izuku’s a little. “Good.”

Izuku shifts as well, wincing.

He swears, if he gets hard again anytime soon, he’s going to the doctor. Kacchan shouldn’t be able to wring out so many orgasms from him in such a short time frame.

It grows quiet between them when Izuku simply rests his palms on Kacchan’s back. He allows himself a few selfish moments solely to touch him, run his hands over swaths of muscles and scars, to trace the red marks he left behind with his fingertips and kiss each one.

Slowly but surely, Kacchan relaxes. His breathing deepens and he starts to rumble underneath him. If humans were able to purr, Izuku swears that Kacchan would be doing it right now.

He moves his hands to Kacchan’s hurt shoulder, gently rolling the edges of his palm against it while he tries to find the aggravated muscle. He settles on a spot once Kacchan groans, and gets to work.

“I want to stream on the second weekend so you can be there this time. We’ll both be off that day,” Izuku says quietly, hoping what Kacchan had said while drunk a few years back was still true and that Izuku’s voice is like white noise to him in the best of ways. He said that sometimes he’d call Izuku just to hear him ramble and help him sleep, that if he’s got too much on his mind, Izuku’s own mind was the perfect remedy.

Well. Kind of.

He actually said that Izuku was cheaper and not as annoying as getting an actual white noise machine, but he had sucked an entire ring of bruises into Izuku’s throat while he said it and kissed him every time he said Kacchan. Izuku has long since learned to read between the lines, especially when Kacchan is drunk. He’s hoping it’s the same now, the same as it was earlier in the bath when Kacchan first prompted him to speak.

“It was fun doing it by myself today, but I missed you,” Izuku admits easily. “Wasn’t the same.”

He moves his hands over, slowly pushes his thumbs beneath the edge of one of Kacchan’s big shoulder blades. Kacchan hums underneath him, another inch of tension in his spine gone.

“Me, too,” he agrees, voice gone low and rough the more relaxed he gets. “Wanna be there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He moves his hands back up between his shoulder blades. Izuku has to sit up a few inches on his knees to put more force into the movement.

“The plug helped?” Kacchan asks, redundantly. He knows how much it must have, or else Izuku wouldn’t have kept it in all day. But he answers anyway.

“It did,” he admits, remembering the constant pressure that kept Kacchan on his mind even while doing the most mundane of chores. He sits back down, hands trailing lower until he’s at his waist.

Kacchan grunts, satisfied.

He wiggles a little at the memories and Kacchan’s back ripples as he squeezes his pillow tighter between his arms.

“Deku,” he warns, voice low. His legs shift behind Izuku, restless.

“I know, I’m sorry, Kacchan,” he says before Kacchan can even finish his sentence. He’s not trying to egg Kacchan on, at least not yet, but Izuku finds it too easy to get lost in pleasant memories.

He reaches between his thighs, spreading his fingers wide over Kacchan’s lower back to ground himself to the present. It works, and he folds them into his back a little more firmly; he’s like a moth, constantly seeking Kacchan’s heat to warm his cold fingers.

“Are we still going to UA next week?” he asks, leaning into his hands.

“Yeah,” Kacchan answers on a groan. “Nezu emailed me. I’ll show you.”

He grumbles something under his breath sounding close to, fucking hate emails, and, rat bastard. There’s a touch of genuine annoyance there, as well as exasperation, and Izuku can only imagine how their old principal contacted him because of course it wouldn't be a simple email.

Izuku doesn’t call him out on his mumbling and instead bites a smile away.

“Okay, we’ll have to take a half-day then.”

“Or a whole day.”

“Kacchan, no.”

“Kacchan, yes.”

“Kacchan, you’re not fucking me before we help Aizawa teach.”

Kacchan’s head whips around as much as he can, glaring at Izuku over his shoulder. He looks genuinely affronted but the sleepy droop to his eyes is an effective counter when it makes Kacchan look so kissable.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want to be limping in front of fifteen-year-olds. They’re ruthless at that age and would call the both of us out immediately. And that’s if Aizawa doesn’t try to humiliate us first.”

Kacchan harrumphs, digging his forehead into his pillow.

“After?”

Izuku pauses. “…Fine.”

“Good.”

Izuku talks of everything and nothing as he kneads muscles between his fingers. He comes back to the swell of Kacchan’s shoulders every few minutes, not wanting to overwork it before he has a chance to ice it. Every time he does, Kacchan groans a little louder, a little longer.

At one point, he must hit a really good spot because Kacchan’s hips jerk, and Izuku has to steady himself, hiding a soft groan of his own. He doesn’t come back to that spot too often either, but it’s hard to resist. Every time he does, he’s expecting Kacchan to roll over or to say something, but he doesn’t, nor does he push Izuku off him either. He unwinds bit by bit under Izuku’s ministrations, lets Izuku do this for himself as much as he’s doing it for Kacchan.

Eventually, he starts to get restless, minute movements under Izuku telling him he’s about reached his limit. And soon enough, after one final pass over Kacchan’s spine to the base of his neck, he speaks up.

“Enough,” Kacchan gruffs, a deep, tired sigh escaping him. “C’mere. Wanna hold you.”

“Your shoulder’s better?”

“Yeah. C’mere.”

He grabs one of Izuku’s hands and pulls him down to the bed as he rolls onto his side. Izuku slides down and into Kacchan’s waiting arms, only a little surprised when he can feel his dick poking against his hip.

“Kacchan?” he whispers, leaning into him.

“I’m good, Deku.”

“But…” he trails off, pressing up against the bulge with his thigh.

“It’s fine.”

“But I also want to take care of Kacchan like Kacchan did for me.”

He kisses Izuku quiet. Kacchan mutters something under his breath but he does pull Izuku closer, doesn’t shy away from his touch.

“Think you can go again?” Kacchan asks him. He kisses Izuku’s temple, a gentle touch.

Izuku sighs, tilts his face up. “I don’t know. Does Kacchan need more?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Not really. Just wanna stay like this.”

He tightens his arms around Izuku, holds him close. His fingers start to trace over the bite marks and bruises on Izuku’s pulse and do nothing more.

Izuku loves him so very dearly.

He starts shifting, and winces only a little. He’s tender more than anything, but not in pain. He shifts again, feels nothing he can’t handle. Yeah, this will be fine- more than fine.

“Hey,” Kacchan says, brows furrowing. “What are you doing?”

Izuku rolls until his back is pressing against his chest and Kacchan’s hips are snug against his ass.

“Like this,” he says, not quite whispering, and lifts his top leg, throwing it backwards over Kacchan’s hips until he’s spread wide in invitation. “My thighs, Kacchan.”

“Yeah?” Kacchan asks, but a hand is already gripping the top of Izuku’s hips, the other wrapped under his head and providing support, clutching across his chest. He pulls Izuku closer, and the swell of his cock bumps against his back.

“Yeah. Whatever Kacchan needs,” he promises, same as before.

“Just need you, Izuku,” Kacchan says into his hair, grinding his forehead into his skull like it’ll help him think. “I just need you.”

“So take me.”

Izuku slips his boxers down to his knees while Kacchan grabs the lube still miraculously on the bed. He keeps a hand on Izuku even while he moves, petting the inside of his thighs and grazing a thumb on the crease.

He wets his skin with the lube, then tugs Izuku’s legs into position.

“Squeeze,” he says, breathing heavily into Izuku’s neck.

Izuku hums and does as he says, flexing his thighs. Kacchan pushes between, and groans quietly.

“Izuku,” he says almost immediately, and goosebumps travel down Izuku’s skin. “So good, Izuku, you feel so good.”

The tip of his cock pushes at Izuku’s balls, grazes his taint, and he hums again, more appreciative. He reaches a hand back, settles it on Kacchan’s neck.

“Izuku, fuck, you’re warm, always so good, baby.”

His hand flexes on Izuku’s thigh, a little slippery from the lube, but he retains his pace. He doesn’t move faster, doesn’t move harder. It’s a slow, steady build, taking from embers that never go out between them. Izuku can feel every push and pull against his skin, knows before it happens when the head of his cock will brush past his perineum.

It’s intimate, their world narrowed down to the heat shared between them and the simple pleasure of being together.

“Izuku,” he calls, then again, “Izuku.”

He had been utterly quiet when he first fucked Izuku, nothing more than angry grunts and pleased groans.

But now, he calls for Izuku on every other breath.

Izuku is getting worked up before he realizes it. He doesn’t get hard, at least not completely, but he can feel it building, the heat in his gut.

“Kacchan,” he answers, pushing his hips back into him, flexing his thighs. He groans when Kacchan does, little shivers coursing across his skin every time he feels the head of his cock breach past the center of his thighs and reach the base of his. “It’s good?”

“Yeah, baby.” He kisses Izuku’s neck, tongues behind his ear. “It’s tight. Wet. Wanna fuck you.”

“Please, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, tilting his head back. Kacchan is so hot against his back Izuku’s beginning to sweat, skin sliding against skin as he moves.

“Yeah? Want me inside, want me to stretch you wide just for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, please, want that Kacchan,” he breathes, eyes closing.

“Fuck,” Kacchan groans. His arm under Izuku moves so he can graze his hand over his abdomen. He starts at his collarbone, and brushes past Izuku’s nipples with a feather-light touch.

"Ah, Kacchan.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s good, Kacchan. Need it.”

Izuku moans at the tender touches, at the pleasure he can hear in Kacchan’s voice, pleasure he takes from Izuku, only from Izuku.

It’s enough to make his eyes sting, the utter devotion he can feel with every touch. Kacchan doesn’t speak his affections often, but like this, when he tries to bind them together and melt them into one being, it’s overwhelming.

“Kacchan,” he says, voice thick, a little wet. He swallows roughly when Kacchan’s breath shudders in his ear, as shaky as Izuku’s. “Kacchan, you’re so- you’re- I- good. Kacchan is so good.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and clutches Izuku tighter to him. “I’ve got you.”

He can feel Kacchan's warm breath tickling his ear, hear his heartbeat against his back. His knees bump into the back of Izuku's legs every thrust in, and his hands slip against him, the cut of his ring digging into Izuku's hip bone.

Izuku doesn’t know how to explain to him how much of his chest contains Kacchan instead of his own beating heart, how much of his thoughts and goals for the future are consumed by him. He doesn’t know how to say that them simply pressing together skin to skin like this, sighing each other’s names is better than anything they’ve ever done, gets better every time they do it again.

That even without this, the simple act of them being together, lying in bed next to each other or holding hands and sharing baths could fuel Izuku’s entire life. Izuku would be content.

He doesn’t know how to say that everything good in Izuku’s world is made good by Kacchan’s existence at his side.

So instead, he sighs his name one more time in hopes he’ll get it across somehow.

“Kacchan,” he sniffles, head tilting back and shuddering when Kacchan kisses his face. "Kacchan."

His mouth seeks out Izuku’s tears, doesn’t let a single one escape down his face. His lips are warm, tongue wet, the tips of his eyelashes soft when they brush across Izuku’s cheek. Izuku can feel everything, is aware of it all, can’t not be aware when it’s Kacchan touching him, when it’s Kacchan seeking him out.

“I know,” Kacchan assures, groaning as Izuku’s thighs twitch, squeeze tighter around his cock. “I know, baby.”

It builds and builds and builds in Izuku’s stomach, at the base of his spine, at ten burning points where Kacchan’s fingers grip him.

Heat spreads from the base of Izuku’s cock to the very tips of his fingers, an all-consuming warmth that soothes the goosebumps on his skin. He doesn’t spill across his stomach like before, but when Kacchan does, groaning deep in his throat and making a mess between his thighs, Izuku feels it all the same.

Izuku shudders, sighing shakily. Kacchan is no better behind him, still grinding into him.

“Izuku,” he breathes, a hand massaging his abdomen and skirting the base of his cock. Izuku groans lightly and Kacchan bites the back of his neck, breathing heavily around his skin.

Eventually, Kacchan's hips slow, but he doesn’t let go of Izuku. He rolls them, resting his weight partially on him as he grips him close. He breathes in Izuku’s scent, bands his arms around his chest.

Izuku holds him back as tight as he can, revels in the weight. He never wants to let go.

When the drying cum becomes too uncomfortable to ignore and their breathing has calmed, they pull back. But Kacchan keeps a hand on him, makes sure he doesn’t move too far away. He keeps Izuku constantly within arm’s reach, no more than a finger’s width away.

Kacchan grabs the dirty sheets hanging off the bed to wipe them both down, neither of them up for going back to the bath, and pulls Izuku close again, chest to chest. Izuku pulls up his boxers with shaky hands, wincing when they press against his sensitive dick, and Kacchan does the same, barely steadier than him.

Skin to skin again they lie.

He pulls one of Izuku’s legs over his hips, sets a hand on his thigh. The other he wraps under his body, not complaining when Izuku adjusts them both so he can wrap an arm around Kacchan’s waist as well without leaving his hold.

Izuku tilts his head up, and Kacchan meets him, kisses him lazily, without hurry or force. Taking a breath, Izuku kisses his chin, mouthing at Kacchan's skin. Slowly, thanks to Kacchan's touch, Izuku stops feeling as if he's going to grow too big for his ribcage, restitches his soul along every finger whorl Kacchan has pressed into his skin. He cuddles closer, grounding himself.

Breathing in Kacchan’s smell at the base of his neck, listening to his heartbeat, his tears slow, and he sniffles quietly.

Kacchan has started drawing on Izuku’s thigh again, while Izuku makes nonsensical patterns on his back.

But the pattern of Kacchan’s fingers feel familiar, deliberate. It’s like when he was tracing over Izuku’s thigh in the bath, except this time there’s no water to muddle the meaning.

Over and over again, he writes down the length of Izuku’s thigh with his middle finger like he’s trying to tattoo it into his skin, leave a permanent mark with every swipe of his finger.

It’s not until the fifth pass that Izuku realizes they’re words.

It’s not until the eleventh that he understands what Kacchan is writing and his lungs stutter.

Marry me.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers into his neck, eyes watering once again. “We’re already getting married. You put the ring on yourself.”

“So?” he says back, pulling Izuku closer. He finishes it one last time, then demands just as confidently and directly as he did when he first asked Izuku, “Marry me.”

And Izuku responds the same, if a little less weepy than he did before. “Of course, Kacchan.”

He tilts his head down, noses the side of his temple. “Marry me.”

“Of course.”

He pulls Izuku’s face out of his neck, kisses the corner of his lips. “Marry me.”

Izuku fixes the distance, presses their mouths together and with a whisper answers one more time, “Of course.”

Kacchan deepens the kiss. “Soon. Been waiting too long.”

“How soon?” Izuku asks.

He pulls back so he can see Kacchan’s face. He’s relaxed, brow smooth and the smallest hint of a crooked smile curving his lips. Izuku can’t help leaning back in to kiss him before pulling away again.

They haven’t started any official planning because of how busy they’ve been, which was fine because they had both been soaking in the euphoria of being engaged. But Kacchan is impatient (not that Izuku is much better) and apparently three months is already too long of an engagement.

“Beginning of fall,” he answers as soon as Izuku asks. “Already texted my ma. And we got time off for after the wedding.”

Izuku laughs, delighted. Of course Kacchan had been thinking about this, planning for it already. He never stops when there’s something he wants.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

Kacchan moves his hand from Izuku's thigh to grab his left hand, pulling it from where it was resting between their bodies to his mouth.

He gently bites the corner of Izuku’s palm, kisses the center.

Izuku watches him, just a little red. Even when he’s not trying to be, Kacchan is devastating.

“Kacchan?”

“What?”

“You need to fix the wall.”

“The wall?” He says it around the side of Izuku’s pinky he has between his teeth, gently gnawing on it.

“And my webcam.”

Kacchan hums, starts kissing Izuku’s fingers one by one until he gets to the ring. He bites around it then, soft indents of his teeth left just below where the ring sits.

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Izuku kisses Kacchan’s cheek between his own fingers, a thank you breathed out.

“I’ll help,” he says. “And our camera?”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Kacchan-”

“That last one was shitty. Don’t know why we even had it.”

“It’s not even broken – I think. But that’s a waste of money!”

“Shitty denial. Rejected.”

“Kacchan,” he laughs. Kacchan pulls him back in, shoves Izuku’s face against his chest to muffle his noises.

“Quiet. Time for bed.”

“But I’m hungry.” And Kacchan hasn’t eaten yet.

“Fuck you,” is his immediate, reflexive response.

Izuku smiles into Kacchan’s collarbone when he starts to move and lets him sit up. “Thanks, Kacchan.”

He scoots to the edge of the bed, having untangled himself from Izuku, but Izuku follows. He wraps his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist so that when Kacchan stands up, Izuku is hanging off him.

“I’ll backpack you,” Izuku offers, resting his chin on Kacchan’s shoulder with a wide smile. “Provide commentary.”

“Fuck off, you’re annoying,” Kacchan grouses, but he sets one hand under Izuku’s knee for the short walk to the kitchen. His ring is warm against Izuku’s skin.

It’s a little cooler outside their bedroom. He shivers, pressing closer to Kacchan’s warm back. They probably should have put clothes on, but Izuku’s getting tired and he just wants to eat so he can go to sleep in Kacchan’s arms.

The kitchen is dark, already late into the evening, so Kacchan turns on the light over the stove. It’s a dim, old bulb they’ll probably need to replace soon, and it casts a soft yellow glow over them both. Even this close to him, it makes Kacchan look softer, haloing his features and smoothing his hard edges. Izuku tightens his grip on him, kisses his neck.

Kacchan bustles around the kitchen, heating up some leftovers and getting their utensils out with both hands. Izuku just hangs on, lulled to comfortable silence by the familiar sounds and Kacchan’s body heat.

When he takes them to the living room and sets their dinner down on the kotatsu, Izuku is almost reluctant to part from him.

The pleasant haze in his mind has steadily drifted away with how often Kacchan kept touching him, but now he’s tired, still needs Kacchan close. When he sits down next to Izuku, he scoots himself closer.

Wrapping around Kacchan’s left arm and pressing his shoulder to his sternum in a sideways hug, Izuku throws his leg over Kacchan’s lap and wraps the other around his back. He rests his head on his shoulder and watches with bleary eyes as Kacchan arranges everything to his liking.

Despite the unnecessary shifting needed to make sure nothing spills while they eat, Kacchan doesn’t let him move, nor does he move away himself.

“Hey,” Izuku starts, chewing quietly. His eyes are drooping but hunger is the greatest motivator. “Did your mom get the shirt I sent her?”

Kacchan scowls immediately and grips his chopsticks. “No.”

“So, she did.”

“Why,” Kacchan says in exasperation when he turns to look at Izuku. “Why would you send her that. She hasn’t stopped sending me fucking pictures of her in it. She went to work wearing it.”

“I just thought it’d be nice!” Izuku defends, grinning.

“She’s demanding one for dad.” Kacchan turns back to his bowl, shoving food into his mouth like he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Izuku’s grin widens.

“I can do that if he really wants one.”

Kacchan’s head whips around to look at him, eyes wide. “Hell no! They don’t need a matching MILF and DILF t-shirt set, what the fuck? They’re already bad as is, why would you encourage it?!”

Izuku laughs so hard he leans back. Kacchan has to reach for him and hold him in place with an arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall over. He hauls him back immediately, tucking him into his side.

“Where did you even get a shirt like that? What brand is selling MILF t-shirts as fashion?”

“It’s custom made, Kacchan,” Izuku giggles, laughing into Kacchan’s shoulder.

“Of fucking course it is. She’s going to wear that to the wedding after party now because she’s insane.”

The simple image of their wedding photos being sprinkled with Mitsuki in the background proudly wearing a shirt that says MILF is ridiculous enough to send him. She’d probably find a way to dress it up too, wear it under a blazer or something like that.

“I gotta get Masaru’s soon, then.”

“I’ll kill you,” Kacchan says, serious as ever. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Izuku’s laugh pitches a little, comes out wheezy. Kacchan’s constant refusal to interact with his parents in any normal way will never not be funny, especially when it makes him so easy to tease.

He rolls his forehead back and forth on Kacchan’s shoulder, caught in his amusement when Kacchan stabs into his bowl a little harder than he should, grumbles a little louder.

But he’s suddenly cut off when a big hand grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks hard enough he feels his own teeth.

“Wha-”

“Shut up,” Kacchan says, dark and low. Red eyes narrow, focusing on his lips before meeting Izuku’s. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.”

Izuku’s entire face goes red.

“But I was only laughing,” he protests, albeit weakly. Sometimes Kacchan just does this, randomly grabs Izuku’s face and demands him to stop or to be quiet without explaining why. He usually enforces it with a threat to fuck Izuku quiet. He usually follows through.

“Then stop. Laughing,” he demands, teeth grit. “Just. Shut up. I’m tired. Eat your damn food.”

Izuku tilts his head, confused. There’s no malice in Kacchan’s voice, and despite how hard he’s squeezing Izuku’s face and the balled-up fist of his other hand resting on his thigh, he’s not being violent by any means. But his shoulders are tense, and there’s a groove between his eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Kacchan?” he asks, softly. He smiles tentatively, a little mischievously, pressing into the hand squeezing his face. It’s hard to talk like this, but Izuku has more practice than he probably should. He’s also more aware than he should be of how much his smile and laughter affects Kacchan. “Is it about the shirts? Do you want one, too?”

Kacchan’s hand spasms.

“I warned you,” he says, leaning in.

“You did?” Izuku asks gleefully, gasping when Kacchan eats his words right out his mouth. There’s an aggressiveness to his movements reminiscent of when he first came home, a base level of violence Izuku seems to pull out of him almost unwillingly.

“This is on you.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

“Ka-”

Izuku’s follow up is muffled, as are the rest of the sounds Kacchan pulls from him.

They have to heat their food up again – well, Kacchan does, because Izuku actually can’t walk anymore, especially not with the number of bruises littering his thighs. Good thing he has the next two days off. Even better that they align with Kacchan’s days off.

He grabs ice for his shoulder while he’s at it, bustling around until Izuku calls for him.

While Izuku slowly falls asleep, his head against Kacchan’s shoulder as he sits sideways in his lap, he hears him tapping on his phone.

“Make sure to share the receipt,” Izuku mumbles drowsily. He forgot to do it, forgot to set up his matching donation he was so consumed with Kacchan as soon as he came home. It’s the last thing he needs to do today, but he’s exhausted now.

“I know, baby. I’ll take care of it. Sleep.”

Izuku will check tomorrow to make sure the organization got everything from both the stream’s total and their shared donation, but he trusts Kacchan.

He falls asleep warm and content, Kacchan surrounding him.