Archive of Our Own

If there’s one thing Katsuki hates about being a Pro Hero, it’s all the shit that comes with it. All the finances, the incident reports, the journalism, the social media, the merchandise, the interviews, the mail—God, the fucking mail. There has to be a way to get people to stop sending him shit. He’s a Pro Hero, for fuck’s sake, not a pen pal. He already gets that shit in his DMs. He doesn’t need it in physical form, too. He tried telling people he doesn’t want letters, but it’s like fucking reverse psychology or some shit. Maybe he’s got a sign on his back.

The only thing keeping him from fucking losing it is Hatanaka.

He could probably hire more people, and he could probably stop checking her work, but he hates the idea of putting his legacy in someone else’s hands. He hates the idea of letting someone he hired make mistakes and not taking the time to fix them. It’s his fucking legacy.

But it’s manageable, honestly. He only needs about a day once a week to get through it all. It also keeps him from doing too much actual hero work, which he fucking chafes at, but he’s trying to think long-term. The doctor recommended no more than four days a week, with plenty of rest in between, so that’s what he’ll do. He’s not gonna let anything stop him from being a hero, least of all his body.

Also, he doesn’t actually mind the paperwork.

It’s the public shit he hates.

He barely even uses social media. He posts a picture once every three months, and it’s usually to promote something. His fans eat it up, anyway, so whatever.

Hatanaka is kind enough to sort his mail, so he rarely gets to see the shit they send him. She only hands him the really nice ones. The tearjerkers, as she calls them. He’s pretty sure that means she actually reads everything, which seems like a waste of time, but he doesn’t give a fuck. As long as she does her job, which she does. Meticulously.

But even she makes mistakes.

He’s looking at something absolutely vile when Hitoshi walks in.

“Hey,” Hitoshi says, perching on the corner of the desk. His dark hair is wet and curly around the edges, like he splashed water in his face. One stubborn strand clings to his temple. Katsuki resists the urge to tuck it behind his ear and forces himself to focus on what he’s saying. “Interns did good today. Are you almost done?”

Katsuki waves at the pile of letters next to him. “Take a guess.”

“Do you need help?”

“If you’re offering.” Katsuki hands Hitoshi the illustrated, handwritten erotica and pushes the paper bin closer with his foot. “If you come across any more love letters, feel free to toss them.”

“Um, holy shit?” Hitoshi turns the letter upside down, squinting at the crude drawing. “What the fuck am I looking at? Is that supposed to be your cock?”

Katsuki grabs another envelope and rips it open with a letter opener, scowling. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“They almost got the circumference right.”

“Hitoshi. Trash it.”

“You don’t like reading fanfiction about yourself?” Hitoshi asks, taking his phone out to take a picture of the letter before he drops it in the bin.

“No.”

“What if they have really good ideas?”

“Doubt it.”

Katsuki’s phone buzzes. He can already hear Neito cackling.

Hitoshi grabs a different envelope, glances at it, and hands it over without opening it. “Do you get a lot of these ‘love letters?’”

“More than I’d like,” Katsuki says, looking down.

Thank God. Taxes.

“Ever indulged?” Hitoshi asks. “With a fan, I mean?”

“‘Course not. It’s mostly women who write that shit, anyway.”

“They didn’t get the memo, huh?”

“Apparently not.”

Hitoshi chuckles.

Katsuki puts the letter in the “urgent and important” folder. He’ll do his taxes after he’s done sorting his mail. It shouldn’t take long. He and Hatakana keep track of everything and fill in forms ahead of time, so all he has to do is upload and submit.

He pushes his glasses up and looks at Hitoshi. “You ever indulged?”

“I have no fans to indulge with.”

“Would you, though?”

“Probably not. My quirk makes it very easy for me to take advantage of people, so I probably wouldn’t get many offers. I’d probably get a few because of my quirk, though. That already happens. Lots of weirdos out there.”

“Who’re you getting these offers from?”

“You know, heroes and such.”

Katsuki hums, grabbing another envelope. “Better than being feared, I guess.”

Hitoshi watches him open it. Katsuki can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he must be thinking something, because his face is blank, eyes unfocused. Finally, he says, “Worse, actually. I don’t wanna have sex with someone who’s willing to put that much trust in a stranger. I wouldn’t trust me if I were them. They’re strangers to me, too. I don’t know what they’ll do if they change their mind.”

“That ever happen?”

“No. I never… You were actually the second person I ever used it on.”

Katsuki almost asks if Neito was the first. Then he remembers how careful Neito was about asking Hitoshi to use his quirk on him the day they all got together. He’d clearly never used it on him before. “Elusive?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not Neito?”

Hitoshi grabs an envelope, too, but he doesn’t really look at it. “She was my girlfriend. It’s not like I didn’t trust Neito, but we weren’t in a relationship. And we were young. When he asked, I mean. And he never asked again. When she asked, it felt… safer, I guess. She was more than a friend.”

Katsuki stares at his boyfriend, who was just a friend by association the first time they fucked. Katsuki didn’t even ask. Hitoshi offered. It was his own idea to use his quirk on Katsuki.

What the fuck?

“And me?”

Hitoshi shrugs. ”Different circumstances.”

Katsuki keeps staring at him.

He never really thought about how much trust they put into each other that night. It didn’t even cross his mind that Hitoshi could take advantage of him. He thought Hitoshi used his quirk during sex all the time. He quickly learned that wasn’t true when Hitoshi turned Kaminari down, but he didn’t know Hitoshi had only used it on one other person before. He didn’t know he just trusted Katsuki to not do something if he changed his mind, which is fucking crazy.

Even if they’ve technically known each other since they were teenagers. Even if  Hitoshi only used his quirk for a few seconds.

That’s still a big fucking leap of faith.

That’s still…

Fuck, that pile is so high.

“Hurry up,” Katsuki says, ripping the envelope he’s holding open. He needs Hitoshi’s stupid cock in him five minutes ago. “I wanna go home.”

Hitoshi’s lips quirk. “Yes, boss.”

He reads the first line of the letter and groans, tossing it in the bin. 

Hitoshi laughs.

He should’ve known this would happen. It’s Hatanaka’s birthday, so he let her leave early. She’s probably having fun with her boyfriend right now. Meanwhile, he’s stuck here, sorting his mail.

“Fuck it, let’s just—” He spreads the pile out on his desk and starts wading through envelopes to look for logos he actually recognizes. If it doesn’t spark a memory, it’s probably not important or urgent. “Stupid letters. Fucking bullshit.”

“Wow, you really wanna go home, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Hitoshi watches him fling letters around for a moment before he asks, “Are you gonna regret this?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure, Hitoshi. I’ve sorted my mail before, if you can believe it. I just need to get through this pile so I can get started on answering emails.”

“Oh, you have those, too.”

“Yeah. And then I have to file my fucking taxes.”

“Do you have to do that today?”

“The deadline is in three fucking days, Hitoshi. Besides, I have it all prepared.”

“Hm.” His lips quirk again. “You could multitask.”

“Huh?”

“Do you have to be home to do whatever you wanted to do?”

Katsuki freezes. Except he doesn’t feel cold at all, because he knows exactly what Hitoshi is suggesting. They can have sex. Right here. In Katsuki’s office. On his desk. No, not on his desk. That’s his fucking desk. That’s stupid.

“We can’t have sex in my fucking office,” Katsuki snaps.

“Oh, is that what you wanted to do?”

He glares at Hitoshi. “No.”

“Then what?”

“No, we’re not having sex in my fucking office,” he clarifies pointlessly.

Hitoshi’s obviously playing dumb.

“Why not?” he asks.

Katsuki scoffs. “You want a list?”

He grins. “Yeah, give it to me. I love lists.”

“It’s my fucking office!”

“Am I supposed to take that adjective literally or…?”

“No!”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a very good reason. We’re alone and—”

“My interns are in the building!”

Hitoshi hums and glances at the clock. “They were already in the shower when I went up, so they probably won’t be here for much longer.”

“I’m not—” Fuck, he can’t do this. “No!”

“That’s it? Short list.”

He resists the urge to throw the letter opener at Hitoshi, because that might actually do some damage. It’s pretty sharp. Instead, he grabs Hitoshi’s collar and growls in his face, which remains infuriatingly calm.

God, why does he want this bastard to fuck him again?

“No,” he repeats. “I don’t even have lube.”

“Terrible argument. I don’t need lube to suck you off.”

“You’re not sucking me off.”

“You could suck me off,” Hitoshi muses, gently removing Katsuki’s hands from his collar, “but that would make filing taxes kind of difficult, I think.”

“No one is sucking anyone off.”

“Oh, well, lucky for you, I brought lube.”

“Huh—why?”

He shrugs. “Just in case.”

“Fucking pervert.”

“Guilty as charged, but so are you. Aren’t you glad I thought of it?”

“No.”

Not a lie, but not exactly the truth. Katsuki’s having trouble accepting that the idea of having sex in his office is actually kind of appealing, because it really shouldn’t be. It’s his fucking office. Thankfully, he has one more argument.

“I’m not gonna file my taxes while having sex.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t multitask that well.”

“You can’t?”

He really hates Hitoshi sometimes. “No. I’m not letting you challenge me into filing my taxes while you fucking rail me.”

Hitoshi smiles.

Fuck, this man is gonna be the death of him.

“Just for clarification: you don’t want to file your taxes while I rail you?”

“Stop talking,” Katsuki warns.

“But you wanna have sex?”

“Not right now!”

Hitoshi glances at the clock. “What about ten minutes from now?”

“What about when we’re home?”

“I can put my dick in you and wait until you’re done before I rail you.”

Katsuki closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He can’t fucking do this. He really can’t. He shouldn’t.

“Color?” Hitoshi asks.

Fuck, he’s doing it. “Green,” he grits out, glaring at his stupid boyfriend.

He grins.

“Where’s the fucking lube?”

Without taking his eyes off Katsuki, he reaches into his pocket and reveals two sachets. Katsuki looks at the clock. Ten minutes. He swipes the sachets from Hitoshi’s hand and stuffs them in a drawer. Then he hands Hitoshi the rest of the envelopes, instructing, “Sort these while I answer emails. If it’s important but not urgent, put it in there.” He points at the correct folder. “If it’s urgent but not important, this one. If it’s both, that one. If it’s neither, trash it. If you do it wrong, I’ll kill you, so you better ask if you don’t know.”

“Yes, boss.”

He rolls his eyes and moves his mouse to wake the computer up.

“What counts as urgent, exactly?”

“Within a week.”

“Got it.”

His digital inbox is not sorted, unfortunately. He considered giving Hatakana the password so she can take care of that, too, but sorting his email doesn’t take nearly as long as sorting his mail does. He knows all the tricks.

First, he searches for the word “urgent.” Nothing shows up.

Next, he searches for terms like “you’re my favorite hero” and “I love you” and dumps it all in the fan mail folder. (He might forward them to Hatanaka later, if he’s feeling generous.)

Then he searches for the names of people, companies, and organizations he usually gets emails from, dragging them to the correct folders. He also searches for the name of the month and terms like “within a week/month” and flags those emails with “read soon.” There’s only a handful of those, thank fuck.

Finally, he’s left with a bunch of random shit, which he sorts manually based on subject and sender. (Most of it goes in the fan mail folder.)

And that’s it. Five minutes, tops. He doesn’t need Hatanaka. He’s got this shit down to a fucking science. Hitoshi is still sorting letters, so he starts skimming the emails he flagged to see if anything needs to be handled right now.

After a few minutes of silence, Hitoshi comments, “I would lose my mind if I got that many letters and emails.”

“Most of it’s trash.”

“I noticed.”

“Stop looking at my screen. Focus.”

“Yes, boss.”

Katsuki glares at him.

He’s too busy ripping open another envelope to see it. Or he’s ignoring Katsuki on purpose. He does that a lot. Probably thinks it’s funny. Bastard. “Honestly, I’m impressed,” he says, without looking up from the letter. “You’ve got a good system. Very quick and efficient. I’m kind of turned on.”

Katsuki snorts. “Weirdest kink so far.”

The corners of his mouth tick up. “Remember when you said you weren’t gonna date a weak little bitch? Which one of us is really the one with the competence kink here?”

“Die.”

“Pass.”

Katsuki huffs.

Hitoshi chuckles, dropping the letter in the bin. He only has two more letters, so he just watches Katsuki when he’s done, which should probably be unnerving, but it’s not, because Hitoshi said it turns him on. Katsuki doubts he meant that literally, but he likes the attention. He likes being watched by Hitoshi’s tired, dark eyes, even if it makes him squirm because he can never tell what he’s thinking.

“Okay, the interns are definitely gone now. It’s been fifteen minutes.”

Fuck, finally.

Katsuki opens the drawer.

Hitoshi grabs a sachet. “Stand up.”

Katsuki’s not in the mood to be a brat, so he stands up, and Hitoshi immediately yanks his pants down. He probably should’ve expected that, but it still makes his stomach flip. It pisses him off when Hitoshi does shit like that. When he gets all confident and dominant and—fuck, he’s bending him over the desk.

“Hitoshi—”

“Shh.” He rucks Katsuki’s sweatshirt up and traces the curve of his ass with his big hands, and Katsuki shuts up, because he doesn’t know why he’s complaining, anyway. He grips the edge of the desk, holding his breath, while Hitoshi opens the sachet.

His fingers go in easy, because Katsuki is a fucking whore for this man.

“Did you tease yourself again?” Hitoshi asks.

Katsuki doesn’t reply, but yeah, he fucked himself on a dildo this morning because he knew Hitoshi was coming to train with the interns and he didn’t wanna waste any time.

Hitoshi leans over him to whisper in his ear, “How close did you get?”

“I just—” He bites back a gasp when Hitoshi spreads his fingers, stretching his hole wide. “I just stretched. No edging.”

“Ah. Shame. I like when you edge yourself.”

Yeah. He knows.

Sometimes he thinks about the month of orgasm denial Hitoshi subjected him to and gets hot under the collar with a mixture of rage and desire. It was torture, but there was something exciting and invigorating about putting himself through that for Hitoshi and being rewarded for it. Getting praise for doing something hard, not just for existing. Working for it. It pisses him off that Hitoshi can play him like that and knows it, but he likes the challenge all the same.

Hitoshi pulls his fingers out. There’s some rustling as he pushes his sweatpants down, then a slick sound, and Katsuki looks over his shoulder to see him fisting his cock. He’s already getting hard.

“Put on a condom or I’m gonna kill you,” Katsuki barks.

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You’re fucking with me. You brought lube but not condoms?”

“Correct.”

“Then don’t come inside.”

Hitoshi raises a brow, and Katsuki knows he’s about to say something infuriating. “I know this is your office and all, but I think I’ve had enough of you giving me orders.”

Fuck.

“So I’m gonna come inside and you’re gonna take it. And then you’re gonna walk home with my cum dripping out of your ass. Got it?”

Katsuki groans.

He’d rather get bludgeoned to death.

And yet, he lets Hitoshi spear him onto his cock, gritting his teeth at the burn despite the prep, and drag them both back until they’re sitting down. He holds onto his desk and breathes harshly through his nose, because it makes him feel so fucking full all of a sudden, and it’s all he can feel. How is he supposed to answer emails like this?

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Gonna leave poor Yamamoto hanging?”

“Shut up.”

Hitoshi makes another shushing sound and grabs Katsuki’s hands, moving them to the keyboard to help him answer the email that’s currently displayed on his screen. He leaves a smear of lube on the back of his hand. “Just type.”

“Fuck. You do it.”

Hitoshi, the mean fucking bastard, bucks his hips up, sending hot sparks through Katsuki’s body. “What did I say about giving me orders?”

Katsuki gasps. “Joking. Obviously. Like you—fuck, like you know what to type.”

“I could probably figure it out.”

Katsuki yanks Hitoshi’s hands away from the keyboard before he can start typing with his gross, lubed up fingers. “Stop. Please. I just—I need a fucking moment.”

“Sure. Take all the time you need. I’m just here to fill your hole, after all.”

Fucking hell…

Katsuki holds onto Hitoshi’s hands for now, both to anchor himself and to keep his absolute menace of a boyfriend from sending Yamamoto some bullshit. He doubts Hitoshi would actually do that, but just in case. He can’t fucking deal with this. He can’t do anything but feel every throbbing inch of Hitoshi’s hot cock and the strong hands caught in his own. His pink, dry knuckles, the width of his palm, the veins that run along the back, the little scar on the side of his thumb. Katsuki feels a strange urge to put it in his mouth.

He’s really losing his mind.

“Fuck. Okay.” He pulls the keyboard closer and rereads Yamamoto’s email so he can reply to it. Hitoshi watches silently at first, but after a minute or so, he leans forward so he can put his head on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“What would Yamamoto think if he knew you were sitting on my cock right now?” he murmurs. Just when Katsuki got used to said cock.

Katsuki takes a long, deep breath, because his mouth wants to say some things Hitoshi probably won’t appreciate. Some expletives. Some insults. Some angry nonsense. Who cares what Yamamoto would think? Katsuki’s dick, apparently.

He scowls at his screen, angrily types “thank you,” signs the email with his name, and sends it into the ether.

“Good job.”

Katsuki slams his hands down and pushes his hips back, grinding on Hitoshi’s dick. With his mouth right beneath Katsuki’s ear, Hitoshi’s gasp is audible, but he recovers quickly, gripping Katsuki’s waist to lock him in place.

“Whoa, what are you doing, Kitten?”

God, help him.

“Shut up,” he snarls. “I can’t focus with you purring in my ear.”

Hitoshi laughs. A deep, warm chuckle that makes Katsuki vibrate, that fills his chest with an aching desire. “So you’re fine with my dick in your ass, but purring is too much?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Hitoshi promises, but then he presses a kiss to the nape of Katsuki’s neck, which is not much better. Fuck. He needs to stop. Or Katsuki needs to stop writing emails while his boyfriend unspools him.

He’s about to shut down the entire computer when the door opens.

For a second, Katsuki’s brain is so stuck on the heat in his gut that he doesn’t realize what that means. The door opening. The door to his office. Then his gaze meets that of his fucking intern. Marbles. And String Bean, right behind him. The heat turns to ice.

He nearly flies up in a panic, but Hitoshi’s hands keep him seated.

“Oh,” Marbles says.

String Bean blinks. “You wear glasses, Dynamight?”

“Huh?” Katsuki says stupidly.

Why the fuck is his intern asking about his glasses when he just—

“Yeah,” Hitoshi says, taking them off Katsuki’s nose, sounding way too casual for a man with his dick up Katsuki’s ass. “I was surprised when I saw them for the first time, too. Do you need something? Or can it wait?”

“Well, uh…” String Bean says.

“Why is Dynamight sitting on your lap?” Marbles asks.

“There’s only one chair,” Hitoshi lies.

Marbles looks at the empty chair right next to the one they’re currently sharing with exasperated disbelief.

That’s when Katsuki realizes they can’t see what’s going on. The desk is blocking their view. For all they know, Katsuki is actually just sitting on Hitoshi’s lap. Knowing that does nothing to lessen Katsuki’s panic, though.

“I’m helping him with work,” Hitoshi says with a chuckle, calm as ever. “Taxes and stuff. Super boring. Enjoy your youth while you can.”

String Bean laughs. “Yeah. We just had one question.”

“What is it?”

Katsuki wants to punch everyone in this room.

“Can it wait?” he snaps.

Marbles and String Bean look at each other.

“Uh,” Marbles says.

“I mean,” String Bean says.

For fuck’s sake.

“Either ask the question now or get the fuck out,” Katsuki orders, because if he has to watch his interns waffling with Hitoshi’s dick up his ass one more second, he’s gonna lose it. “Actually, all of you should get the fuck out.”

“But Katsuki…” Hitoshi says in a whiny tone that doesn’t match his general demeanor at all, winding his arms around Katsuki and pulling him against his chest, which makes his dick shift and press against Katsuki’s prostate. Katsuki’s face turns into an oven. An industrial grade oven. It takes everything in him not to make some kind of noise, be it a yell or a moan. Leaning more towards yelling when Hitoshi adds, “We were having so much fun answering emails.”

Katsuki takes a very deep breath and tries to think of a way to incorporate the word “yellow” into a sentence that he can say with his interns around. He’s not quite at the point of needing to safeword yet, but if Hitoshi makes one more comment like that, he’s going to explode, and not in a good way.

“I guess it can wait,” String Bean says.

Marbles is giving Katsuki a weird look. Katsuki hopes the kid is just confused, because he’s too fucking smart not to figure out why Katsuki is heaving and blushing like a motherfucker.

The matching blush on Marbles’s cheeks does not bode well.

“Yeah…” the boy says slowly. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your fun, boss.”

Fuck.

“Get,” Katsuki growls. “Out.”

String Bean nearly trips in his haste to get out of the office. Marbles is eager to leave, too. He quickly closes the door with a loud, definitive click.

Hitoshi exhales into Katsuki’s neck.

Katsuki stays still until he’s sure the interns are gone. Then he jerks his shoulder up to knock Hitoshi’s head off and snarls, “Get off me.”

“Calm down. They didn’t see anything.”

“They saw enough!”

“Katsuki.” Hitoshi’s arms tighten around Katsuki’s waist. “It’s—”

Katsuki jabs an elbow into Hitoshi’s stomach.

He doesn’t mean for it to hurt. Not really. He’s just stressed and embarrassed and angry and weirdly still a little turned on, and Hitoshi is the most obvious cause of his distress. It was Hitoshi’s idea that they have sex right now. His idea that they have sex in Katsuki’s office, where anyone could walk in any second. His idea that they wait barely fifteen minutes for the interns to leave. All his idea.

Hitoshi groans.

Katsuki stops and looks over his shoulder. “…sorry.”

“Take a fucking breath, will you?” Hitoshi says, grimacing.

Katsuki takes a fucking breath.

“Fuck.” Hitoshi leans back against the chair with a sigh and rubs at the sore spot on his stomach. “Do your interns always take so long to put their clothes on?”

“No.”

“Bet they were fooling around, too.”

Katsuki scowls. “Don’t make me think about that.”

He laughs, and Katsuki nearly elbows him again just because the unguarded joy makes him ten times more handsome and Katsuki can’t fucking handle him right now. Doesn’t help that his cock is still in Katsuki’s ass.

“Fucked up that you’re still hard.”

“So are you,” Hitoshi says, moving a hand to Katsuki’s front. “Oh, you’re kind of waning. Let me fix that.”

Katsuki hisses at the sudden stimulation.

He has half a mind to tell Hitoshi to cut it out, because he’s even more anxious about being walked in on now. Even if the chances of the interns returning after Katsuki told them in no uncertain terms to make themselves scarce are pretty much nonexistent. And Hatanaka is with her boyfriend.

The other half wants Hitoshi to keep touching him. He just can’t bring himself to say that. Not when he’s all keyed up like this. So he closes his eyes and says nothing, just enjoying the slow drag of Hitoshi’s hand. It gets even better when Hitoshi opens the drawer to grab the other lube sachet.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur. “Relax, baby.”

Katsuki makes a protesting noise.

“Hey. Don’t be like that. Come on. Move your hips a little.” Hitoshi’s other hand slides down Katsuki’s inner thigh and touches his fingertips to the rim of his hole before he presses them into his perineum. “Make yourself feel good.”

He ignores the blush on his cheeks and does as Hitoshi says, placing his hands on the armrests of the desk chair.

“There you go. Sweet boy.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Shut up.”

“But you’re so good at this. Multitasking? Not so much. But this? Perfect.”

He huffs. “You were distracting me.”

“With my purring?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Hitoshi angles his head closer again and purrs, “Or with my cock?”

No.

“I guess that’s why you sent the interns away. Can’t answer their question when you’re drunk on my cock.”

Katsuki tries to growl, but it comes out more like a groan. He grips the armrests harder and he doesn’t tell Hitoshi he was going to safeword. It may have been Hitoshi’s idea, but Katsuki agreed to it. He wanted it.

He wanted Hitoshi’s cock. Bad.

That’s why his cheeks burn when Hitoshi continues, “You couldn’t even talk. You let me deal with them while you just sat there like a good-for-nothing cockslut.”

“I was fucking—spooked.”

“Oh, Kitten, I know.”

Katsuki fully groans now. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Are you gonna get back to answering emails?”

Ugh.

“I guess you can do it after,” Hitoshi says.

Fuck that. Katsuki puts his glasses back on and grabs his mouse to click on the next email. There are only two that need to be answered today, so there’s no reason to slack. He can multitask just fine. He can handle the fondling. He can even handle the slow heat of his own grinding. It feels nice, but not so nice that he can’t focus.

Hitoshi just needs to keep his mouth shut.

“What do you think their question was?” he asks.

“Shut up.”

“What if it was something you could’ve answered in one word?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

“And I’m trying to work, so can you be fucking quiet? Please?”

“Alright,” he relents, resting his chin on Katsuki’s shoulder again. He removes his hand from Katsuki’s dick, too, allowing him to fully focus on his work.

He replies to both emails quickly, which he’s rewarded for with a soft kiss that lingers on his neck like a brand. Then he opens the folder on the secure server that he and Hatanaka use to keep a record of all the money that goes in and out of the Dynamight Agency. A pretty sizable chunk comes from merchandise and sponsor deals, which is why it’s so important to maintain a good relationship with people like Yamamoto.

Granted, he doesn’t need it as much as he did six years ago, when he was saving up for Izuku’s suit, but he donates to a lot of charities and he’d like to keep doing that. He’d also like to keep his apartment.

“Wow,” Hitoshi says. “You make even more money than I thought you did.”

Katsuki hums.

“You’re also way better at this than me. I’m never this prepared.”

“Just gotta keep track.”

“Can you keep track of my stuff for me? I’ll pay you.”

Katsuki snorts and waves at his screen. “Does it look like I need you to pay me?”

“I’ll pay with something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“What do you want?”

Katsuki lifts his hips a little so he can bounce on Hitoshi’s dick.

Hitoshi grabs his waist with a sharp intake of breath, not to stop him but to guide him along. There’s lube all over his shirt now, but he doesn’t care. He only cares about Hitoshi muttering, “Fuck. Yeah, I can do that. Want me to pay up now? Or do you want it as a reward for filing your own taxes? You’re so good at it. Fuck.”

“Weirdo,” he says, though his dick appreciates the compliment.

“Do you want it or not?”

He clenches around Hitoshi’s dick in response.

“Fuck, get up,” Hitoshi says, tugging him up. “Can’t fuck you like this.”

“No. I’m not done yet.”

“I’ll go slow.”

Somehow, Katsuki doubts that, but he can’t really complain. He’s had enough of the slow grinding.

He gets up to stand in front of his desk, bent over so he can still operate the computer. Hitoshi kicks the desk chair, making it roll back. Then he spreads Katsuki’s cheeks and slides home. Katsuki lets out a long breath. There’s no reason that should feel so good. It’s warm and thick and heavy. The pressure it puts on his prostate is really fucking distracting. He almost forgets he’s supposed to be working. No, he doesn’t, really. He just wants to get lost in the feeling.

To Hitoshi’s credit, he is actually going slow, which helps.

It lasts for about ten minutes. Then Hitoshi gets impatient. The change of pace is gradual, but it doesn’t take long for Katsuki to lose his grip on the mouse. He groans as his boyfriend thrusts into him. “Fuck, Hitoshi. Slow down. I can’t—”

“You can,” Hitoshi says encouragingly.

“You just made me—ah, fuck. You made me click on the wrong fucking file.”

“Oops.”

But he doesn’t slow down.

“Asshole,” Katsuki grunts, hanging his head. “I’m almost done.”

“Oh, good.”

A hand grips his hair and pulls him up roughly. It sends tingles from his scalp all the way down to his dick, which is dangerous. “Seriously. Fuck. Slow down. Shit. You’re gonna make me explode my fucking desk.”

Hitoshi’s hips still. “That close?”

“Yeah.”

“My bad,” he says, running a hand through Katsuki’s hair, which makes him shiver, but at least it doesn’t make him come. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”

Thank God.

He goes through the rest of the files as quickly as he can, then does a final check to make sure he didn’t forget anything. When he’s satisfied, he hits submit. He’s barely taken his hand off the mouse when Hitoshi rams into him.

He cries out, hand slamming down onto the desk.

“Good job, baby. You did so well.”

“Shut up. I just—I just filed my fucking taxes. Shit.”

“And it only took you, like, twenty minutes. That’s really impressive.”

“H-how long does it take you?”

“A whole fucking day.”

“Jesus. Slob.”

“I actually haven’t done it yet.”

“Idiot. Shit.” He leans back and arches to let Hitoshi in deeper, because he needs him. He needs this fucking idiot. “When were you gonna—ah, do it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’ll—fuck, I’ll make sure you—do.”

“Don’t worry. I work well under pressure.”

Katsuki snorts and immediately follows it up with a moan. He bites his lip, rolling his hips in time with Hitoshi’s thrusts, before Hitoshi suddenly pulls out and turns him around. He catches on immediately, shoving his keyboard and mouse aside so he can hop on the desk.

Hitoshi lifts his legs up and pushes back in with a satisfied groan.

He doesn’t get flushed like Katsuki, but his face is like something out of a wet dream. Thick purple waves falling into dark eyes made even darker and heavier by lust, angular eyebrows furrowed in concentration, pretty lips parted. Katsuki can see it even better now that he’s wearing his glasses. He laughs at the unbidden thought that Neito is gonna throw a fit when he finds out.

“What?” Hitoshi asks.

“Neito’s gonna flip his shit.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m wearing my glasses.”

He grins. “Should we take a picture? To really rub it in?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki snickers.

He grabs his phone, and Katsuki sticks his tongue out at the camera. He drops it on the desk immediately after and fucks Katsuki hard and fast.

Katsuki has to grab the edge of the desk to keep himself from sliding up against his monitor and curses up a storm when he realizes his palms are heating up. “Fuck, fuck, ah, fuck.” He’s overstimulated and desperate for more at the same time. It kind of hurts, but in a good way. He just—he needs more. “Fuck, I’m—touch me. Please. I’m gonna cum. Go. Fuck.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

As soon as Hitoshi’s quirk activates, the world goes blurry. Katsuki can still see and hear everything, but it’s like he’s underwater. Thick and soupy water where every sensation is somehow both dampened and heightened.

When Hitoshi commands him to relax, the water cools the fire in his veins, and all he can feel is pleasure. All he can feel is the pleasant tingles in his limbs, the gentle warmth blooming deep inside him, and Hitoshi’s hips slamming against his, just hard enough to shock his entire nervous system, but not enough to knock him out of Hitoshi’s control.

A cry rips out of him when his pleasure peaks. Hitoshi murmurs praises that make him feel uncomfortably pleasant and mellow, because he’s helpless to stop it. He tries to offset the feeling by snarking at Hitoshi as soon as he can.

“Weren’t you gonna fill me with your cum?”

It comes out more breathless than he wanted, but the message stays the same.

“I did.” Hitoshi pulls out. “Enjoy.”

Katsuki’s hands fly to his ass to keep it from dripping onto his desk. “Fucker. When did you come?”

“Right before you did.”

Damn. He totally missed it.

Hitoshi lifts him off the desk and yanks his underwear up, like he’s a fucking child that just went to go potty. “There. That should keep everything contained. Not much to do about this, though.” He gestures to the splatter on Katsuki’s sweatshirt of his own release. “Guess you’ll have to take it off and put your jacket on with nothing underneath.”

“You’re not actually expecting me to walk home like this, are you?”

“Why not?”

Katsuki huffs. “I’ve got spare clothes in the changing room.”

“You can change your shirt,” Hitoshi says graciously, “but not your pants.”

“Fine.”

It’s only a ten-minute walk to his apartment. He can handle that.

He’ll fucking show him.

*

Katsuki has never felt as gross as he does now, walking around town with cum soaking his underwear. It doesn’t help that it’s March, because that means his pants are gross and cold. It also doesn’t help that a bunch of teenagers recognize him, despite the cap he shoved onto his head to hide his hair, so he has to sign their notebooks with his boyfriend’s unborn children crawling out of his asshole, turning his ten-minute commute into a fifteen-minute one.

By the time he makes it to the apartment building, he’s ready to blow something up, preferably his boyfriend, or something that belongs to him. He totally could. Hitoshi’s ugly Honda is parked out front.

He wrenches the door open and punches the elevator button.

Hitoshi is on the couch when he walks in, long limbs spread out, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His phone lies on his chest, untouched.

Katsuki opens his mouth to yell at him.

Hitoshi raises a finger. “Hold it.”

“You fucking hold it!”

He turns his hand and beckons Katsuki closer with that same finger. “Come here. Take your pants off.”

“You take them off!”

“Alright. Come here and I will.”

Katsuki hesitates, confused by the easy agreement, before he walks over and lets Hitoshi peel him out of his soiled pants. Hitoshi balls them up to keep the mess contained before he drops them on the floor. Then, without getting up, he puts his hands on Katsuki’s ass, sliding his fingers between his cheeks to prod his hole. He kisses his belly button with a smile and says, “Good boy.”

Fuck.

Katsuki can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks.

“Would you like me to wash you?” Hitoshi asks.

“I… Okay.”

*

They’re still in the tub together when Hitoshi says, “Neito did, in fact, flip his shit, by the way. He was wailing at us in the group chat before you came in.”

Katsuki chuckles, leaning his head against Hitoshi’s chest. Hitoshi strokes his wet hair back and kisses the top of his head, which has him inadvertently melting into the warm water. Stupid soft Hitoshi.

“I’m really not looking forward to filing my taxes tomorrow,” he mutters.

Katsuki scoffs. “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Kitten. You’re the best.”

He kicks Hitoshi’s foot, making the water ripple. “Shut up.”

*

When he looks at his phone to snicker at Neito’s drama queen bullshit, he finds a couple texts from Marbles, too.

Katsuki groans.

He said it only took him twenty minutes, because it did, but that makes it sound like he was sitting on Hitoshi’s cock for twenty minutes, which is not untrue, but fuck… Marbles doesn’t need to know that.