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Five years after their graduation from UA, Katsuki fell in love.
Hard, fast, unexpected, and wholly inevitable.
The weeks following had been close to agony. What had been easy before—being around Izuku without a second though other than mild irritation, some sort of perverse fascination, and an unending desire to be better than him—suddenly became near impossible. Like once Katsuki realized his feelings, he could barely be in Izuku’s presence for fear that it would show somehow, on his face or in his words or his actions. Or that he would just crack one day, try to grab his perfect face and kiss him on the mouth.
Luckily for Katsuki, Izuku was remarkably accustomed to fruitless pining, and had almost two decades worth of practice at being around Katsuki without letting himself hope. He never did anything to make it harder—no flirting, no attempts to get his attention. Just the easy friendship they’d somehow fallen into after years of estrangement.
Unluckily for Katsuki, he did not have the same finely-honed skill at ignoring his desires.
Looking back, he’s amazed that took almost three months to confess after the moment of realization. Three months of torturous wondering and imagining and berating himself for even daring to think of Izuku in that way.
And how fucking stupid was that? It wasn’t hard to tell that Izuku was head over heels for Katsuki. Had been for fuck knows how long. A giant neon sign over his head, pointing to him and flashing the words I LOVE KACCHAN.
The sudden knowledge that he loves Izuku had thrown him off-balance, though. Made him question things, nervous and overthinking and insecure like a teenager, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Izuku had been with other people in his life. Maybe it made him realize that there are other fish in the sea. Maybe he actually had moved on, and he only fell back into thinking he liked Katsuki when he wound up single and there was no other immediate object to absorb his overflowing affection.
And maybe it didn’t matter. In spring of the fifth year of his career as a pro hero, Katsuki decided that it was time to be brave. He had to tell Izuku. Bakugou Katsuki is not a coward, and he is the best at everything.
Including dating fucking Deku. He’s going to be so goddamn good at dating Deku, that little fucker won’t even know what to do with himself.
--
No pro hero worth their salt would go into a job unprepared, though, so even once he had decided to confess, Katsuki had to formulate a plan.
They had both dated others—back at UA and afterwards too. Izuku dated plenty, actually. He was likeable and sweet. Smart, hardworking, thoughtful, hot without even realizing it, was just the right balance of confident and self-deprecating, kind to strangers and even kinder to his friends, protective, loyal, easy to talk to, and—He. Well. Izuku was everything good a person could have, and none of the bad.
His only bad qualities were the vastness of his All Might merchandise collection, his slightly below-par cleaning habits, and the fact that he was better than Katsuki at some things. Just some things. But as Katsuki’s gotten older, he’s learned that sometimes you have to swallow your pride, accept that Izuku might be cooler than you thought when you were twelve years old, and ask him on a fucking date.
Character development, that’s what Kirishima would call it.
And even though Izuku’s had some boyfriends and girlfriends and flings, he has never been wooed by Bakugou Katsuki, which would serve to nullify all of those and blow them out of the water.
Katsuki’s plan of attack is as follows:
- Cook Izuku’s favorite meal, in all of its humble glory, better than any restaurant could ever dream of.
- Invite Izuku to his immaculately-kept apartment for said meal at 8:00 pm, the sexiest time of day. (Yes, his bedtime has advanced beyond that now.)
- Enhance the evening with smooth jazz music playing on low volume in the background, exactly three (3) candles on the table, and the beige fitted turtleneck sweater that makes random women on the street turn to look at Katsuki when he walks by. (Yes, he’s noticed, constant vigilance is a crucial skill for a pro hero.)
- Tell Izuku that he loves him.
- Kiss Izuku a lot.
It’s an okay plan, even though he’s put more concrete planning into the earlier steps and glossed over the trickier parts. It’s always good to leave some slight flexibility in the agenda in case of unplanned detours, though, and Katsuki is excellent at thinking on his feet.
Part of the reason it takes nearly three months to confess his feelings post-epiphany is because Katsuki has to spend one of those months perfecting his katsudon recipe. He workshops it every time he has a day off. No less than a dozen rounds of tweaking. By the time the actual day rolls around, he’s almost sick of the dish. But it's going to be worth it to see Izuku’s reaction. He already knows Katsuki is a good cook, but this might be something like his culinary magnum opus.
He had texted Izuku a simple invitation a few days prior, just a Dinner at my place on Saturday? It's not unusual for them to spend time together one-on-one as friends. At least it wasn't before the realization. They've seen each other regularly since they reconnected at UA, but with the way Katsuki’s been avoiding Izuku the last couple months, he can’t help staring at his phone in torment until Izuku responds. His enthusiastic Yes!!! soothes Katsuki.
At least it soothes him enough to function until 7:50 pm, at which point Katsuki realizes that his plan of attack is wildly out of order.
The second Izuku walks in the door and sees the candles and hears the smooth jazz and looks at Katsuki’s goddamned turtleneck, he’s going to know this is not a friendly hangout. Izuku’s not a fucking idiot.
Katsuki stands frozen in his living room, panic surging through him. This is stupid—how was he this stupid? Izuku makes his brain do stupid, stupid things. Like getting too excited and making grave oversights.
Raking his hands through his hair, Katsuki paces.
He re-fluffs the sofa pillows again and straightens the cutlery on the table, catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window and frowns harshly just so he doesn’t look so frazzled. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn the nice cologne, it’s too much. Is the wine he got too expensive? That’s weird, right? Buying really expensive wine to have katsudon with your childhood friend? Pretty weird. Not that Izuku would know the difference between this and boxed wine, really. But Katsuki knows the difference.
Should he specify that this is a date as soon as he answers the door, to avoid the awkwardness of the subsequent realization? No—maybe he should text Izuku before he even gets here and tell him that it’s a date then, to avoid putting him on the spot? Fuck, he should have invited Izuku to something casual to confess his feelings first, then arrange a proper date later.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Katsuki is a problem-solver. He’s adaptable. He can handle this. He can just—
The doorbell rings, an offensively soft and pleasant chime. Fucking shit, why does Izuku always have to be five minutes early to everything? He’s almost as bad as Katsuki, who arrives seven minutes early to everything—except for social functions, because he’s not a complete dumbass.
“Kacchan!” Izuku says when he opens the door. He waves one hand in greeting, his cheeks rounding out and his eyes nearly closing when he smiles. In the other he’s holding a small box with a ribbon tied around it. “Thank you for inviting me! I was at my mom’s earlier today and she gave me these daifuku she made—you remember she always makes them during strawberry season—so I brought this! I thought you might like some, we can share—”
He stops short of entering when Katsuki’s arm blocks the doorframe.
“Izuku, look, um, before you come in, I gotta say something.”
He beams. “Oh, Kacchan, it’s okay if your place is messy, I understand. My apartment gets messy when I’m busy with work too, although it is surprising coming from you.” Izuku laughs softly, patting his outstretched arm and making to step over the threshold again. Katsuki releases the doorframe to grip both of Izuku’s upper arms on reflex, stopping him.
“No, it’s not that,” he rushes to explain. “My apartment is clean as fuck, as it always is.” He shakes his head to clear it. “I…when I invited you over, I just—well, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Izuku’s expression falters. “Ah,” he says, then recovers himself and smiles again, softer this time. “No worries, Kacchan. I get it.” Katsuki’s arm relaxes in his confusion, trying to figure out exactly what it is that Izuku thinks he gets, since this is coming somewhat out of nowhere. In his moment of weakness, Izuku steps around him and into the genkan.
“Well, anyways!” He carries on talking like nothing happened as he toes off his shoes. His t-shirt makes an appearance as he shrugs out of his light jacket and hangs it up in on the row of hooks. It's subtle Dynamight merch, just plain white with a little print of his signature X logo on the left sleeve. “You can have all the daifuku if you want, my mom already gave me a whole other box for myself, you know how she is!”
“Izuku,” Katsuki says. He’s nervous about this. He knows Izuku must like him, but there’s still the possibility of some pent-up angst or confusion, bitterness that Katsuki is finally returning his feelings after leaving him to pine for so many years.
“Hm?” Izuku looks up, expectant, and pauses. “Is everything okay, Kacchan?” Katsuki nods, swallowing around a nonexistent source of asphyxiation, and gathers his words. Then damn Izuku starts talking again, straightening up and setting his shoes aside. “If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me. I know we’ve grown apart and together a couple of times now, but you’re one of the people I care about the most, so—”
He has to do this, now. Izuku is sliding his feet into the guest slippers Katsuki always has very neatly placed there, and in just a second he’ll turn to walk further in, and he’ll see everything, and Katsuki has to do this the right way, with his words like the grown up he is—
“Izuku.” Katsuki catches his arm as he takes a step, pulling harder than necessary so Izuku pivots and nearly crashes into his chest, a tiny laugh bursting out of him as he catches himself. “I have to—there’s something I really need to say.”
Izuku is quiet now. Huge green eyes blink at Katsuki, curious, waiting. He’s so perceptive. Katsuki doesn’t know how he forgets that, but it’s true, and Izuku is silent now, sensing the shift into unfamiliar territory. Katsuki swallows again, his eyes darting over Izuku’s face and glancing through the apartment behind him, avoiding his observant gaze. The background music is faintly audible from here now that no one’s speaking.
Katsuki’s gaze settles.
“I’m in love with you.”
Everything feels deathly still for a few seconds. Katsuki looks into Izuku’s eyes when he says it, because he isn’t a coward, and Izuku deserves to be looked at properly when he’s having a love confession aimed at him. But now he feels pinned by Izuku’s eyes, wider than ever, Katsuki’s own petrified expression reflected in them.
He can’t believe he actually said it.
The silence is smothering him. He has to keep going. “I didn’t…realize it. Until recently—but I mean it, and I had to tell you.” Katsuki’s hand is still clasped around Izuku's wrist, tighter than is probably comfortable in his desperation, like squeezing his arm will convey some fraction of what he feels. “I meant for this to be a...a date, but I did shit all out of order, and I didn’t want you to freak the fuck out. If it’s too weird for you, I get it.” He releases Izuku’s wrist, lets his hand fall back to his side.
Izuku looks down at the floor, quiet, then back up at Katsuki, eyes suspiciously glossy. “You. Are in love with me?” he checks.
Katsuki nods tightly. “That’s what I just said, didn’t I?” Too defensive. It’s hard not be, though, and he wishes Izuku would put him out of his misery.
Izuku’s expression shifts gradually, then all at once, melting into the most fucking glittering, jaw-dropping smile Katsuki has ever seen in his life. Izuku’s eyelashes are all wet, and he looks like he might start sobbing, but he just reaches for Katsuki’s hands, both of them, and holds them.
“I love you too, Kacchan. You must know that already.” Izuku laughs—embarrassed, joyful—and squeezes his hands. Katsuki squeezes back without thinking. He did sort of know, but he wasn’t positive, and it’s somehow unreal to hear it.
“I know, dumbass,” he echoes, too soft and tender, and then he’s hauling Izuku in by his hands to get his arms around him, pressing him against his chest. Izuku laughs again, hugs Katsuki’s waist tightly. His cheek is soft against Katsuki’s when he rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Say it again,” Izuku whispers, pleading and so close, his breath stirring Katsuki’s hair.
“I love you,” Katsuki whispers.
It’s easier than he thought it would be—saying that. Izuku’s arms tighten, and Katsuki lets it all sink in that he did it, he told Izuku he loves him, and Izuku loves him back, and they love each other and they’re in love. There’s a lot of adrenaline, still. As much as when he’s out in the field, when there’s a fight, when he’s saving people—it makes him feel almost giddy, his arms tensing on instinct. “You damn nerd, fuckin’ Deku, I love you, you little—”
“Kacchan!” he says, giggling and pleased even though he’s trying to sound affronted by being squeezed so tightly. Katsuki shouldn’t be so insulting when he’s embracing the love of his life, but it’s a lot to deal with emotionally. God, he really should have planned this better, for his own sake. Some mental processing time would have been good.
Izuku seems as reluctant as Katsuki when he extricates himself, but he steps back. Smiles up at Katsuki and bounces in place on the balls of his feet. “Does this mean I can kiss you?”
Katsuki wills away the blood rising to his face with sheer willpower, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He scuffs his slipper over the hardwood. “Guess so.” He’d been really excited to kiss Izuku, but now that it’s actually possible he’s panicking a tiny bit. He clears his throat. “You could also let me make you dinner first.”
“I want to kiss you first,” Izuku says, matter of fact, and he’s stepping closer again to lay his calloused fingers against Katsuki’s jaw.
“Alright then.” Katsuki doesn’t even get a chance to do an eye-roll before Izuku is leaning in, and Katsuki—not one to be outdone—gets another burst of adrenaline and jolts forward to meet him halfway.
Two decades. Twenty years they’ve know each other, almost all of them occupied by one-sided pining, then a few months of mutual pining, a fucked up confession, and a whole lot of graciousness of Izuku’s part. And after that, a first kiss.
Their noses bump for a second before they can slot their mouths together properly, and Katsuki is overeager despite his played-up reluctance, going in a little too strong. Their teeth click, and Izuku’s exhale fans over his lips, and he steps on Katsuki’s pinkie toe through his slipper when he shuffles in place.
And it's nice. Izuku uses a lot of chapstick with kind of a pepperminty tingle to it, and his lips are warm, and his hands come up to settle around Katsuki’s neck.
They pull back and adjust, and Katsuki gets himself under control, goes in softer this time, a hand on Izuku’s cheek and another at his waist. Sweet and romantic and slow like Izuku deserves.
He returns it with as much eagerness as Katsuki can handle, tilting his head to accept it when Katsuki’s lips part, moving in even closer. It’s great—better than great. Just how Katsuki imagined it would be all the times he daydreamed it in the past three months—Izuku tilting his head up to reach, his calloused hands patting softly over Katsuki’s hair and the back of his neck.
Even when they have to stop because Izuku breaks into uncontrolled giggling. It’s still great. He’s pink in the face, and he keeps his eyes fixed on his own hands where they play with the shoulder seams of Katsuki’s sweater. Katsuki can’t keep his own eyes off of Izuku’s face. He understands the elation he must be feeling. He’s doing that thing where his face unconsciously mirrors Izuku’s smile, though it probably looks strange on him.
“Kacchan,” Izuku sighs, and chews on the side of his lip to stop himself from laughing again—but Katsuki knows, he knows from the way his cheeks and chin dimple.
“You have a lot of fucking patience, Izuku,” Katsuki says, and folds inward to drag him into another tight hug. Izuku relaxes against him after a second, and turns so his nose is pressed into Katsuki’s neck, squeezing with his own arms too.
“Yeah, I do,” he mumbles. “Some things are worth it.”
That makes something very hard lodge in Katsuki’s throat. He struggles to swallow, and he wonders if Izuku felt the jump in his heart rate with how close they’re pressed together. It seems impossible, after everything, that he’s worth all that to Izuku. Worth twenty years of waiting for him to come around and return those feelings. Worth the wait when Izuku had thought it would never come to an end.
He made Izuku’s life hell when they were kids, all through middle school. He’d been an asshole in high school, too. Mostly inside the confines of his own head, when Katsuki had gotten into the hero course and Izuku hadn’t. He had to start in general studies.
It wasn’t really until second year, when Izuku had managed a transfer into the support course and became friends with a few people from Katsuki’s class that they reconnected. He’d gone to Powerloader’s classroom looking for Hatsume because he needed some tweaks on his gauntlets, and nearly keeled over in shock at the sight of Izuku babbling to Uraraka, fiddling with a circuit board while Iida hovered behind them, frowning.
And then when goddamn Todoroki had brought Izuku to their dorm building to talk about support items in the common room, Katsuki had been on the verge of an aneurism. Seeing Todoroki pointing out different areas of their living space in a deadpan tone, like the world’s most morose tour guide, while Izuku gaped and oohed and aahed, because this is where the hero course students live, I can’t believe it’s so normal on the inside.
And it somehow spiraled into Izuku fixing his gauntlets, because as annoying as he was, at least he didn’t reduce entire classrooms to rubble when he tinkered with them, unlike Hatsume.
Izuku’s shaky, knobby hands, marred with grease and pen marks, poking at different mechanisms once Katsuki had them on to test the adjustments. Amazing, Kacchan, you can use so much power without the recoil affecting your movements!
“Kacchan,” Izuku says again, and Katsuki is back in the present like a switch being flipped. He tightens his arms around Izuku’s waist. “Are we dating now?”
“Yeah,” he says, no hesitation. “Course we are.” He swallows. “If that’s what you want too.”
Izuku’s laughter tickles his neck, and Katsuki’s shoulders draw up reflexively, jostling his head and making him pull back. Nerd, he bounces in place and smiles up at Katsuki. “Of course that’s what I want.” He surges forward to plant another kiss on Katsuki’s lips. “Well, really I want Kacchan to be my boyfriend.”
Katsuki’s face feels red-hot, and he presses his lips into a flat line and looks away to control himself. “Yeah,” he forces out. “Me too. Idiot.”
--
Izuku’s expression betrays his surprise the second he steps farther into Katsuki’s apartment.
“I…wanted to make it sort of special,” Katsuki admits, hand rubbing over the back of his neck as he trails after Izuku, feet dragging. It’s pretty embarrassing now, after realizing that he probably could have just walked up to Izuku and said his piece and it still would have worked. But he also kind of likes that he did this—showed that he’s not someone who’s gonna do the bare minimum and let Izuku settle for that. He deserves far more than this, in fact, but Katsuki will work up to that.
“I’m making katsudon,” he explains, gesturing at the neat layout of the kitchen counters. “It’s already mostly done, won’t take long to finish it.” He tugs on the cuffs of his sweater and watches Izuku for his reaction. “Are the candles too much? I know you’re not exactly into all that shit, but I thought—”
“This is…so romantic, Kacchan,” he whispers, turning to him. The fucking smooth jazz is still on, actually audible now that they’re standing in the kitchen. “I think it’s sweet.”
Katsuki’s face warms again, and he scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, well, I thought it might help you realize that I…appreciate you. Or something.”
“Or something?” Izuku smiles, his nose crinkling up. “I already know you appreciate me. I didn’t know that you were in love with me, so I guess it’s a good demonstration of that.”
“Yep,” Katsuki says, and licks his lips nervously.
Izuku smiles even wider. “Say it again?”
Katsuki scowls, and kicks at Izuku’s ankle as he steps around him to reach the stove. “I love you, shitty Deku.”
“Aahhh, I can’t believe it,” he sighs, and dissolves into laughter again. “I love you too, Kacchan.”
Katsuki startles when Izuku presses up against his back to hug him again, but he doesn't shake him off. Everything had been meticulously arranged to simplify the cooking process once Izuku arrived, so Katsuki doesn’t have to run around the kitchen the whole time. He's already laid out the ingredients, utensils at the ready, so he lets Izuku hug him while he heats up the pans.
Izuku has to strain upward—maybe even get on his tiptoes—to rest his chin on Katsuki’s shoulder so he can see. It’s immensely satisfying for some reason.
“Oh, it looks amazing.”
“Yeah, I know.” The frying oil is hot again, an inch or so in the pan, and Katsuki re-crisps the tonkatsu under Izuku’s awed gaze. “There’s a secret ingredient in my recipe.”
Izuku gasps, then breaks into a fit of giggling like a thirteen-year-old girl, mashing his face into the back Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki has a feeling he’s going to be hearing that sound a lot from now on.
Izuku pushes his forehead harder into Katsuki’s back and stifles himself. “A secret ingredient? Is it love?”
Katsuki scowls again, because of course Izuku would interpret it that way. “No, you nerd, it’s a food ingredient.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.”
“I’ll tell you a secret in return if you tell me.”
Katsuki huffs. He can’t resist, though. “Fine. You first.” And maybe that’s another testament to how much he’s grown up—high school Katsuki wouldn’t be second in anything, even stupid secret-telling.
“Hm, okay,” Izuku says. He’s so warm, and his body is somewhere between soft and firm, and he fits just right where he is. Katsuki stills, like it will help him hear better. He doesn't want to miss this. Izuku's lips press on his shoulder blade through the thin weave of his sweater, and Katsuki is glad he can't see the goosebumps that prickle up on his arms.
Izuku hums. “I, um. When I was a teenager." He tightens his arms a little. "The first time I…touched myself, I was thinking about you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki’s heart stutters, and he feels like his ears are ringing for a moment. What the hell kind of secret is that? An uncalled for one, surely—fuck, why is it hot? That’s even more uncalled for.
And it isn't, really. They're boyfriends now. Izuku’s probably trying to get a reaction out of him, in his own way. But Katsuki’s too flustered to react properly. He can hear his own heartbeat, and he’s usually really smooth with flirting, okay? He’s a grown man, he knows how to do this—but it’s fucking Izuku.
He nearly drops his cooking chopsticks, then grips them tighter and clears his throat. “I deglazed the pan with shiaoxing cooking wine when I was making the broth,” he mutters, slightly panicked and at a loss for how to follow up that admission. “That’s my secret ingredient.”
Izuku smothers another laugh into his shoulder, and Katsuki jerks his foot back to (lovingly) kick him in the shin.
--
The dinner goes well. Izuku can’t stop raving about how good the food is—even better than the place I always go in Shibuya—and the wine is also perfect with it, because Katsuki did his research on the tasting notes, and remembered to decant it an hour in advance.
Izuku looks painfully handsome in the nice mood lighting, and he’s easy to talk to despite the fact that Katsuki inverted the ground their relationship was standing on. He startles and then smiles and returns the gesture when Katsuki hooks his foot around Izuku’s ankle under the table.
It’s perfect. Perfect even though Katsuki is thrumming with nervous energy throughout most of the evening.
In an uncharacteristic move, he decides that they can let the dishes sit in the sink instead of cleaning right away. He still has to scuffle around putting things away for an excuse to gather himself, though, because he’s not sure what direction things should go now.
He wants Izuku to stay longer, maybe move the conversation to the living room so they can sit close together, talk without distractions. But it might be bad for his mental health to be faced with Izuku and nothing else to occupy his brain. Or his hands. No food or dishes to keep them busy.
But Izuku draws him over to the sofa anyways. He seems a little shifty too, setting down his wineglass with too much force and squeaking in terror at the clanging sound. It doesn’t break, and he places it very carefully with two hands then, pushes it away from him and sits back. Izuku arranges himself in the way he always does—one leg drawn up under him and the other dangling, but this time he’s turned towards Katsuki and leaning in close. His voice is intentionally quiet enough that Katsuki has to do the same.
And then they’re kissing, and Katsuki stops trying to use his brain so goddamn much, and just lets himself do what he wants.
He encourages Izuku forward until he’s on Katsuki’s lap, knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his hips.
“I like your sweater,” Izuku says, running his hands over the breadth of his shoulders, and Katsuki huffs, almost a laugh. He knew it.
“I like your fucking face,” he mutters, and kisses Izuku’s soft lips.
“Kacchan,” he says, out of breath when he pulls away. It seems like he wants to say more—ask for more, so Katsuki kisses him again, tilts his head back with a hand in his hair and coaxes his lips apart. Izuku hums, a pleased satisfied noise. The inside of his mouth is warm and wet, and he nips at Katsuki’s lip with blunt teeth.
Katsuki is oddly hesitant about pushing too far. He wonders if they're rushing things, but every movement from Izuku gives him another thread of confidence. He’s so eager, leaning into whatever Katsuki gives him, testing and pushing for more. Katsuki lets him lead.
The way Izuku kisses him is assured now. Steady when he presses closer and tangles his fingers in Katsuki’s hair. Like they didn’t just get together hours ago—like they’ve been together for months, years. A contradictory swirl of familiarity and comfort and newness and excitement. It’s addicting.
Katsuki moves slowly despite himself, primed for any reactions. It feels natural to slide his hands to Izuku’s hips and draw him in, but he startles when he feels the slight hardness push against him. Izuku only makes a soft sound against his mouth and rolls his hips forward to grind them together. There’s heat spreading through Katsuki’s body, starting from his core. The warmth from before ratchets up into a low simmer, and he reciprocates. He wants to give as good as he gets, so he grinds up and breaks from Izuku’s mouth to nudge his head back and kiss under his jaw.
His weight on Katsuki’s lap is comforting, his body firm. He may not be a pro hero, but he’s always put in effort, and it shows. Just seeing the way his thighs look settled around Katsuki’s waist, and the absent, pleased expression on his face—it does something to Katsuki.
“You’re so—fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathes, and moves along Izuku’s neck to kiss and nip at the smooth skin, dotted with freckles even here where the sunlight rarely finds it.
“I’m…I—” Katsuki can feel with his lips the way Izuku swallows. “Kacchan is—you’re…so handsome,” he whispers. “I’ve thought about this for years.”
Katsuki grips his hips harder. “I don’t—” He has to stop, a minute shake of his head before he kisses the same place on his throat, sucks softly at Izuku’s skin. “—don’t know how you could hold back all that time.” Another press of his lips. “I felt like I was going fucking crazy not having you the last few months.” Izuku’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he lets his head fall more to the side, giving Katsuki room to kiss behind his ear, along his jaw to his chin. “I wanted you so bad. Want you now,” Katsuki whispers.
If they’re being honest, he might as well speak his mind.
When he catches a glimpse of Izuku’s face, he’s gone pink from his hairline down to the collar of his shirt, hand leaving Katsuki’s shoulder to press against one of his own heated cheeks. Maybe that was too much—made it a little too real and took him out of the comfortable haze. Izuku laughs—a trembling, reedy sound, helpless.
“Kacchan,” he voices, but it must not be too much after all, because he lays his palms against Katsuki’s face and kisses him again with an air of desperation.
For some arbitrary reason, Katsuki feels like maybe they should wait. Take things slow. Go on some more dates and work up to a greater level of intimacy. Izuku deserves to be treated with care, thoroughly romanced before they have sex.
But he’s also waited almost twenty fucking years.
They’re grown men and they’re in love and it’s hard to really think of any other reason they can’t—shouldn’t—just touch. Give and take. Katsuki meant every word of what he said—he wants him, his perfect Izuku.
And those freckled, calloused hands are determined when they get under the hem of Katsuki’s sweater and push it up. Every touch is impatient now, overshadowing the doubt and nerves, and Katsuki pulls Izuku down harder on his lap and tilts their mouths together, hot and searching.
Izuku’s breathing is all over the place. His hands are on Katsuki’s skin, fingers at his collarbones, and they smooth over his chest in a way that feels almost reverent, worshipful. “Kacchan,” he whispers again. How many times has he said it now?
Not enough, never enough.
“Do you want to move?” Katsuki asks. “To my bed—” Izuku silences him again with his lips, and only retreats to nod his head without a second of pause.
Katsuki leads him by the hand, though Izuku knows the way.
They melt together again on his bed, even closer than before, and Izuku’s hand fumbles down the length of his torso, presses and folds around the shape of his cock. Katsuki tucks his face into Izuku’s shoulder. Whatever hair products he uses smell like melon.
“Can you get undressed?” Izuku whispers into his hair. His fingers curl into the fabric of Katsuki’s waistband and hold, and Katsuki moves.
“You too,” he says, pushing up Izuku’s shirt, helping him out of it.
When they’re both bare, nothing between them but hands on skin, Katsuki coaxes Izuku back onto his lap, watches the way he moves and the microexpressions that flit over his face, every twitch of his mouth and expansion of his lungs. Katsuki is thrumming with satisfaction, adoration, as he cinches his arms around Izuku’s waist and lays another hot kiss to his neck.
“Did you really…” Katsuki shakes his head a little and has to laugh at himself. “Did you actually think about me? When you…?”
When you touched yourself for the first time. The first time you came, were you thinking about me?
“Yeah.” It’s so choked, thick with emotion, that it startles Katsuki. He scans over Izuku’s face, sees the intensity, the liquid heat behind his eyes and the flush of his skin.
His eyes are shiny. They’re always shiny, large and pretty, but they look too shiny right now. Glossy, really, and—shit—
Izuku sniffles, hands flying to his face to scrub at his cheeks. Still inexplicably softened with baby fat, flushed a blotchy red. “Sorry, I—sorry, Kacchan. I didn’t mean to—” His voice is thick, and he cuts himself off with a strangled sob. “I’m so sorry—”
“What’s wrong?” Katsuki tries for firm and to the point, but his hands scramble over Izuku’s neck, his face, his hair, and his voice sounds too urgent and concerned, so he gives up on trying to be calm. He is concerned. “Izuku? Did I do something? Are you—”
Izuku shakes his head so hard his curls hit Katsuki in the face.
“No, no,” he chokes out. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His hands are still wiping at his cheeks, a fruitless effort as fresh tears replace the wetness each time he tries. “I’m just so—” The blush on his skin is creeping down his bare chest now, blooming under the sprinkling of freckles there, and he twists away, then seems to change his mind when there’s nowhere to go, pitching forward instead to hide his damp face in Katsuki’s shoulder.
Katsuki’s mind is still trying to process things, and his body is confused now too. His erection is flagging, but the motion feels automatic as he brings his arms up to wrap around Izuku, one palm rubbing circles into the back of his trembling shoulder. “You’re so what? Come on,” he goads. He’s not good at being comforting even under the best of circumstances, and he cringes at his own words. He should try again, before Izuku finishes his little sniffling session and starts mumbling. “I mean, what’s…what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he chokes out, pressing his face into Katsuki’s shoulder and bringing a hand up between them to wipe at his nose. “I got—got overwhelmed,” he mumbles something else, and Katsuki shrugs him off of his shoulder so he can see Izuku’s face.
He turns away, but Katsuki catches his face with an open palm, gentle, smoothing his thumb over his cheek. “Don’t hide,” he says. “And speak up, I know you can.”
Izuku sniffs and swallows, dabs at his undereyes. “Sorry.” He laughs, hoarse and flat. “I…messed up the atmosphere,” he says, intelligible this time. “I just lost control of myself for a moment.” The words seem to trigger the exact response they just explained, and Izuku’s face crumples again, more tears slipping free. “I’ve wanted Kacchan for so long, I—I don’t know what to do. It doesn’t feel real." He shakes his head. "I feel so…”
Katsuki feels his own face heat up. Yeah, he knows that. Knows that Izuku’s been wanting him for years. Since they were kids and he used to follow Katsuki around, squealing with glee at everything Katsuki did. Katsuki knows because as stupid as he thought Izuku was for trailing after him like a lovesick puppy, nothing could have prepared him to feel the same way.
To feel the lurching pull in his chest when he looked at Izuku. The inescapable awe at each new height he reached. The full-body reaction at the sound of him calling out a breathless Kacchan to get his attention. The way it almost physically hurt when Izuku smiled at him in that way that he’s pretty sure is reserved only for him.
“Hey,” Katsuki says. He has to steel himself and calm the flutter of his heart. “It’s just us.” He’s not good at this kind of shit, at all. Never knows what to say when people get emotional.
But Izuku’s emotional outbursts are the one he’s best equipped to handle for sure; he’s seen half a million of them over the years. Izuku needs straightforwardness and reassurance. “Everything still fine. Just…we can just do whatever we want, nothing more, nothing less, okay?”
Izuku nods and sniffs again, chin all bumpy with how he’s pressed his lips together to school his expression.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Katsuki says. He lowers his voice to something soft, and ducks his head so their eyes catch and hold. “I want you.” As gentle as he’s capable of, which turns out to be a lot more than he ever suspected. His fingertips drag down the center of Izuku’s spine, then he flattens his palm against the small of his back, presses him close again.
“Okay,” Izuku whispers. “I want you too.”
It’s obvious in every movement. He’s touchy and excited, and he’s still hard against Katsuki hip, but his hands are so shaky Katsuki can feel them trembling against his skin. Izuku shakes his head, hair fluffing out, and rushes back in for another kiss. They both use it to steady themselves.
“How do want to do it?” Izuku checks, and Katsuki shakes his head.
“Whatever. Anything.” He wants anything with Izuku. If the nerd wants to Katsuki fuck him, Katsuki wouldn’t hesitate.
Izuku is, though. He’s deliberating, thinking it through, and Katsuki can almost see the cogs turning in his head. His lips move soundlessly, and his fingers flex where they’re holding on to Katsuki’s arms, and he chews the inside of his cheek.
“I want to top,” he says eventually, quiet and flushed under Katsuki’s searching gaze. “But tomorrow I want you to!” he says, before Katsuki can even speak. It’s a reassurance, maybe, and an unbridled expression of his enthusiasm, his need. They both want everything the other has to offer.
“Yeah?” Katsuki hides his smile in the curve of Izuku’s neck, but he can’t hide the hoarseness of his voice. “I think we can make that happen.”
Katsuki hasn’t done this in a while, but it’s easy, because it’s Izuku. Easy to open up under his careful fingers, knobby knuckles. They’re wet with lube when they touch him, stroke over the tight muscle until Katsuki bears down and he can slide in.
He’s careful with Katsuki—almost too careful, but Katsuki can’t bring himself to be impatient in this moment. Every part of this feels precious. For once he doesn’t want to rush. Izuku searches, fingertips pressing and slipping until he gets a sound out of Katsuki. And when he keeps going, Katsuki gives every noise willingly.
Izuku is panting along with him by the time he’s three fingers deep. He has this deep sense of focus that reminds Katsuki of the times he’s watched Izuku working. And he’s always been good with his hands; it shouldn’t be a surprise that he can get Katsuki humming with need in no time.
When he pushes Izuku off him, flat onto his back, it’s really just to see his reaction. The way the air leaves his lungs and his eyes get impossibly wider.
“Oh,” he says, and there’s more nervous giggling as Katsuki follows him down, pinning his wrists to the bed. “Ka—”
The reaction is too rewarding not to keep indulging it, though—chasing after more of it. Katsuki kisses him again and settles his weight over Izuku’s hips, and he’s pliant, easy. His eyelashes have dried, still stuck together in little clusters, and the movement of them when he blinks is mesmerizing.
Katsuki watches his face as he gets them lined up. Izuku’s brows are pulled together, expression taught and enthralled. Katsuki wants to tease, but he can’t. Not when Izuku’s thumbs press into his hipbones and his hips flex upward, and he whispers Katsuki’s name like it’s a gift.
Katsuki lets gravity pull him down until Izuku is all the way inside. When that pleading face shifts to something like awe and disbelief and raw pleasure. And Katsuki gets it.
There’s something about it that’s more than just the physical sensation. It’s the feeling of something finally fitting together, something that’s been a centimeter off-kilter for an eternity, and now it’s finally right.
Izuku is as noisy as Katsuki expected him to be, at first. He squeezes his eyes shut and moans when Katsuki shifts up and slides back down, then his eyes snap open again like he doesn’t want to miss a second. Katsuki would almost want to shrink under that gaze, if it wasn’t so clearly full of admiration.
“Kacchan,” he says. “Oh my god, Kacchan.”
Katsuki stumbles over a laugh of his own, head falling forward as he lifts up again. There’s still that startling sense of unreality to this, even as he can feel Izuku inside him, his hands on Katsuki’s waist, his heartbeat under Katsuki’s palm.
“You’re—amazing,” Izuku says. His face twitches when Katsuki speeds up, mouth falling father open. It’s almost an invitation, and Katsuki kisses him again, leaning forward to reach him. It’s irresistible, and so is the way Izuku groans into Katsuki’s mouth and jerks from underneath.
Katsuki’s never been very vocal in bed, but it’s Izuku, and his rules always crumble around him. Izuku’s always the exception. And it’s so obvious how much he likes Katsuki’s voice, how his expression draws in and shivers at every word, every repetition of his name. He drinks in each whisper of praise like it's the only thing he wants—like he never imagined he'd receive it and he has to lock it in his mind.
He starts to grow restless, then, and squirms under Katsuki.
“Kacchan,” he pants. “I want to—let me—” He’s trying to hold him still, lift him off.
The emptiness is strange for a moment, but he lets Izuku roll him over, kneel closer with his hands warm on Katsuki’s thighs. He’s backlit like this, lamplight tinting his hair a lighter green at the frizzy edges. Strong shoulders and arms press Katsuki open and Izuku is there again, moving.
Katsuki’s lips part around a whisper of something nonsense, and he reaches up to pull him closer.
Izuku shivers. His hair hangs over his eyes, and he braces himself on his hands as he stops, their skin meeting and Katsuki’s body swallowing him up again.
Like Katsuki had done, he works them up from a slow start, drawn out and sweet.
“That’s good, baby,” Katsuki whispers. “Izuku. You're so good.”
His neck feels damp, and not from the wetness of Izuku’s mouth. Izuku sniffs, the cold tip of his nose dragging on Katsuki’s skin, and his hand pivots on his elbow to reach for his own face.
Katsuki’s heart squeezes and shudders. It’s too much. Izuku’s tears like this, warm on his skin, dripping down Katsuki’s throat to dry in salty trails and fall to the sheets. And Izuku is still moving, still shifting in and out, chasing the feeling, the tether. Katsuki replaces Izuku’s hand with his own, tries to wipe away the tears. Then he lets it happen.
“Love you,” Katsuki’s head falls back as he forces the words out of his constricted throat.
Izuku’s tears aren’t slowing, and neither is his body. He nods into Katsuki’s neck, and whispers it back. They both let it happen. Let him cry silently and breathe Katsuki’s name into his skin as he comes undone.
Katsuki can't speak anymore when Izuku’s hands search—when they find his and curl their fingers together. The backs of Katsuki’s hands against the bed, Izuku’s knuckles notched together with his.
Then new heat—in the form of Izuku’s release inside him, and his hollow gasping breaths on Katsuki’s chest. The warmth of his whole body pressing down when his arms sag under him and Katsuki accepts his weight. He cradles Izuku’s form between his thighs while he trembles and slows.
His body presses against Katsuki’s, and his skin is mottled with redness—exertion and pleasure. “You too,” he says, untangling their fingers and searching, and Katsuki gasps. It doesn’t take long, since he watches the wonder on Izuku’s flushed face and feels the echo of him inside.
They lie still afterward, hastily cleaned up and curled together. Izuku’s hair is coarse and tickly on Katsuki’s chest, but he’s practically a puddle as Katsuki combs through it with his fingers, and his eyes are closed, blissful. He draws his own fingertips in swooping lines over Katsuki’s skin at his shoulder, his stomach, his side.
“I love you,” Izuku says. His eyes open then, and he waits.
“Love you too, nerd,” Katsuki says. He doesn’t even roll his eyes this time. Sappy of him.
“Say it again,” Izuku insists.
“Fuck.” Katsuki plays irritated, nudges Izuku’s head and pulls on a strand of his hair. “How many times do I gotta say it?” He wraps the strand around his finger then lets it go, combing through the curls.
Izuku purses his lips, and he chews on the inside on his lower lip. His line of sight darts over all of Katsuki’s features, then sticks on his eyes.
“As many times as I’ve thought it.”
Katsuki is quiet for a long time. His throat clicks, breath wavering, but he looks right back at Izuku and his earnest expression.
“Well.” His voice is weak. “That’s probably a lot of times.”
“Exactly,” Izuku says, then quieter, “Again, Kacchan.”
“I love you.” There’s a tremulous shudder in Izuku’s body, maybe a laugh or maybe something else, and he turns into Katsuki's neck again. His teeth graze Katsuki’s skin—a smile.
“Again.”
“I love you.” A pause. “Say it back, asshole.”
“I love you!” Izuku shouts it, legs kicking out furiously when Katsuki tickles his side.
“Good.” Katsuki grins. “Love you too.”