Work Text:
When Shouto pushes the door open, duffle slung over shoulder, mind lost in pedantic office work after getting off shift, he’s not expecting an explosive palm to the face.
Luckily, despite hours of agency busywork, he’s still keyed up and hypervigilant from an eventful day of patrolling. It’s more instinct than conscious thought that has his right hand coming up to meet the sparky palm trying to detonate his face off. He throws an excessive amount of cold energy into it, more than would be necessary in the field, and a gluttonous waste of precious energy, but there’s no hellbent villain here that actually wants to hurt him- well… he hopes.
The explosion meets a premature end with a soft hiss of steam. Shouto’s raised palm collides with Katsuki’s, and he takes the opportunity to entwine their fingers in a tight, unforgiving handhold that has the potential to be a very romantic gesture if it were between anyone but them.
“Hello, Katsuki,” he says once the steam dissipates, meeting a furrowed glare. “It's good to see you.”
Shouto’s ‘blasé bastard’ (not his words) routine is a favorite of his to get under Katsuki’s skin, and it doesn’t fail today either.
Katsuki bristles in a very cute way. His face goes rage red, and his shoulders hike to his ears. It gives him a little bit of a double chin that Shouto likes quite a lot, just a hint of softness, of vulnerability, amongst Katsuki’s armored edges. Shouto wants to take a bite to see if he’ll cry.
His waxing poetic gets cut short as Katsuki attempts to rip his hand away, as if Shouto’s touch is scalding. He doesn’t let him, of course. He’s not done admiring Katsuki’s boiling expression.
“Are you incapable of simple greetings now?” He asks, his other hand catching the fist thrown at his face. “C’mon Kats, be polite.”
He’s got both hands restrained now. That should be enough to slow them down a little.
When Katsuki tries to break Shouto’s nose on his forehead, he realizes maybe he should have looked at the news after being drowned in paperwork for the past three hours, or done any sort of check-in. He’d been so excited to get the text from Katsuki asking him to come over—three explosion emojis—Shouto hadn’t considered why he’d only received the emojis.
They used to be like that—younger and more awkward, both of them allergic to any expression that hinted at sentimentality—but Shouto should have realized something was up. They aren’t ‘three explosion emojis’ anymore. They’re ‘text me when you get home,’ and ‘pictures of cute cats spotted on patrol,’ and ‘what do you want to eat after vigorous, mind-blowing marathon sex.’
It’s unusual, and an indicator that something’s bothering him.
Shouto jolts back to the present with a bruising punch to his mouth that he quickly realizes is a ferocious attempt at a kiss. The pinch of Katsuki’s canine digs into his bottom lip and says, ‘Pay attention to me, moron.’ The pain makes his eyes water, and Shouto drops Katsuki’s fist, making sure to keep their interlocked fingers secure, in order to find purchase in his mess of blonde hair, yanking him back.
Shouto sniffs, trying to itch away the sharp sting that’s crept into his nose, and chills his mouth to combat the dull throbbing left behind by the impact. Katsuki’s expression is tight from the pain of being held back by his hair. He makes an attempt to brute force his way out of the hold, but it must be more painful than he expects because he stills, then settles, impatience loud in the harsh exhale through his nose, tense as he waits for Shouto to make the next move.
“I told you to be polite,” Shouto says, holding firm. “Are you incapable?”
Katsuki grins at him, all sharp teeth and sharper words.
“Put me on my knees and I’ll show you how polite I can be.”
A cold, burning lust flares in Shouto. Any thought of slowing down and talking about what’s got him all worked up is ashed from his mind. This is Katsuki’s version of begging, and it’s a live wire to Shouto’s brain. If Katsuki wants to lose himself, Shouto feels it’s only polite to oblige. He’ll give Kats what he wants.
Katsuki attempts to drop his weight, but Shouto catches him by the hair. He might be willing to oblige, but he’s not going to just give in to demands.
Kats’ grip tightens in Shouto’s and his other hand finds his waist for support. He makes a soft, pained sound that only eggs Shouto on.
“Someone’s eager to get a cock down his throat,” Shouto comments idly, pushing at Katsuki’s temper and enjoying the way Kats’ grip turns bruising against his hip and the way he crushes their entwined fingers is just shy of breaking.
“Are you allergic to being cooperative or something?” Katsuki grits out.
Shouto can’t help but laugh. He shifts forward, forcing Katsuki to step back and using his shift in weight to spin them so Katsuki’s back presses against the apartment door. Shouto raises their entwined hands to be flush against the cold metal, held over Katsuki’s head.
“Since when have either of us liked it easy?”
He sees Katsuki’s throat bob and follows the movement with his tongue, licking an icy strip up his neck as he releases his hair, using a thumb to crane Katsuki’s head back. Kats can’t hide his shivery moan, or the way his hips buck. Shouto’s thigh slots in place between Katsuki’s and he changes from licking to biting, pressing his teeth against the bone at the junction of his jaw.
Katsuki’s hips stutter, grinding down, making his exhale shaky. He’s already fully hard in the gray sweats, like he’s been desperately horny and just waiting for Shouto to get him off since he sent that text.
Shouto’s bite turns to a harsh, sucking kiss, bruising on Katsuki’s soft neck as he turns himself on. It elicits a whimper that has Shouto pressing his thigh harder against Kats’ erection.
What he wouldn’t give to sink his teeth in and really make him cry.
Then he remembers that there is actually nothing stopping him, and that spurs a trail of lavish kisses that leave frost in their wake down Katsuki’s neck until he finds the strong muscle of Katsuki’s shoulder and bites, hard.
Katsuki cringes on a broken cry of pain, hips rocking over Shouto’s thigh as his hand finds its place on the back of Shouto’s head and holds him in place. He squeezes their entwined fingers tighter, and Shouto offers gentle, comforting strokes with his thumb, an unspoken encouragement that assures him he’s doing exactly as Shouto wishes.
“F-fuck.”
He sounds so pretty, being pulled along at Shouto’s pace, unable to suppress the sounds and movements that Shouto coaxes out of him. His hips are moving, gyrating against Shouto in slow, tiny pulses that match each softly huffed exhale, already losing his grip on his self-control in favor of chasing pleasure. It sends a heady rush of arousal through Shouto, feeling a man so disciplined losing himself.
Shouto unlocks his jaw and pulls back. Observes the bone-white indents left behind by his teeth. He wants to see Katsuki. Map his desire and plot his pleasure, sending his mind to a place where it can finally rest, gently cradled in Shouto’s arms. His thumb moves down to trace the marks he’s left behind, and the cold spots where bruised kisses remain. Katsuki cants his chin, baring the vulnerable expanse of skin to Shouto, demanding he continue.
It would take a stronger man than Shouto’s ever been to deny a request so sweetly asked- which is exactly when Katsuki turns the tables.
Guard down, Shouto’s grip slackens, his eyes flutter shut. He begins shifting his weight to get a better angle on Katsuki’s cock, and that’s when Katsuki is able to find his footing and free his hand. He’s quick to seize the opportunity, getting both hands under Shouto’s ass and hauling him off his feet.
It’s a reflex—one born from repetition—that has his arms snaking over Katsuki’s broad shoulders and his thighs squeezing Katsuki’s hips to anchor him in place. Shouto may be taller, but in raw strength Katsuki has him beat. It’s always been as easy as breathing for Katsuki to manhandle him.
Now, he’s looking down at Katsuki’s cheshire, curling grin. He looks so pleased with himself, and it highlights every handsome feature on his face, rounding his cheeks, drawing the sharp line of his jaw, crinkling the skin on his nose. Shouto can’t help but capture his lips in a kiss before he has the chance to say something antagonistic or profane. Katsuki’s kiss is sharp, excited. His teeth catch on Shouto’s upper lip, his tongue cuts into his mouth, curling behind his front teeth possessively, like he’s trying to pull Shouto in deeper. Shouto’s not shy to comply. He tilts his head to a better angle, enjoying the bright, minty taste of Katsuki’s tongue as he swallows each goading nip and cajoling swirl of his tongue.
It’s a battle of endurance. Shouto weathers everything Katsuki throws at him until their kiss turns river stone smooth, and then, they’re just kissing.
And Shouto’s perfectly happy with that.
Shouto gets lost in the heat of Katsuki’s mouth, a cold hand cradling his cheek, and Shouto’s heart skips a beat as Katsuki changes the angle of their kiss to lean into his palm, softer. They’ve become a languid rhythm of matched lips, trading breaths and saliva. Katsuki tugs on his bottom lip. The gentle pull raises the hairs on the back of Shouto’s neck, and he moans into Katsuki’s mouth.
Katsuki’s fingers dig into the meat of his ass. A growl vibrates between them, and then Katsuki is floating him across his apartment, kicking in his bedroom door and throwing Shouto atop his bed. He bounces with the impact, landing so his knees hang off the end, feet on the floor.
If Katsuki wants to fuck him, Shouto’s down. Katsuki’s really good at fucking him—almost as good as he is at being fucked by him, but Shouto doesn’t think that’s what Katsuki really wants tonight.
He’s all over the place. Adrift within himself, flailing, drowning. Shouto knows he can buoy him, guide him where he needs to be.
Shouto waits until Katsuki is leaning over him—hands at Shouto’s hips, lips swollen from kissing—to squeeze his legs against Katsuki’s sides and rock them sideways. They roll together, too fast for Katsuki to react, and Shouto ends up exactly where he wants to be: sitting on Katsuki’s chest, knees pressed over his biceps, Katsuki hanging mostly off the bed so only his upper back bears their weight on the mattress and he won’t be able to gain any meaningful leverage to fight back.
Katsuki scowls, and Shouto looks over his shoulder to see the taut lines of his abs—shirt hiked up and under Shouto’s ass—squeezing to support the undoubtedly uncomfortable tabletop pose, his pelvis arching, glutes engaged, boner tenting in his sweats. He turns back when Katsuki’s hands slap at his legs in a feeble show of resistance.
“Stupid asshole,” he says, resorting to trying to pinch the hard muscle of Shouto’s thighs. “Get your fat ass off, I can’t breathe.”
He can breathe just fine… or enough. Shouto takes a moment to observe Katsuki beneath him. His own cheeks feel overheated from their kiss. His cock pressing painfully at the fly of his slacks; his neatly knotted tie suddenly far too restricting; his stiff collar itching; his dress shoes still on. It all brings things back into focus, keeps him from getting overeager, lets him slow them down a little.
“You didn’t give me any time to get comfortable before jumping me like a horny dog,” Shouto says, reaching down to slowly rub the bulge of his crotch.
Katsuki scowls at him fiercely, but his eyes track Shouto’s movements with hyper focus, biting down on his bottom lip, unable to beat the horny dog allegations.
“You gonna fuck my face?” Katsuki asks, his index finger twitching, tapping against Shouto’s inner thigh.
It sends heat down to his bones, through him, straight to his dick. He wants to draw this out, push Katsuki so far he collapses to a place only Shouto can catch him.
His other hand moves to cover Kats’.
“Make it up to me, and maybe I’ll be inclined to accommodate requests.”
Katsuki can’t hide the eager flash of excitement that widens his eyes, and it’s cute. He thinks he’s getting a reward.
With one hand, Shouto undoes his buckle, pops the button of his slacks, then runs the zipper down. Even with his underwear still on, the shape of his erection presses out from between the folds of his pants, and Shouto sighs as his fingers trace up the length. Katsuki’s eyes track his fingers with uncompromising focus. His hands stop trying to push Shouto away, resting warm on his thighs.
This is a great place for them to be. Katsuki trapped beneath him, waiting patiently at Shouto’s mercy.
Katsuki trembles in his backbend.
Shouto’s brain sizzles.
With both thumbs he hooks the elastic of his underwear and pulls it down over his dick until it’s secure beneath his balls. The band presses nicely against the tender, sensitive skin there, and he has to suppress the desire to twitch his hips forward.
His hard cock juts out from an evenly split carpet of red and white pubic hair that trails up in a tapering peak to his belly button. Sitting on Katsuki’s tits, all it would take is to press down on his erection and it would bounce off Katsuki’s bottom lip, and Katsuki clearly wants that. His teeth dug into his bottom lip the moment Shouto pulled out his dick. His fingers slide from Shouto’s thighs to find purchase at the crest of his hips, thumbs digging into the sensitive hollow of skin there.
Shouto takes his cock in one hand, fist around the base, stroking up then down once. The warmth simmers low in his pelvis, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the heat of Katsuki’s gaze following him. He’s so eager to blow him, there’s no effort to hide the wanton want that makes Shouto’s whole body tingle, but Shouto’s not ready yet.
Leaning forward, he thumbs at the corner of Katsuki’s mouth, baring the pretty white of his canine as Shouto pushes his lip up. Pretty teeth. Pretty mouth—that always fits perfectly around whatever Shouto puts in there. Katsuki watches him with hooded eyes, just barely leaning his head into the cup of Shouto’s palm, doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.
“Cute,” Shouto can’t help but say.
Katsuki’s expression tightens on cue, even though he’s been all over the place today, the c-word always raises his hackles. Shouto can’t help but push his buttons. He likes Katsuki feisty.
Shouto winces at the sharp pinch of teeth at the edge of his thumb, enough to break skin. A tiny bead of blood balloons up, and Kat’s tongue swipes at it.
Cute, Shouto thinks, his stomach clenching as he strokes down on his dick. The warmth of arousal pulses in him on every stroke, each time reaching further than before, consuming, hungry.
He shifts his hand so his index and middle fingers rest at Katsuki’s lips, thumb and pinky holding his jaw in place. Shouto clicks his tongue and quickens the pace on his cock.
“And just when I was about to let you choke on my dick,” he lies, swiping the tip with his thumb before a bead of pre-cum can drip to Katsuki’s face.
Katsuki’s lips part, and Shouto smirks, pulling his hand away from Katsuki’s face before he can get Shouto’s fingers in his mouth, preoccupying those fingers instead with loosening his tie and flicking open the buttons of his shirt. He stops stroking himself only long enough to roll up his sleeves to his elbows.
“Guess now you’ll have to make do with watching.”
The faintest whimper keens, and Katsuki’s fingers twitch at his hips, nails digging against his pants. He feels Katsuki strain against his hold, arching up to try to buck him. It’s futile. Katsuki is strong, but at a bad angle all that strength is useless. A thump behind him tells Shouto Katsuki stomped one of his feet in frustration.
Shouto continues stroking his dick, one hand trailing up his exposed abdomen. He’s sure he looks a vision, poised above him and messy from their fight. His neat, tailored office clothes in disarray. Katsuki’s got a thing for doing him in business casual. His fingers have moved to toying at the waistline of Shouto’s pants, skirting beneath the hem towards Shouto’s back.
“Got something to say?” He asks, breathless as he continues to jerk himself off.
Each stroke raises the pressure. Liquid heat that’ll rise until he’s drowning in it.
“You’re a bastard,” Katsuki growls, and Shouto can feel the vibration of the words under him.
A moan startles out of him. The sensation swirls in the heady arousal that continues to pool.
There’s not really a lot to it. Nothing like the vibrators they’ve experimented with, but the idea of it—Katsuki’s voice getting him off—hits a wonderful, sensitive spot that has him grinding down on a soft gasp. It’s good, really good.
“Tell me more.”
Katsuki blinks, and Shouto can see his Adam’s apple bob.
“You’re a bastard,” he repeats, but he speaks slower this time, not quite caught up with what’s happening.
Shouto sucks in a shaky breath.
The sound settles in the base of his spine and through his cock, pre-cum dribbling from his tip, slicking his hand. Shouto hums in appreciation, rocking down to follow the sensation, closing his eyes. The pressure makes Katsuki cough, and Shouto moans as the feeling travels through his spine and presses into his mind, making him heady and horny, and—fuck, he wants to cum all over Katsuki.
“Shouto,” Katsuki says, his tone low, speaking from his chest. “Do you like the sound of my voice?”
Every word travels through his pelvis and into the ever tightening tension of his dick. Shouto’s sigh is shaky as he twists his fist over the head of his cock faster, rocking into the shiver shudder that sets sparks dancing behind his eyelids.
“The feel of it.”
Katsuki doesn’t respond, and Shouto peels one eye open.
People always say that Shouto is inhumanely composed in even the most outrageous, incomprehensible situations, but not even he is immune to this.
Katsuki below him is a vision, and look, look at him now. He stares up at Shouto like he’s going to give him the world, pinned and helpless, at the mercy of Shouto’s whims. Self-restraint? Composure? Sure, that’s the foundation Shouto was built on, but he might as well be made of balsa wood and tissue paper when Kats watches him like this.
“C’mon,” he gasps, hips undulating, feeling himself up. “Aren’t you making up for your poor behavior so I’ll fuck your face?”
There’s a pause.
“I don’t know what to say,” he says, still speaking at a resonance that makes his whole chest rumble.
That tone is an aphrodisiac. Maybe he should just fuck Katsuki’s face-
Every roll of his hips is punctuated by Katsuki’s hands trying to urge him forward, to get his lips around Shouto’s cock, despite being told he was just watching. Discipline is washed away by a desire that makes Shouto want to tease and press until Katsuki breaks.
-Maybe he’ll make him work just a little bit harder.
“Tell me about how much you like me.”
Katsuki’s cheeks flame. Talking is neither of their strong suits—talking about their feelings is worse than death—so it’s the perfect challenge for Katsuki to earn what he really wants. He seems utterly flustered, but that embarrassment soon congeals to defiance.
“What do you mean?” Katsuki says, baring his pretty white teeth in sharp contrast to his flush. “Why would I tell you about something you already know?”
Shouto doesn’t respond—he’s past the point of entertaining factitiousness—opting for a bemused cock of his eyebrow. His head lolls to one side as holding it up becomes too heavy, lust weighing him down, cradling it in the crook of his shoulder. He’s nearly bouncing on Katsuki’s chest as he jerks himself off.
He doesn’t really want to be patient and controlled anymore, but he also wants to watch Katsuki simmer under his gaze. Shouto is consumed by greed. He wants all of him. His anger, embarrassment, attention, submission, lust, love-
“I like you.”
Shouto blinks back into focus, and Katsuki’s not looking at him, head turned away for the first time since Shouto pinned him. He shudders, eyes hooding, everything gets hot. A fat drop of pre-cum lands on Katsuki’s cheek.
“What was that?” He asks coyly, waifish.
This time he can feel the vibration of Katsuki speaking, but the words get lost in the bedsheets.
“I can’t hear you, darling.”
Katsuki’s fingers flex, digging into the soft, sensitive skin of his lower back. His whole face has gone as red as his eyes. The flush creeping down past his neck beneath the white collar of his shirt, and one red eye glares at him through blonde lashes before looking away again.
“I said, I fucking like you, okay!”
Shouto opens his mouth to be cajoling, but he’s cut off.
“You’re an airheaded, clueless asshole with no tact and an awful mean streak when someone ticks you off, but, for some reason, everyone thinks you’re some goody two-shoes golden boy. Not to mention you’re stubborn and never compromise and somehow always get people to happily give you what you want-”
Hold on, is Katsuki listing his faults? Nitpicking the minutiae of Shouto’s personality? He’s noticed all these little things that even Shouto doesn’t know about himself.
Shouto’s hand pauses, but the heat doesn’t stop building.
It’s kind of turning him on.
“-You’re an idiot who has zero life skills outside of being a hero and fucking me, and for some stupid fucking reason I like you,” Katsuki says, glaring at the wall.
“Katsuki,” Shouto breathes, reverent.
“I like you so much it makes me sick.”
He’s going to cum.
“Look at me,” and Katsuki does. “Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out.”
Shouto leans forward, and Katsuki helps him, hands raising him off Katsuki’s chest so it feels like he’s floating as he rapidly fists his cock. His tip bounces off Katsuki’s waiting tongue, Shouto’s knuckle brushing Kats’ bottom lip on every upstroke. The pressure starts tight in his groin, pulling up until his head goes steam-stuffy with his orgasm. It takes one, two, three quick strokes before release finds him.
“Ah.”
His eyes screw closed, hips trying to jerk forward but being stayed by Katsuki’s hold, which only sets him off further, mind pluming with steamy euphoria—a pressure valve released. He comes on each stroke, pleasure twisting him tighter and tighter until his fist is painfully tight around his cock while he squeezes the last bit of cum out.
He leans back slowly until he’s settled back on Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki’s hands have moved to hold him at his hips, thumbs rubbing gently against his apex of the bone there.
When he opens his eyes, Katsuki is looking at him, mouth still held open, streaks of cum marring his face. On his tongue; across his cheek; in the lashes and brow of his left eye, sealing it closed; all the way up to his hairline.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, raspy, floating in the tingling high of his orgasm.
He’s not coming down.
Katsuki’s fading flush returns with a vengeance. Shouto reaches forward absently to smudge the cum on his burning cheek, thumbing small circles against his skin, and he’s struck with an overwhelming desire to break Katsuki down until only Shouto fits in his mind.
“Swallow,” he says.
Katsuki does.
Flames lick up through Shouto’s hair.
“Shou?” Katsuki asks, and Shouto can feel him shaking, probably exhausting himself from the backwards bridge he’s been holding this entire time.
“Look at you looking at me,” he says softly, adoring, smearing his cum from Katsuki’s cheek to his ear, then into his hair. “Turns out you’re always looking at me.”
Maybe, if Shouto’s lucky, Katsuki is as consumed by Shouto as Shouto is him.
Katsuki’s expression twitches in a conflict between indignant and embarrassed, biceps flexing beneath Shouto’s shins in an attempt to push him off. It doesn’t work, of course, which only burns more vapors in Shouto’s mind, gets him higher and light-headed and hungry.
He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks, savors the bitter taste of himself, decides he wants more.
Katsuki balks.
“W-wait.”
He leans down and licks a fat line over Katsuki’s cum-sealed eye — Katsuki makes a jerky, pathetic attempt to free himself and a choked off noise — then swipes the remnants away with his thumb so Kats can open the eye again. Directly against his skin, he tastes even more: sweat, tears, cum, Katsuki.
A thumb slips below Kats’ jaw, tilting his head back so Shouto can reach his lips. Katsuki opens his mouth immediately. The kiss is sloppy, lascivious, trading cum and saliva in languid sweeps of their tongues. He pulls away only once he needs to breathe, pressing their temples together as they both catch their breaths.
Shouto sighs, breath ghosting Katsuki’s ear.
He wants to cum on him again.
Katsuki bristles beneath him, claws at Shouto’s hips, whole body tensing, voice cracking on a moan.
Oh, had he said that out loud?
Katsuki is a sweaty, sticky mess beneath him, panting and trembling. A perfect canvas. He wants more. Something must shift in his body language, because Katsuki is suddenly slapping a hand against his side.
“Wait. Just—slow down a second, backup,” Katsuki says, still trying to find his breath.
A clammy palm pushes Shouto’s face back when he doesn’t immediately comply.
Shouto stares hungrily down at Katsuki from between his fingers.
“You’re a fucking pervert.”
“So?” he asks, kissing Katsuki’s palm, a gentle hand moving to hold his wrist in place. “You like that about me.”
Katsuki’s expression twists distastefully, but he doesn’t have a comeback, and he doesn’t pull his hand away. His chest still heaves and his forehead is sweat-slicked from all the effort.
They’ve been in this position for a while now, and Katsuki must be nearing his limits. He’s been so good too, Shouto supposes before they continue he deserves a bit of positive reinforcement. He twists, turning his attention to Katsuki’s erection to give him a bit of relief, left hand braced on his own thigh, the other reaching back to snake beneath Katsuki’s sweats.
“I said wait!”
Katsuki’s trying to stop him, but it’s too late. Shouto’s already turned to see what Katsuki’s been trying to hide.
Katsuki’s underwear is soaked through, humid and damp as Shouto finds his softening cock. When he pulls his hand out, viscous webs of cum spread between his fingers, and he sees the wilting tent of his sweats, the massive wet mark an obvious, dark gray. Shouto turns back to Katsuki—his flush is so bright it looks like it hurts—who’s freed one arm and is now hiding his face in his hand.
Shouto allows it. A different, giddier, more primal emotion finally bringing him back down from his orgasm high, setting his teeth, making him want to bite.
“Who’s the pervert now?” He asks, leaning forward, shifting so he’s finally off Katsuki’s biceps, but still bracketing his ribs. “Cumming untouched.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. He looks at Shouto between two fingers like he either wants to kiss him or hit him.
“What did it for you, huh? Me sitting on you? Jerking my cock just out of reach? Cumming on your face?” he asks, working himself up. “Or was it when I rubbed my cum into your skin? When I licked my own cum off your face?”
Shouto doesn’t really care about the answer.
He brings his cum covered hand to Katsuki’s mouth, and he immediately darts his tongue out, laving at Shouto’s fingers. A better alternative to answering Shouto’s questions. He sucks Shouto’s fingers into his mouth, swallowing them down desperately.
Katsuki licks between his index and middle fingers, a hot pressure as he hollows his cheeks to suck Shouto deeper. His tongue massages his fingers, a sample of what he could do if Shouto would just put his fucking cock in Katsuki’s mouth. He watches him quietly, contemplatively, letting Katsuki work over his fingers until spit drools from the corners of his mouth, running down his cheeks and making dark spots on the bedsheets.
Then he pulls them away, Kats’ head stretching up to chase them. They’ve finally crossed a line. Pride, and self-control, and defiance all sidelined for another day. Nothing else matters. Katsuki wants Shouto.
Shouto loves Katsuki like this.
He slides his fingers into his own mouth. Katsuki’s saliva doesn’t have that minty taste anymore, but he savors the moment, plunging his fingers in and out, putting on a show, swallowing down every bit of Katsuki left.
Katsuki whines. His hands find Shouto’s abdomen, palming at the ridges of muscle, groping his ribs. He’s all over him. His fingers hook into the crook of Shouto’s elbow, asking him to bring his hand back to Katsuki’s mouth.
“Eager?” Shouto asks, fingers slipping out of his mouth with a wet pop.
Katsuki clicks his tongue.
“Cocky?” he asks, even as he pulls Shouto’s palm to his lips, licking a hot line up his fingers. He kisses Shouto’s fingertips, lips soft, breath hot.
“Confident.”
Shouto finally lifts off Katsuki with a smirk.
“Katsuki,” he says kindly, patiently. “Get on your knees.”
Katsuki’s legs give out, dragging him off the bed and to the floor. Shouto follows him, getting to his feet so Katsuki is between his legs like he’s been asking this whole time.
Shouto’s cock is soft after cumming, and he’s no porn god with a seconds-long refractory period, but no one gets under his skin like Katsuki. Already he can feel the pleasant, swelling warmth of his dick filling out just from seeing Katsuki on his knees, head bent back to look up at him.
He looks just as hungry as Shouto, already reaching up to stroke him.
“Stop,” Shouto says, carding his fingers through Katsuki’s hair, his bangs slick with sweat and cum. “Keep your hands on the ground.”
Katsuki’s eyes flutter as his hands drop, fingers steepling to the carpet between his knees. Shouto’s hand traces the shell of his ear, nails drawing down Katsuki’s jaw and pinching his chin between two fingers, directing him to a more favorable angle. Katsuki lets him without resistance. He’s right where Shouto wants him, past his embarrassment and anger and ready for whatever Shouto gives him.
“Good job making it up to me.”
Shouto is still fully clothed, so is Katsuki, but it hardly matters anymore. A reward is due.
He hefts his half-hard cock in his free hand. It’s heavy and pink and in contrast to the pale of Katsuki’s cheeks. Shouto runs his hand down the length, feeling the pleasure twinge low in his pelvis, corkscrewed deep within him. It’s just shy of painful, riding the cusp of overstimulating from trying to get hard again too fast, but that doesn’t stop him. Kats’ breath is warm, Shouto’s tip finds his lips, mouth opening wider as his eyes stay trained on Shouto, waiting for him, so patient and pretty.
“Go on,” Shouto says. “Take what you want.”
Katsuki takes him down to the root in one go. His mouth is hot, his throat even hotter as he swallows around Shouto’s head. But despite his initial enthusiasm, Katsuki takes his time getting Shouto fully hard. Every bob of his head is deliberate, pressing his tongue to the underside of Shouto’s cock, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. Each pass gets sloppier, louder, as Shouto’s cock gets bigger and Katsuki’s saliva makes everything slick and wet.
The whole time Kats’ hands never leave the floor. His eyes stay up on Shouto.
It’s his eyes that ratchet Shouto’s desire tight in his hips, bringing him back to fully erect. Always looking—at him. Shouto’s hands find either side of Katsuki’s head, forcing him still, pulling out until only his tip sits on Katsuki’s tongue. Anymore and he would’ve cum again.
“Katsuki,” Shouto says, thumbing the corner of Katsuki’s watering eye. “Your eyes are so pretty full of tears.”
Shouto preempts bodily harm by pulling all the way out, but Katsuki doesn’t try to bite him, doesn’t fight against his hold, doesn’t have any smart-ass quip to jab him with. Shouto licks his lips, heat burning in his guts. He’s hungry.
A quiet Katsuki is a Katsuki on a precipice—a Katsuki that’s one gentle push away from falling somewhere only Shouto can catch him.
Shouto takes a deep breath, and shoves.
Katsuki gags on his cock. It’s a shudder inducing shock that screws tight in his hips. He holds him there, though, even as he chokes.
“What wouldn’t you do for me?” Shouto says, soothing, one hand gentling Katsuki’s hair, the other cradling his jaw.
Katsuki’s tears are messy, smeared across his cheeks. He blinks desperately up at Shouto through wet lashes as his whole body convulses on another gag. His hands don’t leave the floor.
It feels incredible.
When he pulls out, lines of thick saliva string between Katsuki’s lips and Shouto’s dick before Katsuki dips his head in a coughing fit, trying to catch his breath. Shouto lets him. Waits quietly. Lazily fisting his cock until Katsuki looks up at him.
“Again,” Shouto says, and Katsuki’s mouth obediently falls open.
Shouto holds Katsuki by the hair and pushes in. This time, Katsuki is more prepared. On the first stroke there’s still resistance, but he swallows Shouto’s cock down his throat without a violent gag. His grip tightens on Katsuki’s hair, and he fucks his face with long, slow thrusts, each time forcing his dick past the narrow resistance of his throat, enjoying the heady pressure pop as Katsuki yields to him.
“Good boy,” he whispers while holding Kats’ face flush to his pelvis. “You bear it so well.”
Katsuki is swallowing incessantly, tight, massaging constrictions that make Shouto moan and his eyes roll back as Katsuki tries to keep from choking. When he pulls out, Katsuki’s chasing his cock, and Shouto has to hold him back so he can catch his breath.
“M-more, harder,” Katsuki says, panting, frantic. “I can be even better.”
And who can say no to that?
He takes Katsuki’s head and tilts it back so he’s pressed against the edge of the mattress, and crowds him. The bed acts as a restraint. Katsuki can’t move at all, trapped, completely at Shouto’s mercy as he looms over him. Sliding his hands from Katsuki’s hair, Shouto caresses his shoulders, then cradles the back of his arms, guiding them to anchor at the back of Shouto’s thighs.
“Hold tight, darling.”
Katsuki’s hands tighten. His throat bobs, and then Shouto is thrusting his cock into his mouth. He starts with shallow, fast thrusts that glide in the heat of Katsuki’s mouth as he drops his jaw and rounds his lips to better accommodate Shouto’s dick. The moment Katsuki gets comfortable—eyes fluttering closed—Shouto pushes in all the way. Katsuki’s throat gives way with no resistance and Shouto leans over, placing one hand on the mattress for better leverage, the other resting atop Katsuki’s head, and he starts properly fucking his face.
He’s tight, and warm, and so, so wet.
Katsuki’s fingers dig into Shouto’s thighs as he tries to stay grounded. Each thrust into his mouth makes sloppy, dirty noises as Katsuki drools all over them.
“There you go,” Shouto says breathlessly, fingers scratching Katsuki’s scalp as he fucks him. “You’re perfect, taking me like this. It’s difficult, isn’t it?”
Katsuki squeezes his thighs, moaning in response.
Shouto groans, head dropping as the pleasure swells through him, a rolling wave that rises through every rock of his hips. He can’t cum, though, not yet. He pets down Katsuki’s hair, keeping the relentless, brutal pace, listening to the wet slap of their skin coming together.
“Fuck.”
His head is full of Katsuki. He’s amazing, resilient, beautiful.
“Fuck. Yes. Perfect. Hold out just a little longer for me,” he says, tempo stuttering. “I’m going to fucking cum down your throat. Paint you inside and out so everyone will know you’re mine.”
Katsuki whines, and his hands go limp, losing purchase and sliding down Shouto’s legs. The tension of his mouth slackens, his entire body surrendering to Shouto, and he has to catch all of Kats’ weight. Shivers spike through his spine, and he thrusts a final time into Katsuki’s pliant mouth, groaning as he cums.
He’s breathless, hips twitching from each wave of his orgasm accompanied by broken moans as he dumps cum down Katsuki’s throat.
Eventually, Shouto straightens, slowly dislodging his oversensitive cock from Katsuki’s throat, looking at the mess he’s become.
Katsuki doesn’t fight him, face marred with tears and sweat and snot. He pulls out and Katsuki tries to whine but it catches on a series of wet coughs. When it passes, Katsuki rests the full weight of his head in Shouto’s hand, panting as he looks up with glassy, wet eyes. He’s in that soft space they work so hard to get to, where Kats gives all himself over to Shouto to do with as he pleases.
It’s all his trust and then some more.
“Katsuki?”
Katsuki’s eyes close and he doesn’t respond. He’s totally out of it, sunken somewhere deep. Shouto tucks his softening dick back into his underwear and moves back to crouch in front of him, getting them eye to eye.
Katsuki’s lashes flutter, and when their eyes meet, he smiles.
“Hi, Sweetheart.”
Katsuki, predictably, doesn’t say anything. Instead, he rubs his cheek into Shouto’s palm like a particularly affectionate cat. One hand comes up to cover Shouto’s on his cheek. His hand is that familiar warm, clammy touch Shouto would always know.
Katsuki sighs, his fingers drawing from Shouto’s hand up his arm aimlessly. His hand may be warm, but Shouto can see goosebumps up his arm. He takes the time to shift his temperature, heating his right side. Katsuki sighs again into his palm, pressing himself into the warmth.
“Touchy,” Shouto says, smiling.
Katsuki hums in agreement. His fingers find Shouto’s shoulder, and he uses it as an anchor to pull himself forward and into Shouto’s chest, all but crawling into his lap. Shouto shifts so they can fit better together, leaning back slightly, bringing his knees up as a backrest and having Katsuki straddle him that way he can rest more easily against Shouto’s torso.
He’s putty in Shouto’s hands. To be plied into whatever shape Shouto desires. It is an overwhelming, total power, and Shouto would never abuse it, but he can’t lie and say he doesn’t like it. There’s a rush in the all-encompassing trust. The knowledge of what he could do, but never would.
Shouto’s not his father, not his mother.
He finds himself running his fingers through Kats’ hair, carding his nails gently against his scalp, picking pieces loose that have gone stiff from spit and other things. Katsuki’s arms snake around him at a snail’s pace, circling Shouto’s waist, trying to get as many parts of them pressed together as possible.
“Shou,” he says on a sigh.
“Yeah, Kats?”
He can feel Katsuki’s finger running mindlessly along his spine now.
“You’re warm.”
Shouto laughs, petting down Katsuki’s unruly hair.
“I am,” he agrees. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Katsuki shifts, and from the corner of his eye Shouto can see Katsuki crack an eye open from where his head rests on Shouto’s shoulder. A fist thumps softly into one of Shouto’s kidneys.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Mmm, my apologies. You’re so big and strong,” Shouto whispers. “Always the hero, huh?”
He expects more halfhearted banter or for Katsuki to sink back into his own head, but instead his shoulders start shaking, his whole body trembling. It takes a second to realize that Katsuki’s crying.
His fingers have twisted into Shouto’s shirt, and he’s buried his head into the crook of Shouto’s neck. His breaths are still soft, quiet, but they crackle as he gets snotty.
This happens sometimes.
The job and the public hold him to such a high standard already, and people who don’t know him are constantly on his ass, hurling assumptions and cruel words as if they aren’t knives. Katsuki just takes them now, grits his teeth and lets strangers hurt him, acts like each blow just glances off him.
It’s good for him to cry, Shouto thinks, like flushing saline through an aching wound. Katsuki’s self-control is a shackle that only unlocks in moments like this. Everything that he keeps locked down rattles loose, slips through the cracks, and Shouto’s there to catch it all.
Which he does this time too.
One hand cradles Katsuki’s head, the other rubs the sobs from his back. He doesn’t say anything, but he does hum. It’s tuneless, the impression of a melody from his memory, something his mother may have sung to help put him back together before she too broke and shattered him. Katsuki likes it when he does, even when he’s like this, he’ll sometimes hum along.
As the tears slow, he starts matching Shouto’s gentle tune, stuttered notes that arrive as an echo to Shouto’s own.
Shouto is already an endless well of patience, and it’s trivial to sit with Katsuki as he cries, letting him wear himself out completely, but the floor is not the most comfortable position for either of them.
“Hey,” Shouto says softly, never stopping the circle rhythm rubbing against Katsuki’s back. “Want to move to the bed?”
Katsuki nods on Shouto’s shoulder, but doesn’t make any effort to get up. Shouto gives him a moment, prods him gently to spur him to motion, but Katsuki only clings harder to him.
Shouto sighs and assesses. He can’t stand up on his own in their current position. Shouto’s legs are out, knees bent, feet flat on the ground with Katsuki in his lap. He has no leverage, ironic that Katsuki is now the one keeping him off balance.
Luckily, this is easily rectified. He spawns ice beneath his butt, growing a pillar that pushes him up, like his power’s only use is the equivalent of a hydraulic chair, holding Katsuki so he doesn’t fall. Katsuki hates when he uses the ice half of his quirk at home. The ice is going to melt and completely soak through the carpet, but that’s a problem for a future version of himself.
Katsuki whines at being jostled, but Shouto pushes a kiss into his hair.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and that’s enough for him to settle.
He rolls them onto the bed, adjusting Katsuki until they’re both on their sides and Shouto pulls him into a hug. Katsuki doesn’t resist, burying his head in Shouto’s chest and slinging one arm over him so he can trap Shouto in place.
As if Shouto would ever leave.
Katsuki fades away again, but the tears don’t stop. Shouto can feel the wet spots on his chest as they continue to stream, but eventually even that abates, and he sleeps.
Shouto lazily runs his hand down Kats’ arm and rolls so he’s on his back, Katsuki draped over him. His cheek is smashed against his chest, ruddy red, tacky tear tracks running along his face and salt crusted in his lashes.
In the quiet bedroom, everything in him unwinds. He’s heavy with a warmth like he’s just eaten a full meal. Sated. The way he always feels after having sex with Kats, the same rush of a hard fight against a villain, or… not a rush, but a draining. Every clotted bit of tension bled out as Katsuki drools on him.
No one but Katsuki makes him feel like this.
He closes his eyes and listens to Katsuki breathe, loses himself in it. His breaths are ocean waves, rise and fall tides that kiss Shouto again and again and again.
He doesn’t open his eyes again until Katsuki stirs awake.
First, he just squeezes in tighter to Shouto, chasing the heat of his quirk. Then, he sucks in his first, deep-chested breath as consciousness pulls him forward. His face scrunches and he rubs at his sore eyes before finally tilting his head to squint up at Shouto.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” Shouto says. “You back in the land of the living?”
Kats blinks at him, confused, before his expression sharpens with suspicion. Katsuki’s come ups from that sunken place are slow and then sudden, like a rubber band stretched until it snaps. Shouto knows he can feel the ache behind his eyes, knows Katsuki knows the last time he was lucid he was on his knees.
“Wha-” he starts, but cuts off immediately with a wince.
His throat must be sore. Shouto glances around, but his duffle bag is still in the entryway of Katsuki’s apartment, so there’s no water in reach. He instead reaches down and places a cooled hand against Katsuki’s neck. His throat bobs under Shouto’s fingers.
“Take it slow,” Shouto says, earning a narrowed glare that says Katsuki’s no longer under his charms.
He clears his throat, then shifts, pushing up so he hovers above Shouto, hands bracketing either side of his head. He’s about to start speaking again, but stops himself, head snapping to the side of the bed.
“Why the fuck is there a block of ice melting on the carpet?”
“I needed to get us on the bed,” Shouto says, pointedly not looking at the dripping pillar. “You weren’t moving.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes.
“I bet you hardly tried.”
Well, there was no argument there. He needs a tactical change of topic.
Sprawled out on the bed, he holds his arms out to Katsuki. It’s a request: hug me, embrace me, love me. Katsuki blinks at him. His nostrils flare, and the high points of his cheeks burn to his ears, but he lowers himself, and Shouto snakes his arms around his shoulders as they start a slow, chaste kiss.
There’s no heat, no hunger, just the slow dance of two bodies finding comfort within each other.
Eventually, Katsuki drops atop him, slotted between Shouto’s legs. Shouto fully wraps his arms around Katsuki, pulling them flush together. Shouto can feel the pressure of Katsuki’s inhale, and the way he trembles as he exhales. He still hasn’t put himself all the way back together again.
“Did something happen at work today?” Shouto asks in a whisper.
Katsuki tenses, but doesn’t try to pull away. He kisses Shouto once, twice, like he wants a distraction but can’t commit to it, and drops his head into the pillow. Their cheeks are pressed together, but he keeps his head hidden as he mumbles.
“I saw that kid’s mom today.”
Katsuki doesn’t need to elaborate for Shouto to understand. A mistake from years ago. The death of a child from a bad call he made when they were rookies. The public backlash followed him to this day, was brought up every time someone wanted to be critical of Dynamight. The kid’s mother forgave Katsuki a long time ago, but Katsuki never did.
Shouto hums in understanding. Katsuki is stiff in his arms, all the work they’d put in to relax him thrown out the window.
Shouto sucks in a deep breath and makes a decision.
In quick motion, he rolls them to the side, extracting himself from Kats and getting off the bed. Katsuki is too startled to stop him.
“You bastard,” Katsuki spits, baffled. “Where are you going?”
“You need a break,” Shouto says, resolute. “I’m making dinner. Take a nap.”
Katsuki’s brain must still be lagging, because he doesn’t react as Shouto hastily retreats, beelining for the kitchen. He gets as far as rooting through the fridge before he hears:
“Fuck no you aren’t!” Yelled from a distance, followed by frantic, fast approaching footfall.
Arms wrap around his waist and yank Shouto out of the fridge, hoisting him off his feet.
“Hey,” Shouto says blandly.
“Don’t hey me, you know you don’t have kitchen privileges.”
“I haven’t set off a fire alarm in months.”
“You haven’t used the stove in months.”
His words are mean, but his arms are gentle. He sets Shouto down and spins him so they’re facing each other. Katsuki frowns at him, crowfeet branching out from his eyes, but he’s not on edge; there’s no real fight in him.
“I’m hungry.”
“Then I will make us something,” Katsuki says. “Go, sit, and zip your fucking pants. You look obscene.”
Shouto does as he’s commanded, wisely choosing not to mention the debauched state of Katsuki’s hair.
Katsuki busies himself with dinner. As he chops a green onion, he even begins humming a familiar, wordless melody. Shouto rests his chin in his palm and watches him, content.
Katsuki is calm, relaxed.
Whatever happened with that mother today still lingers, but it will rattle loose with a little help, eventually, and Shouto will be there to catch his pieces and help put him back together when it happens. He’ll do it as many times as Katsuki needs.
Shouto wouldn’t have it any other way.