Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Fine," Katsuki growled, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that made the hairs on the back of everyone's necks stand up. "I'll spin the fucking thing again."

He leaned forward, his broad shoulders cutting through the warm light. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and gave it a second, even more aggressive twist. The glass blurred across the floor. For the fifth time that night, the universe's twisted sense of statistical probability stepped into the 3-A common room. The heavy base dragged, slowing down, skating past Uraraka, bypassing Kendo, and stuttering on a loose seam in the carpet.

With a definitive, heavy clack, the neck of the bottle lined up perfectly.
Directly between Izuku's sneakers, for the fucking third time in one evening. What are the odds of that.

A collective, high-pitched gasp hissed through the room, as laughter errupted.

"My man Midoriya, you are one lucky guy tonight." Said Sero laughing his ass off.

Mina let out a muffled, strangled squeak into her hands, her jaw completely dropping.
Izuku froze, his green eyes blown wide as he stared at the glass tip. Of course. The universe wasn't just laughing at him tonight; it had completely rewritten the laws of physics just to target him.
Across the circle, Katsuki stared at the bottle. The murderous, volatile energy that had been radiating off him just a second ago suddenly vanished, completely consumed by a dark, heavy focus.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Izuku's. The look in his crimson depths wasn't soft, and it wasn't the explosive anger from before—it was an intense, predatory gravity that pinned Izuku straight to the sofa cushions once again.

Katsuki stood up. He didn't hesitate. He didn't say a single word as he walked directly into the center of the circle, his eyes never leaving the bright red marks on Izuku's neck.

He stopped right in front of the couch, towering over the smaller boy in the dim, golden glow of the fairy lights. He extended a broad, calloused hand, his fingers twitching slightly with an unreadable tension.

"Deku," Katsuki rasped, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that cut straight through the static in Izuku's ears. "Get the fuck up."

Katsuki didn't wait for him. He turned on his heel, his broad shoulders squared beneath his tight black t-shirt, and marched toward the back of the common area. The circle parted like the Red Sea, students scrambling over beanbags and dragging their limbs out of the blast zone.

Izuku's legs felt like lead, his knees threatening to buckle under the sheer, suffocating weight of eyes tracking every movement. The ambient noise of the common room—the stifled giggles from everyone sounded like distant static in his ears. His head spun with a dizzying, high-voltage vertigo as he stood up, his hand instinctively rising to cover the burning tracks of lipstick on his jaw, only to drop it when he realized it made him look even more guilty

Izuku's head was spinning, a chaotic reel of the forty burning eyes that had tracked his every step across the common room. His knees felt weak, his equilibrium thoroughly shattered by the sheer, dizzying weight of the universe's statistical impossibility.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and the lock turned with a definitive echoing thud, metallic finality that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air. Instantly, the pitch-black darkness swallowed them whole, smelling strongly of spilled baking flour, cardboard storage boxes, and the dizzying, hyper-localized scent of Katsuki—sharp whiskey, beer, raw ozone, and the underlying caramelised sweetness of his sweat.

Izuku backpedaled until his spine hit a stack of industrial-sized flour bags, his breath hitching in his throat. He couldn't see a single thing, but he could hear the heavy, ragged cadence of Katsuki's breathing right in front of him.

A broad, calloused hand slammed blindly against the wall right beside his ear, the wood groaning under the sudden impact. Before Izuku could adjust to the shadows, Katsuki's solid, heavy frame lunged forward, crowding him back until the hard edges of a wooden shelving unit bit ruthlessly into Izuku's shoulder blades.

"Kacchan—" Izuku started, his voice emerging as a breathless, uneven whisper in the dark. He didn't even get to finish the sound.

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki growled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattled straight down. He was so close that his hot, rapid breath fanned directly across the sensitive skin of Izuku's neck, right over the waxy, cold spot where Mina's lipstick sat. "You think you're fucking funny?

"What are you even talking about-"

"I said shut up!" Katsuki's grip on his shoulder tightened, his fingers twitching with a volatile, dangerous energy. Even in the pitch black, Izuku could feel the blistering heat radiating off Katsuki's skin, a physical manifestation of the savage jealousy that had been cooking him alive since the door opened. "What the fuck did she do to you in here?"

Izuku's heart battered violently against his ribs like a trapped bird. The phantom sensation of Katsuki's tongue on his stomach from earlier flared up like a live wire, mixing with the sudden, overwhelming pressure of being pinned in the dark. For a second, the familiar, stuttering panic threatened to choke him. But then he remembered the absolute chaos of the night. He remembered Katsuki storming out, the intense stare-downs, and the smug, territorial gravity Katsuki kept using to rewrite the room. A sudden, dizzying spark of sheer defiance—spurred on by the late hour and the lingering adrenaline of the game—snapped inside Izuku's chest.
If Katsuki wanted to play a dangerous game, Izuku wasn't going to just lie back and disintegrate anymore.

"Why do you care, Kacchan?" Izuku fired back, his voice shaking but carrying a sharp, uncharacteristic bite. He didn't try to pull away from the hand gripping his jaw; instead, he leaned into the pressure, his green eyes flashing in the dark as he stared right back into the space where he knew Katsuki's crimson eyes were burning. "Seven minutes is a long time in the dark. Maybe she did exactly what the lipstick looks like. It's just a game, right? You said so yourself. You don't back down from a dare."

"Don't give me that bureaucratic bullshit!." Katsuki hissed, his teeth grinding together with an audible, menacing click. He leaned lower, his sharp jawline brushing against the collar of Izuku's shirt as he inhaled sharply, catching the distinct scent of Mina's citrusy perfume on Izuku's skin. The realization made his blood boil. "Look at your fucking face. Look at your neck. She stamped you like a piece. Did you just sit there and let her do whatever she wanted?"

Suddenly, Katsuki's other hand reached up, his thick fingers locking fiercely around Izuku's jaw. He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the grip was unyielding, forcing Izuku's head up as Katsuki leaned down. Even in the absolute dark, Izuku could feel the blistering, heat of Katsuki's eyes scanning his face, tracking the exact spots where Mina's glossy lipstick marks were stamped into his skin.
Katsuki's thumb swiped aggressively across Izuku's jawline, smearing the waxy texture of the cherry-red stain with a harsh, trembling pressure.

"I didn't just sit there," Izuku lied, his voice dropping an octave, fueled by a sudden, reckless surge of adrenaline that made his blood sing. He could feel the heavy, furious thud of Katsuki's pulse where their chests brushed in the cramped space. "Maybe I liked it. Mina's fun, Kacchan. And unlike you, she doesn't spend the whole night hiding in corners, glaring at everyone like she wants to murder them."

The silence that followed was a physical blow. The air in the closet grew exponentially hotter.
Katsuki's entire frame went rigid, a sharp, ragged breath hitching in his throat. For a fraction of a second, the low-burning heat radiating off his skin spiked into a blinding, suffocating flash of pure ozone—the subconscious trigger of his quirk nearly sparking in the cramped, dark space. The grip on Izuku's jaw tightened, his thumb pressing so hard against the corner of Izuku's mouth that it forced his lower lip down, smearing the cherry-red wax entirely across his cheek.

"Say that again," Katsuki rasped, his voice dropping into a register so low and lethal it sounded like shifting tectonic plates. "Say it again, I fucking dare you."

"Why?" Izuku countered, his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs, yet his posture didn't yield an inch. He could feel the solid, heavy planes of Katsuki's chest pressing directly against his own with every rise and fall, the sheer physical gravity of him pinning Izuku into the wood of the shelving unit. "Because it violates the rules of your stupid game? You don't own the closet, Kacchan. You don't own who enters it, and you certainly don't own what happens when the door clicks shut."

"I don't own the closet?" Katsuki repeated, his voice dangerously soft, a lethal contrast to the furious heat radiating from his chest. "You think this is about a fucking closet, Deku?"

"Then what is it about?" Izuku challenged. He could feel Katsuki's chest heaving against his own, the rapid, heavy thud of a heart that was beating just as frantically as his. The sheer absurdity of the situation—the two of them crammed between flour bags and spare tape rolls, fighting over a fake lipstick mark—finally pierced through Izuku's initial panic. A tiny, breathless huff of chukle escaped Izuku's lips before he could stop it.

"Why are you so mad? It's just a game. You said so yourself."

The tiny, breathless sound of Izuku's chuckle was the absolute worst thing he could have done. In the pitch black of the closet, it sounded like a direct taunt, a match dropped carelessly into a room filled to the ceiling with high-grade explosives.
Katsuki's entire body spasmed with a sudden, violent jolt of pure fury. The ambient air temperature in the narrow space skyrocketed instantly, the heavy scent of caramelized sugar intensifying until it was practically suffocating.

"You think this is a fucking joke?" Katsuki snarled, his voice a gravelly, lethal rasp that vibrated right through the front of Izuku's chest. He lunged forward even harder, completely eliminating whatever microscopic pocket of air had been left between them. His broad chest slammed flush against Izuku's, pinning the smaller boy so ruthlessly into the industrial flour bags that a tiny cloud of white dust puffed out into the dark.

"You're fucking laughing? Look at you. You're a goddamn mess, covered in another chik's lipstick, and you're standing there laughing pathetically."

"I'm laughing because you're being completely ridiculous!" Izuku fired right back, the dizzying high of his own defiance making his blood sing. He couldn't see Katsuki's face, but he could feel the sharp line of Katsuki's jaw brushing against his forehead, the frantic, heavy pant of his breath fanning across his face. "You storm out of the room because of a stupid game, you come back looking like you want to murder the entire class, and now you're interrogating me in a supply closet over lipstick! Why do you care if Mina kissed me? Why does it matter to you?"
The darkness inside the closet felt thick enough to choke on.

"Why does it matter?" Katsuki's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the force of a detonator clicking into place. His fingers dug harder into the wood on either side of Izuku's head, his knuckles scraping against the framing. "You really are a fucking idiot, aren't you? Three years of matching me step for step, and you still can't see what's right in front of your goddamn face."

Izuku let out another soft, breathy huff, the sound vibrating right against Katsuki's collarbone. The sheer proximity was dizzying, but the adrenaline rushing through his veins made him feel entirely bulletproof. "I see a lot of things, Kacchan. Right now, I see the number one senior at UA throwing a tantrum over a game."

"Shut up," Katsuki hissed, his forehead dropping forward until it pressed hard against Izuku's, his sharp blonde hair prickling against Izuku's skin. "I told you to shut the fuck up with that smug attitude."

"Fucking make me," Izuku challenged softly.

The silence that followed was thick, charged with a sudden, suffocating shift in gravity. Katsuki's breathing hitched, a ragged, uneven sound that betrayed just how thin his control was wearing. He didn't explode; he didn't blast the door down. Instead, he leaned his weight entirely into Izuku, his broad chest flattening the smaller boy against the flour bags until Izuku could feel the frantic, heavy thumping of Katsuki's heart right against his own ribs.

"You think you're so clever," Katsuki rasped, his lips brushing the shell of Izuku's ear as he spoke, his voice dropping into a register that was terrifyingly low. "Standing out there letting everyone look at you. Letting her touch you. You looked like a goddamn mess, Deku. And the worst part is, you didn't even try to fight it."

"Maybe I didn't want to fight it," Izuku whispered back, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm that completely contradicted his calm words. He could feel the exact spot where Katsuki's thumb had smeared the lipstick across his jaw, the skin there tingling from the friction. "Mina's gentle. She doesn't pin people against walls just to ask a question."

"Gentle?" Katsuki growled the word like a curse, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right below Izuku's earlobe, a sharp, warning nip that made Izuku's whole body go rigid. "I don't do gentle, Deku. You know exactly what I do."

A violent jolt of electricity raced down Izuku's spine, his hands instinctively coming up to rest against Katsuki's chest to keep himself anchored. The fabric of Katsuki's t-shirt was thin, stretched tight over hard muscle, and radiating a feverish, territorial heat. Izuku's thumb caught the heavy chain around Katsuki's neck, the metal cold against his palm, a sharp contrast to the blistering warmth of the skin beneath it.

"I know you're losing your mind over nothing," Izuku managed to say, though his voice carried a distinct, breathless tremor now. The amusement was fading, replaced by a heavy, thick tension that made it hard to draw a full breath. "It's just a mark, Kacchan. It washes off."

"I don't give a shit about the mark," Katsuki snarled, his hand sliding down from Izuku's jaw to wrap firmly around the nape of his neck, his fingers tangling in the messy, wild green curls. He tilted Izuku's head up, his grip unyielding as he crowded him further into the corner. "I care that it isn't mine."

The admission hung in the dark between them, raw and heavy, stripping away the last remnants of the bickering game they had been playing.
Izuku's breath caught completely, his fingers tightening into the fabric of Katsuki's shirt. "Kacchan..."

"Don't start stuttering now." Katsuki whispered fiercely, his thumb tracing the line of Izuku's lower lip, wiping away the last trace of the waxy cherry stain from his own thumb and replacing it with the rough, calloused pressure of his own skin. "You wanted to see what happens when the door clicks shut?"

The dark inside the supply closet felt like it was actively shrinking, compressing the space around them until there was nothing left in the universe but the thick smell of baking flour, the citrus of Mina's perfume, and the overwhelming, feverish heat radiating off Katsuki's skin.

Katsuki's admission—*I care that it isn't mine*—hung between them like a live wire, crackling with a dangerous, heavy frequency.

Izuku's fingers remained knotted in the fabric of Katsuki's black t-shirt, his knuckles pressed flush against the hard, rapid rise and fall of Katsuki's chest. The shock of the words had his brain firing in a dozen different directions, but the sheer, intoxicating high of the late hour and the lingering adrenaline kept his defenses down. Instead of retreating into his usual stuttering shell, a slow, breathless smile tugged at the corner of Izuku's mouth in the dark.

"Is that what this is?" Izuku whispered, his voice carrying a soft, daring amusement that vibrated directly against Katsuki's collarbone. "The great Bakugo Katsuki, throwing a tantrum in a storage closet because he didn't get to go into the closet with me from the start?"

Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged hiss, his fingers tightening violently in the messy green curls at the nape of Izuku's neck. He pulled Izuku's head back just a fraction of an inch, forcing him to look up into the absolute blackness. The air between their lips was scarce, hot, and thick with the scent of whiskey and sugar.

"You think you're fucking hilarious, don't you?" Katsuki growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, gravelly vibration that sent a frantic shiver straight down Izuku's spine. "You think you can just stand out there, letting some chick stamp her mouth all over your neck, and then walk in here and look at me like you're fucking untouchable? I am cooking alive out there, Deku. Watching everyone stare at those goddamn red marks on your skin, wondering what the fuck you two were doing in here for seven minutes."

"We were talking, Kacchan," Izuku lied softly, his heart hammering a frantic, contradictory rhythm against Katsuki's ribs. He leaned his weight forward, deliberately pressing their chests together, feeling the solid, heavy planes of Katsuki's muscles yield just a fraction under the pressure. "Mina's very expressive. Maybe she wanted to show me how much she appreciated my tactical analysis during the exams. She's... very enthusiastic."

"Shut the fuck up about her," Katsuki snarled, his forehead slamming forward to rest hard against Izuku's, his sharp blonde hair prickling against Izuku's brow. The proximity was suffocating. Katsuki was panting, his breath coming in shallow, desperate drags that fanned across Izuku's lips.

"I don't give a shit what she was showing you. You've been matching me step for step for three fucking years, and you think you can just hand that attention over to someone else because of a stupid glass bottle?"

"I'm not handing anything over," Izuku whispered back, his own breath hitching as Katsuki's thumb dragged aggressively across his lower lip again, the calloused skin rough and hot against the sensitive flesh. "But you're the one who walked out, Kacchan. You left the room. You left me out there. If you wanted a turn, you should have stayed in the circle."

"I was trying not to blow the fucking building up!" Katsuki roared in a fierce, muffled whisper, his grip on Izuku's neck turning desperate, his fingers anchoring him so close their lips practically brushed with every word. "I was trying not to drag you out of that sofa by your collar in front of forty fucking people. And then you come out of this closet looking like a goddamn disaster, looking all flushed and messy, and you expect me to just sit there and play nice?"

"I never expect you to play nice," Izuku murmured, a sudden, heavy wave of desire washing through his chest, melting the last of his playful defiance into something thick, dark, and demanding. His hands slid up from Katsuki's chest, his palms tracing the hard, sweating lines of Katsuki's shoulders before his fingers tangled into the short, coarse hair at the back of Katsuki's head. "You don't know how to play nice. You just know how to take."

"Then watch me fucking take," Katsuki rasped.
The last thread of Katsuki's restraint snapped with a terrifying, visceral finality. He lunged forward, his mouth crashing down onto Izuku's with a raw, predatory hunger that completely stole the air from Izuku's lungs.

It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a collision of three years of unspoken friction, territorial jealousy, and a desperate, starving crave that had been building since the first sweep of the strobe lights. Katsuki's lips were hot, demanding, and fierce, parting Izuku's with a brutal, bruising pressure that made Izuku let out a soft, whimpering gasp into the kiss.
The sound was the catalyst. Katsuki groaned, a low, guttural vibration deep in his throat, and crowded Izuku completely into the corner. His broad frame pinned Izuku ruthlessly against the industrial flour bags, a faint puff of white dust settling over their shoulders as Katsuki's free hand slammed against the wooden shelving unit beside Izuku's head, locking him into the heat.

Izuku didn't fight it. He pulled Katsuki closer, his arms wrapping tightly around Katsuki's neck, his fingers tugging at the heavy metal chain resting against Katsuki's collarbone. He opened up beneath the onslaught, his tongue meeting Katsuki's in a frantic, messy rhythm that tasted sharply of whiskey, beer, and the cold vanilla sweetness of the leftover whipped cream from earlier.

Katsuki's mouth moved over his with a frantic, unhurried dominance, licking and biting at Izuku's lower lip until it tingled, before his kisses dragged down the line of Izuku's jaw. He found the exact spot where Mina's waxy lipstick mark sat, and with a fierce, territorial growl, Katsuki sucked hard against the skin, his tongue wiping away the waxy residue and replacing it with a deep, dark bruise of his own making.

"Fuck, Kacchan—" Izuku gasped out, his head tilting back against the shelving unit as a violent shock of electricity raced straight down his spine. His abs flexed hard under his shirt, his chest heaving as he tried to draw oxygen into the suffocating, heated dark.

"You can't just run around letting everybody touch you." Katsuki muttered against his skin, his breath blistering hot as his mouth moved to the side of Izuku's neck, right over his racing pulse point. He bit down—a sharp, warning nip that had Izuku's fingers digging ruthlessly into the muscles of Katsuki's back. "Every single fucking inch of you. I'm washing every trace of her off this fucking skin."

"It's just a game, Kacchan" Izuku panted, his voice broken, entirely undone by the thick, dizzying sensation of Katsuki's mouth devouring his throat. He reached down, his hands finding the hem of Katsuki's tight t-shirt, his fingers sliding underneath to press flat against the burning, bare skin of Katsuki's lower back. The skin there was slick with sweat, radiating a feverish heat that made Izuku's mind go entirely blank.

Katsuki pulled back up, his mouth locking back onto Izuku's with a renewed, frantic desperation. He kissed him until Izuku's knees literally buckled, his legs threatening to give out beneath the sheer weight of Katsuki's body pinning him to the wall. Katsuki caught him, his arm sliding around Izuku's waist to lift him slightly, holding him flush against his hips, completely anchoring him in the dark.

Their mouths moved together, slick and heavy, the quiet of the supply closet filled only with the ragged, wet sounds of their breathing and the rhythmic thud of their hearts beating in a frantic, unified tempo. It was a total meltdown of every boundary they had spent years constructing, reduced to ashes between a stack of flour bags and the absolute, unforgiving dark.

The air inside the supply closet had completely lost its structural integrity, dissolving into a thick, localized atmosphere of pure heat and friction. Izuku's back was jammed so hard against the shelving unit that he could hear the plastic bins rattling against the wood with every desperate shift of Katsuki's weight.

Katsuki's mouth was relentless, a frantic, bruising pressure that seemed intent on reclaiming every millimeter of skin that had been exposed to the common room lights. He kissed Izuku until the smaller boy's vision sparked with imaginary strobe lights in the pitch black, his thumbs digging ruthlessly into the sides of Izuku's waist to hoist him up, keeping him flush against his chest.

"Kacchan wait, the timer—" Izuku gasped out, his lips slick and burning as he managed to tear his mouth away for a fraction of a second. His chest was heaving, his heart hammering against Katsuki's ribs like a trapped bird. "Sero's tracking the time they're gonna open the door—"

"Let the bastards look," Katsuki growled against the corner of Izuku's mouth, his voice a gravelly, low-frequency vibration that rattled straight down Izuku's spine. He didn't stop. He nipped at Izuku's lower lip, a sharp, territorial sting that had Izuku letting out another breathless, whimpering huff.

"Let 'em open it. I'll blast the first extra that looks at you through the drywall."

"You're being—ah!—completely irrational!" Izuku fired back, though the insult lost all its tactical bite as Katsuki's mouth dragged down to the crook of his collarbone, sucking a heavy, deliberate mark right over his tendon. Izuku's fingers knotted frantically into the damp cotton of Katsuki's t-shirt, his knuckles scraping against the heavy metal chain around Katsuki's neck. "You can't just... blast our classmates because of a party game!"

"Watch me," Katsuki hissed, his breath blistering hot against Izuku's wet skin. His hands slid up from Izuku's waist, his broad, calloused palms smoothing aggressively over Izuku's ribs, pushing the fabric of his dark t-shirt up until he could press his palms flat against the burning, bare skin of Izuku's chest. The contrast of Katsuki's rough hands against his skin made Izuku arch his back, a violent jolt of electricity pinning him further into the industrial flour bags. "You wanted to talk about rules, nerd? Rule number one: you don't let anyone else stamp their fucking name on you. I'm wiping the rest of that cherry garbage off your face."

"You're being completely ridiculous," Izuku breathed, a soft, helpless huff of laughter escaping his nose despite the overwhelming, heavy tension crowding his lungs. His hands slid underneath the hem of Katsuki's tight black t-shirt, his palms pressing flat against the hot, slick skin of Katsuki's lower back, feeling the muscles there twitch violently under his touch. "Mina was just... she was just trying to help the game. It didn't mean anything."

"I told you to shut the fuck up about her!" Katsuki snarled, his forehead slamming forward to rest hard against Izuku's, his sharp blonde bangs prickling against Izuku's head. He was breathing like a runner at the end of a marathon, his chest heaving so hard it was physically crushing Izuku into the industrial flour bags behind him. "It means something to me. Seeing her marks on your goddamn face... it was cooking me alive out there. I wanted to blast the entire common room into orbit."

"Then why didn't you?" Izuku challenged softly, his green eyes staring through the absolute darkness, completely unafraid of the territorial monster hovering inches from his face. "You usually don't hesitate to blow things up, Kacchan. Why did you just walk out?"

"Because if I started," Katsuki rasped, his voice dropping into a register so low and intimate it sent a violent shiver straight down Izuku's spine, "I wouldn't have stopped until I dragged you out of that room by your fucking collar. I didn't want forty people seeing how fucking crazy you make me. I also walked out because you were sitting there looking like a damn target!" Katsuki snarled, his forehead dropping forward to slam hard against Izuku's, their messy curls tangling in the dark.

Katsuki was panting heavily, his crimson eyes—invisible but felt—staring into the space inches from Izuku's face. "You think I don't see how they look at you? The Copycat, the extra with the big fists, the whole damn room. You're running around acting like you're just some polite nerd, and then you get that look on your face during training and everyone wants a piece of it."

"They don't want a piece of me," Izuku whispered, a sudden, dizzying wave of warmth washing through his chest at the raw, unfiltered jealousy dripping from Katsuki's voice. The bickering was their language, the friction was how they survived, but this—this thick, territorial weight—was brand new. Izuku's hands slid up Katsuki's neck, his fingers burying themselves into the sharp, coarse blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head, pulling him down. "And even if they did... you're the only one stupid enough to crawl across a carpet and bite me for it."

Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged huff that was half-growl, half-laugh. "Shut the fuck up, Deku."

The raw honesty of the admission hung in the dark, thick and heavy, stripping away the last remnants of their usual explosive bickering. Izuku's heart gave a massive, uneven thud against his ribs. His fingers tightened into the bare skin of Katsuki's back, his nails digging in slightly as a deep, primal wave of desire completely overwhelmed his remaining logic.

The slick, heavy sound of their mouths moving together filled the narrow closet, masking the ambient noise from the common room outside. Izuku was completely undone, his hands sliding underneath the hem of Katsuki's shirt to press flat against the hot, sweating muscles of his lower back, pulling him closer until their hearts were beating in a frantic, unified tempo.

"Ten seconds, roomies!" Kaminari's muffled, obnoxious voice cut through the heavy wooden door like a bucket of ice water. "Fix your hair! If there's flour everywhere, Iida is going to issue a formal demerit!"

The countdown broke the spell, but it didn't stop the heat. Katsuki tore his mouth away with a sharp, furious hiss, his teeth grazing Izuku's lip one last time before he pulled back just an inch. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his chest heaving against Izuku's as he aggressively swiped the back of his hand across his own mouth, catching a stray smear of the waxy lipstick they had spent the last six minutes destroying.

"Fucking hell," Katsuki rasped, his grip on Izuku's neck loosening just enough for Izuku to draw a full, shaky breath. Even in the dark, Izuku could feel the dark, furious flush burning across Katsuki's cheekbones, his ears practically radiating heat.

"Pull your collar up," Katsuki ordered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly warning rumble as he reached down to yank Izuku's t-shirt back down over his stomach. "Do it now, Deku. If I see anyone staring at your neck when that door opens, I'm blowing the hinges off."

Izuku let out a weak, trembling chuckle, his hands shaking as he frantically adjusted his shirt, his fingers brushing the deep, tingling bruise Katsuki had just left over his pulse point. "You're a disaster, Kacchan."

"Shut up and look messy," Katsuki growled, though he reached out and aggressively ruffled Izuku's green curls one last time, ensuring the disheveled look was authentic.

The sharp, metallic *click* of the closet lock turning sounded like a detonation in the heavy silence.
The heavy wooden door swung inward, and the sudden influx of the common room's amber fairy lights hit Izuku like a physical blow. He blinked frantically, his pupils blown wide as he instinctively threw a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare.

"Time's up, you two! Let's see if the structural integrity of the—" Sero's loud, theatrical voice abruptly choked out.
The common room had fallen into a dead, suffocating hush. Forty pairs of eyes, which had been locked onto the closet door for seven agonizing minutes, simultaneously widened to the size of saucers.

The scene emerging from the supply closet didn't look like romance. It looked like a localized natural disaster.

Izuku stumbled out first, his knees visibly shaking as his sneakers hit the hardwood floor. He looked like he had barely survived a tactical ambush. His signature green curls were completely wild, sticking up in frantic, static-charged directions as if he'd been dragged through a hedge backward. His dark t-shirt was thoroughly rumpled, skewed violently at the collar, and a noticeable, fine dusting of white industrial flour was scattered across his broad shoulders and the front of his chest.

But it was his face that held the entire room hostage.
The distinct, cherry-red lipstick marks Mina had stamped along his jawline were completely decimated. They had been aggressively smeared and smudged across his skin in messy, chaotic tracks, blending with a blinding, uniform shade of crimson that flooded Izuku's face all the way down his neck. Right over his pulse point, a fresh, deep, and heavily localized dark mark was blooming—stark and violent against his flushed skin.
Right behind him, Katsuki marched out of the dark.

The explosive blonde was breathing heavily, his chest heaving beneath his tight black t-shirt, which was also smudged with white flour around the midsection. His jaw was set into stone, his teeth grinding together with a faint, audible click. A furious, dark crimson flush coated his sharp cheekbones and turned the tips of his ears a bright, angry red. He was aggressively swiping the back of his calloused hand across his lower lip, a savage, predatory glare fixed entirely on the floorboards as if he wanted to blast the foundation of UA High into the atmosphere.

"Oh my god," Kaminari whispered, his voice cracking spectacularly as he slowly lowered his phone timer. "They... they actually tried to murder each other in there."

"Bro..." Kirishima managed, his jaw slack as he looked between the two powerhouse heroes. "That was... that was an absolute brawl. Midoriya, did he use a micro-explosion on your neck?!"

"The sheer volatility!" Monoma crowed from behind Shishida's massive shoulder, though his aristocratic voice carried a distinct tremor of relief. "Class A's finest, locked in a closet for seven minutes, and they immediately resort to primitive, unbridled physical combat! Look at the flour! They used the baking supplies as tactical camouflage!"

"Midoriya!" Iida finally broke his paralysis, marching forward with robotic, frantic steps, his glasses practically steaming up. "This is a severe infraction of school-sanctioned recreational boundaries! Physical altercation within the dormitories is strictly prohibited, even under the guise of an international party game! Are you injured? Do you require medical intervention from Recovery Girl?!"

"I'm fine!" Izuku's voice emerged as a high-pitched, desperate squeak that bypassed his vocal cords entirely. He frantically yanked the collar of his t-shirt up to his chin, his ears burning so hot he was certain they were emitting actual steam. His fingers were trembling as he tried to smooth down his wild curls, his mind completely short-circuited by the sheer scale of the misunderstanding. "It wasn't—we didn't—the tactical parameters of the closet were just very tight! The flour bags had poor structural stability!"

"Don't lie to cover for him, Deku!" Uraraka called out, her eyes round with a mix of terror and deep, protective fury as she glared at Katsuki. "Look at your face! It's completely red! And your shirt is stretched! Did he put you in a chokehold?!"

"He didn't choke me!" Izuku wailed, his face achieving a new, impossible shade of maroon. He scrambled backward toward the sofa, his heels dragging against the carpet as he tried to bury himself behind Todoroki, who was currently watching the entire display with a look of profound, intense clinical evaluation.

Todoroki tilted his head, his mismatched grey and turquoise eyes scanning the smeared red marks on Izuku's jaw, then drifting to the white flour on Katsuki's shirt. He took a slow, delicate sip from his fresh liquor box. "Bakugo's precision control is lacking today. He missed your face entirely and hit your shoulder blades. It was inefficient."

"Shut the fuck up, Half-and-Half!" Katsuki exploded, his voice a low, dangerous growl that had the students on the edge of the circle instantly scrambling backward over beanbags. He slammed his hand against the back of an armchair, a tiny, sharp *pop-pop* of sparks igniting from his palm, though his eyes never left the floor. "Anyone else opens their damn mouth about what happened in there, and I'm throwing you out the window. The nerd was being an idiot. I handled it."

"You 'handled' it by smearing Mina's lipstick all over his face?" Jiro asked, raising an eyebrow as her headphone jacks twitched with an amused, wicked energy. She was the only one who noticed the exact shape of the dark mark on Izuku's neck, her eyes widening in a sudden, sharp realization. "Man, Bakugo. You really hate cosmetics, huh?"

"I hate everything about this stupid game," Katsuki snarled. He aggressively ripped his dark jacket off the back of the armchair, throwing it over his shoulders with a violent jerk. The dark flush on his neck hadn't faded an inch, his breathing still shallow and ragged as he turned on his heel. "I'm going to bed. If anyone wakes me up before noon tomorrow, I'm using your solo cups for target practice."

He marched straight toward the elevator doors, his heavy footsteps echoing through the stunned, quiet common room. The doors slid open with a soft beep, and Katsuki stepped inside, his crimson eyes flicking upward at the last second. Through the gaps of his fingers as Izuku hid his face, Katsuki locked eyes with him—a dark, intense, and unyielding warning that promised the conversation was far from over.
The elevator doors slid shut with a definitive *thud*.

The silence that followed was thick, the chaotic energy of the late-night party completely, permanently altered.

"Well," Mina breathed, a small, knowing, and utterly unhinged grin spreading across her pink face as she looked from the elevator straight back to where Izuku was currently curled into a ball on the sofa cushions. "I think... I think the psychological warfare was a massive success."

"Bro..." Sero laughed, throwing his arms over Kaminari's shoulders as the two of them collapsed into a fit of giggles. "That was the most intense seven minutes of my life. Midoriya, you're a warrior. You survived the volcano."

Izuku just let out a long, weak, trembling groan into his palms, his shoulders shaking as the ambient heat of the common room rolled over his skin. He could still feel the exact phantom sensation of Katsuki's rough, calloused hands sliding beneath his shirt, the blistering warmth of his skin, and the gravelly, territorial promise whispered directly against his pulse point.
The green bottle lay forgotten for a bit. The gravity of the room had been entirely rewritten, and tomorrow morning's couch-moving duty with Aizawa-sensei was going to be an absolute nightmare.

The elevator doors didn't just close; they felt like they sealed off a localized war zone. The heavy *thud* of the metal tracks sliding into place echoed through the common room, leaving forty heroes-in-training standing in an absolute, breathless vacuum.

"Deku..." Uraraka hovered over the armrest, her face a chaotic mix of deep protective rage and absolute panic. "Are you sure you don't need medical attention? Your shirt... it's completely stretched at the collar. Did he try to use a submission hold on you? I can go get a cold compress!"

"I'm fine! Truly!" Izuku's voice emerged as a desperate, high-pitched squeak through his fingers, his feet digging frantically into the carpet as he tried to slide further behind Todoroki's shoulder. "The... the spatial dynamics of the storage facility were simply... highly restrictive! The structural integrity of the flour distribution containers was compromised upon impact!"

"He's completely incoherent," Kaminari whispered to Sero, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and profound reverence. "Bakugo didn't just fight him. He scrambled his brains. Like, permanently."

Todoroki, completely unbothered by the fact that Izuku was currently using his shoulder as a human shield, lifted his fresh box of liquor and took a slow, clinical sip. His mismatched eyes scanned the smeared cherry-red tracks on Izuku's jaw, then drifted back toward the flour dust still floating under the fairy lights. "Your stance must have been lacking, Midoriya. Bakugo's center of gravity is usually predictable, but you let him crowd your blind spot. It was highly inefficient."

"It wasn't a martial arts demonstration, Todoroki!" Izuku wailed, cooling a bit down as he yanked his collar up to his bottom lip, desperately trying to hide the dark, localized bruise Katsuki had left behind.

"Alright, alright! The volcano has erupted, the nerd is compromised, but the circle remains unbroken!" Mina suddenly cheered, leaping back onto the coffee table with a manic, late-night energy that completely ignored the fact that they were pushing 1:30 AM. She snatched the heavy glass bottle from the floor, her pink skin practically glowing. "I refuse to let this party die on a domestic dispute! Someone spin the wheel!"

"Ashido, the psychological boundaries of this room have been entirely decimated!" Iida protested, his arm chopping the air with robotic, frantic discipline despite the fact that his glasses were completely fogged up from the tension. "As Class Representative, I must officially advise against further escalation of high-stakes interpersonal dynamics!"

"Oh, sit down, Class Rep, you already texted a dancing cat to the faculty!" Setsuna Tokage laughed, her hand detaching from her wrist to forcefully push Iida back into his beanbag. "The game demands blood! Spin it!"

While Sero and Kaminari aggressively restarted the low, rhythmic chanting, beating a frantic tattoo against the floorboards, Izuku realized with absolute, terrifying clarity that he could not stay in that circle for a single second longer. Every time Mina looked at him, her eyes flashed with a wicked, all-knowing brilliance that made his stomach do a violent, dizzying flip.

Slowly, deliberately, Izuku scrambled backward off the sofa, keeping his head low as the rest of the room focused on Kaminari violently twisting the glass bottle. He slid along the perimeter of the common room, his sneakers making no sound against the hardwood, until he reached the relative safety of the kitchen island.

The island was a total disaster zone—a battlefield of empty solo cups, half-eaten pizza crusts, and a stray, unlabelled bottle of dark amber liquor that Sato had brought out during the early hours of the dessert prep. It was strong, cheap, and smelled sharply of medicinal herbs and burning sugar.

Izuku didn't think. For three years, his brain had been a constant, analytical machine, calculating trajectories, and overthinking every syllable that ever crossed Katsuki's lips. But right now? Right now, the phantom sensation of Katsuki's rough, calloused hands sliding beneath his shirt and the gravelly, territorial rumble of *'I care that it isn't mine'* was loud enough to drown out his entire internal monologue.

He grabbed a clean solo cup, abandoned all standard measurements, and poured a massive, trembling amber wave straight to the brim.

"Whoa, Midoriya," Kaibara blinked, passing by to throw an empty soda can into Sero's tape-chute. "You okay there? That stuff is basically jet fuel. Sato used it to flambé the bananas."

"I am executing a strategic metabolic reset," Izuku blurted out, his eyes wide and completely unfocused as he brought the cup to his lips.
The first swallow hit his throat like a physical explosion. It was thick, searingly hot, and tasted like caramelized wood smoke and pure gasoline.

He choked, a violent cough rattling his chest, but through the burning haze in his throat, he noticed something miraculous: the loud, frantic thumping of his heart slowed down just a fraction. The dizzying image of Katsuki's crimson eyes pinning him in the dark grew slightly softer around the edges.

"Efficient," Izuku muttered, his voice dropping an octave as a dangerous, uncharacteristic warmth began to bloom in the center of his chest. He took a second, even larger gulp.

Back in the circle, the party had mutated into a loose, chaotic blur of late-night delirium. The bottle had landed on Monoma again, who was currently being forced to go into the closet with Kendo.

By the time he finished the first cup and poured a second, his standard defense mechanisms had thoroughly collapsed. The stuttering, self-conscious nerd who usually dissolved into a puddle of freckles at a single glance was gone, replaced by a loose, remarkably heavy-lidded nineteen-year-old hero who had survived three wars and apparently possessed zero remaining filters.

He poured a third cup. The liquid didn't even burn anymore; it just felt like warm, golden electricity sliding down his ribs, settling right over the damp, invisible tracks Katsuki's tongue had left behind on his abdomen.

"Alright, my turn for vengeance!" Awase's voice boomed from the circle, followed by the frantic clatter of the glass bottle spinning against the floorboards.

The bottle spun rapidly, its momentum dying down as forty pairs of eyes tracked its trajectory. It skated past Jiro, clipped the edge of a beanbag, and with a heavy, final *clack*, the neck lined up perfectly with the empty space on the sofa where Izuku had been sitting twenty minutes ago.

"Hey, where'd the warrior go?" Sero laughed, turning his head toward the kitchen.
The entire circle followed his gaze, forty pairs of eyes locking onto the kitchen island.

Izuku was no longer hiding. He was leaning back against the marble counter, his dark t-shirt still thoroughly rumpled and white with flour dust, his legs stretched out carelessly. His head was tilted back, his messy green curls sticking up in every chaotic direction, and a half-empty solo cup was held loosely between his fingers. His face wasn't just red anymore; it was a deep, radiant, and completely relaxed shade of sunburned crimson, his green eyes heavily lidded and glazed with a hilarious, unbothered warmth.

"Midoriya?" Kendo blinked, her sharp eyes widening as she noticed the massive, unlabelled bottle sitting open on the counter. "Is he... is he drinking the cooking liquor?"

"Oh, wow," Kaminari wheezed, a slow, delighted grin spreading across his face. "Midoriya idn't just survive the brawl. He went out and got absolutely obliterated."

"Midoriya!" Iida scrambled to his feet, his arms chopping the air so violently his elbows practically clicked. "Consumption of high-proof culinary extracts without proper dietary supervision is a severe hazard to your metabolic equilibrium! Please step away from the beverage!"

Izuku slowly lowered his solo cup, his gaze drifting across the crowded common room until it landed on the center of the circle. He didn't flinch. He didn't stutter. Instead, a slow, incredibly goofy, and entirely unbothered smile spread across his lips, his green eyes crinkling at the corners.

"The tactical density..." Izuku spoke up, his voice remarkably deep, carrying a loose, slow drawl that none of them had ever heard before. He set the solo cup down with a heavy *thud* and began to wander back toward the circle, his steps slightly wide but completely confident. "The statistical probability of this room... it's very... fluid tonight."

"Bro, he's completely gone," Kirishima laughed, shaking his head as he cleared a space on the floor. "Come on, Midoriya, sit down before you float away."

Izuku didn't sit on the floor. He walked straight over to the sofa, completely ignoring the empty spot, and dropped his entire weight sideways across the cushions, his legs draping over Todoroki's lap while his head came to rest directly on Uraraka's shoulder.

"Deku-kun?!" Uraraka squeaked, her face instantly exploding into a bright pink blush as she went completely rigid, her hands hovering in the air to keep from accidentally activating her quirk on him. "You're... you're really warm! And you smell like... like an explosion at a bakery!"

"Kacchan is very heavy," Izuku muttered into her shoulder, his eyes half-closed as a soft, completely unbothered huff of laughter escaped his nose. He reached up, his fingers lazily tracing the deep purple bruise on his own neck before dropping his hand into his lap. "He thinks... he thinks he can just blast the whole room. But the flour bags... the flour bags had zero structural stability."

The common room went entirely, utterly quiet for a second, forty teenagers staring at the absolute, unhinged state of UA's top student.

"Man," Jiro whispered, her headphone jacks twitching with absolute, pure delight as she looked from the smeared lipstick on Izuku's face to the dark bruise on his neck. "Whatever Bakugo did to him in that closet... it completely broke Izuku's filter. Tomorrow morning is going to be an absolute masterpiece."

"A masterpiece of disciplinary action!" Iida lamented, though he gently reached over to pull Izuku's sneakers off Todoroki's lap, trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Izuku didn't hear them. As the glass bottle began to spin once more, the amber fairy lights blurring into a warm, spinning wheel of gold above his head, his mind finally went quiet. The analytical ticking had stopped. The wars were over. And out on the balcony, or upstairs in his room, Katsuki was probably still boiling alive—but for the first time in his life, Izuku was completely, beautifully, and dirt-drunk happy to let him burn.

The collective laughter of the room began to blur into a low, underwater hum as the heavy cooking liquor fully took its toll. Izuku's head felt incredibly heavy against Uraraka's shoulder, the warm, golden electricity in his veins turning into a slow, syrupy weight that made the spinning green bottle look like a streak of emerald light.

"Hey, Deku-kun? Are you still with us?" Uraraka asked, her voice sounding far away as she gently nudged him.

Izuku blinked, his heavily lidded green eyes focusing on the flashing lights one last time. The room was too loud. The tactical density he kept babbling about was pressing in on his chest, and the sharp, medicinal heat of the alcohol was suddenly twisting into a sudden, dizzying wave of nausea.

"I think..." Izuku mumbled, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly register that made Kendo raise an eyebrow. He slowly dragged his legs off Todoroki's lap, his equilibrium completely shattered as he forced himself to stand. "I think the metabolic reset... has reached its operational limit. I'm gonna go... to my room."

"Do you need an escort, Midoriya?!" Iida boomed, half-standing with his arm poised for a robotic chop. "Navigating the corridors in a state of severe intoxication is—"

"I'm fine, Class Rep," Izuku drawled, offering a loose, remarkably unbothered wave as he stumbled backward out of the circle. "Just... need horizontal orientation."

A chorus of sleepy, drunken chuckles followed him as he lurched away from the common area. He didn't look back at the smeared lipstick or the bewildered faces of his classmates. He just needed to get away from the lights.

But as the elevator doors clicked open on the residential floors, Izuku didn't step out onto his own level.

His feet moved on pure, unadulterated instinct, a hardwired trajectory that his brain didn't even attempt to calculate. The alcohol had completely demolished his internal filter, stripping away three years of stuttering hesitation and leaving only a raw, heavy gravity that pulled him toward a specific door at the end of the hall.

He didn't knock. He didn't think to. He just grabbed the brass handle of Katsuki's dorm room and shoved it open.

The room was pitch black, save for the thin, silver shards of moonlight cutting through the open balcony doors. The cool summer air was rushing inside, carrying the familiar, sharp scent of raw ozone and caramelized sugar.
Katsuki was sitting on the edge of his bed, bare-chested, his dark jacket thrown onto the floor. He hadn't gone to sleep. He was sitting in the dark, his broad shoulders squared, his head resting in his calloused hands as he tried to cook off the savage, territorial jealousy that had been boiling him alive since midnight.

When the door clicked open, Katsuki's head snapped up, his crimson eyes gleaming like hot coals in the moonlight.
"What the fuck Deku?" Katsuki growled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that cut through the quiet. "I told you to stay out of my—"
Katsuki's voice died in his throat.

Izuku didn't answer. He stumbled into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final thud. He looked like an absolute disaster. His green curls were completely wild, his dark t-shirt was skewed violently at the collar, and his face was flushed a deep, radiant crimson that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. The smeared tracks of cherry lipstick were still visible along his jawline, framing the deep, localized bruise Katsuki had branded into his neck.

But it was his eyes that caught Katsuki off guard. They weren't wide with panic or watery with tears; they were heavily lidded, dark, and intensely focused as he locked his gaze right onto Katsuki's bare chest.

"You're still hot," Izuku muttered, his voice dropping a full octave into a loose, dirt-drunk drawl. He took a wide, unsteady step forward, his balance entirely compromised as his knees buckled.

Katsuki moved on pure reflex. He surged off the bed, his broad hands shooting out to catch Izuku by the waist before the smaller boy could hit the floorboards. The sudden, physical impact slammed their chests together, the heat radiating off Katsuki's bare skin hitting Izuku like a physical wall.

"Fucking hell, Deku," Katsuki hissed, his fingers digging fiercely into the fabric of Izuku's shirt as he hauled him up. He caught the sharp, unmistakable scent of Sato's high-proof cooking liquor fanning across his face. "You're absolutely obliterated. What the fuck did you drink?"

"The flambé stuff," Izuku whispered, a soft, completely unbothered huff of laughter escaping his lips as he leaned his entire weight into Katsuki's chest. His hands, loose and entirely devoid of their usual trembling caution, slid up Katsuki's bare arms, his palms pressing flat against the hard, sweating muscles of his shoulders. "It tasted... like gasoline. But my brain stopped ticking, Kacchan. It completely stopped."

Katsuki's jaw set into a rigid line, a dark, heavy flush creeping up his own neck as Izuku's bare palms traced the lines of his collarbone. The proximity was intoxicating, the narrow space between the bed and the desk suddenly feeling just as suffocatingly hot as the supply closet.

"You're a goddamn idiot," Katsuki growled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that rattled straight down Izuku's spine. He tried to push Izuku back onto the mattress, but Izuku's fingers instantly knotted into the short, coarse blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head, pulling him down.

"I'm not an idiot," Izuku challenged softly, his green eyes flashing through the shadows as he stared straight up into Katsuki's face from inches away. The alcohol had stripped away every single boundary. "You're the one who wanted to bite me, Kacchan. You're the one who said... you care that it isn't yours."

Katsuki's breathing hitched, a sharp, ragged sound that betrayed just how thin his control was wearing in the quiet of his own room. His grip on Izuku's waist tightened until his knuckles turned white, his thumb pressing hard against the bare skin of Izuku's hip where his shirt had ridden up.

"You think because you're drunk you can just walk in here and say whatever you want?" Katsuki rasped, his forehead dropping forward until it slammed hard against Izuku's, their messy curls tangling in the moonlight. "You think I won't finish what I started in that fucking closet?"

"Then do it," Izuku whispered back, his heart hammering a frantic, unified tempo against Katsuki's ribs. He didn't flinch, didn't slide away. He just leaned into the heat, his lips brushing the shell of Katsuki's ear as he spoke. "No hands. No napkins. Remember, Kacchan? You don't back down from a dare."

The last thread of Katsuki's restraint didn't just snap; it vaporized.

With a low, guttural growl deep in his throat, Katsuki twisted his hips, throwing Izuku backward onto the mattress. The sudden weight of his broad, bare frame pinned Izuku ruthlessly into the sheets, cutting off any remaining pocket of cool air as his mouth crashed down onto Izuku's with a fierce, predatory hunger that completely stole the universe away.

The mattress dipped violently under the sudden, unrestricted shift of Katsuki's weight. The impact didn't just rattle the bedframe; it sent a physical shockwave straight through Izuku's liquor-soaked equilibrium, rendering the distinction between the floor and the ceiling entirely irrelevant.
The silver moonlight cutting across the sheets caught the fierce, unyielding line of Katsuki's shoulders as he pinned Izuku down, his broad hands slamming flat into the mattress on either side of Izuku's head. He didn't use a Quirk, but the raw, muscular gravity of his presence was enough to choke the remaining air straight out of Izuku's lungs.

"You think you're so fucking brave when you're loaded on kitchen fuel, don't you?" Katsuki rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that brushed directly against Izuku's lips. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and hot enough to scald. "Coming into my room, tracking that damn flour all over my floor, looking like a goddamn used chew toy."

Izuku didn't shrink back. The golden, syrupy heat of the alcohol was singing through his veins, rendering him completely bulletproof to the explosive temper that usually kept the rest of the world at a three-foot radius. A lazy, remarkably smug grin spread across his face, his green eyes half-lidded as he reached up, his palms pressing flat against the bare, sweating skin of Katsuki's chest.

"You're... you're still talking, Kacchan," Izuku drawled, his tongue heavy but his tone dripping with a loose, uncharacteristic malice. His thumbs traced the hard, solid lines of Katsuki's pectorals, feeling the frantic, hammering thud of a heart that was running just as fast as his own. "You talk so much when you're jealous. It's... it's highly inefficient tactical communication."

Katsuki's jaw set so hard a muscle violently twitched under his sharp cheekbone. "Say that again, nerd. I fucking dare you."

"Jealous," Izuku repeated, the word rolling out slow and wet. He slid his hands up, his fingers deliberately tangling in the short, coarse blonde hair at the base of Katsuki's neck, pulling him down until their noses brushed in the dark. "You hated that Mina touched me. You hated that forty people saw it. You've been throwing a three-hour tantrum because someone else's name was written on your target."

"Shut the fuck up!" Katsuki snarled, and then he completely eliminated the space between them.
The kiss wasn't a negotiation; it was a hostile takeover. Katsuki's mouth crashed down with a bruising, desperate hunger, his lips parting Izuku's with a fierce authority that tasted sharply of the medicinal amber liquor, stale beer, and the underlying, intoxicating ozone of his own skin. He bit down on Izuku's lower lip—a sharp, territorial nip that had Izuku letting out a loud, whimpering gasp directly into his throat.

The sound seemed to shatter whatever lingering thread of sanity Katsuki had been white-knuckling. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as he shifted his hips, straddling Izuku's thighs completely, his heavy, bare torso flattening Izuku into the sheets. His hand shot up, thick fingers locking unyieldingly around Izuku's jaw, forcing his head back into the pillows as his tongue swept inside, devouring him with a frantic, unhurried dominance.

Izuku's hands went wild, his fingers digging ruthlessly into the hard, damp muscles of Katsuki's back, leaving pale crescent marks against the heat. He didn't care about the rules; he didn't care about the disciplinary committee or the fact that Iida was probably still pacing the common room with a clipboard. He opened up beneath Katsuki, matching the aggressive, messy rhythm with a reckless fervor of his own, his legs curling slightly around Katsuki's waist to drag him closer.

Katsuki pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his lips slick and gleaming in the moonlight as he panted for air, his crimson eyes burning down into Izuku's flushed face.

"You're a mess," Katsuki growled, his thumb swiping aggressively across Izuku's mouth, smearing the saliva and the phantom waxy trace of the cherry lipstick further across his cheek. "Look at you. Covered in dust, smelling like gasoline, and completely undone in my bed."

"Your fault," Izuku panted, his chest heaving violently beneath his rumpled t-shirt. He reached down, his hands finding the hem of his own shirt, and with a sudden, impatient jerk, he yanked the fabric up and over his head, tossing it blindly onto the floor. The cool air of the room hit his bare torso, causing his abs to flex hard, exposing the pale expanse of his skin—and the dark, blooming bruise Katsuki had branded over his pulse point earlier. "You started it in the closet. You wanted to see... you wanted to see what happens when the door clicks shut."

Katsuki's eyes darkened into something terrifyingly primal at the sight of the bare skin. He didn't hesitate. He dropped his weight back down, his mouth tracing a hot, wet path down the side of Izuku's jaw, bypassing the faint pink smudges of Mina's cosmetics entirely. He found the exact spot where his own bruise sat, and he sucked hard, his tongue dragging over the sensitive tendon until Izuku arched violently off the mattress, a sharp, broken cry escaping his lips.

“Fuck…" Katsuki muttered against his skin, his breath blistering hot. "Every single inch of this garbage deku. I'm taking the rest of it back."

"You're... you're so loud," Izuku whispered, his hands gripping Katsuki's shoulders for dear life as a violent jolt of electricity raced straight down his spine. The alcohol was making his head spin, but the friction of Katsuki's bare chest rubbing against his own was a grounding, dizzying reality. He let out a shaky, breathless laugh, his fingers sliding down to pinch the skin at Katsuki's waist. "You're a senior now, Kacchan... but you're so easy to break. A little bit of lipstick and you completely lose your mind."

Katsuki stopped, his face buried in the crook of Izuku's neck. For a second, the only sound was the ragged cadence of their breathing and the wind rustling the balcony curtains. Then, Katsuki let out a sharp, dangerous huff of laughter that sounded like a warning click.

He pulled back, his broad hands sliding down to grip the button of Izuku's jeans.
"You think I'm broken, Deku?" Katsuki whispered, his voice dropping into a register so low and lethal it made the hairs on the back of Izuku's legs stand up. His fingers aggressively popped the metal fastener, the fabric giving way with a sharp tug. "I haven't even started using my hands yet. Let's see how brave that drunk mouth is when I'm actually taking what's mine."

The fabric of Izuku's jeans gave way with a sharp, definitive drag against the mattress as Katsuki hauled them down, leaving Izuku completely exposed in the silver shards of moonlight. The cool draft from the balcony hit his bare legs, but the chill lasted less than a second before Katsuki's massive, feverish frame crowded right back over him, pinning his lower half flat into the sheets with an unyielding, muscular weight.

Izuku let out a low, breathy whimper, his head rolling back into the pillows as the sheer physical gravity of Katsuki's body sent a fresh wave of golden, alcohol-soaked vertigo straight through his chest.

"Kacchan..." Izuku panted, his green eyes glazed but fiercely bright as he stared up through the shadows. "You're... you're being really aggressive. Is this how the number one senior handles a strategic asset?"

"Shut the fuck up about strategy," Katsuki growled, his voice a gravelly, low-frequency rasp that rattled directly against Izuku's collarbone. He leaned his weight down, his bare chest pressing flush against Izuku's, the friction of their skin slick with a light sheen of sweat. He grabbed both of Izuku's wrists, pinning them flat above his green curls with a single, calloused hand. "You wanted to run your mouth in the kitchen. You wanted to sit out there looking like a goddamn prize. Now you're in my room. The rules out there don't mean shit in here."

Izuku didn't try to pull his wrists free, even though the grip was loose enough for him to break if he actually tried. Instead, a lazy, unbothered grin tugged at the corner of his lips, the high-proof liquor thoroughly masking his usual stuttering hesitation.

"You're only using one hand because you're afraid I'll pin you back, aren't you?" Izuku teased softly, his voice carrying a slow, deliberate drawl. He flexed his abs, deliberately tilting his hips up into Katsuki's weight, feeling the immediate, rigid tension lock through Katsuki's thighs. "You've been matching me step for step for three years, Kacchan... but right now, your center of gravity feels really unstable."

Katsuki's jaw set so hard a sharp muscle twitched violently under his cheekbone. A deep, furious crimson flush rushed up his neck, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits of pure, territorial fire.
"Unstable?" Katsuki hissed, his teeth grinding together with an audible, menacing click. "I'll show you how fucking stable I am."

He dropped his head, his mouth crashing down onto Izuku's with a brutal, punishing intensity that completely stole the remaining oxygen from the room. It was a messy, frantic collision—Katsuki's tongue driving deep, tasting of the sharp wood smoke from the liquor and the lingering vanilla sweetness of the whipped cream they had spent the last two hours fighting over. Izuku answered with a reckless fervor of his own, his legs rising to arch around Katsuki's waist, his heels digging into the back of Katsuki's thighs to pull him closer, deeper, until the bedframe groaned under the sudden shift.

Katsuki tore his mouth away with a sharp, ragged hiss, his breathing coming in shallow, desperate drags that fanned across Izuku's wet lips. His free hand slid down Izuku's bare torso, his thick fingers tracing the hard ridges of his ribs before gripping the side of his hip with a bruising, desperate pressure.

"You're a goddamn disaster tonight, Deku," Katsuki rasped, his thumb digging aggressively into the soft skin right above Izuku's hip bone, making the smaller boy arch off the mattress with a sharp gasp. "Covered in flour, reeking of cheap fuel, and completely undone under me. You think you can handle this? You think that drunk mouth can keep up when I stop playing nice?"

"I've survived your explosions for ten years, Kacchan," Izuku whispered back, his voice shaking but carrying a sharp, defiant bite. He tilted his head back, deliberately exposing the long, pale line of his throat where Katsuki's dark bruise was still blooming proudly in the moonlight. "You don't scare me. You just talk... you just talk a lot because you're terrified of what happens when you actually lose control."

"Terrified?" Katsuki growled the word like a curse, his eyes darkening into something completely primal at the challenge.

He didn't hesitate. Katsuki released Izuku's wrists, his hands sliding down to forcefully spread Izuku's knees, positioning himself flush between them. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Izuku's ear, his hot breath sending a violent jolt of electricity straight down Izuku's spine.

"I'm not losing control, Deku," Katsuki whispered fiercely, his voice dropping into a register so low and lethal it made Izuku's whole body go rigid with anticipation. "I'm taking exactly what's mine. Let's see how much you like to bicker when you can't even draw a fucking breath."

Katsuki's hand slid lower, his calloused fingers wrapping firmly around the root of Izuku's tip, tracing the slick length of him with a slow, agonizingly deliberate stroke that had Izuku's eyes blowing wide in the dark. A loud, broken gasp escaped Izuku's lips, his fingers instantly flying up to knot frantically into the short blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head, pulling him down as his equilibrium completely shattered.

"Kacchan—wait, that's—" Izuku stammered, the playful malice instantly melting into a thick, overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated desire.

"Don't start begging now," Katsuki muttered against his skin, a dark, victorious smirk spreading across his sharp face as he increased the rhythm, his thumb smearing the slickness over the head with an unyielding authority. "You wanted a dare. You wanted to see what happens when the door clicks shut. Keep looking at me. Look at me while I break that smug attitude right out of you."

The silver moonlight shifted across the mattress, illuminating the fine layer of white flour dust that still clung to Izuku's shoulders like a frost. Every slide of Katsuki's calloused palm against his skin left a clean, pale track through the powder, a hyper-visible map of exactly where Katsuki's hands were claiming territory.

"You're tracking this bakery garbage all over my sheets," Katsuki growled, his rhythm steadying into a slow, grinding friction that had Izuku's hips twitching upward on pure reflex. He didn't slacken his grip on Izuku's thigh; instead, he hooked his knee higher over his shoulder, driving his weight forward until Izuku was folded entirely beneath him. "The whole fucking room is gonna smell like a grocery aisle tomorrow."

"You're... you're the one who dragged me in here, into your bed Kacchan," Izuku panted, his voice dropping into that thick, liquor-slackened drawl. The sharpness of the high-proof extract was still singing behind his eyes, rendering the intense pressure in his lower half more like a warm, localized melting sensation than actual friction. He reached up, his fingers weakly swatting at Katsuki's chin, his short nails scraping against the stiff stubble along his jawline. "If you... if you cared about your laundry, you would have not pulled me here."

"Shut up" Katsuki hissed, a dark, heavy flush visible even in the shadows as his thumb dug aggressively into the crease of Izuku's hip, forcing the joint wider. From all this bossing around Izuku felta sudden, lazy wave of dominance rising through the alcohol haze. He didn't try to pull his leg down; instead, he used the leverage to hook his heel around the small of Katsuki's back, his toes digging into the damp skin right above Katsuki's waistband. He flexed his calf, pulling Katsuki closer until their chests collided with a soft, wet slap of sweat.

"You're just mad because you didn't get me first, right. You're mad because Mina was the first to beat you?" Katsuki's entire frame went rigid. The air pressure in the small dorm room plummeted instantly, the low-burning scent of caramelized sugar spiking into a fierce, suffocating wall.

"Say her name again," Katsuki rasped, his voice dropping an octave into a register that was terrifyingly quiet. He leaned down until his lips were brushing the wet skin of Izuku's collarbone, his teeth grazing the tendon. "Say it again and I'll bite this fucking mark right off your throat."

"Mina," Izuku breathed, a soft, breathless huff of laughter escaping his nose despite the violent jolt of electricity that raced straight down his spine at the threat. He tilted his head back, deliberately exposing the deep purple bruise Katsuki had left behind. "She's very... she's very creative, Kacchan. She said... she said it was a crucial hero skill."

"I'll show you a fucking hero skill," Katsuki snarled.

He didn't wait. He shifted his weight back, his hand sliding down to wrap really firmly around the base of Izuku's shaft, his thick fingers locking around both of them at once.

With a sharp, violent stroke that had none of his usual training-ground precision, he dragged his calloused palm up the length, his thumb smearing the slick pre-come over the head with a heavy, unyielding authority.

Izuku's eyes blew wide in the dark, his breath catching completely as a loud, broken whimper tore from his throat. His fingers instantly flew up, his scarred knuckles locking into the coarse blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head, pulling him down into a frantic, messy kiss to stifle the sound.

The collision was brutal. Katsuki devoured his mouth, his tongue driving deep and tasting of the sharp wood smoke from the kitchen liquor, his teeth biting at Izuku's lower lip until it stung. It wasn't a negotiation; it was a total meltdown of every boundary they had spent three years building, reduced to ashes between the mattress and the cool summer draft.
Katsuki pulled back just an inch, his breathing shallow and ragged as he stared down at Izuku's completely ruined face. "Still think she's creative, nerd?"

"You're... cheating," Izuku panted, his chest heaving violently, his green curls sticking to his forehead in wet, chaotic clumps. The alcohol was making his head spin, but the sudden, intense friction between his legs was a grounding, dizzying reality.

A strange, reckless spark of pure adrenaline—the same focus that took over when his back was against a wall in a practical exam—snapped inside his chest. "You're only on top because... because I let you crawl across the room."

"You let me?" Katsuki let out a sharp, dangerous huff of laughter. "I took what was mine, Deku. There wasn't a damn thing you could do about it."

"Watch me," Izuku whispered.
Before Katsuki could calculate the trajectory, Izuku's hands slid down from his hair, his palms locking fiercely around Katsuki's forearms. He didn't activate his quirk the rules of the game were absolute—but the three years of matching Katsuki step-for-step in the trenches had left his raw, muscular power entirely intact.
With a sudden, violent twist of his hips and a sharp leverage of his heels against Katsuki's lower back, Izuku bridged his weight.
The sudden shift in the center of gravity caught Katsuki completely off guard. He gasped, his hands slipping on the flour-dusted sheets as Izuku rolled him over, the world spinning in a chaotic blur of silver moonlight until the mattress dipped under a new allocation of weight.

Izuku scrambled up, straddling Katsuki's waist before the blonde could recover his balance. He pinned Katsuki's wrists flat into the pillows on either side of his head, his grip unyielding, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the balcony.

"Fucking—" Katsuki started, his face instantly exploding into a bright, furious crimson flush as he tried to buck his hips to throw Izuku off. "Get the fuck off me, Deku! I'll blast you through the ceiling!"

"No Quirks, Kacchan," Izuku drawled, his voice remarkably deep, carrying that loose, unbothered smirk that had driven Katsuki crazy in the closet. He leaned down, his bare chest flattening against Katsuki's, the heat between them shifting from predatory to something thick, heavy, and intensely intimate. "You said so yourself. Rule number one: nobody leaves the circle without paying their dues."

Katsuki stopped struggling, his breath coming in short, furious pants as he stared up through the shadows. The explosive, volatile anger that usually defined his posture was gone, completely consumed by a dark, heavy focus. His crimson eyes were wide, tracking the exact tracks of smeared cherry lipstick on Izuku's jaw, then shifting up to meet his gaze.

"You think you're big now, huh?" Katsuki rasped, flipping them over once again, his voice cracking slightly with a rare, flustered tension that made the tips of his ears burn a bright, angry red. "Sitting up there looking down at me like you did something clever."

"I did do something clever," Izuku murmured. He released Katsuki's wrists, but instead of backing away, he let his hands slide down to frame Katsuki's sharp face, his thumbs tracing the line of his cheekbones with a slow, trembling gentleness that was entirely uncharacteristic of their usual bickering. "You're so easy to read, Kacchan. When you're mad, your jaw sets right here... and when you're jealous, you look like you want to eat the whole world just to make sure nobody else gets a bite."

Katsuki's breathing hitched, a sharp, ragged sound that betrayed just how thoroughly undone he was by the soft pressure of Izuku's palms against his skin. His fingers twitched against the sheets, his hands rising slowly to grip the sides of Izuku's waist, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh right above his hip bones.

"I don't want the world," Katsuki muttered, his gaze dropping to Izuku's lips, his expression softening into something raw, smitten, and completely defenseless against the late-hour delirium. "I just want this dumb fuck to stop looking at everyone else."

"I'm not looking at anyone else," Izuku whispered, his heart hammering a frantic, unified tempo against Katsuki's ribs as he leaned down, his lips brushing the corner of Katsuki's mouth. "I've been looking at you for ten years, Kacchan. You're the only one stupid enough to follow me into a closet just to prove a point."

The silver moonlight cutting through the balcony mesh painted sharp, skeletal shadows across the rumpled sheets. Katsuki didn't just increase the rhythm; he calibrated it to completely dismantle the remaining wreckage of Izuku's sobriety. His calloused palm was a feverish weight, his thumb dragging over the sensitive crown of Izuku's length with a heavy, rhythmic pressure that had the smaller boy's heels digging frantically into the mattress.

"Kacchan—" Izuku choked out, his head thrashing back into the pillows. The golden, syrupy numbness of the cooking liquor didn't dull the sensation; it amplified it, turning every stroke into a localized detonation that rippled straight down his thighs. "You're... you're doing that on purpose..."

"No shit, you tease," Katsuki growled, his voice a gravelly rasp against the sensitive skin beneath Izuku's earlobe. He didn't slow down. He leaned his entire upper body forward, crowding Izuku until their sweating chests glued together with a wet, sticky friction. Izuku panted, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping his lips as Katsuki's thumb swiped aggressively over the slick tip again. The sheer intensity of it made his vision swim with imaginary green sparks. He reached up, his fingers blindly searching through the shadows until they locked around Katsuki's thick biceps, his nails biting into the hard, flexed muscle.

"You're... you're just using your hands because you know if you actually kiss me again, you'll lose your rhythm." Katsuki let out a sharp, dangerous huff of laughter—a warning click that vibrated straight through Izuku's collarbone.

"You think you can bait me into stopping? You're fucking dreaming, Deku."
To prove his point, Katsuki shifted his weight, his free hand sliding down to grip the inside of Izuku's thigh, forcing his leg wider, higher, wrapping it around his own waist to anchor them. The calloused friction of his palm moving against Izuku's skin was relentless, a steady, punishing cadence that had Izuku's hips instinctively bucking upward, chasing the rough heat of the grip.

"Look at you, Angel" Katsuki hissed, his crimson eyes gleaming like hot charcoal as he stared down at Izuku's undone face. His face was covered with saliva and bites, a chaotic contrast against the dark bruise blooming on his neck.

"You're completely at my mercy, and you're still trying to score points. You really never learn when to keep your mouth shut."

"I don't need to learn," Izuku gasped, his breath hitching spectacularly as Katsuki's grip tightened, the strokes turning faster, slicker, entirely unyielding. The pleasure was pooling heavy in his gut, a thick, demanding weight that threatened to pull him under. He tilted his face up, his green eyes glazed but burning with a sudden, drunken spike of defiance.

With a sudden, explosive surge of adrenaline that bypassed his sluggish coordination, Izuku didn't pull away. He leaned into the friction. His hands shot up from Katsuki's arms, his fingers knotting fiercely into the damp, coarse blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head. With a violent, desperate jerk, he yanked Katsuki down, his mouth crashing blindly against Katsuki's sharp jawline before sliding over his lips. Katsuki choked on a fierce, muffled growl, his grip stuttering for a fraction of a second. That was all the leverage Izuku needed.

Using the momentum of the kiss and the solid brace of his foot against the mattress, Izuku twisted his hips with a raw, uncoordinated strength forged from three years of matching Katsuki step-for-step on the battlefield. He didn't use One For All, but the sheer physical mass of his thighs flexed, catching Katsuki off-balance in the narrow space between the pillows.
The bedframe gave a loud, structural groan as the world flipped.

Before Katsuki could register the shift in gravity, his back hit the mattress with a heavy, breathless thud. The silver moonlight shifted, illuminating the ceiling as the heavy, feverish weight of Izuku's bare torso suddenly crowded over his chest.

Izuku straddled his waist, his thighs locking fiercely around Katsuki's hips to pin him down once again. He was panting heavily, his green curls completely wild and falling over his eyes, his bare chest heaving as a fine sheen of sweat caught the silver light. The goofy, drunk smile was gone, replaced by a dark, intensely focused expression that made Katsuki's chest go completely rigid beneath him.

"What the fuck—" Katsuki rasped, his hands instantly flying up to grip Izuku's hips instinctually, his knuckles turning white against the pale skin. His breath was shallow, his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against Izuku's knees.

"You think you're big time now? You think you can just flip the script because you got a lucky grip?"

"You're too loud, Kacchan," Izuku murmured, his voice dropping into that loose, deep drawl that had zero filters left. He leaned down, his broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as he stared right into Katsuki's eyes. His hands came down, his fingers tracing the sharp, sweating lines of Katsuki's collarbone before sliding up to grip his jaw, forcing Katsuki's head back into the pillow just like Katsuki had done to him in the closet.

"You talk... you talk so much when you're trying to hide how much you want this."
Katsuki's jaw set into stone, a dark, heavy flush staining his cheekbones as Izuku's thumb dragged deliberately across his lower lip, wiping away a stray trace of moisture. He wanted to scream, he wanted to blast through the roof, but looking up at the fierce, unyielding gravity in Izuku's green eyes, something inside his chest shifted from volatile anger into a thick, suffocating wave of pure devotion.

"You think you're so fucking clever," Katsuki whispered fiercely, his hands sliding up from Izuku's hips to wrap firmly around the nape of his neck, his fingers tangling in the messy green curls to pull him down until their lips were barely brushing. "Standing on top of me like you own the goddamn room. You're a goddamn mess, Deku."

"Your mess." Izuku whispered back, his heart giving a massive, uneven thud against Katsuki's ribs.

He didn't wait for a dare. He leaned down and took Katsuki's mouth with a slow, heavy, and entirely dominant pressure that completely stole the remaining arguments from the room.
The kiss wasn't a brawl anymore; it was a total meltdown of their boundaries. Izuku moved over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger, his tongue sliding deep, tasting the wood smoke and the raw ozone until Katsuki let out a low, defeated groan deep in his throat. Katsuki's hands tightened in his hair, anchoring him close, his hips instinctively lifting off the mattress to meet the heavy, solid pressure of Izuku's thighs locking him down.

Izuku pulled back just an inch, his lips slick and burning as he looked down at Katsuki's flushed, thoroughly undone face. A soft, smitten huff of laughter escaped his nose, his thumb tracing the line of Katsuki's sharp cheekbone with a gentleness that made Katsuki's eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second.

"See?" Izuku drawled softly, his green eyes crinkling at the corners with a goofy, drunk warmth. "You're... you're much quieter when you're not trying to blow things up, Kacchan."
His grip on Izuku's neck didn't loosen an inch after those words, his fingers pulling him right back down into the heat of the pillows as the silver moonlight faded into the quiet of the night.

The silver moonlight seemed to thicken, casting a heavy, incandescent glow over the mattress as the power dynamic between them ground to a volatile halt. Katsuki lay pinned beneath Izuku's weight, his hands still knotted fiercely in the green curls at the nape of Izuku's neck, while Izuku straddled his hips with a loose, heavy-lidded authority that the alcohol had stripped of all standard hesitation.

"You're a smug bastard when you're drunk, you know that?" Katsuki rasped, his voice a low, gravelly friction that vibrated right through the front of Izuku's bare chest. His sharp cheekbones were flushed a dark, furious crimson, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged pants that fanned across Izuku's lips. "Sitting up there like you actually won something. You think because you flipped me over, you're the one running this drill?"

Izuku let out a slow, breathy huff of laughter, his green eyes glazed but locked onto Katsuki's face with a dizzying, unbothered intensity. He shifted his hips slightly, deliberately pressing his weight down into Katsuki's thighs, feeling the immediate, rigid contraction of muscle beneath him.

"The tactical parameters... have shifted, Katsuki," Izuku drawled, his voice dropping into that deep, uncharacteristic register that had zero filters left, Katsuki's name rolled off his lips sinfully, Katsuki felt like he could come just from hearing that over and over.

He released his grip on Katsuki's jaw, his palms instead sliding down the smooth, sweating planes of Katsuki's shoulders, his fingers tracing the hard lines of his collarbone. "You're... you're very loud when you're on top, but down here? You're just staring at me. You're staring at me like you're waiting for an instruction."

"Instruction?!" Katsuki snarled, his teeth grinding together with an audible, menacing click. A savage, territorial spike of heat flared in his crimson depths, his fingers tightening in Izuku's hair until it borderlined on painful, forcing Izuku's head down a fraction of an inch. "I don't take orders from a damn nerd who smells like a kitchen fire. Get the fuck off me before I use your ribs for target practice, Quirk or no Quirk."

"You won't," Izuku whispered back, his lips brushing against the sharp edge of Katsuki's jaw as he spoke. The high-proof cooking liquor was singing a warm, golden melody through his veins, making him feel entirely invincible against the explosive temper that usually kept the rest of the world at bay. He tilted his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right beneath Katsuki's earlobe in a slow, clumsy mimicry of the bite Katsuki had given him in the closet. "You won't blast me, Kacchan. Because you're too busy wondering what I'm going to do next."

Katsuki's entire frame went dead rigid, a sharp, ragged gasp catching in his throat at the feel of Izuku's mouth against his neck. His hands slid down from Izuku's hair, his thick fingers locking fiercely around the sides of Izuku's waist, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh right above his hip bones with a bruising, desperate pressure.
"You're playing a dangerous fucking game, Deku,"

Katsuki growled, his voice dropping into a register so low and lethal it rattled straight down Izuku's spine. "You think you can just sit on me, look all messy and covered in flour, and run that drunk mouth without paying for it? I told you... I don't do gentle."

"I don't want gentle," Izuku murmured, his green eyes flashing through the shadows as he looked down at Katsuki's sharp, flushed face. The goofy, drunk smirk faded into something thick, heavy, and intensely focused.

Slowly, deliberately, Izuku slid backward off Katsuki's torso, his knees dragging against the sheets until he was kneeling between Katsuki's spread thighs. The silver moonlight illuminated the pale, scarred length of his arms as he reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around the waistband of Katsuki's dark briefs.

Katsuki's breathing hitched completely, his abs flexing hard beneath his skin as Izuku used a slow, unhurried leverage to pull the fabric down, exposing the rigid, pulsing length of Katsuki's shaft to the cool summer air. The slick pre-come at the crown caught the silver light, gleaming against the heavy shadows of the room.

"Fuck, Deku." Katsuki rasped, his hands flattening into the mattress behind his head, his knuckles turning white against the pillows as his chest heaved violently. "What the fuck do you think you're—"

Izuku didn't answer with words. He leaned down, his messy green curls falling forward to shadow Katsuki's lower half as his breath, hot and smelling sharply of the wood-smoke liquor, fanned across the sensitive skin of Katsuki's groin. He reached out, his thick, scarred fingers gently wrapping around the base of Katsuki's length, anchoring him, before he parted his lips and slid his mouth over the heavy, swollen head.

A loud, guttural groan tore from Katsuki's chest, his head slamming back into the pillows as his eyes flew shut. "Shit—"
The contrast was immediate and overwhelming. Izuku's mouth was slick, incredibly hot, and wet, a sharp contrast to the cool breeze rushing in from the balcony. He didn't have the practiced technique of someone who knew exactly what they were doing; the alcohol made his movements slow, heavy, and deliberate, but the sheer, unbridled devotion of the act was twice as lethal. He swirled his tongue around the ridge of the crown, licking away the slick moisture before drawing the length deeper into his throat, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with a firm, rhythmic authority.

"Fucking hell." Katsuki hissed, his voice a broken, gravelly rasp that betrayed just how thin his control was wearing. His hips instinctively twitched upward, chasing the intense, suffocating heat of Izuku's mouth, but Izuku's hand tightened firmly around his base, pinning his pelvis flat into the mattress, refusing to let him set the cadence.
Izuku pulled back up just a fraction of an inch, the slick length of Katsuki's shaft sliding past his wet lips with a soft, heavy friction. He looked up through his messy bangs, his green eyes dark, hooded, and dripping with a lazy, unbothered malice as he watched the frantic rise and fall of Katsuki's chest.

"You're... you're moving a lot, Kacchan," Izuku teased softly, his voice thick and slurred at the edges from the moisture on his lips. He ran his tongue over his own lower lip, smearing the slickness. "I thought you said you were stable. But your thighs are shaking. It's highly inefficient."

"Shut the fuck up and put that mouth to work back on me," Katsuki snarled, his eyes flying open, flashing with a desperate, territorial fire that looked like burning coal in the dark. He reached down, his broad hand locking fiercely into Izuku's green curls, his fingers anchoring him with an unyielding grip. "You think you can just start something like this and then sit there bickering? Put your fucking mouth back down, Deku, or I swear to God I'll drag you up by your collar and finish this myself."

"You always want to finish everything," Izuku murmured, a soft, breathless huff escaping his nose as he leaned back down.

This time, he didn't hesitate. He opened his mouth wide, engulfing the length as deeply as his throat would allow, his hand sliding up and down the remaining shaft in a steady, synchronized friction that had Katsuki's toes curling into the sheets. Izuku sucked hard, using his tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of the shaft while the rough pressure of his calloused fingers massaged the base.

Katsuki's control didn't just snap; it dissolved into pure, unadulterated friction. He groaned loudly into the quiet of the room, his free hand flying up to cover his own face, his teeth grinding together as Izuku's mouth devoured him with a frantic, messy hunger that tasted of the sharp kitchen liquor and the underlying sweetness of the night. The bedframe groaned under the sudden, tense alignment of their weights, the silver moonlight tracking the pale frost of saliva as it drifted off Izuku's shifting shoulders.

The silver moonlight seemed to trap the heat inside the room, turning the air thick and heavy as the slow, wet rhythm of Izuku's mouth systematically stripped Katsuki of every defensive layer he possessed.

Katsuki's fingers were knotted so tightly into Izuku's green curls that his knuckles were white, his arm trembling with the sheer effort of holding himself back. Every time Izuku's throat contracted around him, a low, ragged hiss escaped Katsuki's lips, his head thrashing against the pillows as the intense, suffocating warmth threatened to pull him over the edge.

"Deku... fucking—stop for a second," Katsuki choked out, his voice a gravelly, broken whisper. "Stop... you're gonna make me..."

Izuku didn't stop. The alcohol had completely unhooked his internal brakes, replacing his usual frantic overthinking with a lazy, heavy-lidded focus. Hearing Katsuki—the explosive, untouchable number one senior—actually sounding breathless and undone was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever experienced.

He drew back slowly, the slick length sliding past his wet lips with a heavy, deliberate friction, leaving a thin trail of saliva gleaming in the moonlight.
He looked up through his messy bangs, his face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson, his green eyes hooded and heavy with a soft, teasing malice.

"Why should I stop, you're not holding up?" Izuku drawled, his voice remarkably deep and loose. He leaned his forearms against Katsuki's thighs, looking completely unbothered by the volatile tension radiating off the blonde. "You're the one who said you don't do gentle. But you sound... you sound like you're struggling to keep up."

"I'm not struggling with shit," Katsuki rasped, his chest heaving violently as he tried to draw oxygen into his burning lungs. He reached down, his broad palm locking around Izuku's chin, forcing the smaller boy to look at him. His crimson eyes were wide, dark, and swimming with a desperate, territorial weight that looked almost like pain.

"You're doing this on purpose. Running that drunk filthy mouth because you think I won't break you in half."

"You won't break me," Izuku whispered back, offering a slow, incredibly goofy smile that made Katsuki's heart give a violent, uneven thud against his ribs. Izuku shifted, crawling back up Katsuki's body until he was straddling his waist again, his bare, flour-dusted chest pressing flush against Katsuki's sweating torso. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Katsuki's ear. "You're too soft tonight, Kacchan. Maybe you don't live up with what you say-."

The soft, breathy taunt was the absolute breaking point. Katsuki let out a sharp, desperate sound—halfway between a growl and a sob—and grabbed Izuku by the hips. He didn't flip him over this time; instead, he pulled Izuku down tightly against his pelvis, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh of Izuku's waist with an unyielding, begging pressure. The explosive blonde was completely gone, replaced by a raw, starving crave that had been cooking him alive for three years.

"Fine. You want it? You want me to lose it? I'll break you from inside out." Katsuki rasped, his forehead slamming forward to rest against Izuku's shoulder, his sharp blonde hair prickling against Izuku's skin as his whole body shuddered. "You just can’t stop taunting, can you. You make my fucking blood boil. Shit— just let me fuck you, Deku. Please, I'll show you what you haven't seen. You want me crazy?"

Izuku froze, his breath catching completely in his throat. The lazy, alcohol-soaked amusement in his brain instantly crystallized into a thick, staggering wave of pure, unadulterated shock. Katsuki begging was new.

The word hung in the silver dark between them, heavy and devastatingly honest. Katsuki's grip on his hips wasn't aggressive anymore; it was trembling, anchoring Izuku to his center moving him a bit just for some friction. Katsuki felt as if the smaller boy was the only thing keeping him from spinning off the face of the earth.

"Kacchan." Izuku whispered, his voice losing its loose drawl, softening into something deeply tender, raw, and entirely smitten. His fingers slid up to cradle Katsuki's sharp jawline, his thumbs tracing the damp, flushed skin of his cheekbones.

"I'm losing my god damn mind, Angel," Katsuki muttered against his skin, his breath blistering hot as his mouth dragged up to the dark bruise on Izuku's neck, his lips pressing against it with a desperate, worshipful intensity. "I can't... I can't look at you out there anymore. I can't watch them stare at you. Let me finish this. Let me put my fucking name on you so the whole room knows. I'm washing every single trace of her off this fucking skin. I'm writing my goddamn name so deep inside you that you won't even remember the rules of that stupid game."

A profound, golden warmth flooded Izuku's chest, completely melting the last remnants of their lifelong friction into a deep, mutual devotion. He didn't say anything else about the rules, or the game, or the forty people downstairs. He just leaned down, closing the microscopic gap between them, and kissed Katsuki with a slow, heavy, and completely yielding sweetness that promised him everything.

The heavy, medicinal warmth of the cooking liquor didn't vanish, but it underwent a sudden, high-voltage crystallization. The word—*please*—vibrated directly against the bare skin of Izuku's shoulder, carrying a terrifyingly raw weight that stripped the remaining playful malice right out of the room.

Katsuki's broad hands were still locked onto Izuku's waist, but the grip had shifted from a hostile lockdown to a heavy, trembling anchor, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh above Izuku's hip bones as if he were trying to pull himself through the mattress.

"Kacchan..." Izuku whispered, his voice losing its loose, slurred edge, dropping into a register that was quiet, breathless, and completely undone by the sudden gravity of the blonde beneath him.

"Don't start getting soft on me now, nerd," Katsuki rasped, his head snapping up from Izuku's shoulder. His crimson eyes were wide, dark, and burning with a frantic, localized intensity that pinned Izuku straight through the shadows. A deep, uniform flush coated his sharp cheekbones, his teeth grinding together with a faint, audible click. "You wanted to run that drunk mouth in the closet. You wanted to sit up on me and talk about parameters. I'm telling you exactly what's gonna happen. I'm gonna stretch you out until you forget how to say anyone else's name except mine, and then I'm gonna destroy you."

A violent, scorching jolt of electricity raced straight down Izuku's spine, his abs flexing hard against Katsuki's chest as his heels dug into the mattress. The defiance inside him didn't blow out; it mutated, his green eyes flashing through his wild, disheveled curls as he leaned lower, his bare, flour-dusted chest rubbing against Katsuki's sweating skin with a wet, heavy friction.

"You... you still talk like you're writing a tactical report, Kacchan," Izuku challenged softly, a breathless, heavy-lidded smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the frantic thumping of his heart. "You haven't even... you haven't even prepped me yet, and you're already claiming the victory."

"Watch me take it," Katsuki snarled.

With a sudden, explosive heave of his hips that had none of his standard training-ground restraint, Katsuki didn't just flip the script—he shattered the foundation. His broad hands slid from Izuku's waist down to his thighs, hooking behind his knees and violently widening them as he rolled Izuku onto his back. The silver moonlight swung across the ceiling in a chaotic blur before Izuku's spine hit the mattress with a heavy, breathless thud.
Before Izuku could even draw oxygen into his lungs, Katsuki was over him, his massive, bare frame crowding out the light from the balcony.

He didn't hesitate. He reached blindly toward the nightstand, his calloused fingers knocking over a plastic container of high-grade training salve before snapping the lid off with his teeth, spitting it onto the floorboards.

"You think you have a say in this drill?" Katsuki hissed, dipping his thick fingers deep into the slick, heavy cream. He lunged back down, his broad knee forcing Izuku's left leg high over his shoulder, folding the smaller boy completely beneath his weight until the pale frost of industrial flour on Izuku's shoulders smeared into the dark sheets.

"Look at you. Completely wide open. Tell me how efficient this is, Angel. C'mon speak baby,"
Katsuki dropped his hand down, his calloused fingers pressing flat against the tight, trembling ring of Izuku's entrance. The contact was shocking—the salve was cool, but Katsuki's fingers were a feverish, blistering heat that made Izuku's vision spark with imaginary green sparks in the dark. Without a single trace of hesitation, Katsuki drove his first finger deep inside, the thick knuckle stretching the tight walls with an unyielding, rhythmic authority.

"Fuck Kachan" Izuku choked out, his head thrashing back into the pillows, his fingers instantly flying up to lock fiercely around Katsuki's thick biceps, his nails biting into the hard, flexed muscle to keep his balance. The alcohol made the initial stretch feel like a thick, syrupy ache, a heavy localized melting sensation that rippled straight down his thighs.

"Take it," Katsuki growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, low-frequency register that rattled directly against Izuku's eardrum. He didn't wait for Izuku to adjust. He added a second finger, then a third, his hand moving in a relentless, widening scissor motion that had the wet salve squelching loudly in the quiet of the room. "You're so fucking tight. Three years of matching me step for step, and you're still screaming over a few fingers. Relax for me, Angel. Relax for now before I put myself inside you and split you in half."

"I'm not screaming," Izuku panted, his chest heaving violently beneath the moonlight, his wet green curls sticking to his forehead in chaotic clumps.

The fire inside his chest flared up through the liquor haze. He didn't pull his leg down from Katsuki's shoulder; instead, he used the leverage to hook his heel firmly around the back of Katsuki's neck, his toes digging into the short, coarse blonde hair to drag him down. "You're just moving fast because you're terrified your control is gonna vaporize again. You're trying to rush the parameters."

Katsuki let out a sharp, dangerous huff of laughter—a warning click that resonated deep within his chest and made the hairs on the back of Izuku's legs stand up. The sheer, predatory confidence radiating off the blonde seemed to compress the remaining air in the room, trapping them both in a hyper-localized vacuum of pure heat and friction.

"Rush?" Katsuki repeated, his voice dropping into a register so dangerously low it felt less like a question and more like a threat. "You think I'm in a hurry, Angel? I've been waiting three fucking years for you to stop running your mouth and look at what's right in front of your face. I'll show you how fucking slow I can go, you're going to beg me to move."

To prove his point, Katsuki internalized his fingers, sliding them deeper into the slick, heavy warmth of the training salve. He didn't just pump his hand; he moved with an agonizing, clinical deliberation, curling his knuckles inward to map out the tightly shifting terrain of Izuku's entrance. The calloused pads of his fingers hooked, tracing the deep, sensitive ridges along Izuku's front wall with a heavy, unyielding friction that had the wet salve squelching loudly against the quiet hum of the open balcony.

Izuku's breath hitched, a soft, trembling sound catching in his throat as he felt the relentless, expanding pressure stretching the tight muscles from the inside out. The high-proof cooking liquor singing through his veins turned the sharp edge of the intrusion into a thick, syrupy ache—a heavy, localized melting sensation that rippled down his thighs and made his toes curl violently into the dark sheets.

Then, Katsuki's finger hooked upward, hitting the exact, swollen knot of nerves hidden deep within the heat.
He didn't just brush past it. He pressed hard, a deliberate, heavy thumb swipe that applied maximum pressure directly against the center of Izuku's pleasure.

The reaction was instantaneous. Izuku's entire body went dead rigid, his spine arching violently off the mattress as if a live wire had been snapped against his nervous system. A loud, broken cry escaped his wet, slick lips, his chest heaving under the sudden, blinding overload of sensation. His knuckles turned white as his hands flew up to lock fiercely around Katsuki's thick biceps, his nails digging into the hard, flexed muscle in a desperate attempt to find an anchor while the room spun around him. On pure instinct, his hips bucked upward against the friction, chasing the very pressure that was tearing his breath away.

"Yeah? Right there?" Katsuki dirty-talked, a dark, victorious smirk cutting across his sharp face as he felt the immediate, desperate contraction of Izuku's walls clamping down around his hand.
He leaned his weight down further, his massive, bare chest flattening against Izuku's torso until the fine dusting of white industrial flour on Izuku's shoulders smeared into the damp skin of his own chest. His voice dropped into a gravelly, filthy whisper that fanned blistering hot against the shell of Izuku's ear, vibrating straight down the smaller boy's spine.

"Look at your fucking face, Deku. Look how ruined you are under the moonlight just from a couple of fingers. You want to talk about strategic parameters? You want to run that smug, drunk mouth about who got you first? Your whole goddamn body is twitching around my hand, begging me to put myself inside you and split you in half. You're reeking of cheap fuel, covered in my spit, and you're completely at my mercy in my bed. Tell me exactly how clever you feel right now."

He increased the speed of his fingers, twisting them inside the tight, dripping heat until Izuku was completely lubricated, his entrance twitching and begging around the intrusion. "Look at you, covered in my spit, stretching out for me like a goddamn whore. You want it so bad your whole body is shaking."

"Kacchan... please" Izuku stammered, the last of his analytical defenses completely disintegrating into a thick, demanding wave of pure desire.

"I told you, don't start begging now," Katsuki muttered, his crimson eyes gleaming like hot charcoal as he abruptly pulled his fingers out with a wet, heavy drag. The sudden loss of pressure had Izuku letting out a soft, whimpering groan, his hips lifting off the mattress to chase the heat.
Katsuki didn't let him wait. He shifted his weight forward, his massive, pulsing length lining up directly against Izuku's twitching entrance. The slick pre-come at his crown smeared across the opening, a searing, friction-heavy promise that had Izuku's fingers knotting frantically into the dark sheets.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby." Katsuki commanded, his voice dropping into an unyielding, dominant rasp that brooked zero argument. He grabbed both of Izuku's hands, pinning them flat above his green curls with a single, calloused grip, his broad chest flattening down until their sweating torsos glued together. "Look at me while I take every single piece of you back."

Katsuki drove his hips forward.
The initial entry was brutal. Katsuki's width was immense, stretching the walls of Izuku's entrance until the tissue burned, a thick, suffocating invasion that had Izuku's breath catching completely in his throat. He let out a sharp, strangled gasp, his abs flexing so hard they turned to marble beneath Katsuki's weight.

"Fuck, you're tight... you're trying to choke me out," Katsuki groaned, his face exploding into a dark, furious crimson flush as he buried himself to the root in one heavy, unyielding thrust. He stopped, his forehead slamming forward to rest against Izuku's, his sharp blonde bangs prickling his brow as his whole body shuddered from the sheer, crushing heat of Izuku's inside. "Fucking relax... Deku... look at me."

Izuku blinked through the watery hazr of pleasure blurring his vision, his green eyes dark and intensely focused as he stared straight up into Katsuki's face from inches away. He didn't yield the field. Even folded completely beneath him, his muscles trembling from the impact, Izuku flexed his internal walls, clamping down around Katsuki's length with a fierce, possessive grip that had Katsuki letting out a sharp, ragged hiss.

"You... you stopped moving, Kacchan," Izuku whispered, his voice broken, carrying a thick, slurred tremor but still dripping with that stubborn defiance. "I thought you were gonna destroy me. But you're just... you're just stuck."

"You arrogant little shit," Katsuki snarled, the last thread of his restraint vaporizing into pure ozone.
He started to move.
The rhythm wasn't a game; it was a total demolition. Katsuki pulled back until he was nearly clear of the wet, twitching opening, before slamming his hips forward with a violent, unrestricted force that sent a structural shudder straight through the bedframe.
The heavy, wet slaps of their skin colliding filled the quiet room, a frantic, messy cadence that completely drowned out the wind from the balcony.

"Is this stuck? Huh?" Katsuki growled, his voice a gravelly, lethal vibration as he drove deeper, his angle shifting until he was systematically crushing Izuku's front wall with every single stroke. "I'm tearing you apart from the inside. Every single thrust is erasing that cherry garbage off your face. You're mine. Say it. Say whose fucking name is written inside you."

"Ah! Katsuki fuck—" Izuku wailed, his head thrashing violently against the pillows as the intense, localized explosions of pleasure completely scrambled his brain. The golden numbness of the cooking liquor was gone, replaced by a raw, white-hot clarity that made every slide of Katsuki's calloused length feel like a live wire marking his soul. His legs curled tightly around Katsuki's waist, his heels digging into the blonde's lower back to force him deeper, matching the aggressive, primitive rhythm with a desperate fervor of his own. "Yours Kacchan, fuck— it's... it's always been yours—"

"Louder!" Katsuki roared, his breathing coming in short, desperate pants as he hoisted Izuku's hips higher off the mattress, his thumb digging aggressively into the crease of his hip to force him wider. "Let the whole fucking building hear you. Let 'em know what happens when you enter my closet. I'm writing my name so deep you'll be leaking it tomorrow morning."

The silver moonlight tracked the pale frost of flour dust floating over their shifting shoulders, a hyper-visible mist that settled over their skin as the pace grew frantic, slick, and entirely unyielding. Izuku was completely undone, his hands breaking free from Katsuki's grip only to climb up the blonde's neck, his scarred fingers burying themselves into the sharp blonde hair to pull him down into a wet, bruising kiss.

The collision was total. Katsuki devoured his mouth, stifling Izuku's high, whimpering cries into his own throat as they raced toward the edge together, two powerhouse heroes reduced to ashes and friction between the sheets.

The heavy wood of the bedframe didn't just groan; it rattled violently against the wall, a rhythmic, frantic thud that kept pace with the bruising, unrestricted snap of Katsuki's hips. The room was a total meltdown of silver moonlight and raw, choking friction, the air so thick with the scent of caramelized sugar and high-proof wood smoke that it felt like breathing live steam.

Katsuki was completely unhinged. He had Izuku's left leg pinned so high over his shoulder that Izuku's hips were hoisted entirely off the mattress, leaving him completely folded, wide open, and utterly defenseless under the massive, bare weight of the blonde. Every single thrust was a violent, driving deceleration—Katsuki burying himself to the absolute root, his thick, veins-straining length stretching Izuku's wet walls until the wet salve squelched loudly against the quiet hum of the open balcony doors.

"Look at you," Katsuki rasped, his voice dropping into a register so low and gravelly it vibrated straight through the front of Izuku's chest. His sharp cheekbones were flushed a dark, furious crimson, sweat dripping from his chin onto Izuku's heaving, flour-smudged collarbone. "Completely split open in my bed. Running that fucking mouth about parameters down in the kitchen, and now you can't even draw a full breath without choking on my name. Tell me how efficient this is, Deku. Tell me who's running the drill."

Izuku's head was thrashing against the pillows, his green curls soaked with sweat and sticking to his flushed forehead in wild, static clumps. The golden, syrupy numbness of Sato's cooking liquor had completely evaporated, replaced by a white-hot, localized clarity that turned every single slide of Katsuki's calloused skin into an absolute overload of his nervous system.

But even with his vision sparking green, even with his thighs shaking so violently from the impact that his muscles were turning to marble, the stubborn, unyielding fire in his chest didn't blow out. He reached up, his scarred knuckles locking fiercely around the heavy metal chain at Katsuki's neck, using the leverage to pull himself upward, his hips forcefully grinding back into the onslaught.

"You're... you're pushing so hard because you're trying to hide it, Kacchan," Izuku panted, his voice broken, a thick, breathless drawl that carried a sharp, defiant bite. He flexed his internal walls, clamping down around Katsuki's thick width with a fierce, possessive contraction that made the blonde's eyes instantly blow wide. "You're trying to... to rush the ending because if you go slow... you know you'll just start begging me again."

Katsuki's entire frame went dead rigid for a fraction of a second, a sharp, ragged gasp catching in his throat. A savage, territorial spike of pure ozone flared in his crimson depths, his teeth grinding together with an audible, menacing click.

"Begging?" Katsuki hissed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Izuku's waist with a bruising, desperate pressure that left pale marks through the remaining dusting of flour. "I'll show you who's fucking begging, you arrogant little shit."

He didn't pull back. He shifted his angle, driving his hips forward with a sudden, vicious change in trajectory that targeted the exact, swollen knot of nerves hidden deep within Izuku's front wall. He hit it dead center—a heavy, relentless crush of his pelvis that applied maximum, friction-heavy pressure straight against the core of Izuku's pleasure.

The reaction was catastrophic. Izuku's spine violently arched off the sheets, his heels digging into Katsuki's lower back as a loud, completely shattered cry tore from his wet lips. The sheer intensity of the sensation felt like a live wire snapping against his spine, his hands flying up to grip Katsuki's thick biceps, his short nails biting into the hard, flexed muscle in a desperate attempt to find an anchor while the silver moonlight spun around him.

"Yeah? That's what you wanted, right?" Katsuki dirty-talked, his breath blistering hot against the side of Izuku's neck as his mouth moved with a frantic, predatory hunger over his pulse point. He nipped sharply at the skin, right over the dark, blooming bruise he had branded there earlier, his tongue wiping away the last phantom trace of Mina's cosmetics.

"Look at your fucking face under the moonlight. Completely ruined. Your whole goddamn body is twitching around me, leaking my spit and that cheap fuel, and you're still trying to score points. You're stretching out so wide for me you look like a goddamn whore, Deku. Every single inch of your body belongs to me. I'm writing my name so deep inside you, you'll be leaking it when you walk out to the common room tomorrow."

"Ah! Katsuki, wait—fuck—" Izuku wailed, his hips bucking upward on pure reflex, chasing the very pressure that was tearing his breath away. The pleasure was pooling heavy in his gut, a thick, demanding weight that threatened to pull him under completely.

But even as his eyes rolled back, his fingers remained knotted in Katsuki's short blonde hair, his heels tightening around the blonde's hips to drag him even deeper. "Don't... don't stop. You said... you said you weren't in a hurry. Prove it."

"I'll finish you off right now," Katsuki snarled, the last thread of his restraint vaporizing into the quiet dark.

The pace mutated from a rhythm into a total, unbridled demolition. Katsuki pulled back until he was nearly clear of the wet, twitching opening, before slamming his weight forward with a violent, unrestricted force that sent a structural shudder straight through the floorboards. The heavy, wet slaps of their skin colliding filled the room, a frantic, messy cadence that completely drowned out the wind rustling the balcony curtains.

He crushed Izuku into the mattress, over and over, his calloused hand rising to slam flat beside Izuku's head, locking him into the heat. He didn't use a Quirk, but the sheer physical mass of his body was a total lockdown, devouring Izuku's space, devouring his breath, until the smaller boy was completely undone beneath him—his green eyes dark, hooded, and entirely consumed by the territorial monster writing his name into his soul.

The heavy thud of Katsuki's pelvis slamming against Izuku's hips didn't just rattle the bedframe; it resonated through the marrow of Izuku's bones. The silver moonlight cutting through the balcony door was the only witness to the total demolition of them, reduced to raw friction, slick training salve, and an unyielding battle for territory.

Katsuki's broad hands moved from the mattress to Izuku's chest, his palms pressing flat against Izuku's sweating pectoral muscles, feeling the chaotic, frantic hammering of a heart running at maximum capacity. He leaned down, his sharp, blonde bangs dripping with sweat that fell straight onto Izuku's flushed cheek, his crimson eyes burning with a dark, primal intensity.

"You like looking up at me like this, don't you?" Katsuki rasped, his voice a gravelly, low-frequency vibration that brushed directly against Izuku's wet lips. "Completely pinned. Completely stretched out. You wanted to play the big man down just now, leaking that cheap fuel from your mouth, but up here you're just a filthy, wide-open for me."

Izuku's head rolled back into the pillows, his green curls thoroughly soaked and clinging to his forehead. The alcohol was still a warm, gold electricity in his veins, but it had been entirely overridden by the white-hot clarity of Katsuki's massive, thick length stretching his internal walls to their absolute limit. Yet, even with his vision sparking green, the stubborn, unyielding fire in his chest didn't blow out. A lazy, remarkably smug grin tugged at the corner of his wet lips.

"You're... you're talking so much again, Kacchan," Izuku drawled, his voice a deep, liquor-slackened murmur that carried a sharp, defiant bite. He flexed his internal muscles, clamping down around Katsuki's thick width with a fierce, possessive contraction that made the blonde's jaw instantly set into stone. "You always talk when you're... when you're trying to convince yourself that you're the one in control. But your hands are shaking on my chest. You're... you're desperate."

"Desperate?" Katsuki hissed, a dark, furious crimson flush rushing up his neck. His teeth ground together with an audible, menacing click. "I'll show you how fucking desperate I am, you smart-ass."

He didn't pull back. He shifted his entire center of gravity, hoisting Izuku's hips even higher off the mattress until Izuku was folded nearly in half, his knees pinned flush against his own bare chest. Katsuki drove forward with a sudden, vicious change in trajectory, his pelvis slamming home with a heavy, unrestricted force that targeted the exact, swollen knot of nerves hidden deep within Izuku's front wall.

He hit it dead center—a heavy, relentless crush of his pelvis that applied maximum, friction-heavy pressure straight against the core of Izuku's pleasure.

"Ah! Katsuki—fuck!" Izuku wailed, his spine violently arching off the sheets as a loud, completely shattered cry tore from his throat. The sheer intensity of the sensation felt like a live wire snapping against his nervous system. His hands flew up, his scarred knuckles locking fiercely around Katsuki's thick biceps, his short nails biting into the hard, flexed muscle in a desperate attempt to find an anchor while the room spun around him.

"Scream my fucking name, Angel." Katsuki dirty-talked, his breath blistering hot against the side of Izuku's neck as his mouth moved with a frantic, predatory hunger over his pulse point. He bit down sharply on the skin, right over the dark, blooming bruise he had branded there earlier, his tongue wiping away the last phantom trace of the common room.

"Look at your fucking face under the moonlight. Completely ruined. Your whole goddamn body is twitching around my dick, leaking my spit, and you're still trying to score points. You're stretching out so wide for me you look like a goddamn slut."

He increased the pace, his hips snapping forward in a frantic, messy cadence that completely filled the quiet room with the heavy, wet slaps of their skin colliding. It wasn't a negotiation; it was a total meltdown of every boundary they had spent three years building, reduced to ashes between the mattress and the cool summer draft.

Izuku's thighs were shaking violently from the impact, his muscles turning to marble beneath Katsuki's weight, but the fire inside his chest flared up through the liquor haze. He didn't pull his legs down; instead, he used the leverage to hook his heels firmly around the small of Katsuki's back, his toes digging into the damp skin right above Katsuki's waistband to force him even deeper.

"If I'm... if I'm a slut Kacchan," Izuku panted, his green eyes flashing through his wild, disheveled curls as he stared straight up into Katsuki's face from inches away, "then you're... you're the one paying the highest price. You're completely... completely consumed by me. you can't even look away."

Katsuki let out a sharp, dangerous huff of laughter—a warning click that resonated deep within his chest. "I don't need to look away when I own the whole fucking view."

The pace mutated from a rhythm into a total, unbridled demolition. Katsuki pulled back until the swollen head of his length was nearly clear of the wet, twitching opening, before slamming his weight forward with a violent, unrestricted force that sent a structural shudder straight through the floorboards. He crushed Izuku into the mattress over and over, his angle shifting until he was systematically destroying Izuku's front wall with every single stroke.

"Say it!" Katsuki roared, his breathing coming in short, desperate pants as he hoisted Izuku's hips even higher, his thumbs digging aggressively into the soft flesh of Izuku's waist, leaving pale marks through the remaining dusting of flour. "Say whose fucking name is written inside you."

"Yours, Katsuki! Fuck— only your!" Izuku cried out, his head thrashing violently against the pillows as the intense, localized explosions of pleasure completely scrambled his brain. He opened up beneath Katsuki, matching the aggressive, primitive rhythm with a desperate fervor of his own, his fingers burying themselves into the sharp blonde hair at the back of Katsuki's head to pull him down into a wet, bruising kiss.

The collision was total. Katsuki devoured his mouth, stifling Izuku's high, whimpering cries into his own throat as they raced toward the edge together. Katsuki's tongue drove deep, tasting of the sharp wood smoke from the kitchen liquor, his teeth biting at Izuku's lower lip until it stung.
Katsuki pulled back just an inch, his breathing shallow and ragged as he stared down at Izuku's completely undone face. The silver moonlight tracked the fine layer of white flour dust that still clung to Izuku's shoulders, a hyper-visible map of exactly where Katsuki's hands were claiming territory.

"You're completely spent, Angel," Katsuki whispered fiercely, his voice dropping into a register so low and lethal it made Izuku's whole body go rigid with anticipation. "Your walls are clamping down so hard. Look at me while I finish this."

Katsuki didn't slow down; he calibrated the friction to completely dismantle the remaining wreckage of Izuku's sobriety. His strokes became faster, slicker, entirely unyielding, driving deep into the hilt until the pleasure pooled heavy in Izuku's gut, a thick, demanding weight that threatened to pull him under completely.

With a sudden, explosive surge of adrenaline, Izuku didn't pull away. He leaned into the friction, his hips bucking upward on pure reflex, chasing the very pressure that was tearing his breath away. "Then do it... destroy me."

The last thread of Katsuki's restraint didn't just snap; it vaporized into pure ozone. He let out a loud, guttural groan into the quiet of the room, his whole body shuddering as he delivered three final, brutal thrusts that buried his length to the absolute root. The intense, suffocating warmth of Izuku's inside triggered the release, and Katsuki came with a violent, desperate heave of his hips, painting the tight walls of Izuku's entrance with a thick, blistering wave of heat.

Izuku's eyes blew wide in the dark, his breath catching completely as his own overload was triggered by the sheer warmth filling him. A loud, broken cry escaped his wet lips as he came across their lower bellies, his body twitching violently beneath Katsuki's weight as the gold, syrupy numbness finally collapsed into a quiet, heavy peace.

The bedframe gave one final, structural groan before settling into silence. The silver moonlight cutting through the balcony mesh painted sharp shadows across the rumpled sheets, illuminating the two powerhouse heroes reduced to breathing heavily in the quiet of the night. Katsuki collapsed forward, his forehead resting against Izuku's shoulder, his broad arms still anchoring the smaller boy tightly to his chest, refusing to let him go.

“Fuck you’re crazy.” was all that Izuku could pant out.

“Yeah only for you.”