Archive of Our Own

Eijirou bids a discerning eye to the inner contents of his closet, deep in thought. Which strikingly colorful, busy-patterned shirt would be best for his date this evening? He considers wearing the same one he wore on his first ever official date with Katsuki, as he believes it’s been imbued with a certain degree of luck.

After all, he had gotten rather lucky that night.

He feels himself blush as he picks up the shirt’s hanger, holding it up to the light and checking to make sure there aren’t any…stains.

He’s just pulled his head free from the collar of his current shirt, sending static through his already messy pre-primped hair, when a loud knock sounds from his door.

A loud knock, followed by the door about splintering off of its hinges when it flings open, fast.

“Hey, what—”

“You took too long to answer.”

“Katsuki!” Eijirou barks, then huffs, and then smiles softly at the sight of him. He wraps his arms around him, and he still hasn’t put on that shirt yet. “My birthday-date isn’t for another hour,” he speaks into his shoulder, “did you need something?”

Katsuki pulls him back by his biceps, shamelessly squeezing the muscles there. Eijirou notices him swallow, notices a slight flush to his face and it strikes him oddly. “Change of plans,” Katsuki says, voice level. He’s stroking Eijirou’s arms with his thumbs appraisingly, and Eijirou does feel scrutinized, suddenly. “We’ll stay in tonight.”

He feels a twinge of disappointment in his overeager heart, but tries his best not to let it show. Any time spent with Katsuki is cherished, but he does appreciate the show and dance of a date every now and then.

And the food. Man, does he love the food.

But his boyfriend stands in front of him, real determined-looking, pretty deep in thought—and aside from his curiosity about the evolving evening, Eijirou’s basically content just staring at Katsuki’s sweet face.

He doesn’t care what it is they do tonight, he’s decided. He wants to kiss that face.

He dips in to do so, but at the same time Katsuki bends his neck in order to call over his shoulder. “Get in here,” he says in the direction of the doorway, and Eijirou feels the resonance of his voice where he’s peppering his cheek and jaw with little kisses (just because he can).

Typically Eijirou doesn’t get so far with impromptu attacks of affection such as these, so he’s focused on it—and is caught entirely off-guard when an additional person enters his dorm sans permission.

The person it turns out to be nearly knocks him off of his feet, but he manages to fall back into his desk’s chair instead, plopping down with a graceless ‘oof’.

“Wait, that’s, but-” he looks desperately to one Katsuki, and then to the other. “How—but he—haaah?”

“Close your mouth, Kirishima.”

The more recent Katsuki uses the shock of the moment to close the door behind them, standing next to the first and almost eerily matching his natural idle stance.

“I found a guy…online. For your birthday-”

“Your long-lost twin?!”

“What? No, hair-for-brains. God damn it. I did some research, and I found a guy that can pull other living beings from other timelines.” He sighs, as explanations are not his strong suit, no matter how strongly a situation begs one. Shifting on his feet, he glances over at the clone and then down to his own fingernails.

“It was expensive as fuck, so I had to guy do it on a housefly, first, because I wasn’t getting ripped off,” he goes on, quickly, “and when this fucker appeared and started swearing out his ass, talking about having been busy, I knew it’d worked.” He looks the other Katsuki up and down from his periphery. “Or at least, close enough.”

“Close enough?” Eijirou asks, head spinning.

Katsuki smirks, jabbing a thumb in his clone’s direction. “This idiot’s a pussy.”

The new Katsuki tenses, balls his fists. “Fuck you!”

Logically, the clone would sound just like Katsuki, too, but it doesn’t stop Eijirou from jolting in his seat. It sounds just like him, sure, but there’s a subtle difference, the sort of difference to which only Eijirou would be keen; this Katsuki’s already defensive in an even more juvenile and forceful way than his…current boyfriend.

He goes about threatening his Katsuki—the original—with lots of big talk about ending his life, only to be interrupted.

“In your dumbass dreams,” Katsuki sneers. “Speaking of, I’m about to making them fucking come true, so you should be a little more grateful.”

The clone seethes, but otherwise concedes surprisingly easily.

“What?” Eijirou tips in, smiling good-naturedly. He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming, actually—that maybe his birthday is tomorrow or has already happened, because that would make much more sense. Vaguely, he can recall having dreams similar in theme, but none so vivid, constructed.

So he’s gone about subtly pinching at his arm, seeing if this is real, when his Katsuki clarifies, “This me hasn’t had the balls to confess to you in his timeline, yet.”

“Hey! Kirishima hasn’t said shit to me, either!” The alternate growls, his tone a low threat.

Eijirou just stares at him in wonder, less covertly pinching at his inner arm. This Katsuki’s on edge, fidgety, and it’s a throwback. He’s not meek by any means, but man. “Really?”

The clone blushes deeply at this, obviously frustrated, and mutters, “No.”

“He’s lame,” Katsuki declares.

Eijirou scoffs before he can stop himself. He meets his boyfriend’s eyes, earnest. “But Katsuki, I was the one who confessed to you. In this timeline. You ran away at first, remember? It took you like half a day to even text me back, dude.”

“I fucking knew it!” The clone shouts. “There’s no way you would ever—”

“Hey, shut up!” —but the other Katsuki’s already laughing, and Eijirou feels his heart thump heavy at the sound of Katsuki’s genuine laugh, even if it’s the clone’s— “I’m trying to do something nice here, but we can just break this up!”

“No!” both Eijirou and the copy say simultaneously, the former about leaping from his chair.

Katsuki’s red, breathing harshly with his chest pressed over his tightly crossed arms. “Okay, fucking hell. Just no more bullshit.”

“No more bullshit!” Eijirou assures, pouting with resolve. All things considered, having both versions of his hot-blooded boyfriend flustered and frustrated instead of say, demolishing the entire dorm building as a result of one another’s presence is a pretty good start.

It’s hard for him to focus, though, because both of them look so good, so nice; they’re identical in every way, down to their button noses, to each last spike and tuft of fluffy hair. They’re even wearing the same casual, comfy-looking outfit—the kind that’s perfect for cuddling sessions.

The twin blushes they’re both sporting are a cute little plus as well.

All at once Eijiirou’s overwhelmed, looking between them. “This was a great idea, man! I love it!” He bounds into his Katsuki’s arms again, almost driving him into the door, nuzzling into him. “We can do so much with another you! You guys could give each other breaks having to tutor me. And—and—imagine the quirk training! Do you think my Diamond is enough to withstand two Howitzer Impacts? That’d be—”

“Eijirou,” Katsuki interrupts, and this time it’s his tone that has Eijirou stepping back on his own. Katsuki squints at him like he’s trying to pull information from the glint in his eye, and then smirks playfully when he’s made his deduction. “You’re an idiot.” He kisses him on the cheek, and the clone makes a strange noise at the sight. “Sit back down.”

Eijirou does so, vibrating with anticipation, trusting him. It’s rare that Katsuki has surprises for him—if he does, they’re usually revealed rather quickly, thanks to the guy’s dire lack of patience. So he sits—shirtless still, fists in his lap, eyes full of stars—literally on the edge of his seat just waiting to hear the master plan.

Katsuki settles on the edge of Eijirou’s bed, and the clone follows suit. He looks into Eijirou’s eyes again, calculating, parsing a truly open book, and then turns to face his clone, one knee drawing to his side.

“Just like we planned,” he says to his more rigid self, his voice deep and steady. “You’re not doing nothin’ with him until you have at least some experience.”

The clone rolls his eyes.

Eijirou cocks his head and blinks, the picture of innocence, watching his boyfriend lean in slow and tilt his identical face to meet his own.

Their lips press together slowly, forming a chaste seal, and Eijirou’s brain breaks.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

They pull off, and it’s the loudest sound in the world.

Eijirou can feel himself smiling still, but his brain suddenly feels like poly-fil, and his hands go tense and clammy in his lap. He can’t even make a sound—his gaze is fixed, fuzzing out of focus at the space between the boys in front of him, or lack thereof.

The two meet halfway the second time, just as slowly, and Eijirou can only focus on the mechanics of it—of their duplicate, cut jawlines angled to find that sweet spot, two pairs of unfairly plush lips pressing and pulling against the other. He sees where their soft blond sets of fringe brush into each other as they move, and something truly tactile possesses the stunned nerves in Eijirou’s hand.

A chill shoots down his spine when he realizes he’s begun sweating. He really should’ve turned on the AC.

Katsuki’s thumb and forefinger are gently positioned to the curve of his copy’s jaw, keeping him close, and Eijirou knows exactly how that feels. He loves it, and evidently so does this other Katsuki.

His boyfriend’s eyes crack open just a sliver, bright red boring into the squeezed-shut eyelids of his copy, darting down the curve of his cheek and fixating to where they’re connected.

Then, they flicker over to Eijirou.

Katsuki smirks so wide the kiss breaks.

“You’re a fucking riot, Eijirou,” he croaks, literally like an inch from his essential self, who then looks over as well.

When the clone’s entire complexion goes up in flames, his mouth drawn in to a thin line and eyes saucer-wide, it’s as though Eijirou’s whole spirit comes slamming back into his body.

He can feel every inch of his own overly-warm skin when he smacks his lips once, twice, realizing his jaw had gone slack, finally noticing the stream of drool gradually working down his chin, dripping onto his knuckles—his knuckles, which are clenched white and only a few inches from his strained zipper, the denim stretched over his woefully hard cock.

“Eijirou,” Katsuki calls, snapping him further into reality. He looks somewhat unsure when he speaks, disgruntled, digging deep. “Is this okay?”

And right off the bat Eijirou knows it’s okay, more than just okay, but…it’s noteworthy how much both versions of his boyfriend are eager to please, it’s exhilarating how much they’re already into this, and it shows a touching amount of forethought considering how they’ve come together with minimal clashes.

Also, it’s already a huge fucking turn on how much of this seems to hinge on his word. He’s honestly surprised he doesn’t feel even a tinge of jealousy, but…

He looks at Katsuki’s hand, still cusping his clone’s jaw—at their knees, almost overlapping, their softened faces and their kiss-reddened mouths—and nods fervently, feeling like a bobblehead.

“Are you guys gonna kiss some more?”

The identical grin that splits both of Katsuki’s faces steals Eijirou’s breath.

They continue, facing one another with this mutual (adorable) steely resolve, and then come together more eagerly. The clone’s hand finds Katsuki’s neck, his palm over his pulse, and Eijirou bets it’s racing, running hot. Katsuki seems to appreciate the touch, tilting his head to kiss deeper, sliding his tongue into the mouth of his twin.

They both groan, and Eijirou’s so far forward on his chair that he almost falls out of it.

The change of pace is evidently taken as a challenge, which the clone matches his enthusiasm right away. It’s not nearly as aggressive as Eijirou would have thought, you know, theoretically, but the heavy and syrupy energy between them isn’t any more a surprise than the situation existing in the first place.

Eijirou’s heart hammers in his chest as he looks on, as their tongues slide past each other, loud and wet and already so dirty. Katsuki shifts back on the bed some, pulling the clone by the hem of his shirt, and soon they’re falling back into the pillows—his pillows, fuck, on his bed—and Eijirou makes a quick and last minute mental note to try and keep track of which boy he’s dating and which boy he’s technically not.

He swallows, watching Katsuki pull his copy on top of himself, and something tugs at his heartstrings seeing this small display of submission. He realizes that Katsuki hasn’t let go of the clone’s shirt when he then moves to yank it off of him.

This new Katsuki, now shirtless, blushes down to his collarbone where he sits perched in the original’s lap. His head turns ever so slightly in Eijirou’s direction, glancing over at him a few times, and Eijirou registers the insecurity there. His breath catches as he fully realizes that the clone wants to see his approval.

All he can think to do is sit back and spread his legs some.

God, he feels like a degenerate, just watching, but it’s different here. He’s still not sure how his birthday alone merits something as awesome as this, but if Katsuki went to all this trouble to put on a show for him, the least he can do is help.

He reaches to cup the thick bulge of his jeans, making sure to maintain eye contact. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and it’s subconscious, but it affects the clone all the same—his breath catches, he burns three shades darker, his eyebrows furrow like he’s angry—but Eijirou knows so much better.

“Hey,” Katsuki barks, grabbing his copy by the cheeks to look at him. “Fucking focus.” He bucks his hips upward as if to emphasize, rutting just once up against him. The clone swats his hand away, but then stills at the movement, looking down with widened eyes.

Katsuki and his clone are both hard.

Oh.

“Fuck you,” he decides, breathy, but he rolls his hips, too. “Oh, shit—”

“Yeah…” Katsuki grins, matching the grinding. Their voices and inflictions are exactly the same, and man, it’s a whole-body reaction when Eijirou goes lightheaded hearing it. “That’s right. Keep it going.”

Katsuki pulls his clone back in by the back of his head, licking into his mouth right away, moaning indulgently.

They’re pressed together now, the copy straddling his hips and just rubbing up against him, obviously unpracticed. It’s hot, though, in a way Eijirou doesn’t have the mental faculties to begin to reason through. Katsuki’s taking it in stride, being his twin’s rutting post, and even removes his own shirt for the additional contact.

The clone leans in ever closer, like he just can’t get close enough, but there’s also this eagerness about him that seems somewhat performative, like he wants to please, and it’s absolutely taking Eijirou’s heart.

And then—their pecs—full, identical sets, soft and (no doubt) warm—press together, easily giving way to one another’s supple flesh. Eijirou whines at the sight of it—because he’s so insanely turned on, but also because that just isn’t fair.

Every inch of his cock throbs and strains against his briefs, against the metal of his zipper. If it weren’t for the button, Eijirou thinks the pressure alone could make it snap.

He saves the integrity of his nicest pair of pants before that could conceivably occur, undoing the button with a touch of deftness he doesn’t typically possess (but this situation is urgent). His cock pulses at the promise, and Eijirou finds himself blushing when the twitch alone gets the zipper started.

Fuck. He really wants his dick involved in this—somewhere, anywhere between them—if possible, simultaneously.

Eijirou’s never felt more inclined to touch. Here he sees two corded necks to suck, two sets of pecs that need marking, two sets of hips that need bitten into. He can see shivers rolling over all that softness and he wants to feel it, wants to feel all of that warm skin prickle with goosebumps, those pebbled nipples responding to his tongue, his teeth, his rough thumbs.

The fact alone that Katsuki seems to be so into this, doing these sorts of things with himself, is having an unforeseen effect on his brain.

Eijirou wants to see how far he’ll go.

He finally pulls his cock free without even looking down, stroking absentmindedly. Save for the physical relief, he isn’t totally conscious of the fact he’s exposed himself until Katsuki blinks his eyes open and peeks over at the sound.

God, he’s leaking. He’s dripping just from watching this and it coats his fingers quickly, webbing up the spaces in-between.

Katsuki’s response is to grab his clone’s head, his jaw with both of his hands and keep him distracted, good and busy. He licks into his copy’s mouth with more grace, more passion, his voice a low and consistent rumble in the back of his throat.

All the while, his eyes remain trained on Eijirou’s, burning red and glossy.

Eventually, though, he closes his eyes again, furrows his brows, and focuses on…himself.

Eijirou continues to watch, practically catatonic, both bombshell blondes continuing to move together, finally finding some sort of rhythm beyond purely instinctive humping. He watches the wet slide of their tongues skirting past the other, their kisses unabashedly messy, slower than the pace of their hips and so obscenely lewd.

They’re one big sexy mass of Katsuki at this point, heavy breathing and quirky growls, and they’re not even fully naked yet—oh god, are they gonna get naked together? Eijirou might—

“Stop—” The copy breaks away, mumbling against slick lips. “Stop, I’m gonna fucking—”

Katsuki laughs, deep and patronizing against his wet mouth—though, with measured mercy, does stop, and releases his hips. “Really? Damn virgin.”

The exchange is surreal, so simple yet so hot that Eijirou has to pinch around the base of his cock to keep from coming, too. He feels his sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip with the effort of it, breathing harshly through his nose.

He must be making more noise now, or maybe the bubble around the two has popped because suddenly the new Katsuki’s looks over at him again—

“Kiri-shima," he practically squeaks, balking.

And—duh, of course—this is the first time this Katsuki has ever seen him anywhere near such a lust-disheveled state. All at once Eijirou feels a little self-conscious; he knows his skin must be flushed with how warm he feels, his hair’s still down and probably sticking out in weird places, his bottom lip’s a bit chewed. He’s been staring at them, taking in every detail, so his eyes are likely bleary, moisture clinging to his long lashes.

Oh, and yeah, his cock’s out, his balls sitting heavy and perched over the elastic of his brief’s waistband, his large hand holding firm at the fat base.

This new Katsuki, the one Eijirou used to know, the one who’s still dancing around every bit of romantic (let alone sexual) tension with his Kirishima—sees this before he’s even kissed him, before he’s even learned the ins-and-outs of his sharp mouth, before he’s even held his hand more than the once.

And he’s taking in every bit of it.

“Fucking—god,” this Katsuki spits. He then lifts from his position, getting halfway off the bed and toward Eijirou like a moth to a lantern before the true Katsuki snatches his wrist.

“I’m not done with you!” he barks, annoyed but subtly amused.

“What, you’re just going to leave your boyfriend like that?!”

“He’ll get his, asshole! You need more practice—he deserves better than that,” he says haughtily, like it wasn’t a sweet (yet lewd) sentiment more than anything.

Though, Eijirou isn’t sure he agrees; he remembers Katsuki’s initial inexperience (both of their inexperience) and was equally endeared and aroused at the time. The clumsiness had shed a little more light on his crush’s character.

His boyfriend glances over at him again. “Also, I’m pretty sure he’s just fine enjoying the show for now.”

Well. He’s not wrong.

The clone seems more than a little disgruntled at this. He opens his mouth to speak, but seems to change his mind, and Eijirou can only chalk it up to some discussion they must’ve have beforehand. His Katsuki’s probably only letting this Katsuki into this situation in the first place on a bunch of conditions.

Eijirou feels blessed.

Katsuki grips his clone by the crotch, stroking him with his thumb in what appears to be an attempt to placate him, and Eijirou’s cock responds like it’s the one being touched. The copy climbs back over him, shamelessly rubbing against his proffered hand.

“Fuck…” Eijirou hears himself groan as his own hand starts up again. They both look over at him, and the expressions that flash across both of their faces have him gasping.

“You’re such a damn pervert, Ei.” Katsuki palms harder at his twin’s clothed dick.

“What? Me?!”

“Figures he’d be into something like this,” the copy grumbles.

And before Eijirou can retort the obvious, Katsuki’s got his hand wound around the clone’s nape again, pulling him in. “Suck my tits,” he tells him, unforgiving, and every possible word dies in Eijirou’s throat.

He watches as the clone squints at him but doesn’t argue, sliding down Katsuki’s body and fixing him a death glare as he flicks his tongue over a hard nipple. Somewhere in the back of Eijirou’s mind, he figures Katsuki must’ve promised this Katsuki some sort of hefty compensation, but then the clone slips his eyes shut, latches his mouth around his pec, and groans.

Katsuki echoes him, and Eijirou has to hold his cock back again.

“Yeah,” Katsuki sighs, sucking in a breath when the copy thumbs over the unattended pec, pushing and squeezing. “Nngh, such a hot fucking mouth. Shit…”

Katsuki can’t seem to control his hips, rutting uncoordinated up against his clone’s abs where he presses onto him. The copy seems to notice this, but takes his time alternating between each soft tit, lavishing each with attention, leaving the nipples hard and dark pink and gleaming with spit. He unlatches, and Eijirou’s vision zeroes in on where a string of saliva connects his tongue to a flushed bud.

Holy shit.

The clone ventures downward, his long and devious tongue trailing the way, licking over Katsuki’s abs. Katsuki moves to prop himself up on his elbows, his muscles flexing with the movement, eyes hooded and mouth slack as he reaches down to weave his fingers into messy blond hair.

Eijirou idly wonders what that must feel like, guiding oneself down their own body.

Katsuki moans like he can’t help not to when the clone’s mouth reaches his waistband.

Good, apparently.

Eijirou starts stroking himself again when he notices Katsuki’s now pushing down on his clone’s head, urging him along. He all but shoves the copy’s head to the side, the heel of his palm at his forehead when he moves to push his sweatpants down just below his ass, his cock springing free and grazing the copy’s jaw.

Katsuki then takes a hold of himself, fists his hand into blond bangs, and then forcefully lowers the alternate's face to align with his length.

He’s only looking at Eijirou when he slides the tip past his own plush lips.

Katsuki’s eyes almost flutter shut at the sensation, slowly pushing his twin’s head down his length. Eijirou looks to the clone’s face for a second, watching as he struggles to breathe, his whole complexion bright pink.

“Watch me, Eijirou.”

Katsuki begins to fuck in and out of his hot, wet mouth, holding his head still with both hands. He breathes with the pace of his hips, and the clone pushes his hands up Katsuki’s body, grounding himself.

It’s way rougher than Katsuki’d been with Eijirou when it was Eijirou’s first time, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. His cock does, though.

“Fuuuck, so good,” Katsuki drawls, sounding absolutely beside himself, and lays it on thick. “My mouth is so good—shit—relax your throat, let me—” He pushes harder, slides in further, visibly, and the clone gurgles. “Oh fuck yeah.”

Eijirou watches where his boyfriend’s long, pretty cock disappears over and over into his own mouth, pushing into his cheeks, spit dripping down. He knows then that he won’t be able to hold back this time, especially not while Katsuki is watching him, looking between Eijirou’s face and his hand flying hard and fast over his own hard cock—not paying a single ounce of attention to his own clone as he ruthlessly fucks his throat.

The sound of choking fills the room and brings Katsuki back somewhat, making him slow down, and he makes sure to look Eijirou in the eye when he tells him, “S’not as good as you.”

Eijirou feels the air catch in his lungs. “Katsuki, c’mon—”

But Katsuki just looks down at the mess he’s made of his parallel self and then slows to a complete stop. He pulls the clone off of his length, clearly reluctant, and then twists to dig around in Eijirou’s bedside drawer. Eijirou’s about to speak (the clone gets out a weak vocalization), but then Katsuki produces a bottle of lube and tosses it to his copy.

“Take off your pants and start fingering yourself.”

Eijirou chokes.

The new Katsuki still looks like he might pass out as he evaluates the bottle. He then takes a moment to look over Katsuki, and then Eijirou. He smirks, wicked, and then goes about just that.

When the clone settles back onto the bed, entirely naked, Eijirou doesn’t get a very good view of him pushing his lubed fingers into himself because, evidently, he’s not done sucking cock.

Eijirou watches, bringing his hand back to pace as his boyfriend starts fucking his own mouth again, panting gently.

It’s so erotic that Eijirou’s heart aches; never has any porn replicated this feeling. Eijirou’s never seen two people have sex in real life without being one of the people involved in it, so it’s…weird. The weird feeling increases tenfold watching his own boyfriend use someone else to get off, and watching that person be virtually identical, watching that person make all those same faces he’s seen countless times before—

Relief floods over him as he notices the telltale signs of Katsuki finally losing it, and he knows that both he and his boyfriend are past the point of no return.

Fuck, fuck, Katsuki’s gonna come using his own mouth to do it, and Eijirou’s gonna come watching him.

Suddenly, Katsuki gasps in air like he’s been deprived of it, and then yanks his clone off again, holding him still by his hair. He fists his sopping wet cock tight and fast, aiming the tip directly at his own duplicate, stunned face, and Eijirou’s over the edge before Katsuki starts to come.

Blackness pulls at the edges of his vision. He whines helplessly as his hips lift up off the chair, his cock jerking and squeezing out hot come all over his own abs. Warm fuzz cloys at his brain as he manages to look on, half-present when Katsuki twitches and unloads his spend in sticky streaks over his own face. The sight sends a residual bolt of pleasure down Eijirou’s spine, and he feels himself whimper.

They both breathe to come down, and seem to simultaneously notice the fast-paced wet squelch of the clone still fingering himself.

Eijirou wonders, belatedly, between himself and his boyfriend, which one of them Katsuki had planned to have fuck him. The copy looks desperate now, truly—that face does things to Eijirou, and god, he wants to help.

“Katsuki,” Eijirou begins, voice comically broken, still catching his breath. “Can I—do you think it’d be okay if I—”

Katsuki just looks at him as he struggles to find his words, ignoring his panted half-questions. He moves to saunter off the bed and towards him, and it is definitely not helping; his boyfriend is so, so pretty after he’s just come, and Eijirou is already out of brain cells.

His mind short-circuits entirely when his Katsuki drops to his knees, pushing his legs apart and leaning in to lick his still-warm ejaculate off of his abs. He gets it all up, slurping softly, small noises of satisfaction bubbling in his throat as he does so.

He rises from the floor, tall and challenging, and offers Eijirou a hand.

He notices that his legs don’t work as well as they typically do.

Eijirou finds himself plopped down in the middle of his bed. The moment he’s settled back against the pillows, mind in a complete haze, the clone cuddles up next to him—nervous, evidently—his face is on fire, he’s somewhat breathing fast, but he’s committed to this. His cock’s hard against Eijirou’s hip, and Eijirou cranes his neck to get a good look at his face, but the clone won’t meet his eyes.

God, Eijirou wants to pick up where he left off.

His boyfriend joins them after he finishes removing his sweatpants.

Eijirou’s first coherent thought is about how nice it feels, how comfortable. Both versions of Katsuki are now naked, flanking him, and Eijirou yet again makes a special mental note to remember that the one on the right is his Katsuki.

He breathes to speak, but then Katsuki’s leaning over him suddenly, reaching for his twin. He cups his jaw, bringing their mouths together over Eijirou’s chest, and Eijirou’s heart pounds.

He stares up, less than a foot away as his boyfriend slips his tongue into the clone’s mouth again, except now there’s this sort of whitish viscosity in their saliva. He feels his ears burn pink when he realizes it’s the cum Katsuki had just licked off of him.

His cock kicks valiantly.

The copy’s eyes widen at the texture, but then he leans into it. He licks further into his mouth, as though he wants more.

Oh god.

Eijirou can only watch as they go about it, his own mouth a dry contrast to the two in front of him, so damn close to him. The boys independently take deep breaths to swallow and continue, keeping their mouths together. Katsuki groans as they separate with one final smack of the lips, and then grins wide, manic.

“Just a taste.” He keeps his hand on the clone’s jaw, the pad of his thumb grazing near one of the ropes of cum he’d left on him, considering the substance. He smiles, tilting the clone’s head to face Eijirou.

“Clean him up, Red.”

Eijirou’s leaning in without second thought, lolling his tongue out to lick Katsuki’s cum off of the new Katsuki’s face. He moves in broad, hot strokes, utterly thorough. The clone freezes up entirely, eyes wide, stark still; there’s a bead of it at the corner of his mouth, and Eijirou’s definitely going for it.

He hums as the tip of his tongue swipes over the errancy, over the seam of the copy’s lips, sliding into his mouth. It takes a couple seconds for the new Katsuki to reciprocate, but he manages—sealing their lips together, their tongues meeting in the middle.

He notices this Katsuki’s heart absolutely batter around in his chest, against his own, and Eijirou’s so damn in love. He feels…really hot, skirting the edge of reality like this, getting to kiss two versions of Katsuki like this, being able to gaze into their eyes. He wonders if blushes can become permanent.

“So manly,” he breathes the second they part, and the clone’s staring down at him like he just can’t believe it.

Then, his own Katsuki’s all up in his face. “I’m Katsuki to you,” He tells him, his tone the softest it’s been the whole evening, despite the hard edges, “and you can call him Bakugou, since that’s what his Kirishima calls him.”

Eijirou gulps. “That’s fair,” he sighs, and turns to him. “Bakugou?”

“S’good.”

Happiness floods Eijirou’s heart at the ease of it all. He kisses Katsuki’s cheek, hard, and then pecks Bakugou with the same intensity. They both blush, unable to look at him, and Eijirou beams.

“Okay, fucker,” Katsuki grumbles, leaning in to kiss him deeply. Eijirou blinks, but then slips his eyes shut and sighs; it’s like slipping into a hot spring after a long day, the practice and give and love of Katsuki’s kisses. He could do this all day.

He quickly becomes lost in the motions, the give and take of Katsuki’s mouth, the vibration of his moans on his tongue. His breathing evens out but his heart still thrums, trying to beat out of his chest.

Then, he feels another mouth—Bakugou’s, on his jaw—and the absurdity of the situation slams back into him, full force. There’s two mouths on him, two sets of hands feeling him up, and, for some unknown reason, Eijirou’s natural response is to giggle.

As a consequence, Katsuki pulls back, clearly impatient but also undoubtedly smitten. Eijirou huffs, pouting right back at him as Bakugou continues to work on his neck. He’s caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to moan, but instead, he pulls Katsuki back in for another kiss, shorter this time.

He can’t get over it—

“You’re really attracted to yourself, huh baby?” Eijirou murmurs, as if Bakugou wouldn’t hear.

Bakugou bristles against him, as though he too wants to respond with offense, but Katsuki beats him to it. “Fucking—so?”

Eijirou laughs in that teasing, breathy way he knows drives Katsuki crazy. He feels Bakugou shiver, surprising him, but Katsuki’s eyes are piercing into his and it’s a distraction. “Do you wanna do this or not?”

“Of course I do,” He tells him like it’s not even a question. He leans in for more sweet kisses, effectively subduing him.

Eijirou’s not sure what ‘this’ is that they’re doing—what the whole plan here is, or if there even is one—but with Katsuki sucking his tongue and Bakugou working marks onto his neck, Eijirou finds he doesn’t mind at all just rolling with it.

Katsuki plops onto his side, evidently getting tired of leaning over him. Eijirou’s mouth follows, tilting his head and bending his neck to keep kissing him, bearing more of himself for Bakugou to work with. The angle's a little awkward, though, so Eijirou scoots up some, dislodging his arms from between his boys and draping them over their shoulders instead.

Yeah, that’s nice.Eijirou could die like this, he thinks.

There’s no sense of urgency, but he’s sure Bakugou’s going to start jerking himself off soon, if the way his cock throbs pressed up against him is any indication. He feels bad for neglecting him, but he’s not sure what’s allowed, and there have been a lot of distractions.

As it is, Bakugou continues to lick and suck down his neck, over his collarbone, and fuck it feels good. He lifts a hand blindly to pet at his hair, encouraging, continuing to lick into his own boyfriend’s mouth.

There’s this unforeseen energy about Bakugou that Eijirou hasn’t been able to place, something a touch more sweet than his Katsuki, something Eijirou wants to coddle.

It comes out when Bakugou breaks away: “Tell me where you like it.”

Eijirou hums, breaking his kiss with Katsuki, looking down at him in a daze. “Huh?”

“Tell me where you want my mouth,” Bakugou reiterates. His expression’s trained into something Eijirou can’t quite decipher. “Fucking…tell me where you’re sensitive.”

It slams into Eijirou like a freight train—this Bakugou’s gathering information. He doesn’t know how much time he’s got, and he wants to learn—

Fuck, that’s hot.

Eijirou feels his face scrunch up in adoration, familiar tears of affection prickling in the corners of his eyes. He pulls Bakugou into him, squeezing his Katsuki, too—hard.

“Fucking—shit!” Katsuki squawks.

“Kirishima!”

“It’s too damn manly!” he laments. Then, pressing his face into Bakugou’s hair, he mumbles quickly, “Everything you do to me feels good, Bakugou. Everything. I’m so gone for you, dude—put your mouth anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

When Eijirou relents, easing his muscles, Bakugou chooses to look at Katsuki, tomato-red and unable to bear Eijirou’s smiling face. “Is he always this sappy?”

“It’s usually worse.”

“You love me,” Eijirou states, kissing Katsuki’s forehead. He turns his head, kissing Bakugou’s as well, “and you love me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Mmm…” Eijirou hums, nuzzling his hair, giving him another kiss and punctuating it: “Mm.”

“Disgusting,” Katsuki comments, voice its lowest resonance, but Eijirou counters the malice by swooping in and capturing his mouth in another devastatingly passionate kiss.

Finally, Eijirou thinks, he can get all these damn kisses out of his system.

He continues to kiss Katsuki, who’s since imparted more vigor into his actions, a persistence that Eijirou returns and encourages with ease. He has to keep himself from smiling into it because he just feels so damn good.

It isn’t until he feels a long, hot stripe being licked up his cock that he realizes Bakugou is even down there.

He breaks the kiss to groan, deep and content. God, he’s finally getting touched. He’s not even fully recovered from his orgasm, but…

Bakugou licks the tip into his mouth, suckling on the head, and Eijirou thinks, yeah, this could get him there.

Katsuki looks at Eijirou’s face, then over to his cock, to his clone, and it almost gives him whiplash how fast he’s down there, too. He pulls and tugs Eijirou’s jeans and boxers off of his body (leaving the socks alone?) and joins his copy, face-to-face with Eijirou’s cock.

Bakugou glares at his challenger, taking the semi-hard dick into his mouth and down his throat in one motion.

Eijirou hisses, gripping the sheets.

“Tch.” Katsuki slides his hand to Eijirou’s inner thigh, parting his legs and gently fondling his balls. “Wait and see ‘til he’s actually hard, idiot. You’ll choke.”

Bakugou simply raises a brow at him, mouth full and eyes brimming with saline triumph. He starts bobbing his head, keeping his tongue pressed flat to the underside, applying more pressure when he reaches the tip. He hums a little each time he brings him into his throat, constricting hard, keeping him wet.

It really isn’t that far off from his own Katsuki’s skill.

“Oh,” Eijirou moans, “yeah that’s…oh…”

He can literally feel himself growing in Bakugou’s mouth, searching for more of that friction, grinding into that heat. He can’t keep looking down, though, watching the clone glare at his boyfriend while sucking him off so diligently—he’s gonna start fucking that throat, which must be sore.

Bakugou looks up at him for just a second, eyes going wide and soft at whatever expression Eijirou must be making, and god it makes him twitch.

He throws his head back, gasping toward the ceiling, but then—too soon—Bakugou pulls off, coughing and gasping.

“Fucking told you,” Katsuki says, instantly moving his hand up to stroke where Bakugou left off. “Watch and learn, dumbass.”

Eijirou only blinks before the wet heat is back, but different—like it’s tailored to him. Katsuki’s tongue traces where his cock is probably more bulbous than most, where Eijirou’s found himself to be more sensitive, and focuses there. He angles his head and guides him deep, deep down his throat in a way that’s so constricting, Eijirou about tears through the sheets, fisting them so hard.

He eases up just to lick and suck on the head, and Eijirou breathes, desperate, “Katsuki…”

It goes on like this, both boys taking turns licking and sucking at Eijirou’s cock, sometimes simultaneously, and Eijirou is pretty sure his brain’s melting. He keeps trying to talk, but.

If it’s his birthday, he wants to do what he wants to do.

“Katsuki,” He starts again, actually trying to get his attention. Both of them looks so depraved, and it’s so much. “Katsuki—Bakugou—”

Katsuki and his clone have taken to veritably making out around the now swollen head of his cock, as though it might as well not even be there, and Eijirou actually can’t handle that. Their tongues glide, lathed in saliva and his pre-cum, over and over and—

He’s seconds away from coming all over both of their faces when he manages to pull himself up the bed some, away from the contact. “Katsuki,” he starts again, giving his boyfriend the best puppy dog eyes he can manage, what with what little focus he has left. “Please, please, let me fuck him, o-or you, I need to—”

“Chill, Eijirou,” Katsuki says, wiping his mouth, feigning composure. “I didn’t bring him here just so he could kitten-lick your dick.” He looks to his clone. “Did you stretch yourself well enough?”

“Of fuckin’ course.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

Eijirou’s sitting there, knees drawn up and hand on the base of his cock when Bakugou crawls over to him and moves to straddle him. He pushes his legs down, trying to get his hands on his dick, and he looks so tense and clumsy (for Bakugou, at least) that it takes everything Eijirou has not to laugh.

“Just—just lay down, dude.”

Bakugou grumbles, but listens.

Eijirou moves to cover him, giving the clone no time for self-doubt or second thoughts. He presses kisses into his jaw, firm and present, trying to reassure him—meanwhile, giving himself time to recover from having been edged. It’s a fine line Eijirou’s towing—he’s so hard it hurts, but he doesn’t want to risk moving too quickly and somehow scaring this Bakugou away.

The situation takes on a new filter when it fully occurs to Eijirou that yeah, he really is about to take Bakugou’s virginity again.

“Are you sure about this?” he speaks into his ear, voice sweet. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m damn sure,” he rumbles.

It’s a pang of deja-vu that has Eijirou’s heart flooding. Bakugou finds the lube and presses it into Eijirou’s palm, resolute. Eijirou applies a generous amount, smiling down at him, and then brings a careful, warm palm to his parted thighs. His hand ghosts slowly over shy skin, fingertips gracing his waiting hole, a single finger slipping in with ease.

At two, however, Bakugou winces, at which point Eijirou pauses and kisses the creases from his face. He relaxes beautifully.

Eijirou moves his fingers leisurely, kissing up and down his neck, and then mouths at his ear again. “I’m gonna need to do at least three, Bakugou. Is that okay?”

“Fucking—I can take more.”

“Okay, but you’re pretty tense.”

“I know, damn it! I—”

Eijirou interrupts him with a long, tender, patient kiss. They don’t break apart for a good moment, and when they do, Katsuki’s face is suddenly there.

“Hey, numbskull,” he addresses the clone. “If looking at Eijirou makes you too nervous, just focus on me.”

“I’m not fucking nervous!”

“Shut up.”

Eijirou hisses when Bakugou clenches around him, hard. “Tight!” He drops his head to thump on Bakugou’s sternum, taking a second to breathe, and then tilting his head. “Katsuki, come on, you’re doing this on purpose.”

Katsuki huffs, indignant. “Fine, asshole. But it might help if I just…”

Eijirou pushes himself up where Katsuki leans between them, providing room enough for his boyfriend to kiss Bakugou again. It’s hot and it’s good and it works; Eijirou about cheers when Bakugou loosens up enough for three whole fingers to piston inside of him, scissoring him open.

He takes advantage of the distraction, making sure Bakugou’s still lost in his kiss when he grips the base of his cock and lines himself up.

“Are you ready?” Eijirou asks softly still, reaching up to stroke Bakugou’s cheek, feeling him move with Katsuki’s mouth. He only hums in response, long and low, and Eijirou takes that as his cue to press inside.

Bakugou gasps loudly, eyebrows pinched tight, the edge of his wide-open mouth visible past the curve of Katsuki’s cheek. Eijirou moves in, nudging his boyfriend to the side, planting kisses all over the clone’s face, the perimeter of his mouth before he calms down enough to take Eijirou’s tongue in.

Meanwhile, Katsuki moves to the wall-side of the bed, somewhere behind them both, and Eijirou keeps his focus.

He pulls back gently, eventually, catching Bakugou’s bottom lip in his teeth, grazing sharp points over the wet and tender flesh. Bakugou gasps, stutters in the back of his throat, and Eijirou watches with hooded eyes as the copy’s own roll back in his head.

“Yeah, Katsuki likes my teeth, too.” He kisses his forehead. “I’m going to move now, okay?”

Bakugou’s eyes meet his, glazed over and fucked out, and then dart down between their bodies, his expression morphing as though Eijirou’s dick had just suddenly materialized inside of him and he has no clue what to make of it.

“Oh, fuck—” he gasps, consonants sharp.

“Breathe,” Eijirou tells him quietly, prodding his last inch inside, and then pulling out halfway. “Breathe for me. You’re good. You’re—” he hums, low and affected, “—so good.”

He fucks in and out just a few times, ever so cautious, and watches Bakugou’s face. It’s invigorating how this Katsuki takes exactly like his own, all of his emotions locked behind a scowl and a fierce glare right up until his inhibitions get fucked out of him; it makes Eijirou feel like god when Katsuki stares upward, unseeing, mouth stuck open and breaths fanning quick and urgent over his cheek.

This Katsuki does the same, and he’s not even quite fucking him yet.

He picks up the pace just a little, and god, Eijirou will never get used to that inhuman heat Bakugou’s insides produce, as though he were just made to take cock. It’s so wet it’s a little sloppy, and Eijirou’s startled to find he actually has to allot some focus on not slipping all the way out of him.

God, it probably also has something to do with how tight this Katsuki is—

“Kirishima,” the clone gasps, “Kirishima, please—”

Eijirou’s there and he’s listening, but it’s a little hard to focus. Then suddenly, Bakugou’s hips are lifting and—it’s Katsuki, shoving a pillow under his clone’s hips so Eijirou can angle in better.

He’s so in love.

“Fuck,” he moans, moving a little faster, in and out, yet leaning away to give his boyfriend a kiss. “Fuck.”

Bakugou’s grabbing for him quickly, though, looping his arms around his neck and pulling him back in. “It’s me you’re fucking…act like it.”

Eijirou smiles, heart full, nuzzling into the side of Bakugou’s neck, hair no doubt tickling his face. He’s giving these little tiny thrusts when he speaks, “You’re so cute, Bakugou.”

“M’not cute.”

“So so cute, Bakugou, nngh…” he says into his ear, “so sexy. Can I fuck you harder, please? God, I’m so—”

“Fucking—yes.”

Eijirou starts rolling his hips faster, harder, smacking against his clone and setting his face aflame. He can see him biting his tongue, chewing at his bottom lip to keep himself together, to keep his composure. His Katsuki’s a screamer, so it would stand to reason that this one is, too, and Eijirou’s not standing for the censorship.

The angle’s so good now, thanks to his boyfriend—Eijirou can feel where each good thrust is punching the breath out of Bakugou—and he leans into it, bodily.

“That’s it, you’re so good at this, Bakugou…” Eijirou pants, directly in the shell of his ear. “Move with me, baby, c’mon…”

“Kirishima…fucking shit…”

He’s giddy with the way the clone is whining now, sighing and groaning like he just can’t fathom Eijirou or his cock.

He kisses Bakugou on the mouth just to feel him moan into his, and then pulls back ever so slightly, pressing their foreheads together. “Please, please confess to your Kirishima when you get back, I swear to god he likes you—fuck, Bakugou, I promise he wants you just like this…”

Bakugou’s sounds grow feverish; Eijirou feels his guts squeeze tight around him, and yes, he knows he’s done it. The clone moans long and loud, his voice a pitch reserved for this very moment, seizing up and coming hot all over both of their bellies. Eijirou feels his balls draw up in interest, the pleasure punching white-hot through him.

He’s fucking faster, faster, until he feels himself yanked up by his hair, the back of his head.

“I’m your baby, Eijirou,” Katsuki tells him, an inch from his face, and at least he doesn’t make Eijirou pull out. “Don’t forget it.”

Eijirou’s about to reassure him, about to promise him anything, when he feels at least two fingers—wet as sin, to Katsuki’s credit—slip hard and fast up into him.

His eyes fly wide open at the realization of Katsuki’s plan.

“Katsuki!” He yelps, but is staggered to find that it really doesn’t hurt like it should. It probably has everything to do with how turned on he is, being on the brink of heaven, but Katsuki’s fingers slide in and out of him fast, on a mission, with little resistance.

The unexpected sensation easily staves off what was Eijirou’s impending orgasm, and he looks to Bakugou to make sure he’s okay. He’s about to pull out, to let Katsuki really have at his ass, when the clone’s hand clasps around his wrist and slides up to hold his.

“Don’t fuckin’ pull out.”

“But…you came?”

“Tch. You didn’t.”

Before Eijirou can argue, Bakugou’s ankle finds the small of his back, pushing him inside ever deeper and accidentally kicking Katsuki in the process.

“Oi, watch it!” the original Katsuki barks, fingering Eijirou even more aggressively at having been unintentionally deterred. Meanwhile, Eijirou’s openly panting into the clone’s shoulder, trying to think of less sexy things.

Sooner than later, Katsuki deems Eijirou plenty stretched, and both Eijirou and Bakugou’s eyes widen at the lecherous sound of Katsuki generously lubing up his cock behind them.

When he pushes inside, it pushes both of them closer together; they both moan, and Katsuki hisses through his teeth as he slides further and further until he’s all the way in.

“Fuck yeah,” he manages under his breath. “You like dirty talk, huh Eijirou? You gonna keep fucking him? Gonna keep pounding my knockoff?”

Eijirou steadies himself with his arms on either side of the clone’s shoulders, wishing he could see Katsuki’s face but being more than content with Bakugou’s interesting expression instead. It’s been a while since his boyfriend’s fucked him, and when Katsuki grabs his hips and goes in harder, something in Eijirou snaps.

He lets Katsuki set the pace, but when he finds his own strength to pump into Bakugou again, it’s ruthless. He wipes the drool that’s beginning to drip down his chin and does his best, trying to keep a hold of himself in this sandwich of Katsuki.

It’s a dream, now, he’s sure; the dual sensations of Katsuki’s signature, impossible heat pulsing tight like a sleeve, milking his cock, combined with the feeling of Katsuki’s own perfect dick pushing him into it?

Best birthday present ever.

He finds that it’s easier to just let Katsuki do most of the work, pushing back where he can, giving himself over to him. It’s truly insane, being fucked into fucking, and Eijirou feels drunk.

“Asked you a question.”

“Hmm?”

“You like giving it to some cheap imitation? Some extra?” he growls. “Gonna come inside him? Gonna think of me?”

Something in Eijirou’s brain absolutely lights up. “Katsuki—Katsuki—please…”

Eijirou squeezes the clone’s hand, using his other to pull his blond hair back and bear his neck to him. He rubs his face into his warm skin, blinking down between them for a moment, happy to see that the clone’s hard again.

When he looks back up, Bakugou seems to be in a different stratosphere, his face sweet and pliant, droopy eyelids covering thick rings of bright, fond carmine. Eijirou mouths messily at his jawline, soliciting a single moan, and—good, he’s still alive.

Meanwhile, Katsuki melts into his pleasure a bit, stroking deep and firm up into Eijirou. “Please what?” he breathes, hips stuttering, tone dropping.

“Let me come inside him,” Eijirou mutters into Bakugou’s pulse.

“Fuck.” The clone jolts, suddenly.

“Is that okay, Bakugou?” he rasps, moving his hips faster in Katsuki’s grip. “Want me to fill you up? Give you something to remember me by?”

“Kirishima…”

“I’m so close. Bakugou, Katsuki, I-I—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I’m gonna come so hard—”

They both say something to that. Eijirou’s pretty sure he hears both of their voices. He opens his mouth and digs his teeth into Bakugou’s neck as if to hold him there as he pumps into him, as if there’s anywhere he could go being buried under two grown men. He’s so ruined by the sensation, the liquid heat pooling in Bakugou’s insides, coating his cock as he moves, that it takes him a fat second to realize he’s being held still by his shoulders as Katsuki also finishes inside him.

After that, his brain draws a series of blanks.

When he comes to, it can’t be that much later. Both versions of Katsuki are still naked, there’s still too much cum everywhere, and the sun’s still out—albeit setting.

Except now he’s in the middle of them, and it’s a different kind of sandwich—he’s the big spoon and the little spoon all at once. It takes him a moment to realize both of them are asleep, and he’s overwhelmed with a fondness he’s never known.

Something in the back of his mind begs him to wake one of them up and ask how much longer they have together. Now that they’ve started, Eijirou can think of plenty of things they could all do together.

Sleep, the force of nature that it is, combined with the otherworldly softness that is two Katsukis, bests Eijirou before he can even begin to give that thought shape.