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I. Katsuki
Katsuki didn't mean to end up here. End up like this. He's got his fingers pressing at the back of his throat and his other hand shoved into his pants for his hips to grind against. Maybe he expected all of this shit to play out differently, especially because he's not usually so pathetic. Shouto's hands would be doing the touching instead of his own, for one, but that's not what's going on here.
—————
Katsuki has been on his feet for close to twelve hours, running to and fro for what felt like an unending barrage of back-to-back villain incidents. Now, he's dragging himself back home with no small amount of effort. He'd considered showering at his agency for two, maybe three seconds before tossing the idea completely. He didn't like public showers for one, and for two, if he allowed himself to relax for even half a minute, he wasn't getting his ass back home.
Soot, grime, and shitty gelatinous substances from not one, but several of these two-bit villains are streaked across his entire body. It's disgusting. It makes him feel like a slip ‘n’ slide, and it's nowhere near a good way. The liquid never quite settles, oozing and sliding from his never-ending sweat, dipping in and out of crevices he didn't even know existed. Stepping into the cool air of their apartment feels like salvation. Katsuki thumps his boots off into the genkan and makes his way to their shared bathroom.
Showing a bit of skin isn't anything new for him and Shouto, so he doesn't think twice about peeling his clothes off along the way. Right as he goes to open the door and dump them in the hamper, though, he hears a noise; a pained groan is coming from within. His whole body prickles with alarm. Ears ringing, scalp tingling, and he slowly turns the handle to peek inside.
Fuck.
Relief floods through him, but the sight of Shouto fucking into his clenched fist has something curling tight in his gut. They haven't been fully naked around each other since they were kids, and even then, he had never been allowed to look. Glimpses of his toned arms and defined chest over the years were nothing in comparison to this.
His vision blurs, and suddenly, the clothes in his arms are scattered all over the floor. He doesn't even bother unbuttoning his pants, just crams his hand in and cups his cock. Katsuki is painfully hard, and the barest brush of his fingers has him nearly crying out.
He has always been overly vocal; not just in day-to-day life, but especially when he has hands on him. It's not always convenient. There were several times when he had almost been caught with his pants down, literally, all because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. A lot of them due to overly surreal fantasies of the half-and-half bastard right in front of him. Hence, he had developed somewhat of an oral fixation. Fingers, toys, dicks - just the sight before him had spit pooling in his mouth.
Having his hands stuffed in gloves for the better part of the day, they're the cleanest part of him right now. Katsuki slides three fingers into his mouth, warm and smooth, and begins to slowly rut into his hand, trying his damnedest to be silent.
Katsuki's current dilemma is something along the lines of how ethical it is to get off to one of your closest friends slash guy you're secretly in love with, who is also getting off, without their knowledge.
Katsuki knows this is wrong, but it feels too good to start thinking about anything anywhere near the realm of shutting the door and going to bed.
A low groan echoing from Shouto's chest drags his thoughts back to the present.
Katsuki's eyes had been fixed on Shouto's dick this entire time, slicked and shiny, purpling at the head. Watching the way the veins pulsed and throbbed when he gripped the base, the way it twitched when Shouto flicked his wrist on the long glide up, the way it spurted precum when he dug his fingertips into the slit.
That sound has his eyes drifting upwards, and he promptly chokes around his fingers. Shouto's eyes are lidded and heavy, desire weaving throughout his expression. He looks so... indulgent. His head is thrown back, hair drenched and dripping water in rivulets down his neck. One arm is braced to the side of him, nails curling into the tile. He's on display, and Katsuki has never wanted to be on his knees more.
Katsuki grasps himself tighter and thrusts into his hand desperately. Drool is spilling out of the sides of his mouth, tear tracks are streaked through all the muck on his face, and he just wants to fucking come. Shouto grunts and curls forward, pushing his head into his bicep. One final stroke has him biting into his arm, ropes of white blanketing the porcelain.
Katsuki's knees buckle, hips arched high, and as he comes in his pants, he nearly bites straight through his fingers. Before he hits the floor, he closes the door with the lightest touch he can manage and scrubs his filthy clothes across his face and hands. Shakily, he reaches out and raps against the wood twice.
“Halfie,” his voice comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat.
“Hurry up, asshole.” Better.
A loud thud alarms him for all of a second, but Shouto's voice rings out, gruff and deep.
“Yeah, just give me a second.”
Shouto comes out with a towel wrapped tight around his waist, not a single bit of composure lost. Katsuki slips around him, just barely managing to keep his damned hands to himself. The door clicks, and he almost busts his ass diving into the shower. It's clean enough that he can almost convince himself this was one of his sex dreams, or a very vivid hallucination, but there in the corner is a tiny drop of white.
Katsuki grins, and he begins the laborious task of washing the day away.
II. Shouto
Shouto is aching all over and generally miserable. Not to mention the fact that he's running late. He had promised Katsuki to be home in time for dinner, but he had gotten roped into staying at work longer. What was supposed to take only a few minutes had spiraled into over two hours.
An intern at their agency had asked Shouto for feedback on his actions earlier in the day, and upon indulging him, the other interns and sidekicks had followed suit, flocking to him like bees to honey.
Not one who can easily say no, his desire to please had cursed him and his poor, grumbling stomach.
Trekking up the stairs to their apartment is hell on his joints. Fumbling with his keys, he grasps the door handle and clicks the right one into the lock. Pushing it open, an apology on the tip of his tongue, he steps inside only to swallow his words.
Katsuki is fully nude, legs spread in a way that would surely hurt if it were anyone else. Blond hair mats and wisps around his temples, droplets of sweat bead down his cheeks—Katsuki looks like something out of the dreams he's only ever whispered to his sheets. However, the wet, squelching noises were harder to downplay and the movement of his right arm left only one conclusion.
He was fingering himself on their couch.
Katsuki is dragging his free hand across his neck, pressing in just so, sliding it down to pinch and pull at his dusty pink nipples. Dulcet moans and whimpers drip from his bitten red lips, and he looks prettier than Shouto has ever seen him to be.
Flames flicker across Shouto's skin, fierce hunger whipping through him with the aim to break. Turning and walking back out the door is the hardest thing he's ever made himself do, but he still can't bring himself to stray far. Leaving it open the slightest crack, he gives into temptation and drops down to lean back against the wall outside.
Listening to the now muffled sounds of Katsuki, he shuts his eyes tight and allows himself to look upon the memory that would be seared into his brain forever. Imagines being the one to wrench those sounds out of Katsuki, to make him gush and cry as he holds him down and feeds his cock into his needy hole.
Slowly, quietly, he pulls his straining cock out from the confines of his jeans. Already at full mast, he spits into his hand and wraps it around him like a vice. The sounds streaming through the sliver of the door are coming in faster, higher pitched, breaking off into pants and gasps.
Katsuki is going to come, and Shouto is closer to the edge than he's ever been, just by seeing him play with himself and hearing him whine about it. Fuck.
He hunches over himself, straining his ears and tugging at his dick frantically. Katsuki's voice screams out behind him, and all too soon, it's over. Bright white flashes across his vision, and he's spilling molten hot seed into the palm of his hand.
III. Katsuki
Katsuki just can't seem to catch a break this month. For one, he can't stop thinking about Shouto in the shower. Hence why he threw out all rationality and fucked himself open on their couch, knowing Shouto could be home at any minute. It's almost like he wants to be caught, which—
Fuck no.
He's not going to continue that train of thought. Katsuki can't afford to pop a boner in the middle of the crowded street, which brings him to number two in the long list of his problems.
He had plans to hang out with Eijirou at this new izakaya that popped up. It's around mid-distance between their apartments, and it was the perfect excuse to dip out of the current hellscape he’s calling home. But, lo and behold, Eijirou was called in for an emergency.
Which, fine. They're heroes.
He gets it.
But fuck if he's not pissed off about it.
So, Katsuki is on his way back home, a gloomy aura hanging about him if the sea of parting people is anything to go by. He had planned to tell Eijirou about his whole situation, especially since Shouto's been acting weird as all hell around him. He's been staring off into space in Katsuki's general direction, acting jumpy as fuck, and overall suspicious. Katsuki doesn’t know if he knows, or if it’s just some bullshit phase Shouto happens to be going through at the same time, but fuck him.
He's starting to get paranoid, and he was hoping for a little bit of sympathy, damn it.
Whatever.
With any luck, maybe Shouto went out too, and he won't have to hole away in his room like a hermit again. He’s tired of living like a criminal, darting out for the essentials only and fucking off back into his enclosure. And that’s fucking weird in itself, too, because Shouto hasn’t said a damn thing about it.
Shouto is the type who is always filled to the brim with thoughts, shuffling out and teeming over, making it Katsuki’s goddamn problem at every turn. Their apartment is a whirlwind; he’s almost worse than fucking Deku. Scraps of paper tucked into every nook and cranny, journals scrawled over back-to-back, and constant doodles of cats and soba noodles on their whiteboard—no matter how many times Katsuki insists it’s for important things, like grocery lists.
But of course, luck just doesn't seem to be on the same plane of existence as Katsuki these days. As soon as he arrives home, he slinks around their apartment like a ghost. Peeking around corners, creeping around on the floor, and then—
He hears it.
That same desperate groan, but this time there's rustling, too, coming from Shouto's room. His heart sinks to his stomach, but he can't stop himself from crawling over and sitting on his haunches in front of his door. He listens for a heart-stopping moment, cupping his ear up against the wood and straining to listen for anyone else. Some tense seconds later, he steels his less than moral resolve and pushes it open just enough to see.
The fear that was pressing against his ribs disappears, and with it, all the air in his lungs. Shouto is pressed face down in his sheets, thrusting into his hand, but that's not what matters. No, what matters is, he's got Katsuki's aji fry shirt wrapped around his fist and subsequently, his cock.
The amount of comfort that brings him is frankly, fucking ridiculous. But it has Katsuki leaning in all the more, legs falling open as he kneels, and he's pressing his sweater into his mouth, his palm against his crotch.
IV. Shouto
Seeing Izuku was a bust. Shouto had shown up to his apartment, fully intending to spill his guts, only for Izuku to have the same idea. Except, in the toilet, with Shouto pulling his hair back from his clammy forehead. As it turns out, Izuku had been feeling kind of funny for the past couple of days, and it all came to a head tonight. This is number seven on the list of reasons for the universe scheming against him as of late.
Being the dutiful best friend he is, he keeps his mouth shut and whips up a pot of miso soup. It isn't the best; Katsuki would surely scoff at his efforts, but Katsuki would also eat it anyway, so it can't be too awful. After manhandling Izuku into bed and spooning cold medicine down his throat, he heads off for the night with the same baggage he came with.
Shouto isn't any closer to figuring out how to go about this than he was two weeks ago. ‘Hey, I realized I'm in love with you when I saw you spread open on your fingers, and I can’t stop thinking about them being mine instead?’
Thoughts of Katsuki weren’t anything new, really. He had always been in the back of his head, always been within arm’s distance, never a step behind. Shouto used to spend his days locked away, iced out and dissociated from his surroundings. Katsuki was loud, warm, and even harder to ignore. The feeling of him had been scalding and staggering.
It wasn’t comforting. No, at first, it was more like jealousy or envy. Katsuki was never afraid of anything. He could do or say whatever he liked, and Shouto despised that. He hated that he wanted to be able to do the same, and especially loathed that he didn't know how. Gradually, over the years together, the boil had evened out to something of a simmer. Katsuki had become inviting - someone that he looked forward to without noticing.
It was never hate that bubbled in Shouto’s veins, and he had never realized the extent of his feelings until a short time ago, but he had always been halfway in love with Katsuki. He just took the long way to getting to that knowledge.
Shaking his head, he scrubs his hands down his face tiredly. He could deal with this another day.
Stepping into their apartment, he kicks off his shoes haphazardly. He's just about to get a glass of water when he hears a whimper. His back goes ramrod straight, and he clenches his fists so tight his fingers pop. He knows that sound, knows the only person it could belong to. It had been playing over and over in his head like a broken record.
The blood rushing to his dick makes him feel light-headed, and Shouto knows he can't deal with this. Not when there's still so much he needs to say first. As he turns to go back out, anywhere else, his body betrays him. One glance down the hallway changes everything.
The light coming from under the door isn't Katsuki's room.
It’s his.
Shouto has always been light on his feet, and crossing the short distance takes only a few stressful seconds. The door was open, not much, just a crack—just like before. The warm glow shimmering through the small space calls him to like a beacon. He exhales slowly, breath coming out in a haze of frost, and peeks through.
Katsuki is nothing short of reverent. He’s on his knees, wearing an old white button-down of Shouto's that's now practically see-through with the way it clings to him. Not that it matters anyway, Shouto can see every bit of Katsuki right now, the way he wasn’t able to previously. One hand is tugging at ash blond tufts of hair, and the other is alternating between his mouth and his jiggling pecs. Sucking and lapping at his fingers, spilling the slick mess down his chest and pulling, twisting at the reddened peaks.
He’s riding a dildo that looks suspiciously like some handmade merch modeled after Shouto's uniform. Thick cerulean length, glowing with glittery red and stark white. From this angle, Shouto can see the way his ass is devouring it whole. In and out, over and over again. It’s mesmerizing, just like everything else Katsuki does.
Shouto’s hand slithers down without his permission and presses against the front of his jeans. Hissing, he touches his forehead against the archway and tries to grab any common sense hiding somewhere inside him. He wants Katsuki to know how much he means to him, but his dick is thinking very hard about how he could be railing him into the mattress instead.
Just as he grinds his palms against his eyes and resigns himself to hiding out at the konbini on the corner for a few hours, Katsuki cries out—
“Shouto!”
And he flings the door open.
Katsuki’s eyes are as wide as saucers, frozen in place and mouth hanging open, spit dripping off of his lips and streaming down his chin. Shouto's chest is heaving, and he practically lunges for the bed, coming to a stop in front of him. Something had broken inside of him upon hearing his name, and he doesn't have the strength to put it back together.
Not now, maybe ever.
Shouto reaches out and caresses the side of Katsuki's face, over his cheekbone, down to his lips and thumbing across them. Rosy and plump, and so, so messy. Shouto wants to ruin him.
Katsuki starts moving again, barely there grinds onto his toy. He pokes his tongue out, flicks it against Shouto's thumb, and slowly sucks it into his mouth. Eyes like wine track his expression—whatever he sees must sooth him, as he doesn't hold back.
The hand that was pulling at blond strands comes up to grasp his wrist. He pulls it back out of his mouth, teeth grazing across his thumb, and slides it forward again. Katsuki's eyes glaze over as he bobs his mouth down onto the single digit over and over again. Drool is pouring down Shouto's wrist, pooling at the crook of his elbow, and he needs more. He hooks his thumb against Katsuki's lower teeth, stopping him for a moment.
Katsuki whines lowly, looking up at him all sultry and obscene. Shouto drops a soft kiss against his forehead, pressing his index and middle fingers in his mouth on the next glide in. Leans back to take him in, desperate and frenzied with his rutting into the sheets, looking for something. Anything.
“Need more, don't you? It's not enough to be filled, you need to be fucked. Need something real.”
Tears are welling up in his crimson eyes, threatening to spill. He curls his tongue around Shouto’s fingers, slipping in and out of the gaps between, touching his lips down to the knuckles.
Katsuki hauls up on his knees, dragging his nails along his chest, his abdomen, past his pretty little cock, leaving bright red lines akin to a map. Gripping at the base of the dildo with his free hand, he sinks down once, twice, three times—languid and relaxed. Closes his eyes and moans around the fingers in his mouth, rolling his hips like he has nothing but time.
Shouto is quickly losing the battle of having blood anywhere else in his body besides his dick. He palms at his bulge to take the edge off, but it only serves to make him more frustrated. He groans at a particularly high keen from Katsuki, blurry red eyes opening to fix him with a smirk. He pulls off of his fingers with a lewd pop.
“Need some help with that, halfie?”
Shouto rolls his eyes. “Oh, so it's not Shouto anymore?”
Blood rushes to color Katsuki's cheeks, and he flits his eyes away. Instead of responding, he tugs Shouto over by his belt and loosens it. Rips his jeans down till he's forced to step out of them, and then Katsuki is leaning down to mouth at his cock through his briefs, hot and wet.
He drags his tongue along the length, sucking the fabric into his mouth until more than just precum is staining his underwear. Shouto sighs, pushing his hands into Katsuki's hair and pulling him back by the strands. Greedy strings of saliva hold fast in the space between—it takes everything he has within him not to shove him back into his crotch.
Eyes dark and glinting, he speaks softly.
“Baby, you're gonna need to do better than that. Or don't you want me?”
Katsuki scoffs, ready to rebuke. Shouto leans down as he keeps steadily pulling, forcing the blond to bend his head back at a painful angle. Shouto holds eye contact, pressing in close and only just brushing his lips against Katsuki's. Sliding his tongue across the seam and dipping inside, flicking against the back of his teeth, licking over the roof of his mouth.
Just as Katsuki presses forward and starts to reciprocate, Shouto moves away. He gathers spit in his mouth and drips it into Katsuki's, dumbfounded and pliant.
“Swallow.”
Katsuki flushes from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears, but Shouto watches with satisfaction as his throat bobs with the movement.
He grins. “Attaboy.”
Shouto makes quick work of the rest of his clothes, yanking his shirt over his head and peeling his briefs down the floor. When he looks up, Katsuki is splayed out on the sheets again, gaze unmoving from Shouto’s cock. He spreads his legs further, reaching in between them and presenting his winking entrance. It's reddened from the earlier abuse, shiny with lube that dribbles into a pool beneath him.
“Just gonna stare me down all night, bastard? Or are you gonna give me the real deal, like you said?”
Shouto stalks over to the bed and crawls over his form. Breathing raggedly, he hooks one tanned thigh around his hip and maneuvers the other to rest atop his left shoulder. Turning his head, he lays open-mouthed kisses and digs his fingers into the muscle. When Katsuki shifts slightly, he latches on harder to nip and worries the skin between his teeth – laving his tongue wetly across the forming bruises.
Katsuki is jolting and whimpering in his hold as he continues over the span of skin presented, pressing his face into the pillows to muffle the sounds pouring from his throat. Shouto has sweat stinging at his eyes, strands of his hair falling like a curtain down his face. He's vaguely aware that he's squeezing the fat spilling between his fingers a little too hard. He longs more than anything to leave his mark on Katsuki.
Always so pristine.
Untouchable.
He needs Katsuki to remember this, no matter what it takes.
Shouto has barely finished the thought when his fire flares an inch away from his face, branding his handprint into Katsuki’s thigh. Katsuki lurches off of the bed, back bent like a bow, and then he's pumping cords of milky white all over his pretty pink tits.
If Shouto had any less self-control instilled into him at this moment, that would have been the end for him. Wails soften into little cries—Katsuki mumbles and babbles beneath his breath. He’s canting his hips down, trying to needily writhe his way onto Shouto’s cock. He looks so pitiful that Shouto nearly finds himself giving into his every whim, but he isn’t anywhere close to done with him yet. This isn’t enough.
Shouto moves to hover over Katsuki, dropping his grip around his thighs and pinning his wrists to the bed with a single hand. He trails his tongue against the tears flowing down his cheeks, savoring the taste of salt in his mouth with lidded eyes and a slight smile. Katsuki's breath hitches, eyes going cross-eyed with how close they are to each other. Shouto reaches up and squishes his cheeks together, turning him this way and that.
“Look so pretty when you cry for me, sweetheart,” he rasps.
“‘M not pretty,” Katsuki mutters, trying and failing to turn his head away.
“You are, baby, and I think you like to hear how beautiful you are, hm?”
Katsuki’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to respond, but Shouto is done talking for now. He shoves three fingers in between his lips and smooths kisses across his flushed face, along the jut of his jaw, cascading down his neck. Teeth and tongue aren't far behind, marking his skin in arrays of reds and purples. Shouto loses track of time with his conquest, only coming to with the sounds of little ‘ah, ah’s.
“Ngh—ah—Shouto, please.”
Without realizing—he had been rutting his cock over Katsuki’s wet heat, bearing down against his own dick, and jostling his thighs about his hips. Shouto is leaking precum like a faucet all over the tawny skin beneath him, and the sight of it makes his breath catch. Wrapping a hand around himself, he takes the head of his cock and smears it further, painting Katsuki's lower body till he's slick and sloppy.
The latter is still whining, jerking his hands against his hold. The whole of his form is rosy and sopping wet with fluids. Shouto wants—no, needs—to see him beg, to see the pride Katsuki clings to so desperately burn to ash. He applies more pressure to Katsuki's dainty wrists, sure to bruise, and sweeps down to suction his lips around the engorged nipples that had been calling for him all night.
Longer than that, even.
He wouldn’t let up till he broke, that much he was sure of.
Swirling his tongue around the peak, Shouto shuts his eyes tight and moans. Some of Katsuki’s caramel-like sweat and bitter cum were mixing inside of his mouth, and he never wants to be anywhere else except here. He pushes and kneads at the surrounding flesh, fingers glossy with Katsuki’s spit. Icing his right hand, he pulls back with one lasting lick. He takes the neglected nipple in his mouth with fervor, sucking and borderline slobbering till the sounds echoed around the room.
He brings his frigid fingers up to the right nipple and pinches. The lack of heat emanating from Shouto's mouth had already made it taut, but the frost leeching what might have remained has Katsuki shrieking, high and shrill. It’s music to his ears, and he bears down harder, nipping and tugging at the teat in his mouth.
The sound of crackling makes him drift his eyes up to meet clouded maroon, and he pointedly sucks once, twice, thrice more—
“Hah, please sto— I can’t—” his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Shouto is hazily aware of the fact that there is more cum splattered across their torsos than before, viscous and sticky.
Mournfully, he grazes his teeth over the ruddy bud one last time, leaning back to see Katsuki in bloom. He looks like something out of a painting, colors thrown across the canvas to make something truly hypnotic and alluring. Shouto's eyes flit over every inch, wanting to make this moment last longer than it could. He wishes it would go on forever. Maybe this one couldn’t, but maybe—if Katsuki would have him—he could make so many more.
“Katsuki,” and he hopes that everything he could never say could be conveyed in just this, just his name, just once.
Shouto descends once more and softly touches his lips to Katsuki's, letting him take the reins. They’re both panting, breath mingling into one shared between. Shouto loosens his grip and gently massages the wrists in hand with the warmth flowing through his veins. Katsuki is looking at him with something curious in his eyes, something he can’t quite catch. Pulling his hands back, he roves them down the sides of Katsuki’s body, coming to settle at the dips of his hips.
Light chuckles chime in his ears, Katsuki’s voice full of mirth.
“You’re such an idiot, Shouto.”
The corners of Katsuki’s eyes crinkle before he closes them, leaning up to deepen the kiss. His hands are slightly hesitant as he explores Shouto’s form, almost like he isn’t sure if it’s real. Shouto squeezes his hips gingerly, parting his lips and nudging their tongues together. Katsuki clutches at his back and delves his nails in—their lips smack together lazily, spit dribbling down their chins. Katsuki’s hands move to grasp at the back of his neck, sliding up into his hair and twining red and white strands around his fingers, blurring into soft pink.
He’s starting to whine now—pushing breathy moans and cute little hiccups into his mouth—ones Shouto is more than eager to swallow. Head full of fog, he presses in more firmly, fucking his tongue into Katsuki's mouth.
His cock is throbbing as he grinds down, down, down till the mushy tip catches at the puckered rim. Twin moans spill out between them, and he lets Katsuki suck and bite around his tongue, his lips—clearly trying to bring his attention back. He’s pressing Shouto’s name into their kisses, lips tingling pleasantly.
Shouto draws his fingers through the cum drenching their figures till they’re coated, syrupy and warm from the blazing fire floating to the top of his skin. Widening his stance, he slips them down and sinks all three into Katsuki’s hole, spellbound by the way his hole gives so easily.
A pathetic little sound wrenches out of his throat, but Shouto doesn’t give him a moment to catch his breath. He thrusts them in and out, nice and slow, crooking upwards when he’s deep—deliberately sliding past that little bundle of nerves.
Just as Katsuki is beginning to rock down onto his fingers, gasping open-mouthed against Shouto’s lips, he pulls them away to lube his length. Katsuki keens at that, fucking down onto empty air with his cock spewing more beads of precum into the mess between them.
“Fuck. Fuck! You asshole, I was—” his voice cuts abruptly, choking on his own words, as Shouto braces his dick against his hole, bottoming out in one stroke.
Shouto touches their foreheads together, surveying Katsuki's expression. His eyes are lidded, rolling back into his head until all he sees are the whites, and he's worrying at his lips with sharp teeth, broken moans falling from them. He stops to wait, peppering feather-like pecks all over Katsuki’s face.
When the convulsing around his cock diminishes, he rolls his hips unhurriedly. He drags and scrapes the ridges of his dick against Katsuki's walls, moaning as Katsuki squeezes tight when he pulls too far back—Shouto leans down to curl his face into his sweaty neck. The desire that was rigid and hard in his gut loosens and splays out through his body, lapping at him in waves. He runs teasing licks across the expanse of his neck, sucking another bruise below his ear.
Katsuki has shivers wracking his body, and he draws his legs up high to lock around Shouto’s waist and trails his hands down his back, showering tiny flicks of pain from the sparks in his palms. He curls in as close as he can get and tries to carve a space for himself beneath Shouto’s skin, rubbing his face into his neck and moaning wantonly.
Shouto continues this shallow, leisurely pace, just taking the time to breathe Katsuki in and reach his arms underneath to wrap them around his shoulders. Embracing him seems to soothe Katsuki somewhat, the constant press of his face over his shoulder slowing to a stop. Shouto adjusts his hips to change the angle, pushing and pulling till he prods at his prostate. Katsuki’s legs start to shake, and the grip around Shouto's body turns stiff and punishing.
Shouto curves up to his ear, darting his tongue across the shell and mouthing his lips against the canal—
“Is that it, sweetheart? That what you need?”
Katsuki hiccups, shuddering and nodding with fervor.
“Yeah, ‘s good, so good. More.”
Shouto’s feeling overwhelmed, grabbing at his hips and yanking him down onto his cock—fucking in and out of him like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t. He mouths at his collarbones, listening to Katsuki whine right into his ear, feels him jerk and convulse under him, and he can't get enough.
He loathes to part from him, so with his grip around his torso—he hoists himself onto his knees and sinks Katsuki further down the length of his cock. Katsuki yelps with the movement, nails sinking into and breaking the skin of his back. Shouto readjusts, wrapping one arm around his thin waist, shoving the other beneath the curve of his ass, and he's thrusting into Katsuki, fast and frantic.
He feels ready to burst—his heart is racing, blood pumping loudly in his ears. Katsuki is almost completely limp but managing to hold fast with teeth and nails, whimpering around the flesh in his mouth, and his tight little hole is clenching around him like a well-fitted sheath. Squeezing—pulsing and milking at the dick driving into him.
Shouto pants, breath ragged. “Fuck, baby. You really were made for me, weren’t you? Gonna come for me, yeah?”
Katsuki detaches from the meat of his shoulder and laves his tongue across the bite mark, sending shockwaves of ache throughout his body.
“Just you, always—fuck yes, there—wanted it to be — Always you—”
The thought of Katsuki wanting it to be him, wanting him, sends white spots spiraling across his vision. Fuck, he’s not gonna last, not with Katsuki murmuring into his ear with stuff like—
“Fill me, fucking fill me!”
“Dreamed about this, hah, so many times, you don’t—”
“Watched you, wanted you, needed—fuck, please.”
The sheer force of his orgasm almost sends him sprawling off the bed, and it would have, had the blond in his lap not settled his weight more firmly. He's coming and coming, and there's so fucking much—Katsuki is grinding down onto his dick now, head thrown back with his mouth open in a silent scream. It hurts, but he wants to see—needs to see him come—and he's got a calloused hand around Katsuki’s cock, and Katsuki’s screaming out loud, and then there’s ropes of white spurting across his knuckles.
All the strength in his body leaves him, and he collapses backward, boneless, with Katsuki knocking the wind out of him when he drops. Shouto's spluttering, coughing, but he’ll be damned if he passes out before he says this, and—
“I love you, Katsuki.”
And the world goes black.
V. Katsuki
Katsuki’s sprawled out on his back, naked, next to Shouto—who is also well and truly wearing fucking nothing except a map of marks that practically screams ‘Katsuki was here’. There’s cum splattered across his chest, bloody bites high on his neck, and if he could move enough to turn the bastard over—he’s sure his back is equally fucked up.
There’s cum trickling down his thighs, already turning tacky without halfie’s fire keeping it wet. His neck is throbbing, his nipples are battered, and to top it all the fuck off, he’s still not entirely sure how this happened. All he knows is that yeah, okay—he was breaking every damn roommate rule in the book—but what right did that give Shouto to burst through the door like he’s fucking All Might?
Then he railed Katsuki within an inch of his life, gave some half-assed confession, and passed the fuck out.
And he did all that without giving Katsuki a chance to say it back.
The words were right there, fizzing all the way up from his stomach, and he didn’t get to tell him.
Katsuki flops over onto his side, curling into Shouto like a parenthesis. He’s warm and soft, and he’s got this stupid dickhead smile pulling at his lips. Reaching out, he traces up and up and up, finally running his hand across that smile and watching as Shouto shifts closer, throwing his own arm around Katsuki in turn.
Katsuki leans closer, interlocking their hands and pulling them up to his mouth. He presses those words into Shouto’s hand like a secret, tracing them into their palms over and over until Shouto’s nose wrinkles and he opens his eyes.
Shouto blinks owlishly, rolling his head to the side to look at Katsuki and their fingers laced together. He smiles brighter, a peek of pearly white blinding him, and he rotates his body to bracket Katsuki’s.
Bends his head to pepper kisses against Katsuki’s forehead, “Did I tell you?”
Katsuki sneers. “Sure, after you were fucked out.”
“I didn’t say it because of that. I meant it. I knew it—from the first time I—” and he stops, frowning, flicking his eyes anywhere else.
“Spit it out. C’mon, I ain’t got all day.”
“It’s nighttime, Katsuki.”
He moves to get up, pain spiking through his lower body, “Fine, don’t tell me.”
Shouto sits up and pushes the button-down off of him, wrapping those long monkey arms around Katsuki’s body and standing. He jostles him around a bit trying to fix the angle, and then he’s walking. Katsuki’s way too damn tired to argue with this, so if Shouto wants to pamper him, then by all fucking means.
Shouto stops when they get to the bathtub, leaning down to start the water, and then he’s speaking—
“I saw you, when you — Ah,” he twirls his finger like that’s supposed to mean something, then throws a pained look down at Katsuki.
“When I what, bastard?”
“On our couch that night, when I was running late, and you—”
Katsuki smacks a palm over Shouto’s lips, heat rushing to his face, eyes widening and sputtering,
“You? You! You’re a fucking pervert?! Is that why you kicked down the goddamn door?!”
Shouto looks at him with confusion in his eyes and places him into the bath, stopping the water with a twist of his wrist.
“The door is still intact?” He turns away to pour bubble soap into the tub, pulling towels over to hang across the edge and stepping in behind Katsuki to sink down.
“‘S not the point! You — Why the hell didn’t you say something? Did you know? This some revenge plot of yours?”
Shouto stills the sudsy hands in Katsuki’s hair, which, fuck him, he’d rather deal with this dilemma while getting his head scratched. He forcefully knocks his head against Shouto’s knuckles and he resumes scrubbing.
“I don’t know anything, except that you apparently have a habit of defiling the furniture, and for some reason, it extends to my own.”
“I didn’t — didn’t defile anything. I would have cleaned it up if you hadn’t interrupted me!”
Shouto runs rough, soapy hands down Katsuki’s body, pressing into the bruises marring his skin. “Alright, then what do you mean by revenge?”
Katsuki sighs, picking at his fingernails, “I saw you. In the shower, and when you — when you defiled my shirt.”
Flames flick across the skin of his back and he yowls, pushing forward and sending water tumbling over the edge. Shouto reigns them back in, sliding Katsuki back against his chest, and he nods gravely over the top of his head.
“I see. This must mean you love me too, then.”
It’s Katsuki’s turn to scorch the bastard, whipping around to face him with pink dusting his cheeks. “How the hell do you draw these conclusions in that fucked up brain of yours?”
Shouto smiles and nuzzles into his hair, pressing sloppy kisses where he can reach, “So it’s true, then. You love me.”
Katsuki bristles, smacking his head hard against the underside of Shouto’s chin, and he sighs once more, dragging it out dramatically.
“Yeah, I fucking guess I do. Better get used to it, Shouto.”
“I can do that, Katsuki.”