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Izuku answers the phone on the first ring and nearly drops it in his haste.
“Hey—”
“Eager, much?” Katsuki’s smile is audible.
Amazing how he can heat Izuku’s face from six-thousand miles away. “Shut up.” He crams a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. It’s early morning in Tokyo, but evening for Katsuki on the east coast of America. “How was your day?”
“Boring.” Pause. “Jesus, I can hear you crunching. Are you eatin’ garbage without me around to make a decent meal?”
Izuku stares down into his garbage cereal. The same brand he’s had for breakfast every morning for the past three weeks. Bright colors and empty calories.
“No.”
Katsuki grunts a noise that suggests he doesn’t believe him for a second. “Number one hero, yet egg-frying is an enigma.”
“S’not the same when I make ‘em,” Izuku insists, mouth full.
“God, you’re gross.”
“Sorry,” he swallows and puts his spoon down, “Multitasking. I have patrol in an hour.” His leg bounces nervously under the table, working up the nerve to ask a question he’s dying to know the answer to. “You ah—any idea when you’ll be home?”
Katsuki sighs. “If you’re asking if I’m gonna be back in time for your birthday, I dunno. Depends on how the rest of the week goes.”
Izuki glances at the calendar. July 8th.
“No worries if you can’t make it. It’s just another day.”
“You’re a shit liar. I can hear your disappointment.” Something rustles in the background, followed by the unmistakable metallic clunk of Katsuki setting his gauntlets aside. “Look. If I miss it, I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s not a big deal, Kacchan, really.”
It’s not a big deal, but spending his birthday alone in their apartment would suck. He could go out with friends, but it’s been so long since he’s seen Katsuki that he doesn’t care about seeing anyone else. Izuku misses him like a limb.
“If we wrap this shit up soon, I might make it in time.”
Hero missions don’t come with end dates. Certainly not international ones with a hundred moving parts. Being a pro hero in a relationship with a pro hero is difficult. Even sharing an agency, their schedules rarely line up.
“Anyway,” Katuski huffs across the receiver, “I’m gonna shower and turn in early. Ran my legs off today.”
“Thought it was boring?”
“Running around doing fuck-all is boring,” he mutters. “We didn’t accomplish shit. Recon, but that ain’t my thing.” Water from the shower rushes behind his voice.
Izuku smiles. If impatience were a person, his name would be Katsuki Bakugou. “You’ll get to incinerate something soon. They wouldn’t ship you to the other side of the world just to survey—”
“Speaking of shipping,” Katsuki butts in, “Did I get a package?”
Izuku’s eyes flick over to the neatly wrapped gift box sitting on the kitchen counter. The attached tag is addressed to Katsuki’s hero name, written in familiar, pretty handwriting. It’s tied with a ribbon; the shiny, silky, expensive kind. “Yeah, you did. Came yesterday. I think it’s from Best Jeanist.”
“Did you open it?”
“No?”
“Good.” He sounds relieved. “Don’t.”
Izuku’s curiosity is officially piqued. Birthday gift?
“Can you forward it to me? Here?”
Not a birthday gift. Sending the package all the way to America is an odd request considering Katsuki is—hopefully—nearing the end of his stay.
“Uh, sure?”
“I’ll text you the address in the morning.”
“Okay.” Izuku stares at the box, puzzled. Now he wishes he had opened it. “What is it?”
“None of your business, nerd. You’ll know when you need to.”
The plot thickens. Izuku drums his fingers on the tabletop.
“I’ll send it out tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
More rustling in the background. Katsuki undressing. Izuku would give anything to be there. Kiss him and touch him. Pile into the shower with him and not come out until Katsuki starts griping about the water getting cold. It feels like they’ve been apart for years instead of weeks, and no amount of phone calls, video chats, or risqué text messages satisfies Izuku. Not like having the real thing in his arms.
“I’ll text you when I get up.”
The calls are painfully short. Katsuki’s voice is all he has, and Izuku can’t get enough of it.
“Okay. I love you.”
Katsuki rarely says it back, but Izuku doesn’t mind. He’s known him long enough to understand his methods of showing affection. Actions rather than words. Katsuki had his own brand of ‘love.’ Another reason why being oceans apart is hard.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Deku. And eat something other than fucking cereal.”
There’s genuine sentiment there. Izuku translates Katsuki’s version of I love you. He smiles into the phone. “I’ll do my best. Goodnight.”
__ __
Katsuki’s mission extends into the next week, and Izuku’s birthday arrives like any other day. He wakes up alone. Eats a sad bowl of ‘garbage’ cereal. He takes on an extra shift to distract himself from the disappointment, to keep from sulking around their apartment all day. Being Japan’s number one hero sacrifices a lot of privacy, so patrolling the streets on his birthday is interesting. He normally doesn’t mind doing a little positive PR via photos and autographs, but a hundred ‘Happy birthday, Deku!’ wishes from strangers feel empty when all he wants is one ‘Happy birthday, Izuku,’ from Katsuki.
He gets that too, in the form of a text because he’s too busy for anything else. Then he works the day away while Katsuki sleeps. He receives a flood of messages from friends, his mom, and other pro heroes, but by the time Katsuki wakes up and calls him, his birthday is nearly over.
“Your birthday just started for me,” Katsuki jokes.
“Yeah.” Izuku lays in bed staring at the ceiling. He’s too many birthdays deep to get emotional over such a trivial thing, but at the end of a long day that’s felt nothing like a birthday, he can’t help it. He rolls onto his side and sighs, tugging the blankets up to his chin. He’s tired of the bed being cold at his back.
Katsuki picks up on his misery.
“Want me to sing or something?”
Izuku snorts an ugly sound. “Sure.”
“Well too damn bad. I can't sing for shit and you ain’t five.”
The jest has the intended effect of making Izuku laugh. He checks the time and does the math. It’s uncharacteristically early for Katsuki to be awake. He likes his routine and values sleep, so the extra effort to spend time talking to Izuku means a lot. Their calls typically last only a few minutes, but half an hour goes by while they chat about nothing and everything. Katsuki’s mission. Izuku’s bad eating habits. The online article titled Deku’s Dedication, detailing his birthday spent serving the civilian populace. The long talk is nice after weeks of only brief conversations stolen between work and sleep. The place next to Izuku doesn’t feel as empty when he closes his eyes and pretends Katsuki is there—
“Hey. Izuku.”
Izuku jolts awake so violently he knocks his head against the bedpost. “What?” His phone falls off the bed and clatters to the floor, Katsuki’s muffled “idiot” spoken directly into the wood grain.
“Sorry,” Izuku picks the phone up, cradling it between his ear and shoulder while pressing at the already-sore bump over his eye. “I think I fell asleep.”
“You think,” Katsuki repeats dryly.
Izuku opens his mouth to respond but ends up yawning.
“Go back to sleep. I got shit to do anyway.”
His eyes are already closed, phone pinned between his cheek and the pillow. “M’kay.”
“Happy birthday.”
Izuku is asleep before Katsuki ends the call. He doesn’t wake up until his phone vibrates under his face, startling him by rattling his molars in his jaw. Early morning sunlight spills silver into the room, washing across the bed to warm his skin. He sits up and stretches, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand. He turns his phone over to check the notification, squinting at the bright screen. His battery percentage flashes a red warning to let him know he forgot to charge it, but Izuku is only interested in the message from Katsuki.
Kacchan sent a photo 7:43 AM
It’s a screenshot of an email. Izuku blinks, forcing his eyes to focus. A receipt and an itinerary. Dates and flight times for the upcoming weekend. New York to LAX to Tokyo—
He sits bolt upright, typing with excited fingers that shake, letting Katsuki know he’s awake. The response is immediate. Like Katsuki had been holding his phone, waiting.
See you soon, nerd.
__ __
The airport provides transportation for VIP passengers, and the agency has a fleet of private vehicles and drivers on call for heroes at all hours, but Izuku insists on picking Katsuki up personally. He vibrates with anticipation while watching the clock, finally giving up and arriving early to wait for Katsuki’s flight to land and unboard. He dresses in plainclothes and pulls a ball cap down over his curls to blend in and avoid civilian interaction. Normally, he doesn’t mind humoring a few fans, but today he only has eyes for Katsuki.
Returning passengers file through in a steady stream, and then there he is, beautiful and bright as a supernova. And loud. Izuku dissolves easily into the bustle, but Katsuki disembarks the plane in full hero costume sans gauntlets, and the sudden presence of Dynamight draws a lot of attention. Izuku bites his lips into a line to keep from laughing while watching his tetchy partner bark at a crowd of spectators until they scatter like alleycats.
Long mission. Long flight. Long nights alone in a foreign, empty bed. Katsuki is bound to be a little pricklier than usual. He kicks his chin up and stalks through the terminal, making a clear effort to be standoffish to dissuade the public from pestering him. He’s so focused on staring through the crowd that he nearly strides right past Izuku.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Izuku steps into his way and earns himself a look that could disembowel lesser men before Katsuki’s expression smooths with recognition.
“You little shit. I almost punched you.”
“Effective disguise.” Izuku falls into step with him, their elbows brushing. After so long apart, the simple touch sends electricity up his arm. He keeps his hands to himself by sliding them into the pockets of his shorts, fidgeting with a loose thread in the seam. All he wants to do is throw his arms around Katsuki, bury his face in his neck, kiss him and inhale his scorched-sugar scent—
“You just don’t stand out ‘cause you’re short.” Katsuki playfully smacks the back of Izuku’s head. “Kinda glad you wore that, though. I stick out enough without your number-one ass all caped-up next to me.” He air-quotes ‘number-one’ with his fingers.
Izuku laughs but keeps his head down, hiding his features in the shadow of his hat bill. He might not be glaringly obvious, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure him out. The list of people allowed to be this close and casual with Katsuki is a short one.
“Why are you all decked out?”
“Mandatory debrief at the agency. We gotta go there first.”
“Oh.”
Izuku fails to hide his disappointment. He wants to take Katsuki home and make up for lost time, not mope around the agency all afternoon waiting for his turn. He glances over and finds Katsuki looking back, an amused smirk twisting the corner of his mouth.
“What? You have something else in mind?”
Izuku’s ears heat and he looks away, caught. “Maybe.”
“Tsk, pervert,” Katsuki mutters, but he’s grinning.
“Like you didn't miss me,” Izuku goads, eyes forward.
Katsuki grunts a dismissive noise but Izuku isn’t fooled. From the second their eyes met, there’s been springcoil tension between them and not the bad kind. The restless, hungry, haven’t-had-my-hands-on-you-in-over-a-month kind. A little thrill runs through him, making him shiver despite the stuffy, recycled air.
He can behave himself. For now.
The agency is close by, so the drive is blessedly short. Izuku spends most of it stealing glimpses at Katsuki. Sunlight falls across his profile, painting his fair lashes golden and highlighting the strong slope of his neck, the smooth skin of his shoulders. Casts shadow under the line of his jaw, into the hollow of his clavicle, and the tantalizing dip between his pectorals.
“Quit eyefuckin’ me,” he says without turning away from the window.
“You’re pretty.”
“Yeah, I am.” Katsuki turns his deep red gaze on Izuku and his grin stretches into something predatory. “Just wait.”
Izuku stares and the warmth that spreads across his cheeks has nothing to do with the noonday sun.
“What does that mean?”
Katsuki reaches over and grips his chin, digging gloved fingers into his jaw. “Shuddup and pay attention.” He forces Izuku’s face back to the windshield.
Izuku senses he isn’t getting anywhere and does as he’s told. He can be patient. For a little while. He sighs through his nose and rubs his palms anxiously over the leather steering wheel. Katsuki is up to something.
“I’ll hang around my office while you’re in the meeting. I have paperwork that needs attention anyway.”
“You need to delegate that shit.”
“I have to sign them all—don’t you sign yours?”
“Yeah, and the nerds we pay to push our papers have stamps of our signatures. Y’know, so we don’t have to deal with desk jockey shit. Last I checked, we were the heroes.”
Izuku shrugs. “If I do it, I know it’s done and I know it’s done right.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fuckin’ dork.”
“But I’m your dork,” Izuku over-dramatizes his dreamy eye-batting. His laugh muffles into Katsuki’s glove when his face is shoved away.
Izuku turns off at the agency and pulls into one of the designated VIP spaces behind the building. Perks of owning the business. A handful of vehicles litter the parking lot, other Japanese heroes arriving for the debrief, but no one is milling around the secluded staff area. Izuku puts the car in park and unbuckles. Katsuki’s safety belt clicks loose and they look at each other.
Izuku doesn’t know who moves first. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s finally touching Katsuki, and Katsuki is touching him. He leans across the center console and gets a hand on either side of Katsuki’s face, pulling him to his mouth. Katsuki meets him halfway, mean teeth and wicked tongue and a raspy moan that sends all the blood pounding in Izuku’s ears racing south. Gloved hands smooth up his neck, fisting dark curls at the back of his head and wrenching him to the side to hold him at a better angle. The ball cap skews and falls into the floorboard, but Izuku doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the emergency brake is digging into his hip or that anyone could walk past and see their silhouettes through the window tint. Katsuki tastes warm and sweet, and Izuku has been starving for so long he never wants to come up for air.
Katsuki kisses like he fights and fucks, aggressively and with purpose. He bullies his tongue past Izuku’s teeth and sinks his canine into the swell of his lower lip until it pops, growling against his mouth while tugging at Izuku’s hair until his scalp burns cold.
“Couldn’t wait until we’re home?” His eyes are hemoglobin-red, smile sickle-sharp. “Right here where god and everybody could see?”
“I don’t care, Kacchan. I do not care,” Izuku pants. He drags a hand down Katsuki’s neck, snagging crooked fingers in the plunging neckline of his hero uniform. The black material fits him like a second skin, so tight Izuku can make out the tiny points of his nipples on either side of the orange X stretched across his broad chest—
Katsuki suddenly puts a palm to Izuku’s sternum and shoves him back into the seat. He crowds into his space, slotting a big hand under his jaw and pressing fingertips to his pulse points with just enough pressure to get Izuku’s attention and make his cock twitch in his shorts.
His voice lowers to air and grit, half-lid gaze smoldering. “Said if I missed your birthday, I’d make it up to you. Yeah?”
“Y-Yeah,” Izuku breathes, throat working to force the word out past Katsuki’s grip. Something about that hand having the power to blow his horny little head off his spine gets him even harder.
“M’gonna make good on that, ‘kay?” Katsuki’s thumb strokes Izuku’s frantic pulse. “But you gotta be patient. Can you be a good little birthday boy?”
Izuku nods. It’s all he can do. There’s not enough blood left in his brain for anything else.
Katsuki’s other hand comes up and Izuku thinks he’s going to choke him out right here in the parking lot of their shared agency. He’d let him. He’d absolutely let him and thank him for it with his dying breath. But Katsuk doesn’t touch him. Instead, he slips his index and middle finger beneath the fabric of his skintight top, sliding it to the side to reveal a delicate, black satin strap curling over his strong shoulder. With Izuku’s undivided attention on him, Katsuki slips his thumb under the strap and tugs it, just enough to show off a glimmer of dark lace clinging to the suntanned skin of his chest.
Somehow two of Izuku’s brain cells rub out enough friction to spark a thought—
“Oh, my god. The box from Best Jeanist—”
Katsuki’s smile is deceptively sweet as he covers up the tease of satin and lace like it was never there. He pats Izuku’s cheek once, twice, three times.
“See? You can be smart.”
“You—I—” Izuku babbles to further prove his intelligence. “You’ve had that on this whole time? On the plane?”
Katsuki turns Izuku loose without answering and leans away. He throws open the passenger door and his expression returns to normal. Something between neutral and irritable. “See you after the debrief,” he says calmly and steps out of the car. “I’ll meet you in your office when it’s over.” He looks down at Izuku like he hasn’t just ruined him and any hope he had of focusing on his aforementioned paperwork.
How is he supposed to think about anything else with Katsuki sitting at a conference table a few rooms away wearing that under his hero gear?
“Might wanna give that a minute,” Katsuki sneers. He slams the door and turns away before Izuku has time to process what he’s talking about. He figures it out pretty quickly when he looks down at his hands in his lap.
Damn him and his overeager response.
He kills ten minutes chilling in the parking lot of his own agency like a loser until the tent he pitched in the front of his shorts goes down enough to get out of the car and head inside.
“Good afternoon, Deku!” The door attendant greets him cheerfully when he swipes his ID and enters the lobby.
Izuku can’t look at her. It occurs to him he didn’t bother retrieving his cap from the floorboard and his hair is probably a wreck from Katsuki’s fingers running through it. His face blazes. He nods at the attendant and gives her a wave of acknowledgment as he passes by, making a beeline for the private elevators and swiping his badge again to gain access to the upper floors. Katsuki likely booked one of the larger boardrooms on the lower floors for the debrief, and Izuku is glad he doesn’t know exactly where he is.
The top level splits into a set of twin offices with attached suites—one for Deku, and one for Dynamight. Izuku unlocks his office, listening to the whir of electronic locks re-engaging when the door clicks shut behind him. Katsuki’s badge grants him access to the entirety of the upper level—he can walk right in whenever he’s ready. Should be super easy to focus on paperwork with that in mind. Izuku sighs and slumps behind his desk, attempting to distract himself while he endures the longest hour of his entire life.
__ __
Izuku works. He puts his phone on silent and chucks it into the desk drawer to keep from watching the clock—the only person he’s interested in talking to will be here soon enough. His ‘to-do’ stack dwindles bit by bit while his outgoing box fills up. The harder he works, the faster time passes, and viewing his paperwork as an obstacle he must overcome to reach his reward is remarkably effective.
Several dozen pages later the locks disengage and Katsuki arrives, barging into Izuku’s office like he owns the place. Expression impassive, he shuts them in together by shouldering the door, making eye contact when he manually flips the lock back into place. Izuku feigns indifference, looking back down at the document on his desk. He scratches in his Nth signature of the day with lines as sloppy as they’d been in high school. Pro-heroism had done nothing for his poor penmanship.
“How was the meeting?”
Katsuki snorts. “Really?”
Izuku turns the page and signs a line he’s certain doesn’t require a signature to maintain his studious facade. He can feel Katsuki watching him, the weight of his gaze. Heat coils restlessly in the pit of his stomach.
“Izuku.”
The sound of his name yanks an invisible leash and snaps Izuku’s head up. Katsuki stands by the door looking simultaneously expectant and bored. A little wrinkle on the bridge of his straight nose gives away his annoyance.
“Look, if you’d rather work—”
“No,” Izuku throws his pen down like it burned him.
“You’re a terrible actor.” Katsuki starts pulling at the fingers of his gloves, loosening them one at a time before dropping them carelessly to the floor. “Not hard to see through your bullshit when your ears give you away.”
“My ears?” Izuku touches one and knows what color it is by the temperature. He scowls.
“You want your gift or not?”
Izuku saw a fraction of his gift in the car. Signing papers doesn’t take a lot of brainpower; he’s spent the last hour and change envisioning that bombshell body wrapped in lace.
“More than anything.”
“S’what I thought.” Katsuki rakes his mask off over his hair and tosses it aside. His features are softer without it, but the greasepaint smudged around his eyes like bruises intensify the color of his iris. He inclines his head with a tilt of his sharp jaw and reaches for the heavy clasp of his belt, undoing it with a metallic click.
Izuku imagined tearing Katsuki’s clothes off himself to get to the prize, but this is better. A strip tease of this caliber surpasses any fantasy his brain could conjure up.
Katsuki approaches this like he does all things, with a fierce confidence that makes his little show all the more effective. His body is a finely-tuned weapon trained to serve him well in the field, different parts of him curated to optimize speed and power—he looks good, and he knows it.
Izuku’s eyes stick to his bare hands, the flex of tendons when he grips the square buckle and starts sliding the thick nylon free from the loops. The belt hits the hardwood with a deafening sound, loud enough to make Izuku jump. A mean grin cuts across Katsuki’s features.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“I’m about to.” Izuku’s voice comes out strained because his throat has gone dry. From here on, anything removed will reveal skin.
Katsuki smooths a hand down the front of his chest, fanning fingers out over the flat plane of his stomach. He plays at the hem of his overtight top, and a glimpse of hip dizzies Izuku. Suspended arousal licks fire through his blood, heating him to imaptience.
“Stop teasing.”
“Ya hungry, number one?”
Oh. Happy birthday indeed. Katsuki is trying to kill him.
While his brain transitions from his skull to between his legs, Katsuki grips the top of his uniform on either side and starts peeling it up his torso. Every inch he uncovers stokes Izuku’s desire. The cut of his hips, the neat stripe of fair hair below his navel, his tapered waist flaring out at his ribs, widening higher—
Izuku stops breathing.
Triangles of sheer black lace hug Katsuki’s form, ornamenting his chest with intricate patterns. It’s more decorative than practical, a delicate framework wrapped around his natural shape, hiding nothing but accentuating everything. Izuku’s love affair with Katsuki’s chest is no secret, but seeing him like this—
“Y’know,” Katsuki leans over to unlace his boots.
Izuku forces himself to listen. His attention is on Katsuki’s back, strong muscles and golden skin contrasting with dark satin straps, the lacy design that wraps around his ribcage.
“I knew you’d be into this,” Katsuki continues, “This shit ain’t my thing. Why waste time putting on something that you’re only gonna take off? Ain’t comfortable either, ‘specially after a whole day in it.”
The whole day. Under his hero gear. Passing by hundreds of people. Sitting around a conference table with their comrades and coworkers—
“But you’re the romantic, sappy type who appreciates this gaudy stuff.” He steps out of his boots, straightening and going for the button of his pants. He pops it open just enough for Izuku to zero in on the lace hidden behind his fly, the strip peeking over his waistband. Katsuki pauses here, cocking his head with a knowing sneer. “Plus, you’re gross when it comes to me.”
Izuku is about to get grosser. He stands up slowly and circles around to the front of his desk, leaning against it. He crosses his arms and exhales a shaky breath.
“Let's see the rest.”
Katsuki’s shoulders twitch with a sharp little tsk. He drags his zipper down and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his baggy pants, shoving them off his legs. A garter belt that matches the pattern on his chest encircles the slimmest part of his waist, garters with dainty gold clasps secured to stockings hug his toned thighs and make his legs look miles long. At the center of it all, his cock is cupped sweetly in black lace, and there’s something striking and dirty about being able to make out his shape, the flushed color of his skin, but no defining details.
It’s somehow sexier than if he were standing there completely naked.
Izuku crooks a finger at him.
“Come here.”
There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there before, wanting and possessive. Something flickers across Katsuki’s expression. He would never admit it, but he likes when Izuku gets a little pushy, a little demanding. Izuku has been touching him and sleeping with him long enough to know there are certain looks and sounds he only gets when he stops giving and starts taking.
Katsuki cuts his eyes at him with a haughty huff, but he closes the distance while Izuku drinks him in. The shift of his narrow hips wrapped in all that silk and lace is positively sinful. He stops close enough for Izuku to smell him, acrid and sick-sweet like singed caramel.
“Well?” Katsuki’s voice drops into a smoky, soft register that makes Izuku ache between his legs.
“Perfect.”
His expression reveals nothing, but the color on Katsuki’s high cheekbones deepens.
The slight difference in their height is enough that Izuku has to lean up if he wants to kiss him. He moves slowly, tangling his fingers into the short hair behind Katsuki’s ear while looking into his face, sharing breath. Katsuki’s carotid pulse thrums beneath his touch, quicker than expected.
There’s nothing slow about what happens next. Their mouths meet and Katsuki opens with surprising obedience, groaning a rough sound while Izuku devours him. His hands are everywhere, covetously clutching at his narrow waist, running across the lacework framing his chest, slipping between his legs to rub him and make him gasp. Izuku gropes Katsuki’s tight ass and finds it nearly bare. He makes a nasty mental note to appreciate this set from behind before ripping it off, then gravitates back to Katsuki’s chest. He grabs a handful on either side and pushes the two halves together, watching the dainty material gape and struggle to contain him.
“Don’t tear it,” Katsuki growls. He snatches Izuku’s wrist in a bruising grip. “Shit’s expensive.”
“I'll buy you more.”
“It’s custom—”
Izuku shuts him up by kissing him again, licking into his mouth and splaying a hand at the small of his back to pull him in closer, rutting against his hip. The door to his suite is only a few feet away, his bed or the sofa logical choices of where to go next, but Katsuki looks, smells, and tastes like a dream, and the reservoir of Izuku’s patience has gone dry.
Katsuki lets out a startled yelp and swears when Izuku pops him effortlessly off his feet. Surprise is an emotion rarely seen on his pretty features, but Katsuki’s eyes widen when Izuku shifts his weight to one side and sweeps everything off the top of his desk. Pens and pencils and paperclips scatter, random objects bouncing across the floor in every direction. Papers flutter to the rug like feathers, forgotten. Izuku plops Katsuki into the space he made, stepping between his legs and crashing into him again.
A month without him was too long. Izuku is hungry, alright. He wants to climb on top of him and inside of him, get his hands and his tongue on every square inch—
Katsuki pushes at him, and when Izuku doesn’t back off, he makes a frustrated noise in his throat and shoves.
Izuku stumbles back, panting and wholly confused.
“I’m sorry—What did I do?”
“Nothing, stupid.” Katsuki lifts a leg and bumps his ribs with a stockinged foot. “Move.”
Bewildered and turned on are an interesting pair of emotions to process simultaneously.
Izuku steps to the side. Katsuki hops off the desk and grabs him by curling a fist into the front of his shirt, manhandling him around and shoving him down.
“Park it.”
Izuku sits in the space where Katsuki had just been. He doesn’t know what to expect, a bit embarrassed by the situation and his apparently—impressively—unshakable boner.
“Slow down, horndog,” Katsuki taps his knuckles lightly against Izuku’s temple. “It’s your birthday. What do you want?”
Is he offering?
Izuku wants anything. Everything. At this angle, he can’t drag his attention from Katsuki’s chest, the sweet pink of his nipples beneath the dark lace. He licks his lips.
Katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Shoulda known.”
He drops to his knees with devastating grace, and Izuku nearly blacks out. Maybe he’s dying. Maybe he’s already dead and this is his reward—
“Eyes on me,” Katsuki demands, and Izuku couldn’t tear them away if his life depended on it. Long fingers curl into his waistband and drag his shorts down to his knees. Katsuki wastes no time, leaning in to lick a blazing stripe up the underside of his blood-flushed cock. He looks up at him from beneath his lashes, providing the headrush of a lifetime.
“Oh my god.” Izuku’s head falls back on his shoulders. His hand goes reflexively to Katsuki’s head, running shaky fingers through soft blond spikes. He doesn’t pull or push, using the contact to ground himself
“What did I just fuckin’ say about eyes on me?” Katsuki snaps, and his lips brush Izuku’s weeping cockhead, dragging a pitiful whimper out of him.
He finds the resolve to look back down even though he thinks the sight of Katsuki kneeling in front of him like this might kill him. The second their eyes lock, Katsuki’s lips part and take him in. He sinks down in a long, slow slide that lights Izuku’s spine up like a radio tower and makes his legs jump by Katsuki’s ears. The heat and pressure of his mouth are overwhelming, the stroke of his tongue and warm press of his nose against Izuku’s lower belly when he completely bottoms out. His throat spasms but he barely makes a sound, and he makes no move to pull off. He hums around Izuku, the low sound vibrating into his core and spotting his vision. Katsuki takes a breath through his nose, gazing up at Izuku with tears welling on his lash line. One spills over, tracking a dark tendril of greasepaint down his face.
“Pretty down there,” Izuku whispers, actively living his wildest fantasy. It’s not like Katsuki has never gone down on him before; Izuku knows from experience that he’s good at it, but it’s usually hard and fast like he wants to suck his soul from his body, like the speed of Izuku’s orgasm is a high-score challenge. This is slower, more calculated. Every bob of his head, hollow of cheeks, and flick of tongue is deliberate, winding Izuku tighter and tighter—
He pulls off with a wet sound, and Izuku is so into it he chases after him, nudging against his face. Katsuki grins at him with so many teeth he looks like a predator, and all Izuku wants to do is shove his cock back into his sharp mouth. There’s drool and precome on his chin, a thin string of it stretching down to his chest.
“You’ve done nothing but stare at my tits all night.”
Izuku’s face burns impossibly hotter. “Sorry, you ah—you look really good in that.”
“Yeah?” Katsukis pushes himself higher on his knees, leaning in so the tip of Izuku’s cock skims over rough lace, carving a wet stripe up the center of his chest. “Are you sorry?”
Izuku whines by way of answer. His hips jerk forward of their own volition, seeking.
“You like that, don’t you?” Katsuki purrs at him. “Pervert.” He spreads his thighs to sink low again, then leans back up, letting Izuku slot between the plush of his pectorals and back out.
“You’re killing me,” Izuku says breathlessly, trying to keep still. He grips the edge of the desk so hard it cracks under his fingers.
”Don’t die yet. We’re just getting started.”
Katsuki’s big hands come up to his chest, pushing it together. Izuku’s length nestles snugly against his sternum, enveloped in silky skin. Katsuki opens his jaw, tongue lolling out to flick at the tip of cock peeking over damp lace.
“Katsuki,” Izuku drops the given name, hoping the plea gets him somewhere—
“G’head, birthday boy.”
A team of horses couldn’t hold Izuku back. He grips Katsuki’s hair to hold his head in place and rocks his hips to fuck into sweet, warm friction. It’s not the same as his mouth, not the same as being inside the hot clutch of his body, but it’s incredible in its own way. The push and drag, the visual of his cock sliding up from between the two halves of Katsuki’s chest, rasping over lace before grazing the wet of his tongue and sliding back down.
It’s absolutely filthy.
Izuku isn’t going to last a minute. It’s pathetic how quickly he’s on the edge, legs shaking, cracked little noises bursting out of him. He looks to Katsuki for permission and gets a small nod. The whole reason he’s down there in the first place is to fulfill his depraved little fantasy—
A strangled sound tears out of Izuku’s throat and he comes all over the pretty black lace. He paints Katsuki from his pink lips to the base of his sternum, droplets clinging in the textured pattern like pearls. It’s the single hottest thing he has ever witnessed, and he might faint if a base part of him wasn’t determined to burn every second of this experience into his brain.
Katsuki surges up, grabbing the collar of Izuku’s shirt and hauling him to his mouth. He kisses him open-mouthed and dirty, pushing his tongue into every corner he can reach to give Izuku a taste of himself. He moans into it, eyes rolling at the depravity. Katsuki just keeps kissing him, until his thoughts are cotton and all he knows is the taste of that cruel mouth, teeth in his lip and hands in his hair.
With no warning, Katsuki smacks the heels of his hands into Izuku’s shoulders, forcing him to fall back onto his elbows. His chest heaves in an attempt to replenish the oxygen stolen from his burning lungs. Katsuki leans over him and grips his chin, forcing Izuku to look at him. His hair is sweat-damp and wild, his face a mess of come and smeared greasepaint. A feral thing that Izuku is hopelessly attracted to. A memory he will take hits off of for the rest of his life.
“Your refractory period doesn’t exist. It’s my turn.”
Izuku may not survive a second round, but it seems like a pleasant way to die. He nods.
“Yeah, okay. Let me up and I’ll—”
“Oh, no,” Katsuki grins at him and licks his teeth, “You’re gonna stay right there and watch. Now lie back.”
Izuki kicks his shorts the rest of the way off and slides farther back on the desk. He pushes sweaty curls out of his face and takes in the chaos all around them. Some of those documents are important. Sidekick applications and student profiles. A dark ink stain soaks into his rug, slowly growing.
They really should have taken this to the bedroom. Too late now.
He doesn’t have much of a refractory period. He’s already hard, but starts leaking all over himself watching Katsuki undo his dainty little garters and slide the thin string of his lacy underwear off the incredible curve of his ass. He steps out of the tiny garment and kicks it aside. Izuku watches the bob of his cock, rubbed angry red by the lace. His mouth waters.
“Watching you take your panties off was not on my birthday bingo card, but I’m uh, not mad about it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Izuku. You really know how to kill a moment.”
Izuku laughs and covers his face with his forearm. “It would take more than that to kill this.”
The ‘this’ in question aches between his legs, making it known that round two can start whenever Katsuki is ready.
“Remember when I said you were gross? This shit is why.”
Katsuki saunters over and climbs on top of the desk, straddling him. Clearly not grossed out enough to be deterred. Izuku doesn’t know if Katsuki wants to fuck him, or if he wants Izuku to do the fucking, but he is decidedly up for either.
“I don’t have any lube in this desk. There’s some in the bedside table—”
“Don’t need it.”
Katsuki shifts his weight forward onto his knees. He reaches back and grips Izuku’s cock, holding it at the angle he wants, lining up and sitting down on him like the jigsaw piece matched to fit perfectly. Stunned, Izuku claws at the desktop with the most pathetic, choked-off sound. The slow, searing glide is maddening, like Katsuki has made it his personal mission to destroy him, so tight and hot it’s damn near painful, but there’s no resistance when he breathes a shaky sigh and takes Izuku to the hilt.
“When did you—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Katsuki puts a hand down on Izuku’s chest for leverage and adjusts his stance with a smirk. “Hang on tight.”
He lifts up and nearly off, the tip of Izuku’s cock kissing his rim before he drops back down and makes him see every star in the galaxy. His hands fly to Katsuki’s knees, smoothing up his thighs to grip his narrow hips below the garter belt, guiding him. Katsuki doesn’t need help, but Izuku likes the solid feel of him, the flex of his stomach and bunch of his strong legs.
Katsuki finds a rhythm that ruins them both, riding Izuku like he’ll die if he doesn’t. He always swears a lot during sex, but he doesn’t get noisy, doesn’t fully let go until he’s really into it. Izuku watches his transition from focused to desperate. His face is ruddy, flushed all the way down his chest, and the breath punches out of him with a rough little grunt every time he slams down. He rolls his hips at a pace that snaps his pretty cock against his toned stomach, tossing his head with sweat glistening on the column of his throat. Izuku fucks up to meet him stroke for stroke, babbling nonsense praise interspersed with pretty and perfect and so lucky you’re mine
Katsuki is already covered in mess and Izuku can’t wait to make him dirtier. They both hurtle towards the same end with no finesse, no real rhythm in the clash of their bodies when they’re both chasing release. Izuku grips Katsuki’s cock, stroking him hard and fast with a mean twist of wrist, and Katsuki cries out the first genuinely loud sound he’s made all night, a broken-off wail that’s more like pain than pleasure. He stops rocking in favor of grinding down on Izuku, taking him as deep as his body will have him, thighs shaking out of his control.
Izuku looks up at him with reverence like religion.
“You’re so pretty.”
It’s unclear if the next stroke is just right or if the praise does it, but Katsuki makes an animal sound and comes across Izuku’s scarred knuckles, trembling and fucking mindlessly at his fist. He tightens up until it hurts, but the burning squeeze of his body wrings Izuku’s second orgasm out of him with an intensity that vignettes his vision and shorts his ears out like a bomb going off. He grips bruises into Katsuki’s sharp hipbones and empties into him with a cry of his name.
The ringing fades as Izuku resurfaces. His heartbeat drums inside his skull, all of his limbs fuzzy and weightless. Katsuki sits in lap, staring down at him while catching his breath. Izuku has never seen him so wrecked. Sloppy.
He is beautiful.
“Hi.”
Katsuki grins. “Hey.”
“You wanna go clean up?” Izuku pets his thighs, slipping his hands beneath the garters to massage at the muscles. Katsuki doesn’t like being covered in post-sex mess, and he looks positively debauched.
He shakes his head. “Gimme a minute.” His hips lift to let Izuku’s cock slip out and he grimaces when wet trickles down the inside of his thighs. He is too exhausted to be bothered, collapsing onto Izuku’s chest. Their legs intertwine and dangle off the desk.
“Happy birthday,” Katsuki mutters, “Sorry I was late.”
Izuku wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into his hair. The sweat flattening his spikes makes him smell even sweeter.
“Worth the wait. I love you.”
“You’d better. That was a lot of work.”
Izuku trails fingertips up and down Katsuki’s spine.
“I can’t believe you asked Best Jeanist to make that.”
Katsuki shrugs. “S’what he does.”
“Did he know it was for you?”
“Yeah. I needed it to fit and he already had my measurements. Guy’s a freak, he can’t judge.”
“You’ll have to let him know it was a hit. Maybe he can uh… make you some more. In other colors. Maybe red?”
Katsuki snorts and pinches Izuku’s side. It tickles more than it hurts. “Gross.”
They stay put for a while, worn out and wrapped in each other. Izuku dozes off, rousing when Katsuki unsticks himself from his skin and sits up. Izuku stretches with an audible pop of his shoulder. The dull ache in his lower back reminds him that sex and sleeping on a desk was a terrible idea. Hot as hell though.
The office is a total wreck, scattered like a tornado went through. One corner of the desk is splintered.
“Do you see my shorts?”
“They’re under the desk. C’mon, I need a shower. Now.”
Katsuki’s legs do a decent baby-deer impression on the way to the bathroom, and while it probably has more to do with the desk nap than anything, Izuku is still amused. He’s sad to see the lingerie come off, but since it facilitated the best sex they’ve ever had, maybe he can convince Katsuki back into it at some point—he was serious about that red set.
They shower together, kissing beneath the spray, touching each other with unhurried hands while the steam rises and the glass clouds over. Warm and lazy, too tired for anything eventful. They use the quiet time to catch up on the love they missed, enjoying each other’s company and re-learning the lines of strong, battleworn bodies. Izuku knows Katsuki’s cartography as well as his own, every angle and curve and dip, the origin of each scar.
They dry off and get dressed for bed. They're already in Izuku’s suite, so they settle in for the night. Katsuki dresses in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of loose, worn sweats from Izuku’s dresser. Izuku likes seeing him in his clothes, and Katsuki secretly likes wearing them.
As much as they both want to fall into bed together, Izuku’s disaster of an office needs righting. He would leave it for morning, but the overnight custodians clean the offices once a week. Izuku doesn’t know if they’re scheduled for tonight, but knowing the state of his desk, he’d rather not risk it.
He collects pens and papers, picking a hundred paperclips out of the rug while Katsuki retrieves the pieces of his uniform and wipes down the desktop. All the documents that had been carefully organized by complete and incomplete are in a jumble, scattered like a fallen house of cards. Izuku picks up a page that sticks to another and makes a face before tossing them into the shred bin.
“You just crushed someone’s hero dream,” Katsuki jokes.
“Would they be more upset that I tossed their application or that you came on it?”
They both burst into laughter, Izuku falling backward on the floor and Katsuki doubling over to hold himself around the middle. Izuku stays sprawled on the rug after he wipes tears from his eyes.
“I think that’s the worst of it. Let’s call it a night.”
The ink stain by his head can wait and the damage to his desk will require more work than they can manage tonight.
“We can’t go to bed yet.”
“It’s late. Whatever’s left will be here in the morning.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Katsuki mutters. “Now get up and help me find my fuckin’ panties.”