Archive of Our Own

“You checked the box for ‘brat taming.’”

Kacchan slams his glass of apple juice on the table, cheeks puffed. He swallows hard, gagging. “What the fuck?”

Izuku gnaws on the cap of his pen, watching Kacchan’s tongue glisten in the morning light.

“Izuku.”

“I was just thinking about it. Um. I guess I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

Kacchan blinks. He glances around the kitchen, then back to Izuku. “Are you talking about that stupid fucking kink survey we took when we were drunk, two weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Wh— Why?”

“Well, it was useful data,” Izuku says, plastic molding pleasantly under his canines. “Kacchan is very honest when he’s drunk.”

“No, I’m impulsive.” Kacchan scowls. He sips his juice. “That’s different.”

“Impulsive is good for a checklist of wants, right? It’s better not to think about it too hard.”

“For BDSM? It’s super fucking important to think about it. I’ve tried to explain this to you how many times? Safe—”

“Sane and, uh, consensual. Yeah. I know. But Kacchan, wants are different than that.”

“Wants aren’t scenes,” Kacchan says. His brow is wrinkled very attractively. This shouldn’t stand out to Izuku, since everything Kacchan does is attractive, but he’s always dazzled by Kacchan. It’s hard not to succumb to his charms constantly. “—nd you aren’t even fuckin’ listening now, are you?”

“No, sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Kacchan is so handsome, he distracts me sometimes.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “I said that we can’t do every weird sex fantasy our brains cook up.”

The pen returns to Izuku’s mouth. “I don’t think brat taming is that weird. I want to be put in a cage and treated like a dog. That’s a lot weirder.”

“It’s not— It’s not that weird,” Kacchan says, ears red, which—internal note to self, actually note that down later in the Kacchan Sex Facts book under Reactions and Evidence—doesn’t help his rebuttal.

“I mean literally like a dog, Kacchan.”

“I know.” Kacchan makes a show of drinking his juice, throat flexing with each pull. He drains the whole glass. Truly impressive breath control.

“We do the dog stuff,” Izuku continues. Kacchan grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallows. “We do the dog stuff, which is objectively weirder. So why not brat taming?”

“Fuck.” Kacchan sets the cup down hard. “Give me a second, damn.”

“Okay.” Izuku gnaws on the pen cap, watching Kacchan take deep breaths. He’s still in his sleep shirt, a threadbare thing from high school that strains against the swell of his biceps.

“You know what else got checked on that list?”

“Yes.”

“Choking. Felching. Watersports.”

“We both checked yes for watersports, Kacchan.”

Kacchan rubs his temple.

Izuku spits out his pen. It leaves a wet smear where it tumbles on the floor “Kacchan, I don’t see what the problem is with trying some of these. If we don’t like it, we can just stop.” He readjusts himself on his cushion, shouldering bumping into the leg of a chair. It’s true that most of their sex is vanilla, but sometimes they do the dog stuff with ears and a collar and the cage Kacchan bought off of some website he refuses to disclose. It’s a nice cage. Spacious. Has a big dog bed with pillows and chew toys. Izuku takes day naps in it even when they aren’t doing the dog stuff. Izuku likes the dog stuff. He likes it a lot. No reason why they can’t branch out some more, especially for something that Kacchan likes. “Nothing on that list was scary or…y’know. We can stop at any point.”

Kacchan gives him a flat stare. “Cannibalism.”

“We both checked yes for that one, too.” Izuku picks up the pen again, tapping it against his lower lip. It’s cold and slimy now. Not exactly pleasant. That’s fine. He endures. “You’re right, we have these, um, safeguards. So what’s wrong with trying something new?”

“I checked brat taming,” Kacchan says. “You didn’t.”

“Mm. Well, I’m willing to try. That’s why I brought it up.” He rocks back and forth, drumming his fingers on his bare knee. Usually they do Izuku’s things. Well— Izuku’s thing. He’d like to do one of Kacchan’s things. “Unless you’d rather do something we both marked as interested? Watersports? Cannibalism?”

“We are not doing cannibalism. Did you listen to anything I said before? We’re not doing everything we have a weird fantasy—”

“Safe, sane, and consensual. Yup.” He watches Kacchan run his fingers through his hair, turning it from charmingly tousled to sexily tousled. “So watersports, then?”

Kacchan flips him off. He stomps out of the kitchen.

It’s not a no.

So actually it was a no. According to Kacchan, watersports requires a ton of set-up because they don’t want to get anything dirty. Izuku pointed out that they could just do it in the bathroom and Kacchan got a really nasty look on his face. So it was a no. Bummer.

Brat taming, on the other hand.

Okay, yes, Kacchan did say no to that as well. But Izuku is persistent if nothing else. He’s also a people pleaser just behind that. He remembers the night they filled out the kink survey, Kacchan a little giggly off the beer, his breath sour and hot against Izuku’s face. He always got touchier when he was drunk. Guiltily, Izuku has always enjoyed letting him grope him. The unthinking entitlement of his touch, pawing at Izuku like a possession instead of a partner, lights a sick heat in the pit of Izuku’s stomach that leaves him buoyant and hazy. Sober Kacchan would balk if he knew how his hands wandered, so Izuku’s never given any indication of it. That’s probably a bad thing, but… Well. Izuku has needs, too. Tons of needs. Needs that Kacchan fulfills readily, if their sex calendar is anything to go by.

But one of his needs is giving Kacchan what he needs. When Kacchan had checked ‘extremely interested’ on brat taming, Izuku had been a bit confounded at the time; most of their sex involved Izuku doing whatever the hell Kacchan told him to, from fucking him to blowing him to just jerking each other off, all to Kacchan’s instruction and satisfaction. And the dog stuff, sometimes. There was also that, of course.

No, no that was good too, Kacchan reassured him. But…

But?

He remembers Kacchan’s wet mouth as he mumbled about how Izuku should “let loose” during sex like he did in sparring. You give me such an attitude, y’know? Makes me horny as hell.

Ah.

You want to fight me it? Izuku had asked, feeling a flustered, startled sense raise its head. Like—

Not exactly. I’m not talking about that weird pretend rape shit or anything. Ew.

Kacchan, that’s really judgmental—

This is different, alright? Drop it.

Right.

I just mean, like— Like you don’t heel immediately. I gotta break you down ’til you listen. Like in sparring, when I pin you.

Okay, sure. But with sex?

Yeah. With sex.

What happens if I pin you?

Kacchan got annoyed at that. You won’t.

I totally could, Kacchan, he insisted. He could. My win rate in sparring is—

It’s a scene, dipshit. The ending is prede…determined, y’know. ’S play fighting. Acting. Like with the dog shit.

The dog shit was not acting. Izuku did not say this.

Kacchan huffed, his hand warm on Izuku’s upper thigh, thumb sliding absently. It dredged up little sparks of sensitivity in its path. Listen. Izuku listened. It’s just a dumb little fantasy, ’s not. Y’know, not something doable.

That confused him. He and Kacchan sparred frequently. While he balked at the idea of a predetermined loss, he wasn’t opposed to adding a sexual dimension to anything they did together. Why not? They did the cage, after all.

’Cause you can’t be a brat, Kacchan said plainly.

What? That rankled Izuku. He hated being told he couldn’t do something. Always had hated it. And from Kacchan, it just made him petulant. Contrary. Competitive.

You’re too good. ’S why. Always too good. You can’t be a brat. No way.

I do everything I can to provide for Kacchan.

Exactly.

Izuku didn’t understand that response.

Look. Kacchan’s hand squeezed the meat of Izuku’s thigh, sliding inward. Izuku felt the base of his cock twitch. He held his body still. Kacchan told him to look, so he looked. The glassy sheen of Kacchan’s eyes, the swell of his bottom lip. You’re very into the good boy shit. ’S nothing wrong with that. This is just a dumb survey of interests. We don’t gotta be into all the same stuff.

Izuku had the feeling there was something very wrong with it. If Kacchan wanted something, Izuku wanted to be the one to give it to him. Always.

So yes, Kacchan may have given a no earlier, but Izuku is determined. He was determined then and he remains determined now. He’ll provide Kacchan with exactly what he needs.

Convincing Kacchan should be very easy. Or— It’s easy for Izuku, at least. He recognizes that he may have certain advantages when it comes to his preferred method of convincing Kacchan.

Friday night. Takeout for dinner, Kacchan on the couch, Izuku on his designated cushion by his feet. The lights are dimmed, a crappy gameshow on the television. Kacchan’s finished feeding Izuku his half of their shared gyoza, the ghost of his fingers leaving an impression on Izuku’s tongue. Kacchan is strangely engrossed in the yammering screen, unconcerned. This is the ideal time to strike.

Izuku wraps his hand around Kacchan’s left shin, sliding down to his bare ankle. His thumb rubs tenderly at the ball of the joint.

Kacchan shoots him a confused look.

This part is important. Izuku keeps pretending to watch the TV. He’s only attempted this maneuver a few times, but they’ve all succeeded. The script is flawless.

He slowly settles Kacchan’s foot over his cock.

“Okay, what the hell do you want.”

Izuku blinks. He cranes his head. “What?”

Kacchan glares at him. “You pumped your dick to half-hard as soon as you sat your ass on the floor.”

“O-oh. Uh. Must have been, uh, the pressure or. Uh.”

“Save it. You only pull this shit when you want weird sex shit. What is it this time?”

Ah. Kacchan is very smart.

“What? You want a belly rub again? Walkies around the neighborhood?”

Izuku’s ears grow hot. “N-no. Um, it’s something new. Not, the, uh, not the dog stuff.”

Kacchan turns sour. “I told you, I’m not doing the piss. I don’t care—”

“Brat taming. Um.” Izuku lifts Kacchan’s foot off of his half-hard cock. He shuffles out from under Kacchan’s weight, mourning its absence already. “I’d like to try it, Kacchan. Please.”

Kacchan’s stare is inscrutable. The television washes him out to a ghostly cast. “Don’t do something just because you think I want you to.”

“I’m not,” Izuku insists. He does things because he wants to do the things Kacchan wants him to do.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow.

“I really want to,” Izuku says. “I do, Kacchan. I want to be a brat for you.”

“Hm.” The tone of his hum is dubious, but it’s bending.

The usual script failed. Two successes and one failure is still over a 66% success rate. Izuku tucks that information away for further consideration and cuts a new path forward. “I really do.” He lets his voice lower, grow breathier. It’s less an act than peeling back the veneer of restraint. Izuku is very easy for Kacchan. He’d fuck him right now if he wanted. His hands wander along Kacchan’s bare skin, ruffling his leg hair and smoothing it back down. “You can put me in my place, Kacchan.”

Kacchan swallows thickly. Izuku isn’t sure how he’s capable of seducing Kacchan, but it’s evidently possible. Kacchan, the most handsome man in the world, is curiously vulnerable to a plain-faced nobody like Izuku. And right now, something about Izuku has him ensnared. Somehow. Amazingly.

“You know I like pain,” Izuku continues. “I like it when you pin me, when you manhandle me. Kacchan’s so strong, so domineering. I bet it’d feel amazing to struggle against you and fail.” It wouldn’t. It’d be frustrating. But like this, Izuku can respect the fantasy. Kacchan’s breath hitched with desire, forcing Izuku to buckle. Extorting what Izuku would gladly give freely. “For Kacchan to earn my submission. That’s what it’s about, right?” Wikipedia said so.

“Whatever,” Kacchan croaks, yanking his leg out of Izuku’s hold. “Lemme check the calendar.”

Victory. Izuku feels his face twitch. He tamps it down.

Kacchan rolls off of the couch, padding into the kitchen to check their shared calendar. It’s mostly used to determine when they can have sex. So it’s also the sex calendar. “It’s not a passive thing,” he calls. “Just so you frickin’ know.”

“I’m not passive, Kacchan.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m very active in our sex!” Most of their sex involves Izuku doing everything Kacchan tells him to do. And Kacchan tells him to do a lot, usually. Then he gets inside of Kacchan and, uh. The rest is kind of fuzzy, but it’s good. It’s really good.

“Yeah. In a sense.”

Izuku frowns.

Kacchan pokes his head out. “You gotta be bad.”

“Ah?”

“To be a brat, you gotta give some attitude, dipshit.”

Right. “You like me when we spar,” Izuku says. “You afraid I’m more than you can handle when it’s in bed?” He silently congratulates himself on how smooth and confident that sounded. Very cavalier.

Kacchan disappears again. “Next Saturday evening is free.”

“You’re on.”

“It’s not sparring,” Kacchan says. “We’re fucking. To be clear.”

“I know!”

“Dick in ass fucking.”

“Can I rim you?”

Silent consideration. “Yes.”

Izuku fist pumps.

“Saturday evening, around five.”

“Sounds good.”

“We’ll go over the details later.” Kacchan steps back into the living room, absently wiping his hand on his shorts. “You just gonna sit there at half-mast all night or what?”

Izuku sheepishly drums his fingers on his thighs. “Well. If Kacchan, uh, would care to…”

“After that piss-poor manipulation attempt? Fuck off.” Kacchan drops onto the couch, nearly kicking Izuku on the floor. “I’m watching the rest of Can You Swallow It? and I’m not touching your loser dick for the next two days.”

Izuku’s smile fades.

Kacchan grabs the remote off the low table and spams the volume button with his thumb. He shoves his legs back into Izuku’s lap, narrowly missing his water bowl.

Izuku sighs, petting Kacchan’s right shin as he turns his attention to the television, where a contestant is failing to fit a whole sneaker into his mouth.

Kacchan’s penis is exactly 8.7 centimeters. Izuku tracked it obsessively over the course of his recovery from stage one phallo. The succeeding stages had found Izuku a little less fixated about that aspect and more fretting over other details. At the time, he’d felt a mixture of awe and envy; Kacchan had always been ahead of him when it came to everything—school, quirks, careers, transition. Still, he’s loved Kacchan from day zero to today. That includes this—Kacchan’s cock, a miracle Izuku is very dedicated to worship. The soft warmth of it in his mouth, pressing his nose into Kacchan’s trimmed pubes while a hand cradles his skull. There’s nothing like it, the quiet that stuffs his brain until he feels like his insides are cotton.

They took their separate journeys to the same destination. From the aching misunderstandings of boyhood to today, two men sleeping in the same bed. What was once fantasy is routine—their bodies, as they should be. Now they match. Sort of. Izuku’s doesn’t look the same. Sometimes when they’re showering together, that insecurity creeps back up. Kacchan reminds him with some irritation that he wanted smaller and Izuku wanted bigger so there’s no fucking problem. Izuku reminds himself that frotting with Kacchan is extremely fun and that helps more than Kacchan’s thoughtful reassurances.

This memory comforts him now, while he watches Kacchan drool onto his pillow at four in the morning. Kacchan’s naked; Kacchan always sleeps either naked or fully clothed, no in-between. It’s summer, the cicada-shrill end of August, so Kacchan is nude. In the winter, he drags the flannels out of the closet no matter how much Izuku gripes. That’s fine. Kacchan can do things that Izuku doesn’t like.

“I read the whole Wikipedia page, but I’m really not sure if I can pull it off,” Izuku admits to Kacchan’s penis, resting his cheek on the bony turn of his own knees. “Remember that time we had to go undercover as tourists in Osaka and I tried to grow a mustache? That was my definition of disguise. You told me off for being stupid for like half an hour. And you were right. I don’t stand out that much, as is; the mustache would have made me stick out much worse.”

Kacchan’s penis does not reply. It sits there very handsomely. Nice glans. His balls prop it up well.

“I’m not great at listening to you in our daily life.” Izuku’s voice cracks. Kacchan’s disappointment, Kacchan’s fury, Kacchan’s desperation, a constant loop of explosive arguments and weary silences. Stop trying to die. “In bed, it’s like— This is how I make it up to you, y’know? I can be good here, no matter what. The filter is gone. I can be selfish. —Ah, this isn’t really making sense, probably. I just mean, when you tell what to do in here, I do it. It’s simple. It can be simple. I’m in your hands. I’m… I’m yours.”

Their window deafens the melancholy howl of insects. Kacchan’s penis rests soft and pale against his thigh, 8.7 centimeters of perfection. Every part of Kacchan is perfect because it’s his.

“I want to be yours,” Izuku mumbles. His lashes are cold against the scraped skin of his leg. “I want to be yours, Kacchan. All yours.”

Their alarm screams him to wakefulness—five-thirty. He doesn’t remember sleeping. His face is squished against Kacchan’s chest, cheek planted on a nipple. Kacchan’s heart thunders against his skull, his fist swinging into his spine.

“Get off of me, you lump! Come on or we’re gonna be late!”

Izuku rolls off of Kacchan, flopping onto his back. The ceiling sways under his inspection.

“You look like shit,” Kacchan says from the dresser, already wriggling into his jeans. “How’d you sleep last night?”

Izuku blinks slowly. The motion burns in a bad way. His lashes are tacky, clumped together. “Great.”

Kacchan corners him in the locker room, that evening. Intertwines their fingers and kisses him on the mouth and both cheeks, then his brow. Izuku melts without question, the tacky back of his sweat-soaked undershirt clinging to his skin as Kacchan presses him into the wall. “You sure you want to do this?”

He knows the tone before the words. Understanding clicks into place behind recognition. “The brat stuff?” His voice is breathy, that horrible squeaky pitch he can’t bother to hate when Kacchan draws it out of him. “I wanna, Kacchan.” He lifts onto his toes, pressing a wet kiss to Kacchan’s pinched mouth.

Kacchan pries him off with a firm hand. “Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he acknowledges. “It’s on our calendar. Rimming and dick in ass sex.”

“How d’you feel about corporal punishment?”

A pleasant shiver works its way down Izuku’s shoulders to the base of his spine at the word corporeal. A different shiver follows at the word punishment. He relishes in the former, chooses to ignore the latter. His tongue swipes at his dry lips. “Yeah.”

“Mm.” Kacchan sounds doubtful.

“Like smackin’ or…?”

“I was thinking spanking after I pin you down.”

“Spanking doesn’t do enough,” Izuku murmurs. “You know you gotta smack me real hard for it to do anything.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. His cheeks and ears give him away with a pleasant ruddy flush. He likes smacking Izuku almost as much as Izuku likes getting smacked. Kacchan has strong, solid hands. Thick arms. “Stop drooling, loser. We gotta get home.”

Izuku wipes his mouth on his forearm as Kacchan pulls away. “You started it.”

Kacchan flips him off, bending to grab his duffel bag from the bench.

Something tender in Izuku’s chest squeezes at the sight. “I love you, Kacchan.”

“Don’t pull your sappy shit after talking about our kinky BDSM sex plan.”

“Please engage in safe play,” Todoroki says, stepping out from the showers. He nods in greeting to Izuku as he passes.

Kacchan stiffens.

Izuku has just enough time to plug his ears before Kacchan starts yelling.

Brat taming is a roleplay scenario where a submissive acts defiant and the dominant puts him in his place. Consensually, of course—everything in BDSM is supposed to be consensual. And safe. And sane. Whatever that means.

Izuku is no stranger to craving domination. Obviously. He’s not opposed to a firm hand, either—there’s security in the tight grip of Kacchan’s palm on his nape, guiding him into place. Kacchan bearing down on him, overwhelming him, swallowing him down to the root and taking what he wants. Izuku wants to give it all to him. He gives it freely, eagerly.

Which is the crux of the issue, really. Corporeal is good. Even play-fighting or whatever else, Izuku’s not opposed. It’s the withholding on his own end, the petulant put-on. It doesn’t come naturally. He isn’t sure if it can come artificially, either. He has to trust he can wear the mask if that’s what Kacchan truly wants, that his desire to please Kacchan supersedes all else.

Ultimately, though, Izuku’s place is at Kacchan’s feet. His place is eating gyoza out of Kacchan’s palm, resting his cheek on Kacchan’s thigh, nuzzling into Kacchan’s hands when they cup his face or pet his head. Normal, domestic mornings and evenings, followed by normal, domestic sex where Kacchan tells him what to do and Izuku does it. The pain and the collar and the cage are a fun reinterpretation of that dynamic; they are not a departure. Play, Kacchan calls it, what Izuku considers natural.

There is an appeal in brat taming. Intellectually, Izuku can see that. Kacchan likes a challenge. More than a challenge, Kacchan likes winning. Winning against Izuku is one of his favorite things. Izuku’s automatic capitulation is doubtlessly not nearly as thrilling as a power struggle, even one merely acted out. Kacchan wants to overcome Izuku, wants to punish him for his trespasses, then soothe the hurt with a mutually desired domination.

It’s all simulated, of course. Safe, sane, consensual. That is to say, it’s pretend. With the various stop gaps and safety measures a game of pretend brings. It’s a game with rules. Play. Roles they wear.

Saying it all so plainly is not very sexy.

Izuku doesn’t wear a role in the bedroom so much as he exposes a nerve. When Kacchan strikes it, he sings. His tail wags, his teeth bare. Kacchan speaks and Izuku listens. Sex makes things simple. The crux of their devotion is worn down to its central thread. Izuku is free to worship Kacchan the way he wishes he could every second of his life, if only for the night.

This, too, is part of that. Izuku wants to give Kacchan everything. Friction in the bedroom makes Izuku’s skin prickle, but it is itself a form of service. Kacchan wants it, after all. Wants to wrestle Izuku’s submission out of him, to bring down wrath, then follow it up with mercy.

At the end, allegedly, lies absolution.

You have to be bad, Izuku reminds himself. A mantra he repeated in the bathroom when he was trying to hype himself up. He’d failed miserably. Kacchan had slammed on the door, barking about how Izuku had better have washed his dick, that it was Kacchan’s turn, so on and so forth. Izuku had wrenched the door open and scurried out without a single thought.

It’s concerning. He’s supposed to not listen to Kacchan tonight. Yet whenever push comes to shove, he knows that his response to any immediate command—from the necessary to the banal—is unquestioning capitulation.

Or most of them, at least.

Be bad is the command of the night, after all. Izuku isn’t sure if he can perform. He’s hardly an actor and Kacchan’s disapproval always stings. Izuku is no stranger to it; he routinely disappoints Kacchan. Every time he’s in the hospital, Kacchan looks caught between wanting to strangle him and giving way to despair. It’s a horrible feeling. Izuku can’t imagine experiencing that kind of devastation while engaging in something as intimate as sex.

It’s play-disappointment. Right.

Izuku’s not the best at differentiating insincere from sincere. Admittedly, it’s part of the thrill when it comes to “scenes.” Kacchan gets into his role too, he knows, but Izuku can lose himself in it. He can already feel his tail between his legs, flicking with nervous energy. His fingers reach down to cup his ballsack, thumb finding the button for his erectile device. He couldn’t find it the second time they had sex after his implant and he had started bawling until he got it two hours later. They didn’t end up having sex that night and he hasn’t let himself forgot its location ever since.

Kacchan’s never had any embarrassing problems like that. To be expected, of course; Kacchan has always been upright, certain in his stance. Kacchan is a miracle. This has never been a question to Izuku, has reaffirmed its truth at every turn. From his transition to his resurrection, the great and the small moments of his life. Kacchan is amazing and Izuku is grateful to bask in his radiance.

“You good?” Kacchan stands in the doorway, towel slung over his broad shoulder.

I wish, Izuku thinks. “Yeah.”

Kacchan is naked. Kacchan is unashamed of his nudity, something Izuku finds very admirable. Almost everything about Kacchan is admirable. He steps past Izuku, smoothing out his towel over their duvet. Normally Izuku waits for Kacchan to tell him to kneel on the towel, where he spreads his legs and listens to Kacchan tell him the night’s plan.

Instead, it’s silent. Izuku stands a short distance from Kacchan, unmoored.

“You ready to start this?” Kacchan asks. His back is to Izuku. He has a beautiful back—strong, with a clean divot where his spine dips between muscle. The smooth skin is interrupted by the puckered bit of scarring along his shoulder, an exit wound Izuku does his best not to consider. Today he succeeds.

“Yeah,” Izuku says.

“We got safewords—”

“Do we really gotta go over those every time?” They haven’t done a ton of roleplay, admittedly. Most of their sex is surprisingly vanilla, minus the whole dog cage thing. But this scenario doesn’t sound super involved.

Kacchan gets irritated. “Yeah.”

“Why? It’s just colors.”

His jaw twitches. “It’s called communication, you fucking moron.”

Right. Sure. Izuku’s pretty sure Kacchan just read that you’re supposed to do this before every scene so he does it. For a rebel, Kacchan is shockingly rule-oriented in his own habits and sensibilities.

Part of his gap moe, Izuku thinks. He nods to himself.

“Izuku.”

“Red, yellow, green. Um. Yeah, I’m ready, Kacchan.”

“Okay,” Kacchan says. “Get on the bed.”

Izuku presses a knee into the mattress.

“You’re not supposed to listen.”

Izuku startles. “Right! Ah, sorry.”

Kacchan’s brow twitches. “We don’t gotta do this.”

“No!” That escaped way too loud. “I, uh, I want to. I want to, Kacchan. Please.”

Kacchan eyes him. “…Get on the bed.”

That means don’t get on the bed. Izuku’s body trembles, arms tucking against his chest.

Kacchan’s lips tug downward, lighting a nervous flame in Izuku’s gut.

“Make me,” leaves Izuku’s mouth. This is the game.

“Make you,” Kacchan echoes. Was that the wrong thing to say? “You’re usually pretty obedient. What gives?”

“Uh. Well, we agreed to roleplay the brat taming, so…”

“I know. I was just acting back. Keep saying the brat shit.”

“I’ll try,” Izuku says. “Um, maybe this would be easier if I had a script.”

“We’re just improvising,” Kacchan says. “We’re not gonna memorize dialogue for sex roleplay. That’s stupid.”

Izuku’s feels his lower lip jut at that, put out. “There’s nothing wrong with preassigned dialogue. I, um. I told you, right, that I had this idea for a story we could act out with the cage. I’d only give you things that you would say! Really. I know exactly how you talk—I’ve noted so much about it over the years—that it would be pretty seamless to memorize—”

“We’re not using any scripts, alright? I— Look. If this is too hard for you…”

Irritation curls its fist around anxiety in Izuku’s chest. He can handle it; he needs to handle it. He will bear any burden Kacchan wants him to carry. “I can do it.”

“Yeah?” Kacchan says, voice softer and vicious. “Get on the bed, then.”

Izuku’s fingers creak at his sides. “No.”

“Izuku. Get on the fucking bed.”

This is a trap, he thinks. The point is to get in a fight. His irritation snuffs out his anxiety at that. Saying one thing and expecting another is deeply frustrating; Kacchan knows Izuku finds it frustrating. Izuku asked for this, so he has no right to be properly angry. Yet still, he feels it under his skin, hot and outsized and uncomfortable.

Kacchan steps up to him, reaching for his left arm. Izuku jerks it away, shifting closer to the bed. “Get on the bed or I’m gonna make you.”

“Then make me,” his mouth says. Because Kacchan wants to make him, he knows, but they’re both acting like that is not the case. The double-layering of speech and meaning gives rise a petulance he should probably grasp onto. A hurt, too. He pushes that part aside. Kacchan is talking again.

“You serious? I gotta make you get on the bed? Normally you’re desperate to fuck me.”

He is. He is now, too. Always.

Kacchan grabs him successfully this time, thumb sliding tenderly along the thick edge of scar tissue circling Izuku’s forearm.

The fight leaves him all at once. The anger, too. Whenever Kacchan touches him, Izuku’s priorities slide into sharp focus. They’re naked in their bedroom, about to have sex. Everything in him softens in response, wants to reach back, wants to stick his fingers inside of Kacchan, deep into the center of his body. To latch himself onto Kacchan and sink inside until they are one organism.

Kacchan shoves him onto the mattress.

Izuku twists out of his hold in response. He clasps his wrist to his chest, staring dumbly up at him. Kacchan’s strong chest and shoulders, his sharp jaw, his sharper eyes.

“Color?”

Izuku blinks. “Huh?”

“Color, Izuku.”

“Oh. Um. Green.”

Kacchan follows him onto the bed, caging him in. “You gotta behave.”

“Make me,” Izuku’s mouth says. This is the game.

Kacchan grapples him. His body responds accordingly, pushing back. They roll onto their sides before Kacchan gets him pinned again.

This doesn’t give him the same thrill as sparring. It digs around the pit in his stomach with a pointed stick. There’s a vulnerability to sex that fighting doesn’t elicit. A peeling back of Izuku’s skin, revealing the soft animal of his desire. He wishes this were a metaphor. He wishes all of this was a game, the way Kacchan seems to see it.

His knee slides along the bare skin of Kacchan’s thigh. The stimuli is confusing. Automatic aggression and arousal tangle in his stomach, buzzing in his limbs. The base of his cock twitches when Kacchan bares his teeth.

“Fuck, that hurt, you little shit—”

Izuku twists them over, thumping Kacchan against the mattress. His breath is thin and fast in his mouth. “Okay, Kacchan?”

“You mean color? Green.”

“Just want to make sure I’m not actually hurting you.”

“You’re not.” Kacchan shifts under him. Izuku lets up enough to let him readjust. “I’ll be hurting you in a minute.”

Heat pools in Izuku’s hips. Right. “Ah, yeah. Wanna make sure I’m doing this right, y’know.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Fine,” Kacchan says, unmoved.

“Did you want more, uh. More brattiness or…?”

“Why are you talking about it like it’s a dial you can ramp up?”

“Uh.” Izuku feels befuddled at that. “I mean, it kinda is, right?” Like with sparring. Casual versus serious.

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Like to see you try,” Izuku’s mouth says.

Kacchan’s eyes flash. When he tenses, Izuku is ready.

The bed creaks as they tussle, palms sparking against the sensitive sides of Izuku’s ribs as he brings his shin down hard on Kacchan’s hip.

Kacchan is strong, muscles flexing under Izuku’s palms. He molds to their mattress where Izuku presses, effectively pinned. This isn’t sparring; it’s playing. That’s what Kacchan said. But sparring is a kind of play. Kacchan’s heaving chest under him, the push and pull, the nakedness of both their bodies. Izuku’s eyes dart down to Kacchan’s flaccid cock slung over his muscled thigh and drool floods the well of his gums.

“Get off of me,” Kacchan says.

Izuku stiffens his muscles, grinds his teeth. “Make me.” That line again. A line he’d say in another context. The context is not this context. He forces it to fit.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow. Not in a bad way. This, too, is like sparring. The recognition of challenge, the reciprocation of competition. He’s so fucking cute like this, though. This isn’t the gym, after all; it’s their bedroom. At the end of whatever this is, Izuku will get to fuck Kacchan on top of their mattress and, if he’s lucky, they’ll hold hands when they finish.

Before Kacchan can buck him off, Izuku rakes his teeth along the thick column of his throat.

Kacchan stiffens, letting out a strained hiss. Surprise.

Izuku laps at the hot skin, groaning. His tail wags, heart loud. Kacchan squirms as his tongue finds his jaw, his cheek. He nuzzles into the wet smear, growling.

“Wait, wait, hold it.”

Izuku holds it.

“Shit, I mean— Orange. Yellow. Whatever.”

“I know,” he says, unmoving. Waiting. Just like Kacchan instructed. Listening is a balm on his fevered skin.

“We’re not doing dog tonight,” Kacchan says. “Can you separate the dog stuff from the sex stuff?”

Izuku’s face is hot with humiliation. Not the good kind. He can take critique though; he can take direction. “Right.” He hates the faintness of his voice, how it cracks. His nose is still pressed into Kacchan’s spit-soaked cheek. He forces himself to pull away.

Kacchan shifts under him. “Never mind. It was going good. I’m gonna force you off.”

Izuku’s fingers reflexively tighten around Kacchan’s biceps.

Kacchan scowls. “I will. Don’t fucking test me.”

“I thought that was the point?”

“Cheeky bastard.”

Izuku wasn’t trying to be cheeky. “Are we doing the, um, the scene again? Green?”

Kacchan lunges. “Green.”

“Kacchan!” Izuku yelps, toppling onto his side. He tries to block Kacchan’s body with his knees. “You should’ve said green first! That’s not fair!”

Kacchan grabs his balls. Izuku locks up, blinking at the ceiling. His cock stiffens under Kacchan’s fingers, the erectile device depressed rhythmically. Kacchan’s breath is quick, pelting his face like hard rain.

“Not so tough now, huh?” Kacchan asks lowly.

Izuku stares stupidly ahead. It’s delicate part of his body—can he be blamed? And now he’s hard and Kacchan is over him with that gorgeously mean sneer of his.

And he’s not expected to be a dog. When he is very much a dog.

A dog can be bad. But a bad dog snaps his teeth, snarls, bites and pisses—

Kacchan bears down on him, Izuku’s spine digging into the mattress. He lets out an animal sound, relaxing under the tight pressure of Kacchan’s fingers around his wrists. “Lie still.” Kacchan’s voice is a solid mass, pressing Izuku flatter.

A garbled mess escapes his mouth. Ah, that’s not— Come on. Speak. “Kacchan.”

Kacchan narrows his eyes. He reaches down, giving Izuku’s cock a pump. Izuku jerks, letting out a whimper. “You gonna be good now?”

The question startles him. He felt like they’d barely done anything, but here he already sees the exit. Kacchan is touching him and inviting him to be good.

“Am I?” he asks, eager. Is the game over? Can they go back to the normal stuff? Normal sex where Izuku licks Kacchan all over and Kacchan says roll over and Izuku says of course Kacchan and Kacchan says suck my dick and Izuku says thank you Kacchan and—

“Color?”

“Green.” An automatic response. It’s always automatic.

“I’m gonna use my quirk,” Kacchan says.

“Okay,” Izuku says. Kacchan’s going to use his quirk. For what? Izuku has no idea.

Fingers pet the length of his cock. Izuku bites his bottom lip, squirming. He’s not going to use his quirk there, right? “Damn, you’re really humping my palm, huh?”

“U-uh, ’s a bit scary,” he admits. “Your quirk?”

Kacchan’s hand twitches against Izuku’s rutting cock. “Are you fucking braindead? I’m not blasting your dick off, idiot. I’m flipping you over and smacking your ass, like we agreed.”

“Ah.” Right. That makes sense, right. “My back, too?”

Kacchan snorts. He leans back, slapping Izuku’s hip. “Needy. Who’re you to make demands?”

“Oh, sorry. No, whatever Kacchan wants is best.” Izuku starts. “I-I mean, uh, yes? You better hit my back too? Please? Not please, you know what I mean. Um.”

Kacchan’s laugh is a sweet sound. Not actually sweet—it rattles in Kacchan’s throat, raspy and deep—but it’s sweet to Izuku. “Your attempts keep getting worse, damn.”

“Wh-whatever.” He nudges his knee against Kacchan’s thigh. “Are we still fighting or should I just…?”

“Just flip over and my punishment won’t be so severe.”

Punishment. That was the term Kacchan had used when talking about the scene, the other evening. The word is so casual in his mouth. Izuku tenses his muscles so he doesn’t shrink. His tail still tucks between his legs. Not that Kacchan can see it; Izuku’s tail is invisible.

I don’t want you to punish me is too weak to say out loud. Even worse, it’s selfish. Kacchan’s disappointment is a thorn digging into Izuku and there is no escape. Either perform or don’t; he fails regardless.

Besides, there are positives. Kacchan is going to hit him. That’s a major positive. Izuku’s skin tingles with the promise of pain. Can’t you hit me as a reward? That makes no sense, I know, but I want it as hard as you can stand to give it, I want to take it, I want to feel you on me always.

“Last chance to back out,” Kacchan says.

“No thank you,” Izuku says.

A laugh huffs behind him. “You’re so bad at this.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it. I’m gonna start.”

Kacchan’s hand sparks, popping over Izuku’s spine. It swings down, sharp and hot. Izuku jerks, whimpering. Best place to get hit is his face, where the skin is thin and sensitive and obvious, but he does like his back a lot, too. Likes feeling it in the aftermath, how every brush of fabric against his skin is abrasive. There’s nothing like stretching his arm to write on the board for class and feeling the welts of Kacchan’s love sting under his button-down.

“That good enough for you to behave?” Kacchan asks.

“It’s over already?” Izuku’s heart sinks. It’d only been one smack.

“It is if you want it to be.”

“No!” escapes him, loud and embarrassing. “Kacchan, please hit me some more! Or— Not please, um, just, uh, hit me! Hit me, Kacchan!”

The smack to his back dislodges his tongue from his jaw. He chokes, buckling. Sharp and burning, the perfect sting that prickles in waves from hurt’s epicenter.

“That good enough for you?” Kacchan’s voice is submerged under the rush of Izuku’s blood throbbing in his temple. His cock aches between his thighs, pulse fluttering with need.

“Harder,” Izuku’s mouth says. It doesn’t come out petulant or demanding; it’s breathy and distant. It’s the best he can do.

Kacchan delivers. One, two, the hits blur into a fever stretching from his ass to his shoulders.

The pain buries Izuku. Forces him under his skin, into the wet coil of his muscles. His brain vacates his skull, nuzzling against the tender arch of his nape. Each smack of Kacchan’s palm against his back makes his whole body rattle from the epicenter.

Kacchan’s heavy breath, his wet mouth. Izuku whimpers at the sound of his excited panting, wriggling in Kacchan’s lap. Proof that Kacchan wants to strike him as badly as he needs to be struck. Fingers trail along the sweaty divot of his spine. “That hurt?” Kacchan asks, husky.

“Y-yuh,” Izuku manages. He sniffles. His hard cock ruts against Kacchan’s muscled thigh.

“Poor you.” There’s no pity in his voice. “You ready to behave now?”

Which answer will get Kacchan to hit him again? Izuku arches into his touch. He wipes his snotty nose on the duvet. Words are hard when he’s burrowed so deep into his own marrow. He just wants Kacchan to hurt him. Every strike sings I love you, Izuku! I love you! Makes him fuzzy with gratitude, limbs trembling where he lies bonelessly slung over Kacchan’s legs.

“Well?”

“Hhh.”

Kacchan’s hand tugs Izuku’s head to the side. He’s blurry in Izuku’s peripheral. “Izuku. Color.”

“G’een,” he slurs. “S’green, K’ch’n. Hit me, pl’se.”

A thumb slides along his bottom lip. He laps at it thoughtlessly. “Yellow.”

He frowns. Kacchan, hazy in his vision, tugs him off of his lap. “Yellow?” he echoes as he settles onto his haunches. His tail tucks between his thighs.

“We’re done,” Kacchan says.

Panic seizes Izuku. He sits up, spine rippling with residual agony. It stings sweetly, threatens to send him back into the fog he’s struggling to claw himself free from. “Done? I— I’m sorry, Kacchan, I can be a brat again, jus’ give me a second—”

Kacchan grimaces.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good at not listening before but I can be good better, be bad I mean, but being bad is how I be good. An’ I want that.”

“Izuku, it’s not that. You’re just really out of it—”

“I’m trying,” he sobs. “I’m trying to be good, Kacchan, trying to listen, but it’s hard.”

“Hey.” Kacchan reaches for him, palms squishing his cheeks. “Hey, shut up. Chill. We’re done with the brat shit. Don’t worry about that. We can do it like normal instead. Just take a sec and breathe with me.”

“I wanna be good, though.” Izuku sniffles.

“You are good,” Kacchan says. “You’re too good. That’s why this is hard, which is fine. I like you being good too, dipshit.”

“K-Kacchan marked ‘brat taming’ as ‘extremely interested.’”

Thumbs swipe along Izuku’s ruddy cheeks. The motion repeats, forming a perfect rhythm. Izuku feels his breathing unconsciously fall into step with it. His eyelids grow heavy. “There you go.” Kacchan’s voice is barely a murmur. “I like my good boy, too, you know.”

“Mm.”

“I like how you listen to everything I say with that dopey ass look on your face.” Kacchan’s hands shift upward, fingers carding through Izuku’s hair. He leans into it, Kacchan’s palms petting his skull. “Tch. If you had a tail, it’d be waggin’ right now.”

“Mmhm.” He would. It is, in his mind. Smacking against the bed with delight. Kacchan is touching him, looking at him, happy with him. Everything is right in the world.

“Let’s just fuck like normal. That brat taming shit was getting exhausting anyways.”

“Can I lick you open?”

Kacchan ruffles his fur. “You better. I went through the trouble for you and your stupid fuckin’ oral fixation.”

Kacchan loves getting rimmed. Izuku doesn’t say this, of course; dogs don’t argue with their owners. Instead, he rubs his tongue against the roof of his mouth in anticipation.

“—Shit, I got you good.” A hand ghosts over his blushing back. Izuku shivers. “Gotta put something on that.”

Izuku doesn’t want anything on it. He wants it to bloom into bruises. Wants to press his back against their bed for the next few nights and feel Kacchan’s love aching under the surface of his skin. “Uh uh,” he breathes.

Kacchan’s brow twitches.

“Later,” Izuku tries instead. “Mm, later, Kacchan? Can I lick you? Please?”

“Bet it feels a lot easier being polite, huh?”

“Mmhm. I like being nice to Kacchan, not rude. I wanna…” He presses his face into Kacchan’s palm as it slides back down to his temple.“I wanna be good for Kacchan. Can’t always be good for Kacchan, but I can be good for Kacchan here.”

Kacchan frowns.

“Simple like this,” Izuku murmurs, nuzzling Kacchan’s hand. “Kacchan an’ Deku, how’s’posed to be.”

“Yeah,” Kacchan says. His voice is raspy. His thumb strokes the bony curve of Izuku’s eye socket. “Guess so.”

“I can?”

“Can what?”

“Kiss Kacchan’s butthole?”

Kacchan’s face sours. “Don’t fuckin’ call it that.”

“Ah, okay. Kacchan’s, um, Kacchan’s—”

Kacchan presses on the top of his head. “Just do it, Izuku. Rim me.”

Izuku needs no other urging. He shimmies down the length of Kacchan’s perfect body and under Kacchan’s perfect ballsack, breathing deeply. Warm, recently clean with that bitter, masculine scent of body and the faint chemical edge Kacchan’s skin always has. Wholly Kacchan. Izuku groans as his lashes flutter. “Fuck.” His nose traces puckered scar tissue splitting the smooth expanse. Kacchan healed so beautifully, as to be expected. Everything about him is a miracle.

Kacchan’s palm is solid on his head, trying to nudge him farther down.

“Straight to rimming?” Izuku asks, muffled against the soft skin of Kacchan’s perineum, the downy hair of his ass tickling his chin.

“Get me hard while you’re licking.”

That is an incredible idea. Kacchan is so smart. It’s a good thing he’s so smart because Izuku is absolutely stupid right now. His racing thoughts have slowed to a trickle. All he needs to do is listen to Kacchan now. No fighting. No doubting. Just lick and fuck and listen.

Izuku grabs Kacchan’s hips, lifting them up until Kacchan slings his thighs over his shoulders. Then he lowers himself between the cleft of Kacchan’s asscheeks and licks a long stripe. It tastes of musk and the ghost of soap. Kacchan’s asshole gapes slightly, still loose from his shower earlier. He truly is gorgeous. Kacchan’s so handsome that even his asshole is handsome.

Izuku presses a quick kiss to the skin, heart large and shy where it thumps behind his ribs. The softest part of Kacchan’s body, vulnerable and strong. It twitches against the press of Izuku’s mouth, even that small bit of contact. So responsive.

Izuku sucks in a breath before he properly smothers himself, swallowing back a moan as he forces his tongue inside. That first breach, the softening of Kacchan’s outer ring of muscle, is always a revelation. The first time they ever did this, Kacchan had been startled by how deep Izuku could force his tongue. Kacchan had been on his stomach then, but Izuku probably likes this position best. Kacchan’s thighs twitch around his head, thick and strong.

It’s so warm. Kacchan flinching away and into him, the soft inner skin of his body tender under Izuku’s mouth. He curls his tongue as much as he’s able in the tight clasp of muscle, the tendons of Kacchan’s jittering thighs squeezing his face.

“Izuku.” Fingers tug at his hair. “Pump me.”

His fingers fumble for Kacchan’s balls, thumb sliding blindly until it catches on the small, rigid edge of his erectile pump. He can’t see Kacchan’s cock lift, though he wishes he could. He can’t bear the thought of moving, so touch will have to suffice. The stiffening under his other palm, how Kacchan’s cock grows firm and evident of his wanting. His thumb caresses the swell of Kacchan’s glans, pulling a muffled sound and pressure around Izuku’s skull.

The space between Kacchan’s thighs, where it’s dark and warm, where Izuku’s left swallowing his own breath, is heaven. Kacchan thinks it’s weird when he says stuff like that, but it’s genuine. Izuku never feels more at peace than when he’s inside of Kacchan. Tongue, fingers, cock, any part of himself Kacchan’s willing to take.

Don’t call it ‘willing.’ Makes it sound like this is a chore for me. The same conversations on repeat. Safe, sane, consensual. It’s okay to want Kacchan. Kacchan wants him too. Stop trying to fucking die. Call after work. Get home safe.

A fist yanks his hair. He follows the sting, gasping as he drops his cheek onto Kacchan’s twitching thigh. His eyes find Kacchan’s hard cock bobbing sweetly with each breath flexing his stomach. “Was that okay, Kacchan?” Not a single consonant escapes his lips, leaving only a cobbled mess of sounds.

Kacchan laughs. It’s a sharp, mean sound that burrows into Izuku’s body, leaving heat in its wake. “You know how pathetic you look, humping the bed like you’re already fuckin’ me?”

Izuku pants dumbly, blinking. He hadn’t realized he’d been doing that. His hips continue to press into the duvet.

“Shit, c’m’ere.” Kacchan reaches for him.

Izuku scrambles up into his embrace, nuzzling his throat. No licking, no kissing; Kacchan doesn’t like it when Izuku put his mouth on him after rimming. Izuku doesn’t do anything Kacchan doesn’t want. He’s good. He’s Kacchan’s.

That being said, Kacchan’s body is always so clean. And so soft. And so perfect. Izuku wouldn’t have a problem savoring every centimeter of him in his mouth anytime.

“Gonna tug your hair again,” Kacchan says against his temple. “Real hard. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Izuku whimpers. “Y-yeah, Kacchan, pl’se—” He hisses at the drag. It doesn’t let up, prickling along his skull. His hips twist, pressing against Kacchan’s hard cock. Sweet and hot, complementing the pain. “Hhha, K’ch’n.”

Kacchan lets go, fingers gently rubbing at his scalp in apology. Izuku moans, snuffling against his throat. He slides his cock along Kacchan’s, thrusts quick and desperate.

A tube knocks against his shoulder. “Oi. Lube us up.”

Izuku clumsily grabs the lubricant from Kacchan. His thumb is uncooperative uncapping it so he brings it up to his mouth.

“Don’t bite it, idiot!”

Izuku snaps the cap open with his bottom teeth. “Mn.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. He loses the expression when Izuku grabs his dick with a lubed hand, hips twitching.

It is a very pretty cock. Izuku’s thought about it a lot—even before it was physically here, like this, he was thinking about it. Kacchan’s cock in his mouth, cradled in the hollow of his palm, pressed against his cheek. Not even just hard. “You sure I can’t hold it while you pee?”

“The fuck?”

“—Ah, sorry. That just sort of came out.”

Kacchan shakes his head, tugging Izuku back down into him. “C’mon. Stroke both of us.” Kacchan’s voice rumbles against his temple, threatens to bury him under his skin again.

Izuku’s fingers wrap around their lengths without a thought, fucking into the tight channel. Kacchan is the only one slicked up, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s frantic with the need to rub against Kacchan, to press as close and deep as possible. Kacchan’s body, his scent, the flush of life under his skin. Izuku can’t possibly get enough of it.

“Shit, you’re moving fast. Stop or you’re gonna rub us raw.”

Izuku freezes, hips trembling.

Kacchan’s lips curl, his sharp teeth cutting a line through his face. “Gotta say,” he says, “I do like it when you listen. Your dick hurt, nerd?”

“Yuh huh,” he manages. His voice is wobbly. Kacchan’s cock taps against the middle of his own. The difference does something to Izuku, makes his thighs tremble with the urge to press down again and again. Kacchan has a pretty penis. It suits him.  Everything about Kacchan suits him now. He’s amazing.

“Aw.” Kacchan’s voice is mocking. Izuku’s gut curdles with embarrassment and delight at the sound. Kacchan’s fingers dig into Izuku’s hair, scritching. “It hurts so bad but you’ll let it keep hurting if I tell you to, won’t you?”

“M-mmhm.”

“Good. Let it keep hurting.” Kacchan’s lips brush against his face. “Can’t have my mutt cum before he’s even inside me.”

Izuku sucks in a shaky breath. His cock aches, radiating out from the juncture of shaft and testes. His tail smacks against his thighs, limbs twitching with agonized delight. The pain is sweeter with Kacchan’s approval, grows hot and bright.

Kacchan lightly kicks at him. “Gimme the lube.”

“Ah?” Izuku fumbles for the tube, handing it over. “Why?”

“Gonna stretch myself open.”

Izuku’s lower lip trembles. “Kacchan—”

“If I let you do it, we’ll be here until dawn. Save it.”

“Kacch—”

Fingers shove past his teeth. Izuku immediately latches onto them, tongue laving at the salt and chemical taste, eyes lidding. “Brat time is over, remember? You listen to me.”

Right. He listens to Kacchan.

“You’re so easy.” There’s no derision. Amusement, maybe. Kacchan shifts under him, legs falling open. The slick sound of his fingers makes Izuku’s brainstem purr.

“Can I watch?”

“No.”

Izuku whines, eyes stinging with tears.

“Shut it. I don’t want to put on a show for you.” Kacchan grunts. “You wanna be on top or me?”

“Whatever Kacchan wants.”

“Right. Don’t know why I expected any other answer.” Kacchan shoves at him. “Get off and sit against the headboard. You’re on top enough of the time.”

Izuku scrambles toward the pillows, flopping onto his ass. It aches with the pressure, residual tingles of pain digging into his lower back. He drums his fingers on his knees while he waits for Kacchan.

“Don’t look so excited,” Kacchan says. “You look dumb as fuck. Nerd.”

This dumb as fuck nerd is about to get laid, so Izuku isn’t too put out by the chastising. “Is this the position you want, Kacchan?”

“Yeah.” Kacchan crawls over him. He knocks his legs down. Kacchan loops his arm around Izuku, the smooth skin of his skin graft over thick muscle rubbing against Izuku’s nape. “I’m gonna fuck you now.” He reaches back to angle Izuku’s cock, notching it into the soft rim of his ass. The muscle flutters as Kacchan bears down on him, before it gives.

Izuku whines as he sinks inside of Kacchan’s heat, brain melting a little. Maybe more than a little. It’s always like this—total capitulation. Kacchan’s body around him, strong and soft and consuming. This is the place where impulse control dies, where Izuku becomes little more than body and thrumming need. Can he be blamed? Kacchan is amazing. His ass is the most perfect ass in the long history of existence.

“Stop being embarrassing.”

“Mm?”

Kacchan glares down at him. Maybe this is the perfect angle of his face, too. Every angle of Kacchan is perfect; it’s hard to choose. But Izuku does like this one particularly, the view of Kacchan from below. Of Kacchan above him, around him, while his own body aches and throbs as he’s swallowed. “You’re thinking something disgusting and perverted. Knock it off.”

“H-how could you even tell?”

“You’re giving that creepy look you get.” Kacchan gathers himself over his knees, gripping Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku’s cock slides partway out of his ass, forcing a shiver. Izuku doesn’t fight the adjustment. It’s a very intimate position, like Kacchan’s curled up in his lap. His sweat-damp chest is just a breath away from Izuku’s teeth. “And you’re drooling.”

Izuku wipes at his mouth, arm coming back wet. “Oh.”

“You’re gonna thrust up into me,” Kacchan says, lips glancing his brow. A command. “You ain’t just gonna sit there like a dead fish, got it? You’re gonna work for it.”

“Got it,” Izuku breathes.

Kacchan grinds back down onto Izuku’s cock, hissing past his teeth. His cock swings with the shift, dragging Izuku’s eyes down. Such a pretty cock; it demands attention. Izuku wishes he could have it in his mouth while he fucked Kacchan’s ass. A genuine sadness swells in him at the impossibility.

“Izuku. Move.”

Izuku flexes his hips. The position makes motion a bit awkward; he can’t properly get the base of his cock inside. He’s less thrusting and more humping uselessly under Kacchan’s weight. It’s hard to focus when the best sensation ever is assaulting his cock.

“Izuku.”

“S-sorry,” he grinds out. “Lemme just—” He braces his soles on the duvet and curls closer, fucking up and slipping completely inside of Kacchan.

His brain is a puddle.

“Hahhh, Kacchan, ’s so good, your ass is so good, can’t— K-Kacchan, your ass is so good, mm, Kacchan. Fuck me,” he whines, hips heaving inarticulately. His cock aches in the clench of Kacchan’s ass. Everything leaks out of him with the squeeze. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme, Ka-acchan, pl’se—”

Kacchan’s fingers dig into his back. His quirk pops in short bursts, little love bites to the muscles along Izuku’s shoulders and spine. “Fucking fuck me with a— A rhythm, you stupid. Fucking dog!”

The dog forces his body to fuck up more smoothly, panting hard against Kacchan’s clavicle. His teeth ache. He does not bite. He thrusts into Kacchan’s heat, struggles to time it to the staccato pull of his blood. Kacchan wants it good and Izuku wants it good for Kacchan. That’s what matters most. Kacchan’s pleasure, Kacchan’s approval.

The way Kacchan clenches around him, the ripple and squeeze, makes him a little insane though. It’s hard not to lose himself to it entirely; he’s lucky whenever he only loses himself in part. Kacchan is so tight and hot and— And every banal descriptor he can’t summon because language has slid out of him, nothing but gasps and cut off syllables forming on his tongue.

Kacchan grips him closer with everything. Arms, legs, ass. The glance of Kacchan’s teeth against Izuku’s sweat-soaked forehead. The sparks dancing from Kacchan’s fingers into the raw skin of Izuku’s shoulders. A shaky, elated yip escapes his wet mouth at the glancing pain.

“You stupid, stupid dog,” Kacchan hisses. He holds Izuku closer, sweaty body shaking against him. “Do better.”

He wants to do better. To be good for Kacchan. It’s hard, though. He tries to follow the same rhythm. Thrust up, hold, drag himself away from Kacchan’s heat, and return. The manic pulse of need thuds dully in his temple, growing louder and shriller with its urgency. Soon even the will to please Kacchan escapes him, torn through by desperation. “You feel so good,” Izuku whines, clinging to Kacchan’s body. He curls into him, hips jerking sharply as he nuzzles against the jut of Kacchan’s collarbone. His tail whips wildly against their bed, felt only to him. “Feel s’good, Kacchan, feels so good, you feel so good, so good—!” There is only this. Kacchan’s body over him, Kacchan’s body around him, Kacchan’s teeth and breath and hands and legs and the hardness of his cock between Izuku’s stiff fingers.

“Shit, Izuku—” Kacchan’s body is a tight coil, choking him. “Like that, c’mon, stroke me faster.”

Izuku does exactly that. His thumb presses hard into the tip of Kacchan’s cock as he jerks him off. His vague rhythm grows even sloppier as the pleasure in his cock burns hotter.

“You’re hopeless,” Kacchan hisses, fucking down onto him. Izuku’s free hand flies to Kacchan’s thigh, digging into the muscle. “Gotta d-do everything myself, you stupid, big-dicked loser—”

Izuku nuzzles into his throat as he squeezes Kacchan’s cock harder, feels its jerk in his palm as Kacchan drops his full weight onto his pelvis with a low groan. Fingers dig harshly into his upper back, sparks popping from his damp palms with delicious pain. Izuku sighs, arching into the touch. He pets along Kacchan’s flank, savoring the expansion of his ribs, while the most beautiful man in the world unravels around him.

That was quick, he almost says to Kacchan, pleased. It isn’t often that he can get Kacchan to cum that quickly.

“Fuck off,” Kacchan mumbles against his temple. There’s no heat behind his words. “Wasn’t quick. Guarantee you’ll blow your load if I bounce on it two more times.”

Izuku hums, stroking Kacchan’s hard cock.

Kacchan bats his hand away. “I’m still sensitive, dipshit. Quit it.”

“Ah. I can, um, slip out and finish myself off.”

Kacchan lifts himself onto shaky knees and heavily seats himself back onto Izuku’s cock.

Izuku chokes, hips jumping.

“That’s one,” Kacchan says. “Get ready, you stupid nerd.”

It doesn’t take another thrust to make Izuku cum. It takes half.

Kacchan lifts up, the clench and slide of his ass drawing as gasp from Izuku’s strained lungs. His hands fly to Kacchan’s sides as his body jackknifes into him.

He ejaculates with a harsh shudder, squeezing Kacchan’s ribs as he presses as deep as he can. The base of his cock throbs with each quick wave before it abates into a gentle ache of satiation.

Kacchan’s ass flutters around him. The hypersensitivity makes each pulse sharp to Izuku. He jerks, breathing hard against Kacchan’s collarbone. The slope of his chest squishes under his trembling chin. “K’chan?”

“Yeah, nerd. I’m here.”

“’Kay. Um. Wow.”

The hands that had abused his back so thoroughly earlier slide soothingly along his tacky skin. “You staying in me ’cause you’re waiting for another round or what?”

Izuku shudders, face hot. Whole body hot. “I-if that’s what Kacchan wants.”

“Typical. No, I’m getting off of you now. Don’t cry.”

Izuku lets Kacchan tug himself out of his arms. Hs hard cock slips out of Kacchan’s ass, flopping against his hip.

“I told you not to cry.”

“Sorry,” he sniffles.

Kacchan flops beside him. He tugs Izuku toward him, giving a dry kiss to his hair. “Clean us up and you can get all the stupid cuddles and kisses you want.”

Izuku sits up. “Yes, Kacchan!” His eyes sting with old tears as he scrambles off the bed. He gives pause when he catches sight of Kacchan splayed naked over their sex towel. He has the languid confidence of a king, stretching one arm behind him to reveal the damp expanse of his armpit while his other hand is between his legs, feeling for his balls to deflate his erection.

Izuku looks lower still. Saliva floods his mouth. “Hah, Kacchan, you’re, um. You’re gaping a bit…”

Kacchan kicks at him. Izuku yelps, scrambling back. “Sex is over, perv. Brush your teeth and come to bed.”

He stares forlornly at Kacchan’s crossed ankles blocking the view to his asshole. “Yes, Kacchan.”

Felching, he remembers. Would Kacchan let me pump him full of cum lube and lick it out?

“You’re disgusting. Brush. Your. Fucking. Teeth.”

Izuku shuffles into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush from the cup.

“And mouthwash!”

“Yesh, K’ch’n,” he mumbles around the bristles. Washing the taste of Kacchan’s body from his mouth is always a somber moment.

“And get me a damp towelette.”

“Mmhm.” He always gets Kacchan a damp towelette. And—

“A glass of water, too!”

“Mmhm.” Exactly. Izuku spits and rinses his mouth before grabbing the mouthwash. He snatches a towelette from the cupboard and gently wets it under the sink as he swishes. Spit. Rinse again. Kacchan’s taste is all gone from his mouth, not even the memory anywhere in the lining of his gums. The structure that aftercare provides is full of little sadnesses, but at the end waits Kacchan under their blankets, warm and satisfied.

Washing his cock is part of that unpleasantness, more loss of Kacchan’s mark on him. He deflates himself with a distant sense, petting the softening length of his cock as it hangs limp. His shoulders ache with the bend, though, and he feels better again. Some things fade slower, after all.

He fills Kacchan’s bedtime glass up to half way and makes his way out of the bathroom. The distance is small, feels smaller still when he bridges it in only a few seconds. He sets Kacchan’s glass of water on the nightstand and hands over the damp towelette before snatching the designated sex towel off the duvet and tossing it into their hamper. Then he takes the hamper and carries it to the washer, dumping everything inside and starting the cycle. Kacchan doesn’t like the smell of sex, prefers to air everything out. Izuku would prefer they let it linger at least a little, but there’s something soothing about maintaining his obedience to Kacchan as long as he can.

Izuku figures if the dog can have sex, then the dog can do laundry.

By the time he crawls under the sheets, Kacchan is resting propped up against their headboard, pillow cushioning his shoulders. His skin is warm and slightly damp, drying quickly under Izuku’s cheek. “I’m sorry I was such a bad brat, Kacchan.”

Kacchan strokes his hair from his forehead, fingers gently detangling knots. “You weren’t the worst brat.”

“Mm. Well, I just feel bad that all we usually have is super vanilla sex. I thought that’d be more exciting.”

Kacchan’s hand stills. “Vanilla?”

“Yeah.” Izuku yawns, rubbing his hand along Kacchan’s muscled chest. “Like our normal stuff.”

“Izuku, that ain’t vanilla sex.”

Oh. His brow furrows. “…Then what is our normal sex?” It feels vanilla.

“Pet play,” Kacchan says flatly.

Izuku lifts his head. “What?”

Kacchan fixes him with a scrutinizing look. “Are you for real right now?”

“I— Kacchan, we are not doing pet play in bed all the time! Neither of us even wears a collar or ears or— Or—”

“Deku, you always get dog-brained in bed. You do the math.”

Izuku’s lower lip wobbles. “Oh.”

Kacchan shakes his head. “Our sex life is plenty interesting. We don’t need to do everything on that stupid list.”

Izuku tucks himself back against Kacchan’s body. “Okay. Um.”

“You seriously didn’t know that we’re always doing pet play?”

“Well— It’s not always obvious. Y’know.”

“Sure.”

He shifts. “That’s really pet play, Kacchan? All those other times?”

“Yes.”

“But like— There’s stuff we do that’s, um. Not that. I mean, not sex. That involves, um.” Kacchan petting his head after a hard day, like now. Kacchan letting him sit at his feet, body folded on one on their throw pillows with his head cushioned on Kacchan’s lap. Kacchan feeding him dinner by hand, slipping bits of meat and vegetable onto his tongue with steady fingers. The dog bed. The same subtle haze accompanies all of these quiet moments the same as it does in the bedroom, when he’s pressed against the urgent heat of Kacchan’s body. Those moments aren’t always erotic in the same sense, though. It’s gentler, steady and familial. Right.

“Technically, yeah. That’s pet play.”

“But we. We do that—” Constantly. “—so often.”

Kacchan hums. The hum explains nothing.

“I hate to think that we do my thing so much—”

“Izuku. It’s our thing.”

He blinks.

Kacchan’s arm tightens over his shoulder. “You like being the dog. I like…being with the dog, I guess. Okay?”

“Oh,” Izuku says.

Kacchan continues to pet him.

“Oh,” Izuku says again. Kacchan pets him. His dog, Izuku. Kacchan, his owner. “So it’s mutual.”

“It’s all mutual.”

“…We’re really kinky, then, aren’t we, Kacchan?”

Kacchan scoffs. “We filled out a whole kink survey together, idiot. We both said ‘yes’ to all kinds of weird shit. Obviously.”

Izuku nuzzles against Kacchan’s jugular, feels the sluggish pulse of life under the thin skin. “Then that means we can do the piss stuff?”

Kacchan yanks at his hair. “Don’t test your luck.”

Izuku grits his teeth. When Kacchan lets him go, he returns to petting him. Hurting, then soothing. If that’s the result of testing his luck, Izuku figures he could stand to run a full exam.

“Don’t think I don’t see the gears in your stupid head turning,” Kacchan says. His chest rumbles under Izuku’s chin. “Don’t worry about whatever bullshit you wanna try next. I got my own tricks I wanna teach my dog.”

“Me?” Izuku asks. “I’m your dog, right, Kacchan?”

“Yeah,” Kacchan says. “You’re my dog, Izuku.”

Izuku snuggles close, tail whipping eagerly behind him. When Kacchan’s hand skims down his bruising spine, it wags harder, his hips wriggling.

“The hell’re you squirming for?”

“My tail’s wagging,” he admits. “I’m happy.”

Kacchan kisses him hard, tongue laving along his in a sloppy tangle. His fingers roughly pet back Izuku’s mess of fur from his face. “Fuck, you’re so weird.” He kisses him again, a firm press of his mouth. “Don’t change.”

“You either,” Izuku says against his lips. Heat and body, Kacchan’s soft and jagged edges pressed against his own. “I love you so much, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, yeah, pack it up.” Kacchan pets him as he returns to snuggling against his chest. Two men who love each other very much. A dog and his man, too. “Tonight was good, okay?” Knuckles drag against Izuku’s scalp. His eyes lid. “Don’t worry about that stupid survey. We’ve got all kinds of other things we can try.”

“Yeah?” Other things sound good. A way to prove himself, to do better, to find new expressions of devotion toward Kacchan. An opportunity to lick Kacchan some more, too.

“Yeah.” Izuku hears the smile in Kacchan’s voice, rumbling against his ear pressed over his heart. “I got a few ideas. My dog is very good at listening to me.”