Archive of Our Own

Izuku walks back into Katsuki’s life at just about the first second of summer, lets himself be reeled back in by gravity to go coasting in Katsuki’s orbit.

“Your mom was right,” he remarks, glancing around Katsuki’s bedroom from the doorway. “You do still become a hermit the minute summer starts.”

“Jesus fuck, Deku,” Katsuki snarls, rolling out of his bed and onto his feet so fast he gets lightheaded. Izuku looks good, he notes, like he always does during summer; he’s wearing a shirt that shows off his biceps, and his hair is frizzy and fly-away in the humidity. Katsuki allocates himself exactly five seconds to look at him, before Izuku starts squirming under his scrutiny, and he continues, “it’d be appreciated if you told me before you showed up out of nowhere, shitass.”

“I did,” Izuku grins, taking his response as some unspoken permission to step into his room, tip-toeing gingerly around the pile of just-cleaned laundry on the floor, yet to be folded. “I texted you, like, two minutes ago.”

“Huh,” Katsuki says, turning around to rummage in his bed for his phone instead of staring at the way Izuku steps light on his toes when he walks, calves flexing. Sure enough, there’s an eight-minute-old message from Izuku that reads coming over now don’t be naked. From behind him, Izuku laughs, and Katsuki guesses that his ears have probably gone red.

“You fucking nuisance,” he bites, and Izuku’s grin simply grows wider on his face.

“What, you don’t read my texts anymore?” He teases, stepping forward to bully his way into Katsuki’s bed, nudging him over and curling up beside him. “Finally outgrown me?”

“Always,” Katsuki retorts, unleashing a sharp grin of his own. “Not like it’s hard; there’s really not much of you to outgrow.”

“You are not as tall as you think you are,” Izuku shoves him, and Katsuki laughs as loudly and wildly as he wants. God. Summer fucking break.

July of their second year of high school means that Izuku is newly seventeen and, apparently, newly single after a breakup. Katsuki is made aware of this second fact after weeks of it being true, which makes something hot and ugly burn in his gut.

It’s not even like Izuku even tells him, really; it’s more like they simply stumbled on the topic, Izuku mentioning it so casually that Katsuki feels like he’d said the equivalent of go fuck yourself; like Katsuki wasn’t worth mentioning it to in more than passing.

Izuku has been seventeen for nine days and has spent every single one of them glued to Katsuki’s side. It’s not like Katsuki’s complaining, per say, but it does beg the question: “fuckin’ Christ, Deku, don’t you ever get sick of this? Where’s all your preppy-ass friends? Where’s your boyfriend?”

From the other side of the room, curled up in Katsuki’s desk chair, Izuku looks up from the book he’s reading. “Oh,” he says, blinking owlishly. “My friends are all staying farther out. Y'know: Iida’s got a summer house, Ochako lives in the city, Shouto’s being held hostage by his dad; that kinda thing. Tsuyu’s close by, though; I should hang out with her sometime.”

“What about what’s-his-name?” Katsuki presses.

But instead of rolling his eyes and exasperatedly reminding him that you know my boyfriend’s name, Kacchan, like he usually always does, Izuku says plainly, “we broke up.”

“What?” Katsuki blurts, uncomprehending for a few moments. “Since when?”

At that, Izuku finally looks abashed. “Beginning of June,” he says meekly.

“Shit,” Katsuki replies, trying to sound like he has a normal amount of interest in this and is not losing his goddamn mind. He wracks his brain for which of his four million questions seems most socially acceptable, and only draws blanks. “Like a month-and-a-half ago?”

“Yep,” Izuku says, letting the word stretch out long and awkwardly.

“Well, damn,” Katsuki drawls, hiding his face back in his phone screen and making the absolute fucking most of his anger management therapy by not seething as much as he’d like to. “You didn’t mention it.”

“I know you didn’t like him,” Izuku tries, almost apologetic, mostly like a little bitch. “I guess I didn’t really wanna make you hear about it.”

“It’s your life,” Katsuki says nonchalantly, instead of I like you, you fucking dumbass piece of shit, of course I want to hear about it. The conversation cuts out after that, the whole room still feeling tense; Katsuki refuses to look over at him, as though he’ll lose something if Izuku catches him staring.

“Okay, no, wait,” Izuku says after a short moment, closing his book without putting a bookmark in and standing from his chair. Katsuki silently watches him walk over, and Izuku pushes him down by the shoulders when he reaches him, until he’s lying flat on his back so that Izuku can crawl over his body and flop down next to him on the bed. They’re close enough that their shoulders overlap. Izuku faintly curls his hand into the hem of Katsuki’s shirt.

“It’s not like you were unsupportive,” he explains—although, admittedly, Katsuki distinctly remembers himself not being supportive. “You weren’t, like, making me feel like I couldn’t talk to you about stuff. I just didn’t want to talk about this, I guess.”

Katsuki hums, internally screaming at their proximity and trying to physically will his heartbeat to be normal. “Who asked,” he mutters.

Izuku lets out a soft little exhale of a laugh, turning his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck. “You’re so mean, Kacchan,” he murmurs affectionately.

Katsuki does his absolute damned best to not pop a fucking boner. “Yeah, well,” he says, sitting back up and hitting Izuku’s cheek with his shoulder in the process. “Fuck you.”

Izuku lets out another breathy laugh, and looks at him like he knows something that Katsuki doesn’t.

So it makes sense, in hindsight, Katsuki supposes. The series of events goes like this: Izuku gets out of an eight-month relationship, presumably on not-amazing terms since he isn’t still hanging out with the guy, despite them being in the same friend group. Katsuki is the childhood friend to fall back on, and especially because they go to different high schools, Izuku can keep him totally separate from the part of his life that has—had—his ex in it. Aforementioned breakup means that there’s a new vacuum in the affection that Izuku can direct towards another person. Katsuki has never been anything other than extremely available.

All this to say, the conclusion is this: Katsuki is the one who has to deal with Izuku being listless and clingy and single. Since Katsuki has been quietly obsessed with him for-fucking-ever, he reckons that he has a certain right to be privately enraged about this.

But it’s summer, the only time of year when Katsuki gets to have Izuku’s undivided attention anymore, so he’s not going to let something stupid like being in love with him get in the way of that.

The two of them fall into an easy, unspoken code to exclusively do teenage-fucking-dirtbag shit, like loiter at pools in the closest rich neighborhood, or steal cash from their parents and blow it all on soda. Work out way too much. Wander onto abandoned construction sites. Die of fucking heat stroke.

On the one day they decide to stay home, the AC breaks in Katsuki’s house and they spend the day napping and turning into mush.

“Oh my God, Kacchan,” Izuku complains, rolling over dramatically so that his arm flops onto Katsuki’s back, where he’s lying on his stomach and half a haze away from falling asleep. “It’s literally 36 degrees out, I’m losing my mind.”

“Go back home then, shitass,” Katsuki groans, trying to shrug Izuku’s arm off.

“But you won’t come with me,” Izuku whines. “What do you have against my house?”

“You’ve got the worst room in the world. A seven-year-old’s dream. Not into that.”

“You are so into All Might, don’t even lie to me,” Izuku laughs, letting his hand slide down Katsuki’s back and then back up again, under his shirt. Katsuki is too tired and sluggish to even care. “I know you never got rid of any of your comics.”

“Hm,” Katsuki shrugs, because fair enough; he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar.

In truth, Katsuki is opposed to Izuku’s house because he holds himself to a very specific rule set: don’t stare at Izuku for longer than five seconds, even at times when he wouldn’t notice; don’t get into his bed; and don’t get possessive when he dates other people. It’s a little bit like fighting an addiction, he thinks (or what he thinks it would be like, if he had one): you give an inch and it takes a mile, so the indulgence is really not worth the withdrawal. His rule set has worked for him so far, regardless, so he figures he could be doing worse.

“Ugh, get off me,” he mutters, when Izuku starts tracing the small of his back with his fingers, right where he knows Katsuki’s ticklish.

“Take your shirt off,” Izuku teases, a smile in his voice. “How do you still manage to only wear black? I feel like I’m melting just looking at you.”

It is times like these when Katsuki’s ability to refrain from strangling him to death is seriously tested, but in terms of battles he could be getting, God has generally let him off pretty easy, so whatever. He rolls his head to the side from where it’s pillowed on his arms, opening one eye to glare at Izuku, before deciding fuck it and arching his back to get his shirt up and off his shoulders. He feels exposed and watched and good, always willing to show off under Izuku’s gaze, letting the way the boy hums appreciatively go straight to his ego.

Izuku immediately sweeps his hand farther up his back, following the line of his spine with his fingers until he closes his palm around the nape of Katsuki’s neck, rubbing his thumb behind his ear. “D’you mind if I smoke?” He asks, low and quiet.

Katsuki lets himself bask in the dark, warm tone of his voice and the feeling of fingers scratching through his hair, before what Izuku said actually processes and he turns his head to look at him better. “Yes,” he says sharply, arching an eyebrow. “The old hag’ll smell it and fucking kill me.”

Izuku pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. “But the window’s open,” he counters.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki says, lifting himself up onto his elbows. “Since when do you smoke?”

Izuku shrugs, letting his hand slide off Katsuki’s neck. “I don’t, really. He just left the last of a pack in my room,” he admits, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out to show him.

Katsuki takes it that he means the ex-boyfriend, and the taste in his mouth sours a little more. “Oh, well, if he does it,” he bites, letting his sarcasm be meaner than it usually is.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Izuku says mildly, unfazed. “I know this is gonna sound like an ‘I can stop at any time’ thing, but I genuinely do not think that a total of three cigarettes in my life is going to kill me.”

“Fuck if I care,” Katsuki snaps, burying his face back in the cradle of his arms.

“Kacchan,” Izuku chides, leaning down to drape his arm over his back again, tucking his hand around Katsuki’s waist. “I only ever shotgunned sometimes,” he murmurs, close enough to Katsuki’s ear to make him shiver. “I’ve never put one in my mouth. I’ll go throw them out right now, if you want me to.”

I’ll do something else if you want me to, Katsuki retorts in his head, and then is immediately grateful that he didn’t say that out loud, because that really was not one of his better comebacks.

Instead, he lifts his head from his arms and looks at Izuku appraisingly, letting his gaze slowly drag up and down until Izuku is a little red in the face. “Show me how to shotgun,” he drawls, as close to flirting as he’ll let himself get; because Katsuki has never been above doing things he knows are bad for him. “And throw the other two out.”

Izuku grins wide and gleaming, tilting his head to show off his sharp jaw, before he lifts a lighter out of his pocket and grabs a cigarette from the pack, fumbling in a way that exposes his inexperience. Katsuki hides a smile in his palm, watching him make an idiot of himself. Izuku, cigarette between his teeth, catches the smirk and rolls his eyes like shut up, whatever, and Katsuki thinks that’s just about the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

When Izuku finally lights the cigarette and takes a drag, he immediately hacks up a lung by coughing, and Katsuki sputters into laughter.

“Oh my God, Kacchan, shut up,” Izuku rasps, shoving at him. Under normal circumstances, Katsuki never lets people see a genuine smile from him, but he supposes that he’ll make an exception this time, giggling to himself and not hiding his face in favor of watching Izuku try for another inhale. He’s more careful about it, this time, a little smoother and a lot shallower, and he holds it in his chest for a few moments before twisting and blowing it out in a thin, grey stream towards the open window.

“Shit,” Izuku says, turning back around. “That’s actually not bad. You could seriously get addicted to that, yeah.” He looks at the cigarette in his hand with a little mixture of awe and wariness. “After today, never again,” he decides, holding his pinky out.

Katsuki takes it, curling his own pinky around it. “I’ll hold you to it,” he promises.

“‘Cause I mean, like,” Izuku rambles, “it feels completely terrible, but also kinda cool.”

“Mm,” Katsuki agrees. “‘S kinda hot.”

Izuku immediately chokes on his next inhale, coughing so hard that Katsuki actually feels the need to reach up and thump him on the back a few times. When he finally settles, tears in his eyes, he croaks, “what?”

Katsuki grins at him. “I mean, like, I’d never get into that shit. But it’s cool to look at.”

“Uh,” Izuku says, and then he takes a deeper drag, his chest expanding with breath. He holds it there in a way that’s telling of how much he knows from just watching it, before opening his mouth and letting it trickle out in a wispy cloud of smoke.

“Any day now,” Katsuki deadpans, and Izuku reaches out to hold his chin.

“I can do it in a way where I don’t touch your mouth,” he suggests, the nervous part of him fading away into something relaxed, knowing. “I’ve never done it to someone else, but.”

Katsuki nods numbly, something in him crowing at the idea of getting something that Izuku’s ex-boyfriend didn’t. Izuku smiles at him and it’s something softer, less sharp or dangerous. It looks like the real him, not someone trying to look cool for Katsuki, and it isn’t any less attractive than before.

“‘M gonna take a drag,” Izuku explains, “and you open your mouth when I get close to you, and when I breathe out, you breathe in.”

Katsuki opens his mouth to say something about how he’s not an idiot, Deku, he fucking knows what shotgunning is, but then Izuku lines his thumbnail up with the edge of his bottom lip and his whole brain goes quiet.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Izuku says, and then inhales deeply. Katsuki lets his jaw fall open in Izuku’s hand as he leans down, steadying his face by pressing their foreheads together before puckering his lips and blowing smoke into Katsuki’s mouth, a thin line of it that goes directly down Katsuki’s throat.

“Hold it there,” he murmurs, once Katsuki’s chest is full of breath. His hand stays firm on Katsuki’s chin the whole time, until Katsuki finally exhales, his eyes never leaving Izuku’s. The smoke doesn’t actually feel like anything, to be honest, just secondhand warmth, but the air around him feels heady and thick all the same.

“Good?” Izuku asks, and Katsuki lazily arches an eyebrow. “Wanna try again?”

“Nah,” Katsuki says, his voice deeper than it usually is, and he feels good and attractive and wanted. There’s a bead of sweat running down Izuku’s temple from the oppressive heat, sticking his hair to his face.

“D’you think I could snub this out in the sink?” Izuku asks, gesturing to the cigarette with nervous movements again, letting his knuckles drag down the length of Katsuki’s neck before his hand falls away.

“Go for it,” he shrugs, tilting his head back a little to expose his throat. He fights the urge to smirk when Izuku stares at him and swallows.

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, sounding distracted, “okay,” and then he reaches down to cup Katsuki’s jaw and kisses him on the cheek, quick as lightning. While Katsuki sits there, gaping, Izuku quickly climbs over him to leave for the bathroom, dropping the remainder of the cigarette pack in the trash bin beside Katsuki’s desk as he walks out.

“Huh,” Katsuki says, out loud, and then he gets pissed the fuck off.

Katsuki had never asked about Izuku’s ex-boyfriend when they were together; he’d only gotten stray pieces of information from Izuku’s offhand ramblings, or from photos that he hadn’t meant to see, or—on one truly unfortunate occasion—an awkward five-minute interaction with him when Katsuki once came to pick Izuku up from school. Katsuki had never snooped around about the guy, but he’d certainly done a lot of speculation, to piece together the mental newspaper-clipping-collage that he has now. Izuku’s ex had been tall—taller than Katsuki—and had sleepy eyes, hair even more flyaway than Izuku’s, and an asshole-ish kind of grin with a leering quality that gave more of a misogynistic impression than normal egoism. Or maybe Katsuki had simply wanted to assume the worst of him. He’d certainly been a little too obsessed with Izuku’s thighs to not be at least a bit of a creep, so Katsuki doesn’t feel at all guilty for the assumption. Although, he figures, if given the opportunity, most people would probably be obsessed with Izuku’s thighs, too.

But Izuku isn’t in that relationship anymore, and it dawns on Katsuki that he is now in a position that no one else is privy to: if Katsuki wanted to touch Izuku’s thighs, Izuku would probably let him. Because the series of events is starting to look like this: Izuku has a break up. Izuku is single and clingy and lacking an outlet for his affection. Izuku gets handsy with Katsuki because he knows that Katsuki will let him. Izuku jumps into a “relationship” he only thinks he wants because he’s lonely. Then the summer ends, and Izuku realizes that Katsuki isn’t as tall or as leering as his ex, and that they don’t even go to the same fucking school, and, ultimately, this conclusion: having flings with people you’ve known since birth is not really a sustainable business model.

“Hi,” Izuku says, interrupting Katsuki from his thoughts when he walks back into the room. He sounds happy and a little breathless, and for one short, concentrated moment, Katsuki hates him more than anything in the world. He stays silent and seething as Izuku crawls back over him to get to his spot on the bed, letting his hands drag all over Katsuki’s back in the process, and Katsuki makes a decision right then and there.

“Deku,” he bites, as Izuku manhandles him onto his side and drapes an arm over him, spooning him from behind. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

Katsuki wants the words to hurt, and he feels vindictive for the single second that Izuku’s whole body pauses and goes still. He shakes it off just as quickly, though, resuming the motion of pressing his palm to Katsuki’s stomach.

“M’kay,” he says, like this whole ordeal is a nonissue, like all of this intimacy is nothing more and nothing less than Izuku being friendly, like it hasn’t and would never occur to him to want Katsuki.

“Get off me,” Katsuki grumbles, repressing the urge to fucking explode at him, reveal how much he cares. Another one to add to the rule set: don’t fucking embarrass yourself. He elbows Izuku’s arm away and turns back onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. “Tryna sleep.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, barging into his room at ten in the morning like clockwork. “I got us invited to a party.”

Katsuki, after having taken a shower post-morning workout, has been putting off getting dressed by scrolling on his phone in just a towel. He looks up at Izuku and takes great satisfaction at the way the boy’s gaze drags down his bare chest before his face goes completely red.

“Is that right?” He drawls, just to watch Izuku flail.

“What happened to not being naked when I come over?” Izuku tries to tease, falling leagues short of sounding casual.

“What happened to not showing up unannounced?” Katsuki tilts his head in question, and is reassured that Izuku not wanting him has nothing to do with him not being wantable. Thank God. That shit was doing things to his ego that he did not appreciate.

“You—” Izuku laughs, sounding a little shrill. “Whatever. D’you have something to wear tonight?”

Katsuki scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Why are we even going?”

“It'll be fun,” Izuku says dismissively, stepping around him to rummage around in his dresser. “Jeez, do you actually own anything that isn’t black?”

“My school uniform,” he deadpans.

“Okay,” Izuku muses. “Wear that one pair of sweatpants that sits here,” he says, gesturing low on his hips. “And the tightest shirt you own.”

“Are you actually stupid,” Katsuki says, not really like a question.

Somehow, he still manages to get bullied into trying on half his wardrobe in search of an outfit. Izuku locates the aforementioned sweatpants almost suspiciously quickly, and barely turns around for Katsuki to change into them before he twists back around and immediately yanks them down his hips, until a solid two centimeters of his boxer briefs are exposed.

“Jesus fuck, Deku!” Katsuki yelps, his face flaming as he pulls them back up. “Believe it or not, I don’t actually plan on walking around with my fucking underwear showing.”

“Then don’t wear any,” Izuku shrugs, and Katsuki feels justified when he punches him in the shoulder so hard he goes stumbling.

Still, Izuku manages to get his way, and Katsuki loses the boxers so that Izuku can adjust the sweatpants low enough on his hips to show off the sharp jut of his hip bones, the suggestive curve of his navel. Izuku stares at him thoughtfully after that, for long enough that Katsuki feels just about ready to turn around and drown himself in the bathroom, before Izuku finally turns back to his dresser and picks out a black tank top that Katsuki’s owned since he was shorter than five feet tall, and only keeps around as pajamas now.

Izuku looks reasonably satisfied at the final result, despite the fact that Katsuki looks more like he’s going to be a bouncer at said party rather than a guest.

“It’s not my fault your wardrobe sucks,” Izuku defends when Katsuki points this out. “Your parents are both fashion designers; you tell me how this happened.”

Katsuki sneers, but figures that that’s a fairly solid point.

By the time sunset rolls around, Izuku has managed to run back to his house four different times to change his clothes, force Katsuki to sit still long enough to put smoky eyeliner on him while convincing him to wear his combat boots, and fuss with his own hair for longer than Katsuki thought humanly possible to do so without realizing it’s a lost cause.

As they leave the house, Izuku rattles off a phone call to his mom, lying through his teeth more easily than Katsuki thinks he should be able to: I’m staying at Kacchan’s house, Mom, yeah, we ate dinner. Katsuki’s parents, by contrast, couldn’t give less of a shit about what he does with his time as long as they don’t have to find out about it—essentially, no getting arrested, dying, or making a scene—so Katsuki simply shouts an out with Deku, bye over his shoulder before slamming the front door behind him.

If Katsuki had reservations before, they definitely all become full-blown regrets by the time they step onto the metro train, immediately catching strangers’ eyes in various shades of curiosity or judgement.

“I cannot fucking believe I let you talk me into this,” he hisses into Izuku’s ear as the train lurches to a start.

Izuku braces himself with Katsuki’s shoulder and leans up to whisper, “well, I wasn’t trying to make you look respectable; I was trying to make you look good,” and the way he says good curls down Katsuki’s spine and makes him shiver.

After getting off the train, Izuku guides them into a nice-looking neighborhood, well-lit even in the dark evening, until they make it to a near-comically large, Western-style two-story house, glowing with color, cars lining up the street.

“This is actually just a fucking cliche,” Katsuki thinks out loud, and then Izuku grabs his hand and drags them into the belly of the beast.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Izuku murmurs under his breath, like a dumbass idiot nerd, and Katsuki has to physically drag him away from the genkan to stop him from taking his shoes off on muscle memory alone.

Inside the house, the shimmering technicolor is even more vibrant, shaking with noise and vibration. Still with Izuku’s hand in his own, Katsuki starts guiding them in the direction of where he thinks the kitchen should be. They immediately get enveloped in the crowd, just another two bodies in the mass of it. Here, Katsuki’s skin-tight top and smudgy makeup is not the least bit out of place, sometimes even drawing interest from wandering eyes. Katsuki feels hot and cutthroat and on top of the world.

Eventually, they manage to locate the kitchen, where an island is set up heaping with various cans, litre bottles and, notably, an actual fucking punch bowl.

“How the fuck did we get invites to this again?” Katsuki asks, half-shouting over the music.

Izuku takes his hand out of Katsuki’s to slide it, instead, around his waist, stepping forward to peruse the drinks. “Yaoyorozu’s too straight-laced to throw a party,” he explains, leaning close to talk into Katsuki’s ear instead of yelling, “but she has a bunch of rich friends from childhood, so she was able to hook me up.”

Katsuki bats Izuku’s hands away when he reaches for the punch bowl, because he doesn’t plan on running the risk of getting fucking roofied at his first high school party. “Yaoyorozu’s the one who—”

“—who’s dating Jirou from your school, yeah.”

Katsuki reaches for a beer with a name he kinda sorta recognizes, popping it open with one hand and taking a gulp, doing his absolute best to shut off his taste buds as it goes down, because wow that is bad. “What’re you getting?”

“I’ll just share with you,” Izuku hums, plucking the can out of Katsuki’s fingers. “Less stuff to carry around, then.” He takes a small sip and immediately does a little recoil, quickly smoothing his expression blank to avoid making a face.

Katsuki snorts. “Pretty shitty, huh?”

Izuku smiles up at him, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“C’mon,” Katsuki grins, taking the can back and starting to make his way over to the living room. He calls over his shoulder, “let’s find a place to sit.”

The living room alone might actually be the same size as Katsuki’s entire house, he thinks, surveying the room. There are steps leading down into it. Izuku, wide-eyed as he looks around, trips unthinkingly down the first step before Katsuki scrambles to catch him, grabbing a fistful of the back of his shirt and hauling him up.

“Thanks,” Izuku says breathlessly, his face red and embarrassed in a way that makes Katsuki think that having spilled some of the beer over his hand in his haste to save him was almost worth it. Almost.

All of the couches at the sides of the room appear to be occupied, from what Katsuki can see, but Izuku shoulders his way into the crowd like he knows what he’s doing. At the first available opportunity, Izuku practically throws himself into an available sliver of couch space, wrestling his way into it until there’s enough space for Katsuki to sort-of sit down, too.

“If you wanted to drink on a couch in a crop top, we could’ve just done this shit at my house,” Katsuki mutters, as Izuku slings one of his legs over Katsuki’s lap to crowd them further into the same space.

“It’s about the ambiance, Kacchan,” Izuku grabs the side of his neck and pulls him down to murmur in his ear. “You wouldn’t let me put eyeliner on you just to sit in your living room,” he adds, in a voice that is actually fucking filthy. Katsuki fights the need to adjust himself in his seat because there is no way that Izuku wouldn’t notice.

While he sits there, a little dumbstruck and wildly horny, Izuku takes the beer can back from him and takes a swig before passing it back. Moving on autopilot, Katsuki takes a sip of his own, and Izuku grins approvingly.

For all of Katsuki’s complaining, the party isn’t actually as bad as he had assumed it would be. The couches have been pushed back against the walls—seriously, though, what living room needs four couches—and the space in the middle has been converted into a dance floor, filled with a roiling mass of bodies sliding along to the music. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air, plumes of it lit up by multicolored LED lights lining the ceiling. Katsuki can feel the bass in his feet. The atmosphere is actually almost disgustingly sensual, but it isn’t overwhelming, and at least it doesn’t completely smell like shit.

While Katsuki’s been observing the room, the two of them have been trading the beer back and forth between them. Katsuki is only made aware of this when he goes to take a gulp and has to tip his head all the way back, draining the last of the can. Izuku touches the base of his throat with his fingertips as he swallows, and Katsuki lets it happen easily, already feeling looser and more receptive to the touch.

“Go get us another?” Izuku asks when Katsuki glances over at him curiously. He’s looking up at Katsuki through his eyelashes and, okay, there is no way he’s not doing that at least a little bit on purpose.

“Sure,” Katsuki says, exposing his canines when he grins out of the corner of his mouth, always willing to give back just as good. Then he shoves Izuku off his lap and stands quickly enough to feel a little dizzy. His head is swimming a little, just enough to make him question whether the alcohol’s already getting to him. He doesn’t make a habit of drinking; he wouldn’t know.

As he ponders this, he weaves his way back to the kitchen, quickly disposing of the empty beer can and grabbing two more before hightailing it out of there before anyone can strike up a conversation with him. Without Izuku at his side, the stares only increase, and now that he realizes that some people might actually do something about it, he is suddenly much less enthusiastic about the whole feeling hot thing. Huh. Who knew he’d miss having Izuku hanging off of him.

The sentiment seems to be shared, at least, when Katsuki returns to the living room to see some dude talking to Izuku. Izuku is still sitting on the couch and looks supremely uncomfortable by this, crossing both his legs and his arms. There’s a cool, careless glint in his eye and a bored tilt to his jaw, but Katsuki knows him well enough to see that it’s all bravado.

“Hey,” Katsuki says, interjecting himself into the scene by tossing one of the beer cans into Izuku’s lap.

“Hi,” Izuku says breathlessly, letting the can roll off his lap as he scrambles to his feet, looking extremely relieved at the opportunity to stand up and look the other guy in the eye instead from below. He wraps an arm around Katsuki’s waist and leans into his side, pointedly ignoring the dude as he asks, “find everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki humors him, even though that was an objectively stupid question. He opens the beer in his hand slowly, with one fingernail, before glancing over to the stranger like he’d only just noticed he was there. “Y’alright?”

“You must be Kacchan,” the guy interrupts, eyeing him up and down like he thinks he looks cool doing it.

“You must not be worth my time, because I don’t remember meeting you,” Katsuki deadpans.

“I’m a friend,” he says, unfazed.

“Of my ex, actually,” Izuku corrects.

“He’s been asking about you,” he turns back to Izuku, breaking the eye contact he’d been holding with Katsuki. “Hasn’t seen you around.”

“It’s summer,” Izuku points out. “I don’t know why he would ‘see me around.’”

He hums. “He did predict that you’d be around your Kacchan, though,” he says, just short of sneering. “I think he—”

“I think you should go fuck yourself,” Katsuki snaps, as Izuku’s hand tightens around his waist.

The guy blinks, looking a little caught off-guard by Katsuki’s blatant lack of interest in keeping up polite pretenses. “Alright,” he shrugs. “I’ll tell him you both said hi.”

Katsuki and Izuku both watch silently as he stalks off, putting his hands in his pockets and slouching away towards another group of people.

“I think that was actually the most embarrassing person I’ve ever had to witness,” Katsuki muses.

At his side, Izuku wordlessly takes the beer out of his hand and just starts chugging, steadily tipping his head to knock back the entire can.

“Wow,” Katsuki says dryly when Izuku finishes, completely unimpressed. “That bad?”

Izuku tosses the empty can onto the couch and picks up the other one. “Let’s go dance,” he says.

Katsuki snorts at his melodrama but lets himself be led onto the dance floor, immediately getting hip-checked by three different people as Izuku searches for a spot that isn’t oppressively crowded. When they finally settle into place, Izuku hands the can to him so that he can hold Katsuki at his hips, swaying them along to the music. One of his hands is cold from the condensation on the beer can, and he smirks when Katsuki shivers at the sensation. Katsuki rolls his eyes and, in retaliation, drapes his arms over Izuku’s shoulders and holds the can to the nape of Izuku’s neck. Izuku arches his back, squirming to get away from the feeling, and Katsuki laughs under his breath.

“Mean, Kacchan,” Izuku complains, and then draws him in closer.

Katsuki is starting to get actually worried by their proximity as Izuku reels him in by the hips, locking his arms around his lower back and tipping up just the slightest amount onto his toes so that he can fit his chin over Katsuki’s shoulder. Their bodies are pressed together in so many places that Katsuki feels a little dizzy.

“Deku,” he says warningly, and then Izuku moves his head so that his mouth just touches his neck, and Katsuki sees red. “I’m not here for you to get back at your ex,” he snaps.

“Then be here to dance with me,” Izuku murmurs.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath. Izuku ignores him, slipping his hands beneath the hem of Katsuki’s shirt.

As long as he doesn’t touch my ass, Katsuki internally shrugs, as though he isn’t fighting to avoid getting hard in his pants. God. He isn’t even wearing fucking underwear.

In an attempt to distract himself, he pops open the beer can, leaning away from Izuku so that he can take a swig.

In the middle of the motion, Izuku kisses his throat.

Katsuki goes rigid.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he snarls, using his free hand to grab a fistful of Izuku’s hair and yank him back. Unwittingly, a little noise rips itself from Izuku’s mouth as he gets pulled, and there is no way now that Katsuki isn’t very fucking obviously hard.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, almost like a moan, still wincing at the tight grip that Katsuki has on his hair. “You—I’m not sure how much more obvious I can be.”

“You,” Katsuki seethes, “are drunk.”

“I had a drink and a half, Kacchan, I’m not drunk,” Izuku scoffs.

Katsuki pulls his hair a little harder, and Izuku simply closes his eyes and lets it happen.

“What do you want me to say,” the boy murmurs. “That I think you’re the hottest person here? That those pants make me wanna do things to you, and I like the way you look at me, and I think you’re so pretty?” He lazily cracks one eye open. “S’that what you wanna hear?”

Katsuki’s brain does an actual fucking double-take. He doesn’t know how the control of this situation has slipped away from him so quickly.

And so, because Katsuki has never been above doing things he knows are bad for him, he grins, and bluffs more than he ever has in his entire life when he drawls, “yeah? You just broke up with your boyfriend, and you spend your time thinking about how pretty I am?”

“Mhm,” Izuku says breathily, definitely a moan this time, but then he laughs a little under his breath, like the real him, like someone who isn’t bluffing or just trying to look cool. His voice is brimming with affection when he repeats, “so pretty, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s mind goes quiet for a solid three seconds. He swallows and disentangles his hand from Izuku’s hair, taking a half-step back. “You’re the worst fucking lightweight in the world,” he mutters.

Izuku has the actual audacity to snort. “I’m not drunk, Kacchan, seriously,” he says, exasperated and fond. He takes Katsuki’s hand and starts guiding them away from the dance floor, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission.

Katsuki drops his beer can onto the nearest flat surface as he stumbles to follow. He feels a weird mixture of relief and disappointment at having escaped that situation, but then Izuku starts dragging him up the stairs to the second floor, and his stomach bottoms out.

“Deku,” he hisses, yanking his hand back.

Izuku looks over his shoulder at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Just watch,” he says, and then starts walking.

Katsuki waits by the top of the staircase as Izuku walks down a long, empty stretch of hallway, putting one foot in front of the other as though there’s an invisible line on the floor for him to follow. He doesn’t stumble or stagger even once. In the middle of the hallway, in fact, he does a fucking cartwheel, perfect and straight, just because he’s a little show-off.

When he makes it to the other end of the hall, he grins brightly at Katsuki and beckons him forward.

“Could a drunk person do that?” He preens, and Katsuki rolls his eyes and flicks him on the forehead.

While Izuku is busy pouting and rubbing his forehead, Katsuki takes the time to examine this new section of the house. The carpeting is fluffy white and pristine, and he actually feels a little guilty when he sees how his boots are tracking little crumbs of dirt through it.

On instinct, he bends down to unlace his boots, slipping them off and carrying them in one hand as he resumes his exploration of the house. Of the many rooms lining the hall, only one of the doors is open. Katsuki can only imagine what might be going on in the other rooms, but at least he can’t hear anything. In fact, he can’t hear much of anything relating to the party happening downstairs. It already feels like the rest of the night is an entire world away; some bright, blurry whirlwind; vestiges of a Katsuki who didn’t know what it felt like for Izuku to kiss his neck and call him pretty.

Huh, he thinks, steering clear of that thought, the sound-proofing in a house like this must be fuckin’ crazy. And yeah, Katsuki with his failing hearing may not be the best vouch for that, but it’s still pretty impressive. He could play drums here any time he liked, without worry of his mom beating his ass or their neighbors complaining. He’s kinda jealous.

Unconsciously, he finds himself wandering into the open room, dropping his shoes by the door as a spacious bedroom is revealed, with two separate vanities and an obnoxiously large canopy bed. He makes a mental note-to-self to find out how Jirou managed to pull a rich girl with friends like this; just out of curiosity.

As Katsuki leans in to examine a group of framed photographs on a dresser—what is with rich people and golf—there’s a noise behind him. He turns to look and sees Izuku standing in the doorway, leaning against it so that he can pull his own shoes off. Katsuki watches as he neatly lines them up by the door, silently walks over, and calmly pushes Katsuki up against a bedpost. Their hips touch together and Izuku isn’t shaking or nervous anywhere. Like all of this is a nonissue.

“Shit,” Katsuki says, voice low. He’d almost forgotten what they came up here for—what any two people go upstairs for at a house party. “You really are just fucking shameless, aren’t you?”

Izuku bites the corner of his lip, and his hips twitch forward so slightly that it has to be involuntary, and—and Katsuki makes a decision, right then and there.

He puts his hands on Izuku’s shoulders and swings him around until they go crashing into the bed, Izuku landing on his back with a small noise as Katsuki crawls halfway on top of him.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Katsuki breathes, trying not to come in his pants when Izuku looks up at him, his eyes blown wide and dark and wanting. “You couldn’t keep your fucking hands off of me if you tried, Deku, huh?”

“No,” Izuku whines, squirming and arching his back, sliding his hands up Katsuki’s ribs in a fruitless attempt to push his shirt up. “No—Kacchan, not if it’s you.”

Katsuki leans away for a moment to pull his shirt off the rest of the way, revelling in the feeling of Izuku running his hands up and down his thighs, the muscles flexing from where he’s kneeling over Izuku’s body.

Once he gets his shirt over his head, tossing it in the vague direction of their shoes, Izuku immediately puts his hands back on him, running up his chest and to his neck, sliding into his hair and pulling him downward.

Oh shit, Katsuki thinks, he’s gonna try to kiss me, and so on his way down, he yanks Izuku’s hands away and presses his wrists to the bed over his head, using his weight to hold them there as he hovers over Izuku.

“Not if it’s me?” He echoes, his chest heaving. “What, you think about touching me a lot?”

“All the time, Kacchan, yeah,” Izuku breathes, staring at his mouth.

He grins, just to see the way Izuku gulps at the flash of teeth. “Yeah? How do you wanna touch me? What do you think about?”

“I wanna,” Izuku’s face splits into a small, self-conscious smile; the expression looks a little manic on him. “Wanna fuck you, Kacchan; want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki repeats, his voice feeling punched-out. “Where’d you learn to talk like that,” he mutters, even though the answer is definitely Katsuki himself. In an attempt to regain some semblance of control, he leans down to murmur, “stay there,” and lets go of Izuku’s wrists.

Izuku clearly fights the urge to put his hands back on him when Katsuki pulls away, sitting back on his heels. The boy’s whole body twitches and squirms, restless and wanting, but he dutifully keeps his hands over his head, twisting them into the sheets as something to hold onto.

“Fuck,” Katsuki says under his breath, and Izuku grins smugly, letting out a pornographic noise and rolling his hips up obscenely; the picture of desperate, teenage horniness.

Katsuki feels himself go red all the way down to his fucking toes. “You little shit,” he hisses, and pulls Izuku’s thighs into his lap.

“You’re so cute, Kacchan,” Izuku giggles. “You gonna keep talking to me, or—”

Katsuki puts a hand on his dick, and that shuts him up pretty quickly.

Katsuki feels surreal, out-of-his-skin, looking down at himself grinding a palm into Izuku’s crotch as the boy arches up into the touch, his head twisted to the side to moan into his arm.

“So fucking cocky,” Katsuki breathes out a laugh. “Where’d that go?”

Izuku hides a smile in his shirtsleeve. “Mm, Kacchan, c’mon,” he whispers, his face open with something like affection, delirious fondness. It looks adjacent to love, and it scares the motherfucking shit out of Katsuki.

He takes a deep breath, slides his hand up to Izuku’s stomach, and then back down inside his shorts.

“Oh, okay, I see how it is; you get to wear underwear but I don’t?” He teases, just to say fucking something, and cups his hand over Izuku’s boxer briefs.

Izuku does a helpless little laugh-moan that makes Katsuki want to take him apart forever. “Well, you look so good without it,” he flirts.

“Dickhead,” Katsuki murmurs, and then corrects himself, softer, “Izuku.”

The smile is immediately wiped from the boy’s face, his hips snapping up. “Kacchan,” he whines, flushed red to his ears, “Kacchan, please.”

Katsuki is rendered basically helpless to that, yanking down Izuku’s shorts and underwear as far down as they’ll go on his spread thighs. For a second, all he can do is look at him, shining with sweat and blushing splotchy-red everywhere and moaning Katsuki’s fucking name.

Things go way too fast and simultaneously syrupy-slow after that, as Katsuki spits into his hand and wraps it around Izuku’s dick, a little smaller than his own and unexpectedly hot to the touch. Some small, unacknowledged part of him goes hot and sated as Izuku rambles mindlessly, please and yes and Kacchan, goes a little fucking crazy inside when he babbles you’re so good and want you and I always think about you. It’s taking everything Katsuki has in him to not grind his hips forward, slot their bodies together and just take what he needs. He wants to explode out of his skin. He wants to let Izuku kiss him until he melts into something soft.

After some haze of time, while Katsuki is letting the image of Izuku beneath him get seared into his brain, Izuku’s breath eventually hitches violently in his chest. He gasps in warning before he comes, making cut-off little whimpers that make Katsuki want to keep touching him until it hurts. He strokes him through it, long and slow, feeling mesmerized by the way Izuku moves, before the boy starts twisting away at the overstimulation and he finally slows to a stop.

Izuku’s eyes are still closed and his chest is heaving. Katsuki gives into the urge to rub his thumb over the head of his dick, just one more time, and Izuku keens before going boneless.

“Fuck,” Katsuki says under his breath, and Izuku’s mouth curls up into a smile, his eyes still closed. Katsuki is desperately, helplessly in love with him.

He is also very quickly reminded that he’s still harder than he’s ever been in his life when his dick actually fucking throbs. He seriously debates the pros and cons of leaning forward, kissing Izuku, and letting him return the favor.

Well, now you’ve fucking done it, he thinks, a little sardonically, and then it all fucking hits him. He’s the summer fling now. He fucking just fucking jacked fucking Deku off. Fuck.

As delicately as he can, he extricates himself from Izuku and climbs off the bed to stand on stiff legs.

Izuku’s eyes fly open as he sits up, already whining. “Hey,” he says, looking a little insane with his hair flying in every direction, “come back.”

“I’m not leaving, Deku,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, somehow managing to not let all of his internal panic spill out of him. See, all those years of emotional repression were for something. Or, y’know, the anger management therapy, whatever, tomato tomato. “Where would I go?”

Izuku seems to see right through him, pursing his lips. “I wanna—” he says, before cutting himself off. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t,” he deadpans, before quietly adding, “Izuku.”

The boy looks immediately reassured, his shoulders dropping from where they’d been tensed up. “Okay, Kacchan,” he mumbles, and flops back down.

Katsuki locates the bathroom that’s connected to the bedroom and disappears into it, locking the door behind himself even though he doesn’t need to. He staggers over to the sink, his head swimming as he looks at himself in the mirror, loose-limbed and sweaty and smudged out. He isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or the hormones that’s getting to him, but he’s starting to feel like he would crawl out of his own skin and into Izuku’s if he could, and he doesn’t think that’s the most positive of signs.

Feeling more than a little urgent, he snatches the hand towel hanging by the sink and wets a corner of it under the tap as he sticks his other hand down his pants, frantically stroking himself. Under normal circumstances, he’s managed to school himself into silence, having learned quickly to curb any and all noise that he doesn’t want his parents hearing about in their flimsy, thin-walled house. Right now, however, he can’t seem to help making tiny, cut-off moans as images of Izuku begin seeping back into his mind, pretty and laid out and wanting.

It takes an embarrassingly short time to work himself up, quickly shoving his pants down to spill into the towel instead of his clothes, something that Future Katsuki will likely thank him for. Go him.

As he comes down from the high, breathing hard and burning up in his skin, a little more of the self-loathing kicks in. Just a little, the basics, the now you’ve done it, you’ve kickstarted the ruination of your entire relationship with the one person that unconditionally puts up with you, and you’re gonna die alone and probably soon at this rate. Well done. Y’know. Just a healthy dose.

Powering through it, however, he manages to get his pants back on and exit the bathroom, stumbling out to where Izuku’s still lying on the bed, all of his limbs spread out like a starfish. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is even in a way that indicates that he’s asleep, or on the brink of it. Katsuki feels more than a little voyeuristic as he approaches, kneeling beside Izuku and using the clean part of the towel to wipe the come off his stomach before tucking him back into his shorts. Izuku shivers at the contact, stirring slightly, making little noises that Katsuki really could have gone his entire life without hearing, but nope, now he’s gonna hear them when he falls asleep for the rest of time. Great.

“‘chan,” Izuku murmurs, smiling sleepily, reaching up to wrap his arms around Katsuki’s neck. “Wanna touch you now.”

“Maybe later,” Katsuki lies, trying and failing to disentangle himself.

Izuku goes still, opening his eyes and looking at him with an expression so serious and awake that Katsuki thinks his life is pretty much over, Izuku’s figured him out, g’bye, it was a displeasure knowing you all. But then Izuku nods once, stoically, like he’s gonna hold Katsuki to his word, and then he closes his eyes and relaxes back into softness. He pulls Katsuki forward and tilts up and kisses him, missing his mouth and hitting someplace just below the side of his nose.

“Good fucking night,” Katsuki mutters, finally wrenching himself away. He manages to shove Izuku over just enough to flop down next to him, spread out on top of the covers.

“Love you,” Izuku says, like he sometimes does when he forgets that he shouldn’t. Katsuki had made it clear sometime during middle school that they were way too old for that shit, cut it out, along with some semi-serious death threats to enforce it. Izuku had quietly accepted it, then, but sometimes he still slips up. That in and of itself wouldn’t faze Katsuki, but he feels that right after sort-of sex is absolutely not the setting to be bringing it up.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps heatedly, and Izuku obliges him, although it’s possible that he just fell asleep again.

Which leaves Katsuki with a moral dilemma on top of all of his other dilemmas: how fucking out of it does Izuku have to be to be near-incoherent now? How conscious even was he? How fucking drunk?

Katsuki attempts to do some mental math about it, but that one semester of forensic science that he took is starting to elude him. What was the fucking formula for calculating BAC? Izuku weighs a little less than him; that’s gotta factor in, right? Shit. Shiiit.

“Can hear you thinkin’,” Izuku mumbles into the silence.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki growls.

“Oh my God,” Katsuki hears, being shaken awake and already in a piss-poor mood for it. “Oh my God, Kacchan, wake up.”

“Fuck do you want, Deku?” Katsuki half-yells, reaching below his head to grab his pillow and hit him with it, only to find that there is no pillow there. Huh. Katsuki opens his eyes.

“Kacchan, we gotta go,” Izuku continues, hovering directly over Katsuki’s face. Light is streaming in from an open window behind him, illuminating him in the backlight like he’s some sort of angel from above. Like Ariel in The Little Mermaid, Katsuki thinks nonsensically. Except the light is hurting his eyes, ow, motherfucking shitballs.

When Katsuki snaps himself out of that train of thought and zones back into his surroundings, Izuku has moved away from him and is starting to pace around the room, rambling like a crazy person.

“—gonna get arrested, can you get arrested? Is this technically trespassing, I think we definitely aren’t supposed to still be here, whose room even is this? Kacchan, oh my God, we—”

“Deku,” Katsuki snaps, his patience way too short to be dealing with all of those words at once. “What fucking time is it?”

“Eleven,” Izuku says, promptly, with the kind of single-minded calmness that only comes from being simultaneously freaked-the-fuck-out.

“Shit,” Katsuki agrees, and then the two of them run for the hills.

Katsuki scrambles out of bed, ignoring the immediate pounding behind his eyes, while Izuku dashes to the doorway and scoops both of their shoes into his arms.

“Okay, okay,” Izuku whisper-shouts as they run down the hallway, only slightly stumbling into each other and the walls. “I’ve got my wallet, do you have—”

“I’ve got mine, and both our phones,” Katsuki interrupts, “so we’re—”

“—we’re good,” Izuku finishes. He throws an arm out—a pair of shoes in hand—to stop Katsuki as he takes a moment to peek around the corner of the staircase, like he thinks he’s in some fucking spy movie.

“Oh my fucking God,” Katsuki says, at a normal volume, and ignores the way Izuku’s eyes bug out of his head a little.

There’s no one in sight in the living room or kitchen, from what Katsuki can see, just a lot of empty cans strewn about and a wide, empty space that feels barren in the sunlight. Katsuki had half-hoped to see at least one person passed out on the couch or something, as confirmation that the two of them aren’t alone in the house with the host—whose exact location and current level of hospitality is yet unknown—but no such luck. Still, the circumstances could be worse, and Katsuki has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly leaps down the rest of the stairs and makes a break for the front door, slipping only a little on the tiles in his socked feet.

Izuku, hot on his heels, shoves his boots into his arms once they reach the genkan, still looking around frantically as though the fucking cops or something are going to barge out at any second. “Okay, holy shit, wait, Mom’s gonna be so worried—”

“Put your damn shoes on,” Katsuki hits him over the head with one of his boots, and Izuku glares at him so viciously that he almost feels a little sorry for it.

“What if she called your mom, and we’re not there, and oh my God, we’re in so much trouble—”

“Can it, fuckface,” Katsuki pulls their phones out of his pocket as he shoves his feet into his boots, not bothering to lace them up. “See? No texts from either of them. My mom doesn’t know or give a shit. We’re fine.”

“They’re conspiring,” Izuku says, dead seriously. “We’re being lulled into a false sense of security.”

“I’ll leave without you,” Katsuki threatens, and then Izuku hurriedly puts his own shoes on.

Against all odds, they manage to escape the house without facing any obstacles, and successfully make their way onto the street and on their way to the metro station. Katsuki actually hisses when they step outside, like a vampire getting incinerated in the sunlight, and then he immediately starts coming up with a plan to ruin Izuku’s life in case he tells people about it.

Izuku seems to be a little preoccupied, though, his head swivelling this way and that, on the lookout, as though a nosy neighbor is gonna bust their asses for the very understandable crime of looking like shit in their neighborhood.

“You look so fucking suspicious,” Katsuki grouses, grabbing Izuku’s hand so that he’ll stop fidgeting with it. Izuku immediately adjusts his grip so that he can lace all of their fingers together. His hand is sweaty as fuck. This is Katsuki’s life now.

On the metro train, people still give them a few weird stares, but now it’s not because they’re cool and mysterious and on their way to a party; now they’re just two kids who look like they’re doing the weirdest walk of shame in history. Huh, Katsuki thinks, that’s actually kind of not untrue, and then he contemplates which buildings in his vicinity are tall enough to jump off of.

The train at this hour is surprisingly empty, so the two of them flop down into seats with one space between them, so that Katsuki can manspread as extravagantly as he wants. Izuku reaches over to pull his phone out of Katsuki’s pocket, probably to shoot off a text to his mom, and then he lets out a deep sigh and goes boneless, closing his eyes and letting his head loll back in obvious relief at not having to face the wrath of their mothers.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Katsuki mutters, his stomach sloshing as the train lurches to a stop and starts again.

Izuku lifts his head and immediately starts fussing over him. “Don’t,” he hisses under his breath, trying and likely failing to avoid drawing attention from the other people on the train as his hands flit around Katsuki’s shoulders. “Kacchan, don’t be sick.”

“Worst night of my fucking life,” Katsuki complains, admittedly melodramatic. “How did I let you convince me to do this?”

No one’s in the house by the time they get back to Katsuki’s, their parents none the wiser. Izuku may have been onto something, though, Katsuki thinks, when he’d suggested that maybe he shouldn’t wear exclusively black. The second they get inside, finally away from the blazing summer sun, Katsuki feels ready to take just about the longest shower of his entire life.

Still, because he’s magnanimous like that, he decides to flop down onto his bed and let Izuku wash up first. He hears the sound of the bathroom door closing and the shower turning on as he sinks his face into his pillow, never happier than now to be back in his own bed.

Eventually, though, Izuku reemerges from the bathroom, looking more fresh and awake, all of this morning’s frantic panic washed away.

“Mom wants me home for lunch,” he says, scrubbing a towel over his hair one last time before laying it over the back of Katsuki’s desk chair. “Since I wasn’t there for dinner last night.”

Katsuki makes a vague grunt in response, burying his face further into his pillow to block out the light. Why are his curtains open. He doesn’t remember opening them.

Izuku laughs at his expense, as though he’s completely free of any dehydration or body aches from sleeping funny or any of the other culprits of Katsuki’s current misery. Katsuki hates him.

“Can I come back later?” Izuku asks, his voice suddenly right next to him, reaching out to run a hand through Katsuki’s hair. “Or should I wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“I’m going to die in this bed,” Katsuki proclaims, still muffled into the pillow.

“Sure,” Izuku agrees, likely because he didn’t actually understand what he’d said. His hand has trailed down so that his thumb is rubbing the little space of skin in front of his ear, and it actually feels infuriatingly nice. “Hey, Kacchan?”

“What?” Katsuki sighs, twisting his head to crack one eye open, finding Izuku already staring at him.

“You—” Izuku purses his lips, looking intent. “Thanks.”

Katsuki pulls a face at him, having absolutely no idea what he did to warrant the thanks. “Yeah, okay. Get me water.”

“Your bottle’s on your nightstand,” Izuku huffs, smiling a little despite himself.

Katsuki lifts his head from his pillow to look up, and yeah, sure enough, his water bottle is right there, within arms reach. “Huh,” he says, and then flops back down.

“You gonna take a shower before you nap?” Izuku suggests.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Katsuki grumbles.

Izuku hums, and then presses his thumb to the corner of Katsuki’s mouth.

“Still not your boyfriend,” Katsuki blurts, sounding impressively calm. Go him.

“I know,” Izuku says, a little too quickly, his voice otherwise unreadable. His hand retracts from Katsuki’s face, and Katsuki doesn’t open his eyes to watch him go.

Katsuki does, eventually, take a shower, but not before spending a few hours drifting in and out of sleep, his consciousness swirling with thoughts of the party, of Izuku; some strange dream-reality mix that leaves Katsuki waking up hard and unsure about which of his memories are real and which of them are his imagination. He finally decides to wake himself up by grabbing for his water bottle, draining all of it in one go, and then jacking off face-down on his bed. He thinks about fucking Izuku so hard he cries; about letting Izuku manhandle his legs open and do whatever he wants to Katsuki; about the half-insane idea of Izuku seeing him right now, like this: moaning into his pillow, hand on his cock, legs spread so that he can brace himself on his knees and lifts his hips up.

He comes to the phantom feeling of Izuku’s thumb rubbing his ear, and he muffles a groan into his mattress, arching his back as he spills over his sheets.

“Fucking hell,” he says out loud, standing up and stripping the sheets off his bed and the clothes off himself and piling them into one bundle before making his way to the bathroom.

He jerks off one more time in the shower, just for good measure, and feels sufficiently exhausted by the end of it, warm and sleepy and sated. His brain already half-asleep again, he pulls on his softest clothes, says fuck it to his skincare routine, and collapses back into bed, the mattress still bare and kind of scratchy beneath him. If Izuku shows up later that day, he isn’t awake to know about it. His parents don’t say anything about him when they wake Katsuki up for dinner.

The delayed sort-of post-nut clarity does hit him, eventually, when he wakes up at four the next morning, his body finally sick of sleep. He lies on his back with his hands folded neatly over his stomach, contemplating his new life situation and doing his darndest to not do something that would ruin his life over it.

So, he thinks, thinking over each word carefully in his head. We fucked.

“Only kind of, really,” he mutters aloud, and great, he’s already devolved into conversing with himself.

So I jacked him off, and he was into it, and reasonably, this would mean that he’s into me except for he’s definitely fucking not, so now we’re at a dead end.

Because if there is a single philosophy that Katsuki knows to be true about Izuku, it’s that he has never, in his life, had any qualms about pursuing the things he wants. It was a lot of the reasoning as to why Katsuki never pursued him; if Izuku wanted him before, he’d know.

So the series of events is currently, actively, unfolding like this: Izuku goes through a bad breakup. Katsuki is his rebound for the summer. Once Izuku gets back on his feet and returns to school to open back up to the dating pool, it’ll end, and this whole arrangement will be a casual nonissue. Something for the two of them to laugh about exactly one time in their adult lives and then never, ever speak of again.

What makes it all the more infuriating is that Katsuki honestly admits that it’s a smart choice: out of anyone in Izuku’s life right now, Katsuki is the most available, and the least likely to make a scene after this all ends. There won’t be any dramatic fall-out that causes them to cut all contact. Katsuki will be too proud to act like he cares about this arrangement. Enough feeling will still slip through for them to both be wordlessly aware that Katsuki still cares enough about him for Izuku’s ego to stay satisfied for the time being.

Katsuki is, on all accounts, the most economical pick for this type of thing. It makes him feel hurt and used and fucking livid, like some clingy side-piece for Izuku to have fun with and then discard. He knows—he’s trying to know—that Izuku’s not like that, not really, not on purpose. But the series of events is happening all the same. The one consequence of Katsuki constantly acting like he doesn’t give a shit is that Izuku will conclude that he doesn’t give a shit.

“What-the-fuck-ever,” he mutters to himself, lifting himself from his bed and gathering his bedding into his arms to take to the laundry machine. It’s a nonissue.

Summer commences the slow process of bleeding out. Life goes on. Katsuki is still in love with Izuku and still fucking pissed off about it.

“Kacchaaaan,” Izuku complains, pushing himself into Katsuki’s lap, languidly stretching his limbs out. “I’m bored. Whatcha doing?”

Katsuki, sitting on his bed and finding himself suddenly with a lapful of Izuku’s upper body, which is currently using him like a pillow, rapidly swipes out of the search tab on his phone where he’d typed in what does it mean when your best friend comes onto you when he’s tipsy. he’s bisexual if that helps.

“Texting,” he blurts, doing his best to physically stop his body from blushing.

Izuku raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Texting,” he repeats dryly, and then he grins, big and teasing. “Anyone interesting?”

The expression on his face gives Katsuki vivid deja-vu from all the times at school that his friends had caught him texting Izuku and gave him shit for it. He’s pretty sure that half of his idiots are still convinced that he has a secret girlfriend. (He doesn’t fucking smile when he gets messages from Deku, Raccoon Eyes. You’re fucking insane.)

“It’s just Shitty Hair,” he mumbles, quickly pulling up his chat with Kirishima, just in case Izuku decides to fact-check his lie. The last time they’ve actually talked was over a week ago, Katsuki notes with some guilt. Come over tomorrow or something, he texts him on a whim. I’ve gotta talk to you.

“Wow, Kacchan,” Izuku drawls. “You’re talking to other guys right in front of me?”

you’ve gotta know how ominous that sounds, Kirishima quickly texts back. are you breaking up with me?

Katsuki concludes that he probably pissed off some god in his past life, because there is no other reason for every person in his life to be conspiring against him like this right now.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, not exactly sure which of them he’s talking to. What Izuku said finally clicks in his head, though, and he shoves his palm into Izuku’s face while the boy laughs. “Don’t say it like that, you huge fucking shit.”

His hand has somehow slipped into cupping Izuku’s cheek, and the boy tilts his face into the touch. “Finally outgrowing me?” He teases, his voice low and quiet and just this side of flirty. “Am I losing my best friend status?”

Katsuki feels an actual sense of cognitive dissonance at Izuku calling them best friends. It’s true, he supposes, but he guesses that he’s never really thought too much about it. Katsuki doesn’t really do friends: his usual route with companionship consists of a) completely and utterly hating everyone around him, especially the particularly brave and persistent few who stick around, b) eventually getting desensitized to their presence, and c) finally realizing that they would mutually die for each other, and that’s that. There isn’t really any in-between phase that feels like it can be sufficiently described as friendship.

Even amongst all of the strange rituals of Katsuki’s friendship, Izuku’s a unique case: Katsuki doesn’t even know what it’s like to not have Izuku in his life, in some way or another. He knew how to say Izuku’s name before he even knew how to walk. He knows what Izuku looks like when he’s riddled with test-anxiety; when he’s irritable from headaches and completely insufferable about it; when he’s so excited he flaps his hands and can’t even speak. Even without all of Katsuki’s feelings—ugh—about him, he doesn’t know if friendship would be enough to describe all of that.

“Best friend,” he muses, and he must sound a little disbelieving, because Izuku makes an offended noise.

“You know someone since birth,” he laments dramatically, flopping back down onto Katsuki’s lap and laying the back of his hand over his forehead, “and he doesn’t even think you’re best friends. For shame, Kacchan.”

“You’re such a stupid shit,” he says fondly. His phone buzzes again in his hand.

bakubro you absolutely cannot leave me hanging after that, Kirishima’s texted. Then, a rapid string of panicked-sounding follow-ups: katsuki. kats. are we actually breaking up. dude is this psychological torture or something

“What’s he saying?” Izuku asks, amused, as Katsuki huffs and texts back Shut the fuck up I just wanted to make you hear about something

“He’s asking me if we’re breaking up,” Katsuki says mildly, distracted as Kirishima responds omg do you need my advice?? did you kill someone what happened???

“Huh,” Izuku says, and Katsuki glances down at him.

“He's just being a dumbass,” he feels the need to clarify.

“Sure,” Izuku smiles lopsidedly, but his voice doesn’t sound as light as it did a moment ago.

Katsuki sends one last text that says Debatably worse, and then puts his phone down. Just to let Kirishima flail a little.

“He’s coming over tomorrow, by the way,” he says. “So I’m kicking you out.”

Izuku frowns, almost a pout but not quite managing the amused quality.

Nonissue, Katsuki thinks to himself.

Ever since he and Izuku parted ways at the start of high school, Katsuki had almost expected them to just fade away from each other’s lives. Sure, their parents were still friends, and they still lived in the same neighborhood—those factors are what brought them together in the first place—but a big part of him had feared that immediate proximity was the only thing that really kept them together. That Katsuki had always been the safe, fall-back choice for Izuku, and once that was taken away, Izuku would simply phase him out of his life and find his solace somewhere else.

Their last term of middle school had been a miserable string of months, with Katsuki determined to distance himself from Izuku in an attempt to ease him into the loss, teach him how to make Katsuki replaceable. He was being noble about it, for both their sakes, he told himself, even as his temper grew shorter and his self-hatred bigger.

Two weeks before they were to graduate from middle school and onto the larger things in life, Izuku had finally decided that he was fed up with it, loitering in front of Katsuki’s house in the morning before promptly poking a finger into his chest and demanding, you better text me everyday in high school. Or I’ll… tell your mom.

What the fuck, Deku, Katsuki said, already feeling mildly mistified at this whole interaction.

It’s like when we were in different classes two years ago, Izuku said, a little desperately. We still talked all the time.

Sure, Katsuki said.

Izuku jutted his chin out. I’m not gonna leave you alone, he declared. Even if you tell me to.

What if I do tell you to? Katsuki asked quietly.

He eyed the way Izuku’s jaw trembled, minute and tiny and more important than anything else he had ever seen.

I’ll text you, Katsuki said.

Izuku let out a big breath. Good, he’d said, like he’d known it all along, and they walked to school together for the first time in months.

Over two years later, Katsuki has found that sometimes life lets you dangle over the unknown, and other times, it simply drops you right in. Somehow, the two of them have still managed to fall next to each other.

These days, their lives are separate in ways that matter, just a little, and are still together in other ways that matter more. Izuku attends his fancy-shmancy nerd school for humanities that he worked his ass off to get into, studying to be a historian or a journalist or a psychologist or whatever suits his fancy that day, because, again: nerd. Katsuki, meanwhile, spends his time being a gym rat and a bored prodigy at just about everything in his life. His mother looks at his obsessions with All Might comics and beating Kirishima’s weightlifting PRs and Izuku, and calls him unmotivated. Izuku looks at his effortlessly perfect grades and calls him show off. Katsuki, personally, thinks that everyone else just needs to get good.

Even after all this time, the two of them still fit together in ways that stand on stronger footing than merely proximity. Izuku puts up with his abrasive temperament and inclination towards violence as a means of problem-solving. Katsuki puts up with his bull-headedness and world-renowned inability to mind his own business. They know how to talk endlessly about comics and the gym and cop movies, and Izuku’s endless, scatterbrained texting is enough to counteract Katsuki’s tendency to procrastinate responding to messages and leave them on delivered for days. Izuku always makes Katsuki’s brain a little quieter. Katsuki always lends an ear because Izuku’s brain is never quiet. Izuku falls a little in love with every girl that talks to him and every guy that doesn’t. Katsuki would be fine in the romance department for the rest of his life so long as Izuku looked at him sometimes. The dynamic works.

“So let me get this straight,” Kaminari says. “He flirted with you, rather persistently, and then came onto you, and told you that he thought you were pretty. And you don’t think he likes you back?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Katsuki groans, burying his face in his palms. “You weren’t even fucking invited here, shut the fuck up.”

“We’re a package deal,” Kaminari sniffs haughtily, nudging Kirishima with his arm.

“Karma for letting me think you actually murdered someone yesterday. Plus, I couldn’t get rid of him if I tried,” Kirishima says, rather amiably, and ignores Kaminari’s offended squawk as he continues, “and he’s completely correct. Midoriya definitely likes you back.”

“Yeah, he likes me,” Katsuki snaps, “but he’s not gonna keep liking me.”

“You’re catastrophizing,” Kaminari declares. After enduring a few seconds of Katsuki and Kirishima’s incredulous stares, he mumbles, “Sero taught me that word.”

“Right,” Kirishima says, refusing to lose momentum. “He definitely likes you. From the sound of it, he’d probably tell you that to your face without any issue. And you’re completely in love with him.”

“Utterly whipped,” Kaminari interjects, rather helpfully, because gee, thanks, wouldn’t have figured that one out.

“You’re already super close, so it’s not like you don’t both know what you’d be getting into,” Kirishima continues. “What makes you think it wouldn’t work out?”

“Because you don’t start liking someone after you’ve already known them for seventeen fucking years,” Katsuki argues. “He’s just horny and suddenly noticed that I’m hot, which hadn’t yet occurred to him ‘cause we’ve known each other since we were both in diapers.”

“Good to see your ego isn’t suffering over this,” Kaminari deadpans, making a heart with his fingers. “I mean—yay, self-love.”

“Racoon Eyes has utterly corrupted you,” Katsuki says as scathingly as he can. “It’s either that or my stunning personality has finally seduced him, so. Not hard to pinpoint the reason why he likes me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kirishima says meaningfully. Kill him now.

“Here, okay,” Kaminari sits up from where he’d been lying halfway in Kirishima’s lap. He gestures his hands around as he explains, “the issue is that you’re worried that your feelings run deeper than his. But he clearly cares a lot about you if he’s stuck around this long.”

“He’s dated other people,” Katsuki says wearily. “He’ll still date other people if I just let this pass.”

"First off, it sounds like he's dated one person," Kaminari points out.

“So you can’t lose him, man!” Kirishima cheers, ever the golden-retriever optimist. “Go get your boy!”

“So,” Kaminari corrects, “what if he’s just like you, hiding and ignoring his feelings this whole time? You are, like, actually in love in love, but you try not to show it at all, right? I mean, you call him Deku—which, okay, upon further thought, is not a cute-joking-girlfriend-pet-name like we’d thought, did you call him that when you were fucking? I mean—”

“I’ll actually kill you,” Katsuki deadpans, his voice low and threatening like a calm before the storm.

Kaminari shivers in fear, and gets back on track: “So what if he thinks you don’t like him, and he’s been doing the same thing as you this whole time? Like, miscommunication? I mean, because the whole friends-to-lovers thing isn’t as easy in real life, because you’ve got a lot more to lose if things go wrong.”

“Reassuring,” Katsuki says dryly.

“Your vocabulary centered around shoujo tropes is starting to raise concerns,” Kirishima adds.

“It means that he could be just as scared about it as you are,” Kaminari continues resolutely, ignoring that last comment.

“I’m not scared,” Katsuki scoffs.

“Bakugou,” he says emphatically, something he only does when he’s actually serious.

“He’s—he’s not scared, either,” Katsuki huffs, stubborn. “He’s just horny.”

“Whatever,” Kaminari groans, flopping back down onto his back. “I’m giving up on this conversation now, you’re impossible. When you two finally just talk it out and then make sappy, gay love to each other, I will say I told you so.”

Katsuki feels his face go hot, and he kicks the boy so hard he nearly rolls off the bed. “I also didn’t call him Deku, during,” he snaps, which is definitely not what he wanted to say.

“Aw,” Kirishima coos, painfully genuine, at the same time that Kaminari elbows the boy in the side and stage-whispers, “that’s one detail about what Bakugou’s like in bed, we gotta add it to the biography—”

“Okay, get the fuck out of my house, I’m never talking to you two again—”

At his side, Katsuki’s phone buzzes, and all of them fall abruptly silent for one terrible, glorious second, and then Kaminari dives for it.

“Oh my God, it is him,” he says, even as Katsuki is pulling his hair out in an attempt to regain possession of his phone. “Are you free tomorrow and also the day after that,” he reads, then snorts. “Come on, now, he knows you have no social life. There’s another party.”

Katsuki finally manages to snatch his phone out of Kaminari’s hands, but the damage has already been done.

“Oh my God,” Kirishima says, grinning toothily.

“Go get your boy,” Kaminari drawls.

Katsuki muffles a scream into his hands.

“Why,” Katsuki says, the moment Izuku steps into his room. “Why would you even.”

“Yaoyorozu invited me,” the boy says primly, already knowing that he’s talking about the party.

“Why would you even want to.”

“Because,” Izuku grins, holding a clump of dark fabric in his hand. “I brought you something to wear.”

“You are actually an atrocious human being.”

The something to wear ends up being a bodysuit, a red so dark it’s nearly black and surprisingly soft to the touch.

“Since when the fuck did you own something like this?” Katsuki interrogates, holding a hand over Izuku’s eyes as he works his way out of his jeans, because he doesn’t fully trust him to not watch him change.

“It’s Shouto’s,” Izuku says, which is just about three times worse than any answer Katsuki could have guessed. “I thought you’d look good in it.”

“Since when does he own something like this,” he mutters, wiggling around to get it over his chest. The bodysuit is basically a turtleneck, with a slim collar and long sleeves, and is almost obscenely tight, all of the curves and edges of his torso lined out in detail. It clips together at the bottom so that the fabric tucks smoothly into his jeans, but the hips are cut out so high that there are matching crescent-moon slivers of skin peeking out over the waistband of his jeans.

When Izuku is finally allowed to open his eyes again, he immediately lines his hands up with those crescent-moons, his fingers fitting neatly along his hips.

“I’m never giving this back to Shouto,” he says appreciatively, grinning wolfishly like he’s joking, but they both know he isn’t, really.

“You put your hands all over him when he wore this, too?” Katsuki murmurs lowly, his voice all darkness when Izuku’s hands slide up to lightly brush over his waist and chest before returning to himself.

Izuku hums, which really isn’t really an answer in any capacity.

This party starts significantly later in the day than the last one had, and is a lot farther away, too.

“The last train is at midnight,” Katsuki informs him, scrolling through the map on his phone. “So, if the party starts at eleven, that means we won’t really have any time to do anything.”

“We could just take the morning train,” Izuku suggests. “The first one is at, like, five, right?”

“So what the fuck are we gonna do until then?” Katsuki gawks at him. “That’s, like, six fucking hours.”

“I don’t know,” Izuku says quietly, sounding just a touch nervous. He’s chewing on the corner of his lip. “Kill time?”

Kill time sounds a lot like sleep together again in Katsuki’s head, and he stares at Izuku incredulously for another few seconds, just to see if he’ll crack and confirm it, but he doesn’t. Katsuki huffs and mutters, “whatever. Don’t know why the fuck I put up with you.”

The commute is forty-five minutes by train and requires them to buy tickets in the nick of time, power-walk-running to make it in time before the doors close. This time around, Izuku has gotten him to wear lip gloss with a little bit of glitter in it, just enough to make Katsuki feel self-conscious about it as people glance over at them. The double-takes they do are more likely aimed at Izuku’s crop top, long-sleeved and form-fitting and short enough to almost show his lower ribs. At the very least, it’s in a sensible—as sensible as a crop top can be, really—dark blue, not an insane eye-catching color. He draws stares but he looks good, older than he is, his nails painted black and his already-long eyelashes curled. Only some proper conservative-looking types look scandalised at him; the rest look vaguely intrigued, or appreciative, and Katsuki wants to put an arm around him and tell them all that Izuku’s his.

Izuku, always oblivious to any attention people pay him, plops down in his seat and immediately starts fiddling on his phone. His current obsession is Sudoku, and he’s nearly got it down to a science, tapping away rapidly at that screen. Katsuki knows that he’ll move onto something else in ten days maximum, but he’ll keep the app abandoned on his phone until he remembers it exists in six months and gets roped into it again. Katsuki gets hit with a sudden rush of fondness, at this knowledge of Izuku, at the reminder that Katsuki knows him at all. On a whim, he reaches out and lays a hand over the back of Izuku’s neck, just to keep himself steady, just to keep him close. Izuku glances up at him curiously, but Katsuki drops his gaze to his own phone, clearly ignoring any unspoken questions, so Izuku turns back to his Sudoku with little fuss, letting Katsuki keep his hand there. Katsuki likes him so much it hurts.

That’s the thing, really, about being in love with your lifelong best friend, someone you know as well as you know yourself: the whole concept of wanting is a lot more nebulous than attraction, a crush. Katsuki never woke up one day with the sudden, focused desire to kiss Izuku, or fuck him, or call him his boyfriend. He still isn’t entirely sure if those things encompass what he wants. What he wants is to keep laying his hand over the back of Izuku’s neck, and be on the receiving end of all of his scatterbrained texts, and catch him looking at Katsuki sometimes.

That last desire is even more intangible than the ones before it: what Katsuki wants is for Izuku to never look at anybody but him, to covet all of his attention, to keep him held between Katsuki’s palms like a precious object that he alone gets to cradle close to him. That part of him had sharpened into clarity once Izuku got himself a boyfriend; growing up, Katsuki had always received every aspect of Izuku that had ever been shown to the world, and the minute he started dating someone else, that had no longer been the case. Katsuki knows that it’s probably more than a little fucked up that maybe he only wants Izuku because he doesn’t know how to not have him, doesn’t want anyone else to have him; but hell, if Katsuki could really explain what he wanted—or, better yet, control it—then he wouldn’t be in this fucking mess in the first place.

They stay quiet and comfortable throughout the train ride, as though they aren’t hurtling headfirst into another night that might fracture them, as though Katsuki doesn’t already know that Izuku is going to jump his bones again, is just using the party as a bridge to cross between the two sides of their relationship, the best friends and the summer fling, two things that don’t match up without the intermediary.

The sun has long since set by the time they arrive, and this new neighborhood is dark and quiet when they make their way from the train station. Katsuki is half-convinced that they’ve gotten the address wrong or something, until Izuku takes his hand and guides them to a front gate that pushes open silently and reveals a sprawling compound of a home. It looks more traditionally Japanese and even more extravagant than the last house had been. Shit, this property alone is probably half the fucking neighborhood.

“Kinda looks like Shouto’s place,” Izuku says wonderingly.

“Rich kids,” Katsuki mutters disdainfully.

Izuku nearly trips over his own feet twice as they make their way through the front yard to the door, the night so black that Katsuki can’t see anything beyond the hazy, dark shape of the house. When they make it to the front door, Izuku raps twice on the doorframe and someone opens it, staring suspiciously out at the two of them.

“Midoriya,” Izuku says, as though he’s on some fucking guest list, but the other person has already abandoned the door, leaving it open behind them.

There’s about four million people inside, Katsuki deduces, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer size and volume of everything. About two thirds of the entire population at his school are probably in attendance, he thinks, as they step past the genkan into an open living room-courtyard of sorts. The area isn’t too crowded, thanks to how large the space is, but goddamn. Katsuki doesn’t know how they haven’t gotten a fuckin’ noise complaint yet.

They wander around for a bit, hand in hand, simply admiring the house and the atmosphere and the pure miracle that it isn’t over thirty fucking degrees out, despite it being the height of August. Izuku paves his way through the throng, weaving in and out in a way that shields Katsuki from the brunt of people who would otherwise knock into him. Katsuki is so full of affection for him that he wants to scream.

“What do you wanna do?” Izuku asks, reeling him in close once they reach the far wall, where the music isn’t quite so pervasive. “They’ve got games here; I saw beer pong happening somewhere.”

I want people to stop looking at you, Katsuki thinks. “I want a drink.”

Izuku hums. “No idea where to go for that.”

Katsuki lifts his head and looks over the room. There’s a few people with cups or bottles, some with fucking flasks. If rich-kid parties are the bring-your-own-booze type, he’s gonna lose it.

“I’m gonna try something,” he decides, and disentangles his hand from Izuku’s.

He does another quick scan of the room to pick a target and makes his way over to a person with an almost obscenely short pair of shorts and platform boots that still only bring them barely up to Katsuki’s nose.

“Hey,” he says, stopping right in front of them, interrupting their conversation with some rando they’re talking to. He taps the cup they’re holding with one finger. “Know where I could get one of these?”

A closer look at them is actually less helpful in trying to decipher their gender; they’ve got hands like a girl and a haircut like a dude, and they have a dark, extravagant makeup look that sharpens their features to the point where they look more like a painting than a person, which Katsuki supposes was probably the intent. He respects the skill of it, at least.

They don’t even miss a beat, immediately taking him in stride and passing over their cup. “I don’t mind sharing,” they say, with a sly smile.

He shoots them a sharp grin and accepts the cup, taking a swig. It feels like pure liquor, which, what the fuck. He’d gone into that with the intent of downing half of it in one go, but he only manages a generous sip before he comes up coughing a little, his throat feeling burned out.

The person laughs a little at his expense, quiet and flirty as he blinks back a few tears. “Yeah?” They murmur. Their hands have found a place on his hips; Katsuki is so desensitized to having Izuku all up in his space that it takes him a few moments to even notice.

Just to be a tease, he takes one more sip, small enough that he barely has to tip his head back for it, holding eye contact throughout. The person rubs their thumbs into the little slivers of bare skin at his hips, and he quickly shoves the cup back towards them.

They fumble a little to catch it, losing just enough of their cool, and Katsuki gives them another grin, absolutely fucking gleeful as he informs them, “thanks. I’m gonna go back to my boyfriend now.”

He waits just long enough for their dumbfounded look to turn to absolute incredulity, and then he pulls away and spins on his heel to walk back towards Izuku. He thinks that they’re either laughing or yelling asshole at him as he leaves, and he cackles in response without turning his head.

Izuku looks so gobsmacked at him that Katsuki can’t help but burst into laughter, tucking his face into Izuku’s shoulder to muffle his snickers.

“What the fuck,” Izuku says, his voice so carefully blank despite his cursing that Katsuki knows it’s complete, unadulterated surprise, and that sets him off again.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, reaching up to tug at his hair, as Katsuki’s stomach is starting to hurt from laughter. “Kacchan, what was that, oh my God.”

“I,” Katsuki giggles, lifting his head, “they were willing to share.” Izuku gives him a look so unimpressed that Katsuki is reminded of his mom, Auntie Midoriya who is at home right now probably thinking about how good her boy turned out, when in reality he’s halfway across the city in a crop top and with his hands all over Katsuki. He falls into laughter again. “Until I told them I had a boyfriend.”

“Huh,” Izuku says, indecipherably. Katsuki lifts his head, still alight with laughter, and puts his hand over Izuku’s cheek.

“Your turn,” he murmurs. “Go flatter some rich kids.”

At that, he finally gets an amused huff from Izuku. “‘M not drinking tonight,” he says quietly. “Or flirting with anyone.”

“Shame,” Katsuki drawls.

“God, are you already drunk?” Izuku lays a hand across his forehead like he’s looking for a fever or something, which is so fucking ridiculous that Katsuki can’t help but laugh again.

“Maybe two fucking shots’ worth of whatever that shit was,” Katsuki says, “is not drunk.”

“Screw you,” Izuku murmurs, “that was enough to make you call me drunk last time.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Maybe ‘cuz you’re a lightweight piece a’ shit,” he laughs, and then drags them into the middle of the room before Izuku can respond.

Izuku goes willingly as Katsuki drags the boy’s arms over his shoulders, settling his own at Izuku’s hips, trying to find that careful balance of avoiding touching the skin at his stomach while not groping his ass. The wide-eyed look on Izuku’s face tells him that maybe he’s not as good at that balance as he wants.

Katsuki doesn’t even pretend to listen to the music, just sways on his feet with Izuku pulled close to him. Izuku folds his hands over the back of Katsuki’s neck and he wants to lose his mind a little.

“So how’s Kirishima?” Izuku asks abruptly, fiddling with the collar of Katsuki’s shirt. “You were with him yesterday, right?”

Katsuki snorts at the awkward attempt at conversation. “He’s fine,” he deadpans. “Still a dumbass. Still has a shitty haircut.”

“Hm,” Izuku half-smiles, his expression looking a little wobbly. “You’re not breaking up with him.”

Katsuki laughs, leaning forward until his forehead nearly touches Izuku’s. “No, I definitely am. Worst person I know.”

“High praise,” Izuku murmurs.

“Second only to Pikachu, who is actually the worst person I know,” Katsuki declares. “He also showed up yesterday, actually.”

“Oh my God,” Izuku laughs, and okay, yeah, he definitely sounds fuckin’ twitchy. “Third wheel much?”

“You’ve got no fucking idea,” he mutters. “He’ll probably do something about it when Shitty Hair gets over his hero-crush on Raccoon Eyes.”

“Huh?” Izuku asks, suddenly looking confused. “No, okay, you’ve lost me now.”

“Big love triangle,” Katsuki drawls. “Kaminari, right, has a crush on Kirishima, who has a crush on Ashido.”

“You—” Izuku laughs, sounding a little hysterical. “So you guys have a, uh, open relationship, or what?”

Katsuki blinks. “A what now?”

“Because,” Izuku continues stubbornly, not meeting his eyes, “I like Kirishima. He’s nice.”

Katsuki is completely lost. “You’ve met him, like, twice.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku snaps, suddenly vicious, pulling away entirely. Katsuki hands drop away awkwardly, hanging limp at his sides. Izuku’s hands are in fists. “Kacchan, tell me I didn’t—that we didn’t do anything while you—that I didn’t. Get in the way of anything.”

Rather understandably, Katsuki says, “fuckin’ what?”

“Tell me,” Izuku grits, “that you wouldn’t do that to him without him knowing.”

“Do what?” Katsuki bites, his frustration finally pulling taut. “To who?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Izuku snaps. “I could never have thought that you’d be a cheater.”

Katsuki blinks. To be honest, it takes him a second. “Oh my God. You’re so dumb. What the fuck. Izuku.”

Izuku visibly recoils. “Don’t Izuku me, you—”

“I’m not dating Kirishima,” Katsuki interrupts.

It’s Izuku’s turn to go quiet and dumbstruck. “What?” He says, after a long moment. “You said—you said you had a boyfriend.”

Katsuki feels his face go completely incredulous. “Since when?”

“Just now!” Izuku half-yells, his hands gesturing around wildly. “You told that person—”

“That’s called lying, Deku, Jesus fucking Christ—”

“You always talk about him, about—” he makes a rather inconclusive hand wave, “—breaking up, or whatever, as a joke, and if you put all of that together, how could I not think—”

“You think I’d let someone touch me as much as you do if I was with someone?” Katsuki snaps, feeling a sudden need to defend his honor.

Izuku’s face falls. “I didn’t—” his voice cracks, and then goes angry again. “I’m not a homewrecker, Kacchan, I thought you just—I didn’t know if you were actually—”

“I’m not dating him!” Katsuki reiterates.

“Fine!” Izuku throws up his hands. “Okay! Got that! I’m—” he drops his arms from where they’re waving around and looks wildly around the room. “I’m going to the bathroom, or something, just—”

“Deku,” Katsuki chides, the fight abruptly leaving him, still kind of reeling at the idea that Izuku thought I was dating Kirishima. Izuku has started marching away, wading through the crowd in search of the bathroom as Katsuki trails behind him. “Deku. Deku, fuckin’ hell.”

They go down two different hallways in Izuku’s crusade, Katsuki repeating his name over and over as Izuku stubbornly ignores him. They draw a few stares. Katsuki could give less of a shit.

Eventually, though, Izuku opens a door that is finally a restroom, disappearing inside and closing the door behind him before Katsuki can follow.

“Deku,” Katsuki snaps, frustrated, catching the door before it can fully close. He slides it open, expecting resistance but finding none, and almost stumbles inside.

The inside of it is fairly small, a half-bath without any real storage space. It’s lit dimly with a lamp and a couple candles instead of the overhead light, giving the space a warm, intimate feeling.

Izuku is leaning against the sink, candlelight flickering over his jaw, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Deku,” Katsuki says.

“I am sorry,” Izuku says, enunciating the words carefully as though forcing them out. “For assuming things about you and your friend, and also for assuming that you’d cheat on someone. And. Yeah.”

Katsuki huffs, feeling suddenly fond of this complete fucking idiot he’s gone and decided to be in love with. “Dumbass,” he says affectionately, stepping closer to stand right in front of him, sliding the door shut behind himself. Izuku glances up at him reproachfully, so he sighs. “Didn’t mean‘ta make you feel like you’re a homewrecker or some shit,” he mumbles.

Izuku huffs out a big breath, and then he uncrosses his arms, and Katsuki takes that as some sort of win. Silence descends upon them for a few awkward moments, and then Izuku murmurs, clearly trying to change the topic, “I forgot that you have your ears pierced.”

Katsuki unconsciously reaches up to touch his earlobe. “Oh. Yeah.”

Izuku reaches up and gently bats his hand out of the way to touch his ear. “Yeah, you’ve gotta,” he murmurs. “I haven’t seen you wearing earrings in forever. They’ll close up if you don’t.”

Katsuki swallows as Izuku closes his hand over the side of his neck, the touch still tentative in the wake of their argument. “I know.”

“I’ve, uh,” Izuku says, his eyes roaming over Katsuki’s face. “I might have a safety pin on me, I don’t know, just—”

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmurs.

The boy’s breath catches, noticeably. His gaze flickers down to Katsuki’s mouth, so quickly he might be imagining it. “Kacchan,” he breathes.

For a moment, Katsuki is terrified that Izuku will try to kiss him. A moment later, Katsuki drops to his knees.

Izuku sucks in a breath so big he almost chokes, his hands flying to the sides of Katsuki’s face. “Kacchan,” he says wildly. “Kacchan?”

Katsuki places his hands over Izuku’s hip-bones, feeling like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

“Kacchan,” Izuku says emphatically. “Are you—there’s no way you’re drunk.”

At that, Katsuki can’t help but laugh, leaning forward and pressing his nose to Izuku’s stomach, his skin bare beneath the hem of his crop top. “I’m not drunk,” he assures.

“You’re—what are you doing?” Izuku’s hands drift to his hair, tangling his fingers into the short strands. He gives the slightest of tugs, like he’s just feeling it out, and Katsuki is a goner.

“C’mon, Deku,” he murmurs, lifting his head to look him in the eyes. He lets all of his affection bleed into his voice, low and fond and wanting. “Izuku. You’re smarter than that.”

Izuku whimpers, one of his hands lifting up to touch his mouth.

“Tell me yes,” Katsuki asks him.

Izuku nods, his eyes wider than Katsuki’s ever seen them. “Yeah, Kacchan,” he croaks.

In the face of Izuku’s doe-eyed anticipation, there isn’t anything Katsuki can do except turn his attention to the task at hand, pressing his mouth to Izuku’s stomach once before tugging at the waistband of his shorts. There’s a half-moment of Izuku batting him away to undo the button himself, shimmying from where he’s still leaning heavily against the sink, so stupid and awkward that it makes him feel real and beautiful.

Katsuki gives one exhale, maybe what’s half of a laugh, and then Izuku lets out a cut-off little moan, and then Katsuki puts his mouth on him.

He cuts right to the chase, closing his mouth over the head of his dick, because if he wastes any time looking at it then he’s going to psych himself out and trigger his gag reflex. It tastes—not great, honestly, just sweat and skin, all salt and musk. Katsuki makes eye contact with Izuku’s belly button to keep himself focused, inches forward bit by bit. His jaw unhinges wider than he’d expected it’d need to, already aching a little, and he’s so obviously inexperienced that he doesn’t even know how to try and be sexy about it, but Izuku is making noises above him like he’s crying, sniffly and sobbing and whimpering. Katsuki pushes forward until his nose bumps against Izuku’s navel, swallowing his spit and doing his best not to fucking drool, and looks as far up as he can.

Izuku is biting the meat of his palm to keep quiet, his jaw clenched so hard that Kastuki can imagine how the space beneath his thumb will have teeth marks for hours. He already looks a little fucked-out, flushed red and beautiful and looking about two seconds away from begging. Katsuki pulls back a little, bobs his head once, and then hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

Izuku’s moan spills out even through the barrier of his hand, and Katsuki fights the instinct to grin smugly. He starts to move steadily, bobbing his head and sucking in as much as he can without choking, already on the learning curve. He’s worried for a moment that the ache in his jaw will become actually painful quicker than the amount of time it will take Izuku to come, but his worries are proved baseless when Izuku lasts for less than two minutes before putting a fist in his hair and pulling him off.

“Kacchan,” he babbles, “Kacchan, Kacchan, I’m. Kacchan.”

Katsuki lets out a snort despite himself. Izuku tightens his grip on his hair, and Katsuki fights the moan that hums up the back of his throat.

“Yeah?” He smiles, jutting his chin out, all smugness. Izuku lets out a breathy laugh when he meets Katsuki’s eyes, shy and pretty, still trying to catch his breath.

“Kacchan,” he whispers.

“Hi, baby,” Katsuki murmurs, just to be a fucking tease. He pumps Izuku’s dick in his hand, once, twice, and Izuku comes on his face.

He recoils back a little on instinct, and then Izuku looks so completely mortified that Katsuki can’t help but laugh. Izuku’s a mess of concern and complaining and moaning as Katsuki strokes his cock a couple more times, puts his tongue to the underside of it for a moment, and then stands up.

“Kacchan,” Izuku chides, his voice almost normal, touching his chin delicately with just his fingertips.

“Best you’ve ever had, huh?” He jokes, coy.

It’s the kind of joke he immediately regrets, doesn’t expect to land amidst the Situation regarding Izuku and his ex and Katsuki. Izuku, however, somehow always a surprise, simply laughs it off, dipping down to drop a kiss to the side of Katsuki’s neck, quick and closed-mouthed and conveying some little meaning that could be anything from thanks, man to I love you. Katsuki decides not to try and decipher it, in favor of turning to the sink so he can wash his face.

Izuku plays with his hair as he rinses out his mouth at the tap, scratching at his scalp in a soothing way that makes Katsuki want to roll his eyes back in his head and sleep for twelve straight hours.

Izuku wordlessly hands him a hand towel when he finishes scrubbing his face. When Katsuki emerges from it, Izuku cups his cheek in one hand, looking meaningful.

“Don’t kiss me, dumbass, I just had your dick in my mouth,” Katsuki blurts.

Izuku huffs. Katsuki would think that it’s in amusement, but there isn’t really much humor there. Already executing the escape plan, he pulls away and makes for the door. He manages to slide it halfway open before Izuku catches his wrist and tugs him back.

“Kacchan,” he says, his voice carefully blank. Katsuki looks back at him and he doesn’t look angry, or even upset, really; just confused and a little insecure. Katsuki fights a war with himself in the time it takes Izuku to continue.

“Just tell me,” he says, “if you don’t want me to touch you.”

Because that’s the thing, really: Katsuki has played along with the fling that has already long since been set in motion. He’s willing to offer his hands, his mouth, Izuku’s name in his voice, but when he thinks about it, he wouldn’t be able to fucking stand it if Izuku reciprocated. If he held Katsuki’s face in both palms and kissed him slowly and touched him with even a fraction of the reverence that Katsuki feels for him, he would do so with the knowledge of summer ending as a foregone conclusion, and Katsuki would be thinking about marrying him, and he just—he couldn’t fucking stand it. He isn’t willing to fuck Izuku like he loves him if Izuku won’t love him back.

The shape of Izuku’s mouth softens into a hurt that he doesn’t have to speak out for Katsuki to hear.

“What time is it?” Katsuki asks.

Izuku’s mouth purses further. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket to check. “Twelve thirty,” he says softly.

“Right,” Katsuki says. “I’m tired.”

Izuku’s phone alarm wakes them up at 4:30 AM on the dot, thirty minutes before the first train will take them back to Musutafu. This morning is an improvement from last time, to wake up with no hangover symptoms and tucked properly into bed, but it’s still 4:30 in the fucking morning, why is his life like this. He’s never calling himself a morning person ever again.

Even Izuku, who is usually even more of a morning person than Katsuki is (and a night person as well, somehow; Katsuki isn’t sure if he ever sleeps at all), whines into his pillow for a solid ten seconds before finally scooping his phone up and turning the alarm off.

“Why the fuck,” Katsuki rasps, his voice deep and dry with sleep, “are we awake right now.”

“Train,” Izuku mumbles, like he doesn’t know that Katsuki knows that.

“Genuinely fuck off,” Katsuki mutters, like they hadn’t both agreed to this last night with the judgement of two people who weren’t awake at four in the morning, then. At this point, Katsuki’s thinking that it would be more worth it to show up at home in the middle of the afternoon and get chewed out by their moms.

Izuku, listening to him for the first and only time in their entire lives, heaves himself up from the bed and lumbers off in what is probably the direction of the bathroom.

Katsuki lets himself wallow in the lament of his sleep deprivation for another few moments before rising onto his elbows and locating his own phone, sitting neatly on the bedside table and plugged into a charger. The joys of going to bed mostly-completely-sober.

In all honesty, Katsuki does want to be home, wants to do his skincare routine and wear pajamas and rot in his own bed, not be in this king-sized monstrosity with comforters that are probably, like, made of real fur or something. Katsuki doesn’t know how rich people operate, sue him.

Izuku eventually walks back into the room, the edges of his hairline fuzzy and wet from where he was probably splashing water on his face. “First door on the left when you turn left down the hall,” he directs, his voice still mumbly and listless from sleep.

Katsuki gives an indistinct grunt in response and stands to take his own bathroom break, immediately forgetting the directions Izuku just told him and spending a solid thirty seconds relocating it on his own. He looks in the mirror and isn’t actually sure what to expect to see there. The face of a guy who just gave his first blowjob last night, maybe, fuck if he knows; but no, it’s just him, with his eyelids hanging sleepy-low and five-o’-clock shadow on his jaw and the remains of a soft glittery sheen around his mouth where Izuku had deemed him in need of lip gloss yesterday. He sucked Izuku’s dick with that mouth last night. Katsuki scrubs his face with water until he’s reasonably sure that all of the glitter is off before he returns.

This house is empty in the morning, almost like the last one was, but different in ways Katsuki can’t quite put his finger on. If the last house felt vacant and almost eerie-abandoned after the party, this one feels empty on purpose, as though it wasn’t made to be lived in much in the first place. Katsuki almost feels like he’s walking through a museum, surrounded by four AM dawn-darkness, clad in his socks and Izuku’s friend’s stupid fucking turtleneck bodysuit.

Izuku is sitting on the edge of the bed when he gets back, already fiddling on his phone, so Katsuki makes quick work of pulling his jeans and stealing the phone charger by the nightstand as he pockets his phone. (They’re rich, and this room doesn’t even look lived in; they don’t fucking need it. Cry about it.)

They nearly trip over their shoelaces no less than two times each as they find their way out of the house and off the grounds in the darkness of the early morning, the whole world swallowed up blue and black, Katsuki and Izuku the only things alive in it.

They make good time in walking to the train station, getting there with eleven minutes before the five AM train arrives, which is just enough time for Izuku to decide to drag them into a FamilyMart. Katsuki trails behind him obligingly as Izuku browses the candy aisle, because his sweet tooth is genuinely insane, even when he’s not even fully awake. Katsuki watches him go from looking at chips to condoms to those kids’ snacks that include toys, before he checks the time on his phone and decides he doesn’t actually want anything.

Katsuki buys him bottled coffee, anyway, just because he knows that Izuku feels awkward walking out of stores without getting anything, and also because the caffeine will make Izuku’s ADHD ass drowsy for the next couple hours before the rush hits him later. Izuku walks up behind him and puts a hand on the small of his back as he waits for the cashier to ring him up—a gesture that they definitely don’t miss, if the way their eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly is any indication—and Katsuki kind of wants to die on the spot, and Izuku just stays there.

Izuku drinks half of the coffee on the train and is nearly asleep on his feet by the time they make it home. Katsuki walks him to his house even though Katsuki’s own is closer, just to make sure that the dumbass won’t trip over his shoelaces and drown in a two-inch puddle or something. He watches Izuku dig his house key out of his shoe (why the fuck doesn’t he just keep it in his wallet) and disappear inside before he goes back to his own house.

In his room by himself, Katsuki tussles with the border of sleep for a while. He passes out cold until seven, when he wakes up finding pillow creases on his face and the sky still a little too dim for him to want to be awake during summer. He takes a shower and uses up all of the hot water, something that gets him a plastic cup to the side of the head when his mom eventually makes his way down to the kitchen to get ready for work, none the wiser about the fact that her son has now sucked the dick of a kid she literally saw get birthed, having held Auntie’s hand in place of Izuku’s piece-a-shit deadbeat dad when she was in labor seventeen years ago. Just another fucking morning.

He doesn’t feel even a little bit refreshed when he goes back upstairs, so he takes more naps with the window open and trades voice messages back and forth with Izuku in between bouts of delirious sunny sleep.

If he goes back to listen, he’ll find a nonsensical string of messages between the two of them and be completely mortified, but in the meantime, Katsuki mumbles, “is it possible to get sunburned when you’re indoors? ‘S fucked up,” hits send and falls back into sleep and sweats a puddle into his sheets, the sun rising hot in front of him.

Over the course of the morning and early afternoon, Katsuki receives a set of some pretty terribly tragically stupid messages, like “kacchaaan you’re sooooo” and “uraraka just told me to not go swimming for the next five days because the UV index or whatever is twelve, whatever that means” and “do you—aw shit ouch I stubbed my toe.” To be fair, Katsuki sends some pretty dumb ones back, like “if this fucking fly buzzes next to my fucking ear one more fucking time, I’m gonna eat it” and “izuku. hi” and “can you scratch my back,” quickly followed by “shut the fuck up don’t even say anything I’m tired okay.”

Some time around three, when the heat is starting to truly feel a little miserable, Katsuki sends, “I’m… I’m gonna make fuckin’. Bread. Or cookies, or whatever, just. Come over,” promptly violating their unspoken code for the summer of being cool kids, teenage dirtbags, strictly hot-girl-summer type shit. Baking doesn’t really fit into the same category as partying and smoking and sucking Izuku’s dick, but Katsuki decides he wants to do it anyway.

By the time Izuku shows up in his living room, looking just as messy-blurry with sleep as Katsuki feels, Katsuki is already setting out bowls and bags of flour and sugar.

“Have you decided?” Izuku asks, his voice sounding like the first noise Katsuki’s ever heard in his life, new and beautiful and a little raw. “Bread or cookies?”

“Well, we don’t have yeast,” Katsuki scans the cabinets, refusing to look over at Izuku, because if he does then he’ll probably tell him he loves him.

It really does just hit him all at once, sometimes, all of that feeling, all of that love. Sometimes, when Izuku’s hair is messier than usual or his voice cracks or he just stands there looking like his usual damn self, Katsuki can’t help but be reminded of how much he wants him, can’t help but be consumed by it, all of that love living with him and pressing right up to the surface of his skin. It’s just a fact of life. August is a fever and Izuku is seventeen and Katsuki is miserably in love with him.

“Cookies, then?” Izuku prompts.

“We don’t have chocolate chips, either.”

“Well,” Izuku says, huffing. “You can have cookies without chocolate chips.”

“That’s so fucking dumb,” Katsuki grouses, before deciding, “yeah. I guess.

Izuku smiles brightly. “Cookies without chocolate chips. Okay.”

Katsuki doesn’t exactly know how to make cookies, but he’s a good cook, and he also has the power of the internet, so how hard can it be. He pulls up the first recipe on Google and scans the ingredients list. “Holy shit, what the fuck is baking powder?”

It turns out that cooking skills do not inherently translate to baking skills, which is the most stupid thing Katsuki’s ever heard ever, because baking is literally just mixing stuff together and putting it in the oven. Their cookie dough ends up a little goopy and not nearly as smooth as Katsuki wants, no matter how much he keeps mixing it. They eventually decide to add a little more flour and just go for it, spooning out little lumps of dough onto a baking sheet and popping it in the oven. Katsuki opens the oven door to check on them every five minutes, and they still manage to get a little burned, which Katsuki takes no responsibility for because they look fine on the top, but the bottoms are crunchy and dark. And also chocolate-chip-less, which Katsuki hadn’t previously realized was really just vital to the soul of the cookie.

The first batch is actually atrocious, so Katsuki makes Izuku run to the nearest convenience store to grab the first chocolate bar he sees, which they chop up and throw in. For the next batch, Katsuki leaves it in the oven for seven minutes less than before, and the new cookies end up looking actually edible.

Izuku laughs at the sight of him, clad in oven mitts and crowing victoriously at having conquered the feat that is baking.

“Fuck are you laughing at, Deku, hah?” He yells, loud enough that his mom would come to slap him if she was anywhere within a ten-kilometer radius.

“I’m not laughing,” Izuku protests, laughing. He wipes one of his eyes with the palm of his hand and giggles, “sometimes I just forget that you’re, like.” He tips his head to one side, his mouth quirking up fondly. “A normal person.”

Katsuki grins at him with all of his teeth. “Deku,” he assures, “I’m the least normal person you’ve ever met.”

“You’d be surprised,” Izuku says thoughtfully.

Somewhere in the wind-down, when they’re three-and-a-half batches in and tired on their feet, Izuku sits on the kitchen counter and pulls Katsuki in to stand between his legs, his hands pawing at his shoulders, looking meaningful. Katsuki panics for a moment, trying to reel back, but Izuku simply hauls him closer.

“Relax,” he murmurs, “I just wanna look at you.”

Katsuki, however, stays rigid and nervous, watching him eagle-eyed to see what he does. Izuku purses his lips, then, and kind-of-not-really jokes, “I’m not gonna try to kiss you or anything.”

Katsuki goes even more tense, because there’s no fucking way he noticed, although even deluding himself he doesn’t believe that. He really jumped through all those hoops to come with excuses to fuck him without kissing him. For what.

“I know you don’t want me to,” Izuku mumbles, holding his knuckles gently to the side of Katsuki’s neck, because obviously he fucking noticed. While Katsuki stands there, a little dumbstruck, Izuku pulls him in until he can tuck his head over Katsuki’s, putting his face in his hair, arms hanging over his shoulders and holding him there. Katsuki wonders if this counts as a hug. He wonders when the last time he hugged Izuku was. Either way, being tucked into the crook of Izuku’s neck means that he doesn’t have to look at him, so they stay like that for a while, Katsuki feeling like letting his legs fall out from under him, like letting himself slip up on time.

Eventually, though, the oven timer beeps, signaling the final batch of cookies being finished and giving Katsuki an excuse to pull away, neither of them looking at each other as he goes to pull the baking sheet out of the oven and lay it on the stove. He’ll scrape the cookies up from off of it sometime later.

“C’mon,” he mutters, feeling the impulse to do something he knows is bad for him, and starts to make his way upstairs without looking to see if Izuku follows.

He does, of course, because why wouldn’t he, and the two of them walk silently to his room, a swirl of anticipation and apprehension mixing in Katsuki’s gut. He’ll blame it on eating all of that raw cookie dough.

When they make it into the room, Katsuki wastes no time in flopping down on his bed, no-nonsense as he reaches forward to snag Izuku by the waist and pull him onto his lap, straddled on top of him and looking wide-eyed. Katsuki has probably had a thousand wet dreams about Izuku riding him like this.

“Izuku,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs into the sides of the boy’s waist. “Whatever you wanna do right now.”

Izuku, above him, looks dark and unreadable, just as tense as Katsuki had been downstairs. It takes a long moment of charged silence before he finally puts his hands on Katsuki, tentatively letting his hands rest on his chest, keeping himself balanced from where he’s perched on his knees. If Izuku wants to lean down and kiss him right now, Katsuki thinks, he’ll let him. Like all of this being over at the end of summer. Like the acceptance stage of grief. Like a foregone conclusion.

Izuku suddenly takes his hands off of Katsuki’s chest and lifts himself off his lap, rolling over onto his side to lie down next to him. Katsuki hears him breathe out in one big whoosh as his back hits the mattress.

“Not right now,” Izuku says quietly, trying and failing to sound casual.

It takes Katsuki a real moment of concentration to not let out a sigh as he folds his arms beneath his head, elbowing Izuku a little in the face and not feeling particularly sorry about it. Now he looks desperate, wanting to mess around for the second time in less than a twenty-four hour span. He closes his eyes and takes in a long, steady breath, like he couldn’t give less of a shit, like Izuku’s answer is a nonissue to him.

Izuku, thankfully, has no problem with acting as though the awkwardness of the moment isn’t there, tucking himself along Katsuki’s side, throwing an ankle over his and letting his head rest against his bicep. They spend enough time in silence for Katsuki to go from pretending to sleep to actually starting to fall asleep, hovering by the hazy border of summer sleep in the warm, dry evening.

“Kacchan?” Izuku mumbles, sounding a little sleepy himself.

He’s using the sort of tone of voice that completely disarms Katsuki, one that’s soft and innocent and makes him feel relaxed and guileless, like him and Izuku being the best friends that they always have been. Katsuki has no qualms, therefore, in turning his head to nuzzle his face into Izuku’s hair and murmur, “hm?”

“Kacchan,” Izuku repeats, sounding suddenly nervous. “Do you like anyone?”

Katsuki blinks his eyes open. “What?”

“Because you never talk about crushes or anything,” Izuku rushes out, talking so quickly that Katsuki almost doesn’t catch about half the words he says. “So. I was just curious.”

Katsuki sits there for a moment, internally debating the pros and cons of killing himself on the spot, before answering carefully, “I’m not ace. Or aro.” Which is just about as vague as it is humanly possible for him to get.

Izuku, God bless him, takes the hint to not press any further, shrugging and responding, “okay. I dunno. You just never date anyone.” He looks pensive and frowny, seeming so close to getting it and yet so far because he’s the most dense oblivious dumbass idiot shithead that Katsuki has ever known in his life.

“Izuku,” he huffs, in a fit of pure exasperation. “Who would I date?”

Izuku’s expression completely draws in and closes shut. “Someone you like.”

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmurs, pitching his voice low and fond, because Izuku’s a dumbass, but he’s Katsuki’s dumbass. “Who would I like?”

Izuku is quiet for a long time—just long enough for Katsuki to think, welp, he’s got it, he’s finally figured it out, only took him about a decade—before he mutters, quieter than ever, “I wouldn’t know.”

You dumb bitch, Katsuki screams in his head, but miraculously manages to not strangle him. “Idiot,” he hisses, half-teasing, but Izuku doesn’t rise to take the bait; he simply turns onto his side, facing away from Katsuki, and doesn’t ask any more questions.

The end of August descends upon them like a bird of prey spreading its night wings, like a summer storm hanging low in the sky, hot and humid and looming. In their last moments of summer, Katsuki finds Izuku hanging out on the rooftop of their old middle school, lounging in the late afternoon sun on the last day before they’re expected to have a solid week of rain.

“What the actual fuck would you want to be up here for?” Katsuki asks, pushing open the door to the rooftop to find Izuku lying on his stomach on a ledge facing the sunset, big and orange and falling fast.

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku greets, not answering his question, his voice sounding listless and distracted.

Katsuki’s heart, against his will, does a little lurch in his chest at seeing Izuku lying so close to the edge, toeing the line on the brink of danger. He could just fucking roll over and fall four stories to his death, and Katsuki wouldn’t make it over to him in time to catch him. It makes him nervous in the way it used to back when they actually were in middle school, when it was a habit of Izuku’s to pick locks to come up here during lunchtimes—when Katsuki was fourteen and a complete shithead and thought it would make him Cool and Less Gay if he told Izuku to go kill himself, and Izuku always went quiet enough afterwards to make Katsuki worried that he might actually consider it.

Izuku at seventeen doesn’t look like someone who wants to kill himself, lying there watching the sun with his shirt off and tucked beneath his arms. Katsuki might always be nervous about it anyway.

“You dickhead,” he says, rather viciously, marching towards him and pulling a bottle of sunscreen out of the backpack he’d brought with him. “I know you don’t give a shit about yourself or whatever, but if you’re not gonna put sunscreen on, then I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear you complain about getting burned.” As he’s ranting, he’s already started lathering sunscreen over Izuku, revelling a little in the already overheated warmth of his skin and doing his best to not let his hands linger at all of the muscled places of his back.

Izuku pulls his gaze away from the sunset to turn his head back and look at him, looking pensive, considering. “Thanks,” he says, sounding like he has no idea what to do with him.

“I mean it,” Katsuki snarls, rubbing sunscreen into his shoulders with a vengeance. “No complaining. Not even once. I’ll kill you.”

Once he’s reasonably satisfied at his efforts to stop Izuku from getting skin cancer by age forty, he hops up next to him on the ledge. Izuku reaches an arm out to press a steadying hand to his lower back, watching him with heavy eyes, like the idea of Katsuki falling makes him just as nervous.

“Wait a sec,” Katsuki blurts, fidgety and fumbling under Izuku’s gaze, “I’ve got, uh.” He pulls out one lone cigarette that he’d had tucked behind his ear and goes searching for the lighter he has in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts. When he finally locates it and looks back up at Izuku, the boy is arching an eyebrow at him, looking a little incredulous.

“Kaminari,” he says by way of explanation.

“I thought I made you a promise,” Izuku says, slow and pointed.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, moving to light the cigarette. “We’re not making a fucking habit, alright.”

“Spoken like a future addict,” Izuku teases, and Katsuki flicks him on the forehead and takes a drag.

He only takes in about half an inhale, but he still coughs a little on it, because wow, the only thing that could really prepare him for that feeling is choking on pool water or something.

“You get used to it,” Izuku murmurs, watching him.

“Shut up,” he croaks. He holds the cigarette out to him, offering.

Izuku shakes his head no. “I made you a promise,” he smiles, tipping his head to one side coyly.

“Dumbass,” Katsuki mutters, taking another shallow drag and managing not to choke in it this time. He reaches out and grabs both of Izuku’s cheeks in one hand.

“Kacchan,” Izuku complains, a little surprised, muffled from where his face is squished.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki waves him off, leaning down to be level with his face. “When I breathe out, you breathe in, yeah?” He murmurs, just to be a little shit.

Izuku has just enough time to pull a face at him before Katsuki is taking in another inhale, deeper this time. Izuku catches on quickly, letting his mouth fall open so that Katsuki can slot their faces together and breathe into him. Their top lips brush together for a moment and Izuku’s breath hitches.

Katsuki keeps him there for longer than is strictly necessary, their foreheads pressed together, Katsuki loosening his grip on Izuku’s face to hold him gently by the jaw. Katsuki has his eyes closed. He thinks he wants Izuku to kiss him.

“There,” he mutters, forcing himself to pull away. Izuku has his eyes closed, too, and it takes him a few moments to blink them open. Katsuki wants to ravage him, wants to marry him, wants to put his fingers in his mouth.

“There,” Izuku echoes softly, and Katsuki feels a little insane.

“Payback,” he says, sounding remarkably normal, and snuffs the cigarette out on the ground next to him.

They spend the remainder of the day watching the afternoon burn out, the air stagnant and oppressive and thirty-five degrees. Izuku lazily hooks a finger around the bottom hem of Katsuki’s shorts, right by his knee. Katsuki thinks that if Ashido was here, she’d be taking about a million pictures of the sunset.

“I used to have a crush on you,” Izuku blurts, out of nowhere, and Katsuki’s world screeches to a stop.

This is the moment when summer ends, when all of this becomes a nonissue, when they laugh about the whole situation exactly once and then never again. Of all fucking times.

Katsuki’s hands have scrunched up into fists automatically, and he drags his knuckles across the ground before unclenching them and saying, perfectly nonchalant, “I know.”

Izuku makes a punched-out little noise that makes Katsuki turn to look at him, but Izuku’s face is nothing but amused wryness when he responds, “dang. I really did try to hide it, too.”

Katsuki makes a face. “You—how the fuck was letting me suck your dick your idea of being subtle?”

Izuku blinks. “What?”

“Like—a rebound or whatever,” Katsuki continues, already rambling, feeling his control over this conversation slip away. “Then—the day we made cookies. You said no, so I figured you were finally over it.”

“I—” Izuku’s mouth falls open, and then he snaps it up again, his voice going angry and hurt as he bites, “because you always just have to take care of me, huh?”

“What?” Katsuki snaps.

“I break up with someone, and you have to pick up my pieces, is that it?” Izuku snarls. “This whole time, is that—” he shakes his head, as though physically stopping himself. “That’s not even what I was talking about.”

Katsuki feels his face go completely incredulous, so Izuku huffs and continues, “not that it matters. But I meant, like. Last year.”

It takes Katsuki a second to put two and two together, I had a crush on you and I meant, like, last year, and before he can even think, he blurts, “you’re fucking kidding me.”

Izuku makes a wounded noise, and Katsuki knows he isn’t kidding.

“You’re joking,” he still says, disbelieving. “For how long?”

Izuku lets out a humorless laugh, not meeting his eyes. “For, like—” his voice cracks, “for, like, the whole year.”

Katsuki stares at him, hawk-eyed and gobsmacked. “What made you stop?”

And Izuku, fuckin’ Midoriya Izuku, looking as though he’s under pain of death, admits, “I don’t think I did.”

Katsuki’s world falls out from under him. “You’re fucking with me,” he seethes.

“I guess—” Izuku continues, rambling, looking anywhere but at him, “I guess I figured that, y’know, eventually, you’re gonna date people who—who aren’t me, so I—I thought that it’d be better for me to tell you now, rather than—because I’m gonna hate it, Kacchan, I’m gonna hate it when you date someone else.”

“You—” Katsuki stammers, completely speechless. “You’re such a fucking piece of shit.”

Izuku laughs like a sob. “I know.”

“Fuck this,” Katsuki says, in complete denial, hopping off the ledge and grabbing his backpack. “Absolutely fucking not, we’re not—would you hurry the fuck up?” He calls over to Izuku once he’s made his way to the door, because the boy is still lying there on the ledge, watching him go.

Izuku startles. “What?” He looks about three seconds away from crying.

“We’re not doing this here,” Katsuki snaps. “And I’m not leaving you on the ledge of a four-story building by yourself, what the fuck.”

Izuku flushes red, embarrassed and upset, but he moves to follow, pulling his shirt on angrily and stomping over.

The walk home is painfully silent and way longer than Katsuki remembers it being, walking side by side but refusing to look at each other. Katsuki feels fucking surreal.

“No,” he says, out loud, and then his consciousness comes back to him. “No, fuck this,” he bites, and grabs Izuku to shove him up against the nearest wall, in the middle of some random backroad in their sleepy little neighborhood, pink-orange sunlight draped over them. “Fuck, fuck this,” he says, his words falling all over each other. He shakes Izuku by the shoulders. “What about your ex?”

Izuku, looking wide-eyed and a little terrified, lets out a disbelieving noise. “We—it was terrible,” he scoffs, his shoulders drawn up so high that they’re practically touching his ears. “He’d—we argued all the time, it was—I liked you more than I liked him, I always did, and he noticed,” he babbles. “And he’d always talk shit about you, and all of my friends, and it—it was just. The worst.”

“You—” Katsuki’s voice is hoarse. He feels like he could shake out of his skin. “You never told me why you were with him. Or why you broke up.”

“Because he liked me, Kacchan, and you didn’t,” Izuku half-yells, sounding pleading and one wrong move away from tears. “And he got mad at me whenever someone looked at me, but he hated you, and he always said how I’d be better off throwing myself at you instead of being with him, because I’m a fucking slut or something, so, finally, I just told him he was right.”

What the actual fuck, Katsuki thinks.

“I—I don’t want people to look at you, either,” he says blankly—which is maybe the most stupid thing he’s ever said in his life, completely out of his mind—and swallows his spit, and kisses Izuku.

Izuku flinches back in surprise, so hard that his head bonks against the wall behind him, but Katsuki remains persistent, reaching one hand up to hold his cheek and press closer. Izuku’s mouth is softer than Katsuki would ever have known to expect. It’s his first time kissing someone in all of the seventeen years he’s been alive. What the actual fuck.

“Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles into his mouth, sounding numb, and then he shoves Katsuki away. “Kacchan.”

Katsuki sucks in a huge breath. “Izuku,” he says. If it turns out that stupid Deku’s been fucking with him this whole time, he’s going to lose his fucking shit.

Izuku shakes his head disbelievingly. He looks fucking devastated. “Huh,” he says, his voice all weird and pitchy. “‘S that payback, too?”

Katsuki blinks. “Oh my fucking God,” he says, and then steps forward to put his hands back on Izuku’s arms. “Deku, you actual fucking idiot.”

“Kacchan, I—” Izuku’s gaze darts around his face, looking frantic, “it isn’t just sex to me, it—”

“Better fuckin’ not have been,” Katsuki interrupts.

“—it means I love you, Kacchan,” Izuku snaps. “Love you.”

“About fucking time,” Katsuki says, and kisses him again.

Izuku kisses him back, this time, which makes the whole experience just exponentially better, Izuku’s hands twisting the hem of his shirt, his mouth careful and tentative but sure, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows what he wants.

Katsuki pulls back just to peck the side of his nose, just to tell him, “I’ve wanted you since the seventh fucking grade.”

Izuku lets out a little moan, and Katsuki feels himself go actually fucking insane.

He grabs Izuku by the wrist and starts dragging him back down the street. “C’mon,” he says. “We’re gonna go make out in my room for the next two hours.”

“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku says, pulling back. Katsuki’s stomach lurches as he turns back to look at him.

“My house is closer,” Izuku suggests.

Katsuki thinks about his rule set, about don’t get into his bed. He grins. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

After that, Katsuki really isn’t sure how they manage to make it home at all, running home hand-in-hand like a stupid couple in a movie and bouts of kissing up against the nearest walls in between, Izuku’s hands sliding up his back in a way that absolutely feels like it should count as public indecency. Katsuki is so in love with him.

They make their way, fumbling and half-blind, to Izuku’s house, where Auntie isn’t home, thank God. Izuku flounders for his keys and the doorknob, his hands shaking like crazy, Katsuki making himself of absolutely no use as he kisses behind Izuku’s ears, grinning at the way it makes him stutter over himself. Izuku trips over the genkan and then his shoes and then every single one of the stairs, the two of them laughing and stumbling their way through it all.

Izuku pushes him into his bedroom, giving him a two-second breather before he shuts the door and shoves Katsuki up against it, pressing him there with his hands at his hips, sucking at the point of his jaw.

“God,” he breathes, tickling Katsuki’s skin as he exhales. “Kacchan, I only said no that day because I thought you were just letting me do things to you, I—” he moves to tuck his face into the crook of Katsuki’s neck, slumping forward until their bodies are pressed together. “I thought you just—Kacchan.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki says, his voice hoarse. “What was I supposed to think, you—you go through a break-up and you won’t even talk about it, you just start flirting with me. I thought you didn’t—I never would’ve let you touch me, I’m not a fucking masochist.”

Izuku laughs. “Kacchan,” he chides. “I think letting the guy you’re in love with jack you off is way less masochistic, than. Not doing that.”

“The guy you’re in love with?” Katsuki asks quietly.

Izuku pauses. “Yeah,” he says, after a while. “Is that, like. Coming on too strong, or—”

“Deku, you fucking idiot,” Katsuki mutters, all breathy, and shifts his hips so that Izuku can feel him hard in his shorts.

“Oh my God,” Izuku laughs, startled, like he forgot that they’ve been fucking making out and Katsuki is really only human. “I’m dreaming right now, this—this is insane, this isn’t real.”

“I fucking hate you,” Katsuki groans, because that’s, like, the worst line he’s ever heard in his life, and rolls his hips forward.

Izuku moans and latches his mouth back onto Katsuki’s neck, stumbling when Katsuki takes a step forward to herd them into the direction of the bed. He glances at the four million All Might posters on Izuku’s bedroom walls. He cannot believe he’s in love with this asshole.

They go tumbling into bed, rolling around in a mess of limbs before Izuku comes out on top, straddling his waist and pinning him down.

“Fuck,” Izuku says, beautiful and blown wide and bright. He brings a hand up and puts it at the base of Katsuki’s throat, letting it rest heavy on his neck. “Kacchan, you’re so pretty, look at you, fuck—”

Katsuki moans, almost involuntarily, his hips bucking up. He feels the strange urge to put his hand over Izuku’s and make him squeeze his fingers, make him keep talking, tell him he’s pretty, tell him he likes him—which, okay, is unlocking several new things Katsuki did not previously know about himself.

“Deku, if you don’t touch me right now I’m going to fuck you,” he babbles, desperate, “I swear to God.”

Izuku laughs, bubbly and happy and the only noise Katsuki ever wants to hear, before he cups Katsuki’s face in both hands and kisses him soundly, licking into his mouth and holding him like he’s loved.

“Izuku,” he mumbles, unable to contain all of the feeling inside of himself, and Izuku’s mouth goes soft and slack as he moans and grinds down.

Katsuki reaches down and grabs two handfuls of the backs of his thighs, groping him shamelessly as he pulls him closer, setting the rhythm where they push together, like friction between stones catching sparks, like lunar tides, like pure fucking magnetism. Katsuki’s wanted to touch his thighs for his entire fucking life. Izuku’s making little hitched breaths whenever they grind together, his mouth slipping across Katsuki’s face with every movement, and it’s messy and clumsy and exactly how Katsuki wants it.

Izuku kisses him like he’d be fine doing nothing but kissing, his hands huge over the sides of Katsuki’s face, holding his jaw and stroking his cheekbones and touching his hairline, the backs of his ears. He moves slow and languid, even when they’re frantic everywhere else, sucking his bottom lip and licking the roof of his mouth like he wants to take his time with it. Katsuki feels wanted, and loved, and he plans on being fucking furious later that they haven’t been doing this the whole summer.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, panting, throwing his head back to talk. Izuku kisses his neck, open-mouthed and wet, with the barest hint of teeth everywhere he goes. Katsuki’s fucking crazy about him. “We could’ve been doing this since middle school, Deku, Izuku, goddamnit it.”

Izuku laughs, all breathless and wonderful. “I don’t think touching each other’s dicks would’ve been very age-appropriate for middle schoolers.”

“You,” Katsuki says, thinking about having had his first wet dream about Izuku at thirteen, “have no fucking idea.”

Izuku chooses that moment to slide a hand down the front of Katsuki’s shorts, wriggling around the fly and bypassing his boxers entirely to wrap his fingers around his dick.

Katsuki makes a punched-out, whiny noise, softer than anything he’s ever heard from himself and definitely something he’ll kill Izuku over if he tells anyone about it.

“Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs, high and cracked and emotional and fucking reverent. “Kacchan, look at you.”

“I wanted you forever,” Katsuki babbles, his voice pitched like a sob, arching his back and thrashing around at the oversensitive feeling as Izuku starts moving his hand. “I would’ve—I would’ve died with that, I would’ve done anything, gave you anything if it meant you’d like me—”

Izuku steals his mouth back with a kiss, the vibration of his voice echoing through him. He pulls his hands away a bit, just enough to make Katsuki a little desperate and terrified and unbelievably turned on, before he moves them back to undo the button of his shorts and push his shirt up. Katsuki helps him by pulling his shirt off as Izuku spits into his hand and puts it back around his cock, rubbing the underside of the head with his thumb in a maddening way. Katsuki sighs and goes limp, his hands pawing ineffectually at Izuku’s shorts.

“‘Zuku,” he rasps, “Izuku, lemme touch you, too.”

“You first,” Izuku says, sounding enraptured, “I wanna—”

“At the same time,” Katsuki suggests, and Izuku shivers and nods.

The two of them clumsily scramble for the rest of their clothes, piling the items around them along with the sheets, cocooning them in a circle of fabric and sweat. Katsuki feels scraped open and raw, lying there naked in front of Izuku, who looks clay-sculpted and glowing brown and freckled and beautiful. He hooks his ankles over the backs of Izuku’s thighs and reels him back in, just to interrupt him from staring so much because he thinks he can’t stand it, being looked at by Izuku like that.

Both of them groan when they fall back together, every touch heightened and hot and completely direct, completely open, like a fucking live wire with all the electrical tape peeled back. Izuku’s breathing into his mouth, panting too hard to even kiss him, and he has one hand cupped around the back of Katsuki’s head and the other squished between their bodies, touching them both, messy and sweat-slicked and electric. Katsuki’s dick is touching Izuku’s dick, and it’s fucking crazy, and amazing, and so fucking hot.

“I never—Kacchan, I thought you’d never even look at me unless I made you,” Izuku whines, voice strained and eyes closed, rutting desperately. He tucks his face into the side of Katsuki’s neck and mumbles, “this whole summer, I thought—if I made myself easy—”

“I’m looking,” Katsuki breathes, sinking his hands into Izuku’s hair, “Izuku, I’ve always been looking, it’s you, it’s—”

Izuku gasps in a ragged breath, wriggles an arm underneath Katsuki to wrap around his back, and comes, shuddering quietly and holding him close, moaning into his shoulder. Katsuki glances over the top of the boy’s head to look at his body sprawled on top of him, shaking and sweaty and coiled tightly like a spring before his muscles release and he goes boneless.

“Baby,” Katsuki murmurs, scratching his fingers through Izuku’s hair.

Izuku lifts his head groggily, fucked-out and tired as he leans forward to kiss him messily and reach a hand down to touch him, pumping his cock and slurring out, “you’re so good, you’re so hot, Kacchan, wanna fuck you, I like you so much,” until Katsuki follows him, whispering Izuku, Izuku and coming into his fist.

Izuku slumps down on top of him, then, and Katsuki lets him lie there until the ticklishness from Izuku’s breath on his neck starts becoming unbearable, at which point he halfheartedly pushes him off.

“Mm, Kacchan,” Izuku whines, holding onto him stubbornly.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Katsuki grumbles. “I’m showering first.”

“And then we make out some more,” Izuku insists, lifting his head to look at him imploringly.

“And then you shower,” he counters.

Izuku frowns.

“And then we make out, yeah,” Katsuki mutters, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth before shoving him off the rest of the way, standing up and making his way to the bathroom before Izuku can drag him back.

“We could shower together!” Izuku calls after him, so cheeky that Katsuki can hear his grin.

“‘M never touching you again,” he calls back, completely fucking lying.

After that and two showers, several hours of making out, and a mad scramble to hide their hickies before Izuku’s mom comes back for dinner, Katsuki manages to fall asleep in Izuku’s bed without even any conscious memory of doing it, completely exhausted, waking up from the evening into a yellow-bright morning, tangled in Izuku’s maroon-colored sheets, Izuku himself pressed up against Katsuki’s back with an arm thrown over his waist.

“Morning,” Izuku mumbles, somehow sensing that he’s awake, and then his hand trails down into Katsuki’s shorts, palming him and pressing kisses to his shoulder blades, his pace slow and maddening until Katsuki finally comes, muffling his moans into the pillows. Katsuki flips over and returns the favor with his mouth, his hair completely unsalvageable after Izuku manages to get his hands into it. It’s a pretty fucking great morning.

Eventually, Izuku wanders downstairs in search of breakfast and returns with a plain piece of toast for Katsuki, without even any butter on it because he’s a complete dumbass. Katsuki eats it anyway, vindictively letting crumbs fall into Izuku’s sheets. Izuku stares at him for a long time, watching him eat, and Katsuki graciously ignores him because he looks like he’s having a Moment. Eventually, Izuku decides to lean forward and kiss him, slipping the tip of his tongue into his mouth even though he’s still actively chewing, which is, like, so gross, but hell, Katsuki isn’t gonna stop him.

“Mom wants me to get ready for school,” Izuku murmurs, quiet and close, his eyes still closed from kissing. “Go out shopping for supplies and stuff. Wanna come with?”

Katsuki snorts, tilts forward and kisses him again, hard enough to push him back a little. “Nah,” he says. “I’m gonna use the same three notebooks for all of my classes again.”

“The fact that your grades are actually perfect is so upsetting,” Izuku grouses, nudging him playfully with his shoulder. “Wanna take a shower before I do?”

Katsuki shakes his head. “I’ll shower at home.”

“M’kay,” Izuku pecks his mouth one more time, just for good measure, and hops up to go to the bathroom.

While Izuku washes up, Katsuki sits in his bed, in his room, in this little space in Izuku’s life that he’s carved out for himself. It still feels fucking unreal that he’s ended up here. He contemplates this, and their past, all of the years that Katsuki spent looking at him and refusing to look at him and never once noticing whether or not Izuku was looking back. He thinks about the end of summer, and the oncoming term, and the fact that their schools are still over an hour by train away from each other.

When Izuku steps back into the room, completely shameless about getting dressed under Katsuki’s gaze, Katsuki goes over to him and backs him up against his desk, placing his hands on it and framing Izuku in. From this angle, he has to tilt down to look at him. Izuku glances curiously up at him before his smile goes wide, giddy-flirty, throwing his arms up over Katsuki’s shoulders to scoop him into a kiss.

“Izuku,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth over Izuku’s cheeks, trying to tell him he loves him. “You’re not allowed to break up with me when school starts.”

Izuku pauses, pulls back a little, slides a hand up to the back of his head as he looks over his face carefully. “Break up with you?”

Katsuki digs his nails into the wood of the desk, not even trying to keep his expression normal. “When summer ends, and you’ve got your school and your friends, and—it’ll suck, we’re both busy all the time, but you—you signed up for that, Izuku, okay, you can’t—”

“Kacchan,” Izuku interrupts, looking concerned, which is a terrible sign. “I’m not—what, like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I’m your boyfriend,” Katsuki spits. “Izuku, Deku, you can’t, just, touch me like that and not—”

“It's just that you said,” Izuku says, looking a little star-struck. “You told me before, you’re not—”

“That was before I knew you—” loved me back, Katsuki finishes in his head, but can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Izuku curls a fist into the collar of his shirt. “Kacchan,” he murmurs. “Of course, I’m not gonna—I want you, I want this, you’re. You’re my boyfriend?”

Katsuki heaves out a shaky sigh. “Fuck,” he says, emphatically. “Yeah.”

A grin spreads on Izuku’s face. “Like, I’m gonna tell all my friends, and I’m gonna date you, okay, and—”

Katsuki presses forward, kisses him hard, feeling every bit seventeen and stupid. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You’re mine, you’re—”

“—your boyfriend,” Izuku giggles. “Kacchan has a boyfriend, I’m his boyfriend, I—”

“—don't be cute,” Katsuki scoffs, and Izuku reaches down to squeeze his ass in retaliation.

Izuku does, eventually, manage to kick him out so that he can go do his school supplies shopping and Katsuki can go home and shower. He forgoes his sneakers in favor of stealing a pair of Izuku’s flip flops—his boyfriend’s flip flops—and trudges home, feeling content and giddy-warm. He catches himself smiling no less than three times on the way home, thinking about all the stupid things Izuku says. This will have ruined him forever.

When he makes it home, he’s in too good of a mood to even pick a fight with his mom, heading straight to his room to strip out of his clothes and wash up. There’s already a text from Izuku when he reemerges from the shower, towelling his hair off with one hand and tapping through pictures of various neighborhood cats that Izuku has seen along his way.

He spends basically the entire rest of the day texting him in between doing his chores, doing dishes while typing with soapy hands, nearly knocking over several different lamps or books as he distractedly tidies up his room. He might as well have gone with Izuku, because the boy is just as glued to his phone as Katsuki is, sending mirror selfies from shop windows and asking his opinions on various cute stationery items and the merits of wide-ruled or college-ruled paper, even though it’s common fucking knowledge that college-ruled is better, and it’s not like Izuku would actually take his advice if they disagreed (Izuku takes his note-taking very seriously).

By the time Izuku has returned home from his journey, Katsuki is getting ready to do his laundry, sorting colors and turning out pockets to make sure he hasn’t left anything in them. He gets to the pair of jeans he was wearing yesterday-slash-this morning and finds a crumpled sticky note in a front pocket, something he definitely doesn’t remember putting in there.

He pulls it out and smoothes it across his desk, and then immediately has to lean forward and squint to read it, written in Izuku’s horrible chicken-scratch.

I’m going to tell you I love you when you want me to, it says. Because I do and you know it. So tell me when you want to hear it.

Katsuki thinks about all those years of Izuku loving him where he wouldn’t let him say it. He remembers hearing it at the first party, half-asleep in the dark; hearing it just yesterday, it isn’t just sex.

“Deku, you idiot,” Katsuki mutters, and then practically flies out of his room.

He immediately barges over to Izuku’s house, sprint-stomping the whole way, which is completely reasonable in his position, he thinks. He pounds his fist on the front door, foregoing the doorbell entirely, and prays to God that it isn’t Auntie who answers the door.

“You fuckin dumbass piece of shit,” he says once Izuku opens the door—thank God—his voice a weird mix of relief-anger-affection, which really only makes Izuku look quite startled.

“What?” He says—which, fair.

Katsuki reaches out and curls a hand loosely into the collar of Izuku’s t-shirt. The sticky note is crushed in his fist, making crinkly noises wherever he moves, sounding something like the end of summer, like this whole series of events, like Katsuki trampling all of his fear and teenage angst beneath his feet. A fucking nonissue. He takes a deep breath to start again.

“I love you,” he says.

There's a moment—and then Izuku’s face breaks into a grin.