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“I missed you,” Izuku says, burying his head in Kacchan’s chest. He knows he sounds sulky, but something’s gotta be working ‘cause even if he rolls his eyes, Kacchan wraps his arms around him anyway.
“Yeah, okay.” That’s I missed you too but Kacchan trusts him enough to know he’ll get it.
The words carry through the thin cloth of Kacchan’s shirt and tickle Izuku’s cheek, but he likes it. He likes this so much. It’s a billion degrees out and Kacchan runs so warm. Their skin sticks uncomfortably together, and Izuku sighs. Content, relieved, safe—
“The drive was two hours,” Kaminari calls from behind one of the cars, “can you separate long enough to help with the bags.”
“Fuck you,” Kacchan calls back and that one kinda hurts Izuku’s ear so he pulls away. Kacchan smooths the hair off his forehead, a tender gesture for how forceful those hands can be, and mutters, “‘M gonna go make sure that idiot doesn’t break something.”
“Yeah, you should do that.” Yaomomo and Iida worked so hard to plan this, and it would suck if it got cut short because of broken tequila bottles and attempted homicide.
Izuku’s mom had to ‘think about it’ when he’d told her, which was sort of strange, since he’d–not to toot his own horn–quite actually saved the world. Like, where else is he safer than anywhere he is with himself, if that makes sense.
Then she’d slipped him a pamphlet on chlamydia, and right . The Kacchan thing. Ha ha. They live in the dorms and Aizawa isn’t paid enough to monitor them at night. Double ha ha.
Izuku watches as Kacchan walks across the car park, tossing Kirishima the keys to the SUV then threatening to throw the cooler at Kaminari like it weighs nothing. His linen button-down clings to his waist as the wind blows, just briefly, and then it’s gone. Hanging loosely again, over teal green board shorts. Izuku’s seen that fit a hundred times, on a mannequin at a surf shop, on a billboard, on anyone at the beach, but it’s Kacchan .
Already, there’s a sheen of sweat where his collarbone dips, teasing at the neckline of his shirt. Kacchan’s worn less around him in the locker room and at night, but it’s the three open buttons that make him swoon.
“Oh my god,” Ochako waves her hand in front of him, “can you not be like this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, gay?”
“No,” Izuku says hopelessly and truthfully, “I can’t.”
“Knew it.” Ochako links her arm through his, pushes her pink heart-shaped sunglasses up like it’s a headband. She’s flushed in the sun, too, and adorable. “Only you would pine over someone you’re literally already dating.”
Izuku tracks her line of sight to where Iida is standing, directing traffic like he’s at a school assembly. His polo shirt is buttoned up to the neck and his loafers scream overworked absent father of two.
“How’s the pining going for someone you’re not dating?”
Ochako gasps, affronted, then shoves him— ow , she’s still jacked. “Where did that come from? You know, I change my mind, I don’t think Bakugo’s good for you.”
“I’m trying to be helpful—”
Loud, from across the carpark: “Did I hear you talk shit about me, Cheeks?”
“Yes,” Ochako says. Kacchan glares at them in warning, but Izuku’s so far gone, it’s just cute.
“No quirk use outside of training or emergencies,” Iida reminds.
“So valiant,” Ochako whispers, and they both giggle like they’re … like they’re in high school. Oh.
Later, Kacchan mans the grill post-swim while Kaminari dies twenty feet away. It would be concerning only, like Izuku said, they’re post-swim. Kacchan’s traded in his linen shirt for nothing.
Izuku stares. Kacchan is soaked, seawater running over scars and smooth skin alike. There’s a dish towel hung over one shoulder, but he uses his arm to wipe his sweaty forehead like he forgot he wasn’t wearing anything.
Izuku’s eyes trace the happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts. A drop of seawater follows the trail, too, and the pit of his gut curls up tight.
Kaminari screams.
“Wait,” Kirishima says, frantically tapping away on his phone.
“Oh, my god,” Kaminari wails, “are you Googling if you should pee on me?”
“Could you relax—“
“Could I relax while I’m dying—NO!!”
Tsuyu sticks her tongue on his leg like it’s gonna help. Kaminari looks at her in horror.
Kacchan waves the metal spatula in the air, irritated and oblivious to Izuku’s hormone-fueled trance. “All that noise and for what? The fuck would he know about dying?”
Izuku stifles a laugh, nearly spits his Yaomomo-style cocktail—ninety-nine percent Scotch and honey-lemon as an afterthought—back into the plastic cup. “Stop,” he says, wiping his chin.
Kacchan grins. It’s so, so bad but Kacchan genuinely likes joking about it, and at some point Izuku realised he’d rather laugh along with him than cry when he’s not around.
They’re new at this, still. Izuku used to think he’d make a pretty terrible boyfriend given how much Kacchan berated him growing up; at first, such a nerd, so useless and then suddenly too self-sacrificial, so selfish. But they keep driving into uncertain territory with Kacchan at the wheel, as blustery and as confident as ever, and somehow, it works.
“This one’s yours, babe,” Kacchan says, soft enough that no one else can hear. He’ll accept Izuku’s open affections in public, but he draws the line at pet names which is fine. Just being called Izuku sends his schoolboy crush reeling.
Kacchan holds out a plate with a steaming burger and a pile of store-bought fries on it. Izuku’s heart flutters. It must translate to his face because Kacchan snorts. “Okay, chill. Not in front of the extras.”
Izuku stands to attention, like there’s a hand at the back of his neck. No, Izuku. Focus. Not in front of the ex–your friends. He takes the plate and a huge bite, because Kacchan doesn’t turn back to the grill until he does.
The scars on Kacchan’s back didn’t heal as well as the front did. They’re bumpier and sometimes still ache. Kacchan doesn’t mind them except for when they itch and peel, and it’s then that he asks Izuku to put this cream where he can’t reach like he’s embarrassed and Izuku loves it so much.
He knows that scar tissue so well, traced it with his palm and mouth and nails. And beneath that is muscle that he’d mapped, even before he thought he was allowed to look, let alone touch.
Kacchan works at the grill, plates the food, barks at everybody else like he’s gonna maul them, and all throughout, Izuku watches the line of his back. It flexes, divots around these two points just above his waistband.
Izuku remembers the muscle rippling beneath his palm, so much of it to cover that Izuku was scrabbling up his back trying to feel it all. When he’s like that, there’s just so much Kacchan, he feels high off it, squeezes him tight everywhere. The scars covered those marks, too.
Everybody’s been fed. Kacchan turns the grill off and uses the dish towel to swipe at his face this time.
Izuku sees his whole body flushed with the sunshine and the humidity, and grows bold. “But … later?”
Kacchan quirks an eyebrow then scoffs as he gets it. Quick, now always so quick to meet Izuku where he is, when for years he’d refused to. “Eat your damn food.”
“Kacchan, later?”
He clears his throat, and rubs his fingers over the scars on his chest. He does that when he’s thinking. I do that when I’m thinking about you , he’d told Izuku once and Izuku was so overcome, he considered throwing himself off the roof (he can joke about it, too, even if Kacchan really doesn’t like it). He didn’t though, because he needed to kiss Kacchan so bad .
“Depends on the room situation,” Kacchan says finally.
Izuku pouts.
Kacchan exhales, short and muted. A stunted attempt at being casual. He’s a little antsy about it too, Izuku realises. It has him equal parts endeared and turned on.
“It’s one weekend, Izuku,” he grumbles. “I’m not fuckin’ in front of the extras.”
Izuku heats up. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to explore that side of things when they were trying to, you know, win a war. So the boyfriend stuff is new, and so’s the sex stuff. They had a lot of ground to cover, and they’ve uh, covered it. But Izuku doesn’t mind covering it again. Taking a remedial course. Practicing. Whatever.
There wasn’t enough time back then. For a moment on the battlefield, Izuku had thought there would never be any. He remembers thinking he should have confessed. That he’d rather have Kacchan know and hate him for it, because it at least meant he had been honest and done right by his heart–given it to the boy he loved, it could’ve been speared for all he cared. As long as he knew.
It was his, always. It is his.
(And then, blessedly, they got time. And Izuku used it to embark on the long, excruciating journey of watching Kacchan try to take a hint . If he had known that it would just take clocking Shouji in the face and giving him mild traumatic brain injury, then … Okay, he probably still wouldn’t have done it, but it would’ve given his drawing board a little more zhuzh.)
After lunch, everybody gathers inside and they draw lots for sleeping arrangements. Yaomomo may have been one of those girls who grew up riding horses with summer homes in every continent, but the beach house still only has eight bedrooms. Izuku ends up with Todoroki and Iida–Ochako signals to him that she’s going to slit his throat if he so much as squeaks about her in Iida’s direction–and Kacchan has to bunk with Tokoyami.
“Trade with me,” Kirishima tells Tokoyami. Clingy. Izuku narrows his eyes, unsure how to feel about that.
“Fuck no.” Kacchan steps closer to Tokoyami, the equivalent of wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Kirishima’s eyes widen. “He’s clean and he shuts up. Perfect roommate.”
Tokoyami is quiet for a moment, looping that statement back in his head. He nods, realising he agrees. “Thank you, Bakugou. I think similarly of you.”
Kacchan nods back like of course . So it’s decided.
The late afternoon finds them gathered on the open porch, sore and stinging all over with sunburn. Iida’s put on some generic Top 50s charts stuff that he deems ‘crowd pleasers’, at a respectable volume. Jirou fills a bowl with corn chips and breaks out a deck of cards.
Izuku is on his first glass of wine, and he doesn’t think he likes it, but he likes the feeling of holding it, so.
“Bullshit,” Kacchan says.
Kirishima throws his hands up, cards flying all over Shinsou’s face. “Dude, you’re clearing me.”
“He just knows you really well,” Mina reassures.
“No,” Kacchan says, leaning back with his prize money and slinging his bracer arm over the back of Izuku’s chair. He’s two drinks in and feeling loose. “You just fuckin’ suck.”
A pause. “At this game, right?”
Izuku makes a face after a sip, and Kacchan juts his chin towards him, asking. Izuku gives him a sip, too, watches the way his lip fits around the rim.
“ At this game, right ?”
Kacchan frowns at the taste, but then again he’s always frowning. Izuku is fluent in them. It’s not a disgusted one, more considering. Kacchan glances at the wine glass then offers his cocktail in a trade, watching Izuku’s face for approval.
Izuku flushes.
“Aww,” Mina coos, pulling it straight from Izuku’s head.
“Piss off.”
They trade, and yeah. Izuku likes his sugar-saturated hard liquor so much more. Kacchan actually takes to his wine, and it suits him too. While Izuku’s hands are rough and covered in callouses, Kacchan has these long, slender fingers that hold the base of the wine glass so steady and he looks so mature . Free arm around Izuku, fingers picking at a loose thread on his shirt. His palm lies curved around Izuku’s shoulder, weighty and warm.
When he tips his head back to get the last sip, Izuku catches the stretch of a faded hickey near his shoulder and god, the demon in his brain will not let him rest.
His eyes have glazed over.
Ochako texts him as much: Pls try not to jump bakugo in front of us. restrain urself
Izuku replies: no promises
By the time dinner rolls around, it’s past sunset. The traffic on the way was worse than expected–Izuku had not witnessed such road rage from Kouda before–so all their plans got pushed back. Kacchan loudly declares that he “already fed all you losers, so don’t come looking for me” then steps out the back door.
Izuku’s already waiting for him. It’s cold out, especially with just his thin T-shirt, but he’s not saying a word because Kacchan told him to pack a jacket and he just uh, forgot. Kacchan has one. He has one and he’s wearing it unzipped with his teal board shorts. The shape of the hood puffs up around his hair which has dried all fluffy after the swim. He looks like a dandelion, and Izuku can’t breathe from the sudden grip of affection.
“What?”
Ah, he’s staring. Well, he’s allowed to now.
“You trust them with dinner?” Nice save.
Kacchan shrugs and holds out his hand. “Ponytail has a fire extinguisher.”
“You saw that?” Izuku clasps their hands together, and they start walking. There’s no more sunset to walk to, but it’s still nice, just being together.
“Yeah.”
“Kacchan, you care about our friends.”
“I care about this house,” Kacchan says, waving at it with his free hand, “If I had this kind of generational wealth, I’d get my parents to sign this off to me at graduation.”
Izuku cracks a smile. “Your mom would never.”
Kacchan hums like he agrees with that, then falls quiet. Exhausted, probably, and Izuku loves this comfortable space, loves that Kacchan can be bone-tired, but still fall into him at the end of the day.
Then Kacchan says, “She asked about you.”
Izuku looks up at him. He had another growth spurt some time in the last year, so Izuku has to tip his head now just to make eye contact. “Oh? She can text me whenever, I’m always happy to hear from Auntie. You can tell her that.”
The other kids growing up never liked Auntie Mitsuki, and Izuku found her scary but she always treated him like one of her own. Letting him stay over when his own mom had to work late, picking up the snacks she knew he liked. To this day, she still got him birthday presents. Less personal as he got older, but Izuku was happy to receive money in an envelope anyway, he wasn’t complaining.
Kacchan has turned uncharacteristically stiff. There’s a beach umbrella and a couple of blankets that they left behind earlier and he leads Izuku over so they can sit.
They’re far enough from the house that Izuku only faintly hears the generic pop music. Only the rich can afford to build here, so the houses are a half-mile off from each other and there’s just a long stretch of beach on either side of them. Fine, smooth sand reflects yellow-grey in the moonlight. The water is dark, but the tide is calm and Izuku hears the waves kiss the shore, unconsciously slowing his breaths down to keep time with them.
Kacchan is watching him. “You like it here, too.”
“Anywhere Kacchan is,” Izuku says, “I like it.”
“Dumbass.” But fond. Izuku blooms as the affection washes over him. God, he’s sick in the head.
Well, he doesn’t mind. It can’t be that bad if it feels this good. He squeezes Kacchan’s hand. Their knuckles brush against the cold sand. “If you buy property up here, can I stay from time to time?”
He can be so needy when he does this. He cringes even at the thought, but the desire to have Kacchan’s approval is stronger, so the words find their way out anyway. He wants him to say, or at least allude, that of course he can stay. Kacchan will carve out a whole space just for him, a nook to draw in, a porch swing and a patio where they can host their friends who Kacchan secretly loves. A beach house built with Izuku in mind, the way Izuku lives with Kacchan in his.
His heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears. You’re eighteen , he realises in horror. Why are you thinking of investing in property with a boy you’ve been dating for six months. Oh, god. Kacchan’s going to think he’s weird, or he already thinks he’s weird, but he’s going to think he’s gross and over invested. He’s going to push me away again–
“My parents want to meet you,” Kacchan blurts out. His face is red, and there’s an uneasy energy wafting off him like they’ve switched places and he’s the anxious, messy one.
Wait, what.
“I’ve met your parents,” Izuku sputters.
“No, they want to meet you.”
Izuku thinks he’s usually good at understanding Kacchan, but maybe the noise in his brain is interfering. Even as Kacchan speaks, the threatening panic ebbs and flows, bleeding out of his brain and into the open sea where the waves carry it away.
Izuku’s hand kind of aches, and he realises Kacchan’s got a vice grip on him.
“I told them I have a boyfriend. That I’ve had one for six months.”
“That’s great,” Izuku says, as if they’re not talking about him . His brain is yet to catch up with his mouth.
“My mom knew it was you immediately.”
“Our moms probably talk.”
“Definitely.”
Izuku’s mom had figured it out the night he came home from the playground. He thought she’d be mad, say he was too young to date, or that he shouldn’t fall in with someone like Bakugou Katsuki.
“Okay,” she said.
“You’re not mad?”
She smiled. “Maybe I was before, but no, not now. I’ve had the time to come to terms with it. I’m definitely not surprised, if that’s what you mean.”
Izuku couldn’t work it out in his head. ‘Before’. They started dating about thirty minutes ago, and Izuku wasn’t sure if they were even that–
His mom laughed. “Oh, but I guess you’re surprised, huh.” He’d grown taller than her years ago, but she still liked to pet over his hair and tuck it behind his ear. “How could I be surprised when I’ve watched you two since you were in that sandbox.”
“They want to meet you like, as my boyfriend,” Kacchan says, stumbling over the word. Kacchan never stutters, he used to tell Izuku he was stupid for doing so, to just get on with it and say what he means. It took Izuku a while to realise that Kacchan’s aggressive self-assurance in his speech was his own counterpart–if he said it loud enough, it became true.
It hits him: Kacchan is nervous. Izuku melts.
He doesn’t realise he’s tearing up until Kacchan mutters fuck’s sake and pulls out a tissue from his jacket pocket.
“Thanks,” Izuku says, taking it even if the tears are yet to fall. “Of course I want to meet Kacchan’s parents. I–I can’t believe you told your mom about me.” His heart soars at the idea that he hadn’t messed this up, not this time, and it’s such a whiplash from the false alarm panic attack that it makes him dizzy.
“‘Course I did,” Kacchan says. He looks away. “She was on my case about internship. Plans after school and all that.”
Izuku unclasps their hands, only so he can brush the backs of his fingers along the curve of Kacchan’s ear. He’s tense, and Izuku knows he likes this. Sees it in the way Kacchan goes rigid at the first contact then softens. He gives Izuku a look like he can’t believe he did this to him. Like a cat begrudgingly being pet, loving it and unwilling to admit it.
“I’m in your plans after school?” Now that Izuku knows he has this, he’s going to take it and run. He’ll be as gross and in love as he wants.
From this close, he can see the faint smears at the corners of Kacchan’s eyes. Kacchan is always handsome, well-groomed and priding himself on it, so Izuku can tell he’s tired when he slacks off with removing his eyeliner.
Izuku brushes the pad of his thumb along the dark streak above his cheekbone, and Kacchan leans into it. “Izuku,” he says, “you’re in all my plans.”
He kisses him because he can’t not, and because he really, really wants to. They’ve kissed a hundred, maybe a thousand times before, but each one still shocks him, the way he opens up and preens beneath Kacchan’s mouth. Even when Izuku initiates, Kacchan is overwhelming.
He cups the back of Izuku’s neck, sweet and reassuring at first until he pulls him in like a claim, tips his head back to kiss him for real.
Oh, Izuku dreams about this. He dreams about it, even when it’s already reality.
“Kacchan,” he whispers over a stuttering breath. Kacchan’s bracer arm is the only thing keeping them up now because Izuku has both arms around his neck. Even then, Izuku feels Kacchan’s fingers flex across the sand and press into his thigh, demanding to be closer and closer. Izuku wants it, too, to be felt all over. His skin heats up at the promise of it. “Kacchan.”
Kacchan pulls back just enough that Izuku sees his eyes go dark in the moonlight. “Yeah, baby?” A kiss at the corner of his mouth, then two.
“I want a beach house with you,” he says unintelligently. He doesn’t care.
Kacchan runs a warm hand up his thigh, squeezes his hip. “Maybe an apartment first.”
“Okay,” he breathes.
“Wait–okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you drunk ?”
Izuku is frankly too keyed up to be offended, but he is annoyed that Kacchan is doing this rather than kissing him. “No. I’d move in with you right now if we weren’t stuck in a dorm.”
Kacchan glares, like a glare of a thousand handsome suns, and says, “You better fuckin’ remember this conversation in the morning.”
Izuku kisses the scowl off his face, content, entirely happy to get lost in this: beneath the stars, by the sea, his boyfriend’s tongue in his mouth. It’s perfect. “After graduation?” he asks, suddenly smiling so big that their teeth might knock together.
Kacchan is strong everywhere, and Izuku revels in that. Wide shoulders, the firm set of his jaw, his sharp, sharp mouth. He’s never held Izuku like he’s fragile, but when he looks at him like this, it’s purely tender. It cracks at Izuku’s already open heart. “Whatever you want, baby,” he murmurs. His thumb and finger cradle Izuku’s jaw like a reassurance. “Whenever.”
The implication crushes the air out of his lungs, but not in a way that he’s used to, like he’s dying. He’s moving in with Kacchan. Kacchan wants to live with him, Kacchan wants to be around him more than he has to. His heart flip-flops its way up to his throat, escapes in a little gasp that interrupts their kiss.
Kacchan shakes a little, too, and Izuku swings his leg over him, crawls into his lap. He pets down Kacchan’s chest, feels just lightly for the pacemaker with his fingertips like he’s paying reverence. Kacchan doesn’t like it, and the sight of it makes Izuku ache–hollow and pitted. But it kept Kacchan alive, and it keeps him safe. In six months, they’ll remove it, and it will blend with the rest of his scars.
“Izuku,” Kacchan warns, when his fingers go lower, brushing over a nipple.
“What?” He plays coy, but the dirty look Kacchan throws at him says he isn’t buying it. Even then, Kacchan grips his waist tightly to pull him closer and Izuku’s heart sings in victory. Got ‘em.
He settles in Kacchan’s lap, his most comfortable spot in the world. In this position, he’s just a little taller and it’s Kacchan who has to look up at him. In wonder and devotion, those eyes roam over his face and Izuku feels drunk off power. His seat across Kacchan’s thighs is a throne, filling him with confidence he doesn’t actually have.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
Izuku hides in his neck, embarrassment seizing his chest. Kacchan laughs. Izuku bites him.
“Hey– ow , fuck–”
“You did that on purpose,” Izuku says.
“No, you are beautiful, you stupid shit,” Kacchan says. He pulls at the root of Izuku’s hair– oh –to get him to look at him. Not the most romantic thing he’s ever said, but Izuku sees that dusty red flush across his cheeks and knows it’s true. “Been thinking it all day.”
Even as his body responds, rocking closer in Kacchan’s lap and watching him huff, his brain takes its sweet time wrapping around the thought. That Kacchan would look at him and want him, too, the same as Izuku’s been feeling.
The crimson of Kacchan’s irises have been blackened out. A hand leaves his waist to feel the fresh bite on his neck. “You’re a brat,” he murmurs.
But yours , Izuku’s brain supplies. Your brat. Tomorrow, people will see a dark smudge on Kacchan’s neck and know he did it, but the thrill wins over the shame.
Kacchan pulls him in closer by the waist, looks up at him with his lips parted like an offering. Izuku falls naturally into it, as he always does with Kacchan, licking desperately into his mouth. Big hands run up his thighs, squeezing so close to where he wants him, and confirming what Izuku’s always suspected–Kacchan likes him a little needy, and a little sloppy.
He grows bolder. This time, Kacchan doesn’t warn him off when Izuku’s hands wander beneath the open jacket, feeling down his chest. Pressing over the ribs there, he can feel Kacchan’s shuddery exhale as one hand dips lower to tease at that damn happy trail he’s been thinking about for hours. Kacchan’s stomach twitches against his finger, and it lights up every neuron in his brain.
Kacchan doesn’t miss a single thing with Izuku. He reaches around to squeeze his ass, says into his mouth, “Been thinking about this all day, too,” and tugs sharply so his hips snap into his belly. Entirely on impulse, he grinds against Kacchan’s front and feels his dick jump in interest. He’s half-hard already through their clothes, but Izuku can do better.
He plants his knees into the soft sand and runs his hands over Kacchan’s shoulders so the jacket falls off. He rubs himself against Kacchan’s cock, watches as Kacchan’s mouth falls open and his stomach flexes, and– yeah . Izuku moans, and Kacchan’s grip tightens hard enough to bruise. God, he wants that, slides himself on Kacchan’s length, chasing the need for Kacchan’s hands to leave marks all over him.
“Fuck, Izuku ,” Kacchan says, and Izuku loves that he sounds nearly undone. A short raggedy breath, “Baby, god, look at you, so fucking pretty–”
He’s high off it. He moans, almost too loud, too lewdly, and then he realises the heartbeat skipping in his chest is an addictive feeling, too. Kacchan holds him tighter, their mouths slip off the other’s and he mutters against his jaw, “What, you shy now?”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, coming out high-pitched and whiny, “don’t be mean.”
“You ask for it.”
Yeah, he does. Kacchan’s big even when soft, and the feel of him fully hard has Izuku’s mouth watering. He ruts against him, the bulge in those freaking teal-green board shorts catching on his own cock, but it’s not enough. He’s leaking already as it is, because Kacchan always gets him like this. His mouth, his hands, his dick, Izuku’s smothered in the feeling of them all; hot all over, but he wants to burn in it.
Kacchan’s lashes are clumpy and wet, mouth slick with spit. He smiles, but it’s so heavy with arousal that it comes out more like a breathy noise. For some reason, it’s the tip of his nose that Izuku kisses before he decides he needs to suck his dick.
He palms at the bulge in his shorts, gasping when it swells further in his hand. Flash of desire igniting in his gut, he pops the button and barely has to pull him out. He’s so hard, it bobs back on its own. Izuku licks his lips, filled with anticipation just looking at it.
“Hey, where are you– Izuku ,” Kacchan groans, as Izuku wiggles down his body and wraps his lips around Kacchan’s cock. It tastes like salt.
His mouth stretches around him, and the pull is what makes him go feral all over. He sinks down, trying to take all of him in–he’s been practicing because he wants . Kacchan tells him not to pressure himself but if Izuku’s being honest, it’s not entirely about his boyfriend’s pleasure. Izuku wants to take all of it in his mouth for himself , the idea that Kacchan could stuff him lip to throat. To press his nose against that happy trail, and breathe him in, oh, Izuku could die happy.
He tries again, gags and goes lightheaded. Kacchan tips his head back and groans, allowing Izuku to do whatever the hell he wants. His brain is running totally on empty, a constant itch and scratch cycle. The weight of Kacchan’s silky cock on his tongue hits the need right where it lives.
He digs his knees in and sticks his ass out, because he thinks Kacchan likes it and judging by the iron grip he has on Izuku’s neck, yeah, he does. The first few months, Kacchan never used the bracer arm with him until Izuku told him, stammering, that he wanted to feel it. Now it’s like a reassurance when it grabs his nape, the root of his hair.
Izuku knows that from this angle, they’re so much more obvious. So obviously not just making out. Kacchan says as much, pulling Izuku off him. Izuku used to mistake that look in his eyes for fury, now he knows that Kacchan is just really, really turned on. “You fuckin’ getting off on this?”
Izuku licks a stripe along the head of his cock, then suckles at it. The response comes in a twitch against his tongue, and Kacchan’s sharp inhale.
“God, you’re a little freak.”
“Are you not into it?” he teases, and Kacchan huffs. Stroking languidly up and down his length, giving his jaw a break, mouthing at Kacchan’s balls. He sucks one into his mouth. It tightens against his lip, and Kacchan strokes down his neck. Possessive and protective.
He’s into it. Izuku knows he is, because he’s so hard that his cock bobs against Izuku’s cheek. Beautiful, wet with Izuku’s spit, he lets it slide down to his lips then sticks his tongue out flat to catch some of the drool. The muscles in his jaw still burn, but he doesn’t care. He fits his mouth around him once more, bobs down again as far as he can go and looks up.
The way Kacchan is looking at him now, he wants him to look that way at him forever. Adoration, desire, hunger. “Holy shit, you really are getting off on this– ah— what is it, huh?” Kacchan’s voice is hoarse with restraint, “That some nobody would see you taking cock this good–”
Izuku moans around him, and Kacchan acts like he’s been punched in the gut. Over the arousal, he still pets around Izuku’s neck, thumb at the edge of his lips. “God, sweetheart, your fuckin’ mouth …” A squirm, like he wants to fit more past those lips, “You want someone else seein’ at you like this?”
Izuku ruts against the sand in frustration. Cold flashes over the front of his shorts as the wind blows, damp and sticky.
The grin on Kacchan’s face is knowing. Devastatingly handsome. Having read Izuku better than even Izuku does, he says, “Nah, you want someone to watch you taking your Kacchan, yeah, that it?”
Izuku makes a noise helplessly—but oh so happily—and tries to nod but the heft of him sticks in his mouth. The hand at his neck holds him down till the back of his throat feels it, but Izuku knows he can move any time. He just really doesn’t want to.
“Nobody else,” Kacchan says, and Izuku reaches for his other hand, palms and fingers sliding close, “they can look if that’s what your freak brain wants, but no one else gets to have you—gettin’ you drooling for cock like this, I’d kill ‘em.”
It’s probably not healthy that this is what makes Izuku’s jaw go slack, have his mouth suddenly dry—but he’ll think about it later. Intertwining their fingers, an insistent whine from the back of his throat, Kacchan knows. He’s close and from the way Kacchan’s thighs shake he can tell he’s close too.
Hit with the sudden want—to know the same goes for Kacchan, that only he gets to have Kacchan like this—Izuku hooks an arm around that meaty thigh and sinks deeper. His and only his; he wants Kacchan’s cock memorised in the shape of his mouth. The length of him throbs inside his cheeks as Izuku chokes.
“Oh, fuck ,” Kacchan says. When Izuku looks up, it’s to his dark gaze. Don’t, please never look away from me , he wants to plead. “Izuku, baby,” it sounds guttural and Izuku gets off on it, “I’m close—“
The warning’s cute but Kacchan knows how he likes it. Izuku takes to it, drools all over the satin skin and down his balls, bobs up and down—there’s a shake, and he realises it’s Kacchan groaning, loud like it was ripped out of him, and it’s so hot it makes Izuku dizzy. He grips him tighter, sucks him down good like he could get him in his soul, brain chanting uselessly mine, mine, mine—
The warm rush that spurts in his mouth is good; even better is the salt, the way Kacchan shuts his eyes and tenses, muscles flexed under Izuku’s rough hands. He’s not fast enough to swallow it all, and it slicks past his lips and down his chin.
Izuku pulls off: to breathe, and to lick at the head of Kacchan’s cock, where some of it still pearls at the tip. It twitches again, so sensitive.
Dazed, breathing hard, Kacchan stares down at him in awe. He reaches for him—“get up here”—and Izuku might only be so pliant because his head’s still in a rush. He did this, he made Kacchan feel that good.
“Did so good, baby,” Kacchan murmurs, kissing him. He doesn’t care about the cum on his lips, doesn’t even pretend to wipe it off. Licking into Izuku’s mouth, he palms at the front of his shorts, says, “Lemme do this, god, I love you …”
Maybe it’s the way he’d been sliding frantically on the sand, or how biting the air was—realistically, it’s probably just that it’s Kacchan—but when Kacchan pulls him out, wraps one huge, warm hand around him, the contrast has him spinning. His gut twinges, hips stutter, and Izuku’s whining before he even realises it. Overcome with the intensity of his affection, the heat and skin around him, it siphons the air out of his lungs. Drops him over the edge with a swoop and—
A flash and bang and he ruts, moaning so loudly it burns through his throat. His knees jerk in the sand and he claws up and down Kacchan’s shoulders because he’s actually going to get torn straight from his body, “ Katsuki, oh my god—“
“Holy shit,” Kacchan says, so far away it’s like the words have to float into his brain.
Izuku blinks, and sobers so fast he physically feels the ocean air plummet around him. They both look down to see his cum all over Kacchan’s wrist and belly.
Izuku is going to die, mortified.
Kacchan brings it to his lips, sucks a stripe off one finger. His eyes don’t leave Izuku’s face, and the shame wriggles into something else. “Izuku, if I could actually get hard again, I swear.”
He blooms. Kacchan cleans the cum off his hand with his tongue then uses that same hand to swipe at the tear tracks on Izuku’s face. “Ah, Kacchan , gross—“
“You’re saying that now.” He teases, with a fond tone and that soft touch brushing over his cheek. “That was really hot, nerd.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Izuku bumps their still oversensitive cocks together and Kacchan hisses. “Thank you,” he says, into Kacchan’s neck.
He feels more than hears Kacchan’s laugh. “Thanks for letting you suck my dick? Oh, yeah, no fuckin’ problem.” A hand snakes around to cup his ass. They both still have their shorts on—too much of a haste to even pull them all the way down—but Kacchan reflexively feels for the dip and it sends a little jolt down Izuku’s toes.
He breathes out slow. “When we get back on Monday,” His hands run down the sticky happy trail, find the base of Kacchan’s still soft cock, “can I have this again?”
“Yeah,” Kacchan breathes, “gonna make you feel good. Didn’t get to—“
“I felt really good,” Izuku admits, blushing. After all he’s done tonight, he can still go redder.
Kacchan’s eyes drop, and go half-lidded. “You’re a little freak,” he says, with absolutely no bite. He sounds like he loves it, actually.
Izuku’s heart goes thwop, thwop, thwop as the intensity around them floats into a sweet, tender calm. He looks upon Kacchan’s face, at the pale lashes and the sunburnt tip of his nose and wonders how he’s going to deal with this: the need to keep Kacchan inside him. A seep right in and stick to his ribs, stay forever, sacred kind of want.
Kacchan seems to understand this, or Izuku will trust that he does. The control of his support bracer has become impeccable, and he uses it to trace a stray tear from Izuku’s face. So, so loving—
Izuku ducks and rolls in the sand, noiseless. Kacchan throws an arm over him and Izuku turns his head to the side to see a wild, suspicious look in Kacchan’s eyes.
“Who the fuck—“
“Shh,” he hisses.
Kacchan glares at him. How dare you shush me , that look says. Then, he cranes his neck, peeks out from under the beach umbrella to look. They both heard it, the rustling from the footpath. Kacchan pulls a face.
“What?”
“My fucking god—“
“What?” Izuku presses.
Kacchan’s scowl gets worse, and it should ruin his face but he’s still annoyingly handsome. Izuku rolls his eyes, and looks for himself, sees the pink flip-flops and those freaking dad loafers. Kacchan’s foot runs down the bone of his ankle just as Iida steps into Ochako’s space.
“Crap.”
Kacchan snickers. Then there’s a breathy sigh that isn’t from either of them and they both cringe. Izuku shuts his eyes tight hoping he awakens some other secret quirk that can teleport him—oh, he’ll Gearshift them out of here if he has to. Kacchan’s discomfort manifests as him squeezing Izuku’s wrist tight, every sound coming from that direction sounding frankly more indecent than it probably is.
“We need to stand.”
“No.”
“Izuku, I’m not listening to those two losers hook up!”
“Oh god—“
“Stand up and let ‘em know—wait, they might be into the same shit you’re into.”
Izuku shoulder checks him under the beach umbrella and it jostles just a little. Iida and Ochako carry on, wet smacking noises that heat him up to the tips of his ears. “Don’t tease me right now—“
“Oh, shit, does that get you off, too?”
“Kacchan,” he says, barely restrained, lunging like he’s gonna jump him. Kacchan’s laugh is quiet but he sees it in the tremble of his shoulders and Izuku wants to sock him in the face.
“Can’t resist, you suck cock like a champ and then blush all pretty—“
He swears Kacchan is trying to get him hard again. Belly down, he tries to bury his face in the beach blanket. “Stop, oh my god, stop—“
“No,” Kacchan reaches across his back and Izuku jerks thinking he’s gonna grab his ass. An eye roll—he deserved that one—then Kacchan flips something over in his hands, says, “You drive me crazy when you look like that—“ he shakes his head, peeks over the umbrella with one eye shut tight like he’s picturing cross-hares on a target, “—which is all the fucking time, by the way, face like that and you have the nerve to eye-fuck me in public.”
Kacchan throws the pebble so hard, it acts like a grenade, kicking up sand around it. Ochako squeaks but Iida doesn’t make a single noise, just grabs her and books it into the greenery behind the house. So fast, they can only tell because there’s a cartoonish trail of fine sandy dust trailing after them.
Izuku blinks. Wow, he really could run even in those loafers.
Kacchan smirks. “Don’t worry, babe, I took care of it.”
“You’re terrible.”
“If I had to lie here listening to either of ‘em finish, we’d need an extra year of therapy so,” Kacchan pokes Izuku in the chest, “I saved you.”
There’s … there’s a point there, but Izuku’s not entirely sure it merited nearly giving his best friends a heart attack. While he runs that over in his hand, Kacchan makes sure the coast is clear then stands, brushing the sand off his thighs. He pulls Izuku up then plops a kiss on his forehead, weirdly innocent for what they just did.
Maybe it is okay they—okay, no , Kacchan is hypnotising him with his sharp grin and soft hands and his enormous dick.
Kacchan can see he’s unconvinced. “Okay, how ‘bout this: we have two more nights left here, you really think you’d survive that?” He cups Izuku’s face, “You? Looking Cheeks in the eye, when you know what she and Glasses—“
Izuku relents. “Okay, fine.”
“Heh. See this is why I said no fucking in front of the extras.”
He pouts, but slips his hand into Kacchan’s anyway—ugh, still sticky, they need a dip in the sea.
Kacchan reads his mind, and tosses his jacket toward the dry part of the shore while they wade in. The water is a teeth-chattering kind of cold but Izuku thinks he’d rather put up with it than walk back into that house with a cum stain on his shorts.
So, maybe Kacchan was right. About the not fucking in front of their friends part. But later, after they run back to the shore, goose pimpled all over, Kacchan pretends he’s not cold and throws the jacket around Izuku’s shoulder and Izuku thinks that he doesn’t care. It’s worth it. Whatever the price is, it’s worth it.
-
The rest of the weekend goes by so slowly and so blissfully. Mina insists on gathering every single one of them around for at least one sunset together and Iida makes a stiff toast that dissolves into him getting emotional over the gift of friendship. It’s weird, but Izuku cries anyway.
Ochako pulls him aside on the last day to tell him she thinks they’re dating.
“What!!” Izuku says, “No way!!”
She squints. Ah, he overshot the enthusiasm. Forget dying from embarrassment, she’s actually going to kill him right here and now.
“That was you wasn’t it, with the coconut—“
Once again, loud, from across the carpark: “It was a pebble.“
“Kacchan!”
Ochako whirls around, somehow threatening in her little crochet camisole and froggy sunglasses. “Midoriya Izuku!”
“I’m sooo happy for you,” Izuku says, maybe using Fa Jin just a little bit to escape her reach. He doesn’t have the time to get floated away right now! Kacchan’s waiting for him by the SUV. “I love you both sooo much,” he calls.
Ochako shakes her fist at him, but he’s already made it to Kacchan’s side. He feels immediately safer like they’re playing capture the flag and he’s the immunity zone.
Kacchan grins, slings an arm around his waist. “Imagine if you had to deal with that all weekend.”
“Yeah, we get it, you’re right all the time,” Izuku sighs.
“Mm.” The sun sets behind Kacchan’s head and he looks inhuman. Bathed in this buttery golden glow, like there’s actually a halo around him. All tan skin, board shorts low on his hips, hair pushed back with a pair of aviators. “Hey,” he flicks Izuku on the forehead.
“Huh?”
“I said navigate , dipshit.”
Right, right. Kaminari had begged to trade cars because Kacchan threatened to strap him to the roof next time he had him make a wrong turn (“You wanna get struck by real lightning?”). Izuku likes to think he has a decent sense of direction, so he’ll be fine. Or, at least, he likes to think he’s the best at keeping Kacchan happy.
He slides into the passenger seat, and sets his phone up while Kacchan starts the car. The screen buffers. Kacchan’s hand rests on the console, hand just brushing Izuku’s bare thigh.
Kacchan pulls out of the carpark, saying, “Keep your eyes on the screen, nerd, my face isn’t gonna fuckin’ tell you where we’re going.”
Behind them, Mina’s tucked into Kirishima’s side already with her sleep mask on, ready for the long ride. The road from the beach house goes on forever. It’s lonely except for their convoy, but Kacchan takes his job so seriously, two hands on the wheel and looking straight ahead. Taking care of them, when he goes to such great lengths to pretend he doesn’t like it.
The sun glares and Kacchan flips his sunglasses down over his eyes. Izuku sighs, falling further and further into him. His phone lights some roads up orange-red as a traffic warning, but he ignores it. As long as he’s riding shotgun with Kacchan, they can take the long way home.