Archive of Our Own

Izuku fumbles with his keys in one hand as he reaches for his apartment door—

—and freezes.

It’s already unlocked.

Weird. That’s… weird, right? He always locks it. Always. It’s muscle memory at this point: grab phone, wallet, keys, lock the door, double-check, triple check, then rush out like his life depends on it. 

Did he skip a step this morning? Was he that tired? No. He remembers locking it. He even paused in the hallway to re-check it after hearing that weird creak from the stairwell. He knows he locked it.

So why the hell is it unlocked now?

His hand stills on the knob. His heart picks up just a bit, thumping with the familiar rhythm of impending doom.

Did someone break in?

There’s no sign of damage. No scratches, no busted lock, no subtleties that indicate it’s been forced. But that doesn’t mean anything. It could’ve been someone with a quirk, someone skilled. Someone dangerous.

The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

Okay, not too quiet. It’s an apartment building, not a horror movie. But still.

He narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on the handle, shoulders tensing like they’re prepping for a fight. Just in case.

Okay. Deep breath.

He turns the knob, pushes the door open, and steps inside.

And there, in the middle of his kitchen, is—

Oh.

It’s Kacchan.

And he’s shirtless. Wearing nothing but some gym shorts and a crookedly tied apron. Standing at Izuku’s very own kitchen counter, a mixing bowl tucked under one arm, whisking with the kind of laser focus he usually reserves for hostage rescues.

Izuku’s brain short-circuits. For a second, he just stares.

Any lingering anxiety bleeds out of him in an instant. His shoulders sag, breath escaping in a soft, incredulous huff. He drops his backpack with a dull thud and kicks off his shoes without looking, gaze still locked on the vision before him like it's a mirage that might disappear.

Katsuki looks up at the sound. His eyes go wide.

“Shit,” he mutters, clutching the bowl a little tighter. “I thought you weren’t getting back for a couple more hours.”

Izuku forces his legs to move, shrugging off his blazer and hanging it up with the same muscle memory he used to doubt the break-in. “Surprise,” he says, voice warm and a little dazed. He crosses the room and leans in, pressing a slow kiss to Katsuki’s cheek, soft, almost hesitant, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, brow raised, but his voice stays gentle. “I thought a thief broke in. And I thought we weren’t going out ‘til eight.”

Katsuki groans, dropping the whisk into the bowl, gesturing vaguely. “Wanted to surprise you,” he mutters, cheeks just barely tinged pink as he looks away. “I know you wanted to go out or whatever, but I figured I’d make something too.”

Izuku grins, nudging him with a foot. “You figured?” he echoes, teasing. “And what exactly are you making?” He reaches for the bowl, their fingers brushing, and something in his chest lurches at the contact. “Also… Where’d you even get a mixing bowl? I definitely don’t own one.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and tugs it back. “It’s mine. I brought it.”

“Oh,” Izuku says, blinking. That shouldn't be as cute as it is. And yet.

“And…” Katsuki glances away again, then meets his eyes, smirking this time. “I’m making a cake,” he says, setting the bowl down on the counter with a heavy thunk. He steps in closer. “Happy birthday, nerd.”

Izuku blinks once. Then again.

His mouth stretches into a grin, but there’s a tiny wobble at the edges now, and the sting in his eyes creeps up fast.

“Are you gonna fuckin’ cry—”

“That’s so nice, Kacchan!” Izuku wails, voice cracking, tears spilling almost immediately. “You— you’re baking a cake… for me?”

Katsuki lets out a long groan, but there’s panic under it. And softness. He drags the side of his hand across Izuku’s cheeks, rough but careful.

“Fuck. Don’t cry. Please. Not on your birthday.”

Izuku hiccups, grinning through it, eyes shiny and red. “I’m just—” hic “—so grateful. This is so nice,” he says again. 

Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a cake, Izuku.”

“It’s Kacchan’s cake!” Izuku insists, flailing one hand toward him, the other toward the bowl. “I get to eat Kacchan’s cake!”

Katsuki stares at him.

“I… Uh…” He blinks. “Yeah.”

Izuku sniffs, swiping at his face with the back of his hand. Then, without warning, he grabs Katsuki’s face in both hands and peppers three quick kisses against his cheek.

“I love you so much,” he says brightly, still a little damp-eyed, beaming like the sun. “Can I help?”

Katsuki blinks. “With the baking?”

Izuku nods, far too eagerly. “Mhm. Please let me help. Please teach me how to handle your batter properly. I’m a really fast learner.”

Katsuki chokes.

“I— what the fuck—” He rubs the back of his neck, red from the ears down. “I was trying to do this for you.”

“Please,” Izuku begs, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. His lip wobbles in what he thinks is a cute little pout. It’s usually criminally effective. “It would be the best birthday gift ever to bake with you.”

Katsuki groans like he’s in actual pain, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine,” he mutters. “But don’t touch anything unless I say to.”

Izuku lights up like a kid who just got their favorite rare keychain from a gacha machine on the first try. “Yes!” he chirps, pumping his fist in the air. “What can I do?!”

Katsuki eyes the counter, squinting at the lineup of supplies. “Well… we still need to add a few more wet ingredients.”

Izuku nods solemnly, suddenly very serious. “Got it,” he says. “I’m excellent with wet ingredients.”

Katsuki pauses. Visibly hesitates. Then looks skyward, like he’s praying for strength.

“Don’t say that shit,” he mutters.

Izuku blinks innocently. “What?”

Katsuki narrows his eyes at him. Another sigh leaves his chest. Long. Suffering. And it makes Izuku’s heart flutter all over again.

Without another word, Katsuki passes Izuku a carton of milk. “Measure out two hundred milliliters.”

Izuku straightens like he’s just been given a sacred task. “Yes, chef,” he says automatically, biting back a smile when Katsuki glares at him.

He turns to the measuring cup, gripping the carton with both hands like it might explode if he’s not careful. He unscrews the cap then starts pouring, slow and steady, brows furrowed, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

He’s aware, vaguely, that he probably looks like an idiot. But he doesn’t care. He wants this to be perfect. It has to be. Kacchan’s perfect, so blindingly perfect in every way, and if Izuku’s going to stand beside him like this, doing something so achingly cozy and domesticated and intimate, then he has to get it right. He needs to. He wants to match Katsuki’s effort. His care. His hands. His thoughtful surprise. He wants to be good at this. Good for him . Because somehow, impossibly, Katsuki chose him, and Izuku’s still not sure how he’s supposed to carry that kind of miracle.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki groans beside him. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Izuku flicks his eyes over, still focused on the pour. “Gotta go slow and careful,” he murmurs. “Or else it’ll all just... gush out.”

Katsuki makes a choked coughing sound.

Izuku doesn’t notice.

He tips the carton a little more, watching the milk crawl up towards the surface. Almost there... He stops the pour exactly at 200 mL and lights up.

“See? That’s how you do it.” He tilts the little container, admiring the way the milk curves along the edge. “Just look at the way it kisses the rim!”

He looks up, proud as hell.

Katsuki just blinks at him.

Izuku tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Katsuki mutters, snatching the cup out of his hands. “Just… Jesus.”

He pours the milk into the bowl, biceps flexing just slightly with the movement. Not that Izuku’s watching. Not on purpose, anyway.

His chest feels warm. Full. There’s flour on the counter and batter on Katsuki’s arm and he doesn’t know what kind of life he thought he’d have, but he never imagined it would feel like this .

“What’s next?” He asks, eager.

“Oil,” Katsuki replies, shoving the bottle into Izuku’s space without looking.

Izuku takes it carefully and measures it out. He triple-checks the measurement before handing the cup back.

Katsuki accepts it without comment, pours it into the bowl, and starts whisking again. For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then he stops.

Looks up.

And just… stares.

At Izuku.

Long and unreadable.

Izuku blinks. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next. He wasn’t given an instruction. There are no next steps in front of him. 

There is only the faint slickness of oil on his fingertips, and Katsuki’s eyes fixed on him like he’s watching something inevitable happen.

Izuku rubs his fingertips together, lifting his hand. “Uh… can you pass me a paper towel?” he asks, sheepish. “My fingers got kinda slippery.”

Katsuki stiffens. Just slightly.

He doesn’t say anything, just grabs a sheet from the roll behind him and hands it over. His gaze stays locked somewhere to the left of Izuku’s face. Like he’s trying not to make eye contact.

Izuku wipes his hands carefully. “Thanks,” he says, then glances up, only to find Katsuki a little pink in the cheeks.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Katsuki shoots him a look, eyes narrowed.

Izuku blinks again, totally blanking. “Doing what?”

Katsuki stares at him. Just stares. 

Izuku stares back, eyebrows slowly knitting together, trying to scan the situation. Was he supposed to do something different? Did he mess up the oil? Was it the paper towel?

He shifts his weight. “Did I mess something up?”

Katsuki presses his lips together, takes a breath, and turns back to the batter without a word. The whisk starts moving again, sharper this time. Less gentle folding, more pent-up aggression.

Izuku watches him for a second longer, still confused, still smiling a little. 

It’s fine. He’s always like this.

The tension melts right off Izuku’s back.

He crumples the paper towel, tosses it in the trash, and drifts closer to peer into the bowl like he knows what he’s looking at. He really doesn’t. But the kitchen is warm and the air smells sweet and Kacchan is here. And that’s enough.

Katsuki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Eggs are next.” He opens the carton. “You wanna crack ‘em or should I?”

“I’ll do it!” Izuku offers immediately. “I’ve been practicing.”

Katsuki raises a brow. “You’ve been practicing… cracking eggs.”

“Yeah.” Izuku nods, dead serious, as he picks one up. “I looked it up. It’s all about pressure and angle.”

He taps the egg gently on the counter. Then again, just a little firmer. “See? You don’t wanna hit it too hard or it gets all messy. It’s about controlled pressure.”

Katsuki says nothing.

With a clean snap, the shell breaks open and the yolk slides out in one smooth motion, landing perfectly in the bowl. 

Izuku beams. “Yes! Clean split,” he grins, proudly holding up the empty shell. “It’s kind of satisfying when it just opens up like that, right?”

Katsuki makes a noise. It might have once been a word. It might also have been a slow internal death. Hard to tell.

Izuku, proud and utterly oblivious, grabs a second egg and repeats the motion. Another clean break.

He beams. “Can I stir it?”

Katsuki groans. “This was supposed to be my treat to you. And now you’re doing everything.”

Izuku blinks, guilt flashing across his face. “Oh— sorry. You’re right. You finish it. I’ll just…” He steps back from the bowl, pressing his hands together and leaning against the counter like a kid in time-out. “I’ll watch.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes again and grabs the whisk, moving it through the batter in lazy circles. His brow furrows, but his focus is off— it’s like his hands are moving on autopilot while his brain’s a few steps behind.

Izuku watches him fondly, heart so full it aches a little. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

Because, god, he’s so grateful.

So completely, devastatingly in love with this man.

His gorgeous, wonderful, amazing boyfriend. Stood here in his tiny kitchen. Half-naked. Carefully mixing cake batter like this is normal.  Like Izuku deserves this kind of tenderness.

He lets out a soft, wistful sigh before he can stop it.

“What?” Katsuki snaps, not looking up. “You okay?”

“I’m amazing,” Izuku says instantly. He pushes off the counter, stepping in closer. “And so are you.”

His voice is soft. Honest. He doesn’t even try to hide the look in his eyes.

Katsuki pushes him back firmly with one flour-dusted hand. “Shut up.”

“Aw, don’t be mean. It’s my day.”

Katsuki scoffs, brushing past him to set the bowl aside and grab the cake pan. He pours the batter in evenly, tapping the bottom of the pan with practiced ease.

Izuku turns as Katsuki steps past him again, this time to crouch in front of the oven. He opens the door and leans down to slide the cake in, one hand holding the pan, the other braced against the edge of the counter for balance.

And Izuku… Izuku absolutely does not mean to stare. But.

But Katsuki is bent forward in front of him. Shirtless. Apron riding up just slightly over the curve of his hips. His back muscles shift with every small movement, taut and smooth and infuriatingly well-defined, and Izuku’s gaze drifts lower before he can stop it.

Down past the ridges of his spine. Past the dip of his waist, so unfairly small, cinched just right where the apron strings tie. It’s like his whole body tapers in perfectly just to be rude. Izuku swallows.

His brain promptly short-circuits.

His thoughts spiral into a mess of wow , and he’s so pretty , and I’m literally going to die here in my own kitchen surrounded by cake batter and domestic bliss and Kacchan’s actual ass.

He feels hot. Like stupidly, inappropriately warm for someone who just watched their boyfriend put a cake in the oven.

The oven beeps . The door closes. Katsuki stands back up and turns around—

Izuku is just staring .

“You good?” Katsuki asks, squinting at him.

Izuku blinks, flustered, scrambling to act normal.“Y-yeah! Just. Taking it all in.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow.

“The moment,” Izuku adds quickly, possibly lying. “Taking in the moment. You know. This. Us. Together. Baking.”

Katsuki gives him a long, skeptical look. “You’re so fuckin’ weird.”

Izuku grins, cheeks a little pink. “You like that about me.”

“Maybe,” Katsuki admits, looking away.

And Izuku doesn’t know what to do with that. With him. Because no matter how long they’ve been dating, no matter how many times he’s been kissed or touched or looked at like he’s something precious, every single admission still hits him like a truck. Every confession knocks the wind out of him in the softest, most ridiculous way.

His heart does a little flippy thing. His stomach swoops. He feels weirdly breathless, like he might actually combust just from being liked out loud.

It’s embarrassing.

It’s perfect.

Katsuki moves back to the counter and starts pulling out more ingredients.

“What are you making now?” Izuku asks, still slightly dazed.

Katsuki measures out some powdered sugar. “Frosting,” he says flatly.

“Oh, right,” Izuku nods, like that was obvious.

He steps back and watches in silence as Katsuki works. His movements are smooth, focused. Pouring, folding, stirring. The milk disappears into the butter, the vanilla hits the bowl, and it’s like watching something sacred. Like alchemy. Something ordinary being turned into art.

Izuku doesn’t even know how long he’s standing there, entranced by the sound of the whisk scraping the bowl.

When the mixture starts to look done, he drifts in closer, almost without thinking, and presses up behind Katsuki. Just lightly, enough to rest his chin on his shoulder.

“Is it done?”

Katsuki glances back at him, still stirring. “Not yet. Gotta add the food coloring.”

Izuku hums in response.

Katsuki reaches for the red bottle and adds a few drops. The color begins to bloom slowly into the frosting with every turn of the whisk.

“Red’s my favorite,” Izuku says, smiling softly.

“I know,” Katsuki mutters. “Why is that, anyway?”

Izuku chuckles. “Wanna guess?”

“Not really,” Katsuki scoffs.

Izuku rolls his eyes and pinches Katsuki’s hip, grinning when he jolts with a yelp. “C’monnnn!”

Katsuki groans, swatting him away as he turns around to face him properly, arms crossing over his chest. “Well, it’s the color of your fuckass shoes.”

Izuku laughs. “Well, yes. That’s not the reason though.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes like he’s deep in thought, then breaks into a grin that could only be described as hellish. “The color of the blood of your enemies.”

Izuku’s eyes go wide. “No, Kacchan! Geez, no.” He shoves his shoulder playfully, still laughing.

“Hm.” Katsuki taps his foot, impatient. “It’s probably some stupid reason. Some nerdy shit like… Like your favorite color is the way the light reflected off All Might’s bronze age hero costume on the day he saved a golden retriever from a burning building.”

Izuku grins. “That’s a very thoughtful guess. But no.”

Katsuki groans, exasperated. “Just fucking tell me already.”

He’s looking at Izuku now, irritated, yeah. But also with something else underneath. A little bit of pleading. Curiosity. Softness. That flicker of vulnerability that Izuku’s convinced he’s the only person alive who gets to see this close, this clear, this often.

And, god. Those eyes. 

Those ridiculous, beautiful, painfully red eyes.

Izuku’s seen them furious, burning with heat and fury and something that used to scare him. He’s seen them determined, set like flint right before a fight. He’s seen them glassy with tears, quiet and wet in the dark.

He’s seen them crinkle around the edges from laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

He knows the way that color shifts. How in the sunlight they go almost orange, like flame. How in the dark, they burn low and warm. How sometimes, in moments like this, they soften into something he doesn’t even have a name for. Something fragile and human and so heartbreakingly beautiful it makes Izuku feel like crying.

Those eyes have hated him. Feared him. Respected him. Loved him.

And somehow they’re still looking at him now.

Katsuki kicks him lightly in the shin. “Hello. Earth to Deku.”

Izuku blinks and shakes his head like he’s been woken from a dream.

“You gonna tell me?” Katsuki asks again, voice a little quieter this time.

Izuku smiles. “No.”

Katsuki clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the bowl of frosting. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, if you insist—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay,” Izuku smiles obediently, backing off and resigning himself to leaning against the counter again, easily content to just watch Katsuki mix the frosting.

“Shit,” Katsuki mutters, frowning down into the bowl.

Izuku pushes off the counter and steps closer. “What is it?”

“The dye isn’t taking. It’s pink.” Katsuki sighs, shoulders slumping a little.

Izuku catches the disappointment in his voice immediately and scrambles to fix it. “It’s fine. Really.” He nods, too hard, probably. “Pink is good. It’s great, actually!”

Katsuki turns to him slowly, leveling him with the most aggravated glare known to man.

Izuku waves his hands like a white flag. “No, really!” he insists. To prove his point, he swipes a bit of frosting onto his finger and holds it up, examining it like it’s high art. “I actually think this might be my new favorite color. It’s wonderful. And I bet it tastes even better. Try it. Try it, Kacchan! A chef always has to taste his own cooking, right?”

He holds his frosting-covered finger out toward Katsuki.

Katsuki just stares at it.

Izuku, a second too late, processes what he’s doing. He turns bright red.

“Or— uh— you don’t have to! Totally optional! I just thought— like I said— it probably tastes great, and the pink is, you know, wonderful, so you could if you wanted to, but no pressure or—”

Katsuki grabs his wrist.

Izuku stumbles forward slightly, caught off guard by the firm pull. He looks up just in time to catch that intense, unreadable look in Katsuki’s eyes.

And then, slowly, Katsuki brings Izuku’s finger to his mouth and slides it past his lips.

Izuku freezes.

His brain comes to a screeching halt.

Because Kacchan is sucking on his finger. Kacchan’s tongue is on him . His mouth is hot and wet and very, very real and this is not a drill.

Izuku might actually make a sound. A whimper. A gasp. A breathy little squeak of disbelief. He doesn’t know. He can’t hear anything over the white noise in his skull.

“Oh! Uh— um. Is it good?” he asks, voice about an octave too high.

Katsuki shrugs, letting Izuku’s finger slip from his mouth with a soft pop. “Yeah. Not bad.”

Izuku sways slightly where he stands.

He feels like his bones have melted. His knees might actually give out. His brain is static and warm frosting and Kacchan’s mouth and oh god he needs to sit down or throw up or—

Or.

He gets an idea.

A very stupid, very brave, very doomed idea.

He wants more.

Wants to taste it. The frosting. Him. All of it. Right from the source.

“Mind if I have a taste too?” he asks, breath hitching, curiosity dragging him closer to the edge.

Katsuki shrugs again. “Help yourself.”

Izuku steps forward.

Not toward the bowl. Toward him.

Katsuki frowns slightly, confused, as Izuku cups his cheeks with both hands and stares at him like he’s trying to gauge how far he can push this.

“What are you—”

Izuku kisses him.

Soft. Gentle. Like he’s trying to focus only on that warm, sticky taste left behind.

He swipes his tongue gently across Katsuki’s lower lip. Licks into his mouth, slow and exploratory, like he’s searching for the exact spot where the frosting clings. Katsuki parts his lips with a quiet sound, and Izuku deepens it just slightly.

And god — he is sweet.

Too sweet.

Izuku feels his whole body flush at the taste, at the warmth, at the way Katsuki lets him in so easily. He kisses deeper, slower, losing himself in the syrupy heat between them.

He wants it all.

Not just the frosting.

Everything.

His tongue presses a little further, greedy now, desperate to lap up every trace, every molecule of sugar, every bit of Katsuki’s breath, like he can drink it straight from his lungs if he’s careful enough. His hands slide down to cup the back of Katsuki’s neck, pulling him in closer, deeper.

He could do this forever.

Could stay here, licking frosting from Katsuki’s tongue like it’s the only food he’s ever needed. He wants to swallow his spit. Wants to map out the roof of his mouth. Wants to get drunk off the taste of Kacchan.

He makes a pathetic little whining sound, biting gently at Katsuki’s lip, and Katsuki responds by threading his fingers through Izuku’s curls and tugging, just enough to make Izuku gasp.

And it’s so over.

Because now Izuku has permission. Now he knows Katsuki wants this too. And that’s… dangerous.

He sucks hard on Katsuki’s lip, enough to leave it red and swollen when he finally pulls off. Then he kisses him again, harder this time. Messier. Needier. 

And Katsuki lets him.

Lets him lap at his mouth. Suck on his tongue. Lets him kiss like he’s starving. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t taste every last trace of sweetness and saliva and him.

Izuku moans into it, pressing closer, greedy.

“So— so good, Kacchan,” he pants when he finally pulls back, just enough to breathe. His lips are pink, his voice wrecked. “Tastes so good. I told you it would. Need more.”

He doesn’t even know what he means by that. More of what? The frosting? Katsuki’s mouth? The way he pulled his hair when Izuku bit his lip? All of it? 

His hands hover uselessly at Katsuki’s sides. He wants to touch him. Taste him again. Do something. But his brain’s running too hot and his body can’t decide what impulse to follow first.

And then Katsuki looks at him.

Like, really looks at him.

Eyes dark, mouth swollen, expression unreadable. Except.

Except for that glint. That little flicker of something in his gaze. Like he’s watching Izuku unravel in real time and isn’t surprised. Like he saw this coming a mile away.

Izuku swallows. “What?”

Katsuki tilts his head just slightly. Not smirking. Not teasing, exactly. But there’s something in the set of his mouth, the angle of his jaw, the way he doesn’t look away.

“You’ve got a whole bowl of frosting sitting right there,” he says, voice low. “If you want more, go for it.”

Izuku stills.

There’s nothing overt in Katsuki’s tone. No hint of suggestion. Just a shrug. A sentence. A choice laid out like a trap.

But Izuku knows that look. That subtle defiance in Katsuki’s eyes. That challenge he never actually says out loud. The way he sometimes pushes Izuku to act on things he doesn’t have the courage to name.

He dips his fingers into the frosting. Slowly. Like a switch has been flipped.

He hesitates for a second. Just a breath.

But that look says everything he needs to know.

So he smears a careful dab of frosting onto Katsuki’s lower lip, watching the way it pouts and stretches with the pressure before bouncing back. He spreads it slowly, across his chin, along the sharp line of his jaw, up just below his ear, and then down the curve of his neck.

He pauses to admire it.

Smiles. 

“Kacchan looks good in pink,” he murmurs, nodding to himself, satisfied.

Katsuki flushes, just slightly, then grabs Izuku by the chin and pulls him close, until their foreheads nearly touch, until their breaths mingle in the space between them.

Izuku stares into his eyes, and sees it.

The want. The need. The heat and the affection.

He wonders if Katsuki can see it in his, too.

He leans in, brushing their lips together gently. Barely a kiss. Barely contact at all. But he doesn’t look away. He can’t. Katsuki is too stunning like this— flushed and frosting-streaked, lips sticky, eyes heavy-lidded with want.

Izuku presses in again, and this time, he lingers.

He feels the frosting cling between them as he swipes his tongue out to taste it. Katsuki lets out a low, relieved-sounding hmphh, and Izuku smiles into the kiss, high on the knowledge that he caused it.

He nips at Katsuki’s lower lip and sucks the last of the sweetness off, slow and greedy, before his tongue slides deeper, brushing against Katsuki’s.

He swallows a little moan, and then accidentally drools into his mouth.

Not intentional.

But he can’t even bring himself to care.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to gasp for air, then dives right back in, his mouth trailing messy, open-mouthed kisses across Katsuki’s jaw, licking and sucking at the sticky path he painted.

He reaches the spot just below Katsuki’s ear and sucks gently, inhaling as he does.

Fuck.

The frosting is sweet. His skin is warm. But it’s the scent underneath it all, him, that makes Izuku shudder.

That sharp, salty, electric Kacchan smell, tucked beneath sugar and sweat. Familiar. Intoxicating. It hits him like a punch to the gut.

He buries his face in Katsuki’s neck and inhales, greedy. Like he can breathe him in, like he can bottle it, like it’ll keep him sane when he’s already long gone.

A growl catches in his throat. He fists a hand in the back of Katsuki’s hair and licks a slow, messy stripe down his neck, dragging frosting with him. When he reaches the hollow of Katsuki’s throat, he sucks. Hard. Like he’s starving for it.

Katsuki whimpers. Tilts his head back. Offers more.

And it takes everything in Izuku not to just keep going. Not to lap at him like a dog, to bite and kiss and mark every inch. Wants to lick him clean, ruin him, coat him in spit and praise. Wants to drown in him. In his scent, his taste, his heat— his love. Wants to sink into it and never come up for air.

“Kacchan,” he groans, dizzy from the scent and the taste and the proximity . “You smell so good. Taste even better…”

He’s so gone.

“You’re so warm. I feel like I’m melting. You’re melting me.”

He pulls back just enough to look at him again, eyes wide. “Is that a thing? Can people melt from… whatever this is? Because I think I’m actually melting. I think I’m goo now. Like. A puddle.”

Katsuki huffs out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, but Izuku’s not done.

He reaches for Katsuki’s hips, crashing their mouths together again as he walks him backward, pushing him gently against the counter.

His hands are shaking.

He fumbles a little as he reaches around to untie the apron at Katsuki’s back, then slides his fingers up to loosen the tie around his neck. The fabric falls to the floor with a soft flutter, and Izuku never once breaks the kiss.

When he pulls back again, breathless, he just stares.

Katsuki stands there, shirtless, flushed, his neck painted in pink smudges and deep red marks. The hickeys trail down like art.

His chest is heaving. His lips are slick. His eyes— his eyes— half-lidded and glowing.

Izuku’s gaze sweeps over him, dazed. In awe.

He’s beautiful. He’s so so beautiful. And he’s his.

Izuku smiles. 

Looks at the bowl of frosting.

Then freezes.

His hand hovers near it. He hesitates. Eyes wide.

Is this too much? Should he stop? Is he taking this too far?

But before the panic can take root, Katsuki huffs out a quiet breath and rolls his eyes. A knowing smirk curves his lips.

He reaches out and pulls Izuku closer by the small of his back. “Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs, soft but certain, like he already knew exactly what was happening in Izuku’s head. “I already said this is okay.”

And then he kisses him. Slow. Reassuring.

Izuku nods eagerly, eyes still wide, maybe a little tear-bright. He’s so overwhelmed. So full of love. So unbelievably grateful that he could scream.

He dips his fingers into the frosting again.

Carefully, he paints it down the curve of Katsuki’s neck, following the marks he left behind. Then across his collarbone. Over the sharp line of it. Down the center of his perfect chest.

He takes his time there. Just… appreciating the assets. Adoring.

He swirls it around one of Katsuki’s nipples. Just because he can.

Then lower, tracing the ridges of his abs, the dip of his waist, the V of his hips.

He might’ve drooled onto the floor at some point during the process.

Might’ve.

He’s grinning now. Flushed and giddy and in love. So in love it aches.

Katsuki’s voice snaps him out of his horny, reverent trance.

“You done staring, or do you wanna frame me first?”

Izuku stutters. “I’m just— I— you’re beautiful.”

“You made me look like this.”

“I’m a genius.”

“You frosted me like a fucking cake.”

“I’m a genius and a patissier. And now I get to taste you.”

“How romantic,” Katsuki scoffs, but the smirk pulling at his lips says do it.

Izuku doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy breathing.

His gaze trails slowly from the base of Katsuki’s throat down across the mess he made, and something in his chest just… buckles. Like his ribs are collapsing in on themselves. Like he’s never seen anything so flawless in his entire life.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the base of Katsuki’s neck, right where the frosting starts. Then another, a little lower, right on the edge of a hickey beginning to bloom.

He kisses across his collarbones like they’re landmarks. Licks up a smear of pink and hums at the taste. It’s sweet. But not as sweet as him.

He presses his face into the curve of Katsuki’s shoulder. Nuzzles there. It’s sweat and frosting and skin and him, and it hits Izuku so hard he nearly moans. 

Actually, he whines. Actually, audibly whines.

“You’re not seriously—” Katsuki starts, but then Izuku noses lower, right into the heat of his underarm, and whatever Katsuki was about to say cuts off with a shaky breath. “Oh— what the fuck,” he grits out, voice tight.

Izuku stays there. Way too long. Long enough that Katsuki should probably shove him away. But he doesn’t. So Izuku breathes him in again. Deeper this time. Like he can’t get enough. Like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t say anything. Just groans low and muffled against damp skin, grinding forward on instinct.

His hands clutch at Katsuki’s waist like he’s anchoring himself. Like if he lets go, he’ll float away or dissolve onto the kitchen floor. Every inhale makes his stomach flip. Makes his brain go static. Makes his throat feel tight.

“Kacchan,” he whispers, hoarse. Not even a question. Not even a thought. Just a sound dragged out of him by pure, unfiltered need.

His eyes are wide. Wild. He knows it. Can feel the way they must look, dilated and delirious and so full of want it’s probably terrifying. He doesn’t care. He wants Katsuki to see it. 

He’s never felt this out of control before. This completely, stupidly gone.

He trails down, licking a stripe over his pec, then mouthing at the frosting-slick skin beneath. One of his hands slides up to rest gently over Katsuki’s heart, just to feel it beating. It’s fast.

Good.

His thumbs trail through the frosting until they reach the soft peak of Katsuki’s nipple, and— fuck, fuck, Izuku whimpers, tiny and caught in his throat. He’s mortified by the sound and also absolutely going to do it again.

“Do you even know,” he breathes, voice cracking with how overwhelmed he is, “how perfect your chest is? I— I think about it all the time. Seriously. Like, I’ll be mid-fight, and it’ll just hit me outta nowhere— Kacchan has really nice tits. And then I get punched in the face because I’m distracted.”

Katsuki scoffs weakly, barely getting it out. 

Izuku palms over both pecs like they’re sacred. Like they might vanish if he doesn’t touch them just right. “They’re just so round. And solid. And they bounce a little when you move, and it’s so unfair— like how is a person supposed to function when these exist in the world?!”

He leans in and drags his tongue over one. Then sucks it into his mouth with a soft pop. “Crap,” he whispers against Katsuki’s skin. “You taste so good. I don’t even think it's the frosting anymore. It's just you.”

He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to his chest like he’s starving. Switches sides, gives the other one equal treatment, lapping up every bit of sugar he left behind.

Katsuki lets out a harsh, choked sound, shifting slightly under him, chest rising with every breath, and Izuku watches it like it’s a religious event. He stares, wide-eyed, mouth parted, like the sheer physics of Katsuki’s pecs are too glorious to process.

“Seriously,” he mutters, almost to himself, as his thumbs stroke along the under-curve. “It’s like… like they were sculpted. But better. Because they're yours.”

He buries his face there. Full-on faceplants into Katsuki’s chest with a broken little sigh. Lets his nose drag across the frosting-streaked skin, lets his lips press little kisses wherever they land.

One of Katsuki’s nipples brushes his cheek and Izuku fucking gasps.

“Oh— crap— sorry, I just— I forgot how sensitive they are—” He lifts his head to stare up at Katsuki like he’s discovered something vital. “Do you like that? When I— when I use my face like this? Because I was just thinking maybe I could…” He trails off, already leaning back down.

He licks a wide stripe up one nipple, then flicks it with the tip of his tongue, watching it perk up.

Izuku does it again.

And again.

And again.

“Fucking— shit,” Katsuki hisses through his teeth, fingers flexing in Izuku’s curls.

Izuku kisses the swell underneath. Switches sides again, laughing softly against his chest.

“You have no idea how…” he tries, trailing off, too overwhelmed to finish. “How— like, no idea. Just pin me down with your chest and I’ll say thank you.”

“The fuck am I supposed to do with you,” Katsuki mutters, like he’s impressed. Maybe even proud.

Izuku mouths over the nipple with something close to reverence. Sucks it in, swirling his tongue slowly, lovingly, and hums deep in his throat when Katsuki grunts, sharp and low, like he can’t decide if he wants to push him away or pull him closer.

His hand tightens at the back of Izuku’s head instead. Keeps him there.

“You’re not even at the good part,” Katsuki mutters above him.

Izuku grins into his skin. “Every part is the good part.”

He drags his tongue through a stripe of frosting down the line of Katsuki’s ribs, soft and greedy, like he’s afraid it’ll melt before he can get to it. Like if he doesn't get it all, he’ll miss something important. 

His hand slides down, over his tight abs, sticky and glistening. He traces each line, each dip, smearing what’s left of the frosting. He mouths lower. Breathes against the soft skin of Katsuki’s stomach. Nuzzles into the warmth there.

His hands find Katsuki’s hips, holding him steady, thumbs pressing into warm skin as his tongue chases the line of sweetness.

“Even this part,” he murmurs, glancing up as his fingers skim over the curve of Katsuki’s waist. “Especially this part.”

He stops just above the waistband of Katsuki’s shorts, breath catching in his throat.

Looks up.

Eyes wide. Blown. Completely wrecked.

“Can I… keep going?”

Katsuki looks at him with hooded eyes and a barely-there smirk.

“You can’t get enough, huh?” he mutters, voice low and rough. “My frosting really that good?”

Izuku blinks, flustered. “It’s not just— I mean—”

But Katsuki cuts him off with a scoff and grabs his face, both hands cradling his jaw, fingers pressing into his cheeks. 

And then he moves, sliding down the counter, letting himself sink down to the floor with Izuku following, stumbling forward to straddle him instinctively.

Their mouths find each other again, all heat and sugar and spit. It’s not even kissing anymore, just lips and tongues and breath, sloppier by the second. Katsuki tastes like frosting and salt, like heat and home, like everything Izuku has ever wanted.

He moans into it. Small and breathy. Because it’s addicting. Katsuki’s sweat and skin and scent. Izuku can’t stop breathing him in. Can’t stop licking into his mouth like it’ll make it last longer.

And then—

Oh.

Oh.

Somewhere in the middle of it, right when Katsuki’s hand slides up the back of his shirt, Izuku feels it.

Izuku shifts in Katsuki’s lap. Just a little.

Just enough to feel it. 

The hard press of him. Hot and solid through the thin fabric between them.

Oh no.

His breath catches. His hips stutter

Then it really hits him.

Kacchan’s hard.

Kacchan’s hard and he’s hard and he’s on top of Kacchan and they’re grinding against each other like this is okay, like this is fine—

It’s not fine.

It’s so not fine.

He clutches at Katsuki’s shoulders, suddenly lightheaded, and his brain goes completely blank except for that one single, terrible, beautiful truth.

He swallows thickly. Blinks down at Katsuki’s mouth. At his flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the frosting smeared across his collarbone. And he realizes:

It feels good.

God, it feels too good.

His hips shift again, shaky and slow, like he doesn’t mean to but of course he does, and the friction sends a jolt straight to his gut.

And then another thought hits him, which, historically, is never a good sign.

What if he just… moved a little more?

He lets out the most pathetic whimper. A choked, helpless sound like his soul is trying to claw its way out of his throat.

Because he’s hard. Katsuki’s hard. They’re pressed so close he can feel the heat of him, the shape of him.

And Izuku is so far gone he can’t even pretend to have shame anymore.

The friction makes him gasp into Katsuki’s mouth, and Katsuki grunts back, low and sharp, gripping his waist with both hands. Izuku rolls his hips again, desperate for more, grinding down onto the solid heat beneath him like he can’t help it, because he can’t .

His thoughts are chaos.

I can feel him. I can feel all of him. He’s so hard. I’m so hard. Oh god it’s lined up, we’re lined up, we’re actually—

“Uh. Yeah?” Katsuki says, a little breathless. “And, hate to break it to you, but this ain’t exactly a once-in-a-lifetime event either.”

Izuku freezes. Blinks. Realizes with horror—

“Wait. I said that out loud?!”

Katsuki bursts out laughing, like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s wheezy but smug and so fond that Izuku doesn’t know whether to cry or kiss him stupid.

“You’re seriously unbelievable,” Katsuki mutters, dragging his hands down Izuku’s sides like he can’t decide if he wants to tease him or ruin him. “Fuckin’ talking to yourself while you’re grinding on me.”

“I wasn’t— I mean I didn’t mean to— it just—” Izuku tries, because his brain is officially fried and also he’s still moving. Just slightly. Just enough to feel that sweet, dizzy friction between them. “You feel… really good…”

Katsuki hums. Smirks.

“I know.”

Izuku moans softly, hips rolling again, and the heat is unbearable. Too much, too good, too dangerous. He breaks the kiss, panting hard against Katsuki’s cheek, forehead pressed to his temple like he needs to cool off before he combusts.

But it doesn’t help. Katsuki’s everywhere. Under him, around him, pressed hot and solid against the heat between his legs. He shudders.

“I— I need a second,” he mumbles, almost dizzy. “I think I might pass away here.”

Katsuki just huffs a little laugh, dragging his fingers down Izuku’s spine. “So dramatic.”

Izuku lifts his head, blinking down. Katsuki’s shorts are rumpled now, pushed halfway up his thighs from the friction. There’s frosting smudged near the hem. A little on his skin.

Izuku moans again. Immediately. Automatically.

He lowers himself, scooting down, hands braced on either side of Katsuki’s legs. And then, like a pervert, like a lunatic, he nuzzles his cheek against the soft skin of his thigh.

“The fuck are you—”

“You have divine thighs,” Izuku cuts in, utterly sincere, glancing up at him before pressing a kiss to the skin. “So strong. But so soft. It’s like…” He trails off. Frowns. “It’s like… I don’t know, but I could write a thesis on them.”

Katsuki stares down at him, deadpan. “Did you hit your head?”

Izuku ignores him, mouthing at his thigh. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, sucking harder. A high, breathy noise escapes Katsuki. 

He keeps going, kissing, licking, mouthing down Katsuki’s thigh, trailing lower, lower, until he reaches the bend of his knee. Places one soft kiss there. Then another. Then another, sloppier this time.

And then—

Oh.

Katsuki’s toes flex.

Maybe involuntarily. Maybe on purpose. Doesn’t matter.

Because they brush against him.

Right there.

Through his shorts.

And it’s like lightning shoots straight up his spine.

His whole body seizes. His breath catches. His mouth falls open like he’s just seen god.

It’s heat and contact and sensation right where he needs it most. His cock throbs— fucking jumps — and a noise escapes him before he can stop it. Loud. Guttural. Pathetic.

“Oh—”

His cheeks burn.

Because.

Katsuki’s toes. Just. Touched him.

Touched him right there.

And it felt… Good. Too good. So good his soul leaves his body. His brain? Fried.

It’s just skin. Just toes. Just a little brush of pressure. And yet somehow it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him in his life.

He clutches at Katsuki’s calf like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal plane. He ducks his head, mortified, face pressed into the crook of his boyfriend’s knee.

Maybe if he stays there long enough, Katsuki will forget this happened. Maybe he’ll forget this happened.

Except he won’t. Because his cock is throbbing. And his face is on fire. And Katsuki’s foot is still right fucking there.

He shifts lower. Just a little. 

But it’s enough to feel his cock pressing right against the slope of Katsuki’s ankle. Through his shorts. Against Katsuki’s bare skin.

And it’s good.

It’s too good.

The contact is subtle, barely anything, but it’s like his whole body lights up. His hips twitch again on instinct, chasing the friction, and a broken whimper slips out of him before he can stop it.

His thoughts are a disaster. A jumbled mess of this shouldn’t be hot and Kacchan is so perfect and I’m definitely going to hell, but maybe I’ll get to take him with me.

He freezes, holding his breath like that’ll stop him from doing something worse. Like that’ll make it better.

It doesn’t.

Then Katsuki moves. Tilts his head, just slightly, dragging fingers through Izuku’s hair, lifting gently.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Like if he doesn’t look, Katsuki won’t see.

Won’t see the wreck he’s become. The way he’s trembling. The way his cock is throbbing against his ankle. The way he’s still rocking, just barely, too turned on to stop himself.

But it’s Kacchan.

It’s always Kacchan.

And Izuku loves him. Loves him so much it physically hurts. Loves him so much he has to know if this is okay, if he’s okay. If Katsuki still wants him even like this.

So, slowly, painfully, he cracks one eye open.

Peeks up.

Just to check.

Just to see.

And Katsuki looks.

Well… he looks fine.

Not mad. Not confused. Definitely not disgusted. Just… calm. A little breathless. His brows are raised like he’s trying to decide whether to tease or comfort, and there’s an amused smirk curling at his lips. Like he expected this. Like it’s cute.

Izuku panics.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, voice squeaky with shame, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut again like maybe he can block out reality if he just refuses to see it.

Katsuki’s hand finds his chin. His thumb strokes his cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Izuku,” he says softly.

Izuku scrunches up tighter, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and also grinding on the cookie jar and also moaning about it.

“Izuku,” Katsuki says again, firmer this time.

He cracks his eyes open.

Katsuki looks smug.

So smug. So impossibly fond. His expression should be illegal, really, somewhere between you’re ridiculous and I can’t believe I’m in love with this. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a flush to his cheeks and a twitch in his jaw that says he’s not unaffected by this either.

Izuku is spiraling. Full on death-spiral. His brain is static. His whole body is heat.

He is so mortified he might as well spontaneously combust.

But then Katsuki leans in, voice low and warm.

“What are you sorry for?” he murmurs, smirks , and then moves.

His foot shifts.

Presses.

Right against Izuku. Through the thin cling of his shorts. Slowly. Intentionally.

Izuku groans.

Loud. Raw. Mortifying.

His hand slaps over his mouth like he can shove the noise back in, eyes wide with horror at his own reaction.

Katsuki doesn't stop. Doesn't even blink.

Just presses a little firmer, toes nudging up the length of him like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Because Izuku’s hips twitch again.

And Katsuki’s fucking grinning.

His foot moves in slow strokes, up then down again, pressing just enough to make Izuku jolt with every pass. And Izuku definitely should not be enjoying this as much as he is. He should be panicking. Should be clinging to at least one last shred of dignity.

But he’s not.

He’s trembling.

He hides his face against the floor between Katsuki’s legs, like that’ll somehow make this less real. Like Katsuki won’t notice the way he shudders with every stroke. Won’t hear the quiet, desperate noises slipping past his bitten-down lip.

But Katsuki knows. Of course he knows. He always knows.

Izuku tries to hold still. Tries not to give in. Really, he does. He tries. But every pass makes his hips jolt. Every stroke drags heat up his spine. It’s too much.

It’s too much.

He grinds down. Not gently. Not subtly. Just full-on, humiliatingly grinds down against Katsuki’s ankle like he’s gone feral. Like he’s a dog in a rut. 

He hates how good it feels. Or, no. No, he doesn’t. That’s the problem. He loves it. Loves that it’s Katsuki. That he’s letting this happen. Like some sick little part of him always knew it’d come to this.

It’s filthy. It’s ridiculous. It’s amazing.

His cock catches on the curve of bone and he moans, breath hitching, thighs trembling. He chases the friction, rocking down again, again, again, like he can’t stop, like he’s lost control over his own body.

“It’s not supposed to be hot,” Izuku pants in disbelief. “It’s just— it’s just your ankle. Just skin. But it’s you, and it’s touching me, and— and I think I’m losing my mind.”

“No shit,” Katsuki coughs out.

Izuku doesn’t hear him. Instead, he continues to grind down, involuntary, greedy. A broken sound slips from his lips.

“I’ve seriously lost it. I’ve kissed every inch of you I can reach and now your ankle is like the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I didn’t even realize I loved your ankle so much and—” he groans, “Oh crap. Is this normal? Probably not. I don’t care.”

Katsuki breathes out a stunned noise above him.

And Izuku just keeps going.

“I didn’t even mean to, like, I knew your feet were hot, okay, but I wasn’t gonna say anything! Ever! I saw them once after training and it’s haunted me ever since. They looked so strong and a little mean, and your toes flexed just a little and I— I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So maybe it’s not a new thing. Has it always been this way? Maybe I’ve always been a freak for your feet and now I’ve just finally snapped.”

He whines again. Visibly trembles. Still grinding. Still spiraling.

“Am I rambling? Crap— I'm definitely rambling. I can't stop rambling. I’m sorry,” he babbles, breathless.

Katsuki slides his hand through his hair again, tender and reassuring. “You’re fine,” he says, voice low. “Sound good like this.”

Izuku whines involuntarily. Because Kacchan just said he sounds good. Like this. Like a wreck. And maybe Katsuki means it. Maybe he likes it. Maybe he wants him like this.

Every nerve ending is screaming. The pressure against him is sharp and relentless, friction catching on the damp cling of his boxers. He can feel the ridges of Katsuki’s skin through the fabric. Can feel his own pulse pounding in his cock. Can’t stop. Can’t think.

“You’re so hot,” he breathes, voice cracking. “And sweet. And so so amazing, and I— I don’t even know what to do with myself.” His eyes flutter closed, hips stuttering forward. “You’re just letting me— letting me do this. Why are you letting me do this?!”

His hands scrabble uselessly against Katsuki’s leg, gripping, clutching. He sits up, hands sliding down to Katsuki’s ankle like he needs to hold it there, like it’ll slip away if he’s not careful. His hips jerk forward, again, and again, the pace turning frantic. Sloppy. Mindless.

He’s panting so hard it hurts.

“Breathe, nerd,” Katsuki mutters. He runs his hand up Izuku’s back slowly, smoothing the tremble there.

“Kacchan—” Izuku gasps, like Katsuki’s name might be the only thing left in his head.

He can hear the wet sound of fabric dragging over him. Feel how soaked his shorts are. How close he is. 

This isn’t just horniness. This is a full-on breakdown. A Kacchan-induced, ankle-on-cock breakdown. And Izuku never wants it to end—

But then it hits him.

White-hot. Crushing. A full-body shudder that starts at his spine and tears through him like lightning. He gasps, chokes, and spills in his shorts with a broken, stuttering moan, whole body curling in on itself as the orgasm crashes through him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until it’s over. 

He just trembles, leans onto the floor, buries his face against Katsuki’s leg, and breathes like he’s just ran a marathon.

The orgasm fades slowly, too slowly, leaving him raw and aching and messy. He twitches as the aftershocks roll through him, whimpering when Katsuki shifts slightly beneath him, like even that movement is too much.

He feels it, hot and sticky and shameful in his shorts. The evidence of what he just did. 

His breath hiccups. A sharp, wet gasp.

The tears slip down his cheeks, silent and stupid and so completely out of his control.

He can’t explain it. Doesn’t even try.

It feels like his body is too small for all of it. Like everything is overflowing. Like love and want and need and shame and joy and lust are all tangled up in a knot in his chest, and this was the only way his body knew how to survive it.

He stays there. Curled around Katsuki’s leg. Soaked. Crying quietly into the skin of his shin.

And Katsuki doesn’t say anything.

Just slides his fingers gently through Izuku’s hair. Like he’s letting him know that he’s still here. Still his.

“I— I’m sorry,” Izuku hiccups against Katsuki’s leg. “That was a lot. That was way too much. I don’t even know what happened, I just— I got carried away, and it felt really good, and you’re just so hot and— and I think I blacked out a little—”

“Izuku.”

Katsuki’s fingers tighten in his hair. 

Izuku peeks up, eyes watery and wide, and Katsuki’s looking right at him. Calm. Unbothered. Like Izuku didn’t just lose his entire mind on his metatarsals. 

“Huh?”

Katsuki drags his thumb across Izuku’s cheek, right over the tear track, and then grabs his chin, turning his face up.

And Katsuki looks fine.

Better than fine.

He looks annoyingly smug, all soft eyes and a quirked brow like he’s two seconds away from making fun of him but still maybe a little bit charmed, which is somehow worse.

“You think I let you smear frosting all over me and hump my goddamn foot and I didn’t want it?”

Izuku stares. Blinks. Opens his mouth, then closes it, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

“It’s your birthday,” Katsuki adds, a little quieter now. “You wanted to. So I let you.”

Izuku’s breath catches. He looks away, completely wrecked, brain spinning uselessly as he tries to process that. 

Because Katsuki let him. He let him. Katsuki wanted him to.

Katsuki knew.

He knew the whole time.

He stares at Katsuki like he’s just grown wings. Or a halo. Or maybe he’s been an angel this whole time and Izuku’s only just now realized it.

“You…” he breathes, eyes wide and shimmering. “You did this… for me?”

He scrambles up Katsuki’s legs, climbing into his lap with a graceless thud. “Oof— fuck,” Katsuki grunts, arms instinctively wrapping around him. “Watch it.”

Izuku doesn’t listen. He grabs Katsuki’s face in both hands and smushes a kiss against his cheek, then another to his jaw, and another to his lips, giddy and overflowing with adoration. “I love you,” he says between kisses, grinning like a lunatic. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world. Actually in the universe.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, but his hands are rubbing gentle circles under Izuku’s shirt, his smile threatening to take over his whole face. “Love you too, nerd.”

Izuku nuzzles into his neck, kisses the frosting-sticky skin beneath his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Wait,” Izuku blurts suddenly. “The batter. The gushing. The wet ingredients— Kacchan. All that stuff I said earlier was filthy.”

Katsuki huffs, sliding his fingers up Izuku’s spine. “Took you long enough.”

“You knew?!”

“You said ‘look how it kisses the rim,’ nerd.”

“I thought I was being innocent!”

“You never are.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The oven timer blares through the kitchen like a slap to the face.

Izuku’s pout is instant and tragic. “Noooooo. Not now.”

Katsuki snorts. “Get the fuck off me. You’re damp and disgusting.”

Izuku sticks his tongue out at him but obliges, collapsing in a boneless heap on the floor.

He watches Katsuki get up, shirtless, sticky, glowing, and grab the oven mitt. Watches him bend to pull the cake from the oven like nothing just happened, like he’s not the hottest man alive with frosting on his neck and a post-foot-frottage glow.

The kitchen smells sweet and warm.

But nothing smells as good as Katsuki.

And his cake might be rising in the oven, but Katsuki’s ass is rising in those damn shorts and this may be the last birthday Izuku spends on this earth.

Izuku clambers up from the floor, and just as Katsuki sets the cake down, turning toward him—

Izuku’s already there. Right in front of him. Inches away.

“Oi— what the hell—” Katsuki startles, but Izuku doesn’t give him time to complain.

He takes Katsuki’s hand in both of his, eyes wide and glassy.

“Kacchan,” he says in a rush, like the words are spilling out faster than his brain can catch them. “Let’s make love now.”

Katsuki freezes.

Then blinks. Slowly.

“Izuku,” he says flatly, “you just came.”

“I don’t care!” Izuku blurts, all in one breath. “I know I did, I know I did, but I’m still, Kacchan, I’m still all—” He gestures vaguely at himself, flushed and messy and frantic. “I need you. I wanna feel you. I wanna be close. Closer. Please let me fuck you. Right here. Right now. Please.”

Katsuki opens his mouth. Shuts it again. He looks like he’s buffering.

“I’ll be slow,” Izuku adds quickly, desperate and sincere. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you. I just— Kacchan, you’re so perfect, and you did all that for me, and now I just wanna make you feel good. Please. Please.”

There’s a pause.

A long, slow, painful pause.

Katsuki exhales like he’s been holding it in since the timer went off.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “You’re such a sap.”

But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t let go.

He just links his fingers through Izuku’s and looks at him like maybe, maybe he wants to be loved like that, too.

Izuku grips Katsuki’s hand tighter, pressing his forehead to it. “I need you, Kacchan. I can’t not have you. I can’t.”

There’s a pause. Izuku risks looking up.

And Katsuki looks— wow. His free hand flexes at his side. His breath is shallow. And Izuku swears he sees his throat bob as he swallows hard.

“You’re ridiculous,” Katsuki mutters, but he tugs Izuku closer, until there’s barely a sliver of air between them, and curls a hand around Izuku’s hip.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he continues, grumbling against Izuku’s cheek. “You came so hard you cried.”

Izuku whines. “Stop talking like that. I’ll cum again.”

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki says, smug. But then Izuku feels him. Feels the heat of him pressed up against his thigh.

Katsuki wants him just as bad.

Maybe worse.

So he kisses Katsuki.

Hard.

Messy.

Barely makes it past the corner of his mouth before Katsuki’s tilting his head, hands scrambling up Izuku’s sides, pushing, tugging, until his shirt’s off and Izuku can feel soft palms against his skin. Katsuki growls into the kiss like it’s a challenge, crowding forward, backing Izuku into the counter—

But Izuku’s faster.

He flips them, and his hands fly to Katsuki’s waistband in an instant, yanking his shorts and boxers down in one go.

And he has to pause.

Because Katsuki is right there. In front of him. And his ass is right there too. Glorious. Golden. Round and firm and flexing under his gaze. And Izuku whimpers .

He can barely breathe. He can barely think. But then.

An idea.

His hand slides across the counter behind Katsuki. Finds the bowl of frosting. Dips two fingers in. And while Katsuki is still dazed from the kiss, catching his breath—

Izuku reaches out.

Traces a teasing line of frosting along the curve of Katsuki’s ass. Trails a thick smear across one cheek, then the other. And just as he’s about to swipe lower, right between, Katsuki freezes.

“...Is that…?” he says, voice sharp.

Izuku pauses mid-swipe. “Frosting.”

Katsuki's eyes widen, scandalized. “Izuku. No.”

“Why not?” Izuku says innocently, curiously. 

“No. Get that off my ass. Now.”

Izuku’s pout is instant. But it doesn’t last long. Because his eyes light up with something wild. Something terrifyingly determined.

“Okay!” he chirps.

Katsuki barely has time to react before Izuku’s flipping him, gently but firm, bending him slightly over the counter.

“Wait— oof— what the fuck—”

And then Izuku’s mouth is on him.

No warning. No hesitation. Just hot breath and slick lips. Diving in like he’s starving. 

He doesn’t start soft. Doesn’t even pretend to have restraint. He goes straight for it, licking a stripe from the base of Katsuki’s thighs all the way up his ass, groaning when the sweet taste hits his tongue. 

He moans into it, tongue already working in a greedy rhythm to chase the frosting smudged across Katsuki’s cheeks, sucking it off with loud, wet, enthusiasm. His face is already slick, his chin smeared with sugar, but he doesn’t care.

“Crap,” he pants, licking harder. “You taste— you taste so good, Kacchan—”

His hands are rough, gripping Katsuki’s hips firmly. He spreads him open and dives back in with a guttural noise, tongue pushing into every dip, every crease, chasing the last of the frosting.

He’s slurping it off now, loud and messy and completely unbothered. He mouths at the curve of Katsuki’s ass like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, hell, he’d lick it clean even without the sugar.

And when the frosting’s gone, when every last smear is licked up and swallowed, he pulls back just enough to breathe. Just enough to see.

His eyes drop, taking in the way Katsuki is beneath him. Spread open. Panting hard.

Izuku groans.

“Look at you,” he mutters, more to himself than anything, voice ragged. “You’re divine.”

He leans back in and licks again, lower this time. Right over the rim.

And Katsuki jerks.

“Is that— fuck— Izuku—”

“Yeah,” Izuku sighs, wistful. “It is.”

Another lick, tongue dragging slowly across the puckered ring.

“I could just…. stay here,” he breathes. “Forever.”

And he means it.

Because he’s already back on him, messy, eager, tongue pushing in deeper this time, sloppy sounds echoing off the walls of the kitchen, hands spreading Katsuki open like he can’t get enough. Like he won’t stop until Katsuki’s shaking.

And he’s barely gotten started.

His tongue keeps working in slow, teasing circles, his hands gripping greedily at Katsuki’s ass. Katsuki’s breathing is wrecked, low curses spilling from his lips, each one sharp and breathless and clearly meant to spur Izuku on.

And it works. Katsuki’s hole is twitching now, fluttering under every swipe of his tongue, and Katsuki’s thighs are trembling just slightly, just enough to make Izuku feel like he’s winning.

Until—

“Hey. Nerd.”

Katsuki’s voice cuts through the haze. Rough, already wrecked, but still smug as hell. Izuku peeks up and nearly dies. Katsuki’s looking over his shoulder, pupils blown wide, lips parted, and he’s grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Thought you said you were gonna fuck me.”

Izuku pulls back instantly, eyes wide as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Oh. Oh no. I’m— I got distracted. I’m sorry. I meant to. I really did.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. He shifts, straightening up, and turns to face Izuku fully, casual and cocky and absolutely infuriating. “S’alright. I guess.”

Izuku takes that at face value. Which is insane. Because Katsuki is clearly fucking with him, but Izuku’s brain is too melted to process sarcasm right now.

“I’m sorry, Kacchan,” he repeats, earnestly, like a kicked puppy. “I’ll do it now. I swear. It’ll be good, really good. I promise.” He leans in, gives him a quick peck on the lips and tries to pull back again, but Katsuki grabs him by the cheeks and holds him there, turning the kiss into a messy, open-mouthed smear. Their faces are sticky, their chins wet, and Izuku’s heart is doing backflips.

“Just wanna do good,” Izuku mumbles into his mouth. “You’re so good to me. I wanna— I need to do good.”

Katsuki hums like he believes him. Smirking into the kiss, he drags his hands down Izuku’s body. Neck, chest, abs. All the way to the waistband of Izuku’s shorts, still wet and clinging uncomfortably from earlier.

He tugs, and the fabric sticks for a second before giving.

“Damn, Izuku,” Katsuki mutters, fingers catching on the damp cling. “You sure you’re good to go again? You came like you hadn’t in a month.”

Izuku laughs breathlessly, a little sheepish, a lot overwhelmed. “Mhm. I’m ready—”

The shorts hit the ground.

And— oh.

He’s hard again. Painfully hard. His cock flushed red, twitching against the open air, slick where it’s still wet with cum.

And he hadn’t even noticed it happen. Hadn’t realized how bad he still needed it, how ready his body was.

He blinks down at himself in shock.

“Oh. Wow.”

A beat. 

Then he looks up, wide-eyed, cheeks burning.

“I guess I really like your ass.”

Katsuki bursts out laughing. A full, sharp bark that makes Izuku’s face go up in flames.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Izuku splutters, waving vaguely at the general direction of Katsuki’s entire lower half. “Can you blame me?!”

“C’mere,” Katsuki says, still grinning, and tugs him in by the hips. Their mouths meet again, warm and a little slower this time, and Izuku melts like butter in a hot pan.

When they finally part, Izuku frowns.

Katsuki notices immediately. “What’s up?”

“Lube,” Izuku mutters, casting a longing glance at the counter. His gaze lands on the bowl of frosting still sitting there, tragically tempting. “Unless…”

“No,” Katsuki says flatly.

“But—”

“No.”

Izuku groans. “Fiiiiiine,” he whines, and turns with a dramatic huff. “I’ll go get the—”

A hand closes around his wrist.

He turns back around, startled, and Katsuki’s staring at him. No words leave his lips, but the exasperation is clear.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he opens the drawer right behind him, reaches in, and pulls out a very familiar bottle.

Izuku’s eyes go wide.

“…Is that—?”

“From last week, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.”

Katsuki slaps the bottle into Izuku’s hand.

Izuku stares at it. Then at him. Blinks.

Katsuki groans and snatches it back. Pops the cap. Squeezes a cold, slick glob into Izuku’s open palm.

Izuku looks down again. Then back up, still blinking like he’s processing.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “You gonna stand there and admire it, or…?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry— yeah, okay.” Izuku jolts back to life, rubbing the lube between his fingers like he’s never touched anything before in his life.

Katsuki huffs out an amused laugh. He leans in and presses a kiss to Izuku’s forehead, quick and soft.

“Don’t start thinking too hard. You’re fine.”

Izuku nods, blushing like crazy. “Mhm. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just gonna— gonna prep you. Gotta focus. Gotta do a good job. Not mess this up. Your body is so nice and warm and I love you and—”

He gets cut off with a kiss.

Izuku lets out a muffled little noise, surprised, but then he melts into it, leaning forward with a shaky sigh as Katsuki kisses him slow and messy. It’s all affection and heat and Katsuki’s soft lips and Izuku is barely holding it together.

He hums against his mouth, dazed and stupidly happy, as Katsuki nips at his lip and licks into his mouth like he owns it.

Rightfully so. Because he does.

Izuku’s still catching his breath when they break apart.

“You good now?” Katsuki murmurs, close enough that Izuku can feel it against his lips.

Izuku nods. “Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I got this.”

But then Izuku pauses. His brows pinch together. His lips tug downward.

Katsuki squints at him. “What now?”

“We need a better spot,” Izuku mutters, tapping his chin like he’s solving a puzzle. “Somewhere good. Wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”

His eyes scan the kitchen.

There. Target acquired.

Izuku grins wildly, way too pleased with himself.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “You know we could just go to the bed— oh, fuck—!”

Izuku’s already got him. Hands firm under his thighs, lube-slick but steady. Katsuki jerks slightly in surprise, gripping his shoulders.

“Izuku—”

“I got you,” Izuku says, focused like he’s on a mission. Which he is. A very important one.

He carries Katsuki into the next room, barely three steps, and eases him down onto the dining table. Once Katsuki’s settled, Izuku steps back half an inch to admire his placement, hands still ghosting over Katsuki’s hips.

“There we go,” he breathes, beaming like an idiot.

Then he’s leaning in again, smiling into the next kiss, slow and sweet.

Katsuki laughs against his mouth, fingers curling tight in Izuku’s hair. “You’re actually fucking insane,” he murmurs, voice rough with affection. “You know that, right?”

Izuku hums in response. He kisses along Katsuki’s jaw, then down to the slope of his neck. Lets his hand drift lower, between Katsuki’s thighs, where Katsuki shifts instinctively.

He traces lower, into the warmth where Katsuki parts for him, heart pounding, breath shallow. His fingers explore, finding soft, familiar territory. His touch hesitates just for a second, checking. Asking.

His gaze flicks up.

Katsuki's already looking back. Eyes heavy, lids low, mouth parted like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. He says nothing. Just tightens his grip in Izuku’s hair, just enough to make his point, then shifts, hips tilting, thighs parting further in silent permission.

And Izuku swears he can feel it in his chest.

The trust. The unspoken yes.

He nearly bursts into gracious tears on the spot.

His breath shudders out of him as he leans down, pressing a kiss to Katsuki’s shoulder in thanks. Then he brings his hand up again, circling gently, and feels Katsuki exhale against him like he’s giving everything away.

Izuku swallows hard. Mouths at the slope of Katsuki’s neck, trying to keep cool. Trying.

He circles the rim once, twice, then presses in.

And… it slides in easily. Too easily?

Izuku stills. His lips part.

That was—

His eyes widen.

“...Did you…?”

Katsuki’s smirk spreads slowly across his face.

Izuku’s brain freezes. “Wait— Kacchan, you—”

Katsuki shrugs, way too casual. “Maybe.”

“So I don’t need to…?” Izuku asks, voice all dazed wonder. His finger is still inside, still moving, even though it doesn’t need to be.

Katsuki huffs a quiet laugh. “You can do whatever you want.”

Izuku’s heart stutters. His whole face goes soft.

“Kacchan…” he breathes.

“Happy birthday,” Katsuki mutters, and it’s so stupid and sweet and smug that Izuku can’t help but lean in and kiss him. A messy, smiling kiss. Teeth knocking. Lips clinging. Joy spilling out of him.

“I love you,” he says, and then again, quieter, “So, so much.” He doesn't wait for Katsuki to say it back. He doesn’t need him to. Not when he’s already so clearly saying it with his whole damn body.

Izuku slides another finger in, and Katsuki gasps, sharp and beautiful. His hands scramble for something to hold onto. “I love— you too,” he pants, voice frayed.

Izuku watches it all. The way Katsuki’s eyes flutter. The way his breath catches. The way he parts his legs just a little more.

Izuku’s fingers keep going. He’s gentle, but he’s focused, curling just right, pressing until he finds that spot and Katsuki shakes.

And when Katsuki reaches out, when he grabs Izuku’s wrist and guides the motion, sets the pace himself, Izuku nearly loses it. His other hand grabs uselessly at the table for balance. He dips down, presses his nose into the crook of Katsuki’s neck, and just breathes him in. Lets himself melt into the scent, the heat, the tiny hitch in Katsuki’s breath.

He’s dizzy with it.

“Fuck,” Katsuki groans, low and hoarse.

Izuku pulls back slightly, not to stop, just to see him. To look at his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes and the way he’s coming apart under him.

“Mmm,” Izuku whispers, still moving his fingers. “Kacchan. Think— ’m gonna put it in now. Okay?”

Katsuki’s eyes crack open, dazed but sharp. He grips Izuku’s wrist tighter, stopping him, holding him inside.

“Wait.”

Izuku blinks, panting. “Wha—”

Katsuki doesn’t answer.

Just glances down.

Izuku follows his gaze. To where their cocks are pressed close. Both slick with precum. Both twitching.

Then Katsuki looks back up.

Something unspoken passes between them, and Izuku’s breath catches.

Watch me, Katsuki’s eyes seem to say.

Izuku doesn’t dare blink.

Katsuki tips his head forward slightly— and spits.

A thick string of saliva falls from his lips, lands hot and wet across both of them. It lands messily across their cocks, smearing over the flushed heads and dripping down the length.

Izuku lets out a strangled moan, half-choked, hips bucking forward. His fingers are still buried deep in Katsuki and his brain is short-circuiting, completely, entirely, hopelessly gone.

Katsuki’s grasp falls away from Izuku’s wrist, letting Izuku’s fingers slip out slowly, dragging just slightly as they leave. Then Katsuki reaches down, wraps his hand around both of them, and strokes the spit in a few slow, languid pulls.

Izuku stops breathing.

Katsuki lets go like it’s nothing. He leans back on his elbows, the muscles in his arms flexing, his smirk cocky and devastating. “You gonna…?”

Izuku’s mouth opens uselessly. He nods once, sharp and shaky, and somehow manages to line himself up, heart hammering so hard he can feel it in his throat.

He pushes in slowly.

Katsuki gasps, eyebrows pinching slightly, and his mouth drops open around a soft, choked noise. 

Izuku nearly blacks out. The heat. The grip. The way Katsuki takes him in so perfectly, tight and trembling and warm all around him. It takes everything in him not to cry again.

But he keeps his eyes open.

He watches. Watches the way Katsuki’s brows knit, the way his throat bobs, the way his chest rises and falls in shallow breaths. Watches his mouth fall open, soft and helpless. 

So pretty. So strong. So vulnerable like this, and still somehow in control.

He watches Katsuki’s eyes flutter open. Just barely.

Crimson.

Glassy and wet and so beautiful it hits Izuku like a punch to the gut.

His favorite color. Always has been.

Always will be.

He shudders, moans low and ragged, and fucks in just a little deeper. Just to see those eyes roll back again.

When he bottoms out, he pauses, searching Katsuki’s face, silently asking.

There’s no pain there. Just a challenge in those eyes that says don’t you dare stop.

So he doesn’t.

He pulls out slow. Torturously slow. Watches the way Katsuki tightens around him, like his body’s trying to pull him back in, like it misses him already. And then thrusts back in with a slick, devastating slide that knocks the breath from both their lungs. The sound of it is obscene, wet and slick.

Again. And again.

Each stroke hungry. Each one pushing Katsuki up the table an inch, dragging the legs with a high pitched scrape across the floor. Katsuki’s breath hitches every time Izuku bottoms out, sharp and shaky, and Izuku watches the way his head tips back, hair clinging to his flushed, sweat-damp forehead.

“F-fuck,” Katsuki groans, hips jerking up to meet him. His fingers tighten around Izuku’s hips. 

But then he grins. Sharp. Reckless. 

“That all you got?”

Izuku makes a strangled sound in response, something halfway between a laugh and a whimper, and bends forward, holding the back of Katsuki’s head as he leans him back onto the table. Their chests collide. Katsuki’s legs hook instinctively around his waist.

Izuku’s hands slide down, locking tight around Katsuki’s hips. He picks up the pace— rough now, relentless, fucking into him with single-minded need: to please. To claim. To make Katsuki feel everything. The sound is filthy—  skin slapping, sweat sticking, Katsuki gasping like he can’t get a full breath in. The table rocks with every thrust, legs squeaking against the floor, but Izuku doesn’t stop. Can’t.

Need to fuck Kacchan. Need to fill Kacchan. Need to make him feel good, so good he can’t think.

His grip bruises. He yanks Katsuki toward him, hips snapping forward again, again, again, like he’s trying to fuck the praise loose from Katsuki’s throat. Like if he just goes hard enough, deep enough, maybe Katsuki will understand just how much he loves him.

“Holy shit—” Katsuki gasps, covering his mouth with one hand.

Izuku freezes.

“No,” he whispers, fingers wrapping around Katsuki’s wrist. He gently pulls his hand away. “Don’t do that. Need to hear you. Need to see you.”

He kisses him. Soft and tender, in direct contrast to how he’s fucking him.

Izuku buries his face in Katsuki’s neck, panting against the skin there. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, voice thick. “So perfect. I love you. I love you so much. You’re too good to me.”

Katsuki lets out a strangled little sound and claws at Izuku’s back.

Izuku slows. Lets his thrusts draw out into long, deep rolls, each movement soft and tender, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of him. Like he wants to make this moment stretch forever. Their hips move together in a slow rhythm, wet and sticky and quiet except for the soft hitch of Katsuki’s breath every time Izuku presses deep.

He starts kissing down Katsuki’s throat. Over the slope of his shoulder. Down his chest. He mouths along his pecs, eyes fluttering shut as he tastes the salt and skin. His hand drifts up to squeeze at one nipple, and his mouth latches onto the other.

“Nnngh—” Katsuki whines.

Izuku perks up immediately, eyes flicking up, lips still wrapped around him. He flicks his tongue again. “That okay?” he asks, voice hushed and sweet. “You like that?”

“Fuck— mhm,” Katsuki pants, dragging his nails down Izuku’s back, hips twitching up in search of more.

Izuku smiles around the nipple. And then he sucks harder.

Katsuki jolts beneath him with a strangled gasp, fingers digging into Izuku’s back. Izuku hums at the reaction, lips still latched, and flicks his tongue again, slower this time. He pulls back just enough to mouth at it, sucking wetly before switching sides.

Katsuki twitches. “Shit—”

Izuku smiles, dazed and adoring. “Right… Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue in a lazy circle around the other nipple before closing his lips over it, sucking until Katsuki’s back arches.

He brings one hand up to play with the first nipple again, tweaking and rubbing softly in tandem with the slow drag of his hips.

“You’re so good, Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs against his chest. “Always so responsive. You make the best sounds—”

Katsuki whines, a loud, wrecked sound that Izuku swears he’s going to hear in his dreams.

He kisses across Katsuki’s pecs. Open-mouthed, tongue dragging wetly over the firm muscles. Then, back to the first nipple. Like he can’t help himself.

He sucks again. Softer now. Gentler. Just enough pressure to make Katsuki squirm. He hums when he feels him shudder underneath him, hips twitching up like his body can’t decide if it wants more or less.

“You taste so good,” Izuku whispers, lips brushing against Katsuki’s chest. “Everywhere.”

Katsuki’s hand threads into his hair, tugging tight, and Izuku leans up finally, cheeks flushed, lips slick, eyes glowing with adoration, and kisses his way back to Katsuki’s mouth. He leans in to kiss between Katsuki’s brows, his nose, his lips. Each one slow. Each one full of love.

He rolls his hips again, slow and deep.

A groan slips out of him, quiet and raw. “Kacchan…” he breathes. “You feel so good. So warm. I want this to last forever.”

Katsuki shudders beneath him. His grip on Izuku’s hair tightens. Eyes flutter open, glassy, dazed, like he’s barely holding on.

Izuku kisses his cheek. Then his jaw. Keeps moving, not thrusting now but grinding, dragging his cock in slow, delicious circles. “Every time you make a sound,” he whispers, “I cant— can’t believe I get to hear you like this. Can’t believe I get to have you.”

Katsuki’s hips twitch. His breath stutters again, like he’s trying to keep it steady, but Izuku can feel it. Every tremble. Every shaky inhale.

Izuku’s heart stutters too. His whole body buzzing, aching.

“I don’t wanna rush,” he murmurs, lips brushing Katsuki’s temple. “I don’t want it to end. I wanna remember all of this. The way you sound. The way you feel. Every breath you take. I wanna feel it inside me.”

Another roll of his hips. Another deep, devastating slide.

Katsuki moans, low and wrecked.

And Izuku?

Izuku sees stars.

He keeps grinding, slow and steady, his forehead resting against Katsuki’s. He’s barely pulling out at all now. Just shifting, rocking, pushing in deeper like he’s trying to melt into him.

“You’re amazing,” Izuku whispers, voice cracking with it. “You’re so— Kacchan, you’re everything.”

Katsuki whimpers softly, like he’s trying to stay quiet but it slips out anyway. His hands are trembling in Izuku’s hair now, gripping tight and then loose again like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Izuku can barely take it.

“You’re so sensitive,” he says softly, eyes wide and shining as he pulls back enough to look down at Katsuki’s face. “Are you gonna cum? You’re close, huh?”

Katsuki shakes his head. Bites his lip. His eyes are glossy, and his chest is heaving, and he still looks so fucking beautiful.

“No?” Izuku breathes, brushing Katsuki’s bangs back from his forehead. “Why not? Tell me. Please.”

Katsuki swallows hard, his hips twitching up to meet Izuku’s slow grind. His fingers curl tight in the sheets, white-knuckled, desperate. He tries to speak, but his voice catches. “Y-you’re… you’re going so slow, and I— I can’t—” His breath hiccups, a shuddering inhale. “It’s too much.”

Izuku's heart breaks open in his chest. He leans in, kisses Katsuki's cheek, his jaw, the corner of his eye.

“Oh,” he murmurs, hips still rolling, deep and unrelenting. “I know, Kacchan. I feel it too. It’s a lot, hm?”

Then he sees it.

A tear. Sliding down Katsuki’s cheek.

Izuku’s breath hitches. His own eyes sting.

“Kacchan,” he whispers. “You’re crying.”

Katsuki nods. Barely. His hands are still fisted in the sheets, his body straining up into Izuku’s with every slow grind.

And Izuku just cradles him. Kisses the wetness from his skin. “I love you,” he says. Over and over. Between kisses, between shallow gasps. “I love you so much.”

And he keeps grinding, keeps moving, even as his own tears fall. Quiet and aching with it. Because Katsuki is still holding him. Still moaning for him. Still trembling like he never wants it to stop.

Izuku’s whole body is lit up by it. Not just the sex. The love . The trust. The ache. The pressure building like it’s going to crush him.

And he wants to be crushed by it.

He wants to give Katsuki everything.

“Kacchan,” he breathes, barely holding himself back. “You’ve been so good for me. Held on so long.” His hips stutter. He chokes on a gasp. “Shit— okay,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “Gonna give it to you now, okay? Gonna make you cum.”

Katsuki lets out a helpless, whiny hmmph sound, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He shifts his grip. Plants his feet. And starts thrusting again. Hard now. Focused. Every snap of his hips slamming deep and rough. The table groans. Katsuki gasps, hands scrabbling for purchase on Izuku’s slick shoulders.

“You’re so close,” Izuku pants, his voice cracking. “I can feel it— Kacchan, please— please, let go—”

Katsuki chokes on a sob, back arching off the table, and then he’s gone.

His whole body seizes as he cums, loud and messy and shaking. Tears stream down his face, mouth open in a silent cry that breaks into gasps when Izuku keeps going, keeps thrusting through it, fucking him through the peak.

Izuku's crying too. Openly now. Fat, ridiculous tears streaking his cheeks, dripping down onto Katsuki’s face, mixing with his. He kisses them away blindly, grinding into him, still murmuring, still babbling.

“I love you,” he says, again and again, voice raw. “I love you, Kacchan— thank you— thank you— thank you—”

Katsuki is trembling under him, twitching with aftershocks, arms wrapped tight around Izuku’s back like he’s trying to pull him closer. 

Izuku holds him, fucks him, cries into his neck. His thrusts are messier now. Shaky. The end creeping up fast.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers. “Please don’t let go—”

Izuku's rhythm falters.

His whole body tightens, trembling, like it can’t hold it in any longer, and it can’t. The buildup is too much. The pressure in his gut, the feeling of Katsuki shaking and sobbing and clinging to him, the way he feels so full of love he might just burst from it.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he thrusts one more time— deep, hard— and that’s it.

He cums with a gasp that punches out of him, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. A cry breaks through his lips as his orgasm crashes into him, long and intense, rippling through every inch of him.

Hot cum spills out of him in thick waves, filling Katsuki until it leaks around the edges, dripping down the backs of his thighs.

Izuku doesn’t stop trembling.

He collapses forward, arms shaking as he catches himself on his elbows, chest pressed tight against Katsuki’s. Their bodies slide together, slick and sticky with sweat and tears and cum. Katsuki lets out a little noise at the sensation, but he doesn’t push Izuku away. Just holds him. Still crying. Still shaking.

Izuku’s face hovers just above Katsuki’s. He lifts a hand, gently brushes a thumb under Katsuki’s eye, wiping away the tear tracks. His own cheeks are soaked, tear trails hot and fresh.

“Hey,” he whispers. Smiles. So softly. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Katsuki laughs, broken and teary. He swats at him, but it’s not even half-hearted.

And Izuku kisses him. Just once. Sweet and dizzy as their hearts pound together.

They lie there for a moment, tangled and sticky and quiet, until Katsuki breaks the silence with a breathless huff of laughter.

“Well,” he rasps, voice still wrecked. “I think we’ve given the cake plenty of time to cool.”

Izuku blinks. Then his eyes go wide. “Oh crap. The cake. Kacchan— your cake. You worked so hard on it— oh no, I messed up— do you still wanna frost it? I can help! I can—”

Katsuki snorts, reaches up with both hands, and squishes Izuku’s cheeks between his palms. “I think you’ve done enough frosting tonight, nerd.”

Izuku turns beet red instantly. “Kacchan!” he squeaks, mortified.

But Katsuki just snorts and pulls him down into another kiss, grinning against Izuku’s mouth.

He glances at the clock behind Izuku’s head and hums. “Also? It’s 8:25.”

Izuku pales. “Our dinner reservation!”

Katsuki shrugs. “Whatever. You know I like staying in.”

Izuku blinks at him. Then laughs. “Yeah,” he says softly, forehead resting against Katsuki’s, still close enough to kiss him again. “Yeah, me too.”

He brushes a thumb across Katsuki’s cheek, catching the last trace of a tear. Presses another kiss to his mouth.

“This was the best birthday ever.”

Katsuki raises a brow. “Even if I never let you even think about using frosting as lube again?”

Izuku pouts. “You don’t know it wouldn’t have worked!”

Katsuki smirks. “I know it would’ve worked. That’s the problem.”