Chapter Text
Izuku stares at himself in the mirror. His expression is grim- uncommonly tight.
In his reflection, his curls are tousled, frizzy from static, sent askew from when he’d yanked his shirt over his head. His posture is hunched, almost as if he is trying to somehow hide himself. And worst, when he looks himself up and down, he swears he can almost see the anxiety rippling under his skin: up his back- his arms and chest- and worst, straight down to his cock, where it rests against his bare legs–
–And in less than a second, his head is in his hands, his entire body sagging.
He never should’ve agreed to this.
Denki was the one who’d suggested it. And of course, he should’ve said no- really should’ve said no- but the way it had been described over margaritas last week was too interesting- too damn intriguing to ignore.
“Completely anonymous!” Denki had insisted, hazy-eyed and sloppily licking salt from the rim of his drink. “A way to explore without commitments!” He’d said, taking a deep swig, tequila and lime dripping from the corners of his mouth.
“And honestly? Suuuuuper fucking hot.” He’d slurred, sleepy and adorably tipsy.
Izuku should’ve shut it down. Should’ve politely declined.
But in fairness, after three margaritas on an empty stomach and more than a year without any sort of physical intimacy, the idea, while totally stupid, had also been pretty tempting- enough that Izuku, shit-faced and lonely, had agreed right there on the spot. But now that he’s actually here, sober as a stone and naked as the day he was born in a cold, unfamiliar room, he can’t help but think this may have been the worst idea in the entire world.
Prying his eyes from his own sorry reflection, he looks over his shoulder at the door on the opposite wall, eyes narrowing warily, staring at it as if prepared for it to come to life and attack- as if it’s about to reach out and bite.
Because if Denki is to be believed, there is a room on the other side. A dark room. A dark room full of other men who are here for the exact same reason that he is. Which should be good. Should be exciting. Should be great considering that there are no attachments involved.
But even with all the obvious virtues laid out before him, Izuku hesitates. Because, even as intriguing as this is, it also feels sort of, what? Wrong? Or if not wrong, exactly, then weird, maybe? After all, casual has never been his style. He’s tried it once or twice, always to disappointing ends.
He suddenly cringes as an unwelcome memory strikes.
But if he’s being honest with himself- really, truly honest- his attempts at commitment haven't really turned out all that great, either.
His eyes flick over to the door once more, giving it another much less wary glance.
So maybe this is what he needs. Something different. Something new. After all, he’s tried dating. Has done the one-night stand thing. And none of it had ever really felt right. He’d always been missing something. There’d always been an empty space. A hole, maybe. A chasm inside that he’d never been able to fill.
But this isn’t that. Not the usual song and dance.
This isn’t a date. There’s no dinner to suffer through. No drinks to choke down. No awkward exchanges over coffee. No forced laughter. He doesn’t have to spend an uncomfortable evening with a stranger feigning compatibility and connection when it’s clear that the only real common ground is desire. He can just act on that desire. Safely. Anonymously. With someone who wants it just as badly as him.
Oddly enough, it actually sort of helps- soothes him to think of it that way, to know that everyone in that room is basically there for the same thing: sex and touch and connection. Nature. Pleasure.
He can close his eyes and just feel. Stop worrying about hurting feelings and shouting out incorrect names at inopportune moments. He can be whoever he wants in the dark.
Because that’s the point, isn’t it?
He plants his heels, clenching his fists and physically shaking the worry out of his body.
Yes. That’s the point. That’s why he’s here.
Determination swirls within, forcibly banishing any lingering weirdness as he lets out a slow exhale–
–And this time, when he raises his head, he stares at his own reflection unflinchingly. Without disgust or anxiety. Because even as strange as this whole thing is, something inside him knows that this will be good for him. A step outside his comfort zone.
Or, at the very least, it’ll be something different. Something new.
So he doesn’t allow himself to wait. To worry. Hesitation is death. Aizawa taught him that.
Without a moment’s pause, he turns away from his pile of clothes and discarded phone and walks right up to the door, pressing the button beside it as he’d been instructed.
The room around him goes dark. The lock on the door clicks open. And before he can give himself one more second to think about it, he reaches out, turns the handle, and steps into the inky blackness that stretches before him.
The transition is jarring.
He’d rushed forward with such confidence- such determination- but the moment his feet connect with the floor, he stumbles in surprise. Because this new room is so utterly different from the one he’d left that he halts right on his heels.
The room where he’d undressed had been cold. Clinical. Bare and white. Deliberately sterile. Uninviting. It hadn’t done a thing to help his nerves- in fact, it had only made the entire experience all the more uncomfortable. But this? It’s a near-180.
The room truly is pitch black inside, so dark that he can’t even make out the outlines of things: not walls or furniture or floor- not even his own hand in front of his face. In fact, the only thing he can see at all is a faint, faint light on the other side of the room- an ‘exit’ sign that he can follow if he needs to bail.
Now, Denki had told him about this- had told him plenty on their way here- but despite all his many warnings, it still takes a moment to adjust, not just to the lack of light, but to everything. Because not only is it dark in this room, it’s…warm. Unexpectedly warm. And that should be a good thing, considering his nakedness. There’s nothing more humbling than trying to be sexy when your dick is half inside of you, after all.
But even so, Izuku can’t help but feel oddly exposed as the wafts of air rush over his skin- can’t help but somehow feel even more naked in the dark, because now, with one of his keenest senses lost to him, the others are stepping up to compensate, and oh. Oh.
The room buzzes with noise. The air is alive. It whispers. It writhes.
A score of male voices murmur in his ears, a mixture of tenor, bass, and baritone that almost seems to harmonize in the darkness, ambient like the drone of electronics or the buzz of bees, the low hum of it broken up every so often with a throaty purr from somewhere to his left- a soft, silvery moan of pleasure behind him.
The effect on his body is immediate.
His skin instantly ripples with interest. His toes curl into the floor. Even as warm as it is, he can feel his nipples tightening- his cock twitching.
He hadn’t expected it- not at all- but Izuku suddenly finds that the sound alone is enough to wake up his skin. To make his breath hitch. Unable to see, it’s like every voice is touching him. Like every breath and sigh is surrounding him like a blanket, warming him- welcoming him.
And that’s what he wanted, isn’t it? He didn’t come in here to be shy. He didn’t do all of this just to stand here and be nervous or unnerved. He came here to be part of it- to experience.
So instead of fretting and fussing, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds. He lets his muscles uncoil. He relaxes into his limbs. Because, strange as it is, he has to admit it: it’s sort of exciting not being able to see anyone- to know that there are multiple men in here. To know that at any moment, a hand might reach for him. To be left on his toes waiting for the moment he gets to make those sounds, too- to make his own contribution to the music.
So, with a deep inhale, he manages a few timid steps forward, turning off his overactive brain and letting his senses take over as he slowly makes his way through the crowd of shadowed men, feeling the warmth as he slips between bodies- as errant puffs of breath hover over his skin- when suddenly, he hears something new over the low thrum of noise: not unintelligible sounds this time, but actual words.
“Right there.” Somehow whispers on his right as he passes. “Holy shit, right there.”
Izuku stops in his tracks. Every part of him suddenly sizzles.
Oh. Gosh.
He doesn’t know who’s speaking- doesn’t even know whether it’s two people together or just one man on his own, but the sound of it, all rough and ragged? It instantly sends a shiver up his spine. Sends his cock twitching in sympathy. Because whatever is happening, it must be good.
And worse, the fact that he doesn’t actually know what’s happening? That he’s only able to guess? To imagine it for himself? It only winds him up tighter- only makes him burn brighter.
Suddenly feeling ravenous for more, for something to soothe his hungry imagination, he lingers there for another long beat, his ears pricked, patiently waiting with bated breath for another sound- another phrase.
Time ticks by, slow and sludgy. The air bubbles and simmers. After a few minutes of waiting there like a complete dope, the excitement begins to dampen, his hyperactive head beginning to whisper to him urgently.
Wait. Is he allowed to listen like this? Is he encroaching?
And worst of all:
Is this…creepy??
Suddenly feeling foolish, he peels himself away, taking slow, careful steps through the blackness, face steadily heating in embarrassment as he weaves through the crowd–
–Only to turn and quite literally stumble upon another pair, halting himself at the very last moment before he trips over two men on the floor.
“Fuck!” One of them whimpers, his voice high and bright and raspy from overuse. “Fuck fuck fuck- slow down- slow down!”
It’s desperate. Pleading. Enough to make his quads clench.
And then, just as he begins to suck in a breath of surprise, he hears it: the wet smack of a hand against sweaty skin. A dark, lascivious chuckle. A wet suck of lips.
“You can take it.” A deeper voice rumbles, rough with lust and warm with amusement, “Can’t you, baby?”
His voice lilts with feigned sympathy- with sweet, delicious cruelty; the sort that never fails to make Izuku fall to pieces. Clearly feeling the same way, the other man moans weakly in response.
“I can take it.” He whimpers back, that wispy voice cracking like an egg. “I can take it.”
Izuku’s entire body throbs. His palms begin to sweat. And even though it makes him feel like a fucking pervert, he can’t help himself: he is suddenly so hard that he aches.
Holy woah. What’s happening there? Is someone being blown? Being fucked? Eaten out? What do they look like? Is it weird for him to stand here and listen? Do they want an audience? Is this okay??
His head rockets through thoughts and questions, his body and face growing warmer with every passing second as he greedily inhales all those pretty, pretty sounds; the way that skin begins to slap and moans begin to ring–
–And it’s there, frozen in the midst of it all and growing harder every second, that he suddenly hears something new; a coup de grace that nearly sends him crumbling to the floor.
“God.” A smooth, velvety voice abruptly whispers to his left, the sound curling around his ear like a caress. “I’m so- don’t- don’t stop. Please. Please.”
It’s a plea, sweet and desperate and lovely, and before Izuku can have a single thought at all, he suddenly hears what’s making the man beg like that. Because another sound suddenly unfurls from the same direction, slipping from the darkness like a tendril of silk.
It’s the deep, guttural sound of moans. Groans. The sloppy, wet, unmistakable sound of someone sucking cock. And sucking it well.
It’s lewd. Completely obscene. Unabashedly sexual in a way that makes no apologies. A huge, devastating step up from the suggestive sounds he’d been enjoying up until now–
–And before Izuku can stop it, he is suddenly hit with a wave of arousal so sharp that he has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep in a sound of his own.
Because this is incredible. This- being in the dark, all shadowed and secret? Being able to listen- to experience others’ pleasure? It’s incredible. So much better than he’d expected. So erotic that he feels like he could burst at the barest touch.
Each sound feels like it’s slipping over his skin. Burrowing into it. Each breath and twitch and sigh is like a symphony in his ears, sweeping over him- around him- through him. And if it’s already that good just standing here, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like to be touched. To be held. Kissed.
It fills him with desire. Greed the likes of which he’s never felt before. And suddenly finding himself entirely unsatisfied with just listening when so many delicious things are happening just inches away, his head shoots up, curls bouncing as his eyes dart around impotently in the darkness.
That’s it. He needs to find someone. Touch someone. Because he wants to sound like that. Wants to be pushed up against a wall and swallowed down. Wants to fall to his knees and make someone feel good. Wants to finally turn off his brain and just enjoy his body- someone else’s body. Wants to come screaming- fucked into oblivion by a stranger in the dark.
And as luck would have it, the moment that it crosses his mind, that’s the moment that he turns and quite literally stumbles over someone’s body in his haste, tripping right over a foot left haphazardly in his path.
Unable to see or stop himself, he feels himself flailing as he falls, hands reaching out for anything that can anchor him in this liminal space–
–And just when he’s accepted the fact that he is probably about to fall right on his face, a deus ex machina appears in the form of a shoulder- an arm.
Really not feeling like breaking his nose on the floor, he clings to it with all his strength, using it to keep himself from crashing to the ground, and thank goodness, whoever it is is smart enough (or kind enough) to brace themself and hold him up, not letting him fall.
Izuku lets out a heavy breath as he gains his bearings.
Oh, jeez. That was close.
He quickly gets his center of gravity back. Feels the comforting flatness of the floor beneath his feet. But reality returns with a vengeance, and the moment he finally registers the fact that he isn’t about to crash, Izuku is suddenly forced to confront the fact that he just groped some poor stranger in the dark- had yanked at him horribly–
–And he immediately burns with embarrassment.
Instantly feeling like the biggest idiot on Earth, he tilts his head, ready to blurt out an apology, only to suddenly go still; to freeze. Because with all other distractions eliminated and the danger in the rearview, he suddenly realizes that the thing he is holding onto so tightly is a bicep. A big bicep. The sort that he knows from experience takes years to build.
It flexes under his grip, thick and strong. It bunches warmly beneath his fingers. Close as he is, he can just barely detect a subtle, smoky, woodsy scent. And just as the sounds had intrigued him before, this- touching someone like this- is another new sort of discovery; another way for his senses to compensate. Because the texture of the skin and muscle and sinew is utterly mesmerizing in his hands.
It’s soft, but not. Supple, but strong.
It sends his mind reeling- sends his limbs prickling as he runs his hands over it. Had he ever really felt someone like this before? How fascinating to see in real time how the brain compensates for a lack of sight! Is this what it’s like to be blind? Is this what–
A voice suddenly sounds out of the darkness.
“Having fun?”
Izuku nearly leaps right out of his skin.
The voice is low. Really low. Like the rumble of an earthquake. Smooth. Almost velvety. And maybe that’s the dark, too. Maybe it’s his ears creating something from nothing, his wild, ravenous imagination heightening the tiny scraps that his senses provide.
It’s an interesting sensation for his unprepared brain, one that sends his already-whirring mind into sudden hyperdrive–
–When he suddenly realizes, with utter horror, that his hands are still wrapped snugly around that big bicep, his fingers pressing into this stranger’s skin as if he somehow owns it.
Mortified, he immediately draws back in a flutter, releasing the stranger from his grip.
“Oh!” He squeaks. “Sorry! Sorry, I–”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence- whatever pitiful excuse he was about to conjure. Because there’s suddenly a hand around his wrist- a big hand; the skin that same, smooth-rough texture as the bicep had been.
There are rings on the fingers that curl around his wrist. Callouses on the inside of his palms. It’s a hand that knows hard work. And utterly pathetic, yes, but the sudden, unexpected possessiveness of the squeeze is enough to stop Izuku dead in his tracks- to make him completely forget everything he was about to say.
“Hey. Nothing to be sorry for.” That voice sounds again. “It’s not like you can look where you’re going.”
There’s a touch of humor in it. Playfulness. Enough to ease the coil of tension in Izuku’s shoulders. Because whoever this man is, at the very least, he doesn’t seem mad.
Letting out a mollified breath, Izuku quickly relaxes into his hold, a quick, self-deprecating chuckle slipping out.
“Right.” He sheepishly concedes the point. “But still. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…grabbed you.”
There’s a beat. The air thickens between them.
“...I don’t mind being grabbed.” The man returns.
He chuckles softly to himself, a whisper of a laugh.
“When you’re here, it’s kind of a prerequisite, y’know?” He jokes.
Even without seeing his face, Izuku can feel his amusement. Can somehow just sense that there’s nothing to fear. That he hasn’t offended.
What a relief.
Shaking off that tension, he makes himself smile, even though no one can see it.
“Oh. Right.” He chuckles again at his own expense. “I suppose you have a point there.”
The air settles.
“Mm.” The man agrees.
With that said and the conversation drawing to what feels like a natural close, Izuku waits for him to let go. To step away. To whisper a ‘good night’ and slip back into the darkness like a curl of smoke.
Which is why he nearly falls over when the stranger suddenly speaks again.
“...Are you here with someone?” He asks.
Izuku blinks.
The question is simple, but the context is deep. The way he asks is suggestive, but not overly so. Hopeful for more, but with just enough leeway for Izuku to back out if he chooses.
It’s respectful. Calculated. And for some reason, those two factors, already mixing with the ever-growing thrum of tension between them, have Izuku pausing before he blurts out an answer.
Is he here with someone?
He absently thinks of Denki, somewhere in the crowd, more than likely already on his knees or pressed against a wall, and in half a second, he knows his answer.
“Not really.” He shrugs.
There’s another pause, a very deliberate moment of pondering before the stranger asks another question.
“Are you looking for someone?” He asks amiably. “That is, for something in particular?”
Izuku’s tongue floods. For a moment- one shameful, fleeting moment- he sees a face in his mind’s eye, sharp and scarred. He sees blood red eyes.
It’s a lark too fanciful to entertain. A forbidden wish so deeply secret that he immediately closes his eyes and shakes his head, dislodging the image before he can put it to a name. Because he can’t put it to a name. Can’t let himself think about it. Can’t even let himself dream. He’s already spent too many years lingering on that desire- too many years letting his heart fester and starve. It’s hopeless. Pointless.
What he really needs right now is to forget.
He looks up into the inky dark.
“No.” He whispers. “I’m not looking for anyone.”
The hand around him abruptly squeezes. The thumb moves, tracing a soft, slow circle around the inside of his wrist, an offer and a taunt all at once.
“Then can I take up a little of your time?” He asks.
The air between them, already a bit cloudy until now, suddenly thickens to the point of strangulation, a tiny ripple of tension shimmering over Izuku’s bare skin, brushing up the back of his neck like fingertips; like a whisper- like a kiss.
He can’t help it.
Goosebumps. Instant goosebumps.
The combination of touch and sound has his whole body abruptly shivering- has his brain bubbling up in his skull like a pot boiling over.
“I–” Izuku whispers, unsure of what he’ll say.
Some overly intellectual, worry-wart part of him begins to tap its foot impatiently in the moment of silence. It stares at him with sharp, judgmental eyes. And for good reason. He should definitely be more guarded in a place like this- should probably take his time and be more selective about his choice tonight.
Feeling oddly reluctant, he looks down at the ground, his mouth opening to say his refusal, only to abruptly freeze. Because at the moment before he pulls himself away, he suddenly thinks of the thick bicep. The impressive muscles. The way the metal of his rings had felt against his skin. The smooth, velvety purr of his voice. Because, yes, this is a stranger, but he’s a nice stranger. A nice stranger with nice hands and a good sense of humor. Someone respectful. Careful. Considerate.
From everything he’s felt and heard, he seems like a decent choice. A person who doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously. Who goes slow and checks in.
(Whose voice is like butter)
And while he knows it’s not particularly smart to trust so easily, he can’t help himself. He just…does. Because why not? Why the hell is he here if not for that? Is he really gonna stand here, butt-ass naked, and let the perfect be the enemy of the good??
Not a chance.
Telling that nagging inner voice to take a hike, he turns back to the man in the dark, looking up to where he imagines his head must be, making himself be far bolder than he feels as he answers him.
“...Yes.” He answers, loathing the pitiful little catch in his breath. “Sure. Yes.”
The air in front of him warms as a body draws closer.
“Great.” The voice responds, sounding genuinely pleased. “So. What are you here for tonight?”
Izuku blinks at him, a bit taken aback.
“Um?” He asks, unsure of what to say in response. “Aren’t we all here for—?”
A low chuckle interrupts him. It’s warm- not derisive, but kind.
“Not necessarily.” He says congenially.
Then, leaning closer, he softly asks, “It’s your first time here, isn’t it?”
The whisper is meant to be considerate. He’s clearly doing it to preserve his dignity. But even so, Izuku cringes deeply, grateful that no one can see his burning embarrassment in the dark.
“...Is it that obvious?” He asks sullenly.
He swears he can almost feel the smile from above him.
“...Yes.” The man answers, warm with amusement. “But don’t let that put you out. Everyone was new here at some point. We’re all here for different things.”
The hand around his wrist loosens, the long, ringed fingers beginning to wander up the inside of his arm, tiptoeing up scars and skin alike.
“Some people come here to listen.” He explains softly.
His fingers smooth elegantly over the joint in his elbow. Up the inside of his bicep in a way that makes Izuku’s entire body bloom with heat.
“Some come to touch.” He continues, tracing those same, devastating fingers up the slope of his shoulder- the line of his throat.
He takes a step forward, the heat of his bare body suddenly blazing against Izuku’s naked skin as he wraps a big hand around the back of his neck, holding the base of his skull in his palm.
“And some of us,” His head leans down, the skin of their faces just barely brushing as his mouth finds his ear, “Are here to fuck.”
It sails into his ear. It surrounds his head. For a moment, Izuku goes still like a deer in the headlights, so hyperfocused on every touch and sound that he forgets to breathe, his cock already beginning to stir, instantly half hard from just the way the man exhales in his ear- at the knowledge that he’s right there.
And clearly feeling it between them, too, the man lets out a low hum of approval, a sound so rich and so animal that Izuku’s back goes straight as a rod.
“You just gotta guide me.” He explains, his thumb rubbing a slow, dangerous line, “So.”
Suddenly, the hand around his neck is gone, abruptly replaced by two huge hands around his hips, their big fingers intimately squeezing muscle and bone, the sensation so intense and so unexpected that Izuku, one of the greatest heroes in the country, can’t help but let out a tiny gasp of surprise.
The mouth is suddenly back by his ear, each word tremulous and seductive as it vibrates off his skin.
“What are you here for, sweetheart?” The man asks.
Words fail. His brain, his sharpest, most dangerous weapon, suddenly turns to a damp, useless lump in his skull.
Sweetheart.
It’s pathetic. Just a pet name. Something this guy has probably used on a hundred other men. And yet, desperate as he is- lonely as he’s been- it has Izuku’s entire body throbbing with arousal, his cock instantly standing straight to attention.
Because in the dark, he can almost hear a familiar rasp in it- can almost smell the smoky, sugar scent. Can almost imagine.
And suddenly realizing how devastatingly close this man is to those long-held fantasies, he knows it now. Without a single doubt. He doesn’t want words or touch. Won’t be satisfied being put on his knees or swallowed down. No. No. He wants this man to fuck him. He wants this irresistible stranger to shove him against the wall. Wants him to pin his wrists. Wants that low voice to pour over him as he slips inside and calls him ‘sweetheart.’ That’s what he wants.
But god, he can’t say that! That would be too pathetic- too embarrassing.
So, trying and failing to answer him with even the barest bit of dignity, Izuku halfheartedly pulls himself together and croaks, “I- that.”
Utterly mortified by his own breathless tone, he swallows thickly, trying to fix his voice.
“That.” He repeats, deliberately putting a bit of bass into it. “...Fucking.”
There’s a twitch around his hips. The tiniest clutch of those big hands. A delighted hum.
“Oh?” The stranger asks liltingly, “That’s what you want?”
He comes close, his mouth finally making contact with Izuku’s ear- his temple; his lips curling into what must be a wolfish, predatory smile as he asks, “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”
It pours over him like water. Sinks right into his skin. Sends every nerve firing like an electric shock.
It’s crazy: he’s never seen this man- has no idea who he is or what he looks like- and yet, he’s pretty sure he’s never been so turned on in his life. Has never wanted anyone as badly as he wants him now.
“Yeah.” He breathes, arching right into his touch. “That’s what I want.”
There’s a low hum in his ear. Contented.
“Okay.” He returns, caging in closer. “I can do that.”
His voice drops, smoothing into a luscious rumble.
“How do you like it?” He asks gently, hands beginning to meander.
And then, as if thinking better of it, he quickly adds, “Wait. Let me guess.”
His fingers smooth over the shape of his ass. His voice goes warm.
“You think a lot. Too much, probably.” He guesses.
Izuku can feel the amusement rippling under his skin- can almost taste the pride curling off of him as he playfully asks, “Am I right?”
Utterly distracted by the touch until now, Izuku suddenly jolts at the question. Caught out, for a moment, he can only stare up into the darkness, mouth dropped open.
How? How does he…?
To his dismay, the beat of silence he takes must be an answer in itself, because the man chuckles softly in his ear, not derisively, but playfully–
–And though he’d like nothing more than to pout and argue, he does sort of have a point.
He lets out a weary sigh.
“...Yeah.” He admits sullenly, turning his face to the side. “I guess that’s true.”
One of those big hands suddenly abandons his backside, the palm somehow knowing just where to go as it wraps around his cheek, instead- gently turning his head back as if to say c’mon, don’t be like that.
“You’re a hero, aren’t you?” The man asks, suddenly tender.
Izuku blinks. He gapes.
Spot on. Every single thing he says is spot on. Can he see in the dark or something??
“How did you-??” He asks.
Another warm chuckle.
“Civilians aren’t this built, sweet thing.” The man answers, running the backs of his knuckles over Izuku’s abs.
It startles him right out of his surprise. Makes him shiver. Hell, nearly makes him whimper. But if the man notices, he doesn’t say, only dragging his other hand down Izuku’s arm, lingering over the obvious bumps and crevices there.
“And they don’t have scars like these.” He follows.
His voice suddenly gentles in the dark, every bit of teasing suddenly disappearing.
“It’s a lot of pressure being out on the street.” He remarks softly. “Trust me, I know.”
His face comes closer. His hands stroke soothingly.
“I bet you’d like to turn off that head for a bit, wouldn’t you?” He asks.
It hits like a brick. Like a sock to the gut.
Oh. The proximity. The sweetness. The way his hands feel on his abdomen. The way his words touch some achy, weak part of his soul.
It takes every bit of his strength not to sag into it- to pool right into this stranger’s clever hands like a wet rag. Because god, he is tired. It is a lot of pressure. And most of all, he does. He does want to turn off his head. Just for a little bit. Just for this moment.
He answers without hesitation.
“I would.” He whispers.
The man’s hands go soft. Soothing.
“I can do that.” He answers warmly, crowding closer. “So tell me: do you want me slow? Hard? Mean? Say the word, sweetheart.”
His fingers drag slow, perfect runes into his shivering skin. It’s like he can see right into Izuku’s mind- can somehow just know what he needs and where he needs it most.
Magic. It’s magic.
Already halfway to collapse, Izuku’s eyes open in shock at the genuine curiosity in it, the hair on his arms suddenly standing tall, because, big as he is, he’d sort of just assumed that this man would shove him down and take what he wants. So many others have before, after all. But apparently, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Izuku is taken by surprise.
He looks up into the blackness with wide eyes, stuttering a bit as he struggles to answer.
“I– but…you.” He manages softly. “What about you?”
The man stiffens before him. So very good with his words until now, he goes very deliberately silent in response.
It’s uncomfortable, sure, but trying to be thoughtful, Izuku reaches out blindly, finally taking the opportunity to touch him back, his gnarled fingers tracing up a cut abdomen and over a well-defined chest before tilting up his head and meekly asking, “What do you like?”
There’s a pause. A beat.
And then, to his surprise, a soft, shuddery breath and a quiet groan, one Izuku can almost see in the darkness–
–When suddenly, out of nowhere, the man’s hands grip, pulling Izuku in tight: so tight that their chest thump- that their hips bump- that their cocks, both rock hard, suddenly slide against each other in a silky tease.
Izuku lets out an unconscious sound, a tiny yelp that’s halfway between surprise and delight, and now, finally being able to get a proper feel for the body before him, his eyes pop wide in the darkness. His tongue pools with saliva.
Oh. He’s tall. And if the feel of muscle beneath his palms is any indication, he’s strong. Muscular and lean. Long-limbed and powerful.
Izuku swallows hard, forcing himself not to look down even though no one would see, because even more than the muscles surrounding him, the insistent press against his hip is hot. It’s delicious. It’s just as big as he’d assumed. Maybe even bigger. And already disastrously turned on before it, Izuku immediately gasps out loud at that first, explosive touch, his head rolling back, his entire body turning to fireworks as their bodies press and roll.
The man makes a deep, animal sound of contentment, almost growling as he brings his mouth to Izuku’s ear, his teeth nibbling dangerously on the lobe as he answers him.
“I like making pretty boys come.” He groans, licking hot, wet stripes up his neck between bites. “I like making them feel good. I like hearing them cry. Feeling them squirm.”
Izuku is a rag doll in his arms. He’s a maiden from a fairy tale.
Those big hands almost burn on his body. His low, lovely words burn in his ears.
“That’s what I like.” The man whispers, a hint of a smile slipping through. “Sound good?”
Izuku can barely catch his breath. He can barely stand. But somehow, he manages to answer.
“Yeah.” He squeaks. “Sounds good.”
Another deep chuckle. Proud. Content.
“So?” The man asks, nuzzling intimately into the side of his head- breathing honey into his ears. “How would you like me?”
Izuku bubbles. He simmers.
There are so many things he wants to do with this irresistible stranger- so many ways he’d like to be taken apart. And though it would be very much in his usual wheelhouse for him to fuss and fret and think about it way too long, he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t need to.
He asked, didn’t he?
Feeling bold- knowing exactly what he wants and suddenly finding himself curiously undaunted to express it- he turns his mouth to the stranger’s ear.
“Hard.” He whispers raggedly, sinking into the warmth of those hands. “I want it hard. A little mean- but just a little. Not too fast. I wanna–”
He doesn’t get to finish.
“--Feel it.” The man interrupts, stealing the words right off his tongue. “You wanna feel it. Don’t worry, sweetheart. You will. I’ve got you.”
It’s firm. Possessive. Utterly in control.
It’s the word of a man who knows his strengths and isn’t afraid to show them. A man who likes giving pleasure; who is good at it, and knows that he’s good at it–
–And god, the sheer confidence of it has Izuku so turned on that he can barely stand up straight. Which is lucky for him, because he suddenly finds that he doesn’t have to.
Those big arms wrap around him. They squeeze his waist. They nearly lift him off his feet. And there, putting all his trust, hell, quite literally putting his body into the hands of a stranger in the dark, Izuku lets himself be pushed across the room, away from the haunting chorus of voices, back and back and back until something solid comes up against his spine.
He immediately knows what it is as the air whooshes from his lungs. Immediately begins to shine with excitement.
A wall.
His back goes flat against it. His head tilts back. Caged tight and held fast, he can feel the heat of the man’s mouth hovering before his own. Can feel the crunch of drywall behind him- the ripple of muscle pressing him down.
It makes him shiver. Makes him ache. And suddenly realizing, with a shudder of anticipation, that he is so, so ready to be kissed after all this slow foreplay in the dark, he tilts his head and closes his eyes–
–Only to not be kissed at all. Because instead, the man tilts his mouth to Izuku’s ear and quietly asks:
“You prepped?”
Glass shatter.
Record scratch.
Izuku’s entire body goes still. His stomach drops.
Oh, no. No no no.
Denki had told him to do it before he went in- that’s what the private room was for! But he’d been so anxious and weirded out at the start that he hadn’t gotten the chance. He hadn’t even thought to bring any lube along with him! Like an idiot!
He looks up, suddenly stricken.
“Oh! I–” He squeaks, praying that he’ll understand- that this isn't some sort of dealbreaker.
Another low, gritty chuckle interrupts his babbling.
“No?” The man asks, thankfully not sounding too upset. “Lucky me. I’ve got that, too, then.”
Izuku blinks. For a moment, the words don’t register.
Got that, too? What does he mean by that? Does he–??
His questions are abruptly answered as he hears the sound of tearing plastic, a wet squelch, and before he can say anything at all, one of those big hands is reaching behind him, slipping down–
–And suddenly, there are fingers at his hole, warm and wet and ohhh-!!
He doesn’t mean to voice it, but it comes out anyway.
“Ohh~!” He moans, arching forward into that big body, clinging into his skin with digging nails.
The man leans his head down, nuzzling affectionately against the side of his neck, rubbing his stubble against his throat like a cat.
It’s intimate and masculine- the sort of slow, erotic start he’d always liked- and just when Izuku is sure that his head will sail away like a kite, the other one of those big, stupid hands is suddenly taking him by the jaw- turning his head–
–And in half a breath, he’s getting his wish, and the man is finally kissing him, his mouth plush and soft against his own.
His tongue flicks pleadingly at Izuku’s lips, tiny, teasing licks that send every hair on end. His fingertips press insistently at his hole, palms kneading into the meat of his ass.
It’s too much stimulation to process. A candle blazing on both ends. It’s enough to short out all of the wires in his brain, to suck the air right out of his lungs, and trying very hard not to crumble to dust right then and there, Izuku reaches out, flinging his arms around the man’s shoulders, eyes closing in bliss, body sizzling with sudden pleasure as he leans up for another kiss.
To his surprise, the man abruptly pulls away. Just an inch. His tone goes unexpectedly serious.
“Yes?” He asks in confirmation.
Izuku blinks. He could almost laugh.
His head nods violently. His cock throbs. His back arches.
“Mm!” He hums, leaning up to kiss him again. “Yes!”
And they’re off.
This guy knows what he’s doing. He really, really knows what he’s doing.
Now, it’s not like Izuku hasn’t been fingered before. He’s been fingered plenty, thank you. But for all his experience, he isn’t sure anyone has ever done it like this.
Usually, the men he sleeps with are in a rush to get him open. They use too much lube and finger him fast and nasty, too eager to get inside him- to push down Japan’s Darling and make him scream himself raw; to spill themselves in the Symbol of Hope and watch it leak out. And truthfully, he hasn’t minded it all that much- certainly had no complaints about being held down and split open.
But this guy is different. There’s no mad dash. No rush.
No, he’s taking his time. He’s going slow. His touches linger like he’s trying to map him out. He kisses like he has all the time in the world, like Izuku is not something to use, but something to savor. And though it pains him to admit it, after all those years of being pressed down and pushed into like meat, this diligent care makes him so damn hard he’s afraid he might pass out before he even gets inside him.
His tongue slips in, lazily licking behind Izuku’s teeth. His finger pumps in and out like he has nowhere to be. The slowness is agonizingly good- it’s torture- and drinking up every drop, hell, almost ravenous for each tiny morsel he gives, Izuku rests his head back against the wall and lets himself be flayed open by the pleasure.
He thrusts against the hand inside him, each roll of his hips wordlessly begging for more. He reaches up, pulling him by the back of the neck, trying so hard to deepen the kiss. But to his dismay, the man is stronger than him, both in body and will, and so he keeps his luxurious pace, only deigning to add a second finger after Izuku begins to fuss and squirm.
Izuku’s head falls back as it slides inside. The stretch is intense. Beautiful. The crook of his fingers is art. Something that should be recorded for posterity. And he should be grateful, he knows. To find someone this good on his first outing? His first try? It’s the sort of luck people would kill for.
But even so, now that he’s pressed up against this irresistible stranger, he suddenly forgets to be grateful. Forgets his good manners. He forgets to be meek or humble. He’s tasted blood in this man’s touch- his kiss. And he can’t go back. He refuses to go back.
Tilting his head, he whines out a wordless sound of unhappiness into the tiny space between them, feeling his own voice as it vibrates back at him.
The man makes a soft, sympathetic sound, languidly rubbing his cock against Izuku’s hip, his indolent pace not budging at all as he hums down at him with half-hearted disapproval.
“Use your words, sweetheart.” He whispers.
His speech is lazy and slow, the condescending tone reminding him of someone scolding an unruly pet, and suddenly, Izuku doesn’t care about being nice- doesn’t care about anything but the fingers inside him and the way his balls are beginning to ache. So he reaches up, grabbing the back of his head and roughly pulling him down until their mouths mash together, his kiss all teeth and tongue and vicious demand as he bites into that plump lower lip just on the right side of too hard.
“Faster.” He growls into him, rolling his hips sharply.
There’s an unimpressed click of teeth as the man pulls back. A put-upon tut of disappointment.
“You said ‘not too fast,’ remember?” He reminds him coolly. “I’m just giving you what you asked for, sweetheart.”
Izuku freezes.
Oh, he could kick his past self. Could put his hands around its jaw and strangle it for subjecting him to this.
Because he did ask for it. Quite explicitly. And if he’s learned anything about this man in the short time they’ve been together, he knows what he has to do. If he’s going to get what he wants, he needs to ask for it.
Praying that it’ll work- that this man will take pity- he completely changes tack; stops being a brat and tries playing nice.
He reaches up, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders. He bears forward, pressing their hips together, rutting their cocks together in a slow, luscious glide. And then, hearing the tiny gasp of surprise above his head, he hammers in the final nail, pushing forward and pressing his face into the hollow of his collarbone, nuzzling into it as if he could bury himself inside.
“Please?” He begs sweetly, not bothering to feel self-conscious- not caring who hears him. “I know what I said, but please go faster.”
His head falls back, eyes pinching shut, body trembling horribly as that low, simmering arousal begins to burn.
“Please.” He begs softly, barely raising his voice.
The fingers inside him twitch. The body before him shudders. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then:
“...Jesus.” He whispers reverently. “Okay. Okay, sweet thing. I’ll go faster.”
Izuku instantly preens at his victory, suddenly feeling very, very clever–
–Only to immediately gasp as he gets exactly what he asked for.
The man puts in a third finger, going faster as requested, the delicious stretch enough to make Izuku’s eyes roll- to make his limbs tremble- to make his cock drool onto this stranger’s skin–
–And fuck, the man must feel the clench around his fingers- the drip against his thigh- must know how good he must be making him feel, because his demeanor instantly shifts, that easy, contented aura suddenly oozing with pride.
“Better?” He asks tauntingly.
Izuku doesn’t mind the playful tone. Doesn’t mind that he’s being teased. All he cares about is the fullness inside him- the friction on his cock- the way that low voice has him aching and panting and growing dangerously close to coming.
“Yes-!” He gasps, knees shaking, “Yes- thank y–!!”
He doesn’t get to finish. Doesn’t get to thank him. Doesn’t get to say a thing at all, because the pace that had been so slow and so infuriatingly gentle just a moment ago suddenly graduates from a crawl into a full-blown sprint.
The fingers inside him begin again, not slowly pumping like before, but thrusting in and out, heavy and hard, the tips curling against his prostate in a way that must be deliberate–
–And Izuku, not prepared for it at all, suddenly curls like a ribbon.
His head flies back. His cock leaks. One of his hands reaches up behind him, nails digging into the drywall in a desperate attempt to find something to hold. And though he doesn’t mean to, the sound that comes out of him is loud. Indecent.
“Ahh~!” He cries into the dark.
The mouth is back at his throat before he can speak. A ringed hand reaches behind his head, gripping the curls at his nape in a tight, heavy fist, yanking until his neck is extended, bare and exposed.
“You also wanted me hard, remember?” The man whispers tauntingly, clearly getting off on it, “And mean.”
He bites into his earlobe. Lathes his tongue up his throat. Sucks deep and messy below his jaw in a way that will absolutely leave a mark.
“So how’s this?” He asks, deliciously out of breath. “Is this what you wanted?”
He presses hard against his prostate as he asks it, rolling that ridiculous body against him, and for a moment, all Izuku can see are stars. All he can hear is his own heartbeat, pulsing in his ears like a drum.
“I–” He squeaks, any semblance of speech turning quickly into a moan. “Oh god, I–”
He can taste the smile blazing down at him. Can feel the tension in the muscles holding him against the wall. Can almost see ruby irises gleaming down at him in the dark- sharp canines bared into a grin. Can almost smell the smoke.
“Can’t hear you~” The man croons musically.
Izuku closes his eyes. Swallows hard. Pulls himself together.
“Good!” He croaks out. “It’s good- good-!!”
And it is. God, it is.
His legs begin to tremble as those fingers fuck him open. He can feel himself tightening up around them, toes curling, the peak drawing so close that he can taste it on his tongue- feel it in his teeth.
“Right- there-!” He gasps, letting his head be yanked back in that fist, his wild hair curling around those rings, “Oh- my– fuck- fuck!!”
His knees wobble. His body flutters.
Ohhhhh god.
It’s close. He’s close.
He’s suddenly rising onto his toes, chasing the pleasure, fucking back against the hand inside him, his mouth making ridiculous sounds- slutty little whines of ah- ah- ah–
–Only for the fingers inside him to suddenly pull out at the last moment, leaving him clenching around nothing. The cock rutting against his own is suddenly gone, too, leaving a vacuum of heat. The body before him retreats, the carrot abruptly dangling out of reach.
Shocked and hurt and confused, Izuku jolts in surprise, his head whipping upward, throat making a sharp sound of anger- of betrayal–
–Only to be stopped dead as that sinful mouth suddenly comes down against his own, two big hands cradling his head as he’s caught halfway through a cry of anger.
The kiss is like magma, hot and slow and almost molten on his tongue. It burns away his frustration. Scorches away his fury. In fact, it works so well that Izuku goes horribly still in his grip, almost limp, letting himself be kissed silent for a long moment- two–
–And when he’s sure he’ll actually melt in those big arms, the man pulls away again.
“Mm-mm.” He scolds gently. “Not yet. Not until I’m inside you.”
Izuku pouts up at him. His hands grip tighter. And for the first time in his whole life, he forgets all about shame- about being nice or sweet. He can be whoever he wants to be in the dark. And right now, he wants to be greedy- selfish.
“Then turn me over.” He retorts sharply, letting his nails dig into flesh. “Quit playing games and get inside me. I’m ready for you.”
He feels the surprise in the sudden clutch around him- the tiny inhale of breath.
“Oh?” The man asks, rippling with amusement. “You’re ready for this?”
He comes forward as he asks it, rolling his hips, pushing their cocks together in a way that sends every nerve on fire.
It’s delicious. A taunt that digs right down into his bones. But Izuku isn’t afraid of fire. Has never once backed down from a challenge. Has never wanted to be fucked so badly. So he tilts his chin, glaring up into the dark.
“I can take you.” He whispers solemnly, pressing up and slowly turning himself towards the wall. “All of you.”
He isn’t sure what he expects in return. Maybe another scolding. Maybe another one of those infuriating laughs. More taunting. More games.
The last thing he expects is the tender hand that abruptly curls around his cheek- the utter lack of that teasing tone as the man comes up behind him and takes him in his arms.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He whispers reverently, holding him like a treasure. “You’re too good to be true.”
Izuku blinks. And then, he blushes, deep and hot.
It’s ridiculous: he’d been so strong just seconds ago, but now, his mouth drops open like a dope, utterly unsure of how to respond. Luckily, he doesn’t have to as the man draws close, crowding into him until their bodies are flush together, his head bowing as he presses a soft kiss to his ear and whispers:
“Like this, huh?” He chuckles. “You are too much.”
Izuku could laugh. He could cry.
Him? He’s too much?? As if this man isn’t the most wonderful thing he’s ever experienced. As if every single thing he does isn’t pure sin.
His kiss is heaven. His body is hell. And all too happy to be put smack dab in the middle of that purgatory, Izuku slowly spreads his legs in invitation, pressing himself up against the fat cock behind him, his voice going low and ragged.
“Put it in.” He grits, arching his back. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
He lies himself flat against the wall, pressing his scarred cheek into it, barely recognizing himself as he whispers:
“Make me- squirm.” He gasps, slowly rolling his hips. “Make me- cry.”
There’s an unexpected sound behind him, a quiet, choking sound he can only just hear. And then, like a crack of lightning, the man obeys.
“Yes.” He grits, putting those big hands around Izuku’s hips- sliding his cock up the back of him in slow, teasing strokes. “Whatever you want. Anything you want.”
It’s exactly what Izuku wants to hear. A tiny slip in that iron control.
Taking advantage of it, he begins to roll his hips against that big, stupid cock, smearing it in lube, drinking up every ragged sound that slips out from behind him- the harsh grip on his hips as the head begins to kiss against his hole.
It’s an intense sensation, one that has him boiling all over, and suddenly finding himself desperate to be closer, Izuku reaches up over his shoulder, digging his fist into the man’s hair.
It’s silky and long around his fingers- beautiful- exactly what he’d imagined, half of it tied up into a small bun at the back of his head, and suddenly ravenous to know more about this man who is making him feel so good, his hand continues to wander, taking in everything he can: the jut of his jaw and the shape of his cheeks and the metal in his ears- the cool, smooth surface of the piercings- the–
His hand suddenly stops, fingers touching something that shouts out to him- an object that’s foreign, and yet, oddly familiar? Blinking, he lets his fingers smooth around it curiously, trying to figure out what it is that seems so distinguishable- what’s drawing his attention–
–before instantly drawing away like the crack of a whip.
His stomach suddenly knots with worry.
Wait.
…Is that?
No.
Sure that he’s mistaken, but needing to confirm, he reaches up and feels for it again, slowly mapping out the shape with his fingers. It’s a metal bar across his ear, long and thin, with what feels like…
Izuku suddenly goes cold. His entire body tenses.
…A skull. That’s the shape of a skull. He can feel the eyeholes- the teeth. In fact, it’s just like the one he bought for…
His blood instantly turns to ice. His stomach drops out. Sucking in a gasp, he reaches up one more time, his hand fumbling around the shape of this stranger’s ear, and sure enough, he finds, with growing horror, that he recognizes every piece of jewelry he touches: the small hoop and the silver stud and the helix with the little lightning bolt charm- the one that he and Denki picked out together as a joke back in high school. The one that he’s been proudly wearing since.
Finally sure, Izuku’s hands whip away, suddenly clapping over his mouth to hold in a cry of alarm.
The change in the air is instant. And being as observant as he is (as he’s always been), the man must instantly pick up on the shift.
He pulls himself away a few inches, leaning down to Izuku’s ear.
“Hey.” He calls gently, a hand stroking slowly across his jaw. “You okay, sweetheart? Want me to stop? Need a minute?”
Izuku barely hears him. Barely hears anything over the sound of his own heartbeat.
Because he intimately knows the familiar kiss of his rings as they brush over his skin. He knows the scar on his palm. God, now that his head isn’t so cloudy, he so easily recognizes the voice!
A bit of bile shoots up his throat, choking his breath.
How could he have not realized? How could he have been so blind?
The hands around him abruptly twitch with anxiety. He can hear the nervous bob of his throat.
“Sweetheart?” The man urges, tender and nonthreatening. “Say something.”
But Izuku can’t say anything- can’t do anything but swallow down a mouthful of vomit. Because now, it all makes sense. The sarcasm. The sweetness. The strong arms. The low voice. The keen observation.
He’d known this man all along.
And now, there’s no running from this. No hiding. He can’t pretend that he doesn’t know. So, even though he’s so scared that he begins to shake like a leaf, he makes himself be brave and answer him.
“...Toshi?” He asks.
The man’s entire body tenses behind him. So completely in control until now, he sucks in a sharp, ragged breath of surprise.
For a moment, all is silent. Still. And then, as if trying to confirm a theory, those ringed hands dart out again, tracing over limbs, deliberately mapping the famous scars on his arm and hands before reaching up up up to the deep scar on his right cheek. His calling card.
Those big fingers trace across it frantically. They still. And then, so, so slowly, a hand reaches up and twists gently into his hair, feeling the telltale curls beneath his palm.
All the information comes together.
There’s a broken gasp. The hand in his hair jerks away.
“...Izuku.” Hitoshi whispers thinly.
And there it is.
For a moment, neither of them says a word. Nobody moves. No one even breathes. And it’s then, held in that moment of silence, that the gravity of it hits Izuku like a fist.
Oh, god. Oh, god!! He was about to fuck Toshi- his friend Toshi! The guy who shared snacks with him. Who shared notes with him in English. Who used to sit up with him in the common room on the nights when neither of them could sleep, wrapped together in blankets and whispering to each other in the dark.
And he kissed him! He let him put his fingers inside him. God, he almost came from it: from the sound of his voice and the scent of his skin, and–
He suddenly freezes halfway through that thought. He thinks.
–And–
–And it wasn’t bad. Not a bit. Not at all. Toshi was good to him. They were having fun, weren’t they?
Now, true, it’s admittedly pretty awkward to find out that the man he was fucking in the dark wasn’t a stranger, but his friend–
–but when he’s honest with himself- really honest- is it that weird? Toshi seemed to enjoy it. They both seemed to enjoy it. So is it really that bad?
The concept fills his mind. Floods his heart. Manages to smother a bit of that panic under the weight of reality. Because now that the initial shock has ebbed and he can think properly again, it’s actually sort of…perfect?
After all, out of all of his friends, Toshi is the one who can definitely keep a secret. He’s mature. Subtle. Observant. Never takes anything too seriously. Which is also probably why he makes such a good lover.
His cheeks suddenly blaze.
In fact, he may be, dare he say, the best he’s ever had.
Halfway through that devastating revelation, there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, not the slow, seductive touch of a stranger in the dark, but the touch of a friend, Hitoshi’s deep, familiar voice sounding in his ear as he breaks him from his thoughts.
“Zu? What are you thinking?” He asks quietly- nervously.
Izuku blinks.
It’s a valid question. What is he thinking?
He’s thinking that this is weird. He’s thinking that this is awkward. But shockingly, he’s not thinking that he wants to get away. He doesn’t want to leave. Truthfully, he’s thinking that this is actually sort of, dare he say,…fine.
Because if they’re both enjoying it, even knowing who the other is, do they really need to stop?
A quick gulp.
But will Toshi understand that? Would he be cool with it? They were so compatible until about a minute ago, will knowing his identity ruin that? Does Toshi specifically come here for the anonymity it provides? And worse, even if he’s okay with fucking strangers here, would he be okay fucking him? Fucking Izuku Midoriya?
It terrifies him to even wonder- to consider the fact that Toshi might just walk away from him- might be disgusted by what they’d done here in the dark–
–But just as that horrible thought begins to dig its roots, Izuku suddenly remembers the hand on his shoulder- the gentle tone- and he makes himself slow down. Makes himself consider. Because if Toshi were disgusted, he wouldn’t have reacted like that, right? He wouldn’t have been so kind, right? He’d already be out the door, wouldn’t he??
Choosing to trust that feeling- to have faith in his friend- Izuku swallows down as much of the fear as he can stomach, turning his head to the left and glancing over his shoulder, choosing each word with care as he answers him.
“I’m thinking that I’m…okay.” He whispers slowly.
He doesn’t miss the twitch of surprise around his shoulder- the tiny catch of breath behind him.
“You’re…okay?” Toshi asks incredulously.
Izuku gives it one more second of thought. One more silent prayer.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m okay. This is okay.”
There’s a beat of silence, thick as soup, before Hitoshi suddenly slumps forward into him like a limp noodle, his arms wrapping around his waist, head sinking down to rest on his shoulder.
Izuku nearly leaps out of his skin.
“Toshi??!” He squeaks.
There’s a sudden exhale against his shoulder- a sound of sweet, sweet relief.
“Holy shit.” Toshi exclaims softly into his skin. “I think I just had a heart attack.”
It’s said with his usual dry tone, the dripping sarcasm that he’s well known for, and despite everything that’s happening, the sudden rush of familiarity is so nice that Izuku sinks a bit, too.
“No kidding.” He returns with a shaky laugh.
There’s a bit of movement. A tender hand through his hair.
“You’re really okay though, yeah?” Hitoshi asks, leaning close. “I didn’t, like, traumatize you or anything?”
Izuku can’t help himself: he snorts.
“No. Not at all.” He laughs, nearly feeling dizzy with relief. “Honestly? I, um, really liked what we did.”
The body behind him suddenly stills. It swells against him hopefully.
“Yeah?” Toshi asks.
It’s deep. Suggestive. And with that one question- one word- the doused flame between them suddenly flickers back to life. Because apparently, knowing who he is doesn’t change the chemistry between them. It doesn’t make Toshi want him any less.
And now, hearing that call, the unspoken question of are we doing this?, Izuku’s stomach flutters. He nods his head.
“Yeah.” He answers hoarsely.
Hitoshi comes closer, his lips brushing against his ear.
“Even though it’s me?” He asks.
It’s nervous. Maybe even a bit…insecure. As if Toshi thinks he isn’t enough. As if Izuku is somehow lowering his standards. As if the wonderful things they’d done were somehow beneath him.
Izuku doesn’t answer him. He refuses to dignify it. Instead, he just turns in Toshi’s big arms, leaning up onto his toes and planting a kiss right on his lips. It’s open-mouthed and sincere, one that’s much more intimate than it is carnal, and for a moment, they both sink into each other, their bodies flush tight.
Hitoshi pulls away first, breathing a rattling sigh into his lips.
“...So I take it you don’t want me to stop?” He asks softly, a hint of a laugh dusting the edges of it.
It’s sweet. Small. It has Izuku melting like butter.
“No.” He shakes his head, ghosting their mouths together. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He can feel Hitoshi’s body heating up- can sense the return of that delicious tension between them–
–But just as those big, ringed hands begin to move- to begin again- everything halts in time as another body comes up behind them, a new voice sounding out in the darkness.
“There you are. Wondered where you wandered off to.” It purrs suggestively.
Toshi’s entire body suddenly stiffens. Izuku’s body follows suit, his mouth dropping open, eyes bugging wide in the darkness, hands gripping into his friend for dear life.
For a moment, it’s like he’s floating and falling. Like space and time mean nothing. Like the floor is made of water and the air is made of lead. Because Izuku knows who just joined them. He knows the tone. Knows the soft grit- the hint of a smile. He would know it anywhere.
Kacchan.