[NSFW] FIC - "Tell Me That I’m Special (tell me I look pretty)"

DKBK | canon-compliant | post-canon | getting together | lust quirk

Lust quirk shenanigans. Written for the DKBK Fic Exchange Round 2.

==

TELL ME THAT I'M SPECIAL (tell me I look pretty)

Izuku was canceling their weekly game night again.

Or rather, “rescheduling” it, Katsuki mentally amended. 

It was whatever. Izuku did his usual song and dance of, “We can just do Saturday instead? It’s okay if you can’t reschedule, though, I can make it work, haha, figured I’d ask, but it’s really okay if you want to keep Friday!”

Katsuki wasn’t stupid. If this had anything to do with Izuku’s mom or their mutual friends, then Izuku would have just said so. The lack of a rambling explanation meant it was something else, probably work-related if Katsuki had to guess.

Katsuki didn’t bother with guessing though. Instead, he texted back something about how his free time wasn’t subject to Izuku’s schedule (a lie), but whatever, if Izuku wanted to wait an extra day to get his ass kicked in I Am Here! aka All Might’s official fighting game, then it was, as established, whatever.

“Uh oh, what is it?”

Scowling at Kirishima’s question, Katsuki tucked his phone into his pocket. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you mad?” Kirishima waited until an elderly man had shuffled between them on the sidewalk before elbowing Katsuki.

“I’m always mad,” Katsuki grumbled. He decided not to take issue with the way Kirishima snorted out a laugh.

Ahead, loitering at a street corner with a vape balanced between her fingers, a woman’s sharp-eyed gaze caught Katsuki’s attention. He was instantly alert, returning her stare with feigned disinterest. The woman couldn’t be much older than him, with electric blue hair and lips a glossy red ombré.

She wore a Dynamight-themed spiked collar around her neck and an oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. Orange threads formed a small row of x’s down the sides. Just an intense fan then. Katsuki was used to those.

Predictably, when he and Kirishima approached the corner, the woman took a bold step into their path. 

“Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” she said breathlessly, holding out one hand with orange-tipped nails. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t do fanservice, but he couldn’t just ignore her either. So rather than take her hand, he simply nodded grudgingly.

At his side, Kirishima bowed his shitty red hair just enough to acknowledge her and said, “He’s always happy to meet a fan.”

”Don’t put words in my mouth,” Katsuki snapped. While Kirishima sputtered, the woman only giggled.

“It’s okay,” she said, her cheeks rosy. “I really admire how you’re always so unapologetically yourself. You don’t care what anyone thinks of you.”

Unmoved, he muttered a non-committal, “Yeah.”

Anyone who knew Katsuki would know that wasn’t exactly true, but he wasn’t about to correct this random extra.

”I-if it’s all right,” the woman continued, “please accept this message of thanks for being such an inspiring hero.” From a slim purse, she produced what looked like a simple greeting card and held it out with both hands, head bowed in deference.

Katsuki regarded the card—a watercolor swan was painted across the top—but he didn’t take it. He wasn't in the habit of accepting things from strangers, even when those strangers were his fans.

Except then Kirishima elbowed him again, the jab sharp enough that Katsuki suspected he’d used hardening.

“Come on, Bakugou. She’s being so sincere.”

”Then you take it,” he said, about to turn away.

“What would Midoriya say?” Kirishima asked, like the shitty nerd’s opinion should have any sort of impact here.

Except now he’d said it, Katsuki couldn’t help imagining Izuku’s apologetic smile, his head bowed low as he accepted the card in his stead. Then Izuku would give him that look, the one that said, “It’s okay, Kacchan, I know you’re a good person.”

Fuck Kirishima for knowing him so well.

Glowering at the idiot, he snatched the card from the woman’s outstretched hands and grumbled, “Thanks.”

The tips of her fingers brushed his own. The contact was brief, lasting barely a second, but a shiver breathed goosebumps across his skin, raising the fine, pale hairs on his forearms.

Kirishima beamed like a proud dad, and Katsuki was this close to punching the look off his face. Instead, he stomped off, something about the whole interaction leaving a sour taste in his mouth and faintly tingling sensation in his fingers. At his back, he could hear Kirishima apologize for his rudeness before hurrying after him.

Resisting the weird urge to look over his shoulder at the fan, he instead flipped open the card to find an even weirder message—the name ‘Shiratori’ along with an address and a date and time. What the fuck.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima called as he caught up. “Wait—”

Katsuki slapped the card onto Kirishima’s face. The man stumbled, flailing as he caught the square of paper between clumsy fingers.

”The hell?” Kirishima said, waving it between them like he thought Katsuki had whipped it at him by accident or something.

”Toss it or whatever. You’re the one who wanted me to take it.” With that, Katsuki put the whole encounter behind him.

+++

It was an hour later, when he was digging into the spicy ramen he liked at a small izakaya, that he noticed something off.

The specialty karashibi miso ramen was his usual order, so when he’d barely finished half his bowl before he was blinking sweat from his eyes, he knew something wasn’t right.

Frowning down at murky red broth, he lowered his chopsticks and straightened in his seat. Heat scorched his cheeks, sweat slid down his temples and the bridge of his nose. His stomach was suddenly in knots.

“Did they make it too strong?” Kirishima asked, glancing up from his own bowl.

“No such thing,” Katsuki said reflexively, but he still considered the possibility. It didn’t seem likely though. The ramen didn’t taste any spicier than usual. Katsuki knew his own body, though, and this wasn’t a typical reaction.

The heat swelling inside him wasn’t the peppery kind you’d expect from food. It felt more like after an intense workout during the summer, when the sun was relentless, the shade useless, skin sticky, air thick and humid, and nothing but an ice cold shower could bring any relief.

"I need a sec," he said, abruptly standing. He ignored the way Kirishima tilted his head like a confused dog, and headed for the sign on the wall with universal pictograms for the bathroom.

Locking the door, he tugged at his collar and drew a deep breath that didn't ease the tension closing around his ribs. He leaned against the sink counter, searching his reflection for an answer. His cheeks were visibly flushed, his eyes glassy and pupils blown. Blonde hair stuck wetly to his temples where sweat glistened in trails over his cheekbones.

What the hell? He could feel the heat spreading through him like sparks catching tinder, stifled only by the paltry barrier of his skin. With a muttered curse, he splashed his face with cold water even as his pulse quickened and his breaths grew more ragged. He had the urge to dunk his whole head beneath the running water.

With a quick apology to Kirishima, he forwarded him enough to cover the bill and then ducked out of the izakaya.

He hadn't made it ten steps down the sidewalk before his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Shitty Hair: Hey, you okay?

>I'm fine. just had to run

Shitty Hair: Like… a bathroom run? I’ve been telling you for years that much pepper isn’t good for you or your bathroom

>omfg shut up before I explode your face

Shitty Hair: or before something else explodes

>you're fucking disgusting

Shitty Hair: okay I'll check in later, have a great shit!

>DIE

As much as Katsuki wanted to correct the moron, it was as good an excuse as anything.

He walked briskly, weaving between pedestrians too slow for his harried pace. The autumn air was a balm against his hot skin, but it wasn't enough. His clothes felt thick and cumbersome. Constricting.

Gasping for air, he reached back to grip a handful of his sweatshirt. He tugged it off before using it to mop the sweat from his brow. The motion had rucked up the hem of his black tank as well, exposing his waist to a cool breeze that slipped beneath the fabric clinging to his damp skin.

Two teenage girls sitting on a bench did a double take as he passed. A woman and several men stared wide-eyed at his abs before Katsuki shoved the material back down.

It wasn't like he didn't know what he looked like. He'd been complimented enough to know his appearance was, for some reason, considered attractive to a fair portion of the general public. Last year, Kirishima had asked him to participate in Red Riot's yearly calendar shoot, citing fan polls that had named Dynamight as the hero they most wanted to see without a shirt.

Regardless of how comfortable Katsuki was in his own skin, and regardless of how Best Jeanist still occasionally lectured him about a dignified physical appearance helping to put civilians at ease, Katsuki didn't want his hero ratings to be even slightly swayed by a fucking photoshoot. So he'd declined with a firm, "I don't do fanservice," and that had been that.

Except he'd never before felt every gaze on him like a physical touch. Despite the burning beneath his skin, goosebumps rose along his exposed arms. It was weird as fuck, but the idea of putting his sweatshirt back on felt like self-immolation so he glared at anyone who looked too long and walked faster.

By the time he got to his apartment, his patience had run out. He was tearing off his clothes before he'd even finished locking the door. Without a thought to where he flung each article of clothing, he went directly to his bathroom to turn on the shower. He didn't need to wait for it to heat up, so he immediately stepped beneath the spray.

He gasped at the shock of cold even as he leaned into it, drenching his hair and drawing what felt like his first full breath since leaving the izakaya. Bracing his hands on the wall, he dropped his head and let the steady water pressure beat the tension from his back and shoulders.

Damn, it felt good. He reached for the bar soap, wet it beneath the shower spray, and then rubbed it across his chest to build up a lather. Without meaning to, his hands slowed against his skin, soapy slick palms gliding down the scar at the center of his chest, down his sides and the familiar ridges of his stomach, to the divots of his hips and lower until…

He was hard. Katsuki blinked water from the tips of his lashes and stared, dumbstruck, at his dick. When the fuck had that happened?

Contrary to his hot-blooded reputation, Katsuki didn't think about sex much. In general, it always seemed like a pointless distraction from the real shit that got his blood pumping and his heart racing—that is, training and chasing down villains.

But as with most things in his life, Izuku was the exception. One afternoon with the nerd and Katsuki was rubbing one out the moment he was alone. He'd started fantasizing about him back at UA, when he'd been coming to terms with what it meant to be a hero like All Might.

He'd also been coming to terms with his feelings for Izuku, much of which only solidified during his battle against Shigaraki. After all, it wasn't every day you got killed for being someone's closest person.

That was hopefully a one-time thing, but it had at least offered definitive clarity about their relationship. Silver linings, right? Edgeshot would be impressed with him for looking on the bright side or whatever.

Anyway, at first, he'd felt guilty for thinking about his childhood friend while touching himself. But if they were going to continue training together—and there was no way Katsuki was letting Izuku off the hook, even with One For All reduced to embers—then Katsuki's brain and his libido had to come to an understanding. As long as the fantasies remained firmly in his head, then what was the harm? No one else would ever know.

So aside from Izuku-inflicted erections, he didn't typically need to jerk off. But it wasn't that unusual—sometimes, a dick just needed to be a dick (even though he suspected this was also related to the heat still simmering beneath the onslaught of cold water).

Figuring he should just get it over with, he took himself in hand. The moment his fingers closed around his length, relief washed over him. His lashes fluttered shut. Pleasure tightened his balls, rippled through his belly and up his spine, making him arch and thrust into his fist. The way his nerve endings seemed to sharpen the pleasure into pain as his hand increased in speed wrenched a quiet moan from his throat.

His other hand gripped the shower wall for support. With his head down, water streamed past his eyes, over his cheeks, around his mouth that hung open with each panting breath. The rivulets felt like caresses, frantic wet kisses along the back of his neck and the little divots of his spine, sweeping touches across his shoulder blades, teasing the hard lines of his biceps. The water smoothed down the curve of his pecs, finding his nipples where they lapped at the tips until they were hard and aching.

He swore as he came, spilling over his fingers in thick ribbons of white that were quickly washed away.

Hissing from overstimulation, he milked the last few droplets from his cock before leaning his full weight against the wall. His thoughts were fuzzy, his ears full of white noise. The heat in his limbs had reduced to a low burn, but he could feel it there, crackling and hungry.

He heaved a sigh before switching off the water. Getting actually sick from soaking beneath an ice cold shower wasn't something he needed on top of whatever was happening to his body.

As he dried off, he clenched his teeth against the sensation of the soft towel against his bare skin and tried to focus instead on the facts.

Given the timing, his symptoms could only be connected to that fan with the swan card. Shiratori. She must have used her quirk on him during that brief physical contact when he accepted the card. Fucking hell.

As far as he could tell, this seemed like a straightforward lust quirk. He'd never met anyone with such a quirk before, but he'd heard about them, mostly from Kaminari and the degenerate grape. They were pretty rare, but he wasn't wasting time thinking about what sort of person you had to be to awaken a quirk that made someone horny with little more than a touch.

Regardless, Katsuki had faced far worse quirks. He wasn't about to be felled by a fucking lust quirk of all things.

Not bothering with clothes, he considered opening a window for some fresh air. His apartment was five floors up and overlooked a stone fountain at the center of a cobblestone courtyard. It was a small oasis within the harsh industrial lines of the city, and Katsuki often took his coffee on the balcony to enjoy the view.

Today, though, he instantly regretted it the moment he cracked open his living room window. The breeze that swept in sent shivers through him that had nothing to do with the chill. He barely even felt the cold, the heat once again surging to the fore, swirling in his belly and gripping tight around his dick, which was instantly hard.

In contrast, the unmuffled sounds of the city scraped over his senses, loud and abrasive, sandpaper against satin. Even the sunlight felt intrusive and overwhelming. Sights and sounds that were typically little more than background noise were heightened to the point of oversensitivity.

He slammed the window shut again before yanking on the blinds. Then, gasping to fill his lungs, he collapsed onto the sofa. Holy shit, what the hell was that?

Okay, he told himself. He could handle this. Jerking off never hurt anybody, right? Right.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time to come. A few quick pumps, a firm touch down his thighs to cup his balls, and he was spilling across his stomach like a goddamn pubescent teenager.

Finishing twice in a row, along with the sensory overload, left him sagging into the sofa cushions, thoroughly spent, and a moment later, he was asleep.

+++

Katsuki hadn’t anticipated the dreams.

There was so much bare skin, damp with sweat and spit. Muscles strained beneath restless touches, nails clawing red welts into freckled shoulders. Sweet moans filled his ears, the whisper of ”Kacchan” panted between gasps of pleasure.

Scarred palms explored his chest, cupped his pecs, rolled his nipples between crooked fingers. Katsuki’s legs trembled as they were pushed apart, and his spine arched as a wet tongue traced the cut of his hips followed by the scorching suction of hungry lips. There was so much heat. He was burning up.

“Izuku,” he groaned as desire rocked through him.

He jolted upright, woken by the sound of his own loud cry. Chest heaving, he took a moment to orient himself and remember where the hell he was.

He peered blearily around the darkened room, immediately recognizing the familiar shapes of his furniture. Awareness returned all at once—-he’d fallen asleep on his sofa after… 

One look down at his naked body confirmed what he already knew. His dick was still maddeningly hard even though he’d obviously come in his sleep. A fresh spatter of sticky cum stained his stomach atop the crusty remnants from before he’d knocked out. Disgusting.

As if his erection hadn’t been indication enough, when he shifted to stand, he hissed at the way his skin prickled with sensitivity. Fortunately, they recently orgasm had again eased the burn of lust.

He knew it wouldn’t last long, though, so he took advantage of it by washing up and guzzling down two glasses of cold water. The clock in his bedroom indicated he’d slept all evening. It was nearing midnight, which meant he’d completely missed dinner. That, at least, was a problem he could quickly resolve.

He threw on a robe—a hideous pink and orange thing that he’d gotten as a gag gift for Christmas in their last year at UA—and then cobbled together a sandwich from random ingredients in his fridge. He managed to prepare a cup of tea as well before the slide of fabric against his skin became too much.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pressing his palm to his dick. The head was flushed a livid red, damp with precum, thick veins bulging down the hard length.

He jerked off in the bathroom, washed his shaking hands, and then devoured his meager meal, tearing into the sandwich like it had personally offended him. Or like it was the “fan” who’d quirked him.

After, he found his phone in the pocket of the pants he’d flung off earlier that day. He had several missed texts from Kirishima, but he ignored them as he opened the browser. A cursory search for information about lust quirks returned nothing useful. The general consensus seemed to be the same across several forums, Reddit threads, and Quirkpedia articles.

Victims of lust quirks had only two options: fuck it out or wait for the symptoms to subside.

It wasn’t clear in any of the sources whether or not he had to have a partner to resolve the quirk’s effects. But since masturbation clearly wasn’t doing the job, he would need to step up his methods.

That was how he found himself researching sex toys in his darkened apartment at midnight like a total loser virgin. It wasn’t his fault that he’d never before cared about the range and scale (immense on both counts) of the sex toy market. He’d only ever been interested in one person, and that person had never expressed any kind of romantic, much less sexual, reciprocation. He wasn’t going to settle for a silicone stand-in.

Except apparently he was, because he no longer had a choice. Probably.

For one moment of sheer, reckless insanity, he imagined what it would be like to go to Izuku with this… issue. The bleeding heart would want to help, and it wasn’t like it’d be a hardship for him. 

Katsuki had caught the nerd staring at his chest and arms enough times to safely assume he fell into that demographic of people who found Katsuki good-looking. If he could only nudge objective appreciation into physical attraction then maybe—

No. Nope. Fucking no. He couldn’t allow himself to even think about the possibility. This wasn’t a harmless fantasy confined to the depravities of his imagination. How fucking pathetic did he have to be to consider using a goddamn lust quirk as an excuse to… to… manipulate the friend he’d been in love with since high school (maybe even before then) into fucking him? God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He could never do that to Izuku, no matter how scrambled his rational mind was from quirk-induced relentless horniness. If the only way Katsuki could have him was under false pretenses, then it was better to never have him at all, even if that meant living with heartache for the rest of his life. Which Katsuki was already intimately familiar with, so really, he wasn’t actually losing anything.

Confused and agonizingly turned on, Katsuki eventually found a shop that provided same-day shipping for a stupid amount of yen. He selected an average-sized dildo (according to the website—did these companies do customer surveys or something to calculate a range of dick sizes?), their highest rated lube, and regrettably placed an order. Given the late hour, it wouldn’t arrive until morning.

Resigned to not being able to work under these conditions (unless his symptoms broke before morning,), he sent off a quick text to Best Jeanist about feeling unwell. Unsurprisingly, he received a response within minutes.

Jeanist: Thank you for informing me, Bakugou-san. Is there anything I can do to help? This is rare for you.

>nah, I’ll be fine

Jeanist: I will have a care package delivered for you tomorrow.

Katsuki shook his head, but the twinge of guilt at lying (by omission) to his boss was instantly consumed by the inferno beneath his skin. The constant aching pressure left him feeling hollowed out, empty and unsatisfied, and he didn’t fucking know how to fix it.

Despite the water he’d chugged, he was still parched. He uncapped another bottle as he checked his missed messages from Kirishima, as well as a couple others from Sero, Sato, and Kaminari. They all seemed to be saying the same thing, something about a get together. The timestamp was from hours ago, though, obviously when he was dead asleep dreaming about Izuku’s hands, his muscles, his intense gaze, his tongue—

Right. He raised the water bottle to his lips as he read the first text, and then promptly forgot to swallow and poured water all down the front of his neck and chest. He hardly noticed, though, his muddled thoughts trying to escape the mire of lust and make sense of the words on the screen. 

Shitty Hair: wanna come to Sero’s? you’re probably sulking bc Midoriya ditched you for a date, but game night with the boys instead!!!

He set the water bottle down before he could drop it and spill even more water all over his kitchen floor.

A date? The hell? Kirishima had to be fucking with him. Izuku would’ve told him… right? Regardless, he wouldn’t have told Kirishima and not said anything to Katsuki about it.

He typed out and deleted several misspelled messages with trembling fingers before he settled on:

>how do you know that

That was nice and vague, right? Didn’t give away his ignorance about any such damn date, or the sick feeling clawing up his guts.

To his surprise, the dots indicating Kirishima was typing a reply appeared. He glanced at the time again, confirmed it was now past midnight, and tried to swallow. Despite the water, his mouth felt dry and sticky.

With concerted effort, he retrieved the bottle, this time downing half of it before his phone vibrated.

Shitty Hair: you’re up! we’re about to call it a night here though. next time?

Shitty Hair: heard it from Sero. blind date or something with a coworker? what did Midoriya think??

Katsuki’s ears were ringing. What did Izuku think of his blind date? How the fuck would Katsuki know? The nerd hadn’t said a single word about it when he canceled their weekly game night.

He didn’t bother replying to Kirishima or any of the others. Instead, he fumbled for the olive oil in his cabinet, hefted his entire case of water bottles, and retreated to his bedroom. He deposited the water on the floor beside his bed and the bottle of oil on his nightstand before shrugging off the robe. A quiet sigh escaped as a hiss through his clenched teeth.

Spreading out on his bed, he groaned at the sensation of his bedsheets sliding along his back and buttocks, already sticking from sweat. Damp trails slid from his hairline down the back of his neck. His fingers tunneled through his mess of hair, no doubt even more chaotic than usual, but the scrape of his nails felt incredible against his scalp.

Unable to hold back any longer, he poured a small amount of olive oil onto his fingers before rubbing the pads together to spread the liquid. Then, without touching his dick that rested livid and leaking against his abdomen, he reached down to tap experimentally at his entrance.

He’d never had anything there before, but he’d read the articles online, and it all seemed pretty straight forward. Katsuki was a fucking prodigy—he could damn well figure out anal stimulation.

That didn’t change the fact that the burning in his chest and stomach and face wasn’t from the quirk alone though. Anger seared behind his eyes, beneath his ribs, around his throat.

Fuck Shiratori or whatever her damned name was. And fuck Izuku, too, for keeping shit from him, even though Katsuki knew he had no right to it. But fury alone couldn’t defeat this shitty quirk, so he took a sweltering breath and pressed one slick digit inside.

Normally, he’d probably think this was weird as fuck. But right now, his own finger breaching his entrance felt fucking incredible. He moaned, loud and unrestrained, pumping gently in and out, marveling at the way his ass clenched around his finger, at the incredible heat and tight wall of muscle. The hollow feeling in his gut receded just a little, and he turned his face into his pillow, moaning again as he pushed in a second finger alongside the first.

By this point in his life, he'd given up being able to touch himself without thinking of that nerd, so he brought to mind the way he’d looked the last time they hung out. Izuku had been sprawled on Katsuki’s sofa, curls sticking wildly out above his ears, and laughing at something on TV. When Katsuki had spread out and propped his feet in Izuku’s lap, he’d turned that dazzling grin on him and adjusted his position to make sure Katsuki was comfortable.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. He shouldn’t have cared. But fuck it all, he did.

To his knowledge, Izuku had never dated anyone. But that was the fucking kicker, wasn’t it? To his knowledge.

Apparently, Izuku had gone on a date and not said a word of it to him. In all likelihood, this wasn't the first time. Izuku had that dorky charm about him, and who could resist those big earnest eyes, round cheeks belying a lean, muscular frame strong enough to bench press a T-beam, no quirk required?

He was an idiot for feeling betrayed when he’d never had a claim to Izuku’s time or feelings or… much of anything really. But why hadn’t Izuku told him why he was canceling their game night?

Frustration roiled within him, punctuated by his mental refrain of what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Desperate to cut off his spiraling thoughts, he pushed a third finger inside. It was too soon, and it stung a little, but the pain felt good, too. Fuck, why hadn’t he done this sooner? His chest shook with a tremulous cry of frustration as he pushed his fingers as deep as they could go, filling that emptiness inside that burned and clawed and razed at all the soft parts he couldn’t stand to have exposed.

His other hand gripped the back of his thigh, baring himself to an empty room, aching for more. His eyes squeezed shut, and he imagined a solid body above him, familiar hands gripping his hips and dragging him down the bed, a wet mouth sucking marks of possession into his skin.

”Izuku,” he murmured, giving himself over to the fantasy.

Izuku would pull Katsuki’s fingers free, murmur quiet words of reassurance when Katsuki whined at the emptiness, his hips pumping uselessly, his neglected cock weeping against his skin. Then Izuku would line himself up and push inside, splitting Katsuki open, filling him so thoroughly he’d feel him in his goddamn throat.

”Right there,” he cried, hips jerking as he found his prostate. “You fuck me so good. Fill me up. Take me apart. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me up. Please, Izuku. Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t—“

He came with a strangled shout, back arching off the bed in an obscene display, sweat dripping, untouched dick pumping scalding heat all over his stomach and chest.

Then, with a shuddering breath, he collapsed, utterly worn, limbs trembling, and vision going dark.

+++ 

He woke up a few hours later from a dream about teeth sinking into his neck and a rough voice demanding, “Look at me when you come, Kacchan.”

Without conscious permission, he was chest down, ass up, working four fingers into himself and thrusting desperately into his fist. He couldn’t even spare a thought to how pathetic he must look, panting and drooling and working his wrist and hips hard enough that if he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d have probably strained something.

He was so sensitive that he didn’t even need to touch his prostate before he was coming into his sheets and crying for more because although the desperation eased, it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed more.

Once he was coherent enough, he dragged himself into the shower where he jerked off again, and then drank another bottle of water to keep from dying of dehydration. 

The only good thing about this quirk was that it left him bone-deep exhausted, which allowed him to sleep, even if his dreams made sure his rest remained fitful.

+++

Katsuki woke to the familiar smell of smoke. Squinting against the daylight that streamed in through his blinds, he quickly located the source. Several hand-shaped scorch marks were seared into his bed sheets.

He hadn’t lost control of his quirk while asleep since before puberty. He glared at the evidence in outraged disbelief. 

Feeling like he’d been run over by a bullet train, Katsuki gingerly rolled onto his side before sliding off his thoroughly ruined bed. To his horror, his legs immediately gave out and he tumbled to the floor with a startled yelp.

His lower back ached, his asshole hurt, his legs felt like jelly, and oh yeah, his goddamn dick was hard again.

Clenching his jaw so tight that he might’ve cracked a molar, Katsuki rose to his feet. Fueled by willpower alone, he chugged more water before painstakingly making his way to the kitchen to warm up leftover miso.

As he slurped the soup directly from the bowl, he sent a quick text to Kirishima asking if he still had the card Shiratori had handed him. Then he checked his emails to find an update from only thirty minutes prior. His order had been marked as delivered.

He slammed his empty bowl onto the table and shoved to his feet, that emptiness in his gut and his ass yawning wide again. He couldn’t stop from clenching his buttocks as sweat slicked his temples. He was so damn empty.

Throwing the ugly robe back on, he ventured from his apartment just long enough to retrieve the package from the mail center in the building’s main lobby. Fortunately, it was still early so he didn’t run into anyone. Even so, by the time he returned to the privacy of his apartment, he was panting and wet and there was really no hiding the obscene tent beneath his robes.

Stripping naked again, he tore open the package and freed what was about to become his new favorite toy from its box. Muscles aching, exhaustion weighing at his limbs, and desire consuming his remaining rationale, he had to force himself to clean it first. His sanity was hanging by a thread.

By the time he had three fingers shoved up his ass again, scissoring himself open to take something much bigger, he was all but screaming and cursing his frustration into the sheets, face unacceptably wet with overstimulation and unsated lust. It wasn’t enough, and his arm with its old war injuries was beginning to ache.

He was pouring lube over the tip of the dildo when his phone chimed on the nightstand. He gave it a cursory glance, noting Kirishima’s name and a thumbnail. He'd taken a picture of the card. Anger flared inside him again, but it was quickly overtaken by the heat clawing through his insides as if seeking a way out. 

Nothing else mattered more in that moment than getting something inside him. He half-fell, half-slumped to the floor where he secured the dildo to a base that allowed it to remain in place. Points to the makers for functionality, he supposed. Then, heaving his body upright, he positioned himself above the dildo until the thick head kissed his loosened hole.

He sank down and a sound like a sob escaped his throat. Fuck, it was so big. It felt so good. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't think, he could only sit there on his hands and knees, ass full, sweat and tears sliding down his face as his dick pulsed and waves of painful pleasure crested within him.

Shit, had he just come dry?

And still, the fire didn’t abate. If anything, it seemed to increase. Frustration tore from his throat, hoarse from moaning. Was the fucking quirk getting worse? Was this why Shiratori had marked a date and time on the card. If he was remembering correctly, it was for tonight, a little over 24 hours since their arranged run-in. She no doubt knew that her quirk would reach its peak soon, and that he’d have no choice but to go to her for relief.

Katsuki bared his teeth and slammed his fists into the floor, hard enough to crack the wood, hard enough that his knuckles split and left behind a bloody smear.

He was a goddamn hero. He was Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Like hell he was going to meet her for any other reason than to arrest her for illegal use of her quirk against another person.

As rapidly as the fury had come, it faded into the mindless bliss of being filled as he began rolling his hips. The dildo reached so much deeper than his fingers, and for being “average,” it felt huge, big enough to stretch him open, to radiate pleasure through his entire body so that he trembled with it.

He closed one hand around his dick and the other grasped at his chest, pinching his nipple and tugging hard enough to sting, to elicit a gasp as he threw his head back.

His phone vibrated. He’d knocked it off the nightstand when he relocated to the floor. When he spied the name through lashes heavy and sticky with exhausted tears, his breaths stuttered.

Izuku: Good morning, Kacchan! What do you want me to bring over tonight for dinner?

Katsuki tried and failed to swallow, his throat too dry to properly work. He sat harder onto the dildo, grunting at the way it pummeled his insides, renewed anger sparking again to life.

Still no mention of his date, huh? Well, fuck him and fuck this shitty quirk.

Not pausing in his movements, he swiped up his phone and typed back a quick, garbled response.

>somethnig cameup reshedule for nxt weke

There. See how the nerd fucking Iiked having their plans canceled without explanation. Then he tossed down the phone, ignoring the barrage of new texts vibrating through the floorboards. He was probably asking what Katsuki meant.

Well, fuck him twice over for expecting Katsuki to give him answers when he didn’t say shit about why he had canceled. Game nights were their weekly hangout. It was their thing . Sure, it wasn't the first time Izuku had needed to reschedule, but if he hadn’t felt Katsuki needed to know about his date, then was it possible Izuku had actually full-on dated people in the past and just kept it secret?

But why? Now that Izuku wasn’t a licensed hero anymore, did Katsuki no longer matter? Was he not important enough to share those details about his personal life with him since they couldn’t be rivals anymore? God, had Katsuki been completely fucking clueless this whole time?

”Shit.” Katsuki collapsed onto his forearms, his hips still moving jerkily, thighs burning as he fucked himself on that goddamn piece of rigid silicone that felt amazing but still wouldn't compare to how it’d feel to take Izuku inside of him for real.

The phone vibrated again, and since he was already crying on his floor with a dildo up his ass, he glanced at the screen through a fresh film of tears. Izuku was still texting, and Katsuki caught something about Jeanist before he grabbed the device and flung it furiously across the room.

He was so goddamn tired, and his body refused to be sated, every part of him alight with raging heat, leaving him raw and ragged and bleeding.

After coming dry a second time, he returned to the bed, setting up the dildo so that he could ride it, spine arched, arms raised to grip the edge of the headboard at his back. He was so sensitive, the pleasure bleeding into pain and back again. With any luck, he would pass out soon and the next time he woke up, maybe this nightmare would be over.

“Izuku,” he mumbled, legs too weak to properly bounce on the dildo anymore. "Izuku." He rocked his hips back and forth, gasping and whimpering at the fissures of pleasure despite the accompanying sting of his abused hole. “Please. Izuku. More, I need more, damn it, fill me more. Fuck, fuck fuck—“

A startled sound cut through the uneven rhythm of his gasping breaths, followed by a loud thud as something hit the floor.

Katsuki stilled for only a moment before his hips began moving again, unable to stop seeking that threshold of where the pleasure would finally break and release him from its grip. He did lift his head just enough to crack open his eyes though.

The tiny, ever dwindling part of his brain that remained coherent recognized that someone was standing in his doorway, someone who looked very much like Izuku. Weird. A paper bag lay on its side at his feet, its contents scattered. Even in his current state, reflex had him instinctively taking stock of what he could see—forehead patches for fever, a closed container with some kind of liquid sloshing thickly inside (probably soup), pain pills.

He thought he should feel something like outrage or shame about being caught like this, but he couldn't muster the energy to feel anything other than the relentless burn of want.

So he closed his eyes, continued riding his dildo, and grumbled, “Get the fuck out.”

“K-k-kacchan,” Izuku squeaked out. In any other situation, Katsuki would have laughed at him.

But this wasn’t any other situation, so he simply cracked open one eye again and tried to glare through the exhaustion. Izuku hadn’t moved. In fact, he took a halting, uncertain step forward, his face redder than Katsuki had ever seen him. Did the asshole like what he was seeing or something? Ha.

Whatever. Maybe his date last night had been a bad fuck, and the nerd was backed up.

Oh, look at that, apparently he did still have the energy to be pissed. But having Izuku’s eyes on him, the weight of that gaze greater than anything he’d felt the day before on his way home from the izakaya, was intoxicating in a way he’d yet to feel since this whole shitshow began.

He couldn’t deny that Izuku watching as he worked his hips atop the dildo, as his dick bobbed between his splayed thighs, the head laced with sticky precum that stretched thin and viscous every time it slapped wetly against his stomach—lust gripped him by the cock and refused to let go until Katsuki was gasping and shaking and moaning as he came dry for the umpteenth time.

It seemed to go on forever, his thighs jerking as he bent over, curling around himself in helpless, hopeless pleasure.

Finally, after an eternity, Katsuki slowly lifted his head. Izuku remained frozen just inside his bedroom door, his body rigid, fists clenched at his sides. Katsuki never should’ve given him a key to his apartment.

What the fuck did Izuku think he was doing, barging in here like he owned the place? Rage pierced him, so quick and sharp that it cut through the fog of lust.

It wasn't directed at Izuku though. He didn’t have that right. No, he was pissed with himself for not doing anything sooner—for not confessing at every chance he’d been given, for sitting back and letting the only person he’d ever wanted, would ever want, slip away.

Maybe this was his punishment. This unbearable want, this torturous desire, a love so impossibly vast that he could never hope to fill it, a lust so immense it could never be sated.

He let out a bitter laugh as hot tears scalded his cheeks before dripping onto his bruised knuckles. He didn’t know if the tears were from frustration or humiliation. Maybe both.

”Kacchan,” Izuku whispered. The blatant concern had Katsuki tilting his head again to look at him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Sneering at the demand, Katsuki only managed, “Quirk” before falling forward, moaning from discomfort as his ruined sheets cushioned his exhausted, burning body.

“I’m calling Best Jeanist,” Izuku said, fumbling for something in his pocket.

In a flash, Katsuki was off the bed, the dildo slipping out of him as he lunged for Izuku’s phone. He made it across his room to knock the device from Izuku’s hand before he staggered and braced himself against the wall to keep from tumbling to the floor.

”Kacchan!” Izuku protested. He didn’t try to retrieve his phone from where it’d fallen though. “He needs to know, and we need to get you to a hospital.”

”Fuck you!” Katsuki screamed, the outburst startling Izuku into snapping his mouth shut. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone, you asshole! I’ll deal with this myself. You think I want anyone seeing me like this? It’s bad enough you showed up here without an invitation.”

With a mindless growl, he pushed away from the wall and stumbled past Izuku, heading for the bathroom, careful not to brush up against him. He didn’t feel entirely in control of himself, which was both terrifying and infuriating.

“Lock the door on your way out,” he gritted through his teeth as he braced his weight against the bathroom counter.

When he looked up, he was momentarily struck speechless at his reflection.

A stranger stared back at him. His eyes were bloodshot, pale lashes clumped with dried tears. His spiky hair was limp and matted to his head on one side. Nearly every inch of bared skin was flushed pink and dripping sweat, except for the crusty flakes of dried cum on his stomach and caked into his pubes. Lube dripped down his inner thighs, indistinguishable from the shine of sweat.

Katsuki was horrified. He was a goddamn mess.

Movement at the door drew his eye, and his gaze met Izuku’s in the mirror. He scowled as desire rippled within him, swelling through his dick and making his sore ass throb with the need to be filled again. 

“Why are you still here?” he bit out. Turning away, he slapped at the fixtures on the wall until the shower switched on.

If his guess about this lust quirk was right, then it would peak soon. All he had to do was endure for a little while longer, and then it’d be over.

He could do this, he told himself even as his legs began to tremble, as his balls tightened and his dick leaked precum, sticky fluid that his senses felt as acutely as a tongue licking down his length.

He stepped into the cold spray, grunting as the water hit his skin. Unable to stop himself, he rubbed his palms up his thighs, his stomach, his chest, squeezing before flicking his hardened nipples that were already red and puffy from his abuse.

”K-Kacchan,” came Izuku’s strangled voice. He sounded out of breath. Served him right. “I'm not going to leave you like this. You should have told me. We promised t-to share each other’s—each other’s burdens. Didn’t we?”

His gaze snapped to Izuku, who swallowed thickly, looking almost as flushed and sweaty as Katsuki. He hated how his voice shook as he snarled, “This isn’t a burden , you shitty nerd. It’s a fucking lust quirk, and it’ll run its course.”

And it would. It would end, eventually, and then Katsuki would go back to fantasizing about this nosy asshole while being normal amounts of horny, and Izuku would go back to dating without telling Katsuki about it.

He slumped against the shower wall, forehead pressed to the cold tile as water streamed down his arms and back, unable to reach the hot tears that wouldn't stop or mask the way his shoulders shook.

”Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—“

Steady hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him out from beneath the cold spray and into a tight embrace. Katsuki couldn’t even fight it, could only continue crying and cursing under his breath as he buried his face in Izuku’s neck. He couldn’t do this, oh god, he couldn’t, he couldn’t —-

“Shh, it’s okay,” Izuku murmured against his drenched hair. “It’s okay, Kacchan. I’m here. Tell me how to help you. Please, please let me help.” His pleas were broken, like he was crying too.

”Fuck,” Katsuki repeated, voice fading to little more than a soundless whisper, “fuck, fuck… fuck… fuck me.”

Izuku stilled. Katsuki clutched at his shirt, a ratty tee that was now soaked through.

”Don’t worry.” Izuku’s voice was notably more hoarse than a moment ago. “I’m not leaving, I promise. I just… Kacchan, I… I don’t think I can do that.”

With a strangled sound, Katsuki wrenched away from Izuku. Or at least, he tried to. Izuku refused to let him, and Katsuki was too exhausted and wrung out to put up much of a fight, especially when he didn’t truly want Izuku to let go.

”Why?” He wished he could take it back the moment he said it, but it was too late now. Besides, Izuku had seen him riding a dildo while crying like a goddamn disaster of a person. And now he was clinging to him, naked, practically offering himself to the guy who still didn’t want him. What else could Katsuki have to lose?

”Kacchan, you’re not in your right mind,” Izuku began.

”Shut up,” Katsuki spit out without any real venom. “You don’t wanna fuck me, that’s fine. Don’t give me bullshit excuses. I’m not some fragile flower that needs coddling.”

”That’s not how I think of you.”

He scoffed. ”Yeah, guess not, don’t think much of me at all.”

Izuku gripped his shoulders, jerking him back so that their eyes met. Izuku’s were wide with disbelief, his mouth set into an unhappy line. “Why would you say that?”

”Oh, come off it, Izuku,” Katsuki said. This time, he elbowed Izuku away with more force, fighting the way his body craved Izuku’s touch, the all-consuming desire to haul him closer, to wrap his legs around Izuku’s waist and grind himself to completion on those thick thighs.

He might be too far gone for shame, but he had just enough self-respect left not to beg.

”Kacchan,” Izuku said, reaching for him even as Katsuki attempted to evict him from the bathroom so that he could finish his shower in miserable, horny solitude. “I’m not making excuses, and I’m not touching you while you’re under the influence of a lust quirk. You’d be acting like this with anyone who'd showed up to check on you.”

“You’re dumber than I thought if you really believe that,” Katsuki spat, slapping his hand away before retreating beneath the shower spray again. A full-body shudder wracked him, a painful reminder of his predicament. “I might be going out of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I’d bend over for any extra with a working dick. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

The words would have made more of an impact if they hadn’t come out so breathy and needy.

Whatever. He’d made his point.

”But,” Izuku said weakly, “you’d… you’d want me to…?”

”Who else?” Katsuki said, lashes fluttering shut as his hands once again found his sensitive nipples. “ Ah… ”

His awareness narrowed down to the point of pleasure, to the prickling of his skin and the caress of the water, not the touch he desperately needed but a caress nonetheless.

Except then, the water stalled, like something was blocking it. His lashes fluttered open to find that, this time, Izuku had joined him in the shower rather than tug him out.

And he’d taken off his clothes.

Katsuki blinked stupidly at his bare chest, at the brown nipples hardened to small peaks under the cold water, goosebumps pebbling all that gorgeously tanned skin. Lips parted, heart pounding, Katsuki reached up, tracing his fingers over the curve of one thick bicep and the scars that adorned him like trophy ribbons.

Izuku shivered, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he attempted to regulate his breathing. Unfortunately, Izuku had kept his boxers on, but they didn’t do much to hide the growing bulge hidden beneath.

”Kacchan,” Izuku murmured, nudging his chin to get him to look up at him. “Promise… promise me that you won’t hate me after this.”

When he spoke like that, his voice a soft thrum that Katsuki could feel all the way to his toes, he was willing to promise Izuku just about anything.

”Don’t you know by now that I could never hate you?” he said, half hoping the running water would muffle the confession. He leaned forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Izuku’s neck and leaving only a shivery breath between their bodies. “Touch me, Izuku.”

Katsuki watched, riveted, as Izuku's Adam’s apple bobbed, tantalizingly framed by rivulets of water that begged to be sipped directly from his skin.

Wordlessly, Izuku reached for the bar soap. Katsuki moaned when Izuku slid it across his chest and shoulders, working the suds into his skin. He tilted his head to the side as Izuku’s strong fingers spread the soap up his neck and then down his back and the dip of his spine.

He arched into the contact, his need a monstrous, ravenous thing that he’d been keeping at bay with little more than the strings of his willpower and his rage. But now, with Izuku’s hands on him, so gentle and thorough, he didn’t think he could keep hold on the leash for much longer.

Izuku paid special attention to his stomach, which quivered under his touch, before slowly, painstakingly, sliding down to his thighs.

”Izuku.” Katsuki spread his legs, his dick brushing over Izuku’s forearm as he washed away tacky lube.

”You’re doing so good, Kacchan,” Izuku murmured as he kneaded the corded muscles at the backs of his thighs before finally cupping his asscheeks.

Gasping, he plastered the entire length of his body against Izuku’s. Their chests pressed together, nipples kissing, hips perfectly aligned as those hot hands squeezed his ass and dragged him close enough to rut their cocks together.

”Oh my god,” Izuku murmured as Katsuki twined one leg around Izuku’s for better leverage to grind against him. “You’re so beautiful, Kacchan. So sexy. You make me crazy. I can’t believe you’re letting me see you like this.”

”So hot, Izuku,” Katsuki said, clawing at wet skin, “I’m burning up.”

With a grunt, Izuku dug his fingers into Katsuki’s ass, hard enough to likely bruise—god, Katsuki hoped they would bruise—and let the soap and water slick the way as their cocks rubbed hotly together, wedged between their wet bodies.

”I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. Let me see you come again. Do you know how close I was to completely losing my mind back there, when you were on your bed, writhing and shaking like you couldn’t get your toy deep enough. So sexy and wrecked.”

”Wreck me,” he pleaded, latching onto that word. “Fucking wreck me. Fuck me up, Izuku. I wanna feel you leaking down my thighs a week from now. I wanna be able to feel you, slick around my fingers, every time I fuck myself and imagine it’s you.”

”Do you usually imagine it’s me?” Izuku asked breathlessly. The air between their mouths was humid but cool, skin cold from the water temperature despite their frantic movements.

”It’s always you,” Katsuki admitted.

With a helpless moan, Izuku kissed him. That first press of cool lips, shower water sliding between their mouths, had him leaning in for more. Then Izuku’s lips parted, and his tongue licked across his bottom lip.

“Izuku,” he gasped as his orgasm washed over him. He wasn’t conscious of any of the noises he was making—only that he could hear them even over the rushing in his ears—as he rutted against Izuku, dick throbbing, balls clenching. The barest amount of cum spilled from the tip even as his entire body shook and clung to Izuku's solid frame.

Izuku, though, hadn't spent the last twelve hours fucking himself stupid. He groaned Katsuki's name as thick ropes of scorching seed painted Katsuki’s stomach, his dick, his thighs. It was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

”Wow,” Izuku said, dragging in lungfuls of air as he rested his cheek on Katsuki's. “That was intense.”

”You’re telling me,” Katsuki said, somehow managing to convey his sarcasm even through his exhaustion. For some reason, though, his mind felt clearer than it had since probably around his third or fourth orgasm. But because he knew the reprieve wouldn’t last, he stuttered out a quick, “Th-that was, uh, that… I’ve never…”

Izuku drew back to look him in the eye. What was it with this nerd and all the fucking eye contact?

With what could only be described as a hopeful tone of his voice, Izuku asked, ”Kacchan, was that your first time with someone?” 

He scrunched up his nose. “First everything.”

Izuku’s eyes widened a fraction before they predictably began filling with tears. “That… makes me happy. I know it shouldn't matter, but I just figured… Kacchan is so hot and popular and… W-well, That, uh, that was my first everything, too.”

At that, Katsuki’s brows crashed together. “Huh? The fuck you been doing on your dates then?”

Izuku blinked stupidly. “Dates?”

”Don’t play dumb,” he snapped, a spark of annoyance reigniting along with the heat of the quirk. “You canceled on me yesterday because you had a date.”

A sheepish smile twisted his mouth. “Oh, uh, yeah. About that—“

”Save it. I don’t wanna hear about you dating other people after what we just did.”

”But I want to tell you. I only went because Sero asked, and I let her know the moment I arrived that I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship. It’s… it’s always been you, too.”

Katsuki bit back further protests, swallowing down the lump in his throat. With his body still so achingly sensitive, with his nerves rubbed raw from all the stimulation that still wasn't enough to satisfy the quirk, and with his emotions so raw and exposed after his confession, he felt uncomfortably overwhelmed.

So he only ducked his head and mumbled, “Whatever.”

Izuku seemed to understand, though, because he leaned in to press their lips together in a tender kiss. When Katsuki tried to deepen it, Izuku pulled away. 

“Come on. Let’s dry off.”

+++

Katsuki lasted all of ten minutes—during which Izuku forced him to finish the container of soup he’d brought along with a bottle of water—before he was again squirming in discomfort on the freshly changed bed sheets that were now also lined with towels.

He burned. Even naked, it was too much. He wanted to claw apart his skin to release the pressure.

”Ah!” He cried out as Izuku caressed his cheek, even that small contact sending tendrils of fire along his nerve endings.

”What do you need, Kacchan?” He smoothed Katsuki’s hair from his forehead, lips skimming over the bared skin usually hidden behind a spiky fringe.

”Need you,” he said between breathy moans. “Need you inside me. Fuck this goddamn quirk out of me, you shitty ass nerd.”

”Whatever you want,” Izuku said. Katsuki could hear the smile in his voice.

Izuku drew away, only long enough to tug off the boxers he’d borrowed from Katsuki’s dresser after ruining his own in the shower. Although his freckled face burned, the flush stark against the scar that split down his right cheek, Izuku didn’t shy away when Katsuki reached for his heavy length.

Katsuki’s mouth watered. Izuku was so hot and thick, the length a dusky pink with a rosy head that needed to be licked. He wanted to wrap his lips around it, press his tongue against the slit at the tip, tug at the foreskin with his teeth before suckling gently. Even the dusting of green hair from his naval to his groin was sexy, a trail that led to a neatly trimmed bush Katsuki wanted to bury his nose into.

But right now, he thought he might die if he didn’t get that cock inside of him.

His hole was already soft and loose from how long he’d been fingering himself and then bouncing on his dildo before Izuku found him. It was also puffy and red, and although Izuku hesitated, he gave in after Katsuki said he’d just go back to his dildo if Izuku wasn’t up for the task.

That first thrust inside was exquisite, pain and pleasure all twined together, heightened by the quirk, heightened more by the knowledge of having Izuku like this, of knowing Izuku wanted him back… he was crying and coming by the time Izuku had fully seated himself inside.

"Shit," he slurred. How pathetic.

”The only reason I’m not coming right now is because I finished with you in the shower,” Izuku said, voice strained. "You feel incredible. Kacchan, you're so hot inside. So tight." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Katsuki's hole where it was stretched around his cock. "Look at you. You're taking me so well."

Katsuki whined, impatient for more. Izuku braced his weight on his elbows at either side of Katsuki’s head and gave a small seeking thrust. They both groaned in unison. Katsuki tightened his legs around his waist, urging him to move.

”I told you to fucking wreck me,” he demanded, dragging his nails over strong shoulders.

”Shit,” Izuku swore, jerking at the flash of pain. “You asked for it.”

+++

That first time, Izuku finished inside him, their lips locked in a desperate kiss, Katsuki clawing at his back as Izuku gripped more bruises into Katsuki’s thighs.

After that, they slept for an hour before Katsuki woke, throbbing and needy. But his limbs also felt like they’d been put through a taffy machine, so Izuku gently turned him onto his stomach and told him to relax as he fucked him with deep, slow strokes until Katsuki was shivering and moaning and clutching the headboard.

Then Izuku took him into his mouth, worshipping his overwrought dick with gentle licks and firm sucks, choking on the length because he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, and letting Katsuki come down his throat (it wasn’t much anyway).

Another short nap later, Katsuki was moaning into his pillow, on his knees with his ass raised as Izuku licked the cum oozing from his abused hole. He thrust his tongue between the loose ring of muscle, wrapped his lips around the pucker of skin and sucked. Katsuki jerked so hard that his legs gave out, and he fell flat against the bed, trembling through yet another orgasm.

+++

By the time of the proposed meeting on the card, Katsuki was pretty sure they’d satiated the quirk.

He was wrung dry in every sense of the word, utterly exhausted, every muscle in his body sore and straining. He also needed another shower.

As Izuku bustled around him, making dinner and washing laundry and being obnoxiously energetic despite that he’d done most of the fucking, Katsuki sent off another text to Kirishima with a heavily redacted explanation of Shiratori's quirk. If she showed up to her own meeting, she’d only be getting a pair of handcuffs.

But none of that really mattered right now.

“Izuku,” Katsuki said as the nerd put a kettle on the stove for tea. When Izuku looked over, Katsuki added, “Come here.”

A brief furrow appeared between his brows. “Are you still feeling the effects of the quirk?”

”Nah. I just want you to kiss me.”

A brilliant smile lit his face. “Whatever you want, Kacchan.”

~fin