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Katsuki stifles the blast gearing up to erupt from his right hand and pushes that hand against his cheeks, one then the other, airbone, annoyed. Almost throws him off course to do it but he risks the damage to city property (i.e., building) and city property (i.e., himself) anyway. He’s had this annoying fuckin’—heat in his face since the backup request came in and he’ll kill anyone who calls it a blush but. Fuck. It’s sure not the sun.
Hot though it is, a blistering kiss every time Katsuki cuts through its light in pursuit, he knows he can’t blame the redness on it. Nah, the redness started inside the coffee shop Katsuki hunched his way into on his break, by the fuckin’ way, a break interrupted barely five minutes in by the Commission and their highly urgent, highly sensitive assistance call.
‘Sensitive’ was sugarcoating it. Katsuki doesn’t do sensitive. Hence the blush—fuck—the colour.
“...Dynamight. Any closer?”
Katsuki scowls. He quits rubbing at his overheating cheeks and puts his right hand back in action, blasts himself full-pelt past a couple more inconvenient skyscrapers.
To Eijirou, he barks, “Quit babysitting me. Yes!”
To that, Eijirou asks, “And the blush?”
“I’ll kill you!” Not the best thing to say to anyone other than the villain, least of all over comms that some Commission loser is definitely listening in on. Not like he didn’t fuckin’ warn everyone. He has more media training next week, whatever.
Eijirou snorts. “Last week you took out that fire-quirk flasher who burnt all his clothes off but a lust quirk is too much?”
“Fuck you nothing’s too much. Go save a civilian!”
It sounds exactly like the deflection it is but Red Riot is annoying, not incompetent. He clicks off comms with a quick, “Heh, heard!” and leaves Katsuki to his chase. And his thoughts. Regrettably.
God, it’s just that flashers are easy. Gross, reprehensible, dirt that Katsuki wouldn’t even deign to step on, but neutralising is as simple as a perfect punch. And a kick while they’re down maybe. Either way it’s contained. Katsuki isn’t the guy you call in to help victims process but he knows who to send them to for that, and he takes them there himself.
Lust quirks. They’re icky. Sensitive. Fucked up in ways that make Katsuki sick to his stomach thinking about. Lust quirks make victims threats too, to themselves, to others if the quirk’s contagious. There’s corralling, apprehending, quarantine, containment, all of that for the poor unsuspecting bastards caught in the crosshairs. It’s a process that’s way too parallel to villain capture for Katsuki’s liking. He hates having to look someone in the eye and know that saving them isn’t the end of their assault.
It’s been a while since Katsuki has had to deal with this. Just a few times outside of some very uncomfortable training, and he’d handed off most of those captures to Shinsou (he can do sensitive. Creepy fuck). There’s very little knowledge of how this newest mess works, who the villain is, why they’re doing what they’re doing beyond blatant evil, as if there needs to be more reason. Eijirou’s been trying to figure out as much as he can from witnesses but once they’ve been pulled from the fray into Red Riot’s giant arms, they can’t do much more than cling and cry. So far, all Katsuki is running on is an approximate last-seen location and fuzzy recollections of something fluid, bubbly, amorphous. Pink.
He blasts himself lower, and lower, and lower still, not yet street level but close enough to see people’s faces when they tilt up toward him, shocked by every explosion. Close enough to catalogue surprise, and confusion, and awe, and excitement, but no lust-induced delirium, not yet. No glassy eyes or flushed cheeks or open, drooling mouths, not that Katsuki knows what to expect, not that he knows if those are even the right things to look for. Well. He knows a thing or two about what lust can look like, but he’s seen nature’s most mundane courses run funhouse-mirror fucked because of quirks, even by quirks’ standards. He has no idea what this one might be doing, what kinds of nature it’s warping and how.
It’s another hastily traversed mile before Katsuki finds out, and not from a face, not at first. Later he’ll wonder how this takedown would’ve gone if he had seen the face first. He’ll wonder how much longer he might have hesitated the way he’d learned over and over again not to. As it stands, the pink is the first thing that catches his eye, only by catching the sun. A beam bounces just right off a street corner and Katsuki winces as the glint blinds him for a second, bright fuchsia.
Launching himself closer reveals that ‘fluid, bubbly, and amorphous’ had been pretty fuckin’ apt. The substance is spreading itself out in a thin sheet across the street, rolling discarded coffee cups around, dislodging loose paving stones, making it nice and easy for sunlight to strike it. Katsuki lets off one more blast, small enough to shove himself forward, hook an arm and a leg on a lamppost, and track the muck even more accurately. That’s when he notices it’s bubbling up from a storm drain.
Not the most pleasant déjà vu he’s ever experienced. In fact it’s shitty enough to almost send him teetering off the lamppost. It settles in his gut like something too-fast swallowed and that’s a feeling way too familiar even for how far removed his body is from it, probably only familiar because his mind never got very far at all. The memory lingers day in day out, a decade down the line, and it’s gotta be some sick twist of fate that, just before Katsuki starts to feel his throat closing up in response, he hears the unmistakeable sound of another throat doing the same thing. Thick, wet, clogged noises, coming from the alley that the pink goo has trickled its way into.
He should go in safer. Stealth has never been his strong suit but even with that, it’s a damn lust quirk. There’s no confirmation on whether or not this one is contagious but it doesn’t take an idiot to know not to touch it, definitely not to go near it, but Katsuki can’t clear his head of everything that this choking sound is reminding him of, and besides that, someone is choking. Even as a kid, Katsuki hadn’t needed his fucking demonstration to know that if someone is swallowing down sludge in front of you, you save them. He doesn’t need it now.
He’s off the lamppost and into the alley with a blast so loud it’ll almost certainly get him a scolding from his doctor later, and it’s definitely not because he’s trying to wipe his mind clean except it maybe kind of is, and the sunlight doesn’t reach that far in here but the people he sees aren’t that far in here either.
Person. The person he sees. Katsuki can’t give both of them that designation, not least of all because he can see through one of them to the other.
The pink blob looks like it’s trying to be human. Katsuki can just about make out a head, arms, a torso, legs. The edges of its form bubble in and out of coherence, like it’s taking as much of its power as possible just to stay like this, or like it doesn’t have enough matter to do so, what with the rest of it still spread thin from the grate just outside the alley, bubbling closer, trying to stack over and atop itself.
Katsuki wants it gone. Deku’s in front of it though. It’s kissing him.
There’s the hesitation. A second, if that. Filled with the sound of that amorphous mouth sucking on Deku’s, pushing into him, shapeless hands brought up to cup Deku’s red face and keep him still to fill his choking throat. It’s the longest second of Katsuki’s life.
The worst part of him dares to consider this payback.
It’s disgust at himself almost more than at what he’s seeing that kicks Katsuki’s ass into gear. There’s no way to dispel the villain with a blast without also hurting the man Katsuki last saw as a boy, so he’s quick. Unthinking. He activates another smaller blast, bursts himself forward and to the side, loops an arm around Deku’s heaving middle, and uses his still-hot hand to pitch them both up, and away. The explosion judders his arm in its socket. Heat crawls up to his elbow and he doesn’t look back to check but he hears the sizzle of that sickly pink fluid lighting up. He hears the villain’s throatless, tongueless attempt at a dying moan. It’s his sloppiest takedown since becoming a pro hero. It’ll earn him more of the rookie judgments that are still hot on his heels even three years in.
Pretty hard to be as pissed off about that as usual, though, with Deku clinging to him. Suit covered in goo, stupid green hair sticky, so pink-slick all over it’s hard for Katsuki to keep hold. Throat bobbing. Glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, open, drooling mouth.
“Kacchan,” he’s mumbling, burping up bubbles. “Kacchan, Kacchan…”
The last time Katsuki heard that name from this mouth, it was screaming, trying to claw Katsuki from the sludge pushing up toward his rolling eyes. Last time he’d heard it, last time he’d seen the person it came from, was ten years ago. Last thing he’d said in response was a wish to never see him again.
Some fucking reunion.
*
Katsuki doesn’t take this one to Eijirou. He’s not sure why. Obligation, atonement, possession. The fact that it’s Katsuki’s name that Deku is mumbling. All of those things, none of them. Whatever it is takes him soaring past Eijirou’s medical rest stop and sends him straight back to the Commission, which he knows will be infinitely worse.
Some sort of medical visit should come first, at least, but Katsuki will admit to not thinking straight with Deku pulling weakly on his costume, pawing at it where it meets skin. The way he’s doing it is desperate, delirious, suggests that he’s not just trying to hold on. If Katsuki had to guess he’d say Deku is trying to burrow beneath his skin. That, plus the pink sludge still dribbling in twin lines down the corners of Deku’s mouth, makes Katsuki escalate. This is more than a trip to urgent care can cure.
So it’s the humiliation again. The dark hallways and lab coats. The flickering fluorescent bulbs and thermometers in mouths, needles in arms, lights in eyes. The corralling, the apprehending, the quarantine, the containment.
What Katsuki hadn’t expected was to be caught in the crosshairs himself.
“What the fuck!”
This door’s gonna get a dent in it if his fist connects one more time. He can feel the metal wanting to bend beneath his hot hand. Katsuki knows they have quirk-suppressing rooms somewhere in this lion’s den but he supposes time was of the essence. This must have been the most contained room they could find on such short notice, not quite quirk suppressing but definitely airtight. So long as Katsuki doesn’t actually break the door down.
He doesn’t look over his shoulder. Not yet.
“You call me in for an urgent request then you lock me up?”
Quiet. Not a sound except the echo of his own voice and the soft whimpering he’s still ignoring. A weaker hero would lose their mind in these walls. Barely five minutes into his containment and the wimpier parts of Katsuki are starting to whisper, starting to wonder if there’s even anyone else here other than. Him. But Katsuki knows someone’s listening. The Commission is always listening.
“You can’t keep me in here!”
Some nauseating crackle over a shitty loudspeaker: “We can.” There we go.
“I’m fine, fuck!”
“Quirk residue was all over your costume. We can’t let you leave until we study its effects and—”
“Then keep Deku shut in, not me!”
“...Deku?”
“Fuckin’–” Katsuki huffs out hot air. He still doesn’t look over his shoulder, but he points in that general direction. To the cell sharing a wall with his. To the sheet of clear glass acting as that wall.
“Him!”
There’s gotta be some sort of camera in these rooms so Katsuki doesn’t question that whoever’s monitoring them knows who he’s pointing at, if for some reason they didn’t already know after peeling Deku off Katsuki’s body and shuttling them both down to quarantine, however many goddamn years ago.
More static over the loudspeaker. “...You know Midoriya-san?”
Katsuki winces. Frowns. “Knew him.”
He half expects this detached voice to pry further. It’s what they do here, especially down here. He grits his teeth and braces for it. Steps away from the door they shoved him through. Maybe they’ll be more forthcoming if he stops trying to destroy their little cellblock.
It works. “We’ll be studying Midoriya-san much more closely, yes. Unfortunately, Dynamight, your contact with the villain’s quirk doesn’t rule you out of its effects, not for certain. Until we determine how this quirk transmits, if at all, you will remain here for surveillance. We thank you for your assistance, but beyond complying with our watch, it stops here.”
Katsuki grunts. Disappointment deflates him. “Did I even get the bastard?”
The voice sounds wry. “We’re conducting area sweeps as we speak, but from reports we’ve received thus far, yes. You did.”
He’s not a total failure, then. Small mercies.
“How long are we here?”
“At least until Midoriya-san recovers. Provided you remain unaffected, our estimates suggest we’ll be able to release you both by nightfall.”
Nightfall. There’s no window to show for it but as long as it has felt, Katsuki knows he hasn’t been locked up long enough for the sun to dip yet. Nightfall’s a long rest of the day away.
He resigns himself. There isn’t a chair in this room, nor a table, nor a cot. Not even a mattress. Just four walls, one of them glass. Katsuki still ignores it when he traipses to the furthest wall from it and slumps down to the ground.
“Tell Riot?” he requests.
“Already notified. He says dinner can wait another week.”
Good. Great. The disembodied voice knows about Katsuki’s long-delayed dinner plans, a school reunion only slightly more bearable than this one had been. It’s about as much as Katsuki can withstand, and he doesn’t say thank you when he waves an aimless hand, hoping the cameras will pick up on the dismissal.
The speaker clicks off. The whimpering fills the quiet again. All their fucking resources and they couldn’t make these cells soundproof?
Katsuki doesn’t even wanna know what purpose a glass wall between rooms would usually serve, other than to make this painfully awkward. Absurdly uncomfortable. Wrong. His boots tap the ground, stone against thick sole, dull and incessant and nowhere near loud enough to drown Deku out. Katsuki’s room is wanting for more sound, something other than Deku’s pitiful little whines, but Katsuki thinks for a second about that Commission voice filtering back in, asking questions, trying to catalog Katsuki’s health, and he recoils. He doesn’t wanna speak a word more, not to them. Doesn’t wanna have to tell them that he’s fine over and over again, not least of all because there’s a low thrum in his abdomen that’s such obvious precursor to arousal and if there’s any symptom they’re looking for, it’s that.
It’s not ‘cause of the fucking quirk, is the issue. Or, it is. But only ‘cause of what the quirk is doing to Deku.
Katsuki won’t cover his ears. He won’t.
In the other room, Deku’s moans tip up so high they squeak.
“Holy–Hey! Knock it off!”
Katsuki mourns the absence of a chair even more. He doesn’t have anything to throw.
“I’m trying,” Deku mewls softly, all forlorn and ashamed and reedy. Needy. It sounds wet with drool.
Katsuki can’t do this. He was never gonna be able to do this, the hesitation in him had known it before Katsuki did. It isn’t just that he hasn’t seen Deku in ten years, it’s that he’s breaking that gap by seeing him like this. It’s not like his brain hadn’t given it its best shot. It’s not like half the reason why Katsuki knows anything about what lust can look like at all is because of what it used to do to him with Deku on his mind.
Nobody knows just how long it took him to punch those thoughts down, how to make them stay down when his hand fisted his cock or his teeth bit into his pillow or his body pinned another’s down. You don’t bully someone for how they’re born, make a failure of it, stop them from chasing every dream they’ve ever had, then jerk off to how their face looks crying about it. You don’t beat them into the dirt with a quirk the likes of which they’ll never have then spill wet into your boxers because of the bruises forming. You don’t get to punish someone for your own crisis of confidence just because they’re at the center of it, leave them behind for good, and still wanna fuck them bad. Not if you wanna be the kind of hero that they’d wanted to be too, at least.
And Katsuki’s right there. He’s doing it, he’s making it, has made it. He’s a hero now. Sidekick straight out of high school for three years, another three years of pro-status under his belt. He has built the life that he has tried ten years to convince himself he’s still deserving of, and here Deku is to throw a wrench in the works. Here Deku is to make Katsuki hesitate when above everything else, Deku had been a civilian in need of saving.
Katsuki scrubs a hand down his face. Tries to suck a sour taste out of the inside of his cheeks, jaw twisting uncomfortably. He hasn’t looked at Deku any more than he has absolutely had to since finding him, but it’s clearly not doing his restraint any favours. There’s still warmth in his pelvis and hunger sitting side-by-side with guilt in his gut and yeah okay fine, fucking fine, he’s blushing. You would too. Just—listen to him. Listen to that.
Deku really is trying to keep it quiet, or maybe the quirk’s wearing off a little, but he’s still making soft sweet scared noise and Katsuki gives in. He looks through the glass wall to find Deku slumped against it, one freckled cheek smushed, hot little breaths fogging in front of his mouth. His suit jacket is hanging off his shoulders, his tie coming loose around his neck, his shirt creased into wrinkle on wrinkle. He has a hand shoved between his legs. Not moving, so far as Katsuki can see. Just pressing. Holding, maybe. Thick thighs. They look like they’d keep a good grip if they weren’t shaking.
Katsuki swallows. “Hey,” he calls again, not as rough.
Immediately, Deku blinks as much of the haze out of his eyes as he can. His quivering body pushes weakly against the glass like it’s a heat-seaking missile locked onto Katsuki’s voice.
“Kacchan. K-Kacchan. Yes, Kacchan?”
Katsuki wants to throw up from throbbing. “You good?” Stupid, stupid question.
But Deku nods anyway. “Yes. Yeah, yes, I’m—I’m good, Kacchan. Ahh. I’m good.” His eyes start to fog again.
“No. No, hey, cut that out.” Katsuki stands up in a panic. He’d sprint across his room if it wasn’t small enough to reach the other side in two long strides. He squats down next to the glass wall. Next to Deku. He had him lucid for a hot second there, and he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t wanna lose that. The faster Deku heals up the sooner they’re both out of here, right? The sooner Katsuki can once more make good on his wish to never see Deku again.
“Deku.” Katsuki taps the glass. Over and over, quick, harsh raps of his knuckles. Deku gasps and whines and blinks some more, pressing his free hand to the glass himself. “Yeah, here. Eyes on me.”
“Always, Kacchan,” Deku breathes.
“Jeez. Fuck.” Katsuki winces. So much for wearing off. “Sit up, shrimp, back against that wall. We’re gonna be here a while.”
With Katsuki finally this close, Deku only seems to want to do what he asks as long as he’s certain Katsuki will do it too, as long as it doesn’t take them more than a foot apart. Katsuki rolls his eyes and follows Deku over to the corner where their shared glass and adjoining walls meet, sitting himself down with the glass pressed against his left arm. Deku mirrors him, glass pressed to his right arm. The arm that’s still trapped between his legs. Katsuki does not mirror that, though if this keeps up much longer like it’s definitely gonna, he might have to.
Katsuki is tired, and irritable, and disgusted with himself. He doesn’t know where the Commission stashed his gauntlets upon quarantining but he feels the ache of them now. The full-body strain of being a bomb. His costume is stiff in places with sweat and pink sludge. His mask hangs around his neck, a sad little noose, and he bets his greasepaint has streaked in sweat-trails down his cheeks. He feels like a sorry excuse for a saviour.
“This the kinda hero you wanted to be, Deku?” he spits, like the unforgivable asshole he is. He averts his gaze again. “Didn’t fuckin’ miss much.”
Deku isn’t in his right mind. Katsuki shouldn’t be talking to him, least of all to shove his nose in the dirt of the world he couldn’t join, not the way he wanted to. Katsuki’s failings are never and were never Deku’s fault, and here Katsuki is again, making Deku answer for them. Maybe he should be locked up. Maybe he’ll ask the Commission not to let him back out.
“Kacchan’s amazing.”
The sour taste returns, if it ever even left. The praise makes Katsuki, ill-fitted, as angry as it always used to. Deku had been handing out hero worship before Katsuki ever even got the title, and now he’s throwing it at him when Katsuki deserves it least. It was the kind of talk that got Deku shoved face down into gravel all those years ago, and for all the practice Katsuki has had, he’s still glad there’s a wall between them to stop what the inadequacy of it all makes him wanna do.
“God. You haven’t changed.”
Deku’s smile is mournful. “Guess not.”
It’s so pathetic Katsuki could kill him just so he doesn’t have to feel pity.
“What’d you do instead anyway, huh? Thought you’d try ‘n sneak into a UA class at least once.”
Deku shuffles around next to him, breathing laboured. “Kacchan thought about me?”
Fuck. “Couldn’t give two shits about you, nerd.”
“Mm.”
Katuski sneaks a glance and Deku’s stupid big eyes are staring at him all dopey, smiling all dopey, mouth parted to barely show a pink tongue. Not lust-goo pink, but just as wet. Everything seems to slide off Deku like water, just like it used to. If what Katsuki says hurts him, it doesn’t seem to matter as much as the fact that Katsuki’s saying it at all. Just so long as he’s here, Deku will take anything. It’s nauseating. It used to feed so much.
“Well, you’re kind of right,” Deku continues, eager now that Katsuki’s looking at him again, breathing sorta slower. “I never snuck in, but that’s because I eventually didn’t have to. I don’t have to, now.”
Katsuki frowns at him.
Deku blushes and preens at once. Puffs his little chest up, it stretches the buttons of his shirt. “I’m a teacher now. At UA.”
“Bullshit,” Katsuki hisses.
Deku blinks, taken aback. He’d hoped Katsuki would be proud of him, Katsuki can fuckin’ see it.
“I swear,” he mumbles, still hopeful. “I–I never wanted to give up, but. Y’know. I got the hint.”
Katsuki seethes, the way shame always makes him.
Deku quails. Even takes his dick-holding hand away to press both of them to the glass, unbearably earnest. “Not from you! Not. Not you, Kacchan. I mean. Maybe a little? But you weren’t what stopped me, I promise.”
So he failed that, too.
“I tried doctors, I tried support courses, I even spoke to pro heroes at conventions.” Deku’s laugh shakes. “You, uh. You get enough Limited Edition merchandise signed, you get kinda tired knowing what they really mean whenever they tell you to follow your dreams.
“So I. So I tried something else. Anything to get as close as I could.” He speaks fast. Too fast, ten years worth of catching-up in a lust-induced word vomit. “I brushed up on hero history. Strategy, combat, all of it. I went to school for it, then I went to school for teaching. If I couldn’t be a hero, I could at least teach the people who could. It felt good, Kacchan. It felt like doing everything I could, like you do, like heroes do. I was—I think I was happy, Kacchan. I think I’ve been happy.”
Katsuki doesn’t know what to do, hearing this. He shouldn’t be. He checked out of this life Deku’s filling him in on for a reason. He didn’t wanna be around for its happening, he shouldn’t be around for its recollection. He doesn’t deserve knowing Deku was happy in spite of him. Deku could have been a fucking mess without Katsuki, and Katsuki had forfeited the right to have known that, too. He’s not sure if the happiness is better. He’s not sure what villain he crossed to have Deku here, now, telling him about it.
“Besides. I’d saved you. Once. I think something in me knew I’d be okay if I never saved anyone else quite the same way.”
The memory rears its ugly fucking head and spits acid. “Fuck you.”
“Kacchan, please.” Katsuki doesn’t want these words. “I missed you.”
“Shut up.”
“I watched you all the time, I followed you all the time—”
“Deku I fucking mean it.”
“Before you saved me, before it was really you, I was so happy I could have died. I thought you were kissing me, I thought Kacchan was kissing me, thought you’d followed me too—”
Katsuki chokes. He swears he can hear the ballpoint-on-paper scratch of someone upstairs writing that down: The villain takes the form of he who most fucked you up. The kiss Deku had been gurgling on, choking on, had been from a mouth he’d thought was Katsuki’s. The pink slick down Deku’s chin; spit from who he’d thought was Katsuki. He’d been kissed near to death and hadn’t known not to welcome it because Midoriya Izuku would always welcome Bakugou Katsuki.
Next to him, Deku mumbles on, voice thinner than the glass separating them, cracking, spiderwebbing with every please, please, please Kacchan, please, missed you, need you, please. Words Katsuki has no right to hear, words that would’ve never found their way past Deku’s throat without a quirk choking them out. Katsuki doesn’t know anything about Deku. Who his nerd-friends are, what he does after work, where he lives. What he eats, drinks, reads, listens to, watches. Deku is spouting bullshit that Katsuki doubts even his stupid diaries know; they probably stopped hearing about Katsuki around the same time Deku stopped hearing from him.
And somehow, all of this stayed. This desperate, ugly longing, the kind that cries desperate, ugly tears and snaps with just as many teeth. Katsuki sits there, watching it eat Deku up from the inside out. His eyes are puffy from all the crying, lips swollen red from nervous chewing. The loop of his tie hangs even more open, its knot tapping the top of Deku’s chest, top buttons of his shirt undone to show how red it’s flushed, showing how heavily Deku pants. Deku has shifted on his knees to better implore, and he has nudged them apart to press himself as close to the glass as he can. His work pants splay tight over a bulge that twitches even as Katsuki watches.
If Katsuki didn’t know any better, he’d say that villain did much more than kiss Deku. Deku looks fucked right through.
Katsuki’s anger is searing. His disgust, sickening. That’s as far as his feelings should go, but of course they go further. Of course they cross lines, of course they morph into this toxic, proprietary jealousy that works double-time to make his lip curl, his stomach turn, his cock throb. He feels wronged. He feels like something touched what’s his before he could.
Didn’t even touch him right, Katsuki thinks, snarling at the memory. It slobbered over Deku with an open, formless mouth and left him swollen, spitty. Left him wanting, left him crying for Kacchan.
“You thought it was me.”
“H-uh?” Deku’s watery eyes blink, eyelashes pinching together wetly. His lips open and close like they still want to beg but he stays quiet, hanging off Katsuki’s every word.
“You thought that thing was me.” Katsuki has never heard his voice shake so little for feeling so much. “That how you think I kiss?”
Deku’s tongue swipes across his lower lip, leaves a dot of moisture in the center. “Kacchan.”
Katsuki feels a vein in his temple pop. “Tellin’ me you miss me but you think I kiss like something without a real goddamn mouth.”
Deku pushes his forehead into the glass. “I didn’t—You wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t what?”
He swallows. “Kacchan would kiss better.”
Katsuki ignores how that makes his stomach yawn, hungry. He turns his entire body to face Deku properly, settles on his knees too, gets in Deku’s face. “Been wanting it, huh.”
“So much,” Deku whispers. “Always have.”
His stomach breaks its jaw yawning. “Right. Look how you got just thinking you had it.”
A soft cry parts Deku’s mouth wider. “I couldn’t believe it. I. I can’t believe it took that from me.”
Katsuki hurries to speak before his body lets that devastate him. “You want another? Want it for real?”
“Please,” Deku gasps.
“I’d suck your tongue half out your mouth. I’d fuck mine down your throat. That what you want? That’s kissing better, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Deku sobs. “Yes, please, I want it.”
“You’d take it?”
“I need it.”
“Show me.” Katsuki is the worst person he knows.
And Deku, the easiest. Katsuki’s want is so strong it doesn’t even give his brain time to visualise what it’s demanding, but Deku seems to have a front row seat. He kisses the wall. He closes his eyes and purses his lips against it, right in front of Katsuki’s mouth, kissing the glass sticky. Even out of his mind, he’s sweet with it. He’s blushing and he kisses like he’s shy, like he might have ten years ago if Katsuki hadn’t spoken with punches more than words, like he never grew up.
Katsuki is so hard he might fuck the wall a hole just to fuck Deku’s.
“Tongue out, lemme see.”
Deku whines. He sticks his tongue out and touches it to the glass before closing his lips around it and kissing again. Immediately sloppy the way Katsuki came into his fist as a kid knowing he would be. Both hands pressed to the glass, knees slipping even further apart, if Deku was flexible enough Katsuki’s certain he’d already be humping the wall, rubbing his cock all over, god Katsuki wishes he could make him. Wants him to get it sticky that way, too, wants spit-cum smudges all over from how much Deku needs him.
“Tch. Little nerd kisses,” Katsuki derides. “Sluttiest you’ve ever been and it’s still kiddy shit.”
Deku’s eyes open for a second, panicked. He presses his lips to the glass so hard they’ll surely bruise, stamping kisses down again and again, licking the wall everytime he pulls away, hoping to measure up. He’s still feverish from the quirk but Katsuki feels sick knowing he’s responsible for this too, it has his name all over it now. Even sicker that all it does is chub him up more and fuck. That’s a thought.
“Need a cock in that mouth, don’t you. Bet that’ll get you grown.”
“Oh, my god.” The words smear out of Deku’s lips. Twin rivers again, drool this time, waterfalling down the glass.
Katsuki scoffs. “Yeah. Bet you’ll kiss it real good.”
“Let me,” Deku whines. “Let me, I will, I’ll kiss, I’ll kiss it, Kacchan, please let me kiss it.”
“Fuck.”
Deku has somehow made the upper hand his. Acting even faster than Katsuki’s want, dictating it and realising it all at once. Still kissing the glass, presumably because Katsuki hasn’t told him to stop. Being good.
Katsuki feels like something pulls him off his knees, up onto his feet. That same force shoves his hands to his costume’s belt, jamming his thumb into its buckle. It comes apart with a click that makes Deku whimper at Katsuki’s feet. Katsuki makes sure to look at him when he tugs his cock out because he can’t bear to see just how hard this has made him, can barely bear feeling it. And Deku’s had worship in his eyes whenever he looks at Katsuki since playground days. The awe is all Katsuki needs to chase away any inhibition. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
“Perfect,” Deku mumbles. “‘S so perfect, Kacchan’s perfect.”
Katsuki strokes his cock up-down. He’s slick in his hand, drooling from the tip, and when he leaks afresh after Deku lays his tongue flat to the wall like he can taste it, he doesn’t pull the new spill down. He taps his cockhead against the glass instead, right where Deku’s tongue stamps it. Spit-cum smudges.
“Yeah, there you go,” Katsuki grunts. “Better.”
He keeps his cock there when he starts to jerk off properly. The flat ring of his fist buts against the wall on each upstroke and Deku’s mouth has warmed the glass up. Katsuki’s vision blurs and it’s almost like the glass isn’t there, like Deku’s lips are open against his hand, like his tongue is curling under the tip waiting for Katsuki to come.
This pleasure is mean. Caustic in Katsuki’s gut, it burns acid-hot. It makes Katsuki want to hunch over and hump. He tries keeping his fist still and fucking into it but it feels so good it gets his hips stuttering and he gives up, pulls at his cock again like he would in his bathroom at home, his bedroom in the UA dorms, the showers after dark, trying not to think of the boy on his knees for him now and failing.
“‘Course I fuckin’ thought about you.”
Are Deku’s eyes even bigger when they’re looking up at you?
“Like this.” The hand pumping his cock loosens his tongue. “On your knees. Mouth full. Crying.”
“That’s,” Deku starts. He cuts himself off to moan and seems to lose the rest of the words along the way.
“Thought about you laid out. On your back ‘cause you didn’t get up from the last time I kicked you down. Thought about fucking you so hard the gravel cut you up.”
“Oh,” Deku pants, disbelieving. His hips shove forward once.
“God, I was such an asshole,” Katsuki groans. He shoves his other hand down, tugs at his balls, holds his cock up against his stomach so Deku can get his tongue on those too. “Always pushin’ you over. You caught yourself on your hands and knees a couple times. Thought about keeping you there, fucking you from behind.”
“Fu–” Stupid nerd. Can’t even get that word out.
“Knew you’d squeal about it. Whiny as shit. Knew I could make you come. Dreamt that you’d need me to, even after everything I’d do. Because of it.”
Deku’s thighs shake so hard he starts sliding even lower down the wall. Katsuki wishes he could grip his hair and hold him up. The peak of all this is starting to lick up from Katsuki’s cock where it meets his pelvis, starting to tongue higher up his abdomen, and he wants to come as close down Deku’s throat as he can.
Even worse, if Deku slumps over any further, Katsuki won’t be able to see that cute little tent he’s pitching. Though he supposes there’s a much better solution for that.
“C’mon, fuck, c’mon, you too. Get it out, take it out, wanna watch you touch it.”
Deku sobs. Beyond out of it. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “Thank you, thank you, Kacchan, gonna… lemme…”
He struggles with his belt more than Katsuki had. It takes several tries and he starts full-on crying again, so fuckin’ upset that he can’t reach his dumb nerd dick fast enough. Katsuki has to tip his head up to the ceiling and burn his retinas in the flourescents. Deku whines so sweet when he’s pitching a fit. The only thing more pathetic in the world is how close it gets Katsuki to coming.
Looking back down doesn’t help. Deku’s cock is wet. So wet it’s stringing down to the floor. Deku’s hand trembles when he starts to play. His thighs twitch in, then he pushes them back out. His cock’s small. He barely needs to move his fist. Just squeezes and twists. Milks himself, sweet in this too, sweet in everything, tooth-rotting. Katsuki has never needed anything more.
Except maybe to come. He’s even closer now, watching Deku fumble with his wet cock. He’s still looking up at Katsuki. He tries to kiss at Katsuki’s cock again but can’t stop moaning long enough to pucker up. It’s a toss-up at this point, who breaks first. Katsuki is nothing if not competitive, and Deku is nothing if not the one thing Katsuki has wanted to beat more than anything, since day one.
“Your turn.”
Deku shudders. “Wh—huh?”
“Said you—hah—you said you need me. For what? To do what?” Katsuki’s mouth peels open in a grin he’s glad he can’t see. “Ten years to tell me about. Better start talking.”
Katsuki doesn’t know if Deku actually can. He just knows he will. Whatever Katsuki wants.
It takes him a second. Too busy whining when his hand slips off his cock in his eagerness. His eyes go glassy reminiscing.
“You’d fu–ck me everyday,” he breathes. Katsuki’s hand slips too. “Before classes, a-after school. You’d. You’d hurt me when everyone could see, then fuck me after they were gone.”
Katsuki’s blood ices. He strokes off faster to warm it back up, quick, quickly, quickly.
“You’d use me,” Deku purrs. His wet fist on his drooling cock is louder than his voice. “My mouth. You’d fu—you’d have my mouth, and if I did it good then you’d have me after.”
“Shit,” Katsuki swears, breathless. He would have, too. All of it, just like that. He would’ve.
“But.” It’s falling apart now. Deku’s head lolls on his neck, it seems to take all he’s got to keep it aloft, to keep watching Katsuki getting off. His hand curls limply around his cock, his hips nudging forward. That’s all he can manage, and that’s all it’ll take for him to come.
“But?” Katsuki can manage much more, just about. Just enough. He strips his cock so hard it hurts in his back teeth.
“You wouldn’t kiss me,” Deku whispers. “You’d never kiss me.”
Katsuki’s heart skips. A blank beat whose silence echoes in his chest.
“Need that,” Deku continues. “Need that first. Need it more than anything.”
Katsuki needs him to stop talking but he’s so close he can’t find the words to say so, and Deku won’t do what Katsuki won’t tell him to do.
“Please?” Deku asks so politely. Pitifully. “Please, Kacchan. Will you kiss me? Can I have just one?”
He’s fallen low enough. What’s another six feet?
Katsuki drops it, goes down, down to his knees. He finds the hot circle Deku’s mouth made in the glass, closes his eyes, and kisses it, tongue first. He doesn’t need to look to know Deku meets him. He’s too sweet, too good for his own good. It would be a lesson in humiliation to let Katsuki kiss up, make up, on his own. It’s a lesson Deku would never, ever teach.
They’re kissing when they come. Katsuki’s ears ring and his heart throbs hoping that this is all he’ll have to do to apologise, knowing bitterly that it won’t be. He draws his orgasm out in painful pulls of his hand, milking his balls in his palm, suspending himself in pleasure for as long as he can because he knows he won’t be able to face the world he’ll walk into when he unfreezes.
He looks down just in time to watch the last dregs of Deku letting go. He comes so wet that for a dizzying moment Katsuki isn’t entirely sure that that’s what it is and he almost blacks out. His moans are open, curly, and Katsuki realises it’s because he’s smiling. Teeth bared between each kiss he leaves on their wall, the picture of bliss. Katsuki aches. Closes his eyes again. He kisses back. He kisses, and kisses, and kisses. Gives much more than just one.
The suspension seems to work, at least. It feels like an age before their orgasms finally peter out. Katsuki opens his eyes to find Deku’s already on him, always. The smile hasn’t left his mouth, prettier for the soon-to-be bruises blooming just like Katsuki knew they would. His shirt’s half off his shoulders, tie completely undone, suit jacket shoved into the bend of his elbows, hair curled every which way. He’s still shaking.
Again, Katsuki pants out relief knowing he can’t see his own face. He doesn’t know what it’s doing. Not smiling, but Deku still hasn’t stopped, so it must be doing something disgusting. Something he’ll hate himself for even more than leaving and only coming back by accident.
Without pleasure to chase it away, the ice returns. It creeps. Katsuki shivers in the wake of everything he’s said, everything he’s done. The shame reaches much further than this room, goes back much longer than this single, endless day.
Their breathing quiets. They look over each other, gazes walking. Katsuki never wants a reunion like this again. Guess that means he’ll just have to stay. It’ll be the scariest thing he’s ever faced.
Above them, the loudspeaker sputters back to life.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Dynamight. You may be here a while longer. It would seem the quirk’s effects are transferable after all.”
Yeah. For sure.