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As time went on, they became a bit more proficient in placing their glowing marks deliberately. A mere brush of skin to skin, and the gold dust of their soulmate bond would cover them, shining and glowing and unmistakable. Exposing their love, exposing their vulnerabilities, telling the tale of their domestic life for anyone and everyone to see.
They agree, they can’t wander around glowing at all times.
Izuku suggests they lay off on touching anywhere their uniforms can’t cover, and Katsuki acquiesces with bad grace.
He also doesn’t listen, either, but nobody’s really shocked. Least of all Izuku, who’s as bad at following his own suggestion as Katsuki nobody-touches-my-nerd-except-me.
One morning after a long forty-eight hours apart, Izuku stumbles squinting into the bathroom while Katsuki, exhausted, brushes his teeth. He puts his sleepy face to Katsuki’s bare back, likely leaving the imprint of his face behind, and reaches around Katsuki to hug him, hands flat on his chest.
He doesn’t move for a while, so Katsuki brushes his teeth for twice as long just to stay there in this position.
And then he’s released, Izuku heading into his sweltering hot burning shower, and Katsuki is stuck, mouth full of foam and eyes on the handprints on his chest, wrapped to cover his heart and one dragged down the trail of blonde hair leading into his sleep pants. He’s hit with a double whammy – his heart swells with the terribly fierce, possessive love he’s held for Izuku for what seems like his whole life and, his dick swells because that there is a mark of lust and arousal and want and desire and yeah, Izuku’s getting sucked off in the shower.
He’ll have to brush his teeth again.
That’s where Katsuki discovers the art of it all.
He could draw pictures. He could tell stories on naught but Izuku’s skin, and in the early mornings, when Izuku’s unconscious in his deepest of sleep and Katsuki’s getting ready for his morning gym hours, he will paint over Izuku’s lips.
Sometimes it’s even sweet. They kiss, and their lips glow anyways (always, literally always, their lips, mouths, half of their faces just always shining gold, always sparkling with dust), but Katsuki uses his fingertips sometimes to draw the outline, then spread it over the fat bottom lip Izuku’s always chewing.
Katsuki, in the dim darkness of their bedroom in their home, is soft and heartfelt and loving as he watches Izuku’s face illuminate, petting his fingertip over the bridge of his nose and over his eyelids. Rubbing his glowing finger pads together, he kissed them himself, transferring the kiss to Izuku again and again until the nerd sleepily cracks open his crusty eyes and smiles at him dopily.
He glows, and Katsuki is always warmed by it.
Sometimes it’s childish.
Other mornings when he gets the inclination, he draws a little rendition of a penis with two hairy balls over the swell of Izuku’s cheek, the freckles in strategic places along the shaft and the tip pointed right towards his mouth.
“Kacchan!” Izuku always screeches, rushing into the gym at a run and shoving his face into Katsuki’s hands to cover the drawing before anyone has a chance to see his indignity.
Katsuki hoots with laughter, snickering and grinding his knuckles into the rest of Izuku to make it obvious he’d been manhandled that morning by his soulmate.
His, his, his.
It’s not always childish, or sweet.
Sometimes he’s a bit mean about it, and Izuku’s rather famous for letting Katsuki get away with things he probably shouldn’t.
“That’s it,” Katsuki hisses, gripping the headboard with one hand for leverage and the other around Izuku’s neck. Green eyes are hazy, unfocused, and his golden glowing mouth is dropped open and moaning. Even his tongue shines from within his slutty mouth. The clap of his thighs hitting Izuku’s ass is loud, obvious, and the slide of lube sinful. “You like that, ‘Zuku, you like that a lot? My mark on your fucking throat.” Katsuki fucks in harder, a rush of pleasure going a little too close to orgasm for him, he doesn’t want to finish yet, not till Izuku’s eyes are rolling.
“Everyone will see it,” Katsuki breathes, gentling in his thrusts just so that Izuku can groan, unsatiated.
With his legs pinned upwards so that his feet shake and dangle in the air, Izuku is coiled tightly beneath him an ineffectually attempting to curl his hips, to bounce. The springs of the bed foil his attempts, leaving him frustrated and needy and under Katsuki’s spell.
His control.
Red eyes drop to Izuku’s neck, where his hand drags away and leaves him with a thick, clear print around his throat, over his adams apple, large enough to curl around the front entirely.
Katsuki’s cock jumps inside, and Izuku twitches, whimpering.
“Kacchan, Kacchan, come on, come on, you wanted to come in me?” Izuku pants, fingers digging into the strong arms holding Katsuki prone atop him, grinding in little thrusts that push further and further every time.
“Yes,” Katsuki grits his teeth hard enough his jaw pops, sweat dripping down his forehead and off his nose to land on Izuku’s glowing gold neck. Fucking beautiful, fucking perfect, fucking—”gorgeous bitch, look at you—”
His hips slam, and he’s fucking for a goal. Izuku’s eyes widen, and roll, and his mouth drops open as his cock flops between them. One of his hands bully down between their slamming bodies just to grip it and he’s so close, Katsuki’s got him so on edge it takes barely a few pulls before—
“Gods, fuck, Ka-Kacch-AN!” He half shouts, seizing tightly, legs crushing Katsuki down into himself.
Fighting to fuck even through the grip of those legs on him, Katsuki digs his forehead against Izuku’s and groans, loud, cock jerking as he fills his partner with his own release, entire body narrowing down to focus on just where he claimed Izuku, all over.
Their foreheads glow in little ovals when they pull away, and Katsuki kisses the smearing of golden dust around Izuku’s slack, smiling mouth.
Sometimes it’s childish, sweet, and horny.
Like when Izuku wakes up one morning, not glowing at all save for his morning wood, which stands like a pillar of light under the thin sheets.
“Kacchan…really?” His sleep-raspy voice says to the empty bedroom. Katsuki’s gone to work already, his shift started early this week, but he’d obviously planned this out, waited for the last days’ worth of glowing touches to fade before putting his hands on Izuku’s dick and only his dick. Izuku’s only grateful that his uniform is so thick. Imagine if he’d glowed only there, in public, where children can see him.
“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?” Katsuki’s voice snickers to him over the phone while Izuku’s on lunch and Katsuki’s getting ready for bed at home. “Clearly, we’re going to play hide the fucking lightsaber.”
Izuku chokes on a bite of his sandwich.
“Ligh---gurkg---Lightsaber?!” He repeats, voice going high. “Hide it?!”
“Come now, all that horny just turn your brains to slut mode?” Katsuki answers, and Izuku thinks this is very unfair. How can Katsuki be so suave and sexy and certain while also probably completing his skincare routine, a face mask on, rolling with that special jade roller thing he doesn’t allow Izuku’s clumsy fingers to hold. “Don’t worry bitch, you won’t be the one fucking. You’re getting fucked. With my glowing asshole.”
“I hate you, how was that even remotely sexy?” Izuku breathes, looking about covertly in case someone else was up on this water tower listening to this smut. His interested cock tells his lie, though.
Katsuki snickers, and the rest of Izuku’s shift drags on.
Now, other people are not spared from this push and pull artistic inclination of theirs.
They’re still regularly in touch with their classmates, at least the ones that lived and worked in the same area. So, when Izuku shuffles into their favorite relatively unknown restaurant, Izuku has Katsuki’s palm and fingers wrapped around his neck in unmistakable shining gold.
Some snicker, others heckle, and the shyer merely laugh. They’ve all grown up together, they’ve gotten quite used to this.
“How does Murder-God get away with so little on him, are your hands always tied, Mido?” Jirou asks archly, lifting the pink hand of her girlfriend to his lips to hide her smug smile. Izuku stutters, mumbling. Mina cackles.
Katsuki, smug, merely unbuttons his fancy dress shirt and pulls it to the side, exposing Izuku’s secret shame.
He was not an artist. He was, actually, sickeningly sweet and lovey-dovey and couldn’t put filth on Katsuki’s skin to save his life, so what Katsuki arrogantly shows off in the middle of the restaurant is a sloppily drawn heart with several lip smooches placed around it and a “K+I” written inside.
It is, somehow, much more embarrassing than the handprint collar glowing around his neck. And that’s saying something.
Because Katsuki’s done so much worse.
In the locker rooms, it’s Sero who has the unfortunate privilege of discovering Katsuki’s more artistic tendencies. They’re on a limited contract together, their two agencies, so Cellophane and Hero Deku were tasked with a large project to ensure finishes and no pesky villains or government officials interfered.
When he rounds a corner, hair wrapped up in the special towel Mina had ordered him to use for his long tresses, Sero swallows his tongue because Izuku is butt-naked and bent over, just at the wrong (right) angle for Sero to see it all.
On his back, a stupid little drawing of a dog (a Pomeranian? Something fluffy), barking. He can tell it’s barking, because there’s little kanji by its mouth saying ‘bark, bark’. A few smudges here and there, likely accidental brushes. The back of his thighs, completely gold. A handprint, only one, on his left hip, large and marking and obvious about placement, the thumb up like that, they were…from behind…and…
Written over Izuku’s ass, absolute filth. Arrows. Tally marks. Even a heart.
Kacchan’s whore
Slut hole
Cum dump
Use me
Only Kacchan’s
He’s pretty sure he makes a sound when he swallows his tongue, because Izuku has never turned so red, so fast. And yet, he doesn’t reach behind himself and cover it all. He merely turns awkwardly, shuffling himself into his boxers and coughing as though to pretend he didn’t have ona-hole written in Katsuki’s sharp script on his lower back.
Mind fraying at the edges, because, what the fuck he has a stiffy just from looking at that, reading it, and oh, this was probably breaking so many workplace policies but Sero can’t help it, can’t (they’re both beautiful okay, they’re beautiful and strong, and awesome guys and Sero is such a bisexual, who can blame him--)
“That’s uh…” Sero swallows and holds his own towel out from his growing cock, eyes on the locker doors and not really seeing them, just the memory of gold and the image it painted of Katsuki (his buddy, Katsuki, Dynamight, the dumbest, strongest mother fucker on the planet save for this blushing mess of a man right here in front of him – dios mio, he had a thought what was it), “that’s hot, dude. You guys are. Yeah.”
A beat of silence where Sero can hear his brain cells sizzling up in embarrassment.
“Thanks, Hanta-kun. Uhm. Don’t say that to Kacchan, he’ll be…impossible.” A flicker of exasperation, laced with that awful, beautiful, jealous love they share, and Sero can’t help it, he laughs.
“Oh yeah, that asshole doesn’t need a bigger ego.”
“It’s a wonder he gets off the ground, sometimes.”
Izuku hatches a plan. He hides his phone in his pillow, with a specific alarm that would wake only him. He sets it to an hour before Katsuki’s would ring and in the dark of the early morning, begins his masterpiece.
But he’s foiled. As he’s drawing, tongue between his teeth in concentration and to keep him from breathing too heavily, he makes the mistake of glancing up and finds red eyes cracked to watch him do his work.
He stutters, his finger slips, and the lovely picture of a butt with freckles on it and Katsuki’s face tattooed on one cheek is forever ruined.
“No, no, keep going.” Katsuki huffs a rough laugh, stretching now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be asleep, putting his arms behind his head and laying there naked and smug and fucking deliciously attracting Kacchan, what the hell.
Glowering, his ultimate plan ruined, Izuku wipes his palms all over Katsuki’s chest to remove the offending image. Then, thinking, he yanks the blankets off sharply enough here’s a cold breeze, and amid Katsuki’s displeased growl he plants his hands in an obviously claim over Katsuki’s hips, then one hand around his soft dick that was waking up into interest.
Then, with one finger and a mean look that makes Katsuki shiver, Izuku writes “GOOD BOY” from one hip to another, glowing gold above his hardened cock. It makes Katsuki look slutty he thinks to himself, pleased. Slutty, and claimed, and with just a hint of derogatory dogginess.
And when he looks up, red eyes are looking back at him with a flicker of desperate need, a heat that was new and beautiful and interesting.
Izuku nonchalantly stands up and strolls out of their bedroom, humming to himself. He ignores the cacophony he leaves behind as Katsuki’s alarm starts shrieking, lost amid a growling snarl.
“--the fuck are you going, finish what you started--!”
There are some things that remain under their clothes by mutual agreement. Mutual, heartbreaking, heart wrenching agreement.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, curled up with his partner of over a decade, rough half-knobby broken fingers tracing in every tiny, raised line of Katsuki’s scars. The shiny skin glows with their soulmate gold, and it, as always, brings tears to Izuku’s eyes.
The star bursts on his shoulder, and gut. The slice that runs from beneath the clavicle up to lick right over his chin. Big, mean, fatal- looking scars that he could have died from. That he threw himself in front of, just for Izuku.
“Hmmf?” Katsuki grunts, eyes closed and luxuriating in the gentle touches, minutes away from sleep.
“I love you.”
“Ye’too.” Katsuki turns his head just so, arm weakly flopping against Izuku’s hip where it’s curled around him, and Izuku puts his lips to Katsuki’s shoulder staring at the shining evidence of Katsuki’s grasping, uncompromising love for him in his skin.
His own scars, particularly the large one on his upper arm from the fight at the summer camp (one he considers his ugliest, the most hurtful because he did all that and Kacchan was still kidnapped, still taken away), always shine gold. Always.
It’s so intimate and easy, the moments where they pass each other in the kitchen and swipe hands down scars, lift shirts just to check on their glowing state, ensuring there’s a constant glitter and shine under their uniforms just for them.
That’s a favorite of theirs.
But, in general. Society suffers because if there was something Izuku and Katsuki weren’t it was embarrassed.
“You could just tell him to stop you know,” Ochako says blithely, sipping at her disgusting watery pale beer with a loud smacking of lips, “he would never do something you didn’t want. And the tabloids discover your degeneracy every few years, it must be tiring.”
“What’s given you the idea that I don’t want it, ‘Chako?” Izuku doesn’t really roll his eyes, he’s far too polite, but she gets the impression anyway. He’s actually sitting there in public with a smearing of gold dust around his mouth that actually might include fingers (were they kissing? Did Katsuki smother him with his hand? With his dick?!), and the very, very clear impression of teeth on his neck (not made of gold, just regular nearly-too-much pressure).
Izuku’s fingers lightly trace his own lips, glowing the same gold that he’d left behind on Katsuki.
Unashamed.
“You horny little bitch.”
“Kacchan said that last night.”
“Oh, kill me before I become the chihuahua.”
“Pomeranian thank you, if we had a better schedule we’d be getting one. I want to name it Kacchan, and when I come home and yell “I’m home, Kacchan,” I can have two little doggy’s barking at me.”
“That…that was far too much information, you’re cut off—”
And of course, said doggy arrives at their table and swipes the last of her beer, chugging it, before turning and spitting the last mouthful into Izuku’s protesting mouth, gold covered palm around his neck and painting new designs of ownership and love. On his own neck, exposed for once out of a shirt with too many buttons undone, was a two-finger width shining gold collar with a very clear diamond shape drawn at the front. Much like how a dog’s name tags would fall.
Red eyes squint because his grin is so wolfish.
“Fuckin’ woof, woof bitch.”