Archive of Our Own

“You look like a dweeb.”

If it were anyone else, Izuku would blame the comment on a tongue loosened by alcohol. This is Kacchan, though, who needs no help voicing his opinions.

He sighs, smoothing a hand down his tie. “The event said formal, Kacchan. I’m dressed formal.”

“Izuku, you don’t come to a pro hero cocktail party in your teacher get-up.”

“Kacchan,” he whines, “it’s the only thing I own that fits the formality requirement!”

“The stinky-ass work suit that you wear to school every single day?”

“It’s not stinky! I get it dry cleaned as needed. And I change the undershirt and stuff.” He frowns at Kacchan’s expression. “It’s not stinky, Kacchan.”

“Damn, okay. Not stinky. What’s got your briefs in such a knot?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re super fucking on edge is what you are.”

Izuku’s eyes dart away from him, but there is no escape. It’s just amazing pro hero after amazing pro hero as far as the room extends, along with associated professionals. Accomplished PR managers and physical therapists and analysts, all necessary and amazing components of the heroics field.

In the end, his eyes return to Kacchan. They always do.

“Come on.” Kacchan’s arms fold, his shirt dragging over his pecs. “Let’s go.”

Izuku unfocuses his gaze. “Go where?”

“I’m grabbing another drink. Then we can sulk in the corner or some shit until you get your act together. Sound good?”

“U-um, sure! Sure, yeah.” He tries to rally himself for the eighth time tonight, shuffling after Kacchan. As he steps, the crotch of his slacks hikes higher on the right.

He stumbles slightly before he finds his gait again.

Kacchan shifts, tilting his head. His chest stretches the fabric of his shirt even tighter with the motion.

Izuku looks away.

Kacchan’s palm catches his cheek, tilting his face back. “Oi. Talk to me. You know I can’t read your mind.”

Thank goodness, he thinks. “I’m just a bit stressed about the…y’know. The whole event. Attending a professional hero conference as a pro hero is a lot for me.” Which is true. This is a true fact, what he’s saying right now.

Ah, he’s so nervous.

Kacchan catches the grimace on his face. “We’ve had this shitty conversation, Izuku. We’re talking to each other about real shit, now. You promised. What the hell is really going on?”

Nothing I want to tell you, almost escapes him, too honest and definitely hurtful. He doesn’t know a better way of saying it, isn’t sure how to explain himself, so he chooses to stay silent instead. Safer that way. “Wow, there’s a lot of people here.”

Kacchan’s eyes harden.

Trying to spare him and yet still, Izuku confers hurt. That seems to be all he’s capable of giving Kacchan. “I…” If Izuku at his most restrained brings this sort of pain, he is too afraid to imagine what bearing all his ugliness would produce. “I really am feeling, um. Insecure, I guess. It’s just a lot more intense now.”

This is true. It is a truth. He is telling a truth, right now.

Kacchan’s face doesn’t betray belief or disbelief. He watches him for another moment before turning to order a drink from the courtesy bar.

Izuku releases a shaky sigh, reaching down to tug his slacks lower as his eyes rove around the crowded hall. Seriously, there are so many heroes. So many…amazing…

And Izuku.

He slouches, shoulders tightening. No. Don’t think about it. He’s lucky to be here; he owes so much to Kacchan and the others for making this sort of situation possible for him. Being negative about it is such a disservice to everything everyone did for him.

Positivity, Izuku! No sense getting up on anything now; now is definitely the worst place to get nervous. He knows how he gets when he’s nervous and he cannot afford any embarrassment here. The stakes are insanely high, even if it seems banal on the outside. Still, he admits, he is a bit tense.

Can he be totally blamed? Here he is, in a space he never thought he’d occupy. Part of a community he’d accepted he would never join. Flanked on all sides by the top heroics and heroics-adjacent professionals in Japan, staying in a ridiculously ritzy hotel in Tokyo. See, there’s Kamui Woods right over there. Lizard Girl, just four paces from Kacchan. And— Holy shit, that’s Suneater. Ah, he looks amazing these days. So cool. And he’s really come into his own! He’s going to give the keynote speech, isn’t he? He’s talking to Miruko, now. Miruko. So many amazing heroes who really have given their all over the years.

“Oi. You want anything?”

He startles, looking at Kacchan. “U-um, no, I’m fine, thanks. Ah.”

Kacchan scrutinizes him. “You really are freaked out by this, aren’t you?”

He is. This is a truth. This is one truth. “Well,” he whispers, “they’re all amazing pro heroes and I’m just—”

“One of the most decorated war veterans in Japan,” Kacchan cuts in. “Yeah. We all know.”

That is not how Izuku was going to finish his thought. He sinks further into himself, fiddling with the pockets of his slacks. Anything to keep his fingers busy, to force his arms to still.

Kacchan’s hand claps onto his shoulder, weighty and emphasized. “Izuku. Knock it off.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. I really am super happy to be here.” Flinches when Kacchan’s thumb slides along his clavicle, only the barest pressure through his suit jacket but still it feels like a knife. He tugs on his slacks again, shifting his right leg slowly.

Kacchan’s brow furrows. Suspicion returns to his gaze.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

He jerks back, looking to the side to find Best Jeanist idly sipping from his cup.

Izuku lets out a small breath, relaxing as Kacchan’s hand falls from his shoulder.

Kacchan snorts. “You’re the one who recommended we come.”

“Professional development,” Best Jeanist says. “It’s important for early career heroes.”

“Oi, watch yourself.” There’s no heat behind Kacchan’s voice. “We’re mid career.”

Best Jeanist studies them, eyes lingering on Izuku for longer than he’s comfortable. “You’re twenty-five, Bakugou-kun. Early career.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re tadpoles in the pond or whatever.”

“New frogs.”

Izuku ekes out a wobbly smile at that. It’s a cute image. Frogchan…

“Midoriya-kun,” Best Jeanist says, “I’m very glad to see that you could make it. Bakugou-kun didn’t sound certain that you’d have the time.”

“O-oh. Um… Yeah, I’m really glad I was able to come,” he says, nape itching with cool sweat. “I, ah. I made time.” That last part is a truth. One more truth.

“Nerd is working himself to the bone with this two job nonsense,” Kacchan says, clapping him on the shoulder again. Izuku grits his teeth, sweat beading his forehead. His heart is beating very hard in his chest. He’s no stranger to things getting hard when he’s nervous. Just one of the unfortunate side effects of being him.

That came out wrong! He means hard like— No, not like…

Not, um…

(You cannot die here, he tells himself sternly, jaw clenching tighter to keep everything inside where it belongs. You cannot die here. You will piss Kacchan off if you do.)

Nothing is hard, he means to say. Everything is easy. Easy and simple and not humiliating and shitty.

The conversation has moved on without him, as it always does. When he manages to surface above the waves of his despair, he finds Kacchan engrossed in a conversation with Best Jeanist about support gear cost inflation. Another topic Izuku wishes he were better versed in, but is woefully too inexperienced to have much of an opinion on. Still, it’s interesting! He’s lucky to be listening in on such an engaging topic.

Then, “Yo. Izuku, I gotta go say hi to Edgeshot. You good here?”

“I’m good,” he warbles, stuffing both fists into his pockets. “U-um, take your time, Kacchan.”

Kacchan eyes him. “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”

“I will.” As if he’d ever go anywhere without Kacchan in a place like this.

Kacchan gives him one last look before slipping into the crowd with Best Jeanist, a bright spot disappearing from Izuku’s view.

The crowd is loud and cloying and there are a lot of smells and colors and grating laughs. Izuku stands very still and focuses on not clawing his skin off. Sweat itches between his nape and the collar of his button-down, neatly knotted tie not flush to his throat but still tight enough to feel a little too much like a noose.

A woman makes eye contact with him. He promptly breaks it, swallowing thickly. Not a face he recognizes, though he knows that doesn’t say much.

When he looks back up, she’s right in front of him.

“U-um,” he manages, startled.

“Hero Deku!” she chirps, pressing a hand hard on his lower back. He cringes out a smile, shuffling a few half-steps away. Her hand follows him. “Wow, it’s so exciting to see that you’re back in the pro hero circuit. I’m such a big fan.”

“Th-that’s really, um, very flattering of you to say,” he says, voice cracking. “Thank you for your support! I’ll do my best.”

Her hand slips under his suit jacket, hot through the thin material of his tucked in button-down and undershirt.

“E-excuse me?” is what he means to say. Instead, he opens his mouth and nothing escapes.

His shirt is untucked. She’s untucking his shirt and sliding her hand up his bare back, what the fu—

“Let me give you my number,” she says brightly, patting his shoulder.

He blinks, shifting. His shirt is tucked in, nothing out of place. “Um.”

She hands him a business card. His numb fingers accept it on reflex. “In case you find yourself needing some relief during this busy convention. I understand that sometimes certain stresses can feel…overwhelming.”

Sasaki Koharu - Masseuse. His brow furrows, thumb sliding along the kanji of her name. “Uh…thanks?” He swears he’d felt her…feeling him up? What had she been doing? But there’s no evidence that anything happened at all.

She pauses, looking into his eyes for a long moment. He gamely holds the contact, as required. Still, it feels like a while. She’s wearing a small smile. Then, “Don’t lose the card. I’m sure we’ll meet again, but all the same: a real pleasure finally getting to see you in person, Deku.”

He ekes out a smile when she breaks eye contact. “Th-thank you. I really appreciate it?”

“Oi!” Kacchan’s voice jostles him out of his nervous reverie. “There you are. I couldn’t find you. I thought I told you to stay put.”

“I did,” he replies. “I haven’t left—” When he raises his head to look around, he finds himself twenty paces from the coat check, on the opposite end of the room from the bar. The lady—Sasaki—is long gone. “I thought I was staying put,” he says dumbly, frowning.

Kacchan grunts. When he catches Izuku’s eye, he freezes. Then, “You drink any weird shit here?”

“I didn’t drink at all, actually. Was too nervous about having to go pee, haha!”

Kacchan frowns at him. “How do you feel?”

“Mm? Um, fine. Why?”

“Not feeling weird or anything?”

Izuku blinks. “Weird? Did something happen?”

Kacchan’s eyes flit over his face, uncertain.

“I feel the same as I have all night,” he says. “Um. No, nothing’s weird, as far as I can tell. Besides the usual, I mean! Ha.”

Kacchan snorts, turning away. “Whatever. Can’t put anything past you. Still can’t believe that time you let one of your school cretins change your eye color.”

“I thought I looked alright with purple eyes!”

“Eurgh.”

He pats at his lower back, frowning. “A lady did just touch me. I think? But she was just trying to give me her business card.”

“Oh,” Kacchan says. “Ew.”

“Mm.”

“Should’ve clocked her in the jaw.”

“Kacchan! She was a civilian engaged in a friendly interaction.”

“Yeah?” Kacchan shoots him a look. “Why do you look so uncomfortable, then?”

Because he’s always uncomfortable. And because his— Nothing. Because nothing happens when he’s nervous, it’s nothing. “Ah. Well, I just thought that she— I dunno. Nothing happened. She just handed me a business card.”

“Well, I’m here to prevent any more losers from bugging you.”

He offers a smile, heart hitching awkwardly in his chest the way it always does when it finds Kacchan cute.

Kacchan slings an arm around his waist, palm molding to his side. It’s warm. So warm. He wishes it would move. Wishes it would curl further inward, would—

“Kacchan,” he admonishes softly. “We’re in public.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes, pulling away. Izuku fights down a keen at the loss. Which is— Okay, weird, admittedly. He does feel a sense of emptiness whenever Kacchan stops touching him, but he never feels the need to verbally whine about it.

Anxiety makes him act so strange. Ugh.

It doesn’t help that this thing between him and Kacchan—hero partners, roommates, boyfriends—is still so new and fragile. A private part of him is absolutely fucking terrified of pushing him away. Of being too much. It wouldn’t be the first time, though Kacchan has gone on the record that Izuku is it for him. Good or bad—and we sure as fuck have seen the bad—so if you’re not all-in with me, then fuck off.

He’d agreed to be all-in. Well— All-in, within reason, of course.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m beat.”

The clock on the wall says it’s just past 20:00. Izuku thinks about mentioning this before remembering that he and Kacchan are sharing a hotel room and—crucially—a bed. He keeps his mouth shut, bumping shoulders with Kacchan as they pick their way through the crowd to reach the coat room.

Each burst of contact makes something in his gut wheeze.

Seriously, tonight? He’d prepped for this conference thoroughly in that department—drained himself as much as he could stand, actually. This is going to be his first time sharing a bed with Kacchan after their official relationship status change and he wants so desperately for it to be a normal sleeping arrangement with nothing of note.

Even more crucially (sorry, Kacchan), it’s also his first-ever heroics conference as a certified pro hero. He wants so desperately to make a good impression. It’s a wonderful opportunity and he does not want to blow it! There are so many amazing heroes here, after all, people who really deserve to be here. And then there’s him, a speck of light in that sky with them all. Ah, it’s so amazing, isn’t it? Makes his heart pound so hard.

Very, very hard.

Kacchan’s arm brushes against his as he grabs his leather jacket, slinging it over his shoulders. Izuku shivers, biting his bottom lip until it turns white.

His skin is still buzzing slightly. It’s more disappointing than anything; he’s no stranger to his own tells. Doesn’t mean other people need to be in on them, though. He casts a nervous glance at Kacchan, who seems engrossed in his phone as they make their way back to their hotel room. Ah. That’s good.

He discreetly (discreetly!) stuffs his hand into his pocket and reaches over to readjust himself.

Kacchan brushes his teeth with the same ruthless efficiency as always before handing over the bathroom with a gruff Make sure you don’t stink and a squeeze to Izuku’s bicep as he heads for his suitcase.

The touch lights up Izuku’s chest with a sick, desperate want that he stuffs into his stomach. He shakes his head, swallowing thickly, and closes the bathroom door behind him as quickly as possible.

The solitude, as illusory as it is, is greatly appreciated. As much as he loves Kacchan—and he loves Kacchan a lot—it’s hard to hold back all the time. It’s worth it, though. He knows it’s worth it, but still. Tonight, for whatever reason, really strained his self-control. Especially on the walk back, with Kacchan bumping against him.

Kacchan touching him even that little bit. It was so exciting. Getting worked up over such simple, incidental contact is depressingly typical for him, especially after such a nerve-wracking evening.

He leans his back against the door, skull knocking against the thin wood as he unbuttons his slacks with one hand. The zipper needs no help giving to the swell of his cock through his underwear. Izuku chokes back a relieved groan as his bulge finally has some room to breathe.

Shit. That had been a very difficult social event to navigate. Anxiety is always has such humiliating effects on him.

His head thumps against the door again as he arches, kicking off his slacks and shoving down his boxers, cock slapping wetly against his dress shirt before sagging under its own weight. “Fuck,” leaves him weakly as his eyes slip closed.

He’s exhausted.

And should shower. Kacchan wants the morning shower. Kacchan in the shower, all soapy and wet with flushed skin. Kacchan in the…

Stop. Reset.

Izuku needs to shower now. Grunting, he leans over to tear his socks off before standing to unbutton his dress shirt and slip it off, wrestling his way out of his undershirt.

Halfway done, really. All that’s left is standing under the water until he’s suitably less smelly and drying off. Then bed.

He limps over to the shower stall and wrenches the glass door open, twisting the dial until hot water spits out. The first brush against his knee has him tilting his head back with a sigh, sliding his thigh until the water is running down his inner calf.

Feels nice.

That’s really all he wants after a hard day. Nothing complicated. He just wants to feel good. The caress of water is pleasant against the curve of his skin. His hips angle higher, matting the hair on his legs as it trails up to his stomach and back down.

Fuck, that feels so good.

He bites his lip, cupping his half-hard cock under the warm spray of the shower head, and shoots a nervous look through the fogging glass at the bathroom door. You cannot jerk off in a hotel bathroom with Kacchan during your first professional conference!

If he did, it might mellow him out a bit, though. Touching himself when he’s stressed always seems to help. He cards his fingers through his wet pubes, heart already slowing to a sluggish, wanting beat as he takes a shaky breath of steam.

In the hotel bathroom he’s sharing with Kacchan.

His hand smacks against his side with a grimace. “No,” he hisses. “I don’t know why it seems a little worse than usual, but I’ve got to stay calm. I-I can’t…do that stuff here. Gotta find a better way to deal with all of this. Okay?”

His cock either doesn’t understand him or doesn’t care to. It continues to twitch between his thighs with the former promise of some wet petting, a pearl of precum forming at the tip.

Izuku contemplates it balefully, hair damp and dripping cooling water onto his shoulders. “I can’t,” he croaks.

Why? it seems to ask him. Which— Okay, if he’s imaging his penis talking to him, he has officially gone insane.

“Because,” he says, which is even crazier. “The walls are thin. We’re at a… I… I don’t want to freak him out, okay?” His other hand, undisciplined, creeps down to roll his balls. He gnaws on his lower lip, rocking into the touch before he manages a steeling breath and pulls away.

His bicep throbs at the memory of Kacchan’s touch. Just a short squeeze, but it feels like a brand. He wishes it were a brand. He wants Kacchan to…

“Shut up,” he whispers.

His heart is heavy in his chest again, a fluttering cacophony of wings. Let me out; let me out; let me out.

He turns off the spray and stands in the silence, skin growing cold.

“If you kick in your sleep, tell me now.”

“I don’t,” he reassures Kacchan. “You won’t even know I’m here, Kacchan. I promise!” I hope.

Kacchan eyes him, gaze sticking on his face a little too long. Then, “Whatever. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Kacchan,” he replies. “Um. A bit nervous about the conference, haha, but…yeah. I’m okay. Why?”

Kacchan shrugs, sliding under the covers. The same covers that Izuku is under. Ah. That’s crazy to think about, isn’t it? Sharing a bed with Kacchan. (With a reasonable distance between them, of course! He’d made sure to leave ample space.) “You kick me at all and I’m kicking you into the stratosphere. Got it?”

“Of course, Kacchan,” he says, smiling tightly. He knots his fingers over his chest, lying ramrod straight on the mattress. Well— His knees are slightly bent. Just enough to hide the not-totally-flaccid deal he’s got going on, still. Eurgh. Stupid nerves.

Kacchan leans over, giving him a perfect movie kiss like he always does. Chaste and dry. Izuku leans into it in the same fumbling way as ever. Kissing is unwieldy. Not entirely pleasant, if he’s being perfectly honest—not that he ever would be aloud.

“Thank you, Kacchan,” he chirps, voice a taut string.

“Turning out the light. Night, nerd.”

“Night, Kacchan.” The words only wobble a little in his mouth.

The light dies. Izuku stares at the ceiling.

He dreams in sensation, mostly. That’s the way that his body understands things—touch and taste, visceral things that he can push against. Solid. The texture of cotton shirts or red meat, how each molds to his teeth. Smooth, the imagined feel of a damp palm curling around his— No. Something else.

Pain burrows itself into him like a friend, even in sleep. His joints aching, his muscles aching, old fights continuing to pummel him long after the fact, older pains digging deeper still. The phantom press of a school shoe into the soft give of his side, the toe pressing until it’s under his bottom rib and wrenching a cry from him when it drags him along the floor.

Sensation. Real and immediate and bodily. Pain licks flames into him daily with a hungry mouth. Every sight and sound and touch a threat of unpleasant stimulation. A hot, hot mouth swallowing his— No. Something else.

Sometimes, something feels good. It feels good and that’s like an ocean wave crashing over him. Sensation. The body needs no language and neither does he. When it’s good, it’s good. It’s so, so good. Cool water down his throat, calming the loping run of his heart. Everything else fades to numbness but the smooth glide of silk on his inner wrist, the flavor of breaded cutlet blooming in the clutch of his jaw.

Something soft and giving against him, pleasant to the touch. The ache of his own body coiling tighter, desperate for that reprieve. When it hurts—and it hurts a lot—it wants to ease the pain. It wants the opposite. His heart races and his body lights up with its devised solution.

A simple thing wanting simple things. Nothing more than that.

He sighs, hips rolling into the softness under him. His head is foggy with sleep, body on autopilot. Something feels good, so he does it. Again. And again. He stretches, feeling his shirt rucked under his armpits, nipples and belly sliding along the silky stretch of a pillow case. “Mm.” He lazily hikes his leg up, fucking into the soft give.

Feels good. He likes it when things feel good, the simple shift of his body doing what a body does. Just sinking into the repetitive motion of his hips, the arch of his back. His heart is a steady drum in his chest, the content purr of an engine. His skin is warm, slightly tacky with sweat. The pillow is cool and yielding, cradling the front of his body as he rolls more insistently against it, mattress creaking in the dull background noise under his pulse.

Kacchan sighs.

Izuku freezes, eyes snapping open.

Shit. That’s right. He’s in a bed with Kacchan. A hotel bed with Kacchan at a professional heroics conference.

He grimaces when he realizes his hips are still fidgeting against the pillow. His cock is half-way out of the slit in his boxers, smearing a line of precum into the covering. Ugh, gross. He’ll need to apologize to housekeeping. Or— No, actually, he cannot do that. That’s mortifying. Holy shit. Can he wash it himself? Would they let him do that?

He’s still rubbing himself on the pillow as he considers his options.

He pinches his lower lip. “This is exactly the sort of situation I was worried about happening if I shared a bed with Kacchan,” he mutters. “It follows that I’d have a contingency plan if such a thing occurred, but I couldn’t stand to think about it that hard, so I decided to ignore it and hope for the best. Ah, I need to think fast, now.”

The bed creaks under the drag of his hips.

“Obviously, I need to get out of bed,” he realizes. “I need to… W-well, I can’t just relieve it because the walls are thin I’m…I know I can get… Eurgh.” This is such a dilemma.

Think… What makes things soft? Soft like the pillow under him, smooth and yielding. A sigh escapes him as his eyes lid, thighs spreading wider.

For a blissful series of seconds, the only thing that occupies him is the drive of his own body, cock grinding harder along the cotton.

“W-wait!” He jerks upright, blinking. “Ah, shoot. Wait, no. No, I can’t just— Not in bed with Kacchan, that’s…” His breath shudders as his hips roll again. “I-I gotta stop or, um. Uh… But what should I do, then? Because the walls, yeah, the, um…the walls are thin and…”

Walls are thin. He brought that up because, um…

Hm. He isn’t sure anymore. This pillow is very nice. What brand is this? He might need to invest in—

Can you imagine how Kacchan would feel if he woke up to this? He’d be disgusted .

Izuku jolts back, stumbling out of bed with weak legs. He tugs down his sleep shirt, heart in his skull as he watches Kacchan’s shoulders continue to rise and dip with the easy rhythm of sleep.

Holy shit. Holy shit, he’d just been humping a pillow next to Kacchan.

What the hell is wrong with him?

(He knows the answer. Depressingly, predictably. Unfortunate, not guaranteed, but none of this is unusual.)

His mind races, grasping at solutions while he bats his hands away from his aching cock with a flinch. He’s hard, but if he properly jerks off, Kacchan will hear him. And that will be humiliating and probably result in a terrible conversation where Kacchan realizes that Izuku isn’t exactly normal about sex stuff—is masturbation sex stuff? masturbation stuff?—and then he’ll break up with him so badly that they won’t even be friends anymore.

“You’re spiraling,” he tells himself, swallowing thickly. “You need to think. You’ve got adrenaline and stuff so. So you need to get that out. ’S all any of this is, you know that. Just nerves. Just a weird reaction to nerves.”

The buzzing at the center of his body feels especially keyed up, though. He’s much more nervous than he’d thought he was.

Kacchan sighs, rolling onto his stomach.

Izuku’s eyes catch on the pale glow of his nape, how the skin disappears into his sleep shirt. Ah, how he wishes Kacchan hadn’t worn a shirt. How he wishes he could snuggle against Kacchan’s bare chest or back in bed, press himself as closely as possible, rub against the smooth expanse of a thigh or even his…

Adrenaline. Stupid fucking adrenaline.

“I should go for a run,” he whispers. He then remembers that they’re in the middle of Roppongi and he feels allergic to people, right now. A glance at the red face of the alarm tells him it’s five am. The very early morning people will be out and about by now. He can’t bare the thought of running past some poor civilian with his…assets swinging around.

Dreadful.

“The pool?” he asks himself. “The…the pool. Could swim some laps.” Right. They gave conference members with heroics clearance all-hours access to the pool and gym. Hopefully other heroes have been too busy partying last night and won’t feel up to some cardio at this time.

Plus, the pool will be cold. Cold water for his…issue.

He muffles a miserable groan behind his palms, wanting to wither into the floor. Fine. Fine, he can swim. Yeah. And if there is somebody there, he’ll just skulk back here and…sit in the bathroom, probably. Yeah.

The pool will help shock his system back to something more acceptable. It has to.

The pool is, thankfully, empty. He’d donned his swim trunks with a big hoodie to hide as much as he could. The walk down did lower the, er, tension in the area, luckily, but he’s certainly not in the clear yet.

There’s this…buzzing, still, under his skin. Again, he’s felt it before. Many times in his life, in fact. Whenever he’s felt this in the past, he’s gotten off. Which is probably the easiest solution to this, as well. But he’s in a hotel with Kacchan for a professional heroics conference. Not happening.

He knuckles his forehead as he swipes himself into the pool room. “Gross,” he murmurs to himself. “Stop being so— Gross.”

He is not the same person who used to jerk off in the boy’s bathroom at school before a test. Just— No. That part of his life is behind him. Should be. He wishes it were. Please.

This is especially frustrating because he’s been good since he moved in with Kacchan! Only getting off in his bedroom, with the door closed and a towel shoved against the bottom. A bit of a change from his previous bachelorhood set up, but it’s been working fine. This whole situation is just… It’s the stress. It has to be the stress. He hates that answer, but previous experience vouches for the explanation.

It’s just a way to calm down. Barely even sexual, in that sense. Just a body trying to self-soothe in the only way it really understands. His fingers a tight, warm hole to burrow into and hide, the hazy buzz after orgasm leaving him pliant and easy. And for a body that has built every defense against pain, pleasure is an unknown and overpowering sensation.

Izuku’s mouth is dry, just thinking about it.

He ducks his head, tugging down his hoodie again as he grabs a towel and shuffles toward the steps at the shallow end of the empty pool. Once his sandals are discarded, he slips out of his hoodie and sets everything down beside him as he slowly sits on the third step from the top.

The water is cold, lapping at his hips. He shivers, curling in on himself. His nipples are pebbled over his jumping pecs, shoulders bunching tighter to preserve some heat.

This doesn’t feel good.

That’s kind of the point, though. He rubs idly at his wrist with a thumb, sliding over mottled skin, old scars and older scars, still. The skin is warm. It has nothing worth complaining about. Cold water is a solution to this sort of stuff, right? He’s read that before, tried it many times. (Tried. Tried and tried. He’s an optimist, okay?)

When he looks down at his lap, he jerks back at the tight of his cockhead peeking past his swim trunks. Shit.

“What’re you doing?” he hisses, affronted.

Predictably, it does not reply.

He frantically tugs his swim trunks down, trying to cover up the ugly thing. This is a mistake. The fabric isn’t especially pleasant, but it slides and it feels nice in that sense, cool and wet and clinging. And it’s— The swim trunks are short, okay? Tugging at them is worthless. Tugging at them is worse than worthless because his mostly flaccid cock is suddenly awake again and that just makes the whole my swim trunks are too small oops situation a hundred times more mortifying.

He covers his face with a whine, staring at the bulge lifting the taught fabric off of his right thigh. Breath squeals in his ears, pulse throbbing through his skull and his cock. “Oh no,” he whispers, voice high and strained. “O-oh no…”

Is this all just because he made the sane (and moral!) decision not to hump the bed he’d been sleeping in with Kacchan? Seriously?

Kacchan, lying in bed with him, back turned. He’d been so close. Close enough to touch. To press against, to…

His cock twitches insistently, drooling head peeking out of the leg hole. Fuck, it feels so good.

With a yelp, he tugs his swim trunks down again harder, dragging the waistband down his hipbones and forcing the fabric to pull his cock against him. Ah, that looks even worse in some ways! Just a thick imprint with wet swimwear suctioned to it. There’s no mistaking what’s going on here.

A miserable groan escapes him as he presses down, trying to will it to get smaller. Why does he have to have such an inconvenient, grossly big dick? It’s never done a single good thing for him. He presses again, biting his lip at his own frantic shoving. “Go down,” he seethes. “Just— Go down! Why’re you…?”

It doesn’t take long for the pushing to grow its own rhythm. He whimpers, grinding the heel of his palm against his cock. His lashes flutter, a low moan of distress and pleasure creaking from his shaky lips. His hips rock against his hand, water lapping at his hips.

Stop! No!

Izuku wrenches his hand away, slapping both against his face as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips continue to roll, rutting his cock against the straining fabric of his swim trunks, letting the water lick coolly along his skin. It’s so humiliating, but he can’t stop. His wide eyes peek through his fingers, watching his own thighs tremble as he fucks up in short, stupid twitches. Droplets of water flick with each thrust, dotting his trembling abs.

He can’t stop his body, isn’t sure if he even wants to—

“Is that Hero Deku?”

He stiffens. No. No.

Two people stand outside the glass wall leading into the pool. Civilians.  Izuku stares back at them with wide eyes. His lips are a thin line, jaw tense as his shoulders curl inward. They can’t get to him. They can see him, though.

Clock says 5:23. Pool doesn’t open for regulars until 7:00.

It’s fine. He’s fine. People can gawk. As crazy as it is that people recognize him, he can— Well, is it crazy? What other hero looks like him, after all? He’s hardly grown since high school and he has a massive scar arching up the right side of his face. That combination probably makes him distinctive by pro hero standards.

He takes a steeling breath, forcing his hips to still with decent success. There’s still a tremor, foreskin rubbing against the hem of his swim trunks in a way that’s caught between aggravating and enticing.

They look back at him for a few more moments before one nudges at the other and they continue on their way, dragging their suitcases behind them. Izuku lets out a shaky breath, leaning back against the step until it digs into his spine. The pain is almost grounding. The heartbeat in his cock is like a metronome, nudging insistently at his swim trunks.

Alone again, he lets his hips hump forward a few times with a low groan. “Ah— Mm, ah-hh…” The water is cold, but that only adds to the stimulation.

Why the fuck am I doing this? he wonders, thoughts sticky. Like— Okay, he has thought about things like this before in passing, but he’s never actually…

It feels good. Really good. And as pain tolerant as Midoriya Izuku is, pleasure has always been a whole other issue. It’s so hard not to get lost in it, his thoughts fizzling with each pump of his hips, water caressing his aching cock. The motion is automatic, his body seeking what it needs. Basic animal wants. Why is that wrong? Why can’t he give himself over to it, just a little?

Because he’s in a fucking public pool!

Right. Right, he’s…he’s hard in a public pool at five in the morning. The thought doesn’t distress him as much as it did earlier. He watches his thighs flex under the water, eyes lidded and unfocused as his head lolls onto his shoulder. 

Those people gawking at him had seen him rubbing himself off on his swim trunks in a public pool. Or— Well, based on their expressions, they hadn’t understood that.

Still. They’d seen.

A shaky grin spreads across his lips, hips rutting harder despite the panic blooming ever-larger in his chest. What if they realized? What if they realized that he was in the pool with his cock dripping precum into the water? Would they be disgusted by him?

Probably. Probably, yeah. But also that doesn’t feel so important, right now. Not when he feels so good. Cool water brushing against his cock, swim trunks tugging his foreskin back with every thrust.

He’s hard. Pulse thumping in his cock with an echo that rattles through his whole body. It feels so fucking good.

Ah, he just thinks about them, um…noticing. Noticing that he’s hard and leaking and looking at him. The evidence of his pleasure bared for everyone. If not obvious with his straining cock, then surely his flushed face.

Fuck, they definitely saw his face. Could they tell from that? Did they know?

Holy shit, that’s so hot? That’s so fucking hot, ah. It’s awful, actually, it’s genuinely enough to make him want to cry, but also…

What if he’d stood up? What if there’d been people here? People in the pool with him, staring right at his straining cock, the flimsy material of his swim trunks stretched to their limit in full view of everyone.

He’d have to take them off, obviously. Or at least shove them down far enough that his cock would swing out, no longer a threat to the integrity of his clothing. Fuck, that would be so embarrassing. Absolutely humiliating. Maybe people even come closer, to get a better look. They’d be disturbed or disgusted, of course—obviously—but maybe…maybe they’d…want to look? Out of bile fascination, of course, but still.

Strangers’ breath ghosting over his leaking cock, twitching as beads of milky precum drip into the pool water.

He pants in excitement at the thought in reality, palms pressing harder into his grinning face. His body is shaking from cold and arousal so hard that he feels like he’s trembling apart, cock rutting hard against the hem of his swim trunks. “F-fuck,” escapes him as a breathy whine.

He’d like that, actually. He’d like maybe, um, touching himself? While they watched? He’d like to—

Izuku dunks his head under the water, fisting his hair. Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

He’s crazy. He knows he’s crazy, has always known he’s crazy, but usually he isn’t this crazy. What the fuck is wrong with him?

When he resurfaces, he hears the click of the door over the thundering of his blood. Shit, shit, shit! He quickly wipes his eyes of chlorine.

“Hi,” fucking Lemillion says, waving from the side of the pool. Fucking— Toogata Mirio. Lemillion. Is at the pool. The pool where Izuku was just humping his own swim trunks. Toogata Mirio, Lemillion, number one hero. For fuck’s sake.

Is this the worst day of his life? Possibly the worst day of his life.

…Well, no. Speaking frankly, it doesn’t even break the top twenty. Top fifty? Might be in the running for top seventy-five.

“Midoriya-kun?” Toogata asks.

Izuku’s brain clicks back online. Seventy-third worst day of his life, it concludes. “Hi,” he manages to croak, curling into a fetal position on the pool steps.

The reality of this situation is very much not sexy at all.

(Well, the fantasy did not involve Toogata Mirio, now did it? Ugh.)

Toogata strips his shirt smoothly, revealing a perfect eight pack. “It’s so great to see you at this conference, Midoriya-kun! I wasn’t sure if you had time to show up. I know you’re crazy busy juggling two careers. Haha! I can’t imagine that.”

Izuku once read about how sea cucumbers will vomit out their entire insides to discourage predators. He’s considering the strategy’s viability.

It occurs to him that he was probably supposed to respond to Toogata—that they are engaged in a conversation—but the window for comment has passed. Toogata, for his part, doesn’t seem discouraged. “Sure is an early time to take a dip, huh? I love mornings. Always important to get the day started right!”

“Uh-yuh,” he manages.

Fuck, Lemillion is so cool. And here Izuku is, sitting on the steps of the hotel pool like a degenerate. His cock is…yeah, ok, it’s still hard.

(You can’t die, he reminds himself grimly. Kacchan will be pissed if you do.)

Toogata sets aside his stuff on the floor and dives into the water with a truly enviable grace. That isn’t surprising. Everything about Toogata is enviable to someone like Izuku.

Toogata Mirio is one of the greatest heroes Japan has ever known, veteran and beloved public icon, known eight pack haver, golden boy in every sense. Sitting across from him is Midoriya Izuku, the guy with a boner at the public pool who walked into a telephone pole two weeks ago because he was too busy arguing with Kacchan about the lyrics to the All Might Power Hour Seven intro song. (He’d been right.) A perfect specimen of a man and an awkward freak, occupying the same room.

Toogata probably doesn’t see it that way. Toogata looks at him with such warm, easy eyes. No pity to be found. Izuku bites his lower lip. It only makes him feel more despicable, makes the insecurity in him fester like mold.

What he means to say is: He’s fine.

Anyways, he’s soft enough that he can probably exit the pool without incident, his half-hard cock dangling out of the right stand not withstanding. If he gets his hoodie on fast enough, he stands a good chance.

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

He squeezes into his hoodie, wet skin clinging to the interior and making him shudder, bile rising in his throat. “Gotta go back to Kacchan,” he blurts, head popping out the other side. He tugs the hoodie down past his ass and shoves his feet into his sandals.

“You’re dripping wet,” Toogata observes.

“Was in the pool,” he supplies, which is so obvious an observation that he sounds braindead. Maybe he is. That fantasy he had while hard in the pool certainly suggests as much.

He’s used to invasive thoughts. He’s used to sexual invasive thoughts. But that…

It’s this conference, he thinks grimly. I never should have come. The anxiety is turning me into an actual pervert.

“Into a what?” Toogata asks.

Izuku freezes. “N-nothing,” he says, grabbing his towel way too late for it to be much use. “Ah. It was…good to, um, see you, Toogata-senpai.”

“Sure,” Toogata says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself, Midoriya-kun.”

He gives a jerky nod before sprinting face-first into the door of the pool room.

Kacchan gives him a weird look when he gets back. “The hell were you?”

“Pool,” he says shortly, shuffling toward his side of the bed. He rubs his aching forehead.

“That why your hair’s wet?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

He shucks his hoodie, thankfully flaccid in his shorts as he rummages around in his suitcase.

The bed creaks as Kacchan rolls out. “Nice trunks.”

“Ah, thanks.”

“I was being sarcastic. Pattern’s ugly as shit.”

“…Oh.”

“Oi.”

He looks up, only for Kacchan to grab his arm, wrenching him up. He snags his face, squishing his cheeks.

The touch wrenches a gasp from Izuku. His pulse hiccups, jolting along the length of his cock.

“Ka’han!” he whines, failing to wriggle away.

Kacchan studies him, fingers tight on his jaw. “The hell’s wrong with your face?”

“Hm?” Oh. Oh. “I, ah. Bumped into the door on the way out. ’S all.”

Kacchan’s scrutiny does not abate. “You seriously don’t feel any different than usual right now?”

“No,” he answers, confused. “Kacchan, why do you keep asking me that? Do I look funny or something?” Is it that obvious that I am nervous which also means that I am ridiculously horny right now and my shorts are sliding really nicely against my cock? Wait, seriously? I just got soft. No way—

Kacchan’s eyes narrow. He relinquishes his grip. “Just checking in.”

“Okay…?”

“We got a panel at ten. You gonna be ready for that?”

“Sure,” he says.

“‘Kay. Then I’m gonna shower and we can grab breakfast.”

“Sure! Um.”

“You stink of chlorine,” Kacchan says, heading into the bathroom. “You better rinse down again before we head out.”

Izuku’s smile tightens, thinking about warm shower water. “U-uh, sure…” He feels like a parrot with a woefully limited vocabulary.

“It’s early as shit,” Kacchan continues, voice tinny in the bathroom. “How long were you swimming for?”

“…Like an hour? Ish?”

The faucet turns. He hears Kacchan brushing his teeth. There is no further conversation. He isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. It can be hard to tell with Kacchan, even now. Perhaps especially; they’re much more complicated in adulthood than they were in childhood.

“You’re showering after me,” Kacchan says after spitting. “And you better be fucking quick about it. None of your long shower bullshit.”

Izuku winces. “Of course, Kacchan.”

“The hell do you even do in there anyways? You’re sure as shit not actually washing your hair properly so it can’t be that.”

“N-nothing!” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I’m not doing anything.”

Kacchan cranes his head out of the doorway to shoot him an unimpressed look. “Yeah,” he says. “I figured.”

Izuku stays kneeling by his suitcase, silent.

“Stinky-ass bastard.” Kacchan returns to the sink. “Don’t think I missed that time you used dish soap to wash yourself.”

“Kacchan—! That was one time.”

Kacchan extends his hand out, this time, to flip him off. Charming.

Izuku sighs, shaking his head. He returns to sorting through his clothes, frowning. “Kacchan, where’s my suit? I didn’t see it on the chair.”

“I threw that ugly shit out.”

He doesn’t mean that. “Kacchan.”

“Dunno. Dress is casual at the conference anyways. Why do you give a shit?”

Izuku sighs, riffling through his small collection of shorts and t-shirts he brought. Then he does it again with more care. Not all of these clothes were created equal, after all.

Nothing is created equal.

“I’m showering,” Kacchan calls. “So get your ass ready in six minutes because then it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Just deal with it in order. First, pick out clothes that will not out his…situation in case it arises again. Second, strategize a way to fake showering in such a way that won’t have Kacchan clobbering him. Then breakfast, which will probably actually be nice. Then the whole conference, where he’ll doubtlessly be sweating like a pig with really bad imposter syndrome. (Which is fine! That’s. Fine.) Then back to the hotel to sleep in a bed with Kacchan, where he will not do anything mortifying.

Just take it step-by-step. Easy.

When Kacchan had asked him to move in with him, he’d been beside himself. Ecstatic, but befuddled.

“Isn’t it a bit soon?” he’d asked. “We’ve only been dating for three months, Kacchan.”

Kacchan just rolled his eyes. “How long have you known me?”

“Twenty-three years and eight months.”

He nodded, giving a look as though Izuku just said something that proved his point. This was a common occurrence, though Izuku wasn’t always the most adept at figuring out what, precisely, gave credence to Kacchan’s point.

This time, he admitted, it was obvious. “Okay, but I guess I just worry about us living together causing, um, friction.” He winced at his own language. “J-just! Our sleep schedules and our meal plans and all of that, you know.” Little annoying things that I do that’ll probably annoy you. Things I say that piss you off. You figuring out that I’m not worth all the hassle you’ve put up with for so many years.

Kacchan just shifted, folding his arms over his chest as a stern look came over his face. “If you don’t wanna move in with me, just fucking say that.”

“I do!” he yelped. Because he did. He wanted to live with Kacchan. He wanted to wake up to Kacchan. He wanted to fall asleep to Kacchan. He wanted to eat meals with Kacchan and doze off on the couch together and— And touch him. And be touched by him. Under covers or over covers or pressed against the big window in Kacchan’s kitchen.

Not that any of that would happen. Kacchan was chaste and cute. He blushed whenever they held hands. Made a funny face whenever he saw Izuku unclothed in the locker room. He didn’t bother with unnecessary wants, didn’t need the same grotesque things as Izuku seemed to require.

Kacchan already put up with so much from him. He didn’t want to introduce more of his own ugliness to the equation.

“I guess I’m worried about ruining it,” he admitted, voice soft.

“The hell are you talking about?” Kacchan replied. He sounded genuine, like he really didn’t get it.

Izuku bit his lip, fidgeting with his hands. He had a schedule with his current living situation. That thought filled him with countless anxieties. Not just the minor annoyances he would bring to Kacchan’s life, but that unpleasantness at his core that needed constant satiation. How he didn’t like Kacchan’s throw pillows on his couch because he couldn’t stand velvet and he wanted to break something every time Kacchan’s rice cooker made that awful beep that was so much worse than his own cooker’s pleasant little chirp. How he needed the curtains to be open in the daytime no matter the temperature and he needed a space heater in his room so he could curl up by the warm, good feeling and he needed to jerk off at least three to four times a day or he would actually go insane. All the good and bad feelings that that he accounted for so much more easily when it was just him.

“Hey,” Kacchan said lowly, stepping forward into his space. He always did it so smoothly, like parting the waters. It never made Izuku uncomfortable in the way that other people approaching him did. Kacchan was seamless. “We’ll work it out, okay? There’s always gonna be hang-ups and shit.”

He nodded dumbly, leaning into Kacchan as he slid his hands around his waist, forming a quiet embrace that he gladly returned, fingers curling into the back of Kacchan’s shirt. He was so warm in Izuku’s arms. That secret softness he only allowed him and only sometimes, vulnerable and gorgeous against him.

Izuku sighed, nuzzling against his shoulder as he stared at Kacchan’s nice kitchenette with the big window. A space they’d be sharing, soon. Bumping into each other and bickering and kissing, hopefully, too.

Oh, he thought. Shit. I won’t be able to jerk off in my kitchen anymore.

And wasn’t that just horrible? This was a beautiful moment for them. A next step in their newly romantic relationship. Yet it all cooled in Izuku as soon as he thought about how this would impact his masturbation habits.

“Something wrong?” Kacchan asked.

“No,” he replied. There really was no other way to respond.

Breakfast is nice. Kacchan pays because he’s petty like that. Izuku’s too exhausted on too many fronts to fight him over it this time. Besides, it’s kind of cute when Kacchan takes care of him. It’s also mortifying on so many levels that Izuku will never interrogate, but he admits that, today, it leaves him feeling warm and pleased and interested.

He drinks herbal tea and eats his crêpe, eyes lidding as he focuses on the taste and feel in his mouth while Kacchan busies himself complaining about the app they had to download in order to see the conference schedule.

He loves crêpes.

“Can’t believe they have a button that lets you ‘save’ a panel, but then it doesn’t go to your damn saved panels tab! Fucking stupid-ass, busted shit…”

“Mm,” he contributes, wholly engrossed in the tart bloom of strawberry between his back molars, cutting through the milky pillow of whipped cream.

Kacchan sighs, clicking his phone off and leaning back in his chair. “How much of our paychecks goes to the Commission? And they can’t hire a damn app developer.”

“’S probably something wrong on the backend if the information isn’t transferring,” Izuku mumbles, lapping at the edge of his crêpe. Sweet.

“Don’t know anything about that kinda shit,” Kacchan says. “You like your breakfast?”

“Mmhm. Thanks, Kacchan.”

“You look a lot calmer now than you did earlier.”

Izuku shrugs, body loose and easy. His mouth feels good. He loves crêpes. His cock is half-hard in his shorts.

“You seriously feel normal, right now?”

He lifts his eyes, blinking slowly. “Yeah? Am I acting differently?”

Kacchan’s lips purse. “No,” he says slowly. “Not that I can tell.”

His hips fidget in his chair as he chews slowly, savoring the texture between his teeth, flavor pressed into his tongue.

When Kacchan gives him a searching look, he offers a lazy smile.

They show up to the panel fifteen minutes early because it’s Kacchan and it’s Izuku, so of course they do. Middle of the third row seats. Izuku smooths out his notebook over his knee while Kacchan dangles all his limbs over his chair like a limp doll.

Izuku is in prime position, notebook perched squarely in his lap, the title for the presentation—Considerations for Urban Rescue—already scrawled across the top of the page.

“Where is everybody?” Kacchan grouses.

“There’s still time before it starts,” he replies, pen trembling faintly in his grip. This happens whenever he holds anything too long. “I’m sure the panelists will be here soon.” His arm jitters harder, ink flicking from the tip.

“Oi. You alright?”

He nods, forcing his arm back onto his lap. His other hand curls around the edge of his seat, jaw tightening. “Yeah, I’m totally fine! Why?”

Kacchan sighs. He reaches over and squeezes the hand clinging to Izuku’s chair.

The feeling jolts through him, nerves blinking alive with full attention. Kacchan’s palm is warm, curling around him, fingers slim but sure. Soft.

Izuku feels like dropping to his knees.

The impulse jerks him awake, blinking owlishly at the mostly empty room.

“What’s up?” Kacchan asks.

“Nothing,” he says blankly.

Kacchan grunts, thumb rubbing along the back of Izuku’s knuckles.

He desperately wants to drag their hands to his shorts and thrust.

Ohhhhkay, he thinks, pulse thick in his skull. Alright then. That’s an inside thought, got it? One you’re not going to act on at all.

No shit. Obviously he isn’t going to hump his and Kacchan’s palms. Obviously he isn’t going to whine as he presses their joined fingers hard against his body, chair squeaking as he chases his orgasm. Just one orgasm. It would fix him. Kacchan’s warm hand cupping him, curling around his length through the fabric of his shorts.

Wait— Wait, he’s totally hard again, isn’t he?

“You need your arm brace?” Kacchan asks.

Izuku’s teeth grind. His right hand is still rattling over his notebook, which is now very strategically placed. Foresight, if nothing else.

“Izuku.”

“I’m fine, Kacchan. Thank you so much, though.” His voice escapes soft and polite and appropriately subdued. Obviously it’s annoying that his arm is acting up like this. It usually doesn’t bother him this badly unless he’s been putting a lot of strain on it, but it’s been a weird day so far and he knows that stress can be a factor with these things. His arm shaking is a huge disappointment; it feels deeply unpleasant and it looks bad. And he’s hard.

That is certainly a contributing factor to his current distress. Sure. He’s hard in his shorts. At least he’d had the foresight to wear the tightest underwear he owns coupled with the baggiest shorts he brought for the trip, but even with a notebook obscuring his lap only so much can be done.

He doesn’t wonder why he’s hard. The answer is, depressingly, obvious. It’s just disappointing.

It’s a bit overactive, admittedly, but he’s never found himself in this specific situation before, so he can’t say for sure if it’s actually weird or not. Instinct informs him that if it is weird, it’s not that weird.

He was always going to pop a boner or two at this conference. Popping one single, unending boner? Deeply unfortunate but not necessarily excessive, given his track record.

“Hey,” Kacchan murmurs, lifting his hand and sliding over Izuku’s shoulders. Warm and smooth and brushing along the skin of his nape. “Chill, okay?”

Izuku takes a deep, shuddering breath. He closes his eyes. If it’s obvious to Kacchan, then he really needs to pull himself together. “Right. Thank you, Kacchan. Sorry about that.”

“That’s not what I— Whatever. Forget it.”

He ekes out a smile.

Kacchan slips his hand away, staring despondently at his own lap.

Before Izuku can investigate the sudden turn in his mood, he’s distracted by the panelists coming into the room. Shit, he forgot that Wash was part of this. Wash! He’s going to need to get an autograph. Would that be okay? He isn’t sure if Wash is open to solicitation at this sort of professional event.

“Don’t know why you’re acting so starstruck,” Kacchan mutters. “We’re all on the same level, here.”

Izuku sits up in his chair, pressing his notebook hard over his lap as he watches the projector get set up. How he wishes that were true.

They make it through two panels with little incident (awkward boner not withstanding) before the complementary lunch hour begins and he’s whisked back into the very exciting and exhausting social hell that is smalltalk with a bunch of highly ranked heroes.

Kacchan talk to them all so easily. And why wouldn’t he? Kacchan has always been impressive, and he’s been a pro hero for years, now. This is all mundane to him. Izuku admits, he’s… Well, he’s happy for Kacchan, first of all. Actually, yeah— Yeah, let’s leave it at that. No sense going into any of the other stuff.

He admits, his focus keeps slipping. He keeps feeling oddly floaty for certain intervals, the needy pulse of his cock taking focus in a way he’s usually incredibly adept at ignoring. It gets worse whenever Kacchan bumps into him or squeezes his shoulder or looks at him or breathes.

“Oi. Izuku, he’s talking to you.”

He shakes his head, focusing.

“Midoriya-san,” Suneater—Amajiki—says, bowing. “It’s such a pleasure to see you in the professional rotation!”

“R-right,” Izuku replies, voice unsteady.

Kacchan is a sturdy presence against his side, forcing him to remain upright. He is keenly aware of every millimeter of contact between their two arms.

Amajiki cocks his head, smile dimming slightly.

“Um…Ilovedyourkeynotespeech!” leaves Izuku in a tumbled heap of words. He’s sweating. He’s sweating a lot. His skin feels itchy and Kacchan is touching him and they’re in a very crowded room.

Maybe he’s sick?

“Y-you think so?” Amajiki scratches his temple. “I’m still not good at giving speeches, so I was pretty nervous.”

“You sounded super confident!” he assures him and wow, oops, his voice is way too loud.

Amajiki smiles, nodding, before he pauses. He frowns, studying Izuku’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says. He tamps down a shudder at the sweat trickling down his spine.

“He’s been acting normal,” Kacchan says. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

Amajiki pulls back, brow furrowed. “Okay. Well, um. There is a medical tent on-site by the entrance.”

“A medical tent?” Izuku asks, puzzled.

“I got it under control,” Kacchan says.

Amajiki nods, eyes darting back to Izuku. “Right, well… It was good to see you. Have a good conference!”

As he mixes back into the crowd, Kacchan grunts. “Always so friggin’ awkward.”

“I think he’s really come into his own,” Izuku replies.

They’re all so amazing. Actual, real heroes. And him. At this professional conference with an incredibly middling catered lunch. It’s like something out of a dream, isn’t it? The world floaty and immaterial, his cock aching between his thighs, waiting for him to wake up with his face planted in his pillow.

Kacchan grabs his shoulder and he groans, eyes lidding.

—Shit! He straightens, staring at the floor. Kacchan’s stare bores into him, all the same.

“Uh,” Kacchan says. “Izuku, are you…?”

“Fine!” he says. “I’m— Fine! Thanks so much, Kacchan.”

Ah, how embarrassing. He fights the urge to slink away. This is a big event for Kacchan (it’s supposed to be big for him, too) and Izuku is ruining that. He can’t afford to ruin this. Any of it. Kacchan’s career or Kacchan’s reputation or Kacchan’s relationship.

He poses an ever-present threat to all three.

“You sure you’re feeling normal?” Kacchan asks.

Izuku blinks, swallowing thickly. He considers the question, lets it sag with its full weight in his head. “Yes,” he admits, sheepish. Kacchan’s hand lights down on his cheek, barely a brush, and Izuku’s head goes foggy again. The world is underwater for a moment, swimming past him with shimmering scales. Kacchan’s hot palm, curving over his skin. It feels good. He likes it when it feels good.

“—ku—”

“I’m fine,” he says blankly. Kacchan’s hand is scalding against him. He fights the urge to press into it, to nuzzle his face into the soft curve of his palm. It feels good. Kacchan always feels good.

His cock aches, twitching against the seam of his shorts.

“What’re you doing?” Kacchan frowns.

“Bathroom,” he squeaks, hugging his backpack to his crotch and darting through the crowd.

“Come on,” he whines under his hitched breath, t-shirt tucked between his teeth as he trembles over the toilet, hard cock drooling over his waistband.

Eurgh. He hates jerking off in public bathrooms.

Which is why he’s not doing it! Not doing it. Not at all. He is absolutely not going to jerk off at this professional heroics conference. That would be humiliating.

What’s currently happening is humiliating enough.

He thinks about that look Kacchan shot him while he spoke to Amajiki and wants to sink into the pit of the earth, never to be seen again. Just…why. Why is he such a gross loser?

And there’s no doubt that he is. He’s literally got his hard cock in his hand, shuddering as he fondles his balls in the public restroom.

Thankfully there’s no one here. That would be bad.

He pants, head knocking against the barrier of his stall. It would be kind of hot if someone heard. Not actually, of course, but in his head. In his head where it’s totally fine to jerk off in a public pool in front of people, where’s that’s incredibly hot actually, where the idea of someone actually wanting him is a far-flung possibility rather than inconsiderable.

The door to the bathroom bangs open. He jolts, biting his lip as he strains his ears.

“Oi, Izuku. I know you’re in there.”

Izuku stiffens, dick jumping in his palm at the rasp of Kacchan’s voice.

“Fuckin’ say something!”

“Hi, Kacchan,” he says.

“If you don’t want to be here, that’s fine. We can fucking leave.”

“What? Kacchan, no!” He stands up straighter, facing the door. His pulse thuds, hot and eager. “I want to be here!”

“You sure as fuck don’t seem like you do at all!”

“Kacchan—”

“What panels do we even got left? The one from the dragon fuck?”

“H-Heroic Image in the Current Year,” he replies. His fingers curl tighter around his cock, thumb swiping at the leaking tip. “Yeah.”

“Neither of us really cares about that. Look. Let’s just go back to the hotel room and chill before we gotta schmooze some more at dinner.”

“Oh! Um. If you want, Kacchan. You know more about these conferences than I would—”

“I told you before, this is my first one. Knock that shit off.” There’s shuffling on the other side of the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I-I… Um, in a minute? Or how about I meet you back at the hotel room?”

“Izuku. Get out.”

“I’m pooping,” he says quickly.

“Izuku.”

“It’s a big one! Um. Difficult.”

“Open the damn door, Izuku.”

He glances down at his swollen cock, heart thudding in his skull.

“Open. The. Door.”

When a fist clearly hits the other side, Izuku stuffs himself back into his underwear, wincing at the bulge in his shorts. That does not look natural at all. “Just a second, Kacchan!”

“Open the door!”

He swings his backpack over his shoulders and hunches over into a hopefully boner-shielding posture while he frantically unlocks the door before Kacchan can cause any damage.

Kacchan’s fist is raised, eyes narrowed. Oh, he is not pleased at all. He is quite upset. Izuku’s fault. Stupid. All because of his dumb, awful dick and his idiotic anxiety. He’s ruining everything.

“Kacchan,” he says weakly. “Kacchan, I’m really sorry. I think you’re right. I think I should go back to the hotel room.”

Kacchan stops, eyes raking over him. “Shit, are you okay?”

No. “I’ll be fine, thanks. I just… I really need to go lie down.”

“Then let’s go.” Kacchan steers him by his shoulder, guiding him out of the bathroom.

“W-wait. Actually, Kacchan, u-um. Actually, you can stay,” he says, heart hitching. Kacchan’s hand is warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. So warm. He wants it to slide lower. He wants it all over him. “You don’t need to walk me over.”

“Fuck that. I’m not hanging out with these losers without you.” Kacchan drags him along now, forcing their steps. “You’re all over the place right now, you know that? I don’t want to take you to medical, but if I gotta, I will.”

“I’m fine!” he answers. “I’m— Totally fine, Kacchan. Just nervous, I think. A-and that does weird stuff to me, so… Yeah.” Not exactly the most articulate explanation, but it’s a bit hard to focus when half of his brain is centered on the point of contact between Kacchan and him. How firm Kacchan grips him, the strength in his palm.

Would Kacchan hit me? he wonders, dazed. Would Kacchan smack me? In a loving way. That makes absolutely no sense, but if anyone could smack me in the face and make me feel loved, it would be Kacchan.

“We’re going back to the hotel room,” Kacchan says, “and I’m gonna check you out. I let this shit run on long enough as it is.”

“Check me out?” he echoes, skin hot. He stumbles against Kacchan, nerves purring.

“Have you looked in a mirror, dumbass?”

He hums, resting his head against Kacchan’s shoulder. Kacchan’s body, sturdy and upright. Kacchan feels good.

“Yeah,” Kacchan says. “I’m gonna check you out real good.”

Checking Izuku out means shining a light on his face and leaning very, very close. Kacchan’s breath is hot, eyes narrowed over a scowl. Izuku is too busy basking in the careful grip of Kacchan’s hand on his jaw.

“Shit, you’re really not acting that weird, though,” Kacchan says, voice low. “A bit spacey, but you get like that sometimes anyways. Fuck if I know why you ever act like anything.”

He tracks the movement of Kacchan’s other hand as a finger sails back and forth.

“You only really got weird during that talk during lunch,” he hears Kacchan continue. His voice is a drone. Background noise. The only thing that matters is the heat of his hand, thumb swiping over the corner of his lip.

Kacchan. Kacchan touching him. As long as Kacchan keeps touching him, everything is fine. Simple.

“Izuku.”

He blinks slowly, focusing on Kacchan’s eyes. “Hm?”

“Are you fucking listening to me?”

“No,” he admits. “Sorry, Kacchan. What was that?”

“I said, what the hell is up with you lately?”

Izuku straightens. Kacchan’s palm follows his cheek. “N-nothing. I’m just… I’m fine, Kacchan.”

“Are you serious? You’ve been catatonic for like five minutes.”

“No, I— I’ve been fine, Kacchan!”

Kacchan pulls back with a scowl. Izuku’s face feels cold. “What the fuck, Izuku? Like hell. You went to the pool at five in the fucking morning.”

“Ah. I was just… I just wanted some exercise.”

“So you left the hotel room at five in the morning to swim. Didn’t wake me up, didn’t say nothing.”

“Well, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me,” Kacchan echoes, acidic.

“Y-yeah? It was early and, u-um.” And he’d been fucking a pillow right next to him. Kind of problematic. “Yeah, I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Kacchan says bluntly. The words send Izuku’s heart racing, even now. Boyfriend. Kacchan. “If you got a problem, you should tell me.”

He swallows thickly. “I didn’t have a problem, though? Was just…”

“Izuku. I could feel you shaking the damn bed.”

His blood slows to a crawl in his veins.

Kacchan shakes his head, sighing. “Look. I know you get nightmares. That’s not news to me and it’s not a fucking problem.”

Nightmares.

Ah. Okay. He can squirm his way out of this, even if doing so makes him feel like an absolute bastard. “Right, well, it’s just a regular thing, so I didn’t think it was worth, uh, waking you up.”

“What’s up with this language, huh? ‘Worth’ what? Who the hell are you, deciding what my sleep is ‘worth’? I’m telling you that if you’re awake, wake me up. If I wanna go back to bed, I will.” Kacchan crosses his arms. The shirt he is wearing is unfairly complimentary to his pecs and biceps. “We’re supposed to be team, aren’t we? It’s about time you fucking acted like we were.”

He isn’t sure what waking Kacchan up has to do with being a ‘team.’ It seems entirely irrelevant to working as pro heroes together, but he may be reading Kacchan’s words too literally. He tends to do that. “Of course we’re a team, Kacchan,” he says.

“You don’t even know what you’re agreeing with,” Kacchan says flatly.

Izuku winces, caught.

“I’m saying that if you’ve got a problem, Izuku, I wanna hear about it. I feel like you never share shit with me.”

Never share? Izuku shares plenty with Kacchan. He shares when he sees a cute cat on his way to work, when his students do well, when he enjoys a homemade lunch, when the sky looks pretty, when he’s running late, what he’s picking up from the grocery store… He shares so much.

Kacchan must see it in his face—or hear him, knowing his track record—because he says, “I’m not talking about the random shit you text me. I’m talking about real shit.”

“Real shit,” Izuku echoes.

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “You never share any of the negative stuff. And don’t fucking lie to me.”

The negative stuff.

“Do you even know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Izuku says slowly. The negative stuff.

But what is there to say about it? About the— The negative stuff? He doesn’t have the words for it, even if he wanted to talk about it, which he very much does not. It feels too large, too heavy. Unwieldy and insurmountable; he simply had to build around it, a lifelong heart-rot.

Honestly slips its way onto his tongue, as always. “I just don’t want to be too much,” he admits, tapping his index fingers together.

“Too much,” Kacchan scoffs. “If anything, you’re never enough, these days.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said! You think you’re too much? You hardly give me shit, Izuku. Just a bunch of hot air and plastic bullshit.”

He frowns.“Plastic—? Kacchan, what?”

“I’m the one shouldering every damn emotional conversation we have. And I’m terrible at that shit! You can’t…” Kacchan’s voice weakens. “You can’t expect me to do this alone.”

“Kacchan,” he says dumbly.

“Had to practically beg you to move in with me.” Kacchan’s voice cracks at the end of his sentence. Izuku’s chest feels like snapping at the sound. “You make me feel so fucking pathetic, Izuku.”

Izuku stares at him, brain fizzling. “Huh?”

“Are you fucking braindead? I said—”

“N-no, I heard you! It’s just…what? I was so excited to move in with you, Kacchan.” He was. He is. “Every day, I’m so excited to live in the same place as you.”

Kacchan doesn’t look at him. “Yeah?” he says. “Then why the hell are you always hiding out in your room?”

“Uhhh,” he replies.

Kacchan stares at the ugly hotel carpet with hooded eyes.

“That’s— I’m not. Um. Hiding.”

Kacchan says nothing.

Izuku shifts, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. His fingers twitch at his sides, aimless.

“You shove a fucking towel through the bottom of the door, Izuku,” Kacchan says. “You sure as hell aren’t hotboxing in there or I’d smell it.”

“I’m listening to music?”

Kacchan closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. His perfect nose. Kacchan’s perfect face. “Are you fucking serious, right now? That’s the best lie you can come up with?”

It is. “I… I want to be with you, Kacchan,” he says softly, “all the time. I’m just… I have…”

“Can’t even say it,” Kacchan says. “Can’t even fucking say whatever it is, can you?”

“It’s embarrassing.” Too honest, again. Way too honest.

“So? You’re the most embarrassing guy I’ve ever known! I’ve seen it all and yet here I am, dating your ass! Why the self-consciousness now?” Kacchan turns away, head hanging. “Fuck. So much has changed. Maybe you’re just not that guy anymore. Maybe I don’t know who the hell you are at all.”

“What? Kacchan—! No, I just stuff a towel under my door because I’m, um, I’m in bed. And, um. Er.”

Kacchan shakes his head.

“Kacchan,” he tries again. “Kacchan, I’m serious. I am so happy with you.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not happy with you.”

The air conditioner kicks on, hissing quietly.

A small croak escapes him, voice creaking from his lips. “Kacchan,” he says, strained, “are you breaking up with me?”

“You can ask that with a totally straight face,” Kacchan says, “but you can’t fucking tell me why you freaked out this morning and ran to the pool instead of waking me up so I could help you.”

“I— I wasn’t freaking out.”

Kacchan’s face tells him he doesn’t believe him at all.

“I wasn’t,” he insists, though truthfully he isn’t totally sure. He only knows how he woke up, the glide along his cock, the smell of Kacchan’s hair just centimeters away. “I… I just had to get some energy out.”

“And the panic attack at lunch.”

“It wasn’t—” Well, with that one he’s even less sure. But he usually doesn’t get boners when he has panic attacks. Usually. “I… Kacchan, sometimes there’s ugly stuff about me, okay? Stuff that I don’t want to hurt you. I’d…” He swallows thickly. “I’d die if I hurt you, Kacchan.”

Kacchan just shakes his head, jaw tight. “Why do you think I can’t handle you after everything? Why can’t you just tell it to me straight?”

And tell him what, exactly? That he was humping a pillow and thought it kinder to try to remove him from the situation rather than get off in the same bed as a sleeping Kacchan without his consent? He can’t say that. He can’t say any of that.

“The bad and the good, Izuku,” Kacchan says. “If it’s from you, I want it. Why the hell can’t you understand that?”

“I— I do!”

“You obviously fucking don’t.”

Izuku blinks. His lashes are sticky. He stares dumbly at Kacchan’s back, terrifyingly vacant.

Anger.

That’s the— That is the emotion that swells to fill his breast, right now. Anger. And sadness. But mostly anger. Because Kacchan is seriously that mad about him spending a bunch of time in his room? What would he prefer, that Izuku just jerk off wherever? Kacchan would never be okay with that; Izuku is protecting him from the depraved reality that is his broken libido. Just like he protects him from every damn thing that’s awful about him, because if he let this shit out surely it form a torrent so large that it would sweep away every good thing in his life.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says mechanically.

Kacchan doesn’t stop him. Kacchan doesn’t say anything. And that, in some ways, stings worse.

He takes his time. Needs to. Needs something to occupy him, to separate him from Kacchan and all of this.

His heart is racing, muscles tense and ready for a fight. There is no fight. There is nothing to be done. Part of him wants to grab the soap off the counter and just tear his teeth into the soft give. He grabs it before he thinks better of it and sets it back down with a scowl.

The bathroom feels like a cramped cage as he paces it. He needs it, though, needs a small space to rearrange his thoughts, to calm his heart into something more orderly.

His heart is not calm, though. This will not calm his heart.

“Fucking— Fine,” he hisses, wrestling his way out of his shirt. “Fine, you sick loser, fine, if that’s really how it’s gotta be.”

He wrenches open the shower door, kicking off his shorts and shoving down his briefs. His cock slaps against his belly before sagging into its half-mast position. After he turns the water to scalding, he steps under the spray.

A low groan escapes him an old house settling as water drums against his shoulders. Wet heat pressing into his aching joints. His lashes flutter, every negative emotion forgotten with the swelling steam.

Feels good. The ultimate comfort. The cool air prickling against his skin as he shuffles more of his body under the water, a warbling hum of pleasure purring up his throat. Kacchan can be mad at him out there, but here, in this shower, Izuku can let his body uncoil. He lets his head hang, curling his arms against his chest as he breathes in the damp air, eyes slipping closed as water slides over his skin.

It feels good. Earlier had felt bad, but now feels good. And when it feels good, Izuku is helpless but to acknowledge it, to let his singing nerves cradle him as long as they’re able.

He blindly fumbles around the shower, grabbing a half-used bar of soap from the shelf and shuffling around until he’s facing the shower head.

He lathers it into his chest, thumbing at his nipples and sweeping down his stomach with a low sigh, skidding along all the sensitives spots along his ribs as they dip lower still. His palms curl into familiar positions along his cock and balls. He’s still half-hard and only needs a few tugs before his cock fills out more, drooping under its own weight.

His back thumps against the wall. It’s cold, prickling against his spine and forcing a sweet shiver across his skin. Hot water continues to pelt his thighs, stinging as it hits the tip of his cock.

“Mm,” he manages, voice faint.

His palms are clumsy, but they glide with the soap, tactile and sweet, squeezing tighter along the swollen ache of his cock. His head lolls against the wall as he pants, fucking into the channel of his fingers.

“F-feels real good,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Feels… Ah…”

A whimper rises up his throat, high-pitched and desperate as his hips hump harder into his grip. Feels like penetrating his onahole. Fuck, it’s been a while since he’s done that. He gets too nervous to do it when Kacchan’s home because he knows he can get loud. He used to fuck it so hard, bed creaking rapidly, that his old neighbors would bang on the walls.

Fuck, he wishes he were doing that right now. He bites his lip, panting hard as his head lolls against the wall. Breeding that onahole, a body doing what a body does. Chest pressed into his duvet, hips pumping while he gnaws on his pillow and whines loudly, all natural motion. Wet and tight, his knees spreading wider to fuck deeper into the silicon channel.

Instead, he has his slick hands. Slick, warm hands. Hot water from the shower, pelting his throat and his chest and his drooling cock. It’s simple. Basic on such a fundamental level that he doesn’t have to think at all. Every overactive, nagging thought, every ache and tremor of his body washes away with the mechanical, driven clutch of his body.

He’s close. So close, he can taste it. Sweet and ready and—

He is in a hotel room with Kacchan at a professional heroics conference.

Izuku wrenches his hands away, twisting against the wall. “Shit!”

Control. He needs to control himself. What the hell is wrong with him?

He knows the answer to that.

Miserable, he turns off the showers. His skin is hot and buzzing with the blushing curl of pleasure. It did serve its purpose, even if he realized where he was and managed to stop himself from finishing off.

His head is clearer. Kacchan had just been upset. Not at him, necessarily, though maybe. Probably. Sounds like he sure was. Ugh. But still, they can talk this out. They’ve talked things out before. And, if not, then it can go to blows. Sometimes they need that. Or maybe the relationship is over—all of this is over—and he can just bury his head in the sand until he dies.

Izuku shakes his head, flinging droplets from his soaked hair as he opens the shower door. “I can try to argue my case without being too explicit,” he mutters. “I can say it’s stress. Because it is stress. It’s just— Yeah. Not giving all the details. But it is stress. I can just—”

He gasps when he bumps against the cold door of the shower. With his skin warm and buzzing, it feels almost frozen. Cool and sweet against his pulsing cock—

“Hahhh,” he whines, jerking harshly against the door with a loud rattle, eyes rolling back as he cums.

It’s perfect. Exactly what he’s needed these past few days. Sharp relief through his cock that settles warmly in his chest as he gasps thinly, tongue hanging. His breath fogs the glass further as he ruts weakly against the door, smearing his spend along the surface.

Thank fuck. Thank fuck he came. He feels so clear and calm again, so good.

The bathroom door slams open.

Izuku yelps, stumbling away from the glass. He catches himself on the shower wall. It’s still wet, sending him sliding onto his ass. “K-Kacchan!” His voice is hoarse.

Kacchan stands dumbly in the doorway.

Izuku stares back.

“Thought you…fell or…” Kacchan trails off. His mouth hangs slightly open.

Izuku wants to shove his hands over his cock, cover up his very sizable, ugly shame. He’s too petrified to move again, though. “I-I’m fine,” he manages.

“Uh, yeah,” Kacchan says.

Neither of them moves. Water drips lethargically from the shower head onto Izuku’s hip.

“So…” Kacchan shifts awkwardly.

Izuku’s eyes focus on the cloudy smear of cum drooling down the shower door. Mortification threatens to swallow him. “I’ll clean that up,” he says, voice high. “I’ll— I’m…”

Kacchan just continues to stand there, dumbstruck.

“Y-yeah. Um.” So it’s obvious that he came in the shower. That’s fine. People jerk off in the shower. Even after big relationship fights. Probably. Some must. So it’s not a big deal. It might feel like a big deal—like the hugest deal ever—but it isn’t.

“You’re still hard?” Kacchan asks, sounding unsure.

Izuku stiffens. He doesn’t need to look down to feel the telltale ache over his hips, cock stiff and needy and spitting a mixture of old cum and precum.

Fuck, this is so humiliating. It’s everything Izuku didn’t want to happen. Everything he was scared of. Kacchan seeing him like this, his gross, ugly, insatiable perversion on display clear as anything.

Kacchan takes a step into the bathroom, frowning. “Izuku—”

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, eyes stinging with tears. “I’m so sorry, Kacchan, I don’t want you to see me like this, it’s gross, I’m sorry!”

Kacchan stands above him, mouth open and silent.

And looking right at Izuku’s dick. His horrible, gross, annoying dick.

“I know it’s big and floppy and ugly,” he sniffles.

“…It’s big,” Kacchan agrees.

Izuku cringes, ducking his head toward his flushed chest. A distressed whine rises in his throat. His nipples are pebbled in the cool air, skin clammy with the chill, cock bobbing against his stomach like the oblivious, needy thing it is.

“Is this what you meant?” Kacchan asks. “Seriously? This is what you meant about being ‘too much’?”

Part of it. Not all. There is too much to fit into the category of ‘too much.’ “It’s…one of the things,” he admits, sniffling. “I’m sorry, Kacchan.”

“Quit fucking apologizing.”

“J-just, I know you didn’t consent to seeing me like this! And I know it’s gross and I know I’m not, um, s-sexy or anything like that and since we’re dating, I figure that matters now. And we haven’t gone past kissing or, um, cuddling, even though it’s been four months and we’ve known each other for way longer, so I figured maybe Kacchan doesn’t want stuff like that—which is okay—but m-m-my body doesn’t get the memo, not that it did before I dated Kacchan, but now he’s seen me here and he knows that my…my stuff is ugly and big and I’m the kind of gross pervert who does it in the shower in a hotel at the biggest professional conference of his life with his pissed off boyfriend just a door away and—”

“Izuku—”

“And I’m still hard, which is so embarrassing! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kacchan! I swear, I don’t know—”

“Izuku. You’re quirked.”

He wipes his eyes. “H-huh?”

“You’re quirked, dumbass.”

“Quirked?”

Kacchan pinches between his eyes with grit teeth. “Yes,” he says, “dumbass.”

“H-how do you know I’m quirked? I didn’t…” Notice anything wrong? Or different?

“Izuku, you’re still hard! Like— Rock hard. That shit ain’t normal.”

He manages to keep his mouth shut, face hot. He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t want to know what fumbling admittance will leave his mouth if he does. His cock dribbles against his stomach, uninterested in the proceedings.

“Besides,” Kacchan says, “you got heart-shaped pupils, moron.”

He blinks. “What? I do?”

Kacchan groans. He steps back, gesturing at the mirror behind them. “Look.”

Izuku clambers to his feet, wincing as his joints crack. He approaches the mirror, face hot as he gamely ignores that his incredibly hard cock is bobbing with each step. And— Oh, holy shit, he does have heart-shaped pupils! Yeah, that’s a quirk, alright. Or an exceedingly rare medical condition. Probably a quirk, though.

He cocks his head, watching his pupils expand and contract with each blink. Wow. How does that work? His vision seems regular and—

“Geek out about it later. You’re clearly under the effects of some pervert ecchi quirk. Thought maybe I was seeing things last night, since the pupil thing was so faint, but it’s gotten so obvious that even losers at lunch were noticing it. It’s getting worse. We gotta get you to the med tent.”

He turns his head. “Hm? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Izuku, you’ve got a Goddamn perma-boner!”

“It’s called priapism, Kacchan.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s that severe,” he mutters, pinching his lower lip as he considers the past day. “I’ve felt mostly normal, after all. Just horny, really. And that’s not… Ah. A-anyways, if I consider the various locations, it’s…hm, the cocktail party, the shower, the bed, the pool, the conference, the shower again—”

“You had a boner at lunch,” Kacchan cuts in.

Izuku stiffens.

“That’s what you’re crying about, right? A two-hour-long erection for no reason.”

He doesn’t move, fingers curling around the edge of the counter.

“That’s severe, Izuku. That’s medical-grade.”

It would be. Except that it’s not that unusual for him. Well— There has been some weird intensity, the past few days. That whole situation in the pool had been awful. And usually he goes through periods where he’s less, um, excitable.

“Listen,” Kacchan says lowly. “I…wasn’t sure what to make of it, since you seemed pretty normal. You still seem normal.”

Izuku looks back at him.

“I mean, even the boner thing is… Look. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable or anything. You didn’t bring it up, so I didn’t, either. Sometimes you do these kinda movements during regular shit that look kinda like you’re…y’know, so I didn’t think about it that hard.”

What is there to say? Anything he contributes will only serve to damn him. From oh you noticed I was rock hard at the luncheon? to no, don’t worry, I was probably humping my shorts or something during those other times you’re thinking of, too. Anything he says along those lines will surely lead to him ugly crying, which is always a bad look, but especially bad when he’s naked, wet, and at full mast.

“I’m…not going to a medical tent, Kacchan,” he says slowly, voice soft. Because what if they tell him what he already knows? That he’s just a little bit hornier than usual, a little bit more impulsive, but the groundwork was already there? That he’s apparently been walking around this conference with stupid heart-shaped ecchi pupils for over a day? Wait, shit— Is that why people have been looking at him? “Oh no, everyone knows I got hit by an ecchi pervert quirk because of my eyes…”

Kacchan makes an uncomfortable face at that, like he isn’t sure quite what to say. Like he’s desperately trying to think of something to say that won’t hurt Izuku’s feelings.

Ah. That’s never been Kacchan’s strong suit.

“It’s too late to go to medical,” Izuku says. “I’ll go in the morning.”

“Izuku, it’s half-past noon.”

“Too late,” he insists.

Kacchan’s jaw jumps. He swallows thickly. “Fine,” he says. “Fine, if you don’t wanna go to medical, then that means we gotta cure this shit the old-fashioned way.”

“Huh?”

Kacchan nods at him. “That looks like it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Your dick, moron!”

He blinks. “It does,” he replies. It’s twitching, affronted at such neglect after getting exactly what it needed following so many denials. It aches. Deep into the pit of his heart. And his balls. Mostly his balls. His balls hurt pretty bad.

Kacchan scowls. “Then why are you just standing there, letting it hurt? The hell is wrong with you?”

“…Huh?”

“Is that the only sound you know how to make anymore?”

“N-no!” He looks down at his cock, swollen and flushed where it hangs over his thighs. There’s a small puddle of precum on the floor. Izuku wishes he could turn invisible. But even if he were invisible, he’d still have this stupid dick. Tragic.

“I can…” Kacchan makes a sound in the back of his throat. “I can help you with that. If you want.”

He looks back up at Kacchan. His recent words come back to him with devastating clarity. Old-fashioned way. “Wha?”

“I can help,” Kacchan says, voice firmer, “with your ecchi pervert quirk dick situation.”

He waves his arms, panicked. “Kacchan! You really don’t want anything to do with this thing! It’s horrible!”

“Get over yourself and stop acting like your dick is some sort of hideous monster! It’s just a dick!”

But it is a hideous monster! A hideous, needy monster that feels really good whenever he pets it. —That’s not the point. The point is that he never wants Kacchan to feel obligated to interface with his penis.

“Interface with your—? Even with a quirked up boner, you still talk like a damn nerd. Holy shit.”

“It’s just— Gross,” he manages.

“You think I can’t handle it?” Kacchan shoots back.

“No! That’s not what I mean at all! Kacchan can do anything.”

“Uh huh,” Kacchan says. “I sure can. So who’re you to tell me I can’t do you, huh?”

Izuku stares at him. “Kacchan really is such an amazing hero…” he murmurs.

“I’m doing this because it’s you, dipshit. Because I care about you. Fuck, why is this always such a sticking point? You never fucking learn.”

“Guh,” he replies intelligently.

“That’s the whole moral of that fucking argument we just had, you know that? How you won’t share shit because you’re scared, but sharing shit is how we get stronger together, you dumb motherfucker. Holy shit. Your reading comprehension is like in the negative numbers.”

“But we were talking, not reading…?”

Kacchan takes a sharp step forward. “Get out of this shitty bathroom so we can fuck.”

“Kacchan!”

“It’s the only solution for the pervert ecchi quirk! You should know that.”

“It is the thirty-second law of quirk mechanics, yeah,” he murmurs. “Still, Kacchan. Are you sure?”

Kacchan’s fingers wrap around his forearm, jerking it away from his body. “Think real hard about who you’re asking is sure,” he growls.

“I’m asking Kacchan.”

“No shit I’m sure!” He yanks Izuku out of the bathroom. “If you don’t want me to help you, then we’re going to medical.” His eyes dart down very obviously to Izuku’s hard cock. “…I think I got some armbands we can use to strap it down.”

Izuku lets out a miserable groan. “No, I just— I can wait for it go down?”

“Are you fucking serious.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m usually serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Kacchan mutters. He lets go of Izuku and squares his posture, smoothing his palms along his jeans.

“This is a bad circumstance to have our first time,” Izuku whispers.

Kacchan looks back at him, unmoved. “We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“Ah… Yeah.”

“Sex really ain’t shit compared to everything else we’ve done together.”

He sniffles, wiping his nose on his wrist. That’s a really good point. He gives a shot nod. “Just wished it’d be more romantic, I guess.”

Kacchan snorts. “’Course you’re thinking of romance. Izuku, you’re with me. It wasn’t ever gonna be romantic.”

“Kacchan is very romantic,” he protests.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan says, dropping to his knees.

Izuku takes a step back, cocking his head. “What’re you doing?”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “What does it look like? I’m gonna suck your dick. Now get over here.”

“Oh! Ah, Kacchan, you really don’t have to do that. I figured I could, u-um.” Hump him? Hump Kacchan’s smooth, gorgeous back and cum all over it again and again and again? Maybe even, um. Press against him just right and slip inside a little—just a little!—all velvety and hot and…

Kacchan gives him a flat look before opening his mouth, pink tongue glistening with spit.

Izuku swallows thickly, cock twitching at the sight. It looks so wet and soft. The inside of Kacchan. Ah. “Oh,” he says quietly, voice rough.

“Uh huh.” Kacchan closes his mouth. “So are you gonna take me up on this offer of a lifetime or are you gonna be a flaky loser like you always are these days?”

He shuffles toward Kacchan, entranced. “I can really do that? I can, um, I can put my penis in your mouth, Kacchan?”

“Not only can you, you better,” Kacchan snaps. “My knees ain’t got infinite stamina.”

“K-Kacchan’s pretty mouth,” he croaks, sliding trembling fingers through Kacchan’s hair. Thick and silky against his palms. “Sure, Kacchan, I can… I mean. I want to. I…”

Kacchan’s hand is hot and dry around his cock, making him jump. His breath fans over the head of his cock. This is real. Kacchan on his knees, wrangling his gross dick and eying it like he’s trying to calculate the best angle to go about this.

The first touch of his tongue has Izuku gasping out a thin moan, eyes rolling. Hot and wet and— And Kacchan, Kacchan lapping at the tip of his dick, sliding over the sensitive stretch of his frenulum.

All thought vacates.

Izuku paws at his head, fingers curled and worthless. “Kacchan,” he wheezes. “Ka— Kacchan, holy shit, Kacchan…”

Kacchan pulls back. Izuku whimpers at the loss, the chill of the air aching against his cock. “Why don’t you set the pace?”

“Huh?”

Kacchan opens his mouth wide and taps his tongue. Izuku’s vision fizzles at the sight. “Fuck my face.”

“Fuck your—? Kacchan, I can’t just fuck your face!” His voice is high and strangled. “I don’t know how to do any of this and I could seriously hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Kacchan says. “I’ll just tap your leg to let you know if it’s too much.”

Izuku blinks. “Like…?”

Kacchan taps sharply against his thigh. “You feel that?”

“Yes!” He nods. “Oh, that’s such a good idea, Kacchan!”

Kacchan readjusts himself, squaring his shoulders. “Alright. Lemme have it.”

Izuku bites his lip, wrapping his trembling fingers around the base of his cock. It throbs, aching and lonely. Kacchan’s mouth had felt so good. He wants that again. Wants it badly. “Okay. Um… So do I just, a-ah…”

“Just stick it in, nerd, you’re not gonna break me—”

He shoves Kaccchan’s nose into his pubes.

It’s a brutal, short snap of his arm that would have shocked him if he had enough presence of mind. Instead, he lets out a high-pitched moan, grinding his cock into the scalding, tight clasp of Kacchan’s throat. “Mm—! Hahhhh, K-Kacchan, so tight, you’re sssso, mm, so tight, Kacchan, amazing… Kacchan’s amazing…”

A palm slaps against his hipbone, hot and popping.

Izuku’s lashes flutter at the sensation, panting loudly as he grabs Kacchan around his temples and manages a short, sharp thrust. It’s just so good, he can’t stand to pull out that far! Kacchan is so, so hot and wet and tight and… “K-Kacchan’s so good at this,” he manages. “Kacchan’s amazing, Kacchan’s so good. Feels so good. Kacchan’s mouth, ‘m fucking Kacchan’s mouth, ah…”

The vibration of Kacchan’s throat has him lifting onto his toes to press harder down his throat with a whine. His balls slap against Kacchan’s wet chin with a nasty sound. And Kacchan takes him. Takes him like the amazing person he is. Both palms are slamming against Izuku’s thighs, scalding. It’s a distant sensation, though; all he can focus on is the drag along his cock. Good. So fucking good.

“W-wow, Kacchan, you’re so much better than my onahole! Hahhh, so much better, of course, Kacchan’s the best at everything, ah…”

Kacchan’s throat is so, so wet and hot, tighter than his onahole, tighter than any pillow or cushion or blanket he’s ever humped. Kacchan is heaven. Kacchan is the best thing ever, the best thing he’s ever stuck his dick in by far. He wants to cum in Kacchan over and over and over, just feel the heat and the slick and the give of his body. Nothing but instinct, nothing but chasing that gorgeous sensation that’s clamped a chokehold on his brain.

“Kacchan,” he mumbles, humping his face,“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan—”

A shove sends him back, legs wobbling as he stumbles.

The glide of his cock out of Kacchan’s throat, past his hot tongue, has him cumming hard as he falls on his ass, semen arcing in the air as it splatters on Kacchan’s face—hot, holy shit—and Izuku.

He groans weakly, reaching down to finish his orgasm with a frantic fist, hips fucking sloppily into the clasp of his own fingers. His tongue droops as he pants, slumping.

Clarity returns in droplets. His hand doesn’t leave his leaking cock, still aching and wanting in his grip. He blinks, taking in everything as he starts to slowly stroke again. “Oh my gosh, Kacchan! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

Kacchan just stares at him. It’s a little hard to read his expression when half of his face is covered in Izuku’s cum. “Are you kidding me.” His voice is incredibly raspy. It sends a fresh bolt of heat through Izuku’s body. “All that bullshit about not wanting to hurt me, you’d die if you hurt me again, blah blah. ’S just horseshit once your dick gets wet, huh?”

Izuku gapes at him, hand falling away from his cock. “What—? No, Kacchan.”

“Izuku, I had to shove you off of me or I was gonna choke.”

“Choke?”

“Yeah, choke! The hell do you think I was slapping your thighs for, dumbass? What kinda excuse do you got for that?”

“I don’t want to hurt Kacchan,” he says lamely, “I just… Wh-when I was gonna cum, I dunno, I…really wanted to cum. ‘C-cause it felt so good. Um.”

“I’m starting to wonder if it’s really just the quirk making you brainless or if you’re naturally like this,” Kacchan says.

Izuku curls in on himself, clasping his hands together. The effect doesn’t feel especially protective when his cock is still drooling between his thighs, radiating a sweet ache. He shivers once his brain latches onto the sensation, honey-sticky and coating his joints.

“What are you doing?”

“Mm?” He subtly—or not so subtly, probably not very subtly at all—grinds himself against the inside of his right forearm, smearing pre along the curve of a tendon.

“You’ve been jacking off this whole conversation.”

“Feels good,” he says distantly, eyes unfocused. The smooth glide along his arm is all he can pay attention to. “Not as good as Kacchan’s pretty mouth, but ’s still good. I like it when it feels good.”

Kacchan sighs above him, breath ruffling the crown of his head. When did he get so close? If he’s this close, does that mean Izuku can touch again? Can Izuku touch Kacchan? Can Izuku press into him again?

A hand winds through his damp hair, fingers scritching. He shudders, eyes lidding. His hips continue to lurch awkwardly against his arm.

“Damn, this quirk has got you really fucked up, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Your self-control is even more insane than I thought,” Kacchan says, “if you were dealing with this since last night.”

He arches into Kacchan’s hold. Feels good. Kacchan touching him always feels good, but now it feels electric. Like there’s a direct line to his dick. Is that the quirk? If so, it’s such a subtle distinction from how he normally feels about Kacchan’s touch.

“Clearly this is a ‘fuck it out’ quirk, since you’re still horny.”

Is it? Nothing about this is unusual, not really. He’s just a bit floatier than usual. But also he’s never had his soul sucked out of his dick by the world’s best onahole before. —Kacchan’s throat, he means. Kacchan’s throat, not an onahole. No onahole could hope to compare. He would know; he’s tried a lot of them.

“Oi, Izuku.” He flicks him. “Are you even there?”

“I’m there,” he warbles. “Um. Y-yeah, Kacchan, looks like we’ll have to… Mm. Yeah, that’s a shame. Um. Y-your mouth again?” He bites his lip, glancing up at him through his lashes.

Kacchan stares back, unimpressed. The effect is, again, lessened by the drying cum streaked across his face. “Do you hear my voice, idiot? You almost fucked a second hole into my throat. No way.”

He tries not to deflate and fails. “O-oh. Okay…”

Kacchan sighs, sliding his palm around the back of his skull and pressing him into his chest. Izuku lets out a harsh, shaky breath at the smooth feel of his cotton-blend shirt, the plush give of his left pectoral. The stiff little bump of a nipple. “Oi! Don’t fucking lick me!”

He whines, tongue lapping at his shirt. Kacchan’s cute nipple, though! Kacchan’s cute nipple feels good to touch.

Kacchan curses. “What the hell is your problem?”

“M’body just moves on its own,” he pants. “S-sorry, Kacchan. It just moves, it…”

“Stupid-ass quirk. Whatever. You do that while I try to come up with a strategy.”

He’s more than happy to comply, laving at the now-sticky surface of Kacchan’s shirt. Kacchan’s kneeling leg is close enough that he can rut the tip of his cock against it. It’s rough and he’s still very sensitive, but it’s warm with Kacchan’s body heat. He cants his neck, cheek rubbing against the nice fabric of Kacchan’s shirt. Soft and good.

“I can’t trust you not to break my pelvis,” Kacchan says, nudging him away from his soaked shirt. “Only way you’re getting in my ass is if I tie you up, first.”

Izuku shivers, letting out a shaky moan at the thought. “Wh-whatever Kacchan wants.”

Kacchan studies him, lips a thin line. Then, “I don’t got anything to do that with.”

“Oh…” To have such a concept dangled in front of him leaves him feeling a bit like a ravenous dog. He hadn’t even considered fucking Kacchan like that. Well— He’s considered slipping inside just a little, just by accident, maybe slipping further in on the next pass—all by accident—until they’re tied together, pressed into the sweat-slick curve of Kacchan’s gorgeous ass, sucked into his body by pure coincidence. No thoughts. Only the movement of their hips. Warm and soft and everything a body like his wants.

Ah, he wants to fuck Kacchan. He wants to fuck Kacchan so bad. Feels the need deep in the marrow of his bones, radiating into the pulsing ache of his cock.

“Then Kacchan’s mouth?” he tries. He’d feel humiliated by the brazenness he’s exhibiting here but he really wants to cum again. “Can I use Kacchan’s mouth again, please?”

Kacchan chops the top of his head. “Are you braindead? I said no!”

Izuku whines. “B-but Kacchan felt so good!”

“You seriously lose your head as soon as your dick gets wet, huh?” Kacchan sighs. “Whatever. Stupid-ass quirk…”

Right. The quirk. It’s totally the quirk.

“Dunno how many times we gotta go. A bit pissed that the face-fucking didn’t cure it,” Kacchan says.

“M-maybe I just need to be in Kacchan’s…in Kacchan’s other hole, then,” he says.

“I said no to that too! What the fuck, Izuku?”

“I dunno.” He shifts, humping Kacchan’s leg properly. “Dunno, just wanna…mm, whatever Kacchan’ll let me have, just wanna cum. Please, Kacchan, wanna…”

Fingers wrap around his throat, shoving him back. He whines, voice thin with the pressure, hips lurching as his cock flops in the open air. Kacchan grimaces, blurry in his tear-streaked vision. “Shit, you seriously leak a lot of precum. The hell?”

“K’chan!”

“If we’re doing this shit, we’re doing it on the bed,” Kacchan says. “I don’t stop you now and you’ll try to fuck me through my pants on this nasty floor.”

That doesn’t sound like a bad option at all. But— Bed. Bed is soft. Bed feels nice. It would feel good on a bed. Izuku bites his lip, fingers curling over his trembling thighs.

Kacchan eyes him for a moment before relinquishing his grip on his throat, hopping to his feet. Izuku blinks, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he watches Kacchan strip his shirt, grumbling as he fails to wipe flakes of dried cum off his forehead. When he unbuttons his pants, he barks, “Stop!”

Izuku freezes, risen onto his knees.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” Kacchan says, pointing at him. “You stay there until I tell you you can move. I don’t give a shit if you’re quirked; you start humping me again and I’m busting your jaw.”

Izuku swallows, nodding. His body shakes with the effort of holding still, mouth flooding with saliva as he watches Kacchan shimmy out of his jeans and boxer briefs, half-hard cock bobbing as he steps out of his clothes, kicking off his socks.

Oh, Kacchan’s cock. It’s thinner than his, paler and shorter. The hint of a gorgeous, flushed head peeks out from his foreskin. Pretty.

Insecurity hangs its sharp teeth over his head again, waiting to snap down. It certainly would if he weren’t so entranced by the sight of Kacchan’s naked body. But no, he has no time to despair over his ugly, massive dick when faced with the handsomest and sexiest man alive, who is currently saying something to him with a frown on his divinely fuckable mouth. “…me, right?”

“Yes,” he replies.

Kacchan pinches the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t listen to a single fucking thing I just said.”

He shrugs, reaching down to rub his cock. Ah— That’s nice. Maybe he’ll just do this. Ah, no, but it felt better with Kacchan’s throat.

“I got a plan,” Kacchan says. “Considering I can’t get through your thick skull with this dumbass quirk clouding your pea-sized brain, I figure it has the least likely chance of injuring either of us.” He pauses. “Not that I…know that much shit about this kinda stuff.”

“What kinda stuff?” Izuku asks, watching him stalk into the bathroom. Kacchan’s ass. Pale and shapely and so, so supple, wow, Kacchan’s bare ass, the crease as it hangs over his thighs, the sway of his small ballsack when he steps, wow…

“You’d know if you fucking listened to me!” His voice is tinny. Izuku hears clatter, then a popping sound. Something wet. Wet?

“Hole?” he asks.

“Brain. Dead. Holy shit.” Kacchan steps out of the bathroom, holding up his bottle of moisturizer. “This shit is expensive, so you’re buying me this for the rest of the year.”

“Anything, Kacchan,” he replies, eyes darting back to the bob of Kacchan’s perfect little cock as he walks back to the hotel bed. And the. The shiny gleam of his inner thighs.

Wait, shiny?

Kacchan crawls onto the mattress, resting on his hands and knees. “You see this?” He clenches his legs together.

Izuku sees.

“Just stick it between here. Nothing in my ass. Not while you’re quirked like this. Got it?”

“Got it,” he says weakly.

The mattress creaks as Kacchan settles again. The subtle motion of his every readjustment ripples along his skin.

Izuku stares, entranced, at the slick line of Kacchan’s thighs.

“Are you gonna do anything?”

“I can get on the bed?” he asks.

“Yes, Izuku, you can—” Kacchan yelps when the mattress dips under Izuku’s clambering body.

The head of his cock nudges at the soft give of Kacchan’s balls, pushing out a sharp breath beneath Izuku.

“Kacchan,” he murmurs, amazed. “Kacchan, you’re so soft.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

He nods absently, curling over Kacchan’s back until his chest and stomach are molded to his spine. He’s too short to shove his face in Kacchan’s hair, but he’s able to nuzzle against a sweaty shoulder. Animal warmth, the sweet cling of human contact. Of Kacchan.

His hips press insistently, trying to find the best angle to start. Each shift punches the breath from his lungs, leaves him faint. There’s nothing but feeling. Nothing but letting his body do what it’s meant to do.

Kacchan lets out a weird, ugly sound beneath him, body stiffening. Izuku can’t be bothered to pay any attention. Not when his cock feels so good, the wet slapping of their bodies filling the empty room of his skull. Kacchan starts to flinch away under him, but that only leads to Izuku pressing them both harder into the mattress. Simple response.

In and out. Automatic motion, his body chasing that sweet high. It climbs ever upward, coiling toward that apex.

Each thrust is punctuated by a desperate whimper, his shoulders hunched over Kacchan as he fucks faster into the channel of his clenched thighs. “Ohmigosh, Kacchan,” he whines. “Ka-acchan, you feel so good, f-fuck, gonna cum, wanna cum on you, Kacchan, can I? Can I cum on you? Can I—” He shudders, snapping forward when his balls draw up, cum splattering between their bodies. Fuck. Fuck, that’s so good. Feels so fucking good.

“Why are you even asking?” Kacchan grumbles, voice dim under the giddy thud of Izuku’s pulse.

“Mm.” He drools against Kacchan’s beautiful back, vision fuzzy. His hips twitch, still seeking warmth. Kacchan’s thighs are wetter now, smooth with his ejaculate.

“Are you seriously still hard? What the fuck?”

“Feels good,” he mumbles. “Feels…real good.”

Kacchan grunts, shifting under him. “Can’t believe this is how we’re having sex for the first time. ’S fucking lame.”

He slides further up Kacchan’s back, shivering at the drag against his belly and nipples. “S-sorry, Kacchan…”

“Don’t fucking apologize. It’s not your fault. Should’ve been more mindful when I realized some loser quirked you. You were acting normal, though.”

“I felt normal,” he says. “I— I feel normal, right now, even.”

“What?” Kacchan asks.

But Izuku is distracted by the sweet glide along his cock. He humps quickly, hardly pulling out. Warm. Warm, tight, wet. A shudder wracks his frame as he squeezes his arms tighter around Kacchan’s chest, anchoring them together.

“Shit, Izuku,” he hears. Kacchan’s voice is heavy and faint and completely irrelevant.

He laves his tongue along Kacchan’s back before his teeth start to itch. There’s no question; he does what his body wants.

Kacchan’s voice hitches, spine tensing under his belly. “What the fuck, Izuku?”

He warbles, teeth digging in harder to the soft flesh of his shoulder, jaw strained to capacity as his eyes roll back.

Cumming feels simultaneously like it’s draining him and filling him back up. It’s a relief, regardless. Cooling the fever pitch of his heart until the engine sputters with more embers, begging for another round.

“The fuck, already? Is your refractory getting shorter?” Kacchan hisses.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, or thinks he does. Maybe. Kacchan is warm and giving under him, smooth and perfect to keep rutting his cock against, to let the good feeling continue as long as possible.

“Fucking— Change your angle, shit, thrust down or whatever! I can’t take this anymore.”

“Mm?” He doesn’t pause at all.

“I already came and you’re punching my ballsack, jackass!”

He whines, wiping his tears on Kacchan’s flinching shoulders. “J-just a little longer, please, gonna cum soon, please, Kacchan—”

The world tilts around him, back thudding against the mattress. “Kacchan?” he asks, confused. He humps the air, blinking as his brain slowly tries to parse what just happened. Kacchan must have bucked him off. Why, though? He was really close again, and so soon. He’d like to cum again, so why did Kacchan—

Kacchan grabs his cock and he squeals.

Cum hits the underside of Kacchan’s chin, then his cheek, streaking down his chest and stomach as Izuku twitches in his grip, fucking frantically into the tight channel of his fist with a drooling mouth.

“’S good,” he pants as he comes down, sagging against the bed. “Good, ’s so good, thanks, K’chan… Mm…”

Kacchan grumbles something, wiping his palm on Izuku’s hip.

Recognition slowly seeps through the haze of pleasure, the gooey center of his skull taking shape again.

He blinks slowly, watching Kacchan settle gingerly beside him. There are red marks along his hips and sides, an angry bruise already forming along his right shoulder.

Kacchan and he had just fought and now look. Kacchan just helped him, even though he’s probably still mad at him. Kacchan really is so, so amazing, and what has Izuku done to deserve this level of care from him?

Pushed him away. Skulked off to take care of his own needs in private, to the neglect of quality time with Kacchan. Putting up wall after wall to save their relationship and yet all it seemed to do was leave Kacchan out in the cold. Maybe forever. Maybe this is all they’ve got before Kacchan leaves him. One last rescue.

Is he making any sense, right now? His balls still hurt.

His voice creaks, stuffy with unshed tears. “Kacchan, ‘m sorry.”

Kacchan stiffens. “What?”

“A-about not letting you in an’ stuff like that. Like you said. ’S just that I didn’t wanna scare Kacchan away. I’m sorry that I shut you out, but I’m just. I’m just so scared. All the time.”

“I know,” Kacchan says roughly, voice low. He strokes Izuku’s hair back from his sweaty face. “I know. I know you’re scared. Fuck. I am, too.”

He sniffles, whining lowly. “Are we breaking up for real?”

“What? No. I told you before, you’re all I got.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry I spend so much time jerking off so much in my bedroom…”

“Huh?” Kacchan says dumbly.

His leg slides just right along the bedding and his attention slips away again. The pillow case just feels so good against his stomach. It’s good, feels good. A marveling yammer in his head, cooing at the sweetness of sensation. It’s good. It’s so good.

He’s too overwhelmed, still; he can only do what comes naturally.

Kacchan grunts, propping himself up to watch him as he fucks against the pillow, knees sliding over the sheets. “Shit,” he says. “You are going to town on that thing.”

Izuku whines, tongue hanging as he drops his head, watching his swollen cock rub against the covering with hazy eyes. After another pass, he drops his whole body onto it, fucking hard and fast with a broken sob. It’s not as good as Kacchan’s hot mouth or his gorgeous thighs, but it’s still good. So good. Anything is good as long as he gets to stick his cock in it.

“You really didn’t think anything was wrong with you?” Kacchan asks.

He shakes his head, drooling against the fitted sheet as he fucks harder, eyes lidding.

“So…waking up trying to fuck our bed to pieces wasn’t your first clue-in?”

No. That’s normal. He moves a lot in his sleep and if he hits a nice angle, well. Yeah. Even the shower was…normal, really. He gets horny when he’s nervous and nervous when he’s horny.

Kacchan sighs, reaching out to press his palm onto Izuku’s head, fingers stroking through his matted curls. “Fucking hell, Izuku…”

He cants into the touch, groaning. “Feels good, Kacchan. Mm.”

The pool was a little weird. He’s had invasive thoughts in public places before, but never has he had acted on them like that. It had felt good, though. He wants to do it again. He wants to cum in the pool with Kacchan. He wants to fuck Kacchan in the pool. He wants everyone to watch. He wants…

Kacchan’s hand is gentle against his face. He nudges against it, sighing when a thumb sweeps along his cheek. “Can’t believe you didn’t realize this was happening to you. I knew you were a repressed little freak, but this is a whole new level. Fuck.”

“’Cause it wasn’t weird…” he explains.

Kacchan grunts. “The hell do you mean?”

“’S normal,” he says sleepily. “M’cock is…r’lly needy, K’chan. Mm. Gets hard a lot, needs lots of petting. Mmhm.”

Kacchan’s fingers curl tenderly behind his ear, cupping his skull. “You talking about your sex drive?”

“Mm. Kinda? I just… ‘Unno. Mm. Feels good. Wanna…” His hips grind long and slow along the pillow, dragging a thin exhale from his lax mouth. “High maintenance. ’S gross. Gotta lock m’self in my room a lot. Don’ wanna…don’ wanna scare Kacchan away…”

“Of all the things that would scare me away,” Kacchan says, “you being a sex maniac is almost at the bottom. Don’t fucking think so lowly of me, you sack of shit.”

“Mm, ‘orry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Not about this. You’re always sorry about the wrong shit.”

Kacchan leans down to kiss him. Izuku simply pants against his lips, tongue drooping like a dog’s. He doesn’t care about kissing. Doesn’t have the patience for such coordination. Only knows the drive of his own body, sweet and curling in his hips.

Kacchan settles against the mattress again, breathing the same air. He wraps an arm around Izuku’s shoulders and holds him close.

He wakes slowly, head lolling against the mattress. His hips are pressing insistently against something soft and smooth. Feels nice. He leans into the pleasure, sighing as his cockhead nudges against something hot, giving way slightly. “M-mm.” He slings an arm over the pillow and—

And that’s not a pillow.

“You done?” Kacchan says, voice terrifyingly close to his face.

Izuku opens his eyes, staring at the edge of the bed. Kacchan breathes under him, smooth skin pressed against his chest. The cleft of his ass is scalding against Izuku’s hard cock, skin silky. He swallows thickly.

“You know that you kept fucking that pillow after you fell asleep? I had to unpeel it from you. Was fucking nasty.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Kacchan sighs. “We should still get you checked out at medical.”

“But the conference!”

Kacchan rolls out from under him, scowling. “Izuku, who the hell knows how long that quirk is gonna last or if it has other effects?”

Izuku bites his lip.

Kacchan opens his mouth, as though to continue, but closes it after a moment.

“I’ll, um. See if it goes down in the shower,” he offers, voice weak. “If not, then…sure, Kacchan. Sorry that I’m still quirked.”

Kacchan frowns at him. “Your eyes are back to normal,” he says slowly.

Izuku squeezes them shut. His stomach drops. Normal. Normal. Then that means… Well— Unsurprising, but still. That means that Kacchan knows. “O-oh.”

“Izuku.”

“U-um, must be some residual effects. Ha. Um. S-sorry, Kacchan, I—”

A hand clamps down on his bare shoulder. “Izuku, it’s just morning wood. Chill.”

“Sure, but it’s the quirk that’s making it so bad! I promise, Kacchan, it’s—”

“Don’t. You already explained it to me yesterday.”

Izuku stiffens. A croak of despair escapes him as memory returns. “Holy shit, you knew I was humping the bed yesterday morning…”

Kacchan sighs heavily. “You never get it, do you?”

He’s quiet. Kacchan is quiet, too. So he says, “Get what?”

“That I just want to be close to you.”

Izuku swallows thickly. “I… Of course, Kacchan. I want to be close to you, too.” His voice is small.

“Then we gotta fucking talk about this.”

He gives a short nod, dread dripping sluggishly down his throat.

“How often do you need to jerk off?” Kacchan, so blunt. Always.

“Four times a day,” he whispers. “U-um. Minimum.”

Kacchan stares at him.

“I…try to get most of them out before and after work.” He fidgets, biting his lip. “I don’t like jerking off i-in…in public.”

Kacchan doesn’t say anything.

“Not actually, anyways,” he murmurs. “Not in…not in the real world, I mean.”

“Are you…okay?” Kacchan asks, the question fumbling on his tongue. “Did something cause this or…?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Izuku says. “Not now. Please. B-besides, it’s just…this is how I am. It’s how it is.”

Kacchan looks at him, appearing to be doing some complex calculations. Then, “Yeah.”

“I know it’s messed up,” leaves him in a knotted tangle. “I know I’m not— N-not normal, I know that. It’s been like this for a long time and learning how to deal with it has been…really difficult? So I’m embarrassed that I still don’t have a great handle on it, after all these years. I know I have all these others problems too, like I’m awkward, right? And people don’t like me. And then I have this, too, which is just freaky. I already upset people enough without meaning to—I upset you all the time when that’s the last thing I want—and I just… I want to limit that harm, I guess.”

“Izuku,” Kacchan says, “when I think you’re being a dick, what do I say?”

“Th-that you think I’m being a dick,” he replies, sniffling.

“And then what do you say?”

“It hurts to hear, but…but then I usually, um, I usually tell you that I didn’t mean to be…”

“And what do I say?”

“K-Kacchan says…” He swallows, throat one large lump. “Kacchan says…’okay.’”

“Because when we talk it out, we know where the other person is standing. This is a basic fucking rule for any kind of successful relationship. When I do shit, I do it to win. You know that.”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes burning. “R-right.”

Kacchan sighs. “Look— I know that’s not obvious to you. That’s why I’m saying it, okay? Because I know this stuff doesn’t come naturally. That’s…whatever. It’s fine. You’re a grade-A freak, Izuku, and obviously I’m into it.”

He nuzzles into Kacchan’s palm as it cups his cheek. His half-hard cock nudges against Kacchan’s thigh, smooth and warm. “‘M sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for that,” Kacchan says. “Be sorry for assuming what I’m okay with. Be sorry for keeping secrets from me. Be sorry for shutting me down and shutting me out and acting like a total fucking dickhead instead of just talking to me.”

“Wh-what was I supposed to even say?” leaves him, frustration raising its hackles. “That I’m a chronic masturbator, Kacchan? Are you for real?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Kacchan grits his teeth. Takes a breath. Releases. “Look. We both got ugly sides. That is not the ugly side. I mean— It’s an ugly side, I guess. But it’s not where the problem was. Are you getting it?”

Kacchan absolutely does not possess an ugly side, Izuku thinks. His thoughts are still hazy and slow, though, forming in rhythm to the idle twitch of his hips against the bedding. “You’re upset because I didn’t tell you about this.”

“I’m upset because you acted weird as shit about it for the whole month we’ve been living together and then treated me like I was crazy whenever I asked you if you were okay! You fucking asshole.”

“Okay? Well— It’s just.” He lets out a shaky sigh. “This is not an easy topic for me, Kacchan. I’m really ashamed.”

“I get that.”

“I wish I knew how to have a body,” he croaks, forehead bumping against Kacchan’s. “I wish— I wish all this stuff came naturally to me.”

“It does,” Kacchan says, mouth so close to his. Same air. It feels so intimate. More intimate than kissing ever does. Izuku hates himself for this. “Shit, Izuku, it does.”

“Not in the same way—”

“Fuck doing it all in the same way. You are the way you are. Probably not a satisfying answer, but it’s the truth.”

A wet laugh escapes him, burning on the way up. “You’re right; it’s not.”

“Hey.” Kacchan’s voice is low and serious, breathing into him. “Shut the hell up with that shit.”

Izuku sniffles, a crooked grin splitting his face.

“This is just how you are,” Kacchan says, thumbing away a tear under his eye. “You don’t need to hide from it. We’re in this together, got it? Everything, even shit like this.”

“Ugly shit,” he replies.

“Yup. Ugly shit.”

“Like my ugly dick.”

Kacchan’s face undergoes a very strange path of emotions. Then, “It’s not…ugly.”

“But it’s huge, Kacchan! It’s so horrible to look at. I hate it.”

“I mean. There’s…advantages. To it being big. And shit.”

Izuku blinks. “There is?”

Kacchan pulls away, face red.

“What advantages, Kacchan?” He sits up. “Wait, where are you going? Kacchan, you can’t just tell me there’s an advantage when all I’ve ever known is disadvantages! Kacchan! Kacchan, are you taking a shower? Oh, are we still going to go to medical, afterwards, or are we going to the conference? Kacchan, why are you looking at me like that? Kacchan—”

“You can shower with me,” Kacchan barks from the bathroom doorway. “We’re both fucking disgusting. We’ll figure out what comes after that.”

Izuku hops out of bed, padding over. His cock bobs, forcing a flush to his face that he gamely ignores. Advantages, he tells himself, though he doesn’t know, precisely, what they are. “Okay! Um, are we going to do anything in there? I mean—! I’m sorry, you probably didn’t mean it like that, but, um, I did think about it. Like in a sex way, I mean. I should have clarified. Anyways, Kacchan, what did you mean about advantages to having a big dick? I think it’s a pain because it’s hard to find decent underwear and I can’t hide it when it gets hard.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes as he drags him into the bathroom, fingers curled around his wrist. He tugs him further, a fishing line reeling Izuku into the warm curve of his bare body. He hums, eyes lidding at the feel. It’s nice, horrible layers of dried cum notwithstanding.

And why shouldn’t it be? Kacchan holds him and it feels like an extension—the way their hearts beat slightly off-sync until they match a single pace, separated by nothing more than the press of their skin. Two animals intertwined so thoroughly. There is no space between them, no room for shame or words at all.

Something this beautiful doesn’t need a name.

Kacchan’s arms wrap around his waist. Palms follow his spine until fingers curl gently around his nape, guiding his head into the hollow of his throat.

Izuku’s eyes slip closed as he slots into place.