Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku learned a really cool physical illusion back in middle school. You lay on your back on the floor, close your eyes, and someone holds your legs up. Slowly, that person lowers your legs to the floor, and before long you start to feel like you’re phasing through it. Never mind that your body from the waist up knows exactly where solid ground is. Your brain doesn’t. As far as it’s concerned, your legs are falling down, down, through the floor and further. Izuku remembers the giddy panic of it. The certainty that if he opened his eyes and looked down, he’d see himself swallowed up to his hips.

That’s kind of how he feels right now, except instead of the floor it’s the armrest of his and Kacchan’s couch, and instead of his legs, it’s his head.

His teeth feel too soft. Whatever that last drink was, however long ago he had it, it was way too sugary. He can feel it clinging to the back of his tongue, the roof of his mouth. When he licks sluggishly at the insides of his cheeks, he tastes it there, too. Feels like he gets drunker off that one tangy, oversweet flick of his tongue. His mouth waters. He blinks. Feels his upper and lower lashes brush, every single strand tangling then untangling. Riiight. He smoked, too.

Izuku giggles. The hand on his thigh squeezes. He gasps. Forgot it was there.

It’s that same physical illusion again. Kacchan’s fingers barely tighten but it feels like they sink so deep, like Izuku’s thigh is made of something much softer than flesh. He gasps again, and something someone’s smoking takes that exact moment to pass over his face, a hazy cloud glowing purple from the lamp Hitoshi got for them as a silly housewarming gift. Kacchan hates it. Hitoshi’s the only one to ever turn it on, so it’s always on when they’re all here. It’s probably Hitoshi’s smoke that Izuku is almost choking on.

Katsuki waves his free hand over Izuku’s flushed freckles, batting the smoke away. Izuku’s eyes don’t even follow the movement. Glazed and green and gone. Katsuki glares at Hitoshi’s smug fucking face. “Freak. He’s had enough.”

Hitoshi grins. “Don’t know. I was thinking he needed more.”

The alcohol in Katsuki’s blood burns like it did going down his throat. Izuku squirms on his lap, makes a soft noise. Katsuki’s palm is getting too hot on him.

Katsuki closes his eyes. Breathes deep. Waits for Hitoshi’s expression to stop feeling like the provocation it so clearly is, for the too-many-drinks to stop feeling like fire in him. It takes a while longer than he’d like it to, always does when he’s drunk. He gets like this easy enough without literal liquid fuel pumping his blood too fast for his feelings to catch up. Hitoshi is bad for him. He doesn’t know why they keep inviting him. He knows why Hitoshi keeps accepting. Izuku says it’s because they’re friends or whatever. Katsuki thinks Hitoshi just likes pissing him off.

Eyes still closed, Katsuki says, “Tell yourself to eat shit.”

The laughter he hears isn’t Hitoshi’s, but Denki’s. And Eijirou’s. Katsuki wasn’t joking but they found it really fucking funny anyway. They’re laughing loud enough to open up the rest of the space, to re-fill it with the reminder of everyone else that’s here. Hanta grinning with slick, white teeth through a cloud of his own smoke, ringed fingers tapping along to whoever’s music is playing. Kyouka on the floor in front of him, head cocked back on one of his knees, ink-wash hair sweeping sharp over her forehead. Shouto leaning back against Katsuki’s own knees, staring into his drink, silent and definitely too drunk. Mina giggling with Ochako, both their pink nails wrapped around skinny glasses, both their pink mouths sucking more too-sweet swill through their straws. Eijirou and Denki still hyena-laughing on a giant bean bag in the middle of the room (another housewarming gift. Katsuki pretends to hate the purple lamp but he really does hate the bean bag. Why is it so big. Why is it bright yellow).

All these people in his and Izuku’s living room, all their friends, and Katsuki has only been dimly aware of them. Hitoshi is annoyingly fucking magnetic like that. Blots everything else that isn’t him out. That’s how it feels to be under his quirk. Katsuki used to accuse him of using it more than he let on, at least until Hitoshi said some sly bullshit about, Are you always that focused on me? Now Katsuki just stays silent and tries not to punch him.

Dimly aware though he is, Katsuki is still more aware than Izuku that all their friends are still here. Izuku didn’t even remember Katsuki was here until he squeezed his leg. Katsuki caught that sweet little jump, the even sweeter gasp. It reminded him why he doesn’t drink too often. There are too many fucking things, too many fucking things, that alcohol makes him want to do. It’s dangerous to imagine Izuku knowing about them. Even more dangerous to imagine Izuku wanting them.

Hitoshi watches Katsuki imagining it. Everyone’s transparent to Hitoshi, but Katsuki is one of his favourites to read. He pinches his still-burning blunt tighter between his still-tingling fingertips. Its filter is wet from his mouth (and Denki’s. And Kyouka’s. And possibly Eijirou’s). Hitoshi wets it again, inhales, fills his chest, gets some more sparks going in him. He won’t blow smoke over Katsuki’s little boyfriend again, but he knows he wouldn’t need to to work Katsuki up again. All that barking and biting is bluster. Hitoshi knows what’s under it. Has seen it in himself, drawn it out of other people.

Nights like this are kinda fun for all the watching, the reading. It’s half of Hitoshi’s job, knowing people, understanding them, seeing them, and he doesn’t generally enjoy doing it off the clock, but he likes when someone makes it worth it. Using his quirk as often as he does, being inside people’s heads as often as he is, means that he can’t turn the examining part of himself off. Might as well read something good.

Katsuki is good. You might be surprised at how much is still simmering in him considering he’s always flying off the fucking handle. You’d be surpised he has anything left to burn off. But he has. Hitoshi is in the business of making educated guesses, and he has a whole lot of them for Katsuki. Got a good read on him. Him and the pretty thing halfway to the moon, hanging off Katsuki’s lap. They’re both fun. So much going on there. So much to… look at. So much to watch. Fuuuck, he’s high.

“You’re doing that thing.”

Hitoshi cuts his eyes to Denki. No idea when he made it off the bean bag. “Mm?”

Denki grins. Hitoshi’s gut curls. A little come-hither flick in the pit of him. Both sharper and duller than usual from the weed.

“The watching thing. The ‘I could play with that’ thing.”

Yeah, he guesses Denki would know. That’s how Hitoshi got him.

Hitoshi’s sigh is open, peeled wider by a lazy smile. He shifts in the armchair he claimed, turns all the way forward to face Denki between his legs. The couple on the couch still tug at his brain but the long, lithe, electric body in front of him? He has played with that. Hitoshi will never withhold asked-for attention.

“You’re doing a thing, too.”

Denki sways forward. What’d they get inside him tonight? What’s he had? Tilting on such a shaky axis like that. Hitoshi wants to lick him all over and be able to taste whatever’s making him so unsteady.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you wanna get on my lap about it.”

Denki instantly does, like he was waiting for Hitoshi to say it, like that gave his want permission. The room swells with reaction. A whistle from Eijirou, a giggle from Mina, a cat-call from Hanta.

A “Whoa…” from Izuku.

Soft. Hitoshi wouldn’t even have heard it if Izuku’s head wasn’t so close to the arm of his own chair. It’s that same thing again, asked-for attention. Hitoshi has three pretty things with their eyes on him (he knows Katsuki is looking) but one of them got in his lap first, asked first. He’ll make it good, though. He was already going to, he can’t not make things good, but Izuku’s little exclamation makes him want to show off.

Hitoshi doesn’t really know what he’s going to do until he does it. Or rather, he has a loooong list of things he could do, based on Denki’s want and his own and the time, the space, the people in it. He just doesn’t know which one he’s going to pick until Denki sneaks a golden gaze down to Hitoshi’s blunt, burnt almost all the way down.

Literally easy as breathing. Hitoshi takes his last hit and opens his other hand in front of Denki’s face. Denki rests his chin in it, eager. Hitoshi cups Denki’s jaw, pinches his cheeks in a little, just enough to draw Denki’s mouth closer. Denki would have leaned in anyway. Hitoshi just likes to make him.

Smoke skates across Hitoshi’s tongue. Denki pulls it over his own, one sweet little suck, whatever he doesn’t inhale spilling out from their joined mouths. He’s had enough today, too? Aw. Hitoshi should have gotten started on him earlier. But he supposes he doesn’t lament the wait that much. Any earlier and Izuku wouldn’t have been crossed enough to gasp all wide-eyed like that, he guesses.

He’s right. Half an hour ago the sight of this would have maybe brought on a bit of a blush. A Mina-esque giggle, at most. Now Izuku’s vision is shimmering around the sight of Hitoshi, Denki above him, and his eyes are drying out because he can’t stop staring.

“Why do they always do that?” Shouto asks from the floor in that curious, quiet way he does, the way that Izuku knows isn’t meant to be funny, but it is.

Case in point, the room swells again, laughter all around except for in this little corner, where Shouto is blinking in drunken confusion, Izuku is not blinking in crossfaded wonder, and Kacchan is just—not laughing. Izuku is still in space but he can never be gone enough not to notice Kacchan’s little shifts, especially if he’s tending toward that disconcerting quiet. Izuku supposes Kacchan doesn’t usually find PDA funny, but. He usually isn’t completely silent about it. At the very least he should be scoffing right about now, but he isn’t. Just gripping tighter to Izuku’s bare thigh like Izuku is about to fall off his lap. God, is he? Is he leaning too far forward? Was he watching too closely? Oh, dear. He hopes that’s not what Kacchan is being quiet about.

Izuku turns away from Hitoshi and Denki, onto his back again, settling himself down deeper into Kacchan’s lap. That smoky kiss, the way wet mouths pressed into it, haze wrapped around it, is still stamped in Izuku’s mushy head, but he blinks his too-dry eyes a couple times, enough for it to stop feeling like his eyelids are chafing his corneas, and enough to be able to focus on Kacchan’s face. To look up at it, imploring. Handsome. So, so handsome, so pretty, his mouth’s set a little too hard though, what’s wrong? Did Izuku do something wrong? He’s trying to ask with his eyes and Kacchan won’t look at them and everyone’s still talking but Izuku is struggling to hear them because his ears are ringing with wondering how he slipped up, and—

Kacchan’s hand loosens a bit. Sweeps down Izuku’s thigh til it cups his knee, then sweeps back up until his thumb brushes the hem of Izuku’s shorts. Down again, up again. About as obvious a placating gesture as Izuku has ever seen, even for someone who’s still spinning with too-much substance, but he needs it. It calms him. He’s so untethered that Kacchan’s looser grip had been about to set an even deeper panic in him, but this is nice. This is better. Kacchan still won’t look at him, but. He’s touching him. His hand is big, and warm, but not too warm because he calmed his quirk down from when he’d almost set it off earlier. Just perfect. Melting Izuku to warm coals, relaxing him back into his drunk high as much as Izuku can be relaxed while he’s still waiting for Kacchan’s gaze to meet his.

He tries to tune back into the chatter instead. It’s nice to fill his head with noise when he’s nervous. He’d mumble if the room wasn’t already fizzing with sound, and besides, he’s missed his friends. So good to hear their voices outside of combat, conferences, quick coffee runs. They’ve only been out of UA a couple years but meet-ups like this still feel too few and far between. Izuku likes them. He misses them. Hm. He wonders what everyone’s saying.

“Stiff as shit over there, man. Acting like you’ve never seen ‘em suck tongues before.”

Ah. Hm?

“Nah. That’s the kinda shit you do get stiff for.”

Everyone’s laughing again and Izuku desperately needs to rewind. He tries. The conversation moves along while he does and the syrupy-cottony feeling in his brain and body isn’t exactly helping but he manages to remember Ochako responding to Shouto’s question with a giggled, “It’s funny, I think they’ve gotten worse.” And Eijirou responding to that with, “You have no idea.” Mina, stumbling over to replace Denki’s seat on the beanbag next to her boyfriend, jovial and floppy, “Why do you have an idea!” A much more chaste kiss between them, aw, that had been cute. Then Kyouka calling Kacchan out. And Hanta being a bit of a pervert about it.

All caught up, Izuku lets their talking wash back over him, dazed, smiling. All that earlier worry gone. This is fun. The innuendo, the teasing, the back-and-forth that doesn’t just come from years of familiarity but feels like something they always had even in those early days. As far as Izuku knows, Denki is still in Hitoshi’s lap. They are a warm, tempting little presence in the very corner of Izuku’s eye, but the ribbing from everyone else makes that awareness lighter. Izuku is relieved. It seems a little dangerous to look over there again. His drunk high starts buzzing too loud if he shifts his gaze too far.

“Still quiet, Dynamight.” Eijirou.

“‘Still wondering why you’re all creaming your pants for a kiss.”

Oh, Kacchan’s talking. He’s talking about kissing, and. And creaming. Wow. Izuku runs warm and refocuses, watches with god knows how many hearts in his eyes and a few too many tumbles in his belly as Kacchan twists his mouth around, disapproving in a way that always manages to look fond on him.

“Not phased, huh?”

Hitoshi’s voice. Izuku’s awareness of him weighs heavier again. Blissfully so, but he keeps his eyes on Kacchan and tries to ignore it. He doesn’t notice that he squirms around a little, but Katsuki does. Hitoshi does. He could blame his too-obvious provocation on the high but he knows he would’ve poked at Katsuki like this even if he was stone-cold sober. It’s just so funny watching how much he’s pussy-footing around. Hitoshi doesn’t know what, exactly, Katsuki is avoiding, but there’s something. Oh, there’s something, and whatever it was got worked the fuck up when Denki parked himself pretty in Hitoshi’s lap. Is Katsuki wanting something? Remembering something? Hitoshi isn’t really looking to know the answers but Katsuki’s claws are out thinking that he is, and it’s delicious. He’ll play some more. Denki’s weight on him, the memory of his mouth, has lit up the part of his brain that relishes this.

The room is starting to feel emptier than it actually is. Again. Barely two full sentences and that bastard has almost all of Katsuki’s attention back. The hand Katsuki still has on Izuku’s thigh feels cemented there. He doesn’t know when he stopped moving it. It’s effort not to set his quirk off again, and it shouldn’t be. Few fuckin’ things Katsuki hates more than losing control, but this is why he keeps shit like this so far away. That borderline obscene kiss, the way it’s so obvious that neither of them have ever had to hold back with each other? Hanging it all over Katsuki’s head like it’s just so easy to do? All that shit like this does is make him want to lose control.

“Not caring,” he grunts to try and gain some back.

Hitoshi grins and pulls Denki closer against him. “Used to harder shit, aren’t you.”

Oh, no. Izuku knows Kacchan gets uncomfy about things like this. He’s working on it, Izuku knows that too, but ‘it’ is a lot. One year together and all they’ve done is kiss and Izuku doesn’t mind but he knows Kacchan does. He sees it as a failure, another way that he hasn’t lived up, but nobody else would see it that way. Nobody here, at least, not even Hitoshi. Perhaps especially not Hitoshi. He provokes just to provoke but he’s one of the warmest souls here, and Kacchan doesn’t have to answer, but Izuku knows it would be just fine if he did, it’s all fine, nobody cares about what they have or haven’t done, there’s no obligation here, nothing to be embarrassed about—

“Yeah, and I don’t fuckin’ show it off.”

Katsuki doesn’t know why he says it. The room has been silent a second too long and Izuku is stone-still because he can’t believe Kacchan just said that, and Katsuki doesn’t know why he fuckin’ did, except he does. He knows exactly why.

Sparky crawled into the freak’s lap and gave the room a show that Katsuki has had dreams about getting to put on himself, not to present to people, just to do it. He watched that kiss wind deep into their bones, melt their muscles down, watched how the smoke filled their chests but it was really the touch that got them fucked up. Easy, permissible pleasure. The kind of kiss that hints at just how much more they’ve done, just how much more they’ve allowed themselves to do, and loved it. They got to give the room a glimpse of that, and Katsuki has had to sit here with alcohol making all his arousal feel unwieldy and violent like his quirk gone wrong, and he wants what he can’t have, so when someone asks him like he has had it? Easy to assume of him because, what, he just comes across that way? Someone who fucks. Someone who takes care of what’s his like that, someone who’s allowed to. It makes him want to be that person. Makes him want to talk like that person. So he did.

And now the room’s loud again, filled with even more excitable catcalling and giggling and whistling than before, and Katsuki feels all this undue jubilation like a stone in his throat. Like alcohol turning sour in his stomach. Like the love of his life lost and confused and almost certainly betrayed in his lap.

There’s even more to watch here than Hitoshi thought. He so rarely makes mistakes but because of that, he always knows the second he’s read too far.

This is an apartment full of pro-heroes. There’s gotta be at least some inkling in all of them that the energy is a little off, but nobody mentions it. The night unwinds around the unknown elephant in the room until one by one, hero by hero, the apartment starts to empty. Ochako heads out first, a sobering Shouto by her side. Both of them leave with concern barely hidden in their eyes, their smiles. Izuku does his best to meet it with reassurance but he knows he didn’t do a good enough job of it, knows to expect worried texts from them later. Denki leaves with Hanta and Kyouka, sliding off Hitoshi’s lap but not before whispering something that Katsuki can’t hear and doesn’t want to, something that prompts Hitoshi to squeeze his hip. Looks suggestive but that’s just Hitoshi’s brand of reassurance. Denki’d asked him if everything was okay. Hitoshi had said he’d find out.

Eijirou and Mina leave last. Mina kisses every cheek that doesn’t get tucked against a shoulder to avoid her (so, just Izuku’s). Eijirou gets away with a heavy hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki knows he’s on the brink of something bad because even that touch feels like something he wants to shove off, and he hasn’t done that with Eijirou in years. He manages a small nod and Eijirou takes it for what it is: all that Katsuki can give right now.

Then it’s the three of them. Katsuki and Izuku on the couch. Hitoshi in the armchair next to it, tilted at an angle to face them.

Hitoshi threads a hand through his hair. Purple wraps around his fingers. “Something about that wasn’t okay.”

God, they’re doing this now. Katsuki is still a little drunk and Hitoshi is still a little high and Izuku is still a little both and they’re doing this now.

Izuku takes himself off Katsuki’s lap, sits next to him. He just feels like he should be upright for this, but it feels to Katsuki like wanting separation. He slumps into the couch and bounces his knee and feels guilt, shame, and anger in such staggering amounts that it’s starting to feel impossible to direct it all at himself like he usually does. He keeps his mouth shut.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Hitoshi continues when nobody else will. “I don’t need details. Just need to know where I fucked up. I’m an asshole on purpose, sure, but when it happens by accident it feels shit for me, too. Don’t wanna do that to you. You’re my friends.”

“Kacchan and I just kiss.”

Katsuki is a little behind on heartbeats compared to everyone else his age. Izuku’s outburst sets him further back by one.

Izuku says it because otherwise it was going to run away from him. He’d already felt it slipping, sand through his fingers, avoidance begging him to sit cushy in everything he’s under the influence of and use that as an excuse. Too drunk, too high, too tired. Too scared. Scared enough to bring this up with just Kacchan, let alone with a third presence, let alone when that presence is Hitoshi. But he’d said it because Kacchan definitely wouldn’t have, and maybe part of him is glad to have a reason to let it all out. He loves Kacchan to literal death and he’s a little exhausted being part of whatever Kacchan feels like he has to hide.

Quietly, Hitoshi says, “Okay.”

Izuku swallows. His mouth is very dry and it hurts. “We only kiss. No, uh. No ‘harder shit.’ Just kissing.”

“Okay,” Hitoshi says again. Slowly, treading water, seconds away from sinking. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I didn’t, really. Didn’t think anything of it, didn’t care either way, but. Yeah, dick move. I’m sorry.” He frowns. Apologising doesn’t feel like it resolved everything, and Hitoshi doesn’t want to leave until something does, or until he’s kicked out. He’s high, and his head hurts, and the wrongness of this moment thrums in him. Izuku and Katsuki were doing just fine before he fucked up. He remembers how they’d looked earlier in the night. Sweet, safe, as lost in each other’s presence as they could be in a room full of other people. Hitoshi wants to bring them back to that. He wants to make this right, and he doesn’t know how, because he’s still not entirely certain which wound he rubbed salt in.

Izuku passes his hands back and forth over his thighs. It doesn’t feel as soothing when Kacchan isn’t the one doing it. Izuku dares to look over at him and the panic he feels from the expression he sees is dulled by drugs, but he’s only getting more and more sober. Izuku dreads just how much this will ruin him once he’s all the way clean.

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki breathes deep. He watches his still-bouncing knee.

“Please. Say something?”

“Shouldn’t have to. Not in front of him.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry—”

“‘Cause he makes this shit look easy and it’s not.”

Izuku makes a soft, confused yelp, and yeah, there it is. The wound’s right there and Hitoshi just needs Katsuki to bleed it a little more. Needs to know what to heal.

“I make what look easy?”

“God, fuckin’—all of it!”

Katsuki shoves his head into his hands and the movement’s sloppy, takes more coordination than he thought it would. Reminds him he’s still coming down from fucked up, somewhere in the murky middle ground between drunk and tipsy. He shouldn’t be talking about this but of course, the alcohol is what makes him able to. That, and Izuku apologising for nothing. That, and Hitoshi apologising for something he doesn’t even know that he did. Katsuki will tell him. He has kept this in for good fucking reason but can’t anymore.

“You and Denki. You don’t know what I’d give to have it easy like that,” he spits. “You don’t know what it’s like to need it this fucking bad and not let yourself have it because you know you wouldn’t stop if you did.”

Izuku blinks tears down his cheeks. They roll slow. Hitoshi sits still, tries to melt into the chair, become part of the background. That’s how he gets people to talk without making them.

“You can kiss him whenever you want, because you know he wants it too. You can give him more and he’d let you, he’d ask for it. You can have all that harder shit because to him, coming from you? It’s a kiss too. I can’t have that.”

Izuku’s chest feels full of sobs waiting. “Kacchan.”

“I can’t.” He turns to Izuku and cracks open looking at the tears streaking those freckles but if he stops now, he’ll never start again. This is the furthest he’s ever gotten with this, the most he’s ever spoken about it, and it feels like relief as much as it feels like being flayed. “I’ve hurt you. I still want to. I wanna hurt you good. There’s so fuckin’ much I wanna do to you because you’re mine and I don’t own shit sweetly, but you wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t want me to do that to you, you’d never look at me again. It makes me sick, I’m sick of myself. So all I’ve done is kiss you. Can’t risk more.”

Katsuki is panting. His words are running one into the other. Somebody needs to stop him, god, fuck, he wishes somebody would stop him.

“Spent my entire fuckin’ life thinking I couldn’t have you, then the last year of it thinking I shouldn’t. By some goddamn miracle I’ve got you and I will do everything I fucking can to keep you. If that means not having you the way I want you, never having you that way if you don’t want it too, then that’s what it means.”

“I want it.”

Katsuki, finally stopped, blinks. If he hadn’t watched Izuku’s mouth move he wouldn’t have believed those words could come from him, not about this. He’s shaking his head and that’s making Izuku cry more but he can’t help himself. That can’t be true. It shouldn’t be.

It is. Izuku is nodding. “I want it, Kacchan, I want you. Everything you would give to me, everything you could, I want it.”

“You can’t.”

“I do.”

“You’d leave.”

“I will never leave you.”

Another heartbeat lost. “Fuck. Can’t. Izuku. Can’t give it to you. Can’t have it, can’t let us.”

Izuku succumbs to silence. He doesn’t know what more he can say. This is what Katsuki has been working through? All those kisses Katsuki held himself high above Izuku’s body for. The hands he’d removed from Izuku’s waist barely a second after they’d gripped harder than usual. Hips pulled away and clothes kept on and kisses kept above the collar, a year of it, and all Katsuki had needed to explore more was the assurance that Izuku would want it?

“Do you want me to let you?”

It’s the first time in minutes that they remember they’re not alone. What a reminder it is.

They look at him. Shinsou Hitoshi in his oversized jeans and a loose t-shirt, reclining in their armchair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he didn’t just ask them to… what did he just ask them to do?

Katsuki requests clarification first. “What.”

It’s a little easier to see the care then. Hitoshi barely moves, just blinks, but all of a sudden it’s all there. The understanding of what he’s asking, the boundaries he knows he’s breaking. The caution, the lingering high, the overwhelming presence of empathy. He wants to help. He thinks this is how to do it.

He’s only a fraction more specific when he next speaks, but it feels like a world of difference. “You won’t fuck because you’re scared to. Do you want me to make you?”

Izuku’s face feels scarlet. “You mean. Use your quirk.”

Hitoshi nods once. This is a risk. It skips irresponsible by miles, it’s just fucking dangerous. Worse, potentially friendship-ending. But Hitoshi knows what the hurt is now, and he’s responsible in part for making it this bad tonight. He wants to soothe it, and now he knows how.

“I don’t do it a lot, not during sex. I don’t need to.” He doesn’t miss how Izuku squirms for that. Tears drying on his cheeks and still he fidgets, knowing that Hitoshi doesn’t need to make anyone do what he wants them to in bed, because they just will. They want it, too. It’s cute, it’s pretty, and yeah. This could work. This could be good.

“But I’ve done it enough to know how to make it safe,” Hitoshi continues. “I wouldn’t put you under the entire time. I’d take you in and out, both of you. I’d ask you to tell me what you want to do, then I’d help you do it. I’d let you, I’d make you. It would be… disorienting. You’d wake back up in the middle of something you wouldn’t remember starting, over and over.”

Izuku flushes unbearably warm. Katsuki’s skin breaks into goosebumps. They’re not sober enough for this conversation, none of them are. The offer is delicious. Hitoshi’s voice framing it is delicious. The bastard is hot, and capable, and knowing, and being under his quirk like this? For this? It would just be another drug. Another thing to sit in their systems and make everything they want impossible to ignore.

Katsuki could give in like this. He would never let himself, not on his own. Izuku could tell him how much he wants this until he runs out of ways to do it and Katsuki would never be able to shake the fear of letting go. All Hitoshi has to do is whisper it away. All Katsuki has to do is let him.

“I’d check in constantly. I can feel when people want to reject my quirk, I’d feel if you wanted to stop. I would, instantly. And obviously, to do this, I’d have to stay here. I’d have to watch.”

There are a million questions Izuku could ask. He lands on, “You’d. Touch?”

“You two or myself?”

“Fuck you,” Katsuki hisses. Reflex.

Hitoshi’s grin is lazy again. There’s warmth like the flame from his lighter in his eyes. “Kidding. Wouldn’t touch at all if you weren’t comfortable with it. Just myself if you were.”

Fuck. The image is starting to settle real nice in their heads. Being made to kiss, touch, fuck. Bite, lick, mark. Being watched. Maybe a first time should be sacred. Maybe they’ve both wanted it so long they don’t mind if it’s sacrilegious. Maybe it feels better that way.

Izuku is overcome. He would have never dared to ask for more than the kisses Kacchan gives him, he never needed harder shit, but he had dreams. He had thoughts. It is almost unbelievable that Kacchan thinks he’s the only person here with dangerous want, but there will be space to talk about that. This should be the space to talk about it, and it probably would have been, if Hitoshi hadn’t asked them this. It had sounded like filth, and now Izuku’s body is warm, and arousal is licking slowly up his spine. Hitoshi is offering to be the literal voice of their want, and Izuku feels seconds away from begging for it.

He allows himself one protest. One attempt at reason. It’s all he can spare and he wishes he could spare more but he wants this too much to try harder to stop it.

“But, Denki…?” Pitiful that he can’t even make it a full thought.

Hitoshi hums. “He’s mine. I’m his. He has toys just like I do but that never changes.” He smiles. “You’re sweet, Izuku. Denki and I are good, I promise, but Denki’s not the one who needs to be okay with this most.”

“I’m okay with it.” There’s the full thought. Spoken way too quickly, way too eager. Will this make them Hitoshi’s toys?

Hitoshi nods. He’s starting to feel the addictive, heady weight of trust. He has Izuku’s in his palm. He redirects his focus and waits for Katsuki’s.

It’s a long time coming. Maybe not in seconds, but in years. Katsuki has wanted Izuku so long he doesn’t remember how it feels to not. Keeping that want to kisses has been torture, but it’s familiar torture. All the shit beyond that? Shit that he didn’t even want to examine himself, but now he’s just going to give it to Izuku. Hitoshi’s gonna make him. Hitoshi’s gonna watch. It is fucking terrifying.

But nobody here is a stranger. Not Hitoshi, walking sex and a thorn in Katsuki’s side, home to a mean mouth and staggering intelligence and a heart of genuine gold. Not Izuku, the love of Katsuki’s life, the world’s greatest hero, stronger than anyone Katsuki has ever met and the prettiest thing Katsuki will ever see. His, somehow. Will still be his after this, somehow.

He can do whatever he wants. Soon enough, he won’t be able to not do what he wants. All the choice he has starts and ends now.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, I’m okay with it.”

Hitoshi’s sigh is long. It’s low. Air fills his chest with it and Izuku half expects him to exhale smoke. Katsuki grips so hard into the knees of his sweatpants he hears threads tear.

“Good. That’s perfect. Say it again, both of you. Just one more time. Tell me you want this.”

It’s not so much this they’re wanting as it is each other. Hitoshi knows. He’s going to give them each other. It’s uncharted territory but they’ve faced much bigger unknowns than this.

“I want this.”

“Fuck. Want it.”

They’re under before they can see Hitoshi smile.

Chapter Text

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“Fuck.”

Katsuki’s mouth is wet. It’s dripping, and his jaw aches. He feels his heartbeat kick in his chest and his lower lip and between his legs. His head is heavy, full of too many thoughts for all of them to be his own, but also empty, like the thoughts that aren’t his are leaving him and now his brain’s lighter with the memory of taking them all. He is throbbing, his cock hurts. There’s weight in his lap, pinning him somewhere he doesn’t know because he doesn’t remember where he is. He doesn’t remember anything. Why is his mouth wet, his jaw straining? He is so hard, why?

It comes back in pieces. The room first, the living room, the living room in the apartment that Katsuki rents with Izuku. Then Izuku. Wet mouth, too. Wide in the eyes, red in the face, shuddering in place. He is gorgeous, he is Katsuki’s, he is that weight. His thighs are split around Katsuki’s and he’s sitting all the way down. He’s not hovering the way he’s always felt like he has to, the way Katsuki has made him. He is slumped on Katsuki’s cock and the pressure of him is delicious and Katsuki groans, spits another curse, and rocks up before remembering he can’t before remembering he can.

Hitoshi. The permission. Intruder in Katsuki’s head, the thoughts that weren’t his, the presence trickling out and making Katsuki ache for it back. Hitoshi put Izuku in Katsuki’s lap. Hitoshi made him sit down, not a prayer of Katsuki hiding how hard he is like he would otherwise. Hitoshi made them kiss so wetly that Katsuki’s mouth is shining and his bottom lip is throbbing and Izuku is wet down to his chin. Hitoshi watched it all happen and for a moment, Katsuki didn’t even know what had happened.

Katsuki’s breath catches in his chest. His hands clench and before just now he hadn’t known they were full of Izuku’s waist. Things are still filtering in. His fingers squeeze harsh into the fullness of Izuku’s body, thick torso and plush flesh, skin scarred, and Izuku whines, curling over on the pain. He is oversensitive from weed and alcohol and now a third drug, even more potent. The aftermath of Hitoshi’s quirk, for him, is a low, dizzying hum that makes his brain feel warm like a muscle massaged. Hitoshi made them kiss. He made them kiss, and the way he told them to do it has Izuku baring his back.

“Good. That was good.”

Both of them twitch. Izuku doesn’t dare turn around. Katsuki doesn’t dare try to look around him.

“You took it well.”

That fucking voice. “Didn’t have a fuckin’ choice.”

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“God.”

“You did. I told you I know how it feels when people try to kick me out. You didn’t even flinch. Either of you.”

Izuku whimpers. His mouth is on Kacchan’s jaw and there’s a strain in his hips and his cock that suggests kissing down to Kacchan’s chin wasn’t the only thing Hitoshi just made him do.

It strikes Izuku that this isn’t just stuff that they want, it’s stuff that Hitoshi wants to see. There are endless ways to appease this ache and these are the methods Hitoshi’s choosing.

They haven’t changed position, much. Kacchan has shifted a little lower. So have his hands. They’re wide and warm on Izuku’s hips, gripping tight, and slumping further down the couch pushed his own hips up, and Izuku can feel his cock beat with the remnant of that movement. He can feel Kacchan’s too, hot beneath him, thick. He has barely been able to brush the band of Kacchan’s sweatpants since their first kiss and now they’re reeling from the pleasure of grinding. It should feel like too much, and it is, and the only thing stopping the knowledge from spiraling somewhere scary is Hitoshi’s presence. He’s making them do this because they’ve wanted to. He’s making them do this because otherwise they won’t.

It feels good. It feels so good.

“...It’s nice. I like it.” Izuku isn’t sure what he’s referring to; the touch he’s giving into, or the way Hitoshi’s quirk pools in his head to make him.

“I know you do, Izuku.”

Izuku whines again. Passes his mouth from Kacchan’s jaw to his neck to hide. He’s so hard and Hitoshi’s voice behind his back is deep and intoxicating and soon enough, Izuku won’t need it to chase what he wants. He was never the one who needed this to be taken out of their hands anyway.

It sounds like Hitoshi is grinning. He’s grinning so smug he’d piss himself off if he wasn’t so fucking horny. They were crying minutes ago and Hitoshi feels like a pervert but look how good they take what they know they want when they know they can.

“Sweet for being told what to do, anyway, you always have been. This one, though.”

Katsuki’s been quiet. Izuku has an excuse for not making eye contact but all Katsuki has to do is look this way, and he won’t. He’s glaring at the ground. He’s gripping divots into Izuku’s shorts and probably bruises into his skin and he’s tense as fuck like he’d heard how fucking sweet he groaned when Hitoshi made them grind. He’s feeling the consequences of this now. He’s wondering just what Hitoshi saw, and he’s hiding about it.

It’s a delicate thing, but Hitoshi knows delicate things. He leans forward in his chair. He doesn’t put his quirk in his voice just yet but he knows persuasion without it. Knows where to dip his voice, knows what to say.

“I want him to tell me.”

Reactive instantly, Katsuki lifts his red gaze, hate made so horny it looks gorgeous on him, and he hisses, “Make me tell you, freak.”

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“Go on.”

“Fuck, it’s good.” Katsuki can’t keep it in anymore. He thought Hitoshi would put him under and make him say it that way, so Katsuki wouldn’t have to hear it. He put Katsuki under and made him grip Izuku’s ass to drag him over his cock, and the bliss of that paired with how it felt to slip out of consciousness for it was good enough that the second Katsuki was back online, he said it anyway. Admitted it anyway. Hitoshi didn’t need to force his mouth into the words. All he had to do was give Katsuki this goodness again, and he knew Katsuki would voice it loud enough for the neighbours to hear, all on his own.

Hitoshi smiles at him. “Wasn’t so hard, huh?” Katsuki just groans at him. He closes his eyes and pets a hand up Izuku’s spine, draws a soft sound from him, and it’s a good place to have them, Hitoshi thinks. This could have gone wrong from the jump and it still could, but they like how he feels in their heads. He thought of a way to make everything good again, and he was right. He’s got Izuku shaking like the sweetest little leaf and Katsuki telling him how good this feels more or less of his own volition. That’s good. He doesn’t want them under for everything. Has he gauged their comfort correctly? What more will they do without his puppeteering?

“I think you two should kiss again.”

Neither of them move. So sweet, they’re waiting for the coercion. The command feels empty with no quirk in it and they’re hesitant without it. So cute it makes Hitoshi’s cock throb, but he’s not here to take this out of their hands entirely.

“All you do is kiss, right? That’s right, Izuku?”

Izuku mumbles, “Yes.” It’s very quiet so he nods, too. Fuck, he’s cute.

“Okay, good. Not asking for anything new. Just kiss for me. I want to see.”

“You already have.”

“I saw how I made you do it. Let me see how it looks without me.”

Somehow more disorienting than being under Hitoshi’s influence is the thought of doing something they never needed permission for before now. In a sea of unknowns, kissing is an island. They know each other’s mouths and the shape of each other’s kiss like they know each other’s handwriting, combat styles, favourite foods, nightmares. This should be the easiest thing Hitoshi has asked them to do yet they’re stuck like it’s another first Hitoshi is taking.

Izuku’s shyness grows and grows, filling all the spaces in his head that had minutes ago belonged to Hitoshi. His fingers tip-tap where they rest on Kacchan’s shoulders. Kacchan’s hand is so hot on his back that Izuku wonders for a second if Hitoshi made him remove his shirt. Realises he probably will soon. Their night has barely started and there’s so much more Hitoshi will see so why is a kiss suddenly so daunting?

Izuku takes his face out of Kacchan’s neck, gets a good look at him. Kacchan’s shyness is a firm mouth and furrowed brow. Barely-maintained eye contact. Pink in his cheeks made more obvious than usual by alcohol. He is so very beautiful and Izuku wants to have sex with him. He hadn’t been entirely certain that Kacchan wanted it back. Now he knows, and Hitoshi will get them there, but Izuku doesn’t want to force readiness for that if they’re not ready for this.

“Kacchan.” It’s how they always start a kiss. Kacchan’s name in Izuku’s mouth before his tongue.

Kacchan grunts. Hand up and down Izuku’s spine again. Izuku shivers, back bowing for the touch, made freshly aware of how hard he is and how good it feels to know how hard Kacchan is and he wants this so much, he wants Kacchan so much.

“Okay?” he checks in a whisper.

Kacchan nods once. It doesn’t seem like a lie.

“Gonna kiss you,” Izuku continues. Kacchan inhales. “Not just because he told us to. ‘Cause I want to.”

“I know.”

“And that goes for everything else I’ll do.”

“I know.” Kacchan clears his throat. Izuku watches him rework the instinct to reject vulnerability. Listens close when acceptance softens his voice. “Me too.”

Izuku melts. “You too?”

Kacchan heaves a sigh. Rolls his eyes. “Fucking moron.”

Izuku pouts. He doesn’t think it’s that stupid a thing to be relieved about. He’d bring up how Kacchan just said he’d do everything except have Izuku the way he really wanted, if he was a jerk, and also if Kacchan wasn’t kissing him. Perfectly.

Of course it’s perfect. It’s what they do. Kacchan holds the back of Izuku’s neck and Izuku cups Kacchan’s face and their mouths meet closed, then they kiss them open, and it’s perfect and perfectly normal except for the fact that it makes Izuku whine louder than Kacchan has probably ever heard and it sets Katsuki seconds away from the hurt he’s wanted to give Izuku ever since he realised he was in love with him.

Everything about losing restraint feels better. It makes Izuku’s whines sound better, the heat of his blushy neck burn better, his mouth taste better. Katsuki tongues at Izuku’s bottom lip, takes it between his teeth, and he doesn’t just graze like he usually would. Doesn’t snag that soft flesh on the tips of his incisors then pull away like a pussy, not now. He bites down now. Sticks his teeth in. Pulls away then, sure, but that’s because Izuku’s lip is still caught there, and he doesn’t just moan when his lip bounces back into place, he grinds. Shoves his hips forward and rides the bump of his cock along Katsuki’s, and Katsuki kisses him again, bites him again, makes him buck again. One hand on Izuku’s neck keeping him still and the other gripping Izuku’s hip letting him move.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Fuck,” Hitoshi whispers.

It goes unheard. Katsuki is meeting Izuku’s hips now, and he’s not handling gently, and Izuku is liking it. Loving it, looks like. His mouth feels swollen under Katsuki’s now, and when Katsuki wraps his fingers in green curls and tugs Izuku back, it looks swollen too. Too red, seconds away from splitting. It’s beautiful. So fucking hot, Katsuki knew Izuku would look good like this. Overwhelmed, kissed a touch too hard, shoved around a little. Katsuki wants to shove him around a lot. He wants to put that scarlet, near-split skin on as much of Izuku as he can, and his cock aches knowing that he will.

The way Katsuki loves is too big for softness, it’s got too many teeth, and he’d been terrified that Izuku couldn’t handle what that would feel like, how much it would hurt, but fucking look at him. He’s covered in hurt, it’s in scars all over him, and Izuku took all of it, every last pain. This, now, is good hurt. Katsuki wants to hurt him good.

He starts down Izuku’s neck. A kiss, then teeth, a kiss, then teeth. Keeping Izuku humping him all the while, keeping him loud. It feels too natural to remember that they’ve never done this before, but maybe it looks fuckin’ stupid. Maybe Katsuki’s just taking chunks out of his boy’s neck and slobbering down to his shoulder and maybe he just looks like a fucking animal but that’s how this has always made him feel. Imagine trying to hold this in for years. Beg him to give a fuck what he looks like giving into it.

He’d forgotten that someone knows what this looks like. Katsuki flicks his eyes up, teeth still fitting a mark into Izuku’s trapezius, shirt collar tugged away, skin bared for his bites. He grins mean as fuck for what he sees. Hitoshi sinking into the armchair, legs tipped wider apart than they’d been before. Eyelids heavy, palming over the shape of his cock, hard enough to be unmistakeable even in jeans that fuckin’ loose. He’s squeezing over the bulk, long fingers petting. He still looks annoyingly composed but his chest keeps jumping on hitched breaths, his knees keep twitching in and out. It’s the closest to untethered that Katsuki has ever seen him, and it’s because he’s watching Katsuki finally eat his fill.

“Pervert.”

Hitoshi closes his eyes. Sighs. “Fucking show-off.”

Katsuki unsticks his teeth and laughs. “And look how hard it makes you.”

Izuku gasps. “He’s…?”

Hitoshi hums. Squeezes his cock tighter. “Hard, Izuku, yeah.”

“Shit,” Izuku whimpers.

Katsuki bristles. It’s hot to see Izuku affected. Hotter still in a guilty kind of way to know that it’s because of Hitoshi. But Katsuki isn’t here to give all of Izuku’s arousal away. He wants it for himself.

“I want his mouth.”

Izuku tenses.

Hitoshi opens his eyes and lifts his brows. Tilts his head. “Hm?”

Katsuki kisses Izuku’s bruising shoulder. “Want his mouth on me. Get it there.”

Izuku mewls, “Oh, my god.”

Hitoshi asks, “That okay?” Izuku knows who the question is for.

“Yeah, oh god, yeah, it’s—”

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“Mmf!”

Izuku comes to with his mouth full. Something thick and warm and heady rests on his tongue, dangerously close to the back of his mouth, and his eyes are blurry with tears. His knees hurt. The hinge of his jaw is sore from being held open. He breathes in through his nose and swallows around whatever’s stretching his lips and he’s panicky until he can blink his tears away. They’re rolling down his cheeks when Kacchan groans, “Oh, fuck,” and Izuku tries to say Kacchan’s name and Kacchan groans again and that’s because Izuku’s tongue, trying to work out the word, is working underneath Kacchan’s cock. That’s what Izuku’s mouth is full of.

He makes another noise on it. Sounds so helpless, muted and strangled with the weight of Kacchan’s cock blocking the full volume. Izuku swallows and Kacchan throbs on his tongue and there’s a hand in Izuku’s hair that goes tight right at the crown. Izuku is so hard between his legs he’s leaking something awful, it’s messy, his cock is hot with how much wetness it’s pulsing. He feels seconds away from passing out.

“Good, baby. You’re good. Fuck.”

Izuku wails. Kacchan barely calls him that. Only sometimes when Izuku is crying, or when he’s particularly stressed, or when he’s asking for another kiss but Katsuki has to deny him because it’ll lead to more. Katsuki calls him that when he needs soothing. He sure as fuck needs it now.

Hitoshi had only put Izuku under. Izuku didn’t get to be conscious for this. He didn’t get to watch himself sink out of Katsuki’s lap, melt onto the floor between Katsuki’s legs, work his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He didn’t get to hear Hitoshi say Lick it first. Didn’t get to hear Put it in your mouth. Didn’t get to hear Deeper. Katsuki did. Katsuki got to watch it all, feel it all. He got to flex his cock for every lap of Izuku’s pink, drooling tongue. Got to fuck his cock into Izuku’s throat when Izuku was already trying to take it deeper because he’d been told to. He got to feel the lax, drugged noises Izuku made when he gagged.

Izuku’s only just waking up to it. Yeah, he fucking needs soothing.

Slowly, Katsuki guides Izuku’s lips off. He thumbs at the wet corners of Izuku’s gasping mouth, letting Izuku rest his head on his thigh, fisting his cock at its base. He could have come from that. Izuku is looking up at him weeping. He could come from that too.

“You were perfect.”

Izuku coughs wetly. “I was?”

He sounds fucked. “You don’t even know.”

‘Course he doesn’t, he was out of it, but he nods weakly and smiles anyway. A soft, relieved little thing.

“I made you feel good?”

Katsuki groans. “You don’t even know.”

Izuku hums. It makes him cough again. Katsuki strokes through Izuku’s hair and pumps his cock once. Izuku’s eyes dart down. He gets the sweetest fuckin’ look in them, then, sweeter than any Katsuki’s seen, just staring at Katsuki’s dick.

“Wanna keep going.”

Katsuki breathes deeply. He glances at Hitoshi. He got his cock out for this too, the sick bastard, but he’s keeping quiet. Chewing the fuck out of his cheek to do it, and Katsuki appreciates it. Hitoshi hadn’t lied. He’s good at this. Taking them in and out, checking in when he’s needed, stepping back when he’s not. Katsuki owes him more than he’s happy about. He owes him so, so much.

“Want him to make you?” Katsuki asks.

Izuku squeaks, remembering Hitoshi. His head twitches like he’s considering turning around but decides against it at the last second. Then he shakes it, a soft little, “No,” leaving him.

“No?” Hitoshi clarifies. His voice is even deeper. He’s stroking his cock good.

“Wanna do it myself,” Izuku confirms. He’s still making eyes at Katsuki’s crotch. “Wanna know I’m doing it. Wanna be awake.”

Hitoshi grins. Works hard to keep his pleasure out of his voice. That’s not what matters here. “You’re cute. Okay. This one’s you.”

Katsuki clenches his teeth. Hitoshi can play with them like they’re another one of his goddamn toys but apparently calling Izuku cute still sets him on edge. Hitoshi grins wider. Katsuki has no idea he’s a few more minutes away from calling Izuku sweetheart.

Izuku’s tongue is back on Katsuki’s cock, though. It makes literally everything else seem woefully unimportant.

For Izuku, too. Nothing could be more important than this. Kacchan’s cock. He’s never seen it hard before. It’s so… big. There’s so much of it. Izuku feels flushed head to foot just looking at it. It’s already wet with Izuku’s spit and that’s the only thing that stops him from staring. He has already started. Might not have known it until he was halfway through, but that makes it easier to keep going.

He laps at it curiously. Shyly, he admits. It’s very, very wet. He tries to imagine how slack his mouth must have been while he was under, how unabashedly sloppy. No coordination, just his tongue and his lips and hopefully not his teeth. He must have lavished Kacchan’s cock with attention, and intimidation means he can’t quite do it that way again, but he’s also taking stock. Learning. Finding the places that make Kacchan’s cock throb and his hand twitch in Izuku’s hair and his chest rumble with the hottest groans Izuku has ever heard. It’s easy to be appreciative, admiring, and that’s when he gets sloppy again. That’s when he starts kissing. Again, Katsuki and Hitoshi think.

Fuck, does he know he’s making noises? Hitoshi doesn’t think so. These cute, cut-off little sounds keep spilling from Izuku’s mouth while he kisses up to the tip of Katsuki’s cock, down to Katsuki’s fist still wrapped around it. He’s loving this. Damn near mumbling on it. Is this really the first time he’s done this? He could give Denki a run for his money.

At least until he tries to put it back in his mouth. The only time Denki chokes that hard is when Hitoshi makes him. Izuku had taken it so well when he hadn’t been able to think, but he fits his mouth around Katsuki’s cockhead and barely makes it an inch down before his throat protests, anticipating. Hitoshi’s cock kicks in his hand, leaks precum, because fuck, he gags pretty.

So fucking pretty. Katsuki is going to lose his fucking mind. It’s such a filthy noise and it jerked Izuku’s whole body and he’s already trying again, frowning, persevering, about to throw a fit because he can’t take Katsuki’s cock all the way down. Not on his own. He had Hitoshi’s help, first. Katsuki wants to lend his.

His love is doing that thing, again. The willful, violent thing. It wants to see Izuku ruined. He is so beautiful in ruin, Katsuki’s ruin. He wants to make Izuku cry again.

He doesn’t know how to ask for it. So used to holding back that his impulse is still to tend toward shame. His mouth won’t make the words.

Good thing it doesn’t have to. Izuku takes one look at him, lips stretched red around the very tip of Katsuki’s cock, eyes wide. Whatever expression is on Katsuki’s face must show what he wants to do. Izuku hums (Katsuki tightens every muscle in his body, fuck) and lifts one of his hands from his lap. Touches it to the hand Katsuki has in his hair. Presses.

From the armchair: “Oh, shit.”

Katsuki loves Izuku. He loves him so much. He’d say it but it’s something he only ever wants Izuku to hear so he holds his tongue and rides Izuku’s. Fucks his cock right to the back of Izuku’s throat. Holds Izuku down when it spasms. Keeps Izuku’s nose pressed to his pelvis, chin pressed to his balls. He humps short, sharp breaths from Izuku’s nose. Tears and spit dot the fabric of Katsuki’s sweatpants.

“Hold it,” Katsuki hisses.

Izuku sobs. His throat tries to work Katsuki out.

Katsuki lifts his hips. “Hold it, Izuku.”

He does. One hand in his lap, pressing down on his cock. The other still resting atop Katsuki’s on the back of his head, keeping himself down too. It feels fucking good. Katsuki pumps his cock down Izuku’s throat, already all the way inside and still trying to push deeper, and it’s gonna make Katsuki come if he keeps going, but one more. One more second, one more thrust, just a little longer. Izuku wants this, he’ll keep taking it. Until he passes out, probably. Beyond that, probably.

Right when Katsuki wonders if Hitoshi is gonna make him back the fuck off, he reaches his limit. He’s deliciously, brilliantly close, and it’s delicious, brilliant agony to work Izuku’s mouth off him. Izuku coughs and splutters, Katsuki heaves and moans, and he doesn’t need Hitoshi’s quirk to pull Izuku back into his lap and kiss every wet whine from his mouth.

“Kacchan, oh, fuck,” Izuku pants. “Oh, my god.”

“Need you.” Katsuki’s words get in the way of his tongue, or his tongue gets in the way of his words. He’s talking and licking into Izuku’s mouth at once and neither action wants to stop for the other. “You’re mine. You are mine, fuck, would’ve made me come. You were gonna. Need to put it inside you. Need you. Need you on me, fuck.”

He finds those same spots on Izuku’s neck, blooming nicely now, blooming beautifully. He attacks them again but not before redirecting as much of his attention as he can to Hitoshi. “Get him on me.”

Hitoshi swallows. “You wanna be under for that?”

“Don’t wanna, need to.” Izuku nods frantic agreement.

Hitoshi hesitates. “Why.”

“I’m gonna fucking come, asshole. Don’t let me.” Katsuki grinds into Izuku’s ass. Izuku mewls and Katsuki feels his cock wet his shorts more. “Don’t let him. Bring us back when I’ve got him ready.”

That’s asking… a lot. More than Hitoshi thought they would. But Izuku is still nodding and Katsuki is staring at Hitoshi like he might kill him, so Hitoshi takes his turn and does what he’s been told. He puts them under.

“Keep still. Don’t come.”

Hitoshi assumes control easily. They let him, easily. They really love this. They love how he feels.

Hitoshi has taken hours to work himself inside people’s heads and keep himself there. If they weren’t a villain he was interrogating, they all learned to love it eventually. Sex necessitates a special kind of vulnerability and that’s what always took people so long to let him in. They’d react to his control like he was reading their thoughts, not just taking them over, putting his own in instead. These two took to him like the alcohol they’ve been drinking, the weed they’ve been smoking. Accepting and indulgent. They’ve been loving how he feels for a while.

Hitoshi has heard a hundred different variations of how his quirk feels. He’s the only person who knows how it feels to use. Shocking, stunning clarity. Openness, awareness, his mind expanded twice, three times its size. So much more room to think, to act, to wonder, to play, so much more capability. It’s agony at its worst. Euphoria at its best.

This is pretty close to as good as it’s ever been. Katsuki and Izuku have such complementary consciousnesses. Hitoshi holds them both in his head and they hold still just like he said. They look good together. Pretty. Perfect. They make perfect sense. Something soft in Hitoshi’s heart swells remembering they’re comfortable enough to let him see them as perfect as they can be. Now that’s a special kind of vulnerability.

Hitoshi takes good care of it.

“Izuku, stand up and walk over to me.” And Izuku does. His eyes are some of the prettiest Hitoshi has ever seen under the influence of his quirk. Thought that since their first sports festival.

“Hold this. Give it to Katsuki.” Small packet of lube, always in Hitoshi’s pocket, dropped into Izuku’s waiting palm. Izuku traipses back. All Katsuki had to hear was the second instruction to know to put his own palm up, waiting too. Izuku hands the lube over.

“Good. Katsuki. Wanna take Izuku’s clothes off?”

That had taken a while to learn. Phrasing his commands as questions, making people follow those too. Katsuki complies immediately, and there’s a reverence to it that makes Hitoshi wonder just how far under he has really gone. He bares Izuku’s back and shoulders, his waist and his hips and his ass. Katsuki’s chin tips up to look at him. Hitoshi hadn’t told him to. Yeah. How far under is he?

Hitoshi will question that further when he doesn’t have two of his dearest friends hanging off his every word, a couple more commands away from having sex for the first time. He doesn’t let the weight of the moment stun him, doesn’t let himself feel out of place. He asked if they wanted his help, and they just about begged for it, and at the end of the day that’s what Hitoshi does. That’s what he’s always wanted to do. Help people the way only he can. Even if that means walking his friends through gently, painstakingly prepping to fuck.

Under Hitoshi’s instruction, Izuku seats himself back in Katsuki’s lap. He leans forward, tipped partly over Katsuki’s shoulder, gripping the back of the couch. Katsuki lubes three of his fingers and pets them over Izuku’s asshole then tucks them inside one by one. Izuku moans softly. He stretches beautifully. Hitoshi pumps his cock and feels every bit the pervert Katsuki called him out for being, but he’s making sure they’re taken care of. It’s not his fault that the show is one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen.

He makes Katsuki do more than he would himself. Much more. The veins in Katsuki’s wrist pop and Izuku’s cock is leaking steadily into Katsuki’s lap by the time Hitoshi says, “Okay, you can stop. Take your fingers out. Slow.”

They’re both panting. Izuku’s voice breaks when he’s empty again. Katsuki’s cock looks so hard, so thick, that Hitoshi wonders if he should prep Izuku even more. But they’ve waited long enough. Longer than Hitoshi can ever truly know.

“Hold your cock for him, Katsuki.”

Katsuki grips his cock at the base again, thumb pressing up, keeping it still. It’s kissing Izuku’s rim.

Hitoshi takes a deep breath. Prepares himself to be back inside himself, alone, emptier-headed. Catalogues every instruction, every follow-through. Searches one more time for regret. Finds none.

“Izuku. You know where it is, sweetheart. You can take it. Sit on it.”

Hitoshi releases his quirk.

Izuku is still fulfilling the instruction when he wakes up.

“Oh, my—god.”

He can’t breathe for the fullness.

“Fuck.” Katsuki’s millionth curse of the night is more of a shape than a sound.

They’ve never felt overload like this. There’s no rhyme or reason to pleasure like this, it’s incalculable. Izuku is soft and warm and dripping, he’s melting around Katsuki’s cock, and Katsuki can feel it, inside, how he has been stretched. Three of his fingers are lube-wet. His wrist throbs with the memory of working Izuku open. He can feel the stretch, yes, but he can also feel the tightness. That unfucked struggle. Katsuki’s cock is pressing Izuku’s insides apart and his fingers couldn’t get deeper than a certain point, couldn’t stretch past a certain point, and when Katsuki’s cock reaches that point, the tightness is breathtaking. Izuku’s hole flutters on him. He is so close to orgasm that for a moment, he gets to exist on the other side of the exact hurt he’s been dreaming of giving Izuku for years. He is so close to orgasm it feels like pain.

Izuku’s legs shake. His hands are fisting Kacchan’s shirt collar to shreds. He isn’t under the pull of Hitoshi’s quirk but he feels commanded anyway. This must have been the last thing Hitoshi told him to do. To sit, to take. Izuku can’t make himself stop. He can’t make himself slow down. Free to act of his own will, Izuku sinks, and sinks, and lets Kacchan fill him until he’s gasping.

The weight of him inside. Izuku feels too small for it. His cock weeps, pitifully hard, pitifully wet, and Katsuki’s cock feels like a brand in him, a hot, solid line of pressure that bleeds into every strand of Izuku’s nerves. It’s pleasure like Izuku has literally never felt before. He is all the way seated, all the way full, and he knows that when he comes, it will ruin him.

He needs it. They both need it. They’ve been picked up and dropped back into pleasure, after pleasure, after pleasure. Plucked from their senses and forced to return to them, thrown between blissful nothing and devastating overstimulation. It’s the first time their bodies are experiencing this anyway. They can’t hold much more.

“Izuku,” Katsuki pants.

“I know.” Izuku nods. “You can. Please, you gotta.”

It’s permission stronger than anything Hitoshi could have given. Katsuki sets his feet firm. He fits Izuku’s ass in his hands, digs his nails in when he squeezes, lifts Izuku up. Izuku’s cry gets halfway off his tongue when Katsuki’s cock cuts it out. He fucks root deep. Again. And again. And again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and he doesn’t stop. Izuku is crying and Katsuki is using him and it hurts so perfectly, it hurts them both, it hurts fucking good.

Giving in this far is yet another kind of oblivion. Another kind of pleasure to be plucked in and out of, another kind of distorted consciousness. There is so much that they aren’t aware of themselves doing, too overwhelmed to act on anything other than instinct. Katsuki slaps Izuku’s ass red. Izuku tugs Kacchan’s shirt open to his shoulders and claws welts into them. Katsuki bites into Izuku’s neck so it bleeds. They don’t know what they’re doing. It feels too good to do anything other than what they’re doing. They’ll see it as memories later.

Hitoshi sees it now. His vision is blurring from working his cock so hard but he sees it. He hears it. The sound Katsuki’s palm makes striking, the scarlet shape it leaves on Izuku’s plush ass. Katsuki’s shirt rrrrripping under Izuku’s fingers, the way he groans when Izuku scratches at him, Izuku yelping back for the bite, the blood ringing the points of Katsuki’s teeth.

Hitoshi thought they’d be fun to play with, fun to look at, to watch. This goes far beyond fun. It feels almost like something to worship, sex like this, sex the way Katsuki and Izuku do it. Feels almost like how they fight. That untouchable, golden feeling you get watching their synchronicity, such perfect violence. They are the real mind-readers, but only for each other. This is what they’d been keeping inside. No fucking wonder it had taken brainwashing to get it out. And they let Hitoshi do it. They’re letting him watch. They’re letting him touch. He’s going to come so hard it rends him, but not until they do.

Katsuki’s orgasm storms in his stomach. Izuku, prostate fucked too tender, is leaking so much he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t come, but they haven’t yet. Neither of them have, so none of them have.

Hitoshi thinks, Oh. Right. Fuck.

Katsuki gasps, “Close.”

Izuku, hoping it’s true, sobs, “I’m gonna come.”

“You’re not.”

Izuku wails.

Katsuki snaps, “Wanna fucking bet?”

Hitoshi pants, “Wanna fucking lose? You told me not to let you come. I haven’t told you you could, not yet.”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck…” Izuku whines.

“Make us!”

“...Please.”

Hitoshi’s cock kicks. His head spins. It’s a thin line. He has to put them under, tell them to come, then take them back out just as they do. It needs laser focus, deadly control, and he’s close to coming himself.

So much movement in the room, so much energy, and Hitoshi still feels the held breath. All of them, waiting for him.

He pulls them under.

“Come. Hard.”

He takes them out.

All three of them listen.

Caught between fucking through and fucking deep, Katsuki’s hips jerk painfully when he comes, seizing while Izuku milks his cock. Izuku’s eyes tuck into his skull and Katsuki sees the whites just before they close, just before he strips Katsuki’s shirt with rope after rope, wet little lines, they seep into Katsuki’s skin. Hitoshi marks his own shirt. Wets his fist and massages his balls and tips his head into the back of his friends’ armchair, in his friends’ apartment, watching his friends come because he told them to.

Feels a little like sharing each other’s heads again. Bodies, this time. Each of them coming hard enough for the three of them.

In the after, aftermath, afterglow, Izuku cries. He tucks his head back into Katsuki’s neck and hides, and cries. Kacchan holds him so tightly it adds another hurt to him. The squeeze of his bones and the pulse of his cock and the ache of forced fullness and the sting of all his bites, all his marks, all his blood. It’s good hurt. It’s Kacchan’s hurt. Izuku is crying because he loves it, because Kacchan had ever doubted that he would.

“Love you,” he mumbles. “I love you. Love you, Kacchan.”

Again, the words are more shape than sound. Katsuki mouths his own I love you into the crown of Izuku’s head so he can feel it.

Hitoshi comes down on his own because he needs to, because they need him to. He cleans himself up. Heads to their kitchen, fills glasses with water. Sips from his own, then brings two more and sets them at the floor by their feet. Walks to their bathroom, finds spare hand towels. Brings those back, too. They’re still intertwined, but Katsuki lifts his head. Hitoshi has read a million things in those eyes, tonight alone. The thank you is obvious. He nods. Taking care of them takes care of him.

He’ll check in properly tomorrow. He’s been in their heads all night. Sometimes the best care he can give is his absence.

He leaves their apartment expecting to feel more hollow, the way he does sometimes when he’s used his quirk like this, used people like this. He always feels like there was more he could do, but for tonight, he has done enough, watched enough. He won’t get to see the kisses Katsuki lays to every bite, every handprint. He won’t get to see Izuku’s body soften in the bath Katsuki runs for them. He won’t get to see how they kiss to fall asleep, staying so close overnight that they wake up the next morning inches away from each other’s mouths, easy to kiss again, to shape those same soft words again. They gave Hitoshi more than he had a right to. Hitoshi gives back what he shouldn’t have taken in the first place: their privacy.

He doesn’t feel hollow. He feels light.

At the train station, his pocket buzzes. A ringtone he recognises, the only one he has set. He’s smiling before he even takes out his phone.

denki 💛
so? they okay?

Hitoshi had said he’d find out.

they’re perfect