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Your Hold On Me

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Humans are creatures of habit. They fall back into habit and repeat their routines, sometimes just to ground themselves. Right now, slowly cutting up the vegetables for a small salad, Izuku can’t help but recall those words. They do fit his situation rather well.

Because Izuku has no idea what to do. His mind keeps jumping from one place to the next as his heart refuses to go back to its typical rhyme. So Izuku peels and cuts and assembles everything in a bowl and then goes for the eggs. And, and his mind wanders, because even if he can pretend that everything is the same, he knows better.

His hand is trembling slightly, so Izuku takes a moment to close his eyes and collect himself. Because last night… Last night adrenaline was high, and his pulse was singing loudly in his ears while his body throbbed to its beat. And, and Izuku had looked up and smiled because there was nothing else to do but smile in the face of Kacchan’s return and their first successful mission after two years.

Izuku puts the eggs down and hides his face in his hands, remembers the exact moment Kacchan had, well… It was rather desperate, something they had been dancing around two years ago. Something that made him laugh and then cry because he had wanted it for long, so long and then he got it. Kacchan had leaned in and tasted his smile.

Izuku’s belly clenches at the memory, so he bends down to hide his face in the curve of his elbow, in the soft fabric of Kacchan’s hoodie. It was either this or his ruined shirt. Izuku had grabbed it off the floor with a pair of shorts, when he fled the room this morning, desperate to get his thoughts in order.

Because Izuku wants to know. God, does Izuku want to know. The desire to know what they are now is so overwhelming that Izuku closes his eyes and consciously takes deep breathes to calm down. Because two years ago, before Kacchan had been scouted by an American superhero, they had been partners. And then roommates because it was convenient and logical. And then, then they were dancing around the edge of something else. Izuku remembers lying awake after a shared late dinner and wondering if Kacchan was awake in his room just next to Izuku.

They had never quite fallen over that edge though. Instead Kacchan had agreed to the offer. Two years and Izuku still doesn’t know what they are. And Izuku wants to know what to call this. He wants to give this a name so that he might understand why he felt Kacchan’s absence in his every breath.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and blindly reaches for the eggs. When his fingers brush one, he finally finds the energy to lift his head and stare at the pan. Izuku can cook exactly three things: eggs, rice and spaghetti. It’s Kacchan who usually cooks and bakes and handles the kitchen. Izuku is in charge of cleaning, mostly. So, he makes some scrambled eggs and tries to stop thinking about Kacchan who is sleeping in his bed, who carries his marks and scratches.

It’s futile, really. Because Izuku had never been able to stop thinking about Kacchan. Not when they were nothing more than children and surely not now, when all he wants to do is crawl into Kacchan’s skin and become part of his body, so that he might never leave Izuku behind again.

Once the eggs are done, only slightly burned, Izuku puts them on a plate and turns around. Kacchan is sitting on their sofa, staring at him and scratching his thigh. He’s only wearing a tank top and his pants, looking delightfully ruffled and unusually vulnerable.

He puts the plate down on the table and walks over. Kacchan didn’t exercise last night and he missed his mourning run. He broke away from his strict schedule. Over the years that they have known each other, Izuku knows that Kacchan’s success is wholly because of his strict discipline. While Izuku had been dreaming of becoming a hero and writing notes after notes, Kacchan had worked on training to become a hero and somehow learned enough to know something about everything. He cooks, he cleans, he does the laundry and he still has time for new experiences.

That he broke his strict routine, more than anything, makes Izuku stop in front of him and look down at him. Kacchan doesn’t shy away from taking space, he’s sprawled on the couch, looking up at Izuku, not even slightly shy about his state of undress. Izuku wonders what he sees, wonders if Kacchan can hear his heart slowly pounding its way out of Izuku’s chest to present itself to Kacchan.

“Good morning,” he says. It’s the safest thing to say but it does nothing to calm his heart.

When Kacchan reaches out and holds his left hand, his belly joins the revolt and Izuku finds himself being pulled forward, too weak to really do anything but sit gracelessly in Kacchan’s lap, one knee between Kacchan’s thighs and the other just besides him. The warm slide of skin against skin makes his breath stutter.

“What are you doing, Deku?” Kacchan’s voice is rough from sleep. It’s almost nine and he’s still yawning and rubbing at his face to wake himself. It’s the first time Izuku has seen him like this.

“Breakfast,” Izuku replies and reaches out with his right hand to brush the hair out of Kacchan’s face. He really needs a haircut. And then, because Izuku cannot not know, he says, “Kacchan.”

It must be something in his voice because Kacchan looks at him before he sits up and makes more room for him on the sofa. And then he pulls Izuku closer, so that Izuku can bend his legs and sit comfortably. “What?” he asks.

“What,” Izuku starts, takes a shuddering breath as Kacchan leans in to gnaw at his jaw. “What’s this?”

Kacchan doesn’t reply, merely places his hands on Izuku’s hips and continues to bite and suck along Izuku’s jaw. And Izuku, Izuku can’t possibly stop him, can only turn to meet his lips and lick into his mouth, tasting toothpaste. But that's not what he wants. He wants Kacchan, so he licks and sucks and bites, suddenly feeling desperate to erase anything that isn’t Kacchan.

He holds on to Kacchan’s shoulders, trying and trying to fall further into him but there is no more room between them and when Izuku finally pulls back to pant into Kacchan’s neck, feeling lightheaded and incredibly turned on, he wonders if Kacchan could taste the cucumber he had eaten while preparing the salad. He wonders if the taste of it had faded like the taste of the toothpaste Izuku had chased away.

“Don’t bite,” Kacchan tells him, so Izuku pulls away from the mark he had been leaving on Kacchan’s neck and tries to gather himself. He stares at Kacchan, who’s trying to fit his hand into the fabric of Izuku’s shorts.

Izuku grabs the hand that's burning a path up his thigh and forces it to stop before he can get further derailed. He doesn’t need any encouragement, not when he’s ready to shed all his clothes and let Kacchan do whatever he wants. Last night, last night Kacchan had used his hands and mouth and fingers and Izuku had tried to find a way to consume Kacchan whole, inhaling his every exhale, not caring about anything but having Kacchan there with him. But today he needs to know.

Izuku closes his eyes and lets Kacchan play with the belt loop on his shorts. Once he’s calmed down enough, he meets Kacchan’s amused gaze and wonders again exactly what Kacchan is thinking. “Kacchan,” he says again. It comes out even. That’s good.

“Deku,” Kacchan says as his hand slips under his hoodie.

“Just, just stop it!” Izuku grabs his hand tighter and pulls it out. No derailing, not before he knows what this is. Kacchan doesn’t put up a fight and holds both his hands up in the air.

“Deku,” he repeats, smiling. Something in Izuku’s chest flutters. He doesn’t even try to fight the flush spreading along his face. “What do you want, Deku?”

“I- I need to know. What this is, what we are."

Instead of replying Kacchan leans back and stretches his arms out on the sofa again, slowly looking him up and down. From his ruffled hair down to the orange hoodie, the black shorts and the one sock trying to valiantly hang onto Izuku’s left foot. And then he tilts his head slightly and asks, “you don’t already know? I thought you would have figured it out way sooner with that brain of yours.”

Izuku reaches out and pulls Kacchan’s right hand into his own. He doesn’t want Kacchan to not touch him, not when they are alone, not ever again. “I don’t know,” he says to Kacchan’s fingers, pulling on them one by one.

“It didn’t work,” Kacchan says, closing his hand around Izuku’s fingers. He draws Izuku in until he looks up into crimson eyes. The smile is gone and Kacchan’s face has turned serious. “Two years, an ocean apart and I hoped it was a fleeting infatuation, I thought distance would do the trick. But I was deceived. Because the minute I set foot back into Japan, all you did was just stand there and all I wanted to do was fucking eat you whole.”

Kacchan’s other hand comes up to his neck and pulls on him, until Izuku falls into him, nose pressed against Kacchan’s throat as he bites Izuku on the nape, hard. Izuku flinches, holds tightly onto Kacchan’s tank top and tries to remember how to breath. Once Kacchan lets go of his flesh to suck on his earlobe, Izuku asks, “Infatuation?”

“Infatuation. Crush. Attraction. Love. I don’t fucking care. Take your pick.”

And, and that’s unfair because he whispers it into Izuku’s ear, his breath making Izuku shiver in his lap. He slowly uncurls Kacchan’s hand around his fingers and places it back beneath his shorts, his own hands sliding under Kacchan’s tank top, seeking and wanting nothing but hot skin under his palms. Kacchan chuckles, the sound only adding to the heat pooling in his belly.

Izuku licks at his exposed shoulder and confesses, “I want to crawl into you, become a part of you, one you can never leave behind. I want… I want everything. I don’t know where to draw the line.”

“’S easy,” Kacchan says. And then he shifts Izuku in his lap, enough to push him down onto the sofa and hover over him, one hand under the fabric of his hoodie, the other holding him up. “All you gotta do is stop when I say so. And in turn, I’ll let you have everything I want to offer.”

He stares up at Kacchan, wonders at the look in Kacchan’s eyes. Wonders if that’s the same expression of hunger Izuku wears when he looks at him and he closes his eyes. “It’s not only about sex. I can’t do only sex. I wan-“

“Are you even listening, Deku,” Kacchan interrupts, the hand on his belly retreating to cup his jaw and force his eyes not to stray from Kacchan’s face. “Which part didn’t you understand? I told you, didn’t I? Two years, an ocean of distance, enough people to warm my bed if I wanted but all I could think about was your stupid muttering and your failed attempts at cooking. Wondered about whatever you did your laundry or kept buying new fucking things ‘cause your mother didn’t come around. Thought about the stupid shit you would do that inevitably ended with you in the hospital.

“I don’t want just sex, Izuku. I want your incompetent little ass sitting in front of me at the end of the day and sneaking glances every time you think I’m not looking and I want to be able to lean in and kiss you, draw you into my arms and take you back into my room. Because this two rooms arrangement has been getting old real fast.”

Izuku stares, his brain a little slow on the uptake, a little overwhelmed at all those words coming out of Kacchan’s mouth. “Wha-“ Izuku tries but Kacchan squeezes his cheeks together and leans in to kiss the words out of his mouth. It would be sweet, if Kacchan didn’t add, “I swear if you ask me what, I’m going to fucking blow you up on the sofa.”

And Izuku’s brain supplies the images of last night, his face turning a deep shade of red to match their sofa. Above him Kacchan smirks. “Or I could blow you. That works, too.”

Izuku shakes his head, tries but fails to calm his racing heart once again and says, “I love you Kacchan.”

And Kacchan, smirking, mischievous Kacchan who had been offering him a blowjob just seconds ago, flushes from his shoulders upwards, suddenly looking 19 again and showing Izuku exactly how he feels about him. Because Kacchan is just as inexperienced at this as Izuku is and maybe, somewhere in their subconsciousness, they had been waiting for each other.

With that in mind, Izuku pulls him down into a deep kiss, tasting and licking, sucking at his tongue and chasing it back into Kacchan’s mouth until he grows breathless. It’s Kacchan who breaks the kiss and presses him hard into the sofa, panting against his lips. “Fucking let me breath, Deku!”

And Izuku laughs, laughs and flips Kacchan over so that he falls off the sofa and onto the ground with a hard thud, not having expected that. He rolls right off as well so that their positions are reversed on the ground, Izuku hovering above Kacchan one hand on the waistband of Kacchan’s pants. “You better not forget how to say stop.”

Kacchan, being back on more comfortable territory, supports himself on his elbows and smirks at him. He’s pulling the one sock Izuku is wearing off his foot with his toes as Izuku pulls his pants down and takes hold of him. “Make me,” Kacchan says.

So Izuku tries, one hand on Kacchan and the other palming his own erection through his shorts.

Later, when they are lying in a sweaty and dirty mess on their carpet in front of the sofa, Izuku turns to Katsuki and says, petulantly, “you know, I did the laundry. I even ironed,” which is true and somehow moves Kacchan enough for him to turn on his side as well and pull Izuku into his arms, chuckling while he does so. Izuku, who hasn’t had his fill of Kacchan yet, returns the sideways hug. Kacchan is touchy after sex and Izuku intends to take full advantage of it.

For now, he closes his eyes and tries not to fall asleep in Kacchan’s arms, warming his sockless feet against Kacchan’s shin. It’s a futile fight against sleep, really. They can clean up and eat later. All he wants to do is count Kacchan’s breaths. So, he does.