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Your Hold On Me

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

Katsuki carefully bundles up the clothes Deku had hidden at the bottom of his closet and carries them out of the bedroom without waking him. I even ironed, my ass, he thought bitterly. Why he even believed the idiot, Katsuki didn’t know. Deku had just taken what he wanted to wear and ironed on a day to day basis, which is stupid and resulted in the mountain of clothing Katsuki is carrying right now.

He drops them right next to the ironing board picks his phone up, to ring his mother. She had been calling him since he got back but he had been rather busy, first with the mission then with Deku. He spreads the first shirt out and gets to work.

His mother picks up on the second ring. “Katsuki.”

“You called,” he says, repositioning the shirt on the board and ironing out the wrinkles. She’s on speakers so his hands are free.

“You finally deigned to speak to me.”

Katsuki clenches his teeth, already dreading the conversation. He knows what’s coming before she says, “look Katsuki. You are finally back and it’s time to think- “

He slides his thumb over the screen before he can stop himself. Then, sighing, Katsuki picks the phone back up and as soon as it connects, grits out a, “no.”

“Just listen to me! You are almost 28 and went aboard to experience it all and now that you are finally back, you really need to think about settling down.”

Carefully switching the shirt for a pair of dress pants, Katsuki takes a deep breath. From the corner of his eyes he can see Deku coming out of the bedroom and going to the bathroom.

“- are you even listening.”

“No,” he repeats and hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. There is a short moment of silence before his mother speaks up again.

“Look, Katsuki. Do you even have a place to stay? Just come home and we can talk about this face to face.”

“I’m staying with Deku,” he says, chasing the warmth the hot iron leaves behind with his other hand. The heat left behind weirdly reminds him of the small sparks he used to create in his hands as a kid, when he first got his Quirk. It’s soothing.

“Still? Didn’t he move out?”

“I’m not staying with you,” he tells her as he carefully hangs the pants up and reaches for Deku’s dress shirt. It’s the only formal wear he owns and Katsuki is suddenly realizing that Deku last wore them to his farewell party. “You probably have some dates lined up. I’m not interested.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Tell dad I’m coming for a visit on Friday before going back to the states.”

“Going back? Why?”

Katsuki repositions the shirt to iron the back. “Some paperwork leftovers. I’ll only stay a month.” Chasing the heat of the iron, Katsuki spreads his hand over the white fabric of Deku’s dress shirt and then, suddenly there is a flash of pale skin and for one moment, he feels the heat of Deku’s skin beneath his palm instead of the fading heat left behind by the iron. The fabric crumbles beneath his hand and he immediately lets go and smooths it out again, feeling like an idiot for crumbling it up in the first place.

Then his memories flash back to the hand shaped bruises on Deku’s hips and all the other marks he had left on Deku in his embarrassingly possessive moments and bangs his head against the ironing board. “Fuck,” he mutters, forehead pressed against Deku’s stupid shirt as he remembers pressing his forehead between Deku’s shoulder blades and whispering all kinds of stupid confessions because Deku thought he only wanted sex.

“I’m going to fucking marry him,” Katsuki grit out. After all the embarrassing shit he said yesterday, he deserves it.

“What?” His mother asks just as there is a small noise.

Katsuki looks up to see Deku standing in the doorway, comb lying at his feet and slowly backing away. “I- Ah, I’ll just- “and then he turns around like the coward that he is and slams the bathroom door shut.

Katsuki pulls the plug of the iron out with more force than necessary and rushes to the bathroom door. “Don’t you hide, Deku!”

“I’m not hiding,” Deku screams back but the door remains firmly shut.

Katsuki growls, hits the door with his shoulder and shouts, “then open the damn door!”

“I can’t!”

“Why not? Make sense, damn Deku!”

“I really can’t,” Deku replies and Katsuki closes his eyes, thinks of all the confessions he made yesterday and the ones Deku made in reply.

“Don’t freak out, Nerd. I told you all this yesterday. It’s nothing new.”

Katsuki can hear Izuku take a deep breath, before he replies with a trembling voice. “We haven’t got any rings.” He sounds slightly hysteric so Katsuki stops pushing and rests forehead against the door.

“So, we will go get some. Get out Deku.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Rings.”

“I swear to god,” Katsuki starts, takes a breath and tries again. “Will you come out if I buy rings.”

Deku doesn’t reply for a while. Doesn’t make any noise at all. The he whispers, “Kacchan.”

Katsuki slowly sits down on the ground and picks up the comb Deku had dropped. “What?”

“I’m not running,” Deku says.

“What is this then?” Katsuki carefully picks Deku’s hair out from between its teeth.

“I just don’t want to look at you right now.”

“You aren’t making any sense,” Katsuki tells him. Then he gets up and goes back to the ironing. He carefully stretches Deku’s white shirt out again and manages to get the wrinkles he made earlier out of it. When he looks up after he’s done, Deku is standing in front of the bathroom, not quite facing Katsuki.

Katsuki picks out another piece of clothing, presses the hot iron against it and chases the heat with the palm of his other hand. It helps him wait Deku out. He’s not good at this. But he fights against the urge to rush Deku for answers and instead tries to remember what he was doing before Deku slammed the bathroom door in his face.

“It’s no good,” Deku whispers. “I can’t think straight with you around.”

Katsuki doesn’t look up again. Continues his ironing and waits until Deku comes and sits in front of the ironing board and fidgets with his fingers. “Explain,” he says.

Deku looks up, looks down again and reaches out to grab the leg of the ironing board. “I told you to say stop, Kacchan.”

“And I told you I would.”

“But this…” Deku closes his eyes and seems to gather his thoughts. “This is not saying stop. This is encouraging all the ugly feelings.”

Katsuki takes a deep breath before he finally puts the iron away and pulls out the plug. He sits down across from Deku on the ground, the legs of the ironing board between them. Deku’s knuckles have gone white with the strength of his grip on it, his wet hair dripping.

Katsuki sighs and pulls the hanger off the sofa and stretches the white dress shirt out between them. “See those?” he asks, pointing out the thin lines of wrinkles he didn’t get out properly. “Thought of you in bed last night, thought of the marks I left on your skin and I couldn’t help it. I just gripped the shirt and couldn’t get myself to let go.”

He says it carefully, forces the words out against the embarrassment he feels, weights his options and continues, not looking up at Deku. “I want you. It makes me stupid. I had to iron this twice. But,” he crumbles the shirt up in his hand and then stops at Deku’s sharp inhale. “But it’s ok. Because you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. No matter how stupid you make me.”

He takes Deku’s hand from the leg of the ironing board and puts it on the shirt. “I trust you to say stop when it’s too much. Trust me to do the same.”

Deku waits a moment, takes a shaky breath and then lets his fingers burrow deep into the fabric as he crumbles it up.

“Stop,” Katsuki says and Izuku jerks up, looking at him. “See,” Katsuki grins. “You stopped. It’s alright, Izuku.”

And then Deku’s face falls and Katsuki only has a short moment to brace himself before Izuku pushes the ironing board away and crawls in his lap, burying his face in Katsuki’s neck. His wet hair shocks him for a moment before Deku’s heat engulfs him and his right hand sneaks up the back of Deku’s shirt without him really thinking about it. When he feels the heat of Deku’s back against his palm, he traces the warmth of his skin, down to his waist and goes back to his shoulder blade again, acutely aware that Deku is not like the fleeting warmth of the iron but a solid warmth in his arms.

He’s not going anywhere.

Katsuki allows himself only one moment of embarrassment at all the stuff he said earlier before nudging Deku’s side. “So?”

“Hmm,” Deku answers and Katsuki’s patience runs thin.

“Rings?”

There is a moment of silence before Deku says, “Ok.”

“Ok,” Katsuki says.

Over the speaker, his mother says, “sweet, I’ll make an appointment at the registry office. What kind of wedding do you want, Izuku? Is a spring wedding ok?”

Katsuki can feel Deku flush in his arms even without seeing his face. He goes stiff all over and tries to hide himself even further against Katsuki’s skin. His wet hair makes Katsuki cringe away for a moment.

“Old hag!”

“Careful, Katsuki. I recorded all that. Very lovely. Who thought that you-”

Katsuki abruptly ends the call and wills himself to calm down. Then, he hides his own face in Deku’s neck, tries not to think about everything he said, and his mother heard and then groans. He lets himself fall forward, until Deku’s back hits the ground and he’s hovering above him. “Tell me that didn’t just happen.”

Damn Deku is red from neck up and gives an awkward laugh, looking as happy as yesterday morning when he told Katsuki he loved him. “That didn’t just happen,” he says.

Katsuki bends down, chases a water drop down Izuku’s throat and bites at his collarbone, then sucks at it. He doesn’t need Deku’s hand to sneak down his pants, or his mouth on his earlobe. He’s more than ready to forget the awkward conversation looming in his future and take Izuku back to bed. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to stop, Deku. You can have all of me, if I can devour you.”

Deku shudders against him and pulls him down. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. Great.”

And then Katsuki stops thinking about anything that’s not Deku.