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Cute balls! The bold packaging forces Izuku’s attention with its cheerful proclamation. He eyes the milky-toned silicone of an asscheek hanging above what are, indeed, pretty cute balls.
Kacchan.
He flinches from the thought. Finds himself unable to move far, however, as though magnetized to the dreadful thing. Cute balls! They do bear a resemblance to the occasional flash Izuku has gotten in the locker room. He cannot deny their siren call whenever they have presented themselves. Kacchan’s cute balls. Which aren’t the same as this item, but they are similar. Same shade, just about.
The shop’s air is stuffy, hot through Izuku’s face mask. His hair is matted to his skull under his baseball cap, sweat beading his temples. And there it stares. The toy that Izuku’s brain has helpfully determined is the most Kacchan-like in appearance. Cute balls! It feels like a mockery.
He slides it off the shelf as quietly as possible. It has some heft, but isn’t heavy by any means. The molded ass is nice, looks squishy and, er, sufficiently penetrable. The balls are undeniably cute. As he turns the box, a small cock flops. His mouth goes dry, brain buzzing.
It’s um. It’s. Uh…
He doesn’t remember going to the register. Hardly remembers shoving a wad of yen at the cashier, his eyes downcast, his ears burning. It’s autopilot. Running in the background of his brain are the perfectly compact package of the mold and the depth dimensions outlined on the box. He doesn’t know precisely what he even wants to do with this stupid thing.
Izuku just paid 13200 yen to confirm he’s insane.
The train rattles. Izuku can barely feel it, gloved hands clinging to a nondescript black bag. He’s seen other people with bags like these before. He has always known their general contents.
Cute balls. What the hell was he thinking? He just bought a— He now owns a—
What is he even going to do with it? Put it on display? Set it next to his pillow when he sleeps? This thing is an affront to nature; it’s a silicone mold of a man’s cock and balls and asshole.
There’s really only one thing that makes sense. It’s also the one thing Izuku isn’t supposed to want, feels filthy for even trying to visualize it.
Am I a special kind of pervert? Izuku wonders with the usual sense of bafflement and bitterness. Words like autoandrophilia and penis envy flit through his mind. A list of every excuse and explanation he’s tried to bargain with. Every single one failed. He’d been forced to trudge blindly forward through transition despite it all. It was as frustrating as it was relieving; all of this has been so difficult and to know that it has always been necessary is both humbling and exhausting.
And now, on the other side of it all, he’s left alone with the silence and the same confounded thoughts he’s grappled with his whole life.
The…purchase sits in his lap, that horrible thing, and he has the sense that everyone on the train recognizes the ‘discreet packaging’ and the depravity underneath. Not just the bag, but Izuku’s skin. Weird pervert sitting with weird pervert silicone mold with cute balls that his brain has latched onto as Kacchan.
Delightful.
His desire is shapeless, voiceless. In some ways, it’s better like that. It’s always been easier to shove it all down, to cut it at the root. The want that sprung despite the culling left him horribly aware of how misshapen and ill-suited he was to himself.
Now, though, it is possible. Six weeks ago, his surgeon cleared him for sexual activity. And for six weeks, Izuku has sat on his hands, staring dumbly at his body, unable to make sense of his newfound freedom.
Here’s the thing: Izuku has never really done “it” before. “It” as in...any of it.
He’s done the exercises. Visualize your body. Hold yourself in your hand. All of that. He practiced well before surgery and through surgery and after surgery, hoping to achieve that mythical state of being that only ever seemed to exist in some nebulous After.
Well, he’s in the After now. Yet everything remains.
All that effort and I have no idea what to do with myself, Izuku thinks. He shifts, feels his body move, feels the press of the box over his thighs, the weight between them. His own body. The feeling is comforting; he still finds himself periodically checking. Making sure everything is really there. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop checking.
“It” has always been basic, quick, as thoughtless as he can manage. Usually he stares at the wall and just waits for it to be over with. Or he did. He hasn’t tried anything since bottom surgery beyond a few quick, nervous maintenance sessions over the past few years. But he’s been fully cleared for a while and this is something that he wants, as scary as it is. He went through all the time and effort and healing and now he’s left feeling too much like a dog that finally caught its own tail.
His dick is bigger than the mold’s. A lot bigger. He likes that, he thinks. Isn’t sure what that means. It feels shameful, regardless. He just knows that when he saw that tiny silicone cock flop over, he felt such an overwhelming sense that he lost his mind long enough to purchase it.
Izuku’s whole life, he’s had outsized desire. Too big for his body, always. Aspirationally, personally, professionally, sexually. He saw that stupid thing dangle and all he could think of was Kacchan, Kacchan’s body, Kacchan over him or under him, around him, and he became a man possessed. Let me, Kacchan, let me, please, I could make it good, promise, I can be good, let me be good, let me be your good boy, yours, your boy, please, Kacchan, Kacchan…
Horrible.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, feels the voiceless pang between his hips, and wills it smaller.
The apartment smells like both of them. This is always Izuku’s first recognition. The apartment reeks of Kacchan and Izuku. Which makes sense. They share it. Kacchan and Izuku are best friends and roommates. Together for life, as Kacchan has pointed out an exhaustive amount. Izuku will never tire of hearing him say it.
Smelling Kacchan sends a rush of sticky heat through Izuku’s body, made uncomfortable by guilt. The two feelings are conjoined; he has no idea what one feels like without the other. The cursed bag crinkles in Izuku’s tight grip as he stumbles into the living space. “Kacchan?” he calls out, hesitant.
No response, as expected. Kacchan is supposed to be on patrol for at least another four hours.
Good. That gives Izuku time to… To, um.
Yeah.
He pads into the bathroom, tugging off his cap and mask before wriggling out of the rest of his clothes. As he uncovers the unnecessarily cheerful box, he goes over the instructions for his erectile device pump under his breath. Depress the inflate valve located in the left ball four to five times and— He should wash the Kacchan toy. Right. Kacchan’s lube is located behind his prescription-strength antiperspirant he uses for galas. Only a quarter left inside, but that’s fine, right?
He lifts his cock and reaches under with his other hand, thumb sliding along his ball. “I have to figure this out,” he says firmly. “It’s been six weeks. I cycled it a dozen times at the hospital. I cycled it a million times at home.” And then left it alone, nerves jumping in his throat whenever he considered it. He feels along the tip, an anxious fixation on the distance between the pump at the barrier of his skin—no issues. Healed. “I just have to not be weird about it and it’ll… It’ll be fine.”
It’s supposed to be good, is the issue. He’s used to trying to make it as immaterial as possible, but now it can be good. He doesn’t know how, though, and feels stupid for this helplessness. Everything that seems natural is simultaneously abhorrent; he knows that it’s too much, too large, too strange.
So instead he just stands in the bathroom with his dick out, staring into space.
The mold, now free of its garish confinement, is no less mocking. It looks good to hold, unfortunately. To press against, maybe even, um. Uh.
Come on. What’s the point of getting this horrible silicone ass if he isn’t going to do the obvious?
Izuku sucks in a shaky breath, palms squeezing the cheeks as he wrangles it into the sink. It doesn’t fit. He should have washed it down with the shower nozzle. He has no clue what he’s doing. Water sprays him, faucet stuck against the swell of silicone.
His hip bumps the counter. He hisses sharply at the sting, dropping the now-slippery sex toy. Kacchan had gotten him good, last week during an exhibition match. Pressed him into the floor, his whole weight grinding into him, pelvis dropped hard into Izuku’s stomach. Both of them heaving, aching, bodies buzzing.
Kacchan’s breath against his face, hot and damp. The hell are you smiling for, nerd?
Izuku shudders, fingering the bruise along his hip, feels the ache sing through his bones, his cock. He swallows thickly, palm sliding forward.
Yeah. Maybe this really could be good.
It’s bad. Izuku is sticky and cold and he still hasn’t worked up the nerve to even finger that stupid silicone butt. His boxers are plastered to his body, cock bulging against the fabric.
The front door slams, making him jump. Wait, why would the door open? It’s just me and Kacchan is on patrol, so who…?
“Fuck me!” Kacchan barks, muffled by the bathroom door.
Izuku stares, eyes wide. Fuck me. Eurgh— Okay, no, don’t recontextualize that, please.
“Stupidass villain spewed literal sewage.” Kacchan kicks off his heavy shoes in the genkan. “Remind me to kill Hawks after I bill him for suit repairs, motherfucker sending me in to take care of a damn shit-flinger...”
Stomping.
Izuku fumbles for his balls, feeling along for the release on his erectile pump. Where the hell is it? Did it shift? His testicle is no longer swollen so it’s possible. Likely, even. Shit.
“Dumbasses back at the agency swear the disinfection left me cleaner than how I normally shower but clearly they got no idea how to actually bathe.”
The doorknob turns. There’s no time to say anything, to do anything. Izuku is frozen.
“Anyways, point is—” Kacchan stops.
Izuku stands there, dick at full mast, squeezing his left nut.
Kacchan’s mouth is slightly open. His jaw twitches a few times, but nothing escapes. His face is pale.
This is absolutely mortifying.
This is not the first time Kacchan has seen Izuku with an erection. He’d propped for a while after his initial surgery, then survived a second round of awkwardness when he’d had to waddle around with a perma-boner for weeks after the erectile device implant. Except all those times he’d been clothed fully and done everything in his power to preserve whatever amount of modesty he could.
Izuku is currently standing in their bathroom in his boxers with a silicone mold of a man’s ass sporting cute, Kacchan-esque balls, next to Kacchan’s bottle of lube on the counter. With a raging erection.
Kacchan slaps his hand over his eyes. Izuku watches him stumble out the door.
Kacchan drops the mold onto the table. Izuku morosely watches it jiggle, palms curled around his cup of sencha. There’s no question, no demand for an explanation. Kacchan simply sits opposite of him, grabbing his own tea.
Izuku breaks first. He always does. “Sorry you had to see me like that, Kacchan.”
“’S fine,” Kacchan says.
It’s really not. They’re sitting with a silicone mold that looks decently similar to Kacchan’s ass between them, while Izuku curls over his inflated boner.
“You still haven’t figured that pump thing out?” Kacchan’s voice is light, intentionally disinterested.
Izuku’s face is hot. He hates how easily he blushes. That’s just the tip of the iceberg containing everything he hates about himself. “I’ll figure it out or go to urgent care if I can’t. Again, I’m sorry. I should’ve locked the door.”
“Izuku, chill. It’s fine.”
The mold sits between them, cute balls winking at Izuku. Bastard.
“Sorry about the toy,” he blurts. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You want to fuck it,” Kacchan says.
Izuku squeaks.
“You can’t be acting like a blushing virgin, dipshit. You bought the damn thing.”
“A-a moment of temporary insanity,” he manages.
“And heading all the way out to one of those stores?”
He’s silent.
Kacchan sighs. “Izuku. Look at me.”
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut.
“Oi. Look at me.”
He finds himself obeying before he can consider otherwise. Something in him coos sweetly whenever Kacchan directs that stern voice at him. It’s weird. He’s weird.
Kacchan doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look like anything, really. Well, besides like Kacchan. But Kacchan always looks like Kacchan. “I get being embarrassed,” Kacchan says. “That’s pretty embarrassing, sure. I figured it was ’cause of...y’know, but you’re still weird as hell. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Izuku echoes, voice high.
“You hold back on me,” Kacchan says. “I hate it. But whatever, fine. I can’t make you share every shitty secret.” He leans forward. The butt wobbles under his serious face. “You hold back everything, though, don’t you? Hold back on yourself, too. How the hell do you expect to live like this?”
Izuku swallows thickly.
“Izuku, I don’t give a shit if you fuck a toy that looks like some random twink’s ass. But you sure seem to.”
“’S not some...random…” His mutter swallows itself.
“Izuku.”
“It’s not that simple. It’s not just a sex toy, okay?” He takes a breath. Another. Feels the air flood his lungs and recede like the ocean tide.
“Okay,” Kacchan says. “Then it’s not a just a sex toy.”
“Like—” Izuku grimaces. “This is so embarrassing.”
Kacchan reaches across the table. Izuku watches his hand, his arm, the web of hairless scar tissue stretching over his forearm as his palm lands between Izuku’s own. “There is nothing about you that I could find embarrassing.”
Ah. That’s a good point. Comes with the territory of knowing each other for so long, Izuku supposes. “I’ve...never really done stuff like that. With…” He nods at the disembodied posterior between them. What a ghoulish product. It does have cute balls, though. Admittedly. “S-so I wanted to try. But um. It wasn’t working? I couldn’t, um. I couldn’t do it.”
Kacchan’s eyes don’t leave him. There’s no judgment there, no impatience. No warmth, either. They are unreadable. There is an ass toy covered in stolen lube on the table.
“I never learned how to want the right way,” Izuku croaks, eyes stinging.
“That ain’t something that you’re taught,” Kacchan says.
“Well— It doesn’t come naturally to me, okay?”
Kacchan’s knuckles touch Izuku’s jaw, tilting it up. “Of course it comes naturally.”
Kacchan’s face is close. When did he get close? He’s leaning over the table. His eyes are red. His mouth is pink. Izuku’s tongue dries at the sight. “I’m the problem, then.” His eyes stick to Kacchan’s lips. “Something’s wrong with me, Kacchan.”
“Obviously,” Kacchan murmurs. “It ain’t whatever you’re thinking about, though.”
Izuku wets his lower lip. “…Then what’s wrong with me?”
Kacchan is so close. So achingly close. “You get too in your head.”
“Hard not to.” Izuku’s voice cracks slightly. “F-felt like I was trapped in my head, most of my life.”
Kacchan’s eyes soften. It isn’t the first time Izuku has seen this face, but it punches the air from his lungs the same as always. The softness is not gentleness, never that. It’s something rarer and sweeter, ties Izuku’s stomach in knots of longing. “I don’t really know how to talk about this kind of shit,” Kacchan says. “I don’t know all the right words. So I won’t go into it. But Izuku...You went through so much bullshit to get here. You gotta let it be worth it.”
“It is worth it.” The words are hot in Izuku’s mouth, tempered by years of having to prove how worth it all of this has been for him. Doctors and psychiatrists and healthcare bureaucrats at every step. The ever-present doubt behind the unsaid question: How badly do you actually need this?
“Then what’s holding you back?” Kacchan says, undeterred.
“Nothing is holding me back,” he snaps, leaning closer. Kacchan’s breath crests over the bridge of his nose.
“Coulda fooled me. If you want to do something, just do it.”
“I do. What are you—”
“Your sex toy.”
The words die in Izuku’s throat. Heat floods to replace them, esophagus molten.
“You wanna fuck this, right?” Kacchan slaps the ass. It wobbles. “Then fuck it.”
The silicone does not stop wobbling long after Kacchan retracts his hand, a perpetual motion machine with cute Kacchan-like balls jiggling merrily underneath. Everything Izuku has ever wanted feels depressingly touchable in this moment. If only. What’s holding you back?
“I wanna fuck you,” Izuku blurts.
Kacchan stiffens.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“That— Came out. Wrong.” Izuku covers his face, groaning. “Oh my gosh, that is not how I ever wanted my confession to go. Not in a million years. Start with I love you not with I want to fuck you! Stupid. So stupid!”
“You love me?”
“Ah!”
Kacchan pries Izuku’s raised elbows away from his ears. “Izuku.”
“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” he manages. “Oh my— This is not the time or place.”
His brow furrows. “When is the time or place?”
“Never! Nowhere!”
“Hah? You weren’t ever gonna tell me that?”
“Of course not!” His voice is shrill, panicked. “Kacchan, I value your friendship too much to intentionally ruin it! …And now I’ve just unintentionally ruined it. Oh no.”
“Who says you ruined it?”
Izuku’s heart slows. “…Me? Just now?”
“Well, I’m not saying that.”
“No, because I did?”
Kacchan closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Opens them again. “Izuku, this doesn’t ruin anything.”
He stares blankly at Kacchan. The ass continues to wobble in his periphery.
“I’m not good at this kind of shit,” Kacchan mutters. Then, “I… Same.”
“Same,” Izuku echoes.
“What you said. Same.”
“I— You want to fuck me?”
“Reverse that.”
Izuku feels like his skin is about to bubble off. Kacchan really…? Kacchan…?
Kacchan bares his teeth, shaking his head. “The bigger thing, too! Damn. The bigger thing is more important.”
The bigger thing. “You— You lo…” Izuku’s voice creaks under the weight of the concept.
“Yeah.” Kacchan swallows thickly. His hand returns to Izuku’s jaw. “Yeah. ’S mutual. Everything. So yeah.”
Izuku leans into the touch, heart swollen. “So...now what?”
The silicone ass doesn’t look any less stupid on the edge of Izuku’s bed. It also does not stop wobbling.
There is a much better—and more respectable—ass in the room, currently bent over while Kacchan deftly stuffs four lube-coated fingers into the toy in quick succession.
“I-it felt tight when I was, uh. Touching it earlier.” Izuku shifts. “Did I get the wrong size?”
“Should be fine. It’s pretty stretchy,” Kacchan replies. “Or—” He straightens, cheeks lightly flushed. “Stretchier than my own asshole. So.”
“Oh.” The thought of Kacchan’s asshole interrupts all other mental activity.
“Anyways.” Kacchan slaps the top of the toy. It jiggles. Of course. “It’s all ready.”
“Y-you sure about this? Just. This is kinda weird, right?”
“What’s weird about it? You want to fuck this thing. I want you to fuck this thing. Seems pretty cut and dry.”
He grimaces.
“Izuku.” Kacchan’s clean hand lands heavily on his shoulder. “If we both want to do this, then what is the fuckin’ problem?”
“Nothing. I guess.” His voice is faint. His whole body thrums. Kacchan and I are going to masturbate together. Feels like a dream. Stranger than a dream.
“Stop thinking. Undress.”
His hands fidget with the edge of his shirt for a second before tugging it off his body. He’d had more concerns to voice, but Kacchan’s instructions wiped those away with an unnerving authority.
Shirt off. That part is (almost) easy. Kacchan’s seen him shirtless; he’s seen Kacchan shirtless. No new territory. There is nothing to scared about, here.
It’s just them. Izuku and Kacchan. Two dudes who are best friends who also love each other, jerking off together. While one uses a masturbatory aid.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. He shoves down his boxers.
Nothing earth shattering happens. He’s just standing there with his underwear pooled around his feet, naked in his bedroom while Kacchan caps the lube with a loud click.
Izuku blinks. His attention catches on Kacchan removing his shirt. Kacchan has a beautiful body.
Very, very beautiful.
Izuku’s hand creeps down, carding through his pubes to find his erection. He sucks in a shuddering breath, thumb sliding along his cock. Scar tissue races up the side, rings the plump glans at the top. All the skin is smooth, warm under his palm. Unquestionably his, as seamless as it’s ever been.
There’s something charmingly mundane about it. His penis. Here, in the soft light of their apartment in contrast to the harsh cast of a hospital room. His body is no longer piecemeal or curiosity.
Kacchan is taking off his pants. Also underwear. Izuku reflexively squeezes himself tighter at the sight, swallowing a pathetic moan. His skin is soft under his crooked fingers, rigid at the center.
Kacchan’s back is lean and strong, well developed around his shoulders. Heat aches at the base of Izuku’s cock as Kacchan steps out of his clothes, turning back to him and—
Holy of holies.
Kacchan’s balls.
Izuku stares dumbly, mouth dry.
“What?” Kacchan asks.
“They’re very, um. Uh.” Izuku lifts his palm, cupping the air.
Kacchan just looks at him blankly, uncomprehending.
“IlikeyourballsalotKacchan.”
He blinks. “Oh.” His eyes sweep down. Izuku fidgets under the inspection, face grower redder when Kacchan looks back up. “You too. You have nice, uh. Balls.”
“Thanks,” he squeaks.
Kacchan looks at him like he wants him. Kacchan said that he does want him. “And a nice cock. Probably should have started with the cock, but you brought up balls. Do you seriously notice balls first?”
“Wh-what about it?”
He snorts. “Balls are stupid.”
“No! No, balls are. They’re…” Izuku’s neck is hot. “Kacchan’s balls are very cute.”
Kacchan arches a brow, shifting his cock—which is also incredibly cute at half mast—away to give Izuku a better view of his balls.
Which. Are. Perfect.
“Wow, you really are into balls. Huh.”
Izuku swallows back drool. “S-sorry.”
“Clearly not that sorry. Your dick’s twitching.”
His head whips down. His dick, indeed, twitches subtly before settling. “I— Didn’t even know it could do that,” he manages. “Unconscious pelvic floor contraction, probably? I—”
“Nerd out later.” Kacchan is very close. And naked. Naked Kacchan. “You got a show to give.”
Izuku’s mouth dries. “A show?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna fuck that toy for me.”
Izuku’s vision fades for a moment. For Kacchan.
Kacchan slides beside him, body heat bridging the scant gap of space between their bare bodies. “Can I touch?” Kacchan’s breath is hot against his face.
“Y-yeah,” he says, voice small.
Kacchan’s palm is soft, fingers long and sure as they wrap around Izuku’s hard cock.
Izuku squeaks, twisting away only to fall against Kacchan’s firm chest. Kacchan’s hand slides along his shaft with the motion, slick with lube. His nerves light sweetly with the gentle squeeze, his breath cradled in the hollow of his hanging mouth. “K-Ka…”
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” creaks from his dumb lips. It feels so much better than anything he’s ever tried before. The nerves are more sensitive. Maybe because Kacchan is touching him. But he knows it’s more than that. Everything feels connected in a way it never did before. Whole. Real.
It was a process to get here.
His hand reaches down, fingers lightly pinch near the tip of his cock, feeling the distance between his tip and the edge of the erection pump. He lets go when everything feels okay.
Kacchan holds the rest of him through his compulsive inspection. “You good?”
“I, um.” Izuku shifts. “I just. I don’t want to mess it up. Or mess me up, either.” He watches his cock hang over the glistening silicone hole of that stupid butt toy.
Kacchan squeezes his shoulder, an anchor.
Izuku takes a short breath. Then another.
“Think of it like training wheels,” Kacchan murmurs against his temple. “You can do whatever you want to this thing. ’S just a hunk of silicone. Can’t hurt it.”
“Training wheels,” Izuku echoes. “Um. For what?”
“What do you think?”
Heat curls in Izuku’s belly.
“Come on.” Kacchan’s hand pet his hips, like trying to calm a spooked horse.
“I don’t know, um. How to, um…”
“You do,” Kacchan says with a confidence that weakens Izuku’s knees. “Just do what comes naturally. Move.”
Naturally.
Izuku’s suppressed every natural impulse he’s ever had for most of his life. Ground his bones to a halt so many times that joints have started to stick. Girls don’t… Boys don’t… People don’t…
“C’mon. I’ll guide you.” Kacchan’s palm returns to his cock. It’s as much as shock as the first time. Izuku yelps, covering his face. He peeks through his fingers as Kacchan leads the head of his cock to the toy’s lubed entrance.
Izuku sucks in a shaky breath as his lashes flutter, pressing forward.
It’s tight. As the head of his cock slips inside, wet pressure sucks him further in. A low groan escapes his chest, lashes fluttering. His hands fly to the rubbery swell of the ass, squeezing hard.
“Good?” Kacchan asks.
Izuku grits his teeth, heart heavy in his chest. Good. More than good. It’s— So tight and wet and it’s wrapped all around his cock. His cock. Izuku’s…
He bottoms out, balls tapping against the toy’s. The touch jolts him. He pulls his hips back, feels the ribbed passage slide along the length of his cock. Immediately he thrusts back inside, jaw dropping. “F-fuu—!”
“That’s it.” Kacchan’s breath is hot against his face. “There you go. Good boy.”
Izuku whines, sweet heat in his limbs. Good boy. Good boy. It’s all he ever wanted, he realizes, hearing that from Kacchan’s lips.
Finally—finally—Izuku is a good boy.
Everything clicks into alignment. From the most basic to the finer details. Izuku, hard and wanting, his cheek cupped in Kacchan’s hand, right where he belongs.
This feels normal. It feels right. For the first time. Nothing too large or too small or ill-fitting. That same subtle recognition he’s had time and time again, of a weight removed.
Like he’s finally allowed to just be.
“Oh my gosh,” escapes him, overwhelmed. He sniffles, motions clumsier.
“Hey,” Kacchan says. “Hey, hey. What’s up?”
“It’s just—” Izuku gestures uselessly. “I’m actually doing this. I— I never knew if I ever would… I-it’s stupid, I know—”
“’S not stupid. Hey.”
Kacchan’s fingers guide his jaw, tilting him into a kiss. It’s wet, Izuku’s cheeks damp with tears, his lips rubbery with drool. Kacchan laps it all up regardless.
Izuku gasps, unable to quell his weeping. “Kacchan, Kacchan,” he manages. His first and last word.
Kacchan pries his mouth open, shoving his tongue deeper inside. It’s impossible to reciprocate; Izuku can only let him. Of course he does. He’s Kacchan’s good boy, after all.
His hips twitch, cock aching in the tight clasp of the toy. Kacchan’s good boy keeps his mouth open, panting thinly as Kacchan maps out his molars. Yours, yours, he thinks with foggy awe. All yours, Kacchan, always been yours.
He chases Kacchan’s mouth, whimpering. He wants to be conquered, wants to be owned absolutely. Wants to feel Kacchan in his mouth, Kacchan around his cock. Wants to shove his face between the gorgeous stretch of his thighs and bury his nose right against Kacchan’s perineum until he blacks out.
“You wanna fuck me?” Kacchan murmurs.
“Yeah, I wanna fuck you.” Izuku’s mouth is slack. He’s fixated on Kacchan. Kacchan’s face, Kacchan’s body, Kacchan’s scent. “I wanna fuck you so bad, Kacchan. Wanna… Always wanted to… To fuck you, open you up and cum in you and…” He shudders harshly.
“How’s it feel now? The toy?”
“G-good. S’good, tight and… and wet and…”
“You’re fucking that thing hard as shit. Bet you’d bruise me up real good, wouldn’t you?”
“I-if Kacchan wants, yeah, yuh-yeah, wanna...wanna fuck Kacchan so hard he can’t walk straight and he’s loose and…” Izuku groans, hearing a wet sound. “A-are you…?”
“Yeah,” Kacchan says. “Bet you’d like to open me up, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh huh.” Izuku doesn’t blink, staring dumbly at Kacchan’s smirking mouth. He wonders about the shape of Kacchan’s asshole, the exact dusky quality of the skin. He needs to know, feels the desire like burning, like hunger.
The toy is tight and pliant under his fingers, sending a sweet zap whenever he bottoms out. Forces him to shiver as he grinds himself against it, feels the tender juncture between cock and sack ache.
He humps harder, the bed frame rattling under the force. Every motion is automatic, every thought unrestrained. He wants to fuck Kacchan’s ass. He wants to fuck the toy, too, wants to keep doing this forever, wants to kiss Kacchan, wants, wants, wants.
“You gonna cum?” Kacchan’s hand dig into Izuku’s waist. “Gonna cum soon?”
Izuku whines uncertainly. “D-dunno, dunno what that feels like, dunno, ah…”
“Yeah, you’re gonna cum.” Kacchan’s voice is low, curling around Izuku’s brainstem.
He lets out a nervous laugh, high and wobbly. His hips don’t stutter, slamming hard into the toy. There is a precipice. He feels it in the drive of his body, his cock.
“Scared?” Kacchan’s lips brush against his, soft and damp.
“A little.”
“Don’t be. It’ll be good. And I’ve got you.” The fingers are tight around his body. Possessive. Supportive. Everything. “I’ve got you, Izuku.”
Izuku shudders. Tears leak from his eyes. “Kacchan, I love you. I wanna cum in your ass so bad.”
Kacchan barks out a laugh.
“Kacchan—”
His fingers snag Izuku’s jaw, steadying. “Do it,” he murmurs. “I’m close, too. Cum, Izuku.”
In this moment, everything is simple. Natural.
As ecstasy shakes him apart, Kacchan holds his pieces in alignment.
The release valve is a little to the right of where he remembers. Izuku watches his cock settle between his thighs, flaccid.
Kacchan readjusts, fluffing Izuku’s pillows before falling back onto them. “Come here.”
Izuku crawls over, automatic. He’d be more embarrassed if he weren’t still lulled by whatever haze had descended on him earlier. He settles against Kacchan, nestling into the crook of his arm. “Thanks,” he manages.
Kacchan grunts. “For what?”
“Just...everything. For doing that with me. For. For loving me.”
“Don’t ever thank me for that, dipshit.”
“I’m serious, though,” Izuku says. “This… All of this probably doesn’t look how you imagined it would. I know it doesn’t for me.”
Kacchan’s arm curls tighter around him, tugging him closer. “Stop being annoying. We’re not like all those losers; we find our own paths. Nothing wrong with that.”
There’s nothing wrong with it. This is true. But these are thorny paths, that tear at one’s skin.
“It’s just a way of being,” Kacchan says, softer. His palm finds the space between Izuku’s shoulder blades, warm. “I want you, Izuku. All of you. Hope someday you can want you, too.”
“I do,” he says, voice thin. “It took so much to get here. It wasn’t want, then, so much as desperation. I guess. And so that’s the only script I have. Shame and...and fear. Even now, when it’s all over. But… It’s good, now. Really. I think it’ll take time to stop being scared, but yeah.” It’s good. He’s still foggy with endorphins but he’s aware of this fact, tacky skin resting against Kacchan.
“Wish you’d just been honest about it from the start.”
Izuku grimaces. “About all my sexual anxieties? Kacchan.”
“Not that. Or— Well, you can. Now. Obviously. I just mean that you don’t gotta put on a brave face for me.” Kacchan pauses. “Neither of us has to do that when we’re at home. You gotta stop overthinking shit.”
Home. Izuku rests his ear over Kacchan’s chest. A hand continues to idly rub along his tacky spine. “Yeah.”
Home.
Izuku rolls the word around in his mouth to the beat of Kacchan’s heart.