A/N: 18+ only. BkDk. PWP.
Originally posted August 14th, 2021.
Kacchan couldn't sleep.
Not that he told Izuku that, of course—that isn't Kacchan. But it's there in his eyes. They lack their usual sparkle, like he rolled out of a sleepless bed and to their agency's door without so much as a sip of water. Maybe not even a blink.
That isn't to say that they aren't fiery as ever, though. Izuku catches a hint of that fire, that spark of ignition as he taps Kacchan's shoulder with a water bottle. Kacchan turns back, eyes narrowed and pinpricked in the harsh lighting of the agency's stairwell. The building's main elevator is attractive, with warm lights and three-sixty mirrors, but the stairwell is cold, unfinished. The light fixtures are bare, casting stark light against chipped white walls and stairs that are painted as gray as the concrete they're likely made of. Kacchan takes the water bottle and twists it open, downing a gulp.
"You don't always have to bring a wholeass duffle," Kacchan grumbles, wiping his mouth on a bare forearm. "Not like we planned this shit."
Kacchan's voice echoes hollowly in the stairwell, hitting Izuku from all sides.
"I keep it in my car, Kacchan," Izuku says, as he has before. So I'm always prepared.
"Tch."
Of course, an early-morning excursion like this is never planned. But they're hardly uncommon either. If they were, perhaps Izuku would sleep with his phone on silent, but he never does. Instead, it was on its ringer tonight so that when he picked up the call, he could hear from Kacchan's breaths whether he had a nightmare or just an ordinary restless night. He was the one who got to hear Kacchan's sleep-deprived morning voice scrape out, "Let's go," before he hung up and Izuku rolls out of bed by rote.
When they reach the top, Kacchan throws both palms flat against the door's push bar, water bottle cradled lazily in the crook of his arm. The door is pushed open with such force that Izuku can walk through, duffle bag and all, before it slams back shut behind them.
The world past the agency's roof is blue. That perfect medium shade of azure that could color the sky at high noon on a cloudless day, or now at not even five in the morning as it drenches the rest of the city in that cool hue. It coats Kacchan in shades of gray, everything but his eyes and his black clothes. His shorts are a plain jersey material hanging down to just above his knees while the cotton of his tank is creased across Kacchan's chest, like maybe these are the clothes he slept in. If Izuku could lift Kacchan's shirt, he'd be able to see if there are twin creases along Kacchan's skin and find out.
Izuku drops his bag by the door, as far from the action as possible. He and Kacchan are agreed on no quirks, but that doesn't guarantee safety for Izuku's stuff.
That's why they're relegated to the roof, after all. Their gym access was frozen months ago after one too many holes in the wall. Izuku doesn't remember if that last one was one of Kacchan's explosions or Izuku's Fa Jin. What he does remember was Kacchan asking what kind of idiot didn't reinforce a gym intended for quirk use better and that when they opened up their own agency the walls would be indestructible.
Their own agency. Maybe some day.
"Yo, what're you smiling for?" Kacchan grouses, arms over his head as he stretches a bulging tricep. "You ain't got an advantage today, so I'd warm up if you want to land a hit on me, shithead."
Izuku's smile doesn't go away, but he does fold one arm behind his back and press on the elbow with his other hand, mirroring Kacchan. Mornings like this always have Kacchan grouchier than usual—and who can blame him? He probably got two, maybe three hours of sleep, if that. Izuku can read from the circles, painted blue in the summer's dawn light, that it was a worse night than most. And his breathy voice over the phone had screamed nightmare.
But Izuku is the one he calls on days like this. That's the important part. Even if it's just because Izuku can put up the best fight—he'll take it. Besides, Kacchan always answers his pre-dawn calls too. It's become a ritual, perhaps out of necessity. Every couple of weeks, one of them can't sleep. And just like that, they find themselves on the roof, a half translucent moon winking down at them.
As Izuku moves down to stretch his lower body, he already feels the tacky promise of sweat clinging to his body. Night is only just lifting from Kanto, and it's leaving dew point behind, sticking the night's humidity under Izuku's cotton shirt. The night's coolest point has come and gone and, despite the roof's pleasant breeze, the summer day to come will only get hotter from here.
"Okay, let's do this," Kacchan says, clapping his hands together and walking farther out on the roof.
There are bricks making up the walls behind them, almost purple in the blue morning light, framing the pale cement squares under their sneakers. It is hardly the space to spar if one can't afford any more scrapes and bruises, but it's the best place they Izuku and Kacchan to get away in the city. Anything can be private between four and five AM, but nothing is theirs but this rooftop.
Izuku stretches the fingers on his crooked right hand a last time and nods his head. He strikes a ready pose, legs grounded, hands in front. "Ready when you are."
Kacchan takes that as go and lunges. Sparring quirkless always makes everything slow to Izuku's trained eye, so he dodges, kicking off the wall and going past Kacchan to strike from behind. Kacchan ducks and rolls, hitting his bare arm against the concrete as lightly as he can before he's back on his feet, ready to dodge another hit.
That's the thing—they can avoid each other forever, Izuku has learned. They've fought each other too much, studied each other's moves step for step. At some point, they have to meet each other head on.
Izuku leaves himself open for just a second, and Kacchan takes the opportunity to slug him in the shoulder. Izuku twists into the punch, pivots behind, and kicks Kacchan square in the back. When Kacchan turns around, a grin is split wide across his face. The true Kacchan has awoken.
From then on, they're grappling in close combat. Even the city is quiet at this hour; none of the usual noises are reaching up to the roof. There was nothing beyond the steady drone of the HVAC units elsewhere on the roof and the regular intervals of skin impacting on skin or their increasingly sweaty clothes.
There's really no need to go all out like this. The two of them already train all the time and are usually nursing some kind of injury, even if it's just bruises or sore muscles. So now, in the middle of the night by most counts, they could just be having an easy match. A little energy exertion so that it'll be easier to sleep tonight.
That's never how it is.
Ever since high school, that first late-night battle at Ground Beta, Izuku has known that Kacchan won't take anything but one hundred percent from Izuku. And somehow, afterwards, there is always a kind of calm between them. Or around them. Izuku will always give that to Kacchan, middle of the night or not.
Izuku grabs Kacchan's leg, stopping a kick that was aiming square for his face, and uses the momentum to swing Kacchan through the air, letting go so that Kacchan soars on his back toward the building's walls. Kacchan sails past the protective wall between the roof and the sheer drop down the building's façade. But there's no reason to worry. Izuku's Danger Sense doesn't even prick—it never does when fighting with Kacchan—and Kacchan uses one, two explosions to make it back to the roof.
But he doesn't stop there. When he touches down, he jumps right back up, arms behind him as he uses another explosion to fly toward Izuku, one leg outstretched for a kick. Izuku blocks, grabbing the foot in his hand again, but it slips out as Kacchan fires three explosions to go over Izuku's head before landing a fist in his side.
"We said no quirks!" Izuku wheezes as he spins around, reaching for Kacchan's arm, but Kacchan's too fast.
"No quirks and I'd be a fucking ant splatted on the ground, asshat," Kacchan says, his words sounding the most joyous they have all morning. "Then how would you sleep at night?"
Izuku might have shot something back about this particular fight being about Kacchan's sleep, but Izuku just as frequently calls Kacchan to appear on this roof at blue hour. So there's nothing to do but let One For All dance across his skin, serving him better than any morning coffee, and ready himself for phase two of battle.
"Bring it on, Kacchan."
This feels like a real battle, Izuku thinks as he jumps over Kacchan with One For All eight percent. Not because it's more serious or dangerous, but because this is the speed that Izuku is used to. He steps away from Kacchan's flying punch ten times quicker than he could quirkless, his brain working at top capacity to predict Kacchan's moves. He falters when Kacchan fires two explosions at close range, the glowing orange tearing through the blue of the morning. Izuku's irises hurt as they contract—one thing that One For All can't speed up—but he manages to take the hit and return a powered-up punch to Kacchan's chest.
There are a couple minutes of Izuku giving as good as he gets, each man landing hits, slowly building up damage, but neither of them dealing out finishers. Sweat drips down Izuku's buzzed-short sideburns, and his shirt is plastered to his chest. Meanwhile, Kacchan's chest and arms are glistening, catching the light of every explosion he lets off.
"Come on!" Kacchan shouts after he lands another hit on Izuku. "This really all you got, Symbol of Peace?"
Sparring quirklessly against Kacchan is a fair battle. Sparring against Kacchan's quirk with just All Might's original One For All is more or less fair as well. Sparring against Kacchan with all six of his other quirks?
Well, he asked for it.
Blackwhip comes out, almost on its own. It wraps around Kacchan's legs and pulls, making him fall back toward the hard concrete. Kacchan fires explosions behind him instinctually, not only catching himself, but also shooting himself in the air.
That doesn't lose Blackwhip, though. Kacchan is still tied up and Izuku reels him in closer while Kacchan fights his control with explosions. It's like Kacchan's power is infinite in the summer. He produces all the sweat he could possibly need, so the only thing that wears down is his own physical endurance. Which, of course, Kacchan has in spades.
While Izuku has a hold on Kacchan, he starts working his legs with repeated motions. Kacchan sees what he's doing and begins firing AP Shots, which burst past a dodging Izuku, cracking a few concrete squares below his feet. It's probably not enough damage to ban them from the roof as well as the gym, but Izuku figures that the quicker they end the match, the better.
He releases the energy stored in his legs and shoots up with one, ricocheting off the brick wall with the other, flying toward Kacchan. Before he can land his kick, though, Kacchan is moving in, twisting himself in towards Izuku with Blackwhip, arms held in front of him to fire at close range.
Time slows when wielding One For All. The moment where Kacchan is twisting in on himself, taking aim, stretches in Izuku's mind, almost freezing once Kacchan is in close. In that second, Izuku activates Float, and it's like they're both weightless—not just Izuku—suspended in midair at the top of the city. Kacchan's face is inches from his, panting but grinning, not a speck of nightmare visible on his face. Their chests bump together on the inhale, legs tangled, Kacchan's bare, callused hands rising up.
Izuku blinks.
Just as Kacchan's about to blast his face to hell and gone, Izuku throws both hands behind him and flicks his fingers, activating Air Force. Air Force has long been an even match against Kacchan's explosions in propelling both men through the air, at least when Izuku's wearing his support gloves. They're both without any of their usual support gear this morning, but he's caught Kacchan off guard, and they're hurtling toward the ground before Kacchan can pull off a counter explosion. Izuku releases Float almost entirely until they're nearly at the ground, then just eases into it, slowing them before impact.
Still, his bones rattle upon landing, even as Kacchan is the one flat on the concrete below him. It was a good hit, but not one to properly injure either of them. At full force, it would have been the kind of move to finish a villain off once and for all.
For a moment, Izuku just breathes, One For All crackling off his body until it's dissipated, leaving the world at normal speed again. Which, in this moment—as Izuku hovers on all fours over Kacchan, breaths heaving, heart pounding—is glacial.
Kacchan breathes heavily as well, his chest making a show of it out from under his tank top. The creeping sunlight rolls over the swell of his pecs, catching the sweat in flashes of white that are obscene against soft blue glow of morning. He licks his lips, and Izuku looks down at them.
"You went easy, you bastard," Kacchan pants, drawing Izuku's eyes back up. "You're supposed to go all out."
Izuku barely processes the words. Is the match over? He's pinned Kacchan, but Kacchan isn't trying to get up. Kacchan would never let Izuku win a match—nor would Izuku do likewise. Neither of them are satisfied with a draw. He looks at Kacchan, but there's nothing to read there. His face isn't showing anything but the effort of steadying after their exertion—drawn brows relaxing, lips closing as their breaths become more shallow, less shared. Izuku draws closer.
Kacchan swallows. "What are you doing?"
"I'm…"
Kacchan's eyes are bright again. Even if neither of them won, it's technically mission accomplished; Izuku doesn't have to do any more. He doesn't have to, but that urge still pulls at him, that draw to do something more.
Izuku drops further still, his elbows bending until he's bracketing Kacchan in against the concrete. Kacchan's breaths are soft puffs again, breathing over the beads of sweat dotting Izuku's face. That scent of brine is all over Kacchan too, partnered with the lingering sweetness from his hands and the acrid scent of smoke that always sticks to their clothes, their hair. Kacchan tastes like…
He leans the rest of the way down.
Salt is first. Kacchan's upper lip is coated in it and Izuku licks it off straight away, feeling his taste buds tingle in delight. He invites their tongues to touch next, and then there's bitterness—the lingering taste of green tea that Kacchan had likely brewed in a last attempt to sleep the morning away. He probably could have smelled it on Kacchan's breath during that early phone call if he'd been there.
Izuku doesn't know why he gets to do this. Why Kacchan opens his mouth for Izuku to taste. Why he willingly lifts his head when Izuku moves to put his hand behind it, guarding him just that much from the concrete below them. It's not the first time, but it's one of only a few stolen moments, and in the in between, Izuku has never been able to work it out.
He wonders if Kacchan has been able to work out Izuku's side.
Before he can ponder it, he finds his shoulder being shoved, and then he lands hard on his back, the wind nearly knocked out of him. The front of his hair is gripped in Kacchan's hand, saving him from bumping his head on the concrete. For a second, Izuku wonders if that's it, if this is the moment he's going to find out that this—their trysts—has been a mistake, and this is where it ends.
Instead, Kacchan says, "Look alive, number one," and dives in to kiss him again, this time on top.
Kacchan takes charge, wrapping his hands hotly around Izuku's wrists and pressing them into the concrete so that Izuku can feel every bump of rough texture imprinting on his skin. His hips roll against Izuku's, and Izuku is suddenly very aware of how loose the shorts both of them are wearing, the thin fabrics they both chose on this August day. If he can feel Kacchan's heart beating against his own, then what else…
Izuku's face flushes. Whatever come down he was experiencing when they landed on the ground is reversing, sweat forming again along his hairline, breaths desperate every time Kacchan pulls away to change the lock of their lips.
He wants this. Izuku hasn't the faintest notion what Kacchan's thinking, but he knows that he wants this. He doesn't want it to stop.
Izuku drags one rubber sole of his sneaker against the concrete, his knee bending and brushing against Kacchan's rocking hip. He pushes it against the curve of Kacchan's ass, feeling the slick jersey material stick to the sweat on his skin. Kacchan takes the encouragement in stride, grinding more directly into Izuku's groin, and Izuku groans, the sound loud even to his own ears as their lips separate and the sound falls out unmuffled. Kacchan chuckles.
"Like that?"
"Kacchan," Izuku whines, rolling his hips up. "Please."
"Please what?" Kacchan asks sardonically as he pulls away just the slightest bit. "We can't do anything on the fucking roof."
Izuku's arms sparkle with energy as he moves like lightning to grab the sleeves of Kacchan's tank top, pulling them back eye to eye. One of Kacchan's hands drags against the concrete, but he doesn't so much as wince as his chest nearly collapses on Izuku's. He lets it happen, his eyes narrow with questions.
"We can," Izuku says quickly, the possibilities of it pouring through his mind quicker than he can speak. "No one in their right mind is up this early—certainly no one has a reason to come to the roof. No one will ever hear us up here—no one ever has to know! I can use Smokescreen, I have Danger Sense—there's no risk and we're here. We're here and I…"
I need you.
Kacchan tries to pull away again, but Izuku's grip hasn't loosened. If he really wants, Kacchan can push Izuku's hands away, but instead, his neck just curls, chin jutting in towards his chest. "But we've never—We don't have any stuff."
"I do," Izuku says quickly. "In my bag."
Kacchan eyes him narrowly again. "Why the fuck do you have stuff in your bag?"
"I just…I think about it. With you."
He's been thinking about it. Maybe for forever. But the bag didn't get packed until a couple kisses ago, when Kacchan had pinned Izuku against a wall in an alley after a good fight, smelling just a bit more smoky than he did now, with the metallic tang of blood just under the surface. They were pressed together from their knees to their lips, the world around them the opposite of the way it was now. It was loud and alive, but not as alive as Izuku felt in that moment. A foggy part of his brain thought this is it. This is when I give myself to Kacchan.
Of course, it wasn't. Moments later, Kacchan pulled away and smacked Izuku on the shoulder, saying, "Look sharp, nerd." He walked away while Izuku remained plastered against the wall for some moments more, peeling himself off only after imagining his and Kacchan's first time a couple dozen times.
They aren't even together. Not officially. But from that moment on, if not ages beforehand, it was inevitable. He doesn't need words with Kacchan, not when he has so much else.
And Izuku was going to be prepared when the moment came where he finally got everything.
"With…" Kacchan says, his voice trailing away.
It's like gravity, Kacchan's lips coming back to Izuku's. Something automatic, something unavoidable. Kacchan comes in to him, yet Izuku's grip on Kacchan's tank only gets tighter. He can't help but be thirsty for more with Kacchan, to constantly pull him closer, taste him deeper. He pursued Kacchan from a distance for so long that now that he's in reach, he can't help but grab for him, fumble and grasp for every part that he can touch. And Kacchan lets him.
Still, Izuku's the one who pulls away, which is difficult to do when his head is already against the concrete, the press of Kacchan's lips incessant and insistent.
"If we do…" Izuku pants, "we need the stuff. Should I…Should I?"
He searches Kacchan's eyes as silence looms in the narrow space between them. This is it. Izuku's hand outstretched.
"Yeah," Kacchan says finally, rolling to the side, off of Izuku. "Yeah, you should."
Izuku gapes for barely a second, but Kacchan, already impatient, scoffs.
"What, do I gotta say it again? Go, before I change my mind!"
"I'm going!" Izuku says, hopping up. He sprints powered up strides the few meters back to his bag. As he does so, he looks over his shoulder and calls, "You can change your mind, though!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Kacchan calls back.
Izuku rifles through his bag as quickly as possible, feeling for the plastic wrapping of the unopened condoms and lube. They both fell to the bottom of his bag, and the corners of the condom box were smashed in, but it only takes a few moments to pull them both back out heroically and run back to Kacchan.
They collide, Izuku all but barreling into Kacchan's lap, knocking Kacchan on his back again. Izuku eagerly takes off his shirt, and after he throws it off, he's met with Kacchan's eyes glaring up at him. They also glimpse down at Izuku's bare chest for just a moment before looking up again, glinting daggers.
"Keep smashing me into concrete and see how far you get, shithead."
"I'm not sure," Izuku says, hiding his smile as he pulls at the serrated tab on the lube. "I don't think I'd mind if you threw me around a little."
Izuku spares a glance at Kacchan just long enough to see his eyes widen. Then he hears the barking laugh. "Filthy freak."
He tosses the loose plastic under his discarded shirt so that it doesn't blow away, pressing his lips together as his smile threatens to grow. "Maybe."
If wanting Kacchan for as long as he has, in all the ways that he has, so much so that he'll jump at the opportunity to have him on a blue rooftop makes him a freak, he'll take it. He doesn't have the words to express what it is to want so much, so badly, but he does want. He wants everything all the time, over and over again. The possibility of satiation doesn't exist.
Kacchan has sat up properly again and thrown his own sweaty top to the ground. "Aren't we gonna want these when your back is on the fucking concrete?"
"What makes you think I'll be the one on my back?" Kacchan blanches—the first time Izuku has managed to pull full, mortified surprise out of him yet. Izuku laughs. "Kidding, Kacchan."
A heavy sigh of relief rolls through Kacchan's chest, and the way that he turns away from Izuku doesn't hide it. "Yeah, yeah."
"Really, it's more important to me to feel you," Izuku murmurs, blushing as his honesty pours out untampered, unchecked. "I don't care about anything else."
Kacchan glances up at him. "Fuckin' sap." He gestures in toward himself. "Come 'ere."
Izuku kneels to straddle Kacchna's lap again, this time without threat of landing the other man on his back. They meet in another kiss, this one tender, not particularly heated, before Izuku opens the box of condoms and takes one out.
"Already?" Kacchan asks dubiously.
Izuku rips the foil and rolls the condom loosely on two fingers. It won't be the most comfortable thing ever, but after their grappling match, Izuku figures it's wiser to use the condom to open himself up than go without.
Kacchan nods in understanding to Izuku's raised eyebrows and thumbs his hands around the elastic of Izuku's shorts and boxers, pulling them down below the crease of Izuku's ass. His front is still covered, but not exactly discrete as his boner points proudly toward Kacchan's stomach. Then Kacchan's palms drag through the light layer of sweat on Izuku's bare sides, drawing up his back and bumping over shoulder blades until his hands find their destination in Izuku's hair. It's shorter than it was in high school, but still has enough length on top for Kacchan to grip and pull Izuku's mouth down to his again. They kiss once and Kacchan pulls back with half a smirk.
"Distraction," he says simply.
Izuku is happy to lean into it, letting Kacchan nibble his lip for a moment before he has to look away to drizzle lube on his covered fingers. He moves quickly to press his fingers between the cleft of his ass, not wanting to spill onto the ground below. That's probably the part that stands to be the most embarrassing about all of this: leaving evidence. Everyone who uses this roof has a good eye and a critical mind and Izuku almost can't bear the thought of being found out that way.
Almost.
As he hopes that the blue sky might give way later to rain to wash away his shame, Izuku breaches his hole with one finger. He bends the other just at the first knuckle, feeling the slight stretch of the condom and trying not to rip it. He doesn't want to go straight in with two, but he'll have to soon enough because of how he's situated things. He's never fingered himself through a condom before, and it's a little more awkward and uncomfortable than he'd like it to be. But at the same time, he wants to prioritize taking his time so that things can be as perfect with Kacchan as possible.
Kacchan's been kissing him through it, but he breaks away suddenly, running a thumb through the wrinkles and sweat between Izuku's eyebrows. Izuku's eyes blink slowly open and see a thoughtful expression on Kacchan's face. Not one of hard concentration, with his brow deeply furrowed beneath his bangs, but rather of simple wondering. Kacchan looks beautiful like this, when his face is at ease, unstressed.
"You ever done this before?"
"With myself," Izuku says simply. He doesn't know exactly which this Kacchan intended to invoke, but figures that'll cover his bases. He presses a second finger in, shifting just slightly in Kacchan's lap. "You?"
"Mm," is all he gets out of Kacchan. The tiniest hum and a single nod of his head. Same, it says to Izuku.
He suspected as such, and Kacchan assuredly had too. It's crazy to think that Izuku would somehow intuitively know that Kacchan lost his virginity if that happened along the way, but that's what it feels like. That there's no way that Kacchan could go through something so fundamental without Izuku also knowing. They went through everything else that way, after all.
Seemingly buoyed by that statement, Kacchan leans up again to catch Izuku's lips, and Izuku meets him, taking his free hand to run through Kacchan's damp hair.
It's amazing how dark Kacchan's hair gets when wet. He's always such an unquestionable blond, but when wet, those ashy tones turned it to a soft brown. Right now it's dark like that just at the roots, lightening to that pale spun gold at the still sharp tips. He's just so gorgeous in every form, in every way. Izuku pulls him closer so that their chests stick together. So that Kacchan's dick, poking easily against his jersey shorts, rubs teasingly against Izuku's lower abs. He grinds against it, trying to get a feel for what it might be like inside him, but he has no clue. He has no clue, but his heart is flipping, leaping at the prospect of finding out.
Izuku pulls his fingers out and slips a third into the condom before slowly returning them. He's been practicing this for ages, all leading up to this moment, embodying every level of preparation he could manage. Three fingers are no problem at this point, and he jolts in Kacchan's arms as he brushes against his prostate by accident.
"Fuck," Kacchan growls as Izuku bites his lip, managing to keep relatively quiet. "Tell me you're almost ready, Deku. You look so fucking good like this."
That draws even more noise out of him than the previous touch of pleasure did. Izuku whines straight into Kacchan's ear, pushing up harder, more desperately, against his clothed cock.
He suddenly feels like a dying man, treated to his first sip of water after too long parched. Kacchan's voice like this—low, raspy, admiring—is paradise. He wants to hear it, wants to earn it, wants to return it.
Izuku stretches his fingers inside, reaching as deep as he can maneuver. He feels good, relaxed, perhaps overeager. It's just about the most he can do with things being as slapdash as they are, so he pulls out and drops the condom inside out on his shirt. The feeling he's left with is one of wanting to be filled immediately, of wanting to lower himself onto Kacchan before his body can get the chance to forget the sensation of being stretched. But Kacchan still has his pants on.
"Yes," Izuku says belatedly, hurriedly. He almost forgot that Kacchan asked him a question. "I'm ready, please, Kacchan, I'm so ready for this."
Kacchan wastes no time in pushing onto his knees, automatically knocking Izuku back towards the concrete. But his hands are broad and gentle on Izuku's back, lowering him slowly to the ground. Surprisingly, Kacchan hasn't been as bold through this as Izuku might have expected. Kacchan is so confident in everything that he does, such a good leader through any situation that Izuku was prepared to take the backseat to Kacchan's lead. But maybe this is just another instance where Izuku is the only person to witness a rare moment of Kacchan's uncertainty. The person lucky enough to know all the different sides of Kacchan.
He is confident, though, as he takes off his pants and Izuku pulls his own off the rest of the way. Then the uncertainty is just behind the surface in Kacchan's face again. Izuku can feel the weight of it. The questions of if they should wait until they're official to do this, if he should just go ahead and ask Kacchan to be official now, or if maybe they should wait until they're not on the roof of their workplace to have their first time.
But Kacchan is looking Izuku in the eye as he asks the more important question:
"Are you sure?"
Izuku nods eagerly, the short hair of his undercut doing little to protect his scalp from the concrete. He's sure that he's made his opinion of the matter obvious this whole time, but he still goes ahead and says, "So sure, Kacchan. Really, really sure. Are…you?"
Kacchan's eyes narrow just the slightest bit, not more than an eyelash's worth, and Izuku immediately puts his fingers to Kacchan's mouth, hushing him before he gets the chance to say anything.
"You can say no," he says hurriedly, trying to squeak it in before Kacchan's walls go up. "For any reason. Any reason's a good reason and—and I know that we haven't talked about this, but I just felt like we were heading this direction—"
Kacchan's hand lands on Izuku's mouth, covering his much more fully than Izuku's fingertips are doing to Kacchan. His eyes are narrowed, but his face isn't hard. No walls.
"Your hand smells like latex."
Izuku flushes, realizing that the hand he was using is the one that was wearing the condom. He drops it from Kacchan's mouth and Kacchan continues.
"Of course I can say no, bastard. But that wasn't what I was gonna say." Kacchan's eye contact breaks and the next thing he says is much quieter, even as their faces are mere inches away from each other. "That was never what I was gonna say."
"Mo mmpf?" Izuku asks, his voice well and truly blocked by Kacchan's sweet-smelling hand.
Kacchan removes his hand and looks at Izuku in complete bemusement. Izuku repeats himself.
"So, yes?"
"Fuckin'—" Kacchan rolls his eyes and kisses Izuku hard. Perhaps a little too hard against the rough concrete below, but Izuku isn't about to complain. But before he can properly settle into the kiss, Kacchan pulls back and says, "Yes."
And then they're kissing again.
The first time their dicks touch each other bare, Izuku is worried he's going to come right away. It's like the heat of the rising morning has zinged through him all at once, leaving him one degree from peaking. It isn't even the potential embarrassment that makes Izuku's jaw clench in an effort to control himself. It's the heartbreaking thought of this being over sooner than he'd like, too fast for him to commit every detail of Kacchan in the throes of passion to memory. That would be truly criminal.
The next time they touch, it's more purposeful, Kacchan grinding against Izuku, leaving sticky spots on their bellies from where they're leaking precum. In an effort to get things moving, Izuku fumbles for the box of condoms and pulls out a second wrapper. He tears it open and then starts running the backs of his knuckles down the hard planes of Kacchan's stomach until he reaches the wiry hairs at the bottom. Izuku doesn't trust himself to roll the condom on by touch alone, so he breaks away from Kacchan to look, in turn getting his first good view of Kacchan's cock.
It's flush from base to tip, shiny just where the slit pokes out from the foreskin. It doesn't look much different than Izuku's own, if he's honest, but the fact that it's Kacchan's makes him want to lick it, suck it, love it.
All in due time, Izuku reminds himself, and he hurries to hide the sight under the semi-opaque green condom.
"Ready," Izuku says.
As Kacchan takes his cock in hand and reaches for the lube to slick himself up, Izuku realizes just how tense he's become again. He's wrung tight with anticipation and has to take care to relax every individual muscle again. It's all he can do not to clench up when he feels Kacchan positioning himself at his entrance, but Izuku just breathes instead. He closes his eyes in a slow blink, and looks back at Kacchan when he opens them again. That soft expression is back on Kacchan's face, and the sudden flipping of Izuku's stomach again makes it harder to breathe deep, but maybe that's okay.
"Ready," Kacchan repeats.
And just like that, he's pushing in, and the first thought Izuku has is how different it is. So different from fingers. What once was pointed and irregular is now round and even, perfectly tapered as the head pushes past Izuku's rim.
Kacchan's eyes are on Izuku the whole time, waiting for even the tiniest flicker to indicate that Izuku wants to stop. It would probably take that little for Kacchan to put on the breaks; he'd probably feel unsure that Izuku would actually say stop when he needed to, that he'd try to push through. Maybe that's true, but as it is, there's no part of Izuku that wants to stop. So he puts his hands on both of Kacchan's cheeks and pulls him close, drawing them forehead to forehead. Kacchan's eyes are almost too close to see now, but they bore into him nevertheless. And likewise, Izuku's are focused on Kacchan's, saying: don't stop, keep going, I want you, I need you.
I have you.
When Kacchan has nearly pushed in as far as he can go, Izuku draws his knees back, allowing Kacchan just that centimeter more of closeness, so that Kacchan's hips are flush against Izuku's ass. So that they're as close as they can possibly be.
"Feel okay?" Kacchan asks, a new breathiness taking over his usual rasp and growl.
Izuku brushes his fingertips through Kacchan's damp hairline and nods his head, causing them to rock together. "Mm-hmm."
He can only hum because if he were to open his mouth, he's not sure what would come out. Cries, moans, whimpers—probably a waterfall of words he'd have no control over. But he doesn't want that level of overwhelm at the moment. Not yet. He wants to savor this, clear minded, for just a second.
It's perfect.
And then he can hardly stand it.
"Fuck, Deku," Kacchan groans, clearly reaching his breaking point as well. "You're so fucking tight."
Izuku's impulse is to apologize, but he knows that complaint isn't the nature of Kacchan's comment, despite the tone. Instead he says, "Move, Kacchan, please—I have to feel you."
The next groan from Kacchan carries more relief, his forehead pulling from Izuku's as he draws his hips back and thrusts back in, doubling the speed from that first measured go. There's little real impact as Kacchan seats himself fully inside Izuku again, but already Izuku can feel the concrete pressing into the bare skin of his back.
A part of him likes it. A part of him wants to be wrecked by this experience, wants scratches on his back for days. Just as the scars on his arms serve as reminders of when he wasn't strong enough, he wants new marks to paint his skin with memories of him and Kacchan. Just the thought of it has Izuku running his fingers past Kacchan's neck, making him shiver, and down to his back where he just begins to press his short nails into Kacchan's muscles. His right fingertips trace the mottled skin of Kacchan's shoulder scar for just a second, the same way his eyes linger on those spots in the locker room. Kacchan leans down again and kisses Izuku's neck, just behind his jaw. It's slow and tender—a comforting gesture. Izuku tears his fingers away and scratches feather light stripes down Kacchan's spine.
Kacchan seems to have set a pace now, and it's slow, careful. Not trepidatious, as every stroke feels calculated and certain. But past that, it's the polar opposite of the battle they'd just been having. In another time, Izuku might say that there's something loving about it, from the gentle thrusts to the thoughtful kisses. But right now he'll just say that it's good. His cock is hard and weeping against his stomach, being brushed on some thrusts by Kacchan's clenched abs. It feels amazing.
But at the same time, he wants more.
He can't put words to it besides that. He needs more, he needs everything, and so maybe that's why, instead of asking for it, he goes ahead and lets his arms spark with power and flips Kacchan onto his back, seating himself on top.
"Fuck!" Kacchan calls out reflexively.
Izuku can't help but agree. He winces a little at the jostling the maneuver caused in his ass, and has to wiggle a little to get comfortable again, but then he feels it. Power. Control. A little bit of sexiness. He looks down at Kacchan, who is serving him a glare that only proves to get him harder.
"Thought I said that you'd see how far you got if you kept hitting me into the fucking ground, Deku."
"I think I've gotten pretty far, Kacchan," Izuku says, rolling his hips. Kacchan's expression immediately twists and Izuku can't help but feel the elation bubble up inside him. He bends down, leaning over Kacchan, unable to keep the grin off his face as he whispers, "I also said I was kidding about you being on your back."
Kacchan's narrowed eyes don't change much, but his lips, swollen and pink from kissing, curl up. "Sly motherfucker."
Izuku lifts up on his knees and sinks back down, and thinks yeah, maybe I am.
He finds the pace that Kacchan set before and then goes about shifting around, searching for that best spot within him. It's elusive, harder to aim for without the dexterity of fingers, but Izuku is determined. At one point, Kacchan reaches for Izuku's hips to keep them steady and Izuku smacks them back to the ground, green lightning flying from his body.
It was reflexive, unplanned, and Izuku's eyes are wide as he looks down at Kacchan, hands over his head. "Sor—" Izuku starts, but then he stops short.
Kacchan's eyes are wide, nearly entirely taken up by dilated pupils. His cheeks are flush, every spot of skin is shimmering with sweat from the exertion of being on top. But now, save for his heaving breaths, he's not moving at all.
In a fight, Kacchan would never take a hit from Izuku without firing back as good as he got, but the sweat on his hands is pooling unignited. Not that Izuku expects to be blasted to hell during sex, but still—Kacchan is surprisingly pliant.
Izuku keeps his eyes on Kacchan as he hesitantly wraps his fingers around Kacchan's wrists, more obviously keeping them in place. Kacchan's expression never changes, never closes off into something that would tell Izuku that he doesn't want this. So, slowly, Izuku presses up again and sinks back down. Kacchan remains still.
Except for his fingers. They're clenching and unclenching just slightly, like a cat when it purrs and kneads at the air as it dreams. Izuku unwraps his fingers and moves them a couple centimeters up so that he's palm to palm with Kacchan, their fingers automatically intertwining. The hard concrete scratches against Izuku's knuckles, but he doesn't mind. It's nothing compared to the damp warmth of Kacchan's hands—just another way he can hold on tight to the other man.
On Izuku's next thrust, he feels it. A sharp twinge of pleasure as he seats himself on Kacchan's cock, and it nearly makes him yelp. He hits it again, more directly, and his eyes wet just around the lower lashes. The fullness Izuku feels is nearly enough to make him cry on its own, pleasure or no. He isn't sure there's any way to make it out of this encounter without crying at least once.
He just might do it now. His cheeks are hot the way they are only when he's crying, embarrassed, or kissing Kacchan. Whatever morning chill the air was carrying earlier seems to have disappeared as the heat spreads to his ears, to his neck where Kacchan kissed him, and down to his chest where it begins to pump through his whole body.
Kacchan's jaw works, like he's about to ask a question, but thinks better of it and instead thrusts up hard. Izuku almost comes right there but clenches his teeth and keeps riding Kacchan. He can't tell if Kacchan is close—they don't know each other's cues well enough yet—but he doesn't want to finish until Kacchan is at least close. He and Kacchan have always struggled to take steps in tandem in their lives and for once, for this, he wants them in lockstep.
"Kacchan, please—" Izuku whimpers, not quite sure what he's asking for.
"Give me—fuck," Kacchan struggles against one of Izuku's hands, but Izuku powers up One For All in just that arm reflexively. He almost wails through it, holding onto Kacchan with a death grip as Kacchan is now pumping up from below into him. Into his perfect spot. "Dammit, Deku, give me my fucking hand back."
Izuku releases the hand as easily as he'd taken hold of it, and Kacchan immediately brings it to Deku's cock. "Hahh," Izuku breathes, whines as Kacchan wraps his fingers around it.
A drop of sweat trails from behind Izuku's ear, down past his shortened hair, and over the chorded muscle of his back. It makes Izuku shiver and a couple more sweat droplets begin to trail down with gravity. Was it really this hot? It hadn't been this hot when they'd arrived, right? God, August had landed upon them all at once—Izuku no longer knew where his sweat ended and Kacchan's began. All he knew was that he was hot, and the closer he got to Kacchan, the quicker he came to going absolutely nuclear.
"I can't, I can't," Izuku whined as he bounced up and down. Of course, the problem was that Izuku could and absolutely would—very soon in fact. Finish, that is. Kacchan is twisting his wrist just slightly in what seems like a familiar motion, giving Izuku insight into what exactly Kacchan likes. Ammunition for next time.
But that isn't his primary concern. His primary concern is how good that flick of the wrist is, and how every tightened muscle in Izuku's body is begging for him to come, begging for him to finish this encounter with Kacchan, because there would always be a next time.
There would be a next time, right?
"C'mon, Deku," Kacchan says, tightening the grip of his hand just a tad, thumb brushing against the head on his way up every time.
Izuku's going to scream. The moment is calling for him to either scream or die—no choice beyond. Instead, he whines, "Kacchan," and suddenly Kacchan's movements are much faster. The thrusts are shallow but accurate, hitting that good spot inside Izuku nearly every time. The grip on his dick is tight, and the grip on his hand even tighter. Another whine pushes through Izuku's clenched teeth and he knows that this is it. He can't hold on any longer.
"I like you," he whispers. "I like you." And he begins to come.
Kacchan's jaw is clenched through it, making that muscle poke out of the corner of his jawbone so that his angles are even harder and sexier. Izuku can't stop.
"I like you, I like you, I like you so much, Kacchan. Please, Kacchan, please."
Kacchan gasps unmistakably, and Izuku is finally sure of what Kacchan is feeling. The hand that was gripping Izuku's cock moves to the long hair on top of Izuku's head—cum and all—and fists that length in order to drag them mouth to mouth. Izuku is almost a little disappointed that that's all he gets to see of Kacchan's face when he orgasms, but he'll forgive it for a kiss. He'd forgive the world for one of Kacchan's kisses.
Izuku isn't aware of the tears that are falling until Kacchan takes a thumb to his cheek and smears them across his face.
"Crybaby," Kacchan murmurs, and Izuku feels the smile against his lips.
There's no reason to reply to that, so Izuku just leans into kiss again, suddenly aware of how much harder it is to kiss while smiling. Difficult, but worth it.
Izuku summons all his sleep-deprived energy to lift off of Kacchan before he collapses onto his chest. Kacchan schlicks off the condom and tosses it onto Izuku's shirt with little regard. Then his arms naturally and gently come to wrap around Izuku, pulling him even closer.
Maybe we'll be able to sleep tonight, Izuku thinks, feeling like he could fall asleep on Kacchan right here. But he can't allow himself to—he has to draw the line for roof-appropriate activities somewhere.
The sky has gotten lighter, Izuku notices as he winks one eye open. The sky is lighter and the world has taken on its natural hues again. Buildings are the colors of brick and stone and, more importantly, Kacchan's skin is warm all over. The flush in his face is receding, but it leaves behind that warm, tawny tone from days spent on patrol. Izuku can't help but lean in and kiss Kacchan right on the nose.
"Weird," Kacchan says, crinkling his nose and pulling away, despite the small smile on his face. "Why did you say that? It was weird."
"Mm, say what?" Izuku asks. His mind has been scrambled, like the rocking and bouncing has truly unsettled his brain and left him good for nothing but touching and being touched by Kacchan.
"That stuff at the end," Kacchan murmurs. "Who says that shit?"
I like you, I like you, I like you.
Izuku blushes, hiding his face in Kacchan's chest. "Yeah, well, maybe that's not…not quite what I wanted to say."
Kacchan's head twists to the side, and a small, "Hmph," escapes his nose.
"Should we, um," Izuku pauses, thinking maybe a touch of eye contact would be beneficial now. He leans up, but Kacchan's eyes are exploring the newly white morning light as well. Izuku goes on anyway. "Should we talk about, um…us?"
Kacchan doesn't say anything for a second. And then he begins to push himself up, nearly taking Izuku with him. Izuku rolls off to the side and looks as Kacchan reaches for his pants, putting them and his underwear on in one go.
"What we should do is fucking shower."
Izuku blushes, thinking about the cum on his belly, in his hair, mercifully not in his ass. He has to patrol today, after all. Izuku reaches for his pants too—the shirt he'll have to forego. He'll have to decide what to do with the poor, soiled thing later.
"Then we'll—" Kacchan has already pushed up to standing and Izuku follows suit, already feeling the muscles in his thighs reacting to riding Kacchan the way that he did. Izuku hurries to grab Kacchan's hand before he can head for the door. "Then we'll talk?"
His eyes are wide but firm, and he's sure that Kacchan can feel them as he turns around to face him.
"We'll talk, right?"
Kacchan's face is blank. Slightly more closed than before. But he squeezes Izuku's hand with a firm, lingering pressure. It pulses warmth back through Izuku's body.
"Tonight," Kacchan says surely. "Come over tonight."
Izuku glances down. "Oh, um, I'm not sure I'll be able to—"
"Not that, idiot." Izuku looks up to see eyes rolling. "Just…Just come over. We'll talk."
"Okay, Kacchan," Izuku says, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Then we'll sleep?"
"Dunno," Kacchan says as he reaches down for Izuku's duffle by the door, lifting it like it's nothing. "Depends on what shit you say."
Izuku pouts, despite the fact that Kacchan is intentionally winding him up. "Kacchan…" he whines, blinking up at the other man.
"We'll sleep, nerd." Kacchan concedes finally, reaching for the door to the stairs. Back to the real world. "We'll finally sleep.