Note: this is a censored version, if you want the uncensored version go to AO3
Katsuki's attention was laser-focused on the fight unfolding below, each of Izuku's moves under a microscope. He caught the subtle differences, the shadow of hesitation where there should have been instinctual aggression. Something's off, he realized, his fists tightening as though he could somehow lend Izuku a bit of his own ferocious energy from afar.
Down in the pit, the crowd was a beast all its own, their cheers crashing over one another like tumultuous waves in a stormy sea. Among the chaos, Katsuki noticed the black pins on their lapels - a symbol of Tomura's chosen few.
Though the hushed tones of Tomura's cohort didn't reach his ears, the weight of their exchange was not lost on him. No words needed; the significance was loud and clear, underlining the urgency of his mission. His focus shifted back to Izuku, whose once powerful strikes now seemed to lack their usual conviction.
Tomura's momentary lapse in attention was all Katsuki needed. He had faith in Izuku, a seasoned brawler, to weather this storm. He's got this, he has no other choice, Katsuki steeled himself, the certainty of his decision reverberating in him as potent as the crowd's frenzy. With a last glance, he slipped away from the VIP room.
Katsuki's footsteps were a silent testimony to his resolve as he maneuvered through the dimly lit corridors of the manor. He didn't need the echo of his own movement to remind him that this wasn't the place where sound carried honesty. The raucous laughter and music of the party had faded behind him, now just a shallow memory as he focused on the task at hand.
The manor was a warren of excess and false fronts, but he wasn't here to play critic. Each step was a mental check against the blueprint he'd memorized, a blueprint that led him to Tomura's office. Lock-picking was a trickier business than he'd expected, a fact he acknowledged with a scowl, but the lock gave way with a satisfying click.
Inside, Tomura's sanctuary was just another room, lined with self-important trinkets and the stench of conceit. Katsuki's eyes didn't linger on the ostentation. Instead, they roamed, sifting for the chink in the armor, the slip that would unravel the facade. He riffled through the desk with a critical eye, searching for the thread to pull.
Katsuki halted, his gaze ensnared by a photograph. In the picture, Katsuki could see the jovial way they captured Izuku, laughing with Tomura, alongside an older man who strongly resembled Tomura.
Katsuki instantly recognized him as AFO.
As he scrutinized the picture, his brows knitted together, betraying an internal skirmish. This Izuku, one who could share a joke with Tomura, clashed with the image of the Izuku he imagined during his time with them.
And AFO, the infamous boogeyman, took on an ironic humanization, resembling that of a doting father.
Katsuki's scoff pierced the hush of Tomura's office. "What kinda crap is this?" he growled, his voice laced with a caustic mix of suspicion and scorn for the facade of normality the photo portrayed.
The image was evidence, yes. But as his thumb hovered over the phone, poised to capture the image, he silently acknowledged its significance. It was a disquieting hint at a truth he hadn't acknowledged — an Izuku that didn't align with the stories he'd been told, or the narrative he had fed himself.
"It doesn't freakin' matter," he muttered, tucking away his phone, now a vessel of cold data — a tool for use, not comprehension. His mission was clear: collect intelligence, devise a strategy, triumph. Not to dissect Izuku's psyche or unravel the threads of his past that led to that unfettered smile amidst villains.
He quickly searched through the papers on Tomura's desk but found nothing he deemed important. Katsuki wasn't sure though, as he turned every sheet of paper he found. He wanted to decipher what any of it meant, but it was gibberish to Katsuki.
Katsuki's eyes remained sharp, discerning. Each subtle snap of his phone's camera ensnared potential leads — he could only hope the others would find anything of use. One recurring name snagged his wary attention: the commissioner. A cursory figure, never the focal point, yet it warranted a covert snapshot.
He carefully made sure each photo was clear, knowing that Aizawa and Mirai would have to find patterns in the puzzle that he couldn't.
The stark absence of a laptop or any tech was noticeable — Shigaraki, savvy enough to keep his sins from being too easily unearthed. "Smart bastard," Katsuki grumbled under his breath, respecting the caution even as it irked him.
The challenge was breaching access. The memory of the man with the Pink Level pin lingered — a tangible lead but a dangerous gambit, especially with Izuku possibly getting wind of it. He could almost hear Izuku's obstinate protests, the stubbornness he expected, and somewhere within, Katsuki acknowledged the validity of Izuku's caution. They had to be cunning, not merely bold.
The photograph hovered at the periphery of his consciousness, and with a deliberate mental push, he shunned it. "Now ain't the time," he chastised in a hush, resetting the room to its pristine state.
The photograph belonged to a different time and didn't matter anymore, especially when they had more urgent dangers to deal with.
With one last sweep of the room, he pocketed his phone; the photos secreted within like clandestine ammunition. He needed to devise a plan for Tomura's bedroom and the restricted levels - a plan that required finesse that Katsuki didn't possess naturally.
He exited the office, his mind already churning with strategies for the Pink and Black Levels. There was evidence hidden somewhere, and he was determined to unearth it. First, though, he needed to go unnoticed and meet up with Deku.
The rest would unfold in time.
The corridor laid out before him, dim and empty — a stark contrast to the chaos he imagined in the lower levels beneath him. His steps were silent as he made he stepped away from Tomura's door, careful to keep a watchful eye around him.
He kept to the edges of the hallway, every sense alert to any disturbance in the heavy stillness of the night. That's when he heard it—a faint but steadily increasing rhythm of footsteps, slicing through the silence, heading his way. His instincts, honed through years of navigating the dangerous underbelly of the city, kicked in, driving him to find cover. He needed to disappear, fast.
Then, suddenly, he was being pulled sharply around a corner. Muscles primed to fight. He was ready to lash out, but he stopped himself. But the iron grip that held him belonged not to an adversary. Recognizing the touch, he held back the brewing storm.
It was Hawks.
Pinned against the cool wall, a hushed voice cut through the tension. "Quiet. Patrol's got more bite tonight," Hawks murmured, an edge of urgency to his warning.
They stayed motionless, like the shadows around them, barely breathing, as the footsteps approached, passed, and faded away. Only when they were alone again did Hawks step back, giving Katsuki room to breathe.
With a terse nod, Katsuki recognized Hawks' timely intervention. "Good timing," he said, keeping his voice to a gravelly whisper. It was a reminder that sometimes, even the most independent of operatives could use a hand.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence of the dim corridor, making Katsuki tense up. He turned on instinct towards Hawk's hiding from view, but he was met with Izuku's gaze, intense and storm-laden, the usual vibrance of his green eyes now muddled with shadows of concern and unspoken questions.
The stare that held Katsuki was not just seeking answers; it was an open display of turmoil. Izuku's face showed a mix of emotions when he saw Hawks, but Katsuki couldn't understand them.
Without a word, Izuku's hand latched onto Katsuki's arm, pulling him away from the wall and away from Hawks with a purpose that left no room to argue. Hawks, a smirk playing on his lips in response to the tension, lifted a hand in a nonchalant farewell, the jest clear in his voice. "Take care, you two."
Katsuki's eyes narrowed as Izuku's firm grip steered him away from Hawks, but his attention was quickly diverted to the damage that marred Izuku's face. The bruising and blood on Izuku's face were clear signs of his recent match, but he seemed too distracted to notice them. Katsuki's concern flared, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Izuku's expression.
They moved through the corridors with an urgency that had nothing to do with their physical pace. As they reached their room, Katsuki abruptly pulled his arm free, turning to face Izuku with a mix of frustration and worry.
"What the hell were you thinking, pulling me away like that? I was doing exactly what we planned — gathering intel," Katsuki spat out, the words sharp as he took in Izuku's frenetic pacing, the way he moved like a cornered animal seeking an escape.
Izuku's face, though lined with the residue of his skirmish, showed a deeper turmoil. Katsuki could read the tension in his every step, the restrained energy that made him seem like a predator ready to spring. But he didn't spring — he just kept pacing, trapped in his own head.
"What's wrong?" Katsuki demanded, stepping into Izuku's relentless path. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Izuku continued to evade his gaze.
Katsuki clasped Izuku's chin to make eye contact. "Talk to me. What's going on, Izuku?"
But Izuku brushed off the question with a non-answer. He didn't pull away from Katsuki's grasp, though. Instead, he let out a weary sigh and leaned his forehead against Katsuki's, seeking a moment of solace. "It's just Tomura messing with my head," he murmured, the fight in his voice giving way to exhaustion.
The tension in Izuku's frame didn't dissolve entirely, but his posture softened, the edge of his frustration blunted by the contact. Katsuki could feel the slow, begrudging calm as it settled over Izuku's shoulders.
"Listen, I'm fine," Katsuki reassured, his voice more grounded now. "And I got something — found some files with the commissioner's name on them. It could be a lead."
Izuku seemed distracted and only partially present, nodding slowly in acknowledgment. Katsuki knew better than to push; he'd give Izuku the space he needed to work through whatever haunted him from the fight.
As Katsuki moved to pull away, Izuku's insistent lips drew him back in, stealing Katsuki's breath as their mouths collided with a fervent hunger.
Katsuki didn't hesitate to respond; if this was what Izuku needed, he was all too eager to oblige. Their kiss deepened, fueled by Izuku's post-fight adrenaline, a fiery, instinctual passion that surged between them. It was as though their desire was a living thing, eager to be set free.
"I swear if anything interrupts us again..." Katsuki muttered between heated kisses.
Izuku hummed in agreement, his fingers tracing a path down Katsuki's chest as he guided them through their room. A trail of discarded clothing followed their hasty path until Izuku had Katsuki pressed into the soft, inviting embrace of their bed.
A choked, raspy sound escaped Izuku as he pressed his hips against Katsuki, and Katsuki winced as the rough fabric of Izuku's jeans scraped against his bare skin. The friction was electrifying, sending shivers down their spines.
"You too, take it off," Katsuki urged, his voice filled with desire and longing.
Izuku seemed reluctant at first, his gaze filled with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. With some coaxing from Katsuki, he lifted himself, allowing the fabric of his shirt to glide up and over his head. Meanwhile, Katsuki made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, the metallic sound of the zipper echoing through the room, a stark reminder that nothing would interrupt them this time.
Katsuki swallowed back his nerves, his hands trembling with anticipation as Izuku settled himself between his legs. Bruises adorned Izuku's torso like ugly splotches across his tanned skin, and Katsuki's fingers gently traced the darkening mark.
As his hands ventured further up, he discovered the raised, uneven terrain of old scars, remnants of fights and hardships endured during their time apart. Among them, a deep crater, like a gunshot wound, whispered of the dangers Izuku had faced.
It was too many to count, but they all mapped the experiences that Izuku had gone through and survived.
As Katsuki explored every crevice of Izuku's skin, Izuku leaned in to leave small nips along Katsuki's collarbone, marking him in a different, but equally profound, way.
"Deku," Katsuki breathed out, his voice filled with a blend of longing and affection, "I—the drawer..."
Izuku's response was to take Katsuki's nipple between his teeth, sending a pleasurable jolt through Katsuki's body.
"Ah!"
"Not yet, Kacchan," Izuku whispered, his warm breath causing Katsuki's skin to tingle.
A deep, primal ache pulsed through Katsuki, a relentless yearning only Izuku could quell. Izuku's fervent exploration left a trail of fiery marks, each a testament to their insatiable longing.
"Kacchan, you taste so sweet," Izuku whispered against Katsuki's heated skin.
As the night unfolded, their desires knew no bounds. Izuku skillfully led Katsuki to the precipice time and again, an electrifying symphony of sensations that left him craving more with each passing moment.
The aftermath was serene as the intensity waned and Katsuki found solace in the gentle press of Izuku's lips against his own. The room bathed in the soft hues of twilight, revealing their intertwined forms—Katsuki and Izuku, a tangle of limbs and emotions, finding refuge in the tranquil aftermath of their fervent union.
As the night's intensity waned, Katsuki felt the soothing comfort of Izuku's kiss against his lips. His gaze shifted toward the muted hues of twilight, painting gentle strokes across the room, revealing as the two stayed entwined in the restful aftermath, Izuku tucked against his back, his arms wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace.
Katsuki knew they still had a few hours before they were called down for dinner, but he had no intention of moving anytime soon, especially when he saw Izuku's eyes already drooping from fatigue.
He turned in Izuku's arms so he could get a better look at him. His most recent match had clearly taken a toll.
Katsuki studied Izuku's face, searching for signs of the strain he knew must be coursing through him. The dim light did little to hide the toll the mission had exacted, the faint bruises and the shadow of fatigue that lay beneath those determined eyes.
"Hey, Izuku," Katsuki's voice was a controlled murmur, betraying his concern. "You holding up? All this... it's not light on anyone, least of all you."
Izuku's eyes locked onto Katsuki's, a raw honesty in their verdant depths. "I manage, Kacchan," he responded with a resilient smile, but it didn't quite reach the usual spark in his eyes. "Adaptation's my middle name, remember?"
Katsuki's thoughts drifted, unsaid words piling up like leaves against a fence. He wanted to speak of the days beyond this madness, of the cafe they frequented where their camaraderie had deepened, where each stolen glance had been a silent conversation. He yearned for Izuku to acknowledge the undefined contours of their bond, to give it the shape and the name it deserved.
But those words remained lodged in his throat, unvoiced uncertainties in the face of Izuku's own battle-weary resolve. Instead, he closed the distance between them, a gesture laden with unspoken pledges. Their shoulders touched, a quiet sharing of burdens and warmth.
In that simple contact lay Katsuki's unarticulated hope that their intertwined paths would lead them not just to triumph, but to a moment where words could finally bridge the gap between them.