The bus to cheer camp smelled like sweat, cheap leather, and teenage anticipation. Katsuki stood at the front, one hand braced against the luggage rack, counting heads as his squad filed on. His eyes skipped over Izuku, a deliberate omission that felt like tearing out a stitch.

Izuku slid into a window seat near the back, his green curls pressed against the glass. Ochako dropped into the seat beside him, her smile bright but her eyes worried. "You okay? You're vibrating."

"I'm fine," Izuku murmured, but his gaze was locked on the broad back of his father at the front of the bus. Katsuki’s coaching polo stretched tight across his shoulders. Izuku’s mouth went dry.

Three weeks. Three weeks since the office, since the taste of salt and shame and his father’s release. Three weeks of closed doors and turned backs and Katsuki’s voice, rough with a disgust that didn’t reach his eyes, saying, "It’s sick. It’s fucked. It stops now."

The bus engine rumbled to life. Katsuki took the seat behind the driver, alone. He stared straight ahead, his jaw a hard line. He could feel the heat of a specific stare between his shoulder blades, a persistent, aching pressure. His cock, thick and heavy in his shorts, began to fill just from the knowledge of it. He shifted, trying to ease the sudden, betraying ache.

"Coach seems extra tense," Mina whispered loudly a few rows back, leaning toward Kirishima, who was chaperoning. "You two have a fight?"

Kirishima grinned, clueless. "Nah, he's just in game mode. Camp's serious business!"

Katsuki didn't hear them. He was listening to the silence from the back, a silence that felt like a held breath. He gripped the seat in front of him, the plastic creaking under his hand.

The camp was a two-hour drive. At the halfway mark, Katsuki felt a presence beside his seat. He didn't need to look. Vanilla and something sharper, uniquely Izuku.

"Daddy," Izuku whispered, low enough that only Katsuki could hear over the road noise. "My seat's uncomfortable."

Katsuki kept his eyes on the pine trees blurring past the window. "Sit down, Izuku."

"I can't." A soft, pained sound. "I'm so sore from practice. Everything… aches."

Katsuki’s gut tightened. He finally turned his head. Izuku was leaning on the seat back, his cheer camp t-shirt riding up to show a sliver of toned, freckled stomach. His eyes were wide, guileless, and full of filthy promise.

"Go. Back. To. Your. Seat." Each word was a stone dropped into still water.

"You won't even look at me." Izuku's voice cracked, just a little. It wasn't entirely an act. The need was a physical pain, a constant, throbbing emptiness between his legs. "You haven't touched me in weeks. I'm dying, Daddy."

Katsuki’s control splintered. He shot to his feet, looming over Izuku, making the boy step back. "Enough," he growled, the sound barely contained. The bus went quiet. All the easy chatter died. "You have a problem with the seating arrangements, you take it up with me at camp. Not on my bus. Sit the hell down and act like part of the team, or I will put you off at the next gas station and you can call your mother to come get you. Understood?"

Izuku’s cheeks flushed, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears and a spark of defiance. He held Katsuki’s furious gaze for three long seconds. "Understood, Coach Kacchan," he said, the title a sweet, poisonous dart.

He turned and walked back to his seat, every eye on him. The sway of his hips in his soft shorts was a quiet fuck you. Katsuki sat back down, his heart hammering against his ribs. His cock was now a fully hard, agonizing weight trapped in his pants. He could smell Izuku’s scent on the air near him. Vanilla. Musk. Hunger.

From the back, Himiko leaned over to Ochako. "Whoa. What was that about?"

Ochako watched Izuku slide back into his seat, his body curled slightly inward. "I don't know," she said softly. "But it's not about the seat."

Katsuki stared ahead, the trees a green smear. He could still hear the whisper. *I'm dying, Daddy.* His own blood roared in his ears, a counter-rhythm. *Me too, kid. Me too.*

The bus groaned to a halt in a cloud of gravel dust outside the main lodge. Katsuki was the first one standing, his voice a whip-crack in the quiet. "Off. Now. Gear goes to your assigned cabins. Rosters are on the door. Move."

He didn’t look at Izuku as the squad shuffled out, groggy and excited. He kept his eyes on the clipboard in his hands, his finger tracing down the list. "Uraraka, Cabin Three with Ashido and Toga. Aoyama, you're with Kirishima and me in the Coach's cabin. Bakugou." He finally lifted his gaze, finding Izuku standing apart, his duffel at his feet. "You're in Cabin Seven."

Ochako’s head snapped up. "Coach, that's the solo cabin. Way out by the tree line."

"I can read a map, Uraraka," Katsuki said, his voice flat. "He's late addition. It's what's available." The lie was smooth and cold. He’d made the assignments himself last night, his pen hovering over Izuku’s name before driving it into the paper next to the most isolated number.

Izuku just smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Sounds peaceful, Coach Kacchan." He hoisted his bag. "I like the quiet."

The squad dispersed, chattering about bunks. Kirishima clapped Katsuki on the shoulder. "Tough but fair, man. Gotta set the tone!" Katsuki shrugged him off, his skin buzzing where Izuku’s eyes had been.

The solo cabin was a ten-minute walk from the main cluster, a small, weathered box nearly swallowed by encroaching pines. Izuku pushed the door open. It was just a single room: a narrow bed, a bare bulb, a window looking into endless green. It smelled of mothballs and solitude. He dropped his bag and sat on the squeaking mattress. The silence was a physical thing. He could scream here, and no one would hear.

He didn’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, the door opened without a knock. Katsuki filled the frame, backlit by the fading afternoon sun. He stepped inside and closed the door, the click of the latch deafening.

Izuku stayed on the bed, leaning back on his hands. "Checking on the late addition, Coach?"

"Cut the shit." Katsuki’s voice was low, ragged. He didn't move further in. "This stops. You understand me? This… whatever this sickness is, it ends at camp. You will act like my athlete. I will act like your coach."

"You haven't been acting like my coach," Izuku said softly. "You've been acting like a stranger who wants to fuck me." He let his knees fall open, just a little. The thin fabric of his shorts strained. "You put me all the way out here so you could come say that? Could’ve said it on the bus."

Izuku stood up from the squeaking bed. He took two slow steps toward Katsuki, his eyes never leaving his father’s face. His fingers went to the button of his shorts. A soft pop. The zipper hissed down. "Prove you don’t want this," he whispered, the words barely audible in the mothball-scented quiet.

Katsuki didn’t move. He couldn’t. His breath hitched, trapped in his chest. He watched the fabric part, revealing the pale skin of Izuku’s lower stomach, the delicate soft hairless skin leading down. "Izuku," he growled, a warning with no force behind it.

"Prove it," Izuku repeated, his voice trembling now. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and panties and pushed them down over his hips. They pooled at his feet. The late afternoon light from the single window cut across his body, illuminating the soft, freckled curve of his thighs, the shadow between them. He was completely bare, shaved smooth, his cunt swollen and glistening with wetness that caught the light. "Look at me and tell me to stop."

Katsuki’s eyes dragged down, against every command he’d given himself. He saw the tiny, puffy nipples pressing against the thin cotton of Izuku’s camp t-shirt. He saw the wetness, a slick, needy shine on his son’s lips. His own cock throbbed, a painful, insistent pulse against his zipper. He could smell him from here—the clean vanilla of his soap undercut by the sharp, musk of his arousal. "Fuck," Katsuki breathed, the word torn from him.

"You put me out here so you could come see me," Izuku said, taking another step closer. He was within arm’s reach now. "You’re lying to yourself. You’ve been lying for weeks. You want to fuck me so bad you can’t think straight." A tear finally spilled over, tracing a path through the freckles on his cheek. "I can’t think straight. It’s all I want. It’s all I am now. Just… please, Daddy."

Katsuki’s hand shot out, not to push him away, but to grip his jaw, his fingers pressing into the soft skin. "You think this is a game? You think I don’t know how sick this is? You’re my son." His thumb brushed over Izuku’s bottom lip. "My beautiful, brilliant son. And I want to ruin you."

"Then ruin me," Izuku begged, leaning into the harsh grip. He nuzzled against the palm of Katsuki’s hand, his breath hot. "I’m already ruined. I have been since I saw you watching me at that first game. I don’t want to be your good boy right now. I want to be your slut."

The last thread of Katsuki’s restraint snapped. He moved forward, forcing Izuku to stumble back until his calves hit the edge of the narrow bed. "On your back," Katsuki commanded, his voice a dark rasp. "Now."

Izuku fell back onto the thin mattress, the springs crying out. He didn’t cover himself. He spread his legs, knees bent, putting his dripping cunt on full display. His chest heaved under his shirt. Katsuki stood over him, a tower of conflicted hunger, his own need a blatant, massive outline in his coaching shorts.

Katsuki dropped to his knees on the rough cabin floor, the impact a dull thud. His hands gripped the backs of Izuku’s trembling thighs, spreading them wider. He didn’t hesitate. He buried his face between his son’s legs, his mouth finding that soaked, swollen cunt like a man finding water in a desert.

Izuku screamed, a raw, shattered sound that tore through the mothball silence. His back arched off the thin mattress. “Daddy!”

Katsuki groaned against him, the vibration making Izuku jolt. He licked a slow, broad stripe from his entrance to his clit, tasting the sharp, musky proof of weeks of wanting. “Fuck,” Katsuki rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. “You taste like sin.”

“I taste like yours,” Izuku sobbed, his fingers tangling in his father’s spiky hair, not to pull him away, but to hold him there. “Please, more.”

Katsuki dove back in, his tongue spearing deep, fucking into that tight, clenching heat. He sucked hard on his pussy lips, nipping at the tender flesh, then sealed his mouth over Izuku’s throbbing clit and sucked, relentless.

Izuku’s legs shook violently, his heels digging into Katsuki’s broad back. “Oh god, oh god, I can’t—it’s too much—”

“You can take it,” Katsuki growled, his words muffled against wet skin. He used his thumbs to spread Izuku wider, exposing him completely, and motorboated his sopping cunt, the obscene, wet sounds filling the cabin. He was ravenous, consumed, his nose and chin slick with his son’s arousal. “Gonna eat this cunt until you forget your own name.”

“Only know yours,” Izuku whimpered, his body coiling tight, pressure building at a terrifying speed. “Daddy, Daddy, I’m gonna—”

“Do it.” Katsuki sucked his clit back into his mouth, flicking his tongue hard and fast over the sensitive peak. “Squirt for me. Show me what I do to you.”

The command shattered him. Izuku’s orgasm ripped through him, a blinding white wave. He squirted, a hot gush of fluid flooding Katsuki’s mouth, dripping down his chin, soaking the front of his coaching polo. It didn’t stop; wave after wave, his body convulsing, his cries broken and endless.

Katsuki drank it down, lapping at him through the tremors, gentling his mouth to lick him clean as Izuku shuddered and went boneless against the mattress. He rested his forehead against Izuku’s inner thigh, both of them breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps. The cabin air was thick with the smell of sex and pine.

Izuku’s hand fell from Katsuki’s hair to touch his own stomach, his eyes dazed. “You… you really…”

Katsuki looked up, his face a mess. His red eyes were dark, blown wide with hunger barely touched. “I really.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over Izuku’s inner thigh, a shockingly tender gesture. “You’re mine.”

“Yeah,” Izuku breathed, a tear tracking into his hairline. “So what now, Daddy?”

Katsuki pushed himself up from the floor, his knees aching. He looked down at Izuku, his face still glistening, his coaching shirt plastered to his chest with Izuku’s release. “Tomorrow night,” he said, the words rough but absolute. “After dinner. I come back here, and I fuck this cunt.” His thumb pressed against Izuku’s swollen entrance, not entering, just applying a claiming pressure. “You understand? No games. No begging before then. You be a good boy at practice, and you get what you want.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. He nodded, his green eyes huge. “Tomorrow night.”