The steam from the bath is thick enough to taste, scent of sandalwood coating the back of Izuku’s throat. He’s still perched on the cold counter, shivering, his small body a map of goosebumps and confused arousal. Katsuki doesn’t ask. He steps forward, his hands—broad, scarred, impossibly strong—sliding under Izuku’s thighs.

Izuku lets out a tiny, choked sound as he’s lifted effortlessly, his feet leaving the tile. He’s weightless in Katsuki’s grip, a doll being rearranged. The hot water swallows them both as Katsuki sinks into the deep tub, settling Izuku backward into the cradle of his lap.

“There,” Katsuki’s voice rumbles against the shell of Izuku’s ear, a vibration Izuku feels in his teeth. The water is scalding, churning around them from the jets. Izuku’s back is pressed flush against Katsuki’s solid chest, the hero’s muscular arms coming to rest on the tub’s edge, caging him in.

And against the small of his back, Izuku feels it. A rigid, impossible heat. Katsuki’s cock, thick and heavy, is trapped between their bodies, a brand searing into Izuku’s spine through the slick water. It twitches. Izuku freezes.

“You feel that?” Katsuki’s lips brush his ear. His voice is low, conversational, like he’s commenting on the weather.

Izuku can only nod, a jerky little motion. His hands float uselessly in the water.

“That’s what you do to me, kid.” Katsuki shifts his hips, a deliberate, grinding roll that rubs the full, girthy length of him up Izuku’s back. “Your favorite hero. The number one. Hard as a fucking rock because of you.”

“I… I didn’t…” Izuku’s voice is a whisper lost in the churn of the jets.

“You did.” Katsuki’s hand leaves the tub’s edge. It comes to rest on Izuku’s stomach, splayed possessively over his lower belly. His thumb strokes a slow, maddening circle. “You with your big, worshipful eyes. Your little fanboy stutter. Standing there looking so fucking edible.”

He grinds up again, harder this time. Izuku gasps, his head falling back against Katsuki’s shoulder. The heat between his own legs, the confusing ache his mother never named, pulses in time with the pressure on his spine.

“So you’re gonna take responsibility for it.” Katsuki’s other hand comes up, fingers tangling in Izuku’s damp green curls, not pulling, just holding. A claim. “Aren’t you, Izuku?”

Izuku’s breath hitches. The water, the steam, the overwhelming scent of the man wrapped around him—it’s all too much. His body feels heavy, pliant. Traitorous. A tiny, wet heat begins to gather between his thighs, separate from the bathwater. He doesn’t have the words for what’s happening, only the terrifying, building sensation.

“Yes,” he breathes, the word barely audible.

Katsuki’s smile is a curve Izuku can feel against his temple. “Good boy.”

“Here’s how you take responsibility,” Katsuki murmurs, his lips moving against the damp skin of Izuku’s neck. His hand on Izuku’s stomach slides lower, fingertips dipping just below the waterline, tracing the soft trail of skin that leads down. Izuku’s entire body goes rigid. “You’re gonna spread these pretty little thighs for me.”

Izuku shakes his head, a frantic, tiny motion. “I can’t—”

“You can.” Katsuki’s voice is a low, inexorable command. The hand in Izuku’s hair tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold him still. “You’re gonna let me touch you. Right where you’re getting all wet and hot for me. You feel that, don’t you? That slick little ache?”

A sob catches in Izuku’s throat. He does feel it. A throbbing, unfamiliar heat between his legs, a pulse that seems to answer the hard press of Katsuki’s cock against his spine. It’s terrifying. It feels good. “I don’t… I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s your pussy, kid.” The crude word, spoken so casually in that growl, makes Izuku flinch. “Getting ready for my cock. That’s how bodies work. You made mine hard. Now yours is getting wet. That’s you taking responsibility.”

Katsuki’s exploring fingers find the soft junction of Izuku’s thigh. He strokes the sensitive skin there, a slow, maddening rhythm. Izuku’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps. His own hands clutch at the water, at nothing.

“Spread,” Katsuki orders again, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Trembling, Izuku lets his knees fall apart under the churning, opaque water. The movement feels monumental. A surrender. He’s exposed now, the water lapping at his inner thighs.

“Good boy.” Katsuki’s praise is a warm puff of air against his ear. His middle finger slides inward, through the slick heat that has nothing to do with the bath. It finds the swollen, hidden bud of Izuku’s clit.

Izuku cries out, a sharp, broken sound. His back arches, pressing him harder against Katsuki’s chest. The sensation is electric, overwhelming—a direct, shocking line of pleasure that whites out every other thought.

“There it is,” Katsuki says, almost to himself. He rubs slow, firm circles. “Your little clit. So fucking sensitive. Bet no one’s ever touched you here, have they?”

“N-no,” Izuku whimpers. Tears mix with the steam on his face. His hips jerk, trying to follow the pressure, to escape it—he doesn’t know. His body is moving on its own.

Katsuki’s finger doesn’t stop its slow, circling torture. “You ever touch yourself here, Izuku? Before tonight?”

“N-no,” Izuku gasps, his hips twitching helplessly. “Never.”

“Why not?”

“My… my mom,” Izuku whimpers, the confession torn from him by the relentless pressure. “She said it was… disgusting. And wrong. That I should never… touch my own…” He trails off, the crude word Katsuki used sticking in his throat.

Katsuki’s low chuckle vibrates through Izuku’s back. “Your own what?”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. “My own… p-pussy.”

“Gotta be honest, kid.” Katsuki’s lips brush his ear. “Your mother’s kind of a cunt.”

The insult is sharp, vulgar. It should shock him. But right now, with Katsuki’s finger drawing slick, maddening circles and his own body burning with a need he was taught to hate, Izuku finds a traitorous agreement blooming in his chest. He says nothing.

In one smooth, powerful motion, Katsuki’s hands are under his thighs again, lifting him from the water and the cradle of his lap. Izuku is set down on the cold, slick edge of the tub, his legs dangling in the churning water. The air hits his wet skin, raising fresh goosebumps.

Katsuki leans back in the tub, the water sloshing around his chest. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, stay fixed on Izuku shivering on the edge. “Your turn.”

Izuku blinks, water dripping from his curls. “M-my turn?”

“You heard me.” Katsuki’s voice is a low, steady command in the steamy room. “You’re gonna touch yourself. Right now. Show me what you learned.”

A fresh wave of trembling takes Izuku. He looks down at his own body, at the space between his thighs that still throbs with the ghost of Katsuki’s touch. “I… I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do.” Katsuki doesn’t move from his relaxed position, but his presence fills the room. “Your body knows. That little clit of yours is still swollen, isn’t it? Puffy and hot. You feel it.”

Izuku gives a tiny, helpless nod. He does feel it. A persistent, aching pulse.

“Then touch it.” Katsuki’s hand emerges from the water, gesturing with a flick of his fingers. “Use your own hand. Find out what feels good.”

Izuku’s hands lift from his lap, hovering in the air. They look small, alien. His mother’s voice screams in his head—disgusting, wrong, sinful—but it’s drowned out by the heavier, hotter memory of Katsuki’s finger, and the approving growl of “good boy.” He glances at the hero, whose expression is one of expectation, as if this is a test.

“Where… where do I…” Izuku’s voice cracks.

“Same place I did. Start on the outside. Those soft lips. Get them wet with your own slick.” Katsuki’s instructions are clinical, devoid of embarrassment. “Then find the little bud at the top. The one that made you scream.”

Swallowing hard, Izuku lets his trembling fingertips brush against his own inner thigh. The skin is impossibly sensitive. He jumps at his own touch.

“Don’t be shy,” Katsuki murmurs, a dark amusement in his tone. “It’s your pussy, kid. You should know what it likes.”

Izuku closes his eyes, shutting out the sight of Katsuki’s intense stare. He lets his fingers drift higher, on the damp skin. His breath hitches as they make contact. He’s so much softer there than he ever imagined. Slick, too. His own wetness is a shocking, tangible fact.

“That’s it,” Katsuki says, his voice closer. Izuku opens his eyes to see the hero has leaned forward, elbows on the tub’s edge, watching with rapt attention. “Now find the spot.”

Izuku’s middle finger traces upward, following the natural seam of his own body. He flinches when he brushes against a nub of flesh, a jolt of sensation shooting straight to his core. A small, choked sound escapes him.

“There?” Katsuki asks.

“Y-yes.”

“Circle it. Gently. Like I did.”

Izuku obeys, applying a feather-light pressure. The pleasure is immediate, bright and shocking. It’s different from Katsuki’s touch—less demanding, more tentative—but it’s his. His hips give a tiny, involuntary jerk.

“See?” Katsuki’s smile is a slow, predatory thing. “Your body knows. It’s been waiting for this. Doing it yourself isn’t wrong, Izuku. It’s practice.”

“Practice?” Izuku whispers, his finger still moving in a slow, mesmerized circle.

“For me.” Katsuki’s gaze is heavy, possessive. “You learn what makes you feel good. You get yourself all worked up and wet and ready. Then you let me finish the job.” He sinks back into the water slightly, his massive shoulders breaking the surface. “Now try a different pressure. A little harder.”

Izuku increases the pressure, his breath catching. The sensation intensifies, a sweet, coiling heat beginning to gather low in his belly. His other hand grips the cold edge of the tub for balance. He’s panting, small open-mouthed gasps that fog the air in front of him.

“You’re getting wetter,” Katsuki observes, his voice a low rumble. “I can see it. Dripping down onto the tub. That’s your body telling you it likes what you’re doing.”

The crude observation should shame him. Instead, it fuels the fire. Izuku’s circles become less timid, more deliberate. He’s chasing the feeling, the building tension that threatens to crest into something terrifying and wonderful.

“That’s it,” Katsuki encourages, his own breathing slightly deeper now. “You’re a fast learner. Now slip a finger inside. Just one. See how you feel.”

Izuku’s movements stutter. Inside? The concept is vast and frightening. But the throbbing ache between his legs is a louder command. His slick finger slides down from his clit, pressing tentatively at his entrance. The resistance is minimal. His own body yields, swallowing the first knuckle with a soft, wet ease that makes his eyes fly open in shock.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes, his composure slipping for a second. He’s staring, his crimson eyes blazing. “Look at that. You’re so fucking eager. Even for yourself.”

The stretch is unfamiliar, a fullness that is entirely new. Izuku whimpers, pushing his finger in a little deeper. The internal heat is overwhelming. It feels… good. Deeply, shamefully good. He begins to move it, a slow, experimental curl.

“You like that, don’t you?” Katsuki’s question isn’t really a question. It’s a verdict. “Filling up that cute little pussy. Even with just a finger.”

Izuku can only nod, his head falling forward. His green curls stick to his damp forehead. He adds a second finger, the stretch becoming a burn that melts instantly into a devastating pleasure. His hips start to rock in a clumsy, instinctive rhythm, fucking himself on his own hand. The wet, soft sounds are obscenely loud in the tiled room.

Katsuki watches, motionless except for the slow, deliberate stroke of his own hand beneath the churning water. “You’re gonna make yourself come, aren’t you? Right there on the edge of my tub. My good, devoted little fan. Touching the pussy you got just for me.”

The words are a catalyst. The coil in Izuku’s belly pulls taut, unbearably tight. His back arches, his free hand scrabbling against the slick acrylic. A high, desperate sound is torn from his throat—not a scream, not a word, just pure, unraveling sensation.

Katsuki leans forward as Izuku’s body seizes, his mouth opening just as the first hot jet of clear fluid pulses from Izuku’s trembling pussy. He catches it directly on his tongue, drinking down the salty-sweet squirt without hesitation. Izuku cries out, a shattered sound, as Katsuki’s mouth seals over him, his tongue lapping roughly at his oversensitive clit, drawing out the convulsive aftershocks.

“N-no—too much—” Izuku gasps, his hands flailing before tangling in Katsuki’s damp hair, not to push him away, but to anchor himself as his hips jerk helplessly.

Katsuki doesn’t stop. He drinks, swallows, his tongue working him through the last tremors until Izuku is limp, shuddering with overstimulation. Only then does he pull back, his lips glistening. “Tastes so damn sweet,” he rasps, his voice thick. “Like you were made just to feed me.”

Izuku can’t speak. He slumps against the tub’s edge, his chest heaving. The water churns around his thighs, now mixed with his own release. He feels hollowed out, scraped raw, yet the ache between his legs is a dull, persistent throb.

“Look at you.” Katsuki’s hand comes up, his thumb swiping a stray droplet from Izuku’s lower lip. “A fucking fountain. You came harder for your own fingers than you did for my cock in the elevator. You’re learning what you like.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” Izuku whispers, his eyes glassy with spent tears.

“You never do.” Katsuki’s smile is all teeth. “That’s what makes it perfect. Your body doesn’t lie.” He shifts in the water. “Now you’re all loose and wet.”

Katsuki’s hands slide under Izuku’s trembling thighs, lifting him from the tub’s edge with effortless strength. The water sloshes as he pulls the boy back into the churning heat, settling him firmly in the vee of his own spread legs, Izuku’s front facing the solid wall of Katsuki’s chest.

“Ever play with these?” Katsuki’s voice is a low rumble against Izuku’s ear as his rough palms slide up the boy’s slender ribs, his thumbs brushing over the small, soft mounds of his chest.

“N-no,” Izuku stammers, his breath hitching. “They’re just… there.”

“Nothing’s ‘just there,’” Katsuki corrects, his fingers finding the puffy, inverted nipples, circling the sensitive flesh. “Everything has a purpose. Everything feels.” He dips his head, his tongue, hot and wet, laving a broad stripe over one bud.

Izuku jolts, a sharp gasp tearing from him. The sensation is electric, a direct line to his already-throbbing core.

“Sensitive,” Katsuki notes, his breath fanning over the damp skin. Then he seals his mouth over it, sucking the tender flesh into the heat of his mouth, his tongue working insistently against the inversion.

“Ah! K-Kacchan!” The childhood honorific, born of pure, overwhelmed instinct, spills out. Izuku’s hands fly up, fingers tangling in Katsuki’s damp hair again, holding on as the hero coaxes the nipple to a stiff, aching peak. The pull is deep, claiming, and Izuku feels it everywhere—in his tightening belly, in the fresh slickness gathering between his legs.

Katsuki switches to the other, giving it the same relentless attention. “Your little tits are perfect,” he murmurs against his skin, his voice thick. “Just like the rest of you. Made to be used.”

“These aren’t just for show,” Katsuki growls against his damp skin, his thumbs pressing the soft mounds together. “They’re meant to be used. Perfect little tits for my cock.”

Izuku whimpers, his mind scrambling to process the claim. Before he can form a question, Katsuki is moving. He lifts Izuku from the water and sets him on the submerged bench, then rises from the tub with a cascade of water. He kneels on the tiled edge, his massive frame looming, the thick, heavy length of his erection jutting out, flushed and dripping.

“Look,” Katsuki commands, his voice a low rasp. He takes himself in hand, the width of his grip obscene, and slaps the broad head of his cock against Izuku’s chest. The impact is a wet, startling smack against his sternum. “See how they frame it? Made for this.”

“F-for… what?” Izuku breathes, his viridian eyes wide, fixed on the veined thickness resting between his small, heaving breasts.

“For fucking.” Katsuki’s free hand comes up, cupping the back of Izuku’s neck, holding his gaze. “Press them together. Against me.”

Trembling, Izuku lifts his hands, placing his palms against the outer curves of his own chest. He pushes inward, the soft flesh yielding, creating a shallow, hot valley. The head of Katsuki’s cock nestles into the space, searingly hot against his skin.

“Tighter,” Katsuki grunts, his hips giving a minute thrust, smearing pre-come in a slick stripe. “You wanna be useful, don’t you? This is how. Use what you’ve got.”

Izuku squeezes, his fingers digging into his own flesh. The pressure is strange, intimate in a way that bypasses his shame. He can feel the throb of Katsuki’s pulse through the hot, silken skin of his cock.

“Good boy,” Katsuki praises, the words vibrating with a dark pleasure. He begins to move, a slow, shallow roll of his hips, his length sliding through the tight, wet channel Izuku’s body provides. The friction is smooth, aided by the water and the slickness already on his skin. “Feel that? Your hero’s cock. All because of you.”

A choked sound escapes Izuku’s throat. He can only watch, mesmerized, as the thick shaft glides back and forth, the crown catching against his puffy nipples with each pass, sending jolts of sharp sensation straight to his core. His own cunt clenches, empty and aching.

“You’re doing so good,” Katsuki murmurs, his breathing growing heavier. His gaze is locked on the lewd sight. “Taking it so well. My perfect little fan. Your first tit-fuck.”

The term, so crude and specific, makes Izuku flush. He feels a fresh trickle of wetness seep from inside him, joining the bathwater. His arms are starting to burn from the effort of holding himself tight, but he doesn’t dare relax.

“K-Kacchan… it’s so big,” he whispers, the awe in his voice utterly genuine, stripped of any pretense. “It won’t… fit inside me. It can’t.”

Katsuki’s rhythm stutters. He leans forward, his face inches from Izuku’s. “It will,” he says, the promise absolute. “I’ll make it fit. That pretty pussy of yours will swallow every inch. You’ll scream for it.” He thrusts harder, the motion becoming less controlled, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. “But first, you’re gonna make me come right here. On these perfect little tits. You want that? To see your hero lose it because of you?”

"Yes," Izuku breathes, the word a shaky exhale. "Please. I want it." His viridian eyes are wide, fixed on the thick cock sliding between his breasts. "The hot... cum. Like in the elevator. All over me."

A low, gratified grunt rumbles from Katsuki's chest. "Begging for it already. Good." His thrusts grow more deliberate, the wet sound obscene in the steamy bathroom. "Stick your tongue out."

Izuku obeys instantly, his pink tongue darting out to rest on his plush lower lip.

"Further," Katsuki commands, his voice a dark scrape. "Catch the tip. The slit. Taste what you're working for."

Izuku leans forward, straining against the hand at his neck. The broad, leaking head of Katsuki's cock smears against his outstretched tongue on the next forward thrust. The taste is musky, salty, profoundly intimate. Izuku whimpers, the sound vibrating against the sensitive flesh.

"That's it," Katsuki groans, his hips stuttering. "Fuck. Your little tongue..." He guides himself, the crown bumping against Izuku's lips, painting them with pre-come. "Now suck. Just the head. Show me how devoted you are."

Izuku's mouth closes over the swollen tip, his tongue pressing into the slit as instructed. The flavor floods his senses—Katsuki, pure and potent. He suckles weakly, overwhelmed by the size, the heat, the sheer reality of his idol's cock in his mouth.

It's too much. Katsuki pulls back with a wet pop, his breathing ragged. "Enough. You'll choke on it later." His grip on his own shaft tightens, his strokes turning frantic, focused solely on the tight, slick channel of Izuku's chest. "Gonna mark you. My cum on your skin. Proof."

Izuku squeezes his tits tighter, his arms screaming in protest. He watches, mesmerized, as Katsuki's face contorts—the cool control shattering into raw, unfiltered need. The hero's jaw clenches, a tendon in his neck cording.

"Kacchan—"

The word is swallowed by Katsuki's guttural groan. His hips piston forward one final time, and he comes. Thick, hot stripes of white paint Izuku's throat, his collarbones, the soft mounds of his chest. The force of it is startling, each pulse a visceral claim against his skin.

Izuku gasps, his body trembling. He can feel the heat of it, the weight. It drips, slow and viscous, into the churning water.

Katsuki slumps forward, bracing one hand on the tub's edge behind Izuku, his forehead coming to rest against the boy's. His breath is hot and ragged on Izuku's face. "Look at you," he rasps. "Covered in me. Perfect."

He swipes two fingers through the mess on Izuku's sternum, bringing them to Izuku's lips. "Taste it. Your reward."

Eyes glazed, Izuku opens his mouth. Katsuki pushes his fingers inside. The taste is stronger now, bitter and salty, utterly foreign. Izuku gags slightly but doesn't pull away. He suckles the digits clean, his tongue lapping at the webbing.

Katsuki watches, his crimson eyes dark with satisfaction. "You belong to me now. Every part of you. This?" He smears the remaining spend across Izuku's chest with his palm. "This is just the beginning."

They were far from done.