The dream is always the same at first, father and son doing a normal activity. This time, it's the gym—the sterile smell of new rubber mats, the cold iron of the weights, the single buzzing light overhead. Izuku is on the bench press, his father’s hands hovering near the bar, a solid, silent presence behind him. He’s pushing his limits, muscles burning, breath coming in sharp gasps. Then he shifts, his head tilting back, and through the wide leg hole of his father’s black gym shorts, he sees it. A heavy, soft weight, resting against a muscular thigh. A thick, uncut cock. Massive.

“See something you like, kid?”

Katsuki’s voice is a low rumble, amused. Izuku’s arms lock, the bar frozen above his chest. He can’t look away. His mouth is dry.

His father steps around the bench, into his line of sight. He doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers hook into the waistband of his shorts. He pulls them down just enough. His soft cock and his heavy, full balls slump out into the cool air of the gym. Izuku stares, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.

“This what you were starin’ at?” Katsuki asks, his smirk sharp. He moves closer, until he’s standing over Izuku’s head, the bench pressing into Izuku’s back. The heat of him is overwhelming.

Then he lowers himself. Slowly. Deliberately. The soft, warm weight of his father’s balls presses against Izuku’s forehead, then drags down the bridge of his nose, over his lips. The scent is pure musk, salt, and man. Izuku makes a choked sound, his whole body seizing with a shameful, electric want.

Izuku’s tongue darts out before his mind can catch up. It’s a reflex, hungry and instinctual, licking the salty musk from the skin of his father’s balls where they’d just been pressed against his lips.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes above him, the word a low, surprised exhale.

Izuku does it again. He sucks the heavy sac into his mouth, the skin soft and pliable, rolling his tongue around the weight of his father’s nuts. The taste is overwhelming—pure, concentrated man. Sweat. Skin. Something deeper, something that makes his own cunt clench, wet and empty.

“You like that?” Katsuki’s voice is rough, stripped of its usual amused control. He doesn’t pull away. He shifts his hips, letting his balls rest more fully against Izuku’s mouth. “You hungry for it?”

Izuku moans around the flesh in his mouth, the sound muffled and desperate. His hands come up, trembling, to cradle his father’s thighs. He’s holding him there. He’s keeping him there.

“Look at you.” Katsuki’s hand comes down, fingers threading into Izuku’s green curls. Not pulling. Just holding. A claim. “My good boy.”

The praise is a lightning strike down Izuku’s spine. He sucks harder, worshipful, his tongue working feverishly. He can feel the coarse hair, the heat, the way his father’s cock is beginning to swell and thicken, hanging heavy just above his forehead.

“That’s it,” Katsuki murmurs, his thumb stroking Izuku’s temple. “Get them nice and wet for me.”

The command is filthy. It shatters any last pretense of a normal dream. Izuku whimpers, his hips lifting off the bench in a helpless little thrust, seeking friction against nothing. He’s soaked. He can feel it, the slick heat soaking through his own shorts.

Katsuki’s eyes are dark, his breathing deeper now. “You wanna taste more?”

Izuku nods frantically against him, his mouth still working.

Slowly, Katsuki pulls back. Izuku makes a broken sound of protest, his lips chasing the retreating heat.

“Shhh.” Katsuki’s grip in his hair tightens, just enough to still him. He looks down at his son, his expression unreadable. “Open.”

Izuku obeys, mouth falling open, panting. His lips are glistening.

Katsuki guides himself down. Not his balls this time. The broad, soft head of his cock, now half-hard and leaking, brushes against Izuku’s bottom lip. It’s huge. It smells even more intense. Izuku’s eyes roll back.

“Go on,” his father says, the words a gravelly push. “Suck your Daddy’s cock.”

Izuku’s mouth closes around the soft, broad head. He sucks hard, his tongue pressing flat against the underside, lapping at the bead of pre-cum already gathered there. The taste is salt and musk and something uniquely his father. Izuku moans, the vibration traveling up the thick shaft.

“Yeah,” Katsuki breathes above him, his fingers tightening in Izuku’s hair. “Just like that.”

Izuku’s eyes are squeezed shut, his world narrowed to the weight on his tongue, the stretch of his lips. He works the foreskin with his mouth, sucking it in, letting it slide back, his tongue exploring the sensitive ridge beneath. He’s frantic, worshipful, drinking him down.

“Slow,” Katsuki grunts, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust. “Don’t choke yourself, kid.”

But Izuku can’t slow down. The hunger is a physical ache, a hollow need in his gut and between his legs. He takes more, the head nudging the back of his throat. He gags, tears springing to his eyes, but he pushes through it, breathing harshly through his nose.

“Fuck, look at you.” Katsuki’s voice is ragged. He uses his grip in Izuku’s hair to guide the pace, a slow, deep push that lets Izuku feel every inch as it hardens further. “Taking it so good. My boy.”

Izuku whimpers around the fullness, his own hips grinding down against the hard bench. The thin facbic of his shorts is soaked, a cold patch against his burning skin. He’s so wet he can feel it dripping down his thigh.

“You’re dripping, aren’t you?” Katsuki says, as if reading his mind. His free hand comes down, palm flattening against Izuku’s lower belly, pressing down. Izuku cries out, the sound muffled by cock. “I can feel you shaking.”

Izuku nods desperately, his nose buried in coarse blond hair, the scent overwhelming. He sucks harder, his jaw aching.

Izuku’s hands fumble at his own waistband, shoving his shorts and the soaked panties beneath them down his thighs in one frantic motion. He kicks them off, the fabric tangling around his ankles before falling to the gym floor. He spreads his legs wide over the hard bench, exposing himself—the slick, pink folds of his cunt, glistening and utterly bare, his hips tilted up in shameless offering.

“Look,” Izuku gasps, his voice wrecked from sucking cock. He’s trembling, his knuckles white where they grip the edge of the bench. “Daddy, look how wet I am for you.”

Katsuki’s breath hitches. His eyes, dark and hungry, rake down Izuku’s body, lingering on the exposed heat. “Fuck,” he rasps, the word thick with want. He doesn’t move from where he stands over Izuku’s head, his cock, now fully hard and leaking, bobbing near Izuku’s cheek.

“I need it,” Izuku whimpers, his back arching. A fresh trickle of wetness escapes him, tracing a path down toward the bench. “Please. I’m so empty.”

“You’re fucking dripping,” Katsuki observes, his voice a low rumble of pure heat.

Katsuki’s hand slides from Izuku’s belly, down through the coarse hair, his fingers finding the soaked, swollen heat of his son’s cunt. He groans, a raw, punched-out sound. “Fucking soaked.”

He steps back from the bench, his cock, thick and glistening from Izuku’s mouth, bobbing heavily. In one smooth, powerful motion, he hooks his hands under Izuku’s knees and yanks him down the bench, until his ass is right at the edge. The cold metal bites into his skin.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Katsuki commands, his voice a dark rasp. He positions himself between Izuku’s spread thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging against slick, trembling folds.

Izuku’s hands fly to his own knees, pulling them back toward his shoulders, exposing himself completely. “Daddy—”

Katsuki doesn’t wait. He pushes inside.

The stretch is immense, blinding. Izuku screams, his back bowing off the bench. It’s a brutal, claiming fullness, tearing through him, rearranging everything. He’s never been so full.

“Fuck,” Katsuki snarls, his hips flush against Izuku’s ass, buried to the hilt. He’s shaking with the effort of holding still. “Tight. So fucking tight.”

He pulls back almost all the way, then slams home again. The wet, meaty sound of it echoes in the empty gym. Izuku sobs, his nails digging into his own thighs.

“Show me your tits,” Katsuki grunts, setting a punishing, deep rhythm. Each thrust jolts Izuku up the bench. “Let Daddy see them bounce while I fuck this pretty cunt.”

Izuku’s hands scramble, releasing his knees to fumble with the hem of his sweat-damp shirt. He yanks it up, over his head, letting it fall away. His chest heaves, the soft, budding curves of his breasts bouncing with every brutal drive of his father’s hips. His nipples are puffy, and inverted, dark against his flushed skin.

“Yeah,” Katsuki breathes, his eyes locked on the jiggling flesh. His pace doesn’t falter. “Just like that. Fuck, look at you.”

“It’s—it’s too much,” Izuku chokes out, but his hips are lifting to meet every thrust, his cunt clenching greedily around the thick invasion. Pleasure coils, white-hot and terrifying, deep in his gut.

“It’s exactly what you need,” Katsuki corrects, his voice ragged. He leans over, bracing one hand on the bench by Izuku’s head, his other hand coming down to roughly palm one of Izuku’s tits. He squeezes, his thumb rubbing over the inverted nipple. “You take it so good. My good boy.”

Izuku cries out, the dual sensation of being filled and groped short-circuiting his thoughts. He’s just a body, a vessel for his father’s cock, his own pleasure a rising tsunami.

“Gonna cum,” Izuku whimpers, the confession torn from him. “Daddy, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” Katsuki growls, but his own control is fraying. His thrusts become erratic, deeper, harder. The bench creaks in protest. “Look at me. Look at me when you come.”

Izuku’s green eyes, glazed with tears, snap up to meet his father’s burning crimson gaze. The connection is a final, devastating spark.

His orgasm hits him like a seizure. His cunt milks Katsuki’s cock in frantic, fluttering pulses, and he screams, a fountain of wetness gushing out around the thick shaft, soaking the bench beneath them, dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck!” Katsuki roars, his hips stuttering. He drives in one last, brutal time, and Izuku feels the hot, sudden flood of his father’s release filling him up. Katsuki grinds deep, his own body shuddering through the climax, his eyes never leaving Izuku’s ruined, blissed-out face.

Katsuki’s mouth crashes down on his, a heated, claiming kiss that tastes of sweat and salt and something darker, something Izuku can’t name but needs more of. He moans into it, his body arching—

And he wakes up.

His bedroom is dark. The sheets are soaked, a cold, sticky mess between his thighs. He came in his sleep. Again. The phantom weight of his father is still pressed against him, the echo of fullness making him clench around nothing.

He doesn’t care about the mess. He scrambles, hand fumbling in the dark for the drawer of his nightstand. His fingers close around the smooth plastic of the vibrator. He doesn’t turn on the light. He shoves the waistband of his boxers down, kicks the damp sheets away.

He fucks his own cunt with it like crazy. No gentle prep, just a hard, desperate push past his swollen folds. He turns it on, the sudden buzz a violent shock to his system. He holds it there, pressed deep, letting the vibrations tear through the lingering dream-sensation. He angles it, searching, until the rabbit finds the sensitive, swollen bud of his clit—bigger now, from the T, a hard little nub of pure need.

“Fuck,” he gasps into the dark room, his hips bucking off the mattress. He grinds down onto the toy, fucking himself with short, frantic strokes while the vibrations tease his clit raw. It’s too much and not enough. He needs the dream back. He needs the weight, the stretch, the smell of him.

The door to his bedroom swings open. Light from the hallway spills in, framing his father’s broad silhouette.

Izuku freezes, the vibrator still buzzing obscenely inside him. His breath stops.

Katsuki doesn’t move. His eyes adjust to the dim light, taking in the scene: his son, spread on the soaked sheets, caught in the act. Again.

“Can’t sleep?” Katsuki’s voice is a low rumble. It isn’t angry. It’s calm. Observant.

Izuku can’t speak. He’s trembling, his knuckles white around the toy. He should stop. He should hide. He doesn’t.

Izuku’s eyes lock onto his father’s in the doorway. He doesn’t stop. He grinds down harder onto the buzzing toy, a sharp, choked sound escaping his throat.

Katsuki freezes in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the hall light. His eyes don’t leave the frantic motion on the bed, the obscene buzz cutting through the dark room. Izuku’s hips piston, fucking himself onto the toy with a crude, desperate rhythm, his breath coming in sharp, wet gasps.

Izuku moans, a broken sound. He can’t stop. His father’s gaze is a physical weight, hotter than the vibrations tearing through him. He grinds down harder, his back arching, chasing the crest of the dream that’s already fading.

Izuku’s back arches off the soaked sheets, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as the orgasm rips through him. A hot, powerful arc of fluid erupts from his cunt, shooting through the dim space between the bed and the doorway. It splatters on the hardwood floor, just shy of his father’s bare feet.

Katsuki doesn’t flinch. He watches the liquid pool on the polished wood. His expression is unreadable in the shadowed light.

The vibrator falls from Izuku’s trembling hand, buzzing uselessly against the mattress. He collapses, panting, utterly spent and exposed. The room smells of sex and salt and his own shame.

What the fuck did he just do in front of his father's eyes?