The cedar and scotch scent of the house has faded into the warm, clean smell of laundry and roasted vegetables as Izuku sets the last dish in the drying rack. Masaru’s hand finds the small of his back, a gentle, familiar pressure.
“Long day, sweetheart?” Masaru’s voice is a soft rumble behind him.
Izuku leans into the touch, letting his head tilt back against his husband’s shoulder. “The usual. Good, though. Always good.” The lie is smooth, practiced. He turns, offering a smile that reaches his eyes. It’s an old muscle memory. “You?”
“Better now.” Masaru kisses his temple. “Come to bed early with me?”
His heart gives a complicated thud. Anticipation, and beneath it, something he can't name. “I’d love that.”
Upstairs, under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Masaru undresses him with a slow, appreciative care. His thumbs trace the silver lines on Izuku’s belly. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and Izuku’s throat tightens. The kindness is a weight.
Masaru’s own body is familiar, comforting. The happy trail, the softness of his dad bod, the thick heat of him already stirring. He reaches into the nightstand, and the crinkle of foil is the loudest sound in the room.
“Okay?” Masaru asks, sheathing himself.
“Perfect,” Izuku breathes, spreading his thighs. He’s dry. He has to think of the cedar smell, the clean sheets, anything but the ache that lives in him now.
Masaru pushes inside. It’s a smooth, full stretch, but distant. The latex barrier is a slick, clinical thing. Izuku wraps his legs around his husband’s waist, hooks his chin over a strong shoulder, and watches the shifting light on the wall. Masaru’s rhythm is steady, loving. He pants softly against Izuku’s neck.
“I love you,” Masaru gasps, hips stuttering. His release is a quiet shudder, a warm pulse trapped inside rubber. He collapses, sweaty and smiling, planting a kiss on Izuku’s cheek. “Amazing. Always are.”
He rolls off, disposed of the condom with a tidy toss, and is asleep within minutes, one arm thrown heavily across Izuku’s waist.
Izuku lies still. The wetness between his thighs is his own, minimal, and the condom’s lubricant. His pussy feels untouched, a neutral space. The frantic, screaming need Katsuki ignites is a silent void. He stares at the ceiling, feeling the gentle snore vibrate through Masaru’s arm. Disappointment is a cold stone in his gut. Masaru never even asked or cared about his wife's climax.
His phone, face-down on his nightstand, buzzes. Once. A short, sharp vibration.
He extracts himself with slow care, sliding out from under Masaru’s arm. The screen glares in the dark. A message from *Kacchan*. He taps it.
The image loads. Katsuki’s cock, thick and uncut, ruddy and throbbing, held in his own fist against the dark fabric of his sheets. The message below is stark: *If you want to cum this is waiting for you.*
Izuku’s breath leaves him in a silent rush. His own body answers instantly, a slick, aching clench of pure hunger. The cold stone melts into liquid heat.
He doesn’t hesitate. He sets the phone down, slips from the bed, and pads naked into the dark hallway. The floorboards are cool under his feet. He doesn’t look back.
The door to Katsuki’s room is shut. Izuku turns the handle and pushes inside, then closes it firmly behind him, the click of the latch loud in the quiet. The air here is different—sharp, clean, the faint ozone of electronics and the base note of Katsuki’s skin.
Katsuki lies naked on his back atop the black comforter, one arm behind his head. The faint blue light from a standby LED stripes his torso. Every muscle is defined, a sculpture of taut abs, sharp hip bones, the powerful cut of his thighs. His cock rests thick and heavy against his stomach, uncut and already leaking a dark bead onto his skin. Izuku’s breath catches. His perfect son. His perfect monster. A perfect body.
“Mommy.” Katsuki’s voice is a low, amused drawl. His crimson eyes track Izuku’s naked form in the doorway. “Didn’t even bother with a robe. That desperate?”
Izuku clicked of the lock in place. He whimpers, a soft, broken sound, and crosses the room. The cool air pebbles his skin, his small nipples tightening. He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and straddles Katsuki’s hips without touching him yet.
“Look at you,” Katsuki murmurs, his gaze predatory. “All worked up over a picture. Dad didn’t get the job done, did he?”
Izuku shakes his head, his green curls swaying. He lowers himself, letting his dripping pussy grind against the hot, hard length of his son’s cock. The slickness is immediate, obscene. A shudder wracks his frame. “Please,” he breathes, rocking his hips. “Please, Kacchan. Make Mommy cum.”
Katsuki’s hands come up to grip Izuku’s thick thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He doesn’t thrust up. He holds him still, controlling the grind. “You don’t get this yet,” he says, voice rough. “Not in your cunt. But I’ll make you cum. All night. You’ll scream for it.”
“Baby boy,” Izuku moans, the childhood endearment twisting into something filthy. He grinds down harder, the swollen head of Katsuki’s cock catching on his clit with each pass. Sparks of pleasure-pain shoot through him. His own wetness soaks them both.
“That’s it,” Katsuki growls, his smirk widening. “Use me. Show me how much you need it. Bet you’re already close, you greedy slut. Dad doesn’t know how to touch you,” His voice a low rasp as his thumbs dig into the soft flesh of Izuku’s inner thighs. His grip is absolute. “Does he?”
Izuku moans, a broken sound, as he grinds down. The slick, hot drag of his son’s cock against his swollen clit is a brutal relief. “He… he tries.”
“Bullshit.” Katsuki’s hips lift a fraction, meeting his grind, and the new pressure makes Izuku cry out. “He puts a rubber on. Fucks you like a chore. Doesn’t even taste you.” Katsuki’s nostrils flare. “I can smell him on you. Soap and condom lube. It’s fucking pathetic.”
“Kacchan—”
“He doesn’t make you scream.” Katsuki’s hands slide up, gripping Izuku’s hips, stilling him. “He doesn’t make you drip like this. Look at you.” He forces Izuku’s grinding to a slow, torturous roll. “Your cunt’s weeping all over me. For me. Because Dad doesn’t know the first thing about what his wife needs.”
Izuku’s head falls back, his green curls brushing his shoulders. Pleasure coils, tight and urgent, deep in his belly. “He loves me,” he gasps, the defense automatic, hollow.
“He doesn’t own you.” Katsuki’s voice drops, possessive and dark. “I do. You gave yourself to me. So tell me. What did Dad do wrong?”
The command hangs in the air. Izuku’s hips stutter. He looks down, meets his son’s crimson gaze. The truth spills out, raw and shameful. “He didn’t make me cum.” The words are a whisper. “He never does. He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to. It’s over too fast. He doesn’t care.”
Katsuki’s smirk is a vicious, beautiful thing. “He doesn’t care,” he repeats, a soft echo. “But I do, Mommy. I care so much.” In one fluid, powerful motion, he flips Izuku onto his back. The world spins. Izuku lands against the black comforter, his legs splayed, his pussy exposed and gleaming in the low light.
Katsuki looms over him, not touching, just looking. His eyes devour the sight. “He doesn’t look at you like this. Like you’re a fucking meal.”
Then he lowers his head.
His mouth is heat and wicked purpose. He doesn’t kiss. He licks, a long, flat stripe from Izuku’s soaked entrance all the way up to his throbbing clit. Izuku arches off the bed, a shattered gasp torn from his throat. It’s nothing like Masaru’s careful, distant touches. This is claiming.
“See?” Katsuki murmurs against his skin, his breath hot. “He doesn’t know what you taste like.” He licks again, slower, savoring. “Sweet. And salty. And all mine.”
He closes his mouth over Izuku’s clit and sucks.
Izuku screams. His hands fly to Katsuki’s spiky hair, tangling, pulling. The pleasure is a lightning strike, violent and perfect. Katsuki works him with a ruthless expertise, his tongue circling, flicking, his suction relentless. He moans against Izuku’s pussy, the vibration tearing another cry from Izuku’s lungs.
“That’s it,” Katsuki growls, pulling back for a second. His lips are glistening. “Scream for me. Let the whole house hear. Let Dad sleep through it.” He dives back in, his tongue pushing inside, fucking him with it, then swirling back to his clit. His hands pin Izuku’s thighs apart, holding him wide open.
The climax builds, a terrifying wave. Izuku sobs, his hips bucking. “I’m— Kacchan, I’m gonna—”
“Cum.” The command is guttural, muffled against his flesh. “Squirt all over your son’s face, Mommy. Show me what he can’t give you.”
The wave breaks. Izuku shatters. His back bows off the bed, a raw scream ripped from his core as he soaks his son’s face. He squirts into Katsuki’s mouth, a hot, frantic gush he can’t control, and Katsuki groans against him, swallowing every bitter, shameful jet.
Katsuki drinks it all down, lapping at his slit through the convulsions, chasing the last pulses with his tongue until Izuku collapses, boneless and twitching, into the comforter.
Slowly, Katsuki rises. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes blazing with triumph. Izuku’s release shines on his chin. “One,” Katsuki says, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s what was waiting for you.”
Katsuki looks down at Izuku’s wrecked form, his thumb swiping through the wetness on his own chin. “See that? That’s what Dad’s never tasted. That’s what he’ll never get.”
He kneels on the bed, his knees framing Izuku’s hips. His fingers, slick from his own mouth, press against Izuku’s swollen, tender entrance. “He ever make you cum like that, Mommy? Even once?”
Izuku shakes his head against the black comforter, his curls damp with sweat. “No,” he whispers, the confession a raw scrape in his throat.
“Ever make you squirt?” Katsuki pushes one finger inside, slow, deliberate. Izuku gasps, his body clenching around the intrusion. It’s too much, too soon after the first climax, a bright flash of overstimulation that borders on pain.
“No,” Izuku breathes, his hips twitching. “Never.”
“Just me.” Katsuki adds a second finger, stretching him. The burn is sharp, delicious. “I’m the only one who’s ever made this perfect little cunt scream and flood. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, baby boy,” Izuku moans, his hands fisting in the comforter. “Just you.”
“So tell me what he does.” Katsuki begins to fuck him with his fingers, a hard, punishing rhythm. His palm smacks against Izuku’s clit with every thrust. “Does he even try?”
“He— he puts the condom on,” Izuku pants, the words coming in broken bursts. “He kisses my neck. He pushes in. He… moves. It’s over in a few minutes. He says ‘was it good?’ and I say yes.”
Katsuki’s laugh is a dark, humorless sound. “Pathetic.” He crooks his fingers, searching, and then he finds it—the rough, spongy spot deep inside that makes Izuku’s vision whiten. He presses down, unrelenting.
A broken cry tears from Izuku. His back arches, his toes curling. “Kacchan!”
“That’s it,” Katsuki growls, his eyes locked on Izuku’s face. “That’s the spot he’s never fucking touched. He doesn’t know it exists.” He hammers his fingers against it, the wet, squelching sound obscenely loud. “You’re already tightening up. You’re gonna squirt again. All over my hand. For the second time tonight.”
“I can’t,” Izuku sobs, but his body is betraying him, coiling tight, the pressure building in a fierce, familiar rush. “It’s too much—”
“You can.” Katsuki leans over him, his breath hot on Izuku’s ear. “You will. Do it, Mommy. Soak my fucking fingers. Show me how good your son makes you feel.”
The command shatters the last of his resistance. The climax hits him like a seizure, violent and unrestrained. Izuku screams, a raw, ragged sound as he gushes around Katsuki’s pumping fingers, a hot rush of release that soaks his thighs and the sheets beneath him.
Katsuki works him through it, his fingers never stopping, milking every last pulse until Izuku is limp and shuddering, his cries dissolving into whimpers. Only then does he slowly withdraw his glistening hand, holding it up for Izuku to see.
“Two,” Katsuki says, his voice thick with dark satisfaction. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue. “And Daddy’s still asleep.”
Izuku’s eyes drift down, over Katsuki’s heaving chest, past his taut abdomen, to where his cock stands painfully hard and untouched, a thick vein throbbing along its length, the head weeping a clear, sticky bead. The sight pulls a soft, ragged sound from Izuku’s throat. His own hands, trembling slightly, rise to cup his small, soft breasts, his thumbs brushing over his puffy brown nipples, already peaked and sensitive.
“My baby boy,” Izuku whispers, his voice husky from screaming. “You’re still so hard. You haven’t come yet.”
Katsuki’s breath hitches, just once. His cock gives a violent twitch, a fresh strand of pre-cum spilling onto his stomach. “Your job was to get yourself off,” he says, but the command lacks its usual edge. It sounds like a question.
“My job is to take care of you,” Izuku murmurs, pushing himself up on wobbling elbows. He squeezes his tits together, creating a soft, pale valley of freckled skin. “You gave me two perfect climaxes. Let Mommy… let me take care of yours.” He meets Katsuki’s burning gaze. “Fuck my tits, Kacchan. Please. Use them.”
A low groan rumbles from Katsuki’s chest. He doesn’t speak, just shifts forward on his knees, his powerful thighs caging Izuku’s hips. He spits into his own palm, twice, then slicks his enormous cock, the sound wet and crude in the quiet room. He guides the weeping head to the crevice Izuku made for him.
The heat is instant, shocking. Izuku gasps as the broad, slick crown pushes between his breasts, the skin there so much softer, more sensitive than he’d realized. Katsuki lets out a shattered breath, his eyes closing for a second. “Fuck,” he grits out.
“That’s it,” Izuku encourages, his voice a maternal croon layered with lust. He squeezes tighter, the soft flesh pillowing around the hard length. “Use Mommy. Your pretty cock looks so good there.”
Katsuki’s control fractures. He sets a brutal pace immediately, his hips pistoning, his cock sliding through the hot, tight channel of Izuku’s tits. The swollen head pops free with every upward thrust, glistening, before he pulls it back down. The wet, slapping rhythm fills the room, syncopated with their ragged breathing.
“Look at me,” Katsuki demands, his voice strained. His eyes are wide, almost wild, fixed on where his shaft disappears into Izuku’s freckled skin. “Look at what you’re doing.”
Izuku obeys, watching, mesmerized by the lewd sight, by the sheer power of his son’s thrusts. He feels owned, used, and desperately, shamefully needed. “You feel so good, baby,” he moans, arching his back to offer more. “You’re so big. You’re gonna make such a mess on Mommy.”
“Gonna mark you,” Katsuki grunts, his rhythm faltering, growing erratic. “Gonna paint these perfect tits. Let Dad see it in the morning.”
“Yes,” Izuku hisses, his own neglected clit throbbing in time. “Do it. Come for me, Kacchan. Give it to me.”
Katsuki shouts, a raw, unfiltered sound of release. His hips stutter, slamming deep one final time as his cock pulses violently between Izuku’s breasts, painting hot, thick stripes of cum across his skin, his collarbone, his throat. Izuku feels every jet, every convulsion, and he holds still, taking it, a perfect, willing receptacle until Katsuki sags forward, spent.
Izuku’s hands slide up his own chest, palms skimming through the warm, sticky mess Katsuki painted there. He moans, low and shameless, as he spreads the thick strands of cum over his small, soft tits, working it into his skin until his puffy brown nipples glisten, peaked and sensitive under his slick fingers.
“Look at you,” Katsuki breathes, his voice wrecked, his hips giving a weak twitch as he watches. “Fucking obsessed.”
Izuku doesn’t answer with words. He leans forward, his green curls brushing Katsuki’s taut stomach, and takes the still-dripping head of his son’s cock into his mouth. He suckles gently, lapping at the slit, tasting the sharp, salty remnants of his release.
Katsuki’s head falls forward against the headboard with a solid thump. A ragged moan tears from his throat. “Shit. Mommy… your mouth. Your perfect fucking tits.”
Izuku pulls off with a soft pop, his lips slick. He nuzzles the heavy, spent length, his voice a husky murmur against Katsuki’s skin. “You feel so good, baby. You came so much for me.”
“Love your tits,” Katsuki grits out, his hand coming up to card through Izuku’s hair, not guiding, just holding. A possessive anchor. “Soft. Pretty. Made for me.”
“They are,” Izuku whispers, kissing the tip again. “All of me is. You know that.” He shifts, lying back on the ruined sheets, and brings his cum-smeared fingers to his own mouth, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate curl of his tongue. His green eyes never leave Katsuki’s face. “You taste perfect, Kacchan.”
Katsuki watches him, his crimson eyes dark, his chest still heaving. The wildness from his climax has settled into a heavy, satiated intensity. He reaches down, his thumb brushing over Izuku’s slick nipple. “He ever touch you like this after?”
“No.” The word is immediate, absolute. Izuku arches into the touch. “He falls asleep. He… thanks me. It’s not the same.”
“It’s nothing.” Katsuki’s thumb circles, rough and demanding. “I own this. This heat. This mess. This fucking… need in you.” He leans down, his lips hovering over Izuku’s mouth. “Tell me you need it.”
Izuku’s breath hitches. “I need it.”
“Tell me you’re hungry for it.”
“I’m hungry,” Izuku gasps, his hands coming up to clutch at Katsuki’s shoulders. “I’m so hungry, baby boy. Only for you.”
Katsuki kisses him then, deep and consuming, his tongue claiming Izuku’s mouth with the same brutal ownership as his cock. Izuku melts into it, his body pliant, his own hunger rising fresh and sharp beneath the exhaustion. When Katsuki pulls back, a string of saliva connects their lips for a second before breaking.
“You should go back,” Katsuki says, but his hand is still on Izuku’s breast, his thumb tracing idle, sticky circles.
Izuku’s heart clenches. He nods, the motion small. “I should.”
Neither of them moves.
Katsuki’s mouth crashes back down onto Izuku’s, silencing the unspoken agreement to leave. The kiss isn’t gentle; it’s a devouring. Teeth clash, tongues thrust, and Izuku moans into the heat, his hands flying to Katsuki’s hair, gripping the spiky blond strands. He can taste himself on Katsuki’s tongue—salt, sweat, and the bitter edge of his own spent arousal.
“Fuck, Mommy,” Katsuki grunts against his lips, his own hands moving with a frantic urgency. One palms Izuku’s breast, smearing the drying cum between them, while the other slides down his trembling stomach.
Izuku’s hand finds Katsuki’s cock, already rigid and leaking again against his thigh. He pumps it, his fist slick with their combined mess, the thick vein throbbing under his palm. “You’re still so hard, baby. Always so hard for me.”
“Yes, Mommy. So hard for you. Keep kissing me,” Katsuki demands, but it’s a breathless command. His fingers dive between Izuku’s slick thighs, two pushing into his soaked cunt without preamble.
Izuku cries out, the sound swallowed by Katsuki’s mouth. The stretch is immediate, perfect, his body clenching around the invading digits. Katsuki scissors them, curling them, searching for the spot that makes Izuku’s back arch off the bed.
“There,” Izuku gasps, breaking the kiss, his forehead falling against Katsuki’s shoulder. “Right there, Kacchan, please.”
“I know where it is,” Katsuki snarls, but his voice is tight with strain. He pumps his fingers in a brutal rhythm, his thumb finding Izuku’s swollen clit, rubbing rough, tight circles. His hips working his own cock in Izuku’s tight fist, their movements growing frantic, uncoordinated.
Their mouths find each other again, sloppy and wet. Izuku can’t tell whose moan is whose, the air thick with the sounds of skin slapping, fingers plunging, and their ragged, shared breaths. The pleasure builds, a coiling wire in his gut, pulled taut by Katsuki’s relentless touch.
“Gonna come,” Izuku warns, his words a hot puff against Katsuki’s lips. His hips jerk, fucking himself on Katsuki’s hand. “I’m gonna— Kacchan—”
“Look at me,” Katsuki grunts, his crimson eyes blazing, his own hips stuttering into Izuku’s grip. “Look at me when you do it.”
The command shatters him. Izuku’s eyes fly open, locking onto his son’s gaze as the orgasm rips through him, silent for a second before a broken scream tears free. His cunt clenches violently around Katsuki’s fingers, a fresh gush of wetness spilling over his knuckles.
Seeing it—watching Izuku’s face break—pushes Katsuki over the edge. He shouts, a raw, guttural sound, and his cock pulses hot stripes of cum over Izuku’s fist and his own stomach, his thrusts turning into helpless jerks as he rides it out.
They collapse together, a tangled, sweating, spent heap on the soiled sheets. The only sound is their labored breathing. Katsuki’s fingers slowly slide out of Izuku, the movement making them both shudder.
After a long moment, Katsuki shifts, looking down at the mess between them. He brings his glistening fingers to Izuku’s mouth. “Clean them.”
Izuku obeys without hesitation, taking Katsuki’s fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean with slow, thorough passes of his tongue. His green eyes stay on Katsuki’s face, hazy with satisfaction.
“You came so hard,” Katsuki murmurs, his voice oddly soft. He traces Izuku’s swollen lower lip with his clean thumb.
“You made me,” Izuku whispers back. He nuzzles into the touch.
“You have to go back now, Mom,” Katsuki murmurs against his lips, but his hands are still framing Izuku’s face, his thumbs stroking the freckled skin.
“I know,” Izuku whispers back. He doesn’t pull away. He breathes in the scent of them—sex, sweat, salt—and commits it to memory.
Katsuki’s eyes are dark, satiated pools. “Leave it. The cum on your tits. Let it dry. Don’t wipe it off.”
Izuku’s breath catches. It’s a brand, a claim that will tighten on his skin. He nods, a slow, deliberate dip of his chin. “Okay.”
Their lips meet one last time, a slow, wet slide of tongue and shared breath that tastes of salt and surrender. Then Katsuki pulls back, his crimson eyes tracking every movement as Izuku slips from the bed.
Katsuki watches, silent, as his mother pads naked to the door—the cum on his small tits already tightening to a shiny glaze, the sway of his thick thighs marked with red fingerprints. The door clicks shut, leaving Katsuki alone in the dark with the smell of his perfect mother.