The Bakugou foyer smelled of cedar and expensive polish, a scent that usually meant peace. Tonight, it felt like a stage. Katsuki shouldered through the front door, a blond, lanky boy trailing behind him.

"This is it," Katsuki said, not looking back. His voice was flat. "Don't touch anything."

"Wow," the boy breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the high ceilings. "You live here? For real?"

"No, I fucking break into mansions for fun. Yes, for real, Denki." Katsuki kicked his shoes off, the sound echoing. "Upstairs. Now."

Denki scurried to follow, his own shoes placed neatly by the door. He was all nervous energy, fingers tapping against his thigh. "Your mom's home, right? I don't wanna, like, be rude or—"

"Mom's in his room," Katsuki cut him off, starting up the curved staircase. "Probably reading. He won't bother us."

He said it loud. Deliberate. Letting the words carry down the silent hall toward the wing where Izuku's bedroom was. Denki just nodded, a flush creeping up his neck.

Katsuki's room was a monument to controlled chaos. He didn't turn on the main light, just the lamp on his nightstand, casting the space in a dim, golden glow. He went straight to his dresser, pulled out a condom from the top drawer, and tossed it on the bed.

"You're sure?" Denki asked, hovering by the closed door. His voice was smaller here.

Katsuki turned, his red eyes sharp in the low light. "You came here. You knew what this was. You want to talk or you want to fuck?"

Denki's throat worked. "Fuck."

"Then get over here."

It wasn't gentle. Katsuki's hands were on him, pushing the jacket off his shoulders, yanking his shirt over his head. Denki gasped, a sharp intake of breath that wasn't fear—it was anticipation. Katsuki backed him toward the bed, his mouth finding Denki's neck, biting just shy of leaving a mark. "You're loud, right?" Katsuki murmured against his skin.

"What?"

"I said, you're a loud one. I can tell." Katsuki's hand slid down, palming Denki through his jeans, feeling the heat there. "I want you to be loud."

Down the hall, behind a closed door painted soft sage green, Izuku sat perfectly still in his reading chair. The book was open in his lap. He hadn't turned a page in ten minutes.

He heard the front door. He heard Katsuki's voice, a low rumble, and another, higher one. He heard the footsteps on the stairs, the definitive click of his son's bedroom door shutting. A silence followed, thick and humming. Then the faint, muffled thump of bodies against a wall.

Izuku's slender fingers tightened on the book's spine. His knuckles turned white.

Another sound, clearer this time. A gasp. A low, encouraging growl from Katsuki. Then a moan, high and punched-out, followed by the distinct, rhythmic creak of bedsprings. The headboard hitting the wall. *Thump. Thump. Thump.*

Izuku stood up. The book tumbled to the plush carpet, forgotten. He walked to his dresser, movements precise. The top drawer slid open without a sound. Beneath a stack of folded sweaters was a sleek, black silicone dildo, thick and veined. He didn't hesitate. He took it, a bottle of lube, and walked to his bed.

He didn't bother undressing fully. He just pushed his soft sleep pants and panties down his thick thighs, letting them pool at his ankles. He crawled onto the center of the bed, the cool satin sheets a shock against his knees. From down the hall, Denki's voice climbed, a broken string of "yes" and "right there" and "Katsuki—"

Izuku slicked the toy, his movements clinical. He positioned himself on his hands and knees, the position arching his back, presenting the bubble butt Katsuki had inherited in shape if not in obsession. He reached back, the tip of the dildo pressing against his soaked entrance.

He pushed.

The stretch was immediate, a burning fullness that made his breath catch. He fucked himself onto it, inch by brutal inch, his eyes squeezed shut. In his mind, it wasn't silicone. It was girth, and heat, and the particular scent of caramel and cologne. It was his son.

"Kacchan," he whispered into the empty room, the word a secret. A confession. A weapon.

From Katsuki's room, a sharp cry. Denki was screaming now, pleasure or pain, it didn't matter. The headboard slammed against the wall in a frantic, relentless rhythm. Katsuki was fucking him hard. Making sure the whole house knew.

Izuku matched the pace. He drove the toy into himself, the wet, squelching sound of his own slick filling his ears, mingling with the distant symphony of his son taking someone else. His small tits swayed, his puffy nipples hard and aching. He pictured it. Katsuki's big hands gripping pale hips. The sweat on his back. The hungry snarl on his face.

"You hear that, Kacchan?" Izuku panted, his melodic voice gone, rough and raw. "You hear me?"

His own rhythm became punishing, desperate. The coil in his gut pulled tight, tighter. The familiar pressure built low in his belly, a dam about to break. Denki's cries hit a crescendo, a sobbing wail that cut off abruptly into silence. Then, a moment later, Katsuki's own guttural shout, short and savage.

The sound tipped Izuku over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, violent and total. His cunt clenched around the fake length, and he squirted, a hot gush that soaked the sheets beneath him, dripping down his thick thighs. He collapsed onto his stomach, body trembling, the toy still buried inside him.

Silence.

The silence lasted exactly three minutes and seventeen seconds. Izuku counted each one, his body slick and trembling around the toy still buried inside him. Then, from down the hall, a low murmur. A wet, smacking kiss. Denki’s breathy laugh.

“Again?” Denki whispered.

“You got a problem with that?” Katsuki’s voice was a lazy rasp, thick with satisfaction.

“No. God, no.”

The bedsprings groaned. Izuku pushed himself up onto his elbows, the dildo shifting deep inside him, a fresh wave of want cresting low in his belly. He slid off the bed, the toy still seated firmly in his cunt, lube and his own slick dripping down his thick thighs. He didn’t pull it out. He walked.

His steps were silent on the plush hallway runner. Katsuki’s bedroom door was open a crack, a blade of golden light cutting across the dark hall floor. Izuku stopped before it, his breath held.

Through the gap, he could see the edge of the rumpled bed. Denki was on his hands and knees, his back arched, face pressed into Katsuki’s pillow. And behind him, Katsuki. His son’s powerful body was sheened with sweat, muscles corded in his back and shoulders as he moved. His big hands gripped Denki’s narrow hips, fingers digging into pale flesh. He was fucking into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, each push making Denki shudder.

Izuku’s own hand moved. He pressed his palm against his lower belly, feeling the hard outline of the toy inside him through his skin. He began to move his hips in a tiny, desperate circle, matching the rhythm he saw.

“You take it so good,” Katsuki growled, his voice stripped raw. He snapped his hips forward, a hard, deep thrust that made Denki cry out. “Look at you. Stretched wide open for me.”

Izuku’s eyes locked on the place where they joined. On the thick, girthy length of his son’s cock—glistening, uncut, impossibly huge—as it speared in and out of Denki’s pussy. The boy’s hole was a flushed, wet ring, clutching desperately at Katsuki’s shaft each time he pulled back, stretched obscenely wide around the intrusion.

“Katsuki—fuck, it’s so deep—” Denki sobbed, his fingers twisting in the sheets.

“You wanted it,” Katsuki panted, his rhythm becoming harder, faster. The headboard began to slam the wall again. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* “You came to my house for it. So take it.”

Izuku leaned his forehead against the cool wall beside the doorframe. His free hand reached back, fingers finding the base of the dildo. He pushed it in deeper, then pulled it almost all the way out, the wet drag a loud, lewd sound in the quiet hall. He fucked himself with it, in time with his son’s thrusts, his own cunt making a greedy, squelching noise.

“Baby boy,” he breathed into the wall, the word a ragged thread of sound.

Inside the room, Katsuki stilled. His head tilted, just slightly, his sharp red eyes cutting toward the darkened crack of the doorway. He didn’t stop moving. He drove into Denki harder, his gaze fixed on the shadow in the hall. A brutal, knowing smirk touched his lips.

“Yeah,” Katsuki said, his voice dropping, meant to carry. “Just like that. Scream for me.”

He wasn’t talking to Denki.

Izuku’s hand flew to his mouth, stifling the cry that clawed up his throat as Katsuki’s eyes—sharp, red, and utterly knowing—locked onto his through the crack in the door. Katsuki hips stuttered, then pistoned forward, driving his girthy length deep into Denki’s clutching cunt. Denki screamed, a raw, shattered sound, and his body convulsed. A hot gush of liquid splattered the sheets beneath them as he squirted, hard, his pussy milking the cock inside him.

“Fuck,” Katsuki snarled, his own release hitting him. His hips jerked erratically, his big hands vise-tight on Denki’s hips as he emptied himself into the condom, his gaze never leaving the shadow in the hall. His face was a mask of brutal triumph.

The sight unspooled Izuku completely. A violent shudder wracked his slender frame. His cunt clamped down on the silicone buried inside him, and he squirted against the wall, a fountain of slick heat that soaked his thighs and pattered onto the hallway runner. He bit into his own palm to keep silent, his green eyes wide and streaming.

For a long moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing—Denki’s wheezing sobs, Katsuki’s heavy pants, and Izuku’s own choked gasps against his hand. Then Katsuki moved. He pulled out of Denki with a wet, slick sound. The used condom, swollen and heavy, was tied off and tossed casually toward a wastebasket in the corner. It landed with a soft, final thump.

“Get up,” Katsuki said, his voice rough but devoid of its earlier heat. He gave Denki’s hip a light, dismissive slap. “Shower’s down the hall. Make it quick.”

Denki whimpered, limp and boneless on the soaked sheets. “I… I can’t feel my legs.”

“Figure it out.” Katsuki didn’t look at him. He was staring at the door, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Mommy’s waiting.”

In the hall, Izuku froze. The toy was still inside him, a cold, foreign reminder. He slowly, carefully, pulled it out. The drag was obscenely loud in the sudden quiet. He let it drop to the carpet, where it lay glistening in the slash of light from Katsuki’s room.

Izuku slipped back into his bedroom just as Denki’s unsteady footsteps padded into the hallway. He closed the door without a sound, leaving only the glistening toy on the carpet as evidence.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of his own release. He leaned against the door, his body trembling. He could hear the shower start down the hall, the rush of water a mundane counterpoint to the violence of what had just happened.

Minutes bled by. The water stopped. More footsteps, quicker now. The faint creak of the front door opening and closing. Then, silence.

Izuku didn’t move. He stared at his own rumpled, soaked bed, his cunt still throbbing, empty and aching.

A soft knock sounded on his door. Two taps. “Mommy.”

Izuku closed his eyes. He smoothed his hands over his thighs, wiping away the worst of the slick. Quickly puts some shorts on. He took a breath, forcing his voice into its familiar, melodic shape. “It’s open, Kacchan.”

Katsuki shouldered the door open. He’d pulled on a pair of low-slung sweatpants, nothing else. His chest and abdomen were still damp, his blonde hair dark with water at the tips. He smelled of Izuku’s sandalwood body wash, not his own cologne. He leaned against the doorframe, his red eyes scanning the room, lingering on the wet patch on the bed.

“Sent him home in an Uber,” Katsuki said, his voice a low rasp. “Could barely walk straight.”

“That’s very responsible of you,” Izuku murmured, not looking at him. He began straightening the duvet, his movements precise. “Making sure he got home safe.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, baby?”

“Don’t do that.” Katsuki pushed off the frame and stepped fully into the room. The space shrank around his presence. “That sweet voice shit. Not after what you just did.”

Izuku’s hands stilled on the fabric. He finally looked up. “And what did I do?”

“You watched.” Katsuki took another step closer. The scent of sex still clung to him, underneath the soap.

Izuku's lips curved into that soft, deceptive smile. His forest-green eyes held Katsuki's sharp red gaze without wavering. "I have no idea what you're talking about, baby."

Then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a claim. Izuku's mouth opened against his son's, and his tongue slid deep, tasting of the bitter green tea he'd been drinking earlier. He cradled Katsuki's jaw, his thumb brushing the damp hair at his temple, holding him there as he explored the heat of his mouth with a slow, inappropriate thoroughness.

Katsuki stiffened for a second—surprise—then a low groan vibrated in his throat. His big hands came up to Izuku's hips, fingers digging into the thin fabric of the shorts, pulling him flush. He kissed back, hungry, all his earlier confrontation dissolving into this wet, desperate slide.

Izuku was the one who ended it. He pulled back slowly, their lips separating with a soft, wet sound. He kept his forehead pressed to Katsuki's, his breath fanning over his son's swollen mouth. "Go to sleep, baby." His voice was a melodic whisper, a lullaby coated in poison.

Katsuki stared, dazed. His pupils were blown wide, the crimson nearly swallowed. He nodded, slow, mechanical. "Yeah."

He released Izuku's hips, his hands dropping to his sides. He turned and walked out of the bedroom, moving like a man in a dream. The door clicked shut behind him.

Izuku stood perfectly still in the center of the room. The scent of his own sandalwood soap on Katsuki's skin lingered in the air, mingling with the sharper, muskier odor of sex that still clung to the sheets. He brought his fingers to his lips. They trembled.

He could still taste his son. Caramel and cologne and something uniquely, unbearably *Katsuki*. It sat on his tongue, in his throat, a brand.

Down the hall, he heard Katsuki's bedroom door open and close. Then silence.

Izuku closed his eyes. He saw it again: the thick, girthy length of his son's cock, the way Denki's hole had stretched to take it, the raw triumph in Katsuki's red eyes as he looked through the door and came. He let out a shaky breath. His other hand slid down, under the waistband of his shorts. His cunt was still swollen, sensitive. Aching. Empty.

"Mine," he whispered to the dark, empty room. The word was a vow, and a curse.

In his mind he decided to get rid of Denki more permanently.