The light clicked off, plunging the room into the neon-washed dark of a city that didn’t sleep. The bed was a landscape of cool, bleached sheets between them. Katsuki lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to Izuku breathe two feet away. It was too loud. The rustle of fabric, the soft, aborted shift of weight. Izuku was fidgeting.
He didn’t need to look. He could feel the question in the air, thick as the hotel’s recycled oxygen. Izuku’s fingers plucked at the hem of his shirt. A tiny, frantic motion Katsuki caught in his periphery.
“Spit it out, Deku.”
“I’m not— I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it. It’s fucking noisy.”
Silence. Then a shaky inhale. Katsuki turned his head. Izuku was curled on his side, facing him, his green eyes wide and uncertain in the dim glow from the window. His lower lip was caught between his teeth.
Katsuki knew. Of course he knew. It was the same calculus he’d been running since the gravel path, since the dinner, since the first time he’d tasted him. The space between them was a lie now. A formality. He didn’t wait for Izuku to find the words. He lifted his arm, an open invitation against the pillow.
Izuku’s breath stuttered out. He moved all at once, a scramble of limbs, sliding across the cool cotton until his head settled on Katsuki’s chest, his ear pressed right over Katsuki’s heart. His whole body went boneless, a heavy, warm weight against Katsuki’s side. A quiet, shuddering sigh escaped him, and he nuzzled his face into the thin cotton of Katsuki’s shirt.
Katsuki’s arm came down around him, hand splayed across the sharp wing of Izuku’s shoulder blade. He could feel the raised lines of his top surgery scars through the fabric. His thumb began to move, a slow, unconscious sweep back and forth. Izuku melted further, a soft, contented hum vibrating against Katsuki’s ribs.
It was terrifying. This quiet. This surrender. Forty-eight hours ago, they’d lain in this same bed like two planks of wood, rigid with denial. Now, Izuku’s leg hooked over Katsuki’s thigh, his fingers curling loosely into the waistband of Katsuki’s sweats. Possessive, even in sleep. Or the approach of it.
Katsuki stared at the ceiling, feeling the steady thump of his own heart against Izuku’s cheek. Izu, he thought, the name a silent explosion behind his teeth. Don’t get used to this. The warning was for himself. His eyes burned. He blinked, hard.
Izuku’s breathing evened out, grew deep and slow. Katsuki was almost there too, the city’s hum fading to a distant buzz, the solid warmth in his arms the only real thing—
A sharp, rhythmic thump against the wall. Then a low, drawn-out moan, followed by a ragged, masculine grunts. The headboard of the next room began a steady, insistent knocking against the shared drywall.
Izuku went stiff against him. Katsuki’s eyes snapped open.
Katsuki’s eyes met Izuku’s in the neon gloom. Confusion, then a slow, dawning horror. The thumping wasn’t random. The moan wasn’t generic. It was a voice, ragged and familiar, followed by a higher, broken cry.
“Oh, fuck, Sho— take it, take all of it—”
Izuku’s fingers dug into Katsuki’s waistband. “Is that… Touya?” he whispered, the name a puff of air against Katsuki’s sternum.
Another brutal, wet slap of skin. A sob. “D-Don’t stop, please—”
“Shoto,” Katsuki breathed, the pieces slotting together with a sick, electric jolt. The Todoroki brothers. In the room directly next to theirs. The headboard hammered the wall in time with the filthy, rhythmic sounds.
“You like that, baby brother? You like my cock in your little cunt?” Touya’s voice was a dark, snarling thing, stripped of all its usual smart-assery. It was pure possession. “Say it.”
A gasped, desperate whimper. “Yours— it’s yours, Touya, please—”
Izuku had gone completely still, his face buried against Katsuki’s chest as if he could hide from the sound. Katsuki could feel the frantic beat of his own heart where Izuku’s ear was pressed. His arm was locked around Izuku’s back, his thumb stilled over the scar.
“They’re… they’re brothers,” Izuku mumbled, the words muffled by fabric.
“No shit,” Katsuki growled, but the words were hollow. His brain was static. He hadn’t known. No one did. Why would anyone think this was possible? Even hearing it Katsuki still didn't believe it. The sounds were the wet, sucking sound of a cock pushing in, the raw, gut-deep hunger in Touya’s voice, the broken, pleading way Shoto came apart.
“Gonna fill you up, Sho. Gonna fuck my cum so deep into you, you’ll feel it for days.”
Izuku shuddered against him. Katsuki felt it everywhere. The sounds painted a picture he couldn’t unsee: Touya’s tattooed hands gripping pale thighs, the silver of his piercings catching light, Shoto’s mismatched eyes blown wide. It was violent. It was intimate. It was real.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, his voice thin.
“What.”
“I can… I can feel you. Your heart. It’s going crazy.”
It was. It was hammering against his ribs, a trapped, frantic bird. It wasn’t disgust. That was the terrifying part. It was a mirror. The hunger on the other side of the wall was a distorted echo of the one in his own chest, the one he’d been swallowing for a decade.
The noises crescendoed—a series of sharp, broken cries from Shoto, a guttural roar from Touya, the headboard slamming a final, punishing rhythm before it all dissolved into heavy, ragged breathing and soft, wet sounds that might have been kissing.
Silence seeped back in, thicker now, polluted. The city’s hum was gone. All Katsuki could hear was Izuku’s breathing, still too fast, and the rush of blood in his own ears.
Izuku slowly tilted his head back. His green eyes were huge in the dark, searching Katsuki’s face. “Did you… know?”
"No," Katsuki said, the word rough in the quiet. He stared at the ceiling. "Thought they were kind of creepily close. Never thought they were fucking though."
Izuku’s fingers tightened in his waistband. "But you… suspected?"
"Suspected they had a fucked-up codependency. Not this." This. The word hung between them, soaked in the wet echoes still clinging to the walls. Katsuki’s thumb started moving again over Izuku’s arm, a nervous tic. "Touya looks at him like he owns the air Shoto breathes. Shoto looks at him like he’s the sun. It’s not… normal."
"What’s normal?" Izuku’s voice was small
"Normal?" Katsuki's voice was a low scrape in the dark. "Two brothers fucking each other raw through a hotel wall isn't normal, Izuku."
Izuku shifted, his leg sliding against Katsuki's thigh. "Neither is getting turned on by hearing it," he whispered, the words barely there. "And here we are."
Katsuki’s breath hitched. He felt the heavy, insistent throb of his own cock, a thick line of heat trapped against his stomach, tenting the blanket between them. The evidence was undeniable. And the way Izuku was pressing closer, the slight, slick shift of fabric against fabric—
"You're wet," Katsuki stated, the realization a live wire down his spine.
Izuku didn't deny it. A soft, shamed sound escaped him. "So?"
"So," Katsuki growled, the last thread of his control snapping. "It'd be fucking normal if we had sex right now. Instead of just listening to it."
"Yeah," Izuku breathed, the word a surrender. "It would."
Katsuki moved. It wasn't gentle. He rolled, his weight pinning Izuku to the mattress, one hand already fisting in the soft cotton of Izuku's t-shirt. The tear of fabric was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Izuku gasped, his back arching, but his hands came up to claw at Katsuki's shoulders, pulling him down.
Katsuki kissed him. Hard. All teeth and desperation and decades of swallowed want. Izuku opened for him instantly, his mouth hot and sweet, his tongue meeting Katsuki's thrust for thrust. This wasn't the careful performance of the club. This was hunger, plain and ugly and theirs. Katsuki could taste the phantom of Touya's filth on his own tongue, could feel the echo of the headboard in his hips. He ground down, the hard ridge of his cock dragging against Izuku's through their clothes, and Izuku moaned, high and broken.
"Fuck," Katsuki rasped against his mouth. His hands were everywhere—ripping the remains of the shirt away, palming the flat plane of Izuku's chest, his thumbs finding the raised scars and tracing them like a claim. "You want this? You want it for real?"
"Yes," Izuku panted, his hips bucking up. "Kacchan, please—"
Katsuki tore at the waistband of Izuku's sleep pants, yanking them and the lace panties beneath down his thighs in one rough motion. The scent of him hit Katsuki like a physical blow—musky, sweet, unmistakably aroused. In the neon gloom, he could see the slick shine between Izuku's thighs.
Izuku was trembling, his green eyes wide and dark. "Don't be gentle," he whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. "I don't want gentle right now."
Katsuki didn't waste time. He shoved his own sleep pants down, kicking them off the side of the bed, his cock springing free, thick and already leaking. The cool air hit his heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat he was about to plunge into. "Gentle wasn't on the fucking menu," he growled, his voice raw.
He positioned himself between Izuku's spread thighs, one hand gripping his own cock, guiding the broad, slick head through the soaked folds. Izuku was dripping, the evidence shining in the neon light, and the scent of him—musky, sweet, completely his—made Katsuki's vision blur for a second. He pressed the tip against Izuku's entrance, feeling the tight, hot resistance.
"Please, Kacchan," Izuku begged, his hips canting up, trying to take him in. "Fuck me. Just fuck me."
There was nothing in Katsuki to tease, to draw it out. The hunger was a live wire, the echo of Touya's filth and Shoto's broken cries still vibrating in his bones. He pushed.
The stretch was immense. Izuku cried out, a sharp, punched-out sound, his back arching off the mattress. Katsuki felt every inch of his cock being swallowed by that tight, clenching heat. He bottomed out in one relentless thrust, his hips flush against Izuku's ass, and they both froze, breathless. The fullness was staggering. Katsuki looked down, saw Izuku's green eyes wide, his mouth open on a silent gasp, tears beading at the corners.
"Fuck," Katsuki breathed, the word shuddering out of him. He was buried to the hilt inside the only person he'd ever wanted like this. It was obscene. It was perfect. "You feel that? That's me. All of me."
Izuku nodded frantically, his hands scrabbling at Katsuki's back. "I feel it. I feel you. It's—" He choked, his inner muscles fluttering around Katsuki's cock in a dizzying pulse. "Move. Please, move."
Katsuki pulled back, almost all the way out, watching the way Izuku's body tried to cling to him, then slammed back in. The wet sound was filthy. Izuku's moan was higher, broken into a sob. Katsuki set a brutal pace from the start, no warm-up, no gentle build. This was a claiming. Each thrust drove the breath from Izuku's lungs, rocked his body up the bed, made the headboard tap a soft, frantic rhythm against the wall. Katsuki's world narrowed to the slide of his cock in that slick, tight heat, the slap of skin, the choked, desperate sounds Izuku made with every drive home.
Katsuki fucked him like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside Izuku’s bones. Each thrust was a punctuation mark to a decade of silence, a brutal, driving rhythm that had Izuku sobbing into him. His cock was a thick, relentless stretch, and Izuku’s body clung to it, a slick, clenching vise that felt made for him.
“Fuck, Izuku,” Katsuki gritted out, his voice shredded. His hips pistoned, the wet slap of skin echoing the ghost of the noise from next door. “Your cunt’s perfect. So fucking perfect.”
Izuku could only moan, a broken, continuous sound. His hands scrabbled against Katsuki’s sweat-slick back, nails digging in. He was coming apart, the coil of pleasure tightening low in his belly with every deep drive, but it was the look on Katsuki’s face that undid him—the raw, unguarded agony of a want finally being fed.
Katsuki was holding back. Izuku could feel it in the way his thrusts would stutter, in the way he’d bury himself to the hilt and grind, his whole body trembling with the effort of not spilling. He was chasing something, dragging it out, and the realization made Izuku’s chest ache.
“Don’t stop,” Izuku begged, his voice wrecked. “Kacchan, please, don’t ever stop.”
“Not gonna,” Katsuki growled, but it was a promise he couldn’t keep. He was human. He was full of Izuku, surrounded by him, the scent of their sex thick in the air. He dropped his forehead to Izuku’s shoulder, his breath scorching hot against the skin. “I don’t wanna finish. Don’t wanna be done.”
It was the most vulnerable thing he’d ever said. Izuku turned his head, found Katsuki’s mouth in a messy, desperate kiss. “Then don’t,” he whispered against his lips. “Just keep going. Fuck me until the sun comes up.”
Katsuki’s control snapped. He reared back, hooked his hands under Izuku’s knees, and pushed them toward his chest, folding him nearly in half. The angle was devastating, deeper, and Izuku screamed, his back bowing off the bed. Katsuki’s pace turned feral, animalistic, the headboard now knocking a frantic, unignorable tattoo against the wall.
Izuku was right there, teetering on the edge for what felt like hours, pleasure a white-hot brand in his gut. He could feel the telltale flutter, the deep, internal pulse that meant his body was about to break. “Kacchan, I’m— I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” Katsuki commanded, his crimson eyes blazing down at him. “Squirt for me. Let me feel it.”
The permission was the final trigger. Izuku came with a shattered cry, his cunt clamping down in rhythmic, milking pulses around Katsuki’s cock. Heat gushed out of him, soaking the sheets beneath them, and the sensation of it—the helpless, flooding release—made Katsuki snarl.
He drove into the clenching, fluttering heat three more times, hard and deep, and then he was cumming too. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he emptied himself, his cock pulsing, pumping his release deep inside Izuku. He collapsed forward, his weight crushing Izuku into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of Izuku’s neck as they both shuddered through the aftershocks.
Katsuki kissed him. Hard. A brutal, claiming press of lips that tasted of salt and sweat and come, his cock still buried deep inside Izuku, still half-hard and twitching with aftershocks. Izuku made a soft, shattered sound against his mouth, his hips rocking up in a tiny, involuntary pulse. The movement sent a fresh bolt of heat straight through Katsuki’s spent nerves. His cock, impossibly, began to thicken again inside that slick, clenching heat.
“Fuck,” Katsuki rasped, breaking the kiss to stare down at him. Izuku’s green eyes were glazed, his lips swollen, tear tracks cutting through the freckles on his cheeks. He looked ruined. Beautiful. “You’re still…?”
“I can feel you getting hard again,” Izuku whispered, wonder in his wrecked voice. His inner muscles fluttered deliberately around Katsuki’s length, a slow, milking squeeze. “Don’t pull out. Please. Just… keep going.”
Katsuki’s brain short-circuited. The logical part of him was screaming about oversensitivity, about the mess cooling between them, about the fact that he’d just emptied himself inside this man. The part of him that had loved Izuku since he knew what love was just groaned, low and animal, and began to move.
It was a different rhythm this time. Slower. Deeper. Not the frantic, claiming pace of before, but something more deliberate, almost reverent. He pulled back until just the head of his cock remained nestled inside, then sank back in with a long, rolling thrust that made Izuku arch and whimper. The wet slide was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the now-distant, rhythmic pounding from the other side of the wall.
“Look at me,” Katsuki growled, his voice raw. Izuku’s eyes fluttered open, hazy with renewed pleasure. “This isn’t the noise. This isn’t them. This is us. You understand?”
Izuku nodded, his hands coming up to frame Katsuki’s face. His thumbs brushed over the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “It’s always been us, Kacchan.”
The words landed like a physical blow to Katsuki’s chest. He fucked into him again, a little harder, chasing the feeling they sparked. His own need was a dull, persistent ache, his cock fully hard again, stretching Izuku open with a familiar, perfect burn. This wasn’t about exorcising ghosts anymore. This was about mapping a new truth with his body.
“Tell me what you want,” Katsuki breathed, his forehead dropping to rest against Izuku’s. Their noses brushed. “Right now. Tell me.”
“You,” Izuku panted, his hips meeting each slow, deep thrust. “Just you. Like this. I want to feel you for hours. I want to forget how to be without you inside me.”
A ragged sound tore from Katsuki’s throat. He shifted, wrapping his arms under Izuku and hauling him up, turning them both until he was sitting back against the headboard with Izuku straddling his lap. The new angle seated him even deeper. Izuku cried out, his head falling back, his hands braced on Katsuki’s shoulders.
“Then take me,” Katsuki said, his hands settling on Izuku’s hips, guiding him. “Take all of me. Show me what you need.”
Izuku began to move. It was clumsy at first, his thighs trembling with exertion, but then he found a rhythm, rising and falling, taking Katsuki’s thick cock into his body with a slow, grinding roll of his hips that made them both groan. Katsuki watched, mesmerized, as Izuku fucked himself on him, his face a mask of concentrated pleasure.
“I can feel you everywhere,” Izuku moaned, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so full of you, Kacchan. It’s… it’s all I can think about.”
Katsuki’s control frayed. He thrust up to meet Izuku’s next downward slide, and the pace began to quicken, building from that deep, worshipful rhythm into something more urgent, more hungry. He was chasing his second peak, but more than that, he was chasing the look on Izuku’s face—the utter surrender, the dazed happiness.
“Gonna come again,” Izuku warned, his voice pitching high. “I’m gonna— Kacchan—”
“Do it,” Katsuki commanded, his grip tightening. “Let me feel it. Soak me, Izuku. Come on.”
Izuku’s orgasm hit him like a seizure. His body locked, a silent scream on his lips, and then heat gushed out of him, soaking both their thighs, his cunt clamping down in violent, rhythmic pulses around Katsuki’s cock. The sensation was too much. Katsuki drove up into that fluttering, squeezing heat three more times and came with a broken shout, his release flooding Izuku’s already-full channel, mixing with the evidence of Izuku’s pleasure.
Izuku kissed him then, deep and hungry, his tongue sliding against Katsuki’s, tasting the salt of their sweat and the bitter tang of come. He didn’t break it, even as his hips kept moving in a slow, grinding rhythm, taking Katsuki’s still-hard cock so deep it stole the air from his lungs. “You didn’t even get soft,” Izuku breathed against his mouth, the words a reverent accusation. “Can you keep going? Please, Kacchan. Don’t stop.”
Katsuki’s answer was a low groan, his hands coming up to cup Izuku’s face, holding him there for another searing kiss. He was terrified. If he stopped moving, if he pulled out, if this heat and weight and perfect fucking friction ended, the world would right itself. This would become a thing that happened, instead of the thing that was happening. A memory, instead of a truth. “I’m not stopping,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. “I’m never stopping.”
It was a lie. His body was a live wire of oversensitivity, every nerve screaming, his cock throbbing with a persistent, aching fullness that was both agony and ecstasy. But the alternative—the cold air on wet skin, the separation, the return to a bed where they didn’t touch—was unthinkable. Izuku felt the same. Katsuki could see it in the desperate clutch of his thighs, in the way his green eyes held Katsuki’s, wide and a little wild, as if blinking might break the spell.
“I’m scared,” Izuku whispered, the confession muffled against Katsuki’s lips as they kissed again, slow and deep. “If we stop… I’ll wake up.”
“Then don’t wake up,” Katsuki growled, and he rolled them, pressing Izuku back into the soaked sheets. He settled between his thighs, not pulling out, just shifting the angle, and began to move again. It wasn’t the frantic pace from before. This was something else—a slow, rolling grind, a deep, claiming possession that had less to do with orgasm and everything to do with map-making. His lips found Izuku’s throat, his collarbones, the flat planes of his chest and the proud, raised scars there. He kissed every freckle he could reach.
Izuku’s hands were in his hair, gripping, not guiding. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, a steady stream of soft, broken sounds falling from his lips. “Feels… feels like you’re everywhere. I can’t tell where I end.”
“Good,” Katsuki breathed against his skin. “That’s the point, Deku.” He used the old nickname, but it didn’t sound like an insult. It sounded like a prayer. He fucked into him with a long, deliberate stroke, and Izuku’s back arched, a choked-off moan catching in his throat. “You feel that? That’s me. That’s always been me.”
“I know,” Izuku sobbed, his nails digging into Katsuki’s scalp. “I know, I know, I know.” He was chanting it, a mantra against the rising tide of sensation. He’d never been so full, so utterly claimed. Katsuki’s cock was a thick, unyielding presence inside him, stretching him perfectly, hitting a spot deep within that made his vision whiten at the edges with every slow thrust. This wasn’t just sex. This was a homecoming his body had been waiting for since puberty.
Katsuki’s hips stuttered. He was close again, a third peak building like a distant storm, but he fought it, grinding deep and holding there, his forehead pressed to Izuku’s. Their breaths mingled, hot and ragged. “This is the best,” he gritted out, the words torn from somewhere raw and hidden. “The best I’ve ever had. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”
Izuku’s eyes flew open, swimming with unshed tears. “Me too,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Kacchan, you fit me. You fit me like—” He broke off with a gasp as Katsuki moved again, a shallow, trembling thrust. “Like you were made for me.”
That did it. The last of Katsuki’s control shattered. He kissed Izuku, swallowing his gasp, and his pace lost its reverence, turning desperate and deep, chasing a completion that felt less like an end and more like a promise. Izuku met him thrust for thrust, his legs locking around Katsuki’s waist, his cunt fluttering and clenching around the thick length of him. They were both so sensitive it was pain, it was pleasure, it was a feedback loop of sensation that had them trembling on the edge.
Izuku came first, a silent, shuddering release, another gush of heat soaking between them. Katsuki followed a second later, a hoarse shout ripped from his throat as he emptied himself, his cock pulsing deep inside Izuku’s clenching heat. He collapsed, his weight a solid, welcome pressure, his face buried in the damp green curls at Izuku’s neck. They lay there, joined, breathing in ragged sync, the only sound the frantic hammer of their hearts.
Slowly, carefully, Katsuki shifted to his side, pulling Izuku with him, still connected. Izuku made a soft, protesting noise at the slight movement, but then he was curling into Katsuki’s chest, his head finding the spot under Katsuki’s chin. Katsuki’s arms came around him, holding him close. His cock, spent and softening, finally slipped free, and a rush of wet warmth followed, a messy, intimate truth on the sheets between them. Neither moved to clean it. The room was dark, quiet. The noise from next door had stopped. The only dream here was the one they were in, and neither was willing to wake.
The room settled into a thick, humid silence, broken only by the ragged ebb and flow of their breathing. The distant hum of the city filtered through the curtains, painting pale stripes across the tangled sheets. Katsuki’s arm was a dead weight across Izuku’s back, his fingers splayed against the sweat-slicked skin of his shoulder blade. Every nerve in his body was raw, screaming with the memory of each thrust, each gasp, each moment of being so deep inside Izuku he’d forgotten where his own skin ended. His cock, spent and softening, was still nestled in the wet heat between Izuku’s thighs, and he felt a lazy, possessive satisfaction at the knowledge that his cum was still leaking out of him, a warm, sticky testament on the sheet beneath them. He didn't want to move. He didn't want this to become a memory. But the weight of exhaustion was a physical force, pulling at his eyelids, softening the sharp edges of his thoughts.
Izuku shifted, a boneless, trusting motion, tucking his face into the hollow of Katsuki’s throat. His breath was a warm, steady pulse against Katsuki’s collarbone, slowing, deepening. “Don't let go,” Izuku murmured, the words barely a vibration against his skin, slurred with the onset of sleep. It wasn’t a question. It was a command he didn't have the strength to enforce.
Katsuki’s answer was to tighten his grip, sliding his other arm under Izuku’s hips, hauling him impossibly closer until there was no space left between them. He felt Izuku’s legs tangle with his, a warm, heavy anchor. The mess between them was forgotten, the stickiness a minor inconvenience against the monumental relief of being held.
His lips found the crown of Izuku’s curls, pressing a kiss so soft it was barely a whisper of contact. “Never,” he breathed, the word a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but one he would die trying to make true.
The room grew dark around them, the city lights dimming as the world outside forgot them. Izuku’s breathing evened out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep, his body going completely slack, trusting, surrendered. Katsuki’s own consciousness began to fray at the edges, the last thought before he slipped under a quiet, fierce certainty: This is mine. This is real.
And then there was only the weight of Izuku in his arms, the slow, steady beat of his heart against Katsuki’s chest, and the quiet dark.