The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks spiraling up into the black. Izuku watched them die against the stars. His hands were clenched between his knees, knuckles white.

"You're quiet," Katsuki said. His voice was low, a gravelly rumble that cut through the night sounds.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Izuku shrugged. The movement felt too tight, too revealing. "The trip. It's... different than I pictured."

Katsuki leaned back on his elbows, the worn fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his chest. The firelight carved the hard lines of his arms, the thick curve of his pecs. Izuku’s mouth went dry. He looked away, fast.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Just us." Izuku’s words came out in a mumble. "No mom. No… distractions."

A log shifted in the fire with a soft crackle. Katsuki didn't answer for a long moment. Izuku could feel his father’s gaze on the side of his face, heavy and hot as a physical touch.

"Distractions," Katsuki repeated, the word flat.

"Yeah."

"You saying you're distracted now, kid?"

Izuku’s head snapped up. Katsuki was watching him, those storm-colored eyes unreadable in the flickering light. There was no joke in his face. It was a question that felt like a trap.

"No," Izuku lied, the word too quick. "I'm not."

Katsuki held his stare for another heartbeat, then looked back at the fire. The line of his jaw was tight. "Good."

The silence that fell wasn't comfortable anymore. It was thick, charged. Izuku could hear his own pulse in his ears. He could smell the pine, the smoke, and underneath it all, the clean, masculine scent of his father’s sweat from setting up camp. It made something low in his belly clench, a hot, aching pull that had become a constant hum since they'd left the city.

"You cold?" Katsuki asked suddenly.

"A little."

Katsuki grunted, pushing himself up. He moved around the fire, not to his own chair, but to stand behind Izuku’s. His shadow fell over him, blocking out the moon.

Then large, warm hands landed on Izuku’s shoulders.

Izuku froze. Every nerve ending lit up at once.

Katsuki’s thumbs dug into the tense muscles at the base of his neck, working in slow, firm circles. His calluses were rough against Izuku’s skin through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It was an old gesture, something he'd done since Izuku was a kid with sore muscles from training. But it didn't feel like that now.

Now it felt like lightning.

Izuku sucked in a sharp breath and held it. His heart hammered against his ribs. He could feel the heat of Katsuki’s body so close behind him, could sense the powerful frame hovering just inches away.

"You're wound tight," Katsuki murmured, his voice closer to Izuku’s ear than it should have been.

"Daddy—" The word came out choked.

The hands on his shoulders stilled. Not moving away. Just… waiting.

The world narrowed to that point of contact: the heavy weight of those hands, the searing heat of them through fabric, the faint tremor Izuku thought he felt in his father’s fingers before they pressed down again, harder this time.

Izuku bit down on his lip to stop a sound from escaping. His eyes squeezed shut. The ache between his legs sharpened into a desperate throb, a slick heat gathering that he couldn't control and didn't want to name.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, just once—a tiny break in his own controlled rhythm. His thumbs slid outward, tracing the line of Izuku’s collarbones before gripping his shoulders again, as if to anchor them both.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

Izuku leaned back. It wasn't a decision. His body did it for him, his head tipping until his crown rested against the solid wall of his father’s stomach. A full, shuddering breath left him.

Katsuki’s hands went rigid on his shoulders for a second. Then his fingers flexed, digging in deeper. “Izuku.”

The name was a low warning, a growl from somewhere deep in Katsuki’s chest. Izuku felt the vibration against his back.

“I can’t,” Izuku whispered, eyes still shut tight. “I can’t pretend this is normal anymore.”

“It is normal.” Katsuki’s voice was rough, but his thumbs were moving again, tracing slow, maddening circles that burned through the cotton. “It’s a massage. That’s all.”

“You don’t breathe like that when it’s just a massage.”

A beat of silence. The fire popped. Katsuki’s exhale was hot against Izuku’s ear. “How do I breathe?”

“Like you’re holding something back.” Izuku turned his head, just slightly, his cheek brushing against the worn denim of Katsuki’s jeans. The position bared the line of his throat. “Like you want to break something.”

Katsuki’s hand slid from Izuku’s shoulder to the side of his neck. His palm was searing. His thumb pressed against Izuku’s pulse point, feeling the frantic beat there. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know my own body is on fire,” Izuku said, the words trembling out of him. He arched his back, a tiny, helpless movement that pressed him more firmly into that hand at his neck, into the solid heat behind him. “I know it’s because of you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Katsuki didn’t tell him he was wrong.

His other hand left Izuku’s shoulder and came to rest on top of his head, fingers tangling in the green curls. It wasn't a caress. It was a grip. Possessive. Anchoring.

“Look at me,” Katsuki commanded, his voice stripped raw.

Izuku opened his eyes and tilted his head back further, looking upside down at his father. The firelight painted Katsuki's face in stark relief—the clenched jaw, the flared nostrils, the storm in his red eyes looking down at him with something like fury and hunger all mixed together.

“See?” Izuku breathed out, vulnerable and exposed. “You look at me like that… and you expect me to believe this is just a trip?”

Katsuki stared down at him for a long, agonizing moment. His thumb stroked once over Izuku's pounding pulse. Then he bent down.

He didn't kiss him. He pressed his forehead against Izuku's temple, their skin hot together. His breath came in ragged gusts against Izuku's cheek. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word full of agony.

“Daddy…”

“Don't,” Katsuki cut him off, but he didn't move away. His nose brushed Izuku's hairline. “You have no idea what you're asking for.”

“I'm not asking for anything,” Izuku said, turning his face until their lips were an inch apart. He could feel the heat of Katsuki's mouth. “I'm just… here.”

Katsuki made a broken sound. The hand in Izuku's hair tightened almost to the point of pain.

Then he closed the distance.

It wasn't a kiss so much as a collision—hard and desperate and tasting of shared fear and campfire smoke. Katsuki's lips were chapped and demanding, slanting over Izuku's with a possessive intensity that stole the air from his lungs.

Izuku moaned into it, a high, shocked sound swallowed by his father's mouth.

Katsuki tore his mouth away, gasping for air like a drowning man. He stayed bent over Izuku’s chair, his forehead pressed into the green curls, his hands still locked in a death grip on his son’s hair and neck. “Stop,” he rasped, the word a plea against Izuku’s scalp. “We have to stop.”

Izuku whimpered, chasing the lost contact, his lips swollen and tingling. “Why?”

“Because I’m your father.” Katsuki straightened up, but his hands didn’t let go. They held Izuku in place, a prisoner of the very touch he was condemning. “This is… it’s wrong, Izuku. It’s sick.”

“It doesn’t feel sick,” Izuku whispered. He brought his own hand up, covering his father’s where it still rested on his pulse. He guided it lower, down over the frantic beat of his heart, to the first button of his flannel shirt. “It feels like the only real thing that’s happened to me in years.”

Katsuki watched his own hand being moved. His fingers trembled under Izuku’s. “You’re a kid. You don’t know what you want.”

“I’m eighteen,” Izuku said, pressing Katsuki’s thumb against the button. “And I know I want your hands on me. I know I dream about it. I wake up aching for it.” He looked up, his green eyes huge and glistening in the firelight. “Do you dream about it too?”

A muscle jumped in Katsuki’s jaw. He didn’t answer. His thumb rubbed over the button, back and forth.

“You do,” Izuku breathed, a revelation. He let go of Katsuki’s hand, surrendering. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself right now. Not with how hard you are.”

Katsuki flinched as if struck. His gaze dropped instinctively to his own jeans, where the thick outline of his erection strained unmistakably against the denim. He hadn't even registered the full, aching pressure of it until Izuku said it aloud.

“See?” Izuku’s voice was soft, triumphant, shattered. He leaned his head back fully again, baring his throat completely in a gesture of total submission. “So stop pretending you’re saving me from something I don't want.”

Katsuki stared at the exposed line of Izuku's neck, at the freckles scattered there like constellations he'd known since infancy. His control snapped with an almost audible sound.

He bent again, but not for a kiss. He buried his face in the junction of Izuku's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply—the scent of cheap campground soap and underneath it, the pure, warm scent of his son's skin. A low groan vibrated from his chest into Izuku's body.

“You’ll hate me tomorrow,” Katsuki muttered into his skin, his lips moving against it.

“I won't.”

“You will.” Katsuki's teeth grazed the tendon there, not biting, just testing. Izuku shuddered violently beneath him. “I'll hate me tomorrow.”

“Then we have tonight,” Izuku said, and it was final.

Katsuki pulled back just enough to look at him. His hands were still fisted in Izuku’s hair, his chest heaving. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks into the dark. Izuku’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his green eyes wide and waiting. One last chance to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” Katsuki growled, the command rough and ragged. “Say it.”

Izuku shook his head slowly, the movement making Katsuki’s grip tighten. “No.”

“Izuku.”

“I want you,” Izuku whispered, the words clear and solid in the crackling silence. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Katsuki’s eyes shut tight for a second, a pained grimace crossing his features. When they opened again, the storm in them had settled into a dark, terrible resolve. He released Izuku’s hair, his hands coming down to frame his son’s face instead. His thumbs stroked over the high arches of Izuku’s cheekbones, a touch so unnervingly tender it made Izuku’s breath catch.

“This is gonna ruin us,” Katsuki said, but it wasn’t a refusal anymore. It was a warning.

“We’re already ruined,” Izuku breathed back, leaning into the touch. “We have been for years.”

Katsuki bent and kissed him again, but this time it was different. Slower. Deliberate. His lips were softer, exploring the shape of Izuku’s mouth with a focus that felt like a brand. Izuku whimpered, his hands coming up to clutch at Katsuki’s forearms, feeling the hard cord of muscle under his skin.

Katsuki broke the kiss only to trail his mouth along Izuku’s jaw, down the column of his throat. He paused over his pulse, breathing hot against the frantic beat. “You’re shaking.”

“I know.”

“Scared?”

“Yes.” Izuku arched his neck further. “Don’t stop.”

Katsuki’s mouth found the collar of Izuku’s flannel shirt. His teeth caught on the first button. He tugged once, and the button came free with a soft *pop*. The sound was obscenely loud.

Izuku gasped as cool night air hit the newly exposed skin of his chest. Katsuki didn't move to open the shirt further. He just stared at the small patch of freckled skin, at the slight swell of one of Izuku's tiny tits barely visible under his undershirt.

"Look at me," Izuku pleaded softly.

Katsuki's gaze lifted, heavy and heated. He brought one hand down, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the second button. "This what you wanted? My hands on you?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Your hands on me," Izuku repeated, a shiver wracking his frame. "Daddy's hands on me."

The name did it—the final fracture. Katsuki made a low, animal sound in his throat and yanked the shirt open, buttons scattering into the dirt around their chairs. He didn't bother with the thin undershirt beneath; he just pushed the fabric up with rough palms, exposing Izuku's flat stomach and small chest to the firelight.

Izuku cried out, not in pain but in shock—the reality of it, of being exposed like this under the open sky and his father's hungry stare.

Katsuki went utterly still for a moment, just looking. His eyes traced every freckle, every curve of his son's feminine body he'd only ever seen clothed or in fleeting glimpses through bathroom doors left ajar by accident. His thumbs brushed over Izuku's nipples, feeling them pebble instantly under his touch.

"So sensitive," Katsuki murmured, more to himself than to Izuku.

"Only for you," Izuku choked out, his hips shifting restlessly in the chair.

That movement drew Katsuki's attention lower, to where Izuku's jeans were strained tight across his thighs. Katsuki's hand left Izuku's chest and flattened against his stomach, pressing down gently until he could feel the heat radiating from lower still.

"Here?" Katsuki asked, his voice gravel.

Izuku nodded frantically, beyond words now.

Katsuki's hand slid lower, over the rough denim, until his palm cupped him fully between the legs. Even through the layers of fabric, he could feel the damp heat there—the undeniable proof of Izuku's arousal soaking through.

"Fuck," Katsuki breathed out harshly. "You're soaked."

"I told you," Izuku whimpered, pushing up into that heavy pressure.

"You're really…" Katsuki couldn't finish the sentence—*really this wet for me*. He leaned forward again until their foreheads touched once more; their ragged breaths mingled in shared air thick with pine smoke and desire so potent it felt like another element in nature itself here among these trees where no one else existed but them two alone together forever if they wanted it badly enough right now tonight yes please god yes please don't stop don't ever stop being mine like this always mine—