Katsuki’s hand was a heavy, warm weight against Izuku’s sternum, stopping him mid-step on the forest trail. The dappled light fell on a perfect circle of emerald moss, soft and private, a green altar in a cathedral of pines. "Here," Katsuki said, his voice dropping into the gravel of command. It wasn't a suggestion.

Izuku’s breath caught. The world narrowed to that mossy circle and his father’s waiting eyes, storm-dark and intent. "What’s here?"

"You are." Katsuki’s hand slid up to curl around the back of Izuku’s neck, possessive and sure. His thumb brushed the frantic pulse under Izuku’s jaw. "On your knees. In the middle of it."

The order hung in the cool, pine-scented air. Izuku’s mouth went dry. He could hear the distant rush of a stream, the call of a bird, the utterly ordinary sounds of a forest that was about to hold something monstrously intimate. "Out here? Someone could—"

"No one's here," Katsuki cut him off, his voice low and final. "This is mine. I'm claiming it. Now kneel."

Izuku’s knees hit the soft, spongy moss. It was cool and damp through his jeans. He looked up, the green of his eyes wide, searching his father’s face. Katsuki stood over him, a silhouette against the broken sunlight, all contained power and unwavering focus.

"You undress me," Katsuki stated, his gaze locked on Izuku’s. "Out here. With your hands. Nothing else."

Izuku’s fingers trembled as they went to the buckle of Katsuki’s belt. The leather was worn, the metal cool. He fumbled, the simple task feeling enormous under the weight of the sky and his father’s silent watch. The rasp of the zipper was obscenely loud. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Katsuki’s jeans and briefs and pushed them down over his hips in one rough motion.

Katsuki’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already half-hard and curving upward against his abdomen. The scent of him—clean sweat, sun-warmed skin, something uniquely male—hit Izuku’s senses. He stared, his own body clenching in answering hunger.

"Look at it," Katsuki commanded, his voice rough. "That's what you do to me. Just by existing where I can see you."

"Daddy," Izuku whispered, the word a confession and a plea all at once. He leaned forward, his face inches from his father’s flesh. He could see the fine details, the vein throbbing along the length, the ruddy head peeking from its foreskin.

"Not yet," Katsuki growled, his hand tangling in Izuku’s green curls, not pulling, just holding. "You don't get to hide your face in it. You look at me. You see what you're taking."

Izuku forced his gaze upward, meeting the searing red of his father’s eyes. The vulnerability there, the raw hunger stripped of its usual control, was more devastating than any command. He opened his mouth, his breath ghosting over the heated skin.

Katsuki’s grip tightened in his hair. "Now."

Izuku’s mouth opened wide, and he took the thick, heavy length of his father’s cock in one desperate, deep slide. He didn't stop until his nose was buried in the coarse blond curls at the base, his throat convulsing around the intrusion. A wet, choked gag tore from him, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet clearing.

"That's it," Katsuki grunted, his hand fisting tighter in Izuku's hair. "Take all of it. Show me how hungry you are."

Izuku pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the slick crown, and surged forward again, hollowing his cheeks. The sounds were filthy: wet sucks, ragged breaths, the choked-off gags he made every time he forced himself to swallow the entire length. He was drowning in the taste of him—salt, skin, the musk of pure need.

"Listen to you," Katsuki breathed, his own breath starting to saw. "Anyone within a mile can hear you choking on your Daddy's cock. You sound like a whore. Look at you," Katsuki snarled, his hips beginning a shallow, relentless piston into the wet heat of his son’s mouth. "Gagging on it. You can't even breathe right."

Izuku’s eyes streamed tears, his nostrils flared as he fought for air around the thick intrusion. He pulled back just enough to gasp, "Wanted—wanted this—" before diving down again, his own hands frantic at his waist.

"What are you doing?" Katsuki’s voice was low, dangerous.

Izuku shoved his own shorts and briefs down over his hips, freeing himself. His small clit stood stiff, his pussy already slick and exposed to the cool air. He didn't answer, just a trembling hand rubbing at his clit, his other hand sliding between his own thighs.

"You fucking little slut," Katsuki breathed, the words full of awe and disgust. "You can't even suck my dick without fingering your needy cunt, can you?"

"No, Daddy," Izuku moaned, the vibration traveling up Katsuki’s shaft. He fucked himself on two fingers, the wet sound obscene beneath the sounds of his throat being used.

Katsuki’s control snapped. He grabbed a fistful of green curls in both hands, anchoring Izuku’s head. "You want it all? You take it all." He drove his hips forward, burying his entire length down Izuku’s throat, his balls slapping wetly against his son’s chin.

Izuku gagged violently, his body convulsing, but he didn't pull away. His eyes, wide and streaming, stayed locked on his father’s face. His fingers worked faster between his legs.

"That's it, choke on it," Katsuki grunted, setting a brutal, pounding rhythm. The clearing echoed with the sounds: wet, slapping skin, guttural gags, ragged moans. "My perfect, honor-roll son. Nothing but a desperate, cock-hungry whore I raised. You were made for this."

"Yes!" Izuku cried the moment he pulled back for air, spit and pre-come dripping down his chin. "Made for you, Daddy, only you—"

Katsuki shoved him back down, fucking his throat in earnest now, his own breath coming in sharp grunts. "Say it. What are you?"

Izuku choked, saliva dripping onto the moss. "Y-your whore," he rasped.

"Louder. Let the fucking trees hear you."

"I'M YOUR WHORE!" Izuku screamed, the declaration tearing from his raw throat, and Katsuki groaned, the sound ripped from deep in his chest.

He was lost in it, the tight, spasming heat of his son’s throat, the shameless, writhing display below. He watched his own thick shaft disappear between those freckled cheeks, into the mouth that had called him 'Dad' since it could form words. The degradation was a fire in his blood. "My little cocksucker. My secret. All mine."

Izuku’s movements turned frantic, his hips stuttering. He was close, his own pleasure coiled tight, fed by the brutal use of his mouth and his father’s filthy praise. A high, broken whine escaped him around Katsuki’s cock.

Katsuki felt it. "You gonna come? Just from sucking my dick like a common bitch?" He slowed his thrusts, pulling almost all the way out, letting Izuku gasp. "Look at me."

Izuku looked up, wrecked and beautiful, his lips swollen and glistening.

"You don't come until I say," Katsuki commanded, his voice a ragged whisper. "You take what I give you. You understand? This mouth, this cunt, all of it… it's my office. And I decide when the work is done."

Katsuki’s hips snapped forward again, reclaiming the wet heat of Izuku’s throat with a brutal, shallow rhythm. "That’s it," he grunted, the words raw. "Take what you were raised for. My good boy. My perfect son. Just a fucking cocksleeve now."

Izuku gagged, tears cutting clean lines through the spit on his cheeks. His own fingers were a frantic blur on his clit, the pressure coiling his spine into a taut bow.

"Remember your sixth-grade science fair?" Katsuki panted, driving deeper. "I helped you build that volcano. Your little hands were so careful with the paste." He gripped Izuku’s hair, yanking his head back to stare into his glazed eyes. "These same hands are fingering your cunt while you choke on your old man. You see that?"

"D-Daddy—" Izuku sobbed, the vibration traveling up Katsuki’s shaft.

"You’re gonna come," Katsuki stated, watching the telltale tremor in Izuku’s thighs. "Do it. Come all over the goddamn ground while Daddy uses your throat like a fleshlight. Show me what I made."

Izuku’s breath hitched. With a broken cry, he pressed two fingers hard against his swollen clit and rubbed, fast and desperate. His body locked, his back arching as a sharp, shuddering orgasm ripped through him. A pulse of wet heat squirted from him, soaking the earth beneath his hips, his cunt clenching around nothing.

Katsuki watched, mesmerized, as his son came apart. He didn't stop fucking his mouth. "Look at that," he breathed. "My honor student. Pissing himself on the forest floor for me."

Dazed, spent, Izuku finally pushed himself back, Katsuki’s slick cock slipping from his lips with a wet pop. He gasped for air, his chest heaving. With trembling hands, he grabbed the hem of his own t-shirt, peeling the damp fabric up and over his head. His small, pert tits were exposed to the cool air, his nipples tight and peaked. "Daddy," he begged, his voice wrecked. "Please. All over them. Mark me."

Katsuki didn't need to be asked twice. He fisted his own cock, slick with Izuku’s spit, and stroked, his red eyes burning a brand into his son’s flushed skin. "You want my cum painting those pretty little tits? You want to wear it?"

"Yes," Izuku whispered, his green eyes wide and reverent. He cupped his own breasts, presenting them. "Please."

Katsuki’s control shattered. A guttural groan tore from his throat as the first thick, white rope shot across Izuku’s chest, splattering hot and viscous over his left nipple. The second followed, then a third, more than seemed possible, painting Izuku’s skin in a glistening, obscene canvas. It dripped, warm and claiming, onto his stomach and the moss below.

Izuku moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. He dragged his fingers through the mess, gathering the spend, and rubbed it into his nipples in slow, worshipful circles. The scent of it—musky, primal, utterly Katsuki—filled the clearing. "Thank you," he breathed, opening his eyes to meet his father’s gaze. "Thank you, Daddy."

Katsuki stood over him, breathing hard, his own body trembling with the aftershocks. He looked down at his son—covered in his release, fucked-out, and utterly claimed on this patch of moss he’d declared his own. The silence that fell was heavier than any command. The office was closed. The work was done.