The morning light through the guest room window was too bright, too ordinary. Katsuki lay stiff beside Eijiro’s sleeping, warm bulk, his hand clenched around nothing under the sheets. The fabric of his jeans, thrown over a chair, held a secret weight in the pocket. He didn’t need to look. He felt it. The imprint of lace and cotton, the ghost of dampness, a scent he could still taste at the back of his throat. Izuku’s scent. His jaw ached from clenching it all night.

Down the hall, Izuku stared at the ceiling, Shoto’s arm a comforting, guilty weight across his chest. Every beat of his heart felt like a lie. His body remembered the soreness, a deep, private ache that pulsed in time with his thoughts. He watched the dust motes dance in the sunbeam and wondered if Katsuki was awake, if he was thinking about the thing in his pocket.

Breakfast was a minefield of cheerful noise. Inko fluttered around the kitchen, piling pancakes onto plates. “Katsuki, sweetheart, you look like you wrestled a bear. Coffee’s fresh.”

“Didn’t sleep,” he grunted, taking the mug she offered. His eyes, bloodshot, found Izuku’s across the table for a fraction of a second before flicking away. Izuku’s fork froze mid-air.

“I need a few things from the market for tonight’s dinner,” Inko chirped, oblivious. “Katsuki, would you be a dear? Your truck has more room.”

He scowled. “Tch. Send Eijiro.”

“Eijiro’s helping Toshinori with the gutter. Izuku, why don’t you go with your uncle? Keep him company.”

The silence that followed was brittle, glass-thin. Shoto, calmly spreading jam on his toast, glanced between them. Izuku felt the heat rise up his neck.

“Sure, Mom,” he heard himself say, his voice too high.

Katsuki drained his coffee. “Whatever. Let’s go then.” It wasn’t agreement. It was a sentence.

The cab of Katsuki’s black truck was a tomb of cold air and unresolved things. The engine roared to life, a violent sound. Izuku fastened his seatbelt, his fingers fumbling. They pulled out of the driveway, the happy house shrinking in the rearview. For five full minutes, the only sound was the road under the tires.

Katsuki’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. “You put them in my pocket.”

It wasn’t a question. Izuku’s breath caught. He looked out the window at the passing pines. “Yes.”

“Why.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” Katsuki’s voice was low, graveled with a night of no sleep and a lifetime of this. “You know. You fucking know. You wanted me to have them. You wanted me to smell you.”

Izuku flinched. The raw, ugly truth of it hung between them, thicker than the cold. “You took them first,” he whispered.

“And you watched.” Katsuki’s gaze was fixed on the road, but his intensity filled the cab. “You stood there and you watched and you got off on it. Then you shoved your fucking come-stained underwear into my jeans like a claim. You think this is a game, nerd?”

“It’s not a game!” Izuku’s voice broke. He turned in his seat, facing Katsuki’s profile—the sharp jaw, the furious set of his mouth. “I don’t know what it is. I have Shoto. I love Shoto. And I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Katsuki finally looked at him. His red eyes were scorched earth. “What about me?”

"I think about your hands," Izuku said, the words spilling out like a confession in a church. The cab was so quiet he could hear the fabric of his jeans rasp against the seat. "How big they are. How they felt on my throat. I think about the smell of your skin. Sweat and that cologne and something else, just… you. I think about your cock. How it felt. The stretch. The burn. I wake up sore and I touch myself in the shower thinking it's your hand, not mine."

Katsuki didn't speak. His foot eased off the gas, the truck slowing as they reached a long, empty stretch of road flanked by frosted pines. The silence wasn't empty now. It was full of the image Izuku had just painted.

"You're fucked in the head," Katsuki finally said, but the heat was gone from his voice. It was flat. Hollow.

"I know." Izuku’s hands were fists in his lap. "I have the perfect boyfriend. He loves me. I know he’s going to propose to me soon. I saw the ring box in his suitcase. And all I can think about is how you came inside me. I can still feel it. I wanted you to. I wanted you to claim me like that."

"Stop." Katsuki’s voice was a low warning.

"Why? You asked." Izuku turned fully toward him now, his green eyes wide and wrecked. "You want to know what about you? It's everything. The way you looked at me across the dinner table while your leg was pushing mine apart. The sound you made when you finished in that bathroom. I heard you. I stood outside the door and I listened to you get off on my underwear and I got wet again."

Katsuki pulled the truck over onto the gravel shoulder, the tires crunching. He killed the engine. The sudden silence was a physical weight. He didn't look at Izuku. He stared straight ahead, his knuckles pale on the wheel. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Izuku’s breath fogged the window. "My pussy gets wet when you walk into a room. Right now. It's wet. For you. I can feel it."

Katsuki’s head snapped toward him. His red eyes were molten. "Shut up."

"Make me."

The challenge hung in the frozen air. Katsuki’s gaze dropped to Izuku’s mouth, then lower, to the thick fabric of his sweater, to the jeans over his thighs. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"This is a disaster," Katsuki whispered, but it sounded like a prayer.

"I don't care." Izuku unbuckled his seatbelt. The click was deafening. He leaned across the center console, his face inches from Katsuki’s. He could smell the coffee on his breath, see the faint scar through his eyebrow. "You have them. In your pocket. Right now. Don't you?"

Katsuki didn't deny it. His breathing had gone shallow. "Yeah."

"Do you want me to take them back?"

"No."

The word was ripped from him. Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs. He lifted a hand, slow, and touched the front of Katsuki’s jeans, just over the pocket. He felt the lump of fabric beneath the denim. "Then they're yours," Izuku said, his voice trembling. "I'm yours. That's what you said. Was that a lie, Uncle Kacchan?"

Katsuki’s hand shot up and grabbed Izuku’s wrist, stopping his touch. But he didn't push him away. He held him there, his grip bruising-tight. His eyes searched Izuku’s face, looking for the trap, the joke, the regret. He found only a desperate, hungry truth.

"Fuck," Katsuki breathed, and then he was pulling Izuku in, his other hand tangling in his green curls, and his mouth crashed down on Izuku's.

Izuku kissed him back with a hunger that felt like drowning. He fumbled with the center console, then climbed, half-falling, into Katsuki’s lap. The steering wheel dug into his back. Katsuki’s hands grabbed his thighs, hauling him fully onto him, and the hard heat of Katsuki’s growing cock pressed against Izuku’s ass through their jeans.

Izuku broke the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against Katsuki’s. “This is your fault,” he whispered, the words a hot puff of air against Katsuki’s lips. “You. Always touching me. Always teasing me. Making my body like this… craving you. My uncle.”

He ground down, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The friction was brutal, delicious. Katsuki’s grip on his thighs tightened, fingers digging into the denim.

“You don’t get to pin this on me, nerd,” Katsuki growled, but his eyes were dark, his breath coming fast. “You watched. You came back. You shoved your fucking panties in my pocket.”

“Because you made me.” Izuku’s voice cracked. He rocked again, his own arousal a slick, aching pulse between his legs. “You looked at me across the room and I felt it like a hand inside me. Take responsibility for what you created.”

Katsuki’s head thumped back against the headrest. A ragged sound tore from his throat. His hands slid up from Izuku’s thighs to his hips, holding him still. “Fuck. Stop moving.”

“Why?” Izuku challenged, his green eyes wide and wrecked. “You don’t want me to?”

“I want you to shut up and let me think.”

“You’re not thinking. You’re hard. I can feel it.” Izuku lowered his voice, a secret in the frozen cab. “Is my underwear still in your pocket, Uncle Kacchan? Is it getting wet from how bad you want me?”

Katsuki’s control snapped. His hand came up, cupping the back of Izuku’s neck, and pulled him down into another searing kiss. This one was all tongue and teeth, a claiming. Izuku moaned into his mouth, his hands tangling in Katsuki’s spiky hair.

When Katsuki pulled back, his lips were swollen. “You want responsibility?” he breathed. His free hand went to his own jeans, popping the button. “Fine. Let’s see what I made.”

He didn’t push Izuku off. He shoved his own jeans and briefs down just enough, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy against his stomach, the head already flushed and wet. The sight punched the air from Izuku’s lungs.

Katsuki’s eyes never left his face. “You said your pussy’s wet for me. Prove it.”

Izuku trembled. He scrambled, yanking at his own jeans, pushing them and his underwear down his thighs. The cold air of the cab hit his bare skin, but the heat between his legs was a furnace. He was soaked, his folds glistening. He didn’t break eye contact as he reached down, guiding himself, and sank onto Katsuki’s waiting cock.

The stretch was immediate, breathtaking. Izuku cried out, a sharp, broken sound. He had to go slow, taking him inch by brutal inch, his body stretching to accommodate the girth. Katsuki watched, his jaw clenched, his hands back on Izuku’s hips, not helping, just holding as Izuku impaled himself.

“Fuck,” Katsuki gritted out as Izuku finally bottomed out, seated fully in his lap. “Look at you. Taking it all. You’re so fucking greedy.”

Izuku was full to bursting. He could feel every vein, every pulse. He braced his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders, his head falling forward. “You feel… you feel bigger than before.”

“Maybe you forgot,” Katsuki said, his voice rough. He began to move Izuku’s hips, setting a slow, deep grind. “Maybe you need a reminder of what you’re asking for.”

It wasn’t a frantic fuck. It was a possession. Each drag inward was a claim. Each retreat was a denial. Izuku could only hold on, his moans filling the cab. The world outside—the frosted pines, the empty road—ceased to exist.

“Whose are you?” Katsuki demanded, his breath hot against Izuku’s ear.

“Yours,” Izuku sobbed, the words torn from him. “Yours, Uncle Kacchan, please—”

“Please what?”

“I don’t know. More. Everything.”

“Fuck this,” Katsuki growled, his voice strained. He grabbed Izuku’s hips and lifted him off his cock with a wet, wrenching pull that made Izuku cry out. Before Izuku could protest, Katsuki was shoving him backward, over the center console and into the cavernous backseat of the truck. Izuku landed with a thump on the cold leather, jeans and underwear tangled around his thighs. Grabbing those for good measure, yanking the offending garments off his nephew.

Katsuki followed, climbing over the seat with a predator’s grace. He loomed over Izuku in the confined space, his broad shoulders blocking the gray light from the windshield. He shoved his own jeans down further, freeing his cock completely. It stood thick and angry against his stomach. He slapped it, hard, against Izuku’s soaked, exposed cunt. The sound was a sharp, wet crack in the quiet cab. “How are you this fucking wet, nerd?”

Izuku gasped at the impact, the cold leather beneath him, the heat of Katsuki above. “You,” he panted, his green eyes wide. “It’s you. It’s always you.”

“Bullshit.” Katsuki slapped his cock against him again, the heavy weight a taunt. Izuku’s folds were glistening, swollen. “You’re a fucking mess. Look at you.”

“Then clean it up,” Izuku challenged, his voice trembling. He spread his thighs wider on the seat, a deliberate, vulgar invitation. “Since you made it.”

Katsuki’s eyes flashed. He leaned down, bracing one hand on the seat by Izuku’s head. His other hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding the blunt, leaking head through Izuku’s slickness. He didn’t push in. He just rubbed the tip against him, a torturous, slow circle around his clit, then lower, teasing his entrance. “This what you want?” he breathed, his face inches away. “You want your uncle to fuck you in the back of his truck like some cheap slut?”

“Yes.” The word was a sob. Izuku’s hips jerked, trying to catch him, to force him inside. “God, yes, please, Kacchan—”

Katsuki pushed. Not all the way. Just the head, a brutal, stretching inch. He stopped, watching Izuku’s face contort. “Please what? Use your words.”

“Fuck me. Please. I need it.” Izuku’s hands scrabbled at Katsuki’s shoulders, his nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. “I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I just need you inside me.”

“You’re gonna marry that half-and-half bastard,” Katsuki said, his voice low and vicious. He pushed in another inch, the stretch breathtaking. “You’re gonna wear his ring. And you’re back here, begging for my cock.”

“I know,” Izuku whined, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He was splitting open, filled in a way that felt more like truth than violation. “I know, I’m terrible, I’m wrong, just—more. Give me more.”

Katsuki drove the rest of the way home in one relentless thrust. Izuku screamed, his back arching off the leather. Katsuki buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against Izuku’s ass. He stayed there, seated deep, both of them panting. He lowered his head, his lips brushing Izuku’s ear. “You smell like me,” he whispered, raw. “Your pussy smells like my come from yesterday. And you’re still dripping for me.”

He began to move. Slow, at first. Withdrawing almost completely, then surging back in. The pace was agonizing, each stroke a full, deep possession. The truck’s suspension rocked gently with their rhythm. Izuku could only take it, his legs hooking around Katsuki’s waist, holding him close.

“You kept them,” Izuku gasped, his head rolling to the side. “The panties. You didn’t throw them away.”

Katsuki’s thrusts stuttered. He fucked into him harder, faster, as if angered by the reminder. “Shut up.”

“You like it,” Izuku pressed, reckless. “You like having a piece of me in your pocket. While you smile at your husband. While you shake my father’s hand.”

“I said shut up!” Katsuki roared, and his hand flew from the seat to close around Izuku’s throat. Not squeezing, just holding. A brand. His hips pistoned, the slap of skin filling the cab. Izuku’s vision swam, pleasure coiling tight in his gut.

“You’re gonna come,” Katsuki snarled, his own breath ragged. “You’re gonna come on your uncle’s cock, and you’re gonna remember whose you are when you go back in that house and smile at your boyfriend. You understand me?” Katsuki snarled, his hand a vise around Izuku's throat.

Izuku came. Instantly. A white-hot wire snapped inside him, and his body convulsed, a gush of warm fluid soaking the leather seat beneath them. He screamed, a sound muffled by the pressure on his windpipe, his cunt clenching in violent, fluttering pulses around Katsuki’s cock.

Katsuki didn’t stop. He fucked him through it, his thrusts turning brutal, chasing his own end. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice guttural. “Look at this little bald cunt. Squirting all over my seats. This little cunt belongs to your uncle’s cock, you little incest-loving whore.”

Izuku sobbed, oversensitive, his hips held immobile by Katsuki’s grip. Every drag was agony and ecstasy. “Kacchan—”

“You love it,” Katsuki panted, his rhythm fracturing. “You love being my dirty secret. My nasty little nephew who gets off on being fucked in a truck.” His hips stuttered. He drove in deep, burying himself, and held there. A low, raw groan tore from his chest as he emptied himself inside Izuku, hot and relentless.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the faint creak of the truck’s suspension. Katsuki’s forehead dropped to Izuku’s shoulder. His hand fell away from Izuku’s throat.

Izuku lay boneless, feeling the slow, hot leak of his uncle’s come from his used, throbbing cunt. The cold air of the cab began to register on his sweat-slicked skin. He shivered.

Katsuki pushed himself up, withdrawing from Izuku’s body with a soft, wet sound. He looked down at the mess between Izuku’s thighs, at the soaked leather. His expression was unreadable. He wiped his cock clean with a rough hand before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice flat. He turned and climbed back over the seat into the driver’s side.

Izuku’s limbs felt like lead. He pushed himself up, wincing at the ache. He found his jeans and underwear in a heap on the floor. Pulling them on over his sticky skin was a humiliating chore. The fabric chafed.

He climbed back into the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt with trembling fingers. The cab smelled like sex, sweat, and his own release. Katsuki started the engine. The heater blasted cold air for a second before warming.

They drove in silence for five minutes, the tires humming on the asphalt. The pines blurred past.

“The panties are still in my pocket,” Katsuki said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the road. “They’re fucking soaked from your little show back there.”

Izuku stared straight ahead. His throat was sore. “Are you going to throw them away now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, nerd.”

Izuku’s laugh was brittle. “I think I do want the answer.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He didn’t reply.

The grocery store’s automatic doors hissed open, releasing a wave of sterilized, chilled air. Izuku walked in first, his sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum. The fluorescence was brutal, exposing everything.

Katsuki followed, grabbing a cart with a metallic rattle. He shoved it forward. “List.”

Izuku fumbled the slip of paper from his pocket. His hands were still trembling. “Um. Olive oil. Two cans of tomato paste. Fresh basil.”

“Move.” Katsuki took the lead, his stride eating up the aisle. He didn’t look back.

Izuku trailed behind, his body a map of fresh aches. Every step was a reminder. The denim of his jeans rubbed where he was sore, where he was still subtly leaking. He kept his eyes on Katsuki’s broad back, on the way his shoulders strained the fabric of his jacket.

They stopped in the baking aisle. Katsuki grabbed a bottle of extra virgin oil, checked the label, and tossed it into the cart. It landed with a thud.

“You’re walking funny,” Katsuki said, not looking at him, reaching for the tomato paste.

Izuku’s face burned. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” Katsuki finally turned. His red eyes scanned Izuku, head to toe, a clinical assessment. “You’re limping. Anyone looks at you for more than three seconds, they’ll know.”

“No they won’t,” Izuku whispered, his gaze darting to an elderly woman comparing salts.

“They will.” Katsuki leaned closer, his voice a low growl meant only for the space between them. “Because you’ve got that look. Like you’ve been thoroughly fucked. Your eyes are glassy. Your lips are swollen. You keep shifting your weight like your cunt hurts.”

Izuku couldn’t breathe. The words were a caress and a slap. “Stop it.”

“Why? It’s the truth.” Katsuki straightened, tossing the cans into the cart. “You gonna tell your precious Shoto you pulled a muscle reaching for the cereal?”

“Don’t,” Izuku said, the word cracking. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Why? He’s the reason you’re here, isn’t he? The whole fucking future.” Katsuki pushed the cart forward again, forcing Izuku to hurry to keep up. “The proposal. The wedding. The kids. You’ve got it all mapped out in your little nerd notebooks.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” They rounded the corner into the produce section. The smell of damp earth and leafy greens was a jarring contrast. Katsuki grabbed a plastic clamshell of basil. “He asked your old man for his blessing. Did you know that?”

Izuku froze. “What?”

“Yesterday. Pulled him aside after breakfast. All formal and shit.” Katsuki’s laugh was short, hollow. “Toshinori came to me, all misty-eyed. ‘Our boy’s getting married, Katsuki.’” He mimicked his brother-in-law’s voice with a vicious edge. “He was so happy.”

The world tilted. Izuku gripped the cold handle of a misting display case. The lettuce inside glistened under the lights. “He… he didn’t tell me.”

“Course he didn’t. It’s a surprise.” Katsuki set the basil in the cart with exaggerated care. “So. Congratulations.”

Izuku’s hand shot out, gripping the cold metal edge of the shopping cart. "That's not fair."

Katsuki blinked, the mockery freezing on his face. "What?"

"You're acting like I'm the only one with a partner here," Izuku said, his voice rising. It cracked, raw from screaming earlier. "You have a husband, Uncle Kacchan. You're married."

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Katsuki’s expression went flat, a dangerous blankness. "Don't."

"Why not? It's true. You go home to Eijiro every night. You fuck him." Izuku’s knuckles were white on the cart. "You let him touch you. And then you come find me and you—"

"I said don't." Katsuki’s voice dropped, a low warning that vibrated in the chilled air.

"You don't get to stand here and make me feel like some pathetic, cheating liar when you've got your own fucking ring on your finger!"

Katsuki moved then, fast. He didn't touch Izuku, just planted his hands on the cart, caging him against the dairy case. The cold seeped through Izuku’s sweater. "You think this is the same?"

"Isn't it?"

"No." Katsuki leaned in. His breath was hot against Izuku’s ear. "My husband doesn't make me come in thirty seconds. He doesn't make me fucking lose my mind. He doesn't own a pair of my goddamn underwear."

Izuku shuddered. The truth of it was a physical blow. "That's worse," he whispered. "That's so much worse."

"Yeah." Katsuki pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His red gaze was stripped bare, furious and ruined. "It is. You happy now? You needed to hear that I'm a worse piece of shit than you? Congratulations, nerd. You win."

Izuku’s anger evaporated, leaving a hollow, aching cold. He stared at the man he’d called uncle his whole life. "What are we doing?"

Katsuki didn’t answer. His eyes dropped to Izuku’s mouth, swollen and bitten. He watched the way Izuku’s chest hitched. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

They were back in the truck, the grocery bags a sterile, perfumed wall between them in the back seat, when Izuku asked again. His voice was small in the cavernous cab. “What are we doing, Uncle Kacchan?”

Katsuki didn’t start the engine. He stared straight ahead, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. The knuckles were white. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got!” Katsuki’s head snapped toward him, his expression savage. “You want a fucking roadmap? A plan? There isn’t one. There’s just this. You and me and this… sickness.”

Izuku flinched. The word hung in the air, ugly and true. He looked down at his own hands, folded in his lap. He could still feel the ache, a deep, tender throbbing between his legs. A receipt. “It doesn’t feel sick.”

Katsuki barked a laugh, sharp and painful. “Yeah? What does it feel like, nerd? Enlighten me.”

“It feels…” Izuku’s throat closed. He forced the words out, raw and honest. “Like I can’t breathe when you’re not touching me. And I can’t think when you are.”

The confession sucked the anger from the cab. The only sound was the tick of the cooling engine.

Katsuki’s gaze was a physical weight. Izuku felt it travel over his profile, down his throat, to where his sweater hid the marks. “Shoto asks your dad for permission to put a ring on your finger,” Katsuki said, his voice now low and hollow. “And you’re in my truck telling me you can’t breathe without me. What the fuck is wrong with us?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku whispered, echoing him. He turned, meeting that searing red stare. “But you started it. You took my things. You… you used them.”

“And you watched.” Katsuki’s eyes darkened. “You stood in that hallway and you touched yourself to me. Don’t put this all on my doorstep, Izuku. You walked right into the fire.”

“I know.” Izuku’s eyes burned. He wouldn’t cry. “So what happens now? We go back to the house? You go back to Eijiro, and I go back to Shoto, and we just… live with this?”

Katsuki was silent for a long moment. His hand left the wheel, dropped to his thigh. His fingers brushed the rough fabric of his jeans, right over the pocket. “Yeah.” The word was a gravelly surrender. “That’s what happens.”

“No.” The word was flat, final. Izuku’s hands clenched in his lap. “That’s not what I want. And I don’t think that’s what you want either.”

Katsuki’s head turned slowly. His red eyes were pits of exhausted fire. “You don’t know what I want.”

“I do.” Izuku’s voice trembled, but he held that gaze. “You want to hate this. You want it to be a mistake. But it’s not. You kept my underwear. You’re hard right now, just talking about it.”

A low, warning growl rattled in Katsuki’s chest. “Careful.”

“Why? What’s left to be careful of?” Izuku’s laugh was a broken thing. “You’ve already fucked me in the back of your truck. I can still feel it. I’m sore. I’m dripping. You think going back to the house and playing happy families is going to make that stop?”

Katsuki’s jaw worked. He said nothing.

“You’ll go to bed with Eijiro,” Izuku pushed, the words spilling out like a wound. “And you’ll think about me. You’ll remember how I felt. How tight I was. How I came just from you putting your hand on my throat. You’ll get hard against his back and you’ll hate yourself. And I’ll be in my room with Shoto, and I’ll pretend to be asleep while I feel how wet I still am for you.”

“Stop.” Katsuki’s hand shot out, gripping Izuku’s thigh. His fingers dug in through the denim. “Just fucking stop.”

“Make me.” Izuku’s breath hitched. The pressure of that hand was an anchor, a brand. “You’re the only one who can.”

Katsuki stared at him. The fight drained from his expression, leaving something raw and terrified in its place. His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. His thumb stroked once, a rough, unconscious caress over the fabric. “What do you want me to say, Izuku?”

“I want you to say this is real.” Izuku’s eyes burned. “I want you to stop pretending it’s a sickness we’ll get over. It’s not. It’s in my bones now.”

Katsuki’s gaze dropped to his own hand on Izuku’s leg. He watched his thumb move again. “It’s wrong.”

“I know.”

“It’ll ruin everything.”

“I know that, too.”

Katsuki finally looked at him. The hunger was there, naked and terrible. “So we’re just… damned.”

Izuku reached down, covering Katsuki’s hand with his own. He laced their fingers together. The contact was electric. “Yeah.”

For a long minute, they just sat there in the silent cab, hands locked together. The engine was off. The world outside was bright and ordinary. Inside, it was just their shared breath, the heat of their skin, the impossible truth knotting them together.

“We have to go back,” Katsuki said, his voice gravel.

“I know.”

Katsuki didn’t let go. He turned his hand, palm up, so he was holding Izuku’s. His calluses scraped against Izuku’s knuckles. “Tonight. After everyone’s asleep. The back door. One a.m.”

Izuku’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Why?”

“Because I need to see you.” Katsuki brought Izuku’s hand to his mouth. He didn’t kiss it. He pressed his lips to the pulse point in the wrist, a hard, desperate pressure. “One more time. Somewhere that isn’t a fucking truck or a stolen room. Just… one more time.”

Izuku felt the promise in that touch, the finality. It wasn’t a solution. It was a confession. He nodded, his throat too tight for words.

Katsuki released him. The cold air rushed into the space between them. He started the engine. The roar was obscenely loud. He didn’t look at Izuku again as he pulled out of the parking lot. He just drove, one hand white-knuckled on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, right over the pocket that held their secret.