The heater in Katsuki’s truck blasted, turning the cab into a humid box that smelled of cold pine sap, warm wool from their sweaters, and the vinyl seats sticking to thighs.

Katsuki drove, his large hands tight on the wheel, knuckles pale. Eijiro rode shotgun, his broad form practically vibrating with cheerful energy as he pointed out decorations on houses they passed. "Look at that one! The inflatable reindeer is taller than the roof!"

In the backseat, Izuku was pressed against the door, Shoto a solid, warm line beside him. Shoto’s elegant hand rested on Izuku’s thigh, a casual, claiming weight that made Izuku’s stomach twist.

"You warm enough, Izu?" Shoto asked, his voice a low murmur near Izuku’s ear.

"Yeah," Izuku said, his own voice too bright. "The heater's great."

His eyes were fixed on the back of his uncle’s head. On the sharp line of Katsuki’s jaw, visible in the rearview mirror. Katsuki’s red eyes flicked up, met his in the glass for a fractured second, then cut back to the road.

"So, Shoto," Eijiro said, twisting in his seat with a grin. "Izuku says you're studying political science. That's manly as hell."

"It's challenging," Shoto said, his tone polite, measured. "But fulfilling."

"Bet you’re top of your class. This one’s a genius too," Eijiro said, jerking a thumb toward Izuku. "Brains run in the family, huh, Kats?"

Katsuki grunted. The truck hit a pothole, jostling them. Izuku’s body slid against Shoto’s. His other side, the side nearest the door, felt cold. Empty.

"Sorry," Katsuki barked, not sounding sorry at all. His bicep flexed as he downshifted.

Izuku watched the muscle move under the tight black sleeve. He remembered the feel of that arm pinning him to the bench in the greenhouse. The sheer, terrifying strength of it.

"It's fine," Shoto said, his hand squeezing Izuku's thigh gently. "Quite an adventurous road."

"Adventurous," Katsuki echoed, the word a scoff. "It's a damn dirt road, Half-n-Half."

Eijiro laughed, a booming, easy sound. "He's not wrong! Hey, you guys decide what kind of tree we're hunting? I'm voting for the biggest, widest one we can find. Maximum spirit."

"Something symmetrical," Shoto said. "Balanced."

Izuku felt a drop of sweat trace down his spine under his sweater. The heater was too much. The space was too small. Katsuki’s scent—that expensive cologne and the darker, saltier musk beneath it—was somehow in the air, mixed with the pine.

"You're quiet, nerd," Katsuki said, his voice cutting through Eijiro’s rambling about tree species.

Izuku’s breath hitched. Shoto’s thumb stroked his leg. "Just taking it all in," Izuku managed.

Katsuki’s eyes found his again in the mirror. Held. "Yeah. Take it in."

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the rumble of the engine and the crunch of gravel under tires. Izuku’s skin felt too tight. Every point of contact with Shoto—their thighs, Shoto’s hand on his—was a brand of guilt. Every glance from Katsuki in the mirror was a lick of heat straight to his core.

He shifted slightly, and the movement made the denim of his jeans rub against his clit. A tiny, accidental friction. A spark. He clenched, felt the slickness already gathering there, traitorous and ready. Only for Katsuki. Always now, only for him.

The truck slowed, turning into the tree farm entrance. "We're here," Katsuki announced, his tone flat, final. He killed the engine. The sudden quiet was a vacuum, filled with the sound of their breathing.

The engine’s rumble died, leaving a silence so complete Izuku could hear the blood rushing in his own ears. The doors of the other vehicles slammed, voices calling out cheerfully in the cold air. Shoto’s hand lifted from Izuku’s thigh as he reached for the door handle.

"Shall we?" Shoto said, his breath a cloud in the chilled cab.

Izuku fumbled for his own door, the need for open space, for cold air on his overheated skin, a sudden desperation. He practically tumbled out, his boots crunching on the frozen gravel. The winter air was a slap, sharp with the scent of pine and damp earth. He drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“Whoa, careful, Izu!” Eijiro’s booming laugh came from the other side of the truck as he clapped Shoto on the shoulder. “Race you to the biggest tree!”

Shoto offered a small, amused smile, his gaze already scanning the rows of firs. “I believe the objective is quality, not sheer size, Eijiro.”

Izuku’s eyes darted, finding Katsuki immediately. He was leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, watching the others. His red eyes cut to Izuku, held, then flicked toward a dense cluster of towering pines off the main path. A command without words.

“I’m just—gonna look over there,” Izuku mumbled, already taking a step backward. “Saw a good shape.”

Shoto nodded, his attention caught by a symmetrical blue spruce. “Don’t wander too far.”

Izuku turned and walked, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. The sounds of the others faded, muffled by the thick, needled branches. He pushed through a low-hanging bough, and a large, warm hand closed around his bicep, yanking him behind the broad trunk of an ancient pine.

Katsuki’s body caged him against the rough bark, the heat of him a furnace after the cold. The pine sap smell was overwhelming here, mixed with Katsuki’s cologne and his own primal scent.

“Any chance we get, right?” Katsuki growled, his voice a low, rough vibration against Izuku’s lips.

Then his mouth was on Izuku’s, hot and demanding. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming. A hard, desperate press of lips and teeth and tongue that stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. Izuku’s hands came up, gripping Katsuki’s thick sweater, clinging. He moaned into the kiss, the taste of coffee and wintergreen and *Katsuki* flooding his senses.

Katsuki’s hand slid down, cupping Izuku’s ass through his jeans, pulling their hips flush. Izuku could feel the hard, formidable line of Katsuki’s cock against his lower stomach, even through their layers. His own body answered instantly, a gush of wet heat soaking his panties, making the denim cling.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathed against his mouth, grinding against him once, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. “You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you, nerd?”

“Yes,” Izuku gasped, arching into the friction. “Uncle Kacchan, please—”

The old childhood name, paired with the desperate plea, made Katsuki shudder. He buried his face in Izuku’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below his ear. “You wanna get on your knees right here? Let me fuck that pretty mouth while your perfect boyfriend picks out a fucking tree?”

The image, filthy and explicit, wrenched another pulse of slickness from Izuku. He whimpered, his hips stuttering.

Izuku dropped to his knees in the frozen pine needles, his fingers fumbling at the button of Katsuki’s jeans. The denim was cold, the metal colder. He got it open, yanked the zipper down, and shoved the fabric aside. Katsuki’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already flushed and leaking at the tip, the foreskin still loosely covering the head.

“Fuck, nerd,” Katsuki hissed, his hand tangling in Izuku’s curls, not guiding, just holding on.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, opening his mouth, and took the head inside. The skin was velvet-soft, the taste pre-come salt and pure, musky Katsuki. He sucked gently, then wiggled the tip of his tongue underneath the foreskin, probing, licking the sensitive ridge beneath.

“Ah—shit—” Katsuki’s hips jerked, his other hand slamming against the tree trunk beside Izuku’s head. “Your fucking tongue…”

Izuku worked it deeper, rolling his tongue inside the sheath, tasting every hidden inch. He moaned around him, the vibration making Katsuki curse again, his grip tightening in Izuku’s hair. Izuku’s own need was a throbbing, soaking ache between his legs, his jeans damp. He reached a hand down to palm himself, the pressure a shallow, desperate relief.

“Just like that,” Katsuki growled, his voice ragged. “Keep doing that with your… fuck, yeah…”

Izuku obeyed, laving and sucking with a focused, hungry devotion. He could feel Katsuki swelling further in his mouth, the foreskin beginning to retract on its own from the wet heat. He pulled off just enough to watch it peel back, revealing the flushed, slick head fully. He locked eyes with Katsuki—his uncle’s gaze was dark, predatory, utterly consumed—before taking him deep again.

“Gonna come,” Katsuki warned, the words strained. “Gonna come right down your throat if you don’t—”

Izuku didn’t stop. He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, urging him on. He wanted it. The violation of it, here in the cold, with Shoto’s voice a distant murmur through the trees. It was the final, unforgivable truth.

Katsuki’s climax hit him like a seizure. A guttural, choked sound tore from his throat as his cock pulsed, spilling hot and bitter over Izuku’s tongue. Izuku swallowed, once, twice, his throat working, taking every drop. He kept sucking, gentler now, through the aftershocks, until Katsuki’s hand pushed him back.

Izuku knelt there, panting, lips wet and swollen. The taste of Katsuki filled his mouth. He looked up, dazed.

Katsuki stared down at him, his own breath coming in sharp clouds.

“Stand up,” Katsuki rasped, tucking himself back into his jeans with a quick, rough motion.

Izuku rose on trembling legs, the taste of him still coating his tongue. Before he could steady himself, Katsuki’s hands were on his waist, spinning him to face the tree. He yanked Izuku’s jeans and underwear down to his thighs in one brutal pull. The cold air hit his exposed skin, making him gasp.

“Fucking thong,” Katsuki muttered, the black lace a stark contrast against Izuku’s freckled skin. “You wore this for me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Izuku whimpered, his forehead pressed against the rough bark.

“Bullshit.”

Then Katsuki was on his knees behind him, his large, warm hands spreading Izuku’s thick thighs wider. Izuku heard a low, hungry sound before he felt it—the hot, wet swipe of Katsuki’s tongue from his entrance all the way down to his clit.

Izuku’s hand flew to his own mouth, fingers digging into his lips to stifle the scream that tore up his throat. The pleasure was instant, blinding, a direct live wire to his core. Katsuki ate him like a man starved, his tongue broad and relentless, delving inside him before circling his swollen clit with pinpoint, devastating pressure.

“Uncle Kacchan—” Izuku sobbed behind his palm, his hips pushing back helplessly into that mouth. “Oh god, oh fuck—”

“Quieter,” Katsuki ordered against his skin, his voice a thick, muffled vibration that made Izuku’s knees buckle. “You wanna bring Shoto running? Let him see this?”

The threat was electric. Izuku shook his head wildly, tears pricking his eyes as Katsuki’s tongue speared into him again, deep and claiming. He could feel the slick, filthy sounds, could feel his own wetness dripping down his inner thighs. Katsuki groaned, the sound purely carnal, and sucked his clit into his mouth.

Izuku saw white. His back arched, a strangled cry escaping his clamped lips. He was already close, his body wound impossibly tight from the blowjob, from the danger, from the sheer wrongness of it. “I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“Do it,” Katsuki growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath hot on Izuku’s soaked skin. “Squirt for me. Right here. Do it.”

He sealed his mouth over Izuku again, sucking hard, and flicked his tongue with a rapid, brutal rhythm. It was too much. The orgasm ripped through Izuku with violent force. A gush of clear fluid soaked Katsuki’s chin, dripping onto the frozen ground with a sound like rain. Izuku’s thighs quaked, his entire body convulsing around Katsuki’s mouth as he rode the endless, shuddering waves.

Katsuki didn’t let up, drinking him down, licking him through it until Izuku was whimpering, oversensitive and raw. Finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against Izuku’s trembling ass for a second before standing.

Katsuki’s hand, still wet, closed around the thin strap of the black lace thong cutting into Izuku’s thighs. “Give it to me.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. He braced his hands against the rough pine bark and lifted one hip, then the other, letting Katsuki yank the soaked garment down and off. The cold air bit at his exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat pooling between his legs. Katsuki didn’t look at it. He just balled the damp lace in his fist and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, a blatant, heavy weight.

“Fix yourself,” Katsuki ordered, his voice low and rough as he zipped his own jeans with a sharp tug.

Izuku’s fingers trembled as he pulled his own jeans up, the denim clinging unpleasantly to his wet skin. He fumbled with the button, his head swimming with the taste of Katsuki still thick on his tongue. He could feel the slickness cooling on his inner thighs.

“Izuku? Kacchan?”

Shoto’s voice, calm and clear, cut through the grove from maybe twenty yards away. It was followed by the crunch of Eijiro’s heavier boots on the frozen ground.

Katsuki’s eyes locked with Izuku’s—a flash of red, intense and warning—before his expression smoothed into his usual bored scowl. He reached out and roughly brushed a few stray pine needles from Izuku’s sweater shoulder. “Over here,” Katsuki called back, his tone neutral, almost annoyed.

Shoto appeared first, his heterochromatic gaze sweeping over them. “There you are. Eijiro found a perfect tree, but it needs two people to cut it.” His eyes softened as they landed on Izuku. “You okay? You’re flushed.”

“Fine!” Izuku’s voice came out too high. He cleared his throat. “Just… cold. Ran a bit to keep warm.”

Eijiro bounded up behind Shoto, his smile brilliant. “Dude, it’s a monster! Classic, full shape. You gotta see it.”

“Great,” Katsuki grunted, already turning to follow Eijiro.

But Shoto stepped closer to Izuku, his cool hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Your lips are chapped,” he murmured, and before Izuku could process the words, Shoto leaned in and kissed him.

It was a soft, familiar press of lips. Izuku froze, his mind screaming. Shoto’s tongue swept gently across his own, and Izuku tasted it—the faint, bitter-salty remnant of Katsuki’s release, transferred from his mouth to Shoto’s. A jolt of pure, illicit heat shot straight to his groin.

Across from them, Eijiro threw an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “C’mon, grumpy, the saw’s waiting.” He planted a quick, smacking kiss on Katsuki’s cheek. Katsuki stiffened, his gaze snapping to Izuku over Eijiro’s shoulder.

Izuku watched, paralyzed, as Eijiro’s lips touched the skin where Izuku’s own cunt had been buried minutes before. As Eijiro, innocent and smiling, tasted the salt of Izuku’s slick, the ghost of his arousal, left behind on his uncle’s skin.

Shoto pulled back, smiling. “Better.”

Katsuki roughly shrugged off Eijiro’s arm. “Lead the way, shitty hair.”

As they all trudged back through the pines, Izuku falling into step beside Shoto, his mind reeled. Shoto had tasted Katsuki. Eijiro had tasted him. The secret wasn’t just between them anymore; it was on their partners’ lips, in their kisses, a poison they were all unknowingly sharing.

And the proof of it, the soaked black lace, was a burning brand against Katsuki’s thigh with every step he took.