Evesara

A thread of panic pierces through the desire, and the back of Izuku’s head smashes into the wall when he tears himself away. He feels a violent blush burning over his face, cooling where Katsuki’s breath brushes against it. His lips are wet and swollen, trembling with each shallow inhale as he attempts to come down from the overwhelming astonishment.

His fingers dig into Katsuki’s chest, unsure whether to push or pull.

Katsuki leans further into them.

(Snippet from newest Ao3 work. Last chapter posted tomorrow. Explicit, quirk-accident.)

With Izuku’s chest pressed into the mat and both hands restrained, there is very little he can do to negate the effects of Blackwhip. If he uses an explosion, Katsuki would only tighten his grip more. He doesn’t want to lose—but what choice does he have?

He opens his mouth to tap out, to call Katsuki’s victory, when Katsuki laughs.

“Already quitting, Izuku? It hasn’t even been five minutes.”

Izuku clenches his teeth. The tendrils are pressing him into the floor, constraining the simplest of twitches, and his body heats with pressure. He’s never been on this side of his quirk before, and he understands now why villains give up so easily after Blackwhip binds them. It is unnerving the way it wraps and slithers over skin, over his muscles and joints, between his legs and—

Izuku swallows. Katsuki must not notice it, but one of the tendrils is inching its way up Izuku’s inner thigh, over his gym clothes toward his lower stomach. It drags dangerously close to a part of Izuku that should not be prodded during sparring. Especially around Katsuki.

“I can’t do anything else,” Izuku gasps with a flinch. He begins to panic when the tendril laps around his quad, under the curve of his glute muscles. “You win—”

He cannot finish the words. Suddenly, there is something prodding against his face, his mouth.

“You’re giving up? Huh. Didn’t take you for a wimp,” Katsuki smirks, redirecting the tendril on Izuku’s jaw to press between his lips.

What do I do, what do I do—Izuku squeaks as it enters his mouth.

“You think and talk too much,” Katsuki continues, oblivious to Izuku’s panicked flush. “My explosions won’t work unless you act impulsively. Trust your instincts to get out of a situation.”

Holy—Izuku cannot think straight, cannot do anything except feel the tendril brushing against his tongue and teeth. It tastes like static.

Katsuki scoffs when Izuku continues to lie pliantly beneath its control. “Come on, fight back!”

Completely against his better judgment, Izuku bites down.

"Ah, come on," Denki waves a hand between them. His chopsticks fling pieces of rice across the table. "No need to deny it. Everyone agrees that Midoriya is one of the hottest guys in school. The girls had a list going around ranking attractiveness, and I'm pretty sure he was in the top three."

"Hey!" Mina splutters. "No one else was supposed to know about that list! Who told you?"

Katsuki wishes that he hadn't become so immune to his classmates' idiocy (he really wants to fall back on his anger from first year and explode them for the mere audacity of saying stupid shit). Now, he can only stare dumbfounded and silent, wondering how he ever came to be wrangled up in this group of misfits.

After a moment, Eijirou chuckles and leans over the table across from him. "It's okay. I'm pretty sure Midoriya-bro has been checking you out, too."

Katsuki pushes away his lunch tray and stands. "And now, I've lost my appetite. Fuck you very much."

As he moves towards the cafeteria exit (disregarding his friends' retorts and apologies behind him), his gaze aptly moves to Izuku's table on the other side of the room. He is not entirely surprised when he finds green eyes already watching him.

They've been like this since the end of the war---hyper-aware, cautious of each other. Nearly a year later, and they still haven't breached the topic of their sudden wariness, why neither of them can go more than a few hours without checking in on the other. It’s pathetic. And yet, Katsuki can't stop himself.

He gestures at Izuku with his head, nodding toward the exit. Izuku is quick to understand.

Izuku turns away, says something to Ochako and Shouto and the rest of his table, before he packs up his lunch.

Katsuki doesn't wait for him to catch up.

He is only a few seconds into a stretch when the gym doors open, and Izuku steps in with a smile. The scar on the left side of his face bunches against his eye, tissue discolored and permanently masking the freckles beneath. (Katsuki would never admit to missing them.)

"You want to spar again, Kacchan?"

Katsuki wishes that he could come up with something smart to say---an innovative joke or witty insult---but Denki's influence must have eaten the last of his braincells. He shrugs and snorts.

"Seems like you're just as eager."

It is in unwritten permission that Katsuki and Izuku are allowed to use the training gymnasium when needed, as long as it is not already occupied. Aizawa and All Might always cast away their eyes, even after the many times a security robot must have announced their late night practices. It is a small privilege after saving Japan... not that Katsuki would ever think to exploit his sudden stardom.

(Nevertheless, he is glad that he is an exception to this particular rule.)

His arm is still recovering, and Izuku’s quirks are at the last flickers of life, so they never go all-out. The sparring is more of a distraction from work and school (and nightmares) than anything else. It helps Katsuki stay calm, especially after being provoked by certain idiots who attach themselves to him like leeches.

Him, checking out Izuku?

Blasphemy. His classmates are lucky that their heads are still attached to their bodies.

"Setting a time limit?" Izuku asks, finishing a leg stretch. Katsuki's eyes drift to the strain in the pants' fabric.

"No. Only tap outs." Their next class is modern history---a subject where both he and Izuku are top in the class. Any docked points for missing a single lecture won't affect their standings.

They should really change into gym clothes, but Katsuki merely removes his blazer and rolls up his sleeves. The time it would take to get dressed would be better spent sparring before another class inevitably comes and kicks them out. Izuku seems to agree with the sentiment. He cuffs the hem of his pants and squats on the other side of the training circle.

Gym Gamma is empty aside from the eight marked areas meant for practicing hand-to-hand combat. As third years, practical training and rescue operations are most commonly practiced during their internships; Yuuei rarely sets up fake villain scenarios and faux cities on campus anymore.

Which means that Izuku and Katsuki have plenty of space to move around.

As expected, they do not stay in their designated circle. Within minutes, their fighting has branched to opposite corners of the gymnasium---running, leaping, and dodging out of the way of fists and swinging legs. Katsuki knows it is unfair to use his quirk, so he only uses an explosion when absolutely necessary (when Izuku has him cornered with no other way of escape). In turn, Izuku sparingly chases after him with Blackwhip.

"Your arm looks stronger," Izuku notes, dodging a fist that Katsuki throws at his chest.

"Not to its full potential," Katsuki grunts in response, moving backward to avoid Izuku’s roundhouse. "PT has been killing me lately, though. I think Doc' is tryin' to prepare it for quirk use. Still haven’t been able to blow up anything significant yet."

Katsuki’s next swing manages to graze Izuku’s shoulder. The green-head stumbles but catches himself before completely falling over. "Definitely stronger," he mumbles, rubbing the area.

"You need to bulk up," Katsuki smirks, squatting defensively for his next move. He ignores the fact that Izuku is nearly three times the size he was in first year.

"I eat plenty! You didn’t even finish your lunch today!"

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. "You always watching me?" The question is redundant; they both know by now how much watching either of them do on a day-to-day basis. "Besides, I'm not the one complaining about a little bruise on my shoulder."

Izuku’s upper lip twitches. This is a new anomaly that Katsuki is trying to adjust to: Izuku is much easier to irritate. He cannot describe the feeling in his guts whenever he manages to bring it out on Izuku's face.

"I wasn’t complaining," Izuku defends, growling when Katsuki tries to wrestle him to the floor. "I was just making an observation... about---ouch!"

Successful, Katsuki flings Izuku onto his hands and knees, legs wrapping around legs, hands pinning against hips. His chest is against Izuku's back which arches up in an attempt to dislodge the position, but Katsuki pushes him further into the ground by the waist. Then, he threads an arm between Izuku's thigh, pulling up to unbalance him from his knees.

Izuku's stomach hits the floor. Katsuki thrusts down.

Izuku’s body begins to jerk in oversensitivity. And yet, to Katsuki’s delight and amusement, he does not soften.

“K–Kacchan,” he groans.

He moves one leg, knee bending upward, and brackets Katsuki’s hip.

Unprompted images of last night come to the forefront of Katsuki’s mind. Izuku, sideways on the carpet, Keiko’s hand sweeping where it does not belong up his leg. The memory sparks something in Katsuki. His jaw tightens, his teeth grit together, and his nostrils flair.

In a viper-quick movement, he releases his hold on Izuku’s wrist and ducks his face to the junction of Izuku’s knee beside him. He bites on the inner skin. There’s a sound that’s similar to a yelp, startled from Izuku’s throat.

Before he can really think about his actions, his mouth travels up the thigh, tongue pressed against the spots he remembers Keiko’s hands. His lips drag along the skin, up the hinge of muscle, under the material of Izuku’s shorts. Izuku trembles at the action, his chest heaving, leaning his head back.

Katsuki’s other hand, having not left the other’s pants, tightens to the point where he can feel Izuku flinch, his body unsure if he should lean in or away from the touch.

“Kacchan,” Izuku calls again, more insistent.

The sounds of their bodies moving together grow sharper, more pronounced, as Katsuki seems to find a purpose. He doesn’t like those memories, he doesn’t like the reminder of Keiko’s hands claiming possession of Izuku’s body. They have no shame, they have no regret, and Katsuki wants…

…he wants them gone.

Katsuki can admit that he is oblivious to many things, especially when it comes to the desires and necessities of others. In his defense, he has never needed to look beyond his own reflection for a clear path to victory—he has never needed to rely on anyone else for his own successes. He does not heed the mundane glances Izuku shoots at him during class, or the occasional (boyish, sometimes inappropriate) compliments after training. Izuku can be weird, so what?

He is starting to think—maybe he should have paid more attention.

Katsuki has long since collapsed from his elbows to his back, burying his head into the pillows below, hands grasping at the sheets in an effort to ground himself within the moment. It’s not working very well...