Chapter 15: Bakugou drags Izuku into the shower fully clothed, tearing at his soaked t-shirt as he spins him around to face the wall. 'You think I didn't see Iida staring at your ass today?' he growls, yanking Izuku's pants down with one brutal pull before sinking his teeth into the back of his neck. The hot water does nothing to cool the fire between them as Bakugou spreads Izuku's cheeks with rough hands, spitting and pressing in without warning, making Izuku scream as he's stretched open against the slic
The stillness after was always a fragile thing. Katsuki lay on his back, Izuku’s hand still trapped under his on his chest, both of them staring at the ceiling as their heartbeats slowed from a gallop to a trot. The smell of sex was thick in the air, a tangible record of what they’d just done.
Izuku was the first to shift, wrinkling his nose. “We’re… sticky.”
“No shit,” Katsuki muttered, but he didn’t protest when Izuku slid out of bed. He watched the play of muscle in Izuku’s back as he padded, naked, out of the bedroom. He heard the squeak of a faucet, the rush of water.
A shower. Practical. Necessary.
Katsuki pushed himself up, his body feeling both heavy and electric. He followed the sound. The bathroom was small, already filling with steam. Izuku was under the spray, his head tilted back, wet green hair plastered to his forehead. The water sluiced down his body, over the faint bruises Katsuki’s fingers had left on his hips, the red mark on his neck.
Katsuki stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “You used all the hot water.”
“There’s plenty,” Izuku said without opening his eyes. “Get in.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a quiet assumption. That, more than anything, made Katsuki’s stomach tighten. He shucked off his remaining clothes, kicked them aside, and slid the glass door open. The steam hit him, warm and damp. He stepped in behind Izuku.
The shower was barely big enough for one person, let alone two grown men, both of them pro heroes with shoulders that took up space. They were pressed together from chest to thigh, the slick heat of their skin amplified by the pounding water.
Katsuki reached past him for the body wash, squirting a dollop into his palm. He started on Izuku’s back, his hands rough as he worked the soap into a lather. He scrubbed at the muscles, his thumbs digging into knots of tension. Izuku sighed, leaning back into the touch.
It was methodical at first. Cleaning. Washing away the evidence. But Katsuki’s hands slowed as they slid over the curve of Izuku’s ass. His touch changed. The cleaning became a caress. He palmed the firm globe of muscle, his fingers tracing the cleft.
Izuku went still. “Kacchan…”
“Shut up,” Katsuki murmured, his voice a low rumble against the shell of Izuku’s ear. He pressed closer, his hardening cock nudging against the back of Izuku’s thigh. “Just getting you clean.”
His soap-slicked fingers ventured lower, circling Izuku’s entrance. It was still loose, tender from their earlier fucking. Izuku gasped, his hands slapping against the wet tiles for support as one thick finger pushed inside, easily.
“See?” Katsuki’s breath was hot on his neck. “Gotta make sure.”
He added a second finger, scissoring gently. The water poured over them, washing the soap away, leaving everything slick and sensitive. Izuku’s head dropped forward, a low moan torn from him. “Fuck…”
“That’s the idea.” Katsuki’s other hand slid around Izuku’s hip, taking his cock in a firm grip. He pumped him slowly, his wrist twisting on the upstroke. He fucked him with his fingers in the same, maddening rhythm.
Izuku was trembling, his body strung tight. The dual sensation, the overwhelming intimacy of being opened and stroked under the guise of washing, was too much. “I’m not… I can’t again so soon…”
“Who said you had to come?” Katsuki bit his shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a possessive sting. “Maybe I just like feeling you like this. All soft and open for me. Mine.”
The word hung in the steam. Mine. It wasn’t part of the ‘in-between’ agreement. It was a raw, primal claim.
Katsuki removed his fingers. He turned Izuku roughly, pinning him face-first against the cold, wet tile. The contrast was shocking—the heat of their bodies, the chill of the ceramic. He nudged Izuku’s legs wider with his knee.
“Lube’s in the caddy,” Izuku panted, his cheek pressed to the wall.
“Don’t need it,” Katsuki grunted. The water and residual slickness were enough. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against that loosened ring of muscle. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion.
Izuku cried out, his back arching. It was a stretch, a burn, even after the preparation. Katsuki sank in to the hilt, a deep, full feeling that stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. He held there, his own body shuddering with the effort of control.
“This,” Katsuki gasped, his hands braced on either side of Izuku’s head. “This is washing them off you. Every fucking look. Every worried glance from Four-Eyes. Every stupid fan who thinks they know you.” He pulled out and slammed back in, making Izuku jolt. “They don’t get this. They don’t get to see you come apart. They don’t know what you sound like when you’re full of me.”
His thrusts were punishing, driven by a frantic need to overwrite any other reality. The water beat down on them, mixing with the sweat on Katsuki’s back. The shower was a cacophony—the spray, the slap of skin, their ragged, echoing grunts and moans.
Izuku was beyond words. Each drive punched a choked sound from him. His own cock, trapped between his stomach and the cold tile, was hard and leaking again, sensitive to the point of pain with every jolt. It was too much, overwhelming, and he loved it. He loved the brutal ownership in Katsuki’s movements, the filthy, possessive words in his ear.
“Gonna fuck you so deep you forget your own name,” Katsuki snarled. “Gonna make sure you only remember mine. You feel that? That’s me. Everywhere. In your guts. On your skin. In your fucking head.”
He was close. His rhythm fractured, becoming erratic, desperate. He reached around, his hand finding Izuku’s cock again, stroking him in time with his final, deep thrusts.
“Come with me,” he demanded, his voice breaking. “Now. Do it.”
The command, the intense friction, the overwhelming fullness—it tipped Izuku over the edge. He came with a silent, open-mouthed scream, his release painting the tile in front of him, his body clamping down viselike around Katsuki. The violent squeeze was the final trigger. Katsuki buried himself one last time, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside Izuku with a guttural, shattered groan.
For a long minute, they stayed like that, pinned together by gravity and exhaustion, the water beginning to run cool. Katsuki’s forehead rested against Izuku’s shoulder blade, his breathing harsh in the steamy air.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. Izuku winced, a full-body shudder running through him. Katsuki turned him, his hands surprisingly gentle now, and guided him back under the spray. He washed him properly this time, silent, his touch firm but not rough. He rinsed the soap from Izuku’s hair, his fingers carding through the green strands.
They didn’t speak. They toweled off in the humid bathroom, the mirrors fogged, hiding their reflections. Back in the bedroom, Izuku pulled on clean sweats and a t-shirt. Katsuki just pulled on his briefs and jeans from before, leaving his chest bare.
Izuku stood by the bed, looking at him. “You’re staying?”
Katsuki paused, one hand on his discarded shirt. The old habit screamed at him to leave, to retreat to his own space, to re-establish walls. But the ‘in-between’ had no map. Staying was a choice. A new rule they could make.
“Yeah,” he said, the word short. He dropped the shirt. “Your couch is shit, though.”
“You can share the bed,” Izuku said, a small, tentative smile touching his lips. “It’s big enough.”
It wasn’t, really. But they made it work. Izuku on his side, facing the wall. Katsuki on his back, an inch of space between them. The dark room was quiet, the city sounds muffled.
Just as Izuku’s breathing began to even out into sleep, Katsuki spoke, his voice a quiet rasp in the dark.
“My next therapy session is Thursday.”
Izuku froze. He didn’t turn over. “Okay.”
“She’s gonna ask about coping mechanisms. About stress.”
“Okay.”
Katsuki swallowed. The admission felt like pulling shrapnel from his chest. “I’m not telling her about you. Not like this. But… I might tell her the ‘in-between’ isn’t a crisis. That it’s… stable.”
The word was foreign on his tongue. Stable. Something he’d never associated with himself, let alone with the volatile thing between him and Izuku.
Izuku finally rolled over. In the faint light from the window, his eyes were soft. He didn’t reach out. He just looked at him. “That’s good, Kacchan.”
Katsuki grunted, turning his head to stare back at the ceiling. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“I won’t.”
Silence settled again, but it was different. Softer. The space between them in the narrow bed no longer felt like a chasm, but a simple fact. A space that could, maybe, be bridged by something other than sheer, desperate need.
Katsuki listened to Izuku’s breathing even out again, a slow and steady rhythm in the dark. He didn’t sleep for a long time. He just lay there, cataloging the unfamiliar feeling of not being alone, and the even more unfamiliar feeling of not wanting to be.
He just lay there, cataloging the unfamiliar feeling of not being alone, and the even more unfamiliar feeling of not wanting to be. Sleep, when it finally came, was a deep and dreamless void, untouched by the usual static of restless ambition. He woke to sunlight painting Izuku’s freckles in sharp relief, and for a full minute, he didn’t move.
The usual internal script—a snarling commentary on wasted time—failed to load. Instead, he carefully extracted himself from the tangle of limbs and thin blankets. The morning was quiet, the air in the apartment still and cool. He found his way to the kitchen, moving with a focus that felt entirely separate from anger.
He cracked eggs into a bowl, the sound crisp in the silence. He chopped scallions with precise, quick strokes, the knife tap-tap-tapping against the cutting board. A low, tuneless hum vibrated in his chest, a noise he didn’t consciously register he was making.
He arranged the finished omelette, a perfect golden crescent, on a plate with a side of rice. He grabbed two glasses of water. Then, balancing it all, he shouldered open the bedroom door. Izuku was still a lump under the covers, only a mess of green hair visible.
“Get up,” Katsuki said, his voice lacking its customary edge. He set the tray down on the bedside table.
Izuku stirred, blinking blearily. He took in the tray, then Katsuki’s face. His expression shifted from confusion to something unbearably soft. “Breakfast? In bed? You hate crumbs in the—”
“Just eat it before it gets cold, dumbass,” Katsuki cut him off, but he didn’t scowl. He just nudged the tray closer before turning to gather his own clothes.
They showered together again in the tight stall, a practical repetition of the night before but entirely transformed. Katsuki soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed Izuku’s back in broad, efficient circles. He rinsed Izuku’s hair, his fingers careful around the curls at his nape. There was no claiming bite, no desperate press of bodies, just the warm water and the simple, grounding act of cleansing.
Izuku watched him through the steam, a quiet wonder building behind his eyes. “You’re… in a good mood.”
“I’m in a normal mood,” Katsuki corrected, but it was a lie and they both knew it. Normal for him was a low-grade simmer. This was a placid lake. He turned off the water. “Stop staring. You’ll wrinkle.”
The day unfolded with a series of minor disasters that should have been kindling. A vendor at the market short-changed him. A group of junior heroes on patrol recognized them and fumbled an overly eager greeting, blocking the sidewalk. His favorite brand of sparring gear was sold out.
Each time, Izuku held his breath, waiting for the eruption. It never came. Katsuki simply corrected the vendor with flat, unimpeachable logic, sidestepped the juniors with a nod, and selected a different brand of gear with a shrug. He hummed that same absent tune under his breath. Once, at a particularly stupid public service announcement blaring from a screen, he even chuckled, a short, dry sound.
“What?” Izuku asked, startled by the noise.
“That’s the third time they’ve played that ad this hour,” Katsuki said, shaking his head. “The voice actor sounds like he’s reading a grocery list. It’s ridiculous.”
They walked on, and Izuku realized people were looking at them differently. The usual wary glances shot at Katsuki’s profile were softening into curiosity. A few fans whispered, not in fear, but in genuine surprise. Is that Dynamight? He looks… The sentence was never finished, but the tone was clear. He looked approachable. He looked, Izuku thought with a jolt, pretty.
The sunlight caught the ash-blond of his hair, lit his red eyes like amber. The harsh lines of his face were relaxed, the perpetual tension gone from his jaw. This was the person Izuku had seen in stolen, private moments for years, now inexplicably on display for the whole city.
Their path took them near the Central Hero Agency, a glass monolith where oversight committees worked. On the steps, a group of suited administrators paused their conversation. One, a stern woman with a tablet, watched Katsuki hold a door open for an elderly civilian without a single impatient gesture. She made a note on her screen, her eyebrows lifting slightly.
Izuku’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Uraraka in their group chat. Saw you two on the 4th St. feed. Blasty’s looking downright cheerful. Did he get replaced by a polite clone? What’s the secret?
He looked up from his phone to see Katsuki waiting for him, hands in his pockets, watching a sparrow hop along the pavement. The late afternoon sun wrapped around him, gentle and forgiving. The strange, serene peace of the day settled into Izuku’s bones, a sweet and fragile thing.
He typed a quick reply, a secret smile on his face. No secret. Just a good day. He hit send, knowing it was a monumental understatement, and walked to join him, the calm air feeling like a new beginning.