Chapter 8: Tea and Scrutiny
The air in Katsuki’s bedroom was thick and warm, saturated with the smell of sweat, clean cotton sheets, and the potent, mingled scents of two young alphas in the throes of passion. It wasn't the sweet, enticing fragrance of an omega in heat; it was something muskier, sharper—a clash of lightning and bonfire, of petrichor and iron.
Eijirou lay flat on his back, naked. The muscles of his chest and abdomen were carved like red stone, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. His spiky crimson hair was damp at the temples, stuck to his skin. He breathed in heavy, ragged draws, his broad chest rising and falling like a bellows. One of his large, calloused hands was splayed possessively on Katsuki’s waist, the other gripping the swell of his hip, fingers digging into the flesh with a pressure that promised bruises.
Above him, Katsuki moved.
He was a vision of focused intensity, his own powerful body on full display. The corded muscle of his thighs flexed and released as he rose and fell, a slow, punishing rhythm that had his own breath hitching in quiet, controlled gasps. His blonde hair, usually spiked defiantly, was damp and sticking to his forehead and neck. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, fixed on some distant point on the wall, his brow furrowed not in pain, but in deep, consuming concentration. His hands were braced on Eijirou’s chest, fingers spread wide over the firm pectorals, feeling the thunder of the other alpha’s heartbeat beneath his palms.
The only sounds were the slick, wet slide of flesh, the creak of the bedframe, their labored breathing, and the low, punched-out grunts Eijirou made every time Katsuki sank down fully, taking him to the hilt.
"Fuck, Kats," Eijirou groaned, his voice a gravelly rasp. His hips gave an involuntary jerk upwards, seeking deeper. "You feel... so damn good. Like a fucking vise."
Katsuki’s lips, swollen and red from kissing, curled into a smirk, though his eyes remained glazed. "Shut up," he panted, not missing a beat in his rhythm. "Just… take it."
He leaned back, changing the angle, and Eijirou’s head slammed back against the pillow, a choked curse tearing from his throat. From this new position, the view was obscene. Katsuki’s own cock, hard and leaking, jutted out from the blond curls at his groin, bouncing slightly with every movement. The place where their bodies joined was a slick, intimate mess, the tight ring of muscle of Katsuki’s entrance stretched wide around the thick girth of Eijirou’s cock. Each downward plunge was a slow, deliberate conquest, a mastery of the burning stretch, a defiant embrace of a sensation that was supposed to be foreign to an alpha.
It hadn’t been easy at first. Their first fumbling attempts, weeks ago, had been a battle of pride, instinct, and stubborn will. Two alphas, wired for dominance, their bodies not naturally accepting. There had been more snarling and wrestling than passion initially, a chaotic tangle of limbs and frustration. It was Eijirou, with his vulnerable understanding of what ‘manliness’ truly meant—trust, openness, yielding—who had found the way. He’d shown Katsuki that yielding in this, to him, wasn't a loss. It was a gift. A shared secret. The most intimate form of strength.
Now, it was a practiced, hungry dance.
Katsuki picked up the pace, his thighs burning with the effort, the slapping sound of their skin meeting growing sharper, faster. The pleasure was a coiled, white-hot wire in his gut, tightening with every deep, grinding slide. It wasn't the submissive, floaty pleasure an omega might report. It was a conquering fire. It was the thrill of possessing and being possessed in equal, terrifying measure. It was the ultimate rebellion, and the ultimate trust, performed in the silence of his childhood bedroom, in the house that had finally given them its blessing.
"Eijirou," Katsuki gasped, his controlled composure cracking. His hands slid up Eijirou’s chest to clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into the skin. "Right there… fuck, don't you stop…"
"I'm not… I'm not stopping," Eijirou gritted out. His hands flew to Katsuki’s hips, his grip turning bruising, taking over the rhythm. He pistoned his own hips upward, driving into Katsuki with powerful, relentless thrusts. The bedframe slammed against the wall with a steady, rhythmic thud.
The room dissolved into a haze of sensation. The smell of their sex, salty and musky, filled their noses. Katsuki’s curses were a breathy, fractured litany against Eijirou’s neck. "Yeah… like that… you fucker… God, yes…" His world narrowed to the searing friction inside him, the solid weight of Eijirou beneath him, the overwhelming proof that this, they, were irrefutably real.
Eijirou could feel his own end approaching, a tidal wave building at the base of his spine. He was babbling, words spilling out raw and unfiltered. "Kats, I'm gonna… you're so tight, so fucking perfect, I'm gonna come… want you to come with me, please…"
It was the desperate "please" that undid Katsuki completely. A broken cry tore from his throat, a sound utterly devoid of alpha arrogance, pure and shattered. His body seized, his back arching sharply as his orgasm ripped through him with violent intensity. Hot stripes of cum painted Eijirou’s stomach and chest, the sight wringing a final, ragged groan from Eijirou.
He buried himself deep, hips stuttering, and spilled inside Katsuki with a long, guttural moan, his body shuddering through the release. For a moment, they were frozen in the aftershock, a sweat-slicked sculpture of intertwined muscle and bliss.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The sound of their panting. The smell. The sticky mess between them. The uncomfortable dig of the bedframe.
Katsuki collapsed forward, his strength gone, his face burying in the crook of Eijirou’s neck. He was heavy, a dead weight, but Eijirou just wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, his own heart hammering against Katsuki’s chest.
They lay like that for long minutes, waiting for their breathing to even out, for the frantic beats of their hearts to slow to a synchronized drum.
"Wall’s gonna have a dent," Katsuki mumbled finally, his voice muffled against Eijirou’s skin.
Eijirou’s chest rumbled with a low, exhausted laugh. "Worth it." His hand came up to stroke the damp hair at the nape of Katsuki’s neck. "You’re fucking amazing."
"Tch. I know."
But there was no heat in the retort. Just a soft, satiated exhaustion. This was new, this quiet after. The first few times had been followed by a frantic, almost anxious energy, a need to reassert their individual alpha spaces. Now, after weeks of secrecy replaced by his family’s guarded but genuine acceptance, the anxiety had bled away. They could just be. Here, in this room, they were just Eijirou and Katsuki.
After a while, Katsuki shifted, wincing slightly as he pushed himself off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool air of the room hitting his sweat-damp skin. He didn't bother covering himself. He just sat there for a second, head bowed, the powerful lines of his back and shoulders relaxed.
Eijirou propped himself up on his elbows, watching him. The love he felt in that moment was a physical ache, sharper than any orgasm. It was the sight of Katsuki, vulnerable and unguarded in the aftermath, the proof of his trust literally drying on Eijirou’s skin.
"Your mom left dinner for us in the fridge," Eijirou said softly. "Said it was that ginger pork you like."
A faint, genuine smile touched Katsuki’s lips. "He’s been doing that. Since… you know." Since the talk. Hizashi’s way of showing love was through food, through nurturing. The fact that he now consistently made extra, that he’d smile and tell Eijirou to "eat up, you’re a growing alpha," was his silent, steadfast blessing.
"Yeah," Eijirou said, his own voice thick with emotion. "It’s… it’s really cool of him. Of all of them." He still got a little tense around Shouta, the older alpha’s silent, observational presence a perpetual test. But Shouta had nodded to him last night, asked about his weightlifting form. It was a peace offering, and Eijirou would take it.
Katsuki stood, padding naked across the room to the small attached bathroom. He returned with a warm, damp washcloth. He tossed it to Eijirou, who caught it with a grin, before taking another for himself. They cleaned up in comfortable silence, a domestic routine that felt both illicit and profoundly right.
"Your dad talked to me today," Eijirou said, wiping his chest. He kept his tone casual, but Katsuki froze, looking over at him.
"And?"
"Just… about college applications. Said if I needed a reference from a community leader, he’d be willing. Since my old man is… yeah." Eijirou’s own father was a distant, disinterested figure. Shouta’s offer wasn’t just practical; it was a statement. An acknowledgment of Eijirou’s place, his worth.
Katsuki nodded slowly, returning to the bed. He didn't lie back down, just sat on the edge, shoulder to shoulder with Eijirou. "He does that. Once you’re in, you’re in. He’s all in." He picked at a thread on the comforter. "It’s fucking weird. Not having to hide. Jumping every time the floor creaks."
"Tell me about it," Eijirou chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Katsuki’s. "First time we did this after you told them, I was half-convinced your dad was gonna kick the door in and throw me out the window."
"He wouldn’t." Katsuki said it with absolute certainty. "He gave his word. That’s it. It’s law."
The silence that followed was filled with the weight of that truth. The fortress his mother had promised was being built, brick by brick, through a shared meal, a college reference, a closed bedroom door that remained respectfully shut.
"Still feels surreal sometimes," Eijirou murmured, leaning his head against Katsuki’s. "Being here like this. Not having to sneak. Not having to… panic."
Katsuki turned his head, his nose brushing Eijirou’s temple. He smelled like sweat, like sex, like his own spicy-cinnamon alpha scent, and underneath it, like home. "Get used to it," he said, his voice low. A command. A promise.
Eijirou smiled, closing his eyes. "Yes, sir."
After a few more minutes of quiet, the grumble of Katsuki’s stomach broke the stillness. Eijirou laughed. "C’mon. Let’s go raid the fridge before your brother gets to it."
They pulled on loose sweatpants, not bothering with shirts, and moved quietly down the darkened hallway. The house was silent, just the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. The living room was shrouded in shadow, the high-backed chairs merely shapes in the gloom. The scent of incense was faint now, overlain with the quiet, sleeping smell of the household.
In the kitchen, the light from the open refrigerator door spilled across the polished floors. Katsuki pulled out the large covered plate Hizashi had left, along with two bowls of rice kept warm in the rice cooker. They served themselves, the casual clatter of dishes a comfortable sound.
They ate standing at the kitchen counter, shoulders touching, shoveling the flavorful pork and rice into their mouths. It was delicious, hearty. A nurturer’s food.
"They’re trying, you know," Katsuki said suddenly around a mouthful. "Mama… he looks stuff up on the computer sometimes when he thinks no one’s looking. About… dynamics. Non-traditional pairings. He gets this confused little frown."
Eijirou swallowed. "Yeah. Izuku told me. He said your mom asked him if he thought two alphas could share the household duties fairly. Like a… a partnership checklist."
A snort escaped Katsuki. "Sounds like him."
"He’s amazing," Eijirou said, sincerity ringing in his voice. "They all are."
Before Katsuki could reply, a soft sound from the hallway made them both turn.
Izuku stood there, a small silhouette in a long, oversized sleep shirt. He was rubbing his eyes, his wavy black hair a cloud around his sleepy face. He blinked at them, taking in the scene: the two shirtless alphas, eating at the counter in the middle of the night, the easy intimacy between them.
For a second, a flicker of something crossed his face—not disapproval, but a lonely, yearning curiosity. He saw the bond he dreamed of, but in a form he’d never imagined.
"Sorry," Izuku whispered. "I just wanted some water."
"It's fine, nerd," Katsuki said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Don't have a stroke."
Eijirou smiled warmly. "Hey, Izuku. Couldn't sleep?"
"A little," Izuku admitted, padding to the cupboard for a glass. He filled it at the sink, his movements quiet and graceful. He kept his eyes averted, giving them a semblance of privacy. As he turned to leave, he paused. "The pork is good, right? Mama was worried the ginger was too strong."
"It’s perfect," Eijirou said.
Izuku nodded, a small, pleased smile on his lips. "Good. Um… goodnight." He slipped back into the darkness of the hallway.
They finished their food in silence, washed their bowls, and turned off the light. Back in the hallway, they paused outside Katsuki’s door. From behind the closed door of the main bedroom, they could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of Shouta’s snoring. From Izuku’s room, nothing.
Eijirou pulled Katsuki to him, kissing him deeply but softly, a taste of ginger and rice and them. "I should go," he murmured against his lips. "Work tomorrow."
"Stay," Katsuki said. It wasn't a request.
Eijirou didn't argue. They went back into the bedroom, the sheets still rumpled and smelling of them. They didn't have sex again. They just slid under the covers, Eijirou on his back, Katsuki curling into his side, his head on Eijirou’s shoulder, one heavy arm thrown across his chest.
In the dark, Eijirou stared at the ceiling, Katsuki’s steady breath warming his skin. He thought of the confused frown on Hizashi’s face as he researched, the calculating offer from Shouta, the lonely yearning in Izuku’s eyes. He thought of the burning stretch, the surrender, the claiming.
It wasn't a traditional path. It was overgrown, rocky, uncharted. But lying here, with Katsuki’s weight solid and real against him, in the heart of the family that was slowly, stubbornly making room, Eijirou knew, with a certainty that felt as primal as his alpha instinct, that they would carve their own way through it. Together.
He pressed a kiss into Katsuki’s blonde hair, and let the synchronized rhythm of their breathing lull him towards sleep.