Chapter 8: Shower Activity
Steam curled in dense, fragrant clouds, fogging the sleek white tiles and the large window overlooking the rain-slicked city. The shower beat down a percussive rhythm, a hot, relentless cascade that turned Izuku’s white curls into heavy, dripping coils and sluiced over the defined planes of Kaito’s back.
It had started as cleansing. A simple, shared shower to wash away the sweat and salt and the profound exhaustion of the night before. But the proximity of slick, naked skin, the memory of Kaito’s broken whimpers still echoing in Izuku’s bones, had shifted the atmosphere from utilitarian to charged in a heartbeat.
Now, Kaito was pressed against the cool, wet tile, his forehead resting on his crossed forearms, his broad back offered up. Izuku stood flush against him, the soft, full curves of his breasts and stomach a shocking contrast to Kaito’s muscular rigidity. The water poured over them both, a warm veil.
Izuku’s right hand was busy. His fingers, slick with soap and water, were buried deep inside Kaito’s ass.
It wasn’t the gentle, stretching preparation from the night before. This was focused, rhythmic, and relentless. Izuku fucked him with his fingers, his wrist working in a sharp, piston-like motion. The slippery squelch of it was audible even over the drumming water, a filthy, intimate counterpoint.
“You’re still so tight,” Izuku breathed into the space between Kaito’s shoulder blades, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through Kaito’s body. “Even after last night. Even after I had my fingers in you for an hour. Clenching down on me like a fucking vice. You love it, don’t you? Love being full.”
Kaito could only moan, a low, continuous sound trapped in his throat. The overstimulation was gone, burned away by deep sleep and the healing balm of Izuku’s cuddles. In its place was a sharp, bright sensitivity, a direct line of pleasure that Izuku’s fingers rode with uncanny precision. His cock, hard and flushed, bobbed heavily against the tile, untouched and leaking.
“Yeah, you do,” Izuku answered for him, curling his fingers, scraping over that bundle of nerves that made Kaito’s legs buckle. Izuku’s other arm wrapped around Kaito’s waist, holding him upright, a band of possessive steel. “My big, brilliant nerd. Lets me open him up in the shower. Takes my fingers like he was made for it. You were, you know. Made for this. For me.”
“Izuku… fuck,” Kaito gasped, pushing back against the driving fingers, seeking more, deeper. The shame from the living room, the vulnerability of his breakdown, had metamorphosed. It had hardened into a secret, glittering core of belonging. This was his place. Against the wall. Being taken. Owned.
“That’s it,” Izuku coaxed, his voice dropping into a sweeter, more dangerous register. “Push back on my hand. Use my fingers. Get yourself off on them. Show me how much you need it.”
He added a third. The stretch burned, a perfect, bright flare that made Kaito cry out, the sound bouncing off the tiles. Izuku didn’t pause. He scissored them, stretching him open, the soap making the slide obscenely easy. The noise was wet, crude, and unmistakable.
“Listen to that,” Izuku murmured, his lips against Kaito’s ear. “Listen to how open you are for me. Everyone should hear this. Everyone should know what a hungry, greedy hole you have. Daddy should hear it.”
The mention of Shouta, here, now, sent a jolt of something electric through Kaito—not fear, but a dark, thrilling acknowledgment. It was a callback, a thread pulled from the tapestry of last night’ chaos. His cock jerked, a fat bead of pre-come mixing with the shower spray.
“You’re thinking about it,” Izuku said, a smile in his voice. He sped up, his fingers plunging in and out with brutal efficiency. “You’re thinking about him walking in right now. Seeing me wreck you. Seeing how beautifully you fall apart for me. Your big, strong scientist boyfriend, getting his ass finger-fucked raw in his son’s shower. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d come so hard you’d see stars.”
“Please,” Kaito begged, but it was a formless plea, a sound of pure need. Tears, born of overwhelming sensation, not pain, welled in his eyes and were washed away by the shower. “Please, Izuku…”
“Please what, baby? Please make you come? Please let Daddy see what a slut you are for me?” Izuku’s voice was a dark, tempting melody. He hammered his fingers into that sweet spot, again and again, a relentless, targeted assault. Kaito’s moans pitched higher, breaking on each thrust. His body was a taut wire, trembling, every muscle straining. Izuku’s hand on his stomach slid lower, fingers brushing the base of his aching cock but not touching it, a teasing torment. “You’re gonna come just from this. Aren’t you? You’re gonna spill all over this wall without a single touch on your pretty cock. Do it. Come for me. Show me.”
The pressure was coiling, unbearable, a spring wound to its breaking point. Kaito’s world narrowed to the searing heat of Izuku’s fingers inside him, the cool tile on his cheek, the steam filling his lungs. He was close, so close, hovering on a precipice—
The shower door slid open.
A gust of cooler, drier air cut through the steam. The sound of the shower grew momentarily louder, then muted as the door was left ajar.
Neither of them moved. Izuku’s fingers stilled, buried to the knuckle. Kaito froze, a statue of poised ecstasy, his breath caught in his throat.
Shouta Aizawa stood in the doorway of the large bathroom, not the shower stall itself. He was dressed in a worn grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, a towel slung over one shoulder. His expression was the same one he wore when confronted with a misplaced coffee mug or a particularly melodramatic plot point in a draft—a profound, weathered patience edged with dry amusement.
His dark eyes took in the scene: his youngest son, pressed like a barnacle against the taller, trembling form of his boyfriend. The specific angle of Izuku’s arm. The way Kaito was braced against the wall. The tense, waiting silence that was louder than any moan.
A beat passed. The steam billowed.
“The hot water’s going to run out,” Shouta said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut cleanly through the sound of the water. “And we’re on a meter.”
Izuku recovered first. He didn’t pull his hand out. He didn’t cover up. He simply turned his head, wine-red eyes meeting his father’s over Kaito’s heaving shoulder. A slow, cheeky smile spread across his face.
“Hey, Daddy. We’re conserving. One shower, two people. Very eco-friendly.”
Shouta’s eyebrow lifted a millimeter. His gaze flicked to Kaito, who had squeezed his eyes shut, a deep, mortified flush spreading from his chest up to his hairline. “Kaito. You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. You alright?”
Kaito made a small, choked sound. A nod. A shake of his head. He was utterly incapable of speech.
“He’s perfect,” Izuku answered for him, his tone possessive and bright. He gave a slow, deliberate curl of his fingers inside Kaito, who jolted and bit back a whimper. “Just helping him wake up. You know how groggy he gets.”
“I can see that,” Shouta said, deadpan. He didn’t look away. There was no shock, no prudish horror. Just an assessment. “Breakfast is in twenty. Try not to waterlog the drywall.” His eyes held Izuku’s for a moment longer, a silent communication passing between them—parental exhaustion meeting filial defiance. There was a hint of a warning in Shouta’s gaze, but also a deep, unshakeable acceptance. He’d seen worse. He’d heard worse.
With that, he turned, picking up a stray bottle of conditioner from the sink counter and placing it on a shelf. Then he left, pulling the bathroom door closed behind him with a soft, definitive click.
The silence he left in his wake was profound.
The spell was broken, but the energy had transformed, sharpened by the intrusion. Izuku let out a breathless little laugh, a sound of pure, wicked delight. He leaned fully against Kaito’s back, his lips against his spine.
“Told you,” he whispered, and his fingers began to move again, slow now, a deep, claiming massage. “He knows. He sees you. My good boy.”
The humiliation was a live wire inside Kaito, but it fused with the unspent arousal, creating something hotter, more urgent. Being seen like that, by him, in the most vulnerable, obscene act… it was the final permission slip.
“Izuku,” he growled, the word raw. “Now. Please.”
No more teasing. Izuku understood. He withdrew his fingers, the sudden emptiness making Kaito gasp. He turned Kaito around, his back now to the wall. The water plastered Kaito’s brown hair to his skull, streamed over his face. Izuku looked up at him, eyes blazing with need and ownership.
“Hands on the wall. Don’t move them.”
Kaito obeyed, slapping his palms high on the tiles, spreading his legs. Izuku dropped to his knees on the plush shower rug, the water cascading over his shoulders. He didn’t hesitate. He took Kaito’s cock into his mouth in one smooth, deep swallow.
Kaito shouted. The heat, the wet, the unbearable tightness after such prolonged denial—it was too much. Izuku’s mouth was a slick, sinful paradise. He worked him with a ferocious expertise, bobbing his head, tongue swirling around the head, sucking hard on the downstroke. His hands gripped Kaito’s ass, kneading the firm globes, pulling him deeper.
“Oh god… Izuku… I’m not gonna last…” Kaito choked out, his head thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck.
Izuku pulled off with a lewd pop. “You will,” he stated, voice husky. He stroked him with a firm, fast hand, his mouth moving to lick and suck at his balls, then lower, his tongue tracing the furled, sensitive pucker he’d just been fingering.
The shock of it—the hot, pointed intimacy of Izuku’s tongue there—drove Kaito to the edge. He trembled violently. “Izuku, I can’t, I’m gonna—”
Izuku surged up, kissing him deeply, messily, letting Kaito taste himself on his tongue. He reached between his own legs, his fingers sliding through his own wetness, gathering it. He broke the kiss, breathing hard.
“You can. You will. Because I’m gonna ride you. And you’re gonna fill me up. Again.”
He turned around, facing the wall, bracing his hands next to Kaito’s. He looked over his shoulder, a wicked glint in his eye. “And you’re gonna do it thinking about my daddy standing right there.”
The command, the image, shattered the last of Kaito’s control. With a guttural sound, he gripped Izuku’s hips, aligned himself, and pushed inside in one deep, relentless thrust.
Izuku cried out, a sharp, beautiful sound of being filled. He was tight, impossibly so, hot and wet and clenching around Kaito instantly. He pushed back against him, taking him to the hilt.
“Fuck! Yes! Just like that,” Izuku panted, his head dropping forward. “Now move. Fuck me. Hard. Show me what you wanted to do when he was watching.”
Kaito obeyed. He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in. The pace was brutal, unromantic, a raw coupling driven by days of tension and minutes of exquisite torment. The sound of their bodies meeting, wet skin on wet skin, echoed off the tiles, louder than the shower. Kaito’s thrusts were powerful, each one jolting Izuku forward, his breasts swaying, his curls bouncing.
Izuku met every thrust, rocking back, milking him with his body. “You feel so deep,” he moaned. “So big. Stretching me open. This is what you needed, wasn’t it? After last night? You needed to fuck me. Needed to claim me back. Do it. Claim it. It’s yours.”
Her words were a catalyst. Kaito’s hands slid from Izuku’s hips around to his front, cupping his full breasts, pinching and pulling at his nipples. He bent over him, chest to back, mouth on his shoulder, biting down. The angle changed, going even deeper. Izuku’s moans spiraled into screams.
“There! Right there, Kaito, fuck! Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!” Izuku was babbling, one hand scrambling against the tile, the other reaching between his own legs, fingers frantically circling his clit.
Kaito was lost. The world was steam and heat and the incredible, clutching tightness of Izuku around his cock. The ghost of Shouta’s tired eyes in the doorway was seared onto the back of his eyelids, a final, permission-giving specter. He was fucking the man he loved with a savage, possessive urgency, and it was the most right thing in the world.
“Izuku… I’m… I’m gonna…”
“Come!” Izuku shouted, his own body seizing, his inner muscles clamping down in rhythmic, violent pulses around Kaito’s thrusting cock. “Come inside me! Fill me up! Do it!”
With a roar that was torn from the very center of him, Kaito obeyed. He plunged in one last, devastating time, hilting himself, and let go. The orgasm ripped through him, a blinding, white-hot torrent that felt endless. He pumped his release deep into Izuku’s core, his body shuddering with the force of it, his knees threatening to give way.
Izuku’s climax crashed over him a second later, a silent, shaking wave that made his legs buckle. Kaito held him up, pressed against him, both of them gasping, panting, as the water began to run lukewarm, then cool.
For a long time, they just stood there, leaning against the wall, Kaito still softly pulsing inside him, both of them coming down. The steam began to clear.
Izuku finally let out a slow, sated breath. He tilted his head back against Kaito’s shoulder. “So,” he said, his voice hoarse but cheerful. “Breakfast.”
Kaito groaned, a sound of utter depletion and contentment. He nuzzled into Izuku’s wet hair. “I can’t look him in the eye.”
“Yes, you can.” Izuku patted his arm. “You will. And you’ll pass me the syrup with a steady hand.” He turned in Kaito’s arms, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “And if you blush, I’ll just tell him it’s from the hot water.”
He reached past Kaito and turned off the shower. The sudden silence was ringing.
In the quiet, dripping stillness, Kaito knew Izuku was right. He would meet Shouta’s gaze. The secret was out, now. It was in the open, hanging in the air between them, as tangible as the steam slowly dissipating around them. It wasn’t a shameful secret. It was just a fact of their lives, as mundane and as essential as the meter counting the cost of the water they’d just used.
He kissed Izuku, slow and deep, a seal on the promise.