Chapter 9: Loving Distraction
The late afternoon sun slanted through the window of Izuku’s bedroom, painting the chaotic space in stripes of honeyed gold. It caught the glitter on a half-finished sequined jacket thrown over a chair, illuminated the swirling dust motes dancing above a precarious tower of fashion magazines, and warmed the vibrant patchwork of blankets piled on the bed. The air smelled of fabric softener, bergamot from a spilled vial of essential oil, and the faint, clean scent of Kaito’s shampoo.
Kaito was a study in surrendered exhaustion. He lay on his side, his back curved into the softness of Izuku’s stomach, his head a heavy, welcome weight on Izuku’s thigh. He’d been working on a complex biochemistry paper for seventy-two hours straight, surviving on protein bars and frantic naps at his own apartment, before finally staggering over to the Aizawa house, a hollow-eyed ghost in a hoodie. Izuku had taken one look at him, steered him straight past a silently approving Shouta in the living room, and ordered him into a pair of soft, borrowed pajama pants.
Now, dressed in grey sweats and a thin, worn tank top, Izuku leaned against the ornate wrought-iron headboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent. His fingers moved through Kaito’s thick, wavy hair with a hypnotic rhythm, separating the strands, scratching gently at his scalp. Kaito’s eyes were closed, his breathing deep and slow, but the tightness hadn’t fully left his shoulders. The frantic energy of his mind was still buzzing beneath the skin, a trapped wasp in a jar.
“Your brain is so loud,” Izuku murmured, his voice a soft contrast to the usual bright, sharp tone. He didn’t look down, his gaze instead tracing the patterns of a graffiti-style poster across the room. “I can hear it whirring from here. All those little molecules bumping around, giving you a headache.”
A faint, grumbling noise of agreement vibrated against Izuku’s leg. Kaito burrowed his face deeper into the soft cotton of Izuku’s sweats.
“You finished it, though,” Izuku continued, his hand sliding down to massage the taut muscles at the base of Kaito’s neck. “Sent it off to your professor with fifteen minutes to spare, you absolute madman. It’s done. You can let go now. The world isn’t going to end if you stop thinking for six hours.”
“Might,” Kaito mumbled, the word muffled by fabric.
“It might end if you don’t. You’ll spontaneously combust. Poof. Nothing left but a smudge of ash and a really impressive bibliography.” Izuku’s thumb pressed into a stubborn knot, and Kaito released a shaky sigh that was almost a whimper. “There we go. Just melt. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You did so good, baby. My brilliant, stupid workaholic.”
The praise, direct and unadorned, did what the physical touch alone could not. A visible tremor went through Kaito’s large frame, a final discharge of nervous energy. The last of his resistance seeped away, leaving him pliant and heavy. Izuku felt it happen, a quiet victory. He began to rock him, just a slight, swaying motion from side to side, a mimicry of a cradle.
“Remember when you used to fall asleep in the library stacks?” Izuku said, a smile in his voice. “First year. I’d find you with your face in a textbook on quantum mechanics, drooling on the diagrams. You looked so ridiculous. And so cute. I knew then I was going to keep you.”
Kaito’s lips twitched. “You woke me up by snapping a Polaroid,” he recalled, his voice rough with impending sleep. “The flash scared me so bad I knocked three volumes of the Journal of Applied Physics onto the floor.”
“And you were more concerned about the books than the fact I had photographic evidence of your snoring. That’s when I was sure.” Izuku’s fingers traced the shell of Kaito’s ear. “My priorities were clear. Yours were catastrophically misplaced. A perfect match.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the rustle of Izuku’s hand moving over cotton-covered skin. The golden light deepened to a richer, more subdued orange. Izuku looked down at the man in his lap. Kaito’s face, usually so alert and earnest, was smoothed into an expression of profound peace. The dark circles under his eyes seemed less like bruises now and more like soft shadows. A fierce, protective wave crashed over Izuku, so intense it stole his breath for a second. This wasn’t about dominance or possession, not in the way the shower had been. This was something quieter, more foundational.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his posture. With his free hand, he reached for the wide strap of his tank top. He hooked a finger under it and gently pulled it down over his shoulder, baring his skin. The air in the room was warm, but still, the exposure raised goosebumps along his arm and across the generous curve of his breast. He didn’t hesitate; this was a language they had spoken before, in the deepest, most private hours of the night, a secret even from Shouta.
He looked down at Kaito’s peaceful face. “Kaito,” he whispered, not to wake him, but to guide him.
Kaito’s eyelids fluttered open. He was swimming up from a warm, dark sea, his gaze unfocused. He saw Izuku’s face above him, soft and serious, then his eye line drifted lower. Understanding dawned, slow and gentle. There was no shock, no awkward fumbling. This was an offered solace, a different kind of fullness.
“C’mere,” Izuku breathed, his voice a low, soothing melody. He cupped his own breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple, which tightened in the cool air. He guided it toward Kaito’s parted lips. “It’s okay. Let go.”
Kaito blinked, a faint flush rising on his cheeks, but it was the blush of vulnerability, not shame. He turned his head slightly, his lips meeting the offered warmth. He took the nipple into his mouth, his actions instinctive and gentle. His eyes drifted closed again.
Izuku inhaled sharply, a soft, punched-out sound. The sensation was always a shock, a direct and potent thread of connection that had nothing to do with lactation and everything to do with trust. It was an intimate anchor. He let his head fall back against the headboard with a quiet thump, his fingers resuming their slow journey through Kaito’s hair.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Just like that. No thinking. Just feeling. I’ve got you. You’re home.”
Kaito made a small, contented sound, a vibration against Izuku’s skin. His large hand, which had been lying limp on the blanket, crept up to rest lightly on Izuku’s ribs, his thumb stroking the side of his breast in a slow, matching rhythm. He suckled softly, not with hunger, but with a deep, seeking comfort. The last vestiges of tension, the phantom weight of deadlines and expectations, seemed to dissolve from his muscles. He was, finally and completely, adrift.
Izuku watched him, a thousand emotions warring in his chest. He felt a ridiculous urge to cry, which he stubbornly shoved down. Instead, he focused on the physical details: the way Kaito’s long eyelashes fanned against his skin, the absolute trust in the lax line of his jaw, the simple, profound rightness of his weight.
“My good boy,” Izuku whispered, the words falling into the quiet room like a prayer. “My sweet, brilliant man. You carry the whole world on those big shoulders, and then you just… bring it all to me. Let me hold it for a while.” He bent his head, pressing a lingering kiss to Kaito’s temple. “I can carry it. I’m strong enough. You don’t always have to be.”
Time lost meaning. The sun continued its descent, the orange light fading to a dusky purple. The room grew darker, cooler. Izuku never moved, except to occasionally adjust the strap on his other shoulder, to keep the position comfortable. His arm began to ache, a dull throb, but it was an ache he welcomed. A small price.
Eventually, Kaito’s suckling slowed, then ceased. His lips grew slack, but he kept his mouth resting there, a warm, damp comfort. His breathing evened out into the deep, slow patterns of true, dreamless sleep.
Izuku carefully, so carefully, eased his nipple from Kaito’s mouth. A thin, shiny strand of saliva connected them for a second before breaking. He gently tugged his tank top strap back into place, covering himself. The exposed skin tingled in the cool air.
He looked down at the sleeping man. Kaito was out, utterly gone. A soft, almost silent snore escaped him.
Izuku grinned in the darkness. “Dork,” he whispered, devoid of all malice.
He knew he was trapped. Any attempt to extricate himself would wake Kaito, and that was unthinkable. So he settled in. He wiggled his phone from his pocket with his free hand, dimming the screen to its lowest setting. He shot a quick text to Shouta, who was presumably in his study.
Izuku: K’s down for the count. In my room. Don’t wait on us for dinner.
The reply came almost instantly.
Daddy: Understood. There’s katsudon in the fridge if he wakes up hungry. Don’t let him sleep past midnight or his sleep schedule will be worse than mine.
Izuku smiled. Izuku: Yes, sir. Love you.
Daddy: Love you both.
Izuku put the phone away. He let his head rest back, staring at the ceiling where a glow-in-the-dark constellation map, a relic from his early teens, emitted a faint greenish light. The domesticity of it all, the sheer normalcy layered over the profound intimacy of the last hour, struck him with a force that was almost comical. His boyfriend, a genius scientist built like a linebacker, had just fallen asleep nursing at his breast after a days-long academic bender. His famous, perpetually exhausted novelist father was downstairs, fully aware and entirely unbothered, just making sure they remembered to eat.
A quiet laugh bubbled up in Izuku’s chest. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.
He shifted his hips slightly, trying to find a position where his leg wouldn’t fall asleep. Kaito, sensing the movement, let out a soft, distressed murmur in his sleep, his brow furrowing.
“Shhh,” Izuku soothed, his hand returning to its steady stroke. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Go back to sleep.”
The furrow smoothed away. Kaito’s hand tightened slightly on Izuku’s side, then relaxed again.
Izuku sighed, a contented, weary sound. He was stuck, probably for hours. His stomach would growl. His bladder would eventually protest. His muscles would cramp.
He looked down at Kaito’s peaceful face, now mostly shadow in the darkening room. He saw the faint, silvery line of a old scar on his eyebrow from a childhood bike accident. He saw the perfect curve of his lip.
None of that mattered. Let the hunger come. Let the cramps set in. This was his job right now. This was his design. To be the anchor. The harbor. The soft place to land.
He closed his own eyes, not to sleep, but to savor the feeling. The weight. The trust. The quiet, rhythmic sound of Kaito’s breath. The distant, familiar creak of the house as Shouta moved around downstairs.
He held it all, cradled in the colorful chaos of his room, as night finally fell completely outside the window, wrapping the world in a deep, gentle blue.