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Izuku is not delicate, but there is something too-soft about the way his jaw feels in Katsuki’s hand. Like the bone is breakable, like all his bones are breakable, like they sit under his pretty skin with care, vulnerable. Katsuki’s hands gentle just from the contact.
When Izuku’s jaw shifts as his lips part in anticipation for a kiss, as he sways in like he doesn’t even realize it, as he blinks up at Katsuki like he’s blinking starlight out of his eyes — Katsuki shakes, a little, hopes the tremor in his hands is unnoticeable, knows it’s probably an earthquake to the fine bone underneath. He holds so much, when he holds Izuku like this. His palms tingle with the weight of it. With the feel of soft, too soft skin, leaning into his hands with all the trust in the world. With want, with need.
He’s a whole human person, and he’s Katsuki’s. Warm to the touch, soft under hard under soft again, and he’s giving himself to him like this. Just a boy and also — a living, breathing boy. Almost impossible for Katsuki to grasp, and yet — here he was, in his hands.
Katsuki brushes his thumbs over Izuku’s cheeks and marvels at the give, and the feel, at the doe-eyed look he receives in return. Or rather, that he receives in addition; because everything Izuku lets him do to him is a gift to Katsuki, something he lets Katsuki take.
This is not how Izuku sees it, he knows. Izuku thinks his Kacchan hung the moon and stars and is the sun itself, and deigns to touch him out of an affection that understands that that is the greatest gift Katsuki could show him. Something selfless, an act of love, rather than the selfish, greedy euphoria it feels to Katsuki. They’re both a little fucked up. They’re both a mess of give and take and give and give.
Katsuki’s hungry in a way that presses into the places he puts his hands. Izuku’s hungry in a way that stares.
Katsuki presses their mouths together, and it’s like every time he uses cluster, every other inch of him bursting with sparks. Izuku sighs against his lips, and Katsuki forcefully reminds himself not to just up and eat him. Slow mouthing at each other as Katsuki savours the taste of him and Izuku lets him, so pliant and wet and sweet. His jaw is almost completely lax under Katsuki’s hand, now, shifting up and down just slightly with every kiss, dropping with his soft gasp when Katsuki does something he especially likes. Katsuki’s mouth tingles, so he kissed Izuku deeper to sate it, eats his little breathy noises and bites into him like he would a peach. Licks up the bursts of flavour, kisses off what dribbles down the sides of Izuku’s mouth. He’s a little warmer in his hands. He’s got other parts of him touching Katsuki too, now, clutching his shirt, shifting so their legs bump. So much of him. He’s so alive.
He’s his own person, and he wants to be with Katsuki like this. Izuku’s hands hang onto his shoulders, cup his jaw, slide into his hair. Katsuki cracks his eyes a smidge and Izuku’s are already open. He does this a lot, watches half-lidded, hands fluttering, like he doesn’t know how to take it all in in a way that feels like enough. Katsuki gets the feeling. But he also gets satisfaction in indulging out of spite, like he’s winning by acting like he can take this for granted, have it forever, whenever he wants, has the privilege of sinking into each moment, instead of committing it to memory.
Izuku seems to whisper it in every press of his petal-soft mouth, every wordless noise dropped between Katsuki’s teeth. He does, he does, he does.