Katsuki went for the segway this morning, which you would argue was not only the most douchiest thing fuckboys made trendy after backward baseball caps but also the least coolest thing anyone could ride. And this was Katsuki counterargument to both points.
Katsuki was two—no three—things: a douche, a fuckboy, and insanely hot.
The second point, Katsuki was blessed with so many gifts—absurdly talented in sports, outrageously flawless skin, shredded abs, warm ‘she calls me daddy’ eyes, a solid 4.0 GPA, vocal chords that put fucking Adele in the backseat—but most importantly Katsuki could make anything look cool. Cat shirts, crocs, J.O. crystals, man buns, minivans, your mom; ha. You named it and Katsuki killed it and attended the funeral.
So he knew the looks he was getting as he zoomed on through Six Flags were one of envy and lust. Who wouldn’t hate him for breaking the natural laws?
For looking cool on a segway with his undersides shaved and the man bun vibe strong, arms tatted up with douchy tribal marks.
Girls winked, giggling to each other in their short shorts and crop tops when Katsuki puckered his lips at them. Their boyfriends mean mugged him, except one who seemed profoundly alarmed that he couldn’t stop eyeing Katsuki’s kissable lips and hot biceps.
Yea, Katsuki was a fuckboy. Proud of it, and he could steal your girlfriend and then your boyfriend and walk out the night after without a text or call. Probably had done that actually and shattered a relationship in one day. In his defense, the couple ventured the amusement park separately and lied to his face when he asked if there was someone waiting at home. Both said no and both crowded Katsuki behind one of the rides and sucked him off.
Katsuki made his rounds at the carousel, then sped to the Batman ride.
“Papa Dragon. This is Red Robin, yum, do you copy?”
Katsuki rolled his eyes and clicked off the radio dangling on his belt.
He still had disbelief that anyone would give him and Eijirou jobs as security detail when both were giant potheads who messed around too much. Guess that gym membership paid off cause they did not qualify for any type of employment. Do not be fooled.
They lost their job at McDonald's in a week. Katsuki called a soccer mom a dry cunt when she screamed at Katsuki about the mustard on her burger and how hard is your job actually? I mean, you don’t need to be a genius but good god, it’s not that hard. I mean, how stupid can you be?
While Eijirou got caught closing one night funneling the ice cream dispenser straight into his mouth for a hilarious YouTube video.
“I’m not calling you ‘Red Robin’.”
Shouto joined the radio chatter. “If we’re not using code names, can you guys stop calling me ‘Strawberry Milkshake’?”
“Fuck no, Strawberry,” Katsuki barked into the receiver.
“Next time, there’s an issue in Looney Tunes, I’m radioing you.”
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, pulling to a stop by the gift shop near the carousel. Through the glass window, Mei and Tsuyu worked behind the counter as they rang up customers. Minoru resupplied the floor, crouched by the stand of keychains, shamelessly stopping his work to check out the two chicks in skirts.
Katsuki knocked on the glass to tip off Tsuyu and smirked evilly when she caught Minoru and yanked on the lip of his snapback. Minoru mouthed ‘you’re so dead’ as Tsuyu walked back to the register. Katsuki waited for the six-year-olds to race past the window, and flipped him off, reserving back into the mob.
“I dare,” Shouto continued. “Also, we need someone in Looney Tunes. Hanta’s on his break and I’m by the Superman ride.”
“I can go!” Eijirou volunteered.
“Nope. Patrol WestWorld. Go on, Katsuki, we need you in Looney Tunes.”
“Fucking hope you get sunburn, man.”
“This is Strawberry Milkshake signing off, over.”
“Damn, dude. He fucking curved you.”
It went undisputed that Looney Tunes was where your eardrums bleed and your sanity dangled on a needle-thin thread. You couldn’t escape the screaming toddlers, the spoiled five-year-olds, the overconfident eight-year-olds, and the overworked parents in an amusement park but Looney Tunes condensed all of them into one mass cesspool of sticky fingers, high pitched screams, and boogers. And for a frame of reference, Katsuki cut kids in line for ice cream at Baskin Robins so that should give you an excellent idea of how well kids and Katsuki mixed.
Katsuki bitched driving over, a dull throb starting in the front of his skull when he heard the pearls of laughter carrying over the music and the mass chatter of the crowd.
Mina waved at him as he brooded under the shade, acting like he gave a shit about this job, and nodded his head in greeting.
“I never see you here. So that’s Shouto’s doing right?”
A kid let one a wail like a fire alarm right by his ear as the kid’s mother bounced him on her hip, and worked her way to the restrooms. And it was very immature to take it as a personal attack since the kid sported a Minion shirt and bedazzled shorts, so clearly he was a long long way from making sound choices, but it felt personal.
His eye twitched when he checked his phone and, after doing the math, realized only ten minutes had passed. The general rule for patrol was to linger in the area for thirty to forty before switching off. They’re glorified mall cops, really, so a lot of times the shift passed without much trouble. Maybe an escort or two or lecturing a few douchebags to keep the language PG-13. Easy, boring, and long work. It helped to have friends in the trenches on the shift so you could pass it all with smack talk and groaning of unhappy employment.
“How the fuck can you stand it?”
She laughed, and drank her water, eyes squinting at the horde of nine-year-olds gunning it for the Looney Tunes themed playground. “It’s not that bad today. It’s normally way worse on Saturdays but I guess everyone’s at Universal.”
“Is that vodka or water?”
“Water,” Mina giggled, a hand over her mouth as she tried not to spit water.
She messed with her hair, stomping down the dyed pink curls back under the mandatory baseball cap. “At least you get to move around, I have to stand in that one spot for hours.”
“Isn’t Neito working with you?”
“Yea but he sucks at rotations. Momo called off today. Her dad took their whole family on the yacht.”
Mina fanned her collar. “I know. So jealous. She doesn’t even need a job here.”
“Shit, I need a job. Fucking my parents won’t give me jack now.”
“Same. They are helping me with the car though.” She played with her bottle. “I just have to pick something cheap.”
“I bought mine off my uncle for a grand. It’s alright.”
“Oh yea, you drive the red Mustang?” She asked. “ I saw it on snapchat. I think it’s cool. I would go for a fast car but my mom would have a heart attack if I did.”
“Try an Impala instead,” he suggested.
“I’ll look into that. Well I gotta switch with Tom.” Mina touched his bicep in solidarity. “ Try to survive, okay?”
“Same to you.”
“And if you guys decide to…” Mina tapped her thumb and index finger together, bringing them to her mouth. “Snap me, okay?”
“Thought you said it wasn’t bad.”
“Honey, no. That’s me trying to be positive.”
“Later, at like eight or something.”
Katsuki checked the time and—cool, he shaved off fifteen minutes.
So just one final circuit around the area for the cameras and the illusion of working, and he could go on to WestWorld. Trade in the kids for the hordes of teens and the nauseatingly cocky young adults who thought they were so edgy going to the amusement park with their family.
Whoo 2017, no parents.
Whoo handjobs because no parents.
Katsuki stepped on the segway to do just that—patrolling as he lazily scoped the area. Until a sound jarred his focus and he jerked his head in the direction of it and—
It was a laugh. A nice one to go with the white, straight teeth and the pink lips curled into a radiant, freckled smile of this one guy behind the counter, serving sweets to a family of six., with these really green Crayola eyes.
And this should be the point in movies where music kicked in to score the moment, probably one to communicate wonder and holy fuck that face exists and it’s right there and it’s a real thing I’m seeing. Well there was music…the copyrighted Looney Tunes theme, and it was as annoying as you could imagine.
But, whatever, Disney Boy over there was—
Prettying up real damn good that Katsuki got kind of distracted—totally understandable, like god those CGI pine eyes—and didn’t see the straight path he made for the metal trash bin in the center of the area until he was tipping forward and waist deep in discarded bottles, plates, balled up tissues sticky with he prayed was chocolate ice cream and nacho cheese.
Mina howled behind the gate. “Look, Katsuki returned to his home.”
He was a good quarter of the way in the trash can so he couldn’t be too sure but there was the very strong possibility Mina was snapchatting this to everyone at Six Flags, probably Facebook as well, and Instagram. And there was the strong chance pretty boy was looking at the loud commotion Katsuki made of himself, and any cool guy points Katsuki had at the beginning were gone.
Which great. Great news. Fucking A.
Katsuki would never get his dick sucked this year
It ended up on Instagram, along with the roast of Bakugou 2017. The guys had a good time, comparing Katsuki to a dumpster.
redhot: great 2 see kids keepin the park clean
Iceiceshouto: sorry, why is there a pic of trash in the trash??
Electricman: man these spot the difference r getting hard
Hanta: LMAO XDXDXD
Lordmurder: fuck u all
Mei: YuM. Nice butt.
Smack talk like that was heavily common in their group. The uncommon thing was being knocked off his ass by a pair of baby greens.
Katsuki didn’t know Freckles but he figured after today, with the murder of his street cred and said photo blowing up in likes and comments, they would be mortal enemies. ‘Sides, those eyes? Hell no, dangerous things those were.
So, pretty boy got docked down to freckle boy who made Katsuki fall straight into the trash.
Not that Katsuki looked or anything (see the previous statement made on freckle boy for ref), not that he harbored any curiosity or interest, but from watching Freckles.
Who he did not care about, okay?
Like he had to be there too at the time, alright?
Sometimes he did do his job and patrolled Looney Tunes, under Shouto’s will and for his gross fetish of annoying the hell out of Katsuki, and while he strolled in the neighborhood, Freckles happened to be there. Kinda cute—ahem, kinda gross.
And he talked to people.
Of his own free will, laughing and smiling being, like, nice? Just the fucking poster child for a dental informal with his perfectly white and straight teeth. Customers walked away with a smile. Freckles waved, sweeter than peach.
And who did that?
Who involuntarily acted genuinely nice and respectful to people?
Ugh, fucking people person.
Couldn’t he be an asshole like the rest of them and pull up a fake smile to customers and then complain to high heaven the second the turned their backs?
Couldn’t he be normal?
Whatever, not his problem, not his situation.
Everyone said he was super nice and shit; good for him. Want a medal?
Katsuki segway through and drove over the rails and into the bush when Ochako and Freckles busted into a musical number in front of their booth to Fifth Harmony’s ‘Work’, wiggling their bodies in some attempt of sexy and sleek.
Dead Tuesdays granted you this freedom.
Dead Tuesday gave Katsuki the taste of dirt and grass.
Katsuki had blood on his knuckles; might be his, might be the guy who received the blunt force of his fist cocking into his face.
What, did you think those guns were for show and no tell? Nah, they had purpose and direction outside of filling his ego, and that end role was roller derby. And he would stop you right there, cause you’re thinking about that one movie with Ellen Page and the whole crew of girls in short shorts and bare faced.
It was kind of like that.
Except boys in those tight short shorts, and boys crashing to the floor, the traction burning their skin, their fingers bleeding, nose crooked, vision unreliable, and heartbeat the soul of a fighter jet in their ribcage.
Fine, it was a lot like that.
Except, they’re real mean about hurting you in the ring. Katsuki played for one goal—winning—and he’d break every bone in his body before he rolled over and called it quits.
So the blood didn’t factor in. His legs held him up. He could see about 75% of the room—the ground, the shadows of the people on his side—Eijirou, Shouto, Denki, Hanta; the crew, his boys worked the block. Katsuki on the jammer point this round; normally he worked asblocker but their jammer wasn’t picking up their calls.
The team opposing them had a guy on it named Tetsutetsu who started beef with Eijirou ages ago and it apparently lasted since the last match.
Those hard rubber wheels thumping on the rink as they circuited it— a whisper sound sort of, like a car in the night down the black headlight lit road as it rolled over in working potholes; Katsuki kind got an addiction for the sound of it. The lights above them, glared hard on his eyes when he attempted to look beyond the rink and to the crowd in the stands.
Whatever, he could feel the eyes on him. He usually got really lucky after a match. People liked the dried blood on his shirt. The bruises swelling purple and painful on his cheek. The layer of sweat cooling on his skin. How the strength in his arms applied beautifully in other activities outside of punching people.
E.G. pin holds to the bathroom stall.
E.G. strong hands on the back of a person’s skull as they licked his cock.
E.G. strong body for moving in and out of person, cause yea, Katsuki had game on and off the court.
Etc, etc, you got it, right?
Hot shit Katsuki, wow, shocker.
Now the game, to the fucking meat, to the ache in his body that he lived for, the reason he raced out of his uniform and into the front seat of his 01 Mustang with its cracking leather seats and diamond black paintjob—roller derby.
Eijirou set a hand in his face and Katsuki took it, shaking the colored dots that sporadically dulled his vision. Yea, he made past the block, but gloated—ha, when would he ever learn— hard as he skated backward and tripped. Bounced his noggin on the hard floor.
Eh, he’d taken harder hits.
Shouto skidded to a cool stop as Katsuki blinked back clarity. “Nice, dumbass.”
“I got us a point.”
“Yes, then landed on your ass.”
Denki glided past. “Aw, I hate it when mom and dad fight.”
Katsuki shoved him so he rolled a foot away. “Shut up.”
“If there’s an custody battle then who gets who?” Eijirou asked, performing figure eights.
“I’m spit balling here but I feel like Katsuki’s the dad who would let you drink beer and watch porn on HBO,” Hanta theorized. “Like an edgy dad but chances are you’re gonna be a real douche bag when you’re twenty. Probably work at Six Flags until you die.”
“Asshole, you work there too,” Katsuki barked.
“Don’t remind me. My skin is still peeling. Look.” He lifted his shirt.
Eijirou poked the sunburnt skin, making an absurd sound of disgust. “Dude, nasty.”
“Wanna watch me peel it?”
Denki gagged. “Fuck, don’t, dude. I will fucking puke.”
“Yea, he can’t do peel skin anymore after that scene in Austin Powers. Remember the one with the old guy who ate his dried skin?”
Denki belched, looking ill. “Fuck.”
“Are you guys done being gross? Fucking shit, like toddlers.”
“I told you we should stop at Eijirou but you wanted more children,” Shouto said.
Hanta theorized. “Shouto’s the dad who would tell you Santa Claus isn’t real and that when we die we rot in the earth.”
“…But he isn’t real.”
“Holy shit, you called it,” gasped Denki.
“You guys plan on playing or jerking each other off, huh? “ The jammer on the opposing team jeered across the rink.
The guys went silent, shared a muted eye exchange, and flipped the guy off with timed middle fingers.
Eijirou giggled. “We’re so in sync, guys. Watch our periods will line up next.”
Katsuki ruffled his wet red hair. “Shut the fuck up.”
One college chick in a small top braced her hands on the railing and leaned over. “Whooo, red, show us ladies some skin. C’mon, c’mon, I passed up my thesis for you. My Masters is in danger for you, love.”
“Well…” Eijirou smiled coyly and hiked his shirt up.
Denki hissed, yanking his shirt down. “Excuse me but we know I’m the hot one in this relationship.”
“But you always call me ‘Red Hot’,” Eijirou pouted.
“Well this conversation was productive. We absolutely worked on…” Shouto rubbed his chin, looking over his hand as he counted. “Oh yea, zero strategies. Zero.”
“To be fair, none of us can pay attention for more than five seconds. We need stimulation, Shouto.”
Katsuki clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Here’s my plan.”
Shouto pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning the patience to manage this team of children. “Don’t. I can feel it in my body when you’re about to do or say anything douchy.”
“…Here’s my plan…”
“Make a wall, and then stay outta my way.”
Shouto pushed back his wet bangs. “Eijirou, whip this jackass so we don’t lose to BackStreet Boys over there.”
Eijirou grinned, mimicking the crack of a whip as they moved back on the track.. “Whip it good.”
“Don’t fucking send me into the rails again,” Katsuki growled, skating over to the starting position.
“Totally my bad that time. I’ll admit those Fireballs were a unwise call.”
Yamada howled into the mic. “Can the Heroes make off with the win, folks? Or are the Cobras gonna take it?”
That was them; Heroes, and the whole setup, not very official to the professional standard cause they pulled a lot of illegal moves but there was real money in it so Katsuki didn’t care too much. He got money. Got the praise. Got ass. And got a lot of that anger sitting in him like a harassed cat outside. All wins in his book.
The Cobras’ did too. In their team colors of green and orange.
Heroes rocked the shades red and black.
Katsuki braced his hands, felt the floor, scratched and scarred from all the falls, the rubber of the skates rubbing over it, the sweat and blood.
Objective of the game; as the jammer you worked past the blockers to score a point. One jammer to each team, and five blockers to help you and fuck up the opposing jammer. Oh, and every move was legal so don’t roll in between the enemy blocker and expect them to show you any kindness. Maybe a fist.
Which was great for people like Katsuki cause he played hard like that.
And actually did that when the whistle blew and he and the rival jammer raced to the pack, attempting to breech the wall of bodies. Drove an elbow into the jammer because he had the strength and not the speed. The jammer fell behind, wincing in pain. Katsuki wormed through the pack, weaving and ducking and almost getting some karma for the elbow by one blocker until Shouto blocked it and slammed the guy into rails.
Katsuki grinned, past the group, and circled around for the jam.
“Yoowee, the Cobras’ jammer made one quick recovery,” Yamada said. “Better watch out Katsuki, or you might get bit!”
One look back and shit—the guy was on his ass and rightfully pissed at Katsuki, which he was used to by this point in his life, and made himself a blurry wash of colors as he overtook Katsuki to squeeze in the tight opening.
Katsuki barreled past the two Cobras with his elbows. The jammer neared the front, but Eijirou twisted his body, red hair flying, and punched him in the face. They skated around him as his kneepads snapped to the ground. Katsuki spared a second to grin at his shrinking body, before he got back into dodging hits again.
“Can he do it, ladies and gentlemen? Can Katsuki make the jam!?”
Eijirou slid beside him, latched a tight grip on his bicep and smiled. “Let’s win this, buddy.”
Shouto and Denki created an opening, and Katsuki had one heartbeat to ready himself for the whip rushing him fast past the group and curving along the rail.
“He did! A beautiful fucking whip by the muy, muy spicy Eijirou! Mwuah! Excuse me while I fanboy over here, you understand.”
“A toast,” Denki slurred, arm secured on Eijirou’s waist and the other holding a swaying cocktail of amaretto and vodka. “To the Heroes!”
The drunken crowd joined in, “To the Heroes!”
Denki tossed it back, then kissed Eijirou dirty in front of everyone. They’re that totally in love, we’re gonna get married and still be in love kind of couple that you hated and loved. Eijirou dragged him off down a hallway and into, what Katsuki thought was a closet, for sex.
Good thing the speakers drowned it out. It tested your sanity to hear your friend’s sex sounds.
Hanta flirted smoothly with a pixie chick in a pastel blue crop top and pleated skirt. By her bedroom eyes and the little arch she added to her back to remind Hanta of her rack, he was getting lucky.
Katsuki ached everywhere on the couch with Shouto as they shared a nastiest mixture of Jaeger, whiskey, and scotch in a red solo cup. He ate shit twice on the rink, but they won and they would feel the pains of it the next day. “Man, we’re so fucked. We got work tomorrow.”
Shouto nodded. “Dibs on the box.”
“I have to abuse my power as your superior.”
“Bitch, you still answer to Aizawa.”
“Yea, and you answer to me so who cares.”
It was approaching five so the crowd thinned out a bit. Lot of the parents cutting the adventure short for the drive home and to avoid the traffic jam awaiting them. The people that stayed later were the young adults who could still stomach the loops and the high dips. It wasn’t a bad shift with the extra supply of guys and chicks for the weekend rush. For a while, Katsuki bummed out in the security box with Shouto and Eijirou, clicking off the radio for shift rotations before they all went back out there.
They sat under the shade by the carnival games. A few guys tried to win a prize for their girlfriends shooting hoops. They missed.
Denki smiled and asked them if they wanted another go at it but one of the girls tugged on her boyfriend, telling him he already wasted 50 bucks on it.
“So I got news about Jacob,” Eijirou said, picking up one of the basketballs.
Katsuki grabbed one as well, smirking when Eijirou’s ball sprang off the rim. “Cool, better be good cause that fucker left us high and dry.”
“He’s kinda in the hospital.”
Shouto kicked his legs on the counter. “Kinda?”
“Cause he kinda jumped off the roof and landed on the cement and not the pool,” Eijirou elaborated.
Katsuki paused mid throw. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“He’s gonna need surgery on it.”
“So we’re fucked then.”
“I mean if you ignore the fact that he’s in the hospital and focus on the derby then yea.”
“What, I didn’t tell him to jump off.”
“He has a point,” Hanta agreed.
“Look, we’ll visit him if it makes you feel better, but we’re short a member and our next match is in two weeks.”
“Let’s ask Mina,” Hanta whistled at her and Momo as the girls were walking back from their break. “Hey, Pinkie, you want to play derby with us?”
“No. I like my face the way it is,” she laughed, and continued her conversation with Momo.
Eijirou sighed. “Alright, how about Minoru?”
“Dude,” Hanta said like he could not believe Eijirou seriously thought Minoru was remotely a good choice. “No.”
Katsuki made a sour face, and said. “He’s an asshole.”
“Whoops, forgot that spot was filled by you, buddy.”
Shouto shook his head. “He’s on varsity. Won’t risk an injury and he’s doing summer training. That’s why he got less hours now.”
He tried again, “Mashirao?”
“He’s all anti violent sport,” Hanta said.
Denki stocked up the prizes. “But pro weed, which is the only thing that matters.”
“Yuga cries when he forgets his lip gloss so no.”
“Actually, he might. Who has his number, text him right now.”
Shouto tapped away on his phone, the light glowing on his brown and blue eyes, and hummed. “That’s a no from him.”
“Seriously?” Katsuki read the conversation on Shouto’s phone, and groaned. “Fuck.”
“What about Izuku?” Eijirou chirped.
“The new guy in Looney Tunes. You know him, dude, c’mon.”
“You mean that nice asshole with the green eyes?”
Besides the fact he caused Katsuki to look uncool for a full minute, he looked kind of wimpy and you needed serious balls to get your ass beaten and shoved on the rink. Don’t let the tight shirt and small shorts fool you. It was a pain sport. “Ugh, no fucking way. That guy would probably cry if someone shoved him.”
Eijirou smacked his thighs. “Then I’m out of people. We can still play minus one guy right?”
“Technically, yea,” Shouto answered. “We can.”
“But we would be short a blocker and that’s gonna screw us over.”
“We need someone good, okay?” Katsuki grumbled. “I’m not losing to fucking Dabi again.”
“This is becoming very next level. Like the Resistance versus the Empire.”
Simultaneously, their radios squawked, loud with feedback.
“Guys, the fuck, we got a situation in L.T. Hurry the hell up.”
Katsuki didn’t have to radio in for the specific location of the situation. A crowd gathered, either waiting for security or enjoying the drama between one intoxicated man, knotted and cut like a ticked bull, and—wait—Freckles. People moved out of his way. Ochako looked at him with relief, shoulders relaxing.
“You need to apologize.” Freckles said.
Drunk guy wearing an Ed Hardy tee with a tiger’s head, so you know he made questionable choices often, spat. “Fuck you. I ain’t do nothing to her that she didn’t want. She was flirting with me, okay? Maybe you wouldn’t know about that, fag.”
Freckles gritted his teeth. “She wasn’t flirting with you. It’s called being polite and even if she was, it doesn’t give you a blanket permission to harass her.”
Katsuki thumbed his taser gun, coolly signaling to Shouto and Eijirou to back off as he handled it from here. Shouto pushed back the crowd, asking everyone to move along. Eijirou radioed in the real authorities. “Alright, what’s going on here?”
“Ah, great. This guy fucking shoved me. I want to press charges.”
“Go ahead, press charges,” Freckles said, voice raised, eyes this hazardous electric green, and face looking like something so close to trouble that he experienced a bit of whiplash. “You have no right to touch other people like that.”
“What happened?” Katsuki asked him.
He would believe the story from a co-worker over a customer any day, especially if said customer was a belligerent, homophobic drunk. Shit, he hated when people went for the gay slur. No creativity and the hell mattered if you liked boys or girls, not like it was the gays’ fault you were unhappy with your life.
“I ain’t did nothing—“
Katsuki snapped his head, cocked it in a patronizing angle and said, with no illusion of playing mediator, “Hey, buddy, does it fucking look like I asked you the question? This is a fucking family friendly park and you’re already violating our rules by being drunk so shut the fuck up before I decide to do it for you.”
“Fuck you, rent a cop.”
So, drunk guy hated gays and cops, got it.
Katsuki snorted, rolling his eyes, and asked Freckles—Deku, right? Izuku? One of those. “What happened?”
Deku/Izuku crossed his arms, and let out a breath to level himself. “He—hey, watch out.”
So Ed Hardy took poorly to being ignored since he had an arm cocked back for a punch, and Katsuki still felt the effects of several shots of Fireball and Jaeger that he turned sluggishly to redirect the fist. But the chance never came as Deku/Izuku caught the barrel thick arm, used the power in it to stumble Ed Hardy off balance, and slammed him down with his knee planted firm in his back.
Ed Hardy jerked on the ground, strings of spit pooling where his face smooshed unpleasantly. “You fucking—! I’m pressing charges against this whole fucking place.”
Deku/Izuku settled more of his weight on Ed Hardy’s back. “I’m going to ask you not to struggle cause I might hurt you if you do and I don’t want anyone here hurting.”
Katsuki’s head did one of those dog tilts.
Eijirou whispered in the muted air. “Holy balls, he went full Neo on that guy. Did you see that? That was so manly.”
Shouto pinched him.
“We have to help him. C’mon.”
“Thank you for coming, Katsuki,” Deku/Izuku said, done with his statement to the cops.
Ed Hardy and a few of his buddies smuggled in a bottle of vodka into the park and wandered around for three hours nursing it to empty. When Ed Hardy parted off from his pack of gym, frat, fuckboy crew; he spotted Ochako and chatted her up, gushing about her nice looks and sweet face until he went for the kill and asked for a fuck.
Ochako declined, politely, and said she wasn’t interested. Ed Hardy grabbed her hand when she went to talk to the customer behind him. Deku/Izuku had just walked out from the back room where he grabbed more food from the boxes, and pulled him off, guiding Ochako behind his back.
When the guy wouldn’t back off and started dropping F-bombs and C-bombs in front of the kids, Izuku vaulted the counter and shoved him off.
Katsuki was still placing his soft freckles and boyish demeanor to the guy who power slammed a beefcake without a wince of effort.
He blinked at him; wait, he knew his name?
Deku/Izuku read his shock, shyly laughing as he explained. “You fell into the trash, remember? I was there.”
Okay, fuck this guy.
“It’s my job, I guess.”
He shrugged in that awful pastel mint and pink polo. “Still, it helped having you there. I was kinda worried for a minute.”
“You do remember that you pinned him down, right?”
“Yea. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have but I just reacted.”
…Did he just apologize to Katsuki for saving him from a hit? “You’re fucking weird but thanks for it.”
“Oh, you’re welcome then. Sorry, I totally didn’t introduce myself. I’m Izuku Midoriya.”
“Are we thinking the same thing?” Katsuki asked reclined backed on the windshield of his car. The guys stargazed with him, passing the blunt.
Shouto sucked on it, amber illuminating on the end, and leaned over Katsuki to hand it off to Eijirou.
“Yea, the government totally has aliens in Area 51,” Eijirou laughed after inhaling a hit and shotgunning it into Denki’s mouth.
Denki smiled against his mouth, singing Katy Perry’s ‘E.T.’ “Your touch is so foreign.”
Shouto shared a look with Katsuki and rolled his eyes. “No about our missing member you horny assfarts,” Katsuki said.
Shouto snorted. “Jacob.”
“Like from Twilight—oh! Wait, wait, I remember.”
“I’m seriously thinking Eijirou’s mind is always in Looney Tunes.”
Denki nodded. “True.”
“Hey! And I’m the one who told you to ask Izuku, but you’re all like…like, uh, fuck. You said something. I can’t remember.”
“No more for him,” Shouto stated, pinching back the joint between his fingers from Eijirou’s limp hand. “And ask Izuku. Guy got some decent speed, maybe he can be our jammer. You’re too slow.”
“It’s cause I’m so buff.”
“Sure, sure. That’s it.”
Katsuki flicked Shouto on the bicep. “Bitch, you can take your Hot Topic ass on the bus for work.”
“Haha. Hot Topic,” Eijirou snickered, totally zoned out. “Shouto’s such an H&M slut though.”
“But how can I give you roadhead if you do that?”
“What the fuck, you guys barely cover gas. I would be happy to get head. All you do is leave bags of Cheetos and empty bottles of Mountain Dew in my car.”
Shouto inhaled, holding in the hit, then released with a squeaky voice. “That’s Eijirou.”
“Hey! Sometimes Denki does it too.”
Katsuki spent the majority of the shift thinking of how to approach Izuku. Not that he wanted or needed to impress him but the last two encounters painted Katsuki like a scumbag loser and didn’t want this new guy living with the wrong idea. Cause he was cool and smooth and a badass.
It was eight. The booth glowed yellow in the dark. Izuku handed a towering ice cream cone to a girl in pigtails and looked so happy when she gasped and thanked him.
Ew, really, like so not hot.
“So hey, Deku,” Katsuki called, bracing his arms on the counter. But the position felt awkward so he shifted them again. Leaning off one as he looked off in the distance. See, now this was a cool guy position. Which he was. Cool.
Izuku turned, surprised. “Izuku,” he corrected.
“Yea, yea. Deku, you skate, man?”
“It’s Izuku—skate like on a skateboard?”
“So like ‘Whip It’, right?” Izuku asked from the backseat of the Mustang. He didn’t look bothered by the fact they’d kidnapped him after the shift ended and crammed him in the back with Eijirou, Hanta, and Denki.
He’d answered Katsuki that he did skate for a while until one bad fall peeled three inches of skin and his mother begged him to abandon the X games lifestyle for something stable and with fewer hospital trips. And Katsuki just decided he would be the new member of their team. After beating the crap out of him in a mock game of course.
“No. Not like—yeah like that,” Katsuki said, slamming a little hard on the breaks at the red light.
Shouto glared when his seatbelt choked him.
Katsuki told himself not to use the rearview mirror to look at Izuku, cause even at the dark of night his eyes were bright and colorful.
“So you guys are a team then?”
Shouto punched him hard in the arm. “Did you tell him anything?”
“What,” Katsuki complained. “He said he would do it.”
“Actually, he did but I’m asking if you guys play professionally or not?”
Eijirou made a see-saw motion with his hand. “Kinda underground. There’s so much work to be qualified for a team.”
“And we kinda don’t get a fuck about the rules,” Denki said. “ It’s cool man.”
“You know we get hit a lot, right?”
“Oh yea. I used to compete in MMA competitions so it’s okay.”
“Oh my god, we found someone cooler than Katsuki.”
“Dude, that’s so manly,” Eijirou gushed. “Why did you stop if you don’t mind me asking, which it’s okay if you do.”
“It’s fine,” Izuku laughed. “Uh, I messed up my hand. Well broke it a few times actually. The last time I did it, it wasn’t in a match but I got into a fight with some bully and I hit the window instead of his body and yup, had to get surgery and stitches. It got really hard on me to keep it up competitively. I’ll spar with my old buddies for fun but not as much as I used to”
“How the hell are you this badass and we’re all just hearing about it?”
Izuku shrunk a little under the attention. “I mean…it’s not that cool throwing a bad hit and hurting yourself.”
“Dude. No. You are so fucking cool. Oh my god.”
“Uh, well thanks. And thanks for inviting me out too. It’s really nice of you guys.”
“Oh my god.” Eijirou collapsed dramatically. “Stop, please. My heart.”
“Mind keeping that ass eating back there to a minimal,” Katsuki yelled over the music.
“He’s jelly because you’re way cooler than him.”
“I’m not jealous!”
Katsuki batted Izuku with the black kneepads. “Hey, here are some pads for you.”
“Oh,” Izuku straightened smoothly from tying his skates. Cute, bright red ones with white laces. They’re kind of driving him crazy, because they’re so loud. “Thank you. Is this okay?”
“Skates are fine,” he said, already in his gear. Battered up black skates. Black helmet with ironic stickers. His shorts touched the middle of his thighs, breathable and flexible.
“No, I mean the clothes. I kinda went off on what derby girls wear so..”
Oh. The clothes.
You mean the illegal ass booty short—oh wait, calling them shorts was generous; they’re closer to boxer briefs and left you no room to imagine Izuku naked cause they showed you nearly every inch of his freckled legs. And his shirt? The one that broadcasted his fighter body unlike his work uniform that swallowed his sculpted shoulder?
Were those okay?
If you were probably shooting a porno based on roller derby.
“They’re good. We’ll get you legit shit if you survive.”
Izuku adjusted the straps and clicked them shut. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Oh, yea. Cause we’re going to beat the absolute shit outta you, man. Give you your stripes.”
Izuku’s head jerked up. “Are you serious?”
“And some basic ass training. But mostly lots of ass kicking. Feel free to hit us back. It’s derby, Deku.”
“I like Deku more.”
He smiled. “If I get a nickname then you get one, Kacchan.”
Izuku zig-zagged between the cones, body elegant and fast, and Katsuki paid attention to his ass—shit, his form. His form. For real.
“He’s fast,” Shouto observed, which Katsuki should be doing properly since he was the captain of the team and all.
“Oh yea.” He nodded. “Yea.” Nodded. “Yea.” Nodded.
“Yup, repeating yourself covers up the fact you’ve been checking him out.”
“The fuck, no. Ew.”
Eijirou balanced on one skate, rolling low, with his other leg stretched in front. “I fucking got it. Whoo!”
Denki whistled, skating backwards. “Oh, that flexibility will come in handy later.”
Izuku laughed, falling flat on his ass when he tried some fancy footwork.
“Fellas, please,” Hanta snorted, gliding with one leg kicked out behind him. “Professional here.”
Denki cupped his hands, and hollered. “Legs for days.”
“You guys are supposed to be running drills, stop dicking around,” Shouto barked when the guys tried dancing like graceless ballerinas.
“Oh no. We made daddy mad,” Eijirou giggled, chewing coyly on his index finger, then dropped the act quick with a yelp when Shouto rushed at him. A big joke in the group, calling Shouto ‘daddy’ and warranting the same reaction each time.
The guys snickered, rolling to a stop as Shouto pursed Eijirou like a bloodhound. “Katsuki, help me.”
Training went on like that. Bullshitting around. Running through drills that tested their stamina and glutes. Teaching Izuku the basic maneuvers to get past a block or another jammer. Katsuki hip checked him to the floor hard, where his skin slapped the ground, and he tensed up, mad. At himself for the undue aggression. At Izuku for not bracing himself for it. At his too short shorts and red skates, cause they distracted him like nothing else. And this marked like the tenth time Katsuki looked uncool around Izuku. Face glued up in a scowl .Then Izuku turned on his back and coughed out a few pained laughs, actually happy that he got his ass handed to him.
It took a few days for Izuku to fit himself in the group. Added to the group chat, snap chat, Facebook, Instagram.
A few days for Izuku to start up a conversation in the group that had all their phone pinging for hours. Said topic of debate: what would happen first, aliens or zombies?
A few days for the guys to ask yo where’s Izuku at? We can’t complete the weed circle without our saint.
A few days for Izuku to slam Katsuki into a wall during one of their mock matches, siphoning all the air out of him on impact. His hip bruised where it absorbed most of it. Izuku fought tears when Katsuki showed it the next day, purple and swollen. He shut him up by telling him it didn’t hurt. It did, but Izuku didn’t need to know.
A few days for Izuku to call shotgun and buckle in excitedly like a pup in the passenger seat of Katsuki’s old dog Mustang, colored in the lights of downtown LA. Hues shifted. Izuku appeared in reds, pinks, blues, and purples with his arm out the window, catching the wind as Katsuki broke the speed limit.
Denki and Eijirou split a package of Hostess cupcakes and talked with their teeth stained black and kissed each other despite it. Shouto’s fingers bleed red as he picked away at a bag of flaming hot Cheetos. Hanta attempted to snap some glamor selfies.
Katsuki hooked the aux cord to an Iphone and let his mind drift to the music, chilled. Which stopped abruptly as the next song started, his chilled mood now hot with embarrassment cause it was an—
First things first, I'm the realest (realest)
Drop this and let the whole world feel it (let 'em feel it)
And I'm still in the Murda Bizness
I can hold you down, like I'm giving lessons in physics (right, right?)
You should want a bad bitch like this (huh?)
Drop it low and pick it up just like this (yeah)
Fuck, Izuku was gonna judge him so hard for this. Fuck.
“Who’s fucking playlist is this?” Katsuki shouted.
“Dude, it’s your playlist,” Eijirou answered.
Denki hugged the seat. “This is like your fucking anthem, dude, what you going on about?”
Well, there went that plan to shift the blame on to someone else.
“I like Iggy,” Izuku commented, a smile concealed by the back of his hand.
“O-oh,” he stuttered, which nice, Katsuki, very nice.
Izuku raised the volume, teething at his bottom lip like he had Katsuki figured out from the start and settled back in the seat, head dropped against the headrest like it was memory foam, and sang. “I’m so fancy.” He moved his arm through the air, dancing that stiff and limited way rappers did in their videos. Lots of head bobbing, arm failing, fingers pointed
“You already know!” Eijirou screamed.
“I'm in the fast lane, from L.A. to Tokyo.” Denki jabbed Shouto in the ribs. “Join in.”
“I will murder you in this car.”
Hanta jammed, raising his arms with the beat. “I said baby, I do this, I thought that you knew this.”
And Izuku had to be something from Mars, an alien, a space invader, from a planet far far away. Cause aside from the too green eyes, the painter’s splatter of freckles on his body; he was nothing Katsuki experienced before. These odds and ends taped together. The world’s oddest mixtape, cause he smiled sincerely at people, especially kids. He wouldn’t allow for Ochako to do any heavy lifting in his presence. He opened doors for everyone and Katsuki yelled at him twice to go first—
(“I’m being polite,” Izuku insisted, with an edge, like asshole, let me be a fucking gentleman to you.
“You go!” Katsuki fumed, because one, it was a nicer view and two, Katsuki could open the door himself.
“Then I guess we’re standing here forever,” Izuku decided, and pressed his hip into the door to hold it, determined to outlast Katsuki’s patience.
“I’ll just eat my food here, whatever, but I ain’t going first.”
The Denny’s cashier watched them with a handful of menus. “Do we need to call security on you guys?”)
Izuku read books. Screamed loud on the Giant Dipper and the Raging Bull like a noob. Loved sweets, especially cotton candy as Katsuki learned when they’re stopped at an intersection and man with a long staff of homemade cotton candy walked down the line of cars. He just made the exchange of money for pure sugar and rolled up the automatic window with a whir, and jerked when Izuku not only mauled the plastic off but gobbled off more than half with his blue fingers and blue tongue—
(“What the fuck, Deku.” He snatched it back.
Izuku dragged his blue tinted tongue over his dyed fingers. “Sorry. I thought you were buying two, one for me and one for you.”
What—what were they talking about again?
“Kacchan,” Izuku laughed, stealing back the cotton candy, and stuffed a blue cloud of sugar into his mouth. “The light’s green.”
In the time from one green light to another red, Izuku killed the cotton candy. The evidence irrefutable on his person—blue fingertips, tongue, and lips. Katsuki gave him the stink eye the entire drive after that and went on and on about no loyalty or how he would have to watch his back from now on. The tiny little flame sizzled out completely when Izuku bought him cotton candy on the pier.
Katsuki waited a beat, wondering if it was some scheme, but Izuku only nudged it further into his face. He grumbled his thanks. “Don’t be fucking eating it all this time asshole, okay? Remember, sharing is caring, dick.”
“No. I bought it for you. It’s only fair—“
He ripped off a piece and handed it over. “Shut up and eat some or I’m jamming it down your throat.”
Shyly, Izuku took it. “Thanks.”
“You’re a pig. I can’t believe you ate the whole thing.”
Izuku threw his entire body into a laugh, losing his balance and staggering into Katsuki’s side, and let the cotton candy dissolve on his tongue. “I’m sorry. I thought I told you I like sweets.”
“Unbelievable,” he continued. “A cotton candy menace. Disgrace.”
Izuku clapped both hands over his mouth so he didn’t spit his food. “Stop, it’s so hard to laugh and eat at the same time.”
“Does your mother know this, Deku? About your sickness?”
“Sorry. I’ll go to AA meetings for cotton candy.”
“So CC then?”
He remembered all of Katsuki’s blunders. The most memorable being his dive into the trash bin—
(“Don’t fall into the trash. We might not be able to find you,” Izuku teased, smirk proud when Katsuki pulled a 360 away from the food booth— he did have to work at some point, as much fun as it was to kill time chatting with Izuku and judging people’s clothing like they were the real ones with a fashion sense— and stomped back to the counter with a finger jabbing into his chest.
“I’m one step away from choking you across this counter,” he threatened.
Fueled by his success to derail Katsuki, Izuku pursed his lips. “Maybe I’m in to that—“ Conveniently Ochako happened to be walking back to the front register, eyes wide from Izuku’s loud fetish outing.
“Haha, no. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he explained, urgently. “Please believe me.” That came out a pitiful whisper.
Ochako started backing away to the way she came. “I heard choking and maybe a kink thing going on and I don’t want to know who has it. Okay, I’m lying. I do. Who can I kink shame?”
“It was a joke.” Izuku flushed red like a fire hydrate.
A good friend would ask Izuku if he needed some air or perhaps water, but we all knew Katsuki was a terrible one, so he smirked. Silenced his radio when Shouto started yapping about a royally ticked soccer mom causing a ruckus by the carousel. Eh, sounded like an Eijirou problem.
Plus, the universe was paying back his karma for the trash dive, the bush dive; the time Katsuki hacked on a bad puff cause Izuku crawled on his hands and knees to pop the disc out of Eijirou’s PS4 while still decked in derby shorts; the time Katsuki took a hit from Denki while running mock matches in the rink cause again, those shorts. The list went on. Either way, Izuku had quite the debt to repay Katsuki.
Never one to miss an opportunity to bust Izuku’s balls, Katsuki said. “Izuku likes to be choked. Kinky ass motherfucker.”
“Katsuki likes to be called ‘daddy’.”
Katsuki’s smirk went flat. Izuku’s widened. This freckled, Walt Disney, Pixar, DreamWorks, my eyes are big and green like the grass, the trees, and Razuqnel looking motherfucker.
“It—that. Look I was…and he was…basically we’re….uh, fuck you.”
He could explain…you see it was a uh,… he recently saw 50 Shades and uh…he supported consent and shit, okay? And healthy relationships, yada yada. Did 50 Shades even have ‘daddy kink’ in it? Fuck, he had a lot to drink too and the guy was a total twink in every way and—
Katsuki felt the hot, uncomfortable rush of embarrassment all the way to his ears. “You are dead meat after our shift, man.”
Ochako rolled her eyes. “Every guy in the world has that kink. So unoriginal. Call me when you got something juicy and dirty, like golden showers.”
Katsuki thought about that for a second, looking to Izuku for confirmation. “…What the fuck, Ochako.”
Izuku wasn’t buying it, humming in disappointment as he propped his elbow on the counter to judge Ochako right next to Katsuki. “That’s what they always say, right, Kacchan?”
Katsuki waved the antenna of his walkie talkie at her. “Plea denial all you want. We see your true colors.”
“This is not about me.”
“So you like R. Kelly?”)
Did all that while he kicked ass on the rink—
(Katsuki read the wall Shouto and Hanta formed. He felt a line of sweat track down the bridge of his nose and puddle on the rink. His skates hummed under his thick legs.
Denki and Eijirou shifted trying to dismantle their wall. Shouto treated Eijirou to his shoulder barreling into his sternum. Eijirou flailed for a moment, arms comically swatting the air like it had some leverage, then reestablished his balance and speed.
Izuku…yea, he currently made friends with the rink. Courtesy of Katsuki’s and his beefy, wide arms. The fall wasn’t too hard. For apparent reasons, when they ran mock matches they restrained themselves. It defeated the purpose of practice if you injured your teammates severely.
A metaphorical light bulb popped in Denki and Eijirou’s head, he knew it by the Chester grin they shot at him over their shoulders. Their skates minimized the distance; Katsuki followed right on their heels, waiting for it.
Denki pivoted, skating backwards, and clasped his hands over Eijirou’s forearms and whipped them into bumping Hanta.
Katsuki pushed his skates, gunning it.
Izuku cocked his arm back, striking Katsuki in the throat, and smiled as Katsuki tripped back and coughed. Like lightning, he blitzed through the opening Denki and Eijirou made, and scored the jam.
“Here,” Izuku skated back with a bottle of water, nose bloody. “Sorry about that.”
He wheezed. “It’s cool, dickhead. And you’re bleeding, by the way, dumbass.”
Izuku ran the back of his hand under his nose, blinking at the swatch of red on his skin. “Wow. Didn’t even feel that.”
Blood fell in perfect tear drops to the floor then burst on impact.
“Deku,” he rasped, voice tortuously dark and gritty from being throat punched by a former MMA fighter. Coughing again, he said. “Fuckin’ go to the damn bathroom, asshole.”
“Right! I’ll be right back, okay?” He said, still dripping blood on the floor and now down on his discolored and stretchy Pink Floyd graphic tee his mom bought off the racks of a creepy resale shop.
“Okay,” he nudged him away. Fucking numbskull, acting concerned over him when he had blood staining his skin and clothes. “Fuckin’ go, El.”
Izuku went, a hand cupped to prevent a blood trail.
“Damn,” Eijirou whistled, bending over to gauge the lightly purpling bruise on his throat. Shadows covered the bob of his Adam’s apple. “You got wrecked.”
Shouto commented, keen to every instance Katsuki even breathed lustfully in Izuku’s general direction. “In more ways than one.”
Katsuki sucked down water, middle finger raised.
Denki chugged his bottle, chest expanding open and close rapidly. “I didn’t even see him. Fuck, we’re gonna kill it next week.”
“God, I hate when you guys double team me like that,” Hanta complained, flat on the floor.
Eijirou rocked to his back, and puffed a breath of exhausted laughter. “Ha.”
“Ugh, not like that, dude.”
“I know but c’mon.”
Izuku came back; the skin under his nose had messy smears of blood. He carried a bloody wad of tissues paper and pressed it to his nose to check for fresh blood.
“Are you feeling okay?” Without any warning, his knuckles tapped the underside of his jaw and encouraged Katsuki to tip his head back. He heard him hiss from the inspection. Then felt fingers dance cautiously over the bruise. “Aw, man. I feel really bad.”
Yea, uh, Katsuki was getting hard from the touch, the light sting when Izuku’s fingers grazed it, his bright green eyes fixated on him, his hands gentle outside of a match.
“I’m fine, dude.” Katsuki jerked away, and pulled at the long hem of his tank top over his crotch. “And go clean your face, Deku. You still got blood on you. Want your mom to give me shit when I take you home?”
“I do?” He tried wiping at it, but the blood was dried. “Sorry.”
“Clean it properly this time,” Katsuki yelled, torso propped up by his elbows, at Izuku’s shrinking back. “Or I’ll fuckin’ wash you myself.”
Izuku laughed, far and echo-y. “Okay, okay, Kacchan.”
Getting a semi during practice.)
Izuku took an awful slide across the rink during practice and the skin split open from the abrasive friction. Aside from the thin cut, the skin surrounding it ached red and stung. Relatively minor injury in their line of work, but Katsuki felt a strong annoyance watching the skin redden and blood ooze as Izuku chatted on the floor. When his annoyance became a nail through his skull, Katsuki huffed to the bathroom to the first aid box and grabbed a package antiseptic wipe and a band aid. Went back and yanked vengefully on Izuku’s arm until Izuku let him have it and hissed at the stinging, cold swipe.
“Ow,” Izuku whined.
“Bitch, I didn’t touch it yet,” Katsuki barked, still struggling with the band aid, the little plastic strips always clung to his fingers. He flapped his hand and successfully dislodged the strip.
“Yea, I know. It’s a preemptive ‘ow’.”
Katsuki didn’t speak for a second, fingers pinched at the edges of the band aid, then quirked his brow. “Do you want a preemptive ‘foot’ in your ass?”
“Literal or figurative—ow. “
“Baby,” he said, and pressed down on the edges to secure it over the cut slashed across the skin of his forearm.
He twisted his arm around to get a look at the placement and ran his fingers over the transparent gloss. “That was so aggressive,” he complained. “How did you manage to do that?”
“People say thank you when you do this sort of bullshit.”
“Thank you, Kacchan,” he said. For whatever reason, Izuku’s sincerity in everything managed to unhinge him every time.
His green eyes glowed warm and bright like the sun had smuggled itself into the skating rink and flooded a blinding a beam into his eyes. Which was impossible and illogical. His phone broadcasted that fact, flashing back the time, 12:30 AM.
Maybe his tumble rattled more than his bones or teeth.
Rattled his brain like a salt shaker.
Katsuki drummed his split knuckles on the floor, zoning out of the idle conversation of Eijirou and Denki’s adventure to Beverly Hills.
“I saw J-Law,” Eijirou swore earnestly.
“I told you that was some random blonde. She’s not even in L.A. now. Remember she’s doing that film?”
“Then we saw Emma Stone. The goddess. My celebrity wife.”
Denki said, “Not for me. She’s cute, but I’m a man who likes curves on my women. Nicki Minja’s my wife.”
Hanta folded his arms behind his chin, and smirked. “I know my wife, Rihanna. What a woman. What’s yours, Shouto?“
“Uh, Ann Hathaway. Katsuki?”
“Ah, I know who, Iggy.”
Katsuki mounted the wooden fence. “Did you two seriously come in to work on your day off?”
Denki and Eijirou smiled in the old fashion automotive latched to a track.
“Sup, baby,” Eijirou winked.
Denki blasted two uncool finger guns. “How’s my Sleeping Beauty doin’, huh, breaking hearts, scaring children, acting like the spawn of Satan?”
“You guys are disgusting,” he shamed. Concerned parents hushed their children when they pointed and asked why the security man was yelling at the two boyfriends, and guided them up the line. “Vile. I’m searching you both once you get off.”
The car rumbled past, slow, and Katsuki glared at the back of their heads as the car made a lazy turn.
Denki yawned and rest his arm over Ejirou’s shoulder. “Babe, everything the light touches is our kingdom.”
“Tell me, baby. Tell me about the great fun that can be have at Six Flags for the low, low price of 34.99.”
“How about the fun we had behind that bush…and that bush…and over there behind the fence.”
“That’s my favorite fence. So sturdy and private.”
It was the unwritten rule that you did not shop or loiter at the place you worked.
You would think that as derby skaters, who spat blood and spit on the rink and got back up on bruised knees and shins, they’d be living up each night with red cups, girls, shots, and noise complaints.
Katsuki and Izuku shattered their bones and went under the knife for the repair. On record, two injures were from sports; gymnastic in elementary school and football in high school; the other three to four were from Katsuki being dumb, reckless, ballsy— so basically him on any given day
Eijirou had skin grafts for the time he missed a pothole on his bike and went up and over down a side street. The grind shredded a layer of skin off the back of his forearms which he brought down during the roll to protect his face. Several surgeries later, and the skin healed but you could spot the difference from his natural skin to the grafts.
Denki chipped his two front teeth in a basketball game. It cost his parents a hard two thousand for the dentist to create a crown. His father had great health insurance from his work though; but imagine paying out of pocket for that. They called him Bugz for the first month then laid off when Denki started to grow self-conscious about his teeth. Katsuki called him a dumbass, and reminded him the real reason people turned him down was cause of his shitty looks and his awful hair(this was pre-Eijirou and Denki, who chalked up their bromance for two dudes that liked cuddling and shit).
Shouto nearly slipped into a coma when he wiped out horribly on a powerful, curving wave on Newport Beach.
Hanta’s first car— an old, shifty, seedy, barely functioning BMW with a broken AC, windows that wouldn’t roll, stiff seat—sputtered on the highway and smoked from the hood, the gray pillar of smoke had the right lane merging into the left out of fear, before the flames caught. No one was sad to see it go except Hanta. They dubbed Hanta’s car in secrecy ‘Satan’s BMW’, and it seemed poetic and cosmic for that hell raiser car to go out the way it came in existence—charring in the licking flames of hellfire.
So people typical saw them in this light. Rebels. Wild child. Punks. Up to no good-ers. Sucking a shot of tequila from the navel of a hot young thing, and chasing the hot burn of liquor with the citrus bite of a wedge of lime.
But on a cool, inky, cloudless Saturday night such as this, the moon like one enormous ball of cheese, and the skyline of downtown breathtaking and memorizing with its twinkles of lights.
The people silhouetted inside those yellow square windows—movie producer, Hollywood’s stars from A to Z, the underappreciated screenwriter, the starving artist, the exhausted model, the managing college student, the 9-5-ers with their kids and their economic friendly Telsa, the dreamers, the hopeful, the failures, the lost, the worst, and the best; the people of L.A.
The sounds of a whole city, the noise of the urban lifestyle— blaring horns, Weeknd, Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez, and Lorde on the station and on the billboards, the youths on the sidewalk wasted and still alive with that unmanufactured spark, live street performers, .
The Hollywood sign bright and white, almost as iconic as it was commonplace for locals. The Sears Towers For Chicagoans. The Manhattan Bridge for New Yorkers. The White House for DC. Some grand object when in scale to you, made you realize how small you were in this world. How big you could big in this world. The millions like you. The millions unlike you. This sense of awe—we made this. This came from nothing at one point. This was land with no value to it. Look at some of the good we could do
Nights like this with a whole city open to them, their pockets heavy from a paycheck, the tank of his Mustang filled to F; they liked to sit under the sky with each other’s voice and laughter as company as they passed around a joint. The tip a flaming amber under the black sky, looking like dragons when smoke seeped out their mouth. Their worries lifted, now airborne. Getting lost in each other
Tonight was such a night, and Izuku’s voice and loud giggles made it fuller, better. Like they were missing Izuku this entire time and realized the gap in their group when he wiggled in.
Eijirou coughed, doubling over with a smoker rough laugh. “I just thought about snakes. And how they have no arms and legs. Dude, what kind of god makes an animal with no legs or arms?”
Izuku started crying with a achy smile, breath coming shorter and shorter between each one. “Stop. I can’t,” he wheezed, subconsciously angling his body into Katsuki’s side.
Katsuki felt him quiver. His abortive breaths washed up his naked arm. There was a good centimeter between Izuku’s curled mouth and his skin, and that distance made him batshit crazy. Horny. Edgy. Hot like a lava lamp.
Fucking humiliating. Thinking about a set of lips brushing his bicep. Feeling young as teenager did when they imagined their first kiss, hand holding, dry humping and being excited and up the damn wall from the thought of dry ass denim chafing denim. Feeling needy. Wondering how Izuku used his mouth when he kissed people, when he mouthed at their skin, when he sucked cock.
“Seriously!” Eijirou continued, the only one capable at the moment of stringing a full coherent sentence. “They have no legs. How fuck up is that?”
Katsuki lost sight of everything and everyone when he squeezed his eye shut and laughed with them, high as fuck. Weed mellowed him most of the times but Eijirou was talented in turning him and Shouto into giggly guys.
Denki’s mouth opened in a silent laugh.
“Please,” Izuku giggled as he clung to his arm, his eyes shimmery with brimming tears. “Stop him. I can’t-I can’t stop laughing.”
“Guys. Snakes don’t have arms and legs.”
“Shut…shut up, fuck. Stop. Shut up.”
Hanta’s body made a wincing sound as he tumbled off the hood and connected solidly to the ground.
“Man—ha, man down,” Denki reported, then made zero efforts to save him.
“Save, save yourselves,” Hanta rasped. “Leave me to die.”
Shouto huffed, thinking of something clever in his head. “He died as he lived.”
“What the heck—haha, the heck does that mean, Shouto?” Izuku asked.
“I have no idea. But it was funny right?”
“Shouto made a funny!”
“Shouto made a funny! Hell has frozen over.”
“You go on break yet?” Katsuki asked, drumming his hands like drumsticks on the counter.
Izuku patted his back pocket for his phone, slipping it out covertly and checked the time. “In about five minutes, why?”
Katsuki bobbed his head. “Got something to show you.”
“Do I get a hint?”
An excitable energy had Katsuki wound up like a toy.
“No. Wait the five minutes.”
Izuku pouted, mouth set comically child-like. “Aw, shucks.”
Katsuki flicked his name tag, then pretended to walk the grounds. Not any better, Izuku wiped down the station with a rag and some cleaning agent, half-committed to doing a perfect job. As Katsuki angled his back to him, Izuku peeked a look, then dropped it down with a bubbly smile.
Five minutes, huh.
Funny how five minutes passed between them like twenty. Each second a minute. Each minute an hour.
Katsuki lifted the trunk, grabbing a bundle wrapped in UPS packaging slip. The printed labeled had Katsuki’s name, shipping address, and his zip code. The shipper’s name went under GraphicInk.
“Here,” the package made a nosy crinkle.
Izuku reached inside. Someone*, and he wasn’t going to point any fingers, took a pair of scissors and cut unevenly along one of the ends of the package with the skills and eagerness of a seven year old.
Izuku squinted at the shirt, confused, until he snapped it out and read the text. Then realized out loud, “You got me a jersey?”
Katsuki kicked a flattened can of 7-Up down the staff parking lot, trying to look distracted by the airplane tipping the cloudy sky.
“Yea,” he shifted; it seemed like he had no idea where to place his arm or legs, how to stand, how to extinguish the red blush on his face. He went for the safest and coolest pose he could think of and balled his hands into the pockets of his uniform. “The match’s comin’ up and everything. So yea. You’re legit.”
Izuku hugged it to his chest. “I love it.”
How the fuck did this guy beat his ass on skates and off them?
He spread the shirt out again, holding it out by its arms, and beamed with pride. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“You fuckin’ better, man, or I’m taking that back.”
The shirt rumpled up when Izuku clutched it protectively against his chest. “No takies-backies.”
“So you wanna hit?”
“…Uh.” Izuku looked around for cameras.
“Or I can abuse my power as a security guard and force you to smoke with me.”
“You’re so bad,” he laughed. “One puff,” he warned, putting back the jersey in the packaging slip and in the trunk.
“Two,” Katsuki negotiated, and wrapped his lips around the joint.
Izuku dipped behind the little privacy the lifted trunk of the car provided. The air pressed tight on his skin. Teasing. Fond. They’re in his eyes along with another emotion—confidence; it showed in the easy way Izuku leaned off the bumper and settled close. “Fine, two.”
The joint almost didn’t catch the flame when Izuku pulled his bottom lip under his teeth. “Don’t push your luck.”
Making Katsuki look like such a clown; god, fuck this pretty dude.
“A self-proclaimed fuck boy?” Izuku mused, skimming the bio of Katsuki’s Instagram.
Izuku didn’t like to call people names, but the evidence of ‘fuckboi’ tendencies were astonishing.
Selfies in the bathroom. The yellow of his bathroom soft and golden on his obnoxious smirk.
Selfies on the beach, angled dangerously for the hard V of his pelvis, blond hair damp and a dark gold from the water, eyes a burnish red brown like the caramel dipped candy apples.
Selfies with girls, guys, friends, his mom—which explained Katsuki’s blonde hair and strong cheekbones.
Short clips of Katsuki bench pressing 150 over his chest.
Clips of him and Shouto riding a wave, and Katsuki eating shit while Shouto’s hand touched the curved wall of the wave as it tunneled behind him.
Clips of him at the skate park in vans, tipping his board into the bowel before he made the plunge, the brief second where you heard the sounds of rubber wheels and then Katsuki appeared on the other side. Grabbing the rim as he went into a one handed stance, and balanced himself and the board.
Clips of him spitting out blood in his derby uniform with the look of red murder on his face.
Clips of him cartwheeling in the grass then teaching Denki and Eijirou, who laughed and failed every time and incurred Katsuki’s short fuse.
Clips of him and Hanta mouthing the verses for Post Malone’s ‘White Iverson’.
Katsuki poured an medically ill-advised amount of maple syrup on his Belgian waffles that the syrup pooled over the sides and ran down and mingled with his portion of scrambled eggs and strips of bacon.
“Are you on my Instagram?” He chuckled, emptying the small container.
Izuku’s teeth ached just thinking of the excess sweetness, but Katsuki made the same face earlier when he ordered a coffee at two a.m. and streamed five packets of Sweet n’Low into it. Really though, how could he go to Denny’s and order a Grand Slam and not have himself a cup of Joe
Izuku laid his phone down, scrolling through with his pinkie one second and cut neatly into his pancake. “Do you send unsolicited dick pics?”
Katsuki picked a strip of bacon, glossy with syrup and talked with his mouth full, voice grinded down to a low raspy sound from a long day. “My dick is never unsolicited. Even when you think ‘oh I couldn’t look at another cock after sucking a million’, you’ll see mine and be like ‘maybe one more’.”
“Cocky,” he teased.
“I’ll send you one and you can tell me if its unsolicited or not.”
“I might be straight…Hey, what’s with that look? I could totally pass!”
He shook his head somberly. “No.”
“Deku, no. Fine one part of the vagina.”
“That proves nothing,” he protested. “And for your information, I do like girls too. I just happened to like boys a little more.”
“I think I have one dick pic saved,” Katsuki said, messing with his phone.
“You save your dick pics?”
“What, sometimes I get a really good shot. And I don’t always wanna fucking go through the hassle of jerking off, getting the right lightning, and the perfect angle. That little line of pre-cum running down my shaft.”
Izuku’s fork hovered in the air. “…You put way too much time into this.”
“I bet your dick pics are fucking lame as fuck. Bet you the lighting sucks too.”
Izuku slapped his mouth close before he spat his food out with a giggle. “Are we really getting into dick pics quality?”
“That’s how I know you’re fucking basic. Lemme see one.” He motioned impatiently for Izuku’s phone.
“No way. I delete them after I send them. I don’t want it sitting in my folder.”
“You got caught didn’t you?”
“…Once. My mom and—like you never got caught, Kacchan.”
“I never did cause I’m not lame like you.”
Izuku eyed him.
“Okay. Fine. Fine. My parents caught me watching porn.”
“Were you, you know, playing fireman?”
Katsuki leveled him with a strong stink eye. “Fireman? Fucking nerd.”
Izuku collapsed against the back of the booth and laughed violently. “Oh my god.”
“It was under the blanket though.”
Izuku snorted, too overcome with laughter to comment.
Katsuki wiggled his pointer finger, testing its limit and the pain, and fuck—still aching like a motherfucker. As you might imagine, dislocating your finger sucked and popping the bone back in hurt more than the disalignment.
One of the Raptors’ blockers delivered vicious elbow throw into his gut, kicking the air out of his lungs and the feet out from beneath him. He landed poorly, because it dislocated his god damn finger and he chewed back pain on the rink long enough to cause concern and issue a time-out.
Katsuki cradled his stomach, holding out his injured hand so he didn’t prematurely brush it against anything.
Shouto and Eijirou helped him to his feet, while Izuku’s voice weaved in and out between the pain receptors screaming and the loud crowd murmuring theories, whispering to him it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe, focus on my voice, can you do that.
Then their little derby match briefly switched into Grey’s Anatomy when Izuku grabbed his finger and popped it back in. A track record of broken bones didn’t diminish the pain of a near one, but at least he wouldn’t get a lecture the next morning from his mom—
“If you’re going to be fucking doing this kind of shit, can you at least try to not bust your shit? For me? I gotta lose sleep wondering if my stupid baby’s gonna put himself in an early grave because he can’t keep his damn bones in his skin.”
And his dad—
“Katsuki, you know I really can’t fight your mother on this, so be careful. And I’m not supposed to be rewarding you or anything, but let’s go get gyros from that place you like, okay? Our secret, champ.”
Izuku slumped on the bench with a heavy groan. His fingers had blood on them, from the crumpled up ball of crimson and snot. He pressed the tissue to his nostrils.
Damn, he took fucking dive to the floor on that last jam, just making past the final blocker before the guy kicked him in the back of his knee. Plenty of moves flowed in the underground derby—shoves, punches, elbows, legs swept out to trip a person but kicks were iffy. Dangerous, obviously, cause of the skates.
Yamada called for a permanent benching for the blocker, the captain of the Raptors argued heatedly with Yamada.
If they didn’t, Katsuki was gonna be on his fucking ass like he wouldn’t believe. Fuck his aching finger, that guy was so fucked.
Doing Izuku like that.
Hell the fuck no.
Not on his watch.
Not where he was there to witness the flinching fall and the rush of blood from Izuku’s small nose down his mouth and chin.
“How’s your finger?” Izuku asked, palm out and face up in a wordless request.
Katsuki placed his hand in his, gritting his teeth at the pain. Izuku massaged the skin tenderly, the touch so feather-light and soft if Katsuki hadn’t dislocated it he wouldn’t have realized Izuku was touching him.
Izuku worked carefully. “Sorry. It’s gonna be really nasty tomorrow. You should definitely wrap it or I can do that if you want.”
“Okay.” He dropped his hand. “We’ll hop by a Walmart or something and get you it.”
“What, oh,” he rubbed the side of his neck. “It’s just a bloody nose.”
“Nothing’s fucked, right?” He glared at his nose. Dried brown blood caked the inside of his nostrils.
Izuku put up a front, acting like Katsuki was his overbearing woman, who worried as much as she showered him in love. “No, mom. My bones are A-O.K.”
“Fucking asshole,” Katsuki seethed, mug mean and spiteful on the Raptor blocker bitching up a rant on the opposing bench.
“It’s alright, Kacchan.”
“That’s like tackling a guy after he made a touchdown. Pussy wanted to fuck you up cause their jammer sucks balls.”
It was difficult to tell with Izuku’s cheeks red from exertion but they seemed to turn pinker from the comment.
“My son,” Eijirou bemoaned, yanking Izuku’s head to his sweaty chest and swaying them on the bench side to side. “My child. This world is too cruel. Crawl back into my womb, Izuku, you should find warmth and shelter there.”
Izuku patted his back. “Can’t—breathe.”
“Villains!” He accused, totally unware of Izuku’s attempts to dislodge him. “To harm such an angel.”
Shouto flicked his ear. “Hey, you wanna suffocate him?”
“Whoops. My bad, man.”
Izuku took a dramatic gulp of air. “It’s alright.”
“So they’re benching him for the whole match,” Shouto announced.
Hanta nodded. “Good. That was a low blow.”
Uncomfortable with the spotlight on him, Izuku lowered his head, ruffling his wet bangs. “Guys, really, it’s not a big deal.”
“Shut up, it’s a big deal. And we’re not gonna let that shit go,” Katsuki said.
Izuku furthered curled in on himself, face obscured by his hands. “Oh my god.”
“Well, we can’t really do anything more. Yamada sided with us and that’s what matters. So stop with the death glares, Katsuki.”
“He’s lucky that’s all I’m doing.”
Denki’s bottle crinkled as he downed the every last drop. “So, game plan?”
“Same old. You and Eijirou in the rear. Hanta work the center, and Katsuki and I will run the front. Izuku, keep doing what you’re doing.”
Yamada spoke into the mic. “Woo, nothing like a bit of derby drama, am I right? The Raptors have tied it up with the Heroes, but can they carry it home or will they go out like the dinosaurs and be extinct?”
Eijirou rolled into position, laughing loud that Katsuki could hear him from the front. “Extinct. Like—haha, like the dinosaurs. Cause they’re called the raptors. Ah, good one, Yamada!”
“Thank you, my spicy little pepper,” Yamada replied.
“Spicy little pepper? New sex name,” Denki decided.
“C’mon guys in you’re the rear,” Hanta joked. “Chill with the homo-vibes.”
“Look at all these butts I get to check out,” Eijirou said.
Denki smiled. “The ass I’m looking at is the best.”
“Baby.” Eijirou gushed. “Save it for the after-party, my lemon head.”
Katsuki groaned. “Oh my fucking god. We can all hear you being horny and shit, for fuck’s sake.”
Izuku giggled, then put his mouth guard in.
“And are we gonna talk about the Heroes’ new little jammer? That’s kid is like a Christmas tree with guns and rockets for feet. Woo boy, would I be worried if he’s my competition.”
The ladies agreed. “Mhmm, momma likey.”
“Midoriya, have my babies! I want Christmas babies.”
“Nothing’s better than cute boys in tiny shorts. Hooray!”
The whistle blew. The blockers started off. Followed in a few seconds by the jammers. The crowd around him rounded out like the robust curve inside a fishbowl, the faces nondescript in his peripheral. The overhead lights baked a tacky sheen on his skin. The sound of rubber wheel buzzed in his ear. The pain in his hand took a backseat as the jammer made their way through the pack.
A look behind him showed him—Izuku’s intense stare and lean body weaving between the gap Denki and Eijirou made, bucking shoulder to shoulder with the Raptors. The gap closed once he was through, and the duo worked to counter the jammer.
Katsuki looked to the rink, guiding his body around the wide turn.
Kneepads screeched. A body slammed.
Denki rolled onto his back, taking a breather before he got back on his feet and trailed the end of the pack.
Eijirou pitched a Raptor off the track, the guy tumbling off and to the center of the rink with a hiss.
Izuku dipped low, the fist of the jammer punching where his head had been a second ago, then used his low position to drive his fist in a smooth uppercut and clipped the jammer’s jaw. His body jerked back, 360-ing on the floor to a complete stop.
Izuku juked around a blocker. Absolutely fast like lightning.
Hanta shouldered a Raptor into the rails, and covered Izuku’s six.
Katsuki and Shouto’s eyes connected under the bright lights and wet hanging bangs, nodding to each other in understanding, and shifted into position.
Shouto threw Izuku’s a thumb up behind his back.
Katsuki slapped his hand punishingly over one blocker’s ear, taking the second lapse of disorientation to fist his collar and haul him off the track.
Yamada howled. “Hercules, Hercules, Hercules!”
Katsuki gathered some speed then drove himself into the blocker, slamming them both into the rails. The guy elbowed back, gaining space between them, and threw a jab straight into Katsuki’s eye.
“Fuck,” he cursed, and blinked rapidly as his eye watered, diluting his sight, and tears tracked down his cheek. “You’re so fucking dead, fuckhead!”
Still taking the world with one good eye, Katsuki smashed into him again, lugging his entire weight into it.
The blocker choked. Still stood up though.
The timer flashed —
24 to 24.
This couldn’t end in a draw nor a lost, because Katsuki didn’t play in half measures and he didn’t come out on bottom. His curled his fingers. Moved his feet. His breath went out short and fast. His heart sent out loud pulses under his skin. His eye still watered and dribbled down his face but it went unnoticed with the beads of sweat streaming as well.
The world fucking ceased to be. The noise out like a light. The lights off except for the one under him and the blocker. And you’re having this image of black stage and a beam of light centered on the one performer and you’re not off and it might be dramatic for an underground derby match. But it was for Katsuki. The pain dramatic. The strain on his body. The crowd. His team. The win.
So Katsuki entered a certain state of mind not of this universe. The zone. Knew only that he was punching out, clipping bone and flesh, and hearing the thunderous fall of a heavy body, before Izuku zoomed for the jam. Curls bouncing. Muscles flexed. Big, green old Disney eyes hard.
Yamada sounded off the air horn.
The audience threw their arms up, spilling beer, hugging the next body, screaming so loud that they should all be thankful no one called the cops.
Katsuki let his skates move on their own, still going on momentum alone.
“The Heroes win!”
Izuku raced to him, screeching on his stopper as his eyes searched his face. “Did I do my best?”
Katsuki roped him to his chest, and laughed. The guys joined in, making it the wettest, foulest, and stickiest team huddle in existence. And it should drive him up the wall that every breath reeked of dude and he couldn’t see, but the huddle pressed him solidly to Izuku. Chest to Chest. Thigh to thigh. He had to keep his hands in check from slipping down from his waist to that dangerous curve of his ass, and pulling Izuku into a grind against his dick.
Well, hopefully Izuku was experiencing too much pain to feel the semi he had.
Per tradition, they’re at the after party.
Katsuki drank with his good hand. Good thing he was ambidextrous, or it would be a huge bitch to drive home and beat off. Yea, he was still feeling it if you must know. Didn’t help that Izuku refused to dress out of his derby uniform and buzzed around the room in his small shorts and tight jersey.
So, maybe, Katsuki could’ve purchased a larger size. Maybe. Or maybe he really wanted to see the jersey tight and form fitting on Izuku. Either way, this was partially his own damn fault and partially Izuku’s because who gave him any fucking right to be looking sweet and hard at the same time.
Shit, he could do for someone to blow him right now. A guy preferably with enough curls to trick his sight, which operated at 50% capacity thanks to his bruised, swelling eye.
One random flicked his eyes at him coyly before shifting back to his conversation. Short. Lean. Definitely a twink. His hair fell flat and straight to his ears. Katsuki cocked his legs apart, and stretched back on the sofa. Eyes followed down the line of his stomach to the bulge of his dick.
Yea, twink boy definitely wanted this.
Cool, Katsuki wanted to blow off weeks of sexual tension.
He thought about how he could pin the guy to the wall, and pretend it was Izuku’s hard body taking him.
Holy fuck, was Katsuki in some sort of trouble if he had to use a random in place of the person he wanted. But they’re friends. Teammates. Katsuki respected the hell out of him.
Katsuki pressed the mouth of his beer to his lips, and smirked.
Twink boy lowered his eyes with a lusty smile. He talked a bit more with his friends then walked away.
“Hey,” he stood in front of Katsuki’s parted legs, his long thin fingers played low on his baggy jeans. No ass to speak off, given the way his jeans sagged on the visible bones of his hip but his face looked innocent and round.
He popped the suction around his bottle with an audible sound. Katsuki jutted his chin in acknowledgment. “Sup,” he smacked his lips loudly on the ‘p’.
Wow, did you see that?
Did you fucking see how smooth he was right there?
Hell yea, Katsuki Bakugou was back in the game.
He asked. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Nah,” Katsuki said.
“I’m Remy. You’re pretty good out there.”
Katsuki went through the illusion of small talk. “Yea?”
“Mhmm.” Remy angled his body sideways; elbow propped on the back of the sofa as he checked out Katsuki’s muscular thighs, then hummed warmly. “Hot too.” Fingers braved the small space between them, and brushed the outside of his thigh.
Katsuki cocked a lazy smirk. Obnoxiously aware of Remy’s attraction. “Ha, yea. That’s me. You wanna fuck around or something?”
Remy walked his fingers up his thigh. “I’m game,” he purred.
Katsuki leaned in, and washed a hot whisper into his ear. “Want it up the ass?”
Remy shivered. “Please.”
“Cool, I got condoms.”
“I, uh, I have some lube on me. I kinda stalked you a bit before this,” he blabbed with an obvious blush. “Sorry.”
Eh, mildly creepy but as long as Remy kept the stalking to this single occasion and not long term then he didn’t care. It certainly didn’t hurt his gargantuan ego.
“Yea,” he chuckled. “Did you come here hoping for me to fuck you?”
“You’re in luck, cause I’m going to.”
“God, please. Please, Katsuki.” Remy slithered his hand up his thigh, making to cup his dick. He whispered desperately. “Fuck me hard. God—”
“Kacchan!” Izuku slurred and dumped himself on the sofa, hiking his toned legs over Katsuki’s thighs.
And this confused his dick, a lot.
Because it was about to get touched and fondled in public by a random only for Izuku to scale him like a tree. So like his dick went from eh to omfg yes. Katsuki pressed his lips together, determinedly fighting the pleasant weight of Izuku’s weight on him.
Remy’s face hardened, forced to move his hand back or have it crushed. “Hey, you’re Katsuki’s friend, right? Midoriya?”
“Best friend,” Izuku corrected fast, draping his arms over Katsuki. He laid his head on Katsuki’s wide shoulders with a ditzy hum, and squeezed him. “You’re who?” Izuku asked, sweetly, with a soft laugh. “Sorry I don’t remember seeing you before.”
Was that shade?
Was Izuku cock blocking him?
“I’m Remy,” he said. “I’ve been to a few of Katsuki’s matches before actually. This isn’t my first time.”
“Oh! Haha, okay. Yea, today was my first match but we’ve been hanging out like every day,” he laughed, smooshing Katsuki into a painful hug. “Right, Kacchan?”
“Training?” Remy theorized.
Izuku waved his hand sloppily. “Oh no. Katsuki just likes to mess around with me.”
Should he…like stop this or let them settle it?
Remy popped his lips, and challenged playfully. “Oh, so you know his friends?”
“Yea. We all work together. I’m pretty much the newest official member of the group. Have you met the guys? I could introduce you to them since you’re a big fan of the team.”
This low-key brilliant, asshole was seriously cock blocking him. He could not believe this shitshow.
Remy snuggled up to Katsuki’s side, and not too kindly shoved Izuku’s shins back so he could press firmly against him. “Actually,” he smiled, “I was hoping to get to know Katsuki—“
Izuku cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Hey, Denki, Eijirou. Come meet, Remy. He’s a huge fan.”
“No, that’s okay—“
Eijirou hopped over, metaphorical tail wagging, red hair in a disastrous bun. “What up, man?”
Denki sat in the available space on the sofa. “Big fan, huh? Am I your favorite? We’re your favorite right?” By the ‘we’, Denki gestured to him and Eijirou. “Don’t say Katsuki or Shouto. Every basic bitch likes those assholes because they’re all cool and macho.”
Katsuki barked. “I’m right here.”
Remy said. “I’m actually—“
Izuku chirped, laying his hand on Katsuki’s chest. “You should totally meet Hanta and Shouto. They’re great guys. Right?”
Eijirou laughed, and started to pull Remy off the sofa. “Yea! Come with us.”
Remy panicked, and tried backing out of the random meet-and-greet with a weak. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother—“
“No bother at all!” Denki said.
Eijirou danced on the balls of his feet. “Come, come!”
Having no room to protest without looking rude, Remy sighed and let himself be led by hand away from Katsuki. “Uh. Okay.”
Izuku waved to Remy. “Bye, Remy!”
Katsuki shook his head in what should be disapproval, but his widening smirk nulled the effect. “You fuckin’ dickhead,” he laughed.
“What?” Izuku made an owl face of surprise. “What’s wrong with giving a fan what he wants, hmm?”
“Right. I fucking see how you are.”
Izuku pleaded denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kacchan.”
“You better keep my ass company then or more fans might talk to me.”
He hummed, weighing the suggestion in his mind, and shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to. I’ll just lay on you then.”
“You’re such a little prick,” Katsuki rumbled, thinking about it again as the whole party unfolded around them. In the kitchen, the guys cornered Remy in an inescapable circle, keeping him engage with questions and hardy back claps.
“Would a little prick wrap your dislocated finger?” Izuku asked, patting his finger on the knuckle above his bootleg Grey’s Anatomy operated finger, now compressed with cheap bandages. The 99 cent ones that ripped and lost its elasticity quick, and rarely maintained a firm wrap.
Technically speaking, given very recent events and compelling evidence, yeah.
“You want a legit answer to that or…?”
“Be quiet.” Izuku nuzzled into his chest. Maybe the drunk bit wasn’t an act. Granted, Izuku was a very touchy, tactile guy with no aversion to hugs but this was a little more than he was used to.
Katsuki didn’t want to find an excuse to move Izuku off him, and got comfortable, shifting Izuku for a brief moment until his weight rested securely. Fuck, they probably looked like a couple in this position, with one hand curling through Izuku’s hair, Izuku pillowing his head like he could sleep right there. No scores for him, but whatever, Izuku had the most annoying quirk of fitting where Katsuki didn’t think he could but did perfectly.
“How’s the nose”
Izuku lifted his head, and inhaled proudly through his nose. “Nice and dandy. Your eye is starting to swell a little.”
He tested out the sensitivity and—“Fuck!” He hissed. “I fucking hate black eyes. They hurt like a bitch and then they swell so you can’t see that well.”
“I know, buddy. Want me to get some ice for it?”
“Nah. I’ll take some IB after this. Does it look bad?”
Izuku ran the back of his knuckles across the bone of his cheek. “Hmm. It’s a little purple now. Like Barney purple.”
“Thanks,” said Katsuki, tone as dry as those old dinosaurs bones propped and drilled into black beams in museums. “For the imagery.”
The guys joined them on the ratty sofa. Shouto and Hanta perched on the arms. Denki and Eijirou, joined at the hip, plopped on the seat next to them.
“What a great guy,” Denki said.
There seemed to be a private joke he wasn’t aware of because all the guys cracked a smile.
“The fuck is so funny?”
“Aw, nothing, man,” Hanta assured, then looked at the group with that same smack-able smile.
Eijirou yawned, and laid his head on Denki’s shoulder. “Tired babe?”
“The children are sleepy, Katsuki,” Shouto announced. “Better take the rugrats home.”
“Seriously, someone needs to get a car. I’m always driving us everywhere.”
“Night guys,” Izuku extended his head out the window, and waved as Denki and Eijirou walked leisurely over the grass to the side of the house.
Eijirou yawned. “Night.”
Shadows emerged as the security light went out, triggered by the guys’ sluggish steps down the pathway. The screen door squeaked, then closed soundlessly as Denki shut it by hand so it didn’t bounce back into the door with a bang.
Katsuki checked his side mirror, wincing at the speeding headlights in the reflection, then eased out of the spot. They had all the windows down and the music a low murmur, quiet to fill the silence but not loud to overclock their exhausted bodies. Katsuki hummed. Sang a bit with Izuku. And took the empty L.A. streets at a casual pace. Cruising at night was insanely therapeutic and cathartic for his head. Like it let out all the hot air in his body. Deflated all the bad energy the world pumped under his skin.
Izuku stuck his hand outside and felt the wind buffet it. Felt the air glide between the slots of his fingers when he splayed them. Crossing through downtown, glass storefronts showed their reflection. The black streets were oversaturated in yellow lights. Night drivers were riskier, blowing through reds. Every little sound resounded through the glass city like L.A. was one night surround sound system.
To save time, Katsuki could take the main streets to Izuku’s house but he didn’t. Izuku voiced no complaints and talked throughout the drive about anything and everything that came to mind.
“Why Six Flags?”
Katsuki snorted. “Because I got fucking fired for talking smack and security seemed the one thing that would fit me. Be loud. Be an asshole. Hold all the power. Sounds like me. You?”
Izuku rumbled a tried laugh. “I’ve had some trouble getting call backs. I figured it was worth a shot.
Katsuki gripped the wheel in a cool-guy- look-at-me-i-can-drive-with-one-hand-like-a-boss grip. “You know how you said you messed up your hand fighting a bully?”
Izuku rubbed his nose. “Yea, what about it?”
“What’s the story to that? Cause I know your ass doesn’t just jump into random fights.”
“Well, you’re kinda right.,” he said. “So, there was this drunk guy harassing these girls outside a bar. It was pretty late. Like midnight. He wouldn’t back off even though they told him off plenty of times. So I went over, cause I was on the other side of the street waiting for the bus, and basically said to go get some rest and leave these girls be. He got mad. Threw a punch or two.”
Typical Izuku, putting his dumbass in the impact zone. “You always gotta be the god damn hero.”
“He was a big guy. Like the ones you see working out by the beach. So it wasn’t like a one, two, three knockouts.”
“You kicked his ass right?”
“I subdued him,” Izuku corrected.
“The girls were nice enough to call the ambulance for me though. My mom was…pretty sore with me for a week.”
“You’re like the weirdest guy I know. You punch like Bruce Lee then bake cookies like Betty Cocker. ‘They were nice enough’, dumbass.”
“Aw, you sound upset. Almost like you care.”
“You’re probably the guy to run into traffic to save a dog.”
Katsuki shot him a murderous look. “Don’t fucking tell me.”
“It was a doggy!”
“You could fucking die, dipshit.”
“But I didn’t! Okay, maybe I almost got ran over by a semi or whatever. But…it turned out okay. See?” He danced in the seat awkwardly, the seatbelt cutting into his neck. “All okay.”
“A fucking semi!”
Katsuki dragged his hand down his face. “Fucking unbelievable.”
“It was a husky and his name was Biscuit and he licked my face after.”
“I think God made you stupid and sweet and nothing else.”
“That might be an accurate description,” he giggled. “Hey, wanna be gross and get White Castle?”
Katsuki flipped on his blinker.
Yellow washed over Izuku’s sleepy smile.
Don’t ask why but after a trip through the White Castle drive-through, the low gritty voice on the other end of the lit up menu, the order mix up, and the three bags of burger, fries, and onion rings activating their salivary glands, they hit up a playground near the water.
Katsuki and Izuku sat on the cold metal stairs of the jungle gym and listened to each other and the waves receding and crashing. They split a large 7-Up and double dipped in the cheese cup. It didn’t make sense to him how he could be so drained physically and mentally from the derby match but still game to eat away his lifespan on the monkey bars with Izuku.
Their hands bumped, both going to take a dip in the cheesy goodness.
Izuku laughed, and let Katsuki have the honors of scooping the bitten end of his burger into the cheese, then jammed the rest in his mouth.
Izuku ran a fry around the crevices of the cup, and popped the fry back, wiping his hand and mouth with a napkin.
Fuck, Katsuki felt like he gained twenty pounds with one meal.
Izuku said. “I feel so gross.”
Katsuki belched. “Same.”
The ocean muffled the silence.
Katsuki turned his head, arms dangling over his knees. “Want me to take you home?”
Izuku looked back at him, and didn’t say anything.
Which would normally get a reaction from Katsuki. A ‘the hell, man, I asked you something’. But Izuku was moving, tilting his head sideways, and Katsuki realized a second too late that his world shifted to into the tilt. Their mouths brushed, hesitant. Pulled back in afterthought, then crashed back. Hot and reckless like a derby match. Teeth, tongue, spit, and aggression.
Izuku’s tongue didn’t taste some romance novel kind of shit. No hint of the fucking woods. No ‘alluring’ cigarette smoke. Maybe it was just him, but cigarettes smelled and tasted like actual piss; so clearly these experts in love had unique taste palette or Katsuki was missing the big picture.
So there was no forest in his mouth.
Again, how the fuck you tasted that in someone’s mouth was beyond his ass apparently because while Izuku straddled his lap with an iron strength, and fisted his hair like he wanted to rip each strand out, Katsuki tasted—fast food, blood, bitter beer, weed, cheese.
Like the absolute worst combination of foods.
Katsuki kissed girls who tasted like cotton candy and pink Starbursts and cherry chapstick.
Yet, he still moaned. Got his nails dragging red lines down Izuku’s outrageously toned, insanely gorgeous, ludicrously fleckered thighs. Felt hard muscles there, from training, from kicking ass on the rink, and cruelly dipped the blunt end of his nails into his skin.
Izuku twisted his hair tighter between his fingers, popped back, and looked down at Katsuki. Then got right into it.
Katsuki moaned and lost himself in the wet curl of Izuku’s mad pink tongue, and moved his hands down, running up the curve of his ass in those tight shorts, then squeezed. He stopped immediately, because it was Izuku here and not a random. And you just didn’t grab people’s ass out of the blue. You built some understanding hands were gonna travel places then you did that.
Katsuki placed them politely on his hips.
Politely, Izuku un-fisted his hair and placed them back on his ass.
Katsuki had a move for his scores. A little dynamite kiss that unlocked the barriers and opened legs. It had a 99.9% success rate and several five-star reviews on Yelp.
Critics couldn’t deny it— ‘Katsuki Bakugou has a hot mouth. 10/10, get kissed by Katsuki, it will change your life.’
New York Times couldn’t handle it— ‘When Katsuki kissed me, I came. And I’m not ashamed to say that.’
Wall Street Journal was like— ‘I want to have babies with that tongue.’
Rotten Tomatoes rave about it, pinned it with a solid 99%—‘My only issues is that I had to pull away to breathe. Ugh, annoying.”
So he could read a mood. Could get the pants off the body and now that floor.
But he kissed Izuku, and that fire which normally riled him up like a steam engine right in his cock. Made him that monster in the sheets. Actually started elsewhere. In his heart
He kissed a boy for the first time in a long time and left it at that. Felt good at the end of the night when they went separate ways. He watched Izuku smile dopily down the pathway where he tried to slyly glance at Katsuki with this lovestruck expression and failed again and again cause he wasn’t a smooth guy. Izuku unlocked the door, held it, and waved back before closing it.
His phone dinged. Four a.m., so chances were it was a booty call.
He checked, and yup, Becca, the waitress at Dave and Buster’s, was texting him.
You wanna have some fun???
Katsuki looked at Izuku’s door and thought about him wearing that smile all the way into bed.
Nah. Callin it in for the night.
L aw, raincheck then?
Fuck, he turned down an easy lay for a boy who kissed him. Kissed him, held his hands, and smiled stupidly whenever they broke apart. He went home thinking about it, their kiss, Izuku’s bent hand, and how to sneak him off throughout their shift to get in some more cause, damn. That boy could kiss.
It was a slow Tuesday morning at Six Flags, so naturally you could find Katsuki neglecting his job—oh, how not surprising— and summoning the courage and the ego to march past the Looney Tunes sign. The kiss happened a week ago. Izuku acted like his general dog saving self and called Katsuki ‘dude’ and ‘man’ with the same bro-dude vibe as though they didn’t get hot, heavy, and handsy on the playground.
Usually this would be a blessing, right? No consequences for his action. He still had his friendship with Izuku. No weird vibes. No sudden ‘what am I to you, Katsuki?’. Risk-free. Romance free. Commitment-free.
Life could continue on. Derby matches. Last nights with a blunt and the guys. A new person under him every other weekend. The perfect life.
Still, Katsuki walked under the copper sun, hot under his uniform, palms clammy as he worked out his lines. Look, he wanted someone to kiss right now and Izuku happened to be decent—fine, out of this world good—kisser, and Katsuki just figured he would ask him. If there happened to be someone here that he could kiss then he would ask them.
It just somehow, magically, mysteriously worked out for him that someone turned out to be Izuku.
Izuku faced away from the counter, checking the ice cream machine as he used the step ladder and peered down the top. He huffed with exertion, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and got back to messing with the machine. Izuku wore cargo shorts today, and Katsuki spent a shameless minute staring at the back of his calves and thighs as the muscles under them tensed and flexed with his movements.
He drummed his knuckles in a random beat, starling Izuku. “Yo, payin’ customer here.”
Izuku climbed down the steps, cleaning his hand with a cloth. “Oh where are my manners? Lord Bakugou, thank you for gracing us mortals with your presence.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Okay, dork, what’s going on?”
“It’s a slow day,” Katsuki commented.
“Well it’s the usual for Tuesdays.”
He bit his lip, dropped his eyes to Izuku’s, then looked into his sun-bright eyes. “Yea,” he purred.
Izuku processed it. “Are you trying to get me to neglect my duties and go somewhere and kiss you?”
He looked around the amusement park. “Ha, yea.”
“I’m a good employee. I couldn’t.”
“Not even for me?”
He shrugged, not tempted slightly by the offer or so he would have Katsuki believe if his poker face wasn’t completely transparent and excruciatingly obvious that even people without sight could read through his act. “I dunno,” he said in a mousy voice.
“Not even for,” Katsuki peeked behind his shoulders, then slipped out a stick from his front pocket. ”Say, a blunt?”
“You’re such a bad security guard, haha.”
He moved it back and forth. “I don’t hear a ‘no’.”
Izuku tipped his head, tapping his chin. “Mmm, so I get to kiss a boy and smoke?”
“Yea. Consider yourself lucky, Izuku.”
“I’ll take the blunt. I’m iffy on the kissing.”
“Try saying that when I kiss you.”
“Oh, I will,” said Izuku, confidently.
Several minutes later, Izuku lost interest in the joint and, mouth still flavored with smoke, pressed his lips to Katsuki’s in the car. Katsuki smirked into the kiss, so full of himself and, honestly, cocky guys weren’t Izuku’s type. Loud guys weren’t his type. Bad boys weren’t his type.
Which was a little bit funny in retrospect because he just pushed back Katsuki’s seat to straddle his lap and maul his face with a fever. With this itch in his skin. With this heat in his belly.
So for someone who went on and on about ‘I don’t like guys like him’, he was making a rather poor case against it.
Katsuki drew back, mouth swollen pretty and red like it did after a derby match, and hovered. By the white of his teeth showing with a smirk, Izuku braced his mind and body for sassy comment.
Katsuki licked his lips. Locked in the quiet of the Mustang, the action had volume.
It really shouldn’t be something attractive—hearing someone swallow or trace spit but Katsuki kind of disobeyed the laws of nature.
“Still iffy?” He asked, priding himself on Izuku’s laborious breath, his flushed cheekbones, his finger mussed hair, the obvious tenting of his cock in his shorts. None of which would be improving anytime soon because Izuku couldn’t get past him. Couldn’t get Katsuki out of his system. Couldn’t stop himself from reaching for him even with the mounting evidence of Katsuki’s fuckboy tendencies.
“Katsuki, shut your big mouth and kiss me.”
So here was Baku’s game plan when it came to getting laid.
One, ask. People liked when you’re honest and upfront about everything and sometimes they’re looking for the same thing.
Side note; don’t get salty and start calling them every name in the book because your ass couldn’t seal the deal. Move on
Two, make out. A lot. Girls got wet. Guys got hard. Do we understand the concept of preheating an oven before stuffing the frozen pizza in? Foreplay worked like that.
Three, get physical. Sex. Lube up. Rubber up. Slide inside and have yourself a good time. Repeat this as often as need, ha. Get it? Cause sex was…fine you got it.
So Katsuki knew the roadmap to getting ass. Fine tuned it. Made it a fucking art form.
And, let be frank and not play fucking games, he wanted to fuck Izuku. Bad. So, so, sooooo. Bad. This guy had him twisted, you hear? Car going 180mph into a pole and wrapping around the metal, bad. He wanted Izuku in every position known to man. Wanted to lick and grope him head to toe. Make him come with his cock, his tongue, and his mouth. Make him cry with his tongue in his ass. Bounce him up and down on his cock like a bouncy house. Paint him with his come.
God, he wanted to do the foulest things to him, okay? He wanted Izuku un-right when they were done. Crooked. Slanted. Shifted. Limping. Titling.
So how was it that when Katsuki and Izuku giggled their way into his house and down the shadowy steps to the basement, they fell in front of his TV and watched a ‘Goofy Movie’ from start to end with hand holding and a wet kiss or two.
How was it that Izuku slept on top of him and Katsuki left it at that. No fancy tricks. No dirty words in his ear. Just his hand carding through that wild hair, learning the shape of his skull, memorizing the freckles on his face, counting the time between each breath, dealing with his dead weight, his twitchy fingers, the brief shift in his body as he wiggled in his sleep.
How was that Katsuki slept with the one person he wanted to fuck more than anyone else and not follow through with the fucking.
How was that he felt well rested in the morning even though he wasted the whole night staring at this prick.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku said, waking up. Light beamed in through the small windows. “I fell asleep.” Yawn. “Shoulda…asked me to move.”
“I fell asleep before you,” Katsuki lied. “So it’s cool.”
Izuku folded his hands on his chest, propped his freckled chin on top, deciding to stay right there even with the morning light stripping away the premise of lazing about. “Can I say it’s so funny that you have the ‘Goofy’ movie on Blu-ray?”
Katsuki rubbed his eye. “You could say that shit but then I wouldn’t take your sassy ass to Denny’s for good ass food.”
“Then I guess I won’t say it.”
“Smart,” he chuckled, watching Izuku rise and dip on his chest. He had to piss like you wouldn’t believe, but he could manage it. It seemed like a moment you wouldn’t break. Like bubbles in the air. One move and—pop! Gone. No take backs.
“You’re a jerk and your breath stinks.”
“Gimme a kiss.”
“Ew,” Izuku laughed, smooshing Katsuki’s mouth from completing the action. He tried to wiggle off but Katsuki worked three steps ahead of him and knotted his thick legs over his and lassoed his arms around his waist. “No. It’s so gross.”
“Ugh,” Izuku sighed, fondly, and unsmooshed his mouth. “There. Kiss me, then buy me Denny’s.”
“Demanding,” he mumbled, voice dipped in a deep morning rumble, and tipped his head up, finding Izuku’s mouth meeting him eagerly halfway. Katsuki didn’t keep it clean. Licked his lip until Izuku figured it out via tonguing to part them.
Izuku moaned, and what a bad time to remember his woody morning and his urgent need to pee. “Katsuki.”
“Wait, wait.” He pushed on his shoulders. “I really have to piss.” Izuku looked at him with low-lidded eyes like a fucking sinner, and mouthed wetly down the side of his neck with this insanely throaty groan. Katsuki grabbed his ass on instinct and lolled his head to the side to give Izuku more room to mouth until their hips pressed and, yea, pee time and boner time did not overlap well.
“Fuck,” he moaned, pressing again. “One minute, okay?”
“I have to go too.”
“Okay. Me first, then you. Then makeout. Then Denny’s.”
“You always get to go first,” Izuku whined.
“Bitch, it’s my house.”
“Your parents, actually.”
“No, please. I’ll be a good boy.”
“Can I get anything else for you?” The waitress, Rachel, asked Katsuki specifically.
She angled her slender body in his direction. Popped the two top buttons on her uniform, and reapplied her lip gloss between the time of taking their order and running to the back for their drinks. Katsuki only noticed the gloss because the sun glared off it in the corner of his vision and it distracted him from watching Izuku as he shortened his lifespan with five packets of sugar.
“What?” Izuku giggled, stirring.
Rachel coughed, and gained both of their attention.
Izuku answered. “Oh we’re fine. Thank you.”
Rachel fidgeted on the spot, tapping her glossy acrylic nails on the notepad, baffled that hottie with a body totally glanced past her. No double takes. No triples. Rachel prided herself on triple takes, okay? Those 700k followers on Instagram weren’t there solely for her brain or love of animals or the occasional, accidental professional picturesque photos of L.A.
Stuff like this never happened in her world since seventh grade.
Hottie pushed Freckle Boy’s pre-wrapped fork and butter knife off the table with a smirk.
Freckle boy sighed, shaking his head and putting it back on the table.
Hottie knocked it down again, his smile wider.
Then she got it. “Oh.”
He’s gay, she thought with relief. For a minute, she worried she was losing her touch. Thank god. Crisis averted.
Both looked at her with surprise, almost as though they had forgotten her completely and fell back into each other.
“Uh. I’ll go check on your order. Be right back. Bye!”
Izuku’s skates hummed. His heart hammered violently in his body that he could hear it inside his ears. Sweat crawled down the bridge of his nose. Denki shoved a blocker, and Izuku raced through the opening, head snapping back from an elbow to his face . He yelped and cupped his nose, but otherwise, remained on his skates. The blocker reared his arm back.
Katsuki barreled into him and rolled the blocker over the rails. The crowd stumbled back, laughing as a few landed on their ass
Yamada howled into the mic. “Katsuki loves a little audience participation.”
Katsuki pulled up beside him. “Deku, keep your ass moving!”
“We’re moving up the bracket, my dudes,” said Eijirou, looking up the dry eraser board.
Izuku read over the teams, one in particular caught his eye among the dozen of derby teams. “There’s a team called ‘The Villains’?”
Katsuki crossed his arms. “Yea,” he answered. His clip tone suggested more than a little bad blood happened between their teams.
Izuku bumped into Katsuki to dislodge the grumpy frown.
A shift of emotions passed in his caramel apple eyes.
“Let’s grab a bite,” he said, in a low close to a whisper like the empty derby rink had some level or reverence like a church, but really, the halls were echo-y and dark and stank of man sweat and old pennies.
Katsuki shrugged, then started walking. It was funny how Katsuki didn’t need to say certain things to Izuku. No ‘follow me’. ‘Go with me’. ‘Chill with me’. Izuku just knew when Katsuki wanted him near, and so he walked too. His skates dangled from the knot he crafted. His nose pulsed with pain if he wiggled it or sneezed, but he didn’t bleed this time. And in his book, that was a win.
“Fuck yea. Food!” Eijirou cheered.
Hanta stretched his arms. “As long as I don’t have to do anything more than chew then I’m down.”
“You assholes are chipping in, okay? I’m already paying for the gas.”
Denki gestured loosely, hardly hearing much of Katsuki’s rant. “Yea, yea. We get it.”
Shouto said. “I think you’re the one person who never chips in.”
“Holy shit,” Eijirou gasped, “That’s so true now that I’m thinking about it. You never put in money. You always have some bullshit excuse.”
“I paid that time we went to Chili’s.”
“Bitch. You did not.”
“What about at Applebee’s, huh? I paid.”
“A dollar,” Shouto reminded him.
Izuku walked backward. “I don’t get it. You do the most hours, how do you not have cash?”
Katsuki snorted. “Weed.”
“Which I graciously share with you ungrateful assholes!”
“Babe, you smoke by yourself.”
“Defend my honor, Eijirou. I’m your man. Defend me from the accusers.”
I dunno, man
Sometimes I kinda look at him and think
About me falling in the trash
Kinda like I’m diving off the hull of a plane without a chute and
Heart engaged in a marathon
I dunno, man
It’s like I’m in the dumpster again
World flipped upside down
I dunno, man
But there’s some shit about
The shove to his side jarred Katsuki back to the darkroom and the glowing TV. Hanta snored on the carpet. Cutely gross even in a dead sleep, Eijirou and Denki passed out in front of the TV side by side, mouths drooling on the pillows and their hands lanced. Shouto’s head lulled to the side occasionally as he fought the tempting pull of sleep.
Izuku whispered with a million dollar smile. “Where did you go off too?”
“I asked you if you wanted to watch something else, but you kinda stared off,” he said, then pointed at the black screen and the crawling scrolls of credits. “The movie ended.”
“Oh,” he said.
His brain rebooted the last couple of hours of the spontaneous guy’s night turned grown guy’s sleepover and their loud movie binge, where they missed large portions of the movie as they talked and cracked jokes at each other’s expense.
His parents were probably grateful for the noise reduction. “Yea. Pick whatever, doesn’t matter.”
Katsuki pulled a severe face, gritted with a grave growl. “No.”
“I’m kidding. Of course, I meant ‘Happy Feet’. I know about your deep love for penguins.”
“I told you I fell asleep watching that documentary.”
“Okay,” Izuku chirped and bobbed his head
“It’s the truth,” he insisted.
“Yup, yup,” he agreed politely—too polite, suspiciously polite, questionably polite; with the suggestion that he didn’t quite believe Katsuki’s 100% true, no altered facts, legitimate story— and bobbed again , popping the ‘p’ like a person who chewed their gum open-mouthed.
Maybe Katsuki should put Izuku’s stupid, cute ass into a trashcan and save himself a headache.
There’s something about
Now beer at his home was a no go. His parents hardly minded the weed, with it being legal and all and it favored better than cigarettes health-wise in the long run. Plus, it wasn’t exactly legal for him to be drinking or to be buying a six-pack at the liquor store but as far as the store clerk knew, from his fake ID crafted flawlessly by Minoru, Katsuki was well above the legal drinking age. 27, actually, born in the year 1990. Organ donor.
Mom and dad were out though, on a couple’s night. Going off previous couples’ night, his mom got hammered and horny and wrestled his old man up to the bedroom the second they stepped through the door. So Katsuki didn’t have to worry about any late night visitors dropping by to the basement.
It would be a safe two to three hours before they’d come back anyway. They could kill the pack by then and drift through the buzz the rest of the night.
His cell phone vibrated on the table, shifting across the water rings stained into the wood. Katsuki glared at it cause it now required him to actually move his body when just got his chill now. A DM from his Instagram. A winky emoji with the offer of ‘honey u gorgeous. Wanna get with a real woman?’
On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole would it make him if he messaged back saying he was hunting for a man; maybe a little blowjob he wasn’t picky.
So about a ten, right, on the asshole scale?
Katsuki closed out the message. Her profile pic was favorable. A busty bottle blonde with small dark eyes and a Cali tan salon orange.
Izuku scratched his back and the hem of his shirt lifted, dangling, and the bit of skin peeking under it was a soft lavender. That bruise was fucking nasty the day after, understandable because the blocker who gave it to him weighed in at two hundred pounds. A fact Katsuki didn’t compute into the calculator when Izuku hit the ground and stood there for a solid minute. He was frozen solid with the crowd, on life support, waiting for that punk to bounce back with his stupid smile, but it didn’t come. It didn’t come, so Katsuki starting coming for the two hundred pound gym rat, cause, son.
Did you just fucking lay hands on his boy like that?
Did you think you can play that game around Katsuki?
Like I know you did not just do that, shit, or we’re gonna have a lot of issues right now and said issues were going to be fists.
Yea, it was derby, but fuck Izuku was half his size. Shit, Katsuki had self-restraint against petite guys. Katsuki decked those guys, not laid them out into an early funeral.
So just like someone with a short fuse and an inability to calm his shit and think as normal people do in situations such as these, and fisted the guy’s collar, jerking all that 200 pounds to his body for the punch he started to chamber. Then, no smarter than an animal, the fury receded, clarity banked the shores of his mind when Izuku called his name from the floor.
The move earned him a strike, a lecture from Shouto, and Izuku smiling at him throughout the match with a split lip as he bounced back hit after hit. As though Katsuki needed it for his mental well-being. To know little dumbass Izuku could take the hits and keep going.
Pfft, like he was so fucking fragile and mercurial and temperamental…oh.
You know there was such a thing as being so nice it transcended retroactively into asshole territory?
“Hey, you got any tats?” Katsuki asked, curiously, sucking off the beer residue off his bottom lip.
He had one. Katsuki spotted a curious hint of ink of black lines and color when Izuku used the urinal at work.
“One, and its embarrassing and I won’t tell you.”
Katsuki braced his arm on the back of the sofa, cornered Izuku against the arm of it, and licked across his lip. Worked them slow and sweet, and smirked to himself when Izuku moaned, fingers digging greedily into the back of his shirt, and said, “Okay. I’ll tell you.”
Objective completed, Katsuki slumped back. “Fucking easy.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. You’re a good kisser.”
Katsuki tipped his beer. The smirk sketching laugh lines around his mouth nuclear levels of obnoxious. “I know. Thanks.”
He saw the square of the TV miniature size and glowing in the gloss of Izuku’s eyes before he rolled them, and laughed. “Ugh, you make the grossest face whenever you get a compliment.”
“Hater, man,” Katsuki adopted a Cali surfer accent, playing it up in response the hilarious way Izuku cupped his ears. “Such a fucking hater,” this one was said at a close range, boxing Izuku under his body when he tried to vault over the armrest. “Damn, Izuku, always hating.”
Izuku tried muting Katsuki’s mouth and clapped both hands over Katsuki’s mouth as he prattled on and on, too hyped by Izuku’s reactions to let the opportunity to annoy him pass.
Ha, muting. Katsuki? Get the fuck outta here, the King of the L.A. Biggest fucking mouth.
“Oh my god, I won’t kiss you ever if you keep talking like that.”
Let’s not get fucking mental here.
“You’re impossible.” Izuku’s arms fell on either side of him as he sighed; half of his face was illuminated by the blue glow of the TV. The other half shadowed over.
It seemed fitting, the light and the dark since Izuku radiated nothing but sunshine, blue skies, and green lawns. But under the right conditions, those bubbly vibes shifted into lightning bolts, roaring waves, the rich moss festering like a virus over the bumpy surface of a cool rock.
The pretense of holding Izuku hostage under his heavy body ended—Izuku surrendered, the cheap joke ran through its usefulness. Backing off to his side of the sofa didn’t come to him as an option at any point and Izuku passed a puff of air through his pursed lips once Katsuki landed his heavy weight on top.
“I know.” He overlapped his hands and pillowed his chin on them. “It’s like God made me perfect or something. And before your tricky ass tries to change the subject, that tattoo story.” Katsuki lifted his head and counted off his demands with his fingers. “I want the story, price, design.”
Katsuki had front seats to the show that was Izuku’s little pout being rolled and nibbled on. “It’s a, uh,” He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as he said, “It’s a unicorn.”
Katsuki’s jaw slackened. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m not lying.”
“On your hip?” The dance of ink over freckled skin was a unicorn? Of all the things to get.
Izuku forgot his own embarrassment. “Yea. How did you know—”
“Dude, what the fuck.”
Never mind, it returned. “I was…kinda drunk and high when I got it. Some guy at the party offered to tat everyone and I dunno, I went for it. Thought I was being so cool for getting something non-macho.”
“I need to see it.” Katsuki crawled off. “I need to, Izuku. Like fucking have to.”
“Look you know that’s a fucking order I can’t fill.”
Izuku groaned, rubbing his face. “Can’t believe I’m about to show you.”
Izuku dipped his thumb into the waistband of his jeans and briefs and inched the fabric down a good length. True to the story, a unicorn pranced there in the space of his pelvis, horn poking where the bone of his hip protruded outward. It was cute. Soft pastel colors in the pony’s mane. White coat. Gold hooves. The skin around it freckled artfully.
Katsuki could see the tuft of pubic hair slithering from his navel to the flaccid base of his dick.
“Sexy,” Katsuki scooted on the sofa, and traced the tattoo. The shiver it prompted did not to stop him from continuing, smoothed out more tentative swipes of his fingers over it.
“Katsuki,” Izuku breathed.
He kissed it next, inhaling hard through his nose at the taste, the warmth of Izuku’s skin, the sound of Izuku shoving his clothes to the tops of his thighs, his fingers gliding through his hair. Oh fuck, he was gonna ask actually for it. To suck him off and everything, and Izuku was already so on board, and god he wanted him. Wanted to make Izuku feel so good. Wanted Izuku looking down on him while he sucked it.
“Wanna get your dick sucked?” And shit. Shit man. Katsuki fancied himself as a damn pro when it came to these things, but he didn’t feel like one when he dragged his eyes up. His knees turned to iron, because Izuku looked good up there. Hot. Sexy. Beautiful. Green eyes ensnaring Katsuki. Cheeks pink.
Izuku looked good for a guy about to get his dick sucked. Kind of a feat actually. A lot of guys had a dumb gaping expression as they looked down.
“Yea. Please.” Izuku chewed his lip, and Katsuki lived for the little gloss of saliva catching the light of the TV.
‘Please’. Fuck, if anyone should be begging, it was Katsuki. He needed that cock in his mouth like weeks ago.
Katsuki pecked a soft kiss on his hip bone, then laved it over with his tongue sloppily. “Damn, Izuku.”
Izuku humped his hips mindlessly. “Ah.”
Katsuki got off the sofa, sank to his knees, and tugged Izuku’s jeans lower.
His cock twitched. Izuku squeezed himself for some relief, not managing well with his legs spread apart and Katsuki looking up, eyes dark.
Katsuki had a beer and a half at the most and it was too early to the buzz to be going through him. Too early for the heat to be slowing his limbs and warming his skin. Too early to be this heavy with it. To be diamond hard.
He shouldn’t be this fucked up.
Should not be this horny at the feeling of his lips dragging over Izuku’s thigh.
Should suck dick, because that was the objective here, but his mouth latched onto his thighs and sucked hard enough to match a hickey to the multiple bruises on them.
“Gonna milk you fucking dry, man,” he rasped over Izuku’s thigh.
Izuku gave a soft moan as he watched, cock pulsing. “J-jesus. Can’t talk like that or I won’t last once you get started.”
His brain was seriously not getting any blood at this point. Shit, his heart too. Cause he had all of it traveling fast and thick to his cock. Someone should get Guinness World Record over here because Katsuki was the one man in American living and breathing with all his blood in his dick.
It took a minute to get his mouth operative again so he could talk. “You wanna be in my mouth for a while?”
“Yes,” said Izuku with a heaving breath, with his chest collapsing, with his dick red and glossy.
And there were words out there to describe Izuku right now. Good ones. Eloquent ones. Hot ones. But Katsuki was operating on 25%, maybe declining to a disastrous 10%, brain power, and a small portion of it went to keeping his heartbeat and air in his lungs. So anymore work would put his account in the negative and Katsuki couldn’t afford it.
Maybe on Black Friday, you know?
“Kacchan. Please, baby, I want your mouth.”
So no one panic but he might actually die sucking him off but that was okay. Cool. Just don’t write it on his death certificate . Put massive blood loss or something or everyone would think he was a noob who couldn’t handle a cock.
Katsuki braced his elbows on the edge of the sofa, and wrapped his hand around Izuku’s dick.
Izuku whined, head tipping back so Katsuki saw only the bottom of his jaw and the pronounced curve of his Adam apple moving with a swallow.
What. A. View.
Katsuki leaned forward, angling Izuku’s cock and meeting it with a peck.
“Yes,” Izuku smacked the cushion.
Katsuki dragged his lips back and forth over the tip. “Fuck, dude. You gotta chill.”
Like Katsuki had any right to speak on the manner. We see you. Katsuki. Don’t lie to us.
Izuku opened his mouth and whimpered. “I can’t.”
Man, it was such a good thing Katsuki decided to do this on the ground because that shit would’ve floored him had he been up there.
You know, what? Fuck the foreplay. Fuck the tease. Fuck this hint of what Izuku might feel as he slapped his cock against his tongue.
Katsuki swallowed him down.
Izuku didn’t plan apparently for it because he moaned loud, twitching violently on the sofa, absolutely torn between fucking into Katsuki’s mouth and experiencing it passively under his direction.
Izuku’s stomach sucked in and out. “Yes. Yes. Please, Kacchan. Like that, please. Fuck, please.”
Katsuki bobbed, already planning to do it ‘like that’ without the invitation, and worked Izuku like he was three months behind on his rent. He opened his eyes and smirked around the red head of Izuku’s cock.
“Nice dick, Deku,” he laughed, throatily.
Izuku slumped like a corpse, looking at Katsuki’s spit glossed smile. “Katsuki.”
“Think I’m going to be sucking this thing for a while too. Even if you come, man, I’m gonna suck this thing until I’m done.”
“You want that?”
“I want everything.”
“Everything?” Katsuki breathed out a chuckle through his nose. “Greedy asshole.”
“Yea,” he agreed.
“Wanna be taking all of me for your damn self.”
Izuku moaned a low, filthy, resounding, I ain’t got any manners my momma taught me. “Yes.”
Katsuki sucked him cruelly, taking Izuku in and out fast, then stopped. “Fucking selfish, man. Fucking rude.”
“I am. I’m selfish.”
Izuku was murdering him.
Someone call 9-1-1.
This blowjob was, laughably, spiraling out of control.
Katsuki went back to sucking his dick, slurping up pre-cum, twisting his hand at the base, and drowned in the taste of Izuku, in the way his cock filled his mouth, in the way he struggled to breathe and lick and moan. Fingers split through his hair and rested comfortably on the back of his head.
Izuku’s hand moved with him, not in any way controlling how fast or slow he bobbed on his dick but there for the ride. For the feeling of Katsuki’s head moving back and forth on his cock.
“You gotta, ha, gotta stop. I’m close.”
Katsuki informed him kindly about his stance on the situation. “Fucking don’t care. Come.”
Izuku spilled into his mouth, gasping Katsuki’s name.
Katsuki kissed his slowly softening cock on the head.
“Think I said I was gonna keep going, right?”
Izuku’s head hit the back of the sofa hard and bucked again into his mouth. “Fuck. Katsuki. Katsuki.”
With the lights and the sounds off, the park no longer looked welcoming. The moon slanted over the metal shutter doors, the empty stores, the old wood of the American Eagle and the Cobra, the new metal over the next gene rides, the carousel’s many magical creatures.
The painted eyes of a silver stallion followed Katsuki as he passed it. The stallion’s front hooves kicked the air, glittery and gold. Its massive mane flowed like the wind was moving it.
Izuku glanced and pointed at the red dragon on the second floor, saying something about how he always picked that one whenever he came to Six Flags as a kid and how he imagined, with some mild embarrassment, that he was a dragon rider and off to do battle with evil dragon rider.
“It’s kinda silly, I know,” Izuku confessed as he looked at the man created pond. “But it was my favorite thing to do here. Other than eating a ton of sugar. I guess it’s lame. Cause kids usually want to go on the fast rides and everything.”
“Why? You act like dragons aren’t cool as fuck. Excuse the shit outta me, but Game of Thrones? You were ahead of everyone else.”
Izuku ducked his head with a shy smile. “I used to have a dragon encyclopedia book.”
“No fucking way.”
“I think I might still have it, actually. In the garage or something.”
“Find it,” he said in an overly dramatized voice.
He laughed, gait kind of turning sloppy as he tripped over his own feet. “It’s for kids, you know.”
“C’mon, Deku, when the fuck do we act like adults, for real.”
Izuku glanced at the sky in a telling attempt to avoid commenting on that statement. Katsuki walked into his space and hovered close until Izuku had no options but to cave in.
He popped his lips, uncomfortable. “…Well I didn’t feel right calling you out.”
I’m fucking sorry, but come again? Fly that noise right by him once more.
“Me? Bitch, you are not more mature than me.”
“I beg to differ. I am way more mature than you.”
Katsuki touched his chest. “The fuck is this?”
One pointy canine dented cutely on Izuku’s bottom lip. “You are so loud, you know that.”
“The fuck is this?” Katsuki raised his voice. “I’m immature? Me? Fucking me?”
He could and would admit on occasion, that him, the great Katsuki, had the tendencies to be a tiny bit over the top. Just a bit. Once in a blue moon. Everyone was allowed it. But Izuku exacerbated these tendencies to such an extreme that Katsuki often wondered how and when he permitted this nerd to downgrade his cool guy levels.
“You literally stand by my booth and make noises with your armpit.”
“And you laugh, what the fuck. Shit, I thought I knew you, man. Deku. I thought we had something here. The fuck.”
“And you get crazy road rage when we play bumper cars. That kid cried.”
“It’s not road rage. It’s called winning. And that little shit bumped my car. I don’t play those games. You bump me in bumper cars and I’m fucking coming for you and your family and your pets. There’s fucking blood in the water and I’m the shark.”
Izuku pressed his knuckles to his chin, small mouth pursed in thought, and gave a contemplative hum, then nodded. “…And you’re mature how?”
“Sorry. I don’t talk to losers. Bye.”
Izuku gasped, “Katsuki.”
He walked ahead. “Nope. Bye.”
Izuku’s sneakers pounded the concrete to bridge the gap. “Nooo. Talk to me,” he whined.
Katsuki cupped his ear. “Sorry, was that a loser begging for the king to grant him an audience?”
“Ugh. Fine. Can I talk to the king?”
“Not with that fucking sass.”
Izuku tried once more with minimally less sass. “Can I talk to the great king Katsuki?”
“Still a lot of fucking attitude but sure.”
Shouto sped past them, judging their conversation harshly. “Fucking honestly. Such an embarrassment,” he told them.
Izuku turned his head. “Did we just get treated?”
“He’s mad that you’re my new bestie.”
Eijirou ran toward the employee’s exit. “Wooo. Dave and Busters! Dave and Busters!”
“Tell your boyfriend to shut up,” Neito complained.
Denki screamed in Neito’s ear.
Neito cringed. “What is wrong with you?
“Tell my man to shut up,” Denki mocked. “Sorry, but who do you think you is? We’re fucking so pumped and we’re gonna stay at a hundred all night long. Dave and Buster!”
“It’s gonna be, wait for it, lit,” Eijirou said.
Katsuki and the Six Flags crew gathered under the one light post that didn’t flicker sporadically. The rest of the lot was empty except for the few people in upper management who stayed behind to lock up the park.
“Look, my car ain’t that big.” Katsuki leaned off the cold metal. “How we doing this?”
If they were creative and you didn’t care too much for safety or a comfortable ride, then they could manage seven people in his car. Now the whole crew? There was no way unless they wanted to convert the Stang into a carnival clown car.
“I have a Navigator,” Momo tossed out there.
All conversations—sides, off-handed, main—ceased. Heads turned in perfect unison to her, the effect eerily similar to a horror movie. The crew stared. Blank judgment. Momo shifted on the spot.
Kyouka spared Momo of the pending heart attack, and asked, voice mildly incredulous and amazed. “…You drive a Lincoln?”
They all saw it in the lot, but never witnessed the driver come in and out of it and they went under the assumption that the gleaming, impeccable diamond black Navigator belonged to Aizawa. Given the absurd amount of hours he scheduled in and his ‘economical’—ahem, cheap, like buying DVDs and clothing from the clearance section cheap— spending habit, it fit the bill. Plus the guy seemed so far up his pretentious asshole that he would purchase such an elitists car.
Momo explained quickly. “It’s my dad’s! Well, until he gets the 2018 model and then it will be mine…Why are you guys looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” Ochako assured.
Mei groused. “My daddy let me have his busted car as long as I could fix it up myself.”
Mina turned to her. “Did you?”
“Of course but still, what if I wasn’t good at fixing stuff?”
Tsuyu said. “That’s actually a useful skill though. I only know where to put the gas pump in.”
“Girlfriends, I’ll totally teach you everything there is to know about cars.”
Katsuki muttered bitterly to Shouto. “A fucking Lincoln. My mom won’t share her Reese’s with me but her dad borrows her the Lincoln.”
“My dad is so cheap that half of the gifts I get are his hand me downs. The TV? His until he bought a thousand dollar curved one. My laptop? His until he bought a five thousand dollar Mac. Same with this iPhone. He got the seven plus.”
“At least your shit is expensive. My mom goes to Walmart, dude.”
Izuku piped up, quietly. “My mom goes to the resale shop.”
“…So you win?” Katsuki questioned then groaned when both Shouto and Izuku pinched him. “It was a question, fuck sake.”
The crew settled at their table, the cute waitress Becca winked at Katsuki before she took off to get their drinks. Katsuki propped his face with his fist and scanned the menu. They all got wings every time they came to Dave and Buster’s, except for Momo and Tsuyu who were vegan and chose the vegan options off the menu. He still liked to check over the options.
Becca sauntered back with two trays balanced expertly on the center of her palm. The crew cheered. Minoru grabbed a tray to help her, and sneaked a not so covert peek to the show of cleavage. Becca hardly minded it because she engaged Katsuki with a honey sweet small.
“How’s it going sugar?”
Katsuki hummed. “Good. You?”
“My night just got better.”
“That’s cool,” he said, attention turning divided when Izuku tapped his elbow and asked for his recommendations.
Becca brushed the side of her breast against Katsuki’s arm.
Katsuki noticed. “My bad,” and leaned over Izuku and pointed at the menu.
Minoru’s grip nearly shattered his glass of Mountain Dew. It was so like Katsuki to have beautiful girls flaunt themselves for his attention just to deflect off their sexy attempts without any remorse or care. The scoundrel. Minoru would’ve treated uh, what was her name—ah, Becca, like the very queen she was and so rightly warranted.
But no. She wanted stupid Katsuki with his ripped, tatted, sculpted arms; with his crooked, dirty, proud smile; with his platinum blond hair; with his Ocean Eleven cool guy voice; with his annoying badass black Mustang.
Why was he even friends with this guy? Like seriously, he was so in love with Izuku and it was so insulting that women still fluttered to him even with the glaring evidence standing in front of them.
Hanta asked. “You alright there, man?”
“Some men don’t deserve women,” Minoru said.
“…Look if you ask for nudes after a date then you’re not going to get far with any girl. You gotta, like, be chill man and build trust with her and get to know her. Then you ask for nudes.”
Itsuka rolled her eyes. “You guys are assholes.”
Neito snorted with superiority. “Must be difficult for you guys. I have women constantly flooding my DMs with offers. It’s almost too much for a man.”
“By women, he means those fucking scam bots that message with ‘you want to see big titties? send thousand to my paypal account’.”
Hanta howled, rocking the table as he smacked it with his hand. “No way, man.”
Denki shouted. “What, what’s funny?”
“This dumbass got fucking wrecked, dude, by a scam bot.”
“That’s fucking awesome,” Denki laughed.
“I only fell for that once. Once. And yet you still bring it up,” Neito argued.
Itsuka sighed. “Because you’re an idiot who will pay a stranger a hundred bucks for pics when there’s literally free porn everywhere.”
Mezo broke the paper seal on his straw. “She has a point. PornHub is your friend. Or you can do cam girls like Mashirao.”
Mashirao snorted water out his nose. “I-I-I.”
“Damn, dude. Give me some recs.”
“I don’t. I don’t do that.”
“He’s lying,” Mezo teased.
“Stop that. Oh my god. I can’t even look at a woman like that. I feel so awkward, you know. Like I don’t know a single thing about her like what makes her smile or if she likes to read books or not. And she just has everything out there for me when I didn’t earn her trust.”
“…Dude, they get paid. It’s their career,” Hanta explained.
Ibara sipped her iced tea. “I wish more guys like you commented on my Instagram. That’s so sweet.”
Minoru looked offended. “Girls like that?”
Ochako balled up her paper and chucked it. “Shut up.”
Becca bent over the table, strategically positioned so Katsuki’s line of sight, if he decided to glance forward from that one guy, would fall perfectly to the deepening V of her button down polo. “How are all ya drinks? Any refills? No, okay. Did you guys decide on what ya ordering?”
Katsuki handed Denki back his phone, shaking his head. “That’s a fucking dog, dumbass.”
“It’s chupacabra and we’re not safe in L.A. anymore. We must flee.”
Eijirou squinted at the screen. “Babe, that’s a rat.”
“Why does no one believe me?”
Shouto looked too. “That’s a rat.”
Izuku hummed in agreement. “Rat.”
“Oh, okay, so when this thing comes and murders us then I’m blaming you all.”
Ochako smiled with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Becca. Could you give us a few more minutes?”
Becca winked flirtatiously. “No problem, cher.”
Ochako did a double take at Becca’s retreating and generous behind, then narrowed her eyes at the table as she reevaluated her life. A girl was entitled to a few gay thoughts, right? Curiosity was a natural part of life but that curiosity seemed to linger longer and longer each time a pretty girl passed by.
“I think I might be kinda gay ,” she realized. “How do you know if you’re gay or bi for sure?
Tsuyu laughed. “Oh. I know I’m gay.”
Mina said. “Well, if you feel you’re attracted to both then you might like both. The best way is to try dating a girl after you tell her that you’re curious and confused. Don’t be that girl who experiments and breaks hearts. Be open about your confusion so she knows where you’re coming from.”
Momo nodded. “Yea. Me and Kyouka kissed to see if we liked girls after we talked about it.”
Shouto peeked over in interest once then acted as though he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on their conversation by placing his elbows on the table as he tapped on his phone. It provided the perfect cover to look behind it at Momo.
“We’re both straight,” Kyouka informed. “Sadly.”
He breathed in relief. Thank god. He still had a chance with her.
“But we did make a pact to marry each other if we’re both single by age forty.”
Minoru threw up his hands in expiration. Now he had to compete against girls as well. The world was cruel.
Shouto made a note to himself to get on that.
They’re having a good time, honestly. Katsuki won’t go far to say he liked to socialize in large groups. He had the people who leveled him out and didn’t drive him into insanity and that seemed fine for him. But it was good to be part of this makeshift ‘family’, and he used that term loosely, they’re all people in the same shit together that banded out of sheer desperation to share the fucking plight of their job with someone else. Katsuki could count on his finger how many of them he would still keep in contact with when he left, and that was not including his main friends.
But there was something pleasant and warm about being in the middle of a group of people.
And this was the feeling he had in his body when it happened.
Question—have you ever seen those wildlife documentaries on Animal Planet?
Ever seen the pride of lions blend into the tall stock of golden foliage, the herd of herbivores picking slowing at the ground, the moment when the herd sense it, the threat, before the lions race out into the open?
It kind of went down like that.
Them, the herd of polite herbivores minding their own business at their table.
And the predators, walking to their table.
Katsuki picked up on the shift in the air. The scent of an intruder.
Katsuki kicked back his chair and marched to the head lion of the pride, Dabi.
“You Universal Studio motherfuckers.” It was by quick reflexes of Eijirou that Katsuki didn’t complete his path and cock his fist straight into Dabi’s perfect, white teeth. “Thought I said this is our land.”
Dabi had a way of sneering at you without changing his face. He always looked so cool and impassive as if the world never impressed him. “Ah, the crew from Six Flags, slumming it up. Did one of your rides shut down again?”
“Maybe that job pays minimum wage but I’ll be damned if you fucking insult our god damn rides.”
Eijirou joined, arms latched around Katsuki’s waist to rein him in. “Yea! It’s only that one ride that breaks down.”
Himiko draped her arm over Dabi’s shoulder. “Ugh, babe. Let’s go. I don’t wanna hang if they’re here.”
“Good. Bye.” Denki waved.
Tomura smiled. “We’re not leaving.”
“We got here first,” Hanta said.
“How about we fight for it?” Dabi purposed, gesturing between him and Katsuki. “You and me, dance off. Whoever win stays, the loser leaves.”
“No. We got here first.”
Tomura smirked at Dabi. “Wow, Bakugou, backing down from a fight.”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki ripped off his hoodie. “Let’s go.”
Dabi and Katsuki marched into the arcade. The two rival crew members followed, equally annoyed by the other and equally ready to see the other crew turn tail out the door. It might be worth mentioning that the majority of the Universal crew were former Six Flags employees until one of them got their foot into Universal and smuggled those they deemed worthy into the place.
And they were douchy people to begin with. Really, they tolerated Dabi, Himiko, Tomura, Nomu, Kurogiri, and the others out of workplace obligation. Though Katsuki’s running hatred ran much deeper than that.
Eijirou said, “Name iconic face-off, Denki, and go.”
“Okay, Luke Skywalker vs Darth Vader, Goku vs Vegeta, Aranold Schwarzenegger vs Predator, and Katsuki vs Dabi.”
“What’s going on?” Izuku asked as he kept pace with the moving group.
Katsuki and Dabi traded off mean mugs.
“Dabi beat Katsuki in Just Dance,” Hanta answered.
Denki continued. “David and Busters has been in chaos ever since that day. Legend says you can hear Katsuki’s cries echoing from the machine.”
“…Are you guys messing with me, cause it sounds like you are.”
“Yea, and no,” Eijirou said. “Katsuki really did lose.”
Denki nodded. “Yup. And his old girlfriend dumped him for Dabi.”
“Uh huh, uh huh.”
“And they kinda were chilled buds.”
“No they were fuck buddies.”
Izuku looked at Dabi. He and Katsuki…? They did what they were doing now? “Uh?”
“Katsuki’s kinda a hoe,” Denki joked.
Eijirou laughed. “Ha, for sure.”
Still feeling out of the loop, Izuku asked. “Was that movie reference?”
“Name a better couple.”
“Easy, no one’s better than us.”
He pouted. “And you guys are totally ignoring me, and now you’re making out. Great.”
“Oh, Katsuki! Kick his booty,” Mei shouted from the back
In the back of the arcade glowed a massive machine—Just Dance 2016. The two rivals took their place on the square. The screen cycled through random songs and the blank avatars dressed in hipster clothes.
Blue lined the razor-sharp lines of Dabi’s charcoal cool face. His wide lips quirked into a tiny smirk. “You ready?”
Purple exploded over Katsuki’s clenched jaw. “Bet your ass, I am, fuckboy.”
“Pot meet kettle,” said Tomura.
Minoru clapped. “Wooo, dance off, people. Dance off!”
Ochako looked around to see if the staff of Dave and Buster was rounding up the manager because of the loud commotion they were making. “Can you guys shut up? I don’t want to get banned from here. That’s why we can’t go to Haunted Trails anymore.”
“Oh my god, I can’t. I can’t, man.”
Mina hopped up and down. “Katsuki, have my babies!”
Himiko rolled her eyes at Mina, and cheered over her. “Dabi, Dabi, Dabi!”
Izuku glanced from Katsuki to Dabi as they inserted money into the slot and went through the songs. “What the actual fuck is happening here?”
Dabi picked the first song— ‘What Is Love?’.
Katsuki and Dabi rolled and posed, both wildly talented and in perfect rhythm with the avatars on screen. Katsuki pumped the air, glaring menacingly at Dabi as he did the same. The screen sparkled and flashed with stars and explosions of colors. They matched equally in this round.
“Whoo, that’s how we do at Six Flags, baby!”
‘Hips Don’t Lie’ started next.
Izuku gaped openly when Katsuki swiveled his hips with a sexy execution, completely owning it. Dabi’s score suffered in this song. Katsuki grinned as he rolled his torso then dipped his head.
“Dabi, you can do it, baby!”
Mina squealed. “Oh my god. He’s killing it. I love you, Katsuki. I freaking love you. Work it, son!”
‘September’ started, both dancers’ skin glistened under the colorful lights.
“Tired?” Dabi challenged, marching backward as he raised his arms skyward.
Katsuki wiped the bead of sweat traveling from his hairline with his tank top, a beat late on the move. “Not even winded.”
Katsuki made a comeback during ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ as he spread his legs into a squat and circled his pelvis twice.
Security stepped in twenty minutes later after a few patrons complained that they were hoarding the game, and at the time of the interruption Katsuki had the higher score.
Becca passed the steaming plates around the table.
Katsuki took his with a frown, upset that he hadn’t truly won. “Can’t believe this.”
“If it helps,” Izuku lowered his plate. “You were really good. I didn’t know you could dance.”
“Thanks, but it would be great if those fuckers pissed off,” Katsuki said loudly.
Dabi’s table sneered on the other side of the room.
“You piss off!”
Denki added to the volume. “You call the wolf and you get the pack! Woof assholes! Right, babe?”
“Howl at the moon!”
Ochako hissed, smacking Denki on the arm. “Would you stop, security is looking at you.”
Shouto yanked on Katsuki’s ear. “Stop. You won. Let it go.”
“Yea, man,” Denki chewed. “Worry about when we face them on the derby floor then get mad.”
Shouto pulled a sour face. “You were just getting into it. I don’t want to hear you tell him anything.”
“Haha, oh yeah.”
“Wait. They play derby?” Izuku asked.
Eijirou padded the corners of his mouth. “Yea. They’re the ‘Villains’.”
Izuku rolled his hands under the deafening air dryer in the bathroom. The group was calling it in for the night and since it would be a bit of a drive to his house Izuku figured he should squeeze in a bathroom run. He opened the door and started down the hallway.
Himiko slinked around the corner of the dimly lit hall. She leaned on the wall, crossed her legs, and smiled. “Izuku, right?”
“Uh, yea,” he said hesitantly. Had he pass Dabi and not notice, because while everyone else had some established beef with them, Izuku didn’t. “Can I help you?”
Himiko tucked back a soft strand of blonde hair over her ear. Diamond stubs followed the cartilage of her ear. “I saw you with Katsuki.”
Again, his answer came with a healthy amount of apprehension. “Yea…We’re friends.”
He went under the assumption that the glares directed to Katsuki were on Dabi’s behalf, but the way she said his name contradicted his theory.
Himiko pressed her long, crimson nails to her teeth with a laugh most would consider cute or feminine but the sound of it was patronizing, and sent a cold chill up his spine. “Katsuki doesn’t have friends with people he fucks.”
Izuku’s tongue had the weight of a dumbbell in his mouth.
She winked. “Just a heads up to you. He fucks then leaves. I would be careful if I were you.”
He found his voice. “I’m sorry but Katsuki isn’t like that.”
Himiko pushed off the wall with a gasp of stage laughter, giggling for an effect until she stopped and caught her breath. “Wow,” she breathed, looking Izuku from head to toe. “You got it bad for him. We talking about the same guy here? My goodness.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Honey, “ she poked him on the chest. “I know bad when I see it and you have it for the biggest fuckboy in LA. Which I understand. I couldn’t keep my hands off him either. That boy could fuck, you know? Eat like an all-star. Leave you shaking inside. I would be sore for days. He’s such an animal in the sack.”
“Look, Katsuki’s my friend and I’m not comfortable with you bad mouthing him. Whatever happened between you two is your business, not mine.”
“Wow, you’re really sweet.”
“Okay. I’m going to leave now.”
“Go on, but I did warn you. He’s gonna stop being ‘Mr. Cool and Hot’ once he gets what he wants. Don’t be mad when he breaks your heart.”
Dabi found Katsuki alone at the front desk. “Guess I’ll see you in skates next time.”
Katsuki repeated after him with a condescending tone. “Stick it up your ass, man.”
The fabric of Dabi’s jean hung loosely on his hips and thighs and made a small swish sound whenever he shifted his weight. It did again, just like all the nights before when they moved to the back of the party away from the crowd and the noise.
Dabi’s long thumbs dipped into his front pockets. “You still mad about everything? Shit.”
“Like I give a fuck.”
Katsuki held his head high. “Yea, really.”
“Alright.” He shrugged.
Figuring that was the end of it, Katsuki went back to glaring at the sign of the tip jar and smoothed his anger as best he could. By the grace of a cruel deity, everyone had to take a leak but him. And being one of the rides, he couldn’t just take off like he wanted to.
He cracked his knuckles, feeling Dabi’s bored stare. “If you’re gonna ride my ass, you better buy my ass dinner first, fucker.”
Dabi rocked back on his heels, snorting low.“I know it takes less to get that.”
Eijirou hugged Katsuki protectively. “Let’s go best friend.”
Katsuki went, weighed down by Eijirou
“Imma give you a warning, man,” he said. “My jammer is gonna fuck you up. I hope Tomura likes eating shit because my man’s gonna give it.”
“I saw your jammer. I’m not worried. You should be though. Our blockers are bigger this year.”
“Oh your fucking roids juicers? Yea, I bet their balls are smaller than a dime.”
“I don’t pick boys to play on my team. I get men.”
Himiko sauntered with her heels heralding her approach. She kissed Dabi on the neck and hummed. “Baby.”
Dabi closed his eyes, enjoying the soft pressure of her lips. “How’s it going, sweetness?”
“Good.” She pillowed her head on Dabi’s bony shoulder. “Oh, Katsuki, good to see you again.”
“Bitch,” he bit out.
Her sweetness soured like an unattended plant in a dry, dark room.
“Katsuki, you know it ain’t kind to be talking like that to a woman.”
“Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice pierced through the roaring blood in his ears, the lighthouse in the smog of his rage. “We’re all leaving.”
Izuku turned to Himiko and Dabi. “Drive safely,” he said, hoping that the second they parked their car a horde of seagulls would poop all over it.
Izuku sat in the back of the Mustang. The inky sky hinted with the edge of dawn. More cars filled the streets, starting their commute to work. Cafes handled the early morning rush. Izuku’s eyes fell to the back of Katsuki’s head as he drove, quiet with his anger.
Himiko’s voice taunted him and led him down paths he’d never considered before
Would Katsuki leave?
Was this ‘thing’ nothing to Katsuki?
Izuku had no bravery to ask him about it. He could, he knew that, and Katsuki would answer him honestly on his feelings about it but he worried that he was a person of convenience for Katsuki. What scared him the most was that in asking it their ‘thing’ would burst like a bubble, ceasing to exist, ceasing to happen. Ceasing the quiet nights where he and Katsuki talked about the world, the people, the good in society, the bad in it, how they wished this would change or that.
Katsuki pushed his hair out of his eyes. The hardened color of red gradually receded like a departing wave in the reflection of the side mirror.
I think I know why
There’s something about
I think I know
What it is
I think I’m crazy about
And I think I can’t
Let anyone see that
See what there is about
So there was history between him, Dabi, and Himiko.
History—bad and good, Katsuki did call both of them friends/fwbs at one point, and rumors cooked up faster than a forest fire in L.A.’s dry season and good many of them were great exaggerations or total embellishments.
Yea, he and Himiko fucked around a lot. They weren’t exclusive officially where they both sat each other down and said ‘hey, I like what’s going on here, let’s try it for real’; but they were together often enough to fall into label as a couple. They did the holidays, a hell ton of selfies, bae tags, hand holding. Katsuki did like Himiko. But looking down into his future—shocker, I know but stick with him on this—she was someone for right now.
You ever get those people?
They’re good, fun, and cool to talk with but you know it was a temporary thing. Like someone people you could not walk away from—e.g. Eijirou, in third grade. Some people were your people. Some people weren’t meant to be your people, but other people’s people.
Either way, he had no illusions.
If they broke up, he was okay with it.
If they lasted a bit, then he might stick with it.
Himiko had one crazy, hypnotic edge to her and Katsuki found himself drawn to that at the time.
Then enter Dabi. Cool, dark, Edge City kind of guy. Chicks noticed him. Guys hated his guts. Katsuki did the same until Dabi started a conversation with him on the sofa and offered to share a joint. Then Dabi and him were buds for a hot minute. He even tried bringing him around the guys a few times, which stirred the pot.
It was a solid No from the guys. A warning Katsuki should’ve taken at the time, considering Eijirou rarely disliked people enough to purposefully ask not to be around them.
Katsuki said ‘fuck it’. You could have friends outside of your friends. Dabi liked to go to parties so Katsuki chilled with him there. One too many shots of Rum Chata and Fireball, they hooked up in Dabi’s car. Fogged the windows. Rocked the love wagon back and forth on the shocks. Dabi was kind of shitty at fingering him but his buzz muted out the pain when Dabi pressed his cock in.
Katsuki did feel some remorse and confessed it to Himiko and she took it well, happy it wasn’t with another girl. The following weekend, Dabi and him went to a raving beach party and wound up on some damp rocks.
Dabi drank his beer, dark stony eyes passing hungrily over Katsuki’s body, and rolled his palm under his clothes and on to his cock with a wet kiss on his neck. Dabi nipped his skin, and started the hot inch down to his ass and teased his hole with a dry finger.
Katsuki stopped his hand. “I got a girl.”
“So?” Dabi went back to sucking his neck and feeling for his hole.
Katsuki jerked his hand out, and said with an annoyed grit. “So I’m fucking not like that.”
Dabi sighed, rolling his eyes at him, and said in his trademark cool, and indifferent voice. “What, a slut or a cheater?”
Something in him dropped. A part of him that thought they were friends in the end. His shoes scuffed the smooth rock as he stood up. “Fuck you.”
“Wait. Look, my bad, okay. Just…don’t go.”
“You grab my dick one more time,” Katsuki warned.
“I won’t. Now if you wanted to grab mine, I wouldn’t—dude. I’m messing around. I’ll respect you and your relationship. Just sit your ass down and drink.”
Fast forward a few months, and Himiko and Dabi started acting shifty and flaky around him. Cancellations. Ignored texts and calls. Rainchecks to every hang out.
The pieces didn’t fall into place into he walked into the party and found the answer to the odd behavior in the form of Himiko straddling Dabi’s lap and sucking his soul out his mouth. Funny, because Dabi said he couldn’t make the party because he had a shift to cover the next morning. And Himiko went on about needing a little girl on girl time with her friends.
The natural progression followed then.
Katsuki and Dabi fought, with words, then with fists.
Katsuki and Himiko yelled. Whatever ‘thing’ happening between them, so over like you wouldn’t believe.
Himiko told him she never really liked him that much to being with—
“Like c’mon. You’re alright but. Did you seriously think I was serious about you? Katsuki, that’s dumb even for you.”
Dabi called him an awful lay—
“I was bored when we fucked. Just letting you know, man.”
Katsuki drove to Eijirou’s house with a black eye and achy knuckles and watched Cartoon Network as he pressed a bag of frozen peas to his eye.
So, there was the history.
The brick wall felt awful on his back but Katsuki couldn’t be bothered to move off it. Not that the area offered many options to begin with. Eijirou insisted on a sleepover where neither of them could sleep and went to the park a few blocks from his house and smoked.
Eijirou let the ball roll across the fading paint job on the basketball court.
“You’re my favorite person. After Denki. And my mom. And my dog. No it goes like this: my dog, my mom, Denki, you, Shouto, Hanta, Izuku, Kesha.”
Katsuki watched the smoke scale upward, the grey curls evaporating without a trace except for the scent that filled up his nose. “We’re gonna kick their asses so hard, man.”
Eijirou beamed as he ran his fingers over the bald basketball that was as smooth as a soccer ball from the constant years of use. “Damn right we are, buddy. Question, am I on your favorite person list?”
“Hell no,” Katsuki lied, with a tired chuckle.
“I bet Izuku is,” he teased.
Katsuki, who was puffing deeply on the joint, choked and pounded his chest to clear the smoke from his throat. “What—no, shut up!”
“The only person on my list is me.”
“That’s why every Christmas you scream at us to tell you what we want and not to be cheap.”
“I ain’t buying you that Zelda game now.”
“I take it back!”
“Sup, dawg,” Camie waved. Tall, buff, a full bust, and hair long and soft in a ponytail that swayed down to the small of her long back. Disney princesses eat your heart out.
Izuku blinked. “Uh.”
“Word,” she continued, unprompted, as though Izuku made a response worthy of a ‘word’.
Did he step into a time machine and not know it, because the last time anyone dropped the words ‘dawg’ and ‘word’ Smash Mouth was still relevant and the denim jackets were in and everyone knew the first two verses to ‘Who Let The Dogs Out?’.
Katsuki seemed to be considering if training or tasering himself would be more bearable and beneficial to his health. Pain wise, it shouldn’t rank that bad. He played derby for fun.
Money on the taser.
Katsuki went through the introductions. “This is Camie,” he introduced. “Shouto fucked me over.”
At the mention of said treacherous asshole, Camie’s adopted a cougar curl to her glossy lips. “Dude, Shouto is hot as fuck. Is he single?”
“Are you fucking—pay attention to your surroundings, rookie!” Katsuki barked, snapping his fingers loudly.
“But you’re not even watching me. You’re supposed to watch me watching them, remember?”
He breathed. Deep. Calming. Found the center of his mind where the waves didn’t buck the boat of his emotions, and said. “Why don’t you go fuck—“
Katsuki paused, thought about a kid-friendly alternative to please Izuku, and said. “Go frick yourself.”
“…That’s not better, Kacchan.”
“Deku, what you’re doing with your mouth needs to stop. Hush it.”
Ochako worked around Izuku. “Hi, Daddy Kink.”
Feathers ruffled thoroughly by today’s events, Katsuki was quick on the insults. “Well hi to you too, pee girl.”
“I don’t like that— Oh my goodness, “ Ochako’s demeanor shifted with the acknowledgment of Camie. “Who’s this? Where are my manners?” Izuku squeaked when Ochako hip bumped him to the side and offered Camie her hand. “I’m Ochako.”
She took it and slid her fingers in a sensual close over Ochako’s. “Sup, girl.”
The girls shared a long moment of silence. The type in movies where the two intended main couple crossed each other’s path for the very first time and experienced the other’s outstanding beauty in slow-mo. In reality, the pause left everyone feeling out of place and moving away.
Katsuki wondered how long they planned to stay frozen like that. “What’s fucking happening?”
Izuku shared his concern. “I’m honestly lost too.”
A hand pulled Izuku away from the Hollywood scene. “Thank God, she’s distracted. Hey so when I ditch the cargo, you wanna do stuff?”
Camie complimented, “Your eyes, girl.”
Ochako pressed a hand to her cheek. “What about them?”
“Oh. These old things?”
“They look like coffee beans,” Camie purred, body posed proactively with a sublime dip to her back. “I fucking love Starbucks.”
Izuku asked, slightly distracted by the sexual energy. “Stuff?”
“You know like, lick the popsicle.” Katsuki poked the inside of his mouth with the point of his tongue and curled his hand.
“Is the popsicle a metaphor for a cock?”
“Yea. But we can get a real one after.”
Katsuki husked a wet breath to Izuku’s ear. “So, what about it? Can I get another taste?”
“What you homies talking about?” Camie asked.
Katsuki slumped his body to the counter and started thumping it with his head. “Fucking shoot me.”
Katsuki’s radio fuzzed with static. “Red Robin, yum, asking for backup stat. We got a code yellow here. Code yellow. Code yellow. Over.”
The radio clicked again with a response. “Stop making up random codes,” Shouto said. “Over.”
“You gotta say your code name or I don’t know who I’m talking to, Red Robin, yum, over.”
Camie chirped, no longer securing the area with her eyes and fully interested in Katsuki’s walkie-talkie. “Dude, can I be called ‘Pretty in Pink’. Love that movie, ever seen it?”
Katsuki pulled his radio. “Papa Dragon here. I’ll take the code if you take the new shipment. Over.”
“Red Robin, yum, will consider taking the shipment if Papa Dragon provides him with enhanced brownies. Over.”
“McLovin here,” Hanta’s voice buzzed. “Will gladly receive the shipment if said shipment is a solid five and above. Over.”
Camie gasped. “Aw, I love ‘Super Bad’.”
Katsuki smiled. Thinly. ‘Politely’, which was to say, not very polite at all. In fact, it made a mockery of the action and had children fleeing under the covers. “Papa Dragon would rate it a seven if you’re into Cs. Over.”
“Aizawa can fucking hear this you know?” Shouto scolded.
“McLovin is into A through D. Over.”
“Red Robin, yum, got that joke. Nice. Over.”
Camie crossed her arms, watching the park. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”
“Katsuki?” Izuku moaned.
“Yea?” He lifted his head slowly, still moving his fingers inside of Izuku.
God, he was hot, tight, and Katsuki liked the faces he made every time his fingers slicked back in. Liked that he arched up with a soft moan. Liked the way his thighs opened automatically for him in a wordless invitation. Liked when Izuku slowly pumped his and Katsuki’s dick in time to his fingers. He wanted to get him off like this. Just his fingers. Just by making Izuku watch himself being finger fucked and kissed to death.
It drove him crazy to witness Izuku chip away into pieces from his hands.
“You’re my friend, right?”
Katsuki popped his wet fingers out.
“Dude, the fuck. What do you think we’re doing, being friends.”
Izuku’s eyes connected with his then lowered. “You wouldn’t stop talking to me, right?”
Okay, rude to call out Katsuki out like that and most times he would follow it up with a flat insult. Something like you’re lucky I’m talking to you now, nerd; but Izuku looked legit with it. This question. Said it in that tone he reserved for real talks, and Katsuki couldn’t have him going around with the thought, no matter how small and fleeting.
Katsuki flicked Izuku’s ear, drawing his face up, and looked back with authenticity. His voice carried so much while sounding so low and tiny. “No, man.”
“Okay,” Izuku said, with relief, and smiled. Kinda edged with a sad ache but still sincere.
He really dug that about Izuku. How he believed him. Took his words for a fact and wasn’t mining around in suspicion. And maybe Katsuki slept with a lot of people but he wasn’t dishonest about anything. He didn’t go around cheating if he was dating someone. He laid down his expectations with the people he messed with so no feelings were hurt.
“No offense, but what the fuck are with these questions?”
“Nothing. I just…wanted to know if we’re friends.”
Katsuki didn’t move even though Izuku grabbed his hand again and put it between his thighs.“…We don’t gotta do nothing.”
“No. I want…” Izuku inhaled. “I want to.”
Katsuki zipped his pants and put on his shoes.
Izuku looked wounded. “Wait. What are you—“
“C’mon.” Katsuki walked into the bathroom and left the door wide as he washed his hands and fixed his finger mussed hair in the mirror. His mouth was still red and swollen and buzzing with the energy of Izuku’s mouth but not a lot could be done about it.
“Get dressed,” he said, drying his hands with a small towel.
Izuku caught it when Katsuki tossed it. “Are you mad?” He asked, wiping up the wet squish of lube coated on his ass and thighs.
“No. Just get ready and put that boner away or my mom will flip.”
Izuku stumbled up the stairs after Katsuki, hiding the softening bulge of his cock with the excess length of his shirt, and followed him through the kitchen where his mother told them she was making lunch for herself and if either would like some.
Katsuki opened the screen door with his back, answering, “I’m down for whatever. Izuku?”
“Oh, you don’t have to go out of your way, Mrs. Bakugou.”
“Kiss ass,” he taunted.
His mother made a fist and aimed it in Katsuki’s direction.
Katsuki faked a gasp.
“Nonsense. I’ll cook for you. It’s this asshole that I mind,” she joked.
“The fuck. Cold-blooded as fuck.”
She was one of those moms that never looked their age or act it either. She started as a model and maintained it for a few years before the toxicity of the industry annoyed her. Now she modeled for indie clothing lines or independent magazines. A huge cut in pay, but she felt better about her body and the message it sent to young guys that you can have some muscles, some spunk, a bit of everything and fit the bill of beauty.
She wore colorful workout spandex, a semi-fitting tank, and mesh Adidas’ running shoes. “Where are you going?”
“Garage,” Katsuki said.
She shut off the running sink, and dried her hands. “Don’t leave it open, okay? Your dad is all paranoid because someone broke into the neighbor’s garage and took their Christmas lights.”
“We’re gonna be in the back.”
“I’m just reminding you,” she flicked her fingers, still a little wet, at his face and laughed when he complained.
He pushed on the lever, the screen door creaking open. “Alright, mom.”
“One more thing before you leave, Katsuki.”
Katsuki groaned. “Yeah?”
“Stop bitching. What do you want on your sandwich?”
She opened the fridge and started grabbing the food. “What about you, Izuku? Ham or turkey?”
“Both are fine with me if you don’t mind.”
“Mom,” Katsuki whined, in the middle of the doorway with the door braced against his back.
“Uh, sure, please,” he answered. “ Thank you.”
Katsuki sighed, hand sticking into Izuku’s back pocket. “Okay. We’re going now.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll text you when it’s done.”
The shutter door wailed on its old track. The copper sun cut a golden path into the shadows of the garage. His mother’s car was parked on one side of the garage, a pricy and non-gas efficient cherry red Camaro with a white leather interior. It went without saying that the majority of the shopping was done in his dad’s eco-friendly blue Civic.
Sunlight retracted off the paint.
Katsuki flipped the light switch and the room blotted away the misty fog of shadows.
Boxes hugged the walls. Shelves were filled with decorations, the tall stock of candy canes, scarecrows with a shaft of bamboo up their rear, plastic semi see through containers with coils of wires and small lights. A column of old, used paint filled one corner. Pots were stacked in a high tower. Soil littered the cement from the opened bag of Miracle Grow.
A workbench pressed to one wall with an old, bulky boom box.
Izuku ruined the thin layer of dust coating it as he touched it.
Katsuki rummaged through an old box, grumbling under his breath. “Where the fuck—there you fucking are. Come here, fucker.”
Izuku heard a struggle then a sigh of satisfaction. “Yo, Deku.”
Izuku received the plastic water gun with just in time so it didn’t clock him on the nose. He turned the light plastic over in his hand. The Nerf sticker was peeling around the edges. “What?”
Katsuki brandished his own gun. “What? Never heard of a water gun fight?”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not. I want to kick your ass.”
Izuku looked down, then back up. “I hate to tell you but from my neighborhood I got quite the reputation.”
“Is that so?” Katsuki taunted. “Well, we’re not in your hood. We’re in mine and sucka, you’re about to get wrecked.”
Izuku shouldered the large yellow and orange AK. “Guess we got no choice, then.”
“Yea. Guess so.”
“Only one man can win.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”
Mitsuki passed by the screen door and laughed.
Katsuki and Izuku ran back and forth in the backyard, ducking and diving behind anything and everything for cover. Katsuki rolled behind her lounge chair, breathing hard as he pumped his gun.
“You came to the wrong place, Deku! You’re so dead!”
Izuku laughed, protected by the oversized flower pot. “If you think I’m going to surrender to you, then think again. I have people who believe in me.”
“Oh my god. That’s like every anime fight ever,” Katsuki laughed.
“Believe in the heart of the cards!”
Katsuki chuckled. “That’s so lame.”
“I’m going to be Hokage!”
“That’s not even a line—“
“Kamay kamay ha!”
She set the sandwiches in the fridge and sent Katsuki a text before going out for her afternoon jog.
Mom: food in the fridge. Make sure to close the garage when ur done, ok? Gonna go for my run, love you, baby.
Izuku chased down his lunch with a long gulp of water. “God, I gotta thank your mom for the food.”
“She’s on her run, so you’re gonna have to wait an hour to do that.” Katsuki balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash.
Izuku raised his eyebrows. “An hour? When’s your dad coming home?”
“Like five or six depending on traffic. Why?”
Izuku pressed Katsuki into the counter and he fell willingly to it, his hands falling to grip the ledge. “Cause I want you.” He worked on the fly of his baggy jeans and shoved them down his hips to pool at his feet.
Katsuki shivered, naked completely from the waist down and rapidly swelling. “Izuku. You don’t gotta.”
When did he say anything about ‘gotta’?
He wanted it.
Izuku titled his head, and kissed Katsuki with a slow wetness. The pop of their lips echoed when they parted. “Take your shirt off too.”
Katsuki did, and looked like a perfect mess to Izuku. Toned. Bruised. Tanned. Wrecked. Sweaty and wet from their water gun face off. “Izuku.”
He watched him through hooded eyes. Didn’t give in to the need yet that commanded every cell in his body to touch Katsuki. God. Touch him. Look at that guy. How did God let someone off with that many items in their genetic cart?
Izuku bumped the back of his hand to the bone of his hip, and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth before letting it out and saying. “Can I suck your cock? Right here?”
Katsuki’s stomach caved with a harsh breath.
Izuku crowded him and placed his hands on the outsides of Katsuki’s and let himself feel Katsuki, naked and hard, against his body. “I want you so bad, Kacchan.” Lips traced his jaw, went up to his ear to moan unfairly because Katsuki was never fair, and if he argued otherwise then he was a big old liar.
He set one hand on his hip and rocked patiently into his hard cock. “I just wanna have you all the time,” he moaned. Izuku’s filter found today was the optimal day to cease altogether and let him spill out every thought, every flith he had about Katsuki.
He ran with it. Too deep. Too hot. Too hard. Too crazy to walk away from him. “Wanna touch you. Wanna have this,” he pumped Katsuki’s cock dry. “In my mouth. Inside me. Katsuki, I’m so crazy around you.”
Katsuki’s nose brushed his as he husked throatily. “Me too.”
“Watch me,” he said, then sank down and dipped his nails into Katsuki’s thick thighs.
Each bruise on his leg earned a tender open-mouthed kiss. Each pink shadow of a healing scar got a languid lick of his tongue. By the time, Izuku worked his mouth and hands to Katsuki’s cock, he was a leaking heavily from the tip.
“Fuck,” Katsuki rasped, following his instructions. Hooked to every move he made. Glued to every swipe of his tongue.
“Oh, baby,” Izuku cooed, holding Katsuki around the base, and kissed up the shaft of his cock. He wouldn’t, or he guessed, couldn’t put a proper label to the sound he made as he opened his mouth and swallowed his cock.
Without a doubt, whorish.
Katsuki hit his fist on the counter. “Okay. O—okay. Wow. Yeah. Just, fuck, ah, just like—. Yea, oh fuck. Izuku. Damn.”
“Look at me, baby. I want you looking, okay? Eyes on me.”
“Fuck. Always, damn. Always am, Deku, shit.”
“Two scoops of bubblegum. Waffle cone. With sprinkles.”
Izuku nodded. “Sure thing, pal. Did you want anything else?”
“I was talking to the lady,” the ten-year-old corrected. “Clearly.”
Ochako laughed. “Coming right up, Kouta.”
Kouta was tall enough to rest his elbows on the counter and stare at Ochako dreamily as she grabbed a chocolate waffle cone and topped it with two balls of bubble gum flavored ice cream and dotted the round peak with chocolate sprinkles. Izuku tried not to laugh at the kid’s crush. Who was he to say anything? Maybe the nine-year age gap wouldn’t hinder their romance.
Kouta perked up as Ochako walked back to the counter with his ice cream.
“And there you go. Five dollars, please.” Kouta passed her a wrinkled ten dollar bill and brushed his thumb over her hand before pulling away.
Izuku coughed into his hand, grinning at Ochako.
“Buddy,” Kouta called. “Eyes off the lady.”
Izuku sputtered, melting into a fit of giggles, his shoulders trembled with it.
Ochako batted him on the back to shut him up. “Here’s your change, Kouta.”
“Keep it, doll,” he winked, then smirked triumphantly at his group of friends as they witnessed the whole exchange with shell-shocked expressions.
Kouta had done the impossible.
He talked to a hot girl.
They crowded him. “Dude!”
“She’s so pretty! And her boobs are huge too! So rad.”
“Yea, she wants the Kouta,” he declared prematurely. “See, gentlemen, you gotta romance your woman. Make sure she knows she’s the only girl in the world. Small gestures. Then, you get her digits and its nothing but romance and Instagram dates and BJs.”
“Whoa,” they gasped. “Dude, you’re like the Yoda of girls.”
One kid asked another in a secretive tone so he didn’t look uncool around the great Kouta, “What’s a BJ?”
“It’s where a girl blows on your face. My brother loves when his girlfriend does it cause he tells his friends all about it when they play Call of Duty on Xbox Live.”
Kouta licked his ice cream. “Heh, yea, pretty much. Five dollars and I’ll help you with your crush.”
Ochako shook her head at Izuku. “You need to shut your big mouth, mister.”
“I’m sorry but it’s so funny.”
Katsuki walked to the counter and Izuku’s bubbly laughter died a quick death under his playboy smile. “Sup, sexy thing,” he said, and he was such a tool. Massive. Gargantuan. But god, did he make Izuku’s knees turn to goo. “Wanna hook me up with something sweet?”
Izuku blushed. “Uh. S-sure.”
Ochako mumbled behind his back. “Oh but you give me shit .”
Katsuki ignored the feedback on his radio and instead knotted his thick forearms on the counter to watch Izuku work up his order with an expression not too far from Kouta’s just minutes ago.
“Pretty in Pink, here, yall know where a girl can turn the fuck up in this lame ass place. Over.”
“McLovin, here, might have the answers you require. Over.”
“Red Robin, yum, here, would like an invite to be turnt too. Over.”
“Strawberry Milkshake, here, says get the fuck back to work before Aizawa hears this. Over. ”
“Aizawa, here, you little shits better be working when I get off my break. Over and out.”
Izuku had his eyes shyly looking down like a fool when he came back with Katsuki’s milkshake. “Uh. 4.50.”
Katsuki sucked on the straw, purred, slid his tongue over the residue of coffee beans and vanilla ice cream. A censor block might be appropriate here, because it was sexual. It came off sexual. You could read the intent in Katsuki’s lip wrapped around that plastic straw.
Katsuki slid him a twenty. “Keep the change, Deku.”
“That’s like fifteen dollars, don’t you want it back?”
“Dude,” he mumbled, “ You’re fucking up the moment. Take the cash.”
“But I’ll feel bad. I haven’t paid you for the rides.” He pushed the bills over, weighed down by two quarters so the wind wouldn’t fly off with it.
The money crept back to his side of the counter. The corners flapped, tugged by the air. “Take. The. Cash.” Half a threat and half a command, and with Katsuki’s stubbornness the stalemate could last for centuries so Izuku was the bigger person by accepting the cash.
Izuku grumbled, slapping the money under his palm and into his shorts. “Fine, but I’m using it to pay you.”
“Then I’ll use it to buy you something. You think this is a game, Deku? You’re taking that god damn money.”
“I’m paying you back,” Izuku promised, darkly.
“I fucking like to see you try it, asshole.”
Ochako drank a bottle of water, pointing at them as she braced her hip on the counter. “This is so aggressively gay, just stop.”
“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku called, standing on the curb.
Katsuki leaned his arms out the window. “Yea?”
“I told you I would pay you back.”
It was then that Izuku reached into his bag and chucked a heavy, ‘family’ bag of mini Reese’s, aiming for the gap between Katsuki and the steering wheel, but it clipped Katsuki straight on the nose.
“Oh my fucking god,” Katsuki jerked back, pinching his nose.
“I am so sorry. Oh my god. Are you okay?”
“You fucking hit me with…”He opened his watering eyes at the bag, now sitting on the floor, and continued his outrage. “With a fucking bag of Reese’s…oh shit, you got the mini? Fucking A.”
“Are you mad or hurt? I’m confused.”
Katsuki whistled. “Yo, Izuku. Catch you son of a bitch.”
Izuku turned. It was the dead of night and Katsuki, of course, screamed at the top of his lungs. Something, approaching at an alarming speed, flew through the air, and Izuku had just a second to squint at it in confusion before it pelted him.
Izuku fell back. “Oh god, that hurts.”
He examined the weapon, a scolding on the tip of his tongue, because seriously, did Katsuki want his mom to come out and lecture them both. Katsuki needed to think—Heresy’s kisses, they’re kisses. Milk chocolate with almond in the center all dolled up in gold foil and the trademark paper tail on the tip.
This guy got him his favorite candy as payback for the Reese’s.
This, self-titled, fuck boy.
Went out of his way to get him chocolate and took the extra mile to give back the same way Izuku did.
The bag crinkled in his hand.
Izuku trailed his eyes up the black paint of the Mustang and grateful that the old bulbs in his neighborhood dimly lit the sideway because Katsuki couldn’t see the tears starting. Couldn’t see Izuku get all worked up over a lame bag of candy.
Katsuki smirked, revving the engine. “Didn’t I tell you, Izuku? This isn’t a game.”
He waved. “See you tomorrow.”
Izuku sniffed, his nose started to run. Literally the worse person in the whole universe to look uncool in front of but, Katsuki’s smirk, no, his smile was as uncool as his. “Yea. See you, Kacchan.”
They’re having a smoke session. Outside, on the hood with the moon in a competitive game of peek a boo with the round clouds. Their bodies hurt. Someone bled. Hanta’s finger won’t bend completely, swollen at the second knuckle. His forearms burn from the fall across the rink and over the floor, but the skin was only sensitive and red.
Katsuki passed the joint. Most of them were quiet at this point, except for Denki, Eijirou, and Hanta who were engaging in the dumbest conversation ever.
“Okay, but what if. What if aliens were real, they would take me first, right? Like how can they not take me.”
“I know you’re into with anal, dude, but it’s not gonna be the good kind,” Hanta poked holes in Denki’s ‘sound’ theory as to why if aliens were to abduct any of them it would be him….Look, they’re high. Don’t expect these conversations to be the enlightening sort.
“No. You don’t get it.”
“Babe. Do you wanna be abducted by aliens?”
“You’re petrified of chupacabra,” Shouto said,” But you want E.T. to phone home in your butt.”
“First off, don’t joke about chupacabra. Okay? He’s legit.”
Katsuki zoned out, eyes closed to the ink blue sky, and danced his fingers out, searching. Searching. Searching until—ah, there we go.
Izuku linked fingers with him. “I’ll wake you up.”
He tried to formulate the question, but they’ve been training nonstop for the championship match and this week there was an absurd spike in customer attendance at Six Flags. A buy three tickets and get the fourth for half the price type of promo. Katsuki escorted out numerous hotheads off the premises. One guy spat on him, the wad of spit staining his uniform. Another got physical and Katsuki had to use brute force to deflect the hit and pin the guy to the cement. Aizawa talked all their ears off, also stressed out from dumb customers. He powered through this last shift by the grace of God or another powerful deity but Katsuki’s reserves were taxed out.
Izuku answered the unvoiced question. “You look sleepy. Take a nap, Kacchan.”
Izuku was pretty good at that—reading him without words.
He passed out.
Denki rambled on why he was the best human candidate for an alien abduction.
God damn they were lame.
Katsuki pushed his feet into his skates. They were white in the beginning until Katsuki bought several black markers and took to coloring it himself, switched out the white laces for red ones from Walmart, and wrote over the black with red dialogue boxes from a comic book. Words like ‘pow’, ‘bam’, ‘Holy smokes Batman’. Smalls designs of dynamite sticks and TNT. The ‘paint job’ started to show the true color underneath from all his falls. Creases permanently wrinkled it. And the soles were flat. A new pair was in order but they’re comfortable and he hated the annoying process of breaking in a new pair.
He bent over and tugged hard on the laces.
The door swung in and back out. The conversations outside the room carried inward until the momentum slowed. A shadow loomed. Katsuki did not have time for this shit.
“Katsuki,” Dabi greeted.
Katsuki puffed at a random stray of hair tickling his nose, glared, then doubled his efforts to tie his laces at light speed. “Oh, assfart, didn’t recognize you for a minute.”
“Mature.” Dabi sat on the bench.
Oh, how presumptuous.
Katsuki’s bunny ears slipped. He did them again. “I can keep going if you like, scumbag.”
“Are you mad I took your girl or that I passed you up for something better? Cause it’s more than bad derby blood.”
He kicked his leg on the bench, knotting his laces furiously. The job was shoddy, but it favored better than having this uneven conversation with Dabi watching him while he struggled to tie two pieces of string.
“You know what fucking pisses me off about you.” He planted one skate then the other. “You think your ass got it all figured out. Oh, wow, you got a fucking 5.0 GPA. So? Your ass ain’t in school. Oh, you went to Rome. Fucking who cares, not like your ass did shit beside take cringey selfies. You fucking don’t know shit, Dabi. Cause it ain’t the fact you two fuck each other. Go ahead. What’s fucked is you two didn’t have any fucking decency. We were friends. That’s what I thought.”
“Be legit, Katsuki. We weren’t really friends and we weren’t going to stay friends. Don’t clown yourself.”
His fingers found the underside of the bench in a white-knuckle grip. “You do that too. Anytime shit doesn’t go how you want, you blame it on the other person or act like you didn’t give a shit.”
Dabi looked at him, patient. At one time, Katsuki thought it was insanely cool—his posture, his aura, the way he acted as though the world was beneath him. It started an angry itch under his skin, like tiny ants.
“People outgrow each other,” said Dabi. “Life works like that. Maybe you’ll figure that out once you get your head out of your ass and start living like an adult.”
“Your ‘girlfriend’ is fucking nineteen. You’re twenty-six. Maybe get your head out of your ass.”
Dabi countered, fast. “Fine, you want honesty?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I couldn’t stand your attitude. Every second you fly off the handle over the smallest thing. Frankly, I’m surprised your friends stuck around but then most of them don’t seem that bright.”
Debi’s wide smile curled at one corner. It reminded him of a fat cat that pinned the pool of pee on the family dog. “What?”
“You say another word about them and there won’t be a derby match cause I’ll put you in the ER.” He pushed off the bench.
“See.” Dabi cocked his chin up, black eyes full of superiority. “Off the handle,” he sang.
Katsuki skated to his bag and stuffed in his shoes.
“…So, what, you want an apology?” Dabi asked his back.
“Fucking really? Piss off.”
“No. I’m serious.”
“So am I. Piss off.”
Izuku walked in, his preemptive smile slacking when he saw Dabi. “Hey, Kacchan—oh, hey, you’re…”
“Dabi. The competition,” he said. He straightened his long back as he stood up with an audible crack. “You’re Izuku, right? Katsuki was saying a minute ago, you were going to fuck me up.”
If he was aiming to intimidate Izuku, it didn’t work. “Uh. I mean, in the game. Not in real life.”
“Haha, nah. I get you, man. Fair warning, my guy ain’t no pushover. Pretty fast. You got your work cut out for you.”
“Okay,” Katsuki growled, pointing at the door. “You can go now.”
Dabi opened the door with his back, smirking. “Don’t be too mad when we win.”
His words found no traction. “That, that, that—“
“What a dingleberry,” Izuku seethed. Okay, of all the words in the English language, ‘dingleberry’ wouldn’t be his first choice. “Seriously. Ugh. I can’t believe he said that.”
“Okay. He’s a giant asshole. I didn’t want to be mean.”
“Be mean, I like it. It’s like I’m turning you to the dark side. Darth Deku.”
“…Hey, Kacchan, were you and Dabi friends?”
“At one point, sorta.” He shrugged. Talking with Dabi left a sour taste in his mouth and the sooner he could put it out of his mind the better. “He bailed, it’s whatever…What?”
Izuku chewed the side of his thumb. “Nothing. It just….”
“Dude,” he sighed. “Just say it.”
“It’s just, I, crap. I had people do that. Leaving and all that. I just wanted to say I won’t go anywhere. I mean, as long as you wanna be friends and everything.”
A beat of silence lapsed with that; one of process. “That’s really cheesy.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to say it!”
“It’s cool with me. For you to be there.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool. Awesome. Nice. Sweet. Fantastic.”
“Deku,” the thumb pressed under Izuku’s chin put a stop to the obscene case of word vomit Izuku seemed to develop. “You’re mumbling.”
Izuku’s eyes opened up and appeared bright, wide, and green under the naked bulb. And like, you know the anatomical shape of an eye bulb, where it led, how the brain processed the images. Legitimate science could back it all up, but Katsuki just fell into them. Like a black hole. Losing himself, time, location.
His body never left this room, but he wasn’t there currently as he looked down into his eyes.
“Can you kiss me?” Izuku asked, his eyes blinking and shattering the vacuum effect they created on Katsuki. “Cause it’s a little weird if you’re going to stare at me and not, like, do or say anything.”
“Now I’m not going to because you’re talking shit.”
“So you’re refusing to kiss me out of spite?”
“…You’re dumb, sometimes.”
He seriously just announced his firm, unwavering statement on not kissing Izuku, and he was going to have to break it and ruin his credibility because this nerd could not cool it for one second. Katsuki leaned in and brushed their lips together and Izuku sighed with pleasure.
“Thought you said…” he trailed off with his words, and trailed on with his hands and walked them up his back and scratched the small hairs of his buzz cut.
“Changed my mind,” he hummed, and dipped his hand down the slope of Izuku’s spine and pressed on the space before his ass. He worked his other hands around his neck, in a half hold, half pin to keep Izuku there.
But his moan argued Izuku had no plans on going anywhere were Katsuki wasn’t. So he had no issues to the wall pressing on his back when Katsuki walked them to it. “We have a game, Kacchan…”
“Yea, but I’m hard as fuck.”
“Crap. You know I’m not gonna calm down if you talk like that.”
“What, about how hard you make me? How fucking bad I get around you? Fuck, everything about you makes me so hard, Izuku.”
He moaned. “Katsuki. Ah, yes. Yes. Yes—”
“Gentlemen!” Denki kicked the door, skating in.
Izuku’s hands folded over his crotch.
Katsuki shifted his cock under the band and prayed the curve wasn’t too glaring.
“The time is upon us. For tonight we dine in hell.”
Shouto rubbed his eyes. “You’re just saying random lines from movies.”
“Maybe, but seriously, I picked a song to hype us up. Get the blood pumping so to speak.”
“If he plays ‘Eye of the Tiger’,” Shouto started to no one in particular and never finished because—
Rising up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive
Izuku covered his mouth, singing under his breath, “It's the eye of the tiger.”
Katsuki coughed, looking so disgusted with himself as he joined the chorus. “It's the thrill of the fight.”
Eijirou sang, “Rising up to the challenge of our rival.”
“And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night.”
And all together, “And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger!”
Yamada walked around the rink with a cordless mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a ride. Eighteen teams narrowed down to the top two. The best of the best. L.A.’s finest derby rollers. They’re unstoppable. They’re unbeatable. They’re monsters. And they’re battling it out tonight for the big one. The mucho grande. I’m talking about the one and only thing worth fighting for in this world, bragging rights! Oh, and the money not too bad, either, huh? About a thousand, right?” He winked.
“Get your hands together and make some beautiful noise for the brutal, the amazing, the majestic—Heroes!” They rolled out, posing for the audience as they completed a circuit on the rink.
Yamada provided commentary. “There’s our spicy red bell pepper. Denki’s looking like he’s still living in 2010. Shouto’s got me and the girls fawning. Hanta’s legs make me cream. Izuku’s making me believe in love. And, of course, Katsuki is giving us all we ever wanted, all we ever pined for—the bad boy with a heart of…well, not gold but something close, am I right? Haha.”
They waited in the center of the rink.
“Be honest, is it the black highlight that’s giving the 2010 vibe? You guys told me it looked legit.”
Katsuki and Hanta snickered. “Nah, nah. It’s so lit, dude, totally. It’s fire, bruh.”
“Yea. Keep it. You’re,” Katsuki’s poker face wavered for a fraction, then he collected his composure. “Fire, man. It’s legit.”
“Fuck you guys.”
Eijirou propped his chin on Denki’s shoulder. “I think 2010 was a rocking year.”
“You always know how to keep me at a hundred, babe. That’s why you’re my red hot firecracker.”
“God, just fucking blow each other and spare us the cringe.”
“And opposing our Heroes. The cunning, the sneaky, the deadly—Villains,” Yamada griped the microphone in a two-handed grip and howled.
The Villains skated out.
“Oh my, oh my, Kurogiri looking like my daughter calls him ‘daddy’. Tomura is channeling his inner Edward Scissorhands. Giran still looks like he’s in his damn 40’s; you sure you won’t break a hip, man. I’m joshing, I’m joshing. Stain is bringing back my cringe-worthy My Chemical Romance days. Nomu is the Avenger’s rejected Hulk candidate. Bro, what do you lift, seriously? And Dabi, giving Edward Cullen, Christian Grey, and Hannibal Lecter a run for their money with those Haute Couture cheekbones. I am living right now. That guy can make a trash bag fashionable.”
“I love you, Dabi!” Himiko called.
Becca, in the stands and waving a neon pink sign with ‘Go Heroes!’ written with Sharpie pen and cheap craft store glitter, shouted. “Beat their asses, Katsuki! There’s only room for one bad boy.”
Himiko sneered, then screamed louder in an attempt to outdo Becca. “You can win, baby! Heroes drool!”
Becca, sensing a cheer off, flapped her sign aggressively. “Villains are zeroes!”
“Why you little—come and say that to my face. Talking about my man, saying he’s a zero.” Himiko started to move through the crowd, but a guy with a pale face and short wavy brown hair heaved her away, kicking and screaming that she would shove that sign somewhere very unpleasant.
“Sugarplum, I’ll lay you flat. Stay over there.”
“Oh, yea? You lucky he’s holding me back or I would snatch your weave.”
“Weave?” Becca gasped. “Sugar, this is what us women call, ‘natural’. White girls be talking all kind of shit, I swear.”
Her friend nodded, humming with sass. “And don’t try passing off that hair as legit blonde, sweetie, we see your roots.”
Remy, who was also here in support, chimed in. “Some of us just like a man with a little meat on him.”
“Hey, you should totally sit with us. Wanna wave my sign?”
“Son of a bi—“ Himiko lunged again, and kicked and screamed as the guy hefted her up and further down the stands.
“Bye Felicia,” they waved.
Yamada laughed at the commotion. “Me-ow! These ladies are heated. Fellas, you gotta chill or there’ll be one massive call to the paramedics! Whoo!”
The Heroes eyed the Villains.
The Villains, fashioned in their team colors: black and purple in loose shorts and with modern roller blades, eyed them back.
“The tension is real, folks! Just half a year ago, the Heroes lost their throne to the Villains. Will they claim their rightful place as kings of derby or will the Villains make off with the championship again?”
Denki said as he cracked his knuckles. “So how we playing this guys?”
“Bring home the bacon?” Eijirou suggested, tying back his hair.
“Murder train,” Katsuki smirked.
Shouto rolled his neck side to side, joints popping. “We play it like we always do. We win.”
“Ha,” Tomura laughed. “That’s funny cause we’re winning.”
Katsuki snorted, flipping him off. “Fucking Tim Burton called, he would like his style back.”
“Screw you, man. Real men don’t need muscles like that.”
“Bro, you couldn’t lift a pencil,” Hanta called.
Eijirou oh-ed dramatically.
Denki shouted. “Damn, do you smell that? It’s almost like someone just got—roasted!”
Dabi tapped Tomura. “Let them talk. That’s what they’re good at.”
The horn blared, signaling a score. “Oh, man! Oh, man! That had to leave a mark, didn’t I, Tomura?”
Katsuki skated by Dabi, who was helping Tomura to his feet, and said. “Oh my god, did you see that?”
Denki rolled in next with a mocking expression of shock. “Holy snap, did we just roast yall?”
Dabi spat blood on the floor. “You got a long way to go, Heroes.”
“Maybe, but we’re fucking closer than you are.”
Tomura corrected. “By one point.”
“Still more. And I told ya, right, about my jammer? He’s a fucking beast.”
Heroes to Villains
“Heroes are starting right off the gates with brutality! We are in for a treat, folks. The water will run red tonight. Oh, yes, there will be some blood and definitely bruises to make all your mommas worry.”
Izuku shifted, eye narrowed and set. The air whistled. Heavy bodies shoved and crashed. Kneepads clapped on the rink. He couldn’t worry about it. His team had him covered. Just make the jam.
Izuku yelped and his body tipped backward with his skates leaving the ground. One the second before he collided with the ground, he saw Tomura, skating ahead and his arm coming down to his side, as smirked with his thin lips. Then Izuku saw the ceiling. Then nothing cause his head cracked on the rink with a sick clap, and entered the familiar world of derby pain.
He sucked on his bottom lip so he couldn’t cry out, and heard the horn past the loud drumming of his heart.
Tomura secured the point.
Heroes to Villains
Katsuki put his arm behind his back, and lifted. “C’mon. We ain’t done yet.”
He let Katsuki carry the majority of his weight. “Am I bleeding from my nose?”
“No. You fucking hit the floor like a bag of bricks though.”
Izuku knocked on his helmet. “Good thing for this, then.”
Yamada sat on the rails. “And he’s good, folks! Our Christmas tree is a-okay. Hey, didn’t the heroes always win in the comics or am I missing something here?”
Denki and Eijirou crashed to the floor, somersaulting until they rolled off the track and breathed fast and harsh with their faces smooshed. Nomu shot past their formation. Hanta shouted as he Nomu’s elbow careened him into the rails and over the stands. The crowd jumped back on instinct as Hanta’s legs kicked out wildly.
Izuku clenched his fist.
Katsuki slowed his speed, falling back. “Cover his ass, Shouto.”
“Oh my god, it’s like watching Thor fight the Hulk,” Yamada laughed. “Someone hold me!”
Nomu’s Goliath form lined beside him. Unadulterated powerful rolled under his broad shoulders, powered his brick thighs. Not an inch of body fat on him as you could see the swell and dip of each individual muscle. Skin too tight for his own body.
Katsuki recalled his high school days as a linebacker. Big guys didn’t come down with a single swing unless you had equal or more power to unhinge them. Trust him, Katsuki’s big ego had him standing in fights with the wrong weight class plenty of times to know it. But big guys did have a weak center like everyone else and, if you cut off the legs off of anything, what happened? They fell.
Nomu’s small eyes slid , watching him from the corner of it as he breathed out his mouth like a raging bull. Intimidation, maybe, but Nomu fucked up next and glanced at the Izuku’s back where he was skating and maneuvering around the Villains, and intimidation crumpled under the cinder blocks of his anger.
It was one thing to beat all their asses, but Izuku—out of the question.
Katsuki steered left, widening the gap, skated to the inner part of the circle and cranked back inside, building up his speed and moving himself low as Nomu’s fat balled fist came to the space his head occupied and gritted his teeth, body slamming into Nomu. His arms locked around Nomu’s wide waist.
It winded him, and the thought came that maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Then Nomu dropped his elbow repeatedly on his back, and Katsuki knew it was a bad idea.
Then it turned into an awful, terrible, hair brain, what part of you foolishly thought this would work idea when Nomu stopped, turned in Katsuki’s lock, planted his feet and picked him up.
Vertigo, Katsuki felt it when his skates levitated above the rink.
Kept feeling it as his legs went over Nomu’s shoulders and dangled off, carried in a vertical hold.
Then a sour ball of dread, because Katsuki could go in only one direction, down, and Nomu wasn’t going to do him any kindness and make it gentle.
Katsuki couldn’t hear the crowd gasping, just Nomu’s fast heart and the deep inhale he took before the ground rushed to meet Katsuki.
Katsuki arched, helmet cracking on the floor, breath leaving too fast out his mouth.
Nomu stared, saw Katsuki would be temporarily down, and skated to the pack.
Not a great plan or execution, but Denki, Eijirou, and Hanta were back in the game by that time and trading punches with the other blockers.
Giran rolled on the rink.
Katsuki got up, and swerved around his body.
At the head of the pack, Dabi’s face jerked to the side with a spray of spit. Shouto wore a small smirk of superiority. Eijirou grabbed Izuku’s forearm and flung him forward. Kurogiri swept his leg out but Izuku hugged the railing and avoided it.
The horn honked.
Izuku laughed, his nose bleeding, perched up on Denki and Eijirou’s shoulders as the two scooped him from the floor. “Come on and slam, and welcome to the jam.”
Sweat followed the shape of his eyelid, and Katsuki straightened, going to wipe at it and realized with a slow shock that sweat didn’t come in red.
Shouto tapped his fingers over his brows. “Yea, it’s a gash. He got you good.”
Well that would explain a lot, cause you know, the blood and the pulsating ache in his skull and the fact that Shouto shifted back from one person to two like they’re in a wacky Tom and Jerry universe.
Katsuki moved his mouth. “Oh?”
Yea, that many hits ,unsurprisingly, affected many of the basic commands of his brain.
Whatever, you didn’t need to talk in derby.
If you could skate, then you could play.
“How many fingers am I holding?” Shouto asked, holding one.
He mustered a dry chuckle. “Fuck you.”
“So you can see that I’m flipping you off?”
“Good. Nice move, by the way.”
Oh, him positioning himself between Izuku and the wall of violence and power that was Nomu? All in a day’s work.
“You ate shit.”
“I mean, yea. He’s a tank.”
Izuku skidded on his kneecaps, bent fingers cataloging the gash. “Oh my god.”
The light hovered behind Izuku’s shape and blurred Katsuki’s questionable vision. For a moment, it looked like heaven itself was sending Izuku down with a holy beam of light.
Katsuki nodded. The pain lessened with the surge of endorphins. “Yea,” his voice was a low rumble when he talked.
Artificial light threaded through Izuku’s hair and it distracted Katsuki from his panic-filled eyes. “Are you okay?”
“You look kinda like an angel or some shit.”
Izuku opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, set it closed. Did it for a bit. “…That’s…wow. Um. You wanna drink some water, Kacchan?”
Shouto concealed a smile.
Izuku glared. “Do not.”
“He called you an angel.”
“Just help me get him off the floor, please.”
Yamada snickered. “Looks like Katsuki has Tweety birds floating around his head.”
“Gentlemen,” Denki paced the room. “I know the night is looking tough, but the night is darkest before the dawn. And that dawn is coming. We must rise to meet that dawn. Take it. Seize it. For Leonidas and the brave 300!”
Katsuki rubbed circles on his temple. “That’s—shut up. You’re using movie lines, again, and they don’t even correlate, dumbass.”
“Today, we are canceling the apocalypse!”
Hanta said, crossing his arm over his chest to get a look at the purple bruise on his elbow. “He got knocked around a lot. Everything’s slanted in there like a Dr. Seuss book. You should know, you called Izuku an ‘angel’.”
“He has a baby bruise. I got a fucking gash on my head.” He lowered his head and jabbed at the opened gash splitting his eyebrow. Izuku had cleaned it out with warm water and a brown paper towel. “You can see into my skull.”
“Yea,” Shouto hummed as he padded a bloody ball of wet tissues paper over the cut down his forearm. The ball bounced off the rim of the dumpster and fell into the plastic after Shouto finished up. Like Katsuki’s fresh wound, the flesh beneath was exposed, pink, and tender. “And there’s nothing inside.”
Eijirou snickered. “I love when we can all just get together and drag Katsuki. It’s like having Christmas and sex on the same day. Sexmas.”
“King Kong ain’t got shit on us!”
Izuku looked at his hands, mentally listing something. “So ‘Dark Knight’, ‘300’, ‘Pacific Rim’, ‘Training Day’, and ‘Troy’? Did I get all the references?
“Ugh, now I want to watch ‘Pacific Rim’,” Eijirou complained. “I love robots and Idris is low key my other man. Don’t tell Denki. He’s gets crazy jealously when I talk about male celebs.”
Hanta said, “But he’s always talking about eating out girls.”
“Yea. That’s his thing. I don’t mind. He gives awesome blowjobs and besides he’s horrible at that. Like when he tried rimming me—“
“Whoa, man. That’s a conversation for Katsuki, you know.”
“You can rim a girl.”
“Okay, but we’re talking about your butt and I don’t want to think about any of you sexually. There are some things we should keep a mystery between all of us and that’s one of them.”
“Okay,” Shouto said. “Someone needs to be the stand-in captain because this idiot is saying gibberish. Katsuki?”
“I’m sorry. I thought my head was empty.”
“They may take our championship, they may take that sweet, sweet check, the babes, the glory, the bragging right, but they’ll never take our freedom!”
“Can we just leave it at ‘let’s win?” Hanta yawned. “I mean, this isn’t a movie. Who are we trying to impress?”
“Um, ourselves? We’re cutting it close.”
“It’s Nomu,” Izuku explained. “He’s a wall. We can barely stop, let alone injury him so he falls.”
“Steroids,” Hanta harmonized
“In case you forgot, he’s been beating my ass all day so I’m stopping him,” Katsuki corrected, waspishly. “Sort of.”
“You could argue that taking his fist to your face is ‘stopping’ him,” said Shouto.
“Guys,” Izuku pulled an Captain Morgan pose on the bench.
Katsuki, Hanta, and Shouto made a face.
Hanta’s furrowed his brows, turning to Katsuki and Shouto with a questioning opened palm. “What’s he’s doing—“
“We’ve come this far,” Izuku started.
The guys groaned. “No more speeches!”
“C’mon guys,” Eijirou protested. “Let Izuku give it a shot.”
“I look into your eyes and see a fear that would take the heart of me!”
“And we’re falling into Lord of the Rings’ territory,” Hanta announced.
Denki shifted tactics and spoke in another language with vigor and passion.
Hanta grinned, “Dothraki.”
“Oh yea. Good catch.”
“We worked really hard to get here and—“
“A video on Pornhub has more structure than this ‘let’s have a motivational speech from every movie ever because it’ll give us some placebo confidence bullshit even though Nomu’s a fucking tank and we can’t technically kill him’ shitshow,” Katsuki grumbled.
“Look. I don’t want to fucking lose but if we do, then we’re gonna give them plenty of wounds to remember us by.”
Shouto shrugged. “I’ll take that. Can we agree this is our ‘motivational speech’?”
Points to win—25
“Ladies and gentlemen, it has been one hell of a matchup. One hell of a match. There’s actual blood all over the place. In all my years as a ref, I have ever seen such a bloody massacre. Knives on wheels, these men. The Heroes are a point for point with the Villains, can they gap the difference? Or will the Villain break comic book tradition again and make off with the win for the second year in a row? Are you ready?”
The Heroes and the Villains took their starting position, knee bents, eyes hard and intense, and breathing controlled. Nomu’s shadow moved over him like a cloud.
He looked at Katsuki then forward.
For a guy who was minimal with words, he had a way of offending you without them.
The jammers lined up behind the pack, noses to the ground.
Tomura sneered but Izuku was too focused to take note of it. It rode on him to get that point. To get the championship.
Yamada blew the air horn, and the blockers started off and Katsuki maneuvered around to cage Nomu to the rails. Giran dropped his speed next to Katsuki, ready to break the formation. The second horn blared, and both jammers gunned it, the floor blurring and the wheels of their skates a hazy blur.
Giran went for a strike and Katsuki ducked low, then returned with his fist raising as well and drove it under Giran’s chin.
Izuku pushed at Tomura and zoomed past Katsuki and Nomu.
Dabi’s skates hummed as he swerved for Izuku, a slow grin spreading like the slick glide of oil over glass on his face when Izuku flinched. He had been worrying about Nomu and keeping a healthy distance from him that he lost sight of the other members.
Denki and Eijirou intercepted, lining up on either side of Dabi, and both slamming their bodies into him.
Dabi went tumbling. The pack weaved and moved like a dense group of birds in flight around his prone body. Grimacing, Dabi pushed himself on to one elbow.
The couple high fived.
Denki laughed, looking behind over his shoulder, cause Dabi was growing smaller and smaller and it added a small delight to derail a cool guy like that. “Bye bit—ow fuck!”
Kurogiri jabbed out again. Punches fast, but not very strong. “You have no time to gloat, Hero.”
“Get your Loki vibing ass outta my face!”
Stain slipped in front of Eijirou’s path. “I don’t think so, bud.”
“Whoops, pardon me,” Eijirou clocked Stain in the nose with a wet crack. “Gotta protect my man and all,” he called to Stain’s body as his feet went out and he went over and over on the floor.
Kurogiri tried to play it cool. “Seems I misjudge you.”
“Yea. Gotta punch the shit outta you cause you did punch my boyfriend and that’s no bueno.”
Izuku zoomed out the pack, with Tomura on his heels.
The jammers ran the curve of the rink.
Tomura’s chest heaved. His stringy, dyed grey-blue hair clung to his hollow cheeks.
He whistled, the sound sharp and cutting through the dense orchestra of a drunk audience and humming skates.
Nomu glanced back
“Kacchan,” Izuku called out to warn him, but Nomu was faster, and the people in the stands swallowed his voice and Katsuki read Nomu a second too late and received the full force of his wide forearm driving into the apple of his throat.
Katsuki choked automatically and the brief moment of weakness had Nomu chambering another strike.
Shouto yanked on Katsuki’s collar and pulled him out of the way.
“Good?” Shouto asked.
He wheezed. “Can’t. Talk.”
Katsuki raised his middle finger.
“We can’t let Tomura through.”
“No,” he coughed. “Shit.”
Tomura fell behind Nomu and used the mass bulk of his body as a shield to break through the pack.
Giran moved to block Izuku but Hanta settled that dispute and kneed Giran in the back of his knee.
Izuku entered the pack.
Denki and Eijirou worked defense at the front, bumping shoulders to shoulder with Dabi and Stain.
Hanta guarded Izuku.
Katsuki and Shouto kept on Nomu, trying to pin him and Tomura so he couldn’t make the jam or break the guard.
Tomura cursed, and kept behind Nomu when he saw breaking away would push him behind the pack again .
Time slowed to the measurements of heartbeats.
Tomura and Izuku made eye contact.
Tomura’s hand moved on to Nomu’s back, guiding,
Bodies dropped, but Izuku had no time to spare to see if he was his friends or the opposing team, as he saw the decision in Tomura’s eyes.
Nomu turned, pivoting on a skate to make himself a massive, impenetrable wall and grabbed the side of both Katsuki’s and Shouto’s head and banged them together. It dazed them, and Nomu knew which one was the larger threat to their win, so Katsuki, who still dealing with the bone on bone collision, got it first. Picked up like a doll and slammed like the head of a hammer.
Tomura licked his split lip and moved through the pack, his biggest threats now occupied, but he was forgetting Izuku and he forgot that one of those ‘threats’ was more than a friend to him. More than a guy he kissed at night. And seeing Katsuki tossed and thrown, gasping for air like a fish on dry land, ignited a fireball of aggression and motivation so bad and so fast that when Stain skated up to bounce Izuku off course, Izuku’s arm snapped out. Fast, like a bullet. Landing with hard accuracy and force.
Izuku pushed his legs, taxed his lungs.—the IRS would be hitting his house soon for this lung/tax evasion.
Tomura side swept Denki, letting Dabi run defense on his behalf.
He had one blocker to pass to complete the jam.
Which wouldn’t concern him except Giran and Kurogiri had a play in the works and rolled up behind him.
The lights looked like explosions of stars.
There was a sharp ache in his ribs whenever he inhaled.
Yamada was on the mic, hyping the crowd, spurning them on cause they’re down to it.
The final arc.
“Get it, Izuku!”
“Tomura, Tomura, Tomura!”
“Heroes, Heroes, Heroes!”
“Damn, Tomura, use them long ass legs, son!”
If you asked the spectators, they would say in the final second that Izuku vanished from sight. Blip. Poof. Insert a comic book effect of shock. Pulled one hell of a Houdini on the rink, and before they could entertain the physics of that, the chances that maybe ‘heroes’ meant actual heroes with inhuman gifts, Izuku appeared . Skate to skate. Head to head. Eyes sizing Tomura right beside him, because they were their own the final bosses.
And if you asked the spectators how close it was, they would say as close as the press between your upper and lower lip. Cause Izuku and Tomura tied it up, beating each other senseless. Tomura spat blood. Izuku’s fingers ached trying to form a fist but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Delivered hit after hit like he was on a timer.
They didn’t look good.
That was an inescapable truth of sports and fights and challenge, it beat you down and you weren’t camera ready by the end of it, and Izuku looked better behind the window of a cop car than anywhere else when his fist connected once more and Tomura hit the floor.
“And the Heroes win!”
Izuku crashed, rolled on his back, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and cried. Pain, joy, relief, fear, adrenaline, endorphins made for the worst cocktail of emotions.
Cried through it, because, they did it. He did it.
Cried through it, because—fuck he hurt all over and he could finally rest now.
Cried through it, because—oh boy, his mother was going to be livid in the morning when she saw the bruises, the cuts, the dried blood, the stiffness in his hand again.
Someone picked him up, and he had been in those arms so many times not to recognize them immediately.
Katsuki smirked. Bloody. Drenched in sweat. Breathing too fast for Izuku to understand his voice.
They’re on the roof and the party raved below, and it was probably the dumbest idea in the long history of dumb ideas Katsuki ever had cause their eye to hand coordination, their balance, their motor reflexes were shot and it took only one misstep for either of them to roll off the roof. They struggled climbing the ladder to get up here, but the air was much cooler up here. The sky close enough that Katsuki tried to tap it like the surface of a lake.
They both passed on the beer and the pot.
Izuku pillowed on his chest now,
“How is it, to kiss a champion?” Katsuki asked.
Yea, Izuku just kissed him no more than a second ago but he wanted more.
“I dunno. I would have to get another kiss before I can give my review to the board.”
Katsuki cupped the back of his head and slotted their mouths together. “There.”
Izuku’s lashes fluttered like he returned from a nap. “It’s darn good, I would say.”
They laid on their backs again, comfortable. Nighttime and its tranquility had a quirky effect on people where it prompted out thoughts you left untapped in your brain. The thoughts frequently discouraged in the light of day while you lived your life. Thoughts about the weight of you in the world, the fact someone before you and after you will stand where you once did, how far the world had come and how far it had to go to improve.
Katsuki realized that his first kiss with Izuku was never a ‘hook-up’ kiss. Their private hangouts were never the friendly type. Their hand jobs riddled with breathy laughter and spooning. They’re not really friends and they’re not fuck buddies, and maybe Katsuki could try it. Relationships.
And yea, you’re thinking ‘how creative, another emotionally stunted guy who couldn’t commit because blabla, dark past’, but people failed to see relationships make and break people more than anything else. The one between your parents, your friends, your lover, your teacher, your co-worker, your boss.
Katsuki suffered through the typical ones—short-lived, mellow, long-term, good, bad. Himiko and Dabi sucked and it messed with him that two people he did like could just push him aside like that. And he was trying to be less bitter and angry about it, but it hurt when people stopped caring.
But you gotta get some of those bad experiences in you to recognize when something good, something legit, something worth the cons came along.
Izuku hummed the theme song for ‘Sailor Moon’ off key with a scratchy voice, and it confirmed it for him.
This guy has to be my boyfriend.
“Hey, uh. Remembered how you said you wouldn’t go anywhere? That we would be friends and shit,” he said. “Could we not, wait, no. Fuck. I mean, not like that. Shut up with your face. Can you like be that and, like, extra?”
“Extra?” Izuku wrinkled his nose. “Kacchan, I’m already sucking your dick. I don’t know what more I could do. Besides sex. Are you asking for sex?”
…In the near—very near, coming to theaters near me soon—future, yes.
“Yea. No, wait. Fuck.”
“…Where are you going with this?”
“I mean, hell yea, I want to fuck you. But also, like,” his held his hands out like he was comparing the weight of two melons. “Friends stuff but more.”
“…You lost me.”
God damnit, Izuku.
“Fuck. Just, fucking, date me or something,” he said. “Or not! If you would not like that, I think?”
“You wanna be boyfriends?” He asked.
“Yea. No. I mean, yes. But we’re still friends too. But we fuck and do couple shit.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku said, softly. “I would love to be not boyfriend-boyfriends with you.”
“C-cool. Awesome. Rad.”
“It’s your bad habit.”
Izuku walked his fingers down his chest. “We have another bad habit.” They reached the waistband of his shorts and flattened, rolling smoothly over the swelling curve of his cock. “One we should start on right now.”
“You mean?” Katsuki fingers pinched to make a circle and thrust a finger through it.
Izuku muffled a laugh, and squeezed his cock.
“Now? Now now? Sex, right? Fuck, not that you gotta or anything but I would be more than happy to fuck your brains out. Again, not that we gotta.”
“Katsuki.” Izuku’s nose breathed over his ear and dialed the heat in his body to a hundred. “Fuck me.”
“Okay. We’re leaving. Right now.”
Izuku laughed. “Wait. You’re the ride. We can’t bail on the guys.”
“Not to sound like that guy but I am a second from busting a nut, okay? You’re fucking pretty and you’re my guy now and I want to fuck the ever living shit out of you.”
His brows pressed together in thought. “Maybe in the car?”
“I saw like somewhere where the streetlights are dead so it’s really dark.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Katsuki nodded. Turned on and trying to keep it cool in front of Izuku because the idea of being inside him was making him twisted. “Fuck.”
Izuku licked across his lips and yup, there was no hope about being cool anymore. “Kacchan.”
He remembered with a hiss. “Lube. Condoms.”
“Crap. Like I’m clean.”
“But we should like,” Izuku said, “Practice safe sex.”
“Or I could eat you out?”
“I mean you’re kinda thick…”
“Why, Izuku,” Katsuki purred.
“That was not an invitation to gloat.”
“Well CVS and Walgreens are closed. 7-11 is far as fuck, so…wait.”
Izuku smiled, making eye contact. “I know where we can get lube and condoms.”
“Same, let’s—“ Katsuki shuffled on the shingles, turned to climb down the ladder, and swept his heel against it. Metal hammered the patio below. Air met Katsuki’s shoes.
“…You knocked the ladder down,” Izuku realized for Katsuki, who entered a catatonic state where humiliation, annoyance, and desperation swirled around him like a tornado. “We’re stuck. On the roof.”
Maybe if he closed his eyes very hard, he could will the ladder back up…
What was it a seven to eight-foot drop from the roof to the cement; ha, he could totally make that.
“Kacchan. No. Don’t.”
He braced his body over the ledge and measured the distance with his eyes. “I can make it.”
Light blazed as Izuku tapped the screen of his phone. “I have my phone. I’ll just call Shouto.”
“No. Do you not get it? He’ll rip into me like a fucking wolf, man.”
Izuku pressed the phone to his ear, showing Katsuki the palm of his hand when he hissed venomously to hang up. “Hey Shouto,” he greeted, politely, then and shoved Katsuki and his grabby hands away. “Could you come outside? Katsuki—“
“Oh. Just throw me under the bus, huh!”
“We’re gonna get off the roof but he, haha, yea he did. Okay, thank you.”
Katsuki startled as the metal of the ladder rattled against the side of the house.
Shouto stood at the bottom and stabilized it with his weight.
He cupped his hand. “Go away.”
“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Thanks a lot , Izuku,” Katsuki complained.
“Why is this my fault? You knocked it down because you were so, uh, you know.”
Shouto sighed. “You guys coming down or not?”
Katsuki patted Denki down, finding the small tube of lube and two condoms in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
“Need this,” he explained, then sprinted out the back door. “Later.”
Eijirou gestured with a pout. “Now how are we supposed to have sex?”
“I know, right? Like he’s dating Izuku for a minute now, how come he doesn’t carry that shit on him. I do.”
“I guess it’s plain old blowjobs tonight.”
“Yea. Or I could rim you?”
“Uh, blowjobs are okay.”
“You love when I…are you telling me this whole time you faked it? Baby!”
“You’re so great everywhere else though, I promise.”
Denki’s back hit the wall, body crumpling with the realization. “My life has been a lie.”
Eijirou smiled. “I really love you, baby.”
Izuku spread his legs, moaned, and ran his hand through his hair. They’re in the backseats. Old leather squeaked, sticking to their sweaty, dewy bodies. The windows steamed with their hot breaths. Yellow from the street lights warmed the interior and colored the obscene part of Izuku’s thighs, his back propped to the side of the car, his derby shirt hiked to his collarbones, his nipples hard and pointing, the gallery of bruises on his body all in varying states of healing, the redness of his hole from being teased, licked, and fingered.
“Katsuki,” he panted, looking down as Katsuki’s fingers dipped inside him. “Fuck.” His foot jerked out and hit the floor of the car. He hissed from the pain this time.
Katsuki laughed, turned his head and kissed the skin above the trim of his sock.
“Sorry,” Izuku said.
He turned his head again and kissed his other leg. “Damn, Izuku. Looking real bad right now.”
“Can’t help it. I want you. Ah, there, baby.”
“You like it, Deku? Like my fingers in your ass?”
Izuku bucked down on his fingers. Leather peeled off his wet back with the same sound as ripping a strip of tape off a package. “I like it,” he gasped, getting Katsuki deeper and harder. His eyes shut as he tipped his head back and rode the wave of pleasure with urgency. “I like it, Kacchan.”
“Fuck. “Katsuki looked down. Hooded eyes taking in the skin show, the gloss of sweat and pre-come on his skin, his cock twitching and leaking on the hollow of his pelvis.
Didn’t feel human anymore with how bad he wanted Izuku then. Couldn’t think further beyond his cock. It was like someone went through the blueprints of his body and founds the beams of his foundation and tapped a stick of dynamite to each one and lit the wick. “Wanna be in you so bad, Izuku. Wanna come inside in you.”
“Me too. Me too. God, Katsuki. Wanna, ah, wanna have your cock, baby.”
“Can I,” he swallowed, “Can I fuck you, now? Do you need more?”
“Yea. It’s—please. I’m going crazy here.”
Katsuki struggled with the wrapper for a minute, groaning with mounting frustration every time his wet fingers slid across the sleek packaging, before he got it. He took the condom and dragged it over the swollen head of his cock with a groan. Izuku touched his chest, reaching to twist his nipples.
“Baby,” Izuku moaned, wetting his lips at the sight of Katsuki’s hands pushing down the condom. “Hurry.”
Katsuki rolled the rubber down his shaft until it ended at the base. He slicked himself with lube and tossed the bottle to the floor.
Katsuki took his cock at the base and lined up, pressing in slowly inside of Izuku.
Izuku curved, back leaving the seat and head tapping it. He might be worried that the deep stretch would pull something but Izuku moaned out throatily. “Yea.,” he did it again, deeper, louder, harsher, huskier. “Yea. Katsuki. Fuck. I want it. I want it. Put that cock in me.”
Cool, cool, but Katsuki was trying not to come at the moment so there would be a small delay in ‘putting’ said cock in.
Katsuki exhaled and thought about anything to flag his rushing climax.
Uh, work. Six Flags. Harassed soccer moms copping attitude when he explained the park rules and ‘your kid can’t climb that, lady.’ And ‘no, I’m not a cop but I do have the power to call them for you—fine, I’ll get my superior for you and he’ll tell you the same thing’.
Anything that wasn’t this pretty freckled guy growling for his cock.
Izuku wiggled, rolling his bottom lip under his teeth and purred. “Baby. C’mon. I want dick.”
Katsuki’s next words came out pained. “Trying not to come here.”
“Oh, I know.” Katsuki glared at the roof and inched in a little and thought he might be in the safe zone where he could look at Izuku until Izuku moaned in delight.
“Yes. Baby, give me that perfect cock.”
“I don’t care if you come early, just fuck me, okay. “
“No. Listen I’m gonna fuck good and long, alright? Just let me breathe, cause I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
“And you think I haven’t?”
Izuku planted his elbows and hefted his torso up. It brought the dull wash of yellow over his dewy skin, greasy hair, and dark eyes. “It’s always been mutual, Kacchan. Since the day you fell into the trash.”
“So that did it for you?”
“Yeah,” he said, and no humor lurked in his voice. No teasing. Nothing to discredit his sincerity.
That might be worse than dirty talk.
Worse than those porno sounds he made.
Worse than how wrecked he looked in the back of his car with a wrinkled shirt and calf length socks.
His desire felt violent.
Katsuki pushed him down, pushed his cock deep and thick, and lowered his body on top of Izuku’s and folded his body in half. Izuku’s sock cladded toes curled in the air. “Kacchan,” he breathed.
His voice husked low and lazy like the crawl of smoke when he talked into Izuku’s ear. “Gonna fuck you hard and good, babe.”
Izuku threw one arm behind himself to keep his head from banging into the side as Katsuki started to fuck him. “Katsuki.”
Katsuki groaned, and pressed his cock in deeper, getting hooked on the feeling of his cock slipping in and out of Izuku, the greedy way Izuku clenched on him, the intense heat meeting him on each thrust.
Izuku tried to mouth up his throat but lost traction in favor of moaning out against it and breathing out harsh, sobbing breaths. “Yea, baby. Don’t stop. Please, like that, baby, god. Just like that.”
“Kiss me,” Katsuki rasped.
Izuku did and whined into the kiss as Katsuki pounded harder and faster, dislodging their lip lock with the force of his hip. Katsuki chased him and reconnected their mouths with a heavy breath.
“Fuck, gonna come soon.”
“Ah, lemme.” Izuku reached between their bodies and pumped his cock. “Harder, baby, do me harder—ah, yes. Like, ha, like—“ His mumbling cut off with a muted cry as his body snapped tight and stiff like a wire.
Katsuki listened to Izuku come down from his climax, his shivery breaths, the wet slide of his hand down his shaft as he milked himself through it.
“Want me to pull out or…”
“No. Keep fucking me until you come.”
Which did not take long at all. C’mon. Katsuki needed only a few urgent pumps, and Izuku’s soft words encouraging him to come inside, until he was jerking forward and fucking sloppily as he filled the condom.
Izuku kissed his forehead. “Yea, baby. Come.”
On the fogged windows, was crude drawings of dicks and a poor stick figure taking it from behind from another stick figure, while declaring excitedly in a dialogue bubble ‘oh ur cock is so huge!’. Two pointing arrows labeled the characters, Izuku and Katsuki.
Katsuki snickered and laid back down in the back seat with Izuku. The guys were going to be livid because the car irrefutably reeked of sex and man sweat.
Izuku picked his head up to see what had Katsuki smiling away like a criminal and rolled his eyes with a tired groan.
Katsuki said. “Thanks.”
Music trickled through the speakers. Light flashed through the glass from the occasional late night driver. Leaves scraped down the sidewalk, moved by the wind.
Izuku touched the thin hair on Katsuki’s thick forearms and started. “You know Himiko talked crap about you to me that day we went to Dave and Buster's.”
Katsuki didn’t respond immediately. “…What’d she say?”
“That you would break my heart. That once we fucked you would stop talking to me.” His own heart squeezed repeating the words back, a foolish part of him still paranoid even now that her words might come to true and Katsuki might exit out his life.
Katsuki’s respond dispelled his fear. “She’s such a lying cunt—“
“I told her not to talk about you like that.”
“Oh… That’s why you asked that back then, about being friends and everything?”
“Yea,” he confessed. A ball of guilt in his gut because admitting it out loud made him see how silly it was to do that, and Katsuki could be blunt or crude to the point of coming off rude but he scarcely acted so callously to friends.
” Sorry.” The leather was veined with creases. Izuku traced them for an excuse not to meet the stare Katsuki directed to the back of his head. “I let her get into my head. I know you’re not like that. I just got worried.”
“It’s okay…I won’t though. I mean, we’ll fight at some point because that’s how life is. I’ll probably annoy you or you’ll annoy me but I’m gonna try hard not to.”
He looked back. “I believe you, Katsuki.”
“And try not to do that to me.”
“What,” he laughed softly. “Break your heart?”
Katsuki nodded, unable to voice it.
Izuku took his fingers and kissed them individually and cradled them to center of his chest where his heart pulsed underneath. Katsuki’s hand flattened. “I’ll do the same too.”
Bodies hit the floor.
They’re back at it again.
They’re covered in bruises all over.
They’re kicking ass and pissing off the world.
Katsuki bucked off a blocker. “Izuku!”
“On it,” he called, and flew alongside the curve of the rink.
Yamada egged on the hype in the audience. “Oh! Can anyone out there stand a chance against our power couple? I mean, it’s not even fair to the competition with how in sync these guys are. And they told you romance is dead.”
Denki said, “How come they are the power couple and not us, huh? We’ve been together for two years.”
“Look, I’m the only person here not getting laid so shut up,” Hanta said.
Momo waved her custom-made sign in the audience next to Mina. ‘Go, Shouto!’ it declared in red glitter and hand-drawn hearts.
Eijirou choked back a laugh of shock. “That’s true. Damn, dude.”
Heroes to O.H.