Chapter Text
Another weekend, another ‘gathering’.
That’s what Mina likes to call these house parties. She manages to pull together the most random groups of people and somehow, every time, Denki meets someone new. He has absolutely no idea how Mina knows a seemingly endless supply of fresh faces, but Denki isn’t about to complain. Whether it’s flirting or networking, he’s happy to have people to chat with.
Sometimes though, he wishes Mina would entertain the idea of a guest list.
Like tonight.
It seems as though ‘friends of friends’ had invited other friends, and every single person under the age of 30 who lives within a five mile radius of the house is packed into the place. Denki is used to slipping through crowds with a drink in hand, having been to enough festivals and gigs to fill an entire magazine with his reviews, so he isn’t too phased.
It’s just so busy .
He ducks his head into the kitchen and sees Mina chatting up a storm with a couple of girls he thinks he recognises from somewhere. Maybe a different party? Denki doesn’t fancy dealing with the awkwardness of faking knowing someone's name, so he slips into the crowded living room instead.
He finds a trio of familiar faces taking up precious space on the room's larger sofa, broad shoulders and spread legs claiming the area for themselves. Hanta, Eijiro, and Katsuki have made their home on the couch, and they have no intentions of losing the spot for the rest of the night, to the point where Denki knows he’ll probably end up running drinks to and from the kitchen for them. It’s worth it to have a place to chill amongst the chaos though.
As though he read his mind, Hanta holds open his arms for his best friend to fall into. The man is all grins and limbs, and Denki never tires of getting a massive hug and neck deep into a drunken conversation with his best bro at these parties.
“How’s it hanging, man?”
“Long, loose, and full of juice bro!”
People like to rip into Denki and Hanta. It’s true, they look like a comical pair; the short blonde twink dressed in alt fashion and pastels next to the six foot tall hippy in harem pants and baggy hemp shirts always makes people look twice, if just for the contrast. Denki wouldn’t change the two of them for the world.
“Oi, Dunceface. Go and change the music.”
He doesn’t feel that way about all of his friends.
“Ugh, I’ve just sat down,” He whines to Katsuki and kicks him playfully in the thigh. “Can’t you wait for like, ten minutes?”
“No, someone’s been playing some sad indie shit for way too long and it’s killing my buzz.”
Eijiro leans over to Denki and stage whispers to him.
“Please change the music, Denks. You know you’re one of the only people whose opinion he trusts with that sort of thing.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Red?”
Denki rolls his eyes but gets to his feet regardless. Hanta pats him on the head playfully.
“What do you want, Bakubro?”
“Something decent. Feels like a fucking funeral right now.”
“Pop bangers, gotcha.” His finger guns are met with two laughs and a groan.
Denki tries dancing over to the speakers, but the next song is even more dire than the one before, so dancing is not on the cards right now. It is more of an emotional slink as he avoids knocking drinks and walking through conversations. Luckily the device attached to the speakers is free and ready for Denki’s masterful music choices.
Now don’t get him wrong, Denki is a massive fan of The Cure and The Smiths (Morrisey notwithstanding) but they aren’t the right vibe for a house party. Looking around, he knows he’s not the only one thinking it.
He’s just pulling up a public playlist of his when he feels a presence looming over him. A short look up and he’s met with purple hair and purple eyes. There’s an air of bored disinterest about the guy, like he would rather be anywhere but at this party.
“That was my music choice.”
“Ah, sorry man! I love my rock too, but I was asked to put on something a bit more pop-y.” Denki shrugs with a bright smile.
Mr Purple tightens his lips and looks down at the music Denki’s pulling up.
“Let me guess, Britney Spears?”
“Well, I’ll never say no to a bit of the Pop Queen herself but I have a party playlist I was just going to run through.” Denki grins.
The guy’s cute, verging on hot, and the complete opposite to himself. He was wearing an Idles t-shirt, the one with cats all over it. Denki had the same top (and the matching dog version) in his wardrobe back home. He wonders if Almost Hottie had gone to the same gig when the band toured last year and is about to ask when his train of thought is interrupted.
“Tch. Figures.”
Denki blinks and his grin drops, a little unsure he’s heard correctly. He’s not entirely sure if Grumpy Cute is being a really shit flirt or actually insulting him. He straightens himself to his full height (which is still woefully shorter than Tall, Dark & Broody) and fixes his face back to friendly mode.
“Pardon?”
Stranger Danger leans back a little and Denki feels himself being thoroughly examined, just not the way he would like. Dark eyes take in his cropped pastel hoodie, jeans printed with clouds, and mismatched bright, kitschy earrings from his vast collection he’s gathered over the years (tonight’s picks were a neon pink lightning bolt and a little ceramic mushroom Jirou had bought him). The stranger lifts an eyebrow and his face shifts from disinterest to dislike with a thin sneer.
Ah. So he was being a dick. What a shame.
“You look like one of those people who listen to whatever’s trending on tiktok. Bet you’re a huge fan of Beach Bunny right now, huh?” the question drips with condescension, and Denki has to fight himself from curling up like he might have a few years ago. He’s dealt with way bigger and meaner dickheads in his fight for his little spot in the world, and some Wannabe Robert Smith isn’t going to ruin his night.
“I do like Beach Bunny, but I actually wanted to start off with some Shakira, oh great music overlord. Is that acceptable?”
Denki doesn’t wait for the evitable eye roll or sarcastic comment, instead just switching to a party pop playlist that he knows has a little bit of everything, and makes sure that ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ is the first tune to play. Without looking back, he dances over to an excited Mina who is telling anyone in the vicinity that ‘this is her jam’.
“Denki Denki baby! This is my favourite song!”
“I know babe, I put it on just for you!”
“Oh my god, I love you so much. You know me too well.” She places a kiss on his cheek, leaving a bright pink lip print. “You know what we should do? Shots and then dancing!”
“Yes please !”
She leads him by the hand back to the sofa where Bakugou and Kirishima are chatting. Well, Kirishima is doing a lot of chatting while Bakugou nods and glares.
“Lads, it’s shots time. Speak now or forever hold your liquor.” Mina calls as she grabs some previously used plastic shot glasses off the coffee table and pulls a bottle of top shelf tequila out from under the couch.
“Did someone say shots?” Two lanky arms wrap around Denki’s waist and haul him up for a few seconds. He panics for a moment before he recognises the arms owner and playfully jabs his elbow into Hanta. The taller man slides back into his spot and drags Denki into his lap.
“Damn, where do you get off scaring me like that?” Denki grips the arms holding him in an awkward hug, twisting to look at his friend.
“Mostly in the shower,” Hant shrugs with a cheeky wink before resting his chin on Denki’s head. “Where are the shots? Mina, you promised shots?”
“Shots, shots, shots!” Denki and Eijiro cheer, fists pumping as they jostle Katsuki from either side.
“The next person to say the word ‘shots’ is getting a dead arm,” Bakugou threatens the group, though none of them take him seriously.
“Okay okay!” She pours out some healthy sized measures of tequila and finds some salt sachets amongst the coffee table detritus. Clearly these aren’t the first shots of the night for Mina. There’s no limes but a lack of citrus has never stopped Denki’s mates from getting absolutely smashed on tequila before.
Denki knocks back two in a row before deciding he and Mina need to dance. The music is still upbeat and pop-y, and he is fairly certain his playlist is still playing, or at least something very close to it.
Music Overlord is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably sulking around a shadowy corner somewhere, stupid prick.
Luckily for Denki, Mina is the best distraction he could ask for. The pair sing along to every track that comes up; Mina with serious talent, Denki badly but with gusto. At some point, during a particularly rowdy rendition of ‘Super Bass’, Denki spots a familiar pair of purple eyes watching him. He plasters on an even bigger smile and sings extra loud.
Why? Because fuck Purple Nurple, that’s why.
He bows out of the dance circle that’s started and heads back over to the sofa where his friends have seemingly taken root. Denki sits on Hanta’s lap without invitation and steals the ends of the cigarette he’d been holding.
“Hey, any of you recognise the guy with purple hair in the Idles tee?”
“The guy who hasn’t stopped glaring at you? I think he’s Tokoyami’s friend.” Eijiro says with a swig of his beer.
“Yeah, I know him.” Katsuki interjects with a huff. “He’s called Shinsou and is a total asshole. What’ve you done to piss him off, Blondie?”
“I’ve not done anything! I changed the music and he basically called me a fake music fan? Like, how does that even make sense? But it wasn’t even that. It was like he was looking down on me for liking pop.” Denki sighs. “I mean, who even does that any more?”
“Losers.” Hanta nods sagely as he rolls another cigarette.
“Yeah, that sort of attitude is the opposite of manly.” Eijiro agrees wholeheartedly.
“Besides Denks,” Hanta speaks as he licks the paper, “you have to be the most knowledgeable person I know when it comes to music.”
“Apart from Kyouka.” Denki interjects.
“Of course, but they’re in a whole other league though.”
As expected, Denki ends up being the sofa’s Drinks Bitch for the night in return for a rollie every now and then. He doesn’t mind too much, considering it a small price to pay for never buying his own cigs.
He’s on another return journey from the kitchen, arms laden with bottles of beer (and a couple of cups of water because Mother Hen Katsuki has his boxers in a twist), when one of the many strangers bumps into him. The resulting spill and chaos would normally be nothing to worry about; a quick apology and self-deprecating joke is a balm to most party conflict.
But of course Denki doesn’t fall into a normal person. No. He falls into, and subsequently drenches the back of, the one person who has decided they hate his guts on sight.
“Ah shit, I’m sorry man!” It’s a genuine apology, but Shinsou looks at Denki like he personally insulted his entire family and then pissed on his cat for good measure.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“ My problem? It was an accident, you massive prick! What’s your problem?”
“My problem is loud fucking idiots who turn up to places and make everything about them.”
“I told you I was asked to change the music. Why are you taking this so personally, bro?”
“I’m not your ‘bro’, shut the fuck up you obnoxious prick! Just looking at you is enough to give me a headache.”
Ah. There it is again. As though what he wears makes any impact on him as a person. Denki has dealt with enough toxic masculinity in his time to be able to take a lot of insults on the chin, but it does get tiring having people judge him by his state of dress.
He feels fingers barely press against his back, a practiced gesture he and his friends have perfected over the years. Hanta and Katsuki are behind him, while Eijiro stands a little further back. The touch says ‘I trust you can lay this motherfucker into the ground if you need to, but I’m here just in case’. It gives Denki the little bit of confidence to snap back, instead of rolling over and ignoring the comments.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not wearing enough black for you to take seriously?”
“Whatever.”
“God, you’re such a dick . A guy wears a bit of pastel and suddenly he’s a poser?” Denki turns away, deciding that ultimately the guy isn’t worth ruining the party for. Hanta closes an arm over his shoulders.
“That’s what I thought. Guys like you never have any fucking resolve.”
His friends hush nearly instantly, with nothing but a ‘fuck’ from Bakugou and snickered ‘oh snap’ from Sero.
“I’m sorry… 'Guys like me’ ?”
He rounds on Shinsou and he absolutely relishes the flash of fear across his face.
“I have absolutely nothing to prove, but I love putting snobby music dicks like you in their place so fucking try me bitch. Do you want to see my Masters in Musical Theory? Do you need to read the interviews I conducted in English with various up and coming punk bands from Europe?”
The tequila is doing a lot of heavy lifting now, and Denki’s mind is going a mile a minute, but he can’t seem to stop.
“Would you like to see one of my three guitars that I play very fucking well, thank you very much? How about my extensive collection of band shirts I bought directly from the gigs I’ve attended which, by the way , includes the very top you’re wearing right now?”
He takes a deep, seething breath and looks Shinsou straight in the eye. God, what he would do to punch that gorgeous jaw right now.
“You stand there with your undeserved superiority complex, just another guy in skinny jeans and Doc Martens judging me for wanting to dance to a bit of Shakira at a house party. So what is it, Shinsou; thinly veiled homophobia, a shitty ego, or are you just bitter that I’m having fun and you’re not?”
The entire room was silent, apart from the chatter and occasional laugh from the other rooms, who hadn’t been witness to the beat down of the century. Denki’s heart feels like it’s in his throat and the surge of power and confidence that the tequila had powered into his veins was swiftly fading in the quiet.
“Mother fucking mic drop, Dunceface!” roars Bakugou. He throws an arm around Denki’s shoulder and shakes him with pride.
Shinsou just stands there, mouth hanging open slightly in what Denki can only assume is shock.
“You tryin’ to catch flies there, hey buddy?” Hanta laughs at Shinsou, coming up on Denkis other side. He feels a lot more confident flanked by his friends.
Shinsou looks like he’s about to throw something (a punch, a bottle, a fit), but his friend grabs his arm and swiftly manhandles the angry man into another room before anything else can be said.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah,” Denki breathes. “Yeah actually, I am!” He laughs brightly and sends a pointed look to Mina who had made her way over at some point in the argument. “What do you think babe, another round of tequila?”
“Yes! Shots!”
“Shots, shots, shots!” cry Hanta and Eijiro from either side of Katsuki.
“Will you idiots shut up ?!”
They continue to scream, and dance, and drink each other under the table. Someone manages to gather enough spare cups to start a beer pong game outside and most of the party clears out to take part, cheer, or jeer. Unsurprisingly Katsuki’s competitive side rears its ugly head and storms out to captain a team, and Eijiro joins him. Hanta ends up chatting to a guy with red and white dyed hair (and people say Denki’s little black bolt is ridiculous!) but Denki is feeling a little bit oversocialized, so heads to Mina’s bedroom to decompress for a while.
The world is spinning a little when he lies down in the pile of jackets and bags that have been dumped on the bed, and Denki can’t work out if it’s better to close his eyes or keep them open. He is, however, hyper aware of just how dead he will be if he voms in Mina’s room. After rooting around for a little while, he finds someone’s coat that’s particularly soft and throws it over his head with a groan.
The darkness helps his head a little, but there’s still the spinning sensation to contend with. His drunken brain starts thinking about fairground rides and it’s all a bit much. He groans into the coat he’s still buried in.
“Are you okay?”
Denki jumps, not having realised someone had joined him in the room. He scrabbles to push the coat off his face, but somehow the sleeve slaps him a couple of times before he manages to clear it.
There, watching him in his tequila-sodden glory, is Mr Lavender-Blue-Dilly-Dilly himself. Shinsou sways a little in the doorway holding a cup of something, clearly also drunk and looking for a moment of quiet too.
“Do I look ridiculous?” Denki whines. Shinsou looks surprised by the question, like it was the last thing he expects to be asked by the feisty blonde he’d found burrowed in the jackets and bags of the party guests.
“I mean, yes.” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck and shoots Denki a worried look as he closes the bedroom door. “You look drunk.”
“So do you.” Rolling onto his side so he can see him, Denki flaps a hand at the other man. “Sit, sit, sit.”
Shinsou obeys, but Denki isn’t too sure if it was due to his request or if the man is in a similar spinny place and couldn’t bear to stand much longer. Judging by the way he rubs his temples and steadies his breathing, Denki is willing to bet on the latter.
The pair stay like that for a while, no talking just the slightly dulled noise from the party going on outside the bedroom door keeping them company. There’s tension, of course. Denki is well aware that he had a verbal slanging match with Shinsou only an hour or so ago, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care much.
“Sorry for being a dick.”
The apology rings in the air. Denki is too drunk to be flustered so instead he just looks at Shinsou with bleary eyes.
“Huh?” is his intelligent response.
“Before. I was a total dick.” Shinsou looks up to the ceiling and rubs the back of his neck with one hand before looking back at Denki. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Yeah, that was a dick move.” Denki slides down off the bed and onto the floor, accidentally dragging a couple of coats with him. “Gimme a sip,” he demands, and makes grabby hands at the cup Shinsou is sipping from.
The water might as well be mana from Heaven with the way it seems to settle Denki’s head and stomach.
“Since you shared your agua, I forgive you for being a dick.”
“Cheers. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou, by the way.” Denki gives his name after finishing the water. “You need some more?” Shinsou points at the empty cup.
Denki nods with probably a little more vigour than necessary and hands it over.
“Please. There’s a tap in the ensuite.”
Upon Shinsou’s return, he doesn’t sit opposite Denki again, but next to him against the bed. Despite the cup of water they continue to pass between them, a wave of spinning sensations hits Denki out of nowhere so he bends forward to put his head between his knees.
He definitely hears Shinsou chuckle at his warbling groan.
“Ugh, why can’t alcohol just have the fun bits and not the ‘wanna vomit in your friends wardrobe’ bits?” Rubbing his eyes doesn’t seem to do anything but add stars to his vision, and Denki doesn’t think he needs anything like that right about now. Not when Denki is close enough to smell Shinsou’s aftershave and the taller man is gently patting his back.
“Tequila slammers will do that to you. Just... keep breathing I guess?”
Denki laughs weakly as Shinsou rubs an awkward hand on his shoulder.
“Just keep breathin’ and breathin’ and breathin’...” He sings.
“Are you seriously singing Ariana fucking Grande at me? When I’m trying to help you out?” Shinsou actually huffs out an exasperated laugh and the hand stills.
“To be fair to me, you started it. The other option was ‘Every Breath You Take’.”
“And you consider yourself punk?” The words have bite but Denki sees a little smirk, a level of almost playfulness that wasn’t there before. He’s not sure he can fully blame the tequila anymore, but Denki pretends to himself as he pushes slightly further into Shinsou’s space. The man holds his ground and the smirk widens a touch.
It’s suddenly a lot easier to ignore the spinning when Denki has that mouth to focus on.
“Oh spare me,” Denki purrs. “I’m more punk than you’ll ever be.” He’s practically licking his lips now. There’s no denying where he’s driving this conversation towards, and it seems Shinsou is happy to go along for the ride.
“Fuck, you’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.” A large hand comes to lightly rest on the small of Denki’s back (tentative, testing) and on receiving no complaints, holds a little tighter. “I want to take you down a peg.”
“Well then fucking do it.” Denki hisses, and closes the remaining gap between their mouths.
The clash of teeth and lips is just short of brutal, and Denki is pretty sure they both manage to draw blood. What’s more, he thinks that’s exactly what they were both aiming for. He holds the front of Shinsou’s shirt with tight fists and in return feels Shinsou’s fingers grip his hips hard enough to bruise. The idea that he’ll see the marks in the morning sends a thrill up Denki’s spine.
Shinsou grabs Denki’s jaw and holds his face back for a moment and smirks down at him. There’s something a little dangerous in his gaze and Denki loves it.
“You’re pretty, for an insufferable bastard.”
“And you’re handsome for a dickhead, now kiss me again.”
And he does.
Their hands are in each other's hair, pulling at roots and scratching at scalps. Denki moans as one hand moves up his shirt to pinch a nipple and another drags nails down his back. Swinging his leg over Shinsou’s lap Denki returns the gesture with interest, scratching up solid sides and making the taller man hiss.
Shinsou presses another bruising kiss to Denki’s lips.
“I’m going to take you apart.” His grin is all teeth as they separate briefly.
“Big words, those.” Denki huffs, pulling his hoodie over his head and throwing it to one side. It’s too warm, though he’s not sure if that’s just the room or if it’s almost entirely down to the smoking hot guy who’s lap he’s perched on. “You sure you’re up for the challenge?”
“I've dealt with worse guys than you, Kaminari.”
Denki snorts and grins down at the man. He decides he rather likes the view of Shinsou under him and between his thighs.
“No, you haven’t.”
He grinds down with the challenge, and takes great pleasure in the strangled gasp Shinsou makes. Denki can feel heat and hardness between them and isn’t that just the ego boost of the year? Shinsou cups the back of his thighs and squeezes in retaliation, before biting down on Denki’s exposed shoulder.
But he can’t fuck a stranger in his friends bedroom, can he?
Can he...?
Just when he was considering the moral implications of shagging in the ensuite vs the bedroom proper, they are interrupted as the bedroom door swings open and Mina clatters in.
“Denki, how are you feelin-”
There’s a moment of silence while she takes in the scene before her. Kiss swollen lips, bite marks, rumpled clothing and ruffled hair. God, Denki is never going to hear the end of this, is he?
She grins.
“Mina, no-” Denki scrambles to get up and catch her, but trips and falls over Shinsou’s legs.
“Oh my god, you are not getting off in my bedroom ?!” Mina screams with laughter before turning on her heel and charging out to tell everyone. “Hanta! You’ll never guess who Denki’s humping!”
“Mina!” The name is hissed with as much venom as Denki can muster while he’s lying prone across the floor, but it’s no use. She’s gone and the squad will be hearing about his misdeeds in T minus 10 seconds.
Denki looks back at Shinsou, who has turned such a bright shade of red that the poor man could be used as a traffic light. While Denki appreciates the valiant effort he makes to hide his abject mortification, he really can’t relate. All his shame as far as his besties are concerned is long gone.
“I should go, my friends are probably looking for me.” Shinsou barely even looks at him, which is more upsetting to Denki than it reasonably should be, but he chooses to chalk it up to queasiness and getting solidly cockblocked.
“Oh yeah, cool. No worries.”
Shinsou ducks out of the room without another word.
Denki didn’t even get a number. What a dickhead.