Work Text:
Katsuki is the new hire in the home office, one of the many nameless but hugely efficient and very much needed assistants to one Kirishima Eijirou, patching everything together from their little admin department den.
Coincidentally, Katsuki is a healthy 25-year-old young man with an enviably healthy sex drive which has never in his 25 years of living been properly satisfied. It's hard to find someone who both gets him hard and isn’t a fucking idiot, so sue him for having standards.
After three weeks of acclimatising to his new workplace, Katsuki is fully integrated in the environment and also fully done with people's bullshit because apparently the HR department is a bunch of shitty extras who accept applications based purely on asshole potential. After almost a full year and a couple promotions pushing him to the enviable position of first assistant, the only highlight of his stable, well-paying, comfortable and conveniently located job amidst a calendar’s worth of sexually frustrated days is the return of the company CEO from one of their affiliated companies' offices in Osaka.
Katsuki's adventurous fantasy gets a decent challenge out of trying to exhaust the well of his boss-centered wet dreams.
*
Today is the day; today, Katsuki is finally done playing his own worst enemy (read: voice of reason). Today, Katsuki gives in.
Today, Katsuki shoves his newly-delivered fancy vibe up his ass in place of the stick that's been lodged there ever since his fundamentally unsatisfying graduation from college and strides into office with a tilt in his step that’s completely unrelated to his trembly giddiness, obviously. The bumps on the curved part of the plug feel extra nice, rubbing against the inside of his ass; every time the ridges hit just right he jumps a bit, biting his lip so his grin doesn’t split his face in half.
Of course, Katsuki wouldn’t have graduated top of his class if he were a total idiot; he has planned this well, made sure to be ahead of his workload and that no dumbass client wanted a share of his time for one meeting or another, encroaching on his hours pre-determined for office-setting fantasies. He is supposed to have a largely unexciting, very mundane, at most involving paperwork day at work, undisturbed by any of his colleagues or his boss or his mother calling to blackmail him into coming down for dinner.
As jaded and crass as he's become, he'd rather not his thirst-fuelled experiments get anywhere near his relationship with his mother.
*
And so here he is, at 9am sharp, already at his workstation with nothing significant to do for the foreseeable several hours and an excited bubbliness rising in his gut. He expects a whole day of waddling around his office and his boner, slightly discomfited by the half chub in his slacks but mightily encouraged by the precarious game he is playing in the uptight office environment.
Katsuki stays in his office — that’s a generous name for a slightly-bigger-than-average cubicle — for the most part of the day, almost regretting the lack of activity. Boredom is exhausting, even more so than the constant state of arousal, and by lunchtime he is ready to crawl up a wall. The vibe is doing an okay job of making the time pass, though, so he sets to reviewing emails and reorganising his file cabinet, lips curling and eyes sparkling all the while, especially with the toy shifting when he bows down to reach a bottom shelf.
This experiment is going well so far, and Katsuki is contemplating the next day when he can afford to wear the plug, maybe choose a busier time, or go flaunt his body before his boss — just the thought is jostling the hotness settled in his gut, making it spill over into his fingertips and his ears. He’s consumed by a fantasy of Kirishima all hot and bothered, itching to touch where Katsuki allows him a glimpse of skin, or maybe begging to take the place of that godforsaken toy, and Katsuki would let him, of course, but only after teasing his boss enough, making him shaky and desperate to bend Katsuki over and fuck him while Katsuki would be grinning, overjoyed at the power he has over the man, and —
“Bakugou, hey! Hope you’re not too busy, we have a meeting in 10 minutes!”
Katsuki straightens up to yell at the dumbfuck who dared interrupt him. He knows for sure there is no meeting on the schedule, he was the one to clear it up, for fuck’s sake. He turns around and, well, maybe the yelling has to be postponed — he can’t really afford to raise his voice at Kirishima who is standing at his door. He musters the patience and says,
“Are you sure, boss? The Endeavor Inc. conference is scheduled for tomorrow 10 am, there is nothing for today.”
“Oh, sure, but that’s a new one! I pulled some strings to get in touch with a new client without the paperwork, he agreed to come now. No worries though, I only need you there to take notes!” Kirishima’s enthusiasm is frankly admirable but Katsuki is not in the mood to appreciate it. Whatever. He can do this.
“I can do that. Do you need anything else?”
Kirishima smiles in that open, cute way he does. “Ah, would it be too much to ask for a cup of coffee? I’d go get it myself, but i wanted to run this by Amajiki before we begin, you know how he is.”
Honestly, Katsuki shouldn’t be enduring this bullshit, but he nods and agrees, “Alright. I’ll see you in ten then, boss.”
*
Fuck his boss (he wishes) and fuck new clients and especially fuck meetings where he has to sit still just across his wet dream while his vibe — the remote to which he’s fucking lost and didn’t have the time to find because, again, shitty meeting — ’accidentally’ gets put into autopilot mode with intensity maxed out. He could bet money he left it at his desk but after arranging a coffee for Kirishima and coming to fetch it, he couldn’t find it anywhere.
The meeting takes on a completely unanticipated turn, shifting from a familiar, determined process to a wickedly delicate development. Katsuki would lie if he said that didn’t excite him.
He tries to distract himself from the agonisingly slow crawling of the clock hands by studying the view outside. Kirishima’s personal conference room is nice, a candy of an office, sleek chrome furniture and floor to ceiling windows looking over the city skyline; it’s probably more enjoyable to work here than in the cubicle Katsuki has on the shared office floor, Kirishima better appreciate the perks of his CEO status — fuck, how is it that his thoughts keep revolving around the red menace?
Katsuki is so tense, back rigid and thighs clenching under the table. He needs a distraction, not a fucking hard-on — although that he seems to have successfully accomplished anyway, with his slacks straining at the front. Sitting down is doing nothing to help him save face — he is on the very edge of his seat, trying and failing to ease the pressure that’s building up inside. He would have preferred to remain standing, but Kirishima himself pulled out his chair, ever the gentleman, wordlessly asking that Katsuki sit by his arm with that toothpaste commercial-worthy smile, straight white teeth and rosy, plush lips that he’d love to see spit-slick and puffy… shit.
The vibrations pick up and Katsuki’s face contorts with the delightful agony of it, teeth piercing the skin of his lip with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. His mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood — and Katsuki has always liked it a little rough. He feels like his whole body is shaking, trembling, like he is moments away from coming right here. Realistically, he knows he won’t (probably), but fuck if he doesn’t feel close.
*
The client is nodding approvingly at the presentation displayed on the roll-up whiteboard when Katsuki catches Kirishima’s eye. His boss is throwing him pointed, calculated looks every once in a while, red irises lasered in on his face. Katsuki raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes — he can manage that much control because the vibrations have been silent for the past 15 minutes or so; he hopes the battery has just given out. He’s almost sure of it, gingerly relaxing, shifting to look at the whiteboard when he jumps, knee banging painfully against the table, unable to keep himself from clenching down when the vibe whirs up, a stifled gasp trapped in his throat. Kirishima is still staring. Katsuki is sweating, gaze feverish and arousal spiking sharp and hot and good, but that doesn’t dim his annoyance one bit.
If Kirishima is here to play I-spy then Katsuki is decidedly not impressed; he’d much rather lead the meeting himself than endure ridiculous, unqualified command, even if he’s willing him some slack for his looks. Thankfully, this time the sweet torture is brief. He glares at his boss again, a last warning paired with tight-pressed lips designed to discourage any ill-timed appreciation of his persona when Kirishima raises a hand, showing off something clutched between his fingers — oh. There it is. Bakugou blanches.
*
The meeting can’t end soon enough. After Katsuki learns just where his misplaced vibe control has gone, he loses all semblance of composure, shifting and squirming around in his chair. The vibrations are unhelpful and downright vicious, now that he knows their source even more so. Kirishima keeps a straight face but peeks at Katsuki’s tight eyebrows every now and then, clearly curious. Katsuki wants to hit him in his perfect teeth, and he would if that weren’t against corporate etiquette; he is not there for anyone’s fucking entertainment even when he’s been edging orgasms the whole hour they are discussing long-term development strategy.
Kirishima is shamelessly staring him down now, features schooled in a surprising show of self-control. Katsuki has no idea what the fuck he is thinking. Is this punishment? How did he even find the remote, and how did he recognise it for what it is? How did he know who he was going to make weak and helpless with arousal, breathless and oversensitive? Katsuki feels his boxers stick to his skin, uncomfortably wet. He would kill if that allowed him to come right the fuck now.
Finally, the last something-finance, whatever-marketing fucker leaves, and the glass door shuts behind him to reveal a tense silence shared only between Kirishima and Bakugou. Kirishima stands up and reaches for the door, twists the lock. When he turns around, his expression is finally alive again, none of the precise polite blankness.
He catches Katsuki’s eye, dark red and heated, and takes a step closer. Katsuki stays stuck in place, doubtful his legs could hold his weight and unwilling to treat Kirishima to a full view of the damage he has wrought on him with this little game. His dick is still straining in his pants, his shirt all crumpled where he gripped it tight just to have something to grip, and his face must be redder than Kirishima’s stupid fucking hair. He eyes the frosted glass walls of the conference room — a deceptive cover, and surely nowhere near soundproof. Even to a passing glance this looks nothing like a professional meeting, more like a predator on the prowl after an easy victim. Katsuki despises feeling like a victim. Kirishima’s eyes scream thrill at being a predator.
Kirishima tugs on his forearm, raising him from his seat. “We have a meeting to attend, don’t you think?” He is looking straight at Katsuki, deliberate and mischievous. “My office. Now.”
Katsuki is rightfully apprehensive following his boss, suppressing nervous shivers as Kirishima moves them into the separate room meant for his personal use. He locks that door too, and pushes Katsuki towards his desk. It’s frankly huge, with a glass surface and heavy wooden legs, massive and broad just like his leather chair.
Kirishima sits down while he hovers awkwardly nearby. The office smells faintly of spice and something warm, and Katsuki realises it must be Kirishima’s cologne wafting through the limited space. He is stalling, unsure and strained under his boss’ gaze.
“Well?”
He bristles despite his precarious position. “Well what?”
Kirishima doesn’t appear in the least upset; he sits with his chair rolled away from the table, legs spread, and when Katsuki looks down, he realises he is clearly, unashamedly hard. “Well,” Kirishima purrs, gesturing at his open lap, “why don’t you have a seat?”
He would definitely facepalm at the wording if he weren’t so enticed. His aching erection and flushed complexion don’t leave much room for argument, and Katsuki soon finds himself situated on Kirishima’s thighs. His boss looks smug as shit, glancing appreciatively over his form, grin firmly in place.
“Good, Bakugou.” Kirishima glides his hands over Katsuki’s clothed legs, muscles shifting under the fabric. He pulls in a breath.
Next thing he knows, he is shoved down flat on the table surface, shoulder blades hitting the glass with Kirishima on top of him, eyes wild and thick fingers clamping down on his waist. He grips tight, grinning like mad.
“Very good,” he says, and leans in to nose along Katsuki’s throat where a stifled breath catches, already tearing at the buttons of his shirt, pulling it to the sides and out of the way to take in the pale skin, humming contented when he looks over his smooth exposed chest. Katsuki squishes his chin into his collarbones, trying to see where Kirishima palms all over his pecs.
He is panting, hesitant and far too pleasured to object, pushing up into Kirishima’s groping, getting a smile in return. “I like how eager you are.” He fondles the sides of his chest, thumbs landing over his nipples, and Katsuki can’t help the weak keen building in his throat nor the clutch of his legs over his boss’ hips, but Kirishima unhooks his legs from his waist to rip his slacks clean open.
Kirishima lets the pants pool at his ankles and reaches to the side to pull out a pack of condoms. When Katsuki sees it, he slaps at his hand so the box flies to the floor, crying,
“No!”
Kirishima backs up, frowning. Sorry, I thought you were down. We don’t have to go that far — ”
“No!” Katsuki says again, covering his face at Kirishima’s incredulous expression. “That’s not what i mean.”
“What then? If you want, I can just do fingers, or — ”
Katsuki interrupts him again. “No! I want you.” Kirishima seems confused and slightly worried; he rises on his forearms, distancing himself from Katsuki, who scowls and grasps at the other’s shoulders to keep him close. “I want you raw.” He looks in Kirishima’s eyes. “Just fuck me raw, boss.”
The shift is instant. Kirishima’s face twists, his eyes go dark and dangerous. Katsuki shivers at the image. Kirishima bends down, bracing his arms over his head, and whispers into Katsuki’s lips, “Is that what you want, Bakugou? You want me to split you up just like that?” He rolls his hips against Katsuki’s cock leaking through his briefs, his breath runs over Katsuki’s face, hot and humid. “Bet you’d like me to come inside too, leave you leaking and dirty with my come, you filthy bitch. Would you like that?”
Katsuki is gasping on air, frantic and wanting, gone past words and into the mindless frenzy Kirishima’s words induce. He gulps against his excitement, letting out a breathy, “Please!”
Kirishima gives him a wicked smile, teeth on display, devilish in his want and throwing Katsuki down into submission. “Thought you would say that,” he says, and fastens wet, sharp-mouthed kisses onto Katsuki’s throat. “Do it again.”
Katsuki whines, ”Please!”
“Again.” Well that’s too much.
“Fuck you — ” Kirishima bites down hard on the skin of his neck.
“I said again.”
“Please,” he chokes out, shying away from the teeth puncturing his skin.
“Please what? You aren’t supposed to be this dim, babe.”
“Please, please, fuck me, come in me, whatever you fucking want just do it right fucking now.”
Kirishima smiles against his neck. “That’s better.” And then he bites again, impatient fingers tearing at Katsuki’s underwear, tongue trailing all over his neck, hungrily mouthing at the tendons. Katsuki arches his back, writhing and gasping, out of breath and out of control, nails trailing red welts over Kirishima’s shoulders. This is definitely not what he imagined, but it’s hot and heady and perfect, and he pushes his chest into Kirishima’s greedy mouth, relishing the feeling of his canines on perky nipples. His eyes roll back.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, half-coherent. “Come on, now, please.”
Kirishima pops off his neck with a wet smack. “Since you’re asking so nicely, babe,” and then he tears Katsuki’s briefs off.
The air is heating up rapidly but still brings goosebumps to his thighs. Kirishima’s hands quickly smooth them out, inching towards his cock, wrapping around it and tugging once, twice, then moving down. Katsuki muffles a disappointed no in mouth, but he isn’t disappointed for long — out of his sight, long fingers press against the base of the toy to push it in and then tug a bit. He pulls and prods, eyes fixed on Katsuki’s feverish ones as the base of the toy flirts with Katsuki’s rim, studying his quivering stomach and restless hands that reach to grasp at Kirishima’s wrist.
“Do you just want the toy or what?” Katsuki says, not letting him move his hand. “Aren’t you tired of this teasing shit?”
Kirishima chuckles, “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” It’s a question he doesn’t want an answer to, and without waiting, he pops the plug out in one swift movement. Bakugou clenches on nothing and gulps in breaths of thick air, spreading his legs to give kirishima a good look.
Kirishima caresses the white expanse of skin and sits down, scooting closer in his leather chair to be eye-level with his goal. He roams over the flesh with his keen gaze and lowers his head to mouth at the creamy skin, tracing it with a warm tongue and pointed teeth on the right and massaging with a broad palm on the left. He moves up and down and across, occasionally biting and pulling, leaving marks red and shiny with spit. Kirishima blows a breath over them and watches in satisfaction as Katsuki shivers, squirming and shifting, trying to close his legs but held firm in the grip of his boss who lets his arms trail around Katsuki’s hips to glide over his stomach and ribs.
Once Kirishima’s had enough worshipping his thighs he hums, hitching Katsuki’s knees higher with his hands, then reaches for a bottle of lube to splash some on his fingers and spread it around, methodical and calm, free hand never ceasing its groping of Katsuki’s chest. He doesn’t waste time and pushes in two fingers at once, not afraid to hurt, and curls the digits up, pulling a wet cry out of Katsuki. He pumps his hand, free palm sliding up to a vulnerable pale throat, wrapping tight around it. He strangles Katsuki’s breath, teeth grazing his earlobe, pushing his head back to suckle on a patch of skin under his jaw, touching everywhere at once, scorching skin and eager tongue, overwhelming and urgent, and Katsuki is defenseless before the onslaught of sensation. He comes onto his stomach embarrassingly fast, nails raking angry lines down Kirishima’s back.
The fingers leave his ass with a wet squelch, but before he can miss their warmth, he is rushed to turn face down and there is a fat cock head pushing against his entrance, spreading precome around — no condom, just like he’s asked — gliding between the cheeks but not going inside. Without any time at all to catch his breath it’s maddening, so maddening, so close but so far, so hot but not hot enough, wet and smooth, and also big but he can’t really feel it yet and — ooohh fuck him
Katsuki cries out, lips slack and spit dripping onto the tabletop, mouth loose and limbs scrambling uncoordinated to catch himself because if he doesn’t he feels like he will be lost. Kirishima felt big against his taint but feels even bigger stretching out his insides, thumb of one hand massaging the puffy red rim. He groans while Katsuki sucks in quick shallow breaths, fists clenched tight and spine bowstring tight.
Kirishima is merciful and doesn’t hurry to move. Instead, he covers Katsuki’s back with his body, bracing himself on his forearms and once again wrapping one hand over his throat, fingers splayed possessively and tugging so Katsuki has no choice but to throw his head back. Kirishima nibbles on a reddened earlobe, whispering,
“Isn’t that what you wanted, babe?”
Head tilted up by Kirishima’s unyielding fingers, Katsuki can just barely nod, chewing up his lip to fight down needy whimpers.
“Ah ah, quit that,” he gives a short grinding thrust. Katsuki whines. “I like you loud. can you be loud for me, babe?”
Yes, he can. He can be so loud that despite both glass doors the whole building will be aware that their CEO is fucking Katsuki Bakugou in the middle of the workday right on his office table, and he’s fucking him good. Katsuki releases his lip and responds,
“Can you make me, boss?”
He feels kirishima’s fingers flex on his Adam’s apple and swallows, heart skittering from the little murmur of a laugh on the back of his neck.
“Whatever you want,” and he rolls his hips, cock ploughing in thick and deep, earning himself a ravished groan in response, thrusts getting harder and more insistent with every slap of their hips. Katsuki couldn’t keep quiet if he tried now, open mouth letting unrestrained moans fill the air. His hip bones hit the edge of the table but he pays it no mind, pushing back onto Kirishima’s hard dick filling him up.
He feels his boss lean in to lick a stripe behind his ear and smile into his hair,
“Good, Katsuki.”
*
Two orgasms later — one of which was fucking untouched, goddamn, Katsuki, how have you fallen — he is panting into the glass surface of Kirishima’s work table. To think that a measly 20 minutes ago he was filing contracts and notes and now has successfully rearranged katsuki’s insides — fuck. Katsuki drops his forehead on the table top, smearing sweat on glass, and closes his eyes.
Behind him, Kirishima hums approvingly, “Very nice, Bakugou, I knew I was right when I made the board pick you as deputy chief at your department.”
That sobers Katsuki up a fair bit.
“Well fuck you, I don’t need your fucking charity to drag me up the ranks!” especially if it’s at the cost of his fucking body, he’s not a bitch ass whore. Kirishima only chuckles, still not letting go of Katsuki’s ass. If anything, he squeezes tighter, fingers digging into the flesh and bunching it up in between.
“But of course! If you did, I wouldn’t be giving you free reigns over a whole department, would I?”
Honestly, un-fucked and thinking clear Bakugou would already be chewing the cheeky asshole out and asserting his well-deserved authority over the shitty ass department, but as it is, he can only pace his breathing and refrain from looking too debauched. That wouldn’t agree with his image. Kirishima is still fondling his asscheeks.
“Shut up. And get your hands off my ass, yeah?”
Kirishima hums in agreement but doesn’t comply at once, instead giving Katsuki’s backside a few more firm squeezes, rough palms sliding over clammy skin, admiring the mottled red mess of overlapping teeth marks and bruises adorning his thighs. He smirks when he imagines Katsuki discovering them later.
Finally, he takes his hands away. Bakugou stands and shakily straightens himself up, trembling hands over sweat-slick buttons of his shirt. when presentable, he turns around and finds himself trapped between Kirishima’s — magnificent, thick, drool-worthy — thighs. He scowls.
“The fuck do you want from me now?”
*
Kirishima finishes explaining. Bakugou stares. Apparently, his boss thinks him hot enough to have very little trouble getting a dick appointment, which is good. Flattering, even. His boss also seems determined to transform their working relationship into a 'mutually beneficial agreement’, as he puts it. Well. Bakugou’s professionalism has already been blown to hell, not like there is much to lose.
Except for his job. And maybe his chances at another one. And maybe his rent money if he needs a lawyer, and then his apartment, and- fuck, not the time.
Anyway. In for a penny.
“Persuade me.”
“Hm?”
Is it a good hm or a bad hm? Is it a ‘you are way out of line' hm? Whatever. Katsuki only has so much dignity left, might as well protect at least a bit of it by playing hard to get.
“Why should I bother? As you well see, im dealing just fine on my own,” he nearly bites his tongue — that’s an exaggeration to say the least — but soldiers on. “You just said I could get some easily, so what’s so special about your offer that I can’t get without compromising my job, my reputation, and my ass?”
Kirishima leans back in his borderline opulent leather armchair that looks more like it’d fit in a throne room instead of an office and purses his lips lightly as if in thought.
“Well, if you put it that way, then by all means, you shouldn't. And you're not buying my silence with sex, I'm not an asshole. However, I must point out that your way of dealing had you going to work with a vibrator up your ass.”
“Well? Maybe I'm just adventurous.”
Kirishima raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? Seemed more like you are so desperate for sex you’ve resorted to very risky, very office-inappropriate means. And while I admit it’s hot, I doubt it’s very effective, at least not as effective as getting properly fucked every night. Mornings as well, if you’d like.”
Katsuki hopes his hungry gulp goes under Kirishima's radar. He can't even convince himself he's not desperate with how bothered the man's words got him. Shit.
Still, is he hearing that right? Getting to screw his boss twice every day?
“You talk a big game,” Katsuki squints. “You sure you can measure up?”
“Won't know it till you try it,” and Kirishima fucking smirks. As if he weren't hot enough already.
Jesus christ, Katsuki is so getting drunk tonight. And it's just 4pm, three more hours until he can clock out.
If he has to be completely honest with himself, there is no way he is not agreeing, but his pride, crippled as it is from the events of the day, pushes him to keep up the charade.
“I’ll consider it.”
Then he turns and leaves.
*
As soon as he is out the door, he curses and stops dead. He’s left his fucking toy in fucking Kirishima’s fucking office. Fucking fuck, he is supposed to have this under control. He briefly debates going back but ultimately decides against it. The plug isn’t worth the damage to his ego.
The rest of the day speeds by unlike the crawling tempo of this morning. Katsuki is lost between his work and the lingering memory of the upside-down view he had of Kirishima’s office with his head hanging off the edge of the table. He breaks the surface of his daydreams every once in a while, disoriented and spooked, far too caught up in the persistent feeling of hands skimming his body.
“You forgot this,” his thoughts are rudely interrupted again when Kirishima speaks behind his shoulder. “Was it that good? You are uncharacteristically absent.”
“Talk about not being an asshole,” Katsuki takes the little plastic bag without needing to check its contents.
“Not asshole enough to blackmail you into sex, but teasing is definitely on the table.”
“You are really not making your offer sound appealing right now,” he makes a shooing motion towards the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m leaving. I’m overtime already.”
“Of course. You need time to think, after all,” and he leaves Katsuki before he can tell him to shut up.
*
Fifteen minutes later he is stepping out of the elevator, work bag heavy in his hand with the weight of that packet inside. He is thinking, maybe, he shouldn’t have made Kirishima leave. Maybe they should have talked, decided what that whole day would mean. Maybe —
“I’ll be waiting tomorrow, Bakugou,” the smooth voice breaks Katsuki out of his stunned reverie; he starts and whips around.
“What?” The hell is he about? Katsuki looks into Kirishima’s laughing eyes and tries to figure out when exactly he has made any sort of promise — he hasn’t, has he? He wasn’t supposed to, he’s not going to come crawling back for more, he is not —
“I need you here at 10am sharp. The Endeavor conference, remember?” his boss smiles. “Is anything wrong? I can arrange for someone to take over…”
“No need! I’m fucking capable, thanks,” Katsuki clears his throat and tries to shrug off the sticky feeling of shivers that voice has left on his skin. “I'll be there”
“Good boy,” that fucking voice is back. Work is going to get difficult if Kirishima continues like that, seeing as hearing your immediate superior should not force all your thoughts in a direction completely incompatible with efficiency.
Staring at his boss' retreating back, Katsuki realises there’s still one question he needs an answer to.
“Boss.”
“Hm?” Kirishima doesn’t even appear surprised when he turns around, just completely, impeccably at ease. Katsuki clenches his teeth; he can’t seem to gain ground and it’s enraging to feel shown up.
“How did you know?”
Kirishima doesn’t disappoint and asks no questions. His grin is a weapon, cutting sweet, sweet pain into Katsuki’s insides. Kirishima stares him down as he says,
“Oh, I happen to have one exactly like that. And I picked it up from your table, by the way, so there was very little doubt whose it is. I just couldn’t resist, babe.”