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Katsuki hefts a full rack of clean glasses up over one shoulder, bracing it with his lead arm. He tucks a second against his waist and walks out the swinging doors and into the noise and glitter of the restaurant.
“Service face on,” Aizawa reminds him as they pass.
Katsuki scowls. He’d give the grim older man the finger if his hands weren’t full.
“Thanks, kid,” Rumi says as she lifts the partition of the bar for him. She relieves him of one of the racks as he dips behind the bar with her. “Above and beyond as usual.”
“Whatever,” Katsuki grumbles. “It’s nothing.”
It’s getting toward the end of his afternoon shift, and he wants the bar fully stocked and ready before he leaves. He’s been busting ass for weeks now, slaving as a barback to the busy upscale bar, trying to prove his worth. He needs fast money, big money, and he can only work at night, after classes. He’s not legally old enough to bartend, but neither was Keigo when he made bartender five years ago. If that bird-brain can do it, then Katsuki can do it better.
Katsuki sets the rack down behind the bar and gets to work restocking, movements quick and efficient, tuning out the noise of the place with sheer focus. He’s comfortably in his zone, slipping behind Rumi as she works, cleaning her shakers, cutting ornamental garnish with deft flicks of his knife hand. He’s just about done cutting a neat little stack of orange twists when a flash of red catches his eye.
In the corner of the bar is a man with a thick red mane tucked under a black baseball cap. The guy is huge, futilely trying to hide himself in an oversized hoodie. Idiot. If anything, the overly casual dress makes him stick out like a sore thumb in the upscale bar.
Katsuki sighs. At least, if he squints, he can pretend the man is Red Riot.
Katsuki’s been following Red Riot since he was eight years old, since he first saw the monstrous shape of unbreakable plow through fan-favorite Shouto’s impenetrable ice wall at the UA sports festival. There was something so thrilling about that vicious grin, the startling flash of his eyes, even the terrifying sound he made as he moved with shocking speed to subdue the wide-eyed Shouto.
It was puppy love, instant and near-smothering. And it only got worse.
He hoarded march, he bookmarked videos and editorials. He stayed up late to watch replays of live footage he missed at school and woke up early to do the same. Red Riot was a hero’s hero, he had guts for days, he was always smiling and he always, always won.
They told Katsuki he’d never be a hero like that—against odds, he was quirkless. But Katsuki never cared about odds, so he trained like he *could* be a hero. He took jiu-jitsu and krav maga, he studied language and law, he trained in swords and knives and guns and in how to disarm them. He studied chemistry and physics, he took up fabrication and material sciences. He blew away the rest of his high school support class, even shitty Deku, graduating with honors and a fat scholarship to a top engineering school.
Katsuki had a promising future designing gadgets for the next generation of heroes. But he didn’t want to make gadgets—he wanted to use them himself. Hence the bar job, to save up for a buyout of the suit he designed for himself. Quirk or no quirk, he could take down the same combat robots as the hero course kids when he was fully outfitted in his bracers and light armor.
He dreamed of meeting Red Riot some day, showing the hero his blast bracers and his clever grenades, how well he could use them, how well he could handle himself in a fight. He’d show how goodhe was.
Sometimes he dreamed of showing even more: how well he could handle big Red, make him come undone, work that cheery smile off his face. Those were good dreams, late night dreams or the kind that woke him early in the morning in a cold sweat.
He definitely isn’ the only one; Red Riot consistently tops lists of most fuckable heroes. All that exposed skin, those thick thighs, those dangerous teeth…
Teeth the stranger bare in a sweet little smile as he taps at his phone.
It’s has to be him. The thought makes Katsuki’s heart skip. They live in the same city. Katsuki would be lying if he said he didn’t scope out every place the tabloids claim the outgoing hero likes—but on days when he’s rested, dressed down in something that showed off his cut arms, his broad shoulders. He’s imagined running into Red Riot at the gym or the park, rightfully confident in his skin-tight compression tights, or maybe in third ward where Red Riot patrols at night, where Katsuki does long, noisy loops on his motorcycle, an adrenaline-fueled patrol of his own.
He never imagined it happening at his job with a shift’s worth of sweat clinging to the back of his neck. He never imagined it happening in his stupid uniform, slim-cut tuxedo pants, suspenders, silk blend tuxedo shirt rolled carelessly up to his elbows, top buttons open on his sweat-slick chest. He never imagined it would happen in a bar full of people or in front of Rumi, who’d tease him for it forever.
But is it really Red Riot? Or just a cheap imitation?
Katsuki sneaks another, longer glance. The man in the hat is scrolling idly on his phone, a glass of barely touched craft beer on a napkin in front of him. He almost looks too serene to be a hero, his smile too soft. He has Red Riot’s height and sheer bulk, that’s for sure. His hands are comically large next to the little smartphone, and crossed here and there with fine white scars. His hair falls in a shaggy curtain over one shoulder, clearly longer in the back than in the front, and signature Riot red.
It has to be him.
“You’re staring, baby boy,” Rumi says, tickling Katsuki’s cheek with the fluff of her ear.
“Fuck,” Katsuki bites, ducking down behind the bar to collect the empty racks. His cheeks feel hot. He hopes to god his eyeliner isn’t a mess. “Sorry.”
“Go grab me another of these,” Rumi says, pointing at the back bar keg freezer. “And then you can go.”
“Fine. All right,” Katsuki says, gritting his teeth.
A walk down to the cooler is what he needs. A little burn in his thighs as he hefts a full keg up feels good. The walk back up to the bar feels good, a pleasant burn, though not quite enough to cut the flush of need at the mere thought that he’s in the same building as Red Riot.
The cold weight of the keg against his shoulder is grounding. He almost feels normal by the time he squeezes back behind the bar.
Until he feels eyes on him. Red eyes bright with amusement, unmistakable with that pale scar on one side, white on the bronze of his skin.
“I bet that’s heavy.”
Katsuki almost drops the keg. The only reason he doesn’t is that his body is locked in place, seemingly paralyzed by Red Riot’s warm, interested gaze.
“It’s not fucking heavy,” Katsuki growls, more aggressively than he means to.
“What are those like, seventy four, seventy five kilograms?”
“Who gives a shit,” Katsuki says, carefully lowering the keg to the ground. He hopes the tremble in his hands isn’t obvious. “I bench twice that.”
“At your size?” Red Riot says, eyes a little wider now. “What, do you have a strength based quirk or something?”
Katsuki scowls. Of all the things to admit to in front of his own personal standard of excellence.
“I don’t need a shitty quirk to be strong.”
Red Riot grins, the warmth in his eyes going dark with challenge.
“That’s manly as hell,” he says, leaning onto his forearms to get closer. “Real impressive, kid.”
The bar groans under the weight of him. Katsuki feels hot all over. Fucking shitty thin-ass tuxedo pants pulling tight over his probably too-obvious need. But the way Red Riot is staring at him is, if anything, even less subtle than that.
“I’d love to know what your routine is,” Riot says, absently running his tongue along the points of his too-sharp teeth. “If you’re not opposed to telling your secret or anything.”
“It’d be easier to show you,” Katsuki says. “Some time—”
“I have time now,” Riot says forcefully. He winces, and says, softer this time, “If you want.”
Katsuki swallows.
“Yeah. I want.”
“Good.”
“I get off soon,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “So I guess, uh.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Riot breaks their heated eye contact and nods sweetly at Rumi. “Say, can I grab my check?”
“You’re all set,” Rumi says with a grin. “Thank you for your service to the community, Mr. Riot.”
Riot’s eyes go wide, and his face flashes something soft and almost shy.
“Wow, thank you.”
This isn’t real. Red Riot can’t seriously be even sweeter than the PR makes him seem. He can’t be seriously be hotter in person, and he certainly can’t be interested in Katsuki, quirkless and ten years his junior. It has to be a fever dream. One of those work dreams that feels real, one of those nice dreams Katsuki has on the days he forgets to bring himself off before sleeping.
“Seriously. Thanks so much, you guys really don’t have to do that,” Riot says, carefully tucking a twenty beneath his empty cup.
Katsuki stares, blank-faced, while Red Riot unfolds himself from the bar stool, nearly two hundred centimeters of raw power poorly hidden behind loose gym clothes. Katsuki feels his breath catch.
Rumi slaps him upside the head.
“Good bye,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “Good job. See you tomorrow.”
Katsuki scowls, but he can’t hold onto the feeling for long. A smile keeps pushing up at his lips, and he just barely contains it as he clocks out and slips out from behind the bar.
Red Riot is waiting.
“You good to go, uh—”
“Bakugou.”
“Bakugou?”
“Katsuki.”
“Bakugou Katsuki,” Riot says warmly, a distant smile on his lips.
“Yeah, well,” Katsuki says, voice tight. “Let’s go.”
It feels so surreal, watching Red Riot himself skip ahead so he can hold the door for him. Listening to Red Riot make warm, somehow agreeable small talk about nothing, drunk on the forbidden knowledge of his name, which Riot gave to him easily.
Kirishima Eijirou. It feels good, like it’d slip out easy in a moment of want, Eiji, Eijirou, Kirishima, they all feel right on his tongue.
Now that Katsuki’s had time to calm down, Riot feels right all over. He smiles down at Katsuki like they’ve known each other for years, warm and sweet and just a little bit dangerous, predator teeth behind that bright, guileless grin.
He’s so easy to trust that Katsuki doesn’t even question where they’re going until they reach an understated office building.
“Training facilities,” Riot says as he scans his ID card. “I have my own floor. Lots of room to play. C’mon, after you.”
Riot ushers him down a plain hallway to a wide elevator, where he swipes his ID again to let them in. The elevator slowly descends, and so do Katsuki’s nerves.
“Only like twenty more floors,” Riot says sheepishly, seemingly shy in the sterile quiet of the elevator. “So, uh, in school—”
“I make support items.”
“I’m aware,” Riot says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I saw your intern presentation at the trade show last year.”
When I was seventeen, Bakugou thinks, eyes wide.
Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a coincidence that Red Riot showed up for a beer in the middle of the afternoon, right at the end of Katsuki’s shift.
“So you know—”
“That you’re a genius?” Riot says with a grin.
“That I wanna be a support hero.”
“Yeah,” Riot says softly, a fond smile on his still-boyish face. “I know.”
“And?” Katsuki says, frowning up at the taller man.
“And I think that if anyone can pull it off, kid, it’s you.”
Katsuki’s ears ring. He’s made his case to plenty of heroes, and the reaction has been singularly negative.
“You should bring over your gear some time,” Riot says. “We could go head to head, see how your outfit holds up against my quirk.”
“That’s a bad matchup for me,” Katsuki says. “My grenades against your hardening.”
“Hmmm. Not if we’re working together, it’s not.”
Katsuki’s stomach jumps. He schools his face, trying for the second time in an hour to withhold a smile.
“In fact,” Riot says, “it’s pretty amazing, what a good matchup it is. I couldn’t ask for a better setup, I mean, you designed in all the things that I lack. Ranged attacks, high mobility, precision as well as blanket strikes. I saw the demonstration video you made, you move like an acrobat with those blaster gauntlets. Insane stuff. Super manly.”
Katsuki’s heart trips into overdrive. All his life, people have humored his ambitions because of his raw intellect and the potential therein, but nobody ever acted like they really believed in him before.
“You this fucking nice to all your fans?” he says, eyeing the older man suspiciously.
“Oh, you’re a fan of mine? That’s awesome.”
Katsuki scowls.
“Answer my question, Red.”
Riot laughs, big rich open sound that makes Katsuki’s hair stand on end.
“I’m nice to everyone, Bakugou,” he says, angling his body to loom over the younger man. “But you’re not everyone, are you?”
“The fuck does that mean?” Katsuki rasps.
The elevator slows to a stop, opens its doors. Katsuki stumbles back into a wide entryway, pushed back and back again by Riot’s bulk until he’s caged against a wall.
“C’mon, kid, don’t play games,” Riot says, pulling off his baseball cap. His hair is wild and loose, eyes bright and intent. He’s hot, so much hotter than Katsuki ever imagined.
“I’m not fucking playing—”
“I know I’m not reading you wrong,” Riot says, cocking his head. “I can tell you want me. What, are you shy? But why anyone as hot as you be shy?”
He brushes an unruly lock of hair behind Katsuki’s ear.
“Nervous? Is that it?”
Katsuki feels something coil low in his spine. Something tense and electric, incredulous but deeply excited, blooming with anxious want as his world opens up to accommodate for the reality of Kirishima Eijirou. The scars on his neck, the texture of his skin. The sound of his voice, the dusting of hair on his arms, the close, masculine smell of him, clean sweat and shampoo and a hint of alcohol. The threatening size of him, the almost crazed look in his eyes as he drinks in Katsuki’s body, gaze sweeping down and up and down again.
“You don’t fucking make me nervous,” Katsuki says, jutting his chin.
Riot grabs roughly him by the jaw and shakes, just hard enough to make a statement.
“No lying,” he says as he nudges Katsuki’s cheek with his nose. “Daddy doesn’t like liars.”
Did he really just call himself—
“D-daddy?” Katsuki rasps, incredulous, hands reflexively raised.
“Yeah, baby?” Riot says as he hoists Katsuki up by the thighs and drives him hard against the wall.
“Fuck,” Katsuki says, scrambling to grab at Riot’s shoulders, locking his ankles around Riot’s thick waist. “Why is that so hot?”
“Anybody ever touch you here?” Riot says, teasing his fingers between Katsuki’s cheeks. “Be honest.”
“No,” Katsuki whispers, voice hoarse. “Well, me, I did, I do, but—”
“God damn it you are so perfect,” Riot breaths against his neck, arcing his hips to rut his sizable erection against Katsuki’s thigh. “I’m gonna spoil you so bad. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
Katsuki groans, sucking at Riot’s lip until the older man wrenches him back by the hair and licks deep into his mouth with a low, rumbling moan. He kisses Katsuki half stupid, overwhelming, seemingly everywhere. Katsuki grinds up, chasing any and all friction till Riot pulls him back again by the hair so they can breathe.
“You’re gonna listen, right, baby? Gonna be a good boy?”
Katsuki gasps, bucking up against the hard plane of Riot’s abs, head dropping back against the wall. Need like a whipcrack singes his skin, hot and prickly all over, and how the fuck is he this senseless at the thought of being Red Riot’s good boy?
“Yes, fuck, I want—shit,” Katsuki stutters, hands gripping fistfuls of shaggy red hair. “I can’t fucking think straight.”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Riot says, pressing soft kisses up his jaw. “Hold tight, we’re gonna get you out of these clothes, okay?”
Riot slides one big, warm hand up under Katsuki’s ass, gripping him firm, and locks the other one around his waist. He carries Katsuki with ease, down a hallway to a room in the back corner of the floor with a low double bed, a shelf with books and basic toiletries and first aid supplies, and, hanging against a far wall, his hero costume.
Katsuki’s eyes dart from the costume to Riot’s face and back again as Riot gently lowers him to the bed.
“I basically live here,” Riot says with a sheepish smile. “Married to the job, you know?”
“Is that your real costume?” Katsuki says as he shrugs out of his suspenders.
“Let me,” Riot says, gently pushing Katsuki’s hands away so he can slowly pop each dress shirt button himself. “And yeah, it’s one of them.”
Riot carefully, gently tugs the shirt out of Katsuki’s waistband and pushes it over his thick-built shoulders. He hums, pleased, big palms brushing the plush swell of Katsuki’s pecs.
“You train hard,” he says, helping Katsuki pull the shirt all the way off. “I can tell. You’re a hard worker.”
Katsuki bites his lip, suddenly, inexplicably shy. He goes out of his way to show off on a regular day; he knows better than anyone what it takes to look the way he does, of course he likes to show off. But somehow, Riot’s heavy, hungry gaze makes him feel—not ashamed, but self-conscious.
“But you’re not all power, right? I’ve seen you move. You’ve got good instincts,” Riot says, kneeling on the floor.
“Isn’t it dangerous taking me here?” Katsuki deflects. Riot pulls off his shoes and socks, and he sighs. “Aren’t you afraid I’m gonna blow up your spot?”
Riot runs his hands up Katsuki’s legs to rest on his splayed thighs.
“Nah. You’re not that kind of person, baby. I can tell. Right?”
Katsuki licks his lips. Glances over at the hanging costume, at the boots in the corner.
“No. I—”
“See something you want?” Riot says, leaning up to press his lips to Katsuki’s overbuilt chest. He gently, gently scrapes a sharp tooth over one pink-hard nipple. “Be honest.”
“The mask,” Katsuki gasps, shivering.
“What about my mask?” Riot says, running his hands higher, teasing over the shape of Katsuki’s cock through the thin fabric of his pants.
“Put it on. I want you to wear it when…when you fuck me,” Katsuki says, heat sweeping over his cheeks.
Riot pulls back, lips parted in shock, just a hint of sharp tooth showing through.
“God, where did you come from?” he groans, standing so quickly that Katsuki startles and falls back on the bed.
Riot stalks to the back of the room, ripping off his hoodie on the way. He fumbles with a control panel on the wall as he kicks off his sweatpants, and a compartment opens, revealing his mask and epaulets. He rips through his own tank top with a hardened hand and jerks the mask off its rack, combing his hair back as he makes his way back to the bed.
“Pants off, baby,” Riot says as he settles the mask in place.
Katsuki almost whines at the sight of him looming at the edge of the bed. His cock is as thick as the rest of him, bruised-purple with want and dripping. The mask makes him look mean, gives an edge to that pretty face.
“Don’t make me ask twice,” Riot says, flexing a hardened hand, the hint of a threat in his voice.
“Fuck, that’s hot” Katsuki mumbles, eyes glazed and half lidded as he shimmies out of his pants.
“Oh god,” Riot says reverently, leaning one knee on the bed. He reaches out like he wants to touch Katsuki but can’t, hands hovering over Katsuki’s splayed thighs. “Am I fucking dreaming right now?”
Katsuki grins, dragging a hand down his chest, over his rippling abs, down through the little swirl of blonde hair to palm at his cock, barely held back by a special edition Red Riot jockstrap.
“Look at this,” Riot growls, sharp teeth bared. He plucks at the elastic, snapping it against the thin skin of Katsuki’s waist. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Says my literal sexual awakening,” Katsuki grumbles, staring at Riot’s twitching, unfairly thick cock.
“You know what? I think I’m gonna keep you all to myself,” Riot says, curling over Katsuki on the bed. “Doesn’t matter if I ruin you for anyone else, cause you’re never gonna know. I’m never gonna let anybody near you.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki says, arcing his neck up to lick the cool metal of Riot’s mask. “That a fucking promise?”
“On my life,” Riot says, running his knuckles up the inside of Katsuki’s thigh. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Gonna spoil you rotten.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, hips twitching as Riot runs broad, rough hands up his thighs.
“Mhm. C’mon, baby, lemme see you.”
Katsuki lifts his hips, letting Riot pull the jockstrap down to drop on the floor with the rest of his clothes. Riot sits back on his heels and just looks, open look of hunger on his face.
“So pretty,” he mumbles, gently pushing Katsuki’s knees up and to the side. He curls over Katsuki’s body, thick cock pressing up against the back of Katsuki’s leg. “So perfect for me. I’m gonna get you ready now, yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Katsuki says, stretching his arms high above his head to press against the wall. He uses the leverage to grind down on Riot’s thick thigh, whining at the stretch as Riot leans over to grab something off the nearby shelf.
“You’re trouble,” Riot says, pouring lube into the palm of his hand. “Just wait till I break you in, baby, you’re gonna be a fucking monster.”
The first touch of Riot’s hot, rough hand makes Katsuki shiver all over. There’s resistance, but not much—Riot’s thick middle finger sinks down to the second knuckle in one smooth, slick motion, pulling a gasp from the both of them.
“Good?” Riot says, gently rocking his finger.
“More,” Katsuki groans, rocking down till Riot’s palm pushes flush to his body.
“Already?” Riot says, pulling back and crooking his finger till Katsuki whines. He pulls out and rubs tight circles with the pads of his index and middle fingers, slow and slippy with lube.
“C’mon,” Katsuki growls.
“C’mon what?” Riot says with a laugh in his voice. He pushes in with both fingers, twisting as he pushes forward and up. “C’mon this?”
Katsuki thrashes and bucks his hips, chasing the stretch, the depth.
“No, no. Shit. C’mon, Red.”
“Mmm, c’mon this?” Riot says, running his thumb up the underside of Katsuki’s weeping cock.
Katsuki reaches up to grip the neck flanges of Riot’s mask and jerks until they’re nose-to-nose.
“No,” Katsuki growls, ghosting his lips over Riot’s. “Give me—c’mon.”
“Give you what?” Riot says, pumping his fingers in harsh, shallow thrusts.
Katsuki kicks at Riot’s arm till his thick fingers slip free. He shoves Riot back by the chest and flips himself over, chest down, knees splayed, one hand reaching back to expose his slick, twitching hole.
Riot swallows, absently wiping his fingers on his thigh.
“Jesus christ are you really gonna make me say it?” Katsuki says, looking over his shoulder with wet, pleading eyes. He glances down, cheeks flushed bright pink, his stubbornness warring with powerful need. “C’mon, Red. F-fuck me.”
Riot hisses out a breath, sharp teeth clenched, and reaches blindly for the bottle of lube.
“Anything you want,” he says, voice distant. He slicks himself with a breathy moan, eyes dark and foggy with lust. He grabs Katsuki around the waist with a half-hardened hand, sharp points dragging jagged pink streaks into his skin. He guides the head of his cock up to kiss at Katsuki’s hole with the other, sighing when they finally touch.
“Don’t be a hero, baby,” Riot says, slumping over Katsuki’s arched back. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
Riot drops some of his weight forward, heavy and too-warm and sticky now with sweat, groaning low and quiet as the fat head of his cock squishes past the tight rim of Katsuki’s hole. Katsuki’s jaw drops, drool slipping down one corner, eyes shocked wide at the feeling—searing, addictive flash of something just this side of pain.
“Easy,” Riot whispers, gently stroking his side. “Doing so good.”
Katsuki groans and pushes up on shaky arms to rock back, sinking Riot deeper, taking more and more and more until their hips kiss.
“Fffffuck,” Riot hisses, gripping desperately at Katsuki’s hips. He sucks wet, bruising kisses against the nape of Katsuki’s neck, breathing fast and shallow, nearly overcome with how tight the fit is.
“Oh my god,” Katsuki whimpers, struggling to hold up the weight of Riot’s huge upper body. “Move, Red.”
“Why don’t we give you a second, hmm?”
“Move!” Katsuki growls, throwing his weight back.
“God,” Riot huffs, smile wicked. “Anything you want.”
Riot rears back, pulling Katsuki up with him by the hair. He pulls Katsuki back, forcing him to arch his back, stopping just before the point of pain, one hand gripping tight at Katsuki’s waist. He draws back, gritting his sharp teeth at the way Katsuki’s red, puffy hole clings to him.
“Relax, baby,” he says. “Deep breath in.”
Katsuki takes a shaky breath in, shoulders trembling. He holds for just a second at the apex, drunk on the subtle pulse of Riot’s cockhead against his sensitive insides. He feels himself slowly relax, torso bending back even further, shoulders dropping, sighing out his held breath through parted lips.
Riot slams back into him in one punishing thrust, and Katsuki screams.
“Too much?” Riot murmurs in his ear, jerking his head back by the hair. “Or just right?”
Katsuki stares unseeing at the ceiling, jaw slack, arms limp at his sides as Riot pulls back again, almost all the way out.
“A-again,” Katsuki says weakly, knees trembling.
Riot drives up into him with a powerful snap of his hips, punching the breath out of Katsuki’s lungs. He wraps his arms around Katsuki’s chest, pulling them flush, pressing soft, sweet kisses up the side of his neck, all warmth and tenderness above while he brutally drives up into Katsuki’s guts again and again and again.
“You’re doing so good, baby boy, fucking perfect,” Riot murmurs against his temple. “You’re so special, you know that? So precious. Gonna make you feel so good, baby, gonna make you mine. You wanna be mine, baby boy?”
Katsuki whines, dropping his head back on Riot’s shoulder, breathless with the force of Riot’s thrusts. He wants to say yes, god, fuck yes, wanna be yours forever, you’re all I ever wanted but all that comes out is a weak, broken moan.
“Wanna give yourself to me, gorgeous?” Riot says, one hand drifting low to press on Katsuki’s stomach, just a touch distended from the impossible stretch of Riot’s fat dick. “Wanna come on my cock, baby boy?”
Katsuki squirms, arms lifting up to desperately grip at Riot’s wild red hair. He pulls them closer, pressing back with everything he has, his flushed, neglected cock bobbing as he rocks back, meeting Riot’s thrusts.
“Eh…ei….Eiji,” Katsuki whines, lightheaded and nearly sightless with ecstasy, reduced down to the low, rough voice in his ear and the burn where skin meets skin, the slip of Riot’s hand down and around his aching cock and the rough, animalistic punch at his insides. “Fuck!”
“Come for me, baby,” Riot says, fisting him slow and gentle, slamming up and into him once, twice, three more times before Katsuki’s vision whites out entirely, his body like a live wire, thrumming with annihilating ecstasy.
He comes to a few seconds later, dazedly registering the hollow feeling as Riot pulls his still-hard cock out.
“God, you’re incredible. You did so, so good,” Riot says warmly, sucking Katsuki’s spend from the heel of his palm. “Now you relax while I finish, yeah?”
Katsuki flops back on the bed with a grunt, fucked out and senseless, just aware enough to appreciate the image of pro hero Red Riot wearing nothing but his steel mask, pumping his cock with one hand and gently tugging his balls with the other, worrying his thick lower lip with one sharp tooth. He’s beautiful kneeling there like a god, hair dark at the roots with sweat, eyes glassy and warm and fixed on Katsuki’s blissed-out face.
“Gonna come, baby, gonna mark you up. That what you want?”
“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki growls, pinching at his own oversensitive nipple. “C’mon, daddy, come.”
Riot groans, leaning forward to paint Katsuki’s chest and stomach with sticky globs of cum, softly hissing what sounds like Katsuki’s given name.
Katsuki grins, dragging a finger through the mess on his chest, smearing it over one pink, pert nipple. He watches for Riot’s reaction as he lifts the finger to his lips and sucks.
“Monster,” Riot says with a laugh. “Hold on.”
Riot pads out of the room and comes back with a damp towel and the mask looped over his wrist. He sets the mask on the shelf and quietly, carefully wipes down Katsuki’s body.
“Full service,” Katsuki mumbles.
“I said I would spoil you and I mean it,” Riot says, dropping the towel off to the side. “You have no idea what you’re in for. Anything you want, it’s yours.”
“Anything?”
“Mmm,” Riot hums, bending down to press a kiss to the arch of Katsuki’s foot. He crawls up the bed to curl around Katsuki’s body, nudging until they’re nestled close, Katsuki’s damp back pressed up against Riot’s still heaving chest.
They lay there, not quite dozing, soaking in one another’s warmth.
“I’m sweaty,” Katsuki says around a yawn.
“There’s a shower in the next room,” Riot says. “I’ll get you a towel and some clothes.”
“Clothes?”
“Unless you sleep naked?” Riot says, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Which is one hundred percent fine with me.”
“A sleepover, huh?” Katsuki says, shifting until they’re laying face to face. “You sure that’s all right? I mean, cause this is your lair and all.”
“It’s not a lair, it’s an office,” Riot scoffs. “And it’s totally fine. I want you to feel at home here. Cause I’m keeping you, remember?”
“That so?” Katsuki says, reaching up to brush back Riot’s thick red hair.
“Yes. Train with me. I’ll hire you,” Riot says, desperation and enthusiasm wobbling his voice. “I mean. When you graduate. Intern here, I don’t know, just. Stay. You’ll stay, right?”
Katsuki studies Riot’s face for a long, tight moment. The worry there creases Riot’s brow and pinches the pretty red of his eyes. It crinkles his subtle crows feet and makes him look childlike at the same time, sad, soulful puppy eyes and soft, anxious lips so at odds with the chiseled expanse of his oversized body.
“I’ll stay,” Katsuki says, like he just decided. Like he hasn’t been dreaming of this day since he was eight years old. “For now.”
“Good,” Riot says, cupping his face, dragging him in for a messy kiss. “Good. I’m happy.”
Katsuki leans into the kiss, too drunk on the taste of Riot’s mouth, the unfamiliar points of his teeth.
“You’re gonna be the best,” Riot says between fevered kisses. “You’re so special, I can feel it. Knew it the minute I saw you. You’re gonna do amazing things.”
“You don’t have to flatter me to get me to agree to be your sidekick,” Katsuki says, nipping at Riot’s lip. “Only an idiot would turn down an offer like that.”
“I don’t want you to be my sidekick,” Riot says, propping up on one elbow. He runs his thumb across Katsuki’s lip just to feel that velvety softness. “I want you to be my partner.”
Katsuki’s chest goes fluttery and tight. All his life, he got by on his own determination. It almost knocks him out, the sincerity on Riot’s face.
“Well, fuck. Then you better keep up,” Katsuki says, cupping Riot’s jaw. “We do this, we shoot for the top.”
Riot grins.
“Anything you want.”