Chapter Text
Bakugou somehow fast tracked Eijirou’s passport application at the central passport office, and one week later, when Eijirou was sitting side by side with him in the business lounge at Narita Airport, the only information Bakugou would willingly give away about the trip was that it was an internationally renowned sportswear conference held once a year and he hated it.
“Why do you hate Hawai’i?” Eijirou asked while watching planes take off and land on the strip beyond a set of gigantic windows. He wondered if he was going to be scared of flying. He wasn’t nervous right now, which was probably a good sign.
“I don't hate Hawai’i,” Bakugou said. “I hate the conference .”
“Why?”
“Don’t like conferences.”
Eijirou watched him down his second whiskey before 7.30am, then light his third cigarette in fifteen minutes. “Are you a nervous flyer?”
He glared at him. “Stop that.”
“What?”
“Reading me. I know I’m not that obvious.”
Eijirou shrugged, then flagged down the barman so at least Bakugou wouldn’t have to drink alone. “You are to me.”
Bakugou tapped the heel of his shoe against the stool leg for a second, mulling over his words. “I don’t like…I don’t like the lack of control.”
Surprise, surprise. “Uh-huh.”
“I know how planes work. I researched it. I researched how the pilots fly them and how logical it all is. But it still…”
Eijirou sipped his drink. It burned like petrol this early in the morning. “My friend Ochako is a flight attendant. She flies hundreds of times a month and she's fine.”
“I know the statistics,” Bakugou said irritably. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Eijirou hummed as he tipped his whiskey into Bakugou’s glass. “There’s something liberating about the loss of control. Your life is totally in the hands of another person. It’s a thing of trust, right? You trust the engineers, the pilots, the manufacturers, the control staff. At the cost of your life, if it all goes to shit. Which is so crazy it makes me feel… I don’t know, giddy . All you can really do is give yourself over to the moment, you know? And I’d rather take the risk and get to experience something cool than ruin it through overthinking.” He glanced sideways and caught Bakugou staring at him. “What?”
The blond downed his drink and stood up. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
As they made their way across the frankly overwhelming metropolis of Narita Airport, Eijirou reflected on the unresolved tension between them. Bakugou had been curt and stiff in the backseat of the driver’s car on the way to the airport, too preoccupied with his phone and chain smoking out the cracked window to talk, much less address the way they'd left things when they’d last seen each other. And because of that, Eijirou was too nervous to broach the subject of why he’d been invited to the conference, and if maybe, at some point, if he wasn’t too busy and didn’t hate him, he’d like to get a drink sometime possibly maybe?
Luckily everything was new and exciting at the airport, despite being singled out for a security pat-down probably because he looked like a Yakuza thug (Ochako liked telling him). The duty free was an assault on the senses - blindingly gold and stinking of every cologne invented - but Bakugou wouldn’t let him stop, not even for coffee, and went straight to the boarding gate instead. Eijirou got the impression he didn’t like waiting in general; his business ticket let him walk straight past the queue of people waiting to board in economy. Eijirou had never been on a plane before, much less seen business class, so he was blown away by the fully reclining seats, the pull-out TVs and the little dividers that gave the illusion of privacy. He dreaded to think how much one ticket cost.
Bakugou gave Eijirou his bag to shove in the overhead locker then snapped at a stewardess to bring him more whiskey before he slumped into the seat by the window. Eijirou whispered an apology at the stewardess and handed Bakugou his drink to spare the poor lady any more rudeness.
“You okay, boss?” he asked as he leaned over the divider.
Bakugou snatched the drink off him and downed it in one. “I’m fucking fine.”
“You’re really scared of flying, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair! I told you I’m fine, so fuck off.”
Eijirou rolled his eyes and sat down again, wondering why the hell he liked this guy in the first place.
As other passengers took their seats, the air stewardess offered those in business a complimentary glass of champagne, which Eijirou declined in place for orange juice. Someone had to stay sober, he supposed.
He snapchatted a selfie of himself sitting in his business seat, and it wasn’t long before Ochako responded.
‘Ooh you got the fancy seats, rich boi. How’s BK?’
‘Nervous flyer, I think.’
‘Sucks. Maybe you could calm him down ;)’
‘On a flight???’
‘It’s called the Mile High Club, bb’
‘You’re an air stewardess, you shouldn't be condoning that kinda thing’
‘All I’m saying is the window seats are real private, especially if you pull a blanket over the pair of you.’
‘No’
‘Just a suggestion! Have a safe flight, love you <3’
‘Love u 2’
When the plane finally took off, Eijirou appreciated Bakugou’s fear, but mostly he felt exhilarated. His body shook and hummed in time with the plane’s tremors, and when they peaked at the incline his ears popped. If nothing good came of this weird business arrangement, at least he could say he flew on a plane.
As soon as the seatbelt lights turned off, Eijirou jumped up from his seat and hopped into Bakugou’s cubicle. He was sitting with his feet stretched out on the reclined seat, aimlessly flicking through an in-flight magazine.
“Thought I told you to fuck off,” he said wihtout looking up.
Eijirou nudged his feet to one side so he could perch on the end of his seat. “Quit bein’ grumpy, I just wanna look out the window - woah, is that Tokyo!? Holy fuck, everything looks so small! Man, it really makes you think, huh?”
He looked up. “Think what?”
“Dunno. Just like… how big the world is, and how we live in our little bubbles while everyone else ticks by around us. All these paths crossing or not crossing. People and places we’ll never meet, never see, but there nonetheless. And then how crazy it is that in all this - “He gestured out the window at Tokyo’s vanishing metropolis and the glittering ocean - “We still happen across meaningful connections. It seems so impossible that it’s almost like… like fate .”
Bakugou gazed out the window. “I don’t believe in fate.”
“What do you believe in, then? Money?”
He tossed Eijirou an annoyed look. “Is that what you think of me?”
Eijirou reared back. “What? No!” He attempted a smile that hopefully didn’t look half as shy as it felt. “I dunno what to think of you, to be honest. But maybe I’d have a better idea if you talked to me, boss.”
Bakugou scoffed, then lifted the magazine again. “Go back to your seat, Shitty Hair.”
A few hours into the flight (and Die Hard 2), their path hit turbulence and the seatbelt lights chimed on. Eijirou felt as helpless as a kitten in a barrel of water as the wind pitched the plane up and down. Ochako had explained turbulence beforehand, so he wasn’t too bothered, but he was worried about Bakugou.
After making sure the coast was clear, Eijirou unbuckled his seatbelt and discreetly slipped into Bakugou’s cubicle.
The blond was sitting much as Eijirou had last seen, except this time his eyes were closed and his hands clasped the armrests so hard his knuckles were white. The plane shuddered, and Bakugou took a shaky breath.
Eijirou perched on the edge of his seat, close to his thigh, and Bakugou cracked open an eye to glare at him.
"What?"
"Wondered if you were okay."
"M'fine. Go sit down, the seatbelt light is on."
Eijirou swallowed, avoiding Bakugou's eye, then said, "I could. Or I could do what you’re paying me to do."
"Oh yeah? And what am I paying you to do?"
Eijirou wasn't one hundred percent sure, to be honest. It seemed more nuanced than sexual favors, but he supposed, at its most shallow level, that's what it was.
Tentatively, Eijirou ran a hand up Bakugou's thigh. His suit was soft and smooth, the muscle underneath tantalizingly hard. His hand crept higher and when Bakugou didn't stop him, he continued over his crotch and squeezed his dick. It was already semi hard.
When Eijirou lifted his gaze, Bakugou had his eyes closed. He already looked calmer, even when the plane gave a particularly worrisome jolt.
The drone of the engine muffled the sound of Eijirou pulling down Bakugou's zipper. He threw a prayer to the gods that the stewardess didn't decide to check on him for whatever reason, then pulled out Bakugou's hardening dick.
Eijirou began pumping him very slowly, squeezing and teasing the tip until he was properly hard. It was weird seeing his face so close without the barrier of the table; his blond lashes pressed against his cheeks, his lips parted, chest heaving. Eijirou swallowed thickly as he increased his pace, relishing the fleshy sound above the plane noises. The cubicle provided a parody of privacy, much like the table, yet despite the people coughing, talking, shuffling, it felt like they were the only people in the sky.
Bakugou's hand suddenly gripped Eijirou's thigh, nails digging into the black material of his suit pants. His eyes were still closed but there was a slight frown on his face now. His hips rolled in rhythm with Eijirou's pumping, his breath dusting the side of Eijrou's neck. A bead of cum quivered on his tip. God he was hot, so thick and gorgeous in his hand, twitching and pulsing as his end drew closer. Eijirou leaned a little closer to him, quickening his pace, entranced by his parted lips, his chiseled jaw. Fuck he wanted to kiss him so bad when he came -
Bakugou's eyes snapped open and suddenly his hand tangled in Eijirou’s hair and shoved him down over his cock.
"Don't get cum on my suit," he hissed.
Eijirou obediently sucked his tip while pumping, and mere seconds later, hot cum hit the back of his throat. Eijirou moaned around the head of his cock, an entirely subconscious reaction, and perhaps he imagined it but he swore Bakugou's fingers trailed lightly through his hair before falling to the seat.
Eijirou sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He blinked at Bakugou, wondering if he was going to lose his shit again. But Bakugou simply held his gaze for a moment, then looked out the window with a tsk and tucked himself away. "Can’t even have a fucking cigarette."
The seatbelt light chimed, and they looked up in time to see the light turn off. The turbulence had come to an end.
Hawai’i was ten times more beautiful than Eijirou could have imagined. The mist-shrouded forests, the smoking mountains, the pristine beaches spotted with surfers and bikini clad tourists; he stared open-mouthed from the window of their car as the driver took them from Hilo Airport to a gated property, not far from Honolulu, marked by a sign reading the ‘Kahala Grand Splendor’. The car parked outside the front entrance of a modern building, and Eijirou whistled as he got out.
“Fancy hotel.”
Bakugou shot him a perplexed look as he took his suitcase from the driver. “It’s not a hotel, dumbass. It’s a villa.”
Eijirou blinked at him, then back at what was, frankly, a mansion of hotel proportions. “Wait… You…you mean we have this all to ourselves?”
Bakugou handed the driver a hefty tip, then shrugged. “The resorts around here are too busy for my liking.”
It was hard to believe this was a private residence as they walked into rooms kitted out with every modern commodity Eijirou could imagine, from integrated speakers and telephone systems between rooms, a huge open plan kitchen, three flat screen TVs, a gaming room, and a private infinity pool. And that was before Eijirou could explore the five bedrooms and six bathrooms, all of which were twice the size of Eijirou’s whole apartment. The open plan living area and kitchen was vacuous in size, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off views of the distant beach and forested mountains, and the kitchen was stocked to last through an apocalypse.
While Eijirou wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, torn between puppy-like excitement and intimidation at such a nice space full of nice, expensive things that he might break, Bakugou seemed perfectly at home, and stalked up a spiral staircase.
Eijirou trailed after him with his suitcase in hand. “Have you been here before?”
“I stay here every time I go to this stupid conference.”
Biting his lip, he ventured, “Alone?”
“Yeah, obviously, who the fuck else am I gonna bring?”
A boyfriend. Another paid fuck-buddy. A damn friend . “Then I’m flattered.”
“I’m paying you. Don’t be flattered, idiot.”
Eijirou followed him into what was presumably the master bedroom and loitered near a ring of plush couches and yet another flatscreen television, all of which sat in front of a bed so huge it could have comfortably fit a whole family.
“This room is bigger than my entire apartment!” he exclaimed.
Bakugou scowled at him as he kicked his suitcase towards the walk-in closet. “Why are you in here? There are four other bedrooms.”
Eijirou turned pink. Right. He’d sorta presumed they’d be sharing a bed, but that wasn’t exactly part of the contract, was it? Then again, neither was an all expenses-paid trip to Hawai’i.
He picked the room next to Bakugou’s, and spent way too long marveling at the glass-walled rain-shower in the bathroom and the Smart TV that could connect to his phone, then took approximately one billion snapchats to send to Ochako and Mina. They were gonna die when they saw where he was staying.
After thoroughly exploring the place, Eijirou found Bakugou pressing one of his suits in the living area downstairs. Something about the domestic act in such a large, silent space struck a chord with Eijirou, and for a while he simply stood and watched him until he placed the word.
Lonely. It felt lonely.
Bakugou didn’t look up from his ironing. “What do you want, Shitty Hair?”
“Nothin’.” He traced his hand over a liquor cabinet in the kitchen. “Want a drink, boss?”
Bakugou glanced sideways at him. There was a trace of hesitation around his eyes - nervousness, maybe? - but it was gone before Eijirou could be sure. “Fine.”
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me.”
Eijirou pulled out a few bottles then found the drinking glasses and started mixing. Jokingly, he said, “Don’t you have butlers to serve you?”
“That’s what you’re here for.”
“Ha, ha.”
“I don’t like hiring chefs,” Bakugou said, seriously. “You’ll have to make do with me.”
“You can cook?”
“Of course I can. Everyone can cook. Can’t you?”
“Uh… does instant ramen count?”
Bakugou folded his pants over the ironing board. “No.”
“Then, no. I can’t cook.”
“Is there anything you’re good at?”
“Sucking dick?”
Bakugou chuckled, and Eijirou grinned; it was the first time he’d gotten a laugh out of him and it felt good. Also he didn’t argue the point, so that was something.
After Bakugou hung up his pressed suit, Eijirou handed him the mixed drink.
Bakugou sniffed it. “What is it?”
“Cosmopolitan.”
Bakugou speared him with an amused look. “That is the gayest thing you’ve done so far.”
“Gayer than sucking your dick?”
“Yes.” He sipped it. “Not bad.”
“My best friend’s a bartender,” Eijirou told him. “She hosts a gay-friendly night every thursday. There are shows sometimes, bands, quizzes, that kinda thing. It’s fun…” He scratched the back of his head. “You should, uh, come some time.”
Bakugou took a longer sip of his drink. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“No!” He bit his lip. “Well, maybe. I mean, I was gonna ask anyway but then we argued and then you asked me to Hawai’i and to be honest, I don’t think I can top that as a first date so...”
Bakugou scowled. “This isn’t a date.”
Eijirou hid his disappointment behind a forced laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
They sat in silence for a moment or two, until Bakugou haltingly said, “I’m sorry. For yelling at you after that meeting.”
Eijirou bit back his surprise. “It’s fine, it was my fault, really. You were very clear and I purposely broke the terms of our contract. You had every right to kick me out.”
Bakugou wouldn’t meet his eye. “I felt shitty afterwards, that’s all.”
“Should’ve let me finish you off, then.”
“I’m bein’ serious, asshole.”
“Yeah, well, it’s cool. You’re makin’ it up to me now, right?”
Bakugou’s intense look slid up to meet his. He nudged his empty glass across the bar towards Eijirou’s elbow. “Surprise me again. Just don’t make it so fucking gay this time.”
Eijirou woke the next morning with a hangover haunting his temples. Nothing too severe, but enough to remind him of the one too many cocktails consumed the night previous. He turned a dozy smile to the palm-trimmed view outside the windows parallel to his bed. Easily the largest, comfiest bed he'd ever slept in. But while large and comfy was all well and good, it was also empty. Which was a damn shame.
As Eijirou dragged himself out of bed, pulled on some shorts and headed downstairs, he recalled how much he'd enjoyed yesterday evening. Bakugou had cooked such an incredible spread Eijirou half suspected he'd been showing off, and after that they'd carried on drinking and talking, the latter of which came easier to Bakugou after more of the former. He'd loosened his tie, undone the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, and fuck , he'd looked so effortlessly sexy Eijirou had been mad with lust by the end of the night.
But then he retired early for the night with no invitation for company, and Eijirou had likewise gone to bed feeling fuzzy but muddled. Had Bakugou paid for his sexual services or for a companion? Surely he must like him, even a little, to tolerate his company the way he had yesterday evening?
Bakugou had already left for the conference by the time Eijirou reached the kitchen. After rustling up breakfast from the pre-stocked fridge, Eijirou spent the morning lazing by the pool, then walked to the beach, bought shaved ice, and watched the surfers ride the ocean.
It was the first real vacation he'd ever had. The mountains and beaches were beautiful, the villa was like something out of a movie, yet… he thought about Bakugou the whole time. What kind of shaved ice he'd buy, whether he could surf. Did he like the sea? Or did he prefer the mountains? Would he hike with him to see the waterfalls? Or lay on the beach and soak up the sun? Was he thinking about him like this too, or was he too preoccupied with work to spare a thought for the dumb dick-for-hire he'd bought off Craigslist?
Later, as Eijirou sat in the giant, empty living area sipping a beer, he realized none of this really meant anything without someone at your side to enjoy it. Did Bakugou feel that way? After all, the dude must have been pretty lonely to resort to craigslist for companionship. Or a cock warmer, for that matter.
When he finally heard Bakugou's footsteps echo through the villa, Eijirou resisted the urge to jump him and turned causally on the couch instead.
"Yo."
Bakugou looked exhausted as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. He ran a hand through his hair, rifling his usually carefully styled locks, and went straight to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a neat whiskey.
"Long day?" Eijirou asked.
Bakugou collapsed onto the couch and spread his legs out in front of him. "I fucking hate conferences."
"Oh yeah?"
"Networking bullshit. Preening. Everyone kissing each other's asses while trying to assert their dominance. Fucking sucks."
"At least you get to come home to me," Eijirou joked.
Bakugou scoffed, but did not disagree, and Eijirou felt a flutter of…. something at that.
“I’m goin’ for a swim,” he stated. “Might as well make use of the pool I paid for.”
“It’s a nice pool,” Eijirou allowed, and watched as Bakugou walked to the poolside and stripped.
Tie. Shirt. Pants. Socks.
Boxers.
A shot of desire ripped through Eijirou so fiercely he thought his dick might hit the ceiling, but Bakugou ignored him and dived neatly into the deep end. Like a dog being pulled on a leash, Eijirou trundled to the poolside and sat down, then dipped his bare legs into the warm, crystalline water and leaned back on his hands to watch Bakugou swim. The sunset tinted the surface with ribbons of lavender and orange, slashed by the poolside lamps that automatically flickered on as the light faded; all the colors rippled in the wake of Bakugou’s broad strokes as he swam up and down, up and down, cutting an athletic figure between the waves.
Eventually, he came to a stop a foot or so from Eijirou, slicked back his hair, then crossed his arms on the side of the pool. Water reflections undulated over the tight muscles on his back, highlighting the water tracking down his neck and jaw.
“Feel better?” Eijirou asked, opting not to comment on his nudity.
“Ask me after two more whiskeys and half a carton of cigarettes,” he replied, although he looked a lot more relaxed; the tension lines had vanished around his eyes, at least.
Eijirou toyed with the hem of his shorts. "Y’know… I was thinking… would the conference be more bearable if you had someone with you? Liiikkke a friend?"
Bakugou scowled. "Like you?"
"Why not?” He cocked his head. “Scared people will gossip?"
"I don’t give a fuck what people think about me; I'm wondering why you'd wanna pass up being here to be at a boring-ass conference."
Eijirou shifted. "It's not that I'm ungrateful. This place is incredible. But… it's quiet. Here. Alone." He glanced sideways. "Don't you think?"
"I'm used to it."
"If you're used to it then why'd you invite me along?"
"To have someone annoy me to death, apparently."
Suddenly feeling brave, or reckless, or stupid, Eijirou trailed a finger along Bakugou’s forearm. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. "I don't want a deflection. I want an honest answer. Why did you invite me here?"
Bakugou's eyes flicked to Eijirou's lips and there was a shade of vulnerability there - delicate feelings confined behind self restraint. He swallowed loudly, then looked away. “You can come with me next time.”
“To the conference?”
“Yeah.”
Eijirou tsked. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m not paying you to ask questions.”
“Then what are you paying me for?”
Bakugou’s gaze finally latched onto Eijirou’s, and its intensity shot delicious needles all the way to his toes. He hauled himself out of the pool, dripping wet, and sat beside him. “You know what.”
“You haven’t asked.”
Time slowed to a standstill, neither willing to make the first move. All they needed was one of them to extend a hand, even if it meant risking losing what fragile connection they were part way through building, otherwise, they’d be stuck here in this awkward limbo forever.
So Eijirou took the initiative and kissed him.
Bakugou tensed as Eijirou caught his lips between his own. He had no doubt that something kept Bakugou from creating meaningful connections - perhaps a past trauma, past betrayal, insecurities - but he would not understand it anytime soon. Right now, he wanted to lure Bakugou into the moment, into the space beyond his spiky exterior.
And it worked.
Not one to be outshone, Bakugou pushed Eijirou onto his back and kissed him with increasing fervor. His mouth was hot and wet and needy; he tasted like smoke and whiskey and chlorine, but Eijirou didn’t care, not when he was already desperately hard, and had been since Bakugou had dived naked into the pool.
It was a frantic, clumsy scramble between steamy kisses and gasps as they worked up the stairs and into the master bedroom. The mattress was feather-soft, no squeaky springs like Eijirou was used to; he sank onto the covers and Bakugou climbed on top of him, mouth quick to smother his again. Bakugou’s erection pressed against Eijirou's abdomen, hot and demanding, but when he tried to grip it, Bakugou grabbed his wrists and pinned them onto the pillows either side of his head. He leaned back, and the dusky merlot of his eyes speared Eijirou to the bed.
"Let's test that gag reflex,” he said, and smirked in a way that made Eijirou toes curl with desire. "Could never hit the back of your throat under that table."
"Y-yes, boss."
Still smirking, Bakugou worked his way up Eijirou’s torso until his thick length was scant inches from his face. "Good boy. Now lean your head back on the pillows and say aaaah."
Eijirou’s mouth was open before Bakugou finished his sentence. He gripped Bakugou’s waist as he eased his length into his mouth, thumbs pressed into the dip of his hips, not with the intention to control his thrusts but just to feel him, skin on skin. Bakugou had been the object of his every fantasy since he’d first set eyes on him, and now they were being realized he was giddy with lust.
Of course Bakugou wasn’t gentle. Hands fisted in Eijirou’s hair, he thrust forward and his swollen head hit the back of Eijirou’s throat with enough force to make him gag - and Eijirou never gagged. Judging by Bakugou’s feral smirk, it had definitely been intentional. Just a few rough thrusts in, Eijirou was a gasping, spluttering mess, eyes running, drool trickling down his chin, slurping and sucking his way through the sloppiest blowjob he’d ever given - but fuck , he was so turned on. Bakugou’s gaze was pinned on his the entire time, hooded with desire but still sharp with unwavering intensity; he looked like he wanted to eat, fuck and murder Eijirou all at the same time, and honestly, Eijirou would probably let him.
Bakugou growled. “Why do you look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth? Like you were fucking made for me.”
Unable to verbally respond, Eijirou gripped Bakugou’s base and eased him even further down his throat. Fingers tightened in his hair and more tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes, but he refused to break eye contact as he let Bakugou fuck his throat with deep, measured thrusts.
Bakugou’s smirk was a million times sexier when he looked so disheveled. “Fuck, Shitty Hair, you really are a clock slut, you know that?” He finally withdrew his cock, and Eijirou trailed needily after it with his mouth open, but Bakugou caught him by the hair. “Don’t you want me to cum in you?”
“Yeah,” Eijirou replied breathlessly.
“Then turn around.”
With his untouched cock throbbing between his legs, Eijirou got on all fours and pressed his cheek into the pillow, ass in the air. Bakugou leaned over to grab a bottle of lube from the bedside table, then wasted no time coating his length and fingers.
Eijirou choked on a gasp when he feathered over his peritoneal. It had been a while since he'd been intimate with someone, penetratively speaking, and was glad he'd taken care to stay extra clean during this stay on the off chance Bakugou had wanted more than a blowjob.
Luckily for him, he was right.
Bakugou slid two fingers into him without preamble and chuckled when Eijirou groaned, cock twitching. "Haven't even taken my cock and you're a mess already, Shitty Hair. Pathetic."
Eijirou panted against the pillow as Bakugou’s fingers slid slowly in and out of his entrance. "Only 'cause I like you so much."
That shut him up.
Tsking, Bakugou added a third finger. When Eijirou peered over his shoulder, he found him staring with open mouthed lust at Eijirou’s stretched hole while stroking his cock with his free hand. When Bakugou lined his head up to his entrance and swiped it up and down his lubed ass, he caught Eijirou's eye and smirked.
"This what you want?"
Eijirou swallowed thickly. "Y-yeah."
Bakugou prodded his tip against Eijirou’s entrance. "Yeah, what?"
"Please. Boss. Sir."
"Tell me what you are."
Eijirou hesitated a moment, arousal twisting his lower stomach in knots, cock throbbing painfully between his legs. "A cockwarmer."
"Whose?"
"Yours. Your cockwarmer."
“Who owns you?”
Eijirou groaned. “You do. You do, boss.”
Bakugou's smirk grew wider. "Good boy." And then he pushed into him and everything bleached to white before Eijirou's eyes.
Bakugou’s length stretched his walls and delved so deep he could feel his organs rearranging to accommodate the intrusion. He pushed and pushed until he was up to his balls in Eijirou’s ass, and only then he stopped moving, either to admire the sight or allow Eijirou to adjust. Mild burning around his entrance receded as Bakugou pulled out, and when he pushed in again, it had vanished entirely. He probably should've been more embarrassed about the crooning noises he made everytime Bakugou swollen head bruised his insides but fuck it - he felt so fucking good and he'd waited so long for this.
Bakugou gripped Eijirou’s hips as he thrust deep into his guts. “You like that, huh? Like being my payroll slut?”
Eijirou choked on a gasp, an affirmative and expletive all at once.
“Didn’t catch that, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou said. “Don’t tell me I’ve finally managed to shut you up?”
The last functioning part of Eijirou’s brain remembered what words were. “I w-want you, boss. P-please… Please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”
As Bakugou began thrusting in and out of him - each jerk of his hips punctuated by a growl that made Eijirou’s blood sing - Eijirou snaked one hand down his stomach to grab his cock, desperate to be touched. But of course, Bakugou was quick to latch onto that and snared Eijirou's wandering wrist in a vice-like grip and twisted it behind his back. He leaned forward until his hot breath feathered the back of Eijirou’s neck.
"Cockwarmers don’t get to touch themselves until I give permission. Understand?"
Eijirou groaned into the pillow. "S-sorry, boss."
Bakugou grunted, then abruptly picked up his pace. Eijirou was rent useless as Bakugou kept his arm pinned behind his back with one hand, the other clamped on his hip, and fucked him hard into the mattress. It was instinct alone that made Eijirou’s hips grind back to meet Bakugou's thrusts; the rest of his existence was focused on the thick girth mangling his insides in the best way possible.
"Fuck, boss, that's it, you feel so fucking good, so fucking good, please just fucking use me, I'm yours, I -"
His praise fueled Bakugou's merciless pace until Eijirou's words turned to broken grunts and sobs. The headboard slammed against the wall, the frame squeaked. The wet slaps of their coupling echoed around the room. Eijirou’s blood sang in his ears.
The grip on his wrist released, then one hand pushed between his shoulder blades, flattening him against the bed and presenting an angle that had Bakugou slam into him so deep, Eijirou saw stars. Bakugou leaned forward until his chest laid flat against his back. Two larger hands wrapped over the back of his wrists, pinning them to the pillow, caging him in. Smothering him. Sweat dripped off Bakugou's face onto the back of Eijirou’s neck. Blonde hair tickled his ear. Sweaty grunts timed with deep, measured thrusts turned his blood to molten rivers.
“You think I’m gonna let you cum, Shitty Hair?” he purred in his ear. “After what a pain in the ass you’ve been?”
Eijirou spluttered, and Bakugou let go of one of his wrists to push his face deeper into the pillow. His dick was so deep he could feel his stomach bulging outward. “Puh-please…”
“Louder.”
“Please, boss, please !”
Bakugou grunted ambiguously, then picked up his pace again.
Delicious fire grew untamed in the pit of Eijirou's stomach as Bakugou’s cock drove him closer to his edge. He was sure he was going to cum untouched when suddenly Bakugou snaked one hand around his hips and began pumping his cock in rapid bursts. Eijirou yelled, his end rushing through his loins like wildfire, balls tightening, vision blindingly white. Bakugou sank his teeth into Eijirou's shoulder just as hot cum exploded across his insides, and a second later Eijirou was spilling over the covers with Bakugou’s firm hand milking his orgasm.
"Fuck," Eijriou gasped. " Fuck . Katsuki. Fuck ."
And then he heedlessly collapsed onto his pile of cum with Bakugou still inside of him.
For a moment, everything was suspended in the shimmering, delicious aftermath of his release; he felt like he was floating in warm water, utterly sated and fucked within an inch of his life. He was going to be limping tomorrow but he did not fucking care. He’d never felt this good after sex. Ever.
Bakugou groaned and pulled out his softening dick. A line of cum leaked down the inside of Eijirou's thigh. Comforting warmth disappeared, and through half closed eyes Eijirou watched Bakugou disappear into the ensuite bathroom and return with a towel to mop up the cum.
“You're fucking layin' in it, Shitty Hair."
Eijirou tucked his head into his arms and shrugged. "S'my cum."
Bakugou grumbled, then climbed onto the bed beside him. He was silent for a moment, then he said, "I don't mind you. Y'know. Being around. Like this."
Eijriou peered at him over his folded arms. "You're not used to this, are you?"
"Sex?"
"Intimacy."
Bakugou snapped his gaze to the sheets. "None of your business."
Eijirou tsked. "Y'know, the thing about intimacy is, you gotta let those spikes down once in a while."
Bakugou met his eye again, momentarily ruffled, then lay down and rolled over so his back was facing Eijirou. "Aren't you gonna take a shower or something?"
Eijirou sat up with a wince. His ass was sore, but in the best way possible. "Speak for yourself. You sweat enough to fill a pool."
"Shut the fuck up! It's hot in Hawai’i, what do you expect?"
Eijirou made to get up then paused and pressed his knuckles against Bakugou's back. "After I shower…. Do you want me to go back to my room?"
A pause. "Naw." Another pause. “And you can call me that again. If you want.”
Eijirou blinked at him. “Call you what?”
“My name,” Bakugou grumbled into the pillow. “Except in the workplace. And you can come with me to the conference tomorrow, if you want.”
Eijirou’s heart soared. “You’re the boss, boss!”
The rest of the weekend flew by at a speed Eijirou could only describe as disappointing. He hoped Katsuki would pay for an extra night at the villa so they could spend time sightseeing, but the blond insisted he needed to get back to work. Regardless, Eijirou was grateful for the time they spent together in the evenings by the sea or pool (and bed), and for how much he learned at the conference - an event Katsuki visibly detested; he stalked around the venue like a caged tiger, avoiding groups and offering blunt talk at best while chain smoking and drinking at worst. He seemed happy for Eijirou to keep conversations going - relieved, even - and if anyone had questions about his red haired, nervous ‘Executive Assistant’, they kept it to themselves. Katsuki neither praised nor criticized Eijirou’s communication or knowledge, which Eijirou took as a good sign.
And maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he saw a glint of jealousy in Katsuki's eye when Eijirou had been engaged in animated discussion with the legendary Tetsutetsu - co-founder of Ironwork Sports Inc. And maybe he’d seen just a hint of possessiveness in the way Katsuki squared his shoulders and lingered too close to Eijirou’s side, his molten look a shade too inappropriate when it flicked distastefully up and down Tetsutetsu’s gargantuan frame.
But before he could ask Katsuki what they were exactly - a couple? Fuck buddies? Boss and subordinate? - they were waiting outside Arrivals for a taxi which would take them in opposite directions. There was an unpleasant, tacky tension between them, words unsaid yet obnoxiously obvious, but Katsuki wouldn’t look at him; he chain smoked with his eyes glued to some distant spot while Eijirou hid his fidgeting, sweating hands in his pockets. Once again, left off guard when it came to Katsuki.
Eijirou was about to muster the courage to speak when Katsuki rummaged around the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Balancing the cigarette between his lips, he pulled out a thick wad of cash and held it out to him.
Eijirou stared at it. “What’s this?”
“Your payment,” Katsuki said around the cigarette.
“For… for what?”
He scowled. “You know what.”
Eijirou’s heart took a dive. “The sex?”
Katsuki glanced sideways at passersby, then shook the wad and hissed, “Yes, dumbass! Now take it!”
“I…” Eijirou blinked slowly, hurt flooding through him. “I don’t want your money.”
Katsuki faltered. “What?”
He swallowed, meeting his glare. “I said I don’t want your money.”
“Then what do you want?”
Eijirou felt like screaming. “Isn’t it fucking obvious by now?”
Katsuki eyed him narrowly, then stamped out his cigarette. “You never told me you were an assistant buyer at a sportswear company.”
Eijirou hesitated. “Yeah? What’s that got to do with -”
“That’s what you want, right?” he went on. “A job at GZA? That’s why you wanted to go to the conference.”
His accusation stung like a slap to the face. “What? No! I didn’t even know who you were when I took the stupid job on Craigslist!”
“Then why did you keep coming back? For the money?”
“No - yes! Yes of course it was for the fucking money but…” He sucked in an agitated breath. “It… it isn’t anymore! I don’t want it, I told you!”
“Then what do you fucking want?” Katsuki yelled.
“I want you , you idiot!” Eijirou yelled back. “I didn’t go to Hawai’i for the money, I went to be with you.”
Katsuki lowered the hand holding the money, his expression so stiff Eijirou couldn’t see beyond the spikes. The taxi suddenly pulled up beside them, and the driver rolled down the window and called Katsuki’s name.
“You know what?” Eijirou said. “Fuck it! Take your stupid money and leave. I don’t care. I’m goin’ home.”
Katsuki’s mouth dropped open. “What about the fucking taxi?”
“I’ll get the subway!” Eijirou roared over his shoulder as he stormed away, suitcase in hand and blinking tears out of his vision.
Why the hell had he picked the most infuriating, unattainable asshole to fall in love with?
It was a blessing Edgeshot Bar was quiet; Eijirou wanted to bemoan his existence without judgemental ears listening to his business, and Mina was happy to oblige while she polished cutlery with a rag and kept his beer topped up without being asked.
“Sucks it ended in a lover’s quarrel,” she said, “but at least you got to see Hawai’i! Y’know it’s one of Chako’s favorite places in the world, right? I’d love to get married there.” Then she caught Eijirou’s despondent expression and rested her hand over his. “Cheer up, honey bun. You’ll get over him.”
“I don’t wanna get over him!” Eijirou moaned. “He’s the only good thing in my life right now. Other than you, obviously. “
“Obviously.”
“I shouldn’t have blown up like that. If I’d just kept my cool maybe we could’ve talked it through.”
“Or maybe you’re speakin’ his language,” Mina said. “Maybe he needed you to yell at him to get it through his thick skull. Plus you turned down the money, right? That must mean something .”
He blinked morosely at his beer. “Maybe this has happened to him before. People must try to take advantage of his wealth and status all the time, right? We talked a lot in Hawai’i - in the evenings, you know - but he was always closed off about past relationships and stuff.”
“Maybe he’s never had one?” Mina suggested while refilling the wasabi pea bowl. “He sounds difficult.”
“He can be,” Eijirou allowed. “But once he lets his guard down, he’s funny and smart and intuitive and interesting.” He slammed his fist onto the bar, causing the froth of his beer to slop over the glass’ rim. “Why does he have to be so difficult about everything!?”
Mina popped one of the peas into her mouth and crunched it between her teeth. “Look, let it cool off for a couple of weeks. See how you feel then. If you really like each other, I’m sure your paths will reconnect at some point. I highly doubt he’ll find anyone else, and the only way for you now is up.” A customer called out on the other side of the bar, and Mina darted away to serve them.
Alone to ponder his drink, Eijirou wondered if Mina was right. Getting a job would eliminate Katsuki’s suspicion of him - but on the other hand, why did Eijirou have to jump through hoops just to get the dude to trust him? While Eijirou felt in his heart he was worth the effort, he was impatient to get to know Katsuki more intimately, and who knew when he’d be able to find a job worthy enough to erase Katsuki’s suspicion?
Eijirou sighed. If only he’d damn well trust him. Was that so hard?
No time like the present, I guess.
Reluctantly, Eijirou opened the emails on his phone to see if any of his pre-Hawai’i applications had been successful -
- and almost knocked over his beer .
He caught it with a flustered squawk, splashing drink over the bar, then did a triple take at the email in his inbox. Mina hopped over with a wet cloth and a mildly annoyed, “Babe!”, but he cut her off before she could scold him.
“Holllly shit. I got a job offer!” he said. “I mean, a proper job offer!”
Mina dropped the rag and clapped her hands. “What!? Oh my god, Eij, that’s amazing! What is it?”
Eijirou skim read the message on his phone, hardly able to believe it. “Assistant Buyer at Ironwork Sportswear. Christ, Mina, this is like… big! I spoke to the co-founder for a long while at the conference. Sorta let slip I used to be a buyer and he seemed to like me a lot but I never thought he was like… interested like that, y’know?”
“Woah! Dude! That’s a big deal!” She paused. “Wait, aren’t they, like, GZA’s competitor?”
“Yeah…” Eijirou felt a knot in his gut. Fuck, he should been happy. Why wasn’t he happy? This was what he wanted, right?
“Damn, that’s pretty shady of him tryin’ to poach you off of Bakugou, though.” Mina stared at him while chewing on a nail. “Things are pretty complicated between you two, huh?”
“...Yeah.”
This was good. This was good . Exactly what he wanted. Right? Katsuki would probably be mad though; this would solidify his suspicion that Eijirou had used him to get a job through the conference - even if it wasn’t with GZA.
Shit, why did the job offer feel like a fucking break up?
“Maybe this is what you need to cement things,” Mina said. “I mean, taking money out of the equation will clarify your relationship. Whatever will be will be, you know?”
“Yeah…”
“Eij, oh my god, if I have to hear you say ‘yeah’ with that kicked-puppy look on your face one more time, I will go insane! Have another drink. Chill. No – fuck that – celeberate . You got a job offer and a damn good job offer at that! Seriously, you’re amazing - I knew you’d land on your feet again!”
Eijirou forcibly perked up, a wobbly smile edging onto his face. “You're right. I am happy. And the pay is way better than my last job too! I mean my, uh, job as a buyer. Not a cockwarmer.”
Mina sniggered, then said seriously, “Will you keep doing that on the side?”
“I want to keep seeing him,” Eijirou said, “but I’ll be busy during the day now and he doesn’t need me in the evening after hours so…” He grimaced. “Also he’s probably going to be angry that I’ll be working for his competitor. But it’s not like I could be a cockwarmer forever. I had to get a normal job at some point. Even Bakugou must know that, right?”
“Absolutely.” Mina took his glass and refilled it. “So when are you gonna tell him?”
Eijirou blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Now, I guess.”
“Really!?”
“Via text.”
Mina looked aghast. “Eij!”
“We didn’t exactly part on good terms, y’know.”
“Well, fine. Not my business.”
Eijirou pulled up Katsuki’s number and stared at the message screen for an embarrassing length of time. He was half tempted to write something semi-professional (Bakugou, please accept this letter as a notice of my resignation from my position as professional cockwarmer beginning June 22 nd ) but settled on, ‘Hey, I got a job offer. ’
What wasn’t implicitly stated could clearly be read between the lines. He’d understand, right? Surely he must’ve known it was only temporary. Even if it was… considerably more complicated now. Eijirou hoped beyond all hopes Katsuki would want to keep seeing him in an unprofessional setting, but it was damn hard to tell with him.
Eijirou scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan. Why was everything so complicated? Why did he get his feelings entangled with a stupid sex job?
The bar got busier and his self indulgent drinking session was joined by his and Mina’s mutual friends. Eijirou tried to adopt a celebratory outlook, but his attention never drifted from his phone for long.
His very silent phone.
It wasn’t until he was staggering home after closing hour that the response finally came, and by then Eijirou was drunk enough that it took several seconds of squinting in the light of a street lamp before he could make out a single word.
‘Fine.’
Eijirou reared back indignantly. That was it? That was it!? He hadn’t been expecting a congratulations but, heck, he’d expected something a little more heartfelt than just ‘fine’. He could at least finalize their severance with a ‘nice knowing you’.
So because he was drunk and more than a little hurt or irate (he wasn’t sure which, maybe both), he sent back, ‘As an Assistant Buyer at Ironworks.’
Barely three seconds passed before his phone started ringing. Katsuki’s number flashed across the screen and Eijirou’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of it. Gods, he wanted to talk to him so bad. Wanted to hear his voice. Would he apologize? Ask him to stay? Ask to meet up so they can talk things through?
With a shaking hand, Eijirou answered the call.
“You shitty haired, cocksucking motherfucker,” Katsuki spat down the line. “You got a job with that roided up piece of shit and you didn’t think to fucking ask my opinion first? You ungrateful little cunt, I will fucking end you, of the all the backstabbing dirty shithead things to do, you’re lucky you’re over the phone otherwise I’d be sewing your balls into your empty eyesockets you piece of shit, it’s over, you’re done, you’re fucking finished -”
Eijirou hung up. He took a shaky breath then steadied himself on the street lamp. His phone started ringing again. He turned it off.
Hoo boy. There went his last chance of reconciliation.
Putting aside his prevalent heartache, Eijirou focused on preparing for the informal interview with Ironworks. He was nervous as hell but quietly hopeful. Afterall, Tetsutetsu himself had taken an interest in Eijirou based off a single conversation - although Eijirou had no doubt part of his interest was piqued by the presence of Katsuki.
And this suspicion was cemented as soon as the bulk of the interview was over and questions turned to Katsuki.
“I’ve never seen the CEO of GZA with an associate at the conference before,” Tetsutetsu said without preamble as he leaned forward curiously. “You were his assistant?”
Eijirou swallowed. “Uh, yeah.”
The HR manager, Setsuna, sat beside Tetsutetsu at the table, and beside her was the Senior Buyer, Monoma. The latter asked, not without an unprofessional amount of snark, “You must have incredible tolerance to deal with him everyday.”
Eijirou frowned, and Setsuna quickly said, “What Monoma-san means is, you must be used to working in a high pressure, challenging environment, is that right?”
A flash of crouching under the table with a cock stuffed down his throat came to mind, and Eijirou bit down a nervous cough. “Sure.”
Tetsutetsu was still eyeing him curiously. “He must consider you with high regard to invite you to the conference. He certainly seemed… calmer with you there compared to all my past encounters.”
“I couldn’t say, as I haven’t been to a conference before,” Eijirou replied evasively. “But he’s always fine with me.” Which wasn’t true, but their relationship was hardly normal.
Tetsutetsu seemed dissatisfied with his answer, but didn’t pursue the matter. No, far worse, he leaned back and said, “I’m very keen to see his reference for you.”
Eijirou felt like his guts were leaking out of his feet. “Oh. Ah. Y-yeah. A reference. Absolutely.”
Fuck!
“Because we can’t hire you without a reference from your last three employers,” Setsuna added. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
Sweat trickled down Eijirou’s back. “No, ma’am.”
“Fantastic.” Tetsutetsu stood up and shook Eijirou’s hand. “We’ll be in contact once we receive your final reference, though we expect you to start at the end of the month.” He smiled toothily. “Welcome to Ironwork Sportswear, Kirishima-san.”
Eijirou bowed to each of the team in turn, then exited. He walked very slowly, very calmly, to the elevator, waited until the door was closed, then screamed into his hands.
“Fuu uuucccckkkk .”
Firstly, Ironworks was probably going to contact GZA’s HR team for a reference, not Katsuki directly, whereupon they would discover he didn’t work for them at all and raise questions surrounding his presence at the conference and Katsuki’s lie, which would shed bad light on Katsuki. Secondly, Katsuki was never ever in a billion years going to give him a reference. At best, he might ignore the request. At worst, he might blacklist Eijirou in the sportswear world. Which meant no job for him. Maybe ever.
Eijirou groaned an expletive into his hands again.
There was no choice. He had to contact Katsuki and pray he’d calmed down since their last conversation.
Eijurou made sure to put a notable distance between himself and the Ironworks building lest any employees overheard the imminent disaster. He stepped into a quiet side alley, then pulled out his phone and dialed Katsuki. Honestly, just the sound of the dial tone made him want to shit his pants. He couldn’t believe his future rested on the shoulders of one of the meanest men in Tokyo.
Well. Maybe that was harsh. But kind of true.
It rang for a long time - so long Eijirou almost gave up, but suddenly Katsuki answered, and his gruff voice down the line made Eijirou go frustratingly weak at the knees.
“What?”
All the words Eijirou knew flew out of his brain like startled birds. “Oh. Um. Hi. Hello. Ka- Bakugou?”
“I have three minutes before my next meeting - spit it out or stop clogging up my line.”
“I need a reference,” Eijirou blurted, then winced preemptively. “Please.”
The line was quiet for an excruciating eternity, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “For Ironworks?”
“Yeah…”
“Why should I?”
Eijrou sighed. “Because I give really good head?”
He swore he heard Katsuki bite down a snort of laughter, but wasn’t sure. “So you’re sucking off that gray-haired bastard now?”
“No!” Eijirou said quickly. “No, nothing like that, no. It’s just… they genuinely think I’m your assistant and they're going to contact GZA for a reference but obviously I’m not on the payroll so…”
Another pause. Eijirou’s heart thundered. The phone nearly slipped from his sweaty hands as he shifted it to his other ear. He closed his eyes.
“Fine,” Katsuki said.
Eijirou nearly fainted with relief. “Seriously!? Oh my god, Ka - ah - Bakugou, you have no idea -”
“You gotta come get it though,” he said. “From me. Personally. Now .”
Cold water extinguished his relief. “Uh… like… now, now?”
“You have an hour to get here before I change my mind.”
“W-wait, I -”
But Katsuki hung up. Eijirou stared dumbly at his phone, then started jogging to the nearest subway station.
Holy shit what the fuck did that mean? Did Katsuki really mean to give him a reference in person? Was he going to lie about his role as an ‘assistant’? That made sense because he would bypass HR getting wind of the employee that supposedly worked for their boss, neatly avoiding a scandal. But also…
Maybe Katsuki was going to murder him.
Eijirou shook off that thought. Katsuki wasn’t a murderer. But the other thought - the other hope - that maybe Katsuki just wanted to see him one last time, was a hope too bittersweet to entertain. No, it was better Eijirou kept this cool and professional. He could totally do this
And he told himself this repeatedly as he crossed Tokyo to Toranomon Hills and rode the elevator up to GZA offices. He was a sweaty, breathless mess by the time he was babbling at Camie, who politely directed him to Katsuki’s usual meeting room, though not before leaning over her desk to straighten his tie and jacket with a cheeky wink.
Katsuki couldn’t muder him now, right? Camie had witnessed him enter the building. She would totally inform the cops if he mysteriously never left, right?
Right?
Eijirou took a very long, steadying breath as he stood outside Katsuki’s office, then rapped his knuckles three times against the door.
“Come in.”
The conference room looked the same as always, with its long table, chairs and fake plants. Katsuki was seated at the head of the table, signing a stack of paperwork, much as he had done the first time Eijirou met him. He was as striking as usual in a tailored black suit and wine-red shirt, and when he looked up to meet Eijirou’s eye, he thought he was going to melt into the carpet.
Fuck fuck keep it professional keep it professional
“Hi,” Eijirou said lamely. “I, uh, I’ve come for -”
“Come in and close the door, dumbass,” Katsuki said, then quickly scribbled his signature on a few more documents before leaning back in his chair to appraise Eijirou properly. His gaze felt like wildfire crawling over Eijirou’s skin as he looked him up and down.
“You run here, Shitty Hair? You’re fucking sweating through your suit.”
Eijirou scratched the back of his head. “I mean, you only gave me an hour, so…”
Katsuki stared at him for a long minute, then tsked and pulled a sheet of paper out from the pile. “Your reference.”
Eijirou blinked at him, hardly believing his ears. “Really? You mean it? Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“N-no, it’s just…” He swallowed. “Is it… good?”
“If I wanted to give you a bad reference I would’ve shit in an envelope and sent it to them.”
“Oh. Okay. Right.” He coughed. “Thank you, Ka - Bakugou. I mean it.” He started across the room to take it from him.
“You gotta do two things for me first,” Katsuki said.
This stalled him. “Uh… oh. Okay? I… I can’t pay you back the money you gave me -”
“And I wouldn’t ask for it back. Ever. You did me a service and got paid for it. End of story. But I want you to answer me honestly first: do you really want to work for Tetsutetsu?”
Eijirou mulled this over for a moment, then nodded resolutely. “They’re a great company and a great team, plus it’s what I’m good at, you know, so…” He blinked guiltily at Katsuki. “I know I would never have gotten this job offer if it wasn’t for you inviting me to the conference, but I didn’t use you to get the position, I swear. I know you don’t believe me, but I wanted to go to the conference just to be with you. To spend time with you. And honestly…” He bit his lip for a second, heart kicking against his ribcage. “If I had to choose between being with you and taking this job, I’d choose you any day.”
And for split second, Eijirou saw every last one of Katsuki’s spike lower, revealing his soft, vulnerable interior, warm, fluid, gorgeous, lonely, and he saw his breath hitch in his chest and his mouth draw into an unhappy line, and then his exterior hardened again, and he held out the reference.
Deflating, Eijirou crossed the room and went to take it, but just before he could, Katsuki yanked it out of reach. Never breaking eye contact, he said, “You owe me.”
Eijirou gawped under a frown. “Wha… I…”
“One last job,” Katsuki clarified, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Eijirou’s jaw snapped closed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Katsuki wanted another blowjob? And Eijirou’s payment was a reference ?
Why did everything between them have to be so fucking formal and weird? Why couln’t he ask Eijirou for sex like a normal fucking human?
But he couldn’t say that. Not when his career was literally in Katsuki’s hands.
So Eijirou bit down on his indignant argument and went to lower himself on his knees and crawl under the table -
Only for Katsuki to impede him with a firm grip on his arm. He gestured to the seat beside him.
“At the table, Shitty Hair. Not under it.”
The cogs in Eijirou’s brain were clunking together so violently he thought the whole building might hear them. “Uuuhhhh….”
Katsuki stood up and handed him the reference. Eijirou peered at it dumbly. He frowned.
“This isn’t a reference. It’s…”
“A job offer,” Katsuki said. “Senior Buyer. At GZA.”
“Wha… What!?”
“5million Yen a year starting, plus pension and health insurance, twelve days paid leave plus holidays.” He scowled. “And I know that’s more than what that prematurely-gray asshole is offering because I checked.’
Eijirou grabbed the edge of the table, feeling lighthearted. ‘As the S-Senior Buyer, though? Don’t you already have -“
“I have two. I need a third to assist the JP branch when we expand to the US.”
“B-but I can’t -”
“If you say you can’t do it, I will literally punch you through the wall. You can do it. I wouldn’t hire you just because I’m personally attached to you. I’m hiring you because you’re good at what you do and I’ll know you’ll excel at it. I heard you during that conference. You know your shit. I’ve already got your references and I can tell you weren’t utilized properly at your last place of -.”
“W-wait!.”
“What?”
“You’re… you’re personally attached to me?”
Bakugou blinked, then glanced away. “Obviously, you dumb fuck. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for the past month.”
Eijirou couldn't apprehend his big, dozy grin, and Katsuki screwed up his face when he noticed.
“Don’t let it get in the way of work, asshole.”
“No, I… I won’t, never, I won’t! Just, um… Does that mean I get to see you outside of work, too?”
“Maybe.” Katsuki sniffed, eyes trailing to the window. “That stupid gay night at your friend’s bar doesn’t sound terrible.”
Eijirou’s legs felt like they were going to give out. “Gods, you’re such a dick sometimes, you know that? Why didn’t you tell me how you felt on the phone?”
Katsuki actually pouted . “I needed to see you in person. To make sure.”
Unable to resist any longer, Eijirou closed the distance and trailed a finger up the hem of Katsuki’s suit jacket. His body was pounding with relief, desire - a mishmash of new and fresh and joyous emotion too numerous to count. He wanted to cry and scream and fuck all at once, but settled on pulling Katsuki in for a kiss instead. To his surprise, the blond immediately melted against him, hands roaming into his hair as he pushed his tongue into Eijirou’s open, needy mouth. Eijirou wrapped his arms around his neck, losing himself in the simple pleasure of being kissed, until he felt a familiar hardness press against his upper thigh.
Katsuki pulled back with an entirely unapologetic smirk. “I can push back my next meeting,” he said, “although I won’t be payin’ you for this.”
Eijirou stuck his tongue between his teeth. “Maybe I’ll pay you instead.”
Katsuki scoffed. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“True.” He pecked him on the mouth again and murmured, “Fuck capitalism, anyway.”