Archive of Our Own

Inhale. Chemical. Sterile. Same.

Exhale. Smile. Smile. Smile.

Katsuki presses his lips into a line and makes that line tilt up at the ends. Forces it through sheer will alone. Just like a wind-up toy, he walks and talks, customer-service face plastered like a second skin over his own. No anger, no swearing, just smiles. Bland, unobtrusive, and pleasing. The mask is in place as he glides over to Tia’s station and sets a glass of water on the counter, pinky buffering the clink so that it doesn’t even make a sound. 

“You’re such a sweetheart, paying for my nails like this.” Daphne says with her forearms hovering over the counter. She snaps her gum, pink bubble growing and collapsing to her lips. Katsuki almost cringes when Tia doesn’t even flinch at the customer chewing gum at her. Par for the course, really. 

“Yes ma’am,” Daphne’s flavor-of-the-week grins, an easy slide of lips revealing Crest-commercial teeth. 

Salons, stores, clubs—the venue doesn’t matter, Katsuki decides. All transactions sound the same.

HGTV is playing on a monitor overhead, muted Property Brothers moving their mouths with only Sabrina Carpenter’s voice is coming from the speakers. Bright chimes sing as customers open and close the door, but he’s heard the sound so many time it becomes as much a part of the landscape as the smell of acetone. Ice white walls, glossy prep stations with their UV bar lamps, it all reads as feminine as it does clinical.

Or it does most of the time. When customers aren’t popping their gum in your face or telling their secrets. Because, really, a nail tech seems human to these people only if they can’t afford a therapist. 

Daphne’s man has his elbows pressed into the counter, chin on his steepled hands, watching the UV light flare. The sleeves of his white button up are casually rolled to his biceps, revealing scarred and freckled forearms. Though the UV glow is giving him a violet cast, Katsuki can tell he’s sun-kissed, not sunburnt. A strong jaw sits just above his knuckles. When he tilts his head those dark lashes sweep down and up again—looking straight at Katuski.

Tia touches Katsuki’s arm and he startles, blinking down at her. There are practically laser beams coming out of her eyes behind her glasses. Why are you still here?

“Sorry to bother you, Sir,” The man speaks, soft gaze and sunshine smile burning a hole into Katsuki’s chest. “Can I get a glass of wine?”

“Beverages are for customers getting a service done or staff, apologies.” Katsuki’s retreat was in sight, his feet already moving when he’s spoken to again.

“I am a customer.” There’s a vague gesture at Daphne but that’s all the acknowledgement she gets. The guy bites his bottom lip for a second, and Katsuki knows he’s in trouble. “But I’ll get my nails done if you insist.”

“Babe—” Daphne protests, making Tia grab for her hand to keep her still. Tia shakes her head, focusing in on the 3D flowers she was sculpting. Good old coworker telepathy screams at Katsuki. The appointment couldn’t be half done, what with all the nail art Daphne liked to request. 

“Sure.” Katsuki smoothes over quickly, spreading his palms. “I’ll see who’s available.”

“I’d like you to do it.” Then he slides cash across the table. Crisp, fresh bills. “Please.”

Money stopped looking like paper to him a long time ago. It looks like a piece of steak. It looks like rent. It looks like…he’s being grossly overpaid. Katsuki clears his throat.

“I’m an assistant manager here. I don’t provide services anymore.” 

Daphne’s topknot bobs up as she looks from her half-done manicure, to her man, to Katsuki and back, something on the tip of her tongue.

“I don’t need anything fancy. Just a clean up and a hand massage.” The guy assures him.

“Babe.” Daphne’s hissing through her teeth, pink lip curling back. “Getting your nails painted? And by another guy? Why does that feel low-key…” 

Her eyes flick over Katsuki before she looks back at her hands. When her mouth opens again, Katsuki knows what’s coming. “Gay.” 

The moment the word hits the air, the boyfriend’s smile is just…gone. Out like a light. Even Tia looks up, slipping Daphne’s wet fingernails under the UV lamp again before muttering a prayer to the gods of wet paint.

Yeah…that’s enough of that.

“I’ll be right back with your drink.” Katsuki clears his throat and takes big strides towards the back office.

‘Office’ is a generous term. It’s more of a concrete supply closet with a desk, a mini fridge and some lockers.

Mina barely looks his way as he walks in, her Barbie pink acrylics pinging over the keyboard on the Y2K relic of a desktop. “Kats, your boss from the Undersea called. She wants you in by seven sharp.” 

“Ugh. Fuck me.”

“In your dreams, blondie.”

He pops open a bottle of white and pours, staring into the stream. “I think I just got conscripted into doing some straight dude’s nails.”

“Better make it quick.” She looks up from her computer, sliding her blue light glasses up to sit like a tiara in her pink curls. Mina’s eyes are naturally wide, made wider with those full sclera contacts she likes to wear. Katsuki had to take out his ear piercings for work, but Mina’s role never puts her in front of clients. She has the personality for it, though. A ‘people person’—that’s what everyone calls girls like her. Katsuki doesn’t know how she does it.

“Hey. Wait.” She says, “Are you ok?”

“Why?” 

“You look…a little flushed.” Mina rounds on him before he can retreat, her sandals smacking the linoleum. She gets in his personal space in seconds, hands on his cheeks. “Hmm, you’re not feverish.” 

“Mina…” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Stop it.” 

“Ok. Ok.” She smacks his cheeks and giggles when he shoves her off. “Go get your little bit of extra cash. You were literally just telling me you’re going to be late on your loan payments this month. Take any windfall when it comes, babes.”

“I guess…”

“Seriously! You’re a naturally lucky person. Don’t waste it.” 

“Keep your woo-woo girl nonsense. I’m going to go back before Tia thinks I’ve abandoned her.” 

“Have fun!”

”It’s not going to be—”

Why did he have to look like that?

Dark green hair—almost black where the light doesn’t catch it—is tousled like he doesn’t care or cares quite a lot. A watch face glints in the light from the window, practically tattooing the word expensive there on his wrist. A little Ralph Lauren Polo logo sits above his heart. The shirt itself is white and well fitted in a way that draws Katsuki’s eye to a curve of bicep here, the line of shoulders there.

Any more staring would make Katsuki feel like a fucking cliché. 

“Here’s your wine. Go wash your hands at the sink over there—”

“Already done.” The man smiles again. Damn him. “Not my first time.”

In the time since he’s been gone, Tia successfully pulled Daphne into a conversation—something alarming and confusing about death threats on Twitter and romance writers. Katsuki just nods and focuses on his first hands-on client in months. And oh God, he's ready to be hands on.

“I’m Katsuki.”

“Izuku.” 

Katsuki grabs both of Izuku’s hands in his own, bringing them over the table for inspection.

Thick scars wrap around his joints, silvery and webbed along both thumbs. Katsuki looks up. All green eyes and dark lashes.

“Car accident.” 

“Ah.” The frog in his throat dies through willpower alone. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Izuku says breezily, hands squeezing Katsuki’s fingers. “I lived.”

“I have something scheduled after this, so I have to get you started.” Katsuki looks up at Izuku’s face. Big mistake. Those eyes are shining, a dimple pulling at his cheek, and the freckles—he looks like the sun took his face in it’s hand and kissed him all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Katsuki’s voice is hard to find, and harder to harness. “Cuticle cleanup, shaping, clear polish, and a hand massage?”

“Yes, please.” 

Katsuki gets to work, bringing out his tools. Each free edge is milky white, with a healthy, flesh-pink nail bed above. He smoothes his fingertips over the edges of Izuku’s fingernails, feeling for changes in the surfaces. Katsuki takes his file from the table and begins. One smooth glide comes after another, grit at work, taming the shape, flowing in one direction…the motion lulls Katsuki into the zone. It’s nice. He pinches each of Izuku’s fingers gently between two of his own while his dominant hand does all the work. Gliding and wearing away to make it all fresh and clean again. It’s easier to identify the points where their hands do not touch—and so intimately. 

Katsuki spots a bubble of calcium under the nail of one of Izuku’s pointer fingers. It’s such a small detail that he wonders if anyone else knows that about Izuku. Knows the calluses and scars and that one, stupid white fleck of calcium in his nail bed. Regardless of whether they’ll ever see each other again, Katsuki now knows. He’s felt. He’s seen.

“So…Katsuki?” Izuku murmurs, “How long have you been assistant manager here?”

“Six months.” The words don’t make him look up from where he’s settling all ten of Izuku’s fingers into a bowl of lukewarm water. 

“Congratulations.”

“Tch. Not like it was hard.” Katsuki smirks. Their eyes meet, and he quickly looks away, reaching for his cuticle kit. “Classes are harder.”

“You’re in school?”

“Grad school. Nuclear engineering.”

“Government?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki snorts. “Can you imagine that in the private sector! Fuckin’ hell.”

Izuku chuckles. Katsuki just shakes his head and focuses on pushing back softened cuticles.

“When I was a little kid,” He chews on his cheek a little. “I used to want to make nukes. Loved to explode shit in my back yard like every day was the frickin’ Science Fair. Now I’m thinking about going for another degree in politics to argue for non-proliferation and disarmament.”

“Funny how perspective changes you.” Izuku squeezes his fingers. “You seem like a thoughtful person.” 

“I still like blowing shit up.” Katsuki smirks. “I contain multitudes.”

“I can see that.” Izuku laughs and it’s easy. It slides over Katsuki like the gentlest wave of warm, Caribbean water. Washes him through with salt and sun and sweet peace. Katsuki shivers. He tries to brush it off.

Daphne and Tia are still discussing…something…but Katsuki has entirely lost the plot. It doesn’t matter. Can’t. 

“So,” Izuku leans over the table. Suddenly he’s closer than Katsuki feels comfortable with. Not here. “I saw your keychain when you were walking over. You like All Might?” 

“Manga is better than the anime, but yeah.” Katsuki unscrews the clear polish with a wobbly smile and picks Izuku’s fingers back up. “Can’t believe you do.”

“Why?” 

“Aren’t you a little old for it?” Katsuki follows the curve of Izuku’s nails with the brush. His fingers squeeze over Katsuki’s in a way that feels too familiar. 

But that’s why he got the hell out of hands-on service roles. Customers have a hard time perceiving what is “too personal” when you’re paid to be kind to them, to smile and ignore it when your normal boundaries being pushed.

“Someone’s presumptuous.” Izuku says. Might as well read his mind.

“You’ve got enough cash to be…uh,” Katsuki nods meaningfully at Daphne. “I mean get your bag girl, but she’s a regular, and nail techs are pretty much therapists who don’t have to abide by HIPPA so…” 

Izuku leans back in his chair, giving Katsuki a once-over.

“I see.”

“I hope I didn’t—”

“You didn’t.” Izuku says after a pause, smile smoothing over the awkward bump in conversation. “It’s kind of on the nose, but you’re fine. Daph and I see each other every now and then. Not exclusive. We’re, uh, friends. And well, I am a bit older than you if you’re in grad school.” 

“Rich, too?” Katsuki jokes, pushing the boundaries right back. He’s still himself, even if he’s out here to collect his cash and pay his rent. Still an explosion in the backyard, a curse word in the quiet, an impulse acted on. That customer service mask is just gone. 

“Sure.” Blush starts to color Izuku’s face. It’s boyish, makes him seem younger.

“Is Daphne your only…friend like that?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. Clear polish is drying on ten perfectly painted nails between them. 

To cover his embarrassment, Katsuki ducks over to Tia’s cart to grab the lotion. Without looking up, he pumps some onto his hands and rubs his palms together to warm it up. Soft, herbal notes of chamomile reach his nose.

The moment it isn’t cold, he grabs Izuku’s hand, digging into the soft meat at the base of his thumb. 

“Oh!” Izuku’s lashes flutter, face glowing with that pretty flush. Katsuki notices, can’t do anything but notice, as his thumbs massage into that sturdy, scarred palm. “Surprised me. Feels…”

“Pressure ok?” Katsuki asks.

“Feels good.” 

“It’s my job.” Except that it’s not really his job anymore.

Silence stretches out and Katsuki can hardly keep still in his seat. Izuku is still leaning forward in his chair, pulled in almost by gravity. 

At the Salon, a one or two minute hand massage is standard. It’s just supposed to loosen the muscles and leave the customer relaxed after having their nails picked and prodded at for the better part of an hour. Even knowing that, Katsuki reaches over for another pump of lotion after the first dries between them, rolling his thumbs up over the tender skin of Izuku’s wrist, gliding over stressed tendons into the thick muscle of his forearm. Not thinking about a service he should be providing, Katsuki takes a tour of fingertips on forbidden flesh. Webs of scars and tender skin, thin above veins that glow blue just beneath the interior of his wrist. Izuku inappropriately drapes across the counter, farther than Katsuki would ever let another customer in. He smells a little like he’s been sampling at a vineyard and something else—some expensive cologne eaten away by swipes of chamomile on Katsuki’s hands. 

“Ngh.” Izuku grunts softly and tries to brush it off. Too late. Katsuki’s ego swells. He takes a heaving sigh just to get oxygen down, or maybe just answering that lovely sound, fingers digging into flesh.

“Kats.” 

Katsuki flinches. 

Mina’s pink fingernails scratch his back. She frowns. “Time to go.” 

“Oh.” He lets his hands finally fall away from Izuku’s skin. Suddenly the world is peeled open like an orange and it’s all a bit…embarrassing. Tia’s whole station is spotless. And—ah—Daphne is staring daggers at the two of them. She’s leaning against the register counter, popping her gum. 

Mina leans over and taps his phone screen for him, showing off his dorky All Might wallpaper and the time… His shift at the salon ended five minutes ago. 

“Thanks for coming.” He glances up at Izuku. One last look. “Hope you have a good one.” 

Izuku’s lips are parted, brows drawn together. That expression is so out of place outside of a bedroom. Lights low. Katsuki almost allows himself to imagine it, but then Izuku says, “Thank you.” 

Excruciatingly awkward.

Yeah, Katsuki can’t fucking deal with that. He rolls out of his seat and walks to the back, rummaging for his bag.

“I thought you were going to ask him to take off his shirt next.” Tia calls from her perch on the top of Mina’s desk, Diet Coke can in hand. 

“He’s hot.” Katsuki admits. “But I don’t give those kinds of massages.” 

“Yeah, you just work with people who do. Your mysterious ‘other job’.” 

“How many times do I have to explain to you that they’re not sex workers?” He reaches into his backpack and changes into a crisp white button down. It’s the kind you serve tables in at a Michelin restaurant, not the kind you go to fine dining wearing. Just another line in the sand.

“Potato tomato.” Tia checks out of their conversation, face in her phone. Just as well. His cash tip from Izuku gets unceremoniously put away before he examines his slacks for any polish stains. “Still sketch.”

“They’re called companions.” He tries.

“Creepy.”

It kind of is. “Most they ever do is kiss. Maybe.”

“Whatever, Katsuki.” She says.

“Hey—my job is important. Without me, bad shit would go down. Lotta lonely freaks out there, T.” He walks over to the mirror hanging above the water cooler and runs a tongue over his teeth in his reflection. Quick as he can he fixes the buttons and makes himself all shiny and new. The trick is to look like you don’t have homework, or a second job, or sleep deficit. “Someone’s gotta have boundaries.”

Katsuki snags a power bar from the cabinet and waves goodbye. Tia waves back without even looking up, sipping her soda. Protein and chocolate powder tastes like chalk on his tongue, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it as he makes his way through the salon, waving to Mina on his way out. Only once he’s shouldered the door open, last beams of sunset hitting his face, does he hear the argument.

“I swear to God! You did all that just to embarrass me.” Daphne’s voice is viciously quiet, but it travels. She’s clutching her purse with both hands, worrying the leather. Her brown eyebrows are pinched, nose scrunched. Izuku leans against the building, just taking her disappointment.

“Daph…” 

“You were practically moaning over a hand massage. It was mortifying. That’s my favorite nail place. How am I supposed to go back there?”

“I don’t think it was half as bad as you say it was.” Izuku says coolly. “You’re making a big deal over nothing.” 

“You were drooling over that…that faggot.”

A chill spreads from the tips of Katsuki’s toes up his spine and then all the way back down again. He shuts his eyes for just a moment, willing his feet to move. The invisible clock in the back of his mind reminds him that he is t-minus twenty minutes from the start of his shift at the Undersea. 

Just…it has just been years since someone said something like that about him.

That power bar is not sitting well in his stomach.

“Yeah. Wow.” Izuku chuckles. Katsuki tries to become stone. If he moves, they’ll see him. The moment he moves, he has to be human again, and act like the last hour never fucking happened. “We’re done here. Lose my number.”

“Izuku!” She protests, red in the face. Her pretty features crumple in her anger. 

“I give too many second chances. I knew you were trying to push my buttons—first with the waiter the other day, now this? Hope you grow up but that’s just not my problem.”

“Fuck you.”

Izuku just shrugs and slides his hands into his pockets. “Have a nice life.” 

Katsuki’s mouth is a desert, lips parted, mute with surprise. The sidewalk feels like it might just fall away.

Daphne stalks off, pissed down to the set of her shoulders and the stamp of her shoes on the pavement. Emotions bubble up in Katsuki like carbonation and he can’t help himself. He laughs.

“Katsuki?” Izuku’s suddenly looking at him, noticing him for the first time, clearly bewildered.

“Sorry, I’ve just never seen someone lose their meal ticket over homophobia before. Jesus.” He wheezes a little. 

“Yeah, um…” Izuku scratches his nape. “I’m pretty embarrassed that you heard that.”

“You were giving her nothing, man. Most polite breakup I’ve ever seen. Kind of savage.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Folks like that only want attention and validation for their bad opinions.”

“She knows I’m bisexual.” 

Katsuki raises a brow. Not so subtle. “Oh yeah?”

Izuku leans back against the doorframe, turning his face to the setting sun like a flower. “Bothered the hell out of her. Thought she could…”

“Get over it?”

“No. Accept it, maybe?” Izuku shrugs and looks him over. “I like to think the best of people.”

“I’ve got to go, but uh, sorry for being the faggot who drove off your ‘special friend.’” 

Izuku snorts, cracking a smile. 

“Were you really drooling over me?” Katsuki grins, walking backwards from the storefront. Izuku follows him a few steps.

“Maybe.” 

Katsuki’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, timer going off like crazy—shit. “I’ve got to run. Second job. You know, what people who don’t have friends like you do to pay for things.” 

“Have a good shift.” Izuku looks like he wants to say something else. For a moment, Katsuki wants him too. 

“Thanks, Izuku.” 

“Can I get your number?” Izuku blurts out like he hadn’t even meant to ask. Katsuki laughs and rolls his eyes. 

It’s only when someone’s staring at him on the metro that Katsuki realizes he’s still grinning like an idiot.

xxx

“During the arms race, the U.S.S.R. and the United States—”

Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!

“Pardon me, can you please silence your cell phones?” Professor Shield turns from the whiteboard and looks Katsuki dead in the eyes. With embarrassing delay, his ears deliver messages to his sleepy brain until he realizes it is, indeed, his phone going off.

Grimacing, he silences it and nods. The weight of eighteen pairs of eyes on his face makes Katsuki fucking itchy. 

Incest-y, cult-y fucking cohort freaks.

With the shitty job market and the deeply competitive nature of their field, Katsuki can’t hold a grudge for anyone smelling blood in the water. 

Still…the fake smiles, the fake friendships…no, thank you. In his bones, he knows that his behavior gets brought up behind his back. Let it stay that way. Getting ragged on about something inane at an impromptu cohort happy hour by the professor who insists you call him Dave? Not how Katsuki chooses to spend his time.

Whatever.

Blinking slowly, he watches Shield wrap up the lecture more than he hears it. Erasing the board, reminding everyone of homework, yada yada who cares. 

Katsuki’s phone screen lights up. It’s already 7:55PM, but that’s not what gets his attention. The text from his boss only reads:

You’ve been requested tonight!

Katsuki is halfway out of the lecture hall with his phone against his ear by the time fucking Dave formally finishes up. 

“What do you mean I’ve been requested?” He whisper-shouts into the receiving end. “I’m like…a bouncer?”

Nemuri chuckles. “There may have been some cash involved. I’m not above a little bribery.”

“It’s not in my job description.” Katsuki dodges coeds and a group of tweed-covered University staff members on the sidewalk. “I did not sign up to be one of your companions.”

“There also may have been a pretty face…Katsuki, you just have to see this guy.” 

“You did not check my ass out like a library book just because someone batted their lashes at you and gave you money. Nemuri, seriously?”

“Library books are free, Katsuki.” She whines. “Aren’t you at least a bit curious about this handsome stranger?”

“You’ve gotta stop trying to set me up. Doing it in the workplace is too fucking far.” He hisses, running down the steps of the stopped escalator. The metro’s screech is deafening in his free ear. “Gotta go.”

Katsuki taps his foot and stares at the time on his phone as if it will change. Two stops lurch by and then he bursts from the doors, running up the left side of the escalator until he hits the street above.

Cursing, he bursts in through the club side-entrance. Kyoka shrieks, pulling her guitar in towards her chest before it can gut-check him.

“Christ, watch where you’re going.” He mutters. 

“Oh screw off, Katsuki!” She yells after him.

He’s already stripping off his cheap belt, backpack hanging from an elbow as he ducks into the locker room. 

“Hey, man!” Ei yells, buttoning his tuxedo pants. “Thought you weren’t going to make it.” 

“You think about me too much.” Katsuki smiles, shaking his head. Usually he’d fold his clothes, but a peek up at the big digital clock above the door just makes him speed through his routine. Jeans off, slacks up, leather belt on, dress shoes out.

Weird fucking night so far.

Ei whistles to get his attention. “Don’t you have your first client tonight?” 

“Fuck.” Katsuki grimaces. “I don’t have anything…special for this. I don’t have cologne in my locker, I don’t do eyeliner, I don’t know what you guys even do, really.”

Then there he is, soft smile, holding out a black cologne bottle like an olive branch. Ei’s a handsome man—really, he is. Rugged, tall, with his red hair down around his shoulders. Part of his act is ‘the bachelor undone’—always looking like he’s loose from a glass of wine and a few songs on the dancefloor at a wedding. Such a fucking catch. The smile, the fine clothes, the relaxed demeanor…it’s his thing. And it looks good, even if it’s rehearsed.

“You’ve watched us tons of times.”

“Yeah!” Katsuki winces at the volume of his own voice. “Yes. I need to make sure you don’t get assaulted or hate-crimed. So I watch like a fucking hawk, Ei.”

“Hitoshi’s taking over for you tonight.”

“Eyebags and the Legendary Insomnia? Oh yeah, I feel so safe.”

Ei comes close, taking Katsuki’s wrist and spraying him with cologne by force. Katsuki is so on edge that just having someone touch him is making his hackles rise. Flinching only makes Ei grab him harder, trying to keep him steady. 

“You’ll do great,” The air smells like amber and musk, something deeply masculine and sophisticated. “Whoever requested you more than likely knows you as the prickly bodyguard type.”

Katsuki pulls away to finish adjusting his slacks. “Ei…that’s not an act.”

“Sure it is, bro!” He claps Katsuki on the shoulder. “It’s work-you.”

Katsuki walks over to the full length mirror on the wall, nudging on dress shoes that he had fished out of his backpack. It didn’t make a bad picture, but he was a far cry from a flirt.

“There he is!” Nemuri claps her hands together before embracing him from behind. “You are literally so gorgeous someone requested you off the floor, Katsuki. Try to look like you know it.”

“Nemuri…” He sighs, but she’s already busying herself with the details of his outfit. 

Money is the anthem of success. Money pays the rent. Pays for classes. Pays for food. Nobody knows this like Nemuri. 

“Don’t say I don’t look out for you.” She says quietly. “He’s bound to be a big tipper.” 

“Okay.” He swallows, looking at his own smooth-shaven face. His last haircut was a bit shorter than he liked to go, but in this generous lighting he can see a more mature version of himself emerge. Someone who owns his twenty-two years, not the kid who had hated the sound of the clippers.

“It’s time.” 

“Wait!” Ei runs over, tie artfully undone around his neck, top buttons popped. He takes Katsuki’s hand and slips something from his palm. Katsuki looks—and suddenly he feels unsure.

“What about work-selves, Ei?”

“You don’t have to put them in.” He says.

“No. I will.” Katsuki slips the small gold hoops into each ear. It makes him feel like a fucking pirate. It makes him feel…like himself. “This ain’t my real job, so maybe I should be myself. A little.”

Nemuri rolls her eyes. “He’s gorgeous and you get to go romance him for a couple hours. I’m practically paying you to go on a blind date. Get your ass on the floor, Katsuki. He’s your 9PM. Booked you all night.”

The safe bubble of the locker room pops just like that. 

Kyoka is opening her set with some atmospheric, ambient jazz. It warms up the room as everything just…blooms. The padded leather booth tables and low, pillow-stacked couch pits are pristine little havens away from the dance floor. Hanta is working the bar, joint still tucked behind his ear despite his professional getup. The other companions are milling around, reviewing their client profiles with Nemuri and her protégé—Momo. Katsuki watches her black ponytail swing as she walks, clad in a slinky and effortlessly classy pink slip. She’s on him with her discerning eyes in no time.

“Katsuki! Sign these.” She holds out a tablet to him expectantly.

“Nemuri’s dirty work, huh?” Release forms, bullshit legalese protecting the club—as if the NDA he’d signed just to work on the security staff wasn’t enough.

“Just business.” 

“Yeah, yeah…” He sweeps his fingertip over the screen, too exhausted to really care if he signed away his firstborn child. “Give me the profile, Momo.”

“Your guest requested no profile tonight.” 

Katsuki blinks in surprise. “Can they even do that?”

“Nemuri doesn’t really like telling nice men with wads of cash ‘no.’” Momo says brusquely. “He’s male, rich, and young. Good looking. Should be easy enough to make him feel special.” 

“What do I—”

“Places people!” 

Katsuki’s spine prickles. Immediately, this night is different from all the others. He is not here to watch, he is here to be watched. Maybe to be touched. 

Instead of milling around the tables, he parks his ass at the bar. 

“Your joint’s behind your ear, stretch.” Katsuki feels fucking on edge.

“Good looking out, man, thanks.” Hanta passes him a glass of white wine, and Katsuki narrows his eyes at him. “What? No good?”

“Do you know me at all?”

“Sorry, forgot.” Hanta pops in a few ice cubes into the glass.

“You wound me.” Katsuki sulkily takes the drink and sips just to feel the cold against his upper lip. 

“Well, since we gotta kill time before your client shows, let’s play a game.” Hanta, very unprofessional, pours himself a glass of riesling. “Fuck Marry Kill.”

“Shit…” Katsuki leans back in his barstool, swiveling to face the club floor. “Ok. You realize we work with most everyone we can pick.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You go first, then.” Katsuki sips his wine.

“Obviously, I gotta marry Kyoka. Thoughtful, passionate… Plus, the musician and bartender romance pipeline needs to be further explored.”

Katsuki snorts, “Suit yourself. I’m marrying Momo for the trust fund and family vacations in Dubai.”

“Okay, okay, who are we killing?” Hanta leans forward on his elbows. “Do clients count?”

Katsuki lowers his voice, shocked how much he’s enjoying himself. “Sure.”

“That guy. Big fireman build, redhead.”

Katsuki swivels back towards Hanta, toying with the stem of his glass. “Because he objectively sucks? That’s an easy one. Keeps swapping companions before I can throw him out for behavior. Toes the line but doesn’t outright cross it.”

“Love the tea, hate the flavor.” Hanta grins. “I just think he’s a bad tipper.”

“I’m killing Nemuri.” Katsuki whispers.

“Why?” 

“She changed my shift up on me with like twenty minutes of notice.” 

“Fair!” Hanta cackles, trying to subdue it with wine, which just makes it wetter and worse. Katsuki smiles. A few more clients filter in through the door. “Oh damn—I know who you’re going to say you’d fuck.”

Hanta turns his chair for him by the metal backing until he sees him. Solid, in-the-flesh, Izuku. Rich, handsome, real-life Izuku from the nail salon.

“You’d sleep with someone like him in a heartbeat.” Hanta’s joking. Katsuki’s face goes hot for a second. He swallows so much wine at once that an ice cube slips into his mouth, sour and then sweet and cold on his tongue. 

“Yeah, well…” In that moment, Izuku looks his way and his face just lights up. Katsuki blinks. It’s like being hit with a pure ray of fucking sunshine. 

Suddenly, Nemuri is linking arms with Izuku and guiding him, tailored suit and all, to where Katsuki is getting progressively messier at the bar. He slips his wine glass back to Hanta and tries to sit up straight. 

“Katsuki, this is that nice gentleman I told you about.” She’s using her customer-voice, all smoothed edges and sultry.

“You didn’t tell me shit.” Katsuki grins. “Hi, Izuku.” 

Confusion crosses Nemuri’s features. “You didn’t say you knew each other, Mr. Midoriya.” 

“He did my nails once.” Izuku shrugs. “Happened to see him here when I came with friends last week.”

“Why didn’t you say hi?” Katsuki finds himself slipping off his barstool. “You a coward?”

For some reason, that makes the bastard smile again. “You were busy.” 

Nemuri excuses herself, but Katsuki can’t take his eyes off Izuku’s face. Sun-kissed and warm, big green eyes and dark curls falling onto his forehead. It’s been weeks, but sometimes he still thinks about this guy. The feel of his hands in Katsuki’s…it hasn’t left him.

Now a space exists between them that pure obligation struggles to fix. Katsuki has no fucking idea how to be a companion. He’s fairly sure that insulting your client isn’t in the handbook, though.

“Let’s go sit down.”

As Katsuki leads Izuku to one of the sunken pits, he sees the whole club just a little…differently. One of Ei’s regulars is sitting in his lap, her skirt riding up her thighs as she leans back and whispers in his ear. Denki is dressed in pure white like an angel, leading a businessman into the shadows by the bathrooms. The lines between ‘sexually available’ and ‘at-work’ have always been blurred in the Undersea, and Kyoka has already gathered a crowd. The straps of her midnight blue dress are slipping down her shoulders as she sings into a microphone, holding it with both hands like a lover. Hitoshi is no where to be seen, supposedly supervising. Distantly, Katsuki thinks that he has no idea who else is even on shift—that’s how in his own head he was in the moments leading up.

Bodyguard Bakugou off-duty, huh.

“So, Katsuki,” Izuku clears his throat. “How did you get involved with a place like this?”

“Did you think these muscles were for show?” He flexes a little. “I work security.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” 

“Please…” Katsuki looks back at Izuku, who is making himself comfortable on one of the plush couches. “You know that’s because of you.”

Izuku looks terribly amused.

“Why do they call this place the ‘Undersea’ anyway?”

“You must have been drunk last time you were here, huh.” Katsuki quips.

Izuku laughs, “What?”

“Look up, man.”

They both do. The ceiling is made of a webbed glass, and through it he can see the sharks and rays swim above them through cerulean light. None of the sharp teeth, just the white underbellies of beasts. Their secrets, their vulnerabilities—that’s what Nemuri would say.

“That’s amazing.” Izuku murmurs so quietly that Katsuki finds himself drifting closer on the couch. When he looks up, they are not far apart at all. The mood lighting from the tank above makes everything heavy and blue velvet, shadows drawing in and receding with the sharks above.

Katsuki licks his lips. “Tell me why you requested me, Izuku.” 

“I thought you were paid to flirt with me and generally be a tease for however long I booked you.” 

Katsuki flinches at first but…it’s best to call a spade a spade. “I thought I was working security until about an hour ago. This ain’t my real job, Izuku. Tell me.” 

“Yeah, well…” Izuku leans in like he means to kiss Katsuki. Only a hand on his chest makes him stop.

“You didn’t even read the rules, did you?” Katsuki is staring at the curve of Izuku’s bottom lip, thinking about just how long it’s been since he was last kissed. Six months? A year? “You can touch me below the elbows and knees. I can touch you anywhere.”

“What if…” There’s something dark in Izuku’s gaze as it flickers over Katsuki’s clothes, lingering on his chest. 

“Eyes up, soldier.”

“Then kiss me.”

“You’re just the most presumptuous asshole on the planet.” Katsuki is smiling and it makes his words lose all their bite. 

Izuku shivers a little and bites his lip, weighing the words like they’re not an insult. “Maybe, when it comes to you.” 

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Hanta clears his throat. There’s a black tray balanced on his palm with two sparkling flutes and a dark glass bottle. “Madame Nemuri wanted to send over some Dom—and her regards.” 

“Oh my God,” Katsuki deadpans, head swiveling. “How much did you pay her?”

Izuku ignores him entirely.

There’s pouring—accompanied by an altogether unsubtle check-in from Hanta—before Izuku and Katsuki settle in again, this time with their hands occupied. 

“So, I can touch you below the elbow and the knee?” Izuku seems incapable of sitting still. He’s so close to Katsuki, not touching at all, but the flared bases of their champagne flutes clink when they sip. “That’s a strange rule.”

“Oh, look who has working ears.” Katsuki tries to look nonchalant. 

“Will you give me another massage?” 

“Pervert.”

“I’m serious.” Izuku’s ears are red at the tips, and he’s rubbing the rim of his glass over his bottom lip.

Katsuki looks around the club—at the patron kissing Kyoka’s wrist like she’s a goddess. Then there’s the game of billiards that Denki clearly started just so people would stare at his ass while he leans over. Ei is dancing with his client, spinning her across the floor looking for all the world like the dreamiest groomsman at the end of a wedding. 

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since, Katsuki. I was so relaxed after that…I felt like I could finally think clearly. Daphne was toxic, but I kept giving her chances. I don’t know. I like to think that people are capable of real change if you really believe in them.” 

“You’re not responsible for other people’s bullshit.” 

Izuku puts a hand on Katsuki’s elbow, dangerously close to breaking the rules already. “I like helping people be their best selves…but you reminded me of what it feels like to be a little selfish.” 

Izuku’s hand ghosts across his bicep, up his shoulder, and maybe they’re not the most erotic places to be touched, but the fact that Izuku—for all his kindness—is doing it because he knows that it’s off-limits is hot. Selfish and bad and so, so hot.

”It feels good.” Izuku murmurs.

Katsuki says nothing, letting Izuku look his fill, letting him touch. Fingers ghost over his shoulder, but he pulls out of reach when that big, scarred hand goes for his face. Instead he grabs those rude fingers and studies them. 

“What do you do for a living?” He asks, running a finger over Izuku’s love line.

“Nothing, anymore.”

Katsuki pauses and really, truly looks at Izuku. He’s got a Hugh Dancy baby face. Expressive eyes, stubble on his jaw, and lips that call a siren song from across the couch. 

“Izuku…how old are you?”

“Thirty-three.” Those green eyes linger, studying. “And you’re…twenty-five?” 

“Twenty-two.” The disparity sours something between them for a moment—Izuku no doubt looking at him like he’s a fucking teenager. “Fuck—you’re retired at thirty-three?”

“I retired last year. Sold a ton of patents and my company. I’ve been getting really into activism, but I didn’t want to run a foundation… I take care of my Mom, but mostly…I like being with my friends.” The words are a tease. They’re clearly not meant to be, and Katsuki’s no gold-digger, but he’s envisioning dollar signs the size of Mount Everest. 

Friends. It’s now the most loaded word in the universe.

Izuku has the kind of wealth that Katsuki finds scandalizing—humiliating to think about in real terms. His part-time Assistant Manager job at the nail salon pays $15 dollars an hour. The Undersea is different—he has less shifts here, less opportunity, but it pays $22 an hour, with the added benefit of free gifts from Nemuri. All told, he’s still feeling the impending crush of his student loan payments and a few stray big bills. His apartment is too expensive. He’s hiking his ass all over kingdom come because he can’t afford a car.

“Congratulations.” Even Katsuki’s voice doesn’t sound like his own. It’s not. It’s just another part of him that Izuku is currently renting. “Sounds like a full life.”

Izuku shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not the youngest person Katsuki has ever even heard of retiring. “I might work at some other point in my life. You never know where life takes you.”

“So, how many…friends…do you have, anyway? Friends like Daphne?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d much rather talk about you.”

The champagne starts fizzing between them. One glass becomes four, five, and Katsuki just knows he’s spilling his guts.

He can’t stop himself. He can’t—he can’t—he can’t—

White sunlight hits his face through the crack in the blinds. He opens his eyes to see the ceiling fan making lazy circles. And his head, oh his head is fucking pounding.

He glances at his phone, eyes squinty and twitching. There are a few messages from Nemuri. He reads them. Blinks, licks his lips, and reads again. 

There is no record of Izuku Midoriya ever having stepped foot in the Undersea before last night. The night where Katsuki got unseasonably drunk and sat half in his lap… Memories come streaming back in with the cool air conditioning. Snuggling up on the couch, playing with his collar, lips skimming against his neck… Suddenly they’re a little tainted by the lie—the really, really odd lie.

There was no group of friends that dragged him there. No reason for him to have found out serendipitously that Katsuki worked there as well. No plausible deniability.

Katsuki’s mind is racing. He sits up in bed and bonks his head against the headboard.

Ping!

A bank transfer notification pops up on Katsuki’s screen. It’s not his normal payday, and that is not a normal dollar amount. 

“Fucking hell.”

xxx

Nemuri is leaning over him as he changes into his security guard uniform. 

“He’s back.” She sing-songs.

“No.” He says. 

“No?”

“Nemuri. This is not how I make my money. Not to mention it’s sketch.” Katsuki sighs. Shame flashes through his body at the memory of that cryptic Zelle transfer—the note that read: Let me know when you’ll let me see you again, Katsuki.

Accompanied by hundreds of dollars. 

“Background check was squeaky clean.” Nemuri adjusts her cat-eye glasses and gives him a side-long look. “Your loss, hot stuff.”

Katsuki ignores her and bursts through the double doors into the Undersea’s main floor. His eyes follow Kyoka, Ei, Denki, as they flirt and feed their customer’s egos. 

For a while, Katsuki tries. He tries not to look for green hair and a wide set of shoulders. He tries and he fails. In his defense, Izuku finds him.

“Hey man,” Katsuki cuts to the chase. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not…I can’t…”

Izuku is quick to get in his space, siren voice, bambi eyes, big hands. “You can’t what?”

The eye contact is too much. It makes Katsuki furious. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

Oh, they both know that’s a lie. It’s all over Izuku’s face and Katsuki’s conscience. 

“Come talk with me outside, Katsuki.” Izuku tugs on his hand. It becomes harder to remember why he’d been so freaked out—why he’d been angry. They step outside the door, the butt of Hanta’s nightly cigarette still a burning ember on the stoop. Katsuki bristles against the chill before Izuku steps right into his space. 

“You’re a creep, you know that?” He snarks, half afraid and half intrigued. For a moment, Izuku doesn’t say a word. Instead, he studies Katuski’s face, hands coming to touch his cheeks, to hold him still in space and time. A fixed point. A heartbeat.

“Katsuki…” The name is a taste, not a word. Izuku’s tongue rolls over it. Licks his bottom lip before biting it. Katsuki wants to follow—feels a calling, like Jesus freaks and hippies do.

What an awful combination, rage and wonder…

Katsuki flinches out of Izuku’s grip, grasping him by the wrist. His skin is slippery where it’s been scarred and soft—so soft. 

“You’ve got to stop.”

“I don’t want to.” Izuku murmurs. “Why do you—”

“Is this a fetish to you?” Rage fills the corners of Katsuki’s vision, cheeks hot from shame. “Because all this? It’s not a part of being a companion. The stalking, the money transfers from nowhere, the secret alley conversations? You bet your ass that’s against the rules and the contract you signed.”

“Katsuki, please.” Desperation swells in his voice.

Izuku is running a soothing hand over his back, and it doesn’t feel patronizing. It doesn’t feel proprietary or inappropriate and that just makes it worse.  

“I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s sex work.” He continues. “It’s not. It’s literally companionship. It’s flirting.”

“I think you’d flirt with me regardless.” Izuku smiles again and it shoots Katsuki through the knees. He leans against the wall and narrows his eyes, trying his best to stay grounded. “I just want—”

“You want me to touch you?” He seethes, cheeks hot. “Get your rocks off to a hand massage? Want me to be your hooker? Please. You couldn’t afford me.”

Silence stretches between them. The close space of the alley is claustrophobic. Izuku is everywhere. Cinders burn down to ash on the pavement. Katsuki lowers his eyes to watch. Lowers them because he’s lost a part of himself in this conversation that he doesn’t know how to get back. 

“Would you let me?”

“What?” Katsuki chuckles, but then Izuku tips up his chin, gazing at him with those pretty Bambi eyes that seem like they should be odd on a grown-ass man. They’re not. Just disarming. 

“Get off while you give me a massage?” Izuku says.

There’s the final line. Right there. That’s the line where Katsuki becomes a sex worker. He’s found it. All the jokes he’s ever made about starting an OnlyFans melt away—this is concrete. This is real. His mouth is a little dry. His heart is racing. He wishes the money didn’t matter to him at all. 

Izuku is looking at him like he’ll eat Katsuki alive. Katsuki knows that he will. Entirely, and to the bone. 

“Not tonight.” He begs, for his sanity. “Izuku.” 

“Why not?” Suddenly there are hands in his hair and lips at his temple. Katsuki shakes with the effort to be still. 

Fuck his life. He can’t think of a good enough reason to say no.

xxx

Champagne bubbles fizz in his bloodstream as he follows Izuku into the elevator. It’s entirely glass, rocketing up twenty floors with the smoothness of water. When the doors open to the penthouse, the glow of white marble and expensive lighting is blinding. All along the ceiling hang artistic, finely engineered chandeliers. They brings out the green in Izuku’s hair, the whiteness of his teeth. The handsome bastard’s already loosening his tie, popping the door open and sweeping Katsuki inside. The whole apartment is less tidy than Katsuki would have expected. It’s not messy, but littered with projects. What looks like a chemistry set has been abandoned by the bay window. There’s a pile of open notebooks here, a half-erased whiteboard there.

“Are you some kind of scientist?”

“I just like research.”

“Freak.” He chuckles, dragging his fingers over the island in the open-concept kitchen. They drank at the Undersea and then more on the drive over. Izuku had called up a ride app that Katsuki had never even heard of, complete with glasses of champagne in the back of the black SUV.

There’s enough room in here to fuck you, Izuku had purred, the driver won’t even care. 

Katsuki shivers just thinking of it, casting his gaze to the living room.

Izuku drops into an armchair and brings out a bottle of lotion from the top drawer of the sidetable. Cashmere and vanilla—the scent is both luxurious and cloying, drifting over the room. He drops a pillow to the floor between his feet. It’s terribly demeaning but Katsuki follows the pull in his gut instead of obeying his screaming ego. His knees hit the cushion. It leaves him looking up at Izuku from between his knees like a slave or a supplicant. 

Katsuki doesn’t waste time, warming a pump of lotion between his palms before reaching for Izuku’s hands. It’s desperate, eager behavior. He’s being fucking paid and it’s twice as humiliating because he’s aching just thinking about this—about the power in this man’s hands. 

There are no witnesses so he’s less careful this time, threading all twenty of their fingers together before pulling them back, stretching the tendons and muscles. Izuku’s staring at their joined hands, but Katsuki is too tipsy to linger, already scooping Izuku’s left hand into two of his own, pushing his thumbs into flesh, digging into muscle.

“You feel good.” Izuku says sweetly but it’s instantly so dirty. Katsuki bites his lip. Izuku leans back in his chair, knees spreading wider. It’s hard to miss the way that his pants get tight. Katsuki accidentally digs in so hard Izuku groans. 

“You are a freak.” Katsuki mutters, watching Izuku’s dick twitch. A jolt of sympathy runs up his thighs to his groin. “Getting turned on from a hand massage? You know how many people I’ve done this to?”

“Sorry.” Izuku slurs. 

“You should be.” Katsuki pulls Izuku’s hand closer to his face, loving the way Izuku bends like a marionette, pulled towards him by the gentlest tug. Now he’s leaning on his elbows, watching the way Katsuki looks up at him through his lashes and brings one of his scarred fingers to his mouth. There is no kissing, no sucking, just the gentle drag of his lips and the ghost of his breathing. Izuku’s eyes are being eaten by his pupils, low and dark where they cling to Katsuki’s lips with deadly focus.

“Yeah,” Katsuki continues, panting, “You should be fucking sorry.” 

“Yeah?” Izuku whimpers.

“You’re a fucking freak, Izuku.” Katsuki pushes his face into Izuku’s hand, nuzzling like a cat, breathing in the smell of the lotion and trying to place where he’s smelled that before. It’s a rich, sweet smell like a fashionable lady’s perfume. “You put me on my knees because that’s how you need me, huh?”

That intense gaze is on him, lips parted and unsmiling. 

“You’re lonely.” Katsuki accuses, nudging his nose along the curve of Izuku’s thumb. Affection, bought and sold. Devotion. It makes him ache. “Poor lonely rich man. Big, empty apartment. Boo hoo. No wonder you pay for company.”

“You’re always this mean?” Izuku asks, power leeching away from him—abandoning him. “That who you are, Katsuki?” 

“I’ll be exactly who you need me to be.” 

Izuku’s eyes flash with anger on some sick delay and he fists a hand in Katsuki’s hair. Katsuki’s thighs clench—his dignity flares—he tries to keep his composure. Izuku moves his foot to run the toe-box of his shoe along the fly of Katsuki’s slacks. 

“Ngh—” He grunts.

“Don’t.” The word is crisp. Final. Izuku leans even further forward, caging Katsuki with his knees and his hands. In a smooth movement, he tips Katsuki’s chin up and claims his mouth. 

Katsuki moans, hips involuntarily rocking forward. Heat blooms through his cheeks. He shivers and pulls away just to mutter, “Pervert.” 

“Who’s the pervert between us, huh?” Izuku’s cheek pulls with a one-sided smile, as if only half of him thinks this is amusing. “You could have had me right away. The right way. I could have taken you out, Katsuki. I would have slept with you like a normal date. I would have treated you nice, but you had to play games. You had to be tempted by a little cash. Who’s pathetic, you or me?”

Blinking away the shame, Katsuki startles when he hears the metallic teeth of a zipper singing. Almost reverently, Izuku pulls him forward by his hair, guiding his face to his lap. Katsuki whimpers into the quiet, secret place between Izuku’s thighs, taking in the deep, masculine smell of his soap and natural scent. It’s thick in his nose as he runs his closed lips over the curve of flesh struggling against black briefs. 

“That’s it,” Izuku pants. “Beautiful.” 

“You’re…” Katsuki struggles with his words. All of his sharp edges are softening under the influence of alcohol and Izuku. Apologetic and pathetic and sweet and domineering in turns. Humiliating. Katsuki needs it—the push and pull. He’s so carefully balanced on this knife’s edge of pleasing and being pleased that he barely knows what to do. 

“Get to work, Katsuki.” Izuku’s hand tightens and he roughly shoves down his own underwear. 

“God—” Hot, human smell. Life. Sweat. Blood. The stretch of skin over desire, chased by his lips. In the trap between Izuku’s arms and legs Katsuki gasps, air humid, mouth suddenly filling. Izuku whines—a bright, bell sound that falls like an angel to become a groan. Katsuki can’t fucking breathe. He doesn’t want to stop. 

The weight in his mouth is dumbing him down, focusing him up. There is a single focal point in the universe. No loans, no cheap meals, no class, no work.

There is only the cock in his mouth and the balance of oxygen. There is only the means of life without the making of it.

“Mmmf—” Katsuki’s throat catches, spasms. Izuku pulls back. Their eyes meet and Katsuki can feel the strand of saliva still connecting them pull and break. Izuku is panting, chest straining against his shirt buttons. Katsuki reaches up to rub his mouth on his sleeve but Izuku catches his hand. 

“You look pretty like this.” Izuku murmurs, hand tightening around his wrist. 

“F-f-fre—”

“Shh.” The tone is so patronizing, barely a few consonants. It almost makes him shut his eyes from the shame. “Pretty boy. You don’t need to act embarrassed. I know you like it. I can see it all over your face.”

The solid weight of Izuku’s cock comes to rest on Katsuki’s bottom lip.

Izuku smiles. “You’re going cross-eyed just trying to look at it.” 

“Shut up.” Katsuki whispers against the tip, plush and slick against his lips like someone’s mouth. 

“You know I like you.” Izuku praises freely, hand loosening on Katsuki’s wrist. His other palm comes to rest on Katsuki’s jaw. He holds it open, sliding his cock past Katsuki’s teeth and onto his tongue once more. “Liked you from the moment I saw you. From the moment you touched me…” 

Some distant alarm starts in Katsuki’s brain, but his mouth is full of dick and his brain has become a bloodless, harmless thing. The crotch of his slacks is tight, fabric pulling. In his imagination the teeth of the zipper groan, separating as if by magic, to give some sort of relief. 

“You’re just a real-fucking-person, aren’t you, Katsuki? Real and raw and away from all this bullshit. You still have a soul. No veneers, no Botox. Look at you.”

It’s bizarre trip having Izuku talk while he’s rocking into a warm, wet mouth. Katsuki’s eyes lid and dim. His knees are so stiff they’ve grown comfortable. Every now and then his legs sing with sparks—asleep on pins and needles. Izuku’s hand has started stroking his hair like he’s just a dog sat at his feet. 

“Good boy, Katsuki.”

Katsuki strains forward, nose in the fine trail of hair on his navel, breathing hard. 

“Eager baby…” Izuku chides when Katsuki clenches. “Look at you.” 

Katsuki groans deep in his chest, feeling cheap, feeling godly. 

Suddenly Izuku surges forward in his chair, toppling Katsuki to the ground. Izuku pushes Katsuki down onto the plush carpet. Wet mouth gasping, Katsuki looks up into Izuku’s eyes only to be kissed like the world is ending. Kissed like he’s the last taste of birthday cake, the first patch of earth off the rocket ship.

Izuku sits up, shifting and kneeling until he’s pinning Katsuki with his knees, straddling his chest. 

“On my knees ain’t low enough?” Katsuki croaks, throat feeling put back together wrong. All the same, he licks his lips when Izuku settles into his hipbones and starts stroking his own dick. 

Katsuki’s getting played. Where’s the camera?This must be a fucking porn—it’s just missing the lights. The sounds. The fucking fluffers and the Viagra. 

Katsuki can’t even touch his cock like this, Izuku’s fine ass just inches away. He can’t do anything but lay there and watch Izuku’s handsome features twist as he fucking loses it. Cum splatters up to Katsuki’s chin and before he can say a word Izuku leans over him, smearing it over his lips, his cheek, with the head of his still-jerking cock. It kisses his closed teeth, his gums under his lip, before pulling away. Bitter and bitter and bitter.

It’s good. Katsuki whines and pulls his thighs together, riding the humiliation like a fucking wave. 

All at once, Izuku smiles again—pieces of his sunny demeanor clicking back into place like Legos.

“You alright, handsome?” He says, gathering Katsuki in his arms and reaching for some tissues on the coffee table. Soft strokes gather up the mess until Katsuki feels less disgusting. Almost. He can’t help but stare at Izuku, who is suddenly a more strange stranger than Katsuki had signed up for. 

“Is that what you were thinking about when I did your manicure at the salon?” He asks at length.

“Of course not.” Izuku strokes a clean hand through Katsuki’s hair, pulling him against his shoulder. “It’s what I’ve been thinking about ever since.” 

Katsuki’s cock kicks in his pants and he shudders.

“You always that rough?”

“Hmm?” Izuku noses into Katsuki’s hair.

“Next time, talk to me about it first.”

“Next time?” Izuku repeats into his hair, trying to hide his smugness. God, he’s terrible at it.

Katsuki grunts, turning his face into Izuku’s neck. Part of him wants to finish and part of him wants to die like this. Denied and held in pathetic scraps in Izuku’s lap. 

“Why would I tell you if I want to get your real reaction?” Just saying it makes Izuku laugh. The words wash over Katsuki like a gentle fog to shore, disfiguring everything he thought he knew about the terrain he’s on. His arousal is so fucked it’s not even funny anymore. “Seeing you choke, seeing that look in your eyes…that’s the whole point.”