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In the dying daylight, the city looks more alive, and that’s the sort of remarkable contradiction that keeps Katsuki’s attention.
Everything looks small from the window-wall of his high-rise apartment, thousands of people down below, each one tired and tireless, wandering between countless memories and moments in time. Thousands of tiny dots that fill the gaps like a starscape, walking through parks and driving through tangled streets, living a thousand-thousand stories that Katsuki couldn’t compile in ten lifetimes. They all have a tale to tell, they all fit into the same labyrinth of concrete and steel they call home.
Millions of souls, each moving beneath the same setting sun, each face touched by the same orange tint of the fading afternoon.
And Katsuki, standing in front of the window-wall with a dark drink in his hand, is no different.
He knows his own story, of course. He knows where each individual journey began, and where some of them have ended - the ones that have ended - and as he sips the drink in his hand, watching the reflections of the sunbeams off the city of glass, he knows that so many books remain open. Even ones that he’d thought long closed.
The faint reflection of his own face, tempered by years of training and sacrifice, only half snaps him out of his reverie; he only looks somewhat like himself, like the person the world had come to know when he’d been in school. His hair is only a little longer now, his jaw is only a little stronger, his muscles are only a bit more defined. But he’s also got a new ring in each ear, and he’s wearing a too-expensive navy suit that his PR manager had insisted on, complete with a fine gold chain around his neck that offers the illusion of a style that Katsuki doesn’t actually care about.
He wears the collar open, intentionally leaving a few buttons undone to expose a bit of his chest. As much as he hates being a sex symbol, he can’t deny that it keeps him in the spotlight.
It’s his eyes that are the most striking, the most different. There’s still the same fire and passion in those eyes, the same relentless desire to prove himself better than anyone else, but there’s an element of calm to them now. There’s a sharpness and a perceptivity that only comes with experience.
He’s caught somewhere on the partition between adolescence and adulthood, and he knows that only because he recognizes it in himself.
Katsuki swirls the drink with a quiet sigh. The sun’s continuing to sink below the horizon, below the buildings and skyscrapers, and the reflections are beginning to fade. In their place come the artificial lights of the city, one after the other, and everything goes from a natural yellow-orange to a discordant mural of offensive neon.
He wrinkles his nose in response. It all looks so cheap.
He remembers, vividly, how much distaste he’d had for the city lights as a boy and as a teen. They’d represented something fake, a series of false promises of glitz and glamor. It was when those lights were out that criminals and villains felt the most safe, in the shadows of the neon haze. How many times had he spent chasing villains through back alleys, across rooftops, through streets that seemed anarchic after the sun had set?
He doesn’t like the night. He’s never liked the night. He has to take a moment to breathe and untense his fingers from around the glass in his hand.
And then there’s a knock at the door that resonates through the sparsely decorated apartment. Katsuki had forgotten that he’d invited a guest.
He turns with a sigh, hearing his dress shoes click against the hardwood as he moves past the stark white sofa that never sees use, past the television on the wall that rarely gets turned on, past the house plants and the abstract paintings that his manager had picked out for him. Past the bar, past the kitchen, past the coat rack that holds both a leather coat he’d had since he was sixteen and a suit jacket he’d worn to a recent gala.
The place is elegant, and it’s where he lives, but it isn’t his home. At least, it doesn’t feel like it.
He doesn’t bother putting the drink down before he opens the door, and the glass nearly slips out of his hand when he lays eyes on the man at the threshold. “Holy shit.”
It’s Eijirou, but it’s not Eijirou, not by any familiar metric. That goddamn red hair is down and tied back in a small but messy ponytail, but that doesn’t stop it from falling over his pierced ears and into his face in crimson waves, framing his soft but inquisitive eyes in a way that makes Katsuki’s stomach knot. He’s gotten taller with the muscles to match, and if his sinfully-tight tank top tried to contain his abs and expansive chest any further, it would rip off. He looks like he’s come from the gym, complete with athletic shorts and running shoes, and Katsuki watches with the slightest hint of amusement as Eijirou nervously scans him from head to toe. “Oh, uh, am I underdressed? I didn’t know if...uh…”
It’s been a while since Katsuki’s heard him talk. After graduation, they’d been so busy with their separate sidekick jobs, and eventually their burgeoning careers, that they’d fallen completely out of contact. They’d seen each other in passing at special events and large operations that had required teams of heroes, but they haven’t had a true conversation in ages.
They barely know each other anymore. Eijirou’s eyes are glazed with a combination of unfamiliarity and mild confusion. It brings a smirk to Katsuki’s face. “You’re fine. Come in. Kick your shoes off at the door.”
He turns and heads back toward the kitchen, hearing two subsequent thumps as Eijirou obeys the command, following with the somewhat clumsy gait Katsuki had expected of him. “If you want a drink, I’ll be happy to make one. I’ve got anything you might want.”
Katsuki’s tone is intentionally light, and he can tell right away that it’s making Eijirou nervous. He bites back a smile as the redhead slowly sinks onto the sofa, the cushions bending and giving way beneath an unfamiliar and unexpected amount of weight. Eijirou’s deep in thought - Katsuki can tell even from across the room, standing behind the bar. “Are you listening?”
Eijirou jolts in response and turns to look over his shoulder, his expression sheepish, like a puppy who’s been scolded for misbehaving. “Sorry...I’m just nervous is all. You seemed mad when you sent me that text.”
Katsuki hadn’t been upset in the slightest, but he’d been hearing from everyone, including their superiors, that Eijirou had been consistently late to work and had missed several important meetings, all of which had been mandatory. It had surprised Katsuki, certainly, considering Eijirou didn’t have a track record of laziness or apathy, but Katsuki had been specifically and personally asked to rectify the situation.
It hadn’t been an unreasonable request, and it wasn’t something out of his wheelhouse. Not with the history he had with Eijirou.
“I’m not mad,” Katsuki begins, his tone still airy and nonchalant. He drums his fingertips against the marble bar top, and judging by Eijirou’s wincing, the soft thumps must sound like gunshots to his anxious ears. “We just need to have a conversation. A few people asked me to figure out why you’ve been late, why you’ve been missing work. So I figured I’d invite you over.”
He watches with a modicum of glee as Eijirou’s pointed teeth scrape his bottom lip, a gesture of nervousness and uncertainty that doesn’t quite match the width of his frame. He has the body of someone who’s self-assured, but behind those earnest, fearful eyes is an echo of the same insecure boy he’s been all along. It seems he hasn’t quite grown out of that yet.
Eijirou’s teeth gleam as they catch the glow from the recessed lights in the ceiling, and those scarlet irises flash with concern, along with another emotion Katsuki can’t place. Not yet. “Oh, are people...concerned?” Another gnaw of his lip, and he hesitantly rests an arm on the back of the sofa, as though he’s afraid the weight of his bicep might break the entire thing.
“Sorry, I guess I’ve been a little absent, but I didn’t think it was that much,” he sighs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck through the messy hair that’s covering it. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and be better.”
“There is no trying,” Katsuki replies with a sharpness that slices through the air like a blade, making Eijirou flinch. He tilts his head downward and dips his chin toward his half-exposed chest, hiding his eyes in the shadows of his hair. “We’re fucking heroes. Do you not understand that? If we’re late, people die.”
“R-right,” stammers Eijirou, and he turns his head away, unable to meet the fire in Katsuki’s eyes. “I’ll...uh...consider me talked to. Should I go?”
He moves to stand, looking out the window, but in the time it takes him to spread his feet and start to stand, Katsuki’s moved behind the sofa and planted both hands on both of Eijirou’s shoulders. “No. I don’t think you should.”
It’s the first time they’ve touched in years. He can feel muscles beneath his palms, both old and new, tense and buzzing with energy. Even from behind, even in the dim lighting, Katsuki can see the cherry-red blush creeping into Eijirou’s cheeks and into his ears, matching the color of his hair.
“I don’t think you should,” Katsuki murmurs again, leaning down and putting his lips next to Eijirou’s ear, feeling him shiver at the sensation of breath on his neck. Katsuki knows that reaction well, too well, with a level of familiarity that would be strange to anyone else.
This isn’t their first time.
They haven’t gotten together in a while, but some things are difficult to forget. When Katsuki slowly traces a finger along the edge of Eijirou’s jaw, Eijirou instinctively tilts his head to the side as a soft noise tumbles from his lips. When Katsuki inhales the faint scent of coconut shampoo and snorts softly in amusement, Eijirou sucks air through his gritted teeth and clenches his hands into fists atop his thighs.
It’s almost routine, even though they’ve been apart for so long. Katsuki knows Eijirou’s reactions far too well.
Soft lips meet taut flesh as Katsuki plants a quiet kiss on the side of Eijirou’s neck, right below his earlobe where a small piercing catches the subtle glint of the moonlight. But when Katsuki speaks, his voice isn’t particularly kind. “You know what I’m going to have to do, don’t you?”
He gets only a whine in response, and a squirm of discomfort that almost-but-not-quite pulls Eijirou out of his grasp. “D-don’t,” comes the breathy reply, accompanied by a downward tilt of the head intended to keep his face from view. He’s nervous because he knows what’s coming. “You haven’t...not since...we were in school.” Katsuki’s fingers curl into the muscle between his shoulder and neck, and the blond clicks his tongue.
Eijirou isn’t getting out of it that easily.
“You really remember that,” Katsuki murmurs, sounding rather amused as he pats Eijirou’s cheek, beckoning him to rise. Eijirou obeys, and their eyes meet - Katsuki’s smirking, Eijirou’s still blushing. “That was nothing. A few spankings when you fucked up your homework? You’re all red like it was some terrible thing.”
“It was terrible,” Eijirou objects, giving a sharp yelp of surprise as he’s suddenly bent over the arm of the sofa. “You have no clue how humiliating it is to get bent over and — SHIT!”
There’s a sharp but muffled crack that rings through the air as Katsuki brings his hand down rather viciously, swatting Eijirou’s beefy ass with enough force to surely leave a mark below two layers of fabric. Eijirou has to breathe and set his feet to keep from falling, and he keeps a forearm beneath his head just so there’s something to rest against. The blush in his ears runs deeper than before, and when Katsuki slides the athletic shorts down, Eijirou gives a soft, almost keening whine. “C-come on, not this. I’m an adult now! You can’t just—”
“Can and will,” Katsuki asserts, grabbing a handful of Eijirou’s ass through the fabric of his briefs, silencing the redhead in the process. “I’m still surprised you remembered all of this, but I’m gonna make sure there’s no fucking way you forget it in the future. No more being late, no more excuses.”
The briefs slide down as well, gliding down Eijirou’s calves with the help of Katsuki’s foot, and the blond shakes his head at the sight he’s been presented with. Two mounds of thick, firm flesh and a pair of low-hanging balls between them, all exposed for Katsuki’s enjoyment. He almost wants to back out, to avoid marring such a perfect sight with the inevitable marks that come with a spanking, but he’s come too far to give up now.
Eijirou’s fidgeting, but not moving, even without Katsuki pinning him down. He knows it’ll only get worse if he tries to escape. His back concaves as he releases some of the tension in his ribs and spine, resting his chest flat against the sofa cushions, and he spares one quick glance over his shoulder before turning back around; the first swat always hurts more if he’s watching.
Katsuki strikes like a viper without any further ceremony or warning, leaving an angry red handprint on what had formerly been flawless skin, sending Eijirou into a flurry of squirming and whining. In the back of Katsuki’s mind, it’s amusing: they’re pro heroes. Eijirou endures pain far worse than this without a hint of complaint, but the second he’s bent over in Katsuki’s metaphorical grasp, he can’t control himself.
“You should fucking know better,” Katsuki grunts, slowly abandoning any pretense of civility and arrogance, working his way back into an old rhythm as he rains down one swat after another, ignoring the increasing volume and pitch of Eijirou’s cries. It’s instinct now, it’s a practiced impulse as they both fall back into old roles, even with their fundamental physical differences. Even though they’re in Katsuki’s penthouse instead of his cramped dormitory. Even though they’re both pro heroes with growing followings, they’ve somehow fallen back into the same old song and dance they’d gotten into in school.
And beneath layers of nostalgia, lust, and semi-sadistic glee, Katsuki almost feels a pang of longing.
He buries it quickly, snapping back to reality, feeling his own chest heaving with the weight of his repeated exertions, feeling sweat beading at his hairline. His own face is as flushed as Eijirou’s, but the cause is drastically different.
Eijirou’s panting just as hard, and only now can Katsuki see and understand the extent of the damage. When they’d been younger, the spankings had barely produced any form of red, but now Eijirou’s ass is a thorough shade of rose. The redhead’s digging his fingers into the cushions, nearly tearing them apart without even activating his quirk. He looks exhausted. The coffee table’s been pushed away and the pillows have been tossed aside with the ferocity of Eijirou’s thrashing, and when he finally dares to look back over his shoulder, there’s a true sense of remorse in his eyes that Bakugou keenly recognizes. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. I won’t do it again.”
It’s the first time Katsuki’s heard his name, and he hesitates with a pang, taking a second to remember where he is. Is Eijirou apologizing for failing a quiz, or for being late to work? He can’t quite suppress the strange sense of deja vu.
He straightens back up, and Eijirou follows suit, rubbing his sore ass with a wince. “I really didn’t mean to miss all those meetings,” Eijirou mutters shyly, watching Katsuki as the blond pulls off his suit jacket and hangs it on the wall. Eijirou rapidly looks away, clearing his throat before he continues. “I-I just got caught up in some things. I won’t do it again.”
The red is creeping back into his face. Katsuki grins, folding his arms over his chest, which only serves to bring his pecs more into focus. “Were you just...fucking staring at me?” Eijirou rapidly tries to stammer a declination, which makes Katsuki issue a cackling laugh, shaking his head as he steps forward. “You were fucking staring at me,” he murmurs. “Admit it, idiot.”
When Eijirou turns his face back, his eyes immediately lock onto Katsuki’s open collar. “I...maybe.”
It would be easy for Katsuki to rebuff him. It would be simple to tell him to redress and leave, and they likely wouldn’t see each other again for quite a while, considering their individual schedules. They’d drift apart and return to their separate jobs and lives, and they’d be left with nothing but memories and a fleeting moment of reconnection, nothing more than a single moment in time.
But for a reason he can’t begin to understand, Katsuki doesn’t tell him to go.
Instead, he steps forward and grabs Eijirou’s hand with a sense of urgency that even he can’t explain, guiding it to his own jawline and curling Eijirou’s fingers over his cheek. “Then keep staring.”
They move together, in utter unison that comes from a place of mutual desperation, of a suppressed and forgotten longing that shocks them as much as it shocks the other. There’s a hunger in the way they come together, Eijirou’s hands seizing the collar of Katsuki’s shirt and Katsuki grabbing onto Eijirou’s hips like a lifeline, and they smash their lips against one another’s in a collision that would have been painful in any other circumstance.
It’s a stolen moment that turns into a frenzy as Katsuki clamps his teeth down on Eijirou’s bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, and Eijirou’s hands work their way hurriedly down the front of Katsuki’s dress shirt, popping buttons and exposing hardened muscle that’s damp with a light sheen of sweat.
When Eijirou spots the thin barbells that pierce each of Katsuki’s nipples, he looks like he’s about to pass out. “When did you…?” He gets only a snicker in response. He moves his hands to Katsuki’s chest in wonder, digging his fingers into the meat of Katsuki’s pecs, brushing across the tips of his nipples with both palms with a fervor that makes Katsuki groan aloud.
It’s too much.
Katsuki gives Eijirou a shove that’s strong enough to send him flying over the arm of the couch and onto the cushions, and the blond grins as he slips out of his shirt with a shake of his head. “You’re fucking ridiculous,” he hisses, violently kicking his shoes across the room and slipping out of his pants, using a closed fist to slam the light switch and cut out the offensive glow of the overhead halogens. Eijirou’s already naked from the waist down, and he simply watches with wide eyes as Katsuki throws off his underwear, pouncing and pinning the redhead down with an impressive amount of force. “You’ve wanted to fuck me for how long? And you never said anything?!”
“What?!” Eijirou shoots back a surprised, defensive look, still not resisting as Bakugou impatiently spreads his legs, throwing one over the back of the couch and pushing the other aside. “Don’t act like I’m the only one! You just got out of your clothes so fast you nearly tore them apart!”
“Oh, please,” Katsuki scoffs, shifting his weight and adjusting his hips, trying to keep from moving the sofa with the force of his movements. “You’ve been eyeing me since you walked in.”
He slips a finger into Eijirou’s entrance to test him, following with a second, and Eijirou digs his nails into Katsuki’s back with a sinful cry. “Th-that isn’t my fault! You opened the door with your fucking tits out, dude! What do you expect when you wear your shirt half open?!”
Katsuki grins and pauses, two knuckles deep in Eijirou’s hole, and shakes his head. “You might actually have a point there.”
“Of course I have a point,” Eijirou splutters, clearly trying to keep his composure even with Katsuki warming up his ass, even with his toes curling and his needy dick throbbing from the lack of attention. “You can’t blame me for—”
Katsuki finds his most sensitive spot with his probing digits, and Eijirou tosses his head back with a ragged gasp, bucking his hips forward instinctively, wetness beginning to bead on the tip of his engorged cock. He shrieks Katsuki’s name, his gut heaving, his body shaking, his hands digging into his own hair and nearly ripping out clumps of it.
There had been a time, long ago, where Katsuki might have mocked him in this situation. He would have verbally eviscerated Eijirou for reacting like that, for being so vulnerable, but that time has long since passed.
“Say it again, Ei,” Katsuki murmurs huskily, leaning over Eijirou to catch his reaction as he jabs his fingers in again, intentionally striking the same spot as before, and Eijirou gives an incoherent scream that only vaguely sounds like Katsuki’s name. Eijirou jams his fist into his own mouth to stifle his cries and whines, inhaling through his nose with the rushed cadence of a man who can’t catch his breath.
Katsuki just laughs.
It’s new, it’s all so new, but it’s familiar in strange and unexpected ways. Those eyes of Eijirou’s are still glinting with that youthful uncertainty, even years later. The circumstances are different, and so are the underlying feelings, but there are unspoken similarities that Katsuki couldn’t put into words if he’d wanted to.
“I’m gonna go in, Ei,” he murmurs, using his free hand to work Eijirou’s fingers out of his hair, letting frazzled strands of red fall across Eijirou’s forehead. He reaches around to the back of Eijirou’s head and pulls out the black band, and when Eijirou lets his head rest against the sofa, his hair splays out beneath him like a splash of wine against the white cushions.
Even with the lights off, Eijirou’s eyes and teeth shine with the reflections of the moon and stars. He looks beautiful, and it’s only when he smiles that Katsuki goes ahead.
He slips in with a surprising amount of ease, but Eijirou’s fingers dig into his shoulder blades all the same, and one of his legs comes up to half-wrap around Katsuki’s waist. When Katsuki bottoms out, he lets out a hiss and leans forward, and his hips begin to piston of their own accord. Eijirou gives a guttural groan, the comparatively miniscule pressure of Katsuki’s two fingers completely incomparable to the power of his cock.
Katsuki can’t restrain himself, and suddenly he’s pounding into Eijirou’s depths, pressing himself forward so that their chests are together, kissing and biting ferociously at Eijirou’s neck like a predator in for the kill. Eijirou’s fingers knot in Katsuki’s hair, they link behind his head, they dig into anything they can with an urgency that’s almost painful. It’s too fast for either of them, the breakneck pace and the sweltering heat as Katsuki smashes himself against Eijirou time and time again.
Katsuki can’t stop. Not even when the tightening of Eijirou’s walls closes around his swollen cock like a vice, or when his balls start to ache from slamming into Eijirou’s taint. But for all his wailing and the tears of anguished ecstasy pooling in his eyes, he doesn’t try to push Katsuki away.
Only vaguely does Katsuki realize that he’ll have twin rows of crescent-shaped indentations on his upper back for the rest of the night, but nothing quite makes sense in their shared carnal haze.
Katsuki pulls out with a wet sound and slams back in, eliciting another choked gasp from the redhead under him. In the brief moment of pause, he takes in the sight of thin tears rolling out of the corner of Eijirou’s eyes, falling into his hair like the tiniest shards of glass. Eijirou’s mouth hangs open, his lips twitching, his eyes glazed with absolute need. He looks like a painting.
Down between his legs, Eijirou’s cock has wept enough to form a small pool beneath his abs, and he nearly sobs with relief as Katsuki finally grasps it. When Katsuki slides the pad of his thumb gingerly across the too-sensitive head, Eijirou nearly screams - when Katsuki squeezes it so that a pearl of pre-cum beads at the tip, Eijirou writhes in frustration.
He wants it bad. So does Katsuki.
Keeping Eijirou’s cock firmly in his grasp, Katsuki picks up the pace again, leaning over Eijirou and awkwardly jerking him off as best he can while pressing their chests together, as desperate for the contact as Eijirou is. His lips move without thought, lavishing unintelligible praise on Eijirou as the redhead cradles his head tight enough to make Katsuki see stars. They lose themselves in the rutting, unable to tell their bodies apart, bound together by a level of unrestrained delirium that they still can’t quite understand.
Katsuki isn’t sure when he finishes, but he knows when Eijirou does. The sharp cry and the warmth and wetness coursing over his clenched fist gives it away. When fireworks explode in Katsuki’s eyes and his hearing fades to near nothingness, he buries himself to the hilt and rides out his orgasm. He fills Eijirou’s insides with a heat that must be unbearable, judging by Eijirou’s rapturous thrashing.
They cum in near unison, and even though Katsuki can barely hear, he knows they must be crying out each other’s names. By the time he’s come back to reality, he’s smelling sweat and sex and the faintest whiff of coconut, his face buried in the crook of Eijirou’s neck, their naked bodies twisted together in a haphazard assortment of limbs.
They sit like that for some time, enough for the moon to finish rising. Long enough for the sweat and the cum to settle into an uncomfortable chill, but not long enough for the exhaustion to pass.
It’s Eijirou who speaks first, his voice both tired and curious, clearly searching for an answer he’s been waiting for. “What was that?”
“Sex,” Katsuki replies, his voice distorted by the cushions and Eijirou’s neck, but he knows that wasn’t what Eijirou had meant.
“I mean what did it mean,” comes the reply. Eijirou’s got his arms around him, but the embrace isn’t exactly comforting. It’s unsure, it’s questioning, it’s grasping for an answer that Katsuki can’t produce on the spot. “The...spanking, I understand. We’ve done that. But the sex…” He hesitates. “Katsuki, are you listening?”
There’s a certain desperation in his voice, the same desperation Katsuki had felt when they’d kissed. He needs an answer.
But Katsuki doesn’t know what answer to give him.
“Yeah,” he answers, uncomfortable with the amount of croak in his voice, but he tentatively chalks it up to fatigue. “I...don’t know, Ei. I don’t know.”
Eijirou’s dissatisfied, and it shows in his disappointed loosening of the hug. He needs some kind of reassurance, but Katsuki doesn’t have any to give him - not now, when he knows so little, and Eijirou expects so much.
But Katsuki turns his head just enough, and kisses Eijirou on the jaw so softly that it can barely be felt, and even in the dusky starlight he can see blush sneaking back into Eijirou’s face. “We can talk about it tomorrow, alright? Or the day after...or the day after…”
Eijirou groans, annoyed by Katsuki’s cavalier attitude, but Katsuki just snickers tiredly.
He can’t say for certain that it’ll be fine. They’ll eventually get up, they’ll shower, they’ll redress. That’ll have a shallow conversation about hero work and their past, they’ll joke, they’ll laugh. There will come a time when they have to set in stone what they are, but not now. Not tonight.
Whatever they were, and whatever they’ll be, nothing matters but the moment; nothing but Katsuki quietly breathing against Eijirou’s neck, and Eijirou holding him, framed by white cushions and touched by the moonlight. Every doubt and every hesitation fades away as they listen, together, to the faint sounds of the sleeping city.
For now, it’s enough.