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{ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7nehwtJVac Here is the song!!}
Katsuki had only come because he had nothing else to do. Kirishima had been ranting about this dude for weeks. “You have to listen to his music, Bakubro! He’s amazing, and creates all different types of music? He’s so cool!” He’d exclaimed to him. Katsuki, in return, told him to shut the fuck up. But now, he’d managed to land a practice with the guy?
To be honest, Kat didn’t know much about him. He tended to tune Kirishima out whenever he got to the topic, but he knew the basics. He was this random masked singer that did live streamed practice every Saturday night, but he had no band- all that he created was his own. And, he was very popular because no one knew who he was. For all his revealing- and Katsuki could now see just how revealing- his clothing was, he’d never taken his stupid mask off. It was, for all intents and purposes, rather plain, just a simple black mask fashioned in the shape of a snarling wolf that covered his face down to the tip of his nose.
Rabid Nation.
Even the dude’s stupid song name was dumb. Kat, admittedly, hadn’t heard any of his songs, but he knew they were going to be some stupid pop music that grated on his ears.
Random American music pumped through the speakers, and he didn’t even try to understand the English before he bee-lined for the black cushions, nestled into the side and away from all the musical stuff.
Bored already, Katsuki relaxed into the worn leather couch seated on the edge of the studio. The ground before him was covered in wires from amps and instruments, connecting to walls of dark sound-proofing foam. Okay, so the room was kind of cool. The floor was glossy dark wood and the bright, colorful headlights were kind of cool. And the couch was super comfortable and soft. But that didn’t mean he liked being there.
Ahead of him, Kirishima exclaimed, “I get a mask! Holy crap, this is so cool!” before a cool, cultured laugh cut through Kat’s senses. He drags his gaze up from the book on his phone to fix them on the rabid dog himself, bush of hair flashing in the lights and long, pale neck arching as he tilted his head back.
“We can’t have the world knowing who you are, Kirishima,” He murmured. The voice is strangely familiar, but Katsuki has to strain to even hear him.
He doesn’t, however, have to strain to hear his friend when he calls out, “Hey, Bakubro! Check it out!” and waves a gold and white half mask- similar to the artist’s own- carved in the shape of a hawk, its dark, circular eyes peering at him.
“Whatever, shitty hair,” he heard himself say, but his gaze wass fixed on the length of pale, soft-looking skin of the artist’s midriff, trapped under lacy fishnets. He dragged his eyes up the boy’s chest, where a black hoodie, ripped just below his pecks, proudly proclaimed, “STONE COLD KILLER.” Above it- oh God- and laying in between the plunging neckline, rows of chains graced his skin up to the base of his neck, where a thick leather collar less nestled. A dog tag- a dog tag, for fuck’s sake- bounced against the tips of his collarbones, carved with “RABID NATION” in thick, bulky white lettering.
Katsuki’s mouth dried at the smirk that graced those pink, plump lips. They looked so soft.
“Now, that’s not very nice,” the boy purred. Kat almost panted.
Kirishima, however, seemed to remain oblivious. He grinned at the masked boy, sharp teeth on full display, and said, “That’s just Bakugou, he’s always like that. But he’s really nice once you get to know him!”
Kat wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t pull his gaze from the dancing eyes that held his. Instead, he pulled back his lips and crashed his teeth together, the click gratifying. “You want to say that again, asshole?” A tiny, pink tongue darted out from between the artist’s lips to wet them, flicking at him enticingly. A glint in his eyes told Katsuki that he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Yo, Rabid!” A girl called from just beyond them, dark, coiled braids swishing around as she whipped her head over toward the band leader. As he opened his mouth to answer her, Kirishima began toward him, that massive smile splitting his face in half. He flopped down onto the couch beside him, waving the mask around excitedly.
“That’s the rest of us ragtags. There’s Mickey, over there- she’s today’s bassist and backup singer! She’s from America. I’m going to ask her to help me dye my hair. Anyway, the other one is Hikaru, he’s a second vocalist and keyboard player! It’s the first time Rabid Nation is playing with an actual band and not just Rabid over there!” Kirishima prattled as he pressed the mask to his face, tracing along the silk straps to tie behind his face. He had the hands for drumming, that’s for sure, thick hands and fingers. Despite that, he nimbly tied a tight knot behind his hair.
“How do I look?” Kirishima was suddenly in his face, the eerie mask covering his features and making him look less human than animal. Taken aback, Kat blinked.
“I wouldn’t recognize you,” he told him.
“That’s the point!” He yelled, and pumped his fist in the air. Katsuki tuned out whatever he was saying next in favor of listening into what Mickey was saying to Rabid.
“-ere ready to start streaming whenever you are, boss.”
“Great,” the boy said, “we go live at eleven.” Katsuki’s eyes trailed down his back, over the porcelain skin, down to the slung low, worn-out black jeans at his hips, held up by a thick fabric belt with metal holes punched through it. The pants hugged his muscled form, and damn, he was a powerhouse. Legs thick with muscles. The tears revealed smooth, hairless legs beneath them, and they cuffed about halfway down his shins, stopping a few inches before the metal straps of his boots.
He wasn’t as tall as Katsuki originally thought, now that he looked at him. Those boots gave him a good five inches, massive brick-like soles strapped to his feet. Now he saw why he needed those thick buckles. Jesus, how could he walk in those?
Kat looked up as Mickey handed him a neatly rolled blunt, a smirk etching her rich umber skin, braids pulled into a band high on her head. She said something to him in English, and Rabid’s long, pale fingers brushed hers as he took the smoke from her. He nodded and said it back, and turned toward them, dark lashes fluttering as he winked.
Slowly, captivating Katsuki’s eyes, he brought up a gold, old-fashioned lighter to light the stick poking out of his mouth, cupping his hand around the end as the flames sprang to life. Kat could faintly hear the click of the lighter as he shut it, smoothly sucking the drug into his lungs.
“Damn,” Kirishima said from beside him. “That is so cool. ”
After slipping the lighter into his pocket, he reached up and fixed the weed between his pointer and middle fingers, holding it a little away from him as he kept it in his lungs for a second, then opened his mouth. Streams of smoke raise from his lips up back into his nose, and Katsuki couldn’t decide where to look.
Instinctually, Kat breathed in deeply as the scent of pot wafted toward him. He hadn’t himself ever smoked, but he’d smelled it a few times and certainly didn’t mind it. Especially not when it came from this boy.
“Five to eleven!” A male voice called out, and Katsuki loosely linked it to the other boy, Hikaru.
Kirishima sprung up, bidding him goodbye with a flash of his teeth and jumbled words as he trotted over to the drum set in the other corner, stopping to check mics on each drum and twirling his sticks around his fingers. Over there, Mickey strung a bass guitar over her neck, the fuzzy zebra-printed strap pulling tight against her chest, and stroked the strings. Her mask was of some sort of deep red cat, its teeth slightly obscuring her own excited grin. In the opposite corner, Hikaru was seated at the keyboard, navy snake mask snugly fitting his face, its long fangs reaching down to his chin.
Rabid just placed the blunt back in his mouth, reaching over to pull an onyx electric guitar over his own head, the strap a white silk with massive black RABID NATION printed again and again over the length of it. The instrument fit him like he was made to have it. He stood easier, more confident when the weight settled on him, left hand riffing a couple of notes on the neck of it, and Katsuki watched, transfixed.
“We’ve got four mil in the waiting room, Rabid,” Hikaru told him, glancing at the laptop on the table beside him. Katsuki looked, too, and holy shit that’s a lot of people.
He was glad he wasn’t on camera.
“Let’s give ‘em a show, eh guys?” Rabid responded, and Mickey barked a fuck yeah.
“Rolling in five…”
A breath.
“Four..”
The background music shut off.
“Three…”
Rabid breathed out, a cloud of smoke escaping.
“Two...”
He plucked the stick from his mouth and shoved it into the ashtray on the nearest table.
“Live!”
In a split second, the entire atmosphere of the room changed. The air charged with static, the feeling so explosive that even Katsuki couldn’t help but feel the rush of heady adrenalin at it. Camera aimed right at him, Rabid had a small, secretive smile on his face as he stroked a chord, then two, on the guitar.
“Hello, Anarchists…”
He plucked the beginning to a heady, harsh riff, fingers flying over the fretboard as he hit note after note.
“Looters…”
The riff was punctuated but three sweet, barking chords, one after another, as Kirishima began thumping on one low drum. Mickey flicked a string on the bass, the sound vibrating behind Rabid’s. He leaned close to the microphone to murmur,
“And Rioters!”
In an instant, the entire room was awake, Kiri on the drums starting the band off with a drum intro and Hikaru slammed his hands down on the keyboard, a deep, echoing sound highlighting the rhythmic sound of Rabid’s guitar.
Katsuki sat up at rapt attention as Rabid moaned, low and gravelly, into the mic, and said, “I missed you motherfuckers.”
Kirishima quieted to a drumroll and the keyboard’s chord echoed on as Hikaru flicked a switch up on the soundbox. Mickey played note after note, framing Rabid for, well, anything.
“Well, you diehard masochists, would you like to know who’s here today?”
Katsuki almost expected to head cheering, but somehow Hikaru’s note had the same energy.
“I’ve got some friends with me today, sweethearts, and they’re chomping at the bit to get playin’. Y’all’d like that?” His voice, sultry and promising, said more than his dark eyes. To his credit, he didn’t even visibly notice as the chat suddenly came up on the massive screen behind the camera, one that Katsuki had been too busy admiring Rabid to notice.
It was, suffice to say, a resounding yes.
“Well, we’ve got the one and only King of White Lies here, watching us today, and I think this is the first time he’s hearing my music. How about we start with that and show him what we’re made of?”
The drums started off fast, the bass plucking back and forth as the wave built up to-
“Oh~”
It felt like honeyed euphoria.
“I like the way you make me feel like I could be the number one game in town,” he sang into the mic, and Katsuki felt like an idiot.
The voice was familiar. He heard it every day.
It drove him crazy in his dreams.
Izuku.
“All those pretty words you say to me,”
He was- he was Rabid Nation?
“They pick me up, whenever I’m feeling down~”
He was singing about KATSUKI-
“But I know you're just a White Witch, putting that spell on me. You know I love the punishment, so boy keep telling me-”
Mickey cut in with “la-la-lies,” and sweat dripped down Katsuki’s back. Izuku was incredible. He was breathtaking, the lights dancing on his skin, his throat bobbing as he swallowed between verses. His hands dancing on the sleek black of the guitar-
Song after song, Katsuki remained absolutely transfixed on Izuku, the beads of sweat that creeped down his neck as the night went on, the way his hips would sway a little to the beat of their songs, how he seemed to lose himself to the melody.
Katsuki wanted nothing more than to stumble into the space and cup Izuku’s face in his hands, to slip off that dark mask and kiss that stupid little smirk off his face.
Wait, kiss?
How could he have not noticed? Izuku was gone every Friday night since the summer, all those months ago. Had he been Rabid all this time? He never responded after ten, every Friday night, like clockwork. Oh God, he was- Wait, Izuku smoked?
Katsuki had known he’d changed, but holy shit. The confident masked singer in front of him was completely unlike the way he’d always imagined Izuku all these years, always thinking of him as that thin, anxiety-ridden kid he’d grown up as. But now that Kat thought about it, really thought about it, he’d been like this- confident, muscled, sure of himself and his abilities, for longer than he’d realized. God, he’d grown up.
And so had Katsuki. Who was attracted to Izuku.
That was the wildest thing of all.
Apparently he’d zoned out, because the next thing he knew, the last song was dying out and Izuku was telling the chat, “11 PM intermission, everyone. Give me a second while I go talk to our guest,” and winked.
Background music began cycling through the speakers again. “And…. We’re off! Playlist cycling through is Radical Believers, image is Rabid Nation in front of the flag.”
Izuku was already taking off his guitar. “Amazing job, everyone! They’re loving it!”
“Fuck yeah!” Kirishima exclaimed, and the other two echoed similar things.
“How about we get a little drink and a smoke before our next round? I think I’ve got some explaining to do.” All three of them laughed, and Katsuki glared daggers at him. Damn right.
The boys both trotted over to Mickey, who leaned against the wall behind her and laughed. Izuku, however, only had eyes for Katsuki.
He breezed right past him a down the hall a bit, and Kat rushed up to follow him, tripping over his own feet. He stumbled in his desperation, and darted through the door Izuku pushed open seconds after him.
The door slammed shut behind them as Katsuki crashed into Izuku, crushing him up against the wall, chest to chest. Izuku let out a breathy laugh and that little tongue flicked out once again. Katsuki couldn’t help but watch as those long, slender hands reached up to undo the silk knot that rested on his head. The beautiful mask fell way into his other hand, revealing the flushed, freckled face of the boy he knew so well, lips quirked into a half grin.
The mask fell from his hand as Katsuki surged forward once again, planting his lips firmly over his, unable to resist tasting him any longer. He swallowed the tiny, high gasp that broke from Izuku’s lips and reveled in the warmth of his hands as they hand up to his neck.
Izuku kissed back with a storm’s ferocity. His tongue pressed forward into the seam of Kat’s own, and he reached forward to tangle with it, fighting for control over the kiss. Katsuki won, grunting in triumph, and plunged his own to explore Izuku’s mouth.
Eventually, they had to come up for breath.
Katsuki leaned in to press his forehead against his as they sucked in ragged breaths, sharing each other’s air.
“Wow,” Izuku gasped. “That is… not the reaction I was expecting… to say the least.”
Katsuki just growled and nipped at his bottom lip. “God… I am going to… wreck you… after this.”
The hands at his neck tightened. “Why not right now?”
He leaned back, not far, just far enough to look into his eyes. “Because… you’re on in 25, and I’m going to take a lot longer with you.”
A moan escaped Izuku’s lips and his eyelids scrunched, the hands at Kat’s neck curling into his hair. “Ah~”
“ But for now, ” Kat whispered and yanked him back in.
They were lost in each other for what seems like years, but soon enough, Mickey was banging on the door and barking, “We’re on in ten! You better not be fucking!” And it startled the two of them enough that they both broke away and looked toward the door. That’s pro hero students… great reaction time.
Izuku rumbled a startled laugh, recovering quicker than Katsuki, and sliped out from under his arm. He danced away when Kat maked a grab at him, and sliped back on his mask. “An hour forty, then I’m all yours,” and he slipped away again.
Goddamnit.
How did he do that?!
As the door clicked behind him, he was already looking down the hall to where Izuku was knocking back a shot of not water, clinking glasses with Hikaru while Mickey was refilling their drinks, Kirishima’s arm slung around her shoulders. They’re all laughing.
And Katsuki goes over to sling an arm around Izuku’s waist.
It’s that easy. Suddenly, he’s part of their little group. Mickey joked about his spikey hair and he called her shorty, and suddenly Hikaru is spitting out his drink from laughing so hard with Kirishima.
And Izuku had his head on his shoulder, laughing along, a blunt between his lips.
When it’s time for them to get back to it, Kat wass pushed back toward the couch as they each dance to their own spots, and he’s sucked back into the music- as they all are.
When it’s over, Katsuki could see that Izuku is tired. He doesn’t look it, but there was this slight, satisfied slump in his posture, ready to be done after a night of doing what he loves. He bid their audience good night and good luck, calling them “thieves and heartbreakers,” and then it’s quiet.
Katsuki slipedhis phone into his back pocket as he got up, legs uncurling, and stretched. He blinkd away tears as he yawned wide, rubbing his face, and stalked toward where Izuku was packing away his guitar.
Unsurprisingly, the case was absolutely covered in stickers, but not the type he’d have expected. Instead of being primarily hero stickers, like he’d assumed, they were only sprinkled into stickers of monsters and their band and animals and weapons. It was chaotic, yes, but also adorable.
Speaking of which, he greeted Izuku by wrapping his arms around his middle as he stood up. The boy paused to kiss him, avoiding the mask- to which the others moaned at, Kirishima going, “Really, guys?” and looking away- but stepped away. “Just let me clean up and we can get going.”
Kat stepped up to help out, and the four of them had cleaned up the studio in no time. Izuku told them to leave the stuff there, because he’d be coming back tomorrow, and then they were outside. “You want me to pick you up tomorrow, then, Bakugou?” Kirishima offered, and he suddenly remembered that they didn’t know who Rabid was.
“That’s okay, man. Thanks for bringing me.”
Grinning and glancing between them, “No problem,” he said flippantly, before turning toward the white car he’d borrowed from his mom.
“So, how are we getting back to the dorms?” Katsuki asked Izuku, who grinned and motioned him to follow as he tugged off that infamous mask.
“No.”
“Why? It’s completely safe and I know how to drive.”
“Do you really?”
“I mean, I’m not dead yet.”
“That’s not helping, dumbass!”
They bickered back and forth after they stopped next to a glossy back motorcycle . Since when did Izuku ride motorcycles?
“Look. I know how to drive it better than anyone! I had enough practice fixing it, and it’s our only way back.” He swung his leg over and straddled the bike, patting the spot behind him. “It’s fine.”
Katsuki grumbled, “You better not kill me,” and swung up behind him, wrapping his arms firmly around his waist. “And what did you mean by fixing it?”
Kat almost jumped out of his skin when the bike purred to life beneath them, and Izuku laughed, pulling them out of the parking lot.
“You think I could afford something like this? Naw, I got an internship at the garage. This’s been a pet project of mine for a while- the guys have been helping me out.”
“What?” He asked dumbly.
“I said-“
“No, I know what you said, dumbass.”
He could basically feel Izuku’s eyeroll.
The night air was cool against his skin, but Izuku was safe with driving, not going too fast as they made their way back to the UA. Katsuki learned that there was indeed a garage a couple of blocks from school, and the boy had Kat wait outside as he punched in the code and pulled the bike inside. Just as he was starting to get nervous, Izuku slipped out beside him and grabbed his hand in his own.
The two were quiet as they made their way back to the dorms, but Kat was just about ready to burst when they finally reached his dorm room.
He yanked him inside immediately, arms going down to pull him roughly against his chest as he forced his head up to meet his lips. Whatever snarky thing Izuku was about to sprout Kat swallowed, pushing them both down onto the covers of his as Izu’s hands curled into his hair.
“You looked,” he panted, “delicious tonight.” Izuku took his bottom lip in his teeth and growled.
Kat growled back, hands tightening on his hips.
“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point,” Izuku pointed out, closing his eyes, flushed.
“Save it for tomorrow.”
<<00>>
When Katsuki woke up, sleepy and sated, circled around Izuku, his first thought was not, “there’s someone in my bed.” It wasn’t even, “Izuku is in my bed.” No, it was, “I could get used to waking up like this.”
And wasn’t that an amazing thought.
He opened his eyes slowly to Izuku’s green curls below his chin, and beyond him, both their clothes from last night. The sun shined brightly through the window, and Kat reached over Izu to grab his phone from the nightstand.
8:37 AM
For once, Katsuki was okay with sleeping in.