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A sudden burst of flames shoots up toward Katsuki’s face from the frying pan as he adds red wine to the sizzling duck breast he’s cooking. He quickly sidesteps to avoid singeing the tips of his bangs, cursing as he does so. The last thing he needs is to live up to his hot-headed reputation quite that literally. His hair is probably too damp with sweat to catch fire, but he adjusts the bandanna wrapped around his forehead anyway to be safe.
Disgusting . It’s completely soaked, but it's proof he’s taking Izuku seriously—unlike the five or six challengers he’s faced since their last battle in Kitchen Stadium. In all honesty, Katsuki has been looking forward to this rematch a lot. Not that he’ll ever admit it out loud, especially not to fucking Midoriya Izuku. If Izuku’s glistening smile thirty minutes prior was anything to go off—when he announced he’d be once again challenging ‘Iron Chef Kacchan’ like the embarrassing asshole he is—he’s probably been looking forward to it quite a bit too. Across the studio, the little idiot is practically shitting rainbows and sunshine with how ecstatic he is as he runs around the kitchen.
Truly, Katsuki enjoys battling head-to-head with Izuku. Their on-screen rivalry isn’t one crafted by forty-millimeter camera lenses and balding men in stuffy suits. The heated banter and constant need to one-up each other is au naturel and a crowd-pleaser all around. Izuku proves time and time again that he’s the only chef who can keep up with Katsuki in the kitchen without crumbling under the onslaught of his brash personality and refined skill. It’s the only reason the producers allow him to come back as frequently as he does.
Even so, he’s pretty sure their rematch isn’t why Izuku’s smile seems extra bright as he bounds around the kitchen and chatters happily with his sous-chef.
No, the real reason lies in the obvious shiver that runs down Izuku’s spine halfway into a bend to pull out a tart shell from the oven. The idiot almost drops it, just barely fixing his hold before the pastry meets its untimely demise. He better not let their little game interfere with his performance. Winning just because that little pervert’s mind is wandering isn’t the complete victory he craves. Katsuki brings down his knife a little harder on the cutting board than intended as he pivots to slice up more figs for the plating.
“ Yeah ! What have we got over here Iron Chef Bakugou?” Hizashi shouts into his mic and leans in too close, reaching for a fig to snack on. Katsuki growls, narrowly missing bringing his blade down on the announcer’s intruding fingers. “Already onto plating the main course? It seems Chef Midoriya really has you bringing your A-game today!”
“Keep your goddamn fingers off of my fucking figs, Leather for Brains!” Katsuki snarls and rushes back to his duck before it burns. Pleased with the golden brown sear, he flips it and lowers the heat. The waft of duck fat and figs simmered in a robust red wine glaze floods his senses. Perfect. Smirking devilishly, he leans back to let the camera get a shot of his masterpiece. Izuku doesn’t stand a chance. “Chef Deku ain’t shit. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s gonna pull one over on me this time. Ya hear that, nerd?!”
Katsuki shouts the last bit loud enough to have Izuku’s head snapping towards him in the distance.
“If you say so, Kacchan! But I’ve got my eye on the prize!” Izuku shouts back and waves his hands emphatically, almost smacking a tray right out of his round-cheeked sous-chef’s hands in the process.
What a dumbass.
He hears Hizashi chuckle and the cameras track Katsuki’s movements as he hands off a handful of black mission figs to Eijiro, instructing him to toss them into the ice cream machine.
“This time I won’t be robbed points by a shitty celebrity judge who can’t handle a little spice in a goddamn Thai chili cook-off!” Katsuki seethes, teeth squeaking as he clenches them tight. Anger floods him at remembering the shitty score they’d given him. “Should I be checking to see if this week’s fucking primadonna has a fig allergy? They know it’s the secret ingredient, right?”
Despite his outward snark, Katsuki feels himself sink into the ebb and flow of the chaos that is Kitchen Stadium. Once Hizashi grows bored of pestering him and wanders off, he steals a glance over at Izuku’s kitchen. Watching the mouth-watering flex of Izuku’s defined arms beneath that ugly green jacket reminds him again of their bet, and he’s suddenly aware of the heavy press of—
“Chef Bakugou!” Eijiro shouts from the other end of the kitchen. “The ice cream machine is smoking again!”
“Goddamnit, Shitty Hair! Step aside. You finish plating this shit, I’ll handle it!”
It’s always fucking something; there’s no time for distractions this far into the competition. He rolls up his sleeves, ready to do whatever it takes to claim victory and his prize.
“And that’s a wrap! Good work everyone!”
The second the cameras click off, Katsuki rips the soaked bandana off his forehead and whips it at Izuku, hitting him with a wet smack square in the center of his face. Victory tastes even sweeter than the secret ingredient this week, and he’s not above rubbing it in a little. After all, that was half the fun.
“Kacchan! That’s disgusting!”
“Better luck next time, nerd.” Katsuki’s grin is fierce—honed to be just as sharp and dangerous as the trusty chef’s knife he packs away neatly into his knife roll. Even with years of experience, it takes every ounce of self-control he’s got to maintain it and shove down the giddy feeling of anticipation bubbling up inside his chest. The last thing he needs is anyone catching on to what he and Izuku are up to.
“Chef Bakugou, please refrain from undressing in my stadium.” Chairman Shouto’s face scrunches in disgust, eyeing the dripping fabric Izuku peels off his face. “So gross… My old man got off so easy not having to deal with you two.”
“Fuck off, Half-and-Half,” Katsuki replies with little malice despite his words. “I’m your top Iron Chef and you know it. You should be honored you get to eat my cooking free of charge!”
Without waiting for a response he spins on his heels and flips them both the bird, quickly making a beeline for his dressing room. The walk back feels longer than usual; he struggles to keep his pace even and unbothered in front of the crew members ambling about backstage.
Spotting the door to his dressing room in the distance, Katsuki finally allows himself to indulge in the sensations he typically shoves to the back of his mind while all eyes were watching him. He moves on muscle memory alone, eyes glazed over and thoughts unable to tear away from the metal plug shifting inside him with every step.
He’s been wearing it throughout the entire damned match and each movement is blissful agony. The plug is heavy and thick—just how he likes it—and now that his mind isn’t distracted by their battle, all he can think about is its weight pressing deliciously against his walls and stretching him wide.
Katsuki throws open the door to his dressing room and slams it closed hard enough that the frame shakes. Hopefully, that’ll scare off any crew members stupid enough to try and congratulate him on his latest victory. Inside, he wipes his face with a warm, moist towel the assistants set aside for him. There’s no time for a shower, and quite frankly that little freak prefers him all sweaty after being in the kitchen anyway. It saves him time, so he’s not about to complain.
Just as Katsuki tosses the towel and his chef’s jacket into the hamper, he hears the door open and quietly click shut behind him.
“Kacchan, you were amazing out there! I wanted to try your tapenade so badly! I’ve never thought to use the saltiness of kalamata olives to balance out the sweetness from the figs,” Izuku says without taking a breath and rushes over toward Katsuki, green eyes shining excitedly and hands waving around as he spoke. “The duck too actually, it smelled so good! As always your pla—”
Yanking him by the collar, Katsuki skips the formalities and smashes their faces together in a fierce kiss. He winces slightly in pain as their noses collide, but it doesn’t stop him from quickly working open the buttons on Izuku’s jacket and shoving it off his shoulders. It's by far the most effective way to shut him up once he gets going when it comes to food. It takes a moment or two, but he feels Izuku relax against his lips, happily opening his mouth for Katsuki to do with as he pleases.
He’s waited a whole damn month and impatient doesn’t even come close to describing how he feels right now. The toy shifts inside him and Katsuki moans into Izuku’s mouth, unable to hold back the sound. Breaking their kiss, he hovers a hair's breadth away from Izuku’s lips and takes in his rosy freckled face.
“We ain’t got all day, asshole.” Katsuki pauses and licks at Izuku, unable to resist his pink pout. “You gonna fuck me or what? I didn’t wear this thing all day to listen to you babble about tapenades, for chrissake. You know the rules, loser tops. I kicked your ass, so you better get balls deep in mine before those shitty extras come lookin’ for ya.”
“I know, I know.” Izuku sighs wistfully. “I was so close too, Kacchan. Three more points and I would have won! I even wore a new plug this time.”
Izuku steps out of Katsuki’s grasp and strips down until he’s left in just a black and orange jock strap. He spins around and tilts his back ass toward Katsuki, showing off the thick muscle of his thighs and the new accessory. From between his toned cheeks, Katsuki can see a glittering green jewel peeking out at him.
“Fuck that’s hot as hell.” Katsuki groans and swallows the saliva pooling on his tongue. The damned thing is even heart-shaped, and his chest clenches with how fucking Deku it is. No, no not this time. Katsuki fucking earned this! He isn’t going to throw in the towel and be tempted by Izuku’s devious tricks. The little vixen. “Next time don’t overcook your fucking flatbread and then maybe you’ll have a chance at winning.”
“Fine, fine.” Izuku concedes with a pout and turns back to face him.
His eyes wander over Katsuki’s body openly, no doubt mentally cataloging every detail like the pervert he is. Never one to disappoint, Katsuki makes a show of flexing his arms and pushing out his ass as he strips down to just his own shiny silver plug. He knows just how weak Izuku is for his shoulders and waist, and he’s not shy about using them to his advantage. The faster he gets Izuku to break, the better.
“Congratulations again, Kacchan. I’ll make sure to reward you properly, okay?” Izuku’s voice takes on a gravelly note as he speaks, it's as if he’s completely parched just from watching him strip down.
“Get to it already,” Katsuki grumbles, but there’s no bite to it. He settles himself onto the couch facing away from Izuku, knees sinking into the too-soft cushions and nails digging into the backrest. Looking over his shoulder, he sees the bob of Izuku’s throat just before he scrambles over and settles his scarred hands on Katsuki’s hip and lower back.
“So impatient,” Izuku says and trails his hand along the dimples just above Katsuki’s ass, slowly dipping down between his cheeks until they grip the wide base. He tugs it in pulses, letting the widest part of the toy pull maddeningly at Katsuki’s rim two, three times before switching and pushing it deeper, twisting ever so slightly. After hours of just missing it, the warmed metal rubs his prostate directly and Katsuki almost screams.
“Not a word!” Katsuki hisses at Izuku. Despite his aroused flush, it’s clear that Izuku finds it hilarious.
“You always get on my case about how loud I am, Kacchan. Can’t you let me have this?” Izuku pinches one of Katsuki’s ass cheeks playfully, and Katsuki considers—not for the first time—kicking him in the gut and cutting his losses for the evening.
“That’s because you’re loud enough to wake the dead! If you don’t stick your dick in me in the next five minutes, I’m kicking your ass out and calling security.”
Katsuki flips over to face Izuku and flops onto the cushions. Reaching down past his own leaking cock, he takes his plug in hand. Izuku’s eyes are fixated on the motion, his earlier taunts completely forgotten. Katsuki preens under the scrutiny, thrusting the plug inside himself a few times to put on a show and rolling his hips into the air.
Without a doubt, his ears and chest are giving away just how eager he is. Katsuki can feel the blush rapidly spreading all over his body, but there’s no use hiding it at this point. They both know he loves the spotlight. There’s just something about having Izuku’s eyes on him and him alone that leaves Katsuki hard and wanting in even the most inopportune situations.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, completely breathless as he watches. His fingers flex at his side, clearly unsure if he wants to join in or sit back and enjoy the show.
Katsuki doesn’t share the same sentiment.
“Oi! Are you just gonna stand there and watch?”
Slowly, Katsuki pulls the plug out inch by agonizing inch. The widest part finally reaches his rim, and he groans letting his head fall back to the cushions and arching till it hurts. The stretch is delicious. As much as he wants to shove the toy back inside and ride it for all its worth, Izuku’s cock is within arms reach and far more tantalizing. Still in the jockstrap, it strains against the bright fabric like a tempting gift just waiting to be unwrapped.
Eyes on his prize, Katsuki tugs one last time. He makes a show of moaning as it pulls free from his hole and gives his own cock a few quick pumps, chasing the pleasure for just a moment longer. It works like a charm, because before he can even toss it to the side Izuku is on top of him, kissing him frantically and reaching between the couch cushions to pull out their well-used stash of lube.
The sound of the cap popping is pavlovian for them at this point. Katsuki’s dick twitches excitedly and he reaches between them to shove down Izuku’s jockstrap till his cock springs free and slaps against Kastuki’s. He grips both in one hand, jerking them off in tandem and smearing precum down their lengths while Izuku lubes up his fingers. The rough pads tease against his stretched, sensitive hole and Katsuki does his best to push back on the thick digits.
“I’ve had that thing in me for hours, don’t make me wait.”
“Just making sure, Kacchan,” Izuku says and pushes two fingers in, giving a few harsh thrusts before adding a third. Katsuki’s back arches and he bites down on Izuku’s lip impatiently. “You’re so loose for me already. You were so good out there, keeping your cool while being stretched out and filled in front of everyone.”
“Deku,” Katsuki growls, but it’s far needier than he intends.
Izuku places one last peck on his lips and leans back. He feels too far away for Katsuki’s liking, but it's a small price to pay as Izuku finally lubes up his cock and lines it up with his aching hole. He pauses and pushes Katsuki’s legs up to rest on his hips, smiling softly like the idiot he is.
Their eyes lock. Of course, it's now that Izuku decides to feel bashful. But he is stunning like this: freckles popping against the flush red of his cheeks and chest flexing with effort as he hovers above him. He nervously bites his lip and a wave of possessiveness washes over Katsuki. The idea of anyone else seeing his Deku looking this soft and vulnerable—oh God or worse, Izuku looking at anyone else with that dopey, heart-stopping grin—has him wrapping his legs fully around Izuku’s waist and tightening to draw him close.
Katsuki arches up, hands flying to Izuku’s shoulders and digging his nails in possessively as he split himself open on Izuku’s cock.
What Izuku lacks in length, he more than makes up in girth. There’s nothing quite like the stretch of being filled by that unsuspectingly thick cock. Grinding down, he pulls Izuku close until he can feel the press of balls against his ass cheeks and moans loudly.
Izuku shudders above him, arms wobbling slightly as he struggles to not collapse directly on top of him. Katsuki notes with a satisfied grin that he’s panting heavily and his pupils are blown wide. It takes a moment for Izuku to recover from the shock, but then he’s easing out and pushing back inside in slow, languid thrusts.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whines. He leans in close and buries his nose in the seam between Katsuki’s peck and arm and breathes .
Katsuki intends to call out the little pervert, but then that slick tongue glides in long stripes between his nipple and the sensitive skin under his arm, and the insult is replaced with a pitchy noise that he struggles to bite back. In revenge he rakes his nails down Izuku’s back, taking joy in the small shiver that interrupts the steady glide of Izuku’s cock and the muffled moan that follows.
“Faster, Deku,” Katsuki demands breathlessly.
Izuku picks up the pace, but it doesn’t stop Katsuki from barking out orders for faster, faster, harder , until Izuku is slamming into him so hard that it rams the couch repeatedly into the wall behind them.
It’s an all-consuming heat. The stretch feels so damn good and Izuku grinds against his prostate with devastating accuracy. This is what he’s been craving: the sights and sounds and fuck even the smell of Izuku all around him and flooding every one of his senses.
“Fuck!” Izuku curses loudly, and goddamn if that doesn’t do things to Katsuki. “I’m so close. Plug—the plug feels so good and you’re so tight, Kacchan.”
A harsh bite on his nipple has Katsuki scrabbling for purchase on Izuku’s shoulders. He arches his back until each rapid thrust causes Izuku’s stomach to rub deliciously against his neglected cock. It gives him the last bit of friction he needs. Combined with the brutal speed of Izuku’s pounding, it sends him careening over the edge faster than he anticipated.
Katsuki slaps a hand over his own mouth to suppress his moan in a last-ditch effort to keep quiet as he cums. It does little to suppress the noise, but it's at least an attempt unlike Izuku’s loud whimpering at the sight of Katsuki’s cum splashing along their stomachs and just barely missing his own nipple.
“Kacchan, Kacchan!”
“Fuck. Come on, fill me up, Deku,” Katsuki whines, riding out the last few tremors of his own waning orgasm.
Izuku’s hips slap into his with a steady pap-pap , again and again until he’s pressing deep into Katsuki, completely flooding him with heat and moaning loudly as he cums.
With his legs still wrapped tightly around Izuku’s waist, Katsuki allows himself a moment of relaxation and sinks deeper into the cushions. They need to clean up as soon as possible, but he feels boneless and satiated. It’s the true mark of a winner in his book.
“Ahh, I’m beat,” Izuku sighs and flops his weight down on Katsuki, knocking the air out of his lungs.
“Get the fuck off of me, you’re so damn heavy for someone so fucking short.”
“I’m not short!” Izuku nips at Katsuki’s collar playfully, but makes no effort to move. “You’re just taller than average is all.”
Katsuki hums in acknowledgment, too at peace from post-orgasmic bliss to argue back.
Izuku’s team will start looking for him if he doesn’t get out there soon. Ugh. Those assholes are far too nosey for their own good. He shoves lightly at Izuku’s shoulders and despite the displeased glare he gets, Izuku hauls himself up and the pair start their cleanup routine.
They scurry around the dressing room, wiping sticky fluids from themselves and tossing each other their respective outfits until the evidence of their rendezvous is nothing more than a few new wrinkles in their jackets.
“It smells like balls in here.” Katsuki scrunches his nose in distaste, making a mental note to grab a candle or some incense for their inevitable rematch next month.
Izuku just laughs and shuffles towards the door. They don’t have to say goodbye just yet. The crew will probably drag them both out for drinks in a few minutes, but it’s their few last moments of honesty before they have an audience. Katsuki takes the time to let his eyes wander over Izuku's form, enjoying the rare luxury of openly checking out the feast of compact muscles that pull tightly at his uniform.
“Deku.” Katsuki knows his voice sounds so fucked up and soft, but he’ll deny it to hell and back later anyway, so he doesn’t bother covering it up. “Make sure you wear that plug again next time. Not that you’ll win but—ya know—in case they bring in another shitty judge with no taste.”
“Yeah, yeah I can do that.”
They stand there smiling at each other like a pair of idiots for a moment longer, and then Izuku is slipping quietly out the door and off to his assigned dressing room.
Katsuki flops back down onto the couch and inspects his discarded plug. Maybe he should look into a new one too…
Next month can’t come soon enough.