Chapter Text
The soft lights of downtown Sapporo pulsed in rhythmic synchronicity with the muffled bass thumping from the basement of The Alibi, a high-end lounge in a suggestive hotel of wood and warm lights; the air was thick with the scent of expensive gin, charred cedar, and the ambient hum of people trying to be seen.
It was the typical, overpriced hotel bar that, fortunately, he hadn't paid for himself, but rather the sports association.
He sat at the far end of the polished mahogany bar, his large, calloused hands wrapped around a glass of neat whiskey that he hadn’t touched in ten minutes.
He had a competition in a few days; and his only task, apparently, was to train in the morning and be bored in the evening, sipping alone, sitting at the usual table with padded sofas, watching the fireplace in the corner burn.
At twenty-six, he had traded the mindless brawls of his youth for the calculated violence of professional bouldering and speed climbing.
He was now a professional, acclaimed by fans and the nightmare of all his managers and coaches.
He was a machine of muscle and precision, standing a broad-shouldered 6’1”. He had never wasted time, or a single day of training. And in that hotel, as in all the others, he could only be found on the climbing wall, in the gym, or at the bar celebrating boredom.
But not tonight.
It was his birthday.
A fact he loathed because it implied he should be celebrating something other than his own relentless discipline.
He was in town for the National Bouldering Championship; with the weight of the gold medals he won every year, he also won solitude. But it was also his own fault, as he wasn't very likable or welcoming toward other competitors and colleagues, who had understood long ago that it was better to leave him alone.
He admitted it openly.
He knew how to be a real asshole, but for a long time in his life, his only relationship had been with sports.
He shifted on the sofa, his black t-shirt straining against his chest, with a distracted gaze toward the counter, while pondering how he ended up ignoring his mother’s calls in a 5-star hotel in Sapporo.
And why today his drink didn't taste like much, other than boredom.
He stood up sighing, reaching one of the stools at the carved wooden counter, placing his glass on the table, seeking the bartender's attention.
The man, noticing him, poured two more fingers, and Katsuki knocked them back with a couple of sips, narrowing his eyes at the burn in his throat.
He had to enjoy it now, because later he would have to clean up and save himself for the race.
He lowered his gaze, slamming the glass on the counter, and with his elbows supporting his head, bored, he looked around, reflecting on whether or not to go back to his room, watch something on TV, and fall asleep.
Then he laid his eyes on you, in a delicate and non-intrusive way, simply noticing a person near him.
You were sitting four stools down.
You were alone holding a martini glass between thin fingers, your legs crossed and exposed by a beautiful dress that looked expensive, which clung to you and hugged you in the right places, dark and satiny, which, with the background of the fire behind you, seemed almost ethereal.
You weren't looking for attention, which was exactly why you had his.
You weren't scrolling through a phone or scanning the room; you were simply there, occupying your space with a quiet, grounded confidence that felt like a challenge. Delicately chewing the olive from your martini, smiling and sporadically exchanging a couple of words with the bartender about the weather.
You were very beautiful, he genuinely thought so, intrigued by your manner, your way of being, of acting.
Katsuki looked away, his jaw tightening.
He didn't do "random encounters."
Women were usually a distraction. Too smart, too cunning, controlling. In need of too much of the right attention that he had never been capable of providing and giving.
He had never been the type; he had never felt capable.
He couldn't treat them with indifference like men, and he couldn't fake any emotion with them, because they would unmask him immediately.
But through the corner of his eye, he saw you move.
And Katsuki turned his head, staring at your profile as you switched which leg was crossed.
You turned your head slowly, your gaze catching his.
You didn't look away.
Instead, you offered a slow, deliberate wink, not a desperate plea for a conversation, but a playful acknowledgement of his brooding presence. Playing delicately with him, as if you had crushed him between your teeth like the martini olive.
Katsuki froze.
His first instinct was to scoff and turn back to his drink, return to the sofa and ignore you, but the sheer boldness of your expression held him.
He felt a prickle of irritation (or was it curiosity?) climb up his spine.
You went back to minding your own business, swinging your leg; the tip of your boot swung, marking the time.
Katsuki liked those, too.
Fuck it.
After a long, tense minute of internal debate, he stood up.
His movements were heavy. He bypassed the empty stools and stopped right next to you, the smell of your perfume, something sweet, like vanilla and dark plum, hitting him like a physical blow.
"The hell are you doing sitting here all by yourself?" he grunted, his voice low as if he wasn't even straining, barely cutting through the jazz-infused house music. He thought that maybe it wasn't the best initial interaction, but you seemed like someone who could handle a stronger approach.
He didn't sit; he hovered, his presence looming and intense.
In fact, you didn't flinch.
You slowly uncrossed your legs, the slit of your dress revealing a length of smooth skin that made his throat dry. You picked up a second olive from the toothpick in your glass, your teeth grazing it as you took a slow bite. Your eyes tracked the line of his jaw before meeting his fierce, crimson-tinted gaze.
"Pardon?" you asked quietly, your voice calm and cryptic. He shifted his weight onto the other leg, leaning one elbow on the counter, remaining turned toward you.
“Why are you sitting alone?” Katsuki tried not to show he was troubled; you stared him in the eyes, chewing calmly, like a queen on her throne.
“I wonder why a man from the other side of the counter was staring at me…” you played with the toothpick, taking a sip of the martini.
Katsuki let out a sharp, disparaging huff, finally dropping onto the stool beside you.
"I wasn't staring. I was thinking."
"About what?" You leaned in closer, the movement fluid and devoid of any hesitation. You didn't seem intimidated by his size or his abrasive tone.
“What’s your name?” he asked, cutting off your question, looking at you curiously and determined to know something about you, while you went back to crossing your legs and he let his eyes slide over your thighs.
You hinted at a smile, licking your lips, and told him your name. He listened, attentive, trying to say it in his own mind to understand and memorize how it sounded.
“And you are...?”
"Bakugo," he snapped, though the edge was softening under the weight of your scent. "Katsuki. Just Katsuki is fine." He also hinted at a small smile. “You have a nice name. It suits you...”
God, he didn't know how to flirt.
"Thanks." You tilted your head, playing with the rim of your glass, your thumb tracing the salt. Slightly indifferent to his compliments, you looked at him with a small glint of amusement, and thus he was sure he could keep trying with you. “What are you doing here in Sapporo, Katsuki?”
“How do you know I’m not from here?” He huffed a small laugh, still scrutinizing you very curiously, and you, with a little smile, licked the salt off your fingers, knowing he was watching your every move intently, knowing well how to play your cards with men like him.
Hard on the outside, sour like a lemon, but perfect for a nice, juicy lemonade.
“Your accent betrays you,” you whispered softly, wiping your fingers on a napkin, while he held his breath, visibly struck.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Yours, on the other hand, is very sexy,” he murmured in a raspy voice, still scrutinizing you intensely, and you smiled, letting out a little laugh that woke Katsuki up from that momentary trance, realizing he had pushed too hard. But it was done now, and you seemed to like it. “Guess what I’m doing here, since you’re so good at intuiting...”
“Let me guess...” you placed your joined hands on your exposed knee, adorably wrinkling your lips while pretending to think.
"The competition? Are you a... climber?"
Katsuki made a small sound of assent and, satisfied, leaned a bit further toward you with newfound confidence in his approach.
"National Bouldering circuit. Don't tell me you're a fan. I hate fans." He huffed half a laugh with a grimace, and you gently shook your head, moving your beautiful hair; he delicately bit his lip to keep from saying how sexy those were, too.
"I'm not a fan of anything I haven't experienced myself," you said, your tone deceptively innocent while your eyes remained fixed on his lips. "I just like to observe."
Katsuki felt the heat of the alcohol and the proximity of your body starting to melt the ice around his heart.
He wasn't used to this, a woman who could match his intensity without being shrill.
You weren't trying to unmask him; you were trying to step into his shoes and play on equal terms.
"You're full of it," he muttered, though his smirk showed, raising one corner of his mouth provocatively at you, while you were already thinking about how to defend yourself. "You're just trying to get a rise out of me."
"Is it working?" you asked, leaning back and letting your gaze wander over his muscular frame, lingering on the way his biceps flexed against the bar.
He didn't answer immediately. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Maybe. Anyway, it’s been a long day. It’s my damn birthday, and I’m stuck in this overpriced city surrounded by idiots."
Your expression shifted, not to pity, which he would have hated, but to a genuine, shimmering amusement.
"Your birthday? And you’re spending it brooding over a single glass? That’s a tragedy, Katsuki." You said his name with your accent, and he breathed slowly through his nose.
You waved a hand at the bartender, a graceful, commanding gesture. "Another one for both. And put his tab on mine."
Katsuki blinked, his pride momentarily stung. "The hell? I don't need you to buy my drinks."
"I know you don't," you said, your voice dropping to a low, intimate hum that vibrated in his chest. You moved your hand, your fingers ghosting over the back of his hand, not grabbing him, just a fleeting, electric touch. "But I want to. Consider it a gift for the man who looks like he’s never let anyone give him anything in his life."
He stared at you, genuinely floored.
You were independent, sharp, and entirely unimpressed by his bad mood and terrible approach with women.
It was the most attractive thing he had ever encountered. He watched as you bit your lip, a small, knowing smile playing on your face.
"So," you said, shifting your weight, the movement causing your dress to cling to your curves in a way that made Katsuki’s pulse spike. He felt like a damn kid in front of his first pair of breasts.
"Now that I've bought your time... what are you going to do with it, Katsuki?"
He felt the tension in his shoulders finally break.
He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he settled for gripping the edge of your stool, effectively boxing you in. The arrogance was still there, but it was laced with a new, raw hunger. If he was going to play this, he had to do it fast, or you’d get tired of leading the game alone.
You seemed like someone who only wanted to lose the reins if surrendered to someone who would snatch them from your hand.
And he wanted to have you so badly.
"I think," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned into your space; you placed your hands on his chest, pleased by the touch of his hard pecs. "I'm gonna start by finding out exactly what kind of trouble a girl like you is looking for."
You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made his heart hammer against his ribs. "Careful, Katsuki. You might find more than you can climb."
"Try me," he challenged, the sardonic smirk turning into something much more dangerous and devoted, holding you close while the bartender finally brought a second round to both of you, so you could talk better over the music and away from the chaos of the others in your own private bubble.
And he could touch you, always keeping his hand respectfully in places that weren't too dangerous, and you appreciated it.
You felt caressed but not harassed.
The bartender slid the fresh whiskey toward Katsuki, the ice clinking against the crystal with a sharp, final sound. You took your martini, taking a small sip to finish the glass and dive into the second, starting to slip with him into a small conversation about your ages, where you live, and your work.
He listened close to you, while you spoke and delicately ate another olive.
“You haven't told me what you're doing here... in the hotel, if you live here.”
“Work.” You raised an amused eyebrow, and he, surprised, insisted.
“So? What?” Katsuki asked curiously, and you lightly shrugged, playing at being vague to add a bit of mystery, swallowing the bite before answering.
“We can define it as... the field of wellness. The clients of the sports center pay well,” you told him calmly, and he stopped the hand that was caressing your back.
He was a man who lived by logic and physical limits. In his world, things had a price and a purpose.
You were too polished, too composed, and far too comfortable sitting alone in a high-end hotel bar at midnight. And above all, he was still wondering why you were giving him the time of day so willingly.
Your way of describing your job was ambiguous, but he would find out before putting his tongue in your mouth.
"Alright, look," he started, his voice dropping into that rough, unfiltered rasp. You looked up at him, sipping from the glass and licking the salt off your lips.
He didn't do "polite" well. He looked you dead in the eye, his expression a mix of genuine suspicion and primal interest.
"I’m a straight shooter. I don't like... being played. Playing and everything is fine, it's fun, but... A girl like you, looking like that, in a place like this... what’s the catch? Are you an escort? Because if this is a business transaction, you’re wasting your breath. I don’t pay for company."
The bluntness of the question would have offended most, but you simply tilted your head.
He held his breath, tense.
For a second, there was silence, and then you broke into a laugh, not a practiced polite giggle, but a genuine, melodic sound that crinkled the corners of your eyes.
It was spontaneous and warm, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere he carried.
It was as sweet as your perfume, and he loved how your cheeks rose and your lips seemed so good to bite.
Katsuki’s defensive posture faltered.
“An escort? God... men have told me so many things, but not that I look like one!” You willingly caressed his arm, your eyes shining with amusement, and he resumed caressing you.
He felt a strange tug in his chest, a rare spark of something that wasn't anger or competitive drive.
Seeing you laugh like that made a tiny, reluctant smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not an escort.” You shook your head.
"You're unbelievable," he muttered, though the bite was gone from his tone.
"I'll take that as a compliment," you said, catching your breath, your eyes shimmering with amusement.
"I work at the sports center too; the gym here hosts the largest one in the region. I'm a physiotherapist, and I help athletes' bodies recover. I also do corrective massages and chiropractic," you explained while he listened intently, finding it interesting even from a sporting perspective. “Every now and then I stay here; I take the suite, enjoy the spa, a good glass at the bar. Everyone knows me.” You caressed his arm again, and he willingly flexed the muscle for you.
It was no coincidence you had immediately realized he was a climber.
Katsuki took a heavy swallow of his whiskey, his mind betraying him.
A suite. Upstairs. The image of you, draped in a white hotel robe, lying down to relax in a sauna with those valleys and mountains as a backdrop, hit him like a physical weight.
He felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
"A suite, huh?" he grunted, trying to regain his footing. "Fancy. So you’re just a spoiled local."
"Something like that," you replied easily. “I like working at the sports center and rehabilitating people who strive every day to push their limits. It's so human and fascinating.” You sighed contentedly, taking a few small sips, and he pulled you closer.
He liked that.
He liked that you had a brain and that you were clearly good at what you did. He respected competence above all else.
"Working with athletes can also suck," he said, his voice a bit more grounded now. "I respect you if you can do it; for example, I'm a lost cause. When I go to my sports center in Tokyo, everyone avoids me."
"I can tell," you whispered, your gaze dropping to his hands, then softly humming along to the bar music.
“You seem difficult... but not bad.”
“I’m not bad,” he confirmed. “It’s not rudeness; I don’t mistreat anyone. It’s just that people are always afraid to approach me and bother me... I think because of my face.” He looked at you, but you continued to look at the counter and the glass he was clutching.
“What’s wrong with your face? To me, it seems like a handsome face.”
You reached out and took his hand, the one resting on the bar, turning it over to inspect the callouses.
You didn't shy away from the rough, sandpaper texture of his skin. You ran your thumb over the base of his palm, right where the muscle was densest.
Katsuki’s breath hitched. He was used to being looked at as an athlete, a specimen, or a hothead.
But the way you were looking at him now, with a mixture of intellectual curiosity and blatant, feminine hunger, was making his head spin.
“I don't know... maybe I have resting asshole face.”
You looked up at him, continuing to massage in a pleasant way, making him pant imperceptibly between the breaths he tried to control.
“To me... you're feared because you're very strong. You've built your space, and people believe you're too far above them. Or... you're very stressed and need a good massage.” You smiled with a small grin, and he gently grabbed your hand, squeezing it between his calloused fingers.
He turned his palm up, his fingers instinctively curling slightly around yours.
He wasn't a talker, but with you, the silence didn't feel like a void he had to fill.
It felt like a shared secret.
"You talk too much." He scrutinized your face as you drew closer, and he willingly inhaled the scent of your hair, and you let him invade your space more now that the alcohol was actively contributing to the conversation. “But I would really like a massage.”
"And you don't talk enough," you countered, leaning in until the scent of your plum-vanilla perfume was the only thing he could breathe. “Come to the center when you’re free, you’ll find me there; I’ll try to squeeze in a space for you and give you a nice massage as a gift from me along with this drink.”
You picked up your glass, raising it slightly. "Happy birthday, Katsuki. Truly."
He hesitated, then clinked his glass against yours.
He kept you close, smiling with only one corner of his mouth raised, thinking that it would probably be pleasant to be touched by you, but he would have jumped you much sooner if you kept talking and brushing against him like that.
He hadn't felt this tense and excited in years, and usually, it was only for competitions.
The sound was a sharp ping in the quiet lounge.
As the night wore on, the conversation slowed down, becoming more rhythmic and heavy with subtext.
You told him small things, and he found himself actually listening.
He told you, in his own rough way, about the peace he found at two hundred meters up a rock face, where the only thing that mattered was the next hold.
Every time you shifted, your leg brushed his. Every time you spoke, you leaned a little closer, until he could see the gold flecks in your eyes.
He was becoming intoxicated, not by the whiskey, but by the way you handled him. You knew exactly when to challenge him and when to let him simmer in his own intensity.
"You're a dangerous woman," he said, his voice now a low, dangerous rumble. He had moved closer, his thigh pressed firmly against yours. He could feel the warmth of your body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress.
"I'm just a woman who knows what she wants," you corrected him, your voice a silky lure. You leaned in, your lips inches from his ear, your breath ghosting over his skin. "And right now, I’m wondering if that suite upstairs is going to feel too big and too quiet if I go back alone.”
Katsuki’s hand, still resting on the bar, clenched into a fist. He turned his head, his nose brushing against yours.
"I'm a rude, impatient bastard," he warned, his eyes dark with a sudden, overwhelming need to possess the space you occupied. "And I don't do 'sweet'. If I fuck you, you’ll be the one needing a massage the next morning." He spoke, blowing warm air against your skin, and you licked your lips attractively.
"I'm not looking for sweet, Katsuki," you whispered, your hand moving up to rest on his chest, right over his racing heart. "Neither am I."
He didn't say another word. He just stood up, his hand sliding down to grip your waist with a firm, proprietary hold that left no room for doubt.
The atmosphere at the bar had shifted from electric to heavy, a thick veil of mutual intent.
Katsuki, usually so guarded and prickly, had finally let the friction of the night wear down his edges. The alcohol had smoothed out his snarl, leaving behind a raw, hungry focus.
He leaned in, his nose skimming the sensitive line of your jaw. His breath was hot, smelling of expensive bourbon and heat. You wrapped your arms around him delicately, letting him do as he pleased.
When he pressed his lips against the column of your neck, it wasn't the aggressive move of a man trying to claim a prize; it was a slow, grounding kiss, almost a bruise in the making.
"You smell too damn good," he muttered against your skin, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "It’s annoying."
You didn't pull away. Instead, you hummed a soft, contented sound, your fingers finding their way into the spiky, surprisingly soft blonde hair at the nape of his neck. You toyed with the strands, pulling him just a fraction closer, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your pulse against his lips.
Around you, the lounge was a blur of anonymous faces and clinking glass, but Katsuki had successfully tuned it all out.
For the first time in years, his mind wasn't on his grip strength or his competition ranking.
It was on the weight of your body and the way you didn't seem to have a single "off" switch.
He kissed your neck sweetly and caressed your hips, making you sigh contentedly, and he smiled against your skin, continuing to kiss you with care while closing his eyes, deciding to treat his body with affection.
Then, the bubble burst.
A shadow fell over the bar, and a voice, cheerful and soft, cut through the low hum of the jazz; reaching out a hand, a young man behind you caressed your shoulder, leaning in close to your head.
You opened your eyes, recognizing him immediately, narrowing your lids as you enjoyed Katsuki’s kisses, hinting at a small, relaxed smile.
"I thought I might find you here. You forgot your charger in the car; I left it up in the room for you," he said close to your ear, then casually looking at the scene.
The newcomer was a young man with a mop of unruly green curls and a dusting of freckles across his nose. He was tall, with the lean, functional musculature of a runner, dressed in a thin long-sleeved shirt that didn't hide his defined body and narrow waist, and a pair of loose pants around his thighs. He seemed to have just showered, with his hair slightly damp.
He smelled like the hotel shower gel and expensive scented water.
"Oh, thanks, Izu. I didn't even realize," you murmured, caressing the blonde's nape with your fingertips, passing your fingers through the locks to massage his scalp while he sucked small portions of skin before realizing you hadn't spoken to him and that there was another person near their stools.
Katsuki went rigid. He pulled back instantly, his eyes snapping from "relaxed" to "lethal" in a heartbeat.
The hand that had been resting near your waist retracted, his fingers curling into a tight fist on the mahogany bar.
He glared at the green-haired man, not understanding what the fuck he wanted and why he had approached to interrupt you or touch you that way.
And what bothered him most was your calm expression.
"Who the hell is this?" Katsuki barked, his voice no longer a low rumble but a sharp, jagged blade. “What the fuck do you want? Can't you see she's busy with me?” he snapped, and the other boy smiled amusedly, moving a few steps away, completely indifferent, resting his arms on the counter and seeking the bartender's attention to order something.
You didn't seem bothered by his sudden shift in temperature.
“I have a tab open; put whatever he orders on there too,” you said to the bartender, who nodded and moved to take Izuku's order.
Izuku thanked you out loud before you turned back to Katsuki.
Your hand returned to his chest, your palm flat against the thumping heat of his heart, trying to soothe the tension you could feel radiating off him.
"Don't be so grumpy, Katsuki," you said softly, your voice still sweet, still carrying that magnetic, calm quality. "It's fine. Come back here; I was enjoying that.” You urged him, and he looked down at you, flabbergasted.
Had that curly-haired guy just ignored him? Like that?
Behind you, Izuku gave a polite, slightly awkward nod to the bartender and ordered a sparkling water.
He didn't seem to notice the murder in Katsuki’s eyes, as if he were almost used to this place and understood the frustration without forcing contact.
A little too used to it...
He stood there, leaning against the bar, checking his watch with the relaxed air of someone waiting for a ride; he didn't seem to be looking for trouble, but he seemed to know you very well.
Katsuki’s eyes were darting between the two of you, his brain working overtime, his pride starting to sting.
"Fine? You’ve got some brat whispering in your ear while I’m—" He gestured vaguely to the space between you, his face flushing with a mix of irritation and confusion. "Who the fuck is he?"
You looked at him, your expression remaining cryptic and serene, eating the last olive and savoring it for a few brief moments.
You didn't look guilty.
You didn't look embarrassed.
You looked at him like he was the only person in the room, even as you gave him the answer that felt like a physical strike.
"He's my boyfriend," you said simply.
The words hung in the air, clashing violently with the scent of your perfume and the memory of Katsuki’s lips on your neck.
Katsuki froze.
He stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, the retort he’d been preparing dying in his throat. He looked at Izuku, who was now calmly sipping his water, and then back at you, searching for a punchline that wasn't coming, while you calmly finished your second martini as if you hadn't just said you were taken to the man who had been flirting with and touching you for over an hour.
"Your... what?" he managed to choke out, his voice sounding hollow.
He was paralyzed by the sheer, grounded honesty in your eyes.
You had never said you were single.
You hadn't lied to him.
You hadn't led him on with false promises.
You had simply been there, and he had followed.
"My boyfriend," you repeated, your voice a gentle, honeyed caress that felt like a knife. "I think you're not exactly understanding, but we can keep talking; I was having fun." You caressed his chest, and he grabbed your hand, blocking it.
Why were you still touching him? In front of him?
Katsuki didn't know whether to scream, walk out, or pull you closer. He was a man of action, but for the first time in his life, he was completely stuck between the rock and a very, very hard place.
The silence that followed your admission was heavy, vibrating with a tension that Katsuki hadn't prepared for.
It was the first time in years he felt completely out of his depth, his skin itching with a sudden, searing self-consciousness.
He jerked his hands away from you as if your skin had turned to white-hot iron, his fingers twitching at his sides. The predatory confidence that had defined his posture for the last hour collapsed into a rigid, defensive stance.
He looked at Izuku, then back at you, his face flushing a deep, mottled crimson that clashed with his pale blonde hair.
To have been kissing your neck, tasting the salt of your skin while your partner stood five feet away, felt like a tactical error he couldn't recover from.
"I—" Katsuki started, his voice cracking slightly before he lowered it into a defensive growl. He cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at your eyes. "I didn't... look, I'm not into causing trouble. I didn't know you were with someone. You didn't say a damn word and you let yourself be touched... my bad. I should have asked, apparently."
He took a half-step back, the movement awkward and uncoordinated, his pride wounded by the realization that he might have been an unwitting pawn in someone else’s game.
He looked up at Izuku behind you, who was now eating peanuts, confused, raising his eyebrows toward Katsuki.
"Sorry. To both of you. I’m out."
Fuck it.
Just when it seemed he had found the right one and turned off his brain... it was obvious it was too good to be true. You were too beautiful, too smart, too likable... he had been an idiot to think he had a real chance with you.
You didn't let him retreat.
You reached out, your hand landing firmly on the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Your touch was warm, grounded, and utterly devoid of the guilt he expected to find.
"Katsuki, stop," you said, your voice a calm anchor in his rising storm of confusion. You let out a soft, amused huff, your eyes dancing with a lightheartedness that made his brain stall.
"There’s nothing to apologize for. Truly. We aren't that boring."
Beside you, Izuku finally turned fully toward the bar.
He didn't look angry; he didn't look like a man ready to defend his honor with a fistfight. Instead, he looked at Katsuki with a relaxed, observant curiosity.
"Exactly," Izuku said, his voice surprisingly steady and kind. "You don't need to apologize to me. We have a very clear arrangement. I knew exactly where she was tonight, and honestly? I can see why she stayed."
Katsuki blinked, his head whipping toward the green-haired man.
"The hell is wrong with you?" he blurted out, his filter completely gone. "I was literally just—I was all over her. Fuck, I was about to sleep with her, and you... you’re just gonna stand there and sip your water?"
"I like seeing her happy," Izuku replied with a shrug that was too genuine to be an act. He extended a hand toward Katsuki, his grip looking firm even from a distance. "I'm Izuku. And for the record, I’m not just 'okay' with it. Our relationship is open. We enjoy new experiences, and sometimes... well, sometimes I just like to watch her be herself with someone new. Or I join in, if the vibe is right."
Katsuki didn't take the hand.
He was frozen, his heart hammering against your palm.
His mind was racing through the implications.
A "me" weekend at a suite.
A boyfriend who didn't mind.
A woman who looked at him like he was a prize she had every intention of claiming.
You were alone at the bar, looking for fun, but you weren't alone in life.
The heat in his gut didn't die down; if anything, the complexity of the situation made the friction even more intense.
You stepped closer, closing the gap Izuku’s presence had momentarily created. You leaned in, your body molding against Katsuki’s side again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. The scent of your plum-vanilla perfume was a dizzying cloud, drowning out the smell of the bar.
"Izuku is very open-minded, Katsuki," you whispered, your voice a low, vibrating secret.
"He likes women, but he’s always had a thing for men with... strong personalities. Like yours." You moved your hand from his chest, your fingers tracing the line of his throat, pressing your fingers lightly into his Adam's apple, before resting on his jaw, forcing him to look down at you. "You were enjoying playing together; I wonder if you’d like it while they watch us, or if you like men, too."
Katsuki felt a flush of heat that started at his toes and ended at his hairline.
He looked over your shoulder at Izuku, who was watching the interaction with a faint, appreciative smile, a look that wasn't judgmental, but distinctly predatory in its own quiet way.
The athlete in Katsuki, the part of him that lived for the thrill of the unknown and the danger of the fall, felt a sudden, terrifying surge of adrenaline.
He was out of his comfort zone, stripped of his usual certainties, and yet, looking at the two of you, this beautiful, cryptic woman and the calm, muscular man behind her, he felt a pull toward the suite upstairs that was stronger than any logic he possessed.
You were a beautiful couple: young, attractive.
And also crazy.
"You're both out of your damn minds," Katsuki rasped, his eyes dark, his body vibrating with a tension that was rapidly shifting from embarrassment to a raw, unadulterated hunger.
Asking him if he liked to share? To be watched? To have a man in bed?
He hadn't even ever spoken to that guy.
“A little,” you murmured, kissing his ear, slowly sucking the lobe and giggling in that sexy way he liked so much. Then Izuku behind you shrugged, gently adjusting a strap of your dress.
“Sometimes, yes. But I assure you it's the most natural thing in the world.”
He didn't move away.
Ah, I see. So that's how it was?
Instead, his hand came up to cover yours on his jaw, his grip tight and possessive.
He reached out, his large, calloused hand sliding behind your neck to tilt your head back. He didn't ask for permission; he took it.
He crashed his lips against yours in a kiss that was raw, demanding, and tasted of birthday whiskey.
It was a statement, a claim made right in front of the man who supposedly "owned" the title of your boyfriend.
But instead of the expected confrontation, Katsuki heard a soft, rhythmic tap on the mahogany. Izuku was leaning back, his arms crossed over his lean chest, watching the two of you with a calm, analytical appreciation.
Katsuki pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and blown out with a mixture of arousal and defiance.
He looked directly at Izuku while his other hand slid down the curve of your spine, his fingers digging into the silk of your dress before settling firmly, possessively, over the swell of your backside.
He gave a sharp, firm squeeze, testing the boundaries of this "open" arrangement, making you squeak amusedly as you caressed his cheek, seeking another kiss from him, and he pulled you closer, giving you a couple of quick ones to keep you happy.
You tasted like salt and martinis.
A small, genuine chuckle escaped Izuku.
"You don't have to be so aggressive," he said, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered, leaning comfortably against the counter, his muscles hard under the shirt, and Katsuki let his gaze pass over them now that he was closer to you.
"I told you, I’m not the jealous type."
Katsuki’s jaw tightened.
“So that's how it is? You're okay with it? That we continue?” he said, still testing that strange feeling, while you continued to whimper for new attention and Katsuki shot you a quick look, caressing the hair at your nape, loving that you were needy.
“No, for goodness sake... you're a handsome guy; I wouldn't mind either,” the curly-haired guy murmured to him, chewing his peanuts.
The lack of a fight was almost more frustrating than a punch to the face.
"You're a freak," he grunted, the nickname slipping out as a spontaneous insult, though Izuku only smiled wider.
“You have no idea how much,” he replied in kind, and Katsuki, looking into those green eyes, felt a strange attraction that gripped his stomach pleasantly.
“So this is what you do? She acts as the magnet and you join in?” he breathed, still on the defensive, and you chuckled against his neck as Izuku cleaned his hands and took a step forward to speak closer to the blonde's face; they were almost the same height, so while they squeezed you in the middle, their noses almost brushed.
“Not exactly like that; most of the time I just let it happen. But it’s more fun if there are three of us; she isn't easy to satisfy alone,” he told him, looking at him intensely, speaking of you as if you weren't there.
Katsuki slowly tightened his jaw at the proximity; he also smelled good and seemed ready to jump on him at any moment.
And he didn't understand why he didn't actually mind being both prey and predator that night.
“I can sleep with her and satisfy her all by myself.”
“I can do the same thing with you.”
Katsuki wrinkled his nose slightly, yet feeling his stomach warmer and his breath shorter.
“You'd like that...”
“Obviously; I bet you're good at it, too.”
“You have no idea how much,” Katsuki quoted him, letting his thoughts flow too, due to the alcohol in his blood.
He understood why both of you were together at that point.
You were the same.
Sly provocateurs.
You, meanwhile, were lost in the friction.
The heat between the two men was radiating through you, and the sensation of Katsuki’s rough palms against your skin was making your knees weak.
You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his pulse point as you began to trail damp, biting kisses along the corded muscle of his neck.
You could feel his heart hammering, a frantic, wild rhythm that betrayed just how much this was affecting him.
"We can take it slow, Katsuki," you whispered against his skin, your breath hitching. "You don't have to say yes to both; we can also continue alone. It’s your birthday."
“No problem for me,” Izuku added, caressing your back and making you quiver, before stepping back and pretending to lean against the counter waiting, before drawing too much attention from the full room onto them.
Katsuki shifted his weight, his thigh slotting between yours, pinning you against the bar stool while he kept his eyes locked on Izuku. "Is that right?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, competitive rumble.
"You like watching me take what's yours?"
Izuku took a slow sip of his water, his gaze drifting down to where Katsuki’s hand was still gripped tightly onto you.
"Yes," Izuku admitted, his voice dropping to an intimate, honest register. "Be my guest; sooner or later, you'll want to try something different."
Katsuki shot him another look before you gently took him by a wrist, moving away from the counter together, probably to take him to the suite and continue where you had been interrupted.
The tension in the air was so thick it felt tangible.
Katsuki felt a strange, new sensation: a pull toward the green-haired man that he couldn't quite name. It wasn't just about you anymore; it was about the challenge of this dynamic, the sheer, unadulterated honesty of the desire in the room.
"You're both insane," Katsuki muttered, though his grip on you didn't loosen for a second. He turned his head while you waved goodbye to Izuku, who blew you a kiss. "Goodnight to both of you."
Damn.
What the hell was he getting into.