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You Have a New Admirer!

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On Saturday evening, Katsuki is definitely not freaking out.

He's only meeting a guy he's been speaking to for all of a week and a half, that he sexted with absolutely no warning the night before, despite still having no fucking idea what he looks like, or even if he's telling the truth about anything he's said. No reason to panic. Everything is fine.

"This is good," Katsuki says, smoothing down the front of his shirt.

Izuku and Shouto both look up at him from where they're sitting at the table, heads together watching some video on Izuku's laptop. "Are you… asking us?" Shouto asks.

"No, I'm telling you," Katsuki says. He's wearing jeans that mostly actually fit him, and a dark checkered shirt. And…

Izuku narrows his eyes. "Is that a tie? And the nice jeans?"

"What!" Katsuki says defensively, straightening the tie that he is totally wearing. "It looks put together."

"You're going to Death Tofu," Izuku says, eyebrows raised.

"So?"

"So, they have literally let you in before with a half-burned shirt and only one shoe," Izuku reminds him.

"That was lab accident related," Katsuki says, waving a hand. "I'm their most loyal patron, they make exceptions for me."

"I think they just don't give a shit," Shouto muses.

"Okay, assholes," Katsuki snaps, "are you suggesting I stroll up for my blind date looking like a complete slob?"

"Thought you weren't asking us," Shouto says, in a voice that is too mild to be innocent.

"You do look good!" Izuku says quickly, before a hissy fit can break out. "It's just… unexpected."

"That I look good?" Katsuki asks.

"That you're trying to," Izuku explains. "I thought you were only in it for the food."

"Well, I am," Katsuki says, before mumbling out, "mostly."

Shouto and Izuku exchange a knowing glance. He hates them.

"It's a bit more than just a blind date now, isn't it?" Shouto says. "You've been talking to him quite a bit. To Kirishima."

"He keeps messaging me, if that's what you mean," Katsuki huffs. "I still don't know what he looks like, though, thanks to your broken app."

Shouto scratches his chin. "I'm working on that bug."

"Yeah, so I've heard," Katsuki says. "See you losers later."

He takes the train the short ride to his campus, hopping off a stop early to walk to Death Tofu a few blocks away. It's a small but beloved establishment, well frequented by a particular pocket of locals. They all know each other and the owner, more or less, and a couple people wave at Katsuki when he steps inside.

"Uh, table this time," he says, when they ask him if he'd like to sit at the counter, as usual. They lead him to one of the open spots, in the back. "Someone should be in pretty soon, looking for me…"

He's a little early (not too early, just… fashionably early, and he's the one who knows the place, anyway), so he doesn't order right away, just asks for a water.

What does he even say when Kirishima gets there? How will Katsuki even know it's him? All he has to go off is tall, red hair, and… pointy? And is Katsuki actually overdressed?

Five more minutes tick by, then ten. Katsuki gets a bowl of chili edamame to munch on while he waits.

He should have skipped the tie. Or maybe he really should have ditched a shoe, just to make it look like he wasn't trying so hard. He squeezes his hands around the cold, perspiring glass of water and exhales slowly.

He gets so lost in thought that he barely realizes how much time has passed before they come to check on him and see if he'd like something to order. It's been nearly twenty minutes at that point, so he decides to go ahead and get something for himself—that's what he's there for, anyway.

As he waits for his food, he wonders how exactly he's supposed to talk to someone he's just meeting for the first time after he's made it explicitly clear he'd like them to fuck him over the back of their motorcycle.

The food arrives, and Kirishima does not. It's half an hour past their meeting time at this point, and the hotly twisted sensation in Katsuki's stomach has nothing to do with the delicious mapo tofu.

He fucked up—it was stupid being that obvious. It probably scared Kirishima off completely, and while Katsuki doesn't want to say that makes him upset, it does frustrate him. He shovels his food into his mouth angrily. If Kirishima had been opposed to it, he shouldn't have played along, got Katsuki's hopes up—not that Katsuki was hoping for anything. He had no expectations. It's just that he's curious.

No, he was curious. Now he just feels like an idiot, which pisses him off.

It's nearly nine PM, an hour past when they had planned to meet. He almost can't quite believe he's been stood up, but, well, he's still sitting there alone. He finishes the last of his meal and pays the bill (with Shouto's money, that part at least is satisfying).

"Friend couldn't make it?" the busboy asks as he drains his drink and stands up to leave.

"Guess not," Katsuki says. Whether or not he manages to sound unconcerned about it is debatable.

He's already contemplating his options as he heads back towards the train station, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets, shoulders risen practically to his ears. He could tell Shouto and Izuku the date went fine but that he had no interest in Kirishima, even though Kirishima begged him for a second date. But the thought sours him further. He hates lying, especially in the interest of protecting his own dignity, because it doesn't erase the fact that he failed.

He could just tell Shouto that his app fucking sucks. Him, and Deku, and their stupid "admirers" can fuck right off to—

A sputtering roar from behind him, closing in fast, makes him jerk around in surprise. He's almost immediately blinded by a blazing headlight. He takes a step backward as he shields his eyes, and the vehicle bears down on him.

"Bakugou!" a voice calls. "Are… you Bakugou?"

Katsuki squints. "Yeah?" he answers. "Who the fuck are you?"

"It's me!" says whoever the hell is talking. "It's Kirishima!

The headlight flicks off and the engine noise rumbles off to a stop. Katsuki blinks as his eyes adjust.

His first thought is that he now understands what Kirishima meant by "pointy." His hair, which is very red, is spiked straight up to a monumental degree. It adds even more height to his already tall frame.

Katsuki's second thought is that this is the cutest boy he's seen in his entire damn life. Shit.

He's classic, all over. Worn black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, light jeans, red Chuck Taylors that can't be the best footwear for riding, but that look exactly right. He's handsome, too, and obviously well built even with the jacket on.

Katsuki doesn't think he was expecting this level of hotness, hadn't even hoped for it. It's like the rebel hero stepped out of an old movie, searching for him.

If he was inexplicably attracted to Kirishima through a chat messenger before, that's nothing compared to the way he's burning now.

"Hey," Kirishima says, with a small wave and an embarrassed grin that lights up his face even in the dark, "sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"You—" Katsuki says, and finds his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. He swallows. "I thought you weren't coming."

"No," Kirishima says, his smile falling away, "I'm so sorry. I mean—I can explain, but I'm also really, really sorry."

Katsuki completely thought he had irrevocably fucked up any chance he had with this guy. He nods, as his heart starts to pull itself back up from the vicinity of his shoelaces. "Explain, then?" It comes out a question, even though he doesn't mean it to.

Kirishima pulls out his phone and shows Katsuki the screen. It's open to the app, the calendaring function to be precise—Kirishima has a gold Date Night star on his calendar just like Katsuki does, only:

"It's set for the wrong date," Katsuki says. It shows eight PM Sunday.

"I thought it was tomorrow this entire time," Kirishima says.

Katsuki barks out a laugh. "This fuckin' app."  

He looks up from the screen and—oh. Kirishima is staring right at him with the softest expression, and Katsuki was right. His smile is so dopey, warm and relieved now that Katsuki is smiling, too. How can someone he's never met before look so happy to see him? It shouldn't be allowed.

"As soon as I realized, I rushed over here," Kirishima explains. "I was freaking out!"

"Why?" Katsuki asks, "It's just a dumb date." He rubs the back of his neck. Yeah, it's not like he was messed up about it or anything.

But Kirishima shakes his head. "It's not dumb. You're—sorry, I know we haven't been talking for very long, but I really wanted to meet you."

"Well, you've met me now," Katsuki says. He hopes it's dark enough that any redness in his face can't be seen.

"Yeah," Kirishima says, still smiling. "Ah, did you already eat?"

"I wasn't gonna wait around forever," Katsuki grumbles. He wishes he'd waited a little longer.

Kirishima groans. "Man, that totally tanks my perfect date plans! And I was super determined to try some spicy stuff, too…"

Katsuki shrugs. "There was zero small talk and I got to eat twice as much. So, it was kind of still my ideal first date."

This makes Kirishima burst out laughing. "You can't have a first date with yourself."

"Watch me."

"No way," Kirishima says, "I'm not letting you."

"Oh, yeah?" Katsuki raises an eyebrow. "How are you gonna stop me?"

Kirishima grins. "You still up for a powerful ride?"

The bike is sexy, Kirishima was telling the truth. It purrs just right when the engine starts and thrums warmly under Katsuki as he climbs on behind Kirishima.

"You don't wear a helmet?" he asks. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Don't wanna mess up the hair," comes the reply.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "Your hair is more important than your life? Aren't you a firefighter, dumbass? You're supposed to be all safety first! You should be more conscious of this shit." He realizes Kirishima is looking over his shoulder at him, with that smile. "What?"

"You are almost exactly what I thought you'd be like," he says, happily.

Katsuki's heart speeds up again and he fights the urge to punch himself, or Kirishima. "Whatever, Shitty Hair."

Kirishima just laughs. "I'll go slow, I swear. You should hold on to me."

This is exactly what Katsuki was hoping to hear, but he makes sure to grumble as he wraps his arms around Kirishima's solid, extremely strong waist.

"You don't have to go slow for me," he says. He can see the edge of Kirishima's smile.

"Okay," he says. "Then you lead, I'll follow."

There's something almost teasing in his voice, warm and indulgent, that makes Katsuki glad he's sitting down. He doesn't understand what Kirishima means at first, either, until the bike starts moving and they peel away into the street at the literal pace of a snail. It drags a laugh from Katsuki's lungs.

"You can go faster than that, asshole," he says.

"You sure about that?" Kirishima asks.

"I know exactly how fast you can go, because I did the math myself," Katsuki reminds him.

Kirishima does speed up—barely. "That's true," he says, "you were pretty interested in the math last night."

Oh, god, okay. He's gonna bring that up, then. Honestly, Katsuki doesn't know what he was hoping for here. Maybe for Kirishima to act like nothing had happened the night before. But that would be kind of pathetic, and maybe even more embarrassing. If he wants to call attention to it, that must mean meeting Katsuki in person hasn't tanked his attraction.

"That isn't all I'm interested in," Katsuki says.

"Good to know."

"Drive faster if you want to keep me interested."

Kirishima listens, but he clearly still intends to play this game—so Katsuki wraps his arms tighter around him, and keeps urging him on, the voice in Kirishima's ear urging him on, "Faster, faster."

And they go, until they're flying through quiet evening streets with the wind in their hair and the night sky above them. Kirishima takes them on hilly, winding back roads that all seem to be deserted, and they keep gaining altitude, as their town drops away beneath them. It's like the world has left them alone. It makes Katsuki feel daring enough to splay his fingers over Kirishima's chest and stomach, press his palms to his T-shirt to feel the warmth of him, just below the thin cotton. Kirishima's heartbeat races like the bike, and Katsuki's matches it, wants to keep up.

He feels out of breath by the time they stop. They're miles out from town at this point, on a high hill overlooking all the sleepy city lights from above.

"I like coming here at night," Kirishima says. "Feels like nobody knows about this place, but it's a really nice view."

Katsuki hops off the bike so he can get closer to the edge of the hill. There's only a slim metal guardrail between him and the drop. The view is breathtaking.

"It's not bad," he says nonchalantly. "So, what, do you just ride around the city looking for romantic spots to bring people?"

"That's not usually, like, first on my agenda!" Kirishima says. "But if you think it's romantic, I'm not gonna argue with you."

Katsuki turns back to face him and realizes it's not a lie, what he said. The view of the city isn't bad; the sight of Kirishima, leaned up against his bike with his gaze fixed on Katsuki, is better.

"I didn't say I thought it was romantic," Katsuki says pointlessly. Romantic isn't the right word for it anyway, it's not sappy or dumb. It's freeing, is what it is. Being up here, just the two of them, where they can watch the whole world with no one seeing them.

"You really are cute," Kirishima says, out of the blue. He seems to have thrown caution to the winds, now, and is watching Katsuki intently. "I guess you said as much, but…"

"I said I was hot," Katsuki says, unable to stop himself from grinning. It's kind of a joke, but also, he said what he said. Who cares, anyway, Kirishima likes that he's a smug bastard. He starts to drift back in Kirishima's direction, trying to look like he's just aimlessly meandering, as opposed to stuck in Kirishima's orbit, gravity pulling him inexorably closer. God, he wants to get close. He still feels warm from the way he was pressed up against Kirishima on the ride over.

"That, too," Kirishima says. "But I wasn't expecting the glasses."

Katsuki brings a hand up to adjust his frames before he stops himself in the middle of the self-conscious action. "Fuck off, I look good in these."

"I wasn't saying you don't," Kirishima says. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth before confessing, "I think they make you look irresistible, actually."

Katsuki is so prepared with a retort to whatever he thought Kirishima was going to tease him about that the genuine admission makes him nearly swallow his tongue. "Oh."

"It fits your whole nerd thing," Kirishima continues.

"I'm—" Katsuki sputters in shock. "I'm not a nerd!"

Kirishima laughs. "You are, though."

"I'm smart," Katsuki says. "That doesn't make me—"

"You wear cute glasses," Kirishima says, "and plaid shirts, with a tie. You lecture me about helmet usage. You're a nerd." He leans forward and murmurs his next words much quieter, as if to soften the blow. "It makes me want to put my mouth all over you."

Quiet or not, Katsuki feels the impact. He exhales shakily, eyes flickering shut as his stomach buzzes with heat.

"Kirishima—"

The distance closes. Katsuki puts up zero resistance as Kirishima reaches out to snag his tie in one hand.

"See, the tie is useful," Katsuki says hoarsely.

"Nerd," Kirishima whispers, right before he pulls Katsuki in to kiss him.

His mouth is hot against Katsuki's; Katsuki has the brief and idiotic thought that maybe that's the firefighter in him before vaguely realizing that's not how shit works. Then he raises his hands reflexively to grab Kirishima's arms and feels his biceps and thinks that, maybe, actually, it's exactly how shit works. His brain's not making sense. Kirishima—hot.

"Fuck, yes," Katsuki breathes, and it's the signal they both need to stop playing coy, stop feeling awkward.

Kirishima slots those thick arms low against his waist, dragging Katsuki in flush against his chest, and because he is so hot, Katsuki just melts against him. The kiss turns into something searing—from curious to rough and insistent, as Katsuki welcomes Kirishima's tongue into his mouth, sucking on it greedily. He slides his hands up Kirishima's front, scoping out the situation very thoroughly.

He's fairly sure he's never felt a chest this firm before, god damn. He runs his hands all the way to Kirishima's broad shoulders, before pushing at his jacket. Kirishima takes the hint, shrugging hastily out of it, before his hands return, splayed against Katsuki's back, as Katsuki trails his fingers over his bare forearms, over the prominent veins, brushing up his biceps to tease just underneath the hem of his sleeves.

"Death Tofu must be pretty intense, huh?" Kirishima says randomly.

"What?" Katsuki mumbles, distracted. He's still trying to lick at the other man's lips.

"You still taste spicy," Kirishima says.

Katsuki smirks. "Nah, that's all me." The grin Kirishima gives him makes Katsuki feel all the more insatiable, more daring. "How deserted is this place, usually?"

"Pretty empty," Kirishima says. "I never see anyone come this way, why?"

"Do you mean what you said?" Katsuki asks. "About letting me lead?"

"Definitely," Kirishima says immediately.

Kirishima, Katsuki decides, is very brave, given that he has no idea what Katsuki has in mind. His eyes do widen a bit when Katsuki bites his lower lip, dragging it through his teeth as torturously slow as he can manage.

"I want you," Katsuki growls. "Right here. Like you promised."

"Like I…"

Katsuki presses his lips to Kirishima's ear and feels him shiver when he whispers right into it: "On your bike."

"Oh, god," Kirishima groans, shifts, and—yeah, he's definitely hard. Kind of a relief, because Katsuki is half mast already. "Yeah, fuck—"

He starts patting his shirt down, then stops, looking adorably confused for a few seconds before mumbling "Ah!" He snatches his jacket up from the ground, sticking his hands into the pockets.

"What are you doing?" Katsuki asks, bemused.

"Um, well," Kirishima says, before pulling something out of the jacket. "I think if we do that, we're gonna need…"

Katsuki takes one look at what he's holding and feels his face get warm. Okay, yes, obviously—but something about having Kirishima hold up a condom and a little packet of lube is still totally embarrassing, at the same time that it's getting him hot.

"You brought these?" Katsuki asks incredulously, even though he's the one who asked.

"Yeah, because—" Kirishima looks as embarrassed as Katsuki feels. "Look, on the off chance that you meant what you said last night I wanted to be really prepared. But if you don't, or tonight's… too fast, then—"

"I meant it," Katsuki says, with absolute certainty. Is it slutty to beg a guy to put his dick in you on the back of his motorcycle after half a first date? Eh, Katsuki decides, who fucking cares.

"How do you want to…" Kirishima starts to ask, but Katsuki's brain is already working overtime.

He pushes Kirishima back onto the bike seat and fumbles with the buttons on his own jeans, shoving them down to kick them away into the grass. His underwear follows, and the instant the cool night air hits his ass cheeks is about the only moment he has to process that, yeah, he is really gonna do this. Compared to the past year of having his face shoved in textbooks and getting off alone in his room, this is an extreme step up. Not just because Kirishima is hot, but because Katsuki has actually kind of liked talking to him, so far. That's a fairly new experience in and of itself and he's surprised to find himself not resenting it.

He positions himself over Kirishima's lap, one knee up on the seat next to him, his other foot planted firmly on the ground. He likes this angle; this close he can see all the details of his face, how his eyebrows really are darker than his hair and how one eye has a little pale scar over the outside corner. And it's nice, getting to look down at Kirishima like this, easily drape his arms over those thick firefighter shoulders.

"Oh, okay, you're just going for it," Kirishima says, with something a bit like awe in his tone.

Katsuki smirks. "I don't just sit around waiting for shit I want."

Thank god, it turns out, neither does Kirishima. Granted, it's probably a lot harder to be unsure where things stand when the guy who sexted him the previous night is now straddling his lap, dick out and waving in the wind. But Kirishima rises to the occasion spectacularly.

His hands are exactly like Katsuki had hoped they'd be when Kirishima grabs his waist and drags him closer. They're big and strong, like the rest of him, and Katsuki can feel the roughness of fingers that are well used to manual work on his skin. Kirishima talked like someone who knew his way around machines, and he's obviously no stranger to hard labor. Now he runs those fingers over the small of Katsuki's back, and then lower, sinks them into the swell of his ass and grips hard enough to make Katsuki groan.

"First time?" Kirishima asks.

"Nope," Katsuki says. It's been awhile but… Kirishima doesn't need to know that part. "No need to be gentle."

"That doesn't really seem your speed," Kirishima tells him.

Katsuki grins at him hungrily. "Damn right."

He lets his fingers wander, too—over Kirishima's stomach, pulling up his shirt to finally feel the gift of those abs, smooth and perfect beneath his touch. He will have to thoroughly explore those another time, at a better angle, preferably with his tongue when he can get Kirishima spread out beneath him for easier access. For now, he has a different target, and he drops his hands lower, until they're right over the prominent bulge in Kirishima's jeans. The way Kirishima's breathing hitches when he presses down is monumentally satisfying.

And fuck—it's most satisfying when he pulls Kirishima's zipper down slow, palms him briefly and eagerly through his boxers, before peeling the waistband of those back as well. Kirishima's cock springs free, well on the side of big, hot in Katsuki's hand. People like to say perfection isn't achievable, but clearly, they've never laid eyes on Kirishima Eijirou's dick.

"B-Bakugou…" Kirishima murmurs. His eyes are drawn down, teeth sunk into his bottom lip with nerves, a red blush blooming quickly from his cheeks all the way to his ears. That little bit of shyness just pushes Katsuki even higher.

"Letting me do all the work?" he asks, the words coming out in a throaty rasp. "Or are you gonna help me out?"

"Okay—sorry, yeah…"

Kirishima fumbles the packet of lube as Katsuki starts to work his cock, keeping his touch light at first, thumb and forefinger connected in a single loop that he strokes up and down Kirishima's shaft. It catches him a little by surprise when Kirishima presses a finger up against him—cool, but not cold, and slick at his entrance. His hips jerk forward.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Kirishima says, "or go slower or if it hurts or—"

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki says impatiently. He knows how to speak up, and he's not interested in all the coddling. "Gimme the lube."

They trade, and he squeezes a bit onto his fingers to ease the path of his hand over Kirishima's dick, running up and down faster, twisting his wrist every time he pulls from base to tip. Kirishima moans deliciously low, and mercifully takes the hint.

The first full push of one finger inside him makes Katsuki hiss, but he just mumbles something vaguely encouraging afterwards, ducking down to press his lips to Kirishima's jaw. It's… tight, but he's just got to adjust. Good things don't come without hard work.

"More," he insists.

The second finger is a bit too much, on the border of pain. But Kirishima seems to sense it from the way he stiffens, and even when Katsuki tries to push back onto his fingers, he doesn't let that fly. Instead, he guides Katsuki into another kiss with a hand on the back of his neck, slow and hot in a way that leaves Katsuki dizzy. He lets Kirishima explore his mouth, tongue curious but not demanding. And then Kirishima slips his hand down to circle his fingers around Katsuki's cock, and that turns out to be exactly right.

Katsuki yanks himself impossibly closer, fists his free hand in the back of Kirishima's shirt as he kisses back desperately. He is demanding, and Kirishima lets him in, at the same time he sinks his fingers deeper into Katsuki, carefully stretching him open a little bit at a time. And Katsuki wants more, it's just in his nature, but he knows he'll get there so it's easier to relax into it without being too impatient. That, and Kirishima's hand feels so fucking good on him that he's willing to wait, for now.

"Feels so good already," Kirishima gasps, as Katsuki clumsily palms the head of his cock, precome smearing hot against his hand, "I wanna be inside you—so bad—"

"I'm fuckin' ready for it, h-hurry up," Katsuki pants.

Kirishima pushes a third finger into him, with almost no resistance. "Almost," he says breathlessly, before crooking his fingers inside of Katsuki. Katsuki feels it red-hot throughout his whole body.

"Fuck!"

Shit, that feels amazing. He has to turn his head, press his face into Kirishima's neck to stifle the sounds he can't stop himself from making, every time Kirishima rubs up against his prostate. He keeps adding pressure before pulling away again, and Katsuki would kill him if he didn't want Kirishima to keep doing it forever.

"Think you might be ready now," Kirishima breathes. "Fuck, you're so hot, Katsuki."

"Shut up and—fuck my ass, Kirishima, fucking hell—"

This makes Kirishima burst into laughter that he muffles in Katsuki's shoulder, which in turn makes Katsuki feel horribly embarrassed at how desperate he must sound. But it's probably worth it, he thinks, when Kirishima removes his fingers and grabs Katsuki's hips to reposition them both, moving back on the seat to give Katsuki more room.

"Get your leg over," he instructs Katsuki, which Katsuki does with some difficulty.

He feels… surprisingly vulnerable, this way. Straddling the bike pantsless, stretched out toward the handles as Kirishima settles behind him, solid and warm. Katsuki hears the soft rip of the condom packet being opened.

"Is this—we're not gonna fuck up your seat?" Katsuki asks, feeling stupid. He hears the soft huff of Kirishima's laugh from behind him.

"It's leather, it'll clean out," he says. "Hey, if you need to, you can hang onto the handlebars."

Katsuki opens his mouth to tell him he'll hang onto whatever he damn well pleases, when Kirishima slides up against him, thick and hot against his entrance. He swallows his sass, and grabs the throttle.

Kirishima feels as big as he looks. Even with Katsuki stretched from his fingers, he enters slowly, pushing inside deeper and deeper, as Katsuki pants with his head thrown back, knuckles white on the bike handlebars.

"You okay, babe?" Kirishima breathes, and the dumb nickname bolts through Katsuki like lightning. He gasps.

"Fine," he hisses, "god, you're fucking huge."

Kirishima laughs low. "You're doing so good—you feel amazing."

God, Kirishima doesn't even know it, but Katsuki lives for praise. He drops his head and moans, "Fuck me already, come on."

A steady hand grips his waist, pulling him back ever so slightly, and he lets out a little grunt as Kirishima's hips meet his ass. He's buried, to the hilt, and Katsuki feels so fucking full.

"I got you," Kirishima says, and Katsuki feels him reach forward—he doesn't know what Kirishima's going for, at first, until.

Until he feels the bike rumble to life below him when Kirishima turns it on, growling and rough, the sound and the vibrations ripping through him, shuddering right up his dick where it's pressed into the smooth leather seat.

A hand wraps around his own on the throttle. Kirishima knows how to walk the fine line between safety and feeling far, far more dangerous, so he has the bike in neutral, but when he squeezes his hand around Katsuki's fingers, it still revs, angry and thunderous. Katsuki practically sobs, brain short-circuiting with pleasure. That engine sounds so good, a clean, hard beast of a machine throbbing below him.

It gets better, when Kirishima runs a hand over the curve of his ass, smacking a little harder than necessary, murmurs almost like an afterthought, "You like her now?"

The engine revs again, the vibrations almost too intense against Katsuki's aching cock. "God, yeah—" he gasps, pathetically breathless. "Kirishima—"

Kirishima uses the sloping angle of the bike to fuck into him hard, one hand heavy and commanding on Katsuki's shoulder, the other gripping his hip so roughly Katsuki can feel fingers digging into his flesh. He clearly hasn't forgotten what Katsuki said about not being gentle. And it feels so fucking good, getting pounded into a speechless mess; better because it's Kirishima, who is no longer some random faceless prospect and instead everything Katsuki could've wanted—he could not have gotten luckier than he has with this damn blind date. Dammit, he's gonna have to admit that maybe Shouto's stupid app wasn't that bad, eventually.

For now, though, it's easy not to give a shit, as the spitting roar of the bike and the way Kirishima feels inside him become the only things Katsuki is able to care about at all.

"Where's that spot, baby?" Kirishima murmurs. Katsuki shivers at the sweetness in his voice. He hates this sappy bullshit normally, but Kirishima knows no fear, doesn't seem to want to stop talking until he's pulled Katsuki completely apart. "Wanna hear you again…"

"Ah— y-you can—faster—"

"You want it harder?"

Katsuki's moan must be enough of a confirmation. Kirishima shifts, bending low over him, and the next time he drives his hips up into Katsuki's it makes Katsuki see stars. He's pressed close to Katsuki's back now, and every movement makes Katsuki's cock rub against the reverberating, warm leather seat of the bike, almost too much to handle. The new pace he sets is also far more brutal, slamming home again and again, and when he does find the spot, Katsuki doesn't bother with being quiet anymore. He cries out, ragged and wrecked, as he ruts back against Kirishima on every thrust.

"There you go," Kirishima groans. "You sound so good, so good for me—"

"F-fuck—" Katsuki nearly sobs. It's too overwhelming, the stimulation on his cock and inside him, relentless and explosive. "I'm co—gonna—"

Kirishima's hand tightens on his own, twists the throttle—the engine snarls, and Katsuki doesn't get another chance to warn Kirishima that he's about to come all over his bike. And anyway, it's Kirishima's fault, so he deserves it.

He shudders, completely helpless to anything but the waves of pleasure shaking through him, muscles spasming out of his control. It makes him clench tight, and he hears Kirishima suck in a breath behind him before he moans, "Shit, so fucking tight—"

His hips jerk against Katsuki's unevenly and he lets out a long, low groan of satisfaction as he finishes not long after. His movements finally start to slow, and his bruising grip loosens to something softer and less frantic. Katsuki feels a weight thud against his back as Kirishima drops his forehead down on it.

After a long moment, Kirishima breathes, "Wow."

Katsuki's pride swells, but he struggles to sound as neutral as possible. "That's all you have to say?"

"That's all I'm capable of, currently," Kirishima says, still winded. 

"Well, in that case," Katsuki says, trying to look over his shoulder. Kirishima raises his head to catch his eye. "That was pretty damn awesome."

Kirishima beams at him. "Yeah. That's what I meant." He kills the engine, and the deep thrum below them dies down, sputtering out as peaceful and sated as Katsuki feels. 

Katsuki sits up, scoots forward, and grimaces as Kirishima pulls out of him. "Ugh."

"Sorry…" Kirishima says needlessly. "This maybe wasn't the most comfortable place to do this…"

"Worth it," Katsuki tells him. "It was a pretty good idea, I'll give you that."

"If you want, um," Kirishima says, pausing nervously before plunging on ahead, "if you want, we could go back to my place? If you want to clean up."

"Is it close?" Katsuki asks.

"Pretty close," Kirishima says. "And I was thinking… since I blew dinner, maybe you could stay and I could make you breakfast. Tomorrow."

Katsuki stares at him. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," Kirishima says, his face so set and determined it makes Katsuki want to stay on that back road and kiss him forever.

"I like pancakes," he tells Kirishima.

Kirishima's eyes light up like the city below them. "Cool. Me, too."

*

Katsuki wakes up the next day feeling very warm and moderately anchored in place. A bit sore, as well, and sweaty. There's that slightly slippery feeling from having too much bare skin pressed to someone else's under blankets that are just a bit too thick.

He blinks open his eyes, and his bleary just woke up vision transforms into regular bad eyesight as the blurry image of his bed partner swims into view.

Kirishima is still fast asleep, which means Katsuki gets to just look at him for now. It's still pretty early, but the sun is up, and Kirishima's face is lit by the soft glow of morning. Katsuki has been fairly well trapped during the course of the night, tucked up against Kirishima's chest with Kirishima's arm draped across his waist. Carefully, he frees one of his arms and raises his hand, pressing his thumb purposefully to that small scar above Kirishima's eye. Kirishima twitches his nose, but otherwise doesn't wake up.

"So, the date was good, then?"

Katsuki nearly swallows his tongue trying not to shout in panic. He's not entirely successful, and there's no point in not waking Kirishima, anyway, because if there's some murderer or something who has snuck into the apartment, he should probably be woken up and made aware of the situation. Kirishima stirs and opens his eyes groggily, blinking in bewilderment as Katsuki jerks around to see that it's not a murderer, of course; it's just Shouto.

"What the fuck," Katsuki hisses, severely alarmed. "What are you—are you stalking me? Why are you in here?"

Shouto stands in the middle of the room, a half eaten banana in his hand, looking just as blankly confused as ever. "I came to see how the date went."

"By sneaking into somebody else's apartment?!" Katsuki asks.

Shouto blinks. "This is my apartment."

"What," Katsuki says flatly.

"Morning, guys," Kirishima yawns sleepily. "Oh, Katsuki, sorry—this is Shouto, my roommate. I didn't mention you'd be staying over, it all kinda happened pretty fast…"

Katsuki gapes at him. "This asshole is your roommate?"

"Yeah…" Kirishima says slowly. "Wait, do you two know each other?"

"He's dating my roommate!"

Kirishima's mouth falls open. "You know Midoriya, too?"

"Yes, I fucking—why did none of you tell me you knew each other?!"

"Oh," Kirishima says. He sounds embarrassed. "I didn't want to say I knew the maker of the app… thought it might make me seem, I don't know, fake?"

Okay, fair enough. Katsuki hadn't mentioned it either, mostly because he didn't want to publicly state he was acquainted with someone as insufferable as Shouto. However.

"And you?" he growls, rounding on Shouto.

"If you knew he was friends with me and Izuku," Shouto says blandly, "would you have agreed to go out with him in the first place?"

Katsuki glares at him. That is also fair, because he absolutely would not have. Still, he wants to be pissy about this. All this time, Izuku and Shouto have been palling around with a guy that just gave Katsuki the best dicking of his life (and the best head, later that same evening). He could've met Kirishima months ago. He crosses his arms irritably.

"Aw, babe," Kirishima says, pulling him closer, and dammit, Katsuki is already weakening. "I'm sorry! That's actually how I realized we had the dates mixed up… Shouto texted me."

"Whatever," Katsuki says.

"Will breakfast make up for it?" Kirishima asks, pressing his nose into Katsuki's hair.

Katsuki would like to keep fuming, because it's a special skill of his, but… having the perfect guy offer to make him breakfast the morning after an incredible first date makes it very hard to stay angry. He glares at the blankets.

"I guess it might."

Kirishima whoops like he's won a prize. Shouto whips out his phone.

"In that case," Shouto says, "can I have an omelette?"

"Sure!" Kirishima says. "Is Midoriya coming? I can make rice with egg, too."

"Yeah, I just texted him."

"Do we have to invite them?" Katsuki asks sourly.

"It can be like a double date!" Kirishima says happily, which pretty much kills any further arguments Katsuki might have in favor of assaulting his stomach with an extreme case of the butterflies.

"Who'd wanna go on a double date with them?" he says anyway, but he allows Kirishima to bundle him out of bed. At least now he gets to tell stupid Deku he scored a second date already.

He throws on one of Kirishima's old shirts and feels incredibly pleased with the way his Sunday is starting off.