Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Where is he?”

The club seems to fall silent when Bakugou Katsuki enters, the quiet humming of the bass fading completely into the background as the heavy wooden doors shut behind him.

It’s not every day that the boss comes to the club, but it is every week. Every Friday, to be exact, at eleven pm on the dot the six foot two man walks through the door in an immaculate suit, his right hand man Kirishima Eijiro just behind him.

It’s like clockwork, the way he shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his red dress shirt, revealing two sleeves of intricate tattoos that run up his forearms and dip under his shirt. He passes the jacket to Kirishima without looking, who in turn moves to the coat room window, giving the attendant a look that says ‘don’t fuck this up’ as he passes the jacket over.

They won’t. No one ever does. Friday nights always run like clockwork.

There are very few people who line the entrance hallway, only two or three girls standing on the dark wooden floor, leaning against the walls and waiting to guide guests to the main room. Even so, none of them speak to him, likely by design. Eijiro’s, probably, though not that he cares. There’s only one person on his mind right now.

One of the girls, Uraraka, gives him a knowing look. He should slap her for it, but he just rolls his eyes. She’s been here too long, dealt with too many fallouts of Katsuki’s mistakes to be all that scared of him. And, as much as he pretends his girls are disposable, the truth is very few of them are. They’re his family, and Katsuki protects what’s his.

One person who does speak to him, though, is whoever is in front of house. Tonight it’s Sero, and the man passes him a whiskey on the rocks, like clockwork, and offers him a smile on the cheeky side of polite.

“He’s in his room, Bakugou-sama. He told me, and I quote, ‘send him in when he gets here’.”

Katsuki glares, and Sero holds his hands up, smile now and outright smirk. “I’m just the messenger,” he tells him. Katsuki holds the glare for another long moment before scoffing.

He doesn’t need anyone’s fucking permission to do anything. He owns this club. Hell, he owns this part of the city. But he doesn’t argue it.

“Whatever,” he grunts, “you know where I’ll be. Don’t fucking disturb us.” He makes his way towards the door at the end of the hall, though not before calling over his shoulder, “don’t forget make the rounds, Shitty Hair. If I find out you spent the whole night with Pinky again, you’re cleaning the floor from top to bottom with a toothbrush.”

With that said, he pushes open the door to the main room, the force of the music that had previously been muffled by the doors hitting him face on.

The door opens out to a large circular room, modern with dark walls and red carpeted floor, a stark contrast from the traditional Japanese-style entryway. The stage in the middle is surrounded by plush, leather couches with customers and workers lounging on them.

The room is bathed in blue light, and from that alone Katsuki knows that Denki is DJing. The fucker knows he prefers red. It’s no mind, Kirishima will see to it before Katsuki is done for the night. No doubt Denki is just doing it to rile him up anyway.

There’s a balcony above him that runs for the entire circumference of the room, and Katsuki spots several of his girls dancing and chatting amongst themselves, putting on a show so that customers will approach them. A few of them spot him and grin, pointing him out to the others, and he just rolls his eyes.

They know with Katsuki comes Kirishima, and with Kirishima comes envelopes of cash and the promise of airing their grievances. Alongside keeping their tips, the girls also get a generous wage, and housing in the dorms if they want it. It keeps them Katsuki’s side, and keeps their ears open for information.

That is, if Kirishima doesn’t get distracted by his pretty girlfriend, who Katsuki spots behind the bar.

Speaking of the bar, Katsuki remembers he has a glass of whiskey in his hand, and knocks it back in one before holding the empty glass out to the side. The glass is gone within seconds, and he meets Mina’s eye. The girl mouths what he can only assume are the words ‘show off’ to him, and Katsuki thinks, not for the first time, he should really just shoot her and her boyfriend so he can get a moment’s peace.

(He won’t. They’re his family.)

He pushes on, through the mass of bodies and past the bar towards an inconspicuous door just beside it. A worker stands in front of it, but steps to the side the moment he spots Katsuki, tapping his ID to the reader on the wall so Katsuki doesn’t have to.

The hallway that leads to the girls’ dorms are much the same as the entrance to the club; wooden floors and cream walls, with fusuma leading to the rooms. He knows that behind each door is a small genkan leading to a large tatami room. Most house six girls, with shouji deividers equally spaced to give each girl their privacy.

Katsuki has always favoured traditional Japanese architecture and living arrangements, something his mother passed down her appreciation for. There’s something beautiful, about living so simply. Part of him wishes he could go back to a time where he shared one of these rooms with his friends, but he pushes the thought away.

Past the four dorms are the modern rooms, reserved for the senior girls. The ones who have shown their loyalty, who train and guide the younger ones. Uraraka is among those women, referred to as ‘onee-sama’ by the newer members. They share the room with only one other, with their own, modern bed and an en suite bathroom. It’s well deserved, and something newer recruits aspire to achieve.

The last room, at the end of the hallway, is the one Katsuki visits every Friday night, like clockwork. Behind it lays just one king-sized bed, a couch at the foot of it. There’s a television set into the wall, a vanity and a chaise lounge, and a full sized bathroom with a jacuzzi bathtub.

It’s a room that Katsuki knows intimately, just like the man who waits for him behind the dark wood door.

Izuku is waiting for him on the bed when Katsuki pushes the door open, not even bothering to knock. There’s no need to; their routine is perfected down to the minute, and something stirs in Katsuki’s chest when he’s reminded that Izuku has been waiting for him, like he does every Friday night.

Izuku grins from where he’s sat, hopping up and stalking over to Katsuki. He reaches up, cupping Katsuki’s jaw without preamble, and just looks at him with a pure adoration that always takes Katsuki’s breath away.

“You kept me waiting,” he says, voice a soft melody that flows in to Katsuki’s waiting ears. It’s a lie, he’s here at exactly ten minutes past the hour, like clockwork, but Katsuki doesn’t say anything. Can’t say anything, because Izuku is leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

There’s something about Izuku that Katsuki has never been able to describe. It pulls him in, leaves him desperate and wanting more.

The man is beautiful, with a pretty face and round eyes framed by long eyelashes. His lips are plump and soft and oh so welcome against Katsuki’s own.

But he’s also strong, with firm bulging muscles and thick thighs. There’s something  so inherently masculine about Izuku, about the way he look and sounds, that draws Katsuki in. He knows he isn’t the only one, either.

Izuku is one of the ‘girls’, in a way, though he has his own set of rules, his own role to play. He stands at the front, near the doors, and draws customers in. Gets them settled, gets them ordering bottles of sake that they can’t afford. He presses a soft kiss to their cheek without fail, makes them feel special, and then deposits the perfect girl into their lap and moves on to his next victim.

Izuku is charming, but he’s also smart. He can weigh up a new customer in seconds, pin down their likes and their reason for coming to the club. And for returning customers? He has a way of making every man feel like a king. Katsuki would know.

The new ones sometimes ask after Izuku, but the returners know better. They take what they can get, their five minutes at the start of the night, and sometimes, if they’re lucky, a kiss goodbye at the end (if they’ve spent enough, that is).

Because everyone knows that Izuku is Katsuki’s. That no matter how many bills they stuff in to his tight fitting pants, he’ll never drop them like the other girls will. That no one has ever been, and never will be, lucky enough to walk to the private rooms with Izuku on their arm.

No one except for Katsuki, that is.

Katsuki finds himself moving, Izuku’s lips still on his as he’s pushed on to the couch at the base of the bed. Izuku has a way of doing that, of switching Katsuki’s brain off and manoeuvring him in to the exact position that Izuku wants him in. It would be dangerous, if Katsuki didn’t trust Izuku with his life.

“I missed you so much, sir,” Izuku whispers, climbing in to Katsuki’s lap, and oh. He’s playing that game, is he? The one where he pretends to be obedient and submissive until he finally grows bored and takes Katsuki the way that he wants.

“It’s only been a week,” Katsuki grunts out, trying to act unaffected by Izuku’s gentle kisses and rolling hips. But he is affected. The growing tightness in his pants only serves to prove that fact.

“A week too long,” Izuku says, licking a stripe up Katsuki’s neck before nipping at his earlobe. “I wish you’d come every night, sir. I’d make it worth your time.”

“You’d kill me,” Katsuki snaps, and he believes it. Izuku is insatiable, the only person who can not only match Katsuki’s stamina, but exceed it.

“I’m not trying to have a heart attack before the age of 30,” Katsuki grunts, trying not to let the unbothered facade shatter. “Once a week is more than enough.”

Izuku pouts, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the comment. And he shouldn’t be. Everyone knows that Izuku is Katsuki’s favourite. Except, they’re wrong. Izuku is Katsuki’s everything. And he’s very well aware of that fact.

“If you say so, sir,” Izuku teases, moving Katsuki’s collar to the side to suck a hickey, then two, then three in to his skin. For as much as Izuku pretends to be unbothered, Katsuki knows that too is a lie. He’s possessive. Just like everyone knows he is Katsuki’s, he wants everyone to know Katsuki is his.

After a moment of grinding and panting, Izuku sits back, a small smirk on his face as he stands. Katsuki’s hands go to follow, but the other just shakes his head.

“I can do it myself, sir. Just sit back and relax,” Izuku says, pulling up his shirt to reveal his perfectly toned abs. “You know I live to serve you.”

And that’s a lie, if Katsuki has ever heard one. Izuku doesn’t serve anyone. He does what he wants, and he gets away with it. Katsuki is under no illusion that Izuku is only at his club because he wants to be.

“Eyes on me,” comes Izuku’s voice, snapping Katsuki out of his thoughts to the view of his top being lifted higher and higher.

He’s wearing baggy shorts and a shirt that says ‘shirt’, like he’s not even trying to be sexy for Katsuki. That in itself, the outright defiance and refusal to suck up to him, turns Katsuki on more than any mesh shirt and short shorts ever could.

He strips his clothes like it’s a broadway show, every movement precise and practiced, body moving in just the right way to flex each individual muscle in turn.

Katsuki is painfully hard.

The blond doesn’t exhibit the same fanfare as Izuku, lifting his hips and pulling his slacks off in one movement, eyes not straying from the now naked man in front of him. They make eye contact and Izuku pouts once again, tilting his head.

“I wanted to do that,” he complains, but it doesn’t bother him for long as he drops to his knees between Katsuki’s own legs.

His mouth is on Katsuki’s cock within a second, no pause or warning before he’s swallowing him whole, cupping Katsuki’s balls with one hand and stroking what he can’t reach with the other in practiced movements. His head bobs up and down, clever tongue tracing the underside of Katsuki’s cock, and he is in bliss.

Katsuki groans, finally letting a noise that isn’t borne of irritation slip from between his lips as Izuku stares up at him with those beautiful, wide eyes, looking way too innocent for a man who spends half of their time together with Katsuki inside him in one way or another.

Katsuki doesn’t dare grab Izuku’s hair or thrust up in to him like he so desperately wants to, not wanting the moment to end. But it does, like all good things do.

Just as quickly as Izuku started, he pulls away, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth and grinning up at Katsuki like the minx he is. He gives Katsuki one more long pump before standing, climbing up and straddling his lap.

The feeling of skin on skin has Katsuki feeling like he’s died and gone to heaven. Their cocks touch, both hard and flushed red, and Izuku leans forward to start kissing at his neck once again, not seeming to mind that Katsuki is still wearing his shirt.

The moment Katsuki’s fingers move from Izuku’s hips and try to dip between Izuku’s cheeks, though, the kissing stops, and Izuku pulls away with fire in his eyes.

“You know better than that, Kacchan,” he says, and there it is. The faux submission is gone, replaced by the fire that burns so bright Katsuki is surprised he isn’t blind. “Anyway, I prepared myself earlier,” he tells Katsuki, hand reaching between them as he shifts, taking Katsuki’s cock and positioning at his entrance. “Wanted you to be able to just slip in.”

With that, Izuku guides himself on to Katsuki’s cock, and both men let out loud, breathy moans. Katsuki is big, so even the pop of the head past the tight ring of muscle has Izuku shaking, but he doesn’t stop, determination clear on his face as he sinks down until his ass is flush with Katsuki’s lap.

Somehow, Izuku recovers before Katsuki does, and before the blond can even catch his breath Izuku is moving, smirk back on his face. Katsuki is mesmerised, staring at Izuku like he’s the most impressive person on the planet (and, Katsuki thinks, he very much might be).

Before he knows it, Izuku is fully in the grove, pulling all the way out to the tip before dropping back down in to Katsuki’s lap, over and over again. It’s an impressive display of leg and core strength, let alone stamina, and if Katsuki’s brain wasn’t currently mush right now he’d be in awe at how the other isn’t even sweating.

Izuku leads, shifting the angle a little so that he can kiss at Katsuki’s neck. Just as he was getting used to the feeling too, the fucker. He knows exactly what he’s doing, too, because he starts whispering nonsense in Katsuki’s ear that almost has him blushing.

“You’re so beautiful, Kacchan. All mine, you’re all mine. The only person I let touch me, only person I let inside of me. Everyone else wants to be you, Kacchan. But this is all of yours. I’m all yours,” he mumbles, and Katsuki has done this enough times to know that Izuku only starts mumbling like this when he’s close.

The realisation flips a switch in Katsuki’s brain, and before he knows it he’s manhandling Izuku so his back is to the couch, knees to his chest as Katsuki slips back inside and starts fucking him with abandon. The tight heat of Izuku’s hole around his cock is so blissful, so amazing, that Katsuki almost misses the way the man stares up at him with a smirk, like this was his plan all along.

(And, knowing Izuku, it probably was).

It doesn’t take long for Katsuki to find the spot that makes Izuku’s eyes roll in to the back of his head, the one that Izuku was likely purposefully avoiding to drag this out as long as possible.

“Touch yourself,” Katsuki demands, finally sounding like himself again. “Touch your pretty little cock, Izuku. Touch yourself while I fuck you. Only one who gets to do this, fuck-“ he pants, glaring down at the man like he’s personally offended him. And he has, because how dare Izuku make him feel this good while also looking so smug.

Katsuki can’t stand smug people, but he thinks he can make an exception for Izuku. At least get has the skill to back up his attitude.

Izuku does as he’s told, fisting his cock, eyes lidded as he smirks up at Katsuki, mouth open as he sucks in deep, stutters breaths. It doesn’t take long before Izuku is tensing up without warning, moaning like a porn star as his eyes roll up on to his head and he comes all over his stomach.

Katsuki fucks him through it, though he doesn’t last long. The sight, coupled with the pressure around his cock, has the already growing knot in his groin snapping and he thrusts deep inside Izuku, painting his walls with his cum.

He’s not sure what happens after that, but when he comes back to himself he’s laying on the couch, Izuku in his arms and grinning up at him like Christmas just came early.

“You lasted longer than I thought,” Izuku teases, pressing a kiss to Katsuki’s cheek before standing so he can grab an already damp washcloth from the vanity and wiping down his sticky abs. Katsuki groans, inadvertently reaching for Izuku, before he realises what he’s doing and forces himself to sit up.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, and Izuku just laughs.

They move like clockwork as they come down from their highs, dressing in a matter of minutes, Izuku in to his pyjamas and Katsuki in his abandoned slacks. Katsuki wants to snap at Izuku, to tell him to get back to work and stop being lazy, but he doesn’t. Because Friday night is the only night Izuku takes off; the rest of the week he works hard, making Katsuki (and himself) a small fortune. He deserves the rest, and something pounds in Katsuki’s chest when he remembers that Izuku chooses to spend his one day off with Katsuki.

The man in question is sat on his bed, as he always is once they finish, flicking through his extensive collection of nerdy action hero movies that Katsuki knows he’ll fall asleep to. How this man manages to be so sexy that half of Japan would throw away their life savings for a chance to sleep with him, while simultaneously being the biggest dork to exist, Katsuki will never know.

He moves to the edge of the bed, like always, and presses a soft kiss to Izuku’s lips; the first one he’s initiated all night. This part of the routine is important to Katsuki, a step that, no matter what, he never misses. One that he hopes shows Izuku that this means something to Katsuki. That he’s not just one of his girls.

Izuku grins at him after the kiss, and Katsuki offers him his own, soft smile, and strokes a thumb over his cheek, before finally turning away.

His hand is on the doorknob when Izuku breaks the routine. For the first time since they started this, all those months ago, he calls out to Katsuki.

“I have enough money, you know?” he calls. Katsuki stills, hand not moving from the door. He doesn’t know what’s coming, but simultaneously he does. Izuku, a man shrouded in mystery, has always been an open book to Katsuki. “I have enough to buy out my contract. You made sure of it.”

The thought should make Katsuki tense. Should have him swirling on Izuku and spitting horrible words. It should have him cowering in fear that he’s about to lose this when it’s barely even started. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his voice is steady when he says, “then why don’t you?”

He knows Izuku won’t. How he knows, he isn’t sure. But what he is sure of, more than anything else in this world, is that Izuku isn’t going to leave. That he’d have left already if he was.

The silence is long, and when Izuku finally speak again, Katsuki can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ll think about it,” is all he says. Katsuki just snorts, rolling his eyes fondly and shaking his head before exiting the room.

By the time he’s back in the main room, the mask is back on. Eijiro is waiting for him by the bar, another whiskey in his hand. Katsuki takes it, downs it in one, places the glass on the side, and gives Mina the middle finger when she smirks at him.

The whole process is familiar, each step falling perfectly, like clockwork.

However, Katsuki thinks, looking back towards where he knows Izuku is tucked up in bed and watching his All Might movies, maybe things could stand to fall out of sequence every once in a while.

He turns back to Eijiro, and instead of turning to the door to exit like usual, he stands his ground for a moment. “Take Izuku off the schedule for tomorrow,” he tells him, “and book us a nice restaurant.”

And with that, he leaves through the door, content on carrying on with his night like usual.