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“Could you let me try it on you? Please, Blasty? Please—”
“What?”
“Hear me out—” Pinky bounces on the couch cushion, eager to present her argument to him in the dark of her apartment living room—high rise windows with no curtains to display the night sky to them, and the glowing city below, the only light in her apartment aside from the electric fireplace with its false fire, the muted TV playing a long-abandoned marathon of The Office. Katsuki’s nails glimmer with a new coat of black nail polish, while Mina’s shine green. Glow-in-the-dark polish, she said. “—Eijirou’s too nice to say anything—”
Katsuki furrows his brow, lip curling, “—seriously? That’s your reason—”
“—and if I do something wrong he won’t say anything, he’d just—well he’d just let it happen, you know? Ever since I brought it up he’s been all gung-ho about it—”
“Okay? So maybe that means he’s just as into it as you are—”
“—but what happens if I fuck it up? I might hurt him, and he wouldn’t say anything about it! You remember that time that I—”
“—he knows you didn’t do it on purpose, Raccoon Eyes—”
“—but he acted like it wasn’t anything—”
“—it’d be stupid of him to hold it against you—”
“Okay!” She holds both of her hands out, holding up some invisible wall to hold back anything else he might be able to say. “Okay… I get that, but… he wouldn’t say anything if I hurt him, you know? But you would.”
And that makes sense to Katsuki. When he and Izuku were still trying to figure things out Izuku had gotten a little overeager and stretched Katsuki to the point that it burned—not in a good way—and instead of just saying stop like a normal person Katsuki had grabbed a fistful of his highschool sweetheart’s curls and yowled like an animal.
He apologized for it later. He shouldn’t have done it. Should’ve done the normal thing—since when have either of us been normal? Izuku had said. Brushed it under the rug like he did everything else and suddenly Pinky’s issue with Eijirou makes perfect sense too.
Katsuki lets out a long, beleaguered sigh, thumb wedged between his brows for a moment before he looks back at Mina. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you fuck me in the ass. But we’re using my stuff.”
Mina consents to using Katsuki’s dildos, but she won’t budge on him coming to her apartment to do it. Something about atmosphere or whatever. This is where I’m gonna fuck Eijirou, she said, I wanna be able to practice, you know? Getting into character—
You are not calling me Shitty Hair’s name while we fuck—
He acquiesced to her request because fine, who cares. He’s slept in their bed before; sober, drunk and sick as a dog. Fucked-out is just one more notch on the belt.
Predictably, Izuku asks if he can watch and that’s the question that finally gets him—he’s letting Pinky fuck him in the same bed she and Eijirou sleep in and his boyfriend wants to watch. Heat brushes across his face and down his neck as he manages to sputter out an embarrassed, “Hell no!” and then, “absolutely not,” and then, “you’re a freak.” and the whole time Izuku just stares at him with those big, green eyes of his.
“It’s okay, Kacchan,” he finally says, when Katsuki stops long enough for him to get a word in edgewise, “but I’d really like for you to tell me about it when you get back.”
His tone is light and airy, like Katsuki is going to some event that Izuku wasn’t about to get time off for; but the look in his eyes says something else. He’s always been better at hiding his feelings than Katsuki, but he knows when Izuku wants something, wants it deeply, and the dark of his pupil nearly overtakes the green of his iris completely. Little horndog.
“I should let you die of blue-balls,” Katsuki says, “no better than a damn—”
“Don’t be mean!”
When the night of their accursed union comes, Izuku drops him off with a cheeky grin and a reminder to have fun.
The inside of Mina’s apartment is dark, as usual. She barely ever uses overhead lighting, preferring to stick to alternative light sources—lamps, under-lighting, strings of fairy-lights. The electric fireplace with its false fire, the sun as it sinks lower in the sky, bathing the entire apartment in orange-red hues.
She doesn’t need to show him the way—he’s been in her bed more times than he can count. Drunk, once, and sick to his stomach with his head hanging off the side. Maybe we should take him to the bathroom? No—I think he just wants to be horizontal for now. Overwhelmed because her housewarming party had way more people than he expected and she said he could go hide in the bedroom; that time he got off work concussed and tired and Izuku was out of the country, so Eijirou just decided he would take him home instead.
She doesn’t need to show him the way, but nevertheless she takes his hand in hers with a happy grin and leaves him down the hallway with far too much enthusiasm. Pinky’s always been jittery. Bubbly—jittery when she’s nervous. Or excited. Or happy. Or upset, or sad, or anything in-between. She’s nervous now. She does this stupid little dance in-place like a child, she always did it before exams while they were waiting outside the classroom, or outside of the training grounds, or even sometimes at her desk while she fiddled with her pencils. She and Denki were always the worst about moving around making so much damn noise all the time.
“Okay, so—uhm—” she seems like she’s at a loss for what to do next, standing there wringing her hands while they both awkwardly stand at the mouth of her and Eijirou’s bedroom.
With a sigh, Katsuki looks down at her. “Okay look—how do you want to do this with Eijirou?”
“O-h I—” she giggles, “I think I just sort of want to, like, attack him. I want to just—just jump on him and—”
“Okay,” Katsuki stops her and nods, “do that then.”
Mina blinks up at him, owl-like, glittery-gold eyes wide like Izuku’s as the gears turn and something in her expression turns molten—the way a predator might stare at their prey. It’s the kind of look Izuku gets in his eyes when he comes home with a bloody lip and flames lick at Katsuki’s insides, yes, he thinks, just like that.
And then she pounces.
Her kisses are hesitant at first, even with the enthusiasm. She presses him against the doorframe, so hard the wood starts to bite into his spine and he groans into her mouth, their teeth clicking together and he kinda-sorta hopes that she bites him. Katsuki’s always had a thing for pain—the kind that stings and sends a shot of pleasure zinging up his nerves.
There’s a fist in his shirt, material balled in deft, thin fingers that yank him from the door further into the room. Mina’s mouth leaves him—she throws him on the bed and the surprise knocks the wind out of him. She’s a hero too, with all the strength to match—arms and thighs bulging with muscle his eyes had learned to look over in favor of complaining about her hero suit; a poorly designed lycra number with no protection to speak of. It’s changed a bit over the years—jacket, no jacket, the pattern adjusted but not the colors, so it remained an absolute eyesore. Drew all of his attention away from what was hiding beneath it.
What she’s wearing now hides her a bit too—a billowing Red Riot t-shirt about three sizes too big, probably a sample shirt meant for Eijirou. She wears it like a dress with shorts underneath, and when it comes off he gets a gun show and a nice look at her lacy black bra.
“Let’s get this off you…” she mumbles, tugging at his own shirt. He slips out of it with ease—something old with a couple holes at the collar where Izuku chews on it when he swipes it from the laundry.
Sans shirt, she climbs into his lap to press her assault; kissing down his neck, lapping at the column of his throat down into the hollow between his collarbones. An errant thumb brushing over a nipple as she makes her way down his chest, teeth scraping between his pecs. Wandering fingers rub across the silvery scars; the one where his sternum split, the place on his belly where a spike gored him open, and at his shoulder where another did the same. The scars beneath his pecs—mouthed over by glossy lips before a tongue glides over his nipple and he yelps—ah! but when she looks up at him in surprise—wavering in her newfound dominance, delicate; he says to her in a husky voice, “don’t stop,” cupping the back of her head with his hand, “keep going,” and leads her back to his tits.
She savages his chest, biting and sucking hickies all over, fingers digging into his sides as if she were afraid he were suddenly going to run away until she drags her body back up and they come together for another burning kiss, and when she breaks away she says, giggling; “your sweat tastes sweet.”
It strikes him how similar it was to his and Izuku’s first time, clumsy, giggling and desperate and when Izuku pulled away from him, red-faced, he said the same; your sweat tastes sweet, Kacchan.
“Yeah?” He asks, hoarse. His skin feels ablaze, ultra-sensitive, and her touches are like lightning as her fingers skim his sides.
“Yeah.” She nods, “you smell the same as anyone else though. Sero always said—”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, one hand resting on Mina’s waist as he leans forward to mouth at her collarbone. “—that I should smell like caramel? Nah. I didn’t get that lucky.”
“But you are lucky?”
“Hell yeah I am. I’m awesome.”
“God you’re so…” she trails off. He trails butterfly kisses on her bare shoulder, watching gooseflesh pebble on her peachy-pink skin. “You’re so cocky. When we were in school that first year, I kept hoping someone would knock you down a peg.”
Someone did. He remembers very distinctly that first week of school and Denki very specifically saying, your personality is hot garbage. Asui, Sero, Iida; everyone at one point or another, and playing second to Izuku, how did I end up having to catch up to someone so far behind me?
Part of him was always behind Izuku, a quirkless boy who would rather run into the fire than watch him suffocate.
Save to win. Win to save. They were two halves of a whole.
All roads lead him back to Izuku.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he says, voice muffled by her shoulder. She pulls him out of it, a hand on either side of his face and stares at him, eyes gone dark with that familiar hunger, golden irises swallowed by the black of her pupils. The shining corona of an eclipse.
“No, that’s okay,” she says, “I think I like you better this way.”
Mina gets his pants off and spends about five minutes fiddling with the harness she bought but apparently never tried on for this specific purpose.
So Katsuki sits, and he waits, while she stands in the corner and fusses with straps and once she gets it in order she fusses with the dick—pink silicon, about six inches and fairly realistic. She lets out a silly eep! when she takes a hand off and it thwaps against her belly.
“If I had one of these I’d be so embarrassed every time I got hard,” she says, “no offense.”
“Should apologize to your boyfriend, not me.” A boyfriend who is currently not here, whereas Katsuki is about to be fucked in his stead.
“Sometimes I forget—” she’s making her way over to him, trying to saunter, trying to be sexy, but she flushes whenever the dick moves, her entire face dark pink, washing down her neck, onto her chest. Katsuki laughs. “Stop!” She laughs too, “I feel silly!”
He felt silly the first time he fucked Izuku too. Felt stupid. Felt like the whole thing was stupid with the fake dick and the harness and the fact that there was no way for him to sexily walk around with that thing on—and then Izuku went cross-eyed beneath him and moaned so pretty and in the morning his back stung. He came before Izuku did.
“Just come here and fuck me,” he says, “I don’t care how silly you feel, I’m goin’ dry over here.”
And that’s a lie—he’s been wet since she pushed him down on the bed. He’s gonna need to wash his boxers before he puts them on again—
“How should I…?”
“Just… work a finger in there. And then kinda… with lube, you heathen!”
The lube is dug out from a table beside the bed that holds a lamp, the only lightsource in the room. The bottle is slightly sticky, and Mina dumps about half of it on her fingers before she starts to probe at his hole, once again hesitant.
Izuku was hesitant. One finger, then two, and when Katsuki’s toes started to curl from the sting and the stretch he got ahead of himself and stuck the third one in too soon. He spent the rest of the night apologizing and Katsuki almost regretted putting a stop to it.
Should’ve told you to stop like a normal person.
Since when have either of us been normal?
The finger enters him and Katsuki hisses, “Ooh, yeah… slow, just like that…”
“You like it?” Mina asks, breathing heavy. He wants to reach out and grab her, pull her close; but she’s down between his legs and the sight of her head at the junction of his thighs makes his tdick throb.
“Yeah…”
She takes it slow. A little too slow, for Katsuki’s tastes, but she's learning so he wouldn’t give her too much shit. “You can go faster,” he tells her, at one point, “I’m not a virgin there either.”
“I wanna do this right!” She whines, “I don’t wanna hurt you!”
Katsuki bares his teeth and growls, “I’ll tell you if you hurt me, Pinky!”
Part of him likes it. Sometimes Izuku does something similar, lays him out on their bed and kisses over his entire body, hitachi in-hand, teases him till he cries. When Mina finally pushes into him, really pushes in, their hips flush, he lets out a moan so loud it’s almost embarrassing—would be embarrassing, is embarrassing and he does it anyway, he can’t help it, it feel so—
“Yeah, do that, do that—”
“Can I touch your pussy too?”
“Fuuuuck…” her breath his hot against his neck, propped over him chest-to-chest. Her arms bracket him on either side and watching the muscles flex is making him dizzy. Her hips snap and he wants to cry, “yes—yes!”
She’s in his ass, she’s in his cunt—he’s so full, and completely on fire, a band stretching thinner until it might break.
“Are you okay?” Mina gasps at some point. She’s flushed, face slick with sweat. It pours down her breasts, pools between their bodies. Katsuki’s no stranger to it.
“Y-yeah—you can—you can go faster if you want—”
She drops her head to his chest, the singular arm that had been holding her upright wobbling. Her curls are wet, plastered to her shoulders and neck. “I can feel it, is that weird? I think I can feel it, you’re so wet—”
No, he thought he felt it too. Some kind of phantom sensation, Izuku looked it up. Can you feel your strap?
Mina’s fingers leave his cunt in favor of touching his dick, and Katsuki wails as she finally pushes him over the edge.
As a rule, Katsuki’s cheat day is Sunday, specifically. He’s never wavered on that since the day he set that rule—Sunday is cheat date. Izuku would order a pizza, or Sonic groovy fries, or some other greasy take out and they would sit on their couch and eat while watching old cartoon re-runs, golden-age All Might movies and the occasional pre-quirk superhero movie.
There’s a TV in Mina’s bedroom that casts a blue-green glow over the entire room. A TV in the front room and another in the bedroom. How many damn TVs do you need? It plays no cartoons, nor golden age movies of his childhood hero. It plays a re-run of some pre-quirk b-movie, something about vampires with sparkly skin.
Lame.
He’s wearing an oversized Fatgum shirt and nothing else, eating cup ramen while watching this terrible movie right next to Mina, dressed similarly slurping on her own cup.
“Gonna be real,” Katsuki says through a mouthful of noodles, “that sparkly vampire loser sucks.”
“I don’t know,” Mina replies, “I think he’s kinda dreamy!”
“‘Course you do,” he swallows, the tail end of a noodle slapping him across the chin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever pisses you off more.”
He has to duck to avoid a chopstick. “Hey! I’m gonna tell Eijirou not to let you fuck him—”
Mina lets out an offended squawk, “Oh you absolutely will not—”