The heavy oak door to the home office swung shut with a soft, definitive click. Izuku Midoriya stood just inside, the lamplight catching the sequins on his pink pumps. He sucked slowly on the cherry lollipop, the sweet tang sharp on his tongue. The room smelled of leather and man—expensive, imposing. Katsuki Bakugou didn’t look up from the papers on his desk.
“You’re early.” Katsuki’s voice was a low rasp, a gravel road in the quiet room.
“Punctuality is important, Mr. Bakugou.” Izuku’s voice was deliberately light, a contrast to the other man’s growl. He took a few steps forward, letting the staccato tap of his heels announce his approach. The plaid skirt swished against his fishnet-covered thighs.
Only then did Katsuki lift his head. His crimson eyes tracked upward from the shoes, over the fishnets, lingering on the strip of pale, freckled stomach exposed by the cropped top, before finally meeting Izuku’s gaze. His expression gave nothing away. “Sit.”
Izuku perched on the edge of the leather chair opposite the desk, crossing his legs slowly. He pulled the sucker from his mouth with a soft, wet pop. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Your resume says you’re good with kids.” Katsuki leaned back, the fine material of his dress shirt pulling tight across his chest. His eyes didn’t leave Izuku’s face, but the intensity felt like a physical touch. “Why?”
“I like them. They’re honest.” Izuku swirled the candy over his tongue, his lips glistening. “They don’t play games they can’t win.”
A muscle twitched in Katsuki’s jaw. His right hand, resting on the polished wood, flexed once. “You think this is a game?”
“An interview is a kind of game, isn’t it?” Izuku leaned forward slightly, the heart-shaped cutout of his top gaping. “You have something I want. I have to convince you I’m worth it.”
Katsuki’s gaze dropped to that exposed hollow of skin, then dragged back up. “That getup convince a lot of people?”
“It’s not for a lot of people.” Izuku held the stare, green eyes bright and unblinking. He sucked the lollipop back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint, wet sound. He saw Katsuki’s eyes darken, the pupil swallowing the crimson iris.
“Tell me about your first aid certification.” Katsuki’s voice was tighter now, the command in it fraying at the edges.
“Fully current.” Izuku murmured around the candy stick. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, the fishnet snagging slightly on the leather. “I’m very good with my hands. Very attentive to detail.”
Katsuki stood up abruptly, the chair scraping back. He didn’t move from behind the desk, just loomed there, his shadow swallowing Izuku whole. He looked at the boy—the choker around his throat, the defiant set of his shoulders, the utterly deliberate provocation of him. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what is this?” Katsuki’s hand swept through the air, a sharp gesture that took in Izuku’s entire presentation.
Izuku slowly, deliberately, pulled the sucker free. It was a small, glistening orb. He held it between them. “This is me being honest.” His voice dropped, losing its performative lilt, turning raw. “I heard what you like.”
The air left the room. The confession hung there, naked and dangerous. Katsuki’s broad hand flattened on the desk, the calluses scraping against the wood. His breathing was the only sound. He didn’t deny it. He just stared, his chest rising and falling once, slow and deep. The heat in the room was no longer from the lamp.
“Get out,” Katsuki said, the words a soft, lethal growl.
Izuku’s heart slammed against his ribs. He didn’t move. He lifted the lollipop back to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe up its side, his eyes never leaving Katsuki’s. A challenge. A promise.
Katsuki took a single step around the desk. He stopped. Close enough now that Izuku could smell the sandalwood and the storm-scent beneath it. Close enough to see the dark flush high on the man’s cheekbones, the palpable, vibrating restraint in the line of his shoulders. His gaze was locked on Izuku’s mouth. “I said get out.”
“You haven’t asked me about my rates,” Izuku whispered, the candy clicking against his teeth.
Izuku’s gaze dropped, a slow, deliberate slide down Katsuki’s torso. The fine wool of the man’s trousers did nothing to hide the thick, hardening line of his cock. A dark, possessive satisfaction bloomed in Izuku’s chest. He leaned back in the leather chair, the material creaking. Slowly, he spread his legs wide, hiking up the plaid skirt. The damp, pink lace of his panties was fully revealed, a sheer patch darkened with wetness at the center.
He pulled the lollipop from his mouth with a wet, echoing pop. He held Katsuki’s incendiary stare, his own green eyes wide and unblinking. With his other hand, he hooked a finger into the lace at covering his crotch and tugged the fabric aside. The tiny, hairless slit of his pussy was exposed, his lips already swollen, glistening under the lamplight.
“I’m very prepared,” Izuku whispered, his voice husky. He brought the hard candy down, rubbing the cool, sticky sphere along his swollen outer lips. He shuddered, a sharp intake of breath. He tapped the candy twice against the fat, aching bud of his clit, a jolt of sensation making his thighs tense. “To take care of the baby,” he breathed. “And you, Mr. Bakugou.”
Katsuki didn’t move. His hands were clenched at his sides, the tendons in his forearms standing out like cables. The flush on his neck had deepened, crawling up past the collar of his shirt. His cock was a blatant, heavy strain against his fly. “You little fucking slut,” he rasped, the words devoid of real anger, thick with something else.
“Is that a question?” Izuku asked, circling his clit with the candy, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk. A fresh bead of wetness escaped him, making the lace cling. “Or an offer?”
Katsuki took one step forward. Then another. He loomed over the chair, his shadow enveloping Izuku. The scent of him—sandalwood, sweat, pure male heat—was overwhelming. His crimson eyes were black with want. “You think you know what you’re playing with?”
“I know what I want to play with,” Izuku said, his defiance cracking around the edges, raw need seeping through. He was soaking now, the wetness a hot, embarrassing slick between his thighs. He pressed the lollipop harder against himself, a low whine escaping his throat.
Katsuki’s hand shot out, fast as a strike. He didn’t touch Izuku’s body. His fingers closed around Izuku’s wrist, stopping the motion of the candy. His grip was iron, calluses scraping against delicate skin. “Stop.”
Izuku froze. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird. He could feel the violent tremor in Katsuki’s hold, the restraint holding back a landslide.
Katsuki’s other hand came up. He plucked the wet, glistening lollipop from Izuku’s slack fingers. He brought it to his own mouth, his eyes locked on Izuku’s, and slowly ran his tongue over the exact spot Izuku had just pressed against his cunt. He tasted it. His jaw worked. A low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest.
“You’re hired,” Katsuki growled, the words final, damning. He dropped the candy onto the polished desk with a sharp click. His hand still vise-locked on Izuku’s wrist, he used his hold to pull Izuku up from the chair, until they were standing chest to chest, the heat of Katsuki’s erection branding Izuku through their clothes. “The job starts now.”
Izuku’s breath hitched, the heat of Katsuki’s body searing through the thin crop top. His wrist was still trapped in that iron grip. He tilted his head back, meeting the man’s black-crimson stare. “What does the job entail, sir?”
Katsuki’s free hand came up, his thumb brushing roughly over the pink choker around Izuku’s throat. “Babysitting. You know how to read, don’t you?”
“I read the ad.” Izuku’s voice was a whisper. He shifted, and the hard ridge of Katsuki’s cock pressed more insistently against his hip. A fresh pulse of wetness slicked his inner thighs. “It didn’t mention this part of the duties.”
“This isn’t a duty.” Katsuki leaned down, his mouth hovering a breath from Izuku’s ear. His voice was pure gravel. “This is a fucking problem.”
“You hired the problem.” Izuku turned his head, his lips almost brushing the stubble along Katsuki’s jaw. He could smell the storm on him, the whiskey. “You tasted it.”
Katsuki’s grip on his wrist tightened, then loosened. His hand slid down, his fingers threading roughly through Izuku’s, palm to palm. A shocking, intimate clasp. He used the hold to push Izuku’s hand down, pressing it flat against the throbbing bulge in his trousers. “Feel that?”
Izuku gasped. The heat was immense, the shape of him thick and heavy even through the wool. He curled his fingers, a tentative squeeze. Katsuki hissed, his hips jerking forward once, involuntarily.
“That’s your first lesson,” Katsuki growled. “You don’t get to start fires you can’t put out.”
“Who says I want to put it out?” Izuku breathed. He rubbed his palm in a slow circle, feeling the cock beneath the fabric twitch and harden further. His own pussy clenched, empty and aching. “I like it hot.”
Katsuki’s other hand abandoned the choker to fist in Izuku’s green curls. He didn’t yank, just held, a possessiveness that made Izuku’s knees weak. “You’re eighteen.”
“You counted the candles.” Izuku met his gaze, defiant. “You still hired me.”
“I’m married.” The words were flat, a statement of territory, not regret.
Izuku’s smile was small, knowing. He leaned in, his nose skimming the column of Katsuki’s throat. “She’s not here.” He inhaled, deep. “I am.”
For a long moment, Katsuki didn’t move. His breath was hot on Izuku’s temple. His heart hammered against Izuku’s chest, a wild counter-rhythm to Izuku’s own. Then, a low, defeated groan rumbled in his chest. It was the sound of a dam cracking.
He slammed his mouth down on Izuku’s.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. A hungry, devouring slide of lips and teeth and desperate tongue. Katsuki tasted like the whiskey from his glass and the sharp, sweet residue of Izuku’s own candy. Izuku moaned into it, his free hand flying up to clutch at the back of Katsuki’s dress shirt, crumpling the expensive fabric. The kiss was all heat and demand, a language of pure need that stripped away every pretense of an interview. Katsuki’s tongue mapped his mouth, rough and thorough, and Izuku gave back just as fiercely, sucking on it, nipping at his lower lip.
When Katsuki finally pulled back, both of them were panting. A string of saliva connected their mouths for a second before breaking. Katsuki’s eyes were wild, his lips slick and swollen.
“The job,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, “entails keeping your mouth shut.” His thumb brushed over Izuku’s wet bottom lip. “And being available when I say.”
Izuku nodded, dazed. His own lips felt bruised, sensitized. “When?”
“Now.” Katsuki’s hand slid from Izuku’s hair, down his spine, coming to rest on the swell of his ass over the plaid skirt. He squeezed.
He shivered, his nipples pebbling painfully against the lace of his top. “So I start right now.”
“You started the second you walked in here wearing this fucking skirt.” Katsuki’s gaze dropped to Izuku’s mouth again, his own twitching in something that wasn’t a smile. It was hunger. “Now. Tell me you understand the rules.”
Izuku licked his lips. “No games I can’t win.”
“This isn’t a game.” Katsuki leaned in again, his lips ghosting over Izuku’s as he spoke. “It’s a transaction. You do your job with the kid. You do your other job with me. You get paid for both. And you never, ever speak a word of the second one to anyone.”
“What’s my salary?” Izuku whispered against his mouth.
Katsuki’s hand on his ass slipped lower, fingertips brushing the damp lace of Izuku’s panties. He traced the wet, swollen seam of him through the fabric. Izuku jerked, a sharp cry catching in his throat.
“How’s that for a signing bonus?” Katsuki murmured, his finger applying a slow, torturous pressure.
Izuku’s head fell back, a shudder wracking his whole body. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.” The title spilled out, filthier than any curse. It felt right. It felt like surrender and victory all at once.
Katsuki’s finger stilled. He pulled back just enough to look down at Izuku’s face—the flushed cheeks, the blown pupils, the parted, kiss-reddened lips. His own expression was a mask of conflicted heat, a man staring at a feast he knew will poison him. He leaned forward, until his forehead rested against Izuku’s. Their breathing synced, ragged and loud in the silent office.
“You’re going to be so much fucking trouble,” Katsuki whispered, rubbing almost to himself.
Izuku’s smile was real this time, soft at the edges. He nuzzled his nose against Katsuki’s. “You have no idea.”