The club smelled like cheap cologne and cheaper whiskey, the bass thumping through the sticky floor. Eijiro slapped a heavy arm across Katsuki’s shoulders, his grin sharp in the spinning colored lights. “Surprise, man! Last night of freedom!”

Katsuki shrugged him off, but without real heat. “It’s not a surprise if you texted me ‘wear something not lawyerly’ at noon.” He took the bourbon a waitress offered, the glass already damp. He didn’t mind. The noise, the anonymous dark, the parade of flesh on stage—it was a distraction. A loud, simple one. For a few hours, he wouldn’t see green curls or feel the ghost of a smug smile aimed at his throat.

“You’re welcome,” Eijiro bellowed over the music, settling into the plush booth beside two other partners from the firm. “Now unclench. Your wedding is tomorrow. Tonight, you look.”

Katsuki took a long drink, letting the burn smooth the tight line of his jaw. On stage, a dancer with blue hair moved with a bored, professional grace. Katsuki’s gaze tracked the arc of a stiletto heel, the swing of synthetic hair. See? Simple. A transaction. Nothing like the complicated, hungry silence that had been haunting his own home. He was starting to breathe easier when the MC’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“Put your hands together for our next performer… fresh and *feisty*… give it up for Deku!”

The name meant nothing. The curtain parted. Katsuki’s glass froze halfway to his mouth.

Izuku stepped into the spotlight, draped in a sheer black robe. His forest green curls were tousled, his freckles stark under the white light. He wasn’t looking at the crowd. His emerald eyes found Katsuki’s booth immediately, a smile playing on his lips that was anything but bored. The music shifted into something slow, predatory. Izuku’s hands went to the pole.

“Oh, hell,” Eijiro muttered, the good-natured humor draining from his voice. He leaned closer to Katsuki. “Is that—”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was a statue, the bourbon a dead weight in his hand. He watched as Izuku moved, every muscle in his lean frame coiling and releasing with a dancer’s terrifying control. It wasn’t a routine; it was a manifesto. An arch of his back presented the curve of his ass through the sheer fabric. A slow spin around the pole ended with his legs spread, the robe falling open to reveal the smooth, hairless plane of his lower stomach. He wasn’t just dancing. He was mapping a body Katsuki had felt tremble, had made come. For an audience.

The robe came off with a flick of his wrist. He stood in only a black lace panties, his small chest heaving, pink nipples peaked. The crowd roared. Izuku’s eyes never left Katsuki. He mouthed a single, silent word. *Daddy.*

Then the panties were gone. He turned, bent over, and grasped his ankles, presenting himself fully to the booth. The hairless, pink slit of his pussy glistened under the lights, already slick. A collective, rough sound came from the men around Katsuki. Izuku held the position, a perfect, obscene offering. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached back with both hands.

He spread himself. Wide. The inner lips, flushed and wet, were fully exposed, the tight furl of his hole visible for a heartbeat before he released, letting everything bounce back into place. He straightened, turned to face them again, and ran a finger through his own wetness, bringing it to his mouth. His smile was pure victory.

Katsuki heard the glass crack before he felt it. Shards and bourbon bit into his palm. He didn’t move. He just stared, his blood a deafening roar in his ears, his cock a throbbing, traitorous ache trapped in his jeans. In the blinding spotlight, Izuku held his gaze, and Katsuki felt every boundary, every pretense of control, shatter as publicly as the glass in his fist.

The music crashed to an end. The spotlight held Izuku for one last, panting second—his skin gleaming with sweat, his pussy still glistening from the display—before it cut to black. The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wall of sound that hit Katsuki in the chest.

He finally looked down at his hand. Blood and bourbon dripped between his fingers, the glass shards embedded in his palm. The pain was a distant, clean signal compared to the chaos in his head.

“Katsuki.” Eijiro’s voice was low, urgent. He was already standing, blocking the view of the other lawyers in the booth. “Your hand. We need to get you to a bathroom.”

Katsuki didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the dark stage. Figures moved in the shadows. Then one detached, sliding between the tables, a towel wrapped loosely around narrow hips.

Izuku walked right up to the booth. The smell of him cut through the club’s stench—sweat, glitter, and the unmistakable, intimate musk of his arousal. His green eyes were bright, his smile effortless. “Kacchan. You liked the show?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Katsuki’s voice came out shredded, barely audible over the thumping bass of the next act’s music.

“Working.” Izuku’s gaze dropped to Katsuki’s bleeding hand. His smile didn’t falter. “You should be more careful, Daddy. That looks like it hurts.”

Eijiro stepped forward, his body a solid, warning barrier. “Kid, you need to walk away. Now.”

Izuku looked at Eijiro for the first time, head tilting. “You’re the best man. I’ve seen pictures.” His eyes drifted back to Katsuki. “Does he know how you taste?”

Katsuki’s free hand shot out, grabbing the front of Izuku’s towel. He yanked him close, pulling him halfway across the booth’s table. The sequins on the vinyl dug into Izuku’s bare stomach. “You listen to me, you little—”

“What?” Izuku breathed, his face inches from Katsuki’s. His pupils were blown wide. “Go on. Say it. Tell me what I am in front of your friend.”

Katsuki’s grip trembled. He could feel the heat coming off Izuku’s skin, see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. His cock was a brutal, aching weight, straining against his zipper. The towel was slipping.

“Your hand is bleeding on me,” Izuku whispered, a secret just for him. “It’s kind of hot.”

Eijiro’s hand closed on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Bakugo. Let him go. This isn’t the place.”

Katsuki released the towel as if it were electrified. Izuku straightened, adjusting the fabric, his eyes never leaving Katsuki’s. The blood from Katsuki’s palm had smeared a stark red across his hip bone.

“The bathroom in the back is cleaner,” Izuku said, his tone shifting to something like helpful concern. “I’ll show you. Can’t have you getting married with a fucked-up hand, can we?”

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Eijiro stated.

Izuku finally looked at Eijiro, his expression all innocent confusion. “Why not? I’m his stepson. I’m just trying to help.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the back of Katsuki’s wounded hand. A jolt, white-hot and shameful, went straight to Katsuki’s groin. “Come on, Kacchan. Before it gets infected.”

Katsuki stood up. The world tilted. “Kirishima. Stay here.”

“Katsuki—”

“I said stay.”

Izuku turned, leading the way through the crowd. The towel hugged the swell of his ass, and every man he passed watched him go. Katsuki followed, his bleeding hand clenched at his side, leaving a trail of dark droplets on the dirty floor. He was walking toward the only infection that mattered.

The bathroom door clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a final, metallic sound. The throbbing bass from the club became a muffled heartbeat through the wall. The air was thick with antiseptic and stale sweat. Izuku dropped the towel. It pooled around his ankles, leaving him naked, glitter clinging to his hip bones, his pussy glistening under the harsh fluorescent light.

“So,” he said, his voice a low hum in the small room. “Want a private show, Daddy?”

Katsuki leaned back against the door, his chest heaving. His right hand was a mess of blood and bourbon. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Probably.” Izuku stepped closer, his eyes on the wound. “Give me your hand.”

“No.”

Izuku’s smile was patient. He reached out and took Katsuki’s wrist. His grip was firm, surprisingly strong. Katsuki could have yanked away. He didn’t. He let Izuku lift his bleeding hand, guiding it through the air between them.

“You made a mess,” Izuku murmured. He pressed Katsuki’s palm flat against his own bare chest, right over his heart. The contact was a shock—hot skin, the frantic beat beneath, the sting of alcohol in the cuts. Katsuki jerked, but Izuku held his wrist fast, rubbing the wounded hand over the smooth plane, smearing red across the freckles and the small, pink nipple. “See? Now it’s my mess, too.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched. The blood was a vivid, violent paint on Izuku’s skin. Izuku guided the hand lower, over the dip of his stomach, using Katsuki’s own fingers to rake through the glitter and sweat. “You like that? Claiming me with your blood?”

“Stop.” The word was ash in Katsuki’s throat.

Izuku didn’t stop. He brought the bloody hand down, past his navel, to his shaved mound, and pressed Katsuki’s palm firmly against his wet, swollen pussy. The heat was a brand. The slickness coated his cuts, a different, intimate sting. Katsuki felt the plush give of the outer lips, the hotter, slicker seam within. His fingers twitched, traitorously, against the flesh.

“There,” Izuku breathed, his head tilting back. A shiver ran through him. “Now we’re both dirty.” He released Katsuki’s wrist, but Katsuki’s hand stayed there, glued to him by blood and want. Izuku looked down, watching as a single, dark droplet welled from Katsuki’s palm and traced a path down his inner thigh, mingling with the sheen of his own arousal. “It’s dripping. Right to where I’m wettest for you.”

Katsuki stared, hypnotized, as the blood reached the apex of Izuku’s thighs and vanished into the slick pink folds. His cock was a rod of iron in his jeans, throbbing with every beat of his heart. The pain in his hand was nothing. The real agony was here, in the wanting.

“You humiliated me,” Katsuki growled, his voice raw.

Izuku’s green eyes flicked up, sharp and clear. “I freed you. Everyone out there knows what I am now. What you want. No more hiding, Kacchan.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Katsuki’s ear. His scent—musk, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood—filled Katsuki’s lungs. “Your wedding is in two days. You want to walk down that aisle with my taste still in your mouth? With my scent on your hands? Go ahead. Be a good husband.” He pulled back, his gaze dropping to the obvious, painful bulge in Katsuki’s pants. “Or you can be what you really are. My daddy.”

Katsuki’s control snapped. He surged forward, his hands gripping Izuku’s bare hips, and lifted him off the floor. Izuku gasped, his legs wrapping instinctively around Katsuki’s waist as he was turned and set down hard on the edge of the grimy sink. The porcelain was cold against his ass. Katsuki forced his thighs apart, spreading him wide under the harsh light, his pussy fully exposed and glistening.

“Finally,” Izuku breathed, his head falling back against the mirror.

Katsuki dropped to his knees. The tile bit through his suit pants. He didn’t hesitate. He buried his face between Izuku’s legs, his mouth finding wet, hot flesh. He licked a broad, starving stripe from his entrance to his clit, and the taste exploded on his tongue—musky, salty, utterly Izuku and his own blood. A broken sound tore from Izuku’s throat.

“Oh, fuck—Daddy—”

Katsuki ate like he was dying. He sucked Izuku’s lower lips into his mouth, pulling at the swollen flesh, his tongue pushing insistently against the tight, fluttering entrance. Izuku’s hips jerked, his hands flying to tangle in Katsuki’s spiky hair. He held on, his knuckles white.

“You’re… you’re good at this,” Izuku panted, his voice shaking. “Jesus, your tongue—”

Katsuki growled against him, the vibration making Izuku cry out. He focused on the hard little bud of his clit, sucking it relentlessly, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. Izuku’s thighs trembled, squeezing around Katsuki’s head. The slickness was everywhere, coating Katsuki’s chin, dripping down his throat. He could smell nothing but him—sex and sweat and his own blood, mingled.

“Is this what you wanted?” Katsuki snarled, pulling back for a second, his mouth slick and shining. “Huh? You wanted me on my knees in a shithole bathroom, eating you out the night of my bachelor party?”

“Yes,” Izuku moaned, his green eyes glassy. He rolled his hips, seeking the contact again. “I wanted you desperate. Look at you. You are.”

Katsuki dove back in. He fucked him with his tongue, shallow, quick thrusts that had Izuku chanting a string of curses.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Izuku taunted, his voice a high, breathy whine. His hips rolled desperately, grinding his wet cunt against Katsuki’s mouth. “Your slut needs more, Daddy. Make me scream for them.”

Katsuki’s answer was a hard, open-handed slap across Izuku’s ass. The crack echoed in the tiled room. Izuku yelped, his body arching, a fresh gush of wetness coating Katsuki’s chin.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Katsuki growled, his lips brushing Izuku’s swollen folds. He licked into him again, deep and slow, his tongue pressing hard against that tight, fluttering ring of muscle.

“Fuck—yes, just like that—” Izuku babbled, his fingers pulling painfully at Katsuki’s hair. “Your tongue’s so thick, feels like you’re fucking me with it, oh God—”

Katsuki sucked his clit between his lips, applying a ruthless, rhythmic pressure. Izuku’s thighs clamped like a vise, his whole body bowing off the sink. The filthy, wet sounds of Katsuki eating him out were louder than the bass through the walls.

“Gonna come,” Izuku choked out, his heels digging into the small of Katsuki’s back. “Daddy, I’m gonna—right in your mouth—”

“You’ll come when I say,” Katsuki snarled, pulling away completely.

Izuku whined, a raw, animal sound of protest. His pussy glistened, exposed and aching, in the cold air. Katsuki stared at it, at the mess he’d made, then delivered another sharp spank to the same reddening cheek.

“You put yourself on display for every man out there,” Katsuki said, his voice low and venomous. He leaned in, his breath hot on Izuku’s soaked skin. “But this? This is mine. You don’t get to decide a damn thing about it.”

He didn’t let Izuku answer. He sealed his mouth over him again, sucking hard at his entrance, drinking him down. Izuku sobbed, his composure shattered into frantic, begging thrusts.

“Please, please, let me, I can’t—I need it—”

Katsuki ignored him. He worked him with a focused, brutal expertise, his tongue circling his clit, then plunging deep, over and over, until Izuku’s words dissolved into incoherent cries. His body was trembling violently, on the very edge.

Katsuki pulled back one last time. He looked up, his mouth slick and shining, his red eyes locked on Izuku’s shattered green ones. “Come for me, you little whore.”

He closed his lips around Izuku’s clit and sucked.

Izuku screamed. It was a raw, tearing sound that felt too big for the room. His back arched off the mirror, his entire body seizing as the orgasm ripped through him. A hot gush of liquid flooded Katsuki’s mouth, soaking his chin and dripping down his throat—not just slickness, but the distinct, salty rush of him squirting. Katsuki drank it, swallowing every drop as Izuku shuddered and convulsed above him, his cries softening into broken whimpers.

Katsuki stood, his knees popping, the taste of Izuku still thick on his tongue. He looked down at the boy sprawled on the sink, chest heaving, skin flushed and glistening with sweat and come. Without a word, he brought his hand down in a hard, sharp crack against Izuku’s exposed pussy.

Izuku jolted, a shocked gasp tearing from his throat. The sound was wet, meaty. Katsuki did it again. And again. Three more rapid, punishing slaps against his swollen lips and clit, each impact making Izuku’s whole body flinch and twitch.

“Fuck! Daddy—!”

“Shut up,” Katsuki growled, his voice wrecked. He leaned in, his blood-smeared hand gripping Izuku’s jaw. “Get your ass home. Now.”

Izuku’s green eyes were wide, pupils blown, his breath coming in ragged pants. A slow, dazed smile spread across his face. “You’re… you’re leaving me here?”

“Figure it out.” Katsuki released him and turned toward the door. The front of his suit pants was a ruined, damp tent. He could smell Izuku on his skin, in his nostrils. It was in his teeth.

“They all saw,” Izuku called after him, his voice singsong with exhausted triumph. “They all know what you did in here. What you are.”

Katsuki froze, his hand on the door handle. The bass from the club thudded through the wood. He didn’t look back. “I know what I am.”

He shoved the door open and stepped into the dim hallway. The noise of the club hit him like a wall—catcalls, thumping music, laughter. He kept his head down, moving fast toward the back exit, ignoring the sticky feeling in his briefs, the phantom heat of Izuku’s cunt on his mouth.

The alley air was cold and foul, cutting through the sweat on his neck. He braced a hand against the brick wall, dragging in a lungful of garbage-scented air. His hand throbbed, the cuts stinging anew. He stared at his palm, at the dark, smeared blood. His own. Izuku’s slick. Mixed.