Chapter Text
***
The door to the SUV swings open.
Izuku takes one graceful step, looks him dead in the eye, and swivels his head ninety degrees like his skeletal disk is welded on a fucking hinge.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Hey, fuck you too.”
The roar of an airplane soars above them on the tarmac. The security guard ushers Izuku into the car once more, but he’s plastered all over the doorway like a toddler fighting off his first day of school.
“No – no way, this is a joke –”
Eraser’s unimpressed face appears on both TV screens mounted behind the front headrests. His hair is just as unkempt as the folds of his suit, and his tired eyes reflect too many monitor screens.
“Sit down, agent. We’re on the clock.”
That gets him in the car. Katsuki is damn well offended already, so he crosses his arms, and offers a glare to the bewildered look Izuku is giving him.
“S-Sir, do you have any idea who this is? He’s—”
“—a highly decorated marine, covert special ops, your roommate from the military, fellow childhood friend off the block, middle school bully. I can keep going.”
Katsuki already hates this. Aizawa looks so smug on his little screen. He ought to grab him by the eyebags and hang him for this.
The car starts to move. Izuku scrambles to buckle his seatbelt – something that’s still digging into Katsuki’s back, because nah, no way in hell. He’ll throw himself into traffic before he wrinkles this suit.
“Okay,” blinks Izuku, slowly. “Then you should know I have more chemistry with a soup can.”
Anger management ain’t got a thing on him. It's too easy to fall into his old ways around Deku; but it’s not his fucking fault that the gamma rays of his stupidity are strong enough to give him radiation poisoning.
Katsuki seethes.
“Seriously, fuck you, and your little bowtie, and your ugly fuckin’ haircut – five goddamn years and this is the greeting I get –”
Izuku presses his lips together, exhaling a nasal sigh that’s full of anxiety. It’s the only familiar thing about him. Strange eyes, shaggy hair, a striped fur-lined coat to compliment the designer (bulletproof) tux that HQ stuffed him in.
“Look, I’m thrilled to see you, but this – this mission is big, Kacchan! It requires stealth a-and tact and –”
Ah, there’s a nickname he hasn’t heard in a while. It cracks through his skull like any of Izuku’s punches ever did. Katsuki is very tempted to climb the console and strangle him black and blue just for that. He settles for jamming a finger in his chest – hollow, and real.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me, or what I’ve done, or where I’ve been.”
“Yeah? And whose fault is that?”
Aizawa sighs.
“Enough. We’re thirty-minutes ETA to the dock. I need both of you on your best game, because innocent lives depend on it.”
That shuts Izuku up real quick. Dumb dipshit and his shitdip moral compass. Katsuki sinks down in the seat with a huff, jerking his head to the side.
“Tell him that.”
“I’m telling both of you. I know the circumstance isn’t ideal. Yes, Deku – Shouto was going to be your assigned partner for this mission, but a last-minute invite to the guest list almost compromised the entire operation. It is absolutely crucial that nobody recognizes who you are, so Shouto was reassigned. Your new identities are in the pockets in front of you. Become familiar, because this will be your name for the next fourteen days.”
He can feel the side-eye Izuku is giving him. It pisses him off to no end. He reeks of judgement, like he doesn’t believe Katsuki is capable of a little spy work.
Okay, in all honestly, the call wasn’t what he expected. When he learned the details, he almost (almost) told them to fuck right off. They sure offered a big pot of gold, but Katsuki’s not really certain if that’s why he said yes.
Spoiler. It’s not.
Izuku looks different. Older, wiser, more beat up, a little jaded, and yet still the dumb-fuck problem-seeking missile that always feels the compulsive need to do the right thing. Sure ain’t grown an inch, but he’s filled out and cut (in the muscle sense, and in the scars running up and down his arms). They’re both similar that way.
Fuck.
Katsuki opens his card. He skims some of the character history, before deciding he’ll make the rest up. The important details jump out like fire on paper. Rich, dominant, possessive.
Back at the Intelligence Agency, Aizawa fumbles around for the right envelope. Katsuki rubs a hand across his brow, almost in sync with Izuku’s heavy sigh. Eraser makes an ah-ha sound off screen, and then puts on his reading glasses to see the text. His voice is as passionate as a decaying college professor six-weeks away from retirement.
“Kentarou and Itsuma Kumo. Congratulations on your shotgun wedding. You have decided to take a honeymoon aboard The Red Lady – a luxury cruise line for the adventurous in high prestige. The Lady will voyage through coastal Europe, while offering complimentary services such as –”
“Oh my fucking god.”
“Eraser, please,” Izuku begs, much kinder.
He clears his throat, lowering his glasses.
“Alright, fine. As you both know, an influential crime boss is going to be on that boat. Tag name is Ben Colasurdo, goes by Bugs – and according to his papers, he’s squeaky clean. Your mission is to gather incriminating evidence from his hard drive. He’s taking the cruise to the 4th stop, where he plans to get off at Barcelona, and disappear for good. Deku, as you’re aware – Bugs is high security, and low profile – so this will be a honeypot mission for you.” He gives Izuku a seeking look, and waits for him to nod. Aizawa glances back down at his notes and grumbles, “He’s a chronic cheater, so use that to your advantage.”
“Right,” Izuku agrees. Either he’s unbothered by the prospect of fucking a gross two-timing scumbag, or he’s a total professional.
“What’s stopping me from…?” Katsuki points a finger-gun at his head and pulls the imaginary trigger. The big A is not amused.
“He runs a massive human trafficking ring,” Aizawa deadpans. “Allegedly. He owns half the damn ocean, if you count his pirates out there. We have some undercover personnel on the boat, but not enough to save your ass should shit hit the fan. You have NO kill order, understand?”
Katsuki sinks a little, grumbling, “Was just jokin’, fuck.”
“Bakugou, your job is to get Midoriya close to Colasurdo. The only way to gain access to that laptop is to get him compromised.”
“Yeah yeah, I read the brief.”
Izuku nods too, totally serious. This whole thing leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but fuck – a job’s a job. He’s done worse.
They’re getting closer to the docks. Katsuki can see the ships growing larger on the horizon. Izuku wrings his fingers in his lap, playing with the edge of the manilla envelope.
“Sir, just…are you sure about this? We have to be married, and – and Shouto and I had been preparing for months to –”
“You are two of the best in your fields,” Aizawa snaps. “You both speak the language, you’re familiar with each other, and you have more kill counts than there are doors on that ship. There is no reason for this mission not to be completed with utmost precision and professionalism, do you understand?”
It’s like they’re back in the military again, because they both straighten like good soldiers.
“Yes sir.”
A voice comes in from the back of the HUB. The chair squeaks, and then bickering follows, before they hear an annoying, shrill voice.
“Tell ‘em about the plastic explosives!” Clatter. “Wait, I’ll do it.” Hatsume shoves herself into frame, against Eraser’s will. He topples halfway over in the rolling chair, as Hatsume’s noise presses to the screen. Her cross-hair eyes narrow in excitement, breath fogging up the camera. “Your bags are packed with the latest in spy technology! The rest will be smuggled in, and – Izuku, I see you’re already wearing the lens cameras! Comfy, right?”
“Way better,” Izuku beams.
Contact lenses. That’s why his eyes looked strange.
“Hatsume, get out of the goddamn –”
“Bakugou, there’s a set for you in your –”
“I’m not putting jack shit in my eyes, weirdo.”
Hatsume carries on, “All-righty then. Most of the tech is self-explanatory, and the rest…well… you’ll figure it out.”
“The explosives?” Izuku urges. His voice whispers, “Hatsume, please. Not again.”
“In the ballpoint pen! Totally safe this time, I promise – and good for when push comes to shove.”
“It won’t,” Aizawa interrupts. “NO shoving, or pushing. We are out of time. Coms will be limited while you’re on the ship, as we can’t secure a landline. If you need an SOS, contact HQ through chirp. Happy hunting, officers.”
The camera fuzzes out. The car slows on a turn, as Izuku drags his hands down his face, groaning low.
“We are so screwed.”
Katsuki snarls.
“So you’re not even going to give me a chance, huh?”
Izuku doesn’t seem to hear him. He tugs at his hair, threading his fingers through his curls, then bending over his knees as he rambles.
“Months of recon down the drain, so many hours of paperwork…they’ll know – of course they’ll know, and oh god – there’s no way we could – you would never – and the clubs, and the – oh god, oh god.”
Fucking hell. All these years, and he still mutters to himself like a snot-nosed brat.
Katsuki jams his thumb into the lock of Izuku’s seatbelt, sending it flying right into his nose. He yips, squealing back, then tensing as Katsuki grips into the fur lapels, and shakes him.
“Get it together! I’m not here to fuck up your shit. Your boss called, and I answered. We’re gonna’ go in there, and we’re gonna’ get the job done like we always do.”
Izuku looks at him with his big sappy puppy eyes, and it makes him slightly nauseous to see them as an off grey color, instead of his usual green. You don’t forget eyes like his, time be damned.
“But Kacchan…”
Fucking dick.
“What.”
Izuku bites his lip. Katsuki finds it hard to believe that this is the man the HQ pencil pushers labeled as black widow.
“It’s a sex cruise. Th-the Red Lady. It’s a giant, floating kink-fest for the rich too prestigious to muddy up their reputation around us peasants. Bugs will be at the VIP club. We might have to – to get in we…”
Oh.
Katsuki rolls his eyes. He lets go of his jacket, and smooths out the wrinkles on his own maroon-colored sleeve.
“Tch, is that it? Had me thinkin’ we’d have to crawl through dirty needles just to see the guy. I’m not afraid of a few freaks.”
Izuku stares at him. Katsuki leans forward to watch the driver park at the dock. An attendant approaches the window with a little clipboard, and they mumble as information is exchanged.
“Might be more than a few,” Izuku whispers.
Katsuki hums dismissively.
“We gotta’ go. Anything actually important that I need to know?”
Izuku glances to the dock, where the rich filter in with their designer bags and their sparkling jewelry that glistens under the cool sun; already showing off, like peacocks in a zoo. Katsuki now sees the reasoning in their chosen wardrobe; just lavish enough to fit in, and simple enough not to stand out.
“Later,” Izuku whispers. “Once the room is secure.”
The driver rolls the window up, and turns around to say, “Weapons stay here.”
Katsuki clenches his teeth. He reluctantly pulls his pistol off his waist, then his knife. He watches Izuku undo his own shoulder holster, and shove it under the seat. He shifts his weight to the side, and Katsuki slams a hand down on the console, jerking him to attention.
“You set one hand on that door and I will bite off every last one of your goddamn fingers, do you hear me?”
Izuku’s eyes go wide. So wide, in fact, he nearly sees the green hidden around the rims of his contacts.
Katsuki points at him like a bad dog, then pops his own door and steps out onto the pavement. He walks around the front of the car, pulls open the door, and offers an arm.
“C’mon, love.”
Izuku opens his mouth in shock. He stares for a long, horrifying second, as he looks between Katsuki’s face, and his arm. Then, he shapeshifts before his very eyes. Izuku’s back straightens, his hands go soft, and his eyes turn into something sweet and adoring. He grabs his forearm, leans a little weight on him, and smiles like an entirely different human.
“Supposedly, the Lady’s signature restaurant includes a burlesque show.”
Katsuki hums, taking a quick glance at the other passengers that meander their way to the dock. Staff bustle around with carts of suitcases, fancy leather bags, and portable briefcases locked to their wrists like a true prisoner of their disgusting wealth.
The security guards have weapons. Good to know.
“Do you think anyone here will speak Japanese?” He asks, in the language.
“I’m not sure,” Izuku answers sweety, which means: be careful anyways.
Izuku’s hands burn through his clothes. The only time they’ve ever been this close was when they were punching the shit out of each other in high-school, or scrubbing single-stall bathrooms in basic training. Katsuki’s adrenaline runs high, and it takes some time to remind himself that Izuku is not the threat here.
“Hello sirs,” the greeter bows. He’s in a full waiter’s tuxedo, even standing in the sun like this. “Name, please?”
Izuku shifts in his arm to look at him. Katsuki uses the opportunity to slide his hand down his back, firm between his shoulder blades. He’s solid, like a damn rock – and it’s only there, that he feels the secret tension Izuku is hiding.
“Kumo,” he says.
"Ah, the newlyweds!” The greeter smiles, like Katsuki’s whole world isn’t about to flip upside down. “Welcome aboard the Lady.”
***
They grew up throwing stones at stop signs and collecting baseball cards like anyone else. Izuku was nerdy and small and kind, and Katsuki hated everything about him. But he was good at sports and an ace at school, and it pushed Katsuki to be better, because he wasn’t about to let that dumb fuck win a damn thing over him.
University was the end goal, but they’d go at it so hard in the middle of the block (arguments turned physical, sparring turned therapeutic), it was no surprise they were swept right into the arms of a recruiter, and shipped overseas. They got their education; years and years of it, until Katsuki could pick apart an AR-15 and piece it back together with his eyes closed.
Izuku was clever and likeable, and most importantly, plain-looking. Prime real estate for covert spy missions, while Katsuki chased anything with a hot gun and a pound of C-4. Special operations was his calling. They split ways, and Katsuki spent too many years trying to convince himself he didn’t care.
Speaking of, he really couldn’t care less about this stupid safety class they’re in. Yeah yeah, pull the cord, blow into the tube to inflate your life vest; yada yada titanic, boring. He’s more interested in all the weird architecture and the artistic sculptures lining the interior of the ship. It’s not his first song and dance with a room full of over-privileged assholes, but it is the first time he’s seen a floating park encapsulated by rainbow stained glass.
The bellman leads them down a hall with rounded ceilings, and little glass whatsits that are supposed to be light fixtures, or whatever. They pass rows and rows of doorways already marked with little towels looped around the handles.
Izuku is listening to the staff with a very attentive expression. Katsuki leans down into his ear to mutter, “Hope you don’t plan on sleepin’ a damn, ‘cause we’re in the hall of swingers.” Izuku pinches his arm, and pretends not to hear him.
They stop at a double-door near the end of the hall.
“Your stateroom,” the bellman gestures. “En ruby suite. Please ring the desk should you need anything. Turndown is at six, and all amenities inside your room are complimentary.” He bows in a rehearsed, “Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” Izuku smiles, while Katsuki does not.
As soon as the door closes, they step miles apart. Katsuki wipes his palm on his thigh, and Izuku folds his hands under his arms, as if hiding them.
The suite feels more like a movie-set than a real stateroom. They’re on the exterior side, so the room soaks in all the natural light from the windows. Everything is warm and white; dark-wood, gold lighting, and carpeting that’s so busy it hurts his fucking eyes. It’s big enough to have breakfast table, a settee, and a dressing chair, but only one massive bed sits in the center of the room, trussed up in all those scratchy decorative pillows.
Katsuki feels a curse on his tongue, but swallows it back. He locks eyes with Izuku (still straight-faced), and together they sweep the whole room for bugs. They unscrew lightbulbs, pull back sheets, run their fingers under bedside tables and pat along the windowsills.
No cameras.
Katsuki pulls a dime-sized device out of his breast pocket, and clicks it behind an impressionistic painting of a naked woman. It emanates a white noise too high for human ears, made special by Hatsume to disrupt any recording devices.
A cutting silence follows.
Izuku then slumps, as if he’s run out of batteries. He throws off the coat and flops on the bed, groaning, “This boat is huge.”
“I thought you knew that.” Katsuki yanks off his tie like it’s a snake around his neck. “Mister know-it-all.”
Izuku rolls his face into the lush bedding, muffles a noise, and then sits up fluidly. Gone is that soft, flirty act from earlier. He stares with a tired look; almost sad, and pathetic.
“Kacchan, I’m sorry. Today’s just been…a lot. I really am happy to see you again.”
Katsuki grumbles, and slides open the closet door. He sees that their clothes have already been unpacked and hung neatly on hangers. The locked suitcases remain untouched under the shoe rack. He drags out a samsonite by the handle, and punches in the lock code.
“Save your class act for the launch party.”
Izuku frowns.
“You’re being surprisingly touchy about this.”
Katsuki’s neck nearly snaps off.
“You –!” He grinds his teeth, and lowers his voice. Deep breaths, count to three; fucking fuck fuck fuck. “You’ve got some goddamn nerve underestimating me like this.”
“I’m not – ugh! You can’t blame me, okay? This isn’t exactly your explosive cup of tea.” Izuku sits back on his heels, watching him work at the lock. “You said you’d rather swallow your teeth than be a ‘shitty James-Bond wanna be’.”
He did say that.
Katsuki clicks the lock on the suitcase. Inside are a few belts, and some unsuspecting jewelry boxes. He pops one out, and shakes the explodo-pens out of the sleeve. A divider hides a whole compartment of leather collars, leashes, and harnesses.
Ball gags. Silicone plugs.
He looks up at Izuku with a scathing glare.
“I guess we’re both capable of change, then.”
Izuku looks away.
The silence feels cold and awkward, and the boat hasn’t even left the port yet. Katsuki stares at the one, single bed, and feels sick already.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Deku scrambles, “I should go with you!”
“No, fuck, chill out. I’m just gonna scope out the deck – half these assholes aren’t even on board yet.”
Izuku bites his lip, but eventually agrees. Katsuki tucks a keycard in his pocket, and gets the fuck out of there.
***
It’s a big, fancy ship, with bigger, fancier décor, and all the boastful assholes made to fill it like too many croaking frogs in a swampy bog. Lots of talk, lots of burdens on the ecosystem.
So far, nobody’s been walking around with their cock out, so he assumes that bit comes later; likely at the numerous clubs he sees around the mid-level. Infinity pools, open bars, hookah lounges, a massive hulking casino; all made to bleed these people even more. All bullshit. He once spent twenty-seven days in a desert ditch, pissing into a bottle and drinking cactus juice under a lean-to. So yeah, the gold-sprinkled wine makes him want to throw up.
***
“Your room-service, sir,” the bellman bows. Katsuki steps aside so he can wheel in the cart. Once the door is locked, he lifts the filigree handle on the silver plate-cover, and reveals a pistol sitting pretty on a white plate.
“Ah,” Izuku notes, turning from the balcony. He dressed down while Katsuki was away – but with the sun setting, it won’t be long until the suit goes back on. “We should probably keep that hidden.”
Katsuki pops the magazine into the pistol with the palm of his hand, and checks down the sight. He grunts.
“I asked for medium-rare, but she’ll do.”
Izuku actually huffs a laugh under his breath. It’s a small sight into someone he once tried to forget about.
A horn sounds, and the ship begins to float away from the dock. Izuku turns back to the balcony.
“What did you see out there?”
“Bunch of posturing,” Katsuki mutters. He disarms the gun, and puts it away. “Nobody talkative, just showing off. They’re setting up for the sail-away party on the top deck.”
Izuku nods. He still has that far-away look on his face, like he’s thinking about too many things at once.
“I should get ready. Do you need the shower?”
“No.”
Izuku strolls past him, and locks the door. Katsuki sits on the side of the bed, and sighs.
I don’t even know you anymore.
He gets bored after a while. The mounted TV has endless paid programming, almost too many options, to where he turns it off entirely. Reluctantly, he switches out his sport suit for something a little more formal. He changes out his cufflinks, digs out a nice watch from the twenty HQ supplied him with, and adds his own rings – but on his momma’s grave he is not putting that damn tie back on. Bite him.
Katsuki fixes his hair in the mirror, and figures he looks good enough to fit his own standards. The agency gave him a literal, actual style guide, and Katsuki almost died. He might’ve sailed down the military path, but he still grew up with parents that flew out to Paris for fashion week every year.
Izuku still isn’t ready (oh my god come ON), so Katsuki continues to mull around in the closet. He thumbs past his wardrobe to the smaller assortment next to it, then to the rack on the adjacent closet wall. It’s all soft and drapey and thin.
Izuku cracked the door to let out steam about five minutes ago, so Katsuki calls to him, “You sure packed a lot of girly shit.”
He hears the sink run, then stop.
“I wear whatever gets me the win.”
Katsuki makes a complacent face as if to say, fair enough, but Izuku can’t see it from the bathroom. He pushes aside some of the garment bags, and studies a black satin dress.
“You wearing any of these tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters if you’re going to keep up the fuckin’ attitude.”
The door swings open just enough for Katsuki to see him bent over the sink in a towel, putting the cam-tacts back in. The smell of minty shampoo and flowery aftershave makes him dizzy.
“I’m wearing a suit. Nobody’s going to be overly flamboyant – just present enough to fluff their feathers and tag any potential couples they might swing with. Our main focus should be to scope out Bugs and his capos. Show face, shake a few hands.”
“Hm.”
The mood feels so superficial. There was once a short time where the two unpredictable circles of their mental stability overlapped like a Venn-diagram, where they would stay up talking until the sun went back down. It was only for a few years, but they shortly eclipsed into something he would’ve called friendship.
Now, Katsuki counts fake credit cards on the dresser, all so he doesn’t have to see Izuku dressing in the bathroom.
Gross.
Izuku chooses a velvety suit that’s form fitting and soft-looking. What draws his attention the most, is the leather collar instead of a tie. It’s decorated with a big ring, a lock, and little silver chains. Izuku pulls the strap through the loops, grunting at the tightness as he bumbles about the stateroom hunting for the right shoes. He quickly stops in his tracks when he feels Katsuki’s judgmental stare.
“Any sub worth a damn will have one,” Izuku explains. He wiggles his fingers between his throat and the black leather to test the fit, then hums, satisfied. Katsuki grinds the backs of his teeth. “Collars are equally significant as a wedding ring, so we’ve really got to sell this. Speaking of, you’ve got yours, right?”
Katsuki shows his hand wordlessly. The ring fits so perfectly, it feels wrong. Izuku looks away again, back to the shoe rack.
“Ah. G-Good.”
This is painful.
Izuku straightens his back in the mirror, checking himself in the same way they’d straighten their uniforms before inspection. The lock lays cold against his collarbones as a big neon sign that essentially says Property Of Someone.
Katsuki has the awful, possessive thought of: the collar suits him. He swallows the words immediately, disgust burning in his stomach like acid.
It suits Itsuma, that’s all.
***
The launch party is jammed with every sheep on the goddamn farm. An acoustic band plays music on the short stage, while the bar tries to meet the endless demand for drinks with an army of staff lined with little trays of sparkling champagne.
The ship is now on open sea. You can’t see the port anymore, but they’re still chasing the tail-end of the sun, so the sky is that dark bluish haze before it all goes black. Katsuki has been out on oil rigs, so while the ocean isn’t unfamiliar, it’s still unsettling.
The center pool glimmers with sheer descents and little fountains, reflecting the distorted features of those that socialize around it. Katsuki feels like a rat in a pig pen. Everyone is dressed in black-tie attire, with floor length gowns and satin bow ties. But as Deku claimed; random men and women are walking around with thick collars – be it expensive leather, or chains padlocked in silver. Some have no collars at all, while others show off their status simply by the company they keep. Katsuki keeps a firm hand at Izuku’s back as a metaphorical leash.
To his credit, Izuku clings back onto him. His soft suit jacket rubs staticky against his own as he hovers close by. He smells all fresh and watered, and it’s fucking with his senses. Izuku looks nice. Fine, he supposes. Not as flashy as some of the big-wigs walking around (again, on purpose), but Katsuki’s eyes gravitate back to him anyways. It’s still hard to believe he’s the same dork he grew up with; that somehow this sly, tailored little creature is pulling lustful attention from the patrons they pass by.
“A drink, darling?” Izuku asks, when a waitress fails to get his attention.
Katsuki wants to kindly say fuck off, but reluctantly agrees. He holds the chute in his left hand, still keeping Izuku close with his other.
“Thanks.”
Izuku picks a pink champagne, and brings it to his lips. He slicked back his hair, so the longer strands curl up and around his neck. His ears. His freckles. For some reason, Katsuki is reminded of silver spiderwebs, and their sticky nets spun for unsuspecting prey.
“He’s here,” Deku whispers. “Near the stage, with the captain.”
Katsuki’s eyes dart across the deck. A group of people are mingling near some of the heat lamps. The orange glow gives him just enough light to see the standout features of a scowling ‘Bugs’ Colasurdo.
He’s ugly, is the first thing he thinks. Okay, he's actually more of a silver fox - but something about the energy of this dude is way off. He saw the blurry CCTV photos, yeah – but he looks like a canvas bag that got left out in the sun to rot. He’s only late forties, supposedly, though his style of dress is still pretty crisp. Heavy jewelry, thick rings, and a watch that could probably fry an ant in the sun. There’s a woman on his arm that’s taller than he is; the misses. Katsuki can tell from the nervous body language of the people around him that Bugs is a right joy to be around.
A few fireworks pop near the stern. Izuku twitches, but doesn’t flinch. Katsuki uses the noise to dip his head, and press his lips near his pinkish ear, feigning a kiss.
“Tell me about him.”
Izuku’s eyelashes flutter. He tips his head with a performative sigh, so Katsuki takes the hint and smothers his lips against his hairline as an act of affection. He smells like soap, and his hair is deceptively soft, despite the gel. The black collar restricts around his throat as he breathes. A flash of desire settles in his gut.
This is pretend, he reminds himself. Get it together, dumbass.
“I’ve never met him personally,” Izuku begins. “Never got close. But he’s greedy, and cruel. He has a passion for the arts – that’s how I heard about him. Other sex-workers at the club I was uh, hiding in. He’s a pursuer of the strange, the taboo...he collects sculptures, just like he collects people.”
Katsuki scowls.
“Gross.”
Izuku hums an agreement. One of the spotlights slide up and over his jaw, before plunging back into the night sky – and for a second, Katsuki really doesn’t recognize him.
“He wants what he can’t have. And he’s good at taking it.”
“Yeah, I see that. He’s got a fuckin’ boulder strung around his neck, and I’ll eat my own foot if the prince of Brunei really gifted their crown jewel to a clown.”
Izuku bites his lip, then turns away, sipping his champagne again.
“Stop, don’t make me laugh.”
He means that genuinely. Even tucked away by the railing, they’re still being watched from every angle. Katsuki can feel the skeptical gazes filtering through the party like little laser beams. All these swingers scoping out their prey. Couples hunting for unicorns. Eyes filter up and across them like the little octopus tendrils they’re chopping in the kitchen.
Near the stage, the ship’s Captain shakes Bugs by the hand, and then begins to ascend the stage. Izuku finishes his flute, and sets it down gracefully on the railing. Down, down, down below, the black waves crash against the hull of the cruise ship. One last firework rains down on the water, before the sparks become consumed in the darkness.
“The agency sure shucked out a lot of cash to get us here.”
Izuku hums, “It’s all fenced. If you ask me, I don’t think the Director even cares about Bugs and his you-know-what.” Katsuki raises his eyebrows, and Izuku continues, low in Japanese, “I think HQ wants him so bad because he –” Izuku makes a noise. He meets Katsuki’s eyes, and he understands what he’s asking for right away.
Somehow, even all these years later, they manage to work in sync. Katsuki loops an arm around his little fucking waist and pulls him close, and Izuku pauses a hairs breadth away from his mouth; an almost kiss that tingles on the ends of his lips. His breath is somehow cold, like he was sucking on an ice cube. Maybe that’s the taste of all the lies he tells.
“…he is rumored to have a direct connection to Shigaraki.”
Katsuki rears. He presses back up against the ship rail, and inhales angrily. Izuku’s wide eyes silently beg him to settle down. Katsuki lets out a hot breath, and grabs Izuku by the ring on his leather collar.
“I’ve been fighting his crew for years. He killed…” With strong willpower, Katsuki drops his voice. “…he tortured my squad. Butchered them all like cattle.”
Izuku slackens in his arms. He brings his hand up to Katsuki’s cheek, and pets an old scar under his eye. To the onlookers, they’re two newlyweds caught up in the fireworks.
“You quit.”
Yeah. I quit.
“I got reassigned.”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispers. “I didn’t know.”
Katsuki still feels bitter from the memory. Izuku’s hand on his cheek makes him feel weird, so he plucks it away and holds it. His fingers are cold, too.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll gut him another day.” Katsuki nods his head to the bar. “Let’s bag this one.”
Finally, Izuku gets that determined look on his face; the one that would catch a grenade and cross a minefield for a stray dog. He’s an unfortunate loser that would give away every piece of himself for the better good. It’s all the reason that Katsuki hates him, and likes him so much.
***
The Captain gives a boring speech about The Red Lady and her many impressive voyages and blah blah blah. Katsuki is keeping a casual eye on Bugs, while making a mental note of every visitor that hovers around him. Big burly security guards keep the other guests from getting too close (a little unfair that he is allowed personal security, while the rest of the guests are left to fend for themselves). Three of his capos are on board, not including his tall, sexy wife.
“She can do better,” Katsuki mumbles.
“Shh.”
“— and so, our staff welcomes all of you to our two-week bon-voyage through the beautiful European coast. Adieu.”
Thank Christ that’s over. He already has cottonmouth from the dry-ass champagne they’re serving. Thankfully Izuku does most of the talking, albeit exclusively to the other collar-wearing passengers, as if the branded subs already have a sense of community among one another. Katsuki is all too happy to ride shotgun on this one. That is, until Izuku bumps elbows with a stocky, blue-haired capo.
Katsuki recognizes him as one of the lackeys right away. Izuku squeaks in surprise, and slides back safely to his side; quiet, as if requesting permission to speak.
My turn.
“Apologies,” Katsuki states neutrally. “He’s social.”
The man beams, immediately turning friendly.
“Mister Kumo, it’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”
Izuku mentioned they worked for months to prepare for this mission. Best not fuck it up.
Katsuki offers his hand first, “Doctor Aphid.”
He can feel Izuku’s surprised grip on his arm.
Yeah, asshole – I read the brief. Take THAT!
He’s slimy looking, barely middle aged, but with all the grease of a rich back-alley doctor that takes advantage of the lower class. That wasn’t actually in the brief, but Katsuki’s seen enough of these scumbags around the world to know one when he sees it.
“You know, I’m wearing one of your suits right now.” The doctor grabs at his lapels of his jacket, puffing out the collar for show. “Purchased straight from the Manchester shop – as a gift, of course.”
“I noticed,” Katsuki lies. Billionaire, think billionaire.
“Your design house does such lovely work.” Aphid cups a hand off the side of his mouth, however, he doesn’t lower his voice much. “Don’t mind the jealousy from these old hats. I think new money should be welcomed in our community, or else we’re stuck fishing from the same aging pond.” Katsuki can’t manage a smile for that one, so he merely nods. The doctor turns his attention to Izuku, and his heckles go right up. “Speaking of lovely. Your wife is just beautiful, Kentarou. The sharks will definitely be after you, dear.”
“Itsuma.”
“Ahh, what a pleasure you are.”
He moves to grab Izuku’s hand and kiss it. Izuku smiles shyly, and goes to allow it – but Katsuki’s adrenaline spikes to high hell. No, hell no; his stomach pits, and his chest jerks. Katsuki shifts his body between them, and for a long second, he’s all the seriousness of a retired marine.
“Sorry. But we’re not like that.”
The doctor’s eyes turn dull. He squints his eyes with skepticism. He licks across his dry lips, and looks at Katsuki with an expression that feels like how a mobster should be.
“Oh…I see. Monogamy is a wonderful thing – really, a dying breed. I’d tip my hat to you, if I was wearing one.”
Izuku is still soft and easy under his arm, but he can feel the heat wafting off his neck. He’s mad.
Katsuki brings his hand to his nape, and fiddles with the metal loop, where a leash would go. His knuckles brush hot skin, and it feels like a flint hitting steel. If their bodies could spark, they would,
“Art should be appreciated from behind the glass.” It only takes a little tugging to make Izuku’s neck fall back. He gasps through his nose, big eyes going bigger. Katsuki’s lip twitches. “I’m the only one allowed to ruin him.”
The doctor’s expression returns to life again. He smiles sheepishly, tucking his hands behind his back.
“Young love! There’s nothing more beautiful in this world. I do hope you enjoy your honeymoon – if you come by the casino this week, don’t be a stranger.”
“Likewise.”
They part ways, and Aphid returns to the large social circle by the bar. Izuku turns to him with a very calm fury.
“Bathroom, now. Please.”
“I don’t see why that involves me –”
“Now.”
They find a unisex bathroom down the stern-side of the deck, further away from the party. It’s not entirely secure, as a couple is out rolling lines of the good lord’s baking powder on the ship railing, but Katsuki seriously doubts they’ll be sober enough to listen through the wall.
Izuku pulls him inside with all the sensual urgency of someone demanding a quickie in the bathroom – and then locks the door and drops the act like a dumbbell.
“What the hell was that?!”
Katsuki clicks his tongue and crosses his arms, leaning back against the door. This is probably the cleanest bathroom he’s ever seen, so he’s less concerned about the suit, and more-so the twitchy look on Izuku’s face. Ah, there it is again.
“I thought we did pretty good.”
“We were doing pretty good! If you read the brief, then you know that we need Aphid to like us. More importantly – me, seeing as I need to get close enough to compromise his boss!” Izuku hiss-whispers that last part under his breath.
Katsuki takes one step forwards, and Izuku immediately takes a nervous step back.
“I know I’m new to this rat bullshit, but it don’t take a detective to see that you’re not going to get far lickin’ boots around here. You said that Bugs wants shit he can’t have. If we bend your ass over and whore you out to any piss-soaked CEO jerking off into their wallet, then you’d be no different than any other slut he meets in his clubs.” Katsuki pushes him up against the adjacent wall, and Izuku allows it, eyes round, and pupils dilated. “You are not. A slut. You’re married to me, which means we’re making you something he can’t have.”
Izuku’s mouth falls open.
Then, it clicks shut.
He presses a hand to his chin, mutters under his breath, and looks back up at him with amazement. “That’s…actually genius.”
Katsuki gestures.
“Duh.” He turns, jerking his shoulder. “Can’t believe you ever got anything done without me. C’mon. Let’s shake a few hands and fuckin’ bounce, I can feel the humidity sweating down my asscrack.”
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
Katsuki stops. His shoe squeaks on the tile floor.
“I had to play a few cards with my ops team. Bein’ nice ain’t that hard, it’s not like we only raid houses and shoot people for –”
“No no no.” Izuku steps back into his line of view. He’s fumbling with the collar again. Katsuki’s eyes fall there naturally, to the leather pressed tight against the damp narrow of his throat, hidden halfway by the open shirt, skin a little red from the tightness. His eyes are serious and accusatory, and that false, horrible grey. “You’re a dom.”
Katsuki swallows. He chews on an answer for a minute, then shrugs.
“Couldn’t take the job if I wasn’t qualified.”
“Kacchan.”
“Damn, you really thought I was a shrinking violet? The flattery is nice, I guess.”
“I think you’ve been playing dumb,” Izuku points. “You know exactly what’s happening here.”
Katsuki watches him breathe around the collar. It’s a brand. A mark that says his, but not really. It’s fuckin’ cold in here, and he feels too pinned in, too claustrophobic. So he does what’s familiar, and throws out his thorns.
“Don’t you worry your dumb little head, princess. I don’t have any interest in an ugly nerd like you.”
Izuku bristles. He quickly huffs, crossing his arms. It pushes his tits together, and suddenly Katsuki is thinking about that dress again.
“Well – good.”
“Good!”
“Fine!”
“Great.”
Izuku stalks over to the mirror and forcefully messes up his hair, wetting his fingers under the sink. Katsuki catches on fast, and undoes his jacket buttons, then pops some buttons on his shirt, showing would-be cleavage. Perfectly disheveled. The orchestra music is muffled through the door, so far away it feels like a nightmare.
“So,” Katsuki says, as he opens the door. “Are you really a sub?”
Izuku hooks an arm around his waist, and tugs his shirt slightly out his belt.
“When I need to be.”
***
By the time they make it back to their room, Katsuki feels like he’s been dragged head-first through the mud. Izuku immediately slides off his jacket, stretching his arms above his head with a long groan.
“That champagne was horrible.”
“Probably worth half your salary, too.” Katsuki is at full capacity for bullshit, so he pops off his watch, his cufflinks, and his jewelry. “I’m showering.”
Izuku is already working at the back of his collar in the mirror. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, as he’s bent to see the buckle in his reflection.
“Mmkay.”
An annoying string of heat runs down to his toes. His fingers flex, then squeeze, along with the needy ache in his teeth. Katsuki quickly slams the bathroom door, and proceeds to melt off all his skin in the super-sonic-whatever-the-fuck contraption they’ve got going on in the bathroom. Everything is so crisp and clean, with finished edges and perfectly laid designs in the tile – he can see his sorry reflection in the backlit mirrors, so he turns away and stares at the white marble wall.
The shower has the water pressure of a fire hose, and it beats out the soreness in his back until he’s dizzy from the steam. When he starts to change, he debates sleeping in boxers like he always does. He decides to actually put on clothes – and it annoys him already, because it’s humid as fuck, and he shouldn’t care what Deku thinks. But here he fucking is, boo boo the fool.
He walks out toweling his hair, and Izuku’s head snaps up like he was caught jerkin’ off.
He’s not. Just sitting in the middle of the bed, scrolling on his burner phone. He’s already changed into shorts and a t-shirt, but he looks so nervous. It’s kind of nice to see him again. Not that fake skin he wore earlier (suave, supple, sexy). Now, it’s just Deku. His eyes skirt up Katsuki’s direction, then glance away.
“I uh. I was going to ask if you wanted to flip a coin for the um – I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, but I thought we’d – like when we were kids…uh.”
Katsuki slips the towel off his head, and flings it over his shoulder with a scoff.
“If housekeeping shows up and you’re passed out on the floor, what the fuck do you think’s gonna happen? Those motherfuckers talk.”
Izuku presses his lips together. He sounds dejected.
“Yeah…”
He feels a weird twinge in his chest. Like a deep, sinking pit. Disappointment, maybe. He scowls, and waves his hand dismissively.
“Build a wall out of those god-ugly pillows, stuff yourself with blankets, I don’t give a fuck. But stop treating me like one of your little victims.”
Izuku’s face goes slack. Katsuki busies himself in hanging up the towel, and digs around for his own burner phone.
“Kacchan…do you really think that’s what this is?”
“Do not Kacchan me right now.”
He reaches off the side of the bed, and snatches his wrist with alarming speed. If there’s one thing this asshole is good at, it’s making himself seem very unassuming (which pisses Katsuki off to no end).
The sky is pitch-black outside. Their only light comes from the overheads still on in the bathroom, and the bedside lamp at Izuku’s side of the bed.
“I’m not treating you like a…like an asset. I’m concerned as your partner. HQ dragged you in fast, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. He yanks out of Izuku’s grip with one quick flex of his arm.
“Very cute.”
Izuku sighs, “I’m not kidding. Things are going to get serious from here on. We’ll dock in Portofino in two days, and every stop after that is a chance for Bugs to escape. If something happens…” Izuku picks at his bottom lip. It’s an old habit not forgotten, apparently. “We need a safe word.”
“Oh brother—”
“For real! In case something goes too far, and one of us needs to bail.”
Izuku’s expression is too damn earnest. Agitated, Katsuki rubs between his eyebrows. He leans a shoulder up against the wall, and peers down at him.
“Fine. Pick a word.”
“Okay. Umm. Uhhh.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I’m thinking! Give me a second!”
“I actually, for real hate you. I’m punching you in my mind right now.”
“If it’s so easy, t-then you pick it!”
Katsuki clicks his teeth shut. He swishes a few words around in his brain, and says the first one that hits his tongue.
“Widow.”
Izuku’s eyes widen fractionally. He then nods, slowly, eyes on the floor.
“Alright…we’ll use widow to stop.”
“Sure, but I’m no bitch.” Katsuki sits on ‘his’ side of the bed. The mattress dips, and it makes the reality of the situation even worse.
Izuku plucks a decorative pillow off the ground, and sets it between them on the mattress. The bed is so big, it doesn’t make much difference anyways. “There’s no shame in safe-wording.” Plop, fluff. “If you’re a dom worth a damn, you know that.”
Locked and loaded. Katsuki feels that one straight in the chest. He glares from his very soul.
“No shit, jackass. I’m saying I don’t scare easy, get over yourself.”
Izuku giggles under his breath, and it bleeds out some of the tension. Some, not all. Katsuki lays on top of the sheet and rolls so his back is facing the Great Wall of Goosefeather. He’s forced to listen to the sound of Izuku snuggling under the covers. The lamp clicks off.
Katsuki stares at the locked door in the darkness. It’s deadbolted and barricaded with a second portable lock. But he still feels oddly exposed. If he focuses too hard, he can feel the movement of the ship, so he stops that immediately.
Izuku breathes in and out. A low light is coming from his phone. Far away, a moan echoes through the wall. Katsuki shoves a pillow over his head, and counts the threads of his dying patience.
***