Chapter 5: Club Activities
The bass was a physical thing. It pulsed up through the sticky club floor, through the soles of Kaito’s shoes, and into the marrow of his bones. Strobe lights sliced through the haze of artificial fog, catching the glitter on Izuku’s cheekbones, the sheen of sweat on his throat, the wild, abandoned joy in his wine-red eyes. This was Izuku’s element: a throbbing, chaotic sea of bodies where he could be the brightest, sharpest predator.
Kaito clung to his hand, a lifeline in the sensory storm. He wasn’t built for this. His world was the hushed library, the precise click of a keyboard, the controlled environment of a lab. Here, everything was uncontrolled—the smell of spilled beer and cloying perfume, the shriek of laughter over the synth-heavy beat, the press of strangers. But he was here for Izuku. And watching Izuku move, a fluid, gyrating masterpiece in a sheer black mesh top and leather pants so tight they looked painted on, was its own kind of captivating science.
“You’re thinking again!” Izuku yelled over the music, leaning close. His breath was hot and sweet with the ghost of the cocktail he’d been nursing. “I can see the equations scrolling behind your eyes! Stop calculating the decibel level and feel it!”
He grabbed Kaito’s hips, pulling him close, guiding them into the rhythm. Kaito tried to follow, his movements awkward, stilted. Izuku just laughed, a bright, infectious sound that cut through the noise, and ground against him, a slow, filthy roll that made Kaito’s breath hitch.
“There,” Izuku purred, his lips brushing Kaito’s ear. “That’s not your brain. That’s all you, baby. That’s your body telling my body to shut up and pay attention.”
They danced, or Izuku danced and Kaito survived, for three more songs. The heat became oppressive. Kaito’s shirt clung to his back. Izuku’s curls were damp at his temples. When a particularly aggressive wave of people shoved into them, Izuku’s eyes narrowed. He scanned the perimeter of the dance floor, a hunter assessing territory.
“C’mon,” he said, tugging Kaito’s hand. “Need air. And less… this.”
He led them off the floor, weaving through the crowd with a determined grace. They bypassed the long line for the main bar and headed down a dimmer, quieter hallway lined with vintage band posters and a sticky carpet. It led to a secondary, smaller bar and a door marked ‘FIRE EXIT’ with a battered, graffitied push-bar.
Izuku didn’t hesitate. He shoved the bar open, setting off a muffled, ignored alarm buzzer somewhere inside the wall, and pulled Kaito out into a narrow, concrete-lined alley.
The sudden quiet was a shock. The music was reduced to a dull, rhythmic thump, a distant heartbeat. The air was cool, smelling of damp brick and dumpster. A single, flickering fluorescent light above the door cast everything in a sickly, buzzing pallor.
“Better,” Izuku sighed, leaning back against the rough brick wall. He looked ethereal and utterly out of place in the grimy setting, like a orchid growing through cracked pavement. “I could feel you short-circuiting in there.”
“I was not short-circuiting,” Kaito mumbled, leaning beside him, tilting his head back against the cool wall. “I was… processing. It’s a lot of data.”
Izuku turned to face him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Yeah? Let me give you some simpler data to process.”
He closed the distance, his hands coming up to frame Kaito’s face. The kiss was nothing like their playful, heated ones at home. This was all claiming, all teeth and desperate tongue, flavored with vodka and Izuku’s particular sweetness. It was a kiss designed to overwhelm, and it did. Kaito groaned into it, his hands finding Izuku’s waist, pulling him flush.
Izuku broke the kiss, panting. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re overwhelmed. All flustered and big-eyed.” He trailed his mouth down Kaito’s jaw, to his throat, sucking a mark into the skin there. Kaito gasped, his fingers tightening on the leather at Izuku’s hips.
“Izuku… someone could…”
“So?” Izuku bit down gently on his collarbone, making him jump. “Let them see. Let them see who you belong to.”
His hands slid down from Kaito’s face, over his chest, his stomach, and then his fingers were at the button of Kaito’s jeans. The click was obscenely loud in the alley’s relative quiet.
“Izuku, wait—”
“No.” The command was soft, absolute. Izuku’s eyes locked onto his. “You’ve been so good. Coming out to your friends. Putting up with my family’s brand of crazy. Dancing with me in that sweaty hellhole. This is your reward.”
He didn’t wait for further protest. He popped the button, tugged the zipper down, and shoved his hand into Kaito’s boxers. His cool fingers wrapped around Kaito’s cock, which was already half-hard from the kissing and the grinding. Kaito’s head thunked back against the brick with a choked-off moan.
“See?” Izuku whispered, his other hand sneaking under Kaito’s shirt to scrape a nail over his nipple. “Simple data. Your body knows exactly what it wants.”
He began to stroke him, a slow, tight glide from root to tip. His thumb smeared the bead of moisture at the head, spreading it, making the slide slick and filthy. Kaito’s hips jerked involuntarily.
“That’s it,” Izuku coaxed, his voice dropping into that low, dirty register that turned Kaito’s bones to liquid. “Just feel it. No thinking.”
He increased the pace, his fist pumping with a ruthless efficiency. The contrast was insane—the grimy alley, the distant pulse of club music, the freezing brick against his back, and the searing, perfect heat of Izuku’s hand on his cock. Kaito’s breath came in ragged gasps, fogging in the cool air. His fingers scrambled for purchase on Izuku’s leather-clad shoulders.
“Gonna come already?” Izuku taunted, his breath hot against Kaito’s neck. “That’s only your first. We’re just getting started, nerd.”
The words registered, but Kaito’s body was already hurtling towards the edge. The coil in his gut pulled taut, unbearably tight. He gritted his teeth, a broken, whimpering sound escaping him.
“Come on,” Izuku urged, his stroke becoming punishingly fast. “Let me see it. Paint this ugly wall for me.”
That did it. With a ragged cry that was swallowed by the alley, Kaito came, shuddering violently, spilling over Izuku’s fist and onto the concrete below. Pleasure, white-hot and dizzying, shorted out every thought in his head. He sagged against the wall, boneless, trying to remember how to breathe.
Izuku didn’t stop.
His hand kept moving, a slow, relentless milking motion, squeezing out the last few drops. The sensitivity was immediate, a sharp, almost painful buzz where there had been only bliss. Kaito flinched, a weak sound of protest leaving his lips.
“Ah-ah,” Izuku murmured, not letting go. He brought his slick, glistening hand up, wiped it casually on his own leather pants, and then recaptured Kaito’s softening length. “I said we were just getting started.”
“Izuku… please…” Kaito begged, his voice thin. “Sensitive…”
“I know.” Izuku’s smile was all devilish glee. He leaned in, his lips against Kaito’s ear. “That’s the point. You think I brought you out here for a quick handjob? This is the main event.”
He began stroking again, a slow, torturous rhythm. Kaito whimpered. It was too much. The nerves felt raw, exposed, every stroke a jolt of sensation that was neither purely pleasurable nor purely painful, but something excruciatingly in between. His legs trembled.
“Look at you,” Izuku breathed, watching his face with rapt fascination. “You’re so fucking wrecked already. And I’ve barely touched you.”
He kissed him, deep and consuming, swallowing Kaito’s needy, overwhelmed noises. His hand worked steadily, coaxing Kaito back to full hardness despite the overstimulation. It was a battle between his body’s exhaustion and Izuku’s relentless will. Izuku’s will won.
The second orgasm was ripped from him maybe five minutes later. It wasn’t the explosive release of the first. It was a harsh, grinding peak, a wave of sensation that felt like his spine was being electrified. He cried out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, as another, smaller pulse of come streaked his stomach.
“Fuck, yes,” Izuku hissed, his own breathing becoming uneven. He was pressed so close Kaito could feel the hard line of Izuku’s arousal through the leather. “Two. You look so beautiful like this. So used.”
He didn’t pause. Not for a second. His hand, now slick with Kaito’s release again, continued its ruthless, rhythmic torture. Kaito sobbed, a raw, broken sound. His body was shaking uncontrollably, his knees buckling. Only Izuku’s body pinning him to the wall and that unyielding hand kept him upright.
“I can’t…” Kaito choked out. “Izuku, I can’t, please, it’s too much…”
“You can,” Izuku said, his voice thick with desire. He was whispering filthy, graphic promises now. “You’re gonna come for me again. You’re gonna keep coming until I say stop. Until you’re just a dumb, whimpering mess who can’t remember his own name. Just my good boy. My pretty little fucktoy. Isn’t that right?”
Kaito’s mind was melting. The words, crude and degrading, shouldn’t have made the heat pool in his gut again. But they did. They wrapped around the pain and the pleasure and twisted them into something darker, more addictive. He nodded, a pathetic, jerky movement.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Y-yes,” Kaito stammered, a tear finally tracking down his cheek. “Yes, yours.”
“Damn right.”
The third time was a dry, wrenching convulsion. His body seized, trying to expel a release that wasn’t there. It was agony. A strangled scream tore from his throat. Izuku moaned in response, grinding himself against Kaito’s thigh, lost in the spectacle of his destruction.
“One more,” Izuku panted, his own control fraying. His strokes were brutal now, a fast, friction-heavy pace designed to torture. “Give me one more. I wanna feel you fall apart.”
Kaito was beyond words. He was a constellation of raw nerve endings, a puppet whose strings were held in Izuku’s slick, merciless hand. His vision swam, the flickering light above the door blurring into streaks. The world narrowed to the searing ring of Izuku’s fist, the scrape of brick against his scalp, the litany of filth pouring from Izuku’s beautiful mouth.
When the fourth climax hit, it was a silent, full-body seizure. His mouth opened in a soundless scream. His back arched off the wall, every muscle locked in a rigid spasm. A thin, clear fluid trickled from him. There was nothing left.
Izuku finally, finally stopped.
He released Kaito’s cock, which twitched pathetically against his stomach, reddened and spent. Kaito collapsed forward, his forehead hitting Izuku’s shoulder, his entire body wracked with tremors. He was crying softly, helplessly, from the sheer physical and emotional onslaught.
Izuku held him, one arm wrapped tightly around his back, the other hand—sticky, smelling of sex and salt—cradling the back of his head. He was shushing him gently, pressing kisses to his hair, his temple.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You did so good, Kaito. So perfect for me. Fuck, you were incredible.”
The transition was jarring. From savage tormentor to tender caretaker in a heartbeat. Kaito clung to him, his fingers clutching at the mesh of Izuku’s top, trying to anchor himself in the sudden, dizzying freefall.
It took several minutes for the shakes to subside to a mild tremor. The cool alley air felt like ice on his wet stomach, his oversensitive skin. Izuku carefully tucked him back into his boxers and jeans, zipping him up with a gentleness that contrasted violently with his earlier actions.
“Can you stand?” Izuku asked softly.
Kaito nodded, pushing himself upright. His legs held, but they felt like wet paper. Izuku kept an arm around his waist, supporting him. He used a clean corner of his own shirt to gently wipe Kaito’s face, his stomach.
“We’re going home,” Izuku stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Right now.”
He guided Kaito back through the fire door, the buzzer giving another muffled protest. They moved through the club like ghosts, the strobe lights and pounding music now feeling like a distant, irrelevant dream. Izuku retrieved their coats from the check, wrapped Kaito’s around his shoulders, and hailed a cab outside.
In the backseat, Kaito leaned against the window, utterly spent. Izuku held his hand, his thumb stroking over his knuckles. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was thick, saturated with what had just happened.
When they stumbled through the front door of the Aizawa house, it was dark and quiet. A single lamp glowed in the living room. Shouta was asleep in his armchair, a book open on his chest, his glasses slightly askew. He stirred as they entered, one eye cracking open.
His gaze swept over them: Izuku, disheveled but glowing with a fierce, possessive satisfaction; Kaito, pale, shaky, walking with a slight limp, his eyes distant and hazy.
Shouta’s other eye opened. He took in the state of them, the energy humming between them. He didn’t ask if they had fun. He didn’t comment on the time.
His eyes lingered on Kaito for a long moment, then shifted to his son. Something unspoken passed between them—a question, an assessment. Izuku gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Shouta closed his eyes again, adjusting his glasses with a sigh. “There’s ginger tea in the thermos on the counter,” he muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Use it. And for god’s sake, hydrate. You look like you ran a marathon in a desert.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Izuku said, his voice soft.
He led Kaito upstairs, not to his own room, but to the bathroom. He ran a bath, pouring in some of Hitoshi’s expensive, juniper-scented bath salts. He undressed Kaito carefully, like he was handling something precious and fragile, and helped him into the hot water.
Kaito sank down with a groan, the heat seeping into his sore, trembling muscles. Izuku stripped off his own sticky clothes, climbed in behind him, and pulled Kaito back against his chest.
They sat in silence for a long time, the steam rising around them.
“Too much?” Izuku finally whispered, his lips against Kaito’s damp hair.
Kaito had to think about it. His body felt fundamentally altered. Scoured out. His mind was quiet in a way it never was, the usual hum of constant analysis completely gone. He felt… empty. Clean. Owned.
He turned his head, finding Izuku’s eyes in the steam. “No,” he said, and his voice was his own again, rough but sure. “It was what I needed. I just… didn’t know I needed it.”
Izuku’s arms tightened around him. He didn’t say ‘I know.’ He just held him. Later, he washed him gently, rinsed his hair, and toweled him dry. In the quiet of Izuku’s bedroom, under the familiar sheets, Kaito curled into his side. His body hummed with a deep, post-traumatic calm.
Just before sleep pulled him under, Izuku spoke into the darkness, his voice a quiet vow. “Next time, it’s my turn. You’re going to wreck me.”
And Kaito, drifting in the peaceful void his boyfriend had carved inside him, knew with absolute certainty that he would.