Last Dance

A little fluffy self-indulgent KRBK birthday thread to myself that I didn’t get around to posting that day.

TW: just a bunch of idiots at a roller rink

#BakugouKatsuki #KirishimaEijirou #kiribaku #krbk #MHA #BNHA

“If I ever find out who invented roller skating, I’ll kill them. And then I’ll go back in time and I’ll kill them again, just so they know I’m serious.”

So Bakugou said as he clung to the barricade separating the extras on the sidelines from the extras in the skating rink, desperately trying to keep his feet from slipping out from underneath of him.

God, this was the worst.

He barely knew how he got here, let alone how that idiot Deku had convinced him to rent a pair of skates and even get onto the slicked wooden deathtrap they called “fun”.

Everyone looked like a total dumbass, decked out in neon short shorts and tall socks and fuckin leg warmers. And the music?

“Boogie Wonderland” /again/?

He felt like he was going to have an aneurysm.

This wasn’t the 70’s anymore. It was 1986, goddammit, and he would’ve appreciated a little more courteousness when it came to their dedication to the choice of decades when it came to music.

And why in the name of Bonnie Tyler was there only one exit out of the rink?

He’d only made it about half way across the oval, almost busting his ass half-a-fuckin-dozen times and he didn’t intend to skate another second.

He would’ve climbed over the barricade if he wasn’t vaguely worried that he’d cause a scene.

NO, he didn’t suck at skating. Watch your mouth.

“Ugh, fuck, just...Uraraka!” Nope, she wasn’t gonna come rescue him. She was off galavanting on wheels with Tsuyu and it seemed like Deku was out of the equation too.

The green-headed little imp was pulling on Todoroki’s sleeve, trying to get him to come skate, but the half-n-half-headed dipshit was playing on a claw machine.

He’d been there most of the night, but the rich boy had money to spend and Bakugou didn’t really care how he did it.

The blond groaned into his sleeve, trying to muffle his distaste for the whole scene. The disco ball was flashing 50 shades of stupidity over every person skating and he didn’t want to be one of them anymore.

There was a pat on his shoulder. “Hey, man, you okay?”

“Peachy, just trying to get two metric “fuck-you’s” of space to myself and away from the rest of these mongrels,” Bakugou spat, not bothering to look up. All the lights were giving him a headache and staring into another neon shirt was just gonna fuck him up more.

“Alrighty then, if you say so, I guess.” There was a pat on his shoulder followed by a wry chuckle. “But just so you know, you’re gonna have to get to the exit a little faster if you wanna escape the couples’ round.”

And then the extra buzzed off, thank God.

Wait a sec.

/Couples’ round?/

Nobody ever told him about a goddamn couples’ round. The only thing worse than one idiot on wheels was /two/ googoo-eyed idiots on wheels not focused on anything other than whatever gooey mess existed in each other's eyes.

Which was nothing.

Love is for chumps.

He had to get off the floor pronto. Without a doubt, the final song of the night would be for smashing faces together and if he’d probably puke up his lunch if he witnessed it.

Hubris be damned, why hadn’t he asked that nobody for help?

There were so many people, it seemed impossible to tell who was who amongst the sea of vibrant yellows and pinks when he searched for him in the crowd.

And where was the exit again?

If he knew he was gonna have to go the distance of what felt like the entire Italian fucking coastline then he woulda bailed.

Just kidding, he’s Bakugou Katsuki and he would’ve run the entire length of the land from Sicily to Milan if somebody told him he couldn’t, just to prove a point.

He even woulda made a pit stop in Rome to put a bitch down in the Colosseum, but this was still pushing his limits.

“Oy-fuckin-vey.”

Which loser in the crowd coulda been the one to give him a fair warning of the impending danger?

If he could flag them down again, maybe he could swallow his pride and accept a helpful hand.

There were so many people, though, he didn’t even know where to look.

Tall, short, men, women, some in between or seemingly neither. People in baggy pants and crop tops and frizzy hair and blue eyeshadow all clashing under the light of a disco ball.

One girl with asymmetric bangs had headphones in on top of the blaring music and how she could’ve heard anything beyond the shrill calls of the Bee Gees was absolutely beyond him.

But she got scooped up by a girl with a high pony and massive tits so she was fine.

Another absolutely massive brawn with silver hair and a mask over his mouth (maybe he was sick?) seemed to be fairing pretty well on a pair of rollerblades, but he was nothing compared to his much smaller companion.

The smaller blond wasn’t much to look at and he didn’t really have any outstanding features, but he was tearing the fuck up out on the floor, doing all manner of flips and tricks and even dropping once into the splits to much applause.

Nope, nope, nope.

C’mon, this was a skating rink, how many possible places could somebody hide?

But he heard that voice again, that friendly chuckle from before, but this time it was a raucous and hearty laugh.

Bakugou whipped his head around.

The first thing to catch his eye was a pompous afro of vibrant pink curls. She had style, he’d give her that, a mix of leather and lace and a whole collection of heavy beaded necklaces and bangles.

If she’d been blonde, she might just pass for a bad Madonna impersonator.

She was smoking the competition too. Pinky must come here often, because she was bopping along at breakneck speeds, weaving in and out and nailing every word to the song as she dragged along a bubbly blond kid with a choker and heavy eyeliner.

He was wearing almost as much eyeshadow as she was, and he wasn’t too shabby himself when it came to skating.

He was belting the notes to “Stayin’ Alive” loud enough for Bakugou to hear how off-key but passionate he was.

Next in their whack conga line was a dark-haired kid with...oh, God, he had a mullet. And it wasn’t subtle either. It was a long gangly thing and it curled around his shoulders and neck and fell into a huge messy mop on his head.

As he skated past, Bakugou swore he could detect the weed cloud above the kid’s head.

But just passed the marijuana storm was the man he’d been looking for.

And Bakugou went a little weak in the knees.

Probably just because of the roller skates.

Fuck you.

The nerve of this motherfucker to wear the tightest and smallest shorts he could’ve possibly found. Fire-engine red and tight enough to basically be sucked into the crack of his ass.

Obviously they were doing things to Bakugou.

And now was a /very/ bad time for the music to change to “Never Knew Love Like This Before” by Stephanie Mills.

I mean...now that Bakugou was getting a better look at those thighs, it very well might be love. Each one must’ve been as wide around as the blond’s waist.

And he was tall too, probably a head taller than Bakugou.

Is it still called a snaggletooth if every tooth in his mouth was a snaggletooth? Or maybe they were all canines? Because every single pearly-white was sharpened to a point and when he smiled (He smiled a lot), they each glinted with the strobing lights bumping around.

Just a little higher up was a giant mane of red hair all slicked back behind a thick headband that helped to keep it all secure as he rocked the rink.

Upon closer inspection, he had a scar over his eye, but it wasn’t unattractive. It actually had a lot of character and Bakugou silently wondered if the red-head got cut by his own jawline, cuz that shit looked /sharp/.

Was he staring? He didn’t think so, but after he was done committing the entirety of this Adonis’ face down to memory, he went to double check his scarlet eyes and found them staring back at him.

Fuck, his /eyes/. They were fucking gorgeous. Under the lights, he couldn’t tell if they were red or orange but it didn’t fucking matter because they looked like fire and it was /hot/.

Nuh uh. Nope. Fuck no.

There was no way he could accept help from that prime cut of beefsteak. If he even skated too close, Bakugou would be sporting a stiffy in /seconds/.

So he did what any reasonable person would do in the situation and pleaded to God to absolutely pulverize him with a blast of lightning right here, right now, as he clung to the guardrail for dear life.

God, FUCK, he had been so distracted staring at the red-head’s neon entourage that he hadn’t made any progress finishing his singular lap.

The rail was getting sticky with sweat under his palms and he couldn’t help but think of the 50,000 other dirty miscreants that had placed their grimy hands all over this shit.

Bakugou felt a nudge and was bumped off the rail by a grubby little urchin of a child probably no more than 8 and suddenly he was in the midst of it all.

Lights flashing, wind whipping past as he was lapped again and again, Sister Sledge vibrating the ground and the air at such high decibels that even in his own head he couldn’t tell himself that /no/, they were /not/ family.

Were people actually enjoying this? His eyes were squeezed shut and he heard the laughter all around him, but he refused to believe it, especially when he felt himself get shoulder-checked, followed by a groan of “Hey, watch it!”

Any other time, Bakugou would’ve brewed a tempest of curses so volatile that his ancestors would roll in their graves, but this time he...he couldn’t move.

He didn’t wanna do this anymore, he didn’t wanna fucking be here anymore. Fuck, he was /embarrassed/.

He? Katsuki Bakugou? /Embarrassed/? Not even if hell froze over. He was embarrassed that he even thought about being embarrassed.

How dare he.

He was so far in his own head that he barely felt when a solid pair of hands rested on his hips and began maneuvering him forward.

“Just hold on to me, Blondie. I’ll getcha out of here.”

Bakugou gasped at the invasion of his personal space, not prepared for another’s touch, but grateful nonetheless for the help he was too proud to ask for.

Part of him was mortified that he was being pushed around like a kid while another hoped desperately that it was the red-head from before guiding him and making puns about his hair color and the music changing to “Call Me”.

But opening his eyes meant admitting that he wanted to sneak a peek behind him and catch a glimpse of that storm of thorny red locks, and if he did, and if those eyes caught his own again, he might just freeze on the spot.

The voice sounded about right at least, honeyed and comforting, but it wasn’t as warm without a laugh building up behind it. Maybe he was trying to make him more comfortable.

“Relax, I’ve got you.”

They were picking up speed little-by-little, enough that the nervous ache in his stomach was finally starting to quell, but not enough to give him any more confidence on his rollerblades.

The skates attached to him were still wobbly, like a shopping cart with only 3 wheels, but the hands guiding him kept him upright, gave him something to lean into /just/ enough to secure himself if he was feeling unsure of his footing.

“Hey hey! Look at you!” Bakugou jumped at the words so close to his ear. He might’ve even yelped a tiny bit, but he covered it with a “tch” and the voice of his captor just laughed. “You’re doin’ great!”

So it /was/ the red-head holding him.

The laugh was jovial and sweet and even with his eyes still closed, Bakugou coulda picked that voice out in a crowd, even the boisterous one here at the roller rink.

“Aww, c’mon!” the man joked, his hands firmly glued to Bakugou’s sides. “Dontcha trust me?”

“Not even as far as I could throw ya, Shitty Hair.”

That just earned him another laugh and if he was being honest with himself, Bakugou kinda wanted to throw another jab so that shark-mouth would keep laughing.

“It’s not that shitty,” the red-head scoffed as they rounded a turn, forcing the blond to latch to his side to prevent centrifugal force from knocking his own legs out from underneath him. “And it’s probably fair you don’t trust me. I mean...we’ve already lapped the exit twice.”

Katsuki’s eyes shot open into a glare, ready to strangle the man with a string of curses, but all thoughts of doing so died behind his teeth; He was forced to focus instead on staying upright as they skirted in the midst of a tight crowd of people jigging to “Boogie Oogie Oogie.”

Fighting back would be pointless, seeing how a struggle would leave him stranded out in the sea of sweaty dancing bodies anyway, so his hands clamped down hard on the bigger ones circling his hips as he tried to blink back the tears welling up in his eyes as their speed +

+kicked into the next gear.

“The name’s Kirishima!” the red-head shouted, unfazed by the ironclad grip as he moved them again, this time swooping closer to the inner circle, ensuring that Bakugou missed the exit in another pass around the loop. “But /you/ can call me Eijiro.”

They were picking up speed and as they did, Eijiro’s hands moved upwards towards the blonde’s waist.

“Skate in a V-shape!” He roared good-naturedly over the pounding bass.

His fingers flexed, urging Bakugou to sway slightly to the right, then he pendulumed back to the left in an easy flow, both of them beginning to find an equilibrium in their awkward rhythm together.

“There ya go! Now you’re getting it!”

Bakugou couldn’t get a read on this ‘Eijiro’ character. He was hotter than the sun and a ball of golden energy, sure, but that wasn’t enough to gauge him on anything more than superficial scales when he was too busy hiding his own fear of death by stampeding roller derby wannabes

Somehow, all those fears were lost on the man holding him.

Eijiro was bubbling over with excitement and Bakugou could feel the rumbling of the guy’s palms as he laughed and cheered with the crowd.

It was so loud that he almost missed when the man asked for his name, but he caught the tail end of his request and craned back to see the most blinding smile he’d ever witnessed.

It was brighter than the goddamn strobe lights.

And, seeing as he’s now an absolute idiot in anything involving this man, he fumbled with his own name. “It’s Ba-...Katsuki.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Bakatsuki!”

“FUCK, I mean, that’s not-”

“HUSH waitwaitwait!” Eijiro waved his hand to quiet him as he looked around, both of them skating to a stop.

The music had hushed and spiraled to silence as all the movement on the floor came to a standstill, everyone seemingly waiting for the next track to come on.

The timing was perfect.

Bakugou swiveled around in the arms holding him and got the perfect view just in time for the music to start back up and for the man’s face to light up in pure childlike bliss when the first note came through the speakers.

/...HOOOOoooHOOooooooOoOoOooo…/

Oh my god.

How long had they been skating? How many songs had they listened to? How much time had passed with his eyes shut and all his faith placed in a total stranger to guide him?

/...HOOOOoooHOOooooooOoOoOooo…/

Bakugou read the next line through Eijiro’s lips, the man’s eyes heavenward as he mouthed the words to the song they’d all heard so many times. Everybody sighed the lyrics that came from the velvety pipes of the Queen of Disco.

/...Last Dance…Last Chance for loooooove…/

People had already started making their way towards the exit as the lights began to shift all around them, morphing from vibrant neon rainbows to bubbling white champagne hues.

There was a cocktail of different voices, some booing and some cheering, but there was a simultaneous mass exodus from the rink and Bakugou was confused when Eijiro wasn’t following along.

/...Yes...It’s my last chance…/

But then it hit him.

/...For Romance...Toniiiiiiight…/

It was the couple’s dance. The last song of the night. Donna Summer. It was /the/ classic.

And he was a total fucking idiot if he thought he could escape it in time.

/...I need you…/

What was he doing?

He didn’t belong out here. He wasn’t a skater. He wasn’t a romantic and he wouldn’t even be on the floor if it weren’t for Eijiro’s sturdy hands to guide him.

/...by me…/

Then again, maybe he would. Maybe he’d still be stuck clinging to that guardrail, waiting desperately for somebody to come help him when he couldn’t swallow his own dignity and just ask a passerby.

/...beside me...to guide me…/

Who was he kidding? This was foolish. He needed to find Deku and pack their troupe up and split from this place so the couples could have their spot in the limelight.

Maybe Half-n-Half had won a fuckin’ plushie from the claw machine by now.

/...to hold me…to scold me.../

Before the blond could even think about turning, Eijiro snatched one of his hands in both of his and brought it cradled to his mouth like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He could feel the hot shaky exhale on the side of his fist as the brave, brave red-head clenched his eyes shut in fear. His whole body shook with the trembling breath he took and Bakugou felt his heart clench as he watched the man’s body fill with something akin to pure courage.

“Will you please dance with me?”

/…’cause when I’m bad.../

Bakugou felt all the saliva in his mouth dry up and his jaw hang open.

The man that’d scooped him up from his own trembling, the one that’d had them both gliding across the rink without a care in the world, the man who nailed every beat to every song, all while showing Bakugou with action instead of words how capable he was--

Thought Bakugou might reject him?

A gentle red flush began to creep over the back up his neck and over the tops of ears.

After all that dancing and...and the hands on his waist...did Eijiro really think…

/…I’m so so bad.../

He was toying with time and he had less than a second to make a decision that he would overthink for the rest of the night if he made the wrong choice. Maybe longer, knowing him.

But like he said, he’s a man of action.

“...I’ll do it.”

And then he felt all the tension ooze out of him when the man looked up from their hands clasped together with his mouth full of razor sharp canines spreading from ear-to-ear.

His lips moved again, unheard words carrying more weight in their silence than ever possible out loud, but Bakugou was quickly becoming fluent in Eijiro’s language.

He didn’t need to answer, just absorb the radiating joy of the “Thank You” that he read on his mouth.

Eijiro pressed a gentle kiss to Bakugou’s hand before swooping in to grab the other one, lifting it higher and higher as their skates began to move again.

He’d made the right choice.

“So--” /...So…/

“Let’s Dance!” /...Let’s Dance!/

The tempo was quick.

The music was sweeping them swifter than it had been before, easier now that the extras had scrammed; there weren’t more than a half dozen duos on the floor, but space wasn’t any less of a hot commodity.

If anything, it was only getting more intense as couples began skating circles around each other, back to front, some spinning and some dipping while others made it a race for speed.

Go for the gold, but instead of a medal, it was lamé booty shorts.

Time was less than a blur of lights and colors so much as it was the moment that Eijiro’s laugh lines conceded to spread and accommodate a glittering smile.

His lips wrapped perfectly around each word and lyric, each syllable landing in practiced perfection even as his body moved to and fro with Bakugou’s sweaty palm clutched in his, the blond drunk on his body, his mouth, his eyes as they sped faster and faster.

The floor didn’t seem to match up with the pace of his skittish feet, or at the rate at which they were beginning to accelerate, faster and faster with Bakugou’s legs stiff as boards while Eijiro’s movements seemed to become even more languid.

Fucker was skating /backwards/.

And Bakugou was mesmerized as they swayed, barely paying attention to who was skating around them or who was standing watch from outside the guardrails.

His eyes were glued to the crimson ones piercing into him from across the bridge of their arms, tied down by the lifeline of Eijiro’s hold, but lost in his gaze.

They rounded a corner and Bakugou was barely aware of the screams as they skirted close to their audience.

The two were moving faster than his brain could recognize faces, but he saw colors in clumps.

Brown, two shades of green, a little red, a little white.

Then black, yellow, and neon pink, the latter of which shrieked “GET ‘IM, EI!” as they swung around in passing.

“You ready to twirl, Katsuki?”

As they passed the next turn, there was the faintest hint of muscles tensing before Eijiro’s arm shot in front and around his partner’s shoulder. “Hold on tight!”

“Wha--FUCK!”

And then Bakugou was spinning like a top, his shrill scream of surprise falling silent under the singer’s plea of /WoHOOOOooo I need you...by me...beside me...to guide me/

The entire world was tilted and all the colors were horizontal lines as his neck whiplashed round and round.

/To hold me…/ “KIRISHIMA, YOU F--”

/To scold me…/ “I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL Y--”

There was the faint hiss of joints cracking in his knee as Bakugou felt his direction change and his legs slip out from beneath him.

He couldn’t even process that he was going down like the fucking Titanic until he hit...something.

Something caught around his middle, was /still/ wrapped tight around him, and was firmly supporting him around the ring of his waist.

He hadn’t realized that he’d been squeezing his eyes shut until he forced them open again, but Bakugou found that same lifeline between their gazes when he saw his own eyes reflecting from the pools of Eijiro’s just inches from his face.

His /hands/ were what Bakugou was feeling on his back. Eijiro repositioned them lower to scoop more delicately around the blond’s waist and Bakugou gasped, almost losing his two-handed hold on the back of the red-head’s neck when he felt the man’s finger’s touch around him.

/And when I’m bad, I’m so so bad.../

“Wow, Katsuki.” The man was breathless, but with a crooked, mischievous grin. “I said ‘twirl’, but I /never/ thought you would try and dip like that!”

“Sh-shut up,” Bakugou replied with an attempt at a scowl, but based on Kirishima’s laughter, it must’ve looked more like a pout. “Didn’t think you were gonna trip me like that.”

“I just figured I was so good that you got swept off your feet.”

Bakugou tch’ed as he turned his head away, but his face still felt hot, especially with that bastard breathing the same air as him. And still looking at him like /that/, like he was gonna devour him, or worse, twirl him again.

Another laugh was answer to his indignant silence.

“You’re so small here,” Eijiro whispered on an exhale, and Bakugou felt the fingers flex around his waist before helping to lift him back to his feet.

He didn’t whine, he didn’t.

It was just a gasp that came out as they righted themselves, but it caused him to panic. Skates firmly planted under him, Bakugou pulled back without thinking, using just enough force to break Eijiro’s hold on him whether he wanted those strong hands gone or not.

He didn’t know…if he wanted them there or not.

He did, but he didn’t. It was too much, not enough, and he could barely hear his own thoughts over the roaring music blasting around them.

The song seemed to be feeling the same thoughts that he was.

/I can’t be sure...that you’re the one for me./

But that was all part of the dance wasn’t it? Eijiro had asked him, a total stranger, to skate the last dance with him just because. Even now, the red-head’s hand was outstretched in hope that his partner would wind their fingers around each other again.

Maybe for the last time.

But the next line of the song solved the puzzle for him, too.

Bakugou’s worries began to thaw and melt away when he met Eijiro’s hand halfway, picking up their pace just in time to make a quick swing and pass in front of all of their friends once more.

Donna might have been singing the words, but the way they looked gliding off of Eijiro’s lips completed all his thoughts.

/All that I ask...is that you dance with me./