Chapter Text
Eijirou flicked his eyes across the plaza for the hundredth time that day, his hands shifting across the workbench in robotic jerks. Normally, he liked to savor his work — to feel the stems and leaves beneath his fingers, the snip of his shears, the cool cling of mist on his skin — but this one day of the year was his consistent exception.
A florist was always busy on Valentine’s Day.
And this year in particular, Eijirou’s loyalties were cruelly divided. Dynamight Tattoo and Piercings was hosting a flash tat day for the first time since its opening in two years.
For the first time in two years of watching and admiring and chickening out, Eijirou finally had an excuse to talk to—
“Earth to Eijirou?!”
“What?!” He jumped, a roll of burlap ribbon spilling to the floor.
Kaminari rolled his eyes. “Seriously? In front of my bouquet?”
He grimaced at his friend. “Sorry. It’s just—” he gazed out the window again, his eyes trailing along the line of customers past the edge of his window and down the length of the plaza “—I really wanted to get one, but there’s no way I’ll make it in time.”
“I mean, they close later than we do. You never know.” Kaminari wiggled his eyebrows, collecting the finished bouquets. “You might still get a chance at truuuee looovee.”
Eijirou rolled his eyes, picked up the fallen ribbon, and set back to work on the other rose orders.
“Or, at the very least, a good fuck.”
His face bloomed a deeper red than the flowers filling the buckets around them. “KAMI!”
Grabbing his shears, he set after his best friend.
Squealing, Kaminari ducked into the back. “Mommy said not to run with scissors!”
Eijirou met Shiozaki’s calm eyes and balked. “Sorry.” He sent his intern a guilty smile, lowering the scissors behind his back and walking backward toward the workbench. “Back to work, then.”
He bumped into a vase as the phone rang.
Shiozaki’s eyes never left him as she answered with a soft, “Riot Flora, happy Valentine’s Day, how can I help you?”
He rolled up his wet sleeves and got back into the rhythm of forming and tying their bouquet orders.
As St. Valentine finally gave it a rest, amber and violet filtered through the lettering on his windows, spelling out a reversed “Riot Flora” across his dark wood flooring. Promising himself he wouldn’t deflate from lack of hope, Eijirou trudged on, sweeping up cut leaves and ribbon slivers. By the time he and Kaminari had mopped up all the spilled water, taken out the compost, separated the plastic from the paper shreds, and Shiozaki closed the register, his feet were aching and his heart was bruised.
All the other plants in the shop still needed to be fed and watered and the alarm set and doors locked before he could call it a night, and there was still a line outside of Dynamight’s.
A sigh slipped past his optimistic lips. There would be a next time.
“Thanks for your help, guys.” He turned to smile at his employees, the two of them looking ridden hard and put away wet. “You should go home for the night, it’s late.”
“We’ll finish everything here,” said Kaminari, swiping the watering can from his hand. “Go get inked up by the hot gremlin across the street.” He winked at Eijirou and turned, filling up the can.
Eijirou’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t ask them to stay even later for him! He looked to Shiozaki, who was petting one of their orchids’ leaves and whispering into its petals. His eyes watered. What did he do to deserve such manly employees and friends?!
He peered out the window, squinting through the bushes that divided the plaza strip, catching a small flash of purple, another of pink, and one of flaxen blond in the window of Dynamight's.
His heart hammered in his chest, sweat building between his shoulder blades. Could he even do this? Could he talk to him without sounding like an idiot? Maybe he should just stay and help. There would be other opportunities to get a tattoo.
“Dude, go! Before it gets any later!”
“AH!” He slapped his cheeks and ripped his apron off. “Okay! Okay! How do I look? Do I smell?”
“Like a rose, my dude.” Kaminari threw him a thumbs up.
Eijirou blew a breath out of his mouth and pushed past the door.
“Don’t feed him anything after midnight!”
Katsuki’s fingers hurt. He hated Valentine’s Day. How many more couples would he see walk in and get matching tattoos that they’d regret six months from now? How many more people would ask him if they could get that design but “with this line changed and a different type of flower? Oh, and can I get part of this design put with it? But just this one part. With the leaves.”
It was a flash day — people were supposed to come in, pick a design or two, sit quietly while Katsuki stabbed them millions of times, then leave. They didn’t get to be picky when the tattoos were twenty fucking dollars and no one dropped a tip.
He’d staved off hosting any flash days for two years, but his employees finally wore him down. Apparently, it would be good for their somewhat polarized reputation. But they did well, even with the shitty Yelp reviews. Well enough to afford a studio in one of the nicest plazas in town, plus the rent of Katuski’s upstairs apartment.
As much as he pushed back, he did trust his employees. He wanted to keep doing well — he was in as good a spot as he could hope to be right now. Most of the clientele was tolerable when the college kids didn’t drive into the suburbs, and the location…
He glanced up from behind the counter, cracking his knuckles and peering through the commercial landscaping that separated his shop from Red’s. He didn’t know the bastard’s name, but he’d memorized his face by that point.
Katsuki was too chicken shit to introduce himself to the absolute unit of a florist when he first moved in, and what was he supposed to do now? Go over there and buy flowers? Ask the guy out?
Hey, I’ve been staring at you through the shrubbery for two years and want to bend you over my chair — I could give you a tattoo or a dicking down, either one works for me. Both is good, too. Want to get dinner at Fat’s?
He sighed, flexing his fingers and checking the clock for the hundredth time that day. Eight-thirty.
“I’m closing,” he announced to his employees. Stomping through the door, he felt a sick sense of satisfaction in turning these people away at the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to unpack the evidence of his sadism. “We’re closed! No more tattoos! Go home!”
“Aww c’mon, man, I’ve been here for three hours, can’t you just—”
“No. We’re—” a hulking red form barreled through the boscage to his left, hopping down from the ledge and slowing to a stop “—closed.” Katuski blinked. “Go away,” he shooed the whiners. Walking over to Red, he noticed the man’s look of disappointment, his awkward hand resting at the back of his neck, his unsure feet shuffling underneath his weight. Katsuki smirked. “Hey.”
Red beamed at him. Shit, he had a nice smile. “Hi. You’re Bakugou, right?”
Oh, shit, he knows my name. Okay, calm down.
“That’s me.” He tipped his chin at the landscaped divider. “Did you brave the professionally groomed jungle to get inked, or was that just for me?”
Red turned red. Katsuki bit his cheek.
A laugh fell from between sharp canines, framed by spit-licked lips. “It was for the tattoo, but if you enjoyed the show, then we can say both.” Scratching the back of his neck, he glanced behind Katsuki. “But, uh, our Valentine’s orders kept me later than I thought they would.” He shrugged. “Next time.”
“Nah, you can come in.” Nodding his head, Katsuki turned to walk down the lane. “Just follow me around the back so these extras don’t complain, and I’ll get my hands on you.”
Katsuki led him through the back door and into his room off the end of the hall.
“You can wait in here, I’ll grab you some of our flash sets.” Casually sauntering down the hallway — no, he was not speed walking, no matter what the cameras may show later — he picked up the pile of remaining flash designs and two of his books from the lobby.
The rest of his employees were busy counting the register, wiping down displays, and tallying their tips. Good. They didn’t need to know Red was here.
“Who’s here?”
He groaned. He was steps away from making his escape. “No one, fuck off.”
Jirou shrugged, but Ashido was having none of it. “Oh my god it’s him, isn’t it?!”
Three other heads swiveled in his direction, brows raised.
“Shh! You’ll fucking scare him off!”
Shinsou snorted. “He’s already put up with you for a whole conversation, at least. I don’t think you need to worry about our hospitality.”
Katsuki scowled, pivoting on his heels and stomping back down the hall.
Red was sitting up on the chair, thick legs swinging back and forth as he looked around the room. He looked like a kid at the dentist. Katsuki kind of wanted to give him a sticker.
“I brought the rest of the Valentine’s designs, but if you get literally anything else, you’ll make my fucking day.”
“Really?” he asked, taking the stack of art books and papers. “I don’t want to keep you that late.”
Katsuki took a seat in his stool, crab walking until he was shoulder to shoulder with the man. “Don’t worry about it; gotta short commute.”
He watched Red’s fingers skim over the edges of laminated sheets, thick pads trailing across dark woodcut designs. Katsuki’s gaze traveled up, where Red’s arms were covered by a tight navy henley. His bicep bulged as he repositioned the book, and Katsuki bit his lip, wondering what that arm would feel like wrapped around his waist, those hands gripping his thighs, Red looking up at him while on his—
“Did you design these?”
“Hmm?” His head snapped up to meet crimson irises. “Yeah—” he cleared his throat “—these are mine.”
Red smiled wide. “They’re beautiful, dude.”
Katsuki wouldn’t admit to preening a bit at his praise.
“This one.” Red’s finger was poised over one of Katsuki’s older designs.
There wasn’t a huge Japanese community in their area, and most of the people who came in commissioned something specific from him anyway, so Katsuki was happily surprised to see his omamori design get the appreciation it deserved.
The charm was designed in black woodcut etching, like all of his tattoos, that he carved with a linoleum print. The lines were clean and strong, accentuating the amulet’s simple rectangular shape and highlighting the tassel's and bell’s curvature. Inside the charm were two chrysanthemums, designed in classic irezumi style — one curled in on itself and the other blooming, its petals like spindly fingers reaching to escape the edges of the omamori. Behind the flowers sat a stylistic pattern of traditional cloud imagery.
Katsuki smiled. “Good choice.” Taking the books from the man, he slid the design sheet out. “Where do you want it?”
“On my hip, I think.”
“How big?”
Red looked at his palm, then down at his groin, smacking his hand down on his hip bone. “Like, fingers’ length? Not as big as my whole hand.”
“Color?”
“Black and red?”
“You asking or telling me?” Katsuki pinched the man’s hip, biting down his grin as Red squirmed and let loose a shower of giggles.
This fucker is fucking cute.
“Black with red chrysanthemums and a red tassel.”
Katsuki nodded. “‘Kay. Take your pants off, I’ll go make a stencil.” The man sitting in his chair bloomed red again — yeah, Katsuki liked it when he did that. “Here, you can use this to drape over your lap,” he said, handing Red a hand towel from the clean basket before turning from the room.
Stencil in hand, Katsuki returned to find the man leaned back in his chair, shirt pulled up to his navel and white towel unfolded, lying across his naked lap.
This is fine. I am a professional.
“I think I want it on this side,” he said, moving part of the towel out of the way to reveal a cut Adonis belt, Red’s smooth hip transitioning from burnt caramel to a shade more delicate, more intimate — something not even the sun knew.
I am also super fucking gay.
Katsuki rolled his stool and tools close, slapping on a pair of latex gloves. “I’m gonna give you a shave,” he mumbled, picking up a shitty two-blade razor. As he slid the blades across Red’s skin as gently as he could, the side of his lip quivered. “So—” he looked up, wiping the razor with a paper towel “—lucky dick, huh?”
Red looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Huh?” He blinked before realization set in, and he slapped his hands over his face. As Katsuki laughed at his expense, he sputtered, “Nooo, no, I— it’s just— that’s. Hmm.”
Katsuki shook his head, his laughs simmering. “‘M fucking with you.”
“It’s just The Next Spot, you know?” Red smiled behind shy hands.
Katsuki’s heart thundered in his chest as he placed the stencil. “You’ve got other tattoos?”
Red nodded. A slow heat began to build in Katsuki’s gut. This guy was going to kill him.
“Mmm. Then tell me what you really want.” He unpeeled the stencil backing. “No more ‘I think I want’ or asking a question when you should be taking what’s yours, yeah?”
Red lowered his hands, a small smile stretching his lips. He nodded, pieces of his spiked hair beginning to fall against his forehead.
“Good boy.” He swiveled away, smirking when he heard Red’s choked inhale. Just because he was a professional didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun. “Go look at it in the mirror—” he stuck his thumb over his shoulder “—and tell me what you think.”
The rustling of fabric and skin on medical paper sounded behind him. He shook up his ink, filled his wells, and prepped his needle, listening to the sounds of socks on tile and easy breathing. His fingers didn’t hurt anymore.
“Um, you can turn around now.” Red was fiddling with his hands in his lap, the towel tucked between his groin and inner thigh to give Katsuki room to work on his hip. “It’s perfect.”
His eyes sparked with a mellow, sustained fire.
Katsuki nodded, satisfied, and applied a thin layer of A&D ointment to the stencil. Turning on his gun, he leaned closer and found a solid handhold for his first line.
Red was soft under the pressure of his needle, pliable and trusting under his callused hands. He settled closer, finding solace in the man’s skin.
“Uh, chrysanthemums are really cool.” Even the man’s voice was a sort of comfort at the end of a shit day. “From, like, a florist’s perspective.” He had a nice laugh too. It was soft but proud, like his body.
“They, uh, represent the noble class and autumn...”
Katsuki dabbed at the skin with a paper towel, continuing his lines.
“...means ‘gold flower’...”
Slow and steady, he met points and filled lines, dipping his needle and clearing the excess ink away from the skin.
“...over twenty thousand cultivars in the world…”
He added just a little more ointment around the tassel and bell design to smooth the glide of the curves.
“...the Imperial Seal…”
He filled the pattern behind the flowers before outlining them.
“...the Chrysanthemum Throne…”
Tossing the used needle in the biohazard sharps container, he switched to a 13-mag and dipped into the red ink. He filled in the flowers and tassel with steady, tight motions, packing in the color.
“...oh, and the Order of the Chrysanthemum.”
Katsuki sat up, stretching his neck and turning off his machine. After disposing of the needle, he cleaned off Red’s skin, smoothed more ointment over it, and covered the area with a layer of cling film.
Seeing his work on Red’s body sent a wave of shivers down his spine.
“Wanna check it out?” he asked.
Red grinned and nodded, his fallen spikes bobbing up and down.
Katsuki was too blissed out to hold back his own smile as he turned away, cleaning up and giving the man some privacy.
“Bakugou…” he heard the man breathe.
Fuck. He really liked that.
“Still perfect?”
Red huffed a laugh. “Better.” The sounds of rustling fabric and a clinking belt buckle drifted across the room. “What do I owe you?”
“One twenty.”
“One— That’s your minimum.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is bigger than minimum.”
Katsuki stood and looked over his shoulder. “Fine. One twenty and your name.”
Red stepped closer and handed him a pile of bills. “Kirishima Eijirou.” A blush spread across his features as Katsuki’s fingers lingered on his outstretched hand.
Katsuki ran his tongue over his canines. Maybe next time Eijirou would show him how far down that red bloomed.