Chapter Text
You sit waiting on the back of your R1, stopped at the corner of the end of the street to your sweet little Karamatsu’s school. You’ve still got your helmet on, because Karamatsu is fearful of anyone finding out your identity, and you’ve got the one you bought for him propped up on the seat next to you.
It’s ten minutes to 3pm, and you’ve only been waiting for half an hour, but you’re bored out of your mind.
You’ve been scrolling through your phone’s gallery to pass the time, but it’s ninety percent Karamatsu in there, and all it does is make you even more impatient to meet him in the flesh.
It’s been three months since you’d started dating, and while you still haven’t fucked him yet, that doesn’t mean either of you haven’t been doing all the other naughty things that makes him flush bright and red at the mere hints of.
Your gallery has pictures of Karamatsu in nothing but your leather jacket, in various teasing poses
(standing with his hands folded nervously in front of his naked crotch, his face flushing beautifully and his eyes downcast;
sitting reclined on the sofa at your apartment, reading a book for his English class, utterly unaware of you taking his photo with your phone;
lying on his side on your bed, sleeping, the gentle slope of his naked ass highlighted by your bed covers resting on it)
and besides your jacket, he’s also been sweet enough to indulge in your other more… risqué tastes.
You’ve got a photo of him with a tailed-dildo stuffed into his ass, complete with a matching pair of dog ears on his head and a thick blue collar snugly clasped around his neck. He’s sitting on the floor, on his knees, his legs folded under him and his back turned towards you.
He’s looking up at you from over his shoulder, his face red from arousal as well as embarrassment, and from the angle of the photo, you can just about see a hint of one of his hardened nipples.
In another photo, he’s wearing a sheer apron, the thin material pulled taut against his body by the bow around his waist, pressing against his skin and leaving very little to the imagination - from the soft curves of his chest to the small bulge of his limp manhood.
The white sheen of the material is an especially striking contrast to his full-body blush, and he’s looking away from the camera, his shoulders hunched almost up to his ears and his hands balled tightly by his sides.
You realize belatedly that all this browsing is making you half-hard, and you shift on your bike, adjusting yourself in your leather pants.
“Sorry I’m late!”
You almost fall off your bike in surprise at the familiar voice, high and embarrassed as it apologizes in a rush, but you manage to cover it up with a cough and a shrug as you slip your phone into your jacket pocket and turn to find Karamatsu standing just a few feet away, bowing with his shoulders hunched.
“O-Osomatsu-niisan kept insisting that we walk home together,” he explains as he straightens, scratching at his cheek and avoiding eye contact. “I had to make up an excuse.”
You want to melt at his cuteness, knowing very well how awful he is at lying. He’d probably turned several shades of crimson throughout the whole time, stumbling over his words and desperately searching for an escape. Your thoughts do nothing to discourage your little problem down south and you quickly hand his helmet over to him.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” you tell him, and he blushes at the pet name, despite the fact that you’ve called him that several times before. “You got any homework today?”
Karamatsu takes the helmet as you take his schoolbag from him, slipping it over your own shoulder, and he puts it on carefully, biting his bottom lip in concentration.
“Um, I have English but it’s not due until next week,” he answers, his voice muffled behind the helmet. He blinks innocently at you once he’s got it fit snugly around his head, and asks, “Why?”
You smirk at him, even though he can’t see it through your own helmet, and you’re about to tease him when you spot movement out of the corner of your eye, a flash of something grey and black disappearing round the corner at the end of the street behind Karamatsu. You blink a few times, wondering if you’ve started imagining things, but you’re sure you’d seen-
“Is- is everything alright?” Karamatsu asks hesitantly, and you narrow your eyes before turning to him, giving him a smile that he can’t see either.
“Everything’s cool,” you say. “You hungry? The boys found a new ramen place. You’ll love it.”
Karamatsu beams at you, nodding quickly. “That sounds good,” he says, and you usher him towards your bike, glancing one last time down the street before you get onto your bike yourself.
You’re sure you’re not imagining things, but you’re patient enough to wait and see to find out.
---
“Shit, do you think they saw me?” Ichimatsu asks rhetorically as he presses his back flat against the building on one side of the alley, looking over at his brothers.
“I don’t think so, but you really need to be more careful,” Choromatsu replies, pushing his glasses up and glancing around the alley with obvious nervousness. “Are you sure you want to follow Karamatsu?” he adds, his gaze stopping on their eldest brother, who’s peeking round the side of the wall Ichimatsu is pressed up against. “This is a clear invasion of his privacy, you know.”
Osomatsu snorts derisively, looking over his shoulder to raise one brow at Choromatsu. “Privacy?” he scoffs. “He’s my little brother! I have a right to know who he’s spending so much time with after school!”
“He looked like a delinquent,” Todomatsu adds from behind Choromatsu, and his eyes are darting between his older brothers critically, the expression on his face the same as the one he’d given the trash scattered around them on the alley floor.
His gaze stops on Jyushimatsu, who’s leaning against the other side of the alley with his arms crossed and his own face pinched in his usual anger.
“Tch, never seen the bastard before,” he grunts out in response to Todomatsu’s silent question.
“He didn’t look like a high schooler,” Ichimatsu reasons. “Where do you think Karamatsu even knows him from?”
The sound of a bike’s engine revving loudly cuts their conversation short, and all of them scramble to the mouth of the alley, climbing around and over Osomatsu to get a look down the street, too. The eldest Matsuno yelps in protest, especially when Todomatsu’s elbow jabs into the top of his head painfully, but they’re all too busy squinting down the road as Karamatsu moves further away from them on the - admittedly cool - motorcycle that belongs to the not-delinquent he somehow knows.
“We’ll never catch up to that, anyway,” Choromatsu says when the motorcycle disappears round a bend, sounding almost relieved.
Osomatsu hums thoughtfully, and then grins as he looks over at his younger brothers. “Hey, Jyushimatsu. You know how to hotwire a car, right?” he asks casually, to which Choromatsu makes a loud indignant sound that’s muffled by Ichimatsu’s quick hands.
Four months ago, you’d been minding your own business, polishing the rims of your bike outside your run down apartment building, when your attention had been caught by the sounds of shouting and scuffling coming from a nearby alley.
Your first thought had been to ignore it; you don’t live in the safest of neighbourhoods and people getting mugged or stabbed throughout random times of the day are a normal occurrence. However, the sounds keep getting louder, and when you hear a harsh, furious, “You little bitch!” shouted, a vein on your forehead pops with anger.
You’re a gang member yourself, but your gang is one those better kinds that have a policy against hurting women and children. You’ll not stand for something like that happening on your home front.
And so you twist the greasy rag you’d been using tightly between your fists and make your way over to the alley where the sounds are coming from, and what you see kind of stupefies you for a moment.
There are three thugs, shorter than you, but no less built, and they have the same tattoos of another gang a few streets over on the sides of their shaved heads. Two of them are clutching the arms of what looks like a high school boy in a familiar uniform, who’s cringing with fear and anxiety as he squirms in their hold. The third thug is hunched over in front of the kid, his hands cupping at his crotch and his face contorted with pain and fury.
“Fuck’s going on here?” you demand, and all four of them look up over at you.
The three thugs look annoyed at being interrupted, but they see your arms - the tattoos you’d gotten about two years ago - and they pale immediately with apprehension.
“Shit, nothing,” one of the thugs says, the one on the left of the high schooler. He glances over at the thug with the crotch problem, and adds, “We was just having some business, right, Teru?”
You assume the Teru guy is the leader, then, and fixes a flat stare on him, twisting the rag in your hands a bit tighter in a show, knowing the action makes your forearms flex dangerously.
“Is that so?” you say, looking over at the high schooler. “So what were you doing with my little brother over there, eh?”
The two thugs holding onto the boy immediately let him go, and the boy stumbles backwards onto his ass with a yelp.
“Sorry, boss, we didn’t know he was yours,” one of the thugs says quickly, bowing repeatedly as he backs away deeper into the alley. “We was- sorry, sorry! We won’t bother him no more!”
The other two follow him quickly, stammering out similar sentiments, and you watch, unimpressed, as they turn tail and start sprinting off into the distance.
“Tch,” you click your tongue with annoyance, rolling your eyes. Fucking cowards. You almost forget the reason you’d been about ready to beat them to a pulp until you hear clothes rustling and tiny little sniffles.
The high schooler is still on the ground, now on his knees, and he’s gathering dirtied papers scattered around amidst the trash on the alley floor. He looks close to breaking down and bawling, but-
“Did you really kick that asshole in the dick?” you ask him curiously, and he freezes in the middle of gathering his papers, slowly turning his head to look up at you with wide, tearful eyes.
“Y-yes?” he answers with uncertainty, clutching his papers to his chest as his acne-ridden cheeks flush red. “I- I’m sorry for intruding!” he adds quickly, bowing his head.
You frown in confusion, not quite sure what to make of his words, but then you realize that he probably thinks you’re about to do to him whatever the three thugs had been about to do before you’d stepped in, and you laugh loudly.
This kid is weird, but anyone with the balls to kick another guy in the balls - especially when they’re outnumbered and obviously about to lose the fight - is alright in your book.
“It’s cool, kid,” you tell him after forcing your laughter down; he looks like he’s about to piss his pants, and you wonder if you really look and sound all that terrifying. “You got lost, huh?”
The kid relaxes minutely at your reassurance, but he still looks nervous and ready to flee at the drop of a pin as he gathers the last of his papers and picks up an abandoned school bag behind him before standing up.
“No, I- I’m looking for someone,” he tells you, shaking his head. “He lives nearby, b-but I’ve never been h-here before, so I was asking for directions.”
You chuckle at his admission, and it’s sort of cute how gullible he sounds. “Who the fuck would a Fujio Academy student be looking for in a place like this?” you ask him wryly, and you throw your rag over your shoulder to cross your arms over your chest as you regard him.
You don’t miss the way his eyes drift over your biceps, lingering there with shy interest, and if he weren’t a high schooler, you’d be flirting with him shamelessly. He’s cute enough, and you’re curious how well he could hold himself in an actual, fair fight.
“The Student Council is doing an a-alumni tracer,” the kid stammers out, finally forcing his eyes to meet yours, and his blush darkens a bit further when they do. “I’m hel-helping them find a group of graduates an-and one of them lives here.”
You can’t help yourself; you really do burst out laughing, then. “Well, today’s your lucky day, kid,” you tell him, and his brows furrow cutely in confusion. “You’re looking at him right now.”
---
Half an hour later, he’s sitting stiffly on your couch, his hands gripping a can of soda so tight that the tin has dents in the shape of his slender fingers. His back is ramrod straight, but his head is ducked and he looks like he’s not quite sure where to keep his eyes.
He’d explained that he’s a senior - he’s eighteen, and you can’t help but be incredibly excited about that; he’s practically an adult! - and that he’s not really part of the student council, but his brother had volunteered because he’s in love with the Vice President or something. Apparently, his brother is also a lazy bastard and had roped him into helping with the legwork instead of doing it himself.
What a douche, you think, but you’ve been through your fair share of lazy, unreliable siblings, and the kid doesn’t seem all that bothered when he’d been talking about it.
“Karamatsu, right?” you say as you take a seat on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
Your knees are only an inch or two away from his, and you know he’s acutely aware of this fact because his blush returns tenfold and he looks even more nervous than before.
“Y-yes,” he stammers out, looking into your eyes for a brief moment before looking back down. “I- I’m sorry for the trouble.”
You wave his apology away, shrugging. “You’re cute enough, would’ve sucked if those bastards had their way with you,” you say.
His blush darkens again, and he looks up at you with wide, startled eyes. “Y-you think I’m cute?” he asks faintly, and you swear you can see steam rising out of his ears.
You smirk at him flirtatiously as a brilliant idea pops into your head. “Say, how about I make you a deal, Kara-chan,” you start, and the can between Karamatsu’s hands crack loudly as it’s crushed in his grip. “I’ll cooperate fully with this tracer shit your brother’s got you doing, and in exchange, you go out on a date with me.”
“D-d-d-date?!” he chokes out, and you’re shocked when he shoots up to his feet like a bullet. “Y-y-you want t-t-to go o-out on a d-d-date with me?” he shouts.
He looks petrified, and you immediately feel bad for teasing him, even though his overreaction and nervous fear is awfully cute. Still, you don’t particularly want him to have an aneurysm in your apartment - least of all because of you - so you reach out to touch his arm, intending to pull him back down to the sofa and calm him down, but he freezes solidly at the contact before deflating and sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.
“Karamatsu!” you shout, alarmed, rising fast enough to at least catch his head before he hits it against anything. “Hey! Come on, kid, I didn’t mean anything bad by it!” you tell him, carefully maneuvering him to lie down on the sofa.
He looks completely out of it now, his eyes unfocused and staring up at you blindly, and he’s blushing so furiously that his whole head feels like a heater. You slap his cheeks lightly to snap him out of it, feeling even guiltier now. You didn’t think he’d react this intensely!
After a moment, he’s blinking rapidly, and his eyes adjust until they’re no longer so dazed. Your faces are inches away from each other and you pull back quickly, not wanting to overwhelm him again, but you’re shocked when he’s the one that grabs your arms to keep you in place.
“Y-you really mean it?” he asks breathlessly, and he looks so nervous and unsure of himself that you melt - your aniki would never let you live this down, but at this point, you’re sure you’d jump off a building if Karamatsu asks you to, just with that expression on his face.
“Every single word, baby,” you tell him, and his lips quirk up in a cute, endearingly sweet smile.
“O-okay,” he says, his grip on your arms relaxing. “I’ll go out with you.”
---
Your first date had been a disaster
(you were half an hour late and Karamatsu had thought you’d stood him up, and then a couple of rival gang members had jumped you two after your movie and even though you’d won that fight, you hadn’t wanted Karamatsu to see your violent tendencies first-hand, at least not yet)
but it hadn’t been so bad that Karamatsu hadn’t agreed to go out on another date with you. Or another. Or another. Or another.
Soon enough, the two of you have been dating for a month, and you’re sure you’re falling in love with the kid, sappy as that sounds.
His favourite colour is blue and he loves action movies and your bike, and he’s close to his brothers even though they all have completely different interests. Not to mention, he still blushes easily at your teasing, and especially when you use English pet names on him.
You file away all these facts about him in a special place in your heart, including all the other seemingly insignificant ones that make up who he is.
(like how he loves pears and sunglasses - but doesn’t dare wear them because he doesn’t think he’s cool enough - and likes English but has a hard time pronouncing words correctly no matter how much he practises;
how he scratches his cheeks when he’s nervous or feeling shy, and he can use both hands to write but he can only hold his chopsticks in his right hand;
how he’s bold enough to argue with you when he thinks you’re doing something bad for your health, but he gives in quickly to other things like you pampering him or teasing him to embarrassment)
What really cements your growing feelings for him, however, is when one day, after a dinner at the ramen place you always frequent with your boys, the two of you are jumped once again on the way back to your apartment.
There’re four of them, and you’re maybe not completely sober enough to beat their asses as easily and quickly as you usually can. You knock out two of them, but one of them has a baseball bat and he bangs it hard against the back of your head. You see stars at the impact, and you blank out for what feels like an eternity.
When your head clears, just a little, you blearily realize that you’re on the ground, and there’s still the sounds of fighting from somewhere nearby. Through blurred vision, you can just about make out Karamatsu in a rampage, beating the two remaining thugs to a pulp with the baseball bat that had gotten you.
You’d started to think that Karamatsu’s only feelings consisted of being nervous, shy, timid or embarrassed, and it’s almost a relief to find that he can get pissed off, too. He looks nothing like your sweet little boyfriend in that moment, with his furious glare and vicious strength swinging the bat over and over in a way that implies he’s done it before in excess.
He looks almost like a demon in the moonlight, an avenging angel, and it’s then that you know without a doubt; you’re in love with the kid.
When Karamatsu snaps out of his frenzy, he’s immediately by your side, fussing over you, checking your head and asking you questions to make sure you don’t have any immediate brain damage.
He doesn’t stop fussing all the way to your apartment, keeping a hold of your arm the whole time and refusing to let go, even when you tell him you need your hands to find your keys and unlock the front door, and when the two of you finally manage to stumble inside, he’s throwing himself against you and kissing you fervently.
You’re too surprised to kiss him back, and you regret that as soon as he pulls away, looking up at you with tearful eyes.
“I was so scared,” he confesses. “It sounded so loud, and y-you fell like a tree!”
“I’m okay, Karamatsu,” you tell him, running your hands up and down his arms comfortingly. “I’ve had worse injuries before.”
He makes a strangled sound at that, and he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your chest. You can tell that he’s crying because the front of your shirt is getting wet, but you’re more concerned about him finding out that you’re far too excited about this situation than you should be.
The adrenaline from earlier is making you hard, and the image of Karamatsu being all badass is way too hot to let go of just like that.
You try to keep him away from your lower regions without peeling him off of you completely, and try to think of as many unsexy things as possible. Another thought occurs to you, then, and you decide to voice it out loud, hoping that it’s enough of a distraction from your excitable dick.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that, anyway?” you ask him, looking down at the top of his head. “It was really hot to watch.”
Karamatsu doesn’t answer you immediately, and he shifts until he’s looking up at you with his usual shy, nervous expression.
“O-one of my little brothers is a d-delinquent,” he admits sheepishly. “Sometimes he practises fighting with us so we don't em-embarrass him for not being able to f-fight.”
“Practise?” you echo his words, raising a brow. “With a baseball bat?”
Karamatsu shrugs. “He used to really love baseball,” he explains.
A delinquent with a love for baseball? It sounds familiar, but you can’t really remember where you’d heard it from, and your head hurts when you try to think too hard. With a wince, you shake your head, and Karamatsu lets go of your waist to cup at your cheeks, looking at you with worry.
“You should lie down,” he says, already nudging you in the direction of your bedroom. “I’ll get you s-some ice, okay? The-there’s still some medicine in your drawer, too.”
You want to protest, to tell him that you don’t need to be babied like this, but Karamatsu taking care of you like this summons an image of him dressed in a sexy nurse uniform, and your brain maybe loses whatever’s left of the blood it needs to function so you take it like a man and lie down on your bed like he wants you to. You even swallow down a couple of aspirin, which actually helps with the painful throbbing starting in your head.
You’re half-asleep when Karamatsu comes back into your room and helps you gulp down a glass of water. He turns you over and gently holds a cooling pad against your injury, tying it to your head with a long, clean rag to keep it in place.
When he’s satisfied that you’re not about to die in your sleep, he moves like he’s about to leave, but you stop him quickly, catching his wrist.
“I-is there anything else you need?” he asks you immediately, worried again.
You wish you had the energy to draw him into another kiss, but you let go of his wrist and shifts in your bed to make space next to you.
“Stay the night,” you say. It’s Saturday, so it’s not like he has school tomorrow, but you’ve also never asked him to before, and you’re almost nervous that he’ll say no. Quickly, you add, “I can’t send you home like this, so it’d make me feel better to know you’re not wandering the streets at night.”
He looks as nervous as you feel, and uncertain, but after a beat of silence, he nods and you smile widely at him. He blushes and ducks his head before he slips out of his pants - and you really wish you weren’t half-drunk and suffering a concussion because the sight of Karamatsu in only a shirt and his briefs are incredibly tempting - and settles into the bed with you.
He lies down on his side, facing you, and rests a hand over yours. “Good night,” he whispers, and you lean in far enough to kiss his forehead gently.
“Good night, Karamatsu,” you say.