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It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing
Kirishima darted to attention, eyes wide, listening hard to the faint music drifting through his open window. It was barely there, almost completely covered by the ever present city noise and storm, but it was there.
It don’t mean a thing, all you got to do is sing
He knew that voice, how could he not? He’d never expected to hear it here though, not like this.
Throwing himself into action, he crashed through the piles of bubblewrap and boxes crowding his apartment, tumbled onto his balcony, caught the railing and stared down at the courtyard below. Sure enough, there was a live jazz band kicking it in the gazebo and any number of well dressed couples dancing in the rainy garden.
He’d officially moved into the coolest housing complex ever.
It makes no difference if it’s sweet or hot
Kirishima dodged back through the maze of unpacked detritus, half crawling through the mess of books, clothes, and workout equipment, trying to reach his door before the musicians finished. He stumbled out of his apartment, fished through his jean’s pockets for his keys, barely managed to lock his door, and then sprinted, clattering down the stairs in a whirlwind.
Just give that rhythm everything you got
Kirishima burst into the courtyard like a madman. There on the stage, all bold confidence and seductive splendor, was Bakugou. He was dressed to the nines, sharp suit hugging every inch as he pulled the microphone close and crooned honey into the air.
Oh, it don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing
Bakugou swung to the music, hips carrying him across the stage like he owned it, sultry gaze smoldering beneath choppy blonde bangs. The band did their best to play to his level, but even the heavy drums and blaring trumpet couldn’t match him. He was in a world of his own. Kirishima couldn’t even register the rain ruining his spiked hair. He couldn’t feel it running down his back, plastering his shirt to his skin. His boyfriend had his full and complete attention.
Don’t mean a thing, all you got to do is sing
Red eyes flicked to Kirishima’s own, rooting him in place. Bakugou grinned, bit his lip and leaned into the last few words, purred them sweet and low and full of intention.
Don’t mean a thing, baby, if it ain’t got that swing
Kirishima waited out the rest of the set, ignoring the deep heat in his gut as his boyfriend performed.
Bakugou found him later, tucked them both under his umbrella, slid their bodies together, ignored Kirishima’s protests about wet clothes and expensive suits. “I didn’t take this shitty gig for you to worry about stupid shit,” He glared hard as he slipped his free hand into wet jeans. “Now kiss me, you fucking idiot.”
Kirishima arched a brow at the demanding pout, smiling cheekily at the wandering fingers. “As you wish.”
And so he did.
Don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing