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Badd withheld rolling his eyes as the interviewer asked if they’d ever teamed up with Amai Mask in their career. As if they, as Class S heroes, should be honored for the chance to work with the pompous asshole. Even before that whole fiasco with the alien invasion, that blue haired bastard irritated Badd with his holier-than-thou smirk and utter distain for the hard work required from a hero. More concerned with his image than getting the job done.
Just like all pretty boys.
These thoughts swirled through Badd’s head during a boring interview he was sharing with a couple other S class heroes: Genos, Flashy Flash, and Zombieman. Yet despite being an interview “of great importance” they were asking the same inane questions Badd had heard time and time again, directed at himself or the others. By the time the next question rotated to him, he’d lost track of what number they were on or what the others had said. It was only the repetition of the question after his hero name, likely in a ploy to stretch out the run time of the program, that saved his ass.
“And Metal Bat, is there any lucky lady in your life?”
“A lucky lady? What, like a girlfriend?” Badd tried to imagine it for a second and found himself withholding a shudder. Not that chicks were gross, per se, they just weren’t exactly…not gross.
“No.” Badd shook his head as he answered, hoping to express his finality on the matter with as little actual talking as necessary.
“Ah, I see.” The interviewer gave him a kind smile not unlike the teachers back in grade school who had tried to tell Badd that it was okay to be the slowest test taker. Badd clenched his fist around his bat, grounding himself with its solid structure as the man continued.
“Seems like the hero life would make it hard to balance a romantic one alongside it.”
“No, it’s just not my thing.” Badd contested. He could handle anything he damn well put his mind to and didn’t want anyone to dare think otherwise.
“Dating? So, ahem, is it more like casual affairs for you?”
Just how fucking dense could this guy be?
“No. I mean girls.”
This seemed to finally shut the interviewer up, and Badd had to withhold a smile at the faint sense of victory surging through his system.
“Uh, ahem, girls aren’t your thing?” Badd could see the interviewer scrambling to recover and that made the smirk all the harder to contain, but the impassive –slightly irritated— features he had come onto the set with remained steadfast.
“Oh,” he could see the interviewer practically light up. Perhaps now he had finally connected the dots and was willing to accept what-
“So, you’re more a fan of the “older women” type, eh?”
Fuck this.
“No, actually, I’m more of a “hope you’ve got a dick” type.”
The color ran from the interviewer’s face alarmingly fast, and Badd faintly wondered if he’d actually faint on live television. Now that’d be something.
It was when he started to turn a hue of blue and started choking on his mangled words that Badd decided to speak again, though he couldn’t imagine how what he’d said could have possibly needed clarification.
“I like guys, okay? So, if you still wanted me to, like, answer your question from before, no, I’m not seeing any lucky lads or whatever the hell you’d call them.”
The interviewer nodded his head, its weight bobbling a bit on his thin neck, and even when he moved on to proffer this same question to Zombieman, his eyes kept skirting back to Badd, who only noticed because being able to sense attention made all the difference in surviving monster encounters.
And that was the way the interviewer glanced at Badd, like he was in a battle of survival. Only it was Badd who he was trying to survive instead of some grotesque monster threatening to eat him. Unless Badd was the grotesque monster-
Badd’s hand tightened around his bat. The fact that it didn’t groan under his grip or dent under his fingers spoke more about the fantastic technology afforded by the Hero Association than it did about the degree of anger that thrummed hot underneath Badd’s skin.
The interviewer didn’t speak to Badd again for the remaining 12 minutes of the show. On the one hand, Badd was pleased to be excused from the inane questions, however Badd wished he didn’t feel so sick from the purposeful oversight. At the conclusion of the show, the instant the lights dimmed and the cameras stopped recording, Badd was on his feet and heading for the exit.
He didn’t need this. He had a patrol to get to.
--------------------
Badd walked into the house, later than planned after a second monster interrupted his trip home, and was pleased to find a plate for him on the kitchen countertop. It was still lukewarm to the touch, so he knew Zenko was either still awake or had just gone to bed. His answer came in the form of the gentle padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor behind him.
Zenko stood in the doorway, dressed in her pajamas but her hair not yet tangled from sleep. Badd grinned, but before he could hug her or even greet her, she spoke.
“I watched your interview.”
Badd’s stomach dropped into the soles of his feet. Not for one second did he even consider the repercussions of his sister finding out. Now some assholes on the street giving him shit? That he didn’t care about and would handle. But if one of those creeps tried to pick on his sister about it, then he may just lose his Hero License after what he would do to them.
Unless, unless of course, his little sister was the one with the problem?
Badd’s heart joined his stomach.
He had never told his sister because, well, he wasn’t sure if she was old enough to really talk to about things like, like, relationships. What if she was disgusted by him? Ashamed that her brother, who already was a weirdo who went around destroying things with a bat, was even more of an embarrassing freak who apparently-
Badd’s thoughts were cut off when he felt tiny arms wrap around his waist. Zenko squeezed until Badd broke her hug to kneel down to her eye level. She quickly wrapped her arms around him again, this time his neck, and dug her forehead into his shoulder.
“I really like having a big brother. So I think having two would be even better.”
Badd didn’t even bother trying to hold back his tears.
---------------
Despite all the oddities that now graced society among all the heroes and villains and monsters and ordinary people in between, homosexuals still weren’t exactly accepted. Talk shows never hosted them. Newspapers never wrote about them. They practically didn’t exist outside the scores of porn manga, both fan-made and official, that typically catered to the opposite sex of what was featured.
At least, that seemed to be the case to Badd. He’d picked up one he’d seen a woman reading on the train but could barely get past the first few pages with its hokey dialogue and lanky bodies with giant hands and pointy chins. The near rape scene halfway through is what ultimately sealed its fate in the burnable trash he’d taken out the next morning.
And so, because of the lack of representation in the public sphere, Badd had naively hoped that with his recent admission all the stupid questions would finally stop as society turned a blind eye to him.
But, of course, that wasn’t the case. Somehow, impossibly, the endless questions still came. Different, maybe, but still being asked.
For instance. Stupid questions about being gay.
“So, what is it like, you just see guys and end up staring at their dicks?” Some Class-A hero asked Badd while they were pulling security at an H.A. fundraising event.
“Huh?” Badd was hoping he’d misheard, or maybe his less than friendly tone would make the other reconsider whether that question had been worth asking. Unfortunately, he seemed like one of the more tenacious up-and-coming heroes.
“Like, you, you stare at boobs when you see a hot girl, right? Er, I mean, most guys would. But when you see a hot guy, do you stare at his dick instead?”
“That’s sexual harassment.”
“Yeah, but, do you want to look?”
Badd glared at him, gauging whether he was being made fun of or if this was the guy’s pathetic attempt at being nice and relating to him. Either way, it was irritating as hell.
“Not really. I tend to look at their face, their hands, their chest-”
“Their chest?” He interrupted with something near a screech. “But they don’t even have one?”
“Everyone’s got a chest, moron. And some guys have really nice pecs.” Badd shrugged.
“So you like them when they look like boobs? Why not just go for the real thing then?”
Badd was trying to figure out how to reply to the idiot, or even if he should, when –by the grace of the Gods— a Demon Level Threat attacked. Badd may have been a bit more vicious than usual in his battering of the monster, but that wasn’t really anyone’s business.
But Badd would rather deal with stupid, but mostly harmless, conversations like that over the frustrating assumptions other men made regarding Badd’s supposed attraction to them. Even when Badd made it as clear as he could that he wasn’t interested, apparently these men felt like Badd owed them a fucking explanation as to why this particular gay guy these assholes didn’t want liking them didn’t, in fact, like them.
“You’re not my type,” Badd usually replied with. It was a cliché, sure, but a cliché for a reason. Most people were reasonable enough to understand and move on with little more than a huff.
“Why not,” some would whine, affronted that they –a straight man— were not attractive to Badd.
And sometimes, yeah, they were physically Badd’s type. He tended to notice more muscular men; and being surrounded by fit heroes as much as he was, some were bound to catch his eye. Thankfully, his interest in someone’s appearance was quickly overshadowed by the shit personality attached before he could make a fool of himself.
“You’re annoying,” was usually his go to in that case. It was the truth after all, so he had little difficulty in saying it, even if the listener tended to have a harder time hearing it.
“You’re too scrawny,” was always tempting because the way alpha posing he-men reacted to being called that was funny.
“You’re too buff,” was an option too, because there is actually such a thing as too big in Badd’s opinion, but he learned not to use that answer since it often led to insults about not being man enough or lewd comments about how he was a slut who secretly wanted to be dominated by a real man.
And sometimes there just really was no winning. And it was in those moments that Badd sometimes regretted ever coming out.
---------------
Badd had never liked television interviews. He always felt anxious and rushed underneath the hot lights and the incessant knowledge that people are watching and judging his every motion. Any verbal stumbles would be caught on camera and immortalized on people’s blogs and twitter feeds. And if he spent too much time thinking about his answers, the hosts would just assume he had nothing to say or his response would be seen as too meticulous to be sincere.
Magazine interviews were much better. The lack of eyes alone made Badd feel relaxed enough to pretend that it was just a casual conversation. And not having to worry about the awkward silence of dead air allowed Badd all the time he needed to reply. Though he didn’t have much difficulty in talking for this particular interview.
Maybe it was the subject matter.
“So, I know you’ve said that you’re not really picky, but, come one, surely you must have some preferences in a partner.” The man said with a little wink, like it was an inside joke between the two.
Badd found he really liked that word: partner. Not as sappy sounding as boyfriend, nor as cringy as lover. Partner. Like they were equals.
“I really don’t think I do.” Badd replied. “I can’t really picture what he looks like. Eh, I imagine someone who can match me, like operate on the same level.” He elaborated when the interviewer nodded in encouragement, like he actually cared about what Badd was saying.
“That must be difficult to find, being a Class S hero and all.” The man chuckled before taking a sip of the Boba tea he’d brought to the studio. “I mean, not many men can even dream of being that strong.”
“Well, not that I’d mind dating guy as strong, or even stronger than me, it doesn’t really have to be physical strength. That’s not the only way to match someone. You can be mentally strong, or emotionally strong…I guess what I really want is a guy who isn’t just a pushover.”
“I can see that.” The interviewer nodded kindly. “Taking care of your little sister, and all those civilians. Adding a partner to the list might be a bit much.”
“Sort of, I think, but then again I think I might always want to take care of people. It’s just the way I am. Even if he doesn’t need me, I’m sure I’ll find a way to mother him somehow.”
The interviewer laughed, nearly choking on his Boba tea, and Badd smirked a bit as the man coughed to get his breath back on track.
“I’m the exact same way,” the interviewer shared, leaning forward like it was a secret he was sharing during lecture. “My partner could probably bench press me, but I still fuss over whether he’s gotten enough sleep or remembered to eat breakfast.”
Badd smiled, feeling a little less alone in his admission.
“I, I think what I’m trying to say is that in the end I just look for a good spirit in a guy.” He concluded with a nod. “Plus, determination is kinda sexy, you know?”
The interviewer laughed again, full bodied in a way that made Badd almost proud for having caused it. “Oh, believe me, I know.”
Badd joined in on the next round of chuckles, pausing only to sip from the Boba tea he’d been given. He’d never really liked talking about himself, but this felt much more mutual. Interviews had always came across as interrogations, while this, this felt like a conversation. Just two people, talking about the things they liked in men. It seemed so dumb, because it really wasn’t all that different to the questions he was asked before about women. But. Maybe it was just the fact that he was allowed to use words like “he” and “him”. A small detail that, apparently, meant a lot more than he’d originally thought.
He sat back, drinking as the interviewer went on a small digression about a vacation he and his partner had taken a few months ago to the mountains that had ended in the both of them getting fractured ankles.
For once, Badd was actually looking forward to being invited back.
---------------
Badd grimaced as he had to tear what remained of his jacket away before the acid could eat through to his shirt, and ultimately the skin underneath. He spat in his hand and tightened his hold on the grip, winding back for a swing only to abort the attack as more chemicals were spat his way.
He had to put some distance between him and the monster, try and buy a bit of reaction time while he looked for a blind spot to engage. Unfortunately, all the thing seemed to be made of were short tentacles –which somehow seemed to double as sensors, like a catfish—and orifices that launched liters of acidic spit at a time.
“Watch it!” Badd shouted, yanking one hero away from an oncoming acid spray. He felt the burn of the chemicals as it flew past his face and noticed the asphalt nearby crumble in on itself like a failed soufflé. He glanced down at the hero in his grasp, checking over his face and body to make sure he had avoided the attack.
“Let go of me,” the hero protested as he wiggled beneath Badd’s hand.
Worried he was hurting the other with his grip, Badd loosened it, but remained at the Class-B’s side. He scanned over the other’s body, searching for any dissolving skin or burning flesh. “You alright? It didn’t get you, did it?”
“Back off you fag!” He snapped as he physically put some distance between them.
Badd was struck numb, shocked at the words and even more so by his visceral reaction to them. Logically, he knew it was little more than a mean word, a petty insult, and yet, it echoed in his brain, louder and louder until it was pounding against his skull like a festival drum.
He faintly registered the hero in front of him flinching under his stare.
Badd ignored him, and instead marched up to the monster that was preoccupied with melting the steel frame of a bus to get to the civilians inside. His footsteps matched the echo in his head –fag, fag, fag, fag. Pretty soon everything else was drowned out by that word. That stupid, silly, nonsense word that held no power and yet was all he could hear. He was encased by it, drowning in it. But his feet carried him dutifully onward.
He approached the monster from its side, hefting his bat up high above his head while the thing cackled with a wet howl of victory.
A single swing, and it was dead.
Two more swings, and it was pulverized.
Eight more swings, and Badd could finally breathe again.
---------------
“Hey, Mister Metal Bat, could I have your autograph?”
“Huh?” Badd turned around to see a teenager, maybe only a couple years younger than himself, holding out a hero almanac opened to his page. He seemed unable to hold eye contact with Badd, but he was firm in his stance. Badd could respect that.
“I-it’s just.” The kid’s brown eyes briefly met his before flashing back down to the concrete. “You’re out and I, I mean, it’s just really cool.”
“Puri Puri’s been out for years, you know.”
“I know, it’s just…” the teen finally looked up, perhaps his confidence had been bolstered with conversation. “He’s kind of really stereotypical, which is fine for him,” the boy hurriedly added when Badd quirked a brow. “It, it’s just that he’s so flamboyant and kind of girly sometimes, and well, kinda predatorial and all…it’s just nice. To have a gay hero that, I mean, a gay hero who’s normal. Because that’s what gay people are. Normal.”
Badd paused, taking in the teen, noticing the pink flush to his cheeks and the awkward shuffling of his feet as the scrutiny dragged on.
“What’s your name?” Badd asked, shifting his bat from his shoulder down to the holster on his belt.
"Nakamura Akemi,”
“Got a pen?”
“Yeah!” Akemi dropped his almanac in his fervent search, but Badd caught the book and held it open while the teen dug through his messy backpack. He held aloft the writing utensil and passed it to Badd with great care.
Badd paused for a moment, thinking of what to say, and wrote down something he hoped was half decent.
Nakamura Akemi,
Love is the most human thing there is. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not normal.
Metal Bat
He handed the almanac back to the kid, pen acting as a bookmark, and ducked out. If what he wrote was utter crap, he really didn’t have the heart to stick around for feedback. Though the thanks the kid shouted after him did wonders for his spirit.
---------------
Badd was heading home for the night, his step light because of the three Tiger Threats he’d destroyed during patrol and, as embarrassed as he was to admit even to himself, the autograph he signed for that teenager.
He liked to think these thoughts were what kept him from noticing the presence of someone following him until they turned down an alley just four blocks from his house.
“Whadaya want?” Badd grunted, hoping his nonchalance wouldn’t betray his shock over being tailed so easily. Though the identity of his stalker did abate some of the surprise. After all, it’s not likely a Hero Hunter would last very long if they weren’t at least a little stealthy.
“Just watching~” The Hero Hunter –Garou— sang as he continued walking down the alley until he was only a meter away.
“For what?” Badd asked. “You want another fight?”
“Another fight? I didn’t really expect that, but I certainly wouldn’t turn such a tempting offer down!” His eyes were manic and bright, just like before, though there was an underlying tension to his frame that was different from the last time. Badd remained on guard, just in case.
“So if you ain’t looking for a fight, then why’re you following me?”
Garou smiled, a soft hum escaping his throat as he canted forward a bit. “As loath as I am to admit it, I’ve been learning a lot from you.”
Badd was too stunned by both the lack of attack and the type of words coming from Garou’s mouth to give any form of reply.
“Every time I see you, it’s a new lesson and believe me when I say, teaching me something is an impressive feat.”
“The fuck you mean by ‘every time’?” Badd snarled. “We’ve only fought the once.”
Garou’s mouth lilted into a kind of sneer, something both condescending and pleased. “It’s almost endearing how quick you are to forget about the public eye. I’m talking about those little interviews of yours; the one about your type of woman, or rather, lack thereof? About how sexy determination is.”
Badd’s blood boiled just a little hotter at the reminder. His grip on his bat tightened, anticipating the verbal or physical assault sure to come. Garou’s eyes roved over his person, likely gauging for what sort of attack would cause the most damage.
Garou took a step forward and Badd forced down the urge to step back. Close quarters combat was dangerous with a guy like him, but Badd would be damned if he was going to add coward to the list of slurs at Garou’s disposal.
“First your fighting spirit, now your little types.” Garou took another step and smiled. “I’m rather curious what else you’ve got to teach me.”
The surge happened faster than Badd could have ever anticipated. Just as the frantic realization that the bastard had somehow gotten faster since their last fight had crossed his mind, Badd was also noticing that no blows had landed. No pain exploding from impact. No blood pouring from an open wound. But he did have the breath knocked out of him.
Oh no wait. That was just Garou kissing him.
The kiss was chaste, but insistent and urgent all the same. A purposeful press of lips that didn’t ask for more, but refused to retreat or pretend to be anything else. After a few seconds, Garou pulled back but Badd barely allowed him a sliver of space to catch a breath before diving back in.
Badd grabbed Garou, one hand on his hip and another in his hair, to keep him from retreating. He pressed against Garou, backing him up to one of the brick walls that encased the alley. Only when Garou was against the unyielding wall was Badd able to apply the pressure he sought. He traced the seam of Garou’s lips, slipping his tongue in the space created by Garou’s soft moan. He made quick work in familiarizing himself with the layout at his disposal and paid particular care as to what areas prompted which reactions. Lapping his palette made him shiver. Nibbling his lip made him groan an octave lower. Badd was especially pleased to find sucking Garou’s tongue into his own mouth made him tremble.
Badd was reluctant to stop, but even he was getting light-headed.
“Oh?” Garou crooned, though his shaky voice prevented it from coming across as wholly teasing. “Am I your type?”
“Ha, like I said. I’m more of a ‘hope you have a dick’ type. Which,” he slid his thigh between Garou’s legs, “you seem to fit the criteria of.”
“Ah, I see. So you’d do this with anyone?”
That comment settled in Badd’s stomach like an ice block, thoroughly chilling the heat that had previously been pooling. “No,” he snapped, punctuating it by pushing Garou back into the brickwork. “Why the fuck does everyone keep thinking that? I mean that looks don’t really matter. It’s all about a person’s spirit.”
A face briefly flitted through his mind.
“Tch, ‘cept that Sweet Mask asshole. Definitely not my type.”
“Why’s that? Don’t women and men alike fall for the hero?” Garou’s growl at the word rumbled through their connected chests and pulled a smile to Badd’s lips.
“Nah, too much of a fuckin’ pretty boy.”
At this information, Garou seemed to press into him more, biting his bottom lip and moaning in a tune that sounded absolutely decadent. When they finally broke apart for a breath, Badd took in the flushed skin and abused lips before him. His eyes roved up to meet Garou’s and met wide, black pupils thinly surrounded by a ring of gold.
“Heh, not a fan of pretty boys either?”
Garou bared his teeth in an action too feral to really call a smile. “Nah, I like my, trysts to have a bit more meat on them.” At this he tightly gripped Badd’s biceps, his thumbs massaging muscles still sore from his fight yesterday.
“Hm, gotta say I agree.” Badd hummed, pushing his hand underneath Garou’s shirt and running his fingertips up beautifully sculpted obliques. Garou jerked as Badd’s thumb brushed over his nipple, bucking his hips against Badd’s with erratic twitches as Badd continued to stroke and tease his chest.
“Yeah,” Badd chuckled. “Just my type.”