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It was cold out that night, nearly freezing as Chargebolt found himself on yet another stake-out mission, silently hiding away in a rowdy alleyway. He clenched his teeth to avoid shivering as he waited for his targets to show up. If his intel was correct, some considerable drug-trafficking was about to go down just around the corner.
He kept his ears open and looked for the smallest of movements that could alert him to the dealmakers’ arrival. He heard faint sirens in the distance, echoing across the concrete-jungle of the city to these dark and dreary parts of downtown Tokyo. The depressing surroundings weren’t anything new to Chargebolt; he was used to the sight of unkempt buildings; the trash littering the sidewalks and the knowledge that there was a poor sod on every corner, begging for tonight’s dinner with either a sad sign or the promise of a good fuck.
The law’s ugly and unjust hands rarely ever reached the heart of this vast wasteland of crime and even when they did, it wasn’t with much success. Therefore, it was a giant free for all between thriving syndicates, regular people trying to get by and lone-wolf villains like Chargebolt himself. What? You thought he was here to prevent the exchange from happening? God no! You see, that would be the hero’s job. Chargebolt was anything but . His purpose here was to interrupt the illegal gathering of various lucidity-herbs briefly and then leave the scene as soon as he had entered it, optimally taking both the drugs and the money with him.
The criminal world didn’t have any sort of moral code to it. Thieves’ honor if you will. Ha. This was the real world, where people fought tooth and nail to survive, not thinking of how their actions could affect others, even for a second. Hesitation and good-heartedness didn’t bring success in these parts when you could be facing down the barrel of a gun at a moment’s notice. Morality took you to the bottom of a lake and to an early grave if you weren’t careful enough. Living in this world meant that it was either to steal or to be stolen from, and Chargebolt would rather choose the former. It wasn’t ethical to take from another man’s livelihood. Did ethics put food on the table and a roof over your head?
Thus, he was waiting for some other thieves to show up and do what he was best at: steal from them and play some buffoons. Feigning innocence and making fools drop their guard was his forte; he’d approach slowly, pretending to be a helpless bystander and just as they were about to recognize him, he would strike like a cobra capturing prey. He was a live wire, get too close and you get shocked substantially enough to zap you unconscious for a few hours. Or permanently, if you weren’t careful. Chargebolt lived on the dangerous side of the word; his life was on the line every night he was out on the town, so sometimes he had to resort to more drastic measures. He had to be on the lookout for both so-called pro heroes that patrolled the area and the fellow criminals. It didn’t happen that often, but running into a hero was always bound to attract more trouble than it was worth.
Local outlaws always had a knack for hunting pros doing their jobs around these parts like some sort of sick competition. So, when word got around that one was in the area, especially if they were one who some syndicates had beef with, it was a mad race to see who got to them first. Some heroes even had significant bounties on their heads.
And because of how he operated, Chargebolt had more enemies around than friends as well. So, he shared some qualities with underground pros. There was a hefty price on his life and when he saw a hero, he knew that there was some bigger fish lurking in the shadows nearby, who Chargebolt never wanted to meet.
He’d rather get captured by a pro than a hunter. It’d be less painful, and he’d have a higher likelihood of surviving a trip to a police station, as opposed to one to the basement of an abandoned building. It wasn’t that difficult to escape an arrest with his quirk (he had done it before), so he didn’t have much to fear from the heroes themselves. Rather the crowd that was guaranteed to tail them.
The only person that could rival the magnitude of Chargebolt’s bounty was Mockingbird, an underground pro who everybody in the criminal scene has heard the name of at least once already. People whispered about him constantly, spreading tales and legends that Chargebolt knew to be only marginally reminiscent of the truth.
Mockingbird was rumored to be ruthless and unforgiving, some even said that he was going around, barging into the bases of entire crime families without an ounce of dread in his heart. He was supposed to be able to pack a punch so hard that you’d be out for weeks after being hit with it. Potentially, you would never be the same if - not when - if you woke up because of the imminent brain damage that would follow. Nobody knew what his quirk was (they could only tell you that it had nothing to do with birds), but they said that it was so powerful that once you caught news that he was coming for you, you knew that you’ll soon find yourself safely tucked behind either bars or the zipper of a body bag.
Mockingbird was the boogey-man of the lawless underworld of Tokyo, infamous for being the most efficient and successful pro to date. He became a dreadful legend, an icon and the ghastly tale that made even the toppest of dogs scurry in fear. He was considered to be the current biggest threat to the underground crime community; if you were his assigned mission, you rarely escaped. Therefore, he was the most wanted pro around these parts, everybody had some agenda or a revenge plan against the guy.
Point is, he was the very best there ever was, according to street gossip.
In Chargebolt’s personal experience, however: he wasn’t that much of a bigshot. Mockingbird wasn’t such a cold and calculated machine in practice, only in theory, and Chargebolt always managed to slip out of his grasp somehow. He liked to believe that it was because of his elusiveness, charm, and incredible level of skill. Though in truth, Mockingbird quite obviously chose to let him go every time. Mockingbird (as of yet) hadn’t denied nor confirmed if the former had anything to do with the latter.
There was rarely a night when their paths wouldn’t cross and Chargebolt was beginning to think that Mockingbird was doing it on purpose. Chargebolt surely was. And that fact was steadily getting on his nerves.
Him seeking the company of the most wanted underground pro in Tokyo contradicted every single principle he had laid out for himself. Being close enough to Mockingbird to be within seeing range was dangerous enough, fighting him and talking to him regularly could turn into a death sentence.
So, why did he long to run into him so often? Not only was he risking capture but also being tracked down by the people who hunted Mockingbird. He was a much easier and a lot less intimidating target than him for sure. Mockingbird frequently let him get off the hook when they fought, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t give other opponents hell. Even when they threw hands (instead of just leisurely talking like they tended to lately), it was evident that Mockingbird was pulling his punches. Even more obvious was the fact that he never saw him use a quirk once. That didn’t necessarily mean that his quirk wasn’t some mental one that was visibly unperceivable, but Chargebolt didn’t think he’d ever used it against him in a fight. Maybe he didn’t want to risk the mystery of it being figured out. His entire reputation in the criminal scene depended on his anonymity and his enigmatic nature after all.
Knowing that it was the stupidest and most reckless thing to want to talk to him didn’t stop Chargebolt from hoping to have time to chat around with him tonight, preferably after he got this job done.
Speaking of, he should be focusing on the alleyway he was staking out instead of daydreaming about the half-stranger that had been plaguing his thoughts more often than he cared to admit.
He turned his attention back to the present and the narrow street. It was the right choice, because not long after, he heard hushed voices and light footfalls echo between the gritty walls; the ones that he’d been waiting for. Chargebolt chanced a glance around the corner and, sure enough, he saw two figures chatting away, a briefcase in one of their hands. He wondered if it was the drugs or the money. He’d preferred the latter; it was much easier to get some cash upfront than sell the stuff. Though, depending on what kind of drug it was, he would have liked to stash a portion of it away for his own benefit…
Just to be safe, and get as big of a payoff as possible, he lurked in the shadows for a little longer to wait out the arrival of the other party. After about ten minutes, two more thugs walked up to the little gathering. Thank God, his intel was right, he was running out of money fast and rent was already due yesterday. He had to thank Toga later.
The only thing he was risking now was the possibility of someone having the same info - it being a trap or a pro being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He trusted Toga, but he couldn’t help being skeptical when he didn’t know the original source of the tip. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
Once everybody arrived; he analyzed the scene. At first glance, he could tell from the setting and their scarce weaponry that they were some low-level thugs or obvious amateurs. But if the rumors were true about the amount of money involved… There was either some trickery to this deal or the participants were trying to be inconspicuous. Around here, wanting to make the least amount of noise was the habit of rookies or small-time criminals; all the bigshots were as loud as possible, warding off any opponents or rivals with sheer intimidation and a power-show. So naturally, his suspicions were only rising.
The fact that only two of the four people present were visibly armed was even more off-putting. Something didn’t add up, but Chargebolt really needed that money. It wasn’t too late to back out. He knew there was no shame in running away. He might not have needed to feel ashamed, but he was sure going to feel cold more often if he got kicked out of his janky apartment…
After a brief pause of weighing pros and cons, he made a mental note to handle the two gunmen first.
After what Chargebolt assumed to be some small talk and negotiation, one of the lackies opened his briefcase to show off what was inside: tons and tons of green paper bills with considerably high numbers printed on each of them. Jackpot . Chargebolt could already tell he would be able to pay off not only this month’s rent, but that of the upcoming year with the kind of money that case contained. Seeing the profit this job could bring was enough motivation for him to put his worries on timeout and make his move.
“Excuse me, gentlemen!” Chargebolt called out, sauntering forward leisurely with a cocky smile adorning his features.
The men startled, whipping their heads towards the intruder with shocked expressions. Those without a weapon fumbled for the hidden holsters on their hips and in seconds, three handguns were promptly trained on Chargebolt, one thug struggling in his hurry to snap the briefcase he’d been presenting closed.
“There’s no need for any violence. I am just in dire need of help!” He stopped in his tracks temporarily and raised his palms in faux surrender, somewhat successfully pacifying the palpable tension. Get-help always worked best. “I’m sorry for interrupting this ongoing, clearly very important meeting, but I’m terribly lost. Could you please help me find my way back to Main Street?” He swayed his hips with every step as he pushed on, now with four gunpoints trained on his every move, the last guy having successfully freed up his hands.
The dealers seemed to be clueless about what to do, looking at their mates for instructions and eyeing their opposing party suspiciously, probably assuming that this was some sort of dirty trick on their part. Confusion was good, confused meant distraught and distracted, which was the optimal condition for Chargebolt to approach safely.
“You are pretty far into downtown to be looking for the main street, twink. What are you doing here exactly?” The closest to him inquired while threateningly cocking his gun. The rest followed his lead soon after.
Feisty ones, huh? Chargebolt underestimated their confidence and adaptability; optimal conditions just flew out of the window. Now the situation looked more like approaching a pack of wild animals, and Chargebolt knew not to turn his back on a territorial bitch. It was too late to turn back now, unless he wanted a bullet as an accessory for his shoulder blades.
He rocked on his feet, still holding his hands up, and inched closer at such a slow pace that they couldn’t detect the distance closing. “I just went for a midnight walk and got lost in my head while strolling around. Now I can’t find my way back home. If you could just help me-”
“We are kind of in the middle of something. What about a GPS? Don’t you have a phone?” The guy in the front (he seemed to outrank the rest, the others following his every move and letting him do the talking) interrupted.
Chargebolt stepped up to the edge of the light provided by the raggedy lamp overhead, getting ready to pounce once they recognized him. Even if these morons didn’t know who he was, he had to act fast and not give them the advantage and time to put his face into memory. He didn’t need any more gangs to have it out for him.
“Dropped it somewhere along the way,” he said, shrugging his left shoulder weakly, disguising the twitch it made as he let his electricity run through it to prepare for a bigger discharge. He felt the sparks dancing along his skin as he slowly built the power output. The static roamed the air around him. He felt it vibrate as he made one last step to leave the shadows and let his electricity crackle around him threateningly, making the overhead light flicker menacingly.
He saw recognition flash in the eyes of the men before him as the one closest to him stepped back a bit, the gun in his hand shaking with the motion. The aim of the weapons pointed at him wobbled as the rest of the group caught on to what was about to happen. Oh, he was going to enjoy kicking the asses of these untrained amateurs. Carefully, he made a move to get even closer and make sure the lightning coursing through his veins found an easy target.
Only to be interrupted by an all too familiar white fabric wrapping around the barrel of the gun closest to him and tearing it out of the leader's grasp violently just as he was about to shoot him. The bullet hit the lamp above, raining shards of glass on the thugs and dousing the scene in nearly complete darkness. The only source of light remained the faint glow of the stars and the moon filtering through the creases between tattered old buildings.
“God fucking damnit!” He wanted to chat after the job, not during!
The other three outlaws jumped into action as soon as their eyes adjusted to the loss of light, whizzing around in place, desperately looking for the culprit and ignoring Chargebolt completely. A mistake because the moment their attention left him, Chargebolt jumped at the chance to sock the guy who’d been disarmed in the face with an electric charge. The punch wasn’t that strong itself, but the mild zap packed enough power to knock the poor sod unconscious. Chargebolt mentally gave himself a pat on the back for being a good sport and slightly evening the odds to a fairer two to three ratio.
Movement to the left of him caught Chargebolt’s eye as he straightened back up. The guy with the briefcase that hadn’t been opened yet was tackled to the ground by another figure. The man jumped on him, swiftly delivering a punch to his jaw, putting him out of commission as well. The underground hero didn’t waste any time bouncing to his feet and hurled his capture tape around the rest of the gang, weaving them in a web of white fabric before they could fire any more shots. He moved with such fierceness and calculated confidence that it made a shiver run down Chargebolt’s spine. An overwhelming warm feeling followed the sensation in quick succession, enveloping him in a mist of desire and want from head to toe. He had to admit, watching Mockingbird fight like a daring Gargarean warrior was one of his guilty pleasures, and it did things to him and his body he rarely experienced otherwise. In short, he found Mockingbird’s efficiency and fearlessness to be a major turn-on.
The whirlwind of capture tape didn’t meet its targets, only made them stagger slightly as they dodged, expecting the attack this time. The two guns were still aiming at Mockingbird with an unyielding determination; just a stupid piece of thin fabric to fight with really put him at a disadvantage. See? This was Chargebolt’s problem with morals. It made the pro hero throw away the weapon he just acquired instead of using it. Stupid heroes and their stupid ideals to make their own job more difficult and dangerous by “not wanting to cause severe damage to the environment or any of the people involved, including villains.” He could quote the deadpan monologue Mockingbird held for him after he demanded an explanation to why he let himself get stabbed and would never return the favor to the culprit. He explained that it would only make him sink to their level, which was fair, but not any less offensive to Chargebolt, regardless.
Speaking of guns, another shot rang out, hitting the wall behind Chargebolt, barely missing his head in its trajectory. If Mockingbird’s capture tape hadn’t seized the gun as the thug pulled the trigger, Chargebolt would be the lucky winner of a ride with an ambulance or a hearse. Good thing Mockingbird’s reflexes were god-like, otherwise he would have been six feet under by now.
This made him realize that this really wasn’t a good time for his mind to wander off, he needed to get his head in the game and concentrate on fighting instead of picturing what it looked like when Mockingbird’s muscles tensed like that without the slightly baggy overalls hindering his view.
The other guy tried to make a run for it, but a piece of the capture cloth wrapped around his ankle immediately, tripping him onto his face, the impact forcing the air out of his lungs. The fall made him drop both his handgun and the briefcase which skittered towards the alleyway opposite to Chargebolt. The money, get the fucking money!
“Fancy seeing you here, little Birdie!” He yelled as he looked for an opening to get to the briefcase.
The sudden change of plans and the involvement of the underground pro lessened his likely profit greatly, but he was hoping to at least stuff his pockets with enough money and drugs to get this month’s expenses sorted. Mockingbird was doing fine on his own, he wasn’t going to need Chargebolt to run to his aid any time soon. Chargebolt knew for sure that once he’d incapacitated all the outlaws, he would go for the briefcases and turn them over to the police. Without taking a single thing from either of them. Chargebolt couldn’t just let all that money go to waste, he had to get his hands on those briefcases before the fight was over and Mockingbird could direct all his attention to him.
Mockingbird didn’t answer, too busy fighting his only remaining opponent who seemed to be giving him more trouble than the rest had. Chargebolt didn’t bother to observe why, he had a job to do.
He swiftly spun on his heel and made a beeline to the money-case, desperately hoping that he could get to it before Birdie over there finished throttling a man.
He heard the gruesome, fleshy noise of a shot meeting its target and a pathetic yelp behind him, shortly followed by the sound of a body hitting the pavement. He didn’t waste time by turning around to check which one of them fell; though he couldn’t tell which option sounded worse. If the thug won, it could mean both Mockingbird’s and Chargebolt’s imminent demise. However, if Mockingbird was the one still standing, Chargebolt wasn’t going to get away in time.
He snatched up the case with a victorious chuckle and just as he was about to celebrate, he felt a sharp jerk at his left foot. The violent tug pulled him off balance, causing him to ungracefully stumble onto the cold hard ground, face first, with an embarrassing yowl; meeting a similar fate as the other guy had. The briefcase fell out of his grasp and clattered against the concrete, landing a few feet away. He cursed under his breath, the collision rattled his skull and made his teeth clank together; his head hurt like a bitch. However, he was pleasantly surprised to feel an overwhelming amount of relief in the middle of all of that when he realized that being tripped with some capture tape meant that Birdie was ok. With a sharp groan of pain, he pushed himself to his elbows. Upon finding the world around him spinning around its axis, he decided against standing and crawled on all fours instead.
Only to be pulled back again, gentler this time, just a warning, as he heard heavy footfalls approach him. This was so fucking humiliating, why couldn’t he just let him get away with the case? Not like he would be doing anything worthwhile with it! Confiscating it as evidence, was not a beneficial use of possibly over a million yen!
“Why you gotta be like that, man? I didn’t even do anything wrong this time. Even helped you out a little!” His words were slightly garbled, damn, he might have a concussion . “If anything, I deserve it as a reward for helping the police force do its job.”
“First of all, I’m not police. Second, you know that it’s nothing personal,” the all too familiar baritone of Mockingbird sounded from only a few feet away. Hearing his deep voice made an embarrassing full-body shiver travel through Chargebolt’s systems. “I’m just doing my job.”
“And I’m doing mine !” Chargebolt retorted with a snarl. He gripped, and tugged at the white cloth, catching the underground pro attached to the other end by surprise as he staggered towards him.
“I can’t let you take the case. It’s bad enough that I let you get away at all.”
“I wouldn’t be taking the whole case; I don’t want to damage your perfect little record! I just need a few…” he made a few quick calculations in his head on how many months of rent money he wished he had possessed, “A few hundred thousand yen would suffice!” He tugged again, though with much less success this time.
Mockingbird let out a pained sigh.
“You know that I could just bring you in, right? I don’t want to risk losing my job more than I already do, so just give up and skedaddle already,” he spat coldly.
He only used outrageously goofy words like “skedaddle” when he was telling Chargebolt off like a little kid. He wondered if that was Mockingbird’s everyday vocabulary shining though, or Chargebolt’s hilarious speech patterns rubbing off on the guy. Chargebolt couldn’t read his face completely, that stupid mask always covering most of it, but he could tell he was pouting big time.
“I need the money!” He tugged hard, making it more effective by pairing it with mild shock that travelled along the alloy-lined fabric and zapped Mockingbird hard enough to make him stumble and fall towards him.
He landed on his knees, pretty harsh by the sound of it. He cried out and a sharp hiss slipped out from under the black mask wore, most likely through gritted teeth. His arm flew to his side, clutching his uniform, just above his right hipbone. The capture tape around his ankle loosened its grip and Chargebolt easily wiggled out of it fully. He jumped to his feet, expecting Mockingbird to do the same and tackle him like he usually did. However, the latter only took a few more shaky breaths as he leaned forward, putting most of his weight on his left shoulder.
Something was wrong.
Chargebolt’s hurry faltered quickly, and he came to a halt only a few steps away. Mockingbird tried to make his move and push himself up from the ground, but he barely got one foot under him when he collapsed back into the same position with a soft curse.
Something was very wrong.
Chargebolt knew that he shouldn’t stay. He shouldn’t bother helping. They were enemies , Mockingbird’s job was to throw him in a jail cell until he rotted away for all the atrocious crimes he had committed. This weakened state of the pro was the perfect opportunity to take the loot and make his leave without much of a fuss. He needed that money. He needed to get away. And he knew that backup was most likely on its way already, if not pros, some police officers to collect the feats of Mockingbird’s victory.
So why did he find himself crouching next to his supposed nemesis in a blink?
He put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. He slowly and carefully positioned Mockingbird until he was sitting on the pavement instead of kneeling on it. He hissed and cursed multiple times but complied without a word.
“What happened?” Chargebolt asked, his tone dripping from feigned indifference.
Mockingbird winced as he leaned back to lie down, Chargebolt’s hand was still resting on his back for support and pulled him into the villain’s lap.
“What about the case?” Mockingbird wheezed out mid-movement.
“Fuck the case! Tell me what happened. Now.” He couldn’t even keep up the charade; he was losing his mind with the stress and worry. He wasn’t that great of an actor when his real emotions overwhelmed him.
“The last guy shot me.”
“Fuck.”
“I don’t think it hit anything important. It didn’t go all the way through though. I’m only bleeding from the front… I think.”
“Ok, ok, ok. This is fine. We can patch you right up,” Chargebolt said as he tore off his jacket along with the plain white t-shirt he’d been wearing under it. The nearly freezing cold air of mid-winter bit into his exposed skin like a rabid animal. It hurt but he was a big boy, he could take a little chill.
“What are you doing?” Mockingbird questioned with a frown as he ogled Chargebolt’s bare chest.
“What does it fucking look like?”
He tore the shirt apart with sheer determination and the pocket knife he kept in his boot for emergencies, producing a long, raggedy piece of fabric. The capture tape didn’t seem like a good alternative, he knew what being tied up with that thing felt like, he guessed that the sharp edges would only make both the bleeding and pain worse.
As soon as he deemed the crafting done, he urged Mockingbird to sit up again. He obliged with a perplexed expression.
“How bad is the bleeding? Are you feeling dizzy yet?” Please say no, please say no…
Mockingbird lifted the hand he’d been clutching to his side to peel away his slightly torn overall with a hiss of pain. It came away bloody. Chargebolt helped him free the area with the knife as gingerly and carefully as he could.
“I’m fine. Could be worse. Gonna have to have a hospital trip, but I’ll make it… It just hurts like a bitch,” Mockingbird mumbled and Chargebolt physically felt the pressure leave his shoulders.
“Good,” he couldn’t express how big of a relief hearing that was.
He gently but securely fastened the makeshift gauze around Mockingbird’s torso in a tourniquet and let him lay back in his lap once he was finished.
“You shouldn’t stay here…” Mockingbird trailed off, staring intently at the money-case.
Chargebolt swept his eyes over the unconscious bodies and the two briefcases littering the alleyway. No payoff tonight…
I really shouldn’t, should I? “I know.”
“Why are you still here?”
Mockingbird looked up, straight into Chargebolt’s eyes. He saw tears well up in those hypnotic orbs of violet. Whether they were there because of the pain, embarrassment, or some other emotion, Chargebolt couldn’t tell.
I don’t know. “Maybe I just like to teeter on the edge of danger.”
Chargebolt let a lopsided grin spread itself over his features as he shrugged, trying to look his confident, cocky self. His hand wandered into the grip of Mockingbird’s.
Mockingbird might have known him too well if the panicked crease in his eyebrows and the few falling teardrops were anything to go by.
“Backup is coming.”
I’m going to get caught. “I know…”
He intertwined their fingers and felt his own eyes get wetter.
“You have to go.”
Mockingbird untangled his fingers from his, in favor of reaching up to cup Chargebolt’s cheek tenderly. The hold made the warmest of feelings blossom in the villain’s chest as he realized how starved he had gotten for the hero’s touch.
“Making sure you’re ok is the least I can do. You risk your everything every time we meet. You’re technically a traitor to hero-society for the way you keep treating me.” Chargebolt couldn’t resist the impulse to lean into the warmth cradling his face. He placed his own hand just on the edge of the black mask he grew so accustomed to craving the sight of.
“You would let me destroy you, wouldn’t you?” Chargebolt chuckled humorlessly as he fiddled with the fine-tuned mechanisms of the thing. He always wondered why he never took it off. To protect his identity? Regulate his quirk? He always assumed that he’d never get to find out.
“…Might as well,” Mockingbird muttered after a few seconds of contemplation, voice barely above a shaky whisper. It was just three simple words, yet they carried so much meaning and power. He had the sort of look in his eyes that made it obvious he had made a life-changing decision.
Those violet orbs softened and sparkled as he dropped his palm from Chargebolt’s face to place both his hands on the mask as well. Chargebolt was just about to ask what he was doing when the noise of softly whirring mechanisms hit his ears.
His mouth was forgotten open.
The mask whizzed and hissed quietly as its straps holding it to Mockingbird’s chin unbuckled with a muffled click.
His heart forgot how to beat properly.
The mask clattered to the concrete and gave way to plump lips and a perfect jawline accentuated by the purple stubble of a 6 o’clock shadow. That iconic indigo was his natural hair color .
“I should be struck dead for wanting you the way I do.”
The euphoria of hearing that breathy voice unfiltered and unrestrained by that black, cold mask made Chargebolt’s breath stop short. The shock of seeing the lopsided smirk he’d been daydreaming about for so long froze him in place like a dumbfounded statue. The tender caress of his hand found its way back to his cheek and broke him out of his reverie as the touch urged him to lean down and down… He didn’t resist, he fell harder than ever before and stumbled into the lion’s den that was the love and admiration he felt for the underground pro hero. But Mockingbird was there to catch him like a knight in shining armor at the bottom.
Their lips connected and a new wave of overwhelming want washed over every ounce of his body. Mockingbird’s left palm held its grip on his face, guiding him gingerly to tilt his head for a better angle. His eyelashes fluttered closed at the breathtaking feeling. Mockingbird’s other hand wound around his back and wandered into golden locks of his hair. His fingers tangled in the long strands, pulling at them softly and Chargebolt couldn’t help the soft moan that bubbled in his chest at the sensation. Mockingbird seemed pleased with the sound as he sighed into his mouth, the air resonating in Chargebolt’s lungs.
Chargebolt’s hands took the same liberty of exploration and woven themselves in wild violet locks of hair, gently massaging and caressing Mockingbird’s scalp in sync with the movements of their lips. He groaned as he nibbled the blonde’s lower lip gently. The noise reverberated in Chargebolt’s chest, and the sensation made him part his lips in pleasure.
He might have been topless in the freezing cold, but he felt like he was about to burst into flame when a tongue slipped into his mouth, deepening the kiss even further. The faint taste of coffee lingering in his mouth was exhilarating and borderline intoxicating.
Mockingbird’s palms chose to wander lower, exploring his naked upper body in a way that made most of his blood rush south. He felt goosebumps follow in the trail that Mockingbird’s hands left along his shoulders, stomach and back. He followed his lead, careful not to jostle him or disturb his wound. He gripped Mockingbird’s uninjured hip so hard that he was sure it would leave a mark, only to be rewarded by another sweet noise from the hero. None of his fantasies could even come close to what it felt like to finally kiss him.
He felt fingers play with the elastic hem of his joggers and his head spun with the implications of what more could happen in this rowdy alleyway if they were in a less dire situation.
He felt the lines of his villain persona and his true self blurring together as he let himself fully sink into the feeling of Mockingbird’s body pressed impossibly close to his in a semi-comfortable position. He couldn’t tell if this was Chargebolt, Kaminari Denki, or both moving in tandem with Mockingbird in the heated kiss.
How could something so inherently wrong feel so incredibly right ?
His lungs started burning from the lack of air, but he couldn’t bring himself to separate himself from this dream. The high of his lips being locked with Mockingbird’s was more powerful than any drugs he had ever taken before. He was quickly getting addicted, already craving the next dose.
Mockingbird gasped sharply and clutched Chargebolt’s wrist as he was about to let it sink lower down his waistline. After one last roll of their lips, he tore his mouth away with a pleased, shaky exhale and a wobbly grin.
“Not here and not now. I don’t want to bleed to death,” Mockingbird almost wheezed, fully out of breath.
“Not the worst way to kick the bucket, in my humble opinion,” Chargebolt winked in response, their faces still so close that he could feel the pro’s hot breath against his swollen, wet lips. “Also, the only thing I got from that was the fact that you’d be up for it somewhere else and some other time,” he giggled as he pressed a soft peck to the corner of Mockingbird’s mouth, causing him to chuckle along as well.
He assumed that Mockingbird was about to say something equally flirtatious when he was suddenly interrupted by the shrill cacophony of multiple sirens in the distance. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he frantically pushed the villain away and reached for his mask.
“You have to go,” he declared.
I really fucking should. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“I don’t care, you have to go!” He shoved him with more force this time, straining his wound judging by the face he made as he wiggled around in place.
Chargebolt gripped at his shoulder to sooth him a little, “Stop moving around so much, I’m going to have to redo the bandage.”
“Why are you doing this? You’re going to get yourself caught! Just leave already, I’ll be fine,” Mockingbird spat frantically.
Chargebolt slipped his hand into Birdie’s again.
“How did you put it? I should be struck down for wanting you the way I do?” He quoted with a painful yet somber smile on his face.
“If you get caught, I’ll never see you again,” he whispered, his breath hitching towards the end.
“I’ll handle it if I do, don’t worry about it, Birdie,” he breathed, the coppery smell of blood, sweat and the faint but sweet scent of cologne filling his nose.
“Hitoshi.”
He choked on said breath.
“What?”
“Call me Hitoshi.”
“Well then Hitoshi,” he could barely keep the sob in check that wanted to break out of his chest, “you can call me Denki.”
“You have to go, Denki.” Even the painfully tearstained way his name rolled off Mockingbird’s, no, Hitoshi’s tongue made his heart flutter in elated delight. “Please…” he begged, “Don’t make me… Just go, Denki.”
Denki raked his fingers through indigo strands tenderly, the bitter-sweet smile ever-present on his face, “I deserve it for all the things I’ve done, you know. Let me choose what my final hubris gets to be.”
Hitoshi spoke barely above a whisper, “I love you.” It was just three simple words, yet they carried so much meaning and power .
It took a moment for Denki to collect himself enough to respond.
“I love y-“
The next thing he knew, he was standing in a completely different street, his jacket on his back again and his hand having a death-grip on the handle of a heavy briefcase. He was out of breath and his muscles were screaming at him as if he just went on an intense cardio sprint.
He whirled around in place, taking in the surroundings, his panic rising steadily and making it even more difficult to breathe.
This was his building .
This was almost an hour of walking distance away from his stake-out mission. How the fuck did he get home? Did he run all the way here? Where was Hitoshi? Was he ok? Why did he have the fucking money ? Did Hitoshi make him run all the way home? Did he know where he lived?
Was this his quirk?
Was the confession just a trick so he could force him to leave and go home?
He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, as he spun back towards the fire-escape ladder on the side of his building.
What was he supposed to do now? Just go upstairs and sleep off a job well done?
The briefcase was a heavy weight in his hands and on his soul, he felt even worse that he got to take the money. For once in his life, he wanted to pay for all he’d done, and he ended up getting paid instead. It never mattered what his plans were or what he wanted to do; the universe always made his decisions for him.
All he’d been daydreaming about for months had been that kiss. And now that he finally got it, he wanted more of it, more of Mockingbird, more of Hitoshi . He wanted to hear him utter his name in pleasure, he wanted to feel those soft lips on his again.
But he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by whatever just happened. He might be misreading everything, and Hitoshi really was just making him walk into some sort of trap all along.
He saved you . No, he did something to me!
Hitoshi might have let him get away. He might have let him take the case. But he took Denki’s heart in exchange. And if Denki wanted to get it back, he was going to have to look for him and either fight him for it or kiss him so silly that Hitoshi would give him his instead…
Chargebolt and Mockingbird, infamous lightning villain and most famous underground pro hero. Arch nemesis until they each draw their last breath.