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The Domestic Life Of Shinsou And Kaminari.

Neon Lights and Static Sparks

The "Plus Ultra" Bar was a dive located in a basement three blocks away from the main agency hubs, a place where heroes could shed their capes and their public personas without fear of being photographed mid-sip. The air inside was thick with the scent of hops, expensive cologne, and the faint, lingering smell of scorched earth—the latter being a permanent fixture whenever Class 1-A’s alumni decided to hold a reunion.

Hitoshi adjusted his collar as he stepped into the dim, neon-soaked room. He felt Denki’s hand slide into his, a familiar anchor in the rising sea of noise. The place was already packed.

"Look at them! They’re already trashed," Denki chirped, his eyes widening as he spotted a familiar Shock-Top head of hair practically vibrating at a large corner booth.

"Bakugou is yelling at a bowl of peanuts. Nature is healing," Hitoshi remarked dryly.

They navigated the crowd, dodging a very enthusiastic, very tipsy Kirishima who was currently testing the structural integrity of a support beam by leaning against it with his Quirk activated. When they reached the booth, the chaos was palpable. Sero was draped over the back of the seat, laughing at something Mina was whispering, while Iida sat perfectly upright, his face flushed a deep crimson as he lectured a glazed-over Uraraka about the importance of hydration between cocktails.

"The power couple has arrived!" Mina shrieked, sliding over to make room. "Shinsou! Kaminari! Get over here. Bakugou is about to lose his mind because Deku beat him at darts."

"I didn't beat him, Mina! He just... he overshot the board and hit a decorative shield," Midoriya stammered, his own face bright pink. He looked remarkably relaxed, a telltale sign that he’d had at least two of the bar’s signature 'Smash' punches.

"Shut up, Nerd! The wind from the AC tilted my trajectory!" Bakugou barked, though his usual venom was softened by the three empty beer mugs in front of him.

Hitoshi sat down, pulling Denki in beside him. Almost immediately, a tray of shots appeared on the table, courtesy of a grinning Sero.

"To being alive and mostly uninjured!" Sero toasted.

The group roared their approval. Denki took his shot with a practiced flick of the wrist, his eyes sparkling as the alcohol hit his system. Hitoshi was more cautious, sipping his drink and watching the dynamics. It was fascinating how these people, who faced literal death on a weekly basis, reverted back to their chaotic teenage selves the moment they were in each other’s company.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere shifted from celebratory to slightly unhinged. The "Plus Ultra" had a special menu for pro-heroes—concoctions designed to bypass high-metabolism Quirks. One such drink, a glowing green liquid that smelled like ozone and mint, seemed to be the culprit for the sudden escalation.

"I’m telling you," Denki said, his voice a little louder than usual as he leaned against Hitoshi’s shoulder. "I could totally jump-start a car with just my pinky. Right now. Hitoshi, let’s go to the parking lot."

"No," Hitoshi said, his hand resting firmly on Denki’s thigh to keep him grounded. "You’re already leaking sparks, Denki. You’re going to blow the jukebox."

"Let him try!" Mina cheered, her own skin glowing a vibrant pink. "I want to see if I can melt the ice in this bucket without touching it. Look, look!"

"Please, Ashido, property damage is a violation of the hero code of conduct!" Iida shouted, though he followed it by accidentally knocking over his water glass with a stray hand gesture.

Hitoshi felt a familiar hum in the air. Between Denki’s mounting static and the general high-energy Quirks in the room, the bar was starting to feel like a pressure cooker. He noticed Todoroki sitting quietly in the corner, staring intensely at a strawberry daiquiri as if trying to decide whether to freeze it or boil it.

"You okay, 'Toshi?" Denki whispered, his breath warm against Hitoshi’s ear. His eyes were slightly glazed, a playful, hungry look flickering behind the golden irises.

"I’m the only sober person in a room full of human weapons," Hitoshi replied, though he leaned into Denki’s space. "I’m calculating the insurance premiums."

"Boring," Denki giggled. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Hitoshi’s jaw. "You should let loose. Just a little. Use your Quirk on me. Tell me to do something... fun."

Hitoshi’s heart skipped. The public setting, the presence of their friends, and the sheer audacity of Denki’s suggestion made his blood run hot. "Not here, Denki. You know the rules."

"Rules are for work," Denki countered, his hand sliding higher, his thumb brushing over Hitoshi’s bottom lip. "Right now, I’m just your husband. And I’m very, very charged up."

Suddenly, the music in the bar cut out. A heavy silence fell over the booth, interrupted only by Bakugou’s snoring—the explosive hero had finally succumbed to the alcohol and was face-down on the table.

"Whoops," Sero muttered, looking at the dead speakers. "I think the 'Chargebolt' effect just hit the sound system."

"My bad!" Denki raised a hand, tiny yellow sparks dancing between his fingers. "I’ll fix it! Give me a second—"

"No, sit down," Hitoshi commanded, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register that usually signaled the start of a Brainwashing.

Denki froze, his eyes instantly clouding over as the Quirk took hold. The sudden stillness of the usually twitchy blonde caught the attention of the others.

"Ooooh, Shinsou’s getting serious," Mina giggled, leaning her head on her hand. "What are you gonna make him do? Do the chicken dance! Or make him confess his deepest, darkest secret!"

Hitoshi looked at the blank expression on Denki’s face. Even under the influence of the Quirk, Denki looked beautiful—soft, compliant, and utterly trusting. Hitoshi felt a surge of possessiveness. He didn't want to make him do a dance. He wanted to take him home and remind him exactly who he belonged to.

"Denki," Hitoshi said softly, the command carrying through the mental link. "Snap out of it."

Denki blinked, the fog clearing as he shook his head. "Whoa. That’s... that always feels like a head rush. Especially when I’m this buzzed."

"We should go," Hitoshi said, standing up and pulling Denki with him. "Before Bakugou wakes up and decides to challenge the floor to a duel."

"Aww, leaving already?" Uraraka pouted, though she was currently trying to float her own shoes.

"Duty calls," Hitoshi lied smoothly. "Someone has to make sure this one doesn't light himself on fire."

They made their exits amidst a chorus of slurred goodbyes and promises to do it again next month. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling, alcohol-fueled heat of the bar. Denki was stumbling slightly, his arm looped through Hitoshi’s as they walked toward their apartment.

"You were really cool back there," Denki mumbled, his head lolling against Hitoshi’s shoulder. "The way you just... *snap*. Everyone listens to you. I love when you do that."

"You were a public nuisance," Hitoshi countered, though he pulled Denki closer, his arm wrapping around the blonde's waist to keep him steady. "You’re lucky I like you."

"You love me," Denki corrected, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned in Hitoshi’s arms, his face illuminated by a flickering streetlight. The alcohol had stripped away his remaining inhibitions, leaving his desire raw and visible. "And I want you to use that voice on me again. But not for the chicken dance."

Hitoshi felt the familiar spark of electricity jump from Denki’s skin to his own. The walk home felt suddenly too long. "Wait until we’re inside, Denki."

"Why?" Denki asked, his hands sliding under Hitoshi’s jacket, finding the bare skin of his waist. "The street is empty. Everyone’s asleep."

"Because I want to hear you scream, and the neighbors already think we’re weird," Hitoshi growled, though his resolve was crumbling. He caught Denki’s mouth in a bruising kiss, the taste of the bar’s drinks and the sharp tang of Denki’s Quirk exploding on his tongue.

They practically tumbled through their front door ten minutes later. The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the digital clock on the microwave. Denki didn't even wait for the door to click shut before he was pushing Hitoshi against it, his hands frantic as they worked at the buttons of Hitoshi’s shirt.

"Slow down," Hitoshi rasped, though he was helping, his fingers fumbling with Denki’s belt.

"Can't," Denki gasped, his skin literally glowing in the dark now, a soft, pulsating yellow that cast long shadows across the hallway. "I’m too full of it, 'Toshi. The drinks, the music... you. I’m gonna pop."

Hitoshi hoisted Denki up, his legs wrapping around Hitoshi’s waist. He carried him into the bedroom, falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing. The air was thick with the smell of lavender and the sharp, metallic scent of ozone.

"Hitoshi," Denki moaned as Hitoshi’s mouth found the sensitive pulse point at his neck. "Use it. Please."

Hitoshi pulled back, looking into Denki’s eyes. "Are you sure? You're drunk, Denki."

"I’m sure enough to know what I want," Denki said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I want to be yours. Completely. No static. Just you."

Hitoshi took a deep breath, his own heart racing. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Denki’s ear. "Answer me, Denki."

"Anything," Denki whispered.

The connection snapped into place. Hitoshi felt the familiar weight of Denki’s consciousness at the end of the line. It was different this time; it was warm, buzzing, and filled with a desperate kind of love.

"Don't move," Hitoshi commanded softly.

Denki went perfectly still, his body poised beneath Hitoshi’s, his eyes wide and vacant but his skin still shimmering with that ethereal light.

Hitoshi took his time. He traced the lines of Denki’s body, his hands moving over the scars and the smooth skin with a reverence that was almost painful. He kissed every inch of him, watching the way Denki’s chest rose and fell in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It was the ultimate power trip, but it was grounded in a terrifying level of trust.

When Hitoshi finally moved to join them, he felt the Quirk flicker. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against Denki’s. "Let it go, Denki. All of it."

The release was instantaneous. As Hitoshi pushed inside, the control snapped. Denki’s body arched, and a massive surge of electricity erupted from him, filling the room with a brilliant, blinding light. It wasn't the small sparks from before; it was a full discharge, a physical manifestation of the pleasure and the surrender.

Hitoshi felt the shock travel through his own nerves, a jagged, beautiful pain that turned into pure ecstasy. He held onto Denki, riding the wave of the discharge until the light faded and the room was plunged back into darkness.

He broke the Brainwashing immediately.

Denki let out a long, shuddering sob of air, his eyes focusing as he clung to Hitoshi like a drowning man. "Oh god... 'Toshi..."

"I’ve got you," Hitoshi whispered, his own body trembling. He buried his face in Denki’s neck, the smell of burnt air and skin filling his senses. "I’ve got you."

They laid there for a long time, the silence of the apartment returning slowly. The buzzing in Denki’s skin had finally stopped, replaced by a soft, warm glow. He looked completely spent, his hair a wild mess of blonde static.

"Did I... did I blow the circuit breaker?" Denki asked weakly, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

Hitoshi looked up at the ceiling, where the faint smell of roasted dust lingered. "Probably. We’re likely the only apartment on the floor without power right now."

"Worth it," Denki sighed, closing his eyes. "Totally worth it."

Hitoshi pulled the blanket over them, the cool air of the room settling around them. He felt a profound sense of peace. The world outside was loud, chaotic, and filled with people who only saw them as symbols or weapons. But here, in the dark, they were just two people who had found a way to bridge the gap between silence and sound.

"Hey, Hitoshi?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time... let’s just stay home. The 'Smash' punch is a lie. It’s a trap."

Hitoshi chuckled, kissing Denki’s forehead. "Agreed. No more reunions for at least six months."

"Six months sounds perfect," Denki murmured, his voice trailing off into sleep.

Hitoshi watched him for a while longer, the rhythmic hum of Denki’s breathing the only sound in the dark. He thought about the bar, the chaos of their friends, and the raw, electric intensity of their life together. It wasn't perfect, and it was often dangerous, but as he closed his eyes and let sleep take him, Hitoshi knew he wouldn't trade a single spark of it for anything else.

The morning would come with cold coffee and a dead refrigerator, but for now, the darkness was enough. They were grounded, they were safe, and they were together. And in the world of pro-heroes, that was the greatest victory of all.