Fuck You, Pay Me!

Katsuki plucks the glass from the stranger's hand and drinks it down, wrinkling his nose at the harsh burn.

"Fuckin' whiskey? You didn't even get the good shit." He says with a snort, tossing the glass somewhere on the other end of the sofa. The man cocks his head to the side, either incredibly amused or bordering disinterested.

"While Balvenie is quite an aquired taste, I can assure you it is, to borrow from you, the good shit." The man says, leaning back into the sofa while an arm snakes around Katsuki's slim figure to grip his thigh with callous hands.

"Yeah? It tastes like spicy dishwater."

"It's 50 year old single malt scotch whiskey. Someone with a simple pallette wouldn't appreciate it."

"Did you just call me uncultured?"

"I'm saying that you don't look like you're old enough to even know what good whiskey is."

Or, Katsuki's about to give Sandra Bullock a run for her money.