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meet me in the pit

Chapter Text

"Fight me, Eijirou."

It's not an unusual request, from Bakugou. After being his friend for two years and his partner for another, he's long used to him initiating their sparring sessions. It doesn't matter that they're currently in the common room of their dormitory, killing time after dinner, in sleep clothes, that it's nearly sunset. He's lounging on a sofa, reading body-building tips on his phone with his hair down when Bakugou's already standing, looking down at him, expression neutral.

"You're on, Blasty," he replies with an easy grin.

He locks his phone and props himself up to sit. But then Bakugou stops him, thick fingers laid flat across the dip at his chest, easily felt through his thin shirt. Kirishima glances up when Bakugou leans in. A shadow reaches across the contours of his face, his sharp jaw that tilts down a fraction. A rush of heat pools in Kirishima, he knows the glint in Bakugou's eye, what it means for them.

"Same stakes," is all he says. Kirishima nods, a jerky crook of his head.

"G-got it," he says. A smirk slides along his lips, even in his warmth. "Damn, you really don't give a guy any warnings, do you?"

Bakugou just clicks his tongue at him, spins around to get changed and go to the practice grounds. Knows that he's watching him go, and Kirishima just shakes his head to himself in a laugh before he goes after him.

Along the way during their friendship, their relationship, he picks up that when he's reflecting, pensive, Bakugou goes oddly quiet. Docile, even. While Kirishima loves when Bakugou's expressive, explosive, it makes up the rare moments when he's calm and different yet just as mesmerising to look at.

It just takes him a while to figure out Bakugou also gets like that when he's feeling it.

It's why they make their ways to the grounds in a familiar quiet. Pick up their clothes and change, the silence settling and simmering.

To an outsider, Bakugou seems indifferent. To a friend, he's strangely quiet. For Kirishima, he's pent-up to bursting.

 


 

The sun glances along the horizon when they square off. Stances wide, shoulders dropped. Bakugou lets out a long breath, gets his palms facing up and sparking, licks his lips.

Kirishima cracks a grin, hardens his body.

Bakugou flies at him.

Explosions echo from the grounds for sure. Though as third-years they're permitted to use the grounds for practice without needing permission, and it's not quiet hours. The only thing Kirishima wonders about is how long he's been waiting for this.

"Don't wear yourself out so soon in the beginning," he taunts through gritted teeth, just as the smoke clears from the arms he put up in defence.

He drops low and sweeps his leg fast beneath Bakugou's feet. His speed has improved leagues since his first year; anyone else would've missed it if they blinked.

But Bakugou points his palms downwards and propels himself into the air with a bang. He somersaults back a few feet in front of Kirishima, who sprints towards him in a leap, already going for the attack.

"Yeah, come at me!" Bakugou roars. He pounds his fist with an explosion, fireworks going off in a chain at his hands before he rushes Kirishima.

They fight and spar like that for minutes. Pebbles rumble beneath their feet. Leaves rustle as birds flee from perches. All-out from the get-go, neither gives the other time to breathe, let alone think. But they read each other so well they don't think. A mindless, reactive exchange. Swapping, dodging, parrying blows.

In the end, they're wrestling bare-handed. Dirt and sweat-covered palms mash against each other with strength honed from years of muscle training, their heels digging into the dirt as they push at each other. Kirishima doesn't blink away the sweat that drips off his eyelids, doesn't move his gaze an inch away from Bakugou. Who's sweating, panting, roughened around his jaw and lip that are hanging slack. But his eyes are unchanging, unyielding, unwavering. Fixed and red and full of fire, aimed straight at him, and Kirishima feels himself flare up, body and soul.

"Call it a tie, babe," he grunts out.

"Fuck," Bakugou bites out the word, guttural and loaded. "You bailing on this now?"

"You know I wouldn't." He squeezes at Bakugou's knuckles meaningfully, grinning sharp at him. "I can just go after you, later."

Bakugou seems to start at that. But he squints, tightens his grip. They scrape the floor in jerky spurts, they're still pushing.

"It's a school night," he growls out.

"Hasn't stopped us before," Kirishima says, before he's leaning in. Bites his lip, raises a brow. "Unless you wanna go that long."

Kirishima can't help his grin, his utter delight in how deliciously red Bakugou goes, even in his growing scowl. It makes Kirishima burn up, how staunch Bakugou is in seeing their fight to the end, a man's man. Kirishima's a man as well, so throwing their match is out of the question for him, too.

But there's only so much suspense he can take as a man.

"I won't back down, and you're not gonna make me," Kirishima promises. He does blink this time, the sweat pooling over his eyelid trailing his cheekbone, it makes his lip salty when he licks it in a sharp smile. "Only so long you can make both of us wait, though."

"God, damn—" Explosions pop at Kirishima's palms, ones that Kirishima knows aren't intentional, it's his emotions running high, and finally Bakugou throws down their arms. Fists Kirishima's collar, damp with sweat, his growl feral and animal. "My room. Now."

He doesn't even wait for a response when he drags Kirishima bodily back to the dorms, and Kirishima only laughs, he can't help how giddy Bakugou's manhandling makes him.

 


 

"You said I could go first, right?"

"Yeah," Kirishima says. They enter Bakugou's room, towel-dried but still in practice clothes. "I'm all yours."

He wants to say he expects it when Bakugou slams the door behind him, but the way he just grabs him close so roughly makes the breath leave his body, still.

"Good."

He kisses him a shade gentler than smashing their mouths together, his lips pushing open his mouth and Kirishima groans, puffing hard through his nose. His hands are up in his hair, wrapped around his back and Kirishima grabs at Bakugou back. Bakugou's natural smell emanates so strongly and they both run so warm, so soon after their sparring. He licks and splits his tight lips open and his eyes roll shut, his jaw going slack as their tongues intertwine, slick and warm and wet.

Then his palm cups between his legs, squeezing him hard over his clothes and Kirishima lets a burst of air and sound out of his mouth, heat spiking through his cock.

"You're so fucking hard already," Bakugou sneers, just as his tongue leaves Kirishima's mouth in a humid breath. His hand massages Kirishima's hard-on firmly, and his grin stretches wider at the strained look on Kirishima's face, his bottom lip is wet when he bites it. His mouth goes to bite at his earlobe, dig his teeth along his jaw. "You been waiting for me to fuck you? Huh?"

"Fuck yeah," Kirishima breathes out roughly, his face and between his legs blazing warm. Bakugou goes down to the thick column of his neck, sucking hard at his pulse point and Kirishima rolls his hips hard into his hand, swearing. "God, fucking wreck me, Katsuki."

"Shit," Bakugou nearly spits. He pulls away shoves his hand in a hard rub, watching Kirishima hiss. "I'll fucking ruin you."

He yanks Kirishima, slams their bodies together in another white-hot kiss. Their hands scrabble to the hems of their shirts, mouths only parting to take them off. Bakugou all but tears off his own, just as he sees Kirishima's shirt around his shoulders and over his arms, revealing his body, tight, lightly tanned.

Bakugou immediately splays his hand against those washboard abs, claiming Kirishima's mouth with his teeth as his shirt goes over his elbows and his hand slips quick into his pants, wrapping around his cock and squeezing fast, and he grins mercilessly when Kirishima sucks in a sharp breath, expression tortured.

"Ka—tsuki," Kirishima nearly whines between kisses, clutching the thick muscle at his arm when Katsuki thumbs the precum at his cock. "Let me, let me lie down at least, shit."

"You'll fuckin' need it," Bakugou mumbles fast. His grin cuts sharp and wild along his face, even as he's panting. "You won't be standing when I'm done with you."

Kirishima lets out another breathless sound at that promise, and they grab at each other even as they shuffle their way to Bakugou's bed. Bakugou doesn't let him think, they're already kissing even as his hands are shoving off his trousers, squeezing Kirishima's ass as he works off Bakugou's pants, trying to remember to breathe when they only have on boxer-briefs when Bakugou rolls their hips together.

"Fuckin'—" Bakugou curses in a harsh whisper, kicking off his pants with a vengeance as Kirishima does the same. "Get the hell up here."

Bakugou lifts him up in a single flex like he weighs nothing and it makes Kirishima swoon, makes him wrap his arms around his strong neck and his legs around his slim waist as Bakugou holds him up by his thighs. He pivots around to their bed and his hand is large and hot against Kirishima's back as he sets him down against the mattress, angling his head as he mouths hotly at his lips, as he presses on top of him. Kirishima kisses back with fervour, scrapes the points of the teeth along the flesh of his lip the way Bakugou likes it, the way that makes Bakugou let out a rumbling, long groan and he grins at his mouth.

"Fuck," Bakugou hisses as Kirishima tugs at his bottom lip. He pushes his hips hard into Kirishima's at that, gives a breathless scoff as it makes Kirishima gasp, makes his head collapse back on the pillow.

"Katsuki," Kirishima whispers, a rush of air. His eyebrows are drawn together, his eyes nearly screwed shut. Bakugou sucks a noisy bruise at his throat, and the pleasure-pain makes him cant his body up to his. "Katsuki."

"God, you want it so much, don't you, you little slut," Bakugou taunts, swiping his tongue over his teeth. His hands are in Kirishima's boxers, kneading hard, leisurely slow as he looms over him, biting his lip. Kirishima's face flushes a deep red. "How do you want it? Beg for it and I'll give it to you, I'll make you my bitch, tell me how you want it."

"Hard," he answers, so fast he's choking on the words, swallowing. "Hard, deep. I don't wanna feel my legs after," he says, feeling Bakugou's rumble of approval at his jaw and his babbling whispers go hoarse, his face is on fire. "Give it to me, Katsuki, god, please, fuck me raw, I wanna feel you."

"Shit, you little whore," Bakugou growls, his hands clawing at Kirishima's side, a beast incarnate as he bares teeth. He yanks Kirishima's boxers off, smacks his ass with a loud, satisfying sound, making Kirishima gasp as he grabs a bottle on the bedside table within arm's reach, nails digging into the flesh of his ass. "On your fucking knees."

Kirishima blushes from the rush of heat that peaks at his cock, almost painfully hard as fumbles to roll onto his stomach, propping up his hips. His hand is still on Kirishima's ass as he hears a click of the bottle.

"God, you're already gaping," Bakugou breathes in smug awe, and Kirishima goes hot at how lewd it is when he says it, at how he likes the way he says it.

"Whose fault do you think that is, huh?" he asks in an airy laugh, still burning, he's probably red to his shoulders.

The shape of Bakugou's hand imprints onto his skin. He thumbs at the puckered edge of his hole, stretching the pliant flesh open that isn't completely closed, clenching a bit around nothing in the first place and Kirishima's breathing through his mouth, he knows Bakugou's staring and he wants Bakugou to absolutely destroy him.

Kirishima starts in a gasp when a liquid drizzles warm and viscous along his crack, and it actually starts to prickle with heat.

"Shit," he pants out, nearly biting his own tongue. He turns his head around. "You're using the—?"

"Yeah," Bakugou says, flashing the bottle of lube at the edge of his vision. His water-based, heating lubricant that already sparked hot at his rim and Kirishima bites his lip when Bakugou just smirks, bends over slightly. "Makes it taste better."

His eyes go wide as Bakugou licks his lips and his hands spread apart his cheeks, words lodged in his throat as his face disappears from his periphery and suddenly breath like steam fans over his back.

"Holy shi—" Kirishima exhales before something hot and wet presses flat against his soft hole, and the sensation crashes his system in overheat, makes his head fall to the pillow as he nearly writhes but Bakugou's hands are large and have him in place as he drags the flat of his tongue up over his fluttering entrance, his eyes go scrunched shut. "Ah, fuck, Katsu—"

Then thin lips seal around his hole and his tongue shoves in hard and shallow, pushing out his walls and Kirishima lets out a short, stifled shout when Bakugou immediately does it again, curling his tongue when he's stretched it far in and his jaw is mashed between his cheeks. Kirishima clutches at the pillow at his face and chest, nearly tears it when Bakugou slips his tongue in and out, in, out, and around the nerve-packed flesh around his hole, that prickles and heats up all over from Bakugou's lube. He fucks him wet with his tongue and Kirishima can feel it, how Bakugou eats him out so ardently, he can hear it, how Bakugou groans like his ass is the best thing to grace his long, thick tongue.

"Katsuki, Katsuki," Kirishima pants out, nearly gurgling, swallowing the drool pooling in his mouth, trying to focus his eyes properly. He pulls out his tongue and drags it long over his hole again, smacks his ass again with his hand, playing with it in his palms and Kirishima pushes back into Bakugou's face, his back writhing as Bakugou's tongue delves into him, makes his cock hanging heavy between his legs leak and twitch. "Shit, I can't, I can't take it, shit, please—"

"Fuck, I love hearing you beg," Bakugou rasps. He lifts away from Kirishima's reddening, puffy rim that twitches with the cool air of the room, and he straightens on his knees, licking the lube smattered on his lips as he reaches for more. "You know you're still going after me, though."

"I'll come twice, then, just—" Kirishima turns his head around, breath uneven. "Just give it to me already, please, you're driving me crazy."

"Shit, you're so fucking thirsty for it," Bakugou huffs, flushed, sweating, smirking as he slathers lube onto his hand. Kirishima hears fast, slick noises from him pumping lube over his length, the sounds and Bakugou's low grunt making heat well up in him, at how raw and ruthless his lust makes him. "You look so fuckin' good, begging for my cock in you."

Kirishima can't find the words to respond, Bakugou was always better at voicing his pleasure so shamelessly. But he can't deny it either, doesn't dislike the flush of humiliation that washes over him, makes him burn hotter so Kirishima decides to revel in it quietly, burying his face in the pillow.

"What, going coy now?" Bakugou scoffs, toying yet not unkind. And Kirishima doesn't mind, doesn't take it personally. He knows Bakugou plays with his food before he eats it, no mercy as his fingers curl around Kirishima's waist, pulls his whole body closer and he's panting when the thick of Bakugou's cock ruts along his crack. "After you told me how you want it raw?" Bakugou's clenches his teeth hard, the lube making him even more sensitive as it slides in the dip between his cheeks so easily. "Fucking cock-slut."

"God, Katsuki," he says, on his elbows, on his knees as he arches back into Bakugou, teeth digging into his lip. "Fuck me, fuck me please, you're killing me."

He feels the head of his cock press against his hole, and Kirishima forces himself to relax, nerves buzzing on end. Imagines Bakugou's wild grin when he says:

"That's more like it."

The only warning Kirishima gets is the clench of Bakugou's fingers at his waist when he suddenly pushes in, the head catching at the rim before he fills and sinks into him in one, fast motion. Kirishima's eyes roll in his head, a desperate sound ripped from his throat. He feels bloated from Bakugou's thick cock stretching his insides, tight and pulsing and tingling from the heating lube and he already has one elbow down, he's puffing into it, his eyes scrunching tight when Bakugou shoves deeper in a low moan.

"Fuck, yes," Bakugou grinds out between his teeth, pants through his mouth. The heat of the lube mixed with Kirishima's makes the wet clench around his dick phenomenal. "God, you're so fucking tight."

"Katsuki..." Kirishima exhales on reflex, unthinking. He reaches deeper than when he's on his back, he can't even speak right.

"Yeah, like that," Bakugou huffs, licking his lips. He presses a hand on the small of Kirishima's back, hips drawing back and slamming in, making the headboard shake, grins when Kirishima jerks forward with the force. "Say my name again, just like that."

"Katsuki," Kirishima rasps, his sandpaper voice taking on a pleading edge. And he hears Bakugou hiss above him, press at his back and he thrusts into him harder, rams himself in to the hilt with a slap and Kirishima nearly chokes, it feels like Bakugou is fucking him up to his throat, he grips desperately at the rocking bed, and he's rambling without thinking, there isn't any more blood in his brain. "Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki."

"Ah, shit," Bakugou pants, his mouth hanging slack. "Fuck, Eijirou."

He watches the muscles cut in Kirishima's back flush dark, his body rocking with every thrust that pulled out and sunk into his swallowing heat, fast and loud and merciless and Bakugou can't get enough of it, he falls forward on his hands at Kirishima's sides, slides his fingers over Kirishima's knuckles and squeezes when he pulls half-out and fucks back in balls-deep, making Kirishima shake with every, hard, thrust, a high rushing through him when it makes Kirishima yell muffled into his pillow.

"Yeah, fucking take it," he bites out, growling. Bakugou leans over above him, the lean of his stomach and his taut chest touching parts of his back. "You feel so good, squeeze me so damn tight." His breath ghosts over his ear, flutters the hair at his neck, panting while he fucks Kirishima hard and rhythmic from behind. "Lemme hear you take it, Eijirou."

"Oh, fucking, god, yes—" Kirishima swallows on nothing, a low moan, the air in his lungs leaving him. "Don't stop, shit, don't fucking stop, Katsu—ki," he moans out, his name broken on a brutal thrust.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it," Bakugou grinds out, the words nearly slurring together as he pushes down Kirishima's back, pushes down so he's on his stomach and thighs and Bakugou can fuck him into the bed. "Fuckin' scream for it."

His cheek is on the pillow as he's drooling slightly, his eyes screwed shut as Bakugou hovers above him, drives into him. He clenches his teeth but every time it hangs open, Bakugou knocks aborted little noises out of him, he can't help it, not even the bed can take it.

"Look at me," he orders, his voice by Kirishima's ear like how his hips pound into him, rushed and deep. "Look at me while I fuck you."

Bleary, belatedly, Kirishima unscrews his eyes. Bakugou dominates his shaking field of view: his arm, his hand, his face right above him. He glances more to the side and catches Bakugou's eye. Scrunched and strained and nearly swallowed by black but the red ringlet he can still see cuts through him, and Bakugou doesn't look away even when his chin drops in a hard exhale, and it pins Kirishima in place, doesn't let him look away even if he wanted to.

"Katsuki," he says, desperate, his mouth so dry when he tries to string together a thought, let alone a sentence. Bakugou makes him rut against the bed, and he can't handle the stimulation from both sides, he feels the heat well inside him to tipping point, he's squirming. "Katsuki, I'm—shit, I'm, I'm so close, I'm—"

Bakugou shifts back, and the sudden grip at his waist cuts off Kirishima's sentence in a yelp.

"Hips up."

Kirishima complies, ass lifting in the air. Bakugou grunts before he draws out to the ridge of his tip and slams into him, Kirishima nearly collapses in a sob.

"Oh, fuck—!" he forgets himself in a shout, Bakugou sets a mind-blowing pace. Nothing methodical, nothing controlled, just primitive force and speed making him sweat, making his arms and legs and body tremble and Bakugou hits him hard and deep, his jaw falls open in a yell. "Katsuki...!"

"S'that...how you...like it?" Bakugou pants out mumbling, using his arms to pull Kirishima back on every thrust. He's going so hard he can't keep up a smile, his lip's shaking, he feels himself peaking. "Shit, I'm gonna c-come, fuck..."

"There, there, there," Kirishima chants roughly, mindlessly. His fingers dig into the pillow, the mattress, the fabric strains beneath his nails, as his voice cracks and climbs in pitch. "Right there, fuck, right fucking t-there...!"

Bakugou thrusts forward in a snap of his hips, and his pace trips when Kirishima comes. His body seizes up underneath him, Bakugou's name strangled when it rips from his throat, putters from his lips. He clenches around his raw length, impossibly tight and repeatedly and Bakugou's hips stutter, he can't handle how Kirishima rides out his pleasure, how his body wants to milk him dry while he's still inside.

"F-Fuck, Eijirou..." he pants, wincing, curling forward. His hips are stuttering, he can feel Kirishima shaking at his grip, he bites his lip. "Ah, mother, fuck—!"

He scrabbles pulling himself out with his hand, and he barely gets the head out when he comes on Kirishima's back, pressed along his ass. He lets out a burst of breath like he's come up from underwater, panting hard when he jerks himself fast and messy, his gut tightening with every stripe that paints the ravine of Kirishima's back a filmy white. Kirishima who's still heaving in breaths, still recovering as Bakugou works himself through his climax, spots Kirishima's entrance that swelled and gaped even more than before, because of him, and he groans weakly as his cock twitches at the sight, gives another spurt that streaks across his thumb as well. When he comes back down to earth the strength drains from his limbs, his knees nearly buckle when he sits back on his haunches, wipes the sweat from his brow with the heel of his palm.

"...Shit, that felt amazing," Bakugou murmurs, still catching his breath. He opens his eyes to Kirishima, splayed on his front and the picture of ruination with cum streaked on his back, but he's quick to lean over, his hand pressing yet gentle at Kirishima's shoulder. "You okay, Eijirou? You with me?"

"Yeah, m'okay," Kirishima slurs, starting to sit up. Bakugou's hand doesn't leave his back when he props himself up as he opens his lips, tongue heavy in his mouth. "You might've actually screwed my brains out..." he gives a flushed, dazed smile, just as Bakugou is reaching for tissues at his bedside table, "...but I'm digging it."

Bakugou laughs in a raspberry of a smile, shuffling closer to Kirishima.

"Idiot," he says warmly. He cleans the cum off his back, holds him close around his shoulder. "I didn't hold back there," he says, part factual, part apologetic as he wipes Kirishima clean in languid strokes, laying a kiss where his red hair covers his nape. "You were unbelievable."

"More like you were," Kirishima teases with a bell chime of a laugh. He turns around in a smile, holding Bakugou's arm when he tosses the used tissue aside. "You're a damn beast when you're feeling it. Probably everyone on the floor knows we did it."

Bakugou raises a brow, his grin sly. "What's new?"

"It's common courtesy, dude," Kirishima knocks him on the head, laughing when Bakugou grumbles without real feeling. He throws his arms onto Bakugou's shoulders, eyes lidding in a softer twinkle. "Guess that means you're just that good at it, though, huh?" he smiles, chuckling when Bakugou bites his lip with pride.

"Hell yeah," he murmurs. Holds Kirishima's hips, possessive as he leans in for a kiss and Kirishima easily returns it, gentle and unhurried.

"Oh, yeah," Kirishima says an inch from Bakugou's lips, opening his eyes to Bakugou's questioning look. "I, uh, came on your bed. Again." He chuckles sheepishly. "My bad."

"S'fine. I didn't bother to put out a towel," Bakugou shrugs simply. Brushes Kirishima's hair out of his eyes with his fingers, his fringe always covers them after an intense session of theirs. "I'll just wash it after."

"Wanna go to my room then?" Kirishima asks, just as they sit up from the bed, both still naked. Bakugou tugs off his sheets and rolls them up into a hefty ball when he looks at Kirishima who has his hands on his hips, short brows wiggling comically at him. "The night's still young, after all."

"Course, we're not gonna get shit on with my sheets in the wash," Bakugou scoffs. He tosses his sheets on the floor before he sniffs, nose scrunching. "Damn, we fucking reek."

"Yeah, I'm feelin' a quick shower before we pick up where we left off," Kirishima says with a wry smile. He goes to pluck a couple of towels that are by his desk, tossing one to Bakugou who catches it easily. "For the record, though, I think you smell strong. Nice and manly."

Bakugou wraps the towel around his waist and in a single pout pulls off incredulous scepticism effortlessly.

"Back with that shit again?"

"It's true!" Kirishima says ardently, tying up his towel without looking. "Babe, you smell like," he gives a wild gesture with his hands, Bakugou snorting when he wriggles his fingers dramatically, "smoke, spice, and everything nice, man. I swear your quirk's a part of it, there's a scientific explanation for why you smell so good."

"Or maybe you're just an actual dog," Bakugou says dryly, grabbing his shower caddy from a shelf by his door. "Just get a tail like furry Jackie Chan and it'll be complete."

"I think dogs would have tails shorter than Ojiro's, though," Kirishima wonders aloud. Then he goggles Bakugou, a mix of awe and revelation crossing his face. "Dude, wouldn't that make you a furry, though?"

"Shut the fuck up, holy shit," Bakugou hisses at him, flustered pink with his hand on the door handle. "Three years and there's no less hair in your brains, I fuckin' swear."

"You're the one that brought it up," Kirishima retorts, laughing when Bakugou slaps his arm. Then he cocks his head as Bakugou turns the handle. "Unless you're into that stuff? If you wanna add, like, cat ears or tail stuff into the bedroom, I wouldn't judge," he says, before a considering pause, "it might be kinda cute actually—"

Bakugou slams the door with a death glare. "One more goddamn word and you're showering by your-fucking-self."

"Ahh, okay, sorry, sorry!" Kirishima claps his hands together, inclining his head as he shuffles after Bakugou out the door. "I'll behave, I promise!"

"Fuckin' better," he clicks his tongue, opening the door.

"I'm sorry," Kirishima peeks up, cracks open an eye in a smile. "Just don't throw me in the dog house."

"That's it, get ready to fucking die!"

Bakugou's raised voice grounds to a halt when Kirishima rushes past him, snatches up his shower caddy. Laughter and footfalls echo in the hallway as Bakugou gapes at him, running with only a towel around his waist.

"Play fetch, Katsuki!" Kirishima calls from over his shoulder.

He's blushing from raucous laughter, his eyes are crinkled bright. Bakugou's palms are already sparking when he sprints after Kirishima with vengeance, yet not quite snarling.

Chapter Text

“You better be glad you didn’t slip and fucking die running to the showers,” Bakugou says, clicking his tongue. “Goddamn brick-head.”

He works his fingers deeper to the roots of Kirishima’s hair, limp and thick under the shower-fall. Bakugou’s fingers are strong yet gentle massaging his scalp, it gets him purring.

“That wouldn’t happen,” Kirishima mumbles, humming in sweet content. An inch away from Bakugou’s face, he smiles dopily. “You’d blast me before you’d let me fall anyway.”

“Damn straight,” Bakugou says. He slicks back his hair from his forehead, which stays down from the shower running on his head and back. “How the hell did you even run in the first place?”

Kirishima cocks his head. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, like… You always get up and walk around, even after we,” Bakugou frowns. Shrugs. Trails off into a grumble, making the shower-fall sound more prominent in the quiet.

“Katsuki?” Kirishima asks. He wraps his hands loosely around his waist. He lets a finger trace across Bakugou’s cheek, angling his head to look closer at Bakugou. Who turns away just as much, still frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck…you know…” He has his wrists over Kirishima’s shoulders, but he still glances back in a pout, like a distrustful cat. “Shit, aren’t you sore or something?”

“Oh. Oh, hell yeah, it’s aching,” Kirishima says immediately. Bakugou blinks at him, and he can only laugh. “C’mon, babe, I can’t be out of commission just because you give me some good lovin’! Like, what if some Godzilla-villain strikes and I can’t get my hero act together just because we got freaky earlier?” Kirishima says. He’s hugging Bakugou now, who’s already leaning his head on his shoulder, shaking with held-back laughter as Kirishima’s grinning. “S’just not manly, you know?”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Bakugou says, nearly wheezing.

His head’s back up, he’s smiling, eyes crinkled and glowing red under the shower and Kirishima feels himself growing tender at the sight.

“Yours as long as you got me,” Kirishima says, humming.

He traces his fingers up Bakugou’s sides, smooth and slick with water. A shot of adrenaline rushes giddy through him when Bakugou’s laughter stutters to a halt, turns into a swallowing down of a deeper, sweeter moan. Kirishima licks his lips, hands moving with slow, assured purpose as his eyelids droop, as he leans in.

“Let me get you now,” Kirishima says quietly. He gazes into Bakugou’s eyes as he does.

“Who the hell’s stopping you…?”

The words barely slip out in a low mumble. But Bakugou doesn’t look away, not even when the frown deepens and the red creeps onto his face. A grin only grows on Kirishima’s as he’s chuckling.

“God, you’re adorable,” Kirishima says aloud, still laughing softly.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou grumbles, even as he still presses closer to Kirishima. “Don’t call me that.”

“I can’t help it,” Kirishima sighs, an airy one that holds both apology and wonder. “You look so good like this.” He huffs when Bakugou’s front is firm and slick against his, his neck and shoulder just below his own chin. Bites his lip. “I really can’t…”

He pulls Bakugou into a hug, one hand stroking down his back while his other reaches for some soap. His mind sinks into a desert-like haze, hypnotised by the oasis tantalising him from so close—the expanse of Bakugou’s back, the fair skin on the dips and swells of the muscles there. His soaped hand presses at the flat of Bakugou’s shoulder blade, a puff of a breath leaving him when Bakugou pushes even more flush against him.

His body goes on auto-pilot as he lowers his mouth to the tendon where Bakugou’s neck melds to his shoulder. Bakugou feels his breath alight at his skin amidst the steam, clutches at Kirishima’s shoulders with gritted teeth as he feels his palm rub languidly at his back, not at all washing him properly.

“You—” He starts when Kirishima’s mouth latches to his neck. Teeth piercing sharp at the thin skin and Bakugou’s head falls forward. He squeezes Kirishima who only pushes in his bite of a kiss, the sting of it gets him panting. “Eijirou…”

Kirishima groans into his skin, only surges forward and hugs him closer, pulls him in tighter at the sound of his name. He slides his lips up the column of Bakugou’s neck, pushes in his teeth in another searing kiss and holds Bakugou as he tenses then melts against him. Breath coming shorter, warm and strong against Kirishima. Who rubs his hands over his back, planes them over to Bakugou’s chest, trailing suds across his skin.

“Seriously?” Bakugou growls, cheeks stained red. His grip tightens around Kirishima’s neck and shoulders, pulling him closer. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself, now?”

“I need to wash you, don’t I?” Kirishima murmurs, a slow smile working against Bakugou’s skin before he looks up at him. “But I’ll stop if that’s what you want,” he whispers, full of sincerity.

“Like hell,” he murmurs, squeezing Kirishima from the possibility of escape. “You better fuckin’ not.”

He only sighs when he leans into Bakugou’s lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his hands roam slow and thorough across his naked skin. His thumbs and palms push against the buds of Bakugou’s nipples, push up the swell of his pecs slick and soapy as he gently tongues his dark bites on Bakugou’s neck. Lost in worshipping the powerful body in his hold as a desperate groan ripples from Bakugou’s throat.

“You’d tell me if I miss a spot…” Kirishima mutters, a breath away from his lips, holding Bakugou’s gaze with his own half-open one. His palm slides to the full curve of Bakugou’s ass, his other hand tracing at the V practically chiselled at his hips as Bakugou’s lips fall open. “…Right?”

“…Yeah…” Bakugou murmurs, chewing his own lip, it nearly goes white at the pressure. “God,” he says, not quite enough air behind it, sounding winded when Kirishima’s fingers trail closer to the divot of his back, the dip between his cheeks. “Fuck, don’t—” His eyes are scrunched tight, nearly closed but by now Kirishima knows what that pained look means. “Don’t fuckin’ tease, just—just—”

“Front or back?” Kirishima whispers. He flattens his hands against Bakugou’s tensing abs, his shifting rear, bites down his smile when Bakugou’s exhale goes shaky, he can’t help himself. “Where do you want it, Katsuki?” he asks, his usually bright voice dipping so low, reaching a depth that brushes over Bakugou’s skin, makes the hairs on his skin flare in a shiver. “Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.”

Kirishima sighs at his ear lobe, nibbles and laves at it with his teeth and tongue and Bakugou’s flush bleeds hot to his shoulder, creeps to his chest, he’s a full-body blusher.

“Fucking—” Bakugou stammers as Kirishima’s touch drifts. His fingertips tease at the base of his cock, trace over his soft hole, making him flinch forward. Kirishima isn’t giving him time to think. “Eijirou.”

His growl comes out much more as a moan, and his lips clap shut. It echoes shallowly in their tiny stall.

“Me, huh?”

Kirishima hums lowly, thoughtful and toying and it’s like the shower water’s spiked in heat, Bakugou can feel himself flush all over, he’s growling. Fuck everyone and anyone who thought Kirishima wasn’t the most devious shit on the planet.

“I’d like that, too,” he admits softly. “You’d have to quiet down, you know? While I do you—nice, long, and slow,” he murmurs, chuckling at Bakugou’s muffled swear. “…I’d like that a lot.”

He’s whispering right into Bakugou’s ear. His soapy fingers curl around Bakugou’s erection, pushes shallowly into his soft, warm hole. He’s holding Bakugou over a lighter, heating him to glowing red. Teasing he’s familiar with; the languor and gentleness of it, much less so. Even so long into their relationship Bakugou’s not used to the drawn-out foreplay, the slow build-up that skirts around the main event instead of getting straight to it.

But Kirishima, like with all other things, helps him slow down. Draws him away from the fast, intense, all-consuming blaze he thrives in. Grounds him to focus on stoking floating embers, the fleeting sensations that rile up a growing flame instead. And it’s a pursuit that doesn’t provoke Bakugou’s impatience, now. Now, with Kirishima all around him, slowly and surely riling him up, one wrong move and Bakugou might blow up the stall without meaning to.

But Kirishima would survive the blast and keep torturing him, the bastard.

“Like we could here,” Bakugou manages to spit out, finally. His lip’s still trembling, but Kirishima blinks at him with wet hair and round eyes playing dumb, like he doesn’t know how much he affects him, the ass. “Wait until we get back for that, you…thirsty-ass, ho,” he sputters. “Goddamn mutt, shit, what the hell.”

Kirishima actually laughs aloud at that. The sound rises past the thick of the steam, rings in their little shower stall.

“Aw, Blasty,” Kirishima croons, completely endeared. Bakugou bristles in what he hopes comes across as offence, but even he can’t fool himself now. “Then, instead…”

It happens faster than Bakugou can process. How Kirishima’s arm flexes, wrist reaches and two thick fingers pushes past the ring of muscle. How in a gasp those fingers slip in deep, bend back and spread apart and a weak jolt of pleasure makes him clench and even more stretched. His hands clamp down on Kirishima’s shoulders as his shaky, fast breath fans over Kirishima’s parted lips.

“Here, right?” Kirishima murmurs. He fingers him steadily and rhythmically, mouths the edge of Bakugou’s jaw as Bakugou’s panting with his eyes closing, his hot breath floating up to the ceiling like the rest of the steam before he clenches his teeth. “Here when you touch yourself, when I’m not there, right?” he says, quiet yet pressing, between the kisses he lays on Bakugou’s cheek, the corner of his lip. “Does it feel good when I do it for you?”

“What the—hell d’you think?” Bakugou slurs. Jerks when Kirishima rubs firm over his prostate, jaw dropping slack. “Fuck, yes, yes, it feels good…!”

“I’m glad. It looks like it,” Kirishima says simply with a bitten lip, gaze roaming over Bakugou who’s tight and twitching around him, breaths hitched an inch away from him. “You’re doing so good. You react so well.” He licks the shell of Bakugou’s ear feather gentle, voice rumbling in a low, soft whisper, “you’re such a good boy, Katsuki…”

Kirishima is ready when Bakugou arcs into him, catches him easy as a breathy whine jumps choked into Bakugou’s throat, keeps fingering him steady as Bakugou clenches down on him, he can feel his pulse at his rim skipping at his words.

“F-Fuck, you goddamn”—he snarls weakly, his face blossomed red from pink down to his neck, Bakugou’s fair skin’s always given him away like that—“on fucking purpose, you shit, I oughta fuckin’—”

“Not in public, huh?” Kirishima snickers. Not meanly, far from it—it’s a noise downy-soft and filled with affection, like with every other look, sound or thought he makes Bakugou’s way.

But it gets cut off when Bakugou pulls out his fingers with a yank of his wrist and Kirishima’s left blinking.

“Katsuki?” he blurts out in concern. His hands are floating, he doesn’t know where to put them now that he’s worried that he pushed it too far. He dumbly watches Bakugou take a step back, making a light slap against the wet floor. “Babe, I’m sorry, did I—?”

Then Bakugou’s down on one knee with a hand around Kirishima’s cock, the side of his fist brushing against the black thatch of hair just around it. Which shuts him up reliably fast.

“Course that gets you t’pipe the fuck down,” Bakugou scoffs, though with not nearly enough ferocity behind it to make Kirishima worry. Only a low moan leaves Kirishima’s chest, and Bakugou makes that smug, half-grin that he finds so attractive. “Your brain stuck in here, too, you dick?”

“Hey, be nice…” Kirishima laughs weakly.

Then Bakugou tugs along the shaft and he’s sucking in a breath, his fingers pushing through the soaked tresses of Bakugou’s hair, surprisingly thin when it’s wet, maybe they’re also wasting water in here.

“Katsuki,” he sighs, his breath streaming shallow. Bakugou lets out a warming breath over the tip of his cock and he bites his lip, already stirring. “Baby—”

“You come here and we’re going straight the fuck to bed,” he murmurs between firm, circling licks. His lips slide and wrap around the ridge of the head, and make a wet pop when he pulls back, facing up at him and never looking away, Kirishima’s completely enthralled. “You got that?”

He can feel his Adam’s apple bob when Bakugou’s other hand reaches behind himself, he’s kneeling farther away from him than usual, he can see the whole of his back and the water slipping down it like a slide. Even as an empty threat, there’s something riveting about how rough and tough it comes from Bakugou’s lips, especially when it gets a little scratchy. Or maybe Kirishima just likes Bakugou’s voice. Or just Bakugou.

Oi!” Bakugou barks, teeth starting to flash. Gaze burning as he growls, “eyes on me.

“Got it,” Kirishima answers straightaway. “One, one hundred percent.”

He finds it funny how he was distracted by the same thing he was paying attention to.

By the time he sees Bakugou bunch up three fingers and it disappears from sight, his eyes are zeroed in, he’s nodding in jerky, bobble-head motions, gulping down a shivery breath.

Good,” Bakugou sneers. Then his expression slackens and he’s biting his lip, his arm reaching behind shifting and flexing sinuously, and Kirishima’s pupils blow wide.

Bakugou’s lips open around his cock, still with those dazed eyes, latches and licks around it, thick and pulsing as he pushes it deeper into his mouth, hot and wet and nearing the small of his throat, Kirishima’s really panting now. It’s not even the sensation of that tight, wet heat wrapping around the length of him that really gets to Kirishima. No, just the sight of Bakugou: on his knees, fingering himself and bending forward so Kirishima can see, swallowing up Kirishima’s cock like he was born to do it like most anything he set his mind to, all while glistening wet. Just that was branding Kirishima’s retinas, frying his brain, etching into his ears, from the wet noises of his mouth barely masked by shower water. Maybe he transferred his explosive quirk to Kirishima’s whole body through his heavenly, heavenly lips.

“God, Katsuki.” Kirishima’s awed whisper nearly gets drowned out by the shower rain, his back falls flush against the cool walls of the stall. His head lolls back on his neck, but he doesn’t dare rip his eyes away from his years-long fantasy live in flesh-and-blood—Bakugou Katsuki, his boyfriend—and the reality is enough to make his cock twitch even while inside his tight, wonderful mouth. “You’re fucking incredi—

—the bathroom door creaks as it swings open outside; Kirishima’s eyes bug out—

“—be-au-ti-ful mooor-ning, oh what a beau-ti-ful daaay…!!”

Bakugou nearly chokes on his cock, from laughter rather than the size of it, and Kirishima sends a very panicked grin down his way as he sings about a wonderful feeling.

“Yo, Kirishima!” Kaminari’s voice sounds from outside, laughing. Kirishima’s eyes scrunch up, his warbling tune about how everything’s going his way faltering. “Isn’t it, like, 9 at night right now though?”

Kirishima stopped singing, a gulp taking over his throat. He usually loved chatting with Kaminari, bro to bro, even in the communal toilets. Usually being the operative word.

“Y-You know me, man!” he says, his chuckle coming out more as a wheeze. His fingers knotted in Bakugou’s hair to either pull him off his dick or keep him deathly still. “Can’t help but belt out a tune if I’m feeling good!”

For once in his life, Kirishima prayed for a villain raid, fire alarm, or any summoning force to get Kaminari out, out, out of the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah?” Kirishima hears the little slaps of Kaminari’s sandals, the clacks of plastic near the sink area; he must be about to brush his teeth. “That have anything to do with Señor Blasts-a-Lot?”

As Denki’s hum takes on a suggestive edge, Bakugou suddenly stops the silent slide of his mouth off of Kirishima, who really starts to sweat in the steaming shower. Bakugou shoots a piercing, questioning look at the curtain, then up at Kirishima. Who shouldn’t think that his boyfriend looks so cute, looking aggressively curious with his mouth on his dick, but years of hero emergency situation training tell him that he has more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

“Huh?” he half-yells, just to make himself heard. He thanks every possible architect and-or deity that made the acoustics of a communal toilet so bad and the showers so loud. “What makes you say that?”

“Everyone and their grandma heard you guys sparring outside earlier, man!” Kaminari says, boisterous as ever, the tap starting to run.

Kirishima’s chest heaves a silent sigh; he did have a habit of covering Bakugou’s towels with his on the one hook, and neither of them wore slippers on the short way there. He thinks they still have a chance of getting out of this unscathed.

“Which means,” Kaminari continues, as if Kirishima’s missing the obvious and he’s really starting to fear that, “that y’all did the nasty, right?”

“Wh—huh?” he blurts out smartly.

A distracting squeeze at his hips alerts him to Bakugou. A very vexed Bakugou who’s one twitch away from rushing Kaminari from inside the stall. Only now in his striking adrenaline-born clarity does Kirishima remember how Bakugou wants their explosive sex life to be the subject of awe, wonder and intimidation, not the nightly gossip in the shared toilets. That, plus his treasure of a boyfriend does not exactly take to keeping quiet.

“You know, that sparring you guys do for foreplay?” Kaminari says in a prompting way, just when Kirishima remembers that his buddy also doesn’t familiarise with the art of shutting the hell up. “When Explode-meister’s horny as all hell for dick? That hardening dick, wahey, am I right?”

Kaminari laughs at his own joke before brushing his teeth. Kirishima wonders if this is life’s horrible alternative to having an aneurysm. Bakugou, naked as the day he was born, looks ready to kill with his knees.

“What, too much? But hey, not like Bakugou doesn’t want it anyway,” Kaminari says. A thick spit of toothbrush foam hits the basin. “Can you even do that with your quirk, though? I mean, I know I can make mine downstairs a volt or two of shocking, but still.”

Kaminari, whose voice is muffled from talking around foam, gargles on some water. For an instant, Kirishima wishes his best buddy could choke on it a little. Just enough to leave. He wonders if that’s what people mean when you start taking on your partner’s traits. He can guess how proud Bakugou would be.

“Hellooo? Mr. Eijirou?” Kaminari chants, which does draw Kirishima’s attention from wondering if he can knock himself out if he bashes his head against the wall hard enough. Out of his class only Bakugou really uses his first name. “Not like you to go quiet like that, man. What’s eatin’ at ya?”

Kirishima smiles in a quiet huff. He loves Kaminari and how he knows something’s wrong, he just doesn’t love the timing.

Besides, throwing his head back would only damage the wall; he shouldn’t consider property damage just because he’s embarrassed.

“No, s’nothing,” Kirishima says. He steels his resolve to play the waiting game; they can get out of this. “Besides, it’s not really something I oughta—”

A sweet, familiar heat seizes him. Peaks hot and sharp in his gut and Kirishima chokes in a hiss, hand flying to Bakugou’s head that’s suddenly nestled to the base of his cock.

“Kirishima?” Kaminari asks again, concern seeping into his tone now. “You okay?”

“I, I’m fine, man, it’s nothing,” Kirishima babbles fast. His throat clamps up when Bakugou chooses that moment to suck around him with a vengeance, somehow entirely quiet while he does it, Kirishima hates him. “I just—” He can feel the back of Bakugou’s throat trap the head of his cock, he’s sucking so hard and tight, making his jaw fall open, Kirishima loves him. “Cut myself. Is all.”

You? Cut yourself?” Kaminari’s voice drags with disbelief. “Man, something definitely must be messing you up.”

“Hey, I—can get clumsy,” Kirishima starts defensively. It gets a touch breathier than intended when Bakugou seamlessly sucks to his tip and deep-throats him to the root, he has to grab the base of himself to not come. “—Too. Y’know.”

“You sure? Not gonna lie, bro, you sound kinda out of it right now.”

“I’m just kinda—sleepy, right now,“ Kirishima grits out in a long breath, his yawn barely trembling when Bakugou swirls his tongue around the bottom of the ridge, where it gets his knees shaking. He clenches around himself with feeling. ”Prob’ly ’cause Bakugou, really did a number on me earlier,” he explains, chest rising fast and quiet.

Kirishima looks down, eyes barely open when he does.

“You know,” he continues, grin trembling as he watches Bakugou. Who’s still flushed to his shoulders, licking at him like a popsicle. “How he”—his fingers rub at his balls and Kirishima’s head falls back again, he’s biting his lip, drawing blood probably—“Never lets up.”

“Amen to that.” Kaminari blows out a commiserating sigh. “Got paired up with him again the other day in hero training class? Nearly died.” He scoffs. “I swear, doesn’t matter we’ve been pals since the start of U.A., he’ll blast me to kingdom come if he gets the chance.”

Kirishima wants to hum, offer sympathy that way. But he can’t trust himself to not sound like he’s receiving the head of his short, beautiful life.

“Respect, man,” Kirishima blurts out. The hand that isn’t maintaining a chokehold on his own dick is petting Bakugou’s hair, who licks along and at the edges of his length, his tongue is so soft and hot lapping at him. “That’s how he shows it to, anyone in a fight.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you of all people would say that, wouldn’t you?” Kaminari teases. “You practically get off on him kicking your ass.”

The promising sound of clattering plastic echoes again, and the urge to sing bursts in Kirishima’s chest. Or to get to let out the gasp trapped there, now that Bakugou’s lips mash against his fist. He considers, from the sheer pink he can see on his shoulders, how he’s not focusing on Kaminari anymore, that Bakugou’s actually into this. And, fair, so is Kirishima.

“There’s a charm to it. Nothing manlier than a guy—” he admits, just as Bakugou’s throat flutters around his cock, “—giving it his all. After all.”

“Gayyy,” Kaminari sing-songs, his smile audible. “True, probably, but gayyy.”

Despite the onslaught of sensory input, a genuine laugh surges out of Kirishima. His head’s a kaleidoscope of pleasure and irritation, sheer impatience and arousal coalescing and snowballing. It’s like Bakugou wants them to get caught, wants to push him to the edge. Kirishima swears he’s trying to swallow him in, he’s never seen Bakugou so hungry like this before.

So Kirishima gives him what he wants—holds the back of Bakugou’s head and lets go of himself when he thrusts his hips forward, looking Bakugou right in the eye.

“That’s me, baby,” Kirishima jokes back, just loud enough to mask Bakugou gagging on his cock.

Kaminari makes another quip back, heading out as he wishes Kirishima good night. He responds in a grunt. Though more to Bakugou pulling in his hips for Kirishima to face-fuck him than anything.

As soon as the door closes, Kirishima’s expression turns feral, growling.

Fuck, Katsuki…” he hisses, shark teeth bared in a snarl of a grin, thrusting shallowly into his mouth. Bakugou’s brows are drawn so tight they’re nearly touching, eyes squinting and teary as Kirishima fucks halting, wet chokes from his throat. The sensations, sound, visual, it all becomes too much, welling fast and relentless as he bends over, huffing. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come—”

A low groan leaves Bakugou as he grips his hips, making sure Kirishima doesn’t pull back.

Kirishima can’t even stop it from happening, the tight heat cresting in his gut and body and soul till it all spills over, it’s like a physical hit—he has to keel over, his mouth has to open and snatch air back into his body in staggered gulps, a broken moan as he sees sparks and purple, his eyes have squeezed shut that hard. Bakugou doesn’t buckle even as he’s quaking, he just gulps and gulps down the release spilling down the back of his throat, around Kirishima’s jerking, sensitive length buried to the hilt between his lips.

Kirishima is still catching his breath when Bakugou pulls off him in an obscene, muted pop. His coughs are muffled with his own closed lips as he rears back, eyes still narrowed and teary, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Water pours down his body, flawless save for purple-red bruises, pushing back his hair from his forehead. Cock flushed red and painfully hard between his kneeling legs. Distantly, Kirishima thinks Bakugou’s hands around his hips is the only reason he isn’t a pile of limbs on the shower floor now.

The fact that Bakugou deep-throats like a man’s man shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

“…You,” Kirishima huffs, swallows, voice sounding like it passed through a grater.

Even with quaking knees, he’s steeled in his resolve when he grabs Bakugou by the arm. Who looks up questioningly at him, a little trance-like, perhaps not nearly as put together as he looks either when Kirishima pulls him up for a deep, bruising kiss.

He chalks it up to that when the urge to rough Katsuki up possesses him.

“No more teasing, yeah?” Kirishima mutters deep and rushed, pinning Bakugou against the cool wall at his arms, with his gaze. His foot knocks Bakugou’s two apart, making space for his hand that shoots between his legs, reaches behind. “That what you want?”

“About fuckin’ time,” Bakugou rasps in a barely-there smirk. Hoarse and gravelly and Kirishima wonders if he can come for the third time tonight sooner rather than later.

“You couldn’t wait?” Kirishima says, curious, pressing, challenging, the farthest from angry. “You couldn’t wait for me to mess you up, Katsuki?”

He doesn’t wait for Bakugou to respond, just bundles three fingers together and pushes at his rim, still slippery with leftover soap, breaches with just his fingertips and watches Bakugou gasp when his fingers sink in.

“Kaminari’s, fault—” Bakugou utters suddenly. “That Pikachu fucker—” Even as Kirishima pushes up his leg, hooking his thigh over his elbow as he plants his hand against the wall, Bakugou keeps talking. “Can’t read the fuckin’ mood in a shower, that goddamn, distracting, three-watt—”

Kirishima pushes in to his knuckles and curls hard, repeatedly into that sensitive knob buried inside him. Bakugou shuts up in a yelp, his body quivering in quiet pants, warm water trailing over his chest and leaking tip. He catches Kirishima’s eye, which pierces with a glint of something sharper, less forgiving.

“I want to hear one name when I fuck you,” Kirishima murmurs, eyes boring into Bakugou’s. “And only one.”

Bakugou shivers hotly, wide-eyed and breathless. He’s only seen this side to Kirishima a handful of times before.

Then Kirishima’s fingers shove in deep, and Bakugou chokes on his own breath.

“You did that because he said my name, right?” Kirishima says, a near-taunting statement, not a guess. He whispers right into Bakugou’s ear, only he can hear it. “Even if it was a joke, no one else should get to say it like you can, right…?”

Kirishima fingers him harder, ruthless, Bakugou’s actually trembling now, barely able to breathe.

“You’re—mine,” Bakugou answers, all the confirmation in the world. He doesn’t whimper, but Kirishima spreads his fingers and it becomes a close, hissing thing. “You’re fucking mine.”

“I’m the same,” he whispers back, hard and reverent. “You know that, Katsuki?”

“No one else,” Bakugou slurs out. Eyes scrunched, face flushed, his one leg touching the ground might fall away if Kirishima moves. “No one fucking else.”

“I’ll get you there,” Kirishima says. His fingers curl around his leg, press faster inside him in response. Bakugou swears, holds onto Kirishima before he falls, he’s so close to the edge it hurts him. “Say my name. I’ll get you there.”

“Eijirou,” Bakugou says immediately, a ghost of a sound, his throat is still raw from earlier, it barely pitches higher. “Fuck me, fuck me, Eijirou.”

“I got you,” Kirishima breathes out, their gasps blurring together. “I got you.”

He kisses Bakugou’s lips, pressing soft against his panting mouth. Bakugou tightens around him, his fingers, his grip on his shoulders, scratches hard, palms hot across his back. Kirishima surges forward in his kiss, pressing Bakugou who kisses him hard back, he’s ready to catch him, whispers against his lips:

“You’re so good for me, Katsuki.”

Kirishima keeps his eyes open when Bakugou swallows down a whine, hears the noise only he gets to hear when Bakugou is about to come from behind, his cock untouched. Bakugou’s chin drops down as half a moan leaves him, his abdomen flinching as his cock pulses a warning red and he calls Kirishima’s name.

When he comes hard and messy up on his own stomach, his palms explode across Kirishima’s back.

Kirishima works him through his pleasure, fingers slipping out when Bakugou relaxes in his hold and the tension all ebbs away. As Kirishima watches his precious boyfriend cling to him as he catches his breath, the first thing that runs through Kirishima’s mind is a thought without words. Only warmth, affection, a fierce urge to keep close that he tries to convey through kisses feather-light, sweet nothings across Bakugou’s cheeks and mouth, damp and warm and flushed.

When the bathroom door swings open, the first thing Kirishima actually says is: “Shit.”

“Bakugou, what the hell! Are you okay, man?!” Denki’s voice resounds in the bathroom.

Of course, before Kirishima can say anything, Bakugou shouts from their one stall: “Fuckin’ peachy.”

Bakugou’s panting slightly when he glances at the curtain. Kirishima looks up, noting the condensation on the ceiling. For one second, it’s just the sound of shower water running that fills the room.

“…Y’all kidding me right now?”

Bright and drawling Denki had never sounded more deadened than in that moment. Which might explain Bakugou’s sudden bark of a laugh. At that point, Kirishima clears his throat.

“Sorry, man,” he says sheepishly.

“If sorry were enough, we wouldn’t have seppuku, brother of mine,” Denki says. “Hold up, does that mean you weren’t slee—actually. You know what? Not even gonna rag you about it,” he decides soberly. Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Don’t even wanna know, or hear anything to do with—”

“We fucked,” Bakugou announces dryly. Kirishima frowns at him just as Denki shrieks.

“In the shower?!”

“No, man! We wouldn’t do that!” Kirishima insists. “I mean, we did earlier, technically, but that’s—”

“Cursed image!” Denki yells. Kirishima can imagine he’s holding his head in denial. “Out, out, out my delicate brain!”

“An unstoppable force meets an immovable object,” Bakugou continues, grin sadistic.

“Repeatedly,” Kirishima adds as an after-thought. Bakugou cackles. Denki actually wails.

“Curse you! I still love and respect you and your sexually healthy relationship but curse you…!” Denki says, his voice growing distant. “And stop wasting water, ya nasties…!

“Sorry!” Kirishima calls to the distance.

“Good fucking riddance,” Bakugou mutters.

“Hey, be nice,” Kirishima scolds, though the kiss he gives Bakugou’s cheek lessens the impact of it considerably. “He’s got a point, though. We gotta consider the environment.”

“Course that’s your only concern,” Bakugou says in a scoff, adjusting his hold around Kirishima’s shoulders. “But you suck at washing up.”

Kirishima blinks. “Uh?”

“I’m saying,” Bakugou emphasises. Pulls him closer, glancing along Kirishima’s round eyes, small O of his lips. “You missed a spot. So use this water and clean up properly,” he says. Slowly starts to blink when he leans in. His palm trailing up Kirishima wet, firm chest. “Hair. For. Brains.”

Kirishima watches him enunciate the words, the shape of his lips moving and changing with each sound. Spies the water pooling at his clavicle, spilling over to his chest, just below a litter of marks and hickeys peppering his neck. Heat prickles along his skin again.

“Just. Just gonna wash you properly,” Kirishima says. More to himself or to Bakugou, he isn’t sure when Bakugou bites his lip as he reaches for more soap. “Then we’re gonna go to my room.”

“Who said otherwise?” Bakugou says. Nips at his earlobe, hand slipping down his chest.

Kirishima planned to say something to keep Bakugou in line. When they stay in the shower a few minutes longer than intended, leaving with more bruises than they entered with maybe, he can’t quite remember if he managed to get it across properly.