Work Header

Tell Me I'm Yours

Work Text:

Bakugou was going a little crazy. He could grudgingly admit that it was at least in part his own fault; moving in with his best friend maybe hadn’t been the best idea. At first, it sounded great. The rent would be cheaper, grocery shopping and cooking for two would be way more convenient, and it would be easier for the two of them to hang out. The only thing was, Bakugou forgot to consider how the joys of moving in with his aforementioned best friend might be dampened by the fact that he was madly in love with him.

How was he supposed to know how different it was to actually live with someone as opposed to just seeing them every day? For one thing, much to his chagrin, Kirishima’s annoying aversion to shirts apparently extended to his home life as well. Bakugou was going to explode their couch if he walked into the living room one more time to see freaking Adonis, tits out and fast asleep in front of their TV. It was bad enough with the locker rooms and that god forsaken hero costume of his, but this felt more… domestic. Bakugou wanted to rip the butterflies from his stomach personally.

Then there was the touching. Kirishima has always been tactile, but now it had gone from throwing a casual arm over his shoulder to grabbing him lightly by the waist to get around him in the kitchen or resting his head in Bakugou’s lap when they watched TV. Bakugou literally could not tell you what show they had watched when that had happened the first time.

Today was no exception to the hell. He and his roommate had been hanging out on the couch when Kirishima found a comic he wanted to show Bakugou on his phone. Instead of just saying his name like a normal person, he put his hand on Bakugou’s knee to get his attention. Fine. It was fucking fine. Except, it was not fucking fine, because then he left it there the whole time Bakugou was reading the stupid comic. Or trying to read the stupid comic, anyway. He had been a little distracted. Kirishima had even rubbed his fucking thumb back and forth a few times. The whole thing felt so casually possessive, and it did things to Bakugou, even if he was sure Kirishima meant nothing by it.

Feeling desperate to get the hell out of the apartment and away from his roommate, he wracked his brain for any excuse he had to leave. In the end, he mumbled something about his publicity manager Hagakure nagging him to get some new casual clothes and bolted. He usually wasn't so keen on using his looks to boost his ratings, but suddenly the idea hadn’t seemed so bad when the alternative was staying in that way too hot living room.

Half an hour later found Bakugou at the mall, only somewhat paying attention to trying on jeans while he brooded over his situation. In the end, he bought a few things to shut Hagakure up for the time being then made his way home, making sure to stay out late enough that he could go straight to bed without it looking weird. It didn’t end up mattering – when he opened the front door he was faced with a sleeping Kirishima yet again, the low lighting of the living room casting shadows across his stupid fucking abs. Bakugou went straight to his room, locked the door, and screamed into his pillow, thankful that his roommate always slept like the dead.

 * * *

The next day Bakugou was feeling a little better. They both had Saturdays off, and Kirishima usually slept in. Bakugou had been able to spend his morning alone, going on an early run, showering, and getting ready without any torture from his roommate.

He decided to wear one of his new outfits, as he had somehow been talked into getting lunch with Uraraka later that day. The whole point of getting new clothes was for him to look attractive in public, so might as well kill two annoying birds with one stone here. While it was simply a black shirt, grey cardigan, and jeans, the fitted clothes were in stark opposition to his usual baggy outfits. They reminded him unpleasantly of his internship with Best Jeanist and he didn’t quite know how he felt about them. He was pushing his sleeves up to start cooking breakfast when he heard footsteps behind him, which abruptly stopped. When Kirishima didn’t say anything, Bakugou turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He was looking incredulously at Bakugou.

“What the fuck are you staring at, Shitty Hair?” He asked.

Kirishima blinked and came out of his daze, looking up to Bakugou’s face and grinning a little sheepishly. “Ah, my bad – your legs just look really amazing in those jeans,” he said, before turning to open the fridge. Bakugou dropped the frying pan he had just gotten from the cabinet.

“Oh my god, don’t just say that so casually, idiot!” he sputtered, picking up the pan and resolutely facing the stove so Kirishima couldn’t see the flush on his face.

Kirishima chuckled, annoyingly unaffected. “Speaking the truth is manly, Bakugou,” he replied, shutting the fridge. Bakugou opened his mouth to respond, but his snarky comment died on his lips as he felt Kirishima’s hand on his waist and his chest pressed against his back as he reached for the cabinet above the stove, where he kept his blender. Bakugou fought down the pathetic sound that threatened to come out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help leaning back into Kirishima’s touch just a bit. Like, a tiny amount. He probably didn’t even notice.

The light squeeze on the top of his hip as Kirishima broke away from him potentially suggested otherwise, but his roommate just started making his morning smoothie as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, Bakugou’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Why the fuck did Kirishima even keep his stupid blender in that stupid cabinet. Katsuki was going to toss it out the goddamn window.

Shortly afterwards, Kirishima left to go on his own run, leaving Bakugou in peace to replay the words ‘your legs just look really amazing in those jeans’ in his head as many times as he wanted. Despite how flustered Kirishima had made him, he couldn’t help how that comment put him in a ridiculously good mood. Suddenly the fit of his new clothes didn’t make him so uncomfortable, and he kind of never wanted to take them off. Even the fact that Round Face was able to weasel this information out of him when they met for lunch didn’t ruin his day. If he stopped by the mall on his way home to buy two more pairs of those jeans in different colors, that was his own business.

 * * *

After the whole jeans incident, time passed without Kirishima throwing any new curveballs at him. Though he still complimented Bakugou’s sudden wardrobe change frequently, Bakugou was getting to the point where hearing, “Wow, you look incredible,” didn’t even make him drop whatever he was holding and forget what he was doing. That’s growth, people. So maybe it made him preen quietly just a little, but being arrogant was his thing, so Kirishima almost surely hadn’t noticed. Bakugou was starting to think he could get used to this whole roommate thing. If he couldn’t actually have Kirishima, it was nice to at least get his compliments and attention. Or maybe he was just a masochist. He was unsure.

One Saturday morning about two months into their new living arrangement, Bakugou was feeling particularly hungry and tired after his run. Instead of getting ready before fixing breakfast, he threw on some sweatpants after showering and headed to the kitchen. He was out of clean tee shirts, but he figured if Kirishima was allowed to mysteriously misplace his top every goddamn day he could go one breakfast without one. He decided to make Western style bacon and cheese omelets for the two of them; his roommate’s protein obsession was clearly rubbing off on him. He was flipping the last pieces of bacon when he heard the telltale sound of Kirishima’s loud ass footsteps and yawn, signaling his arrival. Over the sizzling of the bacon, he just barely heard Kirishima’s breath hitch. He was turning around to ask what the hell was wrong with him when Kirishima suddenly said, “Holy shit, you look so good like that.”

Bakugou blinked, a traitorous shiver going down his spine and his skin breaking out in goosebumps as his body responded to what his brain couldn’t quite process. He was short-circuiting, thoughts bouncing between what the fuck and Jesus Christ that was hot. When he was able to form words, he spat out, “What, Shitty Hair?” while still facing the stove top because he absolutely could not turn around and face Kirishima.

For a few seconds, it was silent. Then, Kirishima simply replied in his usual sunshine voice with, “I just meant I’m lucky that I have such a good roommate who cooks me breakfast. Thanks, Bakugou!”

Smelling burning plastic, Bakugou looked down to see that he was accidentally melting the handle of the spatula with his quirk. He was focused on calming down when he felt the now familiar push of Kirishima against his back as he reached for his blender (why doesn’t he just keep the fucking thing out?!). He glanced up to where he could see the redhead’s face in his peripheral vision. Even barely glimpsing him from the side, Bakugou could tell plain as day that he looked smug. What the fuck.

Later that night, Kirishima’s hungry sounding words repeated themselves for the millionth time in Bakugou’s head. Biting his shirt sleeve to stifle any noise, he brought himself off embarrassingly quickly as he pictured them said in a context that had very little to do with cooking breakfast.

 * * *

Thankfully, things went largely back to normal after that. Work was busy for both of them, so they spent many evenings sprawled on their couch eating take out straight from the container. Bakugou was getting more comfortable with the way Kirishima would casually tangle their legs together, and he figured it didn’t really mean anything to the redhead. Despite his crush remaining just as ridiculously strong as ever, Bakugou really enjoyed living with Kirishima.

Or at least, he had been until right now. With the added stress and hours at work, Bakugou had managed to get fucking sick. God, he hated being sick. His quirk didn’t work as well when he was cold and tired. He felt useless and impatient.

But of course, being sunshine incarnate, Kirishima had gone out and gotten him soup. Either because he was fearless or because he had a death wish, he came in without knocking while Bakugou was asleep and sat down on his bed. Kirishima gently shook him awake and waited until he was semi-coherent before announcing that he needed to eat, because he apparently hadn’t eaten all day. Leave it to Shitty Hair to keep track of his meals better than himself.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled, flopping to his other side and giving his roommate his back. He just wanted to fucking sleep until he was healthy again. Vaguely, he registered Kirishima’s sigh and heard him put the bowl of soup on the bedside table. Then, there were strong arms lifting him out of his comfortable spot into a sitting position. He groaned and opened his eyes, glaring angrily at Kirishima.

“You won’t get better if you don’t eat something, bro,” Kirishima insisted, reaching for the soup. Before he could grab it, Bakugou slumped forward so that he was resting his head against Kirishima’s chest. God, he felt so warm.

“I said I don’t want any,” he grumbled into the fabric of Kirishima’s shirt. He felt him shift and pick up the bowl anyway.

“I’m not going to fight with you on this, dude, just drink the soup,” he insisted.

“I’m not drinking your shitty soup, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou said, unbothered by the annoyance in his roommate’s voice.

Suddenly he felt a sharp tug at the back of his head as Kirishima gently but firmly pulled him up by a fistful of his hair. He gasped as Kirishima looked straight into his wide eyes. He had one eyebrow raised and was clearly unamused by his protests. Voice low and even, and without breaking eye contact, he ordered, “Katsuki, drink the soup. Now.”

Whatever the hell that was shot straight to Bakugou’s dick. He tasted blood as he bit his cheek, desperately trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill over his lips. Kirishima let go of his hair as he handed him the soup. As if his body was on autopilot, he grabbed the bowl and downed its contents in three large gulps. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth messily on the back of his hand and quickly pushed the bowl back at Kirishima, as if desperate to finish the task as fast as possible. He found himself looking expectantly at Kirishima, feeling nervous but somehow excited. He didn’t even know what he wanted from him, but he couldn’t break eye contact.

Smiling softly, Kirishima reached out and carded his fingers through his hair. “Good boy,” he said quietly. Bakugou couldn’t choke down his traitorous noise this time, and he let out something between a gasp and a moan. Kirishima’s smile turned to a smirk. “Get some more sleep,” he said simply, as if nothing had happened. Shooting one last knowing look at him, he shut the door quietly and his footsteps soon faded as he walked down the hall.

Bakugou flopped down onto his back, utterly confused and breathing heavily as if he’d just gone on a run. He glared down at the prominent tent in his pants. Kirishima had called him Katsuki… His voice echoed once again in his head. ‘Good boy.’ Fuck, he’d looked so proud. Bakugou wanted him to look at him like that all the fucking time. His dick strained against the front of his pants, crying for his attention. Giving in, he ripped the offending garment off and fucked desperately into his fist, fast and clumsy. He finished in record time, his best friend’s name spilling from his lips as he tumbled over the edge. Only in hindsight did he remember how thin their walls were. Wincing, he hoped against hope that Kirishima hadn’t heard any of that.

 * * *

“Katsuki! Katsuki, wake up! It’s just a dream!”

He jolted upright, panting, sweating, and confused. His heart raced in his chest and his palms crackled as he took in his surroundings with wide eyes. He was in his bedroom. Fuck. Thank fucking God. It was just a nightmare. He was fine, and more importantly, Kirishima was fine. Kirishima was alive. He took a few deep, shaking breaths as he willed himself to calm down.

After a minute, without looking at his roommate, Bakugou stuck out a shaking hand and wrapped it around his wrist, just to make sure he was real and solid. Kirishima responded by gently prying his fingers up so he could lace them with his own instead. Reluctantly, Bakugou looked up to meet his eyes. That was a mistake. That dream had been way too fucking realistic. He couldn’t help the tears that welled up when they made eye contact, Kirishima looking at him with so much love and concern, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. He sniffled, averting his eyes in embarrassment but twisting his free hand into the material of Kirishima’s pajama pants, as if he were afraid he’d disappear if Bakugou didn’t personally hold him in place. Vaguely, he noted that the fucker wasn’t wearing a shirt, as usual.

“Katsuki, look at me,” Kirishima said softly. Bakugou shook his head no, continuing to glare at his duvet as he stained it with tears that just wouldn’t fucking stop. He didn’t want Kirishima to see him looking any more pathetic than he already did.

Instead of continuing to argue with him, Kirishima just scooped him up easily and sat him in his lap. Bakugou stopped crying for a second out of pure shock. Kirishima took advantage of this, using the hand that wasn’t cradling him to maneuver his chin so they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“Katsuki,” he started in a whisper. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. You can cry with me. Nothing you could ever show me would change the way I feel about you.” He paused, hesitating for a beat before continuing. “I want to be the one you trust enough to let go around. You can let go with me, Katsuki. I’ll take care of you….” he breathed the last part so quietly that Bakugou wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t literally in his arms.

After that, he couldn’t have kept up his walls if he’d tried. With an ugly, choked sob, he broke, burying his face in the crook of Kirishima’s neck. The tears were flowing freely, aggressively, now that he wasn’t trying to stop them. He was definitely getting snot and tears all over Kirishima, but he didn’t say anything, continuing to stroke his back and hold him tightly. Bakugou’s arms snaked around his waist as he held onto him for dear life. He cried and cried for what felt like forever, eventually transitioning from heaving sobs to quiet hiccups. Kirishima held him through all of it, and continued to hold him when he finally settled down completely.

After a few minutes of sitting together in silence, Bakugou yawned, finally letting his death grip on Kirishima relax a bit. With his face still in his shoulder, he finally spoke. His voice was hoarse and raw.

“Eijirou…,” he whispered. At the sound of his given name, Bakugou heard Kirishima gasp softly and felt his arms tighten around him instinctively. It felt possessive, and it made Bakugou feel safe. “I thought they fucking got you, Eijirou. I couldn’t get to you,” he said, punctuating it with a small hiccup. He then went quiet for a few beats, before breathing, “God, Eiji, you better never fucking leave me….” He felt his eyes close of their own accord. He was so fucking tired.

Even so, his heart stuttered when Kirishima whispered back, just as quietly, “I won’t, baby.”

He was so, so exhausted, and he’d never had many friends, but that’s not something you would call a friend, right? Fuck, he couldn’t think about it now, he was already on the edge, slipping in and out of sleep.

He settled for responding with “lay down with me, fucker, I’m tired,” and gluing himself to Kirishima’s side for the rest of the night. He’d figure it out tomorrow.

 * * *

However, a week, then two weeks passed, and Bakugou had most certainly not figured it out. He didn’t really know how to say “hey, uh, so you called me baby the other night and I was really into it but like what did it mean?” On top of that, he and Kirishima had spent the night together every night since his nightmare, and he didn’t want to say anything that might fuck that up. The first few nights afterward, Bakugou had simply grabbed Kirishima’s wrist and dragged him to his bed when he was tired, as if daring him to question it. However, Kirishima seemed to adjust quickly to this new norm. One night he shifted from his place on the couch with his head in Bakugou’s lap to look up at him and say “let’s go to bed.” Bakugou’s heart had just about leapt out of his chest with love for him. Yeah, he really didn’t want to fuck that up. So, for now, his plan was to… do nothing and continue to cuddle his best friend and the love of his life as much as possible.

Currently, they were getting dressed up to go to a hero party being put on at the community center, in an effort to foster better relations amongst the local heroes or some bullshit. Bakugou hated things like this, but he couldn’t exactly not go. He’d been ready for half an hour, waiting in the living room for Kirishima Takes-for-fucking-ever-on-his-hair Eijirou. He was wearing a well-fitted grey suit with a black tie. It was simple – he preferred the one Kirishima had gotten him back in high school, but he’d unfortunately outgrown it. He supposed this one was fine.

Just as Bakugou opened his mouth to threaten Kirishima’s life if he didn’t hurry up (again), he rounded the corner into their living room. Of course, everything he was wearing was a deep red, save for his black button up. His suit was tailored just right over his muscles, and his hair wasn’t gelled. Half of it was pulled up in a bun and he just looked so manly and elegant and holy shit Bakugou wanted to kiss him so ba–

His thoughts shut off when he met Kirishima’s eyes. He was looking back at him just as hungrily, and it was making Bakugou weak in the knees. Kirishima crossed the room in quick, confident strides, and wow had he always been this big? Bakugou’s breath hitched when he stopped right in front of him, forcing him to look up to be able to meet his gaze. Kirishima’s hands went to his waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You look fucking fantastic, baby,” he said, voice low as he swept his eyes over Bakugou’s body again.

Heart hammering against his chest, Bakugou opened his mouth to ask him just what the fuck was with this ‘baby’ business. However, before he could get anything out, Kirishima grabbed his hand and started walking him to the door, claiming that they should really get going if they were going to make it in time. Dazed and confused, but unable to say no, Bakugou followed him without a word.

 * * *

Had Katsuki mentioned yet that he fucking hated events like these? He felt awkward and on display, and he didn’t know what the hell to do with his hands. He settled for stuffing them in his pockets and leaning against the wall, wondering where his social butterfly had run off to. And by his, he meant his social butterfly of a best friend, obviously. At least, he thinks that’s what they are still. Kirishima was being so fucking confusing.

As concentrated as he was on his brooding, he didn’t notice someone walking towards him until they were standing right in front of him, opening their mouth to speak. He vaguely recognized the guy as another local hero, remembering that they had showed up to same crime scenes a couple of times. However, he was much further down in the rankings than himself and most of his fellow UA graduates, probably still a sidekick. Back in the day, Bakugou would’ve called him an extra. He still would, just not out loud. He’d grown. And also he was a little afraid of Hagakure’s potential reaction to him insulting other heroes to their faces.

The guy was extending his hand. “I’m Tanaka Haruto. My hero name is Human Sponge…?” He trailed off, making it sound like a question of whether or not Bakugou recognized him.

Bakugou’s lip quirked at the stupid name, but it did jog his memory. The guy’s quirk had something to do with absorbing physical hits and throwing the power back at his attacker. It wasn’t awful, but what a predictable hero name. Sighing, he shook the guy’s hand briefly, muttering his own name in response. Yeah, he fucking hated these kinds of events. Why does being a hero have to involve so much making nice? How was this saving anybody?

Either not sensing or not caring about Bakugou’s discomfort, the guy continued. “I just wanted to tell you how much I look up to you for coming out even though you’re a hero. I think it’s been really helpful for the hero community! You’re so brave.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “I’m not out for the community,” he replied, as if that should’ve been obvious. “I’m just not a fucking liar and I can destroy anybody who has a problem with me anyway.” Bakugou wanted out of this conversation. Over the guy’s shoulder, he finally caught sight of a familiar head of red hair. Kirishima was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Bakugou quirked an eyebrow at him, but then the extra started talking yet again, drawing his attention away.

“I was actually wondering if you’d want to have a drink with me? Maybe we can find a quieter place to talk?” He asked, sounding hopeful.

Oh. Fuck. Bakugou didn’t see that one coming, even though he probably should have. He opened his mouth to tell the guy to fuck off, then shut it again as he remembered where he was. God, how does he get this guy to go away without just killing him?

Bakugou was shocked out of his internal turmoil when he felt an arm wrap tightly around his waist. He whipped around to see Kirishima holding two glasses of champagne by their stems with his unoccupied hand, and smiling brightly down at Spongehead, or whatever his name was. He wouldn’t be able to tell that the smile was fake, but Bakugou could.

“Actually, he’s already got a drink,” Kirishima said in a forced version of his usual singsong voice as he offered one of the glasses to Bakugou. He took it, dumbfounded and intrigued.

“Um…” the other guy started, looking to Bakugou with a raised eyebrow, clearly unsure of what to say. He felt Kirishima tighten his hold. If he had to guess, he’d say his fingers were hardened just a bit. Bakugou had to bite back a smile. Poor extra.

“Sorry to steal him away from you, but there’s something pressing that needs Katsuki’s attention ASAP. Hero stuff - you understand. We’ll see you around!” Kirishima said. Then, without waiting for a response from Bakugou or the guy, he spun the two of them around and made for one of the back doors leading out of the large communal area. Bakugou didn’t look back for a feeling of not being allowed to, and Kirishima didn’t let him go even when they were alone in the small hallway. He guided Bakugou down the hall until they found a small meeting room to duck into at the end of the hall. Kirishima finally let Bakugou go and turned to the door, closing and locking it. He didn’t turn back around once he was done, instead heaving a big sigh with his hand still on the door handle.

Bakugou, still standing awkwardly, decided to ignore the response his body was having to the show that Kirishima just put on in favor of interrogating him. He needed some fucking clarity here or he was going to spontaneously combust.

“What the hell was that?” He asked bluntly, not caring about the harshness of his tone.

Kirishima whipped his head around, anger blazing in his red eyes. “What, did you want to ‘get a drink with him’?” He asked incredulously.

Bakugou blinked. “Fucking obviously not, moron,” he said, this time with no real bite behind the words. When Kirishima didn’t reply, he decided to press again.

“Kirishima…,” he started, only to be cut off.

“Eijirou,” the redhead growled out, making Bakugou’s face flush. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay focused on the conversation they needed to have. He needed to have.

“Eijirou,” he started again, careful not to break eye contact even as his hands balled to fists at his sides. “Are you… jealous?”

Anger flashed again in Kirishima’s eyes, but when he caught sight of Bakugou’s clenched hands, he seemed to deflate. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be jealous, it’s just –”

This time, it was Bakugou cutting him off. Once again, he felt like he was on autopilot, mouth opening to speak before he could think about the words. “Eiji,” he heard himself whisper, looking into Kirishima’s eyes. “If I’m yours, you have to tell me.”

In the quiet beats that followed, he felt his eyes widen and cheeks flush deeper as he processed what he had just said. Still, he didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t back down. He watched as his roommate’s face reacted similarly to his own.

Then, Kirishima gave him the same soft, proud smile that he had when Bakugou had drank the soup he brought him. He shivered involuntarily. “Yes, you’re mine, baby,” Kirishima whispered, just loud enough for Bakugou to hear him.

Silence. Then, Bakugou croaked, “Show me.” He hadn’t said please, but he was sure they could both hear it in his tone. Kirishima’s smile turned wicked, and he extended an upturned hand, like an invitation.

“Come,” he said simply. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Bakugou wasn’t sure he’d ever moved so fast in his life, but once he was standing in front of Kirishima, he simply stared at him and waited, as if he needed permission to do anything else.

“So good…,” Kirishima praised quietly as he wrapped his extended arm around Bakugou’s waist. He free hand went to stroke his cheek gently as he looked into his eyes. Bakugou was fighting hard to keep any noises from spilling out. “You know you can always let go with me, Katsuki,” he whispered. Bakugou moaned, involuntarily, and watched Kirishima’s pupils blow wide before he closed the distance between their lips. Slowly, he walked them backwards until Bakugou’s back was pushed against the door.

Bakugou couldn’t stop making noise, even with Kirishima’s tongue shoved down his throat. He’d thought about this for so long, and yet his fantasies didn’t even come close to how good it felt to actually be kissing him. They broke apart quickly to rip off their jackets. Then Bakugou tangled his hands in Kirishima’s loose red hair as he found his lips again, thanking every god he could think of that it wasn’t gelled tonight. His thanksgiving was interrupted, however, by Eijirou roughly maneuvering his thighs apart with his knee to rest his thigh between them. Vision whiting out briefly, Bakugou groaned and bucked his hips forward erratically, chasing more of the delicious friction. He felt Kirishima chuckle against his lips before his head was pulled back by a handful of his hair. His eyes rolled toward the back of his head, for just a second. This was too fucking much.

“So needy, Katsuki,” Kirishima murmured, before kissing down his neck. Moving back up, he whispered directly into Bakugou’s ear. “But so pretty. My perfect baby.”

Suddenly Kirishima’s thigh between his legs was the only thing keep him upright. Was that him moaning so loudly? He wasn’t sure. His hands fisted tightly into red hair, anchoring him as the rest of his body went pliant in Kirishima’s arms. Smirking, Kirishima set about unbuttoning Bakugou’s shirt, leaving it to hang open rather than bothering to fully remove it. Immediately, his hands went back to Bakugou, one grabbing his hip so tightly it hurt, while the other moved to him upper back, pressing him forward. Before Bakugou could register much of this, his nipple was in Eijirou’s mouth and while his tongue swirled and flicked over it.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted. Why the fuck did that feel so good? His hips surged forward again, out of his control. “Eijirou, fucking come on,” he spat out desperately. He was going to come in his pants at this rate.

Kirishima detached his mouth and looked up at Bakugou, making eye contact. Fuck, he was so hot. “Beg.”

Bakugou blinked, eyes widening even as his dick twitched at the command. “What?” He said, incredulous. Kirishima didn’t bat an eye. He was never scared of Bakugou.

“Beg for me, and I’ll take care of you,” he said, simply, calmly, as if he were commenting on the weather. Bakugou bit his lip, resisting for one more second, before giving in. He wanted this too badly to care.

“Fucking hell, Eijirou, please!” He spat from behind gritted teeth. “I fucking need you and I’ve needed you for months you big fucking cocktease, now just fucking touch me, please!” he begged, getting progressively louder with every word. If he’d been more coherent his production would’ve embarrassed him to death, but it had Kirishima smiling that proud smile again, and Bakugou was pretty sure he’d do just about anything to keep seeing that.

“Such a good boy for me, Katuski,” Kirishima said, hands moving to his hips to pin him against the door before he sank to his knees. Kirishima made quick work of his belt and pants. Bakugou cringed at the obvious wet spot on his briefs, but Kirishima paid it no mind as he pulled his cock out and wrapped his hand around it. Pumping him lazily, Kirishima looked up to meet his eyes. Bakugou grit his teeth – it was simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. He was already so close to the edge, but he wanted to be touched properly, dammit.

“Eijirou… fucking please,” he gasped. Fuck, he sounded desperate. It seemed to get the message across though, because Kirishima immediately stopped teasing him. Opening wide, he flattened his tongue and licked Bakugou from base to tip before taking him into his mouth. Bakugou moaned loudly as he sank into the wet heat. With Kirishima looking up at him through thick lashes, eyes filled with want, it was so much fucking better than anything he ever could’ve imagined. He clung to bright red hair for dear life as Kirishima bobbed his head skillfully, causing a familiar heat to pool in Bakugou’s lower abdomen.

He didn’t notice Kirishima fumbling with his own pants until he heard the zipper, and he was not prepared for the sight he received when he looked down. Kirishima, looking up at him like he was greatest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, with his lips wrapped around his cock while he fisted his own quickly and clumsily. He looked like he was finally losing his composure, and realizing that he was the reason for that was too much for Bakugou. He suddenly came hard, leaving him no time to warn Kirishima before he was spilling down his throat. The redhead didn’t seem to mind; he continued to bob his head with hollowed cheeks as Bakugou’s dick pulsed through his orgasm, like he was determined to swallow every drop. Then, with a moan, Kirishima spilled into his own hand with Bakugou still in his mouth. After a few seconds, Kirishima released him. There was a thin trail of saliva connecting his mouth to Bakugou’s cock. Kirishima looked absolutely wrecked, but Bakugou was certain he looked ten times worse.

Kirishima stood shakily, then grabbed a few tissues from the box on the table. Bakugou pulled his briefs and pants back up, then sank to the floor, finally relieving his shaky legs. After cleaning himself up, Kirishima slid down the door to sit beside Bakugou, taking his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bakugou looked at their linked hands before looking up to meet his eyes. Kirishima was smiling at him so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

“What?” He asked, trying and failing to sound annoyed.

Kirishima chucked and squeezed his hand. “Nothin’. My boyfriend is just really beautiful,” he said softly. Bakugou couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips, so he buried his face in Kirishima’s shoulder in the hopes that he couldn’t see.

“God you’re fucking embarrassing, Shitty Hair. Can we just go home now?” He asked hopefully. Now that he was allowed to look and to touch, he didn’t want to do anything but hang out with his shirtless boyfriend in their apartment for the foreseeable future.

Kirishima hummed. “Only if we can leave through the party room holding hands. I don’t want that guy thinking he has any chance with you,” he said, standing up and smiling at him. Bakugou rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Fucking fine, moron. You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Kirishima halted in putting his suit jacket back on, whipping his head around to look at Bakugou. His smile had somehow become even more blinding. “Really?!” He asked, as if he didn’t quite believe him.

Bakugou blushed. “Fucking obviously,” he hissed. Raising an eyebrow and looking at Kirishima disapprovingly, he added. “I’d have blown up any other fucker who tried pulling any of the shit you have over the last few months.”

Kirishima smiled cheekily and extended his hand for Bakugou to take. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but I love you too,” he paused, smile turning to a smirk before adding, “baby.”