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Smoke, Spice, and Everything Nice

Chapter Text

The cacophony of noise being moaned directly in to Bakugou’s ear is less than pleasant, but at least the guy isn’t a screamer. 

He grits his teeth and deals with it.  Already bored and annoyed, Bakugou rests his chin on his hands and distracts himself with thinking of how he could get revenge on Deku for snatching up the other, much younger man from the hotel bar, while Bakugou is stuck with the balding, middle-aged salaryman currently thrusting into him from behind and completely unaware of the fact that he’d lost Bakugou’s interest at least ten minutes ago.  He’d done nothing but use Bakugou to chase his own orgasm from the moment he’d gotten his pants off, and while the goal of course was to have his targets come, he did quite appreciate a little consideration for his own pleasure.

Scowling down at the sheets, he ponders the thread count.  This was a four star hotel, but how nice is the bedding, really?

Finally, the man comes, with one last guttural moan that sounds akin to a dying whale, at least in Bakugou’s opinion.

He rolls his eyes as the guy rolls off of him.  Within seconds, the man is fast asleep, as the targets always are after he’s fed on their energy, and Bakugou does him the generous favor of tossing a blanket over his half-naked form, before pulling up his own pants.  Tucking in his shirt, he gives the little salaryman one last dismissive glance—the poor fellow won’t remember Bakugou in the morning, only that he’d had a really good fuck with someone the night before.

He digs into his coat pocket for a cigarette, only to remember that he’d offered the last one to this asshole when he sent out his Allure.  He groans.

Rifling through the man’s belongings, he fishes out a fresh pack of cigarettes with a triumphant noise.  He plucks one out, and with a flick of his fingers, it’s lit. He takes a drag, watching the glowing ember at the tip flicker weakly like a firefly in the darkness, the sweet smoke filling his lungs.  Without a second thought, he pockets the rest of the cigarettes—it’s the least the man could do for him, after such an unsatisfying round of sex. No wonder he’s still unmarried.

Despite the late hour, he heads to the hotel elevator to take it back down to the bar.  There might yet be some other restless soul there he could enchant into taking him back to their room. 

After all, he was still hungry.

“I don’t get you sometimes, Kacchan.”

“Sometimes?” Bakugou scoffs. 

Beside him, Midoriya nods seriously.  “You really aren’t as complicated as you think you are.”  He dodges the crackling fist aimed at his head. It hadn’t been a serious punch, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else.  “Even though you’re an incubus, you get bored of sex.”

“Half incubus,” Bakugou corrects, but Midoriya waves it off.

“Fire sprites enjoy sex with humans too, even if they don’t feed off of the sexual energy.”

“I do enjoy sex, but just… I have high standards.  Why eat McDonalds, when I could have Kobe beef?” He grins, baring his teeth into something feral and dangerous.  “And I’m just always so damn hungry. It’s hard to enjoy the pleasure part when I’m fucking starving to death.”

“Fair enough,” Midoriya agrees, though he still looks like he’s puzzling over something.  “We could go out more often?”

“Nah, too much hassle.”

Midoriya shrugs in response, willing to go along with his decision.  But whatever, he’s half wood nymph, which are known to have a much more laid-back temperament, and can feed off of the energy from the damn dirt if he so chooses, so he can’t really understand.

“Ah, a customer!  Welcome!” Midoriya calls as he moves away to assist them.

Bakugou sinks back against the wall as he goes back to what he’d been doing before Midoriya had come to offer his unwanted opinions.  Their latest shipment of books had just arrived, and would need to be sorted and entered into their inventory system before being shelved.

Bestselling fiction would go to the front, a variety of biographies and history books would go towards the back, and the travel guides and maps had their own display by the register.  Midoriya would be happy to know that the latest copies of his favorite comic series had come in too. 

If Bakugou had to pick a favorite section of their store, however, it would have to be the selection of books on the supernatural and folklore.  Their shop holds an impressive collection of books covering all subjects of the supernatural, from true ghost stories to fortune telling manuals.  He picks up a hardcover called “Demonology and Witchcraft,” flipping through it with a smirk. He enjoys the irony.

Their bookshop is small, but it’s well-stocked, with floor to ceiling shelves along the walls, and beautiful, dark wood bookshelves throughout the store to create winding paths for customers to get lost within.  The front of the shop has large, south-facing windows that let in a good amount of natural light, and Midoriya had insisted that they turn the spots directly next to the windows into little reading nooks, with chairs and pillows for customers to relax in while they enjoyed their books.  On either side of the windows are hanging baskets with long, trailing devil’s ivy that Bakugou secretly loves. 

The second level of the shop is a tiny apartment that he shares with Midoriya—as much as the little nerd annoys him, he is also one of his only real friends.  The two of them had come to the human world together nearly a decade ago, and he doesn’t anticipate that they will go their separate ways anytime soon.

The door above the shop jingles, and Bakugou spots the customer Midoriya had been helping, now leaving with arms full of expensive-looking hardcovers. 

“Come again soon!”

When Midoriya finds his way back to Bakugou, the blonde smirks.  “Did you use your Allure to get him to buy all those?”

The half-nymph sticks his tongue out.  “Rude. I most certainly did not. I have some morals, you know.”

“A demon with morals,” Bakugou snorts.  He passes a stack of books over. “Here, make yourself useful and go shelve these.  They’re for the self-help section, your favorite.”

He ignores the indirect insult and says, “Being the kind and generous soul that I am, I will.”

“It’s also, you know, your job?” he drawls.

“We’re self-employed, Kacchan.”

“Leave, before I chuck a fucking dictionary at your head.”

They close at six, but there’s usually not many customers by then anyway.  Sometimes they close earlier, if they’re hungry, or later if they lose track of time.  Their shop is situated in a quiet corner of a busy city, and is perfect for going unnoticed.  And the great thing about using a human Glamour is that no one ever questions the fact that they hardly age either.

Changing is a quick matter of heading upstairs to grab a new set of clothes, but sometimes they don’t bother with that either.  Even in the most casual of clothes, the pair of them walking down the sidewalk together look like models on a runway. Bakugou usually wears dark jeans and a well-fitted tee, while Midoriya usually prefers something more athletic.

They don’t feed that often; they don’t need to.  Unlike full-blooded incubi, who need to feed about once a week to survive, the both of them are usually fine with once or twice a month, and they can go even longer if they have a secondary source of energy—fire for Bakugou, earth for Midoriya. 

Either way, the weekends are usually the easiest time to find a good meal.

The bar they’re heading to tonight is low-key, just off the main strip of downtown nightlife.  Sometimes clubs can be good too, full of tourists and students who are looking for a one night stand anyway.  But variety is the spice of life and this place has Bakugou’s favorite beer on tap.

The bar is dimly lit and on stage is a singer with a guitar that no one is particularly listening to, but the crowd claps politely every time she finishes a song.  She isn’t bad, but neither does she stand out enough to get people to abandon their conversations and actually listen. The space is decorated with random frames filled with art and photos, and the scribbles of drunk and sober patrons alike litter every inch of exposed wall.  Names and hearts and jokes and “Hinata was here!” type messages leave proof of the memories made there.

It’s cozy, and they don’t mind taking their time picking out potential targets.  They each get a pint and a basket of fries to split—mortal food could still be tasty, if not particularly fulfilling.

The ideal target is someone who might already be willing to have sex with them.  No human would refuse the Allure, but the more compatible an incubi and human are, the more satisfactory the feeding.  So couples are usually out, though Bakugou had once had a very interesting threesome. Anyone too young or too old is also disqualified, as is anyone not already inclined to liking men, which meant he ended up pulling women more often than not.  Finally, the ideal target is someone who wouldn’t raise eyebrows if they left with a stranger—i.e. large groups with friends, parties, employees, et cetera, were all red flags to avoid.

Bakugou’s preferred type of meal?  He likes good-looking and  strong men.

An ideal target walks in a little after eight o’clock.  He’s a tall salaryman in his mid-to-late-twenties, tie already loosened after a long day at the office, a grey business suit doing very little to hide his muscled physique and clashing with his bright red hair.  No wedding ring to be seen. Bakugou licks his lips. He needs to wait though. Said target is currently high-fiving another suit-clad man at the bar, a friend, or perhaps a colleague. The two quickly become absorbed in conversation.

Bakugou decides to test the waters for now, going up to the bar to order another round, making sure he’s in the redhead’s line of sight.  He sees exactly what he was looking for—the flicker of a red gaze as the man is distracted from whatever his friend is saying and his eyes dart to Bakugou’s form then away again.  It was only for the tiniest millisecond, but there is interest there, no doubt.

Pleased, Bakugou leans casually against the counter as he waits for his drink.  Sometimes he gets lucky and he isn’t the one who makes the first move. Unfortunately that’s not the case this time, as the bartender hands him his drink and he heads back to the table without the redhead so much as trying to catch his gaze.  Whatever.

Midoriya is still nursing his first beer, surreptitiously sending glances to his own target.  Bakugou has to do a double take.

“Oi, Deku.  What are you playing at?” he growls.

“It’s not like I can’t feed later.” Midoriya shrugs, but avoids eye contact.

Across the bar, a man, or rather a demon, is standing up and walking towards them.

“Fucking Half and Half?  Really? What’s he even doing in this place, I didn’t think he went anywhere that wasn’t exclusive and VIP.”

“You know, he’s not nearly as snobby as you are, sometimes,” Midoriya complains, quickly finishing off his beer.  “And if you must know, I texted him.”

“Oh yeah?  And why would you fucking do that?”

“Is there a problem here?” a third voice interrupts.

The fire and ice demon stands at their table, looking somewhat out of place in a designer outfit, but he has a proprietary arm on the back of Midoriya’s chair and a look in his eye that says he isn’t budging.  Todoroki Shouto.

“Yeah, the problem is that we came out to eat,” Bakugou snarks.  “And you aren’t exactly on the menu, Icyhot.”

“I assure you, I can provide plenty of… nourishment,” he chooses his words carefully, “at any of my clubs.  Izuku can have his choice of meals.”

Izuku?   Bakugou snorts at the use of his given name, but Midoriya is getting up to leave, and it’s obvious that he’s not going to listen to Bakugou about this. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kacchan.”

“Fuck you, Deku.”

The pair head out together, leaving Bakugou alone at the table with his drink.  It tastes sour in his mouth, but he finishes it off, not sure what he wants to do next.  He’s lost his appetite. The singer on stage croons something about trust and betrayal and it feels all too appropriate.  Todoroki’s a slimy bastard. Handsome as sin, true, but the way he and his family act like they’re somehow better than everyone else always pisses him off.  Midoriya knows that—hell, Midoriya usually agrees with him. The whole situation puts him off-balance, and he hates feeling like he’s missing something.

A waitress comes by and sets another beer down in front of him, collecting his empty pint in exchange.

“I didn’t order this,” he says.

“You didn’t, but he did,” she replies with a wry grin and a nod to the bar.

Bakugou follows her gaze and the red-haired salaryman from earlier is still there, now looking at him hesitantly.  He’s alone now. When he sees Bakugou looking back at him, he offers a tentative grin and raises his beer in a toast.

Bakugou raises a surprised eyebrow, but lifts his own beer in response.  The waitress walks off with a giggle.

The redhead looks unsure of himself now, looking around the room and scratching his cheek.  He takes one more gulp of his beer—liquid courage—and crosses the room to Bakugou’s table.

“Hi.”  He’s even taller than Bakugou first thought, though there’s a nervous hunch to his shoulders like he’s not comfortable in his own skin.  Unbelievable for a man this good-looking.

“Hey,” Bakugou replies carefully, having a hard time hiding his pleased smirk.  Whenever his targets come to him first, those are almost always the most satisfying feeds.

“Sorry if this is forward of me, but you looked like you could use the company?”  The redhead laughs. “And, well, my own drinking buddy abandoned me to flirt with the singer.”  He nods towards the back of the bar where the guy from before is now occupying the table closest to the stage, making heart eyes at the singer, a sultry young woman, even if her voice was nothing special.

“So I guess we’ve both been abandoned.  Poor us.”

The salaryman grins, wider and more confident.  “I’m Kirishima. Kirishima Eijirou.” 

“Bakugou,” he introduces himself gruffly, knocking his beer against the other’s.  “Cheers.”

As they both drink, he admires the long line of Kirishima’s throat, his solid jawline, and his high cheekbones.  A small scar on the edge of one eyelid catches the light and makes him look dangerous. Damn, but what a feast.

“Long day at work?” Bakugou asks.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Kirishima laughs.  “But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I work for a marketing agency, so there is no such thing as a good day.”

“Must suck,” Bakugou replies lazily.  He lets his gaze drift to the man’s strong hands.  They’re expressive; he uses them a lot as he talks and Bakugou hopes he knows how to use them in other situations too.

“I can’t complain,” Kirishima says, and his gaze similarly lingers on Bakugou’s face, eyes searching.  “So!” He changes the subject. “What do you do?”

“I work at a bookstore.  I’m sure my hours are much more flexible than yours.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!  Do you read a lot?”

“Yeah,” he answers, and he does.  Reading is one of his favorite hobbies.  He enjoys the creativity and imagination of humans.  “I probably read more than I work.”

“What do you read?” Kirishima asks, and he looks genuinely interested.

“I like adventure stories, especially if they’re true accounts or based on real events.  I just finished one about a hiking party on Mt. Everest.”

“That sounds so cool.  And it must be much more relaxing than my job, I’m kind of jealous.”  He sits up suddenly and waves his hands. “Ah, but that’s not to say that your job doesn’t come with its own challenges!  Keeping track of all those books! And I’m sure you must get your share of difficult customers!”

Bakugou chuckles.  “It’s fine, Shitty Hair.  I definitely don’t envy your job.”

“’Shitty Hair?’” he echoes, a hand shooting to his crimson spikes.  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It’s like a fucking traffic light?  I’m surprised your company lets you keep that color.  And the amount of hair gel it must take to get that shape… Half your salary must go to hair products, am I wrong?” he teases.

He pouts, and honestly a man his size doesn’t have any right to look that adorable. 

“It weirdly suits you, though,” Bakugou says to mollify him.  “Not everyone could pull that off.”

“Well excuse me, not all of us can roll out of bed and look effortlessly perfect like you apparently can.”

Bakugou leans forward.  “You think I look that good?”

A delicious blush spreads across the bridge of Kirishima’s nose.  “I… well… yeah?” He quickly takes another drink of his beer, as if that will mask his flush.

Bakugou is sold on this man.  He has to have him. With barely a thought and an exhale of breath, he sends out his Allure.  “Hey, do you want to get out of here? You can take me back to your place, if you want.”

Kirishima blinks, flush spreading deeper across his face and down his neck.  “God, I’m—Uh, I’m flattered, really. But I don’t do stuff like that. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression.”

Bakugou blinks.

“I don’t go out to bars like this often,” Kirishima says nervously.  “Usually, I have enough company functions and business dinners to deal with that the idea of even more drinking is just ridiculous.  But I let my buddy Tetsu talk me into coming out—not sure why anymore, since meeting me was clearly not the goal here.” He clears his throat.  “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

But Bakugou is still processing.  Was he just… rejected? This was no case of twenty first century chivalry—no human should be able to ignore the effects of his Allure.  The seduction charm should be absolute.

Bakugou has never been rejected.  Never.

“You really don’t want to fuck me?” he asks bluntly.

Kirishima laughs.  “Listen, I think you’re super handsome.  I don’t want you to think I’m not interested, because I really am, but I just don’t usually pursue that kind of… thing.  Um.” He grabs a napkin, pulling a pen from his pocket, and scribbles something hastily. “This is my number. If there’s any chance you’d be interested in a regular date… call me?”  His smile is hopeful as he pushes the flimsy paper towards Bakugou.

The incubus takes it, still confused, but pulling himself together enough to mutter some kind of response.  He looks down at the numbers, a handful of hastily scrawled digits.

“Dinner date, movie date, whatever… if you want.  I’d love to get to know you better—somewhere that’s not a dark bar.”  Kirishima stands, finishing off his drink. “I’d better go grab Tetsu before he gets kicked out for harassing the singer.  Bye Bakugou. I hope I’ll get to see you again.”

With a last bashful bow, he leaves to get his friend.

Bakugou stares after him.

What the hell just happened?

The next morning finds him grouchy and irritable—moreso than usual.  He glowers down at his coffee and toast. 

The night before, he’d been forced to settle for another less-than-satisfying round of sex with some divorced lawyer he’d found outside the bar.  He usually was a bit more careful than that, but he’d been distracted. 

His mood is bad enough that Midoriya notices, but he doesn’t know the reason for it.

“Are you still mad that I went with Todoroki last night?”

Bakugou growls lowly.  That certainly doesn’t help his mood, does it?

“He’s not at all like what you think he is,” Midoriya continues, assuming he’d guessed correctly.  “He’s not like his father. You should come with us next time, then you’ll see. It was amazing, I haven’t had sex like that in… well.”  He blushes.

Bakugou scoffs.  “Good for you, fucking Deku.  Ride Icyhot’s cock all you want, just leave me out of it.”

Midoriya sniffs, and leaves him to his tantrum so he can go down to open up the shop.

But that isn’t the real problem—neither Midoriya’s apparently spectacular night nor his own disappointing lay bothered him as much as they should.  No, the real issue is the fact that he can’t get fucking Kirishima Eijirou out of his head. Kirishima, who’d been impervious to his Allure. Kirishima, who had the physique of a god and the personality of a puppy.  Kirishima, who his own traitorous brain had imagined was the one actually fucking into him last night, instead of the random nameless man he’d settled for in his place. 

Even now, the bar napkin with Kirishima’s phone number is burning a hole in his jean pocket.  He’d crumpled it up several times, intending to throw it away, only to stop himself and smooth it back out every time.

The logical side of him thinks the answer is clear—he should get rid of that number and any connection to the redhead at all.  A human capable of resisting his demon charm? That could spell disaster for him later on.

On the other hand—what a deliciously tempting challenge.  A man like Kirishima, exactly his favorite type of human, already attracted to him of his own free will, but simply unwilling to jump into bed?  How much more satisfying would the sex be if Bakugou had to actually work to earn it?

Bakugou’s inner conflict only lasts a few more hours, and then he decides, in proper Bakugou Katsuki fashion, fuck it.  A spark of curiosity and excitement has been kindled within him, and he wants to fan that flame, not put it out.

He sneaks up to their shared apartment around noon to get his phone.  He rarely uses the damn thing—who’s he gonna call anyway? Deku? They live together.

Well, for times like this, he supposes it’s useful.

But what does he say?  Seduction and dating were two completely different things, and Bakugou had plenty of experience in the former, but not the latter.

Bakugou: Oi Shitty Hair. This the right number?  

He hits send without letting himself think too much about it.

The reply he receives is almost instant.

Shitty Hair: Bakugou?

Bakugou: Do other ppl call you Shitty Hair?

The blonde almost drops his phone when the ringtone goes off.  He fumbles with it before finally answering.


“It is you!” The laugh on the other end of the line is relieved, the sound crisp and light in his ear, even over the distorted connection.  “I didn’t think you’d actually call.”

“The fuck?  You’re the one who gave me your number.”

“Yeah, but… I didn’t really think…”

“Do you want me to hang up?”

“No!” He shouts quickly.  Then, more softly, “No, no, I’m so glad you called.  I just figured I wasn’t what you were looking for.”

“What makes you think you know anything about me?”

He chuckles.  “True. But that’s why I’d like to do something about that.  I assume that’s why you called too?”

“Yep,” he replies, punctuating the word with a pop on the ‘P.’

“Are you doing anything Saturday evening?”

Bakugou lets his mouth curl into a grin.  “I think I can fit you into my schedule.”

“Great!  I’ll text you the address.  I wish I could talk more, but my boss is sending me dirty looks.  Text you later?”

“Yeah, later.”

“Okay!  Bye.”

They both hang up and Bakugou stands there looking at his phone for a good minute or two afterwards, wondering at the weird, fluttering feeling he has in the pit of his stomach.  Excitement? No. This is different.



Chapter Text

The restaurant Kirishima asks him to meet him at is in an unremarkable block of buildings along the harbor.  It takes a little time getting there, but he had assured Kirishima via text that he didn’t mind the location.

Texting.  Another first for him, his smartphone had hardly left his side all week as Kirishima sent little updates about his day and asked Bakugou questions about himself.  Sometimes it was something as simple as what he had for lunch (sandwiches from the conbini) or the latest project he’d been given (advertising for a new scent of laundry detergent), but other times they had surprisingly long conversations.  On Thursday night, Bakugou texted with him throughout Kirishima’s entire commute home, while he made himself dinner, and up until he went to bed.

Midoriya had started asking questions about what he was doing, but Bakugou lied and said he’d downloaded Mystic Messenger for kicks.

Now it’s Saturday, and he’s dressed in his best-fitting black jeans and a simple white shirt that he leaves unbuttoned at the collar.  Simple, but he knows it suits him. He’s going to seduce the hell out of this salaryman.

If he can find him.

He’s been walking for a while now, following the directions on his phone, but he’s beginning to wonder if he’s in the right place.  The buildings all look the same, and while there is a shop here and there, it isn’t exactly a commercial area. There aren’t many people around either, but he can tell that he’s close to the sea by the smell of salt in the air and the occasional gull that flies overhead.


He looks up and Kirishima is waving at him.  His energetic greeting is a sharp contrast to his cool outfit—much more casual than the first time he saw him, in dark wash jeans and a dark red sweater.  He looks delicious.

“Hey,” he says as he saunters up, and he takes a thrill in the way that Kirishima is openly admiring him.

“You look good,” he murmurs.

Bakugou smirks.  “I could say the same thing about you.  You sure I can’t convince you to find somewhere more private…?”  He sends out his Allure once more, just to be sure.

But Kirishima just laughs.  Was he some sort of non-human as well?  “I told you, I don’t do casual hook-ups.”

Bakugou pushes down the sting of his failure and shrugs.  “Was worth a try. Are you really human?” he throws out. It was innocent enough to sound like a joke, but maybe he’d catch some slip, some hint that would give him answers.

Kirishima just shakes his head with something like amusement.  “Sex isn’t everything. Have you never been on a date or something?  Come on,” he opens the door to the building, using his free arm to wave with a flourish.  “After you.”

Bakugou walks in.  At first, it’s nothing impressive.  A long white hallway with lighting designed to look like old-fashioned gas lamps leads them to a heavy black door.  Bakugou opens it this time without waiting for Kirishima to do it for him.

The difference is like day and night.  No longer are they in a discreet building by the docks, they have been transported to a beautiful little restaurant with a view overlooking the sunset on the harbor.  The walls are white shiplap and the furniture is all dark wood with black accents, meanwhile the décor is vaguely nautical without feeling cheesy or themed. The entire open room is cast in a golden glow from the sun outside, but already the lamps inside are slowly being lit to bring the place to life from within.  Only a handful of tables are filled, and the ambient sound of conversation is pleasant, but not at all loud.

“Do you have a reservation?” the host asks.

Kirishima steps forward.  “Yes, Kirishima for two.”

“Thank you, right this way.”

They follow the host to a table by the window and he leaves them with the menus.  The view is unfairly spectacular.

“I hope you like seafood,” Kirishima says. 

“How did you know about this place?”

“Discovered it a while back when I was searching for restaurants to bring clients to for business meetings.  Unfortunately, my suggestion was rejected since this place doesn’t have a room for private parties, but I wanted the chance to come here anyway.  And, I was hoping I’d impress you a little.” He grins somewhat bashfully, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his head.

Reluctantly, it’s working.  “Not bad, Shitty Hair,” he admits.

“I didn’t want you to regret coming out with me.”  There’s an embarrassed dusting of pink on his cheeks, but he opens the menu and changes the subject.  “Any preferences on drinks? I know white wine is the supposed to go well with seafood, but I’m open to anything.”   

“White’s fine.”

Bakugou rests his chin in his hand and takes Kirishima in again, using the moment to ponder human romance.  Mortals really do go out of their way to do kind, thoughtful things for people they just met in the hopes that they might form lasting bonds.  Well, with Kirishima right in front of him, being very handsome and oh-so-considerate of what kind of date Bakugou might enjoy, he can definitely see the appeal.  If Bakugou were a normal human, he had a feeling he’d be tripping over himself to keep Kirishima around. Objectively speaking, if he was looking for some sort of long term relationship, Kirishima seemed like an over-qualified candidate.  So why wasn’t this man already in a relationship? 

They order their food.  Bakugou doesn’t pay too much attention to what he gets, something with oysters.  Their drinks are brought out first and Kirishima raises his glass to toast Bakugou.

“How long have you lived in the city?” Kirishima asks, starting up conversation again.

“I’ve always lived here.”  Except for when he still resided in the underworld.  He briefly wondered what might happen if he casually brought that up in conversation.  Instead, he turns the question back on Kirishima, “What about you?”

“I grew up in a smaller town with a foster family, but I moved here as soon as I turned eighteen to work.”

“Foster family?”

“Oh.  Yeah, I never knew my real family.  I kind of bounced around a bunch of different homes until I was legally allowed to live on my own.”  The tiny shrug he gives seems casual enough but Bakugou can detect the hint of shame and insecurity. “I used to be obsessed with finding my real family, if only to find out why they didn’t keep me around, but I’ve mostly made peace with it.”

Bakugou snorts and shakes his head. “Blood ties don’t make a family.  Your real family? Those are the people who you meet and stick with you regardless of whether or not you’re related.  They’ll find you, no matter where you were born.” He stabs a fork into his dish. “And anyway, it’s their loss. They missed out on a fucking top class human being.  ”

Kirishima blinks. “You really think so?”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow and squints at him.  “Listen, I know we haven’t known each other long, but let’s get one thing straight.  I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

“I should have guessed as much, hah.  That’s super manly of you, dude.”

“Most people just say I’m rude.”

“That too.  Is it weird that I think it’s kind of cute, though?”

“Hah?” Bakugou bristles, face red.  He’s not used to people enjoying his company without the use of his seduction power, and it leaves him feeling very unbalanced.

Kirishima, however, seems to enjoy it.  “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.  “How’s your food?”

Trying to take back some semblance of control, Bakugou makes a point of taking a bite and pulling the fork out slowly, moaning softly around the mouthful of oyster.  “Sinfully good,” he smirks, giving the silverware a final lick to catch the last of the sauce.

Kirishima accidentally drops his own fork, hastily grabbing for it before it falls off the table.  Red-faced, he looks around, but no one seems to have noticed Bakugou’s borderline indecent behavior or the redhead’s embarrassing reaction.

“Bakugou,” he hissed.

“What?  I’m just enjoying the food.”

Kirishima has no response, so he simply takes another sip of his wine, hungry gaze pinned to Bakugou’s lips as he takes another bite.

The waiter comes by again towards the end of their meal, after Bakugou has made Kirishima watch him thoroughly savor every bite of his seafood.  “How is everything? Would you like to order any dessert, perhaps another glass of wine?”

“If we could see the dessert menu?” Kirishima says, still slightly red-faced, and glancing at Bakugou.


They decide to split a slice of chocolate cake, and Kirishima turns the tables on him when he holds his fork full of decadent chocolate up to Bakugou’s mouth for him.

“You’re gonna feed me, Shitty Hair?”

“Well, this is a date, and you looked like you were enjoying your meal so much earlier.”  He smirks, “Just thought I’d help you get the most out of the meal.”

Curious to see where this would go, Bakugou opens his mouth to let Kirishima feed him bite after bite of the rich, delicious cake, never breaking eye contact.  Kirishima’s eyes sparkle with both hunger and contentment, and Bakugou thinks to himself, this is it, finally. The redhead can’t possibly refuse him after this. 

But the moment is broken when he makes Bakugou chase the fork with his mouth, and he laughs when the blonde gets frosting all over his face for his efforts.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou mutters, but he uses the napkin to both wipe his face and hide a smile.

By the time they leave, the sun has well and truly set, and Kirishima walks Bakugou back towards the train station.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight.  I honestly was super happy you texted me.”

Bakugou scowls and looks away.  “You keep saying shit like that, but I’m nothing special.”

“I think you are.”  He nudges Bakugou’s shoulder with his own.  “Did you have fun, at least?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.  “I can definitely think of worse ways to spend the evening.”

“Sounds like I have room for improvement, though.”

“I know one thing that would definitely make the night better,” Bakugou says significantly.

Kirishima laughs, but doesn’t acknowledge Bakugou’s pointed looks until right before they reach the station, when he grabs Bakugou by the elbow and pulls him to a corner of the street that was bathed in shadow, just out of range of the street lights.  Bakugou goes willingly, letting Kirishima manhandle him into the corner until his back hits the wall. There’s a warm hand on his chin, tilting his head up, and then finally a mouth closing over his own.

It starts as a gentle exploration of mouths, Kirishima stopping every now and then as if unsure, checking for Bakugou’s reactions.  But Bakugou is more than okay with this; his quiet encouragement, gentle nudges and soft noises, seem to give Kirishima confidence to deepen the kiss further and further, no longer pausing in his ministrations over Bakugou’s mouth, losing himself in the feeling, the taste of Bakugou.

Kirishima uses his height to full advantage, surprisingly domineering as he takes control of the kiss.  The wet heat of his mouth insistent on Bakugou’s own, one hand gripping the back of Bakugou’s head, while the other held tight to his waist, one thumb gently rubbing against his hip bone through his shirt.  Their mouths break apart to gasp for air before immediately returning to each other. 

Bakugou gives in to every sensation Kirishima is assaulting him with, letting his eyes flutter shut and parting his lips against the other’s in a weak groan.  Kirishima uses that as an opportunity to lick into Bakugou’s mouth, tasting him thoroughly before pulling back and kissing him again, sucking gently on his bottom lip.  Every now again the hand at the back of Bakugou’s neck tightens in his hair, pulling his head into a new angle for Kirishima to kiss him in, and the manhandling leaves Bakugou weak.  His own hands are wrapped helplessly around Kirishima’s shoulders; if it wasn’t for Kirishima and the wall holding him up, he would most definitely be a puddle on the ground by now.

Bakugou might not know much about dating, but he was pretty sure this was not a typical first date kiss.

Kirishima suddenly pulls back, gasping for air.  “God, sorry,” he mutters, pulling away.

If this were any other situation, Bakugou would be embarrassed of the pathetic little whine he makes as Kirishima steps back, but he’s confused, aroused, and he’s hungry .

He watches as Kirishima takes a few deep breaths and straightens his own clothes.  “Shit, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He shakes his head as if to clear it and offers a hand to Bakugou.  “Come on, I’ll take you to the station.”

“Oi,” he grunts, grabbing Kirishima’s hand, but trying to pull him back against the wall rather than allow the redhead to help him up.  “Come back here and finish what you started, asshole.”

Kirishima laughs, but it’s strained.  “I’m not going to debauch you in public, Bakugou.”

“Then take me home and debauch me there instead.”

Kirishima kisses him again, but it’s much softer this time and lasts only a very brief moment. “Next time?”

Bakugou snarls, “What do you mean next time! ? I’m horny now .”

“Shhhh, I’m sorry, I know, I know.  I shouldn’t have started that, it was my bad.  Just—not yet, okay?”

Bakugou huffs and looks away, breathing hard.  He couldn’t remember the last time he craved anyone like this.  But was one meal really worth this much work?

He looks back at Kirishima, handsome Kirishima who was worrying his lower lip with his teeth, eyes furrowed in contrition, and a very prominent bulge of his own in his jeans.

“Oh fuck, fine,” he groans, rubbing a hand over his eyes and through his hair.  Then he throws them both up in frustration. “Fine. Fine!” he repeats himself. “I guess I’ll go take care of my boner at home the old fashioned way.”

“I’m sorry, I really do want you, believe me.  Just—“

Bakugou grabs his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks.  “Shut up already, I get it. You’re not ready, for some bizarre reason.”  He lets go of Kirishima so he can attempt to make himself presentable for the train ride home, adjusting himself in his pants. He mutters, “Most guys jump at the chance to get me in bed.” 

He spots Kirishima’s flinch out of the corner of his eye, and the redhead’s grip on his hand is noticeably tight when he walks him into the station and to his train platform.  Bakugou raises an eyebrow but doesn’t call him out on it.

The train pulls up and the doors slide open with a hiss.  Bakugou sighs, turning to Kirishima. “Last chance,” he offers.

Kirishima gently pushes him towards the train car.  “Good night, Bakugou,” he insists.

He stares at Kirishima even after the doors slide shut and the train starts to pull away.  When the redhead is finally out of sight and the lights of the station no longer visible in the distance, Bakugou lets his head thunk loudly against the door, not caring if any other people are in the car with him.

When he finally makes it back to the bookshop, he stomps upstairs to his room, pulls his clothes off, not caring where or what Midoriya is doing, and climbs onto the bed.  Feeling vindictive for having to get himself off when he could have been enjoying what he knows would be the meal of his life, he grabs his phone and takes a selfie, carefully aiming at such an angle that it would show every inch of his torso, from his naked chest to the soft hair that trailed just below his belly button.  He sends it to Kirishima. 

Bakugou: Just so you know what you’re missing.

He squeezes a bit of lube into his hand and starts stroking himself, trying to imagine what it will be like when he finally gets Kirishima on top of him.  Maybe he would be cautious at first, trying to find what Bakugou likes, before taking control like he did earlier. But he wants Kirishima to lose control.

He glances at his phone beside him to see that Kirishima has already seen the photo he sent.  The dots appear in a text bubble to indicate that Kirishima is typing, then they disappear. And then reappear again.  Bakugou bites his lip in a smirk and reaches down further to finger himself. How big will Kirishima’s cock be, he wonders.  He’s a big man, so it made sense that he’d be big everywhere. He adds a finger, enjoying the burn of the stretch, while his other hand plays with a nipple.  How much prep will he need before he lets Kirishima fuck him?

His phone vibrates with a text message and he looks over.

Shitty Hair: You’re so beautiful.

He flushes at the praise.  It’s not the kind of message he’d been expecting, and the compliment has an unexpected weight and meaning to it, coming from someone not under the spell of his Allure.

With the hand he wasn’t using to open himself up, he grabs the phone and texts shakily.

Bakugou: I’m knuckle deep inside myself.  Wish it was you.

He drops the phone on the bed, and goes back to focusing on the feeling of his fingers inside himself, his other hand now pulling lazily at his dick and thumbing over the head.  The angle isn’t right, he’s not used to doing this to himself, he’s always been able to find someone, practically anyone else to do it for him, and he feels lost.

His phone vibrates again, but when he looks over this time, it isn’t a text.  He answers the call, confused. “Kirishima?” he says more breathlessly than he means to.

“Let me listen to you,” the voice on the other end says, his normally cheerful tone dropping an octave to something deep and insistent.  “Put me on speaker.”

There’s not a hint off inflection in the phrase; it’s not a question.  Bakugou moans at the command and obeys, letting the phone drop back down onto the mattress with a bounce.

“Tell me what you’re doing now,” the voice says, more distorted through the speaker, but no less demanding.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “’M touching myself.”


“Inside me,” he groans and lets his hips grind down against his hand as much as he’s able.  “Where you should be,” he snaps before he can help himself.

He hears a hiss of breath over the speaker.

“I’ve got another hand on my dick,” Bakugou continues.  “And I wanna go slow, I wanna enjoy it, but god, I also really need to fucking come.”

“Don’t come yet, baby.”

Bakugou jerks at the pet name, going taught, a pool of heat coiling in his groin, and he has to press his hand to the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm.  He whimpers. Why does he have to listen to this man, this human he just met a week ago?

“God, you’re so good Bakugou, I don’t even need to be there to know you must be so gorgeous right now.”

And this was why.  This was so damn hot, and it made him feel so damn good, like he could get off on Kirishima’s voice alone.

“How many fingers do you have inside you?”

“Two,” Bakugou stutters.

“Add one more.”

Bakugou has to bite down on his pillow to muffle his next moan.  Taking a moment to just breathe, he twists around for a better position, before adding a bit more lube to his hand and sinking his first two fingers back in.  The stretch is more comfortable now, and he scissors the digits a moment experimentally before slipping in a third finger. He can feel every centimeter stretching him open.  It makes him feel full. 

He lets out a stuttered gasp at the feeling and begins to fuck himself.  His neglected cock is a dark red, dripping precum onto his stomach, but he doesn’t dare touch it yet. 

“Do you have all three fingers inside?”

“Yes!  Please can I come now?” he bites out, turning his head towards the phone once more.  “I need to come.”

“Okay,” Kirishima replies, and he’s sounding just as breathless as Bakugou.  “You can come, baby.”

Bakugou grabs at his own cock, and he only needs to pump it a couple of times before he’s arching off the bed with his orgasm, mouth dropping open into a long, breathless moan.  He can hear Kirishima talking him through it through the phone, and it somehow adds to his pleasure, a spike of satisfaction and validation on top of the physical release.

“That’s it, baby.  You’re so good, so amazing—” Kirishima’s praise is choked off with grunt of his own.

Bakugou collapses on the bed, exhausted, feeling like he just ran a marathon.  He never knew his own hands could be so good.

He rolls over and picks up the phone.  “Kirishima?”

“I’m here,” he answers breathlessly.

“Did you come?”


Bakugou doesn’t quite know what to say to fill the silence over the line.  He knows what he wants though. 

“Can we do that together next time?”

Kirishima’s answering chuckle is honey-sweet.


Chapter Text

The next morning, Bakugou is just about ready to pull his hair out, puffing on a cigarette over breakfast.  He’d had a really rough time getting to sleep after hanging up the call with Kirishima, and his body is downright confused—he had such a great orgasm, so why didn’t it receive any sustenance?  Incubi hunger is different from normal hunger, in that it isn’t a physical sensation in his stomach, but rather a restless sort of feeling that wouldn’t go away, leaving him with something like a cross between feeling anxious and horny.

The smoke from his cigarette helps curb his cravings though.  He can at least rely on the fire sprite side of his heritage to keep him going.  He supposes he could always take a page out of his ancestors’ book and feast on human flesh directly, too.  It’s highly frowned upon though. Only very low level demons actually still crave human meat.

Midoriya yawns as he creeps out from his own bedroom.  One look at Bakugou, however, and he’s wide awake.

“What the heck happened to you?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.  He debates with himself over whether or not he wants to tell Midoriya about his adventures in human seduction.  He doesn’t really want him in his business, however the nerd always had his nose in a book and his ear to the latest gossip, so if anyone were to know why his Allure didn’t work, it would be him.

“I went on a date,” he says.

“Oh, I see.”  It takes Midoriya a moment to process the statement, starting to pour himself a bowl of cereal, before abruptly slamming the box back down on the counter. “Wait, what?”

Bakugou nods.  He more or less expected that reaction.  “There’s this guy—I met him the night you ditched me for Half and Half—and he’s perfect.  If you saw him, you’d understand. But for some reason my Allure didn’t work on him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish, fucking Deku, of course I’m sure.”  He snorts. “Anyway. I tried to use my Allure, but he just gave me his number and literally walked away.  I was gonna just pretend it never happened, but it bothered me, right?”

Midoriya is nodding, brow furrowed.

“So I sent him a text message. And he asked me on a date.  And I fucking went! But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that I actually had a good time, and then he kissed me and, like, being kissed by someone who isn’t magically inclined to do so is actually really fucking nice?  But he still won’t fuck me!” Bakugou stamps out the butt of his cigarette. “Now here I am, actually contemplating going on another date with the handsome fucker, and waiting for him to call me like some hormonal teenager.”

Rant over, he sits back and takes a sip of his coffee.  He actually feels a bit better.

“I don’t know, Kacchan.  It doesn’t sound like a good idea.  If he’s immune to demon magic, there has to be a reason for that, and there’s really no good reason that I can think of.  It could be dangerous—worst case scenario, it could be a trap.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you,” Bakugou grumbles.  “Fucking voice of reason.”

“I’m just saying.  Is one fuck really worth the danger?”

He thinks about Kirishima and his easy smiles and his broad shoulders.  He thinks about the way he cornered him with his hands and his mouth. He thinks about his strong, steady voice giving him orders over the phone.  He shivers. 

He also thinks about how satisfactory it would be to prove Midoriya wrong.

He receives a text message a little after noon, and he pounces on his phone the minute it vibrates, startling an older woman who had just come in to buy a new cookbook.

Shitty Hair: How are you today?

Bakugou scoffs.  That’s it? Some generic wishy-washy greeting?  Mister Salaryman will have to try harder than that.

Bakugou: Fine  

He doesn’t have to wait long at all for the next message.

Shitty Hair: Fine like good?  Or fine like I don’t wanna talk?

This overthinking asshole. 

Bakugou practically stabs the reply into his phone.

Bakugou: GOOD

Shitty Hair: I’m glad. :) 

Before Bakugou can come up with some kind of response, Kirishima is typing again.

Shitty Hair: Maybe this is too fast.

Shitty Hair: But I can’t stop thinking about you.

Shitty Hair: Would you want to see a movie tonight?

Bakugou inhales and forgets to breathe for a second.  He’d been hoping for this, but at the same time, he didn’t think it would happen so fast.

Bakugou: What movie?

He sends the text before he starts second guessing himself and letting Midoriya get in his head.

Shitty Hair: The new vampire one?

Bakugou: Sure

Shitty Hair: How’s 7?  We could maybe get a drink after? :)

Bakugou: 7 is good

Shitty Hair: Cool, I’ll see you at 7!

“Is that him?”

Bakugou swings around quickly, hating to admit that fucking Deku had snuck up on him.  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah.”

“I hope you realize that you were smiling at your phone.”

“No I wasn’t, fuck you!”

“Shhh!  Language!” the old woman from before scolds him, a small stack of cookbooks now in hand as she totters to the register. 

“Sorry about that Mrs. Shuzenji!” Midoriya immediately apologizes with a bow, smacking at Bakugou until he also ducks into some semblance of an apologetic nod.

Bakugou ducks out of Midoriya’s grip and shoves his phone pointedly away into his back pocket, going back to reshelving books that people had left out, and most definitely not thinking about the fact that he was about to go on the first second date he’s ever been on in his life. 

Bakugou arrives to the theater only three minutes early, and takes up a spot leaning against a pillar across from the ticket window, out of the way of the Sunday evening crowd.  It was bustling, but bearable; busier since it was a weekend, but not as bad as it could have been since most people had school or work the next day.

He’s not waiting long. Promptly at seven o’clock there’s a tall figure leaning one hand against the wall next to him, blocking out the sun.

“So did it hurt?” Kirishima asks in lieu of a greeting.

Bakugou blinks.  “Huh?”

“When you fell from heaven?”

It takes Bakugou all of two seconds to process the ridiculous pick up line before the corners of his mouth pull back into a grin.  He tries to keep a straight face, but in spite of himself, the irony of the statement catches him off guard and he’s soon thrown his head back, leaning against the wall for support in a full blown laugh.  He must look like a mad man, losing his composure over a dumb pick-up line, but when he calms down, he looks back up at Kirishima to see that he is looking rather pleased with himself, if slightly besotted. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m no angel.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Kirishima winks.

“Pfft, stop.”  He’d been slightly concerned about whether or not it would be awkward between them after the phone sex, but apparently there was no need.  “The movie starts soon, doesn’t it? We need to get tickets.”

“Already got ‘em!  Online,” he adds by way of explanation.

Bakugou scowls at him.  “You paid for dinner last night, you idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who invited you!  I don’t mind, really!” he insists as he holds the theater door open for Bakugou to go in first.

“I don’t know if this is some chivalry thing you’re into, but I can pay for things too.”

“Wanna get some snacks for us then, babe?”

Bakugou shivers at the casual use of the pet name, a reminder of how Kirishima called him last night.  He’s never been in a situation where someone came up with any kind of nickname for him (aside from when Midoriya called him “Kacchan,” but that didn’t count), and he finds that he quite enjoys it.  “Fine. Popcorn?”

“Whatever you want.”

They end up in a middle row of the theater and push the armrest up to leave the large tub of salted popcorn between them.  Sitting next to Kirishima, as opposed to across from him, is a different kind of experience. His face is much closer and his hair is still spiked, but today he’s wearing a headband as well, and Bakugou has to admit that it doesn’t look as shitty. 

The theater is only half full, and there are plenty of empty seats separating them and the next group of people, so they’re able to chat comfortably while they wait for the movie to start.  Bakugou enjoys making commentary on all the movie trailers as they play. There’s a trailer for some action movie with cut scenes from car chases, shoot outs, and a rooftop battle. “No fucking idea what the plot is supposed to be, but it looks cool.”  After that is a trailer for a horror movie about a woman with a ghost in her bathroom. “Well that looks dumb,” he says a little too loudly and Kirishima shushes him but also looks like he’s trying not to laugh, so Bakugou doesn’t take him too seriously.

The movie itself is just alright.  It’s a sci-fi action film about vampires that doesn’t get any of the facts right.  Actual vampires are dainty little fuckers who leech off the weak, usually the sick and elderly, more like a demonic version of mosquitoes than anything else.  But all the vampires in this film are super buff and wear lots of leather and eyeliner.

Halfway through the movie, they’ve finished off the popcorn, and Kirishima moves it to an empty seat so it’s out of the way.  Casual as can be, he settles back in his own seat, stretching his arm up to drape over Bakugou’s shoulders. Bakugou shoots him an incredulous glance.  Because really? But he’s not looking at Bakugou, his eyes apparently glued to the screen.

Bakugou takes a moment to deliberate over shoving the redhead’s arm away, before he decides, why not?  It’s actually kind of nice. He scoots over the tiniest bit so that he’s more comfortably leaning in the crook of Kirishima’s shoulder, and he glances up again, hoping Kirishima might be interested in getting a little naughty in the dark of the theater, but the damn idiot is apparently satisfied with just cuddling.

They watch the rest of the movie without incident, until a moment right at the end where the protagonist, in a cheesy and all-to-predictable twist, transcends his vampire state to become a holy, angelic being.  The actor is surrounded in a halo of beatific light. 

Kirishima leans in close to Bakugou then, his mouth pressed right up against his ear.  “Just like you, babe,” he whispers, and it sends tingles down Bakugou’s spine. 

He smacks the redhead away, thankful for the dark of the theater to hide his red cheeks.  “Shut up and watch the movie, you idiot.”

After leaving the theater, they walk to a bar nearby, Bakugou happily complaining about how cheesy the plot was and making fun of the stupid dialogue.  They get a small table for two against the wall, and Kirishima flags down the waiter for drinks.

“I mean, who says ‘I’ll love you, ‘til death do us part,’ immediately before they let their vampire lover turn them into a vampire too?  Doesn’t that just imply that as soon as they get turned into a vampire, they won’t love them anymore?”

“No!” Kirishima laughs.  “They’re about to become undead , not dead dead!  So it implies that their love will last forever.”

Bakugou snorts.  “Whatever, I still think it’s shitty writing.”

Kirishima’s brow draws together in a fond but exasperated expression.  “Did you enjoy it, at least?”

To his frustration and amazement, he did. “I didn’t not like it,” he admits with a huff.  He stares at the froth in his beer.  “Did you like it?”

“Yeah!  I mean, it’s not gonna win any awards, that’s for sure.  But it’s weirdly romantic in its own way. I thought it might be an interesting twist on a date movie.”

“Romance, huh?”  He looks back up at Kirishima.  “Are you gonna make good on your promise from last night?”

“Oh. Um,” he blushes, eyes widening.  “I wasn’t planning on, uh… I mean I have work tomorrow morning, so…”

“So that’s a no?”  Bakugou clenches his fists on the table, sending out his Allure in desperation, even though he knows it will have no effect.  He’s so hungry right now.

The look on Kirishima’s face is pained.  “Please, can’t we just get to know each other a bit more first?  Go on fun dates? I want to be more than just, you know, some guy you slept with once.”

Bakugou suddenly hates being an incubus.  He hates his own nature because a part of him really likes the idea of getting to know Kirishima more, going out to explore the city with him, going on real dates.  Kirishima was already becoming more to him than just some guy.  But he knows that whenever he finally gets Kirishima into bed, the next morning he’ll just become a shadow of a memory in Kirishima’s mind, and Bakugou will be left all alone again.

He hasn’t stopped sending out his Allure, and in fact, in his distress, he’s now sending out far too much.  A slightly older man, wobbly on his feet from a few too many drinks, gets pulled in by it and stumbles over to their table with the worst possible timing.

“Aren’t you pretty?” he drawls at Bakugou.  “Hey, if this guy isn’t doing it for you, wanna come party with me?”

Kirishima shoots out of his seat and grabs the man by his shirt as he tries to lean into Bakugou’s space.  “Back off,” he growls.

“Wow, he’s kinda mean,” the drunk says, still speaking to Bakugou.  “I can show you a much better time.”

Kirishima’s face is dark, the furrow in his brow deepening as he glares down at the man, angrier than Bakugou’s ever seen him. He’s practically baring his teeth as he hisses, “He’s not interested.”

Bakugou clamps down on his magic, trying to get some control over the situation before it gets out of control and they draw too much attention, but he’s a second too late.  Still under the effect of Bakugou’s Allure, the man slurs, “I think Blondie can decide for himself if he wants to ride my cock?”

Without even a moment of windup or warning, Kirishima punches him, sending him careening into another table with a crash.

Monogamy is a foreign idea to Bakugou.  He’s never thought of himself as belonging to anyone but himself, and he’s also never had anyone get defensive over him.  While there is certainly a feeling of indignant annoyance that he could have dealt with the guy on his own, the sight of Kirishima getting visibly angry on his behalf is… kind of hot.

He doesn’t have long to dwell on the thought, because they are promptly being asked to leave the bar.  Shoulders tense, Kirishima throws a wad of cash on the table and grabs Bakugou’s hand to pull him out of the building.

As soon as they’re outside, however, he lets go as if burned.

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?  Fuck,” he mutters. He runs an agitated hand through his spiked hair as he stalks down the street, messing up the gel.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, trying to get his attention.  He almost has to jog to keep up with Kirishima’s long strides, but he hates seeing the look of regret and self-loathing on the redhead’s face.  “Hey!” he says louder when the other doesn’t slow down. He grabs his hand and tugs him to a stop. “Hold up, where are you even going?” Kirishima doesn’t answer, or even look up to meet his eyes, so Bakugou ducks down to try to meet Kirishima’s.  “You didn’t ruin anything, Shitty Hair.”

“No, I just proved that I’m exactly the kind of asshole I was trying not to be.”

“The guy was out of line.”  Bakugou shrugs casually as if he, himself, was not the cause.  “Maybe next time he’ll think twice about making unsolicited remarks.”

Kirishima looks unsure.  “I still shouldn’t have hit him.”

“Probably not.”  Bakugou reaches for Kirishima’s hand again, pulling it up to inspect his knuckles.  Not even a bruise. “Wasn’t a fair fight at all, he never stood a chance. Damn, do you box or something?”

“Mixed martial arts,” he admits sheepishly, finally somewhat relaxing in Bakugou’s hold.

“That’s hot.”  Bakugou smirks up at him.  “Can I come watch a match, sometime?”

Kirishima bites his lip like he’s trying not to smile.  “You really want to?”

“I really want a lot of things from you, Kirishima.”  He brings the other’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles softly, looking up at him from under his long eyelashes.

Kirishima groans at the sight.  “God, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

And yes , Bakugou thinks.  Please.  Give in.

But then Kirishima is pulling away from him again and Bakugou’s heart sinks, still clinging to the hand clutched in his own.  “Have some patience with me? There’s a reason, I swear.” He leans in to kiss him, but it’s quick and chaste, nothing at all like their first kiss.  “Let me walk you to the station.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.  He’s still desperately hungry, but his hand is enveloped in Kirishima’s own and the look being directed at him is nothing like he’s ever received before.  So maybe he can wait. Maybe, for Kirishima, he can be patient.

The next evening finds him tearing into his smokes once again and Midoriya walks into their shared kitchen, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Shut up, Deku,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I can hear you thinking from a mile away.”

“Yeah?  Well I’m beginning to think this isn’t healthy.  Is one human really worth getting this worked up over?” Midoriya puts a cup down on the table with enough force that it probably would have shattered if it was made of glass instead of plastic.

“I’ll have him soon.  He promised.” He pulls out his phone as if on autopilot to check for any new text messages.

“And you’re willing to just go along with that?  Look at yourself, Kacchan. I thought the hormonal teenager thing was a joke, but that’s honestly what you’re acting like right now.”

Bakugou says nothing, puffing angrily on his cigarette.  He hates admitting when Midoriya actually makes sense.

“Give up on him, already.  Come out with me tonight.”

“You know it’s Monday, right?”  Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “What, is Half and Half giving you the cold shoulder?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”  Midoriya rolls his eyes.  “I’m not planning to rely on him all the time, you know.  We’re just friends.”

“Friends with benefits.”

Midoriya shrugs, but doesn’t deny it.  He just waits for Bakugou’s answer.

Bakugou puts out the cigarette with a smoky exhale and scowls.  “Fine, I’ll go out with you. But I’m not eating. Call it a diet or whatever you want, but it’s what I’ve decided.”

“If that’s really what you want, I can’t stop you.”

“Damn right.”

“Are you gonna wear that?” Midoriya asks, eyeing the jeans and tee that he’d been wearing during the day at the bookshop.

“Something wrong with it?” he grumbles.

“No,” Midoriya replies, and it’s a straightforward answer, but his tone hints that there’s more he’s not saying.

Bakugou groans.  “Fine, I’ll change.  God, you’re extra annoying today.”

“I’ll meet you out front!”

A few minutes later and he’s wearing his black jeans and a skull shirt.  He’s kind of annoyed at himself for giving in; what does it matter if he looks good or not?  But Midoriya seems satisfied and they set off down the street with a minimal amount of bickering.

“What’s so great about this guy, anyway?” Midoriya asks, bringing the conversation back to Kirishima. 

“Hah? You should see him.  If I wrote out a list of what my ideal guy would be, this fucker would check off every single box.”

“No, I mean, what’s stopping you from picking out someone tonight, and then letting Mr. Perfect fuck you next week?  I don’t get it, that seems like a win-win.”

Bakugou kicks at a pebble in the street, contemplating.  The truth is, he hasn’t thought about the “why” behind it much himself.  The idea of it just feels wrong. 

“I guess it’s the whole dating thing,” he says finally.  “He obviously doesn’t know he won’t remember me after we fuck.  He thinks we’re dating, and he’s treating me like a date, and… it just doesn’t fucking suck, okay?  I kind of want to play along. It’s probably the only time in my damned life that I’ll ever get to try it out, so why not?”

“You could date another demon?”

“Yeah, fuck that idea.  I’d still have to find humans to feed on anyway.”

“Well, whatever.  Just don’t get too attached to this guy.  You know we can’t sleep with the same human more than once.  It could kill them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that.  You nag too much, you know?”

“Kacchan, wait.”

Bakugou stops and realizes Midoriya isn’t following him, but is instead peering down a dark alley.  He follows his gaze, and he doesn’t see anything. But he does feel something. And smell something.

He peers around, taking a step further in to the shadows.  “Alright, what’s back here?” A flick of his wrist and there’s a sparking flame lighting up the alleyway.  The shadows scuttle away from it, like a nest of rats being disturbed. But they aren’t rats.



The shadows come at them, three lower level demons who had apparently been lying in wait for some unsuspecting human in the alleyway.  They’re mostly formless except for their needle-sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes.

Midoriya does a round house kick that catches one of them directly between the eyes and sends it smashing into the concrete.  Bakugou charges into the alleyway, both hands lit up with sparks, leaping up a wall with one hand behind him to propel himself and the other reaching out to grab one of the little fuckers.  Once in his palm, it’s incinerated in seconds.

There’s only one left and it’s darting towards the other end of the alley to look for some escape.


He looks back and sees Midoriya running towards him, but with his eyes firmly locked onto the demon.  Bakugou can practically read his mind and he crouches down so that once Midoriya reaches him, he catapults him with as much force as he can muster.

Midoriya crushes the last demon in mid-air, it’s body dissipating into normal shadows.

Wiping off his hands, Bakugou stands and looks around, but he doesn’t sense any more nearby.  That was all of them.

Midoriya rejoins him, a concerned look on his face.

“Oi, what are you thinking, Shitty Deku?”

“You don’t think it’s odd that those demons were here in the city?” Midoriya asks, worrying at his lower lip.  “Weak spirits like that hardly ever make it out of the underworld. It’s rare to see one of them in the human world, let alone three.”

“Maybe the little shits broke out together, who knows.”

“Maybe,” he concedes.  “Even so, who knows what kind of damage they could have caused before we found them.  If they attracted any attention and bring demon hunters here, it could be bad for us.”

Bakugou looks around again.  The night is quiet. Out on the main street, there is the sound of the occasional passing car, and the city itself is always singing softly of people, animals, and machines.  There is no threat to be found.

He scuffs his shoe on the ground.  “Come on, let’s get out of this stinking alley.  I could really use a drink now, anyway.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou brushes off Midoriya’s pointed looks everytime his phone vibrates with another text from Kirishima.  The nerd is probably just annoyed that Todoroki won’t call him, anyway. 

And Kirishima is easy to talk to, even via text.  The salaryman tells him about some of his crazier clients, and in turn, Bakugou tells him about the sci-fi novel he’d decided to try that week.

On Thursday night, Bakugou is reading in bed when Kirishima texts to complain about how he’s only just now leaving the office, and how he’s tired and hungry, and Bakugou does something that surprises even himself.  He gets out of bed, gets dressed, and goes out to meet him at an Indian curry restaurant, without any thoughts of pushing Kirishima for something more afterwards. Just because, for whatever reason, he genuinely wants to cheer him up, and ease some of the strain from his eyes.  He orders the restaurant’s spiciest level curry and impresses Kirishima by eating every last bite, then walks hand in hand with him to the train station.

The human dating experience really is strange.

But finally, it’s Friday, and Kirishima invites him on an actual date.  And of all the places, he brings Bakugou to his MMA gym.

“You said you wanted to see me fight,” he shrugs when they stop in front of the building.

Bakugou shoots him a feral grin, beyond pleased.  “Hell yeah.”

The demon admires many things about humanity, not the least of which is their competitive spirit.  He likes team sports to a lesser degree, but loves any sport that’s directly confrontational and one-on-one, be it sumo or sword fighting.  Besting your opponent in a fair match, knowing that there is absolutely no difference between you, except for your superior skill? Bakugou thrives on that feeling.  His demon strength would give him an unfair advantage, but sometimes he wishes he could participate in a fight too.

Kirishima leads him inside, where a small crowd of people has already gathered.  It looks like what you would generally expect of a martial arts gym—the walls are covered in fight posters and equipment is set up all around the room.  Training mats have been pushed to the side in order to make more room for spectator chairs. And in the middle, a raised boxing ring is the center of everyone’s attention.

Kirishima brings Bakugou to a seat up front and ruffles his hair.  Bakugou glares, but otherwise tolerates the gesture.

“I need to go change and warm up, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Kirishima,” Bakugou tells him.

He laughs.  “Hope you enjoy the fight.”

There’s not much to do while he waits.  The roomful of people are made up of small groups chatting amongst themselves, and people sitting alone like him. 

Thankfully he isn’t waiting long.  Kirishima comes back out, along with his opponent, a stout, but equally muscled man.  The two take off their jackets and climb into the ring.

Bakugou has known this whole time that Kirishima is muscular—it was those broad shoulders that caught his eye in the first place.  He’s traced the shape of those muscles under Kirishima’s clothes, felt them under his hands when they kissed, but seeing his naked torso is a whole different experience.  He isn’t as beefy as his opponent, but he’s whipcord lean, every inch of him trained and well-defined. His tan skin is nearly unblemished aside from a scar here and there, and Bakugou can’t wait to explore every inch, to find out for himself how hard his muscles are.  Would Kirishima’s scars be sensitive, would he utilize his strength in bed, or would he be unexpectedly gentle?

Bakugou is pulled from his thoughts when the bell rings and the fight starts. 

The two circle each other cautiously for a moment.  His opponent fakes left, but Kirishima reads him and blocks.  Then Kirishima jabs right, left, then jumps back, showing how light he is on his feet.  It feels like he’s watching a dance instead of a fight, and it makes Bakugou’s blood sing. What he wouldn’t give to be the one in the ring with Kirishima right now, eyes locked on each other, hands ready to grapple at any moment.

The momentum picks up for a bit and the two are trading hits, punches and kicks.  Bakugou is on the edge of his seat. With every punch Kirishima takes, Bakugou hisses.  With every hit he lands, Bakugou shouts in triumph. 

The fights lasts for what feels like quite a while, as both opponents are a force to be reckoned with, but really it isn’t long at all.  Both seem to be losing energy. They need to settle this quickly or there will be no clear winner.

Plenty of people in the crowd are shouting encouragement, but Bakugou takes a deep breath and bellows over the crowd, louder than anyone else there, “Come on, Kirishima!!”

He must hear it, can’t not hear it, and Kirishima charges in, punches battering his opponent relentlessly, left, right, left, kick, left, right, taking advantage of his height as well as his strength, putting his opponent on the defensive until finally he gets an opening and he goes for it, swinging hard.

His opponent goes down and he doesn’t get back up.  Kirishima is the winner.

Bakugou jumps out of his seat. “Fuck yeah!”

Kirishima is raising his fist in victory, smile wide and unnatural with the mouth guard, but looking out over the crowd—at Bakugou—like a king looks over his kingdom.  The crowd is cheering, someone is whistling, but Bakugou has eyes only for Kirishima in the ring.

A huge man wearing the gym’s jacket—a coach?  The owner?—comes up to say something, and Kirishima helps his opponent back to his feet.  Then the fighters shake hands before they both are climbing down. There will be another match soon, but Kirishima’s is over.

As soon as he gets a chance, Bakugou grabs onto him with an expression like a cat who got the cream.  “Hey Champ, can I be your arm candy?”

Kirishima laughs.  “It was just a friendly match-up, it wasn’t like it was a tournament or anything.”

“I don’t care.  You fuckin’ won.  That’s what matters.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“You even need to ask?  That was badass.”

Kirishima takes a long gulp of water and exhales satisfyingly afterwards.  “I’m glad. I gotta go shower now though. I’m super sweaty and gross.”

“I dunno, I think it’s pretty hot.”

Kirishima chuckles and pushes him off.  “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word, I’m surprised you know it.” 

Kirishima sticks his tongue out.  “I’ll be back out in just a few, I swear.  Behave yourself while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

Kirishima shakes his head, but practically jogs back to the changing rooms.

“So!  You’re Bakugou, huh?”

Bakugou turns to see a dark-haired guy approaching him.  He’s about the same height as Bakugou, and fairly good-looking, if not for the scheming look on his face.

“Depends.  Who’s asking?”

He laughs, but Bakugou can tell the sound isn’t genuine, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way Kirishima’s does.  “Defensive, much? I’m Yo Shindo, a friend of Kirishima’s.”

“A friend, huh?”  He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, a friendly rival,” he admits with a shrug.  “We both train here.”

“Okay… and?”

“He did mention he wanted to bring a date today.  I never realized he had such good taste in men.”  

He looks Bakugou over, eyes trailing up and down his form with admiration.  It’s a good thing Bakugou’s already accustomed to being on the receiving end of lecherous looks, otherwise he’d probably be seriously creeped out.  As it is, he doesn’t like the insinuation being made by someone who’d claimed association with kind-hearted Kirishima.

“Not interested,” he snorts.  Any other time, maybe he’d go along with it, but Kirishima is about to reappear at any moment, and Bakugou has priorities.

“Hey man, did I say anything?” he protests in a falsely innocent voice.

“You didn’t have to.  And I’ll tell you now before you get any ideas that I’m not into whatever game you’re playing,” he growls.

Shindo leans forward.  “Disappointing. You look like the kind of guy who likes to have fun, but I guess I was wrong.”

Before Bakugou can come up with a retort, a heavy arm is settling over his shoulder and pulling him away.  Kirishima is back, freshly showered with his hair down around his shoulders for once. It makes him look softer than usual, but it’s a contrast to the hard look in his eyes.  He casually puts himself between Bakugou and the other man, and Bakugou can’t help but think how sexy Kirishima is when he gets protective. “Shindo. I see you’ve met my date.”

The fake smile returns full force.  “Yes, we were just introducing ourselves.”

“Normally we’d stick around to chat, but we’ve got reservations for dinner.  So sorry.” Kirishima does not sound the least bit sorry.

“Is that so?  Too bad.” He shrugs.  “Maybe next time then.”

“Sure thing.  See you later!”  He pulls Bakugou along with him, towards the front doors.

“What a creep,” Bakugou quips before they’re even out of earshot.

A burst of laughter escapes Kirishima before he clamps down on it, looking around.  “Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t actually have reservations, but I know a great yakiniku place nearby.”

The pair are in high spirits when they leave the yakiniku place a few hours later.  Kirishima has his arm around Bakugou again, something he’d become more comfortable with and is now doing increasingly often.  Bakugou doesn’t mind. They’re both exactly the right height for him to fit against Kirishima without having to duck to fit under his arm, and he leans against the taller man even though he’d only had one drink and can’t even pretend to be tipsy.

“So what now?” he asks.  “The night is young.”

“What do you mean?” Kirishima chuckles.  “It’s late. The trains are gonna stop running soon, you need to get home.”

“We could go home together?”

“Bakugou…”  The tone of his voice tells Bakugou that he’s about to be refused again.

“Kirishima.”  He stops walking, forcing the redhead to stop with him.  “You’re the most ridiculous fucking man I’ve ever met. You keep asking me out, so I know you like me, and even though I maybe shouldn’t, I really fucking like you too.  So what’s holding you back, huh? We had fucking phone sex, but now you won’t touch me, and you won’t even give me a reason.”

“Bakugou, it’s just… It’s kind of embarrassing, and I—do we have to do this now?”

“If not now, then when?  Do you actually not want me or something?  Is that it? Can’t find a way to let me down gently?  Because if you don’t fucking want me anymore, then you need to stop acting like you do.”  He didn’t mean to let this out in the middle of the street and he hates how desperate and whiny he sounds, but it’s out and now he’s angry and can’t stop.  He’s desperately hungry for this man and he needs him to do something before he goes crazy. “If you do want me, then man up and make a move.”

Kirishima shuts him up with a kiss.  He grabs Bakugou by the chin right as he takes a breath to say something more, and presses his mouth against his, hard.  Then once more, but softly.

He pulls back.  “You’re right. I’m sorry.  I do want you, babe. I’ve been pushing it off, because I’m scared of how you might react, but that’s stupid and unmanly.”  He smiles nervously. “Come back to mine tonight?”

Bakugou launches himself at Kirishima, peppering his face with kisses, punctuating each one with an enthusiastic “Yes.”  A kiss on his cheek. “Yes.” A kiss on his jaw. “Fuck yes.” A kiss on his mouth. “Please.”

Kirishima catches his face on the last kiss, pulling him back in for a longer, deeper one.  “How are you so cute when you have such a dirty mouth?”

Bakugou smirks.  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

In his impatient state, the train ride feels far too long.  Kirishima lives in an apartment that’s about twenty minutes from the city center, but it feels like it takes an hour.  The train is crowded too—Friday night and the car is full of people like them, who’d stayed out later than normal, but didn’t want to have to take a taxi home after the trains stopped running. 

Every sway and jerk of the train presses him a little closer to Kirishima, and normally he’d invite the contact, but right now it feels like too much. He can smell the soap he used in the gym shower, can feel the heat of his body, and he just wants Kirishima all to himself, wants to peel all of his clothes off and keep him from the rest of the world.

But finally, they reach the station, make it through the turnstile, down the street, and now Kirishima is fumbling with his keys at the door to his apartment.  Bakugou isn’t helping, pressed along his back, thrumming with excitement, already mouthing at the back of Kirishima’s neck like he just can’t contain himself.

The door swings open and they all but fall inside.  As soon as the front door is closed, they’re kissing, desperate mouths seeking each other out in the dark and Kirishima doesn’t even pull away to find the light switch, instead fumbling with a hand along the wall until he manages to find it by feel alone.

Bakugou has his hands on the back of Kirishima’s head, fingers threading through his hair and he loves how soft it is when it’s not gelled into spikes. 

Kirishima tries to take a few steps further inside, but Bakugou can’t be bothered to pull away long enough; as far as he’s concerned, Kirishima can fuck him on the floor of the hallway right now.

With no apparent effort, Kirishima’s hands slide over Bakugou’s ass to his thighs, and he hoists the blonde’s legs up to hook around his waist and he carries Bakugou like that back to the bedroom, and yeah, Bakugou is super into being carried.  He groans into the kiss, wet and messy now. 

When Kirishima deposits him on the bed, he finally pulls away with a gasp, a trail of saliva dripping between them.

He yanks his shirt over his head and Kirishima immediately latches on to a collarbone, licking and sucking at the skin there while his fingers rubs teasingly at one nipple before his mouth descends on the other to let his teeth graze over it gently.  Bakugou gasps at the sensation, struggling not to lose focus. He pushes a thigh up to press against the huge bulge in Kirishima’s jeans and the redhead moans, the sound vibrating against Bakugou’s abused nipple in a way that has him arching off the bed with a surprised moan of his own.

Kirishima inches lower, hands at Bakugou’s waistband, making quick work of the button and zipper and the blonde lifts his hips so he can shimmy out of his jeans, pulling down his underwear in the same movement.  His cock springs free, red and hard, and he feels Kirishima’s hungry gaze mapping his features without even having to look up. As an incubus, he knows he’s endowed with a nice body and he leans back to catch his breath and let Kirishima look his fill.

“My god, you can’t be real,” Kirishima breathes reverently.  “Bakugou,” he murmurs like a prayer. He wraps a hand around Bakugou’s cock and his hips thrust up against Kirishima’s hand of their own volition.  Kirishima groans and he’s pressing down on his own groin like he might come just from the sight of the blonde in his bed.

“Kirishima, you too.”  He bats the hand away so he can sit up and reaches for the hem of Kirishima’s shirt.  “I can’t wait any longer.” He pulls at the cloth, encouraging him to strip too.

Kirishima stands and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the planes of tan skin and muscles Bakugou had been forced to admire from afar earlier.  When he gets to his jeans though, he pauses, biting his lip.

Bakugou pulls at him again.  Goads him. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

With a defeated sigh, Kirishima drags the fabric if his pants down and lets it pool at his feet, revealing his huge cock as it’s released to curve upwards, fully erect and hard between his legs.  

And it’s not just huge—it’s massive. He shifts in place, self-conscious as Bakugou stares. The incubus has seen thousands of people’s genitals, from penises to vaginas to everything in between, but this might be the biggest he’s ever seen.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Uh, yeah.  So this is the reason… um.”  Kirishima is turning his head away, face red and looking ready to jump out of his own skin.

“Oi Kirishima,” Bakugou says, trying to get him to look at him.

“I know it’s a lot, so if you don’t want to… I totally understand.”

Bakugou slides from the bed and lands hard on his knees in front of Kirishima.  He’ll probably have a bruise later, but he doesn’t care, he heals quickly. He grabs the back of Kirishima’s thighs and leans in close.  “Who the fuck said they didn’t want to?” With that, he licks up the long length of Kirishima’s cock, tip to base.

Kirishima groans and stumbles back until he’s leaning against the wall, and Bakugou shuffles forward to chase after.  He lets his tongue lap at the head of his cock, tasting him, before he trails kisses along the shaft, not minding the line of precum getting smeared across his cheek in the process.  He takes Kirishima in hand, stroking experimentally, getting a feel for the weight and size of it, exploring the velvety soft skin and the prominent vein.

Kirishima is breathing hard, watching intently to see what Bakugou will decide to do next.

He smirks, and leans back in, opening his mouth to wrap his lips around the head, letting his tongue press against the underside, and he sucks gently, hollowing his cheeks, but only able to get about halfway before he has to pull back, giving the tip of Kirishima’s cock an apologetic kiss.

“Ngh.”  The cut-off sound comes from above him and Bakugou looks up to see Kirishima pressing a fist to his mouth. 

“Don’t hold back, Kirishima,” he rasps.  “I wanna hear you, wanna make you feel good.”

Kirishima whimpers, pulling the hand away from his face to clutch at the wall behind him.  “You do, you feel so good, Bakugou. Your mouth…”

Bakugou is on him again. He wants to show Kirishima how well he can take it, how much he deserves to be fucked.  The demon has never not been able to immediately swallow a man down—if Bakugou was a human, and not an incubus, he has to admit that he probably would not be able to take it all.  But he’s a demon, fuck, and he wants it. He wants to take the whole thing down his throat, wants to taste every inch. He breathes in through his nose, and starts to slide his lips down the shaft once more, forcing his jaw to relax.  It’s a challenge, but he loves it.

“God, look at you,” Kirishima chokes out.  He cards a hand through Bakugou’s hair, and the blonde looks up through wet lashes, most of Kirishima’s cock down his throat, drool dripping off his chin and tears beading in the corners of his eyes before rolling down his cheeks.  “You’re really hungry for it, aren’t you, baby?” 

Bakugou moans at the pet name, and Kirishima’s hips hitch at the sensation, forcing himself the rest of the way down Bakugou’s throat.  Bakugou barely manages to not choke and he swallows around him, eliciting a hiss from the redhead. It only encourages Bakugou to do it again, relaxing his jaw as much as he’s able and letting Kirishima thrust shallowly into his mouth.

Kirishima’s hand clenches tight in his hair.  “Bakugou, I can’t—I’m gonna—“

But Bakugou doesn’t want that, not yet.  He only gets one chance to make Kirishima come, so he pulls off with a lewd sound, and takes a deep breath to center himself.  Kirishima groans at the loss.

“Not yet, you can’t come until you’re in me,” Bakugou says, trying to act unaffected, as if he still has some semblance of control, but his cock is heavy between his own thighs, dripping precum onto the floor. 

Bakugou feels filthy with his own saliva and the salty taste of Kirishima’s precum, but that doesn’t stop Kirishima from sliding to the ground and slamming their lips together in a sloppy kiss.

“God, you’re so—“ He says between kisses.  “I can’t believe—“

Bakugou never finds out what he’s trying to say, because he climbs into Kirishima’s lap and grinds down against him, desperate for some relief. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, wrecked.  “Want you inside of me, please, I need it.”

Kirishima groans and grabs Bakugou’s hips hard enough to bruise, pulling them together so that they can grind together.  Seeing their cocks flush against each other only exaggerates the size difference. The redhead takes a moment to breathe, gasping into Bakugou’s mouth.

“Okay.  Bed,” he says, and Bakugou scrambles up, Kirishima chasing after like he can’t bear to not be touching Bakugou for even a second.

Bakugou slides to the middle of the bed, and Kirishima is on him again instantly, slotting himself into the v of his thighs, kissing him like a man who’s been lost in a desert and Bakugou is an oasis, his temptation and salvation.

Bakugou allows Kirishima to push him back until he’s lying down, running his hands up from Bakugou’s abdomen to his chest, until he’s pressing down on his throat.  Then he teases the pads of his fingers against Bakugou’s lips.

“Open for me, baby.”

Bakugou does so, letting Kirishima’s fingers dip into his mouth, around his teeth and stroke at his tongue.  He licks and sucks at the digits, coating them in saliva.

“You’re so good at that.  Love to suck on whatever I put in your mouth, huh?”

Bakugou moans in assent. 

Kirishima chuckles and pulls his fingers out.  He pushes one of Bakugou’s legs farther up, and presses one of his soaked fingers to Bakugou’s entrance.  Kirishima’s fingers are rough and thicker than his own, and he feels every inch as it breaches him, sliding in, down to the knuckle.

“Ah—“ Bakugou gasps out as he wiggles it experimentally inside of him.  “Kirishima—“

The redhead adds a second finger, more slowly, letting Bakugou adjust around him.  “You feel so good inside, baby. So tight.”

He scissors his fingers and twists them around, searching.  He finds what he’s looking for moments later when Bakugou’s hips jolt off the bed with a shout.  “There it is,” he says with a smirk, and drags his fingers across the spot once more.

Bakugou thrashes, pushing his hips into the sensation, his toes curling in the sheets.  He reaches for his neglected cock to take some of the edge off, but Kirishima pulls his hand away.

“Let me.  Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, thumbing the head of Bakugou’s weeping cock while the other hand is still pressing fingers inside of him.  “How far did we get on the phone the other night? If I remember right… it was three fingers.” He pushes his ring finger in next to the others, watching Bakugou stretch around him.

“Kirishima,” he whines.  Kirishima’s fingers are thicker than Bakugou’s, rough and strong, pushing at the ring of muscle inside him.  “Please.”

“Shhh,” Kirishima hushes him, pressing kisses into his thigh.  “If you can’t take my fingers, I’m not going to let you try my cock.”

“I can take them,” he argues, but his voice cracks and it’s unconvincing.  “I can take more,” he tries again.

“Can you?”  Kirishima presses a fourth finger in, and it’s so much, it’s too much, but Bakugou doesn’t want him to stop.  The redhead goes slow, but he presses them in deep, finding his prostate once more, making Bakugou arch against the bed and scream into the pillows.

“Please,” he begs, “I can take more, just let me come first. Please, Kirishima.”

“Well,” he nips at his thigh with a smirk.  “Since you begged so sweetly.”

He grabs Bakugou’s cock in a firm grip and starts stroking languidly in time with the thrust of his fingers and the sensations quickly overwhelm the blonde, pushing him over the edge into an intense orgasm.  His mouth falls open on a silent scream, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the leg Kirishima has pushed up quivers with it, the pleasure hitting him in waves as he comes all over himself. Kirishima strokes him through it, milking him of every last drop.

He must pass out for a second, because when he opens his eyes, Kirishima is no longer between his thighs, but hovering over him, holding himself on his forearms as he rains kisses down on him and whispers words of praise.  “—so good, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, holy shit Bakugou. So good, baby.”

Bakugou brings a weak hand to Kirishima’s hair and pulls until he’s kissing him more deeply.  The redhead sighs into it. He seems happy to stay like this, languidly making out, but Bakugou can feel his erection still pressed against his hip.

Kirishima seems to know what he’s thinking, because pushes away and rolls to the side.  “We don’t have to,” he says. “I mean it. Your pleasure is more important to me, anyway.”

Bakugou glares.  “Kirishima. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but I want you to fuck me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Bakugou.”

“You won’t.  I’m so fucking stretched out right now.”

“I don’t think you understand just how big I am.”

“Kirishima,” he growls.  “I want. Your. Cock.” When Kirishima does nothing but stare at him doubtfully, he spits out, “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll find somebody else who will.”

Kirishima jerks forward at that, moving quickly to pin him down by the shoulders to glare. “Don’t,” he hisses.

“Or what?”

“You really want it?  You want to be split open on a cock that badly?  Filled up and fucked like a slut?”

Bakugou bares his teeth at the insult, but his dick twitches with interest, giving him away. 

Kirishima huffs a laugh.  “Unbelievable.” He reaches for something off the bed, coming back with a bottle of lube.  “Fine, let’s fuck. Let’s see how long it takes for you to give in.”

He strokes himself, coating every inch of his cock with the lube until he’s dripping, and then positions himself back between Bakugou’s thighs.

Bakugou pushes himself up on his elbows, to help or to watch, he isn’t sure yet, but when Kirishima suddenly shoves his fingers back inside him to use up the leftover lube on his hand in Bakugou’s hole, he falls back onto the sheets with a groan.

Kirishima’s fingers inside of him feel amazing, but it’s not what he wants, and eventually Bakugou realizes he’s stalling.  He looks back up at Kirishima, sees the way his anger has faded into worry once more and he’s looking at him with trepidation, truly worried that he might hurt him.  Sweet, caring, sexy Kirishima.

Bakugou pushes himself back up and reaches out for him, cradling his face in his hands to pull him forward for a kiss. “Hey.  You’re not gonna hurt me. I promise. I want this.” He swallows. “I wanna be good for you.”

Kirishima groans and he pushes Bakugou back down on the bed again.  “Okay. Okay,” he repeats, almost more for his own benefit than Bakugou’s.  He grabs both of Bakugou’s legs, hooking them over his shoulders so that the blonde is bent nearly in half, his cock hard again, erect between them.  He lines up the head of his cock with Bakugou’s hole, and slowly, oh so slowly, starts to push inside.

The stretch burns at first.  Bakugou knew it would, and he breathes through his nose, clenching his hands in the sheets.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Kirishima whispers.

Bakugou shakes his head.  “I’m fine.”

Kirishima slowly pushes further in, stopping every now and then to check on Bakugou.  At one point, Bakugou can’t help but let a small whimper escape and Kirishima almost pulls out then and there.

“Don’t you dare,” Bakugou says through grit teeth, kicking the redhead with one of his heels over his shoulder.  “More.”

Kirishima doesn’t move at first. 

“Kirishima, please!” he begs.

With a grunt, Kirishima sinks in the rest of the way.  He’s panting like he ran a marathon and looking down with wide eyes, like he can’t believe he’s actually fully sheathed inside.

Bakugou bites his lip and pulls at his own cock, which is only half-hard now.  “Just give me a sec to adjust,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kirishima says breathlessly, sounding like he might need some time too.

The burn of the stretch quickly recedes as he gets used to the feeling.  Kirishima is in deep. There’s no pain, he just feels achingly full. 

“Okay,” he whispers.  “Move.”

Slowly, Kirishima pulls out halfway, then pushes back in.  He’s careful, like he’s still afraid he might break Bakugou apart if he makes the wrong move.  Then he repeats the motion, but a little more confidently.

“Come on, Kirishima.  Come on, faster,” Bakugou pleads, pulling him in with his legs as much as he can.  “Thought you were gonna split me open.”

Sucking in a breath, Kirishima pulls back until he’s almost completely out, then he thrusts back in until he’s bottoming out.

“Yes,” Bakugou hisses.

“Bakugou,” he breathes out, a look of wonder on his face.

He slowly finds a rhythm, his hips snapping forward to penetrate deep into Bakugou with every thrust, gaining force as well as speed as he starts to build confidence and give in to the pleasure of Bakugou’s body.  Kirishima can’t stop staring at where their bodies meet, watching in disbelief as Bakugou’s hole pulls him back in everytime.

“Look at you, so perfect, Bakugou.  You’re unbelievable, baby, how are you even real?”

Bakugou whimpers in pleasure, each thrust hitting him deep and hard, feeling like nothing will ever satisfy him like this again.  Then Kirishima pauses and readjusts his hold so that he’s lifting Bakugou’s hips clean off the mattress, and when he thrusts back in again, Bakugou yelps as Kirishima hits his sweet spot dead on, feeling like his prostate is being assaulted with a battering ram.

“Uhnn, nngh, ahh!”  He’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds right now, moaning like a cheap porn star, but he’s also completely unable to keep quiet.

“That’s it, you love it, huh?” Kirishima says, voice deep and reverberating in his ears.  “Love being fucked on my giant cock, such a good boy. I’m gonna fill you up so good with my cum.”

Bakugou lets out a moan that turns into a wail, gripping the sheets tightly, but unable to escape the relentless pleasure that courses through his body everytime Kirishima fucks into him.  Tears are streaming down his cheeks and he knows for a fact that he’s never had sex this good. Kirishima is pounding into him like a machine, rocking the whole bed with the force of it, and he doesn’t ever want it to stop.

“This is—Bakugou, I’m—“  With one last snap of his hips, one last, lewd slap of skin against skin, Kirishima gives a quiet groan as he comes deep inside of him, the warm heat filling Bakugou to his core, and it’s enough to send him over the edge.  The blonde gives a full body shudder as he comes for the second time that night, his orgasm lasting even longer than the first, his own cock ejaculating all over the both of them. The pleasure is so deep and wild that he feels like he might have entered another plane of existence.  Is this heaven? Do demons get to experience heaven after all?

Then Bakugou comes back to himself all at once, blinking up at the ceiling.

Kirishima is collapsed on top of him, his dick still softening within him.

It was over.

Finally, they’d fucked.  Bakugou got what he wanted.  It was the best sex of Bakugou’s supernatural life, he knows for a fact, and he feels full and replenished. A well-fed incubus indeed. 

But was it what he really wanted?

Another first in a day full of firsts, Bakugou feels paralyzed, unable to bring himself to leave.

He pulls a hand free so he can run it through the human’s soft red hair. 

He doesn’t want Kirishima to forget him. He doesn’t want this to be the last time they ever see each other. 

Something like sorrow overwhelms him, immobilizes him, as he realizes that he won’t be able to go on any more stupid dates, or see his warm smiles, or receive his gentle kisses.  But this is his nature, this is what an incubus does. They fuck, they feed, they flee.

There’s a pressure building up, choking him, a heat behind his eyes.  Tears? So fucking stupid. He takes a deep breath. He needs to pull himself together, needs to get up, get dressed—

“Mmf.”  A grunt.  But not Bakugou’s.

His head whips towards the sound.  Kirishima’s eyes are slowly blinking open, refocusing on Bakugou as he comes back to himself.  His eyes are clouded with a post-orgasm haze, but the recognition in them is clear.

“Hey babe,” he murmurs with a sleepy slur.

Bakugou has only one response.

“What the fuck.”

Chapter Text

“What the fuck.”

Having no insight into Bakugou’s current internal panic, Kirishima misunderstands, giving him a quick, apologetic kiss on the cheek.  “Am I heavy? Sorry, I think I passed out for a second.”

Bakugou is frozen in complete shock as the redhead stretches, rousing his body from the exhaustion of a thorough round of sex and shifting to roll off of him, pulling out with a satisfied sigh. 

Bakugou still can’t bring himself to move—caught somewhere between sadness, panic, confusion, and elation, the emotions coming too fast for him to process.  The redhead, oblivious, curls around him and presses gentle kisses into his hair. Weirdly, it calms him, and he relaxes again into the hold. Kirishima has been the exception to everything so far, so maybe it shouldn’t come as such a complete surprise, but Bakugou knows for certain that he fed—and fed well.  He’s fueled up on enough energy that he feels like he could take on an army—so how in heaven and hell is the human still awake?

“How are you still conscious?” he whispers, wide-eyed.

Kirishima chuckles, under the impression that they are having a completely different conversation.  “I could ask you the same question. I wasn’t gentle. Are you okay?” he whispers back, stroking Bakugou’s face, his arms, his sides, anywhere he can touch really.

“I’m fine,” Bakugou stammers.  “More than fine.”

Kirishima smiles at him adoringly and stretches up to kiss Bakugou sweetly on the mouth, the gesture terrifying with how affectionate it is.

“More than fine,” Kirishima parrots.  “I’d say you’re amazing. Never met anyone like you, babe.  Can’t believe how you took my cock. So beautiful.” He sighs again, happily.

Bakugou blushes, heat spreading across his face and making his ears burn.  Forget dating, post-coital pillow talk was not something he ever thought he’d experience and he’s floundering.  He should probably spare another moment to be worried—there is clearly more to Kirishima than what meets the eye, though whether it’s demonic or divine remains to be seen.  But a bigger part of him, the part of him that’s relieved, well-fucked, and currently being fingered , is happy to leave those problems for another time.  Irresponsible? Perhaps. But he can’t find it in himself to think about it too deeply at the moment.

So instead, he pushes a leg up and shifts back to let Kirishima play with his hole.  Two fingers push in easily, swiping through the fluid leaking out of him.

“Told you, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he murmurs, happily resigned to keeping up their interaction.

“I should never have doubted you,” Kirishima agrees.  He slips a third finger in and gasps at how easily it goes in now.

“Perv,” Bakugou teases, even as he pushes back on his fingers.

“For you? Maybe.”

Bakugou enjoys the sensation for a moment longer before he rolls over to face him, though it means he has to dislodge Kirishima’s fingers from his ass.  Of all things, he wants more kisses and Kirishima is all too happy to oblige. He gets to map out the skin of Kirishima’s body, just like he wanted, trailing fingers down his pecs to his hard abs.  When he gets lower, he feels Kirishima’s cock stir against him.

He looks down to find it half hard again, as if the absolute feast of sexual energy Bakugou just enjoyed hadn’t come from Kirishima.  “Really?”

The redhead has the good sense to sound embarrassed.  “What can I say? It’s been a while.” His hand tilts Bakugou’s head up to look at him and his voice lowers as he adds, “Besides, it’d be a waste not to take advantage of all that work we did to open you up.”

Bakugou gulps, and heat spreads through him like wildfire.  His whole life, he’s always been the one to use others in bed, even if sometimes he let them feel like they were the ones in charge.  But now he feels like he might actually not be the one in control. Like maybe this time Kirishima is the one using him. 

But he can’t really find any reason to complain.

Kirishima looks down at him through his sooty eyelashes, expression fond.  He nuzzles against the blonde and whispers, “Tell me to stop at any time and I will.”

Bakugou pushes Kirishima back and rolls them over so that now he’s on top, straddling the other’s waist.  “I don’t want you to fucking stop.”

So Kirishima leans back with a smirk, a newfound confidence, making a show of leisurely trailing his gaze up and down Bakugou’s body on display on top of him.  “Gonna be a good boy for me, then?”

Bakugou smirks, never one to shy away from a challenge.  “The best.”

The stretch is less intense this time, having already been fucked open.  He sits back on Kirishima’s cock and lowers himself at his own pace, the slide aided by some additional lube and leftover cum.  Kirishima bites his lip hard enough that he bleeds a tiny bit as he watches Bakugou take him back in. Finally, he’s seated all the way down, feeling that delicious fullness.  He rolls his hips experimentally, his body undulating with the movement. He hums at the pleasant feeling of Kirishima’s cock making him feel stuffed full inside and enjoys the look of awe and hunger being directed at him.  Then he lifts himself up and sinks back down.

“God,” Kirishima whispers reverently.

Bakugou snorts, even as he’s pushing up and fucking himself down again.  “You keep saying that, but I’m not sure God would approve of what we’re doing.”

“Maybe not the God,” Kirishima chuckles.  “But this is certainly an act of worship.”  He reaches up to trail his hands down Bakugou’s body, letting them settle at his hips.  The next time Bakugou pushes up, he gets yanked back down, punching a gasp out of his lungs and leaving him breathless..

“Ah—fuck—“  Bakugou’s can’t manage to get out a coherent sentence as Kirishima takes control of the pace again, too focused on keeping his balance as he fucks himself on Kirishima’s cock.  His thighs are straining with the effort, but he doesn’t want to slow down.

“Yes, Bakugou, that’s it,” Kirishima encourages him, helping him as much as he can.  He releases Bakugou’s hips so he can push himself up on his elbows, and Bakugou wobbles without his support.  “Lean on me, baby.”

Bakugou grabs his shoulders.  The leverage helps, but the new angle has him seeing stars.  With a whine, he grabs for his own leaking dick. Kirishima watches him hungrily, making no move to help.  “God, yes, let me watch you come. Let me watch you get yourself off while you bounce on my cock. So fucking pretty, Bakugou.” 

“Kirishima,” he gasps, the filthy praise making his head spin.  “So good. Inside me. Ah—“

Crying out, he comes shakily in his hand, weak pulses of cum that drip through his fingers.  He falls forward against Kirishima. The redhead catches him, rolling them over so Bakugou is lying pliant on the bed again, peppering his throat with kisses and whispering praises into his ear while the blonde catches his breath.

Kirishima keeps a slower pace now, rolling his hips into Bakugou with steady, powerful movements.

Throwing his arms around Kirishima’s shoulders, Bakugou searches out his lips with his own, wanting more, wanting to be closer.  Kirishima’s kisses are deep and tender. Together, they settle into a new pace, nowhere near as frantic as before. 

Bakugou should have been cautious of Kirishima when he first showed immunity to his incubus power.  He should have been scared of the implications of Kirishima being unaffected after their first round of sex.  But now, as Kirishima holds him in his arms, as he gasps out his name and comes inside him, as he kisses him softly in the aftermath and whispers sweet words to him, it feels like he’s making love rather than fucking.  And that, more than anything else, terrifies Bakugou.

Bakugou falls asleep in Kirishima’s arms and wakes up alone in the sheets.  But the sun is already streaming in through the window and the tantalizing smell of bacon is filling the apartment, so he’s not too alarmed.  He just isn’t sure what to do. Sex? Sure, he can handle sex. A surprise second round of sex? That definitely threw him off, but he was still in familiar territory.  Now, though? He has absolutely no idea where to go from here.

Should he sneak out?  He doesn’t want to, feels too fucking cowardly, and he doesn’t really see any particular need to sneak out anyway.  But what is he going to say to Kirishima? The original plan was to get Kirishima to dick him down and then move on to the next, as per the norm, but that doesn’t really look like it’s going to happen now.  Does he even want to move on to someone else? Honestly, the thought of it makes something twist unhappily inside of him, so he’d rather not. If he can keep getting mind-blowing sex from Kirishima, why would he even look at anyone else?  …But does that mean they’re dating now? Is that how this works? He’s so confused.

Well, one thing at a time.

He pulls the sheets off the bed and around himself, not bothering to look for the clothes he knows are lying scattered on the floor somewhere.  Wincing at the soreness between his legs, he shuffles out of the bedroom and follows his nose to the kitchen. Kirishima is there, still shirtless with his hair down, hovering between a frying pan and a coffee pot. 

When he catches sight of Bakugou, he smiles.  “Hey, you.” He pulls him in close and leans down for a kiss that’s longer and sweeter than it has any right to be when Bakugou most definitely has morning breath.  “Thought I’d let you sleep in and make breakfast in bed. I hope bacon and eggs is okay?”

Bakugou mumbles a groggy assent.

Kirishima chuckles and kisses him again.  “Your sleepy bed head is too tempting. Go back to the bedroom before I burn something.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told, stopping by Kirishima’s bathroom on the way to wash his face and steal a toothbrush.  Even demons have hygiene.

Mere moments later and Kirishima is pushing the door open with a tray full of breakfast food in his hands, laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a small tower of toast, along with two coffees.  He walks carefully so as not to spill, and sets it down at the edge of the bed.

“You know, I would’ve been fine with cereal,” Bakugou gripes, but scoots over to make room as Kirishima crawls onto the bed next to him.

“It’s fine, I wanted to make you something nicer than cereal.”  He breaks off a piece of bacon and holds it to Bakugou’s mouth.

Bakugou raises an eyebrow at being hand-fed.

“Come on, baby.  I thought you liked it when I put stuff in your mouth.”

Bakugou immediately flushes bright red.  “Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not,” he says with a laugh.  “It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.  Let me take care of you like this, too?” He holds up the bacon again hopefully.

With a glare, Bakugou opens his mouth to let Kirishima feed him.  He chews, swallows, but gets his revenge when he says, “But anyway, I can’t believe the reason you wouldn’t fuck me from the beginning was because you thought you were too big.  That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. We could have been fucking this whole time.”

Now it’s Kirishima’s turn to blush and he looks away, dragging a hand over his face to try to hide some of the redness.  “Listen, people talk a lot about having a big dick or wishing they had a big dick or whatever, but the reality is that it’s just a pain in the ass.”  He freezes as he realizes what phrasing he just used. “Oh god, I don’t mean—”

Bakugou cracks up, not letting him finish whatever he was about to say.  The unintentional wording and the look on Kirishima’s face is too much. He’s dying of laughter, tears welling up in his eyes as he doubles over on the bed. Maybe the reaction is a bit much, but this whole situation is getting ridiculous and he has to process it somehow.

Kirishima glares, though a corner of his own mouth is struggling not to twitch upwards, and he eats a piece of toast while he waits for Bakugou’s laughter to subside.

“Oh man,” he wheezes when he’s finally able to talk again.  “Talk about big dick energy.” His own joke sends him into a new fit of giggles.

“Sure, easy for you to say.  My previous boyfriend didn’t like oral and refused to let me top him, and the first and last time I tried casual sex, the guy stopped me midway through.  I ended up giving him a blowjob instead, but I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t come when he tried to reciprocate. Most humiliating night of my life.”

Bakugou shrugs, unconcerned.  “Their loss.”

Kirishima still looks unconvinced.  “Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

Bakugou pushes himself up to sit next to Kirishima on the headboard, draping himself against the redhead’s shoulder.  “Oh, I’m not going to be able to walk straight for a while, that’s for sure.” He smirks. “But believe me when I say that I loved every fucking moment of having your giant cock inside of me.”  With that, he steals the rest of the toast in Kirishima’s hand and takes a bite.

Kirishima lets his head fall back with an audible thunk against the wall.  “You’re really going to be the death of me.”

Around a mouthful of toast, Bakugou quips, “Kirishima, you’re the only motherfucker in this town who can handle me.”

He chuckles.  “God, I hope so.”

Bakugou offers him a piece of bacon, and Kirishima accepts it.  The two continue to feed each other, licking at the other’s fingers in an ever escalating game until breakfast is eventually forgotten in favor of making out. 

They let themselves get absorbed in each other until they’re rutting against each other again, the red of their cocks harsh in the light of day, and Kirishima pulls a surprised orgasm from Bakugou when he croons, “Look how small and cute your cock looks next to mine.”

Later, he teases him as he spoons the blonde from behind: “I didn’t know people could get off on being called small.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m plenty big, you’re just a beast.”

“I’m definitely going to have to remember this for next time,” he continues.

“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.”

Kirishima hums.  “I think I like my chances.  What do you think? Should I roll the dice?”

Bakugou shifts against him, relaxing.  “The bluff was too obvious.”

“Yeah.  But that just means I get the jackpot.”  He presses his lips to Bakugou’s shoulder.

He snorts.  “Prepare yourself, I’m a fucking high maintenance jackpot, and you’ve just set the bar.  From now on, I’m going to expect fucking epic sex and breakfast in bed every time.”

“Like that’s any hardship.”  Bakugou can hear Kirishima’s dopey grin even if he can’t see it.  “Don’t think I’m gonna stop taking you on dates though. I’ll show you romance like you’ve never seen before.  I’m gonna make you swoon, Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Challenge fucking accepted.”

Bakugou is in a fantastic mood when he returns to the bookstore.  He’s late, and Midoriya had to open the store that morning without him, but he’s so relaxed that he’s not even mad when the nerd scolds him for staying out all night.

His laid back response, out of everything, is what gives Midoriya pause.

“Kacchan, where were you anyway?” he asks with a raised brow.

“Getting the best fuck of my life.”

“So all that work was really worth it then?”  The second brow joins the first. 

“Worth it and then some,” he says smugly, before leaping up the stairs two at a time to go change.

He’s full of energy, and the good mood lasts all day.  He dusts the store from top to bottom, re-organizes the children’s book section, and actually asks people if they need help finding anything when they come in.  Midoriya’s jaw actually drops the first time he does that.

He’s the most focused and productive he’s ever been until the moment his phone vibrates.  Then he immediately drops his dust rag to pull his phone out.

Shitty Hair: What are you doing tonight?

Bakugou: Riding your dick

Shitty Hair: I’m being serious

Bakugou: So am I

Shitty Hair: I want to take you out

Shitty Hair: To nice places

Shitty Hair: And places you want to go

Shitty Hair: What kinds of things do you like to do?

“You’re texting him again, aren’t you?”

He pulls his phone back, hiding the screen on instinct when he sees Midoriya standing there.  He growls, “So what?”

“I thought you said you already had sex with him!”

“I did!” he snaps.  “Apparently, he’s immune to more than just the Allure.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen, veridian irises pinning him.  “You’re saying you slept with him and he still remembers you?  And you’re still texting him? Kacchan, are you crazy? You’ll kill him if you have sex again!” he whispers shrilly, aware of the customers browsing their books right nearby.

Bakugou smirks.  “Been there, done that.  That’s not a problem for him either.”

“He can’t be human,” Midoriya says, shaking his head.  “It’s the only explanation. Are you sure he’s completely normal?  Has he said or done anything suspicious? What if it’s a trap?”

“If it was a trap, he missed a perfectly good opportunity to kill me or catch me when I was getting fucked senseless last night.”  

But Midoriya’s argument is enough to give Bakugou pause.  Aside from the fact that he was Bakugou’s exact type and somehow immune to demonic spells, he hadn’t said or done anything to make Bakugou suspect he was anything other than human.  In all honesty, if Kirishima is secretly some sort of demon hunter, he would make the perfect bait for an incubus like Bakugou—but then in that case, it would have made more sense to pretend to fall victim to Bakugou’s Allure the first night they met, left with him then, and killed him.  Why the dates, why the romance, the texting, the fucking incredible sex?

He shakes his head.  “You’re right that it’s weird.  I agree he can’t be completely human, but I don’t think he’s aware of it himself.”

“Kacchan, you need to be careful—and not just about him.  I need to tell you something. Show you, actually, if you’ll let me.”  He looks around. “Not here, though. Later?”

That means tonight.  Bakugou’s eyes glance back down at his phone.  He had actually been looking forward to seeing Kirishima again.  

But Midoriya sounds serious about whatever it is, and is waiting for an answer.  He groans, but nods reluctantly, and that seems to satisfy the other.

Once Midoriya is out of sight, he starts tapping out a reply.

Bakugou: I can’t tonight.

Bakugou: Tomorrow?

Shitty Hair: Ok. :(  You didn’t answer my question though.

Bakugou scrolls back up to stare at the earlier part of their conversation.  What does he like to do? His life mostly consists of the bookstore and going out with Midoriya to feed.  Kind of boring, come to think of it. When they aren’t doing that, he usually prefers to stay in by himself and read.  Sometimes he enjoys cooking, but he isn’t about to go inviting Kirishima over to his place for a home-cooked meal.

Damn, he sounds like someone’s grandma, come to think of it.

Well, there is one other thing he likes to do sometimes…

Bakugou: Hiking.  Can you wake up early?

Shitty Hair: Yeah! :)

The lighting is dim, but colorful, and Bakugou sees himself reflected in pinks and blues in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lines the walls.  People push past him and Midoriya in the hallway, laughing with drinks in hand and their too-tight clothes. They shout at each other, though whether it’s to be heard over the pulsing music or because they’re drunk, no one can say. 

Bakugou cringes.  The club is tasteful, certainly, with private booths tucked along the walls, a spacious floor for dancing in the middle, and a bar all along the back wall.  It’s a party location that’s earned its popularity, but it’s too loud, too crowded, and not at all Bakugou’s style.

Thankfully, Midoriya leads him to the end of the hallway and pushes open the door there, the seam of it barely noticeable in the wall unless you knew to look for it.  Immediately after passing the threshold, the noise is considerably lessened; once the door is closed, it’s cancelled out entirely. Sound proofing technology at its best, with perhaps a bit of demon magic added to the mix.

The new room is completely different.  Well lit, with comfortable furniture in the center, and a desk at the end, framed by huge windows that looked out onto the city.  Sitting at the desk is none other than Todoroki Shouto.

Midoriya moves through the room confidently, and Todoroki meets him in the middle for a surprisingly chaste kiss.  Bakugou still looks away. He doesn’t want to watch that shit.

“Thank you for coming all this way, Bakugou,” Todoroki says, polite as always.  “And you too, Izuku, of course.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “This better be important.”

“It is.  Please take a sit.  Can I offer you a drink?”

“Nah, let’s just get to the fucking point.”

He slouches into an armchair while the other two seat themselves in a sofa across from him.

“Izuku told me that you two had a run-in with a few shadow demons.”

He snorts.  “What of it?”

“You two aren’t the only ones.  There have been demons appearing all over the city.  Including the three you destroyed, it makes eleven in the past couple weeks, and who knows how many more are out there that we haven’t even found yet.”  He pulls out a map, several different locations on it marked with tiny, precise X’s. “So far, they’ve always been sighted in or around the city center.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow.  “Did you find out why?”

Todoroki shakes his head.  “The portal that my family watches over is closely monitored at all times and no one can come or go without us knowing.  If a new portal had opened, the energy shift should be big enough that we’d notice.”

“Should be, but it also might not be,” Midoriya interjects.  “All of the new demons sighted have been small, weak. Couldn’t it be possible for them to squeeze through a portal small enough that you wouldn’t notice?”

Todoroki glances sideways at him.  Then he shrugs. “It’s possible.”

“So that might be the how, but we still don’t fuckin’ know why,” Bakugou grumbles.

“Or who,” adds Midoriya.  “It’s unlikely the demons are doing it themselves, there must be someone more powerful orchestrating it.”

“I’ve asked a few others I trust to keep an eye out, but the more people we have on watch, the better,” Todoroki says.  “That extends to you two as well.”

Bakugou grumbles under his breath.

Todoroki raises an eyebrow.  “It would be in your best interest to cooperate.  We have to figure this out before it draws the attention of some demon hunters.  I know neither of us would want that.”

“Fucking—Fine.  Yeah, I’ll let you know if I see any more weird shit.”

Todoroki’s demeanor doesn’t change, but Midoriya lets out a relieved breath.

“Thank you Kacchan.”

“I’m not helping for your sake either, you nerd.”

He smiles.  “Of course not.”

Bakugou stands abruptly.  “That it, then?”

“Oh!”  Midoriya shoots a hopeful glance towards the Icyhot bastard, and he gets a nod in response.  “Would you want to stay and feed? I can show you—“

“Not interested.”  He turns on his heel and stalks out, not willing to listen any further.

Chapter Text

The next morning Bakugou sneaks out before Midoriya is even awake.  He hasn’t had a chance to use his hiking gear in months, but his boots still fit comfortably and his backpack is a welcome weight.  It’s only a little after six in the morning, the sun just starting to illuminate the city, the morning mist not yet evaporated.

When he gets to the station, Kirishima is already waiting there for him, thankfully in an outfit that was actually suitable for hiking—Bakugou was afraid he might just wear gym clothes.

“You managed to wake up on time,” Bakugou teases with a smirk.

“You say that like you’re surprised.”  Kirishima smiles, reaching for Bakugou once he’s close enough.  “Who was it that got up first and made breakfast yesterday?”


Instead of answering, Bakugou gives in to the unspoken request for a kiss, leaning up as Kirishima dips his head down.  It feels strangely natural, though it’s their first time kissing so casually in greeting. It’s slow and lazy, nothing like the desperate kisses exchanged before, but still filled with longing and affection for the other.  Kirishima sighs into the kiss before pulling away slowly.

Bakugou takes a moment before opening his eyes, but when he does, he finds Kirishima looking down at him fondly. 

“Good morning.”

“’Morning, Shitty Hair.  Ready to hike?”

“You bet.  What about you?  You good?”


He smirks and leans in to whisper, “I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to walk straight?”

Bakugou shoves at him.  “I’m fine. Guess you’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Guess so.” Kirishima dodges a mock punch with a playful grin and stands up straight, mood shifting back to something more casual.  “Where are we headed?”

“The mountains, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but which mountains?”

“You’ll see.”

He trails behind Bakugou as they buy their train tickets.  Bakugou insists on paying this time, and Kirishima lets him.

The train is nearly empty, devoid of weekday commuters, and takes them outside of the city.  The dull, grey landscape filled with buildings and electrical lines is slowly replaced by open fields and farmland.  That, too, fades away as the train takes them into the rolling greens of the mountains, the land rising up, only to swallow them into long, dark train tunnels until they come out the other side.

They get off at a small station, the only ones to do so, and from there take a bus for another forty minutes until they get to the head of a hiking trail.  The bus stop is a barely-legible sign, and the trail head isn’t clearly marked, but the scenery is undoubtedly beautiful.

“Wow,” Kirishima whispers, his breath creating clouds of condensation in the cool mountain air.  “I’ve never even heard of this hiking spot. How do you know about it?”

“I do my research,” Bakugou shrugs and stretches his legs one at a time.  “Having to deal with people in the city is one thing, but I hate having to deal with crowds when I hike.  I avoid the popular areas.”

He starts off at a brisk pace down the trail, and lets Kirishima follow, confident that the redhead is capable of keeping up.  They continue on in comfortable silence, Bakugou finding calm with every step further up into the mountains. He’d actually been afraid Kirishima’s presence on the trail might annoy him, but it’s quite the opposite.  Every now and then he’ll hear the footsteps behind him pause and he’ll look over his shoulder to see what the hold up is. The sight of Kirishima, brought to a halt in wonder as he takes in the view of the landscape through a break in the trees, or a small stream gurgling across the path, or a glistening, dew-covered cobweb, is almost too much to bear.

And every time Kirishima notices that Bakugou has stopped to wait for him, his smile is so bright, Bakugou has to whip back around to hide his blush, ignoring the sound of Kirishima’s quick footsteps rushing to catch up behind him, his elated breaths at his back.

This ridiculous idiot, this goddamn human puppy.  Bakugou finds himself looking forward to reaching the summit even more than usual, just so he can find out how Kirishima will react at the top.

It takes three hours, including a long break at a waterfall where Kirishima insists on snapping lots of photos, before they finally reach the end of the trail.  The view from the summit is breathtaking, a 360 view of the surrounding mountains and nearby towns, and a lake in the distance. There’s a tiny shrine there at the foot of a tree, for some unnamed human god or spirit, and Bakugou takes a seat on one of the boulders under its shade while Kirishima marvels at the scenery.

Kirishima runs to the edge to stand on the tallest rock there, his laughter giddy and his eyes glued to the horizon.  The sun is high and it bathes his face in radiance. “Bakugou, this is beautiful! It’s like you can see to the ends of the earth!” he exclaims. 

“We’re not even that high, you dumbass,” he yells, but he can’t hide his smile. 

“We’re on top of the world, and you can’t convince me otherwise!” He shouts into the wind.

He twists around to grin at Bakugou, but the blonde just smirks back.

Kirishima jumps down and jogs back to where Bakugou is sitting, dropping his backpack down, before sliding down onto the ground himself, using the boulder that Bakugou is sitting on as a backrest.

“Did you bring food, Shitty Hair?”

“Yeah, you said this would be an all-day thing.  I’ve got a sandwich and some energy bars.”

“Good,” he says, pulling out his own bento.  He made a second one for Kirishima, just in case, but he keeps it tucked away in his bag. 

Kirishima ogles the box full of sushi and veggies in Bakugou’s lap.  “Wow, that looks awesome, where did you get that?” he asks.

“Made it,” he grunts.

“You made that?  It looks better than the stuff I see in the supermarket.”

Bakugou picks up a piece of sushi and holds it to Kirishima’s mouth.  The redhead blinks, before opening his mouth to eat it from Bakugou’s fingers.  The noise he makes as he chews is more than appreciative.

“Bakugou, that’s amazing.  Are you secretly a sushi chef?  What else are you hiding from me?”

He was hiding a whole damn lot actually.  The spike of guilt is unexpected and he falters.  “This is amateur stuff,” he says, trying to cover his slip, but he can already see that Kirishima noticed something.  Dammit.

He shoves the whole bento at Kirishima to distract him.  “Here, if you like it so much.”

Kirishima fumbles not to drop the food suddenly in his lap. “Wait—no, I don’t want to take your food!”

“Fuck.  You aren’t.”  Bakugou pulls the second bento out and avoids his gaze as he opens it and starts to shove food into his mouth.  Technically, he doesn’t particularly need to eat human food anyway.

“Did you… Did you make me a lunch?” Kirishima asks.

“Just shut up and eat it.”

“Bakugou!”  He grins happily, leaning against Bakugou’s knee.  “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Bakugou looks away, flustered.  “It’s just—lunch! I just thought you might like it.”

“I do like it.  I like you,” Kirishima says, matter-of-fact.  He presses his face to Bakugou’s thigh. “I know it’s only been a short while, but you make me really happy, you know that?”

“You sap.”  He doesn’t know what else to say, so he falls back on insults.  His heartbeat flutters and he kind of wants to throw up. But in a good way.  The fuck?

Kirishima chuckles.  “I kind of am, yeah.”

He stays there, leaning against Bakugou’s leg until they’ve both finished their food.  Afterwards, they rest in contented silence, the weather too good to not stay there for just a few more minutes to enjoy the scenery.

Kirishima stands to get a better view from the edge again, and this time Bakugou follows.  The surrounding forests and farms and distant pinpricks of civilization are like replicas on a map, so tiny they don’t seem real anymore.

“Think we can see our city from here?” he jokes.  He points vaguely west. “We’re in that direction, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, about.”

“Hmm.”  He pulls out his phone, snapping a quick photo of the view.  Then he taps the screen to flip the camera and takes a selfie.

Bakugou finds himself being tugged into the frame, and he tries to pull away.  “I don’t take selfies,” he argues.

“Well, you’re not the one taking it, I am!” Kirishima argues back.  “Please? So I can look back on today?”

Bakugou grumbles, but allows Kirishima to pull him closer.  He crosses his arms with a pout as the redhead puts an arm around his waist and smiles at the camera while the other holds the camera out at arm’s length to get both of them on the screen.  He takes a few, then immediately puts his arm down to check them, flipping through each of the shots.

“You done?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to smile?”


“Then I guess I’m done.”

“You gonna let go of me now?”

“Don’t wanna.”  Kirishima pockets his phone and tightens his grip around Bakugou’s waist with a grin.

“What are you, five?”  But Bakugou isn’t exactly struggling to get out of his grip.

“This is punishment for not smiling,” Kirishima teases.

“Oh, is it?”

“Mmhmm,” he nods, pressing them closer together.

“Then I have to inform you, this is only going to encourage me to never fucking smile ever again,” Bakugou says, struggling to keep a smirk off his face.

“Oh, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad,” Kirishima whispers, and finally closes the distance, catching Bakugou’s mouth before he can respond, kissing him soundly.

Bakugou responds in turn, sighing softly as he relaxes into the hold.  He’s never enjoyed kissing before. In the past, it’s always just been a means to an end.  But Kirishima’s kisses are something else. Electrifying and soothing all at once, a promise of something more without the rush to get there.  He’s playing with disaster, toeing a line by getting so involved with a human, but he can’t help but forget about all that when he feels so safe and secure in Kirishima’s arms.

Kirishima pulls a hand to Bakugou’s face, his thumb rubbing at his cheek.  “There’s my smile.”

“You cheated, you bastard.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”  He gives him one last peck on the mouth.  “Come on, we should probably start heading down, huh?”

Bakugou grumbles, but he agrees.  It’s past noon now, and they still needed to get back down the mountain and take the bus and the train back home.  “Back to the fucking concrete jungle.”

At Kirishima’s questioning look, he continues, “I hate the city.  There’s so much goddamn beauty in nature, I don’t get why humans ruin it with all their concrete and pollution.”

Kirishima seems to consider his comment seriously.  “I think people have a hard time seeing the big picture.  If more people came out to the mountains like this, maybe they’d appreciate it more.”

“Then we’d have to deal with a bunch of fucking extras on our hike.”

Kirishima grins and grabs his hand.  “Yeah, I like when it’s just the two of us, too.”

Bakugou blushes, but doesn’t let go of his hand as they begin their descent.  There are a few points where the trail narrows and they have to let go, but by the time they reach the bus stop, Kirishima has their fingers gently intertwined once more.

The journey back is just as long, but tempered by the fact that they’re worn out from the hike and much more relaxed, leaning against each other in the half-empty train car, the golden rays of sunset bathing the seats in a warm glow and glinting off the metal handholds.

Bakugou is just alert enough to realize that his stop is approaching.  The droll sound of the train conductor’s voice calls out his station on the train’s announcement system, and the blonde tenses, but makes no indication of getting up.  He feels Kirishima’s hand twitch slightly around his, but he doesn’t move either, and neither say a word as the train doors open and then close again. Bakugou relaxes once more against Kirishima’s side.

He doesn’t know why he was so tense in the first place?  Nervous? But why? Because Kirishima might tell him to go home?  Might not want to let him come back with him tonight? Where did all of Bakugou’s cocky arrogance go?  He usually has no trouble demanding whatever he wants, but that apparently disappears when faced with Kirishima.  

Being around someone who actually seems to enjoy his company is unexpectedly stressful.  It creates all kinds of expectations and doubts, and he’s really not used to it. 

Kirishima’s stop is announced a few minutes later, and the redhead stands, releasing Bakugou’s hand only long enough to grab both of their backpacks from the overhead shelves.  He holds his hand out again immediately after, wiggling his fingers until Bakugou takes it with a roll of his eyes. They step off the train together and make their way leisurely to Kirishima’s apartment. 

It’s a sharp contrast to the other night, when Bakugou felt like he was about to jump out of his skin, unable to get inside fast enough.  Now he doesn’t even know what he’s doing or what he wants. Kirishima will probably suggest they eat dinner. Are they going to relax and wind down over a meal together like some normal couple?  Would Kirishima fuck him again? He doesn’t know. The only thing he’s sure of is that he just doesn’t want to leave yet.

They shuck off their hiking shoes in the entryway, and drop their backpacks on the floor of the hallway.  Then Kirishima is grabbing for him, pushing him against the wall to press lips against lips, hands against hands, and yes , Bakugou is all for this.  They’re both dirty and sweaty, muscles aching after a long day of exercise.  Kirishima smells salty and sweaty and human , but it’s not bad, it’s not bad at all.  Bakugou has no idea what he smells like, but Kirishima must not mind too much, judging by the way he’s kissing his way along Bakugou’s jawline to the pulse point at his neck.  He licks at the sweat gathered there, then fixates on a spot just below his ear and sucks hard, drawing a quiet whine from Bakugou. After a moment, he pulls back, giving the spot one last gentle kiss where there must surely be the start of a fresh bruise.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he whispers.  He draws back, giving Bakugou space again. “That was rude of me.  You want to take a shower? I can lend you some clothes, though they’ll be a bit big on you.”

Bakugou huffs, still leaning against the wall for support.  He still doesn’t know what they’re doing right now. “Is it okay that I came back with you like this?  I know you have work tomorrow. I should have said something earlier…”

Kirishima’s face splits into a rueful grin.  “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?” He ruffles Bakugou’s hair and goes to his bedroom, coming back with a towel and a set of what looks like old gym clothes, and sets them on the rim of the sink in his bathroom.  “They’ll be loose, but at least the shorts have a drawstring, so you can tighten them.”

“Thanks,” Bakugou mutters.  He’s eyeing the tiny bathroom, mentally arguing the pros and cons of asking Kirishima to join him in the shower, but there’s so little space that it would inevitably be more awkward than sexy.

“I’ll figure out something for us to eat, so take your time.  Yell if you need anything.”

He nods and steps inside.

The hot water feels good on his body, and Bakugou begins to scrub away the dirt and sweat from the day.  Physically, he’s not all that tired—he’s still riding the waves of energy Kirishima provided Friday night, but it had been a long day.  An enjoyable day, but long. When was the last time he’d gotten out of the city like that? He loves to explore the human world sans humans, but lately he’s just been cooped up in the bookstore.

He washes the last of the suds from his hair and turns off the water, stepping out of the tub to towel off quickly.  That’s when he realizes that Kirishima provided him with a shirt and shorts, but he doesn’t have any underwear. He briefly looks down at his dirty hiking clothes, but it’s not even a question.  He’ll go without.

He tugs on Kirishima’s clothes, and even after pulling the drawstring as tight as he could, the shorts still sag a little at his hips.  The neckline of the shirt droops low, nearly hanging off one shoulder.

He wipes away the condensation on the mirror to make sure it doesn’t look too stupid, and is suddenly met with the visual evidence of Kirishima’s attentions, the mark he’d left earlier blooming red and purple at the nape of his neck.  It isn’t too bad, would probably fade in a day, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He tilts his neck, admiring it with a smirk. He kind of likes it.

He steps out of the bathroom feeling refreshed and pads barefoot back to the kitchen, where Kirishima is crouched on the balls of his feet in front of his fridge.  The redhead hasn’t looked up yet and, feeling mischievous, he nudges his foot against Kirishima’s side hard enough to send him toppling back onto his butt with an “oof.”

Bakugou grins cheekily down at him when he looks up, and notes the way Kirishima’s eyes catch on his exposed collar and the mark at his neck.

“Shower’s free.”

Kirishima blinks and focuses on his face again.  “Ah, just a sec. I’ve got the rice cooker going, but I’m trying to figure out what to make for the main.  I’ve got some chicken…”

Bakugou takes in the ingredients already out on the counter.  “What do you usually eat?”

“Oh, I normally make myself grilled chicken over salad—healthy, but not exactly romantic,” he admits, scratching the back of his head.

Bakugou snorts.  “Let me take over.  Go shower.”

“I’m not gonna make you cook!”

“You’re not making me do shit.  Go shower, before I kick your ass.”  He nudges him again with his foot.

Kirishima pouts, but does as he’s told.  Meanwhile, Bakugou gets to work, setting aside the ingredients he needs, while putting the rest back in the fridge.

A short while later, he hears the shower turn off and the bathroom door open, but he’s too focused on the pot of food on the stove to look up.  He needs to stir it for just a bit more and add the scallions, before covering the pot with a lid and setting the timer to let it simmer for three minutes.

After he finishes that, he turns and spots Kirishima with a towel still draped over his hair, leaning in the doorway and looking at him with an expression that Bakugou doesn’t know how to categorize.  

When Kirishima realizes he’s been spotted, he seems to shake himself and he steps more fully into the space.  “That smells awesome, what are you making?”

“Oyakodon…  Or, kind of a modified version of it.  You didn’t have all the ingredients.”

“I love oyakodon!” Kirishima exclaims. “I’ll grab the bowls.  Is the rice done?”


Kirishima gets the bowls ready and when the timer goes off, Bakugou serves steaming ladles of chicken and egg over the rice.  They take their food to the small table in the corner.

Kirishima presses his palms together, chopsticks in hand. “Thank you for the food!”  He practically shovels the first bite into his mouth. “Mmph--holy crap,” he says after swallowing.  “This is so good, I could cry.”

“It’s not that--”

“Bakugou, this is so good.”  He shakes his head. “How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I’m--You just follow a recipe, it’s not hard!”

“It is, though!  Cooking is hard! Man, I can’t believe I fed you bacon and eggs for breakfast.”

“Kirishima, I literally eat cereal for breakfast almost everyday,” he deadpans.  “It’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m trying to compliment you here, babe.  Let me tell you how amazing you are.”

Bakugou swallows a piece of chicken and cocks his head, nonplussed.  “I already know I’m amazing.”

“Then let me agree with you.”

Bakugou can tell that he’s not going to let this go for some reason.  “Fine. We agree that I’m amazing. Eat your food.”

Satisfied, he does so, moaning appreciatively around every mouthful until the bowl is clean.  Bakugou finishes his shortly after, and grabs the bowls to take them to the sink.

“What--hey, stop!  What are you doing now?”

Bakugou pauses mid-step, eyebrow raised.  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like my guest is about to wash the dishes.”


“So I’m not going to let you, especially not after you made dinner.”  He grabs both of the bowls, prying them from Bakugou’s hands and setting them in the sink.  “You trying to impress me or something?”

Impress you? No, I--the fuck?!  Absolutely not.”

“Good.”  He turns back, boxing Bakugou against the wall with his arms in one fluid movement.  “Because you really don’t need to.”

Bakugou licks his lips, watching the way Kirishima’s red gaze tracks the movement.  He leans back slightly, lowering his eyelids to look up at Kirishima through his eyelashes.  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

Kirishima leans in closer, sliding a leg forward to push between Bakugou’s.  “Do you even know what a pretty picture you make? Cooking in my kitchen, wearing my clothes?”  His voice drops low, the deep tones reverberating in Bakugou’s ear, making him shiver.  “Seeing the mark I left on your skin…” He breathes over it, leaning in to kiss and then lick at his pulsepoint once more.

Bakugou moans, easing his legs apart for Kirishima’s thigh, grinding down against him.

“For such a wild thing, you sure know how to act domestic,” Kirishima purrs as he yanks the collar of Bakugou’s borrowed shirt aside, stretching it to reveal his shoulder, where he latches on to a clean, fresh patch of skin, and sucks hard.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou grunts as he scrabbles for purchase at Kirishima’s back. Domestic?  Is that what you call this? He doesn’t know, he’s never dated before, had only done what felt natural.

He pants as Kirishima’s thigh presses higher and higher, leaving Bakugou pinned against the wall with his weight barely supported on the tips of his toes.  He gives up, wrapping his legs around Kirishima’s waist instead, and the redhead gives an approving hum.

Kirishima pushes his hands past the waistband of Bakugou’s shorts and groans as he realizes he’s not wearing anything under them.  He palms Bakugou’s ass and lifts, and yeah, it’s just as hot to be carried the second time as it was the first, the way Kirishima doesn’t show any sign of strain or effort.

They don’t go as far as the bedroom this time though.  Kirishima sets him down on the tiny kitchen counter.

Bakugou twists his head around as he realizes, glaring at the dishes that still need to be washed.

“The fuck, Shitty Hair?  This isn’t domestic, this is unsanitary.”

Kirishima just chuckles. “Where else am I supposed to eat you out other than the kitchen?”

Bakugou chokes out a surprised noise, too confused to be a moan, but too aroused to be a protest.

Kirishima kneads at his ass and pulls the shorts all the way off, even as he asks, “So is that a yes?”

Bakugou can only nod, and Kirishima leans down for one more kiss before Bakugou is being hauled off the counter and flipped over to lean forward over it instead. 

“Hah,” he gasps as he’s pushed down.  “The fuck?”

But Kirishima’s hand is firm on the back of his neck, and he nudges Bakugou’s feet until he stands with them shoulder-width apart, ass in the air.  Bakugou feigns annoyance at being manhandled like this, but it’s clear enough that he enjoys it, the proof hard and heavy between his legs.

“Perfect, stay just like this, baby,” Kirishima whispers, pushing the oversized shirt up to leave a kiss between Bakugou’s shoulder blades, then drag his lips down his spine to the small of his back, then his tailbone, and then finally Bakugou hears the soft thud of knees hitting the floor when Kirishima drops down behind him.

Bakugou whimpers as his ass cheeks are cupped in Kirishima’s big hands and then spread apart as Kirishima’s tongue, hot and wet, delves between them.  He presses his forehead to the cool counter, trying to ground himself when Kirishima licks over his hole, making the filthiest sounds imaginable, as if Bakugou was the most delicious treat in the world.

When Kirishima’s tongue starts to push inside, just the tip, Bakugou squirms, his legs beginning to shift together again in an attempt to provide some friction for his cock.

Kirishima smacks him, lightly.  “Uh-uh,” he chides, even as his face is still buried in Bakugou’s ass and the blonde curses under his breath.  

Trembling, he forces himself to spread his legs again and Kirishima makes an approving noise before diving back in, one of his hands coming around to pull at Bakugou’s neglected cock as well.

“Mmf—fuck—“ Bakugou tries to muffle his own voice but it’s hard Kirishima’s tongue is pushing deeper inside, probing, and it’s different from a finger, different from a dick, but it’s good.  And Kirishima is so diligent, so thorough in his enthusiasm, it makes Bakugou feel like he might be the prey being hunted and devoured, instead of the other way around.  

Kirishima’s tongue spears into him, fucking him.  Bakugou can’t muffle his wanton sounding moans anymore.

In all his years of seduction and sex, Bakugou has never experienced this, has never even considered it—was only ever interested in pursuing the final orgasm, the feeding.  What else has he been missing out on?

Kirishima’s lips close over his hole and give a lewd suck, and the incubus positively squeals with surprise.  His legs are trembling, the muscles of his thighs fighting to not collapse inwards.

The slurping, sucking noises behind him should be disgusting, but instead they leave him gasping, drool dripping from his panting mouth and his cock leaking messily onto Kirishima’s kitchen floor.

Kirishima finally pulls away enough to groan, “God, Bakugou…”

Bakugou clenches his fists, finding enough strength to prop himself up and look over his shoulder at how wrecked Kirishima looks, spit all over his mouth and chin, his pupils blown wide.

“Why’d you fuckin’ stop?” he practically slurs.

Kirishima grabs hold of Bakugou’s hips in a proprietary grip.  “You’re so good, so tight, Bakugou. I wanna fuck you again. Let me? Please?”

“Shit—yes.  Yes,” he gasps, spreading his legs even wider, eager.  “Fuck me, do it.”

Kirishima groans.  “Such a good boy, so good for me, baby,” he whispers, pressing a finger in to take up the space is tongue had previously occupied.  His pampered hole is so wet with spit, he doesn’t even really need lube, he thinks, but Kirishima gets up to get some anyway.

When he comes back, Kirishima doesn’t return to his knees, but instead stands just behind Bakugou’s splayed form.  He’s more confident in his own movements and with Bakugou’s body—he quickly locates Bakugou’s prostate from this new angle and adds each finger one by one as Bakugou’s rim stretches to accomodate him.  He does things with his fingers, delicious things that have Bakugou practically humping the counter with his desperate need to find some relief.

All too soon, but not soon enough, Kirishima is lining up the head of his cock with Bakugou’s hole and pushing in.  He’s just as slow, just as careful as last time, but with none of the fear, none of the hesitation, since Bakugou has shown that he is absolutely capable of taking it.

Bakugou’s voice cracks on a groan once Kirishima is sheathed all the way inside.

“Fuck, yes, baby.  Look at you, bent over for me, you take my cock so well,” Kirishima murmurs, slowly, oh so slowly, pulling out and then sliding back in.

And Bakugou preens.  Hell yeah he does, no one else can handle Kirishima’s cock like he can, no one else will ever get to have this, only him, only him, only—

“Only you, baby,” Kirishima croons in agreement.

Fuck, had he said all that out loud?

Kirishima’s pace slowly increases, gripping Bakugou’s waist tightly as he fucks him from behind.  Bakugou grunts as he clings desperately to the counter, pressed into the wood hard enough that the edge is digging into his hips, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment.

When Kirishima gets into his rhythm, he’s relentless, grunting as he pistons in and out, fucking Bakugou from behind.  Bakugou can’t turn to see him, but he can hear him, can feel Kirishima’s breaths panting and fanning against his shoulder blades, trapped by Kirishima’s hands hot on his waist and the weight of him almost smothering him from behind.

It’s intense, overwhelming, and Bakugou is delirious with the pleasure of it.  He’s completely at the mercy of Kirishima and his cock, having already lost his footing long ago, but between the counter and Kirishima’s ironclad grip, he’s not going anywhere.

“Yes,” he gasps out, arching into it.  “More, harder!”

And Kirishima complies, practically growling as he slams into him, hitting his prostate with horrible, wonderful accuracy.

“Ahh—!”  Bakugou curls into himself as much as he can as his defenses crumble and he can no longer contain himself, the deep, burning pleasure traveling through his nervous system at the speed of sound.  His voice rises in pitch and he comes, completely untouched, painting streaks of white across the kitchen cabinets and floors.

Kirishima groans as Bakugou goes taut and then pliant beneath him.  “Did you already—Baby, that’s so hot, you just—“

He can’t seem to get out a full sentence, but a few more thrusts and he’s following after, leaning possessively over Bakugou’s body and burying his face in Bakugou’s shoulder as he reaches his climax.

It’s sticky and hard and uncomfortable, but Bakugou can’t bring himself to move, too blissed out and well-fucked to care.

Kirishima is the one who eventually pulls him upright, practically peeling him off the counter.  His limbs are limp, and his whole body feels like jelly. When he tries to stand, his knees wobble and he leans heavily against Kirishima for support.  

“‘M sleepin’ here tonight.”

Kirishima is still out of breath, but he laughs anyway, and tugs Bakugou more securely against him.  

“As if I’d let you leave after that.”

Before he lets Kirishima herd him towards the bedroom, he eyes the dishes in the sink once more.

“You are going to wash those, though, right?”

Chapter Text

Bakugou had never bothered trying to hide the fact that he lives and works in a bookstore, so he should have guessed that Kirishima would eventually try to visit at some point.

It’s the week after their hike and Bakugou is blinking down at a bouquet of blindingly colorful flowers as Kirishima grins brilliantly over them.  Between the flowers and the smile, Bakugou is sure he’ll lose his eyesight if he doesn’t look away.

“I didn’t want to come empty-handed,” Kirishima says bashfully. 

Bakugou is still gaping open-mouthed, a bit at a loss as to how to react to such a clichéd romantic gift--his initial urge is to cringe, but he also feels embarrassingly flattered and he can’t decide which emotion he wants to actually convey.  Thankfully, Midoriya picks that moment to pop out from the back.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” he exclaims.  “I’ll get a vase.”

Bakugou is trying for a glare, but he can feel a blush starting to spread across his face, betraying him. Fucking emotions. “You didn’t have to bring anything…” he mutters.

“I wanted to.  And I wanted to make a good impression for your roommate.”

Bakugou snarls. “Shitty Deku doesn’t—“

“Hi!” Midoriya interrupts with exaggerated enthusiasm, popping up beside them from seemingly nowhere, and bowing.  “I’m the roommate. Midoriya Izuku is my actual name, Kacchan probably never mentioned that. You must be Kirishima.  It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you!”

Kirishima bows back. “Ah, likewise of course!”

Then Midoriya leans forward, crossing that imaginary line into Kirishima’s personal space, and Bakugou stiffens as he recognizes all the tell-tale signs of his Allure.

“I can certainly see why you caught Kacchan’s eye.  You’re quite a handsome guy.”

“Fuck off, Deku, he’s mine!” he snaps before he can help himself.

Kirishima takes a step back and grabs Bakugou around the shoulders to lean bodily against him.  Unaffected by the Allure and unaware of Midoriya’s little test, Kirishima just laughs. “Relax, babe.  As if I’d even look at anyone else when you’re in the room.”  

Bakugou mutters curses under his breath.  But instead of being annoyed by Kirishima’s weight, the blatant show of his preference is reassuring.  Kirishima has no idea the stunt that stupid nymph just tried to pull, but at least now Midoriya has proof of Kirishima’s immunity--and he gets to flaunt his sexy date.  

It should be a win-win, but he still feels unsettled.

“So this is your bookstore.  Wow,” Kirishima says, changing the subject, but also sounding genuinely impressed.  “I can’t believe you two are business owners, that’s so cool.”

“It was my mother’s,” Midoriya explains, providing their usual fake background.  “I inherited it, but it was too much for just me. And despite how he acts, Kacchan and I have been friends since childhood.”

“Kacchan, huh?” 

“Don’t,” Bakugou growls in warning.

“Okay, fine,” Kirishima chuckles. “Bakubabe, then?”

Bakugou just growls some more and wriggles out from under Kirishima’s arm. “Fuck off, Shitty Hair, I’ve got work to do,” he huffs as he stalks towards the back shelves.

“I didn’t hear a no!” 

Bakugou snorts, but he really does have to finish some inventory work, so he flips them off without looking back and disappears behind some shelves.  He can still hear his two losers talking softly, but makes a point of not eavesdropping on whatever it is. Midoriya knows better than to bring up certain topics, and Kirishima is probably just making small talk anyway.  He isn’t curious, not at all. Even if said small talk is probably about him.

A few minutes later, Kirishima comes to find him in the back.  He leans against the shelves next to where Bakugou is standing with a box full of books at his feet and a clipboard in hand.

“Sorry for bothering you during business hours.”

“You’re not. Bothering me, that is.”


“I’m annoyed, ‘cause I know Deku’s gonna give me shit later, but… no.  You can visit whenever, I don’t give a fuck.”

Kirishima smiles, shoulders relaxing.  “I’m glad. I was afraid I overstepped.  But I wanted to meet Midoriya and see your place.  He’s so much nicer than you described!” Before Bakugou can argue otherwise, he adds, “Also you look really hot with that clipboard, babe.”

“Oh? Are you the kind of dork who gets turned on by things like glasses?”

“Why, do you have a pair?”

Bakugou smirks and sets his clipboard aside. “I don’t, but that’s good to know.”

Kirishima leans in closer. “I fully expect you to use this knowledge against me.”

“Of fucking course.”  Bakugou turns to allow Kirishima to press him back into the shelves and pin him by his shoulders, thankful that they were against a wall and not one of the freestanding rows.  

Kirishima closes the last remaining distance between them and kisses Bakugou softly.  Bakugou allows his eyes to flutter shut and his hands fist in Kirishima’s shirt, but he doesn’t make any move to deepen the kiss, letting Kirishima take his time brushing their lips together, tasting him, savouring him.  Gentle butterfly kisses that make only the softest sounds.

Kirishima sighs with contentment, finally deepening the kiss, but he quickly pulls back with a groan.

“We shouldn’t, not here,” he mutters.

Bakugou makes a small noise of complaint, but lets Kirishima go when he steps back and they both take a moment to straighten their clothes.

“I should probably let you get back to work for now.  Wanna get dinner with me tonight, though?” he asks hopefully.

“Dinner where?” Bakugou replies.  Though it’s not like he’s about to say no.

“One of my coworkers told me about a new Thai restaurant. I hear their spicy food is really good,” he teases.

Bakugou smirks. “We’ll have to find out for ourselves then, won’t we?”

Bakugou walks Kirishima out to the front door and pulls him down for one more kiss, flipping Midoriya off over his shoulder as he does so.  When he lets him go, Kirishima grins knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“See you later Bakubabe!” he says with a wink, and is out the door before Bakugou can yell at him for it.

Bakugou sniffs in irritation, but watches the redhead through the window until he’s out of sight.  Then he can’t help his smug smirk, turning to face Midoriya.

“So now you’ve fucking met Kirishima.  Keep your hands off him.”  

Midoriya’s expression, however, is not the sweet envy he was hoping for.

“Kacchan, I think you should stop seeing him,” he says seriously.

Bakugou’s mood sours instantly. “Why the fuck should I?” he growls. “You jealous that a beautiful fucking man wants to rail me and bring me flowers?”

“Use your fucking head, Kacchan!”  And Midoriya swears so rarely that it actually makes Bakugou pause.  “I admit that I couldn’t sense anything off about him myself, but there’s gotta be something.  He should have never retained his memories after the first night with you—hell, he should have given in to your allure the first time you spoke and then you both could have forgotten about each other and moved on!”

Bakugou grits his teeth, but Midoriya isn’t finished.  

“It isn’t fair to Kirishima, either.  If he can’t forget about you, then he thinks he’s getting invested in a real relationship.  But he has no idea what you are and no idea that he can’t have a future with you.”

Bakugou chokes on the response he’d been about to spit out and swallows past the sudden lump in his throat.  Instead, he regroups enough to mutter, “We’ve never officially said that we’re dating.” It sounds weak, even to him.

Midoriya smiles sadly.  “You should have seen the way he was looking at you, Kacchan.”

Bakugou closes his eyes, resigned.  He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but: “How was he looking at me?”

“Like you’re someone precious.”

Bakugou bites his bottom lip but doesn’t say anything more, fists clenching and unclenching as he still stands in the entryway of their shop.

“If you care about him like I think you’re starting to, you should end this soon.  Otherwise he’s going to get hurt. And Kacchan,” Midoriya pauses like he isn’t sure he should continue.  “You look at him the same way.”

Bakugou would deny it, but he’s not stupid.  Midoriya’s right. He hates that he’s right, and he hates even more that he didn’t notice it himself--or rather, he had noticed it, but he’d elected to ignore it.  He’d been enjoying his time with Kirishima so much that he pretended the situation was still under control, pretended it wasn’t that serious, and pushed any rational thought to the side.  

Well, it’s too late now.  Without him fully realizing it, the initial desire had spiraled out of control until the feelings had morphed into affection and fondness and even—

“Tch,” he grimaces. He has no one to blame but himself.

Long seconds trickle by.  There are no customers in the store at the moment to distract them, and the only movement is that of the dustmites that float in the sunbeams streaming through the window.

“They spotted more of those shadow demons in the red light district,” Midoriya says abruptly, and Bakugou grudgingly appreciates the change in subject.  He doesn’t have the ability to process these emotions at the moment; he would just stew in them endlessly and nothing productive would come of it. So, for now, he sets them aside.

“Yeah?  Who found them?”

“One of Shouto’s people.”

Bakugou wants to say something rude, but he bites his tongue.  He doesn’t have a leg to stand on, as far as relationship choices are concerned.  “Of course it was,” he says instead. “Did they catch ‘em or kill ‘em?”

“Killed them, unfortunately.  They’ve proven hard to catch alive.  Not that I think it will do much good even if they are captured, since from what I can tell they are always of very low intelligence.  Though we have noticed one alarming trait.”

“And what’s that?”

“It was hard to pick out the pattern at first, since they’ve been spotted by different people each time, but it seems as though they’re becoming more powerful with each encounter.  The two of us took on three easily enough, but the ones last night had to be taken down one-on-one, and gave them a bit of trouble from what I hear.”

Bakugou huffs.  “Maybe Todoroki’s people are weaklings.”

Midoriya shakes his head.  “I’ve met them. They aren’t pushovers.  I’ve been working with Shouto to come up with a way we can identify them more easily and get more information.  Right now, we’ve been hacking into city CCTV to keep an eye out, but he only has so many eyes.”

Bakugou crosses his arms.  “Is it really that serious?”

Midoriya starts wiping down the counter absentmindedly.  “It might not be. Maybe it is just a fluke, and there’s a hole in the portal somewhere and we’ll find it, patch it up, and everything will go back to normal.”


He shrugs.  “But what if it isn’t?  What if they keep appearing?  Is there someone from the demon realm purposely trying to wreak havoc, to revive the old ways?  Or what if these monsters draw the attention of the demon hunters? Then it won’t just be human lives in danger.  There are too many scenarios to list, Kacchan.”

“Fine, point made.”  He rubs his hands together, looking around at their bookshop, at everything they’ve built together these past few years.  

Demons aren’t what they used to be.  Feeding on humans used to mean killing them, draining them of energy until their life force was gone.  But anyone who’d spent enough time in the human world had realized that living in modern society, creating a life side by side with the humans, as long as the humans themselves were unaware of it, was infinitely more enjoyable.  And besides, who would bother listening to tortured screams when punk rock already existed?

But there are a few demons left who value ”tradition,” who still lurk in the depths of the demon world, practicing the old ways, wreaking havoc, and causing harm purely for the joy of it.

Sick fucks, in Bakugou’s opinion.  The reason demons still have a bad reputation.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks grudgingly.

Though it pains him to work with the half and half bastard, he knows logically that they most efficient way to deal with the problem is to work together.

Midoriya’s lips quirk into a small smile and the nymph doesn’t have to say anything for Bakugou to know that he’s proud of Bakugou for making that step towards teamwork on his own.  

It pisses him off.

“I’ll talk to Shouto, but I’m sure he’ll ask if you can help with patrols.  He knows your strengths lie in combat, not intel.”

“Oi, what’re you tryin’ to say?!” he rages, kicking a foot up on to the edge of their front desk.  “In case you haven’t noticed Deku, we work in a fucking book shop. I’m plenty good at intel!!”

Midoriya holds up his hands placatingly.  “Okay, I’ll tell him you want to help with reviewing the security footage.”

Bakugou snorts.  “Fuck that, I’d rather be out in the city.  But I’m good at both roles. Asshole.”

Midoriya sighs.

After that conversation, Bakugou firmly ignores Midoriya for the rest of the afternoon, but he can’t escape his own thoughts.  The demon issue was a nice distraction, but there’s no way he can forget about what Midoriya had said before that.  

He wants to hit something.  Give him a physical target to punch or blow up, and he’s just fine, but inner conflict?  He doesn’t know how to deal with a scenario where he, himself, is the problem, and by the time evening rolls around, he still doesn’t know the right course of action.

Kirishima seems to sense something as soon as he spots Bakugou outside the restaurant.  And why wouldn’t he? Bakugou might have a secret or two about his identity that he won’t talk about, but he’s never bothered to hide his emotions, and Kirishima can read him better than pretty much anyone, aside from maybe Midoriya.

“Something wrong?” he asks softly when he leans down to kiss him and is met with half-hearted enthusiasm, a stark contrast to how he’d been acting at the bookstore only a few hours earlier.


Kirishima stares down at him dubiously with barely concealed concern.

You should have seen the way he was looking at you, echoes in Bakugou’s head.  

“Let’s go in, already!  I’m starving.”

Kirishima lets it slide for now and they make their way into the restaurant.  They get seated immediately at a table by the window.

“What’s the spiciest thing here?” Bakugou asks absentmindedly as he flips through their menu.

“I knew you’d ask that,” Kirishima says with a grin.  “So I did a bit of research, and I hear their gaeng som curry is killer.”

Bakugou licks his lips.  “I want that then.”

“You’re so brave, Bakubabe!” he teases, only wincing slightly at the kick he receives for the nickname.

They flag down the waiter to order and then they’re left alone again.  Kirishima rambles about something or other that happened at work, but Bakugou is having trouble focusing on anything he’s saying.  Instead, he watches his mouth, the cheerful tilt of his lips, the sun-kissed skin of his face--a face that would start to show signs of aging in the next few years, unlike Bakugou’s.

He has no idea that he can’t have a future with you.

Selfish, selfishly, Bakugou has only been thinking of himself.  He’s been enjoying how convenient it is to not have to loiter in bars looking for targets, to know that he could so easily satisfy his appetite and not have to sneak out of the building afterwards.  Enjoying the chance to experience human romance, since he wasn’t likely to have another opportunity. Not to mention, he’d been marvelling at how good it felt to be liked by someone.

How good it felt to like someone.

He suddenly realizes Kirishima has stopped talking and is looking at him with a pinched expression now.  Bakugou startles when he grabs his hand.  

“Are you sure you’re alright?  You’re spacing out on me. You know you can talk to me if there’s anything bothering you, right?”

Bakugou blinks.  “No, yeah. Sorry.  What were you saying?”

“Hey, don’t--”

“Pad thai omelette and gaeng som curry?” they waiter interrupts, appearing at their side so abruptly, they both jump.  The two of them are silent as he sets the dishes down, asks if they need anything else, and then takes his leave.

Bakugou makes himself focus.  The smell of the spices helps, strong enough that he can tell without even taking a bite that it’s going to be good.  He grabs his spoon, ladling it full of the orange curry, and hums around the mouthful as the flavor sets fire to his tongue in the best way.  

“Fuck, this is good,” he admits, surprised.

But Kirishima doesn’t look like he’s about to forget about Bakugou’s earlier pensiveness anytime soon, fucking persistent bastard, so Bakugou does the only thing he can think of to deflect his inevitable question--he shoves the next spoonful directly into Kirishima’s mouth.

“Kgh!!” Kirishima makes a sound like he’s choking, his face changing color so fast, it’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out.  His tan skin blooms into a violent red, the color matching his dyed locks, and he makes a desperate dive for the water glass like a dying man.

“Too hot?” Bakugou asks casually as he takes another bite himself.

“How are you--” he can’t even talk, cutting himself off to drink more water as tears run down his face.

“Better get used to it, or you won’t be able to kiss me again anytime tonight.”

Kirishima pouts, dabbing at his face with a napkin.  “Not fair! Can you not taste capsicum or something? You’re ability to eat spicy food is practically inhuman.”

Bakugou inhales sharply.  His teasing jab hit too close to home.  “Shut up,” is the only comeback he manages.

Kirishima, too perceptive, pauses to slide a hand back across the table.  It hovers over Bakugou’s with an unspoken question, giving him time to pull away if he needs to.  And Bakugou needs to. He really needs to start drawing that line. He knows he needs to stop giving in to Kirishima if he’s going to put an end to this relationship.  

But he doesn’t want to.

Kirishima’s hand closes over his own, and he lets it, is comforted by it, despite himself.  

“If I can’t kiss you, then I guess I’ll just have to use my mouth for other things,” Kirishima says then, an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.  “Like eating this pad thai!” He takes an enthusiastic bite, packing enough noodles into his mouth to make his cheeks bulge.

Bakugou struggles to contain the smile that threatens to spread across his face.  This fucking idiot. He looks away with a hand over his mouth and he kicks at Kirishima under the table again.  “God, you’re embarrassing.”

But Kirishima’s expression is smug enough that he can tell he wasn’t able to fool him.

Bakugou insists on paying this time, though Kirishima puts up a decent argument against it.  But it might be his last meal with him, after all. It’s the least he can do, even if the thought sours his mood even worse than before.

Leaving the restaurant, Kirishima tugs Bakugou’s hand into his own and starts walking them in the direction of his apartment without a word.  It’s quite close to the restaurant, so this was probably the plan all along, but Bakugou is conflicted.

He should say something, shouldn’t he?  It’s just the two of them on the sidewalk, the cool night air to ground him, no one around to distract them.  He can put an end to this would-be relationship and walk away, quick and painless.

“Kirishima…” Bakugou starts slowly.

“Come back to mine?” he interrupts, leaning down into Bakugou’s space, practically nuzzling the side of his head to speak softly into his ear.  “Want you to fuck me this time.”

Bakugou sucks in a breath, heat warming his cheeks and rushing through him so quickly it’s a shock to his system, his body language transitioning from reluctant to aroused within the barely-there pause between steps.  He doesn’t reply, but when Kirishima begins walking faster, Bakugou follows.

By the time they stumble through Kirishima’s apartment door, there’s so much blood rushing south that any logical thought has indefinitely been put on hold.

To an incubus, fucking means feeding.  And don’t get him wrong, Bakugou definitely likes the sexual aspect, but being able to sate his hunger has always been the priority, first and foremost.  That usually means letting others fuck him; it’s just easier that way. Besides, he truly enjoys bottoming for a skilled top, so it’s no hardship.

But right now, Kirishima is shucking his jeans and boxers off and crawling backwards on his bed, and Bakugou can’t remember the last time he wanted to get on top of someone so bad.  He chases Kirishima for a kiss, pressing their lips together and grinding their hips together with equal measures of ferocity, savoring the groan that elicits. 

Bakugou has his hands on Kirishima’s chest, digging his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.  Careless--a button pops off as he pulls it over Kirishima’s head. Judging by the way he tosses it into a corner and leans back up into Bakugou’s touch hungrily, he doesn’t mind much.

Bakugou huffs a desperate laugh--this isn’t right, he was supposed to be cutting Kirishima off today, he was supposed to--

“Want you inside me, Bakugou,” Kirishima says huskily.  “Know you’ll feel so good.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou groans.  Some demon he is. Who’s tempting who, here?

Kirishima’s hands are running restlessly over his thighs, his hips, climbing higher as soon as Bakugou yanks his shirt off.  “Your pants too, baby. Take everything off.”

Bakugou scrambles to obey, pushing his jeans down his hips, shimmying in a way that sacrifices his dignity in exchange for expediency.  When they’re both naked, he climbs back over Kirishima, searching out his mouth once more.

Kirishima meets him halfway, pulling him down for a hungry kiss.  It’s Bakugou that presses their erections together, but Kirishima is the one who spreads his knees and hooks a leg around Bakugou’s hip. Bakugou chokes back a moan when Kirishima grabs his cock in lube-slick hand--he hadn’t even noticed the bottle on the bed.

“How do you want me, baby?  Wanna watch me open myself up for you?  Or do you wanna take your time slicking up my hole yourself?”  Kirishima’s free hand winds its way into Bakugou’s hair to yank him back and he gasps.  Kirishima whispers in his ear, “Personally, I want to feel your slender, pretty little fingers working me open.  But it’s up to you.”

Bakugou shudders.  “Yes, yes, let me,” he chokes out.

Kirishima releases him with a quick kiss, then Bakugou finds the bottle of lube shoved into his hand and Kirishima is leaning back, spreading his legs even wider, his huge cock curving up towards his stomach.  Even though Kirishima is the one on display, it’s Bakugou who feels vulnerable. He’s not sure where to start, wants to lick and touch every inch of Kirishima’s body, but he also wants to make sure he does this right, wants to make Kirishima feel good.

So he multitasks.  He sucks the head of Kirishima’s cock into his mouth even as he’s pouring the lube onto his fingers.  Kirishima’s hips twitch as Bakugou rubs his fingers over his entrance, the first finger just barely pressing in.  As soon as he starts pressing the finger in deeper, he lets his mouth sink further down Kirishima’s cock.

“Fuck, so hot Bakugou,” Kirishima gasps.  “Give me more, I can take more.”

Bakugou wants more, wants to take everything Kirishima has to give.  He presses the second finger in with the first, massaging the hot inner walls of Kirishima’s hole as he laves the underside of his cock with his tongue.  His hunger has nothing to do with being an incubus and everything to do with wanting to savor any and every part of Kirishima himself.

His last supper, he thinks to himself ironically.

Kirishima’s panting, a hand in Bakugou’s hair, though he doesn’t push or pull, just settles for grasping at the blond strands.  “So good to me, baby,” he mutters as Bakugou bobs his head up and down, pushes his fingers in and out. His breath hitches when Bakugou adds a third finger.

Bakugou’s jaw aches, and he can barely focus on keeping his movements in synch, he’s so hard.  He wants to touch himself, wants to hump the sheets, anything to take the pressure off, but instead he just takes a deep breath through his nose, and reminds himself that it will all be worth it soon enough, when he gets to sink inside of Kirishima’s tight hole.

So he forces himself to relax, relaxes his jaw, his throat, so he’s ready when he curls his fingers up to stroke Kirishima’s prostate and his jolt of surprise and pleasure has his hips jumping up to thrust into Bakugou’s mouth.

“Bakugou, you’re so--fuck!”  He thrusts up again, and Bakugou gives an encouraging hum, stroking that spot deep inside of him once more and Kirishima gasps, but then he snarls, forcing Bakugou off of him.  

Bakugou blinks, dazed, a string of saliva still trailing from his mouth.  

Kirishima cups his face, spit and all.  “Not this time, baby. Don’t make this about me, I want you to focus on making yourself feel good, yeah?  I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

Bakugou is still confused.  “But I want to suck your cock?”

Kirishima groans, and drags Bakugou’s face closer to smash their mouths together.  “How are you so--” he doesn’t even finish the question before kissing him again, and Bakugou responds eagerly.

“I just want--” Bakugou is interrupted by Kirishima nipping at his bottom lip.  “Fuck, I just want all of you.”

“You can have me,” Kirishima whispers.  “But stop overthinking it. Just take what you need.”

Is he overthinking it?  He just wants to make sure Kirishima is feeling good with him.  But. Maybe he’s so used to focusing on feeding on his partner’s pleasure that he’s forgotten how to prioritize his own pleasure?  The irony of an incubus. But he genuinely enjoys making Kirishima feel good. If he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Kirishima is enjoying it, what would he do?

He wants to do what’s best for Kirishima.  But what does he want for himself? What is he allowed to have?

“I don’t know what I need,” he confesses.

Kirishima pulls back to look at him again.  Bakugou feels pathetic. He’s ruining the mood.

But fuck, there shouldn’t be a mood.  He shouldn’t even be there right now. He was supposed to walk away for good.  What was he doing?

Kirishima rolls them over, straddling Bakugou’s thighs, taking him by surprise.  He pushes himself up so that he’s aligned with Bakugou’s cock, and then he’s sinking down quickly, too quickly, enveloping Bakugou in his tight heat, giving him a perfect view of those muscled thighs working to hover over him.

Kirishima bites his lip as he rolls his hips, adjusting to the feeling.  “If you won’t take me,” he murmurs, “then I’m just going to give myself to you.”

Bakugou whines as Kirishima rises up and then drops himself back down again, fucking himself on Bakugou’s cock, his own erection bobbing in the air with every drag of his hips.

“Kirishima…” he groans.

“Shhh, baby.  It’s okay. You need someone--ah, to take control.”  He keeps talking as he bounces on Bakugou’s cock. “Someone to take care of you, to try new things with you.”  He leans forward to stabilize himself, but also to drag a hand down Bakugou’s chest, rubbing over a taut nipple.  “We’ll just have to try everything, then, until we find what it is you need.”  

He smirks down at Bakugou even as his thighs tremble from the effort of fucking himself at this new angle.

Bakugou growls.  “Fuck you!” He pushes Kirishima back, rolling them over again.  Bakugou glares down, grabbing Kirishima’s ankle to push his leg up further.  His other hand grabs Kirishima’s thigh, and he thrusts in harder, faster, the slap of skin against skin loud as he sets a punishing pace.

He finds Kirishima’s prostate again and the redhead groans loud, eyes rolling back as Bakugou aims to hit that spot every time.  

“There’s my wildcat,” Kirishima gasps.

Bakugou bows his head as he tries to chase his own pleasure, the tight heat of Kirishima’s hole pulling him back in again and again and his groan is deep and guttural.  “Touch yourself,” he demands. “Tell me how good I feel inside of you.”  

He can hear it, the tone of his voice is all wrong.  It’s not the same as Kirishima’s deep commands, he’s still just begging for praise instead of asserting authority.

Kirishima senses it too, even as he obeys with a hand on his own huge cock.  “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Can’t wait for you to come inside me, wanna milk you dry with my hole.”

Bakugou whines, his hips stuttering, but he doesn’t come.  Not yet.

Kirishima drags his hand over himself with long strokes, precum leaking all over his stomach.  “What do you need, baby? Tell me what will push you over the edge.”

Bakugou shakes his head, still driving his hips hard into Kirishima’s.  He leans down to slam their lips together in a messy kiss, and his own hand joins Kirishima’s in stroking and squeezing his cock.

“Kirishima, fuck, I need you Kirishima,” he mutters against his mouth.  “Need you to come for me. Come on, come on.”  His hand on Kirishima’s cock is pumping almost as frantically as his hips now.

“Shit!”  Kirishima goes taut, his legs squeezing against Bakugou’s back as his orgasm hits, back arching into the bed beneath them, his hole clenching tight around Bakugou’s cock.  Bakugou can feel Kirishima’s full body tremors as his cock paints both their chests, and it’s so much, endless ropes of sticky white fluid spurting from his giant cock.  

And with that, Bakugou finally follows him, his hips shuddering as he spills inside of Kirishima with a loud moan.  He collapses onto Kirishima’s chest, sticky with sweat and cum, but he’s too spent to move. Let their bodies be glued together with semen for all he cares.

Kirishima chuckles.  The sound reverberates against where Bakugou’s face is smushed into his chest.  “Wow.”

Bakugou winces.  He slips out of Kirishima and rolls off and away.  “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Hey, no, come back, why are you sorry?” Kirishima grabs him around the waist, dragging him bodily back against his chest, regardless of any body fluids.

“I’m not used to topping, I was no good at it, and don’t fucking lie to me and say I was!  I wanted to make you feel good, but instead I just…” He trails off. He was an indecisive brat.  Unable to commit to his own choices.

“I didn’t want it to be about me, though,” Kirishima confesses into Bakugou’s hair.  “I wanted you to be able to take your mind off things. At dinner it seemed like there was something bothering you, but you didn’t want to talk about it.”


“And that’s fine!” Kirishima insists.  “I’m willing to listen anytime you want to talk to me, but you don’t have to tell me stuff if you don’t want to.  I just wanted to make you feel good. Help you forget about it for a bit. Instead, I put you on the spot. It was my bad.”

Bakugou sighs.  “I’m used to being wanted.”  More softly, he adds, “I’m not used to wanting…”

Kirishima strokes over Bakugou’s hipbone with his thumb.  “But you wanted me?”

There’s a voice in Bakugou’s head that sounds suspiciously like Midoriya, screaming at him to deny it.  

But fuck that.

“I do want you.”

Kirishima squeezes him tighter, nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder.  “Good. Because despite whatever you might think, you did feel really good inside me.”  He reaches over to kiss Bakugou’s cheek. “We can try it again some other time. When you’re ready.”

Bakugou twists around to face him, peering up at Kirishima’s patient gaze.  

This was supposed to be the last time.  But--

“Another time,” he promises.

They take a quick shower, taking turns to jump under the hot stream of water and rinse themselves clean before jumping back into bed with a clean set of sheets without bothering to put on any kind of pajamas.  They settle into the bed together, but Bakugou stays awake long after Kirishima starts to softly snore.

Bakugou is pressed up against Kirishima’s back, staring at the outline of the muscles in his shoulders.  Gently, he traces a spell into his skin with a finger, lines of demonic runes, symbols for protection and strength.  As soon as he’s done, the magic simply slides off, like water rolls off a duck’s feathers.  

Kirishima is a mystery.  But he’s a mystery that Bakugou doesn’t want to give up on.  So what if Bakugou is a demon? Kirishima’s strange resistance to magic had worked in his favor so far.  Maybe there’s another answer, a way for them to stay together.

And even if there isn’t…  Even if one day they have to go their separate ways, Bakugou wants this. 

He wants to keep Kirishima in his life, even if it’s for just a short while longer.

Chapter Text

The next couple of months can only be described as a whirlwind, the likes of which Bakugou has never experienced before.  

He lets the high of Kirishima’s affections carry him through the lows created by the guilt of his deception, which he stubbornly pushes deeper and deeper into the back of his thoughts.  Kirishima takes him to dinner, movies, hiking, the amusement park, even a festival, for which Bakugou went so far as to purchase a yukata. (And based on Kirishima’s reaction when he saw him, it had been well worth it.)  Of course, after every date, they go back to Kirishima’s place to fall into bed, and he’s fucked into senseless bliss by Kirishima and his seemingly endless stamina until his brain turns to mush and he can’t feel his limbs.  Occasionally, he gets to practice bending Kirishima over too.  

They still haven’t properly defined their relationship, but there’s no question that whatever it is, it’s becoming serious.

Bakugou hasn’t reached for a cigarette in months.

The only wrench in his happiness, aside from the occasional lecture from Midoriya, is the issue of the stupid shadow demons that continue to appear with increasing frequency throughout the city.  He spends most evenings on the weekends with Kirishima, but his weeknights are spent patrolling the streets, though they’re no closer to getting to the root of the problem than they were before.  

“How the fuck are they getting through to this world?” he asks through teeth gritted in frustration, a fist slamming down on the table for emphasis.  

Invited to another useless strategy meeting by Todoroki and Midoriya, he shifts uncomfortably in the likely not-inexpensive chair, seated at a table with the aforementioned couple, as well as a handful of Todoroki’s lackeys.  A kitsune with a ponytail and a karasu tengu with a shadow familiar were among the few he recognized from his patrols.

He barely spares them a glance, ignoring them to direct the majority of his ire at the fire and ice demon at the head of the table.  “I thought only your family can control the gate here,” he growls.

“True, only a Todoroki can open the gate.”

“So how are they getting through?”

“A Todoroki is opening the gate,” the half and half bastard answers cryptically.

Midoriya bites his lip and catches Todoroki’s gaze, but he only shakes his head.  The rest of the demons seated around the table turn a blind eye, but Bakugou won’t stand for being kept out of the loop, especially regarding information that might actually be important.

“A Todoroki?  The fuck are you not saying?  I’m right here, I have eyes, I can see you doing this--this fucking thing between you!”

“You are aware of all relevant, reliable information,” Todoroki answers calmly.

“Which means there might be some less reliable information that I am not aware of,” he counters.

“Kacchan, it’s not like that!” Midoriya cuts in.  “It’s only speculation and to disseminate information before confirming whether or not--”

“Isn’t the fucking point of gathering us all together to ‘speculate’ on that kind of information, discuss shit, and then go out and confirm whether or not it’s reliable?”  He glares at his roommate.

“It’s a sensitive matter.”

“Oh, is it?” he snarls.  “Well then, that’s fine! The rest of us will just keep on fucking wasting our time out in the city, hunting down fucking vermin, and hoping we don’t draw the attention of any demon hunters, yeah?”

“Perhaps we should table this discussion for now, and move on to something else?” the kitsune cuts in diplomatically.

“No, I am in agreement with Bakugou,” the tengu says, speaking up.  “We can’t continue like this indefinitely, and if we truly intend to vanquish this darkness, we should explore every possible avenue.”

It seems as though everyone starts to speak at once after that, voices growing louder as they try to make themselves heard.

“Enough!”  Todoroki stands from his seat.

Bakugou stands too, shoving his chair back, ready to continue the argument with his fists, if need be.

“Everyone, just calm down!” Midoriya darts between them, glaring at Bakugou as if he’s the one causing problems.  “This isn’t going to solve anything, we need to work together.”

“Why are you looking at me?  You’re the ones hiding shit.”

“Maybe we’d tell you, if we thought you’d actually listen!”  As soon as the words are uttered, Midoriya claps a hand over his mouth.

Bakugou narrows his eyes.  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kacchan--I didn’t--It’s just that you never come out with us anymore, and--”

“‘Us?’  You mean you and Half and Half?  Is that what this is fucking about?” He scoffs and turns around, kicking the chair out of his way as he starts striding towards the exit.  “I’m fucking done, call me when you have something actually helpful to tell us!”

He slams the door behind him, not bothering to look back.

The cool night air does little to calm him.  He keeps walking at a brisk pace, no particular destination in mind, but unable to outpace his own thoughts. 

The tension between Midoriya and himself had been building for quite a while.  Even at the best of times, their relationship is fraught with friction, but it was more of a bickering camaraderie than anything else.  Now it’s an outright broiling sea of resentment and distrust. Even before Kirishima had come into the picture, fucking Deku had been trying to get Bakugou to warm up to Todoroki, as if Bakugou would ever accept Half and Half as a permanent presence in his life.  The fact that Bakugou’s been spending increasing amounts of time with Kirsihima hasn’t helped.

Before he even realizes it, he finds himself standing outside of Kirishima’s apartment and ringing his doorbell.  It’s only when Kirishima opens the door, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, that he realizes it’s well after midnight.  

“Bakugou?  What’s wrong?  Did something happen?”

“Sorry.  I got in a fight with Deku and didn’t know where else to go.”  He rubs his arm, shifting from foot to foot self-consciously.

“You’re always welcome here,” Kirishima says, and something inside of Bakugou relaxes.  “Come in, it’s late.”

Kirishima tugs him in by the sleeve and he follows easily, accepting the offer of a change of clothes for him to sleep in.  He does so quickly, eager to rid himself of the chill that’s settled into his skin. It’s only when he’s curled up against Kirishima’s side in the bed that he realizes this is the first time he’s ever slept there without any sort of sexual activity being involved first.

He wants to mull over the significance of that, maybe consider how the redhead might be interpreting this and what he should say to prevent any kind of misunderstanding about the situation, but Kirishima is rubbing circles into his back and asking him to tell him what happened, and it’s all too easy to forget about anything other than the sleepy sound of his voice.

“Nothing much.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Kirishima contradicts, his tone soft and unaccusing.

“He’s just being a brat.  Ever since he started seeing fucking Half and Half it’s been getting worse.  He’s keeping shit from me. We’ve always fought before, but never like this. Never kept secrets.”

Kirishima’s hand is a comforting weight, back and forth, a slow rhythm that’s finally taking the edge off of his anger.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he murmurs into Bakugou’s hair.  “But I think when you get the chance, you two should talk this through.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond.  He knows Kirishima is right, and that he hadn’t helped the situation either, by storming out and leaving like he did.  He’s right, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Not yet, anyway. For now, he just wants to sleep.

But he does have one thing to say.



“Thank you.”

He feels the soft press of lips as Kirishima kisses his forehead.  “I’m glad you felt like you could come to me. You can always come to me, or tell me anything, you know.  I’ll be here for you.”

“I know.”

Bakugou ducks his head against Kirishima chest, thinking of all the secrets he’s keeping.  Would Kirishima still be there for him if he knew the truth?

The next morning, Bakugou is rudely pulled from his sleep by the ringing of his phone.  He groans and rolls over in bed, pulling the covers over his head, only to realize that Kirishima is no longer in the bed with him.  He sits up abruptly, blinking blearily and looking around, belatedly recognizing the sound of the shower running.

His phone goes off again, the annoyingly shrill ringtone that he chose for Midoriya’s contact, and he groans again for a different reason, reaching over to swipe the phone from the nightstand.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Kacchan.  Where are you?”

He rolls over, settling back more comfortably against the pillows.  “Where do you think?”

The disappointed sigh is irritatingly clear and audible through the phone.  “I’m sorry for how I acted last night. We shouldn’t have gotten so heated over such a little thing.  But I won’t apologize for what I said. This thing you’ve been doing with Kirishima is dangerous, especially right now.  Everyone’s tense enough as it is, and you’re just--”

“What?  Having fun?”

“You’re drawing attention.  Getting too close. You could be endangering him, as well as us.  I know it’s not what you want, but you need to stop seeing him.”

“Fuck you, Deku.” 

He hangs up and then throws the phone across the room, just as Kirishima comes back with a towel over his shoulder and a pair of joggers slung low on his hips.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rejoining Bakugou in the bed.

“Nothing, that stupid nerd is just nagging at me again, as if he has any right.”

Kirishima bites his lip.  “I didn’t want to mention this, but… he disapproves of me, doesn’t he?  I’ve kind of gotten that feeling for a while now.”

Bakugou grins wryly and shakes his head.  “If anything, he thinks I’m the bad influence in this relationship.”

With a smirk, Kirishima says, “Well, I can’t argue with that.  Normally, I’d already be at the gym by now. How’re you gonna make it up to me?”

He rolls over on top of Bakugou, pinning him down, and Bakugou makes a sound that can only be described as a giggle.  “Move, you lug.”

“Nah, I’m comfy.”

Kirishima curls around him even more, clinging like an octopus and burying his face in the crook of Bakugou’s neck as he puts up a mock struggle. Kirishima only lets up in order to pull back and kiss Bakugou properly, kisses so deep with affection that Bakugou aches with it.

He kisses back.  He doesn’t want to walk away from Kirishima.  Let him have this. Let him be selfish with this.  

Even for just a little while longer.

From that point on, Bakugou and Midoriya reach a sort of unspoken truce.  He doesn’t bring up Todoroki and Midoriya doesn’t bring up Kirishima, but things remain tense between them.  During working hours, when they aren’t stubbornly ignoring each other, they’re snapping insults, fuses so short it’s somewhat of a miracle they haven’t scared off their customers.

He doesn’t even have Kirishima to distract him anymore, since the redhead is away on a business trip to Yokohama for the week.  It’s stupid, since Yokohama isn’t even that far, but the conference or whatever is apparently important enough to merit keeping him there at a hotel, and there’s no question that it’s kept him busy--Bakugou had been thinking they could at least sneak in a round of phone sex, but even his texts are less frequent than usual.  So it’s a relief when Friday evening rolls around and his phone vibrates insistently with an incoming call.

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou says when he picks up.  “Are you back?”

“Not yet, sorry,” Kirishima answers, not sounding the least bit sorry.  “That’s actually why I called.”

“Please don’t tell me they’re fucking keeping you there over the weekend.”

Kirishima chuckles.  “Nothing like that.”

“What then?”

“Looks like admin messed up the hotel reservations and booked me for an extra night, and it’s already too late to cancel.  I mean, I could just check out anyway, but I was thinking… The view from the room is pretty nice. You might like it.”

“The view, huh?”  A grin slowly starts to inch its way across Bakugou’s face.

“The bed is really big and comfy too, you should try it.  Bet you’d get a great night’s sleep here…”

He snorts.  “I’m not so sure about that.”  

Kirishima continues.  “The en suite bathroom even comes with a hot tub.  Way nicer than the bathroom at my apartment.”

Bakugou shakes his head, even as he heads up to his room to pack an overnight bag.  “Alright, I guess I should see what’s so great about it, huh?”

“You really should.”

“I get to order room service, though.”

“Of course.”

And that’s how Bakugou ends up taking the hour or so train ride to Yokohama to track down Kirishima’s hotel.  It’s a nice enough place, though looking at it from the outside, there’s nothing fancy about it. Definitely more of a business hotel than a vacation spot, but it’s impressive in its own way.

He bypasses the front desk, since Kirishima had texted him the number of the hotel room, and waits for the elevator.  He’s anxious. Excited. Once he’s inside and the elevator doors have closed behind him, he checks his reflection in the shiny metal, tucking stray hairs away and making sure he looks alright.

He does, of course.  More than alright, same as always.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.  The moment he knocks on the door to Room 1407, he’s getting yanked inside and the door is then hastily shut behind him, before he finds himself being shoved up against the back of it. 

Kirishima’s mouth is desperate and hot on his, hands on either side of his face keeping him exactly where Kirishima wants him.  He gives in to the kisses willingly, all of his anxiety melting away, and his own arms come up around Kirishima to grip his back, letting his bag fall to the floor and kicking it out of the way without even looking.  He digs his fingers into the fabric of the button-up shirt, feeling the familiar shapes of his spine and the defined muscles of his shoulders even through the white cotton.

“Missed you,” Kirishima mutters when he breaks away to gasp for breath and then latches his mouth onto the line of Bakugou’s neck instead.

“It’s only been five days, you idiot.”  He hisses as Kirsihima sucks hard at a sensitive spot right below his jaw.  But he missed him too.

“Mm,” Kirishima hums, working his way lower and smoothing his hands over Bakugou’s chest, skating over his abdomen to the hem of his shirt.  “Too long,” he grunts. He pulls at Bakugou’s shirt, yanking it up over his head, and tossing it further down the hallway. “God, I need to touch you, taste you.  Feels like I’ve been going through withdrawals.”

Bakugou pulls Kirishima’s face back to his for another messy kiss, licking into his mouth and over the points of his teeth.  Kirishima obliges, bending his head down to meet Bakugou’s, but his hands wander, pinching and tugging at stiff nipples, and Bakugou can’t help but let out a tiny whimper from his ministrations.

The sound only encourages Kirishima, and he presses Bakugou even more against the door, pushing a thigh between his legs to force them apart.  “That’s it, baby. Need to hear you too, need to know how desperate you are for me,” he whispers against Bakugou’s lips, even as he rolls a hardened, pink bud between thumb and forefinger.

“Kirishima,” Bakugou moans, arching into the touch.  Below the waist, he’s still fully clothed--as is Kirishima--but he’s so hard already and he can’t help but cant his hips forward to rub against that muscled thigh.  “Fuck, I want you.”

“Yeah?  Tell me what you want, Bakugou.”  Kirishima nips at the side of his face, close to his ear.  “Want me down on my knees, while you fuck my face? I’d let you, you know.  Let you come down my throat, I’d swallow every drop.” Bakugou’s breath hitches at the dirty image Kirishima is painting with words alone.  “Or maybe you’d rather be the one on your knees? I know how much you love being stuffed with my huge dick, a slutty little cocksucker.”

His cock twitches in his pants at the degradation.  “Yes, please, Kirishima,” he moans, wrapping his arms around the redhead’s neck as his hips grind down frantically against the thigh pressing ever higher against his groin.

“Or maybe you’re desperate enough that you could come just like this, humping my leg like a bitch in heat.  What do you think?” His question is punctuated by a large hand cupping Bakugou’s cock through the fabric and giving it a squeeze.

He gasps at the sensation, hips bucking against it.  “Fuck you,” he growls, but Kirishima already knows his body by now, knows when he’s won.

He starts tugging at the button of Bakugou’s jeans and pushes down the zipper.  “Wanna get these pants off you, wanna see you Bakugou.”  Kirishima backs away for just a moment, a reprieve only long enough to tug the rest of Bakugou’s clothes off, and then Kirishima has his hands on him again, touching every inch of skin he possibly can.

They kiss again, slotting their mouths together like two pieces of a puzzle, not meant to separate for long.  Kirishima tastes like meat and wine and salt, the lingering flavor of whatever he had for dinner, a human taste, and a bit of something else that Bakugou can never put his finger on.  For a long time, Bakugou just presses up to meld the line of his naked body against Kirishima’s still fully clothed form as they suck and lick into each other’s mouths. The disparity in their roles should be infuriating--why is Bakuogu’s body the only one on display?  Why does Kirishima get to dig his fingers into soft flesh while Bakugou has to settle for scrabbling at fabric?

But he knows why.  Kirishima curls around him, body hunched possessively, proprietary hands roaming the plains of his skin, and Bakugou gives in to him like a bow bends for an archer.  He would do anything Kirishima asks, take whatever Kirishima will give him, because it’s only with him that he feels things he’s never experienced, pleasure and satisfaction and fulfillment, and Bakugou knows with sudden clarity that he’s already past the point of no return. 

He whines, finally pulling away to hide his face in Kirishima’s neck and leave quick, hungry kisses on the underside of his jaw.  “Need you,” he whispers.

Kirishima lifts him, fingers digging into the globes of Bakugou’s ass to pull him flush against him, Bakugou’s hard shaft curving up against Kirishima’s hip, and his balls settling on his thigh as he straddles Kirishima’s leg once again.  “Look at you, baby. So pretty. Such a slut for me.” 

At the praise, a bit of precum spurts from the tip.  “I’m gonna ruin your clothes at this rate.” Even as he says that, Bakugou can’t help but shift his hips in little increments, seeking out friction.  He bites his lip.

“Then ruin them,” Kirishima growls.  “Let go of everything, Bakugou. Show me how much you missed me.”

“Mmf--” He struggles to hold back a loud moan as Kirishima adjusts his grip on his ass so that the tips of his fingers just barely brush against his entrance.  

He pushes back into the feeling, only for Kirishima to pull his hand away.

“Don’t tease!” he groans, hitching his hips up again.  The fabric is smooth and cool, Kirishima’s body hot and hard beneath it, and he’s having a very hard time trying to retain the last shred of his dignity as he rubs his hard cock up and down Kirishima’s leg. 

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Kirishima sighs.  “I promise I’ll take you apart slowly later, gonna stretch your greedy hole open and fuck you so good, you won’t be able to even walk straight once I’m done with you.”

Bakugou moans, hips jerking frantically as he clings to Kirishima.

“But right now I really want to see how much you missed me.  I want to watch you come apart right here in the entryway, dry humping my leg because you couldn’t even wait until we made it to the bedroom.”

Bakugou whimpers and hides his face, ashamed and proud all at the same time.  He wants to snap that it was Kirishima who ambushed him at the door, but he can’t deny that he feels like he’ll die if he’s forced to part from Kirishima now, even if only to walk the few steps to make it to the bed.  The movements of his hips become more erratic, and he curls one leg up around Kirishima’s hip to press harder. “Touch me, touch me, please touch me,” he begs.

Bakugou yelps as Kirishima’s leg suddenly pushes higher, lifting him clean off the ground.  At the same time, Kirishima’s fingers grip his ass tighter, and a single digit finally pushes past the rim of his hole.  With a jolt, he comes, staining Kirishima’s clothes with streaks of white and biting down on his shoulder as he rides out his orgasm.

“Fuck, Bakugou,” Kirishima curses.  “You’re so perfect, I can’t stand it.”

Bakugou is still panting against him, unable to form the words to reply, so Kirishima uses the moment to slowly pulls his leg back, making sure Bakugou can at least find his footing on his own.

He shakes his head, coming back to himself and grabbing weakly at Kirishima’s hips to pull him back.  “You still need to come.”

A rough hand pulls his chin up to meet Kirishima’s gaze.  The redhead grins, a wide, shark-toothed smile that’s equal parts hungry and taunting.  “Don’t worry, babe, I plan to. But unlike some people, I can wait until we make it to the bed.”  He lets go and backs off, walking back down the short hallway to the bedroom. “Come in, you haven’t even seen what the room is like yet!”

Bakugou follows on wobbly feet, not bothering to pick up his clothes and leaving his belongings behind on the floor.  It feels a bit odd to be so casually exposed in an unfamiliar, new place, but it isn’t exactly the first time, and it’s not like Kirishima’s never seen him naked before. 

“What do you think?  Pretty nice for a single room, huh?”  Kirishama spreads his arms and jumps backwards, landing with a bounce on the plush bed.  It’s a king-sized mattress, with a small mountain of at least six pillows at the head of it.  More than big enough for two people.

The rest of the room is nice too.  A few generic pictures decorate the walls, and there’s a decent sized television and mini-fridge.  A desk to one side, and an armchair by the sliding glass door that leads out onto a balcony. The view outside really does look spectacular, but Bakugou ignores it in favor of climbing up onto the bed and swinging a leg over so that he’s straddling Kirishima’s once again, but this time with a new goal in mind.

Kirishima watches him, making no move to touch, despite the very apparent bulge in his pants.

“Do you think the walls are soundproof?” he asks, slowly running a finger along the hem of Kirishima’s pants.

Bakugou can feel him shiver beneath his fingers.  “Not sure, but they seem pretty thick.”

He smirks, tugging gently at the button of his trousers.  He scoots back so that he can lean down with each hand on either side of Kirishima’s hips.  “Well, I’m about to be gagged on your cock, so as long as you can keep quiet, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

He can hear Kirishima’s sharp intake of breath, but he isn’t looking, already focused on the task of pulling his zipper down with his teeth.  Then only one layer of cloth is left separating him from his prize, and he nuzzles his face against the prominent bulge, inhaling the thick scent of his musk.

“Bakugou, holy shit,” he gasps, and widens his legs to give him more room.

Bakugou pushes up the cum-stained shirt to get it out of the way, and then runs his fingers through the trail of fine, dark hair below his belly button to the hem of his underpants. Nimble fingers tug down in one quick motion to release his cock.  Bakugou moans and goes back to nuzzling the huge member, no longer impeded by cotton and polyester.  

“Missed you, Kirishima.  I missed your voice and your stupid hair and your huge fucking dick.”

He rubs his cheek along the silky underside and licks at Kirishima’s balls, round and heavy and just as huge as the rest of him.  Kirishima makes a choking noise when Bakugou starts to suck at the ruddy skin there. After a long moment spent playing with each of them, rolling them languidly on his tongue, he pulls off somewhat reluctantly, a small string of saliva dripping off his lips as he does so. 

Kirishima clenches his fists in the sheets at the sight.

“Did you miss me too?” Bakugou rasps.   His eyes flick up to Kirishima’s face, enjoying having those red eyes tracking his every move, then back down to the leaking head of Kirishima’s cock.

“You know I did.  Fuck, I feel like I’m going crazy.  Was meeting with some of our most high-profile clients and couldn’t stop thinking about how I just wanted to see you again--ah, fuck!” he shouts as Bakugou suddenly envelops the head of Kirishima’s cock into the warm heat of his mouth with no warning.

His lips stretch wide and he sucks more and more of the pulsing heat into his mouth.  He’s practiced this now, has spent many nights becoming intimately familiar with the feeling of Kirishima on his tongue and down his throat.  But there’s no getting around the fact that he’s enormous, plain and simple, and Bakugou needs time to adjust to the huge girth and length of it.  Whatever he can’t get in his mouth yet, he strokes with his hand made slick from the saliva that dribbles from the corners of his mouth.

“Missed this too, your mouth, your hole, it’s so hard to be satisfied with just my own hand now that you’ve spoiled me.”  Bakugou pulls back slightly to swirl his tongue around the head of Kirishima’s cock, humming indulgently, and Kirishima moans, a hand flying to tangle in Bakugou’s hair.  “Like that, baby. Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Then Bakugou sucks hard and sinks down, wanting more, craving more, relaxing his throat to let Kirishima sheath himself all the way in.  Then back off again. Up and down, back and forth, not bobbing his head so much as rocking his entire body forward to be filled by Kirishima.  The hand gripping Bakugou’s hair does little else other than follow Bakugou’s movements at first, but soon enough, he’s tugging in a rhythm of his own, pulling Bakugou down as his hips hitch just slightly upwards.

“Sorry,” he gasps.  “I can’t--I need to--”

Bakugou simply moans and lets himself be used, lets Kirishima steer him the way he wants, lets him thrust into his aching mouth, until Kirishima finally comes, groaning deep and loud.  He shoots his hot seed down the back of Bakugou’s throat, the hand in his hair clenching so tightly that it hurts.

Bakugou swallows it all, everything Kirishima has to give him, gently milking him of every last drop.  When he is well and truly spent, Bakugou eases off the softening cock and crawls up to join Kirishima at the head of the bed, where he wastes no time in crushing Bakugou’s puffy, swollen lips against his own.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Kirishima says quietly when they’ve both settled down.

“Me too.”

“Are you hungry?  We can order room service.  Whatever you want, just like I promised.”

Bakugou looks down at them both, sweaty and reeking of sex, Kirishima’s soft cock still hanging out of his rumpled and cum-stained work clothes.

“Maybe we should fucking get cleaned up first.”

Chapter Text

Their hotel bathroom doesn’t have all the bells and whistles that would come with a resort hotel room, but it has everything that matters, including a surprisingly large tub that’s able to accommodate the both of them at the same time, with room to spare.

Bakugou sighs, enjoying the feeling of large fingers scrubbing through his hair, rubbing into his scalp.  He can’t remember the last time he indulged in a hot bath, and having someone else wash him feels downright luxurious.  But once the suds are rinsed away, Kirishima grips his hair for a different reason, pulling him back by the nape of his neck in a rough gesture that’s a sharp contrast to the sweet, lingering kisses he gives.  

Bakugou doesn’t resist.  He leans back against Kirishima’s chest as hot, slick hands travel down to caress his chest, his stomach.  Kirishima can’t seem to keep his hands off of him tonight.

“Because you’re just so beautiful,” he quips when Bakugou calls him out on it, playing with a pert nipple, tweaking the small, pink bud. 

“You’re just a perv,” Bakugou grumbles, but he can’t deny that Kirishima’s attentions have him sensitive and half hard again already.

“For you?  Definitely.”  He continues to squeeze a pec with one hand while the other reaches down to grasp and fondle his cock, gently stroking him to full mast, and whispering delicious words of praise.  “You’re so hot, Bakugou. The first time I saw you across the bar I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I didn’t think I’d even have a chance with someone like you, but I knew I had to try.  Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

Bakugou twitches in his hold, his own hands gripping Kirishima’s thighs on either side of him as he struggles to keep from panting.  “Fucker, call me beautiful again, I dare you.” 

“Beautiful,” Kirishima practically purrs in his ear, all too ready to call Bakugou’s bluff.  His hand moves even faster over his cock. “A gorgeous firecracker of a man, so perfect in every way.  Stunning. Handsome. I was convinced you must be a model when I first saw you. And your body--your arms, your tiny waist, your ass , do you know how tempted I am to just grab you every time you walk past me?  Not to mention your gorgeous , long cock that fits just right in my hand.”

Bakugou trembles as Kirishima’s words are accompanied by a long, slow stroke.

“Do you know how many times I got myself off while I imagined fucking you, back when I thought my imagination was as far as I’d ever get?  But the real thing is so much better than I ever could have dreamed. Your mouth, your hole stretched around my cock is like heaven, more amazing than my hand could ever feel.  Nothing, no one else could ever compare. You were made for me, baby.”

Bakugou’s resistance finally crumbles, and as he tumbles over the edge of pleasure, he turns to bury his face in Kirishima’s neck.  He comes apart in his hands with a quiet whine.

“That’s it, Bakugou.  So perfect for me,” Kirishima murmurs.  The moment is quiet, the pent up tension leaving Bakugou’s body until the both of them are relaxed, absolutely tender and gentle compared to how frantic they were earlier.  Once Kirishima’s milked Bakugou through his orgasm, he goes back to cupping hot water over him and washing him like nothing ever happened.

Bakugou looks up at him lazily, tracing the line of his jaw, his full lips, and strong nose with his eyes.  The bastard. Kirishima is just as handsome as Bakugou is, if not moreso.

“I wanted you, too.”

“Hm?” Kirishima hums, distracted.

He's not paying attention and doesn't even look away from what he's doing, so Bakugou brings up a hand to tilt Kirishima’s chin towards him. 

“In the bar, the night we first met. With your stupid red hair and your muscles.  Not even that fucking awful salary man suit can hide how good you look. It’d been so long since I’d met anyone I actually wanted, but I saw you and immediately knew.  I had to catch your eye.”

Kirishima grabs the hand at his chin and brings it to his mouth instead, all the while holding Bakugou’s gaze.  Softly, he kisses his knuckles. “You succeeded.”

“Hah,” Bakugou huffs out a single laugh.  Even though he wanted Kirishima's attention, he's the first to look away.  Kirishima’s gaze is too intense, too much for him in that moment.  “‘Course I did,” he jokes to deflect.

Kirishima lets him, steering away from the hushed tones and sleepy intimacy brought about by the warm water and post-orgasm bliss to intertwine his fingers with Bakugou’s.

“My hand is bigger,” he says out of nowhere.

Bakugou snorts. “All of you is bigger, moron.”

Kirishima grins down at him, wicked smile on full display.  “That’s true. But you like it, right?”

Bakugou smirks.  “What do you think?”  He pushes to sit up, maneuvering so that he can twist around in the tub, not caring if a bit of water sloshes over the rim in the process.  He’s on his knees between Kirishima’s thighs, letting his gaze wander over muscles and strong limbs, finally landing on the dark hair trailing down to his cock, only half hard but already massive, and below that, his balls, round and heavy.

He leans down into Kirishima’s space, nipping at his lower lip with his teeth.

Kirishima sighs.  “I want to fuck you so bad…”

“Then fuck me.”

Kirishima grins wryly.  “Dinner first. I promised you room service, and I’m a man of my word.” 

Bakugou won’t admit to pouting when Kirishima climbs out of the bath first and grabs a towel, but that’s what he does.  He wants to linger in the hot water a bit longer, but with Kirishima’s body mass no longer displacing the water, it’s not nearly as full, and he doesn’t feel like refilling the tub by himself, so he sighs and follows after.

Ever the gentleman, Kirishima offers him the hotel’s complimentary bathrobe, while he himself dries quickly and grabs a pair of old sweatpants that he’d brought.

“What do you feel like?” Kirishima asks, picking up the hotel menu.

“I don’t know.  Something decadent.”

“Decadent, huh?”  He flips a page. “What if I just got one of everything?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.  Kirishima gets paid well, but not that well.  “I’m not even that hungry, just get something we can share.”

“I wanna treat you, dude!”  Kirishima turns to the last page.  “How about… something with meat and something sweet?”

Bakugou chuckles and sprawls back on the bed, letting the front of the robe fall open.  “I can be both of those things, if you want.”

Kirishima looks down at him in amusement and he slowly, deliberately folds the front of the robe closed once more.  When he looks up again to meet Bakugou’s eyes, he says, “Don’t worry, I’m planning to savor every inch of you slowly and thoroughly later on.  But first, you’re gonna have to eat something, if you want to keep up with me. I plan to make the most of this hotel room and I’m going to fuck you all night long .  You’ll need the energy, baby .”

Bakugou's mouth falls open, stunned into silence.  Kirishima keeps turning the tables on him, and he wants to be indignant about it, but instead he’s infuriatingly aroused.

Seemingly unaffected, Kirishima gets up and goes to the room phone to order something, while Bakugou tries to will away his erection.  Kirishima just gave him a fantastic hand job in the bath, not to mention his embarrassingly hasty orgasm in the front hallway, and yet here he is, the evidence of his need creating a small tent beneath the robe.  Sex demon or not, he usually has at least some kind of refractory period.

If Kirishima notices, he ignores it.  He turns on the television while they wait for the food to arrive, finding a generic variety show, and finally putting on a shirt, to Bakugou’s disappointment.  A knock at the door a few moments later has him jumping up from the bed and bounding down the hallway. Bakugou hears the sound of the door opening, the distant murmurs of polite conversation, and then the door closes once more.

Kirishima returns with a large wooden tray laden with two covered dishes, and he sets it down on the bed in front of Bakugou.  He removes both lids with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Bakugou smirks.  “I should have known you’d pick the steak.”

“I hope the strawberries are a surprise, at least?”

The second dish, smaller than the first, is a platter of deep red strawberries, perfectly ripe and round, drizzled in chocolate and lightly coated with powdered sugar.

 Bakugou snorts.  “You trying to seduce me or something?”

“Just trying to keep you happy, babe.  I know you’ve got high standards when it comes to food.”

Bakugou wants to roll his eyes at the irony of that statement.  If Kirishima knew what really kept Bakugou fed, he’d never insist on this sweet, but ultimately useless, gesture.  Nevertheless, when Kirishima cuts off a piece of steak and holds it to his mouth, he eats obediently.  

Kirishima steals a few bites of his own, but mostly seems to enjoy feeding Bakugou.  “We should find somewhere closer that does steak like this,” he says after mournfully offering up the last bite.

“I could make you steak like this,” Bakugou grunts.  

The gasp Kirishima makes is way too exaggerated for his liking.  “You think you could?”

He shoves at Kirishima’s shoulder.  “You asshole, I could make you a whole fucking feast!  You want traditional Japanese? French cuisine? I could make shit ten times as delicious as this!”

Kirishima chuckles.  “I have no doubt. Isn’t it nice to enjoy a meal without having to do the work for it though?”  He spears one of the strawberries, twirling it on the fork for a moment before offering it to Bakugou.

He bites into the red flesh of the fruit, the sweet and tart flavor bursting across his tongue.  It's good. “I guess that is a point in your favor tonight.” Bakugou picks up another strawberry with his fingers and pretends to offer it to Kirishima, before yanking back and popping it in his own mouth.  He licks the chocolate from his fingers, doing his best to tease as he lets his tongue lap at his own skin. “I’ve been to plenty of hotel rooms with plenty of men, but this is the first time I’ve been able to enjoy the room service.”

It happens in an instant.  Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s being flipped until he’s suddenly looking up at Kirishima with his hands pinned above his head.  All traces of Kirishima’s carefree expression have been wiped away by the tension in his brow and the intensity in his eyes. His mouth is a taut line, threatening to pull back into a snarl.

“Don't taunt me.  I don’t want to hear about who you’ve been with in the past,” he whispers through clenched teeth.  

“Oi, Kirishim--”

“Sorry.  I know you approached me for sex in the beginning,” he interrupts.  “And we haven’t actually talked about what our relationship is now, even though it’s drawn out so long.  And that’s just as much my own fault, I know.  So maybe I don’t have the right to say this… but the thought of someone else putting their hands on you… it drives me mad.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to Bakugou’s, red hair still slightly damp and loose around his face, brushing against Bakugou’s own.  He continues, “I can accept that you’ve been with others before me, but I couldn’t bear it if you were still fucking other men when you have me right here.  You’re the only one for me. And I want to be the only one for you.”

His lip quivers and he closes his mouth to swallow audibly.  “Please, Bakugou. Say you’re mine.”

Bakugou opens his mouth, then closes it.  He takes a shaky breath, but then when he tries to speak, nothing comes out.  He knows what he wants to say, but he shouldn’t. So many secrets. So many lies.  He’s wrong for Kirishima in every way, except for when he's underneath him in bed.

“I need to tell you something first.”

He needs to tell him the truth, he owes him that much.  Kirishima needs to know that they can’t build a life together, can’t grow old together.  The thought of having to go their separate ways is painful enough right now, and that should be clue for Bakugou to cut the ties between them.

Bakugou is a demon.  Kirishima is a human.

He just needs to say it. 

Say it.

“Call me Katsuki,” is what comes out instead.

“Say you’re mine, Katsuki.”  Kirishima’s voice does that thing where it drops an octave, getting low and sweet and commanding.

Bakugou needs to say no.  This is going too far.  

But he’s never been able to disobey Kirishima when he gives a command with that voice .  His eyes burn with unshed tears, and Kirishima is still looking at him with an unwavering gaze.

“I’m yours.  I’m only yours, Kirishima.  You fucking idiot,” he can’t help but murmur in a choked voice instead, tugging gently at his arms that are still pinned under strong hands.

“I need to hear you say it.  Katsuki, I love you. I’m so in love with you, god,” he finally admits in a hasty sentence, voice thick with relief.  He lets go of Bakugou’s arms and the moment he does, Bakguou winds them around the back of Kirishima’s neck.  The redhead cups Bakugou’s face and their noses just barely brush. He closes his eyes and dips his mouth down to brush against Bakugou’s, almost a kiss, but not quite.

Fuck, he’s in trouble.

“Eijirou,” he whispers, trying out the name.  

“Katsuki.  You’re shaking.”

And so he is, trembling like a leaf, terrified of his own emotions.  He’s pretty sure his heart is about to jump out of his chest, but he isn’t going to stop now.  He wants Kirishima to open his eyes, wants to look into their pretty crimson. “I’m fine. Kiss me?”

Kirishima does. He presses down finally, dominating and insistent.  The kiss trails from his mouth to his cheeks to his jaw, until he’s nipping at the soft skin of Bakugou’s throat.  Bakugou tilts his head back for him, feeling like an animal baring its throat in submission to its master.

“Eijirou,” he gasps, addicted to the taste of the name on his lips.  “Eijirou, I love you too. Fuck.”

Kirishima doesn’t respond verbally, only sucks harder on the skin of his neck, and Bakugou groans before letting out a yelp when sharp teeth sink into his skin, leaving what would no doubt be a bright red mark visible for all the world to see the next day.

The redhead disappears from above him all too suddenly, only to reappear with his clothes already gone and his fingers covered in lube.

“Take the robe off and spread your legs,” Kirishima commands.  “You’re all mine tonight, and every night onwards, and I’m gonna make sure you never forget that.”

Bakugou doesn’t even consider disobeying.  He yanks at the tie of the bathrobe and practically flings it off his shoulders.  The instant his thighs fall open, Kirishima is there again, only now a slick finger is rubbing at his hole insistently, though not impatiently.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, Katsuki,” he hisses softly, and the use of his given name makes Bakugou shiver.  Or maybe it’s due to Kirishima running the pad of one finger down Bakugou’s perineum and pressing against the rim of his hole.  

“Please, Eijirou...”  Bakugou won’t admit it, but he’s ruined already.  He cants his hips to chase Kirishima’s finger when he pulls it out after only dipping it inside of him for a too-brief moment.

“That’s right, beg for me.”

Stubbornly, Bakugou pulls Kirishima’s face back down for another bruising kiss instead, but he’s still rewarded with a thick finger pushing in all the way to the knuckle and staying there.  He can feel it curling against his inner walls, the back and forth motions relaxing him and the lube making him slick enough to take a second finger quickly. The two digits press deeper and deeper and even though he was prepared for it, he breaks away with a gasp when they rub his prostate.

Kirishima licks into his panting mouth.  “Katsuki…” A roll of his hips has Bakugou suddenly very aware of Kirishima’s erection against Bakugou’s thigh, the engorged cock as dauntingly huge as always.

“Eiji...rou…” he barely manages, but he grips his lover’s back even tighter, nails digging into the muscle there.  He pushes his thigh up against Kirishima’s hard cock. “Use me... Ruin me. Please.”

Kirishima makes an approving noise and grinds his hips down hard against Bakugou’s thigh.  Pointed teeth nibble at Bakugou’s ear, gently pulling at the lobe as his dick drags across Bakugou’s smooth flesh.  

Kirishima pulls back just a bit so that he can wriggle a third finger in to join the first two, and Bakugou whines as he’s stretched, jerking his head back when Kirishima nips at his throat with his teeth.

“Be good, Katsuki.  I’m not gonna hold back anymore.  I want to try all kinds of new things now that I know you’re mine.”  He wraps his lips around a point at the juncture of Bakugou’s neck and shoulder and sucks hard, no doubt leaving a deep, dark bruise there to join his bite from earlier.  

Bakugou writhes, the fingers inside of him keeping him from bucking up against Kirishima the way he wants to.  His hole is being stretched and well-tended to, but his cock is stiff and neglected, weeping messily against his stomach.

“Kiri--Eijirou.  Touch me, please?”  His own hand starts to move from where it’s gripping Kirishima’s back to slide into the space between their bodies.

The fingers thrusting in and out of his hole pull out suddenly to wrap around Bakugou’s wrist instead, leaving him empty and clenching around nothing.  Bakugou snarls in frustration and tries to pull his wrist free, but Kirishima pins it against the mattress. He tries to lift his hips to find some kind of friction, but Kirishima counters by pulling away even further.

“What the fuck are you doing, come back!”

“Shh, settle down,” Kirishima says, his voice laced with amusement.  He starts sucking little marks down Bakugou’s chest, but doesn’t go back to what he was doing before.

“You making fun of me?  Thought you were gonna fuck--ah!”

Kirishima cuts him off when he bites down on a nipple.  He licks at the bite apologetically, then pulls off. “I love being able to look at you like this.  Love being able to play with your tits whenever I want. Love watching your face as you come apart on my dick.  But right now…” he pauses to grab Bakugou by the hips and, in one smooth movement, physically flip him over onto his stomach.  “Right now I think I want to fuck you like this.”

Bakugou whimpers at the feeling of the hotel sheets against his cock, but the relief is short-lived when Kirishima pulls him up by his hips so that he’s on his knees with his ass in the air.  

He hears Kirishima exhale slowly.

“Katsuki… you look so good like this.”  The statement is accompanied by a swift slap to his right butt cheek, forcing a surprised moan from Bakugou.  “Fuck, I should take a picture. So needy, ready to do anything I ask if it means you’ll get your hole stuffed with my cock, isn’t that right?”  He slaps the other cheek, and Bakugou can feel the residual sting of twin handprints on his sensitive skin.

He huffs.  “This is for your eyes only, Eijirou.”

“Fuck,” he curses softly.  Kirishima takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly behind him.  “Katsuki, I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

“The fuck do you think?”

“I want to hear you say the words.”

He swallows, sensing that it’s something important to the redhead.  “I trust you.”

“Good.”  The mattress shifts with Kirishima’s movements as he reaches over the side of the bed into the drawer of the hotel's nightstand where he'd obviously prepared a few things.  “Let’s use a color system," he says, sounding as though he's reciting information he memorized.  "Green means okay, yellow means slow down, red means stop. If I do anything you don’t like, tell me immediately.”

“What do you--shit!”

Kirishima’s hands on his cock are deceptively gentle as they pull a cock ring tight around the base, restricting the flow of blood, the very thought of coming now horribly out of reach.  

“Color?” he asks quietly.

Bakugou has always been aware of the existence of such toys, but he’s never used one.  They would be counterproductive to his usual goal of making his partner come, and he’s never even considered using one on himself.  

But Kirishima is always an exception.

“Green,” he chokes out.

Kirishima murmurs words of praise, and his hands are soothing on his hips, his thighs, spreading Bakugou’s ass cheeks apart to expose his hole once more.  He feels lube dribble onto his lower back and drip down his crack to his balls.

Bakugou groans, dropping his head to the sheets when three fingers push easily past the ring of muscle to reach inside him, a noisy squelch accompanying every jab of his fingers.  When they find his prostate, his whole body jerks, and he bites into the sheets to keep from making too much noise. But the effort is quite futile. Kirishima rubs and rubs, a slow torture as the pleasure continues to escalate, and Bakugou just wants to come dammit , but the pressure inside him just builds and builds with no release, until he’s a quivering, moaning mess.

“Good boy, Katsuki,” Kirishima praises.  He eases up on Bakugou’s prostate, but slides his pinky finger in to join the first three.  “You’re so tight.”

It’s a lot.  Bakugou feels so stretched, like he’s never been this full before, even though he knows he most definitely has and that four fingers is child’s play compared to the Kirishima's huge dick that fucks him regularly.  Maybe it’s because of the cock ring.  

“Let me come?  Please Eijirou.  If I could just come once, I’d be so relaxed, so fucking loose you could probably slide right in.  Fuck, please let me come,” he whines.

Kirishima chuckles darkly.  “You make a compelling argument.  But I don’t think you deserve to come yet.  You always come so fast, baby. You need to learn a little restraint, I think.”

With all four fingers inside of him, so deep they’re practically fisting him, one finger reaches out to brush his prostate again.

Bakugou thrashes, about to sit up so he can turn around in indignation, when a hand on the back of his neck stops him.

“Don’t move,” Kirishima hisses.

And then Bakugou feels it.  Kirishima’s fingers sliding out to make room for what really belongs there.  There’s a brief moment where his gaping hole is exposed to the cool night air.  Then finally the head of Kirishima’s cock nudging between the round globes of his ass cheeks. 

“Color,” Kirishima practically growls, and it comes out more like a demand than a question, but Bakugou only has one answer anyway.

“Green,” he whispers.  The word hasn’t even fully left his mouth when Kirishima starts pushing in.

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, Bakugou feels his inner walls give way to the enormous girth, and it just keeps coming.  Bakugou can feel his own cock twitching with need against his stomach, bound though it may be. He knows that if it hadn’t been, he would have blown his load the moment Kirishima started to push in.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight Katsuki,” Kirishima groans when he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside, his balls dangling mere centimeters from Bakugou’s own.

His thighs tremble as he struggles to keep his knees beneath him.  His body is unable to relax, the tension making him clench hard around the cock inside of him.  Kirishima is clearly enjoying it, judging by the way he can’t keep himself from grinding his hips against Bakugou’s ass.

As always, Kirishima starts slowly.  Safe words or no, there is no doubt that Kirishima would stop immediately if he so much as suspected Bakugou of being in any actual pain.  The slow drag is excruciating, and Kirishima’s fingers dig into the grooves between his hips and thighs.

“I’m not gonna break, you fuck,” Bakugou swears.  “Hurry the fuck up.”

“Are you sure about that?”  Kirishima’s words are accompanied by a slow thrust.  “Tonight might just be the night that I break you.”

When Kirishima starts thrusting in earnest, Bakugou wonders if he might be right.  He’s plowing into Bakugou from behind, their balls slapping together on every thrust.  Bakugou makes a little aborted moan every time as his face is shoved into the hotel sheets, already soaked with his drool and sweat and precum.  The pressure in his balls is the best kind of torture, a pleasure on the edge of pain, but there is no release.

“So good, baby.  I love fucking you through an orgasm, using you when you’re loose and pliant, but--Nngh, shit!” Kirishima curses on a particularly good thrust.  “Keeping you like this is so fucking good too. It’s like your hole doesn’t want to let me go, like you were made just to take my cock inside you.”

“Eijirou,” he croaks out.  He pushes back to meet each thrust as much as he can.  “Come inside me, please, I want it.”

“Hell yes,” he can hear the grin in his voice.  

Bakugou lets Kirishima fuck him hard, possessive, and when he finally comes, it’s with his teeth buried in Bakugou’s shoulder from behind.  Bakugou shouts as the redhead bites deep enough to draw blood, but Kirishima is lost in his pleasure, letting out a high-pitched groan as he releases a hot stream of his cum inside of Bakugou.

He sighs once spent, relaxing where he's draped on top of him, but Bakugou is still a trembling mess and his quivering thighs finally collapse beneath him, unable to support their combined weight.  A gasp escapes him at the feeling of his very hard, very sensitive cock trapped beneath the both of them.

“Color?” Kirishima asks him breathlessly, still grinding his hips against Bakugou’s to chase the last of his orgasm.  

Bakugou feels overwhelmingly on edge, every last nerve on fire with the need to find release, and he can already tell that the moment the cock ring is gone, the climax will be intense.  But he’s looking forward to whatever Kirishima has planned, hopeful that it will be his turn next to finally get relief.

“Green,” he whimpers.

“Good boy.” Kirishima kisses the side of his head softly.

With slow, careful movements, he peels himself away from Bakugou’s back and pulls out with a tiny grunt.  Without Kirishima’s huge cock filling him up, he feels strangely empty. But Kirishima rubs soothing hands over sweaty skin, massaging his lower back and spine.

A moment later, Bakugou feels something cool and hard pressing inside to fill up the empty space and he jerks, twisting around to look over his shoulder in time to see Kirishima finish pushing in a dark silicone plug.

“It took me a while to find one I liked that was big enough,” he confesses, staring down with fascination at the place where the toy is keeping Bakugou’s hole stretched wide.  He tugs on it, and Bakugou gasps at the sensation. “I’m planning to have you again in a bit, and this way I won’t need to prepare you again.”

“Fuck you, Shitty Hair,” he spits out.

“You know what to say if it’s too much for you.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, refusing to speak another word.  Without looking, he feels the bed dip as Kirishima crawls up to sprawl out alongside him.  A gentle nudge at his shoulder has Bakugou reluctantly turning to face the grinning redhead, who pushes him to turn all the way onto his back again.  His erection hasn’t gone down, still an angry red, curving outwards from tufts of dark blond hair into the air.

“I love you,” Kirishima says again.  “I love that you trust me enough to try this.”

“I feel ridiculous.  I want to come,” he can’t help but whine.

“You look far from ridiculous.  I think it’s sexy as hell, Katsuki.”  Kirishima licks his lips and wraps an arm around Bakugou’s waist to tug him closer.  “All trussed up and ready for me to use you whenever I want. Unable to come until I let you.  Fuck, the sight of you like this is almost too much to handle.” He pushes his forehead against Bakugou’s temple to whisper, “You sure I can’t take any photos?”

“Were you always this kinky?” Bakugou snaps, avoiding the question.  He doesn’t want to agree to it, but he’s come to find that he has a hard time denying Kirishima anything.

“Only since I met you, baby.”

How is it possible that he can be lying there, stark naked with a raging boner and a plug in his ass, and the stupid nickname is still what makes him blush?  It’s not like he can hide it, either, with the way he can feel the heat traveling down his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders. But he tries to anyway, stubbornly turning his head away.  Kirihisma chases him, peppering his skin with kisses, climbing over him until he finds his mouth and he presses harder, licking into Bakugou’s mouth with fervor.

“How are you so cute?” he manages.  “Driving me crazy, Katsuki.”

“Fuck you, ‘m not cute,” he gasps.  

“Are too,” he insists, and he sticks his tongue in Bakugou’s mouth before he can deny it again.

For a while, all they do is kiss, a gentle exploration of mouths, as if they haven’t done it a hundred times before.  The taste of Kirishima on his tongue is just as intoxicating now as it was the first time, and Bakugou isn’t even thinking about his needs as an incubus.  He wraps his arms around the back of Kirishima’s neck, digging fingers into soft red strands of hair, then down his back to his shoulders, feeling the strength in his muscles.  Kirishima is holding himself up over Bakugou, has been for several long minutes now, and isn’t showing any sign of strain as he gently dips his head down to indulge in Bakugou’s lips.

Bakugou becomes increasingly aware of something huge and hot against his thigh, realizing that Kirishima is already hard again.  When Kirishima’s hand reaches down between Bakugou’s legs, he spreads them readily.

“I really was planning to wait a while longer before the next round,” Kirishima says with a smirk as his fingers find the plug.  He plays with it, watching how it makes Bakugou’s hips jerk involuntarily. “Thought we’d at least get around to finishing those strawberries, but I guess I just can’t resist you, Katsuki.”

Bakugou glares, even as he bites his lip to keep from moaning.  “Just fuck me already, you asshat, and let me come!”

Kirishima beams in the face of his attitude.  “Your wish is my command!”

He slicks himself up with a bit more lube, then tugs the plug out, eagerly lining up the head of his cock.  Without the need to stretch Bakugou again, he pushes in without reservations, but the loud moan he lets out seems to shock even him, and Bakugou echoes it with a quiet whimper.  

“Holy fuck.  Holy fucking shit.”  He takes a deep breath once he’s all the way inside.  “Please tell me you’re good, because you feel fucking perfect on my cock right now, and I don’t think I can hold back.”

Bakugou clenches his fingers in the sheets and hooks an ankle up over Kirishima’s shoulder.  “Then don’t hold back.”

With an almost animalistic growl, Kirishima starts thrusting, finding one of Bakugou’s hands to tangle their fingers together in the sheets.  Bakugou immediately starts gasping out little “ah” noises, unable to say or even think anything else really as his over-sensitized body is assaulted once more.  Kirishima is possessive yet tender. He kisses every bite mark and caresses every bruise, leaving a constellation of patterns all over Bakugou’s body.  

“You’re so incredible, baby, look at you,” he murmurs deliriously as he pistons in like a machine, not pausing for anything, sweat rolling down the sides of his face and beading up in the divot of his collarbone.  


Bakugou is completely incapable of anything more than monosyllabic gasps, can’t even see clearly as tears well up in his eyes and leave streaks down the sides of his cheeks.  If he didn’t know better, he might think his own magic was incinerating him from the inside out. He feels like there’s a fire spreading through his body, starting from his groin where he’s painfully, achingly hard.  He needs to come so badly, but he can’t even get the words out to beg for release.  

Kirishima, as if he can read Bakugou’s mind, ducks down again to kiss at his jaw and whisper more endearments.  “So good for me, baby, so perfect. You’ve done so well, I’m gonna let you come now, yeah? I’m gonna release your pretty cock and I want you to let yourself go for me.  You’re gonna come so hard you’ll never forget it. You ready, baby?”

Bakugou nods frantically, and Kirishima doesn’t even slow his pace as he reaches for the cock ring.  The moment it comes off, Kirishima slams all the way into him and Bakugou screams, arching completely off the bed with the force of his orgasm.  He immediately spurts long streaks of white that reach as high as his own chin, painting his neck and chest with sticky fluid.  The pleasure sings through him and he writhes, distantly aware of Kirishima gripping his hips to hold him still as he comes too, likely from the way his hole must be spasm around his cock.

Feeding off of Kirishima is like being flooded with intense energy, better than the most perfectly prepared steak or the juiciest strawberry.  His orgasm is violent, but lingering, a burst of flavor that he savors oh so slowly, his body is vibrating and satisfied.

And finally, in the end, when his muscles relax and he feels like he can finally breathe again… he loses consciousness.

By the time Bakugou wakes up again, it’s already morning.

Disoriented, he looks around, only to find himself pinned under one of Kirishima’s heavy arms and tucked up under his chin.  The steady rise and fall of his chest tells Bakugou that he’s still asleep. He settles down again, though he winces a bit as he tries to find a comfortable position and he knows that when he checks later, he will most definitely find finger-shaped bruises around his hips and probably a few more marks scattered across his skin.  Good thing he heals quickly. He doesn’t even want to know what his neck looks like yet.

His subtle re-positioning isn’t as subtle as he thinks, and Kirishima makes a muffled noise into his pillow, his brows furrowing as he blinks awake.  The moment he sees Bakugou, his face softens into a sleepy smile that makes his heart flutter.

“Morning Katsuki,” he whispers.

Then his eyes drift down his form and he suddenly hisses, blinking more fully into awareness.  Alarmed, Bakugou almost sits up, but when Kirishima’s hand ghosts over the raw skin of his neck, he realizes what must have caught his attention.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Katsuki.  I was way too rough last night.”

“Shut up,” he snaps gruffly.  “It’s not that bad.”

“You haven’t even seen yourself yet, have you?” he admonishes.

He grunts in reluctant agreement.

Kirishima thumbs gently over a bite mark on his shoulder.  “I cleaned you up a bit last night, but it was still dark and I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

“You did?”  Bakugou looks down at himself, noticing gratefully that he won’t have to deal with any crusty cum stains.

“Yeah, after you came you last night, you completely passed out.  I wiped you down with a wet cloth, and our phone even rang, the front desk letting us know about a bunch of noise complaints, apparently.  You didn’t stir at all.”

“Shit, they called?”

“Don’t worry about that, I lied and told them it wasn’t our room.  Not sure if they believed it or not, but we were done anyway.”  More quietly he adds, “Was it good for you?”

“What do you think?”

“Yes?”  He bites his lip, eyes lingering on the marks on his neck again.  “I just don’t ever want to get carried away in the heat of the moment and do something you’re not comfortable with, even if it feels good.  There’s just something about you, Katsuki. You trigger something possessive in me, like I have to prove that you’re mine no matter what. I’ve felt this way before with my past relationships, but never this strongly, and it scares me a little bit.  What if one day I go too far?”

Bakugou pokes his cheek.  “It’s fine, you dumbass. I do belong to you.”

Kirishima blinks at him, eyes widening.

“And if you do any stupid shit that I don’t like, I promise I'll stop you.  ‘Cause you belong to me too, right?”

Kirishima beams at that, and his stupid smile is so bright Bakugou has to hide his face in the pillow.

“Katsuki, you’re so manly,” he croons.

“Are you patronizing me?”

“Not at all!”

“Mad fucker.”  He huffs. “You’re the only one who even wants to keep me around.  What is it that you like about me, anyway?”

“Love,” Kirishima corrects.

Bakugou snorts. “Love, then.”

He hums and runs a hand through Bakugou's spiky blond bedhead.  “There’s so much, I don’t know where to start.  You’re so intelligent and well-read, but you’re also stubborn and determined to get your way, and I feel like you could probably do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.  You’re always taking care of me, and your cooking is to die for. You care about others too, like Midoriya, even though you try to hide it, but for some reason you don’t let others care about you.  So I really want to be that person who will take care of you. If you let me.”

Bakugou’s heart beats a little faster in his chest, and he can feel his throat to start to close up, so he swallows thickly.  He’d been too careless with his question, half expecting Kirishima to wax poetic about his shoulders or something. The sincerity in Kirishima’s words catches him off guard.

Just as quickly, his heart drops.  He wishes with all his being that this could all be real, but it never will be as long as he is what he is, and as long as he keeps it a secret from Kirishima.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers.  “I don’t deserve you, and I’m not as great as all that.  There are things that… that you don’t know about me. I haven’t fucking told you.  I’ve been too scared, because I know you won’t want to be with me anymore once you know.”  He swallows again, trying to breathe normally. “I--I’m--”

“Shhh, Katsuki.  You don’t have to tell me right now.”  Kirishima leans forward to press a kiss to Bakugou’s forehead.  “Calm down. Breathe.  You think I haven't noticed those little moments when you go quiet and sad?  I've known for a while now that something's been bugging you.  But if it’s that important, then I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.  And when that time comes, I promise to listen. Okay?”

Bakugou furrows his brow.  “You don’t want to know now?”

Kirishima chuckles lightly.  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.  But I don’t think anything you say could make me not want to be with you, so I'm willing to wait until it's a good time.  For both of us.”

Bakugou knocks his head against Kirishima’s chest.  “Idiot. Don’t regret those words.”

He rubs a hand gently up and down Bakugou’s back.  “I won’t.”

“I love you, Eijirou.”

Lying so close to his chest, Kirishima’s tiny gasp does not go unnoticed.

“Love you too, Katsuki.”

They spend too long lingering in bed, and end up having to rush through some semblance of a morning routine in order to check out on time.  Kirishima forces Bakugou to take one of his collared shirts to cover up the marks on his neck, even though the shirt is very obviously several sizes too large.

They take the train back together, and Bakugou goes home with Kirishima as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  Kirishima unpacks his things and does the laundry while Bakugou makes dinner. In the evening, they curl up together on the couch, watching re-runs of some old anime, and it feels ridiculously domestic until Kirishima pushes his phone into Bakugou’s hands, the screen displaying a website for sex toys and he tells Bakugou to pick out anything he wants.  

By unspoken agreement, this somehow becomes their new norm.  Bakugou now spends more nights with Kirishima than not, even if it’s just to crawl into bed and fall asleep next to him.  After closing up the bookstore in the evening and stubbornly refusing to talk to Midoriya about anything outside of necessary business conversations, he heads to Kirishima’s place to prep a hot meal, which the salary man more than appreciates after a long day at his office.  Then it turns into lazy nights curled up together, eating junk food and watching crappy television.  Of course, they still fuck almost daily, and it's still incredible every time, but now it’s only one of many aspects of their relationship. They fall into a routine so quickly and so easily, it’s as though they’ve always done it.  

The nights he doesn’t spend with Kirishima are spent patrolling the city, reluctantly doing his part to figure out what the hell is going on, even if Deku and Half and Half are as unhelpful as usual.  But he’ll be damned if he lets personal feelings get in the way of protecting his home.

And it is his home.  Despite Midoriya’s warnings and the common sense telling him that it’s a bad idea to get involved with a mortal, Kirishima makes him feel like he’s found somewhere to belong that isn’t filled with fire and brimstone.  Bakugou has never had happiness like this.  

He should have known it was too good to last.

Aside from the buzz of fluorescent lighting and the distant shouts and thuds of bodies hitting a workout mat, the front entrance of the MMA gym is quiet.  Bakugou leans against the wall, idly browsing through articles on his phone as he waits for Kirishima to get done. It’s another Friday night, and the two of them had decided earlier that they would run by the supermarket together before heading back to Kirishima’s apartment.  

He’d arrived a few minutes early and hadn’t been so lucky as to witness an actual fighting match, but he did catch a glimpse of Kirishima in his gear, tearing into a punching bag with the laser focus of a trained athlete, and that was reward enough.

“Well, well, well, I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you again,” a vaguely familiar voice cuts into his calm.

With his peace disrupted, Bakugou glances up through narrowed eyes to the sight of a dark-haired man smirking at him.  He isn’t all that good at recognizing faces, but annoying attitudes are unfortunately a bit more memorable.

“You again.  The fuck was your name?  Shingo?”

“It’s Shindo. I’m honored you remember.”

“Don’t be.”

“Bakugou, right?” he continues, walking even closer and completely ignoring Bakugou’s hostile energy.  “What brings you here?”

“The fuck do you think?”

“Huh.  So Kirishima managed to get more than just one date out of you.  I’m surprised.”

Bakugou pushes off the wall, hunching forward to lean into Shindo’s space.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, a calculated movement though it’s clearly supposed to be casual.  “I’m just saying… I know what he’s packing.  And I know firsthand exactly how… difficult it is to be with him.  I guess he’s given up on topping, huh?”

Bakugou’s eyes widen in realization.  “Holy shit--you were his one night stand.”

The poker face cracks just a tiny bit.  “He told you about that?”

Bakugou’s lips spread into a nasty grin as all the pieces fall into place.  “He told me you couldn’t handle him. Couldn’t even get him off afterwards. What’s the matter, were you too intimidated?  I mean, I guess I can’t blame you, he is pretty damn perfect.”

Shindo’s face is frozen in a barely-there polite smile, a red flush slowly traveling up his neck.  “No one in their right mind would want that freak inside of them.”

Finally snapping, Bakugou grabs him by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until their faces are only inches apart.  His smirk falls away completely and he snarls, “I do.  I’d take his cock every night for the rest of my damn life if I could.  And fuck you for reducing Kirishima to nothing more than the size of his dick.  He’s kind and passionate and you don’t deserve to even breathe the same fucking air as him you damn weasel.”

With that, he shoves the stunned man away from him, not caring one bit when he stumbles and falls back on his ass.

Kirishima, of course, picks that moment to turn the corner and see them.  He takes in Bakugou’s offensive stance and the sight of Yo Shindo picking himself up off the ground.  “What’s going on?” he demands.

“I was just trying to make friendly conversation--” Shindo starts.

“You were insulting my boyfriend and sticking your nose in our business when it has nothing to do with you.”  Bakugou grabs Kirishima’s hand and tugs him away before the asshole can even come up with a response. “Come on, Shitty Hair, let’s go.”

A million unspoken questions are readable in his expression, but Kirishima follows him, sparing a last glance in the direction of where Shindo is brushing himself off.

The night air is cool on his skin, and Kirishima’s warm hand in his grounds him like nothing else.  He even feels a little bad about making a scene, though he doesn’t regret a single word he said. Once the gym is out of sight, he slows his pace to a normal stroll and Kirishima catches up to walk next to him.

“So what happened back there?”

“When you said you’d tried ‘casual sex’ before, I assumed you meant a one night stand with some stranger.  Not a gym buddy with benefits situation.”

Kirishima gapes.  “Did he tell you about that?”

“I figured it out.”  He shrugs. “Why that guy, though?  He’s a bitch.”

He gives an embarrassed laugh.  “He offered, and I was a little bit desperate.  Didn’t exactly work out, did it?”

Bakugou bumps him with his shoulder.  “Sure it did. If you stuck it out with that shitwad, you wouldn’t have ever met me.”

Kirishima catches his eye and holds his gaze as he pulls Bakugou’s hand to his lips for a quick peck.  “I guess I am pretty lucky then, huh?”

Bakugou looks away as if that will hide the red in his cheeks.  “You sap. Let’s hurry and get to the store before it closes. We probably already missed out on all the good deals as it is.”

“We can always get takeout.”

“Why the fuck would you want takeout when I’m offering to cook for you!?”

Kirishima’s laugh is so fucking fond and Bakugou feels his heart swell with so much sudden emotion, it’s all he can do to not push Kirishima into the nearest dark alley.  But it’s not just lust or attraction or affection he feels. It’s everything.

Somehow they do make it to the store and Bakugou is able to get all the ingredients he wants, even if he does complain about the best cuts of meat being gone.  They’re walking back to the apartment, each with a bag of groceries in one hand while they hold on to each other with the other. The street is quiet and empty as they pass under the dim glow of the street lamps.

Kirishima is in the middle of animatedly telling him about an upcoming MMA match that he’s training for when something slams into Bakugou from behind and grabs onto him.  

The force of it yanks him from Kirishima, and catapults him into a wall before he can even think to react.  Tendrils of what appear to be cloth wrap around his body, constricting each limb and squeezing his diaphragm so tightly that he can barely breathe.  Then a pain like nothing he’s ever experienced courses through him and he screams. 

“Katsuki!”  Kirishima’s voice is distant, but it’s the only thing he can focus on through the pain.  He needs to make sure Kirishima is okay. Whatever this is, he’ll fight it somehow, but Kirishima is in danger.

“Eiji…rou…”  Run , he tries to say, but if possible, the pain gets even worse.

Kirishima’s terrified expression is the last thing he sees before everything goes black.