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paint them red (for me)

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One day, Bakugou walks into class with the usual saunter in his step and a smirk on his face. A commonplace enough scene. Except, his nails burn bright red, and Kirishima cannot look away.

He's noticed Bakugou's hands before. Many, many times before. He's noticed the long fingers, the tendons delineated sharp and clear beneath pale skin as Bakugou writes, and the almost frantic way Bakugou taps his fingers on his desk when he gets impatient. He watches it all, drawn to the sight like a moth set alight because Bakugou's hands are just so, so pretty. Strangely soft, compared to his personality, and yet quintessentially Bakugou. 

Not to mention, Bakugou tends to talk with his hands when he gets worked up. He must've developed the habit because of his quirk, Kirishima thinks as he jerks himself off, imagining Bakugou's hands in place of his own. 

They'd be softer than his own. He knows because he's touched Bakugou's hands before. Knows what they feel like. He knows how supple they are under his own cracked palms, how smooth, how warm and sweet they smell when Bakugou uses his quirk.

Hungry and desperate for the real thing, he grips his dick hard as red-golden images of Bakugou lay gilded to the back of his eyelids as. 

And Kirishima wonders how they'd taste. 

He looked it up once — various properties of nitroglycerin. The medical community uses it as a muscle relaxant to help the heart, apparently. Used orally, it works pretty well in the treatment of cardiac disease. Patients say it tastes a bit like caramel. Sweet on the tongue and cloying. Better than one would expect, all things considered. An odd hint of relief from an unlikely source when faced with such a pervasive disease, some claim. 

Kirishima wants it. He wants and wants and wants, wants to taste Bakugou, see for himself if the posts are true, but he does not have, so he imagines.

He imagines Bakugou's hands wrapped warm and tight around his dick as Bakugou stares up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Long blonde lashes flutter invitingly over red eyes, almost as enamored with Kirishima as Kirishima is for him.

When he dreams of such things, a part of him wishes he'd never wake up. In his dreams, Bakugou acts so lovely, as he lavishes Kirishima with all the attention Kirishima has ever wanted. 

"You're amazing," Bakugou says in Kirishima's dreams, eyes alight, lips shining with saliva and cum. This Bakugou simply adores wrapping his pretty pink lips around Kirishima's dick, swallowing it down with a sinful hollow of his cheeks as he sucks and sucks. He has one hand on Kirishima's hips to keep him steady. His other hand makes sure Kirishima's balls don't get too lonely. 

Dream Kirishima plays equally as nice. He, too, enjoys nothing more than flooding Bakugou with attention. He kisses, licks, and sucks to both of their hearts' content until Bakugou is little more than a blissed-out, whimpering mess left clinging to Kirishima as his only lifeline. Then, with the warmth of the afterglow spurring him on, this Kirishima wipes Bakugou down before they both settle into bed together, swaddled in each other. 

And, when Kirishima wakes up, he just can't wait to see Bakugou again, dream or not.

Except, when he woke up this morning, he didn't think the Bakugou he'd see today would be sporting a flawless coat of cherry red nail polish on both hands.

Kaminari's the first to point it out. "Dude, what's that all about?" He glances at Bakugou's hands hesitantly, as if assessing a wild animal. Not entirely unwarranted, knowing Bakugou, but Kirishima still loathes to see it. "You lose a bet or something?"

"As if I'd ever lose a bet. I did this myself, for myself," Bakugou replies, flippant and as handsome as always. 

Now Sero chimes in. "What for?" 

"Sometimes, when I use my quirk without my gloves on, I lose track of my hands in all the explosions, and the adrenaline and stuff messes with my ability to feel where they are. So, All Might suggested I try putting on nail polish. To see them better and stuff," Bakugou explains.

"But why paint them red?" Kirishima asks because he just can't help himself. 

He's always been drawn to the color red..

"Red's the easiest color to see, duh. It travels the farthest. I thought even you'd know something as basic as that."

Bakugou explains his reasoning so easily, like none of it really matters. His blase attitude in turn dampens everyone else's curiosity until they all shrug it off as the usual eccentricity of the day. These kinds of things do tend to happen in their line of studies. Weirder things have happened, and who wants to spend energy trying to pry more information out of a notoriously stingy guy like Bakugou when class is about to start?

Kirishima, on the other hand, can't settle down. 

Of course, he has no desire to tease or mock Bakugou for it. First of all, he considers it super manly to be so unbothered by something as stereotypically feminine as meticulously-applied nail polish. Trust Bakugou to take it in stride and use it to further his journey to becoming an official hero.

After all, Bakugou's fucking cool. He's already one of the best in the class — nay, the entirety of U.A. — and Kirishima has no doubts that he'll end up being one of the best heroes of all time once he goes pro. Frankly, Kirishima can imagine no less.

And he imagines so much more as the day goes on. He steals glances at Bakugou's fingers whenever possible, and he imagines what Bakugou'll be like as a pro hero a few odd years in the future. He'll probably still wear his gloves, or some variation of them, because to not do so would be stupid, and stupid and Bakugou have no place together. 

At the same time, it wouldn't be surprising if a situation arose that forced him into using his quirk without his gloves on. Maybe he gets caught by surprise, or a nasty brawl damages them. Even then, would Bakugou still have that red nail polish on? Would it become part of his hero persona? He becomes known as a paragon of masculinity who's not afraid to wear a bit of nail polish for the greater good? Or would it just be a passing thought, a detail so minuscule people hardly even notice it?

Perhaps Bakugou would forego the nail polish entirely. He'll definitely get better at controlling his quirk as time goes on. So, maybe then he wouldn't need the nail polish and long, lacquered red wavelengths to guide him. 

Kirishima imagines that possibility, and he kinda hates it.

"Are you fucking ignoring me right now?"

Kirishima blinks, and his fantasy futures fall away from him in rivulets. In their place stands Bakugou. The real Bakugou who still has a light swath of baby fat on his face and red on his nails. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Bakugou exclaims. He wrinkles his nose and gives Kirishima the smallest, barely-there pout that nearly has Kirishima swooning.

He doesn't, obviously. Bakugou surely wouldn't care for that, and Kirishima desperately wants Bakugou to care about him.

"Sorry, was just thinking about something. What do you need?"

Bakugou furrows his brow so hard his nose wrinkles up. "Just wondering if you wanted to head to lunch. But, if you're busy thinking about whatever you think about, I won't bother you."

"No, no! It's nothing important! Just got distracted a bit. Let's go!" Kirishima pushes himself out of his desk in a flurry. Bakugou's already begun walking away, and Kirishima scrambles to match his stride. "So, uh... The nail polish."

Bakugou turns with a snarl. "You really gonna give me shit about it?"

"No! No, of course not! I'm just... curious about it," Kirishima mumbles. 

"Whatever."

Kirishima lowers his head as a sign of deference, but, really, he just wants to get another look at Bakugou's nails. 

The application is flawless. There are no chips or naked patches, and the surface of each nail shines smooth and flat. It's an even coat, then. Kirishima can tell because he's watched his mom put on bumpy, chunky nail polish plenty of times to know what makes a good coat and a bad coat. Grace and precision doesn't exactly run in his family, unfortunately. 

That just makes Bakugou look all the more enticing.

They walk in silence until they reach the cafeteria. Then, Bakugou sighs, but it sounds more like a snort coming from him. "Asshole, if you got something to say, just say it. I don't have time to watch you beat around the bush."

"I just think it's impressive. How well you managed to put it on, I mean," Kirishima says. "I've watched my mom paint her nails before, and it always seemed tricky to me."

"It's really not that hard. It just takes a steady hand and a bit of patience," Bakugou says. He sets his tray down with more care one might expect, but Kirishima has found that Bakugou is nothing if not fueled by care.

By love.


(He met Bakugou's parents once. They came to the dorms together to drop off some clothes Bakugou forgot at home. As one would expect, he insisted that none of the rest of the class meet them, but once Izuku went out to greet them for old time's sake, no one could resist.

And, despite the arguments and glares from his mom, along with the exasperated sighs from his dad, it was clear Bakugou grew up with care. With love. God, his parents loved him so much, and Kirishima didn't know how he'd ever convince them to not hide Bakugou away from him because Kirishima is just one, stupid little boy obsessed with their darling son.)


"You ignoring me again? You sure there's nothing wrong? You get hit in the head by Sato one too many times, or something?"

Lovely Bakugou sits before him, this time with a garnish of distress sprinkled over his face. He's frowning and tense, head tilted to the side as he studies Kirishima's expression. 

Kirishima hates to see Bakugou like this. Lovely Bakugou looks best when he's happy and pleased with himself, dirt-stained in the midst of a battle, and yet blazingly vibrant regardless. His red eyes beget his red finger nails, and Kirishima likes to think that, maybe, both of their reds match. That, maybe, they match.

He shakes his hopeful delusions out of his mind — for now, at least — and smiles, all teeth and crinkles of the cheeks. "Just thinking about how I need to study some more for our next math exam. I didn't do so hot on the last one, so I gotta work hard to keep up with the class."

Bakugou scoffs, and his strained expression melts away like chocolate on warm skin, all delicious and tempting. "Of course you gotta worry about something like that. I'll help you study later."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Would rather do that than listen to you whining about failing."

"Thanks, Bakugou! You're awesome!"

"Don't need to butter me up so hard to get me to help," Bakugou smirks, and there it is. That look Kirishima adores so much. The wickedly handsome, self-assured, but still secretly vulnerable look Bakugou gets when the chance to show off presents itself, served on a fine China platter and ready to savor. 

It's the look Kirishima imagines when he jerks off. The look that starts it all, before his fantasy Bakugou relents under his ministrations, melting into a whimpering, wanton mess who wants nothing more than Kirishima.

Shit. He's gonna get hard if he keeps this up.

He smiles shakily before shoveling a heaping pile of meat into his mouth. The texture is a bit chewier than usual, but he considers that a secret blessing; all the better to keep himself occupied with because, unfortunately, the ability to bite one's tongue in the face of his big, fat crush also doesn't run in his family, according to his dad. 

Thankfully, Bakugou notices nothing, and the day goes on almost as always.

 


 

The awaited study session comes three days later.

For three whole days, Kirishima thinks about Bakugou's bright red nails. They inundate his thoughts constantly, flitting about his mind like a vulture overhead; its prey has not perished yet, but it will soon, and soon the feast will begin. It's just a matter of time, so it remains, just above the skyline.

Hungry.

Kirishima hungers, and he sees flashes of red and buttered blonde every night. They encroach into his dreams with honeyed whispers and soft caresses, and he dreams of Bakugou yet again, except now the hand wrapped around his cock is dipped in red. 

Kirishima, too, becomes red. 

In his dreams, he splays himself over Bakugou, and he paints Bakugou red until, together, they are the same red. 

Bakugou smiles and tells Kirishima everything he's wanted to hear. It's all very nice.

Then, Kirishima wakes up, and he feels not so nice. In fact, he feels sweaty and sticky, and he prays the other guys don't notice how many cold showers he's been taking recently.

Still, being tutored by the real Bakugou isn't so bad, either, even if he doesn't say the same things.

"I can't believe you still don't get it. We learned this formula nearly two weeks ago. It's not that hard," Bakugou says as he leans himself over Kirishima's shoulders. Today, he gets the front-row, VIP seat to the show that is watching Kirishima mess up at math once again, but Kirishima can't find the energy to be upset about it. Bakugou's body heat, the faintly sweet smell wafting off of him, and the intermittent flashes of red Kirishima sees from the corner of his eye easily overwhelm any other emotion he might feel.

Bakugou leans down even further. He's trying to find a good angle, to get a closer look at Kirishima's worksheet. Logically, Kirishima knows that.

Regardless, Kirishima's beyond himself with joy.

"Dude, I thought you would've gotten used to my nails by now, like everyone else. Why the fuck are you still staring at then like that?"

Bakugou's right. Kirishima's staring at his nails again. To deny such a blatant fact would be downright insulting, at best. Offensive to their friendship at worst.

So, Kirishima puts on his most apologetic smile as he says, "Sorry, you weren't lying when you said that red's a super eye-catching color."

"I never said that," Bakugou counters, frowning. "Besides, your own hair is red. You should be used to it by now."

Kirishima shrugs in a way he hopes looks more sheepish than endeared. "Well, I don't see my hair own hair the way I see your nails, I guess. I've had it like this for awhile, and a few days isn't really enough time to get used to such a big change.
 He pauses. "I guess."

"If it's that noticeable, maybe I should get rid of it. Wouldn't want villains being able to predict my hand movements because of the nail polish." Bakugou sighs, and it sounds like the worst thing ever. "Damn it, and I thought I'd finally thought of something to help me against that shitty Deku."

"No, don't get rid of them!" Kirishima exclaims, and he gets so into it he stumbles over his own legs, knocking his chin against the edge of the table as a result. In fact, he's so invested in keeping Bakugou's nails pretty red, he doesn't even have enough brainpower left to harden before he lands. A nice little wound will surely be left behind after all this, and he doubts Recovery Girl's gonna take the time or effort to help him heal from such a shameful injury.

Bakugou, too, stares down at him with a mixture of overt askance and vague disgust. 

"I mean, they're not that obvious. You said everyone else has pretty much gotten used to them, right?" Kirishima amends hastily. His chin throbs, but not even that's enough to distract him from everything that is Bakugou, and Bakugou is everything.

"Yeah, which is why I don't know why you keep looking down on me! Am I not manly enough for you with some red on my hands? Is that it?" Bakugou demands, and he's on Kirishima again, but this time not with the gentle heat of a body pressed lightly on his shoulder. No, this time he has Kirishima pinned onto the ground, palms sparking in anger as his red, red eyes glare down at him like a wild beast caught in a hunter's trap.


(His pelt is gorgeous. His eyes even more so. Kirishima would never thinl to skin or kill him. No, he plans to keep Bakugou. Forever and more because Bakugou's too pretty not to.)


"That's not it, I promise!"

"Then what's your fucking problem? I'm not gonna let you keep giving me shit over this just because you're insecure or what the fuck ever!"

"I just think it's looks really nice on you, ok! That's why I keep staring!"

Silence overtakes them. 

For as long as he's known him, Kirishima has hardly seen Bakugou struck so thoroughly speechless, and his thoughts race. What if he's really done it now? What if he's really made Bakugou hate him so much that he'll no longer tolerate Kirishima's company? For better or worse, Bakugou's never been the type to tolerate anything he deems even the slightest bit disagreeable. Kirishima, he's sure, is no exception, and it worries him because he'd let Bakugou do anything if it meant he'd get to stay by his side one moment longer. 

Except, Bakugou's incredulous silence suddenly turns into what Kirishima might call bashfulness.

"Asshole, I didn't paint my nails to look good," Bakugou mumbles. His casts his gaze downwards, cheeks faintly flushed. It's a Bakugou rarely seen, and Kirishima drinks in the sight as quickly and fully as he can while it lasts. 

"I know. I'm just saying. It looks good on you."

A pause. Then, "You really think so?"

"Yeah!" Kirishima asserts. "You think I'm the kind of person who'd lie to you?"

Omit, maybe. Lie? Never.

"I s'pose not."

Another lull washes over them. Kirishima's supplemental math assignment has been all but forgotten in the frenzy. Three more questions remain unanswered. If Kirishima leaves them blank, Ectoplasm's gonna give him hell and, even worse, more extra work. 

Though, all of that matters little in the face of Bakugou right now, blushing and shy.

"Well, if you think they look so nice, you wanna try painting your nails, too?"

Apparently, it's Kirishima's turn to be rendered speechless. He blinks once, then twice. He even considers takes a second to consider pinching himself, but then Bakugou's expression falls before he gets the chance to.

Bakugou never makes sad, pitiful expressions like that in Kirishima's dreams. 

"I mean, if you don't want to, it's whatever. I just thought... Nevermind, just forget about it. Let's get back to trying to get this formula through your thick skull," Bakugou mumbles. He looks down, bangs draping his eyes, but Kirishima can still see the rouge blooming over his face, and he's simultaneously smitten and stricken.

"No! Don't just forget it! I was just surprised, is all, but I wouldn't mind trying it out!" Kirishima exclaims, pushing forward so Bakugou can gaze upon his sincerity, even as he sulks. 

"Is that all you can say these days?" Bakugou gripes.

"Sorry about that," Kirishima says. He pushes even further. Finally, Bakugou lifts his eyes again, and the fading blush painted across his cheeks looks downright delectable. "But, if the offer stands, I'll take you up on it."

Bakugou frowns hard, but his eyes soften. "You sure? The others might give you shit for it."

Kirishima shrugs. "They seemed ok with it with you. Weirder things have happened."

Bakugou studies him silently for a few moments. Unreadable, surprisingly calm, his eyes rove over Kirishima's face. He looks like he's searching for something. 

Kirishima prays he has it.

In the end, whatever Bakugou finds satisfies him. "Let's go to my room then."

"Now?"

"You got anything better to do? It doesn't look like you're making anymore progress on this formula. Might as well take a break," Bakugou says.

And who is Kirishima to deny such a sound argument?

 


 

This is the first time Kirishima's been in Bakugou's room — truly been inside, as opposed to peering inwards from the doorway, trapped at the entrance by Bakugou's warning glare. The decor is strikingly simple, barring all the plants littering the place. 

"My parents insist I take care of them," Bakugou explains. "They say it'll be good for me. That it'll give me a sense of responsibility or whatever, but an actual animal is out-of-the-question in case my quirk goes haywire. So, they compromised and gave me a whole bunch of plants instead."

"I don't know anything about plants, but they look really good to me."

"Of course they do. You think I can't take care of a couple of leaves?"

"Nah, I think you could do just about anything."

That gets a smirk out of Bakugou. "Yeah, and I can paint nails pretty well, too. So, what color do you want?"

Kirishima tilts his head to the side, frowning. "You have more than just red?"

"Yeah, my mom gave me a whole bunch of colors when I first told her about my idea. That old hag might be annoying, but she's always been thorough, especially when it comes to random shit like nail polish," Bakugou says as he rifles through one of his shelves. "I got just about everything here."

"I'll... I'll use the same red as you."

Bakugou gives him an odd look. "You sure?"

"Of course! I'm Red Riot, after all!"

A chuckle and a smile. That's what Bakugou gives him. "Guess you got a point."

Kirishima beams. He will surely dream of that soon enough.

 


 

The smell of the nail polish nearly knocks Kirishima out. He recognizes it from his mom's past attempts, but he'd never gotten close enough to really get a good whiff of it. Apparently, women regularly subject themselves to noxious fumes all for the sake of being pretty, or something. 

Bakugou, too, is now putting himself through this for the sake of being a hero.

Kirishima, on the other hand, does it as an excuse to get closer, be closer, hold Bakugou tight and never let him go because this smells nothing like the sweet scent that is Bakugou, but, if he endures it for long enough, then maybe he —

"Dude, will you stop moving around so much? It's not gonna look good if you keep squirming like that," Bakugou admonishes. One of his hands holds the nail polish brush, careful, steady, dripping red. The other grips Kirishima's hand with not-so-much care, but plenty of warmth.

"Sorry, the smell's just a lot to handle," Kirishima says. 

Bakugou scoffs before bringing the brush closer to Kirishima's hands. In turn, Kirishima recoils, wrenching his head away before he can even think to stop himself.

"What did I just say!"

"Sorry, sorry! I can't help it!"

With a scowl, Bakugou draws away from him. "The window's already open, so I don't know how else I can help you. Should we just call it a day?"

"What kinda man would I be if I let something like this get to me? Just give me a minute, and then let's keep going," Kirishima asserts. 

"Whatever."

"I just wish it looked as good on me as it does on you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the red looks so much better on you," Kirishima explains.

"But you're Red Riot. You're covered in red."

"Yeah, well, everything looks really good on you. I guess it's not hard when you're so cool and handsome. Sometimes I can hardly keep my eyes off of you, you know," Kirishima rambles, and he doesn't even notice what he's done until the silence swaddling them stretches into something decidedly more stifling than soothing. "I mean... Shit, well, uh, I —"

"You think I'm handsome?" Bakugou interrupts.

Kirishima can't bring himself to look at Bakugou. Doing so will surely make him spontaneously combust, and he doesn't even sweat nitroglycerin. Still, Kirishima has never been able to deny Bakugou. So, he mutters, "Well, yeah. Have you seen yourself? You're, like, kinda fucking hot. No offense."

"Why would I be offended?"

"I dunno, it must be weird to have one of your friends call you hot. Not to mention, I'm a guy."

"You think I care about useless crap like whether you're a guy or not? Who do you take me for?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Kirishima insists, so desperate to wipe away the anger in Bakugou's voice he all but stumbles into Bakugou's laps. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, depending on which of Kirishima's heads you ask, he manages to catch himself before that happens.

As a result, his face lays flat on the floor right next to Bakugou's right hand, and, wow, red really does have the longest wavelength because Bakugou's nails look so, so bright.

"Then what did you mean?" Bakugou asks, voice soft, and it feels weird to hear him speak so gently. Honestly, the whole situation is kinda weird. The nail-painting party, the clearly well-tended plants, the way Bakugou hasn't blown up at him at all for being an bumbling mess ever since they got to his room. It all screams 'decidedly strange and quite possibly another one of Kirishima's wishful dreams.'

Except, Kirishima's a hormonal teenage boy in kinda love. So, most of his dreams primarly consist of Bakugou whimpering underneath him as Kirishima showers him with attention and admiration. 

He has never before dreamt of making a fool of himself.

Though, the hand Bakugou rests on the top of Kirishima's head feels a lot like a dream. 

"What did you mean?" Bakugou repeats. He laces his fingers in Bakugou's hair. The gel makes it difficult, but he soldiers on through until his clipped nails scrape against Kirishima's scalp. 

Never mind, this is better than a dream.

"I mean, I think you're drop-dead gorgeous, and I might have a big, fat crush on you, but I don't want to ruin our friendship because of it," Kirishima admits in a whisper, and now he's done it. It's all over.

"Took you long enough."

That certainly gets Kirishima's attention. He jerks his head up so fast he nearly knocks Bakugou out via an ill-timed headbutt, but Bakugou just smirks down at him. 

Now it's Kirishima's time to ask, "What do you mean?" but he sounds nowhere near as cool as Bakugou when he says it.

"Took you long enough to admit you like me. I was about to start placing bets on it, you know."

Overwhelmed. Kirishima's kinda overwhelmed right now. He has too many emotions swirling in his head to make sense of. To begin with, he's never been the brightest crayon in the box. His plummeting math grades are testament enough to that. So, having to deal with so many conflicting thoughts at once is, to put it lightly, a pain in the ass.

Kirishima has yet to lift himself up from his half-sprawled stance. His brain's too preoccupied with other things to have enough reason to tell his muscles, 'Hey, maybe it's time to get up because it's a little embarrassing to be laying in front of Bakugou like this, mouth agape and eyes wide with metaphorical little hearts in them.' So, Bakugou ends up being the one to bridge the gap between them.

Thankfully, Bakugou has some sense, and Bakugou's lips are just as soft as his hands.

From all the angry yelling and lip-biting, Kirishima always assumed Bakugou's lips would be pretty chapped. Not a deal-breaker, by any means, but something to note, just in case. Except Bakugou has, once again, proven him wrong because kissing him is soft, wet, deep, and better than anything Kirishima could've imagined. 

Like a bereaved princess-in-distress of an obsolete kingdom from once upon a time, long, long ago, true love's kiss brings Kirishima back to life. Sorta. At the 
very least, it finally snaps him out of his unseemly trance. 

And, of course, Kirishima's first instinct involves throwing his arms around Bakugou's neck and launching both of them onto the ground as he pushes himself further into the kiss.

Sadly, that just triggers Bakugou into drawing away from this kiss, all pretty scowls, as usual. "Hey, watch it! What're you trying to do?"

"Smother you with kisses, obviously. That is, if you're... ok with that?"

Bakugou responds with a raised brow. "Does it look like I'm not ok with that?"

"No, I guess not."

The next kiss goes better.

 


 

A few months pass, and Kirishima and Bakugou end up pretty much dating, courtesy of Bakugou's superb observational skills. And stuff.

"So, uh, how did you know I liked you?" Kirishima asks one day. They eat lunch together, as usual, but now he can shamelessly offer Bakugou some of his food, like the doting boyfriend he never knew he wanted to be until a few weeks ago.

Bakugou silently accepts the meat Kirishima offers him, and seeing him eat makes Kirishima happier than it has any right to. "Well, it wasn't that hard to figure out. You kept staring at me and following me around, all while telling me how cool and manly I was. How else was I supposed to interpret that?"

"I thought that was just me being a good friend."

Bakugou snorts. "A friend who wants to fuck me."

Kirishima, too, snorts, but he does so with much less grace. In fact, he nearly chokes on the remnants of the beef he didn't give Bakugou, but it's all worth it for the way Bakugou laughs.

After all, he's not wrong. Kirishima wants to fuck him. He has for months now, ever since he first saw Bakugou in action; that self-assured, unbending expression Bakugou had completely enthralled Kirishima. He hadn't expected it, but then Kirishima had his first — of many  — wet dream about Bakugou, and the rest was history. 

Kirishima still dreams of Bakugou because they haven't actually had sex yet.

Obviously, he has no plans of pressuring Bakugou to do anything. He'd rather prostrate himself before the League of Villains than do something so heinous. And it's not like he has any issue with their relationship so far. It's nice to just be with Bakugou in the first place. 

That doesn't change the fact that he'd, in an ideal world, have sex with Bakugou at least three times a week. 

At the same time, Kirishima just can't figure out how to make it happen. To outright ask for it strikes him as lame, but he can't bring himself to just push for something more than their usual makeout, heavy petting sessions when he has such little experience with these things. The farthest Kirishima's gone was when a girl from middle school gave him a sloppy, unsatisfying blowjob during their graduation ceremony because why not? They were probably never going to see each other again, so, even if it went poorly, there'd be little shame in what would inevitably amount to nothing more than a memory. 

Kirishima doesn't want Bakugou to become a memory. 

So, if he's gonna become the perfect partner that Bakugou would never want to leave, he better start studying proper sex technique before trying anything.

Bakugou deserves no less.

 


 

Bakugou deserves better than Kirishima, apparently.

"So that's why you've been avoiding me the past two weeks? Because you wanted to do your 'research' without me finding out? What's the point of that?"

Kirishima keeps his head bowed. He can't find the strength to look Bakugou in the face right now, but he knows for a fact that Bakugou's looking down on him, unimpressed.

"Answer me," Bakugou demands.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise," Kirishima mumbles. "You know, to be able to show off my skills and stuff. I — I hoped you'd think I was cool if I was able to make you feel good."

"Yeah, you looked real cool, fingering that fleshlight with that stupid how-to video playing in the background. Didn’t think painting your nails would make it look so interesting," Bakugou scoffs. "Where the hell'd you get that thing anyway?"

"I called in a favor. From Fat Gum."

"So, you're saying you were able to tell famous, pro-hero Fat Gum about all this, but you couldn't bother to tell me?"

"I told you! I wanted you to be all surprised and like 'wow!' at my sex skills."

Bakugou starts with a huff, followed by an eye-roll so impressive Kirishima wouldn't be surprised if he could see the back of his head with it. Trust Bakugou to do the impossible, even in the most outrageous of ways. 

Bakugou opens his mouth. Then, he closes it. He blinks his eyes shut tight and stands before Kirishima, unspeaking. Silence roves over them.

In the meantime, Kirishima debates with himself. Should he go ahead and start apologizing profusely? Or make a joke to lighten up the mood? What would Bakugou like better, he wonders. He always wonders.

However, before he can win his argument with himself, Bakugou finally speaks again. "You don't need to do things like that to impress me, you know. I don't care if we have to figure it out together. We can even do it right now. Or not. Whatever you want."

Kirishima blinks. His mind has gone eerily still, the argument forgotten. All he can really focus on is the expression on Bakugou's face; the anger has faded, and, in its place, rests something vaguely bereft.

It's a look Kirishima has seen Bakugou make maybe once or twice. Not a common thought of his in the least.

But, for some reason, it's kinda sexy.

The time for that comes later, though. Hopefully. On the other hand, his main priority now involves comforting Bakugou and coaxing him into making other, even sexier faces.

"Alright, I hear you. I didn't think you'd feel so left out," Kirishima all but coos. He doesn't mean to — doesn't want to sound like he's mocking or coddling Bakugou because Bakugou hates stuff like that  — but he can't help it when Bakugou looks so cute. 

“I didn’t feel left out. Just annoyed that you’ve been so bent out of shape these days over something so stupid,” Bakugou refutes. The subtle glaze of red on his cheeks say otherwise, but Kirishima lets it go in favor of beckoning Bakugou closer. After plenty of failed attempts, they finally finished painting all of his own nails, too. The sight of a bright red finger calling Bakugou over looks pretty good, even from Kirishima’s perspective; the red creates a stunning arc through the space between them as it moves, impossible to look away from. 

Undeniable, really. He’s watched Bakugou say plenty of things with his own red, and Kirishima can never look away when he does. When Bakugou speaks like that, he speaks of odes and hymns, all stunningly beautiful and captivating. Kirishima loses himself in them every time, and he loves it. 

Bakugou doesn't even hesitate as he approaches, and Kirishima’s dick twitches at the sight.

Then, Kirishima decides to push his luck. He gestures at his lap, his silent command red, red, red. He lets Bakugou know just how woefully lonely he feels as he sits on his bed, eyes locked properly onto Bakugou’s. 

Bakugou remains perfectly still. Kirishima tries again with a winsome smile before adjusting himself. Evidently, it takes little more than Bakugou’s attention to get him maddeningly hard. 

“I’m glad I’m with you because now there’s at least one cool guy in this relationship,” Kirishima whispers. 

"I'm glad you've finally realized it. If I left you to your own devices, you'd probably get yourself killed. Or accidentally married to some asshole," Bakugou says while climbing into Kirishima's lap. He rests solid and warm, and he smells oh-so sweet. Kirishima pushes even more by wrapping his arms around Bakugou's waist before sliding his hands down to palm at Bakugou's ass. 

Bakugou stays.

"Then I guess you better stay with me, huh? For my own good, that is," Kirishima hums as he lavishes the side of Bakugou's neck with his tongue. 

"Guess everyone needs someone to keep them in check."

It's not a promise or an expression of undying love. To be fair, Kirishima wouldn't know what to do with himself if Bakugou told him anything sappier. For now, though, as he drags Bakugou closer to him until the press of his chest against Kirishima's can only be described as sinful, he wants nothing more.

"You really wanna try it right now? Like, for sure, for sure wanna do it?" Kirishima asks.

Bakugou pulls away, leaving Kirishima's bereft. "Fucking hell. Yes, alright? Is that good enough for you? Or maybe you don't want to do it? If that's the case, you just gotta use your words."

With a snarl, Kirishima thrusts his hips up, angling it so his dick slides against Bakugou's ass. So close, yet so far thanks to the clothes between them. "Does this feel like I don't want you?"

"Then stop being such a bitch and get to it."

Bakugou smirks because he knows Kirishima can't say no to him when he's like this. He even has the gall to laugh when Kirishima lifts him up before throwing him down onto the bed, loud and all teeth. 

Almost immediately, Kirishima buries his face into the crook of Bakugou's neck again as he sucks and scrapes his teeth against the straining muscles there. It's the sternocleidomastoid, if Kirishima recalls correctly. They taught them about it because it protects important veins and artery like the jugular and carotid. Knick him deep enough, and death's all but guaranteed.

"Make sure to avoid letting your opponents get close to your neck," Aizawa told them once. "It's an especially vulnerable spot, even for heroes."

Vulnerable

Bakugou moans before throwing his head back. His neck stretches long, bare and open for Kirishima to do whatever he wants.

The sight makes him so hard he nearly creams his pants. 

"Don't forget, you asked for this," Kirishima rumbles. 

"Yeah because you wouldn't," Bakugou counters.

Kirishima has no good response to that, so he opts to stay quiet as he peels Bakugou's shirt off. He's seen Bakugou's body before, privately and in public in the locker rooms, but it never fails to amaze him. Kirishima likes to think of himself as a pretty ripped guy, thanks to his rigorous weight training regimen, but Bakugou's on a whole different level. He's pure muscle, and not just for show, either. Kirishima knows because he's seen Bakugou in action. Loves to see him in action, in fact, and Bakugou moves like a man designed to be the best.

Still, that doesn't mean Bakugou's infallible. Even compared to a few days ago, Kirishima can count three new scars across Bakugou’s chest and abdomen. Two look shallow enough. They’ll probably heal up just fine in a few weeks, max. The other one, though, might leave a scar. 

Bakugou huffs impatiently. “Enough staring. Take your clothes off, too.”

Kirishima lets the scars turn into a thought for another day. “Alright, alright. You know, I might have to teach you some patience one of these days,” he teases. Of course, one might say his words become increasingly less convincing the more clothes he shucks off, but that, too, he’ll leave for a future date. Because, today, all he cares about is Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou.

Bakugou, too, sports an impressive erection. Before falling head-over-heels for him, Kirishima never imagined he’d have so much interest in another man’s dick before. They do say life’s full of surprises, though, and Kirishima will gladly take this one. 

“I’m gonna touch you now, ok?” Kirishima gusts. 

“About time," Bakugou quips, but the breathlessness in his voice gives him away.

Kirishima smiles. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he lays his palm down on Bakugou’s hips, at the junction between his abdominal muscles and hip bone. The red on his nails contrast beautifully against Bakugou’s pearly skin. The sight reminds him of one of those old paintings found in stuffy museums. The ones with the pretty ladies lounging on plush sofas, sprawled open for the world to witness in sheer clothes as they looked back at the viewer, eyes half-lidded and framed by painstakingly-painted lashes. 

Kirishima never quite understood the appeal of those paintings before. Compared to all the hyper-realistic pictures and images modern technology could generate, that kinda stuff never impressed him much.

God, was he a damn fool. After all, he’d definitely pin this vision of Bakugou up in a museum, if he weren’t so greedy and eager to keep it all to himself.

Carefully, because he’s handling a priceless piece of artwork, Kirishima slides his palms up Bakugou’s chest, taking in each crevice and swell he finds there before settling on giving Bakugou's nipples plenty of attention. While Bakugou loves to deny how much he likes some good nipple play with that typical vehemence of his, Kirishima knows better. After all, Bakugou moans almost as loudly as he complains.

He moans now, tossing his head to the side as he clenches his fists into Kirishima's bedsheets. Thankfully, he doesn't burn them to a crisp like he had the first few times they ventured into heavy petting territory. It's almost like training, in its own way. For both of them, in fact. Kirishima hardens his palms — just a bit, for an extra hint of texture  — and Bakugou grows louder.

"You've gotten really good at that, huh," Bakugou pants. It takes him a few seconds, but he manages to prop himself up on his elbows to watch Kirishima's ministrations, smirk in place and framed by an adorable flush. 

"Yeah, wanted to make sure I didn't hurt you. You impressed?"

"Something like that."

It's such a typical Bakugou response that Kirishima laughs before leaning his head down and taking one of Bakugou's nipples into his mouth, grin still in place. A choked noise escapes Bakugou's mouth, and he shudders beneath Kirishima. 

Bakugou's pecs, as built and impressive as they are, are also surprisingly soft. Kirishima loves to knead at the flesh there as he tongues at his nipples as he pleases. He's always been a boob guy, really. He's lucky Bakugou happens to have some of the best tits he's ever had the amazing pleasure to touch.

"Fuck, don't — I don't need so much foreplay," Bakugou breathes a few minutes later. "You're gonna turn my chest gross and pruny at this rate."

"Pruny or not, I'll always like your tits."

"They're not tits, asshole. It's all muscle. Anyway, you saying you don't like other parts of me, too?" To emphasize his point, Bakugou rolls his hips upwards, brushing his cock against Kirishima's, and Kirishima nearly blows his load right there and then. The only thing keeping him from doing so is his embarrassingly intense desire to fuck Bakugou into oblivion. 

Not a bad incentive, at the end of the day.

Still, doesn't change the fact that it turns Kirishima on like nothing else ever has, including his favorite porno. The one featuring the Bakugou look-alike he can never bear to show anyone else. 

So, he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw down hard for a moment before he can speak without his voice trembling. "Bakugou, you can't just... do that."

"Or what? You'll finally start moving things along?"

"I just wanna take it a little slow. Don't want to accidentally hurt you."

"You really think you could hurt me?" Bakugou asks.

Kirishima furrows his brows. "Well, why not?" In a single, smooth motion, he wraps a hardened hand around Bakugou's dick, and Bakugou all but shrieks.

"Asshole, warn me first!"

Kirishima shrugs, and he refuses to let up in the slightest. "I thought you wanted me to hurry up?"

"Cheeky bastard," Bakugou growls, but he doesn't sound upset in the least. 

He sounds even happier when Kirishima starts stroking his cock. He's a bit thicker than Kirishima, but also a little shorter. Either way, his dick's beautiful, and it tastes great, from what Kirishima can remember from that time he gave 
Bakugou an awkward blowjob. Fortunately, he still came in the end, so Kirishima isn't too haunted by the memory. 

In fact, instead of being too stricken by embarrassment to try it again, Kirishima finds himself eager to one-up himself. Once again, with no warning because he gets some sick pleasure from making Bakugou squirm, Kirishima swallows down the tip of Bakugou's dick, and it's wonderful.

Based on the way he shivers, Kirishima assumes Bakugou also enjoys it.

"Shit! Can't believe you made such a big deal out of practicing by yourself, and now you're just sucking my dick like it's nothing, you fucker," Bakugou hisses quietly, voice lost in his breathless mewls. 

Kirishima gives the tip a few more slow licks before pulling away just enough to respond. "Guess I can't help myself when you're right in front of me like this."

"Damn straight. Now, get your mouth back on me."

"Bossy." 

But Kirishima likes that about him. He likes a lot of thinks about Bakugou. For example, he really, really likes the way Bakugou looks when he feels good, neck long, body tensed and aflutter as he laces his fingers into Kirishima's hair. In moments like these — rare, secret moments that only Kirishima's privy to, which is a treat in his own right that never fails to send Kirishima's mind spiraling — Bakugou whimpers and whines, pleading for more, more, more.

He begs. He begs for Kirishima to do more, make him feel even better. Red blooms across his chest and down his thighs as Kirishima continues. Not as bright as their nails, by any means. It's a softer red, but just as alluring. 

Kirishima did this. He's the one making Bakugou feel this good right now. Act this needy. Wanton. So terribly unlike the way he presents himself in class and in training, and Kirishima likes it so much. 

"Kirishima, I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," Bakugou warns. 

Kirishima ignores him in favor of taking him in even deeper. Futilely, Bakugou makes a weak attempt to push him away, but his heart's not in it, so Kirishima easily perseveres long enough to swallow Bakugou's cum.

"Crazy bastard, I never asked you to do that," Bakugou hisses. He scrunches his face up, displeased. 

Frankly, Bakugou's cum doesn't taste sweet and cloying the way his nitroglycerin does, but it's not so bad. Not bad enough to stop him from grinning like mad afterwards, at least. "I couldn't just leave you hanging, Bakugou. Not when you were so into it."

"Whatever. Now you gotta let me return the favor," Bakugou declares. He makes an attempt to roll himself over onto all fours, only to be summarily stopped by Kirishima draping himself over him. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"I could blow my load right now just by having you look at me," Kirishima confesses. He plants a wet kiss in-between Bakugou's shoulder blades before continuing. "Let's just focus on getting you hard again. It'll also give me some time to cool down."

"Maybe you should've gotten a cock ring from Fat Gum instead," Bakugou teases. 

Kirishima decides to play along. "I'll think about asking him for one next time."

Bakugou's laugh erupts out of him, sharp and pretty, and Kirishima can do nothing but laugh in return. Few things make him thrilled than a happy Bakugou, he's discovered.

They spend several minutes wrapped up in each other in bed after Kirishima retrieves the lube and condoms he has stashed away in his bedside drawer. Even with this, his erection refuses to flag, but it does settle down from on the verge of bursting to a somewhat more manageable level of horniness. In the meantime, he keeps one hand firm around Bakugou's dick as he paints invisible pictures across Bakugou's chest, using the red of his nails as a guide.

"Have you been secretly practicing your blowjob skills, too, or are you just a natural?" Bakugou asks. He speaks softly, but his words echo loudly in the lull surrounding them. Kirishima finds likes Bakugou's voice like this. All rough and quiet, worn from the moaning and groaning he did earlier, so he doesn't mind listening to it bound across his bedroom walls.

"I watched a lot of porn."

"Can't say I'm surprised."

Kirishima hums noncommittally in response. Bakugou's hard-on has almost returned in full-force. At the same time, his breathing grows increasingly more ragged, and his hands have slowly crept closer to Kirishima's forearms the faster Kirishima strokes. 

He grabs ahold of Kirishima's arm. Hard. If they weren't painted red, Kirishima's sure Bakugou's nails would be blanched bright white from how hard he's holding onto Kirishima, like a dying man grabbing ahold of his savior for one final request.

"You cooled down enough?" Bakugou asks, looking up at Kirishima with gleaming, wanton eyes.

Kirishima nods. Suddenly, his mouth's been drained of all saliva, and he can't form any real words. Bakugou doesn't seem deterred by that at all, though. He continues to latch onto Kirishima as he nudges them both into position, with Bakugou splayed alluringly while Kirishima, undoubtedly, hunkers over him like a filthy beast in heat.

"Last chance to back out if you want," Bakugou says.

Kirishima frowns. "That's what I should be telling you."

"Well, I don't want to stop, so there's no point."

"Same here."

With a cheek grin, Bakugou wraps his legs around Kirishima before using them to bring them closer. "Good."

Kirishima kisses him. 

He traps Bakugou beneath him with his arms, one planted firmly on each side of Bakugou’s beautiful, beautiful frame, and he kisses him. He pours everything into the kiss. All the things he wants to tell Bakugou, the things he needs Bakugou to know before the night ends. 

Words have never been Kirishima's strong suit. Not like Yaoyorozu, with her fancy vocabulary and elegant speech patterns. In his quest to become a hero, Kirishima never paid too much attention to what he says. He never had anything especially important to say, in the first place.  

Until now.

But he doesn't know how to actually say it. So, he tries his best to shout it out against Bakugou's skin. With each kiss comes a confession, and not even Kirishima knows exactly what he's trying to convey, but Bakugou takes it all in stride as he kisses back equally as hard.

"I took some time to prepare myself before. You better be grateful," Bakugou breathes when Kirishima finally draws away for more than two seconds.

Kirishima can feel his mouth pursing up into a pout, fast and tight. "And you gave me shit for trying to prepare for this."

"Fuck you. This and that are two completely different things. I'm the one letting you stick your dick up my ass, you know."

Kirishima's pout fades so quickly it leaves his face sore. "No, you're right." He pauses. "You sure you're ok with this?"

Surging upwards, Bakugou catches Kirishima's bottom lip in his teeth. Something metallic and warm bursts between them, sinking onto both their tongues through the crevices of their teeth. "You ask me that again and I will leave you here without a single work, alright? I've been getting myself ready for this for days. Don't just shit on my efforts like that because you're getting nervous," Bakugou hisses, his front teeth stained red.

Kirishima swallows blood. "You're so manly, Bakugou. So cool. So fucking pretty." Blindly, he grabs ahold of the lube. It pops open loudly and half of it drips down onto Bakugou's thighs because Kirishima's hands can't stop shaking. "I'm gonna put a finger in now."

Bakugou just nods.

Kirishima's index finger enters Bakugou easier than he expected. Bakugou wasn't lying about his preparations. Still, that doesn't stop him from tensing up when Kirishima adds a second finger, eyes clenched shut as he bites his at his own lip.

"Bakugou, you gotta relax," Kirishima whispers. He rubs big, smooth circles over Bakugou's hips in an attempt to soothe him, and, surprisingly, it works. Kinda. 

At the very least, it works well enough. After a few minutes of gentle petting and reassuring coos — that Bakugou, in a rare moment Kirishima will hold near and dear to himself for ages to come, accepts with nary a qualm — Kirishima's able to slide in a third finger without worrying that they're gonna be forever stuck in Bakugou's ass because of how hard he's clenching down on them.

Which would be a damn shame after all the work Bakugou went through to paint his nails.

Kirishima scissors his fingers, taking care to spread them slow and with purpose. "You doing ok, Bakugou?"

"You think I can't handle something like this?" Bakugou growls.

"I know you can. I just want it to feel good for you."

"It's... ok."

"Just ok?"

"I mean, it's not like I know how a finger up my ass is supposed to feel. It doesn't feel bad, though."

Kirishima frowns. All the research he did mentioned the prostate gland aplenty, so, as the furrow of Bakugou's brow lessens, Kirishima, in turn, grows more and more adventurous.

He pours another generous drizzle of lube around Bakugou's opening before pushing his fingers in as deep as he can manage, knuckles barely-visible, and he curls his fingers the way all those sketchy, ad-ridden websites advised.

Apparently, sketchy, ad-ridden websites actually do have a place in the world because Kirishima feels something foreign beneath his finger pads as he pushes, and Bakugou all but shrieks.

"Shit, are you ok? I'm so, so sorry," Kirishima gusts. He tries to pull his fingers out because he'd rather singlehandedly face-off against every villain in the world than hurt Bakugou, but Bakugou summarily stops him with every ounce of strength in his enviably built legs. 

"Don't! Don't you fucking dare stop now when it's starting to feel so good," Bakugou moans. "Come on, Kirishima, just give it to me already!" 

Kirishima has heard words like that before several times before. In his dreams, that is. To be privy to such a delightful plea in real life, on the other hand, simply cannot compare. 

For everything about the real thing — the real Bakugou, with his glassy eyes and slack jaw, reaching up to pull Kirishima down even though there's no feasible way for them to be any closer — is galaxies and eons beyond anything Kirishima could possibly imagine. His daydreams and fantasies seem so immature and naive in comparison to this.

Kirishima uses that awe and admiration to help keep his hands steady as he rips open the condom wrapper before hastily rolling it over his painfully hard cock.

Wordlessly, Bakugou spreads his legs even farther. Invitingly. Seductively, in the most casual way that only Bakugou can manage, and he doesn't even realize it. The sight leaves Kirishima's breathless, mind whirring so hard he nearly flings the condom across the room while rolling it on. Bakugou smirks as he watches, but he looks far more charmed than annoyed.

Kirishima smiles back as best he can as he lines himself up. He knows he'll never be as alluring as Bakugou, but that's fine. He just doesn't want to look fucking ridiculous when they have sex for the first time. 

He enters slowly. Really slow. Despite the preparations Kirishima just did, and whatever Bakugou did himself before, Bakugou's still damn tight. And it feels good. It feels wickedly wonderful, even with only half the tip inside, but the pained expression on Bakugou's face speaks volumes regarding his take on the 
experience. 

"Should I use my fingers some more and try again afterwards?" Kirishima asks. 

Bakugou shakes his head until sweat flies from his baby blonde bangs. "No. It's fine. Just... give me a moment."

Once again, Bakugou lays himself bare in front of Kirishima. Eyes scrunched, brows tense, and lips caught tight in his teeth, Bakugou gives Kirishima so much without even trying. 

No, that's not right. Bakugou's trying really hard. 

Kirishima plants a gentle kiss on his forehead and tries to make it feel like a caress. Unconsciously, as if he were a hungry stray kitten in front of a naively generous child, Bakugou leans into it.

Kirishima pushes. Bakugou takes him in. It takes time, and several breaks pop up in-between, but, eventually, Kirishima finds himself fully seated inside Bakugou, and it's more than good enough because Bakugou is everything. His legs tremble around Kirishima's sides for a few minutes. Restless, like a pup. Or a kid watching his favorite hero in action holding in all the emotions he doesn't even have a name for yet. 

Whatever the case, Kirishima doesn't start moving until the trembling ceases. When it does, he bears down against Bakugou, chest flush against Bakugou's, forehead pressed gently against Bakugou's, and he stares. He stares at the red of Bakugou's eyes, at the tears pooling at the corners because Bakugou's probably too sutbborn to let them fall. He moves, and he stares, and Bakugou stares right back.

Honestly, being inside Bakugou feels amazing, and Kirishima's flying on cloud nine. He hasn't felt this elated since he received his acceptance to U.A., and even that can't truly compare to his feelings now. He suspects nothing ever will, partly because he feels so much he can hardly keep track of it all. He tries, for a moment, but then Bakugou moans, and how could one be expected to deal with pesky things like emotions when Bakugou lays beneath them, mewling and reaching his hands up to claw red marks down Kirishima's back with his red fingers?

"Oh, fuck, right there, that's it," Bakugou rambles. He throws his head back as he speaks, dislodging his head from Kirishima's.

That won't do at all.

With one hand, Kirishima soundly drags Bakugou's head back. "Look at me, Bakugou."

Bakugou resists, at first. He puts up a valiant struggle until Kirishima finds his sweet spot again. Then, he melts into a pliable, sweet little thing in Kirishima's grasp. "Kirishima, I can't —"

"Please. I want to see you," Kirishima whispers, and it sounds way more pitiful than he intended. Interspersed between the squelching of lube with each thrust, his voice comes as an odd contrast that would be almost laughable if Kirishima weren't otherwise preoccupied. 

Regardless, his plea works. Bakugou blinks once before silently acquiescing.

Kirishima must've done something amazing in his past life to have this.

And he doesn't plan to squander it. So long as Bakugou's willing to humor him, Kirishima will gladly savor it, and savor he does. He watches every expression Bakugou makes like a starving vulture, from the subtle winces he makes when Kirishima hits a certain angle, to the eye-rolling, wide-mouthed groans that come when he goes for a different angle. Soon enough, Kirishima figures out exactly where Bakugou likes it, and he's certain he'll never see a prettier view than that of Bakugou lost in the throes of bliss.

One day, Kirishima will also learn how Bakugou likes it. How fast, how hard, how experimental. For now, however, he'll just have to settle for the where because he's not going to last much longer at this rate.

He quickly grabs ahold of Bakugou's cock. He's already leaking pre-cum, glistening and pretty down the ruddy shaft, so Kirishima hopes a few strokes is all it takes. After all, he's not so sure he'll have sufficient brainpower later to get Bakugou off, and he'd really, really hate himself if he left Bakugou high and dry after all this.

"Bakugou, does it… Does it feel good for you too?" Kirishima asks because he feels encompassed in absolute bliss, as if nothing bad has ever happened, like he could never want for more ever again.

"Yes, yes, Kirishima, fuck, please," Bakugou mewls, words rushed into a single breath. He keeps his eyes on Kirishima's, as requested, but he has his gaze locked onto something far away as he whimpers and begs for more between breathless gasps. Kirishima's dreams never prepared him for this, and he can hardly take it.

Fortunately, Bakugou — or, at least his body — has mercy on Kirishima. After a little bit of fondling, Bakugou moann, deep from his chest, and his entire body shudders as he comes. It lands across his chest, up against the bottom of his chin, and Kirishima has just enough thinking left to lean up and lick it off before he, too, comes.

He sees white, and the only sensation he understands is the warmth of Bakugou beneath him and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against Kirishima's chest. 

Then, he sees red. 

It's his own hair, hanging loose over his eyes. All the 'physical exertion' of the day must've messed with the gel. 

"You know, I think you look pretty good without the spikes. You should leave it down every once in awhile," Bakugou whispers.
 
"I don't know. My quirk's lame enough as it is. I need something to make myself stand out."

"What about leaving it down when it's just you and me?"

Kirishima grins because he can't imagine not doing so. "Ok."

Satisfied, Bakugou reaches a hand up. The nail varnish shines under the overhead light, only to be hidden when Bakugou brings a hand up to brush the strands out of Kirishima's line of sight.

He doesn't see red anymore. He sees Bakugou, winded and covered in a fine layer of sweat, all topped off with a garnish of cum. Maybe this should be put up in a museum, too.

Except, Kirishima's a greedy man, and he wants to keep this to himself.

And, for the time being, maybe he can.