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Afternoon Delight

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Bakugou couldn’t have planned it better himself.

It happens on a Thursday. It’s 2:30 PM on a perfect summer day, and Bakugou is heading home after a brutal ten-hour patrol. He’d ditched his gear at the agency and is working out the aches in his muscles by taking the long way back. An oversized hoodie, well-worn joggers and an orange beanie are enough of a disguise for his purposes, and everyone is too busy enjoying the summer afternoon to look too closely. 

Usually, he can stroll home with his Dynamight-branded athleisure wear and people fucking clear the sidewalks—as they should. So while he might be free from the hungry eyes of fans, he’s not free from assholes shoulder-checking him because they can’t move out the goddamn way. Bakugou is running off of ten hour’s worth of exhaustion and adrenaline dumping, so when someone tags his shoulder so hard Bakugou nearly trips, he loses it instantly. 

He spins around, fists clenched as he shouts, “Hey dickhead, watch your fucking self!”

He doesn’t really expect the man to turn but he does, tugging his hood back with one hand. Bakugou’s mouth drops open. It’s the last person he’d expect to see here. 

Shinsou Hitoshi. 

Even over a year after coming back from some secret, hellish undercover mission, Shinsou looks still rough. He’s got a face full of piercings and tattoos, and a mean sneer on his wide mouth.

“Better watch yourself, Katsuki. Don’t wanna piss off the wrong person with that mouth of yours.” Shinsou's voice is deep, edged with a smoker’s rasp that feels like nails scratching down Bakugou’s spine. Bakugou takes about half a second to decide he isn't letting that slide and if Shinsou wants to throw attitude, then Bakugou will throw fists. 

“Cocky piece of shit,” Bakugou scoffs, advancing on him, “you think you’re so damn tough, don’t you? Hiding behind your freak quirk and acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

Shinsou steps up to him without hesitation, his nasty smile growing. “I don’t know, sweetheart, maybe that’s because I am. You wanna start shit and find out?”

Bakugou might be tired, but the prospect of a fight always gets his blood up. “You couldn’t take me if you tried,” he snarls. 

“Bet,” Shinsou says. It's always a bad idea to get into an argument with Shinsou, and Bakugou should’ve known better. Back when they were kids at UA, Shinsou had never abused his quirk. Now they’re pushing thirty and… things apparently change.

It’s not like anything Bakugou ever felt from him before. Back then, his quirk had felt strange, too, like fingertips trailing down his nerve endings, hesitant but irresistible. Now, though, it feels more like Shinsou had punched straight through his skull and ripped his consciousness from his body, holding it throbbing, bleeding, like a severed heart laying in his hand.

 

Bakugou wakes up to the taste of copper and a horrible feeling of falling, like dropping off a cliff and into the frigid water of consciousness. But Bakugou is a pro, and it’s not his first time being KO’d. His mental inventory of his limbs is automatic and swift, and he seems mostly okay. No serious injuries, just his bleeding lip and a persistent pain shooting up his spine.

“Sh, pet, it’ll hurt more if you struggle,” a low voice says, lips brushing his ear. “Though… if you want it to hurt, I really don’t mind.”

It takes him a second to realize what the pain is. He’s… there’s… The horror of it hits hard. Bakugou shouts in alarm, twisting against the wall in an attempt to escape the fingers spreading his—his asshole . He fights to turn and look at his attacker, ignoring how the concrete scrapes against his cheek, stomach sinking as he realizes his wrists are pinned against his lower back, palms against his own skin. Bakugou will only hurt himself if he tries to use his quirk. Shit. Shinsou’s face swims into focus, purple eyes cold as an arctic aurora, teeth bared in an awful smile. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Bakugou whispers. The fingers inside him curl viciously, and Bakugou’s knees nearly give out from the sudden hit of traitorous pleasure. “F-fuck, stop,” he groans, trying to tug his hands from Shinsou’s grip. 

“Why should I, when you like it so much?" Shinsou shoves his fingers in deeper, stretching him painfully fast.

“You’re dead,” Bakugou gasps, pretending his hips aren't twitching backwards, chasing that stretch. He has no idea how long Shinsou has been touching him, but his body feels like it's already well-prepped, the ache of pleasure established before he’d regained consciousness. For a single, horrible moment, he wonders what it would be like to just stay here and let Shinsou have his way, to give in to the shameful heat pulling tight in his core.

“You're so arrogant,” Shinsou murmurs into his cheek, pushing his hips into the side of Bakugou's ass, “but you’re gonna be screaming for me in no time.”

Bakugou grits his teeth as Shinsou ruts against his hip. He can feel the length of Shinsou's hard cock—Bakugou's breath catches as he realizes Shinsou's getting off on this and suddenly he realizes he’s really, truly in danger. This isn't just Shinsou taking a prank too far, trying to teach him some fucked up lesson. Shinsou wants this, and he is one of the very, very few people who can handle Bakugou at full power. He panics. His palms light up reflexively, heat searing into his lower back. Shinsou drops his grip instantly, swearing as Bakugou rips away from him and turns around, snarling like a feral animal. 

“You little bitch,” Shinsou spits out, reaching behind his back and pulling out a gun. Bakugou freezes. Metal flashes in the sun, and Shinsou clicks the safety off. “Don’t push me,” Shinsou says. His face is hard and cold as he drops the barrel of the gun briefly downwards. “Come here, kitten. Be good and get on your knees.” 

Where the fuck had he gotten a gun? An explosion isn’t going to stop a bullet. Bakugou fruitlessly tries to calm his breathing, hating that part of him that doesn’t want to shout for help, doesn’t want anyone to find him like this. His hoodie is long gone, and his tight tank top is pushed up around his chest. His nipples ache, like Shinsou already had his way with them, and his sweats and underwear are still bunched around his thighs. He’s never felt more exposed, violated, and powerless. Worst of all, he's still hard.

He's spent a lifetime perfecting his body, shaping it into the ideal weapon, fine-tuned and flawless, but somehow his cock is still hard and leaking precome between his legs. He’s rescued enough abuse victims to know you can’t help your biology, but he still feels disgusting, betrayed by his body. 

“No one’s there,” Shinsou laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the heavy black X tattooed over his throat. “Don’t you know who I am? You think I’m some fucking amateur? No one’s gonna hear you, no one’s gonna miss you, and no one is coming for you. I’m all you got.”

Bakugou knows instantly that he’s telling the truth. The whole area seems deserted, silent and sun-baked by the late summer sun. If he wants out, he’s gotta fight for it. So he’ll fight. Bakugou’s fists light up, heat blazing from between his fingers as he jets forwards and—and it's like hitting a metaphysical brick wall, where Bakugou's body keeps moving but his mind is held fast in Shinsou's implacable stare. And then everything goes dark. 

 

Bakugou wakes back up violently, feeling like he's yanked his head out of dark water just moments before suffocating. He's disoriented, head throbbing where it leans back against the concrete wall. He’s dizzy, disoriented from the change in position, ears ringing as he stares up at the blue sky. It’s a mere sliver between the abandoned buildings that sandwich the alleyway, and a painful reminder of the last time Bakugou had felt in control of his life, walking home among the friendly bustle of civilians. 

Now he just feels helpless.

This time, Shinsou has his hands pinned between his back and the wall, and Shinsou is reaching around him, looking into his face as his fingers probe Bakugou’s hole.

“Naughty,” Shinsou murmurs, “gonna ruin this little hole if you keep misbehaving. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck,” Bakugou says, choking back a gasp as another finger pushes past his rim, “you're a monster.” His voice is painfully hoarse with horror and defiance, hands instinctively ablaze where they rest against the concrete.

“I told you, no misbehaving,” Shinsou says, and Bakugou can feel him take control again, ripping his mind from his body and then letting it return just as abruptly as he tries to blink himself back into awareness. It’s on purpose, he realizes, like a mental form of waterboarding that Shinsou is using to break him down. And not just that, Bakugou thinks, but Shinsou is… is playing with him, like a cat with a mangled mouse, toying with his consciousness because right now, Bakugou has nothing and Shinsou holds all the power of a god.

“W-why? Thought you were, a-a hero,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as Shinsou's third finger pushes fully inside him. It’s starting to feel good again, in the worst possible way, and Bakugou hates that most of all.

“‘Course I'm a hero,” Shinsou tells him, “I’m whatever I need to be to get what I want. And now I wanna raw your pretty little ass and then leave you used and leaking my cum.”

“Don’t,” Bakugou hisses, squirming as Shinsou wraps his other hand around his dick and tugs. "S-stop, I'm sorry, just stop please—" It feels so dirty, and the shame of it brings tears to his eyes, spilling hot down his cheeks and running down his chest. He keeps struggling, but every time his hands spark, Shinsou steals his mind away like pulling carpet out from under his feet, then dropping him right back into painful consciousness. 

He has no idea how long it's been, how many times Shinsou has brainwashed him, but finally fingers push into his mouth, hooking his cheek and tugging his head to face Shinsou’s. He looms over him, eyes gleaming as he stares down at Bakugou. 

“Finally giving in?” he says curiously, like breaking Bakugou is a fun pet project.

Bakugou isn’t a project. He’s the goddamn number two hero in Japan. He’s got more wins than any active hero and he’s not going to be taken down by some deadbeat rogue agent with a fucked-up quirk. Bakugou glares back up at him, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, then spits a mass of blood and spit right into Shinsou’s face. It misses, hitting the X tattooed on Shinsou’s throat instead. Bakugou watches as it sluggishly runs down his neck, as Shinsou’s cool amusement gives way to even colder fury. 

“Fuck you,” Bakugou manages to say. 

“Alright then,” Shinsou says. His voice is all quirked-out, oily and iridescent as a gasoline spill. The hair on the back of Bakugou’s neck stands up straight, cold sweat dripping down his spine. It’s so easy to forget how dangerous Shinsou is, but now it’s all Bakugou can think about as he stares into sickly, morning glory eyes. “Get ready, pet. This is gonna be fun.”

White and purple eclipses his vision and then he’s gone again.

 

Bakugou wakes with a jolt, blinking rapidly until blurred shapes resolve into dingy trash bags and rotten cardboard. Something reeks. He’s pressed up against a metal dumpster, shoulders draped over the edge as someone kicks his feet apart. 

The sun-heated metal burns under his armpits, his back feels like it’s on fire, and he feels something pressing into his ass. He knows, instinctively knows it’s Shinsou’s cock pushing past his rim. 

“Wait, no,” he chokes out, hands firing weakly against the metal of the dumpster. 

“No? You don’t want it?” Shinsou says with amusement, forcing inch after inch inside. “Whatcha gonna do about that?”

Nothing, Bakugou realizes, mindlessly watching the wet spots his tears leave on the brown cardboard beneath him, dropping from his lashes as he trembles in place. His body is exhausted from work, his mind fragmented from Shinsou’s quirk, and all he can do is moan softly as Shinsou drapes himself over his back, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight,” Shinsou grunts out, sliding his hands down his body, wrapping over his hips to grab at his inner thighs. The hold tilts his hips slightly, and suddenly Shinsou’s hitting his prostate dead on, humping him like a dog, fast short animal thrusts that leave Bakugou drooling. 

“Nng, stop,” Bakugou protests weakly, trying and failing to fight the steady twist of heat building in his gut. Shinsou doesn’t stop, but slows enough to wrap a hand around his dick. Bakugou cries out as Shinsou pushes his thumb into the head of his dick, abusing his sensitive slit. 

“You’re so hard,” Shinsou growls into his ear, “you love it, need it dirty like this.”

“No,” Bakugou moans, hands firing weakly against the metal wall of the dumpster. His vision swims, either from the heat of his hands or from the way Shinsou’s jacking him off. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t, but he can feel his finish closing in anyway. 

“Getting close, aren’t you,” Shinsou says in his ear, thrusting deep and burying himself completely in Bakugou’s ass. Bakugou jolts forwards from the force, hands braced against the red-hot metal. 

“F-fuck, I’m not, can’t,” he chokes out, eyes and nose streaming as he clenches around Shinsou’s cock. Shinsou squeezes his dick hard, painfully hard but somehow that still makes his whole body scream with pleasure. 

“Tell me the truth,” Shinsou says, “and maybe I’ll let you come.” Something about the complete assuredness in his voice rolls up Bakugou’s spine and leaves him gasping. His fingers curl into the molten metal of the dumpster as Shinsou grinds into him, stroking him in time and it feels hot and disgusting and—

“I-I’m close,” he sobs, hating himself for giving in but it’s just so, so much.

“Aw, you wanna come, pet?”  Shinsou sounds pleased as he wraps a hand around Bakugou’s neck and pulls him back, letting Bakugou’s head rest against his shoulder. The sudden change is dizzying, and Bakugou is so close that it hurts, cock throbbing in Shinsou’s hand.

“Just—do it,” Bakugou grits out, barely able to talk past Shinsou’s hand over his throat. 

“Heh, too bad,” Shinsou says, and then the world is blurred, filling Bakugou’s head with vertigo as Shinsou throws him to the ground. Bakugou lands hard, his vision swimming like heat over tarmac. Gravel is digging into his cheek, and his whole body is on fire with pain and pleasure. With a wretched moan, he grinds against the ground, trying to chase enough friction to get off. 

He’s so desperate it actually feels good for a moment, but then the friction is gone as Shinsou’s hands grab his hips and pull him roughly up. 

“Getting off in the dirt suits you,” Shinsou says, “but I can’t have you enjoying yourself.” Bakugou doesn’t even complain, because Shinsou’s cock is pushing back inside him and it feels good to be so full . “So obedient now,” Shinsou hums, “not sure if I like it.” 

Bakugou feels a hand land between his shoulder blades, driving his chest into the ground as Shinsou yanks his head up by his hair. “Look,” Shinsou says, shaking his head slightly, “the street’s right there. Don’t you wanna run?”

Bakugou stares blankly ahead, struggling to process anything past the way Shinsou is fucking him. The entrance to the alley is probably only fifteen feet in front of him, but it’s still impossibly far. The harsh sun of afternoon has sunk in the sky, casting dark angled shadows. It all seems so far, and even father when Shinsou puts his weight onto the hand on his back. It makes it nearly impossible to breathe, and Bakugou’s breaths are light and quick as tears of suffocation slide down his face. 

“You better make a run for it now,” Shinsou says heartlessly, “or else I’m gonna fill this tight ass right up.” He punctuates the words with a sharp tug to Bakugou’s scalp, sending fresh tears running down his filthy face.

He tries. Bakugou tries, hands outstretched in front of him scrabbling over dirt and gravel, but for every inch he gains, Shinsou pulls his head back farther, bearing down on Bakugou’s ass until his knees smart from trying to hold himself up. He feels so excruciatingly helpless in Shinsou’s hands, unable to move or even speak past the way Shinsou’s cock is pushing impossibly deep inside him. 

“Not very convincing,” Shinsou grunts, “starting to make me think you want it.”

“No—” Bakugou’s shout of protest cuts off as Shinsou shakes his head like a dog with a toy. 

“Quit lying. Since you’re not gonna fight back, be a good little bitch and tell me just how bad you want my cum.”

Bakugou knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to say it. His face twists in pain, throat catching on dry sobs. He wants to come, he wants this to be over, he wants to snap Shinsou’s neck, he wants to suck his dick, he wants—

“Tell me,” Shinsou demands, thrusting into him so hard that Bakugou screams, his hands leave furrows in the gravel as he tries to hold on to something, anything. “Tell me you want it, bitch.” 

“Fuck!” Bakugou is barely coherent as he squints against the sun, “fuck you, so close—”

“Yeah, baby, lemme hear you scream,” Shinsou groans, fucking him in earnest now, the wet slapping sounds echoing in the empty street. It’s so rough that Bakugou can’t get enough air to form words, can only let out hoarse shouts of protest at each snap of Shinsou’s hips. His thrusts are becoming irregular, cock throbbing in Bakugou’s ass, nails digging into his scalp. 

“That’s it,” Shinsou rasps, bottoming out for a few moments before he comes with a groan, hips stuttering as he empties himself into Bakugou’s ass, filling him with wave after wave of cum, warm and nauseating. Bakugou can feel it oozing out of him as Shinsou pulls out slowly. He whimpers as Shinsou grabs his ass cheeks, harshly spreading him apart and letting cum drip from Bakugou’s balls onto the heated pavement. Bakugou buries his face in his arms, hiding from the harsh light of day, hiding from the way his cock is throbbing at the humiliation of it.

“There you go,” Shinsou says, pleased. “Face down in the dirt, leaking jizz like a dirty whore. Much better.” 

“Please,” Bakugou whimpers into his forearms, “p-please.” He’s not sure what he’s begging for until Shinsou flips him over, climbing over him, hands on the ground on either side of Bakugou’s head, his face blocking out the sun and eyes gleaming. “Wanna come,” Bakugou pleads, letting go of the last of his pride, the shreds of his ego and self-worth. All that exists anymore is Shinsou and the want between his legs. “Please.”

“Mm, I do like when you beg. Keep doing that,” Shinsou says, then shifts his weight, putting a shin over Bakugou’s aching cock. Bakugou ruts up against him immediately, eyes rolling back, arms limp and useless above his head. “Beg,” Shinsou commands, and even though he’s not using his quirk, Bakugou would do anything he says. 

“Please,” Bakugou stutters, “p-please let me come, I need it, want to so bad, please, please please—” Distantly, he knows he sounds pathetic, weak and needy, but he can’t stop the words cascading from his lips as he stares up into Shinsou’s eyes. He feels so helpless, but each time he rubs his cock on Shinsou’s leg, pleasure pulls tighter across his body. He just can’t stop himself, can’t help but chase the flickers of pleasure until he finally comes with a sob, shooting cum onto Shinsou’s knee, and all over himself, spasming in place while Shinsou grins down at him. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Shinsou says cheerfully, then finally gets up. “Honestly, sometimes I think I’m too nice.” As if to prove himself wrong, he kicks Bakugou sharply in the ribs. Bakugou is too defeated to protest, merely groaning and curling protectively around the new ache in his side. Bakugou shuts his eyes against the afternoon light that suddenly falls across him. He hears the rustle of Shinsou putting his clothes back on, the sound of his footsteps as he moves around, taking Bakugou’s hoodie and whatever other crap he’d lost over this whole ordeal. By the time Shinsou finally leaves, Bakugou is left only with the clothes on his body, his pants still around his ankles and tank top shoved up to his armpits. 

“See you soon,” Shinsou says ominously, then rounds the corner. Bakugou throws an arm over his eyes, and cries until he can’t anymore, until his mouth is dry and his throat aches. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but the sky has turned a deeper, softer shade of blue by the time he manages to roll onto his stomach. It’s a slow process, but Bakugou finally manages to pull his clothes back on and clamber onto wobbly legs. His mouth is dry, and his muscles are stiff and painful, but he still manages to stagger towards the exit of the alley. 

It feels almost strange to see the world outside, even if the street looks completely abandoned. There’s no sign of Shinsou. Fear begins to creep in around the edges of his mind, but then he looks over, blinking away the light of the setting sun to make out a figure leaning against the wall. It's him. Shinsou, phone in hand and standing next to a huge black duffel bag. He looks at Bakugou expectantly, purple eyes eerily bright in the evening light. 

Bakugou stumbles towards him, dizzy with relief, practically collapsing onto his boyfriend’s chest. Shinsou catches him with the ease of practice, wrapping strong arms around his trembling shoulders.

“Where’re you at, love,” Shinsou murmurs into his hair. Bakugou tries to take stock, he really does, but this was intense for a public scene and it’s taking him a moment to calibrate. 

“Mostly here,” Bakugou decides eventually, tucking his face into Shinsou's neck as he whines, “I'm so sooore.”

“Christ, Kat, I was getting worried. You were back there for ages. I know we agreed I’d leave you there for thirty, but the fucking time limit was coming up and”—Shinsou stops himself, taking a breath—“Sorry. I was just about to come get you, is all.” Shinsou's voice is mild because he’s always gentle post-scene, but Bakugou can feel his agitation. It kickstarts him crying all over again, either from sheer emotion or exhaustion, but weakly this time. 

“I wanted to feel out the rest of the scene, and you were supposed to be keeping watch,” Bakugou sniffles, a little defensively. “You said you'd be watching.”

“‘Course I was, baby,” Shinsou shushes him, pulling him close in an unmistakable protective way. “I was right here the whole time, okay? Setup was perfect, the feed was crystal clear on my phone—I could even hear you from here, and I woulda come the second you called.”

“Mmm,” Bakugou grumbles, mostly pacified but still feeling sensitive about it. Vulnerable to a painful extent, but that’s the feeling he’s chasing when he does this. Because this way, that raw, soul-baring feeling ends in the safety of Shinsou’s arms.

“And you look hot lying in the dirt, you know that? Absolutely perfect.” 

“Kiss ass,” Bakugou mumbles, wiping his runny nose on Shinsou's disgusting wifebeater but already preening under the praise. Shinsou is an expert at working him over, but he still whines in the back of his throat when Shinsou pries him off his chest and holds up a thermos.

“Drink some; it should still be cold,” Shinsou says patiently. “You’re dehydrated, baby. You need electrolytes.” He’s not wrong. Even Bakugou’s eyes feel dry and grainy, so he lets Shinsou tilt the thermos to his lips, guiding his still-trembling hands with his steady ones. Bakugou drinks slowly, comforted by the familiar routine just as much as the feeling of cool liquid running down his throat. It’s grounding, and Bakugou is starting to come back to himself enough to look around. 

“How’d you find this place?”

“It’s a manufacturing district slated for demolition, but the permits are hella delayed. I’ve done a bunch of interrogations around here, so I’ve got the place locked down.”

Right. Sometimes Bakugou forgets Shinsou’s life as a quasi-legal underground agent gives him questionable areas of expertise. “Which gun did you use? I haven’t seen it before.”

“A fake one,” Shinsou snorts. “I’m not stupid.”

“Mm,” Bakugou grumbles, half-annoyed that he’d been taken in by a fake gun, and half-chagrined that he’d even considered Shinsou pulling a real gun on him. “So where’s all my shit?”

“I grabbed it earlier,” Shinsou kisses his temple. “It’s in my bag. Do you want me to put you under for the way home?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bakugou says, feeling a little pathetic about it because he usually likes to experience the aftermath of a scene with Shinsou… but he feels particularly exhausted and dirty, this time. And it’s kinda his right to feel pathetic, after all that, and that's part of the reason he likes doing this so much. 

“When do you want up,” Shinsou asks, backing away enough to take Bakugou’s face in his hands. Bakugou happily rests the weight of his head in Shinsou’s hands. 

“I want… to be clean. In bed. And with you.”

“Alright, angel. You ready?” Shinsou’s eyes are gentle, this time.

“Yeah.”

When Shinsou wants to be gentle, falling under his quirk feels completely different. This time, it feels like drifting into a warm bath. Soft lavender tones take over his vision and Bakugou readily lets Shinsou cradle his mind, helping him drift peacefully into unconsciousness.

 

Bakugou wakes up to the rattle of a train, the strength of Shinsou’s arms, and a press of people he can blissfully ignore. 

“Checking in,” Shinsou murmurs in his ear. “How do you feel?” 

Bakugou takes a second to check in with himself, making sure he doesn’t have any muscle cramps or other discomforts Shinsou wouldn’t know about when he’s under. 

“‘M great,” Bakugou mumbles, tucking his face into Shinsou’s neck and nosing at the X tattoo. Tacky as hell to get Bakugou’s goddamn logo tattooed on his throat, but… he likes Shinsou belonging to him. He likes Shinsou choosing to belong to him. 

“That’s good, baby,” Shinsou says. Bakugou can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat. “Want back under?”

“In a sec.” Bakugou wraps his arms around Shinsou’s waist, tucking cold fingers under his jacket and against his warm skin. He breathes in the Shinsou’s scent, drinking in the feeling of the skin-on-skin contact that Shinsou is always so big on. He can see why; he’s relaxed enough he might fall asleep. It doesn’t help that Shinsou is doing some kind of fond, approving hum while he pets Bakuguo’s hair. 

“I’m gonna fall asleep if you don’t do it now,” Bakugou sighs. 

“Sweet, tired thing,” Shinsou says. “Ready now?”

Bakugou has barely begun to form the word ‘yes’ before he slips back under. 

 

“Last one before we get home,” Shinsou says. Bakugou lazily blinks the world back into focus. It’s evening now, and the sky is a cool, dark blue, peppered with a few tentative stars. 

“We went far,” Bakugou mumbles. Shinsou’s nails gently scratch his scalp, grounding Bakugou in reality. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna take any chances,” Shinsou says quietly. “Not for this.”

“You’re a softie,” Bakugou sighs, leaning into him. “It’s gross.”

“So gross,” Shinsou agrees easily. “We’ve got about another twenty-five. Do you still want up in bed?”

“You don’t mind?” Bakugou sounds just a little whiny, but he will allow it this once. 

“Never, love. Look at me?”

Darkness takes over Bakugo’s vision like the oncoming night to the east. 

 

He wakes up slowly, feeling warm, heavy, and relaxed. It takes him a moment to place his surroundings, but he knows how his home smells, knows the rhythm of Shinsou’s breath, knows that these are his 1,200 thread count silk sheets.

“Hi, angel,” Shinsou hums. Bakugou can hear the rumble of his deep voice in his chest. Shinsou runs his fingertips down Bakugou’s back, sending pleasant shivers up his spine. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” Bakugou murmurs, shifting around to feel himself out. “But good.”  He still aches, but he’s definitely clean and Shinsou probably spent some time massaging him, because his muscles feel loose and relaxed. Shinsou might be the most sadistic dom Bakugou’s found, but he can also be so incredibly gentle.

“How’s your body feel?”

“Nag.”

“Katsuki.”

“Sore in obvious places, but nothing that won’t heal quick. Happy now?”

“Very,” Shinsou says, kissing the top of his head. “Tell me anything comes up, though.”

“Na-ag.”

“Mhm. Anyway, I was able to take the whole week off,” Shinsou says, running a hand back up Bakugou’s spine to tangle in his hair. “So I can hang around and take care of you. Eat all your food, track mud in the house, the works. You gotta take me on walks twice a day, though.”

“So high maintenance,” Bakugou says, getting up on his elbows to look down at his boyfriend. Shinsou has his typical post-scene expression, a confusing mix of affection, concern, and smugness. “At some point it’s just gonna make more sense for you to move in.”

“My lease is up in like nine months?”

Bakugou drops back onto his chest, tucking his head under Shinsou’s chin like a dog curling up to sleep. “That’s so long,” he mumbles, and he could swear he can actually feel Shinsou’s smile. 

“I gotta make sure we’re on the same page first, love.”

In any other relationship, that kind of statement might have sent Bakugou into a self-critical spiral, but Shinsou’s brand of affection is so fucking consistent Bakugou isn’t even fazed. “And that page is…”

Shinsou’s lips brush his hair, and his voice is low and soft when he speaks. Sincere, in a way he rarely is. “You let me move in and I’m not gotta wanna move back out, Katsuki. Ever.”

Oh, well. Shit. Bakugou is glad Shinsou can’t see his face, because he really can’t name the rush of emotions he feels. It’s not like he ever doubted that Shinsou was committed, but ‘forever’ isn’t a word he’s used to and realizing that he’s managed to find someone who might actually want that with him is overwhelming. 

“We can talk about it again in nine months,” Shinsou says, a slight laugh in his voice. “That alleyway won’t be demoed for a while. I’m sure we can entertain ourselves in the meantime.”

“My ass needs R&R, you savage.”

“I didn’t mean anytime soon, baby. Besides, I’ve gotta apprehend some, you know, people next week and I’ll probably stash them somewhere in that sector.”

Bakugou yawns. Ever since Shinsou decided Bakugou gets to know every classified thing he does, the man won’t shut up about it. “Babe, I’m tired,” he complains. “Are you good about the scene? Can I sleep?”

He can feel Shinsou’s deep hum, rather than hear it. “Mmm… I didn’t like leaving you. You know I get clingy. Wasn’t that bad, and we can talk about it tomorrow. For now, just tell me if everything went like you wanted? You were pretty deep in the scene.”

“It was really good. Promise. You were good. I was fucking relieved to see you after, though. You should stay close for a while.”

“As long as you need,” Shinsou says, wrapping his arms around Bakugou’s waist, holding him tight. “I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Bakugou wakes up to the morning light on his face, slowly blinking his way into consciousness and finding himself still trapped in Shinsou’s embrace. Shinsou is still passed out, snoring softly and drooling onto Bakugou’s previously clean pillows. What a fucking mess of a man. Bakugou pries Shinsou’s hands off him, earning only a sleeping grumble. Shinsou, eyes closed, grabs the comforter and pulls it to him instead, readily replacing Bakugou. It’s cute, having a giant, messy man curled up in his bed like a kitten.

“The betrayal,” Bakugou murmurs, kissing Shinsou’s temple. “I’m gonna make breakfast.”

He says breakfast, but what he means is very carefully going through his morning stretches, feeling out his body after the activities of the day before. There’s bruises on his neck and ribs, scratches on his face and hands, and his ass aches. Bakugou pokes at one that’s purpling nicely on his shin, thinking that Shinsou really did go easy on him. He usually does, whenever they try something new. Maybe he’ll agree to mark Bakugou up properly later. 

After stretching comes a quick shower and his skincare routine, because no matter how hard Shinsou probably tried last night, there’s no way he didn’t fuck up some part of it. An hour and a half later, Bakugou is enthusiastically squeezing oranges for fresh orange juice. Because Shinsou is a goddamn child with a massive sweet-tooth, it’s pancakes for breakfast today. Pancakes and bacon, the latter of which is sizzling merrily away by the time he hears Shinsou padding into the kitchen. 

“You slept in,” Bakugou says, keeping his eyes on his pancakes. They’re almost ready to flip. 

Shinsou makes some kind of undead groaning noise and drapes himself over Bakugou’s shoulders, stubbly face scratching his cheek. 

“It’s already 9 AM,” Bakugou adds mildly. “You’re a disgrace to humanity.”

“No, you,” Shinsou says, snaking his arms around Bakugou’s waist and holding him tight. “This looks good.”

Bakugou ignores him because of course it looks good, and the way Shinsou’s hands are sliding over his bruised ribs is very distracting. It’s like he’s memorized every place he’d hurt Bakugou, and now he’s replaying the day before as his fingertips press into sore flesh. It’s an effort not to arch into his touch and chase the brief kisses of pain, but Bakugou doesn’t feel like being that easy. 

He tilts his chin up, letting Shinsou mouth sloppy kisses into his neck as he starts to flip pancakes. He can feel Shinsou humming against his skin, happy and soft like a giant golden retriever. 

A sadistic golden retriever. Bakugou clenches his teeth as Shinsou bites down, increasing pressure slowly while his fingers find Bakugou’s sore nipples. Bakugou holds out for just a moment longer, eyes unfocused as his dick is quickly filling out in his sweats, twitching each time Shinsou sucks the skin of his neck between his teeth. Shinsou rolls his nipples between his fingers, and the sharp burn of it makes Bakugou’s breath stutter in his throat. 

“Mm, you like that?” Shinsou hums, crowding in closer. Bakugou’s body flushes hot, warm from the stove, from Shinsou’s body pressed against his back, from arousal. 

“You’re a dick,” Bakugou breathes out, then whines as Shinsou pinches him in retaliation. But he doesn’t let go of his hold, just pinching harder until Bakugou can feel the pain of it all through his chest, and he’s bucking forward to chase the faint friction from his underwear on his aching cock.

“Aw, does it hurt?” Shinsou purrs, shoving forwards until Bakugou’s aching cock is pressed into the edge of the stove, and it’s hot and dangerous and his pancakes are going to fucking burn, but hell, he suddenly wants to come more than anything else. 

“Barely,” Bakugou grits out, forcing himself not to twist away from Shinsou’s merciless hands. Shinsou’s low laugh rolls down his spine, and it’s amazing how quickly Bakugou falls apart for him. 

“My sweet, perfect pain slut,” Shinsou says, finally letting him go and just holding him instead, pressing a wet kiss to his temple. “Did you want more?”

“You went easy on me yesterday,” Bakugou grumbles, turning down the heat on the stove and flipping the pancakes while they’re still edible. “You know the answer.” 

He can feel Shinsou’s puff of laughter against his cheek. “Finish breakfast first, love. I know you hate when I make you burn things.” 

Which is true, and that’s the only reason Bakugou lets Shinsou get away with a last kiss on the cheek before ambling towards the bathroom. “Brush your teeth,” Bakugou shouts after him.  He thinks he hears some kind of affirmative. 

Their morning routine is nice and familiar, and he’s not even that pissed about being teased. He has a scalding cup of coffee complete with far too much sugar by the time Shinsou emerges from the bathroom. 

He stirs the small pot of syrup he’s making—fresh strawberries, because he’s not disgusting—and watches Shinsou sprawl over the couch, setting his coffee on the floor as he opens up some hideously annoying YouTube video. Usually, Bakugou would finish cooking and bring everything over to the coffee table, but this time he leaves it on the counter. He kneels down by the couch, pushing Shinsou’s phone down with a finger and meeting his frown with a stare. 

“I was using that,” Shinsou says, with what would be a pout on someone who doesn’t look like they’d fight a bear for fun. Bakugou ignores his whining, appreciating how he looks in the morning light. His hair is a disaster, a wavy mess falling over his face in a curtain of lavender. Bakugou needs to redo his undercut soon, too. He pretty much has Shinsou’s tattoos memorized by now, but his eyes run over them anyway, taking in Shinsou’s muscled chest, how solid he is. 

“I told you to throw those out,” Bakugou says, pointing at his underwear. Shinsou’s only item of clothing barely counts as clothing, not when there’s that many holes in it.

“Ha, you’re looking at my dick.”

Bakugou lets a long breath out, feeling familiar annoyance settle in. It just feels like affection, though, and he can’t imagine his life without it anymore. Doesn’t even want to try. 

“Hitoshi.”

“Baby?”

“I think we’re on the same page.”

Shinsou blinks at him with shining purple eyes, lips parting as it sinks in. His phone drops to the floor with a clatter. “Shit, really?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou says, drinking in Shinsou’s disarmed expression. It lasts only a moment, then Shinsou is pulling him in with a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him half onto the couch as he kisses him. Bakugou pulls away to give him a meaningful look. “You should move in.”

Shinsou smiles up at him, the soft, sincere kind that’s so incredibly rare. “Mkay, whenever you want. We should probably go over some details first but… yeah. I’m all yours.”

Bakugou pokes the X on his neck, and raises his eyebrows. “I know. You're not exactly subtle about that, babe.”

Shinsou’s smile shifts from sincere to smug. “You love it, though.”

“I hate it,” Bakugou says, as a matter of principle. Then he softens, too happy to keep up the irritated facade. “But I love you.”