Bakugou lives for summertime. He embodies it, heat in his veins, his skin, his eyes. God, his eyes put the sun to shame. They’re huge and wild and blazing and Kirishima falls right into them, he licks his lips and the salt-sweat and wishes he could taste it from Bakugou’s lips instead.
The thoughts are fleeting, more feelings than words. They pulse through his brain with each beat of his racing heart. No time to dwell, because Bakugou is suddenly so close, too close, and it’s all he can do to get his head down in time. The air ignites. Bakugou deals his blows and then leaps away to prepare for another barrage, a sneering grin on his face, a challenge.
Kirishima sucks in a breath and wills. And when Bakugou flies at him he doesn’t try to drop or dodge but meets him head-on. The blows land against him, ringing in his ears, smoke clogging his vision. He swipes his way through the screen and barrels on, catches a flash of shock in those molten eyes before impacting him.
Bakugou thuds on the ground, and Kirishima drops with him. It’s a struggle to pin him now because he thrashes like a wild thing, teeth snapping and body squirming and layering bomb after bomb on Kirishima’s hardened skin. His flesh aches down to its pores, his lungs burn, he’s running out of time.
He grasps Bakugou’s hands, palm-to-palm, and twists one up above his head, the next shoved into the grass by his face. Like this the force of his explosions echo back against his own hands, and he has to curb them to keep from fracturing his own bones. Bakugou’s chest heaves. His eyes are riveted on Kirishima’s, mouth parted around his breaths.
Kirishima leans down further, pushes more of his weight into Bakugou. It’s a struggle to breathe, let alone speak in this form, so his voice comes out as a grinding rasp: “I win.”
And Bakugou gives. He goes limp, a surrender, and Kirishima’s armor falls away. He sucks in a breath, but doesn’t let up. There’s no such thing as relaxing until the villains are packed away for containment.
Bakugou’s mouth is stretched in a grin, the kind of ecstatic satisfaction that comes from a good fight. He’s gorgeous. Raw power embodied, unstoppable and uncontainable, but Kirishima has him for this moment.
When Kirishima leans forward, Bakugou’s eyes roll towards him. He lowers himself inch by inch, gaze never breaking from Bakugou, and Bakugou doesn’t make a single move to stop him. Their noses brush.
They wrench away. Kirishima rolls off of Bakugou and lands in a half-crouch. Tetsutetsu is charging from across the field -- must have seen them sparring. Or heard them, with all the noise they make between the explosions and their roars. “You kick his ass?” He hollers, pumping a fist in the air. “Come on, lemme give you a real fight!”
Bakugou snorts. Kirishima peers over his shoulder, heat flushing over his cheeks, but Bakugou is staring up at the sky.
“Yeah, let’s do it!” He shouts back, pushing himself up to his feet and going to meet his friend.
The taste of salt is sweet on his tongue.
Movie nights are apparently a tradition now that they all live in the dorms. They draw straws to determine the pecking order, only because Bakugou nearly got in a fistfight with Deku over which All Might movie they should watch the first time -- for once, the curly-haired boy had risen to his challenge, which only pissed him off more.
Tonight was Sparky’s night. Naturally, he had absolute trash taste. It was a foreign movie, subtitled. He hadn’t expected him to put on a romance of all things, but Mina had elbowed him firmly in the gut when he opened his mouth to say something. That wasn’t what deterred him. It was just that after she pulled that stunt, Kirishima took notice and told him in soft tones to let it go.
“He’s nervous as hell, man,” Kirishima murmured, gesturing with his eyes to Kaminari. Who, now that Bakugou was looking, did look jumpy. “And he’s trusting us not to give him a hard time. Besides, nothing is wrong with a romance.” The last words peter off into a mumble.
Is he blushing, or is that the reflection of his hair?
Bakugou squints and leans forward. The color deepens; he’s definitely blushing.
“Oh my god,” he scoffs. “You’re one of those fucking saps, aren’t you?”
“Wh -- no!”
“You’re as shitty a liar as your hair.” He snorts and tromps over to a couch, dropping heavily down onto it and swinging his feet up to take up all the cushions.
Kirishima follows with a huff of, “That doesn’t make sense.” He shoves at Bakugou until he rolls over and Kirishima can tuck himself against him, Bakugou draping a willing arm over his side. His hair is down, so it doesn’t jab him in the fucking chin.
They had to establish a rule for Kirishima: all cuddling must be done below the chin while his hair is up.
Sero and Mina are making kissy faces at them. Bakugou bares his teeth but they both just cackle and prance off to join Kaminari — they’re perfect for one another, a trio of fucking morons.
Somewhere along the way they became his, those three and Kirishima — though the his for Sero and Kaminari and Mina and the his for Kirishima are so, so different — and he can’t just let them go now.
The movie is, stunningly, not terrible. It has an underlying mystery that is just engaging enough for keep Bakugou’s eyes open. Kirishima is into it, though. He can tell because there’s a scene where the main character is crying after the death of — her brother? Her best friend? Bakugou wasn’t paying enough attention, apparently. But whatever happened, Kirishima begins to shake just a little.
Bakugou wraps his arm tighter around him and holds him like that until it eases. Kirishima turns, and they shift around a little so they can mostly face each other. His eyes are glossy in the television’s flickering light.
He wants to kiss him. There’s no reason he couldn’t. Except that it feels as though the entire class is watching them, even when he knows their eyes are on the movie. So he skims his lips over Kirishima’s forehead, a promise, later.
Later finds them in Kirishima’s dorm. It’s the furthest from the rest, gives the most privacy. They acknowledge it with flushed faces, the lingering implication of what they need privacy for hanging in their brains like a fog.
It’s dissipated now, or maybe it’s only gotten thicker, because they simply don’t care about implications. Kirishima has him pressed back into the pillows, straddling his waist. He cups Bakugou’s face because he’s sentimental like that, insists on holding him like he’s something cherished.
He kisses him slow and chaste, but not out of any shyness. It’s all languid heat, dripping down his spine and pooling in his belly. Bakugou gets impatient fast. He gets a hand fisted in Kirishima’s hair and tugs at the roots, relishes the whine that catches in his throat. It gets the message across. Kirishima puffs a breath against his lips and then slots their mouths together, open and wet.
Bakugou paws at his back, down to the hem of his shirt. Kirishima licks into his mouth, up against the roof of his mouth. His breath catches, his fingers curl tight in the cotton. When Kirishima backs off, Bakugou pursues, the hand in his hair keeping him still as he kisses him hard.
A groan vibrates against his tongue and he shudders, eyes wound shut. Teeth close on his lower lip. The nip is careful, but it sends a jolt to his belly that makes Bakugou jerk.
Then he’s hissing and clutching his mouth. Kirishima blinks widely at him, looking like a confused puppy, or more like a shark with blood smeared on his fucking chainsaw teeth.
“Did you —?” Kirishima licks his teeth and his face twists. “Oh my god.”
“Shut the fuck up.” God his lip must be fucking lacerated. It’s dripping into his palms.
“Dude your blood is in my mouth.” He seems caught on that fact, mouth hanging open as though he’s afraid to let it touch his tongue.
“Congratulations you fucking vampire! Can you get off your ass and get me a tissue or some shit?” Bakugou snaps. At last, Kirishima springs into action, grabbing the tissue box so Bakugou can start mopping up the mess.
His lip is swollen the next day. Kaminari looks at him, and then at Kirishima who is inconspicuously avoiding all eye-contact with his boyfriend. The moment realization flashes in his eyes, Bakugou snarls and draws a finger across his throat. It keeps his silence.
He knows that Mitsuki and Masaru like him. They’re always delighted to have him over.
“I’m so glad that Katsuki has a friend like you,” Masaru tells him, smiling kindly down at Kirishima. And Kirishima of course grins back and thanks him. But.
He can’t help how his brain stuttered on the word friend. Bakugou doesn’t correct him. Kirishima doesn’t expect him to, but it still stings.
“Do you ever plan to tell them?” Kirishima asks. He tries not to sound petulant. He gets it, as much as he can. The fear of parents knowing has never been his. His mothers knew everything there was to know about their son, his fears and his dreams and all his favorite things. They were the first to learn of his crush on Bakugou. He told them the same day he had his first kiss.
Bakugou shrugs. It’s listless.
Deep down, Kirishima is sure it will all work out. But Bakugou is scared, even if he’d sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it, so he doesn’t press. “I’ll be there whenever you’re ready,” he promises. He traces patterns on Bakugou’s leg, but does not take his hand, or kiss his lips, and it is a good thing because Mitsuki does not knock before opening the door. To an outsider, they look like two boys, two friends, anything but in love.
They wait until nighttime. A futon is setup for Kirishima to stay on, but he crawls up into Bakugou’s bed as soon as the hallway light goes out. They lay together and they press silent lips to each other’s skin.
Kirishima turns kind of fuzzy when he’s drunk on affection.
Bakugou admires his work, easing away from his thoroughly-kissed boyfriend and biting his own lip with a barely-concealed grin at the sight of him. Swollen lips and a flushed face, eyes hazy and dark. Delayed, he seems to realize Bakugou had pulled away, as he reaches for him in unsteady grabs. A mumble of, “K’tsuki,” leaves him.
Bakugou lets him figure it out, Kirishima’s hand finding his shoulder and winding around him to pull himself closer. “Katsuki,” he sighs again, and presses kisses over the line of his jaw. Each one trails a little bit closer, until their breath mingles, low eyes meeting in the dark.
For once, Bakugou’s touch is tentative, skimming Kirishima’s cheek. He watches red eyes fall shut, Kirishima nudging into the touch. It makes his chest feel full, his blood feel hot. Kirishima lifts his hands to hold Bakugou’s in place, nuzzling and kissing his fingers.
Breath comes unsteadily to Bakugou’s lungs. He’s enraptured, watching Kirishima, watching his eyes peek open again. His lips part, rows of sharp teeth opening for a pink tongue that drags slow over his palm.
Then Kirishima’s nose wrinkles. He jerks back, entire face scrunched up as he begins to gag. “Oh fuck,” he coughs, “jesus christ that burns!”
Bakugou doesn’t even have the capacity for frustration at this point. He slumps down onto the mattress and tries to come to terms with the fact that he will never be able to just kiss his god damn boyfriend.
Kirishima is staring at Kaminari. So is Bakugou.
“I, uh.” Kirishima blinks rapidly. “What?”
“I said, how the hell are you still single?” Kaminari raises his eyebrows at him. “Like dude, I’d date you. There are a ton of gay guys — or bi, whatever — here. Like, way more than I thought. How the hell are you still single?”
Bakugou says, “He’s not,” at the same time Kirishima gasps, “I’m not though?”
Kaminari gapes. “Dude! You — when the hell? And why didn’t you tell me?”
Kirishima and Bakugou just stare. Then they look at each other. “You’re telling me,” Bakugou says, slow, “that you don’t know who the fuck he’s dating?”
“Holy shit.” There’s an incredulous laugh in Kirishima’s voice. The class is beginning to pay attention now.
“You’re dating someone, Kirishima?” Uraraka asks, sounding surprised. “Ahh, he must be lucky.”
Kirishima drops his head into his hands. He’s shaking with silent laughter. Bakugou is shaking too, but it’s because his heart is palpitating and he’s not sure if he should scream or just shove his hand in Sparky’s face and go boom.
He does neither of these things. Instead he take’s Kirishima by the chin and presses their lips together, maintaining glaring eye contact with Kaminari. When he pulls back, Kirishima giggles. “Dude,” he snorts, leaning his head against Bakugou’s shoulder. “How do they not know?”
“We’re surrounded by fucking idiots, that’s how.”
There’s silence. And then Kaminari screams, and the class joins in, and nobody shuts the fuck up until Aizawa comes in and threatens them all with detention.