Light pours in the living room window, orange hedging on pink and slatted with vertical shadows from the half-open blinds. It’s just going on dinner time and if either of the apartment’s occupants had a culinary bone in their bodies, the scene would be a kitchen filled with wonderful aromas and colorful, hearty dishes prepared lovingly over a hot stove.
Instead, the front door slams open to reveal two plastic bags of takeout and a scowling Bakugou Katsuki.
His brows are furrowed in that pinched, gruff expression Kirishima knows well, but when Bakugou notices the other man leaning against the counter watching him with a fond grin his own face turns from annoyed to something significantly softer in the blink of an eye.
That’s something that Kirishima thinks he might never get over.
His smile grows as Bakugou closes the door behind him, with considerably less force, and makes to plop the food onto the counter next to Kirishima.
“Bad day?” Kirishima inquires, bordering on sarcastic, maybe a little pointed. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn’t give up his casual stance even when Bakugou’s eyes narrow down to slits.
“Just tired,” he answers, nothing more than a huff and now Kirishima thinks he’s starting to get it.
He licks at his bottom lip just to wet it. “Need something to relieve all that pent-up stress?”
The look Bakugou shoots him is more than amusing, brow quirked and almost (almost) incredulous. “I just walked in the door,” he gripes.
“Fine, fine. I can wait until after dinner if you can,” Kirishima teases (and he is teasing, but also maybe a little bit serious too.)
Bakugou grunts, but it’s answer enough as he pushes past Kirishima to get to the dishes.
They sit at the table, small and square with barely enough room for two people, and indulge in yakiniku, extra spicy curry, and udon in hot dashi broth. Kirishima complains about a particularly troublesome villain with a water-manipulation quirk and Bakugou listens, slurping noodles but attentive just the same. It’s when Kirishima gets to the thrilling conclusion of his story, a hero’s victory of course, that he realizes that maybe Bakugou hadn’t been listening at all, if his non-reaction is anything to go by.
“Huh?” Bakugou blinks when he points this out and it only takes a second or two and that telltale bit of redness around the blond’s ears for Kirishima to realize he hadn’t been being ignored exactly.
Bakugou had been staring.
It had been a long day for both of them, sure, but Kirishima knows better. Bakugou had been distracted by his promising words from earlier, he knew it, he’s just that irresistible—
Bakugou catches him off guard, smug thoughts forgotten entirely when he reaches a thick, square finger out to gently swipe at a loose strand of red hair Kirishima hadn’t even noticed hanging over his forehead.
He’s got his hair pulled up, as much as it’ll allow, a little knot with all the soft, too-short strands hanging down around his ears and tickling the back of his neck. Kirishima hadn’t even really remembered doing it, it’d just been out of convenience not a look he was going for or anything. But the way Bakugou regards him, thrums fingers through the wisps around his face not caught up in that thin elastic—he thinks maybe it should become more of a regular thing.
“Probably gonna need a haircut soon, huh?” Kirishima murmurs in lieu of lingering on the thought of Bakugou staring him down for no other reason than to admire.
“Nah,” Bakugou says, matter-of-fact. “I like it.”
“Gonna need way more hair-gel for that to work then.”
“I like it down,” Bakugou confesses and he’s never admitted it outright before, though Kirishima had had his suspicions. “I like it up too—I know you wear it like that on purpose. But, maybe just for me—”
Kirishima leans across the meager span of the table, conspiratorial. “For you,” he says. “I’m willing to make some hairstyle concessions.”
It’s meant sort of as a joke, it sounds like a joke when it leaves his mouth at least, but the serious, burning look he’s met with makes him think otherwise.
Bakugou smiles sharply, something almost unnerving if Kirishima didn’t know him quite so well. “Only for me though, yeah?”
Okay, if he’s going to play it that way.
Kirishima meets that smile head-on with one of his own, sharp in the most literal of senses. “Possessive, are we?”
“Now that you mention it.” Bakugou continues to stare at him openly. “Maybe just a little.”
They leave the dishes in the sink, barely making it to the bedroom doorway before Bakugou’s got him pinned, the frame digging a little into his spine, but the lips that press against his own are surprisingly soft.
Kissing Bakugou has always been great; he runs warm and his mouth is no exception, that tongue always dipping into Kirishima’s own mouth with precision, tasting and teasing. He kisses like he does everything else: with the top goal in mind and nothing else will do.
Kirishima wraps fingers around Bakugou’s neck, already a little sweat-damp, tangling them up to tug at unruly blond hair and holding him in place so he can meet the kiss head-on. He spurs them onward, sucking Bakugou’s lips swollen like Kirishima knows he likes, dragging teeth along the plush pink flesh until he pulls a deep, vibrating sound from within Bakugou’s throat.
They break apart panting, just enough for Kirishima’s mind to clear and Bakugou ruts forward, grinding against him as if to prove just how worked up they’ve both gotten in such a short amount of time. “Bed,” he commands tersely and Kirishima is delighted to obey.
It’s amusing, Bakugou’s expression, when he finds his body pushed down against the bed and Kirishima straddled over him close enough to see the gold flecks in his irises illuminated by the dusky purple light filtering in through the window.
“Think you’re in charge, do ya?” he grins, enjoying the only mildly irritated growl he gets in return.
Bakugou blinks, eyes flicking to the side and Kirishima has to resist (for the time being) chasing that bit of redness crawling up his neck with his mouth. “I’m always in charge,” Bakugou growls, but there’s absolutely no bite at all and Kirishima revels in it.
“Whatever you say,” Kirishima nods, indulgent. “Now take off your shirt.”
Bakugou’s gaze widens for only a fraction of a second before his scowl returns, though it’s so forced that Kirishima can’t help but find it endearing. “You just gonna sit there?” Bakugou mutters even as he rolls his body up so they’re both sitting, Kirishima still firm in his lap.
With rapt attention Kirishima watches the other man reach around to tug his shirt up over his head in one swift motion, revealing smooth, tan skin pulled taught over muscles nearly as solid as Kirishima’s own.
“What, want me to take my shirt off too?” He squirms a little, lips quirking, held in place by Bakugou’s hands. “All you gotta do is ask.”
“Idiot,” Bakugou grumbles but pokes at Kirishima’s waist, rucking up the hem of his tank to show exactly what he wants.
Kirishima is more than happy to oblige, though he goes considerably slower with his disrobing than Bakugou had, teasing the fabric up over the ridiculous v of his obliques, revealing smooth skin and thick muscle inch by inch.
Some days this really manages to get Bakugou going, get’s him just on the right side of impatient where he flips Kirishima onto the bed to tear his clothes off as fast as possible. Other days it gets him going in the languid, torturous way Kirishima likes the most—like today, for example.
Bakugou follows each little bit of skin revealed with his hands, thumbs digging into sinew and toned flesh just enough that it makes Kirishima shiver at the touch. He watches closely, studiously, as finally Kirishima drags the tank up over his head, putting a whole new set of muscle groups on display with the movement.
There’s something about the smile he gets in return when he drops his shirt to the floor beside the bed. On Bakugou’s lips it’s a leer, sure, but there’s something different about it, something fond that only Kirishima gets to be on the receiving end of.
They’re tangled together, Kirishima’s legs twined around Bakugou’s waist, and he trails his hands up the man’s back and over a straight line of vertebrae until he reaches Bakugou’s shoulders, stiff and unyielding.
Without warning Kirishima digs his thumbs into the meat of his neck hard, probably harder than necessary and Bakugou groans right in his ear.
“What the hell?” he hisses, but it’s caught somewhere between vexation and pleasure.
Kirishima loosens his grip just enough and leans in to play his lips down Bakugou’s jaw over the tiniest bit of stubble there. “C’mon, let me take care of you,” he says, kneading his fingers until he comes across a nasty knot in the middle of his trapezius.
Under his ministrations Bakugou feels like he’s trying not to melt and he’s purposefully avoiding Kirishima’s gaze. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” he bites out around another noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan.
Kirishima scratches lightly up the back of his neck, pressing fingertips around the base of his skull. “You’re tense all over.”
Bakugou snorts. “Since when is that new?”
“You know you want it,” Kirishima shifts in his lap and he can feel immediately that Bakugou is absolutely tense all over. “I give the best massages.”
Bakugou laughs again, a deep huff of a sound that he presses into the sensitive skin just below Kirishima’s ear. “Presumptuous,” he says and then follows it immediately with a sharp nip.
“Be nice,” Kirishima chastises, even though his pants are starting to feel significantly tighter. “And maybe after we can get into other types of stress-relief.”
“I’ll give you another form of stress-relief.”
“Whatever you want, Katsuki,” Kirishima smirks, unable to quite help himself, though the way Bakugou tenses beneath him at the use of his given name does not go unnoticed. It never does.
He continues working his hands up and down Bakugou’s neck, occasionally tugging through the short, fine hair at the back of his head, a sensation he knows Bakugou likes but won’t ever admit to.
“Lay down?” Kirishima requests, a quiet whisper once the body beneath him has started to become a little more pliant, Bakugou’s steamy breath against his collarbone steady and even.
It takes very little coaxing for Bakugou to comply at this point and he allows Kirishima to shuffle backwards and out of his grip enough to flip over. He lays on his stomach, pillowing his head in his arms and regarding Kirishima through the edge of his vision, watchful.
He looks so placid in this moment, the violet-blue glow of moonrise and sunset blanketing the room and Bakugou’s bare skin in a silvery illumination and Kirishima—well, Kirishima is just so gone for him.
Steadying himself against the mattress Kirishima crawls forward back to a position similar to before and bends to lay wet kisses across his shoulder-blades. He smells like smoke and spicy mint soap. It’s familiar, comforting.
Bakugou stirs beneath him. “Planning on massaging with your mouth?” he snarks, though the words lose a bit of their affect muffled into his forearm as they are.
Kirishima answers with a few more well-placed kisses, sucking a faint red mark next to a thick pattern of scar tissue creeping around his side. “Thinking about my mouth, hm?” he purrs, pulling back to inspect his work.
Bakugou lets out a single, appreciative chuckle before bucking his hips up where Kirishima is perched, sending him flailing a little before he can grab ahold of the broad shoulders in front of him. He expects some more banter or maybe even a protest, but when he digs his hands into those firm muscles Bakugou finally does melt, curling into the bedcovers to let Kirishima do as he pleases.
So he does, gripping tighter and rubbing over Bakugou’s skin none-too-gently just the way he needs him to. Kirishima applies pressure to all the right places, kneading the heel of his palm down until he comes across a particularly tender spot and whatever air had been in Bakugou’s lungs rushes out in a deep moan.
“Hit the spot?” Kirishima pushes in with his thumbs and Bakugou tenses at the feeling for only the time it takes for the knot to finally start to loosen.
“Fuck, Kiri,” Bakugou groans hiding his face in his arms and something in Kirishima’s chest blooms, golden and bright.
He keeps working the stiff muscles, enjoying the feel of them beneath his fingers and the sounds rumbling from Bakugou’s chest. Kirishima’s massaging circles into his lower back when Bakugou gives another little thrust of his hips, though this time it’s decidedly not about dislodging the man from his backside and more about grinding into the mattress.
The sight has Kirishima’s mouth running dry and his own arousal reappearing to burn low and slow in his gut. “Working out for you?” he inquires, tongue a little numb. “The stress-relief, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou grunts. “Time to repay the favor I think.”
It doesn’t take Kirishima totally by surprise when Bakugou flips them, but the practiced ease with which he moves does manage to distract him enough so that suddenly he’s faced with a smirking set of lips and a powerful pair of arms caging him in.
They’ve both still got their pants on, but Bakugou makes quick work of Kirishima’s, underwear and all, and his legs are tangled for only a moment until Bakugou throws the clothes to the wayside and wriggles eagerly back between his thighs.
“I thought you were going to give me a massage,” Kirishima’s mouth says, maybe a touch petulant, before his brain’s had enough time to catch up.
Bakugou studies him intensely, hovering over him until he makes some kind of decision and then leans forward until there’s just a breath separating them. “Is that really what you want?” he whispers before running his tongue along the plush of Kirishima’s bottom lip. “Or something else?”
Flush against his stomach, Kirishima’s cock swells, but when he so much as hints at searching for more friction Bakugou’s hands find their place, nice and tight over his pectorals, pressing him down. “Yeah, something else,” Kirishima breathes, arching his neck and trying to capture that teasing mouth. “Please?”
He must have said the right thing because it takes Bakugou negative time to weld their lips together, tongues clashing until Bakugou’s licking fully into his mouth, the fingers at Kirishima’s chest twitching pleasantly over his skin.
They kiss and tease and nip. It doesn’t take long for the act to turn from feverish and fast to lazy and luxurious, but there’s no denying that they’re both far more worked up than they’ve been all evening. The back of Bakugou’s neck is hot where Kirishima holds on and he can feel the rapid heat between them building with every little movement.
He can feel how hard his nipples are, brushing maddeningly against Bakugou’s palms. Hands knead into the muscle there, massaging deep into the tissue and Kirishima moans openly into Bakugou’s mouth at the sensation. He’s always been sensitive here, pectorals prominent and tight and Bakugou never misses an opportunity to exploit that.
In the end, it’s Bakugou who backs off first, albeit with some apparent reluctance if his half-lidded glower is anything to go by. Kirishima studies him through fluttering lashes and his hands fall from their grasp, sliding selfishly down Bakugou’s biceps along the way.
Kirishima’s mouth wavers open but no words manage to make it off his tongue before Bakugou bends his body down to trace Kirishima’s sternum with his mouth. He follows the line of bone to the planes and curves of flexing abs, tongue teasing into the dip of a bellybutton and kissing along the faint trail of naturally dark hair all the way to the tip of Kirishima’s reddening cock.
For a second Kirishima thinks he might get away with a twist of his hips, feeling suddenly a little more impatient, but Bakugou holds him steady at his hips. With a sound akin to amusement Bakugou manages to brush sensation across every inch of skin except the prominent erection in his face.
A whine builds in the back of Kirishima’s throat, and though he’d never admit to making such a pathetic sound he can’t quite swallow it down when Bakugou’s hands finally release him only to spread along the back of Kirishima’s knees and pull his legs that much further apart.
“Katsuki,” he tries, but even in that sultry voice Bakugou doesn’t let himself get distracted. Instead he makes sure to leave Kirishima’s skin charged and shivering by lacing kisses up and down the inside of his thick, sensitive thighs.
“Pretty,” Bakugou mouths into his skin, lips sucking and teeth gnawing into the flesh so that there’s sure to be a mark left behind.
It’s strange, still is even after all this time, to hear someone like Bakugou, someone who portrays themselves so hard around the edges and impulsive and crude, to say something so soft. But Kirishima lets the compliment wash over him, warm and pleasant, because he knows the truth and a small part of him is perfectly content to keep that truth all to himself.
Bakugou startles him back to reality by licking a long, wet stripe up the underside of his cock; his tongue is on fire, burning against Kirishima’s skin all the way up until he’s suckling against the head. Kirishima’s neck snaps back against the mattress, the sounds threatening at the back of his throat muffled by a fist hardened enough so that his teeth won’t break skin when they bite down.
Bakugou pinches his leg and the sensation of that combined with the warm breath panting over his sticky cock makes Kirishima squirm. “You know I like to hear you,” Bakugou murmurs and it’s just as much an appeal as it is a reprimand.
Kirishima does him one better, reaching down to thread fingers through blond hair and tug. “C’mon,” he begs, almost whimpers, gazing down at the man with wide, needy eyes.
Bakugou’s lips pull in a smirk, both pleased and a little scheming, before he delves forward to take Kirishima back into his mouth sliding spit-wet lips down nearly all the way. Kirishima moans, eyes clenching shut at the sensation and he lets the sound echo from his mouth and around the room without shame, because that’s what Bakugou likes.
Callused hands move forward against Kirishima’s sides and lower back down to cup his ass in two firm handfuls and drag him in even further. Bakugou squeezes, kneading the flesh like Kirishima had done earlier during his massage, but this is so much better and Kirishima jerks in his grip when Bakugou’s tongue swirls against his hard cock.
They’re adults now and they can control themselves, control their quirks, and yet it feels like Kirishima can’t even manage to control his own dick with the way Bakugou’s mouth is moving.
He can feel himself tensing and even though he doesn’t want the pleasure to end quite so soon he can see that Bakugou is determined, moving efficiently and knowingly, moving one hand to massage over his balls and when he pulls back enough to tongue roughly at the slit Kirishima is done for.
Bakugou sucks him through it, cleaning him up with his mouth and his tongue and the sight is so obscene from Kirishima’s vantage point watching through his warm, post-orgasm haze. He twitches in Bakugou’s hold when the man leans in to place an open-lipped kiss to the head of his cock, not quite able to make his muscles pull away quick enough from the over-sensitive feeling.
“Relaxed?” Bakugou wonders, voice a little thicker than before. Kirishima figures it’s probably meant to tease, but he just nods anyways before falling back onto the bed with a few heavy breaths.
Their bedroom has finally turned dark enough for Bakugou to flick on the lamp next to the bed so that cozy amber light pours over the room. He’s in the middle of removing his pants when Kirishima turns his head to the side, admiring the newly revealed swath of golden skin and the way Bakugou’s own hardness bounces up against his abdomen when he peels off his dark briefs.
“Mm, c’mere,” Kirishima says, purring a little more than he’d intended, but he just extends his hands and makes a couple of grabby motions over the edge of the bed.
“Up for another round already?” Bakugou is quick to reply, laughter building in his chest, but there’s also something a little tender about his tone, something almost endeared.
Much to Kirishima’s annoyance he steers clear of the bed, circling to the drawer in his nightstand and rummaging through all manner of things Kirishima can’t even begin to catalogue in his still floaty mind. With little fanfare Bakugou tosses a well-loved bottle of lube onto the bed and somehow the promise of what accompanies this gesture has Kirishima’s cock starting to stir already.
Eagerly he reaches out to the bottle, but Bakugou snatches it up just before he can get to it. When Kirishima looks up he’s met with that roguish bit of charm that doesn’t make itself known too often. “I’m not done taking care of you yet,” Bakugou explains like it should be obvious.
Kirishima’s eyes roll heavily but he knows he’s still blushing, can feel the heat of it all over. “I was the one taking care of you,” he argues, though the boneless way his body is still splayed doesn’t do much for his argument.
Even in this, as in everything, there’s a competitive edge it seems.
Bakugou taps the bottle with his fingers a couple of times, gaze roving over Kirishima. He looks hungry. “I’ll get you nice and ready,” he says with no amount of shame. “Then you can take over.”
Not too long ago there wouldn’t have even been a thought of compromise, so Kirishima agrees without much more prompting and flops over onto his stomach. Besides, Bakugou is really very good at this sort of thing anyways. No point in arguing further, really.
Something tickles at his side and Kirishima jumps at the light sensation until he realizes Bakugou’s just trying to push a pillow beneath his hips. When he’s finished he presses a warm kiss into the plush of Kirishima’s tilted ass and it’s so gentle that it has him flushing red, undoubtably from head to toe.
“Being awfully nice tonight,” Kirishima teases, watching Bakugou over his shoulder as the man settles between his legs, spreading them to his liking and helping Kirishima get his knees up under him a little better.
“I’m always nice,” Bakugou growls back, actually growls, but Kirishima can hear the addition of ‘to you’ even if it isn’t spoken aloud.
It’s funny, this easy interaction, as if they’re not both naked and aroused with Bakugou drizzling a messy amount of lube between Kirishima’s cheeks. He still remembers, fondly, how awkward their first time together had been. But this—this is better, now that they’re comfortable and natural and experienced.
Very experienced, Kirishima recalls, when Bakugou swirls the cool lube around his entrance, applying just the right pressure and pushing a finger in up to the second knuckle in one smooth motion because he knows Kirishima’s body so very well.
He can feel his thighs quivering already, but the pillow helps him cant upwards and after a second to adjust, the overwhelming urge to thrust back hits Kirishima hard. His hips swivel and he thinks maybe he hears the deep sound signifying one of Bakugou’s throaty laughs, but he’s too hyper-focused on the second finger already pressing against his rim.
“Shit, Kiri,” Bakugou mutters and suddenly that velvet voice is right in his ear, a heavy body laying against his back. Bakugou swirls his finger, teasing with the second, all the while mouthing kisses at the back of Kirishima’s neck and it’s so much sensation at once that Kirishima can’t help the tiny sounds escaping him.
He bucks back just as Bakugou’s decided to stretch him with two fingers and the feeling is intense, but it doesn’t stop Kirishima from bottoming out as much as he can. It’s so good, especially good with the added friction against his cock as he ruts into the pillow, fucking himself with little aborted movements as Bakugou massages him from the inside out.
At some point, more lube gets added, the slick cold between Kirishima’s sticky skin and Bakugou’s warm fingers. It makes the slide even more pleasant and when Bakugou finally rubs over his prostate Kirishima groans into his forearm, arching his back and he probably looks ridiculous but he doesn't really care at this point.
“M’gonna come if you keep doin’ that,” he pants out, but Bakugou doesn’t hear him or more likely just ignores him, pressing patterns into that little bundle of nerves that are surely meant to drive Kirishima insane.
He feels like a live-wire, muscles twitching as Kirishima adjusts his weight enough to bring a hand down to brush over his cock. He grips at the base, smoothing up to collect any pre-cum that hasn’t already dripped onto the bed, and Bakugou might know his body well, but Kirishima is the one and only true expert.
Rutting into his hand, Kirishima rides against Bakugou’s fingers, nonsense words dribbling out of his half-open mouth and he’s right there, abs clenching, so close—
“Okay,” Bakugou says, low and abrupt, as he pulls his fingers out with an obscene noise and smacks at the fleshiest part of Kirishima’s ass. “Your turn.”
Kirishima can’t help the affronted sound that comes from his mouth, still hanging half open he realizes a little belatedly. “What?”
“You said you wanted to take care of me,” Bakugou explains and now Kirishima can hear the smugness in his tone, the bastard.
He lets his hand fall to the mattress with an unsatisfied thump, cock throbbing, and he turns very slowly to find Bakugou’s smirk as he wipes his fingers savaging against the sheets. Kirishima glares, or at least he tries to, but Bakugou just laughs him off, something lighter than that smirk would suggest.
He shuffles past Kirishima, a little unsteady, towards the head of the bed to flop back against the pillows, spreading his arms and relaxing about like he’d planned this from the beginning. “Well?” Bakugou prompts.
There’s a small part of Kirishima that is annoyed, of course, considering the ache of unfulfilled arousal. But mostly, staring at that proud expression of Bakugou’s, that eagerness in his eyes, and the way he hands the reigns over to Kirishima in the most roundabout of ways—it’s all just a little too endearing for him to be anything but smitten.
On hands and knees Kirishima crawls forward, gauging Bakugou for a reaction but receiving nothing more than a heavy-lidded leer and that only makes him sway his hips with more purpose.
“Oh I’ll take care of you,” he says, climbing into Bakugou’s waiting lap. He splays hands against that sculpted chest, tilting forward to graze teeth over the shell of a sensitive ear. “I’ll take very good care of you, Katsuki.”
He brims with confidence when Bakugou sighs roughly at the words, overheated hands rushing up to grab at his ass to push and pull and try desperately to guide Kirishima where he wants. But that’s just not how things are going to go.
Kirishima takes Bakugou’s wrists in his hands, squeezing tight until his ass is released and Bakugou actually gasps at the rough touch, though he doesn’t argue when Kirishima guides him to grip against the slight curve of his waist, thumbs twitching over the tense muscles of his obliques.
When he sits back he can feel the hot, slick flesh of Bakugou’s cock rubbing against him and he purposely grinds backwards just to wrestle one more groan from behind stubbornly clenched teeth before Kirishima reaches around to hold that thick hardness steady.
They’ve done this before, Kirishima on top like this; he’s got the muscular stamina for it and he knows he can maintain a good rhythm for them both, but it’s not too often that Bakugou sits back and let’s him do all the work. Kirishima feels a thrill of anticipation settle in his stomach as he watches Bakugou’s expression when he finally sinks down over the head of his cock.
Kirishima’s got one hand braced on Bakugou’s chest and he can feel it the second the man’s body tenses up as Kirishima glides lower and lower until he’s seated fully, wiggling in Bakugou’s lap just to test the sensation. His cock twitches when he finds the best angle to grind over his prostate.
Kirishima’s eyes dip down in concentration as he swirls his hips and he tries his best to ignore the way Bakugou’s hands at his waist start to slowly squeeze tighter and tighter into his flesh. He moves his hips back and forth, side to side, all the while listening intently for the way Bakugou’s breath picks up with each agonizingly slow movement.
“Kiri—” Bakugou’s voice sounds unsteady, still rich and deep, but wavering. He sucks air into his lungs, licking out to wet his lips and that tongue catches Kirishima’s attention as words tumble out, a little bit softer. “Eijirou—faster, c’mon.”
It’s a plea, as far as these things go with Bakugou, and Kirishima can’t help the way he shivers at the thought.
So Kirishima decides that they’ve both been teased enough and leans forward just enough to steady his knees against the mattress and starts to pull himself up and down Bakugou’s cock as fast as his contracting muscles will allow.
Beneath him, Bakugou lets loose a slew of curses like he suddenly has no control over his own tongue. Kirishima slams himself down, gripping against Bakugou’s shoulders, and grinding a few times just to linger in that overwhelming, sparking sensation before he lifts back up to start all over again.
He can feel Bakugou’s grip on him shaking, his hands are slick with familiar sweat and they feel like they’re nearly burning against Kirishima’s skin. How ironic.
“Fuck—Eijirou,” Bakugou stutters, shifting just enough to press his mouth to Kirishima’s bared chest. “So—pretty.”
There it is again, that word, and Kirishima feels the blush that smudges across his cheeks, down his neck. He slows their pace, just enough to even his breathing, and Bakugou licks across his chest, mouthing and sucking at hardened nipples. Kirishima shivers at the touch—so good, so gentle.
His thighs are just starting to burn, his body quivering with the need for release, so Kirishima starts to alternate between riding Bakugou and swiveling his hips in pleasing little circles. One of Bakugou’s hands had trailed up his spine to the back of his neck, resting there almost hesitantly, before burrowing into Kirishima’s hair and tugging a little impatiently at the elastic still holding most of it up and out of the way.
“Katsuki,” Kirishima murmurs. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches Bakugou trace along his collarbones with his mouth until he’s practically nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He’s still letting Kirishima lead, but it seems he can’t help but tangle his fingers through loose red hair and pull.
A pleasured sound leaves Kirishima’s mouth and he can’t quite tell if it’s from Bakugou forcefully baring his neck, the promise of kiss-red marks in the morning, or the way he’s rutting his hips just right. Bakugou groans, the noise vibrating over his skin, through his bones, and Kirishima knows just how close they both are.
Like before he manages to snake his hand between their grinding bodies, but unlike before Kirishima doesn’t even manage a single pump before Bakugou smacks his arm away. Kirishima’s foggy mind wants to protest, to whine at the denial, but then a slick, warm palm wraps around him and everything turns glassy, intoxicating.
Kirishima bucks into Bakugou’s hand, in turn sliding against that hard cock. He thinks he can feel the body beneath him trembling, but he’s not entirely sure considering how powerfully he himself is quivering as Bakugou slides a thumb up to swirl through the pre-cum at the head of his erection.
Bakugou’s whispering something against his neck, lacing words into his skin with kisses and possessive nips of rough teeth, but Kirishima is too far gone to be able to decode any of it. All he can do is feel—and when Bakugou squeezes just right he’s shaking into his orgasm, working himself through it on Bakugou’s cock.
“Eijirou, I’m gonna fuckin—” Bakugou chokes out, his hips finally thrusting up into Kirishima, any and all self-control used up and forgotten. He releases, warm and wet, to match where Kirishima had come over his tight fist.
They stay like that, connected and breathing and shuddering as they both fall slowly into oversensitivity together. Bakugou’s still got fingers buried in his hair and Kirishima can feel where little fly-aways are stuck to his forehead and cheeks.
Kirishima is the first to stir, wriggling in Bakugou’s grip and lifting up on shaky legs. They both wince a little when Bakugou’s spent cock slides out of him. “Shower,” Kirishima manages to say, tapping lightly at Bakugou’s shoulder.
Bakugou blinks up at him, looking lethargic and glazed. “Hn?” he grunts and that sleepy expression is so cute, Kirishima can’t resist bending to kiss at his loose, parted lips.
“I’m tapping out,” Kirishima murmurs where their mouths are still half pressed together. He taps again at Bakugou’s arm for show. “Your turn to take care of me again, eh?”
He watches carefully for Bakugou’s reaction, gearing up for the argument to come, but instead of that Kirishima finds himself being suddenly lifted off the bed so fast he barely has time to grab ahold of Bakugou’s shoulders to keep from falling.
“I’ll take care of you,” Bakugou agrees and Kirishima can see the genuine glint in his eyes so close together like this. “But then it’s your turn again.”
Kirishima’s lips widen into a smile as Bakugou hefts him in his arms a little. “How long are we going to keep this up?” he asks, barely able to hide his amusement as they make their way to the bathroom.
He thinks maybe he’ll get a rude, sarcastic answer, and he would be okay with that. But what he ends up getting instead is so much better.
Bakugou doesn’t meet his gaze this time and he’s scowling, just a little. But his words are earnest and his touch his warm. “As long as we need to,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing.
Kirishima thinks he can live with that.