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Over the Line

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The third finger is a stretch. 

“Fuck,” sighs Bakugou, wriggling as much as he’s able in the tight bonds. Kirishima’s getting pretty good at this…

“Yeah?” says Kirishima, grinning wide enough that every single one of his razor sharp teeth is on display. “You’re looking pretty antsy there, B.”

“Well, you would be too if someone was leisurely fingering your ass while you’re strapped down so tight your hands are going numb.”

“Are they?”


“Are your hands actually going numb?”

Faced with his boyfriend’s naked concern, splayed out over his usually sunny features, Bakugou is forced to turn his blazingly red face away and begrudgingly admit, “No.”

Kirishima chuckles and strokes his free hand up Bakugou’s thigh, calloused fingers rough against the thin skin there. “I watched a lot of tutorials to learn how to tie rope, you know,” he says, just as the fingers of his other hand twist inside Bakugou in a way that was certainly not learned off YouTube. “So that I wouldn’t cut off any circulation, or hurt you.” 

Bakugou pushes his face into the pillow as much as he can manage, laid out here on his back, hands strapped to the small of his spine, legs bound ankle to thigh and spread by the wide-shouldered man between them. “You’re such a pervert.”

Kirishima laughs. It’s not his regular chuckle; it’s a different sound altogether. One that only Bakugou gets to hear. “You too,” Kirishima crooks his fingers again, and god fucking damn him, the guy knows where all of Bakugou’s weak spots are by now, able to prod and manipulate him until he’s jelly.

As it is, Bakugou’s entire body tenses and bucks against the sensation, no matter how small the movement of Kirishima’s digits had been. “Ah!”

“There we go,” says Kirishima, and pats his knee. “Right there .”

He does it again, right into the same spot, and then he does it over and over, his three slippery fingers sliding against each other and against Bakugou’s inner walls, stretching and filling him in a way that’s almost enough. “Hurry up,” gasps Bakugou, when he can — when he can make his voice come out in a way that isn’t half-strangled by a moan, “Fuck me already.”

“Impatient, huh?”

“Have you fucking met me?” He doesn’t manage to make it through without an embarrassing noise this time, as Kirishima does his best to wiggle his fingers right on Bakugou’s prostate just as he starts talking. Bastard. 

Another shit eating grin. “Yeah, that’s why I like doing this so much. When you’re all tied up, I get to take my time.”

And he does.

Kirishima takes his fucking time.

It’s agony. 

Every time Bakugou demands that Kirishima move on to the next step already, Kirishima slows down. He drags his fingers in and out, plunging them endlessly into Bakugou’s slick and welcoming hole. His mouth is a omnipresent sensation, sharp teeth nipping at his skin, sucking bruises into Bakugou’s thighs. His breath is warm and damp as he breathes over Bakugou’s straining cock, his tongue warm and wet as it traces a swipe up the underside.

And then it’s engulfing him, the wet heat, the danger of Kirishima’s teeth thrilling its way up his spine as he feels the occasional point of a tooth drag against the skin of his dick. The fingers don’t stop, either, stretching apart and pressing forward and rocking in the most maddening way possible. 

Kirishima slurps around him, slides down further, swallows and sucks and Bakugou feels his entire body tense as the pleasure starts to gather in his belly and sits there, rather than dissipating. It spreads down, too, to his fingers and toes, warm and addictive and so strong he can nearly taste it. Finally, blessedly, it begins to crest and knowing he’s about to come, he throws his head back, mouth wide open and—

Kirishima stops.

“W— begins Bakugou, shakily, as Kirishima suddenly pulls off with a pop, letting Bakugou’s wet dick slap back against his stomach. His fingers suddenly go absolutely still where they’re still inside Bakugou’s ass. “What the fuck?!”

That fucking smile again. 

“What the fuck, Kiri!”

“Hey, dude, I just think it’s too early.”

The casual manner in which this is said mixes with the absolutely incensing use of the word “dude” in bed in a way that makes Bakugou tremble furiously in his binds. “You fucker.”

“It’s fine,” says Kirishima. “You can come later.”

Later doesn’t come soon. Kirishima does it again—sucks his dick until he’s about to come, and then stops, leaving him straining, leaving Bakugou humping the air in a desperate, instinctive attempt to get just a little more stimulation. There isn’t any to be found. He finds himself wishing Kirishima would flip him over so he could find that friction against the bedsheets at least.

Once more he does it, and Bakugou’s trembling, his legs shaking and his dick drooling onto his stomach and his mouth wide and slack and wet by the time Kirishima finally rolls him onto his stomach and slides his dick in. The feeling is palpable relief atop well-earned pleasure—Kirishima is much bigger than his three fingers, and the girth and weight of it fills him. 

“Fuck yes!” he cries, so relieved that he thinks fuck the neighbours

Kirishima groans, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah, see what you’ve been missing this whole time you’ve been playing at giving a blowjob.”

“You’ve never seen what your face looks like when you get edged,” breathes Kirishima, hot against the nape of his neck. “It’s more than worth it.”

Bakugou hates him, hates him almost as much as he loves him, the stupid bastard. He hates that Kirishima loves to see him come undone, hates it almost as much as he loves to fall apart.

Kirishima’s cock is something he’s well accustomed to by now, years into their relationship, but it still never prepares him for how good it feels when he fucks into him with abandon. It’s like it’s perfectly shaped to ram into all the best spots inside him, lighting up every nerve with pleasure as the thick head of his dick pushes against his prostate. Kirishima’s hand, too, rubs his cock in just the right way, twisting just a little as it reaches the head before sliding, slippery and lube-soaked, to the base.

He’s close already, moments in, thanks to all the edging. Usually he’d make Kirishima switch positions, just to prolong it, just to maintain his pride, but this time he doesn’t care. This time he lets his toes curl as heat gathers and swirls in his belly. He can feel his eyes start to tip up as his breath catches and then, just as he’s about to tumble off that cliff into oblivion—Kirishima stops. 

“Oh god,” groans Kirishima, as Bakugou screams , “FUCK YOU!”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. 

Well, it’s not really uncomfortable as much as it is frustrating, and not really silent either because Bakugou is making noises of protest and annoyance as he attempts, and fails, to get any friction from either Kirishima’s hand or his dick. Even being on his stomach doesn’t help because Kirishima keeps his hips up and away from the comforter.

“I hate you!” he complains, feeling his voice on the edge of cracking. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“I thought you’d last a little longer, babe,” says Kirishima to that. Bakugou can’t see his face but he knows he’s grinning stupidly. “Good thing, I guess, because I was already pretty close myself.”

“Why? You’ve barely done anything, you prematurely-ejaculating son of a bitch.”

“It’s really hot seeing you so worked up,” rumbles Kirishima in his ear. A moment later, there’s the smooth slide of Kirishima’s hips pulling away from Bakugou’s ass. Bakugou just narrowly stops himself from whimpering as his already sensitive hole aches from the emptiness. “You wanna come?”

“Of course I do, jackass.”

“Then you should ask nicely, bro.”


Bakugou turns his head and attempts to bite Kirishima’s face. He fails, and Kirishima chuckles brightly. “Okay, you let me know when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like it,” says his asshole of a boyfriend and begins a slow slide back inside. It’s agonizing when all he wants is a good pounding. “Ask nicely and I’ll let you have what you want.”

This is a game of chicken, thinks Bakugou. Kirishima will slip up. If there’s one thing he can’t resist, it’s Bakugou’s body. All this play at denying won’t last long now that it’s his own dick he’s got to stop from moving, rather than his fingers. “Fuck you,” he says, knowing he can win this. 

Kirishima speeds up a little. The fresh burst of victory sends fire down south and Bakugou grins savagely into the pillow. Quickly, the pace hastens, until once again he’s being fucked into the mattress, his ass speared wide open by Kirishima’s cock with each thrust. It’s big, and the sense of fullness, of the weight inside him is intoxicating. 

The hand on his dick too, is moving again, and he quickly comes to the edge, feeling the pinching, dragging sensation as his balls draw up to shoot his load, and then—

He howls as Kirishima pulls out and flips him over, his cock bobbing in the air as all his pelvic muscles tense and clench. It’s the first chance he gets to see his dick in a while. It’s a deep crimson, slick and drooling precum from its tip. It looks angry. It feels fucking angry too.

That’s five. Five times Kirishima has denied him.

“Kirishima,” he says.

“Yeah?” asks Kirishima. He’s leaning over him, sweating, out of breath. Half his blindingly red hair is hanging in his face, damp and limp. His teeth are visible too, sharp points peeking over red lips. Bakugou cannot believe that he thinks this is sexy.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

Bakugou scowls. He knows what. They both know what. 

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” says Kirishima, leaning down over him to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I like it.”

No shit, otherwise they wouldn’t be together.

He starts up again, fucking him, this time both hands curled over Bakugou’s hip bones. The lack of contact on his dick makes this an even more frustrating endeavour, because it keeps him close without actually giving him a means of release. “Touch me,” he demands.

“I am!”

“Touch my—” he tries. “Fucking jack me off while you do that.”

Kirishima grins. “Ask me nicely.”

He’s not gonna do that, he’s not, except that, in that moment, Kirishima shifts, and changes angle just a little and suddenly the feeling goes from great to… indescribable. “Holy fuck,” he chokes, throwing his head back, his limbs straining against the ropes. His hands click as his lighting mechanism threatens to fire. 

Kirishima’s hands are rough and rocky where they dig into his flesh, and he’s going to bruise, Bakugou knows that, but it feels so fucking good that he doesn’t care. “Harder,” he sobs, and Kirishima does it, rails him until his eyes won’t focus and his mouth won’t stay shut. 

“God you look amazing, Katsuki,” moans Kirishima, “you look like you don’t even know what’s going on.”

He doesn’t. He feels like he’s in some sort of void, a blurry version of the world, but the litany of compliments that fall from Kirishima’s lips as he fucks him feels good. Feels right. “Fucking touch me,” he manages to slur.

“Ask nicely,” Kirishima growls back.

He won’t, but—

God, it feels so fucking good!! He’s so close , like he’s a step from the finish line of a long race. Like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. Like he might actually die if the sensations don’t come to a climax and then end. He just needs the tiniest little thing—the barest touch to his cock, and he’d be over that line and on the other side—

“Pl—” he starts, but then stops.

He stops because suddenly, out of nowhere, it hits him. 

An orgasm—a different orgasm than usual, but an orgasm nonetheless—that starts in his lower belly but shivers up his spine and down his limbs. It’s his whole body that lights up. His eyes roll back. His toes curl as he arches his back, and with a choked off scream, comes all over his belly— untouched.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima is gasping, as Bakugou clenches around him, as his dick jerks. “You just—Holy fuck that’s hot.”

He comes inside, the bastard, just a moment later, like he hadn’t been able to contain it when faced with Bakugou’s dick spurting all over himself. Bakugou’s still coming when he feels it, ashamed to note that the throbbing of Kirishima’s dick where it stretches his rim feels amazing. 

Then, with a great groan of satisfaction, Kirishima flops down on top of him, pressing his face against Bakugou’s chest. His dick is still inside. 

“Get off and get out,” complains Bakugou, some minutes later, when he’s recovered enough to talk. 

“I didn’t know you could come from just your ass,” says Kirishima, “Like, I knew that was a thing but I thought it was pretty rare.”

“I’m Bakugou fucking Katsuki, asshole, if anyone can, it’s me.”

Kirishima’s head raises, his chin turning to rest upon one pectoral muscle. He’s grinning. “Want a snack?”

“What? Fuck no, let me out of this, I want to go to bed.”

Kirishima sits up, pulls out his now half-soft dick. “No way. Now that I know you can do that… we’ve gotta try again!”

Bakugou’s stomach sinks, even as a twinge of excitement heads down south to his sore, soft dick. “No,” he says.

“Yes,” says Kirishima, getting up. “I’m gonna grab a protein bar, refuel, and I’ll be right back. Get ready babe, we’re gonna go the rest of the night.”

He doesn’t stop when Bakugou screams his name down the hallway.

Bakugou hates him (almost as much as he loves him).