Chapter Text
Kirishima wasn’t having a good day.
Hell, he wasn’t having a good week.
Everything at the agency was a endless reports stacking up on his desk, back-to-back meetings that dragged on for hours, the kind of soul-crushing bureaucracy that made his skin itch with frustration. He was drowning in paperwork, spending more time under fluorescent lights than under the open sky, his muscles aching for something more, something real, something that would remind him that he was a hero, not just another cog in the machine.
By the time he finally made it home, the exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones, dull and suffocating. Normally, he followed the same routine without thinking: shoes off, shower scalding hot, a lazy call to Bakugo just to hear his voice, something grounding in the sharp edges of his words, and then sleep, or at least the restless approximation of it.
But tonight, the moment he stepped into his apartment, something shifted.
The air felt charged, like the static hum before a thunderstorm, something electric crawling under his skin, prickling at the nape of his neck.
Kirishima had barely stepped into his apartment, barely kicked off his shoes, barely let out the long, tired sigh of someone who had spent too many hours at a desk and not nearly enough in the field, when he heard it.
Low, drawn-out, breathy in the way that only came from lips parted in pleasure, something raw and utterly unfiltered, echoing in the stillness of his home like it belonged there, like it had carved itself into the walls, into the very foundation.
A moan.
No, a whimpering, filthy fucking moan.
Kirishima stopped breathing.
The sound slammed into him like a fist to the gut, like a rope suddenly yanked taut around his ribs, cinching tight, stealing the breath from his lungs before he could even think about taking another step forward. His fingers curled, every muscle in his body tensing, his mind stumbling, tripping over itself as the low, ruined noise stretched on, lingering, taunting, crawling under his skin like a live wire.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the living room, the exhaustion from work wiped from his mind in a single, scorching instant, burned away by the sight of him…
Katsuki.
Splayed out across Kirishima’s couch like a fucking dream, like a piece of filthy, sinful art, like something made to be looked at.
Completely, utterly, gloriously naked.
Except for the red collar, that same deep red collar, the one Kirishima had fastened around his throat with his own hands for the first time, only a few days before.
But it wasn’t just the collar, wasn’t just the obscene stretch of bare skin, flushed pink and glistening with sweat, wasn’t just the sight of Bakugo’s thighs trembling, his muscles twitching, the tight, aching curve of his stomach rising and falling with every panting, breathless sound spilling from his lips.
It was what he was doing.
It was the way his body moved, the slow grind of his hips, rutting needy against one of Kirishima’s couch cushions, his cock leaking all over the fabric, making a fucking mess of it like he didn’t have a single care in the world, like he wanted Kirishima to see just how wrecked he could make himself.
Kirishima’s breath hitched, his lungs forgetting how to function as his gaze locked onto the next devastating detail, the one that sent a violent pulse of heat straight through his core, that made his pants feel too tight, because Bakugo wasn’t just rutting into the pillow like some shameless little thing, wasn’t just grinding down with obscene rolls of his hips, dragging his aching cock against the fabric in lazy strokes that left a growing slick mess beneath him…
No, he was holding Kirishima’s fucking underwear.
The same pair he’d tossed into the laundry basket last night, the one that still probably smelled like him, like his sweat, his skin, the one he hadn’t thought twice about when he’d stripped off after patrol and thrown aside.
And Bakugo had it fisted in one hand, fingers curled tight around the worn fabric, the waistband stretched between his knuckles, bringing it up to his face, tilting his head back as he breathed in deep, inhaling Kirishima’s scent like it was something he was starved for, something that made his body shudder with pleasure as his hips bucked harder against the pillow beneath him.
Kirishima swore he felt his vision blur.
His blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything but the lewd, wet sounds filling the room, the quiet drag of Bakugo’s cock grinding into the ruined cushion, the throaty moan that spilled from his parted lips as he buried his face in Kirishima’s underwear, his eyes rolling back in pure fucking bliss.
Kirishima’s stomach clenched, his entire body locked in place, his cock throbbing, straining against the confines of his pants, painfully hard in a way that made his breath come in shallow bursts.
Bakugo exhaled a ragged sigh, voice thick with pleasure, his lashes fluttering as he dragged the underwear slowly down the curve of his flushed cheek, his fingers tightening in the fabric like he never wanted to let it go.
The redhead felt like his body wasn’t his own anymore, like something had crawled under his skin, clawing at his chest, at his ribs, demanding he move, demanding he take.
But he couldn’t, not yet.
Because just as he was about to snap, about to tear those fucking underwear out of Bakugo’s hands and shove him face down into the mess he’d made, another sound reached his ears…
A moan.
But not the same one from before.
This one was different, something closer to a whimper, completely and utterly broken open.
And fuck, it was still Bakugo’s voice.
Kirishima’s head snapped to the side, finally dragging his gaze toward the massive television screen, toward whatever the hell Bakugo had been watching this whole time.
And then, his chest caved in, because there, blown up on his massive fucking TV, was him…
Both of them.
A tangled mess of skin and sweat, of gasping breaths and bruising hands, of Bakugo spread wide, his legs shaking where they were hooked over Kirishima’s shoulders, his back arching, his fingers clawing helplessly at the mattress as Kirishima fucked him open.
And not just fucked him. Ruined him. Owned him.
It was the tape they had made weeks ago, the one Bakugo had insisted on recording, the one Kirishima had nearly deleted because he hadn’t been sure he could handle watching it, hadn’t been sure he could see himself like that, taking Bakugo apart, fucking him so deep, so thorough that he had nothing left by the end of it except the shaking mess of his own body.
And Bakugo was watching it.
Moaning for it.
Fucking rutting against the damn couch while watching himself get stuffed full on Kirishima’s cock.
Kirishima’s stomach plummeted, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt, his throat locking up, his fingers twitching, curling into fists at his sides as he watched himself on screen, watched the way Bakugo’s body bent, the way his mouth hung open, the way his thighs trembled as Kirishima dragged him to the very edge of sanity, thrusting into him with brutal precision, forcing him to take all of it.
And then, Bakugo whimpered.
A choked, helpless sound, something Kirishima had never fucking heard before.
His eyes snapped back to the couch, his stomach clenching as he watched Bakugo fully fall apart, his face flushed, his lips parted around another desperate little noise, his hips grinding harder, rolling deeper, chasing something only Kirishima could give him.
And then, the final blow.
Bakugo’s heavy-lidded gaze flicked to the screen, watching himself take it, watching Kirishima’s cock pushing inside of him, stretching him open, forcing him wider, forcing him to take every thick, unrelenting inch, and he whimpered again. Louder. Higher. Like he was feeling it all over again.
Like he was right back in that moment, shaking in Kirishima’s arms, sinking down onto his cock, taking it like a good fucking boy, whining for more, more, more even as his body threatened to give out beneath him.
The sound hit Kirishima like a wrecking ball, like a fist to the stomach, twisting inside of him, curling like a vice around his spine, sending heat shooting through his veins so sharp it almost hurt, and then, before he could stop himself, before he could even think, a moan tore from his throat.
And Bakugo heard it.
His head snapped to the side immediately, his movements stuttering for just a second, his lips parting around a quiet little gasp, and Kirishima almost fucking thought that he had caught him off guard, that Bakugo hadn’t realized just how far he’d pulled him in, how deeply he’d unraveled him, hadn’t noticed the way Kirishima was staring at him like a man starved, like he was going to ruin him the moment he got his hands on him…
But then, Bakugo smirked, knowing, like he had just won something.
Like he had laid the trap, set the bait, and Kirishima had walked straight into it, blind and willing and fucking desperate.
Then, as if to seal it, as if to drive the final fucking nail into the coffin, Bakugo dragged his fingers over the soft fabric in his lap, over the underwear he’d stolen from Kirishima’s laundry, and lifted it to his face.
Rubbed it against his cheek, against the sharp edge of his jaw, dragging it over his nose, his mouth, breathing it in like it was fucking oxygen, like he was getting off on the scent, like he was trying to drown himself in it, in Kirishima, in the same fucking scent that had been pressed between his own thighs more times than he could count.
And Kirishima swore he saw the exact moment it hit Bakugo, the way his cock twitched, the way he ground down harder, letting out another filthy little moan as his legs spread a little wider, as his toes curled, as his body begged to be touched.
And then, the worst part: Bakugo smiled.
Not cocky, not teasing, not even wicked.
Just satisfied.
Like he had done exactly what he wanted to do, gotten exactly the reaction he had been hoping for, like he had just given him everything, had just confirmed that he belonged to Bakugo just as much as he belonged to Kirishima.
It was all there, in his fucking eyes, the obsession, the hunger, the complete, utter fucking destruction of his self-control.
And if there weren’t so many wet, downright fucking sinful sounds filling the room, if it wasn’t for the TV still playing their sex tape, still replaying the moment Kirishima had bottomed out inside of him, still echoing with the moans and the gasping and the whining, if it wasn’t for the breathy little sounds spilling from Bakugo’s swollen lips…
Kirishima was so fucking sure he would’ve been able to hear Bakugo purring.
He knew he was fucking proud of himself, because he had completely fucking broken Kirishima apart.
And Kirishima was about to make him pay for it.
Kirishima sucked in a slow, steadying breath, forcing air into lungs that felt too tight, too full, too burning with everything that Bakugo had ignited inside of him.
This little game was one that Bakugo thought he had the upper hand in. He thought he could play him, could pull him in, could tease him until he broke.
But Kirishima wasn’t going to break.
Not yet.
If Bakugo wanted to play with fire, then fine, Kirishima would let him.
He’d let him dance along the edge of danger, let him think he was in control, let him believe that this was just another night of him pushing Kirishima to his limits, testing the leash wrapped so tight around his throat.
But not this time.
This time, Kirishima was going to watch him burn.
And so, he didn’t say a word.
Didn’t lunge at him, didn’t grab him, didn’t force him onto his hands and knees and shove him down like every screaming, desperate part of him wanted to.
Instead, he reached for his belt, pulling it open.
The metal buckle clinked in the silent room, and the sound made Bakugo’s fingers twitch where they still gripped the underwear against his lips.
Kirishima let the belt slip from the loops, let it drop to the floor with a heavy thud, his eyes locked onto Bakugo’s, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way his chest heaved, the way his hips stuttered for just a second, missing a rhythm that had been so confident just moments ago.
And then, with the same agonizing slowness, he reached for the button of his pants.
Bakugo sucked in a breath, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as his eyes dropped down, locked onto Kirishima’s hands as he popped the button, as he dragged the zipper down, as he let the fabric part, let the swollen, heavy length of his cock push free, flushed red and aching, throbbing, the tip already leaking, sticky and messy against the waistband of his briefs.
And that was what finally shattered Bakugo’s composure.
His mouth parted, his breath coming sharp and uneven, his fingers tightening around the underwear in his hands, clenching, like he was fighting the instinct to bring them back up to his face, like he was holding himself back from moaning again.
Kirishima pretended not to notice.
Didn’t smirk, didn’t tease, didn’t gloat, he just kept going.
Hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, stepping out of them, standing there in nothing but his underwear, nothing but the fabric that strained painfully around his cock, the shape of him so obvious, so thick, so hard that he could see the way Bakugo licked his lips, swallowed, grinded down against the cushion just a little harder.
But Kirishima still wasn’t done.
With one last, measured breath, he grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off.
He saw the way Bakugo’s breath hitched, saw the way his fingers curled, saw the way his eyes devoured every inch of him, his abs, his chest, his broad, heavy shoulders, taking in the way his muscles tensed, the way his skin flushed, the way his cock twitched, pressing even harder against the last scrap of fabric still clinging to his body.
And then, finally, Kirishima moved.
Not lunging, not grabbing, not forcing, just stepping closer, letting Bakugo feel it, letting the tension build, watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers shook where they were still gripping the ruined cushion beneath him.
Without a single word, he reached for the remote.
And muted the television.
The room went silent in an instant.
Bakugo whined.
His body jerked, his hips stuttering, his lips pushing into a pout, frustration curling in his brow as he looked up at Kirishima, eyes wild, dazed, desperate.
“The fuck was that for?” he grumbled, voice hoarse, wrecked from the moaning, from his own pleasure, from rubbing himself raw against the pillow, from teasing himself to the edge just to drive Kirishima insane.
Kirishima didn’t answer, he just stood there, watching, waiting, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension coil between them so thick it felt like something physical, something that wrapped around Bakugo’s wrists, his ankles, his throat, pinning him in place without Kirishima even having to touch him.
Bakugo’s lips parted, something flickering behind his eyes, something hot, something hungry, something he didn’t even bother to hide anymore. He was staring, not at Kirishima’s face, not even at his chest or his thick, aching cock, but lower, lower…
At the belt still dangling from Kirishima’s fingers.
Kirishima saw the moment it clicked, the moment Bakugo’s body shuddered, the anticipation ripping through him, his skin breaking out in goosebumps, his breath catching, his thighs pressing just a little closer together, like he was already feeling it, already imagining how tight it would be wrapped around his wrists, how good it would feel to be held down, taken apart, used exactly how he wanted to be used.
Because of course he wanted it.
Of course he fucking loved it.
Bakugo liked being pinned, caged, controlled, liked when Kirishima made the decisions for him, when there was nothing left to do but take what was given to him, to be fucked open and raw, to be wrecked until he was a mess of trembling limbs and broken moans, until he was left with nothing but pleasure fogging up his mind.
But not tonight, not this time.
Because Kirishima saw the way Bakugo smirked, too confident, too smug, too certain that Kirishima was going to give him exactly what he wanted.
But instead, he moved, stepping in closer, close enough that he could hear the way Bakugo’s breath stuttered, close enough that he could see the faintest tremble in his fingers, the way his cock twitched, leaking onto the ruined cushion beneath him, his body betraying just how desperately he needed to be touched.
And then, Kirishima grabbed one of Bakugo’s wrists.
Bakugo’s lips curved, his body relaxing instantly, like he was already melting into it, already giving in, already sinking into that place where Kirishima made all the choices for him, until Kirishima grabbed his other wrist, too, and then, without a word, without breaking eye contact, he tied them together in front of him.
The belt cinched tight, the leather biting into Bakugo’s pretty, pale skin, his hands pressed together, but not behind his back, not out of the way, not useless.
No.
Kirishima had bound them right over his cock, the fingers of both hands brushing against it, close enough to touch, stroke, jerk himself off, but not quite, and the second Bakugo realized, the second it clicked, his smirk faltered, like the sheer implication of it was almost too much.
Bakugo’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, his cock twitching where his bound fingers barely brushed against it, so fucking close to what he needed but still not enough.
And then, he started talking.
“Oi…” His voice came rough, hoarse from all the moaning, but still biting as he lifted his arms, testing the belt, shifting his fingers, already trying to work around it, to cheat, to push his luck. “The fuck is this, Red?” He scoffed, his smirk curling back into place, lazy, confident. “You think this is gonna stop me? Think I can’t just…”
Kirishima didn’t answer, didn’t even spare him a glance.
He just reached for the soaked, ruined cushion beneath him, the one that was still sticky with the mess he’d made, the one that would need to be thrown away after this, because there was no way in hell it would survive the night.
Bakugo paused, blinking as Kirishima pulled it from under him, his weight shifting as the friction was taken away, as his cock throbbed from the loss, as Kirishima turned and dropped it onto the floor like it was nothing.
“The fuck are you…”
Kirishima just stepped around the couch, gripping the edge of the heavy coffee table, and shoved it aside, clearing the space, making room, moving with such calm that it had Bakugo’s muscles tensing, his legs spreading just slightly, like his body was bracing for what was coming.
And still, he kept talking.
“You're not gonna talk to me, Red?” Bakugo let out a huff, shifting where he sat, his bound hands flexing as he tilted his chin up, watching Kirishima’s every move like a predator tracking something bigger than him, like he was trying to figure it out, trying to guess what was coming before it actually did.
Kirishima finally reached for him, not for his wrists, or cock, but for the underwear.
The same pair Bakugo had been clutching like a lifeline, the one he had been rubbing against his face, breathing in like it was oxygen, licking the waistband, moaning into the fabric like he was trying to drown in Kirishima’s scent.
And Kirishima ripped it right out of his hands.
Bakugo made a sound, like Kirishima had taken something that belonged to him, and he glared, lips curling as he huffed through his nose, bound hands jerking as he tried to reach for it, to snatch it back, to reclaim what was his.
“Oi, fuckin’ gimme that back, asshole!”
Kirishima didn’t even let him finish his sentence.
Because he was already bringing the fabric to his own hands, and searching for the exact right spot, the exact part where his cock had rested against it the night before, where his cum had left the faintest stain.
Without a single warning, he pushed it into Bakugo's mouth.
Bakugo jerked.
Body going rigid, thighs twitching, his breath snapping out of him in a muffled noise as the fabric pressed against his tongue, thick and heavy with Kirishima’s scent, the taste of him coating every single inch of it, filling every breath, forcing its way deep into his lungs, into his gut, into his brain, into his body.
And fuck, Kirishima could see the exact second Bakugo lost himself in it.
The exact second his pupils blew out, and his hips jerked forward, his fingers curling into fists, bound together but not fighting anymore, not resisting, because Kirishima had just given him exactly what he wanted before he even had to beg for it.
Bakugo was already gone, eyes dark, pupils blown, body shaking, every muscle tensed just enough, thighs quivering, his cock leaking, his lips parted around the soaked fabric shoved into his mouth, breathing hard and fast through his nose, still trying to talk around it, still trying to protest, to be difficult, to be himself…
And Kirishima didn’t let him.
Didn’t give him a single second to pull himself together, to pretend like he wasn’t already halfway wrecked, to act like he wasn’t dripping onto his own stomach, into the fucking couch.
So, he did.
He moved easily, grabbing him like he weighed nothing, hands wrapping around hot skin, lifting him without hesitation, with the kind of instinctual certainty that sent a shudder through Bakugo’s entire body the second he was hauled up, flipped over, turned, pushed…
His knees hit the floor.
His chest was shoved down, down, down, his face pressed into the soaked cushion, into the mess he’d made, into the evidence of his own desperation, when he thought he had the upper hand, when he thought he was in control, and now he was here.
Face buried in the pillow, mouth stuffed full, wrists bound against his own cock, his arms pinned between his body and the floor, shoulders straining, his back arching, his spine curving, his hips lifting, his thighs spreading wider without being told to.
Kirishima took a step back, just to look at him, to drink it in, to carve the image into his memory forever.
Bakugo’s entire back was flushed red, his neck pink, his ears burning, shame curling over his skin like something tangible, something that couldn’t reach deep enough to stop him from spreading his knees wider, from arching his back more, from pushing his ass higher, offering himself up completely.
Because of course he loved it.
Of course he was embarrassed, his body was betraying him in the most humiliating way possible, shaking and twitching and desperately waiting for Kirishima to do something about it.
And then, the final detail, because Kirishima could see it now, clear as day, between those pretty thighs, between the curve of his flushed ass, the slick mess dripping between his thighs…
The plug.
Sitting there, nestled deep, gleaming, stretching him open just enough, keeping him full, perfectly prepped and waiting, like he had expected Kirishima to come home, to find him like this, to take him apart without hesitation.
Kirishima breathed deep, slow, fighting the wild fucking hunger clawing at his insides, the unbearable need to just grab him, just bend him further, take him apart, sink into him until there was nothing left but the sound of Bakugo gasping against the soaked fabric in his mouth, choking on his own moans, on Kirishima’s name…
But no.
Not yet.
Instead, Kirishima reached for the remote.
Bakugo couldn’t see what he was doing, but he could hear it.
The soft, familiar click of a button being pressed.
The moment the video restarted.
The moment the room was once again flooded with the sound of himself breaking apart on Kirishima’s cock, a breathless little gasp, a needy moan, the unmistakable slick sounds of the redhead pushing inside of him, making him take all of it, take it deep, take it slow, take it the way Kirishima liked to watch him squirm, to watch him beg…
Bakugo growled, low in his throat, a muffled noise against the fabric still stuffed between his lips, bound hands tugging uselessly, his hips twitching, his body jerking forward as if he could escape the heat crawling up his spine, the shame curling in his gut, the humiliation of knowing that Kirishima was watching him get wrecked on that massive fucking screen all over again.
But he couldn’t.
Couldn’t escape it, couldn’t block it out, couldn’t stop himself from twitching every time his own moans filled the room, every time he heard his own voice break, every time the sound of skin against skin, deep, slow thrusts, sharp gasps, helpless sobs, filled the space like a soundtrack to his own fucking downfall.
And then, Kirishima moved.
Bakugo could hear him, hear the shift of the couch, hear the footsteps, but he still couldn’t see him, still couldn’t lift his head, still couldn’t watch the screen, watch himself being taken apart in real time, but he could watch Kirishima.
And fuck, Kirishima made sure of it.
Because instead of touching him, instead of pushing him further into the floor, instead of giving him what his body was so clearly begging for, Kirishima did something worse.
He sat down.
Right in the corner of the couch, in the perfect fucking spot, where Bakugo could see everything.
Where he could see the way Kirishima’s thick, strong thighs spread wide, the way his hand dragged down the front of his own stomach, the way his fingers curled around the heavy weight of his cock, his eyes locked only on the screen, not even sparing Bakugo a glance.
A muffled, furious little noise, something that might’ve been a curse, something that might’ve been a plea, something that might’ve been a desperate fucking sob, because he knew exactly what Kirishima was doing to him; that Kirishima was going to stroke himself nice and slow, watching his own cock sink into Bakugo on the TV, listening to him moan for him, hearing him break, ruin, sob for it, and wasn’t going to touch him.
Not until Bakugo earned it.
Kirishima’s fingers moved, dragging up the length of his cock, smearing the slick at the tip with the pad of his thumb, stroking himself so fucking leisurely, like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t so fucking hard it hurt, but still, he wouldn’t let Bakugo off the fucking hook so easily, not after what he had walked in on.
Not after seeing him spread out like a fucking dream, rutting against his own couch, grinding himself into a cushion like a feral animal, desperate and needy, whimpering, panting, using his own damn scent to push himself over the edge.
And now, he was like this, on the floor.
Kirishima let out a rumbling exhale, his red eyes flickering back to the TV, watching the way his own body moved on screen, watching the way he had fucked Bakugo open, the way he had pinned him down, stretched him wide, forced him to go dumb on his cock.
And then, finally, finally, finally, he spoke.
“You looked so fucking good, you know that?” His voice was warm like honey poured over an open flame, thick with possessiveness.
Bakugo whimpered, body tensing.
“Didn’t even notice me at first, huh?” His hand dragged over his cock, languid, a slow jerk, twist, squeeze, watching himself on screen, watching the way Bakugo had taken it, fucked himself back on it, begged for more.
“You were so fucking into it, rutting into that damn pillow like you couldn’t help yourself, like you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.”
Bakugo whined, a broken little noise, something between a growl and a moan, it almost sounded like crying.
Kirishima chuckled, his hips lifting just slightly, his fingers dragging up the aching length of his cock, veins pulsing, throbbing, needing to be buried deep, deep, deep.
“You really look good taking my cock, don't you?”
Bakugo jerked.
“Fuck, you were so hot.” He murmured, voice so thick it was nearly dripping with it. “Sitting there all pretty, collar on, playing with yourself like a fucking bitch in heat, watching yourself get ruined on my cock, humping a pillow like some desperate little thing.”
Bakugo let out a shaky, muffled moan, fingers tugging weakly against the belt, his entire body twitching, his hips pressing back like he was looking for friction that wasn’t fucking there.
Kirishima just smiled.
“And now look at you.”
Bakugo’s thighs shook, his back arching deeper, like he was holding on, barely holding on.
Kirishima lifted his gaze, finally, finally looking at him, and fuck, there were tears.
Big, fat, frustrated tears rolling down Bakugo’s flushed cheeks, wetting the fabric in his mouth, his lashes clumped together, blinking rapidly, trying to shake them loose, his throat convulsing, a tiny sob trying to escape past the soaked material shoved between his lips.
And fuck, that did something to Kirishima, something that made him grip himself harder, squeeze just a little tighter, stroke just a little faster, because Bakugo wasn’t just frustrated, he was ruined, and Kirishima wasn’t even touching him yet.
Kirishima fingers tighted around the base of his cock, heat pulsing through every inch of him, his own arousal winding so fucking tight he could feel it in his teeth, could feel it buzzing under his skin, coiling in his spine, but not yet.
Kirishima let his head tilt back, let his eyes flutter half-lidded, gaze drifting back to the TV, back to the way he had ruined Bakugo, back to the way he had made him take it, the way he had moaned like he had never wanted anything else in his fucking life.
And then he spoke.
"You wanna know why that underwear in your mouth’s got cum on it?"
Bakugo twitched, his entire body jerking sharply, like he had just been struck by something electric.
"‘Cause before I took a shower last night, before I went to sleep, I was thinking about your mouth.”
Bakugo whimpered, his body shaking, burning up from the inside out, and Kirishima wasn’t done.
"I was thinking about how good you are for me," he said, stroking himself a little faster, feeling the slick drag of his own pre-cum against his palm, feeling his cock throb and ache and need. "Thinking about this pretty little mouth, about how fucking easy it would be to grab your jaw and make you take it all, make you swallow it down, make you choke on it, just like I know you love to.”
Bakugo made a high, desperate noise, shaking his head, like he wanted to deny it, like he wanted to be an ass about it, but Kirishima just laughed.
"C’mon, we both know the truth." He teased, his eyes locked on the screen, watching the way Bakugo had gasped and whined and begged for more. "You could have my cock in your mouth for hours and you wouldn’t care, huh?"
Bakugo whimpered again, back arching, his thighs shaking, his fingers struggling against the belt around his wrists, like he wanted to touch himself, like he needed to rub his thighs together, needed relief, needed anything.
And fuck, Kirishima knew it was true.
"You’re a fucking whore for my cock." He groaned, his thumb teasing over the swollen tip, spreading his own slick, shivering at the way Bakugo was losing his fucking mind beneath him. "Love the way it stretches your lips, don’t you?"
Bakugo pressed further into the soaked cushion, his entire body flushed and waiting, waiting, waiting.
"Bet you think about it even when I’m not here, huh? Bet you lay in your own bed and press your fingers against your tongue, pretending it’s me, pretending it’s thick and heavy and filling you up."
Bakugo cried out, helpless, and Kirishima could see it, could see the frustration on his face, could see the tears still wetting his cheeks, how badly he needed to be touched.
And fuck, Kirishima could be generous, could give him exactly what he wanted, could let him sink down onto his cock, let him stuff his mouth full, let him suck until he was too dumb to think, let him take it as deep as he could go, until he couldn’t breathe, until he had no choice but to tap out and whimper and gasp for air before taking it all over again.
But only if he could be good.
“You think you can behave, baby?” Kirishima asked, letting the words sink in, watching the way Bakugo’s eyes snapped up to meet his, filled with nothing but want.
Bakugo shuddered, and he saw the way his body screamed yes before he could even say it.
Kirishima smiled.
And then, finally, he stood up.
Bakugo whined, his body shaking at the sudden shift, and Kirishima just watched him, let him ache, let him writhe, let him want.
Then, he crouched down, strong hands grabbing him, lifting him, guiding him up, helping him sit back on his heels, the belt still wrapped around his wrists, his cock aching, his eyes glassy and wet.
Kirishima tilted his head, taking the underwear out of his mouth and said, “Beg for it, or you won’t have my cock.”
Bakugo didn't even have to be told twice.
He lunged, pressed his face right into Kirishima’s lap, nuzzling against his cock, mouthing at him, whimpering, rubbing his cheeks, his nose, his chin against him, like an animal scent-marking its territory, like he was trying to drown himself in the scent, in the sheer fucking presence of him.
And then, the begging started.
“Please,” he whined, the word soaked in saliva, his lips pressing wet kisses along Kirishima’s thigh, again, again, again, trailing higher, mouth open and messy and desperate, leaving spit, leaving himself everywhere, sucking marks onto his skin.
“Please, please, please. ” He gasped, struggling against the belt, rubbing his face against Kirishima’s cock, mouthing at it, begging without shame. “Please.”
Kirishima groaned, his head tilting back, his hands tangling into Bakugo’s hair, gripping, pulling, guiding, teasing, making him work for it.
And Bakugo kept going, sucking bruises into his skin, dragging his lips, his tongue, his teeth over every inch of him, panting, drooling, kissing everywhere he could reach, voice breaking apart, begging with every part of his body.
“I need it, please.” He gasped, voice high,pleading, big eyes looking at him.
The redhead just watched him suffer, a smug, pleased smile tugging at his lips, watching the way Bakugo gasped, voice breaking into another desperate little sob.
Finally, Kirishima guided him lower, and Bakugo opened his mouth like he was made for it.
Kirishima’s fingers curled tighter in his hair, gripping at the damp strands, guiding him, controlling him, moving him exactly the way he wanted, slow at first, letting him feel the weight of it, the thickness pressing against his tongue, the stretch of his lips around it.
But Bakugo started crying again.
Not just the frustrated, helpless little sniffles from earlier, not just the embarrassed, humiliated tears rolling hot down his cheeks, no, this was something worse.
Something broken, the sound of a man who had been pushed to his absolute fucking limit, because he had been waiting for this for too long, because the moment Kirishima stopped moving him, stopped guiding him, stopped fucking into his mouth, he lost it.
And Kirishima felt the way Bakugo’s lips tried to chase after him, how he pressed forward, whimpering, trying to take him again, trying to get it back, sucking in shaky breaths through his nose, gasping like he couldn’t handle the absence of it.
That did something to him. Made his cock twitch against Bakugo’s swollen lips, made him ache with something deeper than just want, deeper than just lust.
Which was why he forced himself to stop.
Just for a second.
Bakugo whined again, voice breaking apart, a high-pitched little noise that sounded so pained, and Kirishima could already feel the begging bubbling up inside of him again, but Kirishima needed to be sure.
So, he bent his knee, lifting one leg in a way that was uncomfortable, his foot planting itself right under Bakugo’s bound hands, and then, voice gentle, he said: “If you need to stop, don’t explode anything, okay?”
Bakugo whimpered again, head twitching like he wanted to deny that he would ever even consider stopping, that he would rather fucking die than stop.
Kirishima smiled softly, fingers stroking over the damp skin at the nape of Bakugo’s neck, soothing him, feeling the way his body trembled under his touch.
“Do you understand?”
Bakugo let out a hiccuping gasp, shaking his head faster now, his entire body rocking forward like he wanted to shove himself back onto Kirishima’s cock.
But Kirishima still wasn’t done.
“If you want to stop, squeeze my foot,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, making sure Bakugo was actually listening, making sure he could actually hear him through all the noise in his head, through all the pleasure drowning out his senses.
“Scratch, punch, I don’t mind. Do anything, and I will stop, okay?”
Bakugo’s breath hitched, like some part of him had registered what Kirishima was saying, even through all the filth, even through all the frustration. So he shook his head, once, twice, again and again.
Tears still rolling hot down his face, still soaking into the fabric of his collar, still slipping over his lips where they were parted, still smeared across his cheeks in thick streaks.
And fuck, Kirishima felt his chest ache.
He cupped Bakugo’s face, lifting his chin, tilting his head until their eyes met, until Bakugo’s glistening expression was looking right at him.
“Say it back to me.” Kirishima murmured, voice still calm.
Bakugo sniffled, breath still hitching. “If I wanna stop…” His voice was thin, but he kept going, because Kirishima asked, and Bakugo always listened when he asked. “I squeeze. I scratch. I punch.”
Kirishima smiled, and then, he guided him back down.
Hand firm at the back of Bakugo’s head, fingers curling into blonde strands, pressing him forward, pushing his swollen lips back onto the aching tip of his cock.
And Bakugo sobbed.
A pure fucking relief sob, something that ripped out of his throat the second he felt Kirishima against his tongue again, when he knew that he was getting exactly what he begged for.
The moment Bakugo sobbed from sheer relief, from the feeling of having it back, having it in his mouth, feeling the weight of it press against his tongue, Kirishima snapped.
There was no teasing this time, no slow build-up, no easing him into it.
His fingers curled tight into the damp strands of Bakugo’s hair, gripping hard, his knuckles going white, tensing, before he jerked his hips forward, shoving deep into Bakugo’s mouth all at once.
Bakugo choked instantly.
Body jerking, bound fingers clenching, thighs spreading wider, like he needed to brace himself, every pulse aching inch forcing its way past his lips, down his throat.
And fuck, Kirishima didn’t stop or let him catch his breath.
He just kept going, kept pushing, kept shoving deeper, watching the way Bakugo’s throat bulged, the way his jaw stretched open, the way his lips wrapped around him so tight, sucking instinctively, perfect and warm and wet and messy.
Bakugo was making so many little noises, whimpering, gagging, struggling, his bound hands twitching, his throat flexing, his body jerking, but not away, never away, only closer, only deeper, only pressing himself down more, only taking it, taking it, taking it.
And fuck, it was messy.
Saliva was everywhere, dripping down his chin, pooling at the corners of his lips, smearing over Kirishima’s skin, soaked into the collar around his throat, coating his chest…
And the tears were still there.
Still spilling down his cheeks, still clumping his lashes together, still slipping over the bridge of his nose, down to where Kirishima’s fingers were fisted in his hair, where they slid over his knuckles, soaking into his skin.
And Kirishima growled.
His hips jerked forward, forcing himself deeper, feeling the way Bakugo’s throat convulsed around him, taking him down, taking him whole, gagging when Kirishima didn’t pull back fast enough, when he pressed deep, when he bottomed out and fucking stayed there.
“You wanted this.” Kirishima’s voice was wrecked, barely a whisper, rough with arousal.
Bakugo whimpered, the sound high, but he nodded, or tried to, his head barely able to move with the way Kirishima was using his mouth like he was made for it.
“You begged for it.”
Kirishima pulled back just enough to let Bakugo breathe, to let him suck in a gasping inhale, before thrusting back in, faster, rougher, no warning, no hesitation, no mercy.
“So fucking take it.”
Bakugo cried out, but it was muffled, the sound vibrating around Kirishima’s cock, sending sharp pleasure burning through his entire body, making him twitch, making him push even deeper.
And fuck, Bakugo was falling apart.
His cheeks flushed red, soaked with tears, his mouth stretched open, his tongue pressing against the thick vein on the underside of Kirishima’s cock, drool spilling down his chin, making a mess of both of them.
Kirishima could feel it, the way he was losing himself, the way he was slipping, the way he was letting go completely, and he wasn’t going to stop, not until Bakugo forgot everything but this.
The redhead's breath was coming harder now, his cock throbbing, slick with spit, fucking so deep, so rough, using Bakugo’s mouth the way he knew Bakugo wanted him to, not stopping, not slowing down, not letting him catch a single breath.
And Bakugo was taking it like the filthy little thing he was, gagging around him, choking, his throat flexing, but never once pulling away, never once tapping out, never once even trying to stop him.
And his eyes, fuck, his eyes.
Big, glassy, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left, lids heavy, looking up at Kirishima like he was worshiping him, like he was breaking for him, like he had never wanted anything else in his fucking life.
Kirishima felt something snap.
“I want you to take it all.” He growled, barely even conscious thought anymore, just need, just want, just hunger, just more.
Bakugo whimpered, a helpless noise, his throat tight, spasming around him, his body jerking every time Kirishima bottomed out, so deep he could feel the muscles in Bakugo’s throat trembling around him.
And he looked so pretty.
So wrecked, so gone, so completely fucking his.
Kirishima could’ve kept going, could’ve fucked his mouth until he broke completely, until he had nothing left, but then he got an idea and he pulled back.
"You wanna be good for me, baby?" He murmured, dragging the heavy tip of his cock over Bakugo’s lips, watching the way they parted instinctively, watching the way his tongue flicked out.
Bakugo whined, a pathetic little noise, nodding frantically, fingers flexing like he wanted to grab, hold, pull Kirishima back into his mouth, take him deep again.
Kirishima chuckled.
"Then just suck the tip for me, yeah?"
And fuck, Bakugo listened.
His lips wrapped around the very tip, sucking, kissing, licking at it like he was worshiping it, like it was the only thing keeping him sane, like he couldn’t live without it.
And Kirishima let him.
Let him have it.
Just the tip.
Pushing in, pulling out.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“That’s it, baby, so fucking good.” Kirishima praised, fingers still buried in blonde strands, watching his mouth and the way his tongue curled around him, wet and warm and perfect. "So pretty like this, sucking me like you need it. Let me see those pretty eyes while you take every inch."
Suddenly, something shifted.
Bakugo’s body jerked, his breath shuddering, something raw crawling through his entire body, shaking him from the inside out.
And Kirishima knew before Bakugo even made a sound.
Knew it from the way Bakugo’s breath hitched, from the way his thighs clenched, from the way his entire body seized up and then, he came.
With nothing but a cock in his mouth, nothing but the weight of it against his tongue, nothing but the tip pressing in and pulling out.
And fuck, Kirishima wasn’t going to stop now.
He let out a wrecked groan, feeling the last of his restraint slip, watching Bakugo’s body twitch and shudder, his thighs still trembling, his cock spent, his face ruined with tears and spit and utter fucking bliss.
He looked so good like this; flushed, wet, destroyed.
His lips were swollen, his tongue lolling out just slightly, gasping for breath, his entire body trembling from the force of his own orgasm.
Kirishima chuckled, gripping Bakugo’s damp hair again, tilting his head back, making sure he could see the way he was looking down at him. "Fuck," he rasped. "You really just came from sucking my cock, huh? Just from sitting there like a good little toy, just from being used?"
Bakugo's lips twitched like he wanted to deny it, to fight it, to be a stubborn little shit about it, but then Kirishima pulled back, dragging the tip of his cock along Bakugo’s spit-soaked lips, over his flushed cheeks, smearing his own slick across his skin, teasing.
"Gonna cum all over your pretty little face."
And before he could even finish the sentence, Bakugo’s mouth opened.
Wide.
Tongue out, eyes half-lidded, still begging without words, pleading for it, telling Kirishima without a single fucking sound, please, please, please, give it to me, give me everything.
And fuck, that was it, that was all it took.
Kirishima’s stomach tightened, his muscles tensed, his fingers dug deep into Bakugo’s hair, and then, he came.
Hard.
Hot, thick ropes of cum spilling over Bakugo’s tongue, over his cheeks, over his chin, dripping down to his collar, making a mess of him, painting him in it, marking him in it, ruining him in the best fucking way.
And Bakugo didn’t move, didn’t close his mouth or let a single fucking drop spill from his tongue.
He just stayed there, lips parted, mouth still wide open, tongue out, showing Kirishima exactly what he wanted him to see.
Look at me.
Look at how good I am for you.
Look at how much I can take.
Still panting from the intensity of his own orgasm, he lifted a shaking hand, reached out, and dragged two fingers along Bakugo’s cheek, gathering up the cum dripping down his skin, scooping up every messy drop. Then he pushed it right back into his mouth.
Pressing his fingers over Bakugo’s tongue, smearing it, watching the way his throat flexed, the way his lips instinctively wrapped around them, sucking, taking it, letting Kirishima do whatever the fuck he wanted with him.
"Swallow."
And Bakugo did, immediately, without even fucking thinking.
His throat bobbed, lips still parted around Kirishima’s fingers as he swallowed everything, his tongue curling around the digits sucking them clean, obedient and eager to please.
Then, he opened his mouth again, showing Kirishima proof that he had swallowed everything, that there was nothing left, that he had been good, that he had done exactly what he was told.
He let out a low hum of approval, his fingers dragging slowly from Bakugo’s lips, smearing the last traces of spit and slick across his chin, before letting his hands slip lower, curling around Bakugo’s shoulders.
Gently, so gently this time, he lifted him, pulling him into his lap.
And Bakugo was shaking.
His entire body was wrecked, his breath still coming in uneven gasps, his bound hands still resting in his lap, fingers smeared with his own cum, and Kirishima kissed him like he was kissing away the wreckage.
He kissed the corner of his lips, the curve of his cheek, the flushed tip of his nose, the tear-streaked skin beneath his lashes, the last little remnants of everything they had done, everything Bakugo had taken.
Carefully, he reached for the belt wrapped around Bakugo’s wrists. His fingers brushed over his skin, feeling the way his breathing stuttered as Kirishima undid the knot, as the leather slipped loose, as Bakugo’s hands were finally free.
His arms lifted immediately, curling around Kirishima’s neck, gripping onto him, pulling himself in close, pressing himself into the warmth of him, into the grounding presence that had just destroyed him completely, only to pull him back together again.
And Kirishima held him.
Tightly.
Like he would never let him go.
His body was warm and pliant in his arms, completely surrendered, a stark contrast to the fiery, stubborn man he was most of the time. Now, he was just his, soft, vulnerable, trusting.
Bakugo didn’t speak. Didn’t resist. Just existed in Kirishima’s hold, his fingers barely twitching against his skin, his muscles melting further with every touch.
Kirishima pressed a lingering kiss to Bakugo’s damp temple before shifting, standing easily with Bakugo in his arms. He was light to him, weightless, and Kirishima moved carefully, knowing that if he so much as took a step away, Bakugo might stir, might come back to himself just enough to remember that he hated being left alone after something so intense.
He wasn’t going to risk that.
The bathroom light was soft, casting a warm glow as Kirishima stepped inside, adjusting his grip so he could gently sit Bakugo on the edge of the counter. Bakugo wavered for a moment, his body swaying toward him instinctively, like his body knew Kirishima was his anchor, the only thing keeping him grounded.
Kirishima didn’t stop touching him. His fingers skimmed over Bakugo’s bare thighs, reassuring, keeping him in place, keeping him present.
"You with me, my love?" He whispered, his knuckles brushing over Bakugo’s flushed cheek.
Bakugo didn’t respond with words, but a low purr rumbled from his throat, vibrating against Kirishima’s palm as he tilted his face into the touch, completely lost in it.
The redhead smiled, heart squeezing at the sound. Bakugo only made that noise when he was deep in his space, floating, vulnerable in a way he never let himself be with anyone else.
"Good." Kirishima whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead before reaching for the washcloth. He soaked it in warm water, wrung it out, and then, with infinite gentleness, brought it to Bakugo’s face.
The moment the cloth touched his skin, Bakugo melted further, a satisfied exhale slipping past his lips as his whole body went slack. His head lolled slightly, eyes slipping closed, his thighs easing apart, completely pliant, completely trusting.
Kirishima’s breath hitched for a moment at the sheer vulnerability of it, the way Bakugo gave himself to him so easily, letting him care for him without resistance.
He ran the cloth over Bakugo’s cheeks first, wiping away the tear tracks, the flushed heat of his skin. He moved reverently, sweeping down to his jaw, over his lips, the bridge of his nose, along his temples.
Bakugo purred again, leaning into every motion, his lashes fluttering but never opening.
"That’s it, my love." Kirishima murmured, dipping the cloth back into the warm water before dragging it down Bakugo’s throat, across the sharp collarbone, over the sweat-slicked skin of his chest.
Bakugo didn’t speak, didn’t open his eyes, just felt, letting Kirishima work, his body responding in the subtlest ways. And he took his time, wiping away the sheen of sweat, cleaning every inch of him, whispering soft praises as he worked. "You did so good for me, my love. My perfect, pretty love."
Bakugo sighed, another deep purr vibrating through his chest.
When he was finally done, when every trace of sweat, cum, and exhaustion had been wiped away, Kirishima let the cloth fall into the sink and stepped between Bakugo’s legs, cupping his face with both hands.
Bakugo barely stirred, his head tilting toward him instinctively, his lips parting as another sound of contentment slipped out.
"You still with me?"
This time, Bakugo blinked, dazed, but there. His gaze flicked up to meet Kirishima’s, heavy-lidded, his pupils still blown wide.
His voice was wrecked, hoarse, but when he spoke, it was quiet, real. "Yeah… ‘m here."
Kirishima smiled, pressing his lips to Bakugo’s forehead, feeling the way he hummed at the contact.
"Good," he murmured, thumb brushing over the flushed curve of Bakugo’s cheek.
Kirishima kept his hands on him, stroking his thumbs over his flushed cheeks, feeling the warmth still radiating off his skin. His body was loose, heavy with exhaustion, but there was a quiet contentment in his expression.
"Do you want me to take your collar off, baby?" Kirishima asked softly, running a gentle finger under the damp leather, feeling the way it stuck slightly to Bakugo’s overheated skin. He didn’t want it to get uncomfortable for him.
Bakugo barely hesitated. His head shook in a slow, lazy motion. "No." He murmured, voice still wrecked. "Not yet."
Kirishima smiled at the quiet stubbornness in his voice. Even now, when he was completely pliant in his hands, Bakugo still had his little moments of control, of decision. And Kirishima would never take those from him.
"Okay, I’ll leave it on."
But he wasn’t about to let it sit there all messy. Kirishima grabbed a fresh, damp cloth and gently wiped around the collar, cleaning away the sweat and the slick remnants of everything they had done. Bakugo sighed at the sensation, his body melting further, and Kirishima could feel the deep hum in his chest as he purred again.
"Such a good boy," Kirishima whispered as he cleaned, making sure to get every inch he could without actually removing it. "You’re so perfect like this."
Bakugo just let him work, let him take care of him, and when Kirishima was satisfied, he tossed the cloth aside and reached for the glass sitting on the sink, filling it with tap water.
"Here, love, drink." He said, holding it up to Bakugo’s lips.
Bakugo groaned, a sound of protest, and turned his face away. "Don’ wanna."
Kirishima sighed, amused. "You don’t have a choice." He tilted the glass toward Bakugo’s lips, ignoring the way he pouted, refusing to move. When Bakugo still didn’t respond, he took a different approach. "C’mon, be good for me."
That got him. Bakugo whined but finally parted his lips, letting Kirishima tip the water into his mouth. He swallowed slowly, doing exactly as he was told, even though his brows scrunched in the faintest little frown, clearly still sulking about it.
Kirishima chuckled, wiping away a stray drop from the corner of Bakugo’s mouth. "See? That wasn’t so bad."
Bakugo huffed, his eyes fluttering as he leaned into his touch again, his body never resisting anything Kirishima gave him.
The redhead set the glass down and reached for the toothbrush next, squeezing a small amount of toothpaste onto it. "Open," he instructed, and Bakugo sighed but obeyed, his lips parting without resistance.
Kirishima brushed his teeth with careful motions, knowing that if he went too fast, Bakugo might fight him on it. But he didn’t, he stayed soft, relaxed, letting Kirishima take care of every little thing.
"Perfect." Kirishima murmured again, rinsing out Bakugo’s mouth when he was done, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead as a reward.
Bakugo’s response was another quiet hum, his fingers twitching where they rested on his arm.
Satisfied that Bakugo was taken care of, Kirishima finally turned his attention to himself, grabbing a clean cloth and running it over his own skin, wiping away the sweat and tension from the night.
As he cleaned himself, he felt it, Bakugo’s fingers, barely moving at first, but then dragging slowly across his back.
It wasn’t searching, wasn’t needy, just grounding. Bakugo’s way of making sure Kirishima was real, that he was still there. His touch was soft, his fingertips gliding over the broad expanse of Kirishima’s back, following the lines of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He finished cleaning himself up and turned back to face Bakugo, pressing his lips to the blonde’s temple. "Let’s get you to bed."
Kirishima carried him effortlessly, cradling him close as he stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t bother turning on the bedroom light, it was late, and he knew Bakugo didn’t need anything too harsh right now. Instead, the soft glow from the bathroom spilled into the room, just enough for him to still see the relaxed, hazy look on Bakugo’s face.
He laid Bakugo down on the bed, expecting him to curl up immediately, but instead, the blonde shifted, reaching out, fingers brushing over Kirishima’s wrist, silently asking him to stay close.
Kirishima smiled and climbed in beside him, letting the sheets settle around them. The moment he was within reach, Bakugo moved, his body pressing into Kirishima’s warmth like he was seeking something deeper than just rest.
He stayed still, letting Bakugo do whatever he needed. He felt it first at his collarbone, the warm press of lips, barely more than a breath against his skin.
Then another, higher this time, at the base of his throat.
Kirishima exhaled slowly, feeling the heat of Bakugo’s mouth move up to his chin, then finally, finally, his lips.
The kiss was unhurried. Not searching, not needy, just feeling. Bakugo’s lips brushed against his in lingering movements, like he was mapping out the shape of his mouth all over again, like he just needed to know Kirishima was there.
Kirishima let him take his time, let him kiss as much as he wanted, let him ground himself however he needed to. His own hands stayed gentle, fingertips tracing slow circles over Bakugo’s bare back, up and down, soothing, anchoring.
Bakugo sighed against his lips, his body melting further as his kisses slowed, until his lips barely ghosted over Kirishima’s in quiet contentment. The redhead nudged their noses together, smiling softly. "You good, my love?"
He pressed one last kiss to the corner of Kirishima’s mouth, then let out a satisfied hum as he nuzzled into Kirishima’s chest, curling against him completely.
"'M still wearing the plug," he murmured, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it at all.
Kirishima blinked, his breath hitching. He had completely forgotten about that. With how soft and pliant Bakugo had been, how deeply he’d settled into his arms, it had slipped his mind entirely.
"Shit," he whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him. "I’ll take it out, okay? You should be comfortable when you sleep."
But Bakugo shook his head immediately, burying his face into Kirishima’s neck. "Don’t wanna." He whispered, voice muffled against his skin.
Kirishima frowned slightly, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back. "I won’t let you sleep with it in. It’s too much, you need to…"
His words were cut off by the sudden press of Bakugo’s lips, firmer this time, more insistent, more needy. His hands gripped Kirishima’s sides, holding him close, refusing to let him pull away.
Kirishima let out a slow breath through his nose, relaxing under the desperate press of Bakugo’s mouth. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding, just asking in the only way he knew how.
When he pulled back, his breath was warm against Kirishima’s neck, whispering quiet, pleading little "please"s against his skin.
Kirishima’s heart clenched, understanding settling deep in his chest.
He tilted Bakugo’s chin up gently, making him meet his gaze. "You don’t you think it’s too much for today?"
Bakugo kissed him again, a little harder, a little needier, like he needed Kirishima to just get it without having to say anything else.
Fingers wrapped lazily around Kirishima's cock, warm and loose, barely moving, just feeling. The touch was absentminded, not seeking to tease or rush, just there, grounding, anchoring him the same way soft kisses and whispered reassurances had done moments before.
A harsh breath left Kirishima’s lips as he let it happen, let Bakugo do whatever he wanted. Heavy-lidded eyes flicked downward, taking in the wrecked sight of the man in his arms, blown pupils, parted lips, breath hot and uneven against his throat. Those big, dark eyes never wavered, locked onto him with something desperate, as if he still had to ask for permission even when he already had everything.
A twitch of fingers. A firmer stroke. Just enough pressure to make Kirishima groan low in his chest, his cock beginning to throb in response. It wasn’t much, but it was him, and that was enough, feeling him react, knowing he wanted this just as much.
A satisfied sigh slipped from Bakugo’s lips as he felt Kirishima harden in his grip, confirmation that he wasn’t alone in this hunger. Without hesitation, he shifted, reaching back, fingers ghosting toward the plug still snug inside him, ready to pull it out himself.
A firm grip stopped him before he could. "No, baby," Kirishima murmured, "Let me."
A frustrated little sound vibrated against his skin, but Bakugo gave in, arm going limp, trusting him to handle it.
Lips pressed gently against his temple, lingering as fingers slipped between his thighs, brushing against stretched, sensitive skin. A twitch, a soft gasp, his body already responding before Kirishima had even done anything.
"Relax for me." He whispered, dragging slow kisses down the side of his face as he carefully began to ease the plug free.
A whimper, followed by a shaky exhale. Tension fought against the emptiness for a second before it was gone, leaving him open and wanting. A sharp little noise of frustration escaped him, his body pressing closer, needing more, needing to feel something again.
"You're still so impatient." Kirishima teased, lips curling into a knowing smirk as he tossed the plug aside, hands smoothing over trembling thighs.
A quiet grumble, face buried against his neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin. " Hurry up. "
A chuckle rumbled through Kirishima’s chest as he rolled onto his back, pulling him on top, letting their bodies press together, perfectly aligned. Skin against skin, breath against breath, the heavy weight of his cock pressing between them, twitching against Bakugo’s stomach.
"Don't worry." He murmured, hands gliding down, gripping firm, strong thighs, pulling him closer, positioning him exactly where he belonged.
Fingers reached between them, guiding, teasing, the tip of his cock pressing right against that desperate, aching heat. Slow, patient, teasing just to make him squirm.
"I’ll take care of you."
And with that, he pushed forward, sinking inside, giving him everything.
A trembling breath left Kirishima’s lips as he pushed inside, feeling the way Bakugo opened for him so effortlessly, so willingly. No resistance, no tension, just the quiet surrender of a body that knew where it belonged.
A breathy whimper spilled against his skin, arms winding tighter around his shoulders, fingers clutching at his back like he needed to hold onto something real.
Kirishima stopped, one hand smoothing down Bakugo’s spine in careful strokes, the other holding his thigh. A tender kiss to his temple, a quiet moment to feel him, to take in the way his body welcomed him without a hint of doubt.
"You’re perfect," he whispered, voice reverent. His fingers traced slow circles into the damp skin of Bakugo’s back. "You're everything."
A tiny sound slipped from Bakugo’s lips, a fragile thing, barely there, but it sent something aching through Kirishima’s chest. A shift of hips, the slightest roll forward, testing, seeking, until Kirishima met him, pressing just a fraction deeper, until Bakugo’s body clung to him like he never wanted to let go.
Little kisses, ghosted along his collarbone, his shoulder, wherever Bakugo’s lips could reach, just feeling him, worshipping the warmth that held him, that filled him.
Kirishima tilted their foreheads together, his hands never still, tracing the shape of Bakugo’s body, memorizing him like he’d slip away if he wasn’t careful. Each push and pull was careful, a quiet kind of intimacy that was more than just touch, more than just need. Every slow slide in, every soft, blissed-out sigh from Bakugo’s lips was a promise, a reassurance, a tether.
"You okay?" Kirishima murmured, fingers threading into soft blonde hair, tipping his chin up, needing to see him.
Heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open, dazed, unfocused, full of something so tender it made Kirishima’s heart ache.
"Yeah… s’good…" Bakugo’s voice was hoarse, but there was no hesitation, no doubt. Just trust. Just love.
Kirishima kissed him, swallowing every tiny sound, every breathy whimper.
Time blurred, lost in the warmth of each other, in the press of their bodies. Every roll of Kirishima’s hips sent pleasure humming through them both, building slowly, effortlessly.
It was love.
Kirishima held him tighter, wrapped him up in it, let himself sink into the feeling, let himself give just as much as he took.
"I got you, baby." He whispered against parted lips, his own breath uneven now. "I got you."
Bakugo whimpered, fingers curling into Kirishima’s hair, clinging, pressing impossibly closer.
"I know."
Kirishima kissed him again, his hands roaming over sweat-damp skin, feeling the way Bakugo trembled, how his body molded so perfectly against him, how he gave himself over so completely.
Kirishima pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Bakugo’s, he slowed his movements even more, savoring the way Bakugo’s body tightened around him, how he could feel every little pulse, every little squeeze.
"I love you." He whispered against Bakugo’s lips.
Bakugo’s breath caught in his throat, his whole body shuddering at the words, back arching, nails digging into Kirishima’s skin.
A broken moan spilled from his lips as the pleasure hit him, overwhelming, inevitable. He came with a shudder, a soft cry, his body shaking in Kirishima’s arms, hips jerking as he spilled between them.
Kirishima held him through it, kissing him, whispering praises against his lips, never stopping, never letting go.
He stayed close, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw, letting him feel every bit of his love. And he barely had time to catch his breath before he felt it, Bakugo’s arms winding around him, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together like he wanted to fuse them into one.
Dry lips brushed against Kirishima’s shoulder, then his collarbone, then the side of his neck, pressing barely-there kisses, each one followed by the quietest, most tender whisper.
"I love you."
It was hushed, like a secret being pressed into his skin. Again, again, over and over, as if Bakugo couldn’t stop saying it, couldn’t not say it.
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
Kirishima’s heart clenched, his fingers curled against his back, holding him so reverently, his hips still moving in lazy rolls, riding out every last wave of pleasure.
Then Bakugo sighed, lips curling faintly against Kirishima’s neck, the ghost of a smile warming his skin.
That was all it took.
A deep groan left Kirishima’s lips as his body tensed, his own release finally washing over him, spilling deep inside of the man in his arms. His face buried in blonde hair, breath coming in ragged pants as pleasure crashed over him.
Through it all, Bakugo never stopped whispering, never stopped pressing those tiny, affectionate kisses against his throat, his shoulder, his jaw.
"I love you… I love you, Eijiro."
And Kirishima knew, without a doubt, that he had never loved anyone more.
Their bodies remained tangled together, skin flushed, limbs heavy. Neither of them moved to pull away, to shift, to put any distance between them, there was nowhere else to be, nothing else that mattered except this.
Kirishima ran his fingers up and down Bakugo’s spine, soothing, loving. His other hand cradled the back of Bakugo’s head, holding him close, feeling the way he still pressed those little kisses against his skin, whispering quiet "I love yous" like he needed Kirishima to know, to feel it just as much as he did.
"I love you too. More than anything.," Kirishima murmured, pressing his lips into messy blonde hair, inhaling the lingering scent of sweat and warmth and home.
Bakugo hummed, the sound deep and content, his breath fanning over Kirishima’s throat as he nuzzled against him.
A tiny, tired smile played at the corners of Bakugo’s lips, small, but real, but his.
Kirishima felt his breath hitch, his heart swelling so full he thought it might burst.
Because looking at Bakugo like this, relaxed, content, smiling just for him?
It felt like looking at the entire universe.
He cupped Bakugo’s cheek, "You’re everything, Katsuki." He whispered, barely a breath between them.
Bakugo just leaned in, pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Kirishima’s lips, and let himself be held, knowing there was nowhere safer than in the arms of the man who loved him more than anything in the world.
"Hold me." Bakugo whispered, the word slipping between them like a breath, but it settled permanently deep in Kirishima’s chest.
So he smiled, shifting only enough to pull the blankets over them, cocooning them. "I will." He whispered, pressing a kiss to Bakugo’s temple, feeling the way the blonde melted further into him, the last traces of tension slipping from his body. "Always."
Kirishima smiled, his heart aching with how beautiful he was like this, flushed cheeks, mussed hair, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
God, he loved him.
Loved him in every quiet moment, in every stolen breath, in every way Bakugo had ever tried to push him away and still somehow ended up right back in his arms.
Bakugo blinked slowly, sleep already tugging at him, and Kirishima couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, from brushing his lips over the furrow of his brows, the bridge of his nose, the soft part of his cheek, until finally, finally, finding his lips.
It was barely a kiss, just a whisper of love against his skin, but when he pulled back, Bakugo was still watching him, still seeing him in that intense way he did when words weren’t enough.
Kirishima smiled.
Bakugo smiled back.
And then, with a final, contented sigh, he let his eyes flutter closed, curling closer into Kirishima’s chest, breath evening out into something safe.
Kirishima held him, pressing one last kiss to golden hair, whispering "I love you" against his skin, knowing Bakugo already knew, knowing he had always known.
And as the night stretched on, as sleep slowly pulled them both under, Kirishima let himself get lost in the feeling of having everything he had ever wanted, right there in his arms.