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They don’t usually get the leisure of taking a nap.
Being newly minted sidekicks and struggling twenty somethings, their time is usually spent training, working long patrol shifts, saving money and eating conbini ramen so they can afford an apartment that isn’t falling apart at the seams one day.
But sometimes. When their mentors force them to take an afternoon off and they both find themselves at home. Those are the best days. Rare enough to be a gift when the planets align and they don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do besides be wrapped up in one another.
Sometimes that means date night, cuddling up on their oversized sofa and watching a movie. Sometimes it means a small hangout with friends, playing stupid board games (or drinking games, if Denki or Mina make an appearance).
Then sometimes, it means none of those things. It means changing into pajamas at 3 pm, grabbing the fluffiest set of pillows and the comfiest duvet, climbing into bed together and conking out for the world’s fattest, sleepiest, drooliest nap.
A sound starts to pull Bakugou back into the land of the living; his mind is running like syrup, slowly becoming aware of the rain pattering against the window. It’s not quite dark outside, but gloomy from the clouds. He runs a hand hard down the side of his face, trying to get the blood flowing and piecing together what exactly is happening.
Just as he starts to really wake up, there’s the noise again. A quiet, faint moan floating up from his side.
Oh, he thinks, that’s Deku making that noise. He looks down at the green mop mashed under his armpit. Deku’s moaning in his sleep. Bakugou raises his eyebrows and smirks before running a hand through his green curls, slowly moving down his back. A good dream?
Deku moans again, but then he draws his knees toward his chest (kneeing Bakugou in the side in the process). Another moan that borders on a whine wheedles into the air between them as he tucks himself into a ball.
The smirk slips from Bakugou’s face. Not a good dream then. Bakugou sighs and gets his arms around the little ball of Deku before turning him so he rests fully on his front, Deku’s knees resting on either side of him so he can hold him close.
“Hey,” he says, voice gruff and still scratchy from sleep. “Deku.” He rubs against Deku’s back, and Bakugou can tell the exact moment Deku’s moan becomes coherent.
“You alright?”
Deku whines, mashing his face hard into Bakugou’s chest. He squeezes his arms tighter against Bakugou’s sides.
“Cramps.”
Well, shit. Bakugou tracks Deku’s cycle maybe more than he does, has a little app on his phone so he knows when to stop by the store and buy Deku’s favorite snacks and anything else he may need. Bakugou’s never been unprepared for anything in his life, best believe that includes his boyfriend’s period. But it seems like Deku’s a full week early, which explains why he hasn’t had a chance to take any pain reliever. Must’ve been a surprise.
“Fuck,” he says, rubbing Deku’s back. “I can go—”
Deku lets out a loud whine and squeezes Bakugou so tight his lungs have trouble expanding. Fucker’s a solid block of muscle under normal circumstances, fueled by pain it almost feels like he’s got superhuman strength.
“Stay,” he mumbles. “Don’t move.”
Bakugou grunts, mumbling “Bossy,” under his breath. He continues rubbing Deku’s back, feeling him gradually relax under his fingers, slowly, slowly unraveling the tightness in his muscles.
“Under?” Deku asks quietly, rubbing his cheek into Bakugou’s chest. “Feels good.”
Usually Deku’s skin seems to get oversensitive, probably the surge of hormones or something. Bakugou’s seen him come home and immediately shed all his clothes as if he’s been in a sensory overload all day. Those days Deku seems like he doesn’t want to be touched, but really Deku always wants to be touching Bakugou in some way. So while they sleep apart, Deku tangles the fingers of one hand together with Bakugou’s, keeping in constant contact, and it’s the perfect balance.
On the other end of the spectrum, sometimes that sensitivity gives Deku the good tingles. The best tingles. Bakugou’s sure he’s spent hours rubbing tenderly wherever on Deku he can reach, softly against the skin of his back, scratching his scalp, dancing so so softly from freckle to freckle like he’s obsessed with him. Well. Maybe he is.
A soft huff against his chest brings Katsuki back from his musings, and it’s just then that he realizes what Deku has moved on to. Barely there, if Katsuki hadn’t been paying attention he might’ve missed it for even longer, gentle rocking. A soft rhythm, forward and back, pressing against him for friction.
“Deku,” Katsuki’s voice is rough and quiet, “are you—”
“Feels good,” Deku repeats. Now that he’s been figured out he grinds forward harder, grips Katsuki even more. He digs his face into the soft fabric of Katsuki’s tee, as if he can’t bear to be perceived at the moment.
Heat flashes through Katsuki at the thought of Deku taking what he needs, using him to make himself feel good. He squeezes around Deku’s hips, fingers hot on the revealed skin where Deku’s shirt has ridden up.
“So good, Deku,” Katsuki whispers, and Deku keens, shivering at the words. His hips snap forward, press and grind against Katsuki’s thigh so hard Katsuki rocks a little as well.
It doesn’t take long to work Deku up when he’s like this; every sensation feels multiplied tenfold and Katuski soon finds himself talking Deku up to the precipice.
Deku’s breath is hot and damp where he pants in the crook of Katsuki’s neck, muffling his whines and moans so he doesn’t sound as desperate as Katsuki knows he is.
A shiver rolls through Deku and he clutches his knees tighter around Katsuki’s thigh so hard he barely has room to move back and forth. He presses the apex of his thighs against Katsuki, where it’s so hot it feels like he might boil over with pleasure. “Kacchan, Kacchan—” he manages to warble out.
“Yeah, Deku,” Katsuki whispers hotly, “What do you need?”
“Ah,” he whimpers, shivering, stuttering, “can I—please—can I—wanna—”
“Yeah, c’mon c’mon,” Katsuki urges quietly, “do it, Deku, make yourself come.”
Katsuki hears a stuttering inhale break Deku’s whimpers, then “I’m, oh, Kacchan, gonna c—” He freezes atop Katsuki for a moment before it whips through him, making him sob loudly into Katsuki’s heated skin.
Katsuki talks him through it, doesn’t stop whispering praise until Deku’s hips finally still their thrusting. Everything is quiet for a while, pleasant silence as they hold one other. Deku sniffles, pants as he comes down. Katsuki’s shirt is a little damp, and he’s not sure if it’s from Deku’s tears or drool, it could really be either.
“Feel better?” Katsuki asks, a small smirk playing on his lips. He trails his fingers up and down Izuku’s spine, raking his shirt up except for where they’re pressed warmly against each other.
“Mhm.” Deku sounds like he barely has the energy to open his mouth, too content and pleased to make the effort of moving his lips.
Katsuki chuckles roughly. “Cramps gone?”
“Mhm,” Deku repeats sleepily.
“Did you drink some water today, nerd?”
“Mhm.”
“Did you eat?”
A couple seconds pass and Katsuki narrows his eyes at Deku’s silence. “Damn nerd, you gotta take care of yourself. I’m going to run to the conbini and get those American style cheese sticks you like so damn much.”
A warbly whine and snivel comes from where Deku’s face is mashed into his chest.
“Deku, are you…” Katsuki snickers, “are you crying because of cheese sticks?”
A longer whine that ends in a sob comes from his t-shirt.
“Fuckin’ cry baby nerd,” Katsuki says, but he wraps Deku even tighter in his arms. He plants a kiss in the messy green curls. Deku sniffles and squeezes back, mumbling something into his damp chest.
He wouldn’t have his Deku any other way.