Chapter Text
The club was a world of red, drenched in the glow of neon lights that bled over every surface. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching along walls lined with black leather booths and heavy steel fixtures. The scent of alcohol hung thick in the air, sharp and biting, mixing with the warmth of bodies pressed too close. Sweat lingered in the haze, mingling with hints of cologne and something musky that seemed to seep into the fabric of the room. The atmosphere was electric, the steady pulse of bass vibrating through the floors and crawling up spines, commanding attention.
The crowd moved like a restless tide. Men leaned into each other, their voices swallowed by the music, their hands exploring openly under the guise of the dim light. Some were draped in sleek leather harnesses that gleamed when they caught the light, their bare chests shining with a faint sheen of sweat. Others wore sharp suits that clung to their frames, unbuttoned just enough to tempt. Some barely wore anything at all, their confidence as palpable as the heat radiating from the dance floor. Flickers of motion drew the eye, glimpses of tattoos, glints of piercings, and smirks exchanged like promises.
Bakugo stood at the edge of it all, leaning against the bar. The drink in his hand was cold, condensation slicking the glass as he idly traced the rim with his thumb. He didn’t belong to any part of this scene, not fully, but that was the point. Tonight wasn’t about blending in or making small talk. It wasn’t about reputation or responsibility. It was about carving out a space for himself, for once, and letting the tension that had knotted itself around his spine finally unwind.
He surveyed the room with the sharpness of someone used to sizing up threats, though there was no danger here. Not the kind he was used to, anyway. The red glow played tricks on the eye, shadows warping as people moved, creating a constant flux of shapes and colors. His gaze skimmed over groups clustered around small tables, over pairs lost in private exchanges, over the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The steady thrum of the bass matched the rhythm of his heart, loud and insistent.
And then he saw it.
Bright red, unmistakable even in the murky light, cascading like liquid fire down a broad back. It was a color he could pick out anywhere, a shape so familiar it made his chest tighten instinctively. He froze, the glass halfway to his lips, eyes narrowing as he tried to convince himself that he was seeing things.
But then the redhead shifted in his seat, and all doubt evaporated. It was Kirishima. No one else in this room carried that kind of size and presence, no one else radiated that easy confidence that seemed to make the air around him lighter. Even here, even in a place like this.
Bakugo’s grip on his glass tightened. What the hell was he doing here?
He might have let it go, chalked it up to coincidence, if not for the scene playing out in front of him. Kirishima wasn’t alone. A blonde man, taller than him, broader, annoyingly good-looking, sat perched on his lap. The guy’s head was tucked against Kirishima’s neck, his lips hidden from view but clearly busy. One hand rested on the redhead’s shoulder, casual but possessive, while the other traced lazy patterns along his chest.
Kirishima didn’t seem to mind. His hand rested on the guy’s back, fingers spread out in a way that looked almost comforting, like he’d done this a hundred times before. He wasn’t pulling him closer, but he wasn’t pushing him away either. His other hand held a drink, untouched, as he spoke to someone standing beside them, his expression calm and collected, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Bakugo felt his jaw clench. It wasn’t anger, he told himself that. He had no right to be mad. Hell, he was here too, wasn’t he? It would be hypocritical to judge. But as his gaze lingered on the way Kirishima tilted his head slightly, giving the blonde better access to his neck, a sour knot twisted in his gut.
Jealousy, sharp and unwelcome, stabbed at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, not where Kirishima was concerned, but it had never been this loud before. It gnawed at him as he watched the way the redhead seemed so comfortable, so at ease in this place, in this moment. Like he belonged here. Like he’d been coming here for years, and Katsuki hadn’t known.
He hated the way the blonde guy’s hands lingered. He hated the way Kirishima let them. Most of all, he hated the stupid flutter in his chest, the irrational urge to walk over and pull him away, to plant himself where that bastard was sitting.
Bakugo threw back the rest of his drink, the burn doing little to chase away the weight pressing against his ribs. He wasn’t leaving. Not yet. His night wasn’t supposed to end like this, not with his head spinning for reasons he refused to admit.
The glass hit the bar with a sharp, decisive clink as Bakugo downed the last of his drink in one angry gulp. The burn in his throat wasn’t nearly enough to drown the fire clawing its way through his chest. He set the glass aside with a shove, its edge catching the condensation ring left behind. The bartender glanced at him, eyebrows raised as if offering another. Bakugo ignored it, ignored everything except the pounding of his pulse and the sight of that damn red hair across the room.
His steps were deliberate, each one carving a path through the crowd without hesitation. Boots scuffed against the sticky floor, weaving around bodies swaying too close, ignoring the annoyed huffs of men forced to step aside. He didn’t care. He was a man on a mission, and anyone in his way could deal with it.
When he finally stopped, it was in front of the redhead, arms crossing over his chest as he planted himself firmly in place. He didn’t give a damn that his stance was cutting into the conversation. The tall guy standing there, the slick bastard with an expensive-looking watch and an expression that screamed self-satisfied, paused mid-sentence, startled. Bakugo didn’t so much as glance at him. His focus was locked on Kirishima, the familiar face that had no business being here, in this place, like this.
The redhead’s reaction was immediate. His head lifted, his gaze meeting Bakugo’s. At first, there was surprise. His mouth parted slightly, his thick brows drawing together like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. It only lasted a second or two before his expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. His jaw set, his lips pressed together, and his features smoothed into something controlled, something calm.
Kirishima didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, he shifted his attention to the blonde man still sprawled across his lap. Bakugo’s teeth clenched as he watched his friend tap the man’s backside, a thoughtless gesture that sent a hot surge of irritation coursing through him. The blonde guy, face still tucked into Kirishima’s neck, barely reacted at first. It wasn’t until Kirishima murmured something in his ear that he finally pulled back.
The guy looked up, dazed and flushed, lips slightly swollen in a way that made Bakugo’s stomach churn. He recognized that look. The glassy eyes, the lazy smirk, the way the man’s hand lingered on Kirishima’s shoulder a moment too long. He knew exactly what that kind of look meant, and he hated it.
Whatever Kirishima said must have done the trick because the blonde guy stood, though not without a level of hesitation that only pissed Bakugo off more. The guy lingered, his movements sluggish, his gaze clinging to Kirishima as if waiting for permission to stay. When none came, he finally shuffled off, his tall frame disappearing into the crowd.
Bakugo barely noticed the other guy, the one Kirishima had been talking to, slip away with a muttered excuse. All that mattered now was the redhead sitting before him, the calm intensity of his gaze making the tension between them feel tangible.
Kirishima leaned back in his sit, broad shoulders rolling against the plush leather as he settled in. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t smile or offer a nervous laugh to lighten the mood. He just sat there, watching Bakugo with an expression that gave nothing away.
Kirishima’s gaze was unwavering, his posture loose but his eyes sharp, like he was waiting to see what Bakugo would do next.
Bakugo didn’t falter. “Didn’t expect you to be into this.” His tone was clipped, the words cutting through the heavy air between them.
Kirishima’s lips curved into a knowing smile. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached to the empty spot beside him and patted it lightly, an invitation in the simple gesture. Bakugo hesitated for the briefest second before stepping forward, sinking into the plush seat. The cushions were warm, carrying a faint hint of the person who’d been there before. It didn’t sit well with him, but he kept his face impassive.
Kirishima finally raised the drink he’d been holding, taking a long sip. His movements were unhurried, but there was nothing casual in the way his eyes never left Bakugo’s face.
Bakugo reached for the whiskey bottle on the low table in front of them, his fingers curling around the glass neck as he poured himself a drink. The amber liquid sloshed into the cup, and he took a swallow without hesitation. It burned, but he welcomed it.
“You didn’t think I was into what?” Kirishima teased, the faintest edge of amusement coloring his words.
Bakugo snorted, setting the glass down with a firm clink. He leaned back in his seat, one arm draped over the backrest as he stared at the man beside him. Their gazes locked, the tension shifting into something heavier.
It wasn’t the first time Bakugo had held Kirishima’s gaze. They’d known each other for over a decade, shared countless battles, conversations, and quiet moments. But this was different.
Kirishima’s eyes were shadowed with something Bakugo had never seen before, something deep and burning that sent a crackling charge through the space between them. It wasn’t wrapped in the usual warmth that the redhead carried so effortlessly. No, this was fierce, exposed, and unapologetic.
Bakugo's fingers gripped the glass like it was an anchor, though his body screamed to act, to do something reckless just to break the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest.
This was Kirishima. His best friend. His constant. The one person who had stood by him without fail. And yet, under the weight of that piercing gaze, Bakugo felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. He saw something in Kirishima now that he wasn’t sure how to name, something that had always lingered just out of reach, now blinding in its clarity.
The air between them was alive, humming with unspoken words and questions neither seemed ready to voice. Kirishima didn’t waver, didn’t look away. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but there was an intensity in his stillness, a quiet force that drew Bakugo in even as it made him bristle.
The redhead’s presence was maddening, a pressure that refused to relent. It wasn’t just the way he sat or the faint curve of his lips, it was in the way his attention wrapped around Bakugo, leaving no room for pretense.
Bakugo licked his lips, his tongue dragging slowly over them as he tried to find his voice. It came out quieter than he wanted, roughened by the turmoil in his chest. “What are you?”
Kirishima didn’t rush to answer. He tilted his head, lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. There was no humor in it, only the faintest flicker of something unreadable. His eyes softened just enough to suggest he knew more than he should, holding a quiet power that made Bakugo’s stomach twist.
“You already know what I am.” Kirishima murmured, the kind of sound that settled beneath the skin and lingered.
Bakugo opened his mouth, ready to demand an answer that made sense, but the silence between them deepened, like Kirishima had placed a hand over his chest and told him to wait.
Then, after a heartbeat stretched too thin, Kirishima leaned forward. It was a small movement, but it brought a wave of heat with it, crowding Bakugo’s senses and making the room seem impossibly close.
“You?” Kirishima asked.
A single word, but it cut straight to the bone. It wasn’t just a question, it was an invitation. Bakugo’s breath stilled, his jaw tightening as the weight of it settled squarely on his shoulders.
"Better than the fucker who was rubbing himself on your lap a few minutes ago," Bakugo grumbled, laced with something that felt dangerously close to possessive. He didn’t think before he spoke, the words slipped out, irrepressible, and the second they left his lips, the air between them shifted.
At first, it was barely noticeable, a flicker in Kirishima’s eyes, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. But Bakugo felt it in his bones, deep in his gut. The tension that had simmered between them moments ago now felt different nearly unbearable. The space between them had shrunk, as if the world outside of the two of them had disappeared entirely.
It wasn’t that they hadn’t teased each other before, played with the line between friendship and something else. They had, countless times. Flirted, touched, tested the boundaries without ever acknowledging what it meant. But this felt like something else entirely. It was no longer casual or light. It was laden with meaning.
For a brief moment, Bakugo’s mind went blank, only to be filled with something that terrified him: how many times had he touched himself in the quiet of his room, fantasizing about Kirishima? He never admitted it, never let himself fully face the reality of it, but the truth had always been there, buried beneath layers of pride, anger, and fear.
And now, it was spilling out into the open between them, undeniable and raw.
He watched Kirishima, unable to look away, as the change in the redhead unfolded before him. Kirishima’s usual warmth had evaporated, replaced by something darker. His gaze, once full of light and mischief, now smoldered with intensity. The easygoing energy that always surrounded him was gone, replaced by a quiet force that pulled at Bakugo’s every nerve.
Kirishima didn’t move a muscle, but everything about him felt predatory. It was like Kirishima had stripped away the mask he’d worn, and what was left was something far more potent.
Bakugo’s heart skipped a beat. The weight of Kirishima’s gaze pressed into him, stripping him of any defense he might have clung to. He swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he tried to steady his breath. The pull between them was undeniable now, a force neither of them could deny, no matter how hard they tried.
He could feel the danger of this, the potent gravity of what they could become. All the playful teasing, the banter that had once come so easily, the innocent touches that never meant anything, now seemed utterly meaningless, touches from another life.
Just as the silence threatened to consume him, the other blonde returned, stepping back into the scene with an air of arrogance. He held a new bottle of liquor, the glass catching the dim lights as he set it down on the table with an almost rehearsed flair. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reclaimed his spot, sliding back onto Kirishima’s lap as if it was where he had always belonged.
Bakugo couldn’t look away, a fresh tide of anger crashing over him like a storm. His gaze never lingered on the blonde, he didn’t need to. What set his blood ablaze was the searing heat of Kirishima’s eyes, locked on him with an intensity that made everything around him feel small. And it wasn’t the other guy, it wasn’t the casual intimacy that disgusted him, it was Kirishima’s lack of reaction. The way he allowed it. The way he did nothing.
His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into the palms of his hands. The impulse to grab the guy by the strap of his tight tank top, to tear him away from Kirishima’s lap, was so fierce, it nearly shook him. The possessiveness clawing its way up his throat was a bitter taste on his tongue. Watching the blonde settle into Kirishima’s lap like he had some claim on him made something primal inside Bakugo snap, like a spark to dry tinder.
But then, just as quickly, something colder, sharper, more dangerous unfurled inside him. A smile tugged at the corner of Bakugo’s lips, a twisted expression that hadn’t appeared in years, not since his first year in school, when he was still a cocky little shit with something to prove. The smile was cruel and it felt like a release, the storm inside him taking on a new edge.
He licked his lips, savoring the moment. He could feel Kirishima’s gaze on him, those red eyes were a burn against his skin, intense and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. A challenge, maybe. A question. A pull that he was powerless to resist.
Bakugo stood there, his gaze flickering from the blonde guy, then back to Kirishima, and then he walked away. His steps were purposeful, with an edge of defiance that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He didn’t look back, not even for a second, but he could feel the weight of Kirishima’s stare on his back.
The lights of the club blurred as he moved through the crowd, but Bakugo’s smile remained. It was filled with reckless freedom, a dangerous kind of triumph.
Finding a body wasn’t difficult. It never was, not when he exuded the kind of energy that drew people in, that made them want to touch him, to claim him for just a moment. The man he spotted across the room was big, broad-shouldered and thick in the way that screamed easy. The kind who wouldn't ask questions, who wouldn't try to dig beneath the surface.
Bakugo didn’t waste time. A few whispered words, barely more than an invitation, and the man was already following him. Too eager. Too drunk. A convenient tool for whatever game Bakugo wanted to play. He felt the man’s gaze on him, saw the way the guy’s eyes roamed over his body with a hunger Bakugo had seen countless times before. And it didn’t matter. Not now.
Every step he took toward the back of the club was a calculated one, and he didn’t need to look to know Kirishima’s eyes were still fixed on him, the intensity of that gaze like a heavy weight pressing into his back. And for the first time, Bakugo didn’t mind. No, he liked it. He liked the way Kirishima’s stare clung to him, relentless, burning him from across the room. It made him feel powerful.
He let the guy press up against him, let the stranger’s hands wander freely, grabbing at him, pulling him closer. There was no resistance, no hesitation. Bakugo allowed it all. He could feel the heat of the man’s body against his, the slick warmth of his breath at his neck as they moved through the crowd.
The sofa. The thought flared in his chest, but it didn’t matter. Bakugo didn’t care. He was in control, wasn’t he? Even as they reached the sofa, the same spot where the other man had once sat, Bakugo didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate.
As he sank down onto the guy’s lap, he didn’t glance back. Didn’t need to. He could almost feel Kirishima’s frustration building, could almost hear the sharpness of the redhead’s breath from across the room, feel the burning weight of his stare digging into his back like a brand. Bakugo smirked, knowing that Kirishima’s eyes were still on him. He liked that. He liked knowing that Kirishima couldn’t look away, that he had the power to make him feel something just by being there.
But there was no need to look back. Not yet. He didn’t need to see it. Bakugo was already too far gone, too deep into the game. Right now, there was only the warmth of a stranger beneath him and the feeling of his hands on Bakugo’s body.
He knew that whatever happened next, whatever the redhead did or didn’t do, it would change everything between them. But Bakugo didn’t care. Not yet.
Bakugo’s breath hitched as he let the rhythm of the music pulse through him, his body moving in time with the heavy bass reverberating through the floor. His hips rolled against the man’s thigh, slow at first, testing, teasing, like he was warming up for something more. The guy’s hands wandered again, greedy and eager, but Bakugo smacked one away, he didn’t need anyone trying to take the lead.
This was his show.
Arching his back, Bakugo let his head fall to the side, exposing the curve of his neck to the stranger's lips. When he felt the first tentative brush of teeth, he tilted his head even further, inviting it, but there was no submission in the gesture. His body was taut, every roll of his hips a taunt, every sway a calculated move to claim attention. The stranger beneath him was a prop, nothing more, and Bakugo made that clear when he took the man’s face in his hand, guiding him with a roughness that left no room for interpretation.
"Keep your hands off unless I say otherwise." Bakugo hissed into his ear. He could feel the man shiver beneath him, but he didn’t linger on it.
Bakugo ground down harder, his movements growing more purposeful, more intense. His nails dug into the man’s shoulder, anchoring himself as he pressed their bodies together, his lips finding the stranger’s neck. He didn’t just kiss him; he devoured him, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, letting the sting linger in his teeth like a warning. It wasn’t about the man. It was about the message.
He threw his head back with a guttural noise, sweat glistening on his skin under the club’s flickering lights, his lips swollen and red from where he’d bitten at the guy’s neck. He wanted Kirishima to see all of it, the arch of his spine, the way his body moved, the confidence that radiated from him like a challenge. Look at me. Look at what I can do.
When the guy tried to grab his waist again, Bakugo’s hand shot out, grabbing the wrist and slamming it down against the sofa. His eyes glinted dangerously, and he snarled, "I said, don’t fucking touch me." His voice was loud enough to cut through the music, sharp enough to send a chill down the man’s spine.
Bakugo leaned in closer, his lips brushing the man’s ear as he whispered, "Just sit there and let me handle it. I’m not here for you, anyway." The man blinked up at him, confused but too enthralled to argue, his hands going slack against the cushions.
And then his gaze flickered up, just for a moment, across the room. His heart raced as he caught Kirishima’s eyes, glowing hot like molten lava, the tension between them palpable. He could see the tightness in Kirishima’s jaw, the way his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t care. This was the point.
A smirk tugged at Bakugo’s lips as he sank back into his performance, grinding down harder on the man’s thigh, his movements dripping with unfiltered sensuality. The show wasn’t over yet.
Bakugo’s eyes locked onto Kirishima’s, and everything else faded away; the stranger under him, the music pounding through the speakers, the heat of bodies pressing together on the dance floor. It all disappeared, leaving only the molten intensity of that gaze. He leaned back as he rode the man’s thigh, exaggerating every movement, arching his body with deliberate sensuality. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them as his hands trailed over his own torso, gripping at his shirt like he was seconds from tearing it off.
And the whole time, he didn’t break eye contact. Not once.
Kirishima’s expression was a mix of calm control and simmering fury, a dangerous balance that made Bakugo’s pulse race. The blonde guy on his lap didn’t seem to mind how Kirishima’s hand clenched his hip hard enough to bruise. The little fucker probably thought it was possessive, a sign of affection. Bakugo could tell from here how wrong he was.
Kirishima’s eyebrow arched, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips, and Bakugo felt a surge of satisfaction. Good. Watch me, Red. Watch what I can do.
Then, with one smooth motion, Kirishima grabbed the blonde guy by the waist and practically lifted him off his lap like he weighed nothing. He said something, Bakugo couldn’t hear over the pounding music, but whatever it was made the guy’s face twist in annoyance. The blonde huffed, clearly unimpressed, but Kirishima didn’t seem to care. His hand fell away, dismissing the guy with an authority that brooked no argument.
Bakugo’s lips twitched into a smirk as the guy walked away, muttering under his breath, but the victory was short-lived. Kirishima’s gaze swung back to him, and this time, it was heavier. Like he wasn’t just watching, he was hunting.
He froze for a split second as Kirishima raised his hand, tapping his now-empty lap with two fingers. The challenge in his eyes, the curl of his lips that looked suspiciously like a smirk, and fuck, it sent a shiver down Bakugo’s spine.
He knew exactly what Kirishima wanted, and Bakugo’s blood burned with the thrill of it. His grip tightened on the stranger’s shoulders for one final, punishing grind before he stood, leaving the guy flushed and confused on the sofa. Bakugo didn’t spare him a glance. He only had eyes for Kirishima now.
The path between them felt longer than it was, every sway of Bakugo’s hips dripping with confidence. By the time he reached Kirishima, the tension between them was a living thing, coiling tight and ready to snap.
“Move.” Bakugo barked, gesturing at the free lap. His red eyes dared Kirishima to try to make him do it himself.
But Kirishima just grinned, leaning back in his seat like a king on his throne. “You look like you’ve got something to prove, Katsuki. Go on, then. Show me.”
Bakugo’s pulse hammered in his ears, but he didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. He swung a leg over Kirishima’s lap, and sank onto his lap with an agonizing grace, his thighs spreading wide as he molded their bodies together.
The heat between them was instantaneous, searing through the layers of clothing that felt like a mere formality now. Bakugo’s hands slid over Kirishima’s shoulders, his fingers curling possessively into the muscle there, as though staking a claim. His head tipped back just slightly, baring the elegant line of his throat, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest betraying the quickening of his breath.
Kirishima’s hands found his hips, thumbs pressing into the curve of his waist, and his touch was firm, like he was daring Bakugo to push back against the boundaries he was laying down. But Bakugo had no patience for hesitation. He began to move, his hips rolling in a languid, hypnotic rhythm, grinding against Kirishima with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Each shift of his body ignited sparks of sensation, and breathy sounds spilled from his lips, adding fuel to the fire.
“Shit.” Bakugo growled, leaning in just enough for his lips to ghost over the shell of Kirishima’s ear. “You’ve been staring at me all fucking night. Like what you see?”
Kirishima’s grin widened, his hands gripping Bakugo’s hips tighter, drawing him down with a possessiveness that sent a thrill straight through him. “You know I do,” he murmured, his voice a teasing rumble. “But don’t kid yourself, Katsuki. The show’s over. You’re mine now.”
Bakugo wasn’t about to give in so easily. He straightened, letting his palms glide down Kirishima’s chest, savoring the hard planes of muscle beneath his fingers. His hips never stopped moving, the friction building, intensifying. Their gazes locked, scarlet meeting scarlet, a battle of wills that neither was willing to lose. Bakugo’s lips curled into a smirk, dangerous and dripping with intent, as he leaned in, letting his mouth hover against Kirishima’s jaw. His breath was hot against his skin, a teasing brush that left a trail of anticipation in its wake. “Think you can handle me?” Bakugo’s voice was a sinful purr, daring Kirishima to take the bait. “I’m not some weak little bitch.”
Kirishima chuckled, a gravelly sound that sent a pulse of heat straight to Bakugo’s dick. His hands slid higher, spanning Bakugo’s waist with an unapologetic grip, pulling him even closer. “Who's better than me to deal with you?”
The redhead's lips ghosted along the sharp edge of Bakugo’s jaw, the faintest brush of warmth that made his breath catch. But Kirishima wasn’t here to play soft. His teeth found the curve of his shoulder, biting down with enough force to make Bakugo’s gasp turn into a low growl, his nails digging into the redhead shoulders as the sting spread through his body like wildfire. The pressure was claiming, like a brand that said, You’re mine.
“Fucking...” Bakugo bit out, but his words faltered as the ache of the bite melded with the fire already simmering under his skin. He should’ve been pissed, should’ve shoved Kirishima back for daring to leave a mark on him like that, but instead, it made him want more.
His hips snapped forward, a surge of heat guiding his movements as he began grinding harder, faster, against Kirishima’s lap. It wasn’t just the rhythm that made his breath hitch, it was the unmistakable outline of Kirishima’s cock pressing up against his own through the layers of fabric. The sudden, undeniable contact made Bakugo’s stomach clench, his body arching forward instinctively to chase more of it.
“Shit.” He hissed, his head tipping back as his hips rolled with a new urgency. The pressure of Kirishima’s dick against his own was maddening, teasing him with just enough to drive him insane but not nearly enough to satisfy. Every grind dragged their hard lengths together, the friction of denim amplifying the heat between them until Bakugo felt like he was about to combust.
Kirishima’s hands tightened on Bakugo’s waist, guiding his movements without hesitation now, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above Bakugo’s hips. “That’s it,” Kirishima murmured, every word a command that vibrated through Bakugo’s core. “You feel that, Katsuki? Feel what you’re doing to me?”
His lips parted, a breathy moan slipping out before he could stop it. His face flushed red, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, he moved faster, chasing the friction that made his head spin. The sounds coming from his lips were involuntary now, but he didn’t care. Not when he could feel Kirishima throbbing against him.
“Fuck, Eijiro,” Bakugo ground out as he leaned forward, his forehead brushing against Kirishima’s. His eyes burned with defiance, even as his breath came in short, ragged gasps. “You like this? Like me grinding my cock all over yours?”
Kirishima’s grip on his waist became almost bruising. “You know I do,” he growled. “But don’t get too cocky, Katsuki. I haven’t even started with you yet.”
Before Bakugo could snap back, big hands slid lower, effortlessly finding their way to Bakugo’s ass, his fingers spreading wide to grip the blonde flesh. His breath hitched, his body tensing, but what came next made him falter completely.
Two of Kirishima’s fingers pressed hard against the fabric covering Bakugo’s most sensitive spot, right where his asshole clenched involuntarily, craving something he wasn’t about to admit out loud. Bakugo’s body reacted instantly, his back arching as a strangled sound that he couldn't shallow fast enough escaped his throat.
“Fuck.”
With a rumbling chuckle, Kirishima’s strong hands hold him in place as he took full control. Without warning, he guided Bakugo’s hips with a strength that left no room for resistance, forcing him into a rhythm that was faster, rougher, and entirely on Kirishima’s terms. Bakugo’s breath left him in a rush, his body jolting as Kirishima pulled him down hard against his lap, grinding their cocks together with maddening precision.
“You thought you were in control?” He teased. “Nah, Katsuki. You’re gonna move the way I want you to move.”
Bakugo opened his mouth to snap something back, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as Kirishima’s hands pressed him down again. The outline of Kirishima’s cock dragged against him perfectly, the friction amplifying the ache already throbbing deep in his core. Bakugo clawed at Kirishima’s shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as his body was rocked in time with Kirishima’s demands.
“Fuck!” Bakugo gasped, his head falling forward, his lips brushing against Kirishima’s neck. His hips moved on autopilot now, following the unrelenting pace Kirishima set, each grind drawing out another breathless sound that Bakugo couldn’t stop.
Kirishima laughed, his fingers flexing against Bakugo’s ass as he held him tighter, forcing him down harder. “You’re so fucking responsive, Katsuki,” he murmured, his tone thick with amusement. “Look at you, falling apart on my lap. You love this, don’t you? Love the way I’m handling you.”
“Shut up.” Bakugo snarled, his body was shaking now, his thighs burning with the effort of keeping up, but he couldn’t stop. Not when Kirishima’s hands felt like they were branding him with every touch.
Kirishima leaned in, his breath hot against Bakugo’s ear, “You can tell yourself whatever you want, but your body’s telling me the truth.”
Bakugo’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as he glared at Kirishima. “Fuck you,” he spat, but his body betrayed him, pressing down harder, chasing the friction Kirishima was giving him.
Kirishima grinned, his eyes glinting. “You’re already on my lap, Katsuki. I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”
Bakugo’s chest heaved as Kirishima’s words settled over him, dripping with smug dominance that set his blood on fire. He wanted to bite back, to claw back control like he always did, but his body had other plans. The firm grip of the redhead hands on his ass, the unyielding rhythm forced on him, and the unbearable friction of their cocks grinding together, it was all too much.
“Fucking...” Bakugo growled, his voice faltering as Kirishima thrust his hips upward, meeting him with an intensity that made Bakugo’s thighs quiver. He gritted his teeth, movements losing precision.
Kirishima’s grin stretched wider, his fingers pressed hard into Bakugo’s flesh, grounding him and keeping him exactly where he wanted him. “Come on, Katsuki, I can feel it. Don’t hold back now. Show me how much you need this.”
Bakugo snarled, rolling his hips harder, desperate for more. “You’re such a cocky bastard,” he spat, his voice uneven. “Think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”
“I don’t think, Katsuki. I know.” Without warning, Kirishima slipped one hand between them, moving with such deliberate subtlety that no one around them could see what he was doing. His fingers slid under the waistband of Bakugo’s jeans and then beneath the thin fabric of his underwear. Bakugo froze for a fraction of a second, his breath catching as Kirishima’s fingers found the wet, slick tip of his cock.
“Fuck.” Bakugo hissed, his head snapping forward, his forehead brushing against Kirishima’s as his body jolted from the touch. Kirishima’s fingers didn’t wrap around him, didn’t stroke, no, that would’ve been too obvious. Instead, they just pressed against the sensitive head, barely moving, just enough to torment.
“You’re dripping.” Kirishima murmured, low enough that only Bakugo could hear. “Bet you didn’t even notice how fucking wet you are.” His fingers slid across the tip, collecting the slickness there, the motion slow and calculated. “This is all for me, isn’t it, Katsuki? You want this so bad you can’t even hide it.”
“Shut up.” His body moved on instinct now, grinding down against Kirishima’s lap in uneven motions, chasing the friction and the maddening pressure of Kirishima’s fingers.
“Shutting up doesn’t seem like my style,” Kirishima teased, his fingers against Bakugo’s cock pressed a little harder, the faintest hint of motion making Bakugo’s whole body tense. “But you? You’re so fucking honest right now, Katsuki.”
“You’re such a fucking...” His words broke off into a sharp gasp as Kirishima’s fingers teased him again, the pressure just enough to leave him needing more. His cock twitched against the touch, slick and aching, and Bakugo bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself from making more of those humiliatingly needy sounds.
Kirishima leaned in, his lips brushing against Bakugo’s ear. “Don’t stop now,” he murmured, his voice like a growl. “You’re almost there. Let go. Fall apart for me.”
Before Bakugo could bite back, Kirishima’s teeth sank into the same spot on his shoulder he’d marked earlier, harder this time. The sharp sting of the bite ignited a fire that tore through Bakugo’s body, breaking down the last fragile walls of his resistance. His hips jerked forward, grinding down one final time as his entire body tensed, his head snapping back with a guttural moan that ripped from his throat.
The release hit him like never before, crashing through him with a force that left him shaking. His thighs quaked as his cock pulsed, spilling over with an intensity that had him gasping for breath. The pleasure was so overwhelming, that for a moment, Bakugo completely lost control of his body. His fingers clutched desperately at Kirishima’s shoulders, his muscles locking up as he rode out the sensation, his mind blank except for the searing heat coursing through him.
Everything was hazy and all Bakugo could focus on was the aftermath of his release and the grounding presence of Kirishima beneath him.
When he finally opened his eyes, they landed on Kirishima’s face, the redhead’s expression smug and pleased. But it wasn’t his grin that drew Bakugo’s attention, it was the two slick fingers Kirishima held up. They hovered close to Bakugo’s lips, a silent command that made Bakugo’s breath hitch all over again.
“You made a mess,” Kirishima murmured, his tone dangerous. “Clean it up, Katsuki.”
Bakugo stared at the fingers held before him, the slick sheen catching the faint light in the club. His cheeks flushed red, spreading down his neck, a traitorous reminder of just how far he’d let himself go tonight. But he couldn’t look away.
Kirishima’s eyes burned into him, daring him to take the next step. A grin tugged at his lips, but he didn’t say a word. The weight of his presence was enough to make Bakugo’s heart race, every beat hammering against his ribcage like it wanted to escape.
Fuck, Bakugo thought, the heat of embarrassment and raw arousal swirled together, making him feel vulnerable and exposed in a way that he wasn’t used to. What the fuck is wrong with me? His lips parted, his breath shaky as he tried to shove Kirishima back and reclaim control. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Something in Kirishima’s gaze held him in place, so Bakugo swallowed hard, his throat dry as his pride warred with the aching pull in his chest, the one that screamed for him to obey, to give in just this once.
His tongue darted out, hesitantly at first, brushing against the tip of Kirishima’s fingers. The taste of himself hit his tongue and his stomach clenched at the humiliation of it. But Kirishima’s expression didn’t change, it only deepened, his grin stretching wider, his eyes darkening as Bakugo wrapped his lips around the two fingers.
Bakugo didn’t do it halfway. If he was going to give in, he was going to own it. He sucked Kirishima’s fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them in an almost sinful motion. His lips sealed tightly around the digits, hollowing his cheeks as he moved, his eyes wide and locked onto Kirishima’s. He didn’t blink, didn’t look away, even as his cheeks flushed a deeper red.
His thoughts spiraled, a mix of shame and arousal tangling together until he couldn’t tell where one ended, and the other began. This is fucked up. His tongue pressed against the length of Kirishima’s fingers, the motion instinctive, like he was sucking something much bigger, much thicker. The thought made his stomach flip, and his knees clenched tighter around Kirishima’s thighs.
Kirishima’s grin turned feral, his free hand sliding to rest on Bakugo’s thigh, squeezing it firmly as he watched with rapt attention. “You’re so fucking good at this. You look like you’ve been dying to do this all night.”
Bakugo’s pride sparked a desperate need to snap back, to reclaim some part of himself that he felt slipping away. But he didn’t stop. He sucked harder, his tongue working Kirishima’s fingers with a practiced ease that felt all too natural, all too raw. The heat in his cheeks burned brighter, but his eyes stayed locked on Kirishima’s, daring him to keep watching, to see just how far Bakugo could take this.
The obscene sounds slipping from his mouth only made the tension between them more unbearable. Each swirl of his tongue, each pull of his lips, was purposeful, like he was daring Kirishima to react.
Kirishima’s free hand tightened on Bakugo’s thigh, the calloused fingers digging in just enough to make him feel it. His grin had morphed into something darker and his eyes burned with a hunger that made Bakugo’s stomach flip. “Fuck, Katsuki, you're unreal. You know that?”
The words sent a shiver racing through Bakugo, but he didn’t falter. If anything, his movements became more intense, his tongue sliding along the length of Kirishima’s fingers like he had something to prove. He hollowed his cheeks, taking the digits deeper, his lips stretching wide as his tongue pressed firmly against them. The thought of what this must look like - of how desperate he must seem, sitting on Kirishima’s lap and sucking on his fingers like he wanted to choke on them - sent another wave of heat surging through him.
Bakugo let his tongue flick out, tracing the tip of Kirishima’s fingers with maddening precision before sucking them back in, deeper this time. His lips stretched tight around the digits, his cheeks hollowing again as he moved with an intensity that left no doubt, if this was a fight for control, he was coming for the crown. The slick, lewd sound of his mouth filled the space between them, and he didn’t miss the way Kirishima’s jaw tightened, his breath catching ever so slightly.
“Fuck,” Kirishima groaned, watching every movement with an unyielding focus. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that? The way you’re looking at me right now... Shit.”
Bakugo’s tongue flicked out again, tasting the saltiness of his own release mixed with Kirishima’s skin, and he smirked around the fingers in his mouth. It was small, barely there, but enough to show Kirishima that he wasn’t as broken as he might seem. He pulled back slowly, his lips releasing the fingers with a wet pop. His tongue darted out to lick the slickness off his lips, his eyes still locked on Kirishima’s.
“You talk too much.” Bakugo muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk that bordered on cocky. His hands slid from Kirishima’s shoulders to his chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he leaned in, his face close enough that their noses almost brushed. “What’s next, Red? You just gonna sit there and fucking stare, or are you gonna do something about it?”
The words were a challenge, a spark tossed onto an already raging fire, and Bakugo could feel the heat between them reach a breaking point. Whatever happened next, he wasn’t backing down.
Kirishima chuckled, but it wasn’t his usual warm laugh. His eyes gleamed, a predatory edge to his gaze as his lips brushed against Bakugo’s ear, close enough that Bakugo could feel the heat of his breath.
“You think I’d fuck you here?” Kirishima murmured. “In front of all these people?”
The words hung in the air, the implication enough to make Bakugo’s cheeks flush all over again. His jaw clenched as his mind warred between anger, arousal, and something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.
“Tch,” Bakugo hissed, his voice sharp even as his ears burned. “Fucking coward. Guess you don’t have the balls after all.”
Kirishima’s teeth flashed as his hands pulled him closer, making him feel every inch of their bodies pressed together. “Oh, I’ve got the balls,” Kirishima shot back, his tone low and dripping with confidence. “But you? You’re not ready for that yet.”
The words were like a spark thrown onto dry kindling, igniting a fire in Bakugo that burned hotter than the pounding bass of the music around them. He leaned back just enough to glare down at Kirishima. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Kirishima said, “I’m not gonna give the rest of these assholes the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart for me. That’s something I’m keeping all to myself. But don’t worry,” his lips ghosted over Bakugo’s jaw, “When the time comes, you’re gonna know exactly how far I can take you.”
Bakugo’s heart pounded, his breath hitching as the weight of Kirishima’s words settled over him.
“Big fucking talk,” Bakugo growled, his hands still gripping Kirishima’s shirt like it was a lifeline. “You better back it up, Eijiro.”
“Oh, I will,” Kirishima promised. “But not here. Not yet.”
The challenge in his voice made Bakugo’s blood boil, and he hated how much he wanted to see what would happen next.
Kirishima leaned back into the sofa, his posture impossibly relaxed despite the charged tension lingering between them. His cock was still hard, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, thick and impossible for Bakugo to ignore. The sight made Bakugo’s breath catch, but he masked it quickly, schooling his expression into something resembling his usual defiance. His hands remained firmly on Bakugo’s waist, his grip steady but not overly tight, a silent warning that Bakugo wasn’t going anywhere. “You always come here to put on a show like that one?”
Bakugo smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he tilted his head, arms crossing over his chest in a deliberate show of confidence. “You always come here to have some fucker breathing down your neck?” He shot back, his tone biting, but there was a flicker of something lighter in his gaze.
Kirishima chuckled at that, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his thumbs brushed casually over Bakugo’s sides, just enough to remind him who was holding him in place. “Touché. Guess you’ve got me there.”
For a moment, the air between them softened, the tension easing just enough for their smirks to shift into something closer to genuine smiles. Bakugo huffed, his gaze flickering to the side like he was trying to make it seem like this wasn’t a big deal.
“So, what are you even doing here?” Bakugo asked after a beat, his voice gruff as he forced his eyes back to Kirishima’s. “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
Kirishima shrugged, his hands still steady on Bakugo’s waist as he leaned his head back against the couch, the motion casual but far too self-assured for Bakugo’s liking. “Heard about this new place,” Kirishima said, his tone easy. “Decided to give it a shot. Wasn’t expecting to see you here, though.”
Kirishima’s grin faltered for the briefest moment, and in its place, something softer, something unguarded flickered across his face. His eyes searched Bakugo’s, a raw vulnerability peeking through the confident facade he’d worn all night. It was subtle, just a crack in his armor, but it was enough to make Bakugo pause. That wasn’t the smug bastard who had spent the night pushing every button he could find. That was his Kirishima, the one Bakugo knew better than anyone else.
The realization hit like a sudden rush of cold air, cooling the fire that had been raging in Bakugo’s chest. His breaths slowed, the sharp edges of adrenaline softening into something quieter. His shoulders dropped slightly, the tension easing out of his frame as he realized, for the first time that night, that he was breathing normally again.
Kirishima’s hands remained on his waist, but his grip was different now. Not controlling, grounding. When Kirishima finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more cautious, carrying a weight that wasn’t fully masked by his usual ease.
“Does this...” Kirishima hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched for the words. “Does this change things? Between us?”
Bakugo didn’t need to ask what Kirishima meant. He knew. The unspoken question hung heavy in the space between them, and Bakugo could see it in the way Kirishima’s eyes lingered on his, searching for something.
For a minute, Bakugo just looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly as his mind worked through the knot of emotions twisting in his chest. Then, he scoffed, as he leaned forward, his hands pressing against Kirishima’s chest.
“Yeah,” Bakugo said. “Yeah, it changes things.”
Kirishima’s grip on his waist tightened almost imperceptibly, his lips parting as if to say something, but Bakugo didn’t give him the chance. His grin turned sharper, and he tilted his head just enough to bring their faces closer.
“It’s gonna make things a hell of a lot more interesting.” Bakugo said, each word carrying the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
Kirishima blinked, his brows furrowing slightly, his expression caught between confusion and curiosity. But before he could press further, Bakugo leaned in closer, his lips hovering near Kirishima’s lips as he spoke again, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
“You don’t get it, do you?” His tone was softer now, more intimate. “I’ve thought about this before, Eijiro. Fuck, I’ve thought about this for a long time.” Kirishima’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly as Bakugo pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’ve thought about what it’d be like to fuck with you. About what you’d feel like. What you’d sound like. And now that I know I can have it? That I can have you?”
He leaned in again, his lips brushing against Kirishima’s jaw this time, soft and fleeting. His voice dropped to a growl, his words laced with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. “I fucking want it. All of it.”
Kirishima didn’t speak for a long time, then, a slow contemplative smile spread across his lips.
“You know,” Kirishima said, carrying the same weight as Bakugo’s but with a gentler edge, “I’m curious too.”
Bakugo’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable as Kirishima leaned back, letting his head rest against the sofa. His thumbs brushing against Bakugo's waist in a way that was almost absent-minded, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“I’ve thought about it, too.” Kirishima admitted, his gaze never leaving Bakugo’s. His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation, no shame in the confession. “Not just tonight. A few times. What it’d be like with you.” The words hung between them, heavy and final. “Guess I didn’t realize how much I wanted to know until now.”
It wasn’t what he’d expected, but it was so Kirishima - straightforward, steady, and somehow completely disarming.
“Tch,” Bakugo muttered finally, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smirk, thr tension in his shoulders easing just enough to feel noticeable.
They just stayed like that, it wasn’t awkward, if anything, it felt like the air had cleared, leaving something unspoken but understood between them.
Kirishima’s hands stayed where they were as he tilted his head slightly, his grin turning playful again. “So... This makes things more interesting, huh?”
Bakugo snorted, shaking his head slightly, but the smile that lingered on his lips was genuine this time. “Yeah, Ei. It fucking does.”
The cheap burger joint was quiet this late at night, with just a faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clink of cutlery breaking the silence. The place was trying too hard to look like an old American diner, checkered floors, red vinyl seats, and faded posters of Elvis and Coca-Cola on the walls. Kirishima sat across the table, biting into his oversized burger, grease and sauce smudging the edges of his lips. He didn’t seem to care, too focused on satisfying his hunger.
Bakugo, meanwhile, was nursing a thick strawberry milkshake, leaning casually to one side. The motion was calculated, though, the strap of his tank top sliding down his arm just enough to expose the mark on his shoulder. The deep, reddish bruise from Kirishima’s bite stood out against his pale skin, drawing attention with every subtle shift of his posture.
Kirishima’s gaze flicked to it as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes lingering for a second too long before he spoke. “You’re showing that off on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Tch.” Bakugo scoffed, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest. “What if I am? You’re the one who fucking put it there.”
Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head as he took another bite of his burger. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “You’re something else, Katsuki.” He was clearly amused. “I didn’t think you’d be into that kind of thing.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, swirling the straw in his milkshake as he leaned forward slightly. “What kind of thing, Red?” The edge of a smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think I’m just some vanilla idiot?”
Kirishima laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine as he leaned back against the vinyl booth. “Fair enough.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll bite. What are you into?”
Bakugo’s smirk widened, and he tilted his head as he considered how much to say. “I’m a bottom,” he admitted, his tone blunt, like he was daring Kirishima to react. “But not the kind that just rolls over and lets you do whatever the fuck you want.”
Kirishima’s eyes gleamed with interest as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “A brat, then. Sorry to say, but I'm not surprised.”
Bakugo snorted, rolling his eyes but not denying it. “Well, yeah. If someone’s gonna get me to do what they want, they better fucking earn it.” He sipped his milkshake, the straw clicking against the cup before he added, “And I’m into impact play. Spanking, biting, shit that actually makes me feel it. None of that soft crap.”
Kirishima hummed thoughtfully, his grin never wavering. “That’s hot,” he said simply. He took another bite of his burger, chewing for a moment before continuing. “I’m a top, and yeah, I’m dominant too. But I like it rough, pinning, choking, maybe even a little restraint if the mood’s right. Stuff that keeps it intense.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re into restraint?” He asked, tone dripping with challenge. “I don’t see you tying me up anytime soon, Red.”
“Not yet.” He said smoothly, leaning back in his seat and wiping his hands on a napkin. “But I wouldn’t mind the challenge.”
They locked eyes across the table, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. Then Bakugo huffed, leaning back in the booth and taking another long sip of his milkshake.
“This is gonna be a fucking disaster.” The smirk tugged at the corner of his lips betraying him.
Kirishima laughed again, the sound warm and easy as he tilted his head to the side. “Maybe, but I think it’s gonna be fun figuring it out.”
The lightness of Kirishima’s laugh lingered in the air as he reached for a handful of fries, popping one into his mouth before speaking again. “Alright, since we’re talking about it, what are your hard limits? Gotta know what’s off the table, right?”
Bakugo swirled his straw in the nearly-empty milkshake, the soft clinking filling the silence. “Nothing gross,” he said finally, his tone blunt. “No piss, no shit, none of that freaky-ass body fluid crap.”
Kirishima nodded. “Same. Anything else?”
Bakugo tapped a finger against the side of his cup, his gaze flicking to the bite mark on his shoulder before settling back on Kirishima. “No serious pain,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I like it rough, yeah, but I’m not into, like, getting actually hurt. I don’t need bruised ribs or shit like that. Our work already gives me enough of that.”
“Got it. I’m with you there. Rough is good, but it should never cross into, like, injury territory.”
Bakugo nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he sipped the last of his milkshake. “And don’t treat me like I’m fucking fragile,” he added, his voice sharpening again. “I hate that soft-ass coddling shit. If I’m gonna bottom, I want it to feel like I’m being dominated, not babysat.”
Kirishima chuckled at that. “Noted.” He said, his grin returning. “Don’t worry, Katsuki. I wouldn’t dream of going easy on you.”
“What about you, Ei? What’s off-limits for you?”
Kirishima tilted his head as he twirled a fry between his fingers. “Hmm... No humiliation. That’s a big one for me. I’m all about making the other person feel good, y’know? I can’t get into it if it’s about tearing someone down.”
Bakugo blinked at that, his smirk fading slightly as he considered Kirishima’s words. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but it made sense in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. “Didn’t peg you for the wholesome type.”
“I mean, I’m not exactly wholesome,” he said, grinning. “I like rough stuff as much as the next guy. But I guess I’m more into, like, building someone up, y’know? Making them feel wanted.”
Bakugo felt his cheeks flush at that, looking away as he tried to shrug off the heat rising in his chest. “Tch. Anything else?”
“Oh, and no public stuff, not full-on, anyway. I don’t mind teasing or, like, getting close, but actually going all the way? Not my thing.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow at that. “Not what it looked like earlier.”
Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you were testing my limits, didn’t mean I was gonna break them.” He paused, his grin turning playful again as he added, “But you sure as hell knew what you were doing.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other, the tension from earlier replaced by something lighter, easier. Despite the intensity of the conversation, the familiarity between them made it feel natural, like this was just another part of who they were.
“Guess we’re pretty fucking compatible, huh?”
Kirishima grinned back, “Yeah, guess we are.”
The redhead chewed on another fry before setting it down. “What about past partners? You’ve done this kind of thing before, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve had partners, but I’m not into all that shit where people want to write up a fucking contract or whatever. Like, I don’t need some long-ass list of rules telling me what I can or can’t do. I don’t belong to anyone, and I’m not following orders outside of the bedroom.”
“I get it.” Kirishima said. “But I’ll be honest with you, Katsuki. If we’re gonna do this, there are gonna be some rules. I’m not saying we need a written contract or anything, but there’s gotta be some ground rules we both stick to. Otherwise, it’s not happening.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as his elbows rested on the table. “What kind of rules?”
Kirishima smiled as he leaned forward to meet Bakugo’s gaze. “First off,” he said, holding up a finger, “we’re doing healthy checks. If we’re gonna be serious about this, I want us both to get all the exams, everything we need to make sure we’re good to go. No risks.”
Bakugo tilted his head slightly, considering that. “Fine, that makes sense.”
“Second,” Kirishima continued, raising another finger, “no other partners while we’re doing this. I’m not saying we’re in a relationship or anything, but I don’t want to be sharing you with someone else, and I don’t want to deal with anyone on my end, either. It’s gotta be just us.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue. He wasn’t the type to get clingy, but he wasn’t into juggling partners, either. “Fair. What else?”
Kirishima’s grin widened slightly, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “Third, you’re gonna communicate. No shutting me out if something’s bothering you or if you want to try something new. You’ve got a smart mouth, Katsuki—use it.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes but he smiled anyway. “Yeah, yeah, anything else, boss?”
“Last one,” he said, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Mutual respect. That means no shit-talking outside of this, no tearing each other down in ways that actually matter. We can push each other’s buttons in the moment, but when it’s over, we’re still equals. Deal?”
Bakugo stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Kirishima’s face for any sign of insincerity. He didn’t find any, just that reliable warmth that was so unmistakably Kirishima. Finally, he snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back with a smile.
“Fine, we’ll do it your way. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy for you, Eijiro.”
Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The tension between them shifted again, settling into something more certain. Whatever they were walking into, it was uncharted territory, but it was theirs.
The diner door jingled softly as Bakugo and Kirishima stepped out into the cool night air. The streets were mostly empty, the quiet hum of a city winding down for the night surrounding them. Bakugo shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed for once, his usual sharp edges dulled by the late hour and the lingering warmth of their conversation. His barriers were down, and it felt strange, but not bad.
They were just outside the restaurant when it happened.
Kirishima’s hands found Bakugo’s waist, pulling their bodies close in one fluid motion. Bakugo barely had time to register the shift before he felt it, Kirishima’s wet tongue trailing over the bite on his shoulder.
The sensation made a surprised moan escape Bakugo's lips before he could catch it. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched as his entire body tensed, a flush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. He clenched his teeth, biting down hard on his lower lip to stifle another noise that threatened to break free. The mix of pain and pleasure from the bite, now teased by Kirishima’s tongue, made his knees feel unsteady.
Kirishima lingered for just a moment longer, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin one last time, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. Bakugo’s head tilted forward, his breaths shallow as he fought to compose himself. He didn’t know whether he wanted to shove Kirishima away or pull him closer, and the war raging in his chest only added to the dizzying heat coursing through him.
Then, just as quickly as it began, Kirishima stepped back, his hands slipping from Bakugo’s waist like nothing had happened. When Bakugo lifted his head, his red met Kirishima’s and was greeted with the kind of sweet, innocent smile that felt completely at odds with what had just transpired.
“Have a great night, Katsuki.” Kirishima said, like they’d just finished a casual conversation.
Bakugo opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His body was still shaking slightly as he stared at Kirishima, completely caught off guard. Before he could recover, Kirishima turned on his heel and started walking away, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, as if leaving Bakugo behind in a state of barely contained chaos wasn’t the most Kirishima thing he’d done all night.
“That fucking bastard.” He stood there for a long moment, the cool night air doing little to chase away the heat pooling low in his stomach. He clenched his fists, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he let out a sharp breath. But even as he scowled, his lips twitched into a small, begrudging smirk.
Whatever the hell this was, it was far from over.