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Swimming in black, Monoma Neito squinted in the dark trying to orient himself.
His head felt like a ton of bricks; his mouth was dry and bitter.
He tried to swallow, but it came out thick, sticking halfway.
His phone.
Where was his phone?
He reached down, only to find his pocket was lower than expected, his pants scrunched above his knees.
While rolling over to get to the dangling pocket, his arm caught and stretched back.
His jacket was halfway off as well, and pinned to the bed.
Not by his body, though.
Monoma wrestled his way out of the sports coat, exhausted by the time his arm popped out.
“Oh my God… you're so noisy.”
Monoma recognized that mumble.
“Bakugou? Where are we…?”
Monoma's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the darkness, nor did they want to open more than a tiny slit because pulling up his eyelids actually felt like tearing at his slowly thumping temple. He ran a hand over his face, trying to rub out the inevitable backlash of accepting drinks he had not poured himself from people he should have realized took celebrating to a whole new level.
“A bed. Sleeping.”
Bakugou Katsuki was no help.
And Monoma was not sleeping at all.
Not when a bass beat was creating a very unwelcome club song in his brain, rattling his sense of self and making it hard to remember anything past the third drink. And certainly not when he lifted his arm up to stretch and smelled each one of those drinks on his body. Thank goodness he hadn't been tucked under the sheets because he was a wreck of a human at… he finally pulled his phone out and blasted his delicate eyes with the glaring light…
“It's three?” He winced, dropping the phone in his lap and tackling his face with both hands to stop the sparkling dots appearing in front of his eyes after he'd blinded himself.
“I fucking told you, sleep. If you have a headache, there's shit in my bathroom.”
His bathroom.
They were at Bakugou's?
More precisely, Bakugou’s room in the apartment he shared with Kirishima Eijirou and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu.
Even more exact? The first night either of them had spent together after they'd been pulled into karaoke with friends who insisted on commemorating, as Kaminari Denki had put it, the first stable relationship he could remember Bakugou having. The electric user had to have known that was the text that had gotten Bakugou to drag him and Monoma out (though it wasn't hard to coax Monoma into a night of singing with food and friends) just to shove him against a wall and say, “Stable enough for ya?”
Kaminari had thought it was funny.
Monoma had to admit, he did too.
Bakugou was so easy to rile up when you questioned his capability to do nigh anything.
It wasn't the last time Bakugou was set off at the get together, and honestly it was nice, Monoma thought, to not have all eyes on him for once.
He'd dated plenty. He had a reputation for it.
He just hadn't dated a man.
Or a hero in the top ten.
Or someone who had known him when he was a conceited fifteen year old, yet to have the harsh slap of reality when the world crumbled around them.
And he certainly hadn't been in a relationship with anyone for this long in… ever.
Maybe it was all of those things that were different that made it last.
Monoma was still apprehensive that Bakugou would stay with him, though, after he recalled why he was half dressed and all of the things they hadn't done because Monoma couldn't say no to a drink when it was to salute him and his good health.
Maybe his ego hadn't shrunk that much in four years.
“I need a shower.” Monoma huffed, his body aching as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
“At three in the morning?”
“Yes, Bakugou. At three in the fucking morning.” Monoma grumbled, pressing his palms into his eyes to try and relieve the pressure. “Because I am not going to make your sheets smell like whatever backyard garbage Kaminari and Mineta snuck into that party.” He groaned, “I think I might actually die.”
“Well, go die in the shower, quietly, so I can get some damn sleep.” Monoma felt a hand shove his side. He reached back, fruitlessly smacking empty space. Somewhere he heard Bakugou chuckle and call him an idiot.
Monoma rummaged around on the bed for his phone, shaking it. The flashlight activated.
“Behind you.” Bakugou grunted into a pillow.
Monoma grumbled in response, sliding off the bed, barely acknowledging its presence or that of his now very public and very official boyfriend.
There were way too many things to contemplate at this early hour with a creeping orchestra clanging in his head.
He made it to the bathroom with far more effort than it should have taken, and after flicking the light on, decided that was a horrendous decision and promptly kept it off with only his flashlight offering him an eerie view in the dark. Still, it was better than the light of a thousand suns burning his retinas.
Bakugou’s bathroom was impeccable. Finding the pills for his headache and a spare towel was as easy as a hotel room. Maybe that was why Monoma hadn't stubbed his toe on anything meandering through the unfamiliar space in the dark. It was truly a miracle he'd made it the few feet here in one piece.
He kicked his clothes into a pile in the corner and took the pills and his sense of dignity into the shower to be cleaned. Monoma let the hot water wash over him in the dimly lit room, swallowing the pills and his guilt at being a burden, away into the early hours of the morning.
As his ears filled with the sound of the rushing water and less the cavalcades of the liquor, he recalled the parts of the night leading to where he was now.
He'd been halfway through a cup of whatever the former Class A lushes had shoved his way when the drink suddenly disappeared. He vaguely remembered Bakugou talking to him as he leaned over on the couch, finding that resting on him was easier than keeping his own head up.
Bakugou had to have decided they were leaving, because Monoma couldn't remember making the decision to go home, much less walk at all. There were hugs, definitely an encouraging slap on his ass from Tokage Setsuna, and he might have told Uraraka Ochako that he loved her.
Or maybe it had been the other way around?
Wait, was it Bakugou grabbing him?
No, that had happened on the ride back, when all Monoma could remember were hands and lips and Bakugou saying they could go back to his place because his roommates were still at the party. Then they were in a hallway and stumbling against a door and Monoma couldn't remember when he was standing up or laying down. Bakugou was kissing him and he felt so warm and he couldn't even remember if he'd been nervous because he was just so tired.
Then he'd woken up with the grumpiest top hero telling him to go back to sleep because that was as far as they'd gotten and he probably didn't want to deal with his hungover disgrace of a new boyfriend who couldn't seal the deal in the most intimate of ways after months of impromptu rapid fire liaisons and promises of something more hidden between their lips.
Now he was more nervous than he'd ever been.
Bakugou was going to figure out how to get out of this, surely.
Monoma scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to rid himself of not only the sweat and smell of buttered popcorn and barrel-aged god-knows-what that he drank, but also the worry that he was going to wake up in a few hours only to be told that Bakugou would ‘text him’ and proceed to leave him on read for the next few weeks before Monoma officially gave up after ruining this night.
At least his head hurt a little less.
He realized that he'd foolishly be killing himself slowly by smelling like Bakugou until the next time he took a shower.
Still, it felt good.
Lathering the bar of pine scented soap in his hands that made Bakugou smell like a campfire when the burnt nitroglycerin and residual ash lingered in his hands from whatever he’d touched.
He stood with his hands behind his neck, letting the water flow over his head, letting the suds on his face drip down slowly, trying to figure out a way to make this right.
Karaoke had been fun.
The proceeding days after the amateur photographer made their relationship known to the world had been filled with a string of messages between them taking snapshots of social media posts and memes about them. Monoma always had a good laugh at the multitude of images and blogs that worried if he’d lost his mind and sent their well wishes that he didn’t get burned from the explosion hero. At least some of their press had spun the light positively about Bakugou protecting Monoma at the club, especially once the rap sheet of the person who physically assaulted him came out.
Unfortunately that had made people wonder if Monoma deserved to be number nine.
Another point that Bakugou might question as well.
He couldn’t hold his liquor for a moment to finally spend a night together after they’d actively avoided being caught for months.
And he was a hero who'd proven he was unable to keep himself safe without the assistance of another.
Bakugou had said heroes worked together…
But Monoma wondered if all of the ‘working together’ had Bakugou noticing he was the one doing the heavy lifting in their disasters.
Monoma turned the water off and shoved his face in his towel.
He heaved a sigh and grumbled into the cotton.
He could fix this.
He could fix this.
He could…
Wear Bakugou’s clothes?
Monoma had pulled the towel away and noticed in the dim light of his phone a small stack of folded items on the sink that hadn’t been there before.
Wasn’t Bakugou sleeping?
When had he come in?
Hopefully he hadn’t heard Monoma berating himself through his quiet mutterings under the running water.
The clothes were huge.
Monoma finally understood the difference in size between him and Bakugou.
The explosion hero was all muscle, his entire body handling the blasts he now made from any part of his body collecting sweat. He’d grown wider and stronger with each passing year since their first.
Monoma, meanwhile, was lithe and slim. He packed strength in the force of his movements, rather than the raw power. He trained in quick hand to hand combat techniques and battle styles that mimicked dance. His waist was no bigger than the day he’d gotten into UA, he’d only become toned and lean with his rigid diet and exercise.
The athletic shorts hung loose on his hips, rolled once for as secure of a fit as Monoma was sure they would get. The long sleeved sweater was thin, crushed cotton that felt like it had been stretched and worn in. The neck scooped across his shoulders, sliding off of one, draping toward his knees. Bakugou was prone to having casual clothes that were a bit larger for him. On Monoma he looked like he was fifteen again, swimming in the red and black ensemble.
He held his arm up and shook one of the sleeves down, combing his fingers through his damp hair.
A bottle of water stood next to where the clothes had sat, and his dirty laundry was gone.
Maybe Bakugou wasn’t that upset after all.
After swishing some mouthwash, then taking another swig just to be sure (the bitter alcohol clung to Monoma’s tongue like a gob of peanut butter), he cracked open the door.
The room was just as dark as it had been before, save a glow from the window he'd failed to notice in his disarray.
The young hero made his way back across the room, phone light leading the way.
When he got to the bed, he’d walked a step too far and smashed his toe into one of the frame’s feet.
He hissed, holding up his foot, which tilted his other leg toward the mattress, buckling his knee and causing him to fall in a heap on the bed.
“Holy shit.” Bakugou’s muffled displeasure sounded from close by. In the light of Monoma’s fallen phone, he could see the blonde turn over, shadows of his jagged hair creating a futuristic cityscape on the ceiling. He lifted a hand to partially blot out the light that was streaming toward his face, illuminating his red eyes, squinting against the onslaught of the flashlight. “You used this fucking thing to see the way and you ran into something? Are you still drunk?”
Monoma grabbed the pillow behind him and pulled it over his face, “Not. I am not.”
Unfortunately.
Bakugou had to be tired of these antics. Monoma felt like a mess, regardless of how clean he’d gotten.
The clothes were a nice gesture, but Monoma kept screwing up, highlighting to Bakugou the circus of chaos he'd involved himself with. Maybe if they'd stopped sneaking around earlier, Monoma could have tripped into all of this sooner and not wasted Bakugou's time.
Monoma peered out from under the pillow just enough to grab the phone lodged between them. “Sorry.” He muttered, shaking it again, the room turning pitch black once more, consuming the light but doing nothing to rid Monoma of the persistent worry that he was going to steal the sheets or take up too much of the bed or snore or some other uncontrollable faux pas that would inevitably make Bakugou's choice to call all of this off that much easier.
Monoma turned on his side, pressing the pillow against the top of his head to try and think of what he could do with the time he had left. He could grab coffee and breakfast in a few hours to salvage something. He squirmed under the pillow, sighing as he realized the hurdles in place for such a seemingly simple task. He didn't know this neighborhood or have a key to Bakugou's apartment or want to pull out his phone to set an alarm because if it went off and woke up Bakugou early…
An arm wrapped around his waist and yanked him toward the center of the bed, disrupting his self-deprecation.
“You're like a damn puppy trying to find a spot. Could you stop?”
“Sorry.”
Another apology.
Another problem.
Like a bull set to charge, Bakugou snuffled a frustrated breath against Monoma's neck, “And stop apologizing. You sound like you don't even want to fucking be here.”
Monoma fired back as he tugged the pillow under his head, his body curling as his stomach flipped from the lingering alcohol and a grumbling stomach filled with pain killers and the shame of his missteps, “Excuse me for trying to make amends for a night that ended early because I ruined it with a weakness for free drinks and a few compliments!”
“What the hell?” Low light turned on beside the bed, Bakugou's body having rolled back to hit a small lamp on the dimmest setting. He yawned as he swung back over, the arm that had pulled Monoma close, now scratching his head as he shook himself awake. “Do you think I'm pissed at you?”
Monoma covered his face with his hand, pressing against his eyes which had barely adjusted to the dark, a dull throb aching behind them from his residual headache. “Well I'm sure when you brought me here you didn't expect to be coddling me at an absurd hour. My coordination is a sin. I'm barely functioning in—”
“I'm not mad!”
“You sound mad!”
“You know what? Fuck you. Now I am mad!” Bakugou flopped back down on the bed. The room was drenched in darkness again, both men huffing in agitation.
“‘I'm not mad!’ Told you, you were mad.” Monoma jabbed.
His shoulder was pulled back and, in the blink of an eye, Bakugou had thrown himself over Monoma, pinning one of his arms up by his damp hair. The other had defensively come up between them, forearm pressing against Bakugou's chest while he hovered. The faintest blue outline started to come into focus as Monoma's eyes adjusted to the neon of the city lights that snuck around the edges of a curtain Bakugou had left slightly parted.
A tank top clung to every strained muscle that held him aloft. Around his neck, a silver chain slipped, hanging off of Monoma's arm. His eyes took on a shade of violet as the blue swirled around his face from the outside.
He did look mad.
And it was making Monoma far less worried and infinitely more awake.
He'd always looked irresistible when his focus was drawn on something that agitated him.
Right now, Bakugou was absolutely livid with how flustered this man could make him with just a few words.
It was exhausting.
Mind numbing.
And intoxicating.
“Are you always such a whiny asshole when you're hung over?”
Monoma was so petulant with his eyes narrowed and mouth simpering, each self-deprecating comment pulling him somewhere between genuine and ludicrous.
“Are you always luring your guests in with hot showers and clean clothes like they're a helpless vagabond?”
Bakugou pushed, dropping closer, elbow digging into Monoma's pillow. Monoma's arm slipped, hand pressing into Bakugou's shoulder, bearing some of his weight.
“You're not helpless.” Bakugou scoffed.
Monoma caught Bakugou's jaw as the growling blonde challenged his doubts and fears, dipping forward, noses brushing while Monoma kept him at bay. A devilish grin pulled at Bakugou's lips, teeth absorbing the neon outside, glowing as he swayed closer. Adrenaline coursed through Monoma's veins as Bakugou's knee pulled up, running along his thigh.
“You're not mad?” Monoma's chest unlocked as Bakugou turned playful, dragging out the thoughts of inadequacy and shredding them to bits.
“Oh, I'm fucking furious.” Bakugou wavered over the wrist above his throat, firecrackers popping off above Monoma's skin. The pin pricks snapped him, but Monoma didn't let up, smiling back in turn.
He took advantage of Bakugou's uneven stance and wrestled his shoulder back, turning him onto his side. The reinvigorated hero wrapped a leg around Bakugou's waist and hoisted himself on top, the hand at his jaw sinking to the clavicle, pressing the instigator back into the mattress.
“Was that why you took my clothes?” Monoma huffed, the oversized top pooling around his waist as he straddled the one it belonged to.
“I'm cleaning your shit.” A hand wrapped around the back of Monoma's neck, another slipping up his hip and under the worn fabric. Calloused fingers pushed at his lower back and collar, Bakugou ushering him closer.
But as soon as Monoma relented, he took the advantage and rolled back over, chest to chest with his adversary, “I think this looks better anyway.” Bakugou smirked as his fingers traveled along Monoma's neck, brushing along the exposed shoulder where the extra large neckline sank, hanging off his shoulder.
Monoma eyes fluttered shut as the gentle touch curved around his skin, Bakugou sinking closer until their lips barely brushed. It was all so slow and languid and different from anything they'd had before. Here, there was nothing pressing that either had to do. Nothing to run back to. No one to discover them. There was absolutely no rush, and Bakugou was taking advantage of every second.
Lips below tried to meet those above, but Bakugou kept just out of reach, his other hand moving to the rolled up waistband already coming loose, draping down Monoma's hips.
Monoma grumbled.
Bakugou laughed.
The object of incessant teasing opened his eyes to see a pair looking back at him with simmering joy as Bakugou controlled his pursuit. “I think these are a drowning hazard.” Monoma whined, hopelessly gripped at Bakugou's side, clutching a handful of his shirt. The other slipped into his hair to pull him down, but Bakugou abandoned his exploration of Monoma's exposed skin to snag the hand and shove it back into the pillow, above Monoma's head. He sighed as his hip was held down as well, any aspiration to press himself against Bakugou thwarted. “I'm likely to suffocate from inhaling these sleeves.”
“My gracious fucking offer thrown in my damn face?” Adjusting his grip, Bakugou continued to move just within a hair's breadth of Monoma's face and waist and thighs before pulling back. “Maybe I should send you home right now.”
The anxiety riddled blonde locked up for a moment before scoffing and trying to push back.
Bakugou held him down.
He pulled back a bit farther, getting a wider view of the man below him.
“You thought I was seriously going to shove you into some garbage heap of a rideshare with a wannabe serial killer at three in the fucking morning?”
“I didn't think they'd be a murderer!” Monoma rolled his eyes. They settled to the side, focusing on the slice of open curtain where the city lights shone through in slats. He needed to look anywhere other than Bakugou Katsuki who could sense bullshit from a mile away. Monoma didn't know what he believed to be true or not anymore, but he was sure that Bakugou was trying to crush his doubts with the world's most unwavering stare. “And maybe I thought sharing a bed with me seemed less than appealing when I couldn't even undress myself.”
“Technically, I was the one taking your pants off.” Bakugou's teeth flashed again.
“So I couldn't even contribute?” Monoma dramatically sighed, hoping he'd distract Bakugou enough from his shortcomings, “What the hell did that walking spark plug give me?”
“Ask next time instead of just downing mystery drinks when you're the guest of honor. Trust me. That zappy bastard thinks celebrating should be a night you remember because you can't believe you forgot what happened.” Bakugou's hand let up on Monoma's wrist as he chuckled, his guard dropped. He gloated, “He couldn't get my ass cause I know his game. You'll get used to it.”
Used to it.
Like he'd be here, with Bakugou, in his bed, on his mind, waking up in the middle of the night wearing his clothes on a frequent basis.
They flipped again, this time Monoma slipping his hand around to grab Bakugou's wrist and knock him down to his side. His other hand curled into the black tank top to tug Bakugou close, leg wrapping around to trap him, rolling until they were chest to chest. Monoma lips crashed into those that spoke casually of the future and told him to stop being an idiot and accept his wins even when he had a hard time turning his attention away from his losses.
The press hounding them was a loss.
The extra work he had to put in to keep his place in the ranks and be known for his accomplishments and not just his sexuality was a loss.
A challenge…
But still, a loss.
But Bakugou was a win.
Every snide remark about his appearance that led to an underhanded compliment with a hidden smile was a win.
Each touch that spurred him on to match strength, yet treated him with gentleness that held him tight so he felt desired, was a win.
Tonight was, despite all of his perceived losses, a win.
Their lips met with a fierce hunger, Monoma yearning to feel close enough. His body slid on top as Bakugou succumbed to his own desperate need to continue what he thought was lost for another night. Not that he wouldn't wait. He would. He had.
Because the way Monoma kissed him was with a longing that felt like ages had passed when it had only been hours. His hands pulled at Bakugou's shirt like any small amount of space was too much. Months ago it had been filled with lust, but now, in a place that neither of them had to rush, where the world knew who they were, it was overflowing with an eagerness to stay. From now until dawn, until dusk, until the night swallowed them once more and they searched for the pockets where their arms nestled in just so and their hips rocked in sync.
Bakugou's shirt was the first thing to go. Monoma had crawled one hand along his waist and with a single touch along his stomach, Bakugou had quickly pulled it over his head. He loved the delicate fingers of Monoma's prized possessions tracing the lines of his abdomen.
It was difficult to break old habits, everything always happening at lightning speed when they'd rush themselves into a hall closet or an empty stall. Bakugou, who had so readily strung Monoma along before, was getting lost in the heady feeling of Monoma's teeth scraping along his bottom lip. His hands dipped under the loose shorts, grabbing Monoma’s backside, pulling him close, while pushing down the clothing. In one motion, Bakugou whipped the both of them back around.
The pillow caught Monoma’s head, damp hair falling back against it as Bakugou leaned over to rummage around in a drawer. He’d been ready, waiting, lube and condoms tossed on the shelf above the headboard as Bakugou pulled himself back.
Monoma’s anxiety reared its ugly head, mixing in effortlessly with the pounding of his heart.
His ears thrummed.
The whole notion hadn’t been any less intimidating, he’d just known more and more that he wanted this.
He’d just never done… this.
Like… this.
The headache had faded, but in its place was an agitated buzzing from brain to ear to chest to hips that urged him forward, but held him in place, frozen on the bed while Bakugou was kicking off his sweats.
“So…” Bakugou cleared his throat, crawling back over Monoma leaning in for a kiss. It paused the thought hanging in the air. It brought Monoma back to something familiar. Comfortable. That he could control while his heart rammed into his lungs, stealing the strength to say something.
He did what he knew best. He grabbed onto Bakugou’s neck and pulled him close, absorbing a facsimile of his quirk. “So…” He whispered back, fluttering anticipation spurring him to cut the tension. He held his free hand palm up behind Bakugou’s back, letting off a few small crackles of burnt nitroglycerin.
Bakugou grabbed his hand and pushed it into the mattress, “Don’t burn my fucking bed down, you idiot.”
“But you get to do it!”
“Because I know how to do it around these sheets.”
“Then…” Monoma gulped, voice quieter, fingers gripping the rough strands of hair on the back of Bakugou’s neck. “Show me.” The lights of the city smattering Monoma’s face shifted to a darker blue as they caught the flush that took over his body, rising above the collar of the sweater, through his neck, rouging his cheeks.
God he hoped Bakugou understood what he meant, because the opportunity had been perfect and he really didn’t want to explain himself any further.
“What? I get that you like fucking around with my quirk, but these sheets are expensive as hell and your shitty explosions don’t always hit the mark.”
He hadn’t noticed.
Why was he so taken with this obstinate man who always looked at face value first?
“That’s… that’s not…” Monoma sighed, exasperated. He looked up at Bakugou who raised his eyebrows, waiting for Monoma to finish his thought. They stared at one another. Monoma’s gaze wandered above his head where the items Bakugou had pulled out of the drawer now sat, then back at Bakugou and cleared his throat.
Bakugou looked at the ceiling and then back at Monoma. “Fucking what?”
“Good luck, Japan.” Monoma ripped his hand away from under Bakugou’s grip, “Number four and you’re this bad at… just…”
“Say what you fucking mean!”
“I haven’t had sex!”
Bakugou’s eyes grew large and he let out a series of stuttering sounds, a shell of his former confident self.
“Like… ever?”
Monoma let go of Bakugou’s neck and fully covered his face, hoping to push his brain back into place after fumbling his thoughts like the teenager he still was, though nineteen felt a lot like thirteen when struggling to talk about sexual conquests. “I mean, this sex! Gay sex, not any sex.” He didn’t dare remove his hands, only further mumbling, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I need to explain this to you. I told you I was figuring this out! You’re so dense! Seventy percent muscle, thirty percent ready to jump into a fight, zero ability to read a room.”
“I’m reading the damn room now! Give me a fucking break.” Bakugou snapped back, causing Monoma to remove his hands, glaring in the dim light. “What?! I didn't know that when you said you were ‘figuring it out’ you meant with me!”
“Who else did you think?” Monoma’s hands clenched into fists as he swallowed a bewildered scream.
“Like someone before us? Trying something with one of those extras all over you at events and shit.” Bakugou shrugged his shoulders, still raised above Monoma, stuck in place as he rambled through his jammed up expectations as the night derailed again. “Because that would make me the one for all of this and that seems really… fucking…”
A hand whapped Bakugou's chest, then remained, sprawling over his skin, “You are the one, so I need some… guidance.” Palm pressing into the scar where Bakugou's heart was beating, Monoma remembered when it didn't. Remembered how wide his mouth gaped when he wanted to yell at the injustice of it all. How something had changed then between who they'd been and who they were now. Three years, nearly four. Had it really been that long? He'd seen something in Bakugou that long ago? Monoma took a deep breath, swallowing the heaviness of what it all meant when they were here after they'd almost lost it all.
A low chuckle rumbled through his hand.
“This is funny to you?”
The question only spurred Bakugou on.
“Yeah, kinda.”
If he was anything, he was blunt.
At this moment, Monoma absolutely hated it.
“Well then, pardon me, I'll take you up on that offer to die in your shower.”
Monoma shoved at Bakugou’s chest, pushing him aside and attempting to roll toward the other side of the bed.
Bakugou caught him and pulled him back, caging him in with an arm on either side.
“Stop being a prick.” He was smiling through the tail end of his previous laughter as he held Monoma in place.
“Me?!” Monoma couldn’t take the implication that Bakugou’s outburst left in the air. That he was inadequate. Naive. That he truly did feel like a shell of his former teenage self when it had come to how ridiculously nervous he’d been and, now that he thought about it, was probably one of the reasons he had downed whatever was given to him tonight because he’d take anything to get rid of this bubbling anxiety. “You stop being a prick!” His hand lit up with the beginning of an explosion.
“Hey!” Bakugou snatched it and smothered it with his palm. “Monoma…” He warned, but Monoma didn't heed him, instead taking the opportunity to get purchase in the tussle and tripped up one of Bakugou’s legs, bringing him down enough to clamp his own leg around the other’s waist and shove his weight on him, making him roll onto his back. “Neito!”
Monoma froze, one hand clamped in Bakugou’s, the other pressing into his shoulder. “What… what did you just…”
Bakugou's cheeks turned dark blue under the filtered light, mouth tight as he declared with bravado, “I figured we should use first names if we’re… doing… this…” His confidence shook, “‘us’…” He clicked his tongue, searching for the right word, “dating thing.” His free hand rested half under the shorts, on Monoma's bare thigh, flush against his side. His thumb pressed into the soft bits he could find hidden amongst the muscle that tightened as it held him down.
“You… don’t get to pull that… now!” Monoma shoved his shoulder, then shook a finger in Bakugou's face, “Not when you’ve made fucking me sound like a chore.” His hand balled up again, pressing into Bakugou's shoulder.
He grabbed Monoma's wrist to stop his wild movements, the other hand still firmly holding onto the palm that had nearly set his bed ablaze, “How the hell—”
“You just made a joke out of my…” Monoma huffed, nose scrunching at the distaste of having to say it aloud, “My lack of experience...”
“Oh shit. Yeah? No… fuck.” Bakugou wandered through a conversation amongst himself as Monoma pulled his hands back, rubbing a thumb into the palm of the other. “That’s not… It was what you said after.” Bakugou ran a hand through his hair and down his face, grumbling as he came to the conclusion he wasn’t going to get out of this without speaking his mind. Especially the parts that felt a distinct lack of annoyance at Monoma’s strange proclivities and had instead turned into an endearing desire. “You’re it for me too.”
A swift silence settled between them. The sound of a siren weaved its way through the window, mixing with the ringing in Monoma’s ears as Bakugou stared at him with the weight of confession.
As the sound flew away, leaving behind fragments of the urgency to act and care that it always left in the wake for any hero, Bakugou settled both hands on Monoma’s knees. He hooked his fingers into the crease and pulled him close, locking him against his hips and waist to settle comfortably. “You never ask for help. Ever.” His back rose, knees lifting. Monoma tilted back into the seat Bakugou’s body made as thick muscles folded around him, Bakugou’s face growing closer, “I liked it. I like you.”
The sincerity shocked Monoma. The way Bakugou looked at him like he’d never stop. How strong his hands were to press and pull him how he wanted, yet gripped him in thoughtfully, tender.
He’d worried and fretted and spun circles around in the early morning hours until the dizziness of the conversation replaced the sloshing of his poor choices.
Now it calmed in a way that while his heart still ripped and tore at his self-consciousness, it also started to fill him with a buzzing through his chest, down to his toes, making every touch of Bakugou’s a seal of the truth in his words.
“You want me to…” They were turning again, this time slowly, as Bakugo curved to the side and dipped Monoma back down much softer, heavier, “ask you for things?
“I want you to tell me what you want…” Their bodies pressed together as they fully revolved back to Monoma sinking into the mattress, “Where you want it…” Bakugou’s hand crept through the wide leg of the shorts, fingers gripping Monoma’s backside to push their hips together, “And how fucking good it feels when I get there.”
Lips pushed and pulled in a familiar heat, Bakugou’s asking to be invited closer and Monoma willingly allowing him in, bit by bit. Still, everything about it felt new. There were no hard surfaces to navigate as they tried to find somewhere comfortable to quickly satisfy each other’s needs.
Without much effort, the oversized shorts slipped down Monoma's hips as Bakugou's hands roamed below his waist. The ball of uncertainty sitting in Monoma's gut that had coiled and rewrapped itself all night was still wound tight as Bakugou whispered against his lips, “Start talking.”
It wasn't as if they hadn't directed one another for a quick one off before. Though telling someone to go ‘There’ and ‘Move’ when you got to the space and found an unknown object cutting into your back, wasn’t exactly the most provocative. It was always afterwards, as they came down, that Bakugou would tell him something unexpectedly sweet, or where or how he wanted him next time. Never in the middle. There wasn't time.
Until now.
“Dangerous game, Bakugou Katsuki.” Monoma's fingers slipped under the waistband of Bakugou's boxer briefs to tug him close. “Letting me have whatever I want.”
And it was the right one.
It was less daunting to do something new when you could be at the helm.
Bakugou’s words had started to unfurl the stress that Monoma had been shooting off in spurts of combativeness since he’d awoken.
Monoma’s words, meanwhile, sent Bakugou back toward his lips with a ravenous kiss as he swallowed his name hanging in the air between them.
Monoma had said it.
And it had felt good.
“Within reason.” Bakugou warned, forehead pressing against Monoma’s as he lifted his hips up while Monoma’s hands slowly peeled off his bottoms. “No burning holes in the bed.” Monoma smirked as Bakugou kicked the clothing aside, then started rolling up the bottom of the shirt he’d given to the blonde.
Monoma stopped him. “Don't.” Monoma grabbed the hem of the top, keeping it in place. “I want it on.” He got to ask for what he wanted? He wanted to feel like he was going to be here again.
The shirt was a nuisance with its ill fit, but it smelled vaguely of ash and fire and the remnants of a battlefield that the wash couldn’t get out, and Monoma loved that. It was old. It was something that Bakugou clearly wore to death. It was something that, now, Monoma claimed as his. He wanted to cling to Bakugou like the scents woven into each thread. He wanted to be a part of those memories.
He pushed Bakugou’s hand away from the shirt and down below his hips, pressing against him as a different coil began to wind its way through his abdomen, “Fuck me like I belong to you.”
Hands gripped and pulled as the two fought to be closer, the fervor that came with every encounter no less, just allowed to thrive.
Every inch of Bakugou pressed against Monoma as he grabbed the bottle above his head. His lips navigated his way down Monoma’s body, laying a trail where he hadn’t yet been able to do so with precision. Laid down on a set of sheets, encompassed in comfort, Bakugou could explore to his heart’s content, touching every contour and nuzzling every divot.
Monoma sighed and squirmed under the spots that were the most ticklish, laughing, but never telling him to stop. Never saying any clear orders, until he slipped below his stomach and Monoma thread his fingers into Bakugou’s hair and rolled his hips up. Bakugou leaned forward to wrap his lips around Monoma, but the blonde gripped his hair, holding him back.
“Just a little.”
“What’s a little?” Bakugou chuckled, wrapping one hand around Monoma’s shaft to hold it upright. He experimentally dragged his tongue across the tip.
Monoma arched his back, nodding, “That.” He agreed, eyes closed as he arched back, Bakugou diving in for a teasing lick along the side. Monoma sighed, fingers wrapping against Bakugou’s scalp, pulling him back up when he pushed too far, lips too wide, breath too hot.
He wanted to savor every moment.
He wanted Bakugou to want him more and more.
Then he heard a click and he shivered as something cool and wet slid along the inner curve where his thigh met his groin and trailed back. Along it moved, as Bakugou continued to distract him with tantalizing kisses at the base of his shaft.
His hand tightened against Bakugou’s scalp as he felt him draw nearer toward a precipice he had never explored. “Wait, wait...” He twitched, tensing while Bakugou’s fingers pulled and massaged and teased before ever diving further.
Bakugou paused.
This was ridiculous. Monoma was one of Japan’s top heroes. He'd fought villains that had nearly taken his life and saved more people than he could count. He'd taken women home. He'd had relationships.
Monoma had the strength and confidence and power to face anything.
Yet, facing Bakugou at this moment was nerve wracking in a way he couldn't clarify.
He was seeing him for all he was. Monoma couldn't hide anything anymore, and he didn't want to.
That was the most frightening part.
He needed Bakugou not only to guide him now, but to be there for the foreseeable future.
They saw one another in a way they never had. Insecurities and differences and the parts that made them smile when no one else was looking.
Everything about this was different.
Everything about this felt dangerous.
Eyes closed, memories flashed through his mind. Trainings. Confronting each other over test scores and lunch line placement and whose seat was whose on bus rides. Bakugou rising and flying through the air, brought back to life. Monsters and villains through the streets. Team ups. Observing solo takedowns. Closets and bathrooms and rooftops where they touched one another until they were forced to leave.
“Relax.” Monoma’s eyes opened to see Bakugou shifting back up, a hand cradling one of Monoma’s knees and bending it up. “We don't have to do any of this shit. You know I just want you, right? Any way?”
Monoma's hand trailed away from Bakugou's neck, around his jaw. He pressed his thumb delicately along his lips, jokes and witty retorts falling away as he thought about what he wanted.
“Don't leave.”
Bakugou grinned. Monoma's fingers slipped into his smile, brushing his bottom teeth. “We're kinda in the middle of something, so I figured I'd hang around.”
“Don't.” Monoma reiterated, grabbing his chin. “I don't want you to go… ever.” He smiled, soft and exhausted from the ten mile trek his emotions had taken him on.
Bakugou leaned over the top of Monoma's knee, nudging his hand before it fell back, sprawling his body across the pool of black sheets that melded with the quiet of the night. “Wasn't planning on it.” He watched Monoma as he moved slowly, hand gliding back along skin, dipping back below the crevices that were still alight with arousal. He touched him, warm fingers wrapped inside until Monoma's body shook loose with each soft mewl.
He wasn’t sure when it happened, but suddenly Monoma felt Bakugou’s fingers shift deeper and drag against him in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure straight through his core. Somewhere between the elongated moan and his toes uncurling, Monoma told Bakugou to go back. To stay inside. To never stop.
Writhing and sighing into incomprehensible murmuring, Bakugou couldn’t wait any longer.
Monoma wanted to be his.
And he wanted to be Monoma’s.
They fumbled for the condom as Bakugou pulled his hand back and wound his way up Monoma’s chest again. The sweater had bunched up, draped and messy, like Monoma, curved to the side and flush. They shared another kiss that spoke volumes in how desperately they wanted to be sunk in against each other’s skin, melting comfortably.
Monoma grabbed Bakugou’s neck, holding him close, “How do you want me?” He insisted, every tight part of his nerves lost in the waves of pleasure that only beckoned more. He rubbed his nose against Bakugou’s, jaw falling open as his breaths came in, wide and weighty. He slipped his leg around Bakugou's waist, curling into him, pressing against his hands and hips and legs that moved their weight into position.
“Neito…” Bakugou purred with want, voice lost against Monoma’s skin as he caught one leg and spoke into it, running a palm along the underside, lips planting kisses at regular intervals as he lifted it up, swinging it over his shoulder.
Taking the cue, Monoma lifted his other leg, ankle catching on Bakugou's neck and knocking him down until Monoma could capture his lips and pour more into each reciprocated touch than he thought he ever could in words. “Katsuki…” Monoma's voice shook as they parted and Bakugou slid himself against Monoma until he found his invitation in.
A promise hung between their lips as Bakugou moved in slowly, listening to every breath and plea Monoma uttered as they fit together with heaving chests and rolling hips and taut muscles that pulled one another into their orbit.
Monoma's body was lithe and flexible, folding as Bakugou sank inside of him. He held onto one of Monoma's legs, while grasping at the shelf above the headboard to keep him steady as they rocked. Monoma's hands were already there, pulling him up, into Bakugou with each sway of their bodies. Their hands found one another, crushing against the lip of the shelf as Bakugou groaned Monoma's name, and Monoma, in turn, desperately whispered Bakugou's as pleasurable waves pushed whines past his lips for every inch of him that Bakugou held.
And three in the morning became four, then five, neither one sleeping for long when their hands found the softest parts they wanted to touch, whispering in the night until they grew sick of each other’s names.
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