Chapter Text
After years of being together, Bakugou is fully aware how kinky and depraved and uncontrollably horny Kirishima can get behind closed doors. So when he promises to grant the redhead one request after losing a bet, he’s pretty confident it’ll turn into something dirty.
He just didn’t expect it to be this dirty.
Bakugou looks at himself in the closet mirror, half stupefied and half unbearably turned on. The black lace halter top he’s wearing starts from his collarbone and ends right under his chest, two flimsy pieces of string tying it closed over his spine like a bikini because there’s no material in the back. But that’s not even the worst part: the lace is also entirely see-through, and there’s a gigantic diamond-shaped hole cut out of the front, revealing the entire middle of his chest. Whenever he so much as shifts, the loose material reveals either one or both of his nipples. Not that it matters much, with how sheer the damn thing is—it doesn’t leave much to imagination. It’s a disgusting piece of clothing if he’s ever seen one, though he’ll admit the contrast to the tight binder he usually wears is nice.
And the skirt, holy fucking shit. The ruffly pink thing isn’t even five inches long, his ass and pussy half out in the open even when he’s only standing still. Every time he takes a step, it floats up a little, flashing everything. More a fucking belt than a skirt.
He feels more exposed than he does fully nude, the cool air sensitizing his exposed nether regions. Kirishima’s face was firetruck-red when he handed Bakugou the box containing the clothes, and as much as he wants to charge out there right now and preen under what will no doubt be a fantastic reaction, his legs are frozen. His face is hot.
Only Kirishima can make him feel like such a weakling, that shitty bastard. Bakugou’s gonna sex him to death, goddammit.
Holding his head up high, he opens the door and marches out the hallway towards the living room, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest.
“Kirishima!” he barks, making his boyfriend jump off the couch and whip around. The redhead’s mouth drops open. “You have some nerve, coming up with such a fucking nasty plan, damn pervert!”
Kirishima doesn’t look like he’s listening. He stands there, still as a statue, jaw slack as his eyes trail up and down Bakugou’s body. They stop at the blond’s bare slit, shaved because he loves feeling Kirishima’s mouth on his naked skin. Bakugou watches his Adam’s apple bob. His gaze falls to the impressive tent Kirishima’s dick is already pitching and Bakugou’s mouth goes dry, heat rushing south.
“So,” Bakugou says, voice coming out in a rasp. “You want me to prance around the house in this for the next four days. Like your own personal sex doll.”
Kirishima swallows again, gaze sweeping back up to his face. He nods, cheeks flushing. For a moment, Bakugou is afraid he’s going to ask for permission again even though they’ve already spent almost an hour negotiating the whole thing. He’s partly right because Kirishima confirms, for the millionth time, “You have until Tuesday off, right?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “No shit, that’s why we’re doing this. You have ‘till Monday?”
“Y-yeah,” Kirishima croaks. His eyes drop to Bakugou’s chest before he blinks and drags them back up. “Monday, yeah.” The blond smirks.
“Well, I got chores and shit to do,” he says airily. “But like we agreed, you can do whatever the fuck you want to me unless I say the safe word.”
“Green for keep going, yellow for pause, red for stop immediately,” Kirishima reiterates.
Bakugou nods. “Any questions?”
“No.” Kirishima swipes a tongue over his teeth, apparently giving up on trying to be polite as he takes in Bakugou with hunger. “W-when do we start?”
Bakugou’s face pulls into a leer. “Now.” He turns, shivering at the way Kirishima eyes his ass. “Anyway, ’m gonna go make breakfast.”
“...Yeah.”
Bakugou heads for the kitchen. He can feel Kirishima’s laser gaze searing into him from behind, and he has to use all his self-control not to add a sway to his hips. It wouldn’t be fun to get him riled up too early, after all. They have four whole days of this ahead of them.
God, Bakugou can’t wait.
He finishes cooking the toast and sausages and heats up some leftover miso soup from last night’s dinner. The whole time he’s standing at the stove, he waits for Kirishima to make his move, anticipation buzzing under his skin. Every small noise makes him flinch, but it never turns out to be what he’s hoping for. Kirishima doesn’t so much as take a step into the kitchen the whole time. But that’s fine. It’s still morning, after all.
They sit down at the dining table, and from Kirishima’s new T-shirt and sweatpants and the soapy smell coming off of him, Bakugou knows he took a shower. Probably a cold one, at that, if the goosebumps all over his arms are any indication. Bakugou checks, and—yup, no more boner. Though it won’t stay that way for long, if he has any say about it.
They eat quietly, Kirishima shoving the food in his mouth like a ravenous beast as always but without the usual chatter. He doesn’t look up at Bakugou much, attention focused on his plate. The blond tries not to burst out in a self-satisfied sneer, though his gut twinges in arousal every time he accidentally falls into a fantasy about what they could be doing instead.
After they’re done eating, Kirishima collects the dishes and goes to wash them, and Bakugou sinks into the couch. He drags over the tiny side table they bought so that either of them could use their laptops on the sofa without it resting awkwardly on the low kotatsu. It’s his daily homework to read through the news and check his three online subscriptions. Usually, there’s nothing particularly interesting to learn but he likes being caught up on current events, especially the hero news, if only to see who the shit is beating him.
To his disdain, fucking Deku is only one rank below him this month. The two of them and Todoroki are always in the top ten but their ranks are constantly fluctuating. Bakugou was three above Deku, with Todoroki one above him the last time standings were updated, but since Bakugou’s spent a good chunk of the month using up his sick days, the gross nerd got a chance to climb up. And Todoroki’s still one above him.
Bakugou scowls, itching to go out and explode some villains, but he can’t. The agency made it very clear that they’d be held liable by the law if he didn’t use up his sick days, so he has no choice.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Kirishima asks, flopping on the couch beside him. “Ooh, the rankings?”
“Fucking Deku’s one below me,” Bakugou spits out, violently clicking out of the window and to his next bookmarked subscription. “Son of a bitch sneaking around while I’m gone.”
Kirishima chuckles. “You mean doing his job like a good hero, right?”
“Whatever, fuck him.” Bakugou scrolls through some articles, mainly about politician drama and world issues. Those are important too, but not as immediately relevant to him. It’s not like he ever leaves Japan, anyway.
“Oh, what’s that one?” Kirishima points at a thumbnail of an erupting volcano. “I wanna see.”
Bakugou clicks it, skimming through the column. “Eh, nothing interesting,” he says, “just some boring fucking volcano.”
“Yeah?” Kirishima asks, leaning closer. “What’s it about?”
“Hmm...some bullshit about this one particular one in Kyoto that’s been do—”
Bakugou freezes.
Something is touching him between his legs, a gentle pressure trailing slowly over his sensitive flesh. Suddenly, he remembers that his most private parts are entirely exposed, skirt bunched around his lower belly as he sits here on the couch with his boyfriend beside him. A boyfriend whose hand is between his thighs, stroking his slit, light and teasing.
“A volcano that’s...?” Kirishima asks innocently. Bakugou resists the urge to look away from the screen, teeth gritted.
“Dormant,” he forces out.
“Oh, really?” The fingers slide from Bakugou’s folds up to his clit, rubbing gentle circles over it. Bakugou’s gut clenches and he feels his inner muscles contract, a fire lighting in the pit of his stomach. “In Kyoto?”
He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “...Yeah.”
“Hmm, interesting. Read the article, tell me more.”
Bakugou snaps his face towards Kirishima with an incredulous glare and the redhead tilts his head, innocuous. But his tone can’t be mistaken for anything other than an order when he says, “Read it, Katsuki.”
Bakugou suppresses a shudder and turns back to the laptop. The fingers slide down again, dipping between his lips ever so slightly and collecting the moisture gathering there. Then, still lightly, Kirishima caresses the full length of his fingers over Bakugou’s clit and folds, up and down, up and down. Bakugou bites his lip, voice wavering when he continues, “There’s a chance the volcano...might explode.”
“Yeah?” Kirishima asks, sounding genuinely interested. “Soon, or?”
A wider pressure, what feels like his thumb, rubs against Bakugou’s clit. His hips twitch involuntarily. He’s so turned on, both from the situation and the way he’s being touched that he can already feel slick trickling out of his hole. “I-in the next ten years.”
“Ah, that’s within our lifetime then,” Kirishima notes. “Say, do you mind reading me that last paragraph? It’s sort of hard to see from this angle.”
Bakugou’s jaw tightens but he forces himself to find his words. “E-experts warn that...an eruption could cause mass des—”
Kirishima slips into him, two fingers judging by the slight stretch. Bakugou gasps, his walls clenching around the intrusion as it slides in slowly. A thumb rubs loose circles over his clit.
“D-destruction,” he chokes out. “The government is being advised on ways to...implement a se...curity—ah. S-system. To...minimize damage. New technology is in the midst of negotia—fuck. Negotiations.” His eyelashes flutter as he tries to focus on the screen rather than the fingers in his pussy, squelching with each thrust from how wet he is. “Ah, Kirishima...”
“Keep reading,” Kirishima says, not sounding affected in the least. “You’re not done yet.”
Bakugou swallows back his whine of frustration, tempted to hump Kirishima’s hand but knowing he won’t approve. So he keeps himself still, fists on the keyboard, thighs parted as he lets the other man toy with him. “I-it is estimated to be avai—uh—available. By the time the volcano erupts. But...citizens should take measures in case of—in case of emergency. Kirishima...” he implores, eyes closing and head tilting back. He hasn’t looked down, unsure if he’s allowed to and afraid it’ll make him come, but he knows there are three fingers in him now, curling, hitting his good spot, and he trembles. “Eijirou, I—I finished it!”
“Oh, so you did,” Kirishima says, hand coming to an abrupt halt. His thumb grinds against Bakugou’s clit a last time, making him jolt and hiss out a breath between his teeth, before he pulls out of the blond. Bakugou pants, finally looking as Kirishima brings his fingers up, glistening with juices.
The redhead licks them once, humming in bliss. Then his hand reaches towards Bakugou, and Bakugou follows the motion in bleary confusion until it drops lower and Kirishima wipes the slick on Bakugou’s hard, exposed nipple. Bakugou gasps, his hips jerking. Kirishima snakes his hand to the opposite side of his chest, under the lace brushing over his other nipple, and rubs the wetness on that one too. Bakugou whines. He’s so close to the edge he can almost taste it.
But Kirishima gets to his feet, mouth twisted in a sheepish grin. “Oh, shoot! Sorry, I was in the middle of doing the dishes, I should go finish those up.”
Bakugou gapes. He’s so turned on he could die, his cunt aching with the phantom sensation of being thrust into, nipples tight with arousal and cooling moisture.
“Anyway, sorry for interrupting you. Don’t stop on my account, gotta finish reading your news, right!” Kirishima smiles, baring his teeth. “You remember the rules, yeah?”
Bakugou does. No touching himself. No coming. Or he’ll regret it.
His jaw wobbles, but he nods.
“Good boy,” Kirishima praises.
And he leaves.
Bakugou slowly loosens his clenched fists, opening his right over the mouse. He ignores the throbbing pulse between his legs and the small puddle drying under him, and moves on to his third subscription.
Bakugou’s keyed up for the rest of the morning, frustration boiling in his stomach from the denied orgasm. What’s even more annoying is the way Kirishima seems somehow more cheerful than normal, happily rambling away about this and that as he watches TV and curls his weights. Bakugou’s tempted to head to the gym and work off all this sexual energy himself, but deep down, he knows that wouldn’t be any fun.
Impatience thrums in his veins, making him hyper-aware whenever Kirishima gets a little too close. But the other man doesn’t touch him at all. They finish their normal morning routine and then make omurice together for lunch, Kirishima washing and cutting the vegetables as Bakugou fries the eggs. This time, when they eat, conversation flows more naturally and Kirishima’s eyes never drop below Bakugou’s face.
As they clear the table and do the dishes together, they start talking about work issues they’ve been having lately and Bakugou forgets about his current predicament.
“Hey, throw your clothes in,” he calls over to the living room where Kirishima’s sprawled on the floor, having switched to his favourite variety show. Bakugou brandishes the hamper when he looks over. “’m gonna do the laundry.”
Kirishima shoots up to a seat. “Oh, you don’t have to! It’s my turn this week.”
“It’s whatever,” Bakugou waves him off. “Not like I have anything better to do.”
“Awww, thanks babe. I don’t think I have anything to throw in, I dumped it all yesterday.”
Bakugou grunts, strides past the kitchen into the laundry room and begins sorting the clothes by color and level of dirtiness. After the first batch goes in, he joins Kirishima on the couch, scoffing at the idiotic antics the show hosts are pulling. It doesn’t stop Kirishima from bursting into loud laughter.
When the machine beeps, Bakugou returns to the laundry room, fishing the wet clothes out and dumping in the second batch. “D’you need help?” Kirishima’s voice rises above the sound of the TV.
“No, just watch your damn show,” Bakugou half-yells back. He’s always found hanging clothes up to dry to be strangely therapeutic. By the time he’s finished perfecting his arrangement on the clothesline, the second batch has finished washing too, so he chucks all the machine-dry stuff into the dryer.
While that’s finishing up, Bakugou goes to their bedroom for his phone, remembering out of the blue that he hasn’t checked it all day. He hasn’t missed anything important, not that he was expecting to. He’s on holiday after all and the number of emergency calls has dwindled over the years as public safety improves.
Thanks to him, of course. Fucking civilians should be grateful.
Soon, the dryer is beeping as well, and Bakugou empties the clean clothes into the hamper and carries it back to the couch. Kirishima scoots over to make room for him on the floor, watching as Bakugou sits down and starts sorting the socks out of the pile.
“I still find it hilarious how you always do that,” Kirishima comments with a grin.
“Finding the damn matching pair is the worst part of doing laundry.” Bakugou clicks his tongue, pulling a stray sock out of a pair of boxers and throwing it angrily into its pile of fellow socks.
“But if you fold the bigger things like shirts and pants first, you’ll end up finding all the socks.”
“No,” Bakugou snaps. “That’s for half-assers who’re too lazy to fucking do things right. Getting rid of the socks first makes it easier to fold everything else.”
Kirishima chuckles. “Whatever you say, babe. Sure you don’t need help with those awful little things?”
“’m fine.”
“’Kay.”
Bakugou folds methodically, not going out of his way to do it fast like he might on a busy day. He’d never admit it but spending an afternoon with Kirishima, not doing anything in particular, is one of his favourite things to do. He looks up at the TV when Kirishima snorts out an especially loud guffaw and finds some guy dancing around in only his underwear, a bucket over his head.
“What the hell.” Bakugou’s upper lip curls in disgust. “The fuck’s he doing?”
“It’s a meme,” Kirishima explains. “He’s copying this other guy who did it on a show and got famous for it.”
Bakugou doesn’t get it, but he can’t bring himself to look away—it’s almost hypnotic in its stupidity.
And because he has his eyes on the television, he doesn’t notice the hand creeping closer until he feels something on his bare chest, brushing like a feather over his skin. Bakugou jumps, gaze locked ahead. He peeks at his boyfriend out of his peripheral vision, but Kirishima’s facing forward, laughing at the TV as if his hand isn’t feeling up Bakugou under his flimsy clothing.
Bakugou inhales, arms draped over his outstretched legs as he slowly folds the boxers he’s holding. Kirishima pulls gently at the cut-out of his halter top, pushing the cloth aside so that both of Bakugou’s nipples are bared. His fingers drift towards one of them, the pads of them swirling over Bakugou’s areola, so light he can barely feel it, but it’s the lightness of it that turns him on even more.
He swallows the saliva gathering in his mouth, trying to concentrate on folding the laundry piece by piece, waiting for Kirishima to touch his nipple. But he doesn’t, brushing across Bakugou’s chest to do the same thing to the other one, circling the pink around his peaked nub.
Bakugou breathes in and out deeply, compelling himself to be patient, but the heat and dampness of his groin remind him of the orgasm he was deprived of hours ago. He wants Kirishima to touch him properly. He wants to come.
When Kirishima brushes the backs of his fingers over one nipple, the dips between each digit catching on the hard peak, Bakugou’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. He accidentally drops the pair of socks he’s holding, nails digging into his palm.
Someone on the TV says something and Kirishima laughs, his thick, bony knuckles stroking Bakugou’s right tit, all over the perky flesh and soft areola and sensitive nub. He does the same to the other one and Bakugou has to physically fight back the sounds rising in his throat, his breaths coming fast. His nipples have always been sensitive. There were nights when Kirishima teased them too much and he had to put band-aids on them under his binder.
Kirishima spreads his palm to slide the full length of it across Bakugou’s chest, fingertips and the base of his hand grazing over both his nipples as he strokes from side to side. Bakugou can feel his core getting obscenely wet, his inner walls clenching around nothing.
“Oh, Katsuki,” Kirishima says, making Bakugou flinch. “Have you seen the remote control?”
He blinks a few times before the words register, brain feeling like mush. The remote is on his left so he reaches over to grab it, but Kirishima says, “Oh, thanks! Don’t worry, I can get it.” Much to Bakugou’s displeasure, the redhead’s hand withdraws and Kirishima shifts to lean over Bakugou, stretching for the remote. The blond is confused for a moment why he couldn’t just give it to the other man until he feels Kirishima’s tongue, warm and wet, lick a slow stripe from his right nipple to his left. Then he sucks on the left one, the sound going straight to Bakugou’s crotch.
He moans, pushing his chest out. But Kirishima’s tongue disappears immediately as he pulls back, remote control held triumphantly in hand. “Got it, thanks!” He sits back, humming as he flips through the channels. Bakugou stares at him, wordless in frustration, but Kirishima doesn’t so much as shoot him a glance. Bakugou tries to discreetly press his legs together, needing to alleviate the ache, but Kirishima’s hand shoots out and catches his thigh.
“Nope,” he says, grinning. Bakugou wants to explode him into pieces. But he talks himself into relenting, relaxing his legs, and Kirishima lets him go and turns back towards the television.
Bakugou’s left picking up the socks he dropped, doing his best to ignore the saliva drying over his tits.
He wishes time would go by faster, he just wants Kirishima to fucking touch him already. Bakugou’s never been the most patient man and getting edged twice has almost driven him off the cliff of sanity. He doesn’t know how Kirishima is holding out since the guy normally starts salivating just from a split-second glimpse of Bakugou taking his shirt off.
Then again, Kirishima’s always had a pretty intense sadistic streak. On Bakugou’s birthday last year, he made the blond come three times before he even took his own pants off. A shiver runs down Bakugou’s spine at the memory. What he wouldn’t give to get some of that right this instant.
As expected, Kirishima doesn’t initiate any physical contact with him at all, not for the rest of the afternoon, not through dinner. It’s not until Bakugou’s doing the dishes after their meal that Kirishima saunters in, sidling over and slipping a rough palm over his ass. Bakugou bites back a startled sound when he squeezes a cheek, groping it hard, and casually flips Bakugou’s skirt up to reveal the half that was covered.
“Hey babe,” Kirishima says, switching to caress the other cheek too, bouncing the round, plump flesh in his hand. “So I was thinking, for Kaminari’s birthday party...maybe we should hold it on Sunday instead of Saturday.”
“Why,” Bakugou bites out, scrubbing a plate with more force than necessary.
“Well, you know about his long-time crush on Jirou, right? She can’t come if it’s on Saturday because she has to patrol that day, but everyone would be able to make it if we switch to Sunday. The only problem is that most people will have to work the Monday after that so we’ll have to end the party earlier.”
“Fine by me,” Bakugou mutters.
“Okay, but another problem with that is...”
Kirishima continues on with the conversation for a good two minutes, kneading Bakugou’s ass the whole time. But it’s not as bad as getting his nipples or pussy touched, so he slowly relaxes, thinking Kirishima probably just couldn’t resist touching him a little in his get-up.
He doesn’t even know why he thought that, he should know better by now, fucking hell. The next second, Kirishima’s cupping his cunt from behind, the friction of his palm over Bakugou’s most sensitive parts making him drop a bowl with a clatter. Kirishima gropes him for a while as he continues to talk, palm pressing along Bakugou’s pussy, petting it. Then fingers are sliding inside of him, stretching his slippery walls and Bakugou gasps, his jaw going slack. The fingers start rapidly picking up pace, thrusting vigorous and hard unlike the way they were toying with him this morning, as if Kirishima’s aiming to make him come this time.
“Ah,” Bakugou cries, his spine curling inwards, soapy hands gripping the edge of the counter. Finally, finally, it’s the relief he’s been waiting for all day.
“Hey, the dishes aren’t done yet,” Kirishima scolds, slowing down. “Don’t stop.”
Bakugou scrambles for something to wash, wiping the sponge half-heartedly over a cup. Kirishima quickens his pace again until his palm is smacking against Bakugou’s wet flesh, his fingers digging and curling inside. Bakugou’s mouth drops open, breaths catching in his throat, but he continues to soap the dishes and rinse them.
“Eijirou,” he moans as his knees go weak. He rests them against the counter, a shudder rippling through him from head to toe. “Shit, shit, shit—”
After all the teasing, he’s going to come embarrassingly fast. He can already feel himself tightening erratically around the digits.
“Ah, Eijirou, I can’t—” he whines, hands digging into the bowl he’s holding. “I’m co—”
Kirishima stops with his fingers still inside. He leans in and whispers, hot breath puffing against Bakugou’s ear, “Finish your washing, Katsuki.”
Bakugou wants to shout in frustration and break all their goddamn fucking dishes into a million pieces, but he knows he definitely won’t get to come if he does. He picks up two bowls and a cup at the same time, shoving them under the water to rinse.
“Good boy,” Kirishima murmurs, fingers starting to slide in and out again. Bakugou bites on the insides of his cheeks and drops the clean tableware on their drying rack. There are only a few more left, so he hurriedly scrubs the sponge over them.
His pussy sucks on Kirishima’s hand like a baby sucking milk, hungry, desperate as Kirishima hits Bakugou’s g-spot with each thrust, mercilessly rubbing over it. Bakugou wonders what sort of sight he makes, standing in the kitchen with his feet shoulder-width apart, skirt flipped up, fumbling with soapy tableware as his boyfriend pounds his pussy with his hand. The image makes a plea whine from his throat.
“Eijirou!” he cries as he places the last cup on the drying rack, hips rolling against Kirishima’s fingers. “Fuck, I—I’m done, I’m done!”
“Great!” Kirishima chirps, stabbing into that spot inside Bakugou a last time before dragging his hand out. Bakugou looks back to find a string of his slick stretching between his drooling mound and Kirishima’s fingers. Kirishima wipes them on Bakugou’s ass before pulling the skirt down so it covers the top half of his bum again.
Bakugou gawks at him, furious.
“Thanks for doing the dishes, babe!” Kirishima winks, before marching out of the kitchen. Bakugou stares after him, shaking with rage. He’s so speechless, so shocked, so fucking pissed off that he almost stomps to the living room to shove Kirishima’s head between his legs and force him to lick up his juices, now trailing down one thigh.
Almost.
After that, Bakugou isn’t in the mood to do anything for the rest of the night. His pussy is so swollen that walking turns him on, and he didn’t bother wiping himself off because he wanted to torture Kirishima by letting him see Bakugou’s wet, red center parading around in plain sight.
Too bad Kirishima doesn’t look up from his laptop for the rest of the night, but whatever, Bakugou gets tired of his little seduction game soon enough. He grabs a fresh pair of boxer briefs from his drawer before remembering he won’t need it for the next couple days. The fact that Kirishima isn’t taking advantage of his underwear-less-ness in the best way irritates him, but imagining a nice, hot shower makes the tension in his muscles evaporate.
Yeah, that’s what he fucking needs. He’ll turn the heat up so high it burns, and then maybe even indulge in a long bath afterwards.
The clothes are easy enough to take off, though Bakugou has to be careful not to tug too hard at the halter top. He puts them aside and steps under the showerhead, turning it to the highest heat setting. The water cascades over his skin and he hums, letting himself melt under it.
Steam promptly fills the bathroom, condensation forming on the tiled walls and ceiling. Bakugou turns off the shower and sits on the edge of the tub, grabbing his shampoo. Eyes closed in relaxation, he sighs, lathering the bubbles into his scalp.
He doesn’t notice Kirishima come in until something wet and soft is sucking around his nipple. Bakugou chokes, eyes snapping open, and is met with the sight of Kirishima on his knees, lapping languorously at Bakugou’s chest. The flat of his tongue scrapes across the hard bud over and over again, making Bakugou bite his lip and push his chest against Kirishima’s face. Kirishima puts his hands on Bakugou’s knees and spreads them so he can slot himself between Bakugou’s legs, palms rubbing up and down his thighs. The blond quivers as his vulva is put on full display, swollen nether lips parting.
Before switching to Bakugou’s other nipple, Kirishima raises a brow, mumbling, “Weren’t you gonna wash your hair?”
With his hands forced to stay in his hair, arms held up and out of the way, Kirishima is free to do as he pleases with Bakugou’s body. He drags his open mouth over Bakugou’s chest, alternating between kissing and slowly licking at him like candy, like he’s savouring the taste. When Bakugou mutters that he needs to rinse his hair, Kirishima gets up, grabs the removable showerhead, and hands it to him before settling back between his legs. Bakugou struggles to stay sitting with his back straight, squashing down the urge to sag forward and beg Kirishima to do something already. He won’t give up now, not yet.
Bakugou washes his hair, the water and soap suds trickling down his body. Kirishima doesn’t seem to care as he suckles on his nipples until they’re puffy, the sounds of his wet mouth echoing in the small bathroom. He does it for minutes on end, unrelenting, tonguing both nubs and nipping at them until Bakugou’s panting.
When Bakugou’s hair is clean, he sets down the showerhead and reaches behind himself to pump some body soap into his hands. Secretly, he’s dreading this part. His body is so sensitive that he knows washing himself will be torture, especially with Kirishima so close to him, mouth all over his chest.
Kirishima looks up when he notices what Bakugou’s doing. “Oh, done with your hair?”
Bakugou grunts.
“I’ll wash your body for you!” Kirishima says happily, getting to his feet, his erection bobbing between them. Bakugou’s caught between staring at it and groaning in frustration because he already knows he’ll want to die after this. But he holds his hand out obediently and Kirishima swipes away the glob of soap.
“D’you want me to stand,” Bakugou mutters.
Kirishima rubs his chin, eyes scanning over him. “Nah, you can sit and relax! I’ll take care of you. I think I’ll sit too though, my knees are kinda sore.”
Bakugou eyes him suspiciously as Kirishima takes a seat beside him, wondering what he’ll come up with now. Kirishima pats his own thigh and looks at Bakugou in expectation.
“What,” Bakugou says flatly. “What do you—”
The redhead smears whatever soap he has on Bakugou’s back, then leans over to grip him around the waist with both hands. Bakugou lets himself be guided, confused as Kirishima pulls him between his legs.
And then proceeds to sit Bakugou down on his cock.
Bakugou cries out as the head of Kirishima’s thick erection nudges past his folds and into his core, stretching him wide and filling his wanting hole. He falls back against his boyfriend but the latter prods him until he’s sitting straight again, the angle making Bakugou swallow the full length of Kirishima’s cock. His shaky hands dig into Kirishima’s knees, ass cradled in the redhead’s lap.
Kirishima begins to spread the soap over Bakugou’s skin, starting with large, methodical motions over his back. Bakugou tries not to move, not wanting to jostle the massive cock splitting him open.
Kirishima moves from his back to his arms, thoroughly soaping up his biceps, neck, and forearms. “Put your hands on the back of your head,” he murmurs into Bakugou’s ear, who obeys. Kirishima runs his palms over his armpits, down his sides, then across Bakugou’s abs and up to his breasts. He fondles the soft flesh and flicks both of his nipples before pinching them hard. Bakugou can’t help his whimper, his pussy squeezing around Kirishima’s erection. With his legs spread over Kirishima’s, he has no leverage, no way to bounce himself on his boyfriend’s dick. He squirms but Kirishima growls in disapproval and forces him to stop.
The redhead finishes with his chest, continuing down again until his fingers are brushing over Bakugou’s crotch, stretched obscenely around his erection. He strokes over the labia and teases Bakugou’s clit, drawing slippery circles over it. Bakugou lets out a sobbing whine and writhes. With his hands locked behind his head and all of his weight balanced in Kirishima’s lap, he’s impaled on the other man’s shaft with no relief and Kirishima’s intent on making him realize that, tapping his bundle of nerves ruthlessly.
“Eijirou,” Bakugou moans, his toes curling. “Ohh—”
“Wash my feet for me,” Kirishima says coolly, taking Bakugou’s claw-like grip off one of his knees and pumping soap into it.
“Wh-what?” Bakugou stutters, distracted by the hand massaging his clit.
“My feet, Katsuki.” Kirishima smiles patiently, like Bakugou’s a silly, brainless doll lacking the ability to comprehend full sentences.
Bakugou presses his lips together and hisses a breath out his nose. He moves first one leg, then the other, planting his feet on the ground between Kirishima’s. With his knees bent, he leans forward, Kirishima’s cock sliding an inch out of him, the friction both relief and agony. As he slathers soap over Kirishima’s feet, the other man squeezes his ass cheeks, pulling them apart and touching Bakugou’s dilated slit and asshole.
Before he’s even done washing Kirishima’s feet, the redhead yanks him back into his lap, driving his dick fully into Bakugou’s passage again. Bakugou yelps in pleasure as his thighs splay across Kirishima’s, and the latter grabs the removable showerhead. He runs the water over Bakugou, free hand groping his tits, his stomach, in between his legs. Then he abruptly pushes Bakugou off of him, erection sliding out, and Bakugou wobbles to his feet, his heartbeat throbbing in his core.
“All done!” Kirishima exclaims, patting Bakugou on the ass, though the blond doesn’t feel clean in the least. “You go ahead, babe, I’ll join you in a bit.”
His wink this time is salacious and Bakugou snatches a towel, drying himself quickly before slipping his clothes on and hobbling out of the bathroom.
In the bed, he spreads himself out as temptingly as he can, skirt hiked up to his abdomen, the cut-out of his halter-top opened wide to reveal everything. He waits, anxious and desperate for Kirishima to finish showering and just fuck him already.
Kirishima’s out quickly enough but he doesn’t give Bakugou so much as a second glance, shimmying under the covers and throwing them over his boyfriend too. “G’night, Katsuki!” he chirps, before flopping to his other side, back to Bakugou.
Bakugou stares.
Half an hour passes and Kirishima begins snoring.
So.
He actually tormented Bakugou for the entire day, played with Bakugou’s genitals for his own personal pleasure the entire day, and then went to sleep. Bakugou doesn’t even know how to begin to describe how fucking furious he is, and his fingers are inching down to relieve himself before he realizes it.
But at the thought of Kirishima’s disappointment, he stops.
He can’t. He has no choice.
He explodes a pillow, but Kirishima doesn’t stir.
It takes Bakugou another two hours to fall asleep, roiling as he is in sexual frustration. The next time he’s dragged back into the world of consciousness, it feels like way too little time has passed, the room still pitch black except for the meager moonlight coming from outside. There’s a warmth somewhere under him that pricks at his senses and for a second, he thinks he’s dreaming, remnants of the past day flashing through his mind.
He looks down and finds the covers thrown off of him and Kirishima lying on his stomach, head between Bakugou’s legs.
“Wh—” he grunts, thighs reflexively closing, but Kirishima pins his knees flat on the bed, keeping his legs open in an upside-down V.
Kirishima licks at his cunt, stroking along his crease and tasting his nub. Bakugou lets him, turning his face into the pillow to try to stifle his whimpers, his private parts at Kirishima’s mercy like some sort of sweet meal for his boyfriend to luxuriate in. The tongue licks all over his vulnerable pussy, gentle but persistent.
But soon, Kirishima tires of that and begins sucking with loud, filthy sounds, his mouth opening wide over Bakugou’s cunt like he’s trying to swallow him whole, tongue toying with his swollen center. Bakugou moans, throwing his head back and digging his fingers into the bedsheets. Kirishima nuzzles his face, nose and all, against the wet, soft flesh, breathing in the scent of Bakugou’s most intimate place and groaning like he’s in pain.
“You smell so good, Katsuki,” Kirishima pants, composure lost for the first time since they started as his tongue slobbers over every inch of Bakugou’s sex, molesting his folds and clit. The muscle swirls over his slit before plunging inside and lapping at the walls, like Kirishima’s dying of thirst and Bakugou’s juices are the only thing that can sate him. His lips rub and suck at the sensitive skin, kissing the labia the way he does Bakugou’s mouth. His chin digs into Bakugou’s folds as he closes his mouth around Bakugou’s clit, slurping at it.
Bakugou’s losing his mind, moans rising in pitch as he tries to squirm or arch his back, but Kirishima hardens his arms and holds him down so he’s forced to take the full brunt of the assault, flat against the mattress. The redhead continues to press his face into the junction of Bakugou’s thighs, making out with his pussy until Bakugou’s juices are spewing. His left leg starts to shake, his moans turning into screams, and he already knows he’s gonna squirt like a slut when he comes.
But of course, Kirishima doesn’t let him. He pulls away with a pop and the light from the window reveals the shine on the whole lower half of his face. Bakugou groans, tilting his hips up, clenching around nothing.
“Eijirou,” he whines, near tears.
Kirishima licks his lips, gazing down at Bakugou’s dripping core for a moment before smiling apologetically. “I’m tired, let’s go to sleep.” He wipes his face on his sleeve and tugs the comforter over the both of them again, sighing and wiggling into place. “G’night.”
Bakugou doesn’t even have the energy to be mad anymore. He closes his eyes and lets the exhaustion pull him under.