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"Stop fucking moving, you little shit," Bakugou growled, shoving Deku hard against the damp brick wall of the alley. His palms were rough where they gripped Deku’s collar, knuckles already reddened from earlier hits. Deku’s breath hitched, not from pain—not really—but from the way Bakugou’s breath puffed hot against his cheek, the way his scowl twisted into something almost fascinated when Deku didn’t crumple like he usually did.
Deku’s knees ached from where they’d hit the pavement earlier, but he didn’t stay down this time. Instead, he rocked forward, catching himself against Bakugou’s chest—closer than they’d been in years, closer than Bakugou ever let anyone get. The smell of burnt sugar and sweat clung to him, sharp and familiar. Deku’s pulse roared in his ears, louder than Bakugou’s insults, louder than the distant hum of traffic beyond the alley.
Bakugou froze, his fingers still tangled in Deku’s collar, his breath catching mid-snarl. Deku had moved—not away, but onto him, close enough that their noses brushed. The alley air thickened between them, sticky with humidity and something else Deku couldn’t name. Bakugou’s eyes flickered down to Deku’s mouth, then back up, his usual fury momentarily eclipsed by confusion.
"The hell—?" he started, but Deku was already tilting his head, pressing forward before he could lose his nerve.
Deku leans in, their faces close enough for Bakugou to hesitate. Deku’s pulse races as he moves closer, catching Bakugou off guard just before he initiates a kiss.
Their lips met clumsily, Deku’s chapped from biting them raw during exams, Bakugou’s still warm from yelling. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—just the wet drag of skin, the muffled sound of Deku’s uneven exhale.
Then Bakugou made a noise low in his throat, something between a growl and a groan, and his grip on Deku’s collar yanked him closer. His teeth scraped Deku’s bottom lip, sharp enough to sting, and Deku gasped into it, his hands flying up to clutch at Bakugou’s shoulders.
Bakugou’s fingers dug into Deku’s hips hard enough to bruise, pulling him flush against him as the kiss deepened, messy and desperate. Deku could feel the heat radiating off Bakugou’s skin through his thin t-shirt, the way his chest heaved against his own—like he was still furious, like he was still fighting, but the fight had changed. Deku’s back hit the wall again, this time with Bakugou’s body pinning him there, their mouths never parting. Bakugou licked into his mouth, rough and impatient, and Deku whimpered, his knees going weak in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Bakugou reacts to Deku’s kiss with a mix of aggression and hunger, biting his lip and pulling him flush against his body. The kiss deepens messily, Bakugou pressing Deku back against the wall as Deku clings to him, overwhelmed by the shift from violence to desire.
“You—” Bakugou bit out between kisses, voice ragged, “—you’ve got some fucking nerve, Deku.” But he didn’t stop, didn’t push him away. Instead, he dragged a hand up Deku’s side, fingers splaying possessively over his ribs, like he was mapping him, like he was trying to memorize the way Deku shuddered under his touch.
Deku’s hands fumbled at the hem of Bakugou’s shirt, twisting in the fabric, pulling him closer still. He could taste the salt of Bakugou’s sweat, the lingering tang of the energy drink he’d probably downed before finding Deku in the alley. It was dizzying, how much he wanted this—how long he’d wanted it without ever letting himself admit it.
Bakugou’s teeth caught Deku’s lower lip again, sharp enough to make him gasp, and Deku arched into him instinctively, his hands sliding up to tangle in the wild spikes of Bakugou’s hair. The sensation sent a jolt down his spine—Bakugou’s hair was softer than he’d imagined, the strands slipping between his fingers like they belonged there. Bakugou made a noise halfway between a snarl and a moan, his hips pressing forward, and Deku could feel the heat of him, the hard line of his body where it fit against his own. It was too much and not enough all at once, the way Bakugou kissed him like he was trying to devour him, like he was determined to prove something neither of them could name.
Bakugou keeps kissing Deku despite growling insults, gripping his ribs possessively as Deku clutches his shirt. Deku gasps when Bakugou bites his lip again, arching into him and tangling fingers in his surprisingly soft hair—both overwhelmed by the heat between them, Bakugou pressing close with a mix of aggression and need.
The brick wall scraped against Deku’s back through his thin shirt, but he barely noticed, too focused on the way Bakugou’s fingers tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Deku’s breath came in short, ragged bursts between kisses, his chest burning with the effort to keep up. Bakugou didn’t let him catch his breath every time Deku tried to pull back, even slightly, Bakugou chased him, his mouth insistent, demanding. It was dizzying, the way Bakugou took control without hesitation, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as Deku had, even if he’d never admit it.
Bakugou’s knee nudged between Deku’s thighs, pressing forward until Deku gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. The friction was electric, and Bakugou smirked against his mouth, teeth flashing in the dim alley light. "Pathetic," he muttered, but the word lacked its usual venom—instead, it came out breathless, almost wondering. Deku could feel the way Bakugou’s hands trembled where they gripped him, the way his pulse raced under Deku’s fingertips where they brushed the back of his neck. It was surreal, how close they were—close enough to see the way his pupils swallowed the usual sharp red of his irises.
Deku barely registers the wall scraping his back, overwhelmed by Bakugou’s grip and the relentless pressure of his kisses. Bakugou’s knee presses between Deku’s thighs, drawing a gasp and involuntary jerk of his hips, though Bakugou’s muttered insult lacks its usual bite—his hands tremble against Deku’s waist, betraying his own racing pulse.
Deku’s fingers tightened in Bakugou’s hair, tugging just enough to make him growl, and Bakugou retaliated by biting down on Deku’s lower lip hard enough to draw a startled noise from him. The sting sent a thrill down Deku’s spine, sharp and sweet, and he arched into it, his body moving without thought. Bakugou’s breath hitched—just once, barely audible—before he crowded Deku harder against the wall, his hips grinding forward in a slow, deliberate roll that had Deku’s knees buckling. "Kacchan—" Deku choked out, the old childhood nickname slipping free before he could stop it.
The distant crunch of gravel underfoot snapped Bakugou’s head up, his fingers tangled in Deku’s hair. Deku recognized the voices instantly—Kirishima’s booming laugh, Kaminari’s incessant chatter—getting closer, too close. Bakugou’s body went rigid against him, his breath hitching mid-kiss. For a split second, Deku thought he’d pull away, shove him off like this was some shameful secret. But then Bakugou’s grip tightened, and with a rough jerk, he dragged Deku deeper into the alley’s shadowed recesses, behind a dumpster that reeked of stale takeout.
Deku tugs Bakugou’s hair, earning a sharp bite that makes him gasp, and Bakugou presses him harder against the wall with a slow grind that nearly buckles Deku’s knees. Hearing their classmates approaching, Bakugou hesitates briefly before dragging Deku deeper into the alley’s shadows behind a dumpster, refusing to let go.
Deku stumbled, his back hitting the cold metal, but Bakugou didn’t let go. Instead, he crowded him further into the darkness, their bodies pressed so close Deku could feel the frantic hammer of Bakugou’s heart against his own. Blood from his split lip smeared between them, metallic and warm. Deku could taste it—Bakugou’s knuckles had done their work earlier—but now, with Bakugou’s friends just feet away, the pain twisted into something electric.
The voices of Kirishima and Kaminari drifted closer, their laughter bouncing off the alley walls like stray bullets, but Deku barely registered them. All he could focus on was the way Bakugou’s breath hitched when Deku twisted his fingers tighter in his hair, the way his body went rigid—not in protest, but in something closer to anticipation. Deku’s pulse roared in his ears, louder than the approaching footsteps, louder than his own ragged breathing. Before Bakugou could react, Deku shoved back, using the momentum to flip their positions, slamming Bakugou against the dumpster with a metallic clang that made them both freeze.
Bakugou’s eyes flashed wide, his lips parted mid-snarl, but Deku didn’t give him time to speak. He ducked his head—just slightly, just enough to compensate for the inch or two he had on Bakugou—and crushed their mouths together again. Bakugou made a noise low in his throat, half protest, half surrender, his hands scrambling for purchase against Deku’s hips. The dumpster rattled behind them, the sound muffled by the press of their bodies, and Deku could feel the way Bakugou’s fingers dug into his skin, sharp and possessive, like he couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Deku nipped at Bakugou’s lower lip, earning a sharp exhale against his mouth, and Bakugou’s knee jerked up instinctively, bumping against Deku’s thigh. But Deku didn’t budge—instead, he leaned in harder, crowding Bakugou against the metal until the edges of the dumpster bit into his back. Bakugou’s breath came in short, uneven bursts, his usual control slipping just enough that Deku could taste the hesitation on his tongue. It was intoxicating, this reversal—the way Bakugou’s usual dominance fractured under Deku’s insistence, the way his fingers trembled where they gripped Deku’s waist.
“What the hell—” Bakugou managed between kisses, his voice rough, but Deku cut him off with a slow drag of his teeth over Bakugou’s bottom lip. Bakugou’s breath stuttered, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and Deku smirked against his mouth, savoring the way Bakugou’s usual composure unraveled. The distant chatter of their classmates faded into white noise as Deku slid a hand up Bakugou’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat beneath his palm.
Deku’s lips trailed down to Bakugou’s jaw, nipping at the sharp line of it, He pressed closer, one hand braced against the dumpster beside Bakugou’s head, the other sliding up to tangle in his hair again. Bakugou’s pulse rabbited under Deku’s fingertips, his usual composure fraying at the edges.
“The fuck—” Bakugou started, voice rough, but Deku cut him off with a bite to his throat, just hard enough to draw a groan from him. Bakugou’s hands tightened on Deku’s waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his hips jerked forward, grinding against Deku’s thigh, and Deku swallowed the noise that spilled from Bakugou’s lips, kissing him deeper.
The alley around them was silent save for their ragged breathing, the distant voices of their classmates long gone. Deku could feel the way Bakugou’s body tensed and relaxed in turns, like he was fighting himself—like he didn’t know whether to lean into the touch or bolt. Deku didn’t give him the choice. He slid a knee between Bakugou’s thighs, pressing up just enough to make Bakugou’s breath stutter, his grip on Deku’s hips turning bruising.
Deku kissed him Slow, this time—deliberate. His lips slotted over Bakugou’s with a confidence that surprised even him, his tongue tracing the seam of Bakugou’s mouth until he yielded with a grunt. Bakugou’s hands flexed against Deku’s waist, fingers digging in like he was torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer. Deku didn’t give him the chance to decide. He nipped at Bakugou’s lower lip, just shy of painful, and Bakugou’s hips jerked forward instinctively, grinding against Deku’s thigh with a muffled curse.
Bakugou’s breath hitched—a fractured, quiet sound that went straight to Deku’s gut.
Unmoored. Unsure. It was intoxicating.
Bakugou’s hands slid up Deku’s back, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt like he didn’t know what to do with them. Deku could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way his muscles flexed under Deku’s touch like he was fighting himself. Deku smirked against his skin, pressing closer until there was no space left between them, until Bakugou’s every ragged breath brushed hot against his neck. “Kacchan,” Deku murmured, his voice rough with want, and Bakugou’s fingers tightened in his shirt like the name was a punch to the gut.
Then the school bell rang—a sharp, metallic screech that sliced through the alley’s haze—and Bakugou pushed Deku away with a snarl, his hands rough against Deku’s chest. Deku stumbled back, his heel catching on uneven pavement, but he didn’t fall. Bakugou’s lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed a furious red, and for a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, breathing hard, the air between them thick with something neither of them could name.
“Fuck,” Bakugou spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he could erase the taste of Deku from his skin. His fingers trembled—just slightly—before he clenched them into fists. Deku watched the motion, throat tight, his own pulse hammering in his ears. The bell rang again, distant but insistent, and Bakugou’s jaw worked like he was chewing on words too vicious to say out loud.
Deku took a step forward, his own hands unsteady at his sides. “Kacchan—”
Bakugou didn’t let him finish. He shoved past Deku hard enough to make him stagger, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a blow. “Don’t,” he snarled, but his voice cracked halfway through, the word crumbling into something jagged. His sneakers skidded on the wet pavement as he turned, and for a second, Deku thought he might look back—might say something, anything—but then Bakugou was gone, vanishing around the corner with a speed that bordered on frantic. The alley echoed with the uneven slap of his retreating footsteps, too fast, too loud, like he was running from something worse than a fight.
Deku stood there, the damp brick wall at his back, his lips still tingling from the press of Bakugou’s teeth. His own hands shook when he lifted them, fingertips brushing his swollen mouth. The taste of blood and burnt sugar clung to his tongue, metallic and sweet. He could still feel the heat of Bakugou’s body against his, the way his fingers had dug into Deku’s hips like he was trying to leave marks. Like he wanted to be remembered. Deku exhaled, slow and unsteady, and let his head thunk back against the wall. Above him, the sky was a narrow strip of gray between the buildings, the air thick with the promise of rain.
Bakugou didn’t stop running until he hit the school gates. He braced his hands on his knees, gasping, his lungs burning worse than after any fucking workout. His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape, and he gritted his teeth, willing it to slow the fuck down. The bell had stopped ringing minutes ago—the halls would be empty by now—but he couldn’t make himself move. Not yet. Not when his skin still felt too tight, when every breath tasted like Deku’s fucking mouth. He dragged the back of his hand over his lips again, rough enough to hurt, but it didn’t help. The phantom press of Deku’s teeth on his lower lip lingered, sharp and insistent.
The streetlights flickered on as Bakugou trudged down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill. The air smelled like rain—damp and heavy—but the clouds hadn’t broken yet. His lips still burned where Deku had bitten him, the phantom sting a relentless echo. He kicked a pebble harder than necessary, sending it skittering into the gutter with a sharp *clack*. "Fucking—" he muttered, cutting himself off mid-snarl. His own voice sounded foreign, too raw, too unsteady.
Why the hell had Deku done that? And why the fuck had Bakugou kissed him back? Worse—why did he let Deku flip him against that shitty dumpster, let him crowd him into the shadows like some—some FUCKING TWINK. the thought kept coming back to his mind.
Bakugou’s fingers twitched in his pockets, curling into fists. He could still feel the press of Deku’s body against his, the way his hands had tangled in his hair like he had every right to touch him. Like he knew Bakugou wouldn’t stop him. His stomach twisted, hot and sour.
The thought hit Bakugou like a stray bullet—what if the bell hadn’t rung? What if Deku hadn’t stopped? His fingers twitched at his sides, remembering the scrape of the dumpster against his back, the way Deku’s hands had fisted in his shirt like he owned him. The alley would’ve stayed quiet, just the ragged sound of their breathing, the wet slide of mouths. Deku’s knee pressing higher between his thighs, Bakugou’s teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle the noise he’d never admit to making.
Bakugou’s breath hitched as he imagined it—Deku’s fingers under his waistband, rough and impatient, his voice ragged in Bakugou’s ear. "Kacchan—" Like a prayer, like a curse. The dumpster’s metal would’ve been cold against his bare skin, Deku’s mouth hot on his throat, marking him up where anyone could see. Bakugou’s stomach clenched, heat pooling low in his gut. Fuck. Fuck. He could almost feel it—the sting of Deku’s teeth, the way his hips would’ve jerked up into Deku’s hand, desperate and shameless.
He kicked a trash can hard enough to send it clattering into the wall, the sound echoing down the empty street. Stupid. So fucking stupid. Deku shouldn’t—couldn’t—make him feel like this. Like his skin was too tight, like his pulse was a live wire under his skin. Bakugou dragged a hand down his face, his palm clammy. What the hell was wrong with him?
The next morning, Bakugou’s fingers hovered over Deku’s classroom door for a full three seconds before he snatched his hand back like the handle was electrified. “What the fuck are you doing?” He whispered, scowled at his own traitorous limbs, flexing them like he could shake off the memory of Deku’s waist under his palms. The hallway smelled like disinfectant and old notebooks, too mundane for the shitstorm in his head. Through the door’s narrow window, he could see Deku hunched over his desk, his stupidly messy hair catching the morning light. One of his sleeves was pushed up, revealing a bruise Bakugou knew the shape of. His teeth ached.
He stomped past the door without stopping, shoulders rigid. “Forget it. It didn’t happen.” But his body wasn’t listening—his pulse jumped when a locker slammed somewhere behind him, loud as a gunshot. His skin felt too tight, like he’d outgrown it overnight.
Lunch was worse. Bakugou didn’t eat. He glared at his bento like it had personally betrayed him, chopsticks untouched. Across the courtyard, Deku laughed at something Round Face said, his smile too bright, too normal... Like he hadn’t fucking ruined Bakugou’s life twelve hours ago. Like he didn’t have Bakugou’s teeth marks on his lip. The sight made Bakugou’s stomach twist. He imagined crossing the courtyard, shoving Deku against the vending machine, and— “No. Stop.” He dug his nails into his palms. “You don’t want that.” But his body remembered the give of Deku’s hips under his hands, the way Deku had arched into him like a fucking dream.
Deku’s phone buzzed in his pocket during last period, the vibration sharp against his thigh. He waited until the teacher turned to write on the board before sneaking a glance at the screen. A single line from an unsaved number: *Same alley. 4:30.* His stomach dropped. He didn’t need to save the contact to know who it was—the jagged punctuation alone was a dead giveaway.
The walk to the alley was too short. Deku’s shoes scuffed the pavement as he slowed his steps, dragging out the inevitable. Was Bakugou going to slam him against the wall again? Demand an explanation for the kiss? Or—Deku’s throat tightened—did he want more? The possibility sent a stupid, traitorous heat crawling up his neck. He shouldn’t go. He knew he shouldn’t go. But his feet carried him forward anyway, like they’d memorized the route against his better judgment.
The alley looked different in the afternoon light—less ominous, more mundane. A stray cat darted past Deku’s ankles, and the dumpster they’d pressed against yesterday smelled faintly of soy sauce instead of rot. No sign of Bakugou yet. Deku leaned against the brick wall, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe Bakugou had sent him here just to—
Deku heard Bakugou before he saw him—not the usual stomp and crackle of gravel under combat boots, but something slower. Hesitant. The sound of shoes dragging just enough to scatter pebbles, not the purposeful crunch of anger. Deku’s pulse spiked. He knew that gait. Knew the way Bakugou’s weight shifted when he was pissed, when he was bored, when he was—*not mad*. This was none of those. This was… uncertain.
Bakugou rounded the corner like a stormfront without thunder, shoulders hunched, hands jammed deep in his pockets. The late afternoon sun cut across his face, highlighting the way his jaw worked—not clenched in fury, but tight like he was chewing on words he hadn’t figured out yet. Deku straightened, his back peeling away from the brick wall. Bakugou stopped a few feet away, close enough that Deku could see the faint pink at the tips of his ears, far enough that the space between them felt charged.
Neither spoke. The alley hummed with the distant buzz of a flickering streetlight, the rustle of a plastic bag caught in the wind. Deku’s mouth went dry. Bakugou’s eyes—usually sharp enough to draw blood—flicked over Deku’s face, lingering on his lower lip where it was still slightly swollen from yesterday. A muscle in Bakugou’s throat jumped.
Bakugou's palms were sweating. He curled his fingers tighter in his pockets, nails biting into his thighs through the fabric. The silence between them stretched like a live wire, taut and sparking. Deku just stood there, watching him with those stupidly wide eyes, his mouth slightly parted like he was waiting for—fuck, Bakugou didn’t know what.
"Why the hell did you kiss me?" The words tore out of him, raw and jagged. Bakugou hadn’t meant to say that. He’d meant to snarl, to demand answers, to not sound like some shaky-voiced idiot. But Deku’s lips were still pink from yesterday, and Bakugou’s pulse was doing something traitorous in his throat.
Deku blinked. Then, infuriatingly, he smiled—just a little, just at the corner of his mouth. "You kissed me back," he said, soft, like it was some kind of revelation.
Bakugou’s stomach dropped. Fuck. He had. He’d kissed back like some desperate—no. He shoved the thought away, grinding his teeth hard enough to ache. "Shut up," he snapped, but it lacked its usual heat. His voice cracked on the last syllable, and Deku’s smile widened, just a fraction.
his traitorous mind kept replaying yesterday—the wet drag of Deku’s mouth, the way his fingers had twisted in Bakugou’s hair like he owned him. The dumpster’s cold metal against his back. The way Deku had pushed him, like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Bakugou’s jaw worked, teeth grinding hard enough to ache. “You—” he started, then stopped, the words clotting in his throat. Deku tilted his head slightly, sunlight catching the freckles dusted over his nose. Fuck. Bakugou’s mind was a riot of static. “Why’s he looking at me like that? Why’s he—“
“Kacchan,” Deku said, soft, like it wasn’t a childhood nickname he hadn’t used in years. Like it was something new.
The sound of Deku’s voice—low, tentative—sent a jolt through Bakugou’s spine. He clenched his fists in his pockets until his knuckles ached. "Don’t fucking call me that," he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual bite. It came out hoarse, almost pleading. Deku took a step forward, and Bakugou’s breath hitched, his body tensing like a coiled spring.
Deku stopped just inches away, close enough that Bakugou could see the flecks of gold in his stupidly green eyes. His fingers twitched at his sides—not clenched in fists, not reaching out—just there, trembling slightly. "You texted me," Deku murmured, like it was an observation, not an accusation.
Bakugou’s throat tightened. Fuck. He had. He’d typed the message with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, sent it before he could talk himself out of it. Now, with Deku standing this close, smelling like cheap soap and something faintly sweet, he couldn’t remember why.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Bakugou’s pulse thundered in his ears, loud enough that he barely registered the distant honk of a car horn. Deku’s gaze flicked down to Bakugou’s mouth, lingering for a heartbeat too long, and Bakugou’s stomach lurched.
Bakugou inhaled sharply through his nose—Deku’s scent was everywhere, that stupid mix of laundry detergent and something indefinably him—and his fingers twitched in his pockets. He should shove Deku away. He should. Any second now. But Deku’s breath ghosted over his lips, warm and uneven, and Bakugou’s body locked up, torn between recoiling and leaning in.
Deku’s hand lifted, hesitant, fingers hovering near Bakugou’s jawline like he was afraid to touch. Bakugou’s pulse roared. "Don’t—" he started, but Deku’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, smearing away a fleck of dried blood Bakugou hadn’t even known was there. The touch was feather-light, but it burned. Bakugou’s breath stuttered.
"You bit me," Deku murmured, eyes flicking down to Bakugou’s mouth again. His thumb lingered, pressing just enough to make Bakugou’s lips part involuntarily. "Hard."
The accusation—quiet, sent heat slamming through Bakugou’s veins. He jerked his head away, but Deku’s hand followed, cradling his jaw with a firmness that left no room for escape. Bakugou’s knees nearly buckled. ,,Since when did Deku fucking—,,
he thought
Bakugou’s breath hitched as Deku’s thumb traced the swell of his lower lip, the pad rough from years of scribbling in notebooks. His pulse hammered against Deku’s fingertips where they cradled his jaw, and for one dizzying second, he forgot how to breathe. Deku’s eyes—wide, flicked between Bakugou’s mouth and his own, like he was mapping the distance. Bakugou’s stomach twisted. ,,Since when did Deku fucking touch him like this?,, Like he had every right.
Then Deku leaned in, slow, deliberate, and Bakugou’s body reacted before his brain could—his hands shot out of his pockets, fisting in Deku’s shirtfront to yank him closer. Their mouths crashed together, messy and uncoordinated, Deku’s surprised noise swallowed by Bakugou’s growl. The alley spun around them, the dumpster’s cold metal pressing into Bakugou’s back as Deku crowded him against it, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Bakugou bit down on Deku’s lip hard enough to taste copper, and Deku moaned, He fucking moaned. the sound vibrating against Bakugou’s tongue like a live wire.
Bakugou’s hips jerked forward of their own accord, grinding against Deku’s thigh, and Deku’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to make Bakugou’s spine arch. "Fuck—" Bakugou gasped against his mouth, the word ragged, needy. Deku didn’t let him finish. He kissed him again, deeper, his tongue sliding against Bakugou’s with a confidence that shouldn’t exist—not after a lifetime of flinching away.
The dumpster rattled behind them as Bakugou twisted, shoving Deku back against it with a snarl. Deku went willingly, his breath stuttering when Bakugou’s knee nudged between his thighs. "Kacchan," Deku breathed, the name half plea, half taunt, and Bakugou’s control snapped. He crowded Deku harder, his hands sliding under Deku’s shirt to map the ridges of his ribs, the dip of his waist. Deku’s skin burned under his fingertips, and Bakugou *hated* how good it felt—how right.
The alley tilted around them, the world narrowing to the press of Deku’s hips against Bakugou’s, the scrape of teeth on his throat. Bakugou’s hands trembled where they gripped Deku’s waist—too tight, too desperate—but Deku didn’t pull away. Instead, he arched into it, his breath hot against Bakugou’s jaw. “You wanted this,” Deku murmured, voice rough with something Bakugou had never heard from him before. Not fear. Not pleading. Certainty.
Bakugou’s stomach flipped. He should shove him off. Should knee him in the goddamn ribs. But Deku’s fingers were threading through his hair again, tugging just enough to make his scalp sting, and Bakugou’s hips jerked forward without permission. A choked noise escaped him—half frustration, half surrender—and Deku swallowed it with another kiss, slow and filthy.
Deku’s knee nudged higher between Bakugou’s thighs, the pressure deliberate, and Bakugou’s vision whited out for a second. His back hit the dumpster with a dull thud, the metal biting through his shirt. Deku’s hand slid down, fingers skimming the waistband of Bakugou’s pants, and Bakugou’s breath hitched. ,,Fuck. is he trying to touch my dick?,, His body burned. Everywhere Deku touched felt like a brand.
“Stop—” Bakugou growled, but it came out strangled. Deku paused, his lips hovering just above Bakugou’s, his breath uneven. Bakugou could see his own reflection in Deku’s blown-wide pupils—flushed, ruined—and his stomach clenched. Deku’s thumb traced the line of Bakugou’s hipbone through his jeans, feather-light, and Bakugou’s resolve crumbled. “Don’t fucking stop,” he amended, voice cracking.
The dumpster groaned under their combined weight as Deku pressed forward, his fingers slipping beneath Bakugou’s waistband with a confidence that made Bakugou’s teeth ache. He could feel the tremor in Deku’s touch—not hesitation, but restraint, like he was holding back just enough to give Bakugou an out. Bakugou hated it. Hated the way his own breath stuttered when Deku’s palm slid lower, the way his hips jerked up into the contact like some fucking beggar.
Deku’s mouth trailed down Bakugou’s throat, teeth scraping over his pulse point, and Bakugou’s hands fisted in Deku’s hair—too tight, too desperate—but Deku only moaned against his skin, the sound vibrating through Bakugou’s ribs. “Fuck,” Bakugou hissed, his voice ragged at the edges. Deku’s fingers curled around him, rough and impatient, and Bakugou’s head slammed back against the dumpster with a muffled clang. The alley spun, the scent of rust and Deku’s stupid shampoo clogging his throat.
Deku’s thumb swiped over the head of Bakugou’s cock, slick with precome, and Bakugou’s knees buckled. Deku caught him with a forearm braced against his chest, pinning him to the dumpster like he knew Bakugou would’ve fallen otherwise. The humiliation burned hotter than the pleasure. Bakugou bit down on Deku’s shoulder to muffle a groan, his teeth sinking into fabric and skin alike. Deku gasped but didn’t stop—if anything, his strokes turned messier, meaner, like he was punishing Bakugou for the bite.
Bakugou came with Deku’s name lodged in his throat, half-swallowed, his vision whiting out for one dizzying second. Deku didn’t let up, wringing out every last shudder until Bakugou shoved him off with a snarl, his chest heaving. Deku’s lips were swollen, his cheek smeared with dirt from the dumpster, and Bakugou hated how wrecked he looked. How satisfied.
The alley smelled like sweat and rust and something Bakugou couldn’t name—something thick and electric hanging between them. Deku wiped his hand on his pants, the motion casual, like he hadn’t just—fuck. Bakugou’s stomach twisted. He straightened his shirt with jerky movements, his fingers trembling where they fumbled with the buttons. Deku watched him, eyes dark, lips parted like he wanted to say something. Bakugou beat him to it.
“This doesn’t mean shit,” he snapped, but his voice cracked on the last word, betraying him. Deku’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. Infuriating.
“Okay,” Deku said, soft, like he was humoring him. Like he knew.
Bakugou’s hands clenched at his sides. He should walk away. Should leave Deku standing there with his stupid fucking smile and his messy hair and—
Deku stepped closer.