Work Text:
“Will you idiots fuck off!?” Bakugou growls. His palms crackle as he directs his anger at his dumbass ‘friends’.
They’re at the beach with the rest of the class, and Bakugou’s his usual, grouchy self. To his defense, though, Kaminari’s purposely poking fun at him. Kirishima holds back a laugh as Kaminari continues to throw jabs at Bakugou.
“C’mon, Kacchan,” Kaminari whines. At the nickname, Bakugou predictably bristles. As he ignores Bakugou’s growing temper, Kaminari pats the sand. He’s sitting cross-legged beside a human-sized hole which he’s dug up with Sero and Kirishima, both of whom are sniggering as they watch him attempt to convince Bakugou to play their game. “We dug a hole and all you have to do is sleep in it while we make sand boobs over you. You wanted to sleep, right? Sleep here.”
Bakugou’s face goes through a myriad of different emotions. There’s confusion, anger, and horror. “Fuck off,” he repeats before giving Kaminari the middle finger and plopping down on a beach chair. He lies on it, tummy down, his face shaded by a beach umbrella next to him.
“Hey, Bakugou,” Kirishima calls out as Kaminari sighs audibly. “Don’t forget to put some sunscreen on. The sun’s awful.”
“You my mom, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou snaps at him without even turning his head.
Kirishima laughs. He jumps up and walks over to Bakugou. On his way there, he grabs a tube of sunscreen from their bags. Bakugou flinches and turns his head to glare at Kirishima when the latter tosses the tube at him, and it falls by his arm uselessly. “You don’t want a sunburn, dude. Quit being stubborn.”
For a few moments, Bakugou looks meaningfully between Kirishima and the sunscreen. He’s shifts a little to reach for it. However, he stops short when Kaminari yells out, “If we pile sand on you, you won’t need the sunscreen!”
With a sigh, Kirishima watches as Bakugou bristles and grabs the sunscreen. Glaring furiously at Kaminari, Bakugou explodes the tube in his hands. The sunscreen splatters down his wrist and unto the sand. He snarls at Kaminari, “Keep it up and you’re next, Dunce Head.”
Kaminari laughs, slapping his thighs in amusement. Bakugou shoots him the middle finger one last time before turning away and burying his face in his arms, and Kaminari drops the jokes as he gestures for Sero to get in the hole. Sero’s all too willing, grinning like an idiot as he jumps in.
“Bakugooou,” Kirishima rolls his eyes and watches the mess he’s made with the sunscreen. “Fine, it’s your loss.”
Bakugou grunts in reply, and that’s all Kirishima gets from him.
Half an hour later, Sero’s buried in a pile of sand. A pair of boobs are sculpted on him and Sero sniggers at them. It’s entirely juvenile—and Kirishima admits, this is nice. It’s rarely that they’re able to be the dumb teenagers that they are. He enjoys this, goofing around with his friends.
At that thought, he glances over at Bakugou’s who’s fast asleep on a beach chair. He smiles wryly to himself, wishing that his best friend would play their silly games, too.
“Sero, hold still,” Kaminari says, breaking Kirishima out of his reverie. He crawls over to his bag and pulls out a marker. As for the reason he has it, Kirishima doesn’t know (a part of him wonders if he’d been planning this).
“Kaminari, hey!” Sero laughs. He tries to break free of the sand he’s under, but it’s too heavy, and he cackles as Kaminari chortles and inches closer with the marker. When he’s about an inch away from Sero’s face, Sero breaks free out of sheer desperation, causing the sand to fly in all directions.
“Ugh!” Kaminari spits out sand.
Sero has a mischievous glint in his eyes as he dusts off the sand on him. “I have a better idea.”
Blinking, Kirishima watches as he Sero points a thumb over at the snoozing Bakugou.
“We should write on his back, haha. Imagine the sunburnt tattoo he’ll have.”
Kirishima watches with horror as Kaminari jumps up, overjoyed.
“Relax, Kirishima.” Kaminari pops off the cap of another marker and hands it to Sero. “That sunscreen cost you money, and he destroyed it without a second thought. This is your revenge.”
“Huh,” Kirishima says thoughtfully.
Kaminari had a point.
Besides, it’s just writing on skin. It wouldn’t kill Bakugou. Bakugou might kill them for it—or he could try, Kirishima’s hardening could take it. Sero and Kaminari snicker to themselves as they quietly saunter over to their dozing friend, and they immediately start to scribble on his back. They kneel around Bakugou’s form and go about their prank, with Kirishima choosing the spot by Bakugou’s left shoulder blade. With a grin, he doodles an explosion. It’s a cute and harmless drawing.
As he’s writing Boom Boom on top of his doodle, he can’t help but stare at Bakugou’s dozing face. He looks so peaceful, a great contrast to how he usually is—angry and yelling, or with a permanent scowl on his face (or with a sinister grin every time Midoriya says the wrong answer in class). Bakugou’s face appears calm right now, his lips slightly parted as he breathes peacefully. Kirishima can’t help but stare at his thick lashes and how his hair falls over his forehead, smushed against the arm he’s lying on. His stare falls down on Bakugou’s lips, and Kirishima can’t help but think how… well, how kissable they are, and he can’t help that his ears burn at the images running through his head. Kirishima almost reaches forward to brush Bakugou’s hair away from his eyebrows, craving for that simple touch.
“Done!” Sero says with a huge grin. “A masterpiece.”
“Hurry, let’s go!” Kaminari says, abruptly getting up on his feet.
Kirishima’s shaken out of his reverie, and he follows Kaminari as he walks away from Bakugou. Behind them, Sero takes a few minutes to take a quick picture of Bakugou’s back. Kirishima and Kaminari make their way back to their bags, pulling out drinks to cool themselves.
“Kaminari!” Sero hisses when he joins them. He clutches his stomach and curls up on himself, his shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughing. “Wasn’t that going too far?”
Kaminari looks genuinely confused as he looks up at Sero with wide eyes. “Oh shit. Was it?”
Since Kirishima’s accustomed to offering words of comfort, he says without looking, “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Is it?” Sero grins at him. He hands Kirishima his phone, zoomed in to what Kaminari had written on Bakugou’s lower back.
Kirishima was here.
… with an arrow pointed at Bakugou’s ass.
“Holy shit.” The color drains out of Kirishima’s face and he’s white as a sheet as he gapes at Kaminari.
“Ahahahaha, Kirishima, oi,” Sero says. He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement when Kirishima tackles Kaminari to the ground and starts smacking him on the back.
“It’s funny! It’s a joke!” Kaminari whines. “I’m sorry! I won’t tell him if you won’t!”
“Ooooh my god.” Kirishima can’t help but think his doom is approaching.
When Bakugou wakes up half an hour later, the skin on his back burns. He frowns as he walks over to Kirishima, who hands him a soda. Kirishima almost tells him I told you so … except that he can’t meet Bakugou in the eyes to actually say anything. Kaminari flashes him numerous looks of apologies throughout the day, especially when Bakugou snaps at Kirishima for ‘acting weird’.
When Jirou makes a comment about the writings on his back, Bakugou stares at her, confused. Jirou takes a picture, shows it to him, and he almost kills his ‘friends’.
The day after the beach trip, Kirishima’s in his room. He’s lying on his bed and scrolling on his phone. It’s a peaceful afternoon—until his door’s slams open and his heart jumps in shock. He gawks as Bakugou comes marching in, eyebrows furrowed in anger and missing a shirt. “Wha…”
Kirishima stares. He sits up right and grips his thighs, leaving indentations in his own skin as he watches in horror as Bakugou stomps over to him. It’s strange, but he’s flustered, and he his words get caught in his throat as his eyes glaze over Bakugou’s neck, to his chest, to his stomach—
“The fuck are you staring at, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou barks.
“What’s going on, dude?” Kirishima manages to splutter out, his face red. With a frown, Bakugou stands by the foot of his bed and mumbles something that’s incoherent to Kirishima. Confused, Kirishima says, “What’s that?”
Bakugou scowls for a good second before throwing a small tube of cream at Kirishima. It hits him on the chest and falls on his lap. Puzzled, Kirishima takes it in his palm to get a better view. The words ‘After Burn Cream’ is written in red letters on the front When Kirishima looks back up at Bakugou, his friend is awkwardly shifting between his feet. Bakugou says, quiet but audible, “I need your help. Can’t reach my back.”
“Oh,” Kirishima says, dumbly.
A tense moment passes and Kirishima and Bakugou simply stare at each other during the entirety of it.
“Well, are you helping me or not?” Bakugou grunts. “Why the fuck are you being so weird, Kirishima?”
Shaken out of his reverie, Kirishima nods, and gestures for Bakugou to take a seat on the bed. He ignores the question because he can’t tell Bakugou the real reason: that Kaminari had written something so damn incriminating on his back, and that everyone could read it when he walked around half-naked like this, and just the thought of what the words meant sent Kirishima straight to gay panic mode. Bakugou smacks Kirishima’s ankle, a request for him to give him room. When Kirishima folds his knees up to his chest to give Bakugou space on his bed, Bakugou plops down on it, back facing Kirishima.
And woops, there it is: Kirishima was here , with an arrow pointing at Bakugou’s—
Kirishima, for the nth time, makes a mental note to kill Kaminari.
“Hurry up,” Bakugou says, bossy as usual. A part of Kirishima can tell that he’s only saying it because of how vulnerable and embarrassed he feels.
“If you weren’t so stubborn, this wouldn’t have happened, Bakugou,” Kirishima says. He’s thankful that Bakugou can’t see his face because he’s wearing an accomplished smile on his face. It’s not every day that he can tell Bakugou I Told You So and it’s a good achievement to have. Kirishima opens the tube and squeezes some of its contents unto his palm. The cream is translucent white and has a nice, fresh smell to it. When he spreads it over his palms, it gives his skin a cool sensation.
Without really thinking, he plants his palms down on Bakugou’s shoulders rougher than he intended.
“Fuck!” Bakugou bites out, flinching under his touch.
“Sorry, sorry!” Kirishima apologizes. He trails his hands over Bakugou’s shoulders, his touch a lot lighter, and Bakugou relaxes. Bakugou goes slack under his hold, hunching forward as Kirishima continues with his ministrations.
Bakugou’s skin is red and raw, even just the sight of it makes Kirishima uncomfortable. He’s sure it’s not easy to be this sunburnt, and a part of him regrets not forcing Bakugou to put on sunscreen. Bakugou’s quiet as Kirishima pulls away to squeeze more cream into his hands. As Kirishima rubs his hands together to spread the cream over his palms once more, he takes a moment to look at the writings on Bakugou’s back. The letters are smudged now, soon to be washed off as the days pass by, leaving pale tattoos amidst the sunburnt skin. The drawing of an explosion by his left shoulder blade is cute, and Kirishima silently praises himself for being a better artist than he thought.
“Kirishima,” Bakugou mutters. “Take a picture of my back.”
Kirishima’s heart jumps. “Why?”
“Because I only saw part of it when Earphones took a picture, and I can’t turn well enough to see it in the mirror. So take a picture.”
“Uh…”
Bakugou twists a little to stare at him. His lower lip juts out in the frustrated pout that he does unconsciously, and Kirishima’s cheeks burn at the sight of it. “Why can’t you take a picture?”
“No, I can… it’s, uh—”
“What’s going on, Kirishima?”
“I just don’t want to die,” Kirishima blurts out.
Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. “What the hell did you write on my back? Just take a picture, goddamit!”
Since he doesn’t have a good enough reason to turn Bakugou down, Kirishima thinks— this is it. This is his last day on Earth. His heartbeat hammering in his head, Kirishima wipes the cream on his shorts—he’ll wash them later, no big deal—and reaches for his phone. Bakugou glares at him, red eyes piercing, and faces the front when Kirishima pulls out the camera app on his phone.
He takes the picture.
“Lemme see,” Bakugou says, putting his hand up over his shoulder but not turning around to look at Kirishima. That’s good, Kirishima muses. He’d rather not see Bakugou’s face when he realizes what’s written on his back. Sighing loudly, Kirishima falls back on his pillow, his knees thumping against Bakugou’s skin as he does so. Bakugou flinches and turns his head to scowl at him, and Kirishima flashes him an apologetic grin in response.
Bakugou turns away from him again and Kirishima can see his arms move as he zooms into the picture, reading each word that’s on his back.
“Nice drawing,” Bakugou grunts at him when he sees the drawing of the explosion.
If Kirishima didn’t know that he would die in a few minutes, he’d have been thankful at the compliment. Instead, he throws his arms over his face and waits for the inevitable.
“Die, die… kick me. How original, you fuckers. Kirishima was…” Bakugou’s voice trails off and Kirishima’s stomach lurches.
Kirishima was here.
Pointing at his ass.
Bakugou’s quiet for a few seconds. The tension in the room is unreal and Kirishima still has his face hidden behind his arm. Bakugou’s words cut through like a knife when he says, completely deadpanned, “Did you write this.”
“What the—why would I write that, Bakugou!?” Kirishima half-yells. His heartbeat’s deafening and he wishes he could be anywhere but in this god-forsaken room. It’s not his fault when he panics at the implications of all of this and accidentally knees Bakugou on the back.
“Hey!” Bakugou yells in pain.
“Shit, sorry—”
“Quit fucking hitting my back, Shitty Hair!”
When Bakugou turns around, sheer anger on his face, Kirishima sits up in an attempt to inch away. He knows that expression by now, knows that it’s a warning sign that Bakugou’s now on the offense. Before he can scramble away, Bakugou slams his hands on either side of Kirishima’s face and sets off explosions from his palms.
Of course, Kirishima simply hardens his face, unimpressed. When the explosions subside, it’s just Bakugou left, kneeling between his legs, glaring at him with darkened cheeks and intense eyes.
“Why the fuck did you write this, Kirishima.”
“I told you, I didn’t write it!” He protests and tries to pull away from Bakugou a second time.
Bakugou’s not having it. When Kirishima attempts to get off the bed, Bakugou slams his hands down on Kirishima’s chest and pushes him. Kirishima’s breath hitches as the back of his head hits the pillow. With a grunt, Bakugou climbs on top of him, his legs on either sides of Kirishima’s hips, pinning him in place. He leans down, and all out of nowhere there’s not a lot of space between them.
He’s too close, Kirishima realizes. Bakugou clutches at his shirt and pushes down, once, to take back Kirishima’s attention.
“I will ask you one final fucking time,” Bakugou scowls.
“Get off me,” Kirishima says, and he’s surprised by how quiet his voice is. Bakugou’s practically straddling him, their faces are too close, and Bakugou’s hair brushes against his forehead.
Holy shit.
It comes crashing—the realization that warmth coils in his stomach. His mind is going a hundred different directions, all too hit by the fact that Bakugou’s on his lap, his nose only centimeters away from his.
And, fuck...
Is he really getting a boner now, of all times?
“Did you really not write it, Kirishima?” Bakugou’s breath is warm against his lips. Slowly, Kirishima opens his eyes to look at Bakugou. The expression on Bakugou’s face is indescribable, his eyebrows are knotted in confusion and his lips are a thin line as he stares.
“I didn’t,” Kirishima manages to say.
“But is it something you think about?”
… what the hell.
Kirishima says, his own voice betraying him as it comes out raspy and strained, “No.”
Bakugou looks at him, confused. With a sigh, Kirishima shuts his eyes and prays that Bakugou will pretend he can’t feel Kirishima’s dick pressing against him. Please, please.
Of course, it’s Bakugou, and Bakugou won’t keep quiet about this.
“Then what’s this about, Kirishima?”
Bakugou ruts against him, slowly, and Kirishima almost dies .
“Oi,” Kirishima grits his teeth. “Bakugou.”
“You like that?” Bakugou asks in a voice so quiet that Kirishima almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of his deafening heartbeat. He moves, again, rutting against Kirishima more forcibly this time. Kirishima squeezes his eyes shut and chokes on the sensation as he arches his back, chasing after it. Bakugou asks a second time, his voice low, “You like it, Kirishima?”
“Yes,” Kirishima admits in a whisper.
His confession appears to spur Bakugou on. Bakugou’s hands on his shirt clutches tighter, and his nails press painfully against his skin despite the shirt he’s wearing. Breathing heavily, Bakugou slots their hips together and moves against him, rubbing, and Kirishima’s painfully aware of the fact that Bakugou has a boner, too.
Kirishima can’t tell what’s going on. His mind’s fuzzy and he can’t think straight. He looks at Bakugou, dazed, and registers the fact that Bakugou looks just as out of it as he does.
His entire body burns.
“Bakugou, what are we doing?” he asks.
“You tell me, Kirishima,” Bakugou exhales. “Do you want this?”
He answers too quickly, too eagerly, “Yes.”
At that, Bakugou reaches down to grasp the front of Kirishima’s shorts. Kirishima’s breath hitches and he throws his hands up and grips Bakugou’s waist, his fingers clutching at his back, and Bakugou yelps in pain. His nails scrape against sunburned skin and Bakugou glares down at him.
“Shit, sorry,” Kirishima tries to hold back a laugh as he lets go of Bakugou’s back. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
Kirishima gapes as Bakugou, using his free hand, grabs both his wrists to pull it above his head. “Are you serious?”
“Dead.” Bakugou tugs at the hemline of his shorts. He looks at Kirishima, a question his eyes. “You wanna do this?”
“Yes,” Kirishima whispers. “Wait… what are we doing? Are we going to fuck?”
“No.” Bakugou pulls down Kirishima’s shorts and underwear in one swift move, getting up to kneel for a few seconds to give himself room to tug them down Kirishima’s knees. Biting his cheek, Kirishima feels self-conscious, especially with how Bakugou looks at him with so much want. “My back hurts way too much. You can fuck me next time.”
“Bakugou, oh my god, you can’t just say things like that—”
His words get caught in his throat because Bakugou grips his dick to shut him up. Scandalized, Kirishima looks at Bakugou with wide eyes, and is even more mortified at the satisfied smirk that Bakugou gives him. Slowly, Bakugou finally lets go of his wrists and leans down. With his eyes transfixed on Kirishima’s, he licks a stripe down his dick, and Kirishima keens.
He clutches the headboard behind him, reminding himself that Bakugou’s told him not to touch him. His fingers harden for a moment, puncturing against the wood, when Bakugou wraps his mouth around his dick. Kirishima makes a strangled moan, shaking despite being pinned under Bakugou, as Bakugou swirls his tongue around his head before bobbing up and down. Breathing heavily, Kirishima forces himself to look at Bakugou.
Bakugou stares up at him with hooded eyes. Kirishima shakingly reaches out to Bakugou. At that, Bakugou pulls off him with a pop and demands, “I told you to keep your hands to yourself.”
He can’t. Kirishima needs to touch Bakugou, or he’ll die. Panting, he puts a hand on Bakugou’s jaw. Bakugou frowns at him and pumps him with his hands, watching Kirishima closely as he struggles with his words.
“Bakugou, please,” Kirishima begs. “I want to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”
Bakugou’s frown curls into a smirk. He’s so smug with himself, Kirishima realizes.
“Sit up,” Bakugou tells him. He lets go of Kirishima’s dick to sit back on his knees, allowing Kirishima to do as he’s told. Kirishima frowns, disappointed at the loss of contact, but he sits up. “You can jerk me off.”
Oh.
“Okay,” Kirishima says, all too quickly, and he stares with bated breath as Bakugou pulls his shorts down. “Fuck, okay.”
Bakugou puts his hands back on Kirishima, and Kirishima mimics him. It’s disappointing that Bakugou seems to have more control over the situation than he does. He, on the other hand, is coming undone with each touch from Bakugou, the warm sensation pooling in his stomach consuming him more and more.
“You’re so fucking noisy,” Bakugou growls at him, pressing their foreheads together.
He hadn’t even realized that he was making so much noise.
“I’m close,” he groans loudly, his lips practically brushing against Bakugou’s. “Bakugou, kiss me.”
“Shut up, shut up,” Bakugou breathes, and Kirishima pumps him erratically. Bakugou’s coming undone too, a fact that spurs Kirishima on, even if he’s so close to coming that he can’t really focus on anything else.
“Kiss me.”
“Fucking—!” Bakugou grits, and he gets rid of the space between them, smashing their mouths together. It’s messy, their movements unsteady, and Kirishima vibrates against Bakugou, panting against his mouth. Kirishima’s the first to come, spilling all over Bakugou’s hands. Bakugou pulls away from their kiss and buries his face against the crook of Kirishima’s neck as he comes, too, not long afterwards.
They say nothing for a while, simply sit there panting against one another.
The static in his mind disappears, slowly, then all at once. Kirishima presses his lips against Bakugou’s temple. He wipes his hands on his bed before reaching up to comb Bakugou’s hair, which is sticking to his face with sweat.
He strokes Bakugou’s hair, waits for Bakugou to say something—or maybe he should say something, first?
“I can hear you think,” Bakugou grumbles against his neck.
“Ahaha, sorry.”
Grunting, Bakugou pulls away from him, avoiding looking at him. He looks embarrassed, which is funny to Kirishima, as he remembers just how confident he had been minutes ago.
“Feels disgusting.” Bakugou frowns.
“Just a second.”
He pulls his shorts up just so he can walk over to his closet. As he does so, he can feel Bakugou’s stare burning against his back. The tension is thick; it’s consuming. His hands tremble as he grabs towels from his drawer, and two clean pairs of shorts. Looking down at his shirt, he realizes that it’s sticky with cum, so he pulls it off and tosses it to the side before throwing on a clean top.
Once he walks back to the bed, Bakugou is still glaring at him. He hands Bakugou a towel and a pair of shorts and looks away to clean himself up and change. It’s weird, and awkward, and he hears Bakugou shuffling behind him as he does the same.
Kirishima sits on the edge of the bed, beside Bakugou. They both say nothing. Kirishima glances to look at Bakugou and sees him deep in thought, brooding, and he knows it for what it is: Bakugou’s questioning what has happened.
When it comes to this, to tackling emotions, Kirishima tells himself that he has a better grasp on things. So, he takes the lead, this time.
“C’mere,” he puts a hand around Bakugou’s wrist and lays back on the bed, pulling Bakugou down with him, against his chest.
“Ow… goddammit,” Bakugou grits as a part of his back hits the mattress. Kirishima laughs apologetically, and repositions themselves so that Bakugou’s lying half on top of his chest.
“Guess I still need to help you with that.”
“No shit,” Bakugou grumbles, pressing his face against Kirishima’s chest, exhaling.
“Bakugou.”
“What.”
Kirishima pauses, his throat dry. He thinks about what he’s about to say, carefully.
Then, Kirishima whispers, “I love you.”
There’s a moment of silence and Kirishima almost regrets saying it, out of nowhere, despite what they had done. He almost takes it back, but Bakugou grunts against him, “I know.”
He says more, and it comes muffled against Kirishima’s chest, and it suspiciously sounds like I love you, too. Kirishima can’t help but smile to himself as he reaches to look for Bakugou’s hand, intertwining their fingers.