Chapter Text
Kaminari knocked on Bakugo’s door without allowing himself to reconsider it.
It had taken too much effort (far more effort than he thought it would, actually--which was saying something) to even physically get here. He hadn’t expected it to sap as much energy as it did--trying to look normal and stay on guard in case anyone saw him. And it still hurt.
So the thought of turning around and going back down those god forsaken stairs without even trying to follow through with his dumbass plan made him feel a little hysterical.
He leaned against the door’s frame while he listened to Bakugo yelling indignantly and stomping over to open it.
He was wearing a very predictable scowl. Kaminari smiled at him. Tiredly. Bakugo took one cursory look at him and asked simply: “Fuck’s wrong with you?”
Kaminari shifted a bit to stand straighter, but stopped halfway, hissing through his teeth in discomfort. He glanced left and right to make sure he was still alone in the hallway before he answered.
“I need your help with something real quick.”
Bakugo squinted in suspicion, looking him over a little more thoroughly. He was obviously not many people’s number one choice when they needed help with… anything really, so Kaminari couldn’t really blame him.
“Did someone fuck with you?”
Kaminari shook his head, smiling. “That’s charming of you, but no.”
He immediately regretted it.
“You trying to piss me off or ask for my help?”
Kaminari laughed nervously and held up his hands in a placating gesture. He shifted again before realizing he was doing it and winced.
“Let me come in for a sec. I can’t explain in the hallway.”
“No.”
Welp.
“Please,” Kaminari whined quietly, trying for cutely petulant instead of frantic, “I can’t- I don’t want anybody else to hear!”
Bakugo let out a frustrated snarl and held the door open wider in a gesture for Kaminari to come in.
Kaminari sighed in relief and made his way into the room. Walking sucked and he had to move slowly to do a decent job of it. Bakugo’s neatly made bed called to him and he shamelessly stretched out on it, laying on his stomach.
I mean it’s not like he could sit.
He propped his head up and turned to where Bakugo was leaning against his dresser, arms crossed and looking like he was only BARELY tolerating this breach of etiquette. That was fine. If Bakugo was annoyed, this would likely be easier anyway. Kaminari grinned at him and opened his mouth to speak, but Bakugo had already lost his patience and they ended up talking over each other.
“Kaminari I’m going to punt your dumbass to Recovery Girl if you don’t get the fuck on with it.” “I just need you to hit me.”
The thought of anyone punting his ass anywhere, let alone to Recovery Girl, made Kaminari’s smile falter a bit.
“What,” Bakugo said flatly.
“I need you to hit me!” Kaminari said again, as if repeating it made it any less strange, fist punching lightly into the mattress. “Like.. like a nice clean hit that’ll hurt like a bitch or som-”
“What the fuck is WRONG with you?” Bakugo tapped his finger against his temple, leaning forward. “You got a fever or some shit? Maybe I do need to cart you off to Recovery Girl.”
“NO,” Kaminari shouted, panicked.
Bakugo looked taken aback by the outburst. And then he quickly went back to looking annoyed. He grit his teeth.
“Then what the fuck,” he whispered viciously. “You wanna spar?! Right NOW? Like THAT?” He gestured to… all of Kaminari.
“I didn’t say that,” Kaminari pointed out uselessly, trying a smile again and having no idea whether it helped or made things worse, “I said I wanted you to hit me. I don’t wanna fight.”
“WHY would I do that?”
“To help me out!” Kaminari said brightly, fully aware that it explained very little.
“And what, this some kinda fucked up kink for you?” Bakugo asked derisively, urging him to supply some further reasoning.
Kaminari’s eyes widened, little lizard brain glitching and immediately supplying a (thankfully unvoiced) “kinda” before he could process the sarcasm. His fingers stalled where they’d been absently fidgeting with his choker and Bakugo’s eyes flicked down at them.
Thankfully, what came out of his mouth was a small “no,” but when Bakugo looked back up at his face, he knew it hardly mattered what he said since his cheeks were furiously, helplessly burning.
Bakugo blinked once in surprise. Then his expression contorted into embarrassed rage, his own face flushing as well.
“IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE?”
Fuck.
“No! No, no! No it’s- Ok. Wow.” Kaminari swallowed and shook his head. He could feel heat all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Ok. You know how when you have a headache, you can push that pressure point in your hand and it hurts and distracts you from the headache?” He was propped up on his elbows, demonstrating.
“That’s not how pressure points work, dumbass.”
“But you get it though, right?” Kaminari said, a little desperately.
“No, I REALLY don’t fucking get it, so tell me what the fuck your problem is or get the fuck out of my room.”
Kaminari looked at him with the most neutral expression he could manage and said slowly: “I just need you to hit me, very hard, so that it distracts me from something else that hurts. That’s all.” He shifted curiously and decided not to add, “or, is going to hurt, but whatever.”
Bakugo’s expression hardened, brows pinching in suspicion.
“And you can’t go to recovery girl, why?” He drew the question out dubiously.
“God, I wasn’t expecting you to ask so many questions,” Kaminari lamented honestly. At this point, his capacity for cheeky roundabout bullshit was very nearly depleted. He put his hands in his hair, hiding his face in his arms in an attempt to compose himself.
This was way more talking than he had planned for. He figured just asking a person like Bakugo for violence and being a little annoying would be more than enough to get what he came for and then he could just leave and do what he needed to do and they’d move on with their lives like nothing happened. Bakugo’s short fuse was what made this plan even seem plausible in the first place.
But as he laid there, trying to breathe and think because the lull was stretching awkwardly, his stressed out mental faculties were suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that he could smell Bakugo on the bedding. And then he tripped head first over that thought and became abruptly, horribly hyperaware that he was laying in Bakugo’s bed; that while he’d been fucking squirming with anxiety without realizing it, at some point, the plug in his ass had stopped feeling painfully uncomfortable and had started feeling some other very alarmingly not bad type of way. Kaminari’s oversized hoodie suddenly felt much too warm.
He went still.
The room seemed very quiet.
And then, with a rush of sobering shame, he scolded himself. Because it was really not fucking cool to be horny in your uninterested friend’s bed like some kind of nonconsensual exhibitionist.
So he said quietly, “I think I should go,” and started lifting himself up off the bed.
“Not so fucking fast, Sparky.”
Kaminari startled. He had been so distracted trying to NOT LOOK AT BAKUGO that when he was pressed back into the bed by a strong hand on his shoulder, it caught him completely off guard. He wanted desperately to tell Bakugo that it was really not a good idea to touch him like that right now, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Why can’t you go to Recovery Girl?”
There was something in Bakugo’s voice-- something legitimately threatening that Kaminari realized had never been directed at him before.
Kaminari swallowed. His blood ran cold.
“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid? You come in here walkin’ all fucked up and you can’t even sit the fuck down? Tell me which bastard did this to you so I can murder him.”
Wait.
...
Wait.
Oh fuck.
“It’s not like that!” Kaminari scrambled. He knew he needed to say something else, but he was too unbelievably, stupidly shocked.
Bakugo crouched down, put a hand in Kaminari’s hair and forced him to meet his gaze.
“The fuck’s it like then? Hm? Tell me. You answer the question and I’ll fucking punch you like you wanted and you can go.”
Kaminari gulped, eyes wide. He couldn’t think with Bakugo this close to his face--with his hand in his hair--with the overwhelming guilt flooding his brain. He knew his lack of answer and whatever panicked expression he was wearing were only digging him deeper, but he couldn’t find a single thing to say.
Bakugo said, “You’re more of a dumbass than I thought if you need to hear this from me of all people: This piece of shit can’t even fix you up after he hurts you that bad, then he’s a fucking bastard and he needs to die.”
Kaminari stared at him. He was fucked. There was nothing for it.
“There’s no guy. There’s a buttplug stuck in my ass.”
And whatever moment that had been happening popped like a balloon in between them.
A series of expressions passed over Bakugo’s face with such intensity that it would have been hilarious under different circumstances. Then he laughed. And it was so genuine it sounded completely foreign to Kaminari.
It would have been a lovely sound, were it not at his very fucking real expense.
Bakugo stood up and walked back over to where he’d been leaning on the dresser, hiding his face a little as he continued to snicker. It seemed like he was about to stop, but then he looked back at Kaminari’s face and laughed again, harder, fist coming down at his side to smack the drawers behind him a little too hard in amusement.
Kaminari could feel his expression doing something as his soul tried to evacuate his body, and it must have been something pathetic, because Bakugo finally managed to stop laughing, mostly.
“Holy shit, are you not fucking with me?”
“What, you wanna see it?” Kaminari snapped.
Bakugo just looked at his face and burst out laughing again.
“Are you an actual fucking moron?”
Denki nodded, rubbing his hands over his TIRED face. “I got the wrong size.”
“How did you get it IN?” Bakugo asked, clearly in some kind of amused fucking frenzy.
“IT’S TAPERED, OBVIOUSLY,” Kaminari groaned, muffled as he pressed his face into his hands against the bed.
The room got quiet again.
What a fucking train wreck.
“And you want me to hit you? So you can, what, hobble back to your room and rip it the fuck out?”
Kaminari actually flinched at that phrasing, but, yeah, that was essentially right. He nodded into his hands, trying very hard not to move.
“Look at me,” Bakugo said, closer.
Kaminari turned his head minutely and looked at Bakugo, who was crouching next to the bed like he had been before. He was wearing an unreadable expression on top of his amused little smile, but clearly waiting for Kaminari to stop hiding his face. Kaminari lowered his hands. Painfully, cautiously.
He didn’t breathe.
Bakugo was looking at his mouth, at his eyes, at his whole face, studying him like he was trying to figure something out.
“You want me to hit you?”
Kaminari must have been breathing at least a little bit because he realized that Bakugo was close enough now that he could smell him, more so than on the sheets, and he smelled good. And then he was looking at Bakugo’s mouth, too.
He flicked his eyes back up to Bakugo’s and shook his head.