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It isn’t a well kept secret to many people Bakugou knows that he has the hots for one Kirishima Eijirou. And he doesn’t want to only get it on with him, no, he’s in fucking love. Ashido forced that particular kind of information out of him some time back in third year, during a rather raunchy game of spin the bottle.
Thankfully, and with luck backing him up for once, Kirishima hadn’t been there to witness that special display of gay disaster, his red-haired best friend busy with his internship that evening. But ever since then, most people in Bakugou’s and Kirishima’s close vicinity know how absolutely smitten, how soft, Bakugou is for his best friend, and what’s even worse–
They know that he has real human feelings.
Bakugou’s still pissed about that one to be honest, because with annoying extras (friends, Bakubro, they’re your friends ) like Ashido and fucking Kaminari knowing that he’s in love with their other best friend, he’s constantly forced to fucking talk about it.
But Bakugou doesn’t fucking want to. Because for the first time in his life he’s actually afraid of something. Afraid of getting rejected by the first (and only) person he ever had romantic feelings for, afraid of losing his best friend and the calm influence he has on his life. So what if Bakugou’s stuck in the fucking friendzone forever, it’s still better than not having Kirishima in his life anymore.
“But what about doing it like– secretly?” Kaminari’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, the other blond sitting in one of Bakugou’s kitchen chairs as if he fucking belongs there, neongreen-wool-socked feet casually resting on the table while he’s holding a glass of mimosa in one hand.
Once again, Bakugou’s non-existent love life with Shitty Hair is the topic of the hour and he fucking hates that they care.
“I’ll not write him some shitty anonymous perfumed love letter, Dunce Face,” Bakugou half-screams, swatting the feet down that came dangerously close to his favorite glass of marmalade. (It’s a selfmade orange-chilli one, Bakugou’s dad sending him a glass every month. He fucking adores that shit and he’d explode Kaminari in a heartbeat should he dare kicking it off the table.)
“Well, you see, I didn’t actually say anything about perfume so–”
“Wait, wait!” Ashido interferes with madly waving hands, almost killing one of Bakugou’s favorite plants that sits right behind her on the windowsill. Fuck, but he hates when it’s his turn to host their weekly sunday-brunch, especially when Kirishima isn’t there to reign the other idiots in and they’re free to go on his nerves as much as they want.
“I think a wonder happened right before our innocent eyes, because Kaminari’s actually onto something here,” Ashido continues.
“Hey!” Kaminari huffs out indignantly, while Bakugou mouths ‘ innocent eyes’ to himself in a sudden bout of mild hysteria.
“The only thing Denki should be onto is how he’ll dodge Blasty’s impending wrath,” Sero throws in all amused, lanky limbs sprawled out over the back of his chair because he can’t fucking sit like a normal human being. Bakugou follows his gaze to Kaminari who’s trying to put his dirty feet on the table again.
Small explosions pop in Bakugou’s hands, wooly socks starting to smoke alarmingly. Kaminari yelps, scrambles backwards and actually kills one of Bakugou’s beloved plants. Bakugou doesn’t know what scandalous and gruesome deeds he got up to in his past life to deserve this absolute horror show.
Without even batting an eyelash at Kaminari’s accident, Ashido opens a window, makes some kind of finger guns at him and goes into full amor-mode.
“Would you actually consider doing something about your feelings when you don’t have to actually tell Kiri outright about it? What if you could– gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people – what if you’d try seducing him into doing the first move?”
The kitchen grows silent and Ashido leans back into her chair with a smug look on her face, even has the audacity to wiggle her damn eyebrows at him when she takes a sip of her own mimosa. Bakugou bites into his croissant angrily, chews as if it’s the pastry’s fault that he’s too chicken-shit to actually talk about his feelings with the person it concerns the most.
But maybe Ashido is right? Can he really trick Kirishima into making a move when he’s not even really sure if the other man actually reciprocates his feelings? And can he really seduce someone? Bakugou’s got like zero experience with shit like that and he doesn’t even know where to start.
“Why the fuck should I do that when I don’t even know if he loves me back, Pinky!”
Bakugou scowls at the woman sitting across from him, his annoyance only growing when she shares a special kind of look with Sero and Kaminari. Fuck, but they’re always doing this when the topic of Bakugou’s and Kirishima’s love life comes up and it only upsets him more.
Ashido grabs one of his hands over the table, careful not to tip something on the table over, and pets his hand like a grandmother would do to a child. Gods, he misses the good ol’ times when they were still afraid of him.
“Look, Bakubabe, explodo-king, sweetheart–” Bakugou growls at her. “Just try it, okay? What is the worst that can happen, mh? That you’re both staying best friends? If it doesn’t work out and does not lead to you both riding into the sunset together, you can at least say that you tried. Just trust me on this, please. I only want to see both of you happy.”
Bakugou grumbles something under his breath, but he has to admit that maybe she’s right. He's been sitting on his feelings for almost eight years now and he knows that Kirishima would never hold his feelings against him even when he’s not feeling the same. He’s just too sweet of a person for that.
Would it absolutely suck to get rejected? Yes. But at least he’d finally have an answer to the question that plagues his mind for ages and keeps him up at night on a regular basis. With another bite of his croissant, Bakugou gives in.
“Okay, okay, you win. I’ll try.”
They all cheer at him, mimosa’s spilling all over his kitchen floor. Gods, he hates them, he thinks with a smile.
*
Bakugou can’t believe that he’s really doing this. And with this he means that he’s actually going to go through with a plan Ashido suggested. To say that he’s short of having a full blown mental breakdown is putting it mildly. He’s internally screaming for hours now, his pulse skyrocketing constantly and all the stress is making him sweat even more than usual.
He’s basically a walking biohazard by now, and if he doesn’t calm down in the next few minutes he’ll blow up half of Musutafu.
After their sunday-brunch and a few hours of mulling over Ashido’s idea, Bakugou sat down in front of his laptop and did the most embarrassing and ridiculous internet research a twenty-four year old man could ever suffer through.
Let's just say that he learned the hard way that a gay man like him should never ever actually search for the words ‘how to seduce a man’. When there are things he never wanted to see in his life it’s hetero porn and motherfucking milfs. Bakugou’s sure he’ll have nightmares for years to come.
So, he had to adapt and five hours later he found himself knees deep into reading articles about ‘how to get your crush to notice you – a five step plan’ out of fucking teen-magazines. He closed his laptop with a scream, a massive headache and the urge to drown his sorrows in alcohol. (He didn’t.)
Instead he lied down on his couch and started thinking about Kirishima. Not in his typical teenage-girl-obsessed-with-a-popstar kind of way, but more in the terms of who exactly Kirishima is as a person. What does he like? How does Kirishima show his friends how much he cares about them?
And then it hit him. Kirishima’s love language (something Bakugou didn’t even know existed a few hours ago) is touch.
The redhead has always been a touchy person. Even back in their first year at U.A., when Bakugou was a selfish bastard and more prickly than he dares to admit nowadays, Kirishima never had any qualms with wrapping an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders, with pinching his thigh to get his attention, with resting his head on his shoulder the few times Bakugou cared to partake in their class movie nights.
So what better way was there to show Kirishima how much he loves him other than through reciprocating his touch?
Because let’s be honest for a minute here, Bakugou’s many things (soon to be number one hero, the best cook out there, undefeated mario kart champion for seven years and counting– you get the gist), but being a touchy-feely person isn’t one of them. Fuck, but he doesn’t even let his own parents hug him, therefore him actually touching Kirishima back of his own free will should get the message across.
At least he hopes so.
And now it’s tuesday evening, Bakugou’s sweating buckets and Kirishima should be over any minute now. They’re doing this every week, meeting up on Tuesdays and watching ‘weekly hero bash’ . It’s one of the few shows Bakugou actually likes, one hour filled with embarrassing moments that happened to his fellow hero colleagues in the past week.
He likes the show so much in fact, that he wore a smug smile for a week after he was featured in an episode himself. He had ripped his pants during a villain base wipe-out mission, and had to fight with his ass out there for all the world to see. There had been moon-jokes for months, but Bakugou wasn’t really embarrassed about the whole shebang. He has a fucking nice ass after all, thank you very much.
The only real downside following that debacle is that he now gets offers to partake in fucking porn magazines on a regular basis.
Anyway, the plan he came up with to sweep Kirishima off his feet today and make him understand that he really, really likes him is to actually partake in one of his hugs. (Bakugou knows that somewhere in Musutafu Ashido is grabbing onto her imaginative pearls in absolute shock.)
After actually hugging Kirishima back for once, Bakugou will ( or try at least ) hold the other man’s hand while watching the show, maybe snuggle up to him when he feels brave enough. Fuck, but he never thought that there’d be a time in his life when he’s questioning his own bravery. The world must be ending soon.
He’s still standing in the middle of his living room like a sweat-drenched idiot, like a nervous man with a strictly scheduled plan, and of course Kirishima’s ten minutes late already. He really should have thought of that. Fucking Shitty Hair is always late, even with him living right next door. How he manages that is a mystery Bakugou will probably never solve.
Before he can call this whole thing off, there’s a knock on his front door. When he opens the door with trembling hands, a sheepish looking Kirishima greets him. Bakugou’s stomach instantly goes to doing all the crazy things, like doing fucking somersaults and tingling like an army of ants has suddenly found a home inside of him. Fucking hell.
He lets his best friend enter his flat, tries to not let it show how nervous he is. And there it is: the redhead’s going in for the all too familiar hug, exactly like Bakugou expected. This is the moment! This is the moment he hyped himself up for.
Before he can even blink, Kirishima’s already hugging him, muscled arms resting on Bakugou’s shoulders, fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. Slowly, Bakugou lifts his own arms, wraps them around Kirishima’s waist. And–
Oh wow, oh fucking lord and all the mighty gods above he doesn’t believe in. This is– well, this has to be some kind of heavenly afterlife. His arms have exactly the right shape and length to wrap around the other man, his muscles fitting into the small dips of Kirishima’s sides as if they were made just for this, just for him.
Kirishima’s warmth seeps through the thin cotton of his shirt, right under his skin, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do to stop it. Not that he actually wants to. He can’t believe that he robbed himself of this experience for years.
He presses himself even closer, his nose coming to a rest against the column of Kirishima’s throat. He gets a nose full of the man’s signature cologne, inhales cedar, sandalwood, something that’s unmistakably Kirishima. Bakugou never wants to let go of him.
He’s so out of it, so absolutely engrossed in the feeling of having Kirishima in his arms, that he misses Kirishima’s reactions to the first hug they ever shared. He only noticed that Kirishima stiffened the slightest bit at the first touch of his arms around him, before his body lost all tension only seconds later.
They stay like this for what feels like hours to Bakugou, but is maybe only half a minute. Bakugou feels his own ears burn with embarrassment when they separate, his best friend looking at him questioningly. Bakugou stares a hole into the floor, not ready to explain in the slightest.
He's lucky that it’s Kirishima standing across from him, the guy who fucking wormed his way into Bakugou’s life without fear, who became his first real friend. He’s the guy, the only person in the world, who really knows him, so he only shrugs his shoulders at Bakugou’s silence and doesn’t ask him again what this is all about.
They each take a beer out of the fridge, slump down on Bakugou’s big couch like they always do. There’s nothing different from all the other times they did this before, but Bakugou’s whole body is vibrating with tension and energy anyway. The TV’s switched on, the first few hero mishaps flickering over the screen, but Bakugou doesn’t really notice.
He’s too busy staring at Kirishima’s hand that’s innocently lying between them. He knows that he has to look absolutely ridiculous, as if he wants to set Kirishima’s hand on fire, and he’s actually starting to get angry with himself, angry for not coming up with a plausible way to take the hand in his own without making a whole fucking scene out of it.
He sips his beer without tasting anything of it, burns a few more holes into sunkissed skin with his eyes and wallows in his own misery. It’s only when fucking Deku of all people is suddenly on screen, Bakugou’s childhood rival falling face first into a suspicious looking puddle of – well, something , that Bakugou’s once in a lifetime chance arises.
Kirishima is hitting Bakugou’s thigh repeatedly, like he always does when he wants to make sure he’s paying attention and Bakugou– Bakugou takes the bull by the horns or however the saying goes.
He just goes for it, goes for Kirishima’s warm hand that’s still hovering over his sweatpants-clad thigh, inhales and exhales, intertwines their fingers and brings their now connected hands down to rest between them. Bakugou’s breathing hard, as if he just fought twenty villains without backup, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that fighting the villains would have been a thousand times easier than taking fucking Shitty Hair’s hand.
And leave it to Kirishima Eijirou to not even bat a fucking eyelid at Bakugou’s totally out of character actions. Bakugou even would have found it kind of funny, if it weren’t for him being fucking exhausted. He lets their hands sit between them, stares at them, watches how pretty Kirishima’s golden-tanned skin looks on the dark green cushion. At this point he doesn’t even pretend to watch the show anymore.
He can’t believe that he’s really holding Kirishima’s hand. He’s holding his crush’s hand and his knees feel weak at the thought, at the sight of it, at seeing the proof of his actions lying between them. Oh holy fucking gods.
If touching Kirishima feels like this he never wants to stop doing it, isn’t even sure if he could. Seems like Kirishima just have to live with the fact that Bakugou opened pandora’s box this evening and fucking loves it.
The only thing left to do now is hoping that Kirishima will get the hint.
*
Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot, didn’t fucking get the hint.
Bakugou’s so done with all of this and if he pulls at his hair in frustration one more time, he’ll look like fucking Icy-Hot’s boyfriend – all bald and ugly. During the last two weeks he tried everything he could think of to make Kirishima understand. He held his hand when they were going out together, his head almost exploding when an old lady in the Konbini said what a cute couple they are and Kirishima honest to god answered ‘oh no, we’re just best friends’.
Thereupon, the old hag gave Bakugou a look , a look that sat somewhere between absolutely stunned and pitiful, and at that point he could only shrug his shoulders in pure exhaustion. When the whole hand-holding thing didn’t deliver the desired results, he tried his luck with more– suggestive touches.
He brushed his fingers under the man’s shirt, right at the small of his back when he passed him. He put his hand on Kirishima’s thigh under the table when they were out with their friends, he even put his arm possessively around his waist when some random extra came up to the redhead to fucking flirt with him.
After that special debacle even the most idiotic nutjob Bakugou knows, yes it’s Kaminari fucking Denki, looked at Kirishima as if he’s the most fascinating but also the dumbest fucking person that ever graced earth with their presence.
But Kirishima just doesn’t fucking get it and Bakugou wants to cry in frustration. Of course, he’d only do that in his own bedroom, with the curtains drawn and hidden under the soft cover of his thick and soft blankets, a family-sized pack of vanilla ice-cream accompanying him while he watches his favorite All-Might movie.
His mother didn’t raise a quitter though. If he decides that he wants something, in this case a much needed answer to the question if Kirishima shares his mushy feelings, he sinks his teeth right into it and doesn’t let go, much like an angry pitbull.
He absolutely refuses to give up just yet, and decides to keep trying to seduce the red-haired himbo of a man until he finally rejects him outright. Bakugou’s a stubborn man on a mission, and fortunately he has extras (okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist, friends ) at his sides who’re always happy to help him with this.
Or whatever’s happening in his bedroom right now.
It’s Friday evening and Bakugou stands in front of his full-body mirror, eyes opened wide in absolute terror. Camie and Pinky are casually lounging on his bed, champagne flutes dangling between their freshly manicured fingers. Their eyes are raking all over his body, and they’re talking about him and what he’s wearing as if he isn’t even fucking here.
Annoying fucks. “I’m not fucking wearing this,” he scowls, turning on his heels so he has better chances of staring them into submission. To his utmost displeasure it doesn’t work in the slightest. Camie only smiles at him, amusement and mischief sparkling in her eyes (the fucking audacity!), while Ashido climbs out of the bed clumsily, her tits almost spilling out of her too tight leo print dress.
Katsuki tries to ignore how Camie’s eyes are stuck on Mina’s ass, how she licks her lips slowly and looks as if she wants to devour her whole. Did Bakugou already say that he hates them? Mina, totally oblivious to her girlfriend's looks, steps closer to him, a bit wobbly on her nine inch heels, and turns him back around to the mirror.
She sends him a bright sparkly grin. “But you look like a real snack bakubabe!” She tries twirling him around, but Bakugou stands his ground. He lets them put him in clothes like he’s their fucking barbie doll, but he absolutely draws the line at being handled like a fucking ballerina. It may seem random, but for him it’s the fucking principle of things.
He follows Mina’s gaze anyway, looks at himself in the mirror again, face twisted into a frown. They made him wear some fucking black skinny jeans (which were an absolute nightmare to put on and he’s still not sure that the button won’t hit one of them straight on the forehead if he breathes out a bit too enthusiastically) and a fucking fishnet-shirt. His nipples are just sitting out there, for all the world to see, and with his nipple-piercings glittering and shining through he looks like the hetero-version of a gay man on the covers of those fucking sex education pamphlets Recovery Girl gave them all back in the day.
They even put some fucking make-up on his face, eyeliner and foundation and something that makes his cheekbones look rosy, and he can basically hear his mom screaming all across town why he lets them do that when she isn’t allowed to dress him up since he was five. Bakugou pinches the bridge of his nose in pure agony when Ashido turns him this way and that.
Camie dims the light, Ashido humming in satisfaction and oh, okay. When he’s not being illuminated like a display dummy, he – maybe – doesn’t look as ridiculous as he previously thought. The jeans are pushing up his ass nicely (which was already great beforehand but apparently it never hurts to highlight that) and thanks to his strict work-out regimen that focuses mostly on his shoulders and upper body, he fills out the shirt in the most perfect way.
But even when he looks good, amazing even, he isn’t really comfortable with the idea of hitting everyone straight in the face with too much naked skin, with his muscles highlighted not for the show of strength, but sex-appeal. His hero costume isn’t really hiding how build he is, but most of the time nobody cares as long he’s doing his fucking job.
He feels a bit out of his comfort zone right now.
But if it helps him with his plan to make Kirishima understand the fucking message, he can do this. He will do this. After all, the plan is to dress up and dance his way into the red-head’s pants (and heart, but that’s too fucking embarrassing to actually say out loud).
And because Bakugou has no idea what sexy, all eyes on me, clothes normally entail he asked Ashido and Camie for help. Needless to say, he regretted that particular decision half an hour after the women entered his flat, when he found them making out on his fucking bed after he came out of of his shower. But even he has to admit, as much as it hurts him, that they know what they’re doing. He’s uncomfortable as fuck, yes, but they sure emphasised all of his best assets.
“Look, babe,” Camie starts, amusement gone on her face. “When you’re that uncomfortable with going out like this and flashing your spectacular tits at everyone–”
“Stop calling my pecs tits for fuck’s sake!”
She ignores him. “Anyway, if you’re really not okay with this, just change back into the clothes you always wear. Or–” She jumps up, digs through his wardrobe like a mole’s digging through earth, until she makes him flinch with a high-pitched squeal. “You could wear this on top and only take it off once Kirishima’s there.”
She’s holding out one of his favorite leather jackets and Bakugou actually takes his time thinking about both options. In the end, he takes another long glance at himself in the mirror before snagging the jacket right out of Camie’s hands and slipping it on.
His nipples are still free, piercings glinting in the dim lights for everyone to see, but it’s not as obvious as it had been before. “Okay,” he sighs. “Let’s just get this over with then.”
And when he snatches Ashido’s glass of champagne straight out of her hands and gulps the bubbly content down in one go, no one comments on it.
_________
The club is packed to the brim, bass vibrating through the floor. It’s too fucking loud, too little space for Bakugou to feel comfortable and he’s only here for ten minutes but he already wants to go back home. His ass has been grabbed at least six times already, he lost Ashido and Camie in the crowd as soon as they got here, and he still hasn’t found their other friends. Fucking fuck, he needs a drink.
He pushes his way through dancing, sweaty people, heavy techno beats pulsing through his body and giving him a headache. Why the fuck did he think this would be a good idea? He’s already annoyed as fuck, his general displeasure for large crowds and cramped spaces lowering his mood with every second that passes.
On his good days, he’s okay with going out to bars or pubs, downing some good drinks, talking to people he actually cares about and then going home after two hours or so. That’s what Bakugou understands under the term a fun night out, and not this absolute clusterfuck all of his friends love so much.
He’s short of really going home when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps itself around his shoulders, dragging him into a one-armed hug. Bakugou wants to give whoever dared to touch him in such an intimate way a piece of his mind, but before he can actually do so, an all too familiar scent invades his senses. Oh.
“Finally I found you, thank god,” Kirishima’s voice is deep, hot breath ghosting over the shell of Bakugou’s ear and sending shivers down his spine. He has absolutely no idea how the redhead pulls off that kind of voice when he has to half-scream in Bakugou’s ear to have a slight chance of him actually hearing what he’s saying, but he won’t complain. “You know where the others are?”
“Fuck, if i know,” Bakugou screams back, a bit hurt by the fact that apparently he’s not enough for Kirishima to have a good time. He starts waving for a bartender to finally notice him.
“So,” Kirishima pauses, and fuck, but he’s still so close. “You’re alone in a club and you didn’t take this chance to run back home?”
There’s disbelief clinging to every syllable leaving Kirishima’s mouth, and Bakugou turns halfway around so he’s actually able to look at him. And wow, that was a wrong fucking move if there ever was one, his mouth now hanging open like he’s a fish out of water. He needs a moment for his brain to reboot.
Kirishima looks – how did Ashido say it back in his room? – like a real fucking snack.
His long red hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few strands of hair stubbornly clinging to his face. There’s a peach-rosy flush sitting on his cheekbones and the white shirt he’s wearing is absolutely stressed the fuck out. It’s clinging to his massive upper body with all its worth and in all the right places, and Bakugou–
Well, Bakugou’s too afraid to let his gaze wander down further, too afraid that he’ll die of heart failure in the middle of some dirty shitty club. Kirishima touches his arm, raises an eyebrow in question and Bakugou realises that he still hasn't answered.
“Was waiting for you,” he says then, because it’s true and he wants to finally start with his plan before his good ol’ friend anxiety decides to throw in its two cents again. “You look good by the way.”
Bakugou watches, with a wildly beating heart, how Kirishima’s cheeks darken to a cherry red color, and that’s what he calls a success. His best friend’s eyes roam over him, anticipation bubbling up under his skin at the heated gaze.
“You’re looking really pretty tonight.”
Bakugou dies, goes to heaven without saying goodbye and doesn’t even care that he’s not Number One yet. Heat surges through him, ears and face burning, and before he can ruin this thing between them before it even started, he turns back around to the bar and takes a deep breath.
He can’t believe he’s actually getting somewhere, finally.
They both down a few shots of tequila, the alcohol helping Bakugou to loosen up. He even builds up the courage to grab Kirishima by the wrist, to drag him onto the middle of the dance floor. Warmth spreads through his body where they’re almost touching, and he’s ready for step two on his list of ‘how to seduce Kirishima Eijirou’.
He ignores the disgusting sweaty bodies of strangers around them, pulls Kirishima closer by the waist and wraps his arms around his neck. Their closeness, the feeling of having Kirishima this close, is still earth-shattering in its own way, even if he’s not as overwhelmed by it anymore as he was at the start of all of this.
Bakugou tries turning off his thoughts then, starts dancing and loses himself in the music and the rhythm vibrating through his body. He focuses on Kirishima mostly, on how his big and warm hands feel resting on his waist, how their hips are bumping together from time to time. He’s sure he’s ascending when their dicks almost touch, only the thick cotton of their jeans saving Bakugou from straight out embarrassing himself.
After dancing to a few songs like that, Bakugou decides that it’s finally time to take out the big guns (pun not intended). And as if she has foreseen his decision like some old creepy witch out of the woods, Ashido suddenly pops up next to them, making grabby hands for the leather jacket he just took off.
She winks at him, vanishes back into the crowd and when Bakugou focuses back on Kirishima he almost laughs. His best friend looks as if he just had a stroke. His red eyes are opened wide, same as his mouth, and he doesn’t stop staring at his chest. Bakugou cheers internally before he puts his arms back around Kirishima’s neck.
They start dancing again, Kirishima’s fingers digging into the soft flesh of Bakugou’s waist, calloused fingertips on warm skin. Bakugou feels weightless, as if he’s flying through the air with his quirk, and when Kirishima follows the curve of his neck with his nose, the only thing he can think is: I won, bitches.
*
The only thing Bakugou wants to do now is to scream from the rooftops what a big fucking dumbass Kirishima fucking Eijirou is. He still can’t believe he– ugh. He can’t even think about it without wanting to drown in a sea of anger and absolute despair.
He thought they were finally getting somewhere, that night at the club. They danced, they laughed and touched and held each other, they did things Bakugou wouldn’t ever do with ‘just a best friend’, and certainly not with anyone else than Kirishima. Things like almost fucking dryhumping in the middle of a dancefloor, things like pressing small soft kisses on sweaty cheeks and necks, things like sliding hands over naked skin.
Kirishima played with his fucking nipple piercings for fucks sake!
So yeah, it came a bit as a surprise when they were standing in front of their apartment building (with cotton-candy flushed cheeks and their fingers intertwined, with Bakugou thinking about all the adventures involving naked and writhing bodies waiting for him) when Kirishima suddenly turned to him, smiling brightly and saying the absolute worst thing ever: have a good night.
Bakugou almost explodes again just thinking about it. What a fucking idiot. And why the fuck did he have to fall in love with a guy who actually has rocks for brains? Did Kirishima really think that all of this, the hugs – the soft touches – the grinding – the kisses , that all of this means nothing? That he, Bakugou, would allow just anyone to touch him in such an intimate way?
To say that Bakugou’s at his wits ends is putting it mildly. He spent many nights contemplating if Kirishima really doesn’t get what Bakugou’s trying to convey through his actions, or if it’s just Kirishima’s way of rejecting him without having to actually say anything. Bakugou’s sure he’d do it like that, trying to not hurt his feelings. (As if Bakugou would ever be hurt by something, anything, and okay even he knows that’s bullshit, because if there ever was someone capable of destroying his soul, his heart, it’s Kirishima.)
Bakugou screams into his pillow, kicks his mattress like a small child throwing a tantrum.
Bakugou’s once again totally clueless where to go from here. Does he continue with the plan of ‘seducing’ Kirishima? Or should he just stop and accept the fact that nothing more than friendship will ever exist between them? He groans, kicks the mattress one last time for good measure. Fuck, but he has never been good with accepting things. Not when it concerns something like this, when he’s fighting for something he fucking wants.
So the real question he has to answer is as follows: what the fuck should he do now? The most obvious things to seduce someone are touching, flirting and he did all that, failed in all the ways one can imagine. Maybe he should stop trying it in a way that works for other people then, because that thing between them, their friendship, the both of them, Kirishima and Bakugou – they never worked in a way that is considered normal.
To hell with all the fucking reddit-advice, to hell with Ashido and Kaminari and their dumb ideas– he has to do it in his own way. The only thing he will keep, because he kind of grew addicted to it, is the touching thing. And – it kind of took root between them anyway, belongs to them now in the same way salt belongs to the sea. He will just stop with all the other shit, with smooth talking and sexy clothing, with public affections and acting like he’s not afraid of rejection.
Reflecting on it, he doesn’t really know why he thought it’d be a good idea in the first place. He never dresses up, doesn’t go to clubs and grinds on others because apparently it’s fun. It’s just not something he does, simple as that, and how can he expect for Kirishima to get the underlying meaning of his actions when he never did such things before? When all the other times Bakugou wanted to tell him how he feels about something he just unashamedly told him?
It wasn’t fair, not to himself and more importantly not to Kirishima.
Bakugou will try one last time and he’ll do it in a way that is him. And if fucking Shitty Hair wants to reject him, than he can kiss his ass and say it the fuck out loud.
_______
It’s another friday evening, but fucking thankfully a quiet one. The world outside is a mess of grey and black colors, rain painting the world in shadows and darkness. It doesn’t look as if the sky has any motivation to stop anytime soon, and Bakugou’s glad he’s finally home and especially inside.
Patrol today has been an absolute shitshow, the rain and the cold making it hard to produce the sweat he needs to fight. He can work around it sure, he isn’t a fucking beginner thank you very much, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, that he likes it. He fucking hates the cold.
After his shower he slips into thick sweatpants and the soft hoodie Kirishima left hanging over a kitchen chair the last time he had been in his flat. He throws himself down on his couch, buries himself under one of his many throw blankets until only his nose pokes out and closes his eyes in exhaustion. He’s too tired to even care about the fact that today’s the day he wanted to try one last time to show Kirishima how much he means to him.
Fuck, but he’s too tired, maybe he should just call him and tell him that he’s too exhausted for anything right now. Before he can pull his phone out of his pocket, there’s a knock on the front door. Well, too late to cancel now he guesses.
Not wanting to move away from the comfort his couch provides, he screams that Kirishima should just get the fuck in here, because he gave him a key for a reason, dammit. A sneeze later Kirishima’s face is popping up above him upside down, a worried frown clinging to his features.
“Shitty patrol?”
“Shitty life,” Bakugou answers nonchalantly and Kirishima chuckles. He ruffles Bakugou’s hair (really, the shit that guy gets away with, fuck), before hopping over the back of the couch and sitting down next to him. He pulls Bakugou’s feet on his lap, starts pressing his thumbs in all the right places on the soles of his feet. For a moment, Bakugou’s a bit baffled by the domesticity of it all, by Kirishima massaging his feet without a single care in the world, his best friend starting to tell him about his own day in his usual animated way.
Bakugou feels warm all over, snuggles deeper into his pillow, listens to Kirishima’s deep voice and hums once and again to reassure Kirishima that he’s still listening. Not once does Kirishima take his hands off his feet, his legs. Kirishima– he can’t really think that this is something best friends do, could he?
“Want me to order some food?”
“Wanted to cook for you today,” Bakugou sighs, moving to take his legs off Kirishima’s lap. The redhead doesn’t let him go.
“You look exhausted man, take it easy, okay? Don’t want you to knock yourself out again.”
Bakugou groans. You fall asleep cooking noodles one fucking time and it comes back to haunt you forever. Kirishima grins at him, eyes sparkling with amusement, exactly knowing how much he annoys Bakugou right now.
He mutters something into the collar of his hoodie, watches Kirishima tapping away on his phone, one hand still resting over his legs. Bakugou turns the TV on, a rerun of old hero-highlights flimmering over the screen.
Next thing he knows, he groggily blinks open his eyes at Kirishima’s voice, at the hand softly cupping his cheek.
“Wakey-wakey,” Kirishima sing-songs.
“Fuck you,” Bakugou mutters, slapping a hand in the middle of Kirishima’s laughing face and shoving him away. A bunch of take-out containers are standing in front of him on the table, the scent of hot curry, chilli and spices filling his nose.
They eat mostly in silence, attention focused on their food and the TV screen. It feels like every other time they’ve done exactly this, sitting on the couch together, spending time with each other, but on the other hand it also feels totally different.
Not only because of the whole foot massage thing, it’s just– the little things. Kirishima’s sitting closer to him than usual, their thighs almost touching, body heat seeping through Bakugou’s clothes and onto his skin. Their elbows bump again and again, and Bakugou catches Kirishima looking at him more than once.
With their meal finished, Bakugou lies down again. He’s still tired, absolutely knackered, but he has to try one last time. In a rash move that is absolutely unashamedly Bakugou he grabs Kirishima’s shirt, right in the middle of his chest and pulls. Kirishima falls sideways with a huff, raises an eyebrow in question like he always does.
“Cuddle me,” Bakugou demands in his own brash and familiar way of saying things and Kirishima’s eyes go all soft.
“Well, then scoot over, Bakubro.”
Bakugou scowls at the nickname, but moves his ass over to the edge of the couch anyway. Kirishima lies down behind him, pulls Bakugou against himself, back to chest. And fuck, but this feels wonderful. It’s the same heavenly feeling he experienced during the first hug they shared, and he doesn’t ever want to lose this.
The thing is, Bakugou’s no small man. He’s tall, muscular, built like a hero but Kirishima? Kirishima is fucking massive, and no there’s no other word for it. Next to his best friend, Bakugou looks like a fucking dwarf right out of a D&D game. He towers over him, feet dangling over the siderest of the couch even when he’s got his legs bent.
It feels like Bakugou’s own personal cocoon of warmth, and he feels safe resting here, in Kirishima’s arms that hold him so carefully. For the first time in a long, long while Bakugou feels as if no one, not a single person in this world, could touch or hurt him here. It’s nothing he’s particularly familiar with, but he decides then and there that he’ll never give this up.
He sinks further down into the cushions, into the warm embrace of his best friend. He closes his eyes, thinks how nice it’d be to have this every day. To come home after patrol and listen to Kirishima’s ramblings about his day, to share a hot delicious meal and cuddle on the couch after. It’s a dream he finally wants to be a reality.
Calm but sure in his decision to finally get his answer, once and for all, he turns around, looks up into his favorite eyes and presses his cold nose against the column of Kirishima’s throat. He fiddles with the hem of Kirishima’s shirt, slips one of his legs between Kirishima’s. And wow, okay, when he thought he had found his favorite place a few minutes ago, he’s proven wrong in the best of ways.
This, right here with his head resting on a broad chest, with Kirishima’s heartbeat against his ear, Bakugou feels as if he finally found his home. Fuck, but he never wants this to end, he has to say something, get himself together, he–
Kirishima’s fingers slip under the hem of Bakugou’s hoodie, skin brushing over skin and his mind blanks.
“Can I ask you something?” It’s nothing more than a soft whisper, the deep rasp of Kirishima’s voice filling the space between them. Bakugou nods against his chest. “What– I mean, does this, shit–” Kirishima clears his throat, squeezing the soft flesh of Bakugou’s waist once. “Does this mean something to you?”
Bakugou’s heart starts beating wildly in his chest.
“It’s okay if it doesn’t,” Kirishima says quickly. “But I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”
Bakugou sighs, steels himself for what’s to come and scoots back until they’re actually able to look at each other.
“Do you want it to mean something?”
Kirishima looks back at him in that special way of his, the way that feels like sunshine brushing over your skin in summer, like the warmth slowly spreading out inside you while drinking hot chocolate during cold months. It’s the kind of look you never want to forget, the kind that grabs your heart and squeezes.
“I do,” he whispers softly, smile never leaving his face. Bakugou feels the corners of his own mouth twitch, trying to stop himself from smiling back and failing again.
“Good,” Bakugou grins. “Because I tried telling you how I feel about you for weeks now.”
Kirishima looks flabbergasted for a moment, eyes wide with shock. “What?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes at him, because what a fucking idiot. “Do you really think I grind on every idiot in the middle of some shitty club? That I touch just about anyone? Do you even know me?”
“I thought that maybe you just wanted to try something new?” Kirishima’s voice is almost a shriek and he has the fucking audacity to actually look like he really believed that.
“God, you’re such a dumbass,” Bakugou sighs, shaking his head. “I came up with the plan after the last sunday-brunch you missed, or well Mina did and–” Kirishima interrupts him with a kiss. It’s the first time something renders him speechless, and it’s a chaste kiss, tender in a way that says I waited a long fucking time to do this.
Bakugou kisses him back, chapped cold lips finding their warm counterpart. Kirishima’s fingers go back to brushing over the planes of his back, a bit more confident this time, and Bakugou shudders when calloused fingertips follow the line of his spine.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against lips, and Kirishima uses that moment to deepen their kiss, to explore his mouth with utmost care. They kiss and hold each other for what feels like hours, soft whispers, quiet shared laughs and chuckles filling the space between and around them. It’s still raining outside, the TV’s still running, but Bakugou can only focus on the man in front of him.
Their foreheads and noses touch when Kirishima shatters Bakugou’s world for the second time that night. “I love you, Katsuki.” Fuck, wow, okay, Bakugou so wasn’t ready. It feels like another near death experience, but one he’d repeat again and again.
“Get me to bed already,” he mutters, and Kirishima laughs, laughs all wild and free and as if he’s in love. He scoops Bakugou up, throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and without a single hitch in his breath, and Bakugou would lie if he’d say that this move isn’t doing something for him. (Something meaning that his dick twitches violently in his pants and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning loudly.)
“Fuck,” he wheezes out and Kirishima chuckles again, all rough and raspy. He kicks the door to Bakugou’s bedroom open unceremoniously, and before Bakugou knows what’s happening he’s already bouncing on his mattress.
Kirishima’s on him, over him, after only two more breaths, his lips finding Bakugou’s again, hot tongue mapping out his mouth and teeth, and Bakugou groans into it, moans even louder when Kirishima’s big hands slide under his hoodie, up over his sides.
Bakugou just about loses his mind when Kirishima grabs his pecs and squeezes. He starts playing with his nipple piercings, massages the soft muscles of his chest, and Bakugou’s legs open wider on their own accord. Kirishima makes himself right at home between his legs, his warm body feeling like a weighted blanket over his own.
They don’t stop kissing, don’t stop groping and feeling each other’s skin for the first time in such an intimate way. Bakugou scrambles up to get the hoodie off, to give Kirishima more room to work with, but the redhead stops him in his tracks.
“Leave it on, please?” Kirishima sounds out of breath now, his lips swollen and pomegranate seed red, and fuck he’s so beautiful, looks delicious and sexy and sweet, and Bakugou wants to stare at him forever.
“That a kink of yours or what?” Kirishima’s face flushes even more.
“ No, just– you look kind of really, really pretty in my clothes.”
It’s Bakugou’s turn to blush and he huffs to play his embarrassment down, but he stops trying to get the hoodie off.
“Thank you,” Kirishima smiles at him before he presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. Gods, why is he so–
Bakugou gets distracted by Kirishima pulling his own shirt and jeans off, throwing the clothes somewhere over his shoulder. There’s a massive tent at the front of his checkered boxer shorts and Bakugou swallows heavily at the sight of it.
Kirishima slides his hands over Bakugou’s stomach, down and down, before he stops at the waistband of his sweatpants. Their eyes meet, dark reds clashing and melting together. Bakugou nods at him, answers the unspoken question sitting between them. He lifts his hips, tries not to shy away when he’s naked from the waist down in front of the only man he ever dreamt of. Kirishima stares at him, eyes roaming over every inch of naked, pale and scarred skin. He can’t help but shiver at the feeling of being looked at as if he’s the best thing Kirishima has ever seen. It’s kind of mindblowing to have someone so close to him, to let someone see every side of him.
But– this is Kirishima, the guy Bakugou loves with all of his patched up heart, and he pulls Kirishima back on top of himself, grabs him by the neck and kisses him again. Kirishima groans into his mouth, Bakugou’s fingers buried in thick red hair.
“ More– Eijirou, I need more,” Bakugou whispers against his lips, their breath mingling. Kirishima only smiles before he stops holding himself up, his clothed dick rubbing against Bakugou’s naked one. He never thought that this, making out and having something else than his own hand working over his hard dick, could feel this good.
He tries grinding back against Kirishima, their hips finding a rhythm. Bakugou slides his hands, his fingers down over the planes of Kirishima’s broad back, follows the curves of muscles, traces scars he can’t see but knows are there. And suddenly their grinding isn’t enough.
“Get this off,” he demands, snapping the elastic band of Kirishima’s boxers. He knows he’s pouting but he doesn’t care, not when there’s a chance of having Kirishima on top of him in all his naked glory. Thank god, Kirishima doesn’t argue with him. He’s holding himself up, trying to slip off his underwear with one hand. Neither of them knows where the garment lands, and frankly Bakugou doesn’t care.
Bakugou wraps his legs around his best friend’s waist, pushes his ass down with his feet. It’s a right frenzy after that– they grind, they push, they roll their hips, moans spilling over spit-slicked lips.
“Fuck, i love you,” Kirishima breathes out, right there into his mouth, into his soul. He brings up a hand between them, wraps them around both of their dicks and starts jerking them off. He’s still snapping his hips forward as if he’s fucking him, and the thought of that takes hold in his mind, lets him need even more, everything, but he’s already teetering right there on the edge.
“Love–” he moans from deep within when Kirishima tightens his grip around them, when he licks a long stripe up his neck to the shell of his ear. “Love you too.”
Kirishima groans at his words, fucking bites into the juncture of Bakugou’s neck. Apparently that’s all Bakugou needs to jump off the edge and he comes with a high-pitched squeal, nails digging into the flesh of Kirishima’s back.
“Fuck, Katsuki. ” Kirishima snaps his hips forward, one – two – three more times, and then he’s spilling ropes of sticky white all over his own hand, over Bakugou’s spent dick and stomach.
He flops down on top of Bakugou with an exhausted sigh, Bakugou wheezing at the sudden added weight. But he doesn’t mind, revels in the closeness of their bodies while he’s still clinging to Kirishima like an octopus. They stay like this for a while, their heartbeats slowing to a steady thrum, their minds calming down.
Bakugou breaks the silence first, his fingers carding through thick strands of red hair, nails scratching over Kirishima’s scalp. “I can’t believe you really thought I’d just do all that for the hell of it.”
“Can you blame me?” Kirishima says against his neck where his face is buried, his warm lips brushing over his skin with every syllable. “I didn’t even know you’re into this kind of stuff until half an hour ago.”
Bakugou gapes at the ceiling because what the actual fuck ? But then he pauses, actually starts thinking about it, and yeah, okay maybe he kind of understands where Kirishima’s coming from. He never showed any kind of interest in anyone, so how should he have known that Bakugou’s actually interested in things like romance and intimacy?
He huffs, not ready to admit that Kirishima has a point. Kirishima understands his huff for what it is though and laughs, the deep sound rumbling through his chest and right into Bakugou’s own. He starts scratching his head again.
“And back in that club a week ago?” Kirishima continues. “I actually thought you’re kind of drunk and didn’t want to take advantage. At least not more than I already did.”
Kirishima sounds guilty and Bakugou presses a kiss on his temple. “Don’t you dare feel bad for that, ya hear me? I wasn’t drunk and I wanted it just as much.”
“Okay,” Kirishima whispers, nuzzling back into the space between Bakugou’s shoulder and neck. They cling to each other, the night progressing outside, and Bakugou thinks that this is what he always waited for.
The closeness, a love between them that doesn’t have to be loud. It’s just the two of them and their synchronized heartbeats. Of course Kirishima has to ruin it.
“So, does this mean I don’t have to go back to my flat after movie nights now?”
Gods, Bakugou misses the times when he wasn’t this fucking soft for the fucker. He throws him off anyway, just to make a point, Kirishima landing on the floor next to the bed with a thud. He stalks off to the shower, listens to Kirishima’s laughter following him into the bathroom and Bakugou allows himself one small smile, because apparently that is his life now.
(He couldn’t have asked for a better one.)