Chapter Text
The man wouldn't say what his quirk was. Bakugo wanted desperately to beat the smirk off his face, but with cops around all he could do was settle for a bit of goading. It didn't work; the creep remained tight-lipped so he was forced to let it go.
It took a few extra minutes to shake off the girl he saved. She was annoyingly persistent, thanking him over and over and asking if he was really, really, really sure he was okay, considering the man had touched him rather than his intended target (her). Finally he snapped and blew her off, then scolded the cops for uselessly telling him to just wait and see if anything "unfortunate" happened to manifest.
Bakugo returned to the dorms feeling tetchy, but a quick self-assessment before showering revealed that everything was normal. It stayed that way until he went to bed, him sighing in relief as he slid under the covers.
Guess the quirk was a dud.
Another self-check when he woke up showed nothing out of the ordinary, so Bakugo dressed up and left his room earlier than usual.
To his irritation there was already someone in the hallway: Shouji, his big lumbering form blocking the staircase.
"Oh? You're up earlier than usual, Bakugo," he said, sidling over to let Bakugo pass. Due to his wingspan though, Bakugo had difficulty overtaking him without brushing up against his weird-ass arms. He was about to bark out a 'Move, asshole!', but when he opened his mouth, his lips moved against his will:
"Wanna see my tits?"
It took Bakugo a moment to realize that the sultry voice that broke the silence had been his own. He hadn't thought himself capable of speaking in such a tone, much less saying those fucked up words, so he couldn't help but do a double-take, brows furrowing in confusion.
But there was no mistaking it: Bakugo had just come onto his classmate.
Reeling, Shouji had most likely heard it at six times the volume. He flattened himself against the wall in surprise, his normally tapered eyes wide and questioning.
A heavy silence hung in the air as they both took in what just happened.
Bakugo stared forward, avoiding Shouji's gaze, face growing warm.
And then he snapped his mouth shut and did something he never would've done under normal circumstances: he fled, running down the stairs and out of sight.
What the fuck! What the fuck had just happened?!
Bakugo knew he looked like an idiot running into the (thankfully empty) common room with both palms firmly pressed over his mouth. He stopped, double-checked his surroundings to confirm that no one was present, then slowly lowered his hands.
Taking a deep breath, Bakugo tried speaking again.
"What the fuck was that," he said. Normally. It was his own voice. Thank fuckin' God.
He tried again.
"My name is Bakugo Katsuki."
Same exact words. No weird pornstar-esque delivery.
It could've been a one-off, or most likely something triggered by very specific circumstances. That only served to increase Bakugo’s foreboding -- he wasn't stupid enough to assume it wouldn't happen again. Because it surely would. He just had to figure out what set it off, and stop doing it.
For now: stay away from people.
Bakugo headed to the kitchen for an early, solitary breakfast. The moment he swung open the door, though, his dread increased tenfold. Kouda was next to the sink, chopping carrots. Why did that rockhead have to wake up so early in the morning?!
Calm down, Bakugo urged himself. All he had to do was ignore him. And not say a word. Kouda was a quiet guy; he couldn't kickstart a conversation to save his life, so Bakugo was safe.
He walked over to the sink for a glass of water. As expected, Kouda noticed him and flinched, face filling with visible panic the moment he spotted the blond. But he didn’t say a word.
Until Bakugo's arm accidentally brushed up against him.
“S-sorry,” Kouda stammered. Bakugo froze. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just preparing food for my rabbit—”
Bakugo felt his stomach drop as he found himself sinking into the same trance as earlier. It was like his mind had been knocked straight to the backseat, forced to witness his latest act of debauchery. This time, he did more than just speak; an invisible force made him reach for Kouda’s chest. He trailed his hand down slowly, toward the waistband of the other male’s pajama pants.
All while whispering, in that same sweet, pitched up voice from earlier:
“I’m hungry too, you wanna give me something I can swallow?”
“...Huh?” Kouda said, dropping the carrot.
“I can get on all fours,” continued Bakugo seductively as he screamed on the inside. “And you can fuck me like the bitch that I am. Tame me with your anaconda and I’ll even bark for you, master— Fuck me— I mean, FUCK OFF!”
(Finally) regaining control, Bakugo covered his ears this time to prevent a mortifying repeat of what had just happened. Kouda looked more terrified than ever, his wide mouth hanging open.
“Forget this ever happened!” Bakugo said, not caring about how panicky he sounded. “And you better not mention this to—! Goddammit—"
It was the second time he’d slinked off after a confrontation, but the situation was dire, and the blow to his pride still wouldn’t have been as bad as sticking around to beg for sex from his classmates.
At least the two quietest people in class wouldn’t divulge what happened, he was sure of it. They would all just have to live with the knowledge that Bakugo had approached them one morning and started talking dirty. Replaying the memories was enough to make his stomach twist into knots, but this… This was still manageable. They were just extras. Better to have an awkward encounter with them rather than someone like Kirishima, or Deku, or Todoroki.
Or worse, a teacher.
Just his luck: their first subject was hero training with Aizawa.
Bakugo never, ever, ever missed hero training, and he wasn’t planning on breaking that streak anytime soon. While a part of him longed to hole up in his room until this dumb quirk blew over (and an even smaller part of him wanted to do the sensible thing, which was to seek help), it was easy enough to reassure himself that there would be a lot of fighting, and very little talking.
So he came up with a plan.
Decked out in full costume attire, by the time he joined the class in the gym, they had already assembled and were in the midst listening to Aizawa’s instructions. Deliberately positioning himself behind Kirishima, Bakugo was comforted by the fact that a) no one had noticed his arrival, and thus acknowledged or spoke to him, and b) Aizawa talking to the whole group did not trigger the gross quirk at all.
He half-listened to Aizawa drone on about how they were to pick a partner and then fight them in close combat. Readying himself, Bakugo waited for the damn speech to end.
“…If there are no more questions, you may proceed.”
Before the redhead could turn around, Bakugo snaked an arm around his neck from behind and covered Kirishima’s mouth.
“Mmmph?!”
“You, me. We’re gonna spar,” he growled in Kirishima’s ear. The other male’s struggling ceased immediately as he recognized Bakugo’s voice. “Right now. But we’re gonna do things a little differently today. No talking. I don’t want to hear a single word outta your mouth, got it?”
Kirishima went still. And then nodded silently.
With a smirk, Bakugo released him. This is why he appreciated Kirishima: the redhead trusted him enough to do what he was told, without asking questions.
When Kirishima swiveled around, he raised an eyebrow at Bakugo but true enough, didn’t utter a word.
“I’ll explain later,” Bakugo said. He proceeded to drag Kirishima to a far corner where he was sure no one would interrupt them. His resolution for today was to knock Kirishima out cold with a well-placed AP shot to the face – easy, for it was something he’d done before.
They assumed combative stances. Upon hearing Aizawa’s whistle, Bakugo immediately held his palms up and shout out a ray of heat.
But Kirishima was quicker than he thought, shielding his head by forming an X with his hardened arms. The action easily blocked his blast, causing the blond to swear under his breath as he was forced to abort his plan.
Breathing heavily, Kirishima was still uncharacteristically quiet, his determined red eyes gazing back in anticipation. His arms were still held up — Bakugo found himself drawn to the way Kirishima’s abs rippled as he exhaled.
Gaze trailing down further, he subtly glimpsed the redhead’s crotch, mourning the fact that he was wearing loose trousers.
Fuck. His mouth was watering. Fuck if he knew why.
Kirishima dropped his hands, exposing his now stony face, cracks lining every inch of it. His sharp teeth glinted menacingly, causing Bakugo to falter. Was it just him, or was Kirishima looking a lot more muscular lately? The redhead was buff, but since when had his body gotten noticeably thicker than Bakugo’s?
…Was he seriously getting turned on by his best friend?
Shaking off those intrusive thoughts, Bakugo snarled in frustration and barrelled toward the other male with the help of his blasts. Since his AP shot hadn’t worked, he’d have to beat him the same way he did at the Sports Festival: with a barrage of direct hits.
But instead of going on the defensive, Kirishima’s eyes widened. He unhardened just as they were about to collide, catching Bakugo around the middle. The momentum caused him to tumble to the ground, pulling the blond down with him.
Bakugo blinked furiously as he looked down at Kirishima’s shocked face. Whatever colossal fuck-up they’d both just committed resulted in their current awkward position, wherein he was perched on top of his best friend’s lap, unmistakably straddling him.
“You okay—oops,” Kirishima said, mouth forming an ‘o’ when he realized he’d just spoken. “But seriously, did I hurt you?”
No! No no NO NO! Never had he resented Kirishima’s altruistic nature more than he did now. Fucked. He was so fucked. The quirk was taking over—
“No, but I wish you’d hurt me. Want you to impale me on your stalagmite dick.”
Kirishima’s eyes bugged out in a way that was almost comical. Please, he tried to say with his eyes alone. Punch me! Knock me out! PLEASE!
Like a switch had been flipped, he could feel his face contort into a lovesick expression, his lids drooping in what was definitely an attempt at bedroom eyes. His shoulders slumped and the motions of his body turned sensual. He rolled his hips, moaning as he ground down on Kirishima’s dick.
“W-what did you just say?” Kirishima said in a small voice.
“Don’t kid yourself, I saw what you were staring at.”
Out came that slutty voice again, pure filth spilling out of Bakugo’s mouth.
“Eyes up here, stud,” he continued, bringing up his hands to cup his own boobs. He wanted to die, but his mouth curled into a smirk instead. Slowly, he licked at his lips with a slow drag of his tongue. “You want a taste?”
“Bakugo—” Kirishima groaned, protest interrupted by the blond pressing down on his hardening cock. “What are you doing?”
No, Bakugo thought helplessly. What was Kirishima doing? Deep down, he’d been hoping Kirishima would have the sense to, well, smack some sense into him. Why was he just laying there, letting Bakugo molest him?!
“I know you’ve always wanted this... Always noticed how you got hard just watching me. Bet you wanna have a go, huh?”
“Fuck,” Kirishima relented, grabbing Bakugo’s waist. Bakugo’s heart dropped to his stomach. The last thing he expected was for him to play along. Dammit, Kirishima, seriously?! His tendency to go along with anything was quickly turning out to be a double-edged sword.
“Should’ve known a smart-ass like you would notice. But I never thought you’d—”
“Want you to kiss me, fuck my brains out, pound my ass like a tough steak?”
A tough steak?! How the fuck could he say stuff like that out loud with a straight face?
“Uh-huh,” Kirishima said, clearly turned on (for some reason) by his garbage lines.
“Then how do you want me, baby?” Bakugo giggled. GIGGLED, as he traced Kirishima’s fangs with a single finger. “We can do it right here, I’ll turn around so you can see my ass as you fuck it.” He laughed once more (sounding inhuman to his own ears), fingers clutching the hem of his tanktop.
They tugged upwards, exposing his stomach. And then, the shirt was pulled higher—
With growing horror, Bakugo realized he was trying to strip naked in public.
“Wait! Bakugo, stop!” Kirishima cried out, grabbing his hands and pulling them back down. “Don’t take your top off here!” For once, he sounded alarmed, maybe even disturbed by Bakugo’s newfound forwardness.
Bakugo would’ve cried in relief if he could, as Kirishima smoothened down his tanktop for him. Then, the redhead beamed at him.
“We can do it in the locker room instead!”
SHIT—
His body moved on autopilot, racing alongside the redhead toward their destination. Both of them were snickering, reduced to a couple of teenagers fooling around, their training all but forgotten. Kirishima got there first, waggling his eyebrows as he swung open the door.
Bakugo sauntered (?!?!) in after him, matching the redhead’s hungry gaze with one of his own. He had never seen Kirishima look like that before — predatory was the only way to describe it, his knowing glance sending shivers up Bakugo’s spine.
With a quirk forcing him to stay loose-limbed and permanently at ease, he couldn’t react the way he wanted to, which was to grab Kirishima and shake him until he snapped out of this weird, horny state. Instead, Bakugo took hold of Kirishima’s arm and hauled him to the nearest cubicle. He shoved Kirishima down, forcing him to sit on a closed toilet lid.
“So,” Kirishima said, with a tinge of nervousness. “How exactly do you wanna do this?”
Bakugo retreated to the row of sinks and perched his ankle on one of them so he could loosen the strap of his boot.
“First, let me show you how flexible I can be,” he purred.
DON’T YOU DARE SHOW HIM ANYTHING, his mind screamed, but as usual, his body did not obey his wish and run into the wall face-first. He kicked off his boots provocatively (he didn’t even know you could do such a thing), then pulled out his phone and started typing on the search bar.
“This song is my favorite,” Bakugo said, thumbing the green circle on the screen. His phone started playing a number he’d never heard before in his life; it sounded nothing like the music he normally preferred, but had a loud, pumping bass. Clearly, it was a song meant to be danced to, and it sounded awful. While propping his phone against the faucet, he caught Kirishima mouthing ‘Really?’ to himself.
And then came the accompaniment to the instrumentals: which happened to be a girl moaning in tune with the rushing beat.
Bakugo’s hips began shaking to the music. He concluded then and there that this quirk was determined to make sure he died of embarrassment. At least that still seemed like a more preferable fate than doing a striptease in a dingy bathroom.
Kirishima, the fucker whose front row seat was a toilet, mind you, was still acting like there was nothing unusual. He ate it all up without a second thought, too far gone now that he was no longer thinking with his damn brain. As Bakugo danced, he just sat there, mesmerized by the blond’s salacious performance.
“Where’d you learn to move like that?!” He said in awe, as Bakugo’s body twisted, motions so languid and seemingly well-practiced. His hands found the hem of his tanktop again and lifted it teasingly. This time, Kirishima just stared, no matter how much Bakugo inwardly begged to be stopped.
“If you’re patient,” he said, mid-gyration. “I’ll let you bend me over and fuck me right here against the sink.” He bent over to illustrate his point, then pulled off his shirt and twirled it overhead like a whip as the music intensified.
“Daaaaaaamn—"
“Catch.”
Bakugo threw his tanktop. It hit Kirishima square in the face, triggering a muffled noise of surprise. He quickly tore it off, then wolf-whistled as Bakugo’s private show continued.
“Oh, yeah! Shake that ass!”
The more Kirishima got into it, the less hope Bakugo had that this ordeal would end anytime soon. This was a cruel and unusual torture, and it unnerved Bakugo how powerless he was to the quirk that was making him debase himself so easily. There was no hesitation, no pause whatsoever — it didn’t matter how hard he tried to regain control, because nothing worked. None of his movements were his own.
And yet they were so convincing that Kirishima totally believed that it was really Bakugo unfastening his harness and throwing it haphazardly at the mirror, hard enough to leave a sizeable crack. It was a miracle that the grenades didn’t explode.
“Woah!” Kirishima just said, not suspicious in the slightest despite Bakugo’s flagrant abuse of his own equipment. If anything, it excited him, and he whooped some more. At least someone was having the time of his life at Bakugo’s expense, the blond thought grimly as he tore off his mask and flung it across the room. It hit the far wall pointed edges first, embedding itself in the cladding.
He sensually peeled off his gloves, quickly realizing that he was down to his socks and pants. Here we go, Bakugo thought with resignation as the slutty version of him dipped his own hands between his chest, snaking them downward. They gripped the front of his trousers, before ripping them clean off.
“Dude,” Kirishima marvelled, gnawing at his own knuckle. “You are so fucking hot!”
Bakugo shimmied out of his socks, hips swaying as he walked over to the shower, clad only in his underwear.
Good luck looking Kirishima in the eye after this.
Twisting the shower knob, Bakugo threw his head back and let out a slew of happy noises as the spray doused his whole body. The water was ice cold, yet he moaned mid-dance and alternated between rubbing circles on his chest and tracing the curves of his waist. He would stop to pose every now and then, throwing Kirishima seductive looks in the middle of showing off the wet fabric that now clung tightly to his ass.
“Now I’m all wet and ready for you, big boy.”
“Unfff—”
Kirishima had his dick out. Determined to finish his dance number all the way through, Bakugo barely caught a glimpse of it as the redhead had it tightly fisted in his hand. But from what he saw, it was big. Scarily big. He had already come to terms with the fact that this session was most likely going to end with Kirishima’s cock up his ass, but why did it have to be so damn huge?
And how long was this damn song?! The garbled audio continued to blare from his phone, hitting a crescendo that had Bakugo traipsing to the center of the room, where he assumed a standing position, facing away from the redhead.
Then he slapped both hands loudly on his rear, felt his quirk ignite, and singed away his perfectly good pair of boxer briefs.
Bakugo twisted around, displaying his totally nude form. The cheering had ceased, which made him nervous. Better that than laughing at him, he supposed. A quick glance revealed that Kirishima’s eyes had gone very dark. He had his cock in a deathgrip, and Bakugo knew he wasn’t willing to wait much longer.
It seemed the quirk possessing Bakugo thought the same thing. After a brief stopover at Mineta’s locker to grab some lube, he ended his song by dramatically falling to his knees and spreading them wide.
As the music began to fade, Bakugo crawled toward Kirishima on his hands and knees.
“Ready to fuck me? Gonna put me in my place?” He teased, closing the distance between them.
“Who wouldn’t, after watching you do that,” Kirishima answered seriously. “You’re amazing, Bakugo!” And as genuine as his compliment was, it hurt to hear. Because, really, he didn’t think any of this was out of character? Simply assumed that Bakugo had suddenly developed a proclivity for stripdancing and crawling around naked?
Or, he was blinded by the opportunity to get his dick wet.
The latter seemed most likely, as Kirishima sat back and watched as Bakugo reached him, grabbed his knees and threw them open. He managed an impressive jump from the floor to Kirishima’s lap, practically smashing the redhead’s face into his sopping wet tits.
“Oomph,” Kirishima groaned appreciatively. Bakugo cupped the back of his head and reeled him in closer.
“Oh, yes.” With a loud gasp, he felt Kirishima’s mouth wander his skin, searching for his nipple. “Fuck, suck ‘em just like that, baby.”
No, don’t ‘suck ‘em’! STOP ME!
But Kirishima soon found his target, tongue swirling around Bakugo’s nipple. It lapped at the drops leftover from the impromptu shower, before sharp teeth bit down on the stiffened peak. Hard.
It hurt. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve yelped.
“Ohh,” Bakugo cried out in pleasure. He clutched Kirishima’s hair for dear life. “Bite me harder!”
“Mmm, you sure?” Kirishima murmured against his cleavage.
“Didn’t I say I wanted you to hurt me?”
Kirishima obeyed his command, transferring his lips to Bakugo’s other nipple and practically gnawing on it. Great, now both of his nipples were burning like hell. With a loud moan, Bakugo spread his legs wider.
“Finger me ‘til I forget my own name,” he whispered, pressing the tube of lubricant into the other male’s hand. Kirishima rumbled – he could feel it, with the redhead’s mouth still plastered to his tit – but soon his fingers, shiny and moist, were rising up in between Bakugo’s legs, tracing his hole.
“Fuuuuuck,” Bakugo slurred, as Kirishima pressed one finger in. It went in roughly, quickly followed by the second. The half-hearted prep worried him, though all he could do was brace himself for it. He’d just have to keep hoping that he’d still be able to walk after this.
Not really a problem he expected to have when he woke up this morning, but whatever.
Kirishima drove in a third finger, so suddenly that Bakugo squeaked for real, unrestrained by the quirk. The redhead took it as a sign of pleasure, so he dragged all three digits out before popping them in at the same time. While doing so he suckled an array of hickeys all over Bakugo’s pecs. If only he’d focused on a single task instead of wrecking BOTH his chest and his ass before the sex even started, then at least one body part of Bakugo's would've been spared from being marked.
“Quit making me wait!” Bakugo whined, contradicting his words by dropping his ass down on Kirishima’s fingers. “I need your cock NOW!”
“I really like you like this.” Kirishima peered up at him adoringly, preparing to spear Bakugo on his oversized cock. He pulled the blond’s legs further apart, sinking him slowly onto his girth. This was it. This was fucking it! Until they were eyelevel and Kirishima stopped mid-way to kiss him.
Oh for fuck’s sake—
It was surprisingly sweet, unhurried and tender. Bakugo found himself enjoying the feel of Kirishima’s tongue in his mouth. It was clear he was trying not to unintentionally bite, fangs tucked under his lips. Hands perched on Bakugo’s waist, practically encompassing the full circumference of it. The blond sighed, speechless for once as he wrapped his arms around Kirishima’s neck.
And then Kirishima drew back with a smirk, grabbed Bakugo by the hips and slammed him down on his cock.
He wanted to scream, hole abruptly forced open. It was an onslaught of blunt, searing pressure that made him arch, his voice rising several octaves.
“You’re fucking me S-SO good, just like that!” Only then did Kirishima start to bounce him up and down. “Just like that, yes!”
Pleasure warred with agony as his walls expanded and contracted rhythmically, from the in-and-out motions of being fucked. He got so loud that his voice started to bounce off the walls. At this rate, someone would hear—
“You love the way I feel, don’t you big boy?!” Bakugo demanded, swiveling his hips. It was a perfect mimicry of one of his (embarrassing) dance moves from earlier.
“Fuck yeah, I do!”
Kirishima thrust up so deeply that there was a resounding slap from where his balls jostled against Bakugo’s ass. “You’re so loud, man—”
Thank god, Bakugo thought. He was finally gonna tell him to keep it down!
“—I love it! Keep going!”
Ah, fuck it.
“Bet you l-like seeing me like this!” Bakugo's voice broke into a sob. He was manhandling his own chest again while Kirishima pummeled his ass. “So full of your cock! It’s stabbing my insides!” He accentuated his (horrid) line by pressing his palm flat against his stomach.
“Is that good or bad?!” Kirishima bellowed. His expression briefly turned into one of worry, but his pace didn’t slow down.
“It’s GOOD!” Bakugo grabbed his shoulders and arched, presumably to show how much he was enjoying having his guts churned by dick. “You’re so fucking good at this, baby!”
“So are you, you’re incredible!” The redhead was all praises in contrast with his brutal fucking. The quirk, however, seemed to disagree with the former.
“No, don’t call me that!” Bakugo protested. “Call me a filthy slut!”
“Uh—”
“Just do it!”
“You’re a filthy slut, Bakugo,” Kirishima said, his brows furrowing. “That sounded kinda weird, but—”
“Yesss, I’m your filthy slut!”
He pulled Kirishima to the floor, giggling madly as the winded redhead hit the tile back first. Despite how unsanitary it was, Kirishima was completely relaxed in his new spread-eagled position, a lazy grin etched on his face.
“Where ya goin’? I’m not done with you, whore,” Kirishima said playfully, grabbing at Bakugo’s arms. He had adopted the same crudeness alarmingly fast.
“My ass feels sooo empty,” Bakugo replied. “You better stuff me with your meatstick like a goddamn build-a-bear! C’mon, stud muffin!”
‘Stud muffin’. That had to be the worst fuckin’ one yet.
“Then hop on, bitch.”
Kirishima patted his thigh. With a happy squeal (that was torture to his own ears), Bakugo did as he was told.
He wasn’t too thrilled when the realization hit: that Kirishima had enough stamina for another position, maybe even several more, whereas there seemed to be no end to the number of obscene lines Bakugo spewed. His thighs and hips were burning from overuse, but that didn’t stop him from getting right back on Kirishima’s dick, insisting on reverse cowgirl this time around.
He took the reigns and bounced his ass up and down with the grace and efficiency of, well... Someone who rode dick on a regular basis. It slid in to the hilt every time his ass knocked against Kirishima’s legs, hitting Bakugo’s prostate dead-on and producing full-body shocks.
He couldn’t think, neither could he formulate a single complaint. But his movements didn’t stutter. If anything, they intensified, both boys moaning in tandem as Bakugo punished himself with the redhead’s cock.
“Spank my ass so I can ride you harder!” Bakugo demanded so suddenly that Kirishima faltered. His hand swatted one of the blond’s cheeks, tentatively at first. The next slaps were much more powerful. Bakugo’s eyes watered as he keened. His ass was getting numb, inside and out, but like almost all other sensations, this was disregarded by the quirk. It demanded one thing only: for him to fuck himself on Kirishima's cock and to sound utterly stupid while doing it. "Fuckin' destroy my ass, Demolition Man!"
In his attempts to tune out his own lewd comments, he had failed to notice that he’d gotten hard. His cock between his legs grew markedly heavy, but his body failed to pay attention to it, too focused on chasing pleasure with just his ass.
“I’m g-gonna come,” Kirishima admitted, his voice strained and body going rigid.
Pull out, Bakugo thought desperately.
“Be a real man and shoot it all in,” Bakugo said. Despising any affront to his masculinity, Kirishima was hellbent on showing that he was, indeed, a ‘real man’. He grabbed Bakugo’s hips and pulled him back, jamming him on his cock.
The grip was agonizing, but Bakugo writhed and howled as his own orgasm was forced upon him. Warm liquid gushed into his overstretched hole. He deposited his own spend on the floor, narrowly missing Kirishima’s legs.
“I can’t stop coming!” (A lie.) “Your semen inside my ass feels so good!” (Arguable.)
Without regard for the jizz sloshing inside him, Bakugo sprung himself up and down. The slick noises graduated into a loud squelching, his thighs twinging in protest. Kirishima was gradually softening, but Bakugo kept going anyway.
“God, you’re killing me,” Kirishima groaned.
Excuse me?! The comment filled Bakugo with indignation. At least Kirishima had the option to stop. He could fucking end this once and for all if he wanted to. Finish already, he yearned to say, to the redhead (and to his own body).
To his relief, the quirk listened to his plea this time around. He began to slow down, humming in satisfaction as Kirishima finished emptying inside him.
Bakugo sat on the redhead’s lap for a while, seemingly glued to his dick. He panted, hands shaking from where they rested on Kirishima’s thighs. He blinked, flexing his fingers.
He’d done it on his own. There was nothing but complete silence, which means… The quirk must’ve lifted?
“Hey,” Kirishima said, with a gentle tap on his ass. “You okay?"
Bakugo nearly seized, but before he could sputter curses, the quirk wrestled back control. Fuck.
FUCK!
Turning his head and flashing a devilish look at his partner, Bakugo lifted himself off of Kirishima’s dick—
--And then dropped to a kneel right over the redhead’s face.
“Now lay there like a good boy and eat,” he said, his come-soaked ass and thighs hovering right over Kirishima’s head. This couldn’t be happening.
“Thought I was a man, not a bo—” Kirishima tried to retort, but the rest of it was garbled as Bakugo sunk down lower. He abandoned speaking entirely in favor of licking the dripping ass Bakugo had offered him.
"Yeah, tonguepunch me just like that," Bakugo said, mourning what his once vast vocabulary had been reduced to.
Kirishima ate his ass ferociously, nipping at the blond's thighs and hole. His tongue slipped in and out, reducing the load inside by the slightest fraction. Despite his best efforts, Bakugo was still very much packed with come. It was evident he had never eaten ass before, but to the quirk it didn’t matter. Bakugo gasped and moaned at the appropriate times and rolled his hips. Impressively, Kirishima didn't find it gross, being forced to taste his own fluids, but then again, it was still nothing compared to the degeneracy Bakugo had engaged in.
When the redhead's tongue swipes grew feeble, the quirk finally called it a day. Bakugo climbed off, stifling a pained groan.
Kirishima looked catatonic.
“Shit," he muttered, wiping his face. "That was…”
“Thanks for the present, Big Fella. Now I get to have your come in me alllll day,” Bakugo sing-songed. At this point, Kirishima barely reacted. He was laying on the floor, eyes half-closed.
Bakugo stretched out beside him, unashamed of his nakedness.
"Coming?" He quipped, holding out a hand.
“Yeah, lemme just… Catch my breath…”
His head lolled sideways. Bakugo stared, incredulous, at the passed out redhead. What the hell? He'd skipped the post-nut clarity and went straight into a nap?
But then again, that meant...
Sure enough, with no conversation partner to proposition, he was... Free. For now, at least. The feeling had returned to his extremities.
...And so did the ensuing soreness, magnified tenfold.
Bakugo tried to get up. He bit back a cry, and slid down to the floor, landing gingerly on his throbbing ass. The ache from it was worse than doing a hundred squats. Guess riding cock was a workout in its own way.
...What a Kirishima thing to say.
He couldn't help but snort, then remembered it was Kirishima's fault that he was now sitting here filled to the brim with come, his ass thoroughly wrecked. He shot the redhead a glare, before attempting to stand again.
This time, he managed (albeit with much difficulty), and sure enough, there was a telltale limp as he walked to retrieve the various parts of his costume one by one. His hips were practically creaking, and he had to cradle his side once or twice. Goddamn. Kirishima had ravaged him. Spending an embarrassingly long time crossing the room, Bakugo collected his harness and mask, then hopped into the same shower from earlier to try and clear out the... Evidence.
He was reluctant to finger himself, given how much it stung just to touch his hole. Jizz was still leaking, albeit slowly. He got rid of as much as he could, which turned out to be not much at all, but he had no choice.
His next challenge was getting dressed.
Kirishima remained oblivious (and out cold) while Bakugo wrestled on his clothing, letting out small whimpers whenever he had to lift his thighs. Bakugo attended to him last, deciding that even he wasn't enough of an asshole to leave him here with his cock out. He dragged Kirishima back to the cubicle, positioned him so that he was sitting on the toilet again but leaning against the cubicle wall. He even tucked Kirishima's dick back in, muttering angrily about its excessive size as he did so.
Swiping his phone from the faucet, Bakugo checked the time. Twenty minutes 'til the next class. The rest were bound to show up here any time now, so he needed to get out of dodge.
Because if several of them were to bump into him and start yapping, well... That would be a nightmare.
-TBC-