KiriBaku Acernor Special
Relationship: Kirishima Eijirou/Bakugou Katsuki
Genre: Romance, PWP
Length: 5.7k
[Warnings: unfinished one shot, doesn’t have a neat chapter end. They’re both 18 in this and in their last year of high school. Acernor Special: someone’s cursed into a ~AFAB body~ and an orgasm/sex will fix it.]
Bakugou stared at Midoriya for a good thirty minutes, an intense frown warring with something indecisive on his face. Impatience? A question? Whichever thing it was, it was clearly a harsh struggle. Eventually his eyebrows uncinched, and his palms flattened on the table. He shoved up from the chair. His frown cleared up momentarily, brows drawing together as if in pensive question, only to return like a dark storm, whereupon he turned abruptly and stomped off to a different room.
For his part, Midoriya sighed with palpable relief.
“So, what were you saying?” He asks Todoroki, who took in the entire scene with something like amusement.
Bakugou stormed into the living room. His squad looked up briefly, but didn’t stop what they were doing—an enthusiastic discussion of some sort with lots of hand motions.
Bakugou didn’t stop, marching right into Kirishima’s space until he could put a big hand on the boy’s shoulder and yank him back. Kirishima came easy, almost liquid, a big grin on his face as he laughed apologies to the rest of the group—now catcalling—and allowed himself to be dragged drug bodily away.
They got to the elevator and Bakugou slammed the button impatiently. Kirishima opened his mouth to ask, but thought better of it, and the doors opened a second later. Bakugou herded him inside and then, before he could do much more than hit the button, slammed Kirishima into the elevator wall.
Kirishima went with a wide-eyed moan, hardening his back almost as an afterthought. Bakugou was right up in his space, long neck right in front of him, collar bone on display in his black muscle shirt, and his biceps were right there.
Right there on either side of Kirishima’s head because Bakugou was pinning him to the wall, body heat radiating off his substantial chest; a scene plucked right out of his deepest fantasies, right down to the black glare on his face.
Kirishima did not whimper. He did laugh a little nervously, though.
“Aha, Bakubro?” He tried, willing himself not to get—pun unintended for once—hard off this.
“Shut up.” Bakugou said, seemingly out of reflex. He frowned powerfully. “No, I didn’t—Don’t shut up. I—need your help.”
Kirishima’s list of priorities flipped upside down in a heartbeat, his entire psyche rearranging itself on autopilot.
“Yeah, bro, whatever you need.” He tried not to be too intense, while still conveying how willing he was to drop literally everything for a bro in need.
Bakugou instantly looked like he was having second thoughts, or maybe fifty-second thoughts, as his jaw worked.
“I got hit by a quirk.” He admits roughly.
Kirishima tries to think through the fact that he can smell Bakugou, this close. He pointedly does not ask if they need to go to Recovery Girl. Obviously, Bakugou has thought of that and discarded the idea for some reason. He’s got to keep his last two brain cells from lighting themselves on fire at the sight of Bakugou’s pecs, straining in his black wifebeater, so very close to Kirishima—
He is down to one brain cell, which he holds onto desperately with both hands. He’s got to help! That’s the most important thing here!
“What kind of quirk?” There, that was nice and even; only a little strangled.
Bakugou starts to answer and wavers. Kirishima was already intrigued but now the curiosity is eating him alive. Bakugou’s head tilts like a cat’s.
“Not… here.” He says, as the elevator goes up. He jerks his chin in the direction of his room and leaves the elevator and Kirishima’s space abruptly. Kirishima tries to contain his excitement as Bakugou gets his door open.
They walk into Bakugou’s neat and orderly room. Kirishima has been in here many times before, to study or hang out, but his heart still beats faster every time he’s alone—in Bakugou’s bedroom—with Bakugou. Who shuts the door.
And takes a deep breath.
Is Kirishima breathing?
“I got hit by a quirk.” Bakugou repeats, somewhat more miserably. “I can’t fucking—the effects aren’t permanent, but.”
“You’re waiting for it to wear off?”
“It won’t wear off on its own.” Bakugou glowers at the wall, not making eye contact, worrying his bottom lip. His—
His cheeks are flushed the softest, lightest pink.
“Um, so—you need my help?”
The pink darkens visibly. Kirishima shivers. God, how is it possible for one person to be so pretty!? He clenches his hands casually into fists, so he doesn’t do something stupid like reach out or make grabby hands or beg to be kissed.
“Fucking. Yes. Unfortunately. I was going to ask Deku, but—turns out I’d rather die, so.” He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, realizes, and takes them out in disgust.
“I’m happy you trust me with this, bro. Whatever uh, ‘this’ is.” Kirishima tries to make his body language open and accepting. This is a no-judgement zone. A judgement-free area. Kirishima is a bastion of acceptance and understanding.
“I fucking—” He stops. Pauses. Breathes. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, just c’mere.”
Kirishima takes a few hesitant steps forward.
“Closer.”
God, someone really was just riffling through his spank bank earlier, weren’t they? This is grossly unfair. Kirishima tries to tamp down his thirst for long enough to be useful. And not weird. He’s not trying to make this weird.
His bro needs his help and actually asked! With words!
Kirishima gets within arm’s reach again and Bakugou, impatient, tugs him closer. He grabs Kirishima’s hand by the wrist, hesitates for only a second, and then uses that grip to—
To.
Kirishima makes a noise like a hot kettle, completely involuntary. Bakugou shoves Kirishima’s hand into his crotch and that—that’s—really not what Kirishima thought was going to happen, not that he’s complaining, holy god, and that’s—
His eyes shoot up hurriedly to Bakugou’s face. Seeing the mixed discomfort there, he immediately goes to withdraw his hand, only to find Bakugou’s fingers like steel around his wrist, preventing any escape.
“You see?” Bakugou demands, as thoughthought anyone could form a coherent thought in this position, much less an inferencea inference.
Kirishima does not, in fact, see.
Some of his confusion must reflect on his expression because Bakugou growls at him.
“Look, just—get me off, okay? That’ll help with the stupid fucking quirk.”
Kirishima has seen similar plots in porn.
He never really thought they were realistic.
Surely it was just some excuse to fuck for the camera.
Oh no, I was hit by some un-described quirk, now I need an orgasm.
Nice, simple; nothing overly complicated. Kirishima didn’t like too much plot in his porn, anyway, since he was really only in it to watch some muscled guys rub off on each other and possibly moan a little, and really visual porn wasn’t something he tended to go for anyway, since he had so much eye candy in real life, and he was really more of an auditory kind of guy—
Kirishima’s brain stalled out.
“Yeah.” He said, which definitely did not come out strangled. “Yeah, of course. How?”
He could have stabbed himself. He did, as if to gesture his point, re-situate his hand to lay meaningfully against the curve of Bakugou’s pubic bone, trying not to get lost in the damp heat he could feel through his bro’s shorts and boxers.
“With your hand.” Bakugou huffed, like he thought Kirishima was being particularly stupid today, and when Kirishima looked at his face for a few more seconds rose an eyebrow to convey that same sentiment.
“Alright, alright!” He shuffled closer, cupping his palm. He shifted curiously, rubbing the heel of his hand downwards. He couldn’t—quite—tell any definition through the layers of fabric, but it was definitely Bakugou’s labia that were so hot under his fingers.
Where he touched was so soft, supple, shifting under his short, exploratory strokes.
Above, Bakugou made a small, strained sound.
Kirishima’s eyes shot up. Bakugou’s fingers were still tight around his wrist.
“Still okay?” He asked, nearly asking if it was good. That wouldn’t have ended well, probably. How could it be good if he hadn’t done anything yet?
“Just fucking get on with it.” Bakugou instructed, belayed a little by the fact that he was a touch breathless and his pupils were blown kind of crazy, eyes wide.
“Here?” Kirishima gestured with his free hand to the center of the room, where they were still standing. Bakugou brought his free hand up to cover his eyes.
Kirishima’s busy hand was still pressed against Bakugou’s slit, so he had approximately negative three trillion brain cells to work with here, and the hard grip Bakugou had on that hand—definitely not letting Kirishima go anywhere, and why was that so hot?—did not help matters.
“Fuck.” Bakugou said, face hidden, voice wavering. “Fuck, okay, fine. Let’s go to the fucking bed, I guess.”
“That uh.” Kirishima licked his lips, well aware of the danger. “That doesn’t sound super enthusiastic, bro.” He put forth cautiously.
Bakugou lowered his hand to deliver a baleful look.
“Kirishima.” He huffed. And Kirishima’s throat tightened, a little, to be pinned with those red eyes when he’s this close, when he’s—touching. Bakugou.
Here. Touching him here, where he’s soft and a little damp.
“Uh. Yeah?” Consent! Yes, that’s right, that’s what he was doing. Making sure his bro really wanted this and didn’t, you know, feel like he absolutely had to. Because of the quirk. The mystery quirk. Because they could totally find some other solution.
“Kirishima,” He repeated, in a no-nonsense voice. “Will you please come with me to the bed and finger me until I come.”
It wasn’t a question. Kirishima couldn’t actually think—or breathe—for a second. He’s pretty sure Bakugou used his iron grip on Kirishima’s wrist to lead him to the bed, because he’s peripherally aware that they’ve somehow crossed the room and are at the bed.
He thinks he may have blacked out a little? Been briefly overwhelmed by thirst? Is this how Denki feels all the time, just, utterly suffused with lust?
“Well?” Bakugou says, when their knees are touching the mattress but they’re not actually on it.
I think I’m experiencing sexual attraction, Kirishima doesn’t say, still dazed. I mean I knew I was demi but this is irrefutable proof that the sexual attraction exists, and I feel it sometimes, no if ands or buts about it.
“I’ll follow your lead.” He finds himself saying, which for some reason makes Bakugou look simultaneously annoyed and pleased. Kirishima shakes himself.
He’s got to pull his head out of his ass and make this good. He’s got to make it fucking perfect so that, obviously, Bakugou has a good time (because that’s absolutely paramount, and necessary to help with the quirk situation besides), but also because if he does this right, then there’s a chance they’ll get to do it again and that’s an incredible thought.
A dizzying, thrilling thought.
Bakugou climbs carefully onto the bed and Kirishima follows, offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
“Let’s get comfortable.” He says, meaningfully. There’s no way Bakugou will come if he’s tense and worried about the end-goal. He situates himself so that he’s laying across from Bakugou, their bodies about a foot apart.
Bakugou eyes him carefully.
“Kiss me?” Kirishima asks, like it’s a casual suggestion and his heart isn’t in his fucking throat, like it wasn’t hard to get the words out, but—
Kirishima will make this good. He can be a smooth operator. He can put some plus ultra confidence in his—everything—until it’s real.
Bakugou blinks, then nods, the barest dip of his chin. He doesn’t look away from Kirishima, which is actually a lot of pressure, but Kirishima shrugs it off as best he can. He goes for an encouraging smile and leans in like his heart isn’t racing hard in his chest.
When Kirishima is a scant inch from him, braced on his elbow and laid out facing him, he pauses; Bakugou’s face is turned upward in anticipation, eyes fluttered half-shut, but there’s a touch of panic at the corners, a bit more pupil than there ought to be, and just to double-check—he needs this to be perfect—he asks,
“Are you su—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bakugou is suddenly, aggressively, in his space, not that Kirishima is complaining, and really it’s all Bakugou’s space technically since this whole bed belongs to the dude, but Kirishima barely even focuses on that because Bakugou is suddenly straddling him, strong thighs on either side of Kiri’s and strong, hard hands pressing his shoulders into the mattress as he leans in with purpose. His hair is fluffy blonde around him, like a halo on the world’s most pissed off angel, and he stops leaning down two inches away from Kirishima’s mouth.
“What?” He asks flatly, brows drawn together. It’s hard to be intimidating when you’re on top of a guy, legs thrown over him all outrageously sexy; Kirishima’s abs are so tight he can’t breathe from how hot this is, but he grins anyway, fucking—
Just so incredibly happy to be alive.
I live in the best timeline, he thinks, almost light-headed—has he mentioned? Bakugou Katsuki, their stomachs flush, two incredibly thick thighs surrounding him, the sweet smell of nitroglycerin and the manly smell of a bit of normal sweat pressed right up against him?
“Wipe that stupid smirk off your face,” Bakugou says, and Kirishima can taste the words, so he doesn’t even try to stop smiling.
Wipe it off for me, he thinks.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” He does not mean to say, but says anyway, smile indeed falling away so he can barely move his lips to speak. At some point his eyes got caught on Bakugou’s face, on the sweet curve of his ears, his high cheekbones, his literally fucking flawless skin still stained so faintly rose—he could go on like this for a while, actually, but for now his eyes dip down to bitten-red lips, so close to his, and the warm breath fanning out from them.
Bakugou snorts.
“What a fucking line,” He scoffs, and Kirishima makes the mistake of checking his eyes. Fond, amused—no trace of the apprehension of earlier. No, wait, there it is—creeping in on the edges, in the whites of his eyes, in the corner of his mouth.
“I call it like I see it,” He promises, smiling because he’s happy, despite the nerves, and settling his hands on Bakugou’s hips. He feels like he should pull back stumps, maybe, but Bakugou isn’t here to hurt him no matter how caustic his general personality can be, and he’s not at all surprised to find the skin under his hands merely warm and alive.
“You’re full of shit.” Half a laugh escapes. Bakugou’s eyes dip down to Kirishima’s lips and his lungs refuse to cooperate. Suddenly all he can think of is how good it’ll feel to kiss him.
But: ‘Get me off,’ Bakugou had said, and Kirishima can’t just lay in bed for hours kissing him, playfully, establishing boundaries and discovering new things about each other and themselves. That’s not on the table. This is less for pleasure and more for, well, helping a bro out. Which!! He is never averse to doing. For the record.
Kirishima thinks he could live in this moment forever, having never kissed Bakugou before, and float on the promise of it, the inevitable way they’re hovering so close to each other. He could stroke his thumb over Bakugou’s cheekbones just to see if it cuts him, could nuzzle into soft skin, could let the anticipation ride through him eternal.
But then he’d live in a world where he’d never kissed Bakugou, and that, well. That’s just not worth it, at all. It’s a little sad and a little nerve-wracking, to start something knowing you can’t take it back, that from the word ‘go’ you’re dooming it to an unavoidable conclusion, that if he leans in to start it then this will have to end, but the alternative is to not have it at all, to not even get a chance, and to be quite honest Kirishima thinks he’d rather die.
Bakugou’s eyes dip down to Kirishima’s lips and all Kirishima can think is how good it’ll feel to kiss him. Then Bakugou’s eyes narrow, just a touch, and for a brief eternity he can’t think past his own worry, but– he swallows it down to smile.
Kirishima will always be the one to take that chance. He’s here, isn’t he? He’s going to be a hero. Plus ultra, or something. Kirishima gathers up his courage like scattered flowers for a bouquet, tight in his fisted hands, and leans down to kiss the forming question on Bakugou’s parted lips.
Petals scatter.
It’s softer than he’d thought it would be. Testing, over soon, but not quick or rushed. If anything, he lingers.
Kirishima pulls back to see surprise still at home on Bakugou’s face, lashes dipping quick like hummingbird wings as he processes. His cheeks are brushed with blush like the palettes Mina collects, dragging him behind her by the hand through store after store, trying to find something that looks just right on her skin.
His breath touches cool on Kirishima’s lips, almost-but-not-quite damp from the kiss.
It’s like he has a speed quirk; the world has slowed down around them, focused on this single pocket of existence.
The bubble shatters. Bakugou’s eyes close and he kisses Kirishima, leaning forward hungrily. Kirishima loses track of reality.
Bakugou, palms on his chest.
Bakugou, kissing him aggressively and perfectly and—
Kirishima blinks up at the ceiling.
Bakugou is on top of him. His wrists are pinned next to the pillows. He has a lap full of blonde, straddling him, glaring at him.
The moment is quite literally something out of his wildest dreams.
“Stay there.” Bakugou threatens, leaning his weight forward on Kirishima’s wrists. It puts his tits right in front of Kirishima’s face, which is magnificent, and then he’s grinding forward against the tent in Kirishima’s jeans.
Which.
“Oh, fuck.” Kirishima throws his heads back, hands clenching at nothing. Pleasure rolls through him like an earthquake, a tidal wave. Bakugou adjusts his weight, shifts his arms, and rocks against him again, smoother this time. He finds a rhythm and sticks to it.
Kirishima swallows heavily, trying to control his breathing. Failing. Failing to control his breathing. His lungs collapse and expand too loud in his ears. He can hear the rhythm of his blood surging, pumping, rushing down and leaving him lightheaded.
“Dude—” Kirishima starts, but starbursts of pleasure explode in his vision. He groans.
“What.” Bakugou huffs flatly, forcefully. His cheeks are ruddy with color. Kirishima will never be able to look at him without remembering how his face looks when he rides Kirishima’s dick—not that he is, properly, and that thought has a full body shiver running through him. Every time they’re red faced with exertion during training he’s going to be imagining this instead.
“Hnng.” Kirishima’s head thunks against the pillows. He can’t look. It’s too much. Bakugou makes a surprised sound and then his rhythm falters just a little as he ducks down to press his mouth to Kirishima’s bared throat.
Kirishima squeezes his eyes closed. Bakugou kisses and mouths at the sensitive skin, hard mound a perfect pressure against him, legs pressed tight to either side of Kirishima’s hips. This is the worst. Oh, god.
Bakugou’s teeth bite lightly, shudderingly good, and Kirishima jerks hard against the hands restraining him.
Naturally, Bakugou slams his wrists back down twice as hard, without even thinking about it, and that has Kirishima’s cock spasming in his shorts. The pressure of Bakugou’s teeth increases, a few inches over, bared like a warning.
Kirishima’s eyes must be like twin voids in his face.
The warmth between Bakugou’s legs slides up the length of Kirishima’s cock through all their layers, pressing him hard against his belly.
His hands squirm under Bakugou’s, longing to hold onto the blonde’s hips, needing to thrust up and up and up and hold Bakugou down until they both came, messy and spasming against each other.
They’re still dressed. How are they still dressed?
Eijirou melts under Katsuki’s tongue and sucking kisses. Every so often his pecs brush Kirishima’s abs through both their shirts. Kirishima wishes, suddenly and fervently, that his quirk was something like ‘mental clothing disintegration’. He could make it work, probably.
Best Jeanist was in the top ten for fuck’s sake.
Kirishima groaned.
He rotated his wrists, testing the hold, and was dismayed and turned on to find it like iron.
“Either let me go or sit on my face.” He insisted, tugging. To his surprise Bakugou let him go.
Eijirou pushed him down by the shoulders and nuzzled down his chest, rubbing his face and forehead and everything against clothed skin the whole way down. He got to Bakugou’s shorts and buried his face between the man’s thighs, inhaling roughly.
Bakugou’s head thunked against the mattress, hands finding their way into Kirishima’s hair. He didn’t hold on, instead petting and pulling sweaty red strands back from Kirishima’s forehead. Eijirou pressed his open mouth to Bakugou’s mons and sucked a little, pressing his tongue up and against him through the layers.
“Oh fuck I didn’t expect that to feel so good.” Bakugou gasped, fingers spasming in Kirishima’s hair.
That went straight to Kirishima’s straining cock which, for the record, did not need any encouragement. He felt around with his lips and face until he found what he figured was a clit and nosed into it, nudging it side to side, and Bakugou yelled, shocked.
Kirishima’s chin pressed against his lower lips and opening, dipping into the divot. He could feel Katsuki’s thighs on either side of his face. He was, it was fair to say, a bit lightheaded.
The layers made enough of a block that Kirishima could get his teeth involved, dragging them down his bro’s clit and a bit of his slit until the angle got too awkward. Well, fuck it. He was already here. Eijirou got both hands under Bakugou’s ass and lifted, giving himself a better angle.
One of Bakugou’s hands fell from his hair to hold himself up on the bed.
“Fuck, Ei!”
Kirishima groaned into his pussy. He got his tongue wet and laved around, just to get things nice and hot and soaking. He sucked some fabric into his mouth, grabbed it with his teeth, and rubbed the rough material over Katsuki.
Thick thighs shuddered on either side of him, hand clenching tight in his hair.
“Let me suck your dick.” Kirishima pulled back to beg, interrupting the sweet litany of cursing.
“Fuck, yes, whatever!” Bakugou’s fingers dug into his scalp. Kirishima made his mouth a source of wet pleasure, sucking through the shorts and boxers both, until Bakugou was thrashing, unsure if he wanted to push Eijirou away or pull him closer.
“Get these off!” Bakugou hissed, shaking his hand out of Kirishima’s hair and pushing impatiently at his waist band. Kirishima allowed himself one slow thrust against the sheets. Predictably, it did nothing to help. He rested his forehead against Katsuki’s thigh for a second, breathing in the smell of him, and then sat up a little to help.
It meant relinquishing his hold on Katsuki’s thighs but frankly the idea that he could get right back to work with less in the way was… enticing. Energizing. Dizzying.
He pulled down Bakugou’s shorts with some limited, impatient help from the blonde. Then his brain took a fucking vacation, utter stupidity flooding into the empty space, because he didn’t even get them halfway down Bakugou’s thighs before he was leaning forward like a starved man and tonguing into his loose fly.
He should probably be embarrassed for the sound he made at the taste, and it was awkward to get his face in right, but feeling Bakugou’s folds part under his tongue was worth it. Bakugou thunked backward on the bed, no longer holding himself up, and made a muffled sort of noise. Kirishima glanced up and saw Katsuki with both hands covering his mouth, back slightly arched to get closer.
Fuck, but Eijirou could drill a hole through a brick wall at this point.
He tugged sharply at Bakugou’s boxers to rub the fabric taut, pulling it against his slit for the friction. Between his earlier efforts and Bakugou’s own feelings on the matter, the material was soaked. Kirishima wanted to suck it in his mouth until it tasted like nothing, then press it into Katsuki and get it dirty again, just so he could taste more.
The material was so thin he could feel everything he was doing. Kirishima rubbed the flat of his tongue against Katsuki’s clit from below, pushing it up and down. Then he nosed into the slit of the boxers and did the same thing against Katsuki’s bare skin. Bakugou groaned with his entire body.
Kirishima could watch the way his boxers hung on his thighs, slack in the crotch, all day. He could stare at the way his bro just didn’t fill them out, the way the space between buttons showed off where he was pink and wet, but then he wouldn’t be able to taste.
He hooked his fingers between the buttons and tugged down, so that the opening was wider and he could lick down Katsuki’s wet slit. He could just—just—point his tongue and tease the opening from this angle.
“Eijirou!” Bakugou shouted. Kirishima groaned against his lips. Bakugou twitched hard against him, half rising off the bed.
Rough hands shoved at his head until he moved and then jerked Bakugou’s boxers down. He pushed them and the shorts all the way past his knees and then heaved Kirishima back up, manhandling his head back between Bakugou’s thighs.
Eijirou did not protest at all. He laughed and nuzzled against the soft blonde curls, cheek catching the uppermost bit of Katsuki’s clitoral hood.
“I will kick your ass so hard.” Bakugou threatened.
“Mm.” Kirishima dipped his chin and pressed a sweet, closed-mouth kiss to the side of his clit. Direct stimulation might be too much with nothing between them. He kept moving down, nosing against it a little. Bakugou’s thighs twitched open wider.
He brushed his lips all the way down Bakugou’s lips, letting the texture speak for itself. Then he kissed back up, a more active sort of press of lips, and then back down. He took the outer curve of lips between his and sucked, just a little, and repeated the process with the other side.
Then he firmed up his grip on Katsuki’s thighs and dipped his head properly to lick around his opening. Bakugou cried out, surprised. Kirishima licked the sensitive, thin skin with a flattened tongue, catching the edges carefully and working his way inwards.
He made his tongue as broad as possible and clicked the entire opening from the bottom, once, twice and then he just didn’t stop. Every few strokes he caught a new bead of moisture and savored the taste of it, the way he was actively getting Katsuki wetter.
Spank bank material for years, here!
Finally Bakugou caught his head about the ears and dragged his face back down, preventing him from making another pass, and Kirishima settled in eagerly. He drug the point of his tongue against the rim of Katsuki’s vagina and flirted with the membrane there, dipping in just a little.
Hands tightened warningly in his hair.
Kirishima shivered.
Then, because he is fundamentally here to please, he took the hint and started making out with Katsuki’s hole. He started small and slow, a teasing press of the tip of his tongue, and received the truly amazing reward of Katsuki’s hole fluttering around him, trying to clench but not finding anything substantial enough to squeeze around.
He readjusted his hold so he could reach down and squeeze himself firmly.
He speared the tip of his tongue in a little at a time until Katsuki was basically riding his face in impatience. Then he did it for a little longer.
“Eijirou I swear to fuck—Oh god!” Katsuki really did yank his hair but Kirishima couldn’t care less. He fed the widest part of his tongue into Katsuki’s pussy, thrusting it in and out, fucking him with it. Bakugou rode his face with wild abandon, curled off the bed and half-bending over Kirishima’s face in pleasure.
He clenched spastically around Kirishima’s tongue, hot and tight and perfect, and Kirishima tried to fuck him right, fuck him properly. He laved upwards on the in-stroke, going for some sweet g-spot stimulation, and Bakugou’s jaw dropped around a shout so he, naturally, repeated this as often as humanly possible.
Kirishima got into a nice sort of rhythm, matching the way Bakugou honest-to-god fucked his face, and found his hips catching on, fucking against the hand that was pinned between his cock and the mattress. It almost hurt, but it was also utterly perfect.
This was it. He could die happy.
Except for how he totally couldn’t because Bakugou was multi-orgasmic, which was something that had never once featured in his masturbatory fantasies or daydreams, and now Kirishima had to make up for that damning inaccuracy by giving his best friend approximately one thousand orgasms.
At least.
“Please, please—fuck!—I need. I think I need more? Fuck this feels so good, I don’t want you to stop.”
Bakugou’s voice sounded pissed off, unsure and a little desperate. Kirishima would be hearing his mouth shape the word ‘please’ every single time he touched his dick for the next decade, probably.
Kirishima pulled back—ignoring Bakugou’s choked off cry of protest with the world’s strongest effort of will—and slurred into his inner lips.
“Don’t worry, I got you.”
“How the fuck—oh my fucking god!” Eijirou pressed a rough thumb to the left side of Bakugou’s clit, licking softly and shallowly into his opening. He stroked a callus against the sensitive skin slowly, increasing the pressure as he went, until Bakugou was thrashing against him, hitting his head hard against the mattress over and over again.
“You good, bro?” Kirishima kissed the inside of his thigh and moved back a little to focus on the clit-stimulation.
“If you stop I will explode your face off.” Bakugou’s voice shook through the threat. Kirishima continued stroked him, touching him only with the tip of one finger.
“So I was thinking I should switch it up.” Kirishima forced his voice even, casual.
Bakugou cried out. The wordless sound was not a question, but Kirishima could be merciful, if not particularly patient.
“Fucking—fine. How.” The word was bitten out of him.
“I think you can come, if I lick your dick and get my fingers in you.”
He moved his thumb in a particularly slow circle and felt Bakugou jerk against him.
“Yeah.” Katsuki said, breathily. “Yeah, alright. Whatever. C’mon.”
He nudged Kirishima with his foot.
Kirishima laughed, but bent his head eagerly to the task. He replaced his thumb with his tongue and trailed a few fingers downward, testing.
He rubbed the edges of Bakugou’s slit.
“I’m not gonna fucking break.” The blonde hissed, thrusting hard into Kirishima when his lips closed around his clit.
“Let me treat you right.” Kirishima insisted, pressed a sweet kiss to his hood. He drew two finger tips through a renewed little pool of wetness along the outside of Katsuki’s pelvic floor.
“God, fuck, fine. Just hurry up. And put your mouth back on my—clit, I guess.”
“I can call it your dick.” Kirishima licked it reassuringly.
“Fuck, no, that’s not my motherfucking dick.” He let his thighs fall open, invitingly. “You’ll know when you see my dick.”
Something about that seemed a little off to Kirishima, but Bakugou’s glistening pussy was right there in front of him looking and smelling like an absolute snacc, so he ignored all of that in favor of dipping the first knuckle of his pointer finger into his hole.
It let him in easily, hugging around him.
Kirishima groaned low and wanting. He put his mouth back to work in a very, very light suck and flick rhythm so as not to overwhelm, and slowly pushed in with his finger. He rocked in and out, not doing too much too soon, and was wary of slipping too deep and jabbing Bakugou’s cervix.
“More.” Katsuki demanded roughly. Kirishima shuddered and obeyed.
He drew his finger out and pressed back in with two, repeating the same motion as before, slowly slipping more and more of his fingers in on each stroke until he was pressing in, to the knuckle. He curled his fingers upwards experimentally and Katsuki yelled.
Kirishima made sure to curl his fingers a bit against the roof of his vag every single time he pushed in and out, fingering him with all the skill he possessed.
Fuck, he was fingering Bakugou.
He’d imagined this a thousand times yet never like this. Kirishima made his tongue flat and soft and locked his teeth in place, using his jaw to move up and down at a steady clip. Bakugou’s breathing turned ragged above him from the combination, hands pulling red hair in time to Eijirou’s rhythm.
Heels dug into his back. Bakugou’s thighs weren’t sure if they wanted to close around his face or splay wide open, giving him more room to work. Katsuki’s ass came off the bed with how hard he was pushing up into Kirishima’s fingers, his tongue.
“God—fucking—damnit!” Bakugou cursed harshly above him, arms full-on shaking now. He was so fucking close.
Kirisima let go of his cock absently, hauling his hand up as best he could without fucking his pace. The wet squelch of Bakugou’s cunt as Kirishima fingered him was mesmerizing, all hot and sucking and clenching around him. It was the most amazing thing Kirishima had every felt.
Everything about this was rewriting what Kirishima had previously considered his idea of a good time.
Curiously he brought his free hand up to Bakugou’s asshole and thumbed against the furled cluster of nerve endings. Katsuki arched off the bed, clenching painfully around his fingers, eyes popped wide and mouth round in a silent ‘o’.
He thrust once, twice, the third failing on a weird little spasm as his pussy clenched and clamped down on his fingers.
Bakugou’s chest was heaving mightily, breathing like a bellow. His nipples were rock hard through his shirt. He stared with wide, wide eyes at the ceiling. His clit continued twitching furtively in Kirishima’s mouth.
This was the best day of Kirishima’s life? He could die happy.