#saturnscribbles

Step into the Light

Fandom: Demon Slayer,
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Soft Sex, Reader is a Sex Worker, Submissive/Inexperienced Gyutaro, Threat of Violence, Minor Spoilers for the Manga (Maybe? If you squint), Grey Morality, Gyutaro is NOT the villain in this, but he’s not exactly a good guy either.
Word Count: 9.4k.

Summary:An unlikely relationship begins through one mans inability to stay away.

A/N:This is my first and probably only Demon Slayer fic. I’m just down bad for Gyutaro and had to get him out of my system. Also, this is legit some of my worst writing, but fuck it: I had fun

-> This fic has been queued. So any minor formatting mistakes will be fixed next week-ish.

‘I’ve seen you watching me.’ You call out from your perch on the steps of the house. The light from the hallway, unbarred by the open front door, spills out onto the porch and coats the wood. It soaks you, dousing your back in warmth and donating it’s hazy brightness to the edges of your silhouette. In your hands is a thin piece of material, already adorned with a collection of neatly stitched primrose’s and the start of a butterflies delicate wing. You pull at the needle in your hand, stretching the thread of purple cotton from the material before looping it back and finishing the stitch.

In the darkness, Gyutaro drops the thing in his hand and stashes it away behind a small wooden panel. He’s perched beside the porch, obscured by the thick wooden bannister of the stairs. In his chest his heart stutters. He’d thought he had been doing a good job of hiding himself, always so quiet, sticking to the shadows even though he longed to step into the light. Chewing at his lip, he sinks to his knees, trying to reduce himself to nothingness. It wouldn’t do to get caught. God knows what would happen to him, caught stealing glances at an Oiran – he’d be beaten, burned…

It’s been a few months since you first noticed his skulking, since then, you’ve grown used to the feeling of being watched. You could even say that you’ve come to like it. His eyes aren’t filled with the same lustful hunger as the other men, aren’t half as piercing, or objectifying. There’s nothing of the sort in his sick, yellow eyes. Instead, he looks at you with the curiosity and confliction of a child who’s been told only to look, but never to touch. You sigh, not bothering to search the darkness for him. 'Do you mind if I talk to you?

He doesn’t speak, but he swears his heart answers. It thuds against his ribs and makes the bone ache more than usual.

'I’m going to take that as a no.’ You pause and peer into your periphery, a smile rising to your lips as the darkness shifts. 'Of course, it would be easier to have a conversation if you’d come out from behind that rail…’

He’s been getting bolder lately, lingering for longer, seeking a closer view; it was only a matter of time before you caught him really, but the shock of it is still enough to freeze his breath in his lungs. Shuffling his feet, he resists the urge to run. There’s something about your voice that keeps him rooted to the spot, it’s hard to tell from where he’s hidden, but he’s sure he can hear you smiling.

'Another time then.’ Lowering your eyes again, you finish with the purple, tie it off and bite the thread to sever it from the material before switching to lilac. 'It’s a nice night, don’t you think?’ The music from the surrounding houses drifts lazily on the air and weaves its way around the streets, intoxicating anyone who’ll listen.

The air is mild, warm with a cool breeze that slips down the sides of the houses to caress working skin and tired muscle. You look up and down your sowing to blink at the moon. It’s almost dusk, the cicadas are singing and you’ve yet to be called away to entertain another wealthy man with delicate hands and a dirty mouth. ‘Yes,’ you breathe. ‘Definitely a fine night.’ Picking the material back from your lap, you return to your craft. ‘Of course, the company helps… It’s not often I get chance to actually talk to a man.’ You pause, cocking your head. ‘You are a man, aren’t you? I guess I just assumed… Either way: you’re a good listener, I can tell. It’s a good quality to have, attractive, something a woman can respect.’

Gyutaro’s throat tightens. A shiver runs down his spine. You couldn’t be suggesting what he suspected? No. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the idea from between his ears. No woman would ever find him attractive. He’d been told as much since a child. With his sickly body and broken teeth, no woman could possibly look upon him and feel a warmth spark inside of her. Even his own mother had remained callous and cold, unable to conjure a twinge of the love one should have for their own child. He knows this to be true and yet, he’s helpless against the hunger pains that force his body to curl at the sight of you, backlit by the hall light. Gripping his stomach, he licks along his teeth. He’d stolen half a loaf of bread this morning to share with Ume and the day before he’d managed to scrounge up a few slices of meat thrown from one of the houses; he was more full than he’d been in months. Swallowing uneasily, he stretches himself back to full height as it dawns on him: Maybe it’s not food that he’s hungry for.

‘Dear?’

The voice shakes him from his realisation and causes him to shrink back into the shadow.

An elderly woman wonders onto the porch and calls out again, softer this time. ‘Dear, Mr Doma has requested your presence.’

Twisting to observe the woman behind you, you chew at your cheek before conceding and offering her a smile. ‘I assume I’ll be having to fend off another offer to abscond to his precious little cult?’

The woman shuffles closer, eventually reducing herself to her knees beside you. ‘If I could speak out of turn, dear?’

You nod. ‘You’re always welcome to speak your mind to me, Mistress.’

Resting a hand on your shoulder, the woman lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘A girl like you could do well with a man like him. He’s sweet on you, you can see it in his eyes; he never calls on any other girls: only you and he’s yet to touch you. Most men can hardly wait to paw at a woman, but Mr Doma, he’s… Different. He likes you.’

‘All of the men like me, Mistress.’ You chuckle, gently dislodging her hand.

The woman levels you with a stare. ‘They like the thing between your legs.’ She vaguely gestures her own lap before poking a boney finger into the crook of your shoulder. ‘Not you.’ She shrugs, chuckling to herself. ‘A cunts a cunt, no matter how pretty it’s owner is.’

You snort. ‘Well that’s simply not true. If a cunt was just a cunt; I wouldn’t have found myself a nice young courtier like Mr Doma, would I?’

Rolling her eyes, the woman chuckles. ‘You remind me of myself, you know…’ She sighs. ‘It’s just something to consider, dear. I wouldn’t begrudge you a life with him should you wish to go. You’ve been loyal, done more than enough for the house -.’

‘Mistress.’ Twisting, you lay a hand on the woman’s cheek. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you where trying to get rid of me.’

‘I only want the best for you, dear. You deserve a life like what Mr Doma could give you. One filled with pretty dresses and jewels, where you’d be kept and looked after…’

A laugh trickles over your lips as you gracefully climb to you feet, bringing the elderly woman with you. ‘Well then, let’s not keep him waiting. Will you announce me? Allow me a few moments to ready myself?’

With a bow, the women nods before slipping back inside the house.

Pausing at the top

stair, your sowing now collected neatly into one of your hands, you look out into the dark. ‘I’ve been called away.’ Chewing at your cheek, you pause for a moment before speaking again to the nothingness. 'I try to come out here most nights when it’s like this. If not here, then I’ll stitch on the balcony of my room… It’s the one with the purple curtain. I wouldn’t be opposed to having company more often.’

‘Ah. There you are. Are you hiding from me, my love?’

The shadow that floods the doorway is large. It looms over you and blocks out the light, snuffing out the broad halo of luminescence that had coated your body. Gyutaro shivers. Sinking further into the dark, he steadies his breathing as the figure of a young man moves to join you on the porch. There’s a heat like he’s swallowed too many fire seeds at once in his chest when he sees the man hover a hand over the small of your back and he’s forced to clench his jaw to stop himself from spitting it up.

‘From you, love? Never.’

Your voice sounds different. It’s not as sweet, more high-pitched and tight as you indulge the man with idle small talk. He doesn’t like it.

‘Should we go on a walk, it’s a fine night for it?’

‘The parlour.’ You smile. ‘A more suitable place for a man like yourself and the conversation he brings, don’t you think?’

For a minute you think that Doma might push, might reduce himself to the usual selfishness you’ve seen from other men, but like always, he surprises you. A smile cracks his mouth as he turns, gesturing back into the house.

‘The parlour then…’

From his hiding space, Gyutaro hears your leave, the man only half a step behind as you cross the thresh-hold back into the house. He squeezes shut his eyes, blocking out the light that still trickles from the hallway, but before he can open them and hope to catch a glimpse of you one last time - the door slams shut and he’s alone with nothing, but the darkness for company.

It’s almost Thursday by the time he gets to see you again. Not yet brave enough to clamber onto the balcony of your room, he’d returned religiously to his spot beside the staircase each night and each night, you’d failed to come. Sinking deeper into his hiding spot, he presses his shoulders into splintering wood and settles down. He’ll wait until a few hours before dawn again.

A sickness crawls in his stomach as the first hour past midnight washes over the district. The air bites and scratches at the exposed skin of his chest and legs, forcing him to tuck his knees to his chest to try to preserve the little warmth his frail body can generate. Tucking his chin into his knees, he tries to forget what he’d heard the mistress say almost a week ago. ‘I wouldn’t begrudge you a life with him should you wish to go’ - the words swim in his head and make his breath quicken. Go where? He wonders. For a moment he indulges, imagines you strolling the large gardens of a manor bathed in the sunlight of a cool spring morning. Your dress would be green, like his eyes and he’d watch you, patiently commit every curve of your figure to memory as you danced between rose bush and spider lily. Maybe, maybe, he’d even join you, rising from his hidden place to feel the sun on his face, your hand in his as you walked. Another, more violent wave of sickness washes over him and forces the breath from his lungs. Would he be able to find you there? Or would he lose you? Would he be left behind with nothing, but the darkness again?

‘Mistress, please.’ The door is swung open, letting you pass onto the porch. ‘I must insist on at least an hour to myself. I’ve been beckoned from pillar to post for the best part of a week; I’ll start tearing my hair out if I have to go another moment without hearing myself think.’

‘But -.’

‘No.’ Your voice is firmer this time, your hand already wrapping the thick edge of the door as you prepare to shut it. ‘I’ll be taking the hour, at least…’

‘I must -.’

You slam the door and rest your head against the wood before speaking to the air. ‘Are you here?’

Gyutaro freezes. In his chest his heart thunders. His tongue a lead weight in his mouth refuses to move and so, instead, he wraps his knuckles twice against the staircase.

‘Oh, good.’ Rummaging in the pockets of your dress, you remove something large and round, a package that crinkles when you wrestle to open it. Drifting to the edge of the porch, you kneel to place the thing on the floor before stepping away and turning your back. ‘I was rather hoping you’d eat with me… It’s an onigiri, although I’m afraid it’s a bit messy. I had to sneak them from the kitchen and they’ve been in my pockets ever since.’ You chew at your lip. ‘I’ve turned my back if you want to take it. I promise not to look.’

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The kindness of the gesture sets something kindling in his chest and then, before he can think twice, he’s slinking from his hiding spot and reaching around the side of the porch. Feeling against the wood, he pats the wood before he locates it. The paper touches his skeletal fingers, crinkling as he gingerly closes a delicate fist. It’s an easy snatch after that. Reeling back, his prize in hand, he steals to the shadows and settles against the floor. When he unwraps it he discovers that the onigiri is large, misshapen and the most wonderful thing he has ever laid his eyes on. He takes a bite, savouring the mouthful and moans as he licks spice from his lip.

The noise he makes is dull and heavy, but it pleases you non-the-less. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

He takes another bite, letting a similar noise slip from his lips. Part of him knows he should be cursing himself, he’d never intended for you to know of his existence, let alone communicate with you.

‘I’m going to assume that means I’m okay to turn back around.’ You chuckle, shoulders bouncing as you spin in the light of the hallway. Wondering to the edge of the porch, you settle against the top-most step before taking a small bite from the top of your own meal. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t

been out much. I haven’t had a moment to breathe.’ You swallow your mouthful and take another. ‘Doma, the man who interrupted us last time, he comes to see me every day now. He’s determined, I’ll give him that; even if it does feel like the Mistress is trying to sell me off some days.’ The thought sours your mouth. Doma has been growing pushy for a while, although he has yet to demand your presence at his home. Still, with each of your refusals you swear you can see something shift in his eyes. Something you’re not sure you like.

Wrinkling his nose, he pushes away the thought of you and the man. He knows men, knows what lingers behind their charming smiles and sweet words. It makes him feel uneasy.

Your stomach bubbles. ‘Do you want this?’ Thrusting your arm out, you let the onigiri balance in your palm. It’s mostly intact, save for two small bites taken from the top. ‘I’m afraid I think I’ve lost my appetite.’

Gyutaro’s eyes fix on the meal in your palm. Does your kindness know no bounds? Having more food wouldn’t do any harm, far from it. He can already see Ume’s face, her apple cheeks glowing as he presents her with the morsel. Creeping forward, he steadies himself on the staircase preparing to snatch and retreat, but as he reaches out, his fingers brush your palm. He freezes: You’re warm.

‘Your hands…’ you mumble. The hand that reaches out of the dark is large, but thin. The tendons stand out, proud and strong, connecting wrist to knuckle as he prepares to grip. His skin is sallow, an almost grey that reminds you of the clouds on stormy days and the nails are black with polish and blood blisters. Each long finger is dainty, nobbled at the joint where flesh sticks to bone, but fine in its poise. You wonder how they would feel interlaced with yours, his cold pressed to all the places you’re warm.

He flinches, moves to retract his hand and abandon the food, but before he can move, you’re thumbing at his knuckles. The touch is feather light. A barely there brush of skin on skin, but it sets him on fire. The muscles in his shoulders relax, in turn releasing his elbow and wrist. Wincing he prepares for an insult, to be spat at and shunned.

‘They’re beautiful.’ When he doesn’t move away, you twist to press more of your hand to his. Your thumb latches over the top, curling onto his palm as you lift the onigiri into his still lax grip.

The word repeats on him, making his whole body feel strange and light. He can hear the smile on your voice, picture the sides of your lips pulling up as you speak. With weak knees, he surges forward, he has to see it - your smile - the lips that had spoken a word he’d never heard, not for him.

‘My love? Are you hiding again?’

You don’t snatch your hand back, despite the way Doma’s voice shocks you. Tightening your jaw, you deflate. ‘I have to leave…’ You push the onigiri into his hand, ensuring he has tight hold before you let go. ‘I’m sorry.’

The sorrow in your voice makes a lump form in his throat as he takes the food and finally pulls back his hand. He listens to you stand, listens to the way even the floor boards that creak under foot seem sad to watch you go. He really had never intended to announce himself. Looking at you had always just been a pass time before the inevitable; before he did what he came to do. Only it’s more complicated than that now, isn’t it. Breathing deep, he speaks just loud enough to be heard over the wind. ‘Thank you.’

Winter comes early that year and brings with it a small blooming friendship. Gyutaro returns to share an evening meal as often as he can, eating in calm silence for the hour or so you can spare him. On the nights you don’t join him, you leave small packages of food, neatly wrapped and tucked under the stairs - sealed with tape and a note in delicate scrawl: ‘To my stranger, I’m sorry I can not be with you tonight.’ He has a collection of notes now, pinned to the thick panelling of the wall in the corner that he sleeps.

Pulling his robe tightly around himself, he makes his way to his hiding spot. You’re not on the porch when he settles down and there is no package when his curious hands pat at the dirt under the stairs. He hums, you’re late then. Letting his head fall back on his shoulders, he feels the familiar sensation of the wind chilling his bones as he prepares to wait. He’s been careful since the day you saw his hand, keeping further to the shadows and safely out of sight. That hasn’t quenched his desire to be seen, though. In fact, he thinks it’s made it worse. The pad of your thumb had been so warm against his skin, your voice so soft as you breathed praise into his ears. He longs for it. To hear it again. To feel you again. Clenching his jaw, he wrestles with the thing in his chest that squirms when he thinks of you.

A shout breaks him from his daydream. He jolts, hitting his head and scrambles to his feet. It takes him too long to realise that the shouting is leaking from one of the upstairs windows, but when he does, he listens close. There’s an all manner of loud noises that seep out from a whore house windows. Many of them are innocuous, better to be forgotten than listened to; in this part of town, shouting doesn’t often mean danger. He strains his ears, trying to discern the nature of the sound, but all noise is filtered from his head when he makes out the rough edges of your voice. Immediately, he’s on the move. His eyes rake over the outside of the house, searching, searching, searching.

‘Purple curtain…’ He mumbles it under his breath. ‘Purple curtain, purple curtain, purple -.’ When his eyes finally catch it, a thin slip of cotton blowing from a third level window, he finds his body moving on its own. Before he can think, his arms are reaching, his hands gripping the jutting edge of the wooden slats to help him climb. He scuttles up the side of the house, almost slipping twice as he finally grabs onto the edge of your balcony. The curtain blows gently in the breeze, obscuring his view inside and forcing him to clamber up and onto the balcony itself. He balances on its edge, the balls of his feet bearing his weight as he listens.

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.’ Your voice is harsh, blunter than he’s ever heard it; rougher than any tone you’ve ever taken with him.

‘Dear… Sweetling,’ Another voice, a purr, calls to you, poisoning the air with faux sweetness. ‘I’m not trying to say anything. I’m telling you that you’re mine.’

You laugh. ‘I am no man’s.’

Doma’s laugh is louder.

‘I don’t know how you came across the impression that I can be bought, but -.’

‘You’re a whore.’ Doma’s voice cracks like thunder. ‘The only thing you’ve ever known is commodity - I’m trying to give you more.’

‘More?’

‘A life away from this. A community, a house… Children.’ He breathes, his eyes shining as he reaches for your elbow. ‘A purpose.’

You blink, reeling back away from him. ‘There is nothing I wish for less than to bare your children, I can assure you -.’

He waves his hand and steps closer, his lips pulling back to expose sharp teeth underneath. ‘Your wishes aren’t my concern -.’

‘Excuse me -.’ The large step backwards you take isn’t enough to stop Doma’s advance. His chest presses to yours, forcing you to look up at him as his large palms come to wrap your shoulders. The grip he takes on you is unyielding and tight enough that you can feel it bruising the skin. Taking a steadying breath, you force the fear from your voice, keeping each of your words calm and steady.

You’ve met men like this, men who want to see you scared, who get off on making small things quake. You harden your jaw: You won’t give him that pleasure. ‘I will scream. If you do not take your hands off me, I will make sure no woman in this entire district will so much as look upon you again.’

Doma blinks slow. ‘Oh. Sweetling.

‘Take your hands off me.’

He tilts his head and smiles, flashing his teeth again. A tongue, long and rosy, peaks from his mouth to lick at his lips. ‘I think I’d rather like to hear you scream.’

Inhaling quick, the sound bursts from your chest, but as quickly as it shatters the air, it’s stopped by a broad hand covering your mouth.

‘But…’ Doma locks eyes with you. There’s joy swimming in his iris’, a primal glee growing as he soaks in the terror that radiates from you. You’ve put up a good front. In fact, your little show has been quite splendid… Maybe, that’s why he has to have you? ‘I’d rather hear you scream for me under different…’ He rolls his eyes, smirks. ‘Circumstances.’

Swallowing behind his hand, you try and stop the trembling in your limbs. Behind his palm your jaw is still set, a frown etched into your brow as you glare at him, but inside, you’re shaking.

He holds your gaze for a time as if making sure of your silence before lifting his hand and stepping away. ‘I will have you.’ He tells you. 'Just remember that.’ Without giving you time to respond, Doma offers you a short bow before turning to the door. ‘I must take my leave, but I’ll be back.’

You don’t grant him a response or a courtesy in response. You don’t even nod your head.

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Dear. You should be glad that I want to keep you.’ Doma chuckles as hunger crawls into his eyes. ‘You’re good enough to eat.’

The door shuts then, leaving you alone. Almost immediately you fall to the floor, your knees crunching against the wood as you weep. Each sob leaves your chest in a great heaving wrench, forcing your body to shake with the force. Fear wraps itself around your limbs, suffocating you, but your breath is frozen in your throat when you hear two knocks ring clear through your room. Clearing the tears from your cheeks, you croak: ‘Is that you, my stranger?’

The knocks come again.

You smile, despite yourself and relax a little easier against the floor. ‘You should come in, I know how harsh it is out there tonight.’

Gyutaro rocks on the balls of his feet. His heart thunders in his chest, adrenaline spiking as he tries to stay as still as possible. He’d been seconds away from leaping through your door, seconds away from putting himself to death because of a raised voice and a few harsh words. It shakes him. He’s always been a selfish man, but the way his body trembles betrays that. Carefully, he climbs down from his perch.

You sigh, knowing he’s about to bolt or settle beyond your view. The company would be nice, needed even, but you’re not in the business of forcing pretty, quiet things from their hiding places.

Gyutaro speaks before he can think better. ‘Are you okay?’ He winces. Beside yours, his voice sounds cracked and hoarse, raw when compared to your melody.

You bite your lip as a thrum of excitement runs through you. ‘Yes. Yes. Quite. Thank you… I -.’ You smile as you spot him slink behind the curtain, creeping closer to the open door. ‘I apologise if this is a little forward, but I think I’d rather like to see you tonight.’

Breathing deep, he settles hunched against the wood of the house. His mind tells him that it’s a lie, but his heart is loud enough to deafen its scolding. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Shuffling to his feet once again, he shimmies his way towards the opening. He doesn’t know if it’s the desire to be seen crawling in his stomach, or the fact that he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’re alright that makes up his mind, but he finds himself uncaring as he hauls himself to his feet. His bones ache from his climb, his limbs and muscles whining horribly as he tries to steady his breathing. It’s a stark reminder of his weakness, of how his body betrays him,

both in function and in aesthetics. ‘I’m ugly.’

Your eyebrows furrow. Beauty, you could tell him, is subjective, is far more than looks, but in a city like this it’s hard not the believe the rhetoric. Taking a deep breath, you lick at your lips before asking: ‘Is that why you’ve been hiding?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why do you think you’re ugly?’

He scoffs. ‘I don’t think. I know.’

Clicking your tongue, you find yourself standing and looking about the room for a suitable perch. Pouting, you fold your arms. ‘Well… You’ve warned me now, come on, let me see.’

With shaking fingers, he reaches for the edge of the open door and slips around it. The curtain clings to his torso, wrapping him up only to be blown backwards, revealing him stood in the doorway. As soon as your eyes touch his skin, he wraps his arms around himself. It feels wrong, being looked at so intently, being observed by something as beautiful as you. He tenses, readying for a disappointed sigh, for you to retch or walk from the room, unable to keep looking at him, but once again, it never comes.

'There…’ You smile, letting your eyes rake over him slowly. He’s taller than you expected, with a lithe build and pale, greying skin. His eyes are large, but hooded and his hair is a murky black that falls from his crown in loose waves. Something fizzes gently in your stomach. He certainly isn’t ugly. '… Now shut the door and come sit down, I’ve got some food set out by the fire.’

He stumbles slightly before pulling the door shut behind him. The wood under his feet is warm, the call of your voice warmer as you shift and push yourself to your feet, asking him to sit. Without a thought he finds himself obeying. He curls himself on the floor, legs crossed under him, hands dropped into his lap as he watches you collect the food.

'Is chicken okay?’ Turning back, you retake your seat opposite him and offer out the meal. You watch, intently as he takes it from you; reaching out with those large, beautiful hands.

'Thank you.’ His eyes flicker to yours, skin prickling as he pulls back. Raising the rice ball to his lips, he takes a small bite from the top.

You watch him eat, lips curling as he nibbles at the rice barely taking more than a mouthful at a time before wiping at his face with the back of his hand. There’s something comfortable about the silence that settles on the room, something easy about the way you lapse into each other despite having shared nothing more than a few blind meals and the same air. Shuffling, you shift closer to him until you’re both facing the door. The light from the city beyond refracts off of the glass, spilling colour across the wood. You knock into his shoulder. 'Beautiful, isn’t it?’

He looks up, peering over the onigiri. 'I’ve only ever seen it from the ground.’ The light dances in his eyes, dazzling him, but even the cityscape beyond the windows isn’t enough to compare to you. His eyes flicker left, eating greedily at the side of your face as he takes in your profile and the way the cities image kisses your skin.

You smile when you catch him looking, but unlike the men you’re used to, he’s quick to look away. His innocence makes you bold, the lack of lingering motivation under his skin a magnet that draws you closer and encourages you to press your thigh to his.

He tenses at the contact, but relaxes soon after. In the space of only a few minutes, all of his wildest dreams had come true. He’d gone from stealing glances of you, his shining light in a world that was otherwise full of nothing but shit to sharing food, sitting knee to knee and feeling the warmth of your body against his. With his heart hammering against his chest, he takes a deep breath and another bite.

'Your not like the other men in this city, are you?’

Already he can feel it, the thing that writhes in his stomach when he so much as breathes your air. If only you knew. The men in this city might only have their own desires in mind, but they came with coin and conversation; offering to you something in return for the pleasure of your body. He had nothing of the sort to offer. Instead, he’d planned to rob you, stalked you only to find himself gravitating to your light helplessly and befriending you. There was nothing he could give you, but that didn’t stop his own desire. Shivering, he swallows down the thought of you discovering what he thinks about late at night while he fisted his cock. 'I’m worse.’ He mutters.

'Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.’ You flash him a smile. 'In a city full of clients and whores, it feels as if you’re my only friend sometimes, stranger.’

A blush breathes life back into his cheeks. 'A friend?’ He resists the urge to scoff. Would a friend think about kissing you the way he does? Or, how the skin on the insides of your thighs would taste, sweat-slicked and slippery. How your tongue would feel coated in his seed as you licked back into his mouth?

'You don’t look at me like the others do.’ You stare back out at the city. 'Most of my clients don’t even talk to me… Not unless it’s to whisper some sweet nothing into my ear or spit some cruel insult… They don’t see me as anything more than something warm and wet and willing.’

Shame coils inside of him causing his spine to bend. It feels wrong to keep the burning inside of him a secret while you’re being so open, so vulnerable in front of him. He wonders what a friend would do, a real one, one that doesn’t picture peeling your clothes from your skin in an almost obscene routine each night before bed. 'I -.’

'Hmm?’

He should tell you, he thinks. Should prove to you that he is everything you think he isn’t, but each time he tries the words stick in his throat. Reaching for a small glass of water beside your ankle, he takes three long swallows. 'Sometimes…’ He starts. 'Sometimes… I think of you like that, too.’

Another chuckle slips from your lips as you turn to him and cock and eyebrow. Even with his skin pressing to yours, your body almost flush to his side, he fails to take the path of so many other men before him. Instead, he steals glances and drops his hands back into his lap between bites. A dull hum sounds in the back of his throat when you shift, anxious to dampen the gentle bubbling beginning in your stomach. With an itch in your fingers, you reach out brushing your hand along the outside of his thigh. 'You do?’

The touch sends him reeling. He jumps, muscles tensing as he shoves himself away sending himself sprawling onto his elbows. Electricity shoots down his leg, scorching his skin where your fingers had grazed him. 'I -.’ He doesn’t know what he means to say, why all of a sudden his mind and body seem to be at odds. Floundering, he collects his legs again and holds himself close. 'I don’t have any – I can’t – wouldn’t be able to - .’

You swallow, eyebrows raising on your head. Something cold and heavy settles in your gut as you watch panic and lust swirl together in his eyes. Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your eyes slip to the wooden floor as the Mistress’ words echo against the walls of your skull. Maybe you are just a cunt, after all. 'I wasn’t intending to secure your business.. That’s – that isn’t what I was trying to…’ Your voice cracks. 'It’s… I’m sorry – I -. I forget sometimes, that I’m just a -.’

'You’re not.’ The dimming in your eyes has him finding his voice again, he bites his tongue, eyes pleading for you to look at him. 'I mean, you’re not just a -.’

'A whore?’ You supply.

Forcing his body to relax, he offers you a broken smile. 'It’s not that I don’t want to… I - I want to. I do. I -.’

'Then what is it?’ You whisper, twisting to face him. Rejection tastes funny after all the years you’ve been feasting on desire, but it doesn’t sour your stomach like you’d expect it to. It stirs up a curiosity inside of you, making you cock your head and cant forward as you watch him slowly relax again.

He lifts his chin, chest trembling as he holds your gaze. Under his clothes, his skin crawls. The thought of you touching him is enough to make him dizzy, but even that isn’t enough to stop the sickness that scratches at his insides. Wrapping his arms around himself, he hides, tugging the material covering his chest away from him. 'I’m… I’m hideous and you’re… You’re beautiful.’

'Is that the only reason?’

He nods, refusing your eye.

Shifting to your knees, you crawl towards him and reach out, letting your knuckles brush against his cheek. 'You’re not hideous… Not to me, stranger.’ You can see it on his face, the moment he falls, giving in to your touch as you move to cup his cheek. A gentle brush of your thumb across his skin brings his eyes to yours and then, you’re encouraging him backwards to lie against the mats.

'I -.’ With wide eyes, he lets you lay a hand on his chest and swing your legs over his hips. The heat of your body presses to him making the air in his lungs freeze as he struggles to decide what to do with his hands. He wants to touch you, to feel the silk of your skin, the curve of your hip under his palms, but he stutters, caught in the headlights of having you on his lap.

'Touch me.’ Taking his wrists, you place his hands on your hips and cover his fingers, squeezing him until he takes hold of you. You can feel him shaking, his hips already twitching under you as you move against him with an experimental roll that earns you a gasp. His hands tighten, rough fingertips digging into the fat about your pelvis as a shaky moan wriggles its way up his throat. 'There you are…’

The muscle in his stomach twitches, tensing as a shock of pleasure crashes through his body. He’s in awe, trapped somewhere in a daydream as you grind against him again. Already his cock is fattening, pushing up and against the plush of your ass as you move backwards and grin when you feel it. Summoning all of the courage he can muster, he lets his hands slip from your hips and travel up. His palms skate over your waist, fingertips searching until they brush against the underneath of your breasts. 'Can I – want to… Want to touch you here.’

'Here?’ You peel back your robe, letting him get a full view of your chest. 'You can touch here.’

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He curls, bending himself into a half-moon to latch onto your nipple with his mouth.

A shocked gasp leaps from your mouth when you feel him suck. It’s unexpected, the vigour at which he takes to kneading and licking at your flesh. It’s hungry, starved, and sets up a furnace in your stomach. Lacing your hands into his hair, you tug and scratch, only encouraging him further with the soft whines that leak over your lips.

With his mouth wrapped around your breast, all thoughts leave his head. His hesitance vanishes, leaving him to rut up against you, his mouth tireless as he switches nipples and shares his attention.

You’re dripping. You can feel it. Slick gathers between your thighs and coats your skin, seeping into the cotton of his robe as you press your cunt to his pelvis. Tugging at his hair, you ease him backwards and smooth your hands over his cheeks. There’s something heady swimming in his eyes when he looks at you, something more than the violent lust you’re used to. His lips are blossoming, coated in a thin layer of his own spit as he gulps air as if he’s just remembered that he can’t breathe you in. Slipping your hand under his jaw, you lift his chin. 'Kiss me, stranger.’

'Gyutaro.’

You bite back a smile. 'Kiss me, then, Gyutaro.’

He does. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is tentative at first, a barely there grazing of his lips against yours, but as soon as he gets a taste, he’s ravenous. Moaning softly, he lets his mouth drop open when you press your tongue to the seam of his lips. It’s natural, the way his hands grope at your chest while you suck his lip into your mouth, the way your bodies grind, slowly, lazily, against each other.

Pulling back, you let your hands skim down his body teasing over the soft cotton of his robe until your reach his hips. You grip him, digging in your thumbs gently before dragging your nails soft over his stomach. He shivers, whimpering into your mouth as you slip under the material of his underwear and take hold of his cock.

'Fuck – I – ha.’ Gasping, he lets his mouth fall open as heat coils in his gut, but the hand you still have curled around his jaw stops him from dropping your eye. His stomach fizzes as he’s forced to keep looking at you, watching how amusement swims in your pupils with each shuddering whine you’re able to elicit from your idle stroking.

His cock fits perfectly in your palm, averagely thick, but pleasantly long and drooling. Pre-cum coats your skin, making each pass of your hand easy and smooth, even with the slow pace you set. Already you can see him coming apart, feel the pulse of his veins in your hand and the blunt ache of his fingers as he tries to gain purchase on your waist. 'That’s it…’ You hum against his mouth. 'Look at you, so pretty for me.’

'P – pr – pretty?’ His eyes threaten to roll in his head, but he struggles to stay focused. The word makes him feel hollow and full all at the same time, his skin prickling as you nod and whisper it again before feeding him it on a kiss.

'So pretty.’

A stuttering whine leaves his throat when you take back your hand, but it jams in throat when you bring it to your mouth and suck, tasting him on your fingers. He wheezes and lurches forward, only for his lips to meet your outstretched finger.

You press it to his mouth horizontally, stopping his advance. Wiggling in his lap, you push backwards sliding down his legs until you can prise them apart to slip between them. Your hands land on his thighs, skating up over pale skin until they reach his cock. With one wrapping the base, you jostle, moving closer until finally, you can wrap your lips around his head.

The first suck has his head falling back on his shoulders. He has to brace himself on his arms to stop himself from falling, his hands digging mercilessly into the mat behind him as he leans back. It’s a fight to stop his hips from lifting, an endless struggle to not thrust into your mouth and chase the soft wetness that has enveloped his tip. 'Fuck.’ He chews his lip. 'Feels – fuck – oh, fuck – you feel.’

'Is it good?’ Popping off his cock, you look up at him and blink. The hand you have wrapping the base of his cock slides up, thumb massaging the skin and vein’s that run along the underside of his shaft as you go. You stop short of his head, twisting your wrist just so as your thumb digs into the tender flesh below the tip to massage, drawing slow circles into the flesh.

'It’s – g – good… So – g – good.’ This time he’s helpless to stop the twitching of his hips. He ruts up, forcing your hand to slide on his cock and hisses when you squeeze tight.

'Patience, baby.’ You kiss his tip before letting your mouth fall back open to take him in and suckle. Within a few seconds you have his thighs shaking, one of his hands has curled on the mat, white knuckles clenched tight as he tries to keep the other hand soft where he’s moved it to cup your neck. It makes something swell in your chest, to be able to reduce men like this with only your mouth. It makes your own core heat, your head becoming light as you blink up at his face. His nose is wrinkled, lips pulled back over his teeth as he tries to breathe through them and steady the molten lava bubbling in his stomach.

'I’m – I.’ He’s not even able to get the entire sentence out before your mouth vanishes from his cock and your hand is back at the base, squeezing tight. Thrashing, he squirms as the heat in his stomach recedes, leaving him panting and desperate. 'No, no – please. I – I want to…’

Tilting your head, you coo at him while shuffling back into his lap. This time, you let your own robe fall aside and hook your fingers into the seat of your underwear to pull it aside. Bare cock presses to your thigh, smearing stickiness over your skin as you reposition yourself to hover over him. 'You don’t want to cum inside me?’

His eyes blow out in real time. With the haze of your touch still gripping his mind, he’d failed to even comprehend anything more than the perfection of your mouth. Stuttering, he nods, hips flexing as he brings his cock up to press at your folds. 'P – please.’

You gasp, eyebrows rising on your head, but regain your composure enough to purr soft as you slowly sink down onto him. 'Such a good boy, aren’t you? Such a good, pretty boy for me.’ The stretch is modest, far from the largest you’ve had, but pleasing none the less. He fills you easily, hollowing you out as you come to rest back against his pelvis.

Now fully seated inside of you, his chest heaves. He’s sure he’s dreaming now. There’s no other explanation for how your cunt feels wrapping him, how your hands feel when they hook over his shoulders, but all thoughts leave his head when you begin to move. The first lift of your hips has him groaning, then you sink back down and his whole body shudders. 'I can’t… Can’t – too good.’

'You going to cum already?’ You tease him, but don’t stop. Each roll of your hips becomes quicker, the sinking of your cunt on his cock harder as you ride him not for his pleasure, but for yours. You clit catches on the wiry mess of pubic hair on his groin and sends sparks of electricity up through your legs and encouraging your pace. 'Going to cum inside me, pretty boy? Gonna to make a mess, are you?’

Maybe it’s your tone, or the wicked look that blends to adoration on your face, but he’s powerless to stop the overflow. He cums quick, too quick, and with a yell. His head falls forward, mouth searching for yours to feed you his pleasure as his cock leaks heavy white into your cunt. Embarrassment coils strong and thick in his stomach. Of course, he’d ruined the moment by breaking too soon. Swallowing the anxiety that shakes his bones, he risks severing the kiss to look at you. 'Sorry, sorry. Fuck – I’m…’

'Don’t need to be sorry, baby…’ You sooth him, still smiling from the feeling of the warmth slathered inside of you.

'But…’ He pants. 'But, you didn’t…’

'Oh.’ Rocking your hips again, you cup his jaw when a whine breaks his chest. 'I’m gonna, baby. Don’t worry.’ Your thumb slips into his mouth when you set up a rhythm again and presses against his tongue keeping it pinned down. He gurgles before closing his lips and then, he’s sucking and making your head spin. 'Fuck… Good boy.’ You moan. 'Such a good fucking boy.’

The praise makes him weak, makes him want to never do another bad thing again as he watches you use him relentlessly. His cock is still hard, even if he doesn’t quite understand how. The muscle in his stomach twitching and flexing relentlessly as you ride him into overstimulation. It burns, makes him tremble and brings him to the edge of tears, but he doesn’t ask you to stop. Instead, he sucks harder at your thumb and swirls his tongue around your digit.

His cock head presses to the spongy roof of your cunt, your clit tickled by his pubes as you grind down chasing after a high you know is only a few moments away. 'I’m – I’m cumming. I’m cumming. I’m cumming.’ In a handful of thrusts, you’re coming undone. You moan, loud and unabashed as a wave of pleasure crashes into you. It makes your cunt tense, milking him as your thrusts slow to an eventual stop. Collapsing forward, you slip your thumb from his mouth and rest your head against the crook of his neck, panting into his skin.

'Was…’ He croaks after a moment. Your breath is warm as it fans against his shoulder, your lips soft as he feels them press to him, your teeth scraping after them. 'Was I good? Good for you?’

You snicker and reel back only to pull him into a lazy kiss. Usually, your clients are less than willing to subject themselves to overstimulation in search of your pleasure, but Gyutaro had been more than happy to whimper and burn for you. It makes something fizz in your stomach as you cup his cheeks in your hands again. 'So good. The best.’

Melting into your touch, he sighs. Fatigue settles on his shoulders quickly, leaving his muscles aching and his eyes almost closing. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses you close, resting his head against your shoulder as he basks in the aftermath of your praise. He should tell you, he thinks as he feels you shift and slip from his lap. He should tell you a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t tell you that your cunt has been the first, that your lips and hands have been the only kind touch he’d received his entire life. He doesn’t tell you that he’d been watching you for months, or the real reason he’d been creeping behind your house that night. It doesn’t matter, he thinks, not any more. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment. ‘Can you - can you call me what you call him?’

You blink, confused as he peers up at your through damp eyelashes. ‘Call you what, my love?’

His heart swells and he’s forced to clench his jaw to keep from crying. It feels like love as you whisper it again into his hair, his nose buried into your chest as his whole body goes light.

You smile and let him rest for a moment, mumbling sweet things to him. ‘There, you are, my love. There you are.’ Then, after a moment you take his hand, clean him down with a towel from your bathroom and pass him a warmed cup of tea when eventually he folds himself back up on the mat. He looks softer in the dying light of the city. His eyes are shining, his mouth twisted not into a scowl, but a smile. Settling yourself across from him, you chew at your lip. It’s almost domestic, with no money exchanging hands, no awkward goodbyes and re-scheduling. Your chest hollows. 'You look beautiful.’

He looks up from his tea. Looking at you as you settle down beside him, your eyes full of warmth as your hand reaches out to stroke the length of his arm he can’t help, but believe it. 'You’re beautiful, too.’

'Thank you.’ You tap your head against his. 'I’m glad you decided to come out of the shadows…’

Raising his tea to his lips, he gulps at the liquid. He could get used to this. The warmth, the food, your company. If he had been born a different man, he might find such small comforts boring, but to him, this was nothing short of paradise. Draining his cup, he tries to stop the thought from souring his stomach. He’s not that man, though, is he? No. He’s an ugly man, who has sought to hurt you before being caught in your light. 'So am I.’ He chances a glance towards the window and instantly regrets his choice when he notices that the lights of the city have already dimmed. In a few hours, the sun will rise and he’ll have to slink back into his shadows once more. 'I… I should go. Ume – Ume is probably worried.’

You mouth drops open. Shaking yourself, you press your hand to your sternum to try and flatten the jealousy that had risen there. It’s a foreign emotion, one that you’ve felt more for another woman’s shiny robe than her man, but it burns none the less. 'Ume?’

'My sister.’

'Oh.’ Taking another sip of tea, you scold yourself. 'Would I know of her?’

He shakes his head. 'She’ll be waiting for me – I…’

You chew at your lip for a moment, waiting in the baited silence. 'I – can I give you something? Something to remember me, this – I mean…’

His brow furrows, but he nods none-the-less. You need not ask really, he’d take anything you have to give.

At once you’re on your feet and rooting around in a small box beside your bedroll. You toss aside cotton and fabric, pulling out reels of thread before you finally find what you’re searching for. It’s a small piece of stitch-work. At only a few centimetres across, the material only just covers the skin of your palm as you stand and make your way back over to him. You’d been working on it for months, ever since you’d first noticed him and just last week, you’d managed to finish it. The design is simple. An elegant primrose supporting a butterfly, it’s wings splayed and stretched in an imaginary sun. You hand it to him with a shy smile.

Air sticks in his throat as he takes it gently. It looks even smaller in his palm, delicate as he cradles it, scared to ruin the image. 'For me?’

'For you.’

'I -.’ Locking eyes with you, he finds his jaw clench, mouth unable to summon the words to describe how his whole body feel light and hollow. With language failing him, he pushes himself to his feet, abandoning his cup in his anxiety to reach out to you. His hand cups your cheek, a new confidence in his movements as he brings his lips to yours in the hope that a kiss will say everything he’s unable to.

This time, he takes the lead. His lips guide you, press and knead to yours with a grace you’d not expected and in moments you’re melting. Your hands bunch in the robe covering his chest, tugging tight and keeping him close. It feels like drowning when he finally steps back and breaks the kiss.

'I should…’ He mumbles, even though his hand hasn’t left your cheek.

'Will you wait for me tomorrow?’

'I’ll try.’ Stepping away, he folds the material you’ve given him and slips it into his pocket ensuring to push it deep, save he lose it. His hand slips from your cheek to your shoulder and down your arm where he interlaces his fingers with yours.

You squeeze his hand and move together to the balcony, sharing a final fleeting kiss before you’re forced to release him entirely. The curtain billows in the wind, licking at his body as he yanks open the door and then… He steps back out of the light.

Slipping out of the door, he scales back down the side of the house as quietly as he can with the new ache in his muscles. There’s a smile on his face when he reaches the bottom, his hand touching the pocket of his robe to ensure the small stitch-work cloth is still tucked away safely. He’s about to turn and vanish back into the shadows when a large figure steps out from his hiding spot to block his path. Gyutaro freezes.

'Ah.’ Doma’s mouth stretches wide. 'So you’re the little rat she’s been feeding…’ He hums taking a step closer. 'What is it she calls you? Her little stranger?’

Gyutaro backs up until the wall of the next house stops him. His hand reaches behind him, palms blindly searching the wood for an imperfection, an indent. The second his skin touches cold metal, he’s wrapping his hand tight and pulling back, the sharp edge of a hammer now pressing into his back. He’d never moved it. Despite the abandonment of his original plan, the one he’d co-ordinated with Ume all those months ago – to sneak into your house and… He swallows. It didn’t matter now. Now, he’d slaughter anyone who dared to have such a thought about you. Doma’s voice breaks him from his daydream, causing his grip to tighten on the hammer.

'Although… I think you’re a little too familiar for all that now, aren’t you?’ He cocks his head and tuts as something dangerous dances in his eyes. Licking at his lips, he takes another step forward. His nails become daggers, teeth flashing sharp below his lip as he grins. 'And, I’m not sure I like that.’

->Masterlist

Play Away: Part Two

Fandom:My Hero Academia,
Warnings: Angst, Smut, Frottage, Rimming (M - Receiving),Anal(M - Receiving), Soft Sex, Disussion of Cheating, One Very Mild Panic Attack, KiriBaku.
Word Count:13.4k.

A/N:If this is terrible, we’re just gonna pretend it doesn’t exist and Play Away can live out as a one shot. Okay? Okay. This part gave me so much shit and the concepts have somewhat gotten away from me now, so sorry if that’s really evident in the prose.

->Series Masterlist

Bakugo tosses his keys into the small ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter. The metallic clang rings out around the apartment, echoing back at him from empty corners and window'ed walls. There’s a numbness in his chest that he can’t seem to shake when he pads to the fridge and yanks it open. For a minute he just stands there, listening to the buzz of the fridge and the gurgling of his stomach, but he closes it again without taking anything out. The buzzing of his phone rocks him out of his daze, causing him to drift back to the counter. It’s a text message. The new one adds to a notification bar of more until the whole screen is burning bright with a near constant stream of messages.

From: Shitty Hair
‘Kaminari ate your lunch.’

From:Shitty Hair
'… Are you coming back?’

From: Shitty Hair
'I’m assuming that’s a no.’

From:Shitty Hair
'Can we talk?’

From: Shitty Hair
'You can’t just kiss someone like that and leave…’

From:Shitty Hair
'Are you okay?’

From: Shitty Hair
'I’m getting worried.’

From:Shitty Hair
'Bakugo…’

From:Shitty Hair
'I’m not doing this. I’m coming over.’

Bakugo sighs. The last message had been delivered only twenty minutes ago, which gave him about five more before he had an irate red-head banging on his door. He could pretend not to be in, could turn off all the lights and hide in his bedroom with the blinds shut, but Bakugo has never been a coward. Busying about the kitchen, he pulls two cups from the stand in the corner and flicks on the kettle. He puts sugar in one, keeps the other black and waits, hands splayed on the counter of the water to boil. There’s something bubbling in his chest as he imagines Kirishima, somewhere, making his way slowly to his apartment. It’s a new sensation, one that threatens to burn his chest and constrict his throat, but it’s not all bad. He swallows, pushing down the faint slither of excitement that worms its way through him as he pictures swinging his door open to see his best-friend, the man he’d learned tasted like honeydew and cream, the man he’d cheated on his girlfriend with…

The kettle boils, snapping him from his spiral. Pouring out the water, he fills both cups and stirs, letting his eyes drift to the door of his apartment. Any minute now, the bell will ring, or knuckles will wrap against the door and – His phone vibrates.

From: Shitty Hair
'It’s late, let me in so I don’t have to wake up the whole building knocking.’

Bakugo gets to his feet too quickly, called to the door and the promise of Kirishima. The pull is too great for him to refuse, so he doesn’t. Almost tugging the door off its hinges, he has to tense his shoulders to stop himself lunging at the man in front of him.

Kirishima’s grin flattens as soon as he lays eyes on Bakugo. He reaches out, not giving the other man time to react as he wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him in, forcing him against his chest. 'You’ve been crying.’ He mumbles against his shirt, thankful that his lips meet material and not skin. He’d come over intent on starting an argument, or at least shouting a little, but the sight of Bakugo puffy-eyed and lost, looking at him like he’s the only thing that makes sense in his world, shatters those plans.

A strangled sob wriggles up Bakugo’s throat as Kirishima fastens his arms around him and gently urges him back into the apartment. 'I -.’ He swallows, feeling the pressure of the last few weeks wash over him, weakening his resolve. 'I made tea.’

Blowing air out of his nose, Kirishima nuzzles against the other man savouring his warmth before pulling back. 'Of course you did.’ Unravelling Bakugo from his body, he lets his hand slide from neck, to shoulder, to elbow, until eventually, he takes him by the hand. A breath of relief rises in his throat when Bakugo’s fingers entwine with his own and he’s allowed to kick the door shut and lead him away, towards the kitchen and the cups of tea steadily cooling on the counter. He tries not to think about the callouses scratching his skin, shoves away the thought of those hands on his body, tangled in his hair.

'I -.’

'Sit.’ Kirishima cuts him off before he can speak, shoving the cooling cup into his palms before pointing towards the back of the sofa. 'Now.’
Bakugo doesn’t even think about arguing. With the night drawing on, and the warmth of Kirishima’s hand on his palm slowly fading he hasn’t got the strength. He slinks off, rounding the front of the sofa before throwing himself back onto it with a soft thump.

A moment and a deep breath later, Kirishima joins him. He perches, despite being more than familiar with the apartment and shuffles awkwardly when Bakugo’s knee touches his. 'You look like shit.’

Bakugo scowls.

'What?’ Kirishima offers a small shrug, his eyes shining as he desperately tries to lighten the mood. 'You do.’

'You don’t look much better…’

'I don’t have eyebags.’

'The skin around my eyes is thin – it’s the -.’

Kirishima steals the sentence from his mouth with a smile. 'the veins showing through, yeah. I know.’

Bakugo huffs. Licking his lips, he swallows down his hesitance before grabbing Kirishima by the back of his t-shirt and tugging him backwards. 'Stop sitting on the sofa like you’ve never been invited in before.’

'Fuck – watch out.’ Kirishima slips back, almost splashing his tea down his front before he settles again. It’s almost impossible to be unaware of Bakugo’s arm still propped up along the back of the sofa, of his palm inches from the back of his neck almost touching his skin. The realisation makes his skin itch, makes him want to lean further back to feel Bakugo’s warmth, but he doesn’t. 'You want to talk about it?’

'About what?’ Bakugo grunts.

'About today – outside the cafe, you leaving…’

Bakugo lifts his arm from the back of the sofa, letting it fall back to his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly that he can feel his teeth shake, but without the tension in his mouth he knows he’ll fall apart again. There’s no point in hiding, he supposes. 'I went to see her.’

Kirishima freezes up. His shoulders tense around his ears. 'Oh.’

Bakugo’s voice warbles when he speaks. 'Sero saw us out -. He saw us outside of the cafe. That’s why he left… He went to go tell her.’

'How… How did she react?’ Shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, Kirishima shifts further away. The tea is scolding in his palm, but the pain centres him, stops him from standing up and screaming. He can still taste Bakugo on his tongue, but with every sip of tea it slips away. Part of him is thankful for that.

Bakugo laughs. A short burst of a noise rocks through his throat, making Kirishima jump. 'She fucked him.’

'What?’

'I put my hand in…’ He lifts his hand, recalling the sickening wetness on his fingers, but it’s the blossoming purple that pulls his mind back from the brink of free fall. 'Fuck – I hit him. I actually fucking…’

'Hey, hey…’ Kirishima abandons his cup on the coffee table in favour of scooting closer to Bakugo. He pauses for a second, hand hovering over the quaking mass of his shoulder before gently, setting his hand down. With a squeeze, he steadies him. 'You actually hit Sero.’

Nodding, Bakugo sets his own cup down and presents his hand. It’s hard to ignore now. The skin on his knuckles is red and swollen, small grazes littering thick skin on top of the bone making them stand out stark against the tanned plain of his hand. 'Yeah. Pretty hard.’

Eye’s raking over the injury, Kirishima swallows. 'You got a first aid kit?’

'I’m fine – it’s -.’

'Where is it?’

'Under the sink.’

Pushing himself up from the sofa, he slips easily back into the kitchen and dips to rummage under the sink. He returns, first aid kit in hand and sinks to his knees in front of Bakugo. 'Hand.’

Bakugo’s breath catches in his throat. The sight of Kirishima kneeling and nestled between is thighs makes something stir inside of him, something that threatens to make him forget the Hell inside his skull. 'Honestly, It’s -.’

‘Hand.’ It’s an order the second time it graces Kirishima’s lips. He pops open the kit, removing a small packet of anti-septic wipes before holding out his hand, waiting for Bakugo’s.

Bakugo gives in. He presents his hand, letting it drop palm against palm into Kirishima’s. It only stings a little when he brushes the wipes across the cuts, what hurts more is the look in Kirishima’s eye as he works. It feel like being on a see-saw. There’s a violence to the storm swirling in his chest that knocks him from heart-broken to smitten within a second and back again, but just as quick as he finds himself floating, the weight is taken straight from under him again. Just a few hours ago he’d been high on your voice, with your waist in his hands and anger on his tongue, but now… Now, his heart stutters when Kirishima’s fingers grace his. 'I’m sorry.’

'For what?’ Kirishima doesn’t look up. He doesn’t think he can.

'Everything…’ Bakugo swallows his hesitance. 'I’m fucking everything up.’

Kirishima licks his lips. 'You don’t know what you want.’ Dropping the wipe, he reaches into the kit and removes a cream. Uncapping it, he smears it across Bakugo’s skin. 'You don’t know who you want. You love her, but you kissed me…’ Shuffling back to his feet, Kirishima forces a smile to his lips. 'But, until you figure out what that is… I don’t think -’

Bakugo’s heart hammers in his chest. With each step Kirishima takes away from him his throat tightens, panic rising in his throat as the idea being left alone in the emptiness of his apartment with this weight in his stomach infests him. It hurts to think, to try and sort through the mess of the last few weeks, but with Kirishima there, he thinks he might just be able to try. Stumbling to his feet, he crosses the room, reaching for Kirishima’s wrist and catching him before he can stray too close to the door. 'Stay…’ He croaks, pulling the other man towards him. Swallowing, he links their fingers. 'I - I don’t know what the fuck is going on in my head, but I know I want you to stay.’

Sun shatters Bakugo’s slumber. Thin streaks of light slip through the blinds, scattering bright slashes of pale yellow onto plain sheets helping him ease into wakefulness. With tired muscles, he moves to stretch out the aches of a restless sleep only to find that they’re not there. Instead, when he twists hoping to pop the stretch of his spine, his chest soar. Kirishima is asleep beside him. His red hair spills out onto the pillow, still slightly damp from the break-of-dawn shower he’d taken before finally clambering into bed. The plush of his bottom lip is rosy in the cool morning, bright and glowing with the faint redness of a nervous tick that has peeled the skin. Bakugo’s breath catches in his throat. There’s an unsuspecting beauty to him like this, something that begs him to reach out and press his mouth to the soft thrum of his pulse. He wonders if he’d taste different in the morning, with un-brushed teeth and the gentle musk of a night’s sleep in someone else’s bed… Of a night spent in his bed. He swallows. Would he smell like him?

Shit.

Rolling onto his back, careful to avoid waking his bed-companion, several things make themselves known to him at once.

One: He’s is hard.

Two: It’s the kind of morning wood that demands to be taken care of. The kind that won’t be defeated with a cold-shower and a stern talking to.

Three: Sneaking off to the bathroom to take care of it is out of the question, because now, Kirishima is awake and he’s staring at it.

Red eyes blink slow, pupils expanding in real time as a steady blush creeps onto tanned cheeks. His lips fall ajar in invitation or prayer as his eyebrows arc, pulling at his skin until shock and his own arousal blend cleanly into his features.
Bakugo groans. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces his head back into his pillow and tries to steady the hammering in his chest.

‘Ah - Haha. G - Good morning, bro.’ Kirishima muddles his way through the sentence even with words sticking behind his teeth.

‘Don’t do that.’ Bakugo doesn’t open his eyes.

‘Don’t do W - what, bro?’

‘Call me bro while you’re staring at my dick.’

Kirishima squeaks. ‘I’m not. I - I haven’t… I didn’t mean too. I just -.’ Shuffling, the bed dips as he prepares the flee, but his knees are barely sustaining his weight before a hand wraps around his wrist and tugs him back down to the mattress. He lands with a soft chuff.

‘Stop acting like you’ve never seen a cock before. Got your own, haven’t ya?’ Bakugo doesn’t let go until he knows Kirishima will stay out of his own volition and even then, he unwraps his hand slowly, brushing his thumb across the back of his skin in an awkward crescent moon before releasing him.

‘Yeah, but…’ Leaning back on his hands, Kirishima flushes.

‘But what?’

‘But that’s… That’s your… your - y’know.’

Cracking open an eye, Bakugo peaks at the man perching on his bed. Despite being well over 6 feet tall, Kirishima has managed to make himself look small. His shoulders have hunched, his chest almost concave with the curve of his spine as he tries to fold in on himself. It’s cute, in a way, that Bakugo’s able to fluster him so completely that he physically shines, despite trying to hide it. ‘My cock? You’re blushing because it’s my cock?’

‘Stop.’ Kirishima shivers. ‘Stop saying it like that.’

‘What?’ Almost fully awake now, Bakugo feels a grin creep onto his face as he sits up on an elbow. ‘My cock… You don’t want me to say my cock, is that it? What’s wrong with me saying my cock?’

Kirishima groans. His face is hidden by his hands now, fingers splayed only enough to peak between them and glare at Bakugo. ‘Stop.’

'Don’t think I will.’

'Please…’

'Nah, s'more fun to wind you up…’ Bakugo licks his teeth. 'Never seen you blush like a school girl before, and to think all I had to do was talk about my dick -.’

'Bakugo!’ Kirishima squirms again, reluctantly taking his hands from his face. 'If you don’t shut up right now, I’ll -.’

'What'cha gonna do, Kirishima?’

Something burns hot and steady in Kirishima’s stomach. It makes sense now he’s thinking about it, that Bakugo’s stupid fucking mouth would probably be his undoing… 'I’ll fuckin’ make you that’s what.’

With his heart beating in his ears, Bakugo feels the swell of excitement trickle into his veins. It feels dangerous, this, like flirting with his downfall and yet, he can’t find it in him to stop. Instead, he licks at his teeth and grins, silently hoping for an outcome he’s not sure he’s even ready for. 'And how you going to do that?’

Kirishima bites his lip. The air in the room feels stale and electrified all at once as his muscles  unlock allowing him to move and then, he’s kissing him.

A gasp slips from Bakugo’s throat when firm lips are pressed to his, but he sinks into it all too easily. A moan bubbles in his chest when a palm wraps the back of his neck and he scrambles, hands tangling into the front of Kirishima’s t-shirt to steady himself. Nipping at Kirishima’s bottom lip, he tugs, desperate to taste more.

The sudden pull off-balances Kirishima, sending him forward onto his hand and trapping Bakugo beneath him. His body curls in an attempt not to crush him, but its not enough to stop their foreheads banging together. 'Oh, shit. I’m sor -.’

Bakugo’s hands untangle from Kirishima’s shirt, only to skate up the plain of his neck and curl behind his head. 'Shut up. Just… Just kiss me…’ It leaves his tongue on a whisper that tangles with Kirishima’s breath as it fans across his cheeks.

'Yeah?’

'Fuckin’ now, dammit.’

A laugh is on Kirishima’s lips as he sinks down to kiss him again. He feeds it to Bakugo, licks into his mouth and steals a stuttered gasp before reeling back again. The hard bar of Bakugo’s cock presses up into his stomach, twitching as he grinds down experimentally, giving it sanctuary in the crease of his thigh.

'Can…’ Kirishima kisses him, misses his mouth by a millimetre and causes Bakugo to chase him. 'Can I…’ The next kiss, he places on his jaw. Then his neck, the turn of his shoulder. 'Can I touch you?’

Bakugo can feel it. Kirishima’s cock is hard and pulsing, pressing slightly to the left of his own as if he’s trying to keep them apart. He doesn’t like that. Desire burns in his veins making it hard to think as a trail of wet kisses find themselves pressed to his skin. He wants it, he thinks, to be touched – to be consumed by Kirishima in any way he’s willing to have him. 'Please…’

Reeling back, Kirishima blinks. Now, that, that he hadn’t expected. 'P – please?’

'Please.’ Bakugo repeats allowing his voice to taper into a whine. He’s sure if he doesn’t get something, anything, to quell the burning inside of him soon he’ll combust. Bucking, he tries his hardest to align their cocks, rubbing desperately into the air.

A moan is kicked from both of their lungs as even the slightest friction sends violent shivers through their spines.

'I’m gonna… Fuck, I’m gonna touch you, okay?’ Licking his lips, Kirishima keeps his head above the duvet only long enough to receive a shaky nod from Bakugo before he’s scampering beneath it and making his way down his body. His kisses make a path, walk the long road between Bakugo’s pecs and down his stomach before lingering at the edge of his boxers.

'Ei – Eijirou…’ Bakugo pants when he feels a finger slip under the elastic of his underwear, a hiss following soon after as he feels the material being pulled from him, allowing his cock to spring free. He’s soaked, he’s sure of it – can feel the soft stickiness of pre-cum on the lowest set of his abs where his cock had kissed them, but he’s not given any time to brood on the sensation before Kirishima takes him in his mouth.

The corners of his mouth ache as he stretches his jaw and sticks out his tongue, cradling the head of Bakugo’s cock as it slips past his lips. A salty-bitterness slips down his throat, encouraging a moan from his chest as he swallows down more and more.

'Shit – H-Holy fuck.’ With his shoulders tensing, Bakugo’s spine curves forcing him to press down into the mattress. He clenches the muscle in his thighs, trying desperately not to buck into the warm cavern wrapping around his cock and reaches out, blindly swatting at the air until his fingers can gain purchase on the soft, red locks of Kirishima’s hair.

The feel of Bakugo scratching at his scalp makes Kirishima’s cock jump and drool against the mattress. It’s an awkward position, being curled with his hips lifted, but it’s necessary. He’s not sure how long he’d be able to last if he was left to freely grind against the mattress. Hollowing out his tongue, he comes off Bakugo’s cock slowly, tracing the vein’s as he goes, but as soon as lips pop free of his tip there’s the faint pressure of a palm on the back of his head pushing him back down.

’M – More?’ Cracking open an eye, Bakugo chances a look between his legs. Kirishima already looks ruined. His eyes have blown out, black pupils banishing red to the edges of his iris’ as he looks up beneath his fringe. His lips, already swollen, are now coated with the thin sheen of spit and pre-cum that he licks quickly with his tongue. A growl vibrates through Bakugo’s chest.

'Yeah?’ Kirishima licks a long strip up Bakugo’s cock earning himself a hiss.

Nodding, Bakugo tightens his fist pulling at Kirishima’s scalp and grins when the other man moans. The discovery makes his chest swell, his brain whirring frantically as he wonders just what else he could learn about his best-friend – what he’s been missing out on for all these years. He reaches out, gripping the other man’s chin with his spare hand and gently encourages him to drop his jaw with a firm thumb.

Mouth dropping open on impulse, Kirishima finds all of his air caught in his throat when Bakugo slips his thumb onto his tongue and presses down. Closing his lips, he sucks, making sure to look Bakugo in the eye while he does.

'Shit, Red. Just fucking look at you…’ He curls his fingers under his chin, feeling out the tension in his jaw. 'Makes me wanna ruin you.’ Teeth dig into his thumb.

'You like that? Want me to ruin you, huh, baby?’

A unfettered mewl spills out around Bakugo’s thumb as Kirishima’s eyes flutter. The low timbre of Bakugo’s voice makes something feral and desperate wriggle in his stomach as he whines and tries to keep his hips elevated.

'Come here.’

Kirishima doesn’t need telling twice. Released from Bakugo’s grip he crawls back up his body and brackets his hips with his thighs. He can feel it, the hard bar of Bakugo’s cock pressing up against the crease of his ass. It sends shocks of excitement up through his legs and tightens his stomach, his own cock tenting his boxers and soaking the material a dark red. 'I -.’

'Kiss me, Red..’ Wrapping a hand around the back of Kirishima’s neck, Bakugo sinks into the warmth of the man over him. Their lips touch tentatively, but there’s an unbridled heat behind their movements. One that builds, quickly until its careening out of control. Letting his hands slip from Kirishima’s neck, Bakugo finds himself tracing the thick muscle of the other man’s back. His shoulders are firm and yet, there’s a discernible squish to the skin, a subtle give as ripples of tension spread across his body and disperse when Bakugo kneads at the flesh. Sinking lower, he follows the shivers of Kirishima’s back until he reaches the divot of his spine. The elastic of his boxers is an insurmountable boundary, a crossing that there’s no way back from and yet, when his hands journey beneath them, he does so with no questions lingering in his mind.

'Fuck… Katsuki – Katsuki, I -.’ Kirishima pants into Bakugo’s mouth, his stomach twisting as a handful of his ass is squeezed and pulled downwards forcing him to grind against hard pelvis and cock. 'I need… Need more -.’

'Yeah?’

Now, it’s his turn to beg. A whine breaks free of his throat and slips straight past Bakugo’s lips. 'Please.’

'I -.’ Bakugo chokes. A sudden rush of anxiety mixes with the lust bubbling in his stomach and makes him swallow. His thumbs trace half-moods into the plush fat of Kirishima’s ass. 'I’ve never… Don’t – I don’t know….’ His cheeks are burning, he can feel it. From the tips of his ears to the point of his nose is aflame as soft embarrassment glows on his features.

'Can I teach you?’ Kirishima’s voice is gentle as he leans down to bump their noses. 'Let me show you how to make me feel good?’

Bakugo nods. 'Yeah. Fuck, yeah.’

Shuffling from his lap, Kirishima tosses aside the duvet. The edge of it catches the lamp on the bed-side table, sending the thing clattering to the floor along with a glass of water, Bakugo’s phone and Kirishima’s bracelets. 'I – shit.’

Wincing, he moves to scramble to his feet, but is stopped as Bakugo sits up and against bumps his chest.

'Leave it…’ Curling forward, Bakugo wraps his arms around Kirishima’s shoulders.

Kirishima shifts, the faint glow of Bakugo’s phone drawing his eye. 'But -.’

'Leave it.’ Bakugo scrapes his teeth across Kirishima’s collarbone, a wet kiss following just after as he works his way slowly up his neck.

Dragging his eyes from Bakugo’s phone, Kirishima’s is afforded a singular protesting squeak before Bakugo takes matters into his own hands. A pair of large hands wrap his hips and twist, flinging him back down on the mattress.

'Katsuki…’ He squeaks, a giggle wriggling up his throat as the phone is long forgotten in favour of pressing another kiss to Bakugo’s lips.

A new heat bubbles in Bakugo’s chest as he hovers above Kirishima, his arms bracketing his head. 'So…’ He presses a kiss to his jaw, following the blooming trail of blush that spreads down the other man’s chest. 'You gonna teach me how you like it, ha?’

It’s a fight to resist the urge to cover his face, but he manages it. Nodding, Kirishima swallows the spit pooling in his mouth. 'Can I…’ Embarrassment curls his toes.

'Yeah? Tell me what you want, baby… C'mon.’

'Want your mouth…’

A grin takes Bakugo’s lip, exposing pointed incisors. Lifting a hand, he trails it down Kirishima’s torso, thumbing at a brown, pebbled nipple. 'Here?’ He cocks an eyebrow.

Kirishima gasps, but shakes his head.

'No?’ Sinking lower, Bakugo’s palm drags across Kirishima’s stomach until his fingers touch thick, black pubic hair. A shiver rocks up through Kirishima’s thighs when he finally takes hold of the base of his cock and squeezes – just so. 'Here?’

A mewl leaves Kirishima’s lips. The tension of Bakugo’s hand makes his stomach simmer and his pulse sink deeper as his cock twitches pathetically, oozing sticky pre-cum all over Bakugo’s fingers. Swallowing hard, Kirishima shakes his head.

Something hungry glitters in Bakugo’s eyes as he watches a blush bloom on Kirishima’s cheeks. The man squirms beneath him, wriggling somehow closer and further away as Bakugo releases his grip on his cock. Cupping his balls, he rolls them against his palm until a whine breaks through the air and then, he’s pressing the pad of an index finger to Kirishima’s rim. He grins. 'Here?’

Kirishima nods, a gasp on his lips.

Settling down, shoulders rippling as he makes himself a home between Kirishima’s thighs Bakugo doesn’t even attempt to resist the urge to lick a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. He revels in the shudder it earns him, in the way he can feel the shake in the thigh muscle under his hands. There’s a nervousness squirming in his chest, but it’s outmatched by the desire that has burned like fire in his blood for the past few weeks. He needs to touch, to taste…

The first lick makes Kirishima screw his eyes shut. It’s teasing, a barely there press of wet flesh on his hole that seems more experimental than anything else, but as soon as Bakugo finds his rhythm he’s a goner. Cracking open an eye, he makes the mistake of glancing between his legs. Bakugo’s eyes shine as they bore into his. The lower half of his face is shielded, but he doesn’t need to see his mouth to know that he’s smirking. He can feel it as he laves sin against him making his cock dribble more pre-cum onto his stomach. 'Katsuki… I -.’

'Mmm?’ Humming against him, Bakugo revels in Kirishima’s taste. It isn’t the first time he’s eaten ass, but there’s something about how Kirishima squirms, about the breathy moans that drift form his mouth unconsciously that has him insatiable.

'You need to – need to prep me…’

'Yeah? You don’t want me to make you cum like this?’ Bakugo prods his hole with his tongue, unfurling the muscle inside of him.

Moaning, Kirishima has to chew at his lip to stop from crying out. 'No, no… Want. Want you to fuck me, Katsuki. Want -.’

'Say again, baby?’

Curling himself, Kirishima looks Bakugo dead in the eye when he begs. 'Fuck me. Please… I need you – need -.’

Sitting up, Bakugo licks spit from his lips before pressing a thick finger to Kirishima’s entrance.

'Lube… Need -.’

'Shit. Okay.’ Rocked momentarily from his haze, Bakugo scrambles from the bed to dig around in the bed-side table. He tosses aside a pair of leather cuffs and a small bundle of rope, clatters through a collection of vibrators that make

Kirishima squeak and then, he’s scrambling back onto the bed already squeezing a healthy helping of lube onto his fingers. 'You gotta tell me if I’m too rough, yeah?’

Back bowing, Kirishima all, but forces Bakugo to press into him. The first stretch has the air jamming in his lungs and a stuttering moan leaping from his throat.

'Too much?’ Bakugo’s eyebrows knit together. One of his hands cups Kirishima’s ass, kneading the soft flesh there to stop the shake in his fingers.

Kirishima shakes his head, rolling his hips. 'More.’

Bakugo is only too keen to oblige. Sliding in a second finger, he takes his time stretching Kirishima until he’s writhing, his hands reaching out and pulling at Bakugo as he pleads for more, still.

'Please, please, please…’

'Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby… Who would of thought, ha?’

Clenching his jaw tight, Kirishima growls weakly. 'I’ll sound so much better when you get your cock in me, fuck.’  

A laugh bounces around Bakugo’s chest, filling him with a burnt joy as he finally relents. Pulling back, he slides his hands down Kirishima’s thighs before giving himself a single pass with his fist. His cock is hot and heavy in his palm, swollen from neglect and dripping white onto the sheets below. 'Ready?’

Kirishima’s chest flutters. He’s been ready for this for as long as he’s known Bakugo, but the gravity of the moment isn’t lost. Licking his lips, he nods tangling his hands in the bedsheets.

Shuffling close, Bakugo presses his tip to Kirishima’s rim. He gives the other man one final look over, feeling lust and something more collide in his stomach and then, he presses in. 'Fuck… T – tight. You’re so fuckin’ tight.’ Immediately, Bakugo’s eyes threaten to roll back in his skull. Every single nerve in his body comes alive, sings as he feels Kirishima clamping down around him.

'Kat – Katsuki, Ah -.’ Kirishima flushes red. His body accommodates Bakugo’s like it belongs there, giving and taking in all of the right places as they come together: finally. It makes him whimper, makes his eyes mist and his stomach feel tight, but before he can drop from the precipice into panic, Bakugo is there, cooing at him and wiping barely shed tears from his cheeks.

'Does it hurt?’ Curling over him, Bakugo takes Kirishima’s cheeks in hand.

Kirishima hiccups. 'Feels good.’

'You promise?’

'Promise.’

The first thrust almost takes Kirishima’s breath away. Bakugo’s cock grinds directly over his prostate and with Bakugo’s eyes looking directly into his, he’s sure he’ll come undone in mere moments. It’s intense, bringing his skin to prickle as Bakugo’s forehead comes to rest against his forcing him to see the pleasure as it rolls easily across his features. 'Katsuki… Katsuki, kiss me.’

Bakugo doesn’t need asking twice. He connects their lips softy, letting Kirishima lead as he rolls his hips slowly against him. He can feel each twitch of Kirishima’s cock between their stomachs, the tension wrapping his cock making it hard to focus as a tongue slips between his lips and a moan is fed to his mouth. There’s something building in his stomach, something warm and fierce and uncontrollable, but he’s not sure if it’s the approach of his impending orgasm or something else.

'Katsuki…’

He can barely hear it. Kirishima’s voice reaches and reaches, but it never quite catches him.

'Katsuki…’

Swallowing hard, he tries to block out the buzzing – ignoring everything that isn’t here, that isn’t Kirishima.

'Kat – Bakugo.’

Snapping open his eyes, Bakugo really wishes it was Kirishima’s face, screwed up and worried that had caught his attention first, but it’s not. Instead, his peripheral finds his phone. It’s turned up on the floor and glowing soft. Maybe it would have been different if he wasn’t able to make out your name.

'Bakugo. Are – are you okay?’ Kirishima can feel it, the unmistakable softening inside of him before Bakugo pulls out and sits back on his haunches.

Bakugo huffs. 'Fuck.’ There’s tears in his eyes as his chest threatens to shatter. It’s like barbed wire has been wrapped around his torso, squeezing, cutting deep with each breath. How had he been able to forget? It makes him feel sick. Swiping a hand through his hair, he forces himself to look at Kirishima. The pain only gets worse then. 'I – Fuck. I can’t. I’m sorry – I… Fucking Hell, I’m so fucking sorry, Eiji.’

Kirishima scrambles to him. His hands hover in the air, unsure if touching him now would be a help or a hindrance… 'No… No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -

’S'not your fault.’

'But I -.’

Bakugo shakes his head. 'It’s not just your fault.’

'Is…’ Kirishima hands shake in his lap. His cock has started to flag, his knees pressing together as he mourns the loss of Bakugo’s cock inside of him. The fall from grace is never an easy one, but he should have at least expected this. It was all too soon, too much. He’d know that and yet, the allure of Bakugo’s touch had him drunk, throwing away his intuition in favour of stealing the kisses he’d yearned for for years. There’s a hole in his stomach, one that he’s more than familiar with as he watches Bakugo fall apart centimetres from him. He’s powerless, lost to the guilt that infests his chest. All he wants to do is touch, to reach out and make him feel better, to press his fingers into the spaces between his ribs and hold him, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to do that. He’s not sure he’ll ever be allowed to do that again. The thought makes him sick.

For a moment, Bakugo just stares. His skin prickles, stomach bubbling as he tries to stem the bleed in his chest that makes him want to disappear The phone on the floor stopped glowing almost a minute ago, but he still can’t find it in him to tear his eyes from it. Instead, he’s frozen, breath hitched as he debates clambering off the bed to reach for it. 'Ei – I -.’

'Can I hug you?’

Kirishima’s voice rocks him steady from free fall. He doesn’t know why he nods, why he let’s Kirishima gently pull him back to the mattress and lay his head on his chest. Their breathing syncs, each struggling lift of Bakugo’s lungs causing Kirishima to haul air in through his nose. There’s no tangling of limbs this time, no entwining fingers or legs to drag them closer to each other; just the simple embrace of two people, lost, seeking comfort in the only way they can.

Licking his teeth, Bakugo lets his head sink into the pillow. His finger itch, desperate to slink off the bed and click on the missed call he knows is waiting for him, but the fear of your voice, of the words that could shatter him again keep him rooted.

'Can I ask you a question?’

Kirishima’s voice is quiet, dying in his throat. Bakugo hates that he’s the reason for it. He grunts. 'Sure.’

’…What do you do if you know something is wrong, but you want to do it anyway?’ From where his ear is pressed to Bakugo’s skin, Kirishima can hear the stutter of his heart.

'I don’t think I’m the best person to be asking that.’

'Humour me.’

Bakugo sighs, feeling his words tug at his heart. '… According to my current track record, you do it anyway.’

Kirishima swallows. 'Okay.’ Summoning the little strength remaining in his heart, he lifts himself onto an elbow. Craning over Bakugo, he lets his eyes flit from crimson iris’ to plush lips before finally, finally leaning down. It’s the softest kiss they’ve shared yet, a barely-there touch of lips as Kirishima lets himself sink, imprinting the memory so deeply into his grey matter that he hopes it’ll be the last thing he ever forgets. Pulling back, he doesn’t even wait for Bakugo’s eyes to flicker back open before moving away. He whispers: 'We’ll be okay, won’t we?’

Bakugo chokes. He wants to say 'yes’, to smooth his hands through Kirishima’s hair and tell him it’ll all be alright, but they’ve crossed so many lines in the past few weeks that it’s hard to know where they stand. Licking his lips, Bakugo brushes his knuckles over Kirishima’s cheek. The thought of losing his best-friend makes him run cold. 'We’ll figure it out.’ He lands on. 'We always do, ha?’

'Yeah…’ Shuffling back to his knees, Kirishima resists the urge to rest his hand on the weight in his stomach. 'I just – I can’t… I can’t lose you and I’ve, I’ve fucked it all up because – because…’

'You’re not.’ Bakugo sits up to meet him, gingerly twisting their fingers. 'Listen, we’re all just – it’s fucked, but… We all just need time.’

'Time.’ Kirishima parrots.

'Time to sort my head out, to – to -.’ Time to choose, he thinks. The thought almost makes him sick.

Nodding, Kirishima wipes at his cheeks and chuffs out a laugh. 'At least now I know why all those girls in college where always dying to get into your pants.’

Bakugo squeezes his hand and shrugs as relief floods his chest. 'What can I say? I know what I’m working with.’

'Eh, you could be better with your mouth.’

A flush breaks out on Bakugo’s chest. 'Same mouth you almost came from, ya'mean?’

Biting his lip, Kirishima giggles. 'Maybe I was just stroking your ego?’

'That’s it.’ Bakugo steams. 'That’s the last time I’m ever going down on you…’

'What makes you think I’d let you do it again?’

Shaking his head, Bakugo growls before flicking Kirishima square in the forehead. 'You’re fuckin’ lucky that I -.’ The words jam in his throat.

'Yeah…’ Kirishima smiles. He can taste the end of Bakugo’s sentence on his tongue. Slipping his hand from under Bakugo’s, he collects his limbs and shuffles towards the edge of the bed. 'I - I think it’s time for me to go…’

There’s no arguing. Bakugo just nods and pushes himself up from the mattress. They dress in the aching silence of the room while still stealing glances behind the others back. The phone in his pocket feels like a dead weight, his hands shaking as he fiddles with the drawstring of his joggers. He wants to call you, wants to hear your voice come down the line and crackle in his ears, but then Kirishima turns around and flashes him that weak, broken smile and it’s as if the resolve in his heart crumbles in his chest again.

Kirishima doesn’t miss the way Bakugo toys with the phone in his pocket.

'I’ll see you out.’ Indecision coils low in Bakugo’s gut and makes him itch, even as he lays a hand on the small of Kirishima’s back to guide him from the bedroom. The warmth of the other man’s skin grants him solace, provides something a little solid as he feels his world slip between his fingers once more.

Still, it isn’t until he’s standing at his door with Kirishima about to cross the threshold that he feels his chest grow tight again. He swallows, turns the phone over in his pocket, lets his hand slip from Kirishima’s side. 'I – I think I’m going to try again.’

For a second Kirishima’s heart flickers to life, but the flame burns out just as quickly.

'I owe her that much, Ei. I – I fucking love her and… If, if she wants to, I -.’

Kirishima nods even though he feels like screaming.

'I – fuck -.’ Bakugo scrubs tears from his eyes. 'I’m not saying that I don’t – I… Listen,’ Stepping forward he takes Kirishima’s cheeks in hand and forces him to look. 'You. You started something… and – If, fucking Hell, if things where different there’d be no way in Hell I’d be letting you go, but, but I -.’

Kirishima covers Bakugo’s hands with his own. They’re both crying, crimson eyes filled to the brim with soaking embers that reflect such a myriad of emotions that it’s hard to pin-point the strongest. 'You love her. I know.’

'I’m so fucking sorry.’

'I know.’

'I really fucking wish things where different.’

'I know.’ Kirishima tilts until his forehead touches Bakugo’s. His breath is warm on his cheeks, his lips warmer as he gives in, one final time. The kiss is long, longer that it should be, but he savours every moment. Salt hits his lips, his tongue, a mixture of the sadness drying on both of their cheeks. He doesn’t know where he finds the strength, but it’s him that steps away first.

Retreating back to the door, Bakugo clings to it as if he might fall. The plea 'stay’ threatens to dance off his tongue, making his jaw drop as he licks his lips, tasting the maybe-one-day-love of the man in his doorway. He wants to kiss him again, to remember what it’s like, so he doesn’t forget, but -.

Kirishima shakes his head. 'I’ll see you next week – or something, yeah?’

'Yeah.’

'Well, I should -.’ Kirishima hooks a thumb over his shoulder. 'Y'know.’

'Y - Yeah.’

It takes everything inside of Kirishima to turn around and walk away, to not rush back and steal one more kiss, but he does it. He does it for both of their sakes.

Sero doesn’t bite back the smile that rises to his lips when he opens his door to see you. The weight that had settled in his stomach lifts, his heart beating against his ribs until his chest feels light again. He’d resigned himself to purgatory, content to bask in the unknown with only the memory of your kiss to see him through. The last thing he’d expected was you on his doorstep, not that he’s complaining of course – he’s never been so delighted to be surprised before. Leaning against the door frame, one arm supporting his weight above his head, he kicks out his left leg and crosses it over his right at the ankle. 'Hi.’

Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you’re doing here. There’s been an underlying restlessness growing inside of you all morning, one that has resisted all of your attempts to calm it. Which was probably why, against your better judgement, you’d sought out the only thing that had granted you any solace over the past few weeks. You chew at the inside of your cheek. There’s a shimmering purpleness along the line of his jaw that makes your stomach turn, but if the sore skin is giving him any trouble, he doesn’t show it.  It makes you want to kiss it better. 'Can I come in?’

'Yeah.’ Sero steps aside. 'Yeah. Of course.’ There’s an itch under his skin as he closes the door and jerks his head down the hallway, easily slipping in front of you to lead the way.

Traipsing after him, you pause by the open door of his bedroom for just long enough to glance inside. It’s surprisingly tidy, with a large open window and dark brown bedsheets that are turned down at the corner, exposing a patterned under-sheet. A faint sorrow slips down your throat as you wonder if he sleeps on firm or soft, if he wakes to splitting sun or a blind-drawn haze, but whatever dejection that had been crawling through your lungs is quickly drown by shock as your eyes fall to his bed-side table. Atop pale wicker, beside a tall reading lamp is small clump of black cotton. You don’t need a closer look to recognise the article, but your breath stops short as the implication of a near-by bottle of lube dawns on you. A heat swallows you whole, threatens your already trembling knees, until…

'You want tea?’ Sero pokes his head out from a room further along the hall and rocks up his eyebrows.

A squeak escapes you as your head snaps in his direction. 'Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.’

If Sero notices your fluster, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he flashes a crooked grin and disappears back around the door.

You steal one last glance at his bedside table, before the molten lava flowing in your stomach forces you to move. It blends awkwardly with the anxiety flowing in your veins, making your mouth dry and your fingers tremble.

Sero’s waiting for you in the kitchenette when you slip into the living room. He’s leaning on the breakfast bar that separates the room clean in two, a spoon caught between finger and thumb as he lazily stirs a cup of tea. His eyes flicker up, then back down again. 'Not that I’m not stupid happy to see you, but… You said you where gonna call.’

'I -.’ Your tongue swells in your mouth as you think of the seven unanswered phone calls sitting in your call log. You had called, after all, you just hadn’t called him. Guilt bubbles inside of you and rubs against the rawness of your aching heart. 'I’m sorry.’

Plucking the cups from the breakfast bar, Sero slips around it’s edge and places them onto the wooden coffee table to free up his hands before placing them on your cheeks. 'No, no, no… None of that, yeah?’ His thumbs dig into the corners of your eyes and smooth firm semi-circles into the skin underneath. 'You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby doll. Nothin’ at all, yeah?’

You nod even though you don’t believe it. Still, you let him lead you, let him take your hand and sit you down on the edge of the sofa where he places a warm cup into your palms. 'I -.’

'Drink. Then talk.’

Doing as your told, you sip at your tea and let the heat loosen your voice. 'Katsuki, he –’

Swallowing down, Sero schools his features into stoicism, despite the butterflies in his stomach. He balks on his words. 'You guys back together?’

You shake your head. 'I said – said I’d call him to talk things through and… And , fuck.’

'Oh.’ Sero does a bad job of masking the drop of his features, even as he attempts to hide it behind his own cup. He licks his lips, savouring the florals in the Earl Grey soothing his throat. 'And?’

'He didn’t… He’s not answering…’ You wring your hands in your lap. 'And the more I call, the more I feel like I shouldn’t be, because if he’s not answering then -.’

'Okay, let’s take a deep breath, yeah?’ Slipping the cup from your shaking hands, he pops it back on the table before twisting his fingers with yours. He locks eyes with you, smiling soft, then slowly hauls in a steady breath through his nose.

You follow. The first breath feels like acid. Your lungs feel too full, your chest swollen and fit to burst, but just before you’re sure you’re about to pop Sero is pursing his lips and letting his air go.

It takes a handful of breaths, each one carefully following Sero’s lead before you feel steady enough to squeeze him.

'Feel better?’

You nod, letting your palms slip from his. It makes something swim inside of you, the ease at which Sero Hanta operates. It’s as if he always knows, always has a plan and a warm smile, a hand to help you keep steady. Just like he had last night. You shiver. 'Thanks.’

'It’s nothing.’ He winks, collecting his own cup from the table after offering you yours. 'But, for what it’s worth… He’s probably not ignoring you.’

'Huh?’ Swallowing a sip of tea, you have to sift through the warmth settling in your chest until you find the source of your panic. You drop your eyes from Sero’s. 'Yeah.’

'Fuckers probably just on a run – or something.’ He shrugs. There’s a grain of truth to what he’s saying, but there’s something ugly and selfish in his stomach that prays for something different, something worse. He stamps it down, re-focusing on you.

You chuff. You don’t think about what Bakugo could be doing, something tells you that ignorance is bliss and you listen before shaking your head, dislodging the thought in favour of thinking about the things you know, what you can see and feel right now. 'Yeah, I just… It’s just a fucking mess.’

Chewing his cheek, Sero leans back against the sofa. He hums, the sound vibrating the back of his throat. 'You can say that again.’

You pinch him.

'Oi.’ Flinching, he lets a grin split his lip as he arcs his eyebrows. “m just telling you the truth.’

'I wish you wouldn’t.’

'Well…’ Sero shifts until his shoulder bumps against yours. 'You’re always welcome to hide out here.’ He gestures the room with an arm. 'It’s liminal… Barley.’

If only all of this was as simple as a game of stuck-in-the-mud. 'Thanks.’ Huffing out a laugh, you let yourself sink into the plush of his sofa and take your time admiring his apartment.

Sero’s apartment looks exactly how you’d expect it to. There’s a large yuka plant in a far corner, basking in the glow from the open balcony window. Beside it, swings a hammock and just within reach is a tall bookshelf, adored with tattered books, a twin creeping fig and small various whittled animal figurines. It’s cosy. Nothing like your apartment, or Bakugo’s for that matter.

'So…’ Sero shifts on the sofa, bumping his hip against yours.

'So…’ You parrot.

'I, am just now realising that you’ve never been here before…’ He grins, his mouth crooked as he itches at his undercut. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks. He can feel it. It creeps like ivy from his chest and up his neck, curling around the backs of his ears to slither over his cheek bones and ripen the tip of his nose.

His fluster makes your bite at your lip. There’s something addictive about seeing him forced to wear his emotions on his sleeve and knowing that you’re the reason for it brings out a sweetness on your tongue. It’s almost pathetic how easy t is to fall back into him. 'You gonna offer to give me a tour?’

'I -.’ Air jams in his throat as his blush deepens. He licks his lips and grins again, his eyes shining as he brings his gaze up to meet yours. 'I would, but – uh – my bedrooms a mess and -.’

'And you’ve been using my underwear to jack off since last night?’ Blinking innocently over the rim of your cup, you swallow down the pleased smile that rises to your lips when he chokes.

'You saw that, huh?’

'Hard to miss…’ Leaning a little heavier into his touch, you don’t bother to ruminate on the reason’s you find yourself falling back into him. It’s easy, a soft slide back into his orbit that keeps the outside world at bay. No-one could blame you for taking it, the reprieve he offers out to you oh-so easily.

Sero clears his throat. For a moment he freezes, caught somewhere between wrong and right as he leans in closer worried that he’s overstepping on already trodden ground. His heart thunders in his chest. It feels like he’s been caught, like you’re looking straight through him as you tilt your head and pout. 'Does that… Is that okay?’

You take another sip of tea to stop yourself from seeming too keen. The liquid is almost scolding, centring you as you try and control the bubbling inside of your stomach. His lips are shining slightly from where he’s licked them and you lean forward, unconsciously pulled towards him as you remember what he had tasted like. The image of him, naked and curled over himself, hand wrapped tight around his cock as he breathed you in – your underwear a mask as he came, hot, white and sticky over his hand and stomach makes your cunt pulse. You wonder how many times he’d done it, what he’d been picturing while he did, if the smell of you alone had been enough to make him loose his composure. Swallowing hard, you slip your tea back onto the table and nod, breathless.

'Yeah… Yeah, it’s okay.’

He sets his tea on the floor to be able to take your chin in hand. Calloused fingers curl under your jaw, bringing your eyes to his as he leans so close your breath fans his face. 'Yeah? S'okay I used your pretty lace to get off?’

'Yeah.’ It’s vicious the way you’re lured back in, your pulse sinking lower and lower as you let yourself slip closer until knees are bumping knees. Here, right now, it’s all to easy to forget about Bakugo, about the infidelity and the missed phone calls; about the possibility of his decision meaning the end of you.

Sero brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. 'Do you like it? Knowing what I did…’

Nodding, you tighten your jaw to stop a moan from breaking from your lips, but before the muscle can even tense, Sero’s there. His fingers dig into the bone, stopping you from sealing the noise away. Instead, you moan, shuffling on the sofa as you struggle to clamp your thighs together.

It’s electric. This, whatever it is. He can feel you canting forward, see the way you wriggle, pressing down on the couch cushion for a little relief. Letting his eyes sink to your lips, he allows himself a lingering look at your body before dragging his gaze back. He makes sure you’re hanging off his every word when he finally speaks again, his voice low, barely audible as if he’s feeding you a filthy secret.  'You wanna know how many times I came?.. How long I spent fisting myself stupid with those pretty little things pressed to my face? How quick I came when I wrapped them around my cock -.’

'Hanta….’ You whine as his words settle in your ears. Twisting, you try and stem the prickling of your skin, but it’s pointless.

Using his free hand, he brushes his knuckles over your cheeks mumbling compliments under his breath as he makes no attempt of hiding the swell that presses to the thin cotton of his sweat-pants. 'Yeah, baby?’

It’s the smile that does it. The one that’s crooked in all the right places and causes the edges of his eyes to crinkle as he let’s his emotions play out clearly on his face. Lust swims in his eyes, shimmering bright in the inkiness of his iris.
'C'mon…’ He coos. 'Tell me what you want and I’ll give you it –.’ Swallowing, he lets his nose bump against yours. 'I’d give you everything.’

Lifting your head slightly, you brush your nose against his. 'Hanta – I …’

'Good girl… I can make you feel good, okay… Make you -.’

A vice wraps itself around your lungs. 'I -.’ It’s as if his voice plays to you on stereo, the soft playfulness of Sero’s tones mixing horribly with the rough of Bakugo’s. Deja vu repeats on you as you scramble backwards, pressing yourself to the arm of the sofa. You bite at your lip, hoping the pain will provide a distraction from the melody of memories that plays out in your mind, but it doesn’t.

'Baby…’

Sero’s voice reaches out to you through the fog. His hands come next, they tap gentle against your shoulders, but as soon as he’s able to press his palms to your biceps, you flinch. It’s too much. The sudden rush of reality leaves you spinning and sensitive as the carefully crafted bubble of the apartment loses it’s effect. Your phone feels heavy now, nestled in the bottom of your pocket, but even now you can’t find it in you to check it. 'I’m -.’

'No, no – it’s okay. I – fuck – I’m sorry.’ Lifting his palms in surrender, he shuffles backwards on the sofa to create more distance. His throat burns, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggles to get a handle on the situation. He’d thought he’d been reading the room, but the thought that he had been pushing his intentions sours his mouth. 'I – I came on a bit strong there, I – fuck, I wasn’t thinking.’ He tries to chuckle, but the sound gets caught in his throat.

'It’s not… It’s not that, I -.’ Your tongue feels heavy. So swept up in Sero’s aura, in the space that had been slowly growing in your heart since he had left that night, you’d almost forgotten the reason you’d found yourself back in his presence at all. Knotting your fingers on your lap, you force yourself to pull back. '… I called him.’

Sero opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again just as quick. His fingers itch, his heart still beating, hammering against his chest in it’s anxiety to be pressed back to yours. Part of him wants to reach out, to reel you back in slowly until both of you are left to bask in the limbo of each other, but he knows better. He nods, swallowing bile and disappointment. 'Yeah… Yeah.’

The air goes stale between you. A blanket of awkwardness covers the rooms, causing you both to shuffle to try to dispel the itch in your bones as you wait in the new silence. Licking your lips, you clear your throat, preparing to say something, anything, as you feel Sero slip through your fingers in real time. You can’t lose him, can’t let this feeling spread like mould, devouring everything that you where, that you could have been. 'So -.’

Shaking himself off, Sero stands before you can speak. He needs distance, or he might just do something stupid. Something zips down his spine as he watches panic rise in your eyes, but he pushes on, crossing the room to slump in his hammock and swing his legs over the side to face you. There’s a heaviness in his voice when he speaks. 'I’ve fucked it, haven’t I?’

You bite your lip, almost tearing the skin. 'I -.’

'Fuck.’ Letting his head roll back on his shoulders, Sero sighs. 'I didn’t mean to.’ He pauses, flicks his tongue across his lip. 'Well – I did. I don’t, fuck, I don’t regret it, okay? But, I – I just wish it didn’t -.’

Watching him unravel makes your stomach fizz. The acid licks at your insides, making it impossible to stay perched on the edge of the sofa. 'Hanta…’

The use of his given name cuts his rambling short. He pauses, eyes still trained on the ceiling as if revealing the expression you’re wearing might be the end of him. Biting on his tongue, he prepares to look, steadies his beating heart for the worst, but before he can sit up and catch sight of you his hammock dips.

'Hanta.’ Sinking into the hammock is strange. It’s shape caves around you and moulds, sliding you effortlessly next to him. Your shoulder presses to him, joining you by arm, hip and thigh as you both slump into the middle of the material. This time, it’s you who rids the room of it’s cold air. 'Look at me… Please.’