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Eijirou recoils, he knew this wouldn’t be easy but his until-now hidden skill is somehow almost matched by Bakugou’s sheer force of will, and his shoulders aren’t taking it easy.
And sure, he knows his own technique is better but that’s almost washed away by the fury and power of Bakugou’s strength. Bakugou uses the sword like a hammer, and Eijirou wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to shatter it soon. They’ve been sparring nonstop, and he knows his classmates have been taking breaks and swapping partners but that’s just not Bakugou’s style. Eijirou knows if he doesn’t end this soon, he’ll be broken down by pure force and what would that prove? All his time with Momo would be worthless.
He parries again, and it annoys him that Bakugou probably doesn’t even know the names of the moves they're using, he’s just…good at it anyway.
Withdrawing a moment, he steps out of range from Bakugou’s lunge and heaves a breath. It’s reassuring to see that Bakugou is panting too. And there’s a gleam of sweat painting his skin and-
“Focus shitty-hair.” Bakugou growls, snapping Eijirou back.
Okay so he admits now probably isn’t the best time to follow the path down that fantasy.
Eijirou concentrates and circles, Bakugou is weaker on his left, and if he could just come at the angle right, he might have a chance to unbalance him and-
They are both momentarily distracted by a loud shout, and Eijirou glances over to see Denki doing...something on the floor.
Eijirou easily identifies the tell-tale smirk on Bakugou’s face as the preparation for a well-placed cutting insult and well, situational awareness.
Momo has taught him enough to know that taking advantage of your environment isn’t something to sniff at, so he darts forwards, swiping his blade across Bakugou’s with a speed he’s often still shocked he has, and raps the flat of it against the inside of his best friend’s wrist.
Bakugou yelps, and stumbles. He rights himself quickly but the damage is done and his unfamiliar grip on the hilt is loose, so it’s no trouble for Eijirou to twist his blade and flick Bakugou’s from his hand. The boy snarls as he realises what’s happening, and lunges forwards, but it does no good.
And then Bakugou’s sword is lying harmless a few feet away and the point of his own is resting in the hollow of Bakugou’s throat. Giving him no time to think, Eijirou drives forwards, forcing Bakugou to take a few steps back until he hits the padded wall of the gym.
His red eyes are wide, but his fists are clenched, and his teeth are pulled into a grimace more suited a rabid dog. Eijirou is well aware Bakugou doesn’t consider their spar over yet, so he presses on. He knows Bakugou well enough to know only complete victory will do.
He moves, and then he’s impossibly close, and it’s no longer the point of his sword against Bakugou’s skin but the flat of the blade, almost at the guard, and Eijirou presses his body against Bakugou to hold him against the wall. There’s a small gasp of surprise, and a huff of breath against his collarbone as Eijirou forces the air from his chest.
It wouldn’t come as a surprise if Bakugou blows him up, quirk ban be damned. So Eijirou stays tense, his quirk just a conscious pull away, in case he needs his defence.
But Bakugou doesn’t move. And that’s remarkable in itself. His hands don’t come up to blow, or even push Eijirou away. Instead they hang at his sides, palms only half curled.
His eyes are wide, mouth slightly open as he still pants, and Eijirou can’t help it as his eyes track the pink tongue that licks over them. He swallows. This close Eijirou can smell the sweetness of his explosions, and the smoky haze that always seems to hang in the air around him. Eijirou catches it faintly sometimes, but never this close. It’s almost overwhelming, and it making him go slightly lightheaded.
His right hand, the one not holding the sword tight, is tangled in the soft fabric of Bakugou’s shirt, and he can feel the heat and speed of a thundering heartbeat.
Eijirou tries to gather his thoughts. If he doesn’t do something now, he knows he’ll step away and somehow, somehow, Bakugou will snatch a win back, as he always does.
And so, because Momo taught him never to be at a disadvantage, he presses on the blade slightly, forcing Bakugou to lift his head a little, a gentle reminder that for once, he’s at Eijirou’s mercy, and will do as he says.
And miraculously, or perhaps naturally, Bakugou does.
This close, their slight high difference is exaggerated, and without Bakugou’s usual thick-soled boots, Bakugou has to look up to meet his eye. And Eijirou likes it.
His pupils are blown, wide through his long eyelashes, eyelashes he knows Jirou has proclaimed she’d kill for, and all at once he understands why.
His eyes are still bright, the fierce red he knows so well, but they are hazy, and without their sharp focus Eijirou is reminded of one of those awful romances Mina makes him watch, and he thinks this would only get more intense if a ray of sunlight decided to break through and bathe them in gold. It plants the seed of a hope in his mind.
But they’re indoors, in the Yuuei gym, and Eijirou has Bakugou pinned to a wall with a blade at his throat and yet he’s not resisting.
Maybe it’s the satisfaction of months of training with Momo finally paying off. Maybe it’s the rush of feeling good at something for once, and the unexpected victory is going to his head, and maybe it’s the lack of Bakugou’s expected fury, and the way those red eyes watch him with a look he can’t quite identity and has certainly never seen before, but whatever it is, it gives him the rush of courage he’s had simmering for months.
And so Eijirou does the only thing that’s on his mind. He leans slowly down, just tilting his head enough, and presses his lips against Bakugou's slightly open mouth. And steps away.
He’s not an idiot, so he hardens as he moves, because he has very little doubt what Bakugou will the moment the sword is out of the equation but... it doesn’t come.
Instead, he just catches a rising flush on Bakugou’s cheeks before the boy pushes himself off the wall and finally, finally, moves. To... stalk away. Eijirou watches in shockstruck confusion as he gathers his jacket and bottle from the chairs and vanishes out of the double doors without even a word to Aizawa who’s...
Oh shit, who’s watching. How long has he been watching?
Around him, the rest of his class comes back in a clarity of noise and movement. Somehow his …whatever it was, with Bakugou, had muted them all but the clash of swords and shouts of his friends are suddenly deafening and Eijirou suddenly wishes he could take a leaf out of Bakugou’s book and leave for quieter pastures.
His head is reeling, and depending on what Aizawa saw, he’s not going to go easy on his interrogation.
And what will he say? Because Bakugou never leaves class, short of...well, his best friend spontaneously kissing him. Oh fuck.