Archive of Our Own

A shadow falls over Shouto's notebook. He frowns, pencil hovering over the page, and looks up, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. 

Bakugou stands in front of him, hands in his pocket and shoulders hunched. 

"Food's over there," Bakugou says, pointing towards where the rest of the class is gathered around a sizzling barbecue grill. 

"I already ate," Shouto responds. He turns back to his notebook. 

x over y to the power of…no, that can't be right…

"Did you come to a class barbecue just to sit on your own doing fucking homework the whole time?" 

Shouto levels his best disparaging glare up at Bakugou. 

"I have to get this done," he says shortly. "Can you move? You're blocking my light."

Bakugou doesn't move. 

"You're crap at math," he says. 

Shouto's grip tightens on his pencil. It's a hot day and the air is still, and that must be why he feels sweat beading on his forehead despite sitting in the shade. 

"I know," he says through gritted teeth. "That's why I have to work on this now so I can get it done."

Bakugou finally moves. Shouto sends up a silent prayer of thanks before realizing that Bakugou is dropping down next to him on the grass.

"No," Shouto pushes at him lightly. "Go away. You're distracting me." 

In response, Bakugou bats away his hand, plucks the pencil from his fingers and leans in closer. Shouto is uncomfortably aware of Bakugou's knee resting on his own. This close, he can smell the sweet tang of Bakugou's nitroglycerin sweat. This close, Shouto feels like he's choking with it. 

Bakugou scratches out everything Shouto's spent the last twenty minutes working on and scribbles in its place a long string of letters and symbols that look vaguely familiar. 

"There," Bakugou says. "Use that formula to solve the problems. Do you listen at all in class, Icyhot?" 

"You could just help without being an ass, you know." 

"Nah."

Shouto turns to glare once more at Bakugou but is thrown off by how close the other boy is. Bakugou's piercing red eyes are trained on Shouto's face like he's searching for something. Shouto's face heats up and he knows he can't blame it on his quirk. 

"Thank you," Shouto mumbles. He ducks his head in the hope that his fringe will hide the flush he's positive has risen all the way to his hairline. He feels dizzy off the cloying scent of the other boy. 

"You can go now," he says when Bakugou doesn't make any attempt to move away. 

"Why're you so stressed about this shit, Half 'n Half?" Bakugou asks.

"It's important," Shouto frowns. "These are the last exams that will ever matter. Why aren't you more stressed about it?"

Shouto feels Bakugou's shoulder shift against his as he shrugs.

"I already have a job lined up," Bakugou says. "How the fuck do you not ? You're Endeavor's son."

A familiar flare of anger ignites in Shouto's chest. He snatches his pencil back from Bakugou and shifts so there's a bit more space between them, so he can't feel Bakugou's thigh pressed up against his own.

"I'm not planning on riding anyone's coat tails," Shouto snaps. 

"Sure, but it's still what everyone's gonna fuckin' think if you apply for a job at their agency."

Shouto scowls over at Bakugou, but the blonde is looking entirely unconcerned. He's leaning back against the trunk of the tree, one elbow propped up on his knee, grinning vaguely in the direction of their classmates. Shouto follows his gaze and sees Kirishima flashing Bakugou two thumbs up. Kirishima notices Shouto looking and turns away quickly, face red. Bakugou chuckles and mumbles a soft idiot under his breath. 

Shouto feels a headache building in his temples. 

"What do you want, Bakugou?" he sighs.

Bakugou, insufferable asshole that he is, answers Shouto's question with a question. 

"You know what's good for stress relief?" 

Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose. "What?" 

He's close again, speaking softly into Shouto's ear. The warmth of his breath and low timbre of his voice sends a shiver down Shouto's spine. 

"Sex."

What. 

"Have you ever done it before?" Bakugou continues before Shouto's brain can compute what Bakugou's even saying to him.

"What?" Shouto breathes. 

He doesn't dare look at Bakugou. He's fairly certain his face has gone the color of a fresh tomato. His hands feel sweaty and clammy all of a sudden and the pencil slips from his slack grip and falls to the grass. 

"Sex, Icyhot," Bakugou says and thank goodness he's backed off a bit. "Are you a virgin?"

"I — what?" 

Shouto makes the mistake of looking back over at the class. 

The self proclaimed "Bakusquad" are huddled in a painfully obvious cluster, and both Kaminari and Kirishima are staring over Sero's shoulders, eyes wide as saucers. They duck back down as soon as they catch Shouto's eye, and Jirou reaches over to whack Kaminari hard on the head. 

Shouto's stomach does an unpleasant somersault before flopping to the ground like a popped balloon. 

He snaps his notebook shut and shoves it in his bag. 

"Who dared you to do this?" he asks curtly as he pushes himself to his feet. 

"What? No one."

"Was it Kaminari? Kirishima?" 

Bakugou is on his feet now as well, and normally Shouto would enjoy using his height advantage to make the other boy feel small and pathetic...but that’s never really worked on Bakugou. He glares up at Shouto as though they're eye-level, and the fierceness in his eyes makes Shouto feel small and insignificant. 

"No one fuckin' dared me to do shit, Half 'n Half," Bakugou growls. "I came over here because I wanted to, and I asked if you wanna fuck because I want to." 

"I — but —" The pieces are still not quite fitting together. "You don't even like me." 

Bakugou tilts his head and smirks as he peers up at Shouto. 

"I don't need to like you to think you're hot as fuck."

Shouto's heart is stuck in his throat. He's surprised his face hasn't burst into flames — literally. He blinks rapidly at Bakugou, opening and closing his mouth several times like a fish gasping for air. 

"Anyway, it's whatever," Bakugou shrugs again. There's a light pink dusting his cheeks and the slope of his nose, but still his eyes flick between Shouto's. "If you don't wanna, then just say so, dipshit."

"I," Shouto says.

Bakugou quirks a blonde brow, waiting for the rest of the sentence. 

Shouto's not sure what the rest of the sentence is. 

"Alright," Bakugou shoves his hands back into his pockets. "Well, you know where my room is." 

And he turns back to the group, shoulders hunched in his usual, carefree slouch, as though he hadn't just propositioned his classmate with taking his virginity.

Shouto needs to lie down. 

— 

Shouto is so stupid. 

He's so stupid.  

So, so, so stupid. 

It's nearly midnight and he's been standing outside Bakugou's room for twenty minutes like some weird, creepy stalker. He knows Bakugou is asleep, everyone knows that Bakugou holes up in his room by eight every evening. And sure, it's a weekend, and maybe he's up reading or something, but there's no light coming from the slit under the door and Shouto is so goddamn stupid oh my god. 

Why is he doing this? Does he really want to sleep with Bakugou? Had he ever even thought about it before this afternoon? 

If he's honest with himself, probably yes. 

And if he's horribly, painfully honest with himself, he hasn't been able to think of anything since , and has been half hard and fidgety all evening. 

Shouto raises his hand to knock. 

He lowers his hand. 

He curses under his breath. 

You can do this. Come on. He wants it. 

He raises his hand again. 

The door creaks open.

"What the fuck, Icyhot? Why do you breathe so fuckin' loudly?"

Bakugou stands in the doorway, shirtless. Because of course he is. And of course he's wearing baggy sweatpants that ride so low on his hips Shouto can see he's not wearing any underwear.

Oh my god . 

Bakugou squints up at him, blinking away vestiges of sleep. His hair is tousled and flat on one side and there's pillow crease lines pressed into his cheek. He doesn't look angry, which feels entirely wrong, considering Shouto had half expected to be blasted violently into the opposite wall for waking him up.

And then Bakugou smiles and it's all over for any remaining sliver of self control Shouto might have had. 

"Guess you made up your mind," Bakugou smirks. 

"Yes." 

"Alright," Bakugou says easily. "But you're fuckin' lucky it's a weekend. If you wake me up on a school night I'll fuckin' demolish you."

Shouto swallows. Nods. "Right, okay."

Bakugou's red eyes — much more alert now than just a minute ago — scan Shouto from head to toe. They pause on the uncomfortably obvious tent on the front of his trousers and his smirk sharpens. 

Shouto swallows the whimper threatening to escape him and says instead, "So, are you going to let me in? Or do you want to do this in the hall?"

Bakugou huffs out an incredulous laugh but says nothing in response. He just turns and disappears back into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. 

The click of the lock sliding shut rings out in the silent room. Shouto's throat feels inordinately dry all of a sudden. 

Shouto turns to look at Bakugou. 

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands and legs spread obscenely in front of him. His sweatpants are impossibly low, barely hanging on right above Bakugou's own steadily growing bulge. It twitches even as Shouto stares, and Shouto feels like he might faint right then and there because there is no blood left in his head at all. 

"So how d'you wanna do this?" Bakugou asks, and his voice is low and rough and sends goosebumps popping up over Shouto’s arms. 

"This was your idea," Shouto replies. "You tell me."

"You didn't answer me, earlier," Bakugou says, tilting his head, still looking much more casual than Shouto could ever hope to feel. 

"About what?" 

"Are you a virgin?" 

"Oh." Shouto swallows. "Um, yes. Is that…bad?"

"No," Bakugou says. "Just don't expect me to wanna fuckin' date you, or some shit. It's just sex." 

Shouto can't help but scoff. 

"Trust me, you're the last person I'd want to date." 

Bakugou grins like a predator cornering its prey and Shouto feels a fire ignite low in his abdomen. Bakugou shifts to lie back on the bed, legs spread invitingly. 

"Great. Then get over here. And take off your clothes." 

Shouto nearly strangles himself in his haste to pull off his shirt. He tosses it blindly across the room and rips off his jeans. He hesitates at the waistband of his boxer briefs, looks up, sees Bakugou gazing at him through heavy lids, palming at his cock through his sweatpants. 

Shouto strips off his underwear, eyes never leaving Bakugou's face. 

Bakugou bites his lip and squeezes his cock. A dark flush colors his cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat covers his chest. His eyes are glued to Shouto's cock, already embarrassingly hard. He's been dripping precum ever since Bakugou answered the door. 

Shouto shoves every last lingering doubt far, far away, and crawls onto the bed, over Bakugou's body.

"Fuck," Bakugou whispers. His hands reach up to grip Shouto's waist and pull him down, hard, so they're pressed up against one another with only Bakugou's sweatpants separating them. Shouto sucks in a sharp breath. His cock throbs . 

Their faces are just inches apart. Bakugou has light freckles high on his cheeks, and white blonde nearly invisible lashes. His lower lip is wet and swollen from biting it earlier, and Shouto doesn't know if kissing is part of their deal but he's aching to taste Bakugou's lips. 

He leans closer, until his mouth is just barely brushing Bakugou’s and their breath intermingles in a humid haze. Bakugou’s eyelids flutter shut. His lashes brush Shouto’s cheek.

"I — can I —" 

"Yes," Bakugou breathes. 

The tension between them snaps. 

Shouto presses down into Bakugou and kisses him like a man starved. Bakugou gasps into his mouth and Shouto swallows the sound with a moan of his own. It’s frantic and desperate and wet, but Shouto manages to keep their teeth from clacking together and given the noises Bakugou is making and the way his hips jut up to roll against Shouto’s, Shouto gathers he likes it just as much as Shouto does himself.

Shouto sucks Bakugou’s lower lip between his teeth and bites until Bakugou emits a low, guttural groan and clutches at Shouto’s hair.

“ Fuck ,” Bakugou pants when Shouto releases his lip and licks his way down his jawline. “You’ve done this before?”

“Well,” Shouto murmurs against Bakugou’s neck. “I was fully clothed, but yes. A couple of times.”

"With who?"

Shouto hums as he plants open mouthed kisses down to Bakugou's clavicle. 

"A gentleman never tells," he says. 

Not to mention he is fairly certain Bakugou would kick him out of his room if he found out it was with Midoriya. 

"Fuck, Icyhot, you don’t gotta be a gentleman with me.”

“Oh, good,” Shouto says, before grabbing the waistband of Bakugou’s sweatpants and jerking them down and off the other boy’s legs.

Bakugou’s cock slaps up against his stomach the second it’s freed. It’s flushed pink and hard as rock when Shouto reaches out tentatively to wrap his fingers around it. Bakugou lets out a stuttered gasp that Shouto decides he really, really likes.

It’s both different and strangely familiar, touching a dick that isn’t his. He knows how they work, obviously, and if the noises he’s making are anything to go by, Bakugou definitely seems to enjoy the way Shouto rubs his thumb over the leaking head. Bakugou is smaller than him, which should make Shouto feel some smug sort of pleasure, but all he can think is, so cute.

“Who th’fuck you callin’ cute?!” Bakugou snarls breathlessly.

Whoops.

“You,” Shouto answers, doubling down. “I like your dick.”

“Jesus fuck, Icyhot,” Bakugou huffs, but he’s smiling begrudgingly and it makes Shouto’s stomach flop.

Bakugou reaches out and fumbles for something on his bedside table. Shouto is still stroking his cute little cock, squeezing slightly at the tip, and Bakugou curses when his body jerks involuntarily and he knocks a bottle of water off the table.

“Fucking — god , fuck, get the —”

God, but he’s perfect when he’s flustered.

“What do you need?” Shouto asks, crawling up Bakugou’s body to reach towards the bedside table. His cock drags along Bakugou’s stomach, leaving a trail of precum up to his pecs.

“Lube,” Bakugou says shortly. “Condom. In the drawer.”

Shouto leans over to slide open the drawer and nearly astroplanes out of his body when he feels Bakugou’s calloused fingers curl around his cock. No one’s ever touched him there before, not without a couple of layers of clothes between them at least. Bakugou’s hand is slightly sweaty and warm, his palm scarred from his quirk, and it’s so different from Shouto’s own hand that he can’t stop the slightly pathetic whimper that escapes him as he straightens up again, lube and condom in hand.

“C’mere,” Bakugou says roughly. 

Shouto is confused for a moment because there doesn’t seem to be anywhere more here than where he currently is, straddling Bakugou’s chest with his cock between his perfect tits. But then Bakugou’s hands are curling around him, grabbing his ass and pulling him forward so sharply that Shouto has to slap a hand to the wall to prevent himself from faceplanting and knocking out a tooth.

Something wet touches his balls, and Shouto looks down to see his cock lying flat across Bakugou’s face, balls resting against his chin. His pink tongue is poking out and licking across the base of Shouto’s cock almost experimentally, and his eyes flutter shut when he notices Shouto looking down at him.

“Fuck,” Shouto whispers. 

He shifts his hips so his cock slides down Bakugou’s cheek, along his tongue. When the tip ghosts across plush lips, Bakugou moans . He opens up, lifts his head, and takes Shouto’s cock into his warm mouth with a low sigh.

Shouto wishes he could take a picture of this moment and frame it forever. Bakugou’s lips stretched around his cock, tears beading at the corners of his eyes and cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink. Fuck . Shouto’s cock twitches. He knows he won’t last long at all, even with just the tip of his cock being laved at like a kid licking an ice cream cone. But Bakugou’s hands are still clutching at his ass, keeping him from pulling back, so Shouto thrusts forward , until half his cock is buried in Bakugou’s mouth.

“Bakugou, fuck,” Shouto breathes, thrusting shallowly and hitting the roof of Bakugou’s mouth each time. The blonde groans low in response, fingers kneading at Shouto’s ass.

Heat is blazing through Shouto’s body, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. It’s centered low in his abdomen, pulsing through his cock, tightening his balls and growing hotter and hotter and —  

“I’m gonna come,” Shouto pants.

Bakugou pulls off his cock abruptly but it’s too late, Shouto is already tipping over the edge. He paints thick white stripes across Bakugou’s face as the fire inside him burns to an almost unbearable degree. His hand reaches automatically for his cock, jerking through the orgasm until he has enough mental capacity to realize that not only did he come before they could even fuck, he also came all over Bakugou Katsuki’s face.

“Shit, oh my god, I’m so sorry —” Shouto scrambles backward down Bakugou’s body, horrified with himself, until his thighs touch something warm and wet dripping down Bakugoou’s stomach and — did — did Bakugou come, too?!

“Fucking hell,” Bakugou growls, wiping come off his eye. “Give a man some warning, next time.”

“I’m sorry,” Shouto repeats, climbing off the bed entirely. “I didn’t — I’m —”

“Shut up, idiot,” Bakugou snaps. “Do I look like I didn’t enjoy that?”

He’s flushed all over, and it makes the come decorating his face and stomach stand out even more. His cock lies against his thigh, slowly softening, and Shouto wants nothing more than to suck it back to hardness for another round.

“Gonna go wash this shit off,” Bakugou says, grimacing as a large glob of come runs down his chin onto his neck.

“Okay,” Shouto responds, gaze magnetized to the firm, round muscles of Bakugou’s ass as he crosses the room. “Do you still want to, I mean —”

“Eager, aren’t you?” Bakugou calls from the bathroom. “Can you even go again?”

“Yes.”

His cock hasn’t even softened like it normally would after an orgasm. The sheer thought of being able to fuck Bakugou is keeping it hard and high, reaching for his navel. Unless…unless Bakugou wants to fuck him? Shouto is surprised to find the idea doesn’t deter him, in fact it sends another shock of electricity pulsing through his body.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this horny in his life.

Bakugou emerges from the bathroom, face pink and bangs damp. He appraises Shouto slowly, red eyes lingering on his already fully hard dick.

“Fuck,” he says softly. “You’re fuckin’ hot, shit. Get back on the bed.”

Bakugou stalks toward him like a lion stalking its prey. Shouto suppresses a shiver and lies down, pulling the condom and bottle of lube out from under his back and handing them to Bakugou, who’s swinging a leg over Shouto’s body to straddle his stomach. The head of Shouto’s cock nudges at one of those perky, perfect asscheeks and Shouto draws in a shaky breath.

Bakugou rips the condom packet open with his teeth, before rising up on his knees so he can roll it onto Shouto. A shiver runs through him at the movement, knowing any second he’s going to be inside the sexiest and scariest person in their year. Bakugou smirks, as though he’d heard Shouto’s thoughts, and slathers lube over Shouto’s rock hard length. He uses the leftovers to reach behind himself and a small moan escapes him as he spreads lube over his hole.

Fuck. This is really happening, fuck .

“Wait,” Shouto says almost frantically, as Bakugou positions himself over Shouto’s cock. “I read, I think, aren’t you supposed to — prepare? More? That’s what I saw on this website…”

Bakugou blinks down at him.

Then bursts into laughter, collapsing down onto Shouto as he wheezes into the crook of his neck. Shouto smiles despite himself, and finds his arms reaching up to wrap around Bakugou of their own accord. It feels oddly domestic, hugging a naked Bakugou as he laughs at something Shouto said.

Should he be calling him Katsuki, now?

Don’t expect me to wanna fuckin’ date you or some shit. It’s just sex.

Right.

Just sex.

“You fuckin’ read it,” Bakugou gasps, pushing himself back up. “I would fuckin’ pay to see your search history, Icyhot.”

“I guess you can’t believe everything you read on the internet?” Shouto supplies.

“No, they’re fuckin’ right,” Bakugou says. “But I already did that earlier.” He leans back until Shouto can feel his hole nudging at the head of his cock. 

“Oh?” Shouto can hardly resist the urge to thrust up into that waiting heat.

Bakugou smirks, reigniting the fire in Shouto’s body. “I knew you’d come knocking on my door.”

And then he sinks down, and Shouto’s vision burns white at the edges.

So tight, so hot — fuck, he’s going to come too soon again, isn’t he?

Bakugou’s ass meets his thighs and the blonde lets out a broken moan before rising back up again. His cock grows harder with every bounce; Shouto reaches out to stroke it, and Bakugou cries out, throwing his head back, hips jerking forward into Shouto’s fist and backward onto his cock.

He has no right to be this gorgeous, to sound this debauched . Shouto exhales a puff of steam in an attempt to help regulate his rapidly rising body temperature. He has to consciously focus on not allowing his hand to overheat, and it helps distract him some from the fucking runaway train that is his second orgasm barelling towards him.

“Fuck, fuck — shit — fuck, Sho — fuck! ”

In between the incoherent babbling and cursing, Shouto catches his name. Before he knows it, he’s growling (he’s quite certain he’s never made a noise quite like it in his life). He grabs Bakugou by the back of the neck and pulls him into a searing kiss, hand leaving Bakugou’s cock to grope at his hip as he thrusts up harshly.

Bakugou whines into his mouth, a high note broken by every jolt of his body as Shouto fucks into him like a man crazed.

“Katsuki,” Shouto breathes, and Bakugou clenches around him. “Katsuki, you feel so good —”

“ Fuck, yes!” Bakugou’s hand scrabbles between them, reaching for his cock with trembling fingers, tugging once, twice, before spilling hot come between them.

Shouto can’t hold it back any more. It hits him like an earthquake, rattling every last inch of his body. He fills the condom in desperate spurts, holding Bakugou in place until he physically can’t anymore, and he falls limply to the mattress, panting heavily.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says weakly. If Shouto had any air left in him, he’d agree.

Bakugou rolls stickily off him onto his back. Shouto closes his eyes and allows a minute for his racing heart to slow down. His cock feels spongy and oversensitive in the suddenly too tight condom, but he can’t possibly raise a hand to take it off.

“Knew you’d be a good fuck.”

Shouto cracks his eyes open and turns to squint at Bakugou. The blonde’s trademark smirk is in place, red eyes gleaming.

“Feeling stressed now, Half ‘n Half?”

“Hah. No.”

It’s about all Shouto can muster. He feels like he might fall asleep right here and now, not his pulse is down from frantic jackrabbit pace to an almost soothing purr.

“Yeah, you’re not sleeping here, idiot.”

Bakugou shoves at his shoulder, not enough to dislodge him from the bed but enough to break him from his sleepy daze.

“Clean yourself up and get outta here,” Bakugou says, stretching his arms overhead and groaning with satisfaction when his back pops. “Maybe, if you act nice I might think of lettin’ you do this again.”

Shouto grins over at Bakugou.

Oh, he can be nice.

He can be real nice.