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Ten people swarm the prisoner as Bakugou hoists him off the truck, forming a shrieking tangle around them as their feet touch the pavement. Bakugou puts himself in front of the prisoner. Although, knowing the minutiae of the crime, he briefly considers letting the family do what they will, to allow mild-mannered civilians to become angry wolves, his charge their deserving prey.
“I hope the inmates do to you what you did to my sister,” one of them screams. She has dark circles under her eyes, her hair up in a careless bun.
She claws at the criminal, trying to reach around the breadth of Bakugou’s shoulders and failing. The criminal laughs at her, secure behind his Dynamight-shaped shield. Hands scrabble at Dynamight’s body, trying to force him out of the way. Someone tries to elbow him in the face; a heel grinds into one of his boots.
Dynamight grits his teeth at the chaotic frenzy. He considers firing a blast into the ground, hoping the shockwaves will knock the family back and allow him to gain control of the scene without hurting anyone. But they are so close—too close for him to safely use his quirk.
Planty finally gets off her ass, whipping out her vines and dragging the crowd back. Bakugou signals the prison crew to collect their man.
“This happen a lot?” Bakugou growls at them. “Noticed you guys hung back.”
“Sometimes, with high profile prisoners,” one of the guards admits. “Surprised Endeavor didn’t mention it to you.”
Endeavor has had interns and sidekicks do his less glamorous jobs for over a decade. He probably doesn’t even remember what it is like transporting a prisoner across the country. Bakugou is about to tell them so when a soft voice interrupts. “I’m so sorry.”
Bakugou spins in its direction, hands up and glowing. He won’t let anyone surprise him this time.
A woman in her 60s approaches, her hands up—an older version of the screaming woman. “I tried to talk them out of it. He’s paying for what he did. It has to be enough.”
“Good job,” Bakugou bites out, the words laced with acid.
“You really don’t pull any punches, do you, Dynamight?” She gives him a humorless smile and slowly pulls an envelope out of her jacket. “This is a written apology for the behavior of my family. A few words encouraging that man to use his incarceration to become a better person. Will you give it to him when he reaches his destination?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou half-lies, taking the paper. He’ll give the letter to the prisoner—after he inspects it to make sure it is safe. “Sure.”
The guards load their new charge and drive off, their wagon swallowed by the shimmering heat rising from the endless black road. Only then does Planty let the family go.
“That was dumb,” Bakugou scolds them. “If you’d seriously done harm to that man, I’d have had to seriously harm you. Don’t ever interfere with hero work again.”
“Does he mean that?” Bakugou hears a man wonder as he stalks back to the wagon.
“Yes,” Planty says. “If you attack a hero, we must respond as though you are a villain.”
“Us, the villains?” the man laughs, a high, offended note of incredulity in his voice. “After what he did—”
“His punishment isn’t for you to decide,” Planty preaches. “It’s for the courts, and for God.”
“And his cellmates,” a woman murmurs. Bakugou recognizes her voice—the older female apologist.
Whatever.
He closes the doors of the transport wagon behind Planty, leaving the family to find their own way home.
Planty sighs in exhaustion and drops to the bench. “May they all find redemption in his solitude.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou mutters. “Prison’s all about redemption. Such a great healing environment.”
Planty chooses to ignore his cynical response in favor of staring at the blinding afternoon sun. He doesn’t blame her. She folds her hands. “That must have been hard for you. To be surrounded and grabbed like that, all because of someone like him.”
“Nothing’s hard for me,” he says, pointedly looking out the window, watching the empty green fields fly by.
“Sure,” she says. “I suppose I imagined that look of wrath on your face.”
“I’ll always do what the law requires.”
“Even if it’s terrible?”
Bakugou doesn’t turn his face from the window, but he slides his eyes over to her, gives her a little smirk around the hand supporting his chin. “Well, you let the family go rather than reporting them. And I’m not going to say anything. So I guess we didn’t do too terribly.”
“A pep talk from Bakugou Katsuki,” Planty smiles. “My classmates will never believe it.”
He relaxes a fraction, and the woman’s letter, almost forgotten, crinkles in his pocket. He pulls it out, opens it. Red dust explodes out, clouding around his face. He sneezes. What the fuck?
Shiozaki goes pale. “Uh, Dynamight—what is that? Where did you get it?”
#
Friday night at UA: another school week done; another long, lonely weekend sprawls before Shinsou in its place. He closes his door and leans against it, dropping his bookbag to the ground, sighing.
No. He will not allow himself to be bitter that no one wants to hang out with the mind-control kid outside of school hours.
There are advantages to being alone. Plenty of time to study, train, and jerk off. He doesn’t catch up on sleep, because every time he lays down, he hears the thoughts of those he’s controlled in the past. He’s not sure if it’s all in his memories, or if he’s still linked to his “victims” in some inexplicable way. Regardless, it’s distracting, and there’s no one at the school with a comparable quirk to advise him, so… yeah. Jerking off it is. Start the weekend right and all.
His hands wander to his belt buckle when there’s a sharp rap at his door. It vibrates into the middle of his back, makes him jump. He opens his door, frowning down at his surprise caller.
It’s Ibara. With her is Kirishima Eijiro, the friendly redhead from Class A.
“Shinsou-kun,” Ibara greets. She looks uncomfortable, with a sheen of clammy sweat on her face. Shinsou’s used to people looking like that when they speak to him. Especially goodie-girls like Ibara.
“Sorry to bother you,” Kirishima says. “Are you busy right now?”
“Yeah,” Shinsou says. He did have plans, sort of.
“Any chance you can put them on hold and come with us? Got a huge favor to ask you, man. I’ll owe you one if you help us out.”
Intrigued, Shinsou steps out and closes his door behind him.
“It’s Dynamight,” Ibara says. “Today, during our externship together—he opened a letter with an airborne spore inside it.”
Shinsou fails to see how this concerns him, and his expression must give away his disinterest.
“Just, come with me, man,” pleads Kirishima. “I’ll explain on the way.”
“You don’t need me then, correct?” Ibara says, folding her arms. “I must pray; I’ll leave it to you.”
She flees, her thorny hair streaming behind her. Shinsou watches her go.
Kirishima shouts “thanks!” after her, then heads toward the class A dormitory.
“What’s got her feeling so guilty?”
“If I had to guess… carnal desire?”
Unexpected. Shinsou doesn’t want to help Class A’s resident asshole, but he’s also curious what trouble said asshole got himself in. He’s heard the stories, seen the news reports. Bakugou doesn’t do anything half-assed; whatever trouble he’s in is always spectacular, especially if it got Ibara needing to pray to a higher power so urgently.
Carnal desire, Kirishima said.
Shinsou falls into step with Kirishima, who—despite his shorter stature—moves with such urgency Shinsou has to work his long legs hard to keep up. He takes in Kirishima’s tense, hunched shoulders. The guy is clearly worried. “You gonna tell me what this is all about?”
“Urgh, it’s hard to say,” Kirishima glances at him, and Shinsou suddenly notices the embarrassed flush on his face. “Here, just… Read this.”
Kirishima passes him a piece of paper, holding it with the tips of his fingers like it’s a used piece of tissue. Shinsou takes it and unfolds it.
It’s a letter.
“Bastard,
While I do feel poorly for tricking the heroes into giving you this letter, I’m thrilled that you’ve opened it.
The red dust you inhaled when you opened the envelope is my quirk. My horrible, embarrassing quirk that I’ve finally found a good use for: making you as miserable as you made my daughter.
For the next 48 hours, you will be extremely—how shall I say this?—uncomfortable. You will be so aroused you will be sick. Your heart rate will speed up unless someone has penetrative sex with you. If you refuse to engage, your heart rate and body temperature will climb to dangerous levels—until your heart wears itself out and stops, and your fever gives you brain damage.
I hope you enjoy being passed around the prison. I’m sure you’ll make a great first impression on your new cellmates.”
Shinsou folds the paper back up, frowning. Considering the actual target was going to a prison, forcing him to whore himself out at the beginning of his incarceration would be humiliating, and set the tone for his entire stay. Diabolical.
“According to Shiozaki-Chan, she and Bakugou were transporting this jerk when he received this,” Kirishima says. “Bakugou inspected the letter before handing it over. Ibara confirmed the dust is um, a kind of aphrodisiac spore. She’s obviously resistant. But Bakugou…”
Bakugou took the brunt of a revenge plot involving honest-to-goodness sex pollen.
“Holy shit,” Shinsou breathes. “I’m still not clear on what you need me for, though. There’s gotta be someone who wants to help him out.”
“Oh yeah, there’s plenty of takers; the problem is, he won’t pick anyone,” Kirishima says, tears pricking his eyes. “Time is running out, he’s getting sicker and sicker, and he won’t accept any help! We just need to know… Who he wouldn’t mind doing that with. You know? We can’t force someone on him.”
“Even though his heart is literally going to explode if he doesn’t?” Shinsou sighs. “I would say I was surprised, but…”
“Yeah. So we were hoping, um,” Kirishima’s eyes shift away from Shinsou, looking uneasy again. “You could get him to admit who he might want? And failing that…”
Shinsou hears what Kirishima doesn’t say. Help him accept some aid.
Kirishima looks away, frustrated tears lining his big eyes.
Shit. Morally gray, at best. He’s sure no one on campus wants to rape Bakugou to save his life, but there are at least some students waiting for the chance to screw the insolent blond. Probably not a long list, which means—assuming Bakugou secretly likes at least one of them—Shinsou will be back to jerking off in his own room before dark. He doesn’t want to think about “helping” Bakugou accept their favors, though. He’ll cross that bridge if he comes to it. “Do the pros know? Teachers?”
“No way. What could we possibly say that wouldn’t embarrass Bakugou for his entire career? His entire life?”
Shinsou shrugs. Quirks are only getting weirder and more powerful. He doubts this will be the last time a polarizing bombshell like Bakugou will deal with something so personal and embarrassing. But if he doesn’t want to report the vigilante, that’s his business.
Kirishima leads him into the dormitory common room. The afternoon sun filters through the shaded windows, dousing the figures gathered around the low coffee table in dim relief: Kaminari, Hanta, Todoroki, Midoriya, and Ashido.
“If he won’t ask for someone, shouldn’t I just go in there?” Ashido says as they approach. “I’m the only girl he tolerates, after all.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer,” Hanta says with a wry chuckle. “But you’re assuming he’s straight.”
“Eh? He isn’t?”
“I’ve never heard Kacchan express interest in anyone,” Midoriya mutters. “No girl, no boy. Not even celebrities. Does that mean he’s asexual? Or just so devoted to his training that…”
Kaminari waves them over as Midoriya dissolves into unintelligible murmurs. “Thanks for coming, man. Kiri catch you up on the situation?”
“Yeah,” Shinsou nods. “You need me to ask Bakugou who he’d accept a pity fuck from.”
“Yeah but jeez, I hope you don’t phrase it like that!”
“Tell him to accept me,” Todoroki says. “I don’t pity him. We’re friends, and I find him attractive.”
“Dude, me too,” says Kaminari, rounding on Todoroki. “Why do you think I put up with his dumpster-fire personality? Why should he pick you over me?”
“Maybe because I don’t think he’s a dumpster fire.”
“But he already chose me, didn’t he?” Hanta interrupts, his ever-present grin turning into something a little dark and feral. “Climbed into my lap and everything. If I hadn't told you he was acting weird, we wouldn’t even be discussing this right now. I’d be all up in there—“
“Good thing you’re a future hero, not some creep looking to take advantage of a friend,” Kaminari fires, and Hanta has the decency to look a little chastised.
Midoriya has fallen silent and watches from a distance, obviously shocked to find out so many people are interested in his rival.
Ashido squares her shoulders. “I can’t believe we are fighting over who gets to do this! Shinsou-kun, will you go talk to Bakugou? Please?”
#
Shinsou doesn’t want to go into Bakugou’s room.
He can smell him through the door, the animalic combination of gunpowder, burnt sugar, and salty, musky sex. It’s filthy, and good, and it reminds him that he hasn’t jerked off yet today. He wants to huff the scent while he shoves his hand down his pants and works an orgasm out.
Fuck. Maybe there’s more to this quirk than what was in the letter. Could it be an attractant as well? That would explain Shiozaki’s guilty expression, and why all Bakugou’s friends suddenly want to bone him.
Rather than do what he really wants with his hands, he forces them into fists and knocks on Bakugou’s door. “Bakugou, I’d like to come in.”
“Who the fuck—?” is the throaty response. The sentence starts out a defensive growl, ends a husky gasp, and it sends shivers down Shinsou’s spine.
“It’s Shinsou, from 3B.”
“Eyebags?” Well, that’s nicer than ‘brainwash bastard,’ he supposes. “I, uh, can’t open the door.”
He figures that’s not a ‘no,’ so Shinsou turns the knob and slips into the room.
Through the large balcony window, the sun sits low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the destroyed room. The bed is flipped onto its side, the mattress leaning like an eavesdropper on a conversation, forming a barrier between the door and the closet.
Peering over the frame, Shinsou sees a tangle of plain white bedding on the floor. There, the blond lies on his back in a little makeshift nest, his chest arched up as he squeezes his thighs together and squirms his hips. He notices Shinsou, and rolls himself up into a sitting position. Shinsou sees why Bakugou had that sexy little arc to his spine now—His arms are taped behind his back, his hands stuck to his elbows.
Shinsou puts together a timeline in his head: Bakugou must have come here first. Frustrated by his sheer idiocy—or perhaps acting on some weird instinct brought out by the spore—he’d torn his room apart before making his way to the common area. There he threw himself at a hapless Hanta; the tape is proof enough of that. Hanta alerted Kirishima, Bakugou’s best buddy. After checking in with Ibara, Bakugou’s externship partner for the day, they secured him in his room. Then came the plea for Shinsou to help guide their next steps.
All while leaving Bakugou, who was feverish and in the early stages of a heart attack, tied up and alone in his room, unable to ease the edge of a lust quirk on his own.
What morons.
“This is fucked up,” Shinsou hisses, and crawls into Bakugou’s nest to rip the tape off him. “This is how class A operates? Good idea, restrain the sex-crime victim!”
“I’m no victim,” Bakugou spits, pulling away, retreating into the closet. “And after how I acted, I don’t blame them. Jesus, how am I gonna live this down?”
“I can see if they’re open to forgetting, if you want,” Shinsou offers.
“What I want, dipshit, is to know why you’re here.” Bakugou rubs his wrists and glares at him, distrustful. Shinsou wouldn’t trust him either, if their positions were reversed.
Funny, he didn’t want to get involved in the first place, now he’s offering to memory-wipe Bakugou’s little fan club. Why? Maybe it’s the way the golden sunlight highlights Bakugou’s hair and eyes, giving his hot skin a beautiful glow. Or that wicked scent, the way he’s bathed in it now, being so close to the source. His eyes flick down Bakugou’s body as he sniffs the air, trying to figure out where the scent is coming from, precisely.
The crotch of Bakugou’s costume is wet. Shinsou unconsciously runs his tongue along his teeth.
Suddenly, getting Bakugou to trust him is more important than getting back to his room for his date with his right hand. He has to be careful not to ask any questions. Convince him he won’t try to brainwash him.
“Kirishima said you’re refusing help. I’m here to find out who would be least offensive to you. Brainwash you into telling me, if I have to.”
“Everyone’s offensive,” Bakugou pants. Shinsou watches his costume tent out as he speaks. He can’t bring himself to be decent and look away. “I don’t need their pity!”
“Believe it or not, you do. Your friends like you, and don’t want you to die for your pride,” Shinsou shifts, putting one leg flat and bringing the other knee up. He needs to hide his own response to Bakugou’s condition.
“So the whole fucking world knows what happened, huh?”
“Not the ‘whole fucking world’,” Shinsou says. “Probably just your friends... And whoever saw you make a move on Hanta. Speaking of, I assume Hanta is your choice.”
“Listen, I was out of my mind, and Soysauce was the first person I saw,” Bakugou gasps. A hand flies to his chest. His heart rate must be picking up. “I tried to fish his cock out of his pants in the common room, for Chrissakes. But he’s not who I’d pick for this.”
“You seem pretty lucid right now. Why is that?”
“Because I…” Bakugou tsks and looks away. “I came once, okay? I was in his lap, fucking grinding away like some dog, and after I came, he taped me up. Dumped me here.”
Shinsou almost wants to laugh. Clearly Bakugou feels horrible about his actions, but Hanta had obviously been into it—taping Bakugou up only after he finished. What a show that must have been. Shinsou wishes he could have watched. Tearing his thoughts away from such a scene, he says, in a neutral tone, “It sounds like he didn’t tell anyone the specifics, only that you went to him first. I think he was flattered, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Marginally,” he huffs, sliding his hand down to his fly. The salted caramel scent intensifies around them as he drops his head back against the wall. A bead of sweat runs down his neck. “Listen, Eyebags, you better clear out of here. Another wave of whatever-the-fuck-this-is is hitting me hard. I’m so turned on that I might puke if I don’t get busy. You don’t want to be here for it.”
Bakugou smells good, looks good. Shinsou realizes he doesn’t care if he’s being fooled by the quirk, he was already horny—now he’s horny, specifically, for Bakugou.
“But I do want to be here,” he says, careful not to ask if Bakugou wants him there. It makes him sound bolder than he is. In for a penny, in for a pound, he guesses. He reaches out to caress Bakugou’s bare ankle. “Admit it, I’m a good choice. We don’t know each other. We aren’t in class together. I get you through the weekend, and we never have to interact after this. No regrets, no reminders.”
“No pity?” Bakugou asks, sliding his hand from his pants to wrap around Shinsou’s wrist. His palm is hot and damp, sticky with semen.
“Zero,” Shinsou affirms. “I’d fuck your hot ass any hour of the day, any day of the year, sex pollen or no.”
Shinsou’s surprised to find that he means it, too.
“Then prove it,” Bakugou growls, and drags Shinsou into the closet with him.
In the sudden movement, Shinsou kicks the door shut behind him. Bakugou’s eyes glow in the near-dark, looking liquid in the pool of his mask. Shinsou slips Bakugou’s mask back into a makeshift headband, securing his sweaty bangs, and surprises them both with a tender kiss to a flushed cheek—which turns into a depraved lick across Bakugou’s cheekbone to his ear. Bakugou lets out a little gasp of surprise. The sound has Shinsou inflating to full hardness.
He wants to grapple Bakugou, pull him into his lap, wrap his legs around his hips. He looks so fuckable in his hero costume. That sexy little racerback top that barely contains his pecs, the cargos that practically burst at the seams trying to cover his generous ass. But his pants are covered in sex fluids from his common room orgasm, and Shinsou knows he has to walk out of here in his own clothes at some point, so he settles for sinking his teeth into Bakugou’s earlobe and removing his own uniform first.
Bakugou’s mouth falls open at the attention, his hot breath swirling down Shinsou’s neck and shoulder. “You… you seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Nope, virgin. But I have a very good imagination,” Shinsou kicks off his underwear and starts peeling off Bakugou’s gloves. He kisses his newly-revealed arms. “Tell me if you don’t like something.”
“Don’t think I can afford to be picky,” Bakugou says. Shinsou licks and sucks the tender inner-elbows and wrists. “But yeah, I’ll—unh—try. You, hah, you too.”
Bakugou Katsuki, asshole extraordinaire, a considerate lover? Shinsou’s lips curl in amusement before he gets back to the task at hand.
His top has to go. Shinsou needs his mouth on that defined collarbone, his face in that muscular cleavage yesterday. He pries Bakugou’s hands off his and peels the skin-tight fabric off the blond. Bakugou’s hair looks more like an explosion than ever, and his expression is dazed, blissed-out at being manhandled.
It’s a good look on the always angry, always calculating, fledgling hero.
“Look at you, such a sweet thing,” Shinsou whispers. “I like you like this.”
Bakugou whimpers and claws at his own underwear and pants, shimmying out of them. Shinsou runs his hands over long, lean legs before trapping Bakugou in his lap, putting him between his chest and the closet wall.
The full skin-on-skin contact feels right. Bakugou must think so, too: he emits a strange purring sound between whimpers. Shinsou’s never heard anyone sound like this, but it’s fucking good. He’s making Bakugou happy. He’s turning him on. The realization makes his heart swell and his dick twitch.
Their new position puts Bakugou’s collarbone at eye level. Shinsou decides now is as good a time as any to fulfill his fantasy. He presses his face into the slick crevice between Bakugou’s tits. Runs his tongue up his sternum, then licks a firm mound and bites into a hard nipple. Bakugou pants and thrusts up against him; their cocks slide against each other, and now it’s Shinsou’s turn to pant and groan.
Bakugou squirms in his lap, pressing his balls hard against the base of Shinsou’s dick. Ugh, that’s weirdly satisfying. He can’t have it, though. If they have a whole weekend of this ahead, he’d better slow down, make Bakugou come first, or he might die trying to keep up. What a way to go, but dying is not on Shinsou’s agenda.
Shinsou sinks his teeth mercilessly into Bakugou’s other nipple, and strokes him hard and fast. “Be still.”
Still he is. Bakugou freezes, back arching and legs spasming wide around Shinsou. His mouth falls open in pleasure and his head tilts back against the wall, exposing the long line of his pale throat. Shinsou can’t resist sinking his teeth into the pale skin. He feels Bakugou’s dick jump, and then searing hot wetness coats his hand, drips onto his own cock as Bakugou comes.
Shinsou releases both Bakugou’s cock and his throat to inspect his handiwork. Bakugou looks like he’s wearing a pink choker—it will no doubt deepen to scarlet, maybe violet at the most intense points of pressure. Turtlenecks won’t be high enough to cover the love bites; he’ll have to wear his winter costume if he wants to hide them.
Shinsou hopes he doesn’t.
He looks down at their cocks; Bakugou’s is only a little smaller than his, sprouting from a nearly hairless pubis. Unlike Shinsou’s veiny beast, with its thick thatch of purple pubes, Bakugou’s is elegant, red-pink and slick with cum, showing no signs of softening after his orgasm. His spend drips down onto Shinsou’s balls and thighs; Shinsou almost feels like he’s sitting in a warm-water bath. He vaguely wonders why Bakugou is so wet—surely this isn’t all from his orgasm?—but that is a mystery for a less-horny Shinsou to solve.
“So fucking hot,” Shinsou breathes instead. “So good for me, being still like that and letting me work.”
Bakugou wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him.
Shinsou didn’t expect that. His mouth falls open in surprise, and Bakugou slips his tongue in. Shinsou allows it, surprising himself with how much he enjoys the slick feeling of it. Bakugou cradles his jaw, slides his tongue back to stroke his lips. Slow, soft, sweet, like a real lover would kiss. Confident, like only Bakugou Katsuki would kiss.
Shinsou’s chest clenches; he wants to give as good as he gets. He cards his hands through Bakugou’s hair, and tilts his head back so he can slide his tongue deep into Bakugou’s mouth this time.
He’s doomed, isn’t he? Bakugou’s making that purring-whimpering sound again, and Shinsou knows, he just knows, goddamnit, he’ll never forget it. Bakugou’s voice will play in his head every time he touches himself after this, with any future partner he takes to bed… These next two days will be the yardstick by which all future sexual endeavors will be measured, and will be found wanting.
Bakugou grinds against him, gently, and breaks the kiss. He pants hot breath over Shinsou’s lips, making the delicate skin tingle. “More. Letter said it had to be penetrative.”
But who penetrates who? Oh, it would be so easy. So easy to ask if Bakugou wanted to be penetrated. His answer wouldn’t even matter; he’d be brainwashed, Shinsou could take complete control, drive into him, just like this… His cock pulses at the thought.
No. No. This isn’t about him, not about his wants.
“I want to penetrate you,” he says instead, and waits for Bakugou to decide if he’s happy with that role.
His answer comes in the form of Bakugou lifting up slightly, pulling Shinsou’s cock under him. His tip nestles between his cheeks, and Shinsou is once again surprised: not only is Bakugou volcano-hot here, he’s wet, too. So that’s what’s been dripping onto his lap.
“Some weird effect of the spore,” Bakugou explains. “Useful, right?”
“Fucking hell,” Shinsou replies, and pushes in, squeezing Bakugou’s ass as he guides him onto his cock.
The fit is tight, almost uncomfortably so, but Bakugou is so wet that he slides in anyway. It feels amazing, the pleasure of entering him as intense and airless as drowning under a tidal wave.
Bakugou whines a tortured keen: high and needy and intense. Shinsou wishes he had his phone handy to record it—such a noise, one he drew out of the indomitable blond. He grabs his ass instead, feeling the flesh pillow between his fingers, and bites Bakugou’s shoulder to keep himself from mindlessly railing him, waiting for him to adjust.
“You feel huge,” Bakugou finally stutters. “Y-you’re pressed up against my prostate.”
“Yeah?” Shinsou huffs, licking Bakugou’s Adam’s apple.
“So good, and you aren’t even moving,” Bakugou moans. He can feel his legs tightening around him. “Gonna come, gonna—“
Shinsou’s self control shatters. He fucks him hard, with small, tight movements engineered to get them both off fast. Bakugou wails above him and smashes their mouths together. Shinsou loves it—Bakugou has beautiful lips, and the kiss makes orgasming together feel so real, so intimate. His cock pumps wave after wave of semen into the blond. It feels like it goes on forever.
Eventually, Bakugou breaks away to breathe, flops his head back against the wall. Shinsou buries his face in his chest, rolls his hips languidly.
“Again,” Bakugou purrs.
The closet feels stifling now, sweltering with their combined heat. Shinsou hoists Bakugou up so he can pull out of him. The blond blushes down at him, at the display of strength. Hot fluids gush around his withdrawing dick, and Shinsou’s own cum drips out as he moves. A pulse of hot caramel fills the air around them, and Shinsou has the crazy notion that Bakugou’s fluids might taste as good as they smell.
Shinsou, previously a virgin, never thought about eating a man out before. Especially not after he’s come in his ass. But now that he’s thought it, he can’t unthink it, and he wants. His cock is in agreement, staying hard—maybe harder?— at the thought.
He pulls Bakugou out of the closet, rearranges him onto his hands and knees in the nest on the bedroom floor. The blond sighs and drinks in the cool air.
Shinsou can see him better now. Though the sun is below the horizon, he wants to enjoy the view while he can.
His skin is sweaty and fever-pink all over. There are ghostly handprints on his hips, and his firm, pale ass—sure to darken over the coming days, just like this throat. Juices drip from his rim, down his thighs—the salty, musky-sweet smell carrying in the air.
Shinsou runs his tongue up the inside of a muscular thigh. His voice is dark, husky, and he barely recognizes it. “Tell me to keep going.”
Bakugou shivers. Shinsou can feel it through his lips. “Fuck, oh fuck.” More of the slick drips down his legs, more of the burnt sugar scent fills Shinsou’s nostrils. “Yes, fuck, Shinsou, keep going.”
It’s such a head trip, a power rush, hearing the bratty blond begging him. He vows to reward his trust in him, make it as good as he can for them both.
He swipes his tongue up slowly, collecting the pearly fluid. He tastes the salt and bitterness of their spend, yes, but—he licks Bakugou’s crevice, tasting the clear slick he’s leaking. Sweet sugar and smoky honey.
He groans and spreads Bakugou’s cheeks, working his tongue with relish. Bakugou shrieks in delight and slips in his blankets—chest hitting the floor while Shinsou holds him up by his hips.
“You taste amazing,” Shinsou says, uncaring how Bakugou’s plump ass muffles his voice. “Want to bottle you, drink you with my coffee.”
“You corny motherfucker,” Bakugou chuckles, but dissolves into a groan when Shinsou works his tongue past his rim, stiffens it into a point and jabs at his prostate. He can’t quite reach it; it must feel more like a tease—but Bakugou seems to enjoy it, anyway.
“Shinsou,” Bakugou sobs. “Enough, fuck me. Fuck me.”
“I’ve just had my tongue up your ass,” Shinsou says, pulling back with some reluctance and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You can call
me Hitoshi.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want if you just hurry up,” Bakugou whines, humping the air.
Shinsou rises to his knees, takes hold of himself and watches in amazement as the tiny opening sucks him in. Bakugou moans and purrs in relief, his back a beautiful bow. Shinsou massages his asscheeks and watches his dick slide in and out of him. Beautiful. He gives him a few more pumps then stops. “Say my name, Katsuki.”
Bakugou makes a strangled noise, attempts to fuck backwards on the thick cock buried in him. Shinsou holds his hips firm. “Say it and I’ll give you whatever you want, gorgeous.”
Bakugou whines—that helplessly turned on sound. Shinsou’s heart does a little flutter. Bakugou resists, but he actually likes being praised and told what to do, doesn’t he?
Maybe he might even come to like Shinsou.
Bakugou twists at his waist, showing off his legendary flexibility, and gazes at Shinsou with eyes at half-mast. The look is smouldering, full of want, and Shinsou realizes he’s already caved and is fucking him. But Bakugou must believe in reciprocity, because he says, “H-Hitoshi! So good, so full.”
Hitoshi snaps his hips hard, angling down into Bakugou’s prostate. He can feel his cockhead drive into the smooth, round gland—can feel it caress his growing length as he pops in and out.
Wait, wait… Growing? Popping?
Frowning, he looks at the base of his dick—all he can see that isn’t vanishing inside the eager blond beneath him—and is surprised to see a bulb filling out there. He’s heard that sex injuries can lead to blood pooling in weird spots, but he hasn’t had any injuries… not even close. Maybe this is another effect of the spore? Ugh, he feels so good that he can’t bring himself to stop and inspect it. Bakugou is writhing on his dick, calling his name, and it just feels so right to drape himself over the muscular back before him, forcing Bakugou—Katsuki—down to the floor.
The bulb slips into Katsuki’s ass again—Katsuki sighs and keens, spreads his legs wider—that’s a sign he feels good, isn’t it? Mmm, Shinsou likes that; he purrs with the knowledge that he’s making his partner feel so good.
Shinsou is a creature of instinct now. He does what feels right. He kisses his way up Katsuki’s spine, litters his shoulders with hickeys and little bites. Katsuki sobs in joy below him, calls his name, twists again to kiss him on the mouth.
The bulb expands. Katsuki’s insides squeeze around it, becoming more intense, more pleasurable, with each thrust. Finally, the bulb feels as heavy and as big as a billiard ball. It locks into place, directly over Katsuki’s prostate. Shinsou tries to move it, but he can’t—it feels glued to Katsuki. Fuck, he hopes it’s permanent—he wants to live here.
Katsuki howls below him, his legs wide against the floor. Humping his hips, he rubs his dick into the bedding and works the bulb hard into his prostate—and he comes, squeezing and spasming around Shinsou in what feels like the most erotic massage of all time.
Shinsou’s vision sparks and whites out. It’s overwhelming, too much; Shinsou feels like he’s drowning under that tidal wave of pleasure. He grits his teeth, trying to hang on, and his mouth hurts, his gums itch—kisses and love bites are not enough to satisfy.
He throws himself down again, biting the back of Katsuki’s neck. Hard.
Katsuki wheezes, and his orgasm goes on and on. Shinsou feels himself coming too—forced to orgasm by Katsuki’s body. He comes and comes, pumping Katsuki full of his spend—and because of that bulb on his dick, not even a drop trickles out.
After what feels like hours, the pleasure finally subsides. Shinsou feels boneless. He unlocks his jaw with an audible crack and licks Katsuki’s neck, soothing the bite. Katsuki purrs; Shinsou answers with a happy chuff of his own. He rolls them onto their side to avoid crushing his mate further.
Mate? Why the hell did he think that? So weird!
His teeth marks in Katsuki’s pale nape seem to stare back at him. He presses his face, glowing with hormones and embarrassment, between Katsuki’s shoulder blades and hugs him tight.
Time passes, slow like honey, and Shinsou finally slips out of Katsuki. Katsuki sits up, and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline as their combined fluids soak the blanket below him.
It’s mostly come. How had Shinsou produced so much come?
Katsuki clears his throat, as though he doesn’t trust his voice. Shinsou feels a little proud of that. It sounds cracked and broken when he says, “what the hell is all this?”
“I don’t know,” Shinsou admits, and they both peer down at his crotch.
The bulb has deflated, but he has extra flesh between his shaft and his balls now. It almost looks like a cockring.
“Jesus, it felt huge in me,” Katsuki says, poking at it. “Like a big old knot or something.”
“Quit it,” Shinsou says, exhausted. “Unless you want it back in you in the next two minutes.”
“Maybe I do,” Katsuki replies with a wicked smirk. At least, it looks wicked in the darkness falling so softly around them.
Shinsou feels his heart speed up. Shit, what is this? Has he developed a crush on this asshole?
Mate, some primitive part of his brain corrects him.
He smooths a palm over Katsuki’s chest. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he answers after an assessing pause. “Not nauseous. Not sweating. Heart rate feels like I just had a good warm up session, as opposed to a death-defying marathon workout.”
“Good,” Shinsou says. He checks his phone for the time—11 pm. Jesus. They’d been at it for almost four hours. They need to take a break. Eat and hydrate. He grabs a dry blanket—the sole survivor of the sexual onslaught—and wipes himself down. “I’ll go grab some supplies while you’re lucid.”
“No need,” says Katsuki. He shows him a group chat on his own phone.
Freezerburn: this was not the plan
Shitty Hair: uh I mean it sounds like it’s all working out?
Soysauce Face: guess the best man won
Racoon Eyes: someone take supplies up to them. If they dehydrate to death this will all have been for nothing
Dunce Face: how can you ask us to do that? Half of us are heartbroken over here
Shitty Nerd: I got it
Shinsou cracks open the door to find a pack of water and a box of protein bars. He fires a quick “thank you” to Midoriya, and blinks in surprise at the instant response.
Midoriya: IDK how you got him to agree, but if you hurt him in any way, we’re going to have some problems
Midoriya: problems of the me breaking all of your bones, one by one variety
Midoriya: Just so we’re clear
Jesus, was Midoriya crushing on Bakugou too?!
Katsuki scans Shinsou’s suddenly pale face, plucks his phone out of his hands, and types furiously into the phone. “Fucking nerd. That should shut him up!”
Shinsou’s heart climbs into his mouth when he reads Katsuki’s reply.
Shinsou: it’s me you shitty nerd. I ASKED him to hurt me. No brainwashing required. Mind your business
“That sounds entirely brainwashed!”
“Well, better to prepare them for when we emerge Sunday night,” Katsuki says, standing on wobbly legs and looking at himself in his dresser mirror. “Three rounds with you and I already look like hell; I can’t imagine my appearance is gonna improve before then.”
The elegant line of Katsuki’s spine knocks Midoriya’s threat out of his recent memory. Shinsou sidles up behind him, cracks open a water and passes it to him, then kisses his way up a powerful shoulder and a corded neck. “I think you look better than ever, Katsuki, ‘cause you look like you belong to me.”
“What the hell?” Katsuki grumbles between gulps of water. His cheeks pinken again. “Didn’t realize I was getting a goddamn Casanova in this deal. Belong to you? Weren’t you the one who said this was a one time thing? No regret, no reminders after this weekend?”
“That was before I had you,” Shinsou says, turning him around to meet his eyes.
He feels something hot and wet on his leg, dripping down to his ankle. Looking down, he sees that Katsuki is slicking up again. Either the spore is taking hold, priming him for another round, or he’s turned on by Shinsou’s possessiveness.
Shinsou hopes it’s the latter, and likes his chances when Katsuki shoots him a flirtatious smile. “Well, you’ve got 32 hours to convince me.”
Shinsou knows a challenge when he sees one, but if he could get himself into the hero course, he could find his way into Bakugou Katsuki’s heart. Smiling, he breaks away from him to toss him a protein bar and lock the bedroom door.
“40,” he says, advancing on the blond.
“What?”
“Your math is wrong,” he husks, circling Katsuki’s balls with one hand, sliding a finger deep inside him with the other. “I don’t sleep, gorgeous, and that means you aren’t going to, either. Trust me when I say I’m going to put all 40 hours of my time with you to full use.”
Katsuki drops his half-eaten bar and sags against him with a breathless whine.
Shinsou smiles into a kiss, already considering where to take his soon-to-be boyfriend on their first date.
Maybe they’ll go find that angry woman and thank her for using her ‘horrible, embarrassing’ quirk on Katsuki.