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a little burn

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Bakugou smolders.

No, it has nothing to do with how he looks at Midoriya when he's feeling especially carnal. He literally smolders. From his hands. Usually at the most scientifically inopportune time possible.

If Midoriya thinks about it, he's noticed it since around the time Bakugou got his quirk in the first place. The reason for it didn't really click - not until they were years older, slamming each other into walls and floors with reckless abandon, teeth and tongues scraping hungrily across exposed skin.

The first time he vividly remembers it happening, Bakugou had him in an especially precarious position: back to the shower tiles, a lone leg hooked around Bakugou's solid torso, arms locked around his neck. Midoriya is completely at Bakugou's mercy; the rough fingers holding up his other leg and the borderline uncomfortable pressure of the cold wall on his naked back are bruising reminders of this fact.

"Kacchan," Midoriya breathes, attempting to sound berating, but Bakugou is biting and sucking a warpath down his neck and chest - and Midoriya is struggling to string his thoughts together at all, never mind coherently. Bakugou has managed to shuck off Midoriya's shirt and pants, leaving him clad in only his briefs. "Ah - I-I don't think, mmm - here isn't really, nnn, the place for - "

"You're always fuckin' blabbing," Bakugou snaps, detaching his hot mouth from Midoriya's peaked nipple with an utterly lewd sound. "Put that goddamn mouth of yours to better use."

Midoriya frowns, opens his mouth to retort, but Bakugou is quick to kiss him quiet. It's heady and rough - Midoriya's nerves are fire as he reluctantly relishes in the way Bakugou readily devours him. Midoriya briefly wonders if Bakugou is aware of the soft, needy sounds he makes when they kiss - probably not, he concludes, gently dragging his scarred thumb along a sharp cheekbone.

He feels a sudden pang of affection, too big for his chest, as he aches to draw Bakugou closer still, even as they press into each other with quiet insistence. Bakugou abruptly draws back to catch Midoriya's bottom lip with his cruel teeth, an audacious challenge in his red gaze, and -

Have Bakugou's hands always been this hot?


Bakugou jolts bodily, his grip on Midoriya loose enough for the other man to jerk away violently. His narrowed eyes are still too-bright with arousal, breath harsh, but his teeth are clenched tightly together as his gaze fixes squarely on Midoriya hips.

Two lurid red handprints adorn Midoriya's skin, right where Bakugou had held him up against the shower wall. Midoriya hisses low as he brushes tentative digits over the reddening welps, and the vulnerable sound snaps Bakugou from his stupor. He holds up his trembling hands, palms up, to note that they were indeed smoking, complete with sparks flying between clammy fingers. Bakugou can feel his jaw tightening as he sucks in a shallow breath, a rush of fury sweeping him away from Midoriya and into himself.

"I don't think this is what people mean by getting hot and bothered, Kacchan," Midoriya says lightly, the fucker, an easy grin spreading across his face. As if he hadn't just been second-degree burned at second base.

"Shut the fuck up," Bakugou snarls, every nerve in his body raw. "Get under the goddamn water, dipshit!"

There's a bout of tense silence in which Bakugou leans over him to turn the shower head on, utterly deaf to Midoriya's protests. Hair dripping, Bakugou growls out an incomprehensible threat and spins on his heel, leaving Midoriya shivering under the icy water.

Bakugou is swift to return, a hand-towel clutched in each fist. He's gnawing his bottom lip raw as he steps back into the running shower. He reaches out, intent to press the towels to Midoriya's burns, but falters as he regards his traitorous hands.

"Hold these over the burns," he demands, not quite looking at Midoriya's face. He's brusquely thrust the towels out for Midoriya to take, grinding his teeth. His clothes are soaked, but he doesn't pay it heed. "Can you manage that, Deku?"

At this point Midoriya's has been with Bakugou long enough. It's more than obvious to him that Bakugou is strangled with guilt. "Kacchan - "

"Stay under for at least ten minutes." Bakugou is swift to interrupt any placation, meeting Midoriya's anxious gaze with a pointed glare. The words are unspoken, yet as clear as day.

Don't you dare pity me.

Midoriya watches his retreating, forlorn back with a sense of helplessness, the burns emblemed in his sides throbbing.



"It's all right," Midoriya says, for what has to be the fifth time. When he exited the bathroom he had found Bakugou sitting, shirtless and miserable, on their bed - Midoriya was quick to join him. Perhaps too quick, as his burns were all too eager to remind him. "It doesn't really hurt that much."

"Stop fucking saying that." Bakugou is pissed - pissed at Deku, for trying to brush off his injury, pissed at himself for apparently being too horny to keep his quirk in check, and pissed at how blue-balled they both were. His hands are curled into tight fists on his knees, a leg bouncing up and down agitatedly. "I almost blew your goddamn legs off!"

"You didn't." His tone is saintly patient - and way too fucking accommodating.

"But I fuckin' could have," Bakugou insists, "a fact that you seem disturbingly content ignoring - "

"It was an accident, Kacchan." Midoriya reaches out to smooth a thumb over white, taut knuckles. "It's not your fault."

Bakugou glances at Midoriya hips, the loose towel exposing a sliver of the raw, abused skin. The print of his fingers and palms sort of look like an aggressive brand. A brutish, archaic claim on the Symbol of Hope.

His stomach twists with heat, and he bites viciously at his lower lip as penance. What the fuck was wrong with him? There was nothing arousing about fucking up anyone like this, least of all -

"...It's kind of...flattering." Midoriya's voice tugs him away from the rapids of his thoughts. His freckled face is almost as dark a red as the handprints, and he pointedly avoids making eye contact as he continues. "That I got you so worked up, I mean."

Bakugou can only gape like a gutted fish, eyes flat with utter incredulity. Then he flushes deep, heat creeping all the way to the tips of his ears.

Fuck. They're both deviants.

"That is so goddamn stupid," he says, holding his face in a hand, but Midoriya doesn't miss the lack of bite in his tone. "You're a fuckin' embarrassment."

Midoriya leans into him, body heavy, presses an easy kiss to Bakugou's flushed temple. "Your embarrassment," he corrects, with a lopsided grin.



The next time, he gets a warning.

They're both reclining in bed. Bakugou's legs are crossed comfortably under him, while Midoriya's own are languidly outstretched. There's a comfortable amount of space between their thighs, but Bakugou has begrudgingly allowed Midoriya to idly thread their hands together. His eyes are fixed on the flashing television screen beyond the foot of the king-sized bed as Midoriya diligently fills out paperwork with his free hand.

In retrospect, it's disgustingly domestic. Kirishima would have a goddamn riot if he ever saw Bakugou being so soft.

This wayward thought curls Bakugou lip, and he chances a glance at Midoriya. His brow is furrowed in complete concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips in thought. He doesn't notice the intense scrutiny. Bakugou continues staring, lets his fiery eyes wander to the nape of Midoriya's neck, brush across his collarbones, admire the silver of abdomen between the hem of his shirt and the drawline of his shorts.

"Haven't you finished enough of that shit?" Bakugou's voice is sudden, gravel in his ear, and Midoriya barely resists jumping out of his skin.


"You've been signing off on those papers for two fucking hours." His eyes are molten lava, thick with heat as he leans a little closer. His breath is sweet and spicy on Midoriya's freckled cheek. "Don't you think that's enough for now?"

"I wish," Midoriya sighs, wistful. "We make a good team, but our insurance definitely thinks otherwise." He's already scribbling away again, the oblivious bastard. "All part of the job, I guess."

Bakugou stares Midoriya down incredulously, his gaze hot with rising ire, until his partner looks at him again. His brows are pinched, inquisitive. "Kacchan?"

Without ceremony, Bakugou grasps his wrist, tugging him in for a rough, pressing kiss. He breaks away abruptly, taking Midoriya's shock as an opening to roughly cast the documents aside.

"Kacchan," Midoriya whines, afronted, and Bakugou can't believe in this amount of density. "I had those papers organized by priority - "

"I wanna bang," he snaps, heat flooding his cheeks. Goddamn Deku, who couldn't take the hint if it literally kissed him on the mouth. "Do I have to spell out this shit before you get it, Deku?"

"Oh," Midoriya says faintly.

"That's not a fucking answer. Do you want me to screw your brains out or not, nerd?"

There's a lump of anticipation sitting in Midoriya's throat. "Yes," he croaks, blushing a luminous pink. "I was just - we haven't done it in a while, is all."

Bakugou had been unnervingly chaste since the incident, refusing to touch Midoriya's body with his hands for any extended period of time. The burns had faded into faint imprints, but Bakugou's trepidation had not.

Until now, at least.

"I'm gonna fuck all that damn muttering right out of you," Bakugou snarls, trapping Midoriya between his thick thighs. "If you're gonna be fuckin' noisy anyway, might as well make the sounds worthwhile." His words are cruel, but his eyes are treasonously soft as he grins down at his pinned partner.

"Really?" Midoriya says. His face is still flushed rosy, but his smile is decidedly coy. He has his scarred fingers curled in the collar of Bakugou's skull-patterned shirt, pulling him down until their lips are but a hair's breadth away.

"Yeah," Bakugou replies, his voice breathy. Without hesitancy, he presses their mouths together, his hands resting on both sides of Midoriya's head. There's a hungry methodology to how Bakugou kisses - a gradual shift from pliant and measured to greedy and filthy. Midoriya can already feel heat pooling in his groin as Bakugou's tongue languidly explores his mouth. He doesn't even realize he's making noises until Bakugou breaks off the kiss to smirk, smug as a snake.

"Feeling it already?" His voice is dark, and it sends a shiver down Midoriya's spine. "God, Deku, you're so fuckin' easy."

"Easy?" Midoriya raises a brow, smiling back indulgently. "Says the one jealous of paperwork."

Bakugou's face twists, caught between irritation and vivid embarrassment. "Who asked you," he grumbles, but he acquiesces as Midoriya pulls him in again by his shirt. "Fucker."

"That's your job today," Midoriya says shamelessly, and inhales sharply as Bakugou roughly palms his crotch.

"Gonna be mouthy, Deku?" His voice is a deep, libidinous thrum that rings sonorously through Midoriya's bones. His eyes are hungry as Midoroya shifts up to a sitting position, back against the headboard. "Do you need me to plow some manners into you?"

"I think you want to." Midoroya's gaze is lidded, heathenous with desire. "You always want to fight, Kacchan."

"Yeah?" Bakugou's hooked his thumbs in Midoriya's shorts, pulling them down with a sadistic sort of slowness. "Presumptuous bastard." The shorts are tossed aside as Bakugou leans in to bite at Midoriya's neck, just shy of breaking skin. Scarred hands curl into the fabric of Bakugou's shirt, head tilting to expose more of his alluring neck as he makes soft moans of approval.

"Kacchan, ah - "

And then he smells it. The sharp, pungent order of something burning. He immediately clasps a hand on Bakugou's shoulder, wrenching him away. Bakugou makes a dissatisfied noise, deep in his throat.

"What the fuck," he says, his voice a irate rasp. Midoriya's eyes dart down to Bakugou's hands on the comforter - and sees the telltale sparks of quirk activation. He swallows noisily, his eyes on the flame spreading from between splayed fingers. 

"Kacchan," he says, as gingerly as possible, "the bed's burning."

Bakugou freezes, his palms still red-hot with the promise of an impending explosion. They're both transfixed by the fire eating away at the downy comforter, swathed in a momentary impasse, and then Bakugou lets out an unholy scream.

"FUCK!" Midoriya thinks he says, but he can't be certain. He's in awe as the flames feast, but Bakugou is already frenetically smothering the growing fire with his tough palms, a storm of swears brewing from his tongue. Tendrils of smoke are already billowing through the room, burning Midoriya's eyes and settling in his chest, and yet he's suddenly struck by the urge to laugh.

Midoriya coughs away the ash in his lungs, mesmerized by Bakugou furiously beating out the flames consuming the bedspread with his bare hands. When the last ember is extinguished under Bakugou's palm, there's a long, poignant silence.

"Kacchan." Midoriya's voice has an abundance of mirth, and Bakugou already wants him to shut the fuck up. "This really isn't the sort of 'bang' I thought you - "

"Deku," Bakugou interrupts, toneless, "I will detonate my hands on your goddamn dick if you say one more fuckin' word."

Midoriya is only obedient for a moment. "We could try, um. Oven mitts?"

"Go fuck yourself," Bakugou immediately snarls, his voice cracking with embarrassment. He's already clambering off the bed in a mortified huff, Midoriya vainly attempting to stifle his laughter. "Because I sure as fuck won't be."

"Kacchan, wait," Midoriya wheezes, barely managing to grasp Bakugou's wrist. He whirls, teeth bared in warning, but Midoriya's grip only tightens.

"Let go - "

"I feel the same."

Bakugou's brow furrows, his resistance abruptly slackening. "What?"

"I feel like - like I could combust, when you touch me," Midoriya confesses in a rush, eyes locked on Bakugou's impassive face. In spite of himself, he's grinning nervously. "So...I don't really mind, if you actually do."

Bakugou makes an ambivalent noise, as if he can't decide whether he's irritated or not, but the color creeping up his neck is enough of an answer. "Dumbass," he mutters, but he's not pulling away. He sounds exasperated. "You're really a genuine dumb fuck."

"Think we can write the comfortor down under colateral, Ground Zero?" Midoriya is already reclining against the headboard again, eyes soft and fond. Bakugou's body follows his movement automatically, like a marionette bidden by its strings.

Bakugou snorts. "That's your forte, Symbol of Hope." His gaze drifts up and down Midoriya's body, eyes narrowed with calculated risk. "No goddamn sense of self-preservation." His voice is so raw and low that Midoriya wonders if Bakugou actually meant for him to hear it.

Midoriya smiles, beckoning his wary partner closer still before he threads their fingers together. He guides one hot hand to the naked skin of his side and the other to his cheek, lowering his lids as Bakugou's breath audibly stutters in his chest. 

"Nothing wrong with a little burn."