one day kiri and bakugou have a sparring session that turns into more of a wrestling match by the end of it

they're lucky that they’re the last ones left in the training gym, because kiri's got baku in a head lock using his /thighs/, and holy shit, it's really turning bakugou on

kiri's wearing shorts and a tank top, and so is bakugou; the short session had been a spur of the moment idea, so they're dressed comfortably

for two young men just chock full of energy and stamina, fighting's a perfect way to unwind at the end of the day

as it is, bakugou’s the furthest thing from relaxed right now, what with his neck wedged firm between kiri's strong, flexing thighs

and fuck, kiri's /so/ strong.

bakugou knows as much just from sparring with him - hell, just by looking at him,

but it's during moments like these that the propensity of kirishima’s strength shakes bakugou to his core.

he's always shocked by his body's immediate reaction to kiri's more bold shows of strength, but /holy shit/ is it bad this time;

he can feel the various rippling muscles that make up kiri's tree-trunk thighs just squeezing and flexing around the sensitive, taut muscles of his own neck.

the rigidity of kirishima, his power - most notably, the way it's actually really /really/ difficult for him to even-

-begin pulling himself out of this one - makes bakugou harder than kirishima's fucking quirk.

he's grateful /that/ part of his body is out of sight, that kiri's focus is solely on bakugo's reddening face.

and shit, /shit/, kiri's squeezing harder now, and he can't breathe -

"give it up, bakugou," kirishima says to him, looking down his nose at him, somewhat winded despite coming out on top. "you’re not gonna fight your way out of this one."

bakugou grins, and then rasps, "fuck you, it's not over yet."

except it totally is.

he doesn't have the strength (of body, or mind) to maneuver himself in such a way to get out of this, and just prying kiri off is way off of the table; just /one/ of kiri's thighs is much stronger than both of bakugou's arms combined

shit.

he's sweating enough to make some killer explosions, but he's too fog-headed to concentrate, and everywhere he reaches to blast hardens immediately upon impact.

kiri's got a vantage point, the total upper-hand.

maybe he should just bite him.

as if he'd been reading his mind,

kirishima laughs, and then subconsciously adjusts his hips, perhaps getting achy holding such a position.

that's something - bakugou could always just wait until he gets tired and lets his guard down...

"seriously, tap out, blasty. there's no way. it's just not gonna happen."

it must be the way his eyes dart around desperately that give him away.

it's kirishima's deep laugh, the way he squirms to keep him still, his fucking /confidence/, that has bakugou practically gnawing at his bottom lip,

hoping the pre that's definitely leaking from his cock right now isn't showing through his shorts.

he's trying to regulate his breathing, as hard as the breaths may come, when kirishima speaks again:

"you know, just one fast twist and I could snap your neck. pretty crazy, huh?"

bakugou's knuckles blanch where he's been gripping into kiri's thigh. "/fuck./"

"shit," he goes on. "I could definitely do this for longer. wear down your pride a bit, especially if you're not gonna tap out." he tilts his chin up at him, and then crosses his legs even tighter. "sounds good to me."

"/ki-ri-shi-ma./"

"what-?" he raises a brow. "oh shit, you're pretty red, dude. I'll ease up." he does, and then runs his fingers through his own sweat-dampened hair. "c'mon, man, just surrender."

bakugou digs his fingers into kiri's thigh when he relaxes some, pushing him. "don't go easy on me."

"what? but I'm obviously hurting you." despite this, he clenches around him once more.

"couldn't f-fucking hurt me."

kirishima laughs again, a short sound. through bakugou's hazy vision, he sees kiri's chest moving with his shallow breaths. "no?"

suddenly, kirishima squeezes, harder than he has so far, harder than bakugou's ever felt /anyone's/ muscles contract. a bolt of panic shoots down his brainstem, remembering blearily what kiri had said about being able to snap his neck, and shit,

if the resulting shot of adrenaline doesn't make bakugou's extremities fucking tingle.

the pressure only lasts maybe a second, if that, and when bakugou's eyes refocus, kirishima’s got an unfamiliar look in his eye, chewing his lip as he attempts to read bakugou.

"I was going to ask if it hurt," he started, careful. "but from the looks of it..."

that's all the warning he gets before kirishima does it again. bakugou feels the tension move upwards this time, starting from kirishima's knees and ending at his inner thighs,

where bakugou's neck and lower jaw are stuck solid.

kirishima’s added his goddamn hardening to the mix, now, and he's straight /vice./

bakugou hasn't even had the chance to catch his breath and swears to god his neck is popping in five different places,

the pressure in his skull making him dizzy...and...

holy fucking shit.

his eyes refocus once more, and suddenly there's kirishima's massive erection, strained and curved and tenting his shorts, about half a foot from bakugou's sweaty face.

bakugou meets his eyes, trying to fix his expression somewhere near disbelief, but it probably comes off more exasperated than anything.

kirishima just smiles, though his waning stamina makes it more of a lazy smirk.

"sorry, dude," he starts,

sounding less than sorry. a wave of hardening ripples down his thighs like a reflex, and bakugou shudders. "something about seeing you like this, those sounds you keep making..."

bakugou just squints at him, his chest rattling with his breaths.

kirishima adjusts his legs and hips again, dragging bakugou with the movement like a predator with its prey. "sorry, probably not very manly of me."

"shut up," bakugou tells him, and kirishima’s eyes widen, looking down at him with unprecedented innocence.

bakugou doesn't say anything else, simply leveling kirishima a glare so cutting that it alone could wither the resolve of lesser men.

kirishima, as kirishima is, pardons his ferocity and simply evaluates him.

"tap out," he says, cautious. "or get yourself out of this."

bakugou huffs a few more times, eyes locked on kiri's, sharp and persistent, never wavering.

all at once his thoughts align, everything clicks into place, and his sneer slips into something more salacious;

"third option," he grunts. "take your fucking cock out."

he hears kiri gasp, a mix of confusion and concentration playing with his features before the blush sets in, contending with the hue of his now tousled-manic hair.

he appears to chew on his inner cheek,

tilting his head as though bakugou might've just presented him with a double entendre instead of plain instruction.

"c'mon man, don't tease me." he smiles again, goadingly. "if it bothers you, just-"

bakugou feels him relax just a smidge as he talks. he seizes the opportunity, jolting his whole body like a fish out of water, writhing.

kirishima hisses and grimaces, clamping down extra hard to compensate, making bakugou wheeze. "close one!"

it's all bakugou needed, though, because now his face is that much closer to kiri's clothed cock. kirishima freezes when he sees where bakugou’s line of sight is fixed. he squirms some, chaffing his thighs at bakugou's jaw.

bakugou can /see/ kiri's dick move and twitch in interest.

"heh, you're kinda-"

it's then that bakugou lolls his tongue out as far as it will stretch, and then licks a long line up the underside of kirishima's fat, shorts-clad cock.

he continues to stare daggers up at him, more serious than ever, the tip of his tongue boldly pressed to the outline of his cock head.

"o-oh," kiri stammers. "oh shit, okay, yeah..."

kirishima squishes his thighs together harder, as if to hold bakugou in place as he adjusts to bring his own hand to his waistband. he reaches under and tugs his cock free with little ceremony, unintentionally booping bakugou's nose with it.

he continues to stare down at bakugou, eyes wide as saucers, as if what he's going to do next is a big mystery.

bakugou rolls his eyes and then wraps his tongue around the shaft, trying to lick upwards and pull the head into his mouth, but the angle's not quite right.

kirishima takes the hint, gripping himself by the base and tilting his length downward.

the position compresses kirishima's balls some, but he doesn't seem to mind - in fact, the second the slick, flushed head of his cock meets bakugou's lips, he starts taking his liberties.

"damn..." he exhales, and bakugou opens his mouth to take him in. instead, kiri just traces his lips with it. "this is a pretty sexy look for you. bet no one else has seen you like this."

/'fucking right,'/ bakugou thinks to himself, but squints harder instead of speaking.

he flexes his tongue, and wiggles it into kiri's slit.

kirishima curses again, and then eases the first inch into bakugou’s wide open mouth, pressing it down like a fucking tongue depressor. bakugou can /feel/ it leaking,

pre-cum pooling lightly at his gums, and fights all his instincts not to betray how turned on he is.

he tries to close his mouth around the thing, but kiri holds tight around the base, continuing to swirl it around his mouth, slapping it against his inner cheeks.

"didn't know you liked dick," kirishima almost-whispers, like he'd just been thinking aloud.

he's kind of just watching now, fascinated. his fingers occasionally slip up to stretch bakugou's lips as he guides himself in and out, ever so shallow and teasing, thoroughly enjoying himself, driving home the lewdness of the act.

suddenly,

bakugou twists his head to the side (as much as he can), cringing at the /pop/ sound kiri's dick makes as it dislodges from his cheek. he gasps, "it's not a fucking toothbrush."

"sorry!" kiri chirps, absentmindedly stroking himself,

spreading the saliva bakugou's left at the tip. "you've got a pretty mouth, you know? but I can see that you're eager..."

bakugou can see him holding his breath as he guides his cock back into his mouth, exhaling a low and satisfied groan as he's sucked back in.

he slides in further this time, adjusting and easing up his body in a way that gives bakugou a little more freedom to bob his head.

"oh god," kiri moans, shaky, clearly anxious. "yeah, that's - yeah..." he's supporting his weight with one arm,

his other hand weaving fingers into bakugou’s damp, unruly hair.

kirishima’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, even at this angle. it only gets better as he loses himself more and more to the pleasure;

his glistening chest, heaving with his panting, the faces he makes before he tosses his head back, the way his muscles tense up.

and god, kirishima fucking /reeks/, but bakugou's not sure he'd have it any other way right now. he can taste the smell in the back of his throat,

where kirishima's squeezing in deeper with each movement, and he startles himself with the way he really doesn't hate it at all.

fuck.

bakugou wants to lick his best friend all over, but his hung, desperate cock's a good place to start.

"you're good at this, huh?" kirishima says, an appreciative, fucked-out quality to his voice that makes bakugou's whole body feel like jelly. he realizes then that he'd totally zoned out, hypnotized by the rhythm of his own mouth, by /kirishima./

bakugou knits his eyebrows together, tunneling air hard and fast through his nostrils, showing his determination. /'of course I am,'/ his body language supplies.

"mmn, that's right. yeah you are. yeah," kirishima moans, and bakugou preens, just to himself.

"you like being dominated a little?" he grips his hair a little harder and starts thrusting his hips shallowly, testing. "feels good to be put in your place, but only if it's by the right type of person. yeah?"

kirishima's...damn it, kirishima's not wrong,

except bakugou wants to tell him that he /is/, but...fuck, kiri's just /using/ his mouth now, all on his own, and he can't stop his eyes from rolling back at the feeling.

"yeah, I get that," kiri goes on, breathless. "that's...that's....oh /fuck,/ Bakugou...!"

he's managed to roll his hips a bit better, slipping his way further into bakugou’s throat. bakugou squeezes and swallows around him, and when his own eyes refocus, he watches kiri's cross at the sensation.

kirishima's biting his lip so hard bakugou swears he sees blood,

and bakugou decides he really likes this look on him.

it's then that kirishima's thighs finally, /finally/ relax, albeit shakily, providing enough give for bakugou to wiggle his arms free, up and over his legs. kiri keeps his hand firm to bakugou's head, though,

continuously fucking deep and sloppy into the heat of his mouth.

bakugou props himself up on his elbow, improving the angle, and lets him continue.

"it's good, Bakugou, so good..." he babbles, a thrust with each phrase. bakugou moans, low-pitched and encouraging,

and kirishima's breath /punches/ out of him.

"so fucking hot...oh god, Bakugou, will you swallow for me?" he breathes - almost whines - and speeds up. "m'gonna - /oh-/"

bakugou shivers, full-bodied, wondering how his own cock hasn't ripped through his shorts by now.

/shit/ yeah, he'll swallow - no way he's letting kiri cum anywhere besides straight down the back of his throat.

he looks up at kirishima through his lashes, trying to wordlessly communicate as much,

and is then treated to the painfully attractive face kirishima makes when he achieves a toe-curling orgasm.

or at least, he sees a flash of it before his face is slammed down into kiri's pubes, lodging his cock firm and deep as far in as it'll go as kirishima shamelessly breeds his throat.

bakugou can feel the length of it throbbing and kicking with each pulse, but he can't feel the cum itself - he's too far in, too deep down, spilling directly into him.

near the end of it, when the lashes become fewer and further in-between,

bakugou begins to catch his breath, his bearings, his senses.

the second kirishima pulls out of his mouth, drenched and sticky, bakugou /pounces./

before kirishima can even blink, bakugou's on him, bearing his full weight and pinning his wrists to the mat. he grins wide, maniacal, and he knows he has to look insane, all freshly face-fucked and /used/, but damn it, he won.

"wha-you cheated!" kirishima yells, but he's smiling, too.

he presses his wrists tighter, "don't be a sore loser."

they both blush at the way bakugou's voice breaks, barely there, but kirishima easily counters, "I don't really think I lost, dude."

bakugou’s scarlet now, he knows it. "whatever," he says, voice cracking /again,/ and scrambles up off of kirishima before he can make fun of him for it. "I won, so we're done here."

he doesn't make it far before a hardened hand clasps around his ankle. "hey, wait! don't I get to suck you off, too?"

(end)

the shiny and polished version of this thread is now live on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157486