// nsfw krbk

My headcanon for Kirishima is that everyone keeps goading him into doing sexy things because he doesn't realize he's being lewd because he's a himbo.

Except he totally, definitely knows what he's doing, and what effect he has on people.

"Hey did you know if you open your mouth and mime shaking salt on your tongue you can trick your brain into tasting the salt?" Kaminari asks him in Sero's apartament one night during a gathering, and Kirishima mentally rolls his eyes.

"What, really? Hold on, I gotta try this!"

Everyone's there, and they're all staring as he sticks his tongue out, pretending to shake salt on his tongue. He pretends to moan out of frustration, pushes his chest out, licks his lips, makes his eyes go a bit cross-eyes while he does it.

Nobody makes fun of him when he lets his hand fall down with a dejected sigh, because they're all trying their hardest to hide their arousals. Even Mina is shifting embarrassedly on the chair.

"Bro, I don't know, I can't really feel it."

"Uh," Kaminari says, "try again?"

"But later, definitely later!" He adds, when Bakugou looks at him with several different shades of reddish anger and embarrassment written on his face.

He nods, smiles, claps Kaminari just a bit too low on his back to be in just a friendly manner.

"Sure thing!"

He doesn't.

He's not an idiot, after all.
___

"Only people with a high IQ can touch their ebows together," Shinsou tells him, noisily drinking from a small juice box, face expressionless.

"Can you?" Kirishima asks, setting down his gym bag and taking his shirt off, stretching his muscles.

On purpose, of course.

"Of course I can," Shinsou shrugs. "Can you though? Your shoulders are pretty wide." He grimaces, like he dreads the idea that Kirishima can't touch his elbows, like it saddens him a little.

Kirishima pretends to stretch some more, making sure that

Shinsou can see all his muscles.

He touches his elbows together.

"Is this it?" he asks, feigning ignorance. "This feels too easy." He flexes his pecs a bit. "Am I doing it right?"

"Mmmm," Shinsou says, eyes looking bored, sucking even more noisily from the juice box.

"I'm not sure, keep doing it."

Kirishima indulges him, and at the end, when Shinsou gives him his second juice box, he pretends to open it clumsily enough that the juice drips on his chest.

"Goddamn," he sighs, hollowing his cheeks when he sucks from the juice box.

"Yeah," Shinsou says. "God fuckin' damn."

___

Not even Bakugou is an exception.

"Shitty hair," he says, pressing his socked foot a bit too hard into his back. "The wires aren't connecting right."

"Oh?" He looks at the way there are definitely no bugs on the screen.

"Yeah, bro, sure looks like it."

He kneels on the floor, bends over the TV stand, makes sure to push his ass out when he leans over it to look at the wires.

"Is this better," he asks, not doing anything but wiggling his ass a bit like he's struggling.

"You made it worse,

fucking get deeper in there," Bakugou tells him, and Kirishima translates that to 'please grunt a little'.

He does, begrudgingly, glad that Bakugou can't see him rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, 's a bit better. Keep trying."

He grunts a bit more, sticks his ass out more,

keeps doing it for another few minutes until his back starts peotesting.

He pulls back then, sighs loudly, looks at the TV screen, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Looks better, yeah?"

"Sure does."

___

"Hey," Bakugou tries his luck again, a bit too soon. "Can you tap your thumb knuckle on your bottom row of teeth for 30 seconds without getting dizzy?"

He's had a hard day at the agency with Shinsou comming him thinly veiled come-ons he preteded to not understand mid-mission,

and he's a bit grumpy and tired and, frankly, incredibly sexually frustrated, so he corners Bakugou, watches his shocked expression, his dazed stillness.

He pushes him down to his knees, and Bakugou allows it like he's entranced.

"I didn't get that, could you demonstrate?"

he asks him, opening his shirt button by button.

"Here?"

"Yeah, bro, unless you're scared you'll get dizzy?" He nudges Bakugou's legs a bit more open, until he's level with Kirishima's dick, slowly hardening in his pants.

"I—," Bakugou says, "I'm not."

Kirishima smirks down at him, wrapping a had around his jaw, slipping his thumn between his lips to pull his mouth open.

"Atta boy. Now show me how you do it."

He watches as Bakugou brings a clenched fist to his mouth slowly, resting the knuckle of his thumb against his teeth.

"You better go slow," Kirishima murmurs. "Wouldn't want you getting dizzy, would we now?"

Bakugou nods, bottom lip sticking to the skin of his hand.

"Now show me how you do it."

___

cw oral sex D/s undertones, sub top, praise kink (for now)

(prithee put your age in bio if you got this far, would hate to block u thx) https://twitter.com/lynchinghost/status/1384563590141816834?s=20

Bakugou's hand moves almost too slowly, like he’s a metronome submerged in water thick and viscous.

The movement ends when Bakugou’s curled pinky finger taps into Kirishima’s crotch, right over his dick, and from there the movement begins again, this time in reverse,

until Bakugou’s thumb taps against his bottom front teeth, lip squishing attractively around the pale skin of his hand.

He’s staring right up at Kirishima like he’s been made to obey the command by a higher force, like his movements are dictated by something bigger than them,

and it makes Kirishima’s blood pump faster through his veins, singing with an arousal he can’t even hope to be able to put into words.

Not that he has to.

He sees the way Bakugou’s pupils dilate, the way his breath comes out hot enough through his mouth to almost

wet the skin of his fist, and they’ve barely begun, they’re still on the second stroke of Bakugou’s hand, miming sucking dick like he can’t imagine doing something else, skin flushed with shame as he is forced to perceive his place, on his knees before Kirishima,

humiliating himself in an awkward attempt to even the scale of their interaction.

His pinky bumps into Kirishima’s crotch again, and Kirishima cards a hand through Bakugou’s hair, right under the divot of his skull, and pulls down, until Bakugou is staring

right into his eyes, mouth opening wider.

“You can stop any time, you know?” Kirishima asks him, because /yes/, he wants to let him see how it is, to be on the other end of their ludicrous interaction, but he won’t coerce him, won’t debase himself, stomp on his morals like that.

Bakugou’s fist meets his lip, and he blinks unhurriedly at Kirishima, nodding faintly, and his flush grows redder, expands all the way to the base of his neck like gravity is pulling it down, forcing it to press into Bakugou’s skin, almost resplendent with shame and arousal.

“Okay,” Kirishima says, caressing the dip under bakugou’s skull with his thumb, spurring him into movement again.

And this time, when Bakugou’s hand makes contact with his crotch, Kirishima slides his hand up Bakugou’s forearm, all the way to his wrist, holding gently,

fingertips pressing into the tendons on the back of his hand and his wrist as he urges him to grind the bottom of his fist into Kirishima’s dick, holding it there so he can roll his hips into it, dragging his length across Bakugou’s clenched hand.

It’s Bakugou that moans, surprisingly, weak and all broken and pathetic, like it got chokes somewhere halfway out his throat, and Kirishima swallows reflexively and grinds into his hands one last time, feeling the way Bakugou wants to unclench his hand in the way his

ligaments flutter beneath the pale scarred skin of his fist.

“It’s been thirty seconds, Baku,” Kirishima tells him, sliding his hand from his hair to rest it under his jaw, feeling his pulse pounding against his hand. “Are you dizzy?”

“Not from this,” Bakugou whispers hoarsely.

“What do you want to do?”

The silence between them is heady, and Bakugou looks lost in his own mind as he attempts to parse all his desires, attempting to make sense of his own wants.

“Tell me, you can tell me” Kirishima prompts him reassuringly. “What do you want?”

“I want to suck you off and fuck you,” Bakugou croaks out, leaning forward to press his cheek over Kirishima’s erection, pressing into it until Kirishima can feel the outline of sharp his cheekbone where it dips into the mandible, cushioned by soft skin and flesh.

He rolls his hips, grinding into Bakugou's face, breath hitching in his throat at the image he can’t help but envision in his mind.

“Take me out,” he tells him, holding his head against him still, so Bakugou is forced to lean even further into him,

hands sliding up his thighs impossibly slow, up, up, up, fingertips digging into the muscle of his thighs and hips as they ascend, until finally, finally, they reach the waistband of his sweats, curling into the material like claws to drag it down, blunt nails digging into skin

with nothing but intention, Bakugou’s eyes dark and wanting as Kirishima shudders above him from the white-hot sensation.

There’s no room for words between them as Bakugou slowly divests Kirishima of his sweats, sliding them down his thick thighs,

breathing slow and deep through his nose, eyes closing almost without him meaning to, as he bares Kirishima, thick uncut cock springing from the confines of his clothes to twitch right against Bakugou’s cheek where it’s pressed, head glistening with wetness.

“Fuck,” Bakugou whines, hoarse and wanton, desperation clear in his voice.

He groans, rubbing harder against Kirishima’s cock, and like this he can feel the vibrations of Bakugou’s voice reverberating through his teeth and right into his dick like a taser.

“Come on,” Kirishima murmurs, thumb hooking into Bakugou’s mouth to press into his tongue, dragging the spit over his lips until it’s shining with it, rosy and inviting and just begging to have Kirishima’s cock resting on it. “Thirty seconds or you’ll get dizzy,”

he teases, and Bakugou groans, in equal measures aroused and exasperated at having to hear his own shitty line repeated at him so often, and he opens his mouth, lets his tongue slide out so he can lick along the shaft with the side of it, sliding down his length to his balls,

face still pressed to his cock and smearing the spit on his face.

It’s on the upstroke that he angles his head, lets the flat of his tongue drag right up the underside of Kirishima’s cock, pressing his heft against his stomach with his tongue, following it with his mouth,

until he almost has to rise from his kneeling position to finally reach the head, dragging his tongue over it teasingly.
“Slow, so I won’t get dizzy,” Bakugou says, like it’s not the hottest thing Kirishima’s heard from a man with drying spit on his cheek and a frown on his face,

before guiding the tip between his lips, pressing the head to the roof of his mouth with his tongue and sucking lightly, cheeks hollowing.

Kirishima’s hand twitches, around his neck, barely any hint of squeeze to it, but it makes Bakugou moan again anyway,

and, like this, Kirishima can feel the sound of it shooting right down to the marrow of his bones, breath locking inside his lungs audibly.

He doesn't know what to say, how to react, and Bakugou doesn’t ask for any of that as he slowly pulls away, cock inching out of his mouth

torturously slow, slow enough that Kirishima feels two of Bakugou’s breaths, deliciously cold on his heated skin, exhaled through his nose straight onto the wet tip of his cock.

His hand twitches around Bakugou’s throat again, this time in warning.

He’s nearing the end of his patience, driven almost feral with need, and his hips stutter when Bakugou lets his cock fall from his lips with a loud sucking sound, dick smearing precum lewdly down Bakugou’s chin as it rubs against his cheek again.

Their breath are so, so loud, and Kirishima feels his pulse right into his ears like a drum beat so loud it drowns out all other sound, with the exception of Bakugou’s—the wet sucking sounds he makes as he presses a wet open kiss the the underside of his cock,

mouth opening to suck him back into that tight heat of his mouth, this time aiding himself with a hand wrapping leisurely around Kirishima’s length, so gentle the touches would /tickle/ if Kirishima weren’t so keyed up that anything feels overmuch, like Bakugou

is reaching with his hand deep inside his stomach, clenching around his very soul and pulling at it with every drag or his tongue, fluttering against his cock, first flat and hot and wet, then pointed and pressing where he instinctively knows Kirishima feels it most.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” Kirishima warns him, not in the least embarrassed by how fast he is, and Bakugou nods his head, angles Kirishima’s dick so it presses an indent into his cheek from inside his mouth, his own hand rising to stroke Kirishima’s cock through

the barrier of muscle, the corner of his lip curling when he feels the way Kirishima twitches inside his mouth, breath falling out in a moan.

“That’s it,” he whispers, moaning when Bakugou sucks him further into his mouth, hand twisting around his length and /squeezing/.

“You look like a dream,” he chokes out, hips thrusting inside Bakugou’s mouth just a fraction, testing his gag reflex.

He’s so close, so fucking close he can feel it on his own tongue, he can almost taste it, the way he’ll drag Bakugou up and shove his tongue into his mouth.

“You take me so well, so good,” he praises, and delights in the way Bakugou looks up at him, arousal thick and hazy in his gaze, like he’s feeling it as much as he is, cheeks hollowed around him. “You’re gonna look so good fucking into me with my cum on your face.”

He sees the way Bakugou shudders, hand leaving his cock to steady himself on Kirishima’s hip, urging his hips to thrust into his mouth like he’s hopeless, driven out of any semblance of rhythm by his arousal, entirely dependent on Kirishima to seek his own pleasure in him.

His thrusts are shallow, staying clear of the back of Bakugou’s throat, more out of his own selfish desire to prolong it as much as possible, to hold off until he can’t anymore. But with Bakugou’s eyes so heated, staring at him like he’s blind to anything else, he can’t help it,

this inevitable climax cresting within him, thrusts erratic as he fists a hand in Bakugou’s hair to drag him off his cock with a moan mirrored in himself, hand fisting his cock roughly, guiding Bakugou’s face until every stroke pushes the head of his cock against his mouth,

against his tongue as he sticks it out to lap at him fervently.

Kirishima sees the way Bakugou’s brows scrunch up, pulling up in the middle like it hurts to wait so motionless before him on his knees, and he blinks up at him, lashes wet with tears,

and that, /that/ fucking punches Kirishima right in the gut, wrenching his orgasm out of him, so intense he clenches his hand overtight in Bakugou’s hair, eliciting a moan out of him as he messily ejaculates over his lips, into his mouth, over the bridge of his nose,

almost going cross-eyed with the struggle to keep his eyes open so he can see Bakugou’s face as he tastes him, throat working as he swallows down his spend, staring enamoured up at Kirishima, eyes heavy-lidded, like he’s seeing something else before him.

“You still want to fuck me, Bakugou?” Kirishima asks, wiping the cum off Bakugou’s lip with a thumb and pressing it into his mouth, watching the pink of Bakugou’s tongue as it slides across the finger, cleaning it dutifully. “You can say no.”

“I want to,” Bakugou says, so suddenly Kirishima’s thumb slips out of his mouth, voice hoarse and earnest. “/Fuck/, I want to.”

“Underneath all that snark you’re a good boy through and through, huh?”

Bakugou can only stare, rendered silent.

-tbc- https://twitter.com/lynchinghost/status/1384563590141816834?s=20