[ The shift in their relationship has been slow and gradual. Barely perceived changes and concessions that each seem so small and insignificant on their own but when studied side by side weave a complex tapestry between them. A part of Yamamoto knows that the smart thing to do is to walk away, yet the window of opportunity for that has long passed.
Yamamoto closes his eyes and envisions blood red eyes, a sneering mouth, and a raspy growl. The corner of his mouth twitches, wishing Bakugo was there, snarling into his ear what a dumb fuck he is for getting shot.
There is something about Bakugo's vulgar mouth that just does it for him. It makes him want to lunge forward, to capture those lips between sharp teeth and bite them red and swollen. To swallow his insults and threats, sucking and licking the words right off his tongue and until all that's left is shuttered breaths and an entirely different sort of danger.
Yamamoto trails a hand over his chest, skimming over bandages and feeling the array of old scars that litter his tanned skin. Would Bakugo be the same? Little bumps and dips all across his body like badges of honor won in past battles? ]
definitely more than three.
[ And the grin on his lips turns wolfish, a tiny victory in what is left unsaid. Not that Yamamoto couldn't get him to moan, not that he would murder him for suggesting it, but rather a dig at all the things Yamamoto wants to do to him. With Bakugo, what is left unsaid is often what rings the loudest. ]
i'll have to make sure you have all your rabies shots beforehand
[He wouldāve never given him a second glance. But that grin as he escapedā¦ Itād stuck with him, harder than he ever couldāve thought. Enough that the next time he saw the man, Bakugo went straight for him. Sure, all due to wanting some paybacks for escaping the last time. Owed him an explosive punch to the face. But that time and the time after and the time after that, āsuccessā was never to be had. Drove him nuts.
Those little changes kept leaking in. From the first āI just want to talkā meeting to the first time he warily accepted meeting the other man for a meal. Little things. Little steps. To the first time he actually pulled a punch and held back going against that damn sword. To the first time he aboutfaced and blasted the assassin who thought trying to take off Yamamotoās head while he was distracted in another fight was a great idea.
Bakugoās eyes lid halfway and his mind wanders along the manās face. That smile ranging from cheery to confident. The slope of his neck melding with those broad shoulders. The husk of his voice, young and yet so full of āIāve seen thingsā depth. His eyes, those striking orbs of brown/gold/amber/honey (he can never make up his mind). What kind of excuses would he make for getting shot, he wondersā¦
Izuku has the same kind of self-sacrificial, friend-focused, eternally-cheerful, stupid attitude. And yet, for some damn reason, Yamamotoās version is easier to tolerate and annoyingly encouraging. Bakugo feels like heās as likely to clap a hand over the manās mouth to shut him up as he might be willing to take a kiss on the mouth to get the same result. Even if heās psyching for it somewhere in his mind, he knows itās going to be a shock when it actually happens.
Damn this weekend for getting raincheckedā¦ What he wouldāve done with him, the marks he figured heād leave on his body, sending Yamamoto back to his world with outlines of his teeth on his neck and red bruises glowing on the underside of his arms and the inside of his thighs and wherever else he could think to make them. Until that damn mouth of his was nothing more than a mess of hot breath and moans.
What other scars would be on Yamamotoās body? Bakugo may be young, but his experience and battles as a hero have left him with scars of his own. From the occasional cuts to burns to stabs. Probably not as many as Yamamoto, since the young heroās pride and skill make it so he doesnāt get hit very often. But heās not perfect, despite his bragging to the contrary. As he wanders his hand down his chest, feeling over the round of muscle and the ripple of his abs, fingers playing at the occasional rise or dip on his flesh from an old wound, he lets his mind drift the same, but on a different body.]
Iāll fucking chew you up and spit you out all you want.
[Give him the opportunity and heāll take it. Three parts or even more. Itās annoying that the guy can sometimes pick up on the things he doesnāt say. But itās a futile attempt to stop him and Bakugoās not about to voice that kind of shit. Too proud.]
Maybe Iāll change my mind then. Donāt want to get lead poisoning from your bullet-riddled butt.
[Hey, sometimes, the old phrases still make it through the comics from his youth.]
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Date: 9/28/20 04:34 (UTC)Yamamoto closes his eyes and envisions blood red eyes, a sneering mouth, and a raspy growl. The corner of his mouth twitches, wishing Bakugo was there, snarling into his ear what a dumb fuck he is for getting shot.
There is something about Bakugo's vulgar mouth that just does it for him. It makes him want to lunge forward, to capture those lips between sharp teeth and bite them red and swollen. To swallow his insults and threats, sucking and licking the words right off his tongue and until all that's left is shuttered breaths and an entirely different sort of danger.
Yamamoto trails a hand over his chest, skimming over bandages and feeling the array of old scars that litter his tanned skin. Would Bakugo be the same? Little bumps and dips all across his body like badges of honor won in past battles? ]
definitely more than three.
[ And the grin on his lips turns wolfish, a tiny victory in what is left unsaid. Not that Yamamoto couldn't get him to moan, not that he would murder him for suggesting it, but rather a dig at all the things Yamamoto wants to do to him. With Bakugo, what is left unsaid is often what rings the loudest. ]
i'll have to make sure you have all your rabies shots beforehand
no subject
Date: 9/28/20 15:56 (UTC)Those little changes kept leaking in. From the first āI just want to talkā meeting to the first time he warily accepted meeting the other man for a meal. Little things. Little steps. To the first time he actually pulled a punch and held back going against that damn sword. To the first time he aboutfaced and blasted the assassin who thought trying to take off Yamamotoās head while he was distracted in another fight was a great idea.
Bakugoās eyes lid halfway and his mind wanders along the manās face. That smile ranging from cheery to confident. The slope of his neck melding with those broad shoulders. The husk of his voice, young and yet so full of āIāve seen thingsā depth. His eyes, those striking orbs of brown/gold/amber/honey (he can never make up his mind). What kind of excuses would he make for getting shot, he wondersā¦
Izuku has the same kind of self-sacrificial, friend-focused, eternally-cheerful, stupid attitude. And yet, for some damn reason, Yamamotoās version is easier to tolerate and annoyingly encouraging. Bakugo feels like heās as likely to clap a hand over the manās mouth to shut him up as he might be willing to take a kiss on the mouth to get the same result. Even if heās psyching for it somewhere in his mind, he knows itās going to be a shock when it actually happens.
Damn this weekend for getting raincheckedā¦ What he wouldāve done with him, the marks he figured heād leave on his body, sending Yamamoto back to his world with outlines of his teeth on his neck and red bruises glowing on the underside of his arms and the inside of his thighs and wherever else he could think to make them. Until that damn mouth of his was nothing more than a mess of hot breath and moans.
What other scars would be on Yamamotoās body? Bakugo may be young, but his experience and battles as a hero have left him with scars of his own. From the occasional cuts to burns to stabs. Probably not as many as Yamamoto, since the young heroās pride and skill make it so he doesnāt get hit very often. But heās not perfect, despite his bragging to the contrary. As he wanders his hand down his chest, feeling over the round of muscle and the ripple of his abs, fingers playing at the occasional rise or dip on his flesh from an old wound, he lets his mind drift the same, but on a different body.]
Iāll fucking chew you up and spit you out all you want.
[Give him the opportunity and heāll take it. Three parts or even more. Itās annoying that the guy can sometimes pick up on the things he doesnāt say. But itās a futile attempt to stop him and Bakugoās not about to voice that kind of shit. Too proud.]
Maybe Iāll change my mind then. Donāt want to get lead poisoning from your bullet-riddled butt.
[Hey, sometimes, the old phrases still make it through the comics from his youth.]