👿 Open Post 3

[blastedass]

Open Post

What to hit up Bakugo for some action? Feel free to do whatever here!



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[skinstitch]

( he's not going to praise bakugou for it, but it is sort of nice to step into a shower and not be met with rattling pipes or a lukewarm, half-prone spray of petty water pressure; there's real heat to this shower, the sort that's meant to melt into sore muscles and weary bones and make things tolerable again, and even though he only feels it mostly by proxy, it's nice to sink in under the spray and not have to wait for it to soak all the way through to his roots for minutes on end. most of the places they sleep, bathe, eat, plan, fuck around in, are safe houses that are two inches away from collapsing entirely, or empty, abandoned buildings with no hope of a good shower or even a mirror. it's like a gift to be in a nice, residential house with a nice shower and probably a nice warm bed, somewhere.

which, of course, is probably what bakugou is after. catching flies with honey, or whatever the saying is--that he'll place comfort for the night over his own pride of staying in the brat's house. and he just might, this time: at least depending on how the shower goes.

for now, he faces the spray, lifts both hands and runs them back through messy, tangled hair to start to work out the knots there, rinse out the blood and smoke and dirt that's gathered there just from a day's work. with the glass door shut on them both, the spacious shower becomes a little less spacious, but he doesn't much care. for now, bakugou seems content to lurk behind him in the cold, so let him lurk. with a slow breath, lifting his shoulders and forcing them back down again, he pulls his head back, rubbing and rinsing his hands off in the spray instead. )

Heard you beg before. ( yeah, he's circling around to it again, now that he's had some time to consider it--and get his head under hot water. rather than ask, he's already knocking one hand around the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, soap, shaving cream, anything he can touch at in the shower to decide what he wants to use, lifting up one bottle to peer at it and decide it's good enough. he flips the top and squirts some shampoo into his other hand. ) So don't go lying to me now.

( maybe it's not right to classify the way that bakugou gets during sex as begging--but it's going to piss him off to think about it, so he leaves it there with a faint, pleased smile. dumping the bottle back down, he lifts his hands: and turns on his heels, advancing on bakugou instead to immediately plunge his fingers, and the shampoo in his palm, into his dry head. luckily, there's some backlash spray from the shower that's gotten it damp, at least: he uses that to start to painfully work bakugou's hair into a lather. )

[blastedass]

[he would have given dabi a weird look if he did start throwing compliments, figuring they were sarcastic or mockery rather than anything sincere. but luckily there are no words and they can both get in the shower without bothering with an argument. he doesn't have any illusions about the sorry state the league and other villains find themselves in on the slums of society. dirty showers, stolen baths, going without, far removed from the relative "luxury" of heroes and decent civilians. tch, many of them chose that life for themselves, no matter what sort of story or blame they want to spew up to absolve themselves. unfortunate as it is. and yet, here he is, leaving room in the shower for a known villain to take a respite under the hot spray and wash off a few days' worth of grime and dirt.

the worst part is... if things had been different, dabi wouldn't be in this state. as he watches the water run down the villain's back, following the trails of liquid along healthy flesh, purple scarred skin, staples holding the seams together, and the sinewy muscle of street-wrung strength, he wonders what sort of life this guy would've had as a hero. so much power inside him, so much fucking promise... wasted on this rage and whatever his insane goal is. pity? no. disappointment? not really. frustration? yeah, that's more like it. frustrated and irritated over whoever or whatever sent dabi towards that path, and the same towards dabi for deciding to step forward onto it.

he breaks from his thoughts as dabi moves his hands, noting the way his fingers card through his dark spikes and work some knots out. along with whatever else has been fouling it up. leaving him to that, the blonde cups his hands under the mist of water bouncing off dabi's shoulders and arms, stepping in closer to let himself take some of the second-hand spray. he's not gonna lurk in the cold for that long, asshole. this was an invite to share the shower, not hog it while taking turns. bastard. it's tempting to grab some of that hair and give his head a tug back and down just to be a dick.]

That wasn't begging, asshole! That was demanding. Fuck. [if a guy's voice could be a middle finger, his is right now. shit, heat crawls across his face at the reminder and he shoves the memories away. quick reactions means he catches the bottle of conditioner dabi knocks off the shelf and replaces it while the man squirts his prize into his hand. the rest are spared a trip to the floor and he backs off to give the villain time to lather himself up. the shampoo is a nice quality, a given due to his mother and father both working in the fashion industry. while he doesn't give too much a shit about having "fancy" brand name crap, he's not a guy who settles for cheap either. he takes care of himself, thanks.]

OY! [too busy with replacing the bottle, he doesn't realize dabi's nefarious plans until fingers suddenly dig into his hair. muscular shoulders tense and hunch upward, neck cords hardening as that gross feeling of lathered-up skin shoving into dry hair crawls across his spine and head.] I'M BARELY EVEN DAMP, DAMMIT!! [yeah it's by far the worst feeling to have, but dabi knows what he's doing and why, so is he really surprised about the reaction? the rough scrubbing and lathering doesn't help either and the teenager bristles and tries to jockey with dabi for a better (wetter) position in the shower, one hand grabbing (but not stopping) the villain's forearm] You trying to rip out my hair? Slow down, idiot!

[dabi's totally doing this on purpose.]

[skinstitch]

( begging, demanding, same difference, really. does intent really matter when the actions are the same anyway? a whimper of a please, a demand of a don't stop, they all just end up with the same result, and can be left up to his own interpretation anyway. that's how the whole world works, right? it's not the same thing at all, but what does it matter--the wires get crossed any which way in a head where his thoughts and plans all center on one thing, so he doesn't care. did it really matter what endeavor's intent was for anything, when the actions were all the same in the end? he doesn't give a shit about intent. if bakugou sounds like he's begging to him, then he's begging, and that's that. it helps that it pisses him off so much to be misinterpreted, too. is the kid blushing? what a cutie.

he's doing it on purpose, and the reaction is exactly what he wants out of it. yelling, arguing, complaining: it makes his lips spread into a wider grin, damaged skin stretching and pleading with the edges where it connects with healthier skin. still, a shower is a shower, and bakugou isn't going to get clean with just forcefully working his hair up into a half-assed lather. so with his hands gripped into those strands, he pulls, using the weight of bakugou's body and the tension in his fingers to swing and guide him sidelong, jerking him halfway under the shower spray. there they stand, half in, half out, and with the water pooling into bakugou's hair, dabi can finally really start to scrub. )

Such a fucking whiner. ( there's a click of his tongue when he says it, but he doesn't really care. he's the one that's making the whole situation as difficult as possible: he could make it easier and avoid all this to begin with, but he's in a perpetual bad mood and even the warm heat of the shower hasn't soaked that out of him yet. ) I'm being generous.

( at the very least, he does slow down a little: he's surprisingly thorough about the way he rakes through bakugou's hair, working the shampoo down to his roots, soaping up his hair until it's got a healthy amount of white foam to it. )

Feel good? Time for a rinse. ( rather than ask, he just uses his grip to once again skid bakugou sideways, until he's under the spray entirely. there, he continues his handiwork, working all the shampoo suds out of his hair with a contented little grin. ) Hope your eyes are closed.

Now what, you do conditioner or whatever? High maintenance.

[blastedass]

[there's a huge fucking difference, dammit! and he's 100% sure dabi would agree if he got those damn noises dragged out of him too. the actions might be the same, but bakugou's going down with the ship "demand not beg" before admitting he did the latter regarding dabi's activities with him. doesn't fucking whimper either! bastard. if dabi doesn't care, then he's got no fucking right to say it was one way or another. cause then that'd be caring. hah. eat that logic, bacon face. bakugou doesn't want to get into the villain's head at least. their time together is as much removed from hero vs villain as possible if bakugou has a say in it. they can have those arguments and fights later. when they're not standing in the shower, silently fighting over who gets how much of the shower spray or whether the other guy needs some unasked-for help with his fucking hair. AND HE'S NOT BLUSHING, GODDAMMIT!! HE'S GETTING READY TO SPLATTER YOUR PATCHWORK FACE ALL OVER THE SHOWER!!

of course dabi's doing it on purpose. he knows that the second he sees the other man's shit grin through his barely-dripping bangs, now getting stuffed with shampoo lather without much water to buffer it. tch, bastard really needs to take care of his skin better; looks like it's just shy of splitting open again. tch, he'll wrestle some treatment on dabi later. after he's doing trying to wrestle out of his grip on his hair. a sharp yelp comes out when the man suddenly gives a yank with two fistfuls of his hair and basically swing/guides him through the shower via that hold on his hair.] What the fuck, you asshole?! [his legs move with the motion, both hands grabbing dabi's wrists as he steps through the shower as that jerk (action and person) end up heaving him into the shower spray. halfway at least. bakugou comes up, tugging his head and glaring down the length of dabi's arms into the other man's face. if looks could kill...

he says nothing for a few seconds, just SCOWLING at him with his lower lip jutted out, upper lip curled into a snarl, and his brows furrowed like arrows towards his eyes. at least until the gremlin expression lets him surreptitiously gather half a mouthful of water (soapy water), which bakugou promptly spits in a little stream into dabi's face. petulant teenager move there. least he keeps it at dabi's nose and mouth, deliberately avoids his eyes. doesn't want him bitching about getting some soap in there.]

Wait'll I get my fucking hands in your hair, prick. [what goes around comes around, bastard. he's got nothing on bakugou's perpetual bad mood! but the blonde stays relatively still, resting his hands on dabi's forearms for the time being. less out of obedience and more out of not wanting to get his hair tugged out at the roots.] I'll show you generous.

[yeah, totally makes that a threat. since dabi's being a little more gentle, bakugou waits for him instead of fighting, fingers unconsciously fluttering over the inside of the man's forearms. it's not entirely surprising that dabi's thorough with his wash. even if he looks like a wreck, the villain has to have some precision knowledge and detailed handiwork if he's doing those staples and keeping his health on his own. once he's got enough lather and water together, it feels a lot better and bakugou relaxes into the raking, scrubbing motions through his hair.]

Feels like shit. [not that he's gonna admit dabi did well eno- rinse?] THE FUCK, YOU BASTARD?! [what is with him and slinging him around the shower via his hair?! it's not a "sling", he's just being an over-reactive asshole as dabi skids him into the water. now fully under the spray, bakugou stands soaped and glaring at dabi as the shampoo cascades down his body, accenting muscles and definitions before falling into splatters around their feet.] Tch, I'm not getting soap in my eyes.

[though that does mean he has to close them occasionally, so dabi gets a reprieve from that glare.]

Urusei. It's basic conditioner. Green bottle. [bakugou reaches out and deliberately ruffles one hand through dabi's hair, fluffing at the spikes a few times. it's soft enough.] Your hair's not pure shit bar soap either.

[skinstitch]

( he might not jerk back from getting water spat in his face, or even when bakugou's fingers brush, gentle, along the inside of his forearms, a touch that feels a little too intimate, a little too uncomfortable--but he does, surprisingly, jerk a little when bakugou's hand ruffles up through his hair, as though testing the quality of it.

it's such an unexpected thing, he reasons, or maybe it's just that he's been the one jerking bakugou around, pulling him here and there and touching him how he pleases, that he doesn't really expect it; either way, his weight shifts, just a little, on his heels, but the movement is enough to knock his knee into that neat line of bottles bakugou rearranged before, the result of his careless hunting for shampoo. they topple and fall down into the basin of the shower beneath them: he snorts, a crackle of a laugh as he drops his hands and immediately swats bakugou's arm away.

basic conditioner, sure. green bottle, whatever. with a great, grievous sort of sigh, he bends at the middle, launching one long arm down to rustle through the fallen bottles and pluck up the right one. he eyes the label just for a moment, squinting, before he palms a hand down his face; there's still water there from bakugou's little spitting moment, after all. )

Yeah, there's a reason for that. ( sure, dyeing damaged hair is possible, but it's important for it to stay as healthy as he can manage in order to maintain the upkeep while he waits, patiently, for all the pieces of his plan to fall into place. ) Gotta make sure I keep attracting hot little shits like you.

( a tease, spread into a smirk, but he does at least wring bakugou's wet hair out a little before he squirts conditioner into it, starting at the roots as he drops the bottle and lets it clatter to their feet with the rest. there, methodical, he puts both hands into it, massaging and raking in through the strands, working conditioner out to the tips before he wipes his hands off on bakugou's chest, bracing his wrists on his shoulders to catch the spray of the water and clean them entirely. )

Okay, you're cooking for a few minutes. Get out of the way.

( hey, at least he isn't pulling him by his hair to get his ass out of the shower spray. progress. )

[blastedass]

[what'd he want him to do, grab his arms and hang on like a fucking gorilla? though he has noticed that dabi gets a little annoyed if he messes with him lightly, so there are rare times he'll do that on purpose. just to get a little rile out of dabi. he snorts when the villain tugs back from his hand in his hair, the smooth corner of his mouth hooking up in a satisfied look. ruffled up a bit, dabi?

maybe the guy thought he was going to grab his hair and give him a yank. no. he'll do that later. watching dabi pull back on the round of his heels slightly in response gives a breezy rush through his chest in pleasure. normally the man's annoyingly composed, so breaking through some of that surface pleases him. at least until dabi knocks into the bottles and sends them clattering to the shower ground again. some are aluminum, most are plastic, and he still tries to shove a hand and leg out to instinctively catch and grab any that he can. mostly because he doesn't want to deal with a bunch of fucking slimy liquid splurts all over the damn floor making their footing slippery! it gets his hand away from dabi's head.]

Are you this fucking destructive on purpose? [does shigaraki and the league have to deal with this grown-up brat walking through whatever kitchen place they've got and swatting things off the counter for no reason? when dabi reaches for the bottle among the rest, he sets the two he caught back on the shelf, another one resting by his foot, but three lying on the ground from the fall. tch. tempting to "accidentally" kick him in the hand for his troubles...]

What, sneaking some good shampoo while the others aren't looking? [jab jab jab. unknowing of dabi's plans or intents, just knowing they're not good, he's left to his imagination of what the reason is. heh, it's nice seeing him wipe the water off his face. some water, some spit. only to give him a flat expression at the "real" reason.] Bullshit. That's a fucking hedgehog head, not a magnet.

[not that he's one to talk... giving his head back to dabi to work, he rubs at his own shoulder in the meantime, massaging the muscle and joint. a brief growl comes out when the bottle's dropped on purpose this time. probably trying to break it. but with dabi starting to work the slicker liquid into his hair, he keeps quiet and lets him work. up to the hands getting wiped on his chest, which earns a brief flex of his pectorals. he shrugs his shoulders under dabi's hands as they clean off in the spray, then steps out of the shower spray to let the conditioner do its work.]

Cooking? Seriously? [and quickly hooks a foot over the shampoo bottle on the floor before dabi gets the idea to kick it or something, pulling it back to himself like a soccer player. then promptly tucks his toes under the side and throws it up with a quick hike of his leg, catching it in his hand with a "swack" sound. took two seconds.] You're lucky you're already wet.

[time to dump some shampoo into his hand and go after dabi's hair.]

[skinstitch]

Anyone at your shitty little school ever tell you that you're no fun?

( seriously, this kid runs his mouth so much that he's giving toga a run for her money. even she knows when to keep quiet, or at the very least, falls into lulls of silence once in awhile. every single thing that he says gets picked apart and growled at by bakugou, like he's some dog with absolutely no desire to let go of his chew toy. in some ways, it's almost amusing watching bakugou puff up at everything, like a balloon ready to pop with too much air; sometimes, he just wants to take him by the throat and tell him to shut his damn mouth.

whatever. look, he's basting in the conditioner, so cooking was an applicable metaphor. still, at the very least, bakugou does ease out of the shower spray in order to let the conditioner sit, which means that he can elbow his way into it, letting the water soak down his front. with both hands, he lifts to cup some water and rub, lightly, over his own face, completely ignorant to bakugou's shampoo desires--

--at least until he sees him, behind one shoulder, coming for him with a palm full of shampoo. )

Nuh uh. ( twisting on his heels, putting his back to the shower spray, he lets it cascade and fall over his head and shoulders; it creates a hot spatter in front of him, flicks of water drenched on bakugou's face, his shoulders, his chest. one of his own wet hands lifts, bracing the heel of his palm against bakugou's chest, as though he'll be able to hold him back with just that weighted against him. ) What, you think you get rights to touch me 'cause I touched you?

( one of those wide, annoying grins-- ) Ask nicely, then you can. Come on, I'm sure mommy and daddy taught you some manners.

[blastedass]

I'm more fucking fun than you know what to do with, dammit, bar-slumming Bacon Face!

[Maybe if SOMEONE would shut the fuck up, he wouldn't have a reason to run his damn mouth! Ever think of that?! HAA?! Not like Dabi isn't saying things deliberately designed to rile the explosive blonde up. He's not an idiot and he talks shit all the time too! Don't bitch at him about keeping a chew toy when you're obsessively smacking the damn beehive over and over! Tch, goddamn bastard. Bakugou really wishes he didn't find the guy tolerable enough to prevent himself from throwing Dabi's naked ass out the damn window. Or pin him to the wall and make him shut the fuck up...

Tch, he's not "basting" in conditioner. It's soaking into his hair. Basting would mean everywhere! Bakugou grunts when Dabi's bony elbow catches his side and he barely misses kneeing the older man in the ass for his troubles. Have the fucking shower spray, dammit. He's got other things to contend with. Chief among them being getting his hands in that bushy stupid hair of his. With Dabi distracted by rubbing water over his face, Bakugou's got ample time to lather his hands up and then come at the the villain with shampoo-covered grenade blasters and a palm of shampoo to boot.]

GET BACK HERE!! [Don't you fucking "nuh-uh" him after you spent five minutes dragging him around the shower by his roots! Bakugou jerks both hands away, one up and one out to the side to avoid getting Dabi's sudden water-spray shoulder shooters all over the shampoo. It definitely gives Bakugou a nice view of the villain's front, water cascading down from head to toe, but that hand plastered to the center of his chest earns Dabi a grunt and a glare, teeth set in annoyance at getting stopped on his mission. Bakugou goes up on the ball of one foot, toes braced to the shower floor as he leans into Dabi's hand on purpose. You wanna play push, fire fucker?]

You just answered your own damn question, shithead. [You touched me, so I touch you. That fucking simple. And Dabi's grinning like a troll, so he knows the answer already. (Right, because Bakugou's mom is full of manners.) The blonde bristles at the tease. Don't think he won't start squirting Dabi with the shampoo bottle!] GIMME YOUR FUCKING HEAD ALREADY!!

[skinstitch]

God damn you're so fucking loud. ( his own voice lifts in irritation: a cacophony of sound, smothered and echoed and built up around the shower tile; not even the sound of the water spray drowns either of them out, and honestly, he's sort of glad that bakugou is home alone. neither of them are capable of being quiet when their egos are both slamming together, trying to make push come to shove. ) Yeah? Yeah, that's being nice? That's manners?

( it doesn't matter to him. he's just riling him up, purposefully being difficult, purposefully making this the most painful shower that bakugou has ever had in his life; it's why he's grinning, why he's letting his own irritation build up in a challenge, and why, in the end, as bakugou pushes into his palm: he lets it go slack.

his arm dips, bent at the elbow, and with bakugou's weight pivoting forward into him, the sudden lack of pressure means that he'll likely lean forward, slightly off-balance. he knows the kid has great reflexes, so he won't have too much to work with, but it's enough that he can hook his arm down and around, pull it in around bakugou's naked waist and skid him in against his body with the misdirection. those shampoo-hands will probably stay safely out of the range of the shower spray, but even so, it traps bakugou in against him; he might fight the hold, or he might not.

that's part of the fun, too. is this really just about making him all soft and pretty, or is it about everything else? is this bakugou's idea of being a kind and giving bullshit hero, or is this about what he wants out of him? still grinning at him, twisted and waiting, he gets his other arm around his middle, locking him in his hold. )

Fine. Since no one taught you right, I'll just have to do it. ( his shoulders tilt, body bending, breath warm as he brings them almost nose to nose. ) You say, "Can I touch you?" and then I say "only if you mean it".

[blastedass]

Then keep your damn mouth shut and I won't have a reason to yell at you! [dabi's the one being a fucking brat about all of this! did he forget all that grabbing and jerking around a few seconds ago? obviously not. it's all on purpose and both of them know it. so he's getting yelled at, over the spray of the water, over the sound of their feet on the tile, over the threshold that would make taking a shower together a relaxing and likely enjoyable time for other people. then again, who's saying they're not enjoying it in their own twisted, stupid way?]

You know any shit about manners? [calling dabi out on that one. HA! if he thinks this is the worst shower the blonde's ever had, then he's got no fucking idea what kind of life the younger man's led. this is a fucking piece of cake compared to having to deal with those fucking toddlers during the remediation class! hell, if he could've just gotten a few showers with dabi as punishment for failing the provisional license exam, bring it on!

at least this guy he can touch and roughhouse with.

his foot slips slightly when that sudden give of bony arm and wiry muscle abruptly sends him stepping/falling into dabi's personal space. red eyes widen and his body instinctively goes for a rectification of the action. a leg steps forward, his hands move to the side to avoid the shower spray, knee bending to take the pressure without ramming it into dabi's hips. just in time for that scarred arm to wind around his waist, naked skin pressing to bare flesh, and wind about him in a drawing motion. his braced foot skids in the shower, water splashing against dabi's ankle, and the blonde ends up pressed flush to the villain's body, almost uncomfortably warm and unable to avoid the way his skin tells him where every single point of those staples are lined up along his own body.

if he was nicer, he'd admit that was a skilled maneuver.

instead, he glares right up into dabi's half-charred face as that other arm slides around his middle. locked in, though the defiant burn in the younger's red eyes suggests that's only because he's letting it. after all, he wanted to get in close to dabi to accomplish his own intentions. if it means he gets pulled right up to him in addition, is that really such a fucking bad add-on to the plan? maybe he should taunt him for being a softie who went down a damn convoluted path to avoid asking for a hug.]

I mean it. So I'm gonna touch you. [considering they are touching right now. chest and stomach, hips and thighs, sliding and brushing each other naked in the wetness of the shower as he moves his legs and slots one between dabi's own, the other coming to rest outside the villain's to trap one of his limbs between the blonde's as well.

but, he doesn't put his hands in his hair. yet. stays nose-to-nose, breath ghosting across dabi's mouth.] And you can even keep hugging me while I do it.

[skinstitch]

( there's a consideration there, in bakugou's gaze, and it's an expression that he recognizes: might even be one he swears he's seen in himself, or has seen in the stray cats that frequent the alleyways they skulk around in after dark. trying to gauge if he can get away with something, if he should make that decision, if he's going to keep pressing his luck--and succeeding--or if he should settle down for now and wait for an opportunity. on his end, he's happy to deal with whatever explosion, figurative or literal, happens between them; he waits, patient, mouth pulled into that god awful grin, but it doesn't happen. rather than rise back up again, bakugou backs down.

that's fine with him, too. he's picked plenty of fights already, and he does need his hair washed. for now, he consents to some modicum of calm.

there's the troubling distraction of their bodies pressed together, anyway, naked skin to naked skin; he's hot beneath his like always, burning up despite his wishes, and it makes a steamy heat between them, wet and warm, where bakugou's legs bracket one of his own, like that will somehow put them on even ground. one of his hands strays, slides down from bakugou's back to his hip and then, pointed, to his thigh, gripping down around it so that he can force bakugou's leg up, pulling and guiding. )

Hugging. ( there's a scoffing breath at the word, flush to bakugou's lips--nearly mumbles it in against them. ) We're not hugging. Get on with it.

( he's not quite as rough about it, this time. that hand on bakugou's thigh guides his leg up around his own hip, leaves it there so that he can push in with his weight and twist them, just slightly, to bump bakugou's back up against the shower wall. pinning him there, just out of reach of the spray--at least now bakugou can tend to soaping his hair up, if that's still what he wants.

for his part, he's pinching his teeth down against bakugou's lower lip, pulling at it smartly before he lets it go. )

[blastedass]

[oy, he didn't "back down", you flash-fried bastard. he decided he'd rather get on with the more enjoyable parts than stand here in some stupid face off that won't go anywhere and just waste water. responsible shit. besides, they both know he's going to get his hands in dabi's hair whether that means the guy's pinned to the wall, on the floor, or running a naked, wet dripping mess through the damn house. that and he's pretty damn sure another explosion would keep that smug ass grin cranked up to eleven. dabi needs a wash regardless and they're already more or less grinding against each other. he's not going anywhere. even if he did consider plenty of his options when dealing with the villain. ticked as he is, he acknowledges dabi's nature and threat. prefer not to deal with the latter here.

luckily for him, that decision's accepted and dabi eases off the pissy resistance. what a giant brat. then again, it's not like he hasn't picked fights with the villain aplenty when they're together.

dabi's hot, literally and figuratively. he feels it in the slide of his thigh against the insides of his own, the heat in his chest pressed to his pectorals, even the warmth radiating from the staples in his skin that brush his flesh. he's burning up inside like a fever. enough that bakugou sneaks a hand around behind them to twist the shower nozzle a bit towards the cooler temperature. that makes dabi feel better. especially as the man hooks his grip under his thigh and hikes the blonde's leg up around his hip. he wraps it over the curve of dabi's hip, tucking his heel behind his thigh.]

Figured you'd get pissy at that. [it's why he used the word in the first place. then works his hands into dabi's hair. tch, damaged from the continuous use of dye or spray or whatever he uses, and the smoke doesn't help. but it's surprisingly strong despite that, lacking any burnt hair smell (however the fuck he manages that) and the blonde doesn't bother with any delicate treatment. he's firm, skilled, thorough, working massages over dabi's scalp as well as cleaning his hair and getting the spikes all lathered up and soaped. could've just mauled him like the bastard did to his own hair, and it's fucking tempting, but in a way, scrubbing dabi clean is its own "fuck you" middle finger.

he doesn't even protest when dabi turns them around, pivoting on his remaining foot and working his heel then ball in a quick backwards motion to keep himself braced until his back hits the wall. there's a small growl when the guy decides to bite his lower lip instead of something else, and he brazenly extends his middle finger in dabi's hair as a "bastard" response to the smart drag before he's released. but the way his leg's hooked around the villain's hips is nice and he flexes to pull him in closer.] Asshole.

[then leans in to kiss him again.]

[skinstitch]

( he knows it's coming, knows that there's really no avoiding it: even so, there's a slight flinch when bakugou's fingers work through his hair, there and gone again, too quick to be commented on. he doesn't mind if he's rough, doesn't mind if he works his hair into so much of a lather that the dye bleeds or goes a little weak; he'll have to touch up his roots soon anyway, knowing how quickly his hair grows out. after changing it for so long, he's gained some kind of sense of when it's time to go over it again; even now, where bakugou's fingers rake and work through the blood and dirt and soot, there's a few little strands of white that struggle through, bright and off-putting. no, he can handle this sort of treatment: it's what he's used to, anyway. no one in the league is gentle about anything, and though it's not like any of them wash his hair, he's still used to their brisk way of living.

and maybe that's the problem. maybe bakugou's hands aren't working hard enough--he could misconstrue this as some measure of caring, and he hates that idea. when's the last time anyone touched him like this, in a way that's almost intimate? he can think of the last time he had sex, and think of the last time they fucked around, but he can't remember being like this with anyone else. nasty. he should have just kneed bakugou in the ass and pushed him out of the way, and done his hair himself. it's his own fault they're like this, and he knows it: which pisses him off more.

so what is it? there's some measure of bakugou being safe for this kind of contact, if only because he knows that the kid isn't particularly fond of him, and he can feed off the tension of their fighting, playful or otherwise. it isn't like he's going to admit to anything other than that. instead, he waits, feels the suds build up in his hair, and closes his eyes; bakugou's mouth is on his, a warm pressure, and he soaks up that contact instead, leans in and forces bakugou's head to crack with the shower wall, however hard that might be. one hand grips down at the back of his thigh, keeping his leg hooked up there, and the other is following the line of bakugou's arm to the hand that's in his hair.

it's a wet sound, where the kiss breaks--he got a little tongue in there, just for fun, and he can taste bakugou on his lips when he licks them. )

You tryin' to scrub me bald? ( the hand on his arm closes around bakugou's wrist, pulling roughly to dislodge at least one hand from his hair. might be the one that flipped him the bird amongst the strands. who knows. ) That's good enough, dumbass. Rinse me.

[blastedass]

[it's more that he doesn't want to get into another snark contest that keeps him from commenting on the flinch. dabi's a lone wolf, not someone who would ever be used to another person giving a shit enough to wash his hair. he knew the man's current hair color wasn't his true color; even with the smoke and leather scents crawling around him when dabi dragged him through that portal, he was still close enough to his damn head to catch the subtle cut of chemical hair product in the air. it only proved so when they tangled up together the first time. not that he's using some kind of "protect your dye" shampoo or anything. dabi could have raging pink hair for all he knew and he still wouldn't have an idea to his true identity. but it does go to show that the flaming villain is hiding it for a reason; someone out there would recognize it to a degree that his identity would be jeopardized...

whatever. it's more important right now to get the blood, dirt, and other grime out. how the fuck does dabi get blood in his hair? he burns people! doesn't go in swinging for fisticuffs! granted there's enough wiry muscle in those arms to knock a man down if he had to, but it doesn't seem the villain's style. as for the comparison between caring and being fucking efficient, dabi can go piss off. this is how you're supposed to take care of your hair, idiot! (says the guy who brushes his teeth with all the frothing violence of someone with a personal vendetta against every single germ in his mouth.) maybe he's not one to talk. or maybe he realizes that treating dabi with a given shit will piss the guy off just as much as him dragging the blonde around like a fucking bull had done earlier.

fuck you, bacon face. the kiss abruptly shoves back in dabi's favor and he grunts hard when his head slams against the shower wall. fucking lucky his skull's thick, bastard. it's tempting to bite his lip or tongue, or straight up headbutt him, but he does neither and pushes into the kiss harder, tightening his leg around dabi's hips as his hand drops the suds down to the nape of his neck. scrubbing and ensuring his hairline gets a good wash before going up to deliberately get behind his ears. the abrupt sweep of tongue into his mouth earns a mild sound in surprise, his own instinctively flicking up to taste dabi's and push at him until the kiss breaks with a wet noise.]

Hell no. Wouldn't wanna ruin a fucking disaster. [figures he'd tug his middle-finger-extended hand from his hair first. dabi can be so petty, and it rubs the blonde's ego in a similarly-petty way. still, he braces his remaining leg to the floor and bodily pushes forward, driving dabi back on his feet with a strong surge to get the other man under the water. not gonna rinse off by staying out of the stream. does make him hop forward, since he's apparently unwilling to take his leg out of dabi's hand and off his hip, but that's expertly managed as the water drags the suds down the villain's face and shoulders.] Bitch bitch bitch.

[but he gets rinsed off regardless. and just to alleviate some of the weird feelings, the young hero's rougher with the rinsing than the washing, scrubbing his free hand through dabi's hair with ruffles and flicks.]

[skinstitch]

( it's hard to tell whether it's better or worse, honestly. stepping back from the bakugou-sandwich he'd made is fine, and getting under the spray is fine, but the suds washing down between them annoy him, casting away in rivers of lukewarm gray; no matter how many times he does it, there's always a little bit of that color rinsing itself out, especially under hot water. he wouldn't mind it alone, and doesn't really mind it with bakugou, either, but he can tell that bakugou's not being particularly kind about scrubbing the suds out, and there's something about the whiplash of his own thoughts that's troublesome. it's easy enough to wipe himself clean of them like a doll with only one expression, even and lackluster, emotionless; but it's a shitty feeling to recognize actually feeling one and being forced to let it go.

it doesn't really matter. none of this really matters: that's sort of the whole point. the bitching stops, at least, as bakugou rinses him off, and once he feels like it's good enough, he gives a jerk of his chin up, shaking his head slightly to force bakugou's hand away from the wet strands. )

Good enough. ( that one leg is still wrapped around him, so he drops his other hand, gripping and groping for bakugou's knee to force his weight out from under him; either bakugou's going to wrap both legs up around his waist, or he's going to end up slipping and cracking his head open on the shower floor. honestly, either way works for him. ) Now we're done?

( obviously not: but he's either easily distracted or wants to be, and whatever's left can wait. skin to skin contact makes it easier to suppress his irritation, and that's one thing they've always been good at. if nothing else, all their bitching tends to wind down into efficient silence when it comes to fooling around, and bakugou hasn't disappointed him yet. the kid's a little too good looking, and it's troublesome. )

We got better things to be doing than playing hair stylist.

[blastedass]

[he was waiting for that, when dabi would have enough of the treatment and shake himself free. fine. the guy's picky enough that cutting off too early could have him bitching about leaving soap in his hair, or doing it too long making for a gripe about being too clingy or some shit. so leaving it to dabi to decide is the easiest route. saves them both from getting into another argument, which of course he'd be more than ready for.

watching the tinge of dye running off with the suds is strange, even if it's expected. he makes sure to keep the water running and splattering around the tiles so as to prevent the dye from risking any stains while it leaks all around the bottom of the shower. there's still the notion of dabi's staples that he'd like to treat before really getting into something heavy, but at the same time, if they're going to get into something heavy and end up making a fucking mess, he should save the treatment for later. probably when dabi's more agreeable in the afterglow or post-fuck shower.

why does he care? fuck you, he doesn't give a shit. let this guy cook. ...tch. he shouldn't care. but despite the anger towards dabi and the other's crimes, the blonde's still a hero. if he could save him, he would. but he's smart enough to know this bastard doesn't want to be saved. and he's not someone to waste his time on a pointless endeavor. all the while knowing he'd catch dabi's unconscious ass to prevent him from busting his head open or something.]

Tch, no point in doing more if we're just gonna make a fucking me- Oy! [his grousing response breaks in a yelp when dabi grabs at his other knee. one hand slaps against the nearest wall, the other quickly grabs onto the villain's less-scarred shoulder as his leg's hoisted up and he wraps it around dabi's waist, instinctively knotting his ankles behind the man's thighs. fuck you! he's not cracking his skull on the floor. you'd be so damn lucky. good to know those wire-taut muscles aren't just for show. it feels strange being all wrapped around dabi like this. but not something they haven't done before. maybe that's why it's weird; first time he's been in this position with dabi while soaking wet.

but being pressed against him brings that rush of pleasure again. smooth skin, scarred skin, stapled limit lines, hard bone, narrow hips, definition, things that have branded themselves on his body as "dabi" and dabi alone. damn this guy for being handsome in his own stupid way.] You gonna pin me to the wall and fuck me or stagger off to the damn bedroom?

[he snarks before kicking a leg out, catching the shower's control knob with his foot, and shutting it off, before curling his leg back around dabi's hips. there. put an end to that distraction. now they're dripping wet in the quiet shower.]

[skinstitch]

( they're both fair options, both with their own annoyances, both with their own issues. the shower would be fine for it: a good option, even, though slick skin and slick feet could lead to either of them causing an accident, one that would need a little more help than a few gauze pads and a needle and thread. plus, now the dumbass has gone and turned the shower off, leaving him with less of a desire to stay and feel cold water drying through his hair. he might not feel it on his skin, really, but the rest would be annoying. no matter how hot they make it, he'd have to turn the water back on--at least for the sake of the one of them that isn't burning up on the inside.

but the bedroom? it's not like they haven't fucked in there before, bakugou on his back with his mouth smashed beneath one of dabi's palms, keeping him quiet; those experiences have been fast and quick and searing, though, the kind that haven't paid attention to details like the little personal trinkets, still left in bakugou's room, dumb shit he doesn't want to see like an old all might figurine or one of his old school bags. it's all shit that reminds him of how much of his life has been torched away from him; he barely even went to school, and god knows what he thinks of heroes.

so that leaves secret option number three.

with his hands hooked under bakugou's legs, keeping him steady, he draws them back from the shower wall. he can handle this in small doses, but he's not built for great shows of brute strength; then again, bakugou isn't incredibly heavy, though most of his weight is thanks to his impressive muscles. so it's not too hard to stagger out of the shower with him in tow, bodies smashed together, wet skin to wet skin; the grin on his face, though, means it's not going to stay that easy, and rather than carry bakugou out of the bathroom entirely, he lets one of his knees buckle as soon as they're on the bathroom rug.

bakugou goes down first, obviously. he lets him go about an inch off the floor, arms winding back, lets bakugou's spine hit the tile before he's crawling in over him like a monster out of the lake; there's still room between bakugou's thighs, after all. )

Now's your chance, tell me what you want. ( hey, at least he's giving him a choice--he plants his palms down at either side of bakugou's ribs, dipping down so that he can bite at his shoulder, one sharp pull of skin. ) Tick tock. Thirty seconds.

[blastedass]

[someone doesn't trust his reflexes if dabi thinks the blonde couldn't catch them should someone slip and fall. might mean an explosion or two and some acrobatics, but he could (probably) avoid either of them breaking bones. provided it wasn't like mid-fucking-orgasm or some shit. the only reason he even offered the shower as a choice was dabi's impatience and giving them the freedom to turn on the water whenever they wanted. which was going to turn lukewarm before they got even halfway through at this rate. not something he wants to feel while fucking, and certainly not an expense his parents would go "what the fuck" about on their water bill...

his room has seen their naked (and not so naked) activities before, white teeth sunk into a gagging hand to keep him shut up as the bed rocked in incriminating rhythm beneath their bodies. glaring up at dabi as the villain pinned him down, daring the man to try looking away from him. you're fucking him, you fried bastard, not looking around his room! luckily that never was much a problem, even though he's found himself turning over in bed a few times on random nights and catching a phantom scent or expectation of dabi lingering in the space of his bedroom. shit, what a ghost to have in your childhood bed. a fucking mass murderer.

wait- who the fuck gave an option three?!

he jolts slightly when dabi pulls away from the wall, clinging tighter to the man's neck with one arm and knotting his legs harder around his narrow waist. while he doesn't trust dabi's strength in great amounts, he's not blind to the wiry muscle the man's built up on the streets either. at least he doesn't make himself a burdensome weight, keeping his body close to dabi's with his limbs tucked to help him balance. one arm's looser, ready to fling out and catch anything that would prevent them from falling if something happens. not that it's that easy to focus with their bodies rubbing together like this with every damn step. shit, should've just walked; this is fucking weird.

it doesn't even last long. a few steps out of the shower and the world rushes past his head as they go down. red eyes widen, a brief "hey-!" barking out of his lips, before his back hits the rug and he grunts at the impact. arms and legs momentarily shaken loose from dabi's body until the man looms over him like some dripping shadow pushing between his thighs and sliding atop him. it's both creepy and arousing at the same time.]

Bastard. Just shove your dick in and fuck m- OW! [just like this. he braces one foot on the rug beside dabi's calf, knee tented beside his hips, the other leg staying hooked around the back of the man's thighs to keep him close. thirty seconds is a shit time and he's not patient enough to wait for dabi to finger him or to engage in some challenging 69. bastard's biting him too! he keeps his arm around the man's neck, free hand sliding down his arm to grab at a wrist as the blonde leans up and clamps his teeth on dabi's collar, their spiky hair (annoyingly similar) stabbing into each other's in the process.] You're already this fucking hard.

[skinstitch]

You're an idiot. ( --comes out of hissing teeth, tongue pressed to the back of them as bakugou's mouth closes in over his collar, pulling at damaged skin. he doesn't feel much; there's just that strange, gut-lurching feeling of the shape of him sliding up a little, as though every place where he's attached just shifts and shrugs with the movement. bakugou could find a perfect spot near there, pull hard enough, and tear it apart; maybe he's already thinking about the counter of medicine he sent flying to the floor. ) I'm already this fucking hard, so you're gonna rip and tear if I fuck you.

( honestly, the brat would deserve it at this point. someone should teach him that patience is a virtue, or whatever: ironically it's something he's learned well over the years. as much as he wants to watch endeavor squirm, wants the payoff of seeing the shattered look on his face when he knows his world is beyond repair, there's no sense in rushing right towards the special ending. these things take time, and it takes build up to get to the climax of the story. it's frustrating, having to bide his time, and at one point, he'd even considered just ditching the whole thing, finding his little brother and slitting his throat in his sleep. but that would come with the complications of getting into UA, among other things, so--

patience. maybe this is something he can impart onto bakugou, like the shitty older brother he is.

there's a chuckle, a grin that's smothered against bakugou's shoulder, and he skims his teeth over the same spot again, just for the torture of it; rather than relent, his head moves down, teeth and tongue marring the skin of bakugou's chest, pinching over a nipple, roaming down over his ribs. his hands stay, a vice at bakugou's narrow waist, pinning him to the floor as he slowly extends himself down, stretched a little more lazily between his thighs. )

Get the lube. Above your head. ( should be easy enough for the dumbass to reach, unless he's distracted. right, distracted: his tongue dips down along the ridge of bakugou's pelvis, biting and craning his jaw down past his dick, skimming just lightly over the shape of his balls--and going lower. ) Thirty seconds.

( yeah, he's just gonna keep using that to piss bakugou off. )

[blastedass]

YOU'RE FUCKING IMPATIENT TOO!! [maybe he bites him harder for that frustration as well. he growls against dabi's skin, glaring over his shoulder at the ceiling above him. it'd only taken one round with him the first time to realize the damage to dabi's nerves, especially on the burned parts of his skin. even if it's hard to feel much of anything, he has no desire to tear the man's skin from its moorings. this bastard already refused even a basic look over, so the next best thing is not giving him a reason to need one. not that it won't get pushed again in the future...] You've shoved it in without lube or prep before, dumbass.

[mostly growling retort to avoid admitting dabi's probably right. this man's so damn flexible with his feelings. impatient to get in and out at one moment, then bitching at the blonde for being overeager the next. it isn't in his nature to be patient either, though he's by no means an idiot. to others, it may look like he's rushing in without thought, but they don't realize he's already thought ahead, analyzed the situation, and made for the most effective answer. dabi's someone that he can't look at and predict 100%; the man is patient and calculating, yet simultaneously impatient and reckless. the only thing he can count on dabi doing every time is whatever's in dabi's best interest. you can always count on a selfish, callous bastard to only care about his selfish, callous self.

even if that means getting better pleasure out of telling his impatient partner to wait and not get his ass torn open. and fuck you. the only virtue he's gonna learn from dabi is how to defeat him in battle without killing him. hmph.

he glares to the side at that grin curving on his shoulder, fingers curling against dabi's back as teeth skim across the bite sunk into his skin. until the man decides to descend, scraping his teeth across his flesh. a sharp curse bursts from his lips as he drops his head back against the bathroom rug, cringing in pain and pleasure as his teeth bare in a snarl of sensation as dabi bites at his nipple. bastard's leaving his marks already. his breath swells in his chest, pushing at his ribs, tapered waist and strong pelvis lifting up as much as possible in those hot hands caging around his hips until dabi shoves him back down on the floor to keep him pinned there. fuck... he spreads his legs a little when he feels that wire-taut body extending lower, stretching out between his thighs like a lazy panther.]

Don't order me around. [it's a heated growl as he tilts his head back and searches the world upside down, throwing one hand up towards the spilled items from earlier. how damn lucky there's a bottle of lube in re-] Ffhuck- [he drops his hand onto the ground, fingers digging at the tile thanks to a wet tongue sliding alone the cut of his pelvic v. dammit, dabi, he's trying to do something here! one knee twitches and tents upward around the villain's ribs when he glides his tongue past his balls, earning another hitch in his breath.] Bastard, don't give me a time limit after bitching about prep!

[dabi's doing that on purpose to piss him off. it'd serve him right if the blonde beaned the lube bottle off his stupid face. he doesn't. just grabs it with a vengeance and tugs it over before passing the bottle down to the villain. not gonna lie, it's kind of a turn on to do it right on the bathroom floor...]

[skinstitch]

( patience is a virtue, and they're both fresh out of virtues. even the kindness he spares is mostly just in retaliation: bakugou is right, they've done it hard and fast before, done it in ways that they probably shouldn't, done it to degrees that have left them both panting and aching and exhausted after. even if he tore him open, it would be on the bathroom rug, here, minimal spatter that could be mopped up out of the tile. maybe his nice little parents would question the rug or why it's gone, or why it's different, or why it's stained, but that wouldn't be his problem. he doesn't have anyone to answer to but himself, these days, as much as the others might think that he spares them even an inkling of consideration.

he wants to tell himself that he says it just to fuel bakugou's impatience, to make it harder for him to handle things, harder for him to find control in things; but maybe there's something more to it, too. maybe it's just something he's not going to acknowledge, now.

the distraction works the way he intends it to, and every lap of his tongue along the thin skin of bakugou's sac makes the boy's thighs flinch, his legs tenting as though they might snake up around his ribs and knee him in the bone. he doesn't mind it--blindly, one hand gropes up bakugou's side to find the bottle, fingertips grazing bakugou's hand as he takes it from him without complaint. then it's just a matter of dropping it down into the space between bakugou's thighs and leaving his hands free to continue pinning him to the cold bathroom floor. he's not going to need it just yet, but it's better to have it ready; he imagines it would get harder for bakugou to find it the more blinded he gets by arousal.

squeezing, he holds him down, settles himself between bakugou's thighs fully, laying flat on his stomach; it feels good, somehow, stretched out on the floor without worry of the edge of a mattress coming up too close, or sheets sticking to his skin, getting caught up in the staples. his hands slide, groping down over the strong hilt of bakugou's hips and legs, pressing down between them until he can bend his elbows and palm his hands along the curve of either thigh, pushing to force bakugou's legs up in the air. )

You're right. ( the words come in a playful sneer, his head buried down beneath bakugou's balls. ) We should take our time, huh?

( his chin dips, hands sliding down until they come to the curve of bakugou's cheeks--and his tongue traces a warm, neat little line down, lapping lightly at the hint of the opening there, teasing it with the tip of his tongue; his fingers grip, forcing him to spread further apart, circling lightly over the skin there like he's waiting for complaint or desperation. )

[blastedass]

[while he doesn't know a whole lot about dabi, he already has a solid idea that the man has no loyalties to anyone but his own. saw it in the forest when he barely gave his allies time to dodge from his flames, saw it when he told that costumed double to uncuff him instead of listening to shitty old nutsack face's lackey's orders. dabi's as selfish as the fire he embodies. in some ways, that's fucking admirable. he's always yelled at people for daring to order him around (even in mundane things) and only acquiesces if he's got a personal reason to accept.

but despite the one or two positive traits, dabi is no one he admires. only wishes whatever had happened to set him on this path hadn't. it sucks. too bad. doesn't change the fact it's fucking explosive when they get together, whether the man's making everything burn hard and fast or being a dick and taking his time. like now. both have their charm and pleasures. probably a good thing they don't get blood on the damn rug. he doesn't want to deal with cleaning it more than he's already going to.

ha! like he thinks he can control dabi anymore than dabi can control him. they wrestle with each other, taunting and demanding, tempting and challenging, see who's going to fold to the bigger bastard all the time. it's fucking annoying, but he continues to talk and engage with this guy. maybe he likes it more than he lets on.]

Shit... haa... [he drops his head to the side, eyes falling shut as dabi works his tongue over his sac. it's tempting to knee the bastard in the ribs, but he doesn't, instead closing one leg in on dabi's side. thigh sliding against his ribs, ankle tucking along the curve of his pelvis. their fingers briefly touch and that tongue slides up his balls again, earning a sharp snarl from the blonde before he hikes his opposite leg and throws it over dabi's back as those hands pin his hips to the damn floor. half out of reaction, half because he wants the physical contact. he rakes his tongue against his upper row of teeth, alleviating some of that tickling, pleasurable sensation as dabi's tongue runs up the seam of his sac and drops a ball off to the side. fuck, he's teasing that area on purpose now!

he tries bucking upward, but grunts as the effort fails, muscles flexing in his thighs and legs tightening around dabi's ribs. hands run along his body again, tracing his hips and legs, earning a quick gasp as the blonde's abs crunch hard over his stomach. one hand finds dabi's head, burrowing into his dark-faded hair and sliding through it in wanton, random directions. he's just about to drag his heel over the curve of dabi's ass before warm hands cup under the lines of his thigh and-] The fuc-?!

[-heave his legs into the air. both hands quickly smack down on the rub, finger digging in to counter balance having his limbs tossed up, one kicked towards the ceiling, the other hanging off to the side. god dammit, he feels so exposed like this! a hot flush runs across his face as he glares fire between his thighs at dabi.] You didn't have t-oh hell-

[it's not just the skim of those soft black spikes against the inside of his thighs, or the way dabi's nose runs past his balls and his breath ghosts hot between his spread cheeks, but that fucking tongue glazing a line down his perineum to the instinctively-clenching ring right there. his head hits the floor, toes curling in the air and one ankle popping from rolling it. he's used to rough, intense, forceful, not this playful teasing that drives him nuts because it feels good and pisses him off at the same time!] The fuckareyou... ugh- nhh... waiting for?

[dabi squeezes his cheeks and spreads him open further, making his dick jump against his stomach and his thighs flex on either side of his head. likely going to get desperate complaining sooner or later.]

[skinstitch]

( and that's kind of the point, isn't it? they always come together like a match and gasoline: explosive at best, destructive at worst. it's always a rough tumble into bakugou's bed, into whatever mattress they've stolen for the night, into the darkness, into shadows. it's always like the shower, fighting for control or for vanity or for pride; it's always bruising, biting, fast, rough. it isn't like he doesn't enjoy it, and bakugou enjoys it just the same--easy enough to explain away all kinds of shit when one is training to be a hero, apparently, something that he finds he takes great perverse pleasure in. what kind of bite marks should he leave, what kind of bruises, what can he do to make bakugou embarrassed to explain away the evidence, make it hard for it to be believable?

so that's why he's doing it like this. that's why he's teasing bakugou's puckered hole with the tip of his tongue, flicking against it idly, slowly, like he's trying to coax him to relax; it doesn't matter to him either way, but it'll be way more enjoyable on bakugou's end if he stops tensing and clenching and curling up and away. one palm braces, holding bakugou's leg up in the air--the other reaches down between them, blind to fumble with the cap of the lube, struggling to work it open. it comes with a soft pop, a slight squeeze and puddle of the stuff between them, but he doesn't care. it might get smeared on him when he shifts his weight down, his tongue still diligently lapping and pressing and sneaking past that tight ring of muscle--his fingers end up coated, and rather than push them up between bakugou's legs, he works them down.

is bakugou going to come like this? oh, he's considering it, considering just tongue-fucking him and letting him spurt hot cum all over his own stomach, maybe even feel a little ashamed about it, either pushed too fast or pushed in a way he doesn't like; he isn't trying to go so far as to step over their boundaries, not exactly, not in a way that might get him into trouble, but: he likes being unexpected, and more than that, he likes being lazy. it feels good to stretch all out on his stomach and feel bakugou trembling because of him, because of a few simple, insistent maneuvers with his tongue. might just add this to the list of things they do on the regular, then.

his weight shifts again, more onto his side, just enough so he can take his own dick in hand and start slicking it with lube; his head tilts, a full jerk of his tongue inside of bakugou, as far as the boy's tension will allow him. a few more jilted, persistent pushes, licking and prodding and shifting; and then he's lifting his head up, slightly, pillowing it against bakugou's taut thigh. his eyes linger there, watching bakugou up along the shape of his naked body like a cat that's glowing in the shadows. )

I'm waiting for you to beg. ( his eyes squint a little, in a shape that shows he's grinning, unabashed, from where the rest of his face is pressed in near bakugou's pelvis. ) Not gonna start 'til I hear it.

( gives him a chance to keep slicking up his own cock, anyway. win win. )

[blastedass]

[he does enjoy it and it fucking baffles him more times than he cares to admit. lying in bed at night, one hand absently fingering a bruise on his hip or rubbing at the bitemark on the back of his neck, knowing dabi left them in places he can't easily hide or explain away as simply. of course his classmates chatter about it; pisses him off when they don't mind their own damn business. what the hell can he say? he was getting fucked into the mattress by one of japan's most wanted? yet every single time, that rough heat swarms him and he grabs it without hesitation. pulling dabi onto himself, into himself, wrapping around him and keeping him there because he knows the man likes it too. probably doesn't have a damn problem explaining away his own bites or scratches left on those clear parts of his body. villain life.

which sometimes confuses him when dabi's gentle. teasing him like now, with this tongue wandering around the rim of his hole in lazy circles, flicking at it each time the puckered ring clenches inward, then slowly lapping at his entrance until he relaxes again and the clenched muscle softens enough that dabi can reach just a little bit into the sensitive nerve-laden hole. his thigh flexes under the villain's hand plastered to his leg, toes curling in the air when he hears dabi mess with the cap of lube until it pops open. can't be bothered with it because the man takes that moment to finally wriggle his tongue past his resistance and into his ass and the blonde drives his head back into the rug with a help of surprise. why the hell does dabi's tongue earn this reaction when he's taken the villain's dick before?! so fucking flexible and wet, hot and wriggling inside him like a living thing.

he says he hates the feeling, grimaces at the sensation, but every fucking time dabi does it, the response is ready. dick hardening and twitching against the hero's chiseled abs, oozing precum each time his ass contracts around the villain's tongue as it thrusts inside. he knows dabi could get him off just like this, working his tongue into him, dicking around with his legs, one hand on his cock, and the dabi knows it too. no real effort to thrust with his hips or mind his arms, just laid out on the floor like a lanky panther lapping away at a piece of meat he enjoys. another shudder ripples down his body, muscles tensing and flexing under his skin as his balls drag up against his perineum in full view of those aqua eyes. goddamn bastard's enjoying this way too much.

his breath hitches in his throat, a soft cuss spilling from his lips as he drops his head to the side, ears starting to burn pink along with his face as he hears dabi's hand wrap around his own dick and stroke it. slick and wet, tracing up and down. he doesn't even have to see it with his eyes to know exactly how it looks, foreskin dragging around his head when he pulls his hand up and then drawing taut when his fist slides to the base, balls swaying in soft bounces with his pumping motions.] Ngh- ... ugphuck-! [the curse punches out in the middle of a grunt as dabi spears his ass with his tongue again, doing fucking wonders with each lick and prod. it's gotten the boy to loosen up, only clenching down around his tongue when dabi reaches a sensitive area or the young hero wants to squeeze on his muscle for added sensation. before the man finally pulls out and he growls in relief and annoyance, an ankle popping overhead again as he rolls one foot in the air to keep his blood flowing.

not because dabi's hair tickles the back of his thigh when he leans his head against it. fuck no, certainly not that. cheek resting on his skin, staples and scars and smooth contrasting tangibly along with his breath. he shivers under that burning gaze and turns his head again, one red eye cracking open to glare down at dabi between his hiked thighs. naked, splayed out, fucking attractive. his words ghost right along his damn balls too. sadist.] Shut up and shove your tongue back in until I break.

[mostly because he's close enough if dabi thrusts anything else inside him, he's going to come way too quickly and this bastard'll taunt him for it for the rest of the night.]

[skinstitch]

( there's the lift of an eyebrow--or what's left of one, just the slight arch there giving up as though perched in scrutiny; none of that sounds like begging, though he's sure that he doesn't have to say that out loud, and more than that, it's the demand that gives away bakugou's weakness, something he could have easily surmised from the tight, taut length of the other's cock against his skin, the way his balls tuck up in expectation, the way his whole body seems like it's twisted on a hook, threaded onto a string. he's so expectant that anything more than the subtle brush of his tongue or the thick spear of it is going to drive him right over a cliff, crashing face-first into orgasm, and that means he's got him right where he wants him: it means that no matter what, bakugou is going to burn with pleasure and embarrassment all the same, going to twist and shift and squirm beneath him, and that's how he wants him, that's how he likes him, that's how he wants him to stay.

idle, he lets his gaze tilt down, raking over the shape of bakugou's sharp pelvis, down to the gap between his thighs as they're spread wide open for him, the clench of his ass against the bathroom rug; he could be nice, sure, and do as he's told, but when has he ever done something like that?

bakugou doesn't beg, and he doesn't get what he's asking for, either. the temptation to stay there, lazily draped around him like a carnivore idly enjoying its meal, is there, but there's more pleasure to be found if he hauls himself up, pushing palms to either side of bakugou's hips, driving himself up onto his own knees. there, like the shadow of expectancy, he looms over bakugou's naked body, pushing his thighs in against bakugou's thighs, bending him in, spreading him further apart. )

You're gonna break either way. ( --seems to be the explanation, a slight crooked smile like his seams might start throbbing with the urge to bleed there, at the hollowed skin beneath his eyes; excitement always does it to him, drives him to that edge where he wants to cry, and if he wants to cry, it won't come out the way it's supposed to, anymore. ) Don't hold back, 'kay?

( soft and sweet, a mocking sort of croon--will bakugou even be able to hold back, like this? with his own weight centered onto one palm, now, his other snakes in between his own legs and bakugou's legs, reaching for the hard length of his own cock, slicked and wet and sticky; purposefully clumsy, he runs the head of it down against bakugou's balls, bumping, pressing, nudging in carefully down further, slipped tight between his cheeks against his hole with a sharp intake of breath, his head dipping between his shoulders. as much as he wants to tease bakugou for his impatience, for his short fuse, for all of it: he's the same way, excitable, determined, desperate for the shred of pleasure there, the feeling of being pressed up tight inside of him.

with his fingers pressing in, he pushes, guides his hips forward, palming his hand against bakugou's thigh, his hip, up against his side as he shifts himself inside, a little careful; it isn't the most time he's spent on prep, but it also isn't the least, so at least bakugou's getting some minor thread of care from him, no matter how frayed. )