[ you might think bakugou struggling to adjust to this pace would make him stop, but no. when the fire dies out and they both regain their composure again, denji might consider a lot of discoveries he found out about himself tonight. how did the night start with never wanting to make this a painful experience to having the biggest hard on in his entire life when the other boy started to get loud? this might be the closest sensation of denji experiencing what it feels like to get high on drugs because he could've sworn he's seeing that boy in different shades and colors. the gorgeous neon lights from the city illuminate the room and contours bakugou's features into perfection. it's like a wet dream, denji's certain he's having the best sexual dream of his entire life because nothing felt fucking real. no way there is anything on this earth that could make a human or devil experience such pleasure, and he had the dumb epiphany that this is what intimacy is supposed to be like; this powerful and unforgiving. denji had been blissfully overwhelmed by the nearly suffocating weight of want radiating between them, making his heart hammer into his ears and blood rushing through his body, pumping nonstop adrenaline with each beat. it was more than just his casual aching impulse and hunger for closeness; it was the unfamiliar amount that he was receiving after years of yearning for it that made it nearly imp— no, it's impossible to go easy. fucking not happening anymore. they have crossed that line, jumped over it, sped through and it's far gone.
bakugou really thinks anyone in this room, on this bed, on top of him, the one staring him down right now— would listen to 'don't move until I say so'? really? is there anything about denji's smile and hooded eyes that says he's paying attention?
he wasn't until he was - a mild, sad, pitiful attempt but it's something.
focus returns to his vision with a welcome velocity, and denji regards his partner who is a tensed, coiled stretch of turmoil under his weight, tracing his gaze a bit lower, painted across his exposed throat with marks more temporary than those old scars. then, he noticed the tears - small, barely enough to slide down his hot cheeks, and denji was certain his heart had skipped a few beats. it's intense, too intense, grabbed him by the throat, and squeezed. a notion pulls at him, something foreign. he dares to hope at the implications it presents to him— but this pulls at a level of ravenous affection that he had long assumed was unworthy to one such as himself, unworthy to claim anything on this earth as his own. denji is already been granted the physical bond that has long been proved unachievable, to have someone willing to be with him in their most vulnerable and fully bare, emotionally and mentally. and for a while, he’d felt that it could be enough, being together this way and taking everything slow and steady. and then he tasted the tentative embrace of newfound sexuality; a gradually evolving forte with new barriers to disassemble and explore. meeting bakugou's eyes, between all the heat, short breaths, and maddening yet confusing clash of emotions— it opens a hunger that denji has never had an opportunity to quench with the living.
obsession and fondness, working in visceral mates with each other. it's a blessing for one, and damning for another. denji didn't notice he'd been chewing on his lip, and when he spoke his voice was infused with desire, only now it was glistening in red and held in place by the clench in his jaw. ]
Oh, I'm good ...
[ no further words are required, as if denji had no interest in wasting time on them. 'easy' - it echoes in his head, a faint voice, too weak, barely above a whisper. the air feels thicker, heavier in his lungs; despite denji's thoughts and the scratch in his breaths, he is looking infinitely more composed than he truly is. a false reassurance that was not intentional, it's a mere calm of resolve. there are ways in which the half-devil delights in testing his partner, but this one, he thinks, is a thing to be more careful with. so he is— slowly moving his hips, the precum gathering there providing some slide to the pressure. it takes every single ounce in his soul to keep himself in control; of all the ways he wants to undo bakugou, he had not imagined the extent of ecstasy of such a seemingly obvious method. in other words, going this slow is just more fucking insane. still tight, as denji pushed past the reluctance and the instinctive contraction of muscles. bakugou insists he's not ready while he’s simultaneously coaxing him into a silent invite with mad friction with each thrust; words contradicting what speaks louder to denji and it's the physical reciprocate of mutual hunger. with hazy eyes, he stares down at those gorgeous, flushed features of his— how can anyone look this good? this perfect? this attractive? it pissed denji off to be told to slow down when bakugou is pulling that face on him, naked and squirming underneath him, while he was fucking inside of him going through the most intoxicating, maddening clash of earthly pleasures. ]
It's fine. You're fine ... Katsuki ...
[ it didn't even sound like denji anymore; not a harsh tone but a bit too velvety and delighted considering the hell he's going through. it was a delicious, agonizing tease that managed to hit all the right spots. it made him pull back, ease himself halfway out in hot, trapped movements before he shunts himself back in; fingers gripped solid around the boy's hips, and then he grinds— pushes until his balls are squeezed against bakugou's backside. this time ... it was not gentle, and it was never gentle again. there's no intelligible sound from him, and denji finds himself struck mute by the sensation of tightness, of immersion, of everything this guy has become for him; sinking his cock into bakugou over and over with deep, grinding thrusts until he found a rhythm that sent every nerve in his body into a frenzy.
oh. oh ... this is how it feels, huh.
out of his goddamn mind, denji's nails are digging into his boyfriend's very human flesh, his knuckles turning white before he had to urge himself not to bruise him further. the sweat making his touch a bit slippery, toes curling tensely at each thrust as he rocks his hips, the bed creaking under their weights, the obscene slap of their hips, the wet sound of that cock plunging deep inside him. the dry painful friction easing into a slicked slide as the pre starts to work, hilting with a smack as he fucks bakugou. fucking him hard and fast. he gasps, open-mouthed, stuttering. he's so hard. has been hard this whole time. his dick is throbbing, leaking, feeling the pleasure flooding him, burning in terrible bliss and he smiles. how could he not have the most bibulous smile behind all the sweat, flush, and messy curls of his?
eyes are glossed, and brimming. watching behind his thick lashes bakugou's parted lips, blood forms a thin ribbon across an old bite, and what remains swells into beads until the weight pulls it down his chin and jaw. fuck. he kissed him. of course he did. even if it's a sloppy, drooling mess of hot gasps and moans. maybe he did it to steal a taste, or to shut him up from further protests, or maybe because he wanted to keep himself from spitting too damn much because it all comes out muffled against his lover's bruised and abused lips.
'you're perfect' ... 'i want you so bad' ... 'you fucking feel so good' ... 'you're so damn sexy' ... 'you taste and feel amazing' ...
until there's something else. it's more coherent, louder, and a bit assertive. ]
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blastedass
no subject
Date: 6/2/24 13:06 (UTC)bakugou really thinks anyone in this room, on this bed, on top of him, the one staring him down right now— would listen to 'don't move until I say so'? really? is there anything about denji's smile and hooded eyes that says he's paying attention?
he wasn't until he was - a mild, sad, pitiful attempt but it's something.
focus returns to his vision with a welcome velocity, and denji regards his partner who is a tensed, coiled stretch of turmoil under his weight, tracing his gaze a bit lower, painted across his exposed throat with marks more temporary than those old scars. then, he noticed the tears - small, barely enough to slide down his hot cheeks, and denji was certain his heart had skipped a few beats. it's intense, too intense, grabbed him by the throat, and squeezed. a notion pulls at him, something foreign. he dares to hope at the implications it presents to him— but this pulls at a level of ravenous affection that he had long assumed was unworthy to one such as himself, unworthy to claim anything on this earth as his own. denji is already been granted the physical bond that has long been proved unachievable, to have someone willing to be with him in their most vulnerable and fully bare, emotionally and mentally. and for a while, he’d felt that it could be enough, being together this way and taking everything slow and steady. and then he tasted the tentative embrace of newfound sexuality; a gradually evolving forte with new barriers to disassemble and explore. meeting bakugou's eyes, between all the heat, short breaths, and maddening yet confusing clash of emotions— it opens a hunger that denji has never had an opportunity to quench with the living.
obsession and fondness, working in visceral mates with each other. it's a blessing for one, and damning for another. denji didn't notice he'd been chewing on his lip, and when he spoke his voice was infused with desire, only now it was glistening in red and held in place by the clench in his jaw. ]
Oh, I'm good ...
[ no further words are required, as if denji had no interest in wasting time on them. 'easy' - it echoes in his head, a faint voice, too weak, barely above a whisper. the air feels thicker, heavier in his lungs; despite denji's thoughts and the scratch in his breaths, he is looking infinitely more composed than he truly is. a false reassurance that was not intentional, it's a mere calm of resolve. there are ways in which the half-devil delights in testing his partner, but this one, he thinks, is a thing to be more careful with. so he is— slowly moving his hips, the precum gathering there providing some slide to the pressure. it takes every single ounce in his soul to keep himself in control; of all the ways he wants to undo bakugou, he had not imagined the extent of ecstasy of such a seemingly obvious method. in other words, going this slow is just more fucking insane. still tight, as denji pushed past the reluctance and the instinctive contraction of muscles. bakugou insists he's not ready while he’s simultaneously coaxing him into a silent invite with mad friction with each thrust; words contradicting what speaks louder to denji and it's the physical reciprocate of mutual hunger. with hazy eyes, he stares down at those gorgeous, flushed features of his— how can anyone look this good? this perfect? this attractive? it pissed denji off to be told to slow down when bakugou is pulling that face on him, naked and squirming underneath him, while he was fucking inside of him going through the most intoxicating, maddening clash of earthly pleasures. ]
It's fine. You're fine ... Katsuki ...
[ it didn't even sound like denji anymore; not a harsh tone but a bit too velvety and delighted considering the hell he's going through. it was a delicious, agonizing tease that managed to hit all the right spots. it made him pull back, ease himself halfway out in hot, trapped movements before he shunts himself back in; fingers gripped solid around the boy's hips, and then he grinds— pushes until his balls are squeezed against bakugou's backside. this time ... it was not gentle, and it was never gentle again. there's no intelligible sound from him, and denji finds himself struck mute by the sensation of tightness, of immersion, of everything this guy has become for him; sinking his cock into bakugou over and over with deep, grinding thrusts until he found a rhythm that sent every nerve in his body into a frenzy.
oh. oh ... this is how it feels, huh.
out of his goddamn mind, denji's nails are digging into his boyfriend's very human flesh, his knuckles turning white before he had to urge himself not to bruise him further. the sweat making his touch a bit slippery, toes curling tensely at each thrust as he rocks his hips, the bed creaking under their weights, the obscene slap of their hips, the wet sound of that cock plunging deep inside him. the dry painful friction easing into a slicked slide as the pre starts to work, hilting with a smack as he fucks bakugou. fucking him hard and fast. he gasps, open-mouthed, stuttering. he's so hard. has been hard this whole time. his dick is throbbing, leaking, feeling the pleasure flooding him, burning in terrible bliss and he smiles. how could he not have the most bibulous smile behind all the sweat, flush, and messy curls of his?
eyes are glossed, and brimming. watching behind his thick lashes bakugou's parted lips, blood forms a thin ribbon across an old bite, and what remains swells into beads until the weight pulls it down his chin and jaw. fuck. he kissed him. of course he did. even if it's a sloppy, drooling mess of hot gasps and moans. maybe he did it to steal a taste, or to shut him up from further protests, or maybe because he wanted to keep himself from spitting too damn much because it all comes out muffled against his lover's bruised and abused lips.
'you're perfect' ... 'i want you so bad' ... 'you fucking feel so good' ... 'you're so damn sexy' ... 'you taste and feel amazing' ...
until there's something else. it's more coherent, louder, and a bit assertive. ]
... and you're mine.