Work Text:
‘Dude, please, please don’t do the Kessel Run by yourself. I’m literally begging you. Kami is sorry he said you couldn’t do it.’
‘Seriously, bro, I was kidding. I swear to god if you die Kirishima is going to kill me.’
‘I will. Does that help? Knowing his life is in your hands?’
‘Come on, guys. You want him to NOT do it.’
‘Stfu Sero.’
Bakugou ignores the text message on his phone as he drives his truck down the winding coastal road. The sky is an off-white, coated in clouds, but there’s no sign of rain in the forecast. A breeze blows in through his window, and he hangs his hand out, thumping now and then against the cherry red door.
“Fucking pussies,” he huffs at the cell phone a second before it tells him that in ‘a quarter mile, he will reach his destination.’
His destination. He had just put coordinates into his map app because it’s not like there’s an address for this place. The Kessel Run is a stretch of beach few people go to. There are signs that explain very simply that there are no lifeguards, there are no facilities, there is no hope for anyone who enters of their own free will and can’t deal with the riptides, sneaker waves, wildlife, rocks, so on and so forth.
“You have arrived!” the voice tells him in a chipper tone, and Bakugou turns the wheel of the truck off the empty road and onto the open sand, facing the water about fifty yards ahead.
It’s not even warm enough for the sand to be hot under his feet. Loose and soft, his toes sink into it as he walks around to the back of the truck, removes his board and starts heading toward the waves. This board has survived everything: several championships, more than its fair share of nasty wipeouts, coral...not even a ding across the orange, black and green deck.
There are little noises coming from around the beach, and Bakugou pauses to glance around. About two dozen seals peer at him with oily black eyes, flopped in various positions of melty laziness in the sand. Okay, maybe that’s a little strange, because usually when he’s come up on something on the beach like a seal or an otter, they turn tail and flop or scurry away.
These? Just sort of ‘arf’ at him and then return to either napping, scratching or a combination of the two.
Bakugou finds a spot that’s far enough away from the seals to drop off his shirt. It’ll be a little chilly at first, but even on an overcast day, the late-summer temperature of the water won’t hurt him. Once his board is leashed to his ankle, he wanders to the waterline, staring out. The waves are fine enough. Nothing to write home about. He’s in a clean little section devoid of the large rock foundations that stand up in the near distance like guardians of the beach. He would have to really fuck up to get near them.
And Bakugou is too good to fuck up.
There’s no sign of jellyfish in the blue-green waves, nothing cutting through or disturbing the water. Hell, all the seals are on the beach itself; he hasn’t seen a single one actually swimming. He waits for a break in the waves to throw himself down on top of his board, paddling out past the surf. For a second, he hits a row of mess, angling his board to let the mush wash over him, and the cold water wakes him up so he can deal with the pull of the tide trying to drag him out. Bakugou uses that to his advantage, even though he knows that’s one of the dangerous things about the Kessel Run: sudden, yanking riptide, and deceptively weak waves followed by…
Bakugou almost wipes out when he’s raked over by a sudden wall of water, pulled under and forced to ride his board back up and through another one behind it. He still gets a mouthful of sandy saltwater for his trouble and spits it out, pumping his legs and arms to get to a calm section where he can catch his breath before a good swell to ride. By the time he gets to an area where he can sit up on his board, he’s panting hard, muscles taking notice of what’s going on.
His heart pounds.
As hard as it is, this exhilaration, the hard work, the struggle...it’s exactly what he wanted.
He waits through a couple of drowsy ankle busters, paddling around to keep his board straight. Then, something tickles his ears, and he realizes that there is more noise coming from the distance back at the beach. The seals have started barking louder, and a few are moving even further away from the shoreline. Scanning around, he doesn’t see anyone else. No cars beside his. Was there a rumble of thunder? Animals respond to changes in the weather, but... he would have heard it right?
Maybe it rumbled from far off while he was under the water.
Or maybe they just didn’t like the hard waves that had started coming in.
Whatever. He would ride in on the next decent swell and have a look around.
When he feels a nice clean wave forming behind him, Bakugou takes off with it, letting it carry him even as he kicks hard, until he is able to drop in and jump on top of his board. He turns tight as he gets up on his feet, cutting expertly through the water. The barrel is right in front of him. If he can get into it, in the Kessel Run, even if he is by himself, that would show those fucking losers.
The water roars in his ears.
Right there. So close. The lip of the wave is getting thick and heavy, but if he could just get inside, for just a second…
And that’s when something catches his eye and makes his gut twist. Gray and so huge that it literally casts a shadow on him. It happens so quickly, appears so suddenly, that he can’t even fathom for a moment how small he is compared to it, and all he has time to think is that it’s inches from him. It’s inside the wave.
A shark. A great white. The animal’s fin cuts through the water like a knife, right before the whole wave falls apart. Bakugou is swallowed by water. There is so much of it, so fast, turning him over and over like a ball of seaweed in the surf. His fingers brush something rough, something that moves under his touch, and he opens his eyes to see dusty gray and white and a dot of black.
An eye.
And then he’s sucked down, away from it, and his back hits hard, packed rock. The bottom. Good. Well, not good, none of this is good. His board is tugging his ankle angrily, and he tugs back, bracing his feet against the bottom and trying to shoot up to the surface.
It almost works...if not for the wave that crashes on top of him the moment his head breaks through the foam.
The next time he hits the bottom it’s harder. Immediately his vision is flooded with red, and his mouth opens. Bubbles escape and he sucks back. No, no, no. More red, and then...black. He can’t move. He’s being dragged, farther out now, he thinks. And as his lungs give in, his last thought is wondering if someone will even find his body.
—
He’s awake. For a split second, Bakugou feels something soft on his mouth, but there’s no time to consider it much because the contents of his chest are forcefully shooting out his nose and throat. Burning, stinging gushes of water come out, and someone’s hands are helping him roll on his side. There’s sand underneath him.
Holy shit. He’s alive.
When he falls back over, he gets to see who is there with him, whose hands are pushing his hair back and still resting on his chest, over his heart. The first thing that comes to him? This fucker is huge, muscular with a wider chest than Kirishima and even taller than that annoying surfer Inasa he likes to hang around. Long, full black hair falls down his shoulders, and his skin is a rich tan other than pale patches around his eyes, against his belly. His eyes have a sort of ruddy color to them, and they are staring Bakugou down.
“You’re very lucky you’re alive,” the man says in a deep voice. “What are you doing here alone? Didn’t you see the signs?”
“Fuck the signs,” Bakugou chokes out, sitting up and leaning forward so the leftover water can run out of his skull. It’s not a very convincing curse. The guy is right. But he’s also not telling him that. “What happened?”
Bakugou can feel eyes staring at him. He glances around and all the seals seem to have front row seats to this embarrassing shitshow. “That wave took you out. I don’t know what happened to the shark. Something else got it.”
He’s about to ask about what the fuck ‘something else’ could do against a shark that big...right up to the moment he looks back at the shore. Maybe it’s all the salt water he ingested, but he genuinely thinks he might be sick. It’s a scene of carnage. As the waves lick at the sand, they drag pieces of carcass up and down their path. Gray skin, bits of dead matter, and pink water, travelling in and out as seabirds pick up some of the meat and fly off with it.
Rolling in the surf is clearly a sizable part of the body. The head is the only thing really intact, the dark eyes that Bakugou saw under the water staring out either side as it turns like a log in the waves, mouth slightly open to show all the teeth that easily could have ended Bakugou’s existence.
“I saw you and pulled you out.”
“How the fuck did you do that if there was something like that,” Bakugou demands, gesturing wildly at the remains, “and something even bigger than that?”
The man shrugs. “I saw you, and I went for it. You were about to get yourself killed, and as much as you shouldn’t have even been here to start, I didn’t want to watch you die.”
Bakugou is about to refute that, but can he, really? This wasn’t stupid Deku running to the breakers to check on him after a wipeout. If he hadn’t been there to pull him out, Bakugou would have drowned. “Who are you? Where’s my board?”
“I’m Sakamata Kuugo. And I put your board in the back of your truck.”
His truck is still sitting in the sand, although there is now a seal on top of it, making pleased noises.
He brings his eyes back to Sakamata. It’s a little bit of relief that all of this has happened with someone he doesn’t know. Which, if he plays his cards right, means he can just pretend this whole fucking mess didn’t happen. It’s a solid plan right up to when he goes to stand up, and a terrible jolt of pain travels up his ankle. He hadn’t even given it much attention until now, but he regrets it when he does; the skin is slashed to hell, lacerated and bruised, and from the appearance of it he probably smacked into a rock on the bottom and got dragged against it.
And it’s the foot he drives with. Perfect.
"And you are?"
"Bakugou."
He nods, standing up tall. “Well, Bakugou, you’re coming back to my place so I can get that cleaned out.”
“The fuck I am,” Bakugou snaps, immediately feeling his resolve wilt at the dark expression on the huge stranger’s face. For being as good-looking (?!) as he is, he’s a little terrifying.
“You are, or I call an ambulance. And they get to come down here, and you’ll be fined, because you’re not supposed to be in the water. Because it’s dangerous.” He’s glaring down at him, unrelenting. It’s not often Bakugou finds someone as dead set on getting his way as Bakugou is.
“Tch. Fine. But if you want me going anywhere, you better fucking carry me, because I’m not— shit!”
Quickly, Bakugou learns that those muscles aren’t just for show. Sakamata hoists him up into his arms like he weighs nothing, walking off down the beach. Bakugou allows it, but only because no one else is here to see it. Sakamata scoops up his clothes on the way and hands them over, along with his phone. “It’s not far.” He’s right. Bakugou has barely fired off one, ‘I’m fine, quit trying to baby me’ message to the group chat before he’s being walked up a small set of wooden stairs.
Sakamata’s house wasn’t even on the map that Bakugou had used to get here. It’s tucked away on the other side of a cliff face, hidden behind the curvature of the beach. It’s a huge house, made of dark wood and above a sea wall, where the waves are crashing forcefully into it. The interior reminds Bakugou more of an upscale mountain cabin than any ocean cottage. “Nice view,” he says, glancing out the window, and he actually means it.
“Thank you. I’ve been working on this house for a long time.” Sakamata sets Bakugou down on the couch, wandering over to start a small blaze going in the fireplace. Cozy. He could get used to this. Not that he’s going to, but...
“What do you even do all the way out here?”
“Fish. I fish for saltwater salmon. The woodworking is a side hobby.” He wanders into what Bakugou assumes is the bathroom and comes back in a dress shirt that’s open in the front and sweats. He has a robe over his arm, which he hands to Bakugou, and a first aid box. “You’re probably a bit cold.”
“I’m fine.” He puts the robe on anyway. Between the soft material and the fire going, the smell of smoke soaking into his bones, he finds himself sinking into a deep comfort that threatens to make him drowsy. No, jackass, he scolds himself. You’re in some weird stranger’s house. Stay on your toes.
He watches as Sakamata takes his foot in his hand and begins to clean up the scrape, gently urging out the grit from the sand, dabbing with antiseptic. It doesn’t escape his notice that his hand is so long his fingers nearly fit around the entire lower third of his leg. “Doesn’t hurt too much, does it?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if it did?”
“Probably not.”
Sakamata smirks. “Yeah. I thought so. Stubborn little fish, aren’t you?”
Bakugou does not appreciate that the teasing makes his stomach turn, and not in a bad way. Usually, he has to take the role as the most confident one in their merry band of surfers, and even then most of those losers don’t appreciate it. Sakamata is different. There’s nothing about him that doesn’t seem to know what he is doing, and dealing with someone like that instead of a bumbling idiot is...it’s a nice break from the usual.
“So you know how to deal with these waters,” Bakugou says as Sakamata sets a brace up around his ankle and wraps it up. “Teach me.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I can handle it. I just need to understand—”
Sakamata cuts him off by standing up and closing the first aid box with a firm snap. “It doesn’t just have to do with you. No. You’re going to actually get yourself killed.”
Bakugou is about to snarl at him when Sakamata stands up and puts away the first aid kit. Then he disappears into another room, and through a small square window in the wall, he can see that he’s now in the kitchen. Bakugou starts standing up when Sakamata says over his shoulder, “You need to keep your weight off that ankle. Don’t make me force you to do it.”
...The fuck. No one talks to him like that. And that’s not a threat; it’s a fact. Bakugou’s temper is like an unmarked landmine. Step on it too hard and it will go off. Sakamata doesn't even look at him. He just keeps working in the kitchen until he wanders back in with a driftwood cutting board containing a hunk of dark bread, slices of soft cheese and cuts of salmon so fresh the colors are bright and the smell is faint. He also puts a cold bottle of tea on the table in front of him.
"I caught this earlier today and cleaned it before going back out to the beach. Try it on its own, then with the bread and cheese."
Bakugou does. He's too hungry to fight about being told how to eat, let alone over the fact that there are no utensils. The salmon pulls apart easily, and the cheese is aromatic and sharp, a perfect contrast to the earthy flavors of the bread.
It's so good it almost pisses him off. "Thanks." He pauses, and adds, “For this and the other thing, too.” You know, the life-saving part.
“You’re welcome.” Sakamata reaches over to grab a piece of the fish, tossing it back into his mouth. His teeth shine white and a little pointed. Not just the canines, either...but then, Kirishima’s are kind of like that too, so...not too weird, is it?
"Your house isn't on the map," Bakugou points out. "Does anyone else know you live out here?"
Sakamata shrugs. "Don't know. I like my privacy."
Bakugou smirks, eating a piece of cheese on its own. "I bet you wouldn't like anyone coming out to investigate whether or not you're supposed to be out here."
The implication sits between them until Sakamata turns his eyes to Bakugou. They're as sharp as his teeth. He's not angry though. There's something else there. Like Bakugou is a tiny animal biting harmlessly at him. "Are you trying to threaten me, kitten?"
"Maybe." He does his damnedest to keep his face straight. Not because he's nervous, because he's not, but because he's not entirely unaffected by that terribly smooth voice of his. Or the nickname. Which, again, should infuriate him, and yet...
Sakamata reaches out, making Bakugou flinch reflexively, but he still catches his chin. "Aren't you lucky you're so attractive, Bakugou," he states, not as a question. "You think you can treat people however you like without consequences. It's that brazen confidence that makes you think you can handle the Run, isn't it?"
"That just comes from me knowing I'm the fucking best," he fires back. "If I can't surf it, no one can. At least not on this side of the country."
Sakamata keeps staring at him, holding him in place. It's hard to tell if he's waiting for something or what. Bakugou squints. Is he into him? Kirishima has told him more than once that he's about as aware of people liking him as Kaminari is of common sense.
The most surprising thing is when Bakugou realizes he wouldn't mind at all if he was into him. He might like it, in fact.
But then Sakamata lets him go, turning around. "I'm going to take a shower. Stay put until I get back." He wanders down a small hallway and disappears through a door. Bakugou can hear the footfalls down stairs and then distant water running.
He sips the tea and thinks to himself how he can get the huge man to teach him to handle the waters of the Run. Asking - demanding - didn't work. Maybe...hmm. Bakugou runs a hand down his chest.
Is Sakamata that kind of guy?
Sure, he’ll probably give him a hard time for going down the stairs on his hurt leg but if he were to make him a more physical offer to get him to help with his training, would he go for it? It’s certainly worked in the past with other guys...no reason it wouldn’t work now…
Getting up from the couch, he drops the robe and peels off the rest of his clothes. Careful not to trip or to put too much weight on his injury, he hobbles over to the door and opens it. A wave of humidity hits his face, a hot shower below billowing up. Must be some kind of open-air bathroom or something…
His upper body strength is good enough that he can swing down a couple of stairs at a time by keeping his arms rigid on the banister. Down, down, at least twenty stairs into the space below. There’s a curtain over the doorway, and on the other side he can see the shape of Sakamata standing under what must be a rainfall shower. Silently, he pushes it open to peek inside, and immediately bites his hand to keep from yelling.
Sakamata doesn’t look the same anymore at all. He’s standing under the water, naked, but now his skin is black and rubbery, all the way to his hands which taper into slight points. His hair is gone and on top of his head is a large fin, curved back. Bakugou watches as he turns, and he gets a full view of his face. There are white settings around his eyes, the patches having turned to flesh, and his nose now is more like a snout, above a wide mouth full of sharp teeth. And he’s so much bigger now. At least two feet taller than Bakugou, if he had to guess. With the white flesh across his belly and the black everywhere else, he looks like…
An orca.
A human orca.
The water runs down his body, one of the big hands moving to stroke his crotch and abdomen. At first, it seems completely smooth, but as Bakugou continues looking he sees a long bulge below his pelvis, moving just a bit below the surface.
A very long bulge.
He’s already planning how he can turn around and go back up the stairs when one of the red eyes opens and fixes on him. The huge form of the creature that was Sakamata moves so quickly that Bakugou doesn’t even have time to think about doing anything, and he’s caught by his wrists and pinned to the wall beside the door. “What are you doing down here?!” Sakamata roars.
“I was...I...was going to…” Saying seduce you now seems like the wrong choice, even though—
“I told you to stay upstairs!” Sakamata doesn’t even have to pin his wrists now that he thinks about it. Each hand wraps entirely around, fingers touching, like Bakugou’s arm is a stick from a tree. He watches Sakamata’s eyes scan his degree of undress, and then down, realizing that Bakugou is very naked. And...half-hard. That’s a surprise to both of them, okay? “What…?”
He doesn’t actually have any explanation for that. And he’s not going to try to make one, because the fact of the matter is that the current monstrous form - his gargantuan size, the way he handles him like he’s a doll, the sliding thing inside of him that he figures can either fuck him or kill him - is only adding to his intrigue.
It’s literally a sex or die scenario, so…
Trying to steady his breath, he replies, “What does it look like?”
Sakamata’s strangely alien yet still sentient eyes narrow. “You aren’t...nearly as terrified as you should be.”
“If you wanted me to be dead, you could have left me to the shark.” Ah...the shark. “That was you too, wasn’t it?”
“Sort of,” Sakamata says, slowly, letting his wrists go while also supporting him on an arm. He’s still being so conscientious of him, of his injury. What a strange scenario this has become. Well, stranger than it already was. “When I’m fully submerged in water, I’m entirely orca. When it’s partial like this…”
“How long has it been?” Bakugou asks.
“Always.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“My father. No one else can know.” His voice gets low, threatening. “No one.”
Bakugou nods, and then a grin crosses his face. “Seems like we both have something the other wants, then.” Sakamata makes a deep growling noise in his throat (it clicks slightly, which seems strange and oddly appropriate), but it stops short when Bakugou reaches down to hesitantly touch that moving bulge.
When Sakamata steps forward, his full body is pressed against him, caging him in. This time when he tips his chin up, Bakugou feels like he’s not even on the same footing anymore. Sakamata could snap his jaw as easily as snapping his fingers. “I have the suspicion you’re not talking about swimming lessons.”
“You’d be right.” Wrapping his other arm around his neck (it doesn’t even get to the opposite shoulder), Bakugou yanks him down and presses his mouth to his. It’s a little awkward kissing, since it’s not the soft pair of lips Sakamata had before, but there’s something to initiating the act, right? Sealing the deal, as it were. The skin on his face, and probably the rest of his body, is smooth and rubbery with just a little give, not quite like an innertube. It isn’t unpleasant at all. In fact, he thinks he sort of expected it.
What he doesn’t expect to happen is for a wide, pink tongue to go right into his mouth the moment Sakamata realizes what is happening. Just like the rest of him, Sakamata’s tongue is so big it fills him up. It’s quite soft, though, and he might enjoy it if he didn’t quickly realize that rather than some tender touch, he’s being fucked by it, down his throat.
“Mmnngh!” There’s no way to shove Sakamata off. That would have been hard in his human form. Like this, it’s impossible. His eyes roll up as he takes the tongue, trying not to choke, breathing heavily through his nose until he finally pulls back. “Fuck…”
Sakamata reaches up to wipe a line of spit off Bakugou’s chin. “Still up for this?” he asks, tone a bit more teasing than concerned.
“I said I was, didn’t I?” He gasps as he’s pulled forward to stroke that hard impression again. Is that what I think it is? he wants to ask, but won’t. He’s not about to sound that much like an idiot.
It moves against his hand, and Bakugou tries not to be put-off or nervous, even when a light pink point begins to emerge from a slit that’s becoming more obvious along Sakamata’s groin. Bakugou’s seen plenty of cocks, but this one is not like anything he’s experienced. There isn’t really a head to speak of; the whole top part of it tapers almost to a point. It’s much more like a tentacle than a cock.
A very long tentacle, that slides out easily to an intimidating length of a foot and a half, moving with a sort of blind inquisitiveness.
“Shit,” he whispers, when it grasps his hand, curling around it and rubbing interestedly.
“Don’t worry, it just has a mind of its own.” How the hell is he not supposed to worry about that?! It slides and coils about his fingers, into his palm, and when he’s still he can feel the rush of blood through it. “This is my first time with someone else, though. In this form, I mean. Usually I’ll just touch myself.”
Bakugou guides the curious dick closer to his own and jumps when it reaches out and wraps around it like a snake. It only helps a little that Sakamata groans as well, stepping closer into him, wrapping his palm at Bakugou’s waist. The whale cock squeezes rhythmically, insistent for something more, and Bakugou has literally never been harder in his entire life.
Sakamata moves quickly to drop his head to Bakugou’s neck, and for a second, Bakugou just turns to let him in, because he likes having his neck kissed and he’s used to that. He doesn’t think about the implication of Sakamata’s size until teeth touch both sides of his shoulder, spanning over like if he decided to bite down it would take everything from neck to bicep. “Ah!”
“Relax,” Sakamata says, the word echoing out of his open mouth.
“Don’t fucking eat me.” For the first time in all this, he doesn’t care how that sounds. It’s a genuine concern.
When Sakamata chuckles, Bakugou’s cock dribbles in the hold of his cock. It wraps around him a little tighter. “If you didn’t want to be eaten, you shouldn’t have come home with me.”
He should be more nervous about those words, but as he watches Sakamata sink to his knees in front of his erection, any semblance of thought washes down the drain with the still-falling shower water. He doesn’t suck it - Bakugou doesn’t think he can - but the same huge, flat tongue that had filled his mouth and throat comes out and rolls around his package. He nearly slides down the slippery side of the wall, but Sakamata effortlessly holds him up with one hand against his middle, so large the fingers touch the surface he’s leaning against.
Fuck, the texture of the muscle sweeping around his shaft is so soft...it’s almost pillowy. Not like his tongue at all. And it’s covering him on all sides, folded around loosely. When the tip slides easily under his balls as well, Bakugou almost cries out.
Bakugou grabs at Sakamata’s wrist holding him, trying to squirm from that too-good sensation as his cock disappears into his maw, the orca head moving in, mouth getting wider. Once again, he’s caught by that feeling of being overpowered. It’s not something he’s experienced, and that this is his own secret moment to just melt into it, to let it happen...it’s a fucking thrill.
It won’t be so enjoyable if he gets all his favorite parts bitten off, though.
“Open your legs,” Sakamata orders.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Suddenly, Bakugou has to grab Sakamata’s fin, because clearly he was too slow or too mouthy, because he uses his other hand to hoist his leg up off the ground. It’s the injured one, to continue keeping his weight from making it worse. Be that as it may, if he weren’t being held up by the hand on his waist, there’s no way he wouldn’t fall over. “Hey— ah!”
Sakamata has him pinned, and as Bakugou watches, he opens his mouth wider and slides that tongue up to his hole from the front . It’s good that he has the fin to hold onto because he can barely stand how it laps at his taint first and then prods at the tight ring of muscle beyond. When he dares to look down for long enough, he finds that Sakamata has everything in his mouth up to his lower abdomen, and he really wishes he knew why that makes him want to come on the spot.
“God...fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Somehow that tongue is able to push in, despite all the tension, despite how massive of an organ his tongue is and what the fuck is that going to mean for his cock?! … it goes in, wriggling, swirling around slowly like it’s trying to find its place. Bakugou drops his head back and makes a strangled sound. Each arm holding him is immovable, and all he can do is take it. Take whatever Sakamata wants to give to him.
His nails skid across his fin. “I’m going to...I’m going to, if you don’t...oh god…”
As though to particularly drive home how much that does not bother him one bit, Sakamata thrusts his tongue in deeper and up, and Bakugou loses control. It’s the strangest experience, coming like this, because he doesn’t actually see it. There’s no mess on his belly, or against his thighs. All he can do is whine as Sakamata swipes his tongue around, cleaning him up as he catches everything, ever drop, in his mouth.
“Turn around,” Sakamata orders when he finally pulls away. Bakugou almost falls, and he doesn’t wait, opting instead to spin him around and grab his ass. “Too slow.”
“Didn’t exactly give me...meeee…” There goes the ‘coherent speech’ ability again. Sakamata’s cock is rubbing up and down between his cheeks, seeking out every spot it can get to. He groans and pops his ass back. “Just fucking put it in already…”
“Are you always this cock-hungry, little one?” Sakamata asks, a smirk in his voice even if his mouth might have a harder time with that expression. “Or are you just into some really freaky shit?”
Bakugou raises an arm and braces it against the wall, shutting his eyes. He’s focusing on every movement, every touch, every pass of Sakamata’s cock until it finally settles at his hole and pushes its way in...going...going…trying to fill every crevice inside of him. It’s foreign and far from any experience he’s had with a normal cock. More expansive.
“Mmnngghh…” He can’t seem to actually close his mouth, tongue out and drooling as Sakamata enters him farther and more thoroughly than anyone else ever has. A sharp sensation of nerves lights up, and he jerks when he sees stars in his eyes. It takes a second for him to realize that his dick is far enough in that it’s just staying pressed on his prostate. “Wait—!”
It doesn’t matter if it was already too late or if Sakamata just didn’t care that he was so far inside of him. When he starts moving his hips and thrusting, Bakugou is already howling, fingertips scrambling against the wet wall. Sakamata holds him up from behind with a hand wrapped around to his front, rubbing one of his nipples idily, like he’s simply interested in the sensation and not entirely realizing what it is doing to him.
“This feels so fucking good,” he hears Sakamata groan. “Maybe I should just keep you here...the Kessel Run - ungh - claims foolish surfers all the time…would anyone be surprised if you didn’t return?”
That should frighten him. That should make him say ‘no.’ But he doesn’t. If anything, it brings him even closer to the edge between overstimulated and deep, braindead sexual ecstasy. Because seriously, how is he going to look at any cock the same way again after taking this one? “Do it...god, fucking...do it, I dare you…”
Fingers move in his hair and pull his head back, and it’s like his dick is straining. “Don’t tempt me. You’re very fun...but we’ll see how you...mm, feel when I fill you up.”
There’s no waiting for that for Bakugou. He’s kicked into overdrive and coming again already, breath heaving out of his chest. The only reason a bit of seed drips from his head and down into the water is because Sakamata is milking his prostate with the constant, heavy pummeling it’s taking, more and more…
And then it’s Sakamata that’s climaxing, and Bakugou isn’t even sure he knows what’s happening. One moment, there’s just the cock inside him, and it’s twitching into the tell-tale wet pressure...but this time, the fluid gushes. There’s so much more, more than he thought possible, like a hose going off inside of him. It expands so fast that he’s afraid something is going to burst and then he hears a splash. When he looks down, he’s standing in what is essentially a puddle of seed, and it’s still coming, along with a sharp shrill squeal from Sakamata.
He’s actually afraid to reach down and touch his lower belly because it certainly feels like it’s been distended by the force and volume of Sakamata’s orgasm, the skin tight, everything bloated.
When at last the cock pulls out of him, he knows he’s gaping. Everything feels wet and wide open, aching, and he waits to fall to the floor. But he doesn’t. He’s scooped up in strong arms, carried as Sakamata walks to the opposite wall where the valve for the shower is open. It turns off, leaving the whole room eerily quiet.
Bakugou can’t move. And he can’t stay awake.
When consciousness finally returns to him, he’s dry and naked. He’s in a room, and judging from the bay window he’s facing, they’re on the second floor of the house in a huge, comfortable bed. Sakamata’s human arms are around him, warm, holding him, and there’s an extra pillow under his bandaged ankle. It’s dark outside, and the clouds have broken up to show off stars over the sea, a faint smear of the Milky Way. Waves on the beach crash quietly beyond the sea wall.
Everything hurts, but not in a way that he regrets.
Yes...he was right before. He could very easily get used to this.
And maybe Sakamata will change his mind about teaching him to handle the Run. Or maybe not. Regardless, Bakugou finds he really wants to stick around and find out what he decides to do with him next.