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When Deku stutters to a stop, blushing and refusing to make eye contact, Bakugo doesn’t speak for a long time. The apartment is silent while he stares at the pictures on the wall and tries to make sense of what he just heard.
And maybe it does make sense, this fantasy that isn't so far from what was once reality.
Bakugo settles into the corner of the couch, legs spread, one arm over the back of the couch to consider Deku as he thinks. He flexes his other hand and taps each finger down on his bare stomach while Deku sits just out of reach, watching out of the corner of his eye and worrying at his lip.
Deku is nervous.
It's been a while since Deku was so nervous around him, and it tickles an old sensation. Bakugo lets the awkward atmosphere rest for longer, just to watch Deku squirm. His lip curls with a not-quite-forgotten sneer at just how fast he can yank Deku back to this edgy, anxious state. So hopeful for approval, and so fearful that it will never come. He still leaves himself vulnerable, even though Bakugo can shatter him with a word.
“And what would you have called me,” Bakugo asks finally, “When you were begging me to stop?”
Deku stiffens at the question but doesn’t answer. He looks down at his own hands.
Impatient, Bakugo grabs his chin to turn his face and make him participate since he wants this so bad. Make him dig his own grave.
Bakugo asks again. “When you really meant it—that I was too cruel—that it hurt too much—what would you have screamed?”
Deku doesn’t meet his eyes, but he answers, eventually. “Katsuki.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Bakugo can’t remember ever hearing that name from Deku’s lips, but the way he cringes echoes a hundred memories that make anger spike through Bakugo’s blood like a drug. Deku following behind him at the park. Deku writing about Bakugo's quirk in his notebooks. Deku always expecting so much of him, even though Bakugo gave nothing.
Maybe there's something he can give now.
Bakugo sits up and rakes a hand into Deku’s curls, so soft around his fingers. Then he clenches his fist and tumbles Deku onto the floor by the hair.
“Do you know how fuckin’ easy it is for me to remember how pathetic you were?” His voices oozes out low and mean, but not unfamiliar. Not the tone, not the words.
Deku blinks at the carpet beneath his hands like he's remembering, too. Shifting back in time. His breathing grows more ragged with each inhale and when his face tips up, his freckles are hidden beneath a blooming flush. He turns onto his knees, lips still parted in shock. “Kacchan—”
“Always following me around like an eager puppy begging for a scrap of my attention.”
Bakugo leans forward and whips out a hand to grab Deku by the front of his shirt and jerk him forward. “Well, now you’ve got it, Shitty Deku.” His hand curls in the material until his knuckles dig into Deku’s neck. “Aren’t you lucky?”
But Deku doesn’t respond. He gulps, and his eyes follow the line of Bakugo’s arm. Wrist. Forearm. Elbow. The bulge of his bicep. Before he gets to shoulder, Bakugo smacks him on the cheek, barely shy of a slap.
“Oi. Nerd. I asked you a question.” He leans forward to sneer right into Deku’s big baby eyes. “Aren’t. You. Lucky?”
“Um. I—”
“Nevermind.” Bakugo shoves Deku with that fist hard enough that he falls gracelessly onto his back. “You’re an idiot.”
Deku’s forehead pinches as he gasps, “Kacchan.”
Bakugo rises off the couch and steps closer. Drops to his knees with a thunk to straddle Deku’s ribs, letting his hands slam down onto Deku’s chest hard enough to knock a pained sound from his lungs.
“Deku, Deku, Deku.” Bakugo interrupts Deku’s attempt at a plea by shoving two fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue down. “Waste of time to let you talk. Shut up and show me something your mouth is actually good for.”
There are already tears filling Deku’s eyes and spilling out the corners. A muffled word vibrates against Bakugo’s fingertips. It sounds like please, so it doesn’t matter in the slightest.
Bakugo’s free hand slips inside his sweats to find his cock—already stiffening at the thought of taking Deku like this. Crying and pathetic on the floor.
“Suck,” he commands, and fuck if Deku doesn’t whimper, close his eyes, and do it.
Bakugo fucks the fingers gently in and out between Deku’s lips in time with the hand on his cock. Something about the fan of wet eyelashes on round, pink cheeks makes him even harder. Maybe it’s the way Deku quiets and wrinkles his brow like he’s concentrating. Like maybe if he’s good Bakugo will go easy on him.
That’s a thought Bakugo wants to disabuse him of immediately, so he presses his fingers deep, feeling the changing texture of Deku’s tongue as it turns into throat. Pushing until the choking starts and staying until Deku’s chest is heaving, and he turns his head sharply to the side, coughing and displacing Bakugo’s fingers.
Bakugo permits it, watching Deku pant harsh breaths under his weight. His eyes are still pinched shut, but they open when Bakugo shoves his spitty hand into Deku’s curls and grabs.
“Open wide, Deku,” he says as he turns that red face back towards him and leans forward to press his cock between spit-slick lips. He can hear a muffled Kacchan before Deku’s mouth is too full to talk.
“Shhh. Everything’s better when you don’t talk.” Bakugo leans further forward and puts his hands down on the ground above Deku’s head. At this angle, he can fuck straight into Deku’s throat, and he does. Long, deep strokes to elicit the weak sounds of struggle and then all the way out so he can do it again as soon as Deku starts whining.
It takes a surprisingly long time to get an actual protest. He has to push Deku past choking and actually cut off his breathing before Deku gets the spine to try and push him off.
Bakugo lifts himself back up nice and slow, pausing to admire the mess he’s made of Deku before he shifts back and lets his cock slide out of Deku’s throat.
Of course, the first thing that the nerd says is his name. Same thing he always says, only scratchy and tearful. “Kacchan. Please don’t.”
“Oh, is this too much for you?” Bakugo lets his cock rest against Deku’s lips. “Make up your mind, De-ku. You want me so badly, right up until it gets hard, huh?”
“Not like this,” Deku whispers, wiping away the tears from his eyes.
His face is red and his nose is running and his lips are swollen and every bit of it makes Bakugo want to tear him into pieces.
“I’m just trying to find some way you can be useful, worthless, quirkless, Deku. But I guess you do have another hole.”
Deku’s eyes widen. “Wait,” he pleads, but Bakugo has already shoved him over onto his stomach. “Kacchan, wait,” he says again, but Kacchan has no intention of waiting. His hands are already dragging Deku’s sweats down to reveal his thick ass.
It’s curvy and muscular and the first thought in Bakugo’s head is turning it red to match Deku’s cheeks. The crack of his hand is so loud Deku freezes. His shoulders tense and then, one beat later, the pain hits him and a crackling breath escapes as he turns back over his shoulder in shock.
The look on his face is satisfying. And so is the stark red shape of a handprint on his left ass cheek.
The right should match, so Bakugo raises his hand again, and it startles Deku into action.
“W-wait!” His limbs scramble on the floor and he lurches forward, grabbing at his waistband and turning onto his side to avoid the blow. The little nerd fucks it up and Bakugo’s hand glances off his hip.
“God dammit,” Bakugo mutters, grabbing at Deku before he can crawl away. He hooks an arm under Deku’s hips and yanks him back across the carpet, ignoring his cries and flailing limbs. Deku has stopped trying to pull his pants back up and is now just trying to get away.
“I was trying to do something, shitty nerd,” Bakugo says as he looks at the smeared flush of red his hand left of Deku’s right ass cheek. “But you fucked it up like usual. ‘Spose I’ll just turn your whole ass red then.”
It’s hard for Deku to get any leverage when Bakugo lifts his hips high enough that his knees leave the ground. He flails around a bit, but by the eighth hit, Deku is limp over Bakugo’s arm and sobbing into the carpet, hands hiding his face.
His ass is pale and freckled. It jiggles more when he’s not straining and Bakugo keeps going until there’s a sting in his palm.
If he can feel it through his calluses, Deku’s not gonna sit comfortably for a week.
Good.
When Bakugo lets him go, Deku slides flat to the floor like old laundry, burying his face in his bicep. His pants have already fallen to his knees and Bakugo drags them off with a sigh like it’s a chore.
“You must have known this would happen,” Bakugo says, reaching for the lube he keeps in the end table drawer. Bottle in hand, he climbs between Deku’s legs and shoves them apart with his knees.
This seems to snap Deku back to awareness. He chokes out a “No” and scrabbles forward to try and draw his legs together again.
Bakugo’s lip curls. “Or maybe you didn’t.” He grabs Deku around the thigh and jerks him back until his pelvis rests on Bakugo’s knees, thighs parted wide around Bakugo’s hips, bright red ass cocked up and vulnerable. “Maybe you thought I’d be sweet and tell you that it doesn’t matter that you’re not good enough for me.”
He pours lube straight down Deku’s crack. It flows over his hole and drips down his sac, and eventually onto Bakugo’s sweats. That’s gonna stain.
Deku is a squirming, sniveling mess. He’s probably getting snot on the carpet, but Bakugo can’t help but wonder if his cock might be hard anyway. In his whole life, there’s been nothing so constant as Deku’s craving for his attention.
“You want me so bad, huh?” Bakugo drags two fingers through the lube smeared on Deku.
He shakes his head frantically. “No, Kacchan. Not like this.”
“Maybe you’ll finally get your fill.” And he might, after this.
Deku cries when Bakugo presses in two fingers. Really wails, like a child who’s skinned his knee. He pushes his chest up and Bakugo shoves it straight back down to the ground. It strains Deku’s back and hips, but it makes his ass look good as it tightens around his fingers.
“Honestly, Deku. You ought to thank me. At least I’ve found something useful you can do. Some part of you that isn’t a total waste.”
Bakugo doesn’t have the patience to do more than make sure Deku’s lubricated enough not to chafe his cock. It’s only a few fucks with his fingers before Bakugo pulls them back out and pushes his own sweats past his hips.
He raises up to his knees, bringing Deku’s ass with him and shoving Deku's face and chest forward on the carpet. His legs start kicking, but there’s nothing he can do when Bakugo’s already pressed between them. When he’s primed and half-feral and ready to leave marks. When the difference between their positions in the world has never been starker and Bakugo Katsuki can do whatever the fuck he wants.
And he wants to take Deku’s ass, so he does. It’s easy.
Deku might be squirming and crying. He might be pleading his Kacchans into his forearms. But it’s not hard for Bakugo to slick his cock and press in the head. To grab Deku’s waist in two big hands and hold him there so Bakugo can snap his hips forward and bury himself inside.
He gets a scream for that. Not like Deku’s ever been able to be quiet about anything.
But his ass is good. “At least you’re tight,” Bakugo grates out, pulling back so he can watch his cock fuck in again. “I guess ‘cuz nobody else would even bother to use you like this, Deku.” Out. In. “Would they?”
Deku doesn’t respond, so Bakugo jerks him back harder. Pushes deeper to make him cry in protest. Bakugo makes his voice hard and loud. “Nobody else would bother to use you. Right, Deku?”
The reply comes broken by hiccups. “N-no, Kac-chan.”
“That’s right.” Bakugo works himself up to a steady rhythm. Deku has stopped fighting, so he doesn’t have to hold on so tight anymore. His hands squeeze the red flesh of Deku’s glutes and then slide along his spine, pressing him down to get that perfect arch.
He’s as pliable as clay.
“What a shame, since you’re so easy.” Bakugo presses his thumbs into the dimples in Deku’s lower back. “Maybe this is your quirk.” The smile comes unbidden, wide and tight. “Taking cock.”
Deku just shakes his head, whimpering in time with Bakugo’s thrusts.
“C’mon. Stop fucking whining. You’ve wanted me since your first wet dream, haven’t you?”
“Kacchan, please—”
But his voice turns to panic when Bakugo reaches around his hip to find Deku’s cock.
He’s hard.
Bakugo can’t stop his laugh. It comes out high and wild and mean. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking pathetic.” He wraps his hand around Deku’s cock and starts stroking. “You must be desperate for it.”
Deku’s tears break out anew as he ineffectively pushes at Bakugo’s hand. “Kacchan, stop it. Please stop.”
“Stop? Sure thing, Deku.” Bakugo pulls out and Deku’s head snaps up in astonishment. The look on his face is bewildered when Bakugo sprawls on the carpet next to him. “Climb on.”
“What?” Deku gasps, pushing himself up.
Bakugo responds by slapping him hard on the thigh. “Climb the fuck on my dick, Deku.”
Deku sniffles and wipes his nose. His face is a fucking mess, his hair is snarled and there might be a rug burn on his right shoulder. “B-but I don’t—”
“Jesus Christ, Deku. Shut up.” Bakugo sits up and grabs him by the bicep and pulls the boy over his lap. Yanks the gray tank top over his head for good measure. He’ll look better naked.
“Ride me.” He grabs those sturdy hips and shimmies Deku into the right spot, nudging the head of his cock into Deku’s taint. “And don’t fucking stop until you cum.”
Deku’s face crumples, but he closes his big wet eyes, and awkwardly slides down onto Bakugo’s cock. His dick is still hard and it bobs down and bounces off Bakugo’s abs, prompting him to laugh again.
“Hold your fucking dick, pervert.”
Deku does. He must get off on this shit.
“Now stroke it and put on a nice show for me.”
Deku pleads. He cries. And yet he keeps riding. It’s not long before his legs get tired and he has to balance with one hand flat on Bakugo’s abs, which Bakugo allows as long as Deku keeps riding and stroking his cock.
Bakugo spits out a stream of filth as Deku takes him in again and again, watching as his words wear Deku down to raw nerves. Like he’s reverted to that childish boy who wanted nothing so much as a smile from Bakugo Katsuki.
“C’mon, Shitty Deku.”
A tear drops from Deku’s nose to the center of Bakugo’s chest.
“You can at least do this one thing right… can’t you?”
He probably can—even like this. That’s how much Deku wants Bakugo. Enough for his cock to dribble out precum. Enough to make him tremble and moan like the pain has gone full circle to pleasure.
Bakugo lets his voice go soft and coaxing, as if he were cooing his love and affection. “Show me what you’re good for, Deku. Show me the one thing that you can do for me.”
Deku shudders each time Bakugo speaks like the words are solid, rolling over him. His hand twists viciously around the head of his cock.
“Show me how much you like what I’m doing to you,” Bakugo says, looking up with half a smile.
And he must, because the hand on his chest tenses and Deku groans like something vital is being ripped out of him. His head tips up as his cock begins spurting and his face is open and vulnerable. Round pink cheeks and long eyelashes. Eyebrows pinched together in pain. He was made to be broken.
When the last bit of cum dribbles out over his knuckles, Deku stills and gazes up at Bakugo. The disgust and shame on his face are clear. He looks wrecked, but Bakugo hasn’t cum yet and he bucks his hips up to remind Deku of that fact.
“You’re not fucking done,” Bakugo growls as he sits up. He grabs Deku’s shirt and wipes off his chest.
Deku looks alarmed at the sudden closeness and he leans back to put space between them, whimpering and tightening at the motion. He must be oversensitive now. Whatever. He’s been teasing Bakugo’s dick with that slow ride for too long now.
He’s small enough that it’s easy to get him positioned just like Bakugo wants him. Bakugo holds Deku on his lap and turns towards the couch on his knees, pressing the middle of Deku’s back to the edge of the cushion. Then slides both arms under Deku’s knees to keep him spread open, bracing his hands under Deku’s arms.
It’s an awkward position for Deku, ass hanging between Bakugo and the couch. He can’t control their motion and he has to either hold up his own head and shoulders or hold on to Bakugo. And he must be worn out because, at the first hard thrust, he throws his arms around Bakugo’s neck and then turns his head away like he wishes it weren’t necessary.
Bakugo grins as he fucks into Deku, bending him back against the couch. “Stop acting like you don’t fucking love it.” He presses in deeper and rolls his hips just to get a reaction. A flinch. He must finally be all cried out.
“Just finish, Kacchan.” Deku’s voice is steady and quiet, like he’s resigned to his fate. The fact that he’ll get exactly what Bakugo wants to give him—nothing more or less.
So Bakugo gives it to him just like he wants to. It’s hard and fast like he’s gonna rip the last bits of Deku into pieces and let them flutter to the floor.
“This hole isn’t even that good,” Bakugo spits out as he chases his orgasm.
It’s a lie. It is good, but the look of total acceptance on Deku’s face is even better.
“And I’m gonna fuck you up so bad you won’t even be good for this anymore.”
Deku clenches and that’s it. He’s done. For a few heartbeats, Bakugo feels just as detached as Deku looks, only he’s lost in pleasure. It’s selfish and possessive and it fills his head with his own voice, telling him to just take and take and take. Take everything Deku has to give.
He comes with groan, collapsing forward against Deku's chest, like he's the one who's given everything.
The next breath feels different. Cool and strange in his lungs. When he breathes out, the voice is gone.
Bakugo pulls out of Deku and supports his weight as he slides down onto Bakugo’s knees, limp and glassy-eyed. His head lolls and he’s crying again.
Deku told him to leave afterwards, just for a bit, but they didn’t agree on it and there’s no fucking way Bakugo is gonna walk out the door right now.
Fucking stupid request. He couldn't separate from Deku now if his life depended on it.
With his orgasm went all his willingness to keep playing this game. The blowback hits him hard and sudden, like waking up with a killer hangover. His head throbs and the room spins. He feels bad.
He doesn’t want to leave Deku on the floor—a discarded body left next to the couch like a dirty sock. So he doesn’t. He pulls his naked form close and tucks a hot, wet cheek against his neck.
When Bakugo stands, he brings Deku with him, held against his chest as he snuffles and shakes—harder now than before. He kicks off the sweats that were bunched up around his knees and heads deeper into the apartment.
His bedroom is a relief. A safe space where Bakugo has never done anything like that to Deku. The bed is big and soft and warm from the late afternoon sun. Bakugo climbs onto his knees and shuffles in far enough that he can lay both their heads on the pillows and just stop.
Just be and try to let the guilt and bile drain out of him.
Deku curls against him, wraps around him, holds him.
Bakugo tries to do the same, but his hands hesitate like they don’t belong on Deku’s body anymore. He does it anyway.
When the tears stop, and Deku is calm again, Bakugo swallows and whispers, “Was it just like you imagined?”
Deku breathes out warm and slow against the hollow of his neck. “It was better.”
Bakugo doesn’t know what to say in response. He feels so many things. Pride and shame. Love and disgust.
Deep uncertainty. Was what they just did… okay?
He doesn’t mean with Deku. Deku asked for it. Deku liked it.
No. He means with God or the law or his own fucking spirit or whatever. Was it okay?
Was it okay with him? Deku said he wanted it and at first blush it seemed like such a simple little game. Why the fuck not?
And now he knows why not. Because it was too - fucking - real.
It felt real. He wasn’t acting so much as uncovering an old piece of himself. Digging it out from deep earth. It wasn’t gone after all, only buried.
After a long time thinking, Bakugo knows what he wants to say.
“Deku. Don’t ask me for this again.” He’s not telling. He’s asking, the way he always does.
Deku pulls back far enough to see his face. His forehead crinkles with concern and he strokes Bakugo’s cheek. “Was it that hard, Kacchan?”
“No. It wasn’t.” Which was half the problem. Half the problem was Deku wanting it. Half the problem was Bakugo wanting to give it to him—knowing exactly how to do it. And the whole of it was Bakugo’s fault.
“But…?” Deku prompts gently.
Bakugo has to explain. He has to take responsibility. “I... I did this to you. I made you want that.”
Deku frowns. “You don’t know that. Maybe I… uh… always—”
The excuse grates on his ears. “Stop. Don’t lie to yourself. You want it because…” he swallows. “Because that’s exactly how I was for so long.”
That’s the truth of it. Everything but the fucking was just an echo of what he had done before.
“You wanted me, and that’s how I treated you.” He shakes his head. “I know you forgave me, but it’s all still there. It’s always still there. Everything I did, and we’re just building on top of all that shit.”
How is it that they’re here now? Sharing a pillow, sharing breath, skin-on-skin in Bakugo’s apartment. The pieces don’t fit together. At one end, there’s Bakugo telling Deku to jump off the roof. At the other end, there’s Deku stroking his hair.
What’s in the middle doesn’t make sense.
“You shouldn’t be with me after all I did to you.”
Deku’s eyes harden. Not anger, but resolve. “Kacchan. Stop it. You can’t change the past and neither can I. No matter what we do, it will always be there. Together or apart, we’ll be building on top of it.”
As if that makes Bakugo feel any better. He knows, of course, you can’t change the past. But he feels its looming presence more than ever now. The way it set their course, right down to what Deku thinks about when he jerks off.
“Kacchan.” Deku calls his attention back. “Right now, right here, I want to be with you, just as you are.” His hand curls around the back of Bakugo’s neck. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong for wanting you. I can’t change my feelings. But you make me feel good now. Every day, I like being with you.”
They’ve been together like this for less than a year. Such a small sliver of time in a life-long relationship. Maybe this is the right thing. Maybe it just takes longer for the past to fade.
Maybe on their tenth anniversary, the scars won’t be so visible on both of them.
Deku kisses his mouth in reassurance. “But we don’t have to do that again.”
Bakugo buries his face in Deku’s neck and tastes the salty trails of dried tears. Whether it's his fault or not, what Deku wants, it doesn't matter now. It just is.
“No, nevermind. It’s whatever. We can do it again.” He pushes the words past the tightness in his throat. “Anything you want, Deku.”