“We’re gonna be late!” Kirishima calls out. He’s been standing at the front door for over five minutes now, tapping his foot impatiently. He’s positive Bakugou’s manager is doing much the same in the car waiting for them streetside, likely much more nervous about the ticking time than Kirishima currently is.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou finally emerges from their bedroom, backpack thrown over his shoulder as he quickly stuffs his feet into boots by the door. “Aizawa could use a little more thrill in his life anyway.”
Kirishima clicked his tongue, trying not to chastise too much to the point of annoyance. The last thing anyone needs Bakugou doing right before a huge fight is letting his temper get the best of him. There were plenty of past incidences of fights not even making it to the ring if someone said or did the wrong thing beforehand. “I think that excitement should be getting laid, not wondering if his number one fighter is going to get penalized for holding a match up because he needed ten more minutes of beauty sleep.”
Bakugou smiles, which is a good sign for the rest of the night to come, as he pushes Kirishima up against the door to cage him in. “You know it takes a long time to look this good, baby.”
Kirishima snorts, but leans into the playfulness nonetheless. Aizawa could wait just another minute. “Isn’t that my line?” he smiles, wrapping his arms loosely around Bakugou’s neck. His fingers rub over the nape of his neck, scratching at his scalp.
“No way,” Bakugou’s hands land on his hips. “‘Cause with you, that sh*t just comes naturally.”
Kirishima snorts again, rolling his eyes at the compliment, but leans in anyway to press a kiss to Bakugou’s lips. “Good answer. Cheesy, but good.”
Bakugou leans in for another, chasing after the taste of his boyfriend, but easily being denied as Kirishima pulls away and presses a hand to Bakugou’s chest. The night is still young and they both have jobs to do. “Aizawa’s still waiting.”
Kirishima can tell by the look in Bakugou’s eyes that he wants to say f*ck it— to tell Kirishima to hell with Aizawa, his manager can wait and he’ll take whatever fine that comes of it, but he knows that’s bad press he doesn’t want to deal with later. Aizawa would kill him if he had to get his PR team involved again…
“Fine,” he sighs. “But later when I win, you owe me another f*cking kiss.”
Kirishima smiles, opening the door for them both. “When you win.”
---
Aizawa was more annoyed than angry when they arrived, sliding into the backseat of the sleek black SUV. He looked tired as always and Kirishima could tell, even in the dim light they sat in, there was a little red mark at his temple from where his fingers rubbed too hard and too vigorously. The man might look like he was ready to fall asleep standing up if still for too long— which was technically the truth— but when it came down to it he was still grimly serious, particularly when his job was involved.
“You better hope we don’t hit traffic getting to the stadium or you’ll surely be penalized. What the hell were you two doing?”
“Bakugou needed more sleep. I might have kept him up a little too late last night.”
Aizawa sighs, heavy and long, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to return them to rubbing at his temple. He’d been Bakugou’s manager since he broke out onto the scene, so he was used to Kirishima’s presence and far more informed on their private life then he honestly wanted to be. More then once the poor man walked in on them in rather compromising positions— in bathrooms, VIP lounges, hell even once in a janitor’s closet for a quickie pressed up in between brooms, to the point Kirishima stopped apologizing verbally and started just sending him little gift baskets to ease the struggle of having to deal with them as a pair.
“Well, you better be awake enough now,” Aizawa grumbles out which is funny coming from someone like him. “Shindo isn’t going to go easy on you.”
“The bastard called me out and you’re actually worried?” Bakugou crosses his arms, slouching back in his seat. “He’s the one who better be f*cking ready.”
Kirishima laughs softly to himself even as Aizawa sighs once again, trying to remind himself why he kept Bakugou on as a client. He’s stubborn as hell, ego driven, co*cksure, and sometimes more of a headache than Aizawa can handle in a day. He’s just lucky he’s not managing both him and Midoriya again. That almost drove him to an early grave.
“Just be ready.”
Bakugou grins, teeth glowing white with each passing street lamp that illuminates the interior of the car. “Aren’t I always?”
---
The stadium is packed. It’s not unusual for a typical night’s fight to sell out, but this one came out of nowhere and got everyone buzzing. Ticket sales didn’t break the record for fastest sold, but it came close. It’s what happens when a challenger like Shindo Yo calls Bakugou out for his championship belt.
He was supposed to fight Hitoshi tonight, but with how co*cky Shindo likes to talk and the fact that he demanded Bakugou’s belt two months ago, well. Bakugou was never one to turn down a challenge. Plus, he always loved punching that son-of-a-bitch in the face.
“Remember,” Kirishima stands with him for just a second longer in his locker room, watching as Bakugou limbers up. “I won’t be able to stay the entire fight, so either knock him out in the first three rounds or make sure to wait until I’m at work to watch it.”
Thankfully, they weren’t too late driving in. Aizawa had to smooth a couple of things over with one of the referee’s, but other than that Bakugou changed quickly and was now just warming up, waiting for the announcer to call his name.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou huffs, bouncing around on his toes. “I’ll make sure to draw first blood so you can go to work all horned up and have to jerk it before twirling around on stage dressed as a cowboy or somesh*t.”
Aizawa rolls his eyes at the remark. The rest of his handlers’ clear their throats, used to the flirting jabs that get thrown back and forth before a fight. They’ve all learned by now to not say anything about it. The lewd comments or Kirishima’s job, especially when at least half of them have had the privilege of watching him work, are almost like white noise when it comes to the pair.
“It’s a police officer, thank you. Ladies’ Night has a thing for the cop outfits.”
“Perverts.”
“Like you’re one to talk.”
Bakuguo laughs, grabbing Kirishima by the hand to tug him in close, pulling him down a few inches to kiss him quickly. “Just be waiting for me when I get there.”
Kirishima smiles, stealing one more kiss. “Win and I’ll have a lapdance queued up for you.”
“It’s a date.”
---
There’s a private box to watch the fight from, but Kirishima never sits there. The fights have turned into their foreplay at this point. As long as Bakugou doesn’t sustain serious injuries while in the ring, Kirishima knows for a fact they’ll be spending the rest of the night and into the early morning hours f*cking like rabbits off the adrenaline of Bakugou’s win.
It was something they figured out early on in their relationship while Bakugou was still just a junior fighter trying to scrape by. It was a thrill to watch; Bakugou always moved like an animal during a hunt, vicious and brutal in his kills towards victory. Kirishima always sat ringside, as close to the action as he could get, watching as Bakugou attacked his opponent head on, spilling blood and busting his own hands in the process. Watching him with that fire in his eyes always made Kirishima shiver with anticipation. Just watching how much power Bakugou held in his hands was enough to last Kirishima all night until they managed to get alone.
Just like all the years before, Kirishima sits ringside. He mingles among the wealthy elite that spent hundreds if not thousands of dollars on their seats. Celebrities, businessmen, managers, other fighters that just want to see what potential future challengers might hold for them. And there, sitting among them, at every single one of Bakugou’s fights, is Kirishima, hoping that maybe if someone hit hard enough blood would splatter out onto the floor in front of him. But that’s only happened three times, tops.
Sometimes, people stare at him. Where Bakugou has a reputation for being rough around the edges and easy to jump to anger, Kirishima has his own. Being Bakugou’s boyfriend for years means he’s been fully thrust into the spotlight of MMA celebrity in his own right— mostly known as the middleweight champion’s stripper boyfriend.
Kirishima doesn’t mind. He is a stripper and he is Bakugou’s boyfriend, afterall. If he wanted to do something else, he would, but he loves his job and Bakugou has no issue with it. It’s everyone else that likes to use it against him, or, rather their attempt to. They typically don’t get very far.
“Are you staying the whole fight?”
Kirishima looks away from the ring to see Midoriya settling down next to him. The man looks so small compared to the chair he sits in, folding up his legs as much as he can beneath him, but with how thick they are Kirishima knows he must be uncomfortable.
Still, he perks up, beaming at the other fighter. Midoriya took the heavyweight champion title late last spring after the previous champ, Mirio, was injured enough to get pulled from the rest of the season. There’s rumors that the injuries are more serious then what the gossip mags were able to get information on, but Kirishima doesn’t like to spread rumors, especially ones like that. Mirio is a good guy, a phenomenal fighter, and Kirishima even knows his boyfriend who always worked at the same club as him.
“Oh, just through the third round, maybe.” Kirishima replies, turning back towards the cage in front of him. “I have work tonight, so I’m kind of hoping he does a one-round KO, but that’s just me being selfish.”
Midoriya snorts, crossing his arms and trying to not elbow Kirishima too badly with his bulk. “The way Shindo called him out? I’m sure Kacchan is gonna try.”
“That guy really likes to get his ass kicked, doesn’t he?”
“Tell me about it.” Midoriya sighs, leaning back.
Midoriya’s been in the fighting ring just as long as Bakugou has. They’ve known each other since childhood and have a rivalry that’s been violent at its peak, but has now settled down into a biting simmer that drives them both towards victory. They don’t even fight each other anymore, not since Midoriya bulked up and ranked in the heavyweight league...officially at least. Last Christmas they held a charity fight that raised an insane amount of money for food banks and toy collections in the area— not to mention it gave Bakugou a reason to prove to Midoriya the fifty pounds he had on him didn’t mean he still couldn’t kick his ass.
“I think he’s a masoch*st.” Kirishima pipes up. “I’ve seen his girlfriend. They seem like the type to play with a paddle.”
“Kirishima!” Midoriya’s face goes bright red at the implication. The color brings out the spattering of freckles that pepper his cheeks. A hulk of a man that could kill someone with one kick and he’s still embarrassed by the discussion of sex. He’s adorable.
“What? It’s the only explanation for why he likes to be kicked around so--”
His words are cut off by the lights dimming in the arena and the beat of music picking up. The crowd explodes, drowning out any other words Kirishima or Midoriya might have uttered as the lights shine over to the opposite side of the arena, and with a flutter colors change from white to green flooding down, crossing, fog filtering out from the entrance from which emerges Shindo Yo, flanked by his posse to the cries of the crowd both praising him and booing him all at the same time.
He looks relaxed. The lopsided smile he wears on his face, a signature of his walkout during matches, trying to show his opponents he’s not scared as he nonchalantly moves, waves at fans, confident and unintimidated for a guy who called out the champion middleweight fighter in the entire world.
Kirishima makes a face as Shindo turns to the crowd and throws his arms up in the air as if already in victory. If Kirishima could punch him himself he probably would.
“Easy,” Midoriya shouts into his ear over the music and roar of the crowd. His hand wraps around Kirishima’s which has curled tight along his pant leg, fingers digging into the skin below from pure irritation. “Kacchan won’t lose to someone like him.”
That’s obvious enough, but hearing it said out loud does reassure Kirishima nonetheless. He relaxes his grip and eases back into his seat, huffing a bit as Shindo takes his corner in the ring just as the lights shift again and the music pulses down to a heavy rhythmic beat.
Kirishima shivers. He can feel the pulsing of the familiar song making his stomach coil, the warmth starting to pool downward. It’s a steady climb up, the thrum of the drums edging into the strum of a guitar and bass. It’s been the same walk on song Bakugou’s had since Kirishima’s started to come to his fights.
The lights of the arena strobe along to the music. There’s little finesse other than that as Bakugou walks out, his image blown up high on the larger than life monitors overhead. His head is bowed, eyes just seen above the hem of his robe’s hood— the orange X across the top. He moves forward with purpose and grace, his stride never breaking as he stares ahead at the ring and his opponent within There’s fire in his eyes, the lights casting shadow across his face, but his eyes are bright and menacing. The Championship belt sits around his waist, glinting every single time the lights pass over the surface.
Kirishima bites at his lip, crossing and uncrossing his legs in an attempt to get comfortable, to control himself.
Bakugou was out for blood.
The next few minutes seem to move by in slow motion around Kirishima, with all the noise of the crowd and the referee coming over the speakers being drowned out by white noise in his head. He watches as Bakugou takes his position in the ring, throwing his robe off, and there’s words being exchanged, he knows, but Kirishima can’t hear them. Shindo taunts, Bakugou bites back, the referee has to shove them apart before the official round starts. But all the while Kirishima only stares at Bakugou; at the roll of his shoulders and the toned chiseled muscles of his chest, cutting down to his abs and trim waist.
He looks powerful standing up there in the octagon. Caged in like an animal, metal wrapped around to protect the audience from Bakugou’s capability. He’s confident and grinning, the edges of his smile sharp, and all Kirishima can think is how badly he wants him to finally, finally, throw the first punch.
It comes quickly. The world all comes crashing down around him once more as soon as the bell rings, indicating the start of the fight. Bakugou comes out like the beast he is and lands the first hit square across Shindo’s jaw in a flash, taking the other man by surprise with his speed.
It doesn’t immediately draw blood, something that disappoints Kirishima to no end, but the rush of both opponents is more than enough to make up for it.
The first two rounds go by quickly, five minutes each passing in a flurry of limbs being thrown at the other. First blood does go to Bakugou, but Shindo is quick to repay the injury quickly with a sharp kick to the side that has Bakugou stumbling back.
By the time round three does come around, Kirishima is well aware of what time it is, but still doesn’t want to move from his seat. He hates leaving Bakugou while he’s fighting. Watching from a tv screen is not the same as seeing it all live just a few feet in front of you. He can see the roll of sweat down Bakugou’s brow and the red tinted saliva as he spits it out in between rounds.
He’ll have to ice a few places when he gets to the club, but it does look like Bakugou’s got the upper hand so far.
He only watches the next throw— another kick from Shindo, but Bakugou easily blocks this one. The power behind them is nothing compared to what Midoriya is able to throw his way. Then, Kirishima gets up. He does need to leave. He hates being late for shifts almost as much as he hates missing Bakugou’s fights.
“Text me if something insane happens.” He makes sure to tell Midoriya before, finally, he’s running out of the arena to call a cab with the crowd screaming at his back as the announcer calls out Bakugou’s quick hit to Shindo’s ribs.
---
Kirishima asks in his nicest voice for the cab driver to move as quickly as he can. The fight will only last another fifteen minutes, if that, and he wants to at least be able to see who the judges determine is the winner.
The club he works at isn’t too far from the arena and thankfully, the cab driver seems to be an expert at winding through the traffic he encounters. As soon as they pull up, he tips the guy extra before flying out of the car and towards the club.
Fat’s is a unisex strip club right off the main road not far from the biggest hotels and attraction in town and, because of this, the club is busy. Not only with tourists coming through for events or shows, but a steady crowd of loyal customers from locals to world travelers that manage to stop in whenever they’re in town. The atmosphere of the club has always been warm and welcoming— a large spacious floor with dual bars on either side and a large stage in between that extends towards the center of the floor where the main solo performances take place. The lounge chairs are comfortable, they have five VIP rooms at the back, and all the staff is friendly.
Hell, even the food is top notch, something that Toyomitsu, the owner, takes very seriously.
Kirishima started in the club while he was still in college, just as a bartender trying to make some extra money, but he fell in love with the place so much, the owner, the other workers, that soon enough he was full time as soon as he was done with school and working with another stripper, Tamaki, trying to get his dance skills up.
Now, years later, here he was as one of the top headliners running through the backdoor on a Saturday night, panting from the nerves in his chest more than the short sprint he took to get there.
“Did he win!?”
A few of his coworkers are standing around one of the bars, all staring up at the flat screen mounted on the wall just behind it.
Tetsutetsu, their bouncer, snorts. “Does your boy ever lose?”
Kirishima pushes his way up to the front of the bar, leaning over it to see just as the referee raises Bakugou’s arm, crowning him the victor and still the world champion of the middleweight belt. The crowd exploded with cheers, there’s flashbulbs from cameras going off in quick succession making the arena twinkle with the lights.
Shindo looks defeated, bloody, bruised, and swollen, but he’s still standing which means Bakugou had to go easy on him. Or, he just wanted him to fully know his defeat while still trying to stand tall.
For what it’s worth, Bakugou is also a little bruised up. His jaw looks puffy and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s letting a steady stream of blood pour down his face, but other than that he looks altogether happy— his sharp smile, bright eyes, the look of a predator who got his prey.
Kirishima smiles himself, leaning back to sigh in relief even if he always knew Bakugou wouldn’t go down that easily.
The club’s lights are all on. It’s still early, they don’t actually open until ten, so there’s still time to get changed and warm up. Jirou behind the bar mutes the tv and goes back to making sure all the glasses are clean and the liquor bottles are full. Kaminari sits at the bar, already changed, turning between Jirou and Tetsutetsu to flirt. Kirishima has to be the one to pull him back by the little black choker he wears— a signature item of his— and force him to stumble his way to the locker rooms so the other two can focus on opening for the night.
There’s already a few people milling around in the back, changing, doing their makeup, stretching. Momo and Mina are both at their stations chatting while they finish up their makeup— Momo’s dressed like a schoolgirl complete with thigh-high socks and a little white shirt tied in a knot at the bottom, buttons straining and ready to be plucked open as the night goes on. Mina is much less subtle. Her outfits consist of bright neons and patterns. Fluffy pink hair clashes with the lime green fishnets and tiny latex shorts, glitter dousing her entire body to make everything about her sparkles under the stage lights.
They all mingle and chatter while changing and doing makeup. Kirishima helps Tamaki pick out his outfit for his walk arounds. Mina borrows some of his glitter as she runs out and still needs to dab some around her chest.
The atmosphere in the locker is all comfortable, familiar. Kirishima’s been there since college, had the same table for years now, and grew up with many of the same performers that bustle around him now. He wouldn’t change that for the world.
His first outfit is easy. The classic firefighter or cop uniforms are always the quickest and most comfortable to wear. They’ve got a few birthday parties for the opening of the night, so he figured starting off with a crowd pleaser to start wouldn’t be the worst of it.
It’s roughly two hours into his shift and two costume changes later when he finally sees Bakugou stroll in. His face is tapped up and his lip looks more swollen than it had during his fight, but with a quick glance between them Kirishima knows he’s okay.
Bakugou moves to the bar to nod at Jirou for a drink, his usual whiskey on the rocks, and then goes to the back of the club as he usually does. He sits deep within the plush lounge chair, legs spread wide as his eyes continually track Kirishima throughout the night.
On the stage, off the stage, moving through the floor’s crowd when he’s made his final costume change now drifting from group to group asking if someone wants a lap dance or private show. It’s a good night. The crowd is lively, drinks flow freely. Kirishima chats people up and laughs easily at bad jokes and brushes fingers over forearms when needed, all the while he can feel the burning gaze of his boyfriend at his back, never too far away, just in case.
The night winds down. His performances are done, he’s managed another two private shows and Kirishima can feel the ache starting to settle in on his feet. Tomorrow will definitely be a sneaker kind of night for work, he doesn’t care how often he wears heels or who is trying to lie to him, it’s hard to carry on night after night in stilettos.
Kirishima’s mind starts to drift elsewhere as he walks the floor, gazing past the last few mingling crowd members, trying to see if anyone else is looking for a lap dance or two before the night is over. At every circle around he catches Bakugou’s eye, making sure to hold his gaze for a few seconds, wink, bend down to ask another patron if he wants a drink or dance just to show Bakugou the curve of his ass.
It’s all just foreplay for them. Bakugou watches as Kirishima flirts with other men, women, but keeps turning his eyes up towards him. A game to see if Bakugou will last until his shift is over— until Jirou yells for last call, until the lights come up, until they’re able to make it back to their apartment. Or, if he’ll snap. If Kirishima’s hands will curl around a stranger’s bicep one too many times or he’ll bend so everyone else will see just how far up the little shorts he’s wearing go. If Bakugou will drag him into a private room and bend him over, paying for the half hour of a private dance just to have his boyfriend suck him off when he’d do it for free regardless.
Tonight doesn’t play out easily for either situation.
“Hey, Doll.”
Kirishima bristles almost immediately. He hates that nickname. Typically, the call is more so directed at Momo— a pretty innocent looking girl played up to blush easily and flirt with quiet voices and soft touches. It’s not often Kirishima gets ‘Doll’ but it certainly won’t be the last. Still, he turns on his heels expertly, hiding his annoyance like the professional he is to answer the call.
The guy’s been here for a while. Him and three friends, all having drunk enough look disheveled. Kirishima recognizes the caller as someone who has been generous enough while he was on stage, so at least he knows he’s paying for the show.
“Yeah, hun?” Kirishima moves forward, leaning down like has always done, hair falling over one shoulder and partially into his eyes. He stares at the man, lips parted slightly, eyes lidded, trying to look alluring enough to maybe get in another dance or two before the night is done. “Want me to keep you company?”
One of his friend’s whistles as the guy leans up in his seat, rising to enter Kirishima’s space. Kirishima’s able to smell the whiskey on his breath with this distance. “When’re you off, hu? We’ve been watching you all night and we’re curious if we can get some more one-on-one time.”
The alarm bells ring in Kirishima’s head at the remark. He lets his head roll, falling to lean on one of his shoulders, the motion letting him subtly look to see where Tetsutetsu was and give Bakugou a quick glance. “Night’s almost done, but I think I can manage one more private show if you boys want?”
The friends look almost hopeful, but the man in front of Kirishima isn’t looking for just a smaller room with soundproof walls. The stupid self-assured smirk he wears is more than enough to tell Kirishima his real intention before his response even leaves his mouth.
“Sorry, Doll. Think we’re looking for something a little more off the books.”
Kirishima smiles, keeps on smiling as he once more stands tall, towering over the group of men sitting below him. “Sorry boys, I’m not that sort of entertainer.”
It would have been easy to leave it at that. All of the workers here get propositions like that, and sometimes people exchange numbers or rendezvous after hours, but that’s an out of sight out of mind sort of policy, and Kirishima is definitely not the type. Most of the time, there’s no issue. He says no as sternly and politely as possible when dealing with drunk horny assholes who think they can buy up whoever they might like and goes on his way. But, sometimes, like right now, things don’t go so smoothly.
“Come on,” the guy says, snatching Kirishima’s wrist in his hand before he could fully get away. “I’m sure there’s an exception for you.”
The grip is tight, circling his entire wrist, and when Kirishima tugs to test the hold he’s positive the guy isn’t going to let go very easily.
“I’m flattered, but—”
Kirishima’s yanked back suddenly, the angle and force of it making him stumble, making his tired feet forget where they need to be placed for a moment, and Kirishima finds himself tumbling. The plush lounge chair the guy sits in helps him not to fall flat on his face, but the support means he’s now on his knees right in between the guy’s legs. He still hasn’t let go of Kirishima’s wrist.
“Hey—”
His friends all whistle, howl, make some remark on how good he looks on his knees barely heard above the bass of the music still playing throughout the club.
“You should really let go—”
“Why?” the man sneers, pulling him forward with a hold that makes Kirishima wince. “I think you look like the type that enjoys a little force.”
“No, my boyfriend—”
But it’s too late. He sees the figure stalk up behind the guy having crossed nearly the whole floor within the blink of an eye.
In the ring, there are rules Bakugou needs to follow. There are regulations set into place that prevent fighters from playing dirty, cheating, mutilating an opponent to the point of ‘too much’, but here in Fat’s club, well…
There’s no ref forcing Bakugou to go back to his corner. No judges deducting points. Just a very dangerous man seeing his boyfriend being handled inappropriately.
“You should’a really listened to him,” Bakugou says, voice deep, ending in a near growl at the bottom of his chest. He’s got a grip on the patron’s wrist, much like he has on Kirishima’s, except Bakugou’s not trying to be nice.
Before the guy can even open his mouth to object— not that anything he would have said could help him anymore— Bakugou squeezes his wrist in an iron hold, grinding his bones together until the man winces with a small cry. He’s forced to release his grip on Kirishima who moves away as soon as he’s able to get his hand free, turning to stand behind Bakugou just in case.
The guy is taller than Bakugou by half a head maybe, and he’s technically outnumbered if any of his friends decided to step in which, for their sake Kirishima prays they don’t, because even outsized and outnumbered, Bakugou will surely make quick work of them.
“Just a warning, hu?” Kirishima pipes up, trying to smooth it over a little bit as he leans into Bakugou’s side. It’s been a good night, it’d be ruined if an ambulance had to be called. “They didn’t know any better.”
Bakugou snorts. “You’re a better person than me, Ei.”
“Just a warning,” Kirishima repeats himself, but this time moves in closer, puts his mouth right up against Bakugou’s ear to brush the delicate skin with his soft lips. “And I’ll show you how happy I am that you restrained yourself.”
He rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Fine.”
The drunk patron and his friends look bewildered. They stand around still, eyes wide and dazed, all looking as if they’re too scared to move or even breathe as they wonder what will happen next.
Bakugou corrects his grip, takes the guy’s hand in his own and lines their fingers up.
“How many times you tell him no?”
“Three distinctively.”
“You really are being nice tonight.” Bakugou looks back at Kirishima who shrugs in return, batting his lashes that are sprinkled with glitter and make up smudged by night’s end. “Well,” he turns back. “Guess you’re lucky tonight.”
“How the f*ck—”
Whatever the guy was about to say ends in a scream that fills the entire club, heard well above the bass of the music, every dancer and patron and worker left in the club this late turning their heads toward the scene. The guy falls to his knees shaking, holding his own wrist, trying to pull away from Bakugou who refuses to let him go.
His ring finger is bent backward at a sharp, unnatural angle, broken.
“W-w-wha--”
Another follows. Bakugou bends the digit back until it snaps and the guy screams again, shaking, tears swelling in his eyes as his friends just stand there staring, watching, unable to move.
“One more,” Bakugou chimes, almost sounding happy about it. “Deep breath.”
He gives a single second of pause before he moves to his pinky and bends it back until it, too, snaps, sending the guy yelling, voice ringing out in the club as Bakugou finally lets him go and the man collapses in on himself, sobbing, cradling his now mangled hand.
Kirishima thinks Bakugou was being nice too, the fighter having left his point and thumb untouched. It’s going to absolutely suck for a while, but he has the most important left.
As soon as Bakugou steps away, arm around Kirishima’s waist, pulling him close, the man’s friends are on him in a circle, holding him, trying to pick him up even as he shakes and cries on the floor.
Tetsutetsu shows up a second later to clean up the mess. It’s not the first time something like this has happened and it certainly won’t be the last. By now, there’s not much use in reprimanding Bakugou as he’ll continue to do as he pleases when it involves Kirishima, and the rules of the club do clearly state no touching if a dancer or wait staff say no. It’s just easier when things are taken care of a little more by-the-book than...this. It’s another headache Tetsutetsu didn’t want to be dealing with tonight.
Kirishima mouths out a ‘sorry’ to him over Bakugou’s shoulder as his boyfriend guides him back towards a private room and is quick to shove Kirishima in and lock the door tight.
---
“You’re hard.”
“You could have been nicer.”
“I was nice. I didn’t even make him bleed.”
“You broke three of his fingers.”
“And you're hard because of it.”
Kirishima pouts, because he can’t say he’s not. Partly because it’s true and partly because he’s currently sitting in Bakugou’s lap, rolling his hips at a lazy pace, back and forth slowly so Bakugou can really see him, feel him, as he pushes up against him, the growing swell in his shorts more obvious as time goes by.
“You’re getting hard too.”
He is. Bakugou doesn’t deny this at all, sitting back on the plush private couch, legs spread wide as his boyfriend humps against him in his lap.
They’ve both worked each other up. It’s a toxic pull of back and forth throughout the entire night. Bakugou arrives at the club after a successful fight to drink a little and watch his boyfriend dance. He gets possessive seeing Kirishima being touched by other people. Kirishima enjoys the idea of being claimed and the jealous power he holds over Bakugou. The spike of power when it comes to dominating another guy, the sound of bones snapping and knowing the one doing it is the same person that kisses him softly every night. The now close proximity, the near skin on skin, the idea of being alone but still being at a club.
All of it rolls together, pooling into one mess of nerves and emotions, drawing them both tight and now they sit waiting for one of them to finally break the strings, giving the other permission to crumble.
Eventually, Bakugou breaks first. He typically does, never been the type to wait for what he wants when what he wants is so willingly right there in front of him.
He pushes Kirishima off his lap, guiding him down onto his knees in between his legs. Technically, they shouldn’t be doing this here, but the scolding Kirishima receives is worth it for the thrill of pushing the boundaries of his job.
“You’ll be good for me?”
Bakugou cards a hand through Kirishima’s hair, pulling at the strands until he bends back, arching into the painful grip, knowing full well how dangerous those hands are.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good.”
Bakugou shoves Kirishima forward to grind his mouth and nose up against his still covered co*ck now straining in his pants. They both groan, Bakugou at the pressure and Kirishima at the handling.
“Get to work.”
All too happily, Kirishima unbuttons Bakugou’s pants, and obeys.
---
“We can have a real date night on Wednesday. I’ll take you out.”
It’s late, technically early. They finished as the club closed to the public. Bakugou and Kirishima emerging from the private room with Kirishima’s makeup smeared and both trying to rearrange their clothes, pretend they don’t smell like sex. Everyone knows, however, as it’s not the first time and won’t be the last. Kaminari gives Kirishima a thumbs up as they leave. He’s not much better, sporting a few new hickies and bruises of his own,but Kirishima knows he still tries to keep it to just that with clients while behind closed doors. Not many openly f*ck their boyfriend’s as much as Kirishima does. He’s just grateful that the rooms are soundproof.
Now, they’re laying in bed together. The sun is coming up in about an hour, so the sky is a pale blue fading into the darkness that had swallowed the night previously. They got back to their apartment and continued right where they left off in the private room at the club, but this time they didn’t need to worry about anyone else looking at them knowing when they walked out.
It’s just past five. They’re both sleepy and f*cked out, naked wrapped up in sheets they’ll have to change when they wake up in a few hours.
“Can’t,” Kirishima yawns, pressing his face a little further into Bakugou’s throat. “I’m scheduled for Wednesday night.”
Bakugou grunts, but doesn’t stop stroking Kirishima’s back. “I thought you had off?”
“Did,” Kirishima’s voice is soft with sleep. “But Todoroki sent me a text, told me he was in town Wednesday night. Wanted to see me.”
Bakugou’s hand falters, but only for a second.
He knows who Todoroki is, obviously. Todoroki Shouto, a rich boy businessman who goes around the world closing deals where his daddy can’t find the time. He’ll inherit an empire when his old man dies, but for now he’s mostly just a figurehead. A pretty face for the brand name. People find Shouto’s soft edges much more appealing than his father’s and that fact is used to the Todoroki company’s advantage. Shouto has never appeared to mind being used in public, but private is a different story.
Not that Bakugou should technically know anything about him, but sometimes you pick up on a few things when the rich asshole is completely in love with your boyfriend.
The story goes that Todoroki got dragged to the club when a business dinner turned into a business evening and his clients wanted to see a little more of the nightlife of the city. Fat’s being the best club in town was the suggestion, so they ended up there for a few bottles and lap dances. That’s when they met.
Kirishima will tell the story while laughing. He’ll say that when his eyes connected with Todoroki he was upside down, legs around a poll, and he instantly knew that the man was smitten. This fact only became more evident when he was right-side up. After a lap dance that turned into two that turned into a private show, well, Kirishima found himself something of a loyal customer, even if that customer only showed up on his doorstep once a month, twice if he was lucky.
Suddenly, Todoroki was making a habit of it. More business deals ended in the club or Todoroki would literally fly in just for the night when he had time-- all to come to Fat’s club and all to watch Kirishima dance for him.
Bakugou had mixed feelings.
Kirishima of course was open about this, much like they were open about everything in their relationship, and typically Bakugou didn’t care-- afterall, if things got a little more out of hand Bakugou would be able to handle it like he handled what happened tonight-- but the issue mostly was that things never got that far.
Todoroki was respectful. He has never once tried to touch Kirishima inappropriately, barely at all, even when he was in a private show with him. Bakugou’s watched the man before while sitting at the bar, slowly sipping at a whiskey as Kirishima grinds on top of him, bending his body and rolling his hips to the thrum of the music playing over the speakers. Not once has he ever seen the man’s hands leave Kirishima’s hips where they were placed. Never forcing him to stay, never gripping too tightly, never once pulling him back.
And Kirishima tells him about the private dances. How Todoroki sits back in the plush chairs, drink in hand, barely halfway empty, just transfixed by the way Kirishima moves in front of him; mismatched eyes not leaving his form for a second.
Sometimes, Kirishima also says, after the dancing they talk. When Todoroki pays for another hour, two, he doesn’t need Kirishima in front of him anymore and instead insists he sits on the couch next to him and just...talk.
At first, Kirishima figured it was something like therapy, he’s dealt with those types before, but now he knows it’s much more than that.
Todoroki is completely and utterly in love with him.
“You took Thursday off then?”
And Bakugou doesn’t have a single problem with it.
He should. He knows he should. There’s so much more there then the lust a majority of patrons come in with, but there’s something about the guy that Bakugou doesn’t mind. He lets it go and he still doesn’t fully understand why.
“Of course,” Kirishima looks up from where he’s pressed against Bakugou’s chest, smiles at him as he moves up just a little to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m all yours for Thursday. Whatever you want from me.”
Bakugou hums against Kirishima’s lips, loving how soft they feel, how warm.
“Perfect.”
He doesn’t mind the stupid rich boy being in love with his boyfriend. Plenty of people are in love with his boyfriend, he knows this for a fact, Kirishima is f*cking perfect and a walking wet dream. Besides, there’s no true threat there. Kirishima’s his and always will be in the end.
---
Kirishima gets there early. The club’s house lights are still on, most of the other dancer’s aren’t even there yet, but he’s already dolled up. It’s a special request, technically.
“Is he here?” Kirishima asks as soon as he comes out from the locker room, fixing his hair.
Jirou’s at the bar refilling the cooler of beer. “He’s been sitting in his car for about five minutes waiting.”
“Damnit,” Kirishima sighed, moving towards the front door to unlock it. “I told him eight!”
Todoroki’s a special case. He has enough money to bend the rules and is nice enough that no one really minds when he does. It’s not all the time they shift schedules around or make exceptions, but when they do Todoroki is happy to compensate everyone for the inconvenience and no one complains in the end.
“You’re early,” Kirishima pouts as soon as he greets Todoroki at the door. He’s not followed in by a bodyguard, but Kirishima knows well enough there’s at least two sitting in the SUV outside.
The man is in a suit, tailored perfectly to his frame, and looking more expensive than Kirishima can even begin to imagine. His duel hair is flat and expression nearly blank and uncaring if you weren’t looking close enough, but Kirishima knew better. Todoroki’s lips were up turned ever so slightly and his eyes were soft as they stared at him, following him through the door and down the hall into the club. He’s overjoyed to be here, right now, following Kirishima back to the private room he reserved for nearly the entire night.
“My flight landed a few minutes earlier than planned.”
Kirishima clicks his tongue, looking back over his shoulder to throw Todoroki a flirtatious glare. “You’re making me look bad, having my VIP client waiting out in the parking lot for me.”
There’s no malice on Todoroki’s face and his expression doesn’t change at all. He simply looks at him, genuine, partial smile and eyes soft and says:
“I missed you.”
Kirishima would never even think of cheating on Bakugou, but even so he can feel his heart skip a beat at those words.
It’s an unspoken admittance to the power that Kirishima holds over Todoroki Shouto, one of the richest, most powerful people in the entire world. And by the way he follows along after a simple stripper is like a puppy following after it’s owner. Lost and hopefully all at once.
Still, Kirishima feels no need to take advantage. He’ll hold this delicately and protect it for as long as he can.
He lets Todoroki into his usual room-- a standard set up like all the others, plush couches and single chairs, a low table in front of them, a pole just beyond that. A cart sits in the corner with a bottle of sake that Todoroki prefers chilling on ice, a single glass sits beside it. There’s curtains that drape around the room, pulled across the door they came, low lighting that casts the room into a world all its own. Kirishima has control of the music and the lights, Todoroki’s playlist is already queued up waiting. The reason he likes this room above all others is the distance. The very last room, furthest away from the rest, sitting like it’s on the edge of the world.
Kirishima pours him a drink first, letting Todoroki settle into his usual spot as he fills his glass, making sure it’s ice cold before serving it to him.
“How have you been?” Kirishima asks, easing into conversation as Todoroki takes the glass from him. Kirishima sits beside him, hands moving over the breast of his suit, fingers expertly making their way down to pluck at the buttons on the jacket. “You sent me a text pretty late. I doubt this was a fully planned visit?”
By now, conversation between them is easy. Sometimes, it still feels very surface level, but it flows smoothly and fills in the gaps of silence when Todoroki doesn’t want to watch him dance and would prefer having his body heat close at his side. The routine by now is a drink, maybe two, with conversation in between before a few songs are played and the lights are dimmed.
“It’s been a rough week,” Todoroki squeezes out once he’s had a mouthful of sake burning down his throat. “I wanted to see you.”
“I’m flattered,” Kirishima smiles, pushes his hand into his jacket, pushing until the fabric bends, easing off of Todoroki’s shoulders. “I’m simply waiting for the day that you find a better outlet then me.”
“And what would be a better outlet then you?”
He speaks this with surprise in his voice, the question mark at the end so loud it bounces around in Kirishima’s head. It sounds so innocent, this man who has the world wrapped around his finger, looking at Kirishima like he’s the one who put the stars in the sky. Asking so seriously what else there might be in the world-- that he could never think of anything more than this, traveling to see a stripper in a club for a few hours every month to decompress. Spending his money, his fortune, on someone whose job it is to look pretty and play the part of caring.
Though, he does care about Todoroki in some regard, that Kirishima does not lie about. They’ve grown close after all these months.
“You’re sweet,” Kirishima says, letting his hand brush up against Todoroki’s cheek to which the other man doesn’t even lean into the touch, though Kirishima knows for a fact that he wants to, but rules are rules and he’s ever so good about following them. “Now, get comfortable. I’ll make sure whatever happened during your rough week is forgotten quickly.”
He sits up and grabs for the remote to start the first song. It starts off slow, the base deep. Todoroki slips out of his jacket fully, throwing the expensive material over the couch as he settles in, drink in hand, to watch the show unfold around him. The lighting shifts from a soft orange to a deep red, pulsing, as Kirishima moves to take the small stage.
By now he knows Todoroki’s taste, he knows what he wants, what he needs, and Kirishima happily gives it to him. He spins around the pole a few times one-handed, getting into the rhythm of the music, letting it flow through him, making sure his audience is watching.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t change some of his repertoire to give Todoroki more of what he liked so when they’re not in the private room and Kirishima’s in the center of the large stage with everyone in the club watching, he knows Todoroki is satisfied.
Everything starts off slow. Sensual. Kirishima leans back against the pole, hands above his head, and bends to show off his torso, rolling his entire body so Todoroki can fully see the curve of his chest, stomach, thighs. The red lighting looks good on him, makes the shadows of his body appear darker, his hair blending more so it moves like an illusion when he flips it up, lets it fall in front of his eyes.
He can feel Todoroki staring at him, gaze heated, near unblinking so he doesn’t miss a second. It’s an intoxicating sensation, one that Kirishima found was one of the main reasons he loves performing as much as he did. Up on stage, he’s the center of attention. He has complete control of his audience, forcing them to watch his every move as he dances and twirls them around his fingers. He gives them everything they could possibly want and nothing they can actually have in the span of a single song; an unreachable god that still graces them by night, allowing them to fuel their wants and desires.
Todoroki is no different in that sense, but he has only ever watched and wanted with his eyes, never reached across to test if he could take more.
He’s grateful for what he’s given and has yet to ask for a full meal, appearing satisfied with just the crumbles to continue coming back for another taste.
He bends down slowly, slides with a grace, both hands still gripping the pole, and rolls his head on his shoulders, hair falling like a waterfall around him, settling to stare at Todoroki with his mouth open, lips wet, panting softly.
The man before him stares, never once looking away with hunger in his eyes. He swallows thick, mouth dry, wanting for something he’ll never be able to have, but keeps coming back all the same.
---
“I have a present for you.”
The show’s mostly over by now. A pattern of songs, dances, broken up by refills of drinks and long quiet conversations before Kirishima got up to do a dance again. It’s a pattern that typically ends like this, with Kirishima sticky with dried sweat sitting on the couch next to Todoroki, snuggled up next to him even though Todoroki’s hand has never once ventured further down then his shoulder. Well, maybe a bicep when he was feeling particularly dangerous that night.
“Todoroki--”
“Shouto.”
Kirishima sighs, letting his head fall a little further so he’s pressed closer to his throat. “Shouto. You know I tell you not to bring me presents.”
Because it’s a thing. Kirishima happily plays the game, puts on the show, gives Todoroki all the attention he could possibly want, because that’s his job-- Kirishima has a rate and Todoroki pays it. That’s the business they deal in and yet Todoroki is always the one to push it a little further.
Todoroki calls them presents. Kirishima refers to them as tips to feeling like he’s not taking advantage.
“I saw it and thought of you. I couldn’t help myself.”
He always says things like that. Always comes back from his world travels with boxes of jewelry, clothing, fine wines that Kirishima’s tongue can’t even appreciate because it costs so much money and he’s anything but when in reference to Todoroki Shouto.
Still, he only complains a little bit. He huffs, but never puts up a true fight in fear of actually one day offending the man. The gifts are nice, afterall. Luxury items that always take Kirishima’s breath away as he’s unable to even imagine throwing down that kind of money on anything, let alone a stripper you don’t even have permission to touch.
Kirishima holds his tongue as the door to the private room opens and one of Todoroki’s bodyguard’s hands over a thin cardboard box. Clearly this was already planned and discussed between all of them before coming inside the club. Kirishima can imagine the conversation of timing while the quick exchange happens before they’re once more left to themselves. It’s charming and elementary all at the same time. Kirishima wonders what Todoroki did when he had a crush back in grade school.
“Here.”
Kirishima sits up as the box is pushed into his arms, almost wanting to protest again, but thinking better of it as Todoroki looks at him like a puppy asking for approval-- his mismatched eyes wide as they stare up from beneath his wave of bangs. He’s just too hopeful.
“Fine, fine!” Kirishima tries to shake off the feeling of guilt as he opens the box as carefully as possible. He knows from experience it’s some sort of clothing, the shape of the box familiar though he doesn’t know or understand the swirling curls of writing that are printed on the front. Is it French or Italian? He does know Todoroki was in Europe two weeks ago, but can’t remember where…
The tissue paper inside feels expensive. It’s all perfectly folded in a way that Kirishima knows he’ll never be able to achieve when repacking whatever it might be inside. Still, he’s delicate in his unwrapping, unfolding. Pulling piece after piece away until finally he’s gasping softly at the contents, nearly dropping the box in his shock.
“I got it all custom made for you. So it’ll fit perfectly.”
The contents are obvious, if not a little confusing. The implication of what it all means is far beyond the actual application, however.
Because Todoroki is giving him lingerie. And not just any lingerie-- expensive lingerie made even more expensive because he had to have it all custom made and designed for him specifically. He’s never given him something this...provocative before. So obviously so.
He’s used to diamond necklaces or earrings with rubies in them, expensive wines, champagnes, liqueurs. The clothing he normally brings him are beautiful shirts that feel like water against his skin, designer shoes, sunglasses, anything and everything that are all easy to say are just presents for him because he made a comment about something last week or a month ago or Todoroki noticed his work shoes for a specific outfit were wearing out or any number of other things.
But nothing like this. Nothing that is specifically meant to be worn for the viewing pleasure of someone else entirely.
“S-shouto. I-I can’t…” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, honestly so. His words fall away as he looks into the box at the set, fingers brushing over the small edges of deep wine red elastic.
It’s barely clothing. Barely anything.
His fingers lift the panties from the three piece set-- holding them gently by the band at the hips, unable to mentally grasp it. The lingerie is just straps, mostly. Thin, red, elastic thread meant to wrap around the contours of his body, his hips, ribs, stomach. They criss-cross in the look of shibari in places, but this is so much more delicate. Precise. The panties have the sheerest looking mesh lace in the front and back, not hiding anything from view, but still meant to contain.
“It’s just a gift,” Todoroki speaks up in Kirishima’s silence, his hand moving to wrap around Kirishima’s wrist. There’s no pressure holding him, just a touch to reassure. “I’m not asking that you wear it for me.”
A liar. An absolute liar. Kirishima can tell by the look in his eyes, his hunger that he’s seen on so many others faces while looking at him. Even if Todoroki wouldn’t push physically, this is certainly a push regardless. He wants Kirishima to take it, to come back to him and whisper into his ear about how he wore it, how it felt, how the strings dug into his skin just enough to make indents when he moves, making sure he never forgets what was wrapped around him.
Even if he didn’t see it, Kirishima knew that Todoroki wanted confirmation that he enjoyed it.
It was a gift with greedy intentions. Maybe Todoroki was getting too bold afterall.
“Well, I have to say thank you somehow.”
And maybe Kirishima liked it, just a little bit.
He places the panties back in the box in exchange for the bra which is humorous in some sense. All Kirishima is wearing for his private show tonight is tight, black latex shorts that hug his ass and upper thighs, showing off the curve and bulge of each. There’s no top involved, and yet the idea of slipping on a bra-- as little clothing as that is-- feels so much more dangerous and intimate.
Kirishima slides each arm through the straps, pulling the underwire down so it hugs his pecs, fitting perfectly and lifting just so. His flesh perks up with the sudden support, Kirishima gasping softly as he looks down to see how his chest swells as to fit into the bra better, pushing up against the straps that spread up his pecs, fanning out. He doesn’t recall ever giving Todoroki his actual measurements before, but he’s right in that this is custom made, fitting him perfectly.
He looks over his shoulder, brushing his hair from behind his neck. “Could you help me clip it?”
Todoroki nods with little hesitation, moving too fast to close the small gap between them on the couch. His fingers feel cold against Kirishima’s skin, trembling softly as they fiddle with the clasp for a moment before managing to cinch it shut.
Again, Kirishima inhales sharply at the sudden feeling of the bra falling perfectly into place. It digs slightly into his sides, his chest, there’s a pressure he’s not familiar with, but finds that the light ache is making his nerves tingle. The straps of the bra hug him perfectly, making the swell of his chest look all the more like proper tit* as they show off the heavy curve of each.
There’s a small golden chain dropped with a red crystal that sits dangling against his sternum. The light touch of cold metal makes Kirishima shiver. His skin is so warm, heart beating all too fast in his chest as he finally turns to face Todoroki, showing off his present.
“Well,” Kirishima says, so much more aware of how his chest rises and falls with every breath. “Do you like it?”
For a long while Todoroki is silent. He stares at Kirishima, eyes moving from his face down to his throat and over the expanse of his chest. They’re hungry. Wanting.
He watches, mouth parted, as Kirishima sits there staring at him, breathe growing a little more rapid, with the arch of his back making him look as though he’s presenting to him. His gift, all bound up and wrapped just for him.
“Yes,” Todoroki finally says, hand reaching up to trace one of the straps that sits over Kirishima’s chest. He follows it up from his ribs to where it connects at his shoulder, brushing past Kirishima’s nipple in the process which stands erect. His body shivers under the light touch of those cold fingers. “I very much do.”
Kirishima bites down on his lip.
This is the most Todoroki has ever touched him.
Kirishima tries his hardest to not think about it and squirm.
---
“I have a present for you.”
When Kirishima comes home, it’s not very late. Todoroki literally made the trip just to see Kirishima which he doesn’t want to actually dwell on that knowledge very long, but it does mean that Todoroki’s schedule was tight and one of his bodyguard’s came knocking well before he’s sure Todoroki had his fill, especially after Kirishima’s little display of thanks.
He left right after ten and, with Kirishima’s only appointment being Todoroki, he was allowed to leave just as soon after. Though, it did take him a few minutes longer to gather himself up from the locker room in order to leave.
The clock is still closer to ten then eleven when Kirishima walks through the door, drops his bag on the kitchen counter, and finds Bakugou sitting on the couch just lazing about watching tv. He trained most of the day Kirishima knew by the sight of his knuckles looking red. Not bruised or broken like after a fight, but well worn and roughed up. Two of them are wrapped. He looks tired, maybe even partially asleep.
Kirishima is about to change that.
“Oh yeah?” Bakugou asks, eyes moving slowly from the tv screen to where Kirishima still stands in the entryway. “What kind of present?”
“A Todoroki present.”
Bakugou brow arches up, his attention moving fully to his boyfriend. He was used to Todoroki’s presents by now. Half of the time, Bakugou also enjoyed them. They’d drink all his fancy ass alcohol together, Bakugou got to admire Kirsihima in all his fancy clothing, and when he f*cked him decked out in gold necklaces and diamond jewelry that clinked and jingled softly with every thrust, twinkling in the dim lighting of their bedroom, well...Bakugou certainly doesn’t complain.
Todoroki presents typically mean his night was about to get a whole lot better.
Except, Kirishima doesn't come in with any extra bags. He didn’t carry a shoe box or a bottle or other various shopping bags with fancy store names on them. He was completely empty handed just standing before him wearing nothing special beyond the same clothing Bakugou saw him leave in a few hours before. As he moves, Bakugou doesn’t even catch sight of anything sparkly hanging off him.
“What’s the present?” Bakugou asks, finally, and Kirishima simply smirks, moving in closer until he gets up onto the couch to straddle Bakugou’s waist.
“Something special,” Kirishima smiles. “It’s a little too much, but I don’t want you getting mad, alright?”
Bakugou pauses, looking him up and down, before finally agreeing. “Alright.”
Kirishima looks a little bit giddy as he takes one of Bakugou’s hands and slowly pushes it up under his shirt, letting him move slowly over his skin until a fingertip brushes against the band of elastic stretched over his ribs.
Bakugou’s eyes widened, immediately looking up to see Kirishima biting at his lip.
“Open your present, babe.”
Bakugou tackles him back against the couch, hands ripping at his clothing, tears this t-shirt up over his arms and barely manages to get his jeans off in one piece with how viciously he’s undressing the other.
Kirishima lets him. He groans with the rough handling, having been half hard knowing this is how the night would end as soon as he asked Mina and Tamaki to help him put the full lingerie set on before leaving.
Bakugou only sits back when he’s finished. When Kirishima is completely bare to him, shirt and pants throw away, leaving the man splayed out on the couch in nothing but his new lingerie.
The bra sits under the swell of his chest, perfectly cupping his tit*. The panties, even if they were custom made, still barely contain his slowly filling co*ck that now presses up against the band. The straps criss cross right over his shaft, intersecting with a little bow and small golden chain that dangles in front as if to show off the prize Bakugou has won. And then, more straps, what Kirishima could only assume was meant to be some sort of body suit of the set, all moving up around his waist, hips, and torso. Delicate lines move up his body, laying cover his skin like perfect red lines marking up his toned stomach. They all move to intersect, back and forth, and then meet up at his neck to form a collar that at its center dangles another chain, longer, dotted once more with those ruby red gems that sit on his bra, falling against his chest in a thin waterfall.
Under Bakugou’s gaze, Kirishima wriggles slightly. He rubs his thighs together, shifting his hips. His arms are up above his head giving Bakugou a perfect, full view of his body. Bakugou has said nothing still, just staring, taking him in.
“Do you like it?” Kirishima asks in a mirror of exactly what he asked of Todoroki just an hour or so before.
Except, where Todoroki looked hungry, starved for a crumb, Bakugou looks knowing he’s about to feast.
“sh*tty Candy Cane bought this for you?” Bakugou sneers, his fingers looping under the straps at Kirishima’s hips, pulling before letting them go to snap against Kirishima’s skin, making him jump.
Kirishima nods.
“Knowing he’d never get to see it?”
Kirishima worries his lip between his teeth, turning away with a blush at his cheeks. “I wore the bra for him.”
Bakugou pulls at the straps, snapping them again.
“Just the bra?”
Again, Kirishima nods.
“And he didn’t touch you?”
Kirishima takes Bakugou’s hand once more, bringing it up to his chest to the very strap that Todoroki grazed, where he just barely touched him. “Here. He touched right here and nothing else.”
Bakugou laughs. The sound is dangerous, feral, completely manic as Kirishima bites back a moan, rolling his hips in want.
“I’ll make sure to remember that.”
Kirishima might have been worried if only Bakugou didn’t choose then to kiss him, completely devour his mouth with teeth and tongue, stealing away any further thought he might have had beyond that of Bakugou and how thoroughly f*cked he was about to be.
---
At some point, Kirishima knows he blacks out.
Where he thought the night would be a few hours of work before coming home to snuggle turned into blinking slowly at the digital clock in their bedroom to realize Bakugou had been f*cking him for a solid four hours already.
The last he remembered was being bent over their bed, hands held behind his back, as Bakugou slammed his hips over and over again into his ass, the cum already stuffed inside of him squelching out around the edges of his co*ck as he drove in with more and more force.
The sheer mesh of his panties had been ripped in favor of not having to take the lingerie off in order to actually f*ck him. Kirishima can feel how the straps of the garment have started to dig into his skin, have started to rub and irritate. The red lines on his body have only been enhanced with how frequently Bakugou has snapped or pulled at the straps, testing their strength to see how much he could get away with until they broke.
Or until Kirishima broke, as it turns out.
When he comes too, he knows it hasn’t been that long. He’s not bent over, but now on the bed, rolled onto his side with Bakugou pressed up against his back.
He isn’t finished with him yet.
A new load of cum has been dumped into his ass, still wet as Bakugou’s fingers thrust inside of him, pushing the cum further, rubbing it against his sensitive walls, making sure nothing drips out.
Kirishima moans, feeling those deadly fingers wiggle, stretch open his hole that’s already plenty used tonight. It feels good, but the pleasure practically hurts now. He’s come so many times he can’t get hard anymore, though his co*ck throbs as it continues to try.
“You back with me, slu*t?” Bakugou growls in his ear. “When’s the last time I f*cked you unconscious?”
Kirishima can’t recall, can’t even begin to string two thoughts together long enough to respond. The only thing on his mind is how used his body feels, how there’s three loads of spunk in his ass and one coating his tongue. Still, he groans to tell Bakugou that he’s listening, that he’s awake again, and receives a light bite to his ear for it.
“Gotta ask your rich ass sugar daddy next time you see him if this sh*t needs to be dry cleaned or hand washed. Think I got so much cum in it parts of it are going to be white forever.”
Bakugou’s fingers curl and Kirishima whines, trying to move his body away from the onslaught of those fingers, but they simply chase after him, pressing in deeper.
“Not yet,” Bakugou says. “I’m not done with you yet. One more. I want to watch you fall apart under my hand one more time.”
Kirishima feels like he might start crying, can’t remember if he actually has yet tonight, but knows if he comes again he’ll sob because of it.
But Bakugou doesn’t care and, really, Kirishima doesn’t care either. They both want it and, if they didn’t, they would say something about it. Kirishima lets Bakugou tear him apart like this. Craves these nights where he uses Kirishima to his breaking point, utterly destroying him only to put him back together whispering horrible and wonderful things to him all at once.
His fingers are relentless, stabbing at his insides, spreading him out wider and pounding away at his prostate.
“Bet that Todoroki asshole would love to see this. See how easily you fall apart when you get a dick shoved up your ass.” Kirishima moans and Bakugou can only laugh. “He’d probably pay you thousands to have the opportunity. Actually be his whor*, get on your knees and suck him off in those private rooms. Show him how much you love the taste of cum.”
The tears come faster then Kirishima actually thought they would, silently falling down his cheeks as he’s finger f*cked past the point of oversensitivity, balls aching and co*ck throbbing even as the heat once again pools in his stomach. His body arches, back bends, the straps of his lingerie digging in, his tit* pressing out making him look like a proper whor*.
“That’s it, baby. Come on my fingers and tell me how much you want them to be Todoroki’s.”
Kirishima gasps, stars bursting behind his eyelids as he’s dragged into another org*sm completely dry, but his body still shakes, pulsing as it rocks through him.
He passes out again. He has to, because when he opens his eyes next he’s looking at the ceiling and the red strappy lingerie is gone, leaving in its wake the imprint of where it was.
Bakugou is missing, but he comes back a few moments later carrying a bottle of water for them both, a pair of boxers riding low on his hips.
Kirishima happily takes the water and welcomes Bakugou back into their bed, moving in close to him for his warmth, even if his body protests the sudden shift.
They settle down together close, barely a word said between them as they empty their waters and sink into bed for the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
Kirishima’s almost asleep when he finally hears Bakugou say something.
“I didn’t go too far, right?”
Kirishima manages a small laugh, kissing Bakugou's collarbone because it’s easier to reach then his lips. “I came so many times I literally black out twice, Kat. I think that was the best sex we’ve ever had.”
Bakugou pinches at his arm lightly. “I meant with the Todoroki stuff, idiot.”
“Oh,” Kirishima looks down, pondering. “I mean...I don’t mind it at all.”
“You don’t?”
He shrugs. “No, I figured you would mind more so. But...you know, I kind of like when you get jealous like that. And it’s not like Todoroki’s the worst possible choice to mention while we’re f*cking.”
“Oh yeah?”
Bakugou teases and Kirishima pinches him back before they finally settle again to let sleep take them.
Except, Bakugou might stay up a little bit later. And the gears in his head might be turning a little bit as well.
Because, honestly, he really didn’t mind it either.
---
It’s been weeks now and the idea of Todoroki still hasn't left Bakugou’s thoughts. Through training, two more fights, and countless nights of having Kirishima under him, moaning out his name, all Bakugou can focus on is Todoroki. A man he’s never once even said a word to, but still can’t get the mental image of him touching Kirishima out of his head.
He’s becoming a little obsessed.
The very thought of him brings out jealousy and anger. It makes his punches land harder, his kicks more accurate, the rage of it all fueling his career and keeping his belt secure around his waist.
All the while he goes home after, that stupid half-and-half bastard dancing in his head, so when he pushing Kirishima up against a wall he goes into wanting to claim. He’s had to be reminded by Kirishima twice now to be careful to not leave marks too deep that makeup won’t cover them up. It makes him want to bite harder, mar his skin in more visible places that he knows everyone in the club will see no matter how dim the lights goes-- a pretty ring of red and purple hickies all around his neck that give him an outline of where to put the pearl necklace when they come stumbling home.
Slowly over time, the jealousy morphs into something...different. It’s more than jealousy. More than the idea of someone else touching what’s is and shaping into the idea of power in letting someone else touch what’s is. How he’d hold control over both and manipulate however he wishes.
Of all the people Kirishima’s danced for, all the people who have gotten a crush, Todoroki has always been the only person to hold himself back. Even with all the money in the world, all the status he holds in name alone, he has never tried to steal Kirishima away. Never even attempted beyond treating him well and giving him presents.
It’s more than most were able to say and for that Bakugou has to give him some respect. Sitting night after night having a pretty thing like Kirishima dancing mere inches away and not touching is a level of control a majority do not possess.
But he does and he has and maybe, just maybe, that control should be praised just a bit.
Maybe Bakugou should give Todoroki a gift of his own, a little thank you for treating his boy so very well.
He asks one night while they watch a movie, both half asleep on the couch, arms and legs tangled under a collection of throw blankets to keep them warm.
“When’s the next time you’re supposed to dance for that rich asshole?” he asks, yawning as soon as the question leaves his mouth.
“Mmm,” Kirishima snuggles closer into his chest. “Think he said he had a night off next Thursday. Told me to make sure my schedule was open for a full shift.”
Bakugou hums in thought. He pulls Kirishima closer, kisses him on the head, and falls asleep just like that while plotting all the wonderfully terrible things he would do come Thursday.
He had to make sure Aizawa knew he was going to be taking Friday off from training. He’d likely need the entire day to recover.
---
When he arrives, Todoroki does not immediately request their private room. He sits on the main floor lounge mingling with the ordinary crowd as Kirishima takes the stage. Bakugou, who watches Todoroki’s profile from where he sits at the back, turns his gaze away from the other to watch the show as well. Regardless of the ideas swirling around in his head, Bakugou will never be distracted enough to miss a performance of his boyfriend when so readily given to him.
Kirishima wears leather pants and a vest, both are skin tight on him, hugging every curve of his chest and legs. The music is loud, heavy and pulsing in everyone’s ears as he starts off his dance. With each step, a button comes undone as Kirishima lets the vest fall open, rolling his upper body to let it slide from his shoulders onto the stage below. People cheer, whistle, throw money on the stage as he continues to slide down fully onto the floor. His legs are under him, folded, as his hips thrust with the beat of the song.
Bakugou steals a glance at Todoroki who looks utterly transfixed. He’s moved forward in his seat, not too obvious to look desperate, but just enough to be interested without losing his aloof composure. His eyes, however, barely blink. They’re bright and wide, taking in every little move Kirishima makes, every twitch of his body. He looks even like he may not be breathing during the entire performance, like he’s forgotten what his body truly needs in substitute for taking in as much of Kirishima as he can.
Bakugou’s never looked this close before. Never truly seen just how far Todoroki has fallen for his boyfriend. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, but at the same time will work perfectly for what he plans to do tonight. What he wants to offer.
He pulls his eyes back to the stage where Kirishima has slid the zipper of his pants down, fingers slowly tugging the clinging material from his hips, exposing the lacy fabric below that he soon reveals by ripping the leather material off entirely, throwing them behind his person and the crowd roars.
The dance is finished on the pole, Kirishima lifting himself up and falling backwards, upside down, spinning while slowly settling his body back down onto the stage, flat, looking out to the crowd with hands in his hair practically cooing at all those that sit close up to the stage.
The lights flash, the song ends, and the crowd throws more money, tries to call him closer. It was a good performance, a long song, one that Bakugou knows Kirishima picked out because Todoroki was there. He’s not scheduled for anything else and Todoroki has technically booked his time for the night, so roughly fifteen minutes later when Kirishima emerges on the floor toweled off, makeup reapplied, clothes changed, he makes a beeline for Todoroki, ignoring all other attempts at his attention.
He sits on the edge of Todoroki’s seat with a hand delicately placed at his back as they start talking. Todoroki’s hands don’t move, not even leaning into the hand on him as Kirishima draws circles onto his shirt, but his eyes again never once waver from Kirishima’s form. Their discussion is only a few seconds, maybe a minute, before Kirishima takes Todoroki’s hand to pull him along towards the private rooms.
Bakugou knows for a fact that the usual room they use has been set up ever since Todoroki stepped into the club that night. He watches them weave in between tables and chairs before standing up to follow. Neither notices until he’s on them, until Kirishima goes to close the door and Bakugou stops him, pushing it open to move inside instead.
“B-Bakugou--”
“I’ve got a proposition for you, half-n-half.”
Todoroki looks up at him from where he's sat down, hand paused in it’s extension to grab the bottle of liquor set out for him. He looks only partially surprised, eyebrow raised as he looks at Bakugou standing over him, smile sharp, arms crossed.
Kirishima tries to stop them, getting in between them before something bad could happen. “Bakugou, if you have an issue--”
“No issue. I just want to talk for a sec.”
Kirishima looks flustered, worried. It’s not like he knows what angle Bakugou is working with here, because Todoroki hasn’t actually done anything to him and Bakugou has only ever stepped in when someone’s crossed a line. He respects Kirishima’s work and he’s fearful that maybe Todoroki’s last gift has finally gone too far, that they probably should have discussed it more. Beyond Todoroki being his best customer, he also doesn’t want his boyfriend to be thrown in jail for assaulting one of the most powerful businessmen in the entire country, the entire world--
“How much would you pay to f*ck him?”
Kirishima blinks. “What?”
Todoroki’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”
Bakugou’s smile curves upwards. “You heard me you rich ass pervert. How much would you pay to bend my boyfriend over and plow him?”
Kirishima touches his arm and he can feel how his fingers tremble. There’s a blush high on his cheeks. “B-Bakugou, don’t--”
“How much did that lingerie cost you, hu?” he continues. Todoroki still hasn’t moved. “He looked real pretty too drooling into the pillows with it on. Or what about that necklace you bought him what, four months ago? That was a choker with all those diamonds around it. His eyes rolled back so far when I choked him with it.”
This time, Todoroki finally moves, just slightly. His eyes narrow, arm dropping as he turns more to face Bakugou. To square off with him even if he’s still sitting.
Bakugou almost laughs. “I got cum all over those red sneakers you bought him a while ago too. Poor Ei couldn’t hold himself back as his dick swung around every time I thrust into him.”
“Bakugou!”
Kirishima tries to pull him back, potentially shove him from the room, but Bakugou refuses to move. He stands there, grinning from ear to ear, waiting as he watches the gears turn inside Todoroki’s head. He looks calm to anyone else, but Bakugou’s gotten into enough fights in his life to know this guy’s ready to boil over. He might not actually take a swing, but he’ll lash out in some other way.
“What’s your point in all of this?” The businessman finally says, voice trying to stay even, but there’s a tightness in his words.
“I want to know. How much would you be willing to pay?”
There’s silence for a moment. Complete and utter silence brought on by the fact that the room around them is soundproof-- the door closed, only the soft vibration of music can be felt. All three of them are barely breathing, just waiting until any of them breaks the silence surrounding them.
Bakugou can feel how Kirishima’s eyes are now going past him. He too is staring at Todoroki, waiting for an answer, even if he would refuse to admit he is. But the question has been prompted regardless, spoken out loud, and one’s self control over their curiosity can only go so far.
“I wouldn’t,” Todoroki finally, finally says and Kirishima lets go of the breath he was holding. “He is not mine to have, clearly. Besides, I would want too much after to ever be satisfied with just a small taste.”
“Ohh, good answer.”
Bakugou strolls further into the room, falling back onto the couch beside Todoroki. He takes up the sake chilling and cracks the bottle open, drinking long directly from the rim.
“So, Ei, do you wanna f*ck him?”
Kirishima flushes deeper, the blush dipping down his throat as all eyes turn towards him. He takes a step back feeling uneasy, like he doesn’t take off his clothes for strangers for a living. He’s never felt so much like prey up until now.
“I don’t think--”
“If I give you permission,” Bakugou quickly rephrases. His voice is softer, quieter. There’s not as much bite in the words. “Would you want to f*ck him?”
Another long pause. Silence. Kirishima squirms under their gaze before lowering his head into a small nod, unable to meet either of their eyes as he says it. Yes. He would.
“Louder, dear. I want him to hear you.”
Kirishima is quick to listen. “Yes,” his voice is still so soft where he’s normally so loud and boisterous. “I would.”
Todoroki keeps staring, his eyes once again completely wide. Bakugou’s smile has returned, wolfish.
“Perfect then. We all agree. Eijirou, take off your clothes.”
“You can’t just--”
Bakugou gives him a look, silencing Kirishima instantly as the fighter curls his finger to beckon him over. He does so, pulling away from the door to move to the couch, practically falling into Bakugou’s lap. He curls his arms around Bakugou’s neck just as Bakugou does the same to him, holding each other as Bakugou speaks, voice lowered.
“Hey, look at me,” Kirishima’s eyes flutter up when instructed. “I’m not gonna be mad. This is just as much for me as it is for you or him. I wanna give you something you want, babe. I wanna make you happy and doing so is gonna make me really happy, yeah?”
Kirishima bites down on his lip, nerves still showing, but nods his understanding anyway.
Bakugou ‘tsks’, taking one of Kirishima’s hands in his to bring it down between them, pressing his boyfriend’s palm heavy against his crotch. Kirishima gasps, fingers flexing against the thickening bulge under his touch.
“Feel that? That’s me wanting to see how good you’ll be for Todoroki. Will you be good for us, Ei?”
Kirishima looks up at Bakugou and then over. He’s sitting so close to the other man that their thighs touch, expensive fabric against his naked thigh, barely covered by the latex shorts he threw on after his performance. The look in Todoroki’s eyes when their gazes align is transfixing. He looks almost pleading, begging, the anticipation of the entire situation has made his typical composure fall away. With a small flick of his eyes downward he knows for a fact those tailored slacks weren’t tailored to hide an erection.
He wants this. Bakugou wants this. They all three want to see what will happen next.
“Yes,” Kirishima purrs out, not taking his eyes away from Todoroki. “I’ll be good for you.”
Bakugou smiles, slapping his hand down against Kirishima’s thigh. “Perfect. Now, put on a little show for us.”
---
Kirishima wishes he dressed up a little bit more. He wishes he wore something a better, something prettier to show off, but in the end it wouldn’t truly matter. The performance wasn’t the appeal anymore, it was the permission to touch. Still, he was going to make sure Todoroki knew the gift he was being given.
He takes his position at the front of the pole in the room. Bakugou’s moved in closer to Todoroki, threw an arm over his shoulder to pull him in a little, whisper in his ear. If Todoroki had more sense about him in that moment, he’s sure he would have shrugged Bakugou off, but right now all Todoroki’s focus is solely on Kirishima. His eyes still haven’t looked away.
There’s no music. He hadn’t grabbed the remote to put any on, his mind suddenly buzzing with nerves and anticipation. Still, he tries to relax. He wants to make this good. He wants to be good.
Kirishima lets his body curve, back arching until the pole rests between his shoulders, cold metal cooling heated skin. He balances with the pole keeping him upright, hands roaming over his hips, stomach. He pushes up the shirt he’s wearing, ripped and frayed at the edges, tied in little knots that swing and shift as he moves, always showing off a little bit more skin with every turn. Now, he bunches the fabric, sliding up past his belly button, his abs, before his fingers take hold and rip. Cotton tears easily with the destruction it’s already endured, slicing up in a rapped line until it falls entirely from his chest, clinging to his shoulders.
Kirishima pushes up from his arch, moaning for the dramatics of it as he lets the now ruined shirt fall from his form. He stands straight to show off, to see how his audience has reacted.
Todoroki’s still staring, his cheeks looking much pinker than before. Bakugou’s got a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he continues to whisper at him.
“Shoulda seen him all dressed up in that strappy little number you bought him. Cried like a bitch on my co*ck. Begged until he passed out.”
Kirishima turns, bends, showing off the roundness of his butt as his fingers hook into the tight latex of his shorts, stretching them over the curve of his ass slowly, letting the pair see just how tight the fabric has to stretch, how it threatens finally ripping as he slides them further and further with the little panties he still has on showing more and more. Delicate black lace hugging him, the pattern of little flowers woven bit by bit.
He has to shimmy a little, rolling the shorts down with the slight ease of his sweat slicked skin. He groans with the pressure edging away from his co*ck that sits snug and heavy behind the fabric of his underwear.
Behind him, Bakugou whistles and Todoroki still hasn’t said a word.
He spins back around, stepping out of the little shorts as his hands now move to the edges of the panties but Bakugou clicks his tongue, stopping him.
“Keep them on,” he says, before gesturing for Kirishima to come back to them. “I want pretty boy over here to get the full experience.”
Kirishima nods, understanding, as he walks over as gracefully as he can with his heart hammer in his chest, legs almost feeling like jelly. He’s never felt so disheveled on his feet like this, so nervous he can barely stop from shaking.
He bypasses Bakugou in favor of Todoroki, knowing the game Bakugou wants to play. He turns and sits on Todoroki’s lap, full contact in a way he’s never been before. He can feel the sudden hitch of Todoroki’s breath behind him, practically hearing how his heartbeat has suddenly picked up.
“Go on babe,” Bakugou says. “Feel out what you’ll get filled up with soon.”
Kirishima can’t help but groan, eyes closed, as he rolls his hips and sits back, feeling the hard pressure of Todoroki’s length still hidden in his slacks.
Because he is hard. Kirishima can feel him growing harder under him as he rolls his ass against him, the scratching drag of lace on wool. He can feel the heat of him, the heavy throb of his co*ck. He presses back further, wanting more.
“Hips up.”
Kirishima obeys, making a small noise of displeasure, but lifts himself as Bakugou crowds closer. His hands move from Todoroki’s thigh to his groin, fingers quickly undoing the buttons and zipper of his pants.
“Come on, big shot, give him something to really work with here.” He sneers, dipping his fingers into Todoroki’s underwear without being given any form of permission. Todoroki says nothing of protest, however, as his co*ck is touched none-too-gently and brought out into the open air. He gasps softly, Bakugou stroking him a few times with his rough hands, laughing softly.
“He’s so wet for you, babe,” he calls, thumb rolling across the tip to spread the precum all over his glands. “Got a good dick for you too, nice and long. He’ll pound your guts until you cry.”
Kirishima groans again, sitting back wanting to feel for himself, slotting Todoroki’s co*ck between his cheeks, though he can’t get very far with the panties in the way. Still, it’s enough for Kirishima to really feel him, the length as he moves his hips, up and down, the tip pushing up against the small of his back, smearing his skin with pre. He can feel his panties getting a little tacky-wet with it, sliding back and forth so Todoroki can feel the rough texture against his sensitive skin.
“Go on, Todoroki,” Bakugou says at his back, quiet so Kirishima knows he’s only meant to be talking to the other. “You can touch him. Rut like you’ve always wanted to do as soon as you saw him on stage. Just like how every perv wants to touch him.”
Hands lay against his hips. Fingers long, cold, less calloused then what he’s used to. They’re soft for just a moment, rubbing against his skin as if to remember the moment in its entirety before they’re rough, pressing, and Kirishima didn’t realize Todoroki’s hands could feel as though they hold so much power. It’s a different feeling then what he’s used to with Bakugou. Where Bakugou is a constant wave rocking against him, Todoroki is like a coiled spring ready to release and Kirishima doesn’t know what he’ll bring with it.
He moans. Bakugou snickers.
“That’s it. Give him the preview. He’s more of a pain-slu*t then you know.”
The grip on him tightens further, digging in until Kirishima nearly wants to pull away, and then Todoroki is thrusting against him, pulling him back and forth. Kirishima is moved without much effort on his part, taking the thick length grinding against him as it comes, moaning with the feeling of being played with like a toy. His head falls back against Todoroki’s shoulder, panting softly as he’s pulled closer to the man’s body.
“Use your mouth. He’d probably like some marks to remember you by.”
Kirishima jolts at the suggestion, looking across to Bakugou as if to really ask if that’s okay-- if that’s what Bakugou wants and the dark look he receives in turn is all the answer Kirishima needs.
Bakugou plays as the puppetmaster, knowing full well even if Todoroki’s touching Kirishima, if Kirishima is the one sitting on Todoroki’s lap, that he’s still the one incharge. Anything he says will be heard, listened to, and followed to a T. Kirishima will crumble at his feet nodding his head and Todoroki will stay back doing nothing if that’s what Bakugou wants.
But it’s not. Right now Bakugou wants Todoroki touching his boyfriend, marking him, leaving Kirishima with every memory possible of the time they were both able to indulge in a delicacy neither expected to ever taste.
Even so, the teeth in his shoulder are a surprise. He gasps as they sink into his skin, biting down until his body jolts with the pain. Todoroki sucks hard, drawing the skin into his mouth to bite further, bruising fully with blood rushing to the surface. He doesn’t break the skin, but it’s close. He’s like an animal finally tasting his prey for the first time and not wanting to let go. He savors the flavor of Kirishima’s skin with his tongue, lapping over it before finally letting go to reveal the indents of teeth he left behind.
There’s no pause for long as his mouth clamps down at the base of Kirishima’s throat, gentler than what he had done to his shoulder, but still makes Kirishima shudder, his hips jerking with how much the mixture of pleasure and pain race down his skin.
He’s made captive by teeth and hands, faux f*cking him and leaving his skin like a chew toy.
“You’re delicious,” Todoroki whispers in his ear, pulling away to run his lips further up the side of his neck, nipping at his earlobe, pulling taunt before letting go.
Kirishima says nothing, but groans in return, feeling drunk off the pain throbbing across his shoulder and the clenching ache of his balls.
Bakugou moves towards them, running his thumb over the deep crevices Todoroki’s teeth left behind. “Ready for more, baby?”
He doesn’t hesitate to respond. “Please.”
---
Kirishima chokes, drooling heavily with the thick length in his mouth. He can’t remember the last true breath he took, but that’s so far in the back of his mind now.
Todoroki’s hands are in his hair, petting him, stroking, but keeping a firm grip anytime he starts to squirm. He refuses to let him up from where he’s positioned with his co*ck straight down his throat.
“You really did train him to take it.” Todoroki groans out, head back against the plush cushion of the couch as he rolls his hips gently, feeling how Kirishima’s throat flutters around the tip of his co*ck, muscles trying to milk him for all he’s worth.
Bakugou kneels behind Kirishima, rolling his eyes as he shoves two fingers deeper into Kirishima’s hole, forcing his body to jump forward, pushing Todoroki’s co*ck just that little bit deeper into his throat. “Please, there was barely any need. He’s always been the type of slu*t to dive head first with his tongue out and ass up.”
Between them, Kirishima gurgles out as if trying to defend himself. Bakugou slaps his ass, making him jump once more.
“See? He agrees with me.”
The fingers inside him twist before spreading him open, working his muscles loose where Bakugou’s tongue had already made him wet. Spit and lube drip down his ass, his thighs, mingling with the wet mess of cum that had already been smeared between his thighs from coming once already. Having Bakugou tongue f*ck him while Todoroki kept feeding him more and more of his co*ck was too much. The panties hang off one foot, damp and torn slightly. He’s already a mess and only about to get messier.
“Don’t come in his mouth,” Bakugou warns, speaking over Kirishima’s back. “I’m going to be generous and let you f*ck him first.”
Kirishima moans at the very mention which only makes Todoroki hiss with the sudden added pleasure vibrating all around his co*ck, yanking on Kirishima’s hair to quickly pull him off and squeeze the base of his dick before he comes.
Bakugou just snorts at the sudden pullback, stabbing his fingers in deeper to curl them right against Kirishima’s prostate who coughs out broken little groans, practically whimpering now that his mouth isn't full.
Todoroki looks down at him, hand still fisting his hair. “You like the idea of me f*cking you that much?”
Kirishima nods, though the movement is small with how tight he’s still being held. His eyes are glossy, lips bruised and swollen with how hard Todoroki had used him minutes before.
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.” he rasps out sounding so broken already.
“Go on,” Bakugou says, free hand digging bruises into his hip, pressed so close to the ones Todoroki had already left him with. “Tell him all the dirty things that go through your mind, babe. Let us hear them.”
Todoroki stares at him much like he does while he’s on stage. His eyes are darker here, however, wide and unblinking as they try not to miss a second. It’s a performance much like the rest of his work, but now the endgame involves more than just Bakugou.
His lips tremble on the words, unable to make them come out for a time. It feels dirtier here, actually in front of him, knowing that his fantasies can come true and be more than teasing words Bakugou uses while they’re naked. Todoroki would know that the boundaries were never as solid as they appeared to be and they’d never be able to come back from this.
“I always thought you’d be a little more hesitant.” Kirishima starts. “Like I’d have to force you to really touch me.”
Todoroki brushes his cheek. “You’d never have to force me to do anything.”
“But then,” Kirishima turns his head as much as he can to lick at the pads of Todoroki’s fingers. “I see how you look at me when I dance. When we’re alone in this room together. And I just see how much you want to devour me.”
Todoroki’s breath hitches.
“I always think about if you got the chance. How much you’d take everything out on me. All the frustrations you tell me about. The business. The travel. Your father.
“I tell Kat about how sometimes you look like you want to grab me by the throat and shove me to the ground. Stop being so kind and act out like every other guy that walks in here thinking they own me.”
“Oohhh,” Bakugou leans forward with a snarl on his lips, three fingers deep in Kirishima’s ass with a fourth playing at his rim. “You wanna own him, hu? The last thing money can never buy.”
Todoroki looks up over Kirishima and glares at Bakugou, eyes sharp and deadly which only makes Bakugou laugh, pulling away.
“Alright, hot-shot,” he smacks Kirishima again, admiring the way his skin blossoms with red and purple bruises. “I wanna see how you look trying to own what’s mine. Ei, table, now.”
He slides down from the couch, staying on his knees as he crawls to bend over the low table in the room. It’s something of an awkward angle, uncomfortable, but still he doesn’t complain as he lays his head down and raises his ass up for both men to look at, inspect.
“Please, Shouto, Sir,” Kirishima moans. He reaches back and pulls one cheek open, exposing his well stretched hole, rim red and winking. He’s dripping with spit, lube, cum tacky on his thighs. He slides a thumb in, pulling his rim open so both of them can see the start of his warm pink guts waiting to be filled. “Own me.”
The thin thread holding back Todoroki’s last shred of self control in that instant snaps.
He’s on top of Kirishima in the blink of an eye, slamming his co*ck inside the welcoming heat as Kirishima screams with the sudden intrusion. His toes curl in the plush carpet, the zipper of Todoroki’s pants digging into the soft skin of his ass. His co*ck reaches so much further than Bakugou’s fingers, forcing him open, for his hole to accommodate as pain shoots up his back.
By the time it reaches his brain it’s only pleasure making him moan.
“You feel just as good as I always imagined,” Todoroki says right in his ear. He doesn’t pull back right away, but grinds against Kirishima, forcing him to feel every single inch of his co*ck buried inside him. Kirishima can barely breathe, let alone think straight. “f*ck, it’s like you were made to take co*ck.”
Kirishima whimpers, his own dick throbbing between his legs as it starts to fill out once more. He’s never heard Todoroki curse up until now and the word fanning out across his nape makes his body shudder.
There is no mercy after that.
Todoroki’s hand presses down against his neck, keeping him pinned as he starts pounding into him. He barely pulls back, always wanting to stay inside the warmth of Kirishima’s body, but the force behind every thrust no matter how small his movement leaves Kirishima feeling like he’s been punched. His fingers scratch along the table’s surface, broken off moans leaving his mouth as tears prickle up at the corners of his eyes. His hips will be bruised tomorrow, his ass, the backs of his thighs. All holding impact marks of purple and the deep grooves of finger tips and biting nails to remind him of this.
Shadows move in his vision and, blinking the tears away, Kirishima looks up to find Bakugou now standing in front of him. Obediently, he opens his mouth, letting his tongue hang out, waiting.
Bakugou laughs, carding a hand through his hair, the touch far too soft for the expression he holds. “Oh no, babe. I’ve got an extra special surprise for you.”
“Todoroki,” Bakugou snaps. “Lift him.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, of Todoroki not wanting to listen, of him wanting to chase his org*sm without thought, but he does finally grab Kirishima by the arms and pull him back into his lap. They tumble back onto the couch, Kirishima groaning as Todoroki’s co*ck still sits thick and heavy inside him, now sinking in just a little bit deeper, feeling as though it’s stabbing at his belly button every time he moves his hips.
“Good boys.”
Bakugou steps over the table and lands directly in front of Kirishima. He presses open his legs, spreading Kirishima wide, so he has a perfect view of Todoroki’s dick sinking into his boyfriend’s hole. Precum makes his rim shiny under the low light of the room. Kirishima’s co*ck is hard between his legs, twitching against his thigh, balls bouncing as Todoroki still moves him up and down, using him like a personal fleshlight.
“Think you can take more?”
Kirishima nods without thought, mind going blank under the onslaught of pleasure.
“Verbalize, babe. Tell me you want it.”
Kirishima cries, choking on his own spit. “Yes! I want it! Please!”
There’s little ease after that. He’s not sure exactly what’s happening beyond there’s more lube being squeezed onto his rim, a copious amount now making him feel slick, dripping down both his entrance and Todoroki’s balls. And then, Bakugou’s fingers are on him, pulling, stretching. They sink inside along Todoroki’s co*ck, pulling at his walls which makes Kirishima keen, head thrown back against Todoroki’s shoulder.
There’s a burning pain that makes his mind go all fuzzy. Lips are on his throat, kissing, sucking, biting, and the fingers still dig into him deeper, more, pressing and pressing until they’re not there anymore and the blunt tip of a familiar dick comes pushing in their place.
Before he can scream again, Todoroki’s mouth covers his own, shoving his tongue down Kirishima’s throat as Bakugou thrusts in right next to the co*ck already buried inside him.
“I don’t think I gave you permission to kiss him.”
Kirishima doesn’t hear it. There’s buzzing in his ears.
“You said to own him, so I intend to do so fully.”
He’s being pulled forward, lips being replaced with another pair, these ones biting and rough. They’re chapped and taste like whiskey and lube, the flavor making him hum even as electricity dances all across his body.
“Think we’ve f*cked him stupid.”
“I thought you said you f*cked him unconscious last time.”
“That I did.”
The dual co*cks inside him move suddenly all at once which feels so much worse then one at a time. He can feel how his stomach gives, distending to make way for the thickness of them both shoving inside of him, pressing in all directions at his walls, filling the room with a slick sound of lube and pre keeping him wet. He groans, nearly gags at the pressure, the pain-pleasure that beats into his body over and over in a frantic rhythm.
He’s stuck with Todoroki at his back and Bakugou at his front, all of their bodies hot and sweaty, the room humid and smelling of sex.
Kirishima comes without meaning to. Comes without thought, only that his prostate was repeatedly hammered, over and over, until his useless co*ck spurted out cum, drooling the last few shots from his balls that Bakugou collects on his fingers and stuffs into Kirishima’s mouth, forcing him to taste his own spend on his tongue.
His eyes roll as the sudden wave of oversensitivity falls down around him. They still f*ck him even as it spins, the room, the world, all the hands touching him melding into one. When they both come inside of him, Kirishima barely registers it. His body twitches with ‘too much’ and the fingers in his mouth thrust back against his palette, gagging him one last time before he falls limp against Todoroki and Bakugou falls forward into him.
There are many minutes of panting, of pulling each other back together. Of Bakugou kissing Kirishima, his mouth, his nose, his forehead, the wet slide of lips now being the music of the room. Somewhere in between, he knows Todoroki steals another kiss as his neck is bent and the lips against him are softer, thinner, cold. He says nothing, neither does Bakugou, and for just a while longer they rest, a tangle of limbs half on half off the couch of a private room in a strip club.
---
“So,” Todoroki starts. He’s now standing, tucking his shirt back into his pants and straightening out his tie. “This was…”
His words fall away.
It was fun. Unexpected. Exhilarating.
Kirishima is still laying on the couch naked. His head is in Bakugou’s lap who pets him, fingers combing through his hair, gently tugging out the knots they put there with their roughness. He’s been dozing a little, but at the sound of Todorki moving, getting up, he opens his eyes.
He can hear the hesitation in his voice. The yearning want to say something else, something deeper and personal, but all his years of being the well trained son, of all the months of playing the perfect customer, never once stepping over the line, he doesn’t wish to ruin his reputation now.
So, Kirishima steps over it for him.
“Next Friday Bakugou’s got a fight. You should come.”
Todoroki tilts his head looking at him, looking so much like a lost cat Kirishima wants to put a collar around his neck.
“If you’re free that is.”
“Free or not,” Bakugou butts in, pointing a finger at Todoroki. “Already got seats. Front row. You can keep him company while I cream the floor with people.” He grins. “You can make sure he stays out of trouble while watching me.”
Todoroki co*cks a brow. “Trouble?”
“I--”
“Ei over here likes the blood a little too much.” Bakugou’s fingers ghost down to his thigh, tickling more than anything. “Might be nice to have someone keep him in check before I can get my hands on him after.”
They both look at the other man, offering him the choice to continue-- throwing the doors open and silently saying ‘join us, further, more’.
“Well,” Todoroki looks down, straightening out one of his cuffs. “I’m sure I could move my schedule around. See what the appeal is at least.”
They both smile at that, Kirishima’s bright and Bakugou’s devious.
“Oh, Shouto.”
“We’re gonna rock your f*cking world.”
