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The moment it hits you that you sort of want to get with your best friend, you're thoroughly screwed, because suddenly you can’t not want to get with your best friend. Kirishima learns this the hard, dirty, hands-on way.
Prior to this revelation, if he’d been asked to make a list of things a man could do to turn him on, gardening probably wouldn’t have topped it. But ever since he’d been brutally slammed by the realization that he might like Bakugou as a little more than a friend, even something as simple as his heated, manly passion for U.A.’s new community garden project has been enough to put Kirishima over the edge.
He’d never really pegged Bakugou as the gardening type, but any such presumptions were thoroughly wrecked the day Kirishima first passed by the garden on his way to demolish Tetsutetsu’s ass at the training grounds and saw Bakugou there, pummeling away at the the raw, tender dirt. Maybe it’s a pleasurable outlet for all Bakugou’s pent-up frustration. Maybe he's just really into plants. But either way, ever since Kirishima realized how deeply the new pastime has inserted itself into Bakugou’s schedule, he’s found himself sparring with Tetsutetsu far more often, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t largely to increase his chances of catching Bakugou in the act on his way.
Whether he’s driving a spade into the thick, moist ground or firmly grasping the shaft of a plant as he thrusts it hard into a gaping hole in the dirt, everything he does manages to drive Kirishima insane. But what really fucks him is the fact that Bakugou, most of the time, does it shirtless. Near the climax of the summer, the heat is enough to keep more submissive men pretty much bound to the air-conditioned indoors. But call it sheer force of will or just some good old-fashioned masochism, whatever nature decides it wants to give him, Bakugou just strips down and takes it.
It’s especially steamy out today, and while Kirishima doesn’t have any special plans out at the training grounds, he’s been blessed with a good, solid pretense to get up close and personal with Bakugou. Some classmates had gotten together to serve everyone lunch in the kitchen, and after working up an appetite outside all day, Bakugou deserves to be filled up with something hot and satisfying.
When Kirishima makes his way out to the garden, he immediately sees Bakugou down on all fours in the dirt, and takes a moment to check him out from behind. Bakugou really does look good like this--back arched, sweat slick over the faint sunburn on his shoulders--and Kirishima almost doesn’t want to interrupt him while he’s deep in the throes of his vigorous labor. But it’d be sort of hard to rationalize standing there savoring Bakugou in his vulnerable, compromising position for much longer, so Kirishima eases open the back gate and slips inside.
“You’ve been getting down and dirty for awhile out here,” he observes, coming up on Bakugou from behind. “Not sure how you’ve lasted this long. The sun must be pounding you pretty hard.”
“I’ve taken harder,” Bakugou says offhandedly, swearing under his breath as the thorn of a rosebush penetrates the tip of his finger.
“I’m sure,” Kirishima says. “Well, either way, you should come inside for lunch. Mina and a few of the others have really been going at it in the kitchen, and they said anyone’s welcome to join in.”
That manages to get Bakugou’s attention--it’s a tempting offer. He sits back on his heels, looking up at Kirishima from his place down on his knees.
“Fine,” he says. “Just… give me a minute to finish.”
“Of course,” Kirishima says quickly--he knows how frustrating it is to be kept from finishing. “Don’t make us wait too long, though.”
“Never asked you to,” Bakugou mutters.
Kirishima’s curious about what exactly Bakugou needs to finish, but he figures he should let him have his privacy, so he gladly takes the order and turns to leave. The weather really is hardcore today, and even the brief walk back to the school building leaves him feeling spent, so he can’t imagine how the sun’s potent heat hasn’t completely overstimulated Bakugou’s body. The guy must have a hell of a lot of stamina.
When Kirishima slips into the kitchen, there are far fewer people inside for lunch than there’d been when he’d left--maybe some of his classmates had hit and quit rather than sticking around.
“...and then I was like, that’s a spicy meatball--oh, hey, Kirishima!” Mina yells across the kitchen, momentarily pulling out of a conversation with Kaminari. “Just in time to get in on the action. Where’s Bakugou?”
“He’ll be inside in a second,” Kirishima tells her. “Finishing up his me time.”
“Well, go ahead and take what you want anyway,” she says, gesturing toward the tantalizing spread of food on the counter. “You can still eat even if your favorite snack isn’t here.”
“That’s--I mean--stop that,” Kirishima says weakly, caught too off guard to whip out a meatier comeback. Snickering, Kaminari high-fives Mina before sliding out into the hallway with his lunch; Kirishima knows he should be ready for his friends’ provocative comments about Bakugou, but they really do know what buttons to press to get him all worked up.
Sighing, he takes a plate from the counter and heaps on a serving of creamy white mashed potatoes, along with some plump, juicy meatballs dripping with succulent sauce. When he takes a seat at the kitchen island, Mina pauses in smothering her own food with thick, wet gravy to shoot him a questioning look.
“Everyone else is having fun in the common room, y’know,” she tells him, topping off her plate and making her way to the door.
“I’m gonna wait for Bakugou,” Kirishima says. He knows Bakugou had specifically said not to, but he’s not always as obedient as Bakugou might like him to be.
“Saving yourself, huh?” she quips as she leaves, grinning suggestively from the doorway. “Always knew you were a man of virtue.”
Kirishima chokes on his meatballs.
Bakugou chooses that moment to bust into the kitchen, eyes immediately falling on Kirishima. He doesn’t say anything, but the question is splattered all over his pretty face.
“Meatballs,” Kirishima gasps around the chunk still lodged deep in his throat, and evidently the explanation is nice and satisfying, because Bakugou just slaps his dirty, thoroughly used gardening gloves on the counter and starts loading up a plate with food. He fills up a glass of water, too, forcefully shoving it in Kirishima’s face as he joins him at the island. Kirishima takes it, and Bakugou watches as he dutifully swallows until he doesn’t feel like he’s choking on warm meat anymore.
“Thanks,” Kirishima says.
“Dumbass,” Bakugou replies.
“That’s a spicy meatball,” Kirishima warns him, setting the drained glass down on the counter and jabbing a finger at Bakugou’s plate.
“Bet you just can’t take it,” Bakugou says. He thrusts a fork into the tender meat and raises it to his lips, shoving the entire thing deep into his mouth. “Huh,” he continues, working over it with his tongue. “Guess that is a spicy meatball.”
“What’s that, Bakugou?” Kaminari’s loud voice penetrates the room as he steps in from the hallway. “You want Kiri’s spicy--”
“Shut your filthy whore mouth,” Bakugou snaps.
“Just saying,” Kaminari continues, disobeying. Naughty bitch that he is. “That is a spicy meatball of a man you’ve got there.”
“At least he doesn’t have a meatball for a brain like you do."
“High praise, coming from you,” Kaminari says. He’s carrying a pile of plates from the common room--servicing multiple classmates at once, apparently--and he dumps his entire load into the sink. “Kiri’s a lucky man.”
Kaminari's back out the door before Bakugou can nail him with a response, so he just mutters something under his breath as he impales another meatball on his fork, shoving it in as deep as he can manage. He doesn’t talk much as he eats, and he finishes before Kirishima, which isn’t particularly unusual. It’s not unusual for Kirishima to be a little bit of a tease about it, either, so he grins and says, “You always finish too quickly.”
Bakugou scoffs, pausing on his way to the sink. “What, is that a bad thing?”
“Guess not,” Kirishima says. “It’s efficient.”
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou busts the dishwasher wide open, sticking his plate in the back. He pins the ones that Kaminari had left in the sink with a disapproving stare, then starts shoving them in as well; it’s a heavy load, but the appliance’s wide, supple rack can handle it.
Though he's keeping his hands to himself, Kirishima gets plenty of enjoyment just from watching Bakugou. “You’re so domestic.”
“Don’t call me that,” Bakugou snaps. “Not my fault Sparky needs someone to do all the work for him.”
Kirishima smiles, even though Bakugou has his back turned. “Whatever you say.”
When Bakugou’s done, he grabs his filthy gardening gloves from the counter, forcefully thrusting his hands inside of them.
“Going back for round two?” Kirishima asks. “Ambitious.”
“Yeah, and you’re joining me,” Bakugou tells him. “You’d better be, anyway.”
Taken aback, Kirishima just blinks at Bakugou a few times. Apparently misinterpreting his shock as hesitation, Bakugou says, “I’m gonna make you come whether you like it or not, fuckhead.”
Kirishima has a hard time imagining an or not scenario.
“Well, I do like it,” he says, smiling earnestly.
Bakugou’s eyes widen the slightest bit, and there’s a gentle flush of color splashed over his cheeks as he turns toward the door and mutters, “Whatever.”
Kirishima follows Bakugou outside, falling into step beside him. Bakugou tends to set a pretty quick pace, but the two of them get together often enough that Kirishima's used to keeping up. The sun is still beating down on them hard, but Bakugou doesn’t seem to mind; he almost looks as if he likes it, even, keeping his head tilted upwards so he can catch the majority of it on his face.
When he opens his mouth, Kirishima looks away.
“I see you out here a lot,” Bakugou says.
Kirishima stiffens. “Yeah,” he says. “I pass by on the way to the training grounds.”
“Who do you do it with?” Bakugou asks. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets. "Training, I mean."
“Tetsu,” Kirishima tells him. “Why?”
“Just curious,” Bakugou says. Lightly, but in a forced, loaded way that’s unusual for him.
They’re quiet the rest of the way there; Kirishima tends to be pretty vocal, even when Bakugou isn’t, but there’s something keeping them from really getting into it. As soon as they breach the gate’s tight, narrow opening, though, Kirishima penetrates the silence.
“Why’d you want me to come so badly?”
“Not like you’re complaining,” Bakugou says dismissively, stripping off his gloves. Kirishima wonders why he’d bothered putting on the protection in the first place.
“What were you getting so busy with earlier?” he asks. “Before lunch?”
“Too many stupid questions,” Bakugou says. “Just shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
“Yeah?” Kirishima knows he might be edging his luck, but he bumps his shoulder playfully against Bakugou’s. “How’d you do that?”
Kirishima could’ve tried to guess what sort of response that'd pull out of Bakugou, but he’d have been wrong, because he’s caught completely by surprise when Bakugou wraps one hand firmly around his wrist and jerks it roughly enough that he stumbles a few inches closer.
“I’d--”
Bakugou stops himself.
He catches his lower lip between his teeth, hand sweaty against Kirishima’s skin. Kirishima can feel the tension hot and thick in the air, can feel his heart mercilessly pounding his ribs.
“This isn’t--that’s not how I planned to fucking do this, Shitty-hair,” Bakugou mutters, releasing Kirishima’s wrist. Immediately, Kirishima wants that hand back on him. Maybe the other one, too.
“Planned to do--?”
“You really don’t shut up,” Bakugou says. “Just--stand here. Don’t move. Don’t talk.”
Kirishima obeys, letting Bakugou have his way with him, but Bakugou just bends over beside a row of plants. He plunges his arm almost elbow-deep into the opening underneath them, and when he pulls out, his hand is clenched tightly around a whole fistful of pre-cut flowers--which is saying something, because Bakugou’s got a big fist. He takes a moment to get up, but when he’s standing completely erect, he presents the flowers to Kirishima. They’re all in full bloom, supple and bursting open, and it’s clear that they’ve been prepared beforehand.
Prepared, apparently, for him.
“Don’t say anything stupid,” Bakugou warns him. “Just take it like a man.”
Kirishima’s eyes widen. “You’re--giving this to me?”
“Yes, dumbass. I’m fucking giving it to you,” Bakugou says, thrusting the flowers a bit more forcefully toward Kirishima. “Right here, right now, and if you don’t want it--”
“I do! I do, I absolutely do, but… really, Katsuki,” he says--he’s never used Bakugou's given name before, but he likes the warm, manly feel of it in his mouth. A wide grin dominates Kirishima’s face as he reaches out and grasps the flowers, his hand brushing Bakugou’s where he grips the thick stalks.
“At least buy me dinner first.”