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Bakugou knows he has to tell Kirishima eventually. Last night had ended with Bakugou freaking the fuck out when Kirishima had tried to put his hand on Bakugou’s chest while they were making out and Kirishima, being the insufferably good boyfriend he was, hadn’t asked too many questions and just went back to his dorm. There’s a possibility he wouldn’t have even felt anything, but there’s also the possibility that he would have felt something, and that wasn’t a chance Bakugou was willing to take.
It isn’t like Bakugou thinks Kirishima will leave him when he finds out he’s trans, Kirishima is too fucking chivalrous for that. But coming out to anyone is nerve wracking, even more so when the person you’re coming out to is your perfect boyfriend who makes you feel a little bit inferior with how respectful and sweet he is.
“Tonight is gonna have to be the night,” Bakugou mutters to himself, messing with his hair in the mirror. It isn’t fair to Kirishima to keep this from him, and it isn’t fair to himself to pretend to be something he’s not. He sends the “come over” text before he can talk himself out of it and spends the thirty seconds it takes Kirishima to get to his dorm hyping himself up.
This will be fine. This will be fucking fine, just be normal and don’t panic.
Kirishima opens his door without knocking, the way Bakugou had told him he could, and closes the door behind him. Fuck, Bakugou thinks. He looks perfect. His boyfriend’s hair is down at his shoulders instead of spiked up, dressed in black sweatpants and one of Bakugou’s hoodies that he definitely took without asking. Normally he might chew him out for that, but his nerves are standing on edge and he wants to get this over with.
“Hiii,” Kirishima singsongs, flashing his sharp-toothed grin and flopping himself down onto the bed Bakugou is already sitting on. Bakugou doesn’t say anything, he just pushes his hand through Kirishima’s soft hair. He loves it down like this, not that he’d ever admit it. Kirishima’s bangs frame his face perfectly, his eyebrow piercing peeking out from behind them.
“You look pretty today,” Kirishima muses as he sits up to face Bakugou and drapes his arms around the other boy’s neck.
“I look pretty every day,” Bakugou replies automatically, but his heart squeezes a little at the compliment. He needs to say it before they start going any further than this. He untangles himself from Kirishima’s arms and stands up from the bed, feeling the familiar sensation on his palms of sweat and tiny pinprick explosions.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he mutters, feeling his face flush a little.
Kirishima looks surprised. “Sorry for what?” he asks, quirking his head at an angle like a puppy. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you just weren’t in the mood.”
Bakugou has to look away from Kirishima’s perfect face, so open and genuine and loving. Spit it out, just say it , he thinks.
“I was in the mood. I’m never not in the mood when it comes to you, Ei. I just… I was worried when you put your hand on my chest, that you’d, I don’t know, notice— or, shit… I don’t— fuck.” Bakugou stammers, his eyes shut tightly, focusing all his energy on not exploding something.
“Notice what, your bulging pecs? I always notice those, man,” Kirishima says. Even with his eyes closed Bakugou can tell by his voice that he’s grinning.
“Uh,” Bakugou hesitates. “No. I mean, yeah, actually, kind of. My tits. Under my binder.” Fuck. His body feels hollow now that he’s said it out loud, like his legs got Mr. Compressed and only his face, hot and buzzing, remains. His eyes open to see a brief moment of confusion on Kirishima’s face before realization hits him and his eyes widen.
“Ohhh! Oh! Oh, shit! No, dude, I didn’t notice at all! I didn’t even know you had-- you were, uh,” Kirishima gestures vaguely at his own chest.
“So…” Bakugou scratches the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to drag this out longer than he has to, but he wants to make sure he and Kirishima are on exactly the same page.
“So, you’re trans? I mean, that’s what you’re telling me right now, yeah?” Kirishima asks. Bakugou nods, still feeling a little lightheaded. He has to say he appreciates Kirishima being so straightforward about all of this.
“Yo, no way, man! Me too!” Kirishima’s look of realization shifts to one of excitement, but Bakugou’s brain is almost too busy short circuiting to notice his expression at all.
“You’re… what? No you’re not, I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, you don’t have scars or anything,” Bakugou says, not entirely convinced that Kirishima isn’t making a stupid joke.
“Yeah, my moms got me top surgery when I was fifteen. They found some guy in America with a transfiguration quirk, so there was no actual surgery, which is why I don’t have scars,” Kirishima says, smiling his perfect smile. He lifts his hoodie— Bakugou’s hoodie, he’ll have to lecture him about stealing his shit later— to show his chest. The tan skin is smooth and scar-free, aside from the ones he’s acquired from his quirk and from sparring. “I figured I would tell you when my lack of a dick became relevant.” Bakugou’s face heats up when he realizes the implication of what Kirishima is saying.
“Wait,” Bakugou says, moving to sit back on the bed to face Kirishima. “You got your tits quirked off but didn’t opt into getting a dick? I would’ve hopped on that offer with no hesitation.”
Kirishima shrugs. “I’ve never really had bad bottom dysphoria. I mean, I did have a little bit, but testosterone did its thing and I was pretty much fine after that.”
“So… you don’t care that I’m trans, right? I mean, it doesn’t change anything?” Bakugou asks. He knows the answer, but he wants to hear Kirishima say it.
“Of course not! I mean, as long as you don’t care that I’m trans, that is. I don’t know if my aforementioned lack of a dick is important to you,” Kirishima says, looking a little sheepish.
“If I want you to have a dick, I’ll just make you wear mine.” Bakugou says, hooking his hands behind Kirishima’s neck. Ok, that’s a lie, he doesn’t have a strap-on (yet!) but it definitely sounds cooler than anything else he could’ve said.
Kirishima hums, letting his eyelids flutter half-closed. “I think I can get behind that,” he purrs, an edge of playfulness to his voice that sends a wave of heat through Bakugou’s body.
Bakugou closes the distance between them, pressing his lips into Kirishima’s slightly chapped ones. The kiss is better than any they’ve previously shared, soft and intimate and full of all the things they've said and all the things they haven't said but Bakugou knows they’re both feeling.
Bakugou feels Kirishima’s warm hands under his shirt on his waist, sliding up until they’re right at the hem of his binder.
“Can I?” Kirishima murmurs against Bakugou’s lips, and he nods wordlessly. Hands drift up to his chest, pressing over his binder against his sternum to feel his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his breath.
“They really do just feel like pecs, y’know,” Kirishima says, running his hands up and down Bakugou’s chest. “Especially with how built you are, Katsuki. You’re so strong. Your body is amazing, so manly.” The fabric of his binder is too thick for him to actually feel Kirishima’s touch on his skin, but the gesture combined with Kirishima’s praise is so tender that it’s all Bakugou can do to bury his head in the crook of Kirishima’s neck and sigh softly into his skin. He’s so overwhelmed with relief, with gratitude, with love.
The two of them stay like that for a while, with Bakugou tucked into Kirishima’s neck and Kirishima running his hands firmly yet gently down Bakugou’s chest, to his waist, to his stomach, back up to his shoulders and neck. Bakugou thinks he can stay here forever, melting into Kirishima’s touch until they are one unit, one entity, one heartbeat.
“I love you, Ei,” Bakugou whispers into Kirishima’s skin. He hopes he can pour as much emotion into those three words as he can, that they do his feelings justice.
“What was that?” Kirishima asks playfully, nudging Bakugou’s cheek with his nose.
“I said I love you, shitty hair. Your dicklessness doesn’t deter me one bit,” Bakugou says, removing himself from his boyfriend’s shoulder to look him in the eye as he speaks. “I’m gonna date the shit out of you, Eijirou. I’m gonna date you so hard you won’t know what to do with yourself.”
Kirishima laughs, a sound that Bakugou will never get tired of hearing, and presses their foreheads together, his hands resting on Bakugou’s waist.
“I love you, too, Katsuki. In case that wasn’t already obvious,” Kirishima says. “Now that I’m here, do you wanna, I don’t know, order food or something? I think that place you like delivers until eleven, the one with the really spicy noodles.”
Bakugou feels his face morph into a smile as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll ask Todoroki if he can send me a picture of Endeavor’s credit card.”
“Katsuki!! That’s fraud!” Kirishima gasps, looking scandalized. Bakugou cackles and goes to move his phone out of Kirishima’s reach before he can take it from him.
“Fucker deserves to get frauded, you think I can afford to get noodles personally delivered to my doorstep? Let Endeavor pay, he’s so loaded he probably won’t even notice,” Bakugou says, pressing a kiss to Kirishima’s temple.
“Fiiiine,” Kirishima smiles. “But at least get some of those meat things I like,” he says, scooting closer to look at Bakugou’s phone screen where he’s entering the payment details.
Bakugou presses closer to the warmth of Kirishima’s body next to his own. There is literally nothing he’d rather be doing right now, no one he’d rather be with. And he’s so happy Kirishima didn’t dump him tonight.