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Kirishima has fought against Bakugou a hundred times, a thousand, probably. In one-on-one matches, staged Hero-vs-villain scenarios, spars quirkless and otherwise. They're always decided by the same thing:
Either Bakugou knocks Kirishima out, or Kirishima pins Bakugou down.
Dynamight and Red Riot are a perfect team. Everyone knows that. Hell, videos of their team-ups regularly go viral under the #DynaRiot hashtag even though they're only sidekicks in their third year of school. Bakugou has this smirk on his face every time it happens, obnoxiously smug over a solid layer of pride; Kirishima adores that expression almost as much as he adores his best friend.
(Which, since the first time Bakugou punched him in the face in one of said spars and Kirishima saw stars in a multitude of ways, is a lot.)
This time, they're live-streaming their fight. No quirks, MMA rules, with a dead-serious Mina as their referee and giddy Kaminari behind the professional camera U.A. let them use for this. There's an occasion to celebrate, after all — Two million followers on Instagram combined, Kirishima still can't believe it! — and they both got some excess excitement to burn.
"Get his ass, Baku!", yells Uraraka from the rafters, unapologetically biased for her grumpiest gym buddy. A few seats away, Tetsutetsu shouts, "C'mon, Kiribro, show him how real men fight!", clanging his metal hand noisily against the railing. The trash talk is part of the fun.
Kirishima slams his hardened fists together, grinning at Bakugou. "Ready to beg for mercy, man?"
"Tch", goes Bakugou, cracking his neck and flicking a shower of sparks into the camera for show. His gaze has a feral glint to it, lips pulling back until his canines are bared. "Think you'll still be manly in Heaven, Riot?"
Loud whooping from the stands. They shove their mouth pieces in, Kirishima's reinforced to withstand the chomp of his teeth. Above: The thwip of Sero's tape as he swings himself towards a better angle, hanging upside-down with his phone in hand to take some candids for the squad album.
Mina, between them with her arms outstretched and dressed in sleek black, intones: "Remember the rules. Three rounds. No quirks, no biting, nutshots or hair-pulling. Play fair, gentlemen."
Kirishima laughs, "Mina, please", fully aware she enjoys the spectacle as much as them. Huffing, Bakugou rolls his eyes, meets Kirishima's fist in the middle for a quick tap to agree to those conditions.
"Stop saying obvious shit. Let's fucking go!"
They take their places across from each other, Mina's palms touching their naked chests for a moment — Kirishima convinced Bakugou to go shirtless for this, You're welcome, Dynamight fans — before she claps once and steps back.
Gym γ hushes in suspense. Show time.
Looks clashing, Kirishima watches Bakugou's expression smooth out in concentration as they circle each other, hands raised to not lose a second either attacking or blocking. No, all that competitive energy blazes in Bakugou's eyes. Kirishima feels his face go serious as well, lips pressed together in a smile full of determination.
Normally, Bakugou plays it casual, sizing up Kirishima's form and taking a jab or two to open him up, search for weaknesses. Between them, Kirishima has more endurance and raw strength, while Bakugou is like his explosions, burning bright and hot and so fast.
Not today.
Today, Bakugou has the eyes of their peers on him and possibly two million more via the camera moving in the periphery of their vision. He's as cocky as he can be, side-stepping gracefully into Kirishima's space and exhaling a quiet "Heh" whenever a vicious hit forces Kirishima to take a step back. Chewing on his mouth piece, Kirishima widens his stance and keeps his breathing even.
They're not in their first year anymore. It takes a lot more than that to bait Kirishima's temper these days.
The clock ticks down on their first round, five minutes that fly by in a flash. The floor of the makeshift cage they set up for this is slippery with sweat; Bakugou and Kirishima are panting hard as they separate, bruises and each other's handprints littering their bodies.
"Water break", Mina decrees, nodding in satisfaction when Jirou delivers a bottle to each and gives them a once-over to make sure no one is bleeding. Much.
In official matches, the fighters tend to go to their respective corners to stay focused. Kirishima and Bakugou are best friends and future Hero partners, however: They're tough to keep apart, drifting towards each other without a second thought. "Good one at the end there", grumbles Bakugou, rolling the shoulder Kirishima high-kicked a handful of seconds ago. Their audience had gasped, whistling and howling in appreciation of the rare chance they're getting to see Kirishima's more flexible moves.
(Kirishima couldn't resist a wink towards the camera once the bell rang out to end the round. Fighting quirkless definitely has its benefits for him, in that regard.)
The same pride swells in his chest under Bakugou's praise. Kirishima preens, "Bro, my jaw's still feelin' that first punch of yours. Mido teach you that?", grabbing the hair tie he requested from Jirou to slick back his long strands into a spiky bun.
An arrogant grin. "Pshh. As if I'd let that clumsy-ass nerd boss me around."
That's a yes, then. Kirishima pats the back of Bakugou's unbruised shoulder, a silent acknowledgement of the truth without declaring it in front of their fans.
They reset, wait for Mina's signal, pick up right where they left off.
Little does Bakugou know Kirishima has learned a thing or two since their last spar, too — something he's been dying to try without a life-or-death villain situation breathing down his neck. Thus, Kirishima bides his time for the right moment, eyes keen and arms aching from blocking Bakugou's increasingly rough jabs and kicks. He'll have to be damn quick to get the new move past Bakugou's guard.
Meanwhile Bakugou's eyebrows draw together, confusion warring with frustration on his face. He's definitely noticed.
"Eiji—"
There! One step, two, and Kirishima is right in his space, slapping a palm to Bakugou's chest and hooking his foot around his ankle to trip him up. A breathless curse, excitement from the stands—
They tumble to the ground and keep rolling, twisting like snakes around each other's bodies in a struggle to gain the upper hand. Bakugou is fucking feisty, determined to slip through Kirishima's grip before he can solidify it into a proper hold while Kirishima knows he's done for if this doesn't work. Forcing Bakugou into submission tends to eat up his reserves like little else does.
A split-second, that's all he needs.
Bakugou snarls, clamps his thighs around Kirishima's left knee to pressure Kirishima into tapping out first — his back touches the ground and Kirishima strikes, using all his strength to hold him down and drag his other leg to his midriff. Planting his right knee below Bakugou's ribcage, Kirishima can feel Bakugou's abs rise and fall with each pant of air.
Careful, now. Too much weight on that spot and Bakugou could get seriously hurt.
Fat Gum said it doesn't take much to subdue someone with this technique, no matter how strong the opponent. Kirishima doesn't look forward to the elbow to the gut he'll eat if that ends up not being the case. "Oh damn", Kirishima hears Sero mutter from above. Mina has come closer, her presence another reminder to listen for the bell.
Honestly, Kirishima has no clue how much time he's got left; if he played his cards right, the fight will be over very soon.
Bakugou continues to resist yet he does seem firmly stuck. Grinning, Kirishima rights himself into a more comfortable position to maintain the hold, basking in the deafening noise of the crowd cheering them on — either for Kirishima to keep it up or for Bakugou to free himself.
"Get up! Get up, damn you!", Uraraka is screeching, held back from climbing the railing by a sheepish Todoroki. "Katsuki! You got his knee already, fucking crush it!"
And Bakugou strains, trying exactly that. Pain registers in Kirishima's leg as the joint is pushed into an unnatural bend. "Shit, ow, ow", Kirishima hisses, leaning into the elbow pinning Bakugou's shoulder to the ground while gingerly pushing further up Bakugou's stomach.
"C'mon, tap out, bro. Tap out and I'll let you go."
This close, he feels the exact instant Bakugou's breathing grows truly thin, the lack of air weakening his resistance further. Glancing up at the clock, Kirishima sees there's thirty seconds left. Almost there—
Heat. The sweet smell of nitroglycerine about to ignite. Eyes widening, Kirishima's skin starts to harden out of long-trained instinct before—
Boom! A explosion bursts against his waist. It hurts, Kirishima having braced himself too late, now breathless himself. Yet he holds strong, sharp pain mixing with annoyance. Since when does Bakugou cheat to win?!
Droplets of blood splatter the floor before his skin knits itself together twice as tough as before. A shrill whistle. "No quirks!" Mina's warning barely makes it through the roar of the crowd. Gritting his teeth, Kirishima's hardening eases again, red eyes searching for their counterpart to indicate to Bakugou they're definitely talking about this later.
Only Bakugou isn't looking at him. He's not looking anywhere at all, eyes clenched shut and mouth moving between gasps for breath. Kirishima can't understand whatever he's saying through the silicone protecting his teeth; he doesn't need to, that sight and the fingers scratching red, desperate lines on whatever part of Kirishima he can reach telling him more than enough.
"Oh, fu—" Immediately taking his weight off Bakugou, Kirishima spits his mouth guard out and yells over his shoulder: "Tap! Fuck, tap, I'm tapping out, stop the fight, Mina!"
A shocked inhale. "Shit. Shit!" They're surrounded by the smoke of Bakugou's explosion; Kirishima can only see Mina when she's practically on top of them, pink hands reaching for Bakugou before she reconsiders and squeezes Kirishima's bicep instead. Take care of him and leave the rest to me, that gesture says.
"Denki, shut down the stream. Don't ask questions, man, just do it! Kyouka, Hanta, get the others outta here!"
Another explosion, right by Kirishima's head. Wincing, he gentles his touch further, slides his hands up to Bakugou's shoulders to ground rather than restrain him. "It's okay. Kats, it's okay. It's just me, Eijirou", rambles Kirishima over the ringing in his ears, tears rising to his eyes. This… He never meant for this to happen.
"I stopped, you're safe. I'm so sorry. I won't hold you down anymore, Kats, I'm sorry—"
Bakugou whines, continues to slur out — "Let go, let go, please, can't… Can't breathe…" — and the thought that he'd been telling him to stop all along makes Kirishima so sick he's dizzy. Numbly, he obeys, shuffling back—
Until a hand wraps around Kirishima's wrist, hard. A sliver of red peeks through the panic, Bakugou's gaze trained on him despite how hazy it is. Tears cling to the edges of his eyes, carving a path through sweat and dirt on their way down.
"Don't leave! M'sorry, don't leave, Ei. N-need you here."
Kirishima sniffles, chokes out, "Okay, man, you're okay. I'm here. Right here. Of course I'm not leaving, I'm not going anywhere without you, you hear me?"
A shaky nod. Even shakier fingers, struggling to get the plastic blocking the airflow into Bakugou's lungs out. There's nothing Kirishima can do to help him, knowing for a fact that, in this headspace, any foreign movement around Bakugou's mouth will freak him out more.
Finally, the mouth piece drops to places unknown and Bakugou inhales pure relief.
"That's it, Kats. Well done. Deep breaths."
Following the flimsy tug to his arm, Kirishima curls over Bakugou to tap their foreheads together with exceeding gentleness. Bakugou leans into the touch, closing his eyes again. Concentrating on his breathing while Kirishima shields him from view and any harm that may come for them.
The blatant trust in that gesture has water welling anew in Kirishima's eyes. "Breathe. Just me and you here. Good. That's good."
By the time Mina decides to test the waters and approach, Kirishima has managed to coax Bakugou into sitting up, letting him rest against his chest. Mindlessly, he is rubbing Bakugou's palms and fingers to give him something to focus on. The gentle massage melts tension off Bakugou's body muscle by muscle.
Every now and again, Bakugou hums a wordless thank you and nuzzles the space between Kirishima's neck and his clavicle to prove he's okay and present.
Mina crouches one or two steps away, tells them calmly: "Folks online are confused, but it could be worse. Apparently visibility was shitty because of the smoke, Kami went live on your account to handle the fallout. The others all promised they won't say anything."
The gold of her eyes goes soft within the surrounding black, hands clasped between her knees. "Now. How is my best boy doing, hm?"
"Mmph", Bakugou grunts out, not even bothering to pretend he isn't shirtlessly cuddling with his best friend in the middle of the gym. Kirishima squeezes him close, translates:
"A little shaken but getting there. We'll be okay, Ash. Thanks for the save, I owe you one."
She's waving him off before Kirishima can finish his sentence. "Don't mention it, Eiji, seriously. Recovery Girl will want to see you two whenever you're ready. I'm just glad you stopped before—"
"What're ya telling 'em?"
Fuck. Bakugou's voice is raspy as hell. Somewhere during his panic attack, he started dry heaving, head lost in the sensation of slime pushing into his throat or any other of the uncomfortably high amount of traumatic events in which he was forced to fight for air.
Kirishima's heart stings with guilt. He should've never tried that move on him. Never.
"That Kiri cancelled the match because he got pissed about the explosion." Mina bites her lip at Kirishima’s dejected nod, not as collected about all this as she seems. "Sorry, babe. I know you're physically incapable of getting mad at Baku and there's gonna be stupid rumors everywhere now, but it's the first thing that popped into Kami's mind and we ran with it."
An attempt of a smile on Kirishima's part. "It's okay. I—"
"S'not fuckin' okay."
Bakugou groans as he pushes off Kirishima a bit, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The little cut he got on his upper lip during the match sluggishly starts to bleed again. "Ah, shit. Not blamin' you guys for it, just— None of this is Red's fault. The move was legal. It was me who fucked up by not tappin' out when… Yeah."
"No, Kats, I shouldn't have—"
"What? Tried to win the fuckin' match? Gonna fight me with kid gloves from now on? You know I hate that shit, Eijirou. It was a good fuckin' hold and you deserve the win. And those extras are gonna whine about whatever the fuck in our comments from now until eternity—"
"So we throw hands", Mina interrupts, a straight-forward kind of promise. "I make Instagram my bitch every day, Hanta grew up on Reddit and Denks pretty much rules TikTok these days. Hell, Jirou can get meaner than OG Blasty when she's got someone to protect. Consider it dealt with, yeah?"
Kirishima throws her a grateful look. People call him the Dynamight Whisperer, but Mina has had a not-so-secret gift for cutting through Bakugou's stubbornness since they became friends.
Case in point: Bakugou's glare intensifies before he sighs and relents. "Yeah, whatever. Thanks."
Smiling once more, Mina pecks Kirishima on the cheek, ruffles Bakugou's hair and gets up with an energetic, "Alright! One curb-stomping of extras, coming right up!" A wink and a wave — and she's gone, rapidly typing on her phone the second her back is turned to them.
Exhaling all the air in his lungs in one go, Kirishima lets himself fall back, mumbling a soft ow as his bruised body hits the cold ground like a sack of bricks. The adrenaline crash from emergencies like that does not get any less brutal, huh?
A quiet beat follows in which Kirishima stares up at the ceiling and Bakugou stares at him.
"Hey, Kats?"
"Mm?"
"Our friends are the best."
Bakugou snorts. "Yeah." A bit more gingerly, he crawls over before slumping against Kirishima's chest, ignoring the oof the added weight elicits from the man.
"Red. Stop moping already."
"Mmm no."
A long-suffering sigh. Kirishima has but a fraction of a second to wonder why Bakugou is reaching for his pec before his right nipple is pinched and he shrieks.
"Katsuki!"
"Stop. Moping." Bakugou gives him a serious-faced raise of his eyebrow, one a blushing Kirishima meets with flustered huffing. Bakugou's lips twitch, then, and he breaks into chuckles, the fond kind he reserves for Kirishima.
"C'mon, I was gentle. You're acting like I stepped on your dick. Which I will, if you don't quit it with the sad kitten eyes right the fuck now."
"Dude. My poor nipple did nothing to you. Or my dick!"
Under his breath, Bakugou mutters something that sounds like, "Tell me 'bout it, it's tragic." Tenderly holding his pec, Kirisima elects not to think about it or else his head will get hot so fast, his brain will steam-cook in his skull.
"Listen, dipshit. It is a good move. Fat Gum's, I'm guessing?"
Ah, a chance to gush about his mentor and one of the best Heroes out there (no matter matter what the official rankings say!). Bakugou really doesn't play fair.
"Mh, yeah." Kirishima puts an arm around Bakugou's shoulders, running his fingers through his hair. The story is quickly told, just Fat Gum being Fat Gum and changing Kirishima's perspective on life one good piece of advice at a time. "Seemed like somethin' I could pull off early in a fight to save my stamina for Unbreakable, y'know? Fat said it shouldn't be too rough…"
A distracted hum. "It wasn't, idiot, my head fucked me over more than you did." Bakugou is running his palm over Kirishima's side, frowning at the blood he finds there, slightly tacky by now.
"But this… I hurt you, didn't I? Damn it, Ei, I… It wasn't you I was seeing."
Sounding so devastated, Kirishima can't help hugging Bakugou closer and pressing a barely-there kiss to his hair. "I know, but I'm okay. I didn't listen at first 'cause I couldn't understand what you were saying with all that noise."
"People were losing their minds out there, impossible to hear fuckin' anything."
"Heh. They kinda were, huh?"
Glancing up, Bakugou gives him a slow smirk. A lot more worn than a mere hour ago, downright exhausted. Still proud, though. "'Cause we were kickin' ass, yeah." Propping his elbow up against Kirishima's shoulder, Bakugou's hand comes to rest over his heart, careful around the faint scratches he left there in his panic.
"Hey. Rematch soon?"
Like Kirishima could deny him anything he asks for in that quiet, hopeful voice. "Yeah. After all the drama blows over. I'll…" He clears his throat. "Uh, we'll… just have to be more careful next time. Okay? Just once. For me?"
Bakugou's smirk turns into a small pout. "Ugh, fine. Once. And only 'cause you won and you're… you. All stupidly worried about me and shit. Fucker."
That shakes the last of Kirishima's doubts loose. Bakugou never makes promises he doesn't intend to keep. The subsequent relief leaves him loose-limbed and empty-brained enough to tilt Bakugou's head up and press a kiss to his cheek, so badly aimed it lands on the corner of his mouth.
"Deal. Thanks, Kats."
Kirishima's head drops back to the ground, eyes closing as he gives into the craving to simply process for a few more minutes…
…and definitely missing the wide-eyed look and glorious blush spreading on Bakugou's face.