Work Text:
“Katsuki, you won’t believe this!” Kirishima exclaimed excitedly when he finally figured out where the steam rising above the forest was coming from. “Hot springs!”
Bakugou stood next to Kirishima, one hand on his hip, the other holding his backpack full of stolen fabrics. “Finally,” Bakugou exhaled contentedly. They’d been on the road for two weeks. It was uncomfortably hot, muggy, and humid. Everything was sticking to them. They were sweating. They both smelled terrible. They were covered in dried sweat and mud. Their shoes were filled with sand and small pebbles. They hadn’t come across even a trickle of a small stream along the way, and the alcohol that had kept them alive so they wouldn’t die of dehydration had also run out this morning. On top of that, it was making them sweat even more. Bakugou noticed how far Kirishima was standing from him. His dragon’s nose couldn’t stand the smell of an unwashed human. Even though he secretly waded through the blood and entrails of a freshly hunted wild boar at night, the smell of humans irritated them, and all their dragon instincts warned them that they should hide. Dragons didn’t like humans. Kirishima didn’t care what was written in his blood or what his family expected him to do. He found humans interesting, especially because of their love for shiny fabrics and materials, which he so enjoyed stealing from them.
“Let’s go,” Bakugou commanded once he’d finally caught his breath a bit. Over the last three days, they’d walked several long kilometers through uncharted terrain. Hills, rocks, prickly flowers, thorns that dug into their skin—and on top of it all, the scent of metal.
It didn’t take long before they made their way down the mountainside to the first large spring. There were several of them there. Not a single one was occupied. They likely belonged to the forest creatures who came to bathe there alongside the deities and spirits. Before they undressed, they knelt beside the rocks and prayed. When Bakugou spoke his final words, a breeze blew, ruffling both of their sweat-dampened hair. It was a sign. They had been accepted into the hot springs.
Kirishima didn’t wait a second; he immediately ripped off all his clothes, left them lying in a big, smelly heap, and jumped into the lake as if it were several meters deep. Before Bakugou could yell at him, he had already surfaced, soaking wet and with a wide smile on his face. “This is awesome!” He shouted happily and stood up. The water reached halfway up his thighs. He shook his head to get the water droplets off his face and ran his fingers through his thick, red hair, which now seemed several shades darker.
“You idiot,” Bakugou laughed, but with the same enthusiasm, he began to undress as well. He didn’t even fold it like always. He wanted to burn them. He hated the smell so much. Naked, he walked to the edge, dipped his foot in, and when he decided the water wasn’t too hot for him, he stepped in slowly. Kirishima’s dragon body could withstand boiling water, but his human body certainly couldn’t. They’d already found that out a few times. He had to be careful. He submerged himself completely until the water reached his ears, and he could hear Kirishima approaching him slowly through the water. When he surfaced, Kirishima was standing right in front of him. Bakugou wiped the water from his face with his hands. “What is it?” he asked the dragon, who was looking at him with interest.
“You’re still wearing your jewelry,” he said. In the darkness, it sparkled a little more than usual.
“I’m not taking it off,” he said honestly, sitting down on a rock in the water, leaning his back against the stone wall, and letting out a contented sigh. The water lapped up to his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Kirishima sat down next to him, rested his hands on the rocks, laid his head on his elbows, and watched his prince. “Stop it,” Bakugou growled at him. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know he was looking at him. That gaze was burning into him.
“I just can’t believe it…” he whispered.
“Hm?”
“You will be king.” Bakugou tilted his head to one side. Kirishima was still smiling at him. “You will ascend the throne and lead your people to victory, just as you’ve always wanted.” Ever since childhood, he had longed for the Barbarians to reclaim the territories stolen from them by the Todoroki royal family fifty years ago. He harbored a deep-seated desire for revenge. “You’ll go to war,” he said cautiously, waiting to see how the blond would react. He didn’t like it when he was reminded of that. They’d already argued about it several times. Kirishima feared for his partner, the prince—and perhaps one day his future husband, though that was a discussion for another evening. He couldn’t imagine losing him. It was hard enough for him to admit that Bakugou was aging much faster than he was. While he still had at least three hundred years of life ahead of him, the first wrinkles were already visible on Bakugou’s twenty-year-old body, and the scars from battles were healing more slowly. When Bakugou said nothing, Kirishima added, “Aren’t you afraid?”
Bakugou reached out his hand to Kirishima and stroked his cheek. Kirishima purred contentedly. It was a deep, rumbling sound that rose from his chest. He sounded like a wild animal. Bakugou loved it. “No,” he said honestly, “because you’ll be there with me. I’ll have my loyal dragon by my side. What else could protect me but him?”
Kirishima couldn’t take it anymore. He had to kiss his beloved. Bakugou let him play with his lips until they were both out of breath and the water around them seemed even a few degrees warmer than before. They were aroused, but they decided not to do anything about it. They didn’t want to spoil the intimate moment they were sharing with lust. It was so rare—to sit down for a moment, just to be themselves, together. Not to think about the king, battles, wars, secret magic, or the prophecies of the dark forces. To enjoy the hot spring, their masculine bodies, and the moon’s glow, which illuminated them so that they looked as if they were carved from marble.
Kirishima rested his forehead against Bakugou’s. Bakugou laughed. He could feel Kirishima’s horns against his skin, horns Kirishima was trying to hide behind his red hair. “I love you, my prince,” he whispered and kissed him again.
Bakugou didn’t say anything in response. He just wrapped his arms around Kirishima’s shoulders and pulled him close. When they finally stopped kissing, Bakugou rested Kirishima’s head on his chest, playing with his hair, occasionally splashing water from his palm onto it as he massaged it into his scalp. Kirishima listened to his heart, thumping and strong, just like his entire being. He stared into the void ahead of him and pondered what their life would look like once all this was over. Once they no longer had to fight. Once they returned together to their homeland and built the tribal society they had dreamed of.
Bakugou kissed his hair and closed his eyes contentedly. “Don’t leave me,” he begged quietly, as if ashamed that someone might hear him. He didn’t want to reveal the desires of his heart. They were meant only for Kirishima. For no one else.
“Never, Katsuki, I promise,” he said and kissed the scar that adorned his chest.