Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/10901418. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア_|_Boku_no_Hero_Academia_|_My_Hero_Academia Relationship: Bakugou_Katsuki/Midoriya_Izuku, Kirishima_Eijirou/Midoriya_Izuku, Kaminari_Denki/Kirishima_Eijirou Character: Bakugou_Katsuki, Midoriya_Izuku, Kaminari_Denki, Kirishima_Eijirou Additional Tags: Angst_and_Fluff_and_Smut, Underage_Sex, Gay_Sex, Multiple_Pairings, Biting, Rough_Sex, Implied/Referenced_Abuse, Friends_With_Benefits, Childhood_Friends, Consent_Issues, Abuse, Begging, Explicit_Sexual Content, Explicit_Consent, Love/Hate, Love_Confessions, Semi-Public_Sex, Bakugou_Katsuki_Swears_A_Lot, Rough_Oral_Sex, Dirty_Talk, erotic asphyxiation, Sadism, Masochism, My_First_Work_in_This_Fandom, I_regret my_life_choices, Blood, Angry_Bakugou_Katsuki, Jealousy, Sexual_Tension, Anal_Sex, Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Boys_In_Love, Dorks_in_Love Stats: Published: 2017-05-14 Completed: 2018-03-04 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 12097 ****** Hemorrhage ****** by TouchofFever_(UntappedChaos) Summary When you can feel your entire chest cracking, it’s already too late. You’re already so far gone, there’s no hope of recovery. ——— Midoriya Izuku is in love with Bakugo Katsuki. It’s painful and emasculating, and if he hadn’t come to terms with his feelings a long time ago, he probably would have committed suicide. Kirishima Eijirou is in love with Kaminari Denki. It’s painful because Heaven and Hell are next door neighbors when the two of them are friendly enough to regularly touch, but it’s painfully obvious just how straight the bastard is. So together they hurt, they ache, they regret and cry. Then they stand up and plaster on happy, hopeful faces before going to deal with the others, who will remain ignorant. Then one day they aren't careful enough. One day their classmates realize that not all the bruises and scratches are from training, and both of them must own up to the feelings they've been burying inside. Notes Warnings: Consent issues - consent has been given, but well, when your heart is elsewhere. Psychological issues are also addressed a little, including self-hatred. This is the lightest chapter as far as content is concerned, but I do want people to understand that all the physical relationships in this story are consentual, though of course each to varying degrees of explicity. More tags to come on this story. See the end of the work for more notes ***** Part 1 — Liar Liar ***** When you can feel your entire chest cracking, it’s already too late.   You’re already so far gone, there’s no hope of recovery.   That’s when denying you’re in love just means you suffer in silence, because you’re a liar.   Liar.   LIAR!   ===============================================================================   Izuku’s eyes snap open on a ceiling that’s a little too familiar by now. He can feel Kirishima’s arm draped across his sweat-slicked midsection, and the warmth is more accusatory than comforting.   “Midoriya? Y’okay?” he murmurs sleepily. What he’s really asking is ‘ Can you handle it?’ , because he is never okay anymore. So Izuku nods and pats his arm, eyes slipping closed as the voice in his head still echoes.   Liar.   ===============================================================================   Midoriya Izuku is in love with Bakugo Katsuki. It’s painful and emasculating, and if he hadn’t come to terms with his feelings a long time ago, he probably would have committed suicide. How something like love could still fester after all the shit he’d been through he wasn’t sure, but here he was. Here he sat, distracted by the texture of Katsuki’s hair as it caught a breeze from the open window. Here he sat, staring into the blinding light as sunshine turned the ash-blonde hair in front of his eyes a stunning platinum.   Izuku’s chest aches the more he considers how much he wants to pet and stroke that hair. Then his heart cracks some more when phantom pains from the broken bones he would get start shivering up his arms.   ===============================================================================   Kirishima Eijirou is in love with Kaminari Denki. It’s painful because Heaven and Hell are next door neighbors when the two of them are friendly enough to regularly touch, but it’s painfully obvious just how straight the bastard is. He flirts with Ashido-san between the class periods, and if his efforts are somehow rewarded a quick electrical charge will spark the air around him. Then before he knows it, Kirishima is smiling through his grimace as Kaminari throws an arm around his shoulder, squealing at the cuteness of girls.   His chest aches when their lips are so close he could just turn his head and they’d end up kissing. Then his heart cracks a little when he imagines the looks of disgust and horror that would twist that smiling face if he dared.   ===============================================================================   When lunch period rolls around, Kirishima and Izuku both disappear before people realize it. Uraraka and Iida both frown and pout before heading to the cafeteria.   Bakugo flips through a magazine while picking at a store-bought bento. Izuku never enters his mind.   Kaminari follows a mildly perturbed Yaoyorozu to the school store as if he’s walking on cloud nine, and Kirishima is an after-thought.   ===============================================================================   Eijirou doesn’t dare bite Izuku. Despite hormones and anger and hurt, they’re quite careful with each other. No marks, no barebacking, no toys. No insults, no names, no dirty talk.   Eijirou can’t think of Izuku as Kaminari, because he would want to mark him. He would want to leave giant, obvious hickeys on his neck and a wobble in his step that couldn’t be explained by mosquitos and summer heat.   Izuku can’t think of Eijirou as Kacchan, because it would break him. This quiet, gentle, respectful sort of sex would never happen with Katsuki, and Izuku can’t even muster the courage to think ‘What if it did?’ . If Katsuki ever became his… no, if he ever became Kacchan’s , he could listen to the melody of swear words and blush at the dirty talk, and if he were called a slut it would make him feel sexy as hell instead of ashamed.   So the two keep quiet and seek whatever solace they can from each other’s skin. Even when every thrust makes Izuku feel like he’s being raped, his soul being scraped away from inside of him. He wants to scream and push Kirishima’s arms away because he’s not Kacchan , but this is the only remedy he can think of.   Even when every gasp and moan makes Eijirou feel like a slut, like he’s a bastard that deserves this situation, he continues. He wants to stop this, to stop touching the form that’s too small and too lean to be the one he really wants because how could he whore himself out like this , but this is the only balm he has.   So they hurt and they ache, and their quiet voices diffuse in the unused chemistry room as they both finish. They regret. They cry.   They stand up and plaster on happy, hopeful faces before going to deal with the others, who will remain ignorant.   ===============================================================================     At some point, Izuku starts leaving scratches on Eijirou’s back, though. They’re both okay with that. Izuku uses it as evidence that he’s struggling; he uses it to prove that some part of him feels guilt over this physical relationship that’s only there because of mutual pain. Eijirou likes how it seems to brand him like the slut he is; the tangible evidence makes it easier to give in. Then before he knows he’s doing it, Eijirou’s hands stop being quite so gentle. They start leaving finger-shaped bruises and awkward scratches everywhere he touches. Izuku was okay with that, because feeling like an object felt better than feeling like a whore. Eijirou didn’t like it, but couldn’t deny the catharsis that followed. The injuries often disappeared or were layered over in a day. Then one day they weren’t. One day a nightmare led to an early morning romp with lots of bruises and scratches on both sides. They didn’t think twice about it until they were changing for afternoon classes. Mineta-kun commented on how Kirishima’s girlfriend must be hella wild judging by all the scratches on his back. Seconds later, Katsuki blew the door off his locker. In the commotion, no one realized how quickly Izuku left the room. They also missed Kaminari’s stunned, blank stare that didn’t leave Kirishima’s back until the vest hid it from his view. ***** Part 2 — When 'Deku' becomes 'Izuku' Again ***** Chapter Summary He expected a frantic shake of the head, a desperate or frightened sob; he expected Deku to run away and never mention this… whatever it was, ever again. Hero Academy was changing him though; less predictable, and more of a stealthy, incalculable assassin. With one sentence, eyes soft, smile sad, voice gentle, heart open, 'Deku' became 'Izuku' again. “I’ve always loved you, Kacchan. Even when you beat me, and burned me, and cussed me, and harassed me, and degraded me. I know all your bad points by heart, Kacchan, but I still love you.” Chapter Notes Trigger Warnings: Verbal and physical abuse, because Kacchan's not a good boy. Violent, unhealthy sex... again, because Kacchan's not a good boy. Dammit, Kacchan. Also, I really need to kick my erotic asphyxiation fetish... but I'm not a good girl, either. ;P The E rating is there for a reason, so take care, smol peoples. Also, this chapter is unbetad as of yet; please forgive me. <3 See the end of the chapter for more notes When an unnatural heat appeared at his back, Izuku already knew who it was. Not even his fire-breathing father or the fire half of Todoroki-kun was a match for how much body heat Bakugo Katsuki put off. When he was silently crowded against the shoe lockers, Izuku was seconds from activating the One for All. How to survive what he was sure was coming was the only semi-coherent thought floating in his head, even as lips came so close to his ear he could almost feel them moving.   “ You fucking cumslut. The hell are you doing, shaking your ass at Hair-for- Brains.”   A full-body shiver shook him from head to toe. The deceptively calm tone of his words felt distinctly like a threat; as expected of Kacchan, he really was the top of their class. All it took was noticing him with his shirt off to know exactly what happened.   “Not going to deny it,” he whispered, and despite the power ready to surge through his veins and protect him, Izuku felt himself look upward and bare his throat. “What do you think you—“   “Shut the hell up. Were you trying to pick a fucking fight with me, showing off those fucking marks?” he growls, a hand suddenly coming up to grip Izuku’s neck tightly, overwriting a handful of yellowing hickies and shoving his face into the cold locker door. “I always knew you were a fucking lame-ass nerd, but now you’re a fag too?”   It hurt. It hurt . It was a relief while it was a pain though, because finally it wasn’t a secret anymore. The bruises from sex and training mingled on his skin, and the twinges that came with them seemed to amplify and ache for something to make them hurt more. The tone of voice was setting off sparks inside of him even as the disgust in Katsuki’s voice made him want to run and hide for all he was worth. Would it kill him to just…?   With their bodies so close, just a shift of the hips brought Izuku’s rear against Katsuki’s crotch. His childhood friend, his tormentor, his personal demon — Katsuki, Kacchan, who meant so many things to him stiffened in shock as Izuku rolled his hips against the ones behind him softly.   Invitingly.   “And if I am? Your verbal abuse isn’t going to stop me. If I sleep with Kirishima-kun… with Eijirou-kun, are you going to beat me up?” he asked, voice a gasp that had no strength. He used all his willpower to turn his head, just enough to catch Katsuki’s dumbfounded expression over his shoulder, hazy eyes meeting his with a shudder. “What will you do with me, Kacchan?”   Another prompting wiggle seemed to shake him just enough that his other hand came up to grab Izuku’s hip and hold him still, struggling with the questions. What Izuku wouldn’t know was how badly the name Eijirou-kun echoed inside Katsuki’s head, how loudly it mocked him. Izuku chose Eijirou-kun over him. The long seconds that ticked by as those words sank in were filled with mounting ire and punctuated with Katsuki’s rage becoming a harsh bite to Izuku’s shoulder, jaw locking on the smooth skin that overlaid hard muscles. He could taste blood and feel the skin denting and snapping under his teeth, but what really got his attention was the sound of a moan that should not have sent the blood that rushed to his head down to his groin so quickly. It made Katsuki grind his teeth in harder, fingers gripping tighter, hands ready to set off explosions at any moment. The pain was morphing into pleasure though, as Izuku panted and pushed for more pressure against his ass, the words “ Oh god, please ,” dropping sinfully off his tongue in a whisper.   And the words just kept on looping in his ears: “What will you do with me, Kacchan?”   Not to him, but with him. Their bodies pressed nearly flush, their voices low and desperate; the situation had progressed much too far before he realized what was happening. A moment of clarity showed Katsuki how Izuku’s uniform shirt had ridden up his back, how the collar was stained with blood; how that pale, freckled skin was marked by someone other than him, but that the biggest, brightest mark — a vicious impression of his teeth — had bloodied Izuku’s entire shoulder in a statement of possession. Their hips pressed together, rocking in a frictious rhythm that set a slow burn in his belly. Katsuki licked his lips, and the taste of blood reminded him of alcohol — bitterly addictive.   “Do you want me, Deku?”   The way his eyes widened, then hooded, were obvious even if he didn’t answer. That wasn’t what Katsuki wanted though.   “Do you want me to fuck you, Deku?” he tried again with a growl, eyes narrowing. A desperate glint flashed through green eyes, followed by a tongue that licked his lips. Still no answer. Katsuki ground roughly against Izuku’s backside, eliciting a moan from his otherwise silent mouth. Grabbing him by the hair, Katsuki pulled him until Izuku’s body arched back, allowing Katsuki to whisper against his temple. “Do you want me to hold you, Izuku?”   “God, yes.”   The answer was reflexive and desperate, but if Katsuki hadn’t been hard before he would’ve been now. Izuku had tears running down his face, but his pupils were blown wide with lust as hands groped behind him, daring to touch Katsuki’s hips, his arms, his shoulders, anywhere within reach. His shivering shoulders pressed warmly against Katsuki’s chest and arm, and Izuku wanted to melt right there as crimson eyes heated to boiling.   Kacchan is turned on by me.   With only one hand on his hip, Katsuki couldn’t control all of Izuku’s movements, and the look on his face was enough for him to press that tiny advantage. Izuku pushed his hips as closely to Katsuki’s as he could, breathlessly begging him, “Please, Kacchan. Please.”   Controlling himself was never one of his strong points, but Katsuki desperately ground his teeth together in an effort not to be taken in. Izuku was begging him in a sweet, soft voice as his hooded eyes glittered with desire. He was offering himself so openly that Katsuki almost forgot the reason he was so pissed. His fingers tightened in Izuku’s hair, pulling harder. The shuddering sigh that left his lips shook both their frames for separate and equal reasons.   “Answer me straight, Izuku,” he bit, patience nearly breaking at the vulnerability and openness the boy displayed for him at the sound of his real name on Katsuki’s lips. “Why were you fucking around with Hair-for-Brains?”   Hazy as his mind was, drunk as he was on hearing his real name from Katsuki for the first time in over ten years, it never even occurred to Izuku to lie. “Because I couldn’t have you, Kacchan.”   The breath left his lungs, heart stunned to a thunderous silence, hands loosened until Izuku slipped from his grip and crumpled to the floor. His freckled cheek leaned against the cold locker doors, eyes still trailing back to Katsuki’s expression, to the brows that were knit deep as always while crimson eyes stared at him with an unreadable expression. His wide shoulders were trembling finely, and Izuku, in a moment of suicidal clarity, wondered if Katsuki was building enough power to finally end him for real. If so, why not come clean? It was practically out there already.   “I wanted you, Kacchan. I wanted you and couldn’t have you, so when Eijirou-kun offered I took him up on it.”   Katsuki stared at Izuku, mind frozen while his heartbeat reached speeds he hadn’t known it was capable of. His childhood friend, Deku the Useless , was kneeling at his feet, bleeding from teeth marks he left, pleading to him with lust-blown eyes, and confessing… what, his love? What was he confessing?   “Don’t fuck with me,” he growled, and the despairing smile that stretched shaking freckled lips was horrible. “If you want to say something, say it plain and clear.” Katsuki couldn’t stop the sneer that twisted his mouth, and carefully he enunciated, “Are you in love with me, I-zu-ku?”   He expected a frantic shake of the head, a desperate or frightened sob; he expected Deku to run away and never mention this… whatever it was, ever again. Hero Academy was changing him though; less predictable, and more of a stealthy, incalculable assassin. With one sentence, eyes soft, smile sad, voice gentle, heart open, Deku became Izuku again.   “I’ve always loved you, Kacchan. Even when you beat me, and burned me, and cussed me, and harassed me, and degraded me. I know all your bad points by heart, Kacchan, but I still love you.”   His first reaction was to deny it.  To ask if he was crazy, to use his foot to grind Deku’s face into the locker until he corrected this egregious error, to break bones one by one until he heard the truth, because there was just no way that was for real.  As if he could read those thoughts every one, Izuku shifted around from where Katsuki’s legs caged him by the lower lockers, and with a blank smile that unnerved him to no end, Izuku started unbuttoning his shirt.  The garment was shrugged down to his elbows, revealing scratches and scrapes and bruises for his intimate perusal.  Next were the pants, and as Izuku got to his knees and knelt before him, Katsuki could see all the bites and kiss marks that littered the pale, freckled thighs beneath him, that even peeked through the soft patch of hair at the base of his erotic, straining cock.   Fucking Kirishima had marked him everywhere, and it set an ugly, writhing, violent feeling loose in his belly.     On the verge of hurting Izuku, he choked as pink, wet lips began mouthing over his clothed erection, wanton hands wandering up the backs of his thighs.  A whispered shit came out with a groan, voice nigh-feral as he watched with singular focus, committing the sight to memory as Izuku breathed over his groin, wrapped bare, freckled arms around his legs, and begged silently with mouth open for his throat to be filled.   With eerie intensity, Katsuki slowly wrapped his hand around Izuku’s throat.  He squeezed until it was just inside of painful, pushed until there was enough room to pop the buttons on his uniform trousers and draw down the zipper.  Fevered green eyes met his with such obvious thirst that it was enchanting, enthralling — and the haunting sight of his skin covered in someone else’s marks was tempered by the heat, turning into a refined, twisted blade.  With sadistic deliberation, Katsuki pushed his pants and underwear just below his hips, and helped himself to Izuku’s waiting, open mouth.  The heat and wet and tightness wasn’t the only thing that curled his toes; Izuku moaned deeply, teary eyes rolling back as Katsuki forced him to take it all the way to the root.   It was inflaming, watching him enjoy the pain; it made Katsuki feel like an animal, and he licked his lips before hooking a thumb in Izuku’s jaw, prying it just a little further open.  The feeling of his dick slipping down Izuku’s throat, forcing the passage open with each thrust, was an obscene sensation under the hand that still held him there.   “Fuck — can’t—” He wanted to say something, but his throat was burning with the strain of keeping quiet, his mouth twitching for need of contact, teeth throbbing with the desire to bite.  The habit of calling him Deku was still fresh on his tongue, but that… that wouldn’t do here.  No, not while lust and possession was consuming him like this; no possession of his was ever useless .  “ Izuku…”   The sound that bubbled up from soul-deep inside that freckled-faced boy was indescribable.  It rattled him to his bones.  It inspired something beastial inside him.  Katsuki found himself grinding into Izuku’s throat, encouraging those noises as he continued to chant, “Izuku… Izuku.  Izu—”   This was Izuku.  This is was Midoriya Izuku, the kid too nice for his own good, the kid too weak to take care of himself but always caring for others.  This was Deku the Hero, All Might’s successor.  This was his childhood friend, the one who suffered through the worst of him and never got his best.   This was Izuku.   Even beaten, even burned, even cussed, and harassed, and degraded, Izuku was his.  Katsuki’s chest hurt as it sank in, and he was almost too careless when he hauled the smaller boy to his feet, backed him against the locker, and finally, finally, finally laid a claim he hadn’t dared before.  He kissed Izuku, claimed his mouth like he had every intention of claiming the rest of his body.  Katsuki had no experience to draw on, nothing to reference.  He had no idea how to be gentle, but that didn’t seem necessary as Izuku seemed to unravel beneath his bruising touch, beneath the kisses that bloodied his lips.  Biting into the sensitive flesh of Izuku’s tongue drew out more of those soul- shaking noises; it sent delicious shivers rocketing down his spine, and when Izuku’s knees buckled, he was there.   For the first time, he was there.   “Kaccha— Kacchan, wait a—”   “Not waiting.  Screw waiting.”  Katsuki sank his hands into Izuku’s ass, pants slipping off Izuku’s toes as Katsuki hauled him up into his arms.  Freckled fingers knit into his hair, pulling it desperately; not away, but angling closer.     Katsuki was destruction where Izuku was life; Katsuki wanted to consume, where Izuku wanted to breathe him in.  There wasn’t anything frenzied about them; all was perfect, natural, fall apart and fall together order.  It was desperate wanting curbed only by calculated violence.  Payback for a perceived slight that he hadn’t realized until then.  Izuku was his ; he wasn’t to lend himself out to any other.  Not to any of the others, not even Kirishima.  There wasn’t a damn person anywhere on the face of the earth with the right to lay a hand on Izuku except for Katsuki.   “Kacchan , please I can’t—” Izuku was begging him, voice pitching with desperation as his cock rubbed against Katsuki’s firm, burning-hot ribs.  The keening noise that followed Katsuki plunging his dry fingers into his ass was obscene, and obscenely beautiful.  The sharp inhale drew his sense of hearing; the fragrance of blood from Izuku’s bloody lips tickled his nose.  The sweaty, heaving body beneath his hands enthralled his sense of touch, and the sight of red blush making all the white scars on his skin — from the tiny ones of childhood mishaps to the burns left by his own hand — stand up in overwhelming contrast.   When Katsuki sank his teeth into Izuku’s shoulder again, all five senses were overwhelmed with Izuku.  It was irresponsible and much too soon, too little prep and he knew, but Katsuki dragged his nails across the plush cheeks in his hands as he hitched freckled hips up just enough to sink in to sinful, sultry heat.     Then Izuku bit him back.   He was stifling a moan that shook Katsuki to his toes, a shivering, quaking, hot and desperate sound that coiled him even tighter, brought him nearly to the edge again.  It made him go still in an effort not to come right then , and he pressed Izuku to the lockers, teeth grazing over freckled collarbones just so, so close to biting again.  The body in his arms was shaking; trying to be cognizant of that, Katsuki strained, with every ounce of willpower, to not move for both their sakes.  He nibbled and laved his tongue over the shoulder so close to his mouth, trailed his teeth up against the speckled column of Izuku’s neck, and bit carefully, enticingly at the spot behind his ear.   When Izuku released his bite from Katsuki’s still-clothed shoulder, it was like pulling off the cork on his bottled-up feelings; he shoved the shirt until the buttons came undone, making way for kisses and bites to perfectly tanned flesh.  “Kacchan… Kacchan.  I love you.  I love you.  I want you, Kacchan.  Please be mine.  Please, please, please let me stay by your side, Kacchan—”   The hand that came to cup Katsuki’s face was so bewilderingly gentle, so earnest and sweet just like Izuku, that when he finally moved it was a slow, rough grind that made both their breaths stutter.  Then, unlike the rushed, biting violence he’d been raining on this small form, Katsuki found the slow- burn feeling that went to his head in a dizzying wave.  Slow, methodical thrusts that allowed them time to touch, time to sink into one another on an almost spiritual level.   Izuku’s thin fingers wandered, unbuttoning Katsuki’s shirt, smoothing across his taut chest, his bulky, muscled shoulders.  There was a beauty mark on his chest just a bit below his collarbone, and Izuku made a point to worship it with his mouth, leaving his first hickey right where it belonged, just above Katsuki’s heart.   The grip on his ass was glorious, bruising but not punishing; Katsuki’s pants echoed in his ear, in beautiful time with his own.  The ticklish trickle of blood down his sensitized back almost wasn’t fair, and he had to say it.  The words poured unfiltered from his mouth, “Kaccha—! Back— feels good.  To-u-ch me mo—!”   Punctuated with sharp breaths and hitch to his voice that followed a soft, grazing bite, Katsuki felt himself crowd Izuku even further against the lockers, reveling in the way he shivered and gasped at the cold.  Heated fingers combed his hair away from his face, and Katsuki found himself stunned by the gentle, silent kiss placed on his forehead.   It was followed by another, and another, and a fourth one landed at the corner of his eye.  He encouraged Izuku to wrap his legs tighter, and with a quick shift his arms were wrapped around that small back, not nearly so frail as when they were brats, and with one smooth movement he turned them around and sank to the floor.  Izuku never ceased to shower him with kisses, sweet yet scorching, and when he settled against the lockers with Izuku on top, straddled across Katsuki’s lap… he kissed his love’s full lips, again and again and again, with all the affection, all the adoration, all the admiration he’d been burying up until then.  Katsuki’s hands wandered, free from holding him up, surrendering control of the pace for the want of this, the connection between two hearts that seemed to be overwhelming him as they rocked together.     The mutual deepening of those kisses, from sweet pecks to soul-stealing strokes of tongue-on-tongue, eventually stoked the embers of passion back to flames; Katsuki dragged his nails down Izuku’s chest, mercilessly over his nipples, and inspired a broken moan that vibrated against his lips.  Izuku rocked his hips against Katsuki, ground down, pulled up, pushed deep in a rhythm that was so deeply satisfying that it set off his jealousy again.   “Did… Hair-for-Brains… teach you that?” he asked between gasps and growls, and his eyes didn’t leave Izuku’s gaze when he asked it.   The return was worth it when Izuku replied, “Nope.  Passion for another isn’t something you can teach.”  The tender smile on his lips was heartbreakingly beautiful, and through his pants and thrusts, he continued.  “I wanted only you, Kacchan.  I did.  I wanted— I wanted you to make love to me, to fuck me hard, to bruise and break me, to talk dirty in my ear,” he said, voice falling to a whisper the closer he drew himself, lips ghosting the shell of Katsuki’s ear as he said it.  “I felt like a such a slut, giving myself to someone else like that.  Like an object.  We made rules, you know; to keep each other from even trying to think of someone else.  That sex was punishment to ourselves, nothing else.”   Their noses brushed, and it was almost as intimate as their bodies being locked together.  Their eyelashes twined in butterfly kisses, and Izuku whispered at the corner of Katsuki’s lips, “Teach me passion, Kacchan.  Teach my body what it’s like to love you.”   The next thrust was on Katsuki’s initiative, rough and wild, paired with a kiss that brazenly nursed at the bite wounds on Izuku’s lips.  Hair-for-Brains may have kept his marks in the gray zones, but Katsuki was determined to leave as many as he damn well pleased in sight of the whole world.  Izuku keened as his prostate was abused, reveled in the bruises he could feel forming on his ass, excused the tears that he thought he felt for lack of lube.     This was Katsuki teaching his body all it needed to know.  Like erasing the last year and a half of his guilt-ridden sex life, Katsuki intended to brand himself over every page of Izuku’s history, overwrite all with his signature alone.   The thought, the feelings, the kisses and the bruises all culminated too quickly for him to process.  Before he was even aware of its approach, Izuku’s climax strung his body taut, spine snapping him into a backwards arc as Katsuki succumbed to the trembling convulsions that wracked his desperate body.   Katsuki felt the moment all the power went out of Izuku’s body, muscles going limp, form turning heavy on the hand that reached up to support his back.  Completely passed out, overwhelmed by the circumstances, Izuku’s body fell easily against Katsuki’s naked torso when he pulled.   It was still tossed off to the side, but Katsuki reached over and rummaged through the pockets of Izuku’s blazer in search of a phone.  One key-strike brought up the home screen and the time marker.  Shit, we’ve been at this too long.  Bell’s gonna ring soon.  There wasn’t really time to think about the situation.  Not here, naked in the locker area at the front of the building.  It was already a miracle they hadn’t been intruded on, but he didn’t really care.  No… that wasn’t accurate.  He relived the experience a moment, cock giving a twitch of interest from where it was still buried in Izuku’s ass as he thought of the seduction, the confession, the grindi— damn, that blowjob though.   Yeah, okay.  So he actually was glad that no-one had walked in on them.  He was of half a mind to ask Izuku if he had a public sex kink, and even if they didn’t, maybe they could still do something like this again?   More out of determination not to get arrested on public indecency laws than anything else, Katsuki pulled out of Izuku’s body and proceeded to redress them both, cum-stains be damned.  He was going to haul this freckled ass-wipe home and continue fucking him into his bed the second he woke up, and he was going to pull as many dirty little confessions out of those lips as he possibly could in the process.   ===============================================================================   “I realized it in fifth grade.”   “ Wasn’t that the same year I nearly broke your knee for following me to the arcade?”   “That very day.”   “... damn, you have bad taste.” Chapter End Notes Holy frittatas. I have finally finished this chapter. So much struggle. These children are so difficult. However, all that's left is our KiriKami chapter! No guarantees on when it will actually show up, but hopefully not too far in the future. <3 Kudos and reviews greatly appreciated! This is my first fic for the "Boku no Hero Academia" fandom, so please critique gently. <3 ***** Coming Clean Hurts ***** Chapter Summary It wasn’t Ashido or Yaoyorozu or Uraraka or any of the girls, but him who had that loopy, dopey, dumbass pikachu’s attention. Granted it was for all the wrong reasons, but Kirishima found himself wondering if Denki might, just might mind you, think about ‘What would another guy see in him?’ If there were really gods in the universe, he’d be praying to every one of them right then hoping that that’s exactly the line of thought Denki’s mind had taken. Because looking for someone’s good traits is the same as realizing and actively acknowledging exactly what makes them attractive. When looking at what makes someone attractive, your own opinion is naturally the one that comes into play first. Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes There was a suspicious mess near the shoe boxes that no one dared address… but Kirishima sighed because he knew the smell of Izuku’s semen a mile off, and braved the crime scene for his shoe locker… which was displaying some collateral damage of its own. Good for you, Midoriya.  Seriously.  Way to go, man. He felt nothing but good things for the little freckle-faced cutie, really.  He’d lost a bed partner, but that was fine.  Izuku was going to be happier this way anyway, and on his manly honor that was all he could ever hope for him.  Kirishima considered the damage left on Bakugo’s locker in the changing room, and wondered if he would need to be in defense mode for the next good while.  Sure it wasn’t but another six months to graduation, but Katsuki… probably wasn’t the  forgiving type. They were friends of a sort, but that didn’t give him any exemptions — of that, he was full aware. When touching the metal door of his shoe locker met his fingers with a rather strong static shock, he ignored it.  While carefully avoiding the mess at his feet, Kirishima changed his shoes and trudged out the door for the dorms. What he wouldn’t give for a little luck on his side, too. Kirishima was pretty certain Denki — idiot that he was — had connected the dots.  He’d been quiet all afternoon, and kept his chair scooted just as far as it could possibly scoot to the end of the desk.   Thanks, Denki.  No, gay is not contagious, so move your ass back this way so you can look at my notes properly , he’d wanted to tell him.  He’d just barely refrained on several occasions, but refrain he had.  Denki had been so on his guard he hadn’t even fallen asleep in class, fidgeting in his seat, eyes — Oh god, his eyes .  Kirishima was almost, just almost, grateful for how often Denki’s eyes landed on him this afternoon.  It wasn’t Ashido or Yaoyorozu or Uraraka or any of the girls, but him who had that loopy, dopey, dumbass pikachu’s attention.  Granted it was for all the wrong reasons, but Kirishima found himself wondering if Denki might, just might mind you, think about ‘What would another guy see in him?’ If there were really gods in the universe, he’d be praying to every one of them right then hoping that that’s exactly the line of thought Denki’s mind had taken.  Because looking for someone’s good traits is the same as realizing and actively acknowledging exactly what makes them attractive. When looking at what makes someone attractive, your own opinion is naturally the one that comes into play first. What would he start with?  My muscles?  My eyes?  Maybe my hair?  Kirishima growled when he caught himself following that line of thought like a lovestruck little girl.   So unmanly.  Fuck.  Attractive or not, daydreams weren’t good for anything.  They just made it ache a little more later.  How many years had it taken him to realize that?  With a growl and and irritated scratch behind his ear, trudging through the automatic doors on the dorm facilities.  An electric sort of feeling sprinted down his spine, and he shook it off with a shiver.   Freaking– damn.  I’m thinking of that guy enough without electricity crawling all over me. Naturally the phrase ‘electricity crawling all over me’ presented some absolutely choice images that gave him fever chills to compete with the electrical charges.   Nooo, no no, you’re not going there.  You’ve made it this far without masturbating to him, don’t let your mind go down that road now. Izuku may not have realized it, but Eijirou was the one to set the rules.  No kissing.  No marks (though admittedly, that went out the window eventually), no dirty talk and so on; all the unspoken ground rules had been ones that Eijirou laid down out of respect for Izuku, his friend… and yeah, for Kaminari Denki, his thrice-damned one-sided love.  It was supposed to keep them from falling too deep into the self-hate-sex situation they’d started up out of almost nowhere, and yeah it did … but Eijirou was already fighting off a case of the empties, thinking how the bed was going to be awful cold at night, and that Izuku wouldn’t be there anymore to quiet him when the rejection nightmares started making themselves known.  He could feel the ghost of Midoriya’s body — muscled as hell but still too compact to be Denki’s — at his side, scarred arm laying heat over his abdomen. I swear, if I weren’t underage this would be the perfect time to go get completely faded , he thought ruefully, and with great zeal he went to slam the dorm room door behind him— “ OW! Owowowowow dammit Kirishima are you trying to take my fingers off?!” In his shock, Eijirou’s hand didn’t let up the force on the door for a rather excessive six seconds.  Open it he did though, slowly and cautiously, because the voice on the other side of the door matched the blonde hair and golden eyes he knew he would see.  Sure enough, a peeved Denki stood outside his room, rubbing at his abused knuckles tenderly.  Eijirou would never even admit to himself how much he wanted to ‘kiss it better,’ and with a benign smile and a “Sorry, sorry.  You okay?” he shoved those feelings as far in the dark as they’d go. It wasn’t far.  There was so much filling the darkness already, all the doubts and fears and hopes that he wanted to forget, that just a little, he still wanted to ask.  Maybe on another day he would have, when the mild flirtation could be passed off as silliness between friends, but that wasn’t going to happen today.  Not when Denki was still looking at him, not so much peeved as measuring, as if trying to decide what to do in his presence. “...  Um… so, can… can I come in?” The question probably surprised him more than it should have, but Eijirou shrugged and left the door open, turning back toward his closet.  Denki followed him in, and the redhead almost flinched when he heard the door shut behind him. “I… okay, I’m just gonna ask , and get it out here so it doesn’t get… weird, I guess,” Denki starts, leaning against the door and staring at the floorboards under his socked feet.  Then he dares to look up, and lo-and-behold if he isn’t faced once again with Kirishima’s bare back, covered in scratches and bruising welts.  “WHA- why are you—! Eijirou looks at him flatly, motioning to the hangar on his bed now accompanied by his blazer, tie and uniform shirt.  With his belt slipping from the loops, he commented drily, “I’m changing out of my uniform, lightbulb.  Don’t you usually do the same?  Calm down already.  It’s not like you haven’t seen me in the buff a million times before.” The changing rooms, the shower rooms, the times they’d used onsen or rotenburo … yeah, Denki could admit he’d seen Eijirou naked as the day he was born many times.  “It’s… c’mon, you know today’s different!” He said that while turning away again, not sure why looking at another guy’s body felt awkward when it usually wouldn’t.  The rustle of clothing wasn’t lost on him, but when Kirishima came into his line of sight, clearly only in his boxers, Denki couldn’t help the panicky rate his heart picked up to.  Kirishima didn’t come any closer though; just inside his field of vision, where Denki could just see to his navel and almost to his elbows.  He could see the scratches lining his arms that he wouldn’t have thought anything of before; training, right? Or hell, maybe he’d fallen and hadn’t used his ability in time, did something heroic and got a few battle scars but— No, that wasn’t it.  Mineta had hit the nail on the head. “Kirishima… you’re gay?” It didn’t come out the best, but thankfully the Red Riot wasn’t the type to get offended over it.  He felt more than saw when his friend nodded, never getting any closer to Denki than he was. “And you and Midoriya… are…” “Friends.” “... with benefits?” he dared ask, but the way Kirishima scoffed at that made him look up immediately.  The rather pained half-smile made Denki’s insane heartrate skip several beats, because how long had he known Kirishima, and never seen this expression?   “Midoriya and I… I wouldn’t call it a benefit.  It was a punishment… for both of us.  That’s all.” “Wh—?! Why would you do something like that as a punishment?!” Kirishima scratched the back of his neck, sighing tiredly.  “Why do you want to know, Kaminari?  It’s got nothing to do with you.  If you wanted to know if I was going to indiscriminately try to attack or seduce you, I’m pretty sure you have your answer by now, right?” Denki wasn’t sure which part of that sentence to address first; all of it hurt, from how he was treated like a stranger to how unfortunately right Kirishima was about his initial reaction.  He wanted to get some space, to think as logically as a idiot like himself could, but Kirishima was just inside his space, keeping him against the door, facing him in that manly way he had.  It was messing up his judgement; it was keeping him riled and nervous, heart beating too fast at a faulty, tripping pace.  Looking him in the eye was so strange, because he could see just how Kirishima wasn’t staring into space or over his shoulder, or retreating into his own mind; the redhead was looking right at him, meeting his gaze, eyes much to soft for someone who seemed to be expecting rejection or humiliation or scorn. “Kaminari, I’m standing here in my boxers.  If you left and headed for the stairs, you’d be in sight of Bakugo, Shouji and Uraraka’s rooms.  I wouldn’t follow you out.  I’m not making you stay or threatening you,” he said quietly.  Denki shook his head in disbelief, but his eyes couldn’t leave Kirishima’s. “I— I wasn’t thinking anything about being trapped!” “But’cha look like you feel hunted,” he said, tone much too glib for the situation, half-smile much too rueful to look happy.  “So—” “I’m not hunted!  I know that!” Denki burst out, finally managing to squeeze his eyes shut.  Even eyes shut, he felt Kirishima’s presence surrounding him, almost suffocating him in its calmness.  “I just— I know you’re not hunting me, so will you please stop?” “Stop what, Kaminari?” “Stop… this thing , where you keep talking bad about yourself.  I don’t like it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation.  “Kirishima is cool and manly, and he faces a shitstorm with a smile… that’s the Kirishima I know.  And yeah, you’re still like that, but hearing you talk like this hurts , you bastard!  I never thought—” “Don’t say you weren’t afraid, Kaminari.  I know you were; I spent this whole afternoon with you as far at the other end of your desk as you could get.  Don’t try to lie and make up for it,” he bit, and Kaminari felt him move.  Just a twitch, but he almost did something.  He cracked an eye open, and saw how Kirishima’s hands were fisted, now straining at his sides. “Okay, I won’t say it.  I’ll tell you what I was thinking,” he tried.  “I was trying to figure out when it happened and why I didn’t know.  I was trying to remember if you’d said or done anything that would’ve let on, and yet I couldn’t think of anything.  I was trying to remember if you’d looked happier recently, but when I did, it started to hurt… because when I thought back, you’d looked sadder, been more quiet and kinda withdrawn the last long while.  I couldn’t even remember the last time outside of a mission that I’d seen you look really happy.” He could see Kirishima’s fist tightening; that was a sign, right?  He was making progress.  Kirishima wasn’t being forthcoming, so… “You and Midoriya… you were fucking around, getting so into it the two of you came out all marked up, but you weren’t happy—?” “ Of course we weren’t fucking happy. ” When Kirishima moved, it wasn’t fast or startling; it was slow, deliberate, almost cautious despite the anger Denki could see shaking his form.  He leaned in, a muscled arm coming up to rest against the door as Kirishima came close enough to whisper against his temple. “ We were miserable.  We cried every damn time.  I’m not sure if it relieved frustration or added to it.  That was all we shared.  Just the tears and the pain of never being able to have what we really wanted.” Denki was so, so tempted to touch him; he wanted to wrap an arm around his neck and comfort him, because the pain burning in Kirishima’s voice was shaking him, breaking his heart in pieces for him.  His friend, this bastion of positive thinking, was breaking to pieces and killing himself inside.  The sound of Kirishima’s voice fuzzed out to painful static between his ears when he thought about the meaning of his words, finally realizing what he’d said. “There was someone—?” “ Don’t ask.  You aren’t ready to hear it.  I know that better than anyone.” Denki admitted to himself on many an occasion that he was an idiot.  He could be genuinely stupid, true, but he wasn’t so thick as to not put this situation together.  Kirishima leaned over him, stripped down to his underwear, broad shoulders almost but not quite caging him against the door, lips almost ghosting his skin when they moved.   You aren’t ready .   You aren’t ready. The electricity that crackled up his spine was so close to the border between fear and attraction that he couldn’t tell which it was, but Kirishima Eijirou was standing there, so close but not quite touching him while he said everything but the actual words he meant. “You’re in love with me…?” Denki saw the trembling start; it was a visible difference between shaking in anger and the fine quivering that seemed to pinch and move his skin, his whole body suddenly sending off nervous signals.  Still, he didn’t back away.  He didn’t answer either.  Kirishima stood frozen as fear made a playground of his body.  At first, Denki was still surprised; it was a de facto confession, after all, but then he realized just how terrified Kirishima was.  He stood, wracked with tremors, before Denki , the source of how much anxiety?  How badly was he panicking, how deep did the terror stretch to grip him with gnarled, black fingers of dread?  The blonde felt tears well up, because Kirishima’s mood was infectious; it was tearing him up inside, because this man he called a dear, close friend was afraid of him. What could you even say in this situation? It was dragging on too long; Kirishima was panicking, and Denki was at a loss.  Neither knew what to do, but Denki finally took a deep, deep breath before reaching up, touching Kirishima’s cheek, urging him softly to back up.  He didn’t dare press too hard, because he had a feeling that if Kirishima backed too far away they’d break something permanently.  When Denki could finally see his face, the Kirishima that had been able to look him in the eye for everything else was staring at the ground, face undeniably pale. Since he didn’t know what to say, he just did as usual and said whatever came out first. “I don’t hate you.” Kirishima’s breath hitched, and Denki thought he saw tears in his eyes, so he hurried to say, “I don’t know that I can answer you, but I don’t hate you.  You’re still the coolest, manliest, most positive-thinking guy I know, and I’m really freaking happy you’ve been my friend.  I’m not going to treat you different.  I promise!  I’ll— I mean, I don’t know much but I can learn, right?  You can teach me where the lines are, and I’ll learn.  I’ll study harder than for math class!  Wait, that’s not saying much… ” He trailed off, because Kirishima was finally relaxing.  He was giving a watery smile that still tugged at Denki’s heart, but he wasn’t so pale anymore.  With two parts courage and one part idiot (he’d still admit that, even to himself), Denki made himself say the last thing on his mind.  “And… if you’ll… y’know, tell me proper…  I guess I’ll think about it…?” It was amazing to see Kirishima’s face freeze, eyes wide, and to watch the trembling come to a stop.  His entire body held in stasis, eyes met.  Denki let the embarrassment get to him, eyes falling a little, but that brought his line of sight to Kirishima’s lips, which were twitching ever-so-slightly.  It was embarrassing to stare at his mouth, but Denki couldn’t help but watch for the words, thinking, Damn… maybe that wasn’t cool.  I mean, confessing is hard enough when you’re serious, so to say something so half-assed was probably uber stupid even for me… But still… I kinda… no, I think I really … want to hear him say it. Eijirou heard ringing in his ears, and he wasn’t sure if it was painful from the silence in the room or the sound of the hallelujah chorus, because for some unfathomable reason Denki was standing here, in his room, saying that if Eijirou could just spit out the words, a for real confession, that he’d consider it.   Consider it.  He wasn’t disgusted, or even put off, or… oh god.  Oh god, oh lord, oh savior, Buddha, all the eight million gods of Japan, he— In hindsight it probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but Eijirou found himself so overwhelmed that the words wouldn’t come out.  He tried, struggled, to find a way to put into words the confession he’d been denying himself for nearly two full years.  Denki’s lashes fluttered, half-covering his golden eyes as the situation got the better of him, and when it registered just where those eyes landed, it was as if Denki were already touching him; the feeling of electricity sparked in his lips, ran down his spine, raised the hairs on the back of his neck.  He just reacted.  Kirishima Eijirou, instead of confessing, kissed Kaminari Denki. There was so much fervor and passion he wanted to let loose, but didn’t dare; a soft, chaste, begging kiss that tugged at the blonde’s bottom lip pleadingly, searchingly, expressing so much that words just didn’t seem enough for.  One sweet kiss became two, and three, and five, until Eijirou wrapped himself around Denki’s flustered form, placing kisses on the corner of his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead.   Denki found himself shivering beneath the attention; it was overwhelming, more real than he’d meant to deal with.  This wasn’t the confession he asked for.  Instead of words he could think about, could doubt and mull over analytically, finding himself under the overwhelming tide of Eijirou’s happiness, his love, being someone he so obviously treasured… his heart shook.  It quaked and throbbed in his chest, filled by proxy with all of Eijirou’s wild and barely- restrained emotions. When the redhead finally pulled himself together, he pressed his forehead against Denki’s, eyes meeting his unflinchingly, and he whispered against his lips, “I love you .  I’ve loved you for so long I don’t remember when it started.  I want to always be with you, even for the stupid things.  When you’re hurt I want to be the one who makes it better.  When I’m in pain, you’re the one I want to turn to.  I love you, Kaminari Denki.  Please, please consider me.”   ***   When Denki made it back to his room, red and flustered and hoping to heaven that no one had seen his mad dash from the fourth floor, he collapsed against his closed door as his shoulders heaved in time to his gasps for air.  Then he realized that, not five minutes ago, his back had been against another door. In a wild scramble he made his way to the window, not even trusting the bed to allow him sanity at this point. The ghostly sensation of Eijirou’s lips against his, of his body pressing him tightly to the door behind him, of the body heat that seared into his chest and stomach as if ignoring the layers of cloth between… only three layers.  On any normal occasion there would have been at least six layers, but Eijirou was naked and pressed— Denki could almost feel a short circuit coming on as he forced the overwhelming thoughts to the back of his mind.  Today had been too long, too confusing, too much.  He couldn’t reply right away; he had to think about this, right?  He had to clear his mind and think properly about Eijirou’s confession. Except… his first reaction was to say ‘yes’ without hesitation. I can’t do that!  There are— c’mon, there are things to think about here.   Denki shook his head, dragging fingers through his hair.  It was supposed to be a stress relief, but instinct was amazing.  What if Eijirou were the one tugging at his hair?  What if they were pressed back-to-chest and cuddled here, enjoying the play of sunset colors on the walls?  A quiet respite, where their breathing and heartbeats were the only noise, hands twined and warmth mingling— “ No!  Just stop it! ” he whispered harshly, because that was clearly his romantic side getting carried away with the heat that still lingered on his body, the scent of sandalwood and sweat that still tickled his nose.  “ This isn’t a situation you can just jump into, you idiot.  Actually think .” Problem was, even when he thought about it, Eijirou’s feelings were overwhelming what he might’ve called good sense.  The intense red eyes that had peered into his, focused, practically burning with the release of emotions; the lips that had overwhelmed him, slightly chapped but searing him with fervor… so much intensity it was as though he were trying to pour their souls together and mix them.  Eijirou was simply much too much, all at once. That ‘yes’ still trembled on his lips though, stinging the tip of his tongue. Chapter End Notes I know I said this was only three chapters long. I've been saying that from the beginning. But dammit all if Kirishima and Kaminari aren't SO FUCKING HARD TO WRITE. I was so many, many pages in and yet this beast wasn't done when things started getting heated, so yet again I'm splitting chapters. We're finally past the hard part. The next chapter should hopefully go smooth as butter as far as I'm concerned. Hope this one pleases you until then! ***** Lightning and Thunder ***** Chapter Summary “You’re my lightning,” he found himself whispering. “You make my days bright, scare the hell out of me, and leave me in awe.” Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes A quiet knock on the door startled him awake, and Denki realized he had fallen asleep hugging his knees beneath the window.  His butt was numb, his back and neck stiff, and he winced as he pulled himself up from the floor.  The knock didn’t sound again, but he could feel a nervous sort of energy coming from the other side of the door. Cracking it open just enough to peer into the moonlit hallway, his eyes landed on the silhouette of Eijirou, hair down, in a tank and shorts with a blanket tucked under his arm.  Denki could just make out a nervous smile on his face before a whisper asked, “Can I stay here?” The warring answers in his head couldn’t sort their problems out, so to at least get him out of the hallway Denki backed away from the door.  Eijirou slipped in and closed it silently behind himself, this time speaking a little louder. “Thanks, man.  It was getting a little uncomfortable at my place,” he vaguely reasoned, settling next to the door and wrapping himself in the thin quilt he’d brought along.  “I thought Midoriya was the quiet type after all this time, but Bakugo must already be rubbing off on him.” That thought sizzled through in an instant before Denki shook his head violently to get rid of the picture.  Of course; Bakugo’s room was next door to Eijirou’s, and their violent classmate was hardly the type to be considerate of others who would be privy to his… rendezvous.   Eijirou looked for the world like he was just going to sleep as he was, bundled up next to the door, legs crossed and head leaned back against the deceptively bullet-proof panel behind him.  There was no way that was comfortable.  No possible way, and if it weren’t for what had happened that very afternoon, Denki would already be telling him— “Y’know… the bed.  It’s big enough for two…” Eijirou went deathly still, not even breathing; Denki felt himself do the same, because stupid stupid stupid — how the hell could he have—?! “You oughta know better than to say that now, right?” “I know.”  Denki still found himself breathless, but it was different than the deathly still; Eijirou was looking at him with wary red eyes, suspicious eyes that hurt but gave him such a thrill.  The man before him seemed like a predator contemplating flight when standing before its prey; the surreality sent his heart stuttering in a staccato rhythm, because even though Eijirou was the one supposedly pursuing him… Denki felt as if he were seducing him closer.  It was backwards, it was so messy and hardly suave or romantic.  Hesitating didn’t seem to occur anywhere but in a tiny forgotten corner of his mind though, because his body was already leading him down the garden path.  Here in the dark, moonlight-flooded room filled with his stupid whatnots and a cacophony of colors now washed to grayscale, Denki felt the scramble for reason lose all traction as he stared into Eijirou’s eyes and whispered, “It’s okay.” All of it.  All of it.  The calm that washed over him was so very relieving.  It took away the hesitance and the strain, and let him just look at the boy — when had he forgotten that really, they were still kids? — before him.  They were going to be okay. When Denki stretched out his hand, Eijirou hesitated; two, three breaths, and then took it to stand.  Just this afternoon he’d been the one nervous and caged, but Eijirou now stood apart from him, too scared to come closer.   “Dude… seriously, what are you thinking?” he asked, voice strained.  It reminded him of just that afternoon when the ambient light of sunset had filled his room and Eijirou confessed with just that voice . “I’m thinking if you touch me again, I won’t be able to say no anymore.”  Denki smiled, laughed a little at himself, and added, “I’m an idiot after all.” The afternoon had been spent in a maelstrom of feelings, but the ‘yes’ at the tip of his tongue had never faded.  His instincts were telling him that this was right.  This was good.  This was fine.  Logic stood by and screamed at him to think it over, but the rest of him had already decided.  So Denki let the difficult thoughts that no longer made sense leave his mind, and he pulled Eijirou toward his bed, holding his gaze. “...  This isn’t funny, Kaminari.  If you’re joking—” Eijirou started warily, but Denki shook his head. “Nah, no jokes.  I’m just not going to chase my tail anymore.  You know, I really like you,” he said, and the way Eijirou inhaled in shock made his heart skip another beat excitedly.  “I don’t know how it measures up to your ‘like,’ but I’m sure as hell willing to find out.  You’re not going to tell me you fell out of love with me in one afternoon, are you?” “I could never—!” “Yeah, I didn’t think you would.” Denki grinned, and when his calves hit the edge of the bed he dragged Eijirou down with him.  One arm rested on his back, and the other tucked into the wild mop of red hair securely; it was ridiculous, how he couldn’t stop grinning.  The affection he felt percolating in his chest, hot and sweet, was bubbling out of control and yet he couldn’t figure out how to convey it.  With Eijirou’s nose smushed awkwardly against his shoulder and the tank he wore somewhat awry, Denki took advantage of the bare shoulder in his reach. The first kiss made Eijirou freeze.  The second, a little higher, was like lightning through his body.  The third was right behind his ear, and the tightening of the hug behind it prompted tears in his eyes.  Hands that had desperately gripped at the comforter beneath him now moved to the lean back of the man beneath him, the two and a half years of suffering, the face of unrequited love… now of acceptance. “You’re my lightning,” he found himself whispering.  “You make my days bright, scare the hell out of me, and leave me in awe.” Denki’s lips thinned in a smile against his skin.  “Then be my thunder.  Come chasing after me, and we’ll always be together.” “ God , I love you.” Denki snickered, pulled on Eijirou’s hair just enough to meet his eyes, their noses brushing intimately.  “Yeah.  Pretty sure the sentiment’s mutual.” The kiss was hesitant at first, but morphed in an instant; passion and joy, their distinct personal qualities, were mixing, melding, bonding as they touched.  Static followed Denki’s fingers as they stroked up and down Eijirou’s sides, and when a thumb brushed that current over a nipple by accident, the gasp and growl that followed echoed in his body like an organ in a church.  Eijirou’s hands slipped beneath the waistband of Denki’s uniform, long since crinkled from his nap beneath the window, and even without his Hardening the sinew of his hands, the sheer iron grip of them, was edging possessive and thrilling.  Denki pulled from the kiss to run his tongue over Eijirou’s adam’s apple, and the vibrations beneath the slick muscle sent goosebumps crawling up his arms, set his ears on high alert,  and without a moment’s thought, he sucked roughly on the column of tanned skin beneath his lips.  The sound it evoked seemed otherworldly; it was loud enough to reverberate and tingle down his throat, and assimilate with the beat of his racing heart. He’d spent so much time today doubting and over-thinking, but in the end, the answer was sitting in front of him the whole time.  Even if he argued that he was straight, that Eijirou was a man, that they were classmates and soon to be industry rivals, that the world was going to stare at them and mock them and hate them if it were ever outed… Denki couldn’t deny that this was where his heart was.  Against all logic, this was what it wanted. Old adages and all that shit. The intimacy felt unexpected; while Denki was admittedly the instigator, he’d never considered how close hearts could come at times like this.  In his head, somewhere, the misconception that two men together could only be base and animalistic had still been churning.  Instead, Eijirou was touching him reverently, with adoration; his eyes were tender beyond compare, kisses slow, sweet, as if drinking him in.  Movies and manga always made sex feel like a dark, sinful, overwhelming instinct; and while it was overwhelming and instinctual, their touches felt so light, their hearts practically floating, all up on cloud nine and giddy.  Denki considered that this was probably the happiest he had ever felt in his life, here in the arms of another man. In the arms of Kirishima Eijirou, who… well, he assumed they were boyfriends. A hand slipped down the back of Denki’s pants, the belt slipping away and soon discarded altogether.  The crawl of electricity up Eijirou’s defined back was followed by the warm brand of Denki’s hands, smoothing across the heated skin as he memorized the way the muscles trembled in the wake of his touch.  Their spirits seemed to melt and meld as their fingers wandered toward private places, and their motions began to sync. Eijirou slipped his fingertips between the soft, plump curves of Denki’s rear; and Denki laved his tongue hotly across Eijirou’s ear. A touch to the rear became a stroke down the thigh, and it drew out sighs as if led by strings on a kite. The hand that wandered stroked up that bare thigh, slacks and underwear now bunched at his knees, and dared, just barely, to run a calloused thumb across the thin, sensitive skin of Denki’s balls.  The fingers that buried in Eijirou’s hair and shoulders heated, convulsed, sensitized his body to match. Driven to it by the glorious feeling of Denki wrapping himself around him, Eijirou hastily moved the wandering hand to hook into the clothes at Denki’s knees, hauling them off roughly before Denki hitched a leg over the redhead’s hips, hauling him close, toes sneaking down his ass and leading merrily sparking currents behind them.  The intimate touch, the electricity burning through his muscles not just from Denki’s quirk, but from the equally electric emotions, gave Eijirou the courage he needed to gently rub against his beloved, his lightning storm. “Ei-chan, don’t be so timid,” Denki whispered, pulling back just enough to look his lover in the eye.  The tips of their noses touched softly, and his golden eyes creased with gentleness as he said, “It’s okay.  Just touch me.” “I just– it’s still so hard to believe that—” “I get it, man.  But it’s okay .  It’s more than okay, you hear me?” he said softly, pressing the most chaste of kisses to Eijirou’s moistened lips.  The innocence, however, was completely ruined as he winked and smirked mischievously and quipped,  “You’re my thunder.  Better make it big and loud.” The declaration was followed by a riot of electricity, Denki using any part of himself he pleased to pass the current to Eijirou’s body, teasing his muscles, tickling his nipples, scratching lightly at his throat and behind his ears, and running possessively over his penis as their nether regions were pressed tighter and tighter together.  A weak mewl, hardly manly, slipped past Eijirou’s lips as the power left his body, his bulk slumping across Denki’s form with a shuddering sigh.  He could see, just out the corner of his eye, the way Denki bit his lip and stifled some sound, but oh, he wanted to hear anything at all from that mouth.  Curses, praises, screams, it wouldn’t matter. “ Eijirou —” That tears it.  Body still weak and convulsing from the electricity, Eijirou ground roughly against Denki’s body, teeth sinking into his neck with the intent of a vice.  The breathy sound that followed was addictive, and almost set him on the edge of an orgasm.  It took a monumental effort, but Eijirou reared back and hauled his shirt the rest of the way off, working his boxers off around Denki’s legs. Then, Eijirou couldn’t help it.  He stopped, and just stared at Denki’s body beneath his, washed silver-white in the moonlight, hair fading into the dark shadows cast by the curtains and headboard.  Purple bruises created a galaxy- colored void on his shoulder, the blush of red tempered to a pale pink in the strange lighting.  Gold eyes were darkened to deep, deep gray, almost black, but they gazed at him with a heat that went not to his head or dick, but to his heart. Kaminari Denki wanted him.  Denki wanted him , and this situation wasn’t a dream.  How long had he hesitated to come here?  How many of Midoriya’s screams and Bakugo’s growls had he listened to from the other side of his bedroom wall?  How many excuses had he found not to ask anyone else but Denki to stay the night?  How many times had he repeated to himself not to misunderstand from the moment he was invited in, only to be here? He felt like a man in a desert, walled out of the only oasis, only to find that gates had been opened for him when he wasn’t looking. It brought tears to his eyes as he leaned over, and kissed those thin, shapely lips.  They gave him permission, encouragement even, and opened to invite him deeper into that spring.  Their fingers knit together above their heads, preventing Eijirou from hiding, and Denki from escape, locking them together in this heartbreakingly beautiful moment that neither wanted to leave anyway.  The rhythm their hips set was slow and savored every inch of friction.  Their chests brushed occasionally, and it felt so sweet; the man’s worry that playing with his chest isn’t ‘manly’ was abandoned in an instant as the touches exchanged trust, and desire, and so much adoration that there was no room for pride or hurt.  This was what it was meant to feel like, right?  This connection that seemed to slowly braid their souls together, seemed to sync them like melodies to beats, like the rise and ebb of waves. Denki shuddered, and it echoed through Eijirou’s body.  Eijirou sighed, and it prompted a hitch in Denki’s breath.  Their emotions and desires, every sound and touch circled from one to the other, back again, until they fell into perfect balance. The first time they came together, there were fireworks.  Not just behind their eyes; Denki’s electric sparks flowered and bloomed, and as they smiled stupidly at each other and chuckled quietly with sweet kisses, Eijirou casually patted out place were the sheets were burning. When Denki pushed at his shoulder, Eijirou allowed their positions to change.  With his head on a pillow filled with the scent of Denki’s shampoo and natural musk, the man he loved took the lead.  The pining and daydreams had always seemed so likely, so realistic, that feeling the real person, seeing the way his eyes glowed, the way post-orgasm electricity seemed to glow in his veins and light him up from inside, the way Denki stared at him gleefully hungry and prepared to feast… Eijirou groaned as Denki sucked on his own fingers, drenched them with saliva, and reached back to begin stretching his entrance. “Damn… If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.” Denki grinned cheekily.  “I’m sure it’s a damn fabulous view, but if you don’t wait I’m going to make you suck me off as an apology.” The thought, the statement, the look on his lover’s face ripped the dirtiest of sounds from Eijirou’s throat.  His hands gripped Denki’s ass possessively, pressing their erections together in desperate need.  He reached to feel the three fingers spreading and gyrating noisily inside, and between pressing their erections together and Eijirou pressing on his very busy hand, Denki shuddered uncontrollably.   “Ei-chan… Ei-chan, I swear to god if you don’t get the condoms and lube right now I’m going to come without you,” Denki breathed, and Eijirou couldn’t help that smile that took over his face.  “I- I mean, if you want me to finish you by sucking you off, that’s okay, but—” “Denki, keep up the dirty talk and neither of us will be able to take it,” Eijirou said, groaning as he arched to reach for the bedside table.  His hips lifted away from the mattress in the stretch, and Denki, straddled across them, let out a loud, vulnerable keen as the steel muscles of Eijirou’s thighs rippled against the sensitized skin of his inner thighs and ass.  The desire felt like it was eating them alive, burning all around them like a wildfire.  Denki panted and tried not to beg; Eijirou’s penis strained against his, dripping with precum, and in a daze he used his free hand to delicately stroke the tip, to spread the fluid down, around, and everywhere his vibrating, sparking fingers could reach.  Eijirou’s chest heaved in harsh gasps and desperate breaths.  Hearing the slide of wood against wood as Eijirou opened the nightstand drawer sent new shivers and goosebumps up Denki’s back as he grasped his lover fully in his hand and gave a firm stroke with all his hunger. They were vibrating with the force of their emotions, their want; their heartbeats twined together and seemed to fill the room with the bass of their thrum.  In a monochrome, moonlit world it seemed as if only each other were in color when their eyes met for the span of heartbeats.  Time ached and throbbed with them, slowed to match the crawling heat that curled about their spines.  Denki leaned down and pressed his mouth to Eijirou’s in a wanton kiss that saw the exchange of tongues, of breath, of a lust that came from somewhere deep and beautiful that shed all connotations of sin and became something delightful. They joyed in each other. Lips curled into the kiss as Eijirou reached down to put on the condom, and Denki snatched it from his hand, leaning back to smile slyly.  Ripping the little foil package open with his teeth, he gave Eijirou several more measured strokes before reaching down to roll the latex sensually down his member.   Charmed and helpless, Eijirou’s hips tried to follow the motions of his lover’s hands only to chase air as Denki released him.  Eijirou refused to give up the lube like he had the condom, spreading the substance over his fingers before sliding them up and down his penis.  What was left was soon being spread around Denki’s entrance with fervor, with a pace that said urgency was a waste but they were too eager to move forward.  Eijirou slipped the very tips of his fingers inside, and his groin seized and boiled with desire as he explored the ring of muscle lightly, bit by bit.  Denki spread his legs wide to make room and allowed his member to bounce loosely as he rolled his hips against Eijirou’s hand. The fever was so close to going to their heads, Eijirou feared what would happen if they waited any longer… but oh, how he wanted the moment to last. “Ei-chan!  Ei-chan, c’mon!  Plea– give it to me—!”  Denki begged breathlessly, but instead of feeling shame at the lewd voice and dirty words, all he heard was Eijirou’s breath as it hitched, felt the fingers leave his rear and the member that he’d been anticipating finally rubbing against him. He licked his lips, briefly regretting the condom.  Safe sex was essential, yes, but the thought of feeling Eijirou’s heat and silken skin inside of him made his gut clench and dick twitch.   The feeling of Eijirou pressing firmly, slowly inside dragged a loud, ragged moan from him regardless.  Volume control became a distant whisper that Denki ignored quite easily, jaw dropping open as his voice left him in a string of keens and grunts and curses.  His cries disappeared into the room, Eijirou’s voice a weak echo that followed behind, quiet and desperately needy. Denki looked down and opened his eyes that had squeezed shut in pleasure, rotating his hips and watching how Eijirou’s body responded to him, thirsty for him, open for all that Denki would give him.  Eijirou stared back, took in the glazed eyes and the mouth that panted his name, spit trickling down his chin as the desperate sounds kept his throat much too occupied.  Eijirou licked his lips, reaching up to grasp at Denki’s neck, pulling him down into a messy kiss that mingled their tastes and sounds together, melted them into one. This night was their crucible, their casting form.  Their body heat the flames, their emotions the ores, Kaminari Denki and Kirishima Eijirou, in a moment they felt themselves become a solid, stronger alloy, two people now one. Kirishima breathed, “You are my lightning; you scare the hell out of me, but I can’t help but chase your storm.” Denki smiled and replied, “That’s why you’re my thunder.” Chapter End Notes Oh. my. lord. This chapter took so much effort, and I'm still not sure it's the best, but here it is?! This is the end of Hemorrhage! It's been one helluva ride. @_@ When I first started this story, I honestly intended for the endings to be sad or vague; I thought there would be worse terms for the KiriKami, but I'm a lover of happy endings after all. I have other fanfics for BnHA that I'm hoping to work on in the future, but first? There are a few other series that need finishing. =v= Maybe there will be a few oneshots to tide you over in the meanwhile. ;P As it stands, thank you so much for reading this little lark of mine. I hope you have enjoyed it! Comments are always appreciated. <3   If you're feeling generous and want to help a poor college student in need, please consider supporting me or donating! Every little bit helps! Buy_me_a_Coffee?! Support_me_on_Patreon! Digital_Tip_Jar Commission_Journal End Notes My first fanfiction for 'Boku no Hero Academia' and it's already so heavy and convoluted. I apologize. ;v; I prefer to read happy stories, so I'm not quite sure mine are so heavy on the drama, but hopefully they are still enjoyable. Reviews are very much appreciated! Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!