[of course it's warm! he woke up from a fucking nightmare sweat a few minutes ago! whoever said fear's a cold sweat is a fucking moron. denji being his usual hot self-- both ways --doesn't help matters either. what the hell kind of difference is his shirt being on or off gonna make? for one, he won't have a sticky wet layer coating him and getting uncomfortable when it starts to cool off. for two, he's never had an issue sleeping with less clothes on around denji once they started getting intimate. and he's not forgotten how much the other boy likes physical contact. luckily for them, the base back home is well air conditioned, so those warm summer nights are comfortable regardless. minus after a heavy fuck leaving them dripping, boiling messes all over a bed stained with sweat and cum in several damp spots. a change of sheets or change of room happens afterwards. but right now, with the desert outside and the lack of ac inside, it's gonna get cool very quickly as the heat wears off.]
Urusei. It's night. [don't whine at him about stealing a kiss when you're the one kissing him already! he told denji to take his shirt off before, only to get nothing for it! so damn if he doesn't take matters into his own hands and strip it clean over his head. with his body soaking in sweat like this and his shirt a plastered mess, bakugo's patience vanished the moment his mind was clear enough to focus on his discomfort. shoulder flexes, elbow unfurls, and he slaps his arm aside with all the care of a bored stripper after a million times. relief. no longer sweltering as he flops onto his back upon the bed, eyes half-lidded and now-bared chest shifting with his breaths amid gleaming sweaty skin. denji's hands remain locked around his waist, holding on and touching in places promising to steal his breath with a bit more pressure.
bakugo leans into the kiss, tilts his head as tongue and lips push and part respectively for an invasion of denji's mouth. another moan vibrates into his jaws, abs hardening as fingers slide over the chiseled sculpture of his stomach muscles. damn, he knew this was gonna happen. compared to that shitty nightmare flooding his brain with images of his death and sharing a haunting video of his demise with denji... he likes this a lot better. distraction, physical reminder, i'm here. i'm alive. bakugo's breath hitches in his throat, pectorals tightening as fingers skim over his scar, a wound his boyfriend's seen first hand bloom on his body. of course he freezes, caught up in reality, and bakugo reaches one hand out to snarl in scruff sandy blonde hair. drawing him up until he's looking into his boyfriend's eyes.] Don't stop. You haven't in the past.
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Urusei. It's night. [don't whine at him about stealing a kiss when you're the one kissing him already! he told denji to take his shirt off before, only to get nothing for it! so damn if he doesn't take matters into his own hands and strip it clean over his head. with his body soaking in sweat like this and his shirt a plastered mess, bakugo's patience vanished the moment his mind was clear enough to focus on his discomfort. shoulder flexes, elbow unfurls, and he slaps his arm aside with all the care of a bored stripper after a million times. relief. no longer sweltering as he flops onto his back upon the bed, eyes half-lidded and now-bared chest shifting with his breaths amid gleaming sweaty skin. denji's hands remain locked around his waist, holding on and touching in places promising to steal his breath with a bit more pressure.
bakugo leans into the kiss, tilts his head as tongue and lips push and part respectively for an invasion of denji's mouth. another moan vibrates into his jaws, abs hardening as fingers slide over the chiseled sculpture of his stomach muscles. damn, he knew this was gonna happen. compared to that shitty nightmare flooding his brain with images of his death and sharing a haunting video of his demise with denji... he likes this a lot better. distraction, physical reminder, i'm here. i'm alive. bakugo's breath hitches in his throat, pectorals tightening as fingers skim over his scar, a wound his boyfriend's seen first hand bloom on his body. of course he freezes, caught up in reality, and bakugo reaches one hand out to snarl in scruff sandy blonde hair. drawing him up until he's looking into his boyfriend's eyes.] Don't stop. You haven't in the past.