A/N: This is a little something I wrote for the Bakudeku Secret Santa on tumblr - my gift to the lovely nekoumyu! I hope you enjoy it! Reviews and favourites are always appreciated!
"Deku."
Bakugou's voice and the feel of his hands sliding under his shirt pulls Izuku from the haze of sleep. Still groggy from morphine, the throbbing in his arms and legs momentarily dulled, Izuku mumbles a token protest as he's shifted onto his side, and then the heat of Bakugou's body is warming his back. One of his muscular arms wraps around Izuku's waist, tucking him close.
Spooned with him, the biceps of his other arm hard beneath his freckled cheek, Izuku slides back into blissful unconsciousness.
When Izuku wakes again, it feels like days later. He lies on their shared sleigh bed with his eyes closed for long minutes, soaking in the reassuring warmth of Bakugou's body and breathing in the air that smells of him – blood, ashes and the spicy scent of his skin – an eclectic mix that Izuku's come to associate with his Kacchan. After a while, Izuku decides that he's gotten enough rest; the combined exhaustion and pain from getting shot in all four limbs had taken their toll, and sleeping longer would only throw off his body clock even more.
"Kacchan?" Izuku mumbles, sleep roughening his voice. His mind feels clouded with fog, which he chalks up to the effect of the morphine flowing through his veins. "That you?"
"No, it's hair for brains." Bakugou grumbles, but his retort lacks its usual bite. Bakugou buries his face in Izuku's hair, inhaling the sweet smell of his shampoo. "Yeah, it's me. Who else would it be?"
Izuku huffs out a weak laugh. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
Bakugou growls, attacks his neck with tickling nips and kisses that draws a rusty-sounding laugh out of Izuku. It feels good to laugh, even if for just a little while. "You look like shit, by the way. The fuck happened to you?"
Izuku's known Bakugou for a long time, long enough to pick up the underlying nuances in his voice, try as he might to hide them. Bakugou knows what happened at USJ, but wants to hear it from him. And so, after wrapping his arms over Bakugou's and snuggling into him, Izuku tells him.
"Everything was going so well, but those damned pros showed up," Izuku finishes bitterly. "They got Nomu, and all I got for my trouble was a body full of bullets."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there. It won't happen again." That's enough to pull Izuku up short. Bakugou never apologizes; the fact that he wasn't there for the attack at USJ must be tearing him up more than Izuku's realised. His fingers draw gentle circles across Izuku's stomach, caressing him through the silk of his shirt. "If it makes you feel any better, I took care of him."
Izuku twists around to look at Bakugou. A slow smile spreads across his face. "You didn't."
"I did." Bakugou's answering smile is sharp and feral. "Left it with the Black Mist."
"That does make me feel better." Something new to add to his collection of heroes. "Thank you."
"Anything for you."
Izuku looks toward the windows and sees that night has fallen. "What time is it?"
"A little after eight."
"What time did you get in?"
"Half past six."
Izuku wriggles around to face him. "Early for you, hmm?"
"You were shot." Bakugou says gruffly, refusing to answer the unspoken question.
But Izuku can easily draw his own conclusions.
"You were worried, Kacchan." Izuku gloats, his voice glowing with triumph. "Come on now, don't be shy. Admit it."
Bakugou glares, but doesn't deny it. Izuku one, Kacchan zero. "Yaoi Hands needs you at the hideout in an hour."
"Great."
He's always found meeting new people to be fun. On days when Izuku is feeling particularly sadistic, he'll casually drag out their deepest, darkest secrets, hit them in the place where it hurts the most. Watching how their faces pale when Izuku hits them with knowledge that he shouldn't have access to is always entertaining and never fails to fill him with a vindictive pleasure, the joy of plucking wings off a helpless butterfly.
But not today when he feels like death warmed up.
"Bad news?"
"New kids to babysit." Izuku drawls out lazily, dropping a quick kiss onto Bakugou's mouth. "Play nice with them, won't you, Kacchan?"
An hour later, Izuku finds himself perched atop a bar stool, his notebooks and two pinkish-coloured iced drinks in square tumblers splayed out on the shiny bar table in front of him. Bakugou settles on the seat beside Izuku, his arm draped behind Izuku so that his fingertips can brush casually and possessively up and down his arm.
One hot shower and a change of bandages later and Izuku feels almost human again. It might also have something to do with the hefty dose of Tylenol currently swimming through his system.
"Knock knock!" Itsuka opens the door with a flourish and a cloud of scent that smells like the inside of a bakery. Something sweet, with a hint of vanilla. She's smiling, her pale, freckled face glowing against her halo of orange hair. Izuku takes that as a good sign. "I've brought the new recruits!"
After a cursory glance at the new additions – a glance more like a glower which is returned with equal coolness – Bakugou has turned his attention back to his own drink with calculated nonchalance, but Izuku knows that he's studying the two intently – checking for clues, answers, unspoken things that night be useful to them.
The girl – Uraraka Ochako, Izuku's mind supplies helpfully – has a heart-shaped face, with a clear, porcelain complexion, a strong chin, straight brows, and peach-blushed cheeks. Her eyes are caramel and match her hair perfectly. She's dressed in a UA uniform ( how interesting, Izuku thinks ), but her girlish and innocent appearance belies the mania dancing in her eyes and the powers at the edges of her fingertips.
Her introduction is short and to the point – "I'm here 'cause I need money. I wanna give my parents a better life."
Fine. Cash in exchange for information. It's not an unusual arrangement; Izuku can work with this. It'll be useful to have a spy in UA, keeping tabs on the movements of the Pro Heroes. Easier to plan for the next surprise they have in store. Izuku nods because she seems to be waiting for a reaction.
The other one is far harder to read.
The boy – it's frustrating to admit, but Izuku virtually has no information on him – is tall, a good foot of sturdy height on Izuku. A scar mars the otherwise paleness of his skin. Mismatched eyes of blue and brown, filled with the darkness and hatred that Izuku's come to expect from a boy who's spent all his life thriving in the dark. He lingers by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets.
His introduction is just as direct. "Shouto."
Izuku raises an eyebrow. "Not very talkative, hmm?"
Shouto doesn't reply.
"He's pissing me off," Bakugou announces, loud and grating as he tosses half his drink back in one go. "Shitty Half and Half."
The temperature in the room drops.
Shouto's eyes are narrowed into thin, angry slits, the only other outward sign of his displeasure . . . Is this what it takes to get genuine emotion out of him? How interesting. He files that knowledge away for later. Izuku slips his hand into Bakugou's before the ash blond can explode and digs his nails into Bakugou's palm. Hard.
"Now, now, Kacchan!" Izuku chirps, trying to diffuse the tension that settles over the room like a shroud. His tone is friendly, his eyes anything but. "What did I say about playing nice with others?"
Izuku's message is clear – continue acting up and receive a lecture later, or suck it up and escape punishment. Bakugou gnashes his teeth together, but settles for glaring at Shouto, as though trying to kill him with the force of his gaze.
How childish, Izuku thinks fondly.
He knows the best way to calm Bakugou down, though.
Leaning over, Izuku kisses him. Bakugou's mouth is cold and flavoured with alcohol-laced cranberry. Delicious. Izuku shoves a hand into ash blond hair and clenched it tight, holding him still so that he can't turn away. He bites the tongue that Bakugou thrusts aggressively into his mouth, then his lower lip, tasting blood.
He's the first to pull away with a sigh.
Bakugou follows, nuzzling the side of Izuku's face, his lips brushing over his ear. Bakugou's breathing hard, too, and the sound of the ice in his tumbler clinking against the glass skitters across Izuku's inflamed senses.
Panting, his stomach clenching in anticipation for what will inevitably happen later, Izuku breaths out a taunting, "Be good, Kacchan."
It elicits an animalistic growl from Bakugou, and Izuku bubbles out a laugh, amused despite himself.
Itsuka clears her throat.
"Well?" She asks brightly, as if she hadn't just seen that very public display of affection. Mentally, Izuku tells himself to give her a raise. She deserves it. "How 'bout it, boss?"
Izuku smiles. It is not kind. It is one of jagged edges, of bared teeth and sharpened claws. "Welcome to the League of Villains."