Archive of Our Own

If you look up 'problem child' in the dictionary Aizawa is certain that the most modern editions would feature a picture of Bakugo Katsuki. Older editions would probably display a faded black-and-white rendering of Aizawa back in the day, but that's neither here nor there. For practical purposes trouble can be spelt B-A-K-U-G-O most days of the week, and Aizawa’s not paid nearly enough to deal with this shit, so he must be doing it for the love.

Anyone would think that dealing with so much bullshit on a daily basis would desensitise Aizawa to handling it, but with Bakugo it always seems fresh, he’s just that much of an innovator in ways to be a royal pain in Aizawa’s ass. But he’s also exceptional, a literal prodigy, too much talent and ego and insecurity wrapped up in a crispy coating with a fuse so short it’s laughable, no wonder he explodes the way he does. Like an active volcano, smoking and spewing lava, and if he’s not doing that, then you best believe the big erruption’s on its way.

Bakugo might be a disaster waiting to happen, but Aizawa’s an experienced wrassler of wound-up teenage dramatics, and if anyone needs a firm hand clocking him on his bullshit, it's Bakugo fucking Katsuki. Aizawa's got no reservations about putting the boot down on him, because Bakugo can obviously take it, and after a year of squaring off against each other Aizawa thinks he's just about got the reins on his class's resident problem child. If Bakugo's not causing trouble then he's in trouble, a huge target on his back for the villains of the world, which makes their first year together as teacher and student a roller coaster missing some screws, rattling along barely hanging on. 

Second year, though, is when the lid is really blown off.

Aizawa’s good at keeping his private life so private even he doesn't know what he gets up to at the weekends sometimes, at least if he's gone out to get blackout drunk so he can forget all the ways his brats pissed him off that week. He's got no social media, three different mobile phones, and never goes out in a ten-mile radius of the UA campus. So how the fuck Bakugo works it out is beyond him. 

What happens is: classes end for the day one blindingly normal Wednesday afternoon, and Bakugo doesn't leave his desk when everyone else clears off, waving his friends away like flies until it's just him and Aizawa left in the room. This is supposed to be Aizawa’s naptime, so he's about to slide into his sleeping bag beind the desk when Bakugo finally gets up and marches right up to the front of the classroom.

Aizawa gets cranky when his precious four hours of sleep a day are encroached on, so he snaps, "What do you want?" because the moment the final bell goes he's not required to act like he gives a shit. He does, obviously, but he doesn't have to go around advertising that fact. If his students knew how much he cared they'd pester him for shit all the time, instead of when it's really important, and Aizawa has an extremely private private life to look out for. 

Bakugo, of course, doesn't have a flying fuck to give about Aizawa’s preciously guarded social life, so just lays one of his hands on the teacher's desk, leaning on a gunshow arm as he remarks, "You're a fag, right Aizawa?" as if commenting on the weather.

A siren goes off in Aizawa's head. Lights flash, tiny men charge around manically bumping into each other, and at least one operator at the control panel of his brain suggests Aizawa shoves his entire fist in Bakugo's mouth to shut him the fuck up as a matter of urgency. 

But instead of doing that, or reacting in any obvious way, Aizawa gives Bakugo a look like a burning bag of dog-shit and says, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah you do," Bakugo replies, drumming his fingers irritatingly on Aizawa's desk, that cocky scowl posing as a smirk while his crimson eyes narrow. "I'm talking about how you like to fuck men–" 

Aizawa stands up sharply, his chair banging as it hits the wall behind him, hands slamming down on top of the desk as he levels his eye line to stare dead at Bakugo, cheeky little fuck, how the hell did he figure out–

"You're out of line." The line is so far in Bakugo's dust he couldn’t even see it if he turned around to flip the bitch off.

“But I’m right.” Bakugo’s defiant, his schoolbag hanging from a hip with his blazer stuffed messily halfway out of it, shirt unbuttoned and his tie tied stupidly short and loose, looking like a stick of dynamite in the shape of a seventeen year-old boy.

“You don’t have any evidence.” Aizawa realises that this is evasive and actually gives it away rather than just denying it – but he’s not going to deny something that’s true, not even to a cocky little shit like this.

“Course I do,” Bakugo lilts, his bicep twitching as he stares Aizawa down like ‘homeroom teacher’ reads ‘challenge my authority’ in his language. Bakugo does do what he’s told, eventually, but if he doesn’t make a fucking debaucle out of it first. “Acting so faggy all the time, who d’you think you’re fooling?”

Quicker than the teen can react, which is pretty fucking fast, Aizawa reaches across the desk and snatches Bakugo by the ridiculous sticky-out stub of his tie. Yanking him over the desk, Bakugo’s eyes bulge in shock as Aizawa drags him until they’re almost nose-to-nose.

“Say that word to me one more time, Bakugo, and I’ll smack you so hard your mother will feel it,” Aizawa growls fiercely, watching the whites of Bakugo’s eyes widen as his pupils tighten and then flare. Aizawa holds Bakugo by the collar for just long enough that the brat starts to squirm, which is when Aizawa shoves him back, stumbling onto his feet back on the other side of the desk with a lot less confidence than he was packing five seconds ago.

Bakugo, though, has tenacity in spades and a hot streak like forked lightning, so he breaks into a scornful laugh. “What’s the big fuckin’ deal? You don’t like me saying fag?”

Aizawa feel the twitching under his eye, his mood gone off like milk so bad it’s got fur growing on the top. He thinks about clocking Bakugo, even though he technically didn’t call Aizawa the f-word again, just said it, and Nezu only has so much patience for Aizawa slapping around his students as a matter of personal principle. Even when it’s for a damn good reason. So he settles for an icy, “We don’t use slurs in my classroom.”

Bakugo’s lip lifts on one side, his canine peeking out of a sneer that grazes like rug-burn. “Calm the fuck down, twinkle-toes. I’m one too, so I can say it, can’t I?”

Aizawa’s view on this situation does a violent 180 degree turn and hits a solid wall. He’s what?

“You…’re…” There’s a flash in Bakugo’s eyes faster than oil catching fire over a hot pan, something that’s not derisive or aggressive, but… fearful. He’s fucking scared, but because he’s Bakugo, trying to express anything that smacks of vulnerability comes out like toxic waste. Aizawa has to say it out loud, because he wouldn’t fucking believe it otherwise, “You’re coming out to me?” 

“What?! Of course not!” Bakugo barks, clenching his jaw so tight Aizawa sees the muscles pulsing. “I’m not some fucking pansy who needs to go around telling people.”

“You just told me,” Aizawa counters, crossing his arms to stare Bakugo out with his most caustic expression available.

“No, I just told you that you are.” Bakugo’s like a wild dog that got locked up in a classroom somehow and doesn’t know how to get out or what anything is; that wild, feral look of someone desperate, who needs help and doesn’t know how to ask for it any way but snarling.

“And so are you.” Aizawa’s been come out to before by students, especially at this age, when the hormones and pressure start piling up on each other until something’s gotta give. But never like this.

“So what?!” How Bakugo seems angry about the thing he just admitted to Aizawa is beyond reasonable belief, but that’s the wonder of Bakugo for you. If one of the more stable kids couldn’t have been gay. There’s always a few in each class, statistically speaking, but of course it has to be Aizawa’s problem child in this batch of half-baked cookies. “So what if I am? It doesn’t… that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Yes you are.” After all this trouble, like hell if Aizawa’s watching this moron dash back into the closet for pride alone.

“Well aren’t you?!” In Bakugo’s head, Aizawa is sure there’s some kind of logic behind this. That Aizawa’s homosexuality is normalising of his own, or that if he’s right about Aizawa it allows Bakugo to admit it to himself. Aizawa does wonder how he figured it out, but then sometimes people can just tell. Especially when they’re the same. Aizawa’s not necessarily obvious, but he’s not exactly straight either.

“Yes, Bakugo. I’m gay.” It’s been a few years since Aizawa had to admit this to any student who got wise by mistake, usually being in the wrong place at the wrong time – the reason for the don't-go-out-in-a-ten-mile-radius-of-school rule – but one or two always slip the net. “Are you?”

Bakugo looks exactly like he didn’t think about getting this far through the exchange he started in the first place, and just stands there getting redder and redder in the face.

“I don’t have all day,” Aizawa snips because this is supposed to be naptime, not drag-idiot-gay-children-out-of-the-closet time. He’d leave Bakugo in there if he didn’t have a shred of sympathy for the poor idiotic creature. How someone like Bakugo comes around to realising he’s gay, much less processing it, is a horror story Aizawa prefers not to dwell on.

“Yeah! Okay?! I am!” Bakugo bursts like a watermelon being launched into a concrete wall, but before Aizawa can say anything else Bakugo’s turned tail and stormed out of the classroom. 

Sinking back down into his chair as Bakugo slams the classroom door unnecessarily hard on his way out, Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose, counting backwards from ten before he allows himself an exasperated sigh.

Addressing absolutely no one, Aizawa mutters, “I’m not paid enough for this shit.”

It’s only been a few days, but something has been eating away at Aizawa, and finally he can’t stand it anymore.

“Bakugo,” he calls at the end of Saturday classes, and the scruffy blonde’s head jerks up to fix him with an intense stare across the classroom. “Stay here. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

The furtive glances and whispers around the classroom are mixed, although a lot of them probably jump to the conclusion Bakugo’s in trouble for something. But curiosity killed the cat, so Aizawa waits until the others have all gone, and this time he goes to Bakugo’s desk.

The teen is rocking back on his chair, legs crossed over the top of his desk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and looks one foot in irritated and the other in shitting-himself-scared.

“What?” Bakugo keeps short and serious, only looking at Aizawa for a second or two at a time before the ceiling or floor become of sudden interest.

“What we talked about the other day,” Aizawa opens calmly, but honestly, he’s a little nervous himself. This has been keeping him up at night.

“Yeah?” Bakugo’s closed up tighter than a clam, and keeps rocking back on his chair like it’ll get him further away from Aizawa.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Landing with a delay, Aizawa remembers to add, “About me.” Bakugo’s free to come out to all his little friends to his heart’s delight, but like hell is he dragging Aizawa into it too.

“Ha?!” Bakugo’s scoff-laugh echoes around the classroom like a panicked bird looking for a way out. “You suggestin’ I’m a gossip? Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not that kinda queer.” What kind of queer Bakugo is gives Aizawa a headache even trying to think about, so he just doesn’t.

“I’m serious.” It all seems stupid and unimportant, until things get out, and then Aizawa’s dealing with the kind of shit he would just as soon quit over than have to fucking deal with. No one who matters actually cares if he’s gay, but a whole lot of people who don’t matter would have a fucking opinon about it, and the point of his private life is that it’s exactly that: private. “What I told you was in confidence, so even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal, you can’t tell anyone.” Given the utter fit Bakugo threw even admitting it to Aizawa in the first place, ‘not a big deal’ doesn’t seem likely, but Aizawa’s been itching to cover his bases.

“Alright, pull your panties outta your ass. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone,” Bakugo grumbles as he kicks his feet off the desk, rocking forwards aggressively. “You’re not actually that interesting to me, you know.”

“Good.” The last thing Aizawa wants to be to any of his students is interesting. He’s here to teach them how to survive this shitshow they call being a hero, not to field unwanted attention from snot-nosed brats. “Because if it gets out, your ass will be the first against the wall.”

“Sounds dirty,” Bakugo fires back with his most demonic smile, the one like he’s about to sprout fur and turn into an actual wolf, instead of just posing as an apex predator in human clothing.

“Trust me,” Aizawa bites, because Bakugo might be all that for all seventeen of his years, but he’s barely gotten off the tit while Aizawa’s bigger, older, and more experienced than him on all counts. “It won’t be.”

“Whatever.” Bakugo’s best and favourite retreat: it doesn’t matter because I don’t care. “Didn’t realise you were a pussy as well as a fag.”

Aizawa’s close enough to Bakugo’s desk that it’s easy to kick the front of his chair up in the blink of a ruby-red eye, jolting him backwards with his arms flailing while Aizawa stuffs a hand into the bundle of capture weapon around his neck and shoots out a single tendril to loop around Bakugo’s shoulders before he falls flat on his back. Another tug and Aizawa snatches Bakugo and the chair off the floor together as one, holding him high off the ground in a single white-knuckled fist.

“I told you what would happen if you called me that again you punk-ass little bitch,” Aizawa hisses an inch from Bakugo’s face, but he doesn’t have the tiger by the tail for nothing.

“You’re the only bitch here,” Bakugo snarls back. “Actin’ so tough when you’re too chicken-shit to admit to anyone you’re gay!”

“I admit it,” Aizawa retorts. “I just don’t advertise it. I’ve got enough fucking problems without my personal life being dragged into it.” Not to mention the rampant homophobia prevalent in an industry saturated with toxic masculinity and gay panic. Aizawa’s got plenty of headache material as it is, like the heaving, spitting ball of poison currently clutched in his hand.

“Then you admit it!” If Aizawa had anyone else in this position, not just in 2-A but throughout the entire goddamn school, he wouldn’t be getting yelled at right now. But it’s Bakugo, who blows as wild as gale force winds far beyond anyone’s control, especially his own. “Being a gay hero fucks everything up!”

Aizawa’s fist loosens just a fraction as he realises what this is about now. Trust Bakugo to never, ever do things the easy way.

Dropping him with a bang, the chair hitting the floor with Bakugo still tied to it, Aizawa loosens the capture weapon and steps backwards, then back a little more, coming to sit on Midoriya’s desk, propping his feet on the chair.

“It sure as shit doesn’t help,” Aizawa admits with the bitterness anything so depressing merits, resting a thoughtful gaze on Bakugo. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Bakugo goes red from the ears down, and not for the first time, Aizawa wishes it’d been someone else in the class going through this. Someone with the emotional faculty to actually deal with it, and not have to go kicking and screaming like the teenage baby he is most of the time.

“Yeah. You’re saying it’s better just to hide it, right?” Bakugo’s ambitious, and too smart for his own good, so of course he’s worried about this, worried about how he’s supposed to become a top-ranking hero dragging the weight of being a Gay Hero and not just a Hero.

“Only you can make that decision for yourself,” Aizawa replies, picking a foot up to tuck under himself, finding it easier to let go of Bakugo’s nasty foulmouthed ways than he likes. Perhaps because he knows the little shit is just saying it to get a reaction, that he’s stupid and young and doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, much less what he’s saying. “It’s not gonna make anything easier, but it’s not impossible.”

Bakugo hasn’t moved from his chair, dumped like a bag of shopping that hasn’t been put away yet. There’s something low and accusatory in his tone as he murmurs, “You hide it.”

“I don’t tell you little shits,” Aizawa claps back. “And I’m an underground hero, so it doesn’t matter for me as much.” Being gay can’t harm his reputation when there’s no reputation in the first place.

“But it does matter?” The hope in Bakugo’s voice is crushing, because he knows the answer, he just asks in case Aizawa’s gonna tell him he’s wrong, and that they live in a perfect world where prejudice just disappeared because everyone spontaneously got insane superpowers. Like that was ever gonna happen.

“Of course it does,” Aizawa confirms with a sigh. “But you get to choose how you let it affect you.”

“Which is what you do.” Bakugo’s quiet now, all that temper burned away like phosphorus from a fistful of matches. “You don’t let it change what anyone thinks of you.”

“I don’t think it’s something most people need to know, but yeah.” Aizawa would be a bad gay if he didn’t do his part to guide the younger generation a little. At least Bakugo is listening to him, and hasn’t used any slurs in the past thirty seconds. That’s kind of an improvement. “It’s as much or as little as you make of it, Bakugo. You wanna make it a big fucking deal and it will be.”

“I don’t.” Bakugo’s face hung down, wispy blonde spikes obscuring his eyes. “I wish–” 

“What?” Aizawa prompts him after Bakugo cuts himself off.

“IwishIwasn’tgay,” Bakugo spits out all in one, bringing a hand to rub over his eyes like if he can’t see the room, he must not be here. “As if I haven’t got enough shit to deal with already, now I gotta think about people acting different around me just because I’m… whatever.”

Aizawa’s heart, which has the consistency of a bit of old boot leather that’s been kicked around and patched up time and time again, actually goes out to the poor little bastard. He recognises that hopeless despair of a teenager feeling like everything’s uphill, all the time, and putting this enormous pressure on himself to succeed. Fuck if Aizawa hasn’t been there too. When he was Bakugo’s age it was bad enough fighting his way through UA tooth and nail with a passive quirk that simply robbed other people of their abilities, much less being queer quirk-erasing weirdo too. So no wonder Bakugo’s hair trigger goes off with the lightest touch: get them before they get you, don’t let them figure it out, because anything’s better than being outed. Why else would Aizawa keep Bakugo after class just to tell him to keep his stupid lip buttoned?

“Now who’s being the pussy?” Aizawa brings back in style, and Bakugo's head snaps up to stare at him in shock. “If you’ve got time to throw a pity party for yourself, then you’ve got time to be training.” Aizawa flaps his hand like shooing away a bird trying to peck at crumbs in his sleeping bag while he’s attempting to nap. “Why don’t you go do that instead of bitching at me?”

“Hey, asshole!” Bakugo shoots indignantly. “You kept me behind!”

“And I said my piece already,” Aizawa delivers in a monotone. “So scram, kid.”

“Fine! Whatever, you fuckin’ weirdo,” Bakugo mutters on his way out. Aizawa props his face on a curled fist, resting on a knee, and considers that maybe it’s not so terrible Bakugo’s the one going through this. If anyone could smash expectations of what a ‘Gay Hero’ looks like, it’s that walking superiority complex.

Bakugo’s idea of ‘coming out’ still needs work. Or maybe it doesn’t, because it’s just the way he does things, which is with the chaotic energy of a jar of marbles being hurled down a staircase.

It’s almost the end of Second Year and the kids are all twisted up over the end-of-year dance party that Aizawa didn’t care about when they started planning it months ago, and cares about even less now. It could be said that he would gladly choose death over listening to even one more argument about what colour the decorations should be or whether or not there’s a dress code, but at least he’s not alone in this.

“Shut the FUCK up already! You’re all doing my goddamn head in,” Bakugo roars at the collective of classmates trying to involve him in a tie-breaker decision over the choice of playlist for the night.

“Oh come on, Bakugo! You have to pick something!” Ashido insists, timing the next bit with a jazzy top-to-toe wiggle that impresses Bakugo not at all. “Don’t you want some good tunes to shake it up on the dancefloor to!?”

“I’ll shake up your candyfloss head if you don’t shut it,” Bakugo retorts. "So no, I don't care."

“Lighten up, Mr. Grumps!” Kaminari takes a pop next, and Aizawa would intervene if he wasn’t convincingly pretending he’s asleep right now, which is sometimes the easier thing to do. “Just think about it, what kinda song would you wanna dance to with your date?”

“Date?!” Bakugo barks in that ‘this is so stupid it’s funny’ way of his. “You fuckers are lucky I’m even showing up. ‘Course I don’t have a date.”

“What! You don’t even have a date?! That’s so sad!” Maybe Ashido enjoys sticking her foot in her mouth, because she certainly seems to do it with great enthusiasm.

“Ha?!” Bakugo’s laugh hits like a train, so derisive it and contagious makes Aizawa’s mouth twitch, but no one seems to notice yet. “You’re calling me sad now?” 

“Ah…. no… I mean… we’ll fix you up with a date, Bakugo! No problem.” Ashido manages to save – or so she thinks.

“Fuck off. I’m not taking a date.”

“Bakugoooooo you have to, everyone’s taking a date, even if it’s just a friend-date!” Ashido impresses upon him pointlessly. “There’s a bunch of different girls who you could go with, we’ll even ask them for you! One’s bound to say yes.” Ashido sounds like she’s trying to convince herself of this fact as she's saying it. Aizawa avoids thinking about that disastrous scenario or he’ll start smirking and someone might notice their teacher’s shit-eating-grin in his supposed sleep.

“No.” Bakugo could’ve left it at that, but he doesn’t, appending a rapid, “Idon’tdategirls,” that absolutely nobody misses.

“Wait, what? Whaddya mean you don’t date girls?” Ashido echoes back at let’s-make-sure-everybody-heard-it volume.

“You mean, like, there isn’t a girl you’d like to take as a date,” Kaminari tries to rationalise, and Aizawa’s equal parts surprised and unsurprised. If Aizawa was going to pick a handful of ‘probably some kinda queer’ in his class, Kaminari would easily be among the nominations, but he’s probably a little out of touch with himself to figure it out on his own. Best to leave it to the boy who’ll lure that bright spark out of the closet.

“No, fuckwit. I mean if I was gonna go out with anyone, it wouldn’t be a girl,” Bakugo reiterates impatiently, and Aizawa senses it coming on like food poisoning. He wonders if he should intervene, but then, he’d told Bakugo this was all down to him, and if the idiot wants to do things this way then off he goes.

“Then… who would you go out with?” is Kirishima’s perplexed offering, and Aizawa would facepalm if he wasn’t still pretending to be unconscious. It’s better than admitting that he’s actually listening to any of this with his own ears.

“A dude, idiot!” 

Aizawa could swear he feels the cold rush of air roll across the room, turning what had been lively chatter to stunned ‘did-he-just?’ silence.

“Wait, so you…” Kirishima fumbles through gracelessly, “you mean you’re… you wanna date… dudes?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” If Bakugo’s irritation were seawater, they’d all be swimming with the fishes around now. “What did I just say?”

“Omygawd,” Ashido pipes back in about an octave higher than before. “Bakugo, are you telling us you’re gay?”

“Course I am!” Bakugo makes it sound like they’re all wrong for not knowing, which is presumably easier for him than daring to be anything except abrasive and offence-is-the-best-defensive. “That’s why I’m not taking a stupid date to the stupid fucking dance.”

“Forget about that,” is thrown out by Ashido as fast as last season’s fashion. “Since when have you been gay?”

“What a dumb question,” Bakugo growls, and the next part is delivered in a cracking mimic of Ashido’s own voice, “Since when have you been straight?”

“Aww, c’mon, Bakugo! She’s just asking,” Kirishima wrangles, and a protective instinct in Aizawa rears and reaches for Bakugo even though he got his-damn-self into this one. “You never told us you were gay.”

“I’m supposed to fuckin’ announce it? You gonna throw a little gayboy party for me with balloons and fucking rainbow cake? It’s none of your goddamn business, so just shut up about it already!”

“Wh– but you told us! You can’t just say something and then insist we stop talking about it!” Kaminari protests, and Aizawa almost intervenes, when he suddenly doesn’t have to.

“Sure I can.” A snapping sound Aizawa knows all too well suggests Bakugo’s favourite pose of holding his firecracker palms up, tiny explosions popping across his hands. “Anyone says another fucking word to me about being gay and I’ll kill them.” That effectively shuts every last one of them up.

At least, everyone in the class, because like it or not, Bakugo keeps catching Aizawa's eye over the last lesson of the day that they just so happen to have together. When class ends everyone else leaves while Bakugo alone remains, no cajoling to come along from his friends, who’ve been threatened enough to know better than to poke this bear.

Aizawa waits until the last ones have trickled out and walks over to shut the door, coming back around to lean against his desk with a dry, “You could’ve handled that better.”

“You think it’s so easy then you fuckin’ do it,” Bakugo growls, sulking so hard Aizawa would stick a dummy in his mouth and call it a finished look.

“Nope.” Aizawa’s not playing that game, and his patience only stretches so thin. “You didn’t have to say anything to them, so why did you?”

Bakugo shrugs. “Wanted ‘em to shut up.”

“Didn’t exactly work, then.” While Bakugo might have successfully stopped anyone from asking him about his newly declared sexuality, it’s no surprise that they’ll likely be talking to each other about it with utter amazement. No wonder Bakugo’s still here. He’s got a world of irritation waiting for him in the form of what people think about his personal business. Small wonder Aizawa only makes a habit of telling someone he’s gay if he wants to fuck them, which is the only time it’s relevant as far as he’s concerned.

“About me going out with some girl,” Bakugo blurts the rest out resentfully. “It was pissing me off listening to them blabber on about it like they had a clue.”

“Ah.” That’s easier to understand, the niggling annoyance of heteronormativity catching like tripping on a crooked paving stone. “Well, it’s done now.” 

Bakugo shrugs again, and if he’s asked, Aizawa would insist he doesn’t play or have favourites, but that’s not always entirely true. Bakugo might be a problem child, but Aizawa’s got a secret soft spot for him all the same. 

“Did your class know?” Bakugo’s question catches Aizawa when he’s absent-minded, coming back down to land with a soft, curious sound that makes Bakugo prompt again. “When you were a student here. Did they know you were gay?”

“Some of them,” Aizawa answers, shifting up to sit on the edge of his desk. Bakugo’s had long enough to cool down from his earlier outburst, and sits in tranquility just watching Aizawa, looking for guidance. Poor little bastard, if Aizawa’s the best he's got. “The rest never knew.” And that’s fine with Aizawa. He doesn’t owe his gayness anything, like it’s not real unless he tells people about it.

“Guess I’m more of a man than you after all.” Bakugo stands up with one of those forced grins that’s all bluster and no bullet, and Aizawa finds the corner of his mouth pulling up in sympathy. 

“Nice try, brat,” Aizawa scoffs, following Bakugo with his eyes as he swaggers across the room, trailing his fingers along the tops of the desks like he’s claiming them as his own. “Try to stay out of trouble." They both know what kind: people talk, and they're not always going to stop because Bakugo threatens them.

"Ha!" Bakugo barks like a seal, loitering at the classroom door for a moment. "I'll stay outta trouble when it stays away from me." 

"So, never?" Aizawa listens for Bakugo’s fresh scourge of laughter as he watches the lax slope of the teen's shoulders lift and flex in shirts he's never worn right once in two years, always unbuttoned and rumpled, like the fit of any outfit not made specifically for him is a lost cause.

Of course, trouble finds Bakugo faster than Aizawa expects: he's dragged out of bed the very next morning – on his one day off – to pull Bakugo and Monoma off each other outside the dorms. Aizawa does have his own apartment off-campus, but a teacher needs to be present in the dorms during term-time even on days off, so Aizawa usually moves his plants and shacks up long-term in the class A dorm. His window faces the front of the building, perfectly positioned to see Bakugo and Monoma brawling in the early morning light while a frantic knocking on his door awakens him to this latest edition of Bakugo Katsuki’s bullshit. 

The window is positioned such that Aizawa can leap right out of it and land directly on Bakugo’s back. Grabbing onto the teen as he rolls out of the two-storey drop, Aizawa hurls Bakugo across the forecourt as he slams a foot down on Monoma's chest, activating his quirk on one after the other until he's got two bloodied, scowling teenagers on his hands. 

"He started it!" Bakugo lands with a flip and keeps going strong, but no such protests from Monoma, who might be a little too battered to come out with anything except spitting blood from his busted lip and looking like he might be about to pass out.

"And I'm ending it," Aizawa groans, rolling a shoulder that gives a protestant pop. "Couldn't you have started this shit a little later?" This is supposed to be his one day of getting enough sleep all week. He only went to bed at 5am and it’s 8am now so that isn't working out. 

"Tell that piece of shit, not me," Bakugo storms as he thumps back over to Aizawa, a warning glare just enough to push back and keep his full temper at bay. On further examination, Monoma appears to be unconscious already, which makes Aizawa sigh all over again. Now he has to carry the piece of shit all the way to the infirmary, and not send the morons packing themselves before crawling back into bed.

Bakugo's roughed up too, bruised and a little blood coming from his nose, which flares wide as he scowls pure murder and tells Aizawa, "He called me a fag."

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. The hypocrisy. "Not nice, is it?" 

"I get to say it!" Bakugo bursts. "He doesn't."

"You don't get to say anything just because you're gay," Aizawa snaps as he takes his foot off Monoma and squats down to check him over. It doesn’t seem to be too bad, but he’ll need to be observed for concussion. Stupid fucking Bakugo, Aizawa laments as he turns back up to the teen to nag, "Some people might be okay with it if you're both on the same page, but it’s down to the situation, not a rule."

"Bla bla bla, I get it. I shouldn't call people fags, even if I'm one of them," Bakugo speed-mutters like he might actually be experiencing a learning moment. It's definitely shocking, that moment of being the target of hatespeech, realising what's happening and how fucking powerless it is being in that position. Even Bakugo, who’s so focused on strength and winning and being on top, even he can’t do shit to stop the forces of pure bigotry, and to some people will always be a fag first and a hero never. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

"I hope you learned your lesson," Aizawa says grouchily, because he's sure as shit not repeating it. "Now take this piece of shit up to the infirmary, I'm going back to bed."

"Fine," Bakugo accepts surprising easily, but Aizawa’s not complaining. Aizawa could take Monoma up himself and insist on punishing Bakugo, but this will do.

Watching Bakugo grab Monoma by the arm to haul over his shoulder, a little rougher than necessary, though not to the point of Aizawa feeling like he needs to say anything – the wind-up merchant did ask for it – Aizawa rubs the sleep from his eyes and tells himself the end of the year can't come soon enough. He likes these kids, some a little more than others, but if he couldn't use a fucking break from the screaming rugrats every now and again. 

It's well into the third and final year that Aizawa starts to notice Bakugo… noticing him, for lack of a better word. It starts very small, and Aizawa’s not one to pay attention most of the time, merely observing that Bakugo spends more time than he used to with his face resting on one hand watching Aizawa from across the classroom. It isn’t until after a particularly sweaty training exercise that the pieces finally click into place.

Aizawa was playing the villain in this particular session, and with the majority of their training completed, the rugrats gave him a damn good run for his money. Needing a shower to get all the dirt, sweat and other generalised grime off him before he goes back to teaching a poor unsuspecting class of first-years in the next period, Aizawa’s among them in the changing rooms afterwards, most of his students not giving him a second glance as he stomps into a shower cubicle and draws the curtain with a clatter.

He stays in the shower until after most of the boys have left already, spending longer under the water just letting it run over him in decompression mode. It’s strange saying goodbye to each new batch of kids as their time together comes and goes, and this one will be harder to part with than most. So many characters, and a hell of a lot of potential.

Speaking of characters, there’s one boy left in the changing room, who Aizawa only clocks when he turns around and Bakugo is standing right there, grinning up at Aizawa like he knows something no one else does. Which is true, technically, but there’s no reason to look like such a smug bitch about it.

“Hey, you were pretty good out there.” Bakugo’s half-dressed, meaning only from the waist down, his shirt tucked in his back pocket like it’s really that much effort to put on, and that’s when the first radar ping shows up in Aizawa’s head. 

Keeping his nerve solid steel, Aizawa keeps his gaze on Bakugo’s face. Only his face, because if he’s standing there with no shirt barely inches away from Aizawa, looking anywhere else is going to be as obvious as Aizawa spelling it out. Just like when Bakugo’s eyes drop down from Aizawa’s face, and the heat of his eyes might as well be infra-red light that scans Aizawa’s bare, wet torso in a way that makes several more pings show up on the radar.

Bakugo always did spell Trouble.

“I should be good. I’m the teacher,” Aizawa replies coolly, double meanings aside, because this isn’t his first time at the rodeo, but it’s probably the first case where the student eyeing him up was a boy, gay, and knows Aizawa is too. Namely: fuck. “Get to your next class.”

“Sure.” Bakugo’s eyes take their sweet, sweet time coming back up to Aizawa’s face again, and he’d give the brat a slap if it wouldn’t mean his towel quite likely falling down, and that’s an eyeful he’s not willing to give Bakugo for love nor money. “Later, Aizawa.”

Aizawa can’t remember exactly when Bakugo stopped calling him sensei, but it was patchy usage even to begin with. Bakugo’s hardly been authority’s most devoted subject throughout his academic career, though the subject of his devotion to Aizawa might be a stone better left unturned.

Maybe he can ignore it, Aizawa tells himself. Maybe it’ll go away on its own.

It doesn’t go away on its own.

Bakugo keeps just the right side of the line where Aizawa would have to do anything about the fact that his student has taken an interest in him, and he could sit around trying to piece out how and why Bakugo’s gotten to where he is, but suffice to say that Aizawa’s here and he’s gay, which is sometimes all it takes. Although Aizawa has also… favoured Bakugo, he supposes. He’s been sympathetic, maybe even sees himself – a younger, stupider version of himself – in Bakugo.

And it’s hard watching any kid go through the gay crisis feedback loop, so Aizawa would be a shit teacher if he didn’t take a special interest in Bakugo, really, didn’t nudge him into being as well adjusted as anyone like him can turn out. But after a year or so of settling into being gay, and that being okay, Bakugo’s maybe a little too okay with it, and just goes back to being a pain in Aizawa’s ass.

This only gets troublesome when Aizawa’s disturbed from one of his vital early-evening naps by a knock on his dorm-room door.

“What?” Aizawa calls out without getting out of bed, or even opening his eyes, because he’s not getting out of bed unless something or someone who isn’t supposed to be on fire is on fire.

“Open up, asshole,” call Bakugo’s dulcet tones through the door. “I wanna ask you something.”

“Then ask me tomorrow,” Aizawa calls back, opening his eyes and weighing up the value of getting up to tell Bakugo to fuck off and getting up to deal with whatever he wants and being done with it.

“No. Now.”

Aizawa turns over, pulling the covers over his head. “Piss off, Bakugo.”

“Okay, then I’ll ask you all about fucking dudes in front of the class first thing tomorrow.”

Growling to himself, Aizawa drags his corpse out of bed and stomps to the door, opening it to confront the short-stack of provocation grinning like a tiger on the other side. “Keep your fucking voice down.”

Bakugo takes a step forward and Aizawa sets his arm to the doorframe, blocking entry unless Bakugo plans to limbo under his arm, which he doesn’t. Yet.

“What?” Aizawa hisses, watching Bakugo like a hawk. Bakugo’s one of the first to turn eighteen in the academic year and it’s easy to tell. Aizawa’s watched the change, how settled into his body Bakugo’s become, not the biggest or the tallest in the class by a long way, but pound-for-pound muscle easily one of the strongest. His proportions are evened out too, still growing, but looking much more like a man than a puppy still waiting to become a dog.

“I’ve got some questions,” Bakugo poses with that hint of a canine in the corner of his grin. “Thought you might be able to help.”

“Go on then.” Aizawa’s arm doesn’t move, because there’s no way in hell he’s letting this – technically not a kid, but what are technicalities anyway – goddamn brat into his room.

Bakugo doesn’t seem so sure of himself now, but he’s defiant as ever, and after looking around, confirming the hallway is empty, he closes back in on Aizawa and says, “There’s someone I wanna fuck, but I don’t want to hurt him. Got any tips?”

Aizawa must white out for a second, pure static noise as the operators inside his head check the transcript and confirm that yes, Bakugo actually did just fucking say that.

Bakugo snaps his fingers in front of Aizawa’s face, who immediately pulls his expression into a disapproving frown and answers, “That’s what you have the internet for.”

“I’ve seen what they do on the internet.” Bakugo’s not joking, he’s actually serious, and Aizawa’s not entirely sure what to do about it just yet. Assuming this person Bakugo wants to fuck is real that’s kind of good news, but why Bakugo’s coming to him for advice is… questionable.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Because you’ve actually done it!” Bakugo spits with a familiar blush soaking his face like a red wine stain. “I don’t wanna suck and I– you’re the only person I know who I could… fuck it! Whatever, this was stupid–”

“Wait.” Aizawa reaches gently for Bakugo’s shoulder just as he’s starting to turn away. Bakugo stops immediately under Aizawa’s touch, which he withdraws quickly thereafter.

Aizawa draws a deep, long-suffering sigh. The things he does for his students.

“Lube,” he says quickly, wishing he didn’t feel so utterly foolish or exposed – this is why Kayama and Recovery Girl do most of the Sex Ed, with Mic’s enthusiastic support for the male variations while Aizawa’s usually asleep under a desk somewhere being glad it isn’t him. “Lots of lube.”

Bakugo makes a face. “I know that.”

“No. Like, a fucking shit-ton of it, okay?” Aizawa emphasises. “Especially if they haven’t done it before.” The way Bakugo asks, it seems like he’s not planning to be on the receiving end. At least Aizawa can give some advice for whoever’s going to be subjected to Bakugo’s fumbling first-tries. Just remembering his first time makes Aizawa want to wince, but that was a long time ago, and the quicker he gets this over with, the quicker he can shotgun some bleach to erase this entire exchange from his mind.

“Okay.” Bakugo’s looking a little more embarrassed too, but he’s the one who came here with all the awkward questions. His big, grown-up plan of seeming so mature wasn’t going so well now. If that was ever his plan. “What else?”

Aizawa’s pretty sure he could die from the internal cringing, and it occurs to him that he could always slam the door in Bakugo’s face, but if this moron is just trying to do a good job – the one thing Bakugo Katsuki always wants to do, no matter what – and Aizawa won’t even teach him because it’s a little bit embarrassing, then he’s a shit teacher.

So fuck it.

“Just go slowly, use your fingers first,” Aizawa rushes out, like the faster he can cram the information into Bakugo’s ear the quicker this mortifying exchange will be over. Which just has to be with Bakugo, of course. For it to be anyone else would mean Aizawa wouldn’t care, would just tell them to piss off and figure it out themselves, if they even got him out of bed in the first place. It’s just this one that Aizawa’s developed a criminal weakness for, and he lets it get him into these stupid, no-one-should-ever-know-about-this exchanges.

“Fingers?” Bakugo echoes curiously, and he’s really listening, his eyes lit like embers from within, shining on Aizawa. At least he’s interested in someone else, Aizawa warns himself as the alarm bells ring back of house in his head. At least Aizawa didn’t let Bakugo into his room, because only the fact that this conversation is happening in a goddamn hallway makes it feel even close to something they can get away with.

Aizawa pulls a face. “Do I seriously have spell it out?” He doesn’t quite do that, but does use a hand gesture – two fingers forming a circle, a single digit on the other hand indicatively penetrating it.

“Oh.” Bakugo’s blush gets a whole shade darker, and Aizawa wonders what in the fuck either of them are doing.

“And use condoms,” Aizawa concludes with a prickling of heat across the back of his neck. “Recovery Girl can give you some,” he speeds through the rest, while Bakugo’s eyes drift up to the ceiling, tilting his head back so the light catches the fuzz along his unshaven jaw. He’s got more of a beard already than Aizawa could ever grow, that’s for sure. “Don’t ask Midnight,” Aizawa adds as a parting shot. “She’ll just get… overexcited.”

Of all this, the only thing Bakugo picks out is, “Condoms? Who the fuck’m’ I gonna get pregnant?”

“Use a fucking condom, Bakugo.” Aizawa can’t believe he’s literally, actually having this conversation with this ridiculous eighteen-year-old gayby who can’t just use the internet or his own initiative or anything that involves not standing here having this conversation. The next part Aizawa says because he briefly stops fucking thinking, because it’s, “You’ll thank me for it later.” He’s sure Bakugo knows about STDs, but if this poor bottom is as new to this as Bakugo is, then the wonderful world of thorough prepping is probably realms away. So Bakugo doesn’t know it, but he’s gonna be fucking grateful for a condom, or three, when they get into it.

Bakugo’s brows scrunch together, and it’s so silly it’d be laughable if Aizawa wasn’t looking for the door of this conversation like the emergency hatch on a nose-diving airplane.

“Right, then. Off you go.” Aizawa’s already shutting the door when Bakugo stops it with his hand.

“Wait.” Bakugo puts way too much of his arm in the closing door and Aizawa almost lets himself swear in frustration, sure he was just about out of this.

“What?” Bakugo looks taken aback by Aizawa’s sudden harshness, which brings up a wave of guilt that has Aizawa rolling his eyes in tireless indulgence. “What now, Bakugo?” he reiterates a little softer, in the same way that a wooden baseball bat is softer than a metal one.

“I just wanted to thank you, but fuck it, I won’t bother then.” Bakugo talks a good game, but he’s still propping Aizawa’s door open, and Aizawa’s pretending he doesn’t see Bakugo’s attempts to peer inside. A curious young man, perhaps even moreso than is good for him.

“Don’t.” Of the few things Aizawa’s done that he’s proud of, or believes are at least worthy of thanks, this doesn’t even get close to making the list. “Just get lost, brat.” Somehow, this comes out far more fondly than he means to let out, but seeing as he’s gotten this far, Aizawa goes the whole hog and lifts a hand to Bakugo’s head, only the quickest ruffle of his hair as he shoves the impudent teen out of his doorway before he can get himself into any more trouble.

Aizawa had hoped, foolish man that he is, that the conversation he had with Bakugo outside his room would be the last he hears of Bakugo’s plans to get laid. More the goddamn fool him.

“Is it true, Bakugo?!” Kaminari peppers Bakugo bright and early first thing in the morning, and Aizawa’s not asleep anymore, but he sure fucking wishes he were.

“Is what true?”

“You and Takeshi from the support department. Everyone’s saying you two hooked up last night!” Silence, which Aizawa can imagine is punctuated by a deathly stare. “Uhhhhh–I mean, if you wanna talk about it and all, not that it’s any of our business.” 

“You’re right,” Bakugo answers tersely. “It’s none of your nosey goddamn business.” Another silence, this one even more potent than the last. “But since you asked… yeah.”

“Yeah?” Kaminari echoes like he doesn’t understand the answer. “You mean, yeah you hooked up?”

“Mhm.”

If it weren’t going to alert the class to Aizawa’s consciousness, he’d be banging his head on the desk right now.

“Dude! That’s awesome!” Kaminari’s a good egg, truly, and Aizawa’s still waiting for him to suddenly realise that he’s not as straight as he thinks he is, especially given this intense level of enthusiasm for Bakugo’s sex life. “Where’d you do it?”

Bakugo makes a strange noise, leading into a rusty, “Where’d you fuckin’ think? In the ass.”

“Oh! I meant–like, like where you, uh… where you were geographically.”

Aizawa’s trying not to laugh, but it’s really fucking difficult when Kaminari’s spluttering like a badly plumped tap.

“What does that matter?”

“Well, no, it doesn’t matter, just I… heard some people saying it was in the support department’s workshop.”

Bakugo sniggers. “Well, I guess you could say some of it was.”

“Only some of it? How’d you only have some sex in a place?”

“You’re a dirty pervert, you know that?” Bakugo tells Kaminari straight, as straight as either of them can be, but he also doesn’t stop talking. “He fucking blew me, if you’re so keen for the nasty details. The rest happened back at my room.”

“Wait,” Kirishima comes in after being remarkably silent thus far. “You mean you two did it next door to me? That’s what all the banging was last night?!”

“Why’re you complaining?!” Bakugo fires off with everlasting predictability. “I had to listen to your fucking snoring through the wall for three years!”

“But dude, c’mon… you coulda least warned me.”

“Oh, you want me to knock on the door and tell you I’m about to rail someone in my room so pop some goddamn headphones in?”

“Yes!” Kirishima belts. “That’s exactly what I want you to do!”

“Sure, the guy's gonna love that isn’t he?” Bakugo’s doing… sorta well, Aizawa supposes. They’re still arguing, but at least it’s only about stupid shit. “Don’t mind me, just gonna tell my friend next door that we’re about to fuck, naw, he’s cool but he just likes to let me know when I’m getting laid so he can pop some music in?!”

“What would be so terrible about that?” Kirishima honestly makes a good point, but Aizawa’s had about as much of this as he can take.

“If everyone’s done being a loud nuisance,” Aizawa announces as he pulls the zip of his sleeping back down from the inside and rises up out of it like a moth breaking the cocoon, “I seem to recall we’ve got things to learn today.” Things that do not pertain to the sex life of one Bakugo Katsuki.

But the way Bakugo’s grinning at Aizawa when he slides in behind his desk still spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

It’s not after class, but walking through one of the hallways that Bakugo catches him this time, his voice cutting through the rabble to punch Aizawa in the eardrum.

“Guess I should thank you after all.”

Aizawa knows what he’s talking about right away, but he is not, repeat, not entertaining this absolute nonsense for a single goddamn second. Especially not in a somewhat busy hallway.

But when Aizawa turns around to inform Bakugo that he doesn’t care, didn’t care, and isn’t ever gonna care about who or how or where he got his dick wet, all that flies out the window at the sight of Bakugo’s dopey, lopsided I-did-it grin that’s so stupid and endearing not even Aizawa’s enough of a cold bastard to kill that buzz. Fine, fine, let the pain in his ass have this one.

Aizawa says nothing, so Bakugo says something for him. “About the condoms, I mean.”

“Yep.” Aizawa keeps it short, professional, and most importantly: inculpable.  

Bakugo doesn’t add to this, so Aizawa starts to turn around, has his back to Bakugo again before, as always, there’s just one more word to get in. “Wait.”

Repressing the urge to groan, because his discomfort isn’t actually a big enough deal to ruin what should be a positive experience, Aizawa wheels back around and faces Bakugo expectantly.

“Thank you,” he repeats. “Seriously.” It’s not sarky or joking this time. Actual, real gratitude from Bakugo Katsuki is a rare occasion, so Aizawa kind of wishes it was for something other than giving him gay sex pointers. How is this even a situation that he has to deal with? 

“Don’t mention it.” Aizawa’s not such a mean bugger, and it’s only his natural caution around Bakugo as one of his students that makes this so fucking awkward. Authority structures are weird like that, shaping relationships between people to seem more complicated or distant than they are. If Bakugo was having this discussion with Aizawa under different circumstances, would he be so resistant? Maybe. Perhaps Aizawa just needs to loosen up – give or take a few months, Bakugo and all the others will be ex- students, and this will all seem like a stressful fever dream Aizawa won’t ever have to deal with again.

One thing’s for sure: he’s never admitting he’s gay to any more of his students.

Bakugo is still standing there, just watching Aizawa, and perhaps he can even see the little cartoon creatures chasing each other around Aizawa’s lunatic head, but there’s always those radar beeps. The ones that go: you know what this look means, so Aizawa rubs a tired hand across his face and reminds himself that he is not paid nearly enough for this shit, so what the hell’s he doing it for?

“Alright… later then.” Bakugo seems conflicted, but that’s probably natural with the weird mixed signals he’s getting from Aizawa. If Aizawa weren’t trying to be so goddamn careful around Bakugo, he might actually be able to relax and things wouldn’t be so weird, but that’s not the reality he’s living in. Aizawa’s reality involves making sure that the fact he’s given sex tips to his student is something he and Bakugo know about and absolutely no one else.

“Bakugo,” Aizawa calls as the scruffy blonde is turning away from him again, the hallway almost fully emptied around their stalling. “Really, don’t mention it. I could… it’s just better if you keep it to yourself.”

I could get in trouble makes it sound like they did something wrong, and logically, Aizawa knows they didn’t. He doesn’t want to contaminate Bakugo’s first experience with the notion that there’s anything bad about it. Aizawa’s just being overly cautious, conscious of his own position, and Bakugo doesn’t know any better. Or he does, and he’s just a little shit like that.

A flash of confidence comes back onto Bakugo’s face, “You sure are an uptight bitch, huh?” He smirks, sticking his chin out a little to look up at Aizawa. “Relax, sensei, it’s our little secret.” It’s only when Bakugo’s spun on his heels and walked away that Aizawa realises it’s probably the first time Bakugo’s called him sensei all goddamn year.

And oh, like that doesn’t make it sound even worse.

It's not until graduation that Bakugo gets really ballsy. Maybe he realises that his almost-fulfilled plan to graduate #1 in the school might be threatened by attempts to seduce his fucking homeroom teacher, so Aizawa gets off comparatively easy until that fateful, final day.

Given that his obligations to teaching are finally over, and Aizawa has some matter of weeks in lost sleep to catch up on, he’s woken in the classroom by a shoe hitting him in the ribs through the padding of his sleeping bag, followed by a bossy, "Get up, Aizawa. We're all waitin’ on your ass."

Unzipping from his orange shell, Aizawa doesn't appreciate the way Bakugo’s standing over him, feet spread wide and hands stuffed in his pockets like his fists only just fit in there. Especially recently, and double especially when Aizawa's around, it always seems like Bakugo’s clothes just barely fit him.

“You’re sleeping in that thing in a suit?” Bakugo practically snorts as Aizawa climbs out of his chrysalis. Graduation is one of the few occasions he’s supposed to dress up nice, and for Aizawa waking up like this means passing out like this. Putting on whatever he’s supposed to be wearing for the next day before he goes to sleep just means no pyjama requirement and extra sleep on the other side, so as far as he’s concerned it’s utterly logical.

But Aizawa’s still stupid when he’s just woken up, so doesn't think before murmuring a gravelly, "You'd prefer I was naked?" from the floor before he remembers who he's talking too. 

"Sure I would." Bakugo is cocky from the tips of his unkempt haystack hair to his scuffed shoes, and if Aizawa wasn't mistaken, he's crammed into the same uniform he had in First Year, because it stretches over every corner of him like one flex would be all it takes to rip at every seam. Aizawa supposes it doesn’t make sense getting a bigger size when he's only going to need it for a few more hours, but if Bakugo couldn't look less smug about it. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were being serious," Aizawa plays off like anything he says with enough conviction will become true, getting up without bothering to smooth out the creases in his suit. He's wearing it, which is his obligation to the school met. Making it look good counts as overtime, and he's not paid for that shit.

"Oh, I'm serious alright." Bakugo’s vivid red stare cases Aizawa up like a jewelry store to be robbed, and steps closer just as Aizawa stands up in such a way that the blackboard arrives at Aizawa’s back before he realises exactly how little space there is between Bakugo, himself, and the wall. Bakugo makes a spectacle of looking Aizawa up and down with an edge so keen it'd draw blood. He's seen Bakugo's knife work before, deadly fast and accurate, and this expression is no different. "You scrub up nice, for garbage."

"Yeah, thanks," Aizawa replies sarcastically, and makes his next mistake, which is putting a hand on Bakugo to edge him back so Aizawa can actually get out from the cramped space between his desk and the wall. Because Bakugo is a brick shithouse of rippling muscle when he wants to be, he moves back exactly not at all. Which means Aizawa just pushes against the taut bulge of Bakugo’s chest, stretching his shirt to the last thread, while glaring at him.

“Get out of the way, Bakugo,” Aizawa lands remarkably close to snapping. “You said everyone’s waiting for us.”

“So let ‘em wait.” Bakugo cracks a grin around the time Aizawa decides to withdraw his hand. He could just try to overpower Bakugo, barge past him actually just walk around because he’s not trapped against the wall that badly. But those are all things that'd yield to this troublemaker’s stupid little game, and Aizawa doesn’t play games. “There’s something I always wondered about you.”

“I don’t care,” Aizawa snaps this time. “Out of the way.”

Bakugo’s a hundred and eighty pounds of fillet steak in a one-fifty pound sack, and has the fucking gall to rock his head back, lolling to one side as he checks Aizawa out. “Been wonderin’ if that ass feels as good as it looks.”

Even expecting it, or something like it, Aizawa feels the breath going out of him like he’s been thrown into a vacuum. The fucking audacity– 

Bakugo’s predatory gaze returns to Aizawa’s face while he’s still tilted to the side, a crooked smile sneaking from one corner of his mouth to the other as his hand slips out of his pocket.

It happens fast, but in a matter of seconds Bakugo’s hand darts forward and Aizawa swings out an arm, catching Bakugo by the wrist and sliding a foot forward to step behind one of his ankles. Aizawa knocks Bakugo’s off-stance by dragging his foot back behind Bakugo’s heel, using their tangled arms as leverage to swap their positions, Bakugo’s back hitting the blackboard not at all gently. Laying an arm across the feral dog's collarbone to hold him in place, Aizawa presses down and resumes glaring, only now he’s genuinely pissed off and not just woke-me-up cranky.

“You took it too far–” Aizawa’s in the process of saying when Bakugo’s free hand zips up to hook around Aizawa’s elbow and yanks hard, breaking the hold just enough for Bakugo to lurch forward and press his full, greedy mouth over Aizawa’s.

Aizawa backs off, his body repelled by a magnetic force that pushes apart, lest it flip and snap together, and anger takes on bedfellows with shock and disbelief as the reality of what just happened sinks in.

The only thing that Aizawa can think to say is: “Get the fuck out of my classroom.” 

“No.” Even leaning back against the wall, chest rising and falling a little faster for the efforts of their struggle and a flush of colour in his face, Bakugo looks entirely in his comfort zone. Aizawa considers, for just a moment, that he may have had a hand in making a monster.

In a split-second Bakugo springs forwards again, but Aizawa’s ready this time. When the brute's almost on top of him once more Aizawa slaps Bakugo sharply across the face, stepping aside so Bakugo stumbles into the desk as he raises a hand to his stinging cheek.

“You call that a slap?” Bakugo’s voice carries the promise of capital-T Trouble, which is why Aizawa backpedals to place a much more significant space between them. “I jerk it harder than that.”

Aizawa bets he does – right before killing the thought on sight, absolutely not, never, not even–

“If I slap you any harder it’ll leave a mark,” Aizawa crosses his arms, which does a fantastic job at stopping his hands from drifting anywhere near his mouth, like he’s got to touch his lips to rub the sensation away, rub it in or out or just get it somewhere else than lingering on his face the way it currently is. “Didn’t want to ruin your big graduation picture.”

“Fuck that crap, it’s all for show,” Bakugo growls, and Aizawa agrees with him on that. But if the others really are waiting for them, someone could be along to see what’s keeping them – though Aizawa notices the door is shut. Sly little bastard saw to that when he came in here with a plan to test Aizawa’s patience to breaking point.

Bakugo turns back to face Aizawa and takes another step towards him, shoulders high and his face turned down, an ominous shadow falling over his expression. Aizawa stays where he is, only because stepping back would be admitting defeat, showing how much power Bakugo holds over him. Aizawa misses his capture weapon, piled up with the rest of his gear in the bottom drawer of his desk. Stupid him, thinking he wouldn’t be attacked in his own classroom.

“And here they had me thinking all teachers who’re fags are pedos too.” Bakugo’s toxic side jumps straight out of the early days to land in his old-enough-to-know-better shoes, but for Aizawa to react would be giving Bakugo what he wants. Well, one of the things he wants. So Aizawa just flat stares him out, unresponsive, until the brat comes back for a fresh attempt. “I’m not used to people turning me down.”

Of course he isn’t: the face, the body, the ego like a skyscraper and Hero Star Quality pouring out of him like steam from a kettle left on the boil too long. Aizawa wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the first person to reject Bakugo in his gay fledgling life, for which the honour is absolutely no one’s.

“Then get used to it.” Aizawa doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move so much as a fucking muscle as Bakugo inches back over to him. But when he’s about an arm’s length away, Aizawa issues a stern, “Get any closer to me, Bakugo, and I’ll smack you like I mean it.” Let him take the stupid graduation picture with his teacher's handprint on his face, dare his peers to ask him what it's for. Only definitely don’t do that.

But Bakugo actually stops, the confidence of his smile faltering, and sticks a hand out to lean on the desk, drumming his fingers obnoxiously against the wood. He regards Aizawa the way a hungry tiger considers a buffalo that turned out to be a bit bigger and angrier than he expected, but the hunt’s not up yet. “What’s the big fucking deal? You don’t like me or something?”

Or something. Fucking hell, this kid.

“You’re my student.”

“For like, the next three hours.” Bakugo lifts his free hand to drag through his hair, the short sleeve of his shirt literally cutting off his bicep to bulge along the edge, while Aizawa starts counting backwards in his head. “That hardly counts.”

“It counts enough.” Aizawa really doesn’t want to have to smack Bakugo in the face again. There’ll be questions. Just let the tenacious bugger give up, as if that’s something he’s ever done in his life. 

“But–”

“This conversation is over,” Aizawa cuts Bakugo off, and stiffly uncrosses his arms. “I’m leaving. You can come with me and pretend this never happened, or stay here to continue being a silly bitch.”

“There’s only one silly bitch here, and I’m looking at him.” Bakugo’s back to grinning, and Aizawa’s sure that in his head this is all just points in a contest he’s planning to win.

“If this is your idea of flirting, it’s shit,” Aizawa retorts, and finally wills his lead feet into moving, even when it means putting his back to Bakugo. Risky, but it shows that he’s not afraid. Even when, realistically, Aizawa’s scared shitless of everything that could go wrong with this scenario, but the last person he needs to know that is Bakugo.

Bakugo doesn’t follow Aizawa, just keeps propping himself up on the desk, watching his three-more-hours-of homeroom teacher walk away. Frustration burns his non-existent fuse into pure fury, the transformation instantaneous like an explosion at Aizawa’s back.

“If I was flirting with you asshole, you’d know about it!” Bakugo bellows way, way too loud after Aizawa.

Graduation passes without a further hitch, though Aizawa doesn’t breathe out until about three days later, when he concludes that it is definitely over and he successfully did not make out with one of his students.

Never-a-fucking-gain, Aizawa tells himself on the subject of allowing his own sexuality to be a point of bonding with one of his students – at least anyone with a long list of issues like Bakugo goddamn Katsuki.

But it’s behind him now, so Aizawa moves with his plants back into his apartment, works several Eraserhead cases back-to-back until he almost burns out, and only then decides he’s settled enough to set foot in a gay bar again. Is it possible for a student coming out of the closet to drive someone back into it? Aizawa’s half-convinced it must have, because Bakugo certainly puts the fear of something into him, enough to be on edge around his usual stomping grounds until he’s at least blackout drunk. Only when Aizawa wakes up the morning after in a stranger’s bed is peace and normality finally restored.

At least, until the moment when Aizawa’s favourite haunt is invaded by the golden problem child himself. The new school term has started up again, and that means a whole batch of fresh brats, but the traces of the last lot won't fade easily. In some cases, not even a bottle of bleach will scrub the most stubborn stains out.

Aizawa’s sitting at the bar, nursing a drink when a voice drapes itself around his shoulders like a clingy cat. “And here I was beginning to think you weren’t actually gay." The speaker is instantly recognisable, and Aizawa's stomach leaps up into his chest to start wrestling with his heart. Of all the gay bars in the city, this brat has to swagger into his.  

Not reacting, Aizawa waits until a heavy palm claps his shoulder, and Bakugo has thumped onto the stool next to him before Aizawa permits himself a narrow sideways glance.

“Of course it’d be you.”

“What, ain’t you glad to see me?” Bakugo scoffs like this is completely unbelievable, leaning back with his elbows propped against the bar. Still unable to find clothes that aren’t too tight, he’s wearing black jeans ripped high up on the thighs and a leather jacket with a T-shirt underneath that Aizawa’s got a sinking feeling is his own Hero merchandise, the iconic burnt orange cross over the front too iconic to go amiss.

“You’re like a rash, Bakugo,” Aizawa’s voice is dryer than the extremely dry martini sitting in front of him. “You just keep coming back.”

Bakugo gives a barkish laugh, turning over one shoulder to order a beer from the bartender before turning back to Aizawa. “Is that any way to talk about your favourite student?”

Aizawa takes a drink. A long drink. Finishes it, as matter of fact, banging the empty glass back down more roughly than the delicate glass needs. “You weren’t my favourite.”

“Sure I was,” Bakugo disagrees as if it’s that easy, and when the bartender brings his beer points at Aizawa’s empty glass. “Another for him, too.” Bakugo’s not yet twenty, they shouldn’t even serve him in here, but this bar has always been a dive and the rules are more flexible for famous faces, and Bakugo’s been getting about.

“Buying me drinks now?” Aizawa murmurs, though he supposes Bakugo can afford it. Cocky little shit walked straight into a deal with one of the big Hero-backing agencies, and not even his shit-awful personality or raging homosexuality seems to have dampened his sky-rocket to notereity as a Pro to watch. Probably helped it, in all honesty. Bakugo’s nothing if not divisive, and whether it’s good or bad, people are still talking about him.

“Throw it in my face if you want, but it’s a waste of good booze.” Bakugo has only gotten more confident, more assured since he stepped out of UA’s doors, and that cannot, under any circumstances, be a good thing. 

When the drink arrives in front of Aizawa, he doesn’t throw it at Bakugo. Just picks it up and holds it out to the side while Bakugo’s swigging his beer and says, “Cheers.”

Aizawa watches Bakugo down the length of his arm, scruffy-haired and golden stubble grazing his jaw as he slowly lowers the bottle from his mouth, an interested turn to the corner of his mouth. “What’re we toasting to?”

“To you not being a pain in my ass anymore,” Aizawa supplies amid flashbacks of the multitude of ways Bakugo has gotten on his nerves in three long-suffering years. One clash in particular.

“Not yet I’m not,” Bakugo replies with all the heat of a flaming shot, and clinks the neck of his bottle against Aizawa’s glass. “But I’ll drink to that.”

Bakugo was right about one thing: Aizawa does know when Bakugo’s flirting with him.

It’s several drinks later when Bakugo escalates, the way he invariably, inevitably does.

"Go on, then," Bakugo goads, a little bit looser with each beer he's sucked down one after the other while he ranted at Aizawa about what the rest of the class had been getting up to, the friends he made for life under Aizawa’s watchful eye. Aizawa doesn’t mind hearing about how they’re all doing, and the drinks keep coming, so he hasn’t exactly been complaining.

Aizawa’s at least two martinis past the point of being any more elegant than a blunt, "What?"

"Your new class, the replacement 1-A." Bakugo's wolfish grin treads soft, but means business. "They ain't got shit on us, right?" 

How very Bakugo of him.

Aizawa sips the drink he's sworn to himself is going to be the last, which is what he also swore to himself about the last two. "Well, none of them have gotten kidnapped yet."

Bakugo punches him in the arm and it sends a jolt of kinetic energy rolling through Aizawa. He needs to stop drinking, because that almost felt good. Bakugo doesn't pull his punches, because to do that would insinuate either of them couldn't handle it, and Aizawa’s been an indefatigable punchbag for brats like Bakugo for years. Bakugo might be hot shit these days, but Aizawa’s still bigger and stronger than him – or used to be. Now it might be a close tie. Maybe they’ll find out.

"Not my fault if everyone except you wants a piece of me." It’s quick and cheeky, but it’s there; Bakugo knows what he's doing, and clearly relishes doing it, because only the hard-won things in life are worth having, and Aizawa's made himself the immovable object to Bakugo’s unstoppable force.

"That's a big assumption." Aizawa takes another sip, making it last. 

Bakugo snorts. "For your information, I get more ass than a diaper factory, so it's not that much of an assumption."

"Wasn't what I was referring to, but thanks for the image," Aizawa replies with an unsavory twist of his razor-edge eyebrows in Bakugo’s direction.

Aizawa draws a finger around the rim of his glass as Bakugo narrows his eyes at him across the short stretch of the bar they're facing each other at, just letting the implication sink in.

Bakugo's eyes are hazy at the edges but clear and fiery where they focus, like everything beyond Aizawa in his vision is an unimportant blur. "You gonna slap me again?" 

Aizawa's deadpan doesn't flicker. "Try it and find out."

When Bakugo first leans over, Aizawa backs away on pure reflex, resisting the invasion of his space without breaking eye contact. Aizawa’s nearly black eyes are tied to Bakugo’s burning gaze tied as his lip twitches in irritation. 

“Fuckin’ tease,” Bakugo snaps before diving again, and this time Aizawa lets him land, pressing his hot, beer-sour mouth over Aizawa’s with the lack of restraint that characterises just about everything Bakugo Katsuki does.

Bakugo is greedy, and always has been, so he’d never stop at just a kiss, and his hand is soon tangled in the mess of Aizawa’s hair at the base of his skull. The grin on his mouth when the first curious lip-to-lip investigations finally draw to a close can only be described as jackal that’s eaten a Cheshire Cat.

“Always knew you were a pedo.”

Aizawa swaps the urge to slap Bakugo for rolling his eyes, which is a poor substitute either way. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

Bakugo finds this amusing to the point of coming across shit-eatingly smug, and his face is all angles carved out with painstaking care, his scruffy straw blonde hair cut back just enough to keep it out of his face as part of his eternally trying-but-not-trying look of effortless cool.

“I’m the same now as I was at graduation.” Unfortunately. And speaking of unfortunate, it’s far beyond Bakugo’s ability to hold a grudge to ever let that rejection go – I’m not used to people turning me down, he’d said to Aizawa back then, and he’s proven his fucking point now, hasn’t he?

“That was different.” Aizawa knows that six months between here and there haven’t changed Bakugo in some profound, it’s-not-fucked-up-anymore way, so there’s a part of him that knows it’s hypocritical to stick by those rules as if they mean anything. But Bakugo’s got his fingers slowly twisting in Aizawa’s hair, his eyes lowered to half-mast and a sultry sunset look that insinuates he’s thinking about kissing Aizawa again.

“It’s not different, you’re just a fucking tease. I get it now.” Bakugo kisses him again, and Aizawa’s never been kissed by someone he truly didn’t want to be kissed by. Not even Bakugo, back then – not deep down, or they wouldn’t be in this position now.

So Aizawa just leans into Bakugo more openly this time, parts his lips enough to catch a hint of the wet of Bakugo’s tongue on his lips, then pulls away to observe the dopey drunk smile of his stupid favourite student that he shouldn’t like as much as he does. Bakugo knows it just from looking at him, the same way he knew Aizawa was gay all those years ago.

“You wanna get outta here?” Bakugo poses, and Aizawa knows exactly what that really means, but doesn’t weigh the answer up for long. He’s spent long enough overthinking himself around Bakugo.

“Yeah, alright.”

They finish their drinks quickly and leave the bar, Bakugo taking a deep chestful of the night air before proposing, “My place or yours?”

“Mine,” Aizawa answers, having decided even before it comes up. He wouldn’t mind not having to go anywhere in the morning, and it’s not like Bakugo’s someone he can’t trust with his home address.

“Yanno, I wasn’t sure if I was gonna find you,” Bakugo announces as they start walking, or in Bakugo’s case, the swaggering strut of a guy basking in the knowledge that he’s getting laid. Aizawa considers how long he should make Bakugo wait. How long Bakugo would wait. And how long they’ve already waited.

“Sounds like you’ve been stalking me.”

“Ha!” Bakugo’s scornful laugh slaps hard, though he doesn’t actually deny it. “I mighta asked a few people where you like to hang out.”

“Stalker behaviour,” Aizawa observes, and Bakugo just bumps him shoulder to shoulder, which is a little like being crashed into by a shopping trolley full of bricks.

“If I was stalking you, faggot, you’d be in my freezer by now.”

A sigh escapes Aizawa like a demon being exorcised. He wonders what Bakugo would do if Aizawa changed his mind and told the brat to fuck off here and now. But after three long years, Aizawa’s built up a lot of patience for Bakugo’s bullshit, because that’s all it is – offensive, provocative bullshit that he spouts to get a reaction. He can’t use words to express his real, actual emotions so instead he breathes fire because anything is better than looking like he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Which he doesn’t, even now, because no one does; flashes of uncertainty Aizawa can catch on his face like a candle caught in a draft.

So Aizawa doesn’t give Bakugo what he wants just yet, offering no more than a casual shrug as he slips his hands into his pockets, practically mild-mannered. “Don’t call me that.”

“Well you are, aren’t you? Fag.” Bakugo wants it, wants that reaction so bad. He’s been pushing Aizawa’s buttons for years to try and get it. So even though Aizawa doesn’t have to, doesn’t even really want to go there, but knowing Bakugo will keep goading until they do. Alright: here it is.

The streets around here are quiet, so there’s no one around to notice when Aizawa grabs Bakugo by the front of his stupid leather jacket and throws him at the wall of a narrow side-street. Bakugo’s been drinking, so his reactions might be slower, but he could as easily not be expecting it, at least not as first. Bowled by Aizawa into a clumsy stagger, his muscular frame lumbers to compensate and Bakugo can’t buffer himself enough to stop from bashing shoulder-first into the brick wall, Aizawa hot on his heels like fires straight from hell.

When Aizawa swings a fist at Bakugo’s abdomen, he’s caught up just enough to block it, and the ensuing scuffle happens fast but messy. Bakugo’s more of a lightweight than Aizawa, going by how sluggish he is at defending Aizawa’s strikes. He lets through a punch to the ribs that opens the window for a final chokehold, as Aizawa lashes an arm out to pin Bakugo back against the wall by the neck.

“I warned you what’d happen if you called me that again.” Aizawa’s trying to be intimidating even though Bakugo doesn’t look in the least bit intimidated.

“You said you’d hit me so hard my mother would feel it,” Bakugo replies with a snarl, his pupils wide and wild, nostrils flaring like a dragon ready to roar. “So go on, then. That bitch deserves a smack, and I ain’t felt shit yet.”

Aizawa hesitates for a split-second, which is how long Bakugo needs to jam a foot between them and kick Aizawa off him, and then another split-second later they’re scrapping like dogs in the alley. Aizawa’s supposed to be above this, supposed to be better than getting right down to Bakugo’s tooth-and-nail-fighting level, but instead of bringing Bakugo up, Aizawa’s been dragged into the gutter instead. But maybe it’s not so bad, he’s always been more comfortable down here anyway.

When Bakugo gets the drop on Aizawa for a second and manages to shove him face-first against the wall, all that force and fury weight pressing behind Aizawa, those ripped jeans don’t leave much to the imagination. Aizawa doesn’t quite manage to restrain the surprise in his voice as he asks, “Are you hard?”

Bakugo snorts and shoves Aizawa into the wall again, but this time it’s just from the hips, and the grinding of his cock against Aizawa’s ass is impossible to mistake. “Y’mean this ain’t your idea of foreplay?”

Aizawa supposes he was fucked from the start. In every sense of the word.

“Get off me.” Muddle the words a bit and they’ll be getting somewhere, but this is how Aizawa says it for now.

Bakugo actually does it too, backing away to let Aizawa turn around and face him. The air between them is hazy and hot, too much testosterone and ego flying around for anyone to think straight. It’s back to the level of pure animal magnetism, of finding out who’s the big dog and who’s the bitch.

Aizawa catches Bakugo when he lurches forward and flips them, bashing Bakugo hard against the wall before crushing their mouths back together. Bakugo grunts and grabs Aizawa by the hair, pulls a lot harder this time, Aizawa’s teeth digging into Bakugo’s bottom lip before he finally drags Aizawa off him like a guard dog trained to bite and not let go.

“When you said you wanted to do it at your place, I didn’t realise you lived on the streets, sensei,” Bakugo taunts with his iron thighs interlocked between Aizawa’s, rubbing himself up on Aizawa until they’re both squirming. Of course that’s what Bakugo starts calling him now, when it’s perfectly inappropriate.  

“Don’t call me that either,” Aizawa snaps, but Bakugo’s devilish grin only widens.

“What do I call you then? I’m runnin’ outta options here.” Bakugo leans forward, straining against Aizawa to press his face into the curve of Aizawa’s neck, nestling through the wild mane of his raven hair to find the shell of his ear. “What do you wanna hear me moaning later?”

Aizawa can see exactly why Bakugo gets laid as much as he claims to, and even finds himself swept up in the forest fire of lust that rolls off Bakugo in dizzying waves. And because he paints such a compelling picture of it, Aizawa tells Bakugo the true answer: the name he wants to hear later, when they’re even more fucked up than they are right now.

“Call me Shota.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Bakugo replies wickedly. “Gonna be a good little bitch for me, Shota?”

Aizawa slaps him. The one his mother’s gonna feel.

But Bakugo is Bakugo, and wouldn’t have spent so long trying to make Aizawa hit him if he didn’t want to be roughed up. Just look at them, it’s already clear the line between sex and violence is more of a blurry smudge.

“So that’s a no then?” Bakugo turns his cheek where Aizawa’s hit him, like he’s presenting it to the humid night air, and runs his tongue behind his teeth. “Good. I like it when they struggle.” Fuck, that shouldn’t be so sexy, especially not coming from him, but Aizawa’s blood might as well be nitroglyricin by now.

“It’s a let’s go.” Aizawa backs off Bakugo and starts walking again with just a hint of urgency, because they’re not at his place yet, and this is a power struggle best carried on behind closed doors.

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Bakugo’s after Aizawa right away, striding alongside him in tense, promise-filled silence until Aizawa finally arrives at his apartment block. A building that takes the meaning of ‘bare essentials’ to new meanings, Aizawa skips the unreliable lifts and takes the stairs up to his flat, which also avoids having to stand awkwardly with Bakugo in a grinding metal box when the pressure between them is so great it’s a wonder the lights don’t flicker as they pass underneath.

Aizawa opens his door and steps over the pile of unopened mail in front of the door, treading off his shoes in the entryway. It’s term-time so he’s moved mostly over to UA already, but this place is still usable and like hell he’s bringing Bakugo motherfucking Katsuki back to the dorms less than six months after he walked out of their doors for the supposed-last time. That would not go down well, even if technically it’s not against any of the rules, just in bad taste of them. But Aizawa’s never had much in the way of taste.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo comments as he kicks off his own shoes and stomps around Aizawa’s apartment like he’ll cock a leg and piss on it if Aizawa looks away long enough, shrugging off his jacket to throw over the back of a dining chair. “My place is way nicer than this. Don’t they pay you at UA?”

“Not enough to deal with your shit,” Aizawa responds as they stomp through the kitching-living room space that Aizawa hasn’t cooked a single meal in since he got it. 

In a few seconds Bakugo’s flown across the room to collide with Aizawa, wrestling him against the kitchen counter and stopping just short of kissing him to mutter, “You don’t seem to mind my shit that much.”

“I tolerate it, Bakugo,” Aizawa retorts over Bakugo’s mouth, each potential kiss still feeling sordid and brand new. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Bakugo shunts forward so their bodies press harder together, Bakugo’s cock still hard against Aizawa’s hip, but he’s not alone, and the way Bakugo’s thigh rubs over Aizawa’s crotch is too precise not to be deliberate. “Parts of you like me just fine.”

“Unlike you, I don’t think exclusively with my cock.” Aizawa’s trying to provoke Bakugo, but that’s only what he deserves.

“We’ll see about that,” Bakugo mutters before he goes tongue-first on an exploration to the back of Aizawa’s throat. He kisses Aizawa deep and sloppy, not like in the bar, or even in the alleyway. Behind closed doors, Bakugo’s all animal, so it’s no time at all until he’s grunting and rutting against Aizawa forcefully, edging him up onto the counter while he’s finding the bottom of Aizawa’s T-shirt.

“You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this,” Bakugo breathes red hot over Aizawa’s mouth, dragging up Aizawa’s top to stall just over his pecs. Aizawa lifts his arms and allows himself to be stripped of the rest because it’s way too warm in here anyway.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Aizawa responds as Bakugo presses back against him like a magnet, a hand digging into his thick black mane of Aizawa’s hair to make way for a mouth soon traversing the length of his neck. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Bakugo makes this point exactly when he bares his teeth and bites down on Aizawa’s neck, not stopping until Aizawa grunts and slaps Bakugo’s arm not to take a chunk out of him just so he can have a piece to go. “You noticed me wanting to fuck you?”

“Yes, Bakugo. It was hard to miss.” About as hard to miss as the rod of Bakugo’s cock pressed against Aizawa is now. And the fact that it’s only been a couple of years since Bakugo was that confused teenager is best not thought about, like most things that related to why Aizawa was taking home one of his freshly graduated students to fuck on a Saturday night.

“You shoulda let me,” Bakugo says as he spools Aizawa’s inky hair around each of his fingers before curling it into a fist, not pulling hard but exerting just the right amount of pressure to light up Aizawa’s scalp.

“You know why I didn’t.” Not couldn’t, because, of course, Aizawa could’ve. There were chances, missed opportunities that Aizawa never allowed to come to anything more, didn’t even allow himself to think about when they were happening lest the temptation become too real. But he could have done something in any of those moments, and Bakugo would have relished, even encouraged it. Maybe the truth of it is that Aizawa is just a fucking tease, and wanted to make them both wait.

“I wish you would,” Bakugo says as his tongue darts out of his mouth to salve the bitemarks left in Aizawa’s neck, and his use of the present tense is far from accidental. Because if the rules are an arbitrary line drawn in the sand, and Bakugo now isn't different enough to Bakugo then to separate the two along a line of propriety, it’s no better to do this now than when Bakugo was still Aizawa’s student, because nothing’s really changed, nothing that actually matters.

So Aizawa snatches destiny by the throat and goes for the killing bite, slipping his fingers into Bakugo’s hair just as Bakugo’s grasping Aizawa by his own. Only when Aizawa clenches his hand into a fist he’s not gentle, yanks Bakugo’s head back like dragging back an animal by the scruff, which is basically what he’s got.

“You want this?” Aizawa challenges with a hard, narrow glare at Bakugo, his mouth twitching with a growl that he doesn’t deliver. “Go on then, put that foul mouth to good use.”

It’s a gamble, of course, but Aizawa’s got a hunch, and Bakugo hasn’t been lusting after his teacher because he’s lacking in an authority complex. So when Aizawa pushes Bakugo’s head down he’s not terribly surprised that the brat actually goes.

Aizawa shouldn’t be allowing this, he knows as Bakugo’s sinking down to the level of the counter and unfastening Aizawa’s fly with admirable subservience. He definitely shouldn’t be encouraging it, but his fist just tightens in Bakugo’s hair when he lifts from the counter just enough for Bakugo to drags Aizawa’s trousers and underwear down past his hips and pull out his junk. And he definitely, absolutely should not be enjoying it so much when Bakugo’s slur-spouting mouth closes enthusiastically around Aizawa’s already hard cock. 

It’s too good, wrong and right mixed in the the same shot glass with a student-teacher chaser as Aizawa remembers all too clearly the kid who walked into his classroom and declared with a bluffer’s confidence that Aizawa was a fag for the sole reason that it was obvious. Maybe only to Bakugo, who’s currently swirling his tongue around the head of Aizawa’s cock like a good little slut finally allowed to suck his teacher off like he always wanted.

Bakugo’s enjoying it too much too, if anything, because the stars have no sooner faded from Aizawa's vision than he realises Bakugo’s undone his own pants and has himself in hand, jerking off like the over-libidoed teenager he is. Aizawa’s grip has loosened to let Bakugo set his own pace at first, but now he tightens it again to pull Bakugo off completely, combined with a foot to the chest as Aizawa kicks the brat away from him.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Aizawa sets his tone harsh, appreciating the wild look of anger and longing as Bakugo scowls at him like the put-upon child he is. Sliding off the counter, Aizawa’s trousers are only yanked down far enough to expose his junk, so he can still walk over to where Bakugo’s half-crouched on the floor and grab him by the hair again.

“Why not?” That Bakugo asks, rather than fighting back, which shows he’s at least somewhat invested in letting Aizawa push him around, at least for now.

“Because you haven’t earned it yet, brat,” Aizawa says as he shoves Bakugo’s mouth back into position in front of his cock, and doesn’t wait for Bakugo to take him in this time, just shoves into the brat’s mouth and doesn’t stop until he feels Bakugo’s throat constricting around him. Pulling back just as Bakugo gags, his mouth filling with saliva that’s going to ease the way for what comes next, Aizawa’s a little surprised he’s made it this far without a fight, but then, maybe Bakugo just wants it that bad.

This certainly seems the likely story when Bakugo’s arms fall lax by his sides, jaw loosening as Aizawa holds his head and fucks his throat deep and messy. Bakugo’s ruby eyes stay focused on Aizawa without wavering, finally the docile, obedient boy he never was before. When it’s almost too much Aizawa backs off, Bakugo left gasping with drool running down his face, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as his cock hangs hard and heavy from his shredded black jeans. Which is about when Aizawa decides they’re both wearing far too many clothes to be logical.

“This way.” Aizawa doesn’t even let go of Bakugo’s hair, steering him by it instead as he starts walking to the bedroom, dragging Bakugo behind him like a collared animal. Bakugo allows this, but Aizawa should’ve known better than to expect such compliance to last long, because Aizawa’s only gotten the door open before Bakugo suddenly charges, tackling him to the bed until Aizawa’s flat on his back, thrashing while Bakugo throws his weight on top of him and pins Aizawa to the bed by his arms and thighs.

“If I were you, I’d save your strength,” Bakugo mutters when Aizawa tries to throw him off. Bakugo just pushes him back down harder, grinning pure murder and mischief. “Where’s your sex shit?”

“Drawer under the bed,” Aizawa answers unhesitatingly, because a physical struggle is, as Bakugo’s said already, just their idea of foreplay. Bakugo smirks and lets go of Aizawa to lean over the side of the bed and drag the drawer out into the open, the contents banging noisily against the front of the drawer when he does it too roughly and the haphazard collection of goodies slide around.

“That’s quite a collection, sensei,” Bakugo seems to compliment, and Aizawa thinks about flipping him, but he’s kind of comfortable on his back here, and Bakugo can earn his keep all kinds of ways.

“I told you not to–”

“Sorry. Shota.” Bakugo does it on purpose, Aizawa’s got absolutely no fucking doubt of that as his stomach ties itself in knots. Bakugo gets off him for a moment, pulling his T-shirt over his head and starting to shuck off his jeans while Aizawa gets to kicking off his own. “Is all this clean?”

“Of course.” Aizawa might not be the most presentable man in polite company, but he’s not unhygienic. He doesn’t really bring hookups back here, so most of that stuff is for him, usually when he’s pissed and pent up and ready to go to town on himself if he lucked out at the bar, but he’s learned his lesson as far as not keeping his shit clean before he moves back on campus for months at a time. Plus, a collection like his deserves to be protected. “Hurry up.”

“Alright, alright.” Bakugo only comes back up with lube for now, but that’s plenty to get started with as he settles between Aizawa’s legs with new purpose. “You prepped?”

“I was at the bar, wasn’t I?” Aizawa’s not going to go out on the prowl to hook up without being ready for what that entails, which has Bakugo grinning again as he coats a couple of fingers.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Bakugo’s fingers slide between Aizawa’s asscheeks while his other hand hooks underneath a knee to bend Aizawa over. But because Bakugo is Bakugo, he can’t ever make it that easy, only teasing Aizawa’s hole while he adds a salacious, “You want me to do it how you taught me to?” Like they need a reminder, though Bakugo makes it sound like Aizawa did more than he had. Awkward advice and hand gestures are a far cry from right here, right now.

“I want you to do something, Bakugo,” Aizawa responds, but instead of getting the progression he wants Bakugo’s fingers stop completely.

“Hm, I think if you want anything then you better call me Katsuki.” Another goalpost, another thing to wrangle out of Aizawa, another intimacy that Bakugo just has to have above all others.

“Didn’t realise you were so sentimental,” Aizawa retorts with his eyes on the ceiling, trying not to squirm as Bakugo’s fingers resume a slow circle around his asshole. The power see-saw tips too quickly back and forth to keep up with, but right now Bakugo’s the one with the leverage, so Aizawa just bleats, “You better start fingering me soon, Katsuki, or I’ll–”

“You’ll what?” Bakugo poses as he finally slips a finger into Aizawa right up to the knuckle, pushing past it with only a little resistance.  “Well look at that,” he clearly remarks at how easily Aizawa swallows him up.

“Another finger.” Aizawa did stretch himself out when he was in the shower, getting ready before he went out, but mostly he’s just a greedy bitch, and doesn’t mind the burn when Bakugo pulls back and then pushes in with a second finger alongside the first. This is the one that gets Aizawa moaning, squeezed around Bakugo’s fingers in all the so-wrong-it’s-right ways.

“I always figured you were a good bottom bitch, but I never took you for such a slut too.” Bakugo’s voice is rough but soft where it counts, texture like bark on an old tree in summer, fingers pumping slowly in and out of Aizawa.

“Don’t–”

“Don’t call you that either?” Bakugo prompts, slowly his fingers as he presses down harder with his other hand on Aizawa’s leg to bend him over. “You’re no fun.”

“Don’t stop,” Aizawa demands instead. He’s not going to deny being a slut, especially given their circumstance.

“Don’t stop what?” Bakugo’s hand grinds to a halt, and whether he means doing what or is fishing for a name is lost to Aizawa’s more delicate sensitivities, which he also coincidentally never had in the first place. Aizawa’s never been delicate in his life, and that’s exactly why Bakugo’s here now.

“Don’t stop you shit-brained little fuck,” Aizawa growls, trying to kick only for Bakugo to shove him even further over, bent so far over himself his ass lifts right up in the air.

With a golden chuckle Bakugo pulls his fingers out of Aizawa, clasping one of his cheeks to pull apart as he offers, “I learned a thing or two you didn’t tell me about, too,” right before his mouth dives down to start eating Aizawa’s ass like it’s a limited edition: get it now, before it’s all gone.

“Ah, ahhh– fuck,” Aizawa recites eloquently while Bakugo tongues his hole, but doesn’t stop there, working his whole mouth and jaw to drive Aizawa even crazier than he must have been to let this happen in the first place. Fucking one of his students so fresh Bakugo’s probably still got his school uniform somewhere, and oh, that really shouldn’t seem as appealing to Aizawa as it does right now.

Bakugo briefly lets up his campaign of eating ass to look down over his homeroom teacher of three agonising years and comment, "This is a great angle for you, Shota." 

His term of address is the only real difference, and is partly why Aizawa gave Bakugo that name. Just to remember who he's fucking with, in case the tongue in his asshole isn’t enough of an indication. 

"I'm ready," Aizawa says as Bakugo slips fingertips inside him one two three. 

"I'll be the judge of that," Bakugo responds as he pushes down with all three fingers angling for Aizawa’s prostate, which he hits with an undulating moan that resonates right through Aizawa’s chest. "Fuck," Bakugo's voice is raspy and raw. "You're even sexier than I imagined you'd be."

"And I'm ready," Aizawa reiterates as he angles harder onto Bakugo’s fingers, moaning again when they're roughly pulled out. 

Aizawa unfurls to lie flat on his back again, distressingly empty. Bakugo is kneeling between his legs naked except for a smirk, and his body is to die for, now Aizawa’s given himself permission to appreciate it. Some Heroes, Aizawa included, build for strength rather than aesthetics, but Bakugo clearly does both. With a personality that bad, he has to be hot, and his proportions would make an artist sob, the ratio of his broad shoulders to plump pecs and narrow waist leading back out to thick thighs covered in golden fuzz. Between the dirty straw blonde of his perpetually unkempt hair and heated blood moon gaze casing Aizawa head to toe, Bakugo’s basically a male pin-up model who's barely a year legal, and Aizawa never stood a chance. 

"You really want my cock that bad?" he asks with a hand wrapped around it indicatively, pumping slowly from the base nestled in a thicket of darker hair that's clearly been trimmed for display purposes. While not impressively long, Bakugo’s cock is definitely thick, which Aizawa knows he's going to feel along with the clear upward curve, standing to attention even when he's not holding himself.

"I might, if you ever shut the fuck up," Aizawa answers pretty confidently for a guy lying with his legs spread waiting to get fucked, but it makes Bakugo laugh and that's really the point. 

Leaning over the side of the bed, Bakugo’s rummaging around in Aizawa's toybox when he asks, "You want anything from here?" like they're browsing at a convenience store. 

But Aizawa keeps those toys for when he's got no company or run out of things to do, and Bakugo's neither. 

"Just you."

Bakugo pops back up holding a condom in one hand and a cock ring in the other, waving the latter back and forth with a patronising grin. "Sure?" 

"You underestimate my lasting power," is Aizawa’s only comment, because Bakugo’s got no idea what Aizawa can do to himself with all that kit when he’s in the mood for it. This fresh young thing might have fucked around in the mere months since he graduated, and think he knows what’s what, but Aizawa’s been a slut for years.

“Suit yourself,” Bakugo replies as he slides a little lube around the ring before slipping it on, working down to the base of his cock to sit snug. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard into the mattress you’ll be spitting feathers for a week, so you better last.”

“Bring it, punk.” Aizawa lazily tries to kick Bakugo again, but just ends up with an ankle hiked high up in the air, which Bakugo props over his shoulder as he tears open the condom packet and rolls it over his cock, already starting to flush from the restriction of the ring.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it alright.” Bakugo reaches for Aizawa’s leg again and uses it to turn him over, roughly flipping Aizawa onto his front and then dragging his ass up into the air. Aizawa feels a new slew of lube being worked into him with a thumb, and then finally the tip of Bakugo’s cock presses into place.

Bakugo is tenacious as always, but works a little without getting anywhere at first, which is when he leans forward to snatch Aizawa by the back of his hair, “C’mere,” he grunts as he hoists Aizawa’s front higher and pushes with renewed vigor, the angle more suitable to finally slip past the initial resistance and bury into his ass.

“This fuckin’ hair,” Bakugo snarls as he yanks harder to bring Aizawa up again, a stifled moan escaping Aizawa’s lips as the satisfying pain shoots from each end to merge around the middle. “Love having something to grab onto.” Bakugo pulls once more just to make Aizawa sound like tugging on a bellrope, then draws back and pushes back in even deeper. Working slowly but surely around the tight squeeze of Aizawa’s ass around his thick cock until he’s bottomed out.

Bakugo guides Aizawa by the hair until he’s fully upright, his back touching to Bakugo’s chest, Bakugo’s cock flexing inside him. Bakugo’s mouth is hot on the side of Aizawa’s face, hair scraped back to wrap around his fist so there’s nothing between Bakugo’s lips and Aizawa’s ear.

“Ever think we’d end up here, sensei?”

Being intimately acquainted with Bakugo’s cock at this point, Aizawa feels the throb within him at the term of address Bakugo chooses. Of course this problem child’s authority complex wouldn’t be satisfied until he’s literally ass-deep in his teacher, and unfortunately or fortunately enough, depending on perspective, Aizawa’s all too happy to oblige.

He struggles against Bakugo’s hold only enough to get his hair pulled again, and Aizawa’s erection isn’t doing too bad either, full and bouncing freely in the air, prominent under Bakugo’s expectant gaze. “Funny, I don’t hear you complaining,” Bakugo’s gravelly tease tickles Aizawa’s ear.

“I’m about to complain if you don’t shut the fuck up and start doing something,” Aizawa retorts cattily, which is when Bakugo releases and shoves Aizawa sharply back onto his hands, pulling almost all the way back out and squeezing a little more lube around Aizawa’s hole. The kid’s thorough, Aizawa’s gotta give him that – good advice from a trusted teacher, after all.

“What’s my name?” Bakugo prompts, unmoving while Aizawa takes a deep breath and fails to come to terms with exactly how he ended up in this position.

“Brat.” Bakugo fucks into him, but only halfway, forcing a stilted noise from Aizawa that’s barely satisfied.

“I said, what’s my fucking name?”

This fucking brat, Aizawa only thinks this time as Bakugo’s hot palms clasp his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into his lower back.

“Fuck me.” Aizawa turns over his shoulder to look back at Bakugo, a sweaty sheen to his skin under Aizawa’s harsh bedroom lights and pure destruction in his eyes. Because oh, Aizawa’s ready to be destroyed. “Bakugo Katsuki.”

Bakugo answers in motion, slamming his hips forward until he collides with Aizawa’s ass and thighs, rocking forward with the force and eliciting a distinctive squeak from Aizawa’s bedframe, as well as a much more organic noise from Aizawa’s tightly shut mouth.

“One more time,” Bakugo taunts as he pulls back, and if Aizawa weren’t hands and knees with Bakugo’s dick in his ass, he’d slap the brat silly.

“Put your money where your nasty-ass mouth is and fuck my brains out, Katsuki, or I’m going to throw you on your back and do it myself,” Aizawa threatens and means every fucking word of it. He’s got mattress restraints somewhere, has the smarts and experience to tie Bakugo down and ride him into oblivion. It’d almost be worth it for the look on his face. Maybe later.

But it doesn’t come to that just yet, because Bakugo grants Aizawa’s request and drives back into him – not as deep as Aizawa’s taken a cock, but the girth and curve certainly do things to him, only half-heartedly suppressing the primal moans and groans that rise from his chest like bubbles through a tar pit. Best not to let the punk get too big for his boots by realising he’s anywhere near as good as he thinks he is.

Bakugo goes good and hard for a few minutes of jackhammer pacing, fingertips digging deep into Aizawa’s hips and the bed shrieking in alarm at the scale of abuse it’s being subjected to. The scale of abuse to Aizawa’s ass is just right, Bakugo’s powerful cock stretching him out wide enough to coast along that line of feeling closer to death for a delirious moment. Aizawa burns and aches and thinks about all those lingering looks Bakugo’s given him across the classroom, if this was what he was picturing behind those sultry smiles.

“I was wrong,” Bakugo pants as lets up for a moment, slowing to a gentle ocean roll against Aizawa’s back. Aizawa would ask what the hell he’s talking about, but Bakugo specifies a moment later. “Your ass feels even better than it looks.”

So Bakugo was thinking about that too, all those tense moments in the classroom navigating the complicated space between them. In a way, this is the simplest resolution to the issue.

“I thought you were gonna fuck me into the mattress?” Aizawa provokes while swinging his weight back to meet each gentle bounce of Bakugo’s hips. His cock is rock hard inside Aizawa still, so the fact that he isn’t being pounded to within an inch of his life right now is somewhere between a travesty and a full scale disaster.

Bakugo drags Aizawa’s hips up higher, his knees sliding closer together, and then reaches forward to shove Aizawa’s head down against the bed, deepening the pressure of the cock inside him. “You’re such a mouthy bitch,” Bakugo says as he rakes his hand along Aizawa’s back to settle back on his waist, nails down and scratching four long lines that make Aizawa shiver and groan into the covers.

“Speak for yourself,” Aizawa turns to one side to reply. “If I’d known you talk so much during sex I’d have gagged you first.” That’s in the toybox too, along with things that’d make Bakugo realise everything he thinks he knows about sex already is nothing compared to what Aizawa can teach him. School might be out, but the learning’s just getting started.

“That’s your mistake, old man.” Before Aizawa can contrive of any sort of smart comeback, Bakugo presses his weight down into Aizawa and starts to thrust again in earnest, and then the noises Aizawa’s more invested in making are of a distinctly less verbal kind. “Yeah, that’s right, Shota, keep moaning like that for me,” Bakugo rasps right from the chest, like a rusty saw cutting through logs, and Aizawa can’t help getting louder, enunciating what Bakugo’s cock is doing to him in a disturbingly graphic soundscape.

Bakugo’s nails dig into Aizawa’s hips, sliding lower to clench the meat of his ass and pull it back each time Bakugo snaps his hips forward. Over time Aizawa inches slowly forward, until Bakugo’s grip finally shifts from Aizawa’s ass to prop himself up against the bed, pushing Aizawa further down until he’s almost flat to the mattress.

“Move your legs.” Bakugo’s not so chatty now, direct and to the point as he lifts a knee one after the other to press down either side of Aizawa’s legs, brought together and sliding down flat against the bed until the only raised part of him is his ass, hips canting up enough for Bakugo to kneel astride him and keep ploughing like the indefatigable machine he is in every other respect, so why would it be different here?

One of Bakugo’s hands returns to Aizawa’s head, which he’s been turning from side to side or tilting forward as he bites the covers and groans into them. With Bakugo’s firm grip returning to the back of his skull, Aizawa’s shoved face-first hard into the mattress, suffocating for a moment before with a harsh pull he’s yanked back up, the muscles of his neck locking up to prevent him bending any farther without injury. 

“You feel real fucking good, sensei.”

Aizawa knows Bakugo’s doing it to get himself off, that he calls Aizawa whatever makes his dick hardest in each ten-second window as and when they open, and given they’ve gotten this far into it, so what the hell.

“Weren’t you going to fuck me hard, you snot-nosed little brat?” Aizawa shapes out around a twisted noise as Bakugo pushes deep back into him. “I wouldn’t have bothered fucking a student if I’d thought you’d do such a half-assed job, ‘cause I haven’t felt shit yet.” Aizawa would’ve elaborated on this, when Bakugo pulls all the way out and then drills down so hard Aizawa’s hips flatten out fully on the bed, pressed uncomfortably against his own cock and scalp on fire as Bakugo uses his hair like a set of reins for a badly behaved horse. Fuck, Aizawa’s got a riding crop in the toybox too, he should’ve asked Bakugo to get that out. As it is, Bakugo fucks him senseless the old fashioned way, quickly changing from holding Aizawa’s hair to bending down right on top of him and slipping an arm underneath Aizawa’s neck, pulling up with his forearm to choke under Bakugo’s weight. 

“Ugh, Shota,” Bakugo grunts in his ear, but just when Aizawa thinks Bakugo might be getting close he stops entirely, pulling out and backing off Aizawa, who lets out a protestant moan. “Alright, alright, you needy slut,” Bakugo grumbles as he flips Aizawa onto his back, getting the chance to observe Bakugo in all his fucked-out glory.

Bakugo’s sweating all over, with a blush that starts right from his chest and snakes up his neck to his face, even his ears. His palms glisten especially, and Aizawa hasn’t considered what’d happen if a rogue spark were to set the volatile concoction off. Better keep him away from the power outlets in any case.

Bakugo’s taking a moment to breathe, sitting back on his heels surveying Aizawa underneath him like the industrial wasteland he is. Aizawa’s cock is flat and leaky against his stomach, but Bakugo doesn’t touch him yet. Bakugo’s own cock is plum and bulging around the cock ring, and that curve is going to change things for Aizawa lying on his back.

Grabbing onto Aizawa’s calves, Bakugo drags him down the bed and folds his legs up, guided only with a precise angle of entry as he pushes back into Aizawa’s ass and they moan in stereo.

“Just admit it.” Bakugo’s hand slides up and then between Aizawa’s legs to rest with his palm over Aizawa’s cock, and his soft, clammy skin feels much better than the bedsheets. “You thought about me back then.”

“You’re an attention-seeker, Katsuki,” Aizawa lays out as plainly as such a painfully obvious fact deserves to be said. “You make people think about you.”

“No. Like this.” Bakugo’s fingers wrap around Aizawa’s length to give him a teasing tug, and between that contact and Bakugo’s cock pushing up into Aizawa from a new angle it’s all he can do to bite his lip and stifle a moan.

“I didn’t.” Or better put: he didn’t let himself.

“Liar.” Bakugo moves slowly, lifting Aizawa’s leg with one hand and squeezing his cock with the other, little adjustments each time based on how Aizawa’s breath hitches in his chest. “You wanted to think about it.”

At what point does it stop being not-thinking and become thinking about it? Is Aizawa deliberately refusing to let himself think about Bakugo that way while he was still a student really just an admission that it’d occured to him at all, that the thought was there, even though it was buried in a pathetically shallow grave? 

So Aizawa gives in, just a little. “Maybe.”

If Aizawa wasn’t at least somewhat on edge around Bakugo while the brat was still his student, he wouldn’t have put his arm across his bedroom door to stop Bakugo getting in there, wouldn’t have been so embarrassed talking to him about losing his virginity, wouldn’t have known – even several rooms back in his own mind – that the advice he gave Bakugo was only as complex as how Aizawa would like to be fucked by him, one step removed. Using a proxy didn’t make it not the thing that it was behind the smoke and mirrors, which was that Bakugo had a crush on his teacher, and Aizawa knew it, and they both knew Bakugo wasn’t going to give up until he got what he wanted.

Aizawa’s cock throbs when Bakugo finds just the right angle to hit inside, a whiny noise that rises from the back of his throat, and when Aizawa peers out through heavily lashed, lowered eyelids, Bakugo’s smiling at him like a wolf who just threw off the sheepskin. 

“Right there, huh?” Bakugo does it again, thrusts at just the right depth and angle, and Aizawa goes off like a siren. “Oh, I like that sound.” Of course he does. Even if it’s in the worst way possible, the most provocative, hot-headed look-at-me-but-I’ll-pretend-I-don’t-want-you-to way, Bakugo’s nothing more elaborate than a teacher’s fucking pet. Especially now.

“Katsuki,” Aizawa delivers like a warning, not meaning anything specific but a lot of generalities, and Bakugo thankfully gets the message, because he starts back up again with his characteristic dedication to doing the best job he possibly can at anything, because he’s Bakugo fucking Katsuki, and he doesn’t do not being the uncontested winner. There’s really no such a thing as winning at sex, but there kind of is the way Bakugo does it.

Fucking Aizawa with one leg almost high enough to hook over a broad shoulder, Bakugo cranes down over Aizawa and watches him closely, taking full advantage of being able to see his teacher’s face as he hits Aizawa’s prostate with every deliberate thrust. It’s so intense, even more than Aizawa thought it’d be all those times he wasn’t thinking about it. He keeps making that noise Bakugo likes, and fully separates from any sense of decency or inhibition when Bakugo’s hand started to jerk him firmly in time with each thrust.

“You look fucking amazing,” Bakugo pants, spreading Aizawa’s legs wider and going deeper at that one perfect angle. “I’m never gonna stop seeing you like this.”

“Katsuki, I’m–”

“Yeah.” Bakugo’s hand around Aizawa’s cock gets faster, and the fog of desperate gets thicker around Aizawa’s head, careening closer to the edge. “Y’nno, Shota” Bakugo lilts. “This is the one time I never come first.”

The reaction is almost immediate, Aizawa’s orgasm overtaking him with a tsunami of urgent groans as he spills over himself and Bakugo’s hand. Still going long enough to fuck Aizawa through it, Bakugo finally stutters to a stop as the climax tails out, but Aizawa doesn’t wait long.

“Get that shit off you.”

Bakugo doesn’t wait around, pulling out and whipping off the condom, but leaving the cock ring. Aizawa wipes his palm through the cooling streaks of his own come to slick up his hand and then wraps it around Bakugo’s cock. Aizawa starts pumping him hard and efficiently while Bakugo grunts and leans forward, resting on his hands either side of Aizawa with his hips twitching into the tight grip.

“Fuck, sensei,” Bakugo mutters with his eyes lidded and hazy fixed on Aizawa, who has an idea of what he needs to go all the way. Reaching up his free hand, Aizawa takes a firm grip of Bakugo’s throat, his neck pulsing under Aizawa’s fingers and his cock throbbing in Aizawa’s other hand like the return of an echo.

“That's right,” Aizawa murmurs like this is the final exam, the real one. “Come for me.” Or on him, same difference. Which is exactly what Bakugo does.

“Fuck, fuck I–”

That’s all it takes for him to tip over, that fire engine blush lighting him up, his face such a bright red it’s a wonder he doesn’t glow in the dark. He makes a sound like roadkill dying slow, throat vibrating under Aizawa’s hand as he literally chokes the orgasm out of Bakugo. Aizawa’s already splattered in his own come, hastily swept up to repurpose as lube for Bakugo, but now he’s well and truly covered, as the load Bakugo shoots onto his stomach and as high as his chest just seems to keep on going, spilling thick and hot over Aizawa’s skin until he’s absolutely incapable of moving without making an utterly disgusting mess of the sheets.

Aizawa releases Bakugo’s neck as the squirts turn to dribbles, squeezing the last drips of come off Bakugo’s cock and then letting his arm fall limp by his side. Bakugo rocks back with a heaving breath, working the cock ring off, and then elegantly face-plants on the bed next to Aizawa.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Aizawa schools irately. “If you don’t bring me something to clean up with then you’re getting the wet patch.”

Bakugo laughs into the covers and pushes himself up on the mattress, eyeing Aizawa sideways like he just ate but maybe he’s still hungry. Instead he slinks off the bed and finds his way to the en-suite bathroom, spending a few moments inside running the tap before he tosses a wet flannel through the doorway that Aizawa snatches out of the air.

“So, did I live up to your expectations?” Bakugo taunts as he swaggers back over to the bedside while Aizawa gets to mopping. Really, Aizawa should have a shower because there’s no way he’ll be thorough enough with just this, but that’d imply he’s not planning on getting dirty again, and Bakugo’s certainly not putting any of his clothes back on.

“Yes,” Aizawa answers as he drags the refreshingly cool flannel up over his chest, swiping through the wiry black hairs over his pecs in the hopeless goal of getting all of Bakugo’s come out from between them. “You’re exactly as much of a brat as I thought you’d be.” 

Aizawa’s got his legs crooked up, feet down on the bed and knees in the air, which exposes his flank enough for Bakugo to swing a palm to crack hard against his ass, and a jolt of lightning shoots through Aizawa. Fuck, this one’s a firecracker.

“A brat who fucked you stupid.” Bakugo settles down on his side next to Aizawa, and the weird thing about it is they’re already comfortable with each other; the same deep familiarity built up in the classroom that’s just as home here as there.

“I must be stupid, if I brought you back with me.” Aizawa flicks the wet, cummy flannel over at Bakugo, but he catches it and drives the hand right back towards Aizawa’s face, which he blocks before making contact, but gets a few salty drops on his cheeks for his trouble. After a short struggle the offending towel is tossed away, and if there’s a time for burning questions, it’s around now. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Bakugo flops back down on the mattress with a crooked grin of satisfaction.

“About me.” Aizawa’s been outed before, but never the way Bakugo managed it, to just walk up to him out of nowhere and declare it with such confidence. Bakugo raises an eyebrow as if to suggest the fact that he just fucked Aizawa seven ways to Sunday was a bit of a giveaway, so he specifies. “Back then, I mean.”

“I told you already,” Bakugo drawls, lifting a lip into half a sneer as he picks between his teeth with a nail. Such an animal. “It was obvious; acting so faggy all the time.”

Aizawa tosses a loose fist, but Bakugo catches it in a moist palm and yanks him closer, tussling with each other on pure instinct. Still fucked-out and jellied after Bakugo banged him so spectacularly, Aizawa lets the brat win this one, rolling on top of him and straddling his chest, knees pressed down over each of Aizawa’s biceps to pin him to the bed. Aizawa might not be eighteen anymore, but he won’t need much more of this before he’ll have a vested interest in going again. 

“Maybe I just wanted you to be,” Bakugo says in a way that’s certainly not romantic, but it’s at least a little affectionate, which Aizawa finds a strange breed coming from him. 

Aizawa rolls his eyes in lieu of a sigh that’s a little tricky with Bakugo sitting on his goddamn chest, but it serves the purpose well enough. If Bakugo was trouble before, now he’s only going to be even worse. Aizawa made, then fucked, a monster. But somehow he can’t find it in him to complain, bucking underneath Bakugo to shunt him away, landing further down Aizawa’s torso and lurching up until they’re close enough to invite, "Then shut up and kiss me."

Bakugo immediately obliges, tonguing Aizawa eagerly as a puppy chows down a bowl of wet food, and in this way Aizawa wrestles Bakugo back underneath him. Maybe, if the brat can behave, he’ll spare the restraints for now. Or maybe he won’t.

If Bakugo thinks he’s won, this is just the first round, though the devilish look in his eyes tells it all. This is no one-round knockout, it’s a match for the title. Sitting up to get settled over Bakugo’s crotch, grinding that fat, half-hard cock back into action, Aizawa throws down the gauntlet.

It's going to be a long night.

Aizawa regrets his decisions later, when the most sleep he gets is in his sleeping bag behind his desk the following morning while the new batch of kids arrive for homeroom. Trust Bakugo Katsuki to keep him up literally all night, and make every second worth it. His students don’t notice, at least not anymore than usual, and if Aizawa’s a little curter with them than usual that’s just his prerogative as a teacher.

Aizawa’s friends though… 

“So, who was he?” Yamada proposes as he, Aizawa and Kayama hang out in their customary line-up at the UA gates to keep an eye on the students heading home for the day. Since the troublemakers left, dorm options for UA have gone back to being voluntary, but they’re all restless enough to want to keep a close eye on the new squirts heading home after school’s out for the day.

“What?” Aizawa asks groggily, leaning back against the wall then picking himself back up when he remembers that it still hurts to put pressure on certain parts of his anatomy.

“Whoever kept you up all night.” Yamada has known Aizawa too long not to spot the signs, so Aizawa doesn’t bother to deny it. At least, not parts of it.

“Just someone from the bar,” Aizawa answers cagily.

“And where are the details?” Kayama prompts impatiently, tapping the handle of her whip against her leg. While this watchman duty is absolutely essential, it’s also quite boring most of the time, which is exactly how it should be. “Age, height, dick-size, Aizawa. You know the drill.”

“I don’t have to tell you,” Aizawa reminds them, but unfortunately, that’s the most suspicious thing he could do under the circumstances.

“Bullshit!” Yamada spits. “I know he didn’t suck in bed because you wouldn’t be looking like a dumb happy koala all day, so why don’t you wanna tell? Is it someone we know?” Yamada Hizashi, a.k.a. Present Mic, is too fucking smart for his own good sometimes.

“Uhh.” Aizawa’s a terrible liar, especially to these two, and even attempting to deny it would only make himself more obvious.

“Hah! It is!” Kayama seizes upon like confiscated alcohol that they all drink in the staff room on nights they work late. “What are you so embarrassed about? Are they gross or something?”

“No,” Aizawa foolishly denies, because he’s entertaining this, which is only going to encourage them to find out the truth. Trust Aizawa not to keep his dirty little secret a secret for even a single day. Anyone who thinks he’s hard to read hasn’t seen him after a night of getting his brains fucked out.

“Okay, not gross, then why else would you wanna keep it a secret?” Yamada fiddles with his gloves, moustache wriggling like he’s sniffing the truth out. “It’s not… no,” he changes his mind after saying. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Kayma queries.

“Bang a student,” Yamada answers, prompting Aizawa’s stomach to do a triple-flip and faceplant on the concrete.

“He’s blushing!” Kayama shrieks, pointing at Aizawa until he smacks her finger away.

“Keep it down,” he hisses. “He’s not a student anymore, so–”

“Ahh!” Yamada foghorns over him. “I can’t believe I got it!”

“No, you said I wouldn’t, which I didn’t,” Aizawa counters pettily, and they’re lucky most of the UA students leaving the gates are too wrapped up in their own raucous behaviour to notice three of their teachers screaming at each other.

“Who was it?!” Kayama’s volume decreases exactly 0%, and sometimes Aizawa doesn’t know how he ended up with such noisy friends.

“Like I’m gonna tell you now,” Aizawa replies grumpily, but his life would be far too free from suffering if it were that easy. It’s never that easy, especially not where Bakugo is concerned.

If it were easy, then Aizawa would complete his shift at the gates in mild shame and never speak of it again.

If it were easy, his friends would let him do just that, and never find out who Aizawa was run ragged by all night. 

If it were easy, Bakugo Katsuki wouldn't be stomping up to the gates in his Pro Hero costume shining a laser sight glare in the middle of Aizawa’s forehead right now.

The kids are ecstatic of courses, chattering and calling his name and crowding him until Bakugo ploughs straight through them like he does… best not to finish that thought, actually. 

But none are so ecstatic as Yamada and Kayama, who get it like lightning does strike twice in the same place, because it hits both of them at once.

"You didn't, Aizawa!" Yamada caws while Kayama's is more of a cackle.

"You jammy cunt," she gushes while swinging her coiled whip around her wrist. "How come all the sexiest ones are gay? It's not fair."

"Shut up, both of you!" Aizawa snaps not far enough away from Bakugo for it to be clear what he's doing, and about who.

With the upper part of his face obscured by the bright orange and black blast mask, only Bakugo’s piercing eyes and cocky smile are on show to convey exactly what a smug bastard he is.

With a voice raw from all that noise he made around the ball-gag last night, when Bakugo croaks, "Hey," the hairs on the back of Aizawa’s neck stand up. 

"What are you doing here?" Aizawa asks even though he's got several good guesses.

"I was in the neighbourhood." Bakugo looks Aizawa up and down as if he didn't already get enough of an eyeful last night, but then, Aizawa supposes restraint never has been Bakugo's style. "Have you got it?" 

Yamada and Kayama are watching Aizawa, who would throw a smoke bomb and leg it out of here if he thought he could get away with it. 

"Yeah." Aizawa jerks his head back in the direction of UA. "Come on."

The looks Bakugo gives Yamada and Kayama as he follows Aizawa through the gates go down like a shot of hotsauce, and Aizawa knows he will never, ever live this down. But at least it was worth it, he supposes. 

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Aizawa points out as everyone, and that is literally, everyone, stares at them on the way up to Aizawa’s classroom, the same one that was recently Bakugo’s, and almost nothing about it’s changed that makes a real difference.

“Had to get what’s mine, don’t I?” Bakugo returns coyly, and Aizawa’s sure he did it on fucking purpose, that this is all step for step Bakugo’s plan hatched sitting at his desk some matter of years ago leading to this day. When Bakugo, dressed in his full Hero regalia, his gauntlets swinging from each hip as his gloved hands wriggle free, stomps into his old classroom to reclaim what’s his, making expressly sure to close the door behind him.

Aizawa goes straight to his desk and opens the bottom drawer, where he’s stashed the condemnatory item because he couldn’t exactly leave it in his apartment. Bakugo couldn’t get it back from him otherwise, which would defeat the point of leaving it.

“Try to be more subtle next time,” Aizawa says dryly as he lifts up Bakugo’s leather jacket and chucks it at him.

“Next time?” Bakugo’s all teeth and flash, and Aizawa thought he’d gotten his fill last night – and this morning – already, but maybe there’s no limit to how much trouble this brat can give him. “That an invitation?”

In a halfway house between what he should do and wants to do, Aizawa snaps, “Don’t test me, Katsuki.” 

And this time, when Bakugo rushes Aizawa and slams his back against the blackboard, Aizawa doesn’t stop the brat from kissing him, and it could theoretically be said that Aizawa kisses back. School’s out, after all, and there’s no sense locking the barn after the horse has bolted and all. Considering Aizawa rode Bakugo to hell and back last night, the horse is well and truly gone.

Bakugo nips his lower lip before backing off, and that this happens at all means Aizawa’s allowing it, because they did just watch all the students leave so really, technically, it doesn’t actually matter who gets fucked over the desk when school hours are over. Yes, Aizawa concludes as Bakugo flips them around and then unceremoniously bends him over his desk, if you look up Problem Child in the dictionary, it’d still be a picture of Bakugo Katsuki staring right back.