( there's a small breath through his nose, irritated, but he doesn't say anything at first--mostly because it's bakugou's hands that are getting in the way, skimming down the front of his shirt like he has more practice with this than he expected. the buttons fall apart easily enough, and he's just barely managed to get halfway up bakugou's shirt in return; annoyed, he straightens himself up onto his knees, stretching back as though to put his chest more further out of bakugou's reach. straddling his lap, he now has both of his own hands ready to start, with more nimble attention, unbuttoning the whole row until bakugou's shirt splits at the collar; he pushes the fabric aside.
it's easy enough to move on auto-pilot when it's quick like this, a little messy--doesn't give him much time to think about anything, except that for some reason, there's something he's doing that's enticing enough to the stranger beneath him to let him continue. respecting a challenge, responding to it, is easy, but maintaining some level of arousal would be difficult if it were just that--curious, then, that it doesn't seem to be a problem here, for either of them. he'll waylay his own interest; he doesn't want to have to admit to it.
once bakugou's shirt is splayed open, either half pushed to the side with his jacket, he slides his knees back a little, enough that he can move his own hands to bakugou's belt; his own is still half open, fly partially dragged from bakugou's earlier movement. )
What's on your list? ( mildly, matter-of-fact, as he snaps bakugou's belt open, reaches for the heavier end and drags, pulls, snags it up from his belt loops until it's all pulled free; he throws it onto the floor by the bed with a soft thump. ) Tell me.
( absurd, to wonder about a stranger, but bakugou is--interesting. strong, definitely, judging by his muscles: by his grip, by his hands, by his attitude. he can't imagine being that confident in his emotions to snap and yell and brandish them so clearly--or at least the more obvious ones. and like an afterthought, he pauses so that he can shrug out of his own shirt; it puts his own scars on display, but he doesn't care. the last thing he wants to do is get his clothes messy enough that he doesn't have anything else to wear once they're through.
with that in mind, his hands hook in again at bakugou's waist, strong fingers peeling down around his pants and underwear, taking as much fabric with him as he can. )
no subject
it's easy enough to move on auto-pilot when it's quick like this, a little messy--doesn't give him much time to think about anything, except that for some reason, there's something he's doing that's enticing enough to the stranger beneath him to let him continue. respecting a challenge, responding to it, is easy, but maintaining some level of arousal would be difficult if it were just that--curious, then, that it doesn't seem to be a problem here, for either of them. he'll waylay his own interest; he doesn't want to have to admit to it.
once bakugou's shirt is splayed open, either half pushed to the side with his jacket, he slides his knees back a little, enough that he can move his own hands to bakugou's belt; his own is still half open, fly partially dragged from bakugou's earlier movement. )
What's on your list? ( mildly, matter-of-fact, as he snaps bakugou's belt open, reaches for the heavier end and drags, pulls, snags it up from his belt loops until it's all pulled free; he throws it onto the floor by the bed with a soft thump. ) Tell me.
( absurd, to wonder about a stranger, but bakugou is--interesting. strong, definitely, judging by his muscles: by his grip, by his hands, by his attitude. he can't imagine being that confident in his emotions to snap and yell and brandish them so clearly--or at least the more obvious ones. and like an afterthought, he pauses so that he can shrug out of his own shirt; it puts his own scars on display, but he doesn't care. the last thing he wants to do is get his clothes messy enough that he doesn't have anything else to wear once they're through.
with that in mind, his hands hook in again at bakugou's waist, strong fingers peeling down around his pants and underwear, taking as much fabric with him as he can. )