( the laughter is there, threatening, a shimmer in his gaze before he lets it drown there, not bothering to offer it breath. whatever it is about bakugou that makes him so--ornery, he's not tempted to ruin a perfectly acceptable solution to his shitty problem by pissing him off more. instead, he concerns himself with the foreign bottle, lips flattening into a line of displeasure as he pops the cap and a bit of lube bubbles over the lip of it, already sliming its way down the side. unfortunately, there's no way around it, really: this is going to end up being absurdly messy, for someone who tries to keep things in a neat little line, it's disappointing. with a slow breath, he shifts, forcing himself to sit up in order to make use of both of his hands. otherwise, it would be nearly impossible.
it's only as he sits up, bent at the middle, that he realizes he's being looked at--and where he might normally snap at someone for it, he keeps quiet, only barely narrowing his gaze at bakugou in challenge before he looks back at the bottle. it's not like he's going to begrudge him for it; he'd looked bakugou over in the same way. his hair swings, soft around his jaw, tempted to pull it back behind his ear--but he's already pooling lube into his palm, clenching his fingers into the puddle of it as though to smear it around. his thumb moves, rubs over his knuckles, splotching it between his fingers. )
I just figured maybe you were always ready for this sort of thing.
( a tease, really, though his voice is its usual soft flatness, quiet; the only hint is the way his lips twitch, like he wants to smile and bites it back. )
You seem like the type who would have many partners.
( --which is about as close to a compliment as he's going to manage, from someone saying they'd kick him out of bed for being boring. which he is.
so he shifts, turning, putting his weight onto bare knees so that he can straddle one of bakugou's thighs between them; the capped bottle gets dropped to the bed, where it slides in against bakugou's side, and he uses his elbow as pressure to force bakugou onto his back again, leaning over him. then it's his clean palm, instead, flattened to bakugou's chest, using him for balance as he twists his slick hand in between bakugou's legs. thoughtful, he reaches to curl his palm in around his cock, first--sliding up the shape of it, like he's curious, squeezing up and off at the head to run two fingers down the underside.
his expression is almost impassive; he's focused on one of the scars etched into bakugou's skin, gaze swimming there, distant, as he feels over the curve of his sac, cupped lightly around it and down again, a slick index finger that splits his cheeks apart in pursuit and hooks a fingertip in past the rim. it's only there that his gaze lifts, a tilt of his head; he tries to shake a little hair away from his cheek as his finger slides in further, testing. )
no subject
it's only as he sits up, bent at the middle, that he realizes he's being looked at--and where he might normally snap at someone for it, he keeps quiet, only barely narrowing his gaze at bakugou in challenge before he looks back at the bottle. it's not like he's going to begrudge him for it; he'd looked bakugou over in the same way. his hair swings, soft around his jaw, tempted to pull it back behind his ear--but he's already pooling lube into his palm, clenching his fingers into the puddle of it as though to smear it around. his thumb moves, rubs over his knuckles, splotching it between his fingers. )
I just figured maybe you were always ready for this sort of thing.
( a tease, really, though his voice is its usual soft flatness, quiet; the only hint is the way his lips twitch, like he wants to smile and bites it back. )
You seem like the type who would have many partners.
( --which is about as close to a compliment as he's going to manage, from someone saying they'd kick him out of bed for being boring. which he is.
so he shifts, turning, putting his weight onto bare knees so that he can straddle one of bakugou's thighs between them; the capped bottle gets dropped to the bed, where it slides in against bakugou's side, and he uses his elbow as pressure to force bakugou onto his back again, leaning over him. then it's his clean palm, instead, flattened to bakugou's chest, using him for balance as he twists his slick hand in between bakugou's legs. thoughtful, he reaches to curl his palm in around his cock, first--sliding up the shape of it, like he's curious, squeezing up and off at the head to run two fingers down the underside.
his expression is almost impassive; he's focused on one of the scars etched into bakugou's skin, gaze swimming there, distant, as he feels over the curve of his sac, cupped lightly around it and down again, a slick index finger that splits his cheeks apart in pursuit and hooks a fingertip in past the rim. it's only there that his gaze lifts, a tilt of his head; he tries to shake a little hair away from his cheek as his finger slides in further, testing. )