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wreckingtickles · 1 year ago

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Tutoring & Punishment [Unfinished!]

6,000 words into Bakugo's Auction entry, for some reason I decided to post an unfinished lee!kiri story that I started years ago and that I don't think I'll ever finish. Sorry.

Looots of KiriBaku simmering.

“Hi.”

Bakugo nearly blushes at the sight, but he forces himself to neither stare nor look away. He cocks his eyebrow. “I’m not worth the trouble of putting some clothes on?”

Perhaps in the past Kirishima would have been flustered by his remark, but now he seemed undecided between thinking that Bakugo had forgotten and that he was messing with him.

“You told me…”

“I know. Sarcasm, Shitty Hair,” he stated as he barges into Kirishima’s room.

Bakugo has seen Kirishima shirtless, and in several other states of undress, hundreds of times. In fact, as soon as he had turned eighteen, the internet got flooded with “pectures” of Kirishima, as Denki called them. If his penchant for going around bare-chested had taken some getting used to for some of his classmates, Bakugo had never minded especially. But what made it ever so slightly awkward were the circumstances behind the redhead’s present dearth of clothing.

“Close the door.”

He sits down on the carpet floor next to Kirishima’s bed, his back to the entrance. He hears the redhead’s footsteps as he has to circle around his guest, regaling Bakugo with a view of his backside for a short moment.

The room’s scent is signature Kirishima. Hair products and sweat with a fainter undercurrent of deodorant. Some might find it unpleasant, but to Bakugo it means that he is in Kirishima’s space. Besides, between training and tutoring, he had grown inured to those smells. And he plans to have Kirishima sweat plenty more before the end of the lesson.

Kirishima moves his textbook and notes from the desk – too small to accommodate two people, but dispensed with also at Bakugo’s demand for ease of punishment – to the ground, plopping down in front of Katsuki.

The blond takes it all in: the redhead’s broad, tanned back with the slightest hint of perspiration in the summer heat, his biceps and triceps flexing ever so slightly as he clutches and lifts his belongings, his prominent chest unveiling itself to him once more as he turns around, his miraculous abs and powerful legs tensing up for a moment as he first squats down and then lets himself drop onto the soft carpet, his broad sole hanging in the air for a precarious moment as he regains his balance.

“We’re doing English today,” says Bakugo.

He thinks he catches a glimpse of displeasure flicker across Kirishima’s face, but it is gone before he can be sure.

“Yes. And I desperately need your help,” proclaims the redhead, oozing gratefulness.

“Nothing new under the sun,” the blond remarks, looking up from Kirishima’s shorts as they had ridden up to reveal even more of his thigh, unveiling slightly paler skin.

It was Bakugo who had requested that Kirishima be shirtless and sockless during tutoring, so he could more swiftly and efficaciously administer the appropriate punishment for mistakes, lack of effort, and loss of confidence. Bakugo is nothing if not a disciplinarian, after all.

But this time, he feels overindulged, as the only thing that Kirishima is wearing are tight shorts that leave more than half of his thigh exposed now that he is seated. Bakugou also can’t help noticing that the top button is undone and the zipper halfway down, regaling him with a glimpse of the aggressively vermillion boxers underneath.

He is stumped for a moment. Kirishima had always been shameless about how much skin he would bare; and though rarely sloppy when it came to his appearance (tragically misguided, yes, but definitely attentive), he could certainly be a bit of an airhead in other circumstances. Those circumstances had happened to be laundry-related once or twice, prompting Bakugo to lend him his own clothes on occasion (“I’m not doing you a favor. You’ll make me look bad if you go around like that”), so it was not implausible that all of Kirishima’s other clothes were in the hamper. Plus, it’s that moment of summer when half of the school still refers to the weather as “warm” and the other half has already embraced “hot”.

In short, his choice of clothing is very Kirishima. And yet, it sends contrasting feelings crashing into Katsuki, as he feels somewhat responsible for it.

“Nice shorts,” he comments drily, cooling himself off with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” chuckles Kirishima, recognizing it and shrugging it off without effort. Bakugo does, however, catch him gulp down nervously when his eyes land the blond’s bag.

“It’s bigger than normal,” the redhead implicitly enquires with as much nonchalance as he is capable of, which is very little.

Bakugo feels like his face will shatter from the effort of preventing himself from grinning from ear to ear. “Gotta keep you on your toes,” he responds very deliberately, scanning Kirishima for any reaction to his word choice. He isn’t disappointed. “Since it doesn’t seem like being nice worked…”

“Bullshit!” exclaims Kirishima, eyes bulging and mouth agape. “That could not have been…”

He stops mid-sentence as Bakugo’s lips curl upwards. Normally, the blond would be going off like a bomb when interrupted. But not now. Not when he is so perfectly in control of the repercussions.

Katsuki’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, but dripping with mischief. “We haven’t even started yet and you’re already begging for it.”

“SORRY!!” yells Kirishima, bowing down and raising his praying hands to Katsuki’s face. The blond is having such a blast.

One of Bakugo’s favorite parts was the fact that Kirishima knew exactly what each infraction would cost him, as Bakugo had actually drafted a full plan that he’d forced Kirishima to sign (after some “prodding”), and the anticipation was priceless.

Mistakes led to foot tickling. It was the type of tickling he would administer with the greatest frequency, by far. As with all of his punishments, there were countless variations. Serious mistakes warranted merciless finger scribbling, repeated ones had recently started to result in an upgrade to a number of devilish tools. But Katsuki also loved their speaking and pronunciations exercises. When Eijiro hesitated, or simply when he needed to scratch the itch, the blond would start to lightly trace his fingertips up and down Kirishima’s unexpectedly soft and sensitive soles (courtesy of his Quirk, he suspected), living for the way the redhead’s breath would hitch, a smile would begin to creep into his words, together with the fear of making a mistake and being subjected to much worse, all of which made him more likely to slip up. Not like Katsuki didn’t know his spots well enough to adjust the odds.

When he began to feel that the tickling had grown stale, Bakugo had taken to exploring other spots and integrating them in his disciplinary regimen. When he felt that Kirishima had not applied himself enough, the target would be his midsection. There was a world of difference between seeing Kirishima shirtless in his hero costume or in the locker room and having him strip at his word. Another world of difference was between seeing Kirishima, and touching Kirishima. Not to mention that touching Kirishima also led to hearing Kirishima in the best of ways. But mostly, Katsuki held, it was for the sake of contrappasso. “You work so hard at sculpting your abs and shitty hair, can’t you put a tenth of that effort in your homework?” Bakugo was fond of teasing as his fingertips burrowed into the toned muscle, vibrating with laughter. The first time he’d said that, the first thing Kirishima had asked after getting his breath back and wiping the tears from his eyes had been, “What’s contrappeso?” So, naturally, more tickling had followed, as an antidote to his ignorance. Not because they had ever studied it in class, just because Katsuki could. To his dubious satisfaction, Kirishima’s groans and whines had decreased by 95% since he’d ruled that those noises betrayed his lack of willingness to work hard and deserved an appropriate form of retribution.

But the absolute worst he saved for when the redhead lost faith in himself. Then, he would be met with the strictest punishment, ungodly tickling unleashed on his absolute worst spot: his underarms. Tools and a very specific skillset allowed Bakugo to make foot tickling, and, more rarely, midsection tickling no less excruciating, but that was Kirishima’s absolute worst spot, and it had to be honored. Such huge results in return for so little effort had to be saved for the very worst offenses, and that would be Kirishima wasting Bakugo’s effort, time and emotional energy by feeling down about himself when he was so freaking amazing, so much more than Katsuki was able, let alone willing, to articulate. So whenever Kirishima’s usual overflowing energy seemed to wane, he’d find himself sprawled onto the floor, cackling madly, with Katsuki’s digits burrowing I his underarms. If Bakugo managed to sit on his forearms, Kirishima would lose the ability to beg long before he was done with him. It was extraordinary, the amount of thrashing and guffawing that simply tracing his fingertips under the redhead’s arms would result in.

Bakugo did not want to spoil those precious reactions by eliciting them too often. Though that also meant that once he started, it would be very, very difficult for him to get his fill. So much so that it had already happened that Kirishima would spend 5 minutes on the books, and 55 on the floor.

Needless to say, the blond was no stranger to mixing and matching, particularly when Kirishima got cheeky or moaned about his methods. The redhead had also complained that the tickling seemed to be so much more intense than before after a positive grades streak. “To prevent you from backsliding,” the tickling junkie explained. Then, wiggling his fingers, “Is that a complaint I hear?”

Kirishima was right, of course. There was nothing in the world Bakugo loved more than tickling the shit out of him. Even as a child he’d loved the rush of power reducing someone to helpless laughter gave him, and his feelings did not change after he had acquired the might to loom over most of his schoolmates through other means. And it had started like that with Kirishima too, to be sure, though he had told him that it was positive reinforcement (“No, it’s not negative, Shitty Hair, because a stimulus is added. Repeat it with me. ‘Positive reinforcement, not negative reinforcement…’” he had told him once while clawing at the redheads’ hips) to make sure the lessons stuck.

But now… Was it still a rush of power when the other had taken to subjecting himself to what Katsuki used to regard as humiliating punishment with nary a protest? Kirishima was kind of trusting him with his entire self, wasn’t he? And Bakugo had been feeling almost guilty for a while, but then he always needed his next fix of the redhead’s desperate laughter. Besides, according to Kirishima himself, his method worked. Bakugo had been surprised to hear it, since the redhead did a lot worse during tutoring than in actual tests. So, the private lessons had continued term after term, until finals were looming on the horizon.

And there they were. Back in that room, one of them half-naked, with glimpses of vermillion, at the other’s beck and call. Sort of.

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#mha tickle #bnha tickle #tickle content #tickle draft #lee!kirishima #ler!bakugo

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