Work Text:
Katsuki’s back hits the wall with enough force to rattle the picture frame hanging next to the door, and then Shouto’s hands are on his shoulders, pinning him there. The grip is firm, fingers digging into the muscle hard enough that Katsuki feels the pressure through his shirt, and when he tries to shove forward Shouto doesn’t budge, just leans in closer until Katsuki can smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with something sharper, something that might be anger or might be something else entirely.
“What the fuck—” Katsuki starts, but Shouto cuts him off.
“You should know better.” Shouto’s voice is low, controlled in a way that makes the hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck stand up. “You should know better than to say shit like that.”
Katsuki’s pulse kicks hard against his throat. The apartment is too warm, the heating turned up too high after coming in from the December cold, and he’s already flushed from the alcohol, from the three drinks he’d had at the bar while Kirishima droned on about his girlfriend’s sister who was apparently perfect for Katsuki if he’d just give her a chance. He plants his hands against Shouto’s chest and pushes, putting his weight behind it.
Shouto doesn’t move.
The hands on his shoulders tighten, thumbs pressing into his collarbones, and Shouto shifts his weight forward so his hips pin Katsuki’s to the wall. The contact is full-body, chest to chest, and Katsuki can feel the rise and fall of Shouto’s breathing, can feel how deliberate each inhale is like he’s trying to keep something contained.
“It was a fucking joke,” Katsuki says through gritted teeth. He pushes harder, his shoulders coming off the wall with the effort, and Shouto just leans in more, using his weight to keep Katsuki exactly where he is. “Let go.”
“A joke.” Shouto’s face is close enough that Katsuki can see the way his jaw is working, the muscle jumping beneath the skin. Close enough to see the way his eyes are too bright, glassy in a way that has nothing to do with the whiskey. “You think that’s funny?”
It was funny, or at least it was supposed to be. Mina had been going on about her date last weekend, some guy from her agency who apparently knew what he was doing in bed, and Kaminari had made some crack about how Katsuki wouldn’t know good sex if it bit him since he was too busy married to his hero career to actually fuck anyone. Katsuki had fired back that at least he wasn’t desperate enough to settle for mediocre pussy just to get his dick wet, and then Kirishima had laughed and asked when the last time Katsuki even got laid was.
The answer was never, not that he was about to admit that in front of their entire friend group.
So he’d said something about not having time for relationships, and Mina had asked if he was a virgin, and Katsuki had told her to fuck off. And then Kaminari had pushed, because of course he had, and Katsuki had been annoyed and buzzed enough to snap back that if he wanted to get rid of his virginity that badly he’d just fuck Shouto and get it over with since at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with some clingy civilian who’d expect him to call afterward.
Shouto had gone very still across the table.
Katsuki had kept talking, something about how it’d be efficient and Shouto wouldn’t be weird about it, and Kirishima had laughed nervously and tried to change the subject. Shouto had excused himself to the bathroom and hadn’t come back for fifteen minutes. When he did come back his face was carefully blank and he didn’t look at Katsuki for the rest of the night.
They’d shared a cab back because they lived in the same direction, and Shouto had been quiet the whole ride. Katsuki had figured he was pissed about being volunteered as a convenient virginity solution, or maybe just uncomfortable with the whole conversation. He’d followed Shouto up to his floor because they’d been mid-conversation about the new rankings and Katsuki wasn’t done making his point.
He hadn’t expected Shouto to shove him against the wall the second the apartment door closed behind them.
“Get off,” Katsuki says now, and hears his voice come out rougher than he means it to. He tries to twist to the side, tries to duck under Shouto’s arm, and Shouto’s grip shifts to his wrists, fast and precise. One hand wraps around both of Katsuki’s wrists and pins them above his head against the wall, and Katsuki feels the bones grind together in Shouto’s grip, feels how completely his wrists disappear inside Shouto’s palm.
His other hand comes up to grip Katsuki’s jaw, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that Katsuki can’t turn his head away. Firm enough that Katsuki has to look at him, has to see the way Shouto’s face is doing something complicated that Katsuki doesn’t have words for.
“You think I’d just—” Shouto’s voice cracks slightly on the word, and he stops, swallows hard enough that Katsuki can see his throat work. “You think it would be that easy? That I’d just fuck you because you asked?”
Katsuki’s heart is slamming against his ribs hard enough that he’s sure Shouto can feel it through his chest. The hand on his jaw is warm, left side heat seeping into his skin, and Katsuki can feel each individual fingertip, can feel the way Shouto’s thumb is pressed against the corner of his mouth.
“I didn’t—” Katsuki starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Didn’t mean it. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t realize Shouto would care. “It was just talk, I wasn’t serious—”
“You’re never serious.” Shouto’s eyes are doing something that makes Katsuki’s stomach drop, too bright and too focused and too much. “You say shit like that and you don’t mean it, and you don’t think about—” He stops again, his grip on Katsuki’s jaw tightening just slightly. “You don’t think.”
Katsuki pulls at his wrists, testing the hold, and Shouto’s fingers tighten around them in response. The pressure is just shy of painful, a clear reminder that Katsuki isn’t going anywhere unless Shouto decides to let him. He tries anyway, yanking hard enough that his shoulders strain, and Shouto just presses closer, using his body weight to keep Katsuki pinned flat against the wall.
“Let go,” Katsuki says again, and hears the edge in his voice that might be anger or might be something else.
“No.” Shouto’s face is so close now that Katsuki can count his eyelashes, can see the way they’re clumped together slightly like he’s been rubbing his eyes. Can see the way the corners of his eyes are red-rimmed and damp. “Not until you understand what you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Katsuki snaps, and Shouto’s hand on his jaw slides back to cup the side of his face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone in a gesture that’s too gentle for how hard he’s gripping Katsuki’s wrists.
“You really don’t get it.” Shouto’s voice has gone quiet, almost wondering. “You really have no idea.”
The apartment is silent except for their breathing, Shouto’s measured and controlled, Katsuki’s coming faster than it should. The heating vent clicks on somewhere in the other room, and Katsuki can feel sweat starting to gather at the small of his back where he’s pressed against the wall.
“No idea about what?” Katsuki’s voice comes out strained.
Shouto’s eyes track across his face, cataloging something. The thumb on his cheekbone keeps moving in small circles, and the contrast between that gentle touch and the bruising grip on his wrists makes something in Katsuki’s chest twist uncomfortably. Shouto looks like he’s trying to decide something, his expression shifting through something that might be anger and something that might be hurt and something else that Katsuki can’t name.
“About what it does to me,” Shouto says finally, so quiet that Katsuki barely hears it, “when you say things like that.”
Katsuki’s mouth goes dry. He’s suddenly very aware of every point of contact between them, Shouto’s hips against his, Shouto’s chest pressed to his chest, the hand on his face and the hand around his wrists. The warmth radiating off Shouto’s left side where it’s pressed against Katsuki’s right. The way Shouto is looking at him like he’s something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
“Shouto—” Katsuki starts, and doesn’t know how to finish.
Shouto’s eyes are definitely too bright now, the moisture gathering at the corners threatening to spill over, and Katsuki has never seen him like this, has never seen him look this close to breaking. His grip on Katsuki’s wrists loosens just slightly, and Katsuki could probably pull free now if he tried, could probably shove Shouto off and put space between them.
He doesn’t move.
“You can’t just—” Shouto’s voice catches again, and he closes his eyes for a second like he’s trying to collect himself. When he opens them again they’re locked on Katsuki’s face with an intensity that makes Katsuki’s breath stutter. “You can’t just offer yourself like that and expect me not to—”
He stops. Swallows. His thumb moves across Katsuki’s cheekbone again, trembling slightly.
“Not to what?” Katsuki asks, and his voice comes out barely above a whisper.
Shouto doesn’t answer. He just looks at Katsuki like he’s trying to memorize his face, like he’s trying to find something written there that Katsuki doesn’t know how to give him. The hand on Katsuki’s jaw slides down to his throat, not squeezing, just resting there where Katsuki’s pulse is hammering visibly against his skin.
“Tell me you didn’t mean it,” Shouto says finally. “Tell me it was just a stupid drunk joke and you weren’t actually thinking about—” His fingers flex against Katsuki’s throat. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about me.”
Katsuki should tell him exactly that. Should tell him it was nothing, just talk, just him being an asshole because Kaminari was being annoying and he wanted to shut everyone up. Should tell him to let go and get the fuck out of his personal space.
Instead he hears himself say, “What if I was?”
Shouto goes very still. The hand on Katsuki’s throat tightens just slightly, thumb pressing against his pulse point, and Katsuki can feel his own heartbeat racing against the pressure.
“Don’t.” Shouto’s voice is rough, barely controlled. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”
“Maybe I mean it.” The words are out before Katsuki can think them through, before he can consider what he’s doing. The alcohol is still buzzing in his veins, making him warm and reckless, and Shouto is so close that Katsuki can see the exact moment something shifts in his expression.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Shouto’s eyes drop to Katsuki’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m buzzed,” Katsuki corrects. “So are you.”
“Not drunk enough for this.” Shouto’s hand slides from Katsuki’s throat back up to his jaw, tilting his face up slightly. “Not drunk enough to use as an excuse.”
Katsuki’s wrists are still pinned above his head, Shouto’s grip firm but not painful anymore, and he could definitely pull free now if he wanted to. He tests the hold anyway, a token resistance, and Shouto’s fingers tighten in response.
“Then let me go,” Katsuki says.
“No.” Shouto leans in closer, close enough that Katsuki can feel his breath against his lips. “Not until you take it back.”
“Take what back?”
“The offer.” Shouto’s eyes are burning now, intense and focused and desperate in a way that makes Katsuki’s stomach flip. “Tell me you didn’t mean it. Tell me you wouldn’t actually—” His voice drops lower. “Tell me you weren’t actually thinking about letting me fuck you.”
The air between them feels electric, charged with something Katsuki doesn’t know how to name. His face is burning, and not just from the alcohol, and he can feel his pulse hammering everywhere Shouto is touching him.
“What if I don’t take it back?” Katsuki asks, and watches Shouto’s eyes go dark.
“Then you need to understand what you’re asking for.” Shouto’s voice is barely controlled now, rough and strained. “You need to understand that I won’t be able to—” He stops, jaw working. “You can’t just say things like that to me and expect me to treat it like a joke.”
“Who said I was joking?” Katsuki hears himself say, and Shouto makes a sound low in his throat that might be frustration or might be something else entirely.
“Katsuki.” Shouto’s forehead drops to rest against Katsuki’s, their noses almost touching. “You need to tell me to stop.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Shouto’s breathing has gone ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly against Katsuki’s. The hand on Katsuki’s jaw is trembling now, the fingers flexing and tightening like he’s trying to hold onto his control. His eyes are still too bright, still threatening to spill over, and when he blinks Katsuki sees a single tear track down his cheek before he can stop it.
“I’ve wanted—” Shouto’s voice cracks. “You have no idea how long I’ve—” He stops, squeezes his eyes shut. “You can’t offer this to me just to get rid of your virginity. You can’t make it sound like it’s nothing when it’s—” His grip on Katsuki’s wrists tightens again. “When it’s everything.”
Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat. The apartment is too warm, his skin is too hot where Shouto is pressed against him, and his heart is slamming so hard against his ribs that it almost hurts. Shouto is still holding him pinned to the wall, still looking at him like he’s breaking apart, and Katsuki realizes with sudden clarity that he could shatter this moment with a single word. Could tell Shouto to let go, could laugh it off, could make it mean nothing.
He doesn’t.
“What if it’s not nothing?” Katsuki asks quietly, and feels Shouto’s whole body go rigid against his.
Shouto pulls back just enough to look at him properly, his eyes searching Katsuki’s face for something. His hand slides from Katsuki’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the short hair there, and his grip on Katsuki’s wrists finally loosens enough that Katsuki could pull free if he wanted to.
Katsuki doesn’t pull free. He just looks back at Shouto and waits.
“Tell me you mean that,” Shouto says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me this isn’t just the alcohol talking.”
Katsuki should tell him he needs time to think about it. Should tell him they can talk about this tomorrow when they’re sober. Should put space between them and figure out what the fuck he’s actually feeling before he says something he can’t take back.
Instead he says, “I mean it,” and watches Shouto’s eyes close like he’s in pain.
“Fuck,” Shouto breathes out, and when he opens his eyes again they’re bright and desperate and completely focused on Katsuki. “You can’t—you can’t just say that and expect me not to—”
“Then don’t hold back,” Katsuki hears himself say.
Shouto’s grip on his neck tightens, and the hand around his wrists finally releases. For a second neither of them moves, both frozen in the moment, and then Shouto is kissing him.
The kiss is desperate, clumsy, Shouto’s mouth crashing against his with none of the control he usually has. Katsuki’s hands come down from where they’d been pinned, dropping to Shouto’s shoulders, and he kisses back before he can think better of it. Shouto tastes like whiskey and something else, something sharp and needy, and his hand in Katsuki’s hair tightens almost painfully as he deepens the kiss.
Katsuki’s back is still pressed against the wall, Shouto’s body flush against his, and he can feel Shouto hard against his hip through their pants. The realization sends heat flooding through his gut, makes his own cock twitch with interest even as his brain tries to catch up to what’s happening. Shouto’s tongue pushes into his mouth, and Katsuki opens for him without thinking, letting Shouto take what he wants.
When Shouto finally pulls back they’re both breathing hard. His eyes are still too bright, still wet at the corners, and he looks at Katsuki like he’s trying to convince himself this is real.
“Bedroom,” Shouto says, his voice rough and strained.
Katsuki nods, doesn’t trust his voice, and Shouto takes his hand and pulls him down the hallway. The apartment is familiar, Katsuki’s been here enough times for work discussions and the occasional movie night that he knows the layout, but it feels different now, charged with something that makes his pulse race. Shouto’s hand is warm around his, grip tight like he’s afraid Katsuki might bolt.
The bedroom is dark until Shouto flips on the bedside lamp, warm light spilling across the bed. Katsuki has seen this room before, has crashed on that bed fully clothed after late night strategy sessions when he was too tired to go home, but he’s never been here like this, never stood in the middle of the room while Shouto looked at him like that.
Shouto’s hands go to the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, fingers sliding underneath to touch bare skin. “Can I—”
“Yeah,” Katsuki says before he can finish the question, and Shouto pulls the shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion. The air is cold against his heated skin, and then Shouto’s hands are on him, palms flat against his chest, sliding down to his ribs and then around to his back.
Katsuki reaches for Shouto’s shirt and Shouto helps him, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside. They stand there for a moment, bare-chested, and Katsuki can see the muscle definition in Shouto’s torso, the way his shoulders are broader than Katsuki remembered, the pale skin of his right side and the slightly tanned skin of his left.
Shouto’s hands drop to Katsuki’s belt, and Katsuki’s breath catches. “Wait—”
Shouto freezes, his eyes snapping up to Katsuki’s face. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, I just—” Katsuki doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He’s never done this, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, and the alcohol buzz isn’t enough to completely quiet the nerves jangling through his system.
“I’ve got you,” Shouto says quietly, and unbuckles Katsuki’s belt with steady hands. He pops the button on his jeans, slides the zipper down, and pushes the denim down Katsuki’s hips. Katsuki steps out of them, left standing in just his boxer briefs, and Shouto drops to his knees.
The position puts Shouto’s face level with Katsuki’s crotch, and Katsuki’s cock is already half-hard, tenting the fabric. Shouto looks up at him from his knees, eyes dark and wanting, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Katsuki’s underwear.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Shouto says, and pulls them down.
Katsuki’s cock springs free, flushed and hard now, and the cool air makes him shiver. Shouto’s eyes track down his body, taking him in, and Katsuki fights the urge to cover himself. He’s naked in front of Shouto, completely exposed, and Shouto is still wearing his pants and looking at Katsuki like he’s something precious.
Shouto stands, sheds his own pants and underwear in quick efficient movements, and Katsuki’s eyes drop down before he can stop himself. Shouto is hard, cock thick and flushed dark, and Katsuki’s stomach does something complicated at the sight of it. He’s bigger than Katsuki expected, longer and thicker, and Katsuki’s brain supplies the unhelpful observation that he has no idea how that’s supposed to fit anywhere.
“On the bed,” Shouto says, and Katsuki goes, climbing onto the mattress and sitting on the edge. Shouto follows him, one hand on Katsuki’s shoulder pushing him back until he’s lying flat, and then Shouto is crawling over him, settling between his legs.
Shouto kisses him again, slower this time, thorough, and Katsuki’s hands come up to grip Shouto’s shoulders. He can feel Shouto’s cock against his hip, hot and hard, can feel his own cock trapped between their bodies, and the friction makes him gasp into Shouto’s mouth.
Shouto’s mouth moves to his jaw, his throat, kissing and sucking marks into the skin that Katsuki will have to explain tomorrow. His hands slide down Katsuki’s sides, thumbs brushing over his nipples and making him jerk, and then lower to his hips, gripping the bone there.
“Turn over,” Shouto says against his throat.
Katsuki’s breath stutters. “What?”
“Turn over,” Shouto repeats, pulling back to look at him. “I want to taste you.”
Heat floods Katsuki’s face, understanding clicking into place. “You want to—you can’t—”
“I can.” Shouto’s eyes are burning, intense and focused. “I want to. Let me.”
“That’s—” Katsuki’s brain is short-circuiting, the image of Shouto with his face between his legs doing something that makes his cock twitch against Shouto’s stomach. “That’s dirty, you don’t need to—”
“I want to,” Shouto says again, and there’s something desperate in his voice now. “Please.”
Katsuki stares at him, at the way his eyes are too bright again, at the way his jaw is tight like he’s holding something back. He looks like he might start crying if Katsuki says no, looks like this matters in a way Katsuki doesn’t fully understand, and something in Katsuki’s chest twists uncomfortably at the sight.
“Okay,” Katsuki hears himself say. “Okay, fine.”
Shouto’s eyes close for a second like he’s relieved, and then he’s helping Katsuki turn over, hands on his hips guiding him onto his stomach. Katsuki’s face presses into the pillow, his cock trapped beneath him against the mattress, and he feels exposed in a way that makes his skin prickle with awareness.
Shouto’s hands slide down his back, over the curve of his ass, and Katsuki’s whole body tenses. He’s never had anyone touch him there, never even thought about it as something that could be sexual, and now Shouto’s hands are spreading him open and Katsuki can feel the cool air against his hole.
“Wait—” Katsuki starts, trying to look back over his shoulder, but Shouto’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, keeping him down.
“Relax,” Shouto says, his voice low and rough. “Let me make you feel good.”
Katsuki wants to protest, wants to tell him this is weird and he doesn’t need to do this, but then he feels Shouto’s breath against his skin, warm and damp, and his brain whites out. Shouto’s hands grip his ass, spreading him wider, thumbs brushing against his rim, and Katsuki’s hole clenches reflexively at the touch.
“Shouto, this is—it’s dirty, you don’t have to—” Katsuki’s voice comes out strained.
Shouto doesn’t answer, just leans in and drags his tongue over Katsuki’s hole in one long slow lick.
Katsuki’s entire body jerks, a choked sound escaping his throat. The sensation is overwhelming, wet and warm and so wrong that it circles back to feeling good. Shouto does it again, tongue flat and broad, licking over his rim like he’s savoring it, and Katsuki’s hands fist in the sheets.
“Stop—fuck—you don’t need to—” Katsuki can’t finish the sentence, his breath coming in short gasps as Shouto keeps licking, keeps tasting him like he wants to. “Nothing’s supposed to go in there, this is—”
Shouto’s tongue presses against his hole, circling the rim, and Katsuki feels the muscle flutter and clench under the attention. Shouto hums against him, the vibration traveling through Katsuki’s body, and his grip on Katsuki’s ass tightens, spreading him wider.
“It’s dirty,” Katsuki tries again, his face burning. “Shouto, stop, it’s—”
Shouto pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against Katsuki’s wet skin. “You’re not dirty.” His voice is rough, almost reverent. “You’re perfect.”
Before Katsuki can respond Shouto’s tongue is back, pressing harder now, trying to push inside. The pressure is insistent, demanding, and Katsuki feels his rim start to give, the muscle relaxing incrementally under the wet heat of Shouto’s mouth.
“Fuck—” The word punches out of Katsuki when the tip of Shouto’s tongue breaches him, pushing inside just barely. The intrusion is strange, makes him want to clench down and push it out, but Shouto’s hands are holding him open and he can’t escape it.
Shouto works his tongue deeper, small incremental pushes, and Katsuki can feel the muscle of his rim stretching around it, can feel the wet slide of saliva making everything slick. Shouto pulls back and licks around the rim again, then pushes back in, and establishes a rhythm that has Katsuki’s cock leaking against the mattress beneath him.
“This is so fucked up,” Katsuki gasps into the pillow. “You can’t—nothing goes in there—”
Shouto’s response is to push his tongue in deeper, to curl it inside him and stroke against the inner walls, and Katsuki’s protests dissolve into a broken moan. His rim is opening up under Shouto’s attention, the muscle learning to relax, and when Shouto pulls his tongue out and replaces it with a finger Katsuki barely has time to tense before it’s sliding inside.
The finger is thicker than Shouto’s tongue, the stretch more pronounced, and Katsuki’s rim clenches around the intrusion instinctively. Shouto doesn’t push deeper, just lets Katsuki’s body adjust, and his other hand comes up to stroke down Katsuki’s spine in a soothing gesture.
“Breathe,” Shouto says quietly.
Katsuki tries, dragging in air through his teeth, and feels his body start to relax around Shouto’s finger. Shouto pulls it out slowly, then pushes back in, establishing a gentle rhythm, and Katsuki can feel the slide of it, the way his rim has to stretch and give.
“See?” Shouto’s voice is rough. “You can take it.”
“That doesn’t mean I should,” Katsuki grits out, but his body is betraying him, his hips pushing back slightly to meet Shouto’s finger on the next thrust.
Shouto adds a second finger alongside the first and the stretch burns, makes Katsuki hiss and try to pull away. Shouto’s hand on his hip holds him in place, fingers digging into the muscle, and he scissors the two fingers inside Katsuki’s ass, spreading him open.
“Too much—” Katsuki gasps, and Shouto’s fingers still.
“You can take it,” Shouto says again, and there’s something in his voice that makes Katsuki’s stomach flip. “I know you can.”
The fingers start moving again, slower now, working Katsuki open with patient determination. Shouto’s mouth comes back to his rim, tongue licking around where his fingers are stretching Katsuki open, and the dual sensation makes Katsuki’s cock throb almost painfully against the mattress.
Shouto curls his fingers inside, searching, and when he finds Katsuki’s prostate and strokes over it Katsuki’s whole body goes rigid. The sensation is electric, pleasure sparking up his spine, and he can’t stop the sound that tears out of his throat.
“There,” Shouto says, satisfaction clear in his voice, and he does it again, pressing against that spot with deliberate pressure.
Katsuki’s thighs start to shake, his body torn between pulling away from the overwhelming sensation and pushing back for more. Shouto adds a third finger and the stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but he keeps stroking that spot inside and Katsuki can feel pressure building in his gut, can feel his cock leaking steadily beneath him.
“Shouto—” His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
Shouto’s fingers pull out abruptly and his hand wraps around the base of Katsuki’s cock, squeezing hard enough to be just shy of painful. “Not yet,” he says firmly. “Don’t cum yet.”
Katsuki makes a frustrated sound, his hips jerking forward into Shouto’s grip and then back seeking the fingers that are no longer there. He’s shaking now, his whole body trembling with need, and when he manages to look back over his shoulder he sees Shouto kneeling between his spread legs.
Shouto’s cock is flushed dark, angry red and leaking, and he’s stroking himself with his free hand while the other keeps Katsuki’s cock in that bruising grip. He looks huge like this, his cock thick and long, and Katsuki’s brain supplies the very unhelpful realization that Shouto is about to put that inside him.
“Wait—” Katsuki’s voice cracks. “That’s not gonna—you can’t—”
Shouto’s hand releases Katsuki’s cock and moves to his hip, gripping hard, and his other hand guides his cock to press against Katsuki’s wet rim. The head is blunt and hot, pressing insistently, and Katsuki feels his hole clench tight in instinctive rejection.
“Too big—” Katsuki tries to scramble forward, away from the pressure, but Shouto’s grip on his hip is ironclad. “Shouto, stop, it’s not gonna fit—”
“It’ll fit,” Shouto says, his voice strained. “You’re ready.”
“I’m not—” Katsuki’s protest cuts off in a gasp as Shouto pushes forward, the head of his cock breaching Katsuki’s rim and forcing the muscle to stretch around it.
The burn is immediate and intense, his rim straining to accommodate the width, and Katsuki’s hands claw at the sheets trying to pull away. Shouto holds him in place, hips pressing forward with inexorable pressure, and Katsuki can feel every centimeter of his cock as it pushes inside.
“Stop—fuck—Shouto, stop—” Katsuki’s voice is high and panicked, his body trying to reject the intrusion, but Shouto doesn’t stop, just keeps pushing in slow and steady until the head pops past the ring of muscle and Katsuki’s rim clenches tight around the shaft.
The burn is overwhelming, his rim stretched impossibly wide around Shouto’s cock, and Katsuki can feel every ridge and vein of it pressed against his inner walls. Shouto holds there, buried just past the head, giving Katsuki’s body time to adjust even as Katsuki’s hands scrabble at the sheets trying to find purchase.
“Breathe,” Shouto says, his voice strained. “You need to breathe.”
Katsuki drags in air through his teeth, his whole body rigid with tension. “Out—get out—it’s too much—”
Shouto’s hand strokes down his spine, trying to soothe, but his hips don’t retreat. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.”
“No—” Katsuki tries to push himself up on his elbows, tries to crawl forward away from the intrusion, but Shouto’s hand presses between his shoulder blades and pins him down. His other hand grips Katsuki’s hip hard enough to bruise, holding him in place. “Shouto, you’re a fucking freak, get it out—”
The insult seems to do something to Shouto because his hips push forward another inch, slow and inexorable, and Katsuki feels the stretch intensify as more of Shouto’s cock slides inside. His rim is burning, the muscle straining to accommodate the width, and he can feel the drag of it against his inner walls.
“You don’t mean that,” Shouto says quietly, and pushes in another inch.
“I do—fuck—you’re sick, this is—” Katsuki’s protest breaks off into a choked gasp as Shouto’s cock presses against something inside him that makes sparks shoot up his spine. “Stop, just stop—”
Shouto stills, buried maybe halfway, and Katsuki can feel how full he is already, can feel the pressure radiating through his pelvis. His rim is clenching rhythmically around Shouto’s shaft, trying to adjust to the intrusion, and every pulse of the muscle makes the burn worse.
“You’re so tight,” Shouto breathes out, his grip on Katsuki’s hip tightening. “So perfect.”
Katsuki’s hand reaches back, pressing against Shouto’s hip trying to push him away. “Out, get out, it doesn’t fit—”
Shouto catches his wrist and pins it to the small of his back, holding it there. His other hand slides up from Katsuki’s hip, over his ribs, and finds his nipple. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud, and Katsuki’s whole body jerks at the sensation.
“What the—don’t—” Katsuki tries to twist away from the touch, but the movement shifts Shouto’s cock inside him and he freezes, the burn flaring hot.
Shouto pinches harder, tugging at the nipple, and the sensation is sharp enough to cut through some of the overwhelming fullness. Katsuki’s brain splits its focus, caught between the stretch in his ass and the sting in his chest, and his body relaxes incrementally without him meaning it to.
Shouto feels it immediately and uses the moment to push in deeper, his cock sliding another few inches while Katsuki is distracted. By the time Katsuki registers what’s happening Shouto is buried almost to the hilt, only an inch or two remaining, and the fullness is so intense that Katsuki can feel it behind his navel.
“No—fuck—you bastard—” Katsuki’s voice cracks, his free hand clawing at the sheets.
Shouto’s hand moves to his other nipple, pinching that one too, and when Katsuki’s body jerks in response his rim clenches tight around Shouto’s cock. Shouto makes a low sound in his throat and his hips push forward that last bit, bottoming out completely, his hips flush against Katsuki’s ass.
Katsuki can’t breathe. The fullness is absolute, overwhelming, Shouto’s cock so deep inside him that he feels split open. His rim is stretched impossibly wide around the base, burning and aching, and he can feel the throb of Shouto’s pulse through the walls of his channel.
“Too much—” The words come out strangled. “It’s too much, you need to—”
Shouto’s hand on his nipple squeezes harder, rolling and pinching the sensitive bud, and Katsuki feels his body clench around Shouto’s cock in response. The squeeze of his inner walls makes Shouto groan, and his fingers work Katsuki’s nipple rougher now, pinching and tugging with intent.
“Stop that—” Katsuki gasps out. “Don’t—I don’t like it—”
“Don’t lie,” Shouto says, his voice rough and strained. His fingers pinch Katsuki’s nipple hard enough to make him hiss, and Katsuki’s channel clenches tight around him in response. “You keep squeezing me every time I touch you here.”
“That doesn’t—that’s not—” Katsuki can’t form a coherent argument, his brain shorting out from the dual sensations. “I’m not—”
Shouto’s hand moves from one nipple to the other, giving it the same treatment, pinching and rolling and tugging, and Katsuki’s body responds exactly the same way. His rim clenches around Shouto’s cock, his inner walls fluttering and squeezing, and he can feel the way Shouto’s cock throbs inside him in response.
“See?” Shouto’s breath is hot against the back of his neck. “Your body knows what it wants even if you won’t admit it.”
Katsuki makes a frustrated sound, trapped between the fullness in his ass and the sting in his chest, and his wrist twists in Shouto’s grip trying to break free. Shouto holds him easily, pins his wrist harder against his back, and uses his other hand to palm Katsuki’s entire chest, fingers splaying wide to cover the muscle and squeeze.
The pressure is different from the pinching, a broader sensation that makes Katsuki’s back try to arch. His channel clenches tight around Shouto’s cock again, and Shouto squeezes harder in response, his palm grinding against Katsuki’s nipple.
“I said I don’t like it—” Katsuki’s voice is wrecked, barely recognizable.
“And I said don’t lie.” Shouto’s hand squeezes again, harder this time, fingers digging into the muscle, and Katsuki’s entire body goes taut. His rim clamps down around Shouto’s cock so tight that Shouto hisses, and his hips grind forward instinctively, forcing himself somehow deeper.
Katsuki’s breath punches out of him, the pressure behind his navel intensifying. “You’re sick—you’re fucking sick—”
“Maybe,” Shouto agrees, his voice rough. His hand releases Katsuki’s chest only to move to the other side, squeezing that pec with the same firm pressure. “But you like it.”
“I don’t—” The protest dies when Shouto’s fingers find his nipple again and pinch hard, rolling the bud between thumb and forefinger, and Katsuki’s channel spasms around him. “Fuck—stop doing that—”
“Why?” Shouto’s fingers tug at the nipple, pulling it, and Katsuki feels his body clench again in response. “When it makes you squeeze me like this?”
Katsuki can’t answer, can’t think past the overwhelming fullness and the sharp sting in his chest and the way his body keeps betraying him. His rim is still burning, stretched impossibly wide, and every time his channel clenches around Shouto’s cock he feels the stretch all over again.
Shouto’s hand moves between both nipples now, alternating between them, pinching one and then the other, squeezing and tugging and rolling them until they’re both hard and sensitized. Each touch makes Katsuki’s body respond, his inner walls squeezing and fluttering around Shouto’s cock, and he can hear the low sounds Shouto is making in response.
“Your body is so honest,” Shouto murmurs against his shoulder blade, and his teeth scrape over the skin there. “Even when you’re lying with your mouth.”
Katsuki’s face is burning, pressed into the pillow, and he can feel sweat gathering at the small of his back where Shouto’s hand is still pinning his wrist. His cock is hard beneath him, trapped between his body and the mattress, and the pressure of his own weight on it is almost as overwhelming as the fullness in his ass.
“I’m not lying—” he manages to gasp out. “It hurts, you’re too big, I need—”
Shouto’s hips pull back slightly, just an inch, and the drag of his cock against Katsuki’s inner walls makes Katsuki’s breath stutter. Then Shouto pushes back in, slow and deliberate, and the slide is easier now that Katsuki’s body has started to adjust. His rim still burns but the muscle has loosened enough to take it, stretched around Shouto’s girth.
“There,” Shouto says quietly. “You’re taking me so well.”
The praise makes something twist in Katsuki’s chest, and he buries his face harder into the pillow to hide the flush spreading down his neck. Shouto’s hand on his chest squeezes again, palm grinding against his nipple, and Katsuki’s channel clenches in response exactly like Shouto said it would.
“Stop reading my body like that,” Katsuki grits out. “It’s creepy.”
“It’s not creepy,” Shouto’s voice is strained, rough with want. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
His hips pull back again, further this time, until just the head remains inside, and Katsuki feels the drag of every ridge and vein against his oversensitized walls. The rim stretches around the widest part of the head, clinging to it, and then Shouto pushes back in with one slow continuous slide that forces the air out of Katsuki’s lungs.
“Too slow—” Katsuki gasps. “If you’re gonna do this just—just get it over with—”
“No.” Shouto’s hand releases his wrist to grip his hip instead, both hands spanning his hipbones now. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
He pulls out again, that same torturous drag, and Katsuki feels every centimeter of the withdrawal. His rim clings to Shouto’s cock like it’s trying to keep him inside, the muscle fluttering and squeezing, and when Shouto pushes back in Katsuki can feel the way his body yields to make room.
The rhythm is slow, deliberate, each thrust a complete event. Shouto pulls out until just the head remains, stretching Katsuki’s rim around the crown, and then pushes back in with steady pressure until he’s buried completely. The pace never changes, never speeds up, just that same slow inexorable slide that’s somehow more overwhelming than if he’d just fucked Katsuki hard and fast.
Katsuki’s hands fist in the sheets, his breath coming in short gasps that he can’t seem to deepen. The fullness keeps building, each thrust pressing against that spot inside him that makes his vision blur, and his cock is leaking steadily beneath him, smearing pre-come against his stomach and the mattress.
“Shouto—” His voice breaks on the name. “Please—”
“Please what?” Shouto’s hands squeeze his hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows there.
Katsuki doesn’t know what he’s asking for. For it to stop, for it to be over, for Shouto to go faster or slower or just do something different because this slow torture is breaking him apart. His channel keeps clenching around Shouto’s cock, trying to pull him deeper or push him out, and every squeeze makes Shouto groan low in his throat.
One of Shouto’s hands slides up his side again, finds his nipple, and pinches hard. Katsuki’s entire body goes rigid, his back arching involuntarily, and his channel spasms around Shouto’s cock so tight that Shouto’s hips stutter in their rhythm.
“Fuck—” Shouto’s voice is wrecked. “Do that again.”
“I can’t—I didn’t—” Katsuki can’t control it, can’t control the way his body responds to Shouto’s touch. His nipple is aching now from the attention, sensitized enough that even the brush of Shouto’s palm makes him jerk.
Shouto pinches harder, tugs at the bud, and Katsuki’s channel clamps down in response. The squeeze is so tight that Shouto’s next thrust meets resistance, has to push through the clench of Katsuki’s inner walls, and the friction makes them both gasp.
“So tight,” Shouto breathes out. “You feel so good like this.”
Katsuki’s face is wet where it’s pressed into the pillow, and he doesn’t know if it’s sweat or tears or both. His whole body is shaking, trembling with the effort of taking Shouto’s cock, and the slow pace means he feels every second of it, can’t escape into the mindlessness that might come with something rougher.
Shouto’s other hand finds his neglected nipple, and now both of Shouto’s hands are on his chest, pinching and squeezing and tugging at both buds simultaneously. The dual sensation is overwhelming, sharp enough to cut through the fullness, and Katsuki’s channel responds exactly how Shouto wants it to, clenching and fluttering and squeezing around his cock with each touch.
“I want to see your face,” Shouto says suddenly, and before Katsuki can process the words Shouto is pulling out, his cock dragging against Katsuki’s oversensitized walls and making him gasp.
The emptiness is immediate and strange, his rim still stretched and fluttering around nothing, and then Shouto’s hands are on his hips flipping him over onto his back. Katsuki’s head spins from the sudden movement, his hands coming up to brace against Shouto’s chest, but Shouto is already moving, already grabbing Katsuki’s thighs and spreading them wide.
“Wait—” Katsuki starts, but Shouto is lining his cock up again, pressing the head against Katsuki’s wet rim, and pushing back inside in one smooth slide.
The angle is different like this, deeper somehow, and Katsuki feels Shouto’s cock drag against his prostate on the way in. His back arches off the bed involuntarily, a choked sound escaping his throat, and Shouto doesn’t stop until he’s buried completely, hips flush against Katsuki’s ass.
“There,” Shouto breathes out, his eyes locked on Katsuki’s face. “Now I can see you.”
Katsuki’s face is burning, his hands still pressed against Shouto’s chest trying to create space that doesn’t exist. From this angle he can see everything, can see the way Shouto is looking at him with those too-bright eyes, can see the flush across his cheeks and the way his mouth is parted around harsh breaths.
Shouto pulls back and slams in hard, the force of it punching the air out of Katsuki’s lungs. The pace has changed completely, no longer that torturous slow slide but something brutal and demanding. Shouto’s hips snap forward again, driving deep, and Katsuki’s whole body jolts with the impact.
“Fuck—” The word tears out of Katsuki, his nails digging into Shouto’s chest. “Slow down—”
Shouto doesn’t slow down. His hands grip Katsuki’s thighs, spreading them wider, tilting Katsuki’s hips up to change the angle, and the next thrust drives so deep that Katsuki sees stars. He can feel Shouto hitting that spot inside him with every stroke now, can feel the pressure building in his gut, and his cock is hard and leaking between them, smearing pre-come across his stomach.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Shouto says, his voice rough. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”
Katsuki turns his head to the side, trying to hide his face, but Shouto’s hand comes up to grip his jaw and force him to look back. His eyes are wet, he realizes with horror, moisture gathering at the corners threatening to spill over, and Shouto is watching him with something like reverence.
“Don’t look at me like that—” Katsuki’s voice cracks.
“Like what?” Shouto’s hips slam forward again, brutal and precise, and Katsuki’s eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensation.
“Like I’m—” He can’t finish the sentence, doesn’t know how to articulate what he sees in Shouto’s expression. His face is wet now, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and sliding down his temples into his hair, and he can’t stop them, can’t control the way his body is responding to being split open.
“Open your eyes,” Shouto demands, and Katsuki does, meets Shouto’s gaze and sees himself reflected there, flushed and wrecked and falling apart.
Shouto’s hands move from his thighs to his hips, and then he’s lifting Katsuki, pulling him up into his lap. The movement drives Shouto impossibly deeper, changing the angle so he’s pressing against something inside that makes Katsuki’s breath catch, and Katsuki’s hands fly to Shouto’s shoulders for balance.
“Too deep—” Katsuki gasps, trying to rise up, to lift himself off, but Shouto’s hands on his hips hold him down. “Shouto, it’s too much, you’re hitting—”
Shouto’s hands guide him up slightly and then pull him back down, forcing him to take the full length, and Katsuki’s mouth falls open around a broken moan. The position puts all of Katsuki’s weight on Shouto’s cock, gravity doing the work of keeping him impaled, and he can feel the stretch so much more intensely like this.
“Move,” Shouto says, his hands still controlling Katsuki’s hips. “Ride me.”
Katsuki’s thighs are shaking, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself up, and when he tries to lift himself Shouto’s hands guide the movement, showing him the rhythm. Up until just the head remains inside, then down hard and fast, taking the full length in one slide.
The angle drives Shouto so deep that Katsuki can feel the pressure behind his navel, can feel the way his stomach distends slightly with each downward slide. He looks down and sees it, sees the visible bulge in his lower abdomen where Shouto’s cock is buried inside him, and his stomach does something complicated.
“That’s not—that’s not normal—” Katsuki’s hands press against the bulge, feeling the hardness of Shouto’s cock through his skin, and the pressure makes his channel clench tight.
“You’re taking all of me,” Shouto says, watching Katsuki’s hands on his own stomach. “Look how well you’re taking me.”
Katsuki tries to scoot back, tries to lift himself higher so Shouto won’t go so deep, but Shouto’s hands tighten on his hips and pull him down hard. The impact drives Shouto deeper than before and Katsuki’s vision whites out for a second, pleasure and pain blurring together.
“Stop—you’re in my stomach—” Katsuki’s voice is high and desperate. “You can’t—it’s too deep—”
Shouto’s response is to slam his hips up while pulling Katsuki down, meeting in the middle with brutal force. Katsuki’s whole body convulses, his back arching, and his cock jerks between them untouched, leaking steadily.
The tears are falling freely now, tracking down Katsuki’s face, and he can’t stop them, can’t stop the way his face is doing things he doesn’t want Shouto to see. He tries to turn his head, tries to hide, but Shouto’s hand comes up to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears.
“Don’t hide from me,” Shouto says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes Katsuki’s chest tight. “Let me see you.”
“I’m not—” Katsuki’s protest dies when Shouto thrusts up again, when his thumb presses against Katsuki’s cheek and wipes away another tear. “I’m not crying.”
“You are.” Shouto’s other hand guides Katsuki’s hips in a slow grind, keeping him impaled fully, and the friction against his prostate makes Katsuki shudder. “And you look perfect like this.”
Katsuki’s hands tighten on Shouto’s shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. His face is hot with shame and arousal and something else he can’t name, and Shouto is looking at him like he’s something precious even as he’s fucking into him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
“You’re such a fucking freak,” Katsuki gasps out, but his voice has no heat to it, comes out breathless and wrecked.
“Maybe,” Shouto agrees, and his hand slides from Katsuki’s face to his throat, not squeezing, just resting there. “But you’re still here. Still taking my cock like you were made for it.”
The words make something clench in Katsuki’s chest, and his channel spasms around Shouto’s cock in response. Shouto groans, his hips stuttering, and his grip on Katsuki’s hip tightens to the point of pain.
“Move,” Shouto says again, rougher now. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Katsuki’s thighs are burning with the effort but he obeys, lifting himself up and slamming back down, taking Shouto to the hilt with each drop. The rhythm is brutal, punishing, and he can feel the way Shouto’s cock keeps hitting that spot inside him, can feel the pressure building in his gut that means he’s getting close.
Shouto’s hand on his throat slides down to his chest, fingers finding his nipple and pinching hard. Katsuki’s rhythm falters, his channel clenching tight, and Shouto takes over, hands on Katsuki’s hips controlling the movement. He slams Katsuki down on his cock over and over, each impact driving deep, and Katsuki can feel the bulge in his stomach getting more pronounced with each thrust.
“You’re so deep—” Katsuki’s hands press against his stomach again, feeling Shouto moving inside him through his skin. “It’s too much, you need to—”
Shouto’s hand covers his, pressing down on the bulge, and the added pressure makes Katsuki cry out. His rim is stretched impossibly wide, his inner walls clenching and fluttering, and he can feel every ridge and vein of Shouto’s cock dragging against him.
“I can feel myself inside you,” Shouto says, his voice strained. His hand presses harder against Katsuki’s stomach, feeling his own cock through Katsuki’s skin. “Can you feel it?”
Katsuki can’t answer, can only gasp and shake as Shouto keeps moving him, keeps forcing him to take it deeper than should be possible. His cock is throbbing between them, hard and leaking, and when Shouto’s hand wraps around it and starts stroking Katsuki’s whole body goes rigid.
“Come for me,” Shouto demands, his hand working Katsuki’s cock in time with the brutal thrusts. “Let me feel you come on my cock.”
“I can’t—” Katsuki’s voice breaks. “I can’t, it’s too much—”
“You can.” Shouto’s thumb swipes over the head of Katsuki’s cock, gathering the pre-come there and using it to slick the way. “Come for me, Katsuki.”
The orgasm hits sudden and violent, crashing through Katsuki’s body with an intensity that whites out his vision. His channel clamps down around Shouto’s cock, spasming in long rhythmic pulses, and his cock jerks in Shouto’s grip, come spilling over Shouto’s hand and across his own stomach in thick ropes.
Shouto keeps moving him through it, keeps slamming into his oversensitized body, and the stimulation is almost painful. Katsuki’s hands scrabble at Shouto’s shoulders, trying to push away, trying to escape, but Shouto holds him down and fucks up into him with renewed intensity.
“Too much—” Katsuki sobs, his whole body shaking. “Stop, I already—I can’t—”
“Just a little more,” Shouto’s voice is rough, breaking. “I’m close—fuck—you feel so good—”
His rhythm becomes erratic, thrusts losing their precision, and Katsuki can feel the way Shouto’s cock is throbbing inside him. Shouto’s hands grip his hips bruisingly tight, holding him down, and he slams up one last time burying himself as deep as possible.
The first pulse of come inside him is hot and overwhelming, flooding Katsuki’s channel. Shouto’s cock jerks and throbs, spilling inside him in long spurts, and Katsuki can feel the warmth spreading through his gut. Shouto keeps grinding up into him, working through his orgasm, and Katsuki feels every pulse of it, every spurt of come filling him up.
“Fuck—” Shouto’s forehead drops to Katsuki’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering. “Fuck, Katsuki—”
Katsuki is trembling, his body wrung out and oversensitized, and he can feel Shouto still buried deep inside him, can feel the come leaking out around his rim where it can’t all fit. The fullness is different now, not just Shouto’s cock but the warm flood of his release, and Katsuki’s face burns with the knowledge of what they’ve just done.
Shouto’s arms wrap around him, holding him close, and his breathing is harsh against Katsuki’s neck. They stay like that for a long moment, Katsuki still impaled on Shouto’s softening cock, both of them trying to catch their breath.
“You okay?” Shouto asks finally, his voice rough.
Katsuki doesn’t know how to answer that. His ass is sore, his rim burning and stretched, and he can feel Shouto’s come inside him, warm and wet. His face is still damp from tears he doesn’t want to acknowledge, and his whole body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together wrong.
“I hate you,” he says instead, and feels Shouto’s lips curve into a smile against his shoulder.
“No you don’t,” Shouto murmurs, and Katsuki doesn’t have the energy to argue.