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It starts on the couch, the way it always does.
Katsuki is on his back with Shouto’s weight pressing him into the cushions, his fingers twisted in the front of Shouto’s shirt, his mouth opening under the slow deliberate slide of Shouto’s tongue. The kiss is unhurried, patient in a way that makes Katsuki’s skin itch, makes him want to bite down just to speed things up. Shouto’s tongue drags against his, wet and warm, tracing the inside of his lower lip before sliding deeper, and Katsuki feels the kiss in his whole body, feels the heat of it spreading down through his chest and pooling low in his belly.
Shouto’s hand cups the side of his face, thumb stroking along his jaw in slow passes that make Katsuki’s skin prickle. His other hand rests heavy on Katsuki’s hip, fingers curling into the soft dip above his waistband, the grip firm enough to pin him flat against the cushions. Katsuki tries to shift beneath him, tries to rock his hips up to create friction where he’s starting to need it, but Shouto’s weight keeps him immobile, pressed so deep into the couch that the cushions swallow his shoulders and hold him there.
The width of Shouto’s shoulders blocks out the light from the lamp behind him, casting Katsuki in shadow. His chest is a solid wall of heat against Katsuki’s, heavy enough that each breath Katsuki takes has to push against it, his ribs expanding into the resistance of Shouto’s body before deflating again. There’s nowhere to move, nowhere to go, and Shouto seems content to keep him there, pinned and wanting and unable to do anything about it.
Shouto pulls back just far enough to breathe, his lips brushing Katsuki’s as he exhales. The warmth of it lands damp against Katsuki’s mouth, and Katsuki chases after him without meaning to, his head lifting off the cushion before he catches himself and drops back down.
“You’re impatient,” Shouto murmurs, and the words vibrate against Katsuki’s lips.
“You’re slow,” Katsuki shoots back, but his voice comes out rougher than he intends, breathless in a way that undermines the complaint.
Shouto hums, low and amused, and dips his head to press his mouth to the hinge of Katsuki’s jaw. His lips are soft and warm, dragging along the curve of bone, and then he shifts lower, his mouth tracing down the column of Katsuki’s throat with a slowness that makes Katsuki want to scream. Each press of lips leaves a spot of wet heat that cools in the air and makes Katsuki shiver, and Shouto pauses at the pulse point to suck gently, his tongue pressing flat against the skin.
Katsuki feels his heartbeat kick harder against Shouto’s mouth, feels Shouto smile at the reaction, the curve of his lips pressing into the sensitive skin of his throat. He lingers there, sucking and licking in slow alternating passes, and Katsuki’s fingers tighten in his shirt, his hips jerking up against nothing.
“Shouto,” he grits out, the name a warning.
Shouto ignores him. His mouth continues its path downward, tracing along Katsuki’s collarbone, his teeth grazing gently over the ridge of bone. The hand on Katsuki’s hip slides lower, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to brush against bare skin, and Katsuki’s stomach muscles twitch at the contact, the touch too light, too teasing.
Shouto’s fingers trail upward, dragging slowly over Katsuki’s stomach, tracing the lines of muscle with deliberate pressure. His palm is warm and wide, spanning almost the entire width of Katsuki’s abdomen, and he pushes Katsuki’s shirt higher as he goes, bunching the fabric under his armpits until his chest is bare.
The cool air hits Katsuki’s skin, makes his nipples tighten into hard peaks, and Shouto’s mouth is there a moment later, lips closing around one bud with a wet heat that makes Katsuki’s spine arch off the couch. His tongue flicks against the peak, slow and deliberate, circling once before pressing flat and dragging across the sensitive flesh.
Katsuki hisses through his teeth, his fingers abandoning Shouto’s shirt to fist in his hair instead. The sensation is sharp and electric, shooting straight down to the heat building between his legs, and his thighs clench around Shouto’s hips as he tries to pull him closer. Shouto doesn’t budge, his body a solid immovable weight, and the futility of it makes something hot and frustrated twist in Katsuki’s gut.
Shouto’s tongue circles his nipple again, then again, each pass slow enough that Katsuki can feel the texture of it, the wet drag of soft muscle against oversensitive skin. He sucks gently, his lips closing around the bud, and the pressure makes Katsuki’s back arch harder, a sound escaping his throat that he refuses to call a moan.
Shouto pulls back, his breath ghosting over the wet skin, and Katsuki shivers at the cold. Before he can complain, Shouto’s mouth moves to the other nipple, giving it the same slow attention, the same maddening patience, and Katsuki’s fingers tighten in his hair, tugging in frustration.
“Stop fucking around,” Katsuki growls.
Shouto’s laugh vibrates against his chest. His free hand finds the waistband of Katsuki’s sweats and tugs, pulling them down over his hips in one smooth motion. The fabric slides down his thighs, catching briefly at his knees before Shouto pulls it free entirely, and Katsuki is suddenly bare from the waist down, his legs spread around Shouto’s body, the cool air hitting the slick already gathering between his folds.
The exposure makes Katsuki’s face burn hot. His thighs try to close on instinct, but Shouto’s shoulders are in the way, broad enough that they keep him spread open no matter how hard he tries to bring his legs together. Shouto lifts his head from Katsuki’s chest and looks down at him, his eyes dark and intent, taking in every inch of exposed skin with a slowness that makes Katsuki want to squirm.
“Don’t,” Katsuki snaps, even though he’s not sure what he’s protesting—the vulnerability of it, maybe, the way Shouto is looking at him like he’s something to be studied.
Shouto doesn’t respond. He shifts lower on the couch, his hands sliding down to grip Katsuki’s thighs, and pushes them wider. His palms span almost the entire width of Katsuki’s thighs, fingers digging into the soft inner flesh, and he holds them open with an ease that makes Katsuki’s stomach flip. The casual strength of it is a reminder he doesn’t need, a reminder of how much bigger Shouto is, how easily he can move Katsuki’s body wherever he wants it.
Shouto settles between his legs, his face inches from Katsuki’s pussy, and breathes out slowly. The warmth of it ghosts over Katsuki’s folds, damp and soft, and Katsuki’s hips jerk at the sensation before he can stop them. His pussy clenches around nothing, aching and empty, and he can feel how wet he is, can feel the slick gathered at his entrance.
Shouto doesn’t move. He just breathes against him, slow and steady, each exhale landing warm against Katsuki’s oversensitive skin.
“Shouto,” Katsuki says, his voice cracking. “If you’re going to do something, then do it. Stop fucking around.”
Shouto’s mouth curves into a smile against his inner thigh, his lips brushing the sensitive skin an inch from where Katsuki needs him. “Ask nicely.”
“Fuck you.”
Shouto laughs, the sound low and warm, vibrating against Katsuki’s skin. His tongue darts out, tracing a slow line up the inside of Katsuki’s thigh, following the crease where his leg meets his pelvis, and Katsuki’s breath catches at the teasing proximity of it.
Then Shouto’s mouth is on his pussy, tongue dragging flat and slow through his folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke.
The sensation punches the air out of Katsuki’s lungs. His back arches hard off the couch, his fingers tightening in Shouto’s hair until his knuckles go white, and a sound escapes him that he can’t control. The wet heat of Shouto’s tongue slides through his slick, spreading it, gathering it, and Katsuki can hear how wet he is, can hear the obscene sound of Shouto’s mouth working against him.
Shouto’s tongue circles his clit, tracing the swollen bud with the tip, once around, twice, slow enough that Katsuki can feel every point of contact. The sensation is sharp and bright, pleasure sparking up his spine, and his thighs tremble in Shouto’s grip as his hips try to grind down against Shouto’s mouth.
Shouto’s hands tighten on his thighs, holding him in place, keeping him still. His tongue drags back down through Katsuki’s folds, slower this time, pressing into his entrance with a shallow thrust that makes Katsuki’s walls clench around the intrusion. The texture of it is soft and hot and not enough, not nearly enough, but Shouto keeps it shallow, keeps it teasing, his tongue pressing in barely an inch before withdrawing to trace back up to his clit.
Katsuki chokes on a moan. His thighs strain against Shouto’s hands, trying to close, trying to pull away from the intensity, but Shouto holds him open with effortless strength, his fingers pressing bruises into the soft flesh. He eats Katsuki out with slow deliberate focus, his tongue tracing patterns through his folds, circling his clit before dipping back down to press into his entrance, each movement unhurried and methodical.
His tongue pushes deeper, curling up against Katsuki’s front wall, and the pressure makes Katsuki’s vision blur at the edges. The sensation is overwhelming, a tight coil of pleasure building at the base of his spine, and his pussy clenches hard around the intrusion, slick spilling out around Shouto’s mouth.
Shouto pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing Katsuki’s folds as he murmurs, his breath hot and damp against oversensitive skin. “You’re wet.”
“No shit,” Katsuki gasps, his voice breaking. “That’s what happens when you—when you—”
Shouto’s tongue drags up to his clit and presses down before he can finish, flattening against the swollen bud in a slow grinding motion. Katsuki’s hips buck off the couch, his thighs shaking, and Shouto’s hands tighten, dragging him back down, holding him steady against the cushions.
His tongue circles once, twice, tracing the hood of Katsuki’s clit before pressing beneath it to find the sensitive nub underneath. The contact is direct and intense, and Katsuki’s whole body jerks as pleasure sparks sharp and hot through his pelvis.
Shouto closes his lips around Katsuki’s clit and sucks.
Katsuki cries out, the sound tearing from his throat, his fingers yanking at Shouto’s hair. The suction is relentless, steady pulses of pressure that send waves of pleasure crashing through his body, and his walls clench around nothing, desperate for something to fill them. His thighs shake violently in Shouto’s grip, his toes curling against the cushions, his whole body straining toward the edge.
Shouto pulls back before he can tip over, his mouth lifting from Katsuki’s pussy with a wet sound that makes Katsuki’s face burn.
“Don’t fucking stop—”
“I’m not stopping.” Shouto’s voice is rough, lower than before, and when Katsuki looks down he can see how dark his eyes are, how flushed his cheeks, his lips shiny with Katsuki’s slick. “Just changing tactics.”
His hand slides up the inside of Katsuki’s thigh, fingers trailing through the wet gathered there, leaving trails of heat in their wake. One finger presses against Katsuki’s entrance, circling the rim with slow deliberate pressure, tracing the edge of the opening without pushing inside.
Katsuki’s pussy clenches at the teasing contact, his walls fluttering around nothing, and his hips try to press down, try to take the finger inside. Shouto holds him still with his other hand, keeps him pinned against the cushions, his finger continuing its slow circles.
“Shouto,” Katsuki growls, his voice cracking.
Shouto pushes inside.
The stretch is minimal, barely anything, but Katsuki’s walls clench around the intrusion anyway, his body oversensitive from the attention to his clit. Shouto’s finger is long, longer than Katsuki’s own, and it slides deep, knuckle by knuckle, until his hand is pressed flush against Katsuki’s entrance.
Katsuki gasps at the depth of it, at the way Shouto’s finger fills him in a way his own can’t quite reach. Shouto curls it inside him, the pad of his finger dragging against Katsuki’s inner walls, searching, and when he finds the spot that makes Katsuki’s thighs shake he strokes over it with deliberate pressure.
The sensation makes Katsuki’s vision white out. His back arches off the couch, his mouth falling open, and the sound that escapes him is broken and desperate.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, his hips jerking against Shouto’s hand. “Fuck, right there, don’t you dare—”
Shouto adds a second finger without warning.
The stretch widens, Katsuki’s walls straining to accommodate the width. Shouto’s fingers are thicker than his own, broader, and two of them fill him in a way that makes his breath stutter. The burn of it radiates outward from his entrance, sharp for a moment before his body relaxes around the intrusion, the muscle loosening to accept the stretch.
Shouto spreads his fingers apart inside him, scissoring slowly, working the muscle open. The stretch intensifies, then eases, then intensifies again as Shouto repeats the motion, patient and methodical. Katsuki can feel himself opening, can feel his body giving way to the pressure, and his walls pulse around the intrusion in helpless waves.
Shouto’s mouth returns to his clit, lips closing around the swollen bud, and he sucks in rhythm with the thrust of his fingers. The dual sensation is overwhelming—the fullness inside him, the pressure on his clit—and Katsuki’s back arches off the couch as his thighs tremble violently against Shouto’s shoulders.
Shouto fucks him with slow deep strokes, his fingers dragging against that spot on every pass. The thrust in is smooth and steady, the withdrawal slow enough that Katsuki can feel every ridge of Shouto’s knuckles catching against his entrance. His tongue works Katsuki’s clit with the same relentless patience, circling and pressing and sucking until Katsuki can’t think, can’t breathe, can only shake and gasp and claw at Shouto’s hair.
A third finger presses against his entrance, nudging at the stretched rim, and Katsuki groans at the pressure. His body resists for a moment, the muscle straining around the width, and Shouto pauses there, holding the pressure steady, waiting for the resistance to ease.
It does, slowly. Katsuki feels the muscle loosening, feels his body making room, and then the third finger slides inside alongside the other two with a burn that makes him hiss through his teeth.
The stretch radiates outward from his pussy, spreading up into his pelvis, and his walls pulse around the intrusion in helpless waves. Three of Shouto’s fingers fill him completely, his walls stretched tight around the width, the drag on every thrust making his toes curl.
Shouto spreads them apart inside him, working him open, and Katsuki can feel the muscle giving way, can feel himself loosening around the stretch even as his body clenches reflexively. The sensation is overwhelming, fullness and pressure and the constant stimulation of Shouto’s mouth on his clit, and Katsuki’s thighs shake so hard he can barely keep them open.
He knows what Shouto is preparing him for. He can feel it pressed against his thigh where Shouto kneels between his legs, hard and thick through the fabric of his pants, hot even through the cloth. The size of it makes something nervous twist in his gut, makes his pussy clench down hard around Shouto’s fingers.
Shouto pulls his mouth off Katsuki’s clit with a wet pop, his lips shiny with slick, and looks up at him with dark hungry eyes. “You’re ready.”
“Then get on with it,” Katsuki snaps, even though his voice is wrecked, breathless and shaking. “Stop dragging it out.”
Shouto’s fingers slide out of him slowly, the drag against his oversensitive walls making Katsuki whimper at the loss. Each knuckle catches against his entrance as it withdraws, the friction almost too much after everything, and his pussy clenches around the retreating fingers, trying to hold them inside.
Then they’re gone, and Katsuki is empty, his walls pulsing around nothing, slick dripping down between his cheeks and pooling on the cushion beneath him. The ache is immediate and overwhelming, his body desperate to be filled again.
Shouto’s eyes drop to the mess, to the way Katsuki’s pussy is twitching, open and wet and desperate, and something dark flickers across his expression.
He reaches for his waistband, pushes down his pants, and Katsuki’s gaze drops to watch, his breath catching as the fabric slides lower.
The size of him makes Katsuki’s mouth go dry.
He’s seen it before, but somehow he forgets between each time. Shouto’s cock is thick and flushed, curving up toward his stomach, and the sight of it makes Katsuki’s pussy pulse with a mix of desperate want and genuine apprehension. Three fingers suddenly don’t feel like enough.
Shouto starts to lean forward, his hands gripping Katsuki’s thighs, positioning himself, and Katsuki’s brain catches up with what’s about to happen—where they are, what they’re lying on.
“Wait,” Katsuki says, his voice sharper than he intends. “Not here.”
Shouto pauses, his brow furrowing. “What?”
“Not on the couch.” Katsuki’s face burns hot as he says it, but he pushes through the embarrassment, shoving at Shouto’s chest. “I’m not cleaning this couch again. Last time took three hours.”
Shouto stares at him, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, his cock still hard and leaking between them. “You want to stop to move somewhere else?”
“I don’t want to stop, I want to not have to deep-clean the fucking upholstery.” Katsuki squirms out from under him, his legs shaky as he plants his feet on the floor. His pussy is throbbing, empty and aching, slick smeared down his inner thighs, and his whole body is screaming at him to get back on that couch and let Shouto finish what he started.
He ignores it.
“Kitchen,” Katsuki says, already walking toward the doorway on unsteady legs. “Dining table. Hard surface.”
The edge of the dining table is cold and hard against Katsuki’s palms where he braces himself, the wood smooth and uforgiving beneath his fingers. His arms are locked straight to hold his weight, his elbows trembling with the effort, and his fingers curl over the edge of the table until his knuckles go white.
Shouto stands behind him, close enough that Katsuki can feel the heat radiating off his chest, close enough that every breath Shouto takes lands warm against the back of his neck. One hand splays flat across Katsuki’s stomach, palm wide enough to span from hip to hip, the pressure holding him steady. The other grips his waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh, tilting his hips back into an angle that makes his spine curve.
Katsuki’s feet barely reach the floor. He’s on his toes, his calves straining, his heels lifted so high that his ankles shake with the effort. The muscles in his legs burn from the position, trembling with every second that passes, and still the height difference is wrong.
Shouto’s cock slides through the slick between his thighs, the thick length dragging through his folds in a slow wet stroke. The head catches against his entrance, pressure building for half a second, and Katsuki’s body tries to push back into it, tries to take it inside—but the angle shifts before Shouto can push in, the head slipping free to drag through his folds again.
The sensation is maddening. Katsuki can feel how wet he is, can feel how ready his body is, his pussy clenching around nothing with every pass of Shouto’s cock through his folds. The head catches against his clit on the upstroke, the pressure making him gasp, and then it’s gone, sliding back down to catch against his entrance and slip away again.
“This isn’t working either,” Katsuki grits out, his voice thin with frustration. His toes cramp against the hardwood, his calves screaming, his thighs trembling so hard he can feel it in his core.
Shouto’s breath is warm and steady against the back of his neck, infuriatingly patient. “You’re too short.”
“I’m not too short!” Katsuki’s voice cracks on the words. “You’re too tall. This is your problem.”
Shouto hums, low in his throat, and his hand shifts on Katsuki’s stomach, pulling him back harder against his chest. The motion lifts Katsuki’s feet off the floor for a second, his full weight suspended in Shouto’s grip, and the head of Shouto’s cock catches against his entrance at the new angle.
The pressure builds, thick and blunt, and Katsuki’s pussy clenches in anticipation, his body desperate to pull it inside. His breath catches, his fingers digging into the table—
His feet touch down again as Shouto’s grip loosens, and the angle shifts, the head slipping free before it can push inside.
“Damn it,” Katsuki hisses, slamming a palm against the wood. “Just—figure it out. I can’t hold this.”
Shouto is quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking absently over the curve of Katsuki’s hip. “Stand on my feet.”
Katsuki’s whole body goes rigid. “No.”
“It’ll work.”
“I said no.” Katsuki twists to glare at him over his shoulder, his face flushed hot. “I’m not doing that. It’s humiliating.”
Shouto’s expression doesn’t change, his eyes steady on Katsuki’s. “Your legs are shaking. You can’t hold the height. Either you stand on my feet, or we find a different position.”
Katsuki’s jaw clenches. His calves are screaming, his toes cramping, his thighs trembling so hard he can barely stay upright. His pussy is aching and empty, slick dripping down his thighs in slow trails, and his body is desperate for what Shouto keeps almost giving him.
“Fine,” he grits out. “Fine. Do it.”
Shouto shifts his stance behind him, widening his legs, planting himself more firmly. Katsuki takes a breath, steeling himself, and steps back onto Shouto’s feet, his toes curling over the tops of his shoes, his heels bracing against his ankles.
The height difference changes immediately.
Katsuki’s hips rise several inches, his body tilting forward over the table, his weight settling back against Shouto’s chest. The angle of penetration shifts, and he feels the head of Shouto’s cock catch against his entrance again, thick and blunt and hot.
Shouto rocks forward.
The first inch slides inside, and Katsuki’s breath punches out of him. The stretch is immediate, wider than Shouto’s fingers, the width spreading him open in a slow burn that makes his toes curl. His walls clench tight around the intrusion, his pussy pulsing around the thickness, trying to pull it deeper even as the muscle strains to accommodate the stretch.
Shouto groans against the back of his neck, the sound vibrating through Katsuki’s spine, and his hand tightens on Katsuki’s hip. He rocks forward again, slow and deliberate, and another inch sinks inside.
The stretch widens. Katsuki can feel his body opening, can feel the muscle giving way in increments, each fraction of depth its own small surrender. His walls strain around the width, clenching and releasing in helpless pulses, and he can feel every ridge of Shouto’s cock as it slides deeper, can feel the heat of it spreading through his core.
His fingers curl against the table, his knuckles white, the wood creaking beneath his grip.
Shouto pulls back, slow, and the drag makes Katsuki gasp. His walls cling to the thickness, trying to hold it inside, and the friction against his oversensitive inner walls sends sparks up his spine. The head catches against his entrance, barely inside, the stretch narrowing to almost nothing.
Then Shouto pushes back in, deeper this time, another inch sinking inside.
Katsuki moans, the sound escaping before he can stop it. The fullness is overwhelming, deeper than Shouto’s fingers reached, and his walls pulse around the intrusion in helpless waves. He can feel how much is still outside him, can feel the length still waiting to push inside, and his body clenches involuntarily.
Shouto slides back, pushed out by the grip, losing an inch.
“You’re pushing me out,” Shouto says against his ear, his voice rough.
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Katsuki snaps, his voice breaking. “My body’s doing it. You’re too fucking big.”
Shouto’s laugh is barely more than an exhale. His hands grip Katsuki’s hips tighter, and he rocks forward again, harder, driving another inch inside. The stretch burns through Katsuki’s core, radiating up into his pelvis, and his walls clench down hard before releasing in a helpless flutter.
Still not all the way in. Katsuki can feel the inches still outside, the width still pressing against his entrance, waiting.
Shouto pulls back, slow and deliberate, the drag making Katsuki’s walls flutter. The head catches against his entrance, holds there for a moment, and then Shouto pushes back in with a thrust that makes Katsuki’s whole body rock forward.
Deeper. The stretch widens, the pressure building, and Katsuki chokes on a moan as the head drags against something sensitive inside him, something that makes sparks flare up his spine.
“Almost,” Shouto breathes against his neck. “You’ve almost got all of me.”
“Then get it in,” Katsuki grits out. “Stop being so—”
Shouto snaps his hips forward, and Katsuki’s voice cuts off in a sharp cry. The thrust drives deeper than before, close enough that Katsuki can feel the base of Shouto’s cock pressing against his entrance. His body trembles, caught between too much and not enough, his walls straining around the width.
Something shifts inside him. Something deep and tight, a place he’s never felt before.
His hand flies back, fingers fisting in Shouto’s hair, yanking hard.
“Wait,” Katsuki gasps. “Wait, don’t—don’t test it—”
Shouto stills behind him, his breath coming harder against Katsuki’s neck. His cock throbs inside Katsuki, thick and hot and so deep it makes Katsuki’s stomach clench.
“Katsuki—”
“I said wait.” Katsuki’s fingers tighten in his hair, pulling harder. “It’s too—there’s something—you’re hitting something—”
Shouto’s hand slides up his stomach, palm warm and wide against his ribs. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing,” Katsuki snaps, his voice wavering. “There’s something—it feels like you’re hitting something. Inside. I don’t know what it is but you need to stop pushing—”
Shouto presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder, soft and careful. “I know. It’s okay. Just relax.”
“What do you mean you know?” Katsuki’s voice pitches higher, his body clenching around the cock still inside him. “What is it? What are you hitting?”
Shouto doesn’t answer. His thumb strokes along the curve of Katsuki’s ribs, and his hips rock forward, just slightly.
The pressure against that deep place intensifies, and Katsuki’s whole body jerks.
“Stop,” Katsuki gasps, yanking at Shouto’s hair. “Shouto, stop, that’s too—”
“It’s okay.” Shouto’s voice is strained. “It won’t hurt. You just have to relax.”
“I don’t want to relax, I want you to tell me what the fuck you’re hitting!” Katsuki’s voice cracks. “It feels like—it’s too deep—like you’re going to push through something—”
Shouto’s arms wrap around his middle, and Katsuki feels his feet lift off Shouto’s shoes, his full weight suspended in Shouto’s grip.
“What are you—”
Shouto lifts him higher, and sinks in to the hilt.
Katsuki screams.
The sound tears out of him raw and shocked, his nails clawing lines into Shouto’s forearms. The stretch is impossible, deeper than anything he’s ever felt. The head of Shouto’s cock presses flush against that deep place inside him, and the pressure makes his vision white out at the edges.
His pussy clenches so hard it almost hurts, the walls straining around the width, and he can feel it in his stomach, can feel the fullness radiating up into his abdomen. The pressure sits heavy and strange and overwhelming, and panic sparks hot in his chest.
“Put me down,” Katsuki gasps, shoving at Shouto’s arms. “Put me down, Shouto, it’s too—you’re too—there’s something—”
“Shh.” Shouto’s arms tighten around him, holding him still. “Breathe, Katsuki. You’re okay.”
“I’m not okay!” Katsuki’s voice breaks. “You’re hitting something—you’re in too deep—it feels like you’re going to break something—”
“I’m not going to break anything.” Shouto’s mouth presses against the shell of his ear. “You’re just not used to it. Let your body adjust.”
“I can’t adjust!” Katsuki’s body shakes in Shouto’s arms. “It’s too much—you’re too fucking big—I can feel you in my stomach—”
Shouto groans at that, his hips jerking forward. The motion grinds the head against that deep place, and Katsuki sobs, his body going limp, his resistance crumbling.
“There,” Shouto breathes. “Good. Just like that. Stop fighting it.”
Katsuki wants to argue, but his body is shaking too hard. The pressure is still there, deep and strange, but his body is starting to adjust, the muscle loosening around the stretch. It’s not pain exactly—it’s something else, something that makes his stomach clench and his eyes prick with tears he refuses to let fall.
“I’m going to move now,” Shouto says.
“Don’t—”
Shouto pulls out, slow.
The drag makes Katsuki gasp, his walls clinging to the thickness. The sensation is overwhelming, the friction against his oversensitive walls making sparks flare up his spine. The head catches against his entrance, barely inside, and Katsuki’s body pulses around the tip.
Shouto slams back in.
The thrust drives the breath from Katsuki’s lungs. The head punches against that deep place, and Katsuki cries out, his nails digging into Shouto’s forearms.
Shouto doesn’t slow down. He pulls out to the tip and slams back in, over and over, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust drives deep enough to make Katsuki’s stomach clench, the head hitting that place inside him that sends sparks up his spine and makes his vision blur.
The sound of it fills the room—wet and obscene, skin slapping against skin. Katsuki’s pussy clenches around the intrusion in helpless spasms, and slick pours out of him with every thrust, dripping down his thighs.
“You’re taking me so well,” Shouto groans against his ear. “All of me. Every inch.”
“Shut up,” Katsuki chokes out, but there’s no heat in it.
Shouto’s pace doesn’t falter. He fucks into Katsuki hard and deep, pulling out until only the tip remains before slamming back to the hilt. Each thrust punches a sound out of Katsuki that he can’t control, and his body shakes in Shouto’s arms as the pleasure builds sharp and hot.
“You feel incredible,” Shouto breathes, one hand sliding down to press against Katsuki’s stomach. “So tight. So wet. Like you were made for this.”
Katsuki sobs at the words, at the pressure of Shouto’s hand, at the way he can feel Shouto moving beneath his palm.
Shouto’s rhythm stutters, his thrusts growing harder, less controlled. “Close,” he groans. “Katsuki—I’m—”
“Don’t you dare stop,” Katsuki gasps. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
Shouto slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and comes.
The first pulse floods into Katsuki hot and thick, and the sensation tips him over the edge.
Katsuki’s orgasm crashes through him, his pussy clenching down so hard around Shouto’s cock that he feels the muscle strain. His back arches, his mouth falling open, and his whole body shakes as pleasure rips through him in wave after wave. His walls pulse around the thickness, milking out every drop, and he can feel the warmth spreading deep inside him.
Shouto groans against his neck, his hips grinding forward as his cock twitches inside Katsuki. Each pulse fills him deeper, and Katsuki can feel himself overflowing, slick and come mixing together and dripping down his thighs.
For a long moment, neither of them moves.
Katsuki’s breath comes in shallow gasps, his body still trembling. He can feel everything—the stretch, the fullness, the warmth of what Shouto left inside him.
Shouto presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
Katsuki wants to snap at him, but his voice won’t cooperate. All that comes out is a shaky exhale.
Shouto’s arms tighten around him, gentle now.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
Katsuki hates how much he believes him.