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Shouto always wakes first.
He makes no noise about it, just shifts behind Katsuki like the bed is a shoreline and he’s some quiet tide rolling in without asking. Katsuki’s not really awake yet, but his body knows what’s coming.
It starts with weight. Shouto’s hand slides under his shirt and finds the bare skin of his stomach, palm wide and warm, dragging upward through the soft trail of hair below his navel, knuckles catching on the slow rise and fall of his ribs. Katsuki breathes shallow. Keeps his eyes shut. Pretends sleep like it’ll stop anything.
Shouto’s thumb finds his nipple and flicks it, casual, as though checking whether it still responds. Katsuki jerks under the touch, a full-body flinch that locks his jaw and pulls heat low into his stomach.
“Fuck off,” he mutters, voice thick and scraped raw from sleep.
Shouto’s thumb circles back, slow this time, pressing in, rolling until the skin pulls tight and tender under the pressure. Katsuki’s breath goes shallower. His legs stay tangled in the sheets, but his hips shift without his permission, just a small roll forward, not enough to admit anything.
Then Shouto’s mouth finds the back of his neck. Lips close and dry at first, just heat and the faint pressure of them against the thin skin where his hairline fades. They stay there long enough that Katsuki registers each degree of warmth before Shouto opens his mouth and sucks, slow and deliberate, pulling the skin between his lips and holding it. Not hard enough to mark. Hard enough to mean something.
“Seriously,” Katsuki grits, voice catching on the second syllable. “It’s too fucking early.”
Shouto hums against his skin, the vibration more felt than heard, and the bed shifts as he presses closer. Katsuki feels it then: the firm, blunt heat of Shouto’s cock against the back of his thigh, thick through the soft cotton, already hard, grinding forward just enough to be unmistakable.
Katsuki exhales hard and tightens his shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away.
Shouto’s mouth moves lower, open and warm now below his ear, breath dragging wet against the curve of his neck. His hand drifts down from Katsuki’s chest, palm flattening over his ribs one by one, then spreading wide across his stomach, fingers fanned out, the heel of his hand pressing in just enough to feel the muscle beneath. He moves like he has no reason to rush. Like this is a thing he could do until it was afternoon.
Katsuki’s fingers curl into the blanket.
“You’re the worst,” he says, low.
Shouto’s thumb finds his nipple again, pressing in with more intention this time, and the heat of it radiates outward through his chest, sharp-sweet and pulling low. Katsuki growls and shoves his hand back.
His palm finds Shouto’s cock through the fabric, the shape of it full and hot against his hand. He grips it harder than he needs to. Shouto’s breath leaves him on a short, clipped exhale against Katsuki’s shoulder.
“This is all you’re getting,” Katsuki mutters. “Then I’m going back to sleep.”
He strokes once, slow, dragging from the base up to the tip, his thumb catching the ridge along the underside where the cotton pulls thinnest. The fabric there is already damp, slick and clinging, the wet heat of it soaking into his fingers. Shouto’s hips twitch forward into his grip.
Katsuki smirks into the pillow.
“Figures you’d wake up hard,” he says. “You get off on this size shit, don’t you?”
Shouto slides his other hand under Katsuki’s shirt, both palms wide and hot against his chest now, and his thumbs press into both nipples at once. Katsuki jolts. The sensation doubles, splits, runs down through his sternum and into his stomach. He grits his teeth against it.
He tightens his grip and speeds up, wrist twisting at the top of each stroke, thumb pressing harder into the wet spot spreading through the cotton. Shouto shudders behind him, the movement traveling through his whole chest into Katsuki’s back. A sound gets out of him, low and cut short, more breath than voice, bitten off before it turns into anything Katsuki could hold over him.
It doesn’t take long. It never does when Katsuki works him like this, slow enough to feel every nerve and steady enough to give him nothing to chase.
When Shouto comes, his hips drive forward once, sharp, and Katsuki feels the wet heat bloom through the fabric into his palm, thick and spreading. The cotton goes tacky against his fingers. Katsuki grimaces, pulls his hand back, and wipes it on the sheet.
“Gross,” he mutters.
He shifts in place, back still to Shouto, twisting at the waist to reach for a tissue on the nightstand. One leg stretches under the covers, the other bent and hooked over the edge. His shirt rides up. The waistband of his shorts catches low on one hip, tugged into the crease of it.
Shouto’s eyes are still on him. Katsuki can feel the weight of them.
Then Shouto’s hand moves again, down and lower, fingers grazing the inside of his thigh. The fabric of his shorts shifts to one side.
Katsuki freezes.
One of Shouto’s fingers presses in through the damp cotton, then past it, and finds wet skin. He doesn’t push right away. He lingers at the entrance, the pad of his finger tracing the shape of it, slicking back and forth. Katsuki’s breath catches. His thighs pull tense. He twists sharply over his shoulder, glare cutting.
“The hell do you think you’re doing.”
Shouto doesn’t answer. His gaze stays low, fixed on where his hand has disappeared between Katsuki’s legs. His finger shifts, dragging slickness up along the fold, slow and deliberate. The shorts have gone dark with it, cotton bunched along one thigh. There’s no pretending: Katsuki’s cunt is flushed and swollen, slick enough that the air catches on it.
He grabs Shouto’s wrist, grip hard. “I was cleaning you up,” he says through gritted teeth. “You came all over me, remember?”
Shouto presses deeper.
His finger sinks in slowly, working through the resistance of Katsuki’s body clenching around it, walls pulling tight and then reluctantly yielding. The wet sound of it fills the quiet room. Katsuki can feel every ridge of Shouto’s finger, the heat of it, the way his body keeps trying to tighten and can’t quite manage it.
“You’re wet,” Shouto says, voice low.
Katsuki breathes hard through his nose. “Because your dumb morning hard-on was grinding into my ass for ten minutes.”
His grip on Shouto’s wrist loosens. He doesn’t let go, but he stops pulling. Shouto leans in, chest to Katsuki’s back, and a second finger presses in beside the first, the stretch doubling before Katsuki’s body has finished adjusting to the first.
Katsuki jolts, a sharp inhale punching through him. He twists at the waist, one leg kicking under the sheets, his free hand fisting the blanket. “Tch — too much.”
His hips tip back anyway, a small involuntary roll that presses him down onto Shouto’s fingers before he can stop it.
Shouto hooks them slightly, testing. The pressure catches somewhere deep and Katsuki’s walls shudder around him, a flutter he can’t control, the stretch radiating low through his pelvis in a dull, spreading ache that sharpens each time Shouto curls his hand.
Then Shouto rises onto his knees and presses Katsuki flat against the mattress, palm firm between his shoulder blades. The sheets pull tight across Katsuki’s hips. His legs splay, cunt bared and wet and cooling fast against the morning air.
Katsuki bucks once. “Oi — get off —”
“Just this morning.” Shouto’s voice lands soft, almost quiet, completely at odds with the hand keeping him pinned. “Let me?”
His cock presses between Katsuki’s thighs again, still hard, the tip catching on the folds where his fingers just were, smearing heat across the entrance.
Katsuki registers this distantly. He just had his hand around it; he knows what Shouto felt like soft and what he feels like now, and there is no transition between the two worth naming. He goes still anyway. His mouth opens and closes. He stares at the headboard, jaw working.
“Only once,” he mutters.
He exhales against the pillow, breath hot and shaky, and tips his pelvis up in a tight, deliberate motion that opens him just enough.
Shouto breathes out against the back of his neck. “Stay like this.”
He pushes in slow. The head of his cock catches at the entrance, pressure building as his body resists, then gives, folds parting around the thickness of him and dragging wide. The burn spreads fast and deep, the stretch more than Katsuki’s ready for, his walls pulling taut around every inch of the slide.
“F-fuck. Wait—” The words pitch out of him, catching on raw edges. “You’re too deep—don’t—”
Shouto holds his position and keeps pressing forward, his pelvis driving down until it settles flush against the curve of Katsuki’s ass.
Katsuki drags air through his teeth and braces both hands hard against the sheets. The pressure blooms deep in his gut, every nerve inside him pulled taut and shivering; slick leaks around the base of Shouto’s cock, warm and spreading.
“You never prep enough,” Katsuki growls, voice strained.
Shouto’s hands drift back to his chest, pressing down through the thin fabric of his shirt, cupping both pecs, and his thumbs begin to move over his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. Katsuki’s teeth come together and a sound gets out of him before he can stop it, the heat of Shouto’s hands sharpening everything between his legs, running tension down through his stomach and into his pelvis.
Shouto begins to move. He withdraws in a long, slow drag, the ridge of him catching at the entrance before pulling free, then pushes back in measured and deep, cock filling him to the same depth as before, the stretch refusing to ease with each pass. Katsuki loses air with every return, breath punching out against the pillow in short, ragged bursts.
The wet sounds fill the room. Shouto breathes deep and steady behind him, and says nothing.
Katsuki bites his bottom lip until it stings.
His whole body resists it, and still he rolls back into each thrust, barely, just enough to feel the full length of the slide, and his hips know what they want even when he won’t say it, the shame of it sitting hot in his chest.
Shouto grinds forward again, slower but deeper, burying himself until the pressure finds something soft and low that drives the breath right out of Katsuki. He presses his fingers into the mattress.
“Shit—” he hisses. “Fucking—wait, I—”
Shouto closes his hand around Katsuki’s wrist and pulls it back, folding his arm behind him until his chest sinks lower into the sheets and his hips come up with the change in angle, thighs already starting to shake.
“I’m staying in,” Shouto says. “You keep pulling away. Stop.”
Katsuki shuts his mouth.
He chokes on a breath, his body too full and the sheets beneath him already soaked with slick, and tries to push back, but his arm stays pinned and Shouto’s hips press forward again, cock seated deep and barely moving, and his cunt grips around it in rhythmic, clenching waves he cannot get ahead of.
“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” Shouto mutters. “Always in the mornings.”
The slow grind pulls into rhythm. Shouto withdraws to the ridge of the head, pauses, then drives back in deep, the drag of him wet and thick, and the pace builds from there, each thrust landing with a slap of skin that spreads through the quiet room. Katsuki’s shorts are bunched around one thigh, his shirt rucked up past his ribs, and he arches back into each stroke before he can stop himself.
He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. What gets out is a breathless exhale, a ragged swear, a muffled cry that dies in the sheets before it finishes forming.
“Lemme go,” he says, voice gone hoarse.
Shouto leans over him instead, crowding the space above his back, pressing him into the mattress with the full weight of his chest. He releases Katsuki’s wrist and slides both hands under his shirt, palming his pecs, thumbs dragging rough over both nipples and pressing harder.
“You’re already soaked,” Shouto says. “Don’t tell me to stop when your body’s this wet for me.”
Katsuki jerks under him. “That’s—” he gasps, “—because you’re grinding into me like a fucking dog.”
Shouto thrusts harder, and the sound that tears out of Katsuki is high and split-open, his whole body pitching forward as Shouto’s grip hauls him back. Each stroke rolls him up the bed, knees dragging, thighs trembling.
“Feel that?” Shouto breathes against his ear. “You’ve barely taken half of it.”
“You—” Katsuki’s voice breaks apart. “Fuck—fuck, stop bragging—”
“I’m not,” Shouto says. “You’re just small.”
His cock drives deeper at the end of the next thrust, grinding forward until it hits something soft and low and Katsuki’s whole body locks around it, cunt spasming, slick welling in fresh pulses that soak through the sheets and run hot down the inside of his thigh. He shivers, cheeks burning, his breath falling out of him in pieces.
Shouto reaches for both wrists, drags them behind Katsuki’s back and pins them there. Katsuki bucks against the grip, but the position only lifts his hips higher, opening him wider, and he has nowhere to go and nothing to do but take each thrust as it arrives.
“I—Shou—fuck—I can’t—” His voice fractures down to nothing.
“You are,” Shouto says, and sets his mouth against the sweat-damp skin of Katsuki’s shoulder. “You’re taking all of it.”
Another thrust, deep and fast. Katsuki screams it into the sheets, every muscle in his pelvis clenching, his clit throbbing untouched and aching, the fullness burning in waves he can’t get ahead of.
“I said just once—” he chokes out.
“I didn’t finish,” Shouto says.
“You fucking did — earlier—”
“That wasn’t enough.”
Shouto shifts his grip, sliding one hand under Katsuki’s thigh and lifting it, opening him wider still, his other hand pressing the small of his back and locking him there.
“Don’t run,” Shouto says. “Not when you’re dripping like this.”
Katsuki sobs, a single broken sound with nothing behind it. His head sinks into the mattress, his hips stuttering forward now to meet each thrust, his body making decisions without him, chasing what it wants with no help from the part of him that knows better.
He clenches again, tight and rhythmic, and the orgasm rises before he can get his thoughts in front of it, and then there’s nothing to think.
“No — no, don’t—” he pants. “Don’t make me—”
“You’re gonna come,” Shouto says. “You always do when I fuck you like this.”
The pace sharpens. Each thrust pulls back to the tip before driving in hard, the full length of Shouto’s cock dragging through him on the way out and burying to the hilt on the return, fast enough now that the bed shifts under them and Katsuki cries out with every stroke. His legs kick. His ass rolls back into Shouto’s lap before he can stop it, wanting it and hating that he wants it.
His cunt locks down, the clench so tight he can feel every ridge, and then he comes, his body shaking through it as slick gushes down his inner thighs and soaks into the sheets. His arms go slack against Shouto’s grip. His breath comes apart.
Shouto fucks him through it, still buried inside, grinding deeper with each roll of his hips, hands hauling Katsuki back into every thrust like he intends to stay there.
Katsuki loses his voice somewhere in the middle of it. What comes out of him now is barely sound, soft and fractured, breath pushed out on each stroke and not quite coming back.
“Too much,” he whispers. “Too much — fuck—”
Shouto groans behind him, a low sound pressed against the back of his neck, and his rhythm stutters once before he drives forward a final time, hips flush and locked, cock twitching inside him. Katsuki feels the heat spread through him, filling him deep and slow, Shouto’s release mixing with the slick already coating his walls.
Shouto stays buried. He drapes his chest over Katsuki’s back, breath coming in rough pulls against the curve of his neck, and neither of them moves.
Katsuki shakes. His cunt clenches in little aftershocks he can’t stop, each one pulling a small, bitten-off sound out of him, walls still sore and overstretched and flooded. His arms are still where Shouto left them, pinned behind his back and forgotten. He lies with his face pressed to the sheets, breath fogging the fabric.
Shouto kisses his shoulder.
Katsuki swallows hard. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says, voice shredded to nothing.
Shouto breathes a laugh against his skin. “You always say that.”
He is still inside him. Katsuki clenches around him once, sharp, and means it as a warning.
“Get out before I throw you through the fucking wall.”
Shouto kisses the back of his neck, mouth slow and settled. “After a minute.”
He doesn't wait a minute.
Katsuki is still shaking, arms collapsed beneath him, forehead pressed to the damp sheets, his cunt still fluttering in weak, wrung-out spasms around the softening weight inside him, when Shouto begins to move. He pulls back in a long, wet drag, cock sliding free of Katsuki’s body in one unhurried stroke, and Katsuki hisses through his teeth at the slow withdrawal, the stretch retreating inch by inch and leaving a hollow ache in its place. His cunt clenches around the absence, sore and leaking slick down the insides of his thighs.
Shouto’s hands close around his waist.
“What—” Katsuki’s voice is thin, barely there. “What’re you—”
“Up,” Shouto says, already pulling. “Come here.”
He gets halfway through trying to resist before Shouto drags him upright, knees still tangled in the sheets, thighs parted, arms limp at his sides. Shouto settles beneath him and guides him down into his lap, and now Katsuki is straddling his thighs, face flushed, cunt pressed against the slick mess on Shouto’s stomach.
He grabs Shouto’s shoulders, fingers digging in. He means to push. To brace himself, to say no, this is enough, this was enough twenty minutes ago.
Shouto slides his cock back in.
The angle is worse from here. The head presses straight up, thick and insistent, splitting him wide before his body has finished adjusting to being empty, and Katsuki’s back snaps into an arch as his cunt gives around it, drawing Shouto inside inch by slow inch, the stretch burning all the way up.
“F-fuck — shit — wait—”
Shouto’s hands wrap around his hips and pull him down the rest of the way.
Katsuki shouts, the sound tearing out of him before he can catch it. The fullness hits deep and sudden, cock seated to the hilt, his thighs trembling with the force of the impact. He grips Shouto’s shoulders and tries to lift himself and his legs have nothing, his walls gripping tight around Shouto’s cock, still raw from the last orgasm, slick enough that the shift of pressure beneath him makes a filthy, wet sound neither of them acknowledges.
Shouto slides both palms under Katsuki’s shirt. He drags them up along his sides, thumbs brushing over his ribs, and shoves the fabric higher, bunching it beneath Katsuki’s arms, baring his chest to the cool morning air. Katsuki shivers. Shouto takes his pecs in both hands, curls his fingers in, and bends forward.
His mouth closes over one nipple and sucks, lips pulling the skin in tight and holding it.
“F-fuck — Shouto—”
Katsuki jolts. His hips twitch. The suction pulls taut between Shouto’s lips, hot and wet, and Shouto’s tongue drags over the tip once before he bites down, just enough to sting. He seals his lips again and works at it steadily, mouth demanding, and the heat of it shoots down through Katsuki’s chest and into his stomach like a wire pulled tight.
Katsuki digs his nails into Shouto’s shoulders.
He tries to pull back and Shouto’s hands on his hips haul him down, seating his cock deeper, making him feel every inch of the drag against his insides as Shouto sucks harder. The rhythm builds from there, Shouto’s hips rocking up in a slow grind while his mouth stays locked to Katsuki’s chest, and Katsuki’s whole body jerks with each movement, thighs shaking, breath coming too fast and too shallow. Fresh slick gushes down over Shouto’s lap.
Shouto groans against his skin, the vibration spreading through the raw, swollen peak, and then his mouth drags across Katsuki’s chest and closes over the other nipple with the same ruthless attention, tongue flicking fast while he bites down. Katsuki cries out, broken and too loud, hips lurching forward, and Shouto locks him in place with both hands and fucks up into him harder.
“I — Shou — fuck, I can’t — I’m—”
Shouto doesn't answer. His tongue keeps moving. His cock keeps driving up, and with every stroke another sound gets pulled out of Katsuki, something wrecked and breathless, every nerve in his chest rubbed raw where Shouto’s mouth won’t stop and the pressure from below building past anything he can brace against.
The next orgasm builds fast and mean, his walls clamping down around Shouto’s cock before he has time to dread it, muscles locking, head snapping back. He comes with his mouth open and no sound coming out, his cunt pulsing in waves, chest burning where Shouto’s mouth keeps working like he is trying to leave marks. He shudders through it, hips jerking, slick spilling hot across both their thighs.
Shouto doesn't stop. He keeps thrusting up through every second of it, his mouth sealing around one nipple and pressing his tongue flat before circling again, and Katsuki’s chest feels scraped open, every nerve rubbed past the edge, skin flushed and stinging.
Katsuki clutches Shouto’s shoulders and tries to lift himself. His legs buckle and his hips twitch in small, useless jerks, his weight held down by Shouto’s hands, his cunt fluttering around the cock still buried inside him, his stomach pulling tight with each aftershock.
Tears track down his face before he notices them. His voice has gone high and thin.
“Shouto — please — too much — I can’t—”
Shouto lifts his head.
“Stay.”
He licks over the swollen nipple in one slow drag from base to tip, then sinks his cock deeper.
Katsuki cries out and folds forward over him, forehead dropping to his shoulder, hips pinned open, chest bare and aching, his cunt clenching and twitching around Shouto’s cock and pulling him toward another edge with no concern for whether he is ready for it.
Shouto tips his chin up with two fingers and watches him like he has nowhere else to be.