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The card flips red, and Denki crows with laughter.
“King’s cup says—” He squints at the rule written on the card, grin widening. “—says whoever drew last has to sit on someone’s lap for the rest of the night. Bakugou, that’s you, man.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightens, his grip on his beer bottle going white-knuckled, but the table erupts in cheers and he’s already had enough to drink that arguing feels like more effort than just doing it. He shoves his chair back with a scrape of wood on hardwood and scans the circle of their friends, all of them heroes now, all of them drunk enough to be shouting in Mina’s apartment.
“Fine. Move over, Kirishima—”
“Todoroki,” Mina interrupts, her voice sing-song and dangerous. “It has to be Todoroki because he’s the one who made the rule.”
The table goes quiet for half a second, everyone’s eyes swinging between Katsuki and Shouto, and Katsuki’s face burns hotter than it should from just the alcohol. Shouto is watching him from across the table with that same unreadable expression he’s had all night, heterochromatic eyes steady like he hasn’t just been chosen as the target for this stupid fucking dare.
“Whatever,” Katsuki mutters, rounding the table before anyone can make it into a bigger thing than it already is.
Shouto leans back in his chair without a word, spreading his thighs to make room, and when Katsuki drops onto his lap he’s reminded viscerally of the size difference between them. Shouto is broader through the shoulders and chest, taller by enough that when Katsuki settles his weight down, his back doesn’t even reach the top of Shouto’s sternum. Shouto’s thighs are solid beneath him, thick with muscle, and his hands come up to bracket Katsuki’s hips, fingers spanning wide enough that his thumbs rest on Katsuki’s lower back while his fingertips press into his hipbones.
Katsuki grabs his beer from where he left it and takes a long pull, trying to ignore the way he fits against Shouto’s chest, the way Shouto’s chin could rest on top of his head if he leaned forward even slightly.
“Rest of the night,” Katsuki says, his voice coming out rougher than intended. “This is fucking stupid.”
“Very stupid,” Shouto agrees, his voice a low rumble that Katsuki feels more than hears, and his hands settle more firmly on Katsuki’s hips.
The game continues. Sero draws next and gets a rule about drink-or-dare that has Mina shrieking, and Katsuki tries to focus on the cards, on the noise, on anything except the heat of Shouto’s body beneath him. Shouto’s hands stay on his hips, thumbs resting just above his hipbones, and for several minutes nothing happens. They’re just sitting there, Katsuki perched on Shouto’s lap while the game goes on around them.
Then Shouto’s left hand shifts, sliding from Katsuki’s hip to rest on his thigh. The movement looks casual, the kind of adjustment anyone would make, and no one at the table even glances their way. His palm is warm through the denim, fingers curling slightly to grip the muscle there.
Katsuki’s fingers tighten on the neck of his beer bottle.
Shouto’s thumb starts moving, dragging a slow circle against Katsuki’s outer thigh, and Katsuki shifts his weight, trying to dislodge the touch without being obvious about it. Shouto’s other hand tightens on his hip in response, holding him in place, and the thumb keeps moving in those same lazy circles.
Denki is dealing cards now, arguing with Jirou about whose turn it is, and Katsuki watches the game unfold while Shouto’s hand slides higher on his thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle with enough pressure that Katsuki feels it through the denim. Shouto keeps his movements subtle enough that no one at the table glances their way, but Katsuki’s pulse is starting to pick up, his breathing going slightly shallower.
Then he feels it.
Heat, precise and controlled, blooming against his inner thigh where Shouto’s fingertips press into the fabric. The warmth builds gradually, controlled enough that it stays below pain, perfectly calibrated to separate denim threads beneath Shouto’s quirk. The fabric gives way in silence, and cool air hits bare skin where there should still be jeans.
Katsuki goes completely still.
Shouto burned through his pants. A careful controlled opening in the inseam, hidden by the way Katsuki is sitting and by the table edge that cuts off everyone’s view. His hand doesn’t move from where it rests on Katsuki’s thigh, fingers splayed wide, but Katsuki can feel the destruction spreading, the hole getting larger as Shouto applies heat in precise increments.
“What the fuck,” Katsuki hisses, so quiet the words barely make it past his teeth.
Shouto’s fingers slide through the opening he created, calloused fingertips dragging against bare skin, and Katsuki’s spine goes rigid. Across the table, Mina is laughing at something Sero said, Kirishima is shuffling cards, and no one is looking at them, no one notices that Shouto’s hand has disappeared between Katsuki’s thighs.
“You can get up if you want,” Shouto murmurs, his mouth close enough to Katsuki’s ear that his breath ghosts across the shell of it. “Tell them you need the bathroom.”
Katsuki should. He should get up right now and put distance between himself and whatever game Shouto thinks he’s playing. But Shouto’s fingers are tracing the line of his inner thigh, moving higher with each pass, and Katsuki’s body has stopped listening to his brain entirely.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki breathes, but he doesn’t move.
Shouto’s fingers find the edge of his underwear and slip beneath it, and Katsuki’s hand spasms around his beer bottle hard enough that his knuckles crack.
The first touch is feather-light, just the pad of Shouto’s index finger dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, tracing the line back and forth like he’s mapping it out. Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, his shoulders going tense, and across the table Kirishima is asking him something about tomorrow’s patrol schedule.
“Yeah,” Katsuki forces out, his voice rougher than it should be. “Same route as last week.”
Kirishima nods and goes back to his conversation with Sero, and Shouto’s finger slides lower, pressing between Katsuki’s legs to find the seam of his cunt through his underwear. The touch is deliberate, with no hesitation, and Katsuki’s thighs try to clamp together reflexively before Shouto’s other hand moves from his hip to his knee, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he forces Katsuki’s legs back open.
“Stay still,” Shouto murmurs against the back of his neck, so quiet that Katsuki almost doesn’t hear it over Mina’s laughter.
Katsuki’s face is burning, his pulse hammering in his ears, and he takes another pull from his beer to have something to do with his hands because if he doesn’t he’s going to grab Shouto’s wrist and either shove it away or pull it closer, and he doesn’t know which would be worse. Shouto’s finger presses harder, rubbing along his slit through the fabric, and Katsuki can feel himself starting to get wet, heat pooling low in his gut despite every rational part of his brain screaming at him that this is insane.
The game continues. Denki draws a card that makes everyone drink, and Katsuki lifts his beer to his mouth with a hand that’s steadier than it has any right to be, swallowing while Shouto’s finger keeps moving in measured strokes. His underwear is getting damp, the fabric clinging to his folds, and Shouto seems to notice because his finger hooks beneath the elastic and pulls it aside.
Katsuki’s spine goes rigid, his beer bottle hitting the table harder than intended, but no one looks their way. Everyone is too focused on Mina trying to make up a new rule, arguing about what counts as a waterfall, and Shouto’s bare finger drags through Katsuki’s folds for the first time.
The touch is electric, skin on skin, and Katsuki has to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper to keep from making a sound. Shouto’s finger slides through the wetness gathering there, spreading it around with methodical precision, and then he finds Katsuki’s clit and presses down.
Katsuki’s hips jerk forward involuntarily, his body trying to escape the sensation, but Shouto’s arm wraps around his waist and hauls him back, settling him more firmly on his lap. The hand between his legs doesn’t stop, finger circling his clit in tight patterns that make Katsuki’s thighs start to tremble.
“Your turn, Bakugou,” Jirou says, and Katsuki’s eyes snap to the card she’s holding out to him.
He reaches across the table and takes it, his fingers only shaking slightly, and flips it over. Seven of hearts. He reads the rule printed on it but the words don’t process because Shouto’s finger has moved from his clit to press against his entrance, testing the give there.
“What’s it say?” Sero asks.
Katsuki’s throat is too tight, his brain scrambling to remember what seven means. “Uh—heaven. Hands up.”
Everyone’s hands shoot up, and Katsuki raises his too, his arm feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Denki is the last one up and has to drink, and the game moves on while Shouto’s finger pushes inside.
The penetration is shallow, just the tip, but it’s enough to make Katsuki’s walls clench around the intrusion, his body trying to pull it deeper. Shouto holds it there for a moment, letting Katsuki adjust to the feeling, and then he starts to move, fucking him with just that first inch while his thumb finds Katsuki’s clit again and resumes those same maddening circles.
Katsuki is going to lose his mind. He’s sitting at a table with six of their friends, all of them drunk and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact that Shouto has a finger inside him, and his cunt is getting wetter with every stroke, slick gathering around Shouto’s finger and starting to drip down onto his palm. The wet sounds are quiet, masked by the noise of the party and the music playing from Mina’s speakers, but Katsuki can hear them, can feel each obscene squelch as Shouto’s finger pushes in and pulls out.
“You good, man?” Kirishima asks, and Katsuki realizes he’s been staring at the same spot on the table for too long.
“Fine,” Katsuki grits out. “Just tired.”
“Yeah, you look kinda flushed,” Mina says, leaning forward with a concerned expression. “You feeling okay?”
Shouto’s finger pushes deeper, sliding in to the second knuckle, and his thumb presses down hard on Katsuki’s clit. Katsuki’s breath stutters, his hand clenching on the edge of the table, and he forces himself to meet Mina’s eyes.
“I’m fine. It’s hot in here.”
Mina accepts this with a shrug and goes back to dealing cards, and Shouto rewards Katsuki by adding a second finger, the stretch immediate and overwhelming. Katsuki’s thighs are shaking now, muscles jumping under Shouto’s hand, and he can feel sweat starting to bead at his hairline. Shouto’s fingers curl inside him, stroking against his front wall in a way that makes Katsuki see stars, and his thumb keeps working his clit in those same relentless circles.
The game blurs. Cards are drawn and rules are called and drinks are taken, and Katsuki participates on autopilot, his brain too scrambled to do anything except try to keep his expression neutral while Shouto fingers him open. His cunt is soaked now, slick coating Shouto’s fingers and dripping down to soak into his jeans, and every time Shouto’s fingers push in the wet sound gets louder, more obvious.
But no one hears it. No one notices.
Shouto’s fingers move faster, fucking into him with purpose now, and his thumb speeds up on Katsuki’s clit, the pressure increasing until Katsuki’s vision starts to blur at the edges. His walls are clenching rhythmically around Shouto’s fingers, his body chasing an orgasm that he absolutely cannot have here, not surrounded by their friends, not while he’s supposed to be playing cards.
“Don’t,” Katsuki breathes, so quiet it’s barely a whisper, his hand reaching down to grab Shouto’s wrist through his jeans.
Shouto’s fingers don’t stop. If anything they move harder, curling up to hit that spot inside him that makes his whole body jerk, and his thumb grinds down on his clit with enough pressure that Katsuki’s mouth falls open on a silent gasp.
The orgasm hits him like a freight train, pleasure crashing through his body in waves that make his thighs clamp together and his walls spasm around Shouto’s fingers. He’s coming at a table full of their friends, his face burning with shame and arousal, and Shouto just keeps finger-fucking him through it, drawing out every aftershock until Katsuki is trembling and oversensitized and completely wrecked.
When it finally subsides, Katsuki is slumped back against Shouto’s chest, his breathing too fast and too shallow, and he can feel slick soaking through his underwear and jeans, coating Shouto’s hand. Shouto’s fingers slip out of him slowly, and Katsuki thinks maybe it’s over, maybe Shouto got what he wanted and will let him sit here in peace for the rest of this nightmare dare.
Then he feels Shouto’s hand move, adjusting his grip, and three fingers push inside at once.
Katsuki’s hand slams down on the table, his beer bottle tipping over and spilling across the surface. Everyone jumps, Mina yelping as beer runs toward her cards, and Katsuki barely manages to grab napkins and start mopping it up with shaking hands.
“Jesus, Bakugou,” Denki laughs. “How drunk are you?”
“Not drunk enough,” Katsuki mutters, his voice coming out strained, because Shouto’s three fingers are buried inside him to the knuckle, stretching him wider than he’s ever been stretched before.
The burn is immediate and intense, his walls struggling to accommodate the width, and Shouto holds them there, completely still, letting Katsuki’s body adjust. His other arm is still wrapped around Katsuki’s waist, keeping him pinned to his lap, and Katsuki can feel Shouto’s chest rising and falling against his back in steady even breaths like he’s not doing anything at all.
“Breathe,” Shouto murmurs against his ear, and Katsuki realizes he’s holding his breath, his whole body locked up tight.
He forces himself to exhale, and Shouto’s fingers start to move, pulling out halfway before pushing back in. The stretch is overwhelming, bordering on too much, and Katsuki’s hands grip the edge of the table hard enough that his knuckles go white. Shouto’s fingers move in a steady rhythm, fucking into him with purpose, and Katsuki’s brain is screaming at him that this isn’t just touching anymore, this is preparation, Shouto is preparing him for something.
The realization hits the same moment Katsuki feels something hard and thick press against his ass through Shouto’s jeans.
Shouto is hard. Fully hard, his cock straining against the denim, and it’s pressing against Katsuki in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how big it is. Panic floods through Katsuki’s chest, his heart rate spiking, because there’s no way, there’s absolutely no fucking way Shouto is planning to—
Shouto’s fingers pull out completely, and Katsuki hears the quiet sound of a zipper.
“No,” Katsuki hisses, trying to shift forward off Shouto’s lap, but Shouto’s arm tightens around his waist and holds him in place, immovable.
“You can still get up,” Shouto says quietly, his mouth against Katsuki’s ear. “Tell them you need to leave.”
Katsuki should. He should get up right now and walk away and deal with whatever embarrassment comes from breaking the dare early. But his body won’t move, frozen in place, and he can feel Shouto’s cock now, bare and hot against his ass where Shouto has pulled it free from his jeans, and it’s huge, thick enough that Katsuki’s brain stutters trying to comprehend how that’s supposed to fit inside him.
“I’ve never—” Katsuki starts, his voice barely audible, and his throat closes up before he can finish the sentence.
Shouto goes completely still behind him. His hand spreads wide on Katsuki’s stomach, fingers pressing in, and when he speaks again his voice has dropped even lower.
“Never?”
Katsuki can’t answer. Can’t admit out loud that he’s twenty-four years old and has never done this, that every hookup has ended before it got this far, that he’s always been too focused on hero work to prioritize figuring out what he actually wants. His silence is answer enough.
Shouto’s cock presses against his entrance, the head nudging between his folds, and Katsuki’s entire body locks up. Across the table, Kirishima is telling some story about a villain fight, everyone leaning in to listen, and Katsuki is about to lose his virginity sitting on Shouto’s lap in the middle of a drinking game.
“Relax,” Shouto says against his neck, his breath hot on Katsuki’s skin, and his hand slides from Katsuki’s stomach to his hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. “If you tense up it’s going to hurt more.”
Katsuki can’t relax. His muscles are coiled tight, his breathing coming in short panicked gasps, but Shouto starts pushing in anyway, the head of his cock breaching Katsuki’s entrance with steady inexorable pressure. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, so much wider than Shouto’s fingers, and Katsuki’s hands fly back to grab at Shouto’s thighs, his nails digging in through the denim.
“Stop,” Katsuki gasps, but it comes out as barely more than a breath, and Shouto keeps pushing, keeps feeding his cock into Katsuki inch by agonizing inch.
Katsuki’s walls are clenching around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the impossible width, and he can feel every ridge, every vein, the way his body is being forced to open around something it’s never taken before. His thighs are trembling violently, his whole body shaking, and tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes from the intensity of the sensation.
Shouto is only halfway in.
“You’re doing so well,” Shouto murmurs, and his hand moves from Katsuki’s hip to wrap around his waist again, pulling him back down onto his cock with more force.
Katsuki’s back arches, his spine bowing, and a choked sound escapes him that he barely manages to swallow before it can get loud enough for anyone to hear. Shouto keeps pulling him down, keeps pushing up into him, and Katsuki’s hands are scrabbling at Shouto’s thighs now, trying to find purchase, trying to ground himself against the overwhelming fullness.
“I can’t—it’s too much—” Katsuki gasps, and Shouto’s arm tightens around his waist, holding him completely still.
“You can,” Shouto says, and he pushes in the rest of the way in one smooth thrust.
Katsuki’s vision whites out. He’s full, impossibly full, stretched so wide around Shouto’s cock that he can feel it in his throat. His walls are clenching desperately around the intrusion, trying to adjust, trying to make room, and Shouto is fully seated inside him now, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against Katsuki’s ass.
“Breathe,” Shouto says again, and Katsuki realizes he’s holding his breath again, his lungs burning.
He drags in a shaky breath, then another, and Shouto doesn’t move, just holds him there, lets him adjust to being filled for the first time. Katsuki is clutching at Shouto’s thighs hard enough to leave marks, his whole body trembling, and he can feel slick leaking out around Shouto’s cock, dripping down to soak into Shouto’s jeans.
Across the table, someone says something funny and everyone laughs, and Katsuki has to force his expression into something neutral, has to pretend like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside down by the feeling of Shouto’s cock splitting him open.
“Good?” Shouto asks quietly, and Katsuki wants to say no, wants to say this is the furthest thing from good, but what comes out is a strangled sound that might be agreement.
Shouto’s hips shift slightly, adjusting his angle, and the movement makes his cock drag against Katsuki’s front wall in a way that sends sparks shooting through his nervous system. Katsuki’s hands spasm on Shouto’s thighs, his walls clenching down hard, and Shouto makes a quiet sound low in his throat that Katsuki feels more than hears.
“Stay still,” Shouto says, his voice strained for the first time all night. “Just sit here and take it. We have all night.”
Katsuki’s brain is short-circuiting, trying to process the fact that he’s sitting at a table full of their friends with Shouto’s cock buried inside him, and he can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe around the overwhelming fullness. His walls are still clenching rhythmically around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the size, and every small shift of Shouto’s body behind him makes his cock move inside Katsuki in ways that send shockwaves through his nervous system.
“Alright, whose turn is it?” Mina asks, shuffling the cards.
“Bakugou’s,” Jirou says, and Katsuki’s eyes snap to her, his brain scrambling to catch up.
“Right,” he forces out, his voice coming out rougher than it should. He reaches for the deck with a hand that shakes slightly, and when he leans forward to grab a card Shouto’s cock shifts inside him, the angle changing, and Katsuki has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.
He draws the card. King of spades. His vision blurs slightly as he tries to focus on the text.
“King,” he manages. “Make a rule.”
“Oh hell yes,” Denki crows. “What’s it gonna be, Bakugou?”
Katsuki’s mind is blank, completely empty except for the feeling of Shouto inside him, stretching him, filling him so completely that he swears he can feel it in his throat. Shouto’s hand is still wrapped around his waist, fingers splayed wide across his stomach, and as Katsuki hesitates Shouto’s thumb starts moving in slow circles against his skin.
“Every time you say ‘fuck’ you have to drink,” Katsuki finally says, and the table erupts in groans and laughter.
“That’s evil, man,” Kirishima laughs. “Half of us are gonna be wasted in ten minutes.”
“That’s the point,” Katsuki mutters, and he tries to settle back against Shouto’s chest, but the movement makes him sink down further onto Shouto’s cock and suddenly there’s pressure, deep and intense, something inside him that Shouto’s cock is pressing against.
Katsuki’s whole body goes rigid, his breath catching in his throat, because whatever Shouto just hit feels different from everything else, more intense, almost painful in how overwhelming it is. It’s deep, deeper than anything has ever been, and the pressure is radiating out from that point into his hips and lower back, making his legs go weak.
“You good?” Kirishima asks, and Katsuki realizes he’s frozen in place, his hands white-knuckled on the edge of the table.
“Fine,” Katsuki grits out. “Just—tired.”
Shouto’s hand on his waist tightens, and he pulls Katsuki back more firmly against his chest, the movement forcing Katsuki to sink down another fraction of an inch. The pressure inside intensifies, Shouto’s cock pressing harder against that deep internal wall, and Katsuki’s vision goes fuzzy at the edges.
“Dude, you look like you’re gonna pass out,” Sero says, leaning forward with a concerned expression. “Maybe you should call it on the dare, man. We won’t hold it against you.”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snaps, his voice coming out harsher than intended, and he grabs his beer and takes a long pull to prove the point even though his hand is shaking.
The game continues, Sero drawing next and getting something that makes everyone groan, but Katsuki isn’t paying attention because Shouto is shifting beneath him, adjusting his position in the chair. His hips tilt slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly his cock is pressing even harder against that spot inside, grinding against it with steady pressure.
Katsuki’s mouth falls open on a silent gasp, his beer bottle nearly slipping from his fingers. The sensation is overwhelming, too much, bordering on painful but not quite, just intense enough that his entire body is screaming at him to move, to get away from it, but Shouto’s arm is an iron band around his waist keeping him exactly where he is.
“So I heard you’re taking on that surveillance mission next week,” Denki says, directing the question at Katsuki.
Katsuki’s brain takes several seconds to process the words, to understand that he’s being spoken to and needs to respond. “Yeah,” he forces out, his voice tight. “Three day—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as Shouto shifts again, grinding up into him. “Three day rotation.”
“That sucks, man,” Denki continues, completely oblivious. “Surveillance is so boring.”
“It’s fine,” Katsuki says, and he’s barely tracking the conversation anymore because all he can focus on is the pressure inside him, the way Shouto’s cock is pressing so deep it feels like it’s rearranging his insides. He doesn’t know what Shouto is hitting, doesn’t have the vocabulary for it, but it’s making his thighs tremble and his walls clench and his breathing come in short shallow gasps that he’s struggling to control.
“You’re taking it really well,” Shouto murmurs against his ear, so quiet that no one else can hear over Mina’s loud story about a villain she fought last week. His hand slides from Katsuki’s waist down to his hip, gripping hard, and then he’s pulling Katsuki down while pushing up with his hips at the same time.
The movement is small, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but it forces Katsuki down further onto his cock and the pressure inside becomes almost unbearable. Shouto’s cock is grinding against that deep spot with more force now, and Katsuki’s hands slam down on the table, his whole body going tense.
“—right, Bakugou?” Mina is asking him something.
“What?” Katsuki gasps out, his vision blurred, and everyone is looking at him now.
“I said you did the same route last month, right?” Mina repeats, tilting her head. “You okay? You’re sweating like crazy.”
Katsuki’s face is on fire, sweat beading at his temples and down his spine, and he knows he must look wrecked but he can’t do anything about it because Shouto is still grinding into him, still pressing against that spot that’s making his entire body feel like it’s been plugged into an electrical socket.
“It’s hot,” Katsuki mutters, grabbing napkins from the center of the table and wiping his forehead. “And yeah, same route.”
Mina seems satisfied with this and goes back to the game, and Shouto rewards Katsuki by relaxing slightly, the grinding pressure easing off. Katsuki sags back against his chest, gasping quietly, his whole body trembling from the intensity of the sensation.
But Shouto isn’t done.
His hand slides from Katsuki’s hip to his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle there, and he starts moving Katsuki on his cock in small incremental shifts. Lifting him slightly, then pulling him back down. Over and over, each movement tiny enough that it could be mistaken for fidgeting, for adjusting position, but each one makes Shouto’s cock drag against Katsuki’s walls and grind against that deep spot that’s making Katsuki lose his mind.
“So who’s up next?” Kirishima asks, and the game continues around them while Shouto maneuvers Katsuki slowly, methodically, using his superior strength to move Katsuki however he wants.
Katsuki tries to resist, tries to keep himself still, but Shouto’s hands are too strong and his grip is too firm and every time Katsuki tenses up Shouto just pulls him down harder. His cock is hitting that deep spot on every movement now, the pressure constant and overwhelming, and Katsuki can feel something building inside him that’s different from the orgasm earlier, something deeper and more intense.
“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes, and then remembers his own rule. He grabs his beer and drinks, but his hand is shaking so badly that some of it spills down his chin.
“Lightweight,” Denki laughs, and everyone joins in, and Katsuki wants to die because he’s sitting here falling apart on Shouto’s cock while everyone makes jokes about how drunk he is.
Shouto’s movements get slightly larger, pulling Katsuki up a few inches before letting him sink back down, and the slide of his cock against Katsuki’s walls is slick and obscene and Katsuki is producing so much slick now that he can feel it leaking out around Shouto’s cock, soaking into both their jeans. Each time Shouto pulls him down his cock hits that deep spot with more force, grinding against it, and Katsuki’s vision is going white at the edges from the intensity.
“Breathe,” Shouto murmurs against his neck, and Katsuki realizes he’s holding his breath again, his lungs burning.
He drags in air, his chest heaving, and Shouto’s hand moves from his thigh to wrap around his waist again, holding him pinned while his other hand adjusts their position slightly. The new angle makes his cock press against that spot from a different direction and Katsuki’s back arches involuntarily, his spine curving, and he has to bite down on his fist to keep from crying out.
“Easy,” Shouto says quietly. “You’re doing so well. Just a little more.”
Katsuki doesn’t know what ‘a little more’ means, doesn’t know what Shouto is trying to accomplish, but his body is trembling violently now, his walls clenching so tight around Shouto’s cock that it must be almost painful, and that pressure deep inside is building to something that feels like it’s going to tear him apart.
“Your turn, Todoroki,” Jirou says, and Shouto reaches past Katsuki to draw a card, the movement making his cock shift inside and grind against that spot again.
Katsuki’s hands fly to Shouto’s forearms, nails digging into skin, and he holds on while Shouto looks at his card with that same calm expression like he’s not currently buried balls-deep in Katsuki’s cunt.
“Five,” Shouto says, his voice steady. “Guys drink.”
Kirishima, Sero, and Denki all groan and drink, and Shouto sets the card down and shifts beneath Katsuki, his hips rolling slightly in a movement that anyone watching would interpret as getting comfortable but that makes his cock grind up into Katsuki with devastating precision.
Katsuki’s walls clench down hard, involuntary, his body reacting before his brain can stop it, and he feels Shouto’s breath hitch against the back of his neck. The grip on his waist tightens, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, and Shouto goes completely still for a moment like he’s trying to regain control.
“Bakugou!” Mina’s voice cuts through the haze, and Katsuki’s whole body jerks at the sudden loud address, his walls clamping down even harder around Shouto’s cock.
“What,” Katsuki gasps out, his voice strangled.
“You gonna drink or what? You said ‘fuck’ like three times,” Mina says, grinning at him.
Katsuki’s brain scrambles to remember his own rule, and he grabs his beer and drinks, but the movement makes him lean forward and then rock back, and when he settles onto Shouto’s lap again the angle is different, deeper somehow, and Shouto’s cock hits that spot inside him with enough force that Katsuki’s vision whites out for a second.
His hands slam back onto Shouto’s forearms, nails breaking skin this time, and his thighs are shaking so hard that everyone can probably see it. Shouto’s cock is so deep now that Katsuki feels like he’s going to split apart, that pressure inside him radiating out into his entire pelvis, and his walls are fluttering around the intrusion in a way that he can’t control.
“You look really out of it,” Kirishima says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Maybe you should—”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snaps, but his voice comes out too high, too breathless, and he can feel more slick leaking out around Shouto’s cock, probably soaking through to the chair at this point.
Shouto’s hand moves from his waist to his hip, and then he’s guiding Katsuki’s movements again, but this time instead of lifting and lowering him he’s making Katsuki grind, rocking his hips forward and back in tiny circles that keep Shouto buried deep while making his cock drag against every sensitive spot inside.
Katsuki’s mouth falls open, a choked sound escaping that he barely manages to turn into a cough, and Shouto’s other hand comes up to rest on his stomach, fingers splaying wide. The grinding continues, small enough movements that it looks like Katsuki is just shifting position, but each rock forward makes Shouto’s cock press harder against that deep spot and each rock back makes it drag against his front wall, and Katsuki is going to lose his mind.
“Todoroki, truth or dare,” Denki says, and Shouto answers without hesitation.
“Truth.”
“Okay, okay—” Denki grins, clearly already drunk. “Who’s the hottest person at this table?”
The question makes everyone laugh and groan, and Katsuki feels Shouto’s chest rumble against his back with quiet amusement. Shouto’s hands keep guiding Katsuki’s hips in those grinding circles, and Katsuki is barely holding it together, his walls clenching rhythmically around Shouto’s cock.
“Bakugou,” Shouto says simply, and the table erupts.
Katsuki’s entire body goes rigid, his walls clamping down so hard around Shouto that he hears Shouto’s breath catch, feels the way Shouto’s fingers dig bruisingly into his hip. The grinding stops for a moment as Shouto holds him completely still, and Katsuki can feel Shouto’s cock pulsing inside him, can feel the way Shouto’s breathing has gone ragged against his neck.
“Oh shit,” Mina cackles. “That’s not awkward at all.”
“Fuck off,” Katsuki mutters, his face burning, and he has to drink again for his own rule while everyone makes jokes about it.
Shouto leans forward slightly to grab his own beer, and the movement changes the angle again, his cock sliding somehow even deeper, and Katsuki’s hands fly back to grip Shouto’s thighs, his nails digging in through the denim. That spot inside him is being hit with constant pressure now, Shouto grinding against it with every tiny shift of his body, and Katsuki can feel something building that’s going to destroy him.
“Your deal, Bakugou,” Jirou says, sliding the deck toward him.
Katsuki has to lean forward to reach it, and the movement makes him lift off Shouto’s cock slightly before gravity pulls him back down. The drop makes Shouto’s cock slam into that deep spot with brutal force, and Katsuki’s vision goes black at the edges, his hand knocking over his beer bottle as he tries to catch himself on the table.
“Fuck—shit—” Katsuki gasps, and several people laugh.
“Dude, you gotta drink for that,” Sero points out.
“I know,” Katsuki grits out, righting his beer bottle with shaking hands and taking another drink even though he’s definitely past the point of being able to taste it anymore.
Shouto’s hands are back on his hips, both of them now, and he’s controlling Katsuki’s movements completely, grinding him down onto his cock in slow circles that make Katsuki want to scream. His walls are so tight around Shouto now that he can feel every pulse, every twitch of Shouto’s cock inside him, and he knows Shouto is getting close, can feel it in the way his breathing has changed, in the way his grip has gotten rougher.
“Bakugou, you’re up,” Kirishima says, and Katsuki forces himself to focus, to reach for the deck.
His hands are shaking so badly that he can barely hold the cards, and when he draws one and tries to read it the words blur together. He squints at it, trying to make sense of the text, but Shouto chooses that moment to grind up into him particularly hard and all thought evacuates his brain.
“What’s it say?” Denki asks.
“Uh—” Katsuki’s voice is wrecked. “Queen. Questions.”
“Oh this is gonna be good,” Mina says, leaning forward. “Okay, Bakugou—have you ever hooked up with someone at this table?”
The question hits him like a truck, and his walls clench down hard around Shouto again, involuntary, and this time he feels Shouto’s whole body go tense behind him. Shouto’s cock is pulsing inside him now, twitching, and Katsuki knows he’s right on the edge.
“Pass,” Katsuki forces out, his voice barely audible, and everyone boos.
“You have to drink if you pass,” Jirou reminds him, and Katsuki grabs what’s left of his beer and downs it, his throat working.
Shouto’s hands tighten on his hips, fingers digging in so hard that Katsuki knows he’ll have bruises shaped like fingerprints tomorrow, and then Shouto is grinding him down one more time, pulling him back as hard as he can while pushing up, and his cock hits that deep spot with enough force that Katsuki sees stars.
“Fuck,” Katsuki chokes out, and he feels it happen.
Shouto’s cock pulses once, twice, and then heat is flooding into him, wet and overwhelming. Shouto is coming inside him, buried balls-deep in Katsuki’s cunt, and Katsuki’s walls clench around him involuntarily, trying to milk every drop. Shouto’s face is pressed against the back of Katsuki’s neck, his breathing ragged, and his hands are holding Katsuki down so firmly that pulling off is impossible, escape unreachable, leaving Katsuki pinned in place to take every bit of Shouto’s release.
Katsuki’s whole body is trembling, overwhelmed by the sensation of Shouto coming inside him, of being used like this, of losing his virginity at a table full of their friends who have no idea what just happened. He can feel Shouto’s come inside him, thick enough that it’s leaking out around Shouto’s cock, dripping down to soak into his already-ruined jeans.
Shouto’s grip on his hips loosens slightly, and Katsuki thinks maybe it’s over, maybe he can finally escape this nightmare, but then Shouto’s mouth is against his ear, his voice rough.
“You’re coming home with me tonight.”
The words land with absolute certainty, delivered with the same finality Shouto uses when making mission calls, and Katsuki’s walls clench around him in response.
“I—” Katsuki starts, but his voice won’t work properly, his brain too scrambled to form a coherent response.
“Not up for debate,” Shouto continues, his hand sliding from Katsuki’s hip to his stomach, pressing in like he’s feeling where his cock is buried inside. “We’re not done.”
Katsuki’s breathing is coming in short panicked gasps, because Shouto is still hard inside him, still fully seated despite just coming, and the implication of ‘we’re not done’ is making Katsuki’s brain short-circuit completely.
“Alright, whose turn?” Mina asks, oblivious, and the game continues around them while Katsuki sits there with Shouto’s come leaking out of him, his body oversensitized from what just happened, completely owned by the man whose lap he’s still trapped on.
Shouto’s cock hasn’t softened at all. If anything it feels thicker inside him, and Katsuki realizes with dawning horror that Shouto meant what he said. This is only the start. Katsuki has no choice but to sit here, impaled on Shouto’s cock, leaking his come, waiting for the night to end so Shouto can take him home and continue.