It’s eight in the morning, Izuku thinks dazedly to himself, hips humping erratically, fingers pressing and gripping so hard he’s sure the flesh under his hands will bruise, but he doesn’t care. It’s hard to care when he has Kacchan, his Kacchan, speared open on his cock, gasping and moaning, crying out as Izuku’s thrusts get harder, faster, pummeling into him almost unnaturally fast.
The flush on his face reaches down his chest, nipples red and raw from too much attention earlier, and Katsuki has his hands fisted in the sheets by his head, back arched so prettily, accommodating as Izuku hunches over him, hips pounding. And Izuku is so gone for this man, really, fucking into him just to delight in the way his breath hitches and he cries out, head thrown back, long expanse of his throat exposed.
When the tension in his gut is nigh unbearable, hot and twisted up tight, pulsing and aching with want to release, Izuku all but loses it, arm coming up to wrap tightly around Katsuki’s shoulders, grabbing tight and forcing him down as he thrusts up, hand clamping down on his hip harder, deep and fast and hard. And it’s so hot—hot and wet and tight, the sweet scent of caramel filling the air, and Katsuki comes around him with a wail, walls spasming and clenching and milking Izuku’s orgasm out of him with an unparalleled intensity, lube dripping and slicking their thighs as thick strands on white splatter up onto his chest and pool in the dip of his stomach and the jut of his hips.
It’s nice, Izuku thinks. Really nice. He’s never loved waking up early more.
He takes fifteen minutes to bask in the afterglow, hips rocking minutely through the aftershocks, but they’re fifteen minutes well spent, kissing away the dewy tears that cling to Katsuki’s lashes and lavishing attention on flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips.
It’s fifteen past eight when he pulls out, no longer able to ignore the demands of the day, Katsuki whining and clinging to him, eyes screwed shut tight. He can see his rim quivering where it gapes just a bit, helplessly trying to keep the load in even as it drips pst and stains their sheets.
“C’mon, Kacchan, we gotta get up,” Izuku whispers softly, and there’s nowhere he would rather be right now than in Katsuki’s arms, in their bed, but they have patrol and lives to save. They can’t spend the day locked away, wrapped up in each other.
Katsuki whines and bats his hands away, curling onto his side, hole still clenching like it’ll stop the the drip, thighs quivering. “Just shower first,” he grumbles, and Izuku sighs but moves away—not without placing a soft kiss to his shoulder first though.
Getting ready is a quick and thoughtless affair, and by the time he’s showered, teeth brushed, dressed and ready to go, Katsuki’s still on the bed, shaking.
“Kacchan? We gotta go; we’re gonna be late.” Rounding the corner of the bed, he swears he’s somehow ascended and reached nirvana or something, because Katsuki has his hand wrapped around his flexing shaft, just holding, other hand gripping tight at one of those firm, soft mounds Izuku absolutely adores burying his face in, and there are tears dripping down his cheeks as his stomach quivers. “Kacchan?”
“Izu—it’s not stopping.”
Katsuki’s breath hitches on a sob, hips rolling almost instinctively, and he cries out as the head of his cock smears against the sheets and there’s pre-cum dripping down its length, making his thighs sticky, and Izuku can already imagine his hole clenching around nothing and, oh—
It’s a quarter till nine.
“It won’t stop, ‘Zuku.”
And fuck, he’s slurring, high whines falling from his lips as his hips rock helplessly, cock spurting pathetically like it has anything more to give so soon, and—help. He needs to help, right.
“Okay, hold on, let me call us out for the day,” he gasps, stumbles in his haste to his phone and dials. He can hear Katsuki’s hitching sobs behind him, turns away so he can actually articulate that he’s very sorry but they can’t come in, saving lives be damned. When he hangs up and turns around again, Kacchan’s got the hand that had been formerly holding onto his cock like a lifeline behind him, pumping his fingers in desperately. “Kacchan, are you sure that’s smart?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know, I don’t know, fuck, Deku, Izu—please,” and he’s sobbing, face red and eyes wet when he tilts his head and looks up at him through damp lashes, and, well, it’s really worth a shot.
His abandons his shirt easily, clambering onto the bed, and Katsuki doesn’t protest to being tugged up and manhandled onto his lap, back pressed solidly to Izuku’s chest and legs splayed wide. Spend still leaks out past his clenching rim, threatening to stain his pants, but Izuku doesn’t care—can’t care. The only thing he can really care about is Kacchan, whining and shifting in his lap, caught in the throws of an orgasm that’s refusing to end.
His fingers slip in easily, enveloped in wet heat that sucks him in, and he has to brace his other arm tight around Katsuki’s chest to keep him from thrashing as his legs kick out and he wails, hips rocking down helplessly even as he seems to squirm to get away.
“I’ve got you, Kacchan, I’ve got you,” he whispers as soothingly as he can manage even through the strain of his voice because this shouldn’t be hot. Katsuki’s hurting. It’s been an hour. But the way he’s writhing, pushing down and bucking as Izuku’s fingers thrust in deep and turn—it’s unequivocally one of the hottest things Izuku’s ever seen. He scrapes his nails against the sucking heat, dragging knuckles against sensitive walls, and Katsuki’s keening, genuinely thrashing now, fighting to get away. His nails dig and cut into his arm as they hold onto him like a lifeline, and his mouth parts in a scream, and—
It shouldn’t be hot, it shouldn’t.
By the second hour, Katsuki’s reduced to hiccuping whimpers, twitching and rocking where he grinds his dribbling cock into Izuku’s stomach, face buried in his throat. His hands knead rhythmically at his designated hold, moaning low and deep as Izuku fucks him down gently onto his cock.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers again, and Kacchan whines, fucking down just a little harder, cock drooling and dragging over his stomach. His mouth hangs open helplessly, and Izuku can’t help but take it into his own, tongue prodding and digging. Katsuki’s tongue meets his, but his movements are clumsy and lagging, and he sucks the muscle into his mouth and Katsuki weeps.
Hole sucking him in with what Izuku is sure is the voice of an angel spurring him on, he releases long and deep inside, hips stuttering and thrusting up into the pliant heat as Katsuki sobs around him. It shouldn’t be hot. It really shouldn’t be.
His hips buck up once more if only to hear the way his Kacchan cries.
It shouldn’t be.
The third hour sees them in the bathtub, Izuku’s fingers once more buried inside of that wet, gaping cavern, scooping his own spend out and dirtying the bath water. He’s not even sure Katsuki is truly coherent right now, voice releasing helpless whines and mutters of, “Izuku, ‘Zuku, Deku, please, it won’t stop, it won’t stop,” in quivering sobs. His hips rock and back and forth, his cock continuing to drool a line of pre, further dirtying the water, stomach cramping, and Izuku can feel the flexing of the muscles, and his loins ache.
“I think we need to go to the hospital, Kacchan. I don’t know what else we can do,” he mumbles, voice soft as he peppers soft kisses across his shoulders and down his spine. He hooks his fingers, drags them, and Katsuki gives an aborted scream, arms flailing and bracing against the edge of the tub as his hands spark and his back arches, knees sliding further open.
Izuku whines in the back of his throat.
“‘Zuku,” Kacchan croaks, hips rocking back onto the fingers cleaning him out, directly opposing the next word out of his mouth, “hurts.”
“Right, hospital, it is.”
He’s got Katsuki wrapped up in the biggest hoodie they own, beanie smashed over his head, hood tugged up, face mask on and lightly tinted sunglasses propped on his nose. He had managed to to shove him into the loosest pair of sweats they have with a drawstring tie, but going by the way Katsuki can barely seem to stand, let alone walk, legs shaking and breath hitching, they still drag too much against the weeping cock distending the fabric. He wraps a towel tightly around his waist to hide the wet spot even though the hoodie reaches down past his thighs.
Hiding his own hair and face, shrugging on a jacket and fingerless gloves, Izuku all but carries Katsuki into the car and then into the emergency room.
He’s still hiccuping small sobs into Izuku’s neck, sunglasses undoubtedly smudged, when they get there. A flash of his ID, and Katsuki’s whisked off to a cot and Izuku’s left sitting in the waiting room, mildly panicked and shamefully aroused. From his spot in the full room, he can hear Katsuki’s cries, high and keening, whining breaths, and his knee bounces in anxiety.
“You’re going to remember this day for the rest of your life,” the old lady next to him tells him knowingly. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to tell her that it’s not his pregnant wife in there but his very male partner rounding out his third hour of orgasm.
The aborted scream that echoes throughout the room had the lady patting his knee in his comfort. Izuku simply tries not to cum in his pants.
At hour four, noon, Katsuki hobbles out, clothes messily arranged, beanie still, thankfully, securely on, sunglasses slightly askew upon his nose. His hands are shaking as he reaches for Izuku, and he bolts up, grabbing at his hand, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Is it—are you okay? Is it fine?”
“It’s over,” Katsuki croaks, and his lashes, he can see, are still wet and clumped and tears still wet his cheeks. Honestly. Izuku doesn’t need to hear much more than that. He braces Katsuki against him as they begin the walk back to the car. “Fuck, that better not happen again.”
“At least not we know an endless orgasm isn’t as fun as it sounds,” Izuku laughs weakly, jostling Katsuki against him slightly.
Katsuki just whines.