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Bakugo has already come three times.
He's lost count, actually. Could be four. Could be five. His thighs are shaking, his cock is leaking against his stomach, and Kirishima is still fucking into him with that relentless, unhurried rhythm that makes him want to scream.
"Eijiro —" His voice cracks. Breaks. "Eijiro, I can't —"
"You can." Kirishima's hand presses flat against Bakugo's lower stomach, right where he can feel himself moving inside him, and Bakugo sobs. Actually sobs, the sound punched out of him, tears spilling down his temples and into his hair. "You're doing so good, Katsuki. Taking me so well. One more. Just one more."
Bakugo shakes his head, frantic, his nails raking down Kirishima's back. "No — no more — too much —"
Kirishima's hips slow. He pulls out until only the tip remains, then pushes back in — agonizing, deliberate, the drag of his cock against walls so sensitive that Bakugo's whole body seizes.
"Too much?" Kirishima repeats, and there's that edge in his voice, that low gravel that makes Bakugo's cock twitch even now, even wrecked beyond reason. "You've been begging me to fuck you all week. Grinding against me in the kitchen. Leaving those little marks on my neck." Another slow thrust. "And now it's too much?"
Bakugo's mouth opens. Closes. The words won't come.
"I asked you a question, baby."
"Please — please, 'jiro —"
"Please what?"
Bakugo doesn't know. Doesn't know what he's asking for. Doesn't know if he wants it to stop or never stop. His vision is blurry, the ceiling swimming above him, and Kirishima's face is the only thing that stays sharp — those red eyes fixed on him, soft and cruel and full of love.
"Please," he repeats, because it's the only word left.
Kirishima's expression cracks. Just barely. The game drops for half a second, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to Bakugo's.
"One more," he says, soft now. Not the dominant voice. The real one. "One more, and then I'll stop. I promise. Can you give me one more?"
Bakugo's chest heaves. His hands find Kirishima's face, cupping his jaw, and he laughs — a broken, wet sound that turns into another sob.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know." Kirishima kisses him, soft and slow, and Bakugo tastes salt — his own tears, maybe, or Kirishima's sweat. "One more. I've got you."
Kirishima starts moving again.
It's different this time. Softer. Slower. His thrusts are shallow, barely pulling out before pressing back in, and the change in angle makes Bakugo's eyes roll back. Every nerve is on fire, his body oversensitive and trembling, and the pleasure is so sharp it's almost pain.
Bakugo babbles. He can't help it. Words spill out of him — please, yes, right there, don't stop, I'm gonna die, I love you, I love you, I love you — and Kirishima answers every one with a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.
"That's it. That's my good boy. Let go. Let me feel you."
Bakugo's orgasm builds like a wave, slow and inevitable. He's crying openly now, tears streaming, and he doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything except the weight of Kirishima above him and the heat building in his gut and the way Kirishima is looking at him like he's something precious.
"Come on, Katsuki. Come for me."
Bakugo shatters.
His back arches off the bed, a sound tearing out of him that's neither word nor scream. His vision whites out. His body clenches around Kirishima's cock, pulsing, and he feels himself come — a weak, thin release, nothing left to give — but Kirishima keeps moving, keeps fucking him through it, and the overstimulation makes him sob again.
Kirishima follows a moment later, burying himself deep, his hips grinding as he spills. His groan is low and wrecked, his forehead pressed to Bakugo's, and when he finally stills, they lie there in a tangle of sweat and tears and shaking limbs.
The room is quiet except for their breathing.
Kirishima pulls out slowly, and Bakugo whimpers at the loss. He's empty. He's full. He doesn't know the difference anymore.
Kirishima collapses beside him, gathering him up, pulling him against his chest. His hand finds Bakugo's hair, stroking gently, and Bakugo lets himself be held.
"Shh," Kirishima murmurs. "I've got you. I've got you."
Bakugo presses his face into Kirishima's neck. His tears are still falling, silent now, soaking into Kirishima's skin.
"That was —" His voice is shot, barely a whisper. "Fuck."
"Yeah." Kirishima's laugh is soft, breathless. "Yeah."
"I didn't —" Bakugo swallows. "I didn't break."
Kirishima's arms tighten around him. "No, baby. You didn't break."
They lie there in the aftermath, the fan humming, the world outside forgotten. And when Kirishima presses a kiss to the top of Bakugo's head and whispers I love you against his hair, Bakugo lets himself believe it.