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He’d squared off against two pros, one of whom had occupied the top spot in the hero rankings longer than he’d been alive. He’d been shot six times and lived to bitch about the inconvenience. Not to mention he’d been raised by the most feared and powerful villain the world had ever known.
So, it made no sense, none whatsofuckingever, for him to be on edge about something as simple, as mundane, as inviting a boy to his room. Yet Tomura continued to pace from his bed to the door and back, each trip bringing him closer to the appointed meeting.
He hadn’t slept the other night. Too many worries had swarmed his mind, clamoring for his attention. They still pestered him, gnawing at his resolve even as he kept swatting them down with logic.
Could he really trust Dabi? So far, yes. Dabi had shown no ill will and respected Tomura’s wishes.
Yeah, but what if that had been an act? Dabi had a powerful quirk and a working brain—he could come up with a better way to hurt someone than pretend to like them as if they were in an asinine TV show. Anyway, that tent he’d been pitching in his pants the other day had looked very authentic.
Okay, fine. But shouldn’t Tomura have dressed up a little for the occasion then? Brushed his hair at least? Maybe brought something from the kitchen to offer a guest? He’d showered, put on clean clothes, and made sure Father and the others were safely tucked away in their box inside the closet. Anything more would be trying too hard. He was a virgin, not fucking clueless.
Then shouldn’t he be, well, excited about this whole thing? He was, but…he was nervous too, okay? Millions of variables surrounded interacting with another person, especially in a situation like this. All his late-night sifting practical information from articles, scouring forums for more personal accounts, watching videos on sites with names he was embarrassed to even click on—it could only prepare him to a point. Unless he stayed on his toes, he could wind up humiliating himself. Not just in front of Dabi, but if Kurogiri got wind of what he was really up to, or (ugh, why did his brain have to do this) even Sensei—
A knock sent his thoughts scattering. Tomura whirled to face the door, heart wedged in his throat. What if it wasn’t Dabi? What if it was Toga, wanting to chit chat? Or Spinner, looking for a second player? He’d have to send them away, deflect their questions with some lame-ass excuse.
Another knock, harder this time. He leapt for the handle, yanked the door open, and—
Dabi stood there. Like Tomura, he’d dressed as usual, one hand in the pocket of his ill-fitting thrift store jacket, the other still raised to rap his knuckles against wood. Unlike Tomura, he was the essence of cool and collected. “Hey, creep.”
“Hey yourself.” A stunning display of verbal judo. Tomura refrained from facepalming through a supreme effort of will.
After the first five seconds of silence that followed, Dabi tilted his head. “Sooo…you gonna let me in or what?”
Basic functions like snapping his mouth shut and blinking returned to Tomura. He scuttled back, clearing the way. Dabi breezed in after him, shutting the door behind them. The click of the lock made Tomura’s pulse skip a beat. It became outright arrhythmic when Dabi’s hand slipped out of his pocket, offering him a folded square of paper between two fingers. With his own shaking ones, he snatched the prize, fumbling to unfold it. A soft clearing of the throat stopped him. Tomura looked up to see his guest making a gimme gesture.
“Oh. Right.” Gnawing his bottom lip, he shuffled to his desk. To the single sheet of notebook paper waiting on it. He picked it up, a wave of doubt crashing over him. Had he listed too many things? Too few? He’d spent days considering, culling, and rearranging…suggestions. Would Dabi find them tame? Boring? Tomura had stuck to the basics, hoping to set a pace he could acclimate to gradually, but he’d also thrown in a few ideas he wasn’t even sure he’d have the guts to initiate—he’d barely been able to look at the page as he’d written them.
A stapled hand reached over his shoulder and plucked the humble list from his fingers, settling the matter. Rather than tackle Dabi in a rush of regret and terror, Tomura focused on examining the info his guest had given him.
The penmanship jumped out at him first. Characters were legible and correct despite being somewhat fluid. Words followed no overall pattern of size, sprawling across the paper as ideas had occurred to Dabi rather than obeying ruled lines. A pen had died partway through the job, apparently—fading words and scribbles in blue ink toward the middle-right edge marked its passing. The rest were done in bold, smooth black.
Then the words themselves hit.
Kissing. Biting. Dirty talk.
Tomura released the breath he’d been holding. All right, nothing too shocking in that corner, though the mention of kissing was a pleasant surprise. He’d chickened out of adding it to his own list despite it being the first thing he’d thought of. Finding approval for something so unassuming made a few knots along his spine loosen.
Bondage. Flogging. Sensory deprivation.
Okay…wading out into deeper water now.
Gagging. Choking. Degradation.
Much, much deeper.
Frotting. Sounding. Needle play.
And Tomura had definitely fallen in over his head. Eyes taking up half his face, he quickly relocated his attention to the next page. Let his jaw gape when he realized there was one after that. Then one after that.
“Dabi…”
“Hm?” The other man didn’t glance up from his own much lighter reading.
“Th-this…this is four pages long.” Flipping the papers over, Tomura sucked in a breath like he’d been punched. “Front and back!”
“What can I say? I’m adventurous.”
To think he’d lost sleep over his own single, sad page.
Words scribbled in red ink here and there gave Tomura a convenient distraction. He squinted, struggling to make them out.
Hard pass on medical fetish stuff. Hot wax = fuck that. FIRE BAD. Rope and restraints pull on my skin but I promise to be good and stay still if you tell me…maybe. Don’t fucking stick things into my scars or seams okay thanks.
Tomura could only stare, shell-shocked, for a minute. The first four restrictions he understood. Dabi had no doubt had his fill of hospitals, not to mention anything to do with burning. The last…who would even think of that as fun, for either side? Then again, considering the sheer number of adventurous activities he’d come across in his research it shouldn’t have been surprising. Not to mention Dabi had felt it necessary to bring it up.
“See anything interesting?”
Blinking, Tomura raised his head to find Dabi watching him. His blood pressure shot from elevated to imminent brain hemorrhage in half a second. “Um, well, I, uh…” He goaded his imagination for a reaction that wasn’t recklessly naming a kink at random or fleeing from the room. “It’s all a bit above my current level.”
“I see. Mind if I make a recommendation then?”
“Okay.” He barely made it above a whisper.
His lungs seized up entirely when Dabi shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the back of the desk chair. Boots came off next. Then ohfuckohhellohfuckinghell he took a seat on the bed and patted the spot beside him. Dizzy with lightheadedness, Tomura shambled over. He sat on the edge about an arm’s length away, back rigid as a ruler. Quiet laughter made him sneak a glance out of the corner of his eye.
“Relax, mophead. I wanna hold you, not eat you alive.”
Air rushed back into his chest. “You just want...?”
“If it’s all right with you.”
At a nod, Dabi slid over. Scarred arms slipped around his shoulders, pulling him close and enveloping him in warmth. Tomura sighed, folding up against Dabi’s chest and eliciting another laugh more felt than heard.
“You really like being touched, don’t you?”
He drew his bare feet onto the bed, away from the cold floor, wanting to steal all the heat he could. “I guess.”
“Then why didn’t you write it down?”
Tomura hid his expression in the crook of Dabi’s neck. The scars were thick, ridged and rough, warmer than the rest of him. “Thought you’d laugh,” he mumbled.
Fingertips burrowed under his hair, massaging the back of his head and releasing a tingling cascade of bliss down his spine. “I’m here to have fun, not judge. Besides, for a wiry little creep, you’re pretty cuddly.”
“Eat shit and die.” A following yawn completely ruined the comeback.
“Aww, boring you already?”
The fingers migrated to Tomura’s shoulder blades, kneading the last of the tension from them. He melted further, not caring whether he turned into a quivering jellyfish in Dabi’s lap by the end. “Mm. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah. Well, here.” Dabi pulled his own long legs up, rearranging himself so he laid partly propped against the headboard, with Tomura shamelessly sprawled on top of him like a lazy cat.
He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until his eyes fluttered open again. Alarm lanced through him until he felt his hands safely curled into fists on either side of the other man’s ribcage. Old habits died hard even in new situations, thankfully. Tomura let his full weight sink back down onto the living pillow beneath him. Dabi’s chest rose and fell slowly under his cheek, heartbeat steady in his ear. Had he drifted off too? Not surprising. Tomura couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so relaxed. So comfortable. Content even.
Well, not quite, he was forced to admit as he shifted his hips a fraction. His lower half was cradled between Dabi’s legs, pressed against the mattress, fortunately. Only now that Tomura had noticed what his body was up to, he couldn’t stop noticing. Although, wasn’t this a good thing? Wasn’t this supposed to happen? But…what to do about it? He couldn’t just shake Dabi awake and demand…what? To be pleasured, like some sleazy hentai character? He didn’t even know what the fuck he wanted other than Dabi to keep touching him. To run those hands with their elegant fingers and sharp-edged staples up his arms, down his back, petting and stroking and squeezing and…okay. Maybe he had some ideas after all. But. How to put them into action? Tomura squirmed a bit more, silently cursing bodies for being so demanding.
What if…what if he kissed Dabi? They’d done that before. Kissing was on both their lists, technically. It’d be a much smoother way to communicate he wanted contact. Yes. Yes. If he just moved carefully—
“Have a nice nap, princess?”
Tomura froze, halfway through pushing himself up. His heart ricocheted around his ribcage when Dabi started to shift and rise.
“Hey, let me sit up, all right? I’m getting a crick in my neck laying against the headboard like this.”
He opened his mouth to say hold on, no, wait. That’s when Dabi scooted toward the head of the bed, his hips rolling right up into Tomura’s. It was like striking a match. White-hot pleasure sparked between his legs and sizzled all the way out to the ends of his curled fingers and toes. Instead of a protest, a strangled little whine snuck out of his throat. Biting his lip until he tasted blood, Tomura twisted around and dropped his fists into his lap. He was still cradled in the middle of Dabi’s thighs this way, back now pressed to the other man’s chest, but his mortified expression couldn’t be seen at least. Maybe that humiliating sound he’d made would go unnoticed too.
Tomura sucked in a breath when scarred arms snaked around his waist.
“Comfy?”
Dabi’s voice poured directly into his ear like a magic elixir, enlivening everything in its path as it splashed down into his chest, trickled through his belly, and pooled in the junction of his thighs. Taking a shaky breath, Tomura strained to hear his rational mind over the howling of his horny lizard brain.
“H-how long was I asleep?”
“Dunno. Fifteen minutes maybe. You still tired?”
“Not really.”
One half-stapled hand slid up to rest right over his pistoning heartbeat. “Didn’t interrupt any good dreams, did I?”
Thinking was like trying to grab smoke. “Um. I don’t remember.”
The hand on his chest crept up until the fingers could trace the V-neckline of his shirt. “So. Couldn’t sleep last night, huh?”
Damn it—he’d let that slip before drifting off, hadn’t he? He licked dry lips with a drier tongue. “I tried.”
“Hmm.” Palms travelled down his ribs, staples catching on his shirt here and there. They came to rest around his waist. “Anything in particular keep you awake?”
“Worrying.” Way to sound like a mature adult who was ready for this whole situation. Why not admit he hadn’t been able to stand watching porn with the sound on while he was at it?
Dabi shook with that nearly silent laughter of his. This close, it made Tomura’s bones hum. “Am I that scary? Your heart’s beating like a rabbit’s.”
Probably because the hands on his waist had slithered to his hips, fingers sneaking into the creases at the top of his thighs. “N-no. It’s n-not that.”
“Oh? Something else? Maybe something I can help with?”
Now or never. Dabi couldn’t have handed him a better opportunity, and Tomura hadn’t come this far to play the blushing innocent all night long. Still, his hands leapt up from his lap to cover his face before he spoke in a rush.
“Touch me.”
Mercifully, Dabi was just as done being coy. He didn’t ask where or why or how. Just grinned, teeth grazing Tomura’s ear, as his fingers finally, finally fanned out over where they were wanted most. Tomura whimpered. He couldn’t help it. Just like he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking into the touch even though the pleasure from it sliced through him with a keen double edge.
“Aw, sweetheart.” Dabi clicked his tongue, but not without sympathy. “You should’ve said something sooner. I wouldn’t have teased so much if I knew you were hurting this bad.”
He hadn’t known either. Hadn’t had a clue that he could be turned on to the point of aching. Wouldn’t have believed he could be torn between the instinct to shove someone away and the urge to beg them for more. Tomura wriggled when long fingers popped the top button of his pants open. He swore every little metal tooth scraped his swollen skin as the zipper slid down. It took all the willpower in his stats to not finish right there and then the second Dabi reached in and gently took hold of him. Tomura dug his heels into the mattress, panting whines spilling from behind his palms.
“Shhh. Easy, sweetheart. You’re all wound up. Relax. Breathe…That’s it. Nice and slow. Now, I’m going to pull your cock out. Don’t cum for me yet, all right? I want to have some real fun with you first.”
If he could survive something like that purred directly into his ear without embarrassing himself, he could handle anything. Tomura nodded quickly. The slip-slide of fabric as Dabi pulled made him hiss, but it didn’t last more than a moment, thankfully. No movement followed, allowing him to catch his breath and racing thoughts.
Life was pain, fear, and rage stuck on repeat. The only spark of joy came from the short-lived triumph of overcoming a challenge or enemy, real or virtual. Anything else was self-delusion used to keep despair at bay.
With his dick whipped out and ready to spontaneously combust at any second, though, his usual cynicism was nowhere to be found. The great and terrible Shigaraki Tomura, rendered helpless by a handjob. Not so far above the rest of society after all. Next thing he knew he’d trade in villainy for a suit and tie.
“Hey.” A short stroke and Dabi’s low voice evicted him from his own head. “No thinking unless it’s about me.”
Tomura swallowed hard, another caress making sure he stayed in the moment. “I just…”
“Just what?”
Ugh, why were words hard? Closing his eyes, he let his head flop back onto Dabi’s shoulder. “Didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“And what were you expecting?”
With full control over his mental faculties, Tomura never would have blurted, “For it to be the same as when I do it myself.”
Dabi’s fingers became bolder, more rhythmic, squeezing him at the base before skimming just shy of the tip and sliding back down. Rise, fall, repeat. “Yeah? Was that what you were up to last night instead of sleeping?”
“N-no…” Because jerking off had always been a chore. An action, along with eating or grooming, he got out of the way as expediently as possible. And his fantasies had never involved anyone real—not even himself. Why would they? He wasn’t sexy. And it wouldn’t make narrative sense for any of the game characters he liked to be attracted to him. They had no connection beyond viewer and viewed. Not like Dabi, who was there, in the flesh, whispering heart-stopping things into his ear.
“Aw, I’m disappointed, princess. Especially since that’s how I passed the time.”
Tomura’s temperature spiked. Dabi had laid awake, imagining this? Imagining him? He harbored more than a few doubts about that—he could only be grateful he hadn’t needed to undress and expose the scabs and inflamed patches of flaky skin mottling his upper arms and calves. But the thought of someone like Dabi fantasizing about him…running those searing fingertips over himself in the same way…Tomura shivered despite the light sheen of sweat making his shirt cling to his torso.
As if rewarding the reaction, Dabi swiped over the end of Tomura’s dick finally, smearing a slick trail of fluids down the rest on the return stroke. The resulting jolt of pleasure made his head spin. He bucked up into the second pass before writhing back against Dabi. There was a sudden, shaky inhale, and the fingers not driving him insane latched onto his hip, digging in.
“Fuck,” Dabi breathed. “Do that again. Please.”
Through the storm of synapses rapid-firing with sensory input, Tomura registered something firm pressed against the left side of ass. A thrill sizzled through him when he identified it. When he realized he was the cause. And that Dabi wanted more.
Well, he had asked nicely. So, Tomura obliged.
Just like that, they discovered a cooperative rhythm. Dabi ground up into his backside, forcing Tomura’s hips to arch into his touch, then Tomura would wriggle back into his lap to start the cycle over. His hands soon fell away from his face, breath turning ragged. Sensing his crumbling control, lips pressed to the side of his neck, sucking and layering a bruise on top of the scratches.
“Dabi,” he choked. With four fingers, he reached back to grip a fistful of black hair.
That earned an approving hum. “I could get used to hearing you say my name like that. Maybe I should tie you up next time. See how many times I can fuck it out of you.”
Every word filled Tomura with molten need and smoldering want until he swore his skin would split open and it would all come boiling out. He made a small, desperate sound, grinding back into Dabi harder than ever.
“Like that idea, huh? Think you’d look good trussed up with rope, helpless, while I work this pretty cock of yours over and over? I fucking know you would. So, how about it, princess? You gonna let me do that for you sometime? Let me show you how much you can take?”
Honestly, Tomura was willing to agree to whatever, whenever in that moment. Some rational portion of him, though, used up the last few drops of blood left in his brain to make him reply, “Don’t c-c-call m-me prin—”
His body interrupted in the best way possible.
Tomura’s demand dissolved into a moan. Spasms rolled through every muscle, unleashing the tension built up in them all at once. Dabi gripped him around the waist with one arm when he thrashed, anchoring him while he trembled and gasped and went to pieces. His hands refused to stop shaking, nerves prickling as if they’d fallen asleep—he had to squeeze them into fists to be safe. And, despite the struggling, Dabi continued to stroke him, like he was determined to wring out every whine and quiver until Tomura pleaded for mercy.
By degrees, both the ministrations and the high voltage coursing through his nervous system slowed, then stopped. Tomura sagged against Dabi, sticky and woozy and gulping down air.
It might have been a minute, it might have been ten before he heard, “Got a towel or something?”
Shit. Of course. Clean-up—the unglamorous part fantasies and porn always skipped over. Face burning, Tomura tucked himself back into his pants without looking down—he didn’t need to in order to know he’d definitely be doing laundry later. Luckily, he always kept a few microfiber cloths in his desk for dusting off his computer and gaming consoles. Avoiding eye contact, he sat down on the edge of the bed and held one out to Dabi. It was accepted, but before Tomura could pull away fingers locked around his wrist. He yelped as he was yanked against Dabi’s chest.
“Don’t go all shy on me again, creep.”
“Stop using dumbass nicknames for me.” Despite the complaint, Tomura snuggled closer. The faint smell of smoke and hot metal wrapped around him, a strange but welcome comfort.
There was a tug on his hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah? Or else what, mophead?”
With a growl, he pushed himself up and lunged, forcing his lips to Dabi’s. Judging from how the other man immediately opened his mouth and added tongue to the equation, that had been his plan all along. Tomura didn’t mind falling for it too much.
They broke for air. Straddling Dabi’s hips and resting his hands on his shoulders, Tomura swallowed a yip of surprise when he naively settled his full weight into the other man’s lap. That was nothing compared to the guttural sound that retched out of Dabi. Blue eyes flew wide before fluttering shut, skull thumping against the headboard.
“Sorry, sorry.” Tomura dug the point of one canine into his lip. Real fucking smooth. First, he’d been too busy getting off to notice the experience hadn’t been mutual, and now he’d probably snapped the poor guy’s dick in half by dropping right on it. When he tried to scoot away, though, fingers hooked into the belt loops of his pants. More than that—they tugged Tomura back down.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked, brows pinched.
A grin cut across Dabi’s face. “That’s kinda the point. Didn’t you read anything on my list?”
Oh. Well, he who asks a question is a fool for five minutes, but he who doesn’t…
“You’ve really done all that stuff?” Trepidation shaped his tone, not judgement.
“Nah, not everything. Some are just things I’ve watched or thought about. You did say we could include stuff we’re interested in.”
The heavier fears shackling Tomura’s curiosity fell away, allowing it to sidle into the open. So, Dabi wasn’t all-knowing. He was still figuring out what he liked, experimenting. And he’d chosen to share the experience with Tomura.
“Which things have you done?” he asked, courage kindling.
“Aside from the usual sort of fucking? Mostly light stuff. A bit of rope know-how, a little playing rough, ‘yes, sir, no, sir’. That type of thing.”
Hazy notions of such activities floated around in the soup of images and definitions he’d poured into his brain over the last few days. “Oh. Did…did you do them to someone or have them done to you?”
“Both. I’m not stuck on the idea of being in one role. I just enjoy knowing I’m the reason someone got off.”
Tomura jumped at the sensation of fingertips skimming over the back of his knuckles.
Eyes gleaming, Dabi lifted one deadly hand from his shoulder, bringing it within millimeters of his smirking face. “I know I had fun getting you off.”
Before Tomura could ask him what part of one touch = obliteration he didn’t understand, Dabi stuck two of five fatal fingers right into his mouth.
Hot, wet, and good crowded everything else out of Tomura’s head. Eyes owlishly huge, he watched beautiful lips contract around his fingers, sucking on them. An answering throb pulsed to life between his thighs. A mingled sob and groan spilled out of him. He started to shake again, strength leeching from his limbs.
Slowly, Dabi slid both digits out of his mouth, nipping the tips before he grinned. “You really got a thing for hands, huh, creep? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Maybe it was the annoying ass nickname. It could’ve had something to do with the mention of Father and the others. Or maybe just the embarrassing fact he’d been reduced to a panting mess again tied into it. In any case, Tomura scowled, gripped Dabi by the hair, and shoved his fingers back into that devious mouth.
The unscarred upper half of the other man’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, shock flashing across his face. Rather than put up a fight, though, he gave a head-to-toe shudder, eyelids half closing, and let Tomura push farther in. The small, high noise that came from his throat sounded as far from outraged as it could get. Just in case the point hadn’t been made yet, he rolled his hips, desperately seeking friction.
Tomura realized two things at that juncture. First: The sight, sound, and sensation of Dabi yielding, willingly giving in, had instantly made him hard—a state he hadn’t known was possible to achieve twice in a day. He shifted, trying to alleviate how tight and chafing his pants had become. A move Dabi gladly took advantage of, grinding upwards and sucking more insistently. The second point: a growing desire to become a top tier player in this real-life game. And it was a game, one with a much wider range of story choices and consequences, but it had its quests, bugs, and play mechanics nonetheless. Once Tomura got through the tutorial, then ground out enough levels, he’d unlock every achievement to be won. As always.
For the moment, he took his time exploring Dabi’s mouth, fascinated by the feel of another person. The slick, satin muscle of the tongue undulating beneath his fingers. Contrasting texture between both lips, one rough and stiff with scar tissue, the other soft and supple. Teeth that were smooth on the sides but turned to sharp cusps on top. An arched, rippling palette above. It made Tomura wonder how sticking another part of himself into such wet warmth would go. Said part twitched of its own free will in answer. With a shiver, Tomura withdrew his fingers.
Dabi stared up at him, slowly blinking out of his daze. Some of his former shyness crept back up on Tomura. They’d been doing only what he wanted from the start. Was Dabi just accommodating him, the awkward virgin? (Did he still qualify as one? Was sex like earning belts in karate, needing one to prove they could pull off certain moves?) He had said he enjoyed pleasuring his partners. Was that enough for him?
“Do you want me to…to do something for you?” The direct approach had worked this far.
Black eyebrows arched. “What do you feel like doing?”
Responsibility volleyed right back his way—shit. Tomura frowned, rubbing his damp fingers together. His expression cleared when an idea respawned in his brain.
“I want to touch you.”
A smile stamped approval across Dabi’s face. “I’m all yours.”
Tomura reached for the end of his ragged t-shirt, as good a place to start as any. Dabi helpfully raised his arms to allow it to be pulled up and off. Although Tomura had already seen him without a shirt—without any clothes, in fact—he took the time to process the sight. Like so much of Dabi, staples joined living and burned flesh. A strip of scar tissue wrapped around from his back, stretching halfway across his chest. His arms wore sleeves of purplish, rippled skin. Tomura reached out, stopping just short of his right shoulder. He could sense the heat roiling from Dabi like an aura.
“Does it hurt when your scars are touched?”
“They hurt to one degree or another all the damn time. Underneath, though, down where there are some nerves left maybe. Near the seams is the most sensitive, but I don’t actually feel anything on the surface.”
“So…” Tomura brushed three fingers down his arm.
Dabi shook his head. “Nothing. Not unless you press hard enough.”
While he could think of plenty more questions, Tomura boxed them up for later. Sure, they’d just had some form of sex, but that didn’t mean he could suddenly get personal, like asking whether he took anything for the pain, or what—who—had caused his injuries. So, he settled for nodding and shifting his attention elsewhere.
Dabi had had more muscle once. His shoulders were broader than Tomura’s, his waist and hips thicker, but the definition in his arms and abdomen had softened. Shrunk, slowly being eaten by a body that couldn’t handle intense exertion anymore. With a fingertip, Tomura traced the jutting edge of a collarbone and ran down a ladder of ribs.
Something grazed his cheek, making him jump. Dabi swept some of his hair out of his face during his hesitation. Recovering, Tomura took evasive action, ducking his head and fumbling for the button of the other man’s pants. Whether successfully distracted or just taking the hint, Dabi ceased trying to get a good look at him and helped undress himself. Thumbs hooked into the waistband, he wriggled, sliding the fabric past pointed hipbones.
The fact Dabi had skipped underwear that day wasn’t what made Tomura’s jaw drop. Or that his skin was completely smooth. Both conversation starters, maybe, but not unheard of. Seeing another dick in person for the first time—how it stood straight up like an exclamation point from the V of an open zipper—was definitely garnering a positive response from his own. But that wasn’t it either.
“You…” Tomura shook his head, knocking his brain’s gears back into motion. “You have hardware.”
The seams in Dabi’s cheeks followed the curve of his smile. “Never thought of my piercings like that, but I can see it.”
“Don’t they hurt?” At least they weren’t staples.
“As long as you don’t twist or yank hard enough to damage the skin, no.”
Horror skittered down the back of Tomura’s shirt at the thought, and he quickly swatted away his imagination. “Can I…?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Last two fingers folded tightly against his palm, Tomura skimmed the other three down the underside of Dabi’s length. The other man watched with hooded eyes, breath controlled, as the trio of digits wrapped around the base. Although there was nothing special about his own dick, Tomura found he liked the solid, heavy feel of Dabi’s in his grasp. How its skin stretched tight, swollen with hot blood. He dragged his fingers back up to brush his thumb over where the ladder of three barbels passed through, near the top. A hitch in the other man’s exhale told him he was on to something. So, he pressed a little harder and discovered the steel ridges beneath the skin. Dabi’s breathing had turned harsh and lost its timing once Tomura started to experiment by gently tugging on the ends of the piercings.
His focus shifted again when a drop of fluid caught his thumb in its path. Thick and a bit sticky, it let his touch glide up its trail to the head, where he found more. Lifting his hand, Tomura examined the wet sheen on the pads of his fingers. Then, surrendering to curiosity, he brushed one over his tongue. It didn’t taste bad, mostly salty. He couldn’t place the scent—something reminiscent of musk with a faint tang of iron.
“Holy fuck, mophead.”
Reality dropkicked Tomura out of his thoughts. He finally noticed Dabi’s wide-eyed stare and the grip he had on his thighs. Shame flared in his cheeks. He’d been self-centered again, plus weird and probably gross on top of it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t be.” He gave Tomura’s legs a squeeze. “I could watch you do that all night.”
He’d never been on a roller coaster, but he figured the lurch and dip his stomach did was similar. Taking a deep breath, Tomura struggled to focus, focus, focusfocusfocus on anything besides the electric-blue gaze aimed at him.
“Um, how do you…with the piercings…”
“How do I what?”
Damn it, why couldn’t his quirk have been telepathy-based? “How do you…touch yourself?”
Finally, the corners of Dabi’s eyes creased from a smirk, dialing back the intensity. “Want me to show you?”
Pulse suddenly stopping up his throat, Tomura settled for a nod. He watched as one of Dabi’s hands relocated and began a demonstration. Long fingers trailed up and down his shaft, occasionally circling over the head—the same technique he’d used to great effect previously. Tomura marveled to see he didn’t avoid the piercings, often flicking along the ends with his thumb on each pass.
Before he knew it, curiosity had taken the helm again. He reached out, matching three fingers just under Dabi’s. The other man flashed his teeth, then let go on the next round. Before Tomura could stress over whether he was screwing up, he was caught in a scorching kiss, lips and tongue making him forget to worry. Dabi didn’t let his own hands go idle, though, one cupping Tomura’s aching groin. Consent was given in the form of a nod without even breaking the kiss. Seconds later, they were mirroring each other stroke for stroke.
Panting hard, Dabi pulled back for air. He stared into Tomura’s eyes from centimeters away, their foreheads resting against each other’s, sharing their breath.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
For once, he didn’t bother protesting the pet name.
“You ready to cum for me a second time? Look at you shaking. Trying to hold back. Just let go. Give it to me.”
That low, purring voice almost had him. But Tomura grit his teeth and shook the spell of lust from his mind enough to say, “No.” He pressed his thumb right over where the piercings crossed through the skin and rubbed, back and forth. “I’m winning this round.”
Whatever retort Dabi had ready melted into a gasp. His head lolled back, a tremor wracking his body. The fingers still on Tomura’s dick tightened reflexively, making him wince, then warm wetness was drizzling over his own hand. Well, a little messier than depleting someone’s life bar, but a win was a win.
Dabi, however, was far from finished. Eyes bleary, he peered down. A moment later he picked up where he’d left off while his free hand grabbed Tomura’s wrist and lifted so he could suck a mess-coated finger right into his mouth.
Tomura took comfort in the fact his mind blew several seconds before his body followed suit. Once he’d regained his wind, he dared to glance at his hand. Dabi hadn’t missed any spots. Soft laughter made him look up.
“Damn, creep. For a virgin you have a hell of a kinky streak..”
He scrunched up his nose. “Says the guy who offered to tie me up.”
More laughter while Dabi cleaned his own hand—with the cloth this time. “You never did answer me about that.”
Tomura turned away, both to make himself decent and hide his stupid blush. “Maybe,” he muttered.
Arms captured his waist, dragging him into an embrace. “Why don’t you sleep on it? We can talk about it later.”
“We haven’t even talked about the plan against UA yet. We were supposed to work too, remember?” But he didn’t resist being pulled down to the mattress. Or snuggling between Dabi’s long legs again, using his chest for a pillow.
“How about this? I’ll wake you up in an hour, we can do some planning, and then we’ll have a tiebreaker.”
The words were almost as convincing as the warm fingers petting through his hair. “Tiebreaker, huh?”
“We’re one-one, according to you, right? Winner gets to pick next from the lists. How’s that?”
Eyes closing, Tomura allowed himself a slight smile. “You’re on.”