Archive of Our Own

His small feathers alert him of the balcony door opening when he’s in the middle of zipping up his pants.

A smile grows on his lips; it’s small and satisfied when Hawks glances into the mirror to check his outfit one more time, making sure almost everything is in its right place. The setting sun breaks through his windows and hits his hair just right, turning it from the deep blond it is into something that’s almost gold and shimmery.

“Faster than last time,” he tells himself, tone quiet. It’s only been three minutes since he sent the text—a short, very to the point: no time tonight, sorry. And then, because he’s nothing if not true to himself, an added: try not to miss me too much, yeah?

He runs a hand down his front, the silk of his dress shirt cool to the touch, and flashes himself a grin. This one is bigger, but not less satisfied. His shoes clack on his floors as he steps away from the mirror to grab everything he needs: suit jacket and gum. His phone lays abandoned on the windowsill, but that’s fine.

It has served it’s purpose.

If he’s lucky, he won’t have a need for it until much, much later in the evening. Something hot and prickling, something like anticipation, curls tightly in his stomach, lets his pulse pick up.

A deep breath, a ruffle of his hair.

Showtime.

“Hey,” Hawks calls as he exits his bedroom, suit jacket thrown over his arm, shirt still untucked. “Fancy seeing you here. Nice to know you don’t care when I tell you I don’t have time.”

He looks up to the sound of a snort, steps slowing as he takes in his apartment’s most frequent visitor (not that that’s particularly hard to accomplish; whenever he hangs out with Rumi, it’s at her place because it actually feels like a home and not like a showroom you’d find in an IKEA.)

Dabi is lounging on his sofa as if it’s a throne and belongs to him only; feet kicked on the low table, legs crossed at the ankles, arms spread over the backrest, head tipped back to expose the long line of his neck, and eyes closed. He’s still wearing his heavy boots, because villainy apparently means you have to be a fucking fiend in every single department of life, but at least they’re clean.

The only thing that’d be worse than having his boots on the table would be to see shit like dirt or blood drop from them, staining either the floors or his carpets.

At the sound of his footfalls, Dabi’s eyes crack open, blinding blue pinning Hawks to the spot.

His expression doesn’t change when their gazes collide, but it doesn’t have to; his emotions are all in his eyes, hot and intense like his flames. Once Hawks figured that out, Dabi became—not an open book, because not even Hawks with all his extensive spy training and knowledge in decoding several secret languages, is able to crack that nut—but easier to read for sure.

Dabi practically undresses him, methodically takes him apart piece by piece, without moving more than his head. His heart rate picks up just the tiniest bit. It’s music to Hawks’ ears. Knowing that all the hard work he put into picking this exact suit isn’t wasted is really nice.

And if the tabloids and the general public eats it up, too? That’s all the better. His PR team will shed tears of joy.

“You clean up nice,” Dabi comments, voice a lot more controlled than his eyes. His pupils are practically the size of dinner plates, a detail not lost on Hawks’ sharp eyesight. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Only about every single article that dropped about me since my debut,” Hawks says. “And probably just about anyone with a working set of eyes, I imagine.”

“You know that humility’s supposed to be attractive, yeah?”

“Really, now? And what does a Villain like you know about what’s attractive and what not?”

“Hm.” Dabi’s eyes drag down the length of Hawks’ body again. His gaze burns through the expensive, red fabric of his dress shirt, peels away Hawks’ skin and settles somewhere close to his bones. It’s hot. The corner of Dabi’s mouth ticks up as if he’s privy to Hawks’ thoughts. “A thing or two, for sure.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ exposed back. It’s pleasant, familiar.

They’ve been here for a while now—at the edge of… something. Something big and really pleasant, for sure. Something explosive and exciting. Just waiting for the right angle of the wind, a well timed push, the moment to let themselves tip over the imaginary line drawn in the sand between them.

Hawks can’t wait to find out what finally does it. He hopes it’s his suit; there’s a reason he’s wearing it.

He might’ve sent the short, simple “busy today, don’t miss me too much” but of course it’d been to no avail. Telling Dabi he can’t do this or that is like talking to a wall. Oftentimes, it has the complete opposite effect. He’s rather cat-like in that manner. Hawks knew he’d show up before he even pressed the Send button on his text, only thirty minutes ago.

It only spurred him on more to choose the one article of clothing he’s never shown anyone else, that has been reserved for very special occasions. Dabi happens to be special enough to bear witness to it before anyone else is allowed to.

The dress shirt is deeper and richer than his wings at their best, and the silk stretches over his shoulders and chest, half-open at the back to make wearing it easier on his wings. It has a simple zipper-and-button combo at the top and bottom of his spine that will be hidden once he pushes into his suit jacket. The finer details are stitched into it with gold yarn, and his slacks are tight and hug his ass just right.

Despite what many, many articles and other colleagues might say, Hawks is not vain. But he’s not blind either; he does look insanely hot and expensive, like a wet-dream come to life, the colors and fabric complimenting his… everything.

So, yeah. He wants it to be the suit, because he looks good in it, because he just wants Dabi. He wants Dabi with an intensity that is entirely new to him, in a way that he’s never wanted anything—or anyone, for that matter—else.

Keigo has never been allowed to want things because want is a human emotion and humans exist; Keigo’s not supposed to.

Hawks wants with a startling fierceness that is enough for both of them.

“That so?” Hawks asks. “It’s actually really convenient that you’re a stubborn asshole and showed up anyway. I need your help with something.”

“Help?” Dabi says the word as if it’s foreign to him. “What could a hero like you possibly need my help with?”

“Oh, I can think of a couple things,” Hawks replies, mouth sliding into a grin before he turns to expose his partially bare back to Dabi. His grin grows, stomach tightening, when he hears Dabi’s steady pulse jump. His blue eyes are half lidded and hot when Hawks glances over his shoulder. He allows his voice to soften, to turn just a little raspy, when he asks, “zip me up?”

“Ain’t that what those feathers of yours are good for?”

“What feathers?”

He shakes what’s left of his wings for emphasis; they’re at their smallest they can be without counting as a serious injury, wing bones covered by soft, small baby feathers. They’re insanely sensitive, and it’s probably not the smartest idea to show them to a high ranking Villain, but Hawks has had a day and it’s Dabi. He really doesn’t care much about what he should and shouldn’t do right now.

Technically, he shouldn’t even leave his apartment and show himself to the public like this—because small wings obviously automatically lead to the conclusion that he’s weak and useless, according to the HPSC. But after he’s been seen by civilians, coworkers, and the media alike right after holding up a building and sacrificing the better half of his wings for it, there isn’t much of a choice left. Hiding now would make him appear even weaker.

As a general rule, Hawks doesn’t have many choices. Handlers and Madam President think it makes him fall in line better, but they don’t actually know him. For him, this only means that he has to make the choices he has full control over count in every way they can.

He wiggles his wings in a way he knows accentuates his back muscles.

Dabi’s boots hit the carpet with a heavy thunk.

Hawks’ mouth curls up into another grin.

“Been wondering where the hell those oversized dusters of yours are,” Dabi drawls. The rustle of his clothes is oddly loud in the otherwise silent apartment. He approaches Hawks slowly, with measured steps, a predator stalking its prey before it pounces. When he stops right behind Hawks, the heat that radiates off of him makes something tug in Hawks’ lower stomach. “Piss someone off enough that they plucked you, birdie?”

"Excuse you, I don’t look like I got plucked.” One of Hawks’ wings twitches softly as if it, too, is offended at the mere thought of looking like that.

“Don’t you?” Dabi slides a warm finger over his left wing.

The sensation is so distracting and good, that Hawks almost forgets to reply. “I don’t,” he says, “and it’s not someone but something. Concrete buildings and feathers generally don’t get along very well.”

Dabi lets out a snort that Hawks feels more than he hears it. “Who would’ve thought?” He taps against Hawks’ wing. “Can’t detach them like the rest?”

“‘Course I can.” Hawks lets one of his smallest float up to Dabi’s face where it brushes over his high cheekbone and the tip of his nose before it’s caught by warm fingers. “But I don’t unless I absolutely have to.”

“And helping you dress yourself doesn’t count as a moment you’d use them for?”

“Why would it, when I have such a nice guy here to help me in their stead?”

A click of a tongue, then Dabi brushes over the feather, a lot more careful than anyone else—minus Hawks himself—would’ve done. And then he shoves it into the back pocket of his stupidly tight jeans and—

Oh, hello, Hawks thinks. He very carefully ignores the feather, uses all his extensive training to keep it still before he does something stupid like map out the few centimeters of Dabi’s ass cheek it’s almost in contact with.

Hot knuckles brush over the sensitive skin of his neck, wander to his nape, and the feather is discarded to the back of his mind just like that. Hawks’ head snaps back when Dabi gives the opening on the top of his back a good, hard tug.

“We both know how I feel about being nice. That,” Dabi mumbles, voice so quiet that Hawks’ feathers shiver at the sensation of it—a deep, deep and hot rasp that caresses all of Hawks’ enchanted senses, “doesn’t seem like something Heroes wear to those boring and awfully hyped galas where nothing interesting happens.”

The wording tugs at the back of Hawks’ mind, at the part that doesn’t go completely offline whenever Dabi sees fit to invade his personal space. An important part, vital to his survival since dealing with Dabi is oftentimes like playing an abridged version of Russian Roulette; five bullets, one empty slot, try at your own risk. That very part begs him to pay attention to those words, and Hawks will. Just… not right now.

Not when Dabi’s breath fans over his skin, his wings rustling as an involuntary shiver runs through them, makes the tips brush the soft fabric of Dabi’s shirt.

He pushes out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s not.”

If the Commission, if his handlers and Madam President, knew what he was wearing before they get to see it for the first time when the public does? Oh, he would’ve gotten more than an earful of complaints. Maybe then they would’ve been okay with him skipping, with him showing vulnerability that makes someone human.

But Hawks isn’t supposed to be human. He’s supposed to soar above those ideals, out of reach but not high enough to overshadow their Number One.

Dabi’s hot knuckles lightly brush over his skin, and then there’s the barely audible click of the press button snapping shut. It’s followed by his zipper closing. The sound, combined with the feather-light touch of Dabi’s skin on his own, is oddly sensual.

Hawks hasn’t had a drop of alcohol yet, he’s barely talked to Dabi for longer than ten minutes, and yet he feels drunk.

“Going against the wishes and plans of your bosses?”

“I mean, they’re always talking about keeping my public image in tact. They’re also very concerned about me being appealing to the eyes of just about anyone, so I’m doing them a favor by wearing this.”

“Doing everyone a favor,” Dabi says as he huffs out a laugh. “You’re being a bad birdie.”

“Oh, but I can be so good,” Hawks says, allowing his head move back far enough that he meets Dabi’s gaze again. Dabi tugs on the closed top of his shirt, as if testing how much it can take. “If they get mad at me for taking the extra mile to do what they tell me to do, that’s not my problem.”

Dabi blinks at him, slowly, as his fingers slip out of the shirt. “By showing off what people want to see the most?”

“By showing off what they can’t have,” Hawks says. His breath hitches, loud to his ears, as Dabi trails a hot finger down his back, right between his painfully still wings. “Being unattainable is part of the act; the truth wrapped in a package that gets dangled in front of everyone’s faces like a treat.”

“And are you? Unattainable?”

“Depends.”

“On the situation?” Dabi asks, thumb brushing over the base of Hawks’ wings. They shudder, and heat pools into Hawks’ stomach. “Or the person?”

Dabi’s intelligence, a tool he wields like the weapon it is, being turned on him probably shouldn’t be as hot to Hawks as it is. Then again, a Villain shouldn’t be this hot to Hawks either, and here they are.

Warm fingers walk up and down the still exposed part of his back. “So… doctors? Or those make up artists that take care of all those fancy shoots you’re in?”

“You keep up with my work outside of heroism? I’m flattered, hot stuff.” Hawks hisses when Dabi’s fingers heat up in warning. “That’s less being attainable to them and more being a good patient or client. They’re simply doing their work.”

They’re doing their work a lot more efficient than Hawks is, since what he’s doing is more than highly unprofessional but he is so far past caring that it’s probably a tad bit funny.

“Your little hero coworkers?”

“Not even close.”

With the sole exception of Rumi, none of them are what he’d consider a friend. Definitely not people he’d be himself with, and expose his back at its most vulnerable state to.

Dabi’s voice, when he next speaks, breath puffing against the side of Hawks’ neck, is so quiet and soft that Hawks has to use all his momentarily misplaced concentration to hear him. “Me?”

Hawks chuckles, a low sound that first vibrates through his chest and then his wings when Dabi tugs on the shirt again. “I think.” he says, “you and I both know the answer to that.”

“Maybe so,” Dabi says, “doesn’t mean I ain’t interested in hearing you say it.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Trying to find out if you’re lying to me.”

That gives Hawks pause.

Lying? Dabi thinks he’s lying about this—no, he can’t be serious. There’s no way in hell he doesn’t know Hawks wants him. He’s as obvious about it as he can be without openly shouting it at him. Whenever Dabi enters a room, Hawks’ eyes are glued to him.

From the first moment Dabi walked into the shabby warehouse, backlit by the silvery shine of the moon on floors and walls, Hawks had thought he was gorgeous; more so in person than the pictures he’d been given before his mission could ever do justice.

He almost does something stupid, like saying, “I’d never lie to you,” which would be a lie in itself, but a necessary one nonetheless. Hawks would lie, and he does, about anything under the sun to ensure his mission will be a success—anything but how badly he’s yearning for Dabi’s hands on him.

“If I tell you,” Hawks says, “what are you gonna do about it?”

Dabi flashes him a grin. It’s sharp and a little mean and Hawks wants to bite it off his face. He says, “Depends. Guess you’ll find out once you start tweeting.”

“For all your jabs about me liking my own voice too much, I’m starting to think you like it more than I do.” He meets Dabi’s gaze; his pupils are huge, eyes at half mast. He speaks lower, as if he’s about to share a secret, when he continues, “only fair since I like yours so much, huh?”

“Stop trying to butter me up, birdie, it’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

“Good thing I’m right where I want to be.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I mean,” Hawks says, flashing his canines in a grin, “if you insist.”

Dabi pulls harder at the fabric of his dress shirt. Hawks lets himself lean back too much for how light the action is, his ass bumping into Dabi’s crotch. “Shut the fuck up and answer.”

His eyes are sharp, bright and dazzling like diamonds when Hawks tilts his head back far enough that he almost rests on Dabi’s shoulder. They narrow when Hawks flutters his lashes to say, “I mean, I can’t very well do both of these at the same time, hot stuff.”

“With my abysmal luck in all things Heroes and especially you, you’d find a fucking way. Second Quirk awakening, or some shit.”

There it is again; the part of Hawks’ brain that isn’t completely fucking gone rears its head and screams at him to pay attention. And Hawks is paying attention, just not to that.

Not when Dabi tugs on his shirt again. A couple more of those and Hawks will start to properly rub against Dabi’s crotch. He’s actually had a couple of dreams that started like this, but he doesn’t let himself think about them as he spins to face Dabi, eyes mapping out that glittering blue gaze, the soft smirk sitting in the corner of his mouth.

“That sounds like you thought about it more than once,” Hawks says.

“It’s something of a reoccurring theme when I happen to fall asleep,” Dabi replies.

“Aw.” He reaches out slow enough for Dabi to pull back if he wanted to—he doesn’t—and hooks his finger into the small hole in his white shirt to tug on it softly. “You have dreams about me, hot stuff?”

Dabi hums. “Occasionally,” he says, “I usually call them nightmares, though.”

“You are,” Hawks says as he leans close enough for them to share breaths, “such a fucking asshole.”

“Takes one to know one.” It takes all of Hawks’ self restraint not to let out the sound that crawls up his throat when Dabi’s hands find his waist and stay there, the action warm and confident. He just hums, not trusting his voice for a moment, and Dabi squeezes just a little. “And yet you still think you want me.”

Fuck, does Hawks ever. He’s incapable of stopping the quiver of his wings, and even at their smallest it’s impossible to hide it. Especially with Dabi’s handful of centimeters on him.

Hawks pulls on the hole in Dabi’s shirt, the action light enough not to make it any bigger or ruin the shirt more. And yet Dabi steps a little closer as if Hawks is able to haul him in with that soft action. “Yeah,” he admits, mouth ticking up at the corners as he gives the shirt another tug, “Couldn’t imagine why that is.”

A lie—a bad one.

He knows exactly why he wants Dabi. He's made a detailed list that's haunted him on sleepless nights he spent pacing his apartment like a caged animal (funny, that), after he realized that it’s not dislike that manages to rile him up whenever Dabi opens his mouth. Hawks just happens to really want to put Dabi through the mattress. Or be put through the mattress by Dabi. Either one’s more than fine.

It’s a combination of many things; Dabi’s intelligence, his competence, his humor, stubbornness, his silver tongue. It helps that Dabi’s hot, figuratively and literally. The shape of his eyes, the quirk to his brows when he’s about to insult someone, and the mean twist of his mouth when he tells Hawks to fuck off. His nose scrunching up when he thinks something is stupid but funny at the same time. His hands—fuck, his hands—long fingered and fine boned, hands that wield his violently hot flames and yet hold Hawks carefully, are almost hesitant when they touch his wings.

The care he hides behind a thick wall of ice, funnily enough. One time, a couple of weeks ago, Hawks watched in silence as Dabi stomped off when Toga had complained about being cold, only to come back with two fuzzy blankets that he dumped on her head. Another time he made soup when Spinner caught a cold, and then he went out of his way to get Twice more cigarettes when his ran out.

It’s… just Dabi. As a whole, the picture Hawks is left with once he puzzles all pieces together. Unique, dangerous, hot, the worst idea he’s ever had.

Dabi’s eyes find and hold his. Warm fingers find Hawks’ back again, creep upwards to trail along his sensitive baby feathers. “You want me.”

Fuck, does Hawks ever. His wings give an involuntary jerk against Dabi’s careful caress.

“I do,” he says, admits, unapologetic.

“You’ve got to start doing things for yourself, Keigo,” Rumi told him just days prior. He knows she didn’t mean this, but he’s past the point of logic and caring.

Dabi grins. It’s sharp, a little mean, and so ridiculously attractive that Hawks is two seconds away from saying “fuck it”and straight up jumping Dabi where he stands. “Really? And how much did it hurt your little hero ego to admit that?”

“Not even a little,” Hawks says.

“Took your sweet time admitting it.”

So he did know, then. Dabi’s endless contradictions, his little white lies here and there would be more annoying if Hawks wasn’t so gone for him. And if Hawks wasn’t keeping his own cards just as close to his own chest—or, well… most of them.

Hawks sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, fluttering his lashes as he looks up at Dabi. “Maybe I was trying to take my time?”

“Taking your time?” Dabi cocks his head to the side. “Ain’t something anyone would expect from the man too fast for his own good, no? Then again, neither is that everyone’s favorite Hero is letting a Villain put his hand on—"

“Hey, Dabs?”

“What?”

“Not that I don’t love the sound of your voice, but can you please just shut the fuck up and kiss me—”

Hawks doesn’t get the chance to finish speaking before Dabi fists a hand in the silk fabric of his dress shirt and hauls him even closer to swallow the rest of his sentence with a hot mouth and a hotter kiss.

There is a brief second in which the world stands still. Sound, smell, whatever lives and breathes around them ceases to exist until the only thing left at the center of nothing and everything are Dabi and Hawks. For the first time in his life, Hawks’ head is pleasantly quiet, his thoughts frozen in time with the rest of the universe.

And then Dabi turns his head, slots their mouths properly together, harder and deeper and better, and the person Hawks is ceases to exist so completely that he’ll never go back to how he was before.

A groan rips free from his throat as Dabi’s clever hands tug his shirt out of his pants to slip beneath the fabric, hot fingers landing on the bare skin of Hawks’ waist.

Hawks’ own hands, after releasing Dabi’s shirt that has an additional five holes now, wander up, up, up. One finds the side of Dabi’s face, holding his jaw, thumb swiping over the different textures of scar tissue, skin, and staples. The other finds his hair, fingers slipping through impossibly soft strands, lightly scraping over Dabi’s scalp and then getting a good hold of a couple strands before he pulls on them. Lightly, experimentally.

Dabi’s hips press against Hawks’, hard, impossibly good, and Hawks swallows up the moan that leaves him.

He gives another tug, and Dabi changes the angle again and somehow he kisses Hawks even harder, even better, more passionate than before.

There’s a deepness, a hardness to the kiss that’s unlike anything Hawks has ever experienced before. It’s hurried, frantic, and yet so, so slow as Dabi’s mouth moves against his own and he kisses Hawks as if he’s starving for it, as if all of Dabi’s wretched goals start and end with Hawks and their mouths pressed together. He kisses Hawks as if he would die if he weren’t. He kisses Hawks as if it means something, as if it’s impossible that it doesn’t.

Dabi kisses Hawks as if he wants to devour him. And Hawks would let him.

Teeth sink into Hawks’ bottom lip and he’s weak to do anything but moan into Dabi’s mouth at the sensation, shivers running down his back and heat pooling low into his stomach. And then he does it again when an impossibly hot tongue licks over his own.

It’s one thing to see the piece of jewelry pierced through Dabi’s tongue. It’s an entirely different thing to feel it on his own as Dabi rubs over it, the metal oddly cool despite the heat Dabi’s entire existence brings with it. It’s good, better than good, and then Dabi bites his fucking lip and runs his tongue over it and Hawks stops thinking.

They make it from the middle of the living room to the wall without separating from each other or stumbling.

Fuck, yeah, Hawks thinks as Dabi pushes him against it, one hand in his hair, the other one pressed into the middle of his back. Then Dabi presses himself as close as he can possibly get without them fusing into one being, a long and hot line down the front of Hawks’ body. Fuuuuck, yes.

His fingers slip under Dabi’s thin shirt to hold onto his waist, attempting to pull him closer, then holding Dabi against Hawks as he rolls his hips up. He can feel Dabi’s moan against his lips, in his mouth, in the tips of his feathers.

And then Dabi grinds against him, hard, and electricity shoots through his entire body.

Hawks doesn’t think—no, no, he knows he’s never felt this good when kissing anyone, when getting kissed within an inch of his life. There’s something about the way Dabi licks into Hawks’ mouth, swallows up the noises that break free from his throat, in the heat of his fingers as they hold Hawks, pull at him, make this diving, better than anything else could possibly be.

Dabi methodically and thoroughly takes him apart with his tongue. teeth, mouth and hands, fights Hawks’ lips on every step of the way, shoves Hawks deeper into the wall and is quick to follow as if he’s incapable of doing anything but.

It’s one thing to know that Dabi’s intelligent, it’s another thing to experience it firsthand as he learns how to to bets kiss Hawks and immediately does it, and more. It’s fucking infuriating. And hot.

Hawks wants to fucking eat him, swallow him up until there’s nothing of him left. He pulls on Dabi’s hair to move his face back and gives his tongue a strong suck, reveling the throaty moan it elicits.

“Fuck me,” Dabi groans, sounding dazed out of his mind.

When he moves back, Hawks is right on his heels, pushing into his space enough that no paper could fit between their bodies. He trails biting kisses to Dabi’s chin, his jawline, down the side of his neck, where he pauses to suck on his pulse and mutter, “I mean, I will. If you really want me to, that is?”

Dabi licks his lips, piercing flashing. A flush sits high on his cheeks. His eyes are half glazed over. “What about,” he says, breathing heavily. “What about your little hero gala?”

“Fuck the hero gala.”

Hawks should probably be surprised by how much he means it, but he’s not. It seems that Dabi is, though; his brows touch his hairline and his head tips to the side. Then a smile breaks out over his face, small yet radiant enough that Hawks almost shields his eyes.

He chuckles, breath fanning over Hawks’ face when he leans in again. “What the hell, sure,” he says, lips brushing Hawks’. “Take me the fuck to bed, birdie.”

The kiss that Hawks presses to Dabi’s mouth is slower, softer, somehow so much more intimate and infinitely hotter than the biting, wet, hard ones from before. He gets a better grip on Dabi’s hair, pulls on it harder, eats up his whining groan and echoes it with his own. A shiver runs down his spine when he wiggles the feather still caught in Dabi’s pocket, letting it hug the firm curve of his ass before he uses it to push Dabi into a slow grind that sets every nerve in Hawks’ body alight.

A squeeze to Dabi’s ass has Dabi gasping against Hawks’ mouth.

“Fucking pervert,” he says, voice wrecked.

Hawks hums. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, hot stuff?”

Dabi’s eyes narrow and his fingers heat up in a warning that loses all of its power thanks to the flush on his cheeks. “Shut the fuck up—”

Hawks connects their lips again before he can finish that sentence.

His hands begin to trail from Dabi’s hair over his cheeks, down the sides of his neck, his shoulders, the front of his chest before he finds the hole in the fabric again to tug. This time, it’s harder. The sound of fabric ripping apart makes both of them pause.

Dabi bites his bottom lip hard. “That was my favorite shirt.”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Hawks says, “I’ll buy you twenty of them.”

He surges forward to capture Dabi’s mouth again, stepping away from the wall and walking Dabi to the right—the door to his bedroom. A pleasant buzz takes over his senses, redirects the finely tuned instincts of his to be focused on Dabi and nothing else. It sinks into his being, past his skin and muscle and bone, makes a home next to his heart, buries its claws into his soul.

Hawks feels intoxicated, he’s drunk on Dabi— his touches, his voice, his smell, the sound of pulse. His lips are swollen and hypersensitive from being bitten and kissed and licked and sucked, and yet Hawks hasn’t had his fill yet. He wants to get to get more, more, more.

He’s not supposed to be greedy, to indulge in something as ridiculous as one of the seven deadly sins.

He’s not supposed to fuck a Villain either, let alone kiss him and develop emotions that go far beyond anything he’s been told he’s capable of.

Hawks doesn’t give a single fuck about what he should and shouldn’t do—or be.

The suit jacket vanishes from Hawks’ person and he kicks out of his dress shoes, discarding them to the side. Dabi’s boots hit the floors with a loud clunk right after.

It takes all of Hawks’ carefully trained and honed senses to keep him from tripping over his own feet like a baby deer as he somehow manages to navigate them to his bedroom. As soon as they make it over the threshold, Dabi wretches himself from Hawks’ mouth as if the mere action alone hurts him.

A complaints rises inside of Hawks, but the words vanish from his thoughts when Dabi leans in again. Instead of going back to his mouth, Dabi located his throat, kissing and biting a line down the side of it; undoubtedly leaving a necklace of marks that he’ll be able to admire hours and days later.

Oh, his make-up artists are going to hate having to cover them, but Hawks doesn’t dare stopping Dabi.

His pants become impossibly tight when Dabi finds his pulse point and gives it a strong, agonizingly long suck that Hawks can feel in every nerve point of his body. His cock, so hard it almost hurts, throbs and he grinds against Dabi, eyes rolling back when Dabi’s own clothed erection meets him in the middle.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, head thrown back to allow Dabi more access. His hands slip down, fingers catching the belt loops of Dabi’s pants to tug and keep him close.

“Thought that was the plan?” Dabi mutters into his skin.

Hawks gives the side of Dabi’s head his best version of a glare. Then he pulls his hands to the front, fumbling with Dabi’s belt buckle and undoing it to pull it out with a snap, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You,” he says, popping the button of Dabi’s jeans with one hand and pressing his other one against his hot skin, “are the most annoying person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, hot stuff.”

Hawks’ feathers detach from his back and pull his blanket to the floor, making sure they’re positioned correctly. And then Hawks gives Dabi a hard shove before his grinning mouth can think of an answer to that. Teeth scrape over his neck hard, most definitely breaking skin, and a undignified yelp reaches his ears before Dabi vanishes from his front.

Dabi’s back hits the mattress only half a second later. The Villain bounces on it for a moment before he scoots back to lean in the middle of Hawks’ obscenely large bed, right on the extensive collection of pillows he owns. His shirt is ripped open, exposing his scars, pale skin, the staples that glint like molten gold, a piercing through his nipple that makes Hawks’ mouth water as he imagines wrapping his lips around it, dragging his tongue over the piece of jewelry, and sucking it into his mouth to explore just how many songs can slip from between Dabi’s kiss swollen lips. His jeans, hugging his long legs so tightly they should be illegal. The evidence of how much he wants Hawks denting the front of it impressively. Black hair sticks up in every direction, blue eyes are glazed over and hot and hungry as they observe Hawks right back.

An elegant finger crooks, beckons Hawks closer, pulls him forward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, one magnet desperate to have its other half as close as possible. Hawks’ movements don’t entirely feel like his own, more as if Dabi put a spell on him that he’s hopelessly caught in, and yet he does nothing to gain back the control his handlers hammered into his being, right down to his core.

“No,” Dabi says and Hawks freezes on the spot, his wings fanning out to the best of their ability. A hand drags down the front of Dabi’s chest, passing over his nipple and navel torturously slow, until it stops at his pants and covers the white hair leading down. Blue eyes darken at the whine that slips through Hawks’ clenched teeth. “That,” he continues, voice rough, and nods at Hawks, “needs to go.”

It takes Hawks way too long to realize that the “that” in question is his shirt.

“But I just put that on,” he says, yet does as he’s told; fingers reaching for the buttons in the front to undo them slowly, one by one.

“You’re not putting your dick in me unless you take that shit off.”

“That shit,” Hawks repeats with a chuckle. “And here I thought you liked the silk and the way it looks on me?”

“Sure,” Dabi replies, “but I’ll like you a lot more when you’re naked.”

Hawks flashes him a grin. “Aw, you like me?”

“That’s honestly debatable.” Dabi blinks slowly. “Take it off before I burn it off of you.”

Now that’s a mental image that does all kinds of interesting things to Hawks’ head and body. He can’t help but imagine it, the burn of Dabi’s hot hands, fabric being peeled off his naked skin and turned to ash with controlled heat. His cock strains against his pants, growing impossibly heavy in his briefs.

Huh, he thinks, head tipping to the side. Maybe another time.

It only takes a couple seconds for him to undo the front, and two feathers detach from his wings to take care of the back. There’s a sharp arch to Dabi’s brow when he takes note of it, but no comment for once.

The silk slips open and down his arms, revealing his upper body and making the dent in his pants more obvious than it had been before.

Spreading his arms wider than his current wingspan is, Hawks asks, “Better?”

“Eh. Passable,” Dabi’s mouth says, almost nonchalantly, but his eyes scream something completely different. They drink in Hawks’ tan skin, the muscles his training and work hone, the hard buds of his nipples, the thin patch of golden hair disappearing into his waistband. His eyes grow impossibly darker as he beckons Hawks closer once more. “C’mere, birdie.”

“I’m not a dog,” Hawks says as he crawls over the mattress, reveling in the way Dabi’s legs part for him. He slots himself between them, gazes at Dabi from above.

He’s so beautiful Hawks’ chest hurts.

“And yet you listened anyway,” Dabi's says. “Mostly, anyway. When I say c’mere,” he continues as his hands latch onto Hawks’ biceps and shoulder, “I mean here.”

With that, he pulls on Hawks strong enough that his arms give out and he presses Dabi into the mattress with the entirety of his body weight. They both groan at the feeling of their skin sliding together, their clothes erections making contact.

Hawks takes a moment to enjoy it, the difference in textures between Dabi’s scars, his healthy skin and then the added sensations of his staples, oddly cool to the touch. Turning his head brings him in biting range of Dabi’s neck, and he wastes no time in scraping his teeth over it, hips lifting to come down in a slow grind that has Hawks seeing stars.

“Fuck,” he says, sucking on Dabi’s skin before he lifts himself just a little, cock twitching when his nipple slides over Dabi’s pierced one. “How the fuck did you get that strong?

Voice quiet, Dabi says, “I eat my fucking vegetables and greens when they get handed to me, that’s how.”

“Aren’t they supposed to make you taller and not stronger?”

“Well, that’d explain why you’re short as fuck.”

“It’s four centimeters, hot stuff,” Hawks points out with a chuckle as he allows his hands to trail down Dabi’s bare sides. They stop at his waist, fitting as if they were molded with the sole purpose of holding the other man like this—intimately. “They barely mean shit.”

A huff. Then, “Yeah, if you don’t know what the fuck to do with them.”

“And who’s the pervert now?” Hawks asks, but moves his hips against Dabi’s when Dabi leads them into another hard, delicious grind.

“Still you,” Dabi says through clenched teeth, blue eyes glowing like his fire.

Hawks laugh again, pressing a short, hard kiss to Dabi’s infuriating mouth before he scoots lower to finally, finally play with the jewelry punched through Dabi’s hard nipple. He drags his tongue over it, slow and with just the right amount of pressure to make Dabi moan and grip his head, slender fingers tangling in his blond strands. Then he wraps his lips around it to suck it into his mouth, listening to the stutter in Dabi’s pulse.

“Holy shit, oh, fuck,” Dabi mumbles, and Hawks hums around him. “Shit, birdie—Hawks. That’s… yeah, that’s good.”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Hawks presses tighter against Dabi, sucks harsher, scrapes his teeth over the piercing begging to be played with as his hands squeeze Dabi’s middle, his dull talons scraping over rows of staples lightly.

Above him, Dabi moans loudly, brokenly, as if it’s ripped from his throat. His fingers tighten around Hawks’ hair, pull it enough for Hawks to feel it in his scalp, but not enough to rip out hair as Dabi’s hips jerk up, clothed erection rubbing against Hawks’ lower stomach.

He does it another time, and then again, feeling drunk on the noises that come out of Dabi’s mouth. His hips begin a slow grind against his mattress as he closes his eyes; the knowledge that it’s him—his mouth, his tongue, his teeth—who makes Dabi feel good enough to express himself with broken moans, groans, gasps of “fuck, birdie” lets his cock swell more. He wants—needs to hear Dabi groan again, needs to feel him pull his hair again, harder and sharper, needs to hear the evidence of just how much pleasure Hawks is causing him to feel.

Hot fingers trail down, over the side of his neck and then his shoulder before it reaches his wings where it grabs a handful of feathers and just holds them. Dabi strokes a particularly sensitive one with his thumb and Hawks drags himself back up to claim Dabi’s mouth in another kiss.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbles, licking over Dabi’s lips, putting his teeth in them when they part for him. Dabi’s tongue meets him halfway for a long, sensual lick that leaves Hawks panting. His hips jerk, seeking and finding friction. “I want you.”

There’s a truth hidden in those words, one that goes far beyond physical attraction and finally being allowed to touch after wanting for this long.

Dabi has always been able to read some parts that Hawks keeps hidden, carefully tucked away from the public eye, and all it takes is one glance out of his intelligent eyes, a jab shaped by his sharp tongue. Hawks knows that Dabi knows Hawks wants him; the question that remains is if he knows just how deep this goes, how tightly it holds on to Hawks’ entire being.

The more they rub against each other, the tighter Dabi holds him, the more carefully he cards his fingers through Hawks’ feathers, the more Hawks knows this isn’t some ordinary hook-up. It’s something that Hawks will never be able to have with someone else, not to this degree. And he knows that he’ll never be the same person after he got a taste of that it’d be like to be with Dabi, a tease of what could be, indefinitely.

And Hawks doesn’t care one bit.

Villain or not, Hawks should start to be concerned with how much he’d be willing to sacrifice at the feet of fate, just to see a tomorrow where they both make it alive out of the war brewing on the horizon.

Hot fingers tighten around his feathers and pull him back into the present. Dabi looks up at him, eyes almost completely black, and says, “You fucking have me, birdie.”

Hawks wishes this were true in all the ways he wants—needs it to be.

He leans back in to drink the unique taste of Dabi’s mouth. Minty, with a hint of nicotine and something that distantly reminds Hawks of cold, harsh winters.

“Oh, I’m about to,” he says as he pulls back. He bites more kisses into Dabi’s jawline, the side of his neck, as his hands trail down the length of Dabi’s body. The open button of his pants gets ignored in favor of Hawks sliding his hands around Dabi to reach for his ass and hopefully grab a handful of bare a bare cheek to—

When his hand squeezes into Dabi’s jeans, he doesn’t make contact with the soft fabric of briefs or boxers. Instead, there’s only bare skin.

He pokes his fingers in one, two more times with the same result. Eyebrows arched, he asks, “What? No underwear?”

Dabi looks through his lashes, blue eyes glittering with lust and amusement, and grins like the devil. “Nah,” he drawls, rolling his hips upwards, “just didn’t feel like it today.”

Blood rushes to Hawks’ cock so quickly that he almost passes out on top of Dabi. He presses his face into Dabi’s neck, sucks on his skin, tucks a whine against his pulse. “Fucking hell,” he says, hips pressing harder against Dabi’s. “You’re gonna be the death of me, hot stuff.”

“Imagine that,” Dabi says through a gasp, “beloved Pro-Hero taken out by S-Rank Villain going commando. Bet that wouldn’t be good for your public ratings.”

“Oh, on the contrary, people would eat up a scandal like that as if they’ve been starved for days.” Hawks bites and kisses down Dabi’s chest, giving his pierced nipple an extra amount of attention before he scoots lower. “I mean, sure, the death part isn’t great, but everyone loves to read about passionate nights from public figures. Makes everyone think we’re regular people. Gives people the idea that they, too, could become the next person caught in a risky situation with a Hero, actor, you name it.”

It’s insanely stupid, and yet another aspect of the glorified life he lives that he hates. He’s a Hero, not a celebrity. He wants to save people, not be in photo shoots and advertisements that have nothing to do with it.

“That’s fucking stupid,” Dabi says, scoffing around a gasp when Hawks dips his tongue into his belly button.

“And that,” Hawks says as he reaches Dabi’s jeans, “sounds like jealousy to me.”

“And what would I have to be jealous of? I don’t see anyone else in your bed but me.”

Hawks hums. “Yeah, that’d be a little inconvenient. I’m not too fond of sharing, and it’d get crowded in here, don’tcha think, hot stuff?”

He doesn’t give him a chance to respond as he leans down, puts the slider of the zipper between his teeth and scoots lower to open it. He stares right at Dabi, the noise of the metal teeth unlocking distant and overpowered by the stutter in Dabi’s pulse.

Two feathers zip from his tiny wings, helping him pull the tight jeans down the curve of Dabi’s ass and then his long legs. It’s torturous how long it takes for them to be free, and Hawks doesn’t look away until Dabi’s and his own pants get dropped carelessly to the floor.

And only then, once they’re both naked, does he allows himself to look down. His gaze caresses Dabi’s face,

Dabi is bigger than him but thinner, slightly curved, with a beautifully flushed and swollen head. Precum leaks from the tip, runs down his shaft, and—

“Oh, my fucking God,” Hawks says. He wraps his hand around the base of his own cock, sighing brokenly at the sight of the piercings winking at him from where they’re sitting on the underside of Dabi’s shaft.

He squeezes himself with a whine.

It takes all of Hawks’ self restraint not to swallow Dabi all the way down and make him come down his throat this instant.

Dabi’s cock, as if privy to Hawks’ thoughts, twitches against Dabi’s lower stomach, smearing precum over his white happy trail.

“Fucking hell, hot stuff.”

A shaky sigh escapes Hawks as he places himself between Dabi’s spread legs to press his nose against the creamy skin of Dabi’s inner thigh, taking a deep breath, scraping his teeth over it.

Dabi’s heel digs into his side. “Shit,” he moans as Hawks presses just a little harder against his skin. “Don’t be a fucking tease, didn’t you say something about biting?”

“So impatient,” Hawks mutters, hands sliding up the back of Dabi’s thighs to grab his ass and knead it. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there. Let a guy get an eye-full, yeah?”

His wings fan out to the best of their ability. If Dabi’s skin wasn’t heating up in warning already, Hawks would love to draw all kinds of different, and needy, noises out of the other man with the help of his feathers.

He can imagine it perfectly; a feather playing with his pierced nipple, another one wrapping around the base of his cock, two holding him open and ready for Hawks. Or perhaps one wrapped around both of their cocks, jerking them slowly, sensually, as Hawks bites Dabi all over until they both come.

His tongue drags from thigh to hip bone, where Hawks nips at the skin hard enough to leave a mark.

Dabi moans, hips jerking at the same time Hawks’ do to seek friction. His cock jumps, piercings glinting, and Hawks’ gaze is drawn to it once more.

“You should fuck me next time.”

“Next time?” Dabi lets out a laugh, breathless and raspy and hot. Hawks presses his hips harder against the mattress. “Someone’s overly optimistic.”

Hawks looks up through his lashes and presses his mouth against the soft skin of Dabi’s inner thigh, lips brushing against it as he speaks. “You saying this is a one-time thing, hot stuff?”

“Maybe—” Dabi’s breath hitches and his cock twitches against his lower stomach again, smearing more precum over it, when Hawks finally sinks his teeth into Dabi’s thigh. “Fuck. Maybe not.”

Hawks hums, drags his tongue over Dabi’s skin, sucks on it harshly before he releases it again. He winks when Dabi glances down at him, pupils the size of dinner plates. “That’s what I thought,” he says before he turns his head and bites Dabi’s other thigh, eyes rolling back at the sound that rips out of Dabi’s throat.

He sucks marks into both of his thighs, peppers kisses over his hipbones, his lower stomach. After sucking two of his fingers into his mouth he reaches up, finding Dabi’s pecs and going for his nipple to play with it.

Dabi hisses. “Shit, your magpie brain really likes that one, huh?”

“I’m not a fucking magpie,” Hawks comments lightly.

“Could’ve fucking fooled me,” Dabi gives back, “with how focused you are on shiny shit.”

“I’d be stupid not to, when it looks so good on you.”

With that, he turns his head to the side, noses along the other piercings that decorate Dabi’s body. He takes a breath, takes in the smoky, wintery scent that clings to Dabi, and lets his mind slip a little. His teeth scrape over the sensitive skin of Dabi’s cock, mindful not to get caught on the ladder piercings as he makes his way further up, up, up.

And then he licks over the tip and moans loudly, without shame, as the salty taste of Dabi’s precum coats his tongue.

“God,” Hawks says, as if in prayer. There’s nothing holy about what they’re doing, but Dabi tastes fucking divine. “You’re a fucking danger, y’know? I wouldn’t think twice about throwing away a good chunk of responsibilities to keep sucking you off.”

“Even some of your precious Hero work?”

Hawks thinks about just how very little some of the shit the HPSC demands he does has to do with being heroic, how far away it is from the one thing he’s in this for, and says, with wry amusement, “Oh, especially that.”

“Talking like a proper Villain,” Dabi says. From his mouth, it sounds like praise.

“I get it from the best.” Hawks winks, then opens his mouth and sucks the head of Dabi’s cock inside.

He hums, dragging his tongue along the ladder piercings. He tugs on Dabi’s nipple piercing, his hum turning into a moan when Dabi grabs his hair and pulls. Then he opens his mouth wider, takes him in deeper as he hollows his cheeks, eyes jumping up to catch the dazed expression that crosses Dabi’s face.

“Just like that,” Dabi murmurs, thumb swiping over Hawks’ cheekbone with something that’s almost affection. He hisses when Hawks moans around him, breath deepening as Hawks sucks strongly. “Shit, birdie, look at you. You’re taking me so fucking well. Fuuuck,” his cock twitches inside of Hawks, “that feels amazing.”

Hearing that is music to Hawks’ ears. He ruts against his mattress, cock sliding over the wet spot from his precum, and takes Dabi deeper and deeper, until all of him rests inside of his mouth and throat. His nose comes to rest against the fine white hair on Dabi’s lower stomach, and he breathes in carefully, takes in Dabi’s intoxicating scent, then swallows around him.

The stomach muscles close to Hawks’ face clench and he’s quick to brace a forearm on them to keep Dabi from thrusting into his mouth. He hums again.

Dabi throws his head back with a long groan, brows scrunched together. “Jesus, birdie—Hawks. What the fuck are you… don’t fucking—oh, shit, do that again—don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

Hawks pulls off his cock slowly but doesn’t pull away. The tip rests against his mouth as he grins at Dabi. “Oh, I won’t.” His voice is hoarse, wrecked, and he can’t wait to reduce Dabi’s to the same. “It’d be really hard to do so, considering I don’t have a gag reflex.”

“What the fuck do you—” Dabi breaks off when Hawks takes him all the way down again and then starts to bob his head in earnest. Steam stutters out of him with his next exhale, and the fingers he digs into Hawks’ scalp are hot and needy.

He begins to move his hips lazily in time with his head in an attempt to relief some of the pressure on his hard cock, but all it does is make him harder, make the spot on the mattress wetter as he listens to Dabi invent new curses as he gets lost in his own pleasure.

It’s a matter of minutes before Dabi’s moans turns more into needy whines. They’re long, drawn out little noises. Shaky and broken. More steam escapes his mouth. Sweat coats his forehead.

He’s so fucking gorgeous that Hawks could probably come from watching him alone. He would, if he were to continue rutting against the bed to the sounds he has Dabi making, but that’s not what he promised Dabi.

So when he feels Dabi grow heavier as he swells more, he pulls off completely with a hum, licking his lips to savor the taste of him. A feather darts to his nightstand to open it at the same time Dabi groans, his hips straining against Hawks’ easy hold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dabi says, panting. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep trying to suck my soul out of my dick.”

“Why’re you complaining?” Hawks kisses the thigh to his right. “Doesn’t sound like the worst way to be taken out.”

“Encouraging the death of an innocent like myself?”

Hawks snorts. “Please, hot stuff. There’s nothing innocent about you.”

Not with him spread out on Hawks’ bed, cock hard and flushed, face sweaty, cheeks red, eyes dark and glazed over, lips kiss bitten. The grins at Hawks like the cat that got the canary; that expression is even less innocent than the general state of Dabi. It becomes worse when Dabi catches his hand, drags it to his hot mouth and sucks on two of his fingers, managing to lap on them before Hawks is able to muster up enough strength to snatch them back.

“Behave,” Hawks tells him quietly, teeth digging into Dabi’s skin, hips pressing into the mattress.

Dabi hisses. “But I’m not even doing anything.”

Eyebrow arched, Hawks brings his wet fingers to his own mouth and sucks Dabi’s saliva off of them. He winks when Dabi curses quietly and then bites his lips.

“Question,” he starts, hooking first one of Dabi’s legs over his shoulder and then the other, hands slipping under his ass to just hold and squeeze, “how flexible are you?”

“Depends.” A heel digs into Hawks’ back, making his next grind a lot harder. There’s a flash of teeth when Hawks groans. “In other positions, it’s easier to do shit than in others. Hope your not expecting acrobatic performances, because this one pulls like hell, and I’m not all that much into blood.”

Hawks purses his lips, considering that for a moment as he kneads Dabi’s ass. Makes sense, if one considers Dabi’s extensive scarring and the staples hooked through his skin. He leans his temple against the side of Dabi’s knee. “What about this one?”

“I would’ve told you if it wasn’t fine.”

“Set me on fire, you mean.”

Dabi snorts. “Why’re you asking?”

“Because I was going to eat you out,” Hawks says, voice dipping lower, “but I suppose we can wait with that until next time.”

Dabi’s hips twitch up and his heel digs harder against Hawks’ ass as he moans. “Fuck you, Hawks,” he says. “Shit, stop trying to fucking kill me. That ain’t very heroic of you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Hawks’ lips press against his thigh, close to his weeping cock. “But I’m not trying to be. Wouldn’t be a good extra league member if I were, no?”

“Mh. All this shit here would’ve been a lot more interesting than the stupid peacocking you did.”

“Did not. Would it have made you believe me faster?”

“Maybe,” Dabi says, in the same tone someone else would use to say no way in hell. “Now shut the fuck up about work.”

Hawks chuckles. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

His feather, after fumbling around more than it should’ve, thanks to the glorious distraction Dabi is, finally locates the bottle of lube. It comes flying at him and he raises a hand just in time to catch it.

Dabi, after seeing its half empty state, arches an eyebrow in silence.

The click of the cap opening is loud, but Hawks’ chuckle, pressed against Dabi’s inner thigh, is louder. “Really not selling the “not jealous” bit here, hot stuff.”

“Fuck do I have to be jealous of?”

“Exactly,” Hawks says. The cap clicks loudly as he opens it to drizzle lube all over his fingers. He scoots closer to Dabi, lets some of it drip from his fingertips and directly onto Dabi’s skin, where it runs down from his balls to his hole. His free hand wiggles in the air. “Only competition here is this, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Dabi immediately says. He contradicts his badly acted disinterest by continuing with, “You gotta lot of time to jack off? That’s the biggest bottle of lube I’ve ever seen.”

“And just how often to you look at lube, hot stuff?” Hawks hums. He spreads Dabi’s legs a little more apart, lets a lubed finger circle Dabi’s hole, then lightly strokes over it. “I don’t have a lot of free time, so I make the little I can squeeze in here and there count. My stamina’s as great as my imagination, so you can imagine how that goes.”

Dabi chuckles. “Maybe,” he says. “What does a hero like you fantasize about?”

More lube drips onto Hawks’ fingers and Dabi’s hole before the feather drops the lube to the side. Dabi wiggles his hips, cock twitching, and Hawks prods his hole without pushing in yet.

He waits for a moment, looks up, seeks out Dabi’s gaze and says, “Take a wild guess.”

And then he pushes his finger past the ring of muscle of Dabi’s ass. Immediately, he’s surrounded by heat that is more intense than anything Hawks has ever felt; Dabi is hotter than Hawks’ own ass is when he plunges his fingers in, opens himself up with one hand while the other one plays with his cock and nipples while he wishes his fingers were someone else’s—longer, thinner, much warmer than his own.

Imagining having that heat wrapped around him, squeezing him, is enough to have him pause and his hips to still before he does something wholly embarrassing like come before they’ve even really started.

He mouths at Dabi’s thigh. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, non-caring of how ruined he already sounds, “you’re hot.”

“You forgetting something here, birdie?” Dabi moves his hips. “Fire Quirk, remember?”

“I know, but… you doing that on purpose?”

“Nah.” Dabi’s eyes begin to glow. “That’s all natural, but I could, in theory, heat up parts of my body if I wanted to.”

Hawks whines. He turns his head enough to be close enough that he can drag his tongue over Dabi’s taint and balls. In the same second, he pushes in deeper, slowly lets his finger be surrounded by that insane heat to the sound of Dabi’s moan.

He presses his hips harder against the wet spot on his mattress, wings fluttering as he groans quietly.

It takes everything not to take Dabi back into his mouth, to show just how much he appreciates the piercings running up the underside of his shaft. He sucks the skin of Dabi’s thighs back into his mouth, bites and licks harder, his finger moving faster, pushing in a little deeper, again and again.

“Fuck, birdie,” Dabi breathes. His pulse stutters with his next sigh. “Shit, that’s fucking nice.”

“Yeah?” Hawks doesn’t take his eyes off Dabi’s face, catalogues the open pleasure plastered over every millimeter of it. “You like that? Feels good?”

“Really—mh—really good.”

“Okay, then what about this?” He pulls out, then pushes back in with two fingers. It’s a little tight at first, but Dabi’s hole adjusts quickly, sucking in Hawks easily, letting him push them in and out and in again.

Dabi throws an arm over the empty side of the bed, fingers tangling in the mattress cover, steam rising from in between them. “Fuuuck,” he sighs. “That’s it, birdie. You’re doing so fucking good.”

The praise does things to Hawks that he doesn’t have time to fully explore right now—his cock throbs, aches, begs for release, and a pleasant shiver runs down his back.

“Yeah?” Hawks asks again, eyes dropping to his fingers to watch them disappear in Dabi’s hole before he pulls them almost all the way back out. “You like me fingering you?” He pushes back in, spreads his fingers, strokes along Dabi’s walls, bites his lip when Dabi claws at his bedding. “You like when I stretch you open like this, slow and deep?”

“Holy shit.” More precum leaks out of Dabi’s cock. “You’re fucking mouthy.”

“Thought you liked it?”

“Not complaining, am I?” Dabi’s heel kicks harder against Hawks’ back. “Fucking—shit—faster, birdie.”

Hawks licks his lips, presses in harder but keeps his slow and steady pace—for now. “But this is good, isn’t it? Fuck,” he mumbles, “your hole sucks my fingers up so prettily, squeezes them as if you don’t wanna let them go.”

Dabi chuckles. “Jesus—fuck—yeah, yes, fucking shit. It’s good, so good. Would be better if you did it faster—”

Hawks curls his fingers and Dabi tightens around him when he brushes over his prostate. The moan that reaches his ears is longer, louder, sounds as if it’s been punched out of Dabi’s throat. Hawks wants to bottle it up, to keep it all to himself, to open and listen to it again and again for as long as he’s able to.

“Fucking hell, hot stuff.” Hawks kisses his thighs, his knees, hip bones, lower stomach, lightly licks over his shaft. “You’re so fucking hot, taking me so well. Fuck, Dabs, you drive me crazy.”

“Oh, yeah?” He circles his hips. “Why don’t you show me how crazy a Villain like myself is making you by hurrying it up?”

Instead of going faster, Hawks coats his fingers with more lube after reaching for the bottle. The next time he pushes in, it’s with three fingers. Dabi’s eyes roll back, hips moving to meet Hawks’ shallow thrusts.

“Remember what I said about taking my time?”

“Take some more,” Dabi gasps out, “and I’m gonna grow fucking old.”

“Don’t be self conscious now,” Hawks says as he twists his fingers, rubs them over Dabi’s prostate once more, “I’m sure you’d look hot with grey hair.”

Something flicks over Dabi’s expression, there and gone in a matter of miliseconds, but Hawks catches it anyway. He puts it in the back of his mind, shoves it away for now; there are more important things to attend to.

Dabi opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but all he does is moan brokenly when Hawks actually starts to listen to thrust deeper, faster.

He works Dabi opens quickly, but thoroughly, gaze jumping between the flush on Dabi’s cheeks to the sweat on his forehead, his heated eyes and parted mouth to his weeping cock and where his own fingers disappear into Dabi’s hole, again and again.

Their moans fill the silence of the apartment, accompanied by curses, hisses, the occasional groan, and barely audible squeaks from the bed frame as Dabi’s hips begin to move more frantically, needy, the longer Hawks is at it.

A hot hand reaches for the one Hawks has placed on Dabi’s waist. Their fingers tangle, the simple gesture so fragile and intimate it robs Hawks’ breath as he glances up.

“If you keep that up, I’m gonna come all over myself, and the fun’ll be over. Ah—fuck, birdie, that’s…” Dabi’s eyes flutter closed for a second. “I’m fucking good now. Put your fingers outta my ass and put your dick in me before I set both of us on fire.”

Hawks pauses, then whistles. “That’s hot.”

“You’re fucked up.”

“And yet you’re in my bed.”

Dabi hums, licking his lips. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “wanna show me why that is again, hero?”

Hawks pumps his fingers two more times, deep and hard, before he eases them out of Dabi with a sigh. He almost puts them right back in when he sees Dabi’s hole clench, hips thrusting up as if searching for what they’ve just lost.

Cock throbbing and weeping, Hawks rips his gaze away and meets Dabi’s dark, lustfull stare. “Still sure you want this? That you want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me?” Dabi repeats, eyes glinting. “I want you to wreck me, birdie.”

Hawks surges forward to press a short yet hard kiss to Dabi’s mouth before a feather darts to the side. His nightstand almost topples over, a couple things knocking to the floor with how hard and uncoordinated his feather moves.

He holds out his hand for the small foil package, but it gets caught between two pale fingers instead.

“That… was weirdly hot.” Hawks eyes the condom before turning back to Dabi, catching his heated stare. “What’s that look for? You wanna put it on—”

“I’m clean.”

Static fills Hawks’ ears as his jaw drops.

He freezes where he’s half kneeling between Dabi’s spread legs, blinking dumbly at Dabi, the condom, then Dabi again. The two words hit him like a bullet, almost causing him to topple to the side.

“What?” he asks,not sure if he heard that correctly or not.

“I’m clean,” Dabi says again. “I get health checkups that are as close to regular as someone like me can get them. Kinda have to, because…” he loosely gestures at himself, then drops the condom onto the mattress beside himself. “And I make it a point to get a thorough examination almost every time, since more health issues aren’t something that I need right now. Or ever. So we don’t need to use protection unless you want to use it.”

Hawks is at a loss for words for a moment, mouth opening and closing. A few garbled sounds escape him, low and almost animalistic.

Warm fingers take hold of his jaw, lightly squeeze it. Dabi chuckles, his thigh bumping against Hawks’ hip. “Words, birdie. Use them.”

“Trying,” Hawks rasps out. He leans into Dabi’s touch. “You sure?”

“Do I seem like someone who’s say shit if I don’t mean it?”

“Not at all,” Hawks says. He doesn’t think he knows anyone who makes the same amount of effort to avoid doing things halfway—Dabi is extremely dedicated and thorough. It’s one of the first things Hawks learned about him. “Just double checking, hot stuff.”

Dabi tuts. “Always such a fucking hero.” He uses his grip on Hawks to pull him into a kiss. It doesn’t lack in heat, but it’s a lot softer than the ones they exchanged before. “Yeah, I’m fucking sure. I want you to put me through the fucking mattress and I want to feel all of you while you do it. That clear enough for you?”

His hand trails down to wrap around Hawks’ cock, giving it one, two slow and tight strokes. His thumb swipes over the head, through the precum glistening there, before Dabi brings it to his mouth to lick it off.

Hawks groans against Dabi’s mouth, breath stuttering. “Yeah. Yeah. Very clear, fucking hell.”

He presses another kiss to Dabi’s smirking mouth, then reaches for the lube and fumbles with the cap for a moment. Dabi holds out his own hand, palm up, when he manages to open it without just ripping off the cap completely, and Hawks wastes no time in letting lube dribble into it.

When Dabi’s hand wraps around him now, it’s wet and hot and tight and infinitely better. Hawks’ hips stutter to meet his lazy strokes and he licks into Dabi’s mouth as heat travels down his back and lets his small wings flutter. His feathers strain to take in every minuscule piece of information they can catch from their surroundings; both of their elevated breathing, Dabi’s racing pulse, the sounds that Hawks draws out of him, the squelch as he jerks Hawks.

It taken a herculean effort to pull away from Dabi, but Hawks manages to do it with one more kiss that’s more teeth than lips punched against Dabi’s tempting mouth. The lube finds its way into his hand again.

A hiss that turns into a low moan breaks out of Dabi when Hawks pours more over his hole, then rubs his tip over it.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” Dabi mumbles, heels digging into Hawks’ ass. “I’m seriously gonna grow fucking old before you finally put it in—”

Whatever else Dabi was about to say dissolves into a loud moan that Hawks can’t help but mirror when he finally pushes past Dabi’s rim. He already knows Dabi’s hot and tight from fingering him open, but it’s a completely different sensation to feel him wrap around his cock and be surrounded by him.

Hawks pauses with only his tip inside. He bends in half, pushes himself between Dabi’s legs, presses their chests together and bites kisses into Dabi’s neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, hot stuff,” he mumbles. “Feel so fucking good. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking tight. You’re gonna be the end of me.”

“Shut the fuck—shit—up.”

Hawks doesn’t. He keeps murmuring nonsense into Dabi’s neck, peppering his neck, his shoulder, his jawline, any part of him he can reach with kisses and small nips. Then he pushes out to thrust in a little deeper, again and again, agonizingly slow to let Dabi get used to the stretch, until his hips are snug with the back of Dabi’s thighs.

Both of them gasp, breathe harshly into each other’s mouths when Hawks finds the strength to lift his head.

“Okay?” Hawks asks.

“I—yeah, I’m.” Dabi’s Adam’s apple bops with he swallows loudly. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fucking good. Move.”

And so Hawks does.

He pulls back, pushes back in slow and as deep as he can. Starts to lose his mind when he repeats the action again, and then another time. And then Dabi wraps his legs around his middle and he somehow slips in even deeper, and everything feels ten times better. Nails dig into his shoulders, fingers pull at his hair. Hawks moans, pleasure robbing him of almost any and all logical thoughts.

It’s incredible; the wet slide of their bodies against each other, the feeling of Dabi’s hands latching onto his body, leaving marks wherever they reach. Hawks sets a slow, steady pace that pushes Dabi up on the mattress, makes him moan louder and arch into Hawks’ arms.

A hot mouth finds his neck, sucks on the delicate spot below his ear, and Hawks’ hips stutter for a moment.

“Can you—fuck.” A hot hand latches onto Hawks’ back, right below the base of his wings, before hot fingers trail up, tangle in his feathers but don’t pull. Dabi’s other hand finds his ass, nails digging into his skin. “Fucking move, Hawks.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawks mutters against Dabi’s skin. He sucks on his pulse, licks the sweat off his neck, sinks his teeth into Dabi’s shoulder as he keeps thrusting—deep and slow. He stills on his next one, grinds his cock deep into the tight heat of Dabi’s ass. “I am moving.”

“Really? Can’t even fucking tell that you’re insi—” Dabi’s sentence breaks off into a moan, punched out of him by Hawks’ next thrust. It’s deeper, harder, faster. It’s so good that Hawks can’t help but echo his moan, print it against Dabi’s hot, sweaty skin as he bows his head.

There’s the distant smell of something burning, but Dabi digs his nails deeper into Hawks’ skin to leave deep scratches along his shoulders and back, and he bites at Hawks’ shoulder, pulls on his hair and Hawks couldn’t care less.

Whatever may or may not be burning is a problem for future Hawks, he decides one second before Dabi presses a heel into his ass and his brain goes offline.

His hips slap against the back of Dabi’s thighs, the sound obscene and filthy, but it’s nothing in comparison to the sounds of pleasure that escape Dabi’s parted mouth. Hawks presses his own against Dabi’s neck and cheek and mouth. A hand finds Dabi’s thigh, squeezes and lifts it in silent question. The same hand finds Dabi’s waist to hold, to anchor himself, when Dabi obeys his silent demand and wraps his legs tighter around Hawks, squeezing him as if he wants them to fuse into one being.

Dabi’s cock continues to weep, trapped between their bodies, and Hawks makes sure to drag his skin over it with every hard and deep thrust.

“Fucking—shit—that’s it, birdie.” Dabi grabs his hair and yanks on it like his life depends on it. The mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through his veins makes Hawks’ hips stutter for a moment. “Fuck me like you mean it. And put your—fuck—put your back into it.”

“Who the fuck says I’m not?” Hawks deepens his thrusts, drives into Dabi just a little harder than he’d been going before, groans when Dabi, impossibly, grows hotter. “Fuck, you feel good. Shame I lost most of my wings.”

“Vanity ain’t hot.”

Hawks bites him for that, hard enough that Dabi clenches deliciously around his cock. “If you think this is good already,” he says, voice low, “imagine how much more force I could put behind every thrust, how much deeper I could fuck you, with their help?”

The noise that leaves Dabi can’t be described as anything else but a whine.

Dull nails scrape over Hawks’ skin, sure to leave deep marks, and drag all the way down to his side, tease his wing bones and then slip between his cheeks. A finger teases at his hole, circles it, and Hawks’ hips pick up speed. Dabi’s other hand slips between them, as if it’s about to reach for his cock.

Two feathers dart from Hawks’ wings, wrap around Dabi’s wrists and slam them into the mattress next to his head. Dabi’s pulse stutters. His eyes are wide, completely swallowed by the black of his pupils, as he tries his restrains—they’re holding him down, but aren’t tight enough that he couldn’t escape them if he wanted to.

In a show of trust, Dabi’s arms go completely limp.

Hawks kisses him, nips at his lips.

“Don’t,” he says. “I wanna see you come apart on my cock without the help of your hand.” He squeezes Dabi’s waist with both of his hands, thumbs swiping over cool staples. “Think you can do that, hot stuff? Think you can come like this, with me fucking you, hard and deep like you want it without touching yourself?”

“You’re so—” A guttural groan interrupts Dabi. “You’re so fucking—annoying.”

Hawks chuckles. His feathers momentarily tighten their hold on Dabi’s wrists. “I know, but that isn’t an answer.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi hisses. He moves his hips in time with Hawks’ thrusts, arms straining against the feathers, back arching. “Fucking… oh, right there. Yes, Hawks. Yes. Shut up.”

“No,” Hawks says with a groan. “How else am I supposed to tell you how fucking good you feel? How hot you are, how tight you grip my—”

Dabi leans up and bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. When he drops back down, Hawks’ blood coats his mouth and his tongue piercing flashes when he grins. He looks like a fucking demon. Hawks has never wanted him more.

He somehow gathers the strength to move faster, drive himself harder into Dabi, again and again. The headboard starts to slam into the wall, chips of paint falling to the floor. Sweat drips from Hawks hairline, runs down the side of his face, gets caught by Dabi sticking out his tongue when it drops from his chin.

His eyes roll back when he brings his fingers up to Dabi’s mouth and Dabi immediately begins to suck on them, hot tongue lapping over his dull talons, taking them as far back as they can go.

Time around them stops and the world falls away, taking all the worries and problems the two of them could’ve possibly had with it. The only thing that matters is this, Hawks fucking Dabi, skin slapping against skin, groans and moans of each other’s names, the bed frame shaking and the air around them heating up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hawks drops his head, tucks his face into Dabi’s neck, teeth hurting with the urge to bite. To mark. To claim. His wings shudder, arching off his back in pure pleasure. “I’m—fuuuck—I’m going insane.”

“Hawks. Hawks. Hawks,” Dabi calls his name, chants it as if it’s something holy, head thrown back into one of his numerous pillows, forehead, shoulders and neck glistening with sweat that Hawks wants to lick clean off of him. “My—shit—my hands. I need—let me fucking touch you.”

Hawks’ feathers shoot away from Dabi, with enough force that they bury themselves into the wall on the opposite side of the room only half a second later.

A hot hand lands on his side, burning—branding a handprint into Hawks’ skin. Imagining what it’ll look like, hours and days from now, is enough to drive Hawks closer to the edge. His hips slam into the back of Dabi’s thighs. One of his hands finds Dabi’s and their palms slide together, fingers intertwining, as if it’s second nature for them to hold each other. The talons of his other hand pierce his mattress cover, shred it apart when the pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

Dabi chuckles. “Shit, that’s hot.” His laughter turns into a gasped sigh when Hawks changes his angle just the smallest bit. “Right fucking there. Fuck, I think I’m close—don’t you dare stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hawks says, and means it.

The more Hawks thrusts, hits that one spot inside of Dabi that makes him clench tightly around him, again and again, the less he’s in control of himself. He clutches Dabi’s ass, lifts it to meet him halfway, drowns in how good it feels to have Dabi moan his name, squeeze him hotly.

A tingle runs down his spine, and his balls tighten in warning.

“Shit, hot stuff—fuck—Dabs, I’m gonna—”

“Mh, yeah, me too.”

“Do you want me to… holy shit—can I—”

Dabi looks up and smiles at him. There’s something oddly soft, and open, tucked into the expression. He’s so beautiful that Hawks’ chest twists painfully. “Yeah, birdie,” he breathes. “Come in me. Fill me the fuck up. Leave me with the evidence of how fucking good it felt for you to fuck me and—”

Hawks’ ears fill with static.

The fucks into Dabi like a man possessed, making sure to hit Dabi’s prostate with every single thrust. Dabi hisses and claws at his skin, clutches his hand like a lifeline. His moans turn higher, more desperate, a little more whiny, and then he tightens to an impossible agree before he twitches around Hawks as he comes.

Nails dig into his skin and break through, draw blood to the sound of Dabi moaning his name. Hot ropes of his cum streak both of their stomachs and chests, splatter their skin and get smeared as they keep moving, as they keep fucking. And that’s all Hawks needs to hear, to feel, to topple right over the edge with him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Hawks whines, grinds his cock nice and deep into Dabi’s ass. “Can you—my wings.”

As soon as Dabi’s hot fingers card through his feathers, Hawks is gone. He thrust one, two more times, deep and hard, before his ears fill with static and fucking stars fill his vision. A loud, moaned version of Dabi’s name drops from his mouth a moment before he buries his teeth into Dabi’s shoulder.

His orgasm is violent and good and hits him harder than he’s ever experienced before. Dabi’s walls tighten around him as his cum streaks his insides, fills him up nice and good, and then some. He gives another long grind before he stills, panting, his cock twitching and twitching forever as Dabi’s ass seems intend to milk him dry.

Dabi’s legs loosen their tight hold on his middle and Hawks’ strength leaves his arms in a swoop.

He collapses on top of Dabi, face half tucked into his neck, and they both hiss when his rapidly softening cock slips out of Dabi’s ass. A hum leaves him when he feels Dabi carding through his feathers, softly pushing them into the correct positions after having messed them up.

The feedback from them is… a lot, but it’s not bad. Usually, he doesn’t like having his wings touched—in general, but especially not after sex—but Dabi seems to be the exception to the rules. Again.

A pat to his side has his eyes snapping back open.

“Move, you oaf,” Dabi says. His voice is hoarse, raspier than usual. Wrecked. Hawks feels a sense of pride that doesn’t leave even as Dabi’s pats turn into soft jabs. “You’re fucking heavy, birdie.”

Hawks groans, forehead lightly bumping into Dabi’s jawline. “Don’t wanna. You’re really comfy, hot stuff.”

He’s rapidly cooling down and no longer hot; instead slightly warmer than the usual person. It’s making Hawks insanely sleepy.

Dabi snorts into his ear. “You’re were right earlier, you’re not a magpie,” he says. “You’re a fucking koala.”

“Hey, I detest that,” Hawks mumbles, eyes half closed again. “Did you know that they’re really stupid? Their brains are tiny and smooth. I think they also piss on themselves.”

“What? But they’re, like, cute.”

“Aw, you think I’m cute?”

“That’s honestly debatable.” A hand finds his ass, swats it playfully. “Shut the fuck up, birdie.”

Hawks huffs. “But I didn’t say anything yet.”

The hand squeezes, then lightly trails up to his lower back where it stays. “Didn’t have to. Could practically hear you thinking, and that’s more than enough.”

“That makes it sound like you can read thoughts,” Hawks says. He sends a feather to crack the window open and move his phone from the windowsill. “Imagine how fun that’d be.”

“Fun for whom? I’d rather not be stuck in your head, birdie.”

“But why not?” Hawks asks. He lifts his head to make eye contact with Dabi and almost loses his train of thought. Dabi is flushed, his eyes glazed over and alive, lips swollen and ticked up into a smile, hair matted and stuck to his forehead here and there. “My imagination’s great, my head would be such a fun place to be.”

“Pervert,” Dabi says.

“Takes one to know one,” Hawks replies, leaning in. Their lips barely brush when his phone suddenly starts to vibrate violently. It dances over his nightstand, shakes all the way to the edge and then does it all over again after a feather pushes it back into the center. Hawks groans, head dropping back down. “You’re fucking kidding.”

Dabi’s chest shakes with a chuckle. “Y’know how it is; Villains never sleep.”

Hawks snorts. “Okay, edgelord.” He falls quiet when his phone stops ringing, then groans again when it starts right back up. “Holy shit, are you serious? You’re not serious.”

Long fingers find their way into his hair, scraping over his scalp lightly. “Someone really wants to talk to you. Couldn’t imagine why that is.”

“Well, too bad. I’ve talked enough for two days today.”

“Just turn it off.”

“And have someone knock down my door while we’re naked? No.”

The thought alone sends an unpleasant shiver down his back. It’s less the being caught in bed with a Villain thing and more the other people potentially seeing Dabi naked thing. He’ll have to digest that another time.

His feather deposits the phone in his waiting hand. He glares at the screen, and then almost drops the device on his face when he sees just who’s on the other side of the calls. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Dabi asks.

Hawks holds up a finger as he accepts the third call and puts the phone to his hear. “Hi, Rumes.”

““Hi, Rumes,” he says. As if I haven’t been swarmed by assholes left and right asking where you are when I don’t even know where you are. So. Where the fuck are you?” Rumi’s voice echoes, as if she’s in an empty room. Or perhaps the bathroom of the building the gala is hosted every time. There’s the distant murmur of conversations in the background. “Don’t tell me you somehow forgot and I have to drag you here by your stupid fea—hold on. Why the hell do you sound like that?”

“Like what?” Hawks asks, making eye contact with Dabi. His voice breaks on the second word, which is just great.

“Like that.”

“Um.” Hawks clears his throat, a feeble attempt to mask how utterly wrecked he sounds. “Funny story, I’m… uh… sick.” He quickly slaps a hand over Dabi’s mouth, but that does nothing to stop the Villain from laughing quietly.

Hawks can practically feel Rumi’s judgment through the silence that meets him. Then she says, “Really?” And drags out the word. “That’s cool, didn’t know a sudden case of sickness could be the cause of someone spontaneously growing another heart.”

“Um,” Hawks says again. The better parts of his brain are momentarily offline due to his earth-shattering orgasm. “Yeah,” he continues, “it’s a recent development. Real crazy side effects of my earlier mission, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pinocchio, keep going and I’ll be able to see your nose from all the way over here.” Rumi snorts loudly. Something taps onto the floor, rhythmically. Most likely her foot. “And now please tell me you didn’t ditch me to get dicked down.”

“I didn’t ditch you to get dicked down,” Hawks dutifully replies.

“But there’s—oh. Oh, gross, dude.” Rumi laughs loudly. “Good for you, I guess. Next time tell me before I come here, though, so I can either ditch, too, or find a hot piece of ass for myself. Now I’m gonna have to make fun of people with Wash. Do you know how much that’ll suck?”

Dabi chuckles again. “Wash?” he asks, voice barely audible.

Rumi hums. “See, exactly. Wait, that him? Damn, dude. Damn. Now I feel like the third wheel—you should’ve started with you still being in bed. Wouldn’t have bothered you this much otherwise.”

“You never bother me.”

“Don’t try to sweet-talk me when you’re in bed with someone. And don’t think I’m gonna forget about this,” she warns. “You fucking owe me for this, and for making up stories about why you’re not here.”

Hawks’ stomach drops. “Wait, Rumes—”

The line goes dead and the feather whisks his phone away again.

“This is terrible,” Hawks says with half a whine. He presses his face deeper into Dabi’s skin, sucking up his warmth like a sponge. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Dabi pats his head before he continues carding through his hair. It’s only a little patronizing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make Hawks want him less. “I mean… you did say a Hero getting taken out for funny reasons would make a hell of a headline?”

“You’re not very funny.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.”

Hawks groans before leaning up to press his lips to Dabi’s. It’s short, weirdly sweet, and over before it really began. Without moving back by much, he says, “Stay?”

“So, so greedy,” Dabi mumbles, blinking lazily. He sighs, hand slipping from Hawks’ hair to cup his cheek almost tenderly. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, fine. I’ll stay, birdie.”

And he does, all through the night and the morning, and then some more. During that time, Hawks’ phone remains peacefully silent.