Chapter Text
“Does it have to be so tight? I’d like a little wiggle room.”
Hawks’ answer comes in the form of the chains looped around his wrists pulling even firmer. The hand on the small of his back and keeping him bent over the table presses deep, dry palm digging against his spine until he squirms. He hisses at the two resounding chuckles from behind him.
“Didn’t realize we were getting started so early,” Hawks jokes to hide his nerves, wiggling his ass in obvious reference to his compromising permission. “Thought we would at least save me for His Highness.”
“Trust me, the temptation to have our own fun is… tantalizing,” Shigaraki croons, breath hot in Hawks’ ear, crotch hard at his back, and—oh no, Hawks was just joking—he does not need genuine interest from another man he’s in no place to refuse. Not if he likes his atoms where they are in his body. “You almost look actually attractive all tied up. A gag would be perfect, but we can’t be hiding that pretty face if we want to sell you as a pleasure slave.”
“And staunch my most attractive feature? A bird without his voice is just pathetic.”
“I’m sure the emperor will find other ways to shut you up.”
“On that note,” Dabi says, stalking into Hawks’ line of sight with that infuriatingly sly grin and staples pulled taught, “no talking at the auction unless you’re ordered to. No mouthing off or funny business. Endeavor likes them quiet. Be a demure little birdy and he’ll forget you even exist when he’s not fucking you—then you can pull all the information we need from right under his ugly nose.”
“You’ve seen the emperor’s nose?” Hawks whistles. “Damn. I haven’t even laid eyes on a portrait. Tried to steal one once, but that was only ‘cause I was drunk and curious—”
“Figure of speech, you mutt-brained idiot. I can’t believe we’re trusting this to the likes of you.”
“Aww, but I can believe it, Dabi,” Hawks sings. He glances up through his long lashes. He may not like it, but he knows he looks good from this angle, eyes big and black-rimmed as he’s looked down on from above. “After all, I’m the best there is.”
Dabi scoffs but doesn’t try to deny it.
The wonder duo Crusty and Crispy fasten Hawks’ ankles together with chains before deeming him appropriately restrained for auction. It’s much too tight, chafing cruelly and sure to leave marks on what should be perfect merchandise for the Emperor, but then again, Hawks is already plenty spoiled with scars. He should be able to play them off as casualties from his time on the streets before he was kindly taken in by slavers for a better life, as goes his fabricated backstory that hits closer to home than his new employers probably realize. He’s told Emperor Todoroki won’t care as long as he’s a good enough fuck.
Then Shigaraki touches all five fingers to his chest.
“Hey—!” is all Hawks has time to shout, unbound feathers flaring into razor points, before his clothes disintegrate into dust around him.
“Don’t get your tail feathers twisted,” sighs Shigaraki as if he didn’t almost kill Hawks where he sits on the ratty couch. “Buyers need to see you, that’s all.”
“Could’ve warned a guy,” Hawks growls. “And I’m not going naked.” He refuses to be embarrassed, but the way eyes are roving over his exposed body makes him wish he could cover himself even a little. His bound hands twitch.
“Of course not.” Dabi’s smirk makes Hawks’ feathers bristle.
“The auctioneers will have clothes for you. To best show off your… assets.” Shigaraki’s gaze has Hawks feeling dirty in his own skin.
“And you couldn’t have left the stripping up to them?”
“We could have let them shackle you themselves, too, but then it wouldn’t have been as fun to do this.”
“Wha—“
Shigaraki’s grip is cold around Hawks’ waist, bitten fingernails gouging into his skin and forcing his feathered back against the chill of the leather couch. He feels caged in, breaths short, and has just a moment to think: don't fight back or he’ll kill you before a tongue is forced into his mouth and teeth are clashing against his own.
It’s wet and insistent and as violating as he remembers, except this time it’s Tomura Shigaraki with decay in his fingertips who’s tilting his head back and invading his body to the core. Dabi snickers. Hawks locks away the desperation to either fight or whimper deep in his chest.
Spittle strings between their lips as Shigaraki pauses for breath. His other hand palms Hawks’ flaccid dick to no success, pinky raised.
“You broken down here or something?” Shigaraki’s hand gives up on Hawks’ exposed crotch and switches to squeezing a handful of his chest, thumbnail digging sharply into his nipple.
A thousand retorts cycle through Hawks’ head.
I don’t find assault particularly arousing, thanks.
Get off of me.
I can only get it up for people with a skincare routine.
GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME OR I’LL KILL YOU BOTH.
Shigaraki’s pinky is a hair’s breadth away from caressing his skin.
“Just caught me off guard,” he pants. “I’ll be right as rain when I need to be.”
Red eyes bore over him. Hawks’ throat burns with the slide of Shigaraki’s saliva down it and into the black hole of his stomach.
“Good to hear. You have an important job to do.” Shigaraki pats Hawks’ hip appraisingly and a thin thigh drives his chained legs apart, Shigaraki’s clothed knee like burning friction against his crotch. It presses hard. Against Hawks’ mouth, Shigaraki murmurs, “Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way.”
He leaves Hawks with a chaste peck on the lips that tastes sweetly of decay.
Hawks gets the feeling Shigaraki was aiming to stun him into silence, and he hates to give the creep any satisfaction, but it works. Hawks stiffly lets himself be manhandled, only mustering a venomous glare at the sight of the box they mean to contort him into. It’s a crate barely large enough to accommodate an average sized person crouching, let alone one with wings.
“You’ll fit, birdy, don’t worry,” chuckles Dabi. “It’s only until the auction site. Best if no one sees you on the way.”
Hawks can’t walk with his bindings so Dabi lifts him bridal style. The arm around his back forces his wings out awkwardly as he quietly seethes under Dabi’s amused gaze.
Before depositing him in the crate, Dabi leans down so he can imitate Shigaraki and force his tongue into Hawks’ vulnerable mouth. He wriggles in struggle but Dabi’s hot palms flare him into quick submission while he mashes his scarred face against Hawks’, all bared teeth and rancid breath.
In a moment of defiance against the whole miserable situation, Hawks bites back.
The incredulous look on Dabi’s face coupled with his bloody lip is almost worth it until Hawks is dropped unceremoniously into the crate. He winces, wings flapping in distress.
“That was—”
Dabi’s hands had looked deceptively frail before they wrapped in a vice around Hawks’ throat, pressing him into the bottom of the crate with his eyes bulging frantically in his head.
“See, I was just tryna be romantic,” Dabi says. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Hawks wheezes, chest straining. He hates this. He hates all of this. His addled mind can’t make out if it’s Dabi or his dad looming over him.
“Dabi,” warns Shigaraki after Hawks starts to go limp.
The pressure on his neck retreats and is replaced with the weight of fingers on his tongue, probing his jaw open and snaking to the back of his throat.
“Nice, no gag reflex. You really have done this before.”
Hawks coughs and heaves.
“We really can’t have a proper go on him?” Funny, Dabi sounds like a petulant little brat when he asks to rape Hawks.
“We’re on a schedule. I promised Sako I’d have him a bestseller, so don’t mark it up before we even arrive.”
Dabi rolls his eyes. “They’ll put a collar over any bruises anyway.” Bored of Hawks’ mouth, he wipes his spit-wet fingers clean on red wings.
Hawks shudders. He drifts slowly away as his doll-like limbs are arranged into the crate and the lid is sealed above him, smothering him alone in darkness with a body he wants to claw out of.
—
“Leave it to those two brutes to leave marks already,” tuts the auction master, Astuhiro Sako, as he inspects the chafing on Hawks’ wrists. His chains lay forgotten on the ground. He misses his clothes. “A little ointment and you’ll present just fine. Better than fine. Tomura wasn’t lying when he said you were a looker—but he could have at least kept your neck that way, for the love of the Gods.”
“Actually, that was Dabi,” Hawks corrects before his brain catches up with his mouth and he remembers what said flaming asshole instructed about keeping himself demure, which is the last word Hawks has ever wanted to apply to himself. “… S-sir.” At least he’s still got a knack for a convincing stammer.
Hawks feels Sako’s eyebrows raise from behind his mask.
“The staff will make you presentable for auction. And a little word of advice, Slave Thirty-two—keep your tongue in check. We have an important guest today.”
My name is Hawks.
“Apologies, sir.”
Sako hums. “Better. But work on bowing your head, if you want to keep it.”
The auction washroom is no bathhouse. Attendants scrub him with pails of cold water and stale smelling soap, hands invading every inch of him because apparently he can’t even be trusted to bathe himself now. His skin stings as if he’s been peeled by the time fragrant oils are being rubbed over him like he’s a hunk of marinated meat. When they come to the waxing, he lets his pride put up a fight, but everything is futile in the end. Even the stubble on his chin doesn’t make it—only shaved, however, so his buyer can make the decision themselves if they like it. Hawks thinks bitterly that the only opinion that should matter is his, but that’s never been much of a luxury he could afford.
Lastly comes a layer of makeup applied by hands that pull his face in every direction, nails digging into his skin.
“The Magician likes his assets to be authentic,” croons one stylist with a devilish look. That’s what they call the auction master, Atsuhiro Sako—Hawks doesn’t really want to find out why. “So the patrons know what they’re getting for their money.” They finish with a smear of balm on his bottom lip, squeezing his cheeks and stepping back as if admiring a completed art piece.
Golden shackles join his ankles together. The final touch is a matching collar that weighs on his neck like a squeezing palm, obscuring the bruises Dabi left.
A man with a friendly smile comes to clip a chain to the ring on his collar. He pulls on it a few times to check it's sturdy. On the fifth overzealous yank, Hawks grips his wrist with iron intensity.
“Try that one more time,” he threatens with a toothy grin. “See what happens.”
He’s fully expecting a slap or worse, but raises a brow when he gets a loud guffaw instead.
“I like you! I always knew that not all mutants are pushovers,” the man says, the scar on his forehead wrinkling as he laughs. “But I should totally fucking kill you!”
It’s concerning how chipper he sounds.
“I’m hardly worth the trouble.”
“I know, right?! Dabi would kill me next! He really wanted you for this job, y’know. You’re so lucky. You’re the worst.”
It clicks. This guy is League too, yet he’s talking about the mission where anyone could hear. Hawks can’t fathom how this group of unprofessional idiots has gotten so far without being caught (he knows how, really—powerful quirks and ruthless disregard for life). At least they’re alone now in the small prep room.
“I get it. You’re Twice. Clone guy, right?”
“Wow, you know me!? I’m not impressed.”
“‘Course I do. Can’t escape the tales. You’re one powerful guy, and I hear you’re pretty chill too.” It’s not a lie. Hawks is thorough with his research, and the League have certainly been a threat to watch. He gets the feeling this Twice guy is a little slow though, real trusting, and Hawks isn’t above batting his eyelashes for a step up.
He puts a hand on Twice’s broader chest and steps closer.
“Dabi wanted me? I wouldn’t have guessed. He’s been kind of mean.”
“Yeah, that’s him alright, a meanie. What a nice guy.”
“He gave me these.” Hawks tugs his collar down a fraction to show off the edge of a bruise, shiny under the makeup. With a bite of his lip he averts his eyes to his bare feet. “It was scary.”
There we go, Hawks cheers as Twice’s face becomes almost comically worried. His eyes are so big, so trusting, Hawks wonders how he hasn’t been eaten alive yet.
He swallows thickly and plays it off as emotion over Dabi.
“What a bastard! I’ll protect you,” Twice says earnestly, before blurting his seemingly inescapable contradiction: “I bet you deserved it.”
Hawks chuckles. He fiddles with the short hem of the sash around his hips. “Maybe. He seems kind of volatile. Shigaraki too. Why’re they so damn mean?” His pout would be a little too excessive on anyone else, but Twice only looks more concerned.
“If you ask me it’s totally some dark past thing. They never talk about it but me ‘n Toga have all these theories. Why would I care anyway?”
He’s getting closer to something good. “Bet they were just born rich. That kind of dickery is inherited.”
“That’s totally what I thought!”
“Yeah?” Hawks presses, cocking his head.
His stomach squirms, not from the act of manipulation but from how easily he pulls the strings, as if he wasn’t made for anything else.
“Yeah, ‘cause both of them know all sorts of shit. Proper educated and all. Dabi’s always taking the piss out of my reading, but it ain’t my fault I never learned. Plus, he knows stuff about the castle—real specifics. Creepy.” He shudders dramatically. “Bet he’s been before.”
Hawks files that away for later.
“He told you that? Stuff about the castle?”
“He tells Shigaraki and neither of ‘em care if I hear ‘cause they think I’m stupid. I totally am! Hey, you’re pretty.”
“Thanks.” Strangely, he means it. Twice says it so honestly that Hawks’ skin doesn’t even crawl like it usually would. “Let’s hope the emperor agrees, otherwise I came here for nothing.”
“Don’t worry. Compress will get you sold, he’s amazing! I hate his ugly hat.”
“The Magician?”
Twice nods. Before Hawks can pull any more from him, Twice is leading him by the chain out of the prep room.
He’s gentler than he was before.
The mass public auctions Hawks is familiar with are a far cry from the grand room he’s dragged into. Where slave markets are cacophonous and stinking, cloying with the smell of unwashed bodies and human fear, this affair is a grandiose display of wealth. Chandeliers cast the marble walls in yellow light. Thick incense snakes between rows of podiums—dozens of raised circles large enough for a person to stand on, spaced evenly throughout the room. Each has a metal ring affixed to the centre.
Other ‘assets’ are filed into the room. Twice leads him onto a podium to the side and locks the end of his chain to the hoop.
“So how’s this work?” Hawks flutters his wings, nerves prickling at his feathers despite himself.
“This is the showroom,” remarks another voice from behind him. Compress. The false safety he felt with Twice dissipates.
The masked man slinks into view.
“You clean up very well indeed,” Compress says appraisingly.
“I’d return the compliment, but you’re dressed like a clown,” Hawks bites back.
“My, you are mouthy.”
“This room is my favorite,” Twice stage whispers to Hawks. “Everyone’s so pretty. Disgusting whores.”
“It’s where the clients can browse the wares before we proceed to the auction. Some are for sale, others for rent.” Compress taps Hawks’ chain. “Gold for sale, silver for rent. You’re one of the lucky few finding a forever home today. But you already knew that.”
He doesn’t like the word forever.
“So when’s the big man showing up? What does he look for?” Hawks lowers his voice, feeling oil drip down his spine as he leans closer. “Is it the mutant thing? I can totally play it up.”
“The emperor doesn’t peruse in person,” Compress scoffs. “He has an advisor filling that role—he’s the man you want to impress. We’ve had slaves sent back before, though I hear the ones the emperor does keep rarely get a second use. Few of them retain their same beauty after the first night.”
Hawks grits his teeth. “News to me. I’m a little fond of my face, y’see, so that would’ve been nice to know earlier.”
“There are worse fates than burns.”
Hawks doesn’t disagree, but his skin prickles at the implication that he’s being petty.
“The showroom is in session for two hours. If you try to sit or leave your podium, I know all sorts of runes you won’t like that will keep you there.”
“You know I’m on your side, right?”
“I know,” Compress says, dragging a gloved finger along the vane of Hawks’ longest primary. “I suppose that was your mistake. Good luck.”
With a parting stroke of Hawks’ bare thigh, Compress slips out of view, and the mission begins in earnest.
It’s dull.
A description of the emperor’s advisor would’ve been helpful, but Hawks just has to trust that Compress will direct him in the right direction. Until then he poses and answers questions dutifully, when they aren’t answered for him by a salesperson. His height, weight, age, quirk, all read off like labels on a wine.
His quirk, at least, is a lie. There’s no mention of what his feathers can really do, even as hands dig into his plumage and stretch them to full wingspan. He goes lax and lets it happen, entertaining himself with fantasies of sharpening his feathers and slicing the invading fingers off in bloody spurts. Then he feels sick with himself and folds his wings tightly when he’s finally allowed to.
A clammy palm settles below his wings.
“And how much for you, beautiful?”
A thin, pale man leers at him, all while his hand inches lower. Hawks thinks he resembles a garden worm.
“It’s an auction,” Hawks drawls, then remembers himself and tacks on, “Sir.”
The man wheezes. He touches Hawks’ chest then, trapping him between the hand on his back so he has nowhere to arch away to. And of course, he squeezes. Hawks forces himself to stillness. This could be the royal advisor he needs to impress, but suddenly it doesn’t seem worth it when fingers try to work under his waist sash.
Just take it and it’ll be over soon.
He’s drifting, checking out of his own head with the ease of practise, when the touch stops abruptly.
“What the—”
The man splutters. Hawks is equally dumbfounded as he watches the sleaze yanked away by the threads of his own clothes.
“Are you alright?”
Hawks has only just remembered how to breathe when he realizes the question is directed at him.
“What, me?” He blinks. His savior—shit, does that make him indebted?—is tall, but not close enough to loom over Hawks. He flicks his wrist and his quirk releases the man. “Thanks, but I didn't have to be rescued from a little groping.”
“I was assessing merchandise,” sneers the man as he rights himself, glaring past Hawks at the newcomer. “I don’t see what right you have to it any more than I do. Guards! I was attacked!”
The tall man raises a blond eyebrow. His face is hidden in his collar but Hawks can feel his disdain from here.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he murmurs. Hawks thinks he might even sound amused.
It’s Compress who reaches them first.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
“He attacked me,” huffs the man. “The whore invited me to touch it, but as soon as I did, this ruffian manhandled me away.”
Hawks barks a harsh laugh. “Am I the whore in this story? I’m flattered, but the only thing I’d invite you to touch is yourself. Away from me.”
The tall man snorts so quietly that only Hawks could possibly pick up on it.
“It’s true. He forced himself upon this young man.”
Compress nods. “I see. Thank you, Hakamada. I’ll see him escorted out.” He sends Hawks a piercing look before departing.
“I’m sorry about that,” Hakamada says when they’re alone. “You’re alright?”
What an interesting moral compass. As far as Hawks is aware, touching up a slave isn’t a crime. It’s not as if Hawks belongs to anyone yet, so he has no master to offend.
He’d think this Hakamada guy is a good person for stepping in, but he’s spending his time at a human auction. He probably just wants Hawks for himself.
“Was that a plot to get me to trust you, and now you’re gonna buy me and I’ll be all loyal ‘cause you saved me?” Hawks cocks his head and breaks into a sly grin. “If so, it’s working. That was hot.”
Hakamada looks at him flatly. “I’m not shopping for myself. Your name?”
That little tidbit of information, plus the look Compress sent him—Hawks might’ve found his guy.
“Hawks.” He flaps his wings. “Like the bird.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Hakamada says levelly, but every other second he’s taking a chance to check Hawks out.
“You don’t have to be discreet,” Hawks says. He wonders if his raised scars will be a turnoff for an emperor who prefers to do the breaking himself. “I’m here to be looked at, you know.”
Hakamada watches him with critical scrutiny, and Hawks meets his gaze equally.
“Stay safe, Hawks,” he says finally, and turns to leave.
Shit.
“What about me would displease your master?” he says to Hakamada’s retreating back. The emperor’s advisor stops but doesn’t turn. Hawks takes his chance. “It can’t be my wings, because those are what everyone wants from me. My scars? Am I too second-hand? Or am I too much? Too mouthy? Are you going to find your master another quiet thing to add to his collection of quiet, pretty things?”
“You presume to know much about my master,” Hakamada says, finally turning to face Hawks.
“I read between the lines,” Hawks supplies, shrugging. “If he wants me to be obedient, he’ll have to earn it from me. Don’t tell me your master wouldn’t enjoy a challenge.”
“You’re eager to come home with me.” Hakamada steps closer, almost circling Hawks with his long strides.
“You did a good thing for me. I can’t say the same for anyone else here.”
“And yet you can’t know that my master is a good man.”
“Would you serve a bad man?” Hawks snips back.
Hakamada seems to weigh things in his mind. Hawks hopes the sweat on his brow blends with the sheen of oil.
“My master is the emperor,” Hakamada admits.
Hawks feigns surprise, trying not to overdo it—widened eyes and a raised brow should do.
“You’re right that he usually adopts more… well-trained specimens,” Hakamada continues. “But they break easily. He could use a challenge, yes, but I warn you now, Hawks, because I want to give you the choice—pleasing the emperor is a knife’s edge. The seasonal flowers in the royal gardens bloom longer than some concubines last. Say the word now and I’ll walk away. I won’t force you.”
Well, that’s just cruel. Hawks could give in, could send Hakamada away and tell Dabi that the emperor isn’t interested in him…
Except he doesn’t really have a choice. He never does.
“The emperor’s not the only one who enjoys a challenge,” Hawks purrs. “Who’d pass up the opportunity to fuck a king?”
Hakamada sighs, but Hawks knows he’s won his place.
The collar around his bruised neck feels tighter than ever.
The castle is so large it looks ridiculous—overly decorated with glass windows, heavy stone, and lush rugs down the hallways. Hawks wiggles his bare toes on them, hoping he rubs off at least a little of the dirt from walking outside.
“I’ll give you a short tour so you’ll know where to go when you’re called for,” Hakamada says, strolling forwards before Hawks can even agree. For every one of his steps, Hawks has to take two, wings fluttering slightly to help propel him forwards.
“So, do I like, get my own room here? Or does the emperor chain up all his whores in the basement when he’s not fucking them?”
Hakamada gives him a withering look, and Hawks shrugs in response. What, like he’s supposed to know how concubines work here?
“His Majesty gifts all of his personal servants with their own living spaces. They’re in the far left wing of the castle. It’s also where His Majesty sleeps, and where we’ll be ending our tour.”
Hawks tries to look bored while trying to memorize every detail of the castle Hakamada shares with him, including the layout. He’ll need to remember the best path to make a quick getaway after he kills the king, after all.
“So where’s the kitchen? In case I want a midnight snack.”
Hakamada doesn’t even look at him. “All meals will be served either in your room or in the dining hall, if His Majesty requests your presence there.”
“And that’s what, three meals a day? Sorry to break it to ya, but it takes a lot more than that to keep up this figure.”
He puffs his chest out a little, posturing, trying to make himself look at ease in the tight bottoms the auction house left him in. From the unimpressed look Hakamada gives him, he doesn’t succeed, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s believable enough that even an experienced whore wouldn’t be too comfortable in a castle like this. Hawks doesn’t need to look genuinely confident.
“This is the general dining hall. We use it for less formal occasions, when the castle itself has something to celebrate.”
The room looks a little overdone in Hawks’ opinion, but, then again, architecture has never been his thing. The chandeliers, at least, are impressive—if only because just a few of the jewels hanging from them could probably feed Hawks for a year.
He wonders if Dabi and Shigaraki would feel generous enough after a mission well done to let him get away with filching a few of the castle’s treasures.
“These are the castle servants’ quarters. My own room is on this wing as well, if you ever need me.”
“So are you… like a butler or something?” He’d thought before that Hakamada was more important than that, but maybe the emperor just puts a lot of faith in his servants?
“Or something,” Hakamada replies, eyes crinkling in a smile. Ugh. Hawks really hates dealing with this type. Never a straight answer.
They continue on through the castle, Hakamada naming off different rooms and what they’re used for. Hawks is struggling to stay focused, yawning loudly a few times to make a point of how boring the goddamn tour is, when an ornately-dressed young man with starch white hair strides down the hallways towards them.
Hakamada bows gracefully, and Hawks looks back and forth between the two before going for a curtsy instead.
“Tsunagu,” the man acknowledges, before looking at Hawks. If he’s addressing Hakamada by his first name, he must be someone important. “And I don’t believe we’ve met yet?”
Hawks rises up, smiling. “I’m Hawks, just a new whore here to fuck the emperor.”
The man makes a rather interesting expression, like he’s just realized the fruit he’s been chewing for a few bites is a lemon. Hakamada smacks the back of Hawks’ head in reproval, but it was still totally worth it.
“This is Prince Natsuo Todoroki. Prince, I apologize, Hawks is still learning his manners. As he said, he’s new.”
“New to the castle, but not new to the job. So let me know if you—”
Hakamada’s slap is much harder the second time.
Natsuo clears his throat. “It’s fine, Tsunagu.” He turns to Hawks, and Hawks is amused to see how desperately the prince tries to stop his gaze from wandering down Hawks’ bare chest. “I hope you settle in well here, Hawks. Let me know if I can do anything to make your stay more comfortable.”
It’s not a genuine offer, but Hawks makes sure to thank him anyway. He’s definitely made an impression on the prince, even if it’s not a good one.
Natsuo continues down the hall, opposite their direction, and Hakamada turns a cool gaze to Hawks. “You’re going to get yourself killed rather quickly if you openly hit on others when you belong to His Majesty.”
Hawks sticks his tongue out. Gross. “What, so he gets a whole harem while I’m stuck with one dick for the rest of my life? Lame.”
Hakamada stops and puts his hands on Hawks’ shoulders. Hawks almost sends a feather through his hands, before he remembers where he is and what he’s supposed to do.
“Hawks, you were purchased for His Majesty. I like your spark, and to a certain extent, I think His Majesty will enjoy it too, but you need to be careful. Powerful men are capable of causing great harm. I’ve seen it many times before, and I’d prefer to never see it in this castle again. Do you understand?”
Hawks swallows and nods.
“Good.” Hakamada turns away and points down the long hallways they’ve stopped in front of. “Your room is the last on the right. The room his majesty will be staying in tonight is the first on the left. He’ll be having a feast in the banquet hall first, but I’d suggest that you get ready early, and spend the evening waiting in his chambers. He’ll be expecting you there. Do you need any assistance?”
Hawks shakes his head quickly. Hell no. The last thing he needs is help preparing himself to get fucked. He might not be an actual pleasure slave, but it’s far from the first time he’s used sex for a mission.
“Remember what I told you before. I’ll come by your room around lunch tomorrow with something light for you.”
Hakamada walks away, and Hawks heads into his room. Better to follow the man’s advice and get ready early than risk pissing the emperor off on his first night.
The emperor is drunk when he stumbles into his chambers. Hawks can smell it a mile away, like a childhood memory resurfaced, bitter and rancid.
He really doesn’t want to be comparing the man he’s about to fuck for the first time with his drunkard father.
It seems the banquet ended when Enji left, because the muffled music and laughter has dissipated into the night, leaving Hawks in the silence of a crackling fire and his own ugly heartbeat.
Calm down. You’ve done this before. It’s no different to any other mission, or any other lay.
The golden chain lacing Hawks’ ankle to the bedpost for the last hour tinkles purposefully as he shifts on the fur bedding. It isn’t enough to earn Enji’s attention; either the emperor is an easy, unobservant target for any assassin, or Hawks blends into the decor too perfectly to earn a second glance.
Enji’s steps stagger slowly but evenly, and he wears a glazed sort of scowl—these are the only indicators besides his smell that he’s drunk. Hawks can’t imagine how much such a large man would have to drink to even get to the tipsy point.
Enji’s thick robe is shucked to the floor. It pools haphazardly. Then he pours himself another drink from a pitcher in the corner and downs it in a loud, drawn out gulp. It’s good stuff; Hawks checked all the labels earlier.
It seems that drinking is a habit for his new master.
“Your Majesty,” Hawks says when Enji Todoroki finally cares to look in the direction of the whore he bought earlier that same day. Then, because it was his stupid mouth that got him sold in the first place: “You kept me waiting.”
Enji squints.
“Oh,” he says gruffly. “You’re the new one.”
“The one and only.” He spreads his wings halfway and arches his back into a gentle curve. Provocative, but dangerous. He flashes his sharpest teeth.
His master—isn’t that fun?—rakes his gaze over Hawks’ near-naked body, over the oil and the makeup and the silks. Hawks sinks back on his haunches and lets the silence do the work for him, shifting as if in impatience when the oil he rubbed into himself gathers under him. It must be his eyes that finally do it, darker than usual from the powder smeared around them, because when Enji meets them, his glass hits the table with a thunk. His tongue wets his bottom lip before he pours another and strides over.
“You’re in my bed,” he says inches from Hawks’ face, deep voice biting like the snap of canine teeth.
“It was cold on the floor. I only wanted to be warm.” Hawks grinds almost imperceptibly into the pelt under him. Of course, the emperor notices.
“Tsunagu said you were barely trained,” he scoffs. “But I’ve had dogs with better manners.”
“You could teach me.” Hawks eyes the amber liquor glass, still full in Enji’s swaying hand.
The emperor leans close to Hawks’ ear, fingertips brushing his hip with almost searing heat. After this next cue, whatever flirty, old-man bullshit that comes next, Hawks will make his move and get this over with.
“No,” Enji growls deeply, “You’ll learn to respect me.”
The liquor is at Hawks’ lips and in his mouth so suddenly he almost splutters against the burning taste, but swallows at the last moment. Too late he realizes the emperor wanted him to choke, because the rest of it goes splashing down his front when his head is pulled back and the drink is poured over his exposed neck. It splashes, cold, onto his crotch. He gasps.
Drink up, boy, his father’s voice echoes in his head.
It burns just as badly now as it did then. He never could stomach the taste ever since his old man thought it’d be funny to watch his eyes burn from it.
There are few ways to make Hawks cry, and it’s just his luck that the emperor has already found one.
He tries to predict Enji’s next movements—not to avoid them, but so he can take them with a little grace, at least.
It turns out to be difficult to take a backhand across the face elegantly. His head whips sideways with a crack.
“Do you have something to say for getting your filthy whore cunt all over my bed while I was away?”
Hawks swallows his pride down with the liquor.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I should have stayed on the floor where I belong.”
The emperor huffs appraisingly. “Almost. Let’s practice.”
Hawks is thrown to the ground by the scruff of his neck, landing sprawled when the short chain goes taut. Even as he throws his hands out he knows it’s going to be a rough landing, his knees jolting under him, wrists near twisting from the force. For a moment he deliberates between whimpering or taking the pain quietly. This is clearly a power trip for the emperor. Hawks is novel for him, an exotic whore who bites back, but the question is just how difficult he’s hoping Hawks will be. Some men like to take time breaking their animals, he hears. Once the challenge is over, they grow bored.
Hawks can’t afford that.
He meets Enji’s eyes and keeps his pain inside him.
For his efforts, he earns a raised eyebrow that Hawks takes to mean impressed.
Enji sits slowly on the edge of the bed, which lurches under his obscene mass. He watches Hawks for a while, hazy blue eyes and alcohol-flushed cheeks making the regal man Hawks first laid eyes on into another common drunk led by his dick. His eyes linger shamelessly on Hawks’ crotch, a reminder of the humiliating dampness on the sheer silk.
Then finally: “Come here.”
Hawks walks instead of crawls. Enji will have to break him a little better than that first.
When Hawks is between Enji’s thick legs, he’s pushed to his knees again. Here we go, he thinks tiredly.
“Untie my boots.”
Hawks does so methodically, mind preoccupied with thoughts of an entire lineage of royal family who’ve always had someone there to dress them and undress them and run their baths and suck their cocks and take their anger quietly, with meek nods and fearful apologies.
He won’t disagree with the League on one matter: things around here could do with a little spicing up.
As soon as the emperor’s shoes are eased off and set neatly to the side, a hand as big as Hawks’ head fists in his curls and guides him forward until his nose brushes Enji’s dick through his pants. It smells musky, but not the worst Hawks has had. He supposes having baths run for you morning and night will do that.
He noses at it for a moment, before Enji grows impatient and mushes Hawks’ face against his crotch, not seeming to grasp the concept of clothes. Hawks makes deft work of the buttons. When he reaches to grasp Enji’s cock, he nearly yelps at the heat. Almost hysterically, he thinks that this thing could cauterize his ass.
Calling the emperor well-endowed would be like calling Hawks a decent assassin—an understatement.
Cauterize and tear him, Hawks amends.
“Take it then,” Enji commands, his inflection like a challenge.
Hawks peeks up through his lashes.
“I’ve been known to bite, you know.”
He worries he’s stepped too far again until Enji’s scowl splits into a mean grin. It’s an unsettling expression on such a severe face, but Hawks doesn’t have time to dwell on it before he’s yanked forward.
He could swear he hears a hiss like liquid evaporating when the heat first hits his wet tongue, though his mind has been known to exacerbate things to torment him. Like an illusion of control, Enji’s hand still grips his hair, but it’s lax while Hawks does the work. He shifts his knees awkwardly in familiar discomfort. For a while he bobs back and forth, tongue swirling around the salty tip, easing the last remnants of softness away before he opens his throat and slides his way to the hilt. The curly hairs tickling his nose are dark red. It feels a bit like swallowing food while it’s too hot, except his whole mouth and throat is aflame with it.
He hopes he’s impressing His Majesty. It’s not every day Hawks bothers to take something that big all in one—even for his most valued previous targets. His policy is usually influenced somewhat by, Hey, I’m gonna kill you after I’ve got what I want from you, so you won’t be sad about the mediocre sex for too long. It’s the little things.
He repeats the rhythm a few times, using his tongue the best he can with his mouth stuffed. From above him he can hear Enji’s shallow grunts increasing in volume. If he can satisfy the emperor like this, without having to go any further—
His eyes water again as his face is suddenly held flush to Enji’s crotch. While his wings flutter, his hands paw at the thighs caging him. He braces himself to swallow but it never comes. Instead he’s pulled off, some strands of hair going with it, and is forced to look at the emperor’s face as the man brings himself back from the edge. Spittle drips from Hawks’ mouth and his stomach cramps in dread knowing what’s coming next.
Enji pats the bed then stands. “Up.”
While Hawks crawls onto the bed, the emperor strips. Hawks isn’t a small man exactly, just on the short side of below average, but beneath Enji he feels insignificant. Breakable. Like this man could take his calf and snap it in two, burning his feathers to cinders before they could leave his back.
Hawks reminds himself he’s deadly. Capable.
He’s just not allowed to show it.
“On your front.”
The cushions Hawks nestles his face into are the softest he’s ever touched, and he grants himself a selfish steadying breath into them, face obscured and mind momentarily blank, while Enji steps out of his pants and the bed finally creaks with his weight.
Hawks’ ass is already up, but Enji guides him how he wants him anyway. The points of contact are electric, Enji’s forefinger and thumb almost touching around Hawks’ thighs when he drags them wider, or at least it feels that way. A palm like sandpaper kneads into his back and forces his posture into an even more vulnerable upward curve. The rough texture reminds him that Enji is a warrior—a conqueror. He’s wielded swords in battle, razed thousands, with the hands he now uses to reshape Hawks to his liking.
Hawks squeezes the pillow, feeling like a child with a stuffed toy.
It only takes a tug to loosen his silk pants entirely, leaving him bare to the warm air. He lifts each leg on command so that Enji can drag the clothing off him. When it gets stuck on his chained ankle, the emperor elects to burn the cloth rather than release the shackle.
Between the hearth and the emperor’s own heat, Hawks feels stifled. His oil-wet skin gathers beads of sweat in an uncomfortable sheen.
“I’ll have Tsunagu put you in something easier next time,” Enji says impatiently, as if it’s a kindness when they both know it’s for his own benefit.
Hawks remembers at the last moment that he’s gunning for feisty, not silent and lifeless like he wishes he could be. “Or I could wear nothing at all.” Fuck, this throat is still sore and burning. He wiggles his eyebrows over his shoulder. “Give everyone in the castle a show.”
“That would be entertaining,” Enji says with a malicious spark in his eye that makes Hawks squirm, “though I think you’d find many wanting more than just a show.”
“You’re the only one who can touch me, Your Majesty,” Hawks croons. He reaches behind himself to grip the emperor’s wrist, pleased with himself at the surprise he causes, and drags Enji’s hand onto his wing. “So touch me.”
“Whores don’t give orders,” growls Enji at the same time he fists Hawks’ feathers and ruts forwards, dick jabbing clumsily at Hawks’ ass. He hopes the oils haven’t dried. Enji’s tip is still slightly wet from the spit; it drags a trail down Hawks’ crack. He cringes internally but gasps out loud.
Briefly he hopes for a little more foreplay—extra prep wouldn’t go amiss now he’s seen what he’s meant to be taking—but almost laughs at his short-lived naïveté when his cheeks are tugged apart, a thumb pulls at his hole, and Enji bullies the head of his cock inside.
It’s a tight fit. Hawks forces himself to whine in what hopefully sounds like pleasure as Enji works himself deeper, uncaring of Hawks’ own adjustment. Shit, he feels small under this man. It feels like he’s gonna break in half. The whimper that falls out of him isn’t as fake as he would have liked. Sweat drips down his hairline while his body unconsciously attempts to wriggle away from the source of the pain, but Enji holds him down in a vice grip.
It takes a strange eternity for Enji’s hips to meet flush with Hawks’ ass. It’s too hot, too full, too much at once.
He wishes Shigaraki and Dabi had never found him. He wishes he flew away before he could even hear the name Emperor Enji fall from their grinning lips.
Said emperor pants ruggedly behind him. Hawks is grateful for the reprieve while they both adjust.
Eventually, Enji rocks his hips shallowly, once, twice. He grunts as if even that is overwhelming ecstasy. The spark of pride in Hawks’ chest preening I did that, I did good, he likes me, he wants me, I’m good, I’m good, is downright sickening. Even away from the Commission, they won’t leave him alone.
I don’t need your praise.
He can imagine just the look she’d give him, impassively triumphant.
Even living in this miserable present is better than dwelling on the past.
“Oh,” he moans. “Is that all you’ve got? C’mon, I’ve been waiting for you all day…”
“You’re mouthy.”
“Part of my charm.” His smile feels so fake on his face he wants to peel it off himself. It stretches his stinging cheek tightly, the earlier slap still leaving its claim.
Enji dips his fingers into Hawks’ mouth in lieu of a reply.
Royals. No damn manners.
A bruising pace is set in his mouth, ramming the back of his throat, while Enji explores his body with clumsy touches. The barbs on his feathers are ruffled in the wrong direction. Enji finds himself a solid grip on Hawks’ left wing, hand around the bone, and yanks in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers.
The pitiful choking Hawks makes must appeal to Enji, because he couples it with sliding his dick out until the tip almost pops free, then slamming back to the hilt. His wing, his throat, his ass—all of it in tandem wrenches a yell from Hawks, tears springing to his eyes.
The distant humiliation he felt at the auction with hundreds watching feels petty now. How could he think that was the height of shame, when he’s been nothing but complacent in the lead-up to this degradation?
It wasn’t his fault the Commission trapped him, and it’s not his fault he was forced into this just to evade them, but he can’t shake the hatred he feels for himself, the disgust that wriggles deeper with each jolt into his body.
It goes on and on and on, like the first second of eternity, and yet it’s only the beginning of the hell to come.