Archive of Our Own

Thirteen was way too young to die. At least, that’s what Dabi thought.

So was sixteen, but he died again anyways. That’s the thing about death for him—it’s always been out of his control.

Dabi decided he'd had enough of death and its pattern—he'd rather be the killing thing, the violent thing, the monster he was made to be haunting the streets. Dabi has the body to reflect it.

He tries not to think too hard about it. It sends him into an unholy rage if he gives it more than a passing thought. It still doesn't feel like his body even though he tries. Dabi was smart enough to parse together what happened once he woke up from his coma. It haunts him almost worse than the name he mourned, the family he left behind. If he sleeps too long, too hard, or too deep, waking is the worst experience, especially if he's not in a room he knows. His arms and legs are prone to twitching if he gets extremely stressed out or when he's trying to fall asleep, his hand grabbing for something without the conscious command to do so. He will still find himself standing in front of a mirror with the lights off, staring into the black holes of his eyes just waiting for the monster in the mirror to come to life.

The body is not his own. It’s always been a little of them and a little of him all mixed together into this.

It's not just the heavy scarring. It's not just what's missing. He's been carrying his loss for a long, long time, but it's the person inside—Dabi doesn't know that man. He struggles to find him among the carnage. He can't feel much of anything—not his own curious touches, not the bite of something painful or even pleasurable. It's hard to then trust in anyone, especially himself, knowing that he doesn't even know himself. He’d rather be in control—of others, of himself, of death; it’s laughable to most people, but not to Dabi. Death is conquerable, at his mercy as long as he...well. As long as he keeps pushing. Keeps moving towards his goal, slow and quiet and thoughtful. He’s awful at the long game, but not this one.

That is his truth until he meets Hawks.

Stupid, idiotic bird of a man that doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.

Stupid, idiotic bird of a man who kisses Dabi now like he knows him, like he's alive.

And Dabi’s never been one to trust, not for years and years because trusting means death, but good lord does Hawks make him want to try.

As soon as he was through the balcony door of Hawks' high rise that night, Hawks was on Dabi, crowding into his space with bright, bright eyes and an intense look on his face. Dabi, never one to back down from a challenge, especially from Hawks, just grinned and leaned towards him, all cocky-eyed confidence.

Dabi doesn't even know which part of him is yelling to try. He can't think past the dull buzz in his head echoed by his pulse in his lips and the delicious swoop of his gut as Hawks' lips move over his own with gentle, persistent pressure.

He doesn’t have to think, not like this.

Now, he's here, pressed against the cool windows at his back, a breeze from the open balcony door sweeping through Hawks’ apartment. Hawks' hands hook through Dabi’s belt loops, tugging their hips flush as he bites at his lips. His tongue drags into Dabi’s mouth, tangling with Dabi’s own.

He tries to take control. Kissing Hawks back harder, fiercer; shoving at his shoulders, nudging him with his foot, his thigh, his hip; nothing would disway Hawks.

Dabi doesn’t mind too terribly. This…whatever this is, is very new for them; Dabi has never been kissed so much in his life as he has these past four weeks or so. He enjoys everything about this—he can admit that much—but the desire and arousal are beginning to get to him in a way that has his heart pounding, sending a surge of cortisol through his blood.

"Hawks," he pants once Hawks moves to Dabi’s neck. He can't feel the biting kisses or the warm lap of Hawks' tongue against the scar tissue. It doesn’t matter much. Just knowing that’s what Hawks is doing with that damnable mouth of his is enough to have Dabi’s back arching.

He groans when his body registers the pressure on his neck from Hawks’ teeth, the sensation zinging right to Dabi’s gut and sending a wave of uncontrolled heat through his blood. He stretches even further, offering himself to Hawks even as part of him screams for his lost control.

Pressed together chest to chest, Hawks’ hands begin to wander. They stay above Dabi’s waist, but they don’t hesitate to trail over his sternum and pecs through his thin t-shirt, circling the bump of his shoulders before dancing down his biceps and forearms and up again. Still, Hawks’ mouth works Dabi’s skin until he’s crashing back into Dabi’s panting mouth, smothering every overwhelmed sound coming out of him. Dabi’s body ignites in a way that isn’t fire or burning or pain—it’s entirely different and leaves him shaking under every touch.

It's when their lips disconnect and Hawks starts to slip down Dabi’s body that the fear in his blood, thick and warm with Hawks’ presence, turns to pure ice.

“Stop,” Dabi says, voice hoarse. His hands that pulled Hawks closer mere moments ago shove him away. The impression of Hawks’ collarbones beneath Dabi’s hands lingers, prompting Dabi to press them against his thighs.

Hawks obediently backs off, only the barest tips of his fingers resting at the bottom of Dabi’s t-shirt. Dabi can’t tell if he hates him for that or if it’s something else.

Still on his knees, Hawks looks up at Dabi. Genuine concern is all he can register. “Are you teasing or are you serious? I can’t tell.”

Dabi swallows. He tries not to make it obvious. Presses his hands from his thighs to behind his back, pinned between the curve of his spine and the cool glass windows. He doesn’t need Hawks to see how they shake.

“I’m serious,” Dabi replies. The words taste rancid on his tongue, bitterness and loathing built up over years and years of hatred.

Hawks blinks, surprise plain in his golden gaze. His mouth works like he wants to speak. After a stuttering ten seconds, he says, “Oh.”

“Let go of me.”

Hawks’ hands lift, though he makes no effort to shuffle backwards and give him some goddamn space. Despite the repugnant desire and fear simultaneously coursing through Dabi’s veins, he can’t find it within himself to shove Hawks again.

“That’s fine, hot shot,” Hawks says, keeping his hands raised by his chest in a show of placation. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Shut up,” Dabi growls. The problem isn’t with wanting—god, does he want. The heat pulses through him, begging for relief. It’s always begging, placating itself in abject need. He’s never seen or felt something so worthy of pity than the signals he gets now, a thrum in his pulse that sounds a lot like Hawks’ name.

Hawks’ mouth quirks. “You know I suck at that. C’mon, let’s sit on the couch and find something to watch.”

“You—” Dabi cuts himself off. What would he even say? He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Curse him for feeling at all, for even letting Hawks kiss him so sweetly like he did. He should know better. Four weeks of indulgence is bound to ruin the control he’s so adamant on always having.

“Seriously, Dabi, it’s fine.” Hawks hauls himself up, unabashedly adjusting his semi-hard cock in his joggers. “Come sit.” He extends a hand, waiting for Dabi to take it.

“I should go,” Dabi says, almost automatically. He’s never been so awkward in his life as that singular moment.

“No.” Hawks shakes his head. “You don’t have to. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I don’t want you to leave. You just got here. I’ll behave myself.”

Dabi wishes he could doubt Hawks. He wishes he could scoff, crack some crude joke, and waltz right out the way he came. He wishes he could dismiss Hawks’ words as folly or some kind of manipulation tactic to get Dabi to trust him. After all, that’s what started this whole thing. It’s the easiest thing in the world to tell himself he and Hawks messing around was inevitable when the flirting, the bickering, the straight-up fighting and brawling were constant.

Still, he finds himself batting Hawks’ hand away, stalking past him towards the step down in the floor that leads to the sunken couch in front of the television.

He yanks off his heavy black boots, lobbing them across the high rise. His jacket gets tossed into a heap on the floor. Hawks’ red feathers whiz past him, scooping everything up and placing them neatly in their places. They shouldn’t even have places, but four weeks is long enough for routine.

Grumbling, Dabi wraps himself in the soft gray blanket draped over the back of the couch. He presses himself into a corner, far away from where he usually sits.

Hawks laughs, but Dabi picks up on the strain of it.

“I must have really misbehaved myself if you won’t even sit next to me,” Hawks observes.

It’s an invitation for Dabi to talk, to explain. How can he explain, though? Memories flash through him, none of them pleasant. He shifts on the couch, leaning against the arm to his left, Hawks far, far away on his right side.

There’s the sound of shifting and of feathers drawing in tight. Dabi glances at Hawks out of the corner of his eye, catching how Hawks’ wings press flat to his back, his mouth a frown and his brows drawn in a V. He looks deeply unhappy like that, a first for the way-too-earnest-for-his-own-good bird.

But Dabi is helpless to do anything about that. Not that he would anyway. He’s not responsible for Hawks’ happiness and well-being. He’s just messing around with him because it’s fun and Hawks is interesting. A convenient distraction from the pain in his body, from the ever-present control. Nothing more.

Nothing...more.

He’s not an exception, Dabi tells himself. He’s not an exception. I don’t trust people for a reason.

Despite those ever-present thoughts, he wants.

His body is still tingling, still desiring. But he can’t. He just—can’t.

Hawks flicks on the television. He clicks into the home decorating channel they both enjoy bickering over. The glazing light of the screen is way too bright in the muted dark of Hawks’ apartment. Dabi squints, wrapped in the blanket and firmly set in his silent vow not to let Hawks touch him.

“I don’t know what to apologize for if you won’t talk to me, Dabi,” Hawks says after a short, thirty-minute episode has passed. He mutes the television. “Don’t make me into some terrible person who doesn’t apologize when he’s messed up.”

“Do what you want,” Dabi mumbles, shifting on the couch.

“I want to apologize. But again, I need to know what I did so I can do that.” Hawks runs his taloned hand over the cushion of the couch, idle to an untrained eye. Dabi knows it for what it is, though: stress. Hawks fidgets like nothing else when he’s stressed and can’t hide it from Dabi.

Hurt and anger and a bone-deep distaste seethe inside of Dabi. He can’t tell Hawks the truth. It’s simply not an option when it’s people like them. He’s always been terrible with honesty, too, so he’s double fucked.

But Dabi’s good at hiding, just like he’s good at burning. Ferocious, unrelenting, willing to desecrate the earth just to keep himself safe. His horrors are his own, no one else’s. Not until he’s ready.

But this horror—this is something he doesn’t want or need anyone to know. Despite how much he desires and wants to take all that Hawks is willing to give, he’s survived without it for twenty-four years. He can survive longer.

“Drop it,” Dabi says.

“I don’t really want to. I like what we have,” Hawks adds when he sees Dabi stiffen. “A lot. I like kissing you and if that’s all you want, that’s fine, but if I did something wrong, I need to know so I don’t—”

“I said drop it, Hawks.” Dabi’s voice was supposed to be a whip, but instead it’s a spool of string pooling in Hawks’ lap.

“You can set boundaries with me, you know. I’m not going to—”

“Hawks!” Dabi snaps. The blanket falls from his shoulders. Blue sparks trail from his mouth and nostrils with each exhale and bitten word. He turns to face him for the first time since they were kissing just forty minutes beforehand. His quirk slips further upon seeing Hawks’ earnest expression, licks of blue flames flaring over the breadth of his shoulders. “Drop. It.”

“I don’t—”

Dabi surges to his feet, trying to move towards where Hawks’ feathers put his boots and jacket near the proper entryway by the front door. The smell of burning carpet and hardwood follows him.

Hawks is after him in a second, feathers puffed on his back. He pointedly keeps his hands open and offered to Dabi, not trying to box him in or grab him.

“Listen, Dabi, I just—”

“What don’t you understand about the word ‘no’?” Dabi snarls, whirling on Hawks. “You don’t—you don’t want what you think you do. Fuck, Hawks, just leave it.”

“Wh—Dabi!” Hawks throws himself in front of Dabi’s jacket and boots, blocking them. Hawks’ jaw sets, a muscle fluttering in his cheek. “Two things. I will never force you to do anything, I swear it. I won’t—I won’t be like them. I’m not—please don’t make me into them. I will never force you. Ever.”

Dabi stays ready to bolt even as he surveys Hawks, the naked frustration and vehemence on his face and in his words easing some of that dangerous edge inside of Dabi. He knows if he really made himself clear, Hawks would move aside and let him leave. He would hate it, but he would respect Dabi’s choice. It’s a testament to whatever they have that Hawks is even trying.

Heroes are always making him choose the worst options, to run, to hide, to kill. They don’t care about the truth, but perhaps Hawks does. He’s never given Dabi a valid reason to doubt him besides his poor choice in occupation and Dabi’s paranoid mind.

He has no choice but to accept this. Dabi shifts where he is, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His eyes dart everywhere but Hawks. “And the second thing?” he asks.

Hawks’ desperation softens, his eyes more like honey than sharp, ringing gold. “What did you mean by ‘you don’t want what you think you do’?”

Just like that, Dabi’s fear and insecurity and unholy rage fills every crevice inside of him. His shoulders square, his voice crashing. Fire trails from his arms and fingers. “Exactly what it sounds like, Hawks!” His voice is sharp, almost fractured. Like an exit wound, disastrous and bloody. “You can’t want—!”

He breaks off, unable to admit it even now. Dabi knows—god, does he know. He’s saving himself with this. Staying in control, staying safe, protected, all of it; he has a mission to go through with and he can’t let something as ridiculous as sex get in the way of it even if he wants it.

“Can’t want what?” Hawks presses. His eyes are so alive, and Dabi is so dead.

The word spills off his tongue, ugly, hateful. Here lies the strength, the conviction. What in Dabi’s life has ever taught him otherwise?

“Me!”

The silence that follows could slaughter. Dabi feels like he’s in slow motion. He sees Hawks’ body square, sees his eyes almost glow with a kind of light Dabi’s never seen before. He sees Hawks open his mouth, wings flaring behind him. He wants to stop him, to go back in time and stop himself while he’s at it, but he’s—helpless.

“Bullshit. I want what I want, Dabi. No one gets to control that, let alone you.”

“Hawks, don’t—”

“And I don’t really care about whatever is going through your head telling you not to trust me or not to act on what you want. What matters is that we both want this. I’ve been judged for literally everything you can imagine, Dabi. I understand if that’s what it is. I know the world isn’t the nicest, but—”

“Stop pushing for sex,” Dabi says, his voice harsh. He can’t let Hawks speak another word. Hawks can’t know—he just can’t.

Hawks pauses. Takes a step closer. His voice and words are unyielding in the face of Dabi’s distress. “I’m not pushing for sex, you idiot. I’m pushing for you.”

Dabi swears every synapse in his head stops firing for a moment, leaving him still, vulnerable, caught in time once more except this time around, he has a choice.

A choice he doesn’t intend to waste. Control, control—if Hawks will allow him...

“I knew you were a liar,” Dabi says, shaky, “but this has to take the cake, hero.”

“It’s not a lie and you know it,” Hawks replies.

Dabi tries to keep the shock out of his voice. “Then, you’re delusional. You have to be.”

“I’m as sane as you are.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“Dabi.” Hawks rolls his eyes.

“You should get your eyes checked.”

“My quirk enhances my vision. Try again.”

“What if I just don’t want you back?”

Hawks crosses his arms. “Then, you don’t, and we leave it at that.”

Dabi doesn’t reply, trying to find more words. He tries not to let that silence tell him anything.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“I’m not messing around with you to catch feelings.”

“Neither am I, but even you have to admit we’re more than just two people fucking with each other. This is too complicated to be easy.”

Dabi’s silence is enough acquiescence to prompt Hawks to move on.

“It’s too complicated to be easy,” he repeats, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying. This is me trying for you.”

“You just want to get in with the League.”

Hawks sighs. “Is that the last bullshit thing you have to use against me? Because that has to be the worst one yet.” His wings shuffle on his back, the tips of them dragging against the floor. “When was the last time I asked you a damn thing about the League?”

Dabi opens his mouth. The longer he stands there and thinks about it, the more he realizes he can’t remember the last time Hawks brought it up. He met the rest of the League already, all except Shigaraki, but he only seems interested in Dabi. Only obeying his calls, showing up to his personal meetings, allowing Dabi to occupy his personal space however he pleases, letting him touch his wings whenever he wants...

“It’s only you, Dabs,” Hawks adds, his voice falling lower. “Come sit with me? We’ll talk and figure this out.”

He extends a taloned hand towards Dabi, waiting.

And god damn him, Dabi wishes he would have hesitated. Instead, he takes Hawks’ hand and allows himself to be tugged back into the living room. The muted television still flickers, another episode of their show panning out to show the new master bedroom area the designer wants to create. He sits in his usual spot with Hawks right next to him, though Hawks is oriented towards him with his knee pressed into Dabi’s thigh.

Dabi tightens his grip on Hawks’ hand. Don’t let go, he thinks, more to himself.

Hawks’ hand mimics him all the same, holding him back just as tight. Dabi wonders, not for the first time, what Hawks sees when he looks at him. If it’s the body first and then him, or the other way around when he’s feeling daring, when he feels like trusting.

He waits for Hawks to begin, but he doesn’t. Dabi looks down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket next to him.

“I’m not good at this shit,” Dabi begins. “So if I sound stupid, keep it to yourself, alright?”

Hawks just gives him a look.

Dabi inhales and tries to let it out. It catches somewhere on a rib that probably isn’t his own. “I don’t....I haven’t done this before,” he says, the words rushed. It feels absolutely terrible to even be sitting there, having this conversation he desperately wants to avoid. He’s never told anyone these things, let alone someone like Hawks.

“Haven’t done what?” Hawks questions. “Talked about your feelings?”

Dabi groans. “No, not that. Sex, you idiot.”

There’s a tense moment of silence. Dabi keeps his eyes down, firmly avoiding looking at Hawks. Shame and embarrassment coil in his guts, and still there’s that edge of possibility that almost brought him to Hawks’ mercy.

“Oh. Well, that makes more sense than what I was thinking. If you’re thinking I have any problems with that, you’re mistaken. It’s good to know, though, so I don’t, ah, get ahead of myself.”

He grabs a fistful of the blanket, trying to keep his temperature from rising. “What were you thinking?”

Hawks hums. “That you didn’t like me, didn’t really want anything to do with me and I was just misreading things. That you were expecting me to act a certain way with you and I wasn’t living up to that, so I turned you off. Stuff like that.” Hawks shrugs.

The anger that burns through Dabi is more than welcome. He consciously keeps his quirk wrapped up tight, but it’s a near thing. Fire ready to leap into existence and burn at the audacity of Hawks’ brain to even think such things. He tries not to think too hard about what that gut reaction means about any of this. About them.

Dabi glances up. Hawks has a sheepish look on his face and wobbly little smile, gold eyes flicking away. “What did you mean, ‘ahead of yourself’?” he questions.

Hawks clears his throat. “I’m a little eager to say the least, but what I said before stands. We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

It’s Dabi’s turn to shift. The shame and fear in him are consuming, all teeth and claws as he tries to find the words to share the other reason he reacted the way he did to Hawks getting on his knees.

“There’s more,” Hawks correctly guesses as the silence draws on.

Dabi nods. “You know I have scars,” he says. The words wobble in the air. Dabi closes his eyes, only the flash of the silent television screen visible. “But they aren’t just on my face and arms.”

“I figured,” Hawks says, not unkindly. “I told you before, though, that I want you as you are. The scars are a part of you, so—”

“The scars,” Dabi interrupts, his voice loud and defensive, “fucked me up, Hawks. I don’t look like you do in your pants, okay?”

Angry, Dabi tugs at his hand, but Hawks won’t let go. He leans into Dabi’s space, forcing him to open his eyes and look up.

He thinks for a moment Hawks is going to kiss him, all ruthless desire and understanding and ferocity in his expression, in the draw of his mouth and the tug of his eyebrows and the set of his stubborn jaw, but instead, he says, “My statements stand. Whatever you’re comfortable with, whatever you want, I’ll give it.”

Dabi’s brow knits. “Did you not hear me? My dick is—”

“Your dick is your dick and I still want it in my mouth,” Hawks says. Dabi would normally roll his eyes at the vulgarity or crack a joke to hide his secret doubt, but he can’t find that right now.

“Don’t even—how are you okay with this?” he asks. Never did he think he would admit something like that and be met with acceptance. It makes his belly swoop and his toes tingle.

“You think you’re the only person I’ve met who looks a little different?” Hawks smiles, and it might be the most honest thing Dabi’s ever seen from him. “There are plenty of heroes who have different genitals because of quirks or damage in the field, you know. Besides, your scarring is intense. I anticipated things might be different, but it’s no bother on my end.”

“Stop being so understanding.”

Hawks sits back a little, that smile turning into something teasing. “Not what you expected to hear, huh?”

“I think I actually hate you,” Dabi says. “What the fuck.”

“Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Hawks.”

“Dabi.” He’s all cheek.

Dabi falls quiet, his head whirling as he tries to make sense of Hawks’ reactions and words. It’s nowhere near what he expected, to either statement if he’s being totally honest. He’s heard things before—things he never wants to hear again but anticipates whenever sex came up. This would be so much easier if Hawks was a true asshole and just said what everyone else does, but instead Dabi’s met with disgusting, awful understanding.

He doesn’t have the capacity to self-reflect on this any longer than he already has, the hyperawareness leaving him tired but clear-headed as he looks at Hawks, at his patient, hopeful expression and the curve of his knuckles and fingers holding Dabi’s hand.

“I definitely hate you,” Dabi finally says.

Hawks opens his mouth to reply, a horribly smug look on his face, but Dabi leans in and kisses him instead. It earns him the delightful reaction of Hawks’ wings poofing up on his back, the feathers curling sweetly as Dabi uses his free hand to wrap around Hawks’ shoulders, holding him close.

Hawks melts into the kiss, tipping his head to the side with a breathy sigh that has the fire in Dabi’s blood stirring. He shakes off Hawks’ hand so he can slide both of them into his locks, scratching through them and the golden baby feathers hidden in his hairline at the base of his skull. Of all the secrets about the bird Dabi has collected in these months dancing around each other, the existence of these feathers has to be one of his favorites.

It takes nothing at all for Dabi to shift into Hawks’ lap. Taloned hands find Dabi’s waist, though they don’t trail around and touch like before. They wait patiently for any kind of signal from Dabi allowing more.

Too bad he’s pleased with the way they are right now. Their lips part and connect, over and over, intensity blurring the lines between them until they’re both gasping. Hawks’ fingertips dig into Dabi’s waist, their chests flush. Dabi barely resists the urge to roll his hips down once he feels Hawks’ clothed dick pressing against his ass, his own crotch tingling with warmth.

He grabs one of Hawks’ wrists, dragging that hand up to his neck and face. He breaks their kiss for a moment, huffing for breath. “Touch,” he commands, his voice a raspy rumble.

Hawks’ feathers stand on end, that hand cupping Dabi’s jaw. The swipe of his thumb over Dabi’s cheek, staples and all, has him falling onto Hawks’ mouth again, overwhelmed in the best way. The other hand at Dabi’s waist drops to his hip, sneaking under his shirt to rub over the jut of his hipbone.

Dabi sighs, shifting in Hawks’ lap. Those touches feel wonderful in a way that Dabi isn’t used to. It’s hard to think the body would even allow him to have something nice like this after everything.

“Tell me what feels good,” Hawks murmurs between kisses.

Dabi flushes. He opens his mouth to reply, but his embarrassment wins out. He pushes himself harder against Hawks instead, slotting their mouths together where he can nip at Hawks’ lips and feel the two of them push and pull against each other.

“Dabi,” Hawks says. His voice is about as wrecked as Dabi feels. “C’mon.”

“Touch,” Dabi repeats. He grabs the hand at Hawks’ hip and pulls it up under his shirt, trying to encourage Hawks’ exploration. As long as this nice buzzing in his blood doesn’t stop any time soon, Dabi will be content. He almost trembles with it, with the desire and the fear mingling together into a heady cocktail he can barely contain in this scarred body.

Hawks’ hesitant fingers linger over his ribs before he fans them over the ridges through Dabi’s skin. Slowly, they slide a little higher, a little closer to Dabi’s chest. Dabi knows Hawks is paying attention to everything right now, parsing together reactions to touches so he can learn what Dabi wants, what he likes. Dabi sure as shit doesn’t know. No one bothered, and he wouldn’t have let them, anyway.

But Hawks.

Oh, Hawks is different.

“You want this?” Hawks questions. Half-lidded golden eyes stare hard up at Dabi.

Dabi nods, trying to fall into another kiss, but Hawks pushes him lightly back with the hand still lingering near his chest, touching bare skin, staples, and scar tissue.

“What do you want, though?” he questions. “I need to know so I don’t push you again.”

“Everything,” Dabi says. “I want everything.”

Hawks keeps staring, his gaze turning thoughtful. “And you’ll tell me if it’s too much? Or if something hurts or you need to stop?”

Another nod.

Hawks worries his lower lip with his teeth, drawing all of Dabi’s attention to his kiss-swollen mouth. “You know the stoplight system?”

“Yes,” Dabi rasps. “Kiss me, Hawks.”

Hawks does, leaning up into Dabi’s space, capturing his lips once more as the hand on Dabi’s chest pushes up, reaching for his nipple. The first roll of Hawks’ thumb over the bud has Dabi arching, trying to increase the pressure and chase more of that pleasure he’s never really experienced before.

Sure, Dabi’s tried to touch himself, but he gets so overwhelmed with the wreckage of the body he inhabits that he loses every tail end of pleasure he might catch.

Hawks obeys the silent question, pushing harder. His other hand snakes under Dabi’s shirt as well, grabbing for the other pec.

If he’s surprised by the lack of a nipple on that one, Hawks doesn’t show it. His fingers press hard over where Dabi’s nipple would be, right on a thick patch of scar tissue, and the deep pressure is enough to enhance Dabi’s pleasure. He breaks their kiss on a gasp, his hips automatically canting to try and rub against Hawks’ own. The thick bulge in Hawks’ pants feels ridiculously nice under him.

“Fuck,” Hawks curses softly. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to go slow, Dabi.”

The idea of desire is so foreign to Dabi, but Hawks’ admission is enough to get him to strip himself of his shirt, tossing it aside.

There’s the momentary freeze of vulnerability, of realizing he’s showing Hawks a lot of himself and its ugliness. When he’s tried this before with nameless, faceless people, they’ve taken one look at him and ran. If Hawks did that to him, Dabi doesn’t know that he would ever recover. Not after willingly trusting him—willingly dying in that sweet, awful way he’s avoided for a long, long time.

Hawks rakes him over, his pupils pinning. Those hands on his chest keep tugging and pressing. He leans in again, brushing his lips over the edge of Dabi’s jaw before kissing his way down Dabi’s throat. He can’t feel it much, just a fleeting pressure, but knowing Hawks is kissing him, kissing scars and normal skin alike, makes his stomach clench, more desire bowing his spine.

“Can you feel this?” Hawks asks at one point.

Dabi mutely shakes his head. He hears Hawks huff before he registers actual pressure on his neck, steadily increasing until Dabi is making the softest little whimpers he’s ever heard from himself. His internal temperature is skyrocketing, leaving him a steaming mess in Hawks’ lap. It feels good, teasing and hot but not enough.

The pressure releases and Hawks leans back with a satisfied look on his face, showing Dabi his teeth. More heat pools in Dabi’s gut at the idea of Hawks biting him, marking him up on his scars. His hands on Dabi’s chest drift lower before grabbing his hips, his fingers tight. Hawks holds him still as he thrusts his hips up, his clothed cock dragging over Dabi’s ass.

A full on moan rips out of Dabi’s mouth. He slaps a hand to his own mouth, surprise and intense embarrassment warring with each other. Just the idea of Hawks fucking him...

Hawks curses again, a string of profanity that only adds to Dabi’s surprise. He didn’t think Hawks had it in him, but then again, Dabi didn’t think he would be here, like this, with Hawks either.

Without another word, Hawks grabs Dabi beneath his thighs, hauling him closer as his strong legs and wings propel Hawks up and off the couch. Dabi holds onto his shoulders—were they always so broad?—as Hawks starts walking them towards the master bedroom.

“I’m not fucking you on the couch if you’re a virgin,” Hawks says.

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” Dabi snarks, trying to cover up how off-kilter he feels.

Hawks snorts. He pushes his face closer to Dabi’s, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. “No, you’re not.”

He promptly tosses Dabi onto the bed, uncaring of how he falls. Dabi scrambles to his hands and knees, watching intently as Hawks starts to strip himself of his clothes. His mouth goes a bit dry as more tanned skin is revealed, dusted with freckles and defined by muscle built up over the years. His wings fan out behind him, the feathers flitting off to a convenient basket by the door to the bedroom.

Hawks stands there with just his baby wings and straining gray boxer briefs. Dabi’s eyes automatically fall to the small wet spot. It lets him take in how big he thinks Hawks is, too, and how that cock might feel if Dabi makes it that far.

“Your turn, hot stuff. If you still want to,” Hawks says. His golden eyes gleam as he looks Dabi over, like he’s ready to eat him.

Dabi swallows. His shaky hands go to his belt, undoing the buckle and sliding it free. Hawks’ wings flex when Dabi hooks his hands in the waist of his black jeans and begins to tug.

Then, he freezes.

The nausea isn’t surprising. It churns in his stomach, sickly and crawling up his throat where it settles. Along with it comes the sensation of tears, thick and awful, which is the surprising bit to him. Dabi doesn’t cry. He can’t—another impossible thing the body can’t achieve. He doesn’t understand that one, either. He still wants. If he’s committing to Hawks and this whole process, he’s committing fully. So, why despair? Why?

He didn’t register Hawks moving until the bird is nuzzling into Dabi’s neck, his warm hands pulling Dabi’s away from his pants. He tangles their fingers together, pressed close.

Dabi doesn’t want to admit how much that unhesitating touchiness means to him. His heart doesn’t get the memo, stuttering in his chest.

“Easy, Dabs,” Hawks murmurs. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Dabi whispers back. “Fuck. Fuck!”

Hawks is quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to take your pants off instead?”

Dabi nods.

“Let me know when you’re ready, then.” Dabi knows without knowing that Hawks is smiling with the words. He starts kissing Dabi’s neck again, trailing up to his jaw and cheek. It’s entirely too sweet in more ways than one.

Dabi focuses on his breathing, allowing himself sixty seconds to get his shit together. It’s sixty seconds he would normally ignore or never allow, but whatever. He’s trying something new.

He finds it a little disgusting, but that could just be the nausea.

Hawks keeps their hands linked until Dabi nudges him back from where he’s attached himself to Dabi’s neck. It’s all sincerity in Hawks’ expression, leaving him almost innocent-looking even as his dick still strains at his boxer briefs.

“Okay?” Hawks questions.

“Okay,” Dabi rasps.

He tenses as soon as Hawks lets go of Dabi’s hands and twists his fingers through the empty belt loops on Dabi’s jeans. He reminds himself to breathe as Hawks shimmies the fabric off his hips and thighs, dragging them completely off. A couple of feathers take them from Hawks’ hand, zipping away to fold them neatly on a reading chair in the corner of the room.

Clad in just his own black boxer briefs, Dabi’s never felt so exposed in his entire life. He squeezes his thighs together even though Hawks isn’t touching him yet, a fresh blush working its way up his chest and face. Hells, his ears would be red if they weren’t burnt to shit. His legs are skinny, though they aren’t as weak as people seem to think. Big swathes of scars and staples cover the pale skin of his thighs and calves.

Hawks locks their lips together in an obvious effort to distract. His hands return to above the waist, trailing over bumps and ridges, tweaking his existing nipple until Dabi’s once again arching into the pleasure-pain from the touch. He’s dizzy with it, the lack of oxygen getting to his brain and turning everything to a fuzz he could get used to. His mouth throbs under the delicious pressure, and he thinks maybe he could be happy with just this.

When their lips part, Dabi is panting. Hawks smiles against Dabi’s lips, their foreheads pushed together in a sweaty mess of hair from Dabi’s haywire temperature.

“What are you smiling about?” Dabi mutters, trying to catch his breath.

“Nothing,” Hawks chirps. “Just happy.”

“Why? I can’t—we have to—” Dabi knows this isn’t how sex should be. He knows what normal sex looks like and he can’t deliver that. He can’t even deliver a body that isn’t fucked up in eight different ways, so he doesn’t see a damn thing to be happy about.

Hawks turns fully towards Dabi on the bed, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of Dabi’s hips. “I get to kiss you,” Hawks says, like it’s a secret. “I get to touch you. I get to make you feel good. So, yes, I’m happy.”

Dabi leans away and back, his shoulders hitting the cool sheets. Hawks crawls forward, throwing one leg over Dabi’s hips so he’s hovering on top of him, not touching but close enough to tempt. His baby wings flex and flare, the tips of Hawks’ red feathers trembling.

“Do you want me to touch you more?” Hawks asks. His voice dips into something downright sultry.

Dabi swallows again, nodding. He does—fuck him to hell and back, he wants this so damn bad. Maybe Hawks won’t make it hurt, too, but that remains to be seen. He can’t fully trust or believe in that. He can’t allow himself to be let down, not with this.

“Can I take your underwear off?” Hawks shoves his face back into Dabi’s neck, kissing a surprisingly sensitive spot behind Dabi’s ear that leaves him gasping.

“Yes,” Dabi whispers, all harshness in the quiet of the bedroom.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down,” Hawks says, the words rumbling right against Dabi’s neck before his warmth and closeness is gone. Taloned fingers hook gently into the elastic waist of his underwear. He waits for a moment, for Dabi’s benefit most likely, before he begins to tug them down.

With every centimeter revealed, Dabi’s tension ratchets higher and higher, poised to snap and consume the entirety of this apartment building. He’ll burn. He’ll burn and he’ll burn and he’ll burn because that’s what this body wants. It’s rage and hate, it’s horror and despair, it’s grief and it’s—it’s—

Hawks shifts, tugging Dabi’s underwear all the way off. Dabi can’t look at him, can’t watch the disgust and the disappointment flash across Hawks’ face. He ticks his chin up, locking his gaze on the plain, off-white ceiling above him with the ceiling fan silently running. He watches the blades and tries very, very hard not to think about what Hawks is looking at, what he’s judging. Dabi feels like he’s floating, like he’s simply a ghost battered by the light breeze from the fan, pulled around the room.

Hawks’ hot mouth touching a spot on Dabi’s collarbone has him jerking. Hands slide from Dabi’s hips up to his chest. That mouth travels, kissing and licking its way down to Dabi’s nipple. Hawks takes the bud into his mouth, lightly nipping it with his teeth before he sucks.

Dabi cries out in surprise before he stifles the sound. That’s not the reaction he was expecting.

When Hawks pops off Dabi’s nipple, he asks, breathless, “Can I put my mouth on you?”

He knows Hawks doesn’t mean his chest again. Dabi looks at him, trying and failing to understand the heat in Hawks’ eyes.

“You got some scar fetish I didn’t know about?” he asks. It’s the only thing he can think of.

“No, not at all,” Hawks replies, frustratingly earnest. “I just...I don’t know. I said it earlier. I want you. It’s kind of new for me, too. I don’t usually do things like this.”

Dabi arches a brow. He can do humor. Anything to distract from the mess between his legs. “You mean you don’t put your hand down all the villains’ pants?”

“Shut up,” Hawks says with no bite. He absently kisses some scarred skin. “So? Can I?”

Dabi wants to tell him to go slow, but he’s embarrassed and scared enough as it is. He doesn’t want this to hurt. Hells, he doesn’t even know if it will hurt.

He settles for a nod, forcibly relaxing his neck. His eyes return to the ceiling fan.

“Remember to say ‘yellow’ if you need me to slow down,” Hawks murmurs. “Or ‘red’ if we need to stop completely. I don’t want this to hurt or be uncomfortable, Dabi. Neither of us deserve that.”

Hawks must know Dabi won’t respond to something like that because he doesn’t pause in wiggling his way between Dabi’s legs. The muscles in Dabi’s thigh flutter as Hawks pushes them very gently apart, exposing all of Dabi to Hawks’ eyes and the open air of the bedroom.

Dabi knows what Hawks is seeing. A lot of his pelvis is scarred in the same way his arms and legs are. Between the damage from Sekoto Peak and whatever horrors happened at that fucking hospital, he lost a lot. Dabi only has one ball. Where the other would be is a slightly loose flap of tissue leftover from it. His cock itself is also damaged. While he’s thick, Dabi has almost no length. It’s about three awful inches, that’s all. The head is half scar tissue, half healthy tissue which leaves it lopsided and mangled looking in his opinion. His shaft has similar patches on it, and while he thinks the blood vessels work, he’s never been able to get hard.

“Does this ever hurt?” Hawks asks.

Dabi denies that with a shake of his head.

He feels Hawks’ exploratory fingers drift towards his crotch. He lightly drags the pads of his fingers and talons across the tops of his thighs and just above the scraggly white hair at the base of his cock. It never grows evenly.

He continues to do this until Dabi relaxes against his will. The anticipation might kill him, but whether he likes it or not, the body wants to trust Hawks even though trusting is the last thing Dabi has ever wanted to do on this earth.

But even he—not the body—wants to trust Hawks, too. And he hasn’t rejected him yet. Hasn’t spit vile words at him or grabbed him in a mean way. It’s all been soft. Gentle. He hates it, hates what it means and all that it does to him. He doesn’t deserve that, not at all.

The nausea returns, as does the sensation of tears clogging his throat. Dabi breathes, and it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done.

Hawks’ fingers finally find Dabi’s cock, his fingers stroking over the short, chubby length. Dabi stiffens as a wash of sensations bully their way up his spine. They’re not...terrible. Not great, either. Uncomfortability dulls everything, keeping him on edge. This is how it always goes if he tries to jerk himself off.

“Can you feel that?” Hawks asks.

Dabi clears his throat. “Y-yeah. I can.”

Hawks does it again, and this time Dabi’s slightly more prepared for it. It almost feels good. Nice. Better than his own hand.

Without getting a denial, Hawks continues to experiment with Dabi’s cock, trying a number of different things and assessing how much Dabi can feel and which he prefers. He does almost all of this through his ridiculous attention honed so keenly in on Dabi, he feels like Hawks is studying the very blood rushing through his veins as he feels something daringly close to pleasure. No words are spoken. Dabi doesn’t know if he could speak if he tried.

He learns he likes when Hawks thumbs over the healthy tissue on the head. He likes when Hawks circles the base of his cock and squeezes. He likes when Hawks pushes a thumb against the bit of loose skin where his missing ball would be.

It’s good. Nice. Hawks’ mouth makes these all even better when he suckles at the head, running his tongue over the glans and almost worshipping Dabi’s cock. He’s never had such attention, and to his amazement, his cock twitches and kicks in Hawks’ mouth. It doesn’t get fully hard, but it tries, popping a half-chub. It’s more than Dabi ever dared to hope for when he thought of sex before this moment.

But just lavishing his cock with attention isn’t enough.

It’s only when Hawks puts his palm over the base of Dabi’s cock and pushes hard that he feels a rush up his spine that has him audibly gasping. His cock kicks in Hawks’ mouth, and that tingling warmth at the base of his spine is back, practically begging for more.

It’s so unexpected and overwhelming that Dabi cries, “Yellow, yellow! Fuck!”

Hawks immediately eases up the pressure and pulls his mouth off Dabi’s cock. Concerned golden eyes find Dabi’s own. His wings flutter on his back in a way that Dabi knows means he’s distressed.

“Too much?” Hawks questions.

Panting, Dabi nods. “Intense,” he says.

“Your body likes pressure,” Hawks observes. “I have to use a lot of strength.”

“And? Fucking hell, Hawks.” Dabi’s head drops to the pillows.

Hawks feathers his hands over Dabi’s surprisingly sensitive inner thighs, watching them twitch with only a hint of amusement. “Let me know if you’re ready to keep going.”

Dabi allows himself a little longer, trying and failing to ignore the demands of his body. It wants to cum. Badly. He doesn’t even know if he can cum. The last time he did was before Sekoto Peak back when he was thirteen and as whole as he could be.

He grunts when he’s ready to take Hawks again. Instead of diving right back for his cock, Hawks’ fingers drift to his asshole. Only a bit of his rim is scarred from the fire and his right ass cheek. Hawks prods first at his taint, assessing Dabi’s reactions to that, before his hand disappears for a few precious seconds and returns slick with lube.

Hawks doesn’t ask if Dabi’s ready, which Dabi appreciates. If Dabi is trusting him to do this, then Hawks is trusting Dabi right back to use his colors if he needs them. He would never admit it aloud, but the quiet realization makes Dabi’s chest entirely too warm for his own liking, and not in the way his heart ignites when he uses his quirk. It’s different, but not bad.

He lightly drags his fingers over Dabi’s hole, not pushing or prodding. Just feeling and letting Dabi get used to the sensation. Dabi’s dick twitches again. He can’t help but move his hips a little, trying to encourage Hawks to push a finger in.

It’s a strange thing to listen to the body, but Dabi doesn’t mind too much when it gets him what he wants.

Hawks dips a fingertip in before pulling it back out. He mouths at the inside of one of Dabi’s thighs as he does it again. And again. And again. Finally, on the fifth pass, Hawks lightly pushes one slick finger past his rim.

Dabi clenches immediately, the sensation foreign enough to pull him out of whatever pleasant headspace he seems to be occupying.

“Relax,” Hawks coos. “We’re going slow.”

Dabi tightens his jaw, dragging oxygen in through his nose. He lets his eyes close, lets each breath fill his shit lungs completely before he exhales. Eventually, he relaxes enough for Hawks to work his fingertip around, rubbing against Dabi’s walls.

He pushes the entirety of the finger in when he feels Dabi allow him. Hawks once more applies pressure even with that, pushing against Dabi’s rim as he pulses his finger. Dabi’s knees kick up and out, spreading him further so Hawks can go deeper. He never thought he would want this—would feel that need inside of him, to be filled, but with that single finger, Dabi is aching for it.

“More,” he whispers, sparks falling from his lips. “Hawks, more.”

Hawks curses under his breath. He pulls the finger out only to return with two. Same as before, he dips and pushes until Dabi relaxes. Two is so much better. He feels like the walls of his hole are alight with nerve endings, making shivers run up and down his spine as pleasure pools in the pit of his stomach. Dabi never thought anal could feel so good.

Working the fingers around, Hawks presses until he hits something inside Dabi that has him seeing white. Dabi’s mouth opens with a deep, throaty groan, his cock throbbing as Hawks massages the spot.

“There you go,” Hawks praises. “You’re doing so good, Dabi.”

Dabi sucks in a sharp breath, an almost-whimper escaping him. Even Hawks’ words make him feel hotter. The air is sticky between them, tugging at every thread keeping Dabi together. He could fall apart right here in Hawks’ hands. He didn’t know the body was capable of this. It was always pain, but this—

Dabi’s fingers dig into the sheets, burning them without the space for caring. Just like that, an orgasm is rushing him, bullying the breath from his lungs with a wheeze. Hawks’ fingers keep rubbing, his voice soothing and mindless as Dabi shakes and shudders. He’s caught so off-guard, he can’t stop the noises, each little “ah, ah, ah” escaping him with each movement of Hawks’ fingers. Something hot trickles from his cockhead, his hips jerking, trying to get away from the intensity he hasn’t felt in many, many years while also pushing closer.

“Hawks,” Dabi pants.

Hawks removes his fingers, watching as Dabi’s shudders with aftershocks. His cock is still half-hard, his hole horribly empty.

“You okay?” Hawks asks.

Dabi can only nod. He licks his lips, closing his eyes. Embarrassingly, he feels a bit a drool at the corner of his mouth. He turns his head so he can wipe the evidence off on the sheets.

“Color?” Hawks asks.

“Green,” Dabi replies. He’s still out of breath, surprise and wanting mingling in his fucked-out head.

“You ready for another finger?”

Dabi whines, nodding. He feels so good, everything is so, so good.

Hawks once again re-lubes his fingers before prodding three of them at Dabi’s hole. The stretch is more intense with three, burning a bit around Dabi’s rim. He doesn’t mind. The pain only enhances how good it feels when Hawks starts thrusting those three fingers in and out of him. Not to mention that orgasm—did they always feel that good? His ass is almost hyper-sensitive now, each drag of knuckles along his walls making his hips follow in abject desire for more. It’s electric and more than Dabi ever thought he was capable of feeling.

Hawks pauses every once in a while to hone in on Dabi’s prostate, giving him exactly what his body craves. It shoves him right to the edge of another orgasm each time it happens, immediately overwhelming him. Hawks doesn’t push him over the edge again, though. He waits, drawing Dabi’s pleasure out in seconds and minutes. It feels like hours. Dabi is sweating by the time his hole is swallowing Hawks’ fingers with no strain. He doesn’t think he’ll survive much longer.

Dabi manages to eek the words out between thrusts. Hawks pushes his fingers in as far as they’ll go, applying more pressure and making Dabi arch. “You sure, hot stuff?” he asks. “This is already a lot and you came once. We can go slow if that—”

“Fuck me,” Dabi interrupts. “Hawks, please.”

“Dabi—”

“Please,” he begs. “Need you.”

Hawks’ pupils, already wide and wanting, blow out immediately. His feathers ruffle on his back. The hand that had been keeping Dabi’s legs pushed open vices around the top of his thigh, talons digging in as he presumably tries to restrain himself.

“Don’t talk like that,” Hawks warns.

“Please,” Dabi says again. It’s not a word he’s used in his vocabulary for a long, long time, but this seems fitting.

Hawks almost growls, pulling his fingers free. He wipes them on the sheets, sitting up. Then, he yanks down his underwear just enough to free his cock.

Dabi eyes him, the length proportionate to his body and the surprising thickness he wasn’t expecting. The head of Hawks’ cock is ruddy and drooling precum. He swallows as the fleeting idea of taking Hawks in his mouth passes through his head.

“I saw that,” Hawks accuses. “I’ll teach you how to give a blowjob some other time. I’m too impatient right now.”

Hawks shuffles forward, lining his hips up with Dabi’s. Dabi grabs onto Hawks’ shoulders, grateful to have him to hold onto. He’s already left several burn holes in the sheets from Hawks fingering him and sucking his cock, and he doesn’t need the whole thing going up in flames. This night is embarrassing enough as it is.

Hawks focuses on the slight space between their bodies, squirting a dollop of lube on his hand so he can slick himself up. He also adds more to Dabi’s ass.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast or if anything hurts, Dabi,” Hawks says. He lines himself up with Dabi’s hole, letting the head drag against his rim but no more than that.

“Hawks,” Dabi says, his voice faltering.

“I know, hot stuff, but I need you to agree to tell me. I don’t want to hurt you at all.”

“I will, I will, just—keep going.”

Chest heaving, Dabi waits, eyeing Hawks. Hawks studies him for a few more precious moments, gaze flicking from Dabi’s ass, to his cock, to his face and back again.

“Alright,” Hawks says. “Hang onto me.”

Dabi tightens his grip. Very carefully, Hawks begins to ease his way inside. He pumps himself in a bit before retracting, then pressing a bit more inside. All the while, he mutters into Dabi’s sweaty temple, telling him to breathe, to relax, to feel how his body makes room for him and gives Dabi so much pleasure, he can’t even find the words to describe it. His other hand finds Dabi’s hair, stroking through the black strands to soothe him and this newness.

Dabi’s breathing is ragged by the time Hawks is halfway inside of him. The pressure is intense along with the slight burn of stretch from his rim, but all of Dabi’s nerves are lit up with pleasure. He never knew—god, he never knew.

He pulls himself closer to Hawks, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Each puff of breath is scorching. Steam freely leaks off him, pooling from his mouth. If he wasn’t touching Hawks’ skin, he would be burning.

“Easy,” Hawks quiets. He shifts his face a bit so he can kiss that sensitive spot behind his ear. “Easy, Dabi. You’re okay.”

“Hawks,” he says. It’s a broken thing. Dabi has no clue what else to say. He’s so overwhelmed. Hawks keeps working his cock deeper and deeper, and Dabi’s pleasure just keeps growing. Pressure on the outside of his body was great, but pressure from the inside—

Hawks’ pelvis meets Dabi’s, the entirety of his cock seated inside of Dabi. He cums with a half-strangled cry, his hole clutching at Hawks’ length as his hips flex with tiny thrusts. It’s enough to keep him riding that jagged high, his face burning in shame even as he continues to writhe. Hawks pants like he’s the one taking it, bracing one shaky arm on the mattress next to Dabi as he listens to Dabi’s pleasure override him.

“Fuck, Dabi,” Hawks says. His wings are just a tangle of feathers on his back. “You’re incredible.”

Dabi whines, his orgasm finally dropping him back to Hawks’ caring hands. Even Dabi can feel the test of restraint, the way Hawks holds himself back for Dabi’s sake. The other hand still in his hair continues to scratch, trying to ease him through the aftershocks making his legs twitch.

“Tell me when you’re ready for me to move,” Hawks says.

“Now,” Dabi chants. “Please, Hawks—”

“God, you’re so pretty like this. Fuck,” Hawks curses. His hips draw back a bit and rock forward, slow and deep. He keeps himself pressed close to Dabi like he can’t bear to have more than a bit of space between them. Or perhaps that’s Dabi who can’t bear it.

Dabi latches onto a single word like a dying man. “P-pretty?” he asks, caught between moans.

“Pretty,” Hawks affirms. “Tight and hot and gorgeous.” He swoops closer to kiss him, stealing the very breath from his lungs.

Tears lodge in Dabi’s throat. That can’t be true, he thinks to himself. It can’t.

Hawks’ hips shift and pick up a little, thrusting harder and faster. The head of his cock catches Dabi’s prostate with each movement. He cries into Hawks’ mouth, loving it and hating it and rebelling against it and accepting it. Pretty and gorgeous and tight and hot—not a monster. Not disgusting or gross or a freak.

One of Hawks’ hands moves between their bodies, catching Dabi’s sloppy, half-hard cock and rubbing over all the sweet spots he learned about minutes earlier. Dabi’s entire body tenses, more cries caught in Hawks’ teeth. Hawks just gives an answering groan and meets Dabi movement for movement, still rutting his hips into him.

“Good?” Hawks manages to ask once their lips part.

“Green,” Dabi almost sobs. “Don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

Hawks’ thrusts pick up again, slamming home. Dabi is falling apart—he really is unraveling. Hawks’ hands that unhesitatingly touch his cock and every part of his body, his mouth and his pretty words, his wonderful dick making Dabi feel so good he could cry if his anatomy could cooperate—what else is he supposed to do but fall apart?

Dabi doesn’t notice the feathers until he’s suddenly being lifted. It throws him off for a second before the new angle of Hawks’ cock has his head dropping back, his gasps and choked off moans intermingled with Hawks’ own ragged breathing. Now seated in Hawks’ lap while Hawks perches on his knees, Dabi adjusts his tight hold on Hawks’ shoulders, burying his face in Hawks’ neck.

His hands find Dabi’s ass, squeezing the flesh as he tugs Dabi into a delicious rocking motion. Hawks’ abdomen flexes as he pulls Dabi’s hips towards him, rutting his cock deeper into him. At the same time, a feather finds Dabi’s nipple, vibrating against it. Dabi’s toes curl, his noises muffled in the skin of Hawks’ neck as he’s properly overwhelmed. After two orgasms, everything overwhelms him, and Dabi can’t think of a place he would rather be than in Hawks’ lap well on his way to a third.

“Dabi,” Hawks mumbles. He drops a kiss on Dabi’s cheek. “Dabi.”

“Please,” Dabi wails.

Without Dabi asking, Hawks moves one hand back to Dabi’s semi-hard cock. The first stroke makes him whimper, any semblance of control flying away as he’s swamped with pleasure. His body feels so good—his body. His. Hawks is making him feel good and it’s—fuck, it’s more than he deserves.

“There you go,” Hawks praises. He didn’t realize he was even moving his hips along with Hawks’, caught between the perfect drag of his cock in his ass and his hand tugging on Dabi’s dick in time with each other. “Go on, Dabi. Do whatever feels good.”

Permission granted, Dabi’s hips fuck down in a grind that has him seeing stars. Hawks goes still except his hand on Dabi’s cock, letting him move how he needs. With the two of them still wrapped up tight in each other, it’s not long before Dabi is riding the crest of pleasure higher and higher, thighs shaking with stretch and burn. He wants to stop, to rest, but he can’t fathom it when his orgasm is just barely out of reach. He already feels addicted to it, desperate and needy.

“Feels good,” he slurs. Dabi mouths sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over whatever bits of skin he can reach, needing to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t go insane. “So good, Hawks.”

Hawks grunts. The hand on Dabi’s ass slides to just above his cock over the white hair. “Wanna cum?” he asks.

Dabi can only nod his head.

Without more preamble, Hawks starts applying pressure with that hand even as his other keeps stroking and playing with Dabi’s scarred cock. Dabi’s hips push harder into Hawks’ hands and cock, increasing the pressure and the pleasure to a dizzying degree. Dabi parts his lips around a dirty groan that’s quickly muffled when he bites down on Hawks’ neck. Hawks moans brokenly in his ear. The noise is what shoves him over, whimpering as his orgasm finally snaps.

Red hot heat pools and rushes through his thighs, darting up his spine and making him arch into shocked stillness. Hawks keeps pushing and stroking, moving his hips to drag his cock along Dabi’s clamping inner walls. He feels every pulse of Hawks’ cock and his own blood rushing in his veins, almost audible as his vision whites out. Something drips from the head of his ruined cock. It’s intense and almost scary with how good he feels, each muscle trembling as Hawks milks the pleasure out of him. It extends the force of the orgasm ripping through him, leaving Dabi a trembling mess in Hawks’ lap.

When Dabi finally goes boneless, Hawks is sure to support him with gentle arms. He leaves Dabi’s cock alone, using both hands to wrap tight around his torso and hold him close.

“You did so good, Dabi,” Hawks says, out of breath.

Some part of Dabi is aware enough to feel Hawks’ own shuddering body, how he holds himself still despite the persistent throbbing of his overheated cock still buried in Dabi’s ass.

He releases his hold on Hawks’ neck, looking at the ring of pretty teeth marks he left in Hawks’ skin. His mouth drifts up to Hawks’ ear. “Inside,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

Hawks doesn’t need more than that. He grabs Dabi’s hips again, levering him up so he can start fucking Dabi in earnest again. It’s wilder than before, but the painful overstimulation only makes Dabi shudder and moan. This is a kind of hurt he could get used to, one he might even seek out next time.

Next time, he vows to himself, clutching Hawks closer. It’s been a while since he’s thought of anything for the future except his own damnation.

After a tense sixty seconds or so of thrusting, Hawks cums with a sharp moan, every feather on his back standing on end. A different kind of heat pools in Dabi’s belly as Hawks shallowly pumps himself in and out of Dabi’s ass. Dabi’s fingers find one of Hawks’ wings, combing through the feathers and making his skin break out in goosebumps beneath Dabi’s lips.

The silence that falls is thick. Hawks’ softening cock plugs him, neither of them making any shift to separate. With their faces buried in each other’s necks, this is probably the closest Dabi’s willingly been to a human being in years. Hawks’ warmth, the softness of his feathers beneath Dabi’s idle fingers, the sweat making their skin tacky where they’re pressed together; Dabi can’t help but linger over the newness, over the silent command to have more of this, always.

Hawks’ hands move from Dabi’s waist, running up and down the plane of his back. Dabi relaxes with each pass until he’s relying on Hawks to hold him up. Spiraling back to earth after how intense the night has been takes a lot out of him, leaving him sleepy-eyed and quietly hoping he won’t have to move for a while.

“Dabi,” Hawks whispers, breaking their quiet.

Dabi hums.

“You okay?”

His head has never been so quiet. Dabi hums again.

“Can I clean you up?” Hawks asks.

That gets Dabi’s attention. He reluctantly shifts back until he can glance down between his legs where he and Hawks are still joined. Clear, sticky fluid is on both their abdomens and the head of Dabi’s soft cock. Strangely enough, the usual nauseous revulsion he feels when he looks at himself is absent. It’s just...his body and his dick.

It’s probably the endorphins running through his blood. Dabi has no illusions about how fucked up he is in the head, but the gentle surprise almost makes him smile. Almost.

“Why?” Dabi asks, having to clear his throat.

Hawks looks down, too, then back up to Dabi. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Because we’re both dirty and I want to? I like taking care of people.”

Dabi wrinkles his nose. Fucking hero, he thinks.

Hawks clarifies, still half-smiling, “It’s important. If I just got up and left you, you would probably feel like shit and I would also feel like shit. I don’t want either of us to go through that.”

“Mmph.” Dabi sighs. He would already be on fire if Hawks kicked him out or left. “If you must.”

Feathers dart out of the room, returning with a warm, wet washcloth, a couple of bottles of water, and snacks of all things. Hawks eases Dabi down on the sheets, hips still pressed together.

“This can be kind of uncomfortable. Just breathe,” Hawks says.

Dabi obeys, mouth twisting at the feeling of Hawks dragging his soft length out of his ass. Cum drips from him. Hawks wipes the mess up, but when he moves to Dabi’s cock, Dabi tenses, expecting...something. He doesn’t know what, but without Hawks inside of him, touching him, the part of his brain that’s kept him safe for years and years screams danger. Tension rides high in his blood. He feels like he did something wrong, like now is when Hawks is going to snap at him, mock him, hurt him. Dabi closes his eyes, even his fingers stiff against the blankets as he waits for the inevitable, unpleasant touch.

“Dabi,” Hawks calls.

He blinks his eyes open, looking between his legs to where Hawks waits. His golden eyes are so damnably soft, his taloned hands within view and making no move to touch his cock. “Hi, hot stuff. You still with me?”

Dabi tries to nod, but he must not do a good job of it. Hawks’ half-smile falls, a frown taking its place. “Not quite, huh? That’s okay. We can clean the rest up later.”

Saying that, Hawks flops down beside Dabi on his side, opening one arm in offering. Dabi hesitates, trying to understand why now, of all times, he feels the urge to cry.

“Whatever you need,” Hawks adds, seeing the conflict. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

Dabi takes a deep breath and rolls towards Hawks, letting his body settle against his, touching from hip to shoulder with their legs tangled together. Hawks drops his arm, pulling Dabi closer and hooking one leg over his hip. He feels the beginning of an ache in his ass with the position along with the dull throb of the teeth marks Hawks left on his neck. Mimicking Hawks, Dabi casts one arm over Hawks’ waist, his fingers itching up his tanned skin to the base of a red wing.

He's ashamed to admit it to himself, but he already feels better with Hawks touching him like this. Dabi didn’t like the clinical feeling of being cleaned. Not at all. He tries very, very hard not to think of why that is.

Hawks knocks their foreheads together, drawing Dabi’s attention. “I like when you touch my wings,” he says. The wings push harder against Dabi’s hand, welcoming his hot touch.

Dabi blushes. Hawks laughs, nudging himself even closer. Feathers bring an extra blanket to them, draping it over their bodies. Dabi isn’t cold by any means, but the extra weight on top of him is nice. He hides his face in Hawks’ throat, trying and failing to parse together everything that he’s feeling.

“Was everything okay?” Hawks asks after some time has passed. “Nothing hurts?”

Dabi mumbles a denial, eyes slipping closed.

“Good,” Hawks says. Dabi feels where his wings shift and ruffle a bit. He rubs more firmly over them, liking the silky texture of the feathers beneath his hands. It’s just as grounding as Hawks’ heartbeat pulsing so close, Dabi can feel it echo in his own chest.

His body is begging him to sleep now, to relinquish the rest of his control to the heat of Hawks’ body.

A familiar hesitance stops him. Sleep has never come easy, and while he wants it, old and new fears tense his muscles. He desperately wants to sleep. After learning about how kind Hawks’ hands can be, how nice his body can make Dabi feel, he wants to give in.

“Sleep, Dabi,” Hawks whispers.

“Stay?” Dabi asks back, managing to crack open his eyes and peer up at Hawks’ face. That’s his biggest fear in this moment, that he’s going to go to sleep and this will have all been a dream.

“I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise, Dabi,” Hawks answers, unhesitating. Despite its softness, the words and the conviction underneath are strong. Strong enough to hold Dabi up, to allow him the simple luxury of falling asleep.

Dabi’s body settles, the brief tension leaving him the more he breathes, the more Hawks touches him. After giving up as much control as he did, doing this is almost easy. Almost.

Hawks is still awake when Dabi really starts drifting, the shape of him and the room over his shoulder losing its hard edges. Golden eyes watch over him. Taloned fingers soothe his skin and tuck the blanket tighter around him. Scratch through his hair. He likes that. A kiss-swollen mouth idly drags over the crown of Dabi’s head and his temple. He likes that, too.

Dabi thinks Hawks might be whispering something to him at some point, but his sleep-foggy brain refuses to pick up on it. He doesn’t mind all that much. Hawks said he would stay, after all and Dabi—

Dabi trusts him.

He doesn’t have the capacity for surprise when he’s teetering on the edge of sleep, but some part of Dabi recognizes how strange this is. He should be bolting out the door and never looking back, or burning this high-rise and Hawks to ash, but instead, all Dabi does is sigh and relax. He surrenders to those arms and this new feeling—this trust. This lack of control. It might be the thing that ruins him, but he’ll worry about that next time.

For now, he trusts and he sleeps. Safe, warm, satisfied—things he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. It’s enough.