Chapter Text
“Well fuck you too!” Hawks yells at the door as it closes behind him, only slightly ashamed that he’s gotten kicked out of that bar four times in the past two months, but who’s keeping track at this point? Surely not Hawks.
The blonde isn’t easily embarrassed, not by this at least. He makes his living nearly naked in front of a camera so he’s accustomed to being the center of attention, good or bad, it doesn’t matter, in the end they carry the same high. Speaking of high, the night is fairly young and Hawks hadn’t planned on going home alone. With a lecherous and determined smile he straightens his coat, pushes the stray curls back from his forehead and orients himself to the sidewalk. It’s downtown at a quarter till twelve and although most of the kitchy shops and boutiques have closed, there are a handful of bars Hawks is still allowed to enter within walking distance. So he picks a direction and goes.
He turns down the next block, unaware of his exact location, and sees a couple exiting a pair of double doors. Thinking it’s just another bar, he barely glances at the swinging sign above the establishment before slipping inside. Urban Stage , that’s a unique name. He has enough time to hope that it’s a gay bar before he realizes his mistake.
The room he stumbles into resembles a club, but there’s far too much light in the large open space, and instead of a bar there is a long table with snacks and flutes of champagne arranged on a black tablecloth with red napkin accents. He snorts, and walks over to grab a handful of mixed nuts out of the nearly empty bowl.
It’s some sort of art exhibition and it looks like it’s almost over. There are hardly any people left, a few older women and one man leaning against the wall near the exit in a dark suit and a black turtleneck. He must be the bouncer, although Hawks doesn’t know enough about art shows to fully understand why they would hire extra muscle, but he guesses that people try to steal stuff all the time and wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to lift a painting.
Picking up a glass of champagne, not that he needs more to drink, Hawks pretends to browse the artwork making a slow circle around the room. As he moves from one painting to another (they all look the same) he can’t help but glance back at the bouncer. The man is striking, and as far as prospects go it looks like he’s the last one of the night for Hawks, red hair and muscles for days. He could do worse. Hawks knocks back what’s left of his drink and saddles up to the stone faced man.
“So what do you think about all this,” he tries to cover up his burp with a cough as he waves his hand around, “is this supposed to be modern?” The man snorts, pointedly ignoring him. Unfortunately for him, playing hard to get makes Hawks even more determined.
“I mean I’m no art critic, but every one of these looks pretty similar…” Hawks gestures around the room at the paintings.
“And what do you know?” The man growls. At the sound of his voice Hawks lights up like a kid at Christmas. It’s one of those voices that makes Hawks’ spine tingle, a deep baritone that he hopes sounds as good in the bedroom as it does right now. He cracks a dashing nonchalant grin and leans on the wall beside the man, his voice lowering to a more conversational volume.
“Can it be called abstract if there’s only two colors? I mean that’s a lot of red and orange.” Hawks gauges the man’s reaction and delights at how he tenses with Hawks’ proximity. He takes a step to the side and Hawks follows, the man glares at him and Hawks continues to beam. The guy is even prettier when he’s angry, and if there’s anything Hawks loves it’s poking the bear. “You can tell the artist has a type .” He continues conspiratorially.
“What do you mean by that?” The redhead turns with a frown, finally acknowledging Hawk’s presence beside him.
“Dude, there’s more dick in here than a men’s sauna.”
“The human form is something to be admired not mocked.” The redhead quips back before turning and leaving his position by the door to stand next to the refreshments, putting a pointed amount of distance between himself and Hawks.
Hawks is a little disappointed. He thought if he brought up dick he could get the guy to come home with him, but oh well, maybe he was off his game. He sits the empty champagne flute on the window sill and pushes off the wall, sauntering to the nearest painting. It’s massive, taking up much of the wall that it’s on and overwhelming the room. It looks like someone took a fairly detailed painting of the male form and then poured red paint on top of it, muddying the image and allowing it to flow down the canvas like a wave of blood. How could a normal person even reach the top of a canvas this large?
Hawks squints and leans closer to look at the tag on the wall beside the masterpiece, a study in red ? How original. The sudden slamming of the gallery door startles him and he jumps, accidentally elbowing the corner of the frame, tilting the painting cattywampus on the wall before the momentum of it’s bulk kicks back and with a great crash it falls off it’s mount face first onto the gallery floor. A woman somewhere screams and Hawks tucks both hands into his pockets quickly- which of course doesn’t help anything.
He is sober enough to realize that he is in trouble, as he turns to see the redheaded bouncer glaring daggers at him from across the room.
“Oops, I’ll um,” He looks at the canvas on the floor, “I’ll pay for that-”
In a matter of seconds the fuming redhead has crossed the floor to right the painting up against the wall. Despite a bit of dust and dirt, it looks relatively unharmed.
“I doubt you could afford it.” The man replies tersely, inspecting the painting for damage. Hawks is a little insulted, he makes good money. How much could one painting go for anyway? His chin almost hits the floor as he turns to look at the price.
“Holy shit! For that?” Hawks is aghast. “What kind of self involved narcissist thinks someone would pay that kind of money to look at-”
“I do.” The man cuts him off and suddenly everything makes a bit more sense in Hawks’ hazy brain.
“Wait- these are yours?” The redhead stares back at Hawks in silence and it’s all the answer he needs. “I thought you were the bouncer.” Hawks continues dumbly.
“The show is over.” The other man practically growls, and yeah, Hawks probably deserves that tone. Knowing he’s about to be kicked out of the second establishment of the evening without a hookup is probably the most upsetting part of the evening.
“I guess you’re not interested in coming home with me then huh?” Hawks is shameless and maybe it’s just so ludicrous that the other man isn’t sure he’s heard Hawks right, because there’s a drawn out silence between them before the painter furrows his brow and asks in complete seriousness.
“What?”
Hawks hits the door of his apartment hard, head slamming into the wood with too much momentum and he almost blacks out. He will definitely have a bruise there tomorrow. He hisses as he feels the skin of his neck being assaulted by sharp teeth and a hot greedy tongue.
“Keys-” He manages to get out and the redhead lets him go for long enough that he can dig them from his pocket and open the door into his studio apartment.
They both tumble into the dark and Hawks maintains the wherewithal to close the door behind them. His apartment is a mess, not that his date can tell in the dark. He maneuvers them over to the bed, which is large and cluttered with blankets, pillows and clothing like a bird’s nest. One small slice of moonlight illuminates the space but in a few minutes time Hawks’ eyes are already adjusting to the darkness. He strips himself bare quickly, the redhead following his lead and he thanks god again for his drunken bravery at the sight of the chiseled man before him. Hawks could bounce quarters off that body all day long.
Before he can examine the man in front of him further, he’s swept up in another blistering kiss. Their lips taste like champagne and Hawks hums into the movement, relishing the feeling of the painter’s hands at his waist, so large that they nearly envelope him whole.
“What’s your name?”
“Hawks.” He replies softly, a smile cracking his face- not that his lover can tell in the dark. It had been awhile since he’d brought someone home without them even knowing his name.
“Like the bird?” The man huffs out a laugh as his hands trail lower on Hawk’s body, causing him to gasp. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“You’d never know anyway.” Hawks snarks back and gets a swift slap on his ass before he’s manhandled around and bent over the edge of the bed. The redhead bows over Hawk’s back kissing down the back of his neck.
“My name’s Enji, in case you feel the need to scream it later.” He whispers behind Hawks’ ear before trailing down his spine with hot kisses and settling on his knees.
When Hawks wakes the next morning he is certain that neither him nor his neighbors will be forgetting Enji’s name anytime soon. It’s practically echoing through the walls still, mixing the with sound of -snoring?
Hawks sits up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and gazing blearily at his bed partner. He’s still asleep. Hawks stretches shamelessly and wraps a blanket over his shoulders before shuffling into the kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. He blinks at the microwave and sighs. It’s almost nine and he needs to be at the studio by eleven today, which means he needs to shower and get sleeping beauty out of the apartment within the next hour.
Reaching up into the cabinet, he grabs the last two clean mugs he owns and fills them with the black tar coffee he lives off of.
“Enji.” Hawks makes his way over to the side of the bed. The man stirs, a low groan escaping him before he turns toward the smell of caffeine and opens his eyes, blinking up at Hawks and wrinkling his nose.
“I don’t drink coffee.” He mutters, grabbing for the cup anyway as he sits up at the edge of the bed.
“Well I don’t have anything else.” Hawks replies letting the blanket slip from his shoulder as he turns to head over to his clothing rack and pull out an outfit. He doesn’t mind being naked in front of the stranger, well Enji isn’t really a stranger anymore, not after last night.
He hears Enji stand from the bed and shuffle around behind him, probably searching for his clothing. Hawks turns to catch him sliding back into his dress pants, his jacket and turtleneck thrown up on the end of the bed. It’s a good look for Enji, shirtless in the middle of Hawks’ apartment. He wouldn’t mind doing this whole thing again sometime, but Hawks isn’t the type to have second dates, too many strings attached at that point, and it was too much to unload as to why Hawks stuck to that rule.
“You do have cash on you right big guy?” Enji’s head snaps around in Hawks’ direction with a startled look and Hawks can’t help the chuckle that spills out of him. Enji relaxes then snatches his shirt to pull overhead.
“You’re not funny bird.” But Hawks knows that he is, he has it on very good authority that he is in fact hilarious, always the life of the party, probably the reason he gets kicked out of so many good ones.
Enji pulls on his shirt and strides over to the window, peeking out through the blinds into the early morning sunlight.
“Where are we?”
“East end.” Hawks replies from the bathroom where he turns the knob on the shower and starts the spray. He’s lived in this studio for three short years, long enough to know that being able to afford rent here means that he’s made it.
If Enji were paying more attention he might have even recognized Hawks. He had been on the cover of Vogue last month so, there was that. Half the city had been staring at his ass in leather. Granted Hawks had no gauge on what up and coming artists were into, and they hadn’t spent their time last night conversing. Maybe Enji had recognized him from the beginning and just not said anything.
Hawks slides under the hot spray with a sigh, loving how the water envelops him. He’s left the door open and because of the position of the mirror Hawks can watch Enji lazily inspect his apartment, meaning that Enji could also watch him back if he wanted. He doesn’t. Instead, interestingly enough, the painter begins to attempt to make the bed, folding blankets that had never in their life been folded and tucking away dirty dishes into a dishwasher Hawks forgets he owns half the time.
It would be cute if Hawks were in the mood, but he’s not. Instead it makes his skin crawl with how easily Enji touches his things. He would rather the man have just left through the front door when he got the chance, like the rest of Hawks’ guests did. Now Hawks is put in the unbearable position of asking Enji to leave.
He rinses the last of the bubbles from his hair and steps out of the shower, wrapping the fluffiest of towels around his hips and waltzing back out of the bathroom trailing water droplets behind him.
“I have to get to work.” He states, sending Enji a flat smile.
“Of course.” Enji turns around to drop whatever he was sticking his nose into back on the table. “I just ordered an uber.” He holds up his phone- like Hawks could tell anything from the distance between them, which reminds him that he needs to grab his glasses before he leaves. At some point in time the night before he’d taken out his contacts and his eyes needed a break.
Enji gathers his things and manages to slip out the front door five minutes later, not before grabbing Hawks’ hips and engaging him in one last searching kiss. Enji is a good kisser, almost good enough for Hawks to regret his rule of no second dates, but the painter makes it easy on Hawks and he doesn’t even ask. He doesn’t pretend that for a moment either one of them ever wanted more than what they shared the night before, and that in itself almost makes Hawks want it.
The subway is more crowded than normal when Hawks makes his way to the studio. He spends most of the afternoon with fake lashes tickling his eyes, blinking up into the blinding lights of the studio and subsisting on bubbly water and pieces of fruit until at last they finish the shoot and he is allowed to eat again like a normal person.
He falls into an uncomfortable aluminum chair and gets a side-eye from his colleague.
“You look a bit worse for the wear.” Mirko tosses her hair over her shoulder, and grabs a seat beside him. Hawks rolls his eyes and ignores her. He doesn’t have the faintest idea what she’s on about and he is not about to spill on what he was doing the night before.
“Did you see the new intern?” She continues, calling Hawks’ attention up from his phone and the thousand grindr messages he has yet to sort through.
“No.”
“Well then look, now.” Mirko prods his shoulder and he reluctantly glances up. The boy is standing behind the photographer, arms crossed over his chest and a sour look on his gorgeous face. He’s making a statement with red and white two toned hair and stylish attire that screams designer. If Hawks were into jailbait he might be interested, but he’s always had a thing for older men, so his interest wanes past the first impression.
“He’s cute.” Mirko continues, past Hawk’s obvious disinterest. “Don’t you think?” She shoves him again and Hawks sighs.
“He’s fine, hope he’s good at making coffee.”
“I heard his dad is loaded.”
“Anyone we know?” Hawks asks as he replies to messages and updates his instagram with a few new photos captured earlier.
“I don’t think so, someone Todoroki.”
“Hum.” Hawks lets her drone on, he could care less about some intern’s business. Mirko likes to talk and Hawks can barely think right now. He’s fighting a headache and wondering how much longer this day is going to last. All he wants to do is head home and curl up in bed, and forget who he is for a while. Usually the day after a hook-up he’s in a good mood. Sex makes him feel good, and that’s part of the reason he seeks it out so often, but today he feels the opposite. There’s something negging him in the back of his mind about the encounter. It was so good he almost wished it hadn’t happened. Enji had left without begging to see him again, which was nice but for some reason the only thing it did was bother Hawks. Maybe he needed to go out tonight wash away the taste of yesterday with a different flavor.
“Hawks? Hey are you listening?” Hawks’ attention snapped back to Mirko, who was somehow now standing in front of him, previously mentioned intern at her side. “This is Shoto.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hawks stood and offered his hand to the boy, who shook it limply and let it go quickly like he was recoiling. Standing this close Hawks was able to get a better look at Shoto’s face, noticing his heterochromia and the large scar across his left eye. He tried not to stare.
“I look forward to working with you.” Shoto replied stiffly.
“I’m sure it will be a good experience.” Hawks said with a plastic smile, before Mirko shuffled the boy away. Hawks was glad to finally be left alone.
He goes back to his dressing room to change, scrubbing everything off his face and slipping back into his casual clothes, his reflection in the mirror makes him recoil. His pores look amazing, but without his signature eye make-up he’s almost unrecognizable. When did he start wearing eyeliner, fourteen? Not much older than that intern. He still remembers stealing the first tiny black pencil from the drugstore, coveting it in his backpack, applying it after leaving the house and washing it off before coming home so his step-dad wouldn’t kick his ass over it.
He slips his glasses back down on his nose and tells himself it doesn’t matter, a brisk walk to the front of the building and now he needs to make his decision, grab a cab and head downtown for trouble, or make his way home on the train like a good boy. He checks his messages hoping that someone is inviting him out when sudden movement catches his eye. It’s Shoto. The intern is standing out by the front doors of the building, jacket zipped up under his chin and his messenger bag thrown over one shoulder, waiting for someone to pick him up. A large black bentley comes up to the curb. Wow, his family is loaded.
Hawks watches Shoto with languid interest, until a tall redheaded man steps out from the driver’s side and Hawk’s world tips sideways. It’s Enji, no mistaking it. He’s wearing all black, this time with a dark pair of sunglasses and as he walks around the car to open the door for his son Hawks notes that his pants still fit that ass to a tee. What are the chances?
Shoto looks over before getting into the car and catches Hawk’s piercing gaze, throwing up his arm in a stiff wave. It’s awkward and Hawks curses under his breath as he is forced by politeness to wave back, which of course catches Enji’s attention. Maybe he looks bad enough Enji won’t recognize him?
Shoto slides into the passenger seat and Enji slams the door shut before glancing in Hawks direction again. Well the cat is out of the bag now, Hawks is sure that he’s been found out, because Enji drops his gaze and starts taking swift steps over to Hawks like a man on a mission.
The more childish part of Hawks wants to turn tail and run away, he could probably make it down to the subway before Enji caught him, but what would be the point? Shoto knows who he is and so of course now this fucker will too.
“Hawks?”
“Enji,” Hawks replies, “It’s a small world huh?”
“Smaller than I’d expected. I didn’t know you worked here.” Enji gestures to the building and Hawks shrugs like it was no big deal, knowing very well that it was. It was the premier modeling agency of the city, and he didn’t just work here. He was a top model.
“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me sooner.” Hawks jabs back, with no attempt at humility.
“It was dark.” Enji purrs the edge of his mouth tilting up in a smirk.
“Very dark.”
“I trust you’ll handle our little escapade with discretion.” Enji begins and Hawks waves his hand reassuringly.
“Of course, no need to let your baby boy in on daddy’s secrets.” Hawks teases.
“Thank you for understanding,” Enji smiles stiffly, his eyes trailing up and down Hawk’s frame, practically undressing him where he stands. Hawks feels like his skin is burning under Enji’s gaze, his mouth has gone dry just at their proximity and it is so much worse now than it had been the night before, now that he knew what Enji could do to him. “I know we didn’t exchange numbers last night, but if I wanted to see you again…”.
“I’m free later.” Enji’s eyebrows shoot up and Hawks kicks himself for seeming so eager this wasn’t like him at all, but all Hawks can think about is getting another chance to pull Enji into his bed.
“Sounds perfect, ten o’clock then?” Enji offers, accepting the proposition without batting an eye.
“You know the place, but don’t come over empty handed.”
“I don’t intend to.” Enji replies lowly. A car horn honks in the distance and Enji scowls at the sound.
“I’ll see you tonight then big guy,” Hawks teases.
“Tonight.” Enji agrees, and then he’s gone.