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Seeing Hawks with his shirt off and wings spread and sweat rolling down his bare, tanned chest – it’s nearly too much for Dabi as the hero seats himself on Dabi’s cock with a pornographic, almost pained moan. Dabi feels his cock twitch inside Hawks at the sound. Hawks’ wings are bloodred against the dark ceiling, illuminated only by the light traffic passing by the window. His face is twisted and his golden eyes are hazy. Dabi’s heart is in his throat. He hasn’t had sex in a long time, sure, but even so, he can’t remember it ever feeling like this. Not ever.
Dabi feels tight with excitement and nerves and something he cannot, for the life of him, name. He’s anxious, but in a way that he’s never been anxious before. He’s not scared, for once. He’s a little shaky and tremendously out of practice but he’s fully inside Hawks now and he’s right. Everything is right.
“Come on,” Hawks growls. His voice is ragged. “Come on.” Dabi can’t tell if it’s sexy or it’s a demand.
“Come on!”
Oh. It’s a plea.
Dabi doesn’t know what to do, and his thinking isn’t so great right now, so he just watches Hawks ride him harder, faster, almost violently. He writhes on top of Dabi, each motion tighter and sweeter and so, so good. Dabi puts his hands on Hawks’ hips and the hero makes another pained noise.
“Yes,” Hawks gasps, prying open his eyes and letting them land on the man underneath him. Dabi briefly wonders how he, himself, looks during sex. He doesn’t believe himself to be attractive. He hasn’t had much sex in his life, so he can’t be that great at it. But as soon as Hawks meets Dabi’s eyes, he moans, and squirms in Dabi’s lap.
Then he takes Dabi’s hand and moves it to his throat.
Dabi carefully takes his hand back.
Hawks doesn’t seem bothered by it, just continues to ride the villain, his abs flexing underneath the sheen of sweat. Dabi must hit a particularly good spot, because suddenly Hawks cries out sharply and his eyes slam shut. Dabi does it again. He thrusts up in that same particular way, and Hawks makes the same noise, and oh, Dabi isn’t going to last very long at this rate.
“Fuck,” the hero gasps, eyes still screwed shut. His hands scramble at Dabi’s neck, his chest, his hips. They finally reach one of Dabi’s hands.
Hawks moves it to his throat again.
Before Dabi can speak, Hawks seems to sense his hesitation.
“It’s fine,” Hawks pants, dropping down especially violently on Dabi’s cock. The villain sees stars. “You can hurt me.”
“I don’t want to.” It’s the most terribly honest thing that Dabi has said in a very long time. It comes out raspy and nearly inaudible, so he repeats himself. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His hand remains on Hawks’ throat, just resting there, not squeezing. Hawks has a firm hold of Dabi’s wrist.
“It’s – just – ” Hawks’ places his hand over Dabi’s and forces it to close around his throat. Dabi shakes his head. He feels droplets of his own sweat drop onto the pillow. Steam rises above them both. Hawks’ mouth drops open in complete bliss, and his cock slaps hard and heavy against Dabi’s stomach. Dabi’s hypnotized. He’s so full of want. He wants Hawks’ body, wants his cock, wants his smartass remarks and his stupid bird jokes. He wants to run away with this man, this stupid, traitorous, wonderful boy –
“Yes – yes – yeah – ” And then Hawks makes a horrible sound, something between a gargle and a sob, and Dabi realizes that his hand has closed around the hero’s throat of his own accord. Hawks is choking. He’s turning purple and red. Tears form in his golden eyes.
Dabi rips his hand away, horrified, a plummeting feeling in his stomach that shoots straight through his own need to come. He is not his father. He is not his father. He is not his father. Dabi repeats the words in his head like a mantra as he puts his hands on the mattress and pushes himself up to a seated position, the hero still planted firmly in his lap. He opens his mouth to – fuck, he doesn’t know – apologize, to check if the hero is all right, anything –
But then Hawks brings Dabi to complete silence with one single, heartbreakingly insincere smirk.
“Why’d ya stop?” Hawks asks roughly. His voice is scraped raw. His smile is eerie on his red face and bloodshot eyes. Dabi shakes his head and lifts up one hand so he can card his hands through the hero’s hair, but Hawks bats it away.
“C’mon, Hot Stuff, it was just starting to get real good.” Hawks squirms in Dabi’s lap. “You can do other stuff, too, y’know. Choke me. Scratch me. Hit me. Burn me.”
With every word, Dabi shakes his head more fiercely. He finds his voice just as Hawks brings his own hand to himself and rakes his nails down his chest, leaving long, red marks.
“What the fuck?” Dabi finally breathes, and Hawks laughs. The sound is awful. Dabi knows what Hawks sounds like when he’s laughing. (It’s one of his favorite sounds, though he’d murder anyone who knew that.) But this isn’t it.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a gentle lover, Dabi,” Hawks says, lifting himself up once more just to drop down on Dabi. He’s making sure that the villain doesn’t go soft. He can see that this isn’t going the way he wants it to.
“What’re you – you tryin’ to start a fight, or somethin’? Is that it?” Dabi asks, still bewildered. He can’t pretend that he’s not still rock hard as the hero grinds into his lap. It’s making it really fucking hard to think. If this was just some kinky rough sex, then sure, Dabi would be game. But he knows the hero. He knows him, even knows that he’s a fucking traitor who doesn’t know what the fuck he signed on for. And Dabi knows, he’s absolutely fucking positive that this isn’t what Hawks wants. Not really.
“No!” Hawks protests immediately, and for once, he seems sincere. Dabi just looks at him. A challenge. Hawks is good at that. Hawks growls.
“Just – can’t you just – you can hit me, come on, you can do whatever you want! Isn’t this good for you? Don’t you want to?” Hawks pleads. His voice has raised an octave; it’s high and trembling and frustrated. He grabs Dabi’s shoulders with shaking hands and rolls his hips. “Everyone wants to! It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll make it so fucking good for you, Hot Stuff. Just – use me, I don’t care, that’s – that’s what I’m good at! C’mon, baby, show me that I’m good – show me that you can use me, show me how good I can make you feel, c’mon, baby, please, please please…”
Hawks only stops begging for Dabi to hurt him so that he can angrily swat at a tear rolling down red cheeks. And then another, and then another. When he finally meets Dabi’s eyes, he looks embarrassed, and no matter what awful things that the hero claims, he is begging for something else.
So Dabi gives it to him.
He thrusts up and into Hawks, catching the hero off guard, and as his partner lets out a startled “Ah!”, Dabi flips Hawks onto his back. The hero looks at Dabi with resigned terror. He’s ready. He’s ready to be scratched and choked and beaten. Red wings are spread across the bed like fire, and for once in his life, Dabi doesn’t mind being burned.
He leans down and catches Hawks’ bottom lip in between his own. He doesn’t bite it; just holds it in between his lips. Runs his tongue over it, and then kisses it again. And again. And again. He peppers kisses over Hawks’ lips and cheek and chin. He tongues the hero’s pulse point on his neck. He returns to his lips and lets his tongue slide into Hawks’ mouth. All the while, Dabi rocks his hips back and forth, slowly, slowly, slowly.
“Why – ” The word is almost inaudible. Hawks clears his throat and tries again. “Why are you – what’re you – ”
“You don’t deserve to be used,” Dabi whispers, unable to stop a smirk as he rolls his hips and Hawks gasps. His wings move and Dabi turns his head to catch the way the red feathers gleam in the moonlight streaming in through the window.
“I wanna make you feel good, though – ”
“You don’t deserve to be used.” Dabi turns back to look at Hawks and sees that his eyes are turned toward the ceiling and are brimming with tears. He fists his hands into the sheets so much that his knuckles are turning white. His legs are shaking on either side of Dabi’s lithe body.
Dabi breaks.
“You don’t deserve to be used,” He repeats, and slides his hand from Hawks’ mangled toes to his bruised knees. He kisses the hero’s thighs – first the right, then the left, both of them covered with little nicks and scars that Dabi would ask about later, though he’s positive he won’t like the answer – and then his hands continue their journey until spindly, scarred hands grasp large calloused ones. Dabi makes a shushing noise as his fingers skirt around Hawks’ fists until he can thread his fingers through Hawks’. He pulls Hawks’ hands above the hero’s head and presses him further into the mattress.
Then Dabi kisses him again, deep and messy, until the hero finally lets himself moan.
Dabi answers his moan with one of his own, and then,
“You don’t deserve to be used.”
Hawks moans again, and shuts his eyes tight. Tears leak from his eyes. Dabi moves in and out of the hero, Hawks’ leaking cock trapped between their stomachs, their chests rubbing with every movement. Hawks’ fingers tighten around Dabi’s.
“You don’t deserve to be used.”
“Dabi – Dabi, Dabi – ”
“Touya.”
“Touya,” Hawks cries, and wrenches his hands from Dabi’s only to throw his arms around the villain’s neck and hug tight. Dabi buries his face in Hawks’ neck.
“You don’t deserve to be used, Keigo.”
Keigo. It feels good. He’s close, and so is Dabi. The villain presses his lips to Keigo’s neck.
“You don’t deserve to be used.”
Keigo comes with a full-body shudder and a sob, hugging Dabi so tight that his back arches from the bed and his wings spread impossibly further. He’s heavenly, in a fallen-angel sort of way, and tragic, in a Keigo sort of way, as he breaks apart underneath Dabi. The villain follows soon after, wrapped up in warm arms and soft feathers, and oh, oh, it’s never felt like this before.
Keigo’s still trembling as Dabi turns his head and kisses him chastely. His eyes still overflow as Dabi gets up and then returns with a washcloth. As Dabi cleans them both, he vaguely wonders if he’s broken the hero. Number 2 hero, brought down by some of the gentlest, most vanilla sex he’s probably ever had in his life.
“Thank you,” Keigo rasps when Dabi returns from tossing the washcloth in the bathroom sink. His eyes are a little more focused, his shaking a little less violent. “Thank you. Touya.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Pretty Bird.” Dabi climbs into bed and lies down, and they both turn on their sides to face one another. Keigo extends his wing to cover them both. Dabi feels his stomach flip.
“I think I fucked up.” Keigo’s face crumbles. “I think I made the wrong choice.”
Dabi hums sadly.
“Did they ever really give you a choice, Keigo?”
The hero falls silent at that, just watching Dabi with a sad, honest look on his face. There’s not much else to say. One day, probably very soon, Keigo will betray them. He will march forward like the Commission’s good little soldier, the one they beat and burned into him. Dabi feels sick as he suddenly wonders who in the Commission has used Keigo like – like that. Some fucking heroes they are.
It’s quiet for a long, long time.
“I’m happy I chose to be with you tonight,” Keigo whispers, and Dabi smiles. It’s not much, but it’s true. Keigo could have been anywhere. And he came to Dabi. And no one can take that away from either of them. Not tonight.
“Me, too,” Dabi says softly.
Dabi watches Keigo long after the hero falls asleep. He twitches and gasps in his sleep, occasionally groans and lets out other small sounds – no doubt full of dreams and nightmares. But there are moments when his face smooths and his breathing evens out. And Dabi chooses those moments to let himself drift closer and closer to unconsciousness.
As Dabi finally lets his eyes close, he thinks, one last time, that he’s never felt like this.
Not ever.