Archive of Our Own

Contact Call

“Birds use contact calls in flight to establish location and to keep aware of each other's presence while flying and feeding. For some species, this call consists of a short, high-pitched sound, recognized and duplicated exactly by mates.”

Hawks first meets you when you come to his agency for a planned raid. There’s a new pro in town and, as the current number three hero, Hawks needs to keep up appearances. Besides, it never hurts to have contacts. 

They call the fresh face Jet, and his quirk revolves around deflection. He can create fields of repulsion, which makes him an excellent support level hero. While he’s a low ranking pro, falling somewhere in the low thirties, he’s enthusiastic and Hawks has his agency request for assistance on an upcoming raid. You know, just to see how this guy operates.

Turns out, Jet has two sidekicks. One is a brawny-looking guy called Echo. He can do something with molecular manipulation. Hawks had just skimmed over his information, truth be told. The other sidekick is you. His first thought when he shakes your hand is simple: cute. You’re all smiles and friendly anecdotes, the perfect choice for your pro, who can be stiff with the public and his burgeoning fans. 

Your quirk is interesting: its kinetic redirection. So essentially, you’re that old saying, “I am rubber, you are glue,” but, you know, with punches and stuff. You’re the brawler of the trio, and boy, can you pack a hit.

The mission is a success. It’s a small raid. Fukuoka hasn’t had a lot of trouble with gangs in recent years, and this one was easy to scrub out. Hawks, by pure chance, is paired up with you. He’s used to breezing past other heroes, but you did a damn fine job of keeping pace. It helped that you could fine tune your quirk to specific areas of your body, letting you dash across the pavement, your feet barely touching the ground. 

You worked well together. 

He’d maneuver ahead, and you’d collect the stragglers. Not one villain or thug slipped through the tight perimeter the two of you cast. After the last of the police vans drove off, Hawks swooped down beside you, his trademark grin beaming as he tapped his toe onto the pavement.

“Not bad! You said this was your first raid?” 

He’s not being facetious. He’s impressed. You’d been calm, collected, and most important of all, confident in your abilities. You hadn’t leaned on him to do all the heavy lifting. Instead, you’d assisted him, even knocking one of the bigger guys out of his way so he could press onward. You’d also kept chatter to a minimum and threw yourself wholeheartedly into the mission. 

His presence didn’t seem to rattle you. Sometimes it was hard to get that star-struck look off some of the lower pros. All too often, they were too distracted by his fame, or his youth. It made new team ups, well, awkward. Hawks preferred to work alone. But, he thought as he watched you shake your hair out of your helmet; he didn’t think he’d mind pairing up with you again.  

“Yeah, first official raid,” you nod, your eyes brightening, wiping your gloved hand over your damp forehead. “I did some similar stuff during my school years, but nothing on this level. It’s nice to step out of your comfort zone, ya’ know? Thanks for giving Jet’s agency the opportunity.” 

Hawks laughs, “It’s just you and me here, no need for a PR sound bite.” 

“No, I mean it,” you clarify. “I’m not trying to butter you up. This gave me some practical experience. Plus, it was nice to get away from Echo for a bit. We’re always paired up on joint missions.” 

“Don’t like him or something?” Hawks asks, tucking his goggles up into his blonde waves. 

“He’s a good guy, we just don’t always see eye to eye. He likes to take things slow. Makes sense, what with his quirk acting on a molecular level. I’m his polar opposite, though. I would rather get the big picture stuff out of the way sooner. Gives us more time to focus on other things. I mean, isn’t that what hero work is all about? Helping everyone you can, no matter how big or small the problem?” 

Your radio alerts after your preamble and you sigh, your questions shifting into the realm of a rhetorical puzzlement, and glance at your watch. You don’t notice Hawk’s quirked eyebrow or sharp avian gaze lingering on your face. 

Huh, well that was a pragmatic answer, he thinks, trying to quell a sudden rush of curiosity. Usually sidekicks are hyper focused on climbing their way up the ranks, doing their best to snatch as much of the spotlight as they can.

If your response is anything to go by, you’re shaping up to be something wholly unexpected.

Hawks ran into you again a few weeks later. 

It was a blisteringly hot day and, as usual, he was ahead of schedule. His own sidekicks were blocks behind him, still clearing up the messy aftermath of a bank robbery. He’d shot into the air after he’d subdued the low ranked villains, wanting to escape some of the sweltering heat that shimmered against the grey pavement. 

It’s always cooler 3,000 feet above the city skyline. Keen eyes scan the streets, golden orbs flashing as he looks for any potential threats. His feathers aren’t picking up much on this side of town. 

Except…

You’re down on the street, your head turning this way and that, pausing every few steps to greet a few pedestrians. Hmm, Hawks’ thinks, well, his shift is almost over, anyway. Won’t hurt to say hello.

With a single flap of his crimson wings, he’s beside you. You startle, stumbling off the pavement. “Yikes- oh, hey,” you stammer, a small grin lifting your lips.

“Yo,” Hawks replies, boots pressing into the concrete. He extends one gloved hand and tugs you back onto the sidewalk. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

You laugh, and the sound makes him smile. “Ha, it’s ok, uh, what are you doing around here? I didn’t think your agency patrolled this side of town?”

“Mmm,” Hawks tilts his head dramatically, shrugging his shoulders. “We don’t really worry about territory. It’s easy for me to get around, so I help out where I can. Looks like you’ve got it under control though,” he finishes, winking at you from behind his yellow goggles. 

“Yeah,” you begin, giving him a quizzical glance, “there’s not too much going on right now. Not that that’s a bad thing… but, did you need something, or?”

“Nah,” Hawks grins, his broad hands spreading beside his face in an open gesture, “just wanted to say, hey.” 

“Oh, well hi,” you smile and are just about to say something else when a group of girls notice Hawks. They’re across the busy street, but you both can make out their frantic squeals and greetings. 

“Hawks! Oh, my God, it’s Hawks!” “Yeah, he’s always around, you never know when he’s going to show up. Hey, hey Hawks! Over here!” “Saw your interview! You’re really the best! Hawks!”

He rubs a hand against the back of his hair, a sheepish grin lifting his lips. While he’s mildly annoyed that the outburst has interrupted his chat with you, he’s not about to let you see that. “Heh, never fails. Well, uh…” 

“Looks like you’ve got some autographs to sign,” you tease, already turning from him. “See you around!” 

He almost calls after you; not sure why. He barely knows you. 

You wave him a last goodbye and round the street corner, disappearing from view. He can still sense your quick steps, his feathers honed in on your movements. 

His eyes narrow, and his grin slides away, lips pressing into a frown. This isn’t like him. 

The girls across the street chant his name again, and, with a shake of his head, he’s lifting his wings, propelling himself across the whizzing cars. 

He chats with them for a few minutes. They’re sweet. Just some local college kids, excited to see the number three hero in the flesh. He’s not on the ground too often, preferring to keep to the rooftops or skies, so he can’t blame them for wanting to take this rare opportunity.

As he signs a few autographs and snaps a quick selfie, he keeps thinking back to you. Why is he acting like this? You hadn’t even seemed all that excited to see him. Surprised? Sure. But you’d shrugged him off when your conversation was sidetracked, unconcerned, like he was a blip on your radar. 

He’s not a vain guy. Wait, does thinking that make him one? Nah, nah, he’s good. He’s not a vain guy. 

Usually, he couldn’t care less. He had other things to focus on. Most days the Hero Commission is his primary concern. The rest of the time he just did his job and tried to maintain his image. He’s good at wearing the masks he’s asked to don. 

Apparently, what he’s not good at is being ignored. 

Not that you’d meant to do that. He doubts you have a mean bone in your body. But you certainly aren’t concerned with his attention, and, for some reason, he wants to give you a little extra consideration. 

Yeah, he thinks, handing back one of the girl’s notebooks, tucking his sharpie into his pocket, he’s just wanting to get to know you, to see what kind of potential you have. That must be it. 

You’re an interesting new hero, and he likes to keep up with any and all developments. Besides, maybe your cavalier response to him is just a one-time thing. Maybe next time you’ll be different.

“No, I appreciate it, but, I don’t know, I mean… it seems kinda low level for you.” You’re already shaking your head, tipping your cell phone into the dip of your shoulder as you press the crosswalk directional pad. “Again, not trying to be a jerk or anything, but you asked me to be honest. Besides, shouldn’t you run this by Jet? I mean, he gives me a decent amount of leeway, but I can’t really pick my missions…”

Hawks’ is perched above you, his wings rustling, testing the air for any small vibrations or signs of trouble. Although, he can’t say that’s all they’re doing. He’s also using a few to feel for your heartbeat, trying to see if this impromptu call of his had sparked any reaction from you. 

Your pulse is steady. Tch.

He’d called about a new mission your agency was tasked with. Why not see if he can audit it? Pair up with you for a second time and see how it shakes out.

It felt like such a good idea…

Well, it was actually one of his sidekicks’ ideas. He had been musing about the joint raid again, going over the data sheets. Apparently, the two of you had achieved a capture rate of 103%. That was wild. He usually ranked in the high 90s, but 103%? How is that even possible?

So, his sidekick posited he should ask you to bring him along on your next mission. Not because you needed it. That raid had shown him you had no trouble handling yourself. Nah, his sidekick was just a number crunching fiend. She loved a good statistic, and this was something they hadn’t seen in his spreadsheets before. However, data or not, it gave him another chance to reach out to you…

He’d spotted you around town a lot in the last few weeks. You certainly kept yourself busy. Right when he thought he’d gotten a good read on what your shifts clocked in at, you’d pull some overtime, or swap a day for a night patrol. It was kinda frustrating; it felt like a game. 

Like you had this latent sense he was keeping tabs on you. 

You kept him at a distance. Oh, you were polite, a little cloying even. You’d tease him, asking if you were a sloppy sidekick or if it really was just chance that kept letting the two of you ping off each other. You were a little too perceptive. So, he tried other tactics. 

He’d ask how you liked the town. Had you tried this place out? They had great chicken burgers. You gone to the beach yet? How was your work with the agency going? 

You’d always smile at his questions. One time you’d even asked him if he wanted you to keep a running log of his suggestions or something. He’d backtrack when your jokes poked a little too close to the strange truth of what he was really doing. 

He’d say it was his habit to check in with the new pros: (a lie). Or, he’d happened to run into you… again: (another lie). It was weird, right? But, it’s a small town, plus, you’re doing a lot of extra work. It was bound to happen: (a partial truth). 

“Well,” Hawks amends, lifting his wings as you walk across the street below and pulling himself into the skies, “I was going to take it to your agency, but I wanted to see how you felt about it first.” Perfect. You can’t dodge something that direct. 

“I think it’s a good idea. And you’re right, we made a pretty good team on that raid. But, I feel like that’s more to do with you than with me. You are the ranking number three and you don’t get that high in charts by accident. Oh, wait. I don’t even think I’m listed on that mission actually… Echo said he was on it, but not me.” 

A swing and a miss. 

You’d deflected him again. Plus, you made it look like he had spotty intel. He’d asked the receptionist at your agency about the mission just this morning. Contrary to your assertion, you were on that list. But how could he say, no, I saw it, you’re set to take part, without laying down what he’d sussed out.

“Too bad,” he countered, his wings beating powerfully beside his head, dampening the sound of your breathing on the phone. “Well, maybe some other time. You got plans for that day?”

“The day of the mission? Uh, yeah, actually. It’s my first actual break since we got here. It was originally scheduled to be Echo’s day off, but he’ll be fine. He owes me a few favors since I’ve picked up so many of his overtime shifts, haha.” 

Your laugh makes him look down to your tiny figure. It’s such a pleasant sound. “Well, enjoy your day! Really, once lunchtime hits, check out that food truck, they’ve got some killer yakitori.” You huff out another chuckle and can’t stop his smirk. At least he can make you laugh. That’s always a win in his book. 

“Sure thing, bye Hawks.”

The line clicks, and he carefully tucks his phone into his jacket. The mission your agency is participating in is set for this Friday. Since it’s looking like he’s not going to join after all, it seems he’ll have that evening off too.

It’s not stalking, he reasons. He’s just in the area. It’s not his fault it’s a popular spot. Nor is it his fault you’re wearing that cute dress. He hasn’t seen you in civilian clothes yet. It feels like a little secret. Something only he knows about. Well, him and the teeming crowd of tourists and late night revelers that press around you. But they don’t appreciate it like he does. It’s nice. It makes you softer, something almost attainable. You’re not just another pro, you’re a woman and a pretty one. 

Hawks takes another bite of his sandwich. He had just popped into the area to grab some food. He’d finished paying for his meal when he caught sight of you. You were on your phone, talking to the person on the other end animatedly. Hmph, he thinks, unable to resist the narrowing of his eyes. He wonders who it is that has you so… excited. 

He ducks down a nearby alleyway and launches himself to the rooftops, keeping his wings closed as he touches back down. No, he doesn't want anyone asking for a picture or an autograph when he's doing this. This, which is not stalking, he reiterates to himself.

You stroll along the boardwalk, waiting for someone. Few people recognize you, only a straggle of younger kids and an elderly couple approach while you wait. You let them chat with you, that familiar smile on your lips. It kinda reminds him of how you talk with him; polite, but withholding. That thought makes him scowl. 

A guy comes up to you a few minutes after the kids scrabble away, their fresh autographs clutched to their chests. Hawks’ lips freeze, his mouth propped comically open, ready to take another bite of his dinner. Who is that?

Whoever it is, you give them a hug and they smile down at you. Hawks’ feathers rustle, the red plumage lifting, shaking agitatedly in the cool evening air. Since when… No, he’s never asked you about a potential partner. He just figured… well, whatever he thought it was the wrong idea. 

He debates on darting a feather down. He doubts that either of you will notice. There’s so much going on. This part of the pier is packed, whirring with noise and the alluring scent of food. His wings tremor again, automatically listening, feeling, honing in. 

“You want to grab some dinner?” the guys asks, his face turned from Hawks’ scrutiny. 

“Sure,” you grin, “a, uh… friend… told me about a good place…”

He flexes his shoulders, his wings dampening, the feathers relaxing and lowering. The conversation fades as he yanks himself back, away from the ledge. This is wrong. Why does he care? It’s your life. It’s not like he even knows you. Scarfing down the rest of his sandwich, he stands, tucking his hands into his jeans, his eyes cloudy, unfocused. There’s a sickening feeling simmering in his gut. It twists every time he accidentally finds his thoughts returning to you. Ugh, this is pointless. You can do whatever you want. Why does he care?

An ominous shudder echoes across his plumage, and his wings lift. Something’s happening on the other end of the pier. He can’t pick much of it up from this distance, but it’s not feeling good. Unthinkingly, he flaps his wings, pulling himself into the welcoming darkness of the sky. 

It’s a Friday night, there will be plenty of messes for him to clean up. Good, he thinks darkly, his wings beating, tugging him toward the disturbance. If he keeps busy, he won’t even have time to think about you.

That old power plant was bound to go up sometime. There had been reports on it for years. Every time an accident happened, the issues exacerbated; deepening, splitting into the weathered concrete. Yeah, it wasn’t a shocking distress notification to receive.

Hawks’ is one of the first heroes on the scene. Jet’s agency is a close second. He made a point to not look for you. It had been a week since that night on the pier. He’d done his best to get on with his work. His sidekick had asked about that joint mission again but he’d shut her down quickly, saying it was just a coincidence the statistics had been so good, don’t worry about it. She had dropped the subject, but she was taken aback. He didn’t snap about things often, but he couldn’t help the sharpening that crept into his voice. 

Again, why Hawks? Why do you give two rips about what she’s doing?

It’s a big heap of rubble that the heroes need to clear. His wings do most of the preliminary rescues, snatching terrified and dazed people out of the chaos. The other agencies follow his lead and they quickly get the scene under some semblance of control. 

He’s just about to check back in with the medical tent when he catches sight of you. You’re using your quirk to blast apart some of the heavier lumps of concrete, checking for any collapsed pits. He flaps over to your side, he can’t help himself. 

“Hey,” he calls, wings settling along his back. You turn and give him a warm smile, but it falters when you catch sight of his threadbare feathers. “Hiya, oh, woah. Sorry, never seen you like that…” 

He chuckles, rubbing a hand over the back of his hair. “Yeah, accidents like this effectively ground me for a bit.” 

You peer around his shoulders, your face open, curious. Cute, he thinks, twisting his back so you can get a better look. 

“Wow, that’s crazy. And they just… grow back? Or…”

“It takes a few days. I’ve got enough for me to lift myself a little way along, but I’ll be airborne again before you know it.” He grins, turning back to you. 

You nod sagely and give him another smile. “Your quirk is amazing. I had no idea you could use your feathers like that. It was so impressive to watch. All those people and you don’t even have to move. It must take so much practice. To have control like that. It’s bound to be overwhelming. How do you know what to focus on? Haha, uh, sorry. I sound like a fangirl.” 

He blinks at you. He’s used to people gushing over his quirk. It’s flashy, and it’s not like he doesn’t flaunt it. But he’s not used to someone pointing out the skill that lurks behind his ability. 

“Yeah,” he begins, slinging his arms behind his head, peering up at the remains of the power plant, “it’s not always the easiest to pinpoint everything. But my fierce wings are kind of like an extension of me. It’s a give and a take kinda thing…” 

“So fucking cool-” you start then let out a little sound, clamping a hand over your lips, “I mean, uh, so, ah- so cool…” You laugh at your reaction and he can’t help the wide grin that spreads over his lips, his golden eyes dilating, focusing hard on your face. His remaining wings rustle, reaching out, feeling for your heartbeat. It’s sped up, it feels like you’re… nah… no way…

“Not that you don’t know curse words,” you explain, a light flush seeping over your nose, “I’m just trying to work on that. Fuck, is like, my second favorite word. It’s been hard to clip it out of my conversations. But pros can’t spout vulgarity. I mean, what about the kids?” You chuckle at your joke, turning back to the task you’d been working on. 

“That’s too bad. Words like that sound real nice when they’re coming from you,” he winks, tipping his goggles up, wanting to see you past that wash of yellow. You laugh again, it’s a sweet sound, and he wants to keep pulling it from you. 

“Hmm, don’t tempt me like that,” you reprimand, shaking your head at him. “Anyway, I’m going to keep working on this section.” 

“Let’s see if I can speed it along,” he replies, shifting a little closer to you. His remaining feathers spread out, darting to snatch up the smaller pieces of rubble, lifting them to the larger pile that you’d started. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do this. I’m sure there are more important things that need you attention. It’s really just clean up now. Besides, what if someone sees?” He falters at that tone your voice slips into. His eyes flash to you, but you’re working steadily beside him, patiently using your quirk to shatter another heavy piece of concrete. 

“Sees what?” he asks, avian eyes dilating again, swishing over your features.

“Sees me having to resort to help from the number three hero. God, Jet would think I’d begged you to do it or something.” 

The word beg has him thinking of… other things. He clears his throat and shakes his head. Should he… he glances at you again. Per usual, you’re not paying attention to him. You’re focused on the task at hand. Such a good sidekick. So professional…

“Hmm,” he grins, flashing you a wicked smirk, “how would you repay me in this imaginary scenario of yours?” You give him a quick look, your eyes meeting his. His feathers react again. Ooh, your pulse sped up.

“Well,” you pause, perching the tip of your index finger on your chin, pantomiming your thinking process, “Hmm, I’d go with food. That seems to be your biggest motivator. You talk about it all the time.” 

“Ah, a dinner date then. That feels like fair compensation,” he arches an eyebrow at you, watching, feeling for your next move.

“Mmm, I doubt you have much time for those. But, I know you couldn’t say no to a chicken sandwich. Yeah, that’s what I’d tell Jet. Please, I just was having so much trouble and he was right there. So he sold himself to me for an hour for the steep price of one chicken sandwich. I’ve done my best to be responsible with my new power over him, I promise.”

“Just an hour?” Hawks queries, that broad grin slipping, his features sharpening. God, you’re good at this. He’s used to being the one with all the quips. Not today, apparently. 

“Yeah,” you laugh, smashing another chunk of rubble into a fine dusting. “Gosh, if that sparked your interest, imagine what I could get you to do for two chicken sandwiches. There’s all sorts of trouble we could get up to with that much time.” 

Hawks’ pauses, turning to you. While he likes the way this interaction is shaking out. Yeah, he really, really likes it. He also wants to know about that guy you met up with before he takes this any further. Are you just teasing him for fun? Or…

“Did you check out that place I told you about?” he asks, his whole being attuned to your reaction. Your heartbeat slows and then speeds up and he can hear you gulp. You look back at him, your eyes widening at his expression. It’s a serious face, one you haven’t seen on him before. 

“Uh, yeah. But, um, I didn’t stay long. Just got something small.” You shift a bit, your feet scuffing against the rubble. You look uncomfortable. Hmm… 

“Something come up?” Hawks presses, his wings rising again, the remaining red plumage arching. 

You laugh, abashed, ducking your head. “Kinda, um, I had something else on my, uh, never mind. I went with a… friend… we er, we wanted to check out some other things… He wanted to come over to my place and we got a little… I mean, something else… um… happened… Ha, long story short, it was a quicker visit to the restaurant then I was expecting.” 

Oh, fuck. Had you and that guy hooked up? You said you took him back to your place. What else could that mean? Plus, you’re so… flustered. You look, God, you look irresistible like that. He has to clench his teeth to keep his jaw from falling open. He can feel himself hardening. His cock pressing against the rough fabric of his bodysuit. He can’t stop the mental images of you gasping, moaning, ugh, stripped bare, from drifting through his mind. Damn, well, so much for not caring. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to…

“I’ll go back. Some other time. I mean it... Um, uh, Hawks?” 

He can hear you talking and he takes a moment to focus on you, you know, really focus on you, again. “Sorry, what?” he asks, his face slipping back into that carefree expression, a lazy grin on his lips.

“Uh, you just looked a little… I don’t know, disappointed or something. I’ll go back to the restaurant some other time. What I got was fantastic.” 

“It’s fine,” he replies, turning back to the work at hand. It’s not fine though. He takes a few steadying breaths, willing the rising bulge in his pants to not tent. You’d fucked that guy. There’s no way that’s not what you’d meant with that stammering explanation. That slow twisting starts in his stomach again. 

So you had a boyfriend. It made sense. He didn’t blame him. You were too perfect to pass up. Lucky guy. But that didn’t explain why you were being so flirty, so… open with him. You were usually brief. Oh, you were friendly for sure, but you were always careful not to over share.

He chanced a peek at you. Your heartbeat hadn’t steadied, if anything, it was pounding even more. Your eyes lift to his and then dart away. There’s something hovering between the two of you. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s just, well, he’s not entirely sure what it is…  

He’s about to ask you another question when your hip radio chimes, the static distracting him from his musings. 

“(Y/N). Come in. Over.” You lift the device off its clip and pull it to your mouth, pressing down on the side button. 

“This is (Y/N).” 

“Report to triage. Over.” 

“Heard. Over,” you reply, lowering the radio and turning to him. “Hey, thanks for all your help. It was nice getting to just talk, you know?” 

Hawks’ doesn’t trust himself to respond. He nods, waving as you step from him, your feet carrying you over the battered landscape, away from his tense and bewildered figure. This little interaction hasn’t helped him at all. No, it’s just made his curiosity worse.

It’s late. His patrol ended hours ago. He is swooping down through the shadows, his wings beating silently, the feathers attuned to only one thing.

You must have the night off, possibly the next morning too, what with the way you’re drinking. You’re with a group of friends. It’s not a big posse, but it’s enough to keep him away. 

He can’t get you out of his head. He thought if he ignored you, maybe that ache would go away. But that was a gross miscalculation on his part. No, the distance just made his turbulent hunger flare up even more when he did see you. 

He perches above the entrance of the club, hidden behind the dark paneling. You’re standing outside with one of your friends, the two of you are chatting, but he can hear your twinkling laugh from here. He can also feel you. You’re practically thrumming, your blood coursing with the effects of the alcohol. 

You’re in civilian clothes again. It’s a little more dramatic this evening, dressed up. You have a flirty top and a short skirt on and those thigh-high boots are making his head spin.

You look good, baby. You look real good. 

He keeps telling himself he’s just doing this to make sure you’re getting from point A to point B safely. He’s not stalking you. Ok, that’s a lie. He is. But it’s not with any kind of ill-intent. Hopefully, you’ll never, ever know. God, that sounds terrible. He’s fucking trash. But he can’t pull himself away. 

His feathers keep a close check on your pulse. As you wave goodbye to your friends, he can feel your heartbeat. It’s tapping rapidly against your breastbone. He wants to glide down next to you, just to see if he can kick it up a notch. You had already indulged his flirting, despite being stone cold sober, so who knows what he can coax out of you when you’re drunk. 

Goddamn it Hawks, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here. 

He wants to leave, but a bigger part of him wants to make sure you get home ok. He’s not going to talk to you. No, he’s just going to watch. If something happens, he’ll deal with it quickly and quietly. Not that you couldn’t handle anyone dumb enough to try and mess with you. You’re strong, powerful, mmm, it’s so sexy. Nope, stop that Hawks. Look, he just wants you to be safe… right?

You live in a nice part of town. 

It’s a mix of blue and white-collar families. Complete with sprawling parks and children’s museums. It’s a good choice for you. Even if you seemed unconcerned with your rankings on the hero charts, this kinda neighborhood would help you on your way. You could grow here. 

You walk into one of the smaller apartment complexes. Again, it’s the perfect blend of subtle and comfortable. It’s fancy enough to have a doorman, who greets you and welcomes you into the bright light of the lobby, but it’s not overly ornate.

He hovers alongside the adjacent building, his feathers still feeling for you. You must have gone into an elevator. He can’t sense you quite as well, the sensation rendering you dampened and hushed. But a few minutes later he can feel your pulse again. It’s coming from the other side of the building. He flaps higher, lifting above the complex, looking for a good perch. 

Ah-ha. There’s a convenient water tower on the building across from your unit. Perfect.

He feels like he’s in two places at once. While his feet are landing on the iron-wrought ledge, he’s also stepping with you into your apartment. It’s dark on this side of the building, so the flash of your lamp catches his attention immediately. 

Your sliding glass door opens, flooding the light onto your balcony. You step out into the night, resting your arms on your railing, sighing. Your pulse has slowed. You’re more relaxed now, safe and comfortable. He crouches down to the iron platform of the water tower, sinking into the shadows. 

You made it. You’re home. He can leave. But… but he wants to see you. He’s missed looking at your face, missed your sharp wit and lingering grins. He’s just… missed you. You look pensive, like there’s something on your mind. He wonders if your boyfriend is inside. His feathers lift of their own accord and his eyes slip closed, reaching for some clue.

He can feel others moving around in the complex. Someone on a lower floor is watching tv, there’s a baby crying a few units over, but there’s no other movement from inside your unit. No, you’re alone. He lets out a heavy breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Good.

You stretch, your arms lifting above your head, your skirt hovering dangerously high on your thighs. Then, you’re turning, walking back into the light of your home, but you leave the balcony door open. He narrows his eyes. It could be a habit. Besides, you had a quirk that would let you pummel anyone who dared to step into your space uninvited, but it feels… purposeful? He shakes his head, his golden waves gleaming in the moonlight. Nah, it must just be a habit. It is nice out tonight.

He can’t see you anymore. That alone should be his cue. But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot. He spies your bed through the billowing white curtains that you have draped beside your balcony. It looks nice and soft, with lots of plush pillows and blankets adorning the sheets. He’s still ruminating over the comforts of your bed when he sees you.

Oh… oh, fuck. You’ve taken a shower. Your hair is wet, dripping against your wooden floors, and your skin is glistening. Goddamn it baby, oh man, you look so fucking good. He can’t tear his eyes away now, his pupils dilating, focusing, tracing along every inch of you. Then, as if you can sense his curiosity, you drop the towel. 

He can’t breathe. His mouth is dry and his wings are flapping distantly, stirring the air around his head. No, you don’t just look good. That’s too vague of an adjective. You look fucking gorgeous. 

You drape yourself across your bed, your head flopping against your pillows. You’re stretching along the blankets, arching. Oh God, are you gonna- ooh- Yeah, yeah you are. Your fingers trail along your side, cupping your breasts, flicking your thumbs over your pebbling nipples. He watches you bite back a gasp, your hips canting up, grinding against nothing. 

He feels lightheaded. He shakes his head again, trying to process what he’s seeing. One of your hands creeps lower, dipping to the apex of your bent legs. He feels for your heartbeat, his eyes wide, watching as you slip a finger to the top of your pussy. He can’t see it clearly from here, but oh man, he can just imagine what it looks like. Your blood is racing through your veins and he can practically feel it as it rushes to your dampening cunt. 

He debates on sending a feather over. He wants to fucking hear you. God, you’re prolly sighing, oh fuck, what if you’re moaning? While he’s mulling over his options: (to be a creep or to be an even bigger creep), his hand falls to his lap. He shifts on his haunches and that traitorous palm slides over his straining erection. He groans at the stimulation, his gaze hazing over. 

He can see your own fingers speed up and your back bows off the bed, your knees parting, giving him teasing peeks of that delicious sight that’s hiding behind your insistent touch. He’s already checked off enough boxes to send him to hell for a few lifetimes, so what’s one more? His fingers clatter along his belt buckle, and he’s never been more thankful for the extra pair of clothes he keeps at his agency. He’d changed before heading out, and he’s eternally grateful he’s not having to struggle with his body suit right now. Not that it would have stopped him. Nah, he would have tried to rub one out even with that damned thing on. 

His broad hand slips over his cock, and he sighs as that pressure lessens. He lifts his eyes back to you, trying to keep his tugs in time with your quick strokes. His knees dig into the iron platform and he belatedly takes a quick peek at his surroundings. It’s quiet. The street below is almost empty, just a few couples walking back to their homes. Thank God, he thinks, gritting his teeth, trying to keep his needy pants contained. 

Then, to his utter dismay, you stop; sliding your legs closed. He can’t help the frustrated groan that slips from his lips. Ugh, baby… baby, no. Wait. You’re reaching for something. He slows his tugs, but his hand is still wrapped tightly around his leaking cock. What are you… oh. 

He can’t help his quirked eyebrow. You’ve come back to your wet pussy, this time with a small pink and gold vibrator. You switch it on, ramping up the power and lowering it to you. Your hips buck, blindly stroking to the swift pulsations. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s so hot.

Hawks is gasping. He can fucking feel how fast that vibrator is going as you drag it across you. The sensation slips up his spine and makes him shiver, his wings fluttering open and closed, the feathers rustling, shifting. Mmm, it’s so nice. Tch, damn, he’s close. 

You shudder against the sheets, your legs spreading, hips arching a final time as you cum hard around your vibrator. Wait, is that? Oh yes, oh hell yeah. He can hear you. His wings are so sensitive now, so focused on you, that they’re picking up everything. Finally, finally, he can hear you. You’re panting, a low whine sliding to his receptive ears and you gasp out something else…

The sound of it makes him sigh. He ruts into his hand, grunting as he spills over his fingers, cum splashing against the leg of his pants. He’s having a hard time catching his breath, but damn, he feels so good. It’s like he’s slipped a weight off his shoulders. 

He swipes his palm against the stained front of his pants, licking his lips and watching as you curl into your bed again, tossing your little vibrator to the floor. You pull one of those soft blankets over your shoulders and your heartbeat slows as you drift off. 

Hawks smiles as he lifts his pants over his hips, re-tightening his belt and standing. He’s got you now. As you were trembling along your orgasm, his name had slid from your lips. He’d heard it clearly as you gasped and groaned. Ugh, baby, why hadn’t you just said something earlier?

It’s like you’re deliberately avoiding him now. 

You’re still bopping around town, still keeping up with your sidekick work, but there’s always, always something going on. Every time he thinks he’s got you cornered, gotten you alone for a single solitary second, there’s another call, or another emergency. He feels like he’s plagued. 

So, he swaps tactics. If he can’t get your attention on the job why not see if he can finally get you to take him up on that lunch offer? Ooh, or did you want to grab takeout after this patrol? Plus, he still wants to audit your agency.

He flings anything and everything he can at you over the next week.  

But you keep finding ways to turn him down. It’s either meetings, extra overtime, or other bureaucratic nonsense you feed him. You’ve never flat out told him no. Never said that you’re not interested, or given him a simple ‘leave me alone Hawks’. Nah, you’re still all smiles and teasing banter. It’s a frustrating polarity. He feels like he’s being led around by his nose. But each time you say no, he wants to try again, maybe give it a little more effort the next time. 

Now he’s actively doing things for you. He knows you like to start your Tuesday lunch breaks by the pier, so he brings you lunch. He doesn’t stay; has other things to do, but he gives you a quick wink all the same; leaving you gaping after his quick form. He drops some juicy tidbits of information for you at your agency. He sends you leads on missions, areas to patrol, or potential threats. He calls you as often as he can, just to check in, but also to hear your voice. It’s almost a routine now, and he likes that you’re slowly opening up to him.  

He’s recommended you to other heroes, asking if they’ll keep an eye out for you. That favor isn’t just performative. You’re good at what you do and you deserve more recognition. Hell, he even gave you a shout out in one of his interviews. 

It sent a swath of reporters to your agency and thrust you a little more into the limelight. You handled the press and the following interviews expertly, but you’d confessed on one of your phone calls with him that you didn’t really enjoy having to put on a fake smile that much. It didn’t feel like you, you’d said, and he’d grinned, saying sometimes it’s easier to coast, but you really had talent. You shouldn’t settle, you deserved more. 

It felt like things were building between the two of you as the days ticked by. Hawks wanted to just shove those lingering walls you erected down, but he also liked that you felt like you could come to him. You’d actually called him the other day. You sounded flustered, but he’d just gushed about how excited he was to hear from you. His enthusiasm made you laugh, and he cherished that little piece of you. 

You’re still keeping him at an arm’s length, at least on the job, but he can feel that distance narrowing. 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and he is passing by your agency. He’s still technically on patrol, but he’s only got minutes to go. He’s ready to hand off his shift, he’s been hungry since noon. He’d had to skip his lunch to deal with a mugging and a carjacking. It’s been a shitty day. 

But then he sees you. 

You’re about to step onto the sidewalk, descending the white steps carefully as you tap something into your phone. You’ve got your civilian clothes on again. This time it’s a shirt and a jean skirt. Awe, you’re always so freaking pretty. 

He taps down in front of you and you glance up at him, a smile lifting your lips, “Hey,” you say, your voice light. He can’t help his frank appraisal and he lets his eyes roam over you indulgently. 

“Hi. Where are you going, beautiful?” 

You exhale a quick laugh at the pet name, shaking your head equably. “Oh, uh, I’m meeting someone.” 

Nope. He doesn’t like that answer at all. His eyes narrow and he slumps back. His agitation is written all over his body language and he doesn’t care if you notice. 

He still hasn’t asked you about the guy you were with that night on the pier. He also hasn’t seen you with him again, but it’s not like he’s been looking out for the dude. He looks up at you and is surprised to see you intently watching him. That’s not like you…

Usually you kept your observations to sweet little peeks, your eyes never resting on him for long. Something seems different. 

“Who are you meeting?” he asks bluntly, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“If I say it’s a date, what will you do?”

Wait. What? 

He blinks at you and his wings lift incrementally, instinctually searching for that familiar pulse that beats inside you. 

“Is it a date?” he asks, his eyes tracing your face. You give him a dark smile and quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Like I said, what will you do if it is?”

He can feel some unseen energy thrumming in the air. It makes him lick his lips and take a step closer. “If it is… I guess my question is why?” 

“Why would I go on a date? Or, why would you feel the need to follow me if I did?” 

Hawks takes a deep inhale of air, his face drifting from that open, cheerful gaze to something a little more serious and sharp. His eyes, always so stunning and golden, dilate; avian pupils narrow to slits and he looks… dangerous. You like it, you think, a smile lifting your lips. It looks good on him. 

“So,” he begins, his voice low, “you’ve been leading me on?” 

“Oh, sorry,” you pout, hopping down that irrevocable step and pressing close to him. “Should I not have said anything? It’s not like you haven’t been following me for weeks now. Besides, you seemed to like it when you watched me get myself off that one night. I know you heard me, I said your name and everything. So, my question to you is: why haven’t you done anything about it?”

His wings lift, stretching out behind him, the red bright against the fading sunlight. He lifts his hands from his pockets and raises one to his goggles, lifting the lens off of his face. A wicked smile stretches across his lips and he leans over you, his breath warm on your skin.

“My place or yours?” he asks, his wings draping closed again. He ghosts a hand across your shoulder and you shiver at the distant touch. 

“Whichever is closer,” you reply, biting your lower lip into your mouth. Hawks smiles, his teeth gleaming brightly. His eyes lift from you and he peers around the street. 

“That alleyway is closer,” he qualifies, glancing at you from his peripheral. 

You laugh and his grin widens, “Oh, the number three hero wants to get caught with his pants around his ankles in an alleyway as he fucks the sidekick of a low level support hero? I mean, if that’s what gets you going.”

His amber eyes flash to the busy street, wings spreading again, the tips of his feathers quivering, like he’s listening for something. After a few seconds he turns back to you, his eyes glinting. “Get going baby, I’ll catch up.” 

Then he’s just gone. All you can feel is a whoosh of air and you watch, transfixed, as a single crimson feather drifts down, settling beside your feet. You don’t know why you’re so rattled; he is one of the fastest heroes around. Taking a steadying breath, you step over the feather and head for the adjacent alleyway. 

Compared to the bustling street, it’s dark. The sounds of the city are muffled this far back and you look around the space, trying to get a read for any possible… interruptions. It looks like it’s composed of rear entrances to various businesses, but at any moment a door could open. The thought of discovery makes you bite your lip again and you look down at your shoes, scuffing your toe against the dusty concrete. The movement lifts a familiar flash of red. Oh, that feather’s still there. But how? 

You look up, expecting to see Hawks’ smug face grinning down at you, but there’s nothing. It must be the same one from earlier. Those things don’t go anywhere unless he wants them to after all…

That thought makes you smile mischievously. You reach down and snatch up the crimson feather. You lift it to your eyes and delicately run a finger along the barb, tapping along the downy plumage. He told you once that he could feel everything they could…

You trace the tip along your throat, teasing it against your skin. It’s soft, and it tickles, making you shiver. There’s still no sign of him. What’s he up to? Unthinkingly, you keep stroking the feather against you. It passes your collarbone and once it reaches the valley of your breasts, it springs free from your hands. You gasp, startled by its sudden sentience.

It hovers eerily in front of you. You’re about to reach for it again when it moves so fast it blurs across your vision. It races back to your front and slides down the same path you charted for it earlier. It stills along your breasts, lifting back to your neck, repeating the motion, but this time something about it has changed. 

Once it reaches the collar of your shirt, it shifts and the tip doesn’t look so friendly now. No, it looks honed, like it’s sharpened. Gently, slowly, it presses against you. You’re still watching it, dumbfounded, when it darts down your shirt again. This time, that edge catches on the fabric and it cuts it evenly away, the cloth gaping open. You startle, your hands pressing flat against the brick wall behind you, and the sudden rush of chilly air makes you shiver.

The feather pulls back, waiting. It floats close to your face again, and you can’t stop your impulse to reach for it. It holds itself steady as you push the pad of your thumb to it. The tip sinks into your finger pad, nicking your skin and splitting it easily. You pull your hand back, looking at the drop of welling blood. Still watching the quivering feather, you suck the digit into your mouth, stilling the blood flow with the pressure of your tongue. The feather vibrates at that. It’s like it has a mind of its own. Well, Hawks’ mind, that is. 

As soon as you remove your thumb from your lips, it glides forward and traces the seam of your mouth. You smile, a laugh stirring the barbs, and you lap your tongue over the bright red. The feather’s softened again, the tip bending pliantly as you lick over it. 

It presses into your lips and you dampen the soft surface, careful to keep your teeth from the downy plumage. Another gust of cold air blows down the alleyway and you quake. Your skin keeps pebbling and warming as your kisses to the feather speed up. You cup one hand to your covered breast, running a finger over your tightening nipple. The stimulation makes you pant, light drags of air rustling across the hovering feather. It pulls from your mouth, a thin trail of your saliva still clinging to the tip. It vibrates once more and then drops, weightless, to the dust at your feet. 

You thunk your head against the brick wall, your hand still teasing along your nipple. Mmm, any minute now…  

You feel his warmth before you see him. His movements always made you jolt, trying to right your blurring vision at the sheer speed of him, and this is no exception. His lips are tracing along your neck, sucking and kissing as he makes his way to your jaw. His verdant wings are flared, beating silently behind him. 

“There you are,” you moan, pressing your head to him, searching for his lips. He groans and lifts you to him, gloved hands caging around your lower back. He’s gentle with you, his touch light and fleeting. 

“Oh, baby,” he whispers against you, “that was so fucking hot. Damn, why did you have to be so mean to me? You could have said something. I felt like I was going crazy. I’ve been trying to corner you for days. All this time… Fuck baby. You didn’t play fair…”

“Oh, please. How more obvious did I need to be? Don’t act like you didn’t like the chase,” you taunt, sucking against his lower lip until he’s groaning. “Come on Hawks, you did it. You caught me red-handed. Now kiss me.” He sighs contentedly at your demand and deepens his caress. He shudders when you open for him, his tongue racing against yours. His quick touches make you press into him harder, sucking his tongue into your mouth, slowing him and pulling a grunt from his lips. 

His wings are trembling, the blood red feathers wrapping around you, blanketing you in partial darkness. You trace a hand down his body suit and slide it down to his tented pants, rubbing over the hardness that you find. He ruts into your palm, leaning you back against the brick. You hiss at the rough sensation and twist from his lips, panting a few breathless exhales across his face. 

He moves his lips back to your neck, kissing and licking at your pulse as he lets his gloved hands slip into your gaping shirt. He trails down your neckline until his golden head lowers over the tops of your breasts, tongue teasing along the seam of your bra.

“Mmm, Hawks,” you gasp when he slips a hand to your back, urging you forward, his long fingers deftly unclasping your bra. His sharp eyes raise to you and he steadies his other hand on your hip. You help him slide the remains of your shirt from your shoulders and he lifts your bra from you, letting the lace slip from his grasp and hush to the pavement beneath your feet. 

He pulls you away from the bricks before he lifts you up, pinning you higher on the wall, granting himself better access to your heaving chest. His tongue latches onto one straining nipple and he swirls the wet appendage around the bud. You moan at the feeling, your legs latching around him, tugging him to you. He laps at you, alternating between each breast and sucking deeply. His quick touches have slowed. It’s like he’s wanting to savor you. Your hands lift to tangle in his waves, pressing him closer. 

After a few minutes he pulls back with a wet pop, his eyes looking for yours. He steps impossibly closer and lifts you even higher. You unwind your legs, helping him to brace you against his shoulders. His wings unfurl, closing behind him and settling heavily against his back. You blink against the returning sunlight, suddenly realizing just how high up you are. You can see the street from your vantage point and your hands rise to your exposed breasts, pressing your forearms over the wet flesh, hiding them from view.

“Not like this dove?” Hawks asks; his voice has deepened, the tones husky and dark. You look down at him. He’s urging your shaking legs over his shoulders. You slip them beside his wings, careful to not touch the feathers that are audibly rustling beside your calves. 

“I’m fine,” you assure him, shifting to a more comfortable position, leaning as tenderly as you can against the bricks. 

Hawks bunches your skirt up to your stomach and he lifts a gloved hand to his lips, snagging the leather into his teeth and tugging it off. He spits the glove onto the ground and looks back up at you, inching his bare, dexterous fingers to your panties. 

“This already looks so good, baby,” he murmurs and you sigh as he presses a single digit across the damp fabric. He lifts the covering away, and he leans his face into your pussy, taking a heavy drag against your curls. “Oh, oh baby, fuck- you smell amazing. I bet you taste even better.” 

“Why don’t you find out?” you tease, rolling your hips toward his torrid breath. He groans loudly and his tongue taps out, slurping along your entrance. He licks at you avidly, his lips lifting along your throbbing clit. You whine at the feeling and your fingers lace into his hair. When you pull on some of his blonde strands, he pauses, grunting against your cunt. 

“Mmm- yes, just like that handsome,” you gasp and he sucks against your clit at the pet name, his golden eyes flashing up at you. His fingers trace against your quivering core and you buck your hips at the distant heat of them, trying to drag him into you. 

“Watcha’ want, baby? You wanting me to touch you more?” Hawks asks, pulling back to kiss at your clit again, his lips soft and teasing. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, hands roaming across his neck, massaging into his corded muscles. 

“Awe, since you asked so nicely…” 

He sinks a lone finger into your sopping cunt and his red feathers spread open again; plumage flexing. He keeps steadily sucking against your clit as he dips another digit into you. He presses against your trembling walls, looking for something. You arch at his touch, your head thumping into the bricks. You don’t even care if anyone catches the two of you. Not when he’s doing such sinful things. Fuck, he’s good. Why did you let your little charade go on for so long? You could have had this weeks ago.

You can feel him sighing against you and he twists his wrist, his fingertips finally sinking into that spongy flesh at the front of your pussy. You tighten your thighs around him and he smiles against you, his teeth catching on your engorged clit, making you writhe. 

“You’re getting real tight, baby, you wanna cum on my face?”

You whimper at his question, canting your hips frantically against his spreading fingers. His tongue swirls around you and he sucks a little harder, his nose buried in your dripping curls. “Mmm, (Y/N), you taste so fucking good. Come on, baby. You can do it, just cum for me. Fuck, I want it so bad.” He’s muttering against you, his breath hot and the vibrations are driving you crazy. That coiling is… it’s so, so close. Just a little more… oh… oh-

He sucks down hard on your clit, his tongue tracing a quick circle against you as he pulls the pearl into his lips. You break apart, your back arching off the brick wall, hands tugging into his hair and pulling. Hawks gulps hungrily as you gush around him, his tongue delving back into your pussy, snagging each wave of your arousal, moaning against you. 

You shudder when he places a last kiss to your clit, his broad hands lifting your legs, slowly lowering you back to the ground. You’re wobbly, your knees buckling as your feet brace against the pavement. Your skirt is bunched around your midriff and your panties feel heavy, the fabric drenched with Hawks’ saliva and your arousal. His gloved hand cups under your chin, lifting your glazed eyes to his. 

The last few drops of your essence are still clinging to his goatee and you lift your hand to him, swiping it off his skin. He smirks at you, his eyes bright, those avian pupils practically slits. “That was amazing dove.” 

You bite your lip and press one hand to the front of his tan pants. Even through the thick layers of fabric, you can feel him throbbing against you. 

“Can I see it?” you ask him cloyingly, dragging your palm over his bulge. He smiles at your comment and tilts his head. “Just see it, huh?”

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes at him, “can I suck you off? I’d offer to do more but I don’t think my back can take any more scratches,” you qualify, twisting to eye the bricks distastefully.

“Awe baby, did it hurt?” Hawks asks, his lips lowering to your neck and pressing a series of warm kisses along your shivering skin. You turn back and pull him to you, wanting to feel him against you again. He’s a good kisser and you need more. Hawks groans at your enthusiasm, his lips sliding against yours, and he strokes his hands down the side of your face. As you distract him with nips and quick presses, your fingers fumble for his belt, slipping the heavy buckle away from his waist. 

“Ah, it’s not going to be that easy dove. Hang on,” he murmurs, pressing a final peck to your swollen lips and leaning away. His wings spread wide and you watch, fascinated by the vibrating plumage. You’ve seen him in action many times, but you’ve never been this close to his wings before. Usually, they’re safely tucked down, but now? Now they’re flaring out, spreading across the alleyway. From shoulder to tip they must be a good 17 or 18 feet. It’s impressive really… 

Hawks’ flashes a cocky grin at your surprised face and in an instant the feathers disperse. They hover above the two of you, quivering in some unseen breeze, the red glinting in the afternoon sunlight. The sound of his bomber jacket hitting the ground snaps your attention back to him. His wings reassemble just as fast, and he flaps them a few times before letting them settle along his back again. His lean muscles are rippling under his black body suit as he slides his arms out of the short sleeves. You can’t help but reach for his newly bared skin, your fingers dragging across his contoured body. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he chuckles, sighing happily as you follow his progress, your hands feather light against him. He stops at the apex of his hipbone and presses back to you. He’s so warm, the heat of him seeping into your cold skin. Your breasts flatten against his lean pectorals, nipples catching against him and rubbing deliciously on his muscled front. 

“Now try,” he smiles, lifting his glove off his other hand and bringing both hands to your stomach, tickling his calloused fingers into your soft midriff. You wiggle away from him and dip your fingers into the stretchy fabric of his body suit, pulling it down and sliding it slowly over his hips. His baggy pants pool around his boots and you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

He’s got that serious expression on again. You’re not used to seeing him like that. No, you’re more accustomed to his bright grins and goofy exaggerations. But you could get used to this. He looks predatory. It suits him. 

“Come on baby,” he complains, his eyes fluttering under your scrutiny, “stop making me wait.”

You laugh and your hand slips down to his straining cock, your fingers wrapping around him. He’s thick. So thick you can’t get a good handle on him. You let out a weak moan, your eyes finally tearing away from his and peering down at his throbbing length. 

Yeah, he’s packing some serious girth. He’s pulsing in your hand, heavy drops of pre-cum budding at the flushed tip of his cock. “Oh,” you sigh, dropping to your knees, not even caring about the scrape of the pavement. You slick your thumb over his slit, wiping his natural lubrication down his length, easing your soft tugs.

Hawks’ groans above you, one hand sinking into your hair. His fingers ghost along the strands, almost like he’s petting you. “A little harder dove, can you do that for me? Oh- oh, yeah, baby. Fuck- just like that.” 

You tighten your grip, sliding him easily into your clenched grasp. He bucks his hips when you lean closer, your lips inches from him. You tilt your head up, searching for his eyes. His expression dazed and eyes glassy, but he smiles down at you when you let him trace his tip over your lips.

Still watching him, you slip your tongue over his shaft. He tastes salty. Hawks’ growls when you engulf as much of him as you can past your lips. He cants into you, the fingers in your hair tightening. 

“Mmm, oh, damn, baby.”

Your hand wraps around his base, assisting your sucking lips. You can feel your jaw stretching, aching as you try to take more of him in. It’s likely easier to just rely on your hands, leaving your mouth to lave over his tip. But the sounds he’s giving you make the sting of your jaw well worth the effort you’re putting forth. He’s calling your name, his voice low, ragged, catching on the syllables and gasping on the consonants. It sounds nice and you open wider, wanting him to say it again. 

Your tongue traces along the underside of his cock, licking along the prominent vein that you find there. “Oh dove, you’re doing so fucking good. God, you feel amazing. You’re so good to me… ah- fuck- do that again. Whatever you just did with your tongue feels… oh- mmm, fuck, yeah.”

Drool is slipping down your chin and onto your bare legs. He’s swelling and throbbing, his girth almost choking you. You can tell he’s trying his best to be gentle, keeping his thrusts shallow and courteous, not wanting to gag you. 

“Just a bit more babe, can… can you go a little faster? Oh- God, you’re fucking gorgeous (Y/N). So fucking hot. Just like that. Mmm, hey ah- hey baby, do you want me to pull out? I’m going to… mmm, I’m gonna cum…”

He jerks from you, but you follow his movements, keeping your lips firmly around his straining cock. Hawks’ blinks, wide eyed, and grins devilishly down at you. “You want it, babe? You want me to cum in this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You flash your eyes up to his and suck on him harder, pulling him deeper into your mouth. Hawks’ grunts and he grabs the back of your head, holding you to him as he ruts into you one last time. He spills down your open throat and you keep sucking at him, wanting every drop. 

Hawks’ gasps at the overstimulation and stumbles away from your insistent lips. His wings are splayed out again, the feathers shivering and rustling. He takes a minute to regain his senses. Once he does, he slips his softening cock back into his body suit, yanking the skin tight fabric up his chest and over his shoulders. 

You’re still kneeling on the pavement and you watch him curiously, admiring his fluttering wings and satisfied expression. He looks like the cat that’s finally gotten ahold of the cream. 

He grabs his jacket off the ground, slapping some of the dust off of it. Then, he’s walking back to you, draping the heavy material over your shoulders, covering your nakedness from view. Smiling, he reaches for your hands and pulls you to your feet, his lips lazily meeting yours.

“So,” he grins, snatching up his gloves and sliding them on, “my place or yours?”