Work Text:
It’s almost funny the first time it happens. The first time they happen.
Shigaraki’s reaction is priceless. He looks down at him as if there was an extra head growing on his shoulders. His transparent brows are knotted so hard that the dry, wrinkly skin of his forehead crumbles away like old, musty wallpaper while chilly goosebumps adorn skin that never has seen the sun before.
“What, did you expect my fingers to be warm?” Dabi laughs but the sound that leaves his throat is downright cruel and nothing a grown man should spew out when making fun. His voice is thick with spite and contempt. Humorless. Cold. Like the fingers that graze Shigaraki’s lower belly to hook into the waistband of his trousers. “I can make them hot for you if you like that better. It’ll hurt me, though. But if you get off on that –“
“No.” His voice cuts Dabi’s words off like a knife. Anger and incomprehension scream from his every pore, yet he regains his composure quickly enough to shake his head. “It’s okay. I was just … surprised.”
Dabi huffs. Naturally, it was to be expected that his touch would startle Shigaraki. The moron probably assumed (like everybody else for that matter) that his fingers would be warm like a cup of tea, maybe even as scorching hot as his blue flames. The man didn’t dream to be felt up by the hand of a corpse, although Dabi is physically close to that kind of condition, he gives him that.
There is fire inside him, though. Deep down in his guts and in his veins. A core of bubbling magma tickles right under his skin and lava pulses through his bloodstream, wanting to break free, to explode. He could have been the one and only masterpiece he always wanted if this body of his, made for the cold, just could handle the heat. If …
Dabi stops his train of thoughts then and there for he doesn’t want to concern himself with his defective being while he is about to give his new, so-called boss a blowjob.
They are alone in the hideout except for Kurogiri who stays in his bar for decency’s sake, knowing fully well what they are up to in the adjacent apartment.
In a swift and experienced motion, Dabi undoes the button of Shigaraki’s trousers and tears the zipper open with his teeth. The other man lifts his hip from the sofa to ease the way of the dark fabric down. The trousers are flung to the side carelessly and Shigaraki opens his legs, so Dabi can slide between them, resting his elbow on the other’s thigh while he starts to stroke the half-hard cock in front of him casually. His boss flinches again and he can’t help but smirk. He doesn’t give a shit if that reaction is drawn out of him because of his cold fingertips or because Shigaraki is simply not used to get touched by another person’s hand. Either way, the boy insisted that he is not that innocent and untouched as Dabi claimed him to be. But due to the way he shakes and shifts and blushes, Dabi knows it’s a pitiful lie to not lose his face in front of his subordinate.
Blowing on the tip of Shigaraki’s cock, he can feel the deadly man shudder above him violently and a surge of power rushes through him, making him lightheaded.
His breath is warmer than other people’s for a change because it emits from deep within where the heat rages. And the contrast of hot and cold gets to Shigaraki. His flesh comes alive under Dabi’s hand in an instant.
Contentedly, the older villain sucks the pale red glans into his mouth, circles his pierced tongue around it to coat it thoroughly before pulling back with an obscene pop, observing the other man’s reaction. Shigaraki bites his chapped bottom lip to stifle a moan that wants to burble from his throat. The thin skin where his teeth sink in breaks and the essence of copper fills his mouth. Dabi would like to have a taste, but he remains seated. Kissing is inappropriate. Unprofessional, though this is not work, not really, because he doesn’t get paid for this. It’s just killing time, just fun. An escapade, freely given and gladly taken.
He grants his boss’s cock an awfully long lick from base to top, savoring the spicy flavor of salt and musk before spitting on the hard, pulsing shaft and spreading the saliva with his icy hand.
As he finally takes the man past his mismatched lips, the gloved fingers at Shigaraki’s sides clench and then unclench to brutally dig into the cushion of the sofa, almost drilling holes in it. The dead silence is broken by a sharp intake of air and Dabi grins around the girth in his mouth as he sinks lower still, takes him deeper until the tip of his boss’s dick hits the back of his throat. Then he pulls back and starts to bob his head in earnest, up and down the long member that is warm and heavy on his tongue.
Sucking and hollowing his cheeks like that always hurts at first. The unpleasant stretch of his staples fastening scar tissue to healthy skin extends up to his cheekbones and ears, but the uncontrolled jerks and the labored breathing from the other man makes the pain so worth it. Shigaraki tries to preserve his dignity as best as he can by keeping quiet, but Dabi can taste his bitter excitement, can see him squirm with every elongated slurp. The high and mighty Shigaraki Tomura is butter in his hands and damn if he doesn’t get aroused by that.
Blinking up through his dark red, long lashes, Dabi locks eyes with him. Shigaraki meets his penetrating cerulean blue gaze with a stone-hard bloodshot one, feigning to be not impressed at all, yet the blush sits high on his cheeks and crawls up from his collarbone. It’s kinda cute.
Dabi doesn’t understand the mechanisms of how his fried brain works, but he feels attracted to this man, even though he is an ugly, creepy, crumpy, childish, and terribly touch starved bastard. But most of those things Dabi is too, so maybe they can find something in each other, a sort of salvation or tension release. A way for two sociopaths to not be alone which sounds awfully sad describing it like that. However, the feeling seems to be mutual. Shigaraki let Dabi have a go. He didn’t push him away, doesn’t stop him now. Instead, his hands tangle in freshly dyed black strands to push him down further.
The younger man’s whole length disappears in Dabi’s mouth in one go, ripping an embarrassing cough from his throat as he is caught by surprise and can’t stop himself from gagging as his nose is buried in ash-grey pubic hair.
It’s Shigaraki’s turn to grin like a devil. “I like you better when you choke on my cock and can’t talk back, hot stuff. Or should I call you cold stuff?”
All Dabi can do is look daggers at him from below. But he will wipe that smugness off his face, oh he will.
Without breaking eye contact, he pulls back torturingly slow, his lips tightly closed around a very hard shaft. The tip remains in his mouth he purposely heats up now, and he watches Shigaraki’s facial expression slip just so slightly as he laps up the precum from his slit with his pierced tongue. The metal bead, almost painfully hot, rolls over the sensitive underside next and Shigaraki furrows his brows in refusal of uttering a sound. It’s an amusing sight. Sweat runs down the bridge of his nose and he gnaws at his already bleeding lower lip.
He is clearly shaken by the older man's teasing and the rising temperature, so it is hardly surprising that his forced self-control shatters embarrassingly fast as Dabi sinks down on him completely once again, welcoming him in the volcanic crater. No choking sound leaves him this time as the head of Shigaraki’s cock brushes past his palate.
Dabi doesn’t give him any chance to adjust to the tightness of his throat. Straightaway, he sets a merciless pace of bobbing his head up and down the whole length. That prideful bastard should be crying his name by now, but he dares to bite his gloved hand to muffle the groan that wants to spill from his lips. Dabi hums aggressively to that and sends vibrations through Shigaraki’s cock and spine. He wants him to lose control so badly, to see him fall apart. But he wants to do so with skill and finesse, so the scarred man has to hold his boss by the hips to stop him from thrashing around and thrusting up into his sore throat mindlessly. Dabi knows what he can handle without make a fool of himself and he isn’t keen on throwing up on Shigaraki’s cock.
With a loud slurp, he swallows the hot length again while drool drips from the corner of his mouth and the taste of musk and salt on his tongue intensifies.
Their eyes are still locked, still in a battle no one wants to lose by looking away. The air around them is heavy with expectations and arousal. It’s downright intimate. Dabi is painfully hard himself, the tight denim of his black jeans nothing more than an annoying obstruction. But he doesn’t bother about touching himself right now. All he wants is to see Shigaraki break, even if it means for him to cry bloody tears.
His throat is contracting around the hard cock with an audible squelch and Shigaraki opens his mouth in a silent moan. Sensing his chance, Dabi grabs his balls at the same time and kneads them firmly with his ice-cold fingers. The sudden mixture of hot and cold sends Shigaraki swirling and it’s pure ecstasy to watch the man come undone. He loses their little game as he throws his head back on the sofa’s backrest, breaking their eye contact. Fucking finally.
“D-Dabi …!” Is all the warning he gets before that little virgin comes hard and fast and with a terribly (gorgeously) high-pitched cry.
The lack of air makes Dabi headless and dizzy for a second, and his eyes roll back as the boy’s bitter cum sputters down his raw throat. He doesn’t swallow yet, though. He waits until the erratic spasm of Shigaraki’s lower belly ends, then he pulls back and lets the milked cock slip out of his mouth without spilling a drop of the thick stinking liquid.
Assuring that Shigaraki watches him, he swirls the cum around in his mouth, making a perverse show out of it before he gulps it all down and sticks out his tongue. The silver bead of his piercing shines in the dim light of the living room and Shigaraki, out of breath and mean comments, blushes furiously.
Dabi’s lips curl into a snarky grin as he wipes his mouth at the hem of Shigaraki’s hoodie, earning himself a murderous glare. “It’s been a pleasure, boss,” he drawls and gets up, towering over the younger man for a moment.
Shigaraki merely swallows hard as he looks up. There is no thanks, no sign of gratitude, just awkward silence. But Dabi knows the boy has tasted blood and he will let himself in for more eventually. His plan of twisting the boss of the League around his little finger and cementing his position within the syndicate proved successful.
Reaching out his hand, he grips Shigaraki’s chin. He can feel the other man shudder involuntarily as his thumb brushes a cute, little mole and a pair of desiccated lips. All his fingers are cold like the sea. Cold like the universe. Cold like burned-out ember. Ash-cold.
And without another word, the older villain finally takes a step back, turns on his heel, and leaves the room with a promise unspoken.