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It’s the kind of thing Shouto says often. The kind of thing he tucks under his tongue like a promise. A spiteful one, admittedly. Like look at everything that was supposed to break me and didn’t, still.
Like—
Survival.
“I can take it,” he says.
Dabi smiles, pleased. The fingers tipping Shouto’s chin up are worryingly gentle. Fleetingly, Shouto wonders if that’s a lie. It doesn’t seem like the kind of lie Dabi likes to tell. Too understated. Not flashy enough. There’s not enough hurt to reap here.
Dabi likes that. Hurting him. Maybe not—
Maybe not because it’s Shouto he’s hurting as much as to prove a point, but the end result is (usually) the same. Blood. Ruin. Blood and ruin and tears. The kind of thing that happens when you only leave ash behind of what could have been. What could have been good.
“I know,” he says. “You’re perfect like that, aren’t you?”
Shouto scoffs. “Grow up,” he says.
It’s—
It’s simple, really.
Oxygen is all you need in order to burn. Shouto and Touya always had just barely enough. Dabi—
Well. Dabi could breathe in anything without choking. He doesn’t care. Not—
“Aw,” he coos. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
It does hurt. Shouto’s on his knees, hands chained behind his back. Whatever quirk suppressant they slipped into the drink Dabi pressed firmly to his mouth and made him tip back doesn’t seem to be wearing off. Shouto’s own fault. For not paying attention. Deliberate carelessness. Wanting to forget. To be a kid. The kind that sneaks out for cheap alcohol and the promise of being able to put down the weight of the world for a little while. Wanting—
He was pissed off. Because it gets exhausting. He gets Dabi, honestly. Insanity, feigned or not, seems more and more like a reprieve each day. Besides—it runs in the family.
“Is that what you want me to say?” Shouto asks. “Oh, nii-san, please stop? It hurts? You’re hurting me?”
Dabi’s smile grows sharper, knowing. “No,” he says. “No, sweetheart. That’s what you want. Wanna know what I want?”
Shakily, Shouto nods. Dabi’s eyes on him make him feel dizzy. Like all that meticulous training has been wiped away, and left him nineteen and barely capable of taking care of himself. Wobbly. Still— “Tell me,” Shouto whispers. “Please.”
“You,” Dabi says. And then— “I know you can take pain, pretty thing. That’s not fun anymore.”
Oh.
Shouto’s face flushes. “Touya-nii,” he whines, betraying himself. This sick, twisted longing for something he never had, something he only just barely glimpsed the half-formed shadow of. “Don’t be mean.”
“Baby,” Dabi coos. “Poor baby. You need it bad, don’t you?”
And—
There’s that. The fact that they’ve been here before. Shouto somewhere he shouldn’t, and Dabi too close. Choking on words like please and don’t and it hurts.
It does hurt. Shouto’s used to the kind of pain that comes from being pushed and pushed and pushed.
But Dabi—
Dabi’s gentle, when they get here. Maybe precisely because he knows that bit hurts the most. The—the tainted reverence of scavenging for affection like this. Because hey, you’re a hero, and you might be about to let your older brother fuck you just to feel your heart beat even once without your chest squeezing painfully around the knowledge that your life is not your own, but at least love is something to carve an ideal out of.
Crime of passion. Right. How about—
Shouto nods. “Please,” he says. “Touya-nii, I—,”
—the part where you slip? Is that a crime, too?
Dabi coos. “Spoiled,” he says. “You know you’re going to get anything you want, don’t you?”
That’s—not fair. There’s only one thing he wants, and the only way to get it is—
Like this. Kneeling. Filthy and at someone else’s mercy. Baring his throat. There are worse things, probably. More painful ways to be broken. At least—
Dabi knows how to make it feel good. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Chasing the only kind of pleasure you can stomach. The kind that comes inextricably linked with the pain.
It has stopped surprising him, at this point. The fact that he likes it. Being at someone’s mercy by choice. Knowing there’s no true risk. That he only gets hurt if he begs for it. If he asks his nii-san nicely with teary eyes and his mouth swollen and spit-slick from making him feel good.
Probably not what most people have in mind when they picture redemption or salvation ororor. Learning how to breathe, maybe?
Then again, Shouto doesn’t think much of those things if he can help it, these days. Much better to focus on—ah, obtainable objectives. Like Dabi’s fingers in his mouth or stretching him open. Like not worrying about getting dirty for a little while.
“I missed you,” says Shouto. Truths don’t scare him anymore. Not the ones he’s powerless against, at least. Longing is human. And, besides, Dabi doesn’t hurt him without asking first. They’re both bad at talking. That bit has to mean something. (Or maybe Shouto’s just lonely and delusional and self-destructive enough to seek out his own ruin in hopes of changing what has long since been set in stone. Does it matter?)
Dabi shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “You didn’t.” His smile is too wide. Barely holding together. (Shouto might be broken, but he isn’t scared.) “But you’re gonna, sweetheart.”
Shouto swallows. I can take it, he thinks. He’s—he’s getting better at it. At handling gentleness. (But that’s not it either, is it? It’s just—)
“Touya-nii, please.”
“I got you,” says Dabi. “Don’t worry. Nii-san’s gonna take real good care of you.”
(—about that. Being taken care of. Trusting someone to keep you in one piece by tugging you apart.)
It’s easy. It’s a lot like falling.