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Dabi didn't usually greet Hawks with fire.
Not anymore, that is.
He'd grown out of it-conditioned himself, become some fucking idiot that listened only to what his heart wanted. He thought that thing was dead years ago, but suddenly his redbird is calling him, texting him, smiling at him, holding a feather blade to his throat--and Dabi’s a goner. He didn't know he was such a sucker for blondes, but then again, maybe it's just Hawks.
This is why he finds himself sneaking into Hawks' building and breaking in almost every night for the past two months or so. Because Dabi’s never claimed to be smart and that's not going to change just because he and the hero are playing the long game with each other.
Usually, by the time Dabi hauls himself into the apartment, Hawks is showered and changed. Dabi is a night owl by circumstance, but he thinks he wears it nicely. Hawks doesn't seem to mind, taking any second he can to leech warmth from Dabi’s superheated body and fill whatever void he needs. Sometimes it's physical—touching and holding, sexual and not—and sometimes it's emotional—listening to him ramble about everything and nothing, his thought process bared for Dabi to see with no filters. Sometimes, it's unidentifiable to Dabi—full of chirps and chitters, grabby hands and fussing, and all he can do is follow Hawks and hope it's the right thing by him. He hasn't wanted that for someone in an unusually long time, but Hawks is the exception to every rule Dabi has, damn him to hell and back.
That’s why it's rare that Hawks isn't awake and waiting for him.
Dabi slides into the high rise one night, expecting a chirp in greeting and getting nothing but silence and darkness. He double checks his phone, but he doesn't have any missed texts or calls, no news notifications popping up.
It makes him wonder what did come up.
Usually, Hawks is good with keeping to schedules. Sometimes he’ll miss a meeting or some other event—always because of the Commission or a villain attack that came up last minute. Dabi resigns himself to some quiet until Hawks gets in.
He makes himself at home like he usually does, trading his holey white t-shirt for something out of Hawks’ ridiculous closet and snagging a pair of sweatpants that have become “his” over the course of time invading Hawks’ home. After changing, he flicks on the television to some movie channel that runs the worst shit ever and meanders into the kitchen. After rummaging through the fridge and cupboards for food, he returns with his haul to the living room and settles in to wait.
It becomes long enough that a hard knot of emotion in his chest draws Dabi’s attention to his phone and the cold, empty balcony again and again. He’s barely watching the terrible movies or eating his snacks that he knows Hawks buys just for him. There still hasn’t been anything about the hero on his usual news apps. His muscles ache with tension from everything but the cold.
At some point, Dabi gives up on Hawks coming home for the night. He cleans up what little mess he made, resigned to a night alone. Frustration coils in his gut, beneath his skin. His staples feel too tight, digging in too deep to be comfortable. His healthy skin itches, begging for relief from the clothes brushing against him, from the pressure of the heating system billowing warmth into the high rise. He feels the empty balcony at his back like a grave.
Fire flickers around his wrists, there and gone in an instant. He pulls on his jacket, shoving his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants and hunching his shoulders.
He really, really doesn’t feel good about any of this. Being here alone, wondering where Hawks is, deciding to leave without having an answer; it all sits heavy in his gut, pinning his feet to the floor.
Dabi’s never been one for indecisiveness, either, and here he is. Concerned about what’s probably nothing.
Dabi sighs. He physically shakes himself, heading for the door to Hawks’ place and ignoring the temptation to stay. To wait even longer.
Disappointment has never felt so heavy.
As he’s nearing the corner of the hallway that turns into Hawks’ entryway, he hears something.
It’s a couple unsteady steps on the other side. Something heavy slumping against the door.
There’s murmured voices, and then the door opens.
Dabi freezes. Panic makes his wild heart beat out of his chest, ice water in his veins even as his gut instinct is to burn.
Someone is in Hawks’ place. Using the front door.
No one uses the front door except Dabi. Sometimes.
He needs to move. He needs to move! Now! But he can’t. Not as someone comes around the corner, unidentifiable to Dabi in the dark of the early morning.
Instinct kicks in, pure and honed after years alone. Dabi’s open right hand ignites, an explosion of power tight and controlled in the center of his palm ready to burst. Blinding blue-white light arcs across the hall. He’s ready to burn, to take down the whole apartment and himself if they even dare try to lay a finger on Hawks.
The yelp of surprise and fear on the other side of Dabi’s flames makes him wobble.
He chokes the reins of his quirk, his wrist swiveling at the last second to blast the wall instead of Hawks’ petrified expression staring back at him, only moments away from incineration.
Dabi eases the heat as best he can, a bead of sweat on his forehead as his flames fade, plunging the hallway back into darkness. The acrid smell of his fire and smoldering plaster fill the hallway. He blinks and blinks, trying to get his eyes to adjust.
“Are you hurt?” Dabi asks, panting a little.
Hawks is quiet.
“Hawks. Did I hurt you?” Dabi repeats. His fingers twitch. He still can’t fucking see.
When Hawks still doesn’t respond, Dabi slaps at the wall he just scorched, taking a few steps back so he can find the control panel—fancy ass fucking high rise—and turn up the hall lights.
“Hawks. You gotta tell me if I—”
Dabi breaks off as he finally gets a good look at Hawks.
This time, when Dabi’s fingers twitch, it’s to clench into fists, to hold tension somewhere so he doesn’t start breathing fire.
“What happened?”
Because his bird?
A wreck.
One foot in a heavy brace, bandages peeking out from the torn collar of his flightsuit beneath the shredded outer jacket of his hero uniform he’s still, impossibly, wearing. One eye is swollen shut. Crusted blood flakes around one nostril and on his chin. A broken nose and a split lip adorn him, crusted blood flaking off his face from where he was bleeding before. His hair is a matted mess of filth and looks like someone was wrenching him around by his head. Hawks holds himself carefully, mindful of every shift of his weight despite the sheer exhaustion dragging at the skin beneath the eye that hasn’t taken a beating. And his wings—his poor wings look stripped out, bare of their long, deadly feathers, leaving only his baby wings for support.
“You almost killed me,” Hawks says, and his voice is so bland Dabi wants to spit it back out.
“What the fuck happened? Who did this to you?” Dabi asks, his voice rising.
Hawks waves Dabi’s words off and smiles at him. Smiles!
Dabi can see the pain of the two motions. He can also see, because he’s not fucking blind, that Hawks is on the verge of passing out.
All that rage from earlier, the fear and anger and anxiety come rushing back in. Relief cuts through it, but Dabi fights with himself, with this near-feral need to protect something that isn’t even his. That never would be his.
Call him delusional, but Dabi likes to pretend otherwise.
Like right now. Right now, his bird is hurt. His bird is vulnerable, and filthy, and tired beyond words. His bird almost died by his hand and Dabi is the only one around to help. His bird doesn’t have anyone else. So that anger? That fear and nervousness? Dabi tucks it away. A secret in his back pocket to unleash later once he got the name of the fucker that hurt him so badly.
“Bathroom. Now,” Dabi rumbles, turning to the side and nodding for Hawks to move ahead of him.
Hawks hesitates, watching Dabi with a blank expression and pinprick pupils before heaving himself forward. The brace on his foot thumps and drags behind him, slowing him down to a pace that would be considered unacceptable for the fastest hero. One hand, also wrapped in bandages, reaches out to trail along the wall as he walks. Dabi follows two steps behind, his arms half-raised like he’s waiting for Hawks to fall.
In the bathroom, Dabi wordlessly points to the toilet, making Hawks sit while he gets the first aid kit from beneath the sink and starts a hot bath. Hawks’ eyes don’t leave Dabi, following him no matter where he moves.
When he tries to leave the bathroom to grab Hawks a new change of clothes, a few weak, wobbly feathers stop him, tickling at his face and neck until he batted them away and got the hint.
“Strip,” Dabi says.
Hawks stares at him for a minute, obviously conflicted over something before he gives into Dabi’s patient, expectant gaze.
He tries to move. Dabi will give him that. But it’s so pathetic, he can’t bear to watch more than three seconds of it.
“Stop. Hawks, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself more.” Dabi moves closer, taking Hawks gently by the wrists and moving his trembling hands into his own lap. He presses them there, sending a clear message with a lick of heat through his fingertips: Keep your hands here. Idiot.
Hawks tips his face down so Dabi can’t see his expression. Based on the pitiful flutter of his wings, Dabi knows what kind of expression Hawks is making. The one that pinches the corners of his mouth and dents the skin between his fluffy eyebrows, drawing attention to the gold of his eyes and making Dabi’s heart pitch in his chest every time.
Words well up on the tip of Dabi’s tongue. He can’t tell whether they’re kind or mean, so he keeps them in. Better to be silent than risk causing more pain.
He tries to get the jacket off Hawks, but moving his shoulders is difficult based on how tense he gets. Fed up with it, with Hawks’ wincing pain and the mask he’s so desperately trying to keep a hold of, Dabi heats his hand and burns the stupid bit of fabric off him.
Hawks flinches when the heat licks near his neck.
“Sit still. I won’t burn you.” Dabi gets the last few scraps of the jacket off Hawks, tossing them aside. He reduces the heat in his hands and grabs the hidden zipper in the back of the compression suit, drawing it down and cursing at it when it snags on something. All the hero gear in the world and no once can make a zipper that doesn’t snag?
When it’s fully unzipped, Dabi pushes the fabric off of Hawks’ body, helping him ease his arms out of the sleeves. Dabi gets a horrible view of the bruising on Hawks’ back, some of which is hidden by the bandages wrapped around his torso and throat.
Something icy settles in Dabi. He tears the bandages off Hawks, intent on seeing exactly what was done and committing it to memory so he can return the favor. Hawks makes a sound of protest, trying to pull away from Dabi, but Dabi doesn’t let him.
He claps one hand on Hawks’ shoulder, trying not to be too heavy with it but also holding him in place. It still makes Hawks flinch, but he stops trying to move so Dabi’s satisfied, even if part of him starts whispering nasty little nothings about his hands and ruination.
Dabi keeps going. Every bandage, every bit of tape, every gauze pad. He can put it all back together. He’s ridiculously good at caring for wounds despite his habit of inflicting them on himself and others. The irony isn’t lost on him, but he doesn’t have the time or attention to sit and ponder. He’s always been action-focused. Get it done. Burn first, ask questions later.
Hawks’ feathers flutter when the last bandage is on the floor. His tailfeathers are closed and tucked close to his body. He sits hunched on the toilet in just his underwear and the foot brace, his eyes on the floor and shame burning in his cheeks. At least, Dabi assumes it’s shame. Because the state he’s in is shameful. Roughly circular marks cover him, missing layers of skin and flesh beneath. Some of them weep blood, but others are already scabbing over. Bruises wind around him like arms, like tendrils, red and purple trending into black. Based on the way he breathes now without his flightsuit on, Dabi suspects a couple of bruised, if not broken, ribs as well.
“You didn’t go to a healer?” Dabi asks.
Hawks shakes his head but doesn’t offer more.
Dabi eyes Hawks again. “You can’t go in the tub.”
Hawks hesitates. Shakes his head again.
Not with those wounds. Dabi clicks his tongue. The sound makes Hawks bow his head even more.
“Look at me,” Dabi says.
He knows Hawks wants to. He always wants to. He has a habit of watching Dabi with every ounce of his perfect attention when the two of them are alone no matter what their talking about. Hawks doesn’t blink much, either, while they’re alone.
Hawks shifts but keeps his head down.
“Birdy,” Dabi says, softer this time. He consciously brings his voice down from how hard it is, how callous. “C’mon. Look at me.”
This time, Hawks’ head lifts. He’s sallow in the light of the bathroom. It’s obvious from the glazed look in his eye that he’s either struggling with the pain of his injuries or on some good pain meds. Dabi knows it’s the former; Hawks doesn’t do pain meds unless it’s critical. He hates the way it dulls him down and keeps his quirk quiet and muffled.
“What’s wrong?” Dabi asks, seeing the churn of something else in the curve of his split lip and the furrow of his brow.
Hawks swallows hard, but again, no words come out. Just a pleading look. One Dabi hasn’t seen before.
“Do you want to talk right now?” Dabi asks. His right hand drifts out towards Hawks’ face.
Again, Hawks flinches. It’s tiny, barely there, but he sees it. And he knows Hawks knows he saw it, too, if the way his eyes widen is any indication.
Dabi’s hand drops. “I’ll go.”
He turns to leave, but again, those urgent, weak feathers dart out, barring his path.
“Then what is it?” Dabi half-yells at the feathers. Frustration boils over, steam drifting in trails off his shoulders. He can’t bear to turn around. “What do you want? I can stay or I can go, and you obviously don’t want me here right now so stop—”
“Stay,” Hawks rasps from behind Dabi.
“Why?” Dabi hisses, turning to look at him. “Every time I touch you, you—”
“Dabi. Stay. Please?”
Hawks’ voice cracks on the plea, and if Dabi didn’t know better, he would say Hawks is teary-eyed. He extends one shaky hand out to Dabi and lets it hover.
This time, when Dabi reaches for Hawks, he doesn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry,” Hawks warbles. “My nerves are shot. It’s not you. It’s not, Dabi, you have to believe me. Please—”
“I get it. It’s okay.”
“Dabi—”
“Shut up and let me get you clean,” Dabi says.
“Don’t be mad at me.”
Dabi shoots Hawks an incredulous look. “What?”
Hawks swallows. “I know you’re angry with me—”
“Angry with you?” Dabi repeats. Like he’s stupid. How in the world did Hawks come to that conclusion of all things? He’s sitting there falling apart at the seams. Dabi wouldn’t—
His stomach drops right to his toes.
Oh.
Oh, he’s a fucking idiot.
“Hawks, I’m not angry at you. Christ, if anything, I’m pissed at the fucker that did this to you. I’m pissed that you didn’t go to a healer or you couldn’t, or whatever the scenario is. I’m pissed that I keep causing you pain when I’m just—”
Trying to help, Dabi finishes internally.
Hawks’ fingers tighten. “Oh,” he whispers.
“Yeah.”
It’s silent for a moment. When Hawks makes no move to speak again, instead relaxing a bit where he’s sitting for the first time since he returned him, Dabi starts moving again. He kneels in front of Hawks, using a clean washcloth and the hot bath water to wipe away what dirt and grime he can around the wounds. Hawks’ golden eyes stay trained on Dabi, watching every move he makes, unblinking and mirroring every tilt of Dabi’s head. It’s unfairly cute once Dabi catches onto it.
Gradually, so gradually Dabi almost doesn’t notice, Hawks is shifting closer to him. Into every touch that doesn’t cause a bolt of pain.
“Are you on any pain killers?” Dabi asks.
Hawks shakes his head.
“Will you let me go grab them from the kitchen?” Curse Hawks for keeping them there of all places instead of the bathroom like any normal person. Something about being easier to grab right when he gets home.
A firmer shake of his head, this time accompanied by a pout that makes the scab on his split lip crack and weep a bit of blood.
“Needy thing,” Dabi chastises, but his chest is warm.
Hawks makes a throaty noise. It’s both affectionate and protesting Dabi’s words.
“Shut up and sit still,” Dabi orders.
Hawks obeys beautifully, but Dabi knows it’s only because he wants to. He finishes cleaning Hawks as best he can, somehow managing to maneuver his battered body enough to get his head under the removable showerhead and at least clean his hair with shampoo and a generous amount of conditioner. Hawks almost falls asleep with Dabi’s hands in his hair, pliant to every movement Dabi makes and his eyes closed in apparent bliss.
Not too hurt to love being touched, then.
Something about that moment, with the shift of water against the tiles echoing through the bathroom and Hawks’ sudsy hair under Dabi’s hands, eases the gasoline still running through Dabi’s veins. He’s no longer looking for a spark, a hint of flame to justify the explosion he craves so badly some days he could incinerate himself completely in the process and not feel a single ounce of regret.
No, instead, he stays where he is. On his knees, shirt and pants soaked with bathwater, and a hurt little bird before him, under his...his care.
Dabi ignores what it means. He refuses to name it, to dig deeper into the subtle changes. Call him stubborn, call him naïve, call him whatever; Dabi knows better than to name the tender spot in his chest. Because once he names it, he’ll lose it.
So he moves on. He finishes washing Hawks’ hair and dries him off, rewrapping him in fresh, clean bandages and checking each one himself to make sure it’s not too tight or too loose. Knowing Hawks, he’ll either sleep like the fucking dead tonight or be too restless to sleep much at all. Dabi makes sure nothing will come off in his sleep before tugging Hawks with him out of the bathroom.
Hawks goes easy with Dabi. He lets him grab sleep clothes—just a baggy t-shirt and a new pair of underwear—and help him get in them without keeling over. He waits for Dabi while Dabi changes into clothes that aren’t soaking wet. He follows a half-step behind as Dabi moves around drawing the heavy curtains over the windows and flicking on an ambient light in the corner that won’t disturb their sleep. Hawks has a fan in the corner, too, for white noise that he and Dabi both like. The soft, steady whirr of it fills the space.
“It’s late,” Dabi says. It’s more of a whisper.
Hawks waits for Dabi to pull back the covers before easing himself below them. Dabi joins him a second later, tugging and moving the blankets around until Hawks is comfortably encased in a cocoon of warmth, Dabi close enough for him to touch. If he wants.
And oh, Hawks wants.
He attaches himself to Dabi despite his wounds, despite the way it has to hurt to move his bruised fingers like that, to make Dabi hold him by his waist near more bruising and broken ribs. Dabi knows it hurts him. But Hawks does it anyway.
“Thank you,” Hawks says on a shaky exhale.
“You’re a mess,” Dabi replies, trying to lighten to mood, to move away from the hole in his chest shaped just like Hawks.
“I know,” Hawks replies. Just a whisper.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
A wordless shake of the head.
“C’mon, I won’t bite.”
Still, Hawks is quiet. He nestles himself down further into the blankets and Dabi. Dabi’s fingers find one of his little wings, stroking through them with a barely-there touch he knows Hawks loves.
This is no exception. Hawks goes completely boneless with the tiniest of chirps. Dabi feels the residual tremors running through him, up and down his spine as his body fights with itself for the sleep he so desperately needs. Dabi cups the back of Hawks’ neck with his other hand, heating it and rubbing lightly at his hairline and the muscles there.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Dabi says. “Sleep, Hawks. You’re safe here.”
Blessedly, he does.
Dabi tightens his grip around Hawks’ body, the scent of his shampoo in his nose. The light in the corner throws shapes across the ceiling, distorted with Dabi’s blurry eyes and sleepy blinks. He flicks his fingers across Hawks’ feathers, back and forth, back and forth, until the shapes are just smudges, and Dabi is following Hawks down into slumber.
***
Waking up is a treasure.
Dabi didn’t used to think like that. Waking was a burden, a way to ruin his mood. The only thing that got him out of bed some days were his grand plans. Sometimes, he couldn’t even muster that much, but imagining Endeavor’s face as he paid for his sins against Dabi would be enough.
After meeting Hawks?
He has a whole new reason for waking.
Sometimes, he would wake up because of feathers in his mouth. That has happened way too many times to count if the idiot insisted on sleeping with his full wings. Sometimes, it’s because Hawks is accidentally too loud while he’s getting ready for work. Sometimes, it’s when Hawks is kissing him goodbye for the day, and Dabi musters up enough sleepy willpower to kiss him back before burrowing back into the pillows.
He's never been the first one up with Hawks around.
Except, apparently, today.
He wakes with Hawks’ back pressed against Dabi’s chest, the covers kicked down sometime in the night as they usually are with Dabi’s proclivity for overheating. His face is pressed into the back of Hawks’ neck, one arm flung over him. There’s a dreadful weight in his bones; he didn’t get anywhere near enough sleep, but he’s awake now.
Resigned, Dabi settles back down, tugging Hawks’ sleeping form a bit closer and mouthing a kiss wherever he can reach. He has no intent on waking Hawks up, but the passive little kisses feel just right.
Hawks, for all the time’s he’s woken up in the past over nothing—he thought he heard something, Dabi’s breathing changed, it got too quiet, and on and on—stays deeply asleep.
Beneath the covers, Dabi moves his hand again and brushes against the skin of Hawks’ hip. He thumbs the jut of bone, easing Hawks’ t-shirt a little higher so he can reach more bare skin. He doesn’t remember any bruises in his area from last night.
It soothes him as he lies there, eyes closed and thinking blissfully of nothing. His fingers continue their ministrations, pleasant and easy in the darkened room. The fan still whirrs in the background, all the shapes of the place fuzzy around the edges when Dabi blinks his eyes open for moment before shutting them again.
Accidentally, as he’s still moving his fingers, Hawks’ hips shift in his sleep, turning a bit towards Dabi’s touch but still lying on his side. His tailfeathers move against Dabi’s thighs.
He brushes against the band of Hawks’ underwear and the tip of the hard length straining beneath them.
And Dabi, bless his horny heart and mind, gets an idea.
He knows he doesn’t really need to make up for almost incinerating Hawks or snapping at him yesterday. They reached their understanding, even if Dabi still has things to say about it as he knows Hawks probably does, too.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t treat himself and Hawks to a little something nice, right?
Dabi keeps kissing Hawks’ neck even as his fingers tease over Hawks’ clothed cock. Even through his underwear, Dabi can feel how hot he is. He knows it’s probably morning wood, it happens, but he’s struck with the image of jerking Hawks off just like this—sleepy and slow and breathing every kiss onto his skin like he’s precious.
He wants to watch Hawks’ face twist in his sleep, hear his panting and, perhaps a quiet whine. He wants those golden eyes to open confused by the pleasure in his body instead of the pain, the way they would widen and shine in realization. The way Dabi could move him to kiss him stupid and jerk him even sweeter until Hawks is crying into his mouth.
Yes. Yes, that’s a perfect idea.
Dabi keeps teasing, taking his time even has heat pools in his own abdomen and fills his thoughts with rutting forward against Hawks’ ass, of slipping beneath his underwear and fingering him open until Dabi can wake him up by burying his cock as deep inside as he can. Oh, the options.
He chastises himself for his impatience, but it’s half-hearted at best. He’s never had the best control when it comes to things like this, with his blood running hot, his body temperature rising as his wonderful, wonderful imagination goes wild. His fingers firm over Hawks’ cock, his kisses a little sloppier against his neck and the back of his ear.
Dabi can’t resist rolling his hips a little, just to feel himself setting in the perfect spot on Hawks’ ass and tailfeathers. His palms Hawks’ dick, rubbing at it through his underwear as firmly as he dares without risking waking him up from the movement. He grinds his heel a bit over the clothed head like he knows Hawks likes. Even in his sleep he seems to enjoy it with the way he sighs at the sensation.
Pleased, Dabi burrows his nose into Hawks’ hairline, inhaling his scent. He keeps his movements relatively slow despite his own need rushing through his veins. Stroking and grinding his hand over every inch of Hawks he can touch. He wants to dip below the elastic waistband, to feel just how hot and hard Hawks really is even in his sleep.
Even the idea does things to him. His temperature keeps inching up. Dabi’s hand catches on the band during his next pass near the head of his dick. He “accidentally” dips below it on the next one, swiping at the bit of wetness gathering at the tip and using it to ease the glide. Hawks’ hips shift again, unconsciously pushing into the stimulation.
A sense of pride swells in Dabi’s chest that he’s able to bring Hawks that kind of pleasure, especially after the rough night he went through. Dabi keeps stroking, steadily moving further and further into Hawks’ underwear and touching more of his length. Dabi’s breath huffs out of him, hot against the bare skin.
A wing twitches against Dabi’s chest when he wraps his hand around Hawks’ dick and tugs. His skin is so tight it’s almost painful, urging him to find release, but he keeps himself grounded in every little noise and movement he draws out of Hawks. While Dabi doesn’t think he’s conscious yet, he’s definitely getting closer, his movements a touch more aware as he rocks into the steady, unrelenting touches of Dabi’s hand.
It isn’t long before Dabi feels Hawks stiffen, cock jumping in his hand as Hawks rises into wakefulness. Dabi freezes where he is. His stomach drops, his own dick threatening to wither if this goes badly. Sure, they’ve talked about this kind of thing, but what if he’s not in the mood? What if he’s in too much pain? What if Dabi crossed a line again?
Hawks turns his blonde head, hazy golden eyes seeking Dabi behind him. He tries to blink himself into full awareness, though one eye is still horrifically swollen and bruised.
And Dabi decides right then and there, that it doesn’t matter.
“Dabi, what—”
Dabi stops him with a bruising kiss. Hawks follows Dabi’s lead, a surprised, yet pleased noise in his throat. His wings fluff against Dabi’s chest, his body automatically trying to move to face Dabi.
With a warning nip to his bottom lip, Dabi tenses his arms until Hawks stops squirming. He doesn’t stop kissing, sweeping his tongue across the tender bite and split lip before licking into his mouth. Dabi’s hand pulls out of Hawks’ underwear, returning to rubbing at him through the thin fabric.
Hawks arches at the touch, a stuttering moan pulling from his throat.
“I’ll stop if you want me to stop,” Dabi growls, low and quiet in the residual morning peacefulness.
“Oh god,” Hawks says, Dabi’s hand doing that little heel-grinding motion he loves so much. “Fuck, how long have you been touching me?”
“Long enough to make you wet, pretty bird,” Dabi replies, biting at the sensitive spot behind Hawks’ ears and thumbing at the head of Hawks’ cock. He shoves his hips against Hawks’ ass once, letting him feel how hard he is himself.
“Fuck,” Hawks repeats, neck arching. “Don’t stop.”
Dabi obeys, firming his hand and absolutely loving the way Hawks gasps. This early, this close to waking up, he doesn’t have his control or his hero mask to hide himself behind. It’s just soft, jerky movements and the coil of pleasure.
Hawks moves his head, making a pleading noise in his throat. Dabi braces himself on a forearm next to Hawks’ head and bends over his shoulder, leaning in to kiss him with all he’s worth. Short and deep and perfect. Hawks unfolds for him, legs parting and tailfeathers fanning out as he turns onto his back while Dabi keeps rubbing at him. He throws his arms lazily above his head on the pillows keeping them both pliant with warmth and residual sleepiness, following Dabi’s movements and ticking his chin up for another kiss. And another. Another.
Dabi’s hand finds his hair, his other hand still palming him in a way that he knows could make Hawks cum. Just like this. Dabi’s hand drifts a little lower, pressing at the cleft of his ass and his taint through the underwear. Hawks arches again, gasping into Dabi’s open mouth.
“Are you in pain?” Dabi asks. Their foreheads are pressed together, their eyes closed and the tips of their noses bumping as they both rock into the movements. Dabi doesn’t have anything to even grind against, but it doesn’t matter. Not with Hawks feeling so good because of his touch.
“Does it matter?” Hawks half-laughs, half-sighs. “Just keep—ooh, fuck.”
Dabi’s hand slides once more beneath his underwear. He teases for only a moment, making Hawks grab for his wrist and squeeze with his blunt little talons in warning. He whines when Dabi laughs at him. Dabi kisses him for it, finally relinquishing his teasing in favor of making him fall apart. Hawks pauses him only once to kick off his underwear.
“Dabi,” Hawks whispers against his lips when Dabi picks up what he was doing.
“Pretty bird,” Dabi murmurs back. Their foreheads rock against each other with Hawks’ squirming. Dabi slowly pumps him, keeping his grip tight even as Hawks’ hips try to fuck up into his hold.
“Faster—” Hawks breaks off with a groan as Dabi twists his wrist instead. “You’re such an asshole.”
Dabi huffs, skating his lips over Hawks’. “I know.”
Dabi keeps going as he pleases, relishing in every soft noise Hawks makes. His body floods with endorphins from watching, following every movement like they’re connected. The bedroom is still dark, the fan still humming in the background, the sheets and comforter tangled around their legs. The air feels hot and sticky around them from Dabi’s haywire temperature control. Hawks’ shirt is rucked up to his armpits. Dabi can barely make out his brown nipples pebbled up and begging to be touched amid the white bandages keeping him together. All he knows is Hawks and the sigh of his body giving itself over to his touch.
He kisses Hawks again at the thought, and then again. And again. Like he’s starving. Hawks moans into each one, short little ones that make the skin of Dabi’s dick almost painfully tight. He’s never felt so hard in his life over giving someone else a handjob of all things.
“Dabi, Dabi,” Hawks chants. “Faster, please. Wanna cum.”
“Needy thing,” Dabi softly chastises, just like he did last night.
Hawks whines, breathy and high-pitched. His hips jerk up harder into Dabi’s grip. The lewd, wet sound of Dabi’s hand hitting the base of Hawks’ pelvis makes him shiver.
Deciding to take pity on him, Dabi listens. He speeds up, keeping his fist tight. The glide from Hawks’ precum is enough to make it easy with the perfect amount of roughness. Even in this state, Hawks is not fragile. He doesn’t need or want the gentleness in this moment, too enamored and aroused with how Dabi provides that in kisses and closeness.
Hawks falls apart at the change of pace, body rolling, spine arching, his lips parted around sounds he can’t seem to keep inside of himself. Sometimes, he kisses Dabi wherever he can reach—the bridge of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. His arms wind around Dabi’s shoulders despite the slightly awkward angle, keeping him anchored as Dabi brings him to the edge.
Dabi feels Hawks’ desperation like it’s his own. His heart thunders in his ears, his body tingling like he’s the one about to cum, though he knows he won’t.
He tips his head up, pressing his lips to Hawks’ sweaty forehead.
Hawks chokes at the touch. Unexpected. Dabi’s never kissed his forehead, and that’s something he needs to rectify immediately, Dabi decides.
Staying where he is, Dabi gives Hawks the extra bit of speed he needs to cum.
“C’mon, dove,” Dabi murmurs, keeping his lips where they are. “C’mon, cum for me.”
After a couple quicker strokes, Hawks gives a wordless cry and cums, his cock pulsing and hot in Dabi’s hand. His cum leaks out of him, some of it falling onto his heaving belly. Dabi doesn’t let up, stroking Hawks through its entirety and kissing his forehead over and over. He knows Hawks loves the overstimulation. That bolt of pleasure-pain white hot and makes him arch up off the mattress again, taloned toes curling and digging into the sheets while his trembling tailfeathers snap out. Hawks’ chest heaves, struggling for breath with his battered ribs as he fists the shirt on Dabi’s back.
“Keep going,” Hawks squeezes out. “Please, god, keep going.”
Dabi shifts and ignores the ache in his wrist. He keeps pumping Hawks, not bothering to slow down. He pulls back to look at him, to see him squeeze his eyes shut, mouth slack in pleasure.
Dabi moves his free hand to a different angle so he can pinch at one of Hawks’ nipples, making him jolt against the mattress. He rubs over the hurt before doing it again. And again. And again.
“Fuck,” Hawks whines, drawing the word out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Dabi doesn’t bother responding, too intent on making Hawks cum again. God, he wishes he had the stamina sometimes, especially seeing how good Hawks feels, but just the thought is exhausting to him.
Bending his head, Dabi puts his lips against Hawks’ ear and starts whispering to him. How good he is; how pretty, how dirty, how profane. Hawks almost sobs with it, body trembling and hips humping up into Dabi’s touch. He can’t form words back, too focused on the pleasure, on the soaring feeling Dabi is pushing him towards.
“Da—” Hawks cuts off, his breath punched from his lungs as he cums again. His body goes stock still, mouth agape, tailfeathers and wings shaking from the force of pleasure cutting through him. He grips Dabi like he’s a lifeline in the complete and utter surrender to the goodness he’s feeling. Dabi doesn’t register the hot, sticky glide of more cum, but a bit of wetness pulses from the head of his cock instead in a squirt.
This time, Dabi does slow his hand down. He’s sure to help Hawks through it. It’s longer than the first one, but Dabi’s still whispering to him and making him shudder with the praise and filthiness Dabi is so talented at spinning. He kisses Hawks’ favorite spot behind his ear, feeling goosebumps rise beneath his lips.
When Hawks finally collapses, boneless, against the mattress, he’s gasping for breath. Dabi lets go of his softening cock, wiping his hand on the sheets and tugging Hawks closer until they’re face-to-face on their sides.
Hawks’ golden eyes are dazed with his post-orgasm, but he has enough cognizance to reach out and cradle Dabi’s face, bringing him for a chaste kiss on the lips. And another for good measure.
“I thought you wanted to talk in the morning?” Hawks asks, voice wrecked.
Dabi half-shrugs. “I’m more of an action guy than a words guy.”
“Gathered that. Still. Fuck,” Hawks says with a stretch. “I don’t think you could make me move if you paid me right now.”
“That was the goal,” Dabi says back, lips twisting into a smile.
“Wake me up like that more often.”
“Noted.”
Hawks sighs, curling his hands into the front of Dabi’s shirt. “I could go back to sleep just like this.”
“Do it. It’s not like you’re going anywhere with those injuries.”
Hawks makes a throaty noise. “The Commission did give me the day off.”
Dabi’s heart thumps in his chest. A whole day? With Hawks? “Even better. Sleep. You need it.”
Hawks snorts. “You made me need it more.”
“And you’re complaining?” One of Dabi’s eyebrows shoots up.
“As if,” Hawks rolls his tired eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
It’s quiet for a second.
“Do you want—” Hawks gestures at Dabi’s crotch. He’s still hard, though the heat in his blood is mostly gone now that Hawks is satisfied.
“No.”
“Alright.”
Another beat of silence.
Dabi sniffs. “Would you rather sleep or eat?” He could use something in his stomach.
Hawks presses his face in the pillow. “I’m supposed to make a choice?”
“That is the point of a question.” It’s Dabi’s turn to roll his eyes.
Hawks considers, trying to decide which sounds better.
“I’ll get up and eat only if you cook.”
Dabi snorts. “That’s guaranteed. I make mean American-style pancakes and you’re hopeless in the kitchen.”
Hawks perks up, baby wings fluffing. Even his pupils pin. “Pancakes? Really?”
“Yeah, birdy. Really.”
Hawks scrambles to get out of bed, slowing down when he registers the pain in his body. He pauses only once to grab a fresh pair of underwear, uncaring of the mess of his crotch. It doesn’t stop him from beating Dabi to the kitchen, impatiently waiting by the island with his eyes shining. His baby wings and tailfeathers flutter excitedly. Dabi bumps him out of the way with his hip.
“Get out some mixing bowls, birdy. If you’re eating my pancakes, you’re helping whether you like it or not.”
***
Hawks confesses the events of the night before as they’re eating, including the details of the person’s quirk who got away after hurting Hawks too badly for him to pursue.
A week later, Dabi goes hunting.